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HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
FROM THE FUND OF
CHARLES MINOT
OASSCff iSlS
fyVpL V.^ /) , )■>-
CHAMBERS'S
EDINBUEGH JOUENAL.
NEW SERIES.
WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS,
BUITOBB OF ■ CBJMBSSan KDVCkTlOItUi COUBSB,' ■ UTOBtUTlOH FOR THE PSOPLB,- Su.
VOLUME XL
H(M.S62nS87. JANUABY-JUNE, 1SJ9.
EDINBURGH:
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS,
AND W. S. OBB, LONDON.
184a
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INDEX.
FAXILIAJt 0KBTCIIB8 AND MOBAL
ESSAYiL
Pwge
Addren to the Ladies on a Tery
Delicate Subject, • - 121
Anglo-Frenohiium, - 833
Art of Romantic Fiction, - 869
Aiipiranta, Literarj, - 257
Bay, Enchanted, - - 111
Canadian TraTel, Inoldenta oi; 233
Caation, Scotch, • - 17
Chapter on Odd People, - 9
CooTcrsation, not Diacourae, 177
Criticism, What it, - - 358
Day in the GoTcmor'a House, - 252
Deccan, Gipsy Sorceries in, 88
Dependence on Self and Others,
Connection between, • - 241
Discontented Animal, Man, the, 68
Domestic Ctrole, Eduoation of the, 40
Education of the Domestic CSrcW, 40
- ' - 81
m
811
360
337
38
837
259
70
321
300
236
238
314
Ggypi, Slave Markets of,
Eochanted Bay,
England, Old Times In,
Pestiral of the Prc^het,
Fiction, Romantic, Art ot, -
Fountains, Gossip about,
CKpsy Sorceries in the I)eooao,
Gossip about Fountains,
GoTeraor*s House, Day in the,
Hanrest in Brittanr,
Heads, Hearts, and Handicrafts,
Hindoo Bride and her Mother,
Hwtoric Tableau, -
leeidents of Canadian TraTd,
Italian Opera, ...
Kerf: the Oriental Conception oi
Ef^oyment, - • 401
I*dy of Lioudnn, - -371
L%ht Literature, Reform in, 07
Literary Aspirants, - - •* 257
Man, the Discontented Animal, 65
Mecca, Return of Filgrims from, 129
Metaphysics of Party, - 145
Montn among the Pyrenees, - 409
MoraUty, Social, . 87
MoTcrs and Redsters, • 209
Mode of the WUd, • 161
Mystery of France, - 388
Odd People, Chapter on, - 9
Old Times in Enghmd. • 225
Party, Metaphysics o( • 145
Philanthropy, Reaction against, 113
Pyrenees, Month among the, 409
Reaction against Philanthropy, 118
Reform in light Literature, - 97
Bepulaion, ... 305
Botoro of Pilgrims fiomMeoco, 129
Scotch Caution,
Self-Dependence and Mutual
pendence,
Shakspearian Hyddne,
Skirts, Length of Ladies', -
Slave Markets of Egypt,
Social Morality,
Sport in the Petrified Forest,
Summer at Nice, «
Thrush, . - -
Two Affairs of Honour
Utopias, - . -
Western Ghauts,
Wliat is Criticism *
Words, -
De-
POETRY.
A Pew Short Years,
Advice to a Painter,
Auld Meal-MilL
Ben and Loch Lomond,
Change-Seeker,
Evening Solaoe,
Little Milly, -
Longing for Rest, •
Maidenhood,
Modem Danae,
My Een are Dim wi* Tears,
River's Voice,
Serious Poor Young Man,
Sister^ Valentine, -
Song of the Forsaken Maid,
Sonnet, ...
Sonnet,
Sonnet by Calder Campbell,
Sonnet by Calder Campbdl,
Spirit of reace,
Sweet Lavender,
Thought and Ejroression, -
Triumphs of our liai^;uags,
Woodland Voices, -
POPULAR 80aUf OB.
Australian Birds,
Bbanff, Indian,
Bleaching Cotton,
Blight, Natural History of,
Cotton ManufiMtoxe^
Datura, the,
Electro-Metallurgy,
Ferns^ Notes co,
241
827
121
81
87
859
153
247
185
289
105
353
49
304
351
884
160
172
176
224
820
112
272
400
336
157
240
128
64
208
16
144
96
32
288
368
48
28
62
66
90
162
335
15
88
Floor-Cloth,
G«y to the White,
Lizard, Pet,
Mantes, or Praying Insects.
Meteorology, Cfuriosities of.
Periodical Plienomena in tne Ve-
getable Kingdom,
Pholas Family,
I^eoe to the Pattern, -
Rustious, Letters of, on the Natu-
ral History of Godalming, .
Salt DistricU, Day in the, -
Submarine Telegraph, >
Vegetable Colonisation of the Bri-
tish Isles, ....
Vegetable Kingdom, Periodical
Phenomena in the,
Wasp Family, ...
Pan
3^
66
178
867
418
841
894
162
90
181
149
ISO
841
51
TALES AND OTRBR KARRATIVBfl.
All>oni, Anecdote of, - 205
Another Aflfkir of Honour, • 888
Baltic, Storm in the, - 206
Beethoven, Dsath o^ - - 254
Boatswain, • - . lis
Bright Side, - - .124
Captain Positive, - • 415
CapUin'S Story, - - 84
Chamber of Myatery, * 229
Chamber of Refuge, * -291
Commerce House, - - 248
Conducts de Platas, > -68
Contested Marriage^ • 193
Contrast, - - • - 277
Convoy, Highland, - 41
Comer House, ... \4^
Dark Chamber, - - 306
Deaf Musician, - • - 254
Emigrants, - • - 887
Esther Mason, • . . 403
Experienoes of a Barrister-
Contested Marriage, 198
Esther Mason, - . 408
Mother and Son, . 824
The March Assise, - « 24
The Northern Chsnit, • 107
Writ of Habeas Corpus, . 854
Fry, EUaabeth, Aeoovnt oi; 202
Gold Seekers, . . - 179
Gold-Seeker and Water-Seekerv 21 1
Guillaume Dupuytren, . 845
Highland Convoy, - - 41
Hoodloss the Hona-Swinoier, 60
Lady of Loudnn, - • 871
VI
PlIfB
288
24
89
218
228
824
litUe Shepherd,
March Assise,
Marquia d*Aligre,
MensUioff Family, -
Misfortunes of Jit Nibbs,
Mother and Son.
Mr Jeremiah JolMoa'a Three Dayi^ 879
Mr Robert Simpson*s CoorUibip, 288
Northern Ciroait, - • 107
Old Writing-Master's Hainss, 132
Peasants* Prince, - - 868
Peninaolar War, Incident in the, 168
Pope Pins IX. ... 73
Sauor Prelate, . . - 878
Seren-Shilling Pieee, - - 148
Story of Old Versailles, - 62
Two Affairs of Honoar. • 185
Versailles, Story of Old, 52
Warren, - -101
Writ of Habeas Corpus, - 854
NOTICES OF BOOKS.
Adriatic, Highlands and Islands
of the, Paton's, - , - IL6
AdTentnres in the Libyan Desert,
StJphn^s, • ' " 268
Anecdotes of the Aristoera«y, 188
Art-Journal, ... 107
Art. Sacred and L^endary, 6
Aoanbon^ Qoadmpeds of North
America, - - - 269
Australia, Central, Sturt% 18
Barkers Anecdotes of the Aristo.
craoy, ... 188
Electro-Bioloffy, Smee on, - 298
Hurlbut on Human Rights, 265
Jackson's Minerals and their Uses, 197
Jameson's Legendary Art. - 6
Johns' Qardening for Children, 48
Keith, Sir R. M.. Memoirs of, - 245
Layara*s Nineven and its Remains, 56
Lewia'k Life of Robespiene, - 184
Macaulay's History, Second (Hance
at, . . - . 84
Maokay's Western Worid, - 136
Meteorology, Thomson^s Introduc-
tion to, . - - 418
Minerals and their Uses, Jackson*ii,197
Mohammed Ali*s Expedition up
the White Nile, - > 896
MotherweU^k Poems, - 71
New South Wales, Townsend's
Rambles in, - > - 831
Nineveh and its RenuUns,Layard% 56
Patent Highlands and Islands of
the Adriatic, . - 115
Prentioe*8 Tour in the United
SUtes, • . - 171
Quetelet du Systdme Social, 98
Robespierre, Life oi^ Lewis's, 184
Sierra Leone, Residence at, - 843
Smee's Elements of Electro-Bio-
logy, - - - 298
Smyth's Memoirs of Sir Robert
Murray Keith, . - 245
St John's Adyentures in the
Libyan Desert, - - 266
St John's Tour in Sutherlandshire, 200
Sturt's Central AustraliSu - 13
Sutherlandshire, St John's Tour in, 200
Systime Social, Quetelet du, 98
Thomson^ Introduction to Meteo-
rology, - - - 413
Townsend's Rambles in New South
Wales, - - - 831
Viviparous Quadrupeds, Audu-
bon's, • - - 269
Wcme^ Mohammed Ali's Expedi-
tion up the White Nile, - 396
Western World, Mackay's, 186
INDEX.
mSOBLLANEODS ARTI0LB8 OP IK-
STRUOnON AND BNTBRTAINMENT.
Ps«s
Adulteration, Further Progress
of, - - - - 298
American loe Trade, - . 98
Ancient Implements of Popular
Sports, ... 189
An^uarian Museum, 8ooUisb,278, 328
Arch-Duke John of Austria, - 865
Arkwrigfat, Sir Richard, 95
Artisan Emigration Soelety, - 240
Australia, Central, - - 18
Barrow, Sir John, - 44
Beggars Professional, 155
Bhang, Indian, . - - 82
Blc^tre fai 1792, - ^ 169
Blight, Natural Histoiv of; 90
Bombay, Ckyvemor's House-ef, 252
Brittany, Harvest fai, 79
Burton on PoUtioal and Social
Economy, ... 80
Calais, Expdled Laoewofkeis of, 178
California— Coming Disappoikit*
ments, ... 816
Oalifbmia, CKdd-flnding in, - 61
Canada, Description o^ 888
Cairick, Robin, . . 288
Chapter for Ladies— Maanfaoture
of Thread, - • 862
Chicory, Outcry about, - 216
China, Earl/ Printing hi, - 1 74
Christinas m England and at the
Cape, - - • - 319
Comenius on Education, - 249
Correspondents, our, - - 301
Cost of Railways, - - 227
Costume, Songs and Poems on, 849
Curiosities of QUss-Making, - 309
Curiosities of Trade, - 11
Curiosity in literature, - 157
Datura, - - • 335
DeccaUjjBoroeries in the, - 83
Dhdle, Thomas, Account o^ - 833
Duelling Extraordinary, 185
Duelling Monomania, • 239
Dupuytoen, Guillaume, 845
Economists, Royal and Noble, - 382
Edinburgh, High School of, - 151
Education, Sketches of the His-
tory of; . . 22,249
Education in America, Shrstem of, 190
English Newspi4>ers and Foreign
News, - . .851
English Workman'^ ReooUeotions
of Paris, - - - 1,19
Festivals and HoUdays, 220
Fiction, Art o^ - - 869
Floor-Cloth, - - - 892
France, Mystery of, 385
F^, Elizabeth, Account of, 202
Glance at the Sikhs, 281
GHass-Making, CuriosHies of, - 309
Gold-finding in Califomia, - 61
Gold Mines of Scotland, - 858
Gossip firom London, - 232, 407
Gulf-Stream, - - 214
High School of Edfaiburgh, - 151
Hindoo Bride and her Mother, 800
Hoodless, Richard, Account of, 60
Icarian Paradise Lost, 207
Ice Trade, American, - -99
Information for the People, Welsh
Translation of the, - 157
Ireland, Mystery of; - - 169
Ireland, Poor-Law in, - 94
Jewish Passov^ - - 286
Jordan, Boat Expedition down
the, .... 877
Keyf : Oriental Conception of En-
joyment, - - - 401
Labour, Right o^ - - 191
Laoeworkers of Calais, Expelled, 175
PMt
Laoemakers of Saxony, > 818
Launoeston, Letter mm, ' 47
Lewis XL, Deathbed o^ - 236
Libyan Desert, Description of the, 266
Life hi New Zealand, - 158
Lisaid,Pet. - - - 173
London and Edinburgh Post, - 87
London, GhMsip ttom, • 282; 407
Lyon, Bishop, - • - 876
Magic, Optical, - - 259
Mwine Flienomena, - - 213
Medical Errors, Popular —
76, 108, 122, 140
Medicine, Use and Abuse of, - 273
Mendicancy, Curiosities of; 223
Minerals, Gtossip on. - •197
Mirage, Effects of the. Ill
Montaigne on Education, 22
MonteiMgro, Account of; - 115
Motherwell the Poet, Account of; 71
Mystery of Ireland, - - 169
New Zealand, Letter f^m, - 158
Nice, Summer at, - 153
Oeessional Notes —
Article, ' Reaction Against Phi-
lanthropy,' - - 200
Descent orlUent, - - 47
Elegant Readhig, . 199
Further Progress of Adultera-
tion, ... 297
Letter from Launoeston, • 47
People's College at Sheffield, 393
Swedish-NighUngale Pest, - 393
What Becomes of Discharged
Prisoners? - - -296
Opera, Italian, 814
Optical Magic, • - 259
Paris, Rec^ections of in 1848, 1, 19
PM>ple's College, Sheffield, - 393
Petrified Forest near Cahx>, 859
Phenomena, Marine, - - 218
Phosphorescence of the Ocean. 214
Physic, Excessive Confidence in, 273
Pfnd's Account of the Bic^tre, 169
Pius IX., Pope, . . 73
Poor-Law in Ireland, > - 94
Popular Medical Errors —
76, 103, 122, 140
Post Ninety Years Ago, - 87
Praying Insects, - - 867
Printing, Early, in China, - 174
Prisoners^ischarged, Fate of, 296
Prophet, Festival of the, - 311
Quadrupeds of America, 269
RaUway Property, - - 227
Ratich on Education, - 22
Rambles of an Objectless Man, 399
Ramus, Pierre, - - 288
Rise ttom a Humble Condition, 95
Robespierre, - - - 184
Robin Carrick, - - 238
Royal and Noble Economists, 882
Salt Districts, Day in the, - 181
Sootbmd, Gold Mines of, - 358
Scottish Antiquarian Museum, 278, 328
Sierra Leone, - 348
Sikhs, Glance at the, - - 281
Snodgrass the Inventor, 144
SoirMS, London Scientific, 407
Sports, Popular, Ancient Imple-
ments of, ... 139
Telegraph, Submarine, - 149
Threid, Manu&cture of, - 362
Thrush, ... 247
Trade, Curiosities of, - - 11
Trifles, - - - 208
Turning the Penny, - - 155
United States as an Emigration
Field, - - - 374
United States, Prentice's Tour hi, 171
Utopias, - - - 289
Van Diemen^ Land, Wasps in, 51
Vernon Gallery, - - 107
Visit to the Western Ghauts, - 105
^m^tmimjma^mmat„^>^Mm
idhMiA^bh^^Aa-itei-*iaiW<^-*UkiAMBMUIt^i*«taMM
l^^ariMMhMirtri
^MMAbi
^■MM
U4
INDEX.
Page
WoikHidPftj, . . 81
WofUpg-Cfautea, EdiBbvgh Re-
viewoathfl, 287
WmtmanX Eoglbli, ReooDto-
tioMoTPftri^ • 1,19
ANBCDOTBS AND PARACIRAPHB.
Aoontiii Spftin.
Alfigaton Boazdad
368
MidIiodgea» 304
. - 224
128
BeiiFnend, - - 112
BMad,Ripe, 48
BBflu» Anecdote of, 390
Ckamte of Opimon. • - 64
CUeoiry, How to I>eteot,.ia Qot^ 384
Qmunrtmntml Eiideoce, 32()
CoffiM-Rooma, - - 64
OBnveftational JUagoage, IqcOk-
lectucaa ol^ • 16
Cookery, Importanoe q4 ' - - 28&
Cnidtyto4iiiiQala» • - 144
Dinei^ShooUng Artiat, . •, ,368
Dnama, Medical Intmii^tatiou j
oC - - - ., ^
Dab&nMd^^ptowuBftliwuy,., 1^6
Baat ol LoDdim Jewa, -
Education, Seerei oi;
Electric Idi
Ight, Practical Applica-
tion of the, • - -256
Enemiea^ ... 80
Bngland the Centre of the Earth, S84
BfflReporta,Liateiriiigto^ 80
. Fine Field ft>r the FVUf, • 2d4
flah. Intelligence in a, • • 64
Flowcn, oar Natiiwy i 387
F^raeWiUofMan, ^ - S62
FWnnchman at l^ Engttafa fitndiea^ fiM
Fioat-Sleep-4ta€uie, - 881
Proition, - ^ -400
Gardening for Children, 48
Hedgehog. . . .126
Hnrry and Haate, - 82
Indoatry, Saoceaafhl, - 272
John Home, *< «..(.- J7Q
Dqtieaaiid
SattiiNata,
82
Laiy Beafetik • . ».• ^jg
Leaf-Oold and Paper Shavinga^ 416
Matrimony, Gfaanoea in, •* '272
Mineral Cameleon, - • 308
Moral witlKMiPhsnaidalCoaTaffe, 139
MatnalH^ * - 4%
Nfnr Year in (Germany, - - 64
Newfoondlani Dag, Aiieedote of, 80
NefrapMMTB, •• ' ' "•- • . IG
Qeean Penny Poatage
ParadJao-ofDeUon,
^ I Pbwh for the Qaeen,
■i/i *
•'\
,. - 1 ,
r' .1
i I
\
. >/
I
^ • < •
I ' •
304
884
340
vii
Poetry that win Endure,- •
Pkecabtiona a^Unat Poiaon,
Prerention of Earthquakes,
Piogreaa, ...
Proaperity and Piogreaa,
Punctuation, . -
Redundancy of words,
Re-Tacoinalh>n, • - -
Sahbath, ...
Sarins toCHte; -
Scorching to Death, -
Setyinr Oneli' Mf,< Benevolent
Method of, -
Shadow of an Aiiig, -
Sheep-Dog, Faithfel,
Siberian Dogs,
Six Days Shalt Thou Labonr, • 1
Solid Milk, - . ^- 1
Sperm Oil, - - - 1
Sunday in Glasgow; - ' • T
Sugar, Popular Errora Regarding, 240
Suspension-Bridges, Invention of,
by the Chinese, - - 208
Temperance in London, Progress
of, - ' - "- - 192
Temperance in Wine Coqnt^es, 160
Ttvbich, CaTemai,,- - dd
Watch, Rdleafb^y,^ - . ^6
Weighing Machinery at the Mint, .168
What Aft M<«irE*fkt, - 2^6
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V
1^ t
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>. ^ if!
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'M
,i
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF • CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOB
THE PEOPLE/ • CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
'i No. 262. New Series.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 6, 1849.
Price IJcf.
AN ENGLISH WORKMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS
OF PARIS IN 1848.
At the close of the year 1847, want of employment,
coupled with the iDformation that the particular branch
I of my trade in which I was mostly employed was un-
I known in Paris, induced me to leave my wife and four
, little ones in our native village near the western suburbs
' of London, and set out for the French metropolis. My
voyage, which was a stormy one, was marked by no-
I thing of imptntance besides my forming an acquaint-
tnce with a young sailor named George Bargues, who,
; being of French extraction on the father's side, had
: friends in Paris whom he was now to visit after a sepa-
I ntioo of eighteen years. My conversation with this
: young nan in the vessel and in our Boulogne hotel led
me to feel a deep interest in him ; and finding that his
' fininces were low, I offered him the loan of a sovereign,
which with some dificulty he accepted. We arrived in
Pkris together at six o'clock on New- Year's morning,
and drove to the residence of my companion's brother,
in in upper floor of a large house in the Rue de la
Htrpe. I was kindly, received by the family, consisting
of James Bargues, a young ouvrier^ of handsome figure,
but a strong dash of melancholy in his countenance ;
I tod bis wife, a delicate-looking person, who, like him-
mi(t spoke good English. It being a f§te day, James
I dressed himself in his best clothes, and conducted us to
some of the gayest scenes in Paris, as the garden of the
I lAxemboorg, and the Champs Elysces, with all of
which I was of course much pleased.
We returned in the evening to dinner, when I found
a party assembled for the purpose of merrymaking.
Uy bo«t introduced me to M. Vachette, his brother-in-
law, whose wife, I gladly found, could likewise converse
in the Eogliah tongue. It was afterwards explained to
me that the two sisters were the daughters of a de-
ceased gentleman ; and that, after vainly endeavouring
to support themselves by tuition, they had been fain to
avail themselves of offers of marriage from a couple of
honest workmen. These men, however, found that
elegant accomplishments, such as music, painting, and
language, but badly compensate for the more homely
ones of cooking and cleaning.
The evening passed very cheerfully away, and the
kind-hearted James insisted upon my spending a few
days with him, while a lodging was prepared for me
at his brother-in-law's, M. Vachette, who resided in
the BattignoUes. In the course of a few days I re-
moved to my lodgings, and then set out, in company
vith George, in quest of what had brought me to Paris
—employment. The first few days we met with no
: success, it being difficult to convince the French dyers
|. that the English way of finishing was superior to their
I own. At length, when I had almost despaired of ob-
taining any employment in Paris, and was seriously
meditating my return to England, we fortunately en-
tered the shop of Messrs Jolly and Blanc, in the Rue
St Martin.
Finding one of the partners within, I exhibited my
book of patterns, which seemed to take his eye very
much. He asked me a few questions, and then gave
me something to do, by way of obtaining a specimen
of my work. I returned with it the next day, and was
at once engaged at 30 francs [about 24s.] per week, with
promises of an advance being made as work became
more plentiful. The next day I entered into my new
occupation, and found myself an object of no small
curiosity to my fellow-workmen, and no small diversion
to a bevy of young girls and workwomen at work in
an adjoining room ; but all were courteous and obliging,
and I never was subjected to those cruel mockeries
and insults to which we too frequently subject the un-
fortunate foreigner whom chance may throw among us.
In the establishment of Messrs Jolly and Blanc there
were employed nearly sixty individuals, the greater
number being females, as, from the low wages given in
Paris, it would be impossible to maintain a family
without the joint labour of boUi man and wife, who
therefore know but few of the comforts of domestic
life as compared with us in England. The meal times
in this establishment strangely varied with those in Eng-
land. We commenced work at six in the morning, and
went to breakfast at eleven. At the expiration of one
hour, labour was resumed until seven in the evening, at
which hour work for the day was done, and we all went
to dinner, and for my own part with a very good appe-
tite. I am not disposed to set this system up as an ex-
ample, as I am convinced, from experience, that nature
requires recruiting more than twice a day, when a
person's occupation is at all laborious. I am disposed
to come to the conclusion, that the employer loses in
the end when wages are not sufficient to procure the
necessary food to keep up a man's stamina. I am
sure, from actual observation, that ten Englishmen
would perform the work of fifteen Frenchmen in the
same space of time. Doubtless the reader may think
me rather prejudiced ; but I am ready to admit, at the
same time, that my countrymen, with the same quan-
tity and description of food, would perform even less
work than the Frenchmen.
It was my custom to take my d^jetlna'^ or eleven
o'clock breakfast, at a cuisine bourgeois in the Rue
Royal, close by the Rue St Martin, where I had ample
opportunity of making observations on the mode of
living usually adopted by the Parisian workpeople, as
the house was much frequented by that class, being the
cheapest in the quarter. The dtjeuner usually consisted
of a basin of very poor soup, with a spoonful of any
vegetable that }'0U might choose to have put into it,
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
doubtless to impart a richness to the appearance, if it
did not add much to the flavour. For this dish the
charge is two sous : after which it is usual to have some
very doubtful beef, with a few more vegetables, the
charge being four sous ; and then, indeed, if money is
plentiful, you may indulge in a glass of wine, or some
dried fVuit, cooked or not, according to taste, for two
sous more. It is worth remarking that all the wine
and spirituous liquors are very cheap in Paris; the chief
drink of the poorer classes is water to both breakfast
and dinner, some few mixing with it a little wine. The
dinner consists of nearly the same, with little variety,
imless you choose roast meat instead of boiled. At both
meals it is customary to eat a large quantity of bread.
The Parisian workmen take much more pride In
their appearance than l^e English. It has been the
subject of notice with many that few untidy or ragged
persons are to be met with in the streets ; and I ob-
served that most of my fellow-workmen kept a work-
ing suit at the factory, which they changed night and
morning.
I soon became accustomed to manners and habits
which had been at first rather strange to me. I found
my master very kind and affkble with all his work-
people, treating them more as his equals than his de-
pendents ; and I think in return he enjoyed the respect
and esteem of lUl who had the happiness to serve
imder him. The whole of the people in his establish-
ment seemed to live on the best of terms with each
other, and all were kind and obliging to me. The
laughter of light hearts, and the merry song, sounded
loud and often through the factory.
The first few weeks passed pleasantly enough. Mon-
sieur and Madame Vachette did all that lay in their
power to render my situation at their home comfort-
able ; and firom the kindness of Madame Yachette, who
had once been a teacher of the English language, I soon
made considerable progress in my French studies. My
evenings were chiefly spent in company with my friend
Greorge, at the lodgings of his brother, who always re-
ceived me with the greatest of hospitality — sometimes,
I was even fearful, with more than their limited means
justified. The frost at this time was very intense, the
Seine being in some places completely blocked up with
ice. Towards the middle of February the weather be-
came mild and geniaL Trade, which had received some
check from the frost, began to revive. I found full em-
ployment for both time and money, as it was necessary
that part of my wages should go towards the support
of my little ones at home.
It was about this time that I first heard of the pro-
posed banquet, the forbidding of which ultinmtely cost
Louis Philippe his throne, and led to much bloodshed and
disorder. On the ever-memorable morning of Tuesday
the 22d of February, I was proceeding as usual to my
employment, when on reaching the Boulevards, I found
groups of workmen and others reading the official pro-
clamation prohibiting the meeting. The crowds seemed
very much excited, and gave vent to their feelings in loud
and angry exclamations. At the guard-house, instead
of the one solitary sentinel, the whole front was occu-
pied by the military, all armed and ready to act at a
moment's warning. On reaching my place of work, I
found those who had arrived before me clustered in
groups, discussing tiie prol)able events of the day.
Nothing of any note attracted my attention during
the morning, beyond vague and contradictory reports
of conflicts between the troops and the people. At
eleven, 1 went as usual to breakfiist, when I was some-
what startled by observing a large tumultuous assem-
blage enter Rue St Martin from the Boulevards. The
foremost, who was an outfrier en bioute, bore a piece of
red cloth on a staff; as a substitute for the terrible
drapcau rouge^ and for the first time I heard the French
^1,^— • Vive la Rtfforme r The progress of this mob,
although unmarked by any species of wanton outrage
that I could observe, spread consternation and alarm
through all the neighbourhood. I wa« somewhat amused
by observing a perfumer who lived nearly opposite re-
moving, with all possible despatch, the royal arms from
the front of his shop.
On returning to my work, I found the shop closed,
and all the workpeople departed, as now indeed were
all the shops in the street On reaching the Boule-
vards, I found everywhere immense assemblages of
people, and great excitement. The shops were doaed
the whole length of the Boulevards, from the Porte St
Martin to the Madeleine, and thousands of heads pro-
truded from the windows, all very evidently expecting
a something to confirm or ease their apprehension. I
proceeded down Rue Royal to the Place de Concorde.
Here I found a strong military force of horse and foot.
I next visited the Rue St Honor^. Here things wore
a more serious aspect Some omnibuses and cabriolete
had been overturned in several places, the stones had
been removed, and an attempt made to form a barricade.
A troop of dragoons were employed to keep the
mob from assembling together. They used the flat erf
their swords, with no very great delicacy of touch, on
all who chose to disobey their commands. Much ill-
feeling here exhibited itself between the soldiery and
the people. The noise of drums now struck my ear : it
was the rappel beating for the Garde Nationale, strongly
guarded both in front and rear. A number of young
men and boys followed, singing the ' Marseillaise ' and
' Mourir pour la Patrie.' ij^nding the angry feeling for
from subsiding, I deemed it most prudent to return
homewards ; so made the best of my way to the Battig-
nolles.
Tlie next morning I found but few shops open. The
guardhouses along the line of the Boulevards, and
especially by Portes St Martin and St Denis, were oc-
cupied by strong detachments of troops. On reaching
my workshop, I found but few of the hands assembled
for work. The shop, however, was opened, and I began
my daily occupation. It was between nine and ten
in the morning that my attention was attracted by a
strange hubbub and confusion in the courtyard, imme-
diately under my window. Several persons rushed in
from the street, evidently in a state of great terror and
alarm. The porter of the house immediately closed
the outer gates of the courtyard. Doors were opened
and slammed with great violence; the sound of many
footsteps hurrying to and fro, the quick shutting of
windows, and the hum and confusion of many voices,
produced a strange din.
Presently a young girl, who was usually occupied
in the front shop, entered my room, and with hurried
accents begged that I would assist in shutting up the
shop, as most of the men were absent. On descending
into the street for that purpose, I found the people run-
ning in all directions, pursued by a troop of mounted
municipal guards, who laid about them with their
swords without mercy. I had scarcely closed the last
shutter when the municipals reached the spot opposite
our shop, and I was glad to make a hasty retreat.
When the shop was secure, I went to work again, the
noise still increasing : drums beating, men shouting,
women screaming, with crashing of timber, and break-
ing of glass. But presently I heard tlie sharp crack of
carbines, with louder cries and screams, mingled with
yells of defiance and savage imprecations. Gradually
the noise became fainter, and soon all was pretty quiet.
Finding all my fellow-workmen were gone, I was
reluctant to continue alone ; and my curiosity being
somewhat excited by the occurrences of the morning, I
struck work, and descended into the street, which I
found now completely deserted, except by the military ;
strong detachments of which held it at both ends.
They allowed me to pass through them into Roe
Royal, where I found tiie mob had constructed a bar^
ricade, which the soldiers were now busily employed in
destroying. A Tast crowd occupied this street and all
the streets adjoining. Many of them were armed with
such weapons as most readily came to hand — as thick
bludgeona, pitchforks, hatchets, and sledge-haiiuners.
1
I
But of iron wrenched from railings were general ; but
I obterred teveral with muskets and pistols.
A few paces farther on I saw a crowd smrounding
some object on the ground* and singing the eternal
*Moarir pour U Patrie.' On looking through the
throDg. a melancholy spectacle presented itself: ex-
tended on its back lay the corpse of a young man
covered with mud and gore.
The peofde seemed rery much exdted« and I mo-
mentariljr expected to see a renewal of hostilities.
The turmoil, howeTer, had not taken away my
appetite ; and I knew, from certain inward signs, that
the breakfast-hour was either at hand or past. So,
after some hard knocking, I induced Monsieur Macqurle,
mine host, to open his door, and prevailed on him to
albw roe to breakfast On attempting to return up the
Rue St Martin, I was repulsed by point of bayonet, so
I passed tiirongh a short passage which connects it
witii tiie Rue St Denis. This I found also occupied by
troops. I gained the Boulevards by another route. On
arririog at the guardhouse of the Bouleyard des Bonnes
NouT^s, I saw a mob advancing with drums beating
in front and flags flying.
There was a strong body of the municipal guards at
this spot, with a regiment of the line. The soldiers
formed right across Sie Bouleyard, and seemed deter-
mined to resist Uie approaching multitude, who, by
their glitt^ing bayonets, appeared well armed. The
head oi Uie column halted ; a short conspltation was
beid, and ^en the column wheeled off, crying ' Vive
la R^orme,' and singing the never-dying ' Moivir pour
U Patrie.'
I had promised on the Sunday evening prerious to
visit my friend Gteorge at the apartments of his brother,
H. Bsigues, in the Rue de la Harpe; and as I had a
wish to know how matters stood in that quarter, I
determined to keep my appointment Accordingly I
proceeded thither by the way of the Rue Poissonnerie,
crossing the Seine at the Pont Neuf. I observed a
iharp fusillade going on at Pont au Change, the next
Imdge, while laroops were crowding to that point from
every direction. The firing soon ceased, and the people
gave way. At this moment a fr'esh body of military,
▼bo, by their appearance, had just entered Paris from
some Stance, passed along the quah. They consisted
of lancers, dragoons, and horse artillery, with riflemen,
and several regiments of the line. Both men and horses
teemed dreadfhlly fatigued, being covered with mud,
looking wet and miserable.
AU the bridges and quais were swarming with troops
—flight horse, dragoons, and cuirassiers — who were in-
cessantiy employ^ in dispersing the numerous groups,
who took every opportunity of assembling together,
snd venting their displeasure in loud outcries against
the ministry, mingled with • Vive la Ligne I' — • Vive la
Befonnel'— • A has Guizot!*
On reaching the apartments of M. Bargues, in the Rue
de la Harpe, I found my landlady, Madame Vachette,
tiliere, in great anxiety respecting her husband, from
▼bose. well- known republican principles she dreaded
some harm would befidl him.
James, who was a thorough Communist, spoke in
rapines of the approaching struggle, but lamented the
blood that must necessarily be spilt before France could
break the chains that bound her liberties. Like the
best part of those misguided men, he thought the wild
theories of Socialism and Communism capable of afford-
ing lasting happiness and prosperity to all the human
fwiily, and worthy of any sacrifice for their promotion ;
sfthough I am sure no one possessed a better heart,
nor more of the milk of human kindness, than James
Bargues ; showing how fearfully a false philosophy may
ftstort the best of natures.
His brother Oeorge not being within, I offered my
■election to Madame Vachette in our way to the
MtigDolles, as we should have to pass through the
of the tumult ; the Battignolles being about
diatant fh>m the Rue de la Harpe. On readi-
ing the Quai de I'Ecole, an officer, dressed in a general's
uniform, mounted on a superb horse, halted befbre a
crowd who had assembled there ; taking off his hat he
bowed to the populace, and then cried in a loud voice,
* The ministers are changed!* This was received with
acclamations, and seemed to give universal satisfaction ;
at least so far as my own observations went
On reaching my home in Rue de FEcluse in the
Battignolles, everybody seemed anxious for information
respecting things in Paris $ and all now fbndly hoped,
as the Guizot ministry were fallen, that ttte disorders
would quiet down.
After dinner, it being rather late, for vre had waited
the coming of M. Vachette, I was engaged in vrriting a
letter to my fHends, when Oeorge entered and informed
us that the people were storming and destroying the
Barrier Clichy, an office in the wall of Paris, where the
octroi^ or duties on provisions, are collected on their
passing into Paris. I ran down into the street, when I
heard tremendous firing in the direction of the Boule-
vard des Capncines. Three distinct volleys followed
each other in rapid succession. The people in the streets
stood still amazed. All inquired, but none could tell
the cause that led to the firing. I ran through Barrier
Clichy, which I found in the possession of the people,
and then down Rue d'Amsterdam towards the Made-
leine, and on reaching the Boulevard des Capudnes, I
found all in uproar and confusion ; people were hurry-
ing to and fh> uttering cries of vengeance. The soldiers
had fired on the mob before the Hotel of the Minister
of Foreign Affairs, and great numbers were killed and
wounded. Two men were carrying the body of a female
in their arms ; her long hair bung down wet with blood ;
some others placed the dead in a cart following it with
torches and iron bars, which they had torn up in their
fbry. They formed a sort of procession, their numbers
augmenting every moment A wild f^nzy seemed to
animate them. As they proceeded onward, numbers
sung, in a low mouriffUl strain, 'Mourir pour la
Patrie;* but soon the song of death was chanted to a
wild cry for vengeance, 'Mort k Guizot T 'Vive la
R^publique ! *
Leaving this column to pursue their moumfnl march,
I return^ to the Barrier Clichy by the Rue de la
Chaussee d* An tin, and in the Rue Clichy every lamp
was broken and extinguished ; all the shops closed ; and
it presented a singular contrast, by its loneliness, to the
scene that was now going on in die Boulevard. I had
just reached the Barrier. A mob, composed chiefly of
young mop and boys, armed with clubs and axes, came
through : they halted opposite a gunsmith's named
Rozvy, in the Rue Clichy : in a few minutes the door
and shutters were dashed in, and all the arms plundered.
They were engaged in distributing the guns, swords,
&c. among themselves, when the sound of horses' fleet
at a sharp trot came from outside the Barrier, and 1
could distinguish through the gloom the form of an
officer, followed by two dragoons, gallopping down the
street Crack — bang — ^bang went several guns at their
heads ; with what effect I did not observe, as the night
was very dark. The sound of a bullet whistling through
the air at no great distance from my head made me
think it most prudent to beat a retreat ; so I returned
to my lodgings, where I found my landlord had arrived
before me, and thus allaying his wife's fears for his
safety.
I retired to bed, and, strange to say, slept soundly.
I awoke about my usual time, dressed, and descended
into the streets, more with the intention of gratifying
my curiosity than the idea of being able to get to my
work.
At the Barrier I found a regiment of the line on
guard: I passed through thera to the Rue Boulogne,
when I beheld two men beating the rappel on their
drums, followed by about twenty others en bUntse^ with
guns. As I proceeded farther into Paris, I heard drums
beating in au directions, bells tolling, and the sound of
the pidLaxe and crowbar. At the church of our I^ady
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
de Lorrette, the people were draggiDg down the iron
railing in front, and removing the stonea in the street
Proceeding onwards, I saw barricades forming about
every hundred yards right and left of me. A captain
of the National Guards endeavoured to persuade them
to desist ; but they refused. The rappd was beating in
all quarters : everywhere National Guards, singly or
in parties, were hastening to their places of ren-
dezvous, clambering on the best way they could, for
march they could not, the road was now so dreadfully
cut up. I would beg my reader to imagine Cheapside
in London strewn with broken glass, bottles, pots, and
iron railingSy diligences, omnibuses, carts, wagons,
wheelbarrows, and watering-carts, planks and scaffold-
poles, with ladders, barrels, buckets, and articles of
household furniture, in fact everything a mob can lay
their hands on ; and they then may form some notion
of the scene which all the principal thoroughfares in
Paris presented on that day.
On reaching the bottom of the Rue du Faubourg
Montmartre, I was stopped by the people, who were
constructing a very strong barricade, and desired to
assist. Tiiis I had no particular wish to do, as I knew
not how long before it might be the scene of a san-
guinary struggle. The method pursued in constructing
these street defences was nearly in all cases the same.
Where any street vehicles could readily be obtained,
they were used in preference to other materials ; but as
these things were now nearly used up, the mob had no
resource but that of paving-stones.
A band of labourers formed line across the street,
with crowbars, pickaxes, or bars of iron, with which
they loosened the stones. ^These were rapidly taken up
by another line, who passed them on to a third, and so
on to the barricade. By these means a barricade was
formed in an incredibly short space of time. My station
being nearest to the barricade — for they had selected
me, on account of my being taller than most of them,
to place the stones on the top — I took the opportunity
of passing over to the other side, and finally gave them
the slip.
On reaching the Boulevards, I found all the fine
trees cut down, and placed across the road. Every-
where were traces of the. destructive activity of the
Preceding night Advancing towards Porte St Denis,
passed a very large body of troops. Dragoons dis-
mounted, standing by their horses ; troops of tlie line,
with their scarlet trousers covered with mud ; riflemen
in their dark-green uniforms ; and artillery standing by
their guns. With the exception of the military, I was
alone on the Boulevard, and the sound of my 'own foot-
steps sounded painfully on my ear ; for the silence of
death reigned amidst thousands, all standing still and
motionless as 'Statues. A long line of watch-fires
were smouldering, round wliich they had evidently
bivouacked ; and the men looked pale and spiritless
with excessive fatigue. At the farther extremity of
this body of soldiery were placed several pieces of
cannon, pointed towards Porte St Denis. My heart
sunk within me, and tears started in my eyes, as I
thought how soon they might be used in the destruc-
tion of my fellow-creatures. I never shall forget the
sensations those murderous engines of war occasioned
within me.
After passing these troops, and arriving at Porte St
Denis, I found an enormous barricade. I climbed over,
and was made prisoner in an instant. Again I was set
to work, as they were forming four massive barricades
at this point— K)ne across Hue St Denis, one in the
Faubourg, and the two others across the Boulevard. My
condition at this moment was not to be envied : sur-
rounded by savage-looking men, armed to the teeth, in
the midst of four stone walls ; while opposite the one
on which I was employed several pieces of cannon
were planted. Their murderous - looking muzzles,
crammed with grape, ready in a moment to pour de-
struction on all opposed to tliem, made me feel any-
thing but comfortable.
At this work I was kept, as nigh as I can guess, about
four hours, lifting great stones above my head. At
length I sank down upon a heap of stones, perfectly
overpowered by fatigue, although my fellow-labourers
worked on with undiminished zeal. Perhaps I did not
enter into the spirit of the thing so much as they did,
for I never shall forget the activity displayed by all
classes. The man of evident wealth, in morning-gown
and slippers, worked side by side with the lalxmKr in
blouse and sabots. All seemed actuated by the same
indomitable zeal, and perfect order and good- will seemed
to exist among them.
A respectably-attired individual came up to me and
inquired in a compassionate tone if I was not fatigued.
I showed him my hands, torn and bleeding, my heated
brow dripping with perspiration, and my toiled and
muddy dress. He entered a wine-shop, and gave me a
bottle of wine and a small loaf, which I very Uiankfully
received, and quickly devoured.
Presently I heard a great beating of drums, and on
looking over the barricade, saw a body of military ap-
proaching from the Faubourg, their glittering bayonets
extending as far up the Faubourg as I could well see.
The barricades were manned in a moment and my
heart beat furiously within my bosom. I thought of
England, of home, my pretty cottage, my wife and four
little ones. I cast a despairing look around, but no
chance of escape this time. Still the drums advanced,
beating thunders, and then the troops halted ; l^e noise
of the drums ceased, and then came a moment of intense
excitement A parley took place between the troops
and the people. One orator spoke at great length, and
evidently very much to the purpose, although I could
not understand half of what he said ; but it ended by
the soldiers giving up their arms to the people. This
was scarcely finished, when another body of National
Guards came up. A National Guard, who was with
the people, stood on a broken pillar, and waved his hat
on the point of his bayonet The men came rushing
over the barricade, and boldly fraternised with the
people.
The mob, now mingled with the National Guards,
formed line on the Boulevard between Porte St Denis
and Porto St Martin. Nearly all now had muskets,
although many were armed with every species of wea-
pon. Some had evidently furnished themselves from
the theatres and old curiosity shops ; some were armed
cap-a-pie, like the knights of old ; some with Lidian war
clubs and tomahawks. Among other things, I recog-
nised a very large sword which I remembered seeing ex-
posed for sale as the sword of the executioner of Paris.
A cry now burst from many lips of * Aux Tuileries I
Aux Tuileries V They formed column, with drums at
their head, and began a scrambling march over the
numerous barricades down Rue St Denis.
I had read, when a boy, of the awful and sanguinary
struggle attending the taking of that abode of royalty ;
and so, suffering my curiosity to get the better of pru-
dent fears, I followed the throng, who advanced beating
their drums, and roaring in chorus the *■ Marseillaise,'
particularly the words, ' Aux armes, citoyens ! * varying
it, however, with the eternal * Mourir pour la Patrie,'.
They took the direction of the Tuileries, by the ¥ray
of Rue Thevenot, crossing Rue Petite Garreau, to tho
Place des Victoires. At this place they halted, in order
to induce a body of National Guards assembled there to
join them.
There was here a general inspection of the revolu-
tionary irregulars. Those who had no ammunition
were suppli^ by those who had : a captain of the
National Guard took the command ; the revolutionary
forces formed line, and marched and countermarched
round the place. They were now a formidable-looking
body — truly picturesque in their blouses and caps —
their beards and savage -looking moustaches adding
much to the effect, with their now half-military cos-
tume, for several wore dragoons' helmets, or the steel
cap of days long past The masquerade rooms had
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
erktoDtly rapplied much to the adornment of many of
this modey assembly.
Now again thundered the drams, and agun a thou-
sand Toices roared the * Marseillaise/ commencing with
* AlloDs enfans de la patrie;' but many preferr^ be-
ginning with the finish, and shouting at the top of their
▼oices * Aux armes, citoyens 1* and by way of rariety,
gave a few lines of the * Chor des Girondistes' —
' Moorir poor la patrie,
Cest le sort le plus bean, le pins digne d'enrie ! *
(isr they seldom got over those lines.
*Aux armes! Auxarmes! Aux Tuileries!' shouted
a thousand voioes ; and so to the Tuileries they went,
and I followed.
On reaching the back of the Palais Royal, a short
street separated me from the main body of the insur-
gents, when suddenly I heard the discharge of a single
gun, and then another, and another. This was suc-
ceeded by a dead silence; and the few persons who
were in the street stopped short, and turned pale, as I
darmay I did myself. This lull of a few short moments
was succeeded by a deafening roar, produced by the
discharge of some hundreds of muskets, with a proxi-
mity 90 dose, that the smoke whirled in white wreaths
over my head. At this moment a youth, who could not
screw his courage to the shooting point, proffered me
lus gun. I politely declined the offer. Then suc-
ceeded an irregular firing, which gradually increased
in strength every moment. Then another, and another
heavy discharge, fully convinced me that the people
were engaged in regular battle with the military.
Gradually the excitement overcame my fears, and
my pulse, though quick, beat more regularly. Wish-
ing to obtain a view of the action, I passed into the
Boe de Valois, formed on one side by the Palais
Royal. At the end of this street the people were
firing over a barricade, at what or whom, the volumes
of smoke prevented me seeing. One party, with
dedge - hammers and crowbars, were busily engaged
io forcing the iron gates of the Palais Royal, while
others amused themselves by breaking the plate-glass
windows with stones and oyster-shells. The lower win-
dows, which were defended by strong iron bars, were
battered in, bars, stonework, and all, and the mob en-
tered. This part of the building, I imagined, must have
been used as a store, from the immense quantity of
veartng apparel that was thrown out and burned in the
street. From one vrindow was thrown an immense
quantity of bedding, which was likewise heaped on the
flames, until the heat became insupportable, and the
smoke all but blinding. Some, indeed, set fire to the
building itself, which others extinguished, much, how-
ever, to their own personal risk.
As the fighting continued, I lost all sense of danger,
snd soon found myself close to the barricade which ran
scross the Rue de Yalois, from the Palais Royal to a
vine-shop opposite.
On looking across the square in which stands the
faifsde of the Palais Royal, I found that the firing on
the part of the military proceeded from a guardhouse
esUed the Chateau d'Eau. On a terrace that ran across
the front of this building were stationed three ranks of
■nuridpal guards, while immediately below them stood
a body of the troops of the lihe, the whole joining in
keefong up a constant fire.
liie scene at this moment was one of great excite-
ment The flash ! flash I of the musketry through the
vhite smoke from the terrace and every window of the
gnsrdhouse, the beating of drums, waving of flags, and
brandishing of swords and pikes, all conspired to deaden
the sense of danger, ^though the sound of the balls
s^king the barricade, or whistling over my head, bade
ns remember that I was witnessing a real battle.
As yet I had seen no one hit on our side of the bar-
fiesde; but suddenly a young man who stood rather
above me on the barricade fell backwards am<mg the
U stones and rubbish at my feet. His teeth were £rndy
fixed in his under lip, and his eyes distorted by a fearful
squint In a moment the blood came bubbling through
a small purple spot in his forehead, and his features
were soon covered with the sanguine dye. His white
shirt was also soaked with blood, which ran in a puddle
among the broken stones. He was soon picked up and
carri^ away, and I could not refrain my tears at the
sight
In a few moments another feU, shot through the
shoulder. His gun fell from his hands : and then what
possessed me I do not know, for my excitement was
more than can be well imagined, but I had taken the
gun of the wounded man before I had given myself a
moment's time to consider, and immediately bang went
my piece over the barricade ! A Garde Nationale sup-
phed me with some cartridges, and firom that moment
I took my place among the defenders of the barricade.
Although I could never boast of a great share of
courage, yet at this moment all thoughts of danger, of
home, wife, children, were all forgotten in the fierce
delight of battle. It was like skating on very doubt-
fhl ice: we all know it is dangerous, but yet all
think they will escape the drowning.
The battle began about twelve o'clock, and it was
now nearly one. The people had now possession of the
Palais Royal, and the houses on the other comer of the
street, flrom which they fired on the troops below.
Some fought very bravely, standing on the top of the
barricade, loading now, firing then. Others, almost on
their hands and knees when under the barricade, would
rise up and fire, retiring to load. Some indeed stood
at the comer of a street some distance up, and fired off
their pieces there, which greatly added to the danger
of those who held the barricade.
Every time the soldiers fired very heavily, a panic
would seize some of the combatants, and these would
make off, to take up a safer position high up the street
A little man, who was armed only with a sword, behaved
very bravely. He rallied the faint-hearted, stamped
and swore, and, followed by a few as desperate as him-
self^ leaped over , the barricade. They were received
with a deadly discharge, and many a poor fellow rolled
over in the mud. The few who were left standing
came rushing over the barricade. A panic seized the
rest, and some ran out of the street altogether.
But although foiled in their first attempt, again they
rushed over tiie barricade, again to meet with the same
repulse, and many with their deaths. It was now in-
deed a hideous scene. The dying and the dead lay
heaped together in pools of blood. Their shrieks and
groans rose into the air, mixed with the frantic yells
and horrid imprecations of the mob ; the muskets kept
up a deafening roar, and their red flashes streamed in-
cessantly through the stifling sulphurous smoke. The
faces of the combatants were distorted with rage, and
many fought on, mangled and bleeding, till they could
no longer stand to load and fire.
About this time an officer, whom I afterwards learned
to be General Lamoriciere, rode into the square : both
horse and rider rolled instantly into the mud. The
general rose wounded, I believe, and made his escape.
A captain of the Garde Nationale, the same I tliink
who first led the insurgents, now stood on the barricade
waving his sword, and inciting the mob to charge. He
was shot through the body, and fell on the other side.
But the mob rushed from three barricades at the same
time, two being across Rue St Honorc, and engaged in
deadly combat, hand in hand, with the soldiers. A
deadly discharge came from every window of the post,
while louder yeUs, and cries of agony and rage, mixed
in wild and savage din with the unceasing roar of the
guns.
As I did not choose to pass over the barricade myself,
I could not well distinguish what was doing at this
moment, from the mingled forms of the combatants,
and the blinding smoke from a quantity of straw, which,
plundered from the royal stable, was on fire in front of
the guardhouse. Several men passed me with trusses
6
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
of straw, and one carrying a large copper Testel filled
with oil. At onoe the dreadful truth flashed acrosa
my mind : those human fiends intended to bum the
wretched soldiers with their guardhouse. To aid this
human sacrifice, the royal carriages were dragged out,
and one after the other fired, until at last seventeen
gilded carriages stood burning in the square, with an
insufferable stench, in one costly conflagration.
The noise of the firing, which had for two hours
continued without intermission, now became fainter. I
passed over the barricade, and was horror-struck on
peroeiying the flames rushing firom every window of
the Ghiteau d'Eau, and mounting high above the roof.
A few scared and desperate wretches rushed out on the
terrace shrieking, and were shot one by one as they
appeared ; the rest remained inside, and were all burned
to death. Of the whole troop, as I afterwards learned,
not one escaped.
Heart-sick at this frightful butchery, I made my way
over dead and wounded, burning fragments of carriages,
and blackened stinking heaps of half-burned straw,
through a short street that led to the Place Carrouzel,
in which stands the ChAteau of the Tuileries.
The chief portion of the combatants who had been
engaged in the destruction of the Palais Royid and the
CbAteau d*£au had again formed into column. Here I
naturally expected a repetition of the soene I had just
quitted. I threw myself into their ranks. I now had a
musket and bayonet, besides a naked sword thrust
through my belt, which I had found by the side of an
officer of the Garde Municipale, in the Place du Palais
Royal. A ferocious-looking ruffian was mounted on a
dragoon's horse, which he fiutened to one of the royal
carriages, and drew it blazing, body and wheels, in front
of our column.
Onwards we marched; still no sign of resistance.
With drums beating in front, we passed through the
triumphal arch that ornamented the chief entrance of
the Tuileries. There was still some firing going on,
but nothing to wince at Onward we stOl marched,
crossing the courtyard in front of the chftteau, and
entering by the principal gate.
Here was a scene which, though difficult to describe,
will never be obliterated from my memory. It was a
most splendid palace, glittering in crimson and gold;
beautiful mirrors and paintings adorned the walls, and
magnificent chandeliers hung from the richly-sculptured
and gilded roofs. Marble statues and busts of celebrated
generals stood in one magnificent saloon. Rich crimson
hangings, fringed deeply with gold, were festooned from
the lofty windows, which reached from the roof to the
floor, opening to a magniflcent terrace overlooking the
garden. I ran from room to room, admiring all that in
the lapse of centuries art could produce or unbounded
wealth purchase.
I found myself at one time in the royal chapel, as yet
uninvaded by the lawless rabble that were quickly
spreading themselves all over the ch&teau. A feeling
of reverential awe came over me as I walked up to-
wards the high altar, where stood a large crucifix, seem-
ingly of>solid gold. Large wax candles, in massive
candlesticks, stood by the altar. This scene of religious
solitude contrasted strangely with the work of death and
destruction I had so recently quitted, and the noise and
turmoil resounding through the building.
After leaving the chapel, I hurried through many
splendid saloons and spacious halls, until I entered
the throne room. Here the work of destruction had
commenced. The throne was torn from under its
canopy, and borne away in frantic triumph by the mob.
I tore a piece of the gold lace from the gorgeous crimson
hanging, to preserve as a memento of the struggle.
And then began the plunder. Beautifi^ gilt panels
were dashed in ; desks, boxes, and bureaus were broken
open, and their contents scattered over the floor ; and
soon the palace was one scene of rapine and destruction.
Myself and a few others got into what I took to be the
housekeeper's room. A fire was still burning on the
hearth, a white doth spread on the table, and every pre-
paration for the morning repast. I took a loaf as my
share of the eatables, for which a fellow offered me a
bottle of brandy. I divided the loaf with him, and
drank rather too freely of the brandy. StimuUted by
the drink, I began to plunder with the rest, filling and
emptying my pockets a dozen times, as I found things
of more value.
Among other things, I found a large packet of various
commissions, ready signed and sealed with the royal
arms. How many months, and perhaps even years, had
some waited for those very commissions which I now
tossed into the courtyard as useless lumber ! Hanging
in a wardrobe I found a large and handsome cloak,
and as I had no pocket in which to place my ill-gotten
treasure, I enveloped myself in its capacious folds, and
sitting down on a sofa covered with rich crimson velvet,
with my gun on my arm, and my sword by my side,
quite enjoyed the fine prospect of the garden below.
Remembering that in 1830 the Tuileries were retaken
by the troops, I thought it most prudent to decamp
while I yet possessed the liberty. Descending the grand
staircase for that purpose, I came opposite a large
mirror, and never shall I forget my own disgusting ap-
pearance— my face flushed with excitement and drink,
begrimed with dirt and smoke, and my lips bUwk with
powder, while my eyes looked wild, bloodshot, and
unearthly.
On leaving the Tuileries, I was suddenly seized from
behind, and a man in a stentorian voice demanded
where I had procured my doak. Having no wish to
dispute tibe possession, I unfastened the chain, and
threw it at his feet, and then mingling with the mob,
made my exit
On revisiting the Palais Royal, I found the work of
destruction stiU going on. Three large fires blazed in
the courtyard, consuming silk and vdvet hangings,
gilded sofas, couches, arm-chairs, and massive pictures.
Hundreds now staggered about in every stage of intoxi-
cation, while a plentiful supply to continue their Bac-
chanalian revels was momentarily obtained from the
cellars. Passing through the court of the Palais Royal,
I saw a large arcade, usually fiUed by the fashionable
and gay, now converted into an hospital. Two long
lines of those very beds that I had seen thrown out of
the windows now supported the wounded, whose moans
and cries sounded mournfully in the ear. Not knowing
how the fight had gone on in other parts of Paris, I
thought it prudent to part with my gun before passing
through the Barrier Glichy ; but hiding my sword under
my blouse, I reached home in safety.
[ The remainder of this paper next weeh.']
MRS JAMESON'S LEGENDARY ART.
Thi: present age is accused, not without reason, of being
too utilitarian. The people generally, it is alleged, have
been intellectually sharpened and instructed in mate-
rialities, while but little attention has been paid to the
imaginative fedings : existence has been robbed of its
poetry. Efforts, however, we are glad to say, are now
making to redeem the passing generation from re-
proaches of this nature. Matters of taste and refined
art are now more attended to than they were a dozen
years since ; and in nothing is this more visible than
the improved style of church architecture and decora-
tion. The day is clearly gone when purity of rdigion
was supposed to be uncongenial with any building
better than a barn; painted windows are no longer
heretical; and the gospel, it is now believed, can be
preached with equal zeal and effect from a decently*
draped pulpit as from the top of a tub.
In all this, and much more, we see the reaction which
is the natural consequence of carrying out extreme views
adverse to those imaginative fedings that may be dor-
Wff«
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
mant in the human heart, but which no mere persuailon
of judgment or prejudice can utterly extinguish. While
thus in the dawn of a reTival in the spiriiuel in art, and
when lodety is looking back, as with a sigh, to the long
and needless abasement of the beautiful, an author has
•tepped forward to enlighten us respecting many of
thaw things which help^ in the olden time, to invest
rdigion with poetry, and which, though possibly in
themsdres worthless, tended in some degree to impart
a charm to the realities of existence. The work of
Mrs Jameson, to which we refer^* is professedly con-
! nected with, the arts of the sculptor and painter ; but
it bkewise, from necessity, embraces much of the le-
gendary lore on which artists founded their creations,
and in this respect it may be said to be a useful hand-
maid of history. At all events, the book will not be per-
used without pleasure by those whose fancy is inclined
to soar towards the confines of the spiritu^ world. It
treats of the origin of devotional legends, of emblems
and attributes df general application; angels, arch-
angels, and hierarchies ; apostles, fathers, and saints —
the whole illustrative of art, and particularly of church
deooratioo. Let us exemplUy some of these interesting
sulgecta.
Any one <m entering one of the fine old cathedrals of
England, will not be less struck with the general gran-
deur of efiect, than curious as to the meaning of a
variety of emblematic objects. In one or more of the
gorgeously-painted windows he will see figures of the
apostles : one depicted as holding a key ; another with
a sword in his hand ; a third hol(Ung a book ; and so on.
Now, whence the origin of these fancies ? From what
source has the artist learned to drape the figures, and
give each his suitable appointments? Again he sees that
certain figures representing saints are invested with a
hib of glory round the head. How did this idea origi-
nate? Again he observes that the representations of
those beatific beings, angels, are furnished with large
and feathery wings, while, as in the case of the demon
which the archangel Michael is seen trampling under
fiiot, the wings are those of a bat On these, and other
curiosities of archseology, the work before us offbrs ex-
planations which cannot but suggest many interesting
views of mental progress. Perhaps the most pleasing
part of the production is the autiior's disquisition on
aogels. ' There is something,' says she, * so very attrac-
tive and poetical, as well as soothing to our helpless
inite nature, in all the superstitions connected with
the popular notion of angels, that we cannot wonder at
their prevalence in the early ages of the world.* To
quote from Spenser :—
* How oft do they their lilTer bowers leave,
And oome to succour ua that eucoour want ?
How oft do tfaey with golden pinions cleave
The flitting ekiee, like flying pursuivant.
Against foul fiends, to aid us militant f
They for ue fight, they watch and duly ward,
And then bright squadrons round about ua plant,
And all for love, and nothing for reward I
Oh why should heavenly God to men have such regard ! '
After referring to the principal notices of angels, and
their attributes, in Scripture, the author refers to the
belief in angels which anciently prevailed in the East,
sod the treatment of the subject by different schools of
paiotefB. As messengers and as choristers, angels have
been depicted in the most lovely forms ; but little, it is
observed, has been done to illustrate their functions as
fssrdians. On this neglect Mrs Jameson has some
happy observations. • They are the deputed guardians
of the just and innocent St Raphael is the prince of
tiie guardian angels. The Jews held that the angels
deputed to Lot were his guardian angels. The fathers
of the Chrutian church taught that every human being,
from the hour of his birth to that of his death, is ac-
flwnpanied by an angel, appointed to watch over him.
The Mohammedans give to each of us a good and an evil
'fi^afmsaga
and Legendary Art, by Mrs Jameson. 2 vols. Blas-
BBgravlngai Longman, London. 1848.
angel ; but the early Christians supposed us to be at*
tended each by a good angel only, who undertakes that
office, not merely from duty to God, and out of obe-
dience and great humility, but as inspired by exceeding
charity and love towards his human charge. It would
require the tongues of angels themselves to recite all
that we owe to these benign and vigilant guardians.
They watch by the cradle of the new-born babe, and
spread their celestial wings round the tottering steps
of infancy. If the path of life be difficult and thorny,
and evil spirits work us shame and wo, they sustain us ;
they bear the voice of our complaining, of our suppli-
cation, of our repentance, up to the foot of GU)d's throne,
and bring us back in return a pitying benediction, to
strengthen and to cheer. When passion and temptation
strive for the mastery, they encourage us to resist;
when we conquer, they crown us ; when we falter and
fail, they compassionate and grieve over us ; when we
are obstinate in pollutiog our own souls, and perverted
not only in act, but in will, they leave us ; and wo to
them that are so left! But the good angel does not
quit his charge until his protection is despised, rejected,
and utterly repudiated. Wonderful the fervour of their
love — wonderful their meekness and patience, who
endure from day to day the spectacle of the unveiled
human heart wiUi all its miserable weaknesses and vani-
ties, its inordinate desires and selfish purposes 1 Con-
stant to us in death, they contend against the powers
of darkness for the emancipated spirit . . . When at
length the repentant soul is sufficiently purified, the
guardian angel bears it to the bosom of tlie Saviour.'
This may be wild, according to the world's notion,
but we confess we are sufficiently poetical to embrace
the belief in almost its literal sense. It gives us comfort
to know that a messenger of God — a spirit of Divine
grace — is watchful over our temporal concerns. Better
at least for mankind that they should possess so con-
fiding a faith, than that they trampled the spiritual
altogether under foot.
With respect to legendary art as applied to repre-
sentations of the saints and fathers of the church, it is
instructive to observe how circumstances and appear-
ances have led to myths, which ultimately obtained
universal credence. The human mind longing after
the infinite and marvellous, ignorant of the principles
which produce the ordinary phenomena of nature, has
been prone to myths; and indeed all knowledge may
be said to pass through the mythic stage. A myth is
a story of the marvellous and preternatural, such as the
history of the heathen gods ; but it is frequently asso-
ciated with local appearances, which are supposed to be
accounted for by its details. Every village has its myth.
If there be a huge mound of earth, which nobody knows
the origin of, it is said to be the grave of a giant, who
lived in these parts long ago. If there be two round
holes in the face of a rock at the distance of perhaps a
foot from each other, they are Samson's span. If there
be a row of large boulder stones on a moor, these were
laid down by a celebrated wizard. Such are familiar
examples of the myth. The pictures of the fathers are
half mythic. St Jerome was reputed to be as bold as a
lion ; this talk of his lion^like character was expanded
into a story, in which a lion performs a part ; and the
saint is accordingly always painted in company with a
lion. Here is the myth : — * We read in th» legendary
history of St Jerome,* proceeds our authoress,- * that one
evening, as he sat within the gates of his monastery at
Betlilehem, a lion entered, limping, as in pain ; and all
the brethren, when they saw the lion, fled in terror.
But Jerome arose, and went forward to meet him, as
though he had been a guest ; and the lion lifted up his
paw, and St Jerome, on examining it, found that it was
wounded by a thorn, which he extracted ; and he tended
the lion till he was healed. The grateful beast remained
with his benefactor, and Jerome confided to him the
task of guarding an ass which was employed in bring-
ing firewood from the forest. On one occasion, the lion
having £fone to sleep while the ass was at i>asture, some
rUTiTU
±!
8
(mAMB£RS*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
merchants passing by carried away the latter, and the
lion, after searching for him in vain, returned to the
monastery with drooping head, as one ashamed. St
Jerome, believing that he had devoared his companion,
commanded that the daily task of the ass should be
laid upon the lion, and that tho fagOts should be bound
on his back; to which he magnanimously submitted,
until the ass was recovered; which was in this wise:
One day the lion, having finished his task, ran hither
and thither, still seeking his companion ; and he saw
a' caravan of merchants approaching,* and a string or
camels, which, according to the Arabian custom, w6f6
led by an ass ; and when the lion recognised his friend;
b^ drove the calnels into the cbnyent, and so terrified
the' mei'Cliants, that they confessed the theft, and re^
c&ived paVdon from St Jerome.'
•THie stories of patron saints overcoming huge serpents
and fiery dragons are all myths, founded on the dis-
covery of saurian remains of a, large 'si^e;- The skeleton
of a marvellously larg^ re|)tile is found somewhere, and
forthwith an imaginary hero called St George is mounted
on a charger, 'and kills the terrible creature with his
spear, j We are,' however, half sorry for havihg to un-
veil' tliese pc(t>ular- my^hs ; • and recommending ~ Mrs
JahiAOfi's' fascinating. bdOk to the p^rusal.fand tfot' too
pVolmic' judgment of our readers, we.'dl^vdude'with' a
very pltetty myth, founded - on the -i^pilted * bodily
strength^of St Christopher : — '. *v'i^».i *
* Chriltopher was ' of Xhe land i of^ Oanaaa, . and the
nnfne by wl^ch' . he^was ' thibre • knbwn was 1 0fi^o.' lie
WAS a man of colbsfiilf statuT^, 'ahd of a tei^ible aspect,
atid being proud of hi^ vast bulk and strength; he was
resolved- ttet^e would serve no other than the greatest
and the most povierful monarch that existed. So he
travelled fair and wide to seek this greatest 'of kings;
and at length he came py the court of a certain monarch
who was said to exceed in power and riches all the
kings of the earth, and he offered to serve him; t And
the king, seeing his great height and strength — for
surely, since the giant of Gath, there had been ndne
like to him—entertidned him with joy. . . »
* Now it happened one day, as Christopher stood by
the king in his court, there came a minstrel who «ung
before the king, and in his story there was frequent
mention of the devil, and every time the'kipgiieard the
name of the Evil Spirit he crossed himself. Christopher
inquired the reason of this gesture, but the. king did not
answer. Then said Christopher, ** If thou teliest me not,
I leave thee!" So the king told him. '^Imake that
sign to preserve me from the power of Satan; for I fear
lest be overcome .me and slay me.'* Then said Christo-
pher, ** If thou fe&rest Satan, then thou art not* the most
powfirful prince in : the world: thou hast deceived me.
I will go seek this Satan, and him will I s6rve; for he
is. mightier than thou art". So he departed, and he
tr^veUed far and wide ; and as he ccossed a' desert plain,
he Jb^helti a. great crowd of armed men, and .at. their
head mafcl^ed a terrible and frightful; boing,- with the'
air of a conqueroi:; ^nd he .stopped Christopher on his
path, saying, " Man, where goest thou?" And Christo-
p)ier answered, ** I go to. seek Satan, because he is the
greatest prince in the world, -and t him ;Wj6uld.I seitvcV-
Xlien the other replied, "I am; he: seek' no farther."
jit^n Christopher bowed down before him, and entered
liis Service ;. and they travelled on together.
* Now -when they had journeyed a long long way,
they came, to a place where four roads met, and there
was a cross by .the .wayside. When the Evil One saw
the cross, he was seized .with fear, and trembled vio-
ifioily ; and he turned b^cl^ and made a great circuit
to avoid it. When Christopher saw this he was asto-
nished, and inquired, "Why hast thou dope so?"— and
the devU answered not. Then said Christopher, "If
tbou tallest me not, I leave thee." So,.beiug thus con-
strained, the fiend replied, " Upon, tjiat cross died Jesus
Cliri*t;-a»d when I behold it,- 1 must tremble and fly,
for 1 fear him." Then Christopher was more and
more astonished ; and he said, " How, then I this Jesus,
whom thou fearest, must be more potent than thou
art ! I will go seek him, and him will I serve I " So he
left the devil, and travelled far and wide, seeking Christ ;
and having sought him for many days, he came to the
cell of a holy hermit, and desired of him that he would
show him Christ Then the hermit began to instruct
him diligently, and said, " This king whom thou seekest
is inde^ the Great King of heaven and earth ; but if
thou wouldst serve Him, He will impose many and hard
duties on thee. Thou must fast often." And Christo-
pher said, '* I will not fast ; for surely if I were to fast,
hiy strength would leave me." " And thou must pray ! "
fldd^ the hermit Said Christopher, " I know nottung
of prayers, and I will not be bound to such a service."
Then said the hermit, ** Knowest thou a certain river,
stony, and wide, and deep, and often swelled by the
i'ains, and wherein many people perish who attempt to
pass over?" And he answered, "I know it" Then
said the hermit, " Since thou wilt neither fast nor pray,
go to that river, and use thy strength to aid and to save
those who struggle with the stream, and those who are
about to perish. It may be that this good work shall
prove acceptable to Jesus Christ whom thou desirest
to serve, and that he may manifest himself to thee ! "
To which Christopher replied joyfully, •* This I can do.
It is a service that pleaseth me well I " So he went, as
the hermit had directed, and he dwelt by the side of
the river ; and having rooted up a palm-tree from the
forest — so strong he was and tall — he used it for a stafiT
tS support and guide his steps, and he aided those who
were about to sink, and the weak he carried on his
Shoulders across the stream ; and by day and by niglit
he -was always ready for his task, and failed not and
nas never, wearied of helping those who needed help.
So the thing .that he did pleased our Lord, who looked
di^wn npbn:him.out of heaven, and said within himself,
"Behold this strong man, who knoweth not yet the
way to worship me, yet Iiath found the way to serve
me I"
* * Now wh^n Christopher had spent many days in this
toil, it came to' pass ode night as he rested himself in
a-hut he had^built of boughs, he heard a voice which
called to him-firom.the shore : it was the plaintive voice
of. a child, and -it seemed to say, "Christopher, come
fofth and carry me over I" And he rose forthwith and
looked out but sftfv. nothing ; then he lay down again ;
but the voice called to him in the same words a second
aqd a third time ; 4ind the third time he sought round
about with a lantern ; and at length he beheld a little
clflld sitting .on the bauk^ who besought him, saying,
" Christopher, carry me over this night" And Chris-
topher lifted the child on his strong shoulders, and took
his staff and entered the stream. And the waters rose
higher and higher, and the waves roared, and the winds
blew ; and the infant on his shoulders became heavier,
and still heavier, till it seemed to him that he most
sink under the excessive weight and he began to fear ;
but ncvertrieless taking courage, and staying his totter-
ing steps with his palm staff, he at length reached the
Opposite bank ; and when he had laid the child down,
safely and gently, he looked upon him with astonish-
ment, and he said, "Who art thou, child, that hath'
placed me in such extreme peril ? Had I carried the
whole world on my shoulders, the burden had not been
heavier !" And the child replied, " Wonder not Chris-
topher, for thou hast not only borne the world, but Him
>Yho made the world, upon thy shoulders. Me wouldst
thou serve in this thy work of charity ; and behold I
have accepted thy service; and in testimony that I
have accepted thy service and thee, plant thy staff in
the ground, and it shall put forth leaves and fruit"
Christopher did so, and the dry staff flourished as a
palm-tree in the season, and was covered with clusters
of dates ; but the miraculous child had vanished. Then
Ctiristopher fell on his face, and confessed and wor-
shipped Christ'
In virtue of his services on the above occasion,
Offero, the bearer, added the prefix Christ to his name,
I
I
^3C
C&AMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
t
forming the word Chrittopher. The legend has been
fjoely illustrated by Albert Durer, who represents
Chrittopher wadiog through a deep river, leaning on a
staSl and carrying the infant Savioar on his shoulders.
By a snperadded myth, St Christopher is the helper of
those who struggle with dangers and difficulties.
A CHAPTER ON ODD PEOPLE.
'Yes, sir,' said Dr Johnson once in reply to a remark
of Boswdl ; * every man who has brains is eccentric,
because he sees and thinks for himself; and if he did
not, minds would be all cut with compasses, and no
rational man could endure society.' Doubtless the
kriathan of literature, as both friends and enemies
called him in his day, had learned, by means of his
proverbial love of * a good talk,' how much social life
is enlirened by occasional obliquities of taste, and even
ofjndgment
' Defend me from pattern ladies and men of rule ! '
was the petition of a rather unruly poet, in which
many who are not poets will be found to concur, for
there seems a natural association between dulness and
nniformityJ Tet the widest deviations from received
ideas, as regards external matters, are not always made
by the abl<»t thinkers. All the world has heard, and
probably b^ this time got tired, of the eccentricities of
genina. • TTiey have been largely reported, and still
more largely imitated, particularly. those of the discre-
ditable kind, since it was found out that great wit was
allied to madness. Numbers who could never reach
the former have adopted the latter as its nearest rela-
tion, forgetful that they were affecting only what had
disgraced their betters, and too frequently that which
would have disgraced any grade of mind.
Bot the age for such affectations, even of the harm-
less order, is past ; eccentricity is now known to be one
of the liabiUtieS| not the consequence, of genius, and has
been most prominently displayed in those who had no
genius at aU.
These are smoothing-down days, and peculiarities
appear above the surface more rarely than they did in
1»8 polishing times; but uncelebrated oddities may
stiD be encountered in every by-way and corner of life.
The upland hamlet, the rural village, or the small
otmotry town, can generally boast a Miss or Mr
Whimsy of its own, whose out-of-the-way sayings and
doings win return among the pleasures of memory to
•ome of its scattered denizens in far-off scenes and
ywrs. Even in great cities, where the perpetual
though changeful currents of business and society are
ealctilated to wear away the angularities of minds and
Dttnners, it is wonderful in what perfection they still
eziit
The first Charles Mathews used to describe three
tneagre brothers, all men of business in New York, who
always had their garments made double the fitting size,
in order to save time and trouble in case their respec-
tive corporations should increase, an occurrence which
Appeared |»^bable to them alone. The residents of
another busy street in that same western city, about
twenty years ago, may recollect an old man whose
whim was still more remarkable. He was a bachelor
*ith a decent income ; and, strange to say, no miser,
Atoogh he lived utterly alone, acted as his own attendant
in every department of housekeeping, and never ad-
Bitted a tingle feminine assistant, as his special ambi-
tion was to be what he called independent of women,
^heee were those who said the old boy had been slighted
flviggdeved by tome of the sex in his younger days ;
perhaps the story originated only in conjecture, but the
advocates of woman's rights and mission would have
been astonished at the legion of wrongs he could
muster up when denouncing female tyranny, under
which he affirmed the whole creation groaned. No
misfortune, great or small, ever happened to any man
within his knowledge which he could not trace, by a
most elaborate process of reasoning, to some female
hand. And one of his chief doctrines was, that no man
could admit one of the fair (by courtesy) within the
walls of his domicile and escape absolute slavery. To
preserve his own liberty, therefore, this original phi-
losopher superseded the ladies in actual service, from
stitching shirts to maklagMea. He is said to have
acquired extraordinary proficiency, particularly in the
former art, and always boasted to his friends that he
was one independent man.
Lingerers in the state' of celibacy are popularly be-
lieved to be more addicted to eccentricity than the
wedded of mankind ; on which belief a minutely inge-
nious philosopher once suggested the inquiry, * Whether
being single was the .'cause of their singularity, or vice
versdf Certain' ifis that the special characteristics of
the New York bachelor could eiist in no other condi-
tion; yet it may be hoped that all the single are not
singular, especisJly as some odd actors are occasionally
found anoong the doubly-blessed.
I knew a married lady whose peculiar taste in dress
formed the standing topic of conversation to the fairer
portion of a country parish. She had been an heiress
in a small way, and could therefore command some of
the sinews of fashion ; but she said no milliner should
ever dictate to her, for she had an original fancy, and
would not be put in uniform. This resolution she kept
with the zeal of a patriot ; never was the regimentalism
of costume more defied than in the cut of her garments,
while the boasted originality was displayed in an ar-
rangement of colours, and an adaptation of materials,
which set at naught all toilet regulations. Her fa-
vourite winter attire was a white flannel cloak lined
with scarlet. She delighted in tartan boots ; and when
I last heard of her, she had just horrified the ladies of
the neighbourhood by trimming her bonnet with broad-
cloth.
Perhaps the roost ordinary and unobtrusive form of
eccentricity is favouritism with regard to certain articles.
There was a man of rank some years ago in Paris,
known to his acquaintances by the soubriquet of *the
shoe-gatherer,' from his habit of heaping up boots and
shoes, new and old, till a large room in his residence
was necessarily set apart for the purpose of containing
them ; and he was said rarely to have passed a shop of
the kind without ordering home an additional supply.
A clergyman of my native village took a similar de-
light in wigs ; and a hundred and fifty * time defiers,' as
a London wit designated those articles, were sold by
auction on the good man's premises after his death.
The rarest instance of this description I ever knew was
that of a farmer whose enthusiasm rested on pots. Ho
bought them, large and small, on every possible pretext,
to the confusion of the kitchen-maid and the annoyance
of his helpmate ; till the latter, having a small taste of
the Tartar in her composition, at length declared war
against pot metal, and eventually won the day so far,
that, on her husband's occasional visits to the nearest
market town, she was wont to shout after him the fol-
lowing adjuration, * Mind, bring no pots home with
you!* Her injunction was generally obeyed, for the
lady might not be provoked with impunity. But when
10
CHAMBEES'S EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
a supernumerary dram warmed the farmer*a fancy, it
would fometimea reTert to the ancient channel, and he
has been luiown to deposit a pot or two at a neighbour-
ing cottage, as the dread of probable oonsequenoet oc-
curred with the sight of his own chimney smoke.
Some persons are eccentric in their curiosity, and a
troublesome kind of oddity it is at times to their neigh-
hours, as they are apt to ask all manner of inconvenient
questions. A family dispute, a lost situation, or a
failure in business, is among their chosen subjects;
and by way of securing authentic information, they
make a point of applying to the parties most concerned,
It was a genius of this order who, when Talleyrand was
dismissed firom office by the Emperor, sent him a long
letter ezpUcitiy detailing all the reports in circulation
against him, and concluding with a polite request to be
informed which of them was true. A similar character
on our own side of the British Channel one day mis-
taking Tyrone Power for a captain of his acquaintance
who had just quitted the service under equivocal circum*
stances, seized the comedian by the button at Charing
Cross, with, * Oh, Captain Blake, I was sorry to hear it
— 'pon my honour I was — but were you actually ca-
shiered for cowardice?'
' I have not the honour to be Captain Blake, sir,* said
Power, still led along by the button ; * and when you
meet that gentleman, I advise you not to press the
question.'
* Why/ laid the blunt of brain, < oouldn't he tell me
best?'
* Ah yes, my dear fellow,' responded Power benevo-
lently { * but he might kick you I '
Probably the most eccentric expression of grief re-
corded is that of Madame du Defiand, of Walpole noto-
riety, who, being informed in the midst of a large party
that one of her intimate friends had died some hours
before, Maculated, * H€la$ t I shall not be able to take
any supper I'
Eccentric prejudices are comparatively common : one
occasionally meets with individuab who regard the use
of animal food as the cause of all the ills that flesh is heir
to ; and a gentleman, formerly residing in Kent, put his
confidence entirely in turnips as their universal remedy.
Constitutional antipathies or affinities, unaccountable
as they are in them^lves, would perhaps account for
these notions, as well as for those eccentric preferences
of sights, sounds, and odours, which are otherwise in-
explicable. Persons have been known to dislike the
smell of roses, and rather prefer t^at of garlic ; others
have relished the rasping of a file; and the Dutch
doctor, who saw nothing in all Paris to admire but the
shambles, has doubtless brethren in many lands.
There are, however, peculiarities of taste which have
their origin in the higher ground of our nature, and
belong to minds of a finer fobrio. Charles Lamb con-
fessed that he admured a squint, because a girl to whom
he had been attached in early life squinted prodigiously;
and a lady of my acquaintance once thought a club-foot
interesting, from similar recollections. It is strange
how seldom eccentricity takes an elevating or even an
agreeable form : odd ways are rarely those of pleasant-
ness, or peace either; though many of the world's .not-
ables have indulged in them, as stands recorded by better
pens and ampler pages than mine. It is not always
genius that makes one differ from his neighbours, but
some heavy strength of character, considerable obsti-
nacy, and at times right royal virtues, may be found
among the oddfellows of creation.
One of the best-principled women I ever knew was
possessed with a restless anxiety to learn not only the
Christian names of every person she chanced to encoun-
ter, but those of all their relations in the ascending line.
Her inquiriea, which were vigorously pushed forward
in all companies, sometimes created most ludicrous
annovance to the parties interrogated, though I cannot
recollect an instance of her getting beyond the great
grandfather.
It has been observed that singular tastes and habits are
less frequently found among the working-classes than in
the superior ranks ; the pressing necessities of life gene-
rally requiring the utmost exertions of the form^ in
continuous laU)ur, leave them neither time nor means
for indulging in peculiarities. There is no scope for
eccentricity in such circumstances ; yet where the bent
is strong, it will make room for itself! Some years
ago a northern town of England, once femoxu in Bor-
der history, and now of some importance on one of
our great rsilway lines, received an addition to its in-
habitants, whose mode of conducting his pilgrimage
through life, considering the path in which he jour-
neyed, was something original. He was a man about
thirty, tall, handsome, and of that sort of air gen^«lly
known as genteel, on which point his singularity seemed
to rest The man avowed himself to be a native of
London ; his business was the sale and manufacture of
muffins ; and no one, so far as I heard, thought of in-
quiring after his name. He lived in a small cottage in
Uie suburbs of the town, to which neither assistant, at-
tendant, nor visitor was known to have been admitted.
There he made his muffins, and thence he issued to
supply his various customers as regularly as the English
breakfast-hour came round. But no London exquisite,
prepared for a lounge in Bond Street or the Park, could
appear with more foshionably-cut coat, faultless hat, or
more stainless linen ; from the polish of his boots to the
whiteness of his gloves he was a perfect Brummd,
always excepting the basket over his arm, which, how-
ever, was ingeniously contrived to resemble that usually
carried by anglers. Out of that array be was never
seen on the street How it could be obtained or
kept in order was a daily renewed wonder. People
said there was a very different dress worn at the cot-
tage ; and all the tailors of the town affirmed he made
his own garments, as to the business of none had he
given the smallest addition. His solitary leisure was
spent in cleaning gloves, brushing up matters gene-
rally, and disciplining a couple of shirts ; for that morn-
ing-sally was the joy of his life, and to be occasionally
mistaken for a gentleman dandy, his only aim and re-
ward. This devoutly-wished-for consummation he at-
tained at times, and one instance of it served to amuse
the townspeople, to whose knowledge it came, for many
a day. The daughter of a respectable merchant who
had just returned from a London boarding-school, with
a large importation of airs, and a profound admiration
for everything showy and useless, chanced to meet the
incomparable recluse on the first of her morning walks.
The young lady came home overflowing with what she
ddled the romantic circumstance of a distinguished
young nobleman actually coming to rusticate in such
a place on pretext of angling in the celebrated salmon
river. She knew he was Frederick Beauchamp, the
brother of her particular friend Lady Theresa, daughter
of the Earl of , who had introduced him to her just
before leaving school. He had looked very much at
her : she would bow to him on the next occasion.
True to her resolution, she sallied forth on the follow-
ing day after an hour's extra dressing, and encountered
the object of her solicitude on his usual morning rounds.
Miss took the opportunity of saluting him in the
crowded street before two elderly acquaintances, and
her nod was most gravely returned.
*He cannot recollect me, I am io much grown 1'
said she in a loud whisper.
*Do you know him?' inquired one of the ladies in
company.
'Oh yes!' responded miss. *Imet him frequently
in London.'
* Indeed!' replied the querist; 'he has been here
fbr two years, and they call him the Muffin-Man.'
Her neighbours averred that, after that revelation.
■WW*!
mmrmm^m
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
11
the particiilar friend of Lady TheresA was never in a
harry to reoogntae diatingniished^looking strangers ; but
with the eooentrtc muffin-man dose my recollections of
oddities.
CURIOSITIES OF TRADE.
AxoNO the benefits which ciYiUsation confers on man-
kiod, the friends oi utility have ever indaded the num-
ber and variety o€ eroplo3nments it furnishes for their
various talents and abilities. Since labour is evidently
appointed to man, not only by the constitution of his
natoTB, but by those necessities to which the great ma-
jority of our species are born, and since laws equally
inevitable have produced an endless difference of indi-
vidual capacity, the increase of occupations, always
sioepting those of a demoralising tendency, by en-
largnig the scope of energy, and multiplying the means
of subsistence, is at once the natural resource and the
best protection of sodety.
Dmibtless the oldest professions were those of the
hunter, the fisherman, and the husbandman. They
sre ail that now exist among savage tribes ; and it is
lemarkable that the last is invariably the least valued.
The cultivation of the soil, natural and primitive as it
sesms, has always been considered beneath the savage
■MO, and left to the inferior abilities of his wife. * Would
you have me lay aside the bow and spear, and hoe corn
like a squaw ?* said a Mohawk Indian, when, after com-
piainiog of the scarcity of game to a Moravian mis-
nonary, the latter advised him to employ himself in
pbnting with maize a piece of rich prairie ground on
which they stood. Probably the ancient British war-
riors, who wore the hide of the wild bison, and made
their javi^ns of deers' horns, regarded what they knew
of sgricultare with no less contempt Unluckily, a
respect for useful industry does not yet remain to be
soquired only by savages, nor has the proper distri-
botion of labour advanced as far beyond the Mohawk's
ideas as one may hope the progress of things will carry
it] but the paths which human ingenuity has already
strnd: out for itself in the course of that progression,
are not more varied than remarkable in their windings
through the different phases of dvilisation.
The modes of daily labour generally denominated
trades, present some varieties curiously adapted to the
demands of times and countries in whidi they are found
to flourish.
In the east of Asia, where black teeth are admired,
from China to Kamtckatka, the profession of a tooth-
Btainer is quite as extensively followed, and in no less
repute, than that of the European dentist, whose place
it occupies. The duties annexed are, however, less
comprehensive, being almost restricted to the blacking
pro»Ms, which, in a thousand cases, must be found more
convenient than our contrary requisition. Dental dis-
eases are by no means of such frequent occurrence in
those regions as among the nations of Europe; and
physidans have ascribed the fact to the simpler diet of
the people, and the thoughtless, indolent current in
which their lives flow on — scarcdy more chequered by
diange or mental exdtement than those of their sheep
or cattle, which keep their teeth equally sound. The
blacking business is practised by both sexes, and some
of its chiefs enjoy considerable reputation and emolu-
ment from the permanence of their dye, and the jetty
pdish imparted by their art ; the secrets of which are
kept with Oriental tenacity, more especially from the
barbarians, as Europeans are politely termed, the pro-
fession being determined against sharing their profits
with them.
There is a description of trade, we believe, confined
to China, and highly characteristic of its sodal condi-
tion. The Chinese name, which literally signifies gossip-
monger, may sound rather new to British ears in con-
nection with a paying vocation ; yet such it is, and it is
handsomely remunerative. A number of elderly ladies,
ienetally widows, make it their business to collect gossip,
on ditt, and stories of all sorts, with which they re-
pair to the houses of the rich, announdng their arrival
by beating a small drimi, which they carry fbr that
purpose, and offer their services to amuse the ladies
of the family. When it is recollected that shopping,
public assemblies, and even morning calls, are idl but
forbidden to the beauty and fashion of China by their
country's notions of both propriety and feet, some
idea may be formed of the wdcome generally given to
these reporting dames. They are paid according to the
time employed, at the rate of about half-a-crown an
hour, and are besides in the frequent receipt of presents
— their occupation affording many opportunities of
making themsdves generally useful in matters of court-
ship, rivalry, and etiquette. On these accounts they
generally retire firom business in easy drcumstances,
but are said never to do so unless obliged by actual in-
firmity ; and the Chinese remark that theirs is the only
profession to which its practitioners are uniformly
attached by inclination.
In most Mohammedan countries there exists a trade
not less indicative of their peculiar customs. It is fol-
lowed by a similar description of persons, but some-
what inferior in rank to the gossip-c&spensers of China.
Like them, they are generally old and solitary women,
and called dellalehs^ or female brokers. They go from
house to house, collecting those specimens of needle-
work on which the inmates of the harem employ their
abundant Idsure. Purses, veils, embroidered shawls,
and other appendages of Eastern fashion, are thus fabri-
cated and intrusted to the dellaleh, who sells them to
wealthier or less industrious ladies. From the very
nature of her business, she knows where one article may
be found and another is wanted, and so conducts a spe-
dea of domestic commerce, from which considerable
profits are said to be realised by the workers. Their
industry is encouraged by the exdusive possession of
the money thus acquired, it being inalienable, even in
the case of slaves; and Lane, in his edition of the
* Arabian Nights,' supplies an instance of one of these
girls, who privately gave her lover a sum of money
from her own earnings, sufficient to purchase her in
the public market. The dellalehs receive a small com-
mission on their sales, and are usually trustworthy, as
the contrary conduct would upset their business. They
are also enabled to do a trifle in the gossipping line,
and there are none more wdcome visitors to an Eastern
household.
The profession of a dancer is common over all Asia,
and practised chiefly by women. In social position and
general repute they resemble the ballet-girls of Europe ;
but wanting the accessories of the stage, which has
scarcdy a representative in Eastern lands, they never
attain to the extravagant success of our Taglionis or
Elsslers. Their business is to attend at banquets and
merrymakings of all sorts, and dance for the amusement
of the company, being remunerated according to time,
and generally receiving some gratuity from the richer
or more liberal guests, who admire and criticise their
performance ; but no person of respectability would be
seen to dance in those countries, where a ball, there-
fore, is out of the question.
There was a trade transplanted in old times to Italy,
it was said, by the early Crusaders, who brought it, with
some other arts, from Asia, where remnants of the pro-
fession still exist, particularly among the Arabs : the
practitioners were called in Italian ricondetii^ or story-
tellers, and their trade consisted entirdv of relating
long and marvellous narrations, many of which they
were believed to invent for the purpose of keeping the
time of the nobility from hanging heavy on their hands
when it was not employed in either War or tourna-
ment In times when none but priests could read,
these men must have done some service to the com-
munity. Many of the wealthier barons retained story-
tellers of their own in constant pay ; and others of the
profession went itom castle to castle, and from town to
town, in search of custom, charging so much per tale -,
12
CnAMBEBS*S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
And thej Mit Mid to haire prefleired and tnnsmitted
in tfau maooer moat of the old and popular romaooef
of Enrope.
The progrets of the prest, comparatiTely slow as it
has been in Italj, has loojr since superseded this pro-
fession, as it is prohaUe the adrance of the school-
master will that of the letter-writer, which is still a
tolerably remoneratiire bnsioeas in the soathem diri-
sion of the continent. About the middle of the last
ccntnrj it had attained its zenith in Paris, and manj of
the chief practitioners kept regular offices, with name-
rons clerks, appointed, according to their abilities, for
the different orders of epistles, the composition of which
they were expected to manage as well as the penman-
ship. Thus one was in the application line, which pro*
vince included all letters of inquiry addressed to public
offices, and those of people in search of situations. Next
c;imc the friendly dirision : it comprehended all cor-
respondence with relatives or mere acquaintances. But
the principal and most laborious was the lore depart-
ment, which required a double supply of hands. A
facility in the imitation of different handwritings was
an acknowledged recommendation to this employment,
and its confidential secrecy was respected eren by the
police of the period.
It is worthy of remark that the professed letter-
writer never appeared among the trades of England, in
those very times of education so graphically described
by a popular poetaster —
' Wh«n not a nun f n twenty noore
Knew how to make hU mark.'
The nearest approach to it was the occupation of a
small number then called clerks, but generally poor un-
beneficed clergymen, or ill-provided students, residing
in large towns, who were employed to write news-letters,
or summaries of the current intelligence, to the more
curious of the nobility when abroad or in the country :
their vocation fiourished chiefly in the Elizabethan age,
at the close of which it began to wane before that great
adjimct of modem life — the newspaper ; but some re-
mains of it arc observable in the time of the Protec-
torate, and it does not seem to have been totally extinct
at the Revolution.
There are still older and equally superannuated trades
that figure in the records of what may be called Eng-
land*s rustic times. One of them (and a contrast it is
to the last-mentioned) was that of a pewterer. The
manufacture of pewter -ware appears to have been
almost peculiar to England, and was esteemed an affair
of national pride and profit about the beginning of
the fifteenth century, when the guild of pewterers was
incorporated in the city of London, and a law, die-
tilted by the narrow policy of the age, prohibited under
severe penalties any who understood the art and mys-
tery of pewter-making from going beyond the four seas
of itritain, or taking the son of an alien as an appren-
tice, on any pretext whatever. It is strange to look on
the old disused plates and flagons which may yet be
seen in some out-of-the-way farm-house — the only rem-
nants of once bright and ample rows — and think on
how many subjects public opinion has changed, as well
as on pewter, since parliament passed that statute.
A trade in many respects contemporary with the pew-
terers, was tiiat known as a woman's tailor ; for singular
ns it may sound, the dressmakers of our female ancestors
belonged entirely to the rougher sex. Whether this
arrangement originated in the fashions of former times,
wliiuli prescribed the same substantial materials for the
external garments of both lord and lady, dividing their
rich velvets, heavy silks, and fine broadcloths equally
bc'tween them,#with comparatively small difference of
form ; or whether it was owing to a practical paradox
in their social economy, similar to that which occupies
tall fellows with gauze and gumfiowers in our modern
shops— is now too distant for our discovery ; but the
profession continued to stitch and prosper till the be-
ginning of Charles I.*s reign, when his queen, Henrietta
Maria, introdooed at once that article of dress called
the Dumtua, and its feminine Csbricator, as a French
improvement, to the ladies of her court ; on which ac-
count the term mantuamaker was applied to needle-
women in general, almost to our own times. Shakspeare,
in one of his dramas, introduces a disciple of the art
referred to, in terms which indicate how low a place the
kirtle-making man h^ in popular respect.
A branch of female industry which rote with his de-
cline, has long since merged in the complicated duties
of the laundress ; but in the latter days of Elizabeth,
few professions in England were more remunermtire
than that of a starcher. Stififness was then the order of
dress ; and a divine of the period complains that the
court starchers were more esteemed and better paid
than the court diaplaina. How far that preposterous
preference may have weighed with the pulpit, it ia not
fbr us to decide; but sundry sermons were preached
against starch : yet in the reign of Charies IL it ap-
pears that the apprentice fees required by a professor of
the art were LIO for boiling, and L.5 for putting on —
a smart sum, as money was then estimated.
An observant statist has renuu-ked that the only
trade which has become extinct in Scotland for many
centuries, is that of the professional beggar or blue-
gown, a humble but signiflcant feature of his times.
One of the most primitive and longest -perpetuated
trades is that of the gem-seeker of Bohemia, the rocks
of that mountainous and yet wild country being
known to contain a great variety of stones valued by
the jeweller. The opal, jasper, and amethyst, are found
imbedded in their crevices; and in the search for
these the gem-seeker spends his days. He goes into
the wilds a solitary man, like the chamois-hunter of the
Alps ; but canying, in lieu of his rifle and ammunition,
a chisel, a hammer, and a small wooden mallet stuck
in his belt, from which hangs a pouch to contain the
gems. He is generally of the peasant class, and not
particularly re^ilar in his habits, a too frequent accom-
paniment of uncertain earnings, which those of the
gem-seeker must be ; but as a class, their patience and
skill in tracing out the objects of their search are aaid
to be almost incredible ; and there are current a thou-
sand tales of fortunate men who bofught lands and built
castles with the proceeds of a single day's discovery.
However, these stories generally date from distant
times.
Popular superstition or credulity has given ground
for several singular and sometimes profitable trades;
such as the rain-makers of Africa, the serpent-charmers
of India, and the fortune-tellers, dream-readers, and
finders of stolen goods, so trusted in Europe's darker
days, and still known through some lowly represen-
tatives in its backward corners. It is, however, con-
solatory to think that so few really useful trades have
been lost or superseded in the course of ages, compared
with the many avenues of exertion opened by an in-
creased demand for the conveniences and refinements
of life. Strange it is, too, in spite of the familiarity
consequent on everyday recurrence, to reflect how
many of the employments of mankind are full of risk
and danger: the diver, the miner, and the fireman^
have dreadful trades, as well as the * one that gathera
samphire.* They are indeed, to quote fh>m a Ger-
man philosopher, * ennobled by utility ;' and as the
butcher remarked of his own ungentle craft, ' some-
body must do it.' Doubtless the reconciling power of
habit may be largely reckoned on ; and in tihis portion
of the curiosities of trade, an honest Savoyard's expe-
rience, though belonging to the last century, seems to
deserve a place for its singularity. He had been obliged
to leave his native valleys in search of work, and could
flnd none but that of making wooden shoes for the
French peasants among whom he settled ; in process of
time the sabots such as the Savoyard made went out of
fashion, and then he betook himself to the sweeping of
chimneys. Some years after a mine was opened in the
district, and the Savoyard became a collier, but still
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
13
laryiag matters with his second profession : when he
went down a shaft, the worthy man was wont to thank
bis stars that it was not up a flue ; and when on the
sooty ascension, his thanksgivings were equally fervent
that he was not going down to the mine ; hut he always
assail his friends that neither of them was so bad as
the making of sabots.
CENTRAL AUSTRALIA.
It is strange that the immense island, or small conti-
nenk of Australia, although bordered with British co-
lonies, should be still in great part a land of darkness
and mystery, similar to those expanses on which,
when figured in their maps, our ancestors used to write
the words terra incognita. But so it is. Repeated at-
tempts have been made to explore its interior; but
to the present moment we cannot tell whether this
portion of the British dominions contains such inland
seas as we find in America, or is laid out in almost
iotennlnable deserts of sand, earth, or stones. Captain
Start, one of the most persevering and enterprising of
the Australian pioneers of science, has just publish^ a
narrative of his explorations; and although he is far
from solving the enigma, we think it may be well to
relate briefly what he has really accomplished, and thus
to put our readers in possession of the question as it
at present stands.*
There- is little doubt that South Australia is the
point from which the expedition must set out which is
destined to bring the whole region within the pale of
geographical science; that is to say, it must draw a
line, south and north, from the eastern angle of the
great Australian bight to the Gulf of Carpentaria,
crossing the tropic of Capricorn. The farthest point
gained by Captain Sturt was 24° 40' south latitude, or
a little more than half-way between the head of the
Mght and that of the gulf. His account of this ad-
venturous journey wants compactness. If it were
merely rough, we should like it all the better ; but its
redondancy in unimportant details brings forward un-
pleasantly the want of literary style and artistical
keeping, and wiU perhaps render the captain's audience
fewer than his labours deserve.
South Australia, the starting-point, is, as our readers
know, a rather flourishing settlement, placed about the
middle oi the southern side of the island or continent,
between Port Philip on the east, and Swan River colony
on the west, and extending northwards into the interior
to the 26th parallel of latitude. On the sea-board there
b plenty of good anchorage, and several secure and ca-
padous harbours ; and Port Adelaide forms an excellent
shipping entrepot for the capital, which stands at a
distance of six miles from the sea. The city contains
a population of about 10,000 souls, with churches and
schools on a respectable scale, and shops overflowing
with almost every article of European produce, gene-
rally at a very trifling advance on home prices.
A considerable part of the province is well wooded
for some distance inland; but the trees decrease in
number as you proceed towards the north, till at length
the country is laid out in open downs. The proportion
of uoavaiiable land is, in Captain Sturt's opinion,
greater than that of good land ; indeed he thinks the
quantity of the latter very limited in proportion to the
extent of tlie territory. Its quality, however, has been
hitherto under rather than over-estimated; and the
province is, upon the whole, well fitted for a rural pea-
santry, and calculated to support likewise by its agri-
cnltaral products large masses of a mining and manu-
facturing population. The average crop of wheat is
upwards of twenty-five bushels to the acre on the better
soils ; but in some localities it exceeds forty ; and it has
been known to reach fifty-two.
* Nirrmtire of an Expedition into Central Australia, &c. By
Captain Charles Start, F.L.S., F.R.G.8., &c. 2 vola. London :
Boone. 1849.
The whole area of the province contains about 300,000
square miles* or upwards of 190,000,000 acres; but the
actual location does not exceed 7,000,000 acres, and
even in this there is included a considerable portion of
unavailable land. Of the available land, 470,000 acres
have been purchased ; but the extent of country occu-
pied by sheep and cattle stations is not known. Agri-
cultural operations have increased so rapidly within
the last few years, that the produce far exceeds the
wants of the settlers ; and the flour which in 1839 was
L.120 a ton, is now from L.12 to L.13. Live-stock has
increased in a similar ratio ; the number of sheep being
now about 1,000,000, with an annual increase of 200,000 ;
whereas in 1844 the number assessed was only 355,700.
Even before this prosperous course began — that is,in 1843
— the discovery of rich mines gave a powerful impulse
to the rise of the colony ; but the mineral thus opened
to the industry of the inhabitants is looked upon by our
author ratlier as an auxiliary than as the main cause
of the turn of their fortunes. The copper ores of Aus-
tralia are more valuable in the Swansea market than
those of any other region ; but the necessity of sending
them thither for smelting — owing to the want of coal,
and the scarcity of wood near the mines — is the great
drawback upon the rising fortune of the colony. The
Burra Burra mine, however, in 1847 paid three divi-
dends to its proprietors, amounting to 200 per cent on
the subscribed capitaL
Proceeding into the interior from the coast towards
the north, the features of the country become exagge-
rated ; and in the midst of vast deserts, we arrive at
extensive oases of woods and pastures. The author's
geological theory is, that the continent of Australia was
at one time an archipelago, but that the land covered
by the sea was suddenly raised to its present level by
igneous agency. The country sinks from the north
and north-east towards the south and south-west, and
in this direction there came, during the convulsion re-
ferred to, a rush of waters, which, l^ng divided by in-
terposing obstacles, sought the sea on one side by the
channel of the river Darling, and on the other by tlie
great Australian bight. This hypothesis accounts for
various appearances our traveller observed on the sur-
face of the country. He supposes that the two parts of
the country, in the direction of the torrent, were origi-
nally separated by water; and that there will still be
found the traces of this separation in one or more inland
seas. Captain Sturt's expedition, however, was limited
in its object He was absolutely forbidden to conduct
his party through the tropical regions to the Gulf of
Carpentaria, but was directed to ascertain the existence
or non-existence of a chain of hills supposed to trend
from the north-cast to the south-west, and form a great
natural division of the continent This chain may be
considered, from the result of his inquiries, to have no
existence ; but he did not quite reach the tropic, and
was 150 miles to the east of the centre of the conti-
nent.
In his dreary journey he passed through successive
deserts of sand, earth, and stones. The first was per-
haps the most .tormenting, the travellers being lost in
small basins or hollows, from which they were unable
to see to any distance. There was no grass for their
horse, no water. * We were then in one of the most
gloomy regions that man ever traversed. The stillness
of death reigned around us ; no living creature was to
be heard. Nothing visible inhabited that dreary desert
but the ant ; even the fly shunned it ; and yet its yield-
ing surface was marked all over with the tracks of
native dogs.' Day after day they continued traversing
this wretched country, unable to see a mile in any
direction. They at length reached a small round hill,
which they eagerly ascended ; but * there was no appa-
rent change ; for the brush in the distance was darker
than that nearer to us, as if plains succeeded the sandy
desert we had passed over. The whole landscape, how-
ever, was one of the most gloomy cliaracter, and I
found myself obliged to turn from it in disappointment
As far as I oonld judge, we pasted about a mOe beyond
the S8th paralleL'
We shall now, by way of a change, introdaoe the
reader to the Stony Desert ' On trarelling over the
plain, we found it midalating, with shining hollows, in
which it was erident water sometimes collects. The
stones, with which the gronnd was so thickly ooTered
as to ezdade Tegetation, were of diffisrent lengths, from
one inch to six. They had been rounded by attrition,
were coated with oxide of iron, and erenly distributed.
In going OTer this dreary waste, the horses left no track,
and that of the cart was only risible here and there.
From the spot on which we stopped no object of any
kind broke the line of the horizon : we were as lonelv
as a ship at sea, and as a narigator seeking for land,
only that we had the disadrantage of an unsteady com-
pass, without any fixed point on which to steer. The
fragments corering this singular feature were adl of the
same kind of rock, indurated or compact quartz, and
appeared to me to hare had originally the form of
parallelograms, resembling both in their size and shape
the shivmd fhigments lying at the base of the northern
ranges, to which I have already had occasion to call
attention.'
Another extraordinary feature foUowed— the Earthy
Desert ; * resembling in appearance a boundless piece of
ploughed land, on which noods had settled and subsided.
The earth seemed to have once been mud, and then
dried. Orer this field of earth we continued to adrance
almost dl day, without knowing whether we were get-
ting still farther into it or working our way out Al^ut
an hour before sunset, this point was settled beyond
doubt by the sudden appearance of some hills over the
line of Uie horizon, raised abore their true position by
refraction.' These hills, howerer, soon disappeared;
and when reached the next day, they proved to be
merely lofty ridges of sand. ' It is a remarkable fact
that here, on the northern side of the desert, and after
an open interral of more than fifty miles, the same sand
ridges shoi^d occur, running in parallel lines at the
same angle as before, into the very heart of the interior,
as if they absolutely were never to terminate. Here,
on both sides of us, to the eastward and to the west-
ward, they 'followed each other like the waves of the
sea in endless succession, suddenly terminating, as I
have already observed, on the vast plain into which
they ran. What, I will ask, was I to conclude firom
these facts ? — that the winds had formed these remark-
able accumulations of sand, as straight as an arrow
lying on the ground, without a break in them for more
than ninety miles at a stretch, and which we had ah
ready followed up for hundreds of miles — that is to say,
across six degrees of latitude? Ko; winds may indeed
have assisted in shaping their outlines, but I cannot
think that these constituted the originating cause of
their formation. They exhibit a regularity that water
alone could have given ; and to water, I believe, they
plainly owe their first existence. It struck me then,
and calmer rejection confirms the impression, that the
whole of the low interior I had traversed was for-
merly a sea-bed, since raised from its submarine posi-
tion by natural though hidden causes ; that when this
process of elevation so changed the state of things as
to make a continuous continent of that which had
been an archipelago of islands, a current would have
passed across the central parts of it, the direction of
which must have been parallel to the sandy ridges, and
consequently from east to west, or nearly to— that also
being the present dip of the interior, as I shall else-
where prove. I farther think that the line of the Stony
Desert being the lowest part of the interior, the current
must there have swept along it with greater force, and
have either made the breach in the sandy ridges now
occupied by it, or have prevented their formation at
the time when, under more favourable circumstances,
they were thrown up on either side of it'
During some portions of the journey the heat was
iBRrific 'Under its eff*ect8 every screw in our boxes
had been drawn, and the horn handles of our instru-
ments, as well as our combs, were split into fine laminse.
The lead dropped out of our pencils ; our signal rockets
were entirely spoiled ; our hair, as well as the wool on
the sheep, ceased to grow ; and our nails had become
as brittle as glass. The flour lost more than 8 per
cent of its original weight, and the other provisions in
a still greater proportion.' One day the wanderers of
the desert saw a number of small black specks in the
upper air, which increased every moment in size, till
presently they found themselves surrounded by hun-
dreds of the common kite, stooping down to within a
few f^t of them, and then turning aWay after a steady
gaza The birds had doubtless wondered in their turn
what the small black specks were that moved, as if
at random, upon the bosom of the desert, and had come
down merely to satisfy their curiosity. They had,
however, a formidable aspect ; and as some of them, oa
approaching close, threw themselres back, as if to avoid
contact, and opened their beak and spread out their
talons, the travellers could not help fearing the result
of a combat with so numerous a body if the visit should
really prove to be hostile.
On another day their attention was attracted by a
black and solitary object on a little rising ground in
fh>nt of their camp. The dogs flew towards it, and
were seen worrying some creature, notwithstanding a
brave resistance. This was a human being, a native of
the desert, half-dead with hunger and thirst * Wlience
this solitary stranger could have come from we could
not divine. No other natives approached to look after
him, nor did he show anxiety for any absent com-
panion. His composure and apparent self-poesessioa
were very remarkaUe, for he neither exhibited astonish-
ment nor curiosity at the novelties by which he was
surrounded. His whole demeanour was that of a calm
and courageous man, who, finding himself placed in
unusual jeo|NUtiy, had determined not to be betrayed
into the slightest display of fear or timidity.'
Generally speaking, the natives they met in the more
remote re^ons took to flight on being observed, and
exhibited in other respects the greatest awe of the
Europeans. Sometimes, however, they were of a very
difierent character, as may be seen in the foUowin^^
interesting family group. 'Their fiimilies generally
were on the opposite side of the river, but one man hsd
his lubra and two children on our side of it My atten-
tion was drawn to him from his perseverance in cutting
a bark canoe, at which he laboured for more than an
hour without success. Mr Browne walked with me to
the tree at which he was working, and I found that hia
only tool was a stone tomahawk, and that with such an
implement he would hardly finish his work before dark.
I therdfore sent for an iron tomahawk, which I gave
to him, and with which he soon had the bark cut
and detached. He then prepared it for launching by
puddling up its ends, and putting it into the water ;
placed his lubni and an infant child in it and giving
her a rude spear as a paddle, pushed her away from
tJie bank. She was immediately followed by a little
urchin, who was sitting on the bank, the canoe being
too fh^gile to receive him. But he evidently doubted
his ability to gain the opposite bank of the river ; and
it was most interesting to mark the anxiety of both
parents as the little fellow struck across the foaming
current The mother kept close beside him in the
canoe, and the father stood on the bank encouraging
his little son. At length they all landed in safety,
when the native came to return the tomahawk, which
he understood to have been only lent to him. How-
ever, I was too much pleased with the scene I had
witnessed to deprive him of it ; nor did I ever see a
man more delighted than he was when he found that
the tomahawk, the vaXue and superiority of which he
had so lately proved, was indeed his own. He thanked
me for it; he eyed it with infinite satisfaction; and
then turning round, plunged into the streao^ and joined
his fiunily on the opposite bank.' Sometimes the native
fe
amps were highly picturesque. Their denizens sat up
to a late honr at night ; the women employed in heat-
ing hetween two stones the seed for cakes, with a noise
resemhling tiiat of the working of a loom factory, and
^be men moTing ahoat from hat to hnt * The whole
encampment, with the long line of fires, looked exceed-
ingly pretty; and the dasky figures of the natives
standing by them, or moving from one hut to the other,
had the effect of a fine scene in a play. At eleven all
was still, and you would not have known that you were
in sudi ckiee contiguity to so large an assemblage of
people.*
Oiptain Sturt speaks very favourably of the Austra-
lian savages ; but even fh>m his account their civilisa-
tion would appear to be hardly possible. In the schools
cf the setUements the native hoys and girls are taught
to read, write, and cipher as well as European children
ctf Uie same age ; but here their capacity of receiving
instruction ends. An appeal to any higher department
of intellect is always vain. They desert the schools,
and betake themselves to their ancestral wilds; and
notwithstanding all the efforts of philanthropy, not the
lUgfatest improvement has been made in the social
condition of the race. Captain Sturt thinks that if the
diildren experimented upon were separated entirely
from their parents and tribe, the result might be difi*e-
rent; but it may be a question whether we are autho-
rised to sever in this way the bonds of nature, even for
the presumed good of the individuals themselves.
The results of the expedition, as we have said, go far
towards proving that there is no mountain range in the
iotoior of Australia, but that, on the contrary, its
central regions are nearly on the sea level, and its
northern and southern coasts as completely separated
by deserts as if an ocean rolled between them. Captain
Slurt still thinks there must be an inland sea ; but he
has no hope of any fertile country being discovered.
' Although I did not gain the direct centre of the con-
tinent,' says he modestly, in concluding some general
remarks, * there can be very little doubt as to the cha-
racter oi the country round it The spirit of enterprise
alone will now ever lead any man to gain it, but the
gradual development of the character of the yet unex-
ploced interior will alone put an end to doubts and
theories on the subject The desert of Australia is not
more extensive than the deserts in other parts of the
world. Its character constitutes its peculiarity, and
that may lead to some satisfactory conclusion as to
how it was formed, and by what agent the sandy ridges
which traveNe it were thrown up. I would repeat, that
I am diffident of my own judgment and that I should
be indebted to any one better acquainted with the nature
of these things ^an I am to point out wherein I am in
error.**
Before concluding, it will be proper to advert shortly
to the other m%asures that have been taken, or are in
progress, for exploring the continent To say nothing
of Dr Leichhardt*s successful expedition from Moreton
Bay to Fort Essington, Sir Thomas Mitchell, the sur-
Tejor-general, discovered a great river in the interior,
trending towards the Gulf of Carpentaria, and having
ita embouchure, as he imagined, in that supposed outlet
for the drainage of ^e region. He pursued the river,
which he named the Victoria, for ten days, through a
splendid country, covered with luxuriant pasturage.
*That the river/ says he, Ms the most important of
Australia, increasing as it does by successive tributaries,
sod not a mere product of distant ranges, admits of no
dispute; and the downs and plains of Central Australia,
through which it flows, seem sufficient to supply the
whole world with animal food.' To ascertain the far-
ther coarse of this remarkable stream, Mr Kennedy, a
jooDg officer who had accompanied Sir Thomas Mitchell,
* The Mod ridges deaeribed by Captain Bturt appear to be of
tba aune eharacto' with the otarg oi Sweden, the etkan of Ireland,
aad the toner of SootUmd, all of which are now regarded as having
bea fonned by eome peenliar aotion of the aea, while the land was
ia jct oorvsed by that dement—Bo.
was deputed ; but his account was by no means favour-
able to the sanguine views of the surveyor -general.
The Victoria, instead of continuing to trend towards the
north, turned to the south-west and was then divided
into several branches, * spreading over a depressed and
barren waste, void of trees or vegetation of any kind,
its level surface being only broken by small doones of
red sand, like islands upon the dry bed of an inland
sea, which I am convinced at no distant period did exist
there.* This river appears to be identical with Cooper's
Creek, discovered by Captain Sturt, and, in his opinion,
is either lost in the Stony Desert or terminates through
it in the conjectured inland sea.
Dr Leichhardt in the meantime set out about a year
ago on a journey from Moreton Bay to Swan River, in
which he will traverse the continent in a transverse
direction from that of Captain Sturt from east to west,
baring a distance before him of more than 5000 miles
in a direct line. He had already made an attempt in
the same course, but was obliged to return, his party
being disabled by the ague, and the loss of all their
animals. We cannot expect to have news of this adven-
ture for a year to come ; but after all, the most favour-
able result w# can expect from it is the gratification of
scientific curiosity. As a grazing and agricultural
region, Australia has already been sufficiently dis-
cussed ; and the unoccupied tracts of New South Wales
alone would of themselves afibrd an almost boundless
field for the industry of Europe. ' The only thing to be
regretted,' says Captain Sturt * is, that the want of an
industrious population keeps it in a state of nature,
and that the thousands who are here (in England) ob-
taining but a precarious subsistence, should not evince
a more earnest desire to go to a country where most as-
suredly their condition would be changed for the better.'
ELECTRO-METALLURGY.
The striking process of which we are now to give some
account, affords a beautiful example of the i^ptation
of purely scientific knowledge to the details of productive
inaustry. Not many years have elapsed since electricity
was looked upon as a mysterious agency, more to be pro-
secuted as a subject of speculative science, than as afibrding
means for obtaining practical results applicable to the pro<
duction of articles of taste and utility in our arts and
manu&ctures. Now the case is different; and for such
ends the agency of eleotro-ealvanism, one of the branches
of the parent science, is in daily requisition.
Professor Daniell baring constructed what he called his
' Constant Gralvanio Battery,* found tl^at, by the peculiar
action of the galvanic current, the copper contained in tlie
solution of sulphate of copper, used as one of the exciting
liquids, was deposited in a thin film on the sides of the
vessel containing it, and that a fac-simile of any projec-
tion or indentation thereon was at the same time faithfully
given in the metallic deposit.
Mr Spencer of Liverpool, Mr Jordan of London, and
Professor Jacobi of Petersburg, aware of the above fact,
almost simultaneously, and without any communication
Hvith each other, conceived the idea that the circumstance
might be taken advantage of in producing fao-similes of
medals, engravings, &o.; and with this riew instituted
experiments, which proved the interesting fact, that im-
pressions might be taken in copper of any article prepared
for its reception, by suspending it in a solution of sulphate
of copper, and causing a g^vanio current to pass through it.
By a natural train of thought, certain persons were led to try
whether the more valuable metals, as silver or gold, could
be deposited by galvanic agency. It was left for the Messrs
Elkington of Birmingham, by a very extensive course of
experiments, to prove the perfect possibihty of the plan,
wliich formed the subject of the patents granted to them
for improvements in electro-typing or electro-metallurgy.
Before detailing a few of the curiosities of this wondenul
process, we wiU briefly explain the mode of operating. To
obtain fac-similes of engravings in copper, the following ap-
paratus is required: — ^A box diridea mto two portions by
a porous partition is prorided; and in one of these cells the
copper-plate is suspended by a wire attached to a metallio
rod stretching across the mouth of the box, and in the
other a zinc plate, of smaller size than the copper. The
16
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
galvanic communication is effected by an intervening rod,
aving screws attached to it for the convenience of mani-
pulating. Into the cell containing the copper, water and
crystals of sulphate of copper are put; and into the zinc
cell, water and pulverised sal-ammoniac. To prepare the
plate for the deposition, the parts not required to be
coated with the metallic film must be protected from the
action of the fluid; and this is done by covering them with
sealing-wax dissolved in spirits of wine. The galvanic
action goes on, gradually depositing on the exposed parts
of the plate a film of copper; and wiien this is of sufficient
thickness, the plate is withdrawn, and the ^\m removed.
But the fac-simile, although correct, is in relief, and to be
of use, a copy in intaglio must be produced; and this is at
once obtained by submitting the relief to the same process
as the original plate, of which the new deposition of copper
is an exact fao-simile. Mr Smee, however, has made public
a very beautiful and still more striking prooess for obtain-
ing copper-plate engravings without the use of an engraved
copy at all. He proposed to draw the required design on
a smooth copper-plate, with a pigment or varnish insoluble
in water, and then to expose the plate to the galvanic
action ; when, the film of copper being deposited on all
the parts not varnished, a copy in inti^lio would be pro-
duced. Casts of seals, medals, &c. can be obtained in
copper by this method. To prepare the Qxticles for de-
position, the mode of rubbing or covering their external
surfaces with black-lead, discovered by Mr Murray, must
bo adopted ; for the copper having what may Jbe called an
affinity for the black-lead, easily deposits itself on any
surface covered with it. Articles so prepared can be
copied in great numbers at a small expense.
For obtaining duplicates for printing from wood-engrav-
ings, the electrotjrpo is employed. The engraving, after
being black-leaded, is bound round the edges with a strip
of tinfoil, and suspended, and kept perpendicularly in the
fluid. Copies of plaster casts are easily taken, as also of
wax models, by means of the same process. Bat perhaps the
most beautiful exemplification of the process is seen in tlie
ease by which natural organised substances are covered
with a thin film of copper. Tlie leaf or branch to be ope-
rated ujwn is covered, by means of a soft brush, with the
black-lead, and suspended in the fluid. Butterflies and
moths arc also easily covered ; shrub-flowers are extremely
beautiful, with thin delicate fibres fully and clearly deve-
loped on their metallic covering. Mr Smee thus writes of
them : — * The beauty of electro-coppered leaves, branches,
and similar objects, is surprising. I have a case of these
specimens placed on a black ground, which no one would
take to be productions of art. In the same room with
tliem are a couple of these cases in which Ward has taught
us to grow in tliis smoky metropolis some of the most in-
teresting botanical specimens. In these cases are con-
tained varieties of fairy - formed adiantums^ verdant Itfco-
podfumgf brilliant orcludeee^ rigid oadit and other plants,
all growing in their natural luxuriance. The electro- cop-
pered leaves, however, are beautiful when placed by the
side of the productions of this miniature paradise ; and
when I state that the numerous hairs covering the leaves
or a melosfoma^ and even the delicate hairs of the salvia^
are all perfectly covered, the botanist must at once admit
that these specimens have rather the minuteness of nature
than the imperfections of art.* In plating articles with the
precious metals, the weight of metal deposited is found by
weighing the article previous to insertion in the liquid,
and agam after receiving the deposition, when the diff'e-
rence is the weight of metal. For silver, the article is
suspended in a solution of the cyanide of potassium and
silver ; and for gold, the cyanide of potassium and gold.
The articles now plated with silver are very numerous —
forks, spoons, salvers, &c. Tlie solution of silver is kept
ciiarged with sheets of pure silver suspended in the vessels;
from which the metal is dissolved as fast as it is deposited,
leaving finally a lace-like piece of silver of extremely deli-
cate and beautiful fibres. In coating articles of value with
a film of gold the same process is gone thronj^h, but of
oonrse on a much smaller scale. The solution is supplied
with the precious metal by placing a small strip of pure
gold round the vessel. Small articles, such as watch chsins,
buttons, &c. that can be suspended on a wire, are inserted
m the solution, and gilt in a remarkably short space of
time. A writer in the * Penny Magazine ' states that he
saw * ten gross of coat buttons strung upon a wire, and all
perfectly gilt, by an immersion of less than one minute.'
Haviug now glanced at the methods of plating the external
surfaces of articles with gold and silver, we will briefly ex-
plain what we may term the chief triumph of the art — tho
production of solid icicles in the precious metals.
We will suppose a vase to be required in gold : a deli-
cate wax model, containing all the figures in relief to be
on the surface, is first prepared; from this wax model a
leaden mould is produced, and finom this a brass model or
pattern is cast; on which the engraver finishes the desisned
parts more fully, and from this finished pattern a mould in
an elastic substance is obtained, composed in some in-
stances of glue. This, by its elasticity, allows the mould
to be separated easily from the parts of the pattern which
are undercut; and it is used to provide a model In wax,
suet, and phosphorus, on which a film of copper is laid by
the galvanic agency. The wax forming originally a founda-
tion for the copper, is again used as a foundation for the
more precious metal. It is melted from the inside of the
copper deposit, and tho copper shell left has in its intenor
an exact £ic-simile of the original design. The copper
mould is next introduced to the solution of cyanide of
potassium and gold, the exterior being protected by the
resisting medium. The gold is gradually deposited equally
over the raised and depressed portions of the mould; and
ths process is allowed to go on till sufficient thickness is
obtained, when the whole is withdrawn, and the outside
film of copper melted off by the action of an acid, leaving a
solid and pure vase of gold. The gold and silver, whether
of solid or superficial deposit, after coming from the solu-
tion, have a dull dead appearance ; and to obviate this,
the articles undergo the operation of burnishing. To prove
that in solid deposit the particles are as closely united as
if they had passed through the melting-pot, they give a
clear sonorous ring when struck on an anvil with a hammer.
SONNET.
BY CALOKR CAMPBKLL.
Whbnk'kr I feel this rare excess of health
Thrill suddenly throughout my frame, as now.
Forgetting hoary hair and furrowed hrow,
I turn a braggart of my fancied wealUi
Of stalwart strength and life. I seek the glow
Of sunshine, singing; gather (not by stealth.
But with an honest boldness) fruits that grow
Out of my reach at other times; and offer
The sweets I taste to others— letting go
Sickness and its entailments from my mind ;
And, like the miser noir his rifled coffer,
Unconscious that it holds no more bis pelf,
I glory in delusion— till I find
Some old-recurring pang recall roe to myself !
NEWSPAPERS.
I am sure that every person will be willing, as I am, to
acknowledge, in the most ample terms, the information,
the instruction, and amusement derived from the public
press.— Zorrf LyndJiurst. The newspaper b the chronicle
of civilisation, the common reservoir into which every
stream pours its living waters, and at which every man
may come and drink ; it is the newspaper which gives to
liberty practical life, its perpetual vigilance, its unrelaxing
activity. The newspaper is a daily and sleepless watch-
man, that reports to you every danger which menaces the
institutions of your country, and its interests at home and
abroad. The newspaper informs legislation of the public
opinion, and it informs people of the acts of legislation ;
thus keeping up that constant sympathy, that good under-
standing between people and legislators, which conduces
to the maintenance of order, and preventa the stem neces-
sity for revolution. — Sir E. L. Bulwer.
INCORRECTNESS OF CONVERSATIONAL LANGUAGE.
The influence which common parlance exerts on the
acquisition of correct notions on scientific subjects has
often an unfortunate tendency. Thus, when we say in dull
weather, The day is heavy * — * The air is thick and heavy,'
it is not generally supposed that the air is really liglUer
than on a fine day ; but the fall of the barometer indicates
tliat this is the fact. — Isaiah Deck,
Published by W. & R. CHAunRRH, Hifrh Street, Edinburgh. Also
sold by 1). Chambkrs, 2() Argyle Street, Glasgow; W." S. Orr,
147 Strand, London ; and J. M'Gi.asran, 21 D'Olier Street,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and U. Cbambbrs, Edinburgh.
CONDUCTED BT WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF < CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ « CHAMBERS^ EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ Ao.
No. 263. New Series.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 1849.
Price l^d.
SCOTCH CAUTION.
It has become a settled point that the people of Seot-
Isnd lie remarkable for a cold and cautious temper.
Has it nerer occmred to any of the multitudes who
receive and repeat this doctrine, that it is strangdy at
ksQt with a vast proportion of the facts known regard-
ing the Scottish people? We make no apology for
briefly discussing the subject, because it is manifestly a
canons circumstance that a people should generally act
in contradiction of one of their most notable attributes.
A potent English monarch had, at the close of the
thirteenth century, by craft and force completely estab-
liibed a right of dominion over this poor little northern
oomtiy. A prirate gentleman rose in rebellion. The
people for years supported him in a guerilla waiiare,
whidi scarcely was blessed with a hope of success.
WaUaoe at length came to the end that might have
been expected. He was put to death by the ungene-
loos usurper. Within two years, one of the claimants
of tiie crown, who might have continued to be a great
lord under Edward, is found taking up the same dan-
gooos game. In the whole series of transactions which
followed, down to the battle of Bannockbum, there is a
show of almost every quality on the part of Bruce and
the Soots €xupi caution. That battle itself would have
never h^ipened, if Bruce had not been a romantic
knight rather than a politic king, for it was obviously
impolitic for a leader with thirty thousand troops to
meet an enemy with a hundred thousand in the open
Add.
Throughout the almost incessant wars, external and
internal, in which the Scotch were engaged for two
kandred years aiter this period, there is no trace of a
Fabian policy : all is headlong ardour. A pretty young
Freodi queen, wishing to make a diversion against the
king of England, with whom her husband was at war,
sends a ring to the king of Scotland, with a request
that be would ride three miles into English ground for
her sake. The Scottish monarch, though a married
man above forty years of age, immediately invaded
Eo^and under this caU. In a few weeks, while resting
with his army on a -Northumbrian hlU, he saw an
Eogfish army deploying over a bridge to fight him. A
politic man would have attacked it when half over, and
beaten it James was too gallant to take any such ad-
vantage. In the consequent battle, he lost his life, along
with the flower of his nobility aqd people. One is
asloDbhed at the utter want of caution and ooosidera-
tigo in the whole of this affiur ; yet it did not -serve as a
lesson. The son of tiiis gallant king sent an army
aftinst England in nearly similar circumstances, and
SB its eeming to the destruction which was to be ex-
gdkdf be 4M <^ grief. In all of these collisions, the
MVMi ktdwi appear as the wary men. SooUand
seems as a simple reckless child in comparison. Where
was Scottish caution on the day of Pinkie fight ? In
the connection of the afiairs of Elizabeth and Mary, on
which side lay the astuteness, and on which the impul-
siveness? Were the Walsinghams, the Wottons, and
the Burleighs, a set of frank heedless Englishmen, allow-
ing themselves to be tricked by the odd calculating
ministers of the beauteous queen of Scots !
The national attribute is brought into a strong light
in the affair of the Covenant. The king, with England
at his back, attempts little changes in the ecclesiastical
arrangements of Scotland. In the month of May 1639,
this cold-blooded people present themselves in arms on
Dunse Law, to bide the worst which that great monarch
oonld bring against them. England had by that time
some grievances of her own to bear*, but it was the
cautious Scotch who first took to pike and gun for the
good cause. The affair ends for the meantime in a
capitulation ; but next year, on a fine day in the mouth
of August, this cool-headed people, once more in
arms, are seen crossing the Tweed at Coldstream,
in order to fight Charles on his own ground. Their
whole conduct throughout the civil war is the oddest
possible for a cautious people. Alter all they had
suffered from Charles, twenty thousand of them fol-
lowed the poor Duke of Hamilton to Uttoxeter, with
a rain hope of redeeming their unhappy monaroh from
the bondage of the sectaries. Not content with thus
knocking their heads against Cromwell, they must, two
years after, defy him and republican England for the
sake of Charles II. Their attack on Oliver at Dunbar,
their march to Worcester, are most extraordinary
doings for a people eaten up by the spirit of selfish cal-
culation. Never certainly was caution more whimsically
shown, or more inappropriately rewarded.
It was the fate of Scotland in the next reign to be
put under a churoh establishment which represented
the opinions of only a handful of the people, but which
was supported by a powerful and merciless government.
The peasantry of a single county rose in rebellion, and
fell in scores under the bullets of DalyelL The peasantry
of another county, some years later, exposed them-
selves in the same way to the sabres of Claverhouse.
A thousand of these calculating people were offered
liberty if they would say ' God save the king* — the al-
ternative being Barbadoes and Maryland. Strange for
a cautious people, they refused, and the cold strand of
Orkney was strewed with their corpses before the year
was out What a series of strange proceedings for such
a people, those conventicles which they would attend,
gentles as well as commons, though ruinous fines stared
them in the face, and no man knew but Claverhouse
might be behind the next hill with his dragoons I The
scores of men who, for conscience' sake, sang their
last psalms under the gibbet in the Grassmarket, how
18
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
strange to think of them as fpecimeni of a nation who,
while allowed to have tolerably dear heads, are yet set
down as generally distinguished fay frigid hearts !
The two rebemons in behalf of the exiled House of
Stuart will of course appear as notable illustrations of
this national torpor of feeling. In 1745, the Scotch
Jacobites came out in thousands to the open field,
braying for their principles loss of life and possessions ;
while the English Jacobites, equally engaged, remain
quietly at home, and read of Prince Chiulie*s progress
in the newspapers. Even of the Welsh, hotheaded as
they are reputed to be, not a man draws his sword. It
is pleasant for a Scotchman to think of eighty of his
'cautious' countrymen getting themselres hanged at
Carlisle, Preston, and Kennington Common, for daring
to rank themseWes up against King George and his
army; many of them declaring, too, with their last
breath, that, if it were to do over again, they would do
it The affair of 1745 was almost the only occurrence
for a century after the accession of the House of Hanover
that forcibly attracted the attention of the English to
Scotland ; and strange to say, it presents this so-called
cautious people in an attitude purely romantic, auda-
cious, and unwise.
After ages of war and dyil Imiils, the Scotch be-
thought themselres, at the dose of the seventeenth
century, of applving their energies to commerce. The
first ventures of so cautious a people one would have
expected to be on an exceedingly moderate scale in pro-
portion to their resources. All the circumstances ought
to have been marked by prudence and forethought.
What was the actual fact? — a plan of extraordinary
boldness, for an entrepot at Darien, involving a capital
of four hundred thousand pounds, being about half of
the whole circulating medium in ^e country. The
total destruction of t^ir expeditions, and the perdition
of their money, bear strong witness indeed to the
national attribute! About that time, who was the
Scotsman most conspicuous in England? — ^was he a
paragon of caution? It was William Paterson, who
projected the Bank of England — one of the mcist ad-
venturous beings perhaps that ever breathed. Twenty
years later, France was thrown into an extraordinary
ferment by a new bank, on which came to be engrafted
a scheme for colonising Louisiana. The projector was
a foreigner, a daring schemer in monetary matters. So
successfully did he impart his enthusiasm to others, that
people of all ranks flocked to convert their actual capital
into his paper. A stranger entering the Rue Quin-
quempoix at that crisis would have found a hunchback
mtOdog a good livelihood by letting out his back as an
extempore desk on which the transfers of an imaginary
stock were negotiated. If introduced at court, he would
have found the son of the projector admitted to the
circle of noble youths who were privileged to join in
the dances of the young king. Strange to say, the man
who produced the universal madness in Paris, to be
followed by an equally universal ruin, was a member of
that nation so celebrated for its cautious calculations : it
was John Law, a native of Edinburgh. Banking, it
will be said, has been conducted cautiously and success-
fully in Scotland. Not so fast The success of S(»tch
banking arose in reality from a feature of incaution, a
large issue of notes. But for the smallness of the coun-
try, allowing each man to know something of another's
ailairs, and the general probity of the men engaged in
banking, an issue of notes so much beyond the means
of their ready and immediate withdrawal would have
been attended by the greatest danger. It has, in fact,
been an adventurous system all along, one in which
credit has been stretched to an extent which we rardy
see exampled in larger countries. Nor has it been uni-
formly successful. There are a few counties in Scot-
land, the proprietary of which has been perhaps as
much changed in consequence of misadventuies in bank-
ing, as Fermanagh was by the Cromwellian settlement
The extreme case was that of Douglas, Heron, and Com-
pany's bank, established in 1769, ruined in 1772. They
issued notes like a snow-drift, and gave large quantities
of them out to individuals to be put into circulation in
different parts of the country, and aooonnted for at cer-
tain periods. These notes used to comeback for payment
at the centovl ofiloe, before their various circulators had
accounted for them. Anybody with a coat on his back
and a littie brass on his fbrehead could get a bill dis-
counted with Douglas, Heron, and Company. It is told
that there was a back-going farmer about tiie Pentland
Hills, who» having exhausted all his friends and neigh-
bours, and bcdng reduced to desperation, was told ti^t
money was to be got almost without ceremony at a
house in the Canongate. He came with a bill for L.50,
accepted bv one of his ploughmen, and had the money
in his hand as quickly as if it had been only change Pat
a guinea. He packed 4t slowly up in his pocket, strode
to the door, and there turning coolly about, said pretty
audibly, * Faith, billies, this canna gang on bmgy The
damage to the shareholders, who were of all classes,
was dreadfuL Sir Walter Scott speaks with a bitter
grudge of the loss incurred by his father through
Douglas, Heron, and Company's bank ; yet we observe
the old gentieman stands in the list for only L500 of
stock. Mr Islay Campbdl, the most succewfVil advo-
cate of his time, told a friend that it would have becm
better for him never to have made one penny by his
profession, than to have made a venture in that bank.
Some men paid quotas of loss every now and then
during the greater part of their lives ; and, as we are
assur^ only a very few years have elapsed since the
books were finally wound up, it is not improbable that
in some instances the sufibrings from Douglas, Heron,
and Company's bank extended through three genera-
tions.
Any one living in Sootiand at the present day, and
looking round him witii the eye of a man of the world,
would be at no loss, we bdieve, to discover such
examples of things done under false calculations, or no
calcuhitions at all, as would leave him a good deal at a
loss to account for the character which the people have
acquired on the score of caution. He woul4 not see
what are called 'fast men' in great numbers; but of
heedless speculators and half-crazy projectors be wtmld
find no lack. However strange it may sound in an
English ear, there are plenty of rash and thoughtless
peoi^ in Scotland. We really must daim to have our
fair proportion of folly as well as our neighbours. Only
inquire into family histories : where is there one with-
out its wayward member, who is continually coming
back upon them mined and undone, to be once more
set up in the world, or once more and finally shipped,
off for the colonies ? Ask in the share-market-~look
into the Gazette — ^inspect the shipping list at Glasgow.
Hopes you will everywhere find as rife as fears. On
all sides ruin bears its part beside success. One does
not hear much now-a-days of such a spirit among reli-
gious people as that which fills the history of the six-
teenth and seventeenth century with wonders. Yet
only in 1843, about a third part of the established
dergy of Scotland abandoned their livings on a point
of consdence. Other people, ourselves amongst the
number, are at a loss to understand thdr reasons:
opposite partisans try to extenuate the matter la
various ways. In plain truth, whatever might be the
merits of tiie prompting cause, it was an astonishing
example of self-sacrifice, one which any people might
be proud to have in their histonr, and which, we
venture to say, the whole nation wiU yet be proud to
see there. We strongly recommend the particulars to
the consideration of those who regard the Scotch as
wholly made up of cold and selfish oilculation.
We might go on to ask if the most eminent Scots*
men of past times have been noted for caution. Was
Bruce a cautious man when he exposed himself to the
attack of Sir Henry Bohun at Bannockbum? Was
John Knox a cautious man? — he of whom Morton
said, as he saw him laid in the grave, * There lies
one who never feared the face of man I' Was Hon-
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
19
I
traae c^Qtioiis at Kilsyth, or Dundee at Killiecrankie ?
Wai Flet^er of StlUm cautioTii when he killed Dare
at Tbrqoay ? Boms prodaims in his verse that * pru-
dent cantioiis self-control ia wisdom's root;' but, him-
K\i, * o'er fatt for thought, o'er hot for rule,' could never
prsctise the maxim. Soott looked a prudent man till
near the end of his days, when it was found that not a
ion of the Mnaea in their most reckleas times had acted
more inoonaiderately than he. A hardy ardour and
eaihuaiasm aeema to belong to the whole of the great
men of our country. Caution ia the last peculiarity
which a biographer would attribute to them.
How, ti^ien, cornea it that the Scotch, with such a his-
tory, obtain such a character ? We cannot undertake
, to aohre the mystery to universal satisfaction ; but we
' see a fow peeps of daylight through it The Scotch, in
the ordinary afikira of life, exhibit a tolerably clear
intdlect ; they do not rush into acta and situations with
the precipitancy of the Irish. But there is nothing ex-
traoidinaiy about them in this respect. The English,
bowerer, whose judgment on the point is the subject of
debate, see their neighboura in two limited aspecta.
lliey eiUier aee the northern adventurer plo4ding hia
way among a peo^e richer than himself and anxious to
make up by i^udence for his original want of means ; or
tiiey th^oMelvea come aa mercantile travellera into Scot-
land, aeddng to preea oflf all sorts of English goods upon
SDch shopkeepers aa Uiey think truatworthy. The Scotch
trader haa to be on the defensive both against the trad-
ing sharpness of the English, and against taking an
I over-quantity of their goods, aU of which he knows must
! be pdd for. He therefore presents a somewhat hard
and alow manner to the empressement of his visitor.
i The Scotch are accordingly, aa a nation, judged by the
Ens^iah from a few apecimena, who are either unfair
icpicaentativea of the maaa, or are preaented in circum-
ataaoea so peculiar, that their actual character is not
I f^resented. It is like judging the people of Italy from
the wandering' image-venders, or the people of France
from the conduct of the actors in the Th^dtre Fran^ais.
It gets, however, a specious sort of sanction from the
fiu:t, that the Sc(^ch do bear themselves with something
like an average degree of prudence amongst the nations ;
and so it paasea. The English, meanwhile, have no more
idea of the atyle of living and dealing pursued by the bulk
of the Scotch people, than they have of the minage of an
' Eaquimanr, or perhapa less. The many who live in an
open-handed and elegant manner, the still greater num-
ber who live in comfort, the generous charities supported
in the laige towna, the aacrificea made by the {xrarest
under ihe influence of ^eir higher aentimenta, remain
toCafly unknown, and therefore enter not into the ac-
eount If theae remarks do not explain the myatery,
then we deapair of it, and muat leave it aa a problem
to be aolved by wiaer heada than oura. B. C.
AN ENGLISH WORKMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS
OP PARIS IN 1848.
SECOND AND CONCLUDINO ARTICLE.
Afm the Revolution, buaineaa of all kinda seemed to
have received a decided check. Work at M. Jolly's
was not resumed for more than a week, and then only
OQ ihort time. Thousands walked the streets without
any employment at aU, excepting planting trees of
liberty, wMch they did at every possible place, amid
great firing of guns and other rejoidngs. M. Yachette,
ny landbrd, was one who suffered much from the late
cJUBges, for he had been employed by the royal aaddler
and harneaa-maker. To oompenaate him in part for
hia km, 'he had been chosen by his comrades aa cor-
poral in hia company of the National Guard. Although
feding sorely the pressure of the times, he managed to
I Hive a small we^y sum towards his uniform. He was
m gay thoughtless being enough, with sparkling black
eyes, and a black bushy beard, and a devoted admirer
of republican ^rlodplea aa advocated by Vergniaud,
Bailly, Roland, Brissot, and other Girondins, and so
ably contended for now by Lamartine. He saw with
pain the wide spread of Communism. Hia wife, a
woman of good education, and much natural talent,
seemed in a continual mdancholy, as if under aome
foreboding fear that she could not contend with.
About this time my friend George, finding his hopes
of obtaining employment in Paria at an end, waa com-
pelled reluctantly to quit the boaom of hia family, and
to go to sea once more. James Bargues, his brother,
who was a man of excellent disposition, and a sincere
bver of his species, had for his abilities been chosen
secretary of one of the most violent democratic clubs,
and was himself imbued with a corresponding quantity
of their enthusiasm and folly.
The first act of the Parisian workmen was, by threats
held out to their employers, to expel all the English
employed in Paris ; and indeed, as I afterwards found,
this was pretty general throughout France. The only
excuse I can find for this conduct, was the misery and
destitution they were suffering themselves. This gave
rise to much bitterness of feeling on the part of my
countrymen, and not without cause. It was a sad blow
for the keepers of English houses in Paris, as they were
neariy all obliged to close their shops and follow their
customers.
My own work continued very slack for some time
after the Revolution ; but I had the pleasure of observ-
ing that the branch of the business in which I was em-
ployed gradually increased, which I attributed to the
superiority of &e English method over the French.
Accordingly, as the spring advanced, I found full em-
ployment, occasionally even working five quarters in
the day, though trade in general was extremely dull.
Still no symptoms appeared of the wretchedness of the
majority of the working-daaaea. The people, every-
where decently clad, laughed, 'looked happy, and aang
their aongs with that gaieU du cceur for which the Pa-
risian stands unrivalled.
On the 16th of April, there was a great Communist
demonstration ; the rappel was beating in all quarters of
Paris. The day passed without any particular disturb-
ance ; but it caused trade, which waa slowly reviving,
again to languish. I found every auch popular demon-
stration followed by a corresponding depression in busi-
ness ; for the rich, alarmed by the constant marching of
immense bodies of men, beating their eternal drums,
were rapidly leaving Paris, thus rendering employment
still more scarce, and the masses still more discontented.
To provide for the wants of the working-dasses, the
Ate&ert NaHonaux were instituted, which, to my think-
ing, was a fatal mistake on the pi^ of the government,
as a complete system of organisation was at once framed,
which, as was afterwards shown, was fully taken advan-
tage of.
On the 20th took place the Festival of Fraternity,
which exhibited no extraordinary feature besides the
astonishing length of the line of troops which passed
in review before the members of the Provisional
Government. It waa generally believed after this
fete that trade would revive ; but those who thus
fondly hoped, were doomed to disappointment Trade
in all branches, instead of getting better, got worse.
Thousands of discontented and hungry men roamed
through the streets, by their threatening appearance
making bad worse. I was particularly struck with
the appearance of poor James Bargues and his wife,
whom I had not seen for some time past Although
in their dress there was an evident struggle between
pride and poverty, and no tale of distress came from
their lips, yet their pale and famished looks told how
much Uiey had suffered. On this occasion the conver-
sation naturally turned to the existing state of things
in Paris, and rather a hot discussion ensued between
the two brothers-in-law, James contending that the
men now at the head of affiurs had betrayed the trust
reposed in them, and that nothing but their expul-
sion woi^d save France from ruin. The other threw
20
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
the whole \Aame on the Communists, who, by their con-
stant imeuteSf had ruined the trade of Paris. It ended
by M, Vachette commanding James to leave the room,
which he did, never again to cross the threshold. I
was much grieved, on account of the two sisters, that
politics should thus part friends, and different opinions
engender such bitter feelings.
As summer approached, the weather became delight-
ful I had heard and read of sunny France. Her poets
had apostrophised her bright blue skies, and sung in
raptures of her corn-fields and vineyards : I found the
picture not overdrawn. The sky was bright and beau-
tiMly clear for many weeks together. From the ab-
sence of smoke, there was a particular freshness in the
air, by which the intense heat of the sun was much re-
lieved. The Boulevards now swarmed with people,
especially on Sundays, which here is a kind of fete-
day, instead of being set apart for religious observance.
Jugglers, tumblers, and showmen lined the path ; bands
of music sounded in the air ; while all kinds of vehicles
crowded along the road. In the evening, the cafes were
filled with company, thousands being seated outside in
the cool of the evening, enjoying the soothing fragrance
of the cigar and sipping their coffee, and the ladies their
sugared water. The Boulevards outside of Paris were,
if possible, more gay. From the numerous cafes, ball-
rooms, and summer- gardens, the sound of song and
revelry met the ear, instead of the more decent tolling
oftheSabbath-beU.
On the 15th of May Paris was again thrown into a
state of ferment by the attack of the Communists on the
National Assembly. Some of my shopmates I knew to
be adherents of Barbcs, Blanqui, and the other Com-
munists ; and I noticed their absence on this particular
morning. The drum beat the rappel, and again shops
were shut, and the streets filled with military. I has-
tened down to the hall of the National Assembly, the
front of which was guarded by a troop of dragoons,
while immense numl^rs of the Garde Nationale were
hastening down the quais.
I was standing nearly opposite the Chambers when
Lamartine and Ledru-RolUn left the Assembly on
horseback. A thousand voices cried, * Vive Lamartine ! *
and a few, *Vive Ledru-BoUin!' Many pressed for-
ward to shake the former by the hand. I, wishing to
have that honour, pressed forward with the rest, and
grasping his hand a Uttle too tightly I fear, cried at the
top of my voice, * Vive Lamartine !* I felt as if it was
something to have shaken hands with the then greatest
man in all France.
The fete of Concord followed quickly afterwards : it
was a most splendid affair, but failed to produce the
contentment which was expected of it As for myself,
I had no great reason to complain : my work still in-
creased, and I fondly hoped that I might be allowed to
remain many years in the land of my adoption; my
master was kind and indulgent, using me more as an
equal that was in partnership with him than as a work-
man employed by him ; my shopmates were courteous
and obliging; the climate I felt to be delightful; all
public phices were free ; and the manners of the people
such as made me blush for the ignorance and rudeness
of my own.
My prospects in business being so cheering, I resolved
to purchase a little home, and send for my family. I
immediately began to put this resolution into effect,
and, living frugally and working hard for the next five
or six weeks, purchased at every opportunity such ar-
ticles of household furniture as I judged would be most
serviceable. Amongst these were a bed mattress and
bedstead, a rather stylish chest of drawers with a marble
top, a table, some chairs, and a looking-glass. The
articles, as I bought them, were placed in a room which
I had taken in the Hue Faubourg St Martin. It was
wi^ some degree of pride and satisfaction that I looked
round my UtUe apartment, longing for the time when
I should behold my wife and children once more com-
fortably settled beside me. I had meanwhile written to
my wife, directing her to sell to the best advantage our
household goods at home, and likewise a small business
which had formed the chief support of my family. It
was with great reluctance that I informed Monsieur and
Madame Vachette of my intention to leave them, as they
had treated me with imiform kindness, and I knew my
money, trifling as it was, was now an object with them.
Upon further consideration, seeing the difficulties my
wife would have to encounter on her journey with four
young children, I thought it would be better for me to
ask a week's hoUday, and fetch them from England
myself. A week previous to my intended departure,
which I had fixed for Sunday the 25th of June, aa it
was the last Sunday I should spend in the Battignollea,
I went, in company with my landlord and his wife, to
Versailles, M. Vachette having an uncle residing there.
On the previous night he had brought home his new
uniform, and now for the first time put it on. He had,
in common with most Frenchmen, a smart military air,
and, with the hdp of some padding, made really a hand-
some figure. So to Versailles we went, and spent the
day most comfortaUy, all Uttle imagining how the next
Sunday would pass.
I had noticed every evening, on leaving my work,
bands of idle fellows loitering about the Portcs St
Martm and St Denis. These mobs the military were
called out several tiroes to disperse; and it was no
unusual thing to find both horse and foot at the Porte
St Martin as I was returning from work.
On the evening of Friday the 23d, as I was preparing
to leave work, I was alarmed by the noise of a sharp
firing in the street. I quickly dressed, and ran oat
All was confusion and alarm. Rebellion again had
reared its hydra head, and the fair city of Paris was
about to become an immense slaughter-house. A bar-
ricade had been formed at the Porte St Martin, before
which several of the Garde Nationale had already
fallen.
As I had no wish this time to take any share in
the movement, I avoided the Boulevard by taking by-
streets, until I reached the Rue de laChaussee d*Antin.
The rappel was now beating in every quarter, and the
Grarde Nationale mustering in great numbers. Armed
men passed me every moment ; but of which party it
was impossible to judge, as thousands of the Garde
Nationde were without uniforms. I rushed across the
Boulevard, and then up Rue de la Chaussee d*Antin to
Rue Clichy. I passed through the barrier of that name,
and reached my lodgings in Rue de TEduse in safety.
I had not been at home many minutes, when M.
Vachette, who worked in the Rue St Honore, entered.
The rappel now sounded loudly in the BattignoUes. I
helped my landlord to equip, belted on his sword and
cartridge-box, and handed him his gun from the comer
in which it was usually kept He shook me by the
hand, kissed his wife, and then departed.
I endeavoured to calm the agitation of Madame
Vachette, by assuring her that it was nothing but an
ordinary ^meuie, of which several had lately taken
place. So, wishing madame good -night, I took my
lamp, and retired to my chamber.
At daybreak I was awoke by something jarring my
window, which, from the heat of the weather, I had left
unfastened. Suddenly it shook again, and the boom of
cannon struck my ear. I sprang from my bed, and
threw back my window. The first streaks of day had
just began to crimson the eastern sky. A sharp, quick
knocking at my door, and the voice of my landlady
calling me, drew me from the window. I threw on
some artides of clothing, and admitted her. With pale
and quivering lips she besought me to make some in-
quiries as to the cause of the firing. I promised her I
would, and went out with that intention.
On ascending the hiU of Montmartre, wliich stands
at the distance of a short walk from the Battigndles, and
commands a fine view of Paris, I saw the white smoke
of the combat already curling above the houses. The
discharges of artillery became every moment more fie-
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
21
qnent, mingled with the rattling of musketry, until the
vhole became one deafening roar, as the comhat was
more general, and the line of action more extended.
I returned to my lodgings, and found my poor land-
lady in a sad state ; her anxiety respecting her husband
and other relations in Paris being yery great. She ex-
pressed her determination to proceed in search of M.
Yachette, in spite of all dangers that she must necos-
nrOy be exposed ta At her earnest intreaty I con-
sented to accompany her, knowing that, from the polite-
ness of the IVench of all grades towards a female, my
protection to her was a guarantee for my own safety.
Aroid^g the quarter in which lighting was going
on, we reached the Bouleyards by the way of Rue
d'Amsterdam and the Madeleine. The Boulerards
were crowded with troops, and several pieces of cannon
passed on their way to the scene of combat On mak-
ing inquiries of an ofBcer as to the station of the legion
from the Battignolles, he politely informed us that tiiey
had passed the night in the gardens of the Tuileries.
This for the present somewhat calmed poor Madame
Vadiette^s apprehension.
We now proceeded to Rue St Honore, where resided
her father. The old gentleman yery much blamed our
rashness in venturing out amid such a scene; so,
leaving her with her father, I endeavoured to reach
the Tuileries ; but aU approach was strictly forbidden.
I next endeavoured to reach the Rue de la Harpe ; but
even approach in that quarter was cut off, either by the
military, or by enormous barricades. As I had no wish
to be again concerned in the making of street defences,
' I in every posaible manner avoided coming in contact
with the men employed in their construction. Having
thus £uled in every effort to obtain intelligence, I re-
tomed to Rue St Honors, and taking Madame Yachette
^ain under my protection, proceeded home.
Night at length closed upon the long day of Saturday,
daring which Uie cannon had thundered without in-
termission ; and when at last the twilight of a short
night in June shrouded the dying and the dead, the
sky was crimsoned in many places by the light of con-
flagration. Sleep that night visited but few eyes in
Parts, uuless it was the sleep of death, which now
w^s^ed heavily on thousands who had risen hale and
hearty with the morning's dawn.
AU night was heard the heavy tramp of armed le-
gions, and the clattering of horses' hoofs, with the jingl-
ing of sabres and accoutrements, as the troops continued
to pour into Paris from the provinces. - On the follow-
iog day (Sunday) the combat increased in fury, ap-
proadiing sUll nearer our immediate locality ; and a
tremendous cannonade being directed on Barriers Roche-
chooart and Poissonniere, both of which were plainly
disconiUe from our windows.
The sight was one of extreme horror. From the
immense strength of these two positions, the carnage in
attempting to take them was very great Notwith-
■tanding that the cannon thundered at them from day-
bresk till dusk, they still remained in possession of the
msm-geuts. The streets of the Battignolles were now
fwarming with troops, Xnd the houses filled with the
djiog and the dead. As for poor Madame Yachette,
ihe sat the image of despair, rocking her body to and
fro in mental agony. No food had yet passed her lips.
Again we passed a wretched night, and again the thun-
df^ of artUlery aroused me from a sort of dose that I
had fiallen into towards the morning. As the day
advanced, the firing slackened, and then ceased. The
iosmrection was now quelled, and the silence of death
succeeded the roar of the cannon.
The legion of the Battignolles returned at night, and
many anxious wives rushed from rank to rank. There
were joyful meetings of friends, and piercing shrieks of
sgony and wo from wife and daughter when those they
sought returned not One such scream burst from the
lips of poor Madame Yachette, as she sank in strong
hysterics on the ground, although his comrades assured
facr that her husband was only wounded.
I went with her next day to the Hdtel-Dieu, to in-
quire after him, and the dreadful sights that everywhere
met our gaze make the heart ache to think of. On
arriving at the gate of the hospital, we found a melan-
choly group surrounding it with pale faces and tearful
eyes, all anxiously waiting to ascertain the fate of
near and dear ones. There was a long interval of pain-
ful anxiety, and then came the dreadful truth : poor M.
Yachette was numbered with the dead I He had died
of his wounds immediately on his admission.
His wife, poor soul, bore this stroke better than I
expected. No tears this time ; although, when the fatal
truth was made known, a groan burst from her lips as
if her very life would leave her body. Her eyes were
dry and bloodshot with long watching; her lips no
longer pale, but black and parched, as with fever. She
begged to see the corpse in a low husky voice, that
showed what ravages grief had already made on a con-
stitution at all times delicate. Those whose visits have
only been confined to an hospital under ordinary cir-
cumstances, can form no idea of the horrors of the
scene, or the fearful medley of dreadful sounds that
struck the ear. The low moan of agony, the wild cry
of some who were delirious, and the still louder shrieks
of those imdergoing painful surgical operations, com-
bined to produce a most appalling effect We passed
through many long lines of poor suffering wretches,
many of whom closed their eyes with no friend to minis-
ter to their last wants — to wet the parched lips, to lift
the aching head or smooth the pillow, or to give up
with them the last prayer to the throne of mercy. In
many cases the last sounds that fell on their dying ear
were the wild imprecations and fearful yells that came
from the lips of a new-made madman, whose disor-
dered fancy still kept wandering to the scene of the
late fearful conflict
Soon we were in the hall of death, and a heart-rending
scene it was. Although some attempt had been made
to give the dead a decent appearance, yet the majority
were sadly disfigured with wounds and clotted gore.
The eyes of the wife were quicker than mine, for I was
occupied in viewing the frightful cuts and slashes that
some of the bodies exhibited, while many, very many,
only showed a small blue mark to tell the manner of
their death. She grasped my arm, as if to prevent her-
self from falling, stopped short for a moment and gasped
for breath. My eyes mechanically followed the direc-
tion of hers ; and there he lay, poor fellow, still in his
uniform — for he was either dead when brought in, or
died immediately afterwards. She stooped down to kiss
his pale bloodless lips, the cold contact of which seemed
to freeze her very heart She trembled in every limb,
and her teeth chattered. I bore her unresistingly away
from this painful sight, and with a heavy heart returned
to the Battignolles.
Being anxious to ascertain the fkte of my friends, I
returned towards the quarter Latin, in which was situ-
ated the Rue de la Harpe. My journey to this place
was one of extreme difficulty, for I was stopped and
searched in every quarter. In some places I had to
scramble over high barricades half destroyed, and then
wade knee-deep in mud, passing perhaps under build-
ings that threatened every moment to fall and crush
the luckless passenger. In many places I was repulsed
and forced back by the military ; and when permitted
to proceed, only in company of one or more of the Garde
Nationale or Garde Mobile. At length I reached the
Rue de la Harpe, and mounted the many stairs to the
apartment of James Bargues. I rang softly at the bell
The door was opened by his wife. On seeing me, the
first word she uttered was, • Have you brought me any
news of my husband?* Upon inquiry, I found that he
too had been absent since the fat^ evening of Friday.
Poor soul ! the consolation that I could afford her was
small indeed. His fate I could but too readily guess :
he was either with the slain, or languishing in the
dungeons of the Tuileries. The party he would em-
brace in the conflict I knew too w^
■««Kjbaaaa>^^_^
22
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURaH JOURNAL.
I now thought it would be well to see how matters
stood witti myself. I passed those places where ttie
fighting had been thickest Eyerywhero the traces of
the fearfiil conflict were visible. On the Qoai anx
Fleors, a large clothing estabUshment, where, a few
days preTious, I had purchased a pair of trousers, was
now riddled with cannon balls. I crossed Pont N6tre
Dame to the Rue St Martin. Our establishment was
closed, tiie masters mounting guard somewhere, and no
one to give me any information.
Passing through Porte St Martin to the Faubourg, I
found the traces of the struggle still more evident.
Barricades half-destroyed continually impeded the pro-
gress of the passengers. On reaching the house wnere
I had placed my goods, I found it turned into a tem-
porary guardhouse, and it was occupied by a party of
the GJaMe Mobile. I inquired for the concierge. He
had disappeared. I asked permission to visit my apart-
ment The man on guard shrugged up his shoulders,
and said I might please myself about that I thanked
him, and mounted the stairs; when, oh my poor m^-
nage, what a wreck I My bed and mattress had dis-
appeared, doubtless for the service of the wounded : my
drawers---doubtless the marble top had broken the head
of some luckless wight in the street below. The last
of my bedstead was burning on the hearth, cooking
the mess for the soldiery. I returned to the Battig-
nolles very low-spirited indeed, and there found a note
from my employer, recommending me to remain some
time in England until better days should permit me to
return to Paris, as he thought London for the present
presented a better chance of success. So I prepared
to depart from this city of mourning and desolation.
Previous to my departure I again visited Madame
Bargues, in company with her siker. The meeting of
the two was very affecting. Both were alike bereaved ;
for my fears were too well-founded: James had been
taken with the insurgents, and now awaited a court-
martial in ttie dungeon of the Tuileries. The rest is
told in a few words. On my return to England, I
found that my wife, acting on my instructions, had
broken up our little home, and^parted with her business.
So I found myself in no enviable situation. But my
case is not an isolated one of the misery brought by
civil war. W. E
SKETCHES OP THE HISTORY OF EDUCATION.
MONTAIONB — ^RATICH.*
Education, according to the idea of it which prevailed
during the period from the revival of letters to the
sixteenth century, was confined to a repetition of the
words and theories of the ancient authors and philo-
sophers. The object was only to know what they said,
not what was right. The efforts of Erasmus, of Me-
lancthon, and, above all, of Luther, and the influence of
^e greater difi\ision of knowledge, introduced a more
extensive course of instruction; and the new school
boasted that they taught realities instead of the pe-
dantic verbsdism of the old. And vet the difference
was not so great as was imagined. History and science
were taught, not for themselves, but with a view to the
elucidation of the classics, and they were taught on the
old prindple of authorihr instead of experiment As-
tronomy was learned without observation of the stars ;
anatomy without dissection ; botany without botanising ;
everything was taught from books, implicit faith being
still given to the theories of Aristotle, Pliny, and Gden ;
and nature herself, when she was investigated, was so,
not in order to correct the authorities, but only in order
to come round again to, and explain the infallible books.
This was verbal realism — the teaching of things not by
the understanding, but the memory. It was when
education had reached this stage of development that
the system of Bacon« producing realism in philosophy,
♦ An artiide prewntlag tho opinions of three eadier educationists
appewred In No. 206.
produced realists in education also. The great |nria-
ciple of this school was, to teach things instead of words ;
and their method, to teach through the understanding
instead of the memory. Accordingly, tiie general cha-
racteristics of the new system, as cUsplayed at its birth,
may be stated as follows ^— They asserted the necessity
of teaching the arts and sciences, history and modem
languages— in short, knowledge in general, as well as
the classics, and maintained the practicability of teach-
ing both simultaneously. With regard to their method
of teaching, they attacked the universal domination of
the Latin language, and took the mother -tongue aa
the foundation of all education ; their special objection
was to the ' memonr-cramming' of the dd system,
which, said they, is dead and useless, since the pupils
are made to learn by heart much which tiiey cannot
understand, and yet that which is understood can alone
be impressed on the memory.
Before passing to those individuals whose systems
were the direct ofiiipring of the Baconian philosophy, it
is necessary to advert to a man who, living contem-
poraneously with Bacon, certainly was not in anyway
indebted to him for his opinions, and yet whose views
bear the strongest analogy to those subsequently deve-
loped by the systematic realists, under the influence of
the inductive philosophy. This man was Montaigne.
His remarks, from the very circumstance, perhaps, that
lie had no practical experience of teaching, are as acute
as they are original; whilst in his writings may be
found the germ of much which was broached long after-
wards as newly discovered, by authors who were not
candid enough to own their obligations to the Gascon
philosopher. As a whole, Montaigne's idea of educaticm
was thoroughly realist ; not that his works contain any
digested system. None of the works of this vivacious
author can be called systematic, except in their egotism.
The man himself is Uie centre on which all his reflec-
tions turn, and he scatters his opinions abroad, crude
and unconnected, as they occurred to himself. This
being the case, we shall not attempt to reduce Mon-
taigne's observations to any system, but content , our-
selves with quoting such portions of his writings as
may best illustrate his views.
* The end of study,' he observes, • is to become wiser
and better, and the object of the tutor should be to
make his pupil a man of abilities rather than' a mere
scholar.' Proceeding on this principle, he inveighs
against the pedantic Teaming then in vogue. ' We take
pains only to stuff the memory, and leave the under-
standing and the conscience unfurnished. We can ex-
claim, says Cicero, these were the morals of Plato;
these the very words of Aristotle; but what do we
say ourselves that is our own? Compare in the man
truly educated one of those college Latinists, who has
thrown away fifteen or sixteen years in only learning
to speak. We are subjected four or five years to learn
the meaning of words, and to tack them together into
clauses; as many more to distribute one copious dis-
course into four or five parts ; and Uie remaining five
years at least to learn succincUy to mix and interweave
them after a subtle manner.' And he goes on, as an
illustration, to relate a story of his meeting two scholars,
one of whom being asked, with regard to his companion,
what gentleman that might be, replied, * He is not a
gentleman ; he is a grammarian, and I am a logician.*
' Now, we who, on the contrary, do not aim to form a
grammarian or a logician, but a gentleman, leave them
to misspend their time : our business lies another way ;
for let our pupil be well furnished with things, words
will fiow but too fast ; he will drag them after him if
they are not ready to follow.' For the word gentleman,
here substitute man, and the object of education, accord-
ing to the realists, is described almost in their own
words. In the same spirit Montaigne maintains that
education ought to be the teaching to think for our-
selves, rather than to repeat the thoughts of others.
' The tutor should at the very first, according to the
capacity of his pupil, begin to put it to the test, by
^1*1
CHAMBERS'S fiDmBURGH JOURNAL.
23
permitfciiig hit pupil himjelf to taste thiogSy and to
efaooae and dittingiiith them, lometinies open^g the way
for him, and gometimea not. For if he embraoet the
opiBtooa of Xenophon and Plato, in hia own conyiction
these o^nioDa wiU be no longer theirs, but his. He
that fijllowa another follows noU)ing, finds nothing, nay,
does Bofe seek for anything. To know by rote is no
knowledge.*
Since Montaigne's plan is thoronghly to inform the
mind, he inaists much on the necessity of studying his-
tory, and eapedally what we now call the philosophy of
hirtny; aiid he also recommends travelling, and an
early acquaintance with, and an interest in, the eyents
and opinlona of the day. Since, too, he was to educate
the whole man, his system comprehends the training of
the bo^ aa wdl as Uie mind. Pursuing in eyerytUng
his realist crusade against teaching without experience,
be errlaims, ' I could wish that Falnel or Pompey,
those fkmous dancing-masters of my time, could have
tau^t us to cot capers by only seeing them do it, with-
out erer stirring firom our seats, as fiiese men pretend
to improye our understanding without ezerdsing it;
or tiiat we had learned to ride, handle a pike, touch a
Inte, or sing, without the troiible of practice, as these
pf^tond to make us think; and speak well without
rBerrtsing either our judgment or our yoice.' In all
tbeae points we shall presently see the exact similarity
of the opinions of Montaigne to those of the systematic
realists ; and. in another point of still more importance
there is the same agreement— the uselessness and im-
prupriety of harshness. *Away with this force, this
yiofence,' says he : * youth should be allured to instruc-
tioo, not driven to it, that where their profit is, their
pleasure may be also.' As a last hit at the pedantic
qnibblea of the sdiods, he asks, * But what snail our
young gentleman do if he be attacked with the sophis-
tical subtlety of some syllogism ? A gammon of bacon
makes a man drink, drink quenches thirst ; ergo, the
bacon quenches thirst Why let him laugh at it, and
it win be the more discretion to do so than to answer
it:-
Essentially reaUst as Montaigne was, his writings
do not appear to have exercised much direct influence
on ^le earUer educationists who professed tiie same
opinions. The first of the systematic realists was Wolf-
gang Raticb, who was bom in Holstein in 1571. His
gen^sl idea will be best understood by a short account
of his method of teaching Latin, on the analogy of
which he formed his method of instruction in all
brandies of learning.
Ratich rejected the old system of teaching the gram-
mar in the first place, and then proceeding to read ; on
the contrary, he chose Terence, as being the Latin
author best known by translations, and insisted on
each play being read once, twice, or even three times
in G^man bdbre proceeding to the original The
teacher was then to go over the play, act by act, and
scene by scene, explidning the drift and meaning thereof,
as if the translation were in the hands of the class.
He then went over the whole scene, translating word by
word Ikom the Latin, tiie pupils listening; a second
verbal tranalation waa then made, the pupOs repeating
word by word after the teacher ; and lastiy, they trans-
lated it themselves in the same manner, the teacher
assisting them in any difficulty. When the author had
thus been concluded for the third time, the class pro-
ceeded to the grammar (written in Latin), which was
expounded to them in the same manner as that pursued
with Terence, analogies to the Qerman grammar being
pointed out Each particular portion of the grammar
vras then translated word for word several times, each
rule being illustrated 1^ examf^ chosen firom Terence.
Kiort sentences analogous to examples given in tiie
author were then tranalated from German into Latin ;
and lastiy, written exercises on the same principle were
composed and corrected. The first step having been
thus thoroughly mastered, the pupils proceeded to
otiier authors.
The system of dassioal teaching above described
presupposes a thorough mastery of &e mother tongue.
Strange, however, as it may seem, Batich's original
plan was, to proceed to Latin as soon as the merest
elements of reading had been acquired in the mother
tongue, or rather to teach those elements in Latin.
His disciple Kromayer rcgected this doctrine, main-
taining that pupils must first of all learn German
thoroughly b^ore applying to Latin or any other
foreign hmguage, * for as it is absurd to give children
Latin books until they can read German p^ectiy, it is
still worse in the very beginning, before they can read
at all, to teach tiiem to read in Latin primers.' With
this view, Batich's disciple commenced by teaching to
read in German, using the Lutheran Bible as his class-
book. The pupils were taken over their lesson several
times, word by word, in Batich's fashion, applying the
grammar in their later perusals; and it was not till
they were thorough masters of the reading and gram-
mar of the mother tongue that Latin was attempted.
' Preposterous as the att^npt to teach the elements of
reading and spelling in a foreign tongue appears in the
present day, we must remember that the exactiy ana-
k)gous absurdity of teaching the rudiments of Latin
grammar by means of books written in that language,
has only very lately been abandoned in our own schools,
if indeed it can yet be said to have altogether fallen
into desuetude. Batich's idea seems to have originated
in a yet lingering feeling of the far superior importance
of Latin as compared with the molJier tongue. He
could not divest himself of tlie old superstition, that
Latin ought to be the mother tongue of the educated
man. Montaigne, whose shrewd common sense ought
to have guard^ him against such an error, is liable to
the same imputation. He describes, as highly to be
recommended, the system under which he was himself
taught His eccentric father conceived the plan of
never allowing his son, even in his earliest years, to
hear or to speak any language but Latin, the result of
which was that the boy was upwards of six years old
before he could understand French, although he spoke
I^tin perfectly. To say nothing of the impractica-
bility of such a system in the vast megority of cases,
the question of the advantage to be derived still re-
mains. In Bussia, the native language used to be
considered so vulgar and inelegant as to be unfitted
for the use of those of gentie rank ; fashionable people
were ashamed to own that they understood it, and chil-
dren were consequentiy trained from infancy to speak
French. If all other nations are contented to look
on their own language with Bussian contempt, they
may take to Montaigne's system ; but the reason for
sudi a preference has yet to be shown. The same
observations do not apply, however, to the practice of
making a foreign language, and especially Latin, the
foundation on which the rudiments of grammar are
taught The pupil's familiarity with the idioms of the
mother tongue, renders the application and comprehen-
sion of exact rules in regard to it a perplexing task ;
whilst, viewed abstractly, apart from the meaning of
the words, which is Gt course to be given at the same
time, there is no more difficulty in explaining a gram-
matical principle by means of a language imperfectly,
than one thoroughly mastered. On the other hand, to
say nothing of the superiority, as regards regularity of
construction, of the Latin over most modern languages,
the very unfamiliarity gives each rule, as clearing away
an obstacle to translation, an importance otherwise
unfelt In the one case, the mother tongue has to be
learned over again ; in the other, each advance made
in the grammar of a foreign tongue insensibly throws
a light upon the construction of our own. * The advan-
tages of Batich's system,' says one of his followers,
'are, that useful sciences and languages can be more
easily, expeditiously, and correctly taught, than they
ever have been. By his method, either young or old
may in a year, or even in half a year, learn any lan-
guage as thoroughly as their mother tongue ; and the
24
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOlTRNAt.
same method is still better adapted for instruction in
the arts and sciences, since these are, by their nature,
free from the anomalies which hare crept into lan-
guage.'
That a superficial knowledge of languages and science
may, by a system of preceptorial repetition such as
Ratich's, be easily picked up, is true enough ; but it is
a rery different question whether that knowledge will
be as thorough and as essentially beneficial as if the
pupil had devoted his individual energies to the acqui-
sition. Ratich*s method is neither more nor less thui
a more laborious form of the Hamiltonian system of
interlinear translation. The whole labour, with the
exception of a mere act of memory and attention, de-
Tolved on the teacher : he was to explain, to expound
everything ; the pupil had nothing to do but to listen
and to follow. The effect of this can scarcely be called
questionable. When to the labours of the tcadier he
added the greater part of the labours of the scholar,
Ratich forgot his own principles, and fell into the very
error against which himself and Montaigne declaimed
so vehemently, of depriving his pupils of aU fireedom
of thought and mental action.
* For to distract the attention with several things at
once, is as absurd as to try to cook porridge, meat, milk,
and fish in the same pot* But was Ratich's procedure
according to the order of nature when he surfeited his
pupils day after day with traiftlation upon translation
of the same play by the same author ? Is not a change
of study just as necessary as a change of diet ? Would
it be according to the order of nature to keep a school
for eight months on a particular kind of meat or fish,
without a piece of bread or drop of milk, as Ratich
kept his for eight months hammering at Terence?
Again : * Too great a reliance on memory is injurious
to the understanding and apprehension of the thing
taught ; since, in attaining tills one object of remem-
bering, tHe mind is bound down to the word alone,
and no room is left for a consideration of the thing.
Moreover, the labour itself is unnecessaxy, there being
a far better method of attidning the same object ; for
when a thing is by frequent repetition thoroughly pic-
tured to the understanding, the memory retains it of
itself without any farther trouble.' And so one of his
golden rules is the necessity of frequent repetition. But
what is repetition but a committing by rote — nay, what
is Ratich's whole system but a committing of transla-
tion by heart, with this peculiarity, that the teacher is
brought in for an inunense share of the merely mecha-
nical labour?
In making these observations, it is not to be supposed
that anything more is intended than to expose the fal-
lacy of Ratich*s theory — that it is possible altogether to
dispense with learning by rote. There can be no greater
absurdity than that of loading the memory without in-
forming the understanding, and on this point it is im-
possible not to see the force of Ratich^ rules, ' First,
the thing itself, then the manner of the thing,' and
* Everything by experiment and practical observation '
— or, as the Latinists have it, * Per inductionem et ex-
perimentum omnia.' * It is useless,' says he, * to give
rules imtil you have given the author and the language.
For what use can he make of any language who has
never read a single author in it, though he be stuffed
full of rules? A careful and compendious course of
reading will teach the rules and the application of them.
The rules, then, ought to be taught, neither as the pre-
paration nor as the foundation, but in order to confirm
and fiix in the mind the thing taught. And so every
rule must be tested and explained by the examples
found in the course of the pupil's own reading.' Might
not attention to these remarks obviate many a weary
hour now spent over * Propria quas maribus,' and such
like?
From these remarks it will be seen how it was that
Ratich, the earliest of the systematic realists, fell into
that error which we have described as the stumbling-
block of all his brethren — namely, that thoosh he laid
down true principles, he was not in practice true to hia
own principles ; or, as the Swedish Chancellor Oxen-
steim expressed it, he exposed the evils of the prevail-
ing system well enough, but the remedies which he
proposed were scarcely adequate to cure them.
As the foundation of his system, Ratich enounces
several principles, most of which are sound enough in
themselves ; it is only tiie application of them to his
method which appears difficult Thus be maintains
that everything must be done according to the course
of nature ; that only one thing is to be attempted at a
time i and that no new thing should be undertaken until
all which preceded it has been thoroughly mastered.
In each language a particular author is to be chosen,
fh>m whom that language is to be learned, and others
are not to be read till this has been completely digested.
EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER.
THE MARCH ASSIZE.
SoMETRiNa more than half a century ago, a person, m
going along Holbom, might have seen, near the comer
of one of the thoroughfares which diverge towards
RusseU Square, the respectable-looking shop of a glover
and haberdasher named James Harvey, a man gene*
rally esteemed by his neighbours, and who was usually
considered well to do in the worid. Like many London
tradesmen, Harvey was originally fh>m the country.
He had come up to town when a poor lad to push his
fortune, and by dint of steadiness and civility, and a
small property left him by a distant relation, he had
been able to get into business on his own account, and
to attain that most important eleipent of success in
London — 'a connection.' Shortly after setting up in
the world, he married a yotmg woman from his native
town, to whom he had been engaged ever since hia
school-days ; and at the time our narrative commences
he was the father of three children.
James Harvey's establishment was one of the best
frequented of its class in the street Tou could never
pass without seeing customers going in or out There
was evidently not a little business going forward. But
although, to all appearance, a flourishing concern, the
proprietor of the establishment was surprised to find
that he was continually pinched in his circumstances.
No matter what was the amount of business transacted
over the counter, he never got any richer.
At the period referred to, shopkeeping had not at-
tained that degree of organisation, with respect to
counter-men and cashiers, whi(^ now distinguishes the
great houses of trade. The primitive till was not yet
superseded. This was the weak point in Harvey's
arrangements ; and not to make a needless number of
words about it, the poor man was regulariy robbed by
a shopman, whose dexterity in pitching a guinea into
the drawer, so as to make it jump, unseen, with a jerk
into his hand, was worthy of Herr Dobler, or any other
master of the sublime art of jugglery.
Good-natured and unsuspicious, perhaps also not snlTo
flciently vigilant, Harvey was long in discovering how
he was pillaged. Cartwright, the name of the person
who was preying on his employer, was not a young man.
He was between forty and fifty years of age, and had
been in various situations, where he had always given
satisfaction, except on the score of being somewhat gay
and somewhat irritate. Privately, he was a man of
loose habits, and for years his extravagances had been
paid for by property clandestinely abstracted firom his
too-confiding master. Slow to believe in the reality of
such wickedness, Mr Harvey could with difficulty enter-
tain the suspicions which betran to dawn on his mind.
kAtf^^i
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
25
At length all doabt was at an end. He detected Cart-
vright in the Tery act of carrying off goods to a con-
•idefaUe amount The man was tried at the Old
Bailej for the offence ; but through a technical infor-
mality in the indictment, acquitted.
Unable to find employment, and with a character
gone, the liberated thief became savage, reyengeful,
and desperate. Instead of imputing his fidl to his own
irregiUaritieSy he considered his late unfortunate em-
ployer as the cause of his ruin ; and now he bent all the
energies of his dark nature to destroy the reputation
of tl^ man whom he had betrayed and plundered. Of
all the beings self-deliyered to the rule of unscrupulous
malignity, with whom it has been my fate to come
professionally in contact, I never knew one so utterly
fiendish as this discomfited pilferer. Frenzied with
his imaginary wrongs, he formed the determination to
labour, even if it were for years, to ruin his victim.
Nothing short of deaUi should divert him from this
the darling object of his existence.
Animated by these diabolical passions, Cartwright
proceeded to his work. Harvey, he had too good rea-
son to know, was in debt to persons who had made him
advances ; and by means of artfully-concocted anony-
mous letters, evidently written by some one conversant
with Uie matters on which he wrote, he succeeded in
alarming the haberdasher's creditors. The consequences
were — demands of immediate payment, and, in spite of
ttie debtor's explanations and promises, writs, heavy law
expenses, ruinous sacrifices, and ultimate bankruptcy.
It may seem almost too marvellous for belief, but the
story of this terrible revenge and its consequences is no
fictbn. Every incident in my narrative is true, and
the whole may be found in hard outline in the records
of the courts with which a few years ago I was familiar,
.llie humiliated and distressed feelings of Harvey
and his family may be left to the imagination. When
he found himself a ruined man, I daresay his mental
sofferings were sufficiently acute. Yet he did not sit
down in despair. To re-estabhsh himself in business
in England appeared hopeless ; but America presented
itself as a scene where industry might find a reward ;
and by tlie kindness of some friends, he was enabled to
make preparations to emigrate with his wife and chil-
dren. Toward! the end of February he qmM London
Ibr one of the great seaports, where he was to embark
for Boston. On arriving there with his;faihily, Mr
Harvey took up his abode at a principal hotel. This,
in a man of straitened means, was doubtless impru-
dent; but he afterwards attempted to explain the cir-
cumstance by saying, that as the ship in which he had
engaged his passage was to sail on the day after his
arrival, he had preferred incurring a slight additional
expense rather &an that his wife — who was now, with
foiling spirits, nursing an infant — should be exposed to
coarse associations and personal discomfort. In the
expectation, however, of being only one night in the
hotel, Harvey was unfortunately disappointed. Ship-
masters, especially those commanding emigrant vessels,
were then, as now, habitual promise -breakers; and
although each succeeding sun was to light them on
their way, it was fully a fortnight before the ship
stood out to sea. By that time a second and more dire
reverse had occurred in the fortunes of the luckless
Harvey.
Cartwright, whose appetite for vengeance was but
whetted by his first success, had never lost sight of the
movements of his victim ; and now he had followed
him to tiie place of his embarkation, with an eager but
undefined purpose of working him some further and
more deadly mischief. Stealthily he hovered about the
boose whidi sheltered the unconscious object of his
malicious hate, plotting, as he afterwards confessed, the
wildest schemes for satiating his revenge. Several
times he made excuses for caUiog at the hotel, in the
hops of observing the nature of the premises, taking
can, however, to avoid being seen by Mr Harvey or
Ut ikmily. A fortnight pasMd away, and the day of
departure of the emigrante arrived without the slightest
opportunity occurring for the gratification of his pur-
poses. The ship was leaving her berth ; most of the
passengers were on board ; Mrs Harvey and the chil-
dren, with nearly the whole of the luggage, were already
safely in the vessel; Mr Harvey only remained on
shore to purchase some trifling article, and to settle his
bill at the hotel on removing his last trunk. Cart-
wright had tracked him all day ; he could not attack
him in the street ; and he finally followed him to the
hotel, in order to wreak his vengeance on him in his
private apartment, of the situation of which he had
informed himself.
Harvey entered the hotel first, and before Cartwright
came up, he had gone down a passage into the bar to
settle the bill which he had incurred for the last two
days. Not aware of this circumstance, Cartwright, in
the bustle which prevailed, went up stairs to A& Har-
vey's bedroom and parlour, in neither of which, to his
surprise, did he find the occupant ; and he turned away
discomfited. Passing along towards the chief staircase,
he perceived a room of which the door was open, and
that on the table there lay a gold wateh and appen-
dages. Nobody was in the apartment : the gentleman
who occupied it had only a few momente before gone
to bis bedchamber for a brief space. Quick as light-
ning a diabolical thought fiashed through the brain of
the villain, who had bien baffled in his original inten-
tions. He recollected that he had seen a trunk in Har-
vey's room, and that the keys hung in the lock. An
inconceivably short space of time served for him to
seize the wateh, to deposit it at the bottom of Harvey's
trunk, and to quit the hotel by a back stair, which led
by a short cut to the harbour. The whole transaction
was done unperceived, and the wreteh at least departed
unnoticed.
Having finished his business at the bar, Mr Harvey
repaired to his room, locked his trunk, which, being of
a small and handy size, he mounted on his shoulder, and
proceeded to leave the house by the back stair, in order
to get as quickly as possible to the vesseL Little recked
he of the interruption which was to be presented to his
departure. He had got as far as the foot of the stair
with his burden, when he was overtaken by a waiter,
who declared that he was going to leave the house clan-
destinely without settling accounts. It is proper to
mention that Mr Harvey had incurred the enmity of
this particular waiter in consequence of having, out of
his slender resources, given him too small a gratuity on
the occasion of paying a former bill, and not aware of
the second )>ill being settled, the waiter was rather glad
to have an opportunity of charging him with a fraudu-
lent design. In vain Mr Harvey remonstrated, saying
he had paid for everything. The waiter would not be-
lieve his statement, and detained him 'till he should
hear better about it.*
* Let me go, fellow ; I insist upon it,' said Mr Harvey,
burning with indignation. * I am already too late.'
* Not a step, till I ask master if accounts are squared.'
At this moment, while the altercation was at the
hottest, a terrible ringing of bells was heard, and above
stairs was a loud noise of voices, and of feet running to
and fro. A chambermaid came hurriedly down the
stair, exclaiming that some one had stolen a gold watch
from No. 17, and that nobody ought to leave the house
till it was found. The landlord also, moved by the
hurricane which had been raised, made his appearance
at the spot where Harvey was interrupted in his exit
*What on earth is all this noise about, John?' in-
quired the landlord of the waiter.
* Why, sir, I thought it rather strange for any gentle-
man to leave the house by the back way, carrying his
own portmanteau, and so I was making a little breeze
about it, fearing he had not paid his biU, when all of a
sudden Sally rushes down the steir and says as how
No. 17 has missed his gold wateh, and that no one
should quit the hotel.'
Na 17, an old, dry-looking military gentleman, in
a particolarlj high pAsaion, now showed himself on
tiie scene, uttering terrible threats of legal prooeedings
against the house for the loss he had sustained.
Harrey was stupifled and indignant, yet he could
hardly help smiling at the pother. *What,' said he,
* have I to do with all this ? I have paid for everything ;
I am surely entitled to go away if I like. Bemember,
that if I lose my passage to Boston, you shall answer
for it'
' I yery much regret detaining you, sir,' replied the
keeper o^ the hotel ; * but you hear there has been a
robbery committed within tiie last few minutes, and as
it will be proper to search every one in the house,
surely you, who are on the point of departure, will
have no objections to be searched first, and then be at
liberty to go JL'
There was something so perfectly reasonable in all
this, that Harrey stepped into an adjoining parlour,
and threw open lus trunk for inspection, never doubting
that his innocence would be immediately manifest
The waiter, whose mean rapacity had been the cause
of the detention, acted as examiner. He pulled one
article after another out of the trunk, and at length —
horror of horrors I — held up the missing watch with a
look of triumph and scorn I
* Who put that there?' cried Harvey in an agoqy of
mind which can be better imagined than described.
' Who has done me this grievous wrong? I know no*
thing as to how the watch came into my trunk.'
No one answered this appeal All present stood for
a moment in gloomy silence.
*Sir,' said the landlord to Harvey on recovering
from bis surprise, ' I am sorry for you. For the sake
of a miserable trifle, you have brought ruin and dis-
grace on yourselt 'Diis is a matter which concerns
the honour of my house, and cannot stop here. How-
ever much it is against my feelings, you must go. before
a magistrate.'
* By all means,' added No. 17, with the importance of
an injured man. ' A pretty thing that one's watch is
not safe in a house like this I'
* John, send Boots for a constable,' said the land-
lord.
Harvey sat with his head leaning on his hand. A
deadly cold perspiration trickled down his brow. His
heart swelled and beat as If it would burst What
should he do? His whole prospects were in an instant
bUghted. * Oh God ! do not desert a frail and unhappy
being : give me strength to face Uiis new and terrible
misfortune,' was a prayer he internally uttered. A
little revived, he started to his feet ftnd addressing
himsdf to the landlord, he said, * Take me to a magis-
trate instantly, and let us have this diabolical ^ot
unravelled. I court inquiry into my character and
conduct'
* It is no use saying any more about it,' answered the
landlord; 'here is Boots with a constable, and let us
all go away together to the nearest magistrate. Boots,
carry that trunk. John and Sally, you>can follow us.'
And so the party, trunk and all, under the constable
as conductor, adjourned to the house of a magistrate in
an adjacent street There the matter seemed so dear
a case of felony — robbery in a dwelling-house — that
Harvey, all protestations to the contrary, was fully
committed for trial at the ensuing March assizes, then
but a few days distant
At the period at which these incidents occurred, I
was a young man going on my first circuits. I had not
as yet been honour!^ with perhaps more than three or
four briefs, and these only w cases so slightly produc-
tive of fees, that I was compelled to study economy in
my excursions. Instead of taking up my residence at
an inn when visiting , a considerame seaport where
the court held its sittings, I dwelt in lodgings kept b^ a
widow lady, where, at a small expense, I could enjoy
perfect quietness, free firom interruption.
On the eyening after my arrival on the March cir-
cuit of the year 17 — , 1 was sitting in my lodgings
perusing a new work on criminal jurisprudence, when
the landlady, after tapping at the door, entered my
room.
' I am sorry to trouble you, sir,' said she ; ' but a
lady has called to see you about a very distressing law
case — very distressing indeed, and a very strange case
it is too. Only, if yon could be so good as see h^ ?'
'Who is she?'
' All I know about it is this : she is a Mrs Harvey.
She and her husband and children were to sail yesterday
for Boston. All were on board except the husband;
and he, on leaving the large hotel over the way, was
taken up for a robbery. Word was in the evening sent
by the prisoner to his wife to come on shore with all
her children and the luggage ; and so she came back in
tiie pilot boat, and was in such a state of distress, that
my brotiier, who is on the preventive service, and saw
her land, took pity on her, and had her and her chil-
dren and things taken to a lodging on the quay. As
my brother luiows that we have a London lawyer
staying here, he has advised the poor woman to oome
and consult you about the case.'
' Well, ni see what can be done. Please desire the
lady to step in.'
A lady was shortly shown in. She had been pretty,
and was so still, but anxiety was pictured in her pale
countenance. Her dress was plain, but not inelegant ;
and altogether she had a neat and engaging appear-
ance.
' Be so good as sit down,' said I, bowing; ' and teQ
me all you would like to say.'
The poor woman burst into tears; but aftowards
recovering herself, she told me pretty neariy the whole
of her history and that of her husband.
Lawyers have occasion to see so much duplicity,
that I did not all at once give assent to the idea of
Harvey being innocent of the crime of which he stood
charged.
* There is something perfectly inexplicable in the
case,' I observed, * and it would require sifting. Toor
husband, I hope, has always borne a good character?'
* Perfectly so. He was no doubt unfortunate in
business ; but he got his certificate on the first exa-
mination ; and there are many who would testify to
his uprightness.' And here again my client broke
into teEirs, as if overwhelmed with her recollections and
prospects.
* I think I recollect Mr Harvey's ehop,» said I sooth-
ingly. * It seemed a very respectable concern ; and we
must see what can be done. Keep up your spirits ; the
only fear I have arises from the fact of Judge A
being on the bench. He is usually considered severe,
and if exculpatory evidence fail, your husband may
run the risk of being — transported.' A word of more
terrific import with which I was about to condnde,
stuck unuttered in my throat * Have you employed
an attorney?' I added.
* No ; I have done nothing as yet, but apply to yoo,
to beg of you to be my huslMmd's counsel'
* Well, that must be looked to. I shall speak to a
local agent to prepare and work out the case ; and wc
shall afi do our utmost to get an acquittal. To-morrow
I will call on your husband in prison.'
Many thanks were ofibred by the unfortunate Isdy,
and she wifhdrew.
I am not going to inflict on the reader a detailed ac-
count of this remarkable trial, which turned, as bar-
risters would say, on a beautifiil point of drcumstantUI
evidence. Along with the attorney, a sharp enongh
person in his way, I examined various parties at the
hotel, and made myself acquainted with the nature of
the premises. The more we investigated, however, the
more dark and mysterious — always supposing Harvey's
innocence— did the whole case appear. There was not
one redeeming trait in the affiur, except Harvey's de-
vious good character ; and good character, by ^ J]^
of Englmdy goes for nothing in opposition to facts
idhk^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
27
M
proved to the aatisfactum of a jury. It was likewise
I most Qnfortimate that A waa to be the presiding
' judge. This man possessed great forensic acquire-
! meats, and was of spotless private character ; but, like
I the minority of lawyers of that day — when it was no ex-
< traordinary thing to hang twenty men in a morning at
! Newgate--he was a stanch stickler for the gallows as
the Mily effectual reformer and safeguard of the social
state. At this time he was but partially recovered firom
a k»g and seTere indisposition, and the traces of recent
BoiATing were distinctly apparent on his pale and pas-
sionless featurea.
Harvey was arraigned in due form ; the evidence was
gone caieAilly through ; and everything, so fkr as I was
eoQoeroed, was done that man could do. But at the
\ time to which I refer, counsel was not allowed to ad-
' dress the court on behalf of the prisoner — a practice
nnoe introduced from Scotland — and consequently I
was i^wed no opportunitrF to draw the attention of
the jury to the total want of any direct evidence of the
I prisoQM^s guilt. Hanrey himself tried to point out the
unlikelihood of his being guilty ; but he was not a man
gifted with dialectic qutdities, and his harangue fell
pointless on Uie understandings of the twelve common-
place indiyidnals who sat in the jury-box. The judge
finally proceeded to sum the evidence, and this he did
empha^cally agaititt the prisoner — dwelling with much
fbroe on the suspicious drcumstance of a needy man
tddng up his abode at an expensive fashionable hotel ;
lus futire descent from his apartments by the back
stun ; the undoubted fact of the watch being found in
^ his trunk ; the improbability of any one putting it
there but himself; and the extreme likelihood that the
robbery was effected in a few moments of time by the
culprit, just as he passed from the bar of the hotel to
i the room which he had occupied. * If,' said he to the
; jury, in concluding his address, * you can, after all these
' dicumstances, beliere the prisoner to be innocent of
tiie crime laid to his charge, it is more than I can do.
The thing seems to me as clear as the sun at noonday.
The evidence, in short, is irresistible ; and if the just
1 and necessary provisions of the law are not enforced in
such Tery |Aam cases, then society will be dissolved,
and securi^ for property there will be none. Gentle-
men, retire and make up your verdict'
The jury were not disposed to retire. After com-
muning a few minutes together, one of them stood up
and detivered the Tcrdict : it was Qttiliy/ The judge
assumed the crowning badge of the judicial potentate —
the black cap; and the clerk of arraigns asked the
prisoner at the bar, in the usual form, if he had any-
thing to urge why sentence of death should not be
passed npon him.
Poor Harvey ! I durst scarcely look at him. As the
sonorous words fell on his ear, he was grasping ner-
vously with shaking hands at the front of the dock.
He appeared stunned, bewildered, as a man but half
awakened from a hideous dream might be supposed to
kok. He had comprehended, though he had scarcely
heard, the Terdict ; for on the instant^ the voice which
bat a few years before sang to him by the brook side,
was ringing tlut>ugh his brain, and he could recognise
tiie little pattering feet of his children, as, sobbing and
dinging to their shrieking mother's dress, she and they
were hurried out of court The clerk, after a painM
pause, repeated the solemn formula. By a strong effort
the doomed man mastered his agitation ; his pale coun-
tenance lighted up with indignant fire, and firm and
telf-possessedy he thus replied to the fearM interro-
gatory:—
' Much could I say in the name, not of mercy, but of
justice, why the sentence about to Jtie passed on me
should not be pronounced ; but nothing, alas I that will
avail me with you, pride-blinded ministers of death.
Ton fashion to yourselTes — out of your own vain con-
ceits do yon fashion — ^modes.and instruments, by the
aid of which you fondly Imagine to invest yourselves
with attributes which belong only to Omniscience ; and
t
I
now I warn you— and it is a Toice from the tomb, in
whose shadow I already stand, which addresses you —
that you are about to commit a most cruel and delibe-
rate murder.'
He paused, and the jury looked into each other's
eyes for the courage they could not find in their own
heuis. The Toice of conscience spoke, but was only
for a few moments audible. The suggestions that what
grave parliaments, learned judges, and all classes of
'respectability' sanctioned, could not be wrong, much
less murderous or cruel, silenced the ' still, small' tones,
and tranquillised the startled jurors.
' Prisoner at the bar,' said the judge with his cold,
calm Toice of destiny, * I cannot listen to such observa-
tions: you have been found guil^ty of a heinous oflfbnce
by a jury of your countr3rmen after a patient trial.
With that finding I need scarcely say I entirely agree.
I am as satisfied of your guilt as if I had seen you
commit the act with my own bodily eyes. The cir-
cumstance of your being a person who, from habits and
education, should have been above committing so base a
crime, only aggravates your guilt However, no matter
who or what you have been, you must expiate your
offence on the scaffold. The law has very properly, for
the safety of society, decreed the punishment of death
for such crimes : our only and plain duty is to execute
that Uw.'
The prisoner did not reply : he was leaning with his
elbows on Uie front of the dock, his bowed face corered
with his outspread hands ; and the judge passed sen-
tence of death in the accustomed form. The court
then rose, and a turnkey placed his hand upon the pri-
soner's arm, to lead him away. Suddenly he uncovered
his fsice, drew himself up to his full height — ^he was a
remarkably tall man — and glared fiercely round upon
the audience, like a wild animal at bay. * My lord,'
he cried, or rather shouted, in an excited voice. The
judge motioned impatiently to the jailor, and strong
hands impelled the prisoner from the front of the dock.
Bursting from them, he again sprang forward, and his
arms outstretched, whibt his ghttering eye seemed to
hold the judge spell-bound, exclaimed, * My lord, before
another month has passed away, you will appear at the
bar of another world, to answer for the life, the innocent
life, which God bestowed upon me, but which you have
impiously cast away as a thing of naught and scorn I'
He ceased, and was at once borne off The court, in
some confoslon, hastily departed. It was thought at
the time that the judge's evidently failing health had
suggested the prophecy to the prisoner. It only excited
a few days' wonder, and was forgotten.
The position of a barrister in such circumstances is
always painful I need hardly say that my own feel-
ings were of a very distressing kind. Conscious that
if the unfortunate man really was guilty, he was at
least not deserving of capital punisnment I exerted
myself to procure a reprieve. In the first place I waited
privately on the judge ; but he would listen to no pro-
posal for a respite. Along with a number of indivi-
duals— chiefly of the Society of Friends — I petitioned
the crown for a commutation of the sentence. But
being unaccompanied with a recommendation from the
judge, the prayer of our petition was of course disre-
farded : the law, it was said, must take its course,
low much cruelty has been exercised under shelter of
that remorseless expression !
I would willingly pass over the succeeding events.
Unable to save his life, I endeavoured to soothe the few
remaining hours of the doomed couTict, and frequently
Tisited him in the condenmed ceU. l^e more I saw of
him, the deeper grew my sympathy in his case, which
was that of no vulgar fdon. * I haTC been a most un-
fortunate man,' said he one day to me. 'A destiny
towards ruin in fortune and in Ufe has pursued me. I
feel as if deserts by God and man ; yet I know, or at
least would persuade myself, that Heaven will one day
vindicate my innocence of this foul charge. To think
of being hanged like a dog for a crime at which my
■*^>
« «•!
28
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
soul reyolta I Great is the crime of those imbecile
jurors and that false and hard-hearted jndg^ who thus,
by an irreyersible decree, consign a fellow-mortal to a
death of yidlence and disgrace. Oh God, help me — help
me to sustain that bitter, bitter hour T And then tiie
poor man would throw himself on his bed and weep.
But the parting with his wife and children. What
pen can describe that terrible interyiew ! They knelt
in prayer, their wo -begone countenances suffused in
tears, and with hands clasped conyuhiyely together.
The scene was too harrowing and sacred for the eye of
a stranger. I rushed from the cell, and buried myself
in my lodgings, whence I did not remoye till all was
oyer. Next day James Haryey, a yictim of circum-
stantial eyidence, and of a barbarous criminal code,
perished on the scaffold.
Three weeks afterwards, the court arriyed at a popu-
lous city in the west of England. It had in the interyal
yisited another assize town, and there Judge A had
left three for execution. At the trials of these men,
howeyer, I had not attended. So sliocked had been my
feelings with the mournful eyent which had taken place
at , that I had gone into Wales for the sake of
change of scene. After roaming about for a fortnight
amidst the wUd solitudes of Caemaryonshire, I took the
stage for the city which I knew the court was to yisit,
and arriyed on the day preyious to the opening of the
assizes.
* Well, are we to haye a heayy calendar?* I inquired
next morning of a brother barrister on entering the
court
* Rather light for a March assize,* replied the impa-
tient counsel as he bustled onward. *There*s Cart-
wright's case — ^highway robbery — in which I am for
the prosecution. Hell swing for it, and perhaps four
or five others.'
*A good hanging judge is A ,* said the under-
sheriff, who at this moment joined us, rubbing his
hands, as if pleased with the prospect of a few execu-
tions. * No chance of the prophecy yonder coming to
pass I suppose ? *
* Not in the least,' replied the bustling counsel. ' He
neyer looked better. His iUness has gone completely
off. And this day's work will brighten him up.*
Cartwright's trial came on. I had neyer seen the
man before, and was not aware that this was the same
person whom Haryey had incidentally told me he had
discharged for theft ; the truth being, that till the last
moment of his existence, that unfortunate man had not
known how much he had been a sacrifice to this wretch's
malice.
The crime of which the yillain now stood accused
was that of robbing a farmer of the paltry sum of eight
shillings, in the neighbourhood of Hfracombe. He
pleaded not guilty, but put in no defence. A yerdict
was recorded against him, and in due form A sen-
tenced him to be hanged. An expression of fiendish
malignancy gleamed oyer the haggard features of the
felon as he asked leaye to address a few words to the
court It was granted. Leaning forward, and raising
bis heayy scowling eyes to the judge, he thus began : —
• There is something on my mind, my lord— a dreadful
crime— which, as I am to die for the eight shillings I
took from the fanner, I may as well confess. You may
remember Harvey, my lord, whom you hanged the
other day at ?'
- 'What of him, fellow?* replied the judge, his fea-
tures suddenly flushing crimson.
* Why, my lord, only this — ^that he was as innocent
of the crime for which you hanged him as the child yet
unborn I / did the deed I / put the watch in his
trunk!' And to the unutterable horror of the entire
court, he related the whole particuhirs of the transac-
tion, the origin of his gtudge against Haryey, and his
delight on bringing him to the gallows.
* Inhuman, execrable yillain!* gasped the judge in
extreme excitement
•Cleyeriy done, though! Was it not, my lord?' re-
joined the ruffian with bitter irony. 'The eyidence,
you know, was irresistible ; the cnme as clear as the
sun at noonday ; and if, in such plain cases, the iusi and
necessary law was not enforced, society would be dis-
solved, and there would be no security for property !
These were your words, I think. How on that occasion
I admired your lordship's judgment and ^eloquence!
Society would be dissolyed if an innocent man were
not hanged ! Ha ! — ha ! — ha I Capital I — capital I '
shouted the ferocious felon with demoniac glee, as he
marked tiie effect of his words on the countenance of
the judge.
' * Remoye the prisoner!' cried the sheriff. An officer
was about to do so ; but the judge motioned him to
desist. His lordship's features worked conyulsiyely.
He seemed striving to speak, but the words would not
come.
'I suppose, my lord,* continued Cartwright in low
and hissing tones, as the shadow of unutterable despair
grew and setUed on his face — * I suppose you know that
his wife destroyed herself The coroner's jury said she
had fallen accidentally into the water. / know better.
She drowned herself under the agonies of a broken
heart! I saw her corpse, with the dead baby in its
arms ; and then I felt, knew, that I was lost ! Lost,
doomed to eyerlasting perdition ! But, my lord * — and
here the wretch broke into a howl wild and terrific
— *we shall go down together — down to where your
deserts are known. A — ^h — ^h ! that pinches you, does it ?
Hound of a judge ! legal murderer ! cowu^ ! I spurn
and spit upon thee I ' The rest of the appalling objur-
gation was inarticulate, as the monster, foaming and
sputtering, was dragged by an officer from the dock.
Judge A had fallen forwards on his face, fainting^
and speechless with the yiolence of his emotions. The
black cap had dropped from his brow. His hands
were stretched out across the bench, and yarious mem-
bers of Uie bar rushed to his assistance. The court
broke up in frightful commotion.
Two days afterwards the county paper had the fol-
lowing announcement : —
* Died at the Royal Hotel, ^ on the 27th instant.
Judge A , from an access of feyer supervening upon
a disorder from which he had imperfectly lecoye^d.'
The prophecy was fulfilled!
AUSTRALIAN BIRDS.
Among the contributions to natural science which tend
to enlarge its boundaries and increase its utility, Mr
Gould's ' Birds of Australia ' must Ion? hold a promi-
nent place. This valuable work, which for seyeral years
has made its appearance in quarterly parts. Is now
complete ; and to the loyer of natural history, few plea-
sures can be greater than turning over its leayes, where,
with few exceptions, are represented, of the natural sisse,
and in all their gorgeous colours, the feathered inhabi-
tants of our Australian dominions. These interesting
countries, already remarkable for phenomena the yery
opposite of our European experiences — ^rivers, for ex-
ample, which do not discharge themselves into the sea,
and quadrupeds with a bill — are not less noteworthy as
regards the birds which inhabit their boundless pudns
and tangled forests.
Mr Gould in his descriptions omits no opportunity' of
recommending the naturalisation in this country of such
birds as are likely to survive the change of climate ; and
among the resources open to wealth, we think this of
adding to the stock of living things which may please
the eye or charm the ear not the least. The Oywmorkina
tibiccn, or piping crow-shrike, is instanced as one that
may be easily domesticated and removed. With its
blue bill, bright eye, and white and black markings, it
would be an interesting acquisition. *To describe the
notes of this bird,' says Mr Gould, * is beyond the power
of my pen ; and it is a source of regret to myself that my
readers cannot, as I have done, listen to them in their
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
39
baUt0 wilds, or that the bird is not introduced into thia
ooontiy in sufficient numbers for it to become generally
known : a more amusing and easily-kept denizen for the
aTiaiy could not be found.' Another crow-shrike, the
GymMorbina organicum, has one kind of note idien
hopping on the ground, and one altogether different when
perched on a tree — a position whidi it generally takes
sooA after daybreak. It then utters tone after tone
similar to a himd-oxgan out of tune, which has led to its
being named Oigan-bird by the settlers. A third, the
Hill crow-shrike, has so metallic a Toice as to resemble
the clink of hammers on an anril heard at a distance.
The Gneopefia euneaia, a species of dove, instead, of cooing
as doTes in this country, gires utterance to a note said to
sound like the distant crowing of a cock. Then we have
one, the shining fly-catcher, which, while creeping about
I in search of fo<d in the dense thickets, croaks like a frog,
but when on the upper branches of trees, pours forth a
cheerful note ; on beinff disturbed, it immediately drops,
and resumes the croadL The brown fly-catcher has a
mornings noon, and even song : early in the day it sits
warbling and chirping ; at noon it soars upwards, as the
lark, tiU nearly or quite iuTisible, singing melodiously
daring the ascent and descent ; in the erenmg it perches,
and again warbles and chirps, in tones, howeyer, different
from those of the moruine. These birds are so pugna-
cious, that although not larger than a linnet, two of
them attacked and drove away a crow, which was pro-
bably considered as an intruder upon their domains.
The tiayeller, in his wanderings, occasionally hears an
inward sound resembling the drone of a bagpipe, or
porring of a cat; this is produced by birds. The
Ftihmorkynckus viridis, or cat*bird, while devouring the
fraits which constitute its food, squalls in an extra-
(ffdinary, bat not unfamiliar style. * In comparing it,'
obserree Mr Qould, ' to the nightly concerts of the do-
mestic cat, I conceive that I am conveying a more per-
fect idea of the note of this species than could be ffiven
hf pages of description. This concert, like that of the
animal whose name it bears, is performed either by a
pair or several individuals ; and nothing more is required
than for the hearer to shut his eyes from the neigh-
bouring foliage, to fancy himself surrounded by Lon^don
grimaucins of house-top celebrity.' The musk duck^ an
almost solitary inimal, utters a singular note, 'resem-
bling the sound caused by a large diop of water falling
into a deep well.' The author could never force this
bird to fly; when disturbed, it invariably dived, and re-
mained under water a long time, only rising for a hasty
breath, until all danger was over.
For a dweller in the northern regions it is difficult to
imagine the brilliant atmosphere and delicious climate
ofthe southern tropic ; and when, as in Australia, the
fiHests are tenanted by birds of the most splendid
idomage, the effisct, particularly to a stranger, is greatly
heightened. Multitudes of paroquets, or parrakeets, of
singularly beautiful appearance, flit among the branches ;
tome of the pigeons, especially the PtUinopus superbtu,
ue goigeoualy coloured. At times, too, the traveller
maj see a thousand magnificent white cockatoos sporting
in the dark foliage over his head, and screeching with a
vivacity almost deafening.. Not unfrequently he will
iaaej lumself to be near to a sheep-run, as he will hear
the tinkle -tinkle of the animals' bells. This sound,
however, is produced by the elegant bell-bird, whose
coloiu8---brown, olive, and yellow — ^render it a prominent
ol^ect. It continues this strange note for a long time
without intermission; and so much does it resemble a
sheep -bell, as often to deceive shepherds. When a
huidred or more are tinkling all at once, the effect is
most singular. The Dacelo gigatUea, or great brown
kingfisher, is another Australian marvel. 'In its dis-
position it is by no means shy; and when any new
otgects are presented to its notice, such as a party tra-
vexsing the bush, or pitching their tent in the vicinity of
its retreat, it becomes very prying and inauisitive, often
perching on the dead branch of some neighbouring tree,
and watching with the greatest curiosity the kindling of
the fire and the preparation of the meal : its presence,
however, owing to the quietude with which it passes
through the forest, and the almost noiseless manner in
which it settles, is seldom detected until it emits its
extraordinary gurgling, laughing note, which generally
calls forth some exclamation according to the temper of
the hearer, such as — " There is our old friend the laughing
jackass," or an epithet of a less friendly character. Not
unfrequently does its life pay the penalty of its temerity ;
for if, as is often the case, the traveller's larder be ill-
Srovided, and his appetite keen, but a few minutes elapse
efore it is roasting over the fire it was lately surveying
with so much curiosity.' The gurgling laugh of this
bird may be heard at the beginning, middle, and end of
the day ; some travellers compare it to a mocking voice,
or chorus of wild spirits.
Most persons would doubtless prefer a stroll through
English woods to one in an Australian forest with its
extraordinaiy assemblage of sounds : it is fortunate that
some of the birds are endowed with such melodious
powers as to compensate for the cacophony of the others,
of which one or two yet remain to be noticed. The
Phosphodea crepitcma^ coach-whip-bird, utters a full ring-
ing note, termmated abruptly, as by a sharp smack of a
wMp. The voice of the brush wattle-bird resembles that
of a person retching or vomiting, which soimds have led
the natives to give it the name Ooo-gwar-ruck. Besides
these, there is a ventriloquist, the crested oreo'ica; to the
hunter, the strain of this bird sometimes sounds very
remote, while the creature at the time is seated on a
branch but a few feet above his head. Presently the
note is close by ; and thus it goes on, now near, now dis-
tant, throwing in at times a stroke of a bell.
The habits of many Australian birds are not less
remarkable than their voices. The forests abound in
mosses which enwrap the trunk, and droop from the ends
of the branches in masses resembling narrow bags or
purses a yard or more in length ; sometimes so low as to
touch the head of the traveller passing imdemeath. The
yellow-throated sericomis makes choice of one of these
dependent clusters for a residence; and ' although,' as Mr
Gould observes, ' the nest is constantly disturl:^ by the
wind, and liable to be shaken when the tree moves, so
secure does the inmate consider herself from danger or
intrusion of any kind, that I have frequently captured
the female while sitting on her eggs, a feat that may
always be accomplished by careful^ placing the hand
over the entrance — that is, if it can be detected, to effect
which, no slight degree of close prying and examination
is necessary.' Some of these nests, not to be reached by
climbing, were obtained by Mr Qould by shooting in two
the branch to which they are attached. Considerable
ingenuity is exhibited by the black-capped sitclla, which
makes its nest of pieces of bark, fastened to a branch by
cobwebs ; this substance, however, is not merely twisted
round, but ' felted on.' When placed in the fork of a
tree, the nest so closely resembles an excrescence of the
bark, as to defy, and often escape detection. Some of the
robins also construct their nests in the same manner.
The striated reed-lark b|iilds a dome-shaped nest on the
ground, but most artfully concealed by the suirounding
grass; and for further security, it forms a passage or
burrow two or three feet in length, by which it is ap-
proached.
In this country we generally find that during incu-
bation the male bird sits on a branch near the nest,
attendant on its mate, but in Australia the same arrange-
ment is carried out with an attempt at greater ease
or comfort. The yellow-tailed acanthua, which frequents
its carelessly-built nest for several years in succession,*
often constructs ' a small cup-shi^ed depression, or second
nest, as it were, on the top or side of the other, and which
is said to be either the roosting-place of the male, or
where he may sit in order to be in company with the
female during the task of incubation.' The white-
headed osprey, which always builds near water, on a rock,
or at the top of a tall tree, makes a nest fifteen feet in
diameter, of sticks, some of which are as thick as a man's
arm ; the interior is lined with seaweed. The whistling
eagle's nest is of ^e same description; and, singularly
"i ■■ I
V^KX
30
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
enough, the spoUed-sided finch, Amcuiina Latham, chooeee
the rough sticka fonning its base as a site for its own
habitation. Mr Oould took one of these nests with eggs
while the eagle was sitting only a few inches above.
Hie districts frequented by particular birds are some-
times as clearly definable as the boundaries of a country.
In Australia, the fairy martin appears neyer to be found
within twenty miles of the coast This farourite little
bird generally selects steep riyer banks as a secure place
for its domicile. The nest is in the shape of a bottle
gourd, nine or ten inches long; sometimes thirty or forty
are built in'a cluster, with the necks projecting from the
bulk, either horizontally or downwards. Seven or eight
birds work together at ^a nest ; one remains inside, to
receive and deposit the clay brought by the others. The
rock-warbler, Origma rubncaia, appears to be of analo-
gous habits to the bird just mentioned. It is said never
to visit forests, or to alight on trees, and mostly firequents
rocky clefts, gullies, and dark caverns by the water-side.
The nest is of an oblong globular bottle shape, fabricated
of moss and similar materials, and is suspended by its
long neck to the roof of the cavern, or to overhanging
pieces of rock. A lateral opening is left for an entrance
near the bottom ; but hitherto nothing has been ascer-
tained with respect to the mode of suspension. Another
swallow, Dicaettnif forms its nest, purse-like in shape, of
cotton extracted fh>m the seed-vessels of plants, and sus-
pends it on the branches of a tall tree. The white-
rumped wood-swallow takes possession of old nests aban-
doned bv other birds, and reduces them to a proper size
for itself, at the same time rendering them snugly warm
by a soft thick lining. The white-shafted fantail builds
a nest resembling in shi^ a long -stemmed footless
wine-glass. In constructing this nest, the base of the
cup and lower extremity of the stem are made to embrace
two slender twigs of a bush, which hold it in a vertical
position. One of them thus attached may be seen at
the British Museum. This is an instance of care in
fabrication, the more remarkable when contrasted with
the want of care among other birds. The nest of the
black-throated grebe, for example, is nothing more than
a floating mass of weeds heaped together in a rounded
form in a pond, with the top just level with the surface
of the water. The pheasant cuckoo presents a singular
appearance while sitting with its head and tail project-
ing from openings opposite each other in its dome-
shaped nest, apparently left for the purpose, and probably
to enable the oird to keep watch while reposing. The
grass-loving sphenoeacus, which attaches its nest to a few
reeda about two feet above the surface of the water in
which they grow, lines the structure with feathers, but
places two of the largest so as to form a sort of canopy,
and protect the interior from wet. The spotted paroa-
lote (diamond-bird of the colonists) builds in a situa-
tion altogether difierent from all others of the senus:
instead of trees or bushes, it takes to the ground, and
selecting a bank, bores a hole, sloping upwards for several
feet, and excavates a chamber at the inner end, in which
its round nest is beautifully built of soft bark, leaving a
small opening for an entnuice. The outer extremity of
the hole is so artfully concealed, that long watching is
required in order to be able to detect it. ' How so neat
a structure,' writes Mr Gould, *as is the nest of the
spotted pudalote, should be constructed at the end of a
hole where no light can possibly enter, is beyond our com-
prehension, and is (me of those wonderful results of in-
stinct so often presented to our notice in the history of
the animal creation, without our being in anyway able
to account for them.'
In this portion of our glance over the birds of Australia,
we find ample cause for admiration and further research.
Afr Gould's book will furnish as much recreation to the
occasional reader as information to the scientific in-
quirer. Although he was indebted for specimens to
explorers who have penetrated the interior, by far the
greater part is due to his own personal investigations in
that interesting country.
In respect of the economy of the Australian birds,
there are many circumstances equally worthy of atten-
tion. The MahsniM cpaneuif or blue wren, undergoes
a singular transformation: in winter Uie plumage of
both male and female is of a reddish brown ; the
birds are then tame and familiar, and wander about
near the houses in country neighbouriioods, in little
groupfl of six or eight. ' As spring advances^ they sejpa-
rate into pairs,' the male undergoing a total transfor-
mation not only in the colour, but fJso in the texture
of its plumage; indeed a more astonishing diango
can scarcely be imagined, its plain and unassuming
garb being thrown off for a few months, and another
assumed, which for resplendent beauty is hardly sur-
passed by any of the feath^ed race, certainly by none
but the humming-birds and cotingas of America. Nor
is the change confined to the plumage alone, but extends
also to its habits ; in fact its whole character and nature
appear to have received a new impulse ; the little crea-
ture now displaying great vivacity, proudly showing off
its gorgeous attire to the utmost advantage, and pourin];
out its animated song unceasingly, until the female has
completed her task of incubation, and the craving appe-
tites of its newly-hatched young call forth a new feeung,
and give its energies a new direction.' The colours of
this beautiful livery, which is put on in March, and left
off in August, are a most brilliant blue on a velve^ black,
tipped with a few penciUings of white. Some of the birds
are so curiously marked, as to have received names from
the settlers expressive of the peculiarity. The Ettrystomus
Auttralis is cidled the dollar-bird, from a round white
spot seen in each of its wings while flyinf. A black
mark, resembling a V, in the extended vring of the Elanua
teriptus, has pr^uced for it the appellation of Letter-
winged Kite : when both wings are spread, the appearance
is that of a W.
The name of emu wren is eiven to the StipiturtLg
malaekurus from its loose, lightfy-formed, spreading tail
of six feathers, an appendage which the bird has the
power of bending forwards until it lies horizontally on
its back. The whole tribe of wrens is described as of
marvellous capabilities for escaping from danger by a
mode which is not hopping, flying, or running, but a
combinp,tion of all thrra. The textile wren, however,
is the most extraordinary — * Indeed its mode of progres-
sion on the ground is such as no description can convey
an accurate conception of, and must be seen to be under-
stood. I cannot compare it,' says Mr Gould, 'wiUi
anything, unless perhaps with the motion of an India-
rubber oall when thrown forcibly along the ground.
While stealing from bush to bush with tms rapid move-
ment, it presents an exceedingly droll appearance.' The
diving petrel, a bird that frequents the coasts, presents
another instance of rapidity of movement. Its powers
of flight are weaker than those of others of the same
species, but this is compensated for by swiftness. It
does not fly in steady progression, but with a short quick
flutter, so near the surface of the sea, that it prefers to
dash through the waves rather than rise over them.
Such is its celerity, as to have given rise to the belief
that it flies even while under the water. In striking
contrast to these agile birds is the tawny-shouldered
podarguB, which sits in pairs all day on a branch,
wrapped in a lethargic sleep. So profound is the repose,
or such the unwillingnefls of the bird to move, that one
has been shot off the branch without disturbing the
other.
The varieties of honey-eaters are among the most
interesting of Australian birds; in habits and appear-
anco they are peculiarly pleasing. The wattled honey-
eater, Anthochoera tnatim, is decorated with a splendid
golden drop hanging from each ear. The eucalypti, a
species of tree abundant in Australia, are the favourite
resort of these birds; their flowers are said to be renewed
'with every rising sun throughout the year.' A wise pro-
vision of nature is apparent in the tongue of most of the
honey-eaters : the tip of that useful member is finished
as a brush, which enables them readily to extract the
juices from the calices of flowers. Some of these birds
become exceedingly fat in winter, and are then sold in the
markets at Hobart Town in enormous quantities. Others
OHAMRKRSnB EDINBUIIGH JOURNAL.
81
I
fom ibeniMlTM to each An eztont with honey, that on
koioing them head downwards when shot, a spoonfed of
tike luscioas fluid will flow from their mouths. Another
ittstanoe of a curious tongue occurs in the Philip-Island
pairot : it resembles the end of a finger, with the nail on
the under side, forming a kind of spoon. This bird is
farther distinguished bj barking like a dog.
The bronxe cuckoo of Australia offers an interesting
poaczle to naturalists : it deposits its egg in the nest of
the blue wren. This structure is dome-shi^>ed, with a
small hole only at the side for entrance ; and it is not
eesy to ootkcet? e the mode adopted by the large bird to
inteodttoe the egg by an opening so disproportioned to
its size. We may add, that the interloper is hatched
and reared by his diminutire foster-parenta with as much
aae and attention as his European congener. Among
the larger kind of \jisd§f there is an interesting incident
coone^id with the ' Australian crane, a noble bird,
standing four feet in height. It is said to bo easily
tamed, and being of graceful movements, looks well
walking about a garden or pleasure-grounds. Two of
these cranes were once kept on the estate of a gentle-
man near Camden, and ' so far attracted the notice of
a pair of wild birds, as to induce them to settle and
{ised near the house, make acquaintance with himself
and the other members of his establishment, and be-
coming still tamer, to approach the yard, feed from his
kand, and eren to follow the domesticated birds into
the kitchen, until unfortunately a serrant imprudently
seizing at one of the wild birds, and tearing a handful
of {ieraerB from its back, the wildness of its disposition
WIS roused ; and darting forth, followed by its companion,
it mounted into the air, soaring higher and higher at
ereiy circle,' at the same time uttering its hoarse call,
whidi was responded to by the tame birds below. For
mrtnX days did they return and perform the same erolu-
tioas without alighting, until, the dormant impulses of the
tame birds being arotued, they also mounted high in the
air, winged thmr way to some far distant part of the
country, and nerer returned to the home where th^ had
been so long fostered.' This awakening of aboriginal
instincts has had many parallels among uncultirated
^tedmens of humanity.
We select one more example, as peculiarly illustratire
of the manifold workings of nature; in fact, while inio-
rant of the law to which it is to be referred, we may look
upon it as a ireak. The Ptihnorhynehut holosericutf from
its singular habits, has received the name of Satin Bower-
bird; its nest has not yet been discovered; and as, pre-
Tiously to Mr Gould's risit to Australia, it had not been
described, he took pains to watch the creature in its
natire haunts. This bird, as its name imports, con-
structs a bower, not for a dwelling, but as a place of
leoeation. Its habitat appears to be confined to the
district of New South Wales, and Mr Gould first saw it in
the woods at the base of the Liverpool Mountains. The
bower is usually placed in a retired spot, under the shade
of a tree. ' The base consists of an extensire and rather
convex platform of sticks, firmly interwoven, on the
oeotre d which the bower itself is built : this, like the
platform on which it is placed, and with whidi it is
interwoven, is formed of sticks and twigs, but of a more
slender and flexible description, the tips of the twigs
being so arranged as to curve inwards, and nearly meet
at tha top. In the interior of the bower, the materials
are so placed that the forks of the twigs are alWkys pre-
sented outwards, by whidi arrangement not the slightest
obstruction is oflined to the passage of the birds/ In
this way an ayenue about two feet m length is formed ;
^thcr end is decorated by gaudy feathers dropped by
other birds, inserted between the twigs, and by shells
and bones laid in a heap, in the interstices of which
feathers are also placed. * The propensi^ of these birds,'
punues Mr Gould, 'to pick up and fly .off with any
attractive object, is so well known to the natives, that
they always search the runs for any small missing article,
IS the bowl d a pipe, &c that may have been acciden-
tally dropped in the bush. I myself found at the en-
trtnes of one of them a small neatly-worked stone toma- 1
hawk, of an inch and a-half in length, together vrith
some slips of blue cotton rags, which the birds had doubt-
less picked up at a deserted encampment of the natives.'
* For what purpose these curious bowers are made is
not yet perhaps fully understood; they are certainly
not used as a nest, but as a place of resort for many
individuals of both sexes, which, when there assembled,
run through and around the bower in a sportive and
pla^ul manner, and that so frequently, that it is seldom
entirely deserted.'
The satin-bower bird is about the sise of a crow; its
purloinings are for decoration, not for concealment. The
bowers are made use of for several years, and repaired
when damaged. The most probable supposition as to
their use is, that the birds use them as a rendezvous
during pairing-time and the period of incubation. Two
of these singular structures were brought to Europe by
Mr Gould; one of them, with all its ornament of shells
and feathers, may be seen at the British Museum.
Besides this, there is the spotted bower-bird: the bower
of this species is a foot or more longer than the one just
described; and the interior is formed of tall grasses,
which, by the curve of the outer twigs, are bent over till
they meet. The bottom of the bower is paved with
stones, which keep the lower extremities of the grass at a
proper degree of divergence. There is the same accumu-
lation of ornament as in the former case, half a bushel of
shells being not unfrequently found at either end of the
avenue or run. The whitest and most glittering aro
always chosen, and being collected from long distances,
must cost the bird considerable labour.
The range of this bird extends far into the interior of
the country. A third variety, of similar habits, has been
discovered on the north-west coast, a region which as yet
has been but little visited.
Our selections comprise but a yery small part of the
feathered races of Australia ; the study of the numerous
varieties which the country produces would aflbrd a sub-
ject of inexhaustible interest. What a delightful resource
for the emigrant in the back settlements, remote from
society, and with but few books at command ! With the
birds of Australia around him, he need never fall into
tho vices or degradation of idleness.
WORK AND PAY.
.... Tbebb Is a secret in this sul^eot of work practically
known to multitudes, which it yet so happens is seldom
embodied in written or spoken oounseL The hardest
work is not the most slavish or disheartening, and he who
effects most has often the greatest share of leisure. To
Illustrate this from the extremes of the industrial scale,
let us take the leading counsel, or the accomplished rail-
way engineer, both of whom are working with their brains
almost to the utmost point which the human intellect is
capable of reaching. Yet they both have their luxuries
and their leisure hours. You meet them in society chat-
ting, laughing— looking as if they had nothing to do ; in
the tounng season you encounter them in the Highlands,
on the Rhine, and yet all the world is wondering how they
get through their hard work. Look now at the hand-loom
weaver— pale, emaciated^ half-fed, half-dad — as solemn
and melancholy under the weight of unvarying physical
affliction as if he had taken a monastic vow, and given away
all the joys of this world for an ample reimbursement in
futurity. That man knows no rest but the hours of sleep
and the seventh day; every little period he takes from the
weanr monotony of his work is a bit of bread less to him
and his children: the demon Hunger has possession of
him, and drives him on till he drops at the loom. Yet
that man never knew what it was to work hard — and there
is the secret of all his misery. He foimd a monotonous
easy trade to his hand, and fai an evil hour he yielded to
its seductions. * If weavers are wanted,* said a witness on
the hand-loom inquiry, * they may be struck into existence
in a month : some branches may be done by boys and girls,
and what may be done by a boy, can never reach above a
boy's wages.'
Now I do not mean to maintain that the eminent lawyer
and engineer work as many times harder than the hand-
loom weaver as they are better paid. It is the peculiarity
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
work of every kind that a small addition to the expert-
is makes a huge addition to the remuneration, and that
3 higher the grade, the more marked is this dlflference.
is arises from the nmnbers gradaally decreasing the
*ther they have outstripped their brethren in excellenoe.
the point of skill which only three or four men have
iched out of so many hundreds, there will be little com-
tition, and high pay: when there are services which only
0 man can do, he can name his own price. Moreover,
e general labour market in its widest sense, including
brts both of mind and body, is afifeeted by vsjrious aooi-
nts of education, training, and position, which bring to
me occupations a scale of remuneration much higher than
e members of others can hope by any energy to obtain,
lus it does not follow that the scale of income corres-
nds with the hardness of the work ; but we may take it
a general rule, that high pay is not given without some
rvice being done for it ; and that the man who can, by
urageous eneigy in setting his mind, or his huids aided
' his mind, to do some useful act requiring skill, will
ftp a reward for his service.
In liftot the great dragon to be conquered by the strugglers
rough this world is indolence. It is because he haa
sided to it, that yonder gray-headed gentleman is a clerk
a government office, at a hundred and fifty pounds
year, instead of making a fortune like his schoolfellow
e engineer. He found the employment set before him —
thing to do but to copy pages or add up columns; no
:ertion of thought, no risks of failure, but a secured income
and he yielded to the temptation. In his case little
irm is done : he has food and clothing, and is content,
it go several stepe farther down. A still easier operation
an writing and casting accounts has tempted eignt hun-
ed thousand men to follow a trade which less than half
e number would have supplied; and no legidation or
trliamcntary inquiry, no private benevolence, no relief
mmittee, no poor-law, can obviate the devastating result.
. . Nor is the small remuneration the only evu of the
imblest and most overstocked occupations. Their fol-
wcrs are the most acutely sensitive to oscillations in the
oney and labour market, and ever the most liable to be
iprived of their little bit of bread. Let us just oast a
ought over the manner in which the industrious, careful,
id energetic members of society occupy themselves when
ird times come. Some of them retrench their expendi-
re ; they must of course have stili as much as will in
me way support their fSunilies, or they could not do so.
thers increase their exertions. 'It is but mounting a
ousand additional stairs,* said Dr Arbuthnot, when his
vings were swept away by the South-Sea scheme. Here
id there, aotive-minded people are excited to new entcr-
-iscs and conquests over difficulties ; they lay open new
}lds of exertion, or work old ones with renewed energy,
lie additional services so called out are marvellous, and
le beneficent effect of the whole operation is, that bv
lese exertions trade revives, and prosperity is restored.
is a mistake to suppose that these pressures and oscil-
tions arise from too much industry.
There may be too much production relatively — too many
>ilways, too much com, too many ginghams or satin
ippcrs; but if every person is working where his services
'e required, there cannot be too much industry; and it is
le tendency of the exertions made bv active men in times
' trial, to find out the quarters in which their labours are
lost useful, and thus restore the equilibrium of the nuu>
^t. A man can seldom turn from a losing to a gaining
;cupation without doing a benefit, instead of an ii\)ury, to
le community.
But what can that poor creature do who has been aocns-
>med only to give his time, and some rotatory bodily
lotion, when the service so produced has ceased to be
orth the morsel it used to bring him ? He cannot reduce
is expenditure and live. He cannot increase his exertions,
•r they are measured by time, not work, and the whole is
Iready taken. He is nearest the edge, and when the blast
)mes across the great platform of industry, he is blown
fCT the side into the slough of mendicancy, whence he
ses no more. — From an ejccellenl seriei of letters in the Daily
Tews^ June 1848. [A principle of very great consequence
) the humbler classes is here developed. It is not alone
aoessary to be at labour for many hours; that may be
loh a labour as not to deserve good remuneration. It is
ot all-sufficient that a small tnider sticks for the whole
ay to his shop, for it may be a shop not required in the
lace, or conducted on too small a scale to be profitable.
Ingenuity, skill, judgment to make a good ohoioe of »
calling, and to improve circumstances, are also reqiUstte.
A man should see that his work is really useful, and that
his shop is not superfiuous.]
SWEET LAVENDER.
Layendsr Is the emhlsm of ' distant music' in the langusgo of
flowers.
'TIS the sound of distant musio, and It comas from oTer the hills,
sweeping upon the breesy air 1^ fields and summer rills ;
Up, up the valley— homesteads fair and sheltering nooks are passed ;
* Oh, Lavendei^-eweet Lavender 1' Ss clearly heard at last
And forth she comas, the cottsge giri, with basket on her arm.
Singing loud that summer word, whose name breathes many a
charm:
« Twelve bunches for a single groat,* she adds with plalnUre cry :
< Oh, Lavendei^-eweet Lavender ! *-^these treasures who will buy ?
The village girls wHl seek the sweets— the faint perfume they pri^w;
By hoarded treasures, tokens dear, the annual gift-flower lies :
And mourners seek Its penslro hue— it suits well with the dead—
To strew above that breathless form, now slumbering on the bed.
Oh bear It to the lone churchyard, and find a nameless mound—
ThcrCt drooping mourner, cast these sweets upon the grassy ground ;
And as the sound steals on the breese, across the quiet vale.
That well>known music soothes thy heart, attuned to sorrow's tale.
Perfume the air above the dead, the faithful, happy dead 1
Comfort and hope, sweet lavender, with healing influence shod ;
Thit angel-musio floateth past— on seraph's wings 'tis borne—
The mourner's heart can hear it oft, though, tempest-swayed and
torn.
C A. Bt. W.
HCTRRT AND HASTE.
'Never do anything in a hurry,' is the advice given to
attorneys and solicitors by Mr Warren. * No one in a
hurry can possibly have hie wite about him; and remember,
that in the law there is ever an opponent watching to find
you off your guard. You may occasionally be in haste, but
you need never be in a hurry ; take care— resolve — never
to be so. Remember always that others' interests are
occupying your attention, and suffer by your inadvertence
— by that negligence which generally occasions hurry. A
man of first-rate business talents — one who always looks so
calm and tranquil, that it makes oneVself feci cool on a hot
summer's day to look at him — once told me that he had
never been in a hurry but once, and that was for an entire
fortnight, at the commencement of his career. It nearly
killed him : he spoiled everything he touched ; he was
always breathless, and harassed, and miserable ; but it did
him good for life : he resolved never again to be in a hurry
— ana never was, no, not once, that he could remember,
during twenty-five years' practice ! Observe, I speak of
being hurried and fiustcred — ^not of being in haste, ibr that '
is often inevitable ; but then is always seen the superiority ,
and inferiority of different men. You may indeed almost
define hurry as the condition to which an inferior man is
reduced by haste. I one day observed, in a committee of
the House of Commons, sitting on a railway bill, the chief
secretary of the company, dunng several hours, while great
interests were in jeopardy, preserve a truly admirable cool-
ness, tranquillity, and temper, conferring on him innnense
advantages. His suggestions to counsel were masterly, and
exquisitely well-timed ; and by the dose of the day he
had triumphed. ** How is it that one never sees you in a
hurry ? ^ said I, as we were pacing the long corridor, on our
way from the committee -room. "Because it*s so ex-
pensive," he replied with a significant smile. I shall
never forgot that observation, and don't you.' — Warren om
Attorney and Solicitor e,
DUTIES AND EYENTS.
Duties are ours: events are God's. This removes an
infinite burden from the shoulders of the miserable,
tempted, dying creature. On this consideration only can
he securely lay down his head and close his eyes. — dcU.
Published by W. & R. Cbambkrs. High Street, Bdlnbnrgh. Also
sold by D. Cmambkbs, 90 Argyle fi^eet, Glasgow ; W. 8. Orr,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Gi.ashav, 21 D'Olier
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. Cuambbrs, Edinburgh.
CONDUCTBD BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP « CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.
No. 264. New Series^
SATURDAY, JANUARY 20, 1849.
Price l^c?.
I
GIPSY SORCERIES IN THE DECCAN.
Fbom tiieir first appearance in Europe, about the
middle of tiie fifteenth century, to ^e present day, the
gipsies haye been objects of wonder, curiosity, or in-
terest, from ^e mystery in which their origin is enve-
loped, and from the singular manner in which they
have kept apart from the nations amongst whom they
wander. They were originally belieyed to be Egyp-
tians, but the researches of late years establish the
probability, if not the cert^nty, of India being their
mother ooontry. Their language is found to have no
affinity wiUi the Coptic ; but it bears a strong resera-
bUnce to that of Hindoostan ; and their arrival in
Christendom followed at no great interval of time
tiie period -when Timour ravaged and desolated the
East, practising cruelties on the wretched natives of
India, which might have very probably induced them
to emigrate in vast numbers.
Whether this latter supposition be correct or not, it
it difficult to determine ; it is, however, a fact that the
gipsies exist as a distinct and numerous caste in Asia ;
and daring a recent visit to the Deccan, I chanced to
have an opportunity of seeing a large tribe of these
singular outcasts, who came down from the mountains
to pay a rude homage to the governor, by exhibiting
before him the magic arts which, from far-ofi* ages,
have been the heritage of their race.
Tor this purpose they were assembled outside the
governor's bungalow at Dabpooree, in a large open
space, bounded on one side by the broad stream run-
ning through the garden in which the residence is
built) and on the other by a hedge of giant jessamine,
the post of a Hindoo sentineL The whole population
of the neighbouring little village was assembled, and
covered every part of the ground, sitting, after their
own strange fashion, on their heels, and all gaping
with intense eagerness on the space left near the ver-
anda for the performances of their 'attmired sorceries.
Of tiie simple faith with which they were prepared to
. i^tavsa the spectacle, we had no doubt, both from the
ezpmeion of their countenances and our knowledge of
their extreme superstition ; for near our seats stood a
young Hindoo mother, carrying an infant whose tiny
ankles were tied up in rags, to preserve it from the
e&cta of the 'evil eye,' which is peculiarly baneful
when Mme — and we had unhappily admired the little
creature on the previous day.
It waa about three in the afternoon, and the sun, still
gloriouB in the cloudless, glowing sky, poured a flood
of light upon the whole scene, which was highly pic-
turesque. In a few seconds the circle by the veranda
was occupied by an aged wizard, and an assistant beat-
ing a tom-tom, or drum. He placed a small pan of
fi^ited charcoal on one side, and cast into it a few
grains of Incense, muttering at the same time an in-
cantation. A wicker basket, of about the size used
to hold a baby's wardrobe, was then brought for-
ward, and our gipsy informed us that it was his in-
tention to put a btiba (youth) into it; afterwards to
change him into a pigeon or dove, and make him fly
off whithersoever we chose. The trick did not pro-
mise to be very difficult; but we thought differently
when we saw the candidate for the metamorphosis. He
was a tall, flne-Iooking lad of sixteen or seventeen,
apparently much too big to occupy the space assigned
him; but the wizard approaching, threw him on the
ground, tied his feet to his hands, and literally doubling
him together, dropped him into a sort of cabbage-net,
which he fastened over his head. He then brought
him round for us to examine the strange prison ; and
certainly it appeared a clear case of ' I can't get out.*
He was consigned to the basket, and a doth thrown
over him, both of course being much raised and dis-
tended by the captive they covered. The wizard now
began a solenm promenade round the basket to the
sound of the tom-tom, muttering mysteriously the
while. By degrees the cloth and basket shrank down,
growing smaller and smaller, till the latter appeared
empty ; then the lid was gently raised, and the net and
ligatures thrown out : a second circuit made by the old
gipsy effected the promised translation, and a white
pigeon fluttered from the basket, and directed its flight
(as we desired) to Poonah. The enchanter now affected
great amazement, called on the boy to come forth,
raised and shook the basket, and finally producing a
long naked sword, thrust it with loud cries apparently
into every crevice of the wicker-work. He then
turned, and calling in the direction of Poonah, which
was only seven miles off, was answered from a distance
by the best ventriloquism I ever heard. This was a
summons for the lad to return. He, or rather the
pigeon, obeyed. The basket began to swell again, the
cloth rose, and the young gipsy sprang forth, leaving
us in admiration of his wonderful power of self-com-
pression ; as how he could have folded himself into so
small a space, we were unable to conceive, nor how he
avoided the sharp point of the sword.
The second exhibition was far more extraordinary,
and more difficult ; indeed I could not have believed it,
had I not witnessed it myself. A young man stepped
forward, and by the assistance of one of the Parsees,
who acted as interpreter, informed us, * that though it
was not usual for the eyes to work as the hands did, he
would for once, and to show his respect, &c for the
burra sahib (great man), use them in a shnilar man-
ner.' A huge piece of stone, two or three feet thick and
square, was then placed before him, to which two short
lines were strongly attached, having at the ends a small
round piece of tin, the size and shape of a sixpence.
rr
34
CHA3IBER8'8 EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
Lifting hiB eyelids, and rolling the ball of the eye on
one tide in a moit extraordinary manner, he atooped,
inserted theae ooina inaide the Udomthe eyes, and efoted
the lid on them. Hit handa were then bound behind
him, and raising himself slowly, he actually lifted the
huge mass 2w <Ae eyeHdt from the ground to the lerel of
his waist How long he would hare continued to hold
it I cannot tell, for the ladies present were so shocked
at the really terrible exhibition, that they insisted on
his bcdng commanded to let it ga He was rewarded by
a gift of ten rupees. We afterwards inqidred if this
power or art were common amongst the gipsy tribes,
and were tdd it was not : being rather rare, and highly
esteemed t^ them, the performer always expected an
extea present from the spectators. Our Parsee ser-
vant added, that the practice entailed .early blindness
on its poss^sor.
A man then seated himself before us, and ordered one
of his companions to * light the fire/ a command which
was immediately obeyed ; the fireplace being actually the
speaker's head, on which they placed a piece of something
that looked like black muo, and on it kindled a blaze
of some height The fire-king, as he called himself, then
opened his mouth, and receired a lump of fire into it,
from which he pufied volnmes of smoke both from his
mouth and nostrils; and certainly no one could look
more like the ' Zatanai' he personated than he did, for
his eyes were large, and glitteringly black and white,
his features deformed, and his skin swarthy. Then fol-
lowed the equally common snake-charmers, with their
huge basket of ciTilised reptiles. It is perhaps less
curious to see these creatures move tothe monotonous
music which is supposed to influence them, than to
examine at leisure, and with impunity, their different
appearances ; from the firightful cobra de capello, to the
deadly cobra manilla, the bite of which I once narrowly
escaped by the presence of mind of a young child, who,
without speaking, pulled me back at the moment my
foot was descendmg on the step where it lay. This snake
exhibition is common all over India, as well as that
which followed it— the juggler and his golden balls.
Some of the gipsy women then advanced to display
their skill; but Uiey were anything but interesting
* magas.' For the most part they were old, and very
ugly, and their chief devemess .appeared to consist in
making a fountain of their nose, from which they
showered in a continuous stream the water they drew
into their mouth from a small tube.
Swordsmen followed, and really displayed the most
wonderful skill with their weapons. When their
fencing was concluded, they made a huge pile of their
swords, the points being upwards, and leaped over it
with great agility and boldness. The entertainment
concluded by several men breaking cocoa-nuts with
their heads — a feat which they achieved by throwing
the huge fruit high into the air, and catching it on their
skulls, which wero certainly of the thickest, as, though
they sounded fearfully, they did not appear hurt by a
blow which separated the shell of the cocoa-nut By
the time they had finished their employment of nut-
cracking, the sun had nearly set, and the hurra sahib,
after gracious commendations, and a very liberal buck-
sheesh, dismissed her Msjesty*s gipsy lieges, though
they assured us thev had many excellent tricks still
in store. We were, however, weary, and believed the
actors must be so too ; therefore ftirther profilers were
declined, to their great surprise, as we were told ; for
the native princes or chiefii can never have enough of
similar exhibitions, and tax the poor creatures' powers
almost beyond endurance when uiey are thus brought
before them. The exhibition had greatly amused us,
both from the skill of the people and the picturesque
effect of their wild appearance and costume. Their
own apparent faith in the incantations they muttered,
and the real credence bestowed on their powers by the
native spectators, gave a reality to the scene which no
English jugglery can ever possess. The sword exer-
cise and cocoa-nut breaking were accompanied by shrill.
animated, and exciting cries. Of their skill in palm-
istry we were unable to judge, as we did not under-
stand their language ; but we were told that their pro-
phetical gifts are very similar to those of the European
brethren.
About three or four days afterwards, as we were
returning from a drive, we met the whole tribe on their
march \ayck to the mountains. The road was narrow,
and they were therefore' oUiged to move to one side,
passing in a long-continued and most picturesque file,
beneath the sweet mimosa-trees that bordered the way.
One might almost have fancied himself living in the
age of the Patriarchs, and witnessing the joumeyings of
a people, as he gazed on them. The strong men came
fint, each armc^ with a tall staff; then the women,
bearing their infants on their hips, or leading the young
children by the hand; old crones and 'ancient men'
followed, with sudi cattte as they possessed, and bundles,
containing, as we supposed, their proper^. They all
salaamed us with kindly smiles as they glided by ; and
we watched them with considerable interest f<» some
time, the great plain they traversed permitting us to
see them till they were lost in the &m though brief
twilight We never saw the gipsies of the I>eco«n
more ; but we have often thought and talked of them,
and regretted that the energies they displayed, and the
toil by which they must have brought many of their
performances to perfection, had not been more worthily
employed and better directed. They follow strictly the
wise injunction, * Whataoetfer thy hand findeth to do, do
it with all thy might ;' though unhappily Uieir hand,
through ignorance, finds little to do that is useful or
becoming rational beings; and they are thus far ex-
amples to those who, living in the light of civilisation,
never exert the capabilities, whether mental or physical,
which their Creator has bestowed. Many a sluggard
of our enlightened Europe might thus derive a useful
lesson from the wild gipsies of Hindoostan.
A SECOND GLANCE AT MR MACAULAyS
HISTORY.
Mr Macaulat's book must undoubtedly be what is
called * the book of the season.' It comes at an oppor-
tune time; in the midst of the revolutions of so many
despotic governments, telling the tale of t^e sober and
bloodless revolution which we passed through a hun-
dred and sixty years ago-— made sober and bloodless
because we had never, like the oontinental nations,
allowed our early popular institutions to be torn from
us, and therefore had always something of a time-
honoured character round which to ridiy. The whole
story of James IL's reign reads like a drama or a
romance. It is a fair struggle between two principles,
with victory or death for the issue. On one side a
monareh, naturaUy weak, and not very good-hearted,
driven by bigotry into tyrannical courses, with only
the firail support of a few profiigate statesmen, and a
sentiment of loyalty which, though tinged with super-
stition, was insufficient to sustain men under extreme
practical sufferings and dangers ; on the other, ' a noble
and puissant nation rousing herself like a strong man
after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks,' to throw
off a yoke whose whole merits were of an abstract kind,
but which, in such an age, it was atonost impiety to
challenge. The very struggles of the latter party with
their own prejudices are intensely interesting. Mr
Macaulay tells the story, we think, somewhat too rhe-
torically ; yet is always animated, picturesque, and en-
tertaining. It will be very curious to find his volumes
so universally read as they must be, for it wUl show
how much public attention to a book is affected by
peculiarities in writers, by the presumption of their
degrees of information, and perhaps also in some mea-
sure by currents of taste. We are able to mention, on
the best authority, that, upwards of twenty years ago,
a history oi the English Bevdution was published by a
CHAMBERS^ EDINBUBOH JOUBKAL.
85
iHptelabla writer, and that the sale amounted to only
one copy I
It wioNild require ten times our space to present any
adaqnale samples of this narrative ; but eren were that
at our command, we would still recommend our readers
to fo to the book itself: there only can they obtain a
therongh idea of the conflict carried on between 1685
and 1688, Feriiaps the most intensely-intezesting piece
of narrmtioQ is tiiat of Monmouth's insurrection, and its
f^arfbDy bloody dose. One cannot read without S3rm-
pathetio anguish of the Tain pleading of this unhappy
leader for hu life before an unde who knew not pity.
The brutalities of Jeffireys make it impossible not to
(eel a stem pleasure in his own ultimate humiliation
and wretched end. We stUl think, howerer, that there
is wanting in this, as in erexr other history of the
period, a sufficient exposition of the causes of all the
oad ddngt of the latter §tuart gOTemments, in the
terrors from which they were a reaction. We are left
to wonder at the indignities put on the poor Earl of
AigyJe, whidi seem the most wanton and uncalled-for
wickedneee. The authors of these indignities felt still
burning in their bosoms what we know nothing of*-
tbe reconection of the similar indignities put by a king-
leas parliament on Montrose — which this very earl and
his father, it was said, had triumphantly witnessed.
Why did men fool themselYes with the doctrine of the
dtrine right of kings? Nothing is without a cause.
This ibOy was merely a counteraction i^nst other
ftmatics, who thought they might treat kings as those
ti Israel were treated by the Hebrew prophets and
psople, and who had actually brought one monarch to
a TieisBt dmA. Men submitted to the worst tyranny
of the infatuated James, because they had learned thirty
years belbre that there was a worse tyranny in sancti-
lled brewers and leather-sellers. The king himself had
seen his father, after many oonoessions, put to death,
and the goremment destroyed. It was still unsettled
—perhaps it is not yet settled — whether the conces-
sicNBs or their insuffidenoy was the cause of the eyil.
A wiser man might hare doubted whether he should
reeede or go on. Then it is scarcely possible in our cool
dsys to judge of the religious feelings which were the
imme^afte animating cause of all movements in those
times, when the many wonderfhl and agitating things
in the Bible were as yet but fireshly burst on the
European mind, and men had not half learned in what
Ugfat they ought to be regarded. Scarcely, we appre-
hend, oould the sincerest Catholic of our day even
spptoadi to a conception of the state of mind of King
Jsmes, with Ills oonviotions, enduring for an hour the
pfedominanoe of the reformed religion. Mr Macaulay,
with all the amj^tude of his information, is here as
dsfleSent as any of his predecessors.
The fkeedom of Mr Macaulav's sketches of famUiar
thhigs will be relished as a delightM relief to the so-
briety of political narrative. Dr Robertson would have
been too dignifled to descend to such matters — Henry
woM have brought them in with the dryness of a
eatalogua It is reserved for the histories! writer of
our age to paint a class of people and a department of
maDsers with the unrestrained pencil of Ial Bruyere
and Addiscm. Take, for example, this little bit respect-
ing the Popish country squire of James II.'s time : —
•Ezduded, when a bqv, from Eton and Westminster,
when a youth, firom Oxford and Cambridge, when a
man, fkom parliament and from the bench of justice, he
generally vegetated as quietly as the elms of the avenue
whidi led to his ancestral grange. Hit corn-fields, his
dairy and his dder press, his greyhounds, his fishing-
rod and his gun, his ale and his tobacco, occupied almost
all his thoughts. With his ndghbours, in spite of his
rdlglon, he was generally on good terms. They knew
him to be unambitious and inoflbnsive. He was almost
always of a good dd fkmily. He was always a Cavalier.
His peculiar notions were not obtruded, and caused no
annoyance. He did not, like a Puritan, torment himself
and oters wiA scruples about eveiything that was
pleasant : on the contrary, he was as keen a sportsman,
and as jdly a boon companion, as any man who had
taken the oath of supremacy and the declaration against
transubstantiation. He met his brother squires at the
cover, was in with them at the death, and, when the
sport was over, took them home with bim to a venison
pssty and to October four years in bottle. The oppres-
sions which he had undergone had not been such as to
impel him to any desperate resolutbn. Even when his
church was barbarously persecuted, his life and pro-
perty were in little danger. The most imnudent false
witnesses oould hardly venture to shock tne common
sense of mankind by accusing him of being a conspi-
rator. The Papists whom Oates selected for attack
were peers, prelates, Jesuits, Benedictines, a busy poli-
tical agent, a lawyer in high practice, a court physician.
The BoDian Catholic country gentleman, protected by
his obscurity, by his peaceaUe demeanour, and by the
good-will of those among whom he lived, carted his
hay or filled his bag with game unmolested, while Cde-
man and Langhorne, Whitbread and Pickisriog, Arch-
bishop Plunkett and Lord StafiTord, died by the halter
or the axe.'
Our author's account of the cofiee-houses of the
seventeenth century looks more like a paper in Bentley
or Colbum than a page of a large historical work ; yet
there can be no doubt that it is as essential to that
work as the gravest accounts of parliamentary debates
and councils of state. * The cofiee-house must not be
dismissed with a cursory mention. It might indeed at
that time have been not improperly cidled a most im-
portant political institution. No parliament had sat for
years. The munidpal council of the city had ceased
to speak the sense of the dtizens. PuUic meetings,
hanmgues, resdu^ns, and the rest of the modem
machinery of agitation, had not yet come into fashion.
Nothing resembling the modem newspaper existed. In
such circumstances, the coffee-houses were the chief
organs through which the public opinion of the metro-
polis vented itselfl The first of these establishments
had been set up in the time of the Commonwealth by a
Turkey merchant, who had acquired among the Mo-
hanmiedans a taste for their favourite beverage. The
convenience of being able to make appointments in any
part of the town, and of being able to pass evenings
sodaUy at a very small charge, was so great, that the
fashion spread fast Every man of the upper or middle
classes went daily to his coffee-house to leam tbe news,
and to discuss it Every coffee-house had one or more
orators to whose doquenoe the crowd listened with
admiration, and who soon became, what the joumalists
of our own time have been called, a fourth estate of the
realm. The court had long seen with uneasiness the
growth of this new power in the state. An attempt
had been made during Danby's administration to dose
the cofibe-houses. But men of all parties missed their
usual places of resort so much, that there was a uni-
versal outcry. The government did not venture, in
opposition to a feeling so strong and general, to enforce
a regulation of which the legality m^ht wcdl be ques-
tioned. Since that time ten years had elapsed, and
during those years the number and infiuenoe of the
oofibe-houses had been constantly increasing. Foreigners
remarked that the coffee-house was that which espe-
dally distinguished London from all other dties ; that
the coffee-house was the Londoner's home; and that
those who wished to find a gentleman, commonly asked
not whether he lived in Fleet Street or Chancery Lane,
but whether he frequented the Gredan or the Rainbow.
Nobody was exduded from those places who laid down
his penny at the bar. Tet everv rank and prdession,
and every shade of religious and political opinion, had
its own head-quarters. There were houses near St
James's Park where the fops congregated, thdr heads
and shoulders covered with black or fiaxen wigs, not
less ample than those which are now worn by the Chan-
cellor and by the Speaker of the House of Commons.
The wig came firom Paris, and so did the rest of the
36
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
fine gentleman's ornamenta — ^his embroidered coat, hia
fringed gloTes, and the tassel which upheld his panta-
loons. The conversation was in that dialect which,
long after it had ceased to be spoken in fashionable
circles, continued in the mouth or Lord Foppington, to
excite the mirth of theatres. The atmosphere was like
that of a perfumer's shop. Tobacco in any other form
than that of richly-scented snuff was held in abonodna-
tion. If any down, ignorant of the usages of the house,
called for a pipe, the sneers of the whole assembly and
the short answers of the waiters soon convinced him
that he had better go somewhere else. Nor indeed would
he have had far to go, for, in general, the coffee-rooms
reeked with tobacco Uke a guard-room ; and strangers
sometimes expressed their surprise that so many people
should leave their own firesides to sit in the midst of
eternal fog and stench. Nowhere was the smoking more
constant than at Will's. That celebrated house, situated
between Covent Garden and Bow Street, was sacred to
polite letters. There the talk was about poetical justice,
and the unities of place and time. There was a faction
for Perrault and the modems, a faction for Boileau and
the ancients. One group debated whether the *' Para-
dise Lost " ought to have been in rhyme. To another,
an anxious poetaster demonstrated that ** Venice Pre-
served" ought to have been hooted from the stage.
Under no roof was a greater variety of figures to be
seen — earls in stars and garters, clergymen in cassocks
and bands, pert templars, sheepish lads from the uni-
versities, translators, and index-makers in ragged coats
of frieze. The great press was to get near the chair
where John Dryden sat In winter that chair was
always in the warmest nook, by the fire -, in summer,
it stood in the balcony. To bow to him, and to hear
his opinion of Racine's last tragedy, or of Rossa's treatise
on epic poetry, was thought a privilege. A pinch from
his snuff-box was an honour sufficient to turn the head
of a young enthusiast There were coffee-houses where
the first medical men might be consulted. Dr John Rad-
cliffti, who, in the year 1685, rose to the largest practice
in London, came daily, at the hour when the Exchange
was full, from his house in Bow Street, then a fashion-
able part of the capital, to Garraway's, and was to be
found surrounded by surgeons and apothecaries at a
particular table. There were Puritan coffee-houses
where no oath was heard, and where lank-haired men
discussed election and reprobation through their noses ;
Jew coffee-houses, where dark-eyed money-changers
from Venice and from Amsterdam greeted each other ;
and Popish coffee-houses where, as good Protestanta
believed, Jesuits planned over their cups another great
fire, and cast silver bullets to shoot the king.'
Everywhere Mr Macaulay takes the freedom to intro-
duce circumstances and associations in a manner new
to history. We are told that, op the breaking out of
Monmouth's rebellion, a play of Dryden's failed for
want of attendance at the theatre. Persons still living
have seen the daughter of the servant who waited ou
the Earl of Faversham when he halted to fight Mon-
mouth at Sedgemoor. Monmouth left a mistress, whom
he considered as his wife in the sight of Hoavep : her
fate is touched ou with the skill of ttxe modern literary
artist The unhappy man has perished on Tower Hill,
and been laid amongst the dust of many heroic person-
ages in the Tower Chapel. * Yet a few months, and the
quiet village of Toddington in Bedfordshire witnessed
a still sadder funeral. Near that village stood an ancient
and stately hall, the seat of the Wentworths. The
transept of the parish church had long been their burial-
place. To that burial-place, in the spring which fol-
lowed the death of Monmouth, was borne the coffin of
the young Baroness WentworUi of Nettlestede. Her
family reared a sumptuous mausoleum over her remains:
but a less costly memorial of her was long contemplated
with far deeper interest Her name, carved by the
hand of him whom she loved too well, was, a few years
ago, still discernible on a tree in the adjoining park.'
Thus, too, when William lodges for a day at Littlecote
Hall, we are reminded of the mysterioas trag^edy oimotdd
in it in the time of the Tudors, as narrated in the notoB
to * Rokeby.' A historian of the last age, writing about
the arrival of the Dutch Guards at Whitehall, aod bar-
ing to mention that they had to meet the English Gaarda
under Lord Craven, would have mentioned Lord Craveo
and nothing more. Mr Macaulay introduces him thms.:
' They were commanded by William, Earl of Craven, an
aged man who, more than fifty years before, had beea
d^tinguished in war and love, who had led Uie iorlorp-
hope at Creutznach with such courage, that he had
been patted on the shoulder by the great Gustamiat aod
who was believed to have won from a thousand rivalt
the heart of the unfortunate queen of Bohemia. Craven
was now iu his eightieth year ; but time had not tamed
his spirit' Such references throw a flood of fresh inte-
rest on a historical narration.
Mr Macaulay b9^b — * The press now often aends forth
in a day a greater quantity of discussion and dedanift-
tion about the conditbn of the working-man, than wm
published during the twenty-eight years which elapsed
between the Restoration and the Revolution. But H
would be a great error to infer, from the increase oC
complaint, that there has been any increase of misery.'
He proceeds to show that the agricultural labourers,
who were four-fifths of the working population* had
then four shillings a week, without food, in ordinary dis-
tricts, and from five to six shillings in the more fiivouicd.
Wheat was tiien as dear as now. It was seventy shil-
lings a quarter in 1661, when the justices at CheUnt-
ford fixed the wages of the Essex labourer at six shil-
lings in summer, and seven in winter. ' These iacts,'
says our author, * are in perfect accordance with another
fact which seems to deserve consideration. It is evi-
dent that, in a country where no man can be compelled
to become a soldier, the ranks of an army cannot be
filled if the government offers much less than the wages
of common rustic labour. At present, the pay and beer
money of a private in a regiment of the line amount to
seven shillings and sevenpence a week. Thia stipend,
coupled with the hope of a pension, does not attract
the English youth in sufficient numbers; and it is fiinnd
necessary to supply the deficiency by enlisting largely
from among the poorer population of Munster and Con-
naught The pay of the private loot soldier in 1685 waa
only four -shillings and eightpence a week ; yet it is cer-
tain that the government in that year found no difficulty
in obtaining many thousands of English recruits at very
short notice. The pay of the private foot soldier in the
army of the Commonwealth had been seven shillings
a week — that is to say, as much as a corporal received
under Charles IL ; and seven shillings a week had beeo
found sufficient to fill the ranks with men decidedly
superior to the generality of the people. On the whole,
therefore, it seems reasonable to conclude that^ in the
reign of Charles IL* the ordinary wages of the peasant
did not exceed four shillings a week ; but that, in some
parts of the kingdom, five shillings, six shillings and
during the summer months, eren seven shillings, were
paid. At present, a district where a labouring nma
earns only seven shillings a week is thought to be ia
a state shocking to humanity. The aveirage is much
higher ; and ia prosperous counties the weekly wages
of husbandmen amount to twelve, fourteen, and evea
sixteen shillings.'
The remuneration of the manniactarlng artisan was
on no better scale. *■ In the year 1630, a member of the
House of Commons remarked that the high wages paid
in tliis country made it impossible fur our textures to
maintain a competition with the prodoce of the Indiaa
looms. An English mechanic, he said, instead of slaving^
like a native of Bengal for a piece of copper, exacted a
shilling a day. Other evidence is extant, which proves
that a shilling a day was the pay to which the English
manufacturer then thought himself entitled, but that he
was often forced to work for less. The common people
of that age were not in the habit of meeting for public
discusuon, of haranguing, or of petitioning parliament.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
37
Ko iM9«S|Miper pleaded tlieir cause. It was in rade
rhyne that Uieir lore and hatred, their exultation and
their ditftren, found utterance. A great part of their
histary is to l>e learned only from their ballads. One
lit ^le most remarkable of the popular lavs chanted
ttboo^ tbe streets of Norwich and Leeds in the time of
Gliaries II. may still be read on the original broadside.
It to the Tehemeat and bitter cry of labour against
capital It describes the good old times when every
ar&sm endployed in the woollen manufacture lived as
irdl as a farnier. But those times were past. Six-
pence a day now was all that could be earned by hard
iabonr at the loom. If the poor complained that they
could not live on such a pittance, they were told that
they were free to take it or leave it For so miserable
a recompense were the producers of wealth compelled
to toil, rising early, and l}ing down late, while the
master dothier, eating, sleeping, and idling, became
rich bf their exertions. A shilling a day, the poet de-
ciarea, is what the weaver would have, if justice were
dooe. We may therefore conclude that, in the gene-
imtSon which preceded the Revolution, a workman em-
ployed in the great staple manufacture of England
thnight himself fairly paid if he gained six shillings
I
It is added — ' When we pass firom the weavers of
doth to a difitont class of artisans, our inquiries will
stiU lead ns to nearly the same condusions. During
several generations, the Commissioners of Greenwich
Hospital have kept a register of the wages paid to
diffnent dasaes of workmen who have been employed
in the repairs of the building. From tliis valuable
RCflsd it appears that, in the course of 120 years, the
dai^ earnings of the bricklayer have risen from half-a-
erown to four-and-tenpenoe ; those of the mason from
faalf>a-crown to flve-and-threepence *, those of the car-
penter from half-a-crown to five- and -fivepence; and
tboie of the plumber from three shillings to five-and-
sixpeoce.
* It seems dear, therefore, that the wages of labour,
estimated in money, were, in 1685, not more than half
of what they now are ; and there were few artides im-
portant to the worldng-man of whidi the price was
not, in 16S5, more than half of what it now is. Beer
was undoubtedly much cheaper in that age than at
present; meat was also cheaper, but was still so dear,
that there were hundreds of thousands of families who
sesreely knew the taste of it In the cost of wheat
tiiere has been very little change. The average price of
the quarter, during the last twelve years of Charles II.,
was fifty shillings. Bread, therefore, such as is now
giyen to the inmates of a workhouse, was then seldom
seen, even on the trencher of a yeoman or of a shop-
keeper. The great minority of tiie nation lived almost
entirely on rye^ barley, and oats.
* The prodace of tropical countries, the produce of
the mines, the produce of machinery, was positively
dearer than at present Among the commodities for
whidi the labourer would have had to pay higher in
ISBi than bis posterity pay in 1848, were sugar, salt
coals, candles, soap, shoes, stockings, and generally all
articles of clothing and all artides of bedding. It may
be added, that the old coats and blankets would have
been not only more costly, but less serviceable than the
modem fabrics.'
Mr Macaulay then proceeds to show that the pro-
portioD of the people which received parochial relief in
the reign of Charles II. was larger than even now. He
adnnts that the labouring people of that age derived
some advantage from commons now dosed to them ;
hot against this he places advantages of a different
pfoper to the present age. * Of the blessings
chmisation and philosophy bring with them, a
proportion is common to all ranks, and would, if
withdrawn, be missed as painfully by the labourer as by
the peer. The market-place which the rustic can now
with his cart in an hour, was, a hundred and sixty
ago, a day's journey from him. The street which
now fifibrds to the artisan, during the whole night a
secure, a convenient and a brilliantly-lighted walk, was,
a hundred and sixty years ago, so dark after sunset,
that he would not have been able to see his hand ; so ill
paved, that he would have run constant risk of breaking
his neck ; and so ill watched, that he would have been in
imminent danger of being knocked down and plundered
of his small earnings. Every bricklayer who falls from
a scaffold, every sweeper of a crossing who is run over
by a carriage, now may have his wounds dressed and
his limbs set with a skill such as, a hundred and sixty
years ago, all the wealth of a great lord like Ormond,
or of a merchant-prince like Clayton, could not have
purchased. Some frightful diseases have been extir-
pated by science, and some have been banished by
police. The term of human life has been lengthened
over the whole kingdom, and especially in the towns.
The year 1685 was not accounted sickly; yet in the
year 1685 more than one in twenty-three of the in-
habitants of the capital died. At present, only one
inhabitant of the capital in forty dies annually. The
difference in salubrity between the London of the nine-
teenth century and the London of the seventeenth cen-
tury, is very far greater than the difference between
London in an ordinary season and London in the
cholera.
' Still more important is the benefit which all orders
of sodety, and especially the lower orders, have derived
from the mollifying influence of dvilisation on the
national character. The groundwork of that character
has indeed been the same through many generations, in
the sense in which the groundwork of the character of
an individual may be said to be the same when he is a
rude and thoughtless schoolboy, and when he is a refined
and accomplished man. It is pleasing to reflect that
the public mind of England has softened while it has
ripened, and that we have in the course of ages become
not only a wiser, but also a kinder people. There is
scarcely a page of the history or lighter literature of
the seventeenth century which does not contain some
proof that our ancestors were less humane than their
posterity. The discipline of workshops, of schools, of
private families, though not more efficient than at
present, was infinitely harsher. Masters, well bom and
bred, were in the habit of beating their servants. Peda-
gogues knew no way of imparting knowledge but by
beating their pupils. Husbands of decent station were
not ashamed to beat their wives. The implacability of
hostile factions was such as we can scarcely conceive.
Whigs were disposed to murmur because Stafford was
suffered to die without seeing his bowels burned before
his face. Tories reviled and insulted Russell as his
coach passed from the Tower to the scaffold in Lincoln's
Inn Fidds. As little mercy was shown by the populace
to sufferers of a humbler rank. If an offender was put
into the pillory, it was well if he escaped with life from
the shower of brickbats and paving-stones. If he was
tied to the cart's tail, the crowd pressed round him,
imploring the hangman to give it the fellow well, and
mi^e him howl. Gentlemen arranged parties of plea-
sure to Bridewdl on court days, for the purpose of seeing
the wretched women who beat hemp there whipped. A
man pressed to death for refusing to plead, a woman
burned for coining, exdted less sympathy than is now
felt for a gahed horse or an over-driven ox. Fights,
compared with which a boxing-match is a refined and
humane spectacle, were among the favourite diversions
of a large part of the town. Multitudes assembled to
see gladiators hack each other to pieces with deadly
weapons, and shouted with delight when one of the
combatants lost a finger or an eye. The prisons were
hells on earth, seminaries of every crime and of every
disease. At the assizes the lean and yeUow culprits
brought with them from their cells to the dock an at-
mosphere of stench and pestilence, which sometimes
avenged them signally on bench, bar, and jury. But
on all this misery society looked with profound indiffe-
rence. Nowhere could be found that sensitive and rest-
■ '* "
88
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
less compassion which has in our time extended a
powerM protection to the factory child, to the Hindoo
widow, to the negro slare, which pries into the stores
and water-casks of erery emigrant ship, which winces
at every lash laid on the back of a drunken soldier,
which will not suffbr the thief in the hulks to be iU-fed
or oTerworked, and which has repeatedly endearoured
to sare the life even of the murderer. It is true that
compassion ought, like all other feelings, to be under
the goTemment of reason, and has, for want of such
goTemment, produced some ridiculous and some deplor^
able efflscts. But the more we study the annals of the
past, the more shall we reioice that we live in a mereifhl
age — in an age in whicn cruelty is abhorred, and in
which pain, eren when deserved, is inflicted reluctantly,
and from a sense of duty. Every class, doubtless, has
gained largely by this great moral change*, but the
class whidi has gained most is the poorest, the most
dependent, and the most defenceless.'
These are things worth pondering upon by the work-
ing population of our time, and those who call them-
selves specially their friends. There is a prevailing
disposition to attribute all the evils endured by the
humbler dass d people to political and social evils
bearing with undue severity upon them, and pectillar
to the present time. When you tell any man that he
is subjected to external evils beyond his own control,
he is extremely apt to overlook those which it depends
on himself to remedy. It is to be feared thlit the pre-
sent manner of addressing the working population is
mainly of the kind which soothes thera with the idea
that they are victims who cannot help themselves. The
very eflbrts everjrwhere making to ftoiish them with
baths, reading-rooms, superior houses, Sec must help to
foster this notion. The consequence is, that the work-
ing population lose the opportunity of doing any good
for themselves. They live for the day, when, by a
proper husbanding of their resources, they might take
a far higher place, sociallv and morally, than they da
Such fkcts as those brought out by Mr Macaulay show
at once how much less evil thev now suffer, and how
much more tiiey might now do for themselves, than at
any former period.
We now fairly conclude by jotting off a fow pithy
expressions of opinion on genml subjects, which we
find scattered in Mr MacaulaVs volumes : — ^ In every
age, the vilest specimens of human nature are to be
found among demagogues.' * The common people are
sometimes inconstant, for they are human bemgs. But
that they are inconstant as compared with the educated
classes, with aristocracies, or with princes, may be con-
fidently denied. It would be easy to name demagogues
whose popularity has remained undiminished, while
sovereigns and parliaments have withdrawn their con-
fidence from a long succession of statesmen. When
Swift had survived his faculties many years, the Irish
popviifee still continued to light bonfires on his birth-
day, in conunemoration of the services which they fan-
cied that he had rendered to his country when his mind
was in full vigour. While seven administrations were
raised to power, and buried from it in consequence of
court intrigues, or of changes in the sentiments of the
higher dasses of society, the profligate Wilkes retained
his hold on the aflbctions of a rabble whom he pillaged
and ridiculed. Pditicians who in 1807 sought to curry
fovour with George UL by defending Caroline of Bruns-
wick, were not ashamed in 1820 to curry favour with
Qeorge IV. bv persecuting her. But in 1880, as in
1807, the whole body of working men was flematically
devoted to her cause. ' Representative assemblies, pub-
lic discussions, and all the other checks by which, in
civil aflkirt, rulers are restrained frt>m abusing power,
are out of place in a camp. Machiavd justly imputed
many of the disasters of Venice and Florence to the
jealousy which led those republics to interfere with
every act of tiieir generals. The Dutch practice of
sending to an army deputies, without whose consent no
great blow could be struck, was almost equally perni-
cious. It is undoubtedly by no means certain that a
captain, who has been intrusted with dictatorial power
in the hour of peril, will quietly surrender that power
in the hour of triumph ; and this is one of the many
considerations which ought to make men hesitate long
before they resolve to vindicate public libeorty li^ the
sword. Bu( if they determine to try the chance of war,
they will, if they are wise, intrust to their chief that
plenary authority without which war cannot be well
conducted. It is possiUe that, if they give him that
authority, he may turn out a Ciromwell or a Napoleon ;
but it is almost certain that, if they withhdd from him
that authority, their enterprises will end like the enter-
prise of Argyle.'
NOTES ON FERNS.
HoBACE speaks of the fern as growing only to be
burnt, and from his age to the present day, men have
been but too apt to tiuce the superficial reading of the
remark without applying it economically. Few have
regarded the fern otherwise than as a beautiful and
graceful ornament, or a troublesome and obstinate weed,
according as the romantic or the needful was their guid-
ing principle. It would be well that the latter dass
should act more upon the letter of the poet, and they
would probably flind themselves well rewarded, not
merely by ridding their fair fields of the intruding rooL
but also by a considerable quantity of kelp, which will
be eageriy sought after by tiie soapmaker and the glass
mant^acturer ; or they may economically employ the
ashes so obtained in their own household, after the
manner of the Welsh and others, who, burning the fern
when green, make the ashes into balls with a litUe
water; then dry them in the sun, and store tliem up, to
take the place of soap, for which they form no indiffe-
rent substitute.
Again, when the occupier of the said fair fields, or
it may be of yonder small allotment, newly reclaimed
firom the mountidn or moor, has supplied his thrifty
partner with the magic balls, which, like the good fiury
in the old tale, are ' to cleanse all they touch,' he may
advantageously employ his former enemy (for so a plant
which in rich soila will extend ito roote to a depth
of six to eight fbet may be considered) as an excel-
lent manure. Let him cut it when green, ]and suffer
it to rot, when he will soon discover its merito as an
enricher of the soU. It yields nearly twice the quantity
of salte conteined in almost any other vegeteble, and
for this reason is particularly applicable to the potato,
never failing, if buried beneath their roots, to pro-
duce a good crop. The rootstodc of all ferns, though
bitter, salt, and nauseous, is relished by pigs, and if
boUed in their mash, or even in water, becomes an ex-
celleut food for them. As that of the bracken (Pterw
amtilind) frequently mate together, and coven acres
01 unreclaimed ground, it may do great service in
this way. Newman also mentions, on the authority
of Mr Lees, that in the forest of Dean, the young
shooto of this plant are cut before the fronds are
unrolled, and boiled as a mash for pigs. This food
will keep for a considerable time after it has been
boiled, and it comes into use at a season when the cot-
toger has some difficulty in supplying his pig fhim
the garden. The rooto of Pteris aquUina and common
wall-fem, if boiled like carroto, are sweet and whole-
some ; so, says Gunner, are the young spring-shoots of
the latter, if boiled and eaten like asparagus. An excel-
lent farina may be procured from fern roots, which not
only forms an article of food to the natives of Kamt-
chatka, but is also mixed in the bread of our more civi-
lised neighbours in Normandy; whilst the Siberians
use it in their beer, mixing one-third of the rootstodc
of Aspidium fiUm ma» with two-thirds of malt Fens
also form in Norway an article of fodder for catUe, sheep,
and goats. Being cut green, and dried in the open air,
and, when required, steeped in warm water, the animals
eat it readily, and in some instences fatten on it, though
I
it ii of eoorse a food used only in the depths of winter,
lb the Tmloe of itons as litter it is needless to draw
atteotioD. In Glen Elg, Inyemess, the stalks of the
bn<dcen are osed for thatching houses, to which pur-
pose tbe whole frond is applied in Wales; but this,
though less expensive in labour, is far less durable.
While keeping in Tiew the fern wash-balls, we must
not omit to mention that the' root of the Osmond royal
{Chmynda regaUs) yields a most excellent starch, so that
the fem-prcmded TsMxeM of a family need nerer blush
for the linen of her household, however poor she may
otherwise be. The common bracken, and in a less de-
gree all the ferns, are, from their astringent nature, well
•dapted to the service of the tanner, and on the conti-
nent are extenslvdy used by him in the preparation of
kid and chamois leather.
The fern was formerly much valued as a medicine,
but ^ discoveries of distant and richer lands have, in
a great measure lessened the chemical value of many
"of the herbs which grow beneath our less ardent sun.
The maiden's hair.(^<^*an^fn) is much used in coughs,
sheathing the inflamed and irritable epiglottis. The
*cap31aire' of our French neighbours is merely a distil-
latSon of this fern with orange-flower water and honey.
It is. or was, also much used as a confection, or summer
drink, as all who in their youthfhl days delighted in the
tales of Berguin will testify.
The antlwlmintic qualities of Lastrea JUix mas, and
most o( its congeners, cause them even vet to form a
part of the berbalistic Materia Medica of the country-
women, who particularly esteem them against worms ;
whilst the AspleniOf as their name imports, have been
higldy valued in complaints of the viscera. The elderlv
women in Herefordshire, says Newman, collect P. vuU
gart as a remedy for hooping-cough : it is gathered in
October and November, when full of seed, hung up to
dry, and when used, boiled with coarse brown sugar.
It may perhaps be well to mention that we have here
only noticed the true ferns, though the remainder of the
fllioes are not without their economical, as well as their
superstitious interest, to which we shall now advert
The fern was formerly regarded with superstitious
reverence, and held to be endowed with supernatural
X>owers. Nor will this astonish us, when we consider
that the andents, in common with the fether of na-
tural bistofy, were unable to discover from whence
proceeded the numberless young plants which they
saw springing up on every side of the parent fern.
Pliny expresuy says that the ferns have neither flower
Bor seed ;* and it was reserved for a comparatively
modem age to discover the latter in abundance on the
backs of the fironds.*^ It is curious to mark how the
accurate and minute observation of these men was, for
want of a few leading principles, rendered subservient
to the errors of superstition. In all their ingenious
speculations, they delighted to work out some fencied
resemblance between the tangible, natural peculiarities
of their object, and its supposed powers ; and thus, as
the ftnit A the fern was invisible, so must it possess
the power of rendering invisible the fortunate man who
ihoidd find and appropriate it Of this fan^ our early
poeta have given many Uhistrations. Thus Shak-
speare, * We have the recipe of fern-seed — we walk in-
visible'—Beaumont and Iletcher, * Why, did you think
that yon had Gyges* ring, or the herb that gives invi-
sibility ?' — and rare Ben Johnson, ' I had no medicine,
sir, to go invisible ; no fern-seed in my pocket'
Many, doubtless, were the attempts to And this
powerfril treasure ; anxiously was it sought by the for-
blddesi rover, the trembling criminal, perhaps by the
treac^ierous and designing statesman ; but vain was all
Ibeir labour, and disappointedly they gave up their
laefl^etual attempts to discover nonentities, and make
fbema^ves invisible to mortal ken ; for, as Bovet tells
«» * One went to gather it ffem-seed], and the spirits
wluiked about hte ears like bullets, and sometimes
L
a PhlL Nat Hist Ul». t7, cap. Ir.
struck his hat and other parts of his body. In fine,
though he apprehended that he had gotten a quantitv
of it secured in papers, and a box besides, he found all
empty;' that is, the seed having been at length dis-
covered, dark and midignant spirits, enraged at the
prospect of man appropriating to himself their pecu-
liar privilege, attacked tiie daring depredator (perchance
under the forms of owls and bate), and bore from him
his long-sought booty.
Nor was invisibility the only boon to be obtained by
means oS the fern-seed: it had other powers, darkly
hinted at by some, and more openly dedared by others :
in fact it was a most pow^ful vegetable charm if
gathered on St John's (midsummer) Eve, more so if the
night, says Semnius, should prove tempestuous ; and in
later times, Gerarde speaks much of tne uses to which
superstition had appued the much -sought fern -seed.
Dioscorides, Iraqus, and Schbruhr, sp^ik much and
mysteriously of this plant as a diarm against witch-
craft ; whilst Bovet gravely states his conviction that
these * are of the devil's own contriving ; that having
once ensnared men to an obedience to his rules, he may
with more facility oblige them to a stricter vassalage.'
Even serpents, it is to be supposed, were aware of the
powers of this herb, as Fliny tells us that they are
rarely found under it In addition to the non-discovery
of the seed, the ' strange figures and unknown letters '
which were seen on cutting the stem across, had their
influence on the susceptible minds of our forefathers.
Among the more practical superstitions respecting
this tribe of plants, we may notice that of placing chil-
dren on a bed of green fern as a cure for rickets. It
may also be pleasant to the ennuyU to know that the
goldilocks (P. vulgare) was formerly considered an in-
fallible remedy for melandiolia. We have a theory of
our own on this suliject, which we shall hereafter unfold.
It would ,be tedious to mention all tiie diseases for
which ferns were considered panaceas ; so, after stating
that the root of Polmodium dhyopUrtM would, it was be-
lieved, take ofi* the hair, we will proceed to our own
superstition respecting melancholia, intreating such of
our readers as may be troubled with this most wearing
disease of the mind to pay great attention to our asser-
tion that P. vulgare, in common with other ferns, will
materially assist in efibcting his or her cure. We do
not even, like the wizards of old, ask for faith in our
nostrum ; we only ask obedience to our rules, and the
faith shsll be worked out by the cure perfected. Let
the patient, say we, commence by such gentle strolls as
shall bring him to the charmed spots where
* The fern delighta to grow;'
let him gradually proceed to gather a few of the more
striking and beautiful fronds ; let him place them fre-
quently and carefully before his eyes, examining them
attentively, until he feel a strong desire to know some-
thing of their structure and history (if he be assisted by
a microscope, the mirade will in all probability be
more speedy), or wish to discover how many diflerent
kinds grow within the limits of his daily rambles ; then
let him have recourse to some of the many inteiesting
and sdentific botanical works which have been written
for this purpose ; let him study these works in thefiiuk
and woods, until he feel imbued with a quiet but intense
love of beautifhl and graceful forms of this most inte-
resting tribe of plants — ^until he can say, from the depths
of his heart,
*Dear as they are beantiful
Are those fern learei to me '— ^
until, when he thinks of his former insipid pursuits, he
can add,
' Far dearer to me yon lone vale o* green hracken ;'
let him all this time remember that in Eastern lands,
where they talk with flowers, the fern is the true and
appropriate emblem of sincerity and friendship. Let
him secretiy bear the lessons thus learned in his bosom
40
CUAMB£RS*S EDINBURGH JOUBNAL,
when called upon to roiogle in the crowded city; let
him exiiibit it somewliat more openly when amongst
his own friends, family, and dependants ; and our
authority's word for it, the cure is completed.
EDUCATION OF THE DOMESTIC CIRCLE.
Fabxnts possessed of tolerable means seldom neglect to
send their children to school. They are often heard to
say of their young people^ * Whaterer advantage money
can pmrahase for then in the way of education* we
are inlling to give t&em.' Having expended the money
ungrudgingly, they are often surprised that their chil-
dren do not turn out very well. "The fact is, they ex-
pect too much from liberality in school fees — they are
too apt to feel their consciences relieved as to their
duty to the young by mere considerations of the cost in
money. However well it may suit a busy ficither to
depute the nurture of his children, and use his own
time In money-making or in needful recreation, it is
very certain that the children will be imperfectly edu-
cated if they have not been reared carefully and
rationally in the domestic circle, and cost then: parents,
or some persons standing in the light of parents, a
great deal of trouble over and above all that is por-
chaseable (h)m the schoohnaster.
The education of the domestic circle is moral edaca-
tion. The fresh human beings continually coming into
the world might be regarded as a colony of savages
coming In amongst a civilised people, and requiring to
be adjusted to the tone of the society of which they are
henceforth to form a part Their impulses are in full
activity : the provocations to the working of these im-
pulses lie fun before them. The business is to train
the impulses to submit to those checks and those modi-
fied or regulated movements which society pronounces
to be desirable. It will not be by reading of texts, or
hearing of precepts and maxims, that this will be done.
It only can be done by training to habits — a duty re-
quiring much time, great patience, and no small skill
and judgment
It is, then, an onerous duty, and yet its weight may
be much lessened if a good method be adopted, and
adopted sufficiently early. Something can be done
with a child from a very early period of existence.
For instance, if he cries, we may nvoid a great evil if
we abstain ftrom administering dainties for the pur-
pose of soothing him ; or, on the other hand, from using
him harshly by way of punishment The crying of a
child on account of any little accident or disappointment
is less an evil to him than an annoyance to us : we pro-
bably attach too much consequence to the idea of keep-
ing children quUt, as if quietness were in him a virtue.
If, however, it appear really desirable to stop the crying
of an infant, the best way is to produce a diversion in
his mind. Create some noveity about or before him,
and if it be fufflcient to give a new torn to his fselings,
he will become what is csHod *good' immediately.
This Is ft cheftp way of effecting the object, and it can
be attended by no imaginable bad consequences. It
must be remarked, however, that we — that is, grown-
up people — are ourselves the causes of much avoidable
squalling among the young. A child is looking at
sometbing, or is enjoying himself in some little sport
witii a comfHuiioii t from fondness, or some other cause,
we snfttch him up of a sudden in our sorms : he cries.
Can we wonder ? Should any of us like to be whipped
up from a dinner-table in the midst of oui* soup, or from
a concert-room when Jenny lAnd is enchanting all cars ?
Undoubtedly it is injustice to a child to treat him thus,
not to speak of the worse injustice of punishing Kim in
such circumstances for crying. He is entitled to have
his will consulted before we snatch him away merely
for our own amusement Should it be necessary to
interfere with his amusements, or to put a stop to
them, use diversion and kind words by way of soften-
ing matters, and we shall probably have nothing to
complain ot
Our ancestors were severe with children. There need
to be some terrible maxims about maintelning awe,
and breaking or bending the will. Corporal correction
was abundantly resorted to. The direct retnU of tiie
system of terror was to produce habits of falsehood and
l»rbarism ; for there is no child who will not tell a tie if
afraid of punishment on letting out the truth, and the
beating he geto only serves as an example of violeiice
for his own conduct towards brothers, sisters, and com-
panions. Kindness is now the rule in fksbion — ^upon
the whole an improvement An excess in this direction
would, however, be as fatal as one of an opposite kind.
It is not to much kindness that is required, as nmple
civility and justice. Treat children with courtesy, and
as rational beings, and they will generally be found suf-
ficiently docile. We hear obedience trumpeted as a
first requisite ; but the question is, how is a right kind
of obedience to be obteiped ? Our opinion is, that tlie
fewer commands we address to children the better.
Ask them politely. It is difficult for any one, ereo a
child, to reftise what is so asked. If they do, they lie
so plainly in error, tliat little can be needed beyond a
calm expression of opinion on the subject They will
be less likely to refuse a second time. This is very dif-
ferent from a command palpably disobeyed, in which
case there must either be punishment to the child or a
defeat to the parent The imperative plan does not
seem to work well. It leads to a constant contention
between the parties — ^tho child to escape duties which
he has no pleasure in obeying, the parent to enforce an
authority which is deficient in moral basis. The opposite
method admits of the child having some satisfaction in
complying. It trains him to free agency, and thus pre-
pares him better for the world. It is a great mistake to
try to suppress or wholly overrule the will of a child.
The will is a good tiling in him as in you. Try to take
it along with you, and to direct it to good purposes, and
you will find that you are accomplishing a great pur-
pose in education. On the other hand, a constant
appeal to the affections, as a means of obtaining conv-
^ance, would obviously be an error. If treated justly,
and not unkindly, a child cannot avoid loving ito pa-
rents. Trust to this love operating of itself in persuad-
ing to a compliance with all reasonable requesta and an
obedience to all reasonable rules.
Even tolerably amiable children, when placed together,
win be found to have frequent little quarrels, the con-
sequence of disrespectfhl words, or, perhaps, interfere
ences with each other's property. Some are much more
liable boUi- to give and take offence than others. Nothinip
is more trouUesome to a parent; for it is scarcely poa*
sible entirely to ascertain the merits of any case. The
liability to such collbions will at least be diminished
if the parents never fail to observe towards each other,
and towards their servants and children, the rules of
good-breeding; and if they, moreover, take every op-
portunity of inculcating the beautiful and happy results
of domestic peace. These means, however, will be irt
vain if children are allowed too mudi time to spend ia
idleness. If entirely occupied, in whatever way — with
lessons, with work, with amusement, or with reading or
drawing — they will be very little liable to fall into dis-
cord. It should, accordingly, be regarded as one of tho
first duties of those having a charge of yoimg people
to keep them incessantly engaged in something which
may interest their faculties.
As soon as their understanding fits them for such
intercommunion, children should be made the compa-
nions, friends, and confidants of their parents. The old
=5
CHAMBERS'S KDINBURGH JOURNAL.
41
\
nile wai, that in their pwenta* presence they Bfaoold
he pcrfcotlj qaiet This might be a gratifying homage
to the parent, but it was Dbt education to the child. If
a diild is brought to a family table, he should be allowed
to join in the family conversation, that he may learn
to oonrerse. It is both surprising and gratifying to
obserre how soon children work up to the standaM of
their parents' attainments, and how beautifully they
repay the openness and confidence with which they are
treated, by reposing the most unreserved confidence in
retora. They know the £uni^ position, the family
prospects, objects, and wishes, and become deeply inte-
rested in them alL Affection proves a far more power-
faX check than severity : obedience is a word unknown
in the fiunily vocabulary, because the thing ia never
waotinS. Co-operation, cheerful contribution by heart
and hand to the family objects, is the princifde of
action. In vadti a family there is rarely anything en-
titled to the appellation of discord : there are no sepa-
latiom^ no elopements, no acts of domestic rebellion.
A smooth course of happy life flows on, and the old
Sfe of the parents, who have trained so much worth
in their offiipring, is soothed and cheered by the unre-
mitting exercise of the very virtues which themselves
have foslcved and perfected.
Ttus is no ideal picture. We could point to families
wfaoe the scions of the house, and even the children of
Btrsagers, have been the subjects of a domestic educa-
tion such as we describe, and where the results have
been the realisation of the desideratum we set out with
— aameiy, the adjustment of the fresh generation to
the civilisation attained by the old.
THE HIGHLAND CONVOY.
A FBW months ago I indulged myself in a sail down
tiie IMtx of Clyde in one of the countless steamers of
the river. To me this is like a returning voyage up the
stream of time; for every murmur of these haunted
waters is laden with the voices of other years, and from
every nook of the varied shores there start forth to meet
me the spirits of the past. I am in a dream, which is
not all a dream, for the places are substantial realities,
although the persons are shadows: and the spectral
show receives no interruption from the cold stony
images of hnmapity by whom I am surrounded on the
deck, ibr these belong in a remarkable manner to the
present world, and to the new form into which society
hss been cast in the coarse of the last thirty years.
On the occasion referred to, the somewhat uncommon
cireumstance occurred of my exchanging looks, and
fi&aUy words, with one of my fellow-passengers. He
was a man well on to fifty years of age ; but although
{ his head was already sprinkled with the snows of time,
bis step was elastic, his eye clear, though serious, and
his (brdiead smooth and white, as if it possessed some
natural power of repulsion to throw ofi* the cares of the
world, that draw the brows of other men into wrinkles.
What attracted me, however, was his air of solitariness,
Ut abstraction from the things and persons of the pre-
sent, and I knew by intuition that he was conversing,
Bke myself, with the world of shadows. This actually
proved to be the case. He had left the Clyde (the oppo-
site shore firom mine) in early youth, and after a long
porsnit of happiness and fortune, returned a few years
sgO| convioced that the former was an illusion, and the
Istto* merely independence, irrespective of the amount
I ofbcome. We were soon well acquainted; nay, old
^\ friends. And what wonder ? since our companionship
led us to trace back together for one score and ten
years the stream of time, and made us feel, as we paced
fli* deck side by side, that every step conducted us
and £uther from the living.
After some hours had been spent in this way, my
new-old friend was curious to learn the circumstances
of my return ; but I had nothing to relate beyond the
disagreeable impressions made upon me by the people,
in their transition state between picturesque rudeness
and cold refinement — a state in which they had lost the
cordisl warmth of the one, before gaining the elegance
of the other.
* It is not that I mean,' said he. 'Bat after so long
an absence, and so unexpected a return, did you meet
with nothing remarkable, no incident, no adventure,
1^0 ?* I smiled, and my companion looked grave.
*It was too late in the day!' I replied, touching
ostentatiously with my glove a whisker which is not
yet utterly gray.
* It is not tliat I mean,' he repeated more impatiently,
and with some touch of disdain. * We are both of
us, it is to be hoped, too old for romance, and too wise
for the delusions of a sex placed among mankind as a
trial and a test, a mockery and a punishment You
met, then, with nothing remarkable ? — ^nothing to signa-
lise your return ? — ^no&ing to stand forward as a land-
mark in your memory connecting the epochs of your life
from boyhood even to middle age? Would but I could
say the same!'
' Say anything but the same,' cried I. ' I am thank-
ful that you have an adventure to relate, and you
ought to be thankful that you have a listener to hear
it Let us sit down, for the evening has stolen upon us
unawares, and there is nothing more to be seen on
these dusky shores.'
* It was in the dusk,' began my companion, when we
had seated ourselves side by side —
* At what season?'
' When the autumn was far advanced ; when the
Clyde, like our own l^ieads, my friend, had put on her
livery of gray and brown ; and when the nights were
long and chill, but steeped in the radiance of a harvest
moon. My elder brother is a petty laird in the country
we have been talking of, on the Highland or right bank
of the river, and his house stands in a wild nook of the
hills a little more than fifteen miles fh)m the shore. I
had informed him by letter of the time I expected to
be with him ; and, thanks to the regularity of this kind
of navigation, I landed in a small IxMit from the steamer
on the appointed day. This was the first time I had
touched Scottish ground for thirty years ; and even at
the rude hamlet, well known to me in my early days,
I observed some of the changes that were afterwards
so obtrusive. Indeed the only individual among the
lookers-on who harmonised completely with my lx)yish
recollections was a wild-looking Highlander ; and even
him, in consequence of the change that had taken i^ce
in me, I could not help regarding with a feeling of dis-
trust and dislike. And yet the fellow, with his erect
athletic figure, his unkempt locks, flowing from beneath
a broad blue bonnet, his mist-coloured plaid, drawn from
one shoulder over a broad chest, with the end hanging
down gracefVilly behind, and his trews, furled up to his
knee, so as to display the naked leg and fbot of a
young Hercules, presented a fine specimen of the unre-
claimed GaeL I believe, however, that my suspicions
were at first excited by nothing more than the eager
attention with which he regarded my baggage as I gave
it into the charge of the boatman, and the avidity with
which he listened to, and appeared to treasure up, my
directions as to its being taken care of till sent for on
the following day. When his keen eye caught mine
fixed upon him with severity, he looked down instan-
taneously, as if afraid of betraying his thoughts, and
shrank aside with a sudden al^ectness of deference
which by no means disarmed my suspicion.
Soop after, a new circumstance occurred to draw my
attention to this man. Having taken some refresli-
ment in the little public-house, to prepare me for a
walk of fifteen miles over a mountainous country, I
42
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
pulled out my purse, to be ready to piiy my reckoning
as I went out I had no more silver, and while hunt-
ing in a handful of gold for a half-sovereign to change,
the little window of the room darkened, and I looked
np: the Highlander stood outside, with his nose litet
rally flatten^ against the glass, and his eyes fastened
upon the treasure with a #olf-like glare that made me
start His expression, naturally wild and fierce, was at
this moment tinged with an exulting joy, throwing an
illumination, like that of a torch, over the whole face.
A foreboding of evil crossed my mind ; but instead of
attending to it, I rose up like a man in a dream, and
went out mechanically. I paid my reckoning, and took
my way to the hills.* Here the narrator paused, and
looked towards the darkening shore, as if tracing in
imagination some route full of pain and peril.
' Gome,' said I at length, * proceed : I should not
wonder if we hear a little more, before all is done, of
your bare-legged vagabond I '
• Hurry me not,' replied my firiend solemnly : * it must
come as it will, or not at all. As you proceed in this
direction from the Clyde, the country is much confused
with hills, woods, and masses of rock ; but it is not till
you arrive at the glen through which the mountain
tributary rushes that waters my brother's property,
that you observe the grander features of the picture.
In the meantime, in following the wild road I had often
traversed wlien a boy, I was struck with the shrtmken
character of the objects. Those hills appeared to me to
be small, and those woods mere shrubberies, on which
my imagination had hitherto dwelt as so many moun-
tains and forests, and a strong feeling of disappointment
began to gather upon my mind, when my thoughts were
led suddenly into a new channel On reaching the sum-
mit of an eminence lofty enough to afford a more exten-
sive view than the huddled nature of the scenery usually
permitted, I saw a plaided figfure disappearing behind an
angle of a rook in the distance. I saw this object only
for an instant, but I could not be mistiJEcn : it was the
Highlander. I even thought he turned his head over
his shoulder, as if to watch whether I was following ;
but in this I may have been mistaken. Now I am not
more deficient in animal courage than another ; but I
had gold in my pocket, and papers of still more value,
and although armed, like him, with a serviceable
staff, I was conscious that I had been for many years
out of training, and should be as easily plucked as a
pigeon by that Gaelic vulture. In short, without a
second thought, I forsook the beaten road, and trusting
to my recollection of the face of the country, made for
my destination by a circuitous route.
* It was now late in the afternoon, and if I would
reach my brother's house before the depirture of day-
light, it was necessary to step out I did so to some
purpose } but after more than an hour's hard walking,
I began to have some doubt as to the landmarks, and
lost considerable time in ascending a hill to obtain a
general view of the district I found that my detour
had been greater than I contemplated ; but stUl I was
right in the main, and I clearly saw a gap in the moun-
tains beyond, in which was the resting-place I sought
But the strong lights on the higher ground, contrasted
by the deep shadows below, made me begin to calculate
time and distance in some anxiety ; and when at length
I descended to the level of the route I had chosen, it was
not without uneasiness I found that daylight had en-
tirely deserted the lower regions of the earth. Had this
change come on gradually, I should perhaps have felt
it litSle ; but one moment to have the ruddy beams of
the still visible sun in my eyes, and the next to be
plunged in permanent and still deepening gloom, was,
in circumstances like mine, a little trying to the nerves :
but at that moment I saw on the summit of a hill before
me, just touched, and no more, by the level rays of the
west, a human figure. This would, in any case, have
been a picturesque and striking object, bathed as it
was in a mellow light which appeared to sever it from
the dark rounded mass on which it stood } but the out-
line of the plaid and bonnet invested it at the moment
with a character of the preternatural ; and as I stood
gazing with distended eyes, I fkncied that the High-
lander was penetrating, with the glance of a bird of
prey, the gloom in which I stood. But this absurd
notion lasted not longer than a minute.'
* I use the freedom of saying,' said I, taking advan-
tage of a catching of the breath which interrupted the
narration — * I use the freedom of saying that it gives
me much pleasure to hear it! I am tired of tiiat
thievish cateran, and I would we had yon at the deatti-
grips without more ado.'
* I was tired likewise,' continued my companion, ' and
with more cause than you. Whether he had actually
seen me I could not tell ; but this I know, that when
threading soon after a belt of fir, I saw him waiting fbr
me at the opening as distinctly as I now see you. On
this occasion I did not shun him. My pride was touched,
and my temper chafed ; and grasping my staff by the
middle, I advanced to try the fate of battle, if it was
that he wanted. When I reached the edge of the belt
the plaided figure was gone. It had flitted to a distance
of twice the space I had traversed, and was just disap-
pearing behind a mountain rock.
' But either owing to the familiarity of the appear-
ance, or to the presence of danger of another kind, I
soon ceased to think much of the Highlander. I was
now entering upon the wild and romantic portions of
the hmdscape ; and those features, the contemplation of
which in the daytime would have filled me with a poe-
tical enjojrment had now much more of the terriUe than
snfiSced for the composition of the sublime. I could
already hear, borne on the wailing night-wind, the roar
of the mountain river, and was entering the savage
valley, or rather glen on a larger scale, through which it
wanders, now sweeping in a full deep stream, and now
tumbling in headlong rapids. The ford I sought, as
nearly as I could judge, was at least two miles distant;
and between was a country not very easy of travel even
in the daylight and at this uncertain hour, full of
danger for the unaccustomed wayfarer. Lamenting the
folly which had exposed me to such perils, for the sake
of escaping the perhaps imaginary one of a conflict with
the Highland robber, I pushed cautiously on, now glar-
ing at some indefinite shadow in my pal^, which n^^rht
be the opening of an abyss, and now starting as the
roar of waters broke upon my ear, coming up, as it
were, from a chasm at my feet Hate you ever tra-
versed a wild uneven country when the twilight was
fading into night?'
* Yes,' said I, * and one not very far from yours —
within the huge shadow of Ben Lomond.'
* Then I need not describe the bewilderment of mind
under which a man labours, the shock with whidi -^
strikes against a stone, while supposing that he is step-
ping down a declivity, and the headlong descent into
which he plunges, while raising his foot to climb. In
my case tne uncertainty was fdl the more peridezing,
from the knowledge I had that I was in the near neigh-
bourhood of precipices, diving sheer down several
hundred feet to the bed of the river. It now became
darker and darker ; the gusty wind came more wail-
ingly over the heath ; and although the harvest moon
hful long risen, the glare she gave at long intervals
through the densely-packed clouds only served to pro-
phesy the danger it did not reveal'
* And the Highland thief? Where was he by this
time?'
* I cannot tell. Sometimes I thought I saw his figure
sketched upon the dull sky behind ; and sometimes I
heard — ^perhaps only in imagination — ^his footsteps dose
by my side. My thoughts, however, were now con*
oentrated upon a much more imminent peril ; for the
night came down upon my path in thick darkness, and
at length the moon ceased to emerge from the rack
that hurried across the sky ; but when the stratum of
cloud was less dense than usual, merely signified her
whereabout by a faint spectral gleam, that wrapped the
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
48
1
vorld for tn initant la a formless winding-sheet, and
then lefl it to the blackness of the grave. My situation
waa rery tantalising, for I conld not be at any great
distanoe fitom what I knew to be a safo and easy ford,
at the opposite side of which my brother's lands com-
menced. It was impossible, howerer, to adyanoe other-
wise than slowly and cautionsly ; for although I could
not t^ the exact locality I was in, I knew that some-
where in this neighbourhood there were frightful pre-
cipices, plunging sheer down into the river, and every
DOW and thiHi I contuiued to hear the ominous vMce of
tiie waters ascending firom depths that seemed dose at
my feet II was impossible, however, that this could
ccntimie much longer. I had now been for a consider-
afaie time in the tract of the cliffs, and I should soon no
doubt llnd the country begin to open, and sink into the
■moothly-sweUing mounds of turf that swept down like
Innowt to Hie fMd.
' I had in fact arrived at what appeared to me to be
this point in my journey, for in front I suddenly missed
— orimagiDed that I did so— the dark masses of shadow
which the rocks and jungle had hitherto left upon the
9ky, I pttshed forward with more confidence, although
U was now almost pitch dark. I endeavoured to per-
suade myself that I recognised the very stones over
which I stumbled; and when turning *the angle of a
rock, which I could feel like a wall upon my right hand,
and aieiost see through the gloom, I was about to thank
Qod that my difficulties were at an end. At that mo-
ment a wild cry smote upon my ear, and turning my
held with a superstitious thrill, I saw, by one of the
momentary glimpses of the moon, the plaided figure
standing in reli^ against the sky. The idea imme-
diately flawed tlurough my brain that I, in my sheltered
ntuatioD, must be unseen by him, and that it would be
to the last degree absurd to dare the issue of an en-
ooonter which he had seemed to defer purposely till I
was completely worn out, and idmost fainting from
fktigue. Onward, therefore, I plunged ; but on turning
the angle of the wall of rock, there was another and a
very dif^ent cry t It was the roar of waters, softened
by ^stance, and yet seeming to come from some fathom-
loa abyss at my very feet. I could not resist my im-
petus, for the ground sloped, although I had the pre-
sence of mind to throw myself down ; but even this was
unavailing, and I rolled over the precipice ! ' Here the
Barrator paused to wipe his brow, although the evening
was cold. I began to feel nervous. The lights on the
ahofe seemed to dance before my eyes, and I acknow-
ledge that I awaited the sequel of the adventure in some
tKpidation.
'Yon are over the precipice,' said I at length.
*Tes; but holding on, like grim death, to the top,
and digging my feet into its crevices. Tet to what pur-
pose? Mj htad was rather under than above the
summit of the dilT; and being able to find a resting-
vUce only for the points of my toes, I had no purchase
for an effort to dimb. What possibility of escape was
tiiere left? Even had I been able to hang on for an
faidefioite time, I might be bleaching there for weeks,
in tiiat wild and lonely country, before attracting ob-
servatSoo. I cried for hdp, hoping that the robber
himself might hear me ; but the sound fell dull and
dead against the rock, and the kelpie voices below
seemed to tcream in derision. This was the rest to
which I had returned after thirty years* battling with
tibe world ; this was the salutation I recdved from my
native river I I think my brain began to wander, as
tbe conviction gathered force that I could not much
longer maintain my hold ; for I replied to the shrieking
criss that rose from the abyss, and yelled hoarsely, not
hi hope, but defiance. But this mood was not of long
doration : it was the last symptom of the fever which
tnned in my Uood, through over-excitement of mind
' body ; and as my limbs began to stiffen, and my
to lose sensation, a dreamy cahn descended upon
f soul
*1%en rose the spirits of memory upon the night
Some there came from the village churchjrard, em-
bosomed in the gap of the mountoins : they were my
mother, two sisters, and a baby phantom, who opened
its arms as of yore, and tried to say ** Brother I " Some
there came firom beneath the tumbling surges of the
Atlantic : they were my father and a young cousin.
Some there came from the southron country, some from
for lands, some from cities, some from hunlets : they
were my friends, enemies, rivals, benefactors — fellow-
wayfarers in the journey of life. How terrible it is to
meet the dead ! There was not one of that company I
saw without self-reproach. Oh that I had listened to
those saintly counsels which were wont to be poured
into my ear in bed, till they mingled with the hymns of
angels in my childish dreams! Oh that I had left
harsh words unspoken, low sentiments unthought,
ignoble deeds undone 1 And she !— is it possible that I
judged her wrongly ? Gould that seeming phantom of
delight be indeed a fiend of the abyss ? or are the songs
of poets true when they tell tiiat faith, mercy, and
gentleness are attributes of woman, and that
f(
Love !8 no cheat, and happinea no dream ? '
' My dear friend,' said I, when he began to quote
poetry, * were not your fingers benumbed by this time ? *
* They were altogether devoid of sensation, and yet I
felt that they were slipping slowly from their hold. At
that moment a faint and momentary glimpse of the
moon revealed a face looking down upon me from the
brink of the cliff— a face which I recognised distinctly
as that of the plaided Highlander. But what mattered
this ? I was surrounded by faces of aU sorts, and the
faint roar of the waters beneath was heavy with human
voices. That this apparition was as unsubstantial as
the rest, was evident from its looking at me with a
strange and eager stare, without moving hand or foot
either to rescue or destroy me; and yet it was not
without a shudder that I saw it leap wildly from the
precipice, and felt the waving of Its plaid as it shot past
me into the abyss.
** Fat ta deil is t*ou sticking to the stanes for, like a
wur-cat?" cried the mocking spectre beneath me ; and it
drew my feet, with a sudden jerk, from the side of the
predpice. My benumbed fingers could no longer sup-
port the dead weight of my body ; and as they slipped
from their hold, a wild scream broke from my lips, and
mingled with the manifold voices of the river hdow. I
fell, and aU was over.' Here the narrator paused, and
wiped his brow again.
* You were over,' said I with a gasp, as a sudden sus-
picion fiashed across my mind that my friend was in-
sane 1 • What became of you ? Were you brained, or
drowned, or hurried away in an eddy of the night-wind
by the spectre Gael ? '
' I lost my senses for a time, and when I reopened
my eyes, the whole scene was steeped in a flood of
moonlight I was lying upon one of the billowy
mounds of turf that sweep down to the ford; and
looking up, I saw the edge of the face of rock from
which I had fallen at a height of little more than six
feet I Had I been able to put down my feet only a few
inches, I should have felt the solid earth ; but this bdng
impossible without loosing my hold of the summit, I
had hung for more than an hour in a position as terrible
as the mind of man can conceive, although its terrors
were purdy imaginary.'
* And the Highlander?' said I, a little disconcerted,
if the truth must be tdd, at my friend's safety.
* He was a favourite servant of my brother's, and had
been deputed to conduct me home ; although feeling, as
he did instinctively, the mistrust and dislike with wliich
I regarded him from the outset, and rendered diffident
by his almost total ignorance of English, he had exe-
cuted his mission by watehing over me from a distanoe.
After all, had it not been for the kindliness of this
faithful fellow's nature, united with his strength of
limb, I must have passed the rest of the night on tlie
hill-side, and thus submitted to a consummation I had
I
41
CHAMBERS'S BDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
laSend ta much to iTold. But he laitporled me to the
futd I and tlieu catching me up ia hii ■rmi, ai I drew
back, atraid of my feebleneu, bore me acroii tlie tor-
teat, itridine Avm stone to itone with a firimiea* and
rapidity of (tep (hut weie altogether marrellaat.'
' And H ended the con Toy of Donald Haodonaldr'
' Not quite. Altbougli a tender welcome, a good
■upper, aud a coey bed restoied me to aiy aaoal vigour,
that irai not the Ust siglit I ituck to tbeae awful stonea
'* like a vul'-cat" To t)ii* day, «h«i niy health ii out
of order, or my mind darkened with the shsdowi of the
world, the midnight rock, the plaided Gael, and the
■p«otre fiicei of the pait, return upon my dream*—
and perhaps I do not feel myseir to be the worae man
for luving toduted tlie hornrt of the Highland Con-
Toy." L. R,
SIR JOHN BARROW.
The life of Sir John Baitow, who ha* recently died fall
pre>eot« k remarluble iniUnce
noit inTBriably atteodi untiring
ce of parpoie. Uiiwaanotthat
liich puriuea with ardour «sne
lie it tuioi away with disgut
and circumitancei of life. The
'hii character were * as inherent
* idleueu,' and a promptitude in
ity of initruction, whereby he
ife to acquire a Urge atock of
prnctical iufonnatian, nl] of wliich proved lerviceable to
him during ttie nioce eventful period of his Ut«r years.
He wu born in Jane 1764, in a imall cottage in t)ie
obicurG village i^ Dragleybeck, near Ulventonc, North
Lancaihire ; hnt perhaps hia early life may be best de-
scribed in his ovu wordi, ai quoted fram a very |Dte-
mg autobiographical memoir which appeared oniy &
year or two ago. He writes :— ' I was tlie only child of
RugCT and Mary Burrow, The small cottage which
^ve me birth had been in my mother's family nearly
two hondred years, and bad descended to her aunt, who
lived in it to the age of eighty ; and in it my mother
1 at the Advanced age of ninety. To the cottage
e attached three or four snulU fields, suffloient for
the keep of as many cowg, vliich supplied our family
with milk and butter, besides reserving a portion of
land for a crop of nats. There was also a paddock
behind the cottage, appropriated to the culUvation of
potatoei^ peas, beans, and other culinary vegetables,
which, with tlie grain, fell to the labour of my father,
who, with several brothers, the sons of an extensive
farmer, was brought up to that business in the noigh-
bourhood of the lakes. At the bottom of the paddock
runs the beck or brook, a dear stream, that gives the
name to the village, and abounds with trout. Conti-
guous to the cottage was also a small fiower garden,
which in due time fell to my share— that is, while yet
a young boy, I had fhll charge of keeping up a supply
' of the ordinary flowers of the season. I did more : I
planted a number of trees of different kinds, which
~-w well, but long after I left home (nany ot them
re destroyed. One of them, however, it appears, has
vived, and must now he from seventy to seventy '~ ~
years old ; and the mention of it kindles in my boi
spark of gratitude, which on imputation of vanity
will not sllaw me to suppress/
The only scholastic (Alucation Borrow ever leo
was at the Ulverstone Town Bank Grammar-school ; at
first under the tuition of an old man named Uodgaon,
who was very ignorant, bat kind to his pupils. One day,
being pleased with Harrow's proficiency, he hrooglit
him intc his wife's shop (for she was a sort of stationer),
and spreading on the counter a great number of books
far youi^g people, desired liim to choose any one he
pleased as a presenL ' I pitched,' writes Sir John,
* upon a small history of tlie Bible witli woodcuts, which
io pleased the old man, that he foretold to my parents
that I should prove a treasure to them. Tiifling a*
this waa, it produced its efTeet, and has on manyocca-
' ms recurred to my memory.'
When Bsmw was about eight yean oM. the Town
Bank School passed under the care of an escellenf daa-
sieal scholar, the Kev. William Tyson Walker, curate
of the parish church ; and be enjoyed thi* gentleman's
instructions until he was thirteen, at which time Ite
had advanced to the head of hia dass, having read
teacher who used to pay an annoa! vldt to UlTerstene,
and gave lesaons in an apartment adjoining the Kbocd.
About this time one or two eircumstaneea occurred,
which, trivia] *• they may appear, exercised a oonstder-
able iDfluence on the future events of his life. Juat aa
he waa about to leave school, a gentleman wbo had the
care of Colonel Braddyll's estates In Yorkshire called
on the master of Town Bank to know if he could recom-
mend two of the youth* best informed in aritbinetio
and geometrical cab^ulations to assist him in taking nn
accorate sorvey of the colonel's extensive estate of Co-
nished Priory, near Ulverstone. He immediately named
Zacchens Walker, his nephew, and young Barrow.
They gladly agreed to the proposed arrangement; bat
neitber of them feeling qualified to go alone, they con-
sented on the understanding that all shoidd be done
under the direction of tir Cottam, the agent t« Colond
Braddylt.
' We remained,' writes Barrow, ' at the Priory abnot
two months, in which time we compleled the surrey,
to the satisfaction, as 1 aflerivarda learned, of Colonel
Braddyll, and 1 may add, for my own port, to my incal-
culable benefit, derived from witnessing the practised
methods of condocCing a survey of the various descrip-
tions of surface — for it contained all — level, hilly, wmd-
land, and water ; and it was not the less mefnl to me,
&om tlie practical knowledge acquired of the theodolite
and of the several mathematical instruments in the
pastession of Mr Cottam. In fact, during our sojaurn
at the Friary, I so far availed myself of the several
applieatians of these instruments, that, on arriving in i
London some years afterwards, I puUlshed a small
treatise to explain the practical use of a case of mathe-
matical instruments, being my first introduction to the
press, for which 1 obtained twenty pounds, and was not r
a little ddighled to send my first fhriCs to my moUler.
'Another circaoistance occurred on leaving school, ■
apparently of little importance, to which, notwithstand-
ing, 1 mast to a certain extent trace back my fbture
fortunate progress in life, as will hereafter be shown.
Five or six of the apper boys agreed to subscribe for
the purpose of purchasing a celestial globe, and also a
map of the heavens, which were lodged in the mathe-
matical apartment of Town Bonk School, to he made
use of jointly or separately, as should be decided on.
Our cottage at Dragleylieck was distant a mile or more,
yet such was my eagerness of acquiring a practical
knowledge of the globe and map, that I never omitted
a starlight night without attending to the favourite
pursuit of determining certain constellations and their
principal stars, fur one, two, or tbree hours, according
as they continued above the horizon. It Was a pleasure
then, and a profit thereafter.'
About tills time Barrow got acquainted with the son
of a neighbouring farmer, an intelligent youth, wlio,
having been sevcrdy wounded while serving in the
navy, had rcturoed home with the desire of studying for
orders ; and Barrow gladly assisted in ' brushing up hi*
mathematics, and still more hit classics;' while the mid-
shipman as readily initiated him in the mysteries of
naTigation,asorCof knowledge which he thought might
prove useful in case of his betaking himself to a sea-
farlug life.
In this manner were Barrow's leisure hoars paued
during a year be spent at home : he also amused him-
self with scientlflo experiments; and having faUen in
with an account of Benjamin Franklin's electrical kite,
lio prepared a string, steeped in salt water, witb a gloss
I
CflAMBE&S'S EDXNBUBGH JOURNAL.
46
handle to it, and flying hit kite, obtained abundance of
aparks. An dd woman, curiooa to see vhat waa going
on, our jooog philocopher could not resist the tempta-
tioa to giye her a shock, which so frightened her, that
sh» spread a report that he was no better than he should
be s for that he was drawmg down fire from heayen.
The alarm ran throughout the village, and his mother
pceTsiled on him to lay aside his kite.
BaiTow being earnestly desirous to Increase his ma-
tboiatical knowledge, and haying been informed that
there lifed in the hilla an old farmer named Gibson,
who went among his neighbours by the appellation of
the mas mom, on account of his profound knowledge on
almost eyeiy subject, and more especially of mathe-
matios^ he walked some eight or nine miles to see this
rqstic wonder, and was so charmed with his new ac-
^naintanoew that he repeated his visit three or four times.
From thia intercourse wiUi Mr Gibson residted happy
O0Qsei|aeooes to him in after-life.
Bamw had now completed his fourteenth year, and
began seriously to reflect on his fbture prospects. His
parents were very desirous that he should enter into
h^ ofdera, and oWst^ out of their scanty means, to
tnpport him aa a $her in one of the universities ; but he
did not think himself suited for that sacred profession,
and begged to take his chance a little bnger, in the
hope that eomething might turn up to afford him em-
pbyment more suitable to his feelings. About this
time a lady from Liverpool called one day at the cot-
tage^ and said, without ceremony, that her husband
was Mr Walker, the proprietor of a large iron foundry
in LiTeipool ; and that, in the course of her visit to the
•octh, he bad wished her to look out for an active intel-
ligent youth to superintend the workmen, and keep the
aecounts of the factory, under the guidance and instruc-
tioQ of one who, ftt>m age and infirmity, could not long
coDtmae his employment ( that the youth would live in
the family ; and that they had one son, of about ten years
of age, who, being of a weakly habit, it was their object
to give him instruction at home, at least for some time
to conie. ' Now/ she said, addressing young Barrow,
* Ihtm the chelator I have heard of you at Uijrerstone,
I think you would answer our purpose; and if you
thihk that such an appointment would suit you, I will
write to my husband on the sul^iect.'
The proposal was not only most flattering, but other*
wise welcome to a youth of fourteen, who longed for em-
plqyneot, and who was also desirous of relieving his
parents from the expense of maintaining htm at home.
AcoQidingiy, be was soon domesticated in Bdr Walker's
iMdly, where he spent two years in useful and honour-
able oooupatioii ; but the death of his employer was fol-
lovsd by the disposal of the iron foundry to another
mevohant, and once more Barrow fbund himself without
enploymeiit. Just at this time he happened to meet a
raiative of Mra Walker's who was engaged in the Green-
land whale-fiahery, and who proposed that he should fill
op a tew months of his leisure time by taking a trip
with him to the frozen seas ; sajring that he would be
glad to give hnn a berth in the ship, and that sudi as
his taUe af&rded he should share with him. This kind
offer waa embraced with eagerness, and shortly after
tbey embarked in the good ship ' Peggy,' and put to
This northward voyage was full of interest to one
possessing so inquisitive a turn of mind as Barrow.
13ie ^sins of ice on the eastern coast of Greenland,
wilb their immense herds of seals strewed on the sur-
face; the jagged mountains of Spitsbergen, with their
•\ lower sl^iea dothed with lichens and saxifrage; the
excitement of a whale chase and capture — such were
the outward objecte which captivated his attention,
while at the same ^me he pursued the study of nautical
lore both in ite practice and theory so sneceMftdly, that
Captain Potto said another voyage would make him as
good a seamaa as any in his ship. He further attempted,
by way of fUUng up the long day of perpetoal sun, to
WEito a poem on the arctic regions ; but very soon dis-
cz
covered that poetry was not his forte : nor were the
materials he had to work upon of the most inviting
nature to the Muse ; * for,' as he truly says, * the feata
and fktes of whales and narwhales, morses, seals, bears,
and foxes, malmonks, burgomasters, and strontjaggers,
could affi>rd but rugged materials for blank verse.'
After a few months' absence from England, be re-
turned to his cottage home, bearing with him a conple
of the jaw-bones ^ a whale, which he set up as gate-
poste to the entrance of a small eroft close to his parents'
dwelling. Here he was gladly welcomed by many ; but
from none did he receive a more cordial reception than
from his respected roaster the Rev. Mr Walker, and his
old friend, the tpise man of the hiHs, Mr Gibson. The
latter asked a thousand questions about navigating shipis
in an icy sea; and having ascertained what progress
Barrow had made in nautical science, urged him to aim at
further advance, * No young man,' he observed, ' should
stop short in any pursuit he undertakes till he has
conquered the whole ; for, without a profession, as you
are, you cannot tell to what good use knowledge of any
kind may be applied. Shut up in this retreat, the
extent of my knowledge is of a very limited and unpro-
ductive kind ; but it has been 6t use to my two sons in
London, one of whom stands high in the Bank of 'Eng-
land, and the other is manager of Calverfs brewery :
it has also been sometimes of use to my neighbours.*
* The good old farmer encouraged me to persevere in
my studies, and especially in mathematics, which were a
sure foundation for astronomy, and all the rest I took
leave, and thanked him for aO his kindness.'
At this time Barrow's mind was much perplexed
concerning his future course in life; but he was too
manly to indulge in despondency ; and it was curious
enough that, throogh one of the sons of this wise man,
came the first opening of which he felt any desire to
avail himself; for, owing to the recommendation of Mr
Gibson of the Bank, he obtained the situation of mathe-
matical teacher in the academy of Dr James at Green-
wich. There he spent between two and three years,
afterwards fixing himself in London, where he Com-
municated instruction in mathematics to many persona
among the higher classes of societ)'. In the course of
the year 1791 he became acquainted with Sir George
Staunton, who called on him one day to inquire whether
he could bestow a portion of his leisure in instructing
his only son, a boy of ten or eleven years of age. To
this proposal Barrow gladly acceded. * I suppose,' said
Sir Gfcorge, * you are practically acquainted with astro-
nomy, and know the constellations and principal stars
by name ? I am a great advocate for practical know-
ledge!' Barrow answered in the affirmative ; and *the
constellations and astronomy,' he adds, * brought vividly
to my mind my old friend Mr Gibson, and the globe
and the map of the Town Bank School ; and I was more
than ever persuaded that all is for the best.' Thus was
laid the foundation of a friendship which ended only
with life; and Barrow always acknowledged with grati-
tude that to Sir George Staunton^s unvarying kindness
he was indebted for all the good fortune which attended
him through life.
A few months later. Sir George Staunton having been
appointed to accompany Lord Macartney in his embassy
to China, in the capacity of secretary of embassy and
minister plenipotentiary, that gentleman contrived to
have young Barrow's name placed on the list of the
ambassadors suite as comptroller of the household ; and
this arrangement filled him with such joy, that (as he
expresses it) he was * overwhelmed with delight.'
Previous to launching out into the new world now
opening before him, he contrived to vbit his parenta
at Dragleybeck; and we cannot fori)ear noting down
the brief sketeh he gives of the good old couple at this
period of his life. 'I found my purente happy and well ;
but my mother's eyesight, which had long been failing,
was now quite gone ; the principal uneasiness it occa-
sioned her was her inability to attend divine service,
the churoh being a mile fh>m the cottage ; my fhther
46
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
and mother haying, for more than twenty years, never
mifsed the two Sunday senrices; but my father read
to her the roommg lessons and the evening service
regularly every Sunday. The loss of sight never in-
terfered with my mother's usual cheerMness, and the
young ladies of Ulverstone were her constant and agree-
able visitors.'
Barrow had just completed his twenty-eighth year
when he sailed in Lord Macartney's suite on the 26th
September 1792. Our space will not admit of any ex-
tracts from the journal he kept during his voyage to
China, and visits to Chusan, Pekio, and Canton. We
may, however, be allowed to quote one passage which
bears upon the earlier part of his history. Among the
costly presents sent bv George HI. to the emperor of
China, were several valuable mathematical and scientific
instruments, which, on the arrival of the embassy in
Pekin, were delivered to the care of Barrow, in order
that they should be fitted up in the great haU of audi-
ence, in the palace of Yuen-min-Yuen, for the emperor's
inspection. This charge he felt to be a serious one,
when he found himself surrounded by the members of
the tribunal of mathematics, and other learned person-
ages, all asking him questions concerning astronomy,
mathematics, &c. * How often,' he exclaims, * when
among these people, did I think of my poor old friend
Gibson, and how much I was indebted to him !'
After an absence of two years from England, Barrow
landed at Spithead in the ambassador's suite, on the 6th
September 1794. Sir Greorge Staunton's house was now
his home, where, besides &e instruction bestowed on
Mr Staunton, he was busily employed in compiling and
arranging the materials for Sir George's ofiicial account
of the embassy to China. He, however, obtained a few
weeks' leave of absence, to run down to Ulverstone to
see his parents, whom he found quite well, and ' de-
lighted at his safe return.' There he found himself
looked upon as a curiosity ; for at that time it was by
no means so ordinary a matter to traverse the globe, as
it is in the present day ; and a man who had visited
Pekin, and seen the emperor of China, was regarded as
a wonder.
On his return to London, Barrow resumed his usual
course of life ; and among his other engagements was
that of acoompanying Mr Staunton three days in the
week to Kew Gardens, where they used to botanise with
Aiton's *Hortus Kuvensis' in their hands, which, in
Barrow's future travels in South Africa, was of the
greatest service to him, Kew being in possession of
specimens of a large portion of the Flora of the Cape
of Good Hope.
Towards the close of 1796, the Cape of Good Hope
having fallen into our hands, its government was com-
mitted to Lord Macartney, who immediately appointed
Barrow as his private secretary — a nomination equally
honourable and agreeable to him ; and on the 4th of
May 1797 he land^ in Cape Town in health and high
spirits. Here a new sphere of duty awaited him, which
he flUed with the same energy and diligence which had
marked his course throughout life. Owing to the re-
fractory state of the Boers in the colony. Lord Macart-
ney, on his first arrival, found himself encompassed with
difficulties, which were increased by an utter ignorance
of the geography of the country. He intrusted Barrow
with a mission to the Boers at Graafi* Reynet, which
was exploratory as well as conciliatory in its object
Having fulfilled this mission most satisfactorily, he sub-
sequently volunteered his services in other expeditions,
with the view of becoming acquainted with the people,
as well as with the productions of the country, and of
ascertaining the geographical positions and boundaries
of the various settlements, which at that time were
most imperfectly known. *Thus,' as ho briefly ex-
presses iU * between the 1st of July 1796 and the 18th
January 1797, 1 had traversed every paxt of the colony
of the Cape of Good Hope, and visited the several
countries ol the Cafires, the Hottentots, and the Bos-
jesmen { performing a journey exceeding three thou-
sand miles on horseback, very rardy in a covered
wagon, and fall one-half of the distance .as a pedcs-
tri^. During the whole time (with the exception of
a few nights passed at the Drosdy- house of Graafl*
Reynet) I never slept under a root but always in a
wagon, and in the cot that I brought vrith me in the
good ship *' Trusty" from England.'
His services on these occasions were duly appreciated
by Lord Macartney, who, in the following year, ap-
Eointed him to the situation of auditor-general of pub-
c accounts, civil and military, with a s^ary of L.1000;
and Barrow was so overwhelmed with surprise and
gratitude at this unexpected good fortune, that it lite-
rally took away his speech for a moment, so thai he
could only bow in silence to his kind benefactor. Soon
afterwards, the narrative of his African travels was
published in England, under the direction of his un»
failing friend Sir George Staunton, who obtahied for
the work a sum of L.900. But this growing prosperity
was damped by the loss of his venerable fk^r, and the
subsequent death of Sir George Staunton, who bad
deservedly won his most grateful and affirationate
attachment
He now resolved to * sit down quietly to audit with
diligence and regularity the public accounts, which
was an important part of his duty ; to marry a wife;
and that being accomplished, to look out for a small
comfortable house near the town, and to become a
country gentleman in South Africa.' ' Accordingly,'
he oonUnues, * at SteUensbosch, in August 1709* I was
united in marriage to Miss Anna Maria Triiter, the
only daughter of Peter John Triiter, Esq., member of
the Court of Justice, a lady whose acquaintanct I had
made the first week of our arrival at me Cape. In the
early part of 1800 I purchased a house, with a paddock,
garden, and vineyard attached, named the Llesbeck
Cottage, from the river of that name, which flowed past
the foot of the grounds. My house looked on the west
side of the Table Mountain, which sloped down almost
to the gate, and presented a picturesque mau of varied
roc^ and native plants, among which the erica and
protea were oonspicuous ; and of the latter the argentea,
or silver-tree, prevailed. My family consisted of my*
self, my wife and child, an old nurse, and four othiBr
servants. My stud was limited to two stout carriage-
horses for drawing a curricle, and two saddle-horses.
I had an Indian groom and a helper.'
At this pleasant home Mr Barrow passed about two
years, in the diligent fulfilment of his official duties, as
well as in attendance on other matters connected with
the improvement of the colony; but in 1802, the Ci^
of Good Hope being, in compliance with the provisions
of the treaty of Amiens, surrendered to the Batavian
republic, Mr Barrow prepared to return to his native
land, accompanied by his wife and child.
His services at the Cape had been f^y appreciated
by Lord Macartney and General Dundas, Uircmigh whose
inflaence he was, shortly after his arrival in England,
presented to Mr Pitt and Lord Melville, who, on their
accession to power in 1804, gave him the appointment
of second secretary to the Admiralty. On the occasion
of his first official visit to Lord Melville, he writes tiius >—
* In taking leave, with expressions of gratitude for his
lordship's kindness — *' By the way," he said, laughing,
** I hope you are not a Scotchman ?" ^ No, my lord ; I
am only a Borderer — I am North Lancashire." He then
said, "* Mr Pitt and myself, but chiefly the latter, have
been so much taunted for giving away all the good
things to Scotchmen, that I am vcoy glad on the present
occasion to have selected an Englishman I " '
Mr Barrow was still in the prime of life when he
found himself placed in an honourable and xuefaX posi-
tion, where (with the interval of a fow months) he
served his country diligently during forty years— a most
eventful period of our national history ; and he says in
his memoirs, with a certain degree of modest self-gra-
tulation, that having served during that period under
twelve or thirteen several naval administrations, he had
J
F=
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
47
* reftson to beliere that he had giren satisfaction to all
of them ;' adding — *• I am happy in the reflection that
I hMte eziMrienoe^ kindness and attention firom alL'
Amid his nomerous professional duties, he fonnd
time to write seyeral popular works, as well as to con-
tiibate larg^y to our periodical literature;* and he
ubaerfea that these mental exercise^ conjdntly with
personal exertions and moderate habits, had, he be-
lieved, tended to keep up his ' flow of health and of
inimal spirits much beyond the usual period of human
existence* Sir James Graham seems to hare truly
portrayed his character when, after having perused
La life of Lord Howe, he wrote as follows : — * So far
fitom exclaiming^ ^ How can my friend the secretary of
the Admiralty find time to write a book?** I can speak
from the ezpcffience of some years, that he never ne-
glected « pi^c duty; that he never was wanting in a
^]d ofiloe to a friend ; and yet, from a wise economy of
Idsure, he always had a spare moment for some U8ef\il
reseandi or some literary occupation.'
Ut Barrow was also the zealous promoter of science,
and leot ius warmest support to those gallant men who
periUed their lives in quest of a north-west passage in
^arctic seas.
In 1835 he was surprised and gratified by the honour
of a baronetcy being conferred on him; and the king's
intentions were communicated to him in the following
k^ from Sir Robert Feel, which can scarcely be re-
gnded as a merely complimentary one, bearing, as it
does» the impfess of truth :—
* Wbitmhall QAaosNS, Ftb, 1, 1835.
Mt Dkab Sir — I have had the great satisfaction of
proposing to the Mng to confer upon you the distinc-
Boo of a baronet, and of recdving from his majesty
tite most cordial approbation of my proposal. The
valne of such a distinction depends mainly upon the
grounds upon which it is offered; and I cannot help
fli^ering myself that an unsolicited, and probably un-
expected honour conferred upon you by the king, on
tiie douUe ground of eminence in the pursuits of science
and Hteratuxe, and of long, most able, and most faithfVd
public service, will have, in the eyes of yourself, your
family, and your posterity, a value which never can
attach to mwAi higher, when unmerited, distinctions.
Believe me, my dear sir, most faithf\illy yours,
Robert Feel.'
Sir John Barrow was still fiill of vigour and energy
when, in his eighty-first year, he resolved to withdraw
from public life, and ' to give place to a successor.* In
accepting his resignation, the Board of Admiralty ex-
prened their deep sense of the zeal with which he had
'rendered science subservient to our naval and com-
mercial interests,* as well as of his assiduous attention
to the duties of his Important office.
Many were the testimonies of regard and respect
which followed him into the rotirement of domestic life ;
bat none were more gratifying to him than an address
from the arctic voyagers. Parry, Franklin, Ross, and
Back, f»resenting him with a valuable piece of plate, as
a * testuK>ny of their personal esteem, and of tlie high
sense they entertained of the talent, zeal, and energy *
wfaidi he had ' unceasingly displayed in the promotion
of arctic discovery.*
Witti such proofs of deserved esteem, the venerable
baronet withdrew into the bosom of his family, and
passed the evening of his days in peaceful and yet not
idle sednsicm. H^ autobiography was not completed
until he had nearly accomplished his eighty-third year ;
* The following are ft Uat of Barrow's works :—The Life of Lord
Kaonrtoey, in two Tcds. qnarto ; Trarels ia South Africa, 8 ycAb.
mamrto ; Travalt in China, 1 vol. quarto ; Voyage to Cochin China,
1 ToL quarto ; Tho Life of Lord Anson, 1 vol. octavo ; The Life of
Lord nowe, 1 voL octavo ; in the ' Family Library,' the Life of Peter
tke Great, and fbe Mutiny of the Bounty ; Chronological History
if Aretlo Voyages, I voL octavo ; Voyages <rf Discovery and Re-
Mar^ within the Arctic Regions, 1 voL octavo ; 206 Articles in
Oa Qvarteriy and Edinburgh Reviews, and in the Bncyolopsedia
and it is now only a few weeks since he departed this
life, without either suffering or disease.
On the morning of Thursday, November 23, he took
his usual walk, and on the evening of the same day he
expired, in the presence of his beloved wife and children
—how sincerely lamented they alone can tell who knew
his worth in private as well as in public life.
O0OA8IONAL NOTES.
LBTTBR FROM LAUNCESroN, VAN DIBMBM*8 LAND.
In your * Information for the People,' VoL L pu 639, edition
1842, you remark, ' there may be some persons who can fol-
low out this matter, and invent rational amusements. They
would deserve to be regarded as benefactors, and would
frobably find a substantial reward.* Upon this hint, may
have your permission to speak ? Having long been on the
look-out for everything fSming in with this notion, I was
delighted with your s^rticle; out partly from the expecta-
tion that you would be able to supply the want in your
Journal at a ftitnre time; but which, hitherto, I have looked
for in vain. I trust, however, you will confer this great
favour on us, and not omit to return to the subject. I
have not your book by me now to refer to, and may be re-
peating some that you have already dwelt on; if so, I must
ask your excuse. I beg to enclose my list, and shall be
truly glad if any of them prove usefuL
The amusements naturally divide into two classes.
First, where one of the party reads aloud, and the others
are severaUy occupied in quiet, not, however, so abstracted
but that they can readily attend to and join in the obser-
vations oslled forth by the book; namely —
Drawing.
Taking asunder, or examlntng Good practice for yoang people,
locks, clocks, &c.
Cutting leaves of new books.
Arranging plants in a herbarinm.
Arranghig garden seeds.
Netting.
Arranging and burning old let-
ters.
Copying out extracts In prose or
verse, and copying musia
Cutting and pasting newspaper
extracts in acrap-books.
I can only find mse for nets in
my garden; but others may
find grsater demand for them.
Binding books— that
ting and repairing.
Cutting out In paper.
Modelling with cork.
The practised hand will find no
difficulty in these.
Blost nsefuL The scrap-book
should be folio siise ; and each
extract indexed at the time
of insertion.
is, reset- A nice occupation for young
people, as, besides tending to
the preservation, it induces a
greater care and regard for
their books.
Namely, shapes of the various
counties, countries, &a Also
geometric figures. There
might be a prixe for tho best
cutter.
Namely, oaatdlated and other
architectural works ; ma-
chines, wheels, iio. Ships
are the common choice of
}onng modellers ; but they
are no favourites with me.
This, I imagine, Is an attractive
pursuit in the present day. A
young person could easily be-
gin with an attempt at a set
^chessmoi. Horse-chestnuts
do well instead of wood for
beginners to try their hand.
DSSCBNT OF TALENT.
Being interested bv vour paper, No. 102, Deeember 1845,
on the Deacent of Talent m the Male Line, I b^ leave
to send you a list of additional instances. Whatever
becomes of the argument, the discussion of such a sub-
ject is a very interesting pastime— reviving reooUections,
stimulating curiosity, and leaving some Improving eflfect
on every mind. Permit me to add a short remark to
those already advanced. When a genius springs from a
fiunily where neither parent has beoi remarked for talent,
would not the public, nrom tho better knowledge they must
naturally have of the father, and seeing that no talent
could be inherited apparently /rom Mm, be apt to oonclude
Wood carving.
48
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
as of ooune that the genius must needs oome bv the mo-
ther, and BO give the maternal side generally that merit
which is not its due ?
Again, before you concluded your essay, I was disap-
pointed that you did not allude approTingly to the greater
merit which attaches, and which the world, I bslieve,
readily allows, to the sex, where mothers, by their early
care and love, educe and improve that talent which nature
has implanted in their children, which, from whosesoever
side it spring, would be of little ute, existing perhaps only
as an undiscovered mine, but for her thought and motherly
attention. That men of genius have attributed so much of
their education to the early care of their mother, may liave
led to the belief that they were indebted to the mother
also for their talents.
Copley the painter;
J. Landaeer;
A. Nasmyth ;
Niebnhr;
LordHoUjind;
Cato the censor;
Bcipio ;
Uamiloar;
Dr Moore;
General Abercromble ;
a T.Coleridge;
Jamea Deattie ;
Sheridan ;.
Goulbum ;
L D'IsraeU;
Talbot;
R. L. Edgeworth ;
W. Rosooe;
PblUp;
Bishop Law;
Godwin;
Racine;
Adolphoa the barrister;
David;
Earl Grey;
Lord Lyndhurst
E. T. and C. Landsoer.
P. Nasmyth.
Niebnhr.
C. J. Fox.
Cata
Bcipio.
Hannibal.
8ir John Moore.
Lord Dunfermline.
Hartley Coleridge.
J. H. Beattie.
Three or four geoerationi.
His eon.
B. D'IsraelL
Lord Talbot.
Miss Edge worth, Sic
T. H. and W. 8. Ro6Coe.
Alexander.
BUenborough, two generations.
Mrs ShcUey.
His son.
J. L. A. Adolphus.
Solomon.
Earl Grey.
[We add the following from reooUection :—
J. Bemouilli, mathematician ; Daniel Bemouilli, do.]
SCORCHING TO DEATH.
In the introduction to ' Birds of Australia,* Mr Gould
relates a distressing incident, occasioned by a flood in the
interior of New South Wales. In the course of his pere-
grinations, he had once or twice visited a cattle station,
where Lieutenant Lowe and his nephew gave him a cordial
reception. The gentlemen had come from a distance to
superintend the shearing operations, and Mr Gould vtrrites :
— *■ Seven days after my departure from their dwelling,
heavy rains suddenly set in ; the mountain-streams swelled
into foaming torrents, filling the deep gullies ; the rivers
rose, some to the height of forty feet, bearing all before
them. The Namoi, having widely overflowed its banks,
rolled along with impetuous fury, sweeping away the huts
of the stock-keepers in its oourse, tearing up trees, and
harrying affrighted men and flocks to destruction. Before
there was time to escape, the hut in which Lieutenant Lowe
and his nephew were sojourning was torn up and washed
away, and the nenhew and two men, overwhelmed by the
torrent, sank ana perished. Lieutenant Lowe stripped
to swim ; and getting on the trunk of an uprooted tree,
hoped to be carried down the eddying flood to some part
where he could obtain assistance. But he was floated into
the midst of a sea of water, stretching as far as he could
discern on every side around him. Here he slowly drifted :
the rains had ceased, the thermometer was at 100% a
glaring sun and a coppery sky were above him ; he looked
in vain for help ; but no prospect of escape animated him,
and the hot sun began its dreadful work. His skin blistered,
dried, became parched and hard like the bark of a tree,
and life began to ebb. At length assistance arrived — it
came too late : he was indeed just alive, but died almost
immediately. He was scorched to death ! *
MUTUAL HELP.
The race of mankind would perish, did they cease to aid
each other. From the time that the mother binds the
child^s head, till the moment that some kind assistant
wipes the death-damp from the brow of the dying, we can-
not exist without mutual help. All, therefore, that need
aid, have a right to ask it of their fellow-mortals ; no one
who holds the power of granting can refuse it without
g^L-^Sir Walter Scott,
WOODLAND VOICES.
Roaming *mid the green savannas, automn leaves so tiiiekly
falling,
I have listened breathlessly to the wood^bird sweetly calling ;
I have looked upon the graves in the village churchyard nigh.
Where the silver moonlight streamed, and shadows fell mys-
teriously ;
And the chiming tower-bells up among the Ivy leaves.
Answered to the night owl's screech underneath the old ohuroh
eaves.
And the wail of mahiog winds, through the lonely woodlands
near.
Seemed like wild harp- music sighing o*er tho wateza swift and
drear;
Waters dark, and forests dim— holy stars that go and oome
As the drifting storm-elouds sweep, whispering of a better borne—
Tell me, if my mother's spirit looketh down from heaven above?
If departed souls remember aught of earthly care and love ?
Te can qieak in thousand voices— ye can gpeak in fancy's too»^
Mystic songs— and heartfelt lays— as I wander forth alone ;
And my answer, borne on air by the voiceless spirits nigh.
Spirits of the tempests whirl, borne aloft on memory's sigh-
Still re-echoes one sad strain— still repeateth one low moan—
A requiem for the dead-« dirge o'er my lamented one.
C. A. M. W.
BIPE BREAD.
Bread made of wheat flour, when taken out of the oTen,
is unprepared for the stomach. It should go through a
change, or ripen, before it is eaten. Young persons, or
persons in the ei^joyment of vigorous health, may eat
oread immediately after being baked without any sensible
injury flrom it — but weakly and aged persons cumot — and
none can eat such without doing harm to the digestive
organs. Bread, after being baked, goes through a change
similar to the cliange in newly-brewed beer or newly-
churned buttermilk, neither being healthy until after the
change. It not only has more nutriment, but impi^ts a
much greater degree of cheerfulness. He that eats old
ripe bread will have a much greater flow of animal spirits
tjian he would were he to eat unripe bread. Bread, as
before observed, discharges carbon, and imbibes oxygen.
One tiling in connection with this thought should be
noticed by aM housewives : it is, to let the bread ripen
where itoan inhale the oxygen in a pure state. Bread will
always taste of the air that surrounds it while ripening —
hence it should ripen when the air is pure. It should never
ripen in a cellar, nor in a close cupboard, nor in a bedroom.
The noxious vapours of a cellar or a cupboard never
should enter into and form a part of the bread we eat.
^ead should be light, weU baked, and properly ripened
before it should be eaten. Bread that is several days old
may be renewed, so as to have all the frtxhness and light-
ness of new bread, by simply putting it into a common
steamer over the flre, and steaming it half or three-
quarters of an hour. The vessel under the steamer con-
taining the water should not be more than half full,
otherwise the water may boil up into the steamer and
wet tho bread. After the bread is thus steamed, it
should be taken out of the steamer and wrapped loosely
in a doth, to dry and cool, and remain so a short time,
when it will be readv to be cut and used. It vriU then
be like cold new bread. — American Farmer,
GARDENING FOB CHILDREN.
Tills is the title of a little volume by the Key. C. A.
Johns, wliioh seems to us well worthy of commendation,
inasmuch as it is a practical manual of gardening, re-
duced in language, style, manner, and size to the appre-
hension of a child. We have some notion that the habitual
study of the woriL will make children very capable of in-
structing in their turn the older members of the family; or
at least that the latter will frequently be glad to have an
opportunity of referring to its pages, instead of consulting
more difficult and voluminous productions.
Published by W. it R. Chambbrs, High Street, Edinburgh. Also
sold by D. Chambbrs, 20 Argyle Street, Glasgow ; W. S. Orb,
147 Strand, London ; and J. M*Glashan, 21 D'Olier Street,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and B. Ouambbrs, Edinburgh.
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBBR6*S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS^ EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 265. New Series.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 27, 1849.
Price 1^.
WORDS.
It is an old tale th»i Anaelm, archbishop of Canterbury,
who lired early in the twelfth century, and was known
kof afUr as Saint Anselmo, haying a dispute with the
Anglo-Nerman barons regarding a matter of ecclesiastical
uthoritj (of which Anselm, like most of the canonised,
wai not a little jealous), undertook what was then re-
garded as perilous — a journey to Rome, in order to obtain
tke pope's casting vote on his side of the question. This
tke bishop accomplished to his heart's content, and re-
timed in triumph with a letter written on parchment,
after the fashion of the age, commanding the disputants
to bear and obey bim ; but when it was read to them in
fall asMmbly, none of the nobility at that period being
expected to read for themselyes, they unanimously
ihoated, ' Does the bishop expect that we shall be swayed
by aletter ! It is nothing but words and sheepskin 1'
little did those fierce and haughty barons dream that,
ia the same fair counties of England where they ezer-
died the power of pit and gallows, as old chroniclers
have it, sheets frailer and more perishable than sheep-
akin diould one day be found too strong for their feudal
dvngeons vaA rights of Tassalage and serfdom.
* Words and sheepskin ' was but the language of des-
potic barbariiffp, tiiat knew its physical strength and could
see no further ; but the power of these things was felt even
in the feudal ages. The excommunications that terrified
princes; the exhortations by which all Europe was re-
peatedly roused to the Crusades ; the Dooms-Day Book,
so dreaded by peer and peasant; and, at the dawn of
Isckier days, the Magna Charta itself, were but words and
ibe^Hkin. The latter has long lost the high place of
power, except in law and learning, as represented by Cer-
tam documents and decrees ; the parchment times are
part, and at least better promises have come with the
afe of p^wr ; but words are still, with us, mighty as they
bare been throu^ all changes, since the tongues of men
wne confounded, and the darling project of the infant
aatioBs was giren up for want of an interpreter. When
^Qrpt was a Christian land, ages before eiUier Turk or
Sanoen was known in histoiy, the sect of Christian
Flatonists, which finurished chiefly at Alexandria, had
anxaig their philoeophic questions — and curious ones were
they wont to agitate — this query : ' By which of all the
lUstJBgniahing tnuts of mankind is the existence of the
Mol most clearly manifested?' The replies were nume-
nes and Tery diverae. Some said it was by the cultiya-
tuD oi arts, others by the capability for abstract science ;
bat one philoeopher maintained it was principally by
I the use of words. Nor was his opinion without sound
I tmmm : much of our social intercourse, the whole fabric
•f HtenUore, as well as the communication and diffu-
Is
Ml of iCMQce, depend on the existence of articulate
How small a portion of our knowledge or thoughts can
be communicated by sensible signs ! The uninstructed
deaf and dumb, small as their numbers are, and ought
to be, in these days of institutions, could exemplify that
fact. The art of delineation, in all its yarieties, has in
our age reached a perfection neyer before attained ; and
it is truly marrellous how much eyen an ordinary wood-
cut can be made to express, haying, besides, this advan-
tage oyer literature, that it is addressed to the under-
standing of the greater number ; for he that looks may
wad. For these reasons, the earliest form of writing
among nations who led the way to civilisation consisted
of rou^ draughts or sketches of the scenes and things to
which the writer referred : hence came the celebrated
hieroglyphics of the Egyptians. That laborious people
sculptured their history on pillar and pyramid, and
painted their theology and ethics on the walls of their
colossal temples, where learned travellers now gaze on
figures of old forgotten idols, men in ancient costumes,
strange animals, and utensils whose purpose is scarcely
discoverable, and try to guess what story they were
intended to convey.
The Chinese characters, every one of whSdi represents
an entire word, are believed to have had a similar origin ;
but elaborate and complex though it be, the writing of
China is the improvement of centuries on the picture
fashion.
Perhaps the most singular description of signs ever
practised by any people was in use among the early
Peruvians, who kept their records by means of knotted
cords, each knot having to the mind of a Peruvian
scholar a special signification, according to the mode in
which it was fastened. All methods of symbolising
must of necessity be meagre and limited. How much of
the philosophy, the poetxy, and even the history of
human life, is there for which the tangible world fur-
nishes us with neither sign nor representative ! Hogarth,
indeed, has given wit and wisdom to his canvas, and
made it utter moral lessons to mankind : other great
masters have paifited for religion and for history ; but
art can never go beyond illustration, taking that current
J^t significant term in the highest sense, and as such it
has done the world good service.
Words, on the contrary, are nature's x>wn sovereign
gift to man— the music of his life, the channel of his
thoughts, and the vehicle of his instruction; they alone
resemble the soul, for by means of themselves we reason
upon them : that power enabled the philosophers of for-
mer times to have much speculation and some quarrels
touching the origin of their endless variety. Why the
Frenchman should say Dimanche^ and the Englishman
Sunday, when both mean the very same thing, like sundry
other whys and wherefores, remains an unsettled ques-
tion, though it has been the subject of many a volume.
One better known than the most of them, tells us that
God confounded the languages of men ; and no malter
how the passage be interpreted, its truth is at least piao-
ticallj erident, for the words of nations still difier farther
than any matter about them. This was felt and mourned
oyer, especially by the scholars of the seventeenth cen-
tury, as a barrier to the accumulation of knowledge in
inddyidual minds, not to speak of its general increase
among mankind, and their favourite desideratum was
therefore a universal language. During the middle ages,
Latin supplied that deficiency to the learned of all
European nations ; on which account, as well as because
the crude remnants of literature and philosophy then
preserved from the wrecks of the classic world were con-
fined to its compass, a grammatical knowledge of Latin
was styled 'humanity,' as if that branch of learning
alone comprehended all that could raise or distinguish
men above the inferior creation. There is reason to fear
that the old schoolmen's ideas of humanity, as we use
the word, were miserably circumscribed on all points;
but the title with their meaning is still retained in our
universities, and sounds strangely when we hear of the
Professor of Humanity's fees. It is but an instance of
the unaccountable change of signification which is apt to
pass over the word^ of any language in a comparatively
short space of time. About the days of Elixabeth, ' let '
signified to 'hinder,' and a 'novel' meant 'a piece of
startling intelligence.'
Thus entire tongues gradually alter as spoken by suc-
cessive generations, though inhabiting the same country.
The progress of refinement, the change of maimers, and
ineieased interoouise vnth foreigners, all contribute te
their mutation or improvement. The l^ngliwh of ow^
fibthers is not ours in either pronunciation or orthography;
and to a person of tolerable edvoation in the present
age, Wicklifife and Chaucer would be more diffitult to
lead than Pascal or Kloj^etock in their original texts.
Etymologists have taken considerable pains, and ' used
up,' to naturalise an Americanism, much time in tracing
out the roots and derivations of words : nor is the study
without utility, as it occasionally tiirows light on the
early history and affinities of nations, which, for the
greater part, rest in the twilight of unrecorded times ;
but what Johnson said^bf his great work the Lexicon,
ooouiB to an observer — * It is the drudgery of words.'
Connected with this subject, there was an early and
very natural inquiry after the original language of man-
kind : the classic historians record an experiment made
by one of the later kings of Egypt to ascertain it. He
placed two infants with a dumb nurse on a solitary isle
of the Red Sea, which he commanded no vessel to ap-
proach for the space of seven years, except one despatched
by himself at intervals to supply provisions, and see that
all were well, in hopes of hearing the primeval tongue
spoken by those hermit children. At the end of the
assigned period, the only word they could utter was found
to be the Phrygian for bread ; upon which the monarch
decided that the tongue of the Phrygians was the oldest
on the earth. The old Scottish chronicler commonly
known as Pitscottie, mentions an imitation of the Egyp-
tian king's experiment, as performed by James IV. The
scene of his operations was an island in the Firth of Forth;
and the chronicler naively winds up the tale by observ-
ing, ' Some say they spake good Ebrew ; but as to myself,
I know not, but by the author's report.'
A strange tribute to the power of words has been paid
by the popular superstition of every land and race. The
Indian on the western prairie, and the Nubian shepherd,
alike believe in the mysterious efficacy of spell-Words. In
the most primitive legends of Asia and the earliest be-
lieft of western Europe, they oeoupy a no less important
station* Who has not heard or read some of those tradi-
tional tales, that have floated down through many a cen-
tury and variation, regarding the fearful consequences of
certain words uttered inadvertently in perilous vicinity,
or forgotten at the moment of supernatural danger t In
that old rustic faith, indeed, words seem to eovem the
spiritual world ; and thereby hangs a piece of practical
philosophy. Most vulgar errors are but shadows of sub-
stantial truth, vague and distorted, yet still reflections
of the real. The Catholic peasant's confidence in the
verse written on his scapular, as a defence affainst in-
visible powers, and the Jew's dread of a cabalistic sen-
tence, are but natural inferences of superstition firom the
sway which mere words are found to exercise over the
human mind ; not to enlarge on those migh^ efiects pro-
duced by great orators from pulpit or ptatmrm, whence
a single q>eech or sermon has sunk the balance of pnblic
opinion, and changed the councils of nations ; nor those
of volume or pamphlet, that have struck home to tiie
heart of their times, from Don Quixote to Junius. What
heart-burnings and hostilities have a few bitter words
been known to create in every circle of society ! Kings
have been dethroned by a jest, wars have been klndl^
by one boastful sentence, and the bestowment of a nick-
name has been the seed of a politician's overthrow. The
execution done by satires and lampoons is known to all
leaders of history or biograjUiy ; nor can they fsil to
remiirk how large a share of the thorns and thistles pro-
duced by such sowings ^and rarely have they a better
harvest) has fallen to their authors.
The unwritten records of daily experience bear vet
more ample testimonv to our subject. Who that has
survived life's early lessons, and learned to walk with
his generation, cannot recollect many an instanoe of
good neighbourhood interrupted, allianoe broken ofi^, and
niendahip changed into feud, by the same agenti whose
operation has been noted in hi^ier quarters^-a jest, a
boast, or an ill-reported talel Nay, in the silence of
individual memory there lies weightier cTidence : do
not harsh and reproachful words return like perennial
tares when the tongues that uttered them are dnstt
' The evil that men say lives after them.' Do not the
kind words of the long dead come back to mi^e us miis
them when things and times are changed I Will not
old simple phrases, heard long ago by heaths that are, it
may be, dark and distant, at once recall the past, with
more of its light than shadow ! Truljr the tongue, thoagh
a small member, boasteth great things, and a creater
than human wisdom has warned us' to guard it. Words
are indeed but the garments of thought, yet, like our
personal costume, they exert an amazing influence on
its appearance^ A fine poem or essay is chiefly valuable
ibr the ideas H contains ; but were the veiy same ex-
pressed in inferior or ill-arranged language, they must
lose half their power. Some words have a native music
in themselves. Madame do Stiiel, though a foreigner,
regarded the English words ' no more ' as a sound un-
equalled in melancholy power.
It is strange to think how long the words may out-
last the works of men. .^op's Fables have survited for
many a century the city in which he was a slave, and
the sayings of the Seven Wise Men of Greeoe have out-
lasted iJl her temples. Our theme grows diffuse and
boundless, for before us spread the wide fields of litera-
ture, with systems of philosophy, creeds, and controrer-
sies — the wordy wars and treasures of the world.
Letters are out words ; vet are there any that haye
never watched and waited for some of them, even in
these penny-postage times, and perhaps kept them in
old drawers long afler, till they read like false propbeev t
Good advice is but words; but are there many niio
never gave, or never took it 1 He at least undentood
what was true who said that half the broils of life arofe
fh>m the general habit of mankind, regarding their own
words too little, and those of their neighbours too much.
In the days of Lorenzo de Medicis, sumamed the Magni-
ficent, when a contest between the Platonic and Aristo-
telian philosophers occupied all the leisure the Florentioes
could find from the feuds of the Ouelph and OhibteliMti
]
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
51
•iriTvd in iheir city a tfaTvUer, iappo«ed to be of
fift vmt % learned man for the period, and
introdnced to the philosophers, took an actire part
BIT dispute, and one which was long remembered in
At one of the great controversial meetings
under the special patronage of Lorenzo, he argu^
{^ PlaUnuats with sach m1 and ability as to all
his (^^onents ; and then at onoe intimating
ilktl DMdi oould be said on the other side of the ques-
;tioa, he mainUbined the cause of the Aristotelians with
:■• ksi Tigovr, and triumphantly refuted all his former
laigamMite.
^. * How can you thus support two opposite (pinions ! *
[*i«MDded the Magnificent Lorenao.
' It is words, my lord— only words I ' said the straneer
with a low bow, as he left the astonished assembly.
Ths paitiBg speeoh of that Unscrupulous logician is
worthr of the world's remembrance, for the thousand
eases m whkh its truth is manifest. What an amount
of disaapoiDtment, discomfort, and dirision, not to speak
|.ef itm sod ail uneharitableness, would be spared to
BscMy and mo&k of the members thereof by its practical
isaaiioitionl
raplcxed and oTerburdened crowds, when an orator,
vks never lived for common sense or decency, t^ks to
ysu af dying for the rights of man, rememb^ that his
pitriotism is only words ! Ladies, when lovers say you
■s SBgris, and they adore you, yet never act as if they
' i von either mtional or acoountable beings, be
that such profesdons are only words 1 Fnends
stood by and with each other through for-
IsiA Sbmity in times that tried the strong, should
MMldi oome between you, as come thev did between
PjMm and Orestes, tmnk how much of yomr dispute
vts astthig bat words ! And thou vssmI of many
wlMn making the saorifice of tiiine own peace,
; et, it may be, purer fiwlings, to ' what people
ay,* recollect that it is only words, like the
■Wtlssay less than the pope's letter to the NoAnan
llM% aad poorer far than sheepskin*
OF SOME MEMBEBS OF THE WASP
f AMHiY IN VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.
BT UMB CHABLES HEBEDITH.
Iir Am wum aanmer days, daring our residence at
Fort Sofallr and more particularly in the evenings, we
had often noticed a large kind of black fly darting in and
Mi of flie bouse with a loud sharp whizzing noise ; and
oaa more attentive observation, we found a most tragic
sdditioo made to our list of antipodean contrarieties —
aslhiBg Issa than the discovery of a savage and sangui-
Miy war carried on by flies against spiders, and pur*
Mri with such vigour, that one would believe the Tas-
Msitn flies were bent on avenging the tyrannies and
^BTsaces suffered at the hands of the spiders by the
viols winged-insect family all the world over.
We had observed the forcible and noisy abduction of
■say sa unlucky web-spinner, before I could satisfac-
My make out what became of them, as the firequent
Minres made, apparently by the same fly, forbade the
saKlosion of their being forthwith devoured ; but by
Aatof sundry watchlngs and pursuits of the flies, and
Ij eking out and piecing together my various small
Msps of information and discovery, I at length acquired
atiknble knowledge of the habits and practices of my
liqr Uaek neighbours. In else and shi^ they exactly
Wesibte a large English wasp, but are wholly black,
hA possess formidable stings a quarter of an inch long.
IWgr build very remarkable cells or nests of earth,
I |i4r tempered, and formed in layers of tiny mud-pats,
ftsaswaBow's nest Many of these were placed in a
i wooden ottthonse, between the upright studs and
il boarding of the wall $ several were formed on a
shelf in the porch, where some small pieces of wood
lying heaped together offered convenient nooks ; and
one wasp, resolving to have a more costly lodgment
than his friends, took possession of a meerschaum pipe-
bowl which lay on the same shelf, and very snugly
laid out his house in its interior. All the nests I have
examined are arranged in the same manner, the whole
fabric being from two to three inches long, and about
one inch broad, or rather less ; the external shape of
the mansion, whether square, triangular, or pentagonaJ,
depending a good deal on the site chosen. When com-
pleted, no aperture is left ; but on being opened, three
cells are almost invariably found, the two lesser onee
each containing a gray, oval, chrysalis-shaped body;
possibly a bag enclosing the eggs. The largest apart-
ment is devoted to the purposes of a laraer, and is
always found fiill of spiders, of all varieties of size,
colour, and kind, and closely and neatly packed to-
gether, with tiieir legs all trussed up, so as to occupy
the smallest possible space. The strangest part of the
affair is, that the spiders are not dead, but remain
perfectly soft and flexible in every part ; and on being
exposed to the sun and air, or stirred, a feeble move-
ment is evident in them, as though they were paralysed
or stupifled in some manner, so as to be unresisting
victims, and good fresh meat at the same time. The
storehouse is thus well supplied, doubtless for the beneflt
of the chrysalis tenantry on their awakening to the
knowledge of life and appetite.
I have rarely been more interested by any new insect
than by these Uack wasps, ungentle and ferocious
though they be } for there is a daring, dashing energy
and brisk industry about their ways and doings that
was very amusing, and perfectly original. The bee —
dear little, hard-working, persevering f^sUow that he is —
can still afford time for many a coquettish peep into
blossoms and buds that he deigns not to taste i and
even when arrived at home with his two pannier-
baskets loaded with their heaped-up gcdden treasure,
can stay for a few moments* friendly hovering to and
fro, and pleasant exchanges of hum and buzz with his
helpmate the ant, whose ways of thrift and industry
even Solomon bids us to ' consider and be wise.' She
never takes a straight road, but with a lump of plunder
in her nippers, tl^ce her own size, runs hither and
thither, up straws and round sticks, or maybe into a
labyrinth of a violet root, where she plays at bo-peep
witii you for ten minutes before going forward again ;
and seems to get on in such a perversely roundabout
way, that I have only been cured of my inclination to
put her straight, by the conviction (after many trials,
when anxiously striving to trace out the marauders of
my bee-hives) of the utter hopelessness of such attempts.
But the Hack wasp has none of these wandering weak-
nesses of character : solitary, stem, ruthless, and reso-
lute he goes about his work of cell-buUding and spider-
catching. If you chance to be near his chosen place
of abode, you may see him dart past with a bit of mud
or a victim ; and a shrill sharp whizz — izz — iiz is con-
tinued for some seconds or a minute, during the opera-
tion of packing away his load, when forUi he darts
again, straight and swift as an arrow, and the next
moment very probably invades the peaceful retreat of
some oobwebbed recluse, which, until now, safe from
housemaids and brooms, has meshed and devoured his
flies in comfbrt, but is at length seiaed and straight-
way trussed and packed up, half-alive, by the <Urk
avenger.
The varieties of wasps, or wasp-like flies, which we
noticed around Poystou (Port Sorell, y,D,L.) were
very numerous. One is marked with alternate golden
and black stripes, very similar to the English wasp, but
more soft and downy -looking: another is red, long,
and slender, with four long wings, and a prodigious
sting, which it can protrude nearly half an inch ftom a
Und of double sheath beneath the taiL Another species,
partially red, frequented the sandy paths of the garden,
where several of them were geaezally seen darting
ifl«««M
52
CHAMBERS'S EDINDUBGH JOURNAL.
along, flying straight up and down the walks. I have
sometimes follow^ them nearly ronnd the garden with-
out their erer quitting the path, or rising more than a
foot from the surface. Sometimes I hare ohserved
them stop at a hole in the sand, apparently their nest,
and after poking down into it, head-foremost and tail
up, for a minute or more, they made a great skurry of
dust over the opening, so as entirely to conceal it, and
flew on again.
Without enumerating many other members of this
family, of whom I know little more than their outward
aspect, I shall mention one more, which has interested
I me nearly as much as the architect-wasp first d^cribed,
I and has caused me to waste infinitely more time in
I Tain attempts to pry more nearly into its domestic pri-
vacy. At the cottage we first occupied at Port Sor^
I was annoyed to find that the multifiora rose-trees
which adorned the veranda had, towards autumn, be-
come quite disfigured, by having large rounded pieces
BCoUopped out of nearly every leaf; five or six great
scollops being made in each, leaving the middle fibre
entire. First I attributed the mischief to caterpillars,
and then to grasshoppers ; but never found any on the
trees. At length the frequent buzzing of a large bee-
like fly attracted my attention; and on watching its
movements, I detected it in the very act of snipping
out a piece of rose-leaf, rolling it up, and grasping it in
its legs, and flying off. After this, I observed the work
going on in the same manner daily for some time.
Plants, raised from cuttings of these same rose-trees,
grew around the porch of Poystou, and these were used
by the same busy workmen in the same manner, besides
other kinds of rose-trees, and the leaves of the cherry,
acacia, and other trees. This wasp has a pair of forceps,
acting precisely like scissors ; and very many times I
have closely observed him snipping out, with a quick
clean cut, the piece of leaf, wl^ch is usually about the
third of an inch broad and long; about six or eight
seconds suffices for the cutting, when the piece of leaf
is most nimUy and adroitly rolled up, and clasped by
the feet and legs, as the wasp flies away. I have fre-
quently started off when the wasps flew away, and given
chase to them, hoping to find out whither all the leaves
were carried, and how they were used ; but the depre-
dators always proved too clever for me, and glanced out
of sight, leaving me to come panting back again, vainly
vowing to be more agile and sharp-sighted next time.
Having often found these same insects busy gathering
honey, I imagined they had a hoard or nest somewhere
near, but never found one. An intelligent young person,
who Uved with me at this time as nursery governess,
told me she had often found the nests, which were holes
in the ground, filled with bits of leaves, in which smidl
portions of some sticky sweet stuff, like honey, were
folded up and stuck together, only one or two wasps
seeming to inhabit each hole. This species, like all my
other acquaintances of the wasp kind here, has a long
sting, and precisely the head and antennse of the Eng-
lish insect.
A totally diflerent species from any of these fre-
quented the wide sandy sea beaches at Port Sorell;
these latter were large, bulky, formidable insects, with
great stings like the others, and were often seen on a
warm day darting about in twos and threes, just above
the surface of the sand. One of them would sometimes
hover over the same spot for a minute or two, when
another would suddenly dart to the place, and the first
wasp instantly took up his station at some distance,
hovering as before, until he either displace another or
was superseded in his turn; and the same dance of
* change sides and back again' went on as long as we
watched them ; but what they were doing, or how they
got their living, remained an undiscoverable mystery
tome.
It is only just to all these bng-stinged wasps to add,
that neither we, nor our children, nor servants, were
ever stung by any of the fraternity, although we fre-
quently dused and captured them for examination ; but
V,
always with a due dread of their threatening weapons
of defence, and a carefU restoratkm of th&t liberty
when our curiosity was satisfied.
A STORY OF OLD VERSAILLES.
In the latter days of Louis XIV., the favour of Le Grcatd
Monarque, or that of Madame de Maintenon, formed the
chief dependence of a large portion of his salirjecta; and
numbers of the needy branches of nobility crowded to
Versailles in search of patronage and places. Among
the thousands who resorted to that temporary metropolis
of fashion and royalty, came Monsieur de TheminaT, a
gentleman of Laiu^uedoc, whose extraordinary oondaci
furnished matter of surprise and remark to all who knew
him, at least for the first six months of his residence. He
was allied by birth and marriage to some of the most
powerful families in the kingdom ; possessed of what were
called tolerable talents, a cultivated taste, engaging
manners, and an estate which iust supplied a sort of con-
tracted competenoe for himself, two grown-up sons, and
a daughter. His sons were esteoned promising yomig
men, and some people thought his daughter a b^uiiy;
et with all these motives and appliances for advancing
is fortune, M. de Theminay never attoided a levee, never
manoeuvred for an office, nor sought the favour of either
mistress or minister.
M. de Theminav's friends wondered how he intended
to provide for his fiuuily. Some of them hinted that he
was by no means in the way of his duty; but at last it
transpired that their prospects had not been so entirely
neglected as people imagined — ^the father having looked
to some purpose up the long vista of matrimony on be«
half of two of his children, and it was supposed that he
trusted in his good fortune to anmnge matters similarly
for the third. He himself had made two consecutive trials
of the blessed state : the first was with a lady of the
noble house of Castelaine, who died early, leaving him a
son and daughter; and the second with the daughter of a
Languedoc farmer, whose memory he rarely recalled
among his friends, for the ladv had followed her prede-
cessor in a few years. But she left him a second son ; and
as the three grew up around his advancing age^ M. de
Theminav established his family in Versailles.
There he kept a small comer house, quietly respectable
in its appearance, and fewer servants than were then
thought necessary for a man of his rank; but M. de The-
minay said he despised ostentation, and came only to
enjoy select society, and complete the education of his
children : to which the said society added, that his chief
object was to cultivate the good graces of his rich couains
the Faquettes, who resided in a more expensive quarter
of the town.
The father of this family had been a farmer-general,
who grew rich and resigned his office amid sundry whis-
pers of peculation. The mother was a West Indian
heiress, who had been sent from. Martinique when Tery
voimg to De Theminay's brother-in-law, the Abbe Caste-
laine, and nobody thought of inquiring further into her
birth and parentage. Their only son and daughter in-
herited a double portion of her West Indian complexitMi,
and a mediocrity of mind which qualified them in aU re-
spects for making the poorest possible figure in their age
and station. These were deficiencies which even riches
could not entirely cover. The family found their footing
insecure in the highways of fashion, and the guests of
their balls and suppers called them the poor Faquettee.
With the De Toeminays, on the contrary, nature >*M
dealt handsomely. The first madame's cJiildien, Augaat«
and Valerie, were as like each other as brother and aister
could be. Tall, finely moulded, and graceful, each had
the same dirtinguished air and dignified yet pleasing ad-
dress. Valerie was naturally esteemed the most beautiful:
she was just nineteen, and her brother twenty-one. In
their characters there was also a strong resemblance : both
were generous and enthuriastic, sensitive, high-spirited,
and somewhat imperious ; but the latter defect was over-
looked, in consideration of the world of small taloita
which they shared between them.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUKGH JOURNAL.
53
i
I
M. lie Thendnrnj was proud of hit two elder children,
iBd thej were no less so of each other ; which, combined
with thnr similAritj of disposition, made them closer and
mora confidential companions than brother and sister
anally were in the courtly town of Versailles ; and as
both piqued themselres on being descended from the
BoUe Bouse of Casteliune, they had learned from infancy
to look with a sort of exclusiveness on their younger
toother, of whom M. de Theminay was not in the l^st
proud. His mother had got her own way for once, in
calling him by the old peasant name of Justin ; and he
htd grown up neither beuxtiful nor plain, but a thought-
fill, manly-looking youth of sixt^, Whose time was
ipcat between the city streets and the Cordeliers* semi-
iniy for young gentlemen, where, as his father remarked,
he might remain till something turned up.
For the senior two, the old gentleman had long since
tarned up something in eam^. 'Auguste will marry
Claue, and Valerie Jean Faquette,' h^ been his early
coasdation. ' The creatures will hare large fortunes, and
these must not be lost to the family.' Such thoughts
woe imparted, thourii in very different words, to the
rrtirsd nrmer-genend ; and as the shine was all with
the De Theminays, and the solids all with the Faquettes,
the latter gradually entertained the proposal till it came
to he r^arded as a settled arrangement. Dissenters were,
hoverer, found in the parties most concerned. Auguste
and Valerie had what their father called a singular pre-
judice against mercenary matches, and early discoTered
that tiieve was no cong^uality of taste or feeling between
them and their cousins, whom ererybody voted dull and
vninteresting ; but M. de Theminay was accustomed to
tike his ease in life's inn. The matrimonial scheme was
therefofe understood rather than expressed ; and as the
billiant brother and sister had no objection to patronis-
ing cod being admired in a quiet way by the Faquettes,
w£o looked up to them as chiefs of their line, he read the
paposy played chess, and went from soiree to theatre,
pirttang bis trust in time to teach his boy and girl the
vatue 9£ louis-d*ors.
A year had thus passed when M. de Theminay found
out that his fimiily hairdresser was too old for business ;
and Madame Faquette recommended another, an honest
ddlfnl Gascon, who, with his wife and daughter, had
lately coioe £rom Paris, where trade was not so good as
it bad been. His abilities were tested for the first time
on the ni^t in which all Versailles crowded to the Thtfitre
du Roi, to tee the new tragedy of Florimer d' Avignon,
sQeh being the fi^hionable designation of an author who
promiMd to become the * lion' of the season. The tragedy
was successful, as a tragedy could be only under the
Onsid Menarque. It was called 'Semiramis,' remote
dassica] subjects being then in favour; and exhibited
toA sayings and doings of that ancient princess as
oeeaatoned weeping in the galleries, fainting in the pit,
tad MDt half the ladies in the boxes on in violent
h|Btariea. The curtain fell amidst thunders of applause,
web were followed by shouts for the author, whom the
■wager, in self-defence, was obliged to point out where
he sal in a stage-box. An immediate rush was made
towvda it by some enthusiastic spirits, in order to crown
hka d la Voltaire; but the attempt was unseconded, an
M poet having suggested the propriety of waiting for
taewcr tragedy.
Tha author rose to make the customary acknowledg-
tmkit ; and Valerie, as die waved a handkerchief damp
wftli tears and extract of roses, saw a small slender youth,
wka miglit have passed for a monk of La Trappe, his face
wm 00 pale, spare, and melancholy, but for a pair of bril*
Bttt eyes and an expensivelv-laced waistcoat. Valerie
Mdd not hear his words, but she caught the young
psitfs eye, and half her friends told her afterwards in
tiiat they could not help thinking the speech
toherseli.
_ and she were moving slowly to their car-
lijgt lisoogh the noisy crowd of the emptying theatre,
Jmk imiOUMar and Justin close behind them, when a thin
MmAAi hand was thrust through the moving mass with
» JHmOI UUet, which the latter took and quietly de-
posited in his pocket. The transaction was so rapid that
it escaped the father's eyes, though not those of Auguste,
who chanced to look back; but the next moment his
attention was arrested by a faint scream in the oppo-
site direction, and pressing forward, they found a young
girl stretching her arms in vain to some one from whom
she had been parted in the throng, while a large town
porter made his footing sure on her muslin robe, and a
whole squadron of chairmen pushed past her in haste to
pick up fares. A word from the laced and sword-wear-
ing nobleman was sufficient to make the porter change
his position and the chairmen pause; while a man, caU-
ing for his dear Ambroisine, made his way back, and
drew the girl's arm once more within his own : it was the
Gascon hairdresser, and loud was his gratitude to the
young gentleman for troubling himself aTOut his poor girl.
She was his only child, was never used to such pli^es;
but she loved poetry and plays, and he had brought her
to see the new tragedy. The girl seemed almost a child
as she clung to her fiither's arm, small, round, and rosy,
a gem of a brunette, vad dressed with a simplicity and
elegance rarely adopted by the taste of her class. The
De Theminays gave the father and daughter the benefit
of their company till fairly out of the precincts of the
theatre, and then sent them on their homeward way,
proud and happy with kind words and good advices.
Auguste handed his sister to the carriage, but his last
look was cast on the retreating figure of Ambroisine.
From that night the brother and sister had other
things to think of besides their dark-coloured cousins.
Valerie was introduced to the poet at a ctmversaaone on
the following evening, and they talked together half an
hour on the Scudery romances. He was somewhat eccen-
tric in manners, said to be the last of a' noble but far-
reduced family, who had left him nothing but their
name, and a romantic disregard for everything but love
and fame. These peculiarities secured the popularity his
tragedy had won. The ennuied world of Versailles were
delighted with the freshness of that earnest mind; no-
thing so new had been seen for a considerable time, and
patronage, friends, and flatteries poured in from all sides
on the favourite of the hour. Flirtation was never con-
sidered proper for any but married ladies in France, so
Valerie did not flirt; but her days were thenceforth spent
in reading the poets from Homer downwards, and her
evenings in listening to Florimer d' Avignon. The poet
was not insensible £> so much attraction and taste; his
appreciation of both was shown in a thousand small but
flattering ways. He addressed the greater part of his
conversation and a brilliant copy of verses to the lady.
Valerie treasured the latter in her jewel-drawer, and never
forgot that somebody said they had been made for each
other. There were other circumstances which threatened
the paternal plans still more: Auguste's attentions to
his cousin had never been very pointed, but of late their
falling oflT was manifest, and a singular change had come
over the habits of the young man. He who everybody
said, and himself believed, was formed to shine in society,
grew careless of balls and heedless of soirees; besides, he
began to talk in a depreciating tone of the advantages of
birth and fortune; spoke mysteriously of noble qualities
concealed by an inferior station, and a wealth of soul which
the world never knew. Valerie wondered at all this; but
one day finding her brother had forgotten to lock his
escritoir, she peeped in, as sisters will do, and found a
small letter addressed to Auguste in a fine female hand.
The opportunity was irresistible, and Valerie read. It was
an answering epistle, full of most tender sentiments beau-
tifully expressed, and signed with the name of Ambroisine
Duprl. Could a hairdresser's daughter so think and
write t The rest of the secret was soon reached. Auguste
told her how he had been struck by the young girl's
simple beauty at the theatre on that crowded night; how
he had seen her afterwards on the street, and at the
windoTFs; and at length sent her a bouquet, for which he
received a billet of thanks, revealing at once an educa-
tion far above her rank, and talents rare in any station.
Some letters and many interviews had passed between
them since then; in short, Auguste was desperately in
i
■s
54
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBURGH JOURNAL.
lore. He described her modesty, her candour, and her
affection for him, till Valerie herself was charmed, espe-
cially with the letters which he bade her read, that she
might see the heart and soul of his Ambroisine; adding
that their personal interviews, however delightful, were
hardly as yet as satisfactory, since a profound sensibility
kept the girl almost silent in his presence.
That was a moment of mutual outpourine : Aufi:u9te
admired the poet, and Valerie promised to befriend his
Ambroisine. While the brother and sister thus freely
discussed their own afiairs, they were equally puzzled
over those of another. Who had given Justin that billet
at the theatre ! — and what did it contain f The boy had
evidently a secret of his own; they had heard of him
being seen in the suburbs of the town at extraordinary
hours; few of his evenings were passed at home, though
the worthy Cordelier occasionally lamented that he was
too much attached to his father's house. Auguste and
Valerie were above prying; their younger brother was half
a stranger to them ; but they felt themselves called upon
to wat<9i over his youth for the honour of the family.
Doubtless it was for similar reasons that other eyes
soon began to take cognisance of their proceedings. As
the poet's partiality for Valerie grew more expressive,
and Auguste's visits to the hairdresser's more frequent,
suspicions crept into the mind of M. de Theminay, and
the Faquettes put on the looks of ill-used people. The
old gentleman of course set himself to observe, and dis-
coveries more true than pleasing rewarded his vigilance;
piece by piece the whole stoiy came out, and the conse-
ouence was, an explosion of wrath never before heard in
the quiet house of the Theminays.
About this period Versailles found a new subject of
conversation, in a woman who had lately taken up her
abode in one of those suburban cottages remaining since
the place was a villaffe with straggling hamlets round it
in the wide plain. Sne was known as Madame Le Sage,
tuid her ostensible profession was that of a letter-writer;
a vocation still veir common in France, but then parti-
cularly rare in the hands of women. Madame Le Sage
was, however, esteemed the mistress of her art, and with
the fame of her epistolary accomplishments were bound
up matters far more attractive to public curiosity. Her
letters were said to be lucky; some insisted that none of
them ever missed their object, and instances were whis-
pered about of families of the first distinction who em-
ployed her pen under that impression. Madame Le Sase,
besides, could afford information on futurity. The faith
in fortune -telling was a characteristic of that other-
wise doubting age; it prevailed among the best-educated
ranks, and sceptical philosophers were not fr«e from it.
The ordinary practice was forbidden by the French laws ;
but madame's mode consisted in a kind of lottery, in
which the parties drew for themselves; and marvellous
tales were soon afloat regarding the truth of her revela-
tions.
There were personal wonders too; the lady came last
from Paris, but nobody knew anything of her previous
history. She had the face of a Jewess, with a dark com-
plexion, and almost dwarfish stature : though apparently
not older than thirty, her hair was perfectly white, and she
wore it combed down straight to her waist, but secured
bpr a thin silver band across the forehead ; she was defi-
cient in a hand, and some said in a foot also, for she
walked with a silver-headed cane, and wore a very long
brown dress, with loose hanging sleeves, in the Oriental
fashion; rarely leaving the solitary cottage where she
lived with her only attendant, an elderly woman, large
and gaunt in person, and blunt to a degree of surliness
in her manner. The pair soon furnished half the gossip
of the place. Their cottage was visited by persons of all
ranks. It was whispered that Madame Maintenon had
gone there to ask about the king's death, and the dauphi-
ness to inquire afler madame's dismissal; but more tnan
two were never admitted together on any pretext; and such
was the effect produced by the elder dame who acted as
porteress, that the most unruly of the young nobility did
not dare infringe the order. Scandal never emanated
from that quarter; but a total change of conduct was
remarked in many of the visitors; and those who went
with the most careless curiosity, were ever alter apt te
look grave when the subject was mentioned.
It was the season of the Carnival, and that festival
was in those days celebrated in Versaillee with almost
Italian extravagance. By way of instalment for the
strict Lent which followed, merriment Mid masqueradin£
were the order of the day; and the evening concluded
with a public masqued ball at the palace, and an enter-
tainment given by either master or servants at eyery
second house in the city; but M. de Theminay's stood
quiet and dark. He had given his servants leare to
spend the evening with their friends, and gone with his
whole family to partake of the festivities at the palace.
Some two hours nad passed, and those who saw tne old
dervise (Theminay always thought that character con-
venient) spjring among the satm-clothed shepherdesses
and bowing satyrs who thronged the splendia saloons,
knew as little as himself that the son and daughter of
whom he was in search had taken the opportunity to put
in execution a design agreed on that very morning, and
were then, with the addition of masks and black domi-
noes, on their way to Madame Le Saee.
The cottage stood alone in an old vineyard — ^now within
the liberties of the town — and at the end of a lane in-
habited by Jews and pawnbrokers. It was low, but
strongly built of black oak timber, and it had stood since
the wars of the League. The hearts of the brother and
sister were almost as audible as their knock. They did not
absolutely believe in madame's lottery, but they were
about to inquire for themselves; and even an imaginary
glance at the friture has something of fearful interest.
The massive door was noiselessly opened, just sufficient
to show the grim porteress with a lamp in her hand.
Auguste presented the well-known fee, and whispered
that they wished to see madame. The dame admitted
them vrithout a word, locked the door, pocketed the key,
and made them a sign to follow her through a narrow pas-
sage, which seemed to run the whole lengw of the cottage,
as there was a window still open at the farther end, and
three fast shut doors on each side. At the middle one on
the right their conductress paused, and opening it with
another key from her evidently well-furnished p<^ety she
growled — * There is madame in her office.'
It was a small room paved vrith coloured tiles in old
rustic fashion; the furniture was simple; and in the
centre, nearly under a brass lamp which hung from the
ceiling, sat that wondrous woman, exactly as they had
heard her described, with the brown droBS, long white
hair, and dark Oriental face; her one arm, covered by a
sleeve far beyond where the fingers should haye b^n,
rested on her lap, and the other hand on a plain writing-
table before her, containing the only professional appa-
ratus to be seen, except a hu^e old-fashioned cabinet of
walnut wood close by, on which an illuminated manu-
Bcript lay open over two projecting drawers. One of the8«
was distinguished by some inscription on a brass label ;
and the other was ornamented with a brazen hand in the
act of writing.
* Your business t' said the lady, looking up carelessly
as they entered. Auguste again deposited the fees, and
intimated that they had come to consult the lottery.
' Hand me down that volume then,' said she, pointing
to the manuscript. Auguste did so: it was large, and
the characters, though Roman, seemed old and quaint.
'Which vrill draw first!' inquired madame as she
turned over the leaves.
' I,' said Valerie, whose courage was now up.
' There are three questions,' continued madame in the
same grave and busmess-like tone; ' and I may as well
observe, that the truth of your drawing depends on that
of your answers. What are the day and year of your
birth ! To what rank do you belong t And what is your
religion!'
Valerie replied; and madame wrote her answers slowly
on a small slip of paper : thto handing her another, she
said, ' Write here what you wish to inquire at the cardo,
and remember you can ask but three questions at once.'
With as firm fingers as she could command, Valwia
CHAMBBRS*S EDIKBURGH JOUENAL.
65
vxote^ ' Will my loT«r be fortonMe in life t Shftll I ever
be onitad to him I And will it be with my father's
eooaentl'
Madame glanced oyer it to fee that all was right, and
then folding up the papers together, she said, * Place
them in the drawer of the brazen hand.' Valerie dropped
them in : the drawer was unlocked and empty. * Lock
ity' said madame, handing her the key. ' Your number
is ught, according to your birthday; you must therefore
wait eight minutes,' pointing to a small chronometer on
the ti£le, and she immediately b^;an to read aloud from
the manuscript. It was a Strang tongue, but Auguste
afterwards said that he beliered it to hAje been the old
ProTen^al language. Now in prose, now in rhyme, the
Udy read ; and the listeners thought that, in the pauses,
they could hear a low rustling sound, as if of lightlpr-moTed
papers within the cabinet. Never were eight mmutes so
luig in piling as those to Valerie ; but the hand of the
chronometer measured them out at last, and madame,
like one 1^0 had finished a troublesome task, laid down
the manuscript, and making a gesture to the other drawer,
•aid, * Pull it out — ^it needs no key — and take the three
cards that have edged up, for they are your own.'
Valerie pulled out the drawer. It was covered in, all but
a small space in the centre, in which a bundle of cards,
about the aixe of an ordinary pack, was inserted, with the
edges uppermost. Three of them stood about half an
moi above the rest, and these Valerie drew out under the
eve of madame, who commanded her instantly to close
the drawer, and then proceeded in the same fashion with
Awuate.
The business was done almost as quickly as it could be
told. Madame bade them good-night, and the door-
keying dame showed them out in the style of their en-
tnnce. Valerie thought she heard somethine ring sharply
on the tile floor as they left the passage, but her watch was
still in its place, and other cares on her mind.
The brother and sister had mutually remarked the
perolexity of each other's face while they read their
cards hj the brazen lamp, but Auguste was the first to
break silence.
* Were the cards propitious, Valerie f said he.
* Why, yes; it seems so. But there's something strange,'
whispered his sister.
' Straaie oiougfa,' he resumed. * Let us compare notes.
My questions were, as you know, similar to yours ; every
card nas answered one of them in a sort of affirmative ;
but, Valerie, it is with sentences from Ambroisine's let-
ters. I know them well, having read aQd admired them
a thousand times.'
' Brother,' interrupted Valerie, ' every question of mine
has been answered with a verse of those Florimer ad-
dieswd to me : judge if I could mistake them 1'
The pair wondered and surmised the long way home.
No one had yet returned; but just as Auguste pro-
duced his key, Valerie exclaimed, 'I have lost my
atother's miniature ! '
Tke ^1 referred to a rich locket, set with brilliants,
containing a portrait of her dead mother, by whom it had
been hung round her neck, with a fond injunction to wear
it fcr her sake.
' It was that I heard fall,' she continued, ' when leav-
hig the cottage. Brother, we will go back. I would not
lose it for half the jewels in Versailles — in such a place too.'
Auguste murmured something about searching the
sea; mit back th^ went. The night was by this time
w«u advanced, and the principal thoroughfares began to
be thronged with the returning rev^ers. Auguste
leeollected that there was a quieter way which he be-
lieved led to the cottage. It lay through back lanes and
wynds, where congregated the offiKX>urings of society,
w«ich Versailles mui won fVom Paris with court and
iMhien. It was up one dark narrow street and down
another with them, till at length they unexpectedly
Mitigud from the dirtiest wynd of all at the very back
«f the cottage.
Ttoe was no light to be seen but one slender quivering
Wf whidi Elanoed from the nearest window. On ap-
IMWhiiig, ikBj goeiMd it to be that of the passage; but
all beyond was dark. There were sounds of merriment
within, too, that rose and fell upon the gusty night. An
accidental push informed Valerie that the window was
unfastened.
' I will go in, sister,' said Auguste, half wild with
curiosity; and almost with the words he pushed back
the narrow sash, which opened, in the French manner,
like a door, and stepped lightly over the sill. The
fear of remaining alone outside, and a boundless anxiety
to know what was going forward, made Valerie follow
him with surprisinff silence and rapidity. Her hand
came in contact with the handle of a door on one side
of the passage, from which the sounds came more dis-
tinctly. They were bursts of shrill laughter, intennin|(led
with ^ve and angry tones, which seemed familiar
to their ears. At the loudest peal Valerie turned the
handle, the door opened, and both glided into an apart-
ment half lighted from another door in the comer, which
stood some inches open. The brother and sister ap-
proached, and held their breath. The shadow of that
huge cabinet partly concealed the aperture, for they
looked into madame's office. There sat the lady herself,
still under the brazen lamp; but the fillet of sUver and
long silvery hair were gone, learing only a close black
crop. The writing-table had given place to one occupied
with the remains of a supper, and opposite her sat toeir
own brother Justin! There was a bundle of letters in his
hand, and Auguste's look grew black as it caught the
back of the uppermost. * So,' said Justin, continuing his
conversation, while the Theminays stood within two yards
of him, ' the letters you wrote for the hairdresser's daugh-
ter were to my brother, and you never told me, friends as
we have been 1'
*What end would it serve, my dear 1' said madame,
apparently much amused : ' if one would mind every-
body's relations in this world, business could never go
on ; and you know there might have been kinder rela-
tions than the branches of CMtelaine.'
' But,' said Justin, ' Auguste has been terribly deceived.'
' Yes, by his silly vanity ! ' interrupted madame. ' What
else could have made him imagine that the girl who
listened to him like an oracle, and sat silent and simper-
ing in his presence;, could ever comprehend one word or
thought of such letters 1 Vanity, my dear fellow, believe
me, is the root and foundation of full two-thirds of all
the world calls romantic attachments. It was the self-
same thing that made his sister— I forget the girl's name
— ^fall in love with Riviere's son, when he turned out a
great poet, and wrote verses to her as well as for my
cards.' I wish he and his mother had finished their car-
nival— they always like to keep it in their old way. Poor
soul, how drunk die will be to-night ! But it is well the
knocking hour is past, since there are two of us here.'
' And what matter!' cried Justin in rising wrath.
' Oh,' said the lady, * there was a Jew at Presburg who
knew the Cabala, and showed me that four was my un-
lucky number, so I shouldn't like the admission of two ;
and none care to come singly, you know. I wish the
Theminays had this trinket back,' she continued, pulling
out of her wide sleeve the very miniature of which Valerie
was on search ; < they will miss it, but it is best to dis-
pose of those^letters.'
' They are mine I ' shouted Auguste, bounding into the
very centre of the room; at the same moment madame
made a snatch, which told of no lameness, at the lamp.
It was extinguished in an instant, leaving all in utter
darkness. They heard the slamming of doors, and the
soimd of retreating footsteps. Valene had followed, and
grasped her brother's hand in the gloom; but terror
came over them both, and they made for the open vrin-
dow. Their exit was still quicker than their entrance ;
and knowing that nothing more could be done, the
brother and sister hurried home. They reached the
house worn out and splashed with mud. M. do Theminay
had returned, and the whole household were aburmed at
their absence. The servants did their best, but they
could not catch a word of the explanation, which was
given with dosed doors ; and early next morning Auguste
returned to tiie cottage accompanied by a police-officer.
L
l^adUakWha
SB
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
Thej found it open and deserted : the furniture, includ-
ing that huse cabinet, was still there ; but the lamp, the
brasses of the mysterious drawers, the cards, and ereiy
scrap of written paper were gone.
Auguste examined the cabinet curiously. The in-
terior was like a small closet, with a few drawers at the
top strangely supplied with slits and sliding dirisions ;
and in the first he opened lay Valerie's locket. That
cabinet erentually passed into the hands of the prefect
of police, who soon after became remarkably inquisitire
regarding the whereabout of Madame Le Sage and her
porteress ; but neither erer appeared within his juris-
diction.
Among the many explanations of the wonder-working
lottery offered on the occasion, it was conjectured that
Madame Le Sage had been in the habit of keening a i>er-
son concealed in the cabinet for the purpose of arranging
the cards according to her directions, which she gare in a
mutually-known language while pretending to read from
the manuscript. Certain it was that her extended busi-
ness as a letter-writer must have made madame ac-
quainted with family and individual secrets, which she
seemed to have taken an unaccountable pleasure in
reyealing by means of her cards to the parties from whom
they were most anxiously kept, and to that circumstance
alone much of her power was owing.
After her departure, the poet was never seen in Ver-
sailles ; his admirers said he had retired from society in
disgust; but a well-known scholar subsequently recog-
nised ' Semiramis ' in an antiquated Italian tragedy. The
utmost efforts of the police, and the inquiries of the many
interested, failed to throw any light on the past history
of the trio whom public rumour gradually connected,
except that three persons answering to their description
had formerly resided at Avignon, in the house of an old
Jewish rabbi some years deceased, and supposed to have
come originally from Rome. The same party was after-
wards traced through many of the great towns of Europe
in a variety of nondescript professions, to which, how-
ever, fortune-telling in some snaps was always united.'
The most extraordinary part of the affair as regarded
the Theminays was Justin's connection with it. How the
solitary and neglected boy had made such an acquaint-
ance as Madame Le Sage, or what part he took in her
affairs, was never exactly ascertained by either Auguste
or Valerie. Justin could not be found for wedui and
months fh>m that eventful night : the search and in-
quiries of his family were equally fruitless, till at length
one day his Cordelier instructor made a private com-
munication to M. de Theminay, the reported substance
of which was that the boy had joined their order
in a Breton monastery; and monsieur observed, when
speaking of the subject, that his son had always a
religious tendency. The old gentleman was still better
plet^ed when, as time wore away, bearing with it the
reports and impressions of those events, his son and
daughter rapidly renewed acquaintance with their wealthy
cousins ; and a few days before the following Carnival,
the double wedding was celebrated with great splendour,
to the delight of all parties. The duties of his profiBS-
sion were fulfilled on that occasion with more than ordi-
nary elegance by Ambroisine's father, who remarked that
his poor girl was also about to be married to the man of
her choice, and his own apprentice.
REMAINS OF NINEVEH.^
It seems to be the privilege of our age, not merely to
produce the most extraoMinary amount of interesting
history itself, but to effect the recoyery of some of the
roost remarkable, though heretofore lost, passages of
ancient history. We have already seen the early events
of some of the great extinct monarchies of the East read
off fjrom monuments and inscriptions, and one or two
* Nineveh and its Remaint, with an Acoonnt of a Visit to the
ChaldKan Christians of Kurdbtan, and the Yezidis or Devil
Worshippers; and an Inquiry into the Manners and Arts of the
Ancient Assyrians. By Austen llenry Layard, Esq. D. 0. L. 2 vols.
London: Murray. 1849.
thousand 3rear8 thus added to the entire hiatory of
mankind. Now another, and perhape the greatest cf
these primitiye states is, as it were, raised from the
graye, and made to tell its own story. The vale of the
Tigris, one of the most fertile spots of the earth, if, as
is well known, now occupied only by a scattered Arabian
population under the Turkish goyemment TrareUert
haye made known to us the existence of Rreat mounda
in several places — ^the supposed ruins of the andent
Assyrian cities and palaces; but this was mere coo-
jecture. Not a single building existed which could be
referred to the ancient empire. The yery site of Nineyeli,
which Jonah saw a city of three days' journey in dr-
cuit, was uncertain. So early as the days of Xenophon,
desolation and barbarism had resumed their reign oyer
this once magnificent country. At the same, time,
scarcely any authentic memorials had come down to
us of Assyrian history : we knew littte but that there
had once been a great empire in this yalley ; that it had
personages called Ninus, Semiramis, and Belus con-
nected with it, and had sunk under the Persian empire,
while kings were still reigning over the infant ci^ of
Rome. It was reseryed for British enterprise, withhi
the last four years, to turn the darkness which had
settled on this subject into something like lights
The present work gives an account of the ardnoos
task which Mr Layard was induced to undertake in
1845, of exploring the great mounds under whidi the
ruins of Assyria were supposed to be buried. He at
first acted on his own responsibility; but when some
success had been attained, the countenance and assist-
ance of the government were extended to him. Still, at
all times he had to contend with great difficulties, the
chief of which lay in the barbarism of the natiye govern-
ment and its subjects, one-half of whom are the ^un-
derers of the rest His filrst work was the trenching of
the great mound called Nimroud, situated on the tongue
of land formed by the junction of the Zab with the
Tigris. To his great delight he found the walls of a
series of palaces, containing huge idols, sculptures in
bas-relief and piuntings, and many minor objects, help-
ing to throw a light upon the history as well as manners
of the Assyrians. It was an astounding resurrection,
bringing things before the gaze of mankind which hjul
been covered oyer and thrown into utter oblivion before
the days of Alexander. Afterwards Mr Layard effected
similar excavations at Kalah Sherghat, a place farther
down the river, and on the west bank; likewise at
Kouyunjik, near Mosul. Meanwhile similar worka had
been proceeding, but on a less happy method, at Khor-
sabad, under the care of a French consuL Mr Layard
at length determined that the ancient Nineyeh had
stood on the left or east bank of the Tigris, one side of
it bordering on the riyer between KouyunjUc and Nim-
roud, while the .other lay between Khorsabad and
Karamles, a sort of lozenge-formed square of about
sixty miles in entire circuit. The ruins at these places
were but the remains of the principal public buildings ;
the rest of the dty had left no memorial aboye the gene-
ral level of the soil. Ultimately, Mr Layard succeeded
in shipping oS some of the principal remains to England,
for the British Museum ; and it has since been tl^ em-
ployment of his leisure to compose a narrative of th^
whole proceedings, as well as a yiew of andent Assyria,
as now revealed to us by the result of his labours. Of
the book we must pronounce that it is as credital^ to
his taste and intelligence, as the excavations were to
his courage and diplomatic skilL It is amply iUostrated
with drawings and plans.
The most striking objects exhumed by Mr Layard
were colossal figures of bulls, with wings and human
heads, or dse lions similarly furnished, which stood
beside the portals of the palaces ; realisations, no doubt,
of some of the leading reUgious or moral ideas of the
Assyrians. Some of these have bc«n sent home. Slabs,
with bas-reliefs and inscriptions in cundform lettov,
rank next in importance. They present kings in battle,
or returning from it; sieges and capturea of c^Mt( hone*
I'
Bco ponniiig one another ; snd so forth ; all in a rich
and not inoorreet style of art, though wanting the
gnopiDg and ezpreasicm given bj the modem sciSptor.
But let lir Layard himself give a general description of
Nimrood, as it appeared when ti^e ezcayations were
dxjat to oeaae: — ' We descend about twenty feet, and
nddsnl/ find oarselres between a pair of colossal lions,
wioged and hmnan-headed, formiog a portal. I have
ilrea^ described my feelings when gazing for the first
time on these majestic figures. Those of the reader
woM probably be the same, puiicularly if aocom-
pmied by the reflection, that before those wonderful
fonns Ezekiel, Jonah, and others of the prophets stood,
and Sennacherib bowed ; that even the patriarch Abra-
ham himself may possibly have looked upon them.
'hi the Bobterraneons labyrinth which we have
readied, idl is bostle and conAuion. Arabs are running
about in difi^rent directions; some bearing baskets
^kd with earth, otiiers carrying the water-jars to their
oompsnions. The Ghaldseans or Tiyari, in tiieir striped
dfMsci and cvrioos conical caps, are digging with picks
into the tenacions earth, raising a dense doud of fine
dittft at every stroke. The wild strains of Kurdish
nouc may be heard occasionally issuing firom some dis-
tant part of the ruins ; and if they are caught by the
psrties at work, the Arabs join their voices in chorus,
itiie the war-cry, and labour with renewed energy.
Lesring behind us a small ch^unber, in which the sculp-
tures are distinguished by a want of finish in the exe-
eitioo, and considerable rudeness in the design of the
omamenta, we issue finom between the winged lions, and
eater the remains of the principal hall. On both sides
of IS are sculptured gigantic winged figures ; some
vifli the heads of eagles, others entirely human, and
csnyiog mysterious sjrmbols in their hands. To the
left is another portal, also formed by winged lions. One
sf tiwm has, however, fallen across the entrance, and
Uktft is just room to creep beneath it. Beyond this
Stal is a winged figure, and two slabs with bas-reliefs ;
ttwy have been so much injured that we can scarcely
tnoe tibe subject upon them. Further on there are no
traoas of widl, although a deep trench has been opened.
The uppasitu nde of the hall has also disappeared, and
wt o^jr ssft a high wall of earth. On examining it at-
tentifs^, we can detect the marks of masonry ; and we
foon find that It is a solid structure built of bricks of
aobaksd dsy, now of the same colour as the surround-
i^ soi, and searoely to be distinguished from it.
'The dabs of alabaster, fallen from their original
poaitiott, have, however, been raised ; and we tread in
the midbt of a maze of small bas-reliefs, representing
I ohanots, horsemen, -battles, and sieges. Perhaps the
voricmen are about to raise a slab for the first time ;
Sid ve watch with eager curiosity what new event of
Anyrian hist(ny, or what unknown custom or religious
esfemooy, may be illustrated by the sculpture beneath.
* Having walked about, one hundred feet amongst
tkse sca^ered monuments of ancient history and art,
vereadi another doorway, formed by ^gantic winged
Wb la yellow limestone. One is still entire ; but its
wmanlon has fallen, and is broken into several pieces :
ths mat human head is at our feet.
'We pass on without turning into the part of the
MUiag to which this portal leads. Beyond it we see
another winged figure, holding a graceful flower in its
hsad, sad apparently presenting it as an ofiering to the
viDged bull. Adjoining this sculpture we find eight
ftie bas^rdiets. There is the king hunting, and triumph-
bg over, the lion and wild bull; and the siege of the
Matte, with the battering-ram. We have now reached
iK end of the hall, and find before us an elaborate and
Waatifal sculpture, representing two kings standing
beneath the emblem of the supreme deity, and attended
by winged figures. Between them is the sacred tree.
a Iront €i this bas-relief is the great stone platform,
yn which, in days of old, may have been placed the
tbooe ef the Assyrian monarch, when he received his
ive enemies or his courtiers.
* To the left of us is a fourth outlet from the hall,
formed by Aother pair of lions. We issue from be-
tween them, and find ourselves on the edge of a deep
ravine, to the north of which rises, high above us, the
lofty pyramid. Figures of captives bearing objects of
tribute — ear-rings, bracelets, and monkeys — may be
seen on walls near this ravine ; and two enormous bulls,
and two winged figures above fourteen feet high, are
lying on its very edge.
* As the ravine bounds the ruins on this side, we must
return to the yellow bulls. Passing through the en-
trance formed by them, we enter a large chamber sur-
rounded by eagle-headed figures. At one end of it is a
doorway guarded by two priests or divinities, and in the
centre another portal with winged bulls. Whichever
way we turn, we find ourselves in the midst of a nest of
rooms ; and without an acquaintance with the intrica-
cies of the place, we should soon lose oursdves in this
labyrinth. The accumulated rubbish being generally
left in the centre of the chambers, the whole excavation
consists of a number of narrow passages, panelled on
one side with slabs of alabaster, and shut in on the
other by a high wall of earth, half buried, in which may
here and there be seen a broken vase, or a brick painted
with brilliant colours. We may wander through these
galleries for an hour or two, examining the marvellous
sculptures, or the numerous inscriptions that surround
us. Here we meet long rowtf of kings, attended by their
eunuchs and priests — there lines of winged figures,
carrying fir-cones and religious emblems, and seemingly
in adoration before the mystic tree. Other entrances,
formed by winged lions and bulls, lead us into new
chambers. In every one of them are fresh objects of
curiosity and surprise. At length, wearied, we issue
from the buried edifice by a trench on the opposite side
to that by which we entered, and find ourselves again
upon the naked platform. We look around in vain for
any traces of the wonderful remains we have just seen,
and are half inclined to believe that we have dreamed a
dream, or have been listening to some tale of Eastern
romance.'
The great antiquity of the objects brought to light is
shown by some curious facts. Perhaps the most curious
revdation of all is that which follows, betraying a com-
parative antiquity in a series of objects, very much in
the manner of geological chronology. * In the centre of
the mound [at Nimroud],' says Mr Layard, * I had in
vain endeavoured to find traces of building. Except
the obelisk, two winged figures, and a few fragments of
ydlow limestone, which appeared to have formed part
of a gigantic buU or lion, no remains of sculpture had
yet been discovered. On excavating to the south, I
found a well-formed tomb, built of bricks, and covered
with a slab of alabaster. It was about five feet
in length, and scarcdy more than dghteen inches in
breadth in the interior. On removing the lid, parts of a
skeleton were exposed to view ; the skuU and some of
tlie larger bones were still entire ; but on an attempt
being made to move them, they crumbled into dust.
With them were three earthen vessels. A vase of
reddish clay, with a long narrow neck, stood in a dish
of such delicate fabric, that I had great difficulty in
removing it entire. Over the mouth of the vase was
placed a bowl or cup, also of red day. This pottery
appears to have stood near the right shoifider of the
body. In the dust which had accumulated rotmd the
skeleton, were found beads and small ornaments belong-
ing to a necklace. The beads are of opaque-coloured
glass, agate, cornelian, and amethyst. A small crouch-
ing lion of lapis-lazuli, pierced on the back, had been
attached to the end of the necklace. The vases and
ornaments are Egyptian in their character, being iden-
tical with similar remains found in the tombs of Egypt,
and preserved in collections of antiquities from that
country. With the beads was a cylinder, on which is
represented the king in his chariot, hunting the wild
bull, as in the bas-relief firom the north-west palace.
The surface of the cylinder has been so much worn and
s
«***1
58
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
injured, thftt it it difficult to dittingoith the figures
upon it. A copper ornament resembling iPmodem seal,
two bracelets of silver* and a pin for the hair, were also
discoTered. I carefully collected and preserved these
interesting remains, which seemed to prove that the
body had been that of a female.
* On digging beyond this tomb, I found a second, simi-
larly constructed, and of the same size. In it were two
vases of highly-glazed green pottery, elegant in shape,
and in perfect preservation. Near them was a copper
mirror and a copper lustral spoon, all Egyptian in form.
*Many other tombs were opened, containing vases,
plates, mirrors, spoons, beads, and ornaments. Some of
them were buUt of baked bricks, carefully joined, but
without mortar ; others were formed by large earthen
sarcophagi, covered with an entire alabaster slab, simi-
lar to those discovered in the south-east comer of the
mound, and already described.
* Having carefully collected and packed the contents
of the tombs, I removed them, and dug deeper into the
mound. I was surprised to find, zhout five feet beneath
them, the remains of a building. Walls of unbaked
bricks could still be traced ; but the slabs with which
they had been cased were no longer in their places,
being scattered about without order, and lying mostly
with their faces on the flooring of bidced bricks. Upon
them were both sculptures and inscriptions. Slab suc-
ceeded to slab ; and when 1 had removed nearly twenty
tombs, and cleared away the earth from a space about
fifty feet square, the ruins which had been thus un-
covered presented a very singular appearance. Above
one hundred slabs were exposed to view, packed in
rows, one against the other, as slabs in a stone-cutter's
yard, or ai the leaves of a gigantic book. Every slab
was sculptured ; and as they were placed in a regular
series, according to the subjects upon them, it was evi-
dent that they had been moved, in the order in which
they stood, from their orig^al positions against the
walls of sun-dried brick, and had been left as found
preparatory to their removal elsewhere. That they
were not thus arranged before being used in the build-
ing for which they had been originally sculptured, was
evident from the fact, proved beyond a doubt by re-
peated observation, that the Assyrians carved their
slabs after, and not before, they were placed. Subjects
were continued on adjoining slabs, figures and chariots
being divided in the centre. There were places for the
iron brackets, or dove-tails. They had evidently been
once filled, for I could still trace marks and stains left
by the metal. To the south of the centre bulls were
two gigantio figures, similar to those discovered to the
north.
* These sculptures resembled in many respects some
of the bas-reliefs found in the south-west palace, in
which the sculptured face of the slab was turned, it
will be remembered, towards the walls of unbaked
bricks. It appeared, therefore, that the centre build-
ing had been destroyed to supply materials for the
construction of this edifice. But here were tombs over
the ruins. The edifice had perished ; and in the earth
and rubbish accumulating above its remains, a people,
whose funereal vases and ornaments were identical in
form and material with those found in the catacombs
of Egypt, had buried their dead. What race, Uien,
occupied the country after the destruction of the Assy-
rian palaces ? At what period were these tombs made ?
What antiquity did their presence assign to the build-
ings beneaUi tiiem ? These are questions which I am
yet unable to answer, and which must be left unde-
cided until the origin and age of the contents of the
tombs can be satisfactorily determined.'
It can little surprise us, after such revelations, made,
as it were, out of the dust of the desert, that an Arab
sheikh one day addressed Mr Layard as follows : — * Won-
derful 1 wonderful I There is surely no god but God,
and Mohammed is his prophet In the name of the
Most High, tell me, oh Bey, what you are going to do
with thoM ttoiiet F So many thoufftnds of purses spent
upon such things 1 Can it be, at you say, that your
people learn wisdom from them ; or is it, as his reverence
the cadi declares, that they are to go to the palace of
your queen, who, with the rest of the unbelievers, wor-
ships these idols ? As for wisdom, these figures will
not teach you to make any -better knives, or scissort, or
chintzes ; and it is in the making of those thinga ^at
the English show their wisdom. But Gk)d is great!
God is great ! Here are stones which have been buried
ever since the time of the holy Noah— peace be with
him! Perhaps they were under ground belbre the
deluge. I have lived on these lands for years. My
father, and the fkther of my father, pitched their tents
here before me ; but they never heard of these figures.
For twelve hundred years have the true believers (and,
praise be to God t all true wisdom is with them alone)
been settled in this country, and none of them ever
heard of a palace under ground. Neither did they who
went before them. But lo ! here comes a Frank from
many days' journey off, and he walks up to the very
place, and he takes a stick (illustrating the description
at the same time with the point of his spear), and makes
a line here, and makes a line there. Here, says he, is
the palace ; there, says he, is the gate ; and he showa ns
what has been all our lives beneath our feet, without
our having known anything about it Wonderful!
wonderful ! Is it by books, is it by magic, is it by your
prophets, that you have learnt these things ? Speak,
oh Bey t tell me the secret of wisdom.*
Mr Layard has some interesting remarks on the etate
of imitative art among the ancient Assyrians. * It ia im-
possible,' he says, * to examine the monuments of Asejrria
without being convinced that the people who nused
them had acquired a skill in sculpture and painting,
and alcnowledge of design, and even composition, indi-
cating an advanced state of civilisation. It is very re-
markable that the most ancient ruins show this know-
ledge in the greatest perfection attained by the Assyrians.
The bas-relief representing the lion-hunt, now in the
British Museum, is a good illustration of the earliest
school of Assyrian art yet known. It far exceed* the
sculptures of Khorsabad, Kouyunjik, or the later palaces
of Niraroud, in the vigour of the treatment, the elegance
of the forms, and in what the French aptly term
" mouvement" At the same time it is eminently dis-
tinguished from them by the evident attempt at com-
position— ^by the artistical arrangement of the groups.
The sculptors who worked at Khorsabad and Kouyui^ik
had perhaps acquired more skill in handling their tools.
Their work is frequently superior to that of the earlier
artist in delicacy of exeeution — in the details of the
features, for instance — and in the boldness of the relief;
but the slightest acquaintance with Assvrian monu-
ments will show that they were greatly inferior to their
ancestors in the higher branches of art — in the treat-
ment of a subject and in beauty and variety of form.
This decline of art after suddenly attaining its greatest
perfection in jts earliest stage, is a fkct presented by
almost every people, ancient and modem, with which
we are acquainted. In Egypt, the most ancient monu-
ments display the purest forms and the most elegant
decorations. A rapid retrogression, after a certain period,
is most apparent, and s^^es to indicate approziroa-
tively the epoch of most of her remains. In the history
of Greek and Roman art this sudden rise and rapid fall
are equally apparent. Even changes in royal dynasties
have had an influence upon art as a glance at monu-
ments of that part of the East of which we are specially
treating will show. Thus the sculpture of Persia, as
that of Assyria, was in its best state at the time of
the earliest monarchs, and gradually declined until the
fall of the empire. . . . This decline in art may be ac-
counted for by supposing that in the Infancy of a
people, or after the occurrence of any great event,
having a very decided influence upon their manners,
their religion, or their political state, nature was the
chiefs if not the only obgect of study. When a certain
proficiency bad been attained, and no vident diaiiges
CHAHBEBS^ EDINBURaH JOURNAL.
t«(* plaoe to ihike tha Bttsbliihed order of thing*, the
utiit, initemd of endoiTouriag to Imitate tbM vMch
ba nw in nktuie, teoelred m oorreot dsUneklioiu the
wwlu of hi* predecciMn, tod m&de them hii typea and
bli modeU. In tame couotriei, aa in Egypt, religion
miy hare contributed to thii reaujt. Wbilat the ima-
finaCion, aa well ai the hand, woa fettered by prejudicea,
and BTen by lawa, or vhilat indolence or igDorancc led
to the niero aerrile copying of what had been done be-
bi«, it may ewily b« conoeiTed how rapidly a deviation
fnm comctneaa of form would take place. Aa each
eopiad tha emn of thoae who preceded him, and added
to tbem himaelf, it ia not wooderfnl if, ere long, the
vbole became one great error. It is to be feared that
tiiii pieicriptiTe lore of imitation hai exercised no less
' ~ ence on modem art than it did upon the arti of tlie
nti.' Onr author then proceed! to a^;ue that art
had adfanoed from Aaayria to Aaia Minor, and thence
I into Qreeca, where it waa deitined to attain ita higheat
Tba diaaertatioD on the antiqaitj and leading person-
■|n and eventa of Aaayria ia, after all, ao Tague in ita
Tiodti, that ve find it wooJd little profit our readera to
I eidarlDtoit Wepreferbeatowing the BiDoll remaining
I ajacfl at ov diapoaal in making reference to Hr Layard'a
naloration, aa it may be called, of ancient Nloeveh.
Ba iniiata that the mound of Nimroud ia the remaini of
tha principal future of the city. ' It ia probable that
tiw gnat edifies in the north-veat comer of the prlji-
T moand, waa the temple or palace, or the two com-
1; the mnaller bonaea were acattered around it,
•rar the face of the country. To the palace waa at-
taetaid a park, or paradiae, aa it waa called, in which
waa preaerVed game of Tarioua kinda for the diversion
of the king. Tfaia eneloaure, formed by walla and
towera, may perhapa itill be traced In the line of low
nMonda brancbing out from the principal ruin. Future
mourchi added to the flrit bnilding, and the centre
palace udm by it* aide. A* the population increaaed
with tbe duration and proaperity <rf' the empire, and by
tba Swced Immigration of cooqnered nationa, the di-
tnenrioBa of the city increaaed alao. A king founding
tt new dynaaty, or anxioua to perpetuate hia fame by
the erection of a new building, may hsTe choaen a dia-
lanl rile. Tbe city, gradually spreading, may at length
have embraced such additional palacei. Thia appeara
to hare been the caae with Nineveh. Nimroud repre-
•eati tbe origlnBl aite of the city. To the flnt palace
the son (rf ita (bunder added a aecoud, of which we
hare the rulna in the centre of the mound. Ue alao
bniit tbe ediSce now covered by the great mound of
Biaibnkh*, u tbe inacriptiona on (he bricks from that
^ace prove. He founded at the lame time a new city at
Kalih Sherghat. A anbaequent monarch again added
to the palaces at Nimrond. and recorded the event
m the pavement tlaba, in the upper chambers of the
nalem face of tbe mound. At a much later period,
when the older p^acea were already in mins, ediflces
were erected on the sites now marked by the mounds
rfKboraahad and Karamles. The ton of their foander
Mlt the great palace at Kouyunjik, which must have
lii*eded thoae of hia predeceaaora in extent and mag-
ailceDce. His aon waa engaged in raiaing one more
fMce at Nimroud — the previous palaces, as it has been
•Iwn, having been long before deserted or destroyed —
*ben some great event, perhapt the fall of tbe empire,
and destractlon of tbe capital, prevented il< comple-
' The city had now attuned tbe dlmenilona assigned
to it by tbe book of Jonah, and by Diodorua Siculus.
If we take the fuar great monnds of Nimroud, Kouy-
unjik, Khoraabad, and Karamlea, aa tbe corner! of a
•quale, it will be found that ita four sides correspond
pntty accurately with the 4 BO stadia or 60 miles of the
leognpber, which make the three days' journey of the
n pnphel. Within this space there are many large
I moonds, including tha principal roina in Aaayria, such
I la Kankoah, w«B„hrifch>, BsAiani, Husaeinl, Tel-Yora,
&c &c ; and the face of the country is atrewed with
the remaioa^f pottery, bricks, and other fV^gmenta.
' The apace between the great public edificea waa pro-
bably occupied by private houses, standing In the midst
of gardena, and built at distances ft'om one another; or
forming atreeta which encloaed gardens of considerable
extent, and even arable land. Tbe ebeence of the re-
mains of such buildtnga may easily be accounted for.
They were constructed almost entirely of sun-dried
bricka, and like the honaes now built in the country,
eoon disappeared altogether when once abandoned, and
allowed Co fall into decay. The largest palaces would
probably have remained undiacovered, had there no'
been the alabs of olabaster to show tbe walls. There is
however, lofficient to indicate that hnildinga were Ond
spread over tbe space Hbove- described; for besides the
vaatnumbcTof small mounds everywhere visible, scarcely
a huibaodman drives liia plough over the soil without
exposing the veitigea of former habitationa. Each
quarter of tbe city may have had Its diatinct name i
hence the palace of Bvorito, where Soracus deatroyed
himaelf; and the Mespila and Larisia of Xenopbon,
applied reapectively to tbe ruina at Kouyunjik and
Nimroud.
' Existing ruins thus ghow that Nineveh acquired it
greateat extent in the time of the kinga of the aecond
dynasty; that ia to say, of the kinga mentioned
Scripture. It was then that Jonah viMted it, and that
reports of its size and magnificence were carried to tbe
West, and gave rise to the traditions fhim which the
Greek authors mainly derived the information handed
' The interior of the Assyrian palace,' adda Mr Layard,
'must have been as magnificent aa imposing. I have
led the reader through its ruins, and be may judge of
the impreaaion ita balls were calculated to m^e upon
the stranger who, in the days of old, entered fur the
first time the abode of tbe Assyrian kinga He
nshered in through the portal guarded by the coloasal
liona or bulla of white alabaster. In the first hall, he
found himself surrounded by the aculptured records of
the empire. Battles, aiegea, triumph*, the exptoits of
the chase, the ceremonies of religion, were portrayed
on the walla, aculptured in alabaster, and painted in
gorgeous ooloura. Under each picture were engraved,
in charactera Oiled up with bright copper, inscriptions
describing the scenea represented. Above tbe scolpturea
were painted other eventa — the king, attended by his
eunuchs and warriors, receiving hia priaoneri, entering
into alliances with other monorchs, or performing some
aacred duty. These representations were enclosed in
coloured borders, of elaborate and elegant design. The
emblematic tree, winged bull*, and monstrous animals,
were conaplcuona amongat tlbe ornaments. At tbe
upper end of tiie hall waa tlie colossal figure of the king
in adoration before the anpreme deity, or receiving
from bis eunuch tbe lioly cup. He was attended by
warrior* bearing hia arma, and by the priesta or presid-
ing divinities. His robes, and those of his folfowera,
were adorned with groups of figures, animals, and
flowers, all painted with brilliant coIoutb.
' The stranger trod upon alabaater alaba, each bearing
an inscription, recording the titles, genealogy, and
achievement* of the groat king. Several doorway*,
iged lion* or bulls, or by tiie
iea, led into other apartments,
'hich, again, opened into more distant halls. In each
were new sculptures. On the walls of acme weie [
cessions of colossal figures — armed men and eunu
following the king, warrior* laden with spoil, leading
prisonera, or bearing present* and offering* to the gods.
On the walla of otbera were portrayed the winged
priests, or presiding divinitiea, ttanding before the
' Tbe ceilings above him were divided into square
ccHupartmeiitB. pointed with flower*, or with tbe figure*
of animals. Some were inlaid with ivory, each com-
pattment being surrounded by elegant borders and
60
C^AMBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
mouldiBgg. The beams, as well as the sides of the
chambers, may have been gilded, or even plated, wiUi
gold and silver; and the rarest woods, in whidi the
cedar was conspicuous, were used for the woodwork.
Square openings in the ceilings of the chambers ad-
mitted the light of day. A pleasing shadow was thrown
over the sculptured walls, and gave a majestic expres-
sion to the human features of the colossal forms which
guarded the entrances. Through these apertures was
seen the bright blue of an Eastern sky, endosed in a
frame on wMch were painted, in vivid colours, the
winged circle, in the midst of elegant ornaments, and
the graceful forms of ideal animals.
'These edifices, as it has been shown, were great
national monuments, upon the walls of which were re-
presented in sculpture, or inscribed in alphabetic cha-
racters, the chronicles of the empire. He who entered
them might thus read the history, and learn the glory
and triumphs of the nation. They served at tiie same
time to bring continually to the remembrance of those
who assembled within them on festive occasions, or for
the celebration of religious ceremonies, the deeds of
their ancestors, and the power and migesty of their
gods.'
It must be matter of regret that Mr Layard was cut
short in his discoveries by the exhaustion of the limited
funds placed at his disposal by the government ; and
that he was compelled not only to leave much unex-
plored, but to cover up agaii^with earth many monu-
ments which he had not the means of transporting to
England. We take it upon us to say that, eager as
many in our country are for a reduction of the public
expenditure, few would grudge the few thousands re-
quired for such a purpose as this. We would hope that
Mr Layard, whose whole proceedings are so creditable
to him, and who, by his work, has already established a
claim to the gratitude of all the intelligent part of the
community, will ere long be encoura^ to return to
his labours, with a view to his giving us yet a further
insight into the most ancient of Asiatic monarchies.
RICHARD HOODLESS, THE HORSE-SWIMMER.
We supposed we had heard of all sorts of heroes, but
find ourselves to have been mistaken. A hero in
humble life has been made known to us of quite a new
order. This brave man, by name Richard Hoodless,
following the occupation of a farmer near Grainthorpe
on the coast of Lincolnshire, has for many years devoted
himself to the saving of mariners from drowning, and
this without any of the usual apparatus for succouring
ships in distress. Unaided by such appliances, and
unaccompanied by any living creature but his horse,
Hoodless has been the means of saving many unfortu-
nate sailors from perishing amidst the waves.
Cultivating a small piece of ground, which is, as it
were, rescued from the sea, and almost cut oft from the
adjacent country by the badness of the roads, this re-
markable roan may be said to devote himself to the
noble duty of saving human life. On the approach of
stormy weather, he mounts to an opening in the top of
his dwelling, and there, pointing his telesoope to the
tumultuous ocean, watches the approach of vessels to-
wards the low and dangerous shores. By night or by
day he is equally ready to perform his self-imposed
duty. A ship is struggling amidst the terrible convul-
sion of waters ; no human aid seems to be at hand ; all
on board give themselves up for lost, when something is
at length seen to leave the shore, and to be making an
efibrt to reach the vessel Can it be possible? — a man
on horseback I Yes, it is Richard Hoodless, coming to
the rescue, seated on his old nag, an animal accustomed
to these salt-water excursions! Onward the faithful
horse swims and plunges, only taming for an instant
when a wave threatens to engulf him in its bosom.
There is loroetlung grand in the struggle of both horse
and man — the spirit of unselfishness eagerly trying to
do its work. Success usually crowns the exertions of
the horse and his rider. The ship is reached ; Hoodless
mounts two or three mariners en croupe^ and taking
them to dry land, returns for another instalment
That a horse could be trained to tliese unpleasant
and hazardous enterprises may seem somewhat sur-
prising. But it appears that in reality no training is
necessary : all depends on the skill and firmness of the
rider. Hoodless declares he could manage the most
unruly horse in the water ; for that^ as soon as the ani-
mal finds that he has lost his footing, and is obliged to
swim, he becomes as obedient to the bridle as a boat is
to its helm. The same thing is observed in this saga-
cious animal when being hoisted to the deck of a shipL
He struggles vehemently at first against his impending
fate; but the moment his feet fairly leave the pier, be
is calm and motionless, as if knowing that resistance
would compromise his safety in the aerial passage. Hw
only plan which our hero adopts is, when meeting a
particularly angry surf or swell, to turn his horse's
bead, bend forwu*d, and allow the wave to roll over
them. Were the horse to face the larger billows, and
attempt to pierce them, the water would enter his
nostrils, and render him breathless, by which he would
be soon exhausted.
In the year 1833, Hoodless signalised himself by
swimming his horse through a stormy sea to the wreck
of the Hcrmione, and saving her crew, for which gallant
service he afterwards received a testimonial from the
Royal Humane Society. The words of the resolution
passed by the society on this occasion mar be tran-
scribed, for they narrate a circumstance wortny of being
widely known. ' It was resolved unanimously, that
the noble courage and humanity displayed by Richard
Hoodless for the preservation of the crew of the ** Her-
mione" from drowning, when that vessel was wrecked
near Donna Nook, on the coast of Lincolnshire, on the
3l8t of August 1833, and the praiseworthy manner in
which he risked his life on that occasion, by swinuning
his horse through a heavy sea to the wreck, when U
was found impossible to launch the life-boat, has called
forth the lively admiration of the special general courts
and justly entitles him to the honorary medallion of
the institution, which is hereby unanimously adjudged
to be presented to him at the ensuing anniversary
festival.'
As it may not be generally understood that a horse
can be made to perform the ofilce of a life-boat when
vessels of that kmd could not with safety be launched,
the fact of Hoodless performing so many feats in the
manner described cannot be too widely disseminated.
On some occasions, we are informed, he swims by him-
self to the wreck ; but more usually he goes on horseback,
and is seldom unsuccessful in his efibrts. About two
years ago he saved the captain of a vessel and his wife,
and ten seamen — some on the back of the horse, and
others hanging on by the stirrups. Should a vessel be
lying on her beam-ends, Hoodless requires to exercise
great caution in making his approach, in consequence
of the ropes and rigging concealed in the water. On
one occasion he experienced much inconvenience on
this account: he had secured two seamen, and was
attempting to leave the vessel for the shore, but the
horse could not move from the spot After various in-
effectual plunges, Hoodless discovered that the animal
was entangled in a rope under water. What was to be
done ? The sea was in a tumult, and to dismount was
scarcely possible. Fortunately, he at length picked up
the rope with his foot then instantly ptUled a knife
from his pocket leaned forward into the water, cut the
rope — ^no easy task in a stormy sea — and so got ofiT with
safety I
All honour to Farmer Richard Hoodless, who still in
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
61
'I
I
bit ovn QDOstentfttious wmy, perfonai acts of hunuuiity
If ningnlar as they are meritorious ! Only by accident
hare we become acquainted with his name and deeds of
berobm, and we could not deny ourselves the pleasure
of giving tfaem all the publicity in our power.
GOLD-FINDING IN CALIFORNIA.
Thb Americans appear to have some additional and
unexpected reasons for congratulating themselves on
tiie recent acquisition of California firom Mexico. In
tiie northern part of this territory, in the month of
April last, it was discovered that g(id abounded in the
beds of the rivers and in their alluvial borders, as well
sain the rocks constituting the higher grounds. A large
portion of the thinly-inhabited territory, has since be-
come a scene of busy gold-finding, for which perhaps no
partDd exists in the history of any country. One is at
ilrrt tempted to suppose the whole afikir a popular
delusioo, or a deliberate exaggeration, after a well-known
transatlantic manner; but such theories are not tenable.
We have received a Boston newspaper {Daily Evening
TravetUr, December 11, 1848), containing such docu-
ments on the subject as put incredulity as to the very
great abundance of gold found entirely to flight. One
of them is a report by Colonel Mason of the United
States army, written at his station of Monterey, on the
17th August, to acquaint his government with the par-
ticolara of the singular afifair. Another is a similar
report by Mr Larkin, the United States consul at San
Ftandaco. Both are cod business-like narrations, ap-
parently beyond reasonable suspicion; yet they fully
support the accounts which rumour had already circu-
lated respecting the mineral wealth which has so unex-
pectedly turned up.
The gold district at present under attention appears
to be situated on an inlet near San Francisco, called the
American Fork, and on the rivers flowing into it The
territory is public property, but this seems to be as yet
no impediment to the multitude of adventurers now
engaged in pursuit of the gold. The Sacramento, the
Fc»ither, the Bear, the San Joachin, are names of rivers
ailoded to in the reports as permeating the placer ^ or gold
tract Colonel Mason, who has personidly examined
the country, and witnessed the strange proceedings, says
—'At the saw-mill, twenty-five miles above the lower
washings, or fifty miles from Sutter's, the hills rise to
about a thousand feet above the level of the Sacramento
plain. Here a species of pine occurs, which led to the
discovery of the gold. Captain Sutter feeling the great
want of lumber, contracted in September last with a
Mr Bfarshall to build a saw-mill at that place. It was
erected in the course of the past winter and spring — a
dam and raoe constructed ; but when the water was let
on the wheel, the tail raoe was found to be too narrow
to permit the water to escape with sufficient rapidity.
ICr Marshall, to save labour, let the water directly into
the race with a strong current, so as to wash it wider
and deeper. He efi*ected his purpose, and a large bed
of mud and gravd was carried to the foot of the race.
One day Mr Marshall^ as he was walking down the race
to this deposit of mud, observed some glittering particles
at its upper edge ; he gathered a few, examinel them,
and became satisfied of their value. He then went to
the fort, told Captain Sutter of his discovery, and they
agreed to keep it secret until a certain grist mill of
Setter's was finished. It, however, got out, and spread
fike magic. Remarkable success attended the labours
of the first explorers, and in a few weeks hundreds of
aeo were drawn thither.'
The dtixt upon a population of settlers thinly scat-
tved over a rude country, or clustered in a few sea-
side villages, can only be imagined by those who are
teqaainted wiUi the activity and enterprise of the
i:
American character. As soon as it was known that
gold was literally to be had for the lifting in certain
parts of the country, an almost universal abandonment
of the common pursuits of life took place. It became
impossible to retain a servant or clerk ; the merchant
ships, and even those of the government, were deserted
in &e harbours; the soldiers left their quarters without
knave. Two newspapers ceased publication, because all
concerned in them, from editor to printer's imp, had
seen fit to set out a gold-hunting. Brickyards, saw-
mills, and farms (raiidbs), were left to solitude. The
town of San Francisco became two-thirds depopulated.
Mr Larkin says — * San Francisco has not a justice of
the peace left. The second alcade of Monterey to-day
joins the keepers of our principal hotel, who have
closed their office and house, and will leave to-morrow
for the golden river. I saw on the ground a lawyer
who was last year attorney-general for the king of the
Simdwich Islands, digging and washing out his ounce
and a-half per day; near him can be found most all his
brethren of the long robe, working in the same occupa-
tion.'
In August it was calculated that four thousand per-
sons were engaged in the finding of gold, one-half of
them Indians; and it was believed that gold to the
value of from thirty to fifty thousand dollars was found
each day. Coloniel Mason describes the people as
living in tents, in bush arbours, or in the open air; and
he says that, though many had large sums in gold
about them, t^ere was no such thing as crime known
amongst them. The very facility of obtaining the
desired metal, seemed to have made it not worth any
one's while to take culpable methods of acquiring it
With regard to the actual amount realised in indivi-
dual cases, Mr Larkin gives some curious particulars.
Speaking of a brief space which he spent at a place
where there were eight men with two rude machines at
work, he says — * The two evenings I saw these eight
men bring to their tents the labour of the day. I sop-
pose they made each fifty dollars per day : their own
calculation was two pounds of gold a day — ^four ounces
to a man — sixty-four dollars. I saw two brothers that
worked together, and only worked by washing the
dirt in a tin pan, weigh the gold they obtained in one
dav : the result was seven dollars to one, eighty-two
dollars to the other. There were two reasons for this
difference : one man worked less hours than the other,
and by chance had ground less impregnated with gold.
I give this statement as an extreme case. During my
visit I was an interpreter for a native of Monterey, who
was purchasing a machine or canoe. I first tried to
purchase boards and hire a carpenter for him. Tliere
were but a few hundred feet of boards to be had;
for these the owner asked me fifty dollars per hun-
dred (500 dollars per M.), and a carpenter washing
gold dust demanded fifty dollars per dav for working.
I at last purchased a log dug out, with a riddle and
sieve made of willow boughs on it, for 120 dollars, pay-
able in gold dust, at fourteen dollars per ounce. The
owner excused himself for the price by saying he was
two days making it, and even then demanded the use
of it until simset My Californian has told me since,
that himself^ partner, and two Indians, obtained with
this canoe eight ounces the first, and five ounces the
second day.'
Colonel Mason speaks of what he saw on a stream
called Weber's Creek: — * We found a great many people
and Indians, some engaged in the bed of the stream,
and others in the small side valleys that put into it
These latter are exceedingly rich, and two ounces were
considered an ordinary yield for a day's work. A small
gutter, not more than a hundred yards long by four feet
wide and two or three feet deep, was pointed out to me
as the one where two men — William Daly and Perry
M*CooQ — had, a short time before, obtained 17,000
dollars* worth of gold. Captain Weber informed me,
that he knew that these two men had employed four
white men and about a hundred Indians, and that at
62
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAK
the end of one week's work they paid off their partj,
and had left 10,000 dollars' worth of this gold. Another
small rayine was shown me, from which had heen taken
upwards of 15,000 dollars' worth of gold. Hundreds of
similar rayines, to all appearance, are as yet untouched.
I could not haye credited these reports had I not seen,
in the abundance of the precious metal, eyidence of
their truth. Mr NeHgh, an agent of Commodore Stock-
ton, had been at work about three weeks in the neigh-
bourhood, and showed me, in bags and bottles, oyer
2000 dollars* worth of gold ; and Mr Lyman, a gentle-
man of education, Snd worthy of eyery credit, said he
had been engaged, with four others, with a machine on
the American Fork, just below Sutter's Mill ; that they
worked eight days ; and that his share was at the rate
of flily dollars a day } but hearing that others were doing
better at Weber's place, they had remoyed there, and
were on the point of resuming operations. I might tell
of hundreds of similar instances. But to illustrate how
plentiful the gold was in the pockets of common
labourers, I will mention a simple occurrence which
took place in my presence when I was at Weber's store.
This store was nothing but an arbour of bushes, under
which he had exposed for sale goods and groceries
suited to his customers. A man came in, pidsed up a
box of Seidlitz powders, and asked its price. Captain
Weber told him it was not for sale. The man offered
an ounce of gold, but Captain Weber told him it only
cost fifty cents, and he &d not wish to sell it The
roan then offered an ounce and a-half, when Captain
Weber had to take it The prices of all things are
high, and yet Indhins, who before hardly knew what
a breech-doth was, can now afford to buy the most
gaudy dress.'
Colonel Mason describes the mode of washing out the
^Id where machines are used: — The cradle, as it is
called, ' is on rockers, six or eight feet long, open at the
foot iind at its head it has a coarse grate or sieye ; the
bottom is rounded, with small deets nailed across.
Four men are required to work this machine: one digs
the ground in the bank dose by the stream; another
carries it to the cradle and empties it on the grate ; a
third gives a yiolent rocking motion to the machine;
whilst a fourth dashes on water fhmi the stream itself.
The sieye keeps the coarse stones f^om entering the
cradle, the current of water washes off the earthy
matter, and the grayd is gradually carried out at the
foot of the machine, leaymg the gold mixed with a
heayy fine black sand aboye the first deets. The sand
and gold mixed together are then drawn off through
auger holes into a pan below, are dried in the sun, and
afterwards separated by blowing off the sand. A party
of four men thus employed at the lower mines ayeraged
one hundred dollars a day.' A simple plan followed by
indiyiduals is noticed by Mr Larkin : — * A person with-
out a machine, after digging on one or two feet of the
upper ground, near the water (in some cases they
take the top earth), throws into a tin pan or wooden
bowl a shoyel fVill of loose dirt and stones; then pladng
the basin an inch under the water, continued to stir up
the dirt with his hand in such a manner, that the run-
ning water will carry off the light earth, occasionally
with his hand throwing out the stones: after an opera-
tion of this kind for twenty or thirty minutes, a spoon-
ful of small black sand remains ; this is on a handker-
chief or doth dried in the sun, the emerge is blown off,
leaying the pure gold. I haye the pleasure of enclosing
a paper of this sand and gold, which I, from a bucket
of dirt and stones, in half an hour standing at the edge
of the water, washed out myselt The y^ue of it may
be two or three dollars.'
' The size of the gold,' he continues, ' depends in some
measure upon the riyer fit)m which it is taken; the
banks of one river haying larger grains of gold than
another. I presume more than one-half of the gold put
into pans or machines is washed out and goes down the
stream ; this is of no consequence to the washers, who
care only for the present time. Some haye formed com-
paniet of four or flye men, and have a rough-made ma-
chine put together in a day, which worked to much
adyantoge; yet many prefer to work alone, with a
wooden bowl or tin pan, worth fifteen or twenty cents
in the States, but eight to sixteen dollars at the gold
region. As the workmen continue, and materials can
be obtained, improyements will take place in the mode
of obtaining gold. At present it is obtained by standing
in the water, and with much seyere labour, or such as
is called here severe labour.'
The latest report on the aubject is from the Rev*
Walter Colton, fdcade of Monterey, dated 29th August
Our newspaper authority informs us that Mr Colton
speaks to the same purpose as Colonel Mason, but refers
more particularly to the abundance of gold in the hiUs,
where it is found in rough jagged pieces, of a quarter or
half an ounce in wdght, and sometimes three ounces*
New discoveries are daily extending the gdd region.
Mr Cdton saya that people are running about the
country picking up gold out of the earth, just as hogi
in a forest would root up ground nuts. They vary from
one ounce to ten ounces a day : an ounce is worth from
16 to 18 dollars. One man is mentioned, whose profits
from sixty Indians, employed in hunting gold, are at the
rate of one dollar a minute. ' I know,' says Mr Colton,
'seyen men who worked seyen weeks and two daji,
Sundays excepted, on Feather River. They employed
on an average fifty Indians, and got out in these seven
weeks and two days 275 pounds c^ pure gdd. I know
the men, and have seen the gold, and know what thej
state to be a fact I know ten other men who worked
ten days in company, employed no Indians, and averaged
in these ten days fifteen hundred dollars each. I know
another man who got out of iv basin in a rock, not
larger than a wash-bowl, two pounds and a-half of gold
in fifteen minutes. Not one of these statements would I
believe, did I not know the men personally, and know
them to be plain matter-of-fact men — men who open a
yein of gdd just as coolly as you would a potato hilL'
Mr Colton estimates the amount extracted at a million
of dollars a month. It appears that, meanwhile, from
the cessation of regular industry, all artides of necessity
are raised to extravagant prices, bo that the govern-
ment officers find it impossible to live on their pay.
As might be expected, the news has exdted great
sensation in New York and other parts of the Unitm.
Three steamers and seven ships and barques had si-
ready, by the beginning of Dc^mber, sailed for Cali-
fornia, sailors readily consenting to go at a dollar a
month, in their eagerness to get to the ground. Abont
a dozen more vessels were expected soon to sail It is,
howeyer, a long voyage, or rather double yoyage— first
2500 njiles sailing to the riyer Chagres, in the Isthmus
of Panama ; then a twenty-mile journey on mules ; and
after this a second yoyage of 3500 mUes to San Fran-
cisco. On the latter line steamers are to be placed.
It will remain to be seen whether this extraordinary
windfall prove of any serious permanent benefit to
America or any of her citizens. History shows that
gold-finding has never yet been a permanently advan-
tageous pursuit and that there is nothing to be
thoroughly depended upon for the benefit of men and
nations, but hard work applied in an economical man-
ner to the production of articles required for use. li
America thrives by picking up the predous metal in
the wilds of California, she will be an exception flrom a
pretty well-established rule.
INDIAN BHANG.
No one who has lived in India, and is acquaintedwitt
Asiatic manners and customs, can fail to be "^^
when he reads Stephen, Barrow, and such ™od^
writers, by the great similarity which exists between
the Egyptian and the Hindoo. The hieroglyphics ae-
picted in the tableaux of andent lore— the pic*°^' JJ
implements of husbandry, household ftffniture, manuCT
of irrigating the land, carrying water-aU t^ the aame
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
63
tile ; and the oonyiction remains forcibly apon the mind,
that the two nations must hare had the same origin,
(ff hare been doselj united, perhaps by trafSc, in days
jpMie by. The use of hashish (described in Journal,
Na 256) is common to both, and serves as another
connecting link.
The ha^sh or bhang is used by the Hindoo because
^srmented and spirituous liquors are forbidden by his
religion, although they are giren to the gods as offer-
ings, by placing them behind the idol, and out of
human sight Although even the Brahmin not unfre-
qoently partakes of bhang, those who indulge in it are
knked upon in the light of debauchees ; and sober folk
shake their heads at &em, and bhangie and ganja khore
aze opprobrious terms.
Bhang is the leaf of the male plant of the hemp, dried
in the sun ; when fresh, the leaf has a pleasing odour ;
bat I am not certain whether it retains it when dried.
Ganja is the same leaf; but being rubbed down in the
hand to powder, and smoked in a nariiilla (a kind of
hookah), retains the name of the plant ; and the epithet
of flbirm is given to the dried flower and stamen, which
oust naturally be more delicate and scarce, and on that
aoooont dearer. Churres is frequently made into tablet
1^ IwidcoB, or bfdls of sugar-candy — ^a dainty sweet-
meat for the Hindoo, who gets bemused as he sucks or
nibbles the sweets ; and I have heard the feeling they
occasion described by a friend as that of being plunged
fakto a pleasing reverie, which was, however, every now
and Uin brolran by a sensation of being hoisted up into
the air, and let down again with a shock.
Hie prqwring a fotaA, or jug of bhang, is accom-
paaied by as much joviality and gossip among the
partakers as the mixing of a bowl of punch or negus is
with us; and many a time have I noticed an old fa-
vourite servant as he sat over the orgies of the bhang.
Wherever Peerun travelled, his bundle of bhang went
with him ; and at mid-day, after his ablution and
po<^ and lunch of parched rice or peas, a stone mor-
tar and a wooden thid, made of hard baubul, or thorn-
wood, were produced, at the sight of which a few favou-
rite friends or fellow-servants speedily odlected. The
humUesk of these would undertake the pulverising of
the leaf, irYaxh was done by rapid friction in the stone
mortar with the wooden pestle. This was accomplished
in about ten minutes, and water being poured over it,
the liquid was strained through a piece of muslin ; to
this was added some sugar, and sometimes ginger or
pepper, to make it more palatable. The host generally
took a draught himself first, taking care, as usual, not to
touch the k^ah, or brass goblet, with his lips ; but sitting
OB his haunches, and putting back his head, allowing the
fifMxite beverage to slide diown his gullet His humble
ftinds generally got each a small brass wiorah^ or cup-
fU, and drank it with relish and applause. The party
•Don after dispersed, and Peerun was seldom fit for any
work or business after this : his eyes became bloodshot,
hii speech thick, his mind confhsed; in a word, he be-
came drunk, and retired to his hut, or, on a march, be-
took himself to the shade of a tree ; and there he dozed
or sbmbered, and enjoyed his reveries till three or four
houi sobered him again. He then bustled about, and
began to think of a regular meal, which was always
eooked by his own hands about the gloaming.
AHhon^ a daily bibber of bhang, Peerun was a
kHMil and trustworthy servant, and in good circum-
itsDces ; and when known to me, the noxious weed had
not impaired either his health or intellect. But this is
not always the case : the bhangie and ganja khore must
be able to live well and comfortably : he must have plenty
of milk and ghee (clarified butter), and not be stinted
in fi)od, otherwise he grows lean and withered — his
hands and feet become long and attenuated, his eyes
don, and Uie white of the eye yellow and bloodshot
Cootiveness is also a consequence, and the poor de-
^nn^ieeat last falls a sacrifice to his favourite drug.
■KiOg is not a cheap luxury : it costs the Bengalee as
Midi If our Souchong costs us ; and considering the
poor circumstances of the Indian, it occasions him a
greater outlay than tea does here to a comfortable
householder. A ganja khore and bhang bibber may
frequently, therefore, be known by his rags and hungry
look. Smoking does not produce so great a degree of
intoxication as drinking, but the same evils follow in
its train. However strange and incredible it may ap-
pear, I will not hesitate to relate a fact which I wit-
nessed during a march ; namely, the giving of a small
portion of bhang to some working bullocks. The oxen
were in beautiful condition ; and upon remonstrating
with the man under whose charge they were, as to the
bad effects the drug might have, he only laughed at my
fears, and maintained that the bullocks, after being
shampooed and currycombed, looked to their dram to
invigorate them, as a hungry man to his food, and that
they could stand their work and fatigue all the better
for it — with what truth I never had time to investigate
thoroughly, as I lost sight of the man and his cattle
after the march was finished. Giving bhang to cattle
is, however, not a common thing, and may therefore be
known to few Europeans.
Native doctors occasionally use bhang externally as
a medicament as we do laudanum, to deaden pain. It
is tied in a bundle, warmed at the fire, and applied as a
fomentation.
The datura or itramonium is a common weed in Hindoo-
Stan ; and, like the foxglove, delights in a rich and moist
soil. Who that saw it in all its beauty, dad with bu'ge
white, trumpet -shaped, sweet -smelling flowers, would
think that death and insanity may be brought on by its
thorny apple, or rather the teed contained in the apple
of this beautiful plant. It is a well-known poison to the
Bengalee, who mixes it in small quantities with the rum
which he sells to the European soldier, and gives it in
large doses to an enem v whose mental powers he wishes
to destroy for ever ; and certainly^ when not counteracted
in time, the derangement of the brain brought on by
datura becomes lasting. I have seen raving madness,
melancholy madness, and merry madness, all produced
by the use of this drug : according to the constitution,
the poison acted differently.
In one gentleman's family I witnessed a case in point
A Hookaberdar, who had been concerned in robbing
a female, had clandestinely brought the property home ;
not undetected, however, by some of his fellow-servants.
The woman suspected him, took out a warrant and
his master's premises were searched ; but the cunning
thief had thrown the purloined jewels into a well,
which, on account of its brackish water, was in disuse
in the household, and consequently it had almost got
dry, and choked up with weeds and bushes. The poUce
were unsuccessful in their search ; but two of the ser-
vants, who knew of the well, threatened to inform unless
they received a douceur. The pipeman therefore mixed
up a large dose of datura seed, ground to powder, with
their curry; of which, being mess-fellows, they both
partook.
In a short time the cook began to rave about roasts
and puddings, and although it was night began to
sweep out the kitchen, and make noisy preparations for
the mid-day meal. The other man, who was a sort of
valet, and had charge of his master's wardrobe, came up
stairs, pretended he heard the bugle, and insisted upon
lajring out the olothei and accoutrements for parade,
and in his confiision of mind upset the boxes and toilet
of his master. All this of course occasioned a great
stir and disturbance in the household. Tlie patients,
however, were not allowed to go on in their mad career,
but were separately shut up for the night by the mas-
ter's direction, and medical aid was procured for them
in the morning. Cooling salts, lime-juice and water,
also vinegar and water, were prescribed, with the fre-
quent use of the shower-bath; which measures were
successful, restoring in a few days the patiente to sanity.
I may add that ample evidence being produced against
him, the Hookaberdar was brought to condign pimish-
ment, set to work on the road, and disgraced for life.
64
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL,
BRINOINa IN THE MEW TEAR IN GERMANY.
There is plenty of dancing going on in (Germany. Glee-
wine, a Bort of n^;u8 and ponch, is bronght in after supper,
and just before twelve o^olock. Erery one is on the watch
to win the New Year from the others — ^that is, to announce
the New Year first. Accordingly, the instant the city bell is
heard to commence tolling, ' nosst Neu Jahr! ' starts from
every one*s lips ; and happy is he who is acknowledged to
have made the exclamation first, uid to have won from all
the others the New Year. In every house at that moment,
all over the country, is shonted ' Prosst Neu Jahr ! ' prosst
being no German word, but a contraction of the Latin
prosit On one occasion, having retired to rest, our servants
assembled at onr room door and woke us, in order to cry
' Prosst Neu Jahr! ' On the following morning, every one
that meets you salutes you with the same exclamation.
With the glee-wine are brought in, on a waiter, the New-
Year wishes of the family and its friends. These are
written in verse, generally on very ornamented gilt note-
paper, and sealed up. When the Prosst Neu Jahr has
passed, and all have drunk to one another a happy New
Year, with a general touching of glasses, these are opened
and read. For the most part they are without signatures,
and occasion much pressing and joking. Under cover of
these anonymous epistles, good hints and advice are often
administered by parents and friends. Numbers of people,
who never on any other occasion write a verse, now try
their hands at one ; and those who do not find themselves
sufficiently inspired, present those ornamental cards of
which I have spoken under Christmas, and which have all
kinds of wishes, to suit all kinds of tastes and circum-
stances. These are to be purchased of all qualities and
prices ; and those sent by friends and lovers generally
appear on New- Yearns Day, and are signed or not, as suits
the purpose of the sender. — William Howitfs Rural and
Domett Lift ofGermanjf,
COFFEE-ROOMS AMD READING ALOUD.
* There is only one thing you |iow want at to com-
plete your institutions for the good of the working-classes
— a large, comfortable, well-lighted cofifee-room with a good
fire, where every workman, not finding in himself the teste
or ability for science of any kind, might e^joy himself in
an evening over a cup of oofifee (notmng else being sold),
and in listening to the reading by some young men m turn
of amusing books — as the Arabian Nights' tales. Sir Walter
Scott^s novels, &c. &c. I have long thought ul our j^ans
for the good of working-men will be impenect if we do not
look to that large class, too old and inert to begin to study
science, and unable or unused to read, but of which many
might be weaned ttova. the ale-house if the enjoymente of
a clean room, blazing fire, and cup of hot drink for two-
pence were offered them, with the substitution of listening
to amusing reading, instead of the tlirice-told yams of their
pot-house companions. My attention was first directed to
this matter by Sir John HerschePs verv striking anecdote
of the labourers in a village who assemoled every night at
the blaoksmith*s shop to hear one of them read Richard-
son*s ** Pamela,** the history of whose fortunes attracted
so numerous and constant an auditory, and excited so
intense an interest, that when, after many weeks' reading,
the tale was finished, the whole party adjourned to the
church and rang a merry peal, to express their delight at
the heroine's triumphant success over all her temptations.
Now if the blacksmith^ shop, in spite of the anvil*s dio,
Mid sparks, and without the attraction of ale and gossip,
could thus nightly bring together an eager company, why
should not a snug warm coffee-room, with the similar
banquet of an interesting tale ? There would be no difii-
culty in finding competent readers among the better-edu-
cated class of young men, who could scarcely more effec-
tually serve the cause of morality, and indeed of knowledge;
for, by degrees, for mere light reading might be substituted
voyages, such as Anson^ &o. whion SomerviUe tells us
in his autobiography were sufficient attraction, when read
by him aloud m harvest at dinner-time, to surround him
by a crowd of listeners.* — Ejetrad of a Letter, [We have,
on former ooMMions, recommended the plan here described.
It still has our best wishes ; but we have been sorry to
learn that in one large town in Scotland, where it was tried
by a person of remanable eneigy, the working-classes did
not teko so much advantege of the benefito held out to
them, as might b»ve been'ejq>eoted.]
SONNET.
To L— — V Chkistmas, 1848.
IIow shall I crown thy uncomplaining brow.
Sweet ihape of my day-dreamings I when I built
Yomig Edena for thee ? Look where'er thou wfit,
'Tis the Hune wayward world of wail and wo.
Bright flowers I would have brought thee, but they blow
In the sun only, and but Mow to die :
Oar day is sunless— wintry is our sky ;
And so I have chosen thee better. Chri$tmai»\o\
Hera plucks them for thee, /t^, ever green.
Winter or summer, clinging still the some
To old as young— to ruined as to new ;
And thorny hoUy, but these thorns between
Bright berries, peeping with their eyes of flame.
Such crown ^ thine I Like tAee 'tis cheerful, constant, trosi
BL8.J.
INTELLIGBNCE IN A FISH.
At a recent meeting of the Liverpool Philosophical So-
ciety, Dr Warwick related an extraordinary instance of
intelligenoe in a fish. * When he resided at Durham, the
seat of the Earl of Stamford and Warrington, he was walk-
ing one evening in the park, and came to a pond where fish
intended for the toble were temporarily kept He took
particular notice of a fine pike, of about six pounds weight,
which, when it observed hUiy, darted hastily away. In so
doing, it struck its head against a tenterhook in a post (of
which there were several in the pond, placed to prevent
poaching), and, as it afterwards appeared, fractiued its
skull, and turned the optic nerve on one side. The agony
evinced by the animal appeared most horrible. It rushed
to the bottom, and boring its head into the mad, whirled
itself round with such velocity that it was almost lost to
the sight for a short interval It then plunged about the
pond, and at length threw itself completely ont of the
water on to the bank. He (the doctor) went and examined
it, and found tliat a very small portion of the brain was
protruding from the fracture in the skulL He carefully
replaced Uiis, and with a small silver tooth-pick, raised the
indented portion of the skull The fish remained still for
a short time, and he then put it again into the pond. It
appeared at first a good deal relieved; but in a few minntes
it again darted and plun^^ed about, until it threw itadf out
of the water a second time. A second time Dr Warwick
did what he could to relieve it, and again put it into the
water. It continued for several times to throw itself out
of the pond, and with the assistance of the keeper, tlie
doctor at length made a kind of pillow for the fish, which
was then left in the pond to its fkte. Upon making his
appearance at the pond on the following morning, the pike
came towards him to the edge of the water, and acteally
laid its head upon his foot. The doctor thought this most
extraordinary; but he examined the fish's skull, and found
it going on all right He then walked badLwards and for-
wards along the edge of the pond for some time, Mid the
fish continued to swim up and down, turning whenever he
turned; but being blind on the wounded aide of ite skull, it
always appeared agiteted when it had that side towards the
bank,' as it coiUd not then see ite bene£actor. On the next
day he took some you^g friends down to see the fish, which
came to him as usual; and at length he actually taught
the pike to come to him at his whistle, and feed out of his
hanos. With other persons it continued as shy as fish
usually arc. He (Dr Warwick) thought this a most re-
markable instance of gratitude in » fish for a benefit re-
ceived; and as it always came at his whistle, it proved also
what he had previouslv, with other naturalists, (Uabeliered
— that fishes are sensiole to sound.*
CHANGE OF OPINIOlf.
He that never changed any of his opinions, never cor-
rected any of his mistakes ; and he who was never wiso
enough to find out any mistekes in himself, will not be
chariteble enough to excuse what he reckons mintakcs in
othtts. — Dr Whichcote.
Published by W. & R. Chambkrs, High Street, Edinburgh. Also
sold by D. Chambsrs, 90 Argyle Street, Ghugow; W. 8. On% t
147 Strand, London; and J. M*Oi.AaHaji, 91 D'Olisr StieeK
Dublin^— Printed by W. and B. Chambsbs, Bdinbw^
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF « CHAMBERS'S INFORBfATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ • CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 266. New Series.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1849.
Price 1^.
I
MAN THE DISCONTENTED ANIMAL.
It ii remarkable that roan is the only animal that
manifests discontent This should either derogate from
the general estimate of human worth, or it should make
diaoootoit respectable. I will not now pause to debate
this point I am struck, however, by the comparison
between man and erery other species of air-breathing
animals ss to their comparatiTe grounds for discontent
Moat undoubtedly, the species of such animals which
has least cause for discontent with its lot in this world,
is that one which alone manifests discontent — namely,
Hmo,
I do not know if it occurs very often to any one to
eottider the immense over-proportion of space which
the human spedes has obtained on the earth's surface,
in eomparison with any other mammalian animal ap-
pRnching to the aame bulk. It is supposed that there
sre now from nine hundred to a thousand millions of
huDian beings scattered over the globe. They have
been increasing for ages, and seem as if they were yet
to become much more numerous. The other animals in
question have been as continually shrinking in numbers,
ezoepttng only those species which man encourages to
breed for his own use ; and they seem as if they would
go on shrinking, while the human population advances.
The lion, with all his kingly pretensions, the tiger,
leopsrd, and other Felime, are rapidly becoming curio-
sities on the face of the earth, and in no long time will
be eztinct or nearly so. In England and other civilised
ooiratries, the wolf, beaver, and other animals have
vmishad within the observation of history. Some
sihcfi, as the elephant, rhinoceros, and great stag, ap-
ponr, from their remains discovered in superficial depo-
rit% to have perisbed before the island received a human
papulation. AU over the north of Europe and Asia, as
wdiss North America, there was about the same period
an sbundance of elephantine animals, where only their
bouts are now to be found. Man may indeed be con-
aiicred as a new landlord, who has come in upon these
v^fions and evicted one-half or more of the former ten-
sitfy. Wherever he has set his foot, he has had it in
bb power to teU other mammals whether they might
1^7 or not Those which he thinks useless must be-
CBKUb scarce immediately. To others he can say, * Well,
IshaU make aome use of you ; you may remain ;* and
flicy reraain accordingly, but only to be his slaves. In
MBS cases he has taken a fancy to animals which he
iid fiDnnerly banished, and given them a new footing
as curiosities, or for the purpose of preying upon them ;
teennple, the capercailzie, or cock of the woods. In
tbe His^dands of Scotland, at this moment, he is grant-
ing to deer and grouse a larger scope than they perhaps
had in leas civilised times; but the Tetraonidas
not pfaune themselves on this, nor the CervidsD
carry their heads too high, as it is only to make game of
them. In North America, we have seen for some ages
a rapid increase of man with his train of serviceable
animala, while the aboriginal beaats, the buffalo, deer,
beaver, and many others, are perishing. In numbers
he is a myriad, while they are everywhere but a hand-
ful. Such is also the case even with the domesticated
animals; for dogs, though by no means scarce any-
where— horses, cattle, notwithstanding the encourage-
ment given to their propagation — would make but a
poor appearance in a census in comparison with their
masters. It is rather amusing that the only creatures
which can resist man, and keep their ground in co-
ordination with himself, are the rats and mice, whose
very insignificance in their individual capacity may be
said to be their protection as a species. Ail others,
it is evident, live only by his permission, and in as far
as he finds them conducive to his own gratification.
These remarks, it will be observed, apply chiefly to
mammalian animals ; they might be extended farther
down the scale, though not with the same frarce. They
would be entirely true of the birds ; for all the preda-
ceous animals of this class are exactly in the same pre-
dicament with the beasts of the wild, while those useful
for food are alone encouraged to breed ; and the field-
birds may be placed in the same category with the rats
and mice, as maintaining a sort of defying position.
They would also be true of the reptiles, which are
everywhere shrinking from before the face of man.
Fishes are palpably less liable to be afi^ted by us, in
consequence of their field of existence being so different
from ours. The invertebrates are likewise compara-
tively safe in their individual pettiness and obscurity ;
although, as one remarkable fact, the pearl-oyster has
almost completely disappeared from the Cingalese waters
through the imprudent covetousness of man. With re-
gard to land creatures of this kind, as insects, although
it is often pointed out that they can more effectually
trouble and injure us than any large animals whatever,
it is also true that many of them have sunk before us.
We clear a country of its woods, and substitute cerealia :
myriads of insects and other small animals perish in
consequence, simply because they have no longer re-
quisite shelter, and food. Whole genera have in this
way become extinct in various parts of the earth.
Somewhat odd it must be admitted to be, that the
one animal which has thus, for thousands of years,
been killing and eating, extirpating and encouraging
the rest, and which has been able to spread itself in
multitudes over the earth, while others have been con-
tinually shrinking into smaller space, is the sole animal
which ever grumbles at its fate.
This may be said to be the case as regards species
against species. Let us now see how it fares with the
individuds of the human species as against the indi-
66
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Tiduals of other spedes. We hear much of the dii&culty
of procuring a subaistenoe in this world* of over-popn-
lation, and of the lad outlet from these evils through
disease and mortality. Most undoubtedly there is not
certain meat for every new human mouth : be it firom
what cause it may, be it wholly remediable or not, such
is iixe fact But is this true of the human species only ?
Alas! no. With no other species is there certain food
for every particular mouth. With every one of them,
the e:(pansion of their numbers must, be submissive to
the accident of the amount of provision. All are liable
to occasional short commons, and multitudes are con-
tinually dying off to allow room for the remainder. In
some of the obscurer walks of creation, it is only vouch-
safed to oertain species — as, for example, the parasites
on com — to live now and then, as occasion m^ arise
in the course of oertain physical contingencies. Let the
weather improve to human sensation, and whole genera
will perish at once, remanded to the dormancy of the
ovum for vears to come. Even species so high as birds
are sometimes aU but extirpated by the severity of sea-
sons. All this time the enormous abundanoe of human
population is allowed to remain, with only a few ocoa-
iioniU oroppings of the weaker members. Our devicefU
genius and foresight, and the control we are enabled to
exercise over our incUnationa, enable us to get over the
syncopes of visitations of Providence with compara-
tively little suffering. And yet so it is that we are
the discontented animaL
We have still another contrast to draw between man
and the inferior creatures. Of these no single specimen
has it in its power to extort from nature one-thousandth
part of the enjoyment which man may realise by his
labour and ingenuity. It is true that their wants are
narrow, and when these are satisfied, as in fair circum*
stances they usually are, there is no occasion for com-
plaint Man, on the other hand, has an infinitely
greater number of needs, and the disappointment he
8ufi^ when these are not gratified is very poignant
He is bom to trouble, as the sparks fly upward. But
it could be easy to show that it is better to have many
desires, even at the hazard of these being somewhat
starved, than to have few or none, with no such danger.
Man clothes himself, houses himself, exalts the pala-
tableness of eveiythinff he eats by cooking, bewitches
himself with fine music and exquisite works of art,
indulges in gorgeous dreams, obtainable through the
medium of history and elegant literature, and in fkncy
may escape firom any sordid character or situation into
one purely heroie and dignified ; none of which privi<i
leges belong to ike lower aninials. By industry he
may surround himself with numberless blessings, and
under favour of social laws, he may store these up to
any amount for future use, or for the use of his pos-
terity. No such advantages are in the power of the
unhouseled denizens of the common and covert On
them every need fsUs with its own direct and imme-
diate force *, and if it cannot be satisfied at the nooment,
there is no remeed. Tet, again, with all these im-
mense boons coofeired upon him by the Almighty,
man is the only discontented animal I
It thus appears as if our diM»ntent were a very un-
reasonable thing, and that the humbler animals excel
us in this respect But can such a doctrine be received ?
Assuredly not Among all the eccentricities of philo-
sophy, no one could be found to maintain that the un-
repining submission of these animals to the routine of
th^ 1<^ and to every contingency of external nature,
is to be more admired tlum the restless solicitude of
man to remedy all passing evils, and improve his situa-
tion upon the earth. Seeing the connection between the
easy contentment of the lower animals and a humble
grade of intellect, and between human discontent and
comparatively high intellect we cannot avoid the con-
viction that discontent is a thing relative to a supe-
rior mental development The Jtemative, then, to be
chosen in the dilenmia with which we set out, is, that
there is a respectability in discontent as oonoema our
general character. We have it as a privilege, as part
of the outshining glory of human nature, not to be too
easily pleased or satisfied. Observe, it is only so as
concerns our general character, and, it may be added,
our general status on the ear^L A grumbling, unsatis-
fiable temper remains in the individual as ugly a feature
as ever ; and to every one in his own particular walk
and immediate circumstances, a contented and resigned
spirit must be great gain. Thus it is that every dis-
position in human nature has its good and its bad
aspect ; or it may be more expressively said, there is a
virtue and a vice in everything.
FROM THE GREY TO THE WHITE.
Futt years ago, could we have followed a piece of
cotton cloth from the loom, we should have seen it
packed in great bales, and shipped off to Hcdland to be
whitened. Could we have watched its farther pro*
gress, we should have seen it consigned to some Dutdi
bleacher, and under his hands undergo a process of boil-
ing in potash lees, and of subsequent washing and soak-
ing in buttermilk, and then we might have beheld hun-
dieds of acres of green grass covered with the fabric,
forming one immense earpet of calico. After an ex-
posure to the summer sky for months, autumn would
see it all gathered up again, repacked, reshipped, and
in the hands of the English manufacturer once more.
Indeed in many instances we need not have left Eng-
land to see this primitive method of bleaching, for many
a fair English field was likewise turned into a * bleach-
ing croft' A period extending over several months
was tfius necessary to give a nowy lustre to thia pro*
duct of the loom.
Science has now outstripped time and the whitening
influence of the solar ray; and by a combination oi
many, but simple and rapid processes, has wrought out
in a day what was formerly the work of many weeks,
even when aided by the most favourable atmospheric in-
fluences. We propose, by recounting what was brought
under our personal observation at one of the great bleach-
works of this country, to bring the various intereetinf
steps by which this renarkaUe process is ao swiftly
effected under the reader's notice, satisfled that it boUi
deserves and will receive his willing and attentive ooo^
sideration. The last of the textile processes oonoemed
in the production of calico, power or nandloom weaving,
leaves the cloth in a condition as to colour and surface
wholly unfit for the finer purposes of human lifie.
Technically, the doth is said to be in the ' grey ;* but
in reality its hue is that of a pale bufH This is due to
the presence of resinous and amylaceous colouring par-
tides in, or united with, the vegetable fibre, Aa tbeas^
in the prooess of bleaching, are acted upon by c^hemical
reagents, which do not, at leaat when applied in the
same proportionate strength, affect the v^etable fibre,
they are partly extracted firom the tissue, and partly
decomposed. Thus bleaching — so fkr as principlea are
concerned — becomes resolved into a very simple prooess i
although, it must be added, oertein curious chemistries
are concerned in it, the exposition of whioh is not very
easy. Ttie surfkoe also of the doth is ao maoifeetly
rough, downy, and covered with loose fibres, that it it
evident it must be submitted to some smoothing pro-
cedure before it can possibly be fitted for apparel or for
the process of calico-printing. The last of these pro-
cesses— the • smoothing* — wiU be very quickly got over;
but the first — ^the extraction and decomposition of the
odouring prindples of the calico— will occupy the eotire
remaining portion of our paper.
A vast chinmey, standing in aolitaiy m^ieaty« and
blackening the whole sky with the smoke of its pip^
marks out the position of the great bleaching establi^-
ment we visited. The peculiar sound of dashing and
tumbling waters, with the deep roll of machinery, and
with every now and then the escape of a cumiUua of
steam up into the air tram t^ roof of one portion of
the building, atsuret the vidtor he has boI miataken
i::
tit destination, And the opening door lets him in to the
tonraltaous tcene of laboiur. A strong smell of burnt
tinder fills the air, and is perceived to proceed from a
bw-roofed, small building, detached from the rest of the
establishment. This is the * singeing ' house. Standing
tt the door of this place, a rather alarming scene is
broQght before the eye. There is a low furnace in the
centre of the room, with a fire beneath glowing at white
heat At the upper part of the furnace is a semi-
cylinder of copper, heated to a bright red, and a man is
seen winding a long piece of calioo right over this burn-
ing metal. "Erery instant we expected the fabric to
borst into a bhuee. But no ! a cloud of glowing sparks
tose up the chimne/t but the tissue continued to pass
•moothly and safelj oTer, being wound on to a roller,
and wetted as it was wound up by a number of minute
Jets of water. This process is repeated three times —
twice on the * fiu^' and once on the back of the calico.
By this curious plan all the light downy matter is
airtttsUy htmt clean off; yet the ftibric is uninjured, in
eofMequenoe of the rapidity with which it is made to
psss ofcr the hot metal. One ton of coal, in a good
forosce, will by this simple method smooth about
tventynfonr miles of calico! The cylinders used to be
of ifob, and were burnt away in a week ; now they are
cqyper, and last for two or three months. A more in-
geokms process has been patented, in which the downy
Utftides are burnt away by causing a number of minute
jets of gas to be, as it were, sucked through the fabric,
sad thus these light particles are consumed and carried
away in an instant We bdieve there are actually large
iotgeing works in which fiiis patent is carried out,
where only tingeina is done ; but the process applies to
a great numb^ of other goods besides calico — such as
b(rt»bio-nets, muslins, &c. To have had such a piece
of doth as this looks now, being of a deep nankeen
oobur, from the efibcts of the singeing, put into his
hmds to biou^ would have driven a Dutchman almost
to despair hatf a century ago ; and it does in fact look
as if we had made a step farther back instead of in
The first great object has noir been accomplished*
Tlie surface dT the fabric is in that condition as to even-
ness and fireedom from down which the manufacturer
desires, anid which the tdtimate processes it is to be
subjected to Impenitlvcdy demand. The roU of cloth is
therefore nmoved, and conveyed in trucks to that por-
tion of ^ works which, though the entire series of
processes is now totally different* still retains the old
name, the * bleaching croft' It is an apartment of great
siie, paved with freestone, and abounding in cisterns^
dmnis, and shafts in great numbers ; and it would be
wen for the visitor to be famished with waterproof
shoes and upper clothing if he would watch minutely
Qie various splashing operations which are conducted
here. Some expert needlewomen are stationed in one
fart of It, whose duty it Is to sew the ends of the pieces
of sinfsd doth together until a oontinnotis web is formed,
ooDtaining from 400 to 500 pieces, and being ftom 6 to
8 statute miles in length. This vast quantity of cloth
Is disposed iB a convenient heap, and one end of it is
drawn into the washing-engine. This machine consists
of two long horizontal wooden rdlers, one of which is
sespended above, and the other lies under water in an
appropriate cistern. The cloth passes over and under
then roUen a great number of times in a gentle spiral,
and lea^res them in the middle, to travel onward, and to
be laid in folds on a ibur-wheeled truck a little in front
ef the raachfaie. As a large supply of pure water is
continuaUy pouring into this engine, the soiled water
escape* from it, and carries with it all that * dressing*
sr pastil which the weaver so sedulously introduced in
flie nMumfacture of his ckth. It would thus not be
iUBcidt to show that many thousands of barrels of flour
tfe aetuslly wasted in giving an appearance to the cloth ;
and the first machinery which applies the dressing, and
the last, whose only intention is to remove it from the
ftbric, with their original cost of construction, and
the continued outlay of power fbr their working, beinff
also taken into consideration, it would become mani^t
that many thousands of pounds are thrown away in
the attempt to make an article look better than it
really is.
The intention of the next process Is the eztractiofa of
atiy resinous or oily matters from the cloth. To effect
this, at the farthest side of the croft-house there is a
set of curiously-arranged caldrons of cast-iron, seven or
eight in number, and sufficiently capacious to hold each
enough of cloth to describe, if laid evenly down, the cir-
cumfbrence of the metropolis. These are called techni-
cally * keirs.' They are of a curious construction : in
the centre of each is a perpendicular iron pipe, with a
sort of bonnet over its orifice ; they have aUo a per-
forated false bottom, into which steam is blown ; and
when the caldron is filled with water and cloth, the
injected steam forces up the water in interrupted jets
through the pipe, which, by means of the bdnnet, dis-
perses it all over the cloth; and this process is con-
tinued, the liquor being a strong lye of lime, for eiglit
hours, 1500 pieces being boiled at once. To see one of
these great boilers in full work is to have a mimic
geyser brought before the eyes, whose roarings and
spoutings would not do discredit to the great original.
The cloth is hauled out of the keir at the conclusion of
this process by revolving rollers, and once more passes,
at the rate of four or five miles an hour, through the
washing-engine. All the alkaline liquor which it con-
tained is thus washed away ; but in order to insure its
removal more completely, the cloth travels from the
washing-engine into one upon precisely similar prin-
ciples, only that, in the place of water, it is made to
contain a very dilute solution of sulphuric acid and
water. This is called by the artisans employed in the
process the first * souring.' From the souring-engine it
is again taken to be washed in pure water, to get rid of
the superfluous acid ; and if the cloth is now examined,
it will be found to be gradually gaining a whiter aspect,
though stiU far from white. It has now to undergo an-
other boiling. Once more the revolving rollers, which
are suspended from the ceiling in a convenient position
near the keir furnaces, are set in motion, and pour down
a swift stream of cloth into the hot and yawning caldron
beneath. The keir is this time filled with a dilute solu-
tion of soda-ash, and the boiling is continued for ten
hours. This time being expired, the end of the immense
length is hauled out, and put in connection with the
hard -worked washing -engine, which fulfils its usual
office, and discharging the washed cloth, it is directed
by a man into a square receptacle, and stacked up
there.
From this point the other dass of bleaching principlee
come into play. The resinous and oleaginous matters
have been fully extracted by the previous alternate alka-
line lixiviatlons and washings in pure water. The colour-
ing principles which remain, and give the doth now a
dirty pale yellow tinge, not being amenable to the powers
of alkaline solution, must be dealt with by direct che-
mical energies: This, in fact, is the commencement of
what in strictness should be called the bleaching process.
Tlie preparation vulgarly called chloride of lime, more
properly chlorinated or chloruretted lime — for the first
phrase indicates a chemical composition which does not
belong to it — is that which effects this remarkable de-
composition. It has received the strange-sounding title
of ' chemick,' probably to contrast bleaching by che-
mical with the old plan of bleaching by solar influence.
The * chemicking' process is thus conducted : about
twenty- two pounds of 'chloride of Ume' are mixed
together with water, and the solution being brought to a
proper strength, is convenred into a mafchine of the same
construction as the washing- engine. The end of the
piece is then directed over certain pulleys, and enters
the bleaching-trough, where it is repeatedly immersed
in the chlorinated solution ; and on leaving the machine,
is guided by a boy into a recess, where it lies in great
ootls fbr several hours. When it is considered to hsve
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOITRNAL.
n long enongb, it nDdergoea & (econd proceai of im-
mion in dilate nilpharic *cid and water. The effect
at this is to prodace a cbemical decompoaitton in the
cblorinatsd liioe ; tbe liiue qniti ita equiTslent of chlo-
riae under impulse of the stronger afflalty it entertiins
for the eeid, and the gsi thui liberated in every fibre
of the cloth, deoompoaea tbe colonriog principlea, lear-
Ing the cloUt almoit in a itate of pufect whiteneit.
Tbe waahing-machiiie a^in receWea it, and cleanwa
away tiie acid ; it ia then loaked in a folutiou of aoda,
in order to avoid any free acid entering with it into the
fiirtber procetaea ; and again it ia waahed in clean water.
It then goei throngh a aecond chemicking, ia again
tlloired to lie, and ia again aouaed, and aflervirda
waahed. The clotb la now perfectly white; iti cam-
plezion will endure even the faiourlla compariaon —
'm white aa mow.' Eiery trace of colour haa been
remoTed, aod a apotleca purity ia left. It ii then
thoroughly loaked in hoi water, ia paaaed betweea a
plur of wooden ^oUe^^ which perform that hydro-ei-
tractiTc operation called by tlie lanndreaaes 'wringing,'
by iqueezing the cloth powerfully aa it paaaea between
"- TO until it ia almoat deatitute of water, when it takea
lal leave of the croft in which it haa ^ayed ao many
buatling parta, by disappearing tram Tiew throogh a
bole in the ceiUng.
< A general analyais of theae nuTnecoat proceaaea — in
: all, tnKHttet in nnmber— will facilitate oor apprehenaion
I of the whole eabject. Looking at them with attention,
I they resolve themselvea into three clssael :^1. Alkaline
liiiviation; !. Application of the chlorinated aotntion;
and 3. Ita decompoaition in the fibres of the tiaaoe by
dilute aolphnric acid. The waahing it to be considered
simply aa a depuratlve proceas. Theae procease* look to
two kinds of colouring matter in the cloth : one aaluble,
and removable by aolution in alkaline liquors ; the other
insoluble, and only to be removed by making up its
chemical conipoaitioa under the influence, it haa been
supposed, of nascent oxygen, which some views of the
cheiulcal phenomena concerned would appear to ahow
pteaent in tbe caae. We do uot Intend, however, to
plunge the reader into a maie of chemical problems^
A d^ conception of the whole may be gained by bear-
ing in mind the few and eaay principlea above itated.
No one entering the croft Ignorant of theae could fail
to be perplexed to the last degree by the apparently
inextricable confusion of the numerous operations paaa-
ing before bis eyea. The numlier of white bands which,
like huge serpents of endless length, fly hither and
thither above his head, as if bewitched, and without
the agency of human interrentioo to control their evo-
lutions ; the rattle of the pulleja over which they ma ;
the daahing of the water in the washing, bleaching, and
Boasing-eDgioes ! the clattering of trucks on iron wheels,
bearing their dripping loads to various pUces ; and
finally, tbe deep-mouthed, muffled roar of several of
the keirs — all unite to form a scene Uie most extra-
ordinary and Gonfonnding imaginable.
Mounting n flight of atairs, we have tbe snowy doth
once mare brought under our notice. Hare the long
compound piece ia unripped into the origiual lengths,
which, united, extended to 70,ooo yards, or about 94
miles. They are then indiridually folded, and aa far
aa poasibla rendered free from creasea. Thence they
are taken into large drying apartmenth with lattice-
windows, tbe temperatnre of which ia kept at a con-
aidcrable elevatioD by roeana of steam pipes, and being
suspended on long poles, they are quickly dried. After
a little time they are removed from hence to the fold-
ing and packing-rooms; from wbich placea, after having
been put np in convenient parcels, they are sent off to
also the resourcea of our aplendid and powerftil me-
chanism applied to carry out the purposes of phUo-
sDphy. And when, unitedly, we consider the saeoce,
skill, and capital, which meet only to change the colour
of a vegetable tiiaue to one which ia the syntheait of
all colour, we have before ds b manufkcturing proceaa
which the thoughtful mind will not fail to endow with
a very high rank in the list of the Kolabilia of our ti
THE COMDDCTA DE PLATA8.
I HU) been tor some days in a state of uncertaiDty
whether to travel from Mexico to Vera CruK in my
nanal manner, or to take a aeat in the diligence, which,
drawn by fleet horses, performed tlie journey in four
days. It wu rawly, however, tbat the vehicle esoqied
a sammary viaitation by tbe nnmerous robbers who
infested the route. A simple incident decided me.
Advantage was taken of a temporary lull In the inter- i
nal afliurs of the country to despatch a rich eaidacta Je
p!alai. or convoy of silver, to the coast; and while '
watching the proceas of loading the mnles in ■ court- ■
yard of tbe street in which I lodged, I determined on |
attaching myself to the escort selected to accompany
the train. About twenty muleteers, whose impreca-
tions embraced every variety of tone, were packing the
bags of dollars in small wooden chests, and strapping
them to the backs of the mules. Each taltga, or bag of ,
1000 dollars, weighs between aixty and seventy pounds.
and a load comprises from four to six bags. The ani-
mals, as soon as the predona burdens were properiy j
secured, grxniped themselves instinctively together la
one comer of the enclosnre.
The arriero (chief muleteer) was signing the last
vouchers, intermpting himself from time to time to
invoke the Virgin and saicta for a snccessful journey,
or to storm at his assistants. In the street s crowd
was cdlected, gazing with greedy eyes on tbe two i
miliions of specie, exposed to all the hnzarda of a long '
and perilous route i and tbe greater part of tb«ae
tattered spectators took no pains to diaaemUe their
' Canario!' exclaimed a lepero, hiding tlie acara oai
his breast under a ragged blanket. ' if I only had a
horse like the one between that cavalier's legs.' i
The lepero's eye designated a swarthy -complexioned
mncAcro, mounted on a jet-black steed. Tbe animal,
held in check by bis rider, champed hia tut, and ahook
off flakes of foam to tbe right and left. I could not
but admire the beauty of the hoi^ and remark at tbe
■ame time the unconcern of the rider, who appeared to
restrain the creature solely by the farce of an inflexible
will— a distinctive characteristic of Mexican horaemen.
■ What, tiien. friend Gregorilo, what would you do?'
inquired one of the lepero's companiona.
' Canario ', I wonld accompany the conducta as far ■•
a certain place that I know on the road ; and altboogta
it may be wjong to boast, I should be unlucky indeed
if my wiahes were not gratified by a load or two.'
' One or two loada!' rejoined the other with an a
of surprise.
' Tes ; three loads at moat. I have always been ui
ambitioui ; but that gay fellow there appears to luiTe
still less of ambition than I.'
In fact, at leaat in appearance, the ranchero regarded
the convoy with a look of disdain ; and wbatever were
hia thonghts, it would have been difficult to detect any
other expreasion on his impMsible feature* than perfect
indifference.
Meanwhile a squadron of lancers, destined fbr tha
escort, had much trouble in keeping the entiance free of
spectators, of whom Gregorito was one of the most
modest in expressing his desiree. At last the work i4'
loading was ended, the last mule walked out of the
yard, and the detachment filed off to accompany tbe
train. Gradnally the crowd dispersed, and aoon no one
waa left of all the curious gaiera but the raochBro, who
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOl/RKAt.
69
Memed to be counting the mulei one by one, and
obserTing attentively eiush muleteer as he paiied. At
hit the ranchero himself was in torn about to depart,
vhen the lepero Cregorito came up, and asked permis-
lion to light his cigar at that of the cavalier. An
toiinated conversation in a low tone took place between
them ; but I paid no attention to an incident apparently
onimportant* and returned to my lodging.
I bought a horse for my valet, and made other pre-
ptiationsy intending to set off after the oonducta on the
following morning; but my plans were frustrated by
the brei^ng out of a revolution — almost an everyday
occurrence in Mezica After twelve days of anarchy
tad bloodshed, which, effecting no reel good, had opened
prison doors to atrocious criminals, and caused a large
imoont of misery, order — or what was considered such
—was restored. The conducta, which had gone into
nfe quarters during the commotions, I heard was again
on the road ; and having said farewell to my friends, I
left Mexico for the last time one morning befbre sun-
rise, followed by my valet Cecilio.
After three days' riding we overtook the conducta a
few miles beyond Puebla. In Uie first horseman to
wbom I spoke on reaching the escort, I had no difficulty
in recognising a scapegrace of a soldier whom I had
encountned several times during the fighting in the
itreets, and whom the fortune of war had raised to the
post of lieutenant, which he had long coveted, under
Don Bias, captain of the escort. After exchanging a
hw words, I rode forward to the side of the leader, and
saoonnced my intention of travelling with the convoy
to Vera Cruz. He expressed satisfaction at the arrange-
• meat; but on my saying that I hoped to avoid the
dangers of the route in his company, he shook his head
sad replied, * I much fear that you will only fall from
the fiying-pan into the fire ; for the late troubles have
brought a few additional gaviUas (robber bands) into
the field, and I hear it is likely enough we shall have a
crow to pluck with the rascals in the gorges of Amo-
xoqne. It is no longer the time as when, under a
certain viceroy, the flag of Castile, floating above a
tUrer convoy, was sufficient to protect it during the
journey.*
* I trust,' was my answer, ' that a squadron of lancers
commanded by you will be able to replace the Spanish
flag.'
* May it be so!' rejoined Don Bias: 'but I am not
blind to the dangers we may incur; at all events I
ihaU do my duty.'
Although in a picturesque country, the journey, after
A time, b^ame somewhat monotonous ; but I found an
sgreeable relief in the tales and songs of Victoriano, one
of our muleteers. He had travelled the road for many
years, and every halting-place afforded him a pretext
for a recital In the evenings, when the sentries were
posted, and the stars sho9e out above our heads, the
esptaio and myself listened to his animated narrations,
or to his songs, accompanied by the guitar, with always
new pleasure. On such occasions I pitied the travellers
wbom I saw fly past in the diligeiice, and congratu-
kted myself on having joined the conducta.
We had travelled hi this way for some days, when
Victoriano recommended me to turn aside and visit the
ibrt of Ferote, offering to accompany me to the entrance,
sod added that I could rejoin the convoy at Cruz-Blanca,
a Tillage two leagues distant, where we were to pass the
Bight I followed the muleteer's advice, to the no small
oootentment of an officer, who was pleased to conduct
Bie over the fortress as an agreeable interruption to the
Boootony of garrison duty. It was night by the time I
Vttched our halting-place ; I looked round for Victo-
riano, who had promised me an account of some extra-
crdmary adventures for our evening's diversion, but he
was nowhere to be seen. I learnt, to my great sur-
prise, that he had been missing for some hours : the
vh<^ camp was in alarm at the circumstance, as
Nothing short of a serious accident could have caused
flie absence of a man of such regular habits. While
lost in conjectures, an individual suddenly made his
appearance, requesting an interview with the arriero.
He informed us that Victoriano's horse having fallen,
the rider had been so much hurt, as to be unable to
continue his journey, and now lay under surgical treat-
ment at Perote. He had come, he add^ at Victo-
riano's request, to offer himself as a substitute until the
other's recovery. Not having more men than were abso-
lutely necessary, the arriero accepted the offer, perhaps
without sufficient consideration; for the new-comer,
though a robust fellow enough, had a face whose sinister
expression did not inspire me vrith the same confidence
as that of our absent muleteer.
The next day, before we had been an hour on the
road, one of the mules lost his shoes, then a second,
then a third, and long halts were necessary to replace
them. Our new muleteer performed this task with
much zeal and intelligence, to the great contentment of
the arriero ; but I covdd not repress my suspicions that
all was not as it should be, and remarked to Don Bias
that one so capable of refastening shoes might have
been equally skilful in loosening them ; the captain,
however, treated my suspicions as pure chimeras. To
make up for the delays, greater speed became necessary ;
but the mules seemed to have lost all their vigour, as
though some enervating drug had been mingled with
their food. The arriero, on whom all the responsibility
rested, advised a halt, as night was coming on, accom*
panied by a dense fog; but the captain declared for
pushing on to the place appointed for our bivouac.
We were now entering on one of the worst parts of the
route; our scarcely-distinguishable track lay through
rugged ravines, bordered by lava rocks, and it became
of Uie utmost consequence to prevent the mnles from
straying in the darkness. Sparks fiew from the stones
beneath the feet of the mule ridden by the arriero ;
and I could but pity him, as he gallopped up and down
counting and recounting the animals : their loss would
be fatal to his fortune and his reputetion. When night
had fully set in, the captain, Don Bias, made two divi-
sions of the escort : with one he placed himself at the
head of the line of mules ; the other brought up the
rear.
As I rode cogitating on the probabilities of our
position, my valet, Cecilio, came up and whispered —
* Senor master, if you will teke my advice, we shall not
stay here a minute longer : strange things are going ta
happen.'
* And where to go,' I asked, * when we cannot see two
steps before us among these rocks and ravinea^ But
what is the matter ? '
* This, senor master, and perhaps I am the only one
who has noticed it; Victoriano has just slipped himself
in among us — that says nothing good — ^hit £edl was ali a
Ue.'
* Are you sure?'
* I saw him ; but that is not all : about a quarter of
an hour ago, being in the rear, two eavahert came by
without seeing me, for I was hidden behind a lump of
rock. One of them was mounted on a horse too mag-
nificently black to be a peaceful traveller.'
* A magnificent black horse ?' I interrupted, thinking
of the ranchero who had so phlegmatically watched the
departure of the convoy from Mexico.
Cecilio went on to state his conviction that the two
steangers had insinuated themselves among our escort,
and urged me to draw up until the train had passed. I
refused, and spoke of advising the captain of what had
occurred ; but my valet was inclined to regard him as an
accomplice of the interlopers. It was no time for discus-
sion : I hastened forwards to warn at least the arriero.
I was making my way by the side of some of the mides,
when I observed a horseman a few paces distant, whom
I took to be our new-comer of the night before. A
minute later, the voice of one of the mule-drivers was
heard through the darkness exclaiming, * What means
this ? £b, Victoriano, is it you ? By Heaven, yes t and
by what chance ? '
70
CHAMBEBS'8 EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
Vo aniwer fullowed thii inteirog&tioD : •IcoMt im-
mediately the voice became ailent. I ihudder«d : it
eeemed to me that I heard a lappreued gnrgle, fuUoved
by ths foil of a heavy body. I lltteoed more atlen-
Uvely ; the cold breeis alooe mingled iti aonada with
the coofuaed noiu of foatatepi. At the ead of a fev
modMDU my bone ma^je * ludden itut, aj though
some fearful o)^eat had become visible through the
S' xan, Deiiraua of clearing up the terrible laapiciooa
at crowed my mind, I took out my flint and ateel, at
If to light a oigar, aa a coiioe under the freeiing blaat
For a moment I fancied myaelf the apart of a dream i
by the light of the aparka I aaw a nnmber of nieu
marching pell-mell amoag the mutea and their driven.
Silent phHatomi aeemed to hive Haen myiterioaaly
tmm the darkneta to march at our aide, aome dreawd
In the red coata of ths lancera, the othera in the coarae
bocka of the aubordinalea. All at onee the tinkle of
the leading mule'a bell ceaied ; preaently it aoanded
■gain in an appoaite direction, and aimilu' tonea came
mat the ravinea to Ibe left of the route. I had aaen
enough, perhapi too much ; «e vere beiet by treachery.
Whom denounce in aufh a fog, and on lucb a road ?
Whom troit in obicurity that canfoaaded frienda and
enemiea? Aatoniibed at the atrange diacovery, I heai-
tated : then, at the riik of breaking my neck, I made a
daah fur the bead of the convoy. It wis already loo
tale. A cord whizzing through the air fbll upon me ;
my horae itarled forwarda ; but instead of being dragged
Tiolentij from the wddle. aod trampled under the horaea'
f^t. aa wH» intuDded, I felt myatlf retaioed by a fearful
ODUpreaaion. A running nooae, destined for me alone,
had iulaoed both horae and rider in the aame fall. My
right arm wai held so tightly to my side aa to prevent
my cutting the cord ; I dug the apura into my borae'i
Sank. The noble animal neighed, and atrained hia
muacular haunches with irresiatibie vigour: I felt the
nouie grow tighter and tighter around me, then it re-
Uxed ; there was a bursting of girths. fuUowed by an
imprecatiun of rage, and in a moment I waa free, before
1 had been ahle fully to compieheod the danger that
menaaed me. A report rang, • ball whizied pait my
eara, and at the aaitie inatant aroae a cry of alarm.
Bepeated diacbargea followed, and all became an inde-
scribable confusion. Tbe niulea, deceived by the tinkling
of the bell, which aounded from the moat opposite direc-
tions, diapened and jostled one anotlier in their fright.
The light of the muaket-flaahea ahowed tbe red coaM
of the lancera in diaorder. a* the; fired at hawrd into
the impenetrable gloom ; balla whiatkd past, and at
times the deapairing lamentations of the aniero aounded
above the din.
My terrified horae had borne me aome diatance fVom
the scene of combat ; at laat I forced him to retrace
hia stepa. When I again reached the conducta, the
Struggle had ceaaed, the bandits had disappeared. Don
Bias, arbo retained all hia ooolneas, pleased my hand in
ulence : there waa no time for Queatioos. A tnon with
a fiaming torch in hia hand rualied between oa, imploi-
ing the captaio'a aid. By the light, 1 recognised the
unfortunate arriero. Several soldiera, who had dis-
monoled, cat down pine bnnchea for lorchea, uid we
then aaw a sad apectacle. The ladling mole, robbed of
Itabell.BtoodBUrroundedbytliQottaera) for although da-
oeived It first by the artifice of the lobbera, tbe aoimala
aoou regained theii usual iaatiiict*. Some were bleed-
ing from large gasbea. Two aoldieis, aiao wounded,
were endeavouring to aliach their bloud with handker-
chiefs ; and in a holluw lay a poor muleteer writhing in
agony. It waa he who had recogoiisd Victoriauo, and
he thua expiated the crime of having seen too much.
After furtlier search and coonting, we ascertained, (o
the ineipreaaibie consternation of tbe arrive that five
i^ tbe mules were miiaing. I suggcated to Don Bias
the propriety of immediate porauit: the airiero added
hia iiiti«atiea, and offered half of the booty when re-
oov« i cap-
tain ectin
hia aaddle, aelected a doten of the beat-mounted aoldien,
and ordered them to provide themielvea with pine
hranchea, and tallow him on the track of the robber*.
It waa one of thoae expeditiona which eminently display
American sagacity, and I peiaiated hi aocompanying
the detachment
Tbe enterpriae waa perilona. Aa a meaaure of pre-
caation. our torches were extinguished, and we tniiked
off to the lelt, up the hard rooky atsep. From time to
time one of the men dismounted, and Uid bis ear to the
ground) nothing, however, was heard but the rush of
the wind. The atooy soil, carefully examined by the
light of a cdgar. showed no traces of footatepa < and yet.
by an inexplicable inatinct, the aoldiers felt aaanied
that Ihia waa the path taken by the pimiderers. B;^
and by the clatter of boofa abated : we were riding
on aofter ground, and aoon diatinct trocea of two
mulea were discovered. All doubt aa to the direetioa
waa now at an end; the aoldiera, atimulated by the
prospect of a rich prize, pushed forward with renewed
apiriC, though in strict ailence. It would he tedious to
relate all the incidents of this night Sometimes all
traoes of the trail were lost ; and at laat we lit flie* in a
glade of tbe wood, and bivouacked till the tnomlng.
Jnat before daybreak a atray mule waa met with, but
completely diveated of ita valuable burden. Up to thto
moment Don BUa had maoilested bnt little inclination
for the pursuit : now the aight of tbe animal appeared
to excite all hia ardour, and he vented loud imprecation*
against the authora of the miaohief, threatening to shoot
the first that should appear. Our party broke up into
twos and threes, to extend the search. The captain and
I were riding together, when he picked up a ftagmeot
of one of the money-chests. He then begged of me to
remain where I waa. and BOt follow him, and quickly
disappeared round a turn in the path. Shortly after-
wards I heard a distant ahot, followed by a feeble cry
of diatreaa. I fired both my pialols, and preaently saw
some of our aoldiera approaching. A few worda auflloed I
to explain matters : we gallopped off in the direetioa of i
the report, and my fears were soon changed to cerlaiD^.
The captain lay stretched on the grass, wounded by a
ball in the breast Broken cheata and ripped-up bag*
were acattered about but no enemy waa vinble. A .
glasa of brandy, poured down Don Blaa's throat enabled
him to apeak. He told ua that he had aeen no one, bat i
that he well knew who had fired tbe ahot An examina-
tion of tbe locality led to nothing that oonld dear Bp
the myatery. We lifted the captain into his saddle,
with a man mounted behind to support him, and set
oat to rejoin the conducta at La Hoya.
It was mid-day when we arrived; and here a new in-
cident awaited ua. Don Blaa had scarcely been laid on
the bed haatily ccnstrucled for him in one of the hovda
of the village, when another party of aoldiera came in
with a priaoner bound. Hia dork features were half
hidden by a handkerchief; yet I recogaiaed a brigasd
with whom I had on a painful occasion be«i brought
into contact In the interior «l the conntrj. Hie cap-
tain's pale cheeks became of a livid hue aa sooa as the
captive waa brought into hia presence. Bvideotly tbej
were not strangers. A lecriminsting parley look plact^ '
which ended by DoS Blaa declaring that the prnoDtt
should be shot wittiont farther procesa, I
* Shoot mel' said tbe other-, ' surely you jeat lam '
not so deficient of protectors aa you may think; and if '
it oomes to that, 1 shall apeak, senor captain — I abatt i
tell' I
It was then Dm Blaa's turn to tremtde : he ordati
the apartment to be cleared, and remained alone witjl
the culprit : after an hour, the UMa reappeared in the
custody of tbe beutenant Juanilo. We stayed two
weary days at La Hoya; on the third, the captain, '~~
whom a htter hod been conatructed, detemiiiiMl on ]
ceeding to Jalapa. The prisoner, closety bound, waa
mounted behind Juanilo, and after riding a couple of
leaguea, I observed that the borae on which they rode;
wearied perhaps by (he double weighty tmtervd in the
CHAMBERS'S lEDINBURGH JOURNAL.
71
tctr. CorioritT kept me near them i they were talking
lo moft fMendiy t^ms, and Jtumlto, whose shoes were
In rags, was loud in praises of a handsome pair of hoots
worn by the other. Just at this moment we reached
the summit of the heights of San Miguel, and I reined
lip mj horse, the better to et^oy the magnificent pro-
ypect After a short halt I again rode on* and overtook
the tvo laggards } Uie belt by which the prisoner was
Uttached to Joanito's body seemed to have stretched
gnatly in the intorral : I fancied the soldier was con-
aiwmg at an escape, and kept a steady eye upon his
actions. All at once the belt fell to the ground in two
'|neoes,the robber slipped fh)m the horse's back, and
look to flight; but With a rapid bound Juanito was
upon him, and a Shot from hia carbine stretched the
ifuitiTe dead at his feet
This mode of disposing of the robber, it appeared,
had hem preconcerted between the captain and his
Ueotenant Juanito obtained possession of the coveted
boots, and on my demand for an explanation, replied
that Don Bias had arranged for an attack upon the
bsgs of dollars with the man Just shot : they were to
diTide the spoiL But the robbery had been effected by
SDotber band, who had thus forestalled the more trai-
toroQS conspirators. It was one of that band who had
voimded the captain; and the latter, believing himself
betrayed by his accomplice, had contrived his death as
xriatel. But when Don Bias was made acquainted with
the true state of the case, the violence of his emotions
faroight on an internal hemorrhage, which, after a few
moments of agony, terminated in death.
Tlus event completely took away any inducement I
night have had to remain with the Goaducta j I there-
fne halted untfl long after the litter, surrounded by
lowered hinces, in sign of mourning, had passed out of
i^t, and towards nightfall rode forward with my at-
tendant to Jalapa.
MOTHERWELL AND HIS POEMS.
Ax able writer of the present day has attempted to
prove the luperiority of modem over ancient paint-
ing; but the like hypothesis has never been sustained
in regard to the sister art — Poetiy. The divinity of
poetry ia shown in her unchangeableness. She has no
part either in social progress or social dedine. The
•ongi that charmed the rude ear of Greece, when blood-
shed was a religious duty both of gods and men, are
still the dearest music of the refined and Christian
world. The ballads of our half- civilised ancestors,
written when the language was as untutored as the
I men, are still the tezt-bo^ of study, the * well unde-
I filed' of inspiration.
The reason no doubt is, that in earlier conditions of
society, more direct, and therefore more powerful, ap-
peals are made to the natural feelings, which are the true
stuff of poetry. At we advance in luxury, these may
bs orerlaid with artificial refinements, and new schools
majr give form and method to conventional distinctions ;
bit we never wholly forget our first loves, and never
iafl to reward with our smiles or tears those who strike
the chord of nature. It has not been sufficiently noted
that those epochs which imitate, as it were, the distrac-
tioos of ruder timea by civil war or other convulsions,
hare always been the most fertile in poetry ; and that
the If ose, even of the modem world, has sounded her
loftiest notes amid public calamities or the clash of
Sims. There are always spirits, however, that have a
kBotng,.irre8pective of eponw and conditions of society,
towards the simplicity and directness of (Ad times ; and
vhea this is aooompanied by a deep love of external
■store, and the power of interpreting her forms and
voloes to the hearts of others, the result is true poetry.
Of such spirits was WilUsjn Motherwell, a name to
|Aieh criticism cannot award a higher place than in
Hi first rank of manor poets, yet peculiarly worthy of
grsffection and regard. He was botn in Glasgow in
m, but leoelTed hie earlier educatkm in Edinburgh;
and there, while attending one of those humbler schools
where boys and girls sat together on the same form,
his poetical sympathies already began to develop them-
selves. His school companion^ playmate, and friend,
was a little girl called Jeanie Morrison, whom he never
met again after their parting at the age of eleven. At
fourteen, however^ this girl still haunted him, and he
tried to express in mde rhymes the gush of tenderness
with which he turned to her gentle image. In later
years the efiTort was resumed, and crowned by the pro-
duction of a poem which no man of the most ordinary
sensibility can read without a swelling heart and a
moistened eye. In this exquisite lyric the little girl
has evidently grown a woman in the expansion of the
heart whidi contained herj and he wonders, with all
the anxiety of a lover, whether he is as closely twined
in the thoughts of the phantom of memory as she has
been in his :—
* I marreli Jeanie Morriaoii,
Oin I hae been to thee
As oloeelv twined wl' eftrliesk tlioohta,
At ye bae been to me?
Oh tell me gin their mualo fills
Thine ear as it does mine?
Ob mj gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi* drwaminge o' langqme?
rre wandered east, I'ts wandered west,
I'te borae a weary lot ;
Bat in my wanderings, far or near.
Ye nerer were forgot.
The fonnt that first burst trtut this htati
BtiU travels on its way ;
And channels deeper as it rlns
The lure o* lile^s young day.'
It is proper to note, while mentioning the wtlf krre
of a poet (heraelf quite unconscious of the romantic
feelings she had inspired), that * her hair was of a
lightish brown, approaching to fair) her eyes were dark,
and had a sweet and gentle expression j her temper was
mild, and her manners unassuming.'
Motherwell's education was completed at the gram-
mar school of Paisley, where he appears to have gone
through the then curriculum of Scotland, inflicted upon
all boys, without the slightest regard to their own tastes
or destination in after-life — namely, five years of Latin,
with the superaddition of Greek in the fifth year. At
the age of fifteen he was placed in the office of the
sheriff- derk of Paisley, and after some years' service,
was appointed sheriff-derk depute, which situation he
retained with credit till the close of 1829.
During this period he made some attempts to supply
the defects in his education ; and he collected a consi-
derable number of volumes, chiefly in poetry and his-
torical romance. In 1819 he edited the 'Harp of Ben-
frewshire,' a selection of songs and other poetical pieces,
with some originals, and an introduction and notes ^ but
it was not till 1827 that the work appeared on which
his literary reputation mainly rests — the ' Minstrelsy,
Ancient and Modem.' This work attracted considerable
attention, and led to a correspondence with Sir Walter
Scott on the subject of the curious old ballad of Gil
Morrice. In 1828 Motherwell commenced the Paisley
Magazine, and about the same time became the editor
of Sie Paisley Advertiser; but in 1830 he accepted
the editorship of the Glasgow Courier, which he re-
tained till his death, five years later. With some con-
tributions to the periodicals, a little volume of * Poems,
Narrative and Lyrical,' a joint edition with James
Hogg of the works of Bums, which he did not live to
complete, and his official struggles as a partisan of the
expiring Tory party, this interval is filled up ; and on
the Ist of November 1895, William Motherwell, at the
early age of thirty-eight, was suddenly called away by
a shock of apoplexy in the very midst of the conflict
of life.
Such is the brief and commonplace history of the
man : that of the poet must be read in his works *, and
there we find the portraiture of a being as strangely
different as it is possible to conceive from a provincial
sheriff-clerk or a newspaper editor. Motherwell had
72
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
a deep and holy lore for external nature — a lore which,
in a poet, can hardly be said to have degenerated into
superstition, although he actually believed in the reality
of the forms with which popular faith has inrested her
attributes. To his ear the forest wind, and the mur-
mur of the rirer, were laden with the Toioes of spirits,
and it was not the mere ghosts of memory that rose
upon the darkness of the night Conjoined, howeyer,
with these wild imaginations, there were the home-
thoughts, the heart-yearnings, the social, friendly, fkmily
sympathies, which serre as a balance for the extraya-
ganoes tX fancy, and chain the dreamer to his true place
upon the earth. Although inToWed for so many years
in the strife of faction, and waging on his part a bitter
and desperate party war, WilUam Motherwell, we are
told, when he was called from the world, left behind
him not one personal enemy.
It may readily be supposed that the fancy which made
itself a home in the supernatural worid, turned away
from the refinements and the philosophy of contem-
porary writers, to dwell with the singers of the Val-
haUa and the old balladists of his country. These he
has not imitated in style and manner — ^he hat identified
his spirit with theirs; and no other modem writer we
recollect hat been so happy in that directness of effort,
characteristic of the olden time, which unlocks by a
single touch the fountain of sympathy. This is alluded
to in an elegant criticism by rrofessor Wilson which
appeared in 1833: — *A11 his perceptions are clear, for
aU his senses are sound ; he has fine and strong sensi-
bilities, and a powerful intellect. He has been led b^
the natural bent of his genius to the old haunts of inspi-
ration— ^the woods and glens of his native country — and
his ears dcJight to drink the music of her old songs.
Many a beautiful ballad has blended its pensive and
plaintive pathos with his day-dreams, and while reading
some of hiis happiest e£fhsions, we feel
" The Ancient spirit It not dead-
Old timei, wa sio^, are breathing thert."
' His style is simple, but in its tenderest movements,
masculine : he strikes a few bold knocks at the door of
the heart, which is instantly opened by the master or
mistress of the house, or by son or daughter, and the
welcome visitor at once becomes one of the family.'
In 1832 appeared the first edition in this country of
Motherwell's poems, and fourteen years later the second,
with many additional pieces; but in the interval two
editions were published in America, where the poet,
like Shelley and Keats, appears to enjoy a still higher
reputation than at home. At length a third English
edition has appeared, enriched with many additions from
the author's manuscripts, selected by the taste of William
Kennedy, himself a true poet, and a well-written me-
moir by Mr James M*Conechy of Glasgow.* To this
narrative we have been indebted for the above parti-
culars of the life of Motherwell ; and we shall now draw
upon Mr Kennedy for one or two specimens of the new
matter in the volume.
The following song strikes us as having much of the
raciness as well as tenderness of Bums : —
' Ho ooorted ma in parlour, and ho courted ma in ha*,
He courted me by Bothwell banks, amang the flowers sae sma*,
He oourted me vrV pearlins, wi' ribbons, and wi' rings.
He courted me wi* laces, and wi' mony mair braw things ;
But oh he courted beet o' a' wi* his black bUthsome ee,
Whilk wi' a gleam o* witcherie ouiit glaomour orer me.
We hied thegitber to the fair, I rade ahint my joe,
I fknd his heart leap up and doun, while mine beat faint and low ;
He turned his rosy (flieek about, and then, ere I could trow,
The widdifu* o* wickedness took arlee o* my mou I
Byne, when I feigned to be sair fleyed, sae pawkily as he
Bann'd the auld mare for missing fit, and thrawin' him ajee.
And aye' he waled the loanings lang, till we drew near the town.
When I could hear the Idmmers say—** There rides a comslie
lounl"
* The Poetical Works of William MothsrwaU ; with memoir. By
James U*Coneohy, Esq. SdeditkA: Greatly enlarged. Glasgow:
^vid Robertson. 1849.
I tamed wi' pride, and keeked at him, bat no as to be i
And thought how dowie I wad feel gin he made love to Jean !
But soon the manly chiel, aff-hand, thus frankly said to me,
** Meg, either tak me to yoursel, or set me fairly free !**
To Glasgow Green I linked wi* him, to see the ferliee there.
He birled his penny wi' the best— what noble could do mair ?
But e'er ae fit he'd tak me hame, he oriee— *' Meg, tdl roe noo :
Gin ye will hae me, there's my lufe, ril aye be leal aa' true.**
On sic an honest, loving heart, how oould I draw a bar ?
What oould I do but tak Rab's hand for better or for waur ?*
As a contrast, we may take the following, affording a
fair specimen of the masculine character of his s^le: —
' THE knight's RBQUIEM.
They have waked the knight so meikle of might.
They hare cased his corpse in oak ;
There was not an eye that then was dry.
There was not a tongue that apoike.
The stout and the true lay -stretched in view.
Pale and cold as the marble stone ;
And the yoice was still that like trumpet shrill
Had to glory led them on ;
And the deadly hand, whose battle brand
Mowed down the reeling foe.
Was laid at rest on the manly breast
That never more motight glow.
With book, and beU, and waxen light.
The roase for the dead is sung;
Thorough the night in the turret's height.
The great church-bells are rung.
Oh wo I— oh wo !— for those that go
From li^t of life away,
Whoae limbe may rest with wonns unblest
In the damp and silent clay I
With a heavy cheer they upraised his bier,
Naker and drum did roll ;
The trumpets blew a last adieo
To the good knight's martial soul.
With measured tread through the aide they tpoA,
Bearing the dead Icnight on.
And before the dirine of 8t James the divine,
Thay covered his corpse with stone:
'Twas fearful to see the strong agony
Of men who had seldom wept.
And to hear the deep groan of each mail-clad one
As the lid on the coffin swept
With many a groan, they placed that atone
O'er the heart of the good and brave.
And many a look the tall Icnights took
Of their brother soldier's grave.
Where banners stream and corslets ^esm
In fields beqvent with gore.
That brother's hand and shearing brand
In the van should wave no more ;
The clarions call on one and all
To arm and fight amain,
Wonldrnersr see, in chivalry.
Their brother's mate again ! *
For a special purpose we add two stameas from one
of the poems of the older editions : —
'lAMVCTSAD,
I am not sad, though sadness seem
At times to cloud my brow ;
I cherished once a fooUsh dream— ^
Thank Heaveo 'tis not so now.
Truth's sunshine broke.
And I awoke
To feel 'twas right to bow
To fate's decree, and this ray doom—
The dsrWissB of a nimrtess t<nnb.
I grieve not, though a tear may fill
This glaxed and vacant eye ;
Old thoughts will rise, do what w« wHl,
But soon again they die;
An idle gush.
And all is hush.
The fount is soon run dry;
And cheerly now I meet my doom—
The darkness of a nsmnlfiss tomb.*
In these verses Motherwell foretold what has hitherto
been a truth. He was buried in the Necropolis of Glaa-
gow, and the spot is undistinguished even by a head-
stone bearing his initials! A considerable sum of
money was raised by subscription among the friends
of the deceased poet ; but it was no more than enoogii
to succour those whom Motherwell had been obliged to
leave to the charity of his friends. It is high time th«l
the reproach of the nameless tomb were wiped off, and
k.
CHAMBERS'S EDmBUBGH JOURNAL.
73
wetnnt to tee it imniediately looked to. The follow-
iig eloquent and elegant appeal from a brother poet
(which doies the Tolame) will have more effect than
til ve ooald say on the rabject : —
• UinBS WmiTTBN ▲TTBIl A VISIT TO THE GRATE OF MY
raiENP wnxiAM mothbrwell, November 1847.
PUoe wo a atone at his head and his feet ;
BprinUe his sward with the small flowers sweet ;
Piously hallow the poet's retreat !
Ever approTingly,
Em meet lovingly,
Tnmed he to nature a worshipper meet.
Harm not the thorn whidi grows at his head ;
Odorous honours its hlossoms will shed,
Qratefol to him, early summoned, who sped
Henoe, not unwillingly—
For he Mt thrillingly—
To rest Us poor heart 'mong the low-lySng dead.
I.
.1
Dssrcr to him than the deep minster bdl.
Winds of sad cadence at midnight will swell,
Tooal with sorrows he knoweth too well,
VTho, for the early day.
Plaining this roundelay,
lO^t his own fate firom a brother's foreteL
Woddly ones treading this terrace of graves,
Gmdge not the minstrel the little he craves.
When o'er the snow-monnd the winter-blast raves— >
Team which devotedly,
Ttuongh all unnotedly—
Fk>w from their spring in the soul's silent oaves.
Draamers of noble thoughts, raise him a shrine.
Graced with the beauty which lives In his line ;
B&ew with pale flow'rets, when pensive moons shine,
His grassy covering,
Where spirits hovering.
Chant for his requiem music divine.
Ifot as a record he lacketh a stone I
Pity a li^t debt to the singer we've known—
Pratf that our love for his name hath not flown
With the frame perishing—
That we are cherishing
PeeUaga akin to the lost poet's own.
William KaicirBDY.'
A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY OF POPE PIUS IX.
Amoho the continental rulers whose wavering fortunes
have fixed the ejes of all Europe during the last few
etentfal mcmtiu, none haye awakened such universal
admiration, or so deep a sympathy, as -Pope Pius IX.
Even those who disaTow his creed, revere the honesty of
his faith; and although some may deny him the appella-
tioD of a great man, none will question his being a good
one. At the present moment, when he is a fugitive from
Rome, and his horixon clouded with cares and perplexi-
ties, it ii carious to look back upon the brief period of
his popularity, and to remember the day upon which he
WIS installed as sovereign pontiff amid the cheers of a
coontlcss and enthusiastic multitude. It is more than
probable that the imposing forms then observed, and
which have been handed down to modem Europe, a last
rUc of the middle ages, may, in this day of reform, be
evept away with the besom of destruction, and that
hcoceforUi they shall only live in the pages of history,
a in the memoxy of man.
Let us say a word first about the obsequies of Gregory
XVI. No sooner had the cardinal chamberlain verified
the death of the pope by striking his head gently three
toDss with a hammer, than the event was announced to
the iohalntants of Rome by the great bell of the capital,
Sfid to all Catholic courts of Christendom by their re-
■pcctive ambassadors. A few days afterwards, the em-
hthaed body, clothed in pontifical garments, was borne
fism theQuirinal to the Vatican on a splendid litter,
cttried by white mules, which were caparisoned in black,
■ad escorted by torch-bearers, dragoons, Swiss guards,
tnunpttot, an^ artillezymen, accompanied by seven
fwoss of cannon.
To describe the imposing effect of this military and
H^cioos convoy would be as difficult as to reckon the
ttWitude which thronged around the lifeless body.
which, clad in white, was borne aloft fiur above the heads
of the crowd beneath. The couch of state was prepared
in the Sistine Chapel, where it rose up as high as the
frescos of Michael Angelo. Picture to younelf a
colossal monument of velvet and silk, gold and silver,
illuminated by a blaze of light. Gregory XVI. reposed
on its summit, bearing the tiara on his head and the
crosier in his hand. One might almost have thought
that he still breathed. After three days and nights of
unceasing chants and psalmody, came another convoy
and another procession, as imposing as the first. This
time the body was borne into the great Basilica of St
Peter's, and an alcove was prepared for its reception, not
less splendidly mournful than the couch of state. Here
the holy father was laid in an inclined position, so that
all could behold him from the tiara to the shoe-strings;
and the multitude were admitted to kiss his feet, which,
for this purpose, were suffered to project beyond the iron
grate. This exposition and kissing of the feet lasted for
three days, during which the church was constantly full.
On the fourth day (the seventh of the obsequies) the
body was deposited in the middle of the chuich, imder
the mausoleum where his predecessor had hitherto lain,
the latter being now conveyed to those vaults whither
Gregoiy in hia turn will one day be borne.
The funeral oration, the last act of this melancholy
drama, was pronounced in Latin, after which the guardia
nobiie laid aside their mourning; the mace-bearers bore
away their maces; the cardinal attended the * mass of
the Holy Ghost,' and went into conclave to elect a new
pope.
The word conclave defines admirably the state of seclu-
sion and secrecy in which the sacred college is kept
during this important period. The cardinals shut them-
selves up in the Quirinal with their aids and their physi-
cians. Once there, they cannot quit the palace without a
pope. Each day may be seen their respective equipages
bearing fJong their dinner; sometimes a poamed egp,
escorted hjfow horses and as many piqueurs/
These repasts are conveyed through a trap-door, the
only mode of communication permitted with the outer
world. All the doors and windows are hermetically
sealed; each voter inhabits a separate cell, and they only
meet in the central chapel for the election of a pope.
There are three modes of election — that by acclamation,
by compromise, and by scrutiny. The latter is the most
usual, and its form is as follows: — ^The dean of the sacred
college votes first. He takes out of a silver basin a bal-
loting-ticket, prepared beforehand for the purpose, and
fills it up in presence of the cardinals, so that all may
see his act, and yet none can read what he has written
upon the parchment. Each candidate goes through the
same formality. The voter next holds up his ticket be-
tween his thumb and forefinger, and turning towards the
altar, utters aloud the following oath: — * I take God, who
is my judge, to witness that I elect him whom I deem
most worthy of being pope ! '
Upon the altar is placed a large silver chalice, in
whicn the voters place their tickets; and afterwards the
names are read aloud by one of the tcrutatorif each of
the cardinals holding a printed list, on which he notes
down the names as they are uttered. If, in this first
operation, one of the cardinals has obtained a sufficient
number of votes, he is immediately declared pope; but
for this purpose two-thirds of the votes are required.
Roman affiikirs usually prosress but slowly, and conclaves
have been known to last for five months. The afiairs of
Italy being at this moment rather in a perplexed state,
it was suspected that the election would prove a dilatory
one; and I went the first evening, out of mere curiosity,
to look at the fumata upon the Piazza del Quirinal. I
must tell you what is meant by this word fumata. At
the end of each day's scrutiny, if no one has been so
fortunate as to obtain two*thiras of the votes, the ballot-
ing-tickets are burned in a stove placed behind the altar,
from whence the smoke issues by a pipe which is visible
on the Piazza. If, on the contrary, any one has obtained
the majority, the tickets are preserved with care, and
I there being no smoke without fire, the chimney of course
Ls
gives no ti^ of eombostion. Toa mfty conceive with
what ironatienoe the expected signal is looked for ht the
crowd who Msemble each evening in the Piaua. Thou*
sands of eyes are fixed upon the roof of the palace until
the solemn moment of the scmtiny. If a faint column
of smoke is then seen to rise, the Romans wish one another
a Fdice noHe^ and go to bed: thejr have no pope, and the
successful scrutiny is yet to come.
On the first day of the conclave a multitude were
assembled to gape at the fumata; and we saw it at the
expected time rise up slowly over the roof of the palaee.
The next evening there were comparatively but few whom
curiosity led to the spot ; for ' there would be so many
opportunities,' every one said, * of seeing it again.' Judce,
then, of our surprise when the solemn hour arrived wiSi-
out brinffing with it a single curl of smoke.
' Sorely,' said the lookers-on, ' there must be some
unfbreseen delay;' and eveir eye was fixed upon the
palace in impatient expectation. Minutes sped on, and
were growing into hours ; still no fumata. And yet how
was it possible to conceive that a pope should be elected
in eight-ami'/ortykomrst Suddenly are heard loud knocks
of a hammer behind the partition idiich closed in the
hifgioe (so is the baleony of the Quirinal called^ The
partition falls, piece by piece, and the master of tne cere-
monies appears in the baloonv, clad in his state costume,
and beanng a cross in his hand. He announces, in a
sonorous voice, to the Roman population, who by thb
time had come thronging into the Piazza, the nomination
of the new pope, in these words :*-' I bring you joyous
tidings: we have for our pope the most eminent and
most revttpend Cardinal BiastM Fcrretti, Archbishop of
Imola, who has chosen the venerated name of Pius IX.'
Immediately the air was rent with acclamations, and
there seemed such unbounded enthusiasm amongst the
people, that I began to inquire among my neighbours
whether the new pope bad any special clsom to popu-
larity; and I learned that, about thirty years before, he
had been one of the handsomest and most fascinating
gentlemen in Italy; that he was on the eve of marriage
with a lovely and noUe lady, to whom he was tenderly
attached, when death soddtfily deprived him of his
treasure.
Her loss oeoasioned him nch deep sorrow, that he ra-
nounced the hopes and pleasures of ue worid, and became
a priest. He had, until then, borne the epaulettes of the
Austrian servioe, and was distinguished among his com-
panions by his proud and gallant bearing. Now his mar-
tial ardour was exchanged for a martyr's aeal, and he
went as a missionary to preach the Gospel amonest the
tribes of South Aaerica. In vain did he expose himself
to the toils and perils incident to this life of self-devotion;
he survived them all; and after an absence of some years,
returned to Italy, whither he bad been reoslled by his
superiors. Here his worth and merit soon became known.
He was shortly afterwards appointed bishop of Imola,
then archbishop, next cardinal, and nbw, aner a single
scrutiny, he had been elected pope at the age of fifly-four
years!— a drcumstaace almost anpteoe£8rted in the
annals of the sacred college.
The popularity of ^e new pontiff was still more appa-
rent on the day of his oo»»atioiu On that monsing hie
name was repeated with the wildest enthusiasm by the
vast msssfiii oi people who thronged the streets te witness
the selemmties of the day. Piua IX., escorted by the
conclave in scarlet robes, was borne upon the gidia ftom
the Quirinal to St Peter's, and from St Peter's te the Va-
tican. There he assumed the epsseopal habit, the cope,
and the silver mitre; and by die sound of the cannone of
the castle of St Angelo, in the midst ef all the clergy, the
army, and the Roman people, he made his solemn entnr
into the Basilica, hung with rich damask fringed with
gold; gave his feet to the cardinals, archpriests, priests,
and monks to kiss; crossed the immense nave amid the
clang of trumpets, which resounded from the galleries on
either side; looked at the thrice-burned tow, which an-
nounces to him the vanity of all earthly eloiy (sic traami
gloria mundi); and then placing himself once nMure on
the gtfdia, over which was bocne the p^>al canopy, he
went to receive the tiara* in the grand balcony of St
Peter's, in the presence of an innumerable population,
which crowded the pavement beneath.
Often as this ceremony has been described, it is perhaps
impossible to realise a solemnity which has no paiallel on
earth. Picture to vourself the moment of the benedic-
tion, * Urbi ei Orbe^ (for Rome and for the universe), this
living mass of human beings stretching out as far as tiie
eve could reach; these thousands of priests and monks
clad in all the rich and varied costumes of the middle
ages; this sacred college, and this court, wearing scarlet
robes; this mingled pealing of bells and salvoes of artil-
lery; and in the midst of all this joy and splendour, the
pontiff covered with jewels, his tiara on his head, his
sceptre in his hand, standing alone far above the kneeling
multitude, and stretching out his arms towards the four
cardinal points, blessing the funily of Chriat in all parts
of the world.
The enthusiasm of the Romans did not end with these
splendid and solemn ceremonies. All men spoke of Fios
IX. as being the dispenser of no empty blessing; but
that he came to bear liberty to the nations, redress to the
wronged, and consolation to the afflicted. Such, truly,
was bin ambition; and despite of recent events, we mav
not say that his desire has been altogether unfulfilled.
During the two years and a-half whidi have elwsed since
that gorgeous pageant, how roanv deeds of goodnen and
mercy have crowned his daily life ! The liberation of
the unhappy Jews fhmi their prison-like abode In the
Ghetto is m itself a noble monument of his enlightened
spirit During that period, wheresoever misery appeared
amongst the FU>man8, there also was Pins IX. to be found,
lending his best endeavours to relieve or to allay it.
On one occasion, when a certain district near Rome
was deluged by the overflowing of the Tiber, so that the
wretched inhabitants were flooded in their dwellings, and
they themselves exposed to the complicated miseries of
want, and of exposure to the inclemencv of the weather,
tidings of their misfortune reached the pontifl^s ear.
Not content with sending some aid to the sufferers, he
resolved to inspect their condition himself, and mount-
ing his horse, rode off briskly to the scene of distress,
fbUowed hj the cardinals, who, accustomed only to levage
luuriously in their coaches, inwardly cursed the active
benevolence of their new p<^>e, whi^ would not sufior
him to indulae in lazy benevolence. Pius IX., on lus
accession to we papal chair, found himself placed in
circumstances so mtricate and perplexing, that it would
have required the highest genius to direct them to a
happy issue. By nature benevolent and firm, with a
strong sense of justice, possessing an intelligent and cul-
tivated mind, he lon^ to give freedom to his peoole^
and to ameliofate thetr condition morally ae well as phy«
sieally. At the same time, hie attachment to the church
was ardent and sincere ; and whilst he was full of indul-
gence towards his peo{de, he was inflexible in his reform
of ecclesiastical abuses, and was the practical opponent
of all priestlv tyrannv. Many anecdotes corroboratire
of this assertion have been afloat in the worid. We will
relate but one. which has reached us from an sutheatio
source. A rich Italian noble, desiring in his old age to
atone for the sins of his youth, was advised by hie con-
fessor to bestow the bulk of his property en the church.
He had two nephews, who expected to inherit hie fortune,
but, swayed by priestly counsel, he aflsigned to each of
them only a small annuity, and made a mil, disposing of
his vast wealth in fhvoor of the priest who should chance
to say the first mass f»r his soul on the day of hie funeral.
This will was safely deposited with the proto-notaiy «4
the Holy See. The neuemao soon aftevwatds died, and
the proto-notary, on openine hie will, immediately eom*
mnnieated its contents to the sovcnign pontiff. It was
late at night when this news reached him ; but the fol-
* Tke tiara, or triple efowa estd on tirts oimastou Is ttet wttk
which NapoUmn presented Pins VIL Its foundntkm is sT wWts
velvet : the three erowns are oompoeed of Mpphfcree, eneraldt.
rubies, and pesrla. On its eununit le one laife emerald, ear-
mounted by a cross of diamonds. The value of tiie tiara is esti-
ted al L.18,6eo.
loviof momiiig he rote before the dawn, hastened to the
ditfS where the funeral rites were to be performed,
ordered the doors to be opened, and offered immediately
the ncrifioe of the mass. UaTing thus constituted him-
Mlf the oniTersal legatee, the holy father at onoe sent
for the nephews of the deceased, and yielded into their
ksodft the whole of their uncle's fortune.
With such dispositions, it may readily be conceived
that Pius IX. was as bitterly hated by one body of his
laiyects as he was beloTed by another. Among his fiercest
opponents were the cardinals and the Jesuits; and their
eDmity was so generally known, that the populace, who
»cd to follow him in crowds as. he walked along
tkroogh the streets of Rome, would cry aloud, ' Sa$Uo
Ptdrt^ gmardasi dal bouons,* They feared that he might
be poisoned, as more than one of his predecessors had
bten, at the festal board. The pope was eminently a
iaToorite amongst the female portion of his subjects, who,
heretoCoR, had been excluded from the Quirinal, as if
they were iccursed beings; but Pius IX. felt that the
whole hiunaa race equally claimed his care, and no peti-
tiooen vste ever sent away unheeded firom his gates, what-
erer might be their rank or sex. A clamour was raised
on this subject by narxow-minded and evil-thinking men;
but the holy father pursued his course of kindliness and
eoortesy, without being over -anxious concerning the
r' 00 of his detractors. Among those of the fair sex
reouested leave to pay him their homage, was
Fanoy Elsler, the celebrated danseute^ who, on her ar-
riral at Rome, humbly solicited the honour of kissing
his boliDesa' feet. Her profession would doubtless have
iasuxed a refusal from any other pope; but the good man
graciously assented to her wishes; and she wl)0 had here-
tofore gloried only in the homage which eyerywhere
swatted her, now bent her knee before the pontiff as a
homble and obedient subject. By way of lowing her
respect, she had dressed herself magnificently, and put
OQ all her diamonds; and however questionable the taste
which dictated this display, it did not seem displeasing
to the pope, who accepted it as a mark of homage to the
dignity of his office.
A few days before, he had received the queen of Hol-
land, whose toilet was far more simple than that of the
fair doHMeuMe. This was perhaps not the less gratifying
to him, as royalty thereby signified its humility in the
presence of one who claimed supremacy over the sove-
reigits of the earth.
The first act of Pius IX. was to grant an amnesty to
those vho had been banished firom their country on ac-
count of political offences. At first the emigrants viewed
with suspicion this act of clemency; but after a while,
even these exiled patriots learned to confide in his
honesty of purpose, and they flocked around him to the
nombtt of seven or eight nundred. He received them
cofdially, and encouraged the expression of their liberal
opiaiona But he was too clear-sighted not to perceive
mat their desires and expectations exceeded his power —
nay, perhaps his intentions of refono.
The letter of a distinguished Italian refugee, daled
from Rome in Januanr 1847, just after an interview with
the pope, of whose benignity and good intentions he
•peaks with enthusiasm, thus describes his first impres-
■>«s of^ Pius IX.: — * I think the pope b a rare and an
evangelical man. I found as much facility in expressing
^ opinions to him as if he had been only my equaL
We ^loke long on the political condition of the country,
«a its Industrial resources, and on the liberty of the press.
After much thoughtfulness of aspect and manner, he
spproaehed me with an air of confidence. " Son," said
h^ " I cannot totcMy change the form of government I ** '
Here was the seed of future dissensions. Pius IX. was
aaeere in his desire to reform civil as well as eccle-
ttsfltical abuses, but he was not prepared to grant the
ia^tttikms which were desired by his people. His first
pi^MMsessions were all in fovour of freedom and progress.
He granted liberty of the press, and became quickly
planned at its license : he appointed a civic guard, and
^s sorpfiwd to find that its ardour could not be am-
I BMd within the limits he had assigned to it: he named
L —
a council, consisting chiefly of laymen, who were to assist
him in the administration of civil affairs, and listened
with dismay to the cries for a representative assembly,
who should have the right of governing the country aa
well as of advising its chief.
Whether the pope was unequal to the task now as-
signed to him, of guiding the vessel of St Peter amid the
storms of a revolutionary period, or whether the task he
had undertaken was one too difficult for the ablest mortal
to accomplish, we do not pretend to decide. Suffice it to
say, that early in the past year symptoms of reaction
began to appear. The Romans became more exacting,
and their sovereign less willing to concede the privileges
they desired. The appointment of Rossi, an Italian by
birth, but a foreigner by prejudice aa well as habit, to
the post of prime minister, exasperated the people, and
diminished the pope's popularity. Early in November
matters came to a crisis. The Eternal City becoming the
focus of p<^ular excitement and disturbance, Rossi odled
to his Md a body of carbinieiv, whose entrance into Rome,
with the professed purpose of guarding the avenues to the
Chamber of Deputies, and thus influencing theb councils,
roused the people into fkenzy.
The minister was so unwise as to nie insulting Ian*
guage with reference to the democratic party, and in a
moment of unbridled fury, a dagger was plunged into hit
neck at the very door of the Palace of Legislature. This
deed of violence took place on the 13th November. On
that evening a vast multitude paraded the streets of
Rome, preceded by the Italian flag, and singing in chorus,
'Blessed be the hand that felled the tyrant!' Next
morning an assemblage of thirty thousand people, oon«
sisting of soldiers as well as eitiaens, marched to the
Chamber of Deputies, to require that the latter might
demand of the pope a democratic ministry, as well as
certain concessions, the chief of whi(^ were, the recog-
nition of Italian nationality, and the convocation of a
Constituent Assembly. The deputies having joined the
cortege, they proceeded to the palace oi the pope, who, in
reply to their demands, said he would grant nothing to
violence. This inflamed the populace, who threatened to
set fire to one of the gates of the Quirinal if the pope con-
tinued obstinate, ana vowed that they would, after tiding
the palace by assault, shoot every one of its inmates, the
pope only excepted. A small body of Swiss continued
mithful to their duty, and kept up for some time a brisk
firing from the windows; but what were the^ against six
thousand civic guards and troops of the line, who were
ranged in order of battle before the palace, with the can-
non levelled against the principal entruice f
Pitts IX. finding himself thus aband(»ied and helpless,
resolved to prevent an effusioD oi blood by yielding to the
demands of the multitude : he consented to receive Ma-
miami and his colleagues as ministers, and referred their
other demands to the Council of Deputies. He capitu-
lated in the name of the Swiss, on condition that their
lives should be spared, and they were instantly s^it out
of the city, their posts being occupied by the civic guutls.
Thus was the pope now in the hands of his enemies, a
prisoner within his own palace, deserted by all save the
diplomatic corps, who gathered around him in his ex-
tremity, to offer him the security to be derived from their
presence. It is said that on first realising his fallen
state, he burst into tears ; and this has been imputed to
him as pusillanimity; but it ought to be remembered
that the fe^ings ^ Pius IX. were not thoae ef an ordi-
nary ruler under similar circumstances. A military
despot, or a merely civil ruler, might have deemed it
mercy, by the sacrifice of some human lives, to stem the
torrent of revolution in its earlier stages^ but Ae felt him-
self the guardian of their spiritual safety; and those tears
which he is supposed to have shed, may have sprang from
far deeper sources than those of cowardice or disappointed
ambition. Thai he was not deficient in moral courage,
is proved by the fact, that even at the time of his im-
prisonment, he resolutely refused to allow his name to be
attached to any of the deeds of the government, and de-
clined even to receive, according to custom, the daily
reports of the officer of the guard.
L
CHAMBERSn9 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
During eight Uaji he continued a captire in the Qui-
rinal, that palace in whoae balcony his adyent to power
had 80 recently been announced, amid the plaudits. of a
people intoxicated with joy at so auspicious an event.
On the 24th of November he contrived to escape from
the palace, in the suite of the Count de Spaur, the minis-
ter of Bavaria, whose livery he assumed for that purpose,
and afterwards accompanied him to Gaeta in the disguise
of his chaplain. It is said that at one moment he was
in peril of being recognised, in an unfriendly village,
but for the presence of mind displayed by the Bavarian
minister's lady (an Englishwoman), who, nretending to
be incommoded by the heat, desired the blinds of the
carriage to be quickly drawn down.
It was some time before the escape transpired. When
it did, the news fell like a thunderbolt upon the Romans.
A note was left by his holiness for the minister Qaletti,
intreating him not only to spare the palace, but to pro-
tect the several persons in it, who were totally ignorant
of his resolution to escape, and urging him to promote the
quiet and safety of the city. '
The town of Oaeta being situated on the very borders
of the Roman states, it is evident that Pius IX. has not
abandoned his hope of restoration; for many other more
inviting residences have been offered to him ; but he has
expressed his desire of remaining where he is. There he
is surrounded by the homages of the Neapolitans, whose
royal family vie with their subjects in doing him honour.
The foreign ambassadors and the cardinals have also
gathered round him; and a deputation from Rome has
requested an audience to supplicate his return; but the
embassy was not suffered to cross the confines of the Nea-
politan dominions ; whether by desire of the pope, or by
the command of the king of Nicies, it is not very easy to
ascertain.
The year on which we are now entering will doubt-
less unfold a new page in the eventful history of
Pius IX. What may be the future complexion of his
destiny we shall not presume to surmise. Some aver that
he is on the eve of allying himself with that despotism
which has hitherto been so alien to his feelings ana prin-
ciples; others foretel that he will re-enter the Eternal
City, shorn of his temporal power, and merely in the
capacity of ecclesiastical ruler of a Roman republic.
Gladly do we leave the issue of present events to that
Providence which guides and overrules the circumstances
of national as well as domestic life; and we shall now
close this brief sketch of Pope Pius IX. by earnestly
desiring that he may prove both wise and firm at the
present important crisis of his history.
POPULAR MEDICAL ERRORS.*
When I commenced practice as a surgeon, I found that
popular notions on medical subjects exercised a consi-
derable influence on the minds of many well-educated
people, and to some extent interfered with their ready
concurrence in the views of their medical advisers. In
acme cases I took pains to explain what are considered
the more correct and scientific views ; but I was not
always sucoemful in combating notions which seemed
to have the authority of ages, and the suffrages of
all mankind in their favour. Thus I had frequently
the mortification of finding my explanations received
with incredulity and distrust, and at times even with
an open deniid, when an experienced nurse or aged
matron conceived her wisdom to be called in question.
At length the idea suggested itself of noting down the
common ideas entertained on many of the subjects in
question, with a view to inquiring how far they may be
deserving of credit It could not well escape me that
many doctrines, which had long been regarded as vulgar
errors, have again been received into favour, or have
been fouud to contain the germs of valuable disco-
veries.
There could not well be a more striking instance of
* Commanioated by Mr James Bower HaiTis<m, surgeon, of
Brouffhton, near Manchester.
this than the introduction of the vaccine inocuktioD.
Dr Baron states that whilst Jenner was a young man,
engaged in pursuing his professional education at the
house of his master at Sodbury, a young countrywoman
applied for advice. The subject of the small-pox was
casually mentioned in her presence, when she imme-
diately remarked, * I cannot teke that disease, for I have
had Uie cow-pox.'* Now it was a popular notion in
the district that those who had been the subjects of
the cow-pox were not liable to the tmall-pox. The
idea, ridiculous as it might seem to superficial thinkers,
engaged the attention of Jenner, and he set himself
about inquiring into the truth of the matter, and by
his persevering and patient inquiries, aocompliahed Um
greatest discovery which has perhaps ever benefited
mankind.
In one of Jenner's note-books of 1799, he says, * I
know no direct allusion to this disease in any ancient
writer, yet the following seems not very distantly to
bear on it. When the Duchess of Cleveland was taunted
by her companions, Moll Davis (Lady Mary Davis)
and others, that she might soon have to deplore the
loss of that beauty which was then her boast (the amall-
pox at that time raging in London), she made a reply
to this effect, ** That she had no fear about the matter ;
for she had had a disorder which would prevent her
from ever catching the small^pox." ' f
In 1646 Sir Thomas Browne, the author of the ' Re-
ligio Medici,' wrote his work called ' Inquiries into Vul-
gar and Common Errors.' In the preface, the author
speaks of the difficulties of the undertaking in a style
which is both quaint and amusing. * We hope,' says
he, * it will not be unconsidered that we find no open
track or constant manuduction in this labyrinth ; but
are ofttimes fain to wander in the Ameriea and untra-
veiled parts of truth. And therefore we are oftentimes
constrained to stand alone against the strength o( opi-
nion, and to meet the Qoliah and giant <x authority
with contemptible pebbles and feeble arguments, drawn
from the scrip ana slender stock of ourselves.' Some
of the errors which this g^ave writer set himself about
exploding with so much appearance of erudition, would
only make us smile in these days of science and learn-
ing. Thus he controverts the absurd idea that a bear
licks her cubs into shape, and endeavonrs to show how
it is to be explained *that a man becomes hoarse or
dumb if a wolf have the advantage first to eye him.'
It seems, however, that Sir Thomas Browne was him-
self by no means superior to the prejudices of his own
day. * It is singular,' says one of his biographera, ' that
notwithstanding his zeid to detect old errors, he seems
not very easy to admit new positions; for he never
mentions the motion of the earth but with contempt
and ridicule, though the opinion which admits it was
then growing popular, and was surely plausible, even
before it was confirmed as an estaldished truth by later
observations.'}
Many of the expressions commonly made use of in
speaking on medical subjects might be changed with
advantage to suit more rational views. Some of them,
it is true, are only used metaphorically, and it would
not therefore be fair to censure them too rigidly. We
hear of the seeds of a disease lurking in the syatem —
of a complaint flying about, and flnaUy settling upon a
particular organ; and these phrases, though for the
most part used vaguely, have to a certain extent a bias
over the thoughts. There can be but little doubt that
very many of the vulgar opinions were in reality at
one period the established doctrines of the day ; for in
this, as in many other cases, it has happened that the
better-informed part of mankind have forsaken the doc-
trines they promulgated by the time the people became
familiar with them.§ It is the same vrith the fashions
* See Baron's Life of Jenner, voL L p. ISSL
t Op. cit. p. 263.
i Lfvet of British Pbyalciuis, Faxnil j Library, p. 7t.
f They are the foesil words and phrases whJch show us the
vestiges of deosyed opinions.
L-^
J
:r
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
77
I ^
i:
1
ef mr dren, ftnd the pronnncimtion and choice of our
venk» the generaUtf of mankind heing of necessity
Bore slow both to adopt and reject pa^cular usages
sad cQstome. To a certain extent, therefore, they for-
■itfa a sort of salutary drag on the more rolatile part
of society. Some of the old notions which hare already
beoome aufflciently exploded are still embalmed, as it
vere, in cor language and common forms of expression.
We speak of a * tender heart ' and a * true-hearted friend/
as though this organ were the seat of the mind. Then
ve read in Scripture of * bowels of compassion ; ' and tlie
words * mdancholy choler,' and the * spleen,* when used
for ill-temper, are farther examples of words taking
their origin in the theories of a former day.
Mach ingenuity and learning might be displayed in
learching out and collecting into a focus the peculiar
Dotkns of former times ; but this would be a work of
eonndsrable extent, and more curious and entertaining
than uwfoL For my part, I wish to comment upon
the opinions which now actually influence the minds
of the public, or give a colouring to their views of
duease. Simple as many of them may seem, they are
the secret springs which determine the views of people,
often in opposition to the dictates of their professional
•dkisers. On tliis acoonnt, therefore, they must be
trested with respect — a respect which they deserve
from their influence, if not from their justness.
I have purposely, tlien, brought forward the opinions
which I luive found to be the most prevalent and the
Bost influential, without any reference to their pUu-
abiiity or ingenuity, and in preference to the discussion
of others which might have admitted of more scope for
eatir^unaient of for professional research. On this
account I must be excused for speaking of many things
which are simple, and perhaps ludicrous and common-
pisoe, and also for passing by many subjects which are
rich in matter for curiosity and entertainment, as well
as the display of such literary industry as might be
devoted to them.
I shall now proceed to the consideration of the several
oomosQD errors which have presented themselves to ray
mind, making on each a few very brief remarks, but
such as I imagine may be sufficient, without being
tedious.
I am quite aware that there are very many (not to
•peak of professfonal readers) to whom all these expla-
nations may be altogether unnecessary, but I am sure I
dull have their indulgence if the comments which I
make are only acceptable to others. To all, notions which
an common must, as such, be of some interest, what-
ever flsay be their absurdity, and the remarks made on
them may at least serve to connect them together. In
the course of this paper, then, I shall have to intro-
dace many conimonplaoes ; but this, it must be remem-
bered, is inseparable from the subject I may also state
that 1 have purposely chosen to treat the subject in a
piiia, and somewhat colloquial style ; for it seems to me
ihst esmmon ideas are beet explained in a familiar
9Huer, and that popular notions are best embodied in
the language in which they are usually delivered.
Lintiiet, — ^Tliere is a common notion that lunatics
mt iafliienced by the moon. The term lunatic was no
doobt given to insane people from the supposed influence
i# the moon in producing madness. This opinion is in
^•■e degree preserved by the continued employment of
the term lunatic, as well as by that fondness for the
VMTTdlous which is so common to mankind. Even at
the ment day, people will shake their heads and allude
40Mfeantly to the full of the moon—* Poor Mr So-and-
g^lhey will say, * is a little off" the cock just now—a
mm wrong in the upper storey ; but then it is the full
% lie moon next Thursday.' There does not appear to
he any real ground for the belief that the moon exer-
^■n this baneful influence on the human mind, al-
wagh it is acknowledged that insane people are usually
•omewhat more than ordinarily restless at the full of
Ihe moon. The celebrated French writer Esquirol
attributes this to the effect of the increased light, and
states that the break of day occasions a similar agita-
tion. 'Light,* he asserts, 'frightens some lunatics,
pleases others, but agitates alL'*
Of Seatom, — There is a very common, and very
old notion, that what are called cooling medicines
should be taken at particular periods of the year,
especially in the spring. Every practitioner will
occasionally be consult^ on this subject, and very
oflen a great disposition is shown by medical men
to fall in with popular views. Many a poor child
has been condemned to a pot of brimstone and
treacle merely because it was the spring-time. I
imagine parents are not always ready to carry out
these views in their own cases. Hippocrates advocates
such a system in his 47 th aphorism, section vi. *If
bleeding or purging be requisite,' says he, 'spring is
the most convenient time for either.' He repeats the
same view in other places. There was a great deal of
importance attached to seasons in the treatment of dis-
eases by the old medical authorities ; but we And very
little on this subject in our best modem works. For
my part I don't see why we should take physic unless
we are ill. The public have very curious, and, I should
think, very ill-deflned ideas of cooling physic, and of
medicines for purifying the blood. That the ancients
set considerable importance on seasons, will appear from
the most casual inspection of their works. Thus ^tins,
in his directions for the cure of the gout, laid down a
distinct regimen for each month. * In September, the
diet should be wholly milk ; in October, garlic must be
eaten ; in November, bathing is prohibited ; in Decem-
ber, cabbage; in January, the patient should take a
glass of pure wine every morning; in February, he
must not eat beet ; in Marcli, he must mix sweets both
with his eatables and drinkables; in April, he must
refrain from horse-radish ; and in May, from Uie fish
called polypus ; in June, he roust take cold water in
the morning ; in July, abstinence must be practised ;
in August he must not eat mallows.' f
Hair, — That hair turns gray in a single night.
In a popular but able treatise on diseases of the skin
(by Erasmus Wilson)4 this subject is alluded to in the
following terms : — * Much less can I give credit to the
bleaching of the hair in a single night or a single week.
The first step in the change may have been made in a
single night, and on that night week the whole of the
hairs of the head may have ^come white at their roots;
this is perfectly possible, and the only reasonable expla-
nation of the circumstance. Thus we learn that Marie-
Antoinette became gray in a short period, as did the
unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots.' He alludes to the
passage in the * Prisoner of Chillon,* showing that the
error has the weight of poetical authority in its favour —
' My hair ii gray, though not with years.
Nor grew it white
In a single night.
As men's have grown from sadden fears.'
After proceeding to relaite several amusing cases of
this reputed bleaching of the hair, he goes on to speak
of another common error with respect to the hair :§ — * A
prevalent belief,, strengthened by the opinion of several
modem French writers on this subject, is, that the
hairs grow after death. It is true that they lengthen,
but their lengthening results from the contraction of
the skin towards their roots, and not from the con-
tinuance of a vital process after the death of the in-
dividuaL But the older writers outstrip the modems
in invention; for in the "Philosophical Collections,"
Wulferus gives the account of a woman buried at Nu-
remburg, whose grave being opened forty-three years
after her death, there was hair fuund issuing forth plen-
tifully through the clefts of the coffin, insomuch that
there was some reason to imagine the coffin had some
* Be<^k*8 Medical Jurispnidenoe, p. 485.
t Hamilton's History of Medioino, vol. i. p. 174.
± Wilson on Healthy Bkio, p. 94.
i Op. cit. p. 100.
|l_
L
78
CHAMBERS'S EDmBURGH JOURNAL.
time been covered all orer with hair. Mr Arnold giret
** the relation of a man hanged fbr theft, who in a little
time, while yet he hung upon the gallows, bad hii body
strangely covered over with hairs.** '
Jatmdice, — There is a common saving (I will scarcely
Tentnre to call it an opinion) that jaundioed people see
tilings yellow.
How common to hear of the jaundiced eye, as another
word for prejudice! it being of course implied that the
subject sees through a coloured medium. It occasionally
does happen that a person having the jaundice sees ob-
jects yellow, but this is rather the exception than the
rule, and seems to be dependent on some enlarged and
tortuous vessel crossing the transparent part of the eye
when the vision has been previously impaired by some
disease. Dr Watson mentions this subject in his valu-
able lectures on the Practice of Physic* *You are
aware,' says he, * of the vulgar notion that to a jaun-
diced eye all things appear yellow. It is an old notion,
fbr we find It expressed by Lucretius — ^**Lurida pr»-
terea flunt quecunque tuentur arquati.** Heberden was
disposed to regard this as a mere poetical fiction, but
certainly it is sometimes, though very rarely indeed, a
fact.' He goes on to say that he has been assured by a
medical man of his own acquaintance that objects ap*
peared coloured to him in his own experience of the
complaint : also that Dr Mason Good saw things yel-
low when he was jaundiced. Dr Elliotson also relates
one or two cases. In 1826 he had a case in St Thomas's
Hospital, where there was a slight opacity of the trans-
parent part of one eye, through which ran two large
vessels, and with this eye the patient saw yellow ; but
with the other eye he saw things of their natural colour.
In 1827 he had a patient who saw things yellow with
both eyes, but he had inflammation of the eyes. In
1831 he had another case. He further mentions that
Dr P^mberton saw this occurrence twice ; but sufficient
has been said, and the explanation seems to me satis-
factory— namely, that in the cases where objects appear
yellow, there must exist some inflammation of the cor-
nea, or some opacity with enlarged vessels.
Of CoHMtitution, — Fortunately people are in general
more disposed to consider their constitutional powers
good than otherwise, and this in a degree that would
indeed be amusing, if it were not for the gravity of the
subject A patient will say to you, * R^y, doctor, I
have never known what it is to have a moment's entire
ease these many years : I must have had an excellent
constitution originally ; and, do you know, it is my firm
opinion that Pm sound yet If I could only get rid of
thu cough, I should be quite well* Speeches of this
sort are made over and over again by people who have
every possible appearance of having the worst constitu-
tions imaginable, and in fact have had every possible
evidence themselves of such imperfection of physical
power. Some of the most confirmed forms of scrofula
show themselves by a succession o^ slow diseased ac-
tiona — inflammatioQ of the eyes, enlargements of the
ghuids in the neck, abscesses, diseased hips, and per-
haps finally consumption — sind these are the people
who must have h^ originally excellent constitations I
The more they have suffered, and do suffer, the more
they praise their constitutions; they imagine that the
diseases have oome» one after the other, like the ghosts
in Macbeth —
' AnottKir—MidTet a seventh : Til see no more— and yet the eighth
sppesn.'
It never enters their minds that a poor constitution is
the cause of all these visitations, rather than the bul-
wark against which they are impotently directed.
Of ContumpiioH, — That consumption is catching is a
popular opinion, which, in this country at least, is not
recognised by the profession. I believe such an opinion,
however, to be generidly entertained in some parts of the
* Watson's Lectnns onthe Prfndplessnd Fractioe of Medicine,
teLU.p.6SS.
continent, especially in Spain, Portugal, and Italy. They
even bum the clothes of those who have died ot the dis-
ease, to nrevent risk of contagion. It is tene that a hus-
band and wife will every now and then die consecutively
of this complaint; but this is not more than we should
have been led to expect d, priori; for it not unfrequently
must happen that consumptive families will intermarry.
I think, indeed, the fi^uency of these cases of appa-
rent contagion is not greater than what might be sup-
posed likely to occur from mere coincidence in a disease
which is so widely diffhsed. It must be admitted, also,
that the anxiety and grief experienced by the survivor
in case of the first death will do much to hasten the
complaint ; and thus the appearance of contagion will be
heightened by the rapidity of the succession. Further,
there is an idea prevalent that a consumption is cutei
by an asthma : I conceive this to be altogether erro-
neous. Asthmatic people are no doubt often considered
by the public as consumptive, and it then becomes a
matter of surprise that these people continue to live
year after year. Sometimes these asthmatic people do
die in the end consumptive. Supposing, indeed, that a
few asthmatic people are found -after death to have had
tubercles in the lungs, it is scarcely logical to infer
that the consumption would have been more rapidly
developed if the asthma had not existed. Because those
who have asthma in its most marked form do not neces-
sarily become consumptive, is no proof that the asthma
prevents consumption. I think the great bulk of con-
sumptive people would be found free from gout; but
are we therefore to try to induce gout in order to pre-
vent consumption ? My own idea of this opinion about
asthma curing consumption, is not only that it is an
error, but that it is one calculated to do much mischief.
There is also a notion that an ague cures consumption.
This is equally ridiculous. There are, in fact many
cases of consumption in the aguish districts. The a^ue
has indeed been often reputed as a curative agent An
attack of the ague may probably have put a stop to
some nervous and other complaints. Dr Elliotson
states, ' that ague has been thought so capital a thing,
that some writers contend it never should be cured;'
and a proverb once prevailed that
' An asiM In •pring
Is fit for a king.*
He mentions that Dr Oregory saw a case of palpita-
tion cured by it and that Dr Fordyce had known many
cases cured by it* However, I should myself be very
sorry to try it ; and I should be very sceptical of ita
doing real good in any case.
Proftd Fiah, — Patients will frequently come to us to
know if there is any proud fiesh in their wounds. The
fear of proud flesh is very general, and brings many
patients to the doctor whom he would otiierwise never
see. When a wound is attended with k>ss of aubstanoe,
it is gradually filled up by the growth of the surround-
ing parts — a process which is called granulation, from
the grain-like surface it presents. The gninulationa
sometimes rise above the level of the sorfiuse ; and I sop-
pose the term * proud fiesh' was given to this apipear-
ance as a figurative term for a luxuriant or forward
growth. There is nothing really bad or malignant aa
it is called, in the elevation, but it is rather indicative
of a complete and rapid repair. There are, it is tme,
complaints which are attended with what are oamed
malignant ftingous growths ; but they are happily very*
rare, and quite unconnected with the healing of com-
mon sores. I shall not dwell, however, upon the latter,
as it would canr me on to the description of a disease
which is out of my present pfovince, and would only
be tedious or unintelligible to unprofessional persona.
It is perhapa, after all, ahnoat a pity to diaabnae the
pubUc mind of the idea of proud flesh ; for it is frien^jr
to the doctors, and nwy tend to induce the peo^ to
have their sores better looked «lter.
4* EOiotionlB Leotwes on the Fraotloe of Fbysio, p. S74.
I
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CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
79
Broke a Blood-veu^—The phrase 'broke a blood-
imA' it yery common j and I imagine that it is com-
Dooly supposed, in the case of spitting of blood, that a
hrge blood-yeaael has given way in the langs. Blood-
TCMsla do sooMtimes become diseased, and give way {
but in the great number of instances in which spitting
of blood arises, the Uood is exuded from the surface,
M it is in bleeding at the nose. On inspection after
detlh of the greater purt of the bodies of those who
bsve lost large quantities of blood by spitting, no trace
hai been disoovered of any ruptured vessel, so that the
term is not to be considered literal in its application to
the ordinary cases of spitting of blood. In apoplexy,
however, it is often found that a blood-vessel has actu-
lOy given way in the brain, and the dot is discovered
after death ; so that If we spoke of this latter complaint
u the breaking of a blood-vessel, we should be more
Ukelj to be correct
I,
I:
THB HARVEST IN BRITTANY.
Omr had I watched the ingathering of the harvest,
Slid shared in the joyous fes&vity of those by whose
Ubours it was treasured up in our gamers ; but having
bttfd some ourions details concerning the peculiarities
otarvable in Brittany on those occasions, I longed to
lad nyself among the primitive people of that province
daring the soaaon of their harvest labours. I had been
1^ of the veneration with which the Bretons— ^till
iiBtaed with the spirit of Druidical polytheism — watched
ths graU mystery of vegetable reproduction, and of the
divotion with which they gathered in the ripe and
jiBaw com, seeming almost to adore under this mate-
ml form a benevolent Deity. I was very glad, there-
fiae, to have an opportunity of witnesaing uiese singular
tnoes of F^Lganism, veiled as they are, but not destroyed,
hj Christianity. Our whole party shared in these leel-
bgs of curiosity and interest. Accordingly, we resolved
to rise at the dawn of day, that we might be present at
the earliest labours of the harvest
About for^ peasants were assembled in the thrash-
ing-iloor. They were dad in coarse shirts and linen
teoosera, their fset bare, and their heads only partially
covered by the Qreek cap, worn carelessly on one side.
Each of tbem bore a sickle beneath his arm. They
were ftiil ct UHb and movement, looking earnestly to-
w«fds the plain, as if longing to begin their appointed
work.
Ob a givea signal, they advanced towards that por-
tloQ of the tilled Und which was to be the ilrtt reaped,
and plaoed themedves in a line at some distance fh>m
eacb other, so as to oover a good deal of ground. There
wasa nioaieot*8 pause } and while passing their scythes
liglitiy over t^ black stone which was to lend them a
ilocr edge, the labourers looked thoughtfully on the
wide txteol of oora-land lying before tbem. I ap-
prawhed an aged peasant, who was ao absorbed in the
ooBtempUlioii, that he had allowed his pipe to eztin-
poih itself between his teeth.
* Weil, my friend,* said I, * here is a glorkMU harvest'
'Tss, sir: God is very bountiful!' was his i]opl7i
mU&ag immediately, * there is gold in those ears, sir ! ^
* Tet I am tdd that there was no manure, and very
fittle labour, expended on thia traet of land ; that the
•d was merdy thrown into the earth.'
The dd man smiled. 'It is, dr, that the earth
is still, young; so she gives without reckoning.
Whea she grows older, she will become wtore prudent J*
▲t this moment the proprietor gave orders to the
' leaper to begin. This leader was a voung man of
stature, but of remarkable strength and beauty,
was an dastic vigour in his movements, and a
■
H P**" ^ musde, which bdong to the perfection of
u iMsHttfal manhood. It was owing to his strength and
|i don that he eigoyed the distinction of leading this
I %Bd of Ubonrers ; not thai the title of chief had been
K «ipsstly oonfefTed on him, ndther had he daimed it
I Iff himsetf ; bst it M to hit k>t through that tadt oon-
viction of superiority which accompanies a remarkable
capadty of any kind.
No sooner had the expected signal been made, than
he raised his sickle with a joyous cry, and was about to
give the first stroke, when a sudden thought seemed to
arrest his hand, and turning round towards the old man,
with whom I had been speaking, he approached him
with an uncovered head.
* Take the lead of the reapers, my father/ said he, in
a respectful tone : * it is not fitting that young men
should be in the foremost rank, and the elder ones
behind.'
A gleam of joy lighted up the sunburnt features of
the old peasant as he silently took the place which his
son had just relinquished, while the latter fell to the
rear. Immediately the work began, and continued, with
little intermission, until the approach of evening, when
they began to carry the sheaves of com to the thrash-
ing-floor. When the sun was setting, we watched the
first cart laden with com, as it drew nigh to the farm-
house. It advanced across the sand, accompanied by
the music of countless bells, which tingled on the horses'
heads, and by the joyous songs of the reapers who were
following it A long tri-coloured flag floated over the
corn, and fh>m beneath its folds were peeping two little
laughing urchins, who were half buried amid the heaps
of com, while they made- believe to be guiding the horses,
whose reins lay carelesdy in their huids. We stopped
a moment to oondder this beautiful picture, so rich in
contrasts and in poetic thought ; for the most prosaic
mind ooukl not help being interested by the sight of
this rich harvest store advancing across a region which
had recently been won from the ocean ; gui&d only by
children, and escorted by the peasants of the sdL
The foUowmg day was spent in beating out the com.
The dd man who had accepted from his son the leader-
ship of the peasants kept his post When the sheaves
were laid upon the floor, he plaoed his foot upon the
outspread com, and made thereon with his sickle the
sign of the cross, muttering the while a few words of
prayer. No sooner had this brief religious ceremony
been conduded, than the other Idwurers placed them-
sdves around the floor. At first thcdr fliiiii were raised
dowly, and without order, and they balanced themsdvee,
as if preparing for some powerful effort } but suddenly,
on hearing the signal ory from their leader, every fldl
was raised at the same moment and fell to the earth
simultaneottdy — this movement bdng continued with a
measured cadenoai The to/ferie, at first light and mo-
derate, grew more and more animated, until at length
it became vehement and pasuonate. The reapers,
carried away by a sort of nervous inebriety, sprang
upon the booodiog straw, whereon their bfews fdl with
the fury of a summer hail-storm. The dust flew about
them in whirling doods, and thdr brows were laden
with moisture. Now and tiien weariness would over-
take them, and the noise would become more hushed,
as if coming from a distance. Then their aged leader
would utter a peculiar cry of encouragement or of re-
proach, and thirty voices would echo it and every fliail
would be raised with tenidd vigour, and the ndse of
the baUerie would sound like an approaching thundtf •
storm, waxing each moment louder and deeper.
I remained in the granary aU day, watching the ani-
mated picture whieh presented itsdf, and observing,
with a sort of dreaming curiosity, all the scenes of this
countiy drama. The ensuing moming, the sun, which
had hitherto shone out with continued brilliancy, veiled
itself with douds, and a soft drizxling rain impeded the
harvest work. The peasants b^fnk to cover in the
thrashing-floor, and to gather the beaten corn into the
bam. Unfortunatdy, these operatioiis went on slowly
in comparison with the amount of work to be done.
The rain foil heavier, and fosrs were entertained lest
part of the wheat which was still unhoused, might be
serioudy injured. The proprietor was lamenting the
imposdbility of procuring as many hands as were need-
ful to gather in the grain more rapidly, when an dd
80
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
man, followed by five young ones, all armed with forkf
and rakes, entered the barn. He advanced towards the
astonished farmer, and oncoTering his white hairs — * I
have heard/ said he, * that you were gathering in your
harvest, and seeing this rain come on to heavily, I
thought that a dozen more arms might be of service to
you, so I am come with my lads.'
' May God bless you, good father I* said the pro-
prietor, ofi^ing his hand to the venerable peasant;
* but I did not expect this aid from you. Have you,
then, forgotten our lawsuit, and the fine inflicted on you
through my means?'
The old man shrugged his shoulders, saying, * Our
Saviour was more outraged than ever I was, and he for-
gave his murderers. Besides, the quarrels of neighbours
should not be allowed to diminish the poor man's bread.
He who lets God's wheat be destroyed, cannot be a good
Christian. Now we are going to carry home your com ;
and when the sun shines out again, your thrashers will
make room for us, and we will help them to make up
for lost time.*
Without waiting to receive the thanks which were
being lavished on him by the farmer, the old man and
his sons hastened to join the reapers, with whom they
laboured until evening. The next morning they re-
turned to their work ; and when the harvest had all
been safely gathered in, they witlidrew to their home
without accepting any reward, and seeming utterly un-
conscious that they had done aught which deserved the
smallest praise or approval
ENEMIES.
Have you enemies ? Go straight on, and mind them not.
If they block up your path, w^k around them, and do
your duty regardless of their spite. A man who has no
enemies is seldom good for anything : he is made of that
kind of material wfiioh is so easily worked, that every one
has a hand in it. A sterling character — one who thinks
for himself, and speaks what he thinks — is always sure to
have enemies. They are as necessary to him as fresh air :
they keep him alive and active. A celebrated character,
who was surrounded with enemies, used to renuuii —
' They are sparks which, if you do not blow, will go out of
themselves.' Let this be your feeling while endeavouring
to live down the scandal of those wno are bitter against
you. If you stop to dispute, you do but as they desire,
and open the way for more abuse. Let the poor fellows
talk ; there will be a reaction if you perform but your
duty, and hundreds who were once alienated from you
will nock to you and acknowledge their error. — AUstander'a
MesMnger,
ANECDOTE OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOO.
A gentleman connected with the Newfonndland fishery
WM once possessed of a dog of singular fidelity and sagsr
city. On one occasion a boat and a crew in his employ
were in circumstances of considerable peril, just outside a
line of breakers, which — owing to some change in wind or
weather — had, since the departure of the boat, rendered
the return-passage through them most hazardous. The
spectators on shore were quite unable to render any assist-
ance to their friends afloat. Much time had been spent,
and the danger seemed to increase rather than diminish.
Our friend, the dog, looked on for a length of time, evi-
dently aware of there being great cause for anxiety in those
around. Presently, however, he took to the water, and
made his way throngh to the boat. The crew supposed he
wished to join them, and made various attempts to induce
him to come aboard; but no ! he would not go within
their reach, but continued swunming about a short dis-
tance frt>m them. After a while, and several comments on
the peculiar conduct of the dog, one of the hands suddenly
divined his apparent meaning: * Give him the end of a
rope,* he said ; * that is what he wants.' The rope was
thrown — ^the dog seized the end in an instant, turned
round, and made straight for the shore ; where a few
minutes afterwards boat and crew — thanks to the intel-
ligence of their four-footed friend— were placed safe and
undamaffed. Was there no reasommg here? No acting
with a^ew to an end or for a given motive ? Or was it
notiiing but ordinary instinct ? — Jnev. J. C. Aiiansom in * Tke
ZoologiM*
MR BURTON'S WORK ON POLITICAL AND
SOCIAL ECONOMY.
During the last twelve months a desire has been re-
peatedly expressed to us for a short popular work treating
of the more important questions in political and aoeial
economy. These requests were suggested by the oon-
vulsed state of Europe. The wildest theories, striking at
the root of law, order, and individual rights, were to all
appearance about to dissolve society into its xtide ele-
ments. One of the greatest literary men of the age had
found it necessary to write a treatise to prove that ' pro-
perty is not theft.* While such strange and disorderly
sentiments were afloat, it is not surprising that many per-
sons should have desired to see a popular work expla-
natory of the true and imperishable {mnciples on whidi
society is founded, and by which it carries on its complex
operations.
In the hope of meeting this wish, Mr J. H. Burton has,
at our request, undertaken a small woik, whioh ia now
published as part of the series of works now issuing under
the title of ' Chambrbs'B Instructive and Enxebtainimo
Library.*
Referring to the manner in which he has treated his sub-
ject, the author observes that ' It is a common complaint
agahist political economy, in the fbrm in whioh it is usoaUy
embodied, that though dealing with man, his paasiona asd
wants, and with the elements of his happiness and Us
miKry, it is as hard and cold as if it gave expreseioB to
the laws of inanimate nature. From every truth in poliii*
oal economy, the acting and thinking man should be able
to derive a rule of life, with reference to evils that may. be
practically avoided, and good that may be rationally anti-
cipated ; but he comi^ins that even in matters like smphis
population, commercial revulsions, gluts, and paniea, and
labour and its rewards, in which his temporal {nrospects,
and those of the whole race, are so deeply involved, he
finds only cold formulas or abstract laws, derived fkum
what men usually do, not indicating what they m^t
accomplbh ; «id thus he fails to acquire ih>m these ab-
stractions the light and assistance which he aeeks* to
cheer, encourage, and fortify him in his path through Ufie.
It may be mainly attributed to the want of living systems
founded on the true principles of political economy, that of
late, projects founded on a contradiction of the whole
science, and resting on the most dangerous and disor-
ganising fisllacies, have been so extensively adopted as to
lead to the direst calamities. The false opinions preaonted
themselves in that living, breathing form whioh the true
science would not oondesoend to adopt; and the mnhi-
tude, demanding a gnide that pointed to practieal oonduet,
instead of merely developing rigid formulas, followed the
first that offered itself.'
Avoiding defects of this nature, the author has adapted
his doctrines to the popular understanding, and brought
them into relation with the ordinary course of eventa.
With these explanations, we respectfhlly dedicate ' PoB-
tical and Social Economy* to the use of all dassea of
The People. W. akd R C.
USTENOfO TO EVIL RKPOBT8.
The longer I live, the more I feel the importance of ad-
hering to the rule which I have laid down for myself in
relation to such matters : — 1. To hear as little aa possible
whatever is to the prejudice of others. 2. To brieve no-
thing of the kind till I am absolutely forced to it. S. Never
to drink into the spirit of one who circulates an evil report.
4. Always to moderate, as fsr as I can, the unkindncss
which is expressed towards others. 5. Always to believe
that, if the other side were heard, a very different account
would be given of the matter. — Oartu^s lA/h o/ Simeon.
Published by W. Ac R. CRAMBsas, High Street, Edinburgb.
sold by D. Chambkbs, 90 Aigyle Street, Qlsi^w; W. SL^Oaa,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Glashait, 21 I>*01Sflr
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. Chamqbrs, Edinbipgh.
^
^
^ll^^fe
Ul^
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP < CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,' * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,'' &c
No. 267. New Sbribs. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1849.
Price 1^,
THE SLAVE MARKETS OF EGYPT.
Thuqb i« no longer, properly speakiog, any ' Slave-
Btnir' in Egypt : the building described by trayellers
under thnt name is now devoted to other purposes;
twt tbe traffic in slaves is pursued with undiminished
Tigoor. A native family, whether Mohammedan or
CkriiHan, scarcely considers itself complete without a
pBfchased attendant, male Or female ; and there is con-
laqpentiy a regular demand, principally, it is true, for
bhcto — whites being an expensive luxury, in which
ttitf a few can indulge. I do not at present intend to
Mlsr upon the question of the treatment of slaves in
Ito East; but I will observe, in passing, that there
B|fsa» to me to be too great a disposition in some
writers to palliate the institution of slavery, by ex-
jmthting on the kindness and benignity of Turkish
niMfm It is true that in many cases the slaves are
ineoipofated in the ikmily, and, though now and then
beaten, are often well fed and well clothed. But if we
insist too much on these facts, we shall produce an
etroneouB impression. Frequently tbe position of the
riaves, male and female, is one of unspeakable degra*
daikkm and misery. It is needless to enter into details
that would shock and disgust ; but I may mention by
the way Uiat I hare seen a respectable-looking old man
in a pnUic bazaar bite the ear of a newly-purchased
boy notil the bk)od came, for some slight cause of dis-
plwimm The only suicides, moreover, I ever heard of
in Egypt were those of slaves ; and a striking instance
oocnned last spring, when a young Memlook, belonging
tnSilli Padia, son of the viceroy, shot himself to avoid
tiie baibarous punishment he apprehended would follow
a vny trifling transgression.
It is, however, with slaves as an article of traffic that
we have at present to da The blacks are principally
bran^ dQwn the vall^ of the Nile, from Abyssinia,
V Kordofen, Darfur, &c The commoner sort
derived indiscriminately from the numerous male
that inhabit the confines of those regions ; but
flie most esteemed are the Gallas, who inhabit the
soathem borders of Abyssinia. It is not true that the
majority of them are prisoners made in the intestine
ttiw^fim of these people ; for the commerce in slaves
is loo lucrative to be allowed to depend on such casual
■QHvet. Regular man-hunts are periodically set on
feal by tbe princes and chieftains of these regions ; and
IhiiaiMuiiid Ali himself, in spite of his repeated pro-
flbw to the contrary, used, until very late years, to
dlipaldi expeditions to Kordofan from time to time
ia Older to make a battue— the product of which was
fiMribated to the officers and men in lieu of pay. His
Wi^ests, tiierefore, in that direction were made to
k MW their own expenses ; and he derived another ad-
1 iMBlige in the shape of revenue, by the tax of about
two pounds sterling per head levied on all slaves im-
ported into Egypt across its southern frontier.
The horrors of the march of the slave caravans have
frequently been described. Even considerations of self-
interest seem to have little effect in softening the native
brutality of the jdlabit, as the dealers are called. The
wretched victims are driven along generally on foot ;
their numbers decreasing on the way by hunger, thirst,
fatigue, and ill-treatment, and the value of the re-
mainder proportionately increasing. A certain number
are left at Syout and Girgeh, and the remainder are
hurried on to Cairo. The latter portion of the journey
is in some instances performed by water ; and you may
constantly see whole gangs of wild-looking half-naked
savages landed at Boulac from the grain -boats, in
which they have been shipped as part of the cargo, and
sometimes also cabinfuls of the more valuable female
slaves.
In all times, the greater part of the trade has been
conducted in a private way, although, as I have inti-
mated, there was at one period a large wak&lah espe-
cially devoted to the sale of slaves. Now-a-days, espe-
cially since the hatti sherif of Sultan Abd-el-Mejid,
abolishing the public traffic in human beings, the jel-
labis take their property to a variety of depots, gene-
rally situated in the little suburbs that have collected
outside the walls, especially near the Bab-en-Kair. I
have often seen thirty or forty boys and girls in the
courtyards of these buildings, but the better class of
females are generally exhibited by twos and threes.
Strangers who wish to visit the depots generally pro-
vide themselves with a supply of small coins to dis-
tribute in presents. As soon as you pass the gates, you
are sure to see a number of idle jellabis hanging about :
they understand at once what is your object, and you
have no farther necessity for a guide. The jellabis are,
I believe, generally Nubians, and seemed to me to be
all of one family. Their countenances are invariably
truculent, and their insolence is proverbial. They wear
white turbans, twisted in a peculiar way, and raised up
to an enormous height I went one day with some
English friends to see a small batch of superior Galla
girls. A very narrow lane, formed by half-ruined dead-
walls, led to a large sinister-looking building, round
the doorway of which a number of jellabis were squat-
ting. After some parley, we were allowed to go up
stairs, preceded, as well as followed, by a noisy crowd,
who stopped almost at every step to thrust out their
hands and ask for a present. On the second floor there
was a long narrow passage, on each side of which were
dark rooms, in which we could just dimly discover
groups of human figures huddled together in corners.
As we passed, they raised their heads and looked
at us with curiosity, rolling about their white eye-
balls in a curious fluhion. Many attempted to come
1 1
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82
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I
out to US, and seyeral thin hands were thrust forth
through barred windows for a hucksheeah (present). At
length we reached a large apartment, divided into two
by a screen of mats. We were here told to wait a
minute by the chief jellabi, who went inside, whilst the
rest continued their vociferations for money. After
some delay, two wretched-looking girls, with scarcely a
rag of clothing, came out, and stood shiyering before us.
This was the usual piece of imposition. The object was
to make us at once give the present we had originally
intended, and then to produce the better dass of slaves,
and daim a larger amount. After some altercation,
however, the jellabi again retired, and presently the
matting was pushed aside, and out came three elegantly-
formed young women — black, it is true, as jet, but evi-
dently 6f a superior race. These were the Gallas.
Their features were regular and pleasing, the ex-
pressions soft and melancholy. Their hair, as is indeed
universally the case with negro slaves exposed for sale,
was arranged in an immense mass of curls, about the
thickness of a tobacco pipe, lying close together. One
had a necklace of brass wire ; the others wore beads.
Their dress was so scanty, that we had ample oppor-
tunity of witnessing the perfection of their forms. The
poor creatures seemed anxious to be bought; and we
could detect an expression of disappointment when they
understood that we had only come actuated by a motive
of curiosity. They murmured something in their own
tongue, and were evidently very glad that we did not
long abuse the advantage of our position, but allowed
them soon to retire behind their mat with their present ;
which no doubt was snatched from them by their mas-
ters as soon as our backs were turned.
It is much easier to get into one of these places than
to get out. The jellabis make a practice of endeavour-
ing to intimidate their visitors into giving them more
bucksheesh. Whether you be liberal or otherwise, you
are always compelled to leave them dissatisfied. On
the present occasion they closed the doors of the house,
and surrounded us with loud vociferations. A dozen
hands were thrust towards us, over shoulders, under
arms, in the narrow dark passage — most of them signi-
ficantly opened, but one holding a knife, and others
heavy Nubian clubs of carved wood. We knew, how-
ever, what these demonstrations were worth ; and after
a slight scuffie, succeeded in extricating ourselves from
this den of iniquity, and rode ofi^ pursued for some dis-
tance along the streets by the clamorous rabble, who
vowed and protested we had given them nothing, and
denounced us to the bystanders as dogs and infidels.
The foremost of them, however, used always to claim
acquaintance with me afterwards, on the score, perhaps,
of a blow with a koorbash (whip of hippopotamus hide)
which I dealt upon his shoulders. On another occasion
he took me and a French gentleman, who, like all new-
comers, was curious about these sights, to a difilBrent
place, where we saw a larger number of slaves at
a much smaller expense. He had grown wiser by ex-
perience, and was but moderately importunate.
The treatment of slaves in the wakalahs is neces-
sarily a great deal better than that which they expe-
rience during the journey down from the upper country.
It very much resembles, however, that of pigs and
poultry in a farmyard. The generality of the slave
wakMahs are small: in some cases the centre court-
yard is not more than twenty feet square, and there is
no upper storey. Little cells without doors may be
seen on all sides, each appropriated to five or six slaves,
males and females often indiscriminately mixed. At
noon and sunset, a large wooden bowl of beans or lentils
is placed in the centre of the yard, and the greater
number of the hungry inmates crowd round this, push-
ing and shoving in order to get into the first rank ; some
making good their station, and others carrying off a
handful to devour in a comer. The whole disappears
in a few seconds. Some of the more valuable females
are fed apart in the cells. I remember seeing a magni-
ficent Abyssinian woman eating alone from a bowl of
rice in a sombre room, with the doorway half closed by
a mat. She stopped when we looked in, and turned
her olive face and fiery eyes towards us. We ofiTered
her the few piastres which renuiined to us after the
furious begging of the other poor creatures ; but she
would not trouble herself to take them. ' Put them
down by her side,' said the huge rufllan of a jellabi who
owned her. We did so: she remained immoTable,
glaring at us like a tigress ; but he swept them with a
chuckle into his hand, saying he would take care of
them for her. This was an instance of a not uncommon
character among slaves. She was revenging herself for
the ill-treatment infiicted on her by frightening every
purchaser that presented himself. I saw her some
months afterwards, when her spirit was broken, and
she wished to be sold ; but no buyer was to be found.
It is not customary for Egyptians in want of slaves to
visit the wakfilahs. Sometimes a few are taken to the
bazaars, where they are put up to auction ; but gene-
rally a servant is sent to a jellabi, with orders for him
to bring a proper assortment to the house. Slaves just
brought down from the upp>er country are prefenred to
such as have been in a family previously, as the latter
are supposed not only to have been sold for some fault,
but to have learned cunning tricks and bad habits,
which every one hopes to guuxl against in those whoae
education has not begun. The jeUabls, however, know
this, and almost invariably dress up all the daves com-
mitted to their care as if tiiey had just been caught and
brought down ; that is to say, they curl their hair in
the manner above described, and give them a single rag
to fasten round their middles. Thus accoutred, the poor
things are driven along the streeto in troops to the
house of the intended purchaser.
I called one morning on a Levantin lady of ray ac-
quaintance in Alexandria, and found her in conversation
with a tall, handsome, black girl, wrapped in a white
melauah^ or mantle. The lady redined in the comer of
her divan, smoking a akuikeh^ or water pipe, whilst the
girl stood at a litUe distance, with her hands meekly
crossed. After the usual compliments, I was told that
this was a slave belonging to a Turkish lady just ar-
rived with her suite from Algiers, to meet her husband,
who, however, had gone on to Stamboul, leaving word
that she was to follow. As he had not left money
enough to defiray the expenses of the journey, it seemed
quite natural to the lady to dispose of one of her bought
handmaidens, and accordingly this one had been se-
lected. Fatmeh herself was telling the story as I en-
tered ; and although it did not seem to occur to her
that she was the victim of a most unjust system, yet
she could not help expressing her regret at being thus
suddenly thrown out of the bosom of one family to seek
for a place in another, or rather to take the place which
chance might assign her. I elicited the fact, that al-
though her mistress sometimes beat her, even for talk*
ing in her sleep, and for being frightened on board tibe
vessel in which they had coasted the whole north of
Africa, although she was frightened herself— yet, con-
sidering all things, she had been happy with her. Here,
then, was an instance in which the much vaunted kind-
ness with which the Orientals treat their slaves waa
turned into a weapon of torture to them. The stronger
they are bound by ties of affection to their owners, the
more cruelly are their feelings wounded when the vids*
sitodes of ^ek servile life throw them into the marked
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
83
Strock hj thit circnmftance, I afterwards made in-
qniriea, wad found that the instanoes in which glaves
renain attached to one family throughout their exist-
eooe are oomparatirdy few. If misfortune oyertiUces a
man, of course the slayes are sold; they go as part of
^ property in the case of a failure, for example ; and
how many Egyptian merchants hare not failed once,
tvioe, thrice ! A man who has compounded with his
oeditors only once is esteemed a remarkably safe per-
son to deal with ; although, in almost every instance,
tibere is a dishonest concealment of property. But this
is by the by : cm the first pressure of pecuniary diffi-
eultlBs, one at least of the slayes of the house is got rid
oC * I haTe so much in my shop,' you may oftcm hear
it said ; * I haTe built so and so; and I hare the donkey
nd Zm* (a common name to give to slaves).
Fatmeh tried hard, poor thing, to persuade my friend
to boy bar : she walked about to show that she was
active; arta^ed the cushions of the divan, and trimmed
the sfaisheh, to exhibit her familiarity with a genteel
boose; and laughed with forced gaiety to prove that she
was of a good temper. There was a ground of objec-
tioD, however, which Sitt Miriam, as my friend was
esBed, suapected, and the truth of which she endea-
voored to ascertain by a series of sudden questions and
srtfol crosa-ezaminations.
The chief difficulty, however, remained. Would a
couple of days of trial be allowed? * Unless they are,'
Mid Miriam to Fatmeh, ' I shall not buy you. How do
I know what bad hal^ts you may have ? You have ac-
knovledged you talk in your sleep. I don't care for
tint, as yoo would be shut up at night; but you may
be s liar, you may be a thief, you may' And here
fcUowed a list of vices incident to female slaves, dur-
ing ttfte utterance of which I scarcely knew whether to
Mc at the ceiling or the floor, but which poor Fatmeh
Kstened to most patiently, firmly denying that she pos-
sessed sudi habits and imperfections. One of her obser-
vations was sensil^ enough ; for she said that a trial of
two days would be of no avail, since any person in her
position would be able to put on a fair outside for so
short a time. Altogether, it was observable that she
had been brought up in a good family, and knew some-
thing of the w<nld; and it was easy to see that Sitt
Miriam rather feued she was far too clever and know-
ing. I had no doubt of her being something of a poli-
tician; for she endeavoured throughout to appear in
the character of an innocent simple girl, whereas she
was, in the Eastern style, a refined and well-educated
woman. However, such was her fascination, that my
friend would certainly have bought her, but that
ha mistress sent an old duenna with a message from
the wakaUh where she was living, to the efibct that an
oflbr had been made,, and that, unless the money was
immediatdy forthcoming, Fatmeh must return to her.
The girl accordingly departed, not without expressions
flf sonow ; but she had scarcely been gone half an hour,
when 8itt Miriam, who had sat reflective during that
tioK^ clapped her hands, and calling her servant, ordered
lum to go instantly and say that she would pay the
price. It was too late: Fatmeh had already passed
ioto the harem of an old Turk, who made up his mind
at OBce on seeing her.
*God is merciful !' said my friend, consoling herself.
'Perhaps that girl had some grievous fault, and I may
be well delivered.' Her evanescent afibction for Fatmeh
was here wafted awav on a long sigh, and she added,
sniEng, *I shall sena to-morrow morning for half-a-
dozen girls from the jellabis. If you like to come and
see me buy them you may.'
I confess that, in spite of the reflection that I was
giving a sanction to a very bad system by my presence,
I made an appointment for the next day, and punctually
kept it I found the Lady Miriam aione ; and whilst
waiting the return of the servant, who had gone to the
laaitit wakalah for a jellabi, had to listen to a history
I si all the slaves the good lady had ever possessed, inter-
Mid with a good many scandalous stories I cannot
repeat The domestic history of Christian families in
the East is a curious one. The plague of polygamy has
practically penetrated them alL I never knew a couple
who had not periodical outbreaks on this subject. The
Christian women will not tamely put up with the insult ;
and no occurrence is more common than that of wives
leaving their husbands on this account, and taking re-
fuge with their relations. It is curious to remark, by the
way, that in spite of the great number of intermarriages
among difierent coloured races, th^e are no mulattoes
in Egypt The climate is so deadly to foreigners at
the second degree, that the children, except in rare
instances, do not live. This is one of the strongest
proofs of the descent of the present fellahs from the
ancient Egyptians. Foreign families never survive be-
yond the third generation ; and every mixed race has a
feeble and uncertain existence.
I suggested these considerations to my fair friend,
who kindly told me I was a fool for troubling my head
on such subjects ; but confirmed my observation that
very few half-castes ever reached man's estate. While
we were talking, we heard the hoarse voice of a jellabi
in the court ; and presently up came a dark bevy of
half-dotiied damsels for inspection, the owner sitting
down on a bench in the couityard below quietly smok-
ing, T^Ay to answer any questions. A rapid glance of
Sitt Miriam's practised eye sufficed to detect those
between whom she was likely to hesitate, and the
others w^e at once sent away. I asked her the grounds
on which she decided.
' All those I have dismissed,' said she, ' have been in
fkmilies before: I knew it at once by their way of
standing, in spite of their being dressed like wild b^ts.
They have been sold by their masters in Cairo, and
shipped to Alexandria. All the bad slaves and lame
doi^eys are sent down here. I Imow the tricks of these
slave-dealers : may misfortune come to them I '
She went on in this style for some time ; and then
suddenly turning to the younger of the two girls, who
stood huddled together in a comer, ordered her, in an
insulting manner, to come forward, at the same time
abusing her race. It is impossible to describe the ex-
pression of rage and hatred which shot, like a lightning
fiash, athwart the face of the girl, who thus, in an
unguarded moment, betrayed that she still possessed
(dl the wild untamed feelings of her native woods. I
looked at once with interest upon her; for that glance
revealed that not all the iU-treatment and sufl'ering to
which she had been subjected during a journey of
thousands of miles, over deserts which we should con-
sider it a mighty triumph to traverse, had broken her
spirit, and rendered her insensible to injury. To my
mind, such a character would recommend itsell The
readiest to resent ill-usage are often the most sus-
ceptible of kindly impressions. But this young savage
was at once judged by my prudent friend, who dis-
missed her to join her companions below, and applauded
her own keen appreciation of character on beholding
the look of scorn and defiance, that would have be-
come a princess, with which she walked away.
* Now come you here,' said Sitt Miriam to the re-
maining girl, who with a stupifled yet anxious gaze had
watched the scene I have described. She approached,
or rather crept forward, keeping her eyes on those of
the Sitt, who was a good soul at bottom, and expressed
to me, in broken ItaUan, her sorrow at being obliged to
put on an appearance of harshness. I know she was an
excellent mistress, and certainly never beat her slaves.
I need not repeat the conversation that ensucMl ; suf-
fice it to say, that it was satisfactory. The girl was
very igUOTant, and apparently good-natured. But my
fair friend would not trust to appearances ; she had a
whole host of little expedients for diving into the re-
cesses of the human heart
* Give me your hand, Zara,' choosing one of the half-
dozen names commonly bestowed on sbives.
The girl obeyed. Sitt Miriam took the thin hand
held out to her, looked rather awkwardly at me for a
84
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
moment, and then ipat in it! I started, and uttered
an excUmation.
* Stato tranquWo /' quoth she to me aside in her lingua
Franca. * Be quiet ; it is the custom. What do you
call tnat in your country, Zara?'
The girl looked perplexed ; but if she was offended,
she kept down her resentment in the very lowest re-
cesses of her heart Her reply was in a tone of angdic
meekness : * I know the name of it in Arabic, oh, lady ! *
Sitt Miriam blushed scarlet: the rebuke told. She
let fall the 8laYe*s hand, and said, ' You are a good girl,
and very learned. I shall pay your price. Don't look
angry ; oh Frank,' she added, turning to me with some
confusion ; * you know I mean to be &nd to her. Any-
body else would have struck her on the mouth with a
slipper, but I am not so cruel Let us now go and
speak to the jellabi.'
A fierce vdley of words was exchanged for some time
between the slare-dealer and Lady Miriam ; he begin-
ning by asking about eighteen pounds, and she offering
eight It was exactly like a bargain for a yard of doth.
' I will give so much.' ' J^ta AUah I God will open' —
that is, another door for sale, was the customary eyasive
reply. This went on for half an hour, during which my
fair friend stood screaming from the gallery, wliilst the
jellabl sat quietly below smoking, giving occasionally an
answer in the words I have mentioned, and sometimes,
when Texed by a ridiculously low offer pertinaciously
repeated, putting in that- be would give the girl as a
present. At length they gradually approached one
another in price, the altercation becoming hotter and
hotter, however, as they did so ; until at lengUi, when
the difference was only a few piastres, the bargain was
several times broken off, and Zara ordered to go. This,
in fact, was the serious part of the discussion, the pre-
vious exorbitant demand and consequent low oflfer being
mere skirmishing. Terms were, however, at last come
to ; and tlie price of 1350 piastres (not quite L.14) was
agreed upon, to be paid in two or three days, in case
the girl discovered no hidden bad qualities. Ordinary
black slaves, male and femide, generally fetch fh>m ten
to twen^ pounds ; but thirty, and even forty or fifty,
are paid for fine Abvssinian women.
I ought to add that it is importiant to ascertain, if
possiUe, the temper of household slaves before buying
them. They are sometimes very troublesome ; and have
been known to murder their masters and mistresses. I
once saw a horrid sight — a black woman paraded on
an ass about the streets of Alexandria with her face
turned to the tail : a man went before proclaiming that
she was a poisoner. For several hours the wretdied
creature vras paraded in this manner, after which the
executioners put her into a sack, and taking her out in
a boat some distance to sea, threw her overboard.
THE CAPTAIN'S STORY— A PENINSULAR
ADVENTURE.
In the neifhbourhood of the Haymarket, London, there
are several minor chess, whist, and gossip clubs, held
principally at cafes, in an apartment which, for club
evenings, is sacred to the members, consisting chiefly of
superannuated clerks, actors, and other professional
mediocrities, with a sprinkling of substantial, steady
tradesmen. In one of these modest gatherings Captain
Smith, an extremely communicative and anecdotical gen-
tleman, mapr occasionally be met with, surrounded by an
attentive circle of admiring friends, listening, with all
their eais, to one of the many marvellous adventures it
has been his lot to encounter during a wandering and
varied life. He is not a frequent visitor; his tastes in-
clining him to scenes of more boisterous conviviality
than asars and coffee, with a seasoning of theatrical and
politicu gossip, can afford or supply; and he accordingly
uses these, to him hum-drum assemblies, only as resting
or halting-places between more exciting oxgies; valuable
chiefly for affording him listeners, muck more easily
amused and astonished than men of laigor liie<«dventttre
and experience. He is, however, a real captain, and
I fancy something of a hero too, in the conventional use
of the term, as he seems to have very different, and, I be-
lieve, much truer notions of war and glory, than gentle-
men who shout about 'bright swords,' and dilate with peri-
phrastic unction of ' red iMkttle-fields.' A lithe active man
IS he; and stiff as a ramrod withal. His harsh stubbly
hair is brushed in one particular direction with parade
precision; and his high bald forehead, when in convivial
mood, glistens as brightly as his sharp gray eyes; which
one can see with half a one, have been wide open all his
life. He rose, it is understood, though he never men-
tions it himself — ^perhaps from a feelmg of modesty, a
quality, albeit, in which, like most field heroes, he is
somewhat deficient — ^from the ranks. From his perfect
knowledge of the Spanish tongue (he passed his youth
at Qibraltar, with occasional trips to the Spanish coast
with his father, who turned an honest penny in the
smuggling line), he was fre<^uently employed during the
Peninsular war by the British commanders in the veiy
necessary, but extremely ticklish, duty of making him-
self j^mofioZ^y acquainted with the state of the French
camps and fortresses — in other words, as a tpif: an ex-
ceedmgly uncomfortable office for any gentleman troubled
with * nerves.' Captain Smith frequently thanks Qod he
never had any, to his knowledge, in his life: no more, he
sometimes says, after reading the debates no more than
a member of parliament
Thus much premised, suppose we step in for a minute,
and make his acquaintance. That is the captain with
his back to the fire. The gentleman who has just handed
him a cigar, and is addi^sing such martiid queries to
the old campugner, is a neighbouring haberdasher. Just
before we entered, he inquired, as is his nightly wont, if
the waiter was sure the clock was quite right fie is
always a little nervous about the time, as his muse is
i^t to be unpleasantly lively for a lady of her coUoquisd
and other prowess, if he is not at home at half-past ten
precisely. He loves peace ' at home,' as much as he
seems to delight in war ' abroad,' and is consequently
extremely punctual. But see. Tape is ti4>ping the cap-
tain again. The veteran cannot fail to flow forth pre-
sently : at first, perhaps, a little jerkingly— ^m^, glug^
gluff — ^but alter a little coaxing, in the freest, easiest
style imaginable.
' A splendid march, Captain Smith, that of Wellington
upon Cuidad Rodrigo !'
' Sloppy, Mr Tape, sloppy: nothing but mud, and snow,
and slush. Winter-time: I remember it well,' replied
Captain Smi^.
'Beautiful account Napier gives of it,' rejoined the
martial Tape. ' Wellington,' he says, * jumped on the
devoted fortress with both his feet ! '
' Does Napier say that t ' demanded the veteran, knock-
ing the consumed ashes off the end of his cigar on the
mantelpiece. * Doet Napier say that !'
' Yes indeed he does.'
* Then Napier tells what is ,' replied the matter-
of-fact captain. ' The lightest, longest-legged of the
*' Light Bobs" couldn't have done it, much less the
duke. The duke's short in the less — sits high in the
saddle, though — long body, dumpy legs. Could no more
do it than he could fly : didn't try either. All a flam !'
Mr Tape explained that the jumping was metaphorical ;
and after a time, C24)tain Smith seemed to have acquired
a misty notion of what was meant. Still, it was, he said,
a very bad way of writing * history;' which species of
composition should, he emphatically observed, be all faets,
and no mistakes.
' The retreat from Burgos was a masterly affidr,' per-
sisted warrior Tape : * masterly indeed — uncommon !'
' I daresay it was ; and as you seem to admire it so
much, I wish you had been one of the 'prentices under the
master, just to see how it was done, and how agreeable
and pleasant such a masterly job is to the people that do
the work. I was one of them ; and I declare to you I
had much rather have been in this caf^, smoldng this
abominable cigar, which foont smoke' — and tiie captain
threw the unsatisfactory weed into the fire ; immediatt lys
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
85
1 1
li
howerer, accepting anoUier from the ready hand of the
obteqaioos Tape. That, fortanatelj, drew uncommonly
veil : the spiral columns ascended with the fulness and
ftwdom in which the veteran loved to luxuriate. He
iwillowed his dewU-taste at a gulp ; and his sharp gray
eyes, twinkling with fiesh lustre, said — * It was in coming
from Burgee that I got into one of the miserahlest scrapes
I erer ezperienoMl in my life; and all owing to my tender-
hcartednees, the rexy worst thing for a campaign a man
cut carry about him.'
«Tell US, captain! What was itt How was it!'
cried half-ai-dozen voices. Two elderly gentlemen, who
^ been playing draughts for the previous four or five
hours, fining it impossible, amidst so much clamour, to
bestow the requisite attention on their extremely intel-
lectual game, also drew near to listen, as the very best
thing, after draughts, they could do.
Captain Smith smiled graciously, seated himself, in-
dulged in a few prefatory whiffs, and proceeded. ' During
the many journeys I at different times made through the
province of Leon in Spain, I fell in with a veiy worthy
oDupIe, whom I took a great liking to. Pedro Davila
was by trade a cooper : he made all the casks and tubs
for mUee round the little town near which he lived; which
was situated, I should tell you, a good deal out of the
direct ioad« or rather the nearest road — for there is
nothing reiy direct in that country — from Burgos to
Aftorga. For my part I preferred round-about ways at
that time to straight ones; I found them safer. Pedro
had a nice warden too, beautifully cultivated, and the
prettiest little black-eyed Andalusian wife — Pedro was
ftko a native of the south of Spain — a man's eyes ever
lighted upon. Pedro in his youth had taken service with
a Spanbh grandee, who, being compelled to fly his coun-
tiy— a common, every-day thing abroad — took up his
abode in Paris ; and there Pedro got rid of his fine old
eenstitutional prejudices against foreigners, and obtained
in exchange some modem universal philanthrophy — about
the most dangerous article to eo to market with in Spain
it is poesible to imagine. And sure I am that if Pedro
had known what a £eadful mess his turning philosopher
would get aw into, to say nothing of his wife, he was far
too n/A a feUow to have done anything of the sort.'
* But what on earth, Captain Smith,' interrupted Tape,
' could philosophy, Pedro's, or any one's else, have to do
with your
' Ton will hear. Tape : it was his liberal-mindedness
and my t^er-heartedness joined together that placed
the mischief with us both. An excellent fellow, notwith-
standing,' continued the captain, after a brief pause, ' was
Pedro Davila; too good for a Spaniard, much : one could
hardly believe it of him. I was going to say he was equal
to an Englishman, but that perhaps would be pushing it
too far. Many a skin of wine have we emptied together:
none of tiie sloe stuff you get here, but the genuine juice
of the grape itself.' The captain smacked his lips at the
plearing reminiscence, and then, to reward them for the
exercise, imbibed a portion of another demi-kuse, craftily
qualified to his taste.
* At the time I speak of, it was highly dangerous to
harbour, succour, or conceal any Frenchman, woman, or
child. Death, or worse punishment, was pretty sure to
be the doom of any one offending against that law of ren-
geaaoe; and it happened that one of the most ferocious
of minor guerilla leaders, a relentless hunter and slayer
of miserable fugitives, was Ramez, a native of the rill Age
or town near which Pedro lived. He was seldom long
absent from home; and was, in fact, the real governor of
the place.
' Well, it chanced one unfortunate day that a wounded
French officer, who had been chased for several days by
Ramez and his fellows, crawled into Pedro's cottage, and
implored shelter and succour. His request was, as you
m^ anticipate, ^fterwhat I have told you of Pedro's
•odons of philosophy, granted; and the hunted man was
•Bocessfiilly concealed, carefully tended, and restored to
Walti>. llie day of his departure had arrived; he was
envfollT disguised, mounted on Pedro's mule, and was
Jvl bidding his benefactor good-by at the garden gate
(Marietta, fortunately, as it turned out, was not at home),
when who should poke up his diabolical snout from the
other side of the hedge but Karoez ! Th6 ugliest rascal,
gentlemen,' continued Captain Smith with violent em-
phasis, 'the most ill-favoured scoundrel I ever saw in
my life was Ramez; and that from a man who has been
twenty years in the army, and who has lived upwards of
twenty m London, is sayinff a great deal.'
This was quite cheenully assented to. The ugliness
that after such a lengthened and first-rate experience
bore off the palm, was pronounced necessarily incompar-
able by the entire auditoir.
* He gave poor Pedro,' continued the cantain, ' one
most di^lical look (I'll be bound the streaiks from his
eyes — he always squinted both sides Inwards when he
was in a passion — crossed each other within an inch of
his nose), then rushed forward, and bawled lustily for
help. The Frenchman spurred furiously into the adjoin-
ing forest, and escaped. Pedro was seized, and the alpha
and the omega of it, as the chaplain of the old half-
hundredth used to say, was, that he was lugged to prison,
tried a few hours afterwards, and condemned to death as
a traitor. It was a wild time in Spain then : most
places managed their own affairs in their own way, and
this was Master Ramez and the alcalde's way. Pediro was
to have been strangled, gavoUed thev call it, but there
was no apparatus bandy, and nobody that particularly
liked the job; so, as a particular heavenly grace to him,
the alcalde said, it was determined he should be shot on
the third day after his arrest.'
' It h24)nened,' resumed the captain, after again refresh-
ing himself, * that I was, on the veiy day after Pedro's
arrest and condemnation, returning from Burgos to Gene-
ral Picton's head-quarters, a good wav beyond Astorga;
and being near, and in no very particular hurry, I turned
out of my road to visit Pedro. When I arrived at the
cottage, I found things, as vou may suppose, in a very
different state from what I had been imagining for the
last hour or so. Instead of wine, there was hysterics;
and for an omelette and salad, shrieks and faintings.
Marietta clung round my neck with tramendous energy
— I should not have thought, if I had not experienced it,
that a pretty woman's embrace could have been so very
unpleasant — ^frantically beseeching me to send for the
British army to liberate her Pedro. Extricating m3r8elf
from her grasp as speedily as possible, I beean to cast
about in my mind as to what could be done; but I could
not at all clear up my ideas. Remembering that I never
had been able to do so on a lean stomach, I suggested
Uiat we should first dine, and then perhaps I might hit
upon something for poor Pedro's benent. Marietta agreed
with me; and we had, considering that her husband and
my dearest friend was to be shot the day afler the next,
a very nice comfortable dinner indeed — very — and some
capital wine afterwards; and then, gentlemen, the father
of mischief, or the wine, or Marietta's black eyes, I don't
know which, perhaps altogether, induced me to make as
spoony a proposal as ever fell from the lips of a green
Cockney.*
'There are clever, sensible men in the city,' inter-
jected Tape, as the captain paused an instant to supply
hi^Qself with a fresh cigar.
* Perhaps so, Mr Tape, but those eentlemen seldom
Tolunteer into the army, I believe. I knew,' said the
veteran, continuing his narrative, ' that I might as well
whistle jigs to a milestone, and expect it to get up and
turn partners, as ask the general in command of the
division about forty miles off to rescue Pedro from the
grasp of the Spanish authorities. The Britidi generals
never meddled with the administration of Spanish justice
under any pretence whatever; but I also knew that if
he received a message stating that / was in danger, he
was bound by general orders to afford me every assist-
ance in his power. '* Marietta," said I at last — the wine
musi have oeen unusually strong — ** I have hit upon it.
We'll save Pedro yet, in spite of them all ! " The pretty
creature jumped up, clapped her hands, and sobbing,
laughing, and talking all in a breath, exclaimed, ** Dear
Inglese, I knew you would !" " You, Marietta,*' said I,
as soon as she was sufficientlj calm to listen, "go to
Ramez and the alcalde, and tell them joa will deliTer
into their hands the famous Afrancesado spy, Henriquez
Bajol, on condition of their releasing Pe<m>. If tiiey
consent, denounce me,** •* You, Hcnnquezl" said she,
staring bewilderedly. •'NeTcr you mind," I replied.
•* A note to Qeneral Picton — 111 write it at once — will
soon get mc out of their clutches, whoerer I am." I
wrote the note and gare it her. '* Now mind. Marietta,"
said I Bolenmlj, '* t^t Pedro sets off with this note the
instant he is liberated. How soon can he reach the
eeneral on foot ! " "By to-morrow night,* she answered.
* Very well; and now then about it at once." She was
off in a twiiJding, and I was at leisure to reflect on what
I had done. To tell the truth, I did not, after a few
minutes' quiet cogitation, feel ezcessiyely comfortable.
They would be certain to believe the story ; Henriquez
being, I was sure, known to none of them personally. I
was a precious deal more like a Spaniard then than an
Englishman; and I spoke the language so well — not alto-
gether grammatically, it is true, but so like a native of
the south of Spain — that I felt I should hare some diffi-
culty, should occasion require it, to undeceive them.
Then they had such a pestilent way of making not only
sure but »hoH work with whoever they suspected of com-
merce with the hated French, that it flashed unpleasantly
across my mind — ^the general's help might perchance
arrive too late I However, I was in for it ; and so, taking
another draught of wine, and refilling my nipe — ^there's
great philosopny in a pipe, as we all know — I awaited the
result of my charming scheme as calmly as I could.
* It was not long coming. About half an hour aft^
Marietta's departure the door was slammed open, and I
found myself sprawling and kicking, or rather sprawl-
ing, and trying to kick, for they womdn't let me, m the
arms of five or six ugly rascals, who, showering upon me
all the time the vilest abuse, hurried me off to prison.
Into it they thrust me like a dog; and there, when I
could recover breath and speech, I greeted Pedro, my
fellow-prisoner. The alcalde and Ramez had only |>ro-
mised to release him, and of course, when the obiect was
gained, refused to abide by the bargain. If I had not
been the most consummate ass that ever browsed or
brayed, I might have guessed as much. Ramez had now
two victims, and that promised a double holiday.
< Well, gentlemen, this was, you may suppose, a very
unpleasant situation to find myself in; but as, thank
Heaven, I was never much troubled with nerves, I did not
so much mind it after a bit. Marietta, I was sure, would
be off tp the general with her best speed when she saw
the ugly turn matters were taking; so that if my captors
were not in a very patriotic hurry indeed, there was a
chance on the cards yet. Pedro obtidned some cigars of
the jailor, an old acquaintance of his; they were first-rate,
and we both became gradually calm and composed. Ah,
gentlemen, I have ofWn thought that if the moral obser-
vations I addressed that evening to my friend Pedro,
upon the duty of respecting national prejudices, particu-
larly with regard to sheltering wounded foreigners, and
the shocking folly of making rash engagements with
young women, especially after dinner, had been taken
down by a short-hand writer, they would have raised me
to the next rank after Solomon V
* No doubt of it,' said Tape, looking nervously at the
clock : * but do get on, captain ; don't stop, dcm'C/'
' I will not. Tape ; but don't you hurry me as they
did. Well, the next day I was dragged before the alcalde
and that rascal Ramez, where, to my very great and most
unpleasant surprise, two men, guerilla soldiers, swore
that they had frequently seen me in communication with
the French outposts, and that they verily believed me to
be no other than the infamous Henriquez. Vainly I pro-
tested, finding the thing was getting much too serious,
that I was an English officer : my assertions were laughed
at, and I was reconveyed to my dungeon, after having
heard myself sentenced to be shot at the same hour which
was to see the last of Pedro. Mr Tape, please to touch
the bell. I'll take another cup ; for my tongue always
feels d^ and hot when I come to this pa^ of the story .^
Mr Tape did as he was desired quickly, and bade tbe
waiter who answered the summons 'jump about' The
anxious haberdasher had but just three minutes to
spare.
' That, gentlemen,' continued the captain, 'was a venr
uncomfortable night. I was never, from a child, ptrti*
cularly fond of water^drinking; but I remember crawling
off the straw many times during the night, and ahnoit
emptying loth pitchers. At ten o'clock we were to sofFer,
to be shot to death by half-a-dozen rusty muskets. It
was dreadfully aggravating! Day dawned at last; lix
seven, eight, nine, fen o'clock tinkled through tibe jtil ;
the door opened, and in stalked Ramez and the alcilde,
followed by the rusty shooting-party. We were politelr
informed Uiat ' time* was up, and that we must both
come to the scratch at once, as the spectators didn't like
to be kept waiting. They then kindly pinioned us, ind
away we marched. You never perhaps walked in your
own funeral procession. Tape, did you f '
' Lord, Captain Smith, how can you ask such a honid
question t'
' Well, if you ever should, youll remember it, thst'i
all. Seeing King Lear is nothing to it, though thtt'i
reckoned pretty deep. On we marched, the priests pray-
ing, the bells tolling, and the infernal musket-men ejeiiig
us as if to make up their minds exactly where to hste
the pleasure of hitting us. One scoundrel with a short,
ugly snub of an apology of a nose, meant, I could set,
to send his bullet through my Roman. Altogether, it
was the most disagreeable walk I ever took in my life.
We soon arrived at the place of sacrifice, and were
ordered to kneel down. *' Pedro," said I, " that jewel of s
wife of yours has plaved us a sweet trick ; bat periuuu
shell arrive in time, n she comes at all, to return thanks
for all the good things we are about to receive ; and that's
a consolation anyway." I then took another look in the
direction in which the expected succour ought to i^pear,
when I saw, and tried to rub my eyes with my elbows to
make sure I saw, but couldn't, a horsewoman on the
summit of the hill : it was Marietta I I roared out like
a raging bull, and Pedro gave chorus. As soon as
Marietta caught sight of what was going on, she coihed
her horse sharply back, and beckoned with eager gestures
over the hill. A minute afterwards the ridge was crowned
by half a regiment of British dragoons. The instant thej
saw us, they gave one loud cheer, and came on like a
whirlwind.
''A narrow escape, Smith!" said the commanding
officer. " But come, mount at once. There is a laige
French force in the neighbourhood, and the geneiaPs
orders are not to halt an instant." I was delisted to
hear it. The less said was, I felt, the soonest mended.
If the general, thought I, were informed wh/ he had
been put to this trouble and risk, our meeting would
scarcely be a very amicable one. ** Who is this!" said
the officer, pointing to Pedro, who, though he had hallooed
lustily, was by no means yet out of the wood. " One of
ours,'' I boldly replied. " Then mount, my £Ood fellow, at
once," replied he, motioning to one of w led hones.
Pedro understood the gesture, though he didn't the kn-
guage ; and giving M^etUt, who had unpinioned him|
one nug, was in the saddle in a jifiFjr. '* Out of the way,
cried the commanding officer to the alcalde, idio, insti-
gated by Ramez, was approaching to claim P^lro at
least as lawful prize. ** Out of the way, fellow ! " and he
struck him sharply with the flat of his sword. The
frightened functionary tumbled out of our path; the
bugle sounded, and we were off, safe, sound, and
merry.'
•Bravo!— Hurra!— Hurra l» lesotmded in irregular
chorus through the room. Tape was off like a shot : the
unfortunate man was full seven minutes behind his
time.
' Gentlemen,' said Captain Smith, after the applause
had subsided, * do not, if you please, forcet the mom
of my story. Everything, the chaplain used to say, has a
useful moral— even short rations — ^though I ntrer could
agree with him to that extent The moral of this adfSU'
ture I take to be thi»— iV«w, under ann drcmt^OMCth
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURKAL.
87
10 b€ whai yon are not ; for \f ihot or hanged m a
ckarmcttr, yon wiB never be abk to amend the
1^ dewer^tionJ* *
LONDON AND EDINBURGH POST NINETT
TEARS AGO.
1m Apdl 1758, a body of merchants and traders in Edin-
bvgh and other parts of Scotland presented a memorial
to tiie annual committee of the Conyention of Royal
BargbSy proposing an improyement in the posts between
London and Edinborgh, and Edinburgh and London.
This document, of which a printed copy lies before us,
sets out with deploring that, 'by some inattention, or
by some impropOT dispositions made about the time of
the Union, or before that erent, when the trade and
Interoonrse between England and Scotland was very
smaU, and the postage of Scotch letters unable to defray
tiie charge, it has hi^pened that in no well-regulat^
country is the course of the post so tedious and ill-con-
docted as that from Edinburgh to London.' There were
hot three poets a week, and th^ arrangements are de-
scribed as follows : —
* The great north mail sets out on Tuesdays, Thurs-
days, and Saturdays, at twelre at night, or rather an
boor later, and arrires at Edinburgh on the afternoons
of the Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays thereafter.
Sxmi another part of the memorial, it appears that
mails reached London on the ayerage at 4 p^i. of
those days.] This course is performed, at a medium
tfanmghout the year, in about eighty^seyen hours. But
ftfe hours or thereby are lost by the mail turning out
flf iSbtd straight course twelye miles, in order to pass
through York, and by dday at that place : so that the
eoorse might as eadly be performed in eighty-two
honis, which would bring in the mails to Edinburgh
sboat flye hours sooner on the respectiye days.
'Tha mail from Edinburgh to London sets out on
TuesJiyi, Thursdays, and Saturdays at tweWe at night
precisdy, is detained unnecessarily three or four hours
at Berwick, the same time at some other stages in
Northumberland, lies generally about twenty-four hours
at Newcastle, turns off the road again twelye miles to
pass through York, and is also detained there for seye-
ral hours. By all which delays the whole course is not
pedbrmed in kss than about fiye days and a-half, or 131
Doun ; so that it does not arriye at London sooner than
about eleyen o'ckx^ forenoon on the Mondays, Wednes-
days, and Fridays respectiyely after the departures
abofe-mentioned.'
Hm memorialists proposed that, by change of hours
of starting, a saying <SP stoppages at Berwick and New-
and keeping the straight road by Boroughbridge,
of turning aside to York, they should tave two
on the road from Edinburgh to London ; by a
. they thought flye hours might be sayed
between London and Edinburgh. ' The cities of Lon-
don and Edinburgh will thereby,' continue the memo-
rialists, * reoeiye returns of letters firom each other in
stran days and a-half and eight days and a-half> which
afc ptesent do not come sooner than in ten days and
fr4ialf and twdye days and a-half.'
This memorial was suocessM so far that, in April
1790, by a change in the hours of starting and other
arrangements, two daye were sayed upon the post from
Edinburgh to London.
The post is now oonyeyed from London to Edinburgh
in twelye hours and a-haU; so that the morning papers
published in the metropolis may be read in Edinburgh at
niflit Qy means of the dectric telegraph (not so per-
ibcft as it win yet be), messages are transmitted between
the two cities in less than an hour. The following cir-
cumstance, which occurred a few weeks ago, contrasts
singilarbr with the return of post in the eight days and
a-batf which would haye pleased our ancestors ninety
ago :— A banking company in Edinburgh being
to buy of a particular stock in London, sent
to that eifect at toi in the momingi mention-
ing a certain price as the highest at which they wished
to inyest. An answer was in the office by twelye noon,
to the effect that the stock in question could not now
be got at that price, but mentioning a somewhat higher
rate at which it was offered. A second message was
despatched, agredng to this price, and at two o'clock
the reply, announcing the completion of the bargain,
was in the hands of the manager.
SOCIAL MORALITY.
Some years ago the public mind was startled by the
announcement in Mr Chadwick's able report on Inter-
ments in Towns, of yarious aggrayated cases of infan-
ticide by parents at Stockport for the sake of obtaining
insurance fees firom burial dubs. Here was cannibalism
in a new form, so horrifying, as to exceed belief: the
facts, howeyer, were but too well substantiated, and
remidned a blot upon modem ciyUisation. More re-
cently,* rumour has been rife as to a growing crime of
poisoning among the rural population, a portion of the
community generally considered as too unsophisticated
to think of, much less resort to, such deadly means of
destruction ; and within the past few months the public
prints haye been occupied by the details of cases of
poisoning not less appalling than those aboye referred
to at Bristol and Harwich — the number of yictims
in the latter instance being set down as sixteen, all
poisoned for the sake of burial fees. In the other case,
a husband poisons his wife to obtain a large insurance
effected on her life.
It would appear that society requires to be roused
from time to tune by the protrusion of such enormous
facts, in order to become unmistakably aware of the
fearfhl amount of ignorance, misery, and crime, seething
in its lower strata. The awf\il certainty staggers us,
brings us to a dead stop — we seem suddenly to have
taken a long and retrogressiye stride, and looking
round in amazement for the fruits of past and present
Ehilanthropy, ask what has become of the efforts of the
umane and the beneyolent, so longpursued ? Is endea-
your to be thus thrown away? What does it mean?
Is it a fault — a something that can be corrected, to
which a remedy may be applied ? Or is it an eyidence
of an unnatural condition of society, imperyious to the
genial and humanising influences so beneficial in other
quarters? Is it a case for legislatiye interference; or
must it be left to time, which, in the words of Lord
Bacon, 'innoyateth slowly?'
Disguise them as we may, facts will still be facts.
The ayerage amount of criminal offences — the effect of
passion — ^in England and Wales is 700 annually, of
whidtL 450 come under the head of murder and other
attempts on life; but with secret poisoning on the
increase, we may expect a corresponding augmentation
of the ayerage, the more so as the temptations to the
committal of the crime appear to be great. The re-
turns from Preston haye been cited as exhibiting the
results of foul play. In that town more than 20,000
persons, chiefly, if not exclusiyel^, belonging to the
operatiye population, are enrolled in burial clubs. On
insuring a child's life, twelve or sixte^ weekly pay-
ments must be made before any benefit can accrue;
healthy liyes only are insured, to guard against loss as
much as possible to the club f^d; and during this
period the rate of mortality among the children on the
books is 6*4 per cent, while in the town at large it is
10*4 per cent. But no sooner has the preliminary
term passed, than there follows an increase in the pro-
portion of infantile deaths, which rises to 8 per cent. —
a fact inexplicable by natural causes; one that marks
the existence of a deep under-current of ignorance or
crime.
The sum Insured for is, in frequent instances, much
greater than is necessaiy for the interment of a child
* This paper wm written some time aga It nugr bo added thai
tbs writer was orlglnalljr a working-maa.— Bd.
88
OHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
— Bometimea L.8 or L.9 ; and when, as often occur8» the
insurance has been effected in three or four clubs, the
total to be received may amount to more than L^O.
Before this temptation the instinctive feeling, love of
offspring, disappears; and without any attempts that
may be set down as positive ill-treatment, the child
dies. The process brings out no bruises or broken
limbs: systematic neglect, and the administering of
opiates, the use of which is so flagrant in the manu-
facturing districts, to say nothing of hireling nurses,
soon complete the business. The demoralising effects
of such a state of things are too obvious to need further
insisting on.
Have we not here an intimation that the * march of
mind' has been overstated? The writer of this article
has lately had an opportunity of revisiting some of
the northern manufacturing towns with which he was
familiar twenty years ago. At that time his views and
feelings were identical with those of the toiling, but un-
reflecting multitude — their wild theories were received
as true principles of action. So little change has
taken pl^ in this interval of nearly a quarter of a
century, that it might almost be thought they are the
same people, forgotten by Time in his flight. There is
the same improvidence — the same eagerness to swallow
crude doctrines — the same readiness to believe tbat
ameliorations must commence from without, and not
from within ; in short, a condition of mind and charac-
ter utterly incompatible with the idea of real progress.
It is not denied that many appliances which mitigate
hardship, and enlighten and enliven domestic life, are
more within command than formerly; but from the
grand desiderata, the perception of right and wrongs
the proper sense of what is due to others — the desire
to aid the common cause by self-sacrifice or exertion —
fjrom these we appear to be as far as ever.
To this slow awakening, this tardy assimilation of
sound views and principles, we may attribute that state
of things which produces lamentable offences against
every social and moral law. And before any favourable
change can take place in these underlying masses, it is
pretty clear that there must be a notable development
of the moral faculty, accompanied by a teachableness of
disposition, without which all extraneous efforts will be
nugatory. The prime evil is indifference, or, in other
words, intense apathy, in whatever relates to spiritual
culture. Marvellous, that while men and women will
toil day after day at the factory, workshops, loom, or
needle, with praiseworthy assiduity, they are at the
same time so prone to shirk those endeavours on which,
more than anything else, their wellbeing depends.
Mere neglect is not the worst of it ; for the habit of
neglect tends to a degradation which has no sense of its
depravity, and in whidi whole communities will be
content to ' get along.*
The cry for legislative action is very often raised by
those most indisposed to individual exertion. Autho-
ritative interference in the details of private as well as
public life would speedily reduce society to one dreary
uniform level, of which a specimen may be found in
certain French theoretical works. We can hardly be
wise, just, or virtuous by proxy ; a people cannot be
improved by shifts and expedients, but by promoting
among them habits of forethought and self-reliance:
these are the best guarantee for domestic as well as
patriotic virtues. The disposition to consider that
collective good can residt without individual regenera-
tion, would be simply absurd, were it not fraught with
mischief. The truth of this proposition will scarcely
be denied by those who have watched the course of
events during the past few months. Wherever a
speaker has come forward to inculcate the doctrine of
self-help, how has he been received ?— with derision. It
disturbs one's self-esteem to be told that reform must
come from withm, and noisy clamour rises to a pre-
mium. Governments, it is tnie, may be responsible for
a misdirection of the national energies, but this in no
degree diminishes individual responsibility.
It is sad to think that even the press has in 10016 in-
stances fomented the social mischiefl There appear to
be certain writers who systematically inculcate tiM doe-
trine that all who possess anything are little better tluui
robbers, and that all who have nothing are oppressed.
According to their theories, every man with a decent
coat on his back is necessarily a tyrant, and every poor
man a suffering saint In no respect do these writers
inculcate the principle which lies at the foundation of
man's destiny, that every one of us must in some shape
toil for our daily bread. The necessity of self-rdianoe
is never heard from them. Their notion is, that every-
body should have something done for him, as if the
mass were not under any oUigation to think, but were
bom into the world to be nursed, coddled, and flattered
by the few.
The temper of the times has rather aided than
opposed these wild theories. From a period of severe,
and almost savage penal infliction, along with a genersl
disregard of suffering in almost any form, the world
has Utterly gone to an opposite extreme, and in s
spirit of beneficence, unregulated by a prudent consi-
deration of circumstances, has presented innumersble
temptations to discard sdf- respect and self-reliance.
There can be no doubt that the well-meant efforts of
the benevolent have in various instances been actually
demoralising. Our prisons, with their elegant repose
and comfort, are unquestionably creating criminals; onr
Night Asylums are creating universal vagrancy; our
Schools of Industry, we fear, are encouraging juvenile
street mendicancy. To whichever side we turn, we find
all sorts of means for assuaging, as is believed, crime
and misery. These things, we are told, are neoesssiy,
and we are not disposed to debate the point; on the
contrary, we would go every length in the way of kind-
ness and humanity. But if necessary, they must be
proper ; and how does it come that what is necessary
and proper is productive of evil ? The reason nmply ii,
that we depend upon them alone as remedies, Whereas
they must be accompanied by something more, or die
remain worse than nugatory. The evil lies deeper than
any point they of themselves can reach, even if their
administration were wise and prudent, instead of being
quite the reverse. The lower departments of society
are, as we have said, not in a right condition morally ;
and till we can get diat remedied, things cannot be ex-
pected to mend. Were we to give them all the wealth
and power in England, and yet leave their mental
operations what they are, it would be doing no good.
What, then, is to be done? This is not easy to say;
but one thing is pretty obvious, that without a uni-
versal system of instruction, all else is vain. Bdocation,
however, cannot be made altogether compulsory, thongh
a different feeling is beginning to prevail ; and we are
inclined to believe that, without something more than
solicitation, there will be no substantial advanced Hav-
ing in view the great good accomplished by personal
visitations — those of Mrs Fry and Sarah Martin may
be instanced as the most memorable of late years— it
becomes a question whether a system of house-to-house
visitation, in such town districts as most require it,
could not be made a most powerful branch of educa-
tional tactics. There are thousands who cannot read,
and thousands who will not read, who are ^et willing
to listen to reading or conversation. The mstructors
should be zealous and patient, and the instructions
should embrace the details of family training and do-
mestic economy, and whatever incidents of life admit
of regulation. Let it not be considered as interfering
with the business of the missionary, but only as sup-
plementing it, or preparing the way for it For a large
class of females of the middle and upper circles we can ,
imagine no more fitting employment. The scheme
might be tested in one town or parish: if successful, |
the wider application of it might readily be made to
extend to counties, and so on to the whole kingdom.
The duties which it would involve are not of the showv
kind, not such as come before the world with a flourish i
m^
^
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
89
of trmiipeti. But of its promiie, and of the lolid hap-
pineM to accrue from its operation, there can be little
foeetioci. In ihort, the cry must be— Educate, educate,
I
1
ii
THE MARQUIS D'ALIGRE.
Toe H6tel Aligre is situated In the Rue d'Anjou-
Saint-HoQore in Baris. This street is one of the most
sriitocrmtic of the capital ; its large and fine houses are
inhabited by the representatiyes of royalty, and by
naoy oC the noblest families of France. In ^e centre
of these handsome buildings stands the Hdtel d* Aligre,
the exterior of which is plidn and unpretending ; a large
dock in the pediment causes it often to be mistaken for
s pvfbUc edifice. The house is of a more pleasing as-
pect, bovever, on the side looking towards the garden,
wluch latter is large, and adorned with fine trees ; but
takoi as a whde, it ill corresponds with the sumptuous
magnifioenoe of the interior. Within, the apartments
are deoocmted, and furnished with a profusion and splen-
dour surprising to any one acquainted with the econo-
mical, not to say penurious, habits of the founder of
this house.
The Marquis d' Aligre, who has left no inheritors of
his name, was one of the most uniyersally known men
in Paris, enjoying a twofold celebrity by his immense
fortune, and by his reputation for avarice, which at
length almoat passed into a prorerb. In the excess of
hit parsimony. Monsieur d*Aligre was often heard to
ciomplain bitterly of being obliged to pay 60,000 francs
(IfcSdOO) yearly in taxes ; 'a sad necessity, which would
mia him,' he said. Poor man I Uis income exceeded
two miUions of francs (L.80,000). This colossal fortune
was fiMmed by slow accumulation, by clear habits of
businesa, and by tiie extreme care bestowed through
sef^oral generations in preserving, economising, and in-
creasing the family inheritance. The D'Aligres can only
boast a genealogy of two centuries. Their first ancestor
of ^tinction was chancellor of France under Louis
XnL, and another of the same name filled the same
cAce in the following reign. The father of the last mar-
quia was the first president of the Parliament of Paris.
Foreseeing the Revolution and its terrible consequences,
he resigned this post ; and gifted with that instinct of
coosenratism which has established and maintained the
wealth <A\m house, he speedily converted all his avail-
able property into gold, placed it in the English funds,
and lost no time in following his money.
Having saved his fortune, he soon saved his person,
so that the miseries of that period of emigration were
uokoown to him. He had to suffer no privations but
those whidi he imposed on himself voluntarily with par-
simonions heroism. The D' Aligre of that day was the
greatest miser of the family ; and, compared with him,
hil son was dissipated and prodigal But the present
fSDcration, who knew notliing of the father, attributed
many of his acts to the son, and among others, the
fyaoos reguier kept by him in the emigration.
In London, many of the French exiles, aware that
the President d' Aligre had cleverly managed to bring
his ridies with him, often profited of the privileges of
rank and misfortune to ask him for loans ; and the fol-
lowing, among many such scenes, is a good illustration of
ihtt fmitlessness of their solicitations. The only servant
oC the old marquis opens the door and announces the
Duke de , who, unmindful of his seedy habiliments,
eaters with the free and confident manner of a man of
the world.
'Ah, good morning, my dear marquis! I am glad
to see that your precious health continues good.*
' Why, yes, my dear duke, I feel pretty well : that
oomea nrom my regular habits, a great deal of exercise,
and^^ove all, strict temperance.'
* WlUch wiUi you is only a matter of choice, and in
aovHTS compulsory. Every one cannot say so much;
and it is precisely on that subject I have come to visit
* What I on the subject of sobriety ? *
* Yes indeed ; and it is in order not to be obliged to
practise it in excess that I make a demand on your
kindness, and beg you to lend me ten thousand francs.*
' Ah, very welL You ask me to lend you four hun-
dred pounds?*
* You will do me a great favour.'
* Excellent!'
And the marquis rose, opened his secretaire, took out
an enormous register, and wrote down the duke's name,
placing after it the figure of ten thousand francs ; then
quietly resumed the conversation.
*Hyde Park was much crowded yesterday. They
talk a great deal about the new danseuse at Drury Lane.
Do you know that the beautiful Lady E was the
belle at the last Almack's?' And so on with twenty
other trifles.
At length the duke touched again on the subject of
the loan.
' I am really sorry, my dear fellow,' replied the mar-
quis : * I find it impossible to lend you this money.'
* What !* cried the astonished duke ; * you surely put
me down in your register^'
* Oh, rest easy as to that : I did not write your name
as a debtor, but merely as a demander. It is a simple
formality, which I go through for my own satisfaction,
and which serves to justify my refusal. Just take the
trouble to look through tliis register, and you will un-
derstand me.' Then opening this large book before the
duke, M. d* Aligre continued : ' Here I have inscribed
all the demands for money made to me since the com-
mencement of the emigration. The names are authen-
tic See how all these large pages and long columns of
figures are closely filled ; verify the additions, and you
\rill find the total, up to this day, amounts to nearly
three million francs. Where should I now be had I
satisfied all these demands ? Long since reduced to beg-
gary. And why should I give to one what I could not
give to all? It would be unjust and injurious, and
would expose me to constant quarrels. So, liable as I
am to these incessant demands, I have been forced to
adopt a system of general refusal ; and tills register, as
I said before, will explain and justify my present con-
duct'
Thus finding it impossible to combat such an in-
vincible resolution, the noble borrower departed as lie
had come.
In this way the wealthy exile, though in receipt of
an enormous income, paid to the day by the Bank of
England, avoided assisting his companions in exile, the
greater number of whom were plunged in the utmost
distress.
It is not right, however, to attribute this act to the
late marquis, who had enough of his own misdeeds to
account for, without making him answerable for those
of his parent WiUi the fortune, he inherited the pa-
ternal habits of economy, and numerous were the anec-
dotes related of this hereditary avarice in the first circles
of Parisian society. Yet M. d' Aligre, although parsi-
monious in the necessaries of life, and following in most
things his old habits of penury, had an expensive mania :
he was fond of objects of art — statues, bronzes, jewellery,
precious stones, and curious furniture, and of « these
formed a magnificent collection in his h6tel in Paris.
His apartments, open to visitors, had the effect of a
museum. They consisted of a mass of gems of every
description — Boti^-work, porcelain of Sdvres, Saxony,
and Japan, carved wood, ivory, mosaics, Raphael-ware,
terra-cotta, marble statues, vases, goblets of porphyry,
oriental agate, lapis-lazuli, serpentine, jasper, and rock-
crystal; fdl which has been recently set up for sale,
despite the scarcity of money, and the immense value
of uie articles.
It was matter of surprise to many that the family
should order these treasures for sale at such a moment,
and especially that a statue of the late Marchioness
d' Aligre, as large as life, and of solid silver, was included
in the catalogue. But it soon became known that this
do
CHAMBERS»8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
portion of the ioheritanoe belonged to an hospital,
richly endowed by the deceased marquis, and to which
he bequeathed, by a particular clause in his will, 'every-
thing contained in the ground-floor storey of his house
at the hour of his death.'
This legacy reminds me of an anecdote which made
considerable sensation in Parisian society some time
since. A rich lady bequeathed her country-house, with
all its contents, to her attorney. He, haying drawn out
the wiU, was aware of the legacy, and hence took good
care to embellish the Tilla according to his fancy — no
difficult matter to him, as he exercised unlimited con-
trol in the establishment of his benefactress. During
her last illness especially, he removed aU the most pre-
cious objects of art to this country-house, the best fur-
niture, and the valuable collection of paintings which
decorated her town residence and her other country
seats, and thus became the lawftd possessor of his splen-
did spoils.
No abuse of this kind occurred in the legacy to the
hospital; yet the heirs of the Marquis d'Aligre dis-
puted the bequest, on the pretext that the ground-floor
of the h6tel contained many objects which it never could
have been the intention of the testator to leave away
fh>m his family. The case was tried, and the hospital
was successful It now possesses the silver statue, the
ornaments, diamonds, family portraits, exquisite minia-
tures, five hundred medallions of beautiM female por-
traits, and an extremely curious anatomical collection.
NATURAL HISTORY OF BLIGHT.
Among the diseases of plants, blight is one of the most
important, and at the same time one on which a great
diversity of opinion prevails. The Greeks and Romans
supposed it to arise from the wrath of the gods, mani-
fested in some sort of atmospheric influence; and the
Hindoos of the present day consider it a judgment upon
the country for the profane eating of beef. Gardeners
see it 'coming in tiie air,' and look upon the insects
they find soon after devouring their crops as a con-
sequence of the blight ; while those who consider them-
selves more philosophical observers, laugh at the notion
of atmospheric influence, and attribute the whole mis-
chief to the entomologiosd enemies of human industry.
Perhaps both theories may be to a certain extent
correct The state of the atmosphere cannot produce
insects, but it may occasion their aevelopment and mul-
tiplication; just as blight, from the parasitic ibngus
commonly termed rust, may arise fr^m the farina of
the parasite being carried to the destined victims by the
wind, at a time when the pores of the plant are more
than usually open. In Upper India, where the blights
from this cause produce all the horrors of famine in
vast districts of the country, it is observed that the
mischief occurs during an easterly wind. The particles
floating in the air which are carried at such times over
the wheat crops, penetrate into the open pores, and
spreading their minute roots, intercept the sap in its cir-
culation till the plant sickens and dies. ' I have some-
times,' says Colonel Sleeman, ' seen the air tinted of an
orange colour for many days by the quantity of these
seeds which it has contained; and that without the
wheat-crops suffermg at all, when any but an easterly
wind has previuled ; but when the air is so charged with
this farina, let but an easterly wind blow for twenty-
four hours, and all the wheat-crops under its influence
are destroyed— nothing can save them ! The stalks and
leaves become flrst of an orange colour, fh)m the light
colour of the farina which adheres to them ; but this
changes to deep brown. All that part of the stalk that
is exposed seems as if it had been pricked with needles,
and nad exuded blood from every puncture; and the
grain in the ear withers in proportion to the number
of f^gi that intercept and feed upon its sap ; but the
parts of the stalk that are covered by the leaves remain
entirely unii^ured ; and when the leaves are drawn off*
from them, they form a beantifal ooDtrait to the others,
which have been exposed to the depredations of these
parasitic plants. Every pore, it is said, may contain
from twenty to forty of these plants, and each plant
may shed a hundred seeds, so that a single shrub, in-
fected with the disease, may disseminate it over the
face of a whole district; for in the warm month of
March, when the wheat is attaining maturity, these
plants ripen and shed their seeds in a week ; and con-
sequently increase with enormous rapidity, when they
find plants with their pores open ready to receive and
nourish them.* * Colonel Sleeman adds that he had seen
rich fields of uninterrupted wheat cultivation, extending
over an area of twenty miles by ten, in the Valley dt
the Nerbudda, so completdy destroyed by this kind of
blight, that even the stalks and leaves were considered
unfit for fodder.
In England, the disease which is caused or increased
by webs and soft insects is popularly called a * blight ;'
while that in which snails and htxd insects are the
proximate evil-doers is a ' sneg.' The fbrmer comes in
a warm south-east wind, and the latter in a cold north-
east wind — both of which vehicles, according to a very
amusing volume before us, have about as much to do
with the vegetable disease as with a rise in the funds.f
The volume has a good deal of the air and character df
the famous * Natural History of Selbome ; ' and, together
with other instructive and entertaining matter, it con-
tains a great variety of information respecting the
various insects whose depredations are set down as the
real blight in plants.
The gooseberry-fly, which collects such heavy tithes
of one of the wholesomest of our fruits, is a pretty and
merry insect, which spends its brief life in sporting
with its companions in the sunshine. Marriage, how-
ever, spoils his amusement and injures his morals ; for
his progeny are deposited where they have no business,
the eggs dotting the back of the leaves, at regular
intervus, like bead- work. In about a wec^ the grubs
come forth head foremost, leaving the skins of the eggs
standing 'like a row of emp^ silver purses,' and
straightway they begin eating; and this with such
efiect that their first meal changes their smoke-coloured
vest into
* A dotiblat of the Lincoln green.'
There are sixty or seventy of these devourers on one
leaf; and as each grub will eat three leaves to his own
share before he is satisfied, by destroying one leaf in
proportion you save a couple of hundreds. If let alone,
however, the grub goes on eat— ea^— eating, without a
moment's intermission, till he is about ha& an inch in
length : here he pauses, apparently for want of skin-
room. His black head separates like a mask fh>m the
neck, and splits down the middle, and a new head pops
out of the opening, with which he looks about him,
moving it slowly on all sides, and wittiout any vulgar
expression of surprise or other excitement Being satis-
fied as to the locality, he next wriggles out his body ;
and having at length got fairly rid of the insufficient
skin, he sets to work to fill the new one, eating without
intermission for four or five days more. At the end of
this time he casts his skin again, and comes fbrth of
a pale, delicate, green colour. He eats no more. He
descends to the earth, and burrowing in it like a mole,
to a depth of fh)m two to eight inches, he nuJtes a littie
oblong cell, and surrounding himsdf with a tough black
cocoon, awaits tranquilly his transformation into a
chrysalis, and soon after into a fly. When the eggs
are laid before the middle of May, the whole of this
history, down to the appearance of the fly, comes within
a space of about twen^-eight days ; but when the eggs
are late in the year, our grub does not think it worUi
his while to come forth from his subterranean abode,
but dozes comfortably in his cocoon tiill the ensuing
* lUmblee and ReooUeoiiooe of an Indian OffioiaL By Lien-
tenant-Colooel Sleeman. '
t The Letten of Ruetlctu on the Matnral Hletoiy of Godahniiii*
London: y any oont. 1840.
—
CHAMBEKS^ EDINBUIIGH JOURNAL.
91
tpring. If any gardener is bo inhospitable as to desire
to save his gooseberries from this amusing yisitor, the
best waj would appear to be to beat down and harden
Uie soil all round the plants, so as to concert his tem-
porary retirement into a perpetual imprisonment
The gooseberry-fly, however, is only a blight— he is
not the blight. The generic name of the latter is the
aphis, and it is a dull, stupid-looking creature, who does
not go through the ordinary insect metunorphoses. The
aphides have usually only one parent, and are some-
times enclosed in an egg, and sometimes not They
stick their beak into the plant on which they are born ;
and after sucking away for a few days, begin to bring
forth young spontaneously, and continue to do so for
monti», at the rate of firom a dozen to a dozen and
a-half a day. It may be supposed that the stalk of the
plant is Tery soon pretty nearly covered ; and by and
by the new-comers, seeing nothing but a living mass
around them which they cannot eat, look a little puzzled
what to da But after an hour or two's meditation they
comprehend the affair; and creeping along the backs
of tbeir tribe to the upper end of the shoot ^ey settle
down on the outskirts of the colony. Towards autumn
a change occurs in their nature. Their feet stick firmly
to the plant and their skin opening down the back, a
winged creature comes forth, and begins to sport with
his companions (now male and female^ in the sunshine.
More wonderful than all, a solitary udividual of the
new txibe may be seen here and there retaining the
united functions of father and mother, and surrounded
by a green and wingless progeny, itself being winged,
ud nearly black. ' These are mysteries,' says our
author, * which I leave you entomologists to explain.
In May, a fly lays a lot of eggs ; these eggs hatch and
become blights ; these blights are viviparous, and that
without the usual union of the sexes, and so are their
diildren and grandchildren — tiie number of births de-
pending solely on the quantity and qualitv of their
rood. At last as winter approaches, the whole gene-
ration, or series of generations, assumes wings, which
the parents did not possess, undergoes frequently a
change in odour, and instead of being viviparous, lays
eggs.'
Although the wingless aphides are dull and stupid
little creatures, they are great pets and nurslings of the
ants, who tend them like a flock of sheep. When they
meet them out of doors, they take them round the neck,
pat them on the back with their antennae, lick them
with their tongues, and carry them gently and care-
fully into the recesses of their nests. Our Godalming
naturalist attributes all this affection to a drop of
hooey-dew, which he supposes to be secreted in the
aphis; and he has watched an ant going from one of
h^ flock to another, and standing behind him, squeeze
the body with her fore-legs, and swallow a small drop
of hoQ^, which is the result as dear as crystal He
says it is very sweet as well as dear, but does hot aver
that it has the same scandalous effect upon the dd
lady as the potations of the humble-bee upon that more
dissohite personage. ' The humble-bees on a sunflower
ue also very odd-mannered: they get as drunk as
Bacchus or Silenus ; then they get sleepy as Morpheus,
snd cross as Cerberus ; if you touch one, he leims on
one side, cocking up the opposite legs into the air, and
plays divers other antics, till, with his various trials to
show that he is compos mentis, and able to flght and
defend himself he sidles, staggers, rolls, and falls to
tiie ground, and there lies on his h«ck till he has slept
himself sober.'
The hoi>-fly must be considered the most economi-
cally important of the blights of the aphis class, as the
sum of which he defirauds the treasury amounts occa-
ttooall^ (actually in 1825) to sometMng not far short
of half a million sterling. This, however, merely con-
cerns the dttt^; for ^e fluctuations in the market
(which is an immense gambling concern) are at least
twentr times that sum. The hop-fly makes its appear-
from the 10th to the dOth of May; and, what is not
a little curious, it appears on the same day in the four
great hop districts — Kent Sussex, Pamham, and Wor-
cester. The fly very soon produces deposit or knits,
which are its young, and these in a few days become
green lice. The lice in turn produce knits ; and so on
knits and lice, lice and knits, till among them the plant
is killed, and the destroyers die with it.
But this aphis, deadly as it is, has enemies as deadly
of its own. Of these there is a minute ichneumon,
which, watching its opportunity, deposits an egg in the
body of the hop-fly. The grub thus introduced devours
the whole interior of its victim, and in a few days
opening the skin (which supplies the place of a cocoon),
darts forth a winged insect The skin in the meantime
frequently shuts again as with a spring, and observers
wonder how the animal it endosed comd have got out
Another enemy is the lady-bird, with its caterpUlar, ' a
queer-looking insect like a fat lizard,' which feeds on
its victims so voradously, that a single grub devours
above forty in a day. Another is a * green, ungainly-
looking grub, without legs, which lies flat on the surface
of the leaf,' and stretching out its neck like a leech,
seizes the aphis with its teeth. Another is a ferocious
assassin-like fellow, strutting on six legs, and carrying
about with him the skins of the aphides he has de-
stroyed, as ostentatiously as the Indian does his scalps.
Anotiier curious blight is called the American — pro-
bably for no other reason than that it looks like a bit
of cotton-down floating upon the wind. If you pene-
trate into the mystery of this cotton, you find a plant-
louse in the middle ; and a louse of taste, who prefers
rose-bushes and other agreeable shrubs. When driven
against an apple-tree, however — ^for he has no option
as to his whereabouts — ^he creeps contentedly into a
crack in the bark, and founds a colony, whose cotton
jackets appear in large bunches, and spread from branch
to branch till the tree perishes. No one can tell how
this result comes about but the fact is beyond dispute.
The cure recommended is a dose of double size, applied
to all the cottony spots with a plasterer's brush every
morning for a fortnight
The apple-weevil, another enemy of the orchard, is
at first a very amiable personage, like the gooseberry-
fly. Crawling up to the twigs from their winter quar-
ters, they look about them, stretch their cramped legs,
wash their face, as a cat does with her paws, unfold
from comparativdy small cases two large transparent
wings, and dart in merry groups into the air. By the
time the lady weevil is rei^y for laying, the apple buds
have burst and are ready to receive the egg. She
perforates a hole with her trunk in the blossom she
chooses, and depositing there a single egg, flies off to
repeat the operation elsewhere, and so on till her whole
store is exhausted. The eggs soon burst and produce
a little white limbless and wingless maggot which at
once begins to eat its commons, and continues till it
has arrived at the fruit and devoured a portion of it
It then casts its skin, becomes a chrysalis, and lies still
till it is transformed into a beetle. The tom-tits, spar-
rows, and bullfinches, which the gardeners do all they
can to destroy in the spring, feed on these weevils, and
are the natural protection of the orchard.
The apple-moth is * a beautiful little creature ; its
wings are studded with silvery shining specks, as though
they were inlaid with predous gems.' It deposits a
single egg in the eye of the apple, and the grub, when
hatched, eats obliqudy down towards the middle, avoid-
ing the hard core and seeds. It keeps the little hole
by which it descended clear, that it may dean its house
and throw out the rubbish ; and when it has gained the
middle, being well acquainted with the law of gravity,
it makes a new hole for the same purpose downwards.
When strong enough, it penetrates the core, devours the
pips, and the apple, thus deprived of vitality, withers,
and falls to the ground. The grub is perhaps alarmed
— certainly astonished — and enlarging his hole, he creeps
out to see what is the matter. But he oan see nothing ;
for this occurs during the night, and he wand«rs about
n* Urn
. ^.K.
92
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
in the dark, and perhaps gets to a tree, where he finds
refuge in a crack in the bark. Here by and hy he
spins his cocoon, becomes a chrysalis, goes to sleep for
the winter, and in the following June launches into the
air, and begins anew round of existence in the character
of a winged, painted, and glittering moth.
The mission of the little ermine-moth is to strip the
hedges of their leaves, and mat together the twigs into a
web — an offence commonly, and somewhat raguely,
charged upon the ' east wind blight' The caterpillars
of this creature, as soon as they are hatched, feed on the
pulpy part of the leaves, but in a few days spin them-
selves a house, enclosing some leaves, on which they
feed at leisure. When these are finished, they extend
their dwelling so as to enclose others ; and so on till, in
fine, the whole hedge is stripped. When the fulness of
time is come, they suspend themselves to their web with
the head downwards, and turn into chrysalises, and
then in the month of June into moths.
The turnip-fly is * a little, glossy, tiny, skipping,
hopping, merry- Andrew kind of a beetle,* but a most
abandoned tiiief, who starves the sheep and cattle, and
impoverishes their owners. They begin their attack
upon the turnip as soon as it is up, and think nothing of
leaving the field in a few days * as brown as when it was
sowed.* The turnip-weevil, the turnip-moth, and the
turnip-aphis, are likewise bitter enemies of this useful
esculent ; but the Nigger is so remarkable a blight, that
we cannot trust entirely to our o>vn humble pen for his
portrait.
' This year* (1835), says the Godalming naturalist,
' all our turnips are infested with these niggers. They
are the caterpillars of a fly that ought really to be called
the turnip-fly, a name which we have seen is univer-
sally given to the turnip-beetle. About the middle of
July these real turnip-flies were showered down on us
as it were from the clouds ; they fell thicker than rain-
drops, and hovered about the turnips in such myriads,
that whole fields were coloured with a rainbowy tinge
when the hot sun shone on their filmy wings. I will
give an entomological description of one of these flies :
the head and antennas are coal-black; the thorax is
yellow before and on the top, but coal-black on the
sides and behind; the body is yellow; the wings are
clear, and very shining, and tinged with yellow, and the
upper ones have a dash of coal-black along the upper
margin, which reaches three-quarters of the way fh)m
the thorax to the tip of the wing ; the legs are yellow,
spotted with black.' These flies deposit their eggs on the
under side of the leaf, and when the grubs are hatched,
they begin their work. Our author visited a field on a
Saturday. * On Monday I was again in the field at Old
Pond, and the turnips were not. Since my last visit,
they had been swept from the face of the earth. The
land was everywhere as bare as on the day it had been
sowed : there was no speck of green for tlie eye to
rest on. It was a wild and universal desolation ; and
the black, crawling vermin that had caused the ruin
were clustered in bunches on the ground, or lingering
about the skeletons of the turnip leaves. No plague of
Egypt could have been more effective: the mischief
was complete. Some fields received the blast a few
days later than others, but all had it : not one escaped,
unless the crop were Swedes, and it is remarkable
that these were untouched. . . . Directly the young
nigger is let out of the egg-shell, he begins eating away
in right earnest. The first onslaught is generally made
as near as possible to the spot where he was born, but
after a day or two the edges of the leaf seem to be most
favoured by his attentions ; and here the whole family
may be seen working with a will, their heads at the work
of demolition, and their tails cocked up in the air. In
an incredibly short space of time the green of the leaf
is gone, and nothing is visible but the naked skeletons
of veins, which the niggers do not choose to consume.
The colour of the grub is a dull lead colour, with a
rather rough or wrinkly skin, but without hairs ; and
down each side, firom stem to stem, is a paler line:
its length, when full grown, is between half and three-
quarters of an inch ; it has no less than twenty legs,
six of which are placed in three pairs, very near the
head. These six are long, hard, homy, and sharp-
pointed, and with them the grub holds fast the edge of
the leaf while he goes on devouring it ; the other four-
teen legs are arranged in seven pairs along the body,
and are soft and fleshy, without any homy substance,
and quite without sharp points. These legs are used
when the grub is crawling ; but while he is eating, and
the tail — indeed the greater part of the body is, as I
have already said — cocked up in the air, they are quite
unemployed. Sometimes, and especially when offended
or in danger, the nigger gmb coils himself up in a ring,
holding the leaf very slightly by the first pair of legs,
that pair next the head, and when touched in this state,
falls directly to the ground, and thelre lies as though
dead ; indeed, if not in a ring before, he almost alwayi
rolls himself into one when touched. When the nigger
has reached his full size, a period depending on. the
temperature of the weather and the supply of food, but
averaging at twenty days, he burrows in the earth, and
there makes a little ovid house, just big enough for hii
body, which has all at once become shorter and thicker;
he then plasters the walls of this place with a sort of
sticky varnish or glue, which he discharges at this time
only. He keeps on discharging and spreading this glae
till he is quite surrounded with a strong, tough, and
hard cocoon, the particles of earth being mixed with
the glue, and the whole forming an admirable and per-
fect defence against wet or the attacks of insects. The
period of his stay in this cocoon varies according to
circumstances ; if the weather is hot, it sometimes bap-
pens that the grub becomes a mummy-like chrysalis in
ten days, and a perfect fly, and again on the wing, in
five more; but the greater part of the brood remain
unchanged all through the autumn, winter, and spring.
I have turned up the cocoons, and foimd the grub little
altered even in May. Soon after this, the change to a
chryssdis must take place; and the change to a fly
occurs, in average seasons, about the middle of July.
When this is accomplished, it moistens one end of its
cocoon, so as to make it easy to come out, and then it
climbs up through the earth and takes wing.*
Such are the principal * blights,* and such the won-
derfU scene of production, destruction, and reproduc-
tion, which is constantly going on before our eyes. We
do not pretend to fathom the purposes of the Creator;
we only know that mjrriads of beings are produced
which are intended for the food of other beings ; and in
order to save our crops from the ravages of those ani-
mals which are appointed by nature to destroy them, it
would seem to be our wisest plan to give as much effect
as may be in our power to this universal law. Instead
of grudging the small birds a little food, our gardeners
should cheerfully concede it to them, as allies in our
task of destrojring those creatures, which do more mis-
chief in a day than the others in a season. In order to
destroy the last-mentioned grabs, our naturalist says
we have only to tura a flock of ducks into the field,
which • will devour the niggers by millions, and in a
few days become as fat as Imtter.' Frogs and toads, if
permitted, will gorge upon them till they can hardly
move ; and the maggot of a parasite fly, which lays its
egg in the creature*s back, descends with it into the
earth, and after allowing the nigger to make its cocoon,
eats up its entrails, and emerges in due time a fly. The
tiger-moth caterpillar is produced in Great Britain in
si^cient numbers to devour every green blade in the
land, aud thus deprive us at once of vegetable and
animal food. But this caterpillar has so many insect
enemies, that not one egg out of 50,000 produces a
moth 1 This is sufficient of itself to show the plan of
Omnipotence; although the purpose is beyond our
limited comprehension.
We conclude by recommending the * Lettew of Ros-
ticus' aa forming a very amusing and instructive
volume ; in which Mr Newman figoref af an Interest*
r=
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
98
log yuriety of the speciea printer, by appending to the
iheets he sends forth from his press sundry ingenious
notes in natural history.
AMERICAN ICE TRADE.
Half a century ago, to hare asserted that ice would
form an important item in commercial statistics would
have been deemed absurd. Travellers, it is true, had
tdd us of collections of snow made during the winter
hy the peasantry of the Apennines and Pyrenees for
tibe cities of Italy and Spain in the sultry season ;
and we had tantalising accounts of the iced- water so
profhsely imbibed by dwellers in Eastern countries ;
bat it was reserved for the ingenuity and enterprise
of our neighbours in the United States, assisted by the
Kvere winters of their climate, to find in the frozen
lorfacet of their clear blue lakes a valuable article of
foreign as well as domestic commerce.
According to a statement in the ' American Almanac*
for 1849, we learn that the ice trade owes its origin to a
person named Tudor, who began it at Boston in 1805.
He had caused inquiries to be made in the West Indies,
and shipped his first cargo — 130 tons — to Martinique
in a veasd. which he was obliged to buy for the pur-
pose, as no shipowner was willing to receive the gelid
freight This experiment resulted in a loss ; the trade
was subsequently extended to Jamaica, Cuba, and
dtiea in the southern states ; but, from various causes,
wlfli little or no success.
In 1832, twenty-seven years after the commence-
ment, the quantity of ice exported from Boston was not
more tiian 4352 tons ; other persons had embarked in
the trade, but having failed, Mr Tudor was again alone.
Among the causes of its slow increase was the imper-
fection of the appliances for carrying it on : ice was
looked upon by shipmasters as a dangerous and damag-
ing frei^it ; there were no ice-houses at home or abroad
for the preservation of the article ; in addition to which,
the mere mechanical details were but ill understood.
But since 1832 these difficulties have been overcome,
and there appears to be no insurmountable obstacle to
a farther expansion of the late increase in the trade.
Hitherto one pond, near Cambridge, Massachusetts,
had contributed the entire supply ; but in 1841 several
JBdstoo tzaden having entered into the business, a dis-
trict of country containing * ice privileges* was legally
partitioiied between them, whereby each one was
enabled to obtain a good supply without detriment to
the others. Maps of the respective localities are placed
in oeztain public offices for reference as occasion may
arise. The rapid growth of the trade may be judged
of firom the fact, that in 1847 nearly 75,000 tons of ice
were shipped from Boston, employing 353 vessels of
varioua burden. Twenty -eight cargoes went to as many
places in the United States, and thirty-one to foreign
countries ; and the enumeration of Havana, West Indies,
Bio de Janeiro, East Indies, Manilla, Java, China,
and England, sufficiently indicates the wide extension
of the trade.
By the use of ice, fruits, vegetables, and other perish-
able commodities may be exported, which otherwise
would remain unproductive. Twenty-nine such cargoes,
value 72,500 dollars, were shipped from Boston in 1847 ;
the freight paid on the whole 74,478 tons of ice was
186,195 dollars ; the cost of cutting, loading, &c was
148,956 dollars ; and adding to this 100,000 dollars as
profit, we have a total of 507,651 dollars produced by the
foreign ice trade in one year. And this is not the only
advantage; vessels bound for southern ports, which
used formerly to sail in ballast, now carry ice at a small
charge ; invention, too, has been stimulated to discover
the best means of cutting, transport, and stowing.
There are now seven principal ice dealers in Boston.
In the year referred to above, 27,000 tons of ice were
consumed in that city and its neighbourhood. Three-
fborths of the quantity were carried by railway to the
d^ots at Charleston and East Boston, the remainder
was distributed by private vehicles. The cost by the
time it reached the retailers amounted to nearly 55,000
dollars. The retail price varies in proportion to the
quantity sold, averaging 13^ cents (7d. sterling) per
100 pounds, which for 27,000 tons gives 72,900 dollars,
leaving a profit of over 18,000 dollars to the dealers ;
and when it is considered that these large sums are
realised in the brief hot season, we may better estimate
the value of the trade. At Havana, where ice is a
monopoly, the price is 6j- cents per pound ; and with
this is coupled the instructive fiict, that the trade has
not advanced since 1832 ; while at New Orleans, where
the price is from ^ to 3 cents per pound, the increase
in the same period has been over 25,000 tons. *At
Calcutta,' continues the Iteport, ' the trade commenced
in 1833 with a shipment for that year of 201 tons,
and 'the price has never been above 6 cents per pound,
and is now about 2^ cents. The export to that place
had increased in 1847 to 3000 tons; but probably less
than one-fifth of that quantity is actually sold, owing
to the length of the voyage.'
The ice trade affords a notable instance of value
created in labour and materials which otherwise would
have been lost To quote the particulars — * The methods
and materials for preparing vessels for the transporta-
tion of ice have been various. Formerly their holds
were ceiled up at the sides, bottom, and top, with boards
nailed to joist-ribs secured to the skin of the vessel,
and with double bulkheads forward and aft. The
spaces thus formed were filled with refuse tan, rice-
hulls, meadow-hay, straw, wood-shavings, or like mate-
rials. These spaces were made of a tMckness propor-
tionate to the length of the voyage, and with reference
to the season. The immediate surface of the ice was
covered with the same materials, excepting tan. At
the present time, sawdust is used almost exclusively
for voyages of considerable length. It is placed imme-
diately between the ice and the skin of the vessel.
This material is obtained from the state of Maine, and
before its use for this purpose, was entirely wasted at
the water-mills, and falling into the streams, occasioned
serious obstruction.* The cost of sawdust in Boston
for this purpose alone amounted in 1847 to 11,500
dollars.
Besides ice-houses on the wharfs at Charleston
and East Boston, there are eight others in the interior
of the country, capable of containing 141,332 tons of
ice. These structures, in almost every instance, are
built of wood, with double walls, the spaces between
which are filled with wet tan; this freezes in the
winter, and as the ice is removed early in the following
season, there is but little waste. The passing of lo-
comotives is said to endanger these edifices by fire,
and in one instance a brick building has been raised,
* which covers 36,000 feet of land ; and the vaults of
this ice-house are forty feet in depth, and its walls four
feet thick from outside to inside, including two sets of
air-spaces.'
Although a natural product, ice of a good marketable
quality is only to be obtained by assisting nature. * At
first,' we arc informed, * implements of husbandry were
used in securing ice ; but as the trade became more im-
portant, other machines and different methods were
adopted, and abandoned when better were brought for-
ward, or when the increased magnitude of the business
required greater facilities. More ice is now secured in
one favourable day than would have supplied the whole
trade in 1832. Ordinarily, before tliere has been cold
enough to form ice of suitable thickness, snows fall on
its smface. If this occurs when the ice is four or more
inches in thickness, and the snow not heavy enough to
sink the ice, it can be removed by using horses attached
to the ** snow-scraper;" and under such circumstances
this is the method in common use. But if snow falls
so heavy as to bring the water above the surface of the
ice, it is removed, iSfcer it has congealed into snow-ice,
with the *' ice-plane," which takes off about two inches
deep and twenty-two inches wide of its surface. This
i:
94
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
machine is drawn by two hones, and is guided by
inserting its ** guides" into grooves previously made
with the "ice-cutter." The chips made by it are
scraped off in the same manner as dry snow. These
preliminary expenses are often rery great ; flrequently,
after much expense has been incurred to remoye a body
of snow or snow-ice, the weather becomes warm, and
spoils the ice on which so much has been expended;
and, on the other hand, if it is not done, and the cold
continues, there will be little or no increase of thickness
to the ice, which is equally a disaster.
* When ice has been formed of sufiScient thickness,
and freed £rom snow and snow-ice, it is reduced to blocks
of uniform size, ordinarily twenty-two inches square,
by the ice-cutter. This machine is similar to a car-
penter*s plough, except that it has a series of cutting
chiscds, one succeeding another, and deepening' the
groove. It is drawn by a horse, and cuts at one passage
about two inches deep, and if the ice requires to be
planed to remove snow-ice, the guides of the " snow*
plane" are used in grooves of this depth; but when
grooves are required to split from, the ice-cutter should
be drawn two or three times through each. These
grooves should be parallel to each other, and to make
them so, Uie ice-cutter has a guide, whidi is placed in
the last groove made. When the grooves in one direc-
tion have been made, others at right angles with them
are produced in the same manner. After this has been
done, one groove at the end is opened, and also the two
outside grooves; a wedging bar is then stricken into
the groove next the end one, and at several places along
its length, whidi detaches it easily fh>m' the mass;
then the same bar is forced, with a slight blow, into
the transverse grooves, which reduces the ice to very
uniform square blocks. The blocks of ice thus formed
are brought to the receiving-doors of the ice-houses
(which are built on the immediate borders of the ponds)
either by placing them on sleds, or floating in canals
cut through the ice. Various modes of elevating the
ice are in use : the endless chain, in combination with
the inclined plane, has been successfully used, and also
the common pile-driving steam-engine ; but at present
horse-power is more used than any other. The ice is
placed in the houses in regular courses, every block
exactly covering the next bdow it When a vault has
been filled, it is immediately covered with wood shav-
ings, and the receiving-doors fitted up, to prevent waste,
until the contents are required for shipment abroad or
use at home.'
Many of the New England farmers, as is well known,
betake themsdves to various mechanical employments,
such as cabinetmaldng, &c. during the winter months ;
the ice trade will now afford them an additional re-
source. The daily wages paid for the labour of men
and horses during the winter of 1847 was 880 dollars ;
this is in favourable weather, of which it is reported
that not more than twenty days occur in the season.
The average daily pay for a horse and man is two
dollars.
Such are the results of commercial activity pushing
itself into every region, and affording to the denizens
of hot countries a grateful and essential resource. Even
in our own country, the pure bright ice of New England
is a very acceptable refrigerator in the summer months.
If means could be contrived for transporting fresh meat
in ice at a small cost, Europe would present a ready
market for the surplus beef and mutton of America.
THE POOR-LAW IN IRELAND.
At present, an idea is entertained that Irish property is
pretty nearly eaten up by rates levied under the new poor-
law, and that the min of Ireland must shortly be the
consequence. As such an opinion is injurious to the true
interests of Ireland, and may prevent capitalists from
making purchases of property in that part of the United
Kingdom, we are happy to observe that the subject has
been statistically examined by a writer in the * Scotsman *
newspaper, and the truth, whioh is at variance with popu-
lar notions, fkirly brought out. The following eondenssd
view of this writer*s statements invites general oonsidaa-
tion: —
' The first order of the Irish Poor-Law Conunissionen
regarding out-door relief seems to have been issued in
August 1847, and the first ease of its adoption by a union
was in November; but the clerks of unions did not begin
to make regular returns till February. The weekly returns
given in the reports reach from the week ending February 5
to that ending April 2. We take March, as the last com-
plete month comprised, and aS being also, we should think,
one of the worst of the year, the poorest of the peasantiy
having by that time exhausted their harvest store, and
out-door labour not being fhlly resumed. The average
number of persons then receivins daily out-door relief in
Ireland dunng last March was 703,762; the average daily
number of inmates in the workhouses durinff the same
month, 140,536; total average of paupers, 844,298. Thii
may be taken as the average number of Irish paupers for
the year — a vear certainly very favourable for the pur-
poses of the alarmists. The Edinburgh Reviewer states the
number at 900,000; but the only additional data he has,
or at least gives, reduces, instead of increasing the numba
deducible from the figuras of the Oommissioners* Report
He has obtained returns of the number of out-door poor
up to August; but though there seems to have been an
increase in the four months succeeding March, the number
had in August ag»in decreased to more than 160,000 below
the average of Alarch, being much fiirther below that
average than any of the intervening months were above it;
and looking at former experience, we may expect to find
the diminution continued through at least August, Sep-
tember, and October, the haivMt months. We arrive,
therefore, pretty near the fisot, that the number of panpen
in Ireland under the new system is 840,000, or cm m tai of
the population, whioh in 1841 was 8,175,124.
' Ooming to the cost, we find that the total expendltnrs
for the six months enolng 31st March was L.781,198, or at
the rate of L. 1,562,396 per annum. Takinsr, however, the
increased expenditure for March and April as data Ibh
open to cavil by the alarmists, the total annual amount
expended on the Irish poor may be set down at two nUlIuMu,
The valued property of Ireland being about L.1 6,000,000,
it follows that the average annual poor-rate for the whole
country is, as near as the data permit us to calculate, 2b. 6d.
a pound. At the worst, making all allowances that can be
decently asked, it cannot reach 3s. the pound.
'The sum of the whole matter is thi« — that under the
new system, the Irish paupers are 840,000 in number, or
1 in 10 of the population; and the coat of their maintensaos
L.2,000,000 sterhng, or about half-a-orown in the pound on
the valued rent. This is a bad enough state of matters;
but it is not yet so bad as to justify the cry that the law
has demoralised the poor of Ireland, and burdened her
property beyond enduranoe.
* In such a case, comparisons, though perhaps odious, sre
quite fair; and as English ratepayers would have to sop-
ply whatever Irish ratepayers were allowed to refuse, a
comparison with England obviouslv suggests itself. The
population of England and Wales is (1841) about 16,000.000;
the number of paupers is 1,800,000, or about 1 in 9 of the
population. The proportion in Ireland is 1 in 10; so that
Ireland has even now a smaller proportion of actual paupers
than England. The amount of poor-rates rused m Eng-
land in 1847 (the latest period for whioh there are official
reports) was L5,300,000, ot about 6s. 8d. per head on the
total jMpulation; in Ireland, the amount is only 5s. per
head. Considering the general character of the Irish popu-
lation, however, there will be no surprise in finding the
proportions greatly alter when we take property inst^d of
population. The value of the property rated to the poor
in England and Wales in 1847 was L.67,291,171, on which
L.5,800,000 of assessment gives Is. 7d. the pounds or neariy
two-thirds, of the Irish per centage; and sinoe JVfoy 1847
(the latest month included in the returns), there has un-
doubtedly been a considerable increase. But there are also
several items to be set off against Ireland, which bring
matters to something like an equality. We need not dwell
on the large sums paid from the British treasury for pur-
Soscs of police, &o. defrayed by local rates in England and
Gotland, or on such facts as the Irish workhouses having
been buUt by a loan of national money, whioh is already
virtually cancelled ; and we need do no more than gUnoe
at the enormous exemptions ei^joyed by Irish property
from national taxes. If pariiament laid on Irish piupeitiy
.1.
GHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
95
he same t&xes aa on EngUah and Sootoh, and made Eng-
lod and SootUnd pay all the Irish poor-ntes m addition
:o their own, we woold profit half a million by the bargain !
,. VVlien not onl^ the Irish, but some writers at home, talk
I constantly of its being absolutely necessary for the tax-
; payers of Britain, in some shape, to relieve Irish propertv
] of its natural burdens, it is well to remember that Irish
property is even now more lightly burdened than British.
It is not meant to be argued that the law oould not be
improred, or that there is no danger of its somewhere,
to some extent, and at some time demoralising and over-
bordening. When we find that the proportion per cent,
of panpers is in one province 3, and in another 26, it is
easT to oonoeive that there must be great local pressure,
and good reason for a more equal sjweading of the burden.*
vSe real srievanoe, therefore, appears to consist in the
iaeq[na]ity of the pressure of the rates ; but this is not alto-
gether the fitult of the poor-law ; it is because certain dis-
tricts contain a vast number more poor than others. Un-
foitimately, however, within the excessively pauperised
districts there are landlords on whose well-managed pro-
perties there are few or no poor ; and they necessarily are
called on to pay rates for the support of poor called into
existence, it may be said, by the neglect of neighbouring
proprietors. We should be glad to see Irish landlords
generally adopting practical means to remedy this abuse.
RISE FROM A HUMBLE CONDITION.
Ik a speech delivered by the Hon. and Rev. the Dean of
Ripon at a late soiree of the Mechanics* Institution, Leeds,
a tew passages occur worthy of being widely circulated : —
'I uke to think with pleasure, and satisfaction, and
vDoder, of the extraordinary advancements which, in the
proridenoe of God, particular individuals have made, who
have just been able to ^ply the operation of their minds
aeeording as Uiey were able to exercise them, and thereby
to place themselves in extraordinary positions both in re-
btun to their own prosperity and to the advantage of the
eoontry. It may be a very familiar subject, but it is one
vfaieh I do like to thhik of, and I will just allude to it
There was a young man who was the youngest of thirteen
ehildrai, and his father a very poor man; and the best
that his father could do for him was to amnentioe him to
a barber. In that humble and praisewortny class of public
life, that respected individual demeaned himself honour-
ably, as long as he chose to continue in it. He then be-
stowed his care, umL attention, and enterprise upon pre-
paring the beautifol hair of our heads— improving it to that
degree that it should be fit to make a wig of. In that he
excelled also. Then, gentlemen, he betook himself to the
improvement oi a weed which I have seen — and which is
HtUe more than like a weed— I mean the cotton plant of
(^rolitta. He betook himself to improve the manufiacture
of cloth made out of that weed. He sained great success,
adding merely to the acquirements which he possessed —
which vou may suppose were very slender — the knowledge
which be oould pick up by associating with his feUow-men :
he gained that success which enabled him to decide the
van of the linen and the cotton, so that a vestment should
be made aU of cotton. That barber's apprentice, gentlemen,
that honourable improver of our hair for the purpose of a
wig, was Sfar Biehard Aritwright, afterwards high sheriff of
his county, and who left his ntmily half a million of money.
Wen, gentlemen, I only put that as one instance of a simple,
plain man, honestly following the call of Providence, using
the mind aooording as GK>d's providence gave him the op-
portunity of drawing forth its resources— throwing himself
iato the opening which was prepared for him, and thus
gaining a prosperity exceeded oy no man in this country ;
and I am sure that language is not equal to say the ad-
vintage which our nation has received from his invention,
enabling him thus to show the benefit of the exercise of
the mind, and talent, and energy, and refiection, and de-
nre for improvement in the humblest station of life. I
viQ mention another case, because I do dwell upon it, I
confess, with exceeding interest, ftrom my personal ao-
qoaintanoe with the mdividual. (Gentlemen, it is no
more than forty years since, in my travels in America, I
came to New Yont, and I called upon the famous General
Moreao, with whom I had the pleasure of being acquainted.
He said to me, ** Well, here's a strange thing ! nereis a ship
to so by bot water I and to-morrow the trial is to be made,
ana I am invited to be of the party, and mv friends. Will
yen go with me?" I aooompanied General Moxeau in the
first steam-vessel that ever sailed upon the Hudson, in
America, under the auspices of Mr Fulton, the inventor —
a man of a similar cast to Arkwright, perhaps with some
rkter advantages from bis early education, but of a simi-
tone and oiuit of mind; unsatisfied with what be had
done, and what he oould do, and always thinldng that he
oould do something better, and thankftU for everv informa-
tion he received, and everv opportunity he oould nin in
making progress in some improvement ; so that from a
painter in portnuts, from a designer in a variety of ways, at
last he arrived at the extraordinary eminence and success
of making the first practical efficient steam-vessel which
could navigate so severe a river as the river Hudson.
Now, gentlemen, I remember with pleasure standing upon
the deck, with Robert Fulton, and dwelling with him
on the subject. I remember asking him. '* Do vou think
it will ever be of any good ?'* i recollect his counte-
nance lighting up almost with indignation at the idea
that any invention of his oould foil of being useftd. I
remember very well, just as we approached the mouth
of the Hudson, just as it abuts on the Atlantic Sea,
saying — ** What will become of us if we drift out to sea ?
How is it possible that a vessel of this sort can stand
the waves of the ocean?** Well, now, gentlemen, when
I compare and bring together that day, with the fact of
the steamers now crossing the Atlantic in eleven or twelve
days, with a regularity and precision which is almost mar-
veUoua — ^why, l^w is it possible not to see and to be per-
suaded that Uiere is not a man that lives, and oomes within
the arena of popular and scientifio institutions like this,
who has not opportunity given him of being distinguished
by giving his talent, industry, and eneigy to whatever sub-
ject in the oourse of his investigations and inquiries the
finser of Providence mAj point out to him ? It is impos-
sible to say, unless we beheve that we have arrived at the
acme and fhlfilment of everything for the good of man —
it is impossible not to think that we may be oonferring
some fi;reat blessing upon our own country — ^that we may,
through the means of some individual in the very humblest
class, whose mind we may touch, by just giving him a per-
ception and an intuition of some combination connected
with science and art — ^we may render him an instrument
of groat good to his country and the worid, and a source of
great happinesi and pride to himself.*
CAVERN AT TREBICH.
An interesting discovery has recently been made in the
neighbourhood of Trieste, which promises great benefits to
that citv, where a supply of pure running water has long
been a desideratum. Tbe district is composed geologically
of sandstone and slate, and what is called harstf or white
limestone. The latter is very porous, and full of holes
of aU dimensions, and is in some places a thousand feet
thick. The running streams which traverse the sandstone
are thus swaUowed up as soon as they reach the limestone
district near the coast. Various circumstances led to the
conclusion that the holes widened below into huge caverns
which might contain water, and several of them were
examined, but without success. *At length,* to quote
from the Journal of the Geol<^cal Society, ' an opening of
no great width, but sinking perpendicularly into the
ground, was discovered at Trebich, about a league north-
east from Trieste, which was followed out with great
perseverance. The fissure sometimes expanded into a
wide cavern, sometimes contracted to a rent of scarce a
finger*s breadth, and requiring great labour in blowing up
the rocks, to enable the workmen to proceed ; but it never
closed up entirelv, and some opening, however small,
always remained, keeping up the connection. Sometimes
it separated into branches ; out by alwavs adhering to the
one from which the current of air issued, a very consider-
able depth was soon attained without any great deviation
from the direct course. Once, in a wide part of the open,
ing, idl trace of its continuation was lost, and many at-
tempts to recover it, by blowing up the rock, bad been
made in vain, when the worlunan, Antony Arich, an
intelligent minor from Carinthia, heard during the night
a loud roaring and howling, and oonduded that the
water in the interior, rising suddenly in consequence of
heavy rain, was forcing the air through some narrow
openinff, and thus discovered near the roof of the cave
a smaU fissure, which again led in the right direction.
At length, after eleven months* hard labour, Arich reached
a very large and extensive grotto, 270 feet high, at
96
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
the bottom of which, 1022 feet below the sarfaoe of the
earth, and 62 feet above the sea-level, a oonsiderable
stream of rumiing water was found. This lowMt opening
is still in the bituminous limestone of the kant, but con-
tains, on a stair^like elevation, a considerable deposit of
sand, produced by the destruction of the sandstone and
slate, over which the river has run in its course above
ground. The water enters the grotto through a low vault ;
and flowing among the numerous large blo^s which liave
fallen from the roof, expands into a long narrow liJie, on
which a small raft was formed to explore its further
course, and is at length lost under a vault, which, descend-
ing below the surface*of the water, put a stop to the inves-
tigation. During heavy rain, the water has been already
seen to rise 240 feet ; but to judge from an old float of a
mill-wheel found in a higher part of the hole, it must
sometimes attain a height of 300 feet above its usual leveL'
THE SABBATH.
The Sabbath is God*s special present to the working-
man, and one of its chief objects is to prolong his life, and
preserve efficient his working tone. In the vital system it
xiots like a compensation-pond; it replenishes the spirits,
the elasticity and vigour, which the last six days have
drained away, and supplies the force which is to fill the
six days succeeding; and in the economy of existence, it
answers the same purpose as, in the economy of income, is
answered by a savings* bank. The fhigal man who puts
aside a pound to-day, and another pound next month, and
who in a quiet way is always putting past his stated pound
from time to time, when he grows old and firail, gets not
only the same pounds back a^dn, but a good many pounds
besides. And the conscientious man, who husbands one
dav of existence every week — who, instead of allowing the
Sabbath to be trampled and torn in the hurry and scramble
of life, treasures it devoutly up — ^the Lord of the Sabbath
keeps it for him, and in length of days and a hale old age
gives it back with usury. The savings* bank of human
exutenoe is the weekly Sabbatlu — NoHk British Revitw.
RULES FOR THOSE \rHO HAVE A WATCH.
Firstly, Wind your watch as nearly as possible at the same
time evorv day. Seoondlp, Bo careful that your key is in
good conoition, as there is much danger of ii\juring the
machine when the key is worn or cracked; there are more
mainsprings and chains broken through a jerk in winding
than from any other cause, which injury wUl, sooner or
later, be the result if the key is in bad order. Thirdlp, As
all metals contract by cold, and expand by heat, it must be
manifest that to keep the watch as nearly as possible at
one temperature is a necessary piece of attention. Fonrthly,
Keep the watch as constantly as possible in one position —
tliat is, if it hangs by day. let it hang by night against
something that is soft. Pi/ihly, The hands of a pocket
chronometer or duplex watch should never be set back-
wards; in other watches this is a matter of no consequence.
Sixthly. The glass should never be opened in watches that
set and reguutte at the back. One or two directions more
it is of vital importance that you bear in mind. On regu-
lating a watch, should it be going fast, move the regulator
a trifle towards the slow, and if going slow, do the reverse;
you cannot move the regulator too slightly or gently at a
time, and the only inconvenience that can arise is, that you
may have to perform the duty more than once. On the
contrary, if you move the regulator too much at a time,
you will be as far, if not fiurther thim ever, from attahiing
your object; so that you may repeat the movements untU
quite tired and deeply disappointed, stoutly blaming both
watch and watchmaker, while the fault is entirely your own.
Again, you cannot be too careful in respect of the nature
and condition of your watch-pocket; see that it be made of
some material that is soft and pliant, such as wash-leather,
which is the best, and also that there be no flue or nap
that may be torn off when taking the watch out of the
pocket Cleanliness, too, is as ne^fiil here as in the case
of the key before winding; for if there be dust or durt in
either instance, it will, you may rely upon it, work its way
into the watch, as well as wear awav the engine-turning of
the case. — Edxoard Grafton on HooHogy.
SAVING TO QIYE.
Frugality is good, if liberality be joined with it. The
first is leaving oflT superfluous expenses ; the last is bestow-
ing them to the benefit of others that need. The first
without the last begets co\'etou8noss ; the last without the
first begets prodigslity. — W» Perm,
THE SPIRIT OP PEACE.
Wb brk hath the spirit of peace his home?
Loves he o'er earth or ocean to roam?
Ho dwells in the deep sequestered glade.
Where the lover's st^ hath a footpath made ;
Ue lurks in the bowers where birds have sung .
To their fluttering mates when the day was young;
By the river pool 'neath the waterfall.
Where the rook>spnuig trees have formed a pall.
Solemn and dark, o'er the depth below.
As best befits its msjestic flow.
Where hidden wild-flowers scent the air-
Be sore the spirit of peaoo is there.
By the summer's tea he loves to dwell.
And to noto its criapM billows swdl ;
Or to list the musio ocean makes
When his wave the cavern's echo wakes;
Or to mark each ship go proudly by.
Like a aea-king in his panoply;
Or to reckon the snowy sUffk that swim.
Like ooean birds far off and dim,
Where the calm sea blends with the calmer air—
The spirit of peace be sure is there.
In the Highland vale, where the lake Uos low.
Encircled by hills of lasting snow ;
Where the streams that ^adden the vidlsy creep.
Murmuring through channels dark and deep ;
Where the red deer stares from the forest forth,
Ere ho bounds away to the trackless north ;
Where primeval life with eager gaxe
Looks out on the stranger who treads its ways ;
Where the fond enthusiast loves to roara—
There, there hath the spirit of peace his h(mie.
In the woods at eve when the birds are still.
And naught is heard but the tiny rUl,
Which noon and night makes music sweet.
As it leaps its brother rill to meet;
Where naught is seen by the straining eye.
But the trees Uke spectres standing by—
I have met with the woodman's lowly cot.
Where I thought that the home of man was not ;
I have heard his evening iwmiso and prayer.
And I felt that the spirit of peace was there.
When the country lies in Sabbath rest.
And the fields are in golden beauty drest ;
When the church-bell's notes o'er the valley come.
Like the voice of a father inviting home;
When the aged man is thoughtful seen,
Where the graves of his early friends lie green
Round the village church in many a heap.
Each with its tenant in slumber deep—
To that humble church in hope repair.
And the spirit of peace shall meet you there. I
EAST OF LONDON JEWS.
We are informed that the account of the ' East of London Jews,'
in No. 237 of this Journal, is much exaggerated. Our Hebrew cor-
respondent (who now authenticates his commnnioatioa) may be
assured that the error on the part of our contributor was rndfl-
tentionaL As for ourselves, we hardly require to say that we ara
wholly devoid of prejudices sgainst Jew or Gentile.
CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE.
Jnst published, in doth boards, price lOd.
METEOROLOGY,
BSIKG ONS OF THK THKATISKS IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.
^^^ In the preparation of the present treatise, the author hM
endeavoured rather to embody principles, than to occupy apsco
with details of phenomena ; his aim being to render Meteorology
a subject of scientific study, not a mere record of unea^laUied
facts and elaborate observations.
W. & R. Crams sRs, Edinburgh ; and sold by all BookseHera
Published by W. A R. CHAMBsas, High Strset, Bdlnbuish. Alto
sold by D. Chambers, Sl> Argyle Street, Glasgow; W. 8. Okr,
147 Strand, London; and J. M*Olasran, 21 D'Olier SttsoC,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. Cbambsbs, Edinbttrfh.
L
.!! t
CONBUCTBD BT WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHABfBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS^ INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ ho.
No. 268. New Series. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1849.
Price 1^.
PROPOSALS FOR A REFORM IN LIGHT
LITERATURE.
It leema to be confessed that the great difficulty of the
age with leapect to light literature is to produce any-
tfaiog new. All the styles and modes of fiction, the
WsTeiky- historic, the Yalerio- classic, the Udolpho-
roosntic, the horrible, the sentimental, the criminal,
tiie sihc^fork, the low, the everything, are totally
woan out and worthless. We know eTcry kind of cha-
ncier that is to be introduced, and every kind of con-
j jancture that can ruffle the course of supposititious
; emts, and feel, before we advance twenty pages, that
I it if all barren. Like Vhomme hl&si, we declare we
! hsiv seen all that before, and turn away from the
profiled meal with disgust, albeit perhaps raging with
the sscied hunger of amusement. It has occurred to
lis that something might be done for mankind in these
eztnordinary circumstances, and we proceed to lay our
scheme before a discerning public.
It may be thought a bold idea, in as far as perfectly
new; but the longer we reflect upon it, it appears to us
the move plansfble that novelists might after all, make
something of nature as she is. Many objections might
no doubt be ranked up — ^were it not so, we should not
have had novelists neglecting the truth of actual human
lifo so Jong. In the dearth and exigency of novelty,
I some one would have pitched upon this idea if it had
' appeared readily workable. Still, let us calmly con-
. sider. The qptum of such a deep virgin soil could not
bvt be attended with a grand vegetation. Surely some
• of the new i^ants would prove useful, if not for the
t oOMlTTatory, at least for the kitchen. It would be very
Btranffe if something could not be made of them. But
let us at once come to particulars. .
It is, for instance, a horrid stupidity this constant
itruoing to bring about a marriage between two com-
monplace young people, with which the curtain may at
last be aDowed to drop. Suppose we make novels with-
oat any silly love affidr in them at all, and end the third
volaaae by representing the prindpd parties as sitting
down to dinner instead of preparing to go to church.
In actual life, one does not find that marriage is quite
baked upon as the smnmum honum^ or that thing for
wUoh every other tiling is to be sacrificed. We do not
find that all the worthy people of our acquaintance are
in a ferment of anxiety to get us tied up for life in
Hyasn's bonds. On the contrary, if we do make up
nr taSoA to the venture, we often find these worthy
people in some anxiety as to how the affair may turn
The lady's temper is probably discussed in a dis-
fttalmntfi manner ; or our own abilities for housekeep-
kf may be matter of solicitude. At all events, a calm
kofe may be expressed that we shall have the wisdom
to fame upon our life for the benefit of our ofispring.
Now, such being the manner of nature, why should we
continually keep by the opposite in fiction ? Let us try
a novel for once without a marriageable heroine, or,
say, one who despises marriage as an object to live for.
There are women who scorn the idea of being thought
under any anxiety for an establishment, and who would
prefer eternal spinsterhood to an alliance brought about
by manoeuvring. Let us see such a person introduced
into fiction. She could not fail to tell, from her mere
novelty in that situation.
It is, again, a very tiresome thing in novels, as at
present written, that every person introduced into them
must be described as of a certain fixed character, accord-
ing to use and wont in this department of literature. For
example, if a boarding-school keeper is to be amongst the
dramatU persoiuB, then that person must be a paragon of
dogmatic pedantry, false pretension,' and heartless cruelty.
The male boarding-school keeper must be an awful
fellow in old-fashioned black attire, with threatening,
bushy eyebrows, and that Herculean strength which
may enable him to execute his own sentences upon the
obverses of the boys ; the lady boarding-school keeper a
concentration of vinegar, veijuice, and deadly night-
shade, with a figure like those which fioi^h in low
valentines, and a breast devoid of the slightest tincture
of the milk of human kindness. The pupils of both
must regularly detest them as a matter of course.
Parents and guardians are the unsuspecting victims of
a hollow system, in which there is no more true instruc-
tion than there is humanity. I cannot, on any ground,
see how the public is to be amused by characters thus
formed in a set of old moulds, which never were very
good at the first, and have at length become wearisome
as an Art -Lottery engraving. I propose telling the
truth as a variety which, ceteris parilms, must be more
entertaining. As to the class of people who keep board-
ing-schools, every one knows there are many who,
so far from being fiends in human shape, are worthy
people, performing a duty of great irksomeness and re-
sponsibility with zeal and self-denial, often with very
inadequate remuneration, and seldom with a return of
kind consideration approaching that which they had
bestowed on their pupils. Suppose we were to have
painted to us, by way of change, a real boarding-school
keeper of the male sex, dressed like other people, and
rather attentive to, and popular amongst, the i)oys.
Would it not be something at once f^esh and refresh-
ing ? There might be plenty of innocent whimsicalities
about him, to give him a relish — for such will be found
the order of nature. Or let us for once have a flue,
bouncing, clever, good-looking, and genial woman, in
charge of a finishing school We know such in life — ^why
should they not be in novels? Anyhow, let us at least
be done with the stereotyped pedants and viragoes, those
dreary monstroeities, which never had an existence,
L
98
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGn JOUBNAL.
except in fkncy, and whom one sees commg on in tbe
advancing pages aa yoa aee a bore entering your
ayenne^ or hear him sending hia name np itairs.
Certain persona are not only always of certain cha-
racters in noTds, bnt they are always represented as in
a certain fixed congeries of drcomstances. Every yonng
author comes to London with a tragedy in his pocket»
and finds the booksellers tipping him the cold shoulder.
Now, in the world of fact, many young authors do not
venture on a tragedy, and no inconsiderable number
get work from publishers as soon as they are fit for it,
if not before. In novels, an author is always a shabby-
looking person, of excessive volubility, living in a garret
In &ct there are many authors who live in handsome
houses, and treat their friends to champagne suppers.
In novds, they are always getting into wretchedness,
because literary merit finds no sort of consideration.
In fact we hear occasionally of a successM novelist,
whose income for wsvenl yean has exceeded that of
the English prime-minister, or the American president,
though somehow he has nevertheless been obliged, by
the usual fate of genius, to seek the protection of tiie
court Would it not be a capital novelty to give us a
well-paid, well-dressed author, whom one could scarcely
distinguish from a man of high birth and large fortune,
even in the particular of his 'difficulties?' Let us have
an author who has not written a tragedy. Let us have
an author who, in respect of booksellers, is the drainer
instead of the drainee. The freshness of such a cha-
racter in fiction would make any book selL Or give us
his ancient co-relative in the new aspect of an honest
man, who scarcely can keep his own amidst the damours
of a set of insatiable HttiraUwrs^ and we will give three
to one on the success of the delineation. As another
|nfttiinn0 — a govemcss in fiction is always a held-down
woman of excessive modesty and merit— an unhappy
creature, solitary amidst society, and never asked to
drink wine. There are in the real world governesses
who are exceedingly well treated ; some who even take
a lead in family matters ; not a few who are repressed
only on account of their insufferable exigeance and for-
wardness ; and a vast number who are simj^y women
of good sense, solicitous to perform their duty in the
first place, and only to think of little matters of personal
comfbrt in the second. Now let us have for once in
fiction a sensible, well-used governess. Let us have a
real flesh-and-blood governess of this world, and not
the faultless monster in a continual worry because she
is not danced with. Everybody must feel how delight-
fully new such a character would be to the world of
the circulating library, and what a chance she would
have in comparison with her ideal congener.
Dealers in fiction might also revolve the propriety of
taking somewhat more truthftd views of the merits of
various sections of society. Suppose that some one
were to treat the world one day to a tale in which
rich people and people of rank were to be allowed some
small sparing investment of the common virtues of
humanity. In actual life they have, as a class, their
full share of such merits. It cannot be for nothing
that the wearers of good dothes, and the possessors of
stock in the fhnds or elsewhere, are called respectable
people. Why should we not, then, have a few charac-
ters of the upper class in novels whom one could regard
without a mere choice between ridicule and execration?
A lord who was not a fool, or a roui, or an oppressor of
his tenantry, would be a charming novelty in fiction.
It might be rash to give fhll allowance of worth and
good sense to the people of the Bed Book all at once, for
perhaps here the public mind has got jsomething of a
twist ; but a spice of decent intellect and good-meanins^
might be given by way of a first experiment and perhaps
in time it might be possible to represent wealth as not
necessarily connected with heartlessness and imbecility.
There might be a corresponding procedure with respect
to the lower dass of characters. We are tired of ooa-
centrations of all that is bright and beautlM in persona
who might be expected, fh>m their circumstances, to be
no better than they should be. Bobbers, with wonder-
ful impulses towards angelic excellence, are deddedlj
palling on the popular taste. Let us have figures
from humble life with something like that mixtwe of
good and evil about them which we fiind in the actual
world. Depend upon it it would take.
At the first consideration of this proposed refonn, it
may be feared that actual nature will prove a tamer
and diUl^ thing than the Birmingham nature ao long
resorted to by the dealers in fiction. Some wiU be
ready to say, ' All very well to speak of truth ; but
truth is stupid : truth is for sdence, not for art' I beg
their pardon ; but I must entirely dissent firom any audi
view of tiie matter. I find in real life an endless variety
of strange characters and econitridties, any one of
whidi would make better stoff for the novelistB than
any of the shams which they have inherited from the
tradition of their craft I have already pointed out
how superior certain real sequences of events would be
over the hackneyed groupings which the fiotionist keeps
in stereotype beside him. I fed perfectly dear in saying
that I should enjoy in fiction, as I have often done la
reality, the spectacle oi a boarding-schod where tlieie
was no stint of bread and butter. What I chiefly plead
for, however, is the novdty. It would be hke a new
world opened up to the pursuit of the naturalist Even
with inferior writing this would tdl immensdy : with
fair talent in the artist nothing could stand against it
I believe at least that truth might stand out for a good
many years, perhaps the whde of our own time. If it
then began to fail in its effect it would be for posterity
to devise something as good.
QUETELET ON THE LAWS OF THE SOCIAL
SYSTEM. •
Gbeateb attention has perhaps been paid to social
questions during the present year than at any recent
period. Civil perturbations naturally produce, with
ofher effects, a disposition to devise rules for their go-
vernance, or remedies against their recurrence. There
1^ of oourse be great differences in the character of
the remedial measures proposed ; still it is always best
to look boldly at the evils with which humanity is
aflUcted, and in this regard honest endeavoura to sys-
tematise sodal aberrations, to explain their laws, may
find acceptance.
Among the writers who have occupied themsdves
with this subject M. Quetelet of Brussels is already
favourably known to many readers by his treatise on
* Man,' and the development of his facultiea, publiehed
about twdve years since. This was followed in 1846
by ' Letters on the Thecny of Probabilities api^ied to
Moral and Pditical Sdence ;' and now, as the comple-
ment of these, we have the work whose title is given in
the note bdow.* In the * Letters,' &c. was originated
the law of acddental causes ; and this law is shown to
be redudble to calculation in common with physical
or mechanical laws. Many effects which appear to be
acddental, cease to be so when the observati^s are ex-
tended over a large number of facts { and, as the author
remarks, ' the liberty of choice (free will), whose results
are so capridous when individuals only are observed,
leaves no sensible traces of its action when applied to
multitudes.' Hence the important law is deduct ' that
* Da Syst^me Social, et des Lob qui to R^giflont. Par A. Qod-
tdet. Paris: QnillauminetCa 1848.
r
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
99
Mcal UctB, inflnenoed bT liberty of oholoe, proceed witii
efca moce vegalarity l&an facts labmitted simply to
the aetioa of physiosl causes.' Ahhoogh the tradng
ovt iDTolTes oertain difBcvlties, yet anak^gfles are to be
famd bet HOOP moral and mechanical laws ; and on these
fitioas coneideratioDS it is urged that 'henceforth
BonI statistics onght to take its place among the
•osenoes of obserration.' It will thus be seen that ihe
aim of the wortc before us is something beyond mere
pofittcal eooDomy : it isto derelop the laws of eqnili-
brinra and moTement* and espeoiaUy the presenratiTe
prindplea existing between diflbrent parts of the social
mtsm. Man is brought before ns in his individnal
dnracter ; in liis r^ttoos to the nation to which he
beloDgs ; and hist» ttie Ues which, uniting naticms, oon-
ititate humanity.
Tbe law of aoddental causes is not one of mere hypo-
thesis, it may be proTed by physical facts ; for instance,
Uie height oi the human name. By aggravating the
he^ts of the population of a ooun^, a mean is ob-
tsinsd whidi giTes the standard, and ttie departures or
variatioos from this mean range symmetrically abore
sod below it ; ' as if,' obserres M. Quetdet, * nature had
a inpi proper to a country, and to tiie circumstances in
vidch it is placed. Deyiations from this type would
be tiie prodoiBt of causes purely accidental, which act
cither ^Ivf or mmm with the same intensity/
The groiroe on eitiior ride of the aTerage are the more
Bumerous uie mwe they approach to or resemUe the
mean ; and Uie more widely they deriate, so do they ter-
ninste in rarities, as gianto and dwarfs. Erery portion
of the scale, howerer, has its yalue ; * there exists be-
tween them a mysterious tie, which so operates that each
iad^Tidual may be considered as the necessary part of a
whole, whidi escapes us physically only to b« seized by
tiie eye of science.' The same law aj^es also to the
growth of the body, whic^ would be more regular were
nature less interfered with; there is, besides, a standard
weight, and a relation between a man's height and the
rate of his pulse : taking the mean for mates at sefenty,
we hare a datum on which to base other calculations.
The sutlior regrets that we haye no * carefol continuous
obsemidoQs on workmen whose labour presents a cer-
tain perio^dty In the ezerdse of the limbs ; on Uack-
smithi, for ezam^, sawyers, shoemakers, tailors : they
mjgfat lead to mteresting results.' With regard to
growth, he continues : ' at the instant of man's entrance
mto life, his height is fixed by nature ; the rariations
remarked are pmfelT accidental ; and when grouped by
order of altitudes, uey equally obey a law. Such is the
hsmwoy witii which all has been combined, that the
anomalies even exist only in appearance, and tiiey
march wilh the same regularity as the laws whose
raorement tiiey disguise.' The mean height in Bdgium
for the nude is 1*684 metres, and for the female 1*579
M. Qnetetet suggests, as a means of obtaining tbIu-
aUe anid into^sting data on many moral and physical
questioDSy ^at a reSsrd should be kept in erery femlly
of an tibe events or drcumstances that brought pleasure
or grief to tlie household, that opened a new line of
thcmgfat, started a new sulject of inquiry, as well as
periodical entries of the growth in height, weight, &c
of eadi membor of the family. And he gives us an
intiaiation that this course is pursued by Prince Albert,
to whom his book is dedicated. With regard to the
ptQgressiTe devdopment of the human being from birth
to maturity, the antiior hopes at some future day to pub-
fiih his researches, which will doubtless be valuable in
an artistic point of view. Oomptex and difficult as the
sabject may appear, it is much simplified by the diief
result: * Man's proportions are so fixed, at whatever
age we consider him, that the having observed a small
number of individukls, is sufficient to give the type in
the mean.' There is, besides, really less difierence of
devdofonent than would at first be supposed; unifor-
mity is more prevalent than our appreciation of objects
wood lead us to ocmctude. * 3^ my eariy investigations/
pursues M. Quetetet, 'on tiie proportions of the human
body, I measured thirty men of the age of twenty ; I
distributed them afterwards into three groups of ten
men each. In this separation I reguded one condition
only— that of having the same mean height for each
group, so as to render the other results more easily
comparable, without the trouble of reducing by calcu-
lation. Thus the mean height was the same for the
first, second, and tiiird group ; but what was my asto-
nishment to find that &e man selected as the mean,
re^esenting each one of my three groups, was not only
the same in height, but also for eadi part ot the body I
The likeness was such, that a single person, measured
three times in succession, would nave presented more
sensible dlffisrences in the measures than tiiose whidi
I found between my three means.'
The conclusions to be drawn from these ph3r8ical
phenomena are all intended to bear on the great moral
view of the subject M. Quetelet shows tluit many of
the erroneous opinions to which writers on social ques-
tions have come, have originated in their i^ga^ling
man in the individual rather than in the mass; that
which defies calculation in the one case is easily estab-
lished in the other. Moral are distinguished from
physical phenomena by the intervention of man's free
choice, and the exerdse of this prerogative is found
rather to restrict than to disturb the limits of deviation.
Blarriage is adduced as afibrding the best example of
the direct interference of free choice ; generally speak-
ing, it is entered on with great circumspection. Yet,
during the past twenty years, the number of marriages
in Belgium, regard bdng had to the increase of popu-
lation, has remained annually the same. Kot only has
the number proved constant in the towns and the coun-
try, but also as respects marriages between young men
and young women^ young men and widows, widowers
and ^oung women, and widowers and widows. Onie
same feet holds, too, witii regard to the ages at whidi
marriage is contracted; and the great discrepancies
sometimes observed in ill-assorted unions, are neither
to be considered as fetalities nor mere effects of blind
jMssion : like giants and dwarfe in roipect of growth,
they constitute the rranotest deviations in 1^ law
of accidental causes. The same result also obtains
in otiier human actions as well as that of marriage ;
there is a oertaui regularity in crime, in suicides, in
mutUations to avoid military service, in the sum an-
nually staked on the gaming-tables of Paris, and even
in the unsealed, undirected, and ilk^bly-addressed tet-
ters deposited yeariy in the post-office. ' With such
an assemblage m fa/ciB before us,' asks the authcMr, * must
man's free dioice be denied? Truly I think not I
conceive only that the effect of this free dioice is re-
strained within verr narrow limits, and plays among
sodai phenomena tne part of an accidental cause. It
therefore ensues, that making abstraction of individuals,
and considering circumstances only in a general man-
ner, the effects of all acddental causes ought to neutra-
lise and destroy themsdves mutually, so as to leave
predominant only the true causes in virtue of which
sodety exists and maintains itself. The Supreme Being
has wisdy imposed limits to our moral faculties as to
our physical faculties: man has no power over the
eternal laws. The possibility of establishing moral
statistics, and deducing usefhl consequences therefrom,
depends entirdy on this fundamental fact, that man's
fr^ dioice disappears, and remains without sensible
effect, wlum the observations extend over a great num-
ber of individuals.' In predicating, however, on the
number of marriages to take {dace in any given year,
it is important to distinguish between the apparent and
real tendency to the conjugal state. These may exhibit
great differences. * Thus one man may have all his life
a real tendency for marriage without ever marrying;
while another, tram fortuitous circumstances, may marry
without eiq;>eriencing any inclination for wedded life.'
It is possibte to represent these tendendes by curved
lines, which, for mdes, commencing at the age of 20,
100
CHAMBEBS*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
and ending at 80, shows the maximum to be between
35 and 40. For females, the curye terminates ten years
earlier, and reaches its highest point in the years from
25 to 30. The distinction between the apparent and
real is essential ; for although we are able to establish
a law for the mass, we can proye nothing beforehand of
the individual.
The same real and apparent tendency or inclination
exist-s also with regard to crime, and nearly all other
moral actions ; for it is dear that a person may have
a great inclination for crime without once committing
it ; another may abhor crime, and yet become culpable.
' It is thus possible,* says M. Quetelet, ' to state, from
continued observations, the relative degrees of energy
which lead men to execute certun facts. Thus, if I
see a million men of 25 or 30 years produce twice as
many murders as a million of 40 to 45 years of age, I
should be disposed to believe that the inclination to
murder among the former has twice the energy of what
prevails among the latter. ... It is important, therefore,
to have a number of observations sufficient to eliminate
the effects of all the fortuitous causes from which diffe-
rences may be established between the real and appa-
rent inclination to be determined. ... So long as the
march of justice and that of repression remain the same,
which can scarcely be possible, except in one and the
same country, constant relations are established between
these three facts : — Ut, Crimes committed ; 2(f, Crimes
committed and denounced ; Sd, Crimes committed, de-
nounced, and brought before the tribunals.' An inves-
tigation of criminal tables has shown ' that the law of
development of the tendency to crime is the same for
France, Belginm, England, and the grand -duchy of
Baden, the only countries whose observations are cor-
rectly known. The tendency to crime towards the
adult age increases with considerable rapidity ; it
reaches a maximum, and decreases afterwards until the
last limits of life. This law appears to be constant, and
undergoes no modification but in the extent and period
of the maximum. In France, for crimes in general, the
maximum appears about the 24th year ; in Belgium, it
arrives two years later; in England and the grand-
duchy of Baden, on the contrary, it is observed earlier.
. . . Considering the circumstances,' pursues the writer,
' under this point of view, we shall better form an opi-
nion of the high mission of the legislator, who holds
to a certain extent the budget of crimes in his hands,
and who can diminish or augment their number by
measures combined with more or less of prudence.'
With regard to the theoretical mean, M. Quetelet
affirms that * man, in respect to his^ moral faculties, as
with his physical faculties, is subject to greater or
lesser deviations from a mean state; and the oscilla-
tions which he undergoes around this mean, follow the
general law whldi regulates all the fluctuations that a
series of phenomena can experience under the influence
of accidental causes. . . . Free choice, far from opposing
any obstacle to the regular production of social pheno-
mena, on the contrary favours them. A people who
should be formed only of sages, would annually offer
the most constant return of the same facts. This may
explain what would at first appear a paradox — ^namely,
that social phenomena, influenced by man's free choice,
proceed from year to year with more regularity than
phenomena purely influenced by material and fortuitous
causes.'
In treating on intellectual qualities, the author ob-
serves— * Two things at first are to be distinguished in
our intellectual faculties : what we owe to nature, and
what we derive from study. These two results are
very different; when found united, and carried to a
high degree of perfection in the same individual, they
1)roduce marvels; when they present themselves iso-
ated, they bring forth nothing but mediocrity. A
student of the present day, on leaving school, knows
more than Archimedes, but will he make science ad-
vance a single step ? On the other hand, there exists
more fhaxi one Archimedes on the surface of the globe,
without a chance of making his genius public, because
he lacks the science.' ' If,' we liad in another place,
'phrenology should one day realise its promises, we
should have the means of directly measuring man's
intellectual organisation ; we should possess as a con-
sequence the dements by which to solve an extremely
complex problem ; we should know what each indivi-
dual owes to nature, and what to sdence; we shonld
even be able to establish numerically the values of these
two portions of his intelligence ; but as ye^ we are far
from perceiving the possibility of such a result ... One
of the most curious studies that could be proposed in
relation to man concerns the progressive devdopment
of his different inteUectual qualities : it would be a
question to recognise those which first manifest them-
selves, to verify the period when they attain their
maximum of energy, and to appredate the relatire
degrees of their development at different epochs of Hfe.'
In the chapters on human sodeties, M. Quetelet
traces cydes of duration for nations as for other de-
partments of nature. Thus the Assyrian Empire lasted
1580 years; the Egyptian, 1663 years; the Jewiih
nation, 1522 years; Greece, 1410 years; the Boman
Empire, 1129 years; giving an average of 1461 yean,
remarkable as corresponding exactly with the Sot^ac
period, or canicular cyde of the Egyptians, with which
was comprehended the existence of the phcenix. Thii
result would appear referable to the action of a law, of
which, however, too little is known to predicate on
events yet to transpire in the future.
The law of acddental causes admits of application
to derangements of Uie mental faculties. * Moral maU-
dies,' we read, 'are like physical maladies: some of
them are contagious, some are epidemic, and athen
are hereditary. Vice is transmitted in certain families,
as scrofula or phthisis. Great part of the crimes which
afflict a country originate in certain families, who would
require particular surveillance — isolation umilar to
that imposed on patients supposed to carry about them
germs of pestilence.'
The question b examined, Whether the indefinite
contraction of the limits between which men can vary
is a benefit ? * Absolute equality, if it could be realised,
would lead society back to its point of departure, and
if it became durable, would plunge it into the most
complete atomy : variety and moTcment would be an-
nihilated ; the picturesque would be effaced from the
surface of the globe ; arts and sciences would cease to
be cultivated; that which does most honour to human
genius would be abandoned ; and as no one wodd wish
to obey another man, great enterprises would become
impossible.' To complete the argument, it is shown
that the means and the limits vary only in proportion
to sdence.
Besides the points we have noticed, the work under
consideration contains many valuable inquiries and
suggestions. In the chapter on the intellectual facul-
ties, for example, we find views on literary, artistic, and
sdentific productions — ^influence of age upon the de-
vdopment of dramatic talent-~excess of labour— on
emigration-~the influence of the healing art on the
social system— demoralisation and pauperism — anta-
gonism of nations; and in the concluding section 'on
humanity,' the department of aesthetics presents itself
to the discussion : these questions are treated with the
author's well-known ability. His work must be taken
as a valuable contribution to moral science, to the cause
of justice, law, and order. Whatever diffferences of
opinion may be entertained, it is impossible not to be
impressed by M. Quetdet's earnestness: he wodd hare
nations as wise and trustful as is sometimes the case
with individuals. ' The two extreme states,' he ob-
serves, ' individuality and humanity, are not tiie result
of human combinations; they are determined by the
Supreme Bdng, who has establidied laws of dependence
between them. Philosophy has busied itself with in-
vestigating its nature, and in recognising what each
one owes to himself, and the duties which he ia bouod
^r^-
GHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
101
I r
to fiilfil towards others. ... It is bj such laws that
, Divme wisdom has equilibriated aU in the moral and
1 1 inteilectaal world : but what hand will raise the thick
' ; Tdl thrown orer the mysteries of our Bocial system, and
j oTer the eternal principles which regulate its destinies
' ind assure its preservation ? Who will be the other
Kewton to expound the laws of this other celestial
mechanism?*
THE WARREN.
SoXB years ago I receired an invitation firom a lady,
whom I shall call Mrs Estcourt, to accompfmy her to
the quiet and picturesque bathing-place of W ; an
inntation whidi was doubly pleasing to me, not only
because I had a great regaid for Mrs Estcourt, but
because, witiiin five miles of W , there resided a
&mily with whom I had formerly passed many happy
weeks, and whose long-tried friendship made this pro-
spect of being so near them most delightfUL Mrs Est-
court had b^ a widow about five years ; and at the
period of which I speak she was little more than thirty.
At an ttriy age she had been married to a man con-
mikxMy her senior, yet her marriage had been a most
bti^y one ; and although she was not disconsolate on
her husband's death, she truly mourned his loss.
Smiles, betokening perfect contentment, at length de-
noted that tiie widow's grief was over, when I accom-
panied her to W . She was very beautiful in person,
and fascinating in manner. Perhaps strangers might
Vmk her a lUUe too meny-hearted, considering her
position; but I, who. well Knew her innate goodness
and sound sense, thought her clear pleasant laugh the
most exhilarating sound in the world. She had already
received more than, one offer of marriage during her
vyowhood; nor is this surprising, considering her
atkactions, not to mention the fact, that her late hus-
band had left her one tiiousand pounds a year. But
ICrs Estcourt turned a deaf ear to the voice of the
charmer, charmed he ever so wisely; and in the full
enjoyment of her hobby— for she had one, and that a
singular one perhaps for a ladv— her days flowed peace-
fully on; and it was partly for the further indulgence
of tins hobbv ttiat she selected W as the place of
Bojomn for the summer, it being a favourite resort of
the ooDcAologist and mineralogist
Mn Estcourt had studied conchology enthusiastically
for some years, and she had a very pretty collection of
shells. An indefatigable shell-gatherer she proved at
W ; and on my mentioning that the son of those
dd friends, whose residence was within a few miles,
was learned in like lore, and had an excellent museum of
natmnl curiosities, she became eager for an intrpduction,
and speedily drove me over to the Warren in her low
pooy i^iaeton. After traversing dreary hills and waste
tracts of land, while listening to the sullen booming of
the ocean, it was cheering to arrive at this low, rambling,
bat substantial dwelling, inhabited by Mr and Mrs
Bovdl, and their son Mr Matthew. The traveller had
need to arrive at an early hour of the evening, for soon
sfter tiie curfew bell tolled, all the lights in the man-
sion were extinguished, and the family retired to rest ;
while long before daylight in winter, and with sunrise
In summer, were the household again astir. This con-
sisted of fiinn and household domestics ; the husband-
men sfanctly fulfilling their appointed duties, according
to the most approved rules and regulations of past cen-
turies, no newfangled systems being listened to or
tolerated by Mr Bovell ; while the maidens assembled
lonod their industrious mistress, with spinning-wheels,
cr other thrifty employments, each day after the mom-
log bustle and the noon meal was over. At this meal
a« master, mistress, their son, and all the servants,
ont-door and in, dined at the same table, the only dis-
tinction being, that a lower place was occupied by the
•Bbordinates. Nor was this usage ever deviated from
or omitted, let who might be the guest In a capacious
hdl, with low rafters, and wainsootting black fh)m age,
the table was daily spread for dinner, at an hour when
some of us, calling ourselves busy folks too, are sitting
down to breakfast There was a yawning chimney in
this old hall, with cosy nooks beside it ; and, protected
by a folding-screen, Mrs Bovell*s own little tea-table
stood ensconced here each afternoon. But when any
lady visitor came to the Warren, there was a fire lit in
the parlour, whose bay window looked on the gay flower
garden. In this room, fitted up with snowy dimity,
bound with green silken fHnge, and decorated wiUi
antique engravings, the subjects taken from passages
in the Sacred Writings, it was very pleasant to dr&k
tea at three o'clock ; when the cream and ihe butter,
the home-made bread, hot and cold, plumcake and con-
serves, and last, though not least, the finest Hyson,
brewed in the quaintest of teapots-— filigreed and pro-
ftisely ornamented was this silver heirloom — rendered
that meal, after a long walk or a windy ride, singularly
novel and refreshing.
The tea-table was presided over by the kindest and
dearest of busy, cheerful, talkative old ladies, in the
person of Dame Bovell, attired in brocade and ruffles,
high-heeled shoes, and a coiffure with powdered roll
surmounting her high forehead. Then in marched
Squire Bovell, dad in russet gray of ample cut, with
ponderous silver buckles in his shoes, and a wdl-curled
wig on his fine old pate. /Te, indeed, professed to de-
claim against tea ; neverthdess, two or three tiny china
cups (for the best blue and gold was always used in the
parlour) had to be replenished one after another, as the
contents disappeared in his hands ; but it was to keep
*Son Matthew' company, said the squire, for Matthew
was an inveterate tea-drinker — twelve and fourteen of
these fairy bowls full being his * parlour allowance.'
Mr Matthew Bovell was an only child, and at the
time alluded to, a bachdor of forty years of age. He
took some part in the farming operations with which
the yeoman squire amused himself; for farming was
rather an amusement to Squire Bovdl than pursued as
a mode of gaining his livdihood ; for the lands were here-
ditary, and he was reputed wealthy. But Mr Matthew
was not an idle man, even in his Insure hours, of which
he had manv — ^they being principally passed in explora-
tions for miles around the adjacent country, bearing in
hand a basket and hammer, with which latter imple-
ment he demolished innumerable fiints, and dug into
chalk-beds. In short, he was a geologist, adding to this
the study of conchdogy and antiquarian lore in general ;
and it was his wont to exhibit, as the pride of his mu-
seum, a large fiint, hollowed in the centre, which he had
found and broken. Mysterious hints he threw out con-
cerning the existence of a toad, whose home, for un-
imaginable ages, had been within its fiinty bosom, until
liberated by him. A collector of shdls and minerals
also was Mr Matthew ; through summer heat and win-
ter cold he wended his way over the hills, and across
the downs, home by a circuitous route, laden with
trophies and natural curiosities.
With a dumsy exterior and heavy countenance he
combined a cold sarcastic manner, which did not tend
to render him popukr with the fair sex ; he was, in-
deed, vilified as a regular woman-hater, though his
supreme indifierence was perhaps even more unbear-
able than downright contumdy : there were rumours
afloat that in earlv life he had been unworthily treated
by a fair but fickle damsel, and hence his antipathy to
the whole race of ypung ladies. He was an affectionate,
dutiful son, and benea& a repelling exterior concealed
as kindly and generous a heart as ever beat in human
bosom; and in the midst of many cynical tirades, a
m^ry word from his beloved mother brought forth a
smile which lit up his jdouded countenance, and asto-
nished the beholder ; for the smile was very sweet, and
utterly changed his whole aspect, displaying at the
same time a rare set of the whitest ivory teeth : few
and far between were these smiles, and none save his
mother had hitherto owned the power of conjuring
them up. Therefore^ when Mrs Estcourt became a
102
CHAMBEBS'S EDIKBUEGH JOtJBKAL.
conBtant Tisitor at the Warren, and eTidentlj ddigfated
in all its antiqnated yet noTeL customs, and Mr
Ifatthew became her constant companion in explora-
tions and shdl-gatherings, ' wonders never will cease,*
thought I *, but when she actually approached the stem
Mr Matthew with badinage, and playfully gaye herself
pretended airs, commanding him Are, and ordering him
there^ and the white teeth and the sweet smile were
Tisible in consequence, his mother, who had more than
once noted these proceedings, was silent firom amaze-
ment I She taxed him witi^ having 'rubbish' in his
museum, and he bore that very well, and asked her to
help him in rearranging it ; she called him a * dirty old
badielor,' for not snaring tiie accumulated cobwebs to
be cleared away from its walls and ceiling, and mope
and brooms were in requisiticm by his ordm next day;
she dined at eleren, and drank tM at three $ span with
Dame Bovell— it was long ere she was derer at the
spinning-wheel-- and was a perfect pet and darling of
the hei^ty old squire;
But suddenly there was a change in the pleasant
aspect of affidrs: Mr Matthew became reserred, and ab-
sented himself from the Warren when Mrs Estoonrt was
there ; and when obliged to be in her society, his sar-
casm and coldness of dmneanour towards her more than
once brought tears into her beantlM eyes, though no
indiTidual but myself idtnessed this betrayal of woimded
feeling. I made my own secret comments on the cir-
cumstance ; and when BCrs Estcourt called Mr Matthew
' a bear,* and exclaimed that * she hated him,' I had
strong doubts that she did not adhere to truth ; nor did
my doubts rest here, for I also opined that the liking
between this pair of opposites was mutual I knew
enough of Matthew BoTdl*s character to be quite sure
that Mrs Estcourfs possession of one thousand a year
(a fact which he had onlv latterly been acquainted
with) would entirely {uredu^ his approach in l£e guise
of a suitor, eren were such a fact as Mr MaUhew
* going a -wooing* within the bounds of credibility.
* For,* said I, * he considers mercenary motlTes so un-
worthy and dishonourable, that sooner than lay himself
open to the bare suspicion of being actuated by sudi,
he would saoriflce any hopes, however dear to him.* *
<Do you reaUy think this is the case?* said Mrs Est-
court musingly ; *and do you natty think he cares fbr
me in the least?*
It is unnecessary to give my answer here, or the con-
versation which ensued, ending with much laughing on
both sides, and a wager between us of six dozen pair of
the finest French kid gloves, depending on tiie s&ution
of an enigma which we read in different ways. A few
days •after, we separated, Mrs Estcourt being suddcoily
called away to attend the sick-bed of a dear and aged
relative, and I to take up my temporair abode at the
Warren, whither I had been kindly invited. Mr Matthew
was more taciturn than ever, more energetic in his
geological discoveries, and even Dame Bovell*s winsome
cheery ways fiuling to bring the much-wished-fbr smile :
the squire lamented the loss of his merry flivourite;
and I was waiting for what I considered a good oppor-
tunity, in order to test the strength of my cause, on
which depended the weighty bet of the French gloves.
I had been a guest at the Warren for a week, and I had
heard firom Lucy Estcourt of her relative's death— one
who had been entirely dependent on her bounty for
support; when, for the first time since my arrival,
Mr Matthew took his place by the chimney-comer at
his mother's tea-table, behind the comfortable folding-
screed. *I have had a letter from your ally and friend,
Mr Matthew,* said I : ' you do not even ask after her.'
* Pray to whom may you allude?* answered he, red-
denkig a little I thought: *Jrie>tdt are not so plentiM
in this world that we need forget them.'
*I speak of Mrs Estcourt: she used to be such a
favourite of yours ) and now you appear to forget her
entirely.*
*I am sure, my dear, none of us fbrget her,' broke in
the worthy dame; * for she is the kindest, prettiest,
merriest little soul that ever brooc^t sunshine to the
old Warren. I only do hope that no needy adventurer
will impose on her goodness, and marry her for the sake
of her fortune.'
* That is impossible,' returned I; * as, in the event of
her marrying a second time, she loses the whole of her
jointure; and whoever takes her to wife receives a
pennilest bride*
Mr Matthew was in the act of carrying a cup of tea
to his lips as I distinctly pronounced these words : he
gave a start; there was a sudden smash; and Dame
Bovell exclaimed, ' GU)odness a' mercy on me, Soa Mat,
what is ute matter? It is a blessed thing that we are
not in the parbur, or one of the blue and gold would
have gone instead of this Wedgewood white and red.'
And as the old lady stooped to gather the firagments
with my assistance, 'Son Matthew' darted from the
hall, saving hi a whisper to me as he passed, 'Do walk
in the flower garden ^esently : I wish to speak a few
words to you.'
The squire, who had been tdUng through a ooonty
paper, spectacles on nose, looked up on hearing the
commotion, with a loud *Whew! It is twenty years
ago since I saw Mat so skittish; and that was when
fair Emma Korden Jilted him. What is in the wind
now?*
But although I might have said that it was a gentfe
southem bre^ bringing sweet hopes, thoughts, and
wishes in its train, I held mv peace; for explanation
was premature, even had I had any to offer : assurance,
and my own private convictions, must be made doubly
sure ere I ventured to claim my wager from Jakj
Estcourt
Any one who bad seen Mr Matthew and mysdf sanuo
tering round tiiat quiet garden, until the evening dews
began to fall, busily conversing, and deeply engrossed
with our conversation, might nerchance have suspected
that / was the courted, and ne the wooer, despite my
green specs and rotund proportions. I could scarce hdp
aoodling at seeing the cold sarcastic Mr Matthew trans-
formed into a timid, ahnost despairing lover ; for it is
said that timidity ever goes hand in hand with true
love.
' How dared he presume to think of her, so beantifhl
and superior a creature in all respects ! What had ke
to offer in exchange for her priceless hand? He oofuld
not even make amends, in a pecuniary point of view, for
Uie fortune she must lose in the event of her marxring
agahL Besides, he was such a stupid, awkward fidk>w ;
and yet he loved her— on I so dearly; and she was so
kind and good, did / think he might venture to address
her ? She could but reftise him.'
Very guardedly I hinted, in answer to these diijointed
exdamations, that it was just probable he would not
be rejected ; on hearing which, the sedate Mr Matthew
seized my hand, and carried it to his lips, appearing
transported to the seventh heaven. That ni^t, ere I
retired to rest, I wrote the fdlowhig billet to my
firiend :—
* Deab Lucy— As the Smiths are now in Paris, you
had better commission them to bring over the six dozen
gloves ; as I claim my wager, and prefer genuine ar-
&de8. — Yours, &c*
The bridegroom-elect was curious to know what our
wager was about ; but as I thought the knowledge might
render him presumptuous, I declined answering any ques-
tions ; however, the secret was speedily won from Lucy
herself, and was no less than this : — Mrs Estcourt had
continued to express her conviction that Mr Mattiiew
*did not care for her: she was too light and frivolous
to please him : he evidentiy disliked and avoided her.*
I, on the contrary, insisted that such was not the case;
and pointed out to her that it was only since he had
leamed how wealtiiy she was in comparison to him tiiat
the change observable had arisen. She then gave me
fhll permission to reveal the troth of her situatioo,
which was only known to her intimate friends, laug^*
ingly declaring that she would risk tt» afore^named
coAMBEaa'a edinbubgh joubnal.
103
V and dieerfoUy pay it a thomand tiiKiM OTer» if I
■■ceeeded in pfWDgthait^waa loved fOTJfcgrtty
*Not that I ^ink & one moment,' added she gravelj*
'that Mattiiew BomSk would value my hand an iota
move oonld it oonfo Asm thousand a year on him, in-
stead of ORf ; hut that I think wih at wAmU money —
he ia lo n^perior to me^ indeed to all mankind— he
would acarody mske choloe of one so unworthy as
■jaelf lor hia helpmate^'
When I heard her speak in this way, I hecame as-
SHud thai ttieir union must tend to th& mutual hi^
piness : nor havu I erted in judgment ; for they are,
and OTtr kav<e been, tiie happiest ooiq>le in the world I
Many and many times I heard tibe eTclamation, on
Ifrs Esteonrfa approaching second marriage, of ' Wdl,
wonders never cease : hut there is no accounting for
tMte, eertalnly.' And I must confess that I had some-
times marrdled at her dioica But how sweet were the
leara of select and gratitude which she shed as a
tribute to the memory of her first husband— the firm
ftjsnd who had so earnestly desired to secure her future
happinesa when, on her marriage morning, the intdli-
gmcewaa conveyed in due fbrm that she had wo< forfeited
htr jointure ; m proviso having been made solely with
the end in view, which she had attained — namdy,
•gatniBg the diainterested love of an honest man 1* And
when I heard these words rnid, I almost felt ashamed
of myself for having joined with the multitude in thcor
mthinking eacdamations.
This gay and pretty creature oontmtedly estaUiihed
henelf at the old Warren, falUng into all the out-of-the-
werid cnstoma and hal^ts of the antiquated owners :
geologising with het husband, whose white teeth dis-
llayed themeelvee incessantly ; reading newa to the
i^iie^ who made * a little fbol of her,' Matthew fondly
tid', and spinning heartfly with the dame, whose adml-
mtion and love for her daughter exceeded all bounds.
Squire Bovell and his worthy helpmate have long
since dqiarled, and newer feshions have usurped the
place of tiM oM ones at 1^ Warren ; for many young
voices ling tiirough the andrat chambers now, and
many fkolb feats are perfumed in the low raftered hall,
the fel&g-ecreen serving as a charming reAige for
^hlde-andHieek.' Tbey are the meet beautilbl cMldren
I ever saw— fen of health and joy ; and Matthew says
'ibe^ are tiie best-dispositioned and deveiest to be
feund on earth.*
A new wing has been added to the mansion, so that
Lucy has a pleasant drawing-room in addition to the
'lavendered' parlour, though in the former stOl the
^bhie and gold ' are used on * high days and holidays.'
There is also an airy suite of nursery apartments, and
Matthew seems to 1U» them better than his ' sanctum '
HseH
POPULAB MEDICAL EBBOB&
SBCOMB ABnCLB.
CbriM. — ^That a com has roots. The common idea,
I take it to be, is, that a com grows from its roots as a
tree doee, and therefore it is necessary to extirpate the
roots before a cure can be accomplisned. The adver-
tisements of corn-cutters are often a good deal amusing.
I saw one the other day in a Manchester paper, whidi
took A different view from that commonly adopted.
The advertiser began by stating that corns had no
roots, but he went on (by inadvertence, I suppose) to
add that there were no such things as corns, and con-
cluded by a list of charges for removing them. When
a part is a good deal exposed to pressure, the cuticle
becomes hardened, just as it will at the ends of the
fingers in those who play on the violin ; besides this,
the papiUsD of the subjacent true ekin become enlarged,
and gfre the appearance of roots when a section of a
com is made. Hiis is all the mystery. So that, let us
cut as deep as we will, if we contiaue to wear tight
boots and uioes, the corns will speedily reappear. The
I kind of shoes which ladies are in the habit ci wearing,
which merely cover the toes, and therefore make all the
pressure bear on tiiat part, are exceedingly ofcjection-
abte^ eqtecially where the shoes are pointed, and the
leather strong.
Spdnpkobia.— The notion that hydrophobic patients
bite those around them, and thus communicate the
disease, is a popular error which Ishould think scarcely
needs contradiction. However, it seems that the idcA
appeared worthy of contradiction many years aga In
^ second vdume of a work which Desault published
— *Sur hk Pierre des Beins, et de U Yessie'— in 1736,
he treats of the hydrophobia, and alludes to this notion
with the ridicule which it deserves.*
In respect to hydrophobia, there also is, <» was, an
opinion that patients sufTering from the comi^aint are
smothered by the attendants. I should think such an
idea oould now only exist amongst the unreflecting, not
to say ignorant; yet it appears that a practice almost
amountmg to this was actually recommended and adopted
by Van £telmont ' He kei^ his patioits under water
until the psalm " Miserere" (the 51st, ocmtaining nine-
teen verses) was sung; and in one ease a poor girl was
drowned.t
Drowning is only like another way of smothering,
and this was certainly carrying too &r the old adage
of desperate remedies for desperate diseases. WhUst
on the subject of hydrophobia, I may mention that the
prevailing ides of its b&ng peculiar, or even more fre-
quent, in the summer season, is csiled in question by
very high authority. The practice of muzzling dogs
during what are caDed the * dog-days' is coounon, I
think, in most of our towns; but if we are to credit
some of the writers on the suliject, it is not more
necessary ttien than at another time. The subject is
too pnrdy medical to be entered fiilly into on the pre-
sent occasion. I may just state that M. Trolliet,^ who
has written an interesting essay on JRaibieB, states that
January, which is ihe coldest, iad August, which is the
hottest, month in the year, are the very months which
fhmish him fewest examples of the disMse.
Laud Vmct a Proqftf Strong lAtrngt, — I have not uniire-
quently heard the loud cry of an infant considaed as a
subject of congratulation; 'for at least,' the mother
would say, *the dear thing has sound lungs.' Mothers
are always kind and tender to their children, and one
would be Sony to say anything calculated to destrqy
the smallest source of their comfort; but it is not
merely in reference to infuntile life that the observation
is made. I have more than once heard it said )ofy adults
that tb^ felt sure their lungs must be sound, on ac-
count of the deamess or loudness of their voices. It is
true that disease of the lungs may, and does frequently,
impair the vocal powers, but it is by no means to be
stated in tiiis general manner that a loud voice is indi-
cative of sound lungs.
Sfontanetma CcmbusiUm. — ^We often hear people speak
of spontaneous combustion in joke, but the question
may sometimes arise, Are there, in reality, any cases of
this kind? Are we to credit the accounts which are to
be met with in books on the subject ? There certainly
are some very extraordinary instances on record, some
of which I may very briefly mention. The singularity
about the cases seems to be, that the unfortunate suf-
ferer is said to be consumed literally to ashes, without
the furniture ab<mt him appearing to be nuve than just
sc(Nrched. It is stated in ttie Transactions of the Co-
penhagen Society *that a wonmn who had been for
three years accustomed to take spirituous liquon to
excess, and who took little nourishment, sat down one
evening to sleep in her chair, and was found consumed
in the morning, so that no part of her was found except
tiie skull and the extreme joints of her fingers ; all the
rest of her body was reduced to ashes.'§ One case is
related of a Madame de Boiseon, who was found by her
* HamUtOQ : Hiit of Med., p. 257, vol. ii-
f Elliotwni, p. TSS, op. oit
1 See Wataon, p. fiOO, toL L op. oit.
§ Beck's Medical Jorisprndenoe, p. sax
a^
104
GHAMBEBS'S BDINBURGH JOURNAL.
maid on fire one day after she had left her for a few
moments. Water was brought and thrown on her, but
it only seemed to make tiie fire rage more and more.
Finally, she was burnt to a skeleton in her chair, which,
by the by, was only a little scorched. These cases, I
think, will suffice ; many more might be adduced, but
they all seem to be of the same kind. I think it would
require very good evidence to make one credit them.
That comlmstion of the human body can arise tpon-
taneouMfy, as the term implies, does not, I think, find
many partisans at the present time ; but as in most of
the cases recorded there seems reason to believe that
the patient was placed in circumstances in which he
might catch fire from ordinary causes, the question
further arises. Can there be a high combustibility of the
body ? On this point there is not time to enter fully,
as so many subjects have to come before us. I may
state, however, that many very respectable authorities
admit it as possible that the body may be pretema-
turally combustible, amongst whom I may mention Dr
Alfred Taylor of Guy's Hospital
MUk, — Milk forms a veiy nutritious and digestible
article of food, and on many occasions medical men have
to recommend it as the best adapted for the exigencies
of the case in point There is an opinion, however, very
common, which I imagine to be in a gr^t measure
erroneous, that milk produces phlegm, and is therefore
very much to be avoided in all cases of coughs. I will
not undertake to say that milk is always proper for
invalids ; but I must say that 1 regard this peculiar
phlegm-producing quality of milk to be in a great
measure a bugb^, which does not deserve a serious
consideration. I can conceive it very possiUe that
persons of a plethoric habit, who drink large quan-
tities of malt liquor, may so gorge the lungs with blood,
that an increased secretion of mucus (the so-called
phkgm) may arise ; but I think that such a result is
very little likely to have its origin in a milk diet Still
people win affirm that milk does not agree with them,
and I would not undertake to say that such is not the
case. I only wish to state that the otjection which is
commonly made to milk in coughs does not seem to me
to deserve credit
Vaecinaiian.— It is a common belief that there is a
risk of introducing with the vaccine virus the diseases,
or even constitutional tendencies, of the infant from
whom tlie virus is taken. On this account mothers
are very particular that the matter be got fW>m a good
source, and some will even insist upon seeing the child
themselves. If it were really the case that tiie vaccine
virus communicated more tiian the cow-pox, it might
be found a valuable means of communicating vigorous
constitutional powers to sickly children, and would even
be more valuable in this way than in its application
as a preventive of small-pox. I cannot, however, for
my part imagine that there is any such efi*ect At the
time when the great Jenner was endeavouring to diffuse
his views in respect to the vaccine inoculation, many
objections were industriously brought forward, and
amongst others, it was said that the diseases of the
cow would be thus introduced into the human subject
This was a very parallel kind of reasoning.
ExpaimenU, — People are veiy ready to suppose that
experiments are tried on them by medical men. I have
always assured those who express this fear that they
give the profession credit for a deal more ingenuity than
is possessed by it I really do not believe the great
bulk of medical men, if pressed on the subject, could
ofi*er new suggestions in every case, at least such as
they dare try. Think how long active and intelligent
men have been cudgelling their brains to find out new
remedies ; and what is there left for us to do ? Then,
again, if we abandon the legitimate road, we open our-
selves to risks which are more likely to mar than make
us. Be assured it is very seldom indeed that medical
men make use of untried means on their patients, and
that there is very little fear of behig made the subject
of ingenious philosophical experiments.
DugtuHng Article$ in Medxeines^^Umay persoot,
especially amongst the humbler classes, have an idea
that artides of a disgusting nature, such as dead men's
bones, are used in the composition of medidnea. At
the present day this is certainly not the case ; but it
would appear from tiie older writings that plans of
treatment of a very repulsive and disagreeable nature
were actually employed. Many of these were happily
in the form of outward applications, or used as dianns,
but have no doubt given origin to tiie ideas which pre-
vail on this subject Borlase, in his book of 'Notable
Things,' observes that * a halter whorewith any one
has been hanged, if tied about the head, will cure the
headache. Moss growing upon a human skull, if dried
and powdered, and taken as snufi; is no less efficacioiis.'*
I think, by the by, we might ask. Is it any more efil-
cacious, for it certainly is not more pleasant? Turner
— the Dr Samuel Turner who wrote on diseases of the
skin, and who seemed rather fond of strange stories —
notices a prevalent charm among old women for the
shingles : the blood of a black cat, taken tnun. a cafs
tail, and smeared on the part affected, f ' The chipa of
a gallows put round the neck, and worn round the neck,
is said to have also cured ague.'t Spiders, as may
readily be supposed, were in great repute as remedica.
Burton, the writer of the 'Anatomy of Mdancholy,' was
at first dubious as to the efficacy of the spid^ as a
remedy, though he states that he had seen it uaed by
his mother, ' whom he knew to have excellent skill in
chirurgery, sore eyes, and aches ; till at length,' says he,
* rambling amongst authors, as I c^ten do, I found this
very medicine in Dioscorides, approved by Matthiolns,
and repeated by Aldrovandus : I began then to hare a
better opinion of it'§ For stopping hemorrhages all
sorts of disgusting things were used. That very amus-
ing and valuable writer, John Bell, says ' they tied lire
toads behind the ears, or under the arm-pits, or to the
soles of the feet, or held them in the hand till they
grew warm. Some imagined,' he continues, ' that they
operated by causing fear and horror, but all believed
their ^ects to be very singular ; and Michael Mercatus
says that this effect of toads is a truth, which any per-
son willing to take the trouble may satisfy himsehf of
by a very simple experiment ; for if you hang the toad
round a cock's neck for a dav or so, you may then cut
off his head, and the neck will not bleed a single dropu' i
These particulars are sufficient to show that the old
modes of treatment were not the most pleasant that can
be conceived. No similar practices are, however, now
employed; and the idea ^t all kinds of disgusting
things enter into the composition of medicines is altcH
gether without foundation. We have only, indeed, to
consider how much easier and cheaper it is for those
engaged in the practice of medicine to supply them-
selves with roots and salts than dead m^s bones, the
blood of black cats, and other horrible conceits.
Opening Ute Cheat — ^The phrase ' opening tiie chest' is
very common, and exercise is recommended with this
view. We have no objection in the world to good
exercise, if it be only moderate and regular ; but the
opening of the chest is fortunately not accomplished by
iMick-boards and dumb-bells. However, the phrase,
though vague, is perhaps sufficiently imderstood, and
not particularly coupled with any Uiae practical views.
Whilst on this subject I may be allowed to state that
the fashionable gymnastic exercises are, in my opinion,
by no means the most desirable kind of exercise. They
are mostly calculated to do harm, and are used at a
time of lire when great mischief may result firom them.
Of this mischief I cannot particularise in this phioe,
farther than to state that many important surgicid dis-
eases arise from undue straining, aod continue to affect
the whole of after-life.
Mucous Membranes. — ^Whilst on the subject of ^ese
* Pettigrew on Medical Supentittons, p. 64.
t Pettigrew, op. cit 7». ^ Opw cit aSi
§ Anatomy of Bielancholy, p. 94S.
I Bell's Smfcry, toI. L p^ 204.
■ flrt
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
105
conMnnn exptwiiona, I may just remark that there axe
•one terms need which faiaTe reaUy no meanuig what-
eter, and cannot be oonnected with any definite ideas
bf those who use them. Sometimes we hear a friend
lay that *he is dreadfolly ill of the juroet;' and an-
Qlber will t^ yon he is sorry to say that his wife is ill,
tad the doctors hare pronounced it to be the mucous
mmbrameM, These are of course instuices of expressions
being used alter the manner of Mrs Malaprop, without
ioy inquinr as to theb signification.
Sam Yeart^ — ^People conceive that there is a change
efcry seven years in the constitution. That a change
it continually going on there can be no doubt We
know that an infant grows to a full-sized man, and
eooaequentiy there must be a change of particles — a
lemo^ of some, and a flresh deposition of othen —
ebe we should have a mere superimposition of parts,
9U^. the body of the infant would be contained in
that of the adult. But as to the seven years : for
my part I never could understand how people satis-
fied themselves that such changes were completed in
exactly seven jrears. I have often been asked by my
paftieiits—* Doctor, do you think I shall ever get rid of
tint eomplaint ? They say there is a change every aeven
yesrs: I look forward for this time, for I have already
been ill five.' The Roman Lustrum was, I think, a space
of fife years, the Greek Olympiad a space of four years,
bat tibe seven years is the favourite period chosen as
the one which regulates the changes of the body in
pahKe <^»inion. Of course a period like this will bring
tbout ma^y changes, and one cannot but look forward
to meh a period with feelings of interest and anxietv ;
9tiQ there seems no good reason to select this as the
pmcribed limits for the operations of nature.
JapaMMM. — Persons are ver^ curious, and it is very
nsteral they should be, respectmg surgical operations.
I have often been asked what was £e most painful
psrtof an amputation ; and before the answer could be
wdl given, the querist has declared his own conviction,
thst the act of sawing through the bone, or at anyrate
cutting throng the marrow, must be the critical point
Now this does not appear to be by any means the case ;
snd on thinking JxgovL the subject it seems to me that
the idea srises lim^y from Uie word marrow being
suggestive of great sensibility, and, as it were, the es-
sence of all that is profound. But the marrow is merelv
the oily matter contained in the bones, and must in itself
be devoid of sensation. In one application of the word
it is true; it has reference to an important part as in
the expression 'spinal marrow;' but this use of the
word, though sanctioned by medical men, is altogether
ioooriect and arose in error. What is called the spinal
BisRow is not marrow at all, but a part of the nervous
fjftem, which is continuous with the brain.
la q^esking of surgical operations, I may mention it
ss s common idea t^t surgeons were in the habit of
sdoptiag means of deadening i>ain before they under-
took an c^i^ation. Before, however, the recent em-
pfefment of ether and chloroform, nothing was used
•zpesdy for this purpose. The tourniquet, which is
placed round the limb to compress the artery, and pre-
not loss of blood, was no doubt supposed to be prin-
d|»Oy to numb pain.
5n0Ty.— If we take the trouble to look into a pro-
fcsnd work on diseases of the skin, we find a great
nsay disessos described in a great many hard names,
iod at first fbel quite confounded in our attempts to
spplj these terms properly to the cases we see. How-
«ver, the public have made a very easy matter of it
Wi^ the great mass of people, there is one name which
thej apply in every instance, and in every instance
they spply it wrongly. This is scurvy. * What a pity
j (you will hear it said) that Mr A is so scorbutic T
1 * And reslly Miss B-- — would be very well-looking, if
itwss not for that scorbutic eruption.' * What is this
■^tioa V you ask. * Oh, that is only a little scurvy,
wh I have had manv years.' * Ftay, doctor, can you
ihiase anything for the scurvy ?'
Now, properly, the scurvy is a disease almost con-
fined to sailors, arising from the want of a supply of
firesh vegetables. The symptoms of scurvy are entirely
diff'erent from those which commonly go under this
name in a popular sense. There is a soft, spongy, and
bleeding state of the gums, and great debility of the
body. There is, in r^ty, no proper eruption on the
skin, but irregular blotchesi like those produced by a
bruise. This disease is not often seen except amongst
sailors, and has no relation to the eruptions which we
so oft^ see in people's faces.
A VISIT TO THE WESTERN GHAUTS.
Not even steam, that link which now so closely con-
nects the dwellers in the far East with the progress and
S3rmpathies of their countrymen, has so much conduced
to the improvement and comfort of India as the sani-
tary stations on the difieront ranges of hills whidi have
of late years been obtained by the English, and which
afibrd the possibility of renovating, in a puro mountain
air, the health, strength, and energy that wither under
a tropical sun. On the western side of India these
' mountains of refuge' are called the Mahableshwur
Ghauts, and are near to, and indeed formerly made
part of, the rajahship of Sattarah. During a recent
residence in the Bombay presidency, I had the pleasure
and benefit of making an excursion thither; and it
has occurred to me that a sketch of this pilgrimage to
the 'hill country' may not be unwelcome to some of
the readers of these pages.
We left Bombay about the end of March, eager to
escape the intense heat slready succeeding to the de-
licious temperature of the winter months ; and crossing
the harbour in a hunder-botU, proceeded up the Negot-
nah River to the village of the same name. Servants
had preceded us thither with *provant,' as Captain
Dalgetty would have called it; and we took up our
abode for the night at the travellers' bungalow, a wretched
substitute for the cosy inn or elegant hotel of Europe,
being little better than a bam, and very scantily fur-
nished. It was sunset when we arrived ; we had there-
fore little opportunity of seeing the surrounding country
and villages, as night in India speedily follows an almost
imperceptible twilight Having little to amuse us in
the bungalow, we retired early to rest ; a measure the
more necessary, as we were to commence our journey
next morning at four o'clock, in order to avoid travel-
ling in the heat of the sun.
An hour before daybreak we were summoned to
resume our travels. Let not the idea of such an un-
seasonable hour suggest visions of the chilly discomfort
attending on it in our own country. Nothing could
be more exquisite than the air and the scene when we
issued ftom the bungalow. The breeze, though compa-
ratively firesh, was balmy, and the purple sky resplen-
dent with stars. Jupiter, the lord of the ascendant, cast
a line of light on the river, and hung like a globe of lucid
silver from the heavens. The carriages that were to
convey us to Mahr belonged to the post-office, and would
have been tolerably comfortable vehicles, but for the
height of the seats, which must have been intended for
people at least six feet high. As there was a basket at
the bottom of ours, well covered with palm-leaves, I took
the liberty of using it as a stool, till at our first pause
to change horses, one of the Farsees— who, by the by,
bad gained, from his excessive politeness, the sobri-
quet of Count D'Orsay — approached, and with a pro-
found bow gently insinuated * that it was not sfood for
the Ma'am Sahib to sit with her feet in the butter! ' As
I found it was designed for our breakfSMt I agreed in
itaoii
^
106
CHAMBERS'S BDIKBtmOR ;roimNAL
the justice d hit remark, and lat with my fbet on
empty space for the rest of the way. The road we
traversed was wild and picturesque, bordered on each
side by jungle, and affording in its windings constant
glimpses of the blue hills in the distance : occasionally
a herd of fidry-footed antelopes would bound across it,
or the peacock, uttering a shrill scream, would retreat
into his native woods ; but no worse deniiens of the
brushwood made their appearance, being probably
scared away by the horn our driver occasionally sounded.
At last the Mahr Biver made its appearance ; a broad,
tranquil stream, reflecting the deep blue sky ; and fol-
lowing its banks for a time, we at last reached the vil*
lage. Here we breakfasted, dined, and remained, in
short, till alter sunset We then drove to the foot of
the Ghauts, but being detained longer than we antici-
pated, it was dark ere we commenced the ascent, which
was to be made in palanquins. These were carried
by four hamaUy or bearers, four more running beside
them to relieve them of their burden when weary ; one,
as it was now quite dark, carried a huge tordi, on
which he fkom time to time poured oil from a bottle he
held in the other hand. The narrow path admitted but
one palanquin in a line ; we were tiierefore in a manner
separated from each other, and alone with the bearers.
The scene was really imposing : the gloom made the
predpioes on each side look deep and terriUe, and such
forms as one oould distinguish in it took all kinds of
fantastic shapes. The torch, smoking and flaring dose
beside the ooffln-like conveyance, brought out in strong
relief the sable hamals* wdl-oiled shining skins, and
their rolling black eyes and glittering teeth, thus add-
ing a perfect group to the foreground of the picture.
Strange sounds, too, rose from the jungle : the hiss of
the snakes s the cry of the jackal ; the famter, because
more distant roar of other beasts of prey ; and every
time tiie beards gained a height, they paused, and with
shrill cries, thanked their monkey god for his aid, and
for having given them only a * light madam' to carry.
The moon rose at last, and I could look down on the
nests of jungle, and distinguish the dear outline of the
hills : solemn and beautifdl they looked, casting their
awful shade on the home of the tiger and tbe boar ; but
I was now quite wearv, and beaming too sleepy to
observe more, awoke only when my bearers stayed ttidr
steps and my palanquin on the mountain summit which
was to be our home.
Mahableshwur is situated on the highest point of the
western Ghauts, and is a neat town, with a dean open
bazaar, to which the money-changers, seated beside
their banks (or white dothsX piled with all sorts of
coin and currency, from moras to cowries— or small
shells— give a picturesque and new feature. The bun-
galows of the English residents have gardens round
them, and are generally very comfortable dwellings.
The church is a small and very rustic edifice, having
the bell hung in a large tree beside it The sodety is
cheerful, and the drives and rides on the mountain,
though few, very attractive, firam the scenery and
delidous freshness of the air. Our own abode con-
sisted of several scattered bungalows, with tents for the
servants and gentlemen, for we were a large party ; the
drawing and dining-rooms were detached fh>m the
building called the Ladies' Bungalow, and we had some-
times to walk through a cloud on our way to dinner ;
but the house was well furnished, and nioely situated,
commanding a fine view. We looked down on the first
row of Ghauts, and a more singular scene can scarody
be conceived than the chaos of hill-tops beneath, all of
extraordinary forms, and reflecting every shade of light
and colour as the sun fell upon fiiero. The mountain
opposite our hiU had been the scene of a horrid tragedy.
Tn formAv tim«»fl. the two mountains had been inhabited
by two rival dilefii, between whom a deadly fend ex-
isted. The disputes and fights between these Indian
Montagues and Capulets were a oontinual source of
annoyance to their ndgfabours, and the r^ah of
Sattarah and the English resident at last resdved on
acting as mediators. Their peacemaking efforts were
apparency successful } tiie dikfii consented to an inters
view i their grievances were to be mutually redressed,
and they were to embrace as friends. The dweSksr on
our hill (Bdla Vista) was quite in eametl in these
fHendly demonstrations, bat tiie Purtubghur man had
meantime caused a pair of sted daws, exaotiy resem-
bling those of a tiger, to be made, and fastened them to
his hands, which, when dosed, concealed them. Whilst
in the act of embracing his dd oaemy, he fixed Ibcee
terride weapons hi the bade of his nedc, and fitenil^
tore the throat asund» befbre those ptesent ooold mdi
to the rescue. We were rejoiced to learn that ampb
justice had been taken for this horrible crime. The
diief had been driven firom his territory, and met the
death he deserved.
The Ghauts are very shigulariy-diaped moimtaiBs.
They give one the Idea of having had a slice cot off
thdr tops, and others are apparently crowned with
strong fortresses $ indeed, till assured that it was the
natural formation of tiie tdll, I thought that Pnitubfl^
had the ruins of a fortification on its summit
During our stay at Bdla Vista, the ngah of Sattarah
paid a visit or rather made a ^Igrimage, to a oelefarated
shrine in the vicinity. He came in state to ow bun-
galow, to visit Lady A (the wife of the govemoO;
and the procession was worth seeing, though very difw-
rent from what one's imagination would have dspcted
of Eastern state and pomp. Firstcameaporty of men,
who might wdl have personated Falstaff*s ragged regi-
ment so poor, patdied, and motley was thdr aMre: thaw
worthies shouted ak>ud, *Boom fw tiie great ngah, the
eater of mountains and drinker of rivers I' The ragged
herdds were fdlowed hy the reguUr attendants, bear-
ing bundles of peacocks^ feathws, the insignia of their
master's princely rank ; then came two or three horse-
men, bearing the round table-like banner ; and lastly,
the gu^ so formidably characterised, and who^ in fki^
lool^ as if he enjoyed abundantiy tiie good tfamgs cf
this Hfb, even if his diet vrere not quite of the incon-
venient kind described. He bore a strong likeness to the
pictures of Henry VUI^ and was a courteous middle-
aged gentieman, habited in the Eastern costume, and
wearing a magnificent emerdd ring oa his great toe.
He was exceedingly gradous, offered us the loan of his
dephants, and gave the ladies permission to visit his
lately-espoused wife, the Ranee.
I was sorry that indispoution prevosted me from
profiting by this opportunity of visiting a Hindoo se-
nana ; my friends, who did avail themsdvee (tf the per-
minion, were much pleased with the lady, who was
young, beautif\il, and MaBy uneducated, oasiing all her
days in listening to stories, seeing Nautcn girls dance,
and eating sugar-plums. This is the ngdi who was
placed by the English on the nomind tlmme of the
Mahrattos, after that depodtion of his brothers which
has given rise to such dreary debates in the India
House and in Parliament Both brothers are now
dead.
In one of our drives we were flivoured with the sight
of a wild tiger in chase of an antdope. The terrible
animd sprang across the road at no great distance from
tiie horses' heads, and disappeared ki the jungle. He
was hunted, and killed shortly afterwards. A reward
of fifty rupees, or five pounds English money, giT^
for the discovery of a tiger, has greatiy tended to di-
minish the number of these animds in the neighbour-
hood of the English places of abode. We remedied six
weeks at Mahadeshwur, and before our descent to the
plains of the Deccan, found it cold enough to wish for
a fire. The rains of the monsoon had abo commenced,
and our journey down the Ghmxts, in pouring rain, and
bv dull dondv davliirht was rather in nrosiuk: oontrsst
■
*•*>
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
107
1 1
wiUi ear midnight ABoeni We had derived great benefit
from tibe pure inTigorating air, and even now, in onr
own oold hot happy country, think with ^earare of our
abode on the moontaina of MahaUeehwor.
ART-JOUBNAIr-THE VERNON GALLERY.
Tn late adranoea in aU departmenta of art in this
ooantry are among the moat gratifying traita of nati(mal
inprofement ; and it ia aatiafiEKStory to know that cnl-
thmtad minda are oogaged in forming and directing the
pabUc taate on mattera of anch intereat Too long did
the eathetica of art dwell only in the dogmaa of connoia*
Mora, who chattered upon ' Raphael and atnff ' with the
■reciflioa of achooknen ; and it waa not till knowledge
koke loooe firom thia charmed circle, and diffhaed itadf
abroad in the world, that art could he aaid to be of any
practical Talne. Erom the early age of George UL'a
rrign, when aU aorta of monatroaitiea were tolmted, it
laema aa if the pohlic had advanced centuriea in feel-
ing. We cannot look around ua without leeing evi*
dnoea of improTed taste. Old thinga have passed
away, and we are in the youth of a new and more
TiganoB era. Among other wonderfhl things in this
new age^ mnat be mentioned the practice Si maldng
monifloent gifts to the publia Formerly, eyery man
ihoag^ be acquitted himself nobly if he paid his bills
and bis taaea. All that ia quite antiquated now. This
is tiis age of giYing. The nation aometimea givea away
\m miffiona in a paroxysm of charitable feeling ; and
hi pfirate life, subscripfions to the extent of hundreds
of ttumsaiida of pounds are quite a conimon thing.
Aijbody who does not * subscribe' to tiie extent of a
lew hundreds a year is thought nothing of. This, like
other good tiiii^fs, may no doubt be carried too far ;
b^ how mudi more reasonable is it to give from your
abandasee while living, than to leave all at your de-
esase to thoae who will not thank you, and who may
probably be damaged by the gift? On this account it
win be aDowed ^t Mr Vernon, in lately making a
piawMit to the nation of hia gallery of mctures— a gift
of many ttiouaanda (rf pounds valufr— did a far hand-
Bomer tSdng tiban if he had bequeathed the whole to the
imbiie at hia dealh. A bequest is the giftof what is no
longer of any use to the giver; a present during life is
a ascrifioe. Here, then, is a man who takes down the
whole of his collection of pictures from his walls, and
hands them to the National Galleiy, where they are
merged in tiie general property of the country. Who,
after this, will say that seli-saoriflcing generosity is not
aprood diaractoristic of the age in which we live?
The notice of Mr Vernon's liberal gift to the nation
bringi us to the * Art- Journal,' which has begun to
pieient findy- executed engravings of each ^(^ure in
the ooUeetioa, by which means persons in all parts of
tiie ooontry may acquire a proper notion of those
beantifel worka ii art, now the national proper^. Mr
Vernon, we are tdd, spared no pains or expense in
fanning his cdlection. Thirty years was he engaged
in tiie work: frequently he weeded out the least vidu-
ahle pictures; and the most generous sums were in-
variably paid for his acquisitions. It is now some years
nnoe we walked through his house in Pall Mall ; but
we retain a livdy recollection of the vast number of
gems of art which adorned the walls. The whole of his
^etnres were British, and painted within the last half
ttntury $ they therefore form a select illus^tion of the
itate and iffogress of the fine arts during that period.
The first picture engraved from the Vernon Gallery is
Me of the beautiftd English landscapes of Galcott, and
we should say it ia worth more than the money charged
far the number of the * Art- Journal ' in which it appears.
A portrait of Mr Vernon graces the same number.
WhOe tiiere is not a little to please in this periodical,
ftan is likewise something to which we cannot give our
rtiaiTBtion. We refer to tiie articles on the application
« TiAned taste to domestic and other objects. It appears
tobethe wiah of the artist who illustrates these papers
with wood-engravinga to introduce greater elegance in
form and embdlishment into the more common class of
manufactures, such as pottery, hardware, and household
furniture. As the aim is high, so is the responsibility
great, in trying to cultivate new feshions in objects of
this kind. It is, therefore, not without regret that we
see that forms and ornaments are held up fer imitation
which, as fer as our judgment goea, can cmly mislead
the public taste. What we more particularly object
to is the introduction of naked human figmres dis-
torted into all sorts of odd postures. We have
Sylphs with the tails of mermaids, forming bell-pulls ;
Cupids holding up candlesticks, sitting on the corners
of fenders, and stuck on the ends of pokers. Crouching,
kneeling, twining, bending back, standing on tiptoe,
redining, stretchjng out the arms ; in shwt, in every
imaginable posture are these drudging Sylphs and
Guilds represented. This profrue use of the human
figure seems to us indecorous. Doubtiess, for the sake
of beauty of form, art has a certain license ; the main
design Ix^g, to delight the eye and elevate the feelings.
But the figures we allude to are anything but sightiy,
and are only the oflfbpring of a capricious fancy.
Flowers in various dispositions irould be a safer subject
of adaptation ; yet even in their case care must be
taken not to violate ordinary conceptions. Let us add,
while on this subject, that eJAborate carving, even when
in good taste, is objectionable in common household
articles, inasmuch as it renders them more difficult to
dean. In these, elegance of form should be combined
with strict simplidty ; for we must not sacrifice utility
to show, and fiU our rooms with the dirt as well as rich-
ness of an old curiosity-shop. It is suffldent, however,
that we offbr a hint on these points; and we would
fhrther suggest to the editor of the work before us the
propriety (^ writing a series of artides defining the
Ucense to which artists and manufacturers m^y pro-
perly go in their adaptation of natural objects. By
manufacturers of carpets, paper-hangings, works in
bronze, and household ornaments of all kinds, precise
rules and prindples in relation to this department of
art are much required.
EXPERIENCES OF A BABBISTEB.
THE NOBTHERM CIRCUIT.
About the conunenoement of the present century there
stood, near the centre of a rather extensive hamlet, not
many miles distant from a northern seaport town, a
large, substantially - built, but somewhat straggling
building, known as Craig Farm (popularly Crook Farm)
House. The ferm consisted of about one hundred acres
of tolerable arable and meadow land ; and at the time
I have indicated, bdonged to a fermer of the nan^ of
Armstrong. He had purchased it about three years
previously, at a sale hdd in pursuance of a decree of
the High Court (rf Chancery, for the purpose of liqui-
dating certain costs incurred in the suit of Craig vermu
Craig, which the said high court had nursed so long
and successfully, as to enable the solidtor to the yicto-
rious claimant to incarcerate his triumphant dient for
several years in the Fleet, in 'satisfection' of the
charges of victory remaining due after tiie proceeds of
the sale of Craig Farm had been deducted firom the
gross totaL Farmer Armstrong waa married, but child-
less ; his dame, like himself was a native of Devonshire.
They bore the character of a plodding, tadtum, mo-
rose-mannered couple : sddom leaving the ferm except
to attend market, and rarely seen at church or chapel,
they naturally enough became objects of suspicion and
dislike to the prying, gossipping villagers, to whom
mystery or reserve of any kind was of course exceed-
ingly ann(^ying and un^easant
Soon after Armstr<»ig was settied in his new pur-
108
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUEGH JOUBNAt.
chase, another stranger arrived, and took up his abode
in the best apartments of the house. The new-comer,
a man of about fifty jears of age, and evidently, from
bis dress and gait, a seafaring person, was as reserved
and unsocial as his landlord. His name, or at least
that which he chose to be known by, was Wilson. He
had one child, a daughter, about thirteen years of age,
whom he placed at a boarding-school in the adjacent
town. He seldom saw her; the intercourse between
the father and daughter being principally carried on
through Mary Strugnell, a widow of about thirty years
of age, and a native of the place. She was engaged as
a servant to Mr Wilson, and seldom left Craig Farm
except on Sunday afternoons, when, if the weather was
at all favourable, she paid a visit to an aunt living in
the town ; there saw Miss Wibon; and returned home
usually at half- past ten o'clock — later rather than
earlier. Armstrong was occasionally absent from his
home for several days together, on business, it was
rumoured, for Wilson ; and on the Sunday in the first
week of January 1802, both he and his wife had been
away for upwards of a week, and were not yet re-
turned.
About a quarter past ten o'clock on that evening the
early-retiring inhabitants of the hamlet were roused
from their slumbers by a loud, contmuous knocking at
the front door of Armstrong's house : louder and louder,
more and more vehement and impatient, resounded the
blows upon the stillness of the night, till the soundest
sleepers were awakened. Windows were hastily thrown
open, and presently numerous footsteps iqiproached the
scene of growing hubbub. The unwonted noise was
caused, it was found, by Fanner Armstrong, who, ac-
companied by his wife, was thundering vehemently
upon the door with a heavy black-thorn stick. Still
no answer was obtained. Mrs Strugnell, it was sup-
posed, had not returned from town; but where was Mr
Wilson, who was almost always at home both day and
night? Presently a lad called out that a white sheet
or cloth of some sort was hanging out of one of the
back windows. This announcement, confirming the
vague apprehensions which had begun to germinate in
the wise heads of the villagers, disposed them to adopt
a more effectual mode of obtaimng admission than
knocking seemed likely to prove. Johnson, the con-
stable of the parish, a man of great shrewdness, at once
proposed to break in the door. Armstrong, who, as
well as his wife, was deadly pale, and trembling vio-
lenUy, eitlier with cold or agitation, hesitatingly con-
sented, and crowbars being speedily procured, an en-
trance was forced, and in rushed a score of excited
men. Armstrong's wife, it was afterwards remembered,
caught hold of &r husband's arm in a hurried, fhght-
ened manner, whispered hastily in his ear, and then
both followed into the house.
*Now, farmer,' cried Johnson, as soon as he had
procured a light, ' lead the way up stairs.'
Armstrong, who appeared to have somewhat recovered
from his panic, darted at once up the staircase, followed
by the whole body of rustics. On reaching the landing-
place, he knocked at Mr Wilson's bedroom door. No
answer was returned. Armstrong seemed to hesitate,
but the constable at once lifted the latch ; they entered,
and then a melancholy spectacle presented itselfl
Wilson, completely dressed, lay extended on the floor
a lifeless corpse. He had been stabbed in two places in
the breast with some sharp-pointed instrument. Life
was quite extinct The window was open. On flsirther
inspection, several bundles containing many of Wilson's
valuaUes in jewellery and plate, together with clothes,
shirts, silk handkerchiefs, were found. The wardrobe
and a secretary-bureau had been foroed open. The
assassins had, it seemed, been disturbed, and had
hurried off by the window without their plunder. A
hat was also picked up in the room, a shiny, Uack
hat, much too small for the deceased. The constable
snatched it up, and attempted to dap it on Armstrong's
head, but it was not nearly large enough. This, toge-
ther with the bundles, dissipated a suspicion which had
been growing in Johnson's mind, and he roughlv ex-
claimed, ' You need not look so scared, fiirmer ; irs not
you : that's quite dear.'
To this remark ndther Armstrong nor his wife
answered a syllable, but continued to gaze at the corpse,
the bundles, and the broken locks, in bewildered terror
and astonishment. Presently some one asked if any-
body had seen Mrs Strugnell ?
The question roused Armstrong, and he said, ' She la
not come home : her door is lock^.'
* How do you know that ?' cried the constable, turn-
ing sharply round, and looking keenly in his face. ' How
do yon know that?'
* Because— because,' stammered Armstrong, ' because
she always locks it when she goes out'
* Whidi is her room ? '
< The next to this.'
They hastened out, and found the next door was fast
* Are you there, Mrs Strugnell ?' shouted Johnson.
There was no reply.
' She is never home till half-past ten o'dock on Sun-
day evenings,' remarked Armstrong in a calmer voice.
* The key is in the lock on the inside,' cried a young
man who had been striving to peep through the kQr-
hole.
Armstrong, it was afterwards sworn, started as if he
had been shot ; and his wife again dutdied his arm with
the same nervous, frenzied gripe as before.
*Mrs Strugnell, are you there?' once more shouted
the constable. He was answered by a low moan. In
an instant the fhul door was burst in, and Mra
Strugnell was soon pulled out, apparently more dead
than aUve, from underneath the nedstead, where she,
in speechless consternation, lay partially concealed.
Pladog her in a chair, they soon succeeded — much
more easily, indeed, than they antidpated — ^in restoring
her to consdousness. Nervously she glanced round the
drde of eager faces that environed her, till her eyes fell
upon Armstrong and his wife, when she gave a loud
shriek, and muttering, * They, they are the murderers,'
swooned, or appeared to do so, again instantly.
The accused persons, in spite of their frenzied pro-
testations of innocence, were instantly seized and tMken
off to a place of security ; Mrs Strugnell was conveyed
to a neighbour's dose by; the house was carefully
secured; and the agitated and wondering villagers
departed to their several homes, but not, I fancy, to
sleep any more for that night
The deposition made by Mrs Strugnell at the inquest
on the body was in substance as follows : —
* On the afternoon in question she had, in accordance
with her usual custom, proceeded to town. She called
on her aunt, took tea with her, and afterwards went to
the Inderandent ChapeL After service, she called to
see Miss Wilson, but was informed that, in consequence
of a severe cold, the young lady was gone to bed. She
then immediately proceeded homewards, and conse-
quently arrived at Craig Farm more than an hour be-
fore her usual time. She let herself in with her latch
key, and proceeded to her bedroom. There was no
light in Mr Wilson's chamber, but she could hear him
moving about in it She was just about to go down
stairs, having put away her Sunday bonnet and shawl,
when she heanl a noise, as of persons entering. by the
back way, and walking gently across the kitchen floor.
Alarmed as to who it could be, BIr and Mrs Armstrong
not being expected home for several days, she gently
dosed her door, and locked it A few minutes after,
she heud stealthy steps ascending the creaking stairs,
and jpresently her door was tried, and a voice in a low
burned whisper said, '* Mary, are you there?" She
was positive it was Mr Armstrong's voice, but was too
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
109
tenified to answer. Then Mrs Armstrong— ^e was
SOTO it was she— said also in a whisper, and as if ad-
dreoing her hoshand, *' She is nerer back at this hour."
A minate or so after there was a tap at Mr Wilson's
door. She could not catch what answer was made;
bat hy Armstrong's reply, she gathered that Mr Wilson
had lain down, and did not wish to be disturbed. He
was often in the habit of lying down with his clothes
OD. Armstrong said, '* I will not disturb you, sir ; 111
Goly just put this parcel on the table." There is no
lock to Mr Wilson's door. Armstrong stepped into the
room, and almost immediately she heard a sound as of
a Tiolent blow, followed by a deep groan, and then all
was stilL She was paralysed with horror and afinght
After the lapse of a few seconds, a voice — Mrs Arm-
strong's undoubtedly — asked in a tremulous tone if ** all
was orer ? " Her husband answered " Yes : but where
be the keys of the writing-desk kept ? " ** In the Uttle
table-drawer,** was the reply. Armstrong then came
out of the bedroom, and both went into Mr Wilson's
stttiog apartment. They soon returned, and crept
stealthily along the passage to their own bedroom on
the same floor. They then went down stairs to the
kitchen. One of them — ^the woman, she had no doubt —
went out the backway, and heavy footsteps again as-
cended the stairs. iUmost dead with fright, she then
crawled under the bedstead, and remembered no more
till ihe found herself surrounded by the villagers.'
In confirmation of this statement, a large clasp-knife
belooging to Armstrong, and with which it was evident
the murder had been perpetrated, was found in one
comer of Wilson's bedxtH>m ; and a mortgage deed, for
one thousand pounds on Craig Farm, the property of
WHson, and which Strugnell swore was always kept in
the writing-desk in the front room, was discovered in a
diest in thd prisoners' sleeping apartment, together with
nearly one hundred and fifty pounds in gold, silver,
sod county bank-notes, although it was known that
Armstrong had but a fortnight before declined a
very advantageous ofier of some cows he was desirous
of purchasing, under the plea of being short of cash.
Worse perhaps than all, a key of the back-door was
found in his podLct, which not only confirmed Stnig-
n^s evidence, but clearly demonstrated that the knock-
ing at the door for admittance, which had roused and
alaumed the hamlet, was a pure subterfuge. The con-
clusion, therefore, almost universally arrived at through-
out the neighbourhood was, that Armstrong and his
wifiB were the guilty parties ; and that the bundles, the
broken locks, Uie sheet hanging out of the window, the
ihiny, black hat, were, like the knocking, mere cunning
devices to mislead inquiry.
The case excited great interest in the county, and
I esteemed myself professionally fortunate in being
selected to hold the brief for the prosecution. I had
satisfied myself, by a perusal of the depositions, that
there was no doubt of the prisoners' guilt, and I deter-
mined that no effort on my part should be spared to
insure the accomplishment of the ends of justice. I
drew the indictment myself ; and in my opening address
to the jury, dwelt with all the force and eloquence of
which I was master upon the heinous nature of the
crime, and the condusiveness of the evidence by which
it had been brought home to the prisoners. I may here,
bv way of parenthesis, mention that I resorted to a
man in my address to the juiy which I have seldom
known to fiuL It consisted in fixing my eyes and
addressing my language to each juror one after the
other. In this way each considers the address to be an
appeal to his individual intelligence, and responds to
it by &Illng into the views of the barrister. On this
occasion the jury easily fell into the trap. I could
see that I had got them into the humour of putting
confidence in the evidence I had to produce.
The trial proceeded. The cause of the death was
sdoitifically stated by two m^cal men. Next followed
the evidence as to the finding of the knife in the bed-
room of the deceased ; the discovery of the mortgnge
deed, and the large sum of monev, in the prisoners'
sleeping apartment ; the finding the key of the back-door
in the male prisoner's pocket ; and his demeanour and
egressions on the night of the perpetration of the
crime. In his cross-examination of the constable, seve-
ral facts perfectly new to me were elicited by the very
able counsel for the prisoners. Their attorney haid
judiciously maintained the strictest secrecy as to the
nature of the defence, so that it now took me completely
by surprise. The constable, in reply to questions by
counsel, stated that the podcets of the deceased were
empty ; that not only his purse, but a gold watoh, chain,
and seals, which he usually wore, had vanished, and no
trace of them had as yet been discovered. Many other
things were also missing. A young man of the name
of Pearce, apparently a sailor, had been seen in the
village once or twice in the company of Mary Strug-
nell ; but he did not notice what sort of hat he gene-
rally wore ; he had not seen Pearce since the night the
crime was committed ; had not sought for him.
Mary Strugnell was the next witness. She repeated
her previous evidence wi& precision and apparent
sincerity, and then I abandoned her with a mixed feeling
of anxiety and curiosity to the counsel for the defence.
A subtle and able cross-examination of more than two
hours' duration followed ; and at its conclusion, I felt
tliat the case for the prosecution was so damaged, that
a verdict of condemnation was, or ought to be, out of
the question. The salient points dwelt upon, and
varied in every possible way, in this long sifting, were
these: —
* What was the reason she did not return in the
evening in question to her aunt's to supper as usual?'
' She did not know, except that she wished to get
home.'
' Did she keep company with a man of the name of
Pearce?'
* She had walked out with him once or twice.'
' When was the last time?'
* She did not remember.'
* Did Pearce walk with her home on the night of the
murder?'
*No.'
* Not part of the way ?*
* Yes ; part of Uie way.'
* Did Pearce sometimes wear a black, shiny hat ? '
* No— yes : she did not remember.'
* Where was Pearce now?'
* She didn't know.'
* Had he disappeared since that Sunday evening ?'
* She didn't know.'
' Had she seen him since ?'
•No.'
' Had Mr Wilson ever threatened to discharge her for
insolence to Mrs Armstrong?'
* Tes ; but she knew he was not in earnest*
* Was not the clasp-knife that had been found always
left in the kitehen for culinary purposes?'
' No— not always ; generally — but not tk» time that
Armstrong went away, she was sure.'
* Mary Strugnell, you be a false-sworn woman before
God and man!' interrupted the male prisoner with
great violence of manner.
The outbreak of the prisoner was checked and re-
buked by the judge, and the cross-examination soon
afterwards closed. Had the counsel been allowed to
follow up his advantage by an address to the jury, he
would, I doubt not, spite of their prejudices against the
prisoners, have obtained an acquittal; but as it was,
after a neutral sort of charge from the judge, by no
means the ablest that then adorned the bench, the
jurors, having deliberated for something more than half
an hour, returned into court with a verdict of * guilty'
against both prisoners, accompanying it, however, with
a strong recommendation to mercy !
* Mercy!' said the judge. * What for? On what
ground?'
The jurors stared at each other and at the judge :
no
CHAMBEB8*8 EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
theyhadnoreaioiitogiTet The fiu^ was, their conTic-
tioD of the prisonert' guilt had heen yery much shaken
by the croes-ezamination of the diief witness for the
prosecution, and this recommendation was a compro-
mise which conscience made with doubt I have known
many such instances.
The usual ridiculous fdmnalify of asking the wretched
conTicts what they had to urge why sentence should not
be passed upon them was gone through ; the judge, with
unmoTed feelings, put on the fktal cap ; and then a new
and startling li^t Durst upon tiie mysterious, bewilder-
ine affldr.
'Stop, my lord I' exclaimed Armstrong with rough
vehemence. * Hear me speak I 111 tell ye all about it ;
I will indeed, my lord. Quiet, Martha, I tell ye. It's
I, my lord, thars guilty, not the woman. God bless
ye, my lord; not the wife I Doant hurt the wife, and Tse
tell ye all about it. I ahne am guilty ; not, the Lord be
praised, of murder, but of robbery I '
* John ! — John 1 ' sobbed the wife, clinging passionately
to her husband, ' let us die together I '
' Quiet, Martiia, I tell ye! Yes, my lord, Fse tell ye
all about it I was gone away, wife and I, for more nor
a week, to receive money for Mr Wilson, on account of
smugged goods — ^that money, my lord, as was found in
the diest When we came home on that dreadful Sun-
day night, my lord, we went in back way ; and hearing
a noise, I went up stairs, and found poor Wilson stone-
dead on the floor. I were dreadful skeared, and let drop
the candle. I called to wife, and told her of it. She
screamed out, and amaist fainted away. And then, my
lord, all at once the devil shot it into my head to keep
the money I had brought ; and knowing as the keys of
the desk where the mortgage writing was kept was in
the bedroom, I crept back, as that false-hearted woman
said, got the keys, and took the deed ; and then I per-
suaded wife, who had been trembling in the kitchen all
the while, that we had better go out quiet a^n, as
there was nobody in the house but us : I had tned that
woman's door — and we might perhaps be taken for the
murderers. And so we did ; and that* s the downright^
honest truth, my lord. Tm rightly served; but God
bless you, doant hurt the woman — ^my wife, my lord,
these thirty years. Five-and-twenty years ago come
May, which I shall never see, we buried our two chil-
dren. Had they lived, I might have been a better man ;
but the place mey left emp^ was soon filled up by love
of cursed lucre, and that has brought me here. 1 deserve
it ; but oh, mercy, my lord I men^, good gentlemen I ' —
turning from the stony features of the judge to the jury,
as if iSiQy could help him — < not for me, but the wife.
She be as innocent of this as a new-bom babe. If s 1 1
I ! scoundrel tliat I be, that has brought thee, Martha,
to this shameM pass !' The rugged man snatdied his
life-companion to his breast witii passionate emotion,
and tears of remorse and agony streamed down his
rough cheeks.
I was deeply aflbcted, and felt that the man had
uttered the whole truth. It was evidently one of those
cases in which a person liable to suspicion damages his
own cause by resorting to a trick. No doubt by lus
act of theft, Armstrong had been driven to an expedient
whidi would not have been adopted by a person per-
fectly innocent And thus, firom one thing to another,
the diarge of murder had been fixed upon him and his
hapless wife. When his confession had been uttered, I
felt a species of self-accusation in having contributed to
his destruction, and gladly would I have undone the
whole day's proceedings. The judge, on the contrary,
was quite undisturbed. Viewing the harangue of Arm-
strong as a mere tissue of falsehood, he coolly pro-
nounced sentence of death on the prisoners. Tliey
were to be hanged on Monday. TUs was Friday.
* A bad job !' whispered the counsel for tiie defence
as he passed me. * That witness of yours, the woman
Strugnell, is the real culprit'
I tasted no dinner that day : I was sick at heart; for
If the blood of two feUow-creatures was on my
hands. In tlie evening I -sallied fbrth to the judge's
lodgings. He listened to all I had to say; but was
quite imperturbable. The obstinate old man was ntis-
fled that Uie sentrace was as it should be. I returned
to my inn in a fever of despair. Without the i^proval
of the judge, I knew that an implication to the semtary
of state was fhtile. There was not even time to 9€bd to
London, unless the judge had granted a respite.
An Saturday and Sunday I was in misery. I de-
nounced capital punishment as a gross iniquity — a
national sin and disgrace ; my feelings of course being
influenced somewhat by a recollection of that unhappy
afikir of Harvey, noticed in my previous paper. I half
resolved to give up the bar, and rather go and sweep
the streets for a livelihood, tiian run the risk of getting
poor people hanged who did not deserve it
On t^e Monday morning I was pacing up and down
my breakfkst-room in the next assize town, in a state-
of great excitement when a chaise -and -four drove
rapidly up to the hotel, and out tumbled Johnson the
constable. His tale was soon told. On the previous
evening, the landlady of the Black Swan, a it>ad-«ide
pubUc-house about four miles distant from the scene of
the murder, reading the name of Fearce in the report of
the trial in the Sunday county paper, sent for Johnson
to state that that person had on the fktal evening called
and Idft a portmanteau in her charge, promising to caO
for it in an hour, but had never b^ there since. On
opening the portmanteau, Wilson's watch, chains, and
seds, and other property, were discovered in it; and
Johnson had, as soon as it was possible, set off in search
of me. Instantly, for there was not a mommt to spare,
I, in company with Armstrong's counsel, sought the
judge, and ^th some difficulty obtained from him a
formsl order to the sheriff to suspend the execution
till farther orders. Off I and the constable started,
and happily arrived in time to stay the execution,
and depnve the already-assembled mob of the bnUal
exhibition they so anxiously awaited. On inquiring
for Mfury Strugnell, we found that she had absconded
on the evening of the trud. AU search for her proved
vain.
Five months had passed away; the fkte of Armstrong
and his wife was still undecided, when a message was
brought to my chambers in the Tem]^ from a woman
said to be dying in St Bartholomew's Hospital It was
Mary Strugnell; who, when in a state of intoxication,
had fsllen down in front of a carriage, as she was croM-
ing near Holbom Hill, and had both her legs broken.
She was dying miserably, and had sent fur me to make
a Ml confession relative to Wilson's murder. Arm-
strong's account was perfectly correct The deed was
committed by Fearce, and they were packing up their
plunder when they were startled by the unexpected re-
turn of the Armstrongs. Fearce, snatching up a bundle
and a portmanteau, escaped by the window ; she had
not nerve enough to attempt it and crawled back to
her bedroom, where she, watching the doings of the
fenner through the chinks of the partition which sepa-
rated her room fit)m the passage, concocted the story
which convicted the prisoners. Fearce thinking him*
self pursued, too heavily encumbered for nq>id flight
left the portmanteau as described, intending to call for
it in the morning, if his fears proved groundless. He,
however, had not courage to risk calling again, and
made tiie best of his way to London. He was now in
Newgate under sentence of death for a burglary, aocom-
psnied by p»sonal violence to the inmates of &e dwell-
ing he and his gang had entered and robbed. I took
care to have the deposition of tlie dying wretch pat into
proper form ; and the result was, after a great deal of
petitioning and worrying of authorities, a friU pardon
for both Armstrong and his wife. They sold Craig
Farm, and removed to some other part of the countxr;
where, I never doubled myself to inquire. Deeply
gratefol was I to be able at last to wash my hands of aa
affair which had cost me so much anxiety and vexation s
albeit the lesson it affi>rded me of not coming hastily to
.±3
CHAMBRItfrS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Ill
ooodosioDfl, eren when the troth teems, ai it were, upon
tiie matBce of ^ matter, has not been, I trast, without
iti
THE ENCHANTED BAY.
[Thb tofkfwiDg adTentue of a boat'a orew, in their voyaffe
from PoflBMson Islaiid, a anall guano atation near the
coast of Sonth Africa, to Walwich Bay on the mainland,
b extracted from the * Gape Town Bfixror/ a yery merito-
lioiia miaeeOany recently commenced] :—
The fareeae wasTery l&ht, and it was midnight before we
heard tiie breakers on raican Pt^t, a long spit of sand,
fbnnhig the western side of Walwich Bay. It was then
blowii^; l^esh, with Tery thick weathez^ and we stood off tiU
■»ftfw*«g- At daylight <m the 12th we stood in again for
Pefican Point; as the wind now blew from the south-east,
wludi was dbeotly off the bay, we found it would be
neeesmiy to w«rk m. I therefore filled the ballast-oasks,
to gbe the boat a better hold on the water, and kept
three hands balins^ as she then leaked very badly. In
tiiis way we got m before eveninfl^ near enough to see,
dose to the beach, on the east side of the bav, opixMite
Feliesn Pofait^ a small storehooseu built of planks, with a
hne triage or * shears' near it, sooh as are used to
&8len cattfe to for slaughtertng.
The wind, howeyer, continued adverse, and we were un-
sUe to effect a landing before sunset, and were thus obliged
to stand out to sea aaain. As the evening advanced^ the
wind drew round to the south-west, and was thus driving
as gradually over towards the land north of the bay, near
the month of the Swakop Bhrer. Not bein^ able to wear
tbs boat, for fear of her filling, we were obliged to ' club-
haul* her, by throwing overboard, on the weather-bow, a
sail hshed to an oar, and tUs made fiist by a line passins
romid to the lee-bow of the boat. The saH and oar floated
on the snrfSsoe, and not being so high out of water as the
boat were not carried forward so nst by the force of the
vind. Thus the line, pulling at the lee-bow, gradually
drew the beat^ head round to the south-east, and she then
drifted along parallel with the land. I have given this
ezpbaatlon not for the benefit of seamen, who of course
do not need it, bnt for those readers who mar never hap-
pen to have seen a bort put about in this foshion.
My eomoanions were now ready to give up altogether,
b^0?ing tnat we should never reach the land. They were
quite worn out, snd for a time reftised to lend a hand in
worim^ the boat, declaring that it was useless, and that
omr ease was dsnerate. At length, after much reasoning
and persnaskxL I indnoed them to aid in making one more
trial
By good fortune^ shortly after midnight, the wind, for
the first time ^ce we left the ship, came out from the
northward, Hid enabled ns to stand in, as we thought,
directly for the bay. What was our surprise and ahum,
then, to find, when the sun rose over the eastern moun-
tains, that we were approaching a part of the coast of which
we Ittd not the lightest reeoUection! On our starboard-
bow, where we exi^cted to see Pelican Point, was a low
sandy island, that we had no knowledge of whatever.
Other isbnds lay right shead between ns and the moun-
tains. The hut and the shears were nowhere to be seen.
We eonld not ten what to make of it. I began to be afraid
that we had been osrried by a current to a place laid down
SB the diart as Sandwich Harbour, about thirty miles
sonth ef Walwieh Bay, though how we oould have eome
so f» in so short a time I eoud not imagine.
We continued to stand on, in great wonder and per-
plexily, till Frederick Noon suddenly exclaimed. *See!
there is a woman in a white shawl on that island.' We
looked, snd certainly saw something that had very much
the appearance he deecribed. But while we were doubting
sad ipeeulatinff upon it, the supposed woman suddenly
iwfeMed her inngs and flew off, in the shape of a pelican
with bn>wn vrings and a white neck and head. We had a
hearty laugli at Fred's mistake, but were at the same
tinw pussled to think how it was that we had not dis-
eovered the deoeption till the bird flew away, as the dis-
tanee did not seem great enough to give rise to such an
!!
At length, as we kept drawing in to the land, some one
ssied out->T1iere is a village, and the people about it*
And sure enough there they were, right bdbre ns, and,
ta It seemed, not half a mue distant. There was a row
of round-topped huts above the beach ; and the people,
in dothing of various colours, were standing before them,
apparently ennwed in vratcMng our motions. The little
naked brown onudren could also be distinguished running
about at the edge of the water. The people seemed to be
numerous, and vre were at first uncertain how to act.
At length, after a brief consideration, I determined to
take the risk of landing alone. Putting off a part of my
clothes, in order to swim ashore, and givinff my watch
and some other small articles which I mUl M)out me to
Frederick to keep, I directed my companions, in case they
saw any harm befoll me, to bear away immeoiatehr for an
anchorage laid down on the coast to the northward, where
it was possible that they might find a trading vessel, or
at least obtain some provisions on shore.
I then iumped into the vrater. The splash which I
made produced a miraculous effect: the whole crowd of
people on shore, great and small, nav, red, and brown,
instantly soared up into the air, and flew away in a cloud
of pelicans^ flamingoes, sand-pip^ and other birds. This
put the chmax to our perplexity. We were too much
astonished to be amused at our strange blunder. Bear-
ing up a«dn for the shore, we presently arrived at the
bMch, and landed. On going up to the supposed villsge,
it proved to be the skeleton of an enormous whale, whose
arching ribs had taken the appearance of a row of native
huts. Still it seemed very smgular that we shoidd have
been so completely deceivMl at so short a distance.
On looking about us, we found that not only was the
land we stood on an island, but we were surrounded by
numberless low sandy islet^ between which the sea was
running in and out in the strangest manner. Mv com-
panions now became greatlv alarmed, declaring that we
should all perish if we remained there, and im^tins that
vre should ouit this desolate and unknown region, ana look
for Walwich Bay. To quiet them, and to clear up the
uncertainty of our rituation, I resolved, as it was now
neariy noon, to get an observation, and determine our real
situation. Accordingly, we went back to the boat, and
stood out firom the hmd, in order to obtain a dear horizon.
On taking the altitude of the sun, and making the calcu-
lation, I found that we were in the precise latitude of
Walwich Bay. Hie others thought that I was deceiving
them ; but feeling positive I was right, I resolved to stand
in Ibr the shore again, in hopes that the mystery would be
cleared up.
And now a wonderfol change was apparent. The sun,
having passed the meridian, was now shining with a
western declination. A smart breeze, moreover, had
arisen and swept away the haze that hung over the land.
With it, and with the change in the position of the sun,
the mirage^ which had b^ the cause of all our per-
plexities, had di8i4>peared. Everything was now fMnftiay
to us as we had seen it on the previous afternoon. There
was Pelican Point, with the skeleton of the whale, and the
hundreds of birds about it, no longer magnified by the
deoeptive haze, but In their natund proportions. The
straita which had converted it into an isund were now
chained to dry land, as was also the seeming sea which
had flowed about the sand-hiUs on shore, and turned them
into so many islets. On the opposite side of the bay, the
store and the triansle, which had been oonccAled by the
mist^ were plainly nsible. The source of all our mistakes
uras now ^>parent; at the same time, I am inclined to
think that any other persons, coming in as we did, would
have been equally deceived. When we told the mis-
sionaries of our troubles and perplexities on this occasion,
they were very much amused, and said that they had at
first been frequentiy puzzled, both at the bay and in tra-
velling through the country, by the delusive appearances
of the mirage, to which it required some time to become
so accustomed as not to be misled. The bay, they said,
from ita shape^ and the nature of the counter labout it,
seemed to be peculiarly sul^|eot to those variationa in the
density snd refinetive power of the atmosphere which
give rise to these singular effects. I have been thus parti-
cular in describing tnem, thinking that it may be of use
to put my brother mariners on tiieir guard against this
•ouroe of deoeption on approaohing a coast.
THE SECRET Of SDITCATIOir.
Repetition is the mother of all culture. like the fresco
Cter. let the educator lay his colours on the wet chalk;
' wUl dry in, indeed, but he will renew them agaia and
again until they remain and bloom for ever. — Richier.
112
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
8PBRM OIL — A FISCAL PARADOX.
The duty of L.I2, lOs. per tun, until lately levied on ipenn
oil, has ceased and determined. On this event the * Atlas*
newspaper has the following observations: — * For the
future, sperm oil will be obtainable for L.12, 10s. per tun less
than it has hitherto oost; and from this circumstance it
would seem to follow, as a natural inference, that the mar-
ket price of the article should show a reduction to the
amount This, however, is not the fact The price of
sperm oil, on the remission of the duty, fell only from L.84
to L.82 per tun : the decline being L.2 instead of L.12, 10s.,
or less than one-sixth of the presumable abat«ment This
is one of those paradoxes which are frequently presented
to the observer of commercial phenomena. By what re-
condite law of prices, or occult mercantile art, is the
sudden disappearance of twelve and a-half from one scale
balanced by the withdrawal of only two from the other ?
This is a fine case for the antagonists of free trade. There
will not be wanting ignorant or unscrupulous champions
of monopolv ready to argue that the difference between
L2 and LI 2^ 10s. will oe pocketed by the merohants,
instead of benefiting the consumer, and that the only
effect of the vauntea commeroial emancipation will be to
swell the gains of a parasitic class at the expense of the
Jmblic revenue. It is worth while to anticipate and re-
nte an argument so plausible and so delusive. For this
purpose it is only necessary to remind the reader of the
influence of the past and the future on the present, in all
human affairs, including commeroial operations. For three
years past the abolition of this duty has been looked
forward to by the parties concerned, who have doubtless
taken the prospect of reduction into account, as one element
amongst others in the estimation of value, luid the settle-
ment of price : so that, when Monday last brought the
anticipated change, a considerable proportion of its effect
had already been incurred by anticipation. This is the
effect of the past on the present. The influence of the
future has an analogous tendency to abate the immediate
decline of price. The holders naturally inauire what sup-
plies are expected from the fisheries, and compare the
probable imports with the probable demand. It so happens
that at present the stock of sperm on hand is relatively
low, and the fresh supplies of the year are not expected to
be large. This acts as a further counterpoise to the dimi-
nution of value resulting from the abohtion of the duty.
The price of sperm oil mav be described as having fiUlen the
whole amount of L12, 10s. per tun, in consequence of the
fiscal change, and as having then recovered nearly its former
level, in consequence of the real dearth. Had the dearth
and the duty co-existed^ the price would have been L12, 10s.
higher than it is : so that the benefit reaped by the public
from the abatement of duty, though veiled by the contrary
influence of an incidental scareity, is not the less a real and
positive saving to the ftill amount of L12, 10s. per tun.*
Similar observations might be made in reference to the
termination of the duty on leather a few years ago. No
one gets shoes any cheaper in consequence of talung off
this duty, say many persons. True; but this is in conse-
quence of the demand for shoes having increased by the
increase of population, and this demand keeps up the price
of most kinds of shoes to the former level. Had the duty
not been taken off, shoes would new have been so much
dearer, because leather is an article which does not admit
of a rapid and illimitable increase, like any kind of doth,
and the demand is continually pressing on the supply.
Have the public, then, not received a benefit by the with-
drawal of tne duty on this article ? Assuredly they have.
PB08PEBITT AND FBOGRE88.
From all we have seen for a century, the tide of affairs
has set in in waves : any extraordinary advance has always
been followed by a reflux. In vain is it bid * be still ;* for
it is one of the conditions, and perhaps means, if not of the
existence, at least of the progress of society — which, amidst
all its perturbations, moves steadily up and down on the
shores of time, under the dominion of a power that makes
nations advance or recede, and under laws which can only
be dUscovered by long, accurate, analysed observation. As
statistical science and education advance, the severity of
seasons of distress — whose general course can be calculated
— ^wUl be diminished by mutual aid, and provision will be
made in prosperity against their recurrence ; as the losses
of shipwreck, fiire, and life to society are mitigated by the
various kinda of insurance. Knowledge will baniah pania
-^NinihUepoH: Beg* Getk
MAIDENHOOD.
ILiiDSN with ths meek brown eyes.
In whoie orbs a shadow lies.
Like the dusk in evening skisi !
Thou, whose locks outshine the son,
Golden tresiss, wrsathedin one.
As the braided streamlets run I
Standing, with rdnotant feet.
Where the brook and river meet !
Womanhood and childhood fleet !
Gaxfng, with a timid ^anoe.
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse !
Deep and stUl, that ^ding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream I
Then, why pause with indecision.
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Bees the falcon's shadow fly ?
Hear'st thou voices on the shore.
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar ?
Oh, then child of many prayers!
Life hath quiok»nds— life hath snares:
Cars and age oome unawares I
Like the swell of some sweet tune.
Morn is risen into noon.
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough where siambered
Buds and blossoms many-numbered :
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows.
When the young heart overflows^
To embalm that tent of snowa
Bear a IQy in thy hand :
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth.
In thy heart the dew of youth.
On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh, that dew like balm shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal.
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart;
For a smile of .God thou art
»~L<n^l/Woufs Poems.
BOUD MILK I
We observe in the Bepertory of Patent Inventions for
January, that a Mr Felix Louis of Southwark has enrolled
a process for preserving cows* milk, goats* milk, and
muk, by converting the same into solid cakes or
which are soluble in warm water, and which may be kqii
for a long time without losing their original sweetoeas mnd
freshness. The entire process, if we understand arigbt the
terms of the speciflcation, consists in a little sweetening
by sugar, Station, evaporation, and pressure.
THE BEST FRIEND.
The most agreeable of all companions is a simple, frank
man, without any high pretensions to an oppressive great-
ness; one who loves life, and understands the use of it;
obliging alike at all hours; above all, of a golden temper,
and steadfast as an anchor. For such a one we gladly
exchange the greatest genius, the most brilliant wit^ ths
profoundest thmker. — Lesting.
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No. 269. New Series.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1849.
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I REACTION AGAINST PHILANTHROPY.
I Thihgs are not at present looking well for philanthropy.
The public is eyidently taming against many of the
Khemet for leosening eril and promoting good which
have oocnpied attention for some years past For this
we can see good reasons, and we do not entirely regret
tiie reaction ; bat it is desirable that the ebb-tide should
Dot go too far back, and it will be necessary that some
other measures be taken to fulfil the same purposes in
oar wcial economy.
The late philanthropic paroxysm was itself a reaction
from a preTioaa state of indifference. We are not old ;
yet we can recollect the time when prisons were fool
and unregulated, so as to form a real punishment both
to the criminal and the debtor ; when a group of human
bdogs was hanged every month or so for shoplifting,
forgery, and other secondary offences; when the con-
ditloQ of the Tery poor was little remarked, or only so
to be passed ower as a thing unayoidable, and not to be
helped or interfered with ; and when the idea of Night
Aayfaims, Houses of Refuge, and Ragged Schools, had
as yet visited no one*s dreams. The heart and stomach
of the public were then stout, and men in general were
able to endure the ills of their neighbours with tran-
quillity. By and by Mrs Fry began to see after prisons,
which in a httle time were converted into quiet, cleanly
workshops, where life had no drawback but only that
of being a little solitary. Mr Owen and Mr Brougham
raised an outcry about education, and soon the humbler
denizens c^ the community found themselves in circum-
stances to gratify contending philanthropists of superior
rank by allowing their children to go to school gratis.
Hamanity came into fashion ; everything like vengeful
ponishment was given up, because the public could not
stand it It was discovered to be a great and para-
Dioont duty of all who could take any care of them-
idfet, that they should also take care of all those
who could or would not — see to their being fed and
boosed, kept in clean flannels, well-swept hearthstones,
and honeysuckled doorways, provided with everything
which the honest poor of old times had been accus-
tomed to provide for themselves ; in short, the evcry-
body-do-for-every-body principle came to be the great
motto of modem society. This has raged its time, and
now we begin to see that the mass of crimte and misery
has not been lessened, but rather increased. It is
ihiewdly suspected that, in our anxiety to give succour,
we have only relieved from responsibility, so as to
propagate that which we had thought to repress.
Many now begin to think that, after all, our ances-
tors were not so far wrong as they once appeared in
demanding that every sound person should chiefly see
to his own subsistence and that of his offspring, and
in inflictnig the punishment of neglect, if not one of a
more positive kind, where this alleged duty was not
performed.
It must be admitted that the facts tend very much
to show that humanity may be carried to a point where
it defeats its own objects. During the forty years of
philanthropy, conmiitments for offences have increased
in their proportion to population sixfold. This cannot
be to more than a fractionary extent the result of in-
creased vigilance in the police, or of any similar cause.
Seeing that it has gone on hand in hand with a con-
tinual softening of the lot of criminals, one cannot but
think the two things in some degree connected as cause
and effect, more particularly as we frequently hear of
offences being committed directly for the purpose of
securing a retreat in the comforts of the jaiL One such
fact as that the prison accommodation of an English
county actually costs twenty-six pounds for each inmate
per annum, exclusive of the charge for food, is suffi-
ciently startling. Now the modern idea as to criminals
— ^reform rather than punish them — ^is highly amiable,
and entitled to honour, on account of the feelings from
which it springs ; but it may be a mistake, or it may
be impracticable, and if fully proved to be less effica-
cious than the other plan, society is entitled to give it
up. In our growing squeamishness, we have perhaps
come to ignore punishment too much. The Providence
which overrules all does not do sa It punishes im-
prudence and wickedness by disease and death every
hour of every day. What if stem measures are ulti-
mately the most humane after all ?
During the same period, the regulated expenditure
for the relief of poverty in all the various ways has
increased enormously ; and yet the number of beggars
has not been lessened ; neither has there been a dimi-
nution of the numbers of those poor people who, we
are told, pine unrelieved. On the contrary, human
patience is wom out with the importunities of ragged
men, women, and children, in the streets of every
large town ; and the meaner parts of each city are now
as much crammed with hopeless destitution as ever.
About fourteen years ago, one hundred and forty thou-
sand pounds was the outlay for the poor in Scotland
through the regular channels : now the expenditure in
the parishes is approaching half a million : there is a
vast increase of beneficence in other ways; and yet
there is more obtrusive mendicancy, and more obscure
unreached wretchedness, than formerly. It follows that
either society is going through a rapid course of demo-
ralisation from causes independent of poverty, or that
our late solicitude to take the burdens of individuals
upon the public shoulders has resulted in this demo-
ralisation, notwithstanding, it may be, an increase in
the general resources of the community.
Even granting that the latter inference is only matter
of suspicion, and not proved, all may well feel that it
114
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
forms a graye subject of deliberation. Each will pro-
bably baye his own feelings as to how far we are called
upon, by a regard for our fellow-creatures, to substitute
for this system of impulsiye philanthropy a policy, of
which the leading feature should be, that indiyiduals
must be taught to trust mainly to themseWes, their own
exertions, and their own yirtue, for what they require in
their mortal pilgrimage. The tendency is now certainly
towards this course, as if the errors of the past were
already too notorious to be denied. It is in such cir-
cumstances that we find ourselves called upon for a few
remarks.
First, then, it strikes us as but the simplest justice,
as well as the best policy, that abrupt transitions should
be avoided. If society has erred, and, by its error,
created a multitude of dependents, it is only the duty
of society to cut off this dependence with as little inflic-
tion of suffering as possible. It is, however, equally
clear that no such change can be brought about with-
out a very considerable amount of suffering ; and for
this let all be prepared. The poor will find themselves
as in the hands of the surgeon, and the * good souls '
who look on cannot expect to escape without a few
sympathetic twinges.
The grand means by which a more healthy system is
to be restored, is undoubtedly a change in the expres-
sions of popular opinion on the nature of society and its
obligations. For some years past, most popular writers
have strongly favoured such views as tend to make
the child of hurobte toil believe himself the accredited
nursling of society, instead of a being commissioned by
nature to take his place in the general scene of industry,
and employ his own faculties In providing for his own
necessities, owing no man anything but love. It will
now be necessary to look the primary law of nature in
the face, that he who will not work, must want — a rule
not at all interfering with the claim of humanity in
favour of those unable for work, or who in some par-
ticular exigency cannot obtain employment, but which
assuredly, in its general bearing, must be paramount -
to every other consideration. For what is the society
which is looked to as that which must do for every-
body, but only a cluster of persons who are obliged
to work for everything which they possess ? In what
predicament would this society be if every unit com-
posing it were, instead of working for himself, to ex-
pect that the rest should work for him ? In that case
it is easy to see that we should immediately be landed
in all the practical difficulties of a vicious circle. A
would be expecting B to help him, B would be look-
ing to G, while C again was resting in expectation of
aid ttom A and B. No one would be working, but all
would be idle expectancy, and meanwhile starvation
would be mining its appnMches. It is pure delusion to
talk of property being saddled with any obligation, be-
yond what is imposed by humanity and expediency, to
support the whole of those who may be, or who may re-
present themselves as being, in want ; because property
is open to every man, and is nothing but what may be
saved by self-denial out of the aggregate results of in-
dustry. It is not apt to occur to those who allow them-
selves to look for or partake of the public beneficence, to
what an extent they are a grievance and a discredit by
so doing. Under protection of the universal tenderness
towards meritorious and unavoidable poverty, they feel
as if there were no dishonour in their circumstances,
even while it is dear as mid-day that they might, by
fair exertion, raise themselves into independence. Un-
reflecting as they are on the subject, it is but the
tritest of facts, that the drain of the products of in-
dustry by the idle in all their various forms is a tre-
mendous drag upon the social machine, and a continual
cause of the production of fresh destitution — an evil
constantly re^odadng itsell No one can be entitled
to rank in equality with his fellow-creatures who, for
any but the most compelling of causes, adds himself to
this fatal burden. On the contrary, he ever must be a
legitimate subject ot contempt and reprobation to his
neighbours.
Not only Is it necessary for each to work, but eyen
the responsibility for finding employment must mainly
be left to the individual. On this point there has been
fully as much fallacy as on any other. In fact society
it DO more bound to find work for any of its members,
than to support any who will not work — humanity
being here, as in the other case, the only claim which
any one can have upon another. Were the opposite
principle to be adopted, what test should society have
that Uie individual had really been unable to obtain
work, or had not rejected a fitting employment on im-
proper grounds ? A noble shelter it would be, indeed,
for the indolent and the fastidious 1 How would it' suit
that the busy should have to seek for the work, while
the disengaged waited till it was found ? Let the com-
munity furnish work t And keep up national workshops
where half work was done, and done badly, In ruinous
competition with the independent industrious puraoing
the same trades. We have all seen what tliis principle
rosults in. No, no ; there is but one simple plan for
every unit of us — that he should get at something he can
do, and do it, no matter what it is, if only the best
thing he can do. Every aberration from this rule most
be fatal while human nature remains as It is.
It might be worthy of consideration how far the
recognised evils arising from failure of employment
might be romedied by a system resembling that which
supports Qreenwicli Hospital for the benefit of invalid
saUors ; namely, a regulated stoppage out of all wages
realised by operatives. We have no calculations on the
subiect ; but we have no doubt that a discount on pay,
such as would scarcely tell on any man's ordinary com-
forts while in full employment, would provide a fund
sufficient to succour all worthy persons accidentally
thrown out of work, as well as soften those periodical
failures of employment in large districts, and in parti-
cular branches of manufacture, which form so paioful a
feature of our present social condition. It appemra to
us that the state is as well entitled to come in and
enforce such a system, as it is to lay on any taxes
whatever for general objects. Situated as most work-
ing-men are, thus to give them even corapulsorily the
beneflta which the middle -classes derive from tiMir
reserves of capital, would be a real boon ; and, as anch,
it would probably come in time to be regarded by all
those possessing any reflection or endowed with the
spirit of independence. It is not to be contemplated as
a substitute for poor-rates. The impotent poor might
be provided for exactly as they aro at present, while, to
prevent all jealousy as to the relief of the middle-classes
from any part of their existing burdens, it might be
arranged that they should become contributora to the
National Fund for the Unemployed to the extent of the
present expenditure on behalf of able-bodied paupers.
By such plans, and by the never-failing humanity of
such a society as ours, it may be expected that, eren
under an ascertained necessity for reaction against the
present over-philanthropic schemes and movementa, no
monstrous outrage will be committed. Tet many com-
placent and self-indulgent illusions must be dispelled.
We must not expect it to b& wholly an affair of rose-
water. The case is not that of a gentleman with
money in his pockets going into a theatre to ba
amused, but that of a patient entering an hospital to
be subjected to medical and surgical treatment The
increasing tendencies to crime and pauperism are, to
all appearance, the exponente of fallacious systema.
The systems must needs be changed before the symp-
toms will abate. One great source of the evil seems
to be, our error as to the degree in which guilt and
misery can be banished fh)m the earth. For years
past, the public has acted as if it hoped to regulate
every impulse and dry every eye. Calm obsenration of
I '
J-
CHAMBERS'S EDmBURGH JOURNAL.
11
the materials we haTe to deal with shows this to be ira-
poasible. Hamao nature cannot be greatly changed in
one or two generations. Cirilisation has always been a
pUnt of slow growth. Most undoubtedly, then, it were
as vise to exf^ct hot water under cold ice, as to look for
i paradise in the present state of things. On the con-
trary, where there is so much temptation presented to
oatures so constituted, there will be much crime } and
while men still act by impulse, instead of reason, there
moit be much resulting sorrow. We must, then, how-
eter painful it may be, submit to the idea that there
vill be pain. We must consent to take the world as
Qod has gi^en it to us — a scene of mingled weal and
wo, where eren happiness only can exist in contrast
with its opposite, where want becomes the grand sti-
nnihis to the labours which create our enjoyments, and
sorrow the great purificator of our spirits, and that
which most eff^tually raises us abore and beyond this
limited and sordid scene.
MONTENEGRO.
Thb eastern shores of the Adriatic, and contiguous
iihflds, haTe been less explored by tourists than any
other portions of Europe ; and Mr Faton's wanderings
oonie before the public with a promise of novelty very
rare in these well-travelled times.* Although the pro-
miae, however, is redeemed, we cannot say that the
reailt is quite so interesting as we expected. After
deMsndiDg the Illyrian'Alps into Dalmatia (the main
nt^ect of the woric), and getting somewhat accus-
tomed to the difference of manners and costume, the
eoothnious catalogue of little-known, or altogether un-
known and unimportant names, becomes fatiguing. Nor
is this made up for by any ideas of magnitude or wealth ;
for the whole country numbers only 400,000 inhabitants,
ginng 113 per square mile; and the uncultivated land
(the greater proportion of which is incapable of culti-
vation) averages 80 per cent of the surface.
Bat the comparative want of interest is not charge-
able upon Mr Faton, who is an excellent scenic artist.
Nomerous bits of painting throughout the volumes will
bear a comparison with anything of the kind in recent
travels ; aihl whenever he has anything to tell that is
intelligible to the sympathies of his phlegmatic and
eichuive countrymen, he tells it with effect A trip
he makes, for instance, beyond the line he had pre-
scribed for himself, is full of interest, and, to most
readers, of novelty. The scene is the mountain on
which the extraordinary republic of Montenegro is
perchedf at one time an important flef of the Servian
empire^ with which it was, and is, completely identified
in Uood, language* and religion. To this part of the
work we shall devote our estclusive attention ; and
although Mr Paton was accidentally prevented from
enjoying more than a glimpse of the Montenegp'ines
tod their country, we shall be able to supply what is
wanted firom those Russian authorities to whom we
owe almost all that is known on the subject.
When the Turks became masters of Servia in the
fborteenth century, the Montenegrlnes were the only
nobles of the empire who preserved thejr Christian faith :
the mountain, whose fastnesses enabled them to secure
their independence, rising, * like Ararat, amid the over-
whelming floods of Islamism.' Eventually it sank into
the see of an archbishop, and was conquered by the
Turks under Soliman the Magnificent) which event
made eonverts to the faith of the prophet even on the
I * FnghUnds and Td«nds of the Adriatic, and the Southern Pro-
I Tineea of th« Austrian Empire. By A. A. Paton. 2 toIs. Chap-
aaBaodHaU. London. 1849.
u
mountain itself. These renegades, however, were afte
wards massacred, almost to a man, by one of the arc
bishops, in whose family the spiritual power, as well
predominating temporal influence, became hereditar
In the midst of a Mohammedan country which it defie
yet upon which it could make no impression, and nono
nally depending upon Russia, from which it receivi
no support, Montetiegro tiow sunk back into still dark
than feudal barbarism, and its existence was almG
forgotten in Europe. Then came the wars of Napoleo
which brought the mountaineers from their fastnesse
and then the treaty of Vienna, which declared tl
Adriatic province at the foot of the mountain a pa
of the Austrian dominions, but left the mountain itiM
an independent state, though acknowledging nominal!
as before, the supremacy of Russia.
So much for the benefit of those who were una
quainted with Montenegro. The mountain appea
almost to overhang the Austrian town of Cattaro on tl
Adriatic * At the extremity of the basin of Gatta
is situated the town, regularly fortified. A quay fron
the basin, and a plantation of poplars, rising with tl
masts of the vessels, under which the Bocchese, in the
almost Turkish costume, prosecuted their businei
produced a novelty of e^t which one seldom sees <
the beaten tracks of the tourist ; and looking down tl
basin which I had traversed yesterday evening, a clust
of villas with their red roofs are seen shining amoi
the thickly-planted gardens that cover the promontoi
stretching into the water. If we pass from the fro
to the back of tlie town, the rocks rise up perpendic
larly behind the last street; so that the traveller, stan
ing in the piazza In front of the church, is obliged
strain his neck in looking up to the battlements of tl
fort that surmounts the place.'
Mr Paton having determined to gratify his curiosit
put himself under the escort of a Dalmatian Duga
Dalgetty, with whom he began the ascent of the mou
tain. *The shaggy brown mare of the trooper w
caparisoned in the Turkish way, with a high cantl
cloth saddle, and a silver chain forming part of tl
bridle. Instead of the long Oriental robes of yesterda
in which I was introduced to him, he wore a she
crimson jacket, lined with sable, a silver-hilted swoi
being hung from his shoulder; while our attendan
carried long Albanian rifles, their small buts coven
with mother-of-pearl, and the men with coarse frie
dresses, tattered sandals, weather-beaten faces, and lot
uncombed locks falling over their necks.* The Yell
bitch, called the ladder-road of Cattaro, leads along
face of rock 4000 feet high, and * verv little out of tl
perpendicular. There could not be less than fifty zi
zags, one over the other, and, seen from above, the roi
looks like a coil of ropes. As we passed one tower
the fortress after another, the whole region of Catta
was seen as fhim a balloon ; the ships were visible on
by their decks; and I do not overstrain descriptl
when I say that, arrived at the top, although we we
very little out of the perpendicular above Cattaro, tl
human figures on the bright yellow gravelled quay we
such faint black specks, that the naked eye could scar
perceive them ; so that the independence of Monteneg
ceases to be a riddle to whomsoever ascends this rofl
When standing on the quay of Cattaro, how high ai
gloom-engendering seem those mountains on the oth
side of the gulf, as seen from below ! I now look dov
Upon their crests, and dilate sight and sense by castii
my eyes beyond them upon the wide blue sheet of t
Adriatic, the height of the line where sky meets s
showing how loftily I am placed.'
On arriving at the top of the ladder, he was in Mo
tenegro, and after crossing a desert plateau, and su
mounting another ridge, looked down into *a sort
punch-bowl, the bottom of which was a perfectly lei
circular plain of rich, carefully-cultivated land, an oai
in this wilderness of rocks. . . . Here all the inhabitan
had clothes of frieze, resembling closely those of Bi
garia ; but instead of the woolly caps, many of them wo
lic
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
black skuU-capi, and wide troaaen and tights from the
knee to the ankle ; those who lounged about having a
atrookah^ which is like the Turkish cloak, but of a dirty
white colour, and the pile inwards so long, coarse, and
shaggy, as to be like the fleece of a sheep. The necks
and breasts of the men were bare, and all wore miserable
sandals. Each male wore arms, the waist-belt, like that
of an Albanian, showing a bundle of pistols and dirks,
which brought to mind the old heraldic motto, ** Aye
ready 1 " So predominant, indeed, is the idea of the sol-
dier over that of the citizen, that even when a child is
baptised, pistols are put to the infant's mouth to kiss,
and then laid in the cradle beside him ; and one of the
favourite toasts drunk on the occasion is, **May he
never die in his bed I *' The dress of the women was of
dirty white doth ; and in cut, its family likeness to the
old costume of Servia is recognisable ; but the details
are coarser, and show a poorer and more barbarous
people.*
On entering one of the cottages, thvough a whirlwind
of smoke issuing by the door, its only path of egress,
he SAW that it was divided into three compartments,
separated by rude basketwork — one for the family, one
for cattle, and one for sheep. ' lake the Noah's Ark or
Nativity of the older Flemish painters, a sunbeam
darted through a hole on smoked ri^fters and an old
chest, and the cattle were seen in the dim depths of the
recess.
* We now remounted, and began the ascent of the last
crest of the chain ; every scrap of earth preserved in the
hiU-side being carefully cleared of stones, and fenced
round. Higher up was a wood, having, lUce the inha-
bitants, all the signs of the niggardly penury of nature :
soon every trace of vegetation ceased, the road was a
faint track in the rocks, and an eagle, screaming from
cliff to cliff, was the only object that invaded the mono-
tony of our way ; but on gaining the spot where the
waters parted, Uie prospect that spread out before us
seemed boundless.' Such is the salubrity of the climate
here, that the French resident mentions having *met
with a man who had lived to see the sixth generation
of his family; the old man himself being 117 years of
age; his son 100; his grandson nearly 82; his great-
grandson had attained his 60th year; the son of the
latter was 43; his son 21 ; and his grandchild 2 years
of age.*
Cetigne, the capital of this extraordinary territory,
he describes as being rather a fortified convent, sur-
rounded by scattered houses, than a town ; but there is
a large govemmeilt-house, styled the Archiepiscopal
Palace, and an inn uniting the characters of a European
hotel and an Asiatic khan. The vladika, or archbishop,
was absent at the time ; but our traveller was shown
by the archimandrite the convent, containing a school-
room, where thirty-two boys were at work on the ele-
ments of knowledge. ' All the other parts of the estab-
lishment are of the most primitive kind; a cireular
space for thrashing com, of the exact circumference of
the great bell of Moscow ; beehives of hollowed trunks
of trees, and every thmg betokening such a state of
manners as might have existed in our own country in
feudal times. An old wooden door on the ground-floor
met our view, being the stable of the vladika, containing
a milk-white Arab, presented to him by the pacha of
Bosnia ; a new iron door beside it was that of the powder
magazine; an imprudent position, for if the convent took
fire from above, an explosion, such as would level tiie
whole edifice, would be the infallible result. ... A hun-
dred yards off is the new Government-House, built by
the present vladika; and going thither, we found a
biUiard-room, to combine pleasure and business, in
which the senate was then sitting. The broker of the
vladika was seated at the upper end of the room on a
black leather easy-chair, smc^mg a pipe. A large por-
trait of Peter the Great in oil, a smaller one of Kara
George, and prints of Byron and Napoleon, hung fh)m
the waJls. There was no bar, as in the Houses of Lords
and Commons ; but a billiard-table, on which the vladika
is said to be a first-rate performer, separated the upper
from the lower end of the apartment. A senate of
course ought not to be without the ushers of the black
and white rod : I accordingly saw in a comer s bundle
of these insignia ; but on observing their ends marked
with chalk, I concluded that they belonged to the bil-
liard establishment An appeal case was going on, and
a gigantic broad-shouldered man, with bis belt full of
pistols, was pleading his cause with great animstioii.
It appeared that he was a priest; that his parishionen
owed him each ten okas of grain per annum, but thia
year could not pay him ; and the president decided that
he should remit as much as possible on the score of the
bad times, but that he shoiUd keep an account, and be
repiud at a more prosperous season. The senators sat
all round Uie room, each man being armed, and the
discussions often extremely vociferous. There are no
written laws in Montenegro, and tliere is no venality, as
in the Turkish courts of justice ; but they lean some-
what to the side of the most warlike litigant, so that it
may be said that club-law has not yet ceased.'
This spirit is kept up by the petty wiirfare which still
goes on on the borders of the Lake of Scutari, where
bands of forty or fifty Montenegrines descend every
now and then to ' lift* the cattle of the Moslem. ' It
never strikes the Montenegrine that this is immoral,
the shedding of the blood of a Moslem being in his eyes
not only lawful, but laudable ; and a mother will often
reproach her laggard son by contrasting his remaining
at home with their father, who killed such and sach a
number of Turks. The result of this is, that all the
debateable land is cultivated by men armed to the teeUi.
. . . But robberies or theft within the Montenegrine
territory are rare. When an execution does take place,
it has all the singularity of the rest of their manners.
Representatives of all the forty tribes assemble with
loaded guns, and the criminal, with his hands bound
behind him, has a short space to run, when all fire upon
him, and he is generally despatched ; but instsbces have
been known of his getting off with a wound.'
It is not surprising that in such a country the /er
talionis should be the law of the land. Feuds are handed
down from generation to generation, between families,
vUlages, and even branches of the same family. * To
rem^y the evil, courts of compensation were called,
and the blood redeemed with money ; but this was a
very solemn affair, and a hundred and thirty *two dacats,
four Austrian zwanzigers, and a Turkish parah, or about
sixty pounds sterling, was the ransom for a death, and
about half that sum for an eye and a limb. The cere-
monies of reconciliation were very curious. The judge
was always a stranger, generally a priest ; and the ex-
penses of the court being settied beforehand, the judge
took all the arms from the parties, and never returned
them until all claims were settled. In the case of feuds
of families, the murderer presented himself on his knees,
with the pistol or other arms hung round his neck, and
begged piudon in the name of God and St John. If the
avenging partv raised him, and embraced him, he was
pardoned ; and sometimes the avenging relations stood
godfather for the child of the offender. At each treaty of
peace the Turkish parah was cut in two, and tied to the
written treaty ; and an entertainment, at the expense
of the offender, closed the feud. Even in the Austrian
territory amusing arrears of insult or iAJury were
brought up for settlement; and in spite of Austrian
laws, these courts of reconciliation were held, until
lately, in the cirole of Cattaro, quite independently of
Austrian local authority. In the territory of the Pas-
trovich, a savage tribe in Austrian Albania, one village
demanded of another fifty ducats for an insult that one
of their women had received from some Venetian acA-
diers, in the time of that republic, through the supine-
ness or pusillanimity of the village in question ; and an
old man of seventy being referred to, related that he
had heard the matter stated in his youth ; but how the
dispute was settled does not appear.*
The present government of Montenegro, however.
) I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
117
according to M. Broniewski, one of the Russian authors
we have alluded to, has efibcted something. The com-
monities still refuse to deliyer up a murderer, but they
permit tlie burning down of his house and confiscation
of his cattle. The sentence is executed by the chiefs
of Tillages, who divide the spoil among them ; and the
criminal, thus deprived of home and property, betakes
himaelf to some distant cayem, and becomes a robber.
On the rare occasion when an execution takes place, no
oae penon can officiate, or he would expose himself to
tbe vengeance of the family ; but-T-as it happened in
1836, when two malefactors were to be put to death at
Cetigne — several hundred persons ftom different dis-
tricts fire their rifles at once upon the condemned. In
tbe case alluded to, one of the men was killed, and the
other only wounded ; but the latter was considered to
hsTe paid the penalty of the law as well as the former,
and be was cured of his wounds, and set free,
' A Montenegrine^' says M. Broniewski, * is always
anned, and carries about, during his most peaceful
oocqntion, a lifle, pistols, a yatagan, and a cartouch-
box. The Montenegrines spend their leisure time in
firing at a target, and are accustomed to this exercise
from their boyish years. Their very games and amuse-
nats bear the stamp of a military character, and they
are sdmttted by all to be most skilful shots. Being
iflored to hardships and privations, they perform, with-
out fatigue, and in high spirits, very long and foroed
mardies. They leap over wide ditches, supporting
tiiemselves on their long rifles, and pass over precipices
where bridges would be absolutely requisite for every
other kind of troops, and they climb the steepest rocks
with great facility $ they also bear with the greatest
patience hunger, thirst, and every kind of privation.
. . . When ^ enemy is in great force, they bum
their villages, devastate their fields, and, after having
entioed him into the mountains, they surround him,
and attack him in a most desperate manner. . . . When,
St the attack of Clobuck, a little detachment of our
troops was obliged to retreat, an officer of stout make,
sad no longer young, fell on the ground from exhaustion.
A Monten^rine perceiving it, ran immediately to him,
and having drawn his yatagan, said, ** Tou are very
brave, and must wish that I should cut off your head.
Say a prayer, and make the sign of the cross." The
officer, horrified at the proposition, made an effort to
rise, and rejdned his comrades with the assistance of
the friendly Montenegrine. . . . Arms, a small loaf of
bread, a cheese, some garlic, a little brandy, an old gar-
ment, and two pair of sandals made of raw hide, form
bH the equipage of the Montenegrines. On their march
they do not seek any shelter from rain or cold. In
rainy weatlier the Montenegrine wraps his head with
tbeifinKMbA (a shawl of coarse cloth), lies down on the
groood where he stood, and putting his rifle under him,
sleeps very comfortably.* On visiting one of the vil-
Isgei, * a young woman (tRe youngest daughter-in-law
of the family) entered tiie room with a wooden bowl
filled with water; she bowed with great timidity; kissed
the hem of my garment and the hand of my sailor, who
jmiped up at this mark of respect ; she then pulled off
mj boots, examined them with great curiosity, took off
my stockings, and washed my feet, as well as those of my
nulor. After this the Kniaz proposed to me the Pascha
(Easter cake), and all the family gave me and my com-
psaion the Eastern salutation. After this, water was
presented to wash our hands, a candle was lighted
More ihe images, prayers were said, and supper, con-
listing of a boiled fowl and smoked mutton, was brought
the master of the house alone sat down with us at
tthle^ the children served, and several persons who had
entered Uie room stood looking at us and talking.' The
oext morning he was obliged to visit at least twenty
ttmilies, and take food, or at least taste it, with each of
them. * On entering, as well as on leaving each house,
I vas obliged to kiss every member of the famUy ; and
whenever I gave a child a little lump of sugar, I was
kissed again by every one in the house. At last, after
«
having kissed the whole village several times over and
over, my mule was brought, and I mounted it, accom-
panied by loud wishes for a happy voyage, and amidst
firing of muskets. My sailor was made so drunk, that
it was necessary to stretch him across the donkey. I
must not forget that, in passing from one house to
another, I was formally delivered from one's hands into
others, like a chattel, with an injunction to keep me as
the apple of their eye.'
The history of a curious imposture practised upon
this primitive people is given by Mr Paton, and it
exemplifies in a striking manner their attachment to
their nominal superior the czar. In the year 1760, an
Austrian soldier of the name of Stephen Mali, a young
man of lazy habits, and otherwise bad character, deserted
the service, and made his way to Montenegro,^where he
became servant to a sort of doctor. Stephen soon
tired of his new employment ; and hearing on all sides
the story of Peter the Great living at Saardam as a
shipwright, it inspired him with the idea of becoming a
great man himself. He told his master — who had formed
a high opinion of him — that he himself was Peter; and
that, desiring to see with his own eyes a little more of
the world before returning home, he had come to visit
his friends the Montenegrines incog. The good doctor
believed every word of the story, and falling down upon
his knees, kissed the hand of the czar ; and soon it was
current in the Mountain that the Great Peter was
among them. He was treated according to his assumed
rank, and soon acquired so much influence, that his
authority became greater than that of the archbishop,
at that time an old and infirm man. What made his
fortune, however, was the hostility of the Turkish offi-
cials. They pronounced him to be an impostor, and
from that moment every man in the Mountain believed
him to be the true czar. * At last the court of Russia,
to undeceive the people, sent Prince Dolgorouki to
Montenegro, properly accredited to the archbishop, who'
assembled all the people, and declared him to be an
impostor. Stephen was therefore placed under arrest,
and taken to the upper floor of the convent The door
being left open, he sat in a comer, while liis old ad-
mirers still thronged in and conversed with him ; tbe
archbishop and Dolgorouki, on the ground-floor, think-
ing the whole business about to be concluded. But
Stephen's resources were not at an end. Calling one of
the most influential men, to speak a few woi^s with
him in private, he said, ** There is the key of my box ;
go to the convent of Sermnitza, open it and take the
money in it Leave Montenegro immediately, and go
to Russia ; and after telling my faithful people how I
have been betrayed by my own subject bring back the
principid men of the empire to deliver me from Dolgo-
rouki, who, you see, traitor though he be, lodges me over
his head, and does not dare to put me below him." The
consequence was, that Dolgorouki left the Mountain
branded as an impostor, and Stephen, once more a great
man, assured everybody that the Paschalics of Scutari
and Ipek were the righteous appendages of Monte-
negro.'
Stephen, in fact was so clever a fellow, that although
he wanted physical courage, a quality so much prized
in Montenegro, it is hard to say when the farce would
have ended, had not the pacha of Scutari hastened the
dSnouemefU by employing the dagger of an assassin.
'The rule of Stephen lasted between three and four
years, and ought to find a place in every book of popu-
lar delusions and impostures. It is evident that with
good education, a good position, and, abote all, with
common honesty, Stephen would have been a historical
character. His knowledge of human nature in its
strength and weakness must have been prodigious;
and lUce Hakem, the mad caliph of Cairo, he kept so
strict an observance of the laws of meum and futim, that
a sum of money placed on the public road would remain
there untouched and unstolen.'
We must now take leave of Mr Paton, only saying
from the other authority, that the scene of these curious
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
eyenU is b territoiy Bbout liity Engliih milei by
thitcy-flis. conUiniDg lomewhst more tban one hun-
dred *ilUffei, the lugett with a population of about
1000. Montenegro can tlwtjt lend into tbe field
15.000 armed nen i bat tvice tbe number may be
railed for tile defence of the cooatr; .
BOATSWAIN.
WiTBtNthe preducti of WindiorCaitle there ii atmall
marble monomeat, oo which maf be read tbe fbllowiiig
inactiptioD :—
Some few particuUn regarjing thii remarkable dog,
whn, though unknown to fame, bare do inconaiderable
part to t)ie hUtory of hu day, may ni
Boatiirain waa bora in Newfbondlaiid. aa hia epitaph
seU forth, in tbe month of May 1801. lie iraa bronght
to England, while still a pup, by Captain Philipg of the
Royal Nary, who undertook the charge of hi« early
nurtare and education. The pupil quickly rewarded hia
muter'a care by the rapid development of hia aupe-
rior qualitie*. At two yean old. Boatswain waa the
flneat animal of hii breed that wm anywhere to be met
with : hia coat wai of an iron-gray colour, ipotled with
tan ', he had a majeatic head, eyea full of fire, and yet of
gentleneaa, and a broad well-formed tall, which seemed
to be continually in movement. To all this it mast be
added that he was generons, brave, and disinterested —
in fact, possessed of all the rirtues which are enumerated
in his epitapli. It will therefore be readily understood
that Captsio Pbilipi's dog soon became a nnirersal
faronrite, and it was not long before his fame reached
the ears of the Prince of Wales, who laughingly offered
promotion to the captain if he would make him a pre-
sent of his dog. Philips was much vexed, but replied,
as in duty bound, that he would be only too liappy to
have it in his power to contribute in anyway to the
pleasure of his Royal Highness. In the course of two
days after this coDTersaUnn, Boatawain was transferred
to Windsor, where an elegant little paTilion, ia tbe
Chinese style, wae constructed expreuly for hie use.
Up to the year IBO*. Boataw^n contented himself
with basking in the sunshine of courtly ease. AC this
period, howerer, be began to bear a part in the politics
of the day, England was on the point of a rupture
with France, and the ministry were wtrf desirous of
•eauriDg, without further delay, the co-operation of the
northern powera. Matters had not, bowerer, at yet
been bronght deflnitireiy to a point At this period
the diplomatic body were one day invited to share the
courtly hospitality of Carlton House ; and they had not
wars then on foot. At a little distance stood one of
tbe envoys from the French court, a skilful diploma-
tist, who enjoyed the nnboanded confidence of the
First Consul. Tbe prince was seeking, with all that
graceful and winning eloquence which he mo well knew
how to employ, to convince the ambassador of the
advantagea whiob would accrue to all parties from the
great northern powen uniting with England in an i
offensive and defensive alliahoe. The ambaaaador, still I
unconvinced, made only erasive replies to all tbe trga- \
menti employed by hia royal host; and feeling himself i
somewhat hard pressed, was not a little relieved when j
BoatswaiD,who was often on these occasions a favonrcd |
guest, came booadiog joyously into the room.
' What a' noble animal I ' exclaimed the P unbaa-
'Tea,' replied the prince, 'he ia a fine fellow, and
well trained into the bargaio. He ia a flrst-rate fetcher I
and carrier, as I will prove to you directly.'
Boatawain was standing by the aide of the French '
envoy, and aeemed to be chewing •omeChing between
hi* teeth.
' Here, Boatswain r exclaimed the prince. Tbe dog
advanoed towards him, and with an inimitable grace '
peculiar to bimaelf, presented him an open letter. ' This
ia doubtleaa some stray paper which he has picked up |
in my study,' said the prince, taking it from tbe I
animal, and glancing hastily at its conteota. It was I
addressed to the French envoy, and contained only j
theie few words : — 1 1
' Sib — I am writing to my ambassador, as veQ aa to |
yourself, this matter being ooe of the utmost impiwt- ,1
ance. Any rapprochemenl between the court of St i|
Jamea't and the r ambassador mast lie prevented, '
no matter at what coat. Tile latter is a man of a nar-
row and aelf-sufflcient mind : you will not find it very
difBcult to influence him.
BoNAFiBTC, FirtI CoKnl.'
When hia Boyal Highness had perused this document, I
he turned toward* the ambaaaador, and said with a amile, i
' Boatswain made a yet happier diacovery thnn I had |
anticipated— he baa brought to Ught something which
concerns your eiceQency.' i
' Me !' exclaimed the diplomatist
' Yes : read this, and judge for yourself.'
The ambassador read as he was desired, and the First
Consul's letter effected more in one moment than the '
prince's eloquence in an liour. From this day fiirward
t)Te irritated dsplomatiat became the most ardent par- i
titan of war, and his despatches to his own government I
decided tbe king of F in favour of the coalition.
Such was the first ^t of Boatswain's political career. ,
which hsd its ahare in producing one of the bloodiest i
wars that has desolated Europe. He, in the meanwhile,
all unconscious of tlie part he bore in these great events, ]
lost nothing of the original simplicity and modesty of
his character ; and indeed it must be confeiied that ,
not long after this, hia reputation, subject to the miita- '
bility of all liuman afTairs, licgan sumcwhat to diminish
in the world. The prince's pssaiun for dogs became
merged in one for horses, and he made a preienC of his ,
old favourite to the well-known Beau Drumni,;lL He
sold it for three huodred guineas to the Duke of Rich- ,
mond. the duke for two hundred to the Marquis of j
Argj'le, the marquis for a hundred and fifty to Viicuunt 'I
Hereford, and the viscount for ninety to Lord Rota. It ,
waa evident that Boatswain was no lunger held in duo
latiun. At last, however, he was so fortunate as
id a master who was worthy of him. Lord Ross
him to a phyeidan, who was also a fellow of the .
1 Society. Tliis new owner happened to be one of '
original men who hold animals in higher esteem i
they do their fellow-crealnres in general. He
quently attached himself warmly to Boatswain,
who iiiUy retumed his afiection. Before long, our
joMil eoaght permiMiDQ to viiit f^nce, a penniMion at
tlut time accorded otdy to literary men ; for Bonaparte,
with all bis foultt, never made war against science.
Xot latisfled with this concession, tlie doctor also
loo^t and obtained an interview with the Emperor at
Sc Cload. Napoleon received his guest at his breakfast
table, and as he sipped his cap of chocolate, discussed
divers acientific subjects, until their conversation was
interrupted by a low and long*oontinued moaning at the
door. Bonaparte rose to see from whence this noise
proceeded.
' Sire,' replied the doctor, who was, as we have said,
an original, * it is only one of my friends who is at the
dijor; and as he is seldom absent from my side, he is
ooffiplaining after his own fkshion/
* Well,' replied the Emperor graciously, ' I shall be
cbsniMd at having the pleasure of making your Mend's
acqasiDtaaoe.'
The door waa accordingly opened, and Boatswain,
with a thousand gambols, lK)unded towards his master ;
bat, as iU-lnck would have it, in his joyous career he
OTerKt a splendid vase of Sevres china, and shattered
it to atoms. The agonised tavant seized a chair, and
ms about to fling it at the dog, when Napoleon calmly
arretted him, saying, ' Sir, the vote can easily be re-
plied, bat such a dog as this it would be hard to match ;
I most therefore plead for his forgiveness.'
The doctor did not require to be asked a second time
to pardon his favourite ; and Boatswain, who seemed
perfectly well aware of all that had passed, turned
tovarda his protector with a sparkling and grateful eye.
Bonaparte patted hu head, and said, turning towards
the doctor, * It is not often that men are as grateful.
What a pity it is that this dumb animal has not as
good a memory as they ?'
*Bife,' replied the Englishman, * Boatswain $eUom
Ibrgets an in^wy^ and never a kindness*
'Ah!' said Napoleon sadly; * is it so? Then, sir,
thanks to you, this day has not been lost' Boatswain
wagged his tail, as if to certify to the Emperor that he
was not miataken.
Thus terminated the audience. The doctor returned
to his island home : Bonaparte went forth at the head
of his victorious armies ; but soon was he destined to
be arreiteu iu his triumphant career. In 1814, as is
well known, be was precipitated from the imperial
tiirone, and banished to the sea-girt prison of the island
ofElba.
In the meantime our friend Boatswain was growing
old in one of the suburbs of London. His master, the
tamnL was dead, and the faithful animal had passed,
with the rest of his property, into the hands of his heir.
It is said thai his faculties were beginning to fail him,
and he led the quiet contemplative life of a philosopher,
who has Been much, reflected much, and come to the con-
chiiion that tbe less we try to meddle with the govern-
ment of the world, the better it is likely to be, both as
ooooems ourselves and others.
His quondam protector. Napoleon Bonaparte, was,
unfortanately, not of the same opinion. In his retreat,
he was busily engaged in planning the means of re-
eoteriog France, and meditating over new campaigns ;
though few who witnessed the care with which he
•ttended to the government of his miniature kingdom,
and the general easy insouciance of his demeanour, could
have iupposed him to be labouring with such vast
designs. In one of his rambles on the shore during this
anxious interval, he encountered some of the officers of
an English man-of>war, which was lying off the island.
They requested from one of his suite the honour of
lining preaented to the Emperor — a request readily
•eceded to. A circle was quickly formed, the captain
iujprovised an address, to which Bonaparte was com-
iD^ucing a courteous reply, when suddenly an enormous
dog, dashing into the midst of the group, came bound-
ing towards the Emperor, and with every demonstra-
tioB of Joy, laid himself at his feet.
* Down, Boatswain, downl' exclaimed the captain,
looking much discomposed.
On hearing the name of Boatswain, Bonaparte smiled,
and turning to the young man, whilst with one hand
he caressed the noble animal, he said, * May I ask who
gave you this dog?'
* Sire, he belonged to my father.'
* You are then the son of Dr M ?'
* Yes, sire,* replied the captain with a bow.
' I am delighted to hear it, sir, both for your sake and
mine. It has also procured me the pleasure of seeing
once more an old prot^g^ of mine, whom I recognise
by his gratitude as well as by his name.' He then nar-
rated to the officer the adventure at 6t Cloud.
On the day succeeding this rencontre, there was a
grand ball at Porto -Ferrajo. All the guests were
already assembled ; they were only awaiting the Empe-
ror. But few amongst them were aware that at that
moment Bonaparte, profiting by the darkness of the
night, was marching towards the port at the head of
his grenadiers. * We are going to France!' whispered
the veterans one to another, as they marched onwards
amidst the distant rolling of the storm. Towards the
sea the sky was illuminated from time to time by a
vivid flash of lightning, which seemed to point out to
the exiled soldiers their only pathway towards that
home which they loved so well Already the little
band had reached the shore, when suddenly a tumult
was heard amongst the advanced guard.
The Emperor inquired the cause.
* Bire, it is an Englishman, who has just been arrested
on suspicion of being a spy. The soldiers were with
difficulty restrained from massacring him on the spot'
Napoleon immediately gave orders that the prisoner
should be strictly guarded, and brought on board ship
with them, in order that he might not give the alarm.
They now commenced the embarkation, to accomplish
which, each was obliged to pass into the boats over a
long plank. In doing this, Bonaparte lost his equili-
brium, and fell into the sea, which at that spot was
already very deep. From the darkness of the night,
and in the confusion of the moment, his disappearance
was not perceived. Farewell to the double revc^ution
of the Hundred Days ! — farewell to the battle of Water-
loo ! — to the tragedy of St Helena! It seemed as if the
warrior's career was now about to close for ever. But
that Providence, which often accomplishes great ends
by trivial means, had ordered it otherwise. Swifter
than lightning, a dark bodv was seen to plunge into the
water, and after diving three times, to reappear with
the body of Napoleon! It was Boatswain, who was
acquitting himself of the debt he had contracted at St
Cloud!
When they reached the ship, the Emperor changed
his clothes ; and on mounting to the deck, quickly re-
cognised in the prisoner Captain M , his acquaint-
ance of the preceding dav.
*Ah! is it you, sir? exclaimed Bonaparte with a
smile. * It seems that you are in the habit of taking
very early walks?'
* Sire,' replied the prisoner, * I was waiting for my
boat to return to my ship, and imagined every one else
was at the ball ; but it seems to me that I have been
taken prisoner without any declaration of war.'
*It IS an English habit,' replied the Emperor, still
smiling. ' But where is my friend Boatswain ?'
*He has been shut up, sire, lest his familiarities
should prove troublesome to you.'
* Would to Heaven,' said Napoleon with a sigh, ' that
all my friends resembled him I But ^ propos, sir, does
this arrest inconvenience you much?'
' It does indeed most seriously : 1 was just about to
set sail for England.'
'Well, then, we will give you a passage thither
gratis through France ; perhaps I may even have the
honour of conducting you myself to London I '
How this brief dream of glory ended is well known to
alL As for Boatswain, the real hero of our story, he
• I ■■
120
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
l!
I
I
I
wit brooglit iMck in lafety to England, and died not
long after in hit old abode in Windsor Park, where he
had been i«inttated by order of the Prince Regent, who
canted the abore eintai^ to be engraren on hit tomb.
THE VEGETABLE COLONISATION OF THE
BRITISH ISLES.
FROM THC FUUVCH OF M. CHARLES MARTINS.
The qnettion at to plantt, whether each tpeciet origi-
natet where we now tee it exitting, or whether there
are certain oentret whence yegetablet are radiated over
the earth't tnrfaoe, will prolMibly long divide the opi-
niont of philotophical naturaUttt. Some contend that
tpectes are actiuUly natiye to the regiont where they
are found flomithing, while others admit of great rege-
table migrations analogont to thote of the human race.
Long tince, botanittt remarked that certain islands
hare a flora which is peculiar to them, while others do
not present a single plant which is not also found on
the adjoining continent The British islands are in this
latter position ; but we shall not limit ourselves to the
study of their vegetation, but endeavour to pursue the
vegetable migrations Uirough that series of archipe-
lagos, idands, and islets whS^, under the names of the
Orkneys, the Shetland and Faroe Islands, and of Ice-
land, form the only chain which unites Central Europe
with Northern America.
In studying the botanical geography of the British
islands, we may tske for our guides die excellent works
of Mr Hewett Watson and Mr Edward Forbes ; both
having carefiilly explored their country, the former at a
botanist, the latter at a zoologitt and gedogitt One
important leading fact tumt up the general results at
which these philotophert have arrived; namely, that
the Britith itlet do nU present a single plant that is pecu-
liar to thea^t and which cannot alM> he found in conti-
nental Europe ; but the variout plantt found on these
itlandt do not sdl oome from the same regions. We
shall endeavour to enumerate the various vegetable
migrations which, according to these observers, have
tncoettivdy colonited Britain :—
TTie Astirian Type, — On account of the mildnett of
itt wintert, Ireland ofGsrt to our notice the remains of
a Spanith Flora. There are found in its south-west
dittricU twdve plants which came originally from the
Attnriaa, and which are the latt repretentativet of a
colony whose ttarting-point was the north of Spain.
The ArmorkoM Type, — The south-west of England
and the tonth-eatt of Ireland exhibit a vegetation
wboee analogr to that of Brittany and Normandy hat
long excited the attention of botanittt. Many touthem
riet are found along the wettem coattt of France,
the locnating rigour of the climate arrettt their
mignitioD northwardt; a certain number ttiU exitting,
in oooteqococe of the mildnett of the winter, on the
pffltftfffU, tt the extremity of which Cherbourg it
placed. Then ^«iitt have tpread to the coattt of De-
von and Comwau, and fabiiogfrom thence the opposite
thoiet of Ireland, have become natnralited in the coun-
ties of Cork and Waterford.
Boreal Type.—1\» mountaint of ScotUnd, Cumber-
land, and Walet pretent to the botanist quite a pecu-
liar vegetation, and one in every way different from
that of the plaint of England. Analogout to that of
SwitzerUnd, it oflfert a ttill more ttriking retemblance
to the Flora of Lapland, Iceland, and Greenland. The
greater number of plantt which are found on the tum-
mitt of the mountaint of Scotland, vegetate at the level
of the tea in the itlet of the Northern Ocean.
Gemuinic 7>;9e.— Thit it the prevalent and funda-
mental one of England, which, onginating in the north
at France and Germany, hat in the lapse of aget become
to predominant, that mott English botanists designate
it as the British type. A certain number of the pUnts
found on the English side of St George's Channel have
never crossed it, and are unknown in Ireland. So, too,
certain animals, much diil\ised in Germany, seem con-
fined in England to those regions wherein the Germanic
Flora exclusively prevails. Thus the hare, squirrel,
dormouse, polecat, and mole, are not native to Ireland.
Only five species of reptile are found in that island,
while eleven exist in England, and twenty-six in Bel-
gium, Uie starting-point of the Germanic migration.
Certain living moUusca are distributed in like manner.
The marine plants and animals of the British isles
follow the same laws of distribution as govern that
of the terrestrial Flora and Fauna. Certain kinds of
algffi, peculiar to southern seas, are found only on the
western shores of England ; and certain species of fish
are there taken whidi never pass the Pas de Calais
(Straits of Dover) — the Neptunian repretentativet of
the Aiturian and Armorican typet. «fust so, too, the
herring, cod, and whiting abound only in the North
Sea, fdong the eastern coasts, where the Germanic
type of vegetation prevails. Lastly, the large oetaoeoos
tribes (whales, &c.), even in the depths of the ocean,
seem to observe the ideal boundary which separates
the boreal vegetation of Scotland and England from the
more touthem Floras of Cornwall and the south of
Ireland.
Up to the present time, naturalists had teen in this
regional dis^bntion of living beings only a natural
consequence of the all-powerfol influences of soil and
climate. It first occurred to Mr Edward Forbes that
this explanation was insufilcient He believed he re-
cognised in it vestiges of a state of things no Umger
enduring, proofs of the existence of hotter or cMa
climates than now prevail, and indications of a con-
figuraUon of land and sea, of which the depths of the
ocean conceal the traces. The twelve Asturian plants
found on the south-west of Ireland are, in hit opinion,
the remains of the most ancient vegetable colony of
the British islands. The distance of their ocmtinenttl
origin, the vatt gulf which now teparatet them from
the mother country, the difference of climatet, and the
small number of surviving species, all announce an
ancient origin, and an order m things quite different
from that which now prevails. A sea once covered a
large portion of the south of Europe and the north of
Africa, as is proved by the numerous and id^iticsl
fossil shells found at numberless points, from the isles
of Greece to the south of France. According to Mr
Forbes, the upheaval of the bed of this ocean, whtdi
constitutes the latest tertiary deposits, gave rise to a
vast continent, comprising Spain, Ireland, a part of the
north of Africa, the Azores, and the Canaries. He
furtlier refers the appearance of the Armorican type,
connected as it is with a mild temperature, to the period
when this continent existed.
The submersion of this continent was followed by a
period during which a far lower temperature prevaited,
and during which the migration of arctic i^ants, now
found only in mountainous regions, took plaoe. There
are abundant proofs that in the north of Europe a
glacial period immediately preceded that in which we
Uve. Without referring to the numerous traces of tiie
existence of glaciers in the mountainous regions of the
United Kingdom, the drift of the northern portions of
it contains the remains of animals now only found in
the depths of the Frozen Ocean, and on the coaats of
Iceland and Greenland. During this period, then, Eng-
land was in part covered by waters, the temperature of
which resembled that of the Frozen Ocean, and formed
not a continuous country, but groups of islets — the
mountains of Scotland, Wales, and Cumberland alone
rising above the waves. A climate analogous to that
of Iceland prevailed in this ardiipelago : the summits
of its mountains, like those of Heda, were covered with
perpetual snow, and glaciers descended along its valleys
to the sea. The plants of Greenland, Iceland, and
Norway, were transported thither by oceanic currents
or floating ice ; and these are the vegetables that still
flourish in the mountainous regions.
At the end of this glacial period the British islands
were gradually upheaved into their present confor-
ouitkin — the higher points becoming still higher, and
the oceanic depths more shallow. The sea becoming
wanner, its shores have been invaded by the animals
which still people it; but as at great depths the
diange of temperature is much less sensible, animals
of the glacial period have been enabled to remain
here. Thus, Mr Forbes observes, at depths of from
500 to 650 tdet, the mollnsca of the arctic seas are
found, and even a great number of shells, which are
oolj found in the fossil state in the driffc or stratum of
the glacial period existing in the north of Britain.
From sodi facts, he concludes that the deeper portions
of the British seas conceal a population whicli, like the
plants of the Scotch Alps, originated in the glacial
period.
During these two geological epochs, England and
Frsnoe were united, the English Channel and the Straits
of Dover not then existing ; and geologists unite in
eDDsidering the separation of the two countries as
a eomparatively modem event The plants of France
and Germany invaded the recently-emerged territory ;
the hardy vegetation of the north occupying the greater
portion. Forests as dense as those of Germany then
ooTercd the coasts of England : gigantic stag^ and
lort species of ihe ox, the bear, the wolf, and the fox,
ikme inhabited these vast solitudes. The great Ger-
manic vegetable invasion, so to speak, absorbed all the
others, a few traces of these alone remaining. Thus
while the Asturian plants were reduced to a ibw species
oonflned to the south-west of Ireland, the hardy plants
of the north completed the conquest, and possessed
themselves of the soil. This colonisation finished,
EogLmd became separated from the continent — ^a geo-
logical event insignificant in itself, but which has in
its moral results exercised an immense influence on the
destinies of the world.
White Messrs Forbes and Watson were engaged in
proving the continental origin of the plants and animab
of England, I was studying the yegetable colonisation
of the Shetland and Faroe Isles, and of Iceland. These
islands form a continuous chain, so to speak, connect-
ing the northern extremity of Scotland with the eastern
coast ol Greenland — being the only portions of land
uniting Europe with America. Already, in 1839, the
vegetation of the Faroe archipelago had struck me.
Though lost in the middle of the Northern Ocean, its
Flora was composed of plants very commonly seen, and
generslly indigenous, on the plains of central Europe,
others being found on the Alps of Switzerland, and
lome in Scotland and Greenland. Extending my re-
searches to Shetland and Iceland, I found in the same
manner that tliese islands had no vegetation proper to
tfaemidves,all their plants originating on the continent.
A new problem presented itself. Did these vegetable
eoionies come from Europe or America? As a great
nuinher of the plants are common to the northern por-
tions of the* new and old world, the question presented
some difficulties. Nevertheless, I found more than one
himdred species exclusively European, all the others
bemg common to Europe and America. A great vege-
table migration has crossed England, Scotland, the Ork-
Beysithe Shetlands, the Faroe Isles, and proceeded even
to Iceland. Some species have gone direct from the
oossts of Norway. But at the same time arctic plants,
originating in Greenland, pursued a reverse track across
lodsnd, the Faroe and Shetland Isles, to the Scotch
mountains, where they found a second country. This
double migration reveals itself by numbers. If we count
the relative proportion of exclusively European plants
vhich enter into the Flora of the Shetlands, we find
them amount to a fourth ; in the Faroe Isles it is but a
leventh: and in Iceland but a tenth. In proportion, then,
to tiie distance from Europe, does the number of vege-
table productions proper to that continent diminish;
while the Greenland plants increase in pretty much the
iame ratio.
While agreeing with Mr Forbes in respect to the fact
of the coloiiisation of the islands of the North Sea, the
boldness and novelty of the hypothesis by which he en-
deavours to explain the fact induces me to feel some hesi-
tation in adopting it*, especially as, without interrogating
the past condition of the earth, I find a plausible expla-
nation of the transport of seeds in causes actually exist-
ing. The great current termed the Gulf Stream takes its
rise in the Gulf of Mexico, and passing along the shores
of North America as high as Newfoundland, traverses
the Atlantic, and strikes the western shores of Scotland.
This it is which carries there the seeds of Mexico, even
still endowed with germinative power, and has cast
upon the Hebrides the Eriocaulon septangulare, a species
of North American origin, and the only one of fdl the
British plants which is not European. Passing the
coasts of Scotland, the Gulf Stream collects, so to speak,
innumerable seeds which the water-courses have brought
down to the ocean, bears them along, and distributes
them in the sandy nooks of the various islands. This
current appears to me to be the principal agent of the
diffusion of the European plants among them. Nor
are the winds strangers to the work of dissemination ;
and whoever has once felt those long and terrible
blasts on the northern seas, will no longer doubt their
power of transporting such light bodies as seeds from
one isle to another. A fact of recent occurrence may
be cited in proof of such power. At nine o'clock in
the morning of the 2d September 1845 there was an
eruption of Mount Hecla ; on the 3d, the ashes fell on
the most southern of the Faroe group of islands ; and
the same day they were carried to the Shetlands and
Orkneys, and were found on the decks of vessels sailing
between England and Ireland. Another mode of trans*
port has been but little attended to; namely, that
by migratory waterfowl, millions of which leave the
coasts of Spain, France, and England every spring-
time for the islands of the Northern Sea, to return the
following autumn.
AN ADDRESS TO THE LADIES ON A VERY
DELICATE SUBJECT.
To every one of you, ladies, I believe I can say with a
safe conscience^
' I do, as is my daty,
Hononr the shadow of your shoe-tjrc'
I claim, however, that shoe-tyes, to be honoured, should
be seen. At present they are enveloped in such a
longitude of skirt as utterly extinguishes them. Every
now and then we find you, dear ladies, labouring under
some monstrous extravagance of attire, as wide sleeves,
arachnoid waists, and so forth. Now the reigning
solecism is over-long gowns. It is a case which may
almost excite some doubts as to the soundness of the
feminine understanding, so entirely does it seem to defy
all the ordinary rules of common sense. Ah, gentle
dames — but let us look into the matter a little in
detaiL
See yonder elegant lady moving along the pavement,
like ' Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the
ground.' Very well for the Trojan dames, perhaps, to
indulge in such dress in sounding epic; but oh, look
at their living imitatrix of modem England! It has
been a damp morning, and the flagstones are bespread
with a thin paste of mud. Our fine lady's skirts just
skim this soft substance, and behold they are thickly
dabbled for a few inches upward with mud, which they
have also communicated in no small quantity to the
shoes and stockings. She dare not now hold up her
skirts to save them from further pollution, because that
would expose a state of matters about her feet and
ankles at which every other body's eye would revolt
She therefore walks desperately on, knowing she is
always getting worse and worse, yet unable to help
herself until she shall reacli home, by which time she
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUHGH JOURNAL.
will be in a lUta ool; flt for tha ooDiideratioa of her
maid, to whom I letre her. Ii this ■ reuonible trest-
ment either for *ilk or mouaseline de laine 7 la it doing
jiutice to I pair of tlie nsaleit feet in the world ? Ii
it tight to Tiut mortal ihoei and itockiagi with lucli
iadignitf ?
Or lee the Mme figure in the luna place on another
day. It 1* now dry weather, and what wai formerly
mud ii now duat. The aame garmeotl iweep np ai
much of the volatile aa they formerly did of the bumid
nuiaance. It doea not dag and barken on akicta and
feet, but it goea farther, and produce* a worie abomi-
nation. The maaculine imaginationa coming up bebiod
dwell fur a moment on the duat-bath in wliich our Tro-
jan dame ii indulging, and ita unpleaaant coniequenoea.
For of what la tiie dnat-bath compoMd 7 Alas, we all
know what matlrra mingle with the aoll of a crowded
carriage thoroughfare. It ia ai a volunteer acavenger
that our lady act*, with tbia remarkable addition to
the uaual dutlea of the clsas, that the cbooaes to go
home laden like a bee with the materiala on which the
operatea. Mor ia it inanimate duat alone. In warm
weather, the powder of the atrcet ii full of inaecta
Tiaible and inviaible. Think of a proud and atately
gentlewoman gathering an entomological maaeum atraut
her as ahe treada the pavf , Haw muoh obliged muat
aereral of the better-known paraiitea be to her friendly
iklrta fur tranaponing them into new »ettlemenls!
Some of them will probably make themaelvea known to
her ere hag ; othera ahe will be apared knowing, but I
can auure her they are there nerertheleea.
Were there any irreaiatible elegance in long akirts,
I ahonld. dear Udica, haic lOme little lympathy in your
anbmitting, (or Its aake. to theae incanveniencea. But
the fact ia, that while a train la a fine thing in a atate-
room, a trailing gown is an unpleasant object to look
npon In a street It it so, bccauae it ia felt as utterly
Inappropriate. We cannot admire anything if it grossly
shocks rationality. Long skirts, which can only be an
inconvenience and a aource of deSlement in a atreet,
aliflck rationality : therefore we cannot admire long
akirts in walking-dreaaea. It ia the plainest and moat
incontroTertlble ayllngiani. 6kicl< which leave the feet
free to move without being touched by them, fullll the
common-iense idea of the matter, and are felt to be
handsomer accordingly. Tliere Is alio what I may call
a positive or absolute grace in the neatly-ahod female
feet aeen moving amartly along a city way. A woman
should not be a purely bell-ahaped object, with the edge
touching the ground. Tlie feet ate required for a basis
In the figure ; otherwlae a painful sense of Incomplete-
ness or imperfection poaaeaaes us. I am not prepared
to advocate the Sclavonlan brevity of petticoat, with a
aupplement of frilled trousera : perhaps our babita of
feeling forbid the hope nf auch a faaliion ever being in-
troduced. But I would certainly recommend tliat the
akiria of walking-drcaaes ihauld never come withio
three inches of the ground, whether with lupplementa
I hope, fair ladies, that you will not think of calci-
trating agsintt this friendly remonstrance and advice,
on any such weak ground as that it ia a matter which
we men hare nothing to do with. The very reverse is
the case: you do pay na the compliment of dreaaing
V .- _■ -n- ^ji^ yj^ ^^^ grateful for
npleat justice to appriae
)Uon on your part, you
t is only right that we
to modea in which you
rhis ia the aum of my
; I have used ilnuig
terms, bacauae gentle onea would be of no uae; but I
mean kindly.
You will perhaps tell me that fashion ia ImperatliV,
and that, till it changes, you arc helpless. I know well
that tbia ia an influence againat which the individual ii
in a great measure powerlesa, though I do not wdl see
why any of you should become an entomological cabinet
or a walking sample of the toil because another ohoosea.
I aim, however, at affecting that general feeling or sense
in which fajhioni take their rise. It mast reside some-
where: the Journal goes everywhere: ergo, I have a
good chaaoe of reaching It The only fear it, that tha ,
fashion - in ati toting power, lilce some other powers,
resides with persona not the moat shining In point of
judgment, not to speak of taste. In that case, thete
resaoninga will most probably be thrown away, I am,
nerertbeiess. hopeful. The oauM of retrenchment at
skirts is one which may reqaire agitation, and may not i
be crowned with speedy success ; but it is one founded I
so clearly in rationality and a just sc[i<e of wbat it
beautiful and what is decent, that sooner o> later it J
must triumph. And to, with tcntimenta of the higheet i
consideration and respect, 1 bid yon, my fair COUDtt?- i
women, a tender adieu.
J, BlXDBBnOHE. I.
POPULAR MEDICAL EBB0K8.
Scarlet Ftetr.—l have heard people remark. In the I
slighter caaea of scarlet fever, that they supposed the
disease to be only scarlatina. It may be well jntt to '
oliaerve that this supposed distinction between scarla-
tina and scarlet fever has no acientiSc foundation, and .
ia aimply a pnpular misnnderstanding. Dr Watson hat :,
alluded to this notion in his valuable leirluree on the
' Practice of Physic,' to which I hale already referred.
' I need scarcely.' says he, 'remind you of a sort of
mystiflcation which prevails among the public about
this complaint, and which many practitioners, for no
good reason tliat I can see. teem disposed to encourage.
mistaking the Latin and acientiflc name of the itlt-
order for a mere diminutive, you will hear mammas
aay, " Oh, my children have not got the mrlet fev^,
but only tiie tcarlaHna." I always disabuse thera of i
this absurd error when the opportunity of doing so
occurs. It can produce nothing but confusion, and a
disregard of requisite precautions.'* Tliere is a dis-
tinctinn, however, in the terms used to distlnBUlsh the
mild form of the complaint from that in which the
throat is implicated, the former being called scarlatina-
simplex, and the Utter scartatins-Rnginnsa (from the
Greek word fy^"' tn strangle). Tlie knowleilge that
there is such a distinction will of course do much to
keep up the error alluded to,
BUtiing—Dark Blood.— II is very common fiir pa-
tients to remark on the colour of the blood removed
by the application of leeches. Tliey will say — ' It is '
very well, doctor, that I have been bted, for the blood
was very bad — as black as your bat.' The leei'h-wumen
generally maintain similar views, and the practitioner
ia perhapa plcaaed to And a new argument adduced in
ftvour of the steps which he has taken in having his
patient bled. Of course there is a real peculiarity in the
blood removed from difTtrent patients ; but the profea-
sion are not in the habit, and indeed not capable, of i
judging in this summary manner by the darkness or
Ugbtness of tlie colour.
The blood removed by leeches has generally the as-
pect of venons blood ; being principally from the mi-
nute veasels which form the extreme ramillcations of
the arteries and veins, and which carry blood of a dark
Whilst on the subject of bloodletting, I may inenticn
a fear which exists, that when bkeding bos been once
performed, it will be requieite to have it repeated
•of.Dit.,p.m.v<ii.u.
I
periodically. If the neoesaily for bloodletUniT have
ariaen fWiii] caiuet which are likely to be permanent, it
ii tnie that it may again be necessary to have rectir-
iVDoe to the same treatment ; but it is too much to say
tbat tiM mere &ct of taking blood imposes on us the
Dscesfity of repeating it periodically.
Again, there is an idea that leeches placed near the
eyes wei^n the sight It is very certain that proftue
liMings, which drain the system of blood, and produce
ntreme palidity, may, and do often occasion, at least a
temporary failure of rision ; but this is no reason why
wt ahoold object to a leech or two, as many do, on the
gmmd that their application will weaken the sight
Ltm^ Affected, — We often hear people ask whether
their luogs are affiKited. Now, by the term affecttd,
they imply something very serious ; but the expression
is of course a vague one, and may be applied with pro-
priety to derangements of a very slight nature. Care-
leiHieM in tiie use of words is a frequent source of error
with the public in respect to medical subjects. A man
will tell you be has a disease of his liver, when perhaps
it if ooly a little disordered. The terms disease and
diiorder have nothing in their etymology to render
them pecuharty applicable to one or other condition ;
but conventionally there is a great difference, disease
being mostly applied to actual structural changes in the
Ofgan, and disonler to mere disturbances or ^notional
dffangements (that is, derangements in the office or
fimction of the part) ; but this is never known or at-
tended to by the public, and hence very many mistakes.
The term affeUed of course may mean something or
nothing. A person in the last stage of consumption has
his lungs affected, but so also has every one who has
the roost trifling cough. Take the common dictionary
mesning of the term, and it will do very well for its
appUcstion to disease — ^there is nothing different in its
appropriation to medical subjects.
Pin ^ out of Bwm», — 1 never properly knew what
people wish us to understand when they say that * the
lire is not got out of bums/ I really imagine some people
lappoie the fire to have actually entered the part, and
to be inside it This view of course is so absurd, that
I win not insult t^ understanding of the reader by
stopping to refote it. If the term be applied to the
first or painful and inflammatory stage, it is allowable
enough ; but as I think it does exercise a sort of im-
pression on many that the fire is a something to be
get out, ft would be better that this metaphorical mode
of speaking were altogether abandoned. In this, as in
OMuiy other instances which I have brought forward,
it may be well to remark that many of these sayings
sre htppily understood by those who employ them for
no more than their true value, and therefore only to
be conndered as figurative expressions \ but I am con-
▼inoed that there are a very great many who believe
them literally, and are more guided by them than by
snything which can be said by their professional ad-
Tiiert.
Iwgs Completefy Gom, — Nothing is more common than
to bear people gravely state that their lungs are gone,
or almost gone. This may be, unfortunately, to a great
extent true in cases of consumption, where the patient
is in the last stage of existence — at least if it be meant
to lay that the healthy structure of the lung is spoiled
by disease— death soon following this entire demolition
cf the pulmonary tissue. The public are, however, by
DO means content to restrict the term to these fatal
examples : a patient will tell us, with all the confidence
in the world, that Dr So-and-So has assured him that
ooe of his lungs is entirely gone ; or will tell us that a
friend of his had one of his lungs quite * gone* (they
like this word gone), but set out for the Madeiras, and
iK>w ii as well as he ever was in his life. Such cases
ve of course quite untrue. I cannot imagine myself
^t consumption ever goes on to any great extent in
«»e lung without affecting the other ; and certainly if
it arrived at a point of complete disorganisation of one
^» the patient could not survive. One lung may
undoubtedly be greatly condensed by pleuritic eflhsion
(altogether, however, unconnected witii consumption),
and even the side of the chest be contracted, without
causing a fatal result ; but this is not what is meant
by the lung being gone, and does not even depend on
any disease at all going on in the lung itself.
I think, with respect to this idea of the lung being
gone, the profession is itself to blame — many members
of it using terms which foster the mistake, or encou-
rage the idea, with a view to increase their own reputa-
tion. I have always myself sought to contradict these
popular errors wherever I have heard them.
Cinder Tea. — Those who are much acquainted with
the diseases of infancy, and have necessarily mixed
much with persons who attend upon them, will have
frequently heard of cinder tea. To those who have not,
the whole subject will appear eminently ridiculous. As
I am now, however, speaking of errors which iictually
prevail, and that to a great extent, amongst almost ul
classes of society, I care not how ridiculous the subject
seems. So long as the errors prevail, the importance of
considering them is certain. We are all too apt to
measure the value of a subject by its gp^avity or com-
plexity, rather than by its real influence on mankind
and its daily-recurring applicability.
Oinder tea, so far as I have heard of it. Is prepared
by pouring hot water on cinders taken up from the
ashes. What medicinal properties can be imparted to
water in this manner I cannot divine, nor inaeed how
anybody could anticipate good ft*om such a system of
proceeding. I remember seeing once in a book of jokes
a receipt for making soup from pebbles. You were to
put the pebbles into some clean boiling water, and whilst
stirring it up, add various savoury articles, and at length
a very good pot there would be. But the cinder tea is
no such thing : it is to all intents and purposes cinder
tea, I have heard of a French cook who could make an
excellent ragout of 'de small toot-cond>J' The cinder tea
would require such a cook to prepare it
Midwifery, — Great importance is attached by the
public to particular days and periods. Now there is, in
reality, a curious law of periodicity in the animal world,
but the public have not always been happy in hitting
upon the real examples, and greatly overdo the point of
fact The ninth day of a confinement is well known
to be considered a most important day. The lady may
live as she likes on the eighth ; but on the ninth, if she
does not keep strictly to her bed, it is ten to one if she
get well at all. Some rather more reasonably fancy
that the nine first days are to be devoted to quietude ;
and as this reading has some good effect it is not so
very objectionable. However, in reality, the ninth day
is of no more importance than the eighth or the tenth,
and the particular importance attached to it is only a
kind of superstition. In the same way people say that
a seven-months* child is more likely to live than an
eight-months* child, but they cannot tell you why ; and
how this idea arose it is difficidt to say : a fondness for
paradoxes may have had a share in it*
It would require a treatise to enumerate all the
absurd stories which nurses have collected in respect to
obstetric medicine.
Of putting the Neck Out and In. — There are few people
who have been sporting characters who have not some
story to tell about having seen a man put out his neck.
They will tell you that no sooner had their friend dis-
located his neck, than some skilful fellow stepped for-
ward, and putting one leg on each of his shoulders, set
to work, and presently pulled it in again ; after which
the poor fellow mounted, and rode away as if nothing
had happened. With all due deference to our sporting
friends, these stories are altogether fabrications. A reid
dislocation of the neck would be immediately fatal I
once told a person so ; but he cut me short by saying
he had seen the thing himself, * The neck was all
awry, but a good pull set it to rights.' There is no
* RamBbotham says this error is as (dd as Hippocrates.
124
CHAMBERS'a EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
reasoniDg against such philoiopben, and therefore it is
better to attack them in print.
Eyes Wcuhed, — The same kind of people will tell you
they have been present at surgical operations where
the eyes hare bc^n cut out, a skin removed, and then
replaced, as if nothing had happened. It is not always
easy for a professional man to know how to answer
such people. It would be a bore to both parties to
enter into a serious refutation of the subject I may
again state that many of the things which I relate as
popular notions may seem too absurd for any degree of
credulity ; but most of what I have said I have heard
repeated more than once, and am firmly convinced that
it was believed to be true.
We may be disposed to treat common notions as a
parcel of silly stories, not deserving the trouble of a
serious consideration ; but when we find them in prac*
tice continually starting up, we are constrained either
to join in them or deny them.
OmU, — ^People say that boils are healthy, or that the
gout is healthy ; but in these speeches, if they have any
meaning at all, there is an eUiptical idea. We might
say that bleeding was salutary, or rhubarb and mag-
nesia salutary ; but then we should presume that Uiere
was a state of disease to be corrected. Now, aUowing
A certain amount of disorder to be actually pre$aU, an
attack of the gout may be favourable, not because it
is good in itse^^ but because, mischief being actually
present, the gout is the means of eliminating the
materiet morhL In this view of the subject, indeed,
many of our diseases might be called healthy. How-
ever, we frequently find people congratulating them-
selves on the gout; or a friend will tell you, if you show
him a painful boil, * That you may thank your stars,
inasmuch as it is an indication of full health.' In my
own view^ neither the gout nor the presence of boils is
any proof of good health, but rather a proof of the
contrary.
The other day I met a gentleman, who showed roe a
little boy covered with boils. He said *he was very
glad they were come out, and that they were mudi
better out than in.* In the latter observation I per-
fectly agreed with him, though, for the poor lad's sake,
I could wish that he had never been plagued with them.
Lancing the Cfums,-^! do not conceive the operation of
lancing tlie gums in children is serviceable merely in |
facilitating the passage of the teeth, but in relieving the
tension and fulness of the part^ Surgeons frequently
make incisions in parts which are inflamed, without
any other object than that of diminishing undue ten-
sion. Sometimes it is necessary, therefore, to hwce the
gums of children when we do not anticipate the imme-
diate protrusion of the teeth. Mothers, however, who
like to reason about these things, will occasionally tell us
that * they are not advocates for the lancing of gums.'
They will tell us that the parts become harder after-
wards, and thus the passage of the teeth is impeded in-
stead of being advanced. This idea is probably derived
from seeing the cicatrices of wounds and burns, which
certainly often present very hard ridges ; but the ana-
logy does not seem to hold good, for I have never myself
felt any similar ridge in the gums of children. Besides,
however hard these cicatrices may feel to the touch,
they do not seem to be in reality very capable of resist-
ing the process of ulceration, or what is called inter-
stitial absorption. Sir Astley Cooper, in his * Lectures
on Surgery,' makes an interesting allusion to Lord
Anson's voyage, which has a bearing on this subject
* Lord Anson's book,'^ says he, * is one of the most
valuable works which has appeared on nautical sub-
jects ; nor is it without its use as illustrative of a prin-
ciple in surgery. Lord Anson's expedition to the
Pacific Ocean was undertaken with a view of destroy-
ing the power of Spain in the New World. As he was
obliged to sail sooner than he expected, many of the
crew which he took out were invalids, some having
cicatrices^ and others having previously had fhuitured
bones. In his passage round Cape Horn he encoun-
tered very severe weather : many ships were obliged to
return ; some were lost ; and the crews of thote whidi
succeeded in getting at last to the Isle of Juan Fernan-
dez suffered great hardships. In doubling Cape Horn
the crew suffered severely from attacks of the scurvy ;
and it was remarked by the clergyman, who was an
observing man, though he knew nothing of our profes-
sion, that the men who had ulcers before were inva-
riably attacked with ulceration in the same parts, and
that if their bones had been formerly fractured, they
became disunited. . . . There cannot,* continues be, ' be
a better example than this for the purpose of showing
the readiness witlv which newly-formed parts ulcerate,
as oompiured with the original structures of the body.'*
THE BRIGHT SIDE.
▲ TALE.
There was once a little boy, his name was Peter Bates.
Tou will say he could not have been a very happy boy,
when vou hear that he cared for nobody, and nobody
cared for him. This is a thhig that very seldom hap-
pens, as almost every one in the world has somebody
to love; and especially when we are young, and our
hearts beat warmly, we feel as if we ought to love
everybody we know. But it was not so with Peter :
his Uttle heart was chilled, until he hardly could tell
whether he had such a thing at all; and at last he
never even thought of trying ; so the fault lay partly
in himsdf, as well as in others. You will thmk, per-
haps, tiiat Peter had no home, no relations, parent,
brother, or sister; and yet it was not so, though the
place he did hold in his own family made him seem as
if he really were alone in the world ; for his father, who
was a farmer, had married when he was a young man,
had two or three sons and daughters, and tiien his wife
died ; so he, thinking he should want more money to
support so large a family, soon married another woman
for whom he did not much care, but who was said to be
very rich. This was Peter's mother ; her fortune was
all a mistake — rtie had not any; and when her husband
found that out, he cared for her less than ever ; and
then she grew cross, fought with him, seceded bis
children, and drove away all oorofort iVom the house,
until tiie day Peter was bom, when it so happened that
she died, and left nobody crying for her but the poor
young babe, who, missing her sadly, never ceased wail-
ing until he was sent out to be nursed, that he might
no longer disturb the quiet of the house— quiet that,
frdfn its long absence, seemed doubly precious now.
And then, in a little while, Peter's father, ^wn
wiser by experience, married another wife, with a
smiling face and pleasant ways ; and she and her chil-
dren in time became great favourites with the elder
ones, so that, between both, the unpleasant memory of
Peter and his mother seemed entii^y to have slipped
away. But it is not so easy to get rid of disagreeable
things ; and one day they were all startled into recol-
lection of the past by tiie arrival of the nurse with
Peter, now grown a stout, rude, ungainly boy, so like
his mother, tiiat the moment they looked in his face,
all their long-forgotten troubles seemed at once to re-
vive. Little welcome was there for him, and he was
quick enough to perceive it ; in a short time understand-
ing quite well that he was Uie one too many. So being
somewhat shy and proud, instead of trying to overcome
their dislike, and make himself pleasing, he grew moody
and silent, and kept himself as much as possible out of
the way, so that at last he was nearly as much forgotten
as before. No one looked for him as part of the family
gtoup ; and if by chance he did linger a moment after
meals, or draw in his seat by the fire, he was stared at
as an intruder, and made to feel that his rough man-
ners and uncouth appearance unfitted him even for the
society of his own family. It was a trying position :
and yet we can all think of some bright loving child,
♦ Attley Cooper** Lectunt on Surgeiy (tmall edit), pw 38.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
125
who would haTe won hia way to their hearts in spite of
it sfl; who woold have shown a wish to oblige, or a
with to be loved; and whose smiles and winning words
would have made friends by themselTes alone. Bat
not so with Ffeter : he had his mother's disposition, as
wdl ts her features, and no one had erer tried to work
hnprovement in either : no one softened his proud little
heart with a kind indulgent word; no gentle hand
ifQooUied down his curis or tidied his dress, taking
pleaiure and pride in aeeing him behave and look well ;
sod so, left to himself, and brooding over the contrast
between himself and others, Peter became more and
more surly and awkward each day ; until at last he was
considered as a sort of fool, and employed in nothing
eliebat watching the sheep or the geese as they picked
up a few Uades of fbesh grass by the side of a road that
passed within some fields of his father's house.
BqI if Pfeter cared for no person, it might hare been
known he had some feeling by the lore he showed for
one thing, and that was his dog Snap. This animal
being ro^|fa and ugly like himself, they were truly a
well-maid^ pair. Snap was just as much despised in
the family as his owner; but he was quick and intdli-
^t oongfa in his own way, and did his business well :
he kept the cattle and the geese within proper bounds,
watching them with his quick eyes, while he nestled
at his master's feet, thereby keeping them warm. Best
of an, he kept all intruders aloof^ and often gave poor
misanthropicad Peter the gratification of seeing some
more prosperous urchin, who might otherwise have
flaosted before him, take himself o£f in double-quick
tine at the sound of Mr Snap's growl, or still more
nenacing bark.
It so happened one day that Pbter, sitting as usual
hy the roadside with his dog on his feet, saw him prick
vphis ears, and look down the hill towards a spot where
the road went out of sight * Some sport coming now,*
thooght Peter to himself; and laying his himd on
Soap's rough coat, he held him in readiness to bound off
at the proper moment and attack the new-comer, Peter
all the wbUe sitting groffly by, aa if he had neither hand
nor act in the business ; but even while he waited, his
hand involuntarily preased Snap more fijrmly down, and
a faint gleam of pleasure flitted across the sullen face.
No wonder-— eren Snap laid down his head quietly be-
tween his pawa, and the ears which had been pricked
up so fieroeiy, drooped softly over his face again, as
th^ caught the pleaaant sound of a young happy
voice, singing some sweet old tune without any words,
without beginning or end, but going backwards and
forwards on the notes in unthinking glee. Presently the
singer appeared at the turn of the road, now advanc-
ing, now stopping, now stooping down as she sought
fat the first violets that ventured to peep through
the itiU wintry air. It was a fair little girl, not much
older, and hardly as tall as Peter himself; but oh what
s coo^ast to him was her bright young face as she
now raised it up glowing with ddiight at discovering one
moie blossom, which she added to a little bunch already
within a tiny basket on her arm ! and then, as if deter-
laioed not to loiter any more, advanced steadily up the
hiU.
As she approached. Snap, yielding to old habit, in spite
of Peter's restraining hand, jumped up and uttered his
frowl ; but this time, instead of his usual tacit encou-
ngement, his master really hdd him back, and in tones
almost as rough as those of the dog, called out to the
little girl, * Never fear : stand your ground, and he'll let
yoaaknie.*
* Why should I fear? Why should I run ?* said the
little one smilingly ; and with one step she placed her-
■df quite close to Snap, with lier hand on his rough
cost, he looking up with eyes half closed, from which
all anger waa banished, and even condescending slightly
to wag his tail
* Why should you run ?' said Peter, echoing her ques-
tion with some wonder. * Every one does : every one,'
Mtd he with some pride, * is afraid of Snap.'
* Then I am not afhdd of him, or of anything else,'
replied the little girl laughingly, and presenting a piece
of bun from her basket to Uie dog. * So Snap is his
name. Well, good-by. Snap : the next time we meet we
shall be better friends.' And away she tripped, once
or twice looking back and waving her hand, as she re-
peated * Good-by, Snap ; good-by,* until the hawthorns,
closing at another turn of the road, shut her out from
their view.
There is an old English poet — ^he lived three hundred
years ago, and so it is hard enough to read his old-
fashion^ verse — but he tells, in a poem called ' The
Faery Queen,* of a fiedr girl named Una, whose gentle-
ness and sweet looks actually tamed a lion that she
encountered one day wandering alone in a forest, and
won on his wild nature- so mud^ that he followed her
about, and became her protector, until she found her
way back to her friends. Now, as nature remains just
the same, in spite of all the changes of the world, it was
i'ust in this way that the little girl we are telling of, by
ler fearless gentleness and good-humour, won not only
on quarrelsome Snap — so that, when she passed on, he
slapped his tail quite vehemently against the ground in
token of his approbation — ^but also on his surly little
master ; both Peter and his dog feeling a sort of inward
satisfaction at the little occurrence, which made one of
them at least hope it might happen the next day again.
Poor Peter ! pleasant words and pleasant looks were a no-
velty to him, and he fdt for the moment somehow as if
the sun had shone out suddenly from behind a doud.
The first time for many a day he thought a little
about the future — a short future to be sure : it was only,
* Would that little girl come to-morrow?' Yet still it
redeemed his mind from its usual dreary blank. But be-
fore the morrow came, fresh misfortune awaited Peter :
true to his training. Snap soon forgot his softer feelings,
and when the next wayfarer passed by, fierce, fiercer
than ever, as if to make amends for his late forbearance,
he growled, he barked, he sprung upon the traveller,
and going even farther than usual, at last caught him by
the leg. He was rewarded by a blow of a stick, which
sent him stunned and sprawling back to his master's
feet, who, now roused out of his assumed apathy, at once
took his part, and in fiery indignation assailed the
stranger 'himself. He, disdaining to punish the boy as
he hi^ done the dog, took him by the collar, in spite of
a stout resistance, and leading him up to his father's
house, delivered him to the authorities there. Unluckily,
or rather luckily for Peter, liis father was on the spot,
and due punishment followed, though the good-natured
stepmother would have begged him ofi* on the plea of
his being half a fooL
* Foolish enough to be mischievous at anyrate,' said
his father, as he sent liim off to his usual occupation the
next morning, locking up Snap in solitary confinement,
with the declaration that before evening he should cer-
tainly be hanged.
Peter had no language for remonstrance ; he knew
nothing of persuasion ; and so in a temper more moody,
more hopeless, more savage than ever, he took his now
solitary seat by tlie roadside, missing the warmth as
well as the society of his dumb companion, and
shivering as much with grief and anger as with cold,
un^ at last he burst into a fit of crying, very unusual
wiUA him, who knew nothing of sympathy, the spring
of half the tears wo shed. He had bowed down his
head between his knees in this miserable state, when
again, as yesterday, he heard the sweet song, the light
step, draw nearer and nearer : he knew it was the little
girl, but this time he could take no pleasure in any-
thing ; he was angry and ashamed, and so he dete]r-
mined he would let her pass on, and never raise his
head.
But it would not do : the footsteps paused quite dose
to him, the sweet voice, no longer merry, but oh how
gentle ! inqtured what was the matter. And then the
httle hand was laid on his shoulder, even as it had
rested on poor Snap's shaggy coat the day before, and
126
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
in spite of himself Peter was obliged to look up. He
knew what an ugly, wo-begone, forbidding face he must
hare ; but he read no dislike in the compassionate one
that was now bent orer him ; on the contrarj, there
was something like tears in the sweet blue eyes« as she
again said, * What can be the matter ? And where is
Snap?'
Poor Peter was quite upset at this question: he
could not answer it ; and so taking up the trouble that
pressed at the moment* he contented himself With
muttering, ' Tm so cold T
'And 80 jott are, poor fallow T said the little girl
kindlj. ' But no wonder, when you are sitting here on
the frosty side of the hedge. Look how the sun shines
orer there: come across to the bright side, and you
will feel yourself cheered eren before you are warmed
with its heat* And whether he would or no, she gently
forced him from the chill seat on which he had sunk
in the carelessness of grief, and made him settle himself
comfortably on the sunny bank at the opposite side of
the way.
'And now what is the matter?' she asked for the
third time. *I am sure there was something more
than the cold.' And Peter, who had nerer before con-
fessed a trouble to any one, found himself relating all
his griefs to the little stranger whom he had nerer eren
seen till the day before. She laughed — she could not
help it — at his account of Snap's encounter with the
traveller ; and the more rueful and serious Peter looked,
the more it still made her laugh, until he came to the
close of the adTcnture, and then she looked very grare,
and readily allowed that the punishment, and, abore
all, the hanging, was no laughing matter indeed.
*But, Peter, though you say your father is rery
stem, still I wonder yon did not try to beg off poor
Snap ; as you were punished yourself, and bore it well,
maybe for your sake Snap would be forgiren if you
tried. Did you try?'
' No, indeed ; it would be of no use : I nerer asked
my father for anything. They say I am a fool I' And
poor Peter, in deep consciousness of his degradation,
again buried his burning face between his knees.
'Afooir repeated the little girl, and her blue eyes
opened rery wide. * Oh, Peter, yon surely are not
that ? Do not let any one think so. Qo to your father,
like a sensible boy, and tell him you are sorry for what
happened — as you ought to be — and that you will pro-
mise for Snap that he shall not get into any more mis-
chief. You know, Peter, you can promise that;' and
again the bright eyes laughed gaily, while a dawning
smile flitted orer Peter's doleful features too. 'And
now I can stay no longer, otherwise I shall be late for
school ; so good-by, Peter : do what I tell you, and be
happy to-morrow.* And again the little one tripped
away, turning again, and waring her hand until the
bushes shut her out But this time it was ' Qood*by,
Peter,* instead of * Good-by, Snap.'
Peter remained lost in a world of wonder and per-
plexity at the new line of conduct proposed to him.
Should he, could he follow it ; had he any chance of
being listened to? No, it could be of no ua^— he nerer
could do it Thus was he deciding, when again the sound
of light footsteps made him turn his head, and in a
moment the little girl stood breathless by his side, with
her hand on her heart to still its beating, but smiling
all the time, as she waited impatiently for words. At
last she exclaimed, * Oh, I ran so fast 1 Just as I got to
the top of the hill, I thought of one thing I wished to
say ; and I am so late ; but I should tell you this :
when you go to ask your father, Peter, do not hang
your head, and look down as I hare seen you do;
maybe it is that makes him say you are like a fool ;
but look up in his face as if you trusted him, and
were not afraid of him, or ashamed of what you asked
for ; and remember to say you are sorry, and promise
for the future ; and, that's all — remember now.' And
before he could answer a word, she was again out of
aight
Her words just turned the scale; Peter manfully went
through the ordeal, and succeeded ; he eren orerbeard
his father say to his wife« as he turned away, * That bof
is not such a fool after all ; ' and he certainly looked a
different being, sitting on the sunny bank with Snap by
his side, on the following morning when his little ooQn-
seller came up.
And thus passed many a day — a short fire mintites—
giring food for thought hope, and dreams for the rest of
the twenty-four hours, to one whose mind had seldom
strayed beyond the passing moment before : with habi-
tual reserre, he nerer spoke of this acquaintance to any
one 1 it was a treasure he oould not bear to exhibit or
share ; indeed he had his own mysterious notions about
it; and although not rersed in fairy lore, be felt always
a latent fear that something might breiUc the spell ; and
when, in compassion to his poor chilled hands, the little
girl brought him one day a pair of woollen mittens of
her own knitting, and made him put them on, he care-
fully took them off in the evening when he was re-
turning home, laying them by in a house six iocbei
square, which he had employed himself daring tbe
day in building for them, in a hidden spot with four
well- fitting stones, and a flat one for the roof: there be
always kept them when not on his hands — the secret
was too precious to be carried orer the threshold of a
home occupied by any one else.
Each day, as spring adranoed, the litUe girl's delight
in the wild flowers grew more and more intense ; now i
garland of hawthorn, now a spray of boneysac^le, now
a wreath of wild roses, called forth her admiration.
' Oh, are they not beautiful — beautiful ! ' she would
exclaim.
'But they are so common; they are ererywhere,'
would be Peter's answer. *I am always looking at
them, yet I nerer noticed them before.*
'And are there not a thouaand common, beantifdl
things, on erery side of us, Peter, if we woold only
open our eyes. Thinking of them, and enjoying them,
we need nerer feel lonely or gloomy. Do yon remem-
ber that sorrowful day wlien you shut yourself op in
misery from within and without and all the sunshine
going for nothing within a few steps of yoti, yon bid
only to come orer to the bright side, and all was well?
Do you remember that Peter ? Well, there is a little
sentence here that always reminds me of that day ; see,
here it is, "hope is the sunshine of the heart;" and
pointing to the line as she found it out in one of her
little bmiks, she put it into Peter's hand. In a moment
his brow grew scarlet and he hung down his head;
then remembering her adrice, he looked up again, and
with an effort at manliness, which showed the progren
he had made, he ingenuously said, 'It is of no use ; I
cannot read : I nerer learned ; no one erer taught me.'
Eren before he spoke the little one guessed bow it
was, and she, too, had blushed deeply, painfully, fiat
the sentence was hardly finished, when she hastened to
exclaim, ' Oh, is that all ; I was afraid it was— conldn'ti
or wouldn't — ^you shan't hare that story to tell again.
See, here is A, here is B ; repeat them after roe ;' and
as her musical ear caught l[he accidental rhyme, the
laughed so joyously, echoing it again and again, that
eren Peter caught the infection, and joining in ber
mirth, they both laughed the little embarrassment
away.
They went on with four or fire letters ; but then she
closed the book, and more seriously said, * Peter, this
will nerer do ; I have no more time ; I must not loiter;
and you must no longer stay in ignorance ; you most
ask your father to send you to school.'
It was now Peter's turn to open his eyes in unut-
terable astonishment ; such a presumptuous thought
had nerer once entered his head ; he had nerer made
any request of his father but one, and that under the
prompting of superior intelligence; and now he could
not eren hope that he should be listened to again ; in
fact he eren feared to mention such a boon.
But hia little companion combated all his objecti<ma,
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
127
and, his spirit already roused by the shame he had jast
endured, it iraa settled at last that if he found himself
ioooessfol in learning the alphabet under her teaching in
a fev days, with that as his groundwork he would make
the trial. His lesson was marked out for that day ; she
sfMred him a little book, and to their mutual delight, in
three days more he was perfect in all the letters. This
anccess gave him some confidence ; and, summoning his
vhole stock of courage, he accosted his father the fol-
lowing morning with a request that he might be sent
to ichool.
* To school, boy ! for what? — to idle, is it!* said his
father, stopping short, and eyeing him from head to
foot
' No, father,* replied Peter resolutely ; ' it is to learn.
Try me at any rate. I know my letters now, and I
would wish to get on.*
'Tour letters! A* great stretch indeed, for, let me
see, nine years old.*
Poor Peter felt his heart swelling } but here his step-
mother interposed — * And more shame for us to have
him nine years in ignorance, if he was able to learn ;
and it was a great stretch for you, Peter, my little man,
to learn jour letters ; you may well be proud of it ; who
knows bat you may be a credit to us yet?'
Peter*8 look of grateful astonishment at the kind
word went to both their hearts : his father patted him
on the head, and told him it should be as he wished ;
and from that moment forward he seemed to enter on
a nev existence. He respected himself, and others soon
learned to respect him also t while, in the new turn of
feeling, etery one tried to find aome good quality in
FMer never suspected before t hlM heart and his mind,
both so long lert in fallow, now were ready to yield a
tenfold crop; and while he gained the regards of his
plannates, his master, before many months, pronounced
hnn one of the most painstaking and improring boys in
the school.
"What pride he would have felt in reporting his pro-
gren to bis first little friend, as each day he went down
the hill to their old place of meeting, and placing his
four-footed or feathered charge under the guidance of
Snap during the hours spent at school, loitered and
watched in the vain hope of seeing her, if it were but
for a moment But she came not After the first day
when be related his triumph, and she shared in his joy,
pouring a flood of courage and hope into his mind, he
uw her no more; and the long summer waxed and
waned, finding him still each morning on the same spot,
returoing ever with drooping head and disappointed
heart At last one day — it was late in autumn — ^joy of
joy, he saw her coming slowly up the hill I Snap, with
a quick cry, bounded to meet her, and for once Peter
felt almost sorry that he should reach her first; but
thoogfa she looked smiling and bright as ever — brighter
even— she did not say one word in answer to all Peter*s
words of welcome, until she reached the little sunny
spot where they were always used to sit ; and even then
•he pressed her hand tightly on her side, as she had
done on that long-ago day, and drew her breath quickly,
thoof h she had b^n walking yery slow. * Tes, it is a
long time, Peter,* she said at last, in answer to all his
questions — • a long time since I was even out, for I hate
been very ill ; but to-day was so fine, that I was allowed
once more to go and see a friend I love — that dear
■choolmtstress, for whom you have plucked so many
nosegays.*
'No, indeed, they were not fbr her,* exclaimed Peter
Muntly ; • they were always for yourself.* The little girl
IsBgbed one of ber old bUthe laughs ; but then she put
her hand to her side again, and Peter said quickly, as
if to contradict his own thought, * You are not iick
now ? aick people are always pde.*
She smiled somewhat sadly, and laid her hand on
liis. It was alwavs a little hand, but now it looked so
"nail and thin, that the blue veins showed themselves
quite plainly through. Peter thought it prettier than
c^ef ; Imt still there was something in her look, and in
the little action itself, that raised a choking feeling in
his throat which prevented his saying one word. After
a moment's silence, she arose, and taking a bonk out of
her basket— it was her little Bible — she said, * You will
keep this for my sake, Peter, and read it often : I am
so glad you can read it now. 1 cannot stay longer, lest
I should catch fresh cold ; but whether we meet soon
again or never, you will still remember me} and re-
member, too, what I always told you — in everything
that pains or troubles us there is some bright side.*
She looked upwards as she spoke, and there was a
strange beauty in her face which awed and silenced
Peter. He bowed his head between his knees, to hide
his emotion *. when he raised it again, she was gone.
Prom that day forth, though each morning found
him at the trysting-place. it was more to read a little
portion of the book she had given him than with any
sanguine expectation of seeing her again. And always
when he turned away from his long*searching gaze down
the valley, he used to raise his eyes to the blue sky and
fleecy clouds« and feel as if the true answer was there.
And then he bethought him how he had neter asked
her name, where she came f^om, or where she was
going, but watched for her as he did for the morning
sun, and saw her even like that, passing on day after
day, and never returning back ; and thus at last she be-
came so identified with bright and beautiful nature in
his simple mind, that be almost doubted whether she
had been a reality at all. He kept her precious gift,
even as he had done the first one, in the little stone-
house, now carefully stopped with moss and clav, to
preserve it from damp. But notwithstanding all his
precautions, he perceived a spot one day on the cover;
and the fear of injury to it being even stronger than
the fear of discovery, he brought it home, at what he
thought a quiet hour, to air it by the fire. But Peter
had not yet learned to estimate female curiosity : a
little sister, who had become a fatourite of his, from a
slight fancied likeness to his early friend, was hovering
near ; and peeping over his shoulder to see what he had
got, did what Peter, long as he had the book, had never
thought of doing — she turned the leaves over to the
title-page, and there discovered the giver's name.
* Jane Watson 1 * repeated she, first aloud, then slowly
to herself— ' Jane Watson! why, that was the name
of Mrs Bonar*B grandchild ; that sweet little girl, that
every one said was too lovely, too wise, and too good to
stay in this world 1*
* And is she in it now ?' asked Peter nervouily.
* Ah, no— they spoke too truly — she died last Christ-
mas-day ! When we gathered back to school, the best
and fairest was gone. But why do you ask so anxiously,
Peter? And where did you get this book? Did you
ever know anything about her ? *
Prepared as he had been, the certainty was almost
too much for Peter, to find out all about her only to
know that he had surely lost her. But then recalling
her last words, and remembering how much there was
connected with their brief acquaintance that could never
be lost to him, he gave his best tribute to her memory
in the effort with which he conquered his emotion ; in
the smile, eten though it was a sad one, with which
he answered his sister's still questioning looks, as he
calmly said, ' Yes, Letty, I was so happy. I knew her
once, and am happier still that she knew me.*
SUNDAY IN GLASGOW*
Thlrty-nhie abstainers aoeomplished a moral survey of
the city of Glasgow on the 29tli October, being the com-
munion Sabbath. The object of the surrey was to ascer-
tain the number of whisky-shops open for the sale of in-
toxicating liquors. The survev was made between the
hours of six and ten in the evening. The result is the fact,
which we now advisedly publish, that one thousand and
ninety-seven public-houses icere open / If a baker were to open
his shop, a posse, of 'polieemen would be sent to shut it;
and if the offerios were' repeated^ the baker would be
dragged before the authorities, and severely fined. The
day is too sacred to be desecrated by the sale of bread.
Bat whisky, it appears, may be sold in a thousand shops
on the Sabbath-day without profSumtion. The dignity of
Sunday, it seems, requires that food should be withheld ;
but it is not at all marred by the sale of poison. The
people may not buy what may do them gooa on Sunday,
out may have a liberal supply of what must do them harm.
Virtue must starve on the sacred day if it forgets to buy
its loaf on the Saturday; but vice is better cared for — it
reoeires its appropriate aliment on that day as on others.
The occopations that clothe, lodge, and educate the nation,
must cease one whole day in seven; but the occupation
that covers the masses with rags, that doles to them as
poison what the baker should have handed as food, that
drives them out of comfortable homes into wretched war-
rens, that dooms their children to ignorance and beggary
— this occupation never ceases in the city of Glasgow.
The baker, the butcher, and the grocer must stop, but the
publican never. Our legislators (we have much to thank
them for) have careftilly closed the wells of physical health
on the Sabbath, and have, with a wisdom too deep for
common minds to appreciate, thrown open the sluices of
crime, pauperism, and disease. Railway travelling, though
a tolerably good mode of Sabbath desecration, is a mere
bagatelle compared with opening the whisky-shops on
Sundays. Ten hundred and ninety-seven whisky-shops,
containing ten customers each, is equal to a train with ten
thousand nine hundred and seventy passengers ! But the
dram-shops could easily accommodate ten times the num-
ber.— JSooUish Temperance Review,
THE HEDOEHOa.
^FS^ff IMUfdon of naturalists for such an accusation, I
can^ help saying that I tliink a great many fibs have been
told about the hedgehog. In the first place, the old wives*
fables about sucking cows, and so forth, were so horridly
unbelievable, and yet so damaging to little hoggy^s repu-
tation with the vulgar, that the more erudite and more
humane became his patrons and apologists, and made
much more of him than he deserves. D^ old White of
Selbome must have been taking a nap when he told us
about hoggy's liking for plantain-roots. *The manner,*
says White, Mn which hedgehogs eat the roots of the
plantain in my grass walks is very curious: with their
upper mandible, which is much longer than their lower,
they bore under the plant, and so eat the root off upwuds,
leaving the tuft of leaves untouched. In this respect they
are very serviceable, as they destroy a very troublesome
weed.* Boy and man this passage tormented me many
years, because I knew hoggy to be a bloodthirsty poacher,
a regular knight-errant for attacking vipers, and a tyrant
over all manner of mice and such small deer, and I thought
it passing strange that he should take to cooling his copper
with the roots of the old gentleman's plantains. However,
the tastes of pigs and men are every now and then some-
what eccentric, so I left the matter subjudicx^ until chance
solved the mystery. In a grass walk I saw some flattened
Elants of the common plantain withering and half dead ;
y the side of each I found the hole, bored, as White sup-
posed, by the long u|^r mandible of the hoggy ; but it
was scarcely big enough to admit a lead pencil, and so
round-and smooth, that I said directly to myself, * Tis the
burrow of a night-eating caterpillar: ' I got a trowel, and. in
a trice the fellow was unearthed, and he afterwards turned
to a ghost-moth, or yellow underwing, I can't say which,
for both came out in one cage. The hedgehog is properly
a nocturnal carnivorous animal; he prowb about at night,
like an owl, looking after the nests of pheasants, partridges,
comcraiks, and larks : he kills the old ones if he can, and
sucks their em if he can't ; now and then he overruns a
rabbit ; but his favourite dish is a snake or an adder — he
catches these while dozing under cover, and suffering from
repletion caused by four or five mice lying undigested in
their stomachs, tail on, and it is then that desperate fights
ensue: it is then that his armour stands hoggy in good
stead: the deadly adder, infuriated at feeling hoggy^k teeth
griping her back, lashes her head against a skin less vul-
nerable than that once said to have been worn by a Mr
Achilles. The pluck and power of both are tried to the
utmost ; but hoggy is almost sure to triumph in the end,
and the adder, half devoured, is often found next morning
by the countryman, who wonders ' how ho come so mauled.'
I take it that the spiny coat of the hedgehog is nature's
defence araiinst the poison fangs of hia favourite prey. —
LeUeri oftbttHcM,
SONG OP THE FORSAKEN MAIU
I.
Oh weel I mind ! The son flung bricht
Upon the ware his trembling fiamo ;
The birds sang lure frae howe and heicht,
And ane was by I dauma name
The fields are mute, the sangsters flown.
The leaves hae left the silent tree,
In haste awa the spring has stown.
And my fause lure's forsaken me.
XI.
Forgotten Is that gentle strain,
8ae luved and lost ; without regret
The ware in darkness sleeps again.
And why maun I remember yet?
Oh gin that lesson I could wrest
Frae thy cauld heart, thou darksome sea!
And whare suld I sae saf tly rest,
Sin' my fause luve's forgotten me?
L.R.
MORAL 'WITHOUT PHYSICAL COURAGF..
Lieutenant W was at the storming of Home Por-
tunec in the West Indies. His beliaviour on that occa-
sion excited general admiration. He was the firrt to
ascend the breach and plant the king's colours on the cap-
tured redoubt. His gallantrv was recorded in the orderly
book, and he was recommended for immediate promotion.
Strange to say, the following morning he waited on his
commanding-officer, then Lieutenant-Colonel Y— d— ^, and
requested leave of absence to return to Ireland, his naUve
country, and to resign his commission in favour (^ s
younger brother, who was desirous of entering the service.
The colonel, surprised at this extraordinary request on the
part of a. young officer with such bright prospects befwe
nim, very natuially asked him what motive indaced him to
make so singular a proposal ; when the young roan ftanldy
told him that, when the troops were moving forward for
the attack, and the cnemy^s fire had opened upon them, he
felt a strong, almost an insurmountable disposition to fall
out ; and he believed that nothing but the rapidity of the
advance, and the shouts of the men, prevrated him from
dis^cing himself ; but after a short time, he added, his
bram was on fire, he knew not where he wao, and he fiwnd
himself on the summit of the breach, with the cdrais in
his hand, ho knew not how ; but he added, not withoat
hesitation, that he felt that the profession of arms was not
his vocation ; and fearing that at some future period he
might not have sufficient courage to overcome hts fear, he
was desirous to leave tlic service with honour while it w«
stiU in his power.— Z>r MiUingetCs • Mind and Matkr*
THE ATMOSFBERK.
It is only, the girdling and encircling air, which flovi
above and abound all, that makes the * whole world kin.'
The carbonic acid, with which our breathing fills the air,
to-morrow will be spreading north and south, and stririi^
to make the tour of the world. The date-trees that grow
round the foontains of the Nile will drink it in by their
leaves; the oedars of Lebanon will take of it to add to their
stature; the cocoa-nuts of Tahiti will grow riper upon it;
and the palms and bananas of Japan will change it into
flowers. Tlic oxygen we are breathing was distilled for ui
some short time ago by the magnolias of the Susquehanna
and the great trees that skirt the Orinoco and the Amazon.
The giant rhododendrons of the Himalayas contribatcd to
it, the roses and myrtles of Cashmere, the cinnamon-trc«
of Ceylon, and forests older than the flood, buried deep in
the heart of Africa, far behind the mountains of the moon.
Tlie rain which we sec descending was thawed for us out
of icebergs which have watched the polar star for agea;
and lotus lilies have sucked up from the NUe, and eachalcd
as vapour, snows that arc lying on the tops of the Al{».—
BritisJi Quarterly,
PubliAed by W. * n. Chambkrs, High Street, Bdinbuigh. Also
sold by D. Cram^brs, 20 ArK>'le Street, Glasgow ; W. ^O^J*
147 Strand. London ; and J. M'Glasham, 21 ITOlter «««t,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. Chambkrs, Edbibuivh.
Vi
CONDUCTED BY WILIAAV. AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF • CHAMBERS'S INFORBfATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,' * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' Ac.
'! No. 270. New Series.
SATURDAY, MARCH 3, 1849.
Price 1^.
RETURN OF PILGRIMS FROM MECCA.
T0WABD6 the end of laat January, I was sitting in a
tbop in one of the principal streets of Cairo, watching,
ibr want of better employment, the fluctuating stream
of tvbans and tarbooshes, that stretched on both hands
as ftf as the eye could reach, when first a distant mur-
mr, then a loud buzz of roices, and presently a shout,
a roar, came rolling up the narrow thoroughfare. Some
rerj gratifying intelligence was eridently passing from
month to mouth. Buying and selling were suspended
at oooe : the conclusion of many a bargain was ad-
journed : both dealers and customers rose to their feet
Aad DOW three men, mounted on dromedaries, made
tbsir appearance, moTing swiftly down the street : I soon
heard them announcing that the cararan of pilgrims
from Mecca had arrived at Suez. As messengers of
gUd tidings, they had pushed on in order to bring letters
from those who had surriTcd the privations and dangers
of the journey. Long after these men had passed on
tbeir way to the citadel, the greatest excitement and
agitatioQ continued. In a few hours most of the inha-
bitants of Cairo were to learn or infer the fate of rela-
tions or friends who had been absent for months, and
who had other perished in the desert, or were returning,
crowned with glory, and encircled by respect, to their
homes.
lalamism boasts of many institutions admirably
adapted fbr maintaining its character of unity; and the
pilgrimage to Mecca is one of the chief among these.
Rveryyear, from every part of the Mohammedan world,
a number of men, of all ranks and conditions, repair to
the spot where the faith they profess took its rise,
and amidst scenes, invested in their eyes with the most
lacred associations, work themselves up into a state of
eothnsiaBtic devotion, to which perhaps they could never
rise under ordinary circumstances. They must arrive
at the Holy City in a frame of mind peculiarly suscept-
ible of strong impressions. They have in general en-
awntaed great perils by land or sea during the journey:
some of them have passed whole months in the horrid
solitodes of the desert, exposed to hunger and thirst,
fatigue and danger, and kept constantly in mind of the
Qocertainty of things here below by the deaths which
maft frequently occur amongst large bodies of men tra-
'vertiiig those desolate regions, which no doubt seem to
them to have been purposely thrown across the path
of the pilgrim to test his zeal, and enhance the merit
of his undertaking. Once at Mecca, everything con-
tribates to enhance his enthusiasm ; and the conscious-
ocsi that he has earned the good- will of men — that he
viU be looked upon with respect and veneration in his
ovn country when he returns — that his influence will
be enlarged, and his station exalted — is perhaps equally
setiTe with the belief that he has deserved a place in
Paradise, and an unlimited enjoyment of all those plea-
sures which are promised in a future state of existence
to the true believer.
The annual dispersion of men with faith thus invi-
gf^rated, pver the Mohammedan world, must produce a
powerful effect. If the pilgrimage were abolished, by
general consent, the votaries of the prophet would soon
diminish. The tribes and nations who. like the Be-
douins, neglect this duty, are far less bigotted, far more
indifierent, than those who practise it with unswerving
constancy. But it does not seem that the pilgrims
derive any considerable enlightenment from their tra«
vels. Their object is not to get rid of their prejudices,
but to strengthen them. It is true they mingle trade
with devotion, and contrive to amass worldly wealth
whilst increasing their claims upon heaven. As traders,
they come in contact with the inhabitants of the regions
they traverse ; nevertheless they seem to return home
with more confused notions than ever of geography,
history, and manners. All they care about is collecting
marvdlous stories, wherewith to astound their less ad-
venturous countrymen.
When the hubbub had subsided, I entered into con-
versation with the shopkeeper on the subject of the
pilgrimage, on which he had great pleasure in talking.
As usual with Moslems, my friend avoided any allu-
sion to the religious part of the procession, as not likely
to interest me, and dwelt only on what may be called
the secular view. He told me that the chief courier,
whom I had seen pass, made a good thing of ids trip ;
it being his privilege to bear the news to the pacha,
and the great officers of the court, as well as to all
people of position. Every visit he makes produces a
present As to the large packet of letters he carries
addressed to minor people, he sells them at so much a
hundred to any speculative men who may imdertake
to distribute them on the chance of a reward.
It is customary for the walls round the doorways and
shop-Aronts oi the pilgrims who return in safety to be
painted in bright colours with all sorts of fantastic
figures, of flowers, animals, and even men, despite the
prohibition of the prophet It is common now to see
steamboats among these representations, which are sup-
posed to indicate the extraordinary objects witnessed
by the returning traveller during his absence. There
is a good deal of competition among the rude decorators,
each seeming to vie with the other in producing the
most fantastic and uncouth designs. They succeed at
anyrate in giving a lively aspect to many of the streets.
Though many of the pilgrims leave their last camping,
ground almost immediately on their arrival, and eflbct
their entry at night, the great body wait till morning.
I went out a little after sunrise, and found the streets
already completely occupied by the procession. It was an
animating scene. Immense crowds of people, in holiday
i=
J
130
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
costume, were pouring towards all the eastern gates;
some merelj as spectators, others to meet their long^x-
pected friends or relatlyes. Every now and then numbers
of men bearing flags, or a band of music energetically
playing, would pass, on their way to greet some particular
pilgrim ; whibt the uninterrupted line of camels, bearing
gaudy litters of every description, slowly made its way
in an opposite direction. On issuing from the Gate of
Victory, I obtained a splendid view over the country.
To the left were suburbs and palm-groves, in front was
the desert, to the right rose the Bed Mountain and
the precipitous sides of Mokattam. The procession,
with which an immense number of banner-bearers
mingled, had divided into three or four columns, each
directing itself towards one of the gates ; whilst the
intermediate spaces, and the slopes of the mounds that
rose here and there, were flUed up by groups of men
and women, many of them evidently on the look-out
for some well-known face. It frequently happens that
the returning pilgrim neglects to write, and therefore,
unless positive information has been received to the
contrary, his family always goes out to meet him. Dis-
appointment often awaits it ; and every now and then,
as I proceeded, I could hear shrill shrieks of sorrow
rising in various directions. The women, on receiving
intelligence of the death of a relative, return with loud
wailings towards the city, tearing their clothes, and ex-
hibiting other signs of grief ; in strange contrast with the
boisterous merriment, the exuberant delight of others.
It is a curious picture of human life, with all its bustle
and all its vicissitudes; all its triumphs and all its disap-
pointments, its splendours and its miseries, its joys and
its anguish. The drums« and the tambourines, and the
pipes, the singing and the shouting, in vain competed
with the voice of lamentation, which ever and anon
pierced the air, and told how many hearts were ready
to break amidst that scene of gaiety and rejoicing!
There was little variety to be observed in the pro-
cession. After I had seen forty or fifty camels go by,
every one that passed was a counterpart of one that
had preceded. The litters, which ofien hold several
people, are in general either square or arehed, and sup-
ported qn two large trunks made fast to the animal's
sides. Some few of the wealthier people had tachter*
wans carried by two camels; one in front, the other
behind. A great many women were to be observed
peeping forth from these litters ; which, as I have inti-
mated, are commonly very gaudy, being covered with
red, yellow, or blue doth. Several of the pilgrims rode
on asses, which were often stained with henna, as were
indeed numbers of the camels, in order to show that
they bad been to Mecca.
I found the emir, or chief of the caravan, encamped
at the Haswah, along with the escort of four hundred
irregular Arnaout cavalry, sent by the pacha. The
tents scattered here and there, the horses picketed close
at hand, the long spears, ornamented near the top with
great tufts of wool stuck up near them, the savage-look-
ing Arnaouts lolling about, produced altogether a very
picturesque efl^ect The Haswah is a place situated in
the desert about a mile and a-half north-east of Cairo.
Several fine ruined mausolea dot its surface ; and in the
distance may be seen, over the undulating ground, the
summits of those still splendid buildings called the
Tombs of the Caliphs. On a little mound near the
emir's tent was the mahmal, some account of which I
may as well give at once.
The mahmal is an emblem of sovereign power, a
representative of the government of Egypt, which every
year, therefore, is supposed to make Uie pilgrimage to
Mecca. Six hundred years ago. Sultan Saleh, sumamed
The Light of Faith, married Fatmeh, a beautiful Cir-
cassian slave, who, on his death, and that of his son,
succeeded in ascending the throne of Egypt, and reigned
with great magnificence and glory. In order to add a
new prestige to her name, she resolved to perform the
pilgrimage to the Holy City, and for this purpose caused
a Utter ctf a new form to be oonstmcted. Her joumej
was performed in safety, and she returned with a cht-
racter of sanctity. To commemorate this event, efeiy i
successive year she sent her empty litter with the cars- '
van. Those who followed her upon the throne imitated
her example ; and at length the mahmal became a ne- '
cessary adjunct to the pilgrimage. It is now esteemed ;
quite a sacred object, and those who cannot visit the ;
Kaaba itself are almost compensated by touching the |
mahmal on its return, and gazing at the representstion
of the holy place embroidered on its front
A small company of the pacha's regular infantry i
were placed as a guard- over the litter, which vai co-
vered with a rough cloth. It was nearly square, with i
pyramidal top ; and even when I saw it uncovered the
next day, presented a very mean appearance. The
frame was of common wood, and inside I saw sn old
box. With surprising toleration, the soldiers on guard
allowed us to approach quite near, and et en lifted up
the cover that we might see the interior. I asked
what the box contain^, and received an evasive an-
swer ; but it was opened for us to look in. I could dis-
tinguish nothing but something like a carpet possibly
a piece of the kittcah, or covering of the Kaiba (with
which the mahmal is often confounded by travellers),
or perhaps the bw^o, or veil sent to hang before the
door. The latter supposition is founded on a fact men-
tioned by the most correct writer on Egyptian manners
— namely, that the custom of sending the veil origi-
nated with the same queen who instituted the ceremony
of the mahmal, and that the people call it the veil of
Our Lady Fatmeh. I am aware that the same writer
states that the litter contains nothing; but when he
went to see it, bigotry was very strong, and to look
inside was out of the question. A French artist who
went with me, was allowed even to make a sketch of it
This was on the second day, when the outer coTering
was removed, and immense crowds were gathering
round, and working themselves up into a state of reli-
gious enthusiasm.
There being nothing more to see, I returned slowly
towards the city. On my way I observed a crowd col-
lected round one of the ruined mausolea, and alighting,
pushed my way in. I found that an old gentleman had
selected with great good taste the splendid dome as a
protection for his hareem; and the crowd around was
composed of his friends and relatives, waiting with
music and banners to conduct him in triumph to hii
home. Luckily the ladies were in the act of mounting
their donkeys, and the old gentleman had bestridden his
mule, before my presence, so great was the excitement,
attracted any attention. I was then good-hnmonredly
informed that I had committed an in<Uscretioo, and re-
quested to withdraw, which I did with divers apologies.
On entering the gate, I found the streets still crowded
with spectators and the remnant of the procession.
Every shop wm shut, and on all possible places women
and children were crowded to see the sight Presently
a tremendous din of drums and hautboys was heard
approaching from behind, and an immense mass of
excited Moslems came rushing in various directions;
so that I was thrust up into a comer, and very nearly
knocked down and trampled under foot It turned ont
that a pilgrim of especial sanctity — a great sheik— was
making his triumphal entry, surrounded by a huge band
of bigots, waving broad red and green banners, shouting,
and drumming, and piping. Every one seemed anxious
to see this man pass ; and the affluence of spectators
was so great in the narrow crooked street that the
procession was compelled to stop at every few steps.
This was ttie only occasion on which anything like
the intolerance for whidi Moslems are so famous was
exhibited. A single stone was fiung at roe, and struck
me in the side ; but several bystanders, who saw what
happened, expressed their disapprobation of the action,
whilst the followers of the sheik passed by in gloomy
silence. I must not forget however, that a furious
little old woman attacked me with her tongue dimng
the whole time the proceMion wai defiling by, cauiBg
ne a do^, a miscreant, a hog, a Jew, and a Christian ;
and at I^gth worked herself np to soch a pitch of fury,
that she sidd she wonld strike me on the mouth, and
took (^ her slippers to carry out the threat Two good*
oatared dames hereupon interfered, and seising hold of
ths old lady, who cursed and swore like Termagannt,
conjared me, * by my head and eyes,' to get out of
ber datcbes, for that she was a deril. I thanked them
ilsr their assistance, and taking their adrioe, began
working my way along the street ; but it was a long
tiflM before I ceased to hear the volley of imprecations
that was sent orer the heads of the crowd to my ad-
drets.
I should hare liked to be present at one of the feasts
fiTen by one of the returning pilgrims that night, listen-
ing to the wonderful stories he related, and to the sage
oommentaries of his guests, but tliis was out of the
qoestioo. It is true ^at I received an invitation fW>m
inj dtmhttf-hoty, who told me that all the * respectable '
Atrinefos were going to gather at the house of one
of tbe fraternity who had performed the pilgrimage ;
bat this was rather intended as a compliment than
anjthing else, and I was not tempted to disturb their
humble festivities by my presence. I may mention that
moat of the pilgrims bring back a variety of relics as pre-
wnta to Uieir friends — such as bottles of water of a cer-
tain hdy well called Zamzam, fragments of the kiswah,
to be used as amulets, &c. A great number, as I have
already mentioned, have attended to their commercial
interests, and return with bales of Hejazi scarfs — some-
times bound round the head in lieu of an ordinary tur-
ban—and various Indian manufactures. Frankincense
and kohl — a cosmetic used for painting the borders of
the eyes, and thus imparting that lustre for which
Orieotd women are celebrated — ^form important articles
of Arabisn commerce.
The next morning I was again out early at the Has-
wah. ■ Every position from which a view could be com-
manded was already occupied, especially the sides of
the mounds that line the first portion of the road, the
cemetery that extends beneath the walls in the direction
of the Tombs of the Caliphs, and the house-tops of the
suburb on tiie left. A heavy damp mist at first covered
the country, and gave it a cheerless aspect At the
Haswah I found large crowds assembled round the
mahmal, now uncovered. A considerable detachment
of the pacha's regular infantry, in their slovenly white
uniibrras and red tarbooshes, was drawn up close by ;
vhilst the Amaout cavalry were either gallopping up
sod down the plain, showing off their horsemanship,
and brandishing their long quivering spears, or lying
lazily about, waiting the order to marcli. A good detd
of dday took place. Probably the emir thought it pro-
pitioos to wait for the appearance of the sun from be-
hind the veil of mist which soon, indeed, impelled by a
ilight north wind, went rolling away towards the range
of Mokattam. The dazzling desert, with its long ma-
jestic aloaes ; the promontories of cultivated laud ; the
white paxaces ; the ruined tombs ; the tapering palms ;
the domes, and minarets, and ramparts of the city ; the
giant walls of the distant citadel, with its enormous
mosque, revealed themselves at once to the eye ; whilst
the flanks and gorges of the mountains remained long
encnmbered with gloomy clonds.
By the side of the sacred litter knelt a camel, which
is looked upon with great respect by the people, on ac-
count of the following story : — Three years ago, it is
•aid, the animal which bore the mahmal fell down in
the desert and died. This was an unexampled occur-
rence, and caused a mighty perplexity. The emir did
Dot like to elevate one of the ordinary beasts of burden
to the honourable poet thus left vacant A halt took
plsoe : but much time would have been spent in useless
discussions, had not a wild camel suddenly appeared in
the distance, hastening to put itself, of its own free-will,
St the disposition of the emir I So remarkable a cir-
comstanoe caused a deviation from the usual custom,
■ceording to whidi a fresh camel ii chosen every time ;
and the fine animal I now witnessed — which had pro-
bably strayed from a Bedouin encampment — had al-
ready three times performed the pilgrimage to Mecca.
I may mention that the Arabs say — I believe without
foundation — that seven mahmals, from seven sovereign
princes, are yearly sent to the Holy City, and that there
is always a race between the camels which shall first
enter the temple. Fortune never fails to give the vic-
tory to the Egyptian.
The striking up simultaneously of a Suropean and a
native tune by two rival bands — the gathering of the
escort, and the rush of the crowd to line the tobA — an-
nounced that the procession was about to commence.
I hastened to return, and take up a position near the
gate, from which I could obtain a view down the whole
of the little deflle by which the mahmal was to approach.
The people seemed extremely anxious and excited, espe-
cially the women, and devotional exclamations resounded
on all sides. At length the burnished instruments and
glittering bayonets of the Nizam made their appearance,
dearing their way through the agitated crowd, and the
mahmal, swinging slowly from side to side with the step
of the camel, followed close behind. As it advanced,
the shouting became vehement and enthusiastic, and
there was a general rush of those who occupied the fore-
most ranks to touch the sacred object. Most of those
who could not get sufficiently near to lay their hands
on the litter, raised them in the air, as if invoking a
blessing.
Immediately behind the mahmal rode the Sheik-el-
Gamel, or Sheik of the Camel, one of the remarkable
characters of the procession. He seemed a man of
aboat sixty years of age, strongly built, and covered
with hair. A pair of drawers was his only article of
clothing. His head was bare and bald, and he kept
rolling it from side to side in a most painful manner.
He accompanies the caravan during its whole journey ;
and from the time he leaves Cairo until he returns,
never once ceases to revolve his head. What a state
his brain must be in !
Next followed the emir and his attendants, on gor-
geously-caparisoned horses ; and then a group of camels,
with bright - coloured saddles, decorated with fiags.
These, it was said, had, during successive years, been
the bearers of the mahmal, and had been maintained
by the government in idleness ever since. Then came
a large band of native music, and the procession was
closed by some five or six hundred irregular cavalry,
mounted on rough-looking, but sturdy horses, and some
armed with spears, others with firelocks. They were a
wild-looking, uncouth set and rode pell*mell, sometimes
dashing in among the people, sometimes simulating a
charge. As they crowded beneath the sombre arch of
the Gate of Victory, whilst the vast crowd behind came
precipitating itself from side to side to follow them, they
imparted a very picturesque aspect to the scene.
Knowing that it would be useless to follow the pro-
cession of the mahmal through the narrow streets of
the city, where it is slowly paraded, in order that the
greatest possible number of people may behold and
touch it, I determined to ride round the walls, and
choose a good position at the .citadel to see the finale
of the ceremony. On my way,st^oticed that the clouds
were still hanging heavy and iiiick over the range of
Mokattam : I never saw them assume so meteoric a
character in Egypt On all the rest of the scene, how-
ever, the sun shone brilliantly. After passing the
Caliphs' Tombs, and the ruined suburbs in their neigh-
bourhood, we entered by the gate leading to the citadel,
and soon reached the lofty platform from which, it is
said, the last of the Mamlooks took a leap to save his
life. Here a kiosque, which was in course of construc-
tion for Mohammed Ali — then sinking under the illness
which removed him from the government of Egypt — -
afforded a splendid view over the two large spaces that
lie between the foot of the citadel and the town-^the
Rumeileh to the right and the Karameidan to tbe left
These spaces are divided by a long row of low buildings
132
CHAMBEBS*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
and a gate. Over the first rifes that magnificent strac*
ture the mosque of Sultan Hassan ; whilst the second
is surrounded by barracks and public stores. The innu-
merable minarets of the beehiye - like city, with here
and there a garden, stretched beyond; then came a
broad plain of Terdure, streaked by the silvery reaches
of the Nile; and in the background, from their un-
bounded basement of desert, rose in calm grandeur,
cleaving the placid bosom of the sky, those mystic
monuments, those eternal enigmas, *Uie star-pointing
Pyramids!'
A rush of voices drew my attention to the great
square of Rumeileh, into which, from fifty avenues, a
countless multitude — a sea of all bright colours — came
pouring. Presently the soldiers, the mahmal — the
whole procession, dosed by the irregular horse, that
came gallopping after, as if in pursuit, made its appear-
ance. The Rumeileh was soon traversed, and in the
Karameidan the Nizam formed a vast hollow square
close at our feet I now understood that Abbas Pacha,
with all the grandees of Cairo, were sitting in a divan
below, waiting to receive the mahmaL ^e spectacle
that followed was curious. The people gathered round
in vast crowds : the Amaouts perform^ their evolu-
tions in the vacant spaces, whilst the camel bearing
the mahmal was introduced into the hollow square.
The band now struck up the Polka ! and to this profane
tune did the camel, bearing the sacred litter, move
seven times round, each time increasing its speed, until
it came to a gallop. A tremendous cheer foUowed;
and then the crowd began to disperse. Great numbers
of people, howerer, followed the mahmal to the gate
of the citadel, where I weiit to meet it Here the cover-
ing, which is the sacred part, was taken o£r, in order
to be conveyed to a small mosque, to be kept in safe
custody until wanted at certain periods of the year,
when it is paraded about at several religious festivals
held in various parts of Egypf, and at length cut up
and distributed as relics.
During the process of taking it to pieces, the French
artist I have before mentioned ndade another sketcJi.
It seems this was observed; for when the Sheik-el-
Gamel passed us on his way home, the boy that led his
camel called out to him, and said, * This is the dog that
was making a picture of the mahmal!* The sheik
glanced at us, gave an extra roll of his head, and re-
plied, * It is no matter, my son ; it is no matter.' And
so ends my account of the great event — the Return of
the Pilgrims from Mecca.
THE OLD WRITING-MASTERS HEIRESS.
A STORY FOB TOUNO PEOPLE.
• Draw your hair-strokes lightly, Henri ; lean heavily
on the down strokes, and round off your capitals
bravely. There : very good ! * • Armand, you are not
attentive to-day. I can tell you, little boy, your poor
mamma, who works so hard to pay for your instruction,
cannot afford to have you idling.' * Now, Jaques, finish
your copy, and sign your name with a bold flourish at
the end ! * So did old Maitre Caillot address his writing
class, composed of three ruddy-faced boys, whose coarse
habiliments and rough hands showed that they belonged
to the lower rank of life. The pupils were seated at a
ricketty-looking desk, in the scantily-furnished upper
room of a house situated in one of the meanest and
most obscure suburbs of Paris. The master was a thin
man, bent from age, but whose vivid glance and sharp
careworn features seemed to tell that the vigour of
his mind was unimpaired. While standing behind
the boys, and instructing them in the art of penman-
ship, he would sometimes pause and sigh, and look
round at a very young girl who was busy at the earthen
stove preparing bread soup for their dinner. She was
a fair-haired delicate-looking creature, about fifteen, and
small for that age ; her little hands were scarcely able
to lift the earthen pot, in which she put two thin slices
of bread, an onion, a few sweet herbs, a bit of dripping.
some pepper and salt, and then filled it with water.
With an edSbrt she placed it over the tiny fire in the
stove, and watched and skimmed it as it graduslly
boiled. She then drew forward a small table, covered
it with a coarse clean doth, and neatly arranged on it
two bowls, plates, knives and forks, together with a
jug of water, and half a brown loaf. Having finished
these arrangement^ she took some needlework, sod
seated herself near the stove. At length the hoar of
one sounded from a neighbouring church, and the pupils
of Maitre Caillot rose from their seats, and with t
politeness which children in this country would do well
to imitate, bowed respectfully to their teacher, and tbeo
to Mademoiselle Louise, before they withdrew. The
old man sighed as the last little gray blouse disappesred.
' Three francs a week,' he said, * are all I can earn by
teaching ; and yet thou seest, Louise, I take as much
paina to improve these little plebeians as when I
directed the hand of the king's son.'
M. Caillot's lot had indeed been one of strange
vicissitude. The office of writing-master to the royal
princes had been for a number of years hereditary in
his family. His ancestor had instructed Louis XIV. ;
and his son, in due course, taught the dauphin; and
so on in regular succession, imtil the disastrous events
of the Revolution brought the good Louis XVL to
the scaffold, and consigned his innocent little son to
a lingering death. Then M. Caillot lost his office, and
yery nearly his life. He had saved scarody anything
from the wreck of his possessions, and now Uved iu
great poverty with his granddaughter. She was his
only remaining rdative, with the exception of an
aged female cousin — Madame Thcr^se— who lived at
the other side of Paris, and whose circumstances were
as indigent as his own. Louise was an amiable, affec-
tionate girl ; she attended her grandfather, did the
household business, and yet found time to earn a few
sous by needlework, so as to add to the small pittance
which M. Caillot gained by teaching writing to a
few of their ndghbours' children. He was certainly
very poor, and yet there was a circumstance that ap*
peared to Louise very mysterious. Her grandfather,
when in a communicative mood, often spoke of a trea-
sure he possessed, and which she should inherit ; and
on one occasion he showed her a green tin box, care-
fully locked, which he said contained a precious poiiei'
sion, not available to him, as he could never bring him*
self to part with it, but which would one day enrich
her. This box he always kept cautiously secreted at
the head of his bed ; and Louise could not bdp some-
times wondering why grandpapa would not use his
treasure, and prevent tliem suffering so much from
poverty ; yet fearing to annoy him, she never spoke on
the subject, but quietly put her trust in God, humbly
hoping that iu His good time their circumstances might
alter.
A change indeed came, but it was one that filled ^
tender heart of Louise with sorrow. One day, about
six months from the time when our narrative opens,
M. Caillot complained of being very ill: a sort of
numbness seized his limbs, and he had scarcely strength
to reach his bed. Louise immediately wanned water
to bathe his feet, and begged the mistress of the houie
to fetch a doctor. While waiting his arrival, the old
man said in a feeble voice, * Louise.'
' Well, dear grandpapa?*
* Death is approaching, my child. I feel I have not
long to live ; and but for leaving thee, I should fca
quite happy. I leave thee, my chUd, in the midst ofa
dangerous world, yet I feel assured the goodness of God
will never forsake thee as long as thou continuest to
keep His commandments. I have very little to give
thee : the sale of the f\irniture will do little more than
pay the rent ; and my other possessions, with one ex-
ception, are of trifling value. Give me the tin box at
the head of the bed.' Louise did so ; and the old mw
put a small key of curious workmanship into her hand.
• Try, Louise,' he said, • to earn your livelihood by
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
133
hoMit iadostry ; bat if your reMrafoes fkil, then open
tkif box, dispote of its contents, and they wiU bring you
t fmn of money. They are' But here his voice
fiifled, his breathing became laboured, and pressing
oaoe more the hand of his belored child, he expired
jait as the physician and the landlady entered the
noia. The fSwrmer, seeing that all was orer, imme-
£striy withdrew, and the latter busied herself in per-
ibmisg the last sad offices for the dead. As to poor
Loiitt, she was stupified with grief; and it was not
BOlil the funeral was over, and she found herself alone,
that she was aUe to rouse herself^ and consider her
iitustion.
The door opened, and her landlady, Madame Duval,
ester^ ' Well, Mademoiselle Louise,' she said, ' I am
come to ask what you intend to do ? Has your grand-
fitber left any money ?'
* No, madame, nouing but one flve-franc piece and a
few fOQB. But perhaps you will have the kindness to
pat me in the way of disposing of the furniture, which
will I hope, pay your rent and the other expenses ? '
*It wiU hardly do that,' said the landlady, casting a
•oornfol glance around. * And then pray how are you
toKre?'
*I esn work neatly, madame; and I hope you will
Idodly allow me to remain wiUi yon, while I try to
pfocare employnientk
* Ob, if that's all you have to depend on,' cried the
Isodlady, * I promise you I cannot afford to keep you
here; Why, child, in* these hard times a young crea-
tare like you could not earn enough to keep you from
lUrring, and then how am I to be paid for your lodg-
ing?'
*T(Ni need not fear, madame,' said Louise a little
proudly, 'Ihat I shall be a burden to you. Though
detr grandpapa did not leave me money, he told me he
left me a ** treasure" in this tin box ; but I am not to
cfpen it until I am really in want'
' Oh, that altera the case,' said the woman. * Of
coorte, my dear Mademdselle Louise, I shall be most
happy to have you here; indeed I was only jesting
whoi I ipoke of sending you away. But wont you open
the box now ? Fm sure you must be anxious to see
what it contsins.'
* No, madame,' said Louise flrmlv ; ' I must obey
grandpapa's wishes, and not open it unless I fail to
earn a lirelihood by work.'
* Aj you please, ray dear child ; as you please,' replied
Madame DuvaL But she thought to herself, * She is
tn oddity, like her old grandfather : I must humour her
for the present, and keep her here, so that I shall secure
mj share of the treasure.'
In pursuance of this plan, the landlady lavished fond
vords and caresses on Louise : she invited her to eat
with herself^ and took care to provide some little deli-
escy for dinner. She disposed of the furniture to the
best sdvantage ; and after having satisfied all claims,
presented Lo^se with three francs, saying — ' See, my
desr, how well it is for you to have an attached friend
to manage your little afikirs : if less carefully disposed
of, your fumitore would not have brought half the
torn.'
ioaise was a gentle, well-principled girl } but she was
7oung, and the pernicious flattery and indulgence of
her false friend soon produced an evil effect on her
mind. She indeed fdl speedily into idle habits. She
procured some work from a neighbouring shop, but the
renraneration was very small ; and she often thought,
ss the hdd her needle with a listless hand—* How tire-
wne it is to work so long for a few sous : I really think
I might open grandpapa's box, and enjoy what he has
left me!'
It happened one day that Louise saw a very pretty
bonnet in a milliner's window ; it seemed as if it would
exactly fit her, and she inquired Uie price. * Fifteen
francs,' the milliner said. * Very cheap, indeed too
cheap; but it would become mademoiselle so much,
that she would let her hate it at first cost.'
Louise looked and hesitated. Her conscience whis-
pered, • You have not got the money ; and even if
you had, fifteen francs could be better spent than in
gratifying vanity.' * But the bonnet is so pretty,' she
thought again ; * and I can open grandpapa's box to-
night, and then I shall be so rich, that fifteen francs
will seem a trifle.' Conscience was silenced, though
not satisfied; and Louise returned to the house of
Madame Duval. They sat down to dinner ; but the
young girl felt so agitated that she could not eat.
* Madame,' she said at last, * I think I will open the
box to-night You know I have tried to work, and
could earn but little, and 'tis right that I should repay
you for your kindness.'
At tiiese words ^e landlady embraced her. ' Oh,
my dear child,' she said, * you luiow I love you so much,
that I would gladly have you here without any pay-
ment But come, where is the key? Let us look at
your treasure.'
Louise produced the key, unlocked the box, and
raised the cover. Madame Duval thrust in her eager
hand, and drew forth — what? — ^a bundle of manuscripts
carefully tied up. They were evidently written by
juvenile hands, and looked, indeed, like schoolboys'
copy-books. The landlady and Louise looked carefiilly
through them, hoping tiiey might contain bank-notes,
or some paper of value ; but when nothing of the kind
appeared, the rage of Madame Duval knew no bounds.
She accused M. Caillot and his granddaughter of being
impostors, and even threatened the poor girl with being
sent to prison.
Louise was quite stunned by her misfortune, and
could scarcely find words to implore the compassion of
her cruel landlady. At length, having exhausted her
anger in various abusive epithets, Madame Duval
stripped the poor child of everything she possessed,
leaving her nothing but a few ragged garments to cover
her, and then turned her out of doors, to seek a shelter
where she could.
Night was fast approaching, and Louise found her-
self in a dreadful situation : sent at such an hour to
wander, penniless and hidf naked, through the streets
of Paris. When Madame Duval was closing the door,
Louise ventured to ask her for the fatal tin ^x.
' No,' replied she, * that may be worth a few sons, so I
shall keep it ; but if you wish for the trumpery papers
in it you may have them, as a precious wouvenir of your
thievish old grandfather.' So saying, the cruel woman
threw her the caref^y-tied-up manuscripts, and then
shut the door.
The heart of Louise was humbled ; she felt no incli-
nation to return railing for railing. * I have deserved
this misfortune,' she thought; *it comes as the just
punishment of my idle selfishness. May God prot&t
me, and enable me to act better in future I ' After a
short but fervent prayer, lier mind felt calmed, and she
bethought herself of the aged cousin of her grandfather,
Madame Th^r^se. * I will go to her,' she said, * and ask
her to let me share her lodging ; and perhaps, by work-
ing hard, I may contribute to her support as well as my
own.' Holding her grandfather's papers carefully in
her hand, she set out Tlie humble lodging of Ma&me
Ther^se was situated in an obscure suburb and Louise
had some difficulty in finding it out At length a good-
natured shoemaker, living hi the same street directed
her to the door, and the young girl knocked gently.
' Come in,' said a feeble voice. Louise entered.
The room was small, but very clean : a bed, covered
with a white quilt occupied one comer, and a cupboard
another; at the side was a small earthen stove, in
which a few sticks were burning, and two or three
chairs and a table completed the fHimiture of the apart-
ment Madame Th^rdse was seated on a low stool
near the stove: her dress, though humble, was very
dean, and her g^y hair, drawn tightly under a muslin
cap, gave a venerable air to her wrinkled features.
She had been for many years so crippled by rheumatism,
as to be unable to walk ; but her hands being free firom
184
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
the disease, she was constantly employed in knitting,
and thus gained a scanty subsistence. Yet often in the
cold dark days of winter the poor widow would have
perished but for the timely assistance of a few charit-
able neighbours, who, out of their own small supply,
used to bring her little presents of soup, bread, and
firing. It was now four years since she had seen
Louise, her own infirmities, and those of M. Caillot,
baying prevented their meeting: indeed so secluded
was her life, that she did not even know of her cousin's
death, and was therefore much surprised both at seeing
Louise, and hearing all she had to telL
Encouraged by the maternal kindness with which
she was received, the young girl made a frank confes-
sion of her errors, and concluded by saying — * Now,
dear madame, if you will allow me to share your room,
I will try, with the blessing of God, to be some comfort
and assistance to you. I am young and strong ; and
indeed I will try to work hard.*
* You are welcome, my dear child,' replied Madame
Therdse : * while God spares me, we will never part ;
indeed I feel assured that He has sent yon to me, and
that all our misfortunes, if borne with cheerful resigna-
tion, will prove for our real good.*
She then set herself busily to prepare some bread
ioupi and when it was ready, pressed Louise affection-
ately to partake of it Afterwards she made her share
her dean hard bed; and the young girl, happy to
have found so truly good a friend, slumbered pesuoefully
till morning.
When Louise awoke, she set herself to consider her
present situation, and resolved to leave nothing undone
that might contribute to her cousin's comfort Ac-
cordingly, having dressed herself, she assisted Madame
Therdse in putting on her clothes, and then arranged
the room neatly, while the old lady prepared breakfast
* How handy and useful you are, my child ! *
* Oh, aunt — will you allow me to call you aunt? — I
was always accustomed to attend dear grandpapa, and
shall be glad to do the same for you.'
Their light meal over, Louise asked her aunt, as she
BOW called her, to lock up in the cupboard her grand-
father's manuscripts; for although she could see no
intrinsic value in them, yet, as a memento of him, she
prised them.
The old lady looked at them. ' I am a poor
scholar,' she said ; * but certainly these papers appear
to me like a schoolboy's scribbling. I cannot think
why my poor cousin called them a treasure. How-
ever, for his sake we will put them up carefully, and I
certainly feel indebted to them for bringing you to me.'
Madame Therdse then lent Louise a cloak with which
to cover her shabby garments, and directed her to a
large haberdasher's shop, where she might succeed in
gaining employment
It was situated in one of the busiest streets of Paris,
and a number of gaily-dressed people were purchasing
at the counter when Louise entered. Ready-made
shirts, blouses, and children's clothes were among the
articles sold} and these Lonise hoped to be employed
in making. She advanced timidly towards the mistress
of the establishment, and said, * If you please, madame,
do you require a workwoman ?'
* Not at present' was the reply ; and poor Louise was
turning away, when the woman added, * If you can
work well, and on low terms, I may find something for
you to da Have you any one to recommend you ?'
* Only my cousin with whom I live.
•Who is she?'
* Her name is Madame ThMse Caillot She lives in
a room. No. 27, Rue ; but she cannot come out of
doors, for she is disabled by rheumatism.'
The shopkeeper laughed. * A fine recommendation
truly I You don't suppose, child, that in this establish-
ment we trust our work to persons who can give no
better reference than you offer?'
The tears stood in the young girl's eyes. * Good-
morning, madame,' she said humbly, and left the shop.
She recollected passing another warehouse of less splen-
did appearance in the next street tnd thither she turned
her steps. There had been a heavy fall of rain, snd
the pavement was muddy. As Louise walked slovly
on, she struck her foot against something that jingled ;
she stooped, and took up what looked like a lump of
mud, but felt very heavy. Louise wiped it and then
perceived it was a purse. With some diflkmlty she
opened the dasp, and found it contained twenty gold
pieces. What a treasure ! Her first fiseling was joy;
her second, ' This money is not mine ; I must seek for
the owner, and return it' She then resolved to take it
to Madame Ther^se, and be guided by her advice as to
the best means of restoring it Securing it carefully in
the folds of her dress, she entered the second shop, sod
applied for work. She met with a similar refnssl ; snd
with a heavy heart was quitting the shop, when s few
words spoken at the counter arrested her attention.
An elderly gentleman was purchasing some gloves, snd
when the parcel was handed to him, he said, * I fesr,
madame, I must be in your debt for these until to-
morrow, for I have just been ao carelees as to lose my
purse.'
* Ah, monsieur, what a pity I As to the gloves, don't
mention them I pray ; it will do to pay for them at
any time. But how did monsieur lose his purse?'
* I can scarcely tell. I remember taking ont mj
pocket-handkerchief in the street next to this, and pro-
bably drew my purse out with it ; but I cannot be oer-
tain. It was rather a serious los»— twenty Nspoleoni.'
Louise advanced eagerly — 'Monsieur,' she said, *I
believe I have found your purse )' and she handed him
the one she had found. '
* You are a very honest little girl,' said he; *thii ii
indeed my purse, which I never expected to see again.
And now what shall I give you for finding it?'
* Thank you, monsieur ; I do not expect anythmg.'
' That's no reason why you should not be rewsided.
You look poor : tell me where you live ? '
Louise replied that she lived with her cousin, an old
woman, and was now seeking for work to support them
both.
* Madame,' said the gentleman, taming to the mb-
tress of the shop, * wiU you, on my recommendation,
supply this girl with work. I heard you refuse her
just now, as you said she could give you no refSerence.
I think we may both be assured of her honest prin-
ciples.'
* Certainly, monsieur, I shall have much pleasnre in
trying her; and if she works well, I shall be able to
supply her with pretty constant emplojrment'
* Now,* said the gentleman, turning to Louise, *here
are four Napoleons for you ; they are only the just re-
ward of your honesty. I leave Paris to-morrow with
my family, and shall probably be absent for some
months, otherwise I would ask my wife to call at yoor
lodging ; but on our return, I hope she will be able to
see you. Here is a card with my name and address.'
Louise gratefully thanked the kind gentleman, who
hastened from the shop ; and she then took the mste-
rials for a shirt promising to bring it back finished the
next day. What joyful news she had on her return for
Madame Ther^se, and how cheerfully did they psrtske
together of their evening meal, to which a salad and
a bit of cheese were added, to make a little feast I
Louise continued to work hard and steadily. Winter
set in this year with unusual severity, and p>oor Madame
Th^rdse became quite disabled. Rheumatism attacked
her hands as well as her feet and rendered her quite
unable to work. She suffered dreadful pain at night,
which Louise sought tenderly to relieve by robbing
and chafing her limbs. The four Napoleons were gra-
dually expended in providing medicines and nonrith-
ing food for the invalid. Taught by adversity, Looiie
learnt to forget herself, and was never more hs^
than when ministering to the wants of her aunt Be-
fore the end of February, their money was all spwt
and the eamingi of liouise, alwayt small, were ikrtber
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
135
I
dkninbhed by the expense of candle -light, and the
neoesttty of giriag up much time to attending the in-
ralid. To add to their trials, the yoang girVi own
health hegan to fail Loss of rest, constant sitting at
her needle, and want of sufficient food, prodaoed their
nraal effect She became pale and thin, her breathing
wai quick, and her appetite failing.
Madame Therdie became much alarmed about her.
One day she remarked her frequently putting her hand
on her side, and sighing as if in pain.
* My child,* said the old woman, * the good gentleman
whose purse you found is a physician. I am sure if he
knew of your illness, he would do something for you.
Will you, then, call at his house to-day, for indeed I feel
voeasy about you ? '
/Louise felt reluctant to go. She feared it would look
like begging from one who had already done much for
her ; bat her aunt fearing that her health was seriously
afSectsd, manag^ to satisfy her scruples, and induced
bertoga
Nothing hut disappointment awaited them. Louise
found the house shut up, and the old man who was left
in charge of it told her the family were not expected
home for two months. She returned sorrowfiUIy to
her lodging, and continued with Madame Ther^se to
ftrofrgle against poverty and illness.
When Dr LeTerrier, the loser of the purse, at length
returned to Paris, he called to mind the poor little girl,
and one day, accompanied by his wife, sought out
thehomble lodgings of Madame Th^r^se. Ascending
the dark, narrow staircase, they knocked at the door,
and the Toice of Madame Therdse said *Come in.'
They entered. The room, though perfectly dean, looked
almost bare ; every little article of furniture had by
degrees been parted with to meet the necessities of the
poor inmates. Louise, whose weakness had consider-
ablj increased, was seated on a bundle of straw, which
ibrroed their only bed, and her wasted fingers were
feebly endeavouring to finish some work which ought
to hare been returned the day before. So changed was
her appearance, that Dr Leverrier could scarcely recog-
niie her *, but she knew him, and blushed deeply as she
rose and satd« * Aunt, this is the kind gentleman who
gave me the money.'
*I am sorry,' said Madame Leverrier, 'to see you
look so poorly ; but we are come now to do what we
can to nelieve you, and I hope, please God, you will
soon be welL* She then entered into conversation with
the old woman, while her husband inquired into Louise's
state of health. He found she had no fixed disease,
nothing which might not be removed by good food,
fresh air, and f^^edom from toil. These he took care
thoold be secured to her, by giving her aunt a sum of
nx»ey sufficient for their present necessities, and pro*
mtting to continue it until both the invalids should be
restored.
They then took their leave, followed by the grateful
blessings of Louise and her aunt. That evening Madame
I^Terrier sent them a comfortable bed and blankets,
together with a warm gown and shawl for each. How
comfortahly they slept that night I and how fervently
did they bless the goodness of God in sending them
inch friends !
Dr Leverrier continued frequently to visit them : he
Mi to send Louise out to walk, and sometimes sat
with her aunt daring her absence. One day he asked
the old lady to tell him all the particulars of their his-
tory, which she very willingly did. When she men-
honed the manuscripts which M. Caillot had bequeathed
to his granddaughter as a treasure, and which had
gt>?ed so useless to her, he became greatly interested.
He was a member of several 8cienti6c societies, and
^^ fond of antiquarian research ; it therefore occurred
to him that the papers might possibly possess some
▼line, and he asked anxiously to see them.
* Yon can have them, and welcome, monsieur,' said
Usdame Therise. * Louise, poor child, was greatly
attached to her grandfather, and for his sake ahfr keeps
I
them carefully locked up. I will open the cupboard
and get them for you.'
Accordingly, she handed Dr Leverrier the bundle
tied up with tape. He opened it, and found it to con-
sist of several small parcels. One of them was labelled,
* The writing of his most gracious Majesty Louis XIV.,
in his eighUi year, while instructed by me (Signed)
L. Caillot.' Dated 1646. Another had a similar su-
perscription, describing it as the writing of the dauphin,
the amiable pupil of Fenelon, and grandson to Louis
XIV. Then came the first attempts at penmanship of
Louis XV. Then the first copy-book of the unhappy
Louis XVI. And lastly, tied up and covered with
peculiar care, the writing of the little * Captive King,'
Louis XVIL As we mentioned before, the office of
writing-master to the royal family had been for many
generations hereditary in that of M. Caillot, and these
mementos of their princely pupils* progress had been
carefully treasured by each of its representatives, and
transmitted to his successor. They had all been well
ofi*, and therefore none of the family of Caillot had
had any temptation to part with these precious relics
until they descended to the grandfather of Louise, who
yet, in the midst of his poverty, could not bring him-
sdf to sell them. He knew that, as antiquarian curio-
sities, they would fetch a high price, and therefore
justly regarded them as forming a provision for Louise.
The suddenness of his death prevented his explaining
to her in what their value consisted, and, as we have
seen, she remained ignorant of it for a long time.
* These are indeed treasures,' said the doctor : ' I
know some persons who will gladly purchase them at a
high rate. I have no doubt they will bring Louise
several thousand francs.'
Just then the young girl entered. Her eye glanced
at the rolls of paper spread out on the little deal table.
* Ah,' she said, * poor grandpapa's manuscripts that
he prized so highly ! I have often wondered why he
valued them so much.'
* Don't wonder any more, my good girl,* replied her
friend. * They are indeed most valuable ; and I heartily
congratulate you on your good fortune, which I hope
and trust you will try to deserve.'
He then explained to her the nature of the papers ;
and when he mentioned the large sum which he ex-
pected they would sell for, Louise clasped her hands
and exclaimed, * Oh, dear aunt, at last I shall be able to
make you comfortable I ' Then turning to the doctor,
*Dear sir, how can I ever thank you for your kind-
ness I'
It was all she could say ; the sudden emotion was too
much for her ; and Dr Leverrier took his leave, carrying
the manuscripts with him, and promising to return as
soon as possible.
Two days elapsed, and on the third morning, as
Louise was preparing her aunf s breakfast, the doctor
entered.
* Good-morning, my friends,' he said ; ' I hring you
good news. Louise,' he added smiling, *how many
thousand francs do you suppose yourself possessed of?
* Dear sir, you are jesting ! I cannot guess.'
' Well, I will tell you my adventures since we last
met, and then you can judge. I have a particular
friend, the president of the Society of Antiquaries,
and to him I took your manuscripts. He was in ec-
stasies. ^ They are in^uable," he said; "* quite unique
— worth any money I I am not very rich, and yet I
would gladly give thirty thousand francs for them." I
explained to him the circumstances connected with
them, and told him that as I was acting fur another, I
considered it my duty to obtain the highest possible
price for them. He quite agreed with me, and directed
me to a brother antiquary of immense wealth, who, he
said, would, he was sur^ purchase them. Accordingly I
took them to Monsieur Lemont (that is his name), and,
as I expected, he was delighted with them. He finally
offered to pay fifty thousand francs for them, which,
considering it the full value for them, I agreed, in your
IZG
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
name, to accept I have lodged the aum (about llSOOO)
to your credit in the bank. It will produce you a
yearly income of about three thousand francs, and you
have now only to consider how to spend it to the best
advantage.'
Tlie first impulse of Louise was to kneel down and
humbly thank God for his great goodness. She then
affectionately embraced her aunt, and turning to Dr
Leverrier, ' Oh, sir, how can I thank you! ' It was all
she could say.
The doctor sat with them for some time, and when
Louise became calm, proceeded to discuss her future
plans. She was ready to be guided implicitly by him ;
and his advice was, that she and her aunt should imme-
diately remove to some neat, quiet lodging in the out-
skirts of Paris, and when settled there, that Louise
should apply herself to the cultivation of her mind, in
order to become fitted for the new rank in which she
was to move.
This judicious counsel was followed, and through the
kind offices of the doctor and his lady, Louise and her
aunt were speedily established in a nice lodging in the
suburbs. The young girl's first care was to provide
Madame Ther^sc with everything necessary to her
comfort ; her second, to engage teachers and purchase
books for herself. Her efforts at self-improvement were
crowned with success. Being now exempt from bodily
toil, her health became robust, and she acquired insen-
sibly both polish of manner and refinement of appear-
ance. . No one who saw the neatly-dressed venerable
old lady walking out, leaning on the arm of an elegant-
looking girl, could have recognised Madame Ther^se
and Louise as they appeared formerly. Dr Leverrier
and his family continued to take the kindest interest
in their welfare. He frequently invited them to his
house, feeling sure that Louise was a safe and profit-
able companion for his daughters.
It happened one day that Louise and her aunt were
taking an airing with Madame Lererrier. They stopped
at a shop to make some purchases, and as they were
coming out, an old woman accosted them, begging for
alms. ^ She was clothed in rags, and looked miserably
poor. * Madame Leverrier put a trifle in her hand, and
was passing on, when she was surprised to see Louise
stop and look eagerly at the beggar woman.
* Can it be r said the young girl * Are you Madame
Duval?'
* Yes,' replied she, ' that is my name ; but, mademoi-
selle, how do you know me?'
* I knew' you well at one time : have you forgotten
Louise CaUlot?'
The unhappy woman hid her face with her hands,
and said, * Have pity on me — I am justly punished ! '
Louise hastily explained to her friends who it was ;
and Madame - Leverrier having requested the shop-
keeper to allow them the use of his parlour for a short
time, they caused Madame Duval to come in and ex-
plain how she came to be so sadly reduced.
With many expressions of shame and humiliation,
the unfortunate woman told them that, by a course of
extravagance and idleness, she had gradually become
poorer and poorer ; until at length everything she pos-
sessed was seized for debt, and she was compelled to
wander about begging. * Then,' she said, ' when I
found myself a homeless outcast, without a friend, I
recollected my cruelty towards vou, mademoiselle } and
I felt that the just vengeance of Grod was pursuing me
for my sin agamst an orphan. I thought of all vou
must have suffered, and I longed to know what had
become of you. I am a miserable creature both in
mind and body : can you forgive me ? '
Louise burst into tears. ' Most freely I forgive you,
madame,' she said, * and will gladly do what I can to
assist you.'
She then gare her some money, and having inquired
where she lived, promised to send her further assist-
ance. The poor woman seemed ready to embrace her
feet with thankfUlneti, but Louise and her friends has-
tened away, overcome with Tarious emotaona. Looiae
and her aunt spent that evening at the house of their
friends ; and when Dr Leverrier came in, his wife tcdd
him their morning's adventure. He listened to it with
much interest, and aaked Louise what she wished to
have, done for her ancient enemy.
' I should like, sir,' she retried, * to relieve her wants,
and afford her the means of support'
' Then you have no feeling of enmity towards her?
Recollect how badly she treated you.'
The young girl's eyes filled with tears as she looked
at him almost reproachfully. It was sufficient answer.
' You are right my dear child,' said the doctor ; * I
spoke only to try you. True greatness of spirit is
shown in forgiving an injury, not in returning it; and
after all, though she meant it not for good, Madame
Duval has been the means of rendering you a real ser-
vice } for the hard season of adversity you have passed
through has been the blessed means of subduing what
was evil in your heart, and conferring on you ''the
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit." '
MACKAY»S "WESTERN WORLD.'
Two books of travels in the United States have just
come under our notice—one in three volumes by Mr
Alexander Mackay,* the otlier a pocket volume by Mr
Archibald Prentice. These works differ not less in
external aspect tlian in the manner in which they are
written. That of Mr Mackay consists chiefly of a
series of disquisitions on social and political topics,
united by a thread of personal narrative; while the
small volume of Mr Prentice is a lively description of
a tour, and scarcely aspires to be instructive. In the
meanwhile, laying the last -mentioned book aside, we
propose to confine our attention to Mr Mackay *s
* Western World,' which, though tedious in many parts,
is far from being without interest The writer tells us
in his preface that from a residence of some time in
the country, he has possessed better opportunities of
drawing sound conclusions than travellers of an ordi-
nary class ; and as far as we can judge, his views are
warranted by the actual and prospective state of society.
He would, however, be a very dull person who could
travel through the United States without having his
sentiments roused on divers matters of social conoern,
or who would not be impressedwith the national great-
ness that awaits our American brethren.
Mr Mackay begins his observations at Boston, and
thence proceeds southwards ; each place he visits being
a peg whereon to hang a string of observations. New
York suggests a disquisition on the commercial policy
of the States. At present a contest rages between the
manufacturing and agricultural interests, in reference
to free trade ; but conversely to that which prevails in
Britain. Tlie American agriculturists and ootton growers
desire fireedom of import and export : tlie manufacturers
alone desire protection ; they fear the spindles and looms
of Lancashire. What a pity to find such men as Mr
Webster and Mr Clay advocating restrictions on trade !
In spite of all odds, the free-traders are in the ascend-
ant : the tariff* bill of 1846 decided that custom-house
duties should be taken only on a revenue basis. Yet
that in eflfect tends to preserve monopoly, and a great
modification of duties is contended for. While on this
subject our author refers to the vast injury which
America could infiict on England. One is startled by
a mere announcement of the fact The internal peace
and prosperity of Great Britain depend on the regular
action of the cotton trade. Throw Lancashire and
Lanarkshire idle, by stopping the supplies of cotton,
and who will say what would be the consequences I
For these supplies we are dependent on America.
' This is a dependence,' observes Mr Mackay, * which
* The Western World, or Trardi In the United State* in 184G ?•
By Alex. Maokay, I^., of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law.
London; Bentley. 3toU. 1849.
^k^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
137
einnot be contemplated with indifference. As regards
tfie lapply of cotton, we are as much at the mercy of
America as Sf we were starring, and to her alone we
looked for food. She need not withhold her wheat:
America could starve as bj withholding her cotton.
True, it is as roach her interest as oars to act diffe-
Rody ; and so long as it continues bo, no difflcultj will
be experienced. But a combination of circumstances
mtjr be supposed in which America, at little cost to
henelf^ might strike as an irrecoverable blow : a crisis
might arise when, bj momentarily crippling our in-
doitoy, she might push in and deprive us of the
markets of the world. And who, should the oppor-
tanity arise, will guarantee her forbearance? . . .
It ii the consciousness of this absolute dependence
that induces many to look anxiously elsewhere for
the supply of that for which we are now wholly be-
holdea to a rivaL The cultivation of cotton in India is
no chioiera ; the time may come when we may find it
oar safety.' It should have been added, that the late
opening of British ports to American corn is the best
guarantee against the catasUt>phe which is feared.
In America all is activity and hopefulness. The pos-
libilitj of doing great things, striking out new fields
of enterprise, causes a universal restlessness. Repose
if onknown. In this old country we are at almost
erery step governed by traditions : we are terrified to
do snything which is not sanctioned by the usage of
oentories. No man is listened to who has not attained
to gray hairs; if he is bald, so much the better.
We have another social peculiarity. Politics do not
Ibnn a quite respectable subject Criticism of state
policy is a kind of half treason. No man is so estimable
ss he who candidly declares he neither understands nor
cares for matters of government. In America all this
b different Old men have there little to say ; young
men take the upper hand ; and politics are not only
perfectly respectable, but oonmiendable. ' The Ame-
ricao,' says Mr Mackay, ' is from his earliest boyhood
inoied to politica, and disciplined in political discussion.
The young blood of America exercises an immense in-
fluence over its destiny. Perhaps it would be better
were it otherwise. Frequently are elections carried,
in different localities, by the influence exerted on the
voters by fbo active exertions of young men who have
as yet no vote themselves. A minor may, and often
does, make exciting party speeches, to an assembly
composed of men, many of whom might individually be
h» grandfather.' We should be inclined to say that this
is going a little too far. There is a good mid-way in
ererything.
With something to condemn in their hot political
eooteits, we give the Americans credit for one thing,
in which they are clearly our superiors. * In America
there is no volunteering one's services as a representa-
tire.* Suitable candidates are brought forward by com-
mittees of electors, and no others have a chance of suc-
cess. Volunteer candidates are called ' stump orators,'
and their pretensions are treated only with derision.
Hov much better is this than the beggarly practice
vhtch prevails in Great Britain, where candidates con-
descend to the meanness of seeking votes, and not only
so, bat of paying for them also — in England by bribes
ofroon^, in Scotland by expectancies of situations I
Mr Mackay mentions that few things are more sur-
prising in American society than the sway exerted by
7«mg unmarried ladies. With us, a Miss fills a very
subordinate social position : she is nobody, and enjoys
consideration only Uirough her parents. In the States,
'the mother is invariably eclipsed by her daughters,'
who issue invitations, and receive company, as 5 inde-
pendent beings. The moment a lady submits to the
matrimonial tie, she is laid on the shelf, and soon dis-
appears from general society. ' Whilst the young ladies
engross all attention to themselves, the married ones sit
neglected in the comers, despite the superiority which
they may sometimes possess both in personal charms and
iBottal aocompUshments.' Possibly the great demand
for wives is the main cause of this social peculiarity.
Our author speaks of the number of society meeting^, at
which young ladies assist nearly every night in the
week. Dorcas societies are particular favourites, as
they blend a bit of amusement and gossip with the
obligations of charity. * The ladies of a congregation,
married and expectant — the latter generally predomi-
nating— ^meet in rotation at their respective houses at an
early hour in the afternoon, sew away industriously by
themselves until evening, when the young gentlemen
are introduced with the tea and cofi^: whereupon
work is suspended, and a snug little party is the con-
sequence, characterised by a good deal of flirtation, and
closed by prayer : the young men afterwards escorting
the young ladies home, and taking leave of them, to
meet again next week under the same happy circum-
stances.' In general society, the conversation is said to
be greatly made up of ' dreary commonplaces, jokes,
and vapid compliments.' We would hazard the remark,
that conversation cannot be more commonplace in
America than it is in ninety-nine houses in a hundred
throughout England — a talk of furniture, the weather,
artides of eating and drinking, the Opera, the last pic-
ture exhibition, and the comparative lighting qualities
of gas and candles.
Travelling in a railway car between Philadelphia and
Baltimore, Mr Mackay witnesses the extent to which
Americans carry their antipathy to the unfortunate
coloured race. ' At one end of the car in which I was
seated sat a young man, very respectably dressed, but
who bore in his countenance those traces, almost inde-
lible, which, long after every symptom of the colour has
vanished, bespeak the presence of Afirican blood in the
veins. The quantity which he possessed could not
have been more than 12^ per cent of his whole blood,
tinging his skin with a shade, just visible, and no more.
If his face was not as white, it was at all events cleaner
than those of many around him. I observed that he
became very uneasy every time the conductor came
into the car, eyeing him with timid glances, as if in fear
of him. Divining the cause of this conduct, I deter-
mined to watch the issue, which was not long delayed.
By and by the conductor entered the car agdn, and, as
if he had come for the purpose, walked straight up to
the poor wretch in question, and without deigning to
speak to him, ordered him out with a wave of his flnger.
The blood in a moment mounted to his temples and
suffused his whole face ; but resistance was vain ; and
with a hanging head, and broken-hearted look, he left
the carriage. He was not a slave ; but not a soul re-
monstrated, not a whisper was heard in his behalf.
The silence of all indicated their approval of this petty
manifestation of the tyranny of blood.' Some coarse
remarks followed from various persons in the car, com-
mendatory of this odious expulsion. Shocked at what
he had seen, our author proceeded to search out the
unfortunate young man, whom he found seated in a
bare wooden crib, along with about a dozen negroes,
who, envious of his white tinge, * rather rejoiced than
otherwise at the treatment he had received.' Mr Mac-
kay states, that on a late occasion the captain of a
British steamer on Lake Ontario violently expelled a
gentleman of colour from the dinner-table in the cabin,
in concession to the prejudice of some Virginians who
were present For this illegal and audacious act he
was very properly apprehended on a warrant at King-
ston, and had to pay a heavy fine for his officiousness ;
' his command being continued to him on condition of
his not offending in a similar manner in future.' It is
I^asant thus to see British law vindicating the rights
of humanity irrespective of race or colour.
Slavery is visibly observed to be a blight wherever it
rests. The slaveholding states are palpably retrograd-
ing ; the non-alaveholding states are rapidly advancing.
*View it whichever way you will,' says Mr Mackay,
* whether as a crime or as a calamity, this institution in
the United States invariably carries with it its own
retribution. However indispensable it may be to the
I
I
wealth and prodactiTeness of tome localities, it is a pro-
tent carae to the land, fraught with a terrible prospec-
tive judgment, when we consider the hopelessness of its
peaceful removal, and the awful catastrophes to which
it will inevitably lead. Where activity and progress are
the rule, all that is not advancing assumes the melan-
choly aspect of retrogression. North Carolina is vir*
tually retrograding. Since 1830, her population has
increased but at a very trifling ratio, which is partly
to be accounted for by the nuroben who annually emi-
grate from her, as from Virginia and other sea-board
states, to the Far West Her foreign trade, which was
never very large, has also of late years been rapidly on
the decline, and there is now but little prospect of its
ever reviving. She still holds some rank in point of
wealth and political importance in the confederation ;
but every year is detracting from it, and throwing her
more and more into the background. She has not only
lagged behind most of the original States amongst whom
she figured, but has permitted many of the younger
membera of the Union greatly to outstrip her.' Were
Virginia f^d from slavery, it would become one of the
most favourable fields of settlement for emigrants of a
wealthy dass. As it is, it is, like other sUveholding
States, shunned by men of capital and enterprise.
Railways have been already constructed in the United
States to the extent of 5700 miles, and 4000 miles
are in course of construction. This far exceeds the
aggpregate length of railways in Great Britain ; but the
two systems can scarcely be compared. Our lines are
generally double ; constructed with great care ; and are
decorated with splendid station-houses and termini:
great sums have also been paid for land ; and the par-
liamentary expenses have been enormous. In America
the cost of land has been comparatively trifling; the
rails are usually of timber, shod with thin slips of iron ;
the station-houses are wooden booths ; and the bridges
are also of wood, on an inexpensive scale. By this
studying of economy, the railway system has been
pushed to great lengths in the States, vastly to the
benefit of the more remote regions. When the country
is more densely peopled, the lines will of course be
improved. At present, although the rate of transit is
only from 15 to 20 miles an hour, they answer the pur-
pose of travellers, and make a return of from 5 to 8 per
cent to the shareholders. Much as we admire the
elegance and even grandeur of some of our raUway ter-
mini and other works, we wish, all cireumstances con-
sidered, that plainer models had been adopted.
On the subject of the Mississippi valley and its pro-
ductive powera we have some use^ particulara. This
valley, which is interlaced with 15,000 miles of navi-
gable rivers, and will in time contain a population of
a hundred and fifty millions, is capable of furnishing
food for the whole of Europe. The soil is generally so
ftertile and easily cultivated, that a farmer is well re-
munerated if he gets sixpence a bushel for his wheat
Ten shillings may be assumed as the cost of producing
a quarter of wheat in most portions of the prairie land
of the valley ; and if 20s. be added for cost oif transit to
England, grain of a fair description at SOs. a quarter may
be looked for. At present, from the want of capital, and
also from the demand on the spot by a new and grow-
ing population, large shipments of wheat cannot be made
to Great Britain; but every year the capacity for export
will increase, and we have no doubt that ultimately
there will be an abundant influx of American wheat at
the price stated. From the wheat-growing States on the
Atlantic grain will be exported at a considerable lower
rate. Of course facts of this kind' will be kept in re-
membrance by British farmera in renewing their en-
gafrements for land.
From Canada, wheat may be transported to Quebec
or to New York at about equal rates, the cheaper line
of transit, all things considered, being to Quebec But
there the preference ceases. The freight from New
York to Liverpool is cheaper than from Montreal or
Quebec to Liverpool So great is the disparity, says
Mr Mackay, that he has known 7s. 6d. sterling aiked
at Montreal for every barrel of flour to be conveyed to
Liverpool, whilst forty cents, or about ls.*8d., wu the
ruling freight at New York. Curiously enough, thi«
great difference, which is so iqjurious to the ooloniiti,
arises from nothing else than a wish on the part of
Great Britain to benefit the colonies. Aooordiog to the
navigation laws, no vessel but one of British or colonial
build can bring goods from a British colony to EngUod;
the object of the law being to keep our own trade to
ourselves. On this account foreign vessels taking goodi
to Canada cannot reload with cargoes for Engltnd. If
the shippers of Montreal had as much wheat on hand
for England ai would fill ten vessels, and ten empty
American ships were lying at the quay, they eould not
employ them. They would require to wait until Britiih-
built vessels came in and were prepared to take the
wheat on board ; consequently these British-built vesidi
having a monopoly, would charge a comparatively high
price for their services. Such is one of the effecti of
what are called ' the navigation laws,' for the abolition
of which an effort is now about to be made in psrUa-
ment * It frequently happens,' says Mr Mackay^'that
the quays both of Montreal and Quebec are overUden
with produce waiting for exportation, but which reroaini
for weeks on the open wharfs for want of sufficient
tonnage to carry it to Europe. ... It is of this mono*
poly, and its ruinous consequences, that the Canadian
so loudly and so bitterly complains. Such, indeed, ii
sometimes the want of tonnage in the Canadian seaports,
that produce forwarded to tide-water, with a view of
being conveyed to Liverpool that season, is not unfre-
quently detained until the opening of navigatiHa in tbt
following year. The inconvenience of this is great,
especially as wheat and flour are perishable comnioditiei,
and the exporter loses all the advantages which the
English market may in the meantime have offered hira.
The remedy for this evil is obviously to throw the dsti*
gation of the St Lawrence open to the shipping of the
world.' What a howl will this proposition raise amoog
the shipowners of Glasgow and Liverpool I
The rapid transmission of news among us has been
rather conspicuous since the electric telegraph was put
in requisition ; but in this department of affairs we are
still outdone by our American brethren. *For some
time afler the breaking out of the Mexican war, the
anxiety to obtain news from the south was intcxue.
There was then no electric telegraph south of Washing*
ton, the news had therefore to come to that city froni
New Orleans through the ordinary mail channels. The
strife was between several Baltimore papers for the first
use of the telegraph between Washington and Balti-
more. The telegraph office was close to the post-ofBce,
both being more than a mile from the wharf, at which
the mail steamer, after having ascended the Potomac
from the Aquia Creek, -stopped, and from which the
mail bags had to be carried in a wagon to the pott*
office. The plan adopted by the papera to anticipate
each other was this : — Each had an agent on board the
steamer, whose duty it was, as she was ascending the
river, to obtain all the information that was new, and
put it in a succinct form for transmission by telegraph
the moment it reached Washington. Having done lo,
he tied the manuscript to a short heavy stick, which
he threw ashore as the boat was making the wharf.
On shore each paper had two other agents, one a boy
mounted on horseback, and the other a man on foot,
ready to catch the stick to which the manuscript was
attached the moment it reached the ground. As soon
as he got hold of it, he handed it to Uie boy on horse-
back, who immediately set off with it at full gallop for
the telegraph office. There were frequently five or six
thus scrambling for precedence, and as they someUmes
all got a good start the race was a rery exciting one.
Crowds gathered every evening around the post-office
and telegraph office, both to learn the news, and witness
the result of the race. The first in secured the tele-
graph, and in a quarter of an hour afterwards the newf
J
known at Baltimore, forty tnilet off, and flreqtiently
before the mail was* delivered, and it was known even
at Washington itself. On an important occasion, one
of the agents alluded to as heing on board beat his
oompetitora by an expert mancenvre. He managed,
nnperceived, to take a bow on board with him, with
vhicb, on the arriyal of the boat, he shot his mann-
icript ashore, attached to an arrow, long before his
rifsls coold throw the sticks ashore to which theirs
WM tied.*
Mr Mackay recommends emigration to the United
States in the strongest possible terms, and expresses a
surprise, in which we unite, that this country should
be embarrassed with a redundant population — redund-
int in reference to existing means of support — while
K) great and glorious a field of settlement is open for
all on such very easy terms. While society in Great
Britain seems to be gradually pauperising — while * what
to do with our beggars' is becoming the most urgent of
qoestions, it is pleasant to read the following passages
in reference to a contrary state of things in America : —
*Tbe roost important feature of American society, in
connection with its physical condition, is, that compe-
tenoe is the lot of all. No matter to what this is attri-
butaUe, whether to the extent and resources of the
oooatay, or to the nature of its institutions, or to both,
SQch is the case, and one has not to be long in America
to discover it It is extremely seldom that the willing
band in Ainerica is in want of employment, whilst the
bard-working man has not only a competency on which
to live, but, if frugal, may soon save up sufficient to
procure for himself in the West a position of still greater
oomfort and independence. There are paupers in Ame-
rica, but, fortunately, they /ire very few. They are
genwally confined to the large towns; nor need they
sabsist upon charity, if they bad the energy to go into
the rural districts and seek employment This, how-
erer, is not applicable to the majority of them, who are
Sfed and infirm. It may be laid down as a general
rule, without qualification, that none are deprived of
competency in America except such as are negligent,
idle, or grossly improvident' Truly, it has been said,
is the paradise of the working-man.
ANCIENT IMPLEMENTS OF POPULAR SPORTS.
Among the suburban outskirts of London city, long since
swallowed up in the oeaseless progress that converts green
fields into bnek-/ieidtf and brick-nelds, with the old rural
footpaths they have displaced, into paved streets and
Benares, some memento of former associations still sur-
Tires, as a memorial of ' the country ' that skirted in olden
times the city's northern walls.
ClerkenweU Green still sounds as a strange memento
of the days gone by, when its gentle pastures and green
slopes lay along the * River of Wells,' as the * Fleet
Ditch' was then termed, while beyond extended in graasy
&;1^ or still greener morasses, Spitalfields, Moorfields,
tnd Finsbary. Ben Jonson tells us of ' the archers of
Finsbary, and the citizens that come a-ducking to Isling-
ton Ponds ;* and many a sly hit by the wits of Jameses
Court at the Cockney rivalry of Robin Hood's feats, shows
that these civic heroes were often sorely galled by lighter
iharpehooten than the archers of Finsbary Fields.
Eren so early as 1598, Stowe complains of ' the ancient
daily exercises in the long-bow by citizens of the City,
now almost clearly left off and forsaken ;' and subse-
quent enactments of James I. proved altogether unavail-
ing in prerenting the total abandonment of * the yard-
loug shaft,' which had proved the safety and lionour of
England on many a hard-fought field. Just beyond the
old site of Moorgate, the Artillery Grounds still preserve
• small area rescued from these old archery grounds, for
ci^ic feats of mimic war ; but a recent chance discovery
is the same neighbourhood carries us back to still older
<ports and pastimes of ' the London 'prentices' in these
tttra-mural fields.
Ib the collection of the Society of Antiquaries at
Somerset House, as well as in various private London
museums, specimens of ancient bone-skatM may be seen,
such as in early times, and even, it is believed, to a com-
parativelv recent period, were used by the citisens of
London m their mvourite winter pastime on the ice.
The Serpentine River of former days was an undrained
marsh lying outside London wall, at the foot of the long
slope by which the endless tide of Paddington and High-
gate omnibuses now wend their way to the Angel at
Islington. The winter rains accumulated here into a
broad and shallow pond, which required no long continu-
ance of frost to convert it into a safe and ample sheet of
ice. Towards this the pleasure-seeking crowds of citizens
might then be seen jostling one another as they pushed
their way through the old Moorgate archway, each carry-
ing in his hands a pair of homely skates, fashioned in
most cases of the leg-bone of a horse, with a hole drilled
from side to side at the one end, uid into the end at the
other — the latter probably to receive a peg by which
more effectually to secure the cords that fastened it to
the foot. These simple skates, dropped from time to
time, and buried in the mud and soil, at first occasioned
some little perplexity to the antiquaries of London
when they revisited the light. It is not unlikely, in-
deed, that they may have often enough been found and
tossed aside before, as mere musty bones, durine the
constant excavations in the City and its neighbouriiood.
But now that archseology has become a science with
numerous students Skud devotees, the barest bone is often
found worth picking ; and since attention was first
directed to the subject, about eight years ago, many such
bone-skates have been dug up in various districts around
London, and particularly in the immediate neighbour-
hood of the City.
The examples which we have seen of these rude speci-
mens, illustrative of the antiquity and progressive im-
provement of one of the most popular ana healthful re-
creations of our northern winters, were dug up, in the
year 1839, in Moorfields, near Finsbury Circus, London.
Though Moorfields — to use a familiar Cockney pun — are
no more fields, the whole area having long since been
built over, and laid out in streets and squares, beyond
which miles of brick tenements and stone-paving extend
between it and the open fields, the ground still exhibits,
in the course of any excavations by which it is opened
up, distinct evidences of its former character as a bog or
marsh; and it will presently appear to what uses it was
put so long as it retained this character.
Strutt, in his ' Sports and Pastimes,' while confessing
his inabilitv to trace the introduction of skating into this
country, refers to evidence of its existence in the thirteenth
century; and adds an opinion, which few will be inclined
to dispute, that ' probably the invention proceeded rather
from necessity than the desire of amusement.' The rude-
ness of these bone-skates is such as seems to justify the
antiquary in assigning to them a very early date : and a
curious passage, whicn occurs in Fitz-Stephen's descrip-
tion of London, enables us to establish their identity with
those used in that writer's own time — that is, in the
reign of Henry II., 1161-1 189. Fitz-Stephen, in describ-
ing the sports of the citizens of London, says — ' When
that great moor, which washeth Moorfields ait the north
wall of the city, is frozen over, great companies of young
men go to sport upon the ice,' &c. After enumerating
the various modes of sliding, he adds, * Some are better
practised to the ice, and bind to their shoes bones — as
the leg-bones of beasts — and hold stakes in their hands,
headed with sharp iron, which sometimes they strike
against the ice; and those men go on with speed, as doth
a bird in the air, or darts shot from some warlike engine! '
It is rare, indeed, that the antiquary discovers so dis-
tinct and unmistakeable a reference not only to the cha-
racter and uses of a chance-found relic, but to the exact
locality in which it has lain unheeded for nearly seven
centuries.
In Bishop Percy's * Five Pieces of Runic Poetry,' trans-
lated from the Icelandic language,* more than one refer-
* London, 1763>
140
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
ence ocean to skating, af one among the most ossential
qualifications of a northern warrior. In ' Harold's Com-
plaint' the hero Uius enumerates his slighted worth : — * I
know how to perform six exercises. I fight with cour-
age, I keep a firm seat on horseback, I am skilled in
swimminx, / glide along the ice on skatetf I excel in dart-
ing the lance, I am dexterous at the oar, and yet a
Russian maid disdains me ! '
In M. Mallet's * Introduction k I'Histoire de Dane-
marc,'* a quotation is made from the 24th table of the
'Edda,' in which the following allusion to skating oc-
curs : — * Then the king asked what that young man could
do who accompanied Thor ! Thialfe answered. That in
running upon skates he would dispute the prize with any
of the countries. The kine owned that the talent he
spoke of was a rery fine one/ kc.
But a still more definite description of the ancient
skate than that already referred to occurs in Olaus
Magnus's ' History of the Nations of the West.' He
speaks of it as being made of iron, or of the shank-bone
of a deer or sheep, about a foot long, filed down on one
side, and greased with hog's lard to repel the wet.
Mr C. Koach Smith, on showing examples of these
bone-skates to the eminent northern antiquary Herr
Worsaac of Copenhagen, was informed by him that
similar examples had been found in Holland, in Scandi-
nayia, and particularly in the southern part of Sweden.
He referred him also to a yetr curious passage in one of
the old Scandinavian mythological songs, in which it is
said that Oiler or UUer, god of the winter, runs on bones
of animals over the ice.
It cannot surprise us to find such early and varied
evidences of the practice of skating on the ice among the
northern races of Europe, nor of their use of a skate so
readily supplied as one of the least-valued spoils of the
chase. It seems indeed surprisine that a skate so very
simple and easily accessible should not still remain in
use among our juvenile population, with whom the more
refined and complicated modem instrument of steel is
sometimes a matter not readily obtained.
No allusion occurs, that we are aware of,- axnong early
Scottish writers to a similar practice among the natives
of our northern region, though it cannot be doubted that
there also skating was one of the winter pastimes of our
ancestry from a very early period. Gavin Douglas, in the
prologue to the seventh book of the 'JEneid,* gives a most
vigorous and picturesque description of the northern
winter, in which he depicts both the aspect of nature and
the influence of the season on man and beast ; but no
allusion occurs to such popular pastimes as those to
which the earlier Scandinavian and Icelandic poets refer.
Most Scottish readers are familiar with Sir David
Lindsay's lively satire on the obsequious courtiers of
James V., which occurs in the ' Complaynt:' —
' nk nun ef ter thair qnalitle,
Thsy did solist his mijestio;
Sum gart him ravell at the rakket.
Sum harlit him to the hurly-hakket/ &o.
The hurly-hakket, more correctly hwiy-haufkief was a
boy's game practised in James's time and later, on the
slope of the Heading Hill, or ancient place of execution
near Stirling Castle. Seated on the inverted bone of a
cow's head, the youth descended this slope with thunder-
ing speed, to the wonder of quiet people, and his own no
small delectation. On the Calton Hill near Edinburgh,
the game was practised at the end of the last century
with a horse's head; but the skull of the ruminant seems
to have been the more normal vehicle, as the name hawkie
is simply the familiar anpellation for a cow in Scotland.
It may readily be believed that as the bones of ani-
mals were among the early spoiU of the chase, they would
be adapted in a rude age to manpr uses for which the
devices of modem ingenuity and civilisation have found
other substitutes. Among the rude savages of the South
Sea Islands, as well as among the Kamtchatkins and
Esquimaux, the bones and horns of many animals are
turned to account in the constraction of their weapons
* S vols., London, 1770.
and implements; and we fre<|uently find among the
contents of early British tumuli, evidence that our own
barbarian ancestry applied thcon to the same useful
purposes.
It WM not, however, for objects essentially useful only,
but also for the instruments used in games of chance sod
skill, that the bones of animals were found appliciU)Ie
by our mde forefathers. In Herr Worsaac's comparison
of the ' Antiquities of Ireland and Denmark,' in the third
volume of the proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy,
he refers to ancient draftsmen of bone, of a hemispherical
shape, and with a hole in the flat bottom, whidi frequently
occur in considerable quantities in Norwegian tumuli,
and are idso occasionally found in Irelan£ They are
believed to have formed the implements of gaming among
the roving Norsemen, their form being designed to admit
of their use on shipboard, so that they might not be liable
to displacement by the rolling of the vesseL
Many allusions of our early dramatists also suffice to
show that such games as nine-pins, loggats, skittles, and
the like, were originally played with ^nes. The name
of skittles is evidently denved, like the older term kayles,
or kayle-pins, from the French qaUle^ a pin. And to the
latter game — of which Stratt gives an illustration, some-
what oddly derived from a misuil of the fourteenth centaiy
— the more modem nine -pins are obviously traceable.
Several of these games are enumerated in early English
statutes against gaming, particularly in more than one
of Henry VIII. And a game called cU^y which appean
to have been nearly identical with nine-pins, is specified
in a similar statute so early as the reign of Edwara IV.
' Loggats,' sajTs Sir Thomas Hanmer, one of the earij
editors of Shakspeare, ' is the ancient name of a play or
game, which is one of the unlawful games enumerated in
the 33d statute of Henry VIII. : it is the same whidi ii
now called kittle-pins, in which the boys offcen make um
of bones instead of wooden pins, throwing at them with
another bone instead of bowling.'
In a rare old play of Queen Elizabeth's reign, entitled
* The Longer thou Livest the more Fool thou Art/ a
dunce is introduced, who boasts of his skill
* At skates, and the playing with a sheep's joyate.*
So, too, in the well-known scene with the gravediggsr in
Hamlet —
* That sknll had a tonfue in it, and oonid sing onoa HmTi
fine revoInUon, an' we had the trick to aae it. Did IKm Um etH
nomore thebrudifHf but toplajfot iogffoU with ihmt Mioeaohtto
think on'tl'
These allusions place beyond doubt the use of bones in
these popular games of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries ; and so, too, we find a later dramatic writer of
Charles II.'s reign, in a play called * The Meny Milk-
Maid of Islington,' making one of his characten addreis
another thus —
* ru cleave you fraai the skull to the twist, and make nine-
skitUes of thy hones ! '
These latter illustrations may perhaps be considered ai
having a very slight connection with the subject of
ancient bone-skates. They suffice, however, to show to
how many xises, which have since been lost sight of, these
waste articles of the chase and of the kitchen were ap-
plied in early, and even in comparatively recent times.
POPULAR MEDICAL ERRORa
CONCLUDING ARTICLE.
Drawing Salves and Strengthening Plasters, ^Veofis
entertain some curious notions as to the properties of
salves. We continually hear them talk of drawing
salves. It might be possible, no doubt, to trace some
of the old doctrines of medical men in these sayinf^
when what was c^ed the humoral pathology was in
vogue. I seldom pass many days witnout hearing twt I
a particiUar ointment draws too much, or not sum- I
ciently. The least that can be said of it is, that ln« )
phraseology is not good, and altogether indeflnit«jfor
the greater part of those who employ it scarcely know
precisely what they wish to express. As to itrengtn-
r=
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
141
M
eniog plaiten, I must confess my complete want of
f$iA. To communicate strength by a pitch plaster is
more easily said than done. I remember there was for-
meriy a great cry for strengthening plasters at the Man-
chester Infirmary. Many old men and women would
beg for them, as if a plaster was the greatest favour
that coold be conferred; and afterwards, when their
plasters were worn out, they would endeavour, in the
most ingeniom way imaginable, to bring lound the con-
fersation to the subject of plasters, and end by request-
ing to have otiiers, * as the virtue,' they said, * was gone
oat of the old ones/ It would be well if they could find
any rdief from their real ailments from such impotent
means. As to what are called * warming plasters, more
fiuth may be given to them, for these act more or less
bke blisters, being indeed composed of pitch plaster and
blistering plaster, and to some extent, therefore, useful
in cases where external irritants are necessary.
Ptt^ Heavier after Death, — ^That a person weighs
heavier when dead than when living, is one of the po-
pular errors which one cannot well suppose to prevail
amongst the better - informed part of society. The
l^irase dead weight has probably sprung up from this
idea. Why a person should be heavier when he is
dead is not very apparent, unless the principle of life is
to be considered as one of levity, as phlogiston was sup-
poied to be by the philosophers of a former day. The
nppOTters of Stabl's celebrated doctrine of phlogiston
bdieved that when a body was burnt, a principle, which
tbey called pA/o^aton, escaped from it in the form of light
and heat ; but unfortunately for this view, it was found,
when the products of combustion were carefully col-
lected, Uiat they weighed more than the body did pre-
TloQtly. This would have been fatal to their doctrine,
had not the idea been broached that phlogiston was a
principle of levity, which, being removed, left the body
besvier than before.
This was of course quite fallacious, and so would such
an idea be with respect to life. One reason that a dead
body is thought to be heavier than a living one is pro-
bably this, that in carrying a living person we have the
centre of gravity adapted by the person carried to suit
the convenience of the carrier, and maintained in a
position as far as possible to fall within the base of his
body. Again, the elasticity of the structures of the
body, especially the cartilages, though not in reality
diminishing the weight, gives an appearance of light-
ness, as we see in the beautiful movements of the stag,
and this would seem to corroborate the notion of living
creatures being lighter than dead ones. We have also
phrases which would seem to imply that lightness was
the concomitant of gentleness. How often we are ad-
monished by the poets to tread lightly on the ashes of
the dead!
Mother's Marks. — Of what are called ' mother's marks,'
I may say a word or two. Everybody has heard of
strawberries and cherries being represented on children's
beads and backs, and people pretend that these appear-
ances alter according to the season of the year, as the
fruit may or may not be ripe. The question as to
the (mgin of these marks appears at one time to have
given rise to rather a warm controversy. A l>r Samuel
Turner, in the eighteenth century, published a work on
diseases of the skin, in which there was a dissertation
on these congenital marks contained in the 12 th chap-
ter, and in which he attributed them to the influence
of the mother's imagination. In answer to this part
of the work, an anonymous publication appeared de-
nouncing the idea as a vulgar error. However, Dr
Turner discovered the work to be written by a Dr
James Augustus Blondel, and looking upon the reply
as a direct attack upon himself, republished his views
in an appendix to another work which he was then
bringing out. Dr Blondel was not, however, to be set
down in this manner, and again controverted these
opinions. Dr Turner now began to consider his repu-
tation seriously at stake, and supported his views by re-
ferences from Skenkius, Hildanus, Horstius, and others
who are fond of dealing in prodigies. Though it is
evident that he had the worst of the discussion, the
fourth edition of his work, which appeared in 1731, is
said still to have contained the 12di chapter without
alteration, and to be supported with a fierce-looking
portrait of the author.
Proverbs. — There are two proverbial sayings which
may be just alluded to, particularly as one of them has
perhaps a somewhat injurious influence. We often hear
people use the expression — 'Stuff a cold, and starve
a fever;' and many think this plan should be literally
adopted, and proceed to act accordingly. I never pro-
perly understood the sense of the proverb until one of
my professional friends explained to me that there was
an ellipsis in the sentence, and that it should be under-
stood as a brief way of saying, * Stuff a cold, and you
will have to starve a fever ; ' that is, if you do not refrain
from generous living during a cold, ten to one you will
set up a fever in which you will have to abstain alto-
gether. This is certainly a more sensible reading of it.
The next proverb is, ' That twilight is the blind man's
holiday.' At first it would seem a ridiculous saying,
because if want of light is to excuse us from work, a
blind man must have a perpetual holiday.
The proverb no doubt rdates to the well-known fact,
that a man with a cataract can see better in the twi-
light. This is very easily explained ; for in the softened
light called twilight, the pupil of the eye expands, and
as the diseased lens which intercepts the light is chiefly
opaque in the centre, it follows that the rays of light
are in some degree admitted when the pupil is fully
dilated.
Bones Brittle in Winter. — Accidents frequently hap-
pen in winter-time from the slippery state of the roads *,
but there is a general belief that the bones are more
brittle in winter than at another time. In frosty
weather, it is a common remark made to domestics
to be careful in cleaning the windows, as the glass
is brittle; and this certainly is the case, and for an
obvious reason. The outside of the window is exposed
to the cold frosty air, whilst the inside is wanned
by the heated air of the room ; hence the two sides
ore expanded in different ratios, and a slight accident
is sufficient to break the pane; just as hot water,
put suddenly into a cold glass, may crack the vessel ;
especially if it be so thick that the heat is not readily
transmitted through it. Well, then, probably the notion
about the brittleness of the human bones in winter is
derived from the fact I have mentioned; but the animal
heat does not differ in cold weather, except indeed on
the surface of the body. Nor would there otherwise
be any analogy in* the cases. That the bones of old
people are more brittle than those of the young, is
quite true ; but this is of course altogether a different
question.
0/ the Lock 'Jaw. — Many people entertain a very
singular idea of the complaint called lock-jaw. It is, I
think, often supposed that the disease consists alone
in the forcible closure of the jaw, and that the patient,
being unable to get sustenance, dies from inanition.
Some of these people, who consider themselves a little
more ingenious than their neighbours, will suggest to
you the extraction of a tooth as a remedy, which,
they think, may not have presented itself to others.
In reality, the stiffened state of the muscles of the
jaw is only a part of a general condition of spasm, the
origin of which is ill understood, notwithstanding the
great attention which has been devoted to the sub-
ject, and the ability which has been directed to it.
The body is sometimes bent back like a bow in a
most frightful manner, and. the hands and feet dread-
fully distorted. As the complaint first shows itself
about the muscles of the jaw, it may have acquired
the name from this circumstance. Some non-profes-
sional people mistake dislocation of the jaw for lock-
jaw. When the jaw is dislocated, it remains widely
open, and the patient is unable to shut his mouth.
One laughable case is related of a person singmg very
142
CHAMBERS*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
loudly at a concert, who taddenly became silent, and
was foand staring with his mouth wide open. At
first people thought he was mad, but at length it was
discorered that his jaw was dislocated.
Bed FlanneL — The rery name red flannel brings to
me a thousand recollections of old women with moun-
tains of bandages round their heads, or of swelled knees
and joints carefully swathed like Egyptian mummies.
It is really surprising to see the number of rolls which
surround the heads of some of tlie aged and invalid
poor. I have frequently endearoured to effect their
remoral or diminution, but I always found I was touch-
ing on a sore point ; and though I succeeded in some
cases, I could evidently see there would be a struggle to
return to the old red flannel aa soon aa my attendance
was discontinued.
But the red flannel is not used merely for warmth:
it is looked upon as a sort of remedy in itself. In the
same way as you would apply a blister, or an ointment,
or lotion, so you use the red flanneL But though the
red flannel is so generally confided in by the poor, in
this, as in many other instances, I hare in vain sought
from any of its supporters to obtain any precise idea of
its modut operandi The efllcacy of red flannel must
then be conceded, I suppose, as an ultimate fact, which
must be granted, and not reasoned upon.
It would be altogether profane to ask whether the
virtue depends on the coarseness of its texture, or upon
its colour, or some properties imagined to reside in the
dye. People do not say, shall I use coarse flannel ? or
shall I keep the part weU wrapped up in many folds of
flannel? but shall I use red flannel?
MuueU, — Mussels, it is well known, sometimes pro-
duce nettle-rash, and other unpleasant svmptoms; so
that it is common to say people are musseled. We often
hear it stated that this depends upon a certain part of
the mussel, and that when this part is taken out, there
is no fear of bad eflfects arising. I cannot for my own
part speak on this point, but I will simply quote what
Dr Paris states. * The mussel,' says he, ' is a species
of bivalve, which is more solid, and equally as indigest-
ible, as any animal of the same tribe. The common
people consider them as poisonous, and in eating them,
take out a part in which they suppose the poison prin-
cipally to reside. This is a dark part, which is the
heart, and is quite innocuous: the fact, however, is
sufficient to prove that this species of bivalve has been
known to kill, but not more frequently perhaps than
any other indigestible substance.' ♦
Galvanic Rings. — A little while back it was rery
much the custom to wear what were called galvanic
rings for the relief of rheumatic and other pains. Even
granting that these rings have a galvanic action, I do
not myself see how they are to cure such complaints.
Perhaps they are intended to act like charms. Formerly,
rings were very much used to charm away diseases.
Pettigr6w tells us that Paracelsus had a ring made of a
variety of metallic substances, which he called elec-
trum. • These rings were to remove cramp, palsy, apo-
f)lexy, epilepsy, or any pain. If put on during an epi-
eptic fit, the complaint would be immediately cured.'
Sometimes rings were formed from the hinges of ti
coffin. 'Andrew Boorde,' he continues, who lived in
the reign of Henry VIII., says, 'the kynges of Eng-
lande doth halowe every yere crampe rynges, which
rynges worn on one's finger doth help them which hath
the crampe.* f
*In the Gentleman's Magazine for 1794, we are told
that a silver ring, which is made of five sixpences,
collected from five different bachelors, to be conveyed
by the hand of a bachelor to a smith that is a bachelor,
will cure fits. None of the persons who gave the six-
pences are to know for what purpose, or to whom they
gave them.'f Bachelors were not, however, the only
contributors of these charms.
4> Paris on Diet, p. 163.
tOp.Cit p.(S.
1838.
t Op. Cit. p. 87.
* The London Medical and Physical Journal for 1815
notices a charm successfully employed in the cure of
epilepsy, after the failure of various medical means. It
consisted in a silver ring, contributed by twelve young
women, and was constantly worn on one of the patient's
fingers.'* It seems, then, that the practice of curing
diseases by metallic rings is by no means new. A short
time ago I attended a gentleman for a rheumatic com-
plaint, who all the time wore one of these galvanic
rings. I do not know whether he attributed his re-
covery to the ring or his medicine, or whether he
divided the credit
Heart. — There are some errors which are of an anato-
mical nature. There is a common misunderstanding as
to the position of the heart, though it is common enough
to talk of the heart being in the right place. People
say the heart is on the left side ; but in reality it in-
clines only a little to the left, being almost immediately
behind the breast-bone or ttemum, and is situated higher
than I think is generally conceived by non -professional
people. The breast-bone is the bone with which the
ribs are articulated at the front of the chest, and imme-
diately behind the breast-bone lies the heart, surrounded
of course by its proper coverings. I have known people
imagine the stomach to be immediately at the termina-
tion of the windpipe, because the feelings of indigestion
are often referred to this point. In respect to the heart,
the term ossification, applied to disease of the heart, is
generally but imperfectly understood. There are people
who think the heart is literally and completely changed
into bone. A person would, however, die long before
such a change could be brought about. There are,
however, some very extraordinary cases related by
Corvisart, Bums, Haller, and others, in which large
portions of the heart were replaced by ossific deposits.
In general, however, when ossification of the heart is
spoken of, it is merely meant that the valves of the
heart are impeded in their action by ossific deposits,
and instead of falling in a manner to>close the orifices
over which they are situated, remain to a certain extent
patulous.
Amongst this class of anatomical errors is that which
we sometimes find people run into, of supposing that
they have what they call a narrow swaUow. Such people
cannot take pills. The same people will swallow much
larger bodies with ease. I have several times been
called to children who have swallowed marbles and
other large bodies, whilst the mothers have asserted
that their throats were too narrow to admit the passage
of pills. In these cases there seems a want of consent
in the muscles of deglutition with those of the mouth
and palate, and this must proceed from a mental feel-
ing, sometimes difficult to overcome.
Inward Fits. — Nurses often speak of inward ^U. When
I first heard the phrase I was somewhat puzzled with
it. There is something terrible in fits, but still more
terrible in supposing that they are going on in the in-
terior without any external manifestation. The truth
is, these inward nts (quasi fights) are no more inward
than any other fits, and scarcely to be dignified by the
term fits. I conceive that the expression is applied to
those little nervous twitchings which wc occasionally
see during sleep. An infant will have its mouth drawn
up into a sort of smile, and the eyelids will be scarcely
properly closed.f The nurses will shake their head,
and tell the anxious parent that it is suffering from
inward fits. I do not like the term, for I think it is
calculated to produce a sort of alarm which is not
always justified by the case.
Means of Preventing Contagion. — I think it is often
supposed that medical men are in the habit of carrying
about them some drug which has a protective influence
against the operation of contagion. If this were the
case, it would be very proper that it should be made
generally known. I remember, when I was very young.
* Pettigrew, p. 68.
t Banu'8 Practice of Midwifery, p. 78&
18S&
I
CHAMBEBS*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
143
having a little bag of camphor stitched in my dress, to
preTeot fever daring the time that it was preyalent.
Some people will suppose that smoking is desirable.
I h«Te known ladies put lavender in their handkerchiefs
if thej thought thej were going to run any risk. Most
of the remedies used are of this class — namely, such as
btTe a poverAil odour. The celebrated Hahnemann,
the aalhor of the homosopathic doctrines, thought that
beUadonna had a protective influence against the scarlet
fever. It was, however, to be given internally, of course
io s very smaill dose — three grains dissolved in an ounce
of distilled water, of which three drops were to be ad-
mimttered twice daily to a child under twelve months.
The homcDopathists assert that if it dues not prevent the
disease, it renders it mild.
The plan of carrying camphor bags reminds one of
tiie old amulets and charms to which we have already
given attention. I mentioned the importance of rings.
Id the Harleian manuscripts (according to Pettigrew,
jk 67), is a letter from Lord Chancellor Hatton to Sir
Thomas Smith, written at the time 6f an alarming epi-
demic. He writes thus: — *I am likewise bold to re-
oommeod my most humble duty to our dear mistress
(Queen Elizabeth), by th|s letter and ring^ which hath
the virtue to expel infectious airs. ... I trust, sir, when
the virtue is known, it shall not be refused for its value.'
Pertiaps some one may bring out cholera rings — I dare-
say people would be found to buy them. The more
ridicoloua a remedy is, the better it often takes. How-
ever, medical men do not attach importance to these
portable remedies, at least such as operate merely in
giving out an odour without exercising any chemical
influence on the atmospliere. I am not now alluding
to inch as chloride of lime, which is to be kept in the
boQie. The subject of the prevention of contagion is
much too vast and important to admit of cursory re-
mark, and I shall content myself, therefore, with deny-
ing that medical men are in the habit of carrying about
their persons remedies to prevent contagion.
Of BUe. — Just as I stated that the public use the word
tairmf as a general term for diseases of the skin, so it is
common to use the epithet biliaua for a number of dis-
tinct affections. A person is in the habit of putting his
stomauih out of order, and declaring that he is very
bilious ; or another shall lay the flattering unction to his
soul that some serious structural disease is all attri-
butable to the bile. There is one common mistake
made in respect to vomiting bile. Whenever bile is
found in the ejected matter, it is at once concluded that
it was owing to a redundance of bile that the sickness
wu created. This is, however, in most cases an error,
for the bile is brought into the stomach from the first
bowel (the duodenum) by the straining efibrts of the
patient, which cause a reflux or regurgitation of the
bile in opposition to its natural route. Thus nothing is
more common than to find bile ejected ft-om the sto-
mach in sea-dckness, even when the suflerer set out on
his voyage in the full enjoyment of health.
Whikt engaged in writing out these brief memoranda
of medical errors, I stumbled on a book on the subject,
vritten by a Dr Jones, dated 1797, in which he places
in the category of popular errors some which one would
icarcely expect to meet with in such a connection.
Thus he considers it as one of the errors to be refuted,
'that a physician just called to a patient ought, as soon
as he comes down stairs, to inform the family of the
luune of the distemper.' Most medical men will agree
vith him that this is certainly an egregious error.
He also alludes to the absurdity of asking a physician
qnestions at a dinner-table, which it is impossible for
him to answer without a careful inquiry into the case of
the querist I shall not now, however, trespass longer
on the attention of the reader, but conclude by again
reminding him that if I have been led to mention
many things of a very commonplace kind, I have been
obliged to do so by the nature of the subject ; and in
nipect to the style or manner in which this has been
doDBy it appeared to me that commoa things would
be best described in common and familiar language, and
colloquial phrases would best embody the ideas with
which they are generally connected.
THE SEVEN-SHILLING PIECE;
AN ANECDOTE.
It was during the panic of 1826 that a gentleman,
whom we shsdl call Mr Thompson, was seated with
something of a melancholy look in his dreary back-
room, watching his clerks paying away thousands of
pounds hourly. Thompson was a banker of excdlent
credit ; there existed perhaps in the city of London no
safer concern than that of Messrs Thompson and Co. ;
but at a moment such 'as I speak of, no rational reflec-
tion was admitted, no former stability was looked to ;
a general distrust was felt, and every one rushed to his
banker's to withdraw his hoard, fearful that the next
instant would be too late, forgetting entirely that this
step was that of all others l^e most likely to insure
the ruin he sought to avoid.
But to return. The wealthy citizen sat gloomily
watching the outpouring of his gold, and with a grim
smile listening to the clamorous demands on his cashier ;
for although he felt perfectly easy and secure as to the
ultimate strength of his resources, yet he could not re-
press a feeling of bitterness as he saw constituent after
constituent rush in, and those whom he fondly imagined
to be his dearest friends eagerly assisting in the run
upon his strong-box.
Presently the door opened, and a stranger was ushered
in, who, after gazing for a moment at the bewildered
banker, coolly drew a chair, and abruptly addressed
him. * You will pardon me, sir, for asking a strange
question ; but I am a plain man, and like to come
straight to the point.'
* Well, sir?' impatiently interrupted the other.
* I have heard that you have a run on your bank, sir.'
*WeU?'
•Is it true?'
•Really, sir, I must decline replying to your very
extraordinary query. If, however, you have any money
in the bank, you had better at once draw it out, and so
satisfy yourself: our cashier will instantly pay you;*
and the banker rose, as a hint for the stranger to with-
draw.
* Far from it, sir : I have not one sixpence in your
hands.'
* Then may I ask what is your business here ?'
* I wished to know if a small sum would aid you at
this moment?' y
* Why do you ask the question ?* • ^
' Because if it would, I should gladly pay in a smaf*
deposit' "^
The money-dealer stared. ^
* You seem surprised : you don't know my person oi*
my motive. I'll at once explain. Do you recollectl
some twenty years ago when you resided in Essex?'
* Perfectly.'
* Well, then, sir, perhaps you have not forgotten the
turnpike-gate through which you passed daily ? My
father kept that gate, and was often honoured by a few
minutes' chat with you. One Christmas morning my
father was sick, and I attended the toll-bar. On that
day you passed through, and I opened the gate for you.
Do you recollect it, sir?'
* Not I, my friend.'
* No, sir ; few such men remember their kind deeds,
but those who are benefited by them seldom forget
them. I am perhaps prolix: listen, however, only a
few moments, and I have done.'
The banker began to feel interested, and at once
assented.
* Well, sir, as I said before, I threw open the gate
for you, and as I considered myself in duty bound, I
wished you a happy Christmas. ** Thank you, my lad,"
replied you — *' thank you ; and the same to you : here
is A trifle to make it so ; " and you threw me a leveii-
144
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
,•
BhilliDg piece. It was the first money I eyer possessed ;
and nerer shall I forget my joy on receiving it, or
your kind smile in bestowing it I long treasured it,
and as I grew up, added a little to it, till I was able to
rent a toll myself. You left that part of the country,
and I lost sight of you. Yearly, however, I have been
getting on ; your present brought good fortune with it :
I am DOW comparatively rich, and to you I consider
I owe all. So this morning, hearing accidentally that
there was a run on your bank, I collected all my capital,
and have brought it to lodge with you, in case it can
be of any use : here it is, sir— here it is ; ' and he handed
a bundle of bank-notes to the agitated Thompson. * In
a few days Til call again;' and snatching up his hat,
the stranger, throwing down his card, walked out of the
room.
Thompson undid the roll: it contained L.dO,OOOI
The stem-hearted banker— for all bankers must be
stem — burst into tears. The firm did not require this
prop ; but the motive was so noble, that even a million-
aire sobbed— he could not help it The firm is still
one of the first in London.
The L.30,000 of the turopike-boy is now grown into
some L.200,000. Fortune has well disposed of her gifts.
8N0DGRASS THE INVENTOR.
The decease of a generally little known, but useftil inven-
tor, Neil Snodgrass, is noticed by the * Glasgow Citizen '
newspaper. This ingenious man, who has jost died in his
seventy-third year, appears to have begun his inventive
eareer by applying steam to the purpose of heating public
works, &c. Mr Snodgrass was also the inventor of the
' Scutcher,* or blowing machine, commonly called in cotton-
miili the * Devil,* by which an important saving in the raw
material is effected, while the cotton is prepared in a
much more uniform manner than could poHsibly be done
by the hands. . It is, however, in connection with the
steam-engine that the name of Mr Nril Snodgrass chiefly
deserves to live. Notwithstanding Watt*8 grand invention
of the separate condenser, and the completion of his nume-
rous other improvements, a mighty defect still existed at
the very heart of the machine. H»w to render the piston
of the steam-engine perfectly steam-tight, and yet capable
of moving in the cyunder without enormous friction, was,
in the early historv of the invention, felt to be an insuper^
able difiioalty. This difficulty would have been consider-
ably lessened had it been possible to construct a perfectly
true cylinder; but as no skill in workmanship coulcl secure
this necessary height of perfection, the only alternative
remaining was to render the periphery of the piston elastic,
so as to adapt itself to the inequalities of the surface
a|(ainst which it was to slide. To effect this object, the
piston was constructed with an upper and lower flange,
between which a mass of hemp was wound, which it was
^eccssary to renew and tighten at fireqoent intervals, and
Bt keep at all times promselv saturated with grease. In
Hrder to provide a substitute for this primitive and clumsy
Xrocess, Mr Snod^pass passed many a night of anxious
thought. Having m 1818, with the assistance of a number
hf master spinners who had profited by his inventions,
built a mill of his own at Mile End, GUu^w, he oom-
^menced in 1823 to make experiments in packmg the piston
on an« entirely new plan, and in 1824 his splendid mven-
tion of metallic padungs was given gratuitously to the
public. These packings consisted of segments of metal
acted upon by springs pushed ontw^ard from the centre,
and thus adapting themselves to the incquaUties of sur&ce
unavoidable in the cylinder. This novel and beautiful
invention of an elastic metal piston shared for a time the
fate of many discoveries destined to revolutionise the
world. It was ridiculed and discredited. After encounter-
ing some opposition, Mr Snodgrass prevailed upon the late
Dr Stevenson to allow the experiment of the metallic pack-
ing to be tried in the Caledonian steamer, whioh was most
successful. From that day up to the present time no other
description of piston has been coustnicted. Its value is
altogether incalculable. It is supposed tliat in the Clyde
alone the saving it has effeoted in the mere article of
tallow amounts to not less than L.20,000 per annum. The
importance of the invention has been prodigiously in-
creased by the introduction of the railway system, as the
okl pistons would have been totally inapplicable to the
locomotive. Beyond the barren &me of the invention —
and not always did he receive even that— his sole profit, if
we except the premium that was awarded to him in 18*25
by the Ulaagow town council, from Coulter*s mortifica-
tion, consisted in his being employed to manu&cture some
fifty metallic packings at the rate of 5s. per inch of tlio
diameter of the respective pistons. In the course of liis
long and laborious life he introduced a variety of minor
improvements in machinery, many of which continue, \re
understand, in general use. Among these we may mention
a new application of the Mendoza pulley and wheel for
leading out the mule-spinning carnage ; a new pUn of
skeleton bars for furnaces ; and an apparatus for the in-
vention of smoke on the Argand principle. Mr Soodgnai
also claimed to have anticipated Mr Dyer of Mancbester
by two or three years in the present arrangement of the
tube roving frames, for which the latter obtamed a patent
by which he is said to have cleared L.50,000.
SONNET— RASH OPINIONS.
BY CAI.I>BR CAMPBBLL.
Wa Judge too nudily both of men and thiogs.
Giving to-day'8 opinions on the morrow
Utter denial, whlJe wa strive to borrow
Uollow apologies that— like the wings
Of butterflies— show many colours. Borrow
Hideth its tears, and we disclaim its presence
Where it hath deepest root; Hate softly brings
A smile, which we aoootmt Love's sweetest essence ;
BimpUoity seems Art ; and Art we deem
White-hearted Innocenoe-^uii|)adging ever
Of all we see ! Let us, then, grant esteem.
Or grudge it with precaution only ; never
Forgetting that rash haste right judgment mars :
What men count but as clouds may prove bright stars ! *
* Bari Reese's telesocqie proves that what were deemed wbvia^
are in reality clusters of stars.
CRUBLTT TO ANIMALS.
In a certain town, a miserable wretch was lately bronght
before the magistrates charged with having crueUy besten
his jackass. The evidences for the prosecution were t
gentleman and two gamekeepers. The gentleman saw the
prisoner beat his jackass cruelly, and the two gamekeepcn
corroborated the fact. 'Now, man,* said the presiaing
magbtrate, *what have you to say for yourself? 'Wbj,
please your honour, I was in a hurry; the ass woold not go,
so I beat liim; that's all, and he's used to it' The magis-
trates were shocked : one of them made a touching speedi
on the cruelty and oowardice of ill-using poor dumb crea-
tures— and the culprit was fined the fall penalty. Ageatie*
man then said to the man who had been nned, * Why, John,
I thought you had something to say touching cruelty to
poor dumb animals ? ' ' Oh, sur, you means about them gins
or steel traps ; well, if I shall not get into harm by offend-
ing the bench, I wUl tell what I saw the same morning I
was cotched wallopping my donkey. I was in wood,
picking up a few sticks; *twas just daylight; when I heard
something crv and squeal ; and I went up to the place not
fur from the higher hedge of the wood, and sawa rabbit
caught by tiie leg in a gin ; a few yards fhrther was a phea-
sant; and a little further a fox, whioh was trymg to bite his
own leg off, all canght in gins, and all alive: just at the mo-
ment I heard voices, and hid myself. When they two aawe-
keepers came up, one said, " Poorish luck to-night, omy ten
rabbits and four pheasants; but here is another rabbit and
a pheasant'' They then saw the fox: "We roast bury
that," says one to the other, " or there will be a row about
it" They then knocked the fox on the head, bagged the
rabbits, and pocketed the pheasants, and whilst they were
earthing the fox, I stole away to my Neddy.' * Now, gentle-
men,' exclaimed the advocate, 'this is a strong case of
cruelty, so many poor innocent creatures made ^ /"^^^
torture so many hours. Oentlemen, ye have fined, ana
justly too, yon poor fellow for cruelty, now punish those
two gamekeepers with severity for acts of moat atrocwna
and barbarous cruelty.' The magistrates hem'd and haw d,
consulted among themselves, said there was no precedent,
and left the hall. — Plymouth HeraUL
Published by W. ^ R. Chambers, High Street, Edinburgh. Ato
sold by D. Chambkrs, 2U Aigyle Street, Glasgow; W. & o".
147 Strand, London ; and J. M'Olabham, «1 D'OMf w"^
l>ublim— Printed by W. and R. CBAaiB«as» Edisbnifb.
^rr^rmm^^^^^i^m^F^^m
COKDUCTBD BY WILLIAM AND BO^RT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF ' CHAMBBR8*8 INFORMATION FOB
THE PEOniB/ * CHAMBBRS^ EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
No. 271. Nbw Series.
SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1849.
Price 1|<2.
METAPHYSICS OF PARTY.
In an states where the popular Toice is heard, there if
a diTirification of the people into parties. It seems to
be to nnaToidaUe conseqaence of deliberation on their
part that a diyersity of view arises, under which th^
oommenoe pulling different ways. It usually depends
oa external circumstanoes which of the two sets giyes
the actoal direction to affairs. It is a mistake, how-
erer, to suppose that the entire iwpulation is divided
into parties. It is only in extraordinary circumstanoes
tint eren an approach is made to an involvement of the
Tbole people in controversial politics. The actual par-
tisans are usually but a handful on each side, while the
gnat mass remains in the centre with a comparatively
doll sense of what is gmng on, and little disposition to
intedere, although liable to be to some extent aflbcted
towards one wiew or the other, according as arguments
sre snooessfully addressed to them, or drcumstances
arise to enf<»ce their attention to public questions, to
•xdte their prejudices, and to awaken their hopes and
feara. It is this toipor of the mass which forms the
great difficulty in democratic arrangements. In tran-
qml times ttiey would rather not use their votes. In
times of excitement, the use to be made of tiiese votes
depends almost en^rely on the dexterity with which
popolar prejudices are addressed by unscrupulous mem*
bees of the thinking handful ; whence of course disap-
pointments, despair of progress, patriotic heartbreak,
sad many consequent evils.
In thi^ intelligent and active portioa of a people
vhidi becomes inspired with party feelings, it is curious
to study the various causes which determine particular
predilectiona. What may be called the natural bases of
partisanship are readily traceable. Some minds are
from the cradle venerative of authority, and through
life oontinue ready to submit to it, and to exert them-
sel?es for its support Others are oongenitally jealous
of power, indisposed to yield to it, and eager to
keep it in check. Here are the two great sources of
bfalty and Jacobinism. Some minds look with a ro-
mmtic tenderness on what is old ; they love to wan-
der back into the past, and regret whatever tends to
produce a change in the ancient landmarks. Others,
again, are all for the romance of the future. Change is
to them a continual subject of hope. The present does
not satisfy them ; the past they despise. Here are the
two great natural sources of conservative and reforming
poKtlcs. Some minds, again, are intolerant of whatever
is not deariy useful, expedient, and economical Others
regard such matters with indifference or with contempt.
The former have a satisfaction in viewing the means of
pomoting the benefit of the community. The philan-
tiiropy of the latter never gets beyond the particular
case of tooie friend, or dependent, or any individual
casually brought under their attention. Here, it is
equally evident, are the natural origins of the p^itico-
economical reformer and his opposite. Now though
there are three sets of characters brought here into
contrast, they are all in general resolved into one set of
persons. Jealousy of power, hopefulness of change, and
love of the economical, are attributes usually found in
one person, as the opposites also are, though perhaps
not all found at the same time, as it is not always that
there is occadon for the development of the whole set of
feelings at once.
There are, however, secondary and modifying cir-
cumstances. Where the natural tendencies are not of
a very resolute character, they will be much affbcted
and biassed by parental authority and example, and the
force of external circumstances generally. They will
also, even in pretty strong cases, undergo a change in
the course of advancing years. Thus he who begins
with romantic feelings in favour of authority and anti-
quity, is often seen, as he grows soberer, and acquires
more solid, as well as more extensive views, to pass
wholly or partially into the opposite range of politics.
He who began with ardent hopes of improvement from
change, is often, in like manner, disenchanted in his
middle or elderly life, and becomes fain to own that
things which he once thought wrong may have an in-
termediate bastard utility not altogether to be despised,
while as yet society is composed of a mixture of the
civilised and savage. Then there is a set whose general
determination is apt to be affected by whims, crotchets,
or views of interest. Thus we sometimes see a neigh-
bour range himself on the conservative side, not exactly
because he primarily tends that way, but because the
opposite system has awakened some antipathy in his
nature. Popular causes, though often invested with a
certain sublimity, are more generally liable to vulgar
associations. The cant, the clangour, the dust and sweat
attending them, are repulsive to a fastidious nature ;
while, on the oUier hand, the select few ranged in oppo-
sition appear gentlemai^y, gallant, almost martyr-like.
In this way many fine spirits are lost to great move-
ments, both in politics and religion. A mind, too^
which is in the main of liberal inclinations, may betake
itself to the opposite banners because of something in
its own position which brings it painfully into collision
with authority. An arrogant father or master will
sometimes send one of nature's conservatives to the
camp of the enemy. A proud spirit, chafing in an un-
worthy situation, locked down upon by reputedly-supe-
rior classes, while conscious of that wi^in which ought
to annul all social distinctions, will often take the re-
bellious side in despite of the first intention of nature.
Among this class of causes there is obviously none
more powerful than the selfish feelings. It is a mis-
take, however, to suppose that men are to any great
1
J
146
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
extent bought by actual money or bv prospecti of ad-
vanoement. The chances on both Bides are much alike
in these vespects. Purchased partisanship was a feature
of grosser ages, but scarcely of ours. People are now
more liable to be gained or lost through th^ self-love
and loTC of approbation, A man thinks he is of some
yalue: if courted to the extent of his sense of this
value, he will perhaps give his support ; if neglected, he
will be apt, out of pique, to go to the other side. A
very imaU matter in the way of courtesy will often not
merely obtain a vote, but determine a career of some
importance to the public. It ia not that there is a want
of conscientiousness in such minds. They are merely
irresolute in ttie midst of contending arguments, and
liable to be taken to that side which shall place them
on the most agreeabld footing with themselves. Once
let any petty oiroumstanoe decide the way which they
are to ti^ and the personal feeling, * This is my side,'
will keep them as upon a line of rails through life, or
till something equally petty shall occur to disgust them
with their piwty.
All of these causes may be said to be alike natural,
though all cannot be con^dered as alike respectable.
Where one's line of politics is determined by innate
tendmcies of tiie mind, apart firom all selfish CQnsidera«
tions, the whole range of action which results, as far as
bounded by rules of honour, is entitled to public respect
It is all that we have of the nature of a Divine voice
speaking in the breasts of men. Therefore, no matter
how inconvenient the dictates of this voice may appear,
no matter to what consequences it may threaten to
lead, it must be respectfolly listened to and intreated.
To call the ultra-loyal by any such appellation as Ma-
lignants, or tlie ultra-liberal by such a term as Destruc-
tives, is not to be approved of by those who are out of
the heat of the stri^ Let there be as much activity of
counteraction by argument as possible; seek by all
means to establish the supremacy of what you believe
to be better doctrines — but spare the fellow-creature
who acts under tiie resistless necessity of his own lights,
believing him to be, in intention, as good as yowneit
When we come to consider the secondary or modi-
fying drcumatanoee, we feel of course more at liberty to
assign degrees of merit and demerit The mind which
has been affected by educational influence, or yielded to
the authority of others, even though these may have
been persons generally entitled to reverence, cannot be
considered as quite on the same moral platform with
one which obeys great primitive impulses inherent in
itself. Those who have changed tiieir views with ad-
vancing years, alike true to the natural voice at the one
time at the other, ought of course to be carefuUy.dis-
tinguished from common renegades. The victims of
crotchet and of petty feelings of self-love may be pitied,
but we can never esteem them. They ought to have
reflected on the great interests at stake, and not allowed
themselves to be swayed by trivial considerations as to
themselves. It is of importance to pass rigid judgment
on such persons, because thev often have from the rest
of their character a high datan to respect They may
have, for instance, great talents. Oommon thinkers
argue that because this is an able man, his word ought
to go a great way. It is important to see that, while
this wo^d be true of an able man whose mind was clear
to form sound conclusions, it is not true of one who has
allowed himself to be carried out of his proper track by
some romantic whimsey, some disgust at a successM
rival, or some pique arising from his finding that his
own estimate of himsdf was not admitted by the party
to whi(^ he first seemed inclined to attach himself. It
is one of the most distressing things in the world of
politics to see a man who, from some such frivolous
cause, has thrown himself into a false position. His
energy and eloquence are hampered at every turn by
his own secret convictions. He has to act, with affecteid
cordiality, with those whom in his heart he despises.
Should he have given himself to a failing cause, as very
often happens, he is doomed to see his best talents
expended in vain, to feel himself growing old without
having accomf^ished anything, while iniinrior but better-
directed men are reaping their due harvest of both profit
and honour. These are amongst the moral suicioiBS of
the able men of the world. How powerfuUy do they
warn us tiiat we are not to be guided in any of the
greater afilEurs of life by the selfhood, but by its opposite
— a generous view of what is good for all I
It is difficult, or rather impossible, for some natures
to maintain coolness in times of violent political excite-
ment } but to many it may not be altogether useless to
remind them that the most earnestly-cherished dogmas
are liable to be followed by great disappointment The
French revolutionist sees his high aspirations for a rule
by and for the people lead reaistlessly to a despotism.
The panic-struck conservative sees nothing foUorw from
the changes which he vainly resisted, but a ridiculous
falsification of his fears. If men would reflect how oftiea
the result has been different from that contemplatad on
either side, there would be on the one hand a soberer
hope and a less intolerant feeling towards all thwarUng
influences, on the other a more cheerfy4 trust in the
course of Providence, even under what appear Hbe most
trying crises. Few poUtioians of any shade seem auffi-
oiently aware of the oharaoler of tiiat great central mass
wbioh has been already described as non-poltticaL Th«i«^
in realityj resides that which defeats alike the hopes d
democratic and the fears of oligarchical parties. It is a
mass which refuses to be democratised. It minds its
own afikirs, content with whatever rule may be over it,
unless it be one which makes itself painftilly tAt indeed.
Go beyond the capacity of change inherent In ^ils mass,
and you must come back again to where yoa were.
Give it true cause of diaooatent and it beoones an
element of great danger, though one which cannot long
remain in such an attitude. The great secret of suc-
cessful rule is never to ofilend irremediably this true
aquadrone volante of parties, never to resist it beyond a
certain point, and never to lose faith in it as a mass
which can only be temporarily thrown out of its proper
condition, as that whicn gives at once momentum and
stability to the entire machine.
THE CORNER HOUSE.
A SUBURnAN SKETCH.,
BuBKHAM Terrace has always enjoyed a reputation
for gentility. It consists of ten houses, each let for the
respectable sum of a hundred a year ; and its lady in*
habitants, of whom I am one, rather take a pride in
seeing that everything is kept in high order about the
pUoe. Ko encouragement for example, is given to
peripateUc venders who bawl out the naroea of thdr
articles *, the slip of enclosed ground in front ccmimon
to all the dwellers, is as neat as a hired gardener can
make it ; and the door-steps are hearthstoned freshlv
every morning. All things have gone rig^t witn
Bumham Terrace except No. 10, the house at the
northern comer. That comer house was for years an
annoyance and a mystery.
"So, 10 was the proper^ of a lady called Hiaa Delany,
and so was Ka 8 and Na 9 — a large man of building
worth three hundred a year ; and at least as ve^padA my
house, Na 8, and that of Mrs Smith, Na 9, wdl-paid
money. What kind of person the proprietnx was we
had no means of forming a correct judgment We
never saw her, though we heard that she lived in
some obscure out-of-the-way place in a most penurious,
and, for a woman with three hundred a year, a vefy
eccentric way. Her strange method of living waa ooa-
sidered the lesa prop^, on account of her having a
brother a judge. The only shade of excuse ever ofi^ired
for Miss Delany was, that Na 10 had on several occa-
sions stood for a short time empty. It had so frequently
changed inhabitants, that there seemed to be something
unlucky about it ; and yet it waa as good a house ss
any in the row. This changeablenesa was not liked by
the residents in the row generaDy. Fecqtle tidce a
CHAMBEB8*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
147
gnid^ against a house which oooasicmally itands
«Bp^, and haa not iti windowa and doorway cleaned
VQgiilariy.
One moniing, after cook had reoeiTed n^ orders for
the di^, she pansed as if she had something to com-
mtminile ; and to my * Well, Sally, what is it ?' replied,
* Oh, ma'am, whl^t do yon think ? A lady has oome to
UTe in Ko. 101 Her famiture came last night in a
donkey-cart i and the milkman called with his milk this
moming.'
'Fivnitoie in a donkey •^sart I SaUy, yon must he
dreaming.'
*Kot at all: No. 7's servant told me all ahont it
She saw a deal-tahle and a bed hronght to the door ;
sad the la4y was there to take them in.'
*AndwboistheUdyr
* I hear U is Miss Delany herself, the landlady. Bat
ssrely H caimot be her, as it wonld be so strange I'
Stnyoge indeed, and not less strange than tni& The
JBteBigPBioe spread, as if by electric telegraph, through
aH the houses in tiie terrace ; and their organs of won*
der were excited to a surprising degree. Several ladies
suddenly bethought themselves of going to view the
eoiner hoqse } ' ^y had friends who were looking out
lor a residenee of tiiat kind in the suburbs.' Mrs
Ssnitb, iqy next-door neighbour, as much interested as
the otiiera, persuaded me to cell at Ka 10, just as we
were passing for a moming walk ; ' not tram curiosity*'
asid she^ * Imt merely because I have friendst tiie Fet-
worths^ who are looldng out.'
Mrs Smith's loud triple knock reverberated through
the desolate mansion ; and the door was opened by a
vooBg liur-haired girl, who preceded us through the
house. She was a pretty modest creature, of about
faorteen years of age, pUunly dressed, but scrupulously
dean. Alter we had mounted to the attics, and de-
scended again, having visited every i^iartment except
the ^ning-room, which opened from the hall, the htUe
giri hesitated as we approached that room, and slightly
colouring, asked if we desired to view that also? * Tes,
certainly we do,' peremptorily exclaimed Mrs Smith :
' it is of the first consequence,' winking to me, as much
as to say. * iVbis we shall at last hunt out this shadow,
and see if Miss Delany is flesh and blood.'
I must do myself the justice to say that I hesitated ;
bat with tiie view of neutralising any abruptness Miss
Smith might be guilty o^ I followed her into a large
front room—the dining-room of the house. There was
a small tqigfat flre in ^ grate, a strip of carpet placed
where a rug usually is, and a wooden table and two
chairs betoe it A stump bedstead occupied one comer
of the ^Mutmoit, and nothing else was visible ; for no
doubt o&ket necessaries were stowed away in the spa-
cious doaets on each side oi the fireplace. P^fectly
weQ-ordOTed and ^quisitely dean were the simple ar-
rangements, giving even a habitable appearance to that
dingy bare apartmoit The wooden table was covered
with books and needle-work, and a female rose from
beside it as we entered. She was a small, pale, middle-
sfsd woman, clad in coarse stuff h^iiliments, her placid
files sunoonded by the dose crimped border of a pri*
a^ve Qustor cap i but it was one to arrest attention,
froofr its pecnliar sweetness of expression $ while /cufy, in
titt best and truest acceptation of that often misused
tem, was staaqied on this individual in unmistakeable
* Have I the pleasure of addressing my landlady. Miss
Ddaay ?' said Mrs Smitii advancing.
* I am Miss Delany/ quietly answered the little lady ;
* sad I inesuBM that / am addiesring one of the two
ladies who have tenanted my two houses, Nos. 8 and 9,
fcrraaaj years?'
* You are per&otly right, Miss Delany,' rejoined Mrs
Smith. ' I oooapy Ka 9, and I am glad to have the
•pportnnity of becoming acquainted with my landlady
fersenally. Your littie attendant has shown us over the
boose, whiefa I wished to see on account of some friends
ofmhw.*
Miss Delany kept her eyes steadily fixed on Mrs
Smith, which somewhat disconcerted that vduUe lady,
during the latter part of this speech, and her voice sank
in faint accents ere she conduded.
* This child is not my attendant, madam,* said Miss
Delany, * but my niece and companion i and it is fbrtu-
nate for me that the ladiea of Bumham Terrace have so
many friends looking out for houses just now. I hope,
amongst them, I may succeed in letting this : it has
hitherto be^ unlucky ; as they say comer houses often
are,' added the speaker smilingly.
* J am sure, Miss Delany, I shall be happy to do all in
n^ power to forward your letting it,' said Mrs Smith,
* u it were only on account of the high respect I bear
for the public character of your brother the judge.'
I observed a singular expression flit over the listener's
pallid countenance, but it was too transient to be studied
by the mere looker-on ; and Mrs Smith continued, * But
I hope you do not think of remaining here during the
winter in this uncomfortable manner? ' looking round as
she spoke.
* We are not umxunfortahle, madam,' was the quiet
answer ; * and it is my intention to occupy my dwdling
until I succeed in meeting with an digibfo tenant'
' Well, Miss Delany, if such is realfy your intention,*
r^oined the hospitable Mrs Smith, * I hope you will drop
in and take a cup of tea in a friendly way at my house
very often. I am sure we shall all be happy to add to
the comforts of a lady like you, particularly for the sake
of the learned judge, your excellent brothi^ ; and I hope
this dear girl will come too. And what is your name,
my child ?' sidd Mrs Smith, meaning to be winning and
fismiliar, as she turned towards the blushing niece.
* I am called lily, ma'am,' answered the young girl,
hanging ^wn her lovdy head.
* Lily I dear me, what an odd name I'
* Lilian Traher is my niece's name, madam,' inter-
rupted Miss Delany gently. * Those who love her have
given her the pet one of lily. Do you think this house
likely to suit your friends, madam ?' she added suddenly,
causing Mrs Smith to start slightly. ' Perhaps you
wiU let me know : it is of great moment to me, as my
subsistence and that of this child entirdy depkids on
its proceeds.'
* Oh, Miss Ddany,' broke in Mrs Smith, determined
now or never to penetrate this mystery, ' have you not a
good dear L.SOO a year from Nos. 8 and 9 that we know
off I am sure your rent is paid to the day : allow me to
remark it is verp peculiar — to say nothing m(»e«-your
mode of living here — a lady like you, with a judge so
distinguished for your bro&er: pray allow me to re-
monstrate.'
Miss Ddany glided towards the room door, and hdd
it open in her hand, as she mildly said, * My moming
hours, ladies, are valuable, being devoted to instracting
my niece $ therefore, will you permit me to plead my
engagements, and not think me uncourteous for saying
good-moming?'
We found ourselves on the terrace, gazing at each
other, quite amaaed at our easy dismissal, and ijaoulat-
ing that it was strange — * passing stranse.'
* If she is a miser,' quom I, * she is we sweetest and
kindliest -looking one I ever imagined, I examined
some of the books on the table when you were speak-
ing, and their studies are apparently not those of crooked
or illiberal minds : and that sweet young giri, too, how
lovingly she watches her little aunt,' pursued I half
to myself: * no selfish, miserly being could have won
her guileless afibction. No, no ; I can put two and two
togethw as well as most people, Mrs Smith ) and though
^ere is a mystery here, it is no^ilng discreditable to
Miss Delany, I am certain. She is peifectly a lady ; and
it is mdanchdy to see her thus — for so often as that
unludcy house has been empty, what straits she must
have been put to — for you know she plainly told us
that she depended on the rent of it for daily bread.'
* Wdl, miss, all may be as you say,' said Mrs Smith.
* You are dways on the charitable side : but I cannot
niAke it out : livinjg in an empty house to save' a few
shillings a week for a lodging t'
* A few shillings must be a great object to her/
answered I, ' when she has so little, and that little so
uncertain : we must try all we can and be kind to her,
poor thing ! ' But prorored dvilities and attentions on
the part of her neighbours were gratefully but decid-
edly declined by Miss Delany for herself. There was a
large fami^ or children in Ka 7, and they had made
acquaintance somehow with Lily, according to the
freemasonry inherent in the young among themselves ;
and at the merry Christmas tide, so beseeching were
their intreaties that she might be permitted to join
their circle, it was not in human nature to refuse,
much less in Miss Belany's. Then on Twelfth Night,
all the little people assemUed at my house, and I pleaded
Bucoessftdly for my fkvourite Lily, and she came too.
Delicacy prevented my questioning the artless girl re-
lative to her aunt, their mode of life, or any other in-
formation I might gain. But Mrs Smith's curiosity
overcame such feeUngs, and she examined my pret^
guest in a manner I quite disapproved of, though with-
out elucidating aught ^lat tended to throw light on the
matter. Lily said that she had resided with Aunt
Mujory for fbur years ; in the saaie lodging for half
that period at the Potter's cottage ; and dsewhere in
a secluded farmhouse. She had many brothers and
sisters * far fiur away,' she admitted, with tears stand-
ing in her large blue eyes — a father and mother too.
She had never seen Uncle Delany, but she knew him
by name very wdl ; and she was — * Oh I to happy, and
loved dear Aunt Maijory, oh ! «o much V
How all this amounted to ' nothing,' said the vexed
questioner ; * And it does not tell us what Miss Delany
does with her money. Are your papa and mamma tk^
my dear ?' said the persevering lady to Lily.
* Bich, ma'am ; what is being rich ?' simply demanded
the little girl in reply.
* Why, keeping a carriage, and servants, and living
in a large house to be sure, you stupid little soul ! ' ex-
claimed Mrs Smith laughing.
* Then, ma'am,' said Lily, 'fkther and mother are not
rich, for they live. in a small thatched cottage; but
there are beautiful roses and eglantine round the old
pordi, and they only keep a wheelbarrow, and are their
own servants.'
* O— hi' exclaimed Mrs Smith. This was a com-
plete sedative ; and presently she whispered to me that
Miss Delany's relatives were low people, notwithstand-
ing she had a judge for her brother.
Hie first days &[ spring came, and still waa the ticket
to be seen at the comer house, and the friends d the
BnraJiam Terrace ladies^ it seemed, were difficult to
l^ease. I ventured occasionally to look in, for the osten-
sible purpose of leaving flowers and fruit, the products
of my garden, for little Lilian ; and Miss Delany seemed
pleased and grateftil, yet cold and distant in her bear-
ing, on any attempts being made at further intimacy.
There were two factions in the row; one for, the
other against, Misa DeUny t the latter, sind, it must be
confess^ the largest and most influential, reviled her
as a mean creature, or a mad woman. * She muMi have
done something/ said they, * to disgrace herself, or the
judge would not cast her off: it is a shame of her to
keep that beautiful girl in tbc miseraUe manner she
does. No wonder the house will not let; shi alone is
enough to give it a name for iU-luck ! * ,
MiiS JMtjayM friends, and they were few, spoke of
her blameless life, resignation, and patience in the midst
of privation and poverty ; to say notliing of her devotion
to the niece, who would reflect credit on any teacher.
Thefe friends also threw out hints that although Judge
Ddany's diaracter and talents in his public capacity
were so fully admitted, in private life he was not re-
inarkaUe for amiability or benevolence.
Such a discussion as thia waa one evening going for-
ward at a neighbour's house when I was present, when
an elderly gentleman of the name of Cdville, who had
that evening arrived on a visit to onr host, for the reai
purpose of house-hunting on behalf of a son about to
marry and * settle in life, hearing the name of Delany
repeatedly mentioned, asked if we were speaking of
Judge Delany ; and when an affirmative waa given — a
slight sketeh slso being thrown in relative to die occu-
pant (tf No. 10— Mr Colville became intereated in the
conversation ; and, to our amazement, on a non-admirer
speaking disparagingly of the lady, he warmly advocated
her cause.
* I happen,' said he, * to know al! about Maijory Ddaoy
and her afiairs, and I tell you that she reflecte credit on
her sex.'
* Oh do tell us all about her!' eagerlv exclaimed
many voices, as a crowd gathered round tne atranger.
But the pleasant old gentleman smiled, rubbed his shin-
ing bald head, and only adding that it was not * con-
venient' to say more just then, left us all wi^ curiosity
more excited and tantalised than ever. However, he
managed to ask me privately every particular I knew
concerning Miss Deluiy ; and next day he went alone
to No. 10 ; the ticket waa taken down ; uie house waa let
to Mr Golville's son.
Miss Delany and Lilian disappeared aa quietlv and
expeditiously as they came; and in due course of time
Mr Peter Colville and his bride arrived to take poeseaalon.
When the young couple settled down into the jog-trot
routine of respectable married life, old Mr and Mrs Col-
ville came to visit them for a fow weeks ; and then were
tea-junketings and whist parties every evening at one or
other of the neighbours' houses ; and to return all this
hospitality, young Mr and Mrs Colville gave an enter-
tainment on quite a grand scale. We were oollecsted
round the supper-teble, pleasant jokea pasaing, when
some one alluded to the comer house, trusting the ill-
luck had flown away, and the bride's presence turned
the scale in ito favour.
* Nay,' broke in old Mr Colville, ' if that were needed,
it has been already done — purified — exorcised,' he coa-
tinued, laughing heartily at his own conceit, * from all
evil influences.'
* How so?' we exclaimed.
* By the presence of Marjory Delany,' said he gravely ;
'one for whom I bear a higher respect than for any
woman I know; saving and excepting you, my dear,'
turning with a kind smile to hia comfortaUe-lodking
wife, who nodded to him cheerily in return. * Maijory
is about to be your neighbour again,' Mr Colville went
on to say, addressing Uie company generally, ^for ahe
has taken Buraham Beech Cottage I'
' Dear me ! ' said Mrs Smith, * how can she manage
that on L.100 a year, secure as it is tiotcf '
* She has recovered her property, madam,' answered
Mr Colville, * after ten years' heroical endurance of
privation and want Yes, actual want, for the aake of
others too.'
* Oh, do tell us her history, and why the judge dis-
owns her!' cried many voices.
* I am not at liberty to enter into all the details,'
said the old gentleman, * but, for the sake of suffering
innocence, thus much I will unfold: — Sixteen years
ago, Marjory Delany's only sister, whom she tenderly
loved, made an imprudent marriage, against the express
advice and wishes of her brother, her natural guar-
dian. The individual she united herself to was in a
mercantile house ; but within six years after hia marriage
with Maijory I>elany's sister, he forfeited his situation
through misconduct ; and had it not been for the faith-
ful affectionate sister, the unhappy man's ruin and that
of his family would have been complete. She alone
came forward to assist these perishing creaturea ; for
Judge Delany not only was imptscable towards thaiu but
extended the same bimeftil fedings to Acr, on her refusal
to disown the sister so fearfully punished for her im-
prudence through a husband's misdeeds. SUlent^ she
has borne reviling and contume^ cast upon her by a
harshly-judging world. But let it be a lesson to you
all, my friends, for the future, never to pr^udge others^
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
149
but to learn both tidet of » questioo Uirlj ere yoa form
ao opiaioo.*
'Bat, mj dear lir,' said Mrs Smith, *I do not see
whjr poor Mist Ddany should have been so very liberal,
even in a Christian point of view — giving all her income
away to these reUtives, and leaving herself onlj an
ODoertaio pittance, besides maintaining her niece.'
* Madam/ replied Mr Colville, * all Miss Delany pos-
sesied in the world of her own were the three bouses
on this terrace left her by an uncle ; her sister was pen-
niless, and entirely dependent on her brother the judge.
Ten years ago, Maijory Delany became bound to pay
L300 a year for a term of fourteen years, intei^t in-
chided, for her brother-in-law Mr Traher. The two
bouses in the terrace, Nos. 8 and 9, were therefore not
at her disposal during that term ; but not only did she
sacrifice the income derived from them, but out of the
scanty pittance reserved for herself she assisted her
relatives, and, as you have seen, supported and edu-
cated one of the children. She has just been fortunate
enough to obtain a release from her debt, which other-
wise would have burdened her for the next fpur years.'
*6od grant this excellent lady may long continue to
enjoy her L.300 a year, nor ever want good tenants for
ber houses!* said I. *Bat is Mr Traher unrecJaimed,
and does he eat the bread of idleness while this lone
woman is making such noble sacrifices?'
*No, madam; I am happy to say he does not: he has
seen the error of his ways, and labours even with his
bands to aid in supporting his family. But be sure a
good portion of Maijory's income, restored as it now
is, win find its way to the poor outcasts, for she is a
capital economist*
In process of time Mrs Peter Colville and myself
became extremely cordial, and she related to me some
ftirther particulars resi)ecting Miss Delany, which her
fiUher-in-law had omitted — worthy, benevolent man,
not lilting to speak of his own good deeds. He had
been a partner in the mercantUe house where Mr
Traher was employed; and when it was discovered
that this joang man had defrauded them to the amount
of some thousands, Mr Scrape, the senior partner, de-
termined that the law should take its course ; and trans-
portation, perhaps worse, seemed inevitable. Fortunate
ft was that the matter eotUd be hushed up; and the
prayers and intreaties of Manory Delany prevailed, and
sofbsned even the obdurate heart of Mr Scrape. She
became bound, as already told, securing the property
to the firm until the debt was liquidated. Often had
the worthy Mr Colville wished to lessen this burden,
bat his wishes were overruled ; and it was only on Mr
Scrape's retirement, and the introduction of Mr Peter
u junior partner, that his father found himself at
liberty to indulge the dictates of his heart. His visit
to our neighbourhood decided the point at once ; and if
he had been interested in Miss Delany and her affairs
before, he became doubly so now. The debt was im>
mediatdy cancelled — the comer house taken; and I
may here as well remark, it has been ^e luddest house
in the row ever since — ^a lovely family, prosperity and
hairiness, having entirely dispelled toe dark shadows
haunting it heretofore.
About two years after Miss Delany had been settled at
Bomham Beech Cottage, another fair niece beins added
to ber circle, one of the sweet Lily's sisters, she learned
the sudden decease of the judge ; and gossip being rife
respecting his affairs, it was soon known that he had
left half his fortune to public institutions, but the other
half to his sister Marjory; thus making her amends in
death for his cruel conduct during life.
It were almost needless to add how gratefully Miss
Delany disbursed the remainder of her bond to the firm
of CcMville and Son. Two of her nephews, the young
Trahera, were received into its employment, and are
thriving steady youths.
As to the dear Maijory herself, she goes on her way
in quiet usefulness, though her two beautiful nieces
MSiict so many visitors to Bumham Beech Cottage,
that her retirement is invaded oftener perhaps than she
would choose. Her visits are restricted to the comer
house, and Mr and Mrs Peter Colville are her most in-
timate and valued associates ; for my part I hope the
lesson we have all received at Bumham Terrace will be
a waming not only to ourselves, but to many others, to
suspend their judgments of their neighbours.
THE SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH.
Ths recent experiments with regard to the submarine
electric telegraph should be more generally known than
they are, for they may be said to be the rodimentary
efforts at realising one of the grandest conceptions of
the age — a power of instantaneous communication to
the uttermost ends of the earth.
The experiments, which took place on the channel
at Dover, were attended by many gentlemen of science,
desirous to witness the results. The arrangements
and plan of operations were under the direction of
Mr Walker, the superintendent of the electric tele-
graph on the South-Eastero Railway ; and one of this
company's steamers was commissioned to assist in
carrying out the undertaking. The principal object of
the experiments was not to carry a telegraphic wire
acrou the Channel, but simply to prove, on a sufficiently
great scale, the practicability of such a system of com-
munication with the continent To this end, there was
placed on the deck of the steamer a sufficient length of
prepared wire ; it being considered that if the telegra-
phic intercourse proved to be perfect through that wire
when submerged ia the water, there existed no ^ priori
reason for doubting that the same result would follow
even though the wire were prolonged to the opposite
coast Unfortunately, the weather proved most unfa-
vourable to the experiments as intended to have been
performed by aid of the steamer. The wind rose in
the night; and continuing to blow smartly on the
morning of the day fixed, the swell became so groat, that
it was not thought possible to conduct the experiments
on their original plan. The steamer was to have steamed
out to sea for about two miles, * paying out* the wire in
her progress, and then to have been hove to, so as to give
her passengers the opportunity, as she lay embosomed
in the still waters, of a little conversation with the busy
metropolis. The ruffled state of the sea set aside this
project, since It was feared that the roll of the steamer
would endanger the safety of the wire, and that tele-
graphic intercourse would have been in another way
rendered impracticable, in consequence of the unsteadi-
ness of the indicator-needles. The wire, however, was
transferred fh)m the steamer to a small boat, and by
that means a length of upwards of two miles was sub-
merged in the sea along the mouth of the harbour, and
at the side dT the pier. One extremity of this sunken
coil was then put in metallic union with the wire, the
end of which was in Iiondpn, and the other extremity
was connected to the electro - telegraphic converser
placed on the deck of the steamer lying in the harbour.
A sand galvanic battery of six dozen plates, weakly
charged, in the usual manner, with dilute acid and
water, was then placed in connection with the wire
through which it was to send the mysterious agent of
the tdegraphic tongue, and all things were now ready
to solve the problem of submarine intercommunication.
It was about noon when all the arrangements were
completed: the communication was then made; and
instantly, in the far-distant London station, the datter
of the electric alarum informed the chairman of the
company that the experiment was crowned with perfect
success. Messages of congratulation were pasMd up
and down with complete facility, the fact of more than
two miles of the oonreying medium being buried in
1"
I !
160
CHAMBERS'S EDmBURGH JOUHNAL.
^\
the depths of the sea, ezeidnng not the least influenoe
upon the fireedom and r^dity of the conTersation* A
continued correspondence was then kept up between
the steamer and Uie stations of London, Adiford, and
Tnnbridge, which was continued with perfect success
at intenrids for three or four hours, messages of Tarious
import being interchanged between the steamer and
all those stations. The bells at the electric-telegraph
offices at Tunbridge and London Bridge were vehe-
ment! v rung by the operators on board the steamer;
and tne various signals and interlocutory manoeuTres
peculiar to the oonversers on these instruments were
gone through with as much ease by means of the sub-
marine wire as with the ordinaiy wires disposed by
the rail-side on land. The exact total length of the
submerged wire was 3600 yards. Before dark — the
experimental trials having been continued a sufficient
time to demonstrate the success of the investigation—
the submerged wire was wound up, and drawn Ui a^^,
and was found not to have sustuned the least iiyury,
the assembly of scientific gentlemen separating witi^ the
conviction &at, so far as these experiments went, the
practicability of a telegraphic communication between
England and France had ^n completely established.
Bearing in memory that water is a good conductor of
electricity, and that consequently the perfect insulation
of the telegraphic wires cannot be effected unless by
surrounding them with some non-conducting material,
it will be r«idily conceived that here must be the chief
difficulty of submarine oonununication. In convejring
the wires of the electric telegraph through tunnels,
much practical inconvenience has arisen from the same
cause, the damp continually canning awf^ a por-
tion of the current from the wire mto the earth. In
addition to this annoyance, the sulphurous acid and
steam rishie from the locomotives produce a chemical
action on the wires, which materially interferes with
their useAilness. To meet these objections, various
Elans have been devised of more or less ingenuity : some
ave recommended covering the wires with wo(dlen
yam, varnish, &c. ; and it has been proposed to convey
them in tubes of earthenware, perforated with four or
five holes lengthways, according to the number of wires
proposed to he employed. Mr Walker, of the railway
in question, had the defects in existing wires presented
to him constantly in a most disagreeable manner. De-
spatches from the continent bel^ now almost entirely
teansmitted by electric telegraph to the morning papers,
the messages became next to useless to the editors,
unless passed up very quickly, and the wires in the
tunnels were onlv too often in a very refractory condi-
tion. He accordingly put himself in communication
with the manager of the gutta-percha manufactory at
Streatham, and suggested to him the adoption of a me-
tallic wire well coated with this singular substance. In
a few days the wire was supplied, and patented ; and
shortly afterwards was put to a practical test in one of
the tunnels with the most complete success. Subse-
quently it was introduced into the Shakspeare, Abbot's
ClUQT, and Martello tunnels ; and at the present time all
despatehes to and from the metropidis are made by the
instrumentality of this wire.
The defective insulation of the wires, against which
this new wire has so successftilly provided, has been the
only serious practical difficulty in working the electric
telegraph. It may be thought, however, that sufficient
time has not yet been given to put the capabilities of
the improvement to a proper test Mr Walker says, * I
have had specimens of this wire buried in the earth in a
damp place for more than a year. It is sound and good
stilL Specimens have been immersed in sea-water for
three or four months, and are unafiected.* It has been
suggested also, that perhaps, in process of time, the con-
tinued action of sea-water, with its combinations of the
chlorides and iodides, may destrov the powers c^ tills
coating of vegetable substance for insulation; but much
weight is not to be attached to the conjecture, since
gutta-percha has exhibited, in all the investigations to
which it has been submitted, a marked indifibnenoe to
the operation of the most powerful chemical reagents.
Its insulating properties are indeed altogether peculiar,
and far surpass those possessed by any other substance
with which we are acquainted ; and &is, together with
the facility with which it is manipulated and applied
to the wire, renders it in all respects a most valuable
application for the purposes of electric intercourse. Pro-
fessor Faraday has instituted an important series of
experimento upon this substance, and these have shown
that insulation efi*ected by ito means is one of the most
perfect known to philosophy.
Mr Walker proposes the following as the plan he
would suggest for uniting Eng^d with France by the
electric coid. Between each port — say Dover and Calais,
or Folkestone and Boulogne — ^he would lay down two or
three wires. These wires would be run out in different
tracks across the Channel ; and by this means, and by
not making the communication dependent at either port
upon a single wire, the probabilities would be gr^itiy
against their being all broken or damaged on the same
day. In the event of one of the wires being injured or
broken, notice of the accident would be Instantly given
by the reAisal of the wire to act; the spare wires would
now come into activity, and little or no delay would
take place. Meanwhile one of the South-Eastem Com-
pany's steamers would fish up the damaged wire until
the seat of the imury was discovered ; when its repair
would be the work <k probably a very little time, and
all would go on as before. So confident does Mr Foster,
the patentee of the wire, feel as to ultimate success,
that he has signified his willingness to provide tiie
gutta-percha necessary for coating a wire of sufficient
length to stretch across the Channel, whenever the
dir^tors of tiie railway consent to supp^ the wire.
It cannot be denied that difficulties of a formidable
kind threaten the invention. One is the danger of the
fructure of the wire : it may be caught by the fluke of a
ship's anchor, as she is endeavouring to ride out a stiff
gale, and thus dragged away and broken. Then, again,
it is to be remembered that the lower regions of the
waters are only unvisited by fish when their depth is
far greater than that of the Channel, and these monsters
of t^e deep might happen to take a fkn<^ to the kmg
body of the wire, and by a single effi>rt of their power-
ful jaws, snap it in twain — perhaps in the very middle
of an important official despatch 1 It may be sidd, how-
ever, that the wire would shortiy become so covered
with sand as to be secure from these casualties, or
frt>m the last; and in portions of ite length, un-
doubtedly, this would be the case. But across the
depths and uneven hollows of the bottom, the wire
would still lie folly exposed to this danger. The pro-
posed remedy has been already discussed : it being to
lay down two or three separate wires, by whidi means
the amount of the risk to the intercommunication is
considerably lessened. A serious cause of inconvenience
may also be found to arise from accidental injuries to
the coating of the wires, which, though slight in them-
selves, might expose a portion of the metellic surface
to the conducting medium around, when the practical
working of the wire would be almost as eTOctuaDy
interfered wit^ as if it had been cut across with some
sharp instrument Add to these the suggestion that
the gutte-percha may in process of time undergo che-
mical transformation, and we have probably enumerated
the most formidable of the obstacles which the sub-
marine telegraph is likely to meet with. The history
of a thousand inventions in modem times presente us
with practical difficulties more formidable in their kind
and amount than any or all of these, so that a good
hope may be cherished that these too will in time gire
way before the persevering energies of our enlightened
age.
It is satisfactory to be able to point to an example
of submarine electric intercommunication, which has
hitherto answered every reasonable expectation: this
is the wire from Gosport to the dockyard. It consists
^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
151
(^ one line, requiring no other wire to complete
tilt einmit, tUe water aniwering at the condnoting
medivni. The wire, tiirrotmded bj a rope, in whi(£
it it imbedded, wat timply allowed to drop into the
water, and tink to the bottom. Telegraphic communi-
eationt are conttantly flying through thii tubmerged
wire, and hitherto wltii complete tuccett.
The newtpapen are continually teUing their readert,
or quote the talet from other touroet, that tuch an in-
ternational oomnymication it being imdertaken by thit
and tiiftt inventor, but nothing teems to come of it. It
ii not long tince we were attured that some inrentort
in the metropoHt were about to connect Dover and
Calait with tlie electric wire, and to establish a printing
dectric telegraph at eadi port At the dote of the latt
year permittion wat actually giren to a dTil-engineer.
by the Lordt Gommissionert of the Admiral^, to effect
a oonifflitnioation between Holyhead and Dublin by
BRaot off a aubmarine electric telegraph. The wiret
irere, or are, to be connected with the linet of railway
HMiiating from the Irish metropoUt, and with the Ches-
ter and Holyhead Railway. Official assistance is pro-
mised to aid in carrying out this undertaking, which
b undoubtedly one of great and momentous interest
Since the publication of the experiments narrated in
thit paper, a taonstw tcheme hat been propounded for
connecting America with England by these magic-
working wiret t but until something on a smidler scale
has been aocomplithed, it will be prudent to waive the
consideration of a project which it calculated fbr the
time when dectric intercommunication, with all itt dif-
ficulties, ihall be a retolved problem.
Ardently, indeed, may the time be wished for when,
tt one of our wite men hat said, *the earth may be
girdled with a sentence in a few momentt ;' and when,
to eteiy cirUited nation, a common tongue and a com-
mon meffium <rf tpeech will be given. What new and
rapid evolutiont of truth may not be expected, what
advancement in arts and sciences, what progi^ in
dvihsatiott, when this hour a discovery will l^ made,
and the next win see its knowledge scattered to the
* ends of the earth I * * BLnowledge,' in the words of the
sacred writer, 'shall be increased;' and the warring,
contending, opposing, and wide-scattered members of
the human fan^ shall begin to feel for the first time
te reality of tiie existence of the famUy relationship.
If it is in the order of Supreme Providence that such
radts should flow even from the humble instrumen-
tMhtf of a copper cord, may that time soon oomel
BISTORT OF THE HIGH SCHOOL OF
EDINBURGH.
Thk hbtorlet of places and of local things, when exe-
cuted with induttty Mid tatte, are often both amusing
md lattructife, from the number of curiout matters
whidi they bring out A history of the High School
of EiSnburgh, by one of the dergymen of the dty, is
of this character.* Without any great pretension, it
ftms a toott agreeable narration, embodying what we
nigiit caU the life of a very dis^nguished seminary,
together with many interesting traits of the persons
conneded with it, pupils as wdl as masters, and con-
dadng not a little to illustrate the progress of educa-
tion.
It now appears fbr the flrst time that the High
8eboOl of Edinburgh is descended from one of those
oonventoal sdiools which formed the chief seminaries
of secidsr learning in the middle ages : it was originally
the KkiotA taught by the Augustine monks of Holyrood
Abbey ; and lie first mention of it as the school of the
city oocurt to late as 1519. It was not till after the
Btibrmalion thAt it had entirdy shaken off this early
oonseetion, and fdlen under the entire control of the
munidpatity. In those dayt it wtt tettled in a build-
* History of IhB High 80I100I of Bdlnbaxf h. By the Rev. WU-
iMBMovn, IU>. BiBnbiiiSb : MaoU^hUn and Btewart 1849.
ing at tiie bottom of Bladdriars' Wynd, which had
been successivdy occupied by Archbishop and Cardind
Beaton. In 1578 it was removed to a new building in
the garden of the Blackfriars* Monastery, where it re-
mained, though latterly under a renovated fitbric, till
1829. It was there that Scott, Brougham, Francit
Homer, and many other eminent men of otir age, im-
bibed the firtt draughtt of polite learning. How many
a brave soldier and good dvilian in all parts of the
world must remember with pleasure the days of happy
yopthAU exdtement long ago spent in * the Yaardir
The purpose of a grammar-sdiool of former times was
strictly limited to 8ie teaching of the Latin language.
Greek was unknown in such seminaries till a compa-
ratively late period. For a long time, even writing wat
not taught in the High School The methodt appear
to have beefi far from inviting. For one thing, a pupil,
after the first six months, was obliged to speak in Latin,
under pendty of a fine. He had to learn the grammar
in a Latin book. Thus, by a curious pedagogic ab-
surdity, he was presumed firom the first to know that
which he professedly came to learn. The doctrines of
his ftdth were dso imparted to him in a Latin catechism,
which, to complete the solecism of the business, he had
to repeat each Sunday in church before an illiterate
congregation.
Towards the end of the sixteentii century, corrupted
by the barbarisms of the recent dvU wars, and par-
taking of the generd lawlessness of sodety, the boys
were addicted to armed rebellion agdnst their mas-
ters—chiefly, it would appear, in order to secure that
allowance of holidays which they thought their due.
In September 1595, being denied a week's vacation by
the magistrates, ' a number of them, ** gentilmenis
bairnis," entered into a compact to revenge this sup-
posed encroachment Accordingly, having provided
themselves with flrearms and swords, they went, in the
dead of night, and took possession of the school-house.
On the following morning, when Rollock [the head
master] made bis appearance, he soon understood that
his pupils were there, but that they had another object
in view than the prosecution of their studies. The
doors were not only shut against him, but every means
of access being completely blocked up, and strongly
guarde<>from within, dl attempts to storm the garrison
were found impracticable, and endeavours, oft repeated,
to effect a reconciliation, proved unavailing. At length
it was deemed expedient to call in the dd of the muni-
dpd power. John Macmoran, one of the magistrates,
immediately came to the High School at the head of a
party to force an entrance. When he and the city
officers appeared in the Tardt^ or plavground, the
schdars became perfectly outrageous, and renew^ re-
monstrances were quite fruitless. The boys unequivo-
cally showed that they wodd not be dispossessed with
impunity, and they dared any one at his peril to ap-
proach. To the point likdy to be first attacked they
were observed to throng in a hig^v exdted state ; while
each seemed to vie with his fellow in threatening instant
death to the man who shodd fordbly attempt to dis-
place them. William Sincldr, son to the chancellor of
Caithness, had taken a conspicuous share in this barr-
ing-out; and he now appeared foremost, encouraging
his confederates steadily to persevere in defence of those
rights which he doubtless conceived immemorid usage
had fairiy established. He took his stand at a window
overlooking one of the entrances, whence he distinctly
saw every movement of those without. Macmoran,
never dreading that such hostile threats would be
carried into execution, boldly persisted in urging his
officers to fbrce the door with a long beam, which, as a
batterinff-ram, they were plying with all their might.
The baiue had neatly accomplished his perilous pur-
pose, when a shot in Uie foreheiAd, from Sinclair's pistol,
laid him dead on the spot. The anxious spectators of
the scene were panic-struck, and Uie mournfrd tidings
cast a gloom over the town.
* Early on the following day the Town-Council held
■--^
-Si^^
152
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOUBJNAL.
an extraordioMTX meeHng^ and g»Te< exprMaion to their
deep regret on account of tbii dittretting occunnenoe,
by which they bad been deprived, of a much-reapeeted
colleague, and the city of an actiye magifltrate. The
provost, two of the bailiesy the convener of the trades,
and seven councillors, were deputed to proceed to Fife,
personally to conununicate the sad intelligence to the
king, who was then at X'alldand, hi« favourite hiuting
palace.
' After two mouths' imprisonment, seven of the
scholars, who were apprehended along with Sinclair,
submitted their case to the Privy-Council. In their
ntemorial, they assert their innoceiioe in the most po-
sitive terras ; complain of being closely shut up with
abandoned characters in a damp prison, at the immi-
nent perU of their lives ; that, as most of the petitioners
were sons either of batons or landed proprietors, they
did not consider themselves Amen«d)le tothe magistrales
of Edinburgh, who, ^ides, being parties, could not sit
M unbiassed jud|;es ; and humblv intreated his msjesty
to name an assize, of whom the majority should be
peers of the realm. Their request was complied with.
What actually took place at the trial, however, is not
now known, as the record of the Justiciary Court of
that period is unfortunately lost ; but Sinclair and the
others were soon liberated.
VHere perhaps we may be pardoned for cursorily
noticing a tradition, which bears indeed the marks of
probabUity, that a boy of the name of Campbell, impli-
cated in tills barring-out, apprehensive of the result,
fled alpne to the I^e of Skye, where he settled, and left
behind him a g^eration of Campbells, isolated, as it
were, amidst a nation of Macleods. Ooe of these, a
great-grandson of the rioter, hospitably received the
unfortunate Charles in his wanderings in the year 1746,
and was very kind to him. Some other boys, the eons
of HlgU^d cbieftains, were engaged in the af&ay, which
proves that the Blg^iid proprietors of that period
could not have been po^ illiterate as it is generally sup-
posed they were.* ,
We have beard that poor Macmoran's skull was long
after dug up] in the Greyfriars* Churchyard, and recog-
nised by the small hole through which the fatal buUet
had entered. His ho^e still exists in the Lawnmarket,
a stately mansion, laying not a little for the affluence
and comfort of thfi^ first class of merchants in Edin-
burgh in the reign of King J^unes VI.
. Toward^ th^.cloi^of the sixteenth century, the re-
munerations of the masters appear to have been on a
^odcr»te. ^CiUe. jThe head master, Hercules Bollock,
a man of distinguished learning, and famous for his
many compositions in Xatin poetry, is found com-
plaining of the insufficiency of his salary of L.50
Scots (being L.4, Ss. 4d. sterling), in as far as the feQ»
were ill-paid by the boys ; wherefore the magistrates
agreed to his stipend being doubled. In 1598, these
gentlemen fixed a scale of rees and salaries for idl tlie
masters, which will be understood by the modem reader,
if he divides by twelve for sterling money: ' George
Hastie, the first regent, was to have quarterly from
each scholar 138« 4d.i Patrick Feacodc, the second'
regent, was to have the same sum ; John Balfour, the
third regent, had 15s. ; and Alexander Hume, the fourth
or principal, 2ps. Besides this, the Principal was to
be acknowledged by every hoy at tl^c 'school, " of ane
quarteili^ dewtie of xld.'* The teachers . received
solaria fropi the town : the first and second regents
had twenty pounds, the third had forty marks, ^d the
head master had two hundred marks yearly.*
i'here was, however, an irregular source of Income,
which has continued to be a feature of Scottish schools
almost down to the priesent day, * On tlie 20th ot
January 1660, the Town-Council appointed " intimation
to be made to the doctors of the Grammar-School that
t'he casualty called the HeU sUbei' be delayed till the
first day of March next.** This was a gratuity presented
to teachers by tlieir scholars at Candlemas, when the
pupil that gave moat was pronounced Atit^« The de-
tignatbn appears, to have origmatedfrom tiie ScottWi
word bl€i$, si^tifying anything that B»«kes a bkute; it
being oonjeotwred, with grtaA probabUity, that tlie money
was ** first contributed for this purpose at CkutdUmtiM,
a season when fires and lights were aociently kindled.^ '
[To make good this conjectore, we recollect that at
our first school* in a primitive part of the couDtry, the
boys always employed a part of the holiday ia mideing
what they oall^ a Camdlemtu Ue^e, general^ netting
on fire some fieM of dry gorse or tr^^ in the neigb-
bourhood <^ the town.] * In addition to the euttomafy
quarterly fees, the masters deemed themselves vntitled
to a gift in Uie beginning of February, and this was
named a *< Candlemas offering.'* The practice eodatad
in moat of the public schools till a comparatiTely reeeot
period. Candlemas was a holiday; but the childreD,
in their best attire, and usually aocompAuied bj their
parents, repaired to the sdiool, and after a idicrt while
was spent in ^e delivery of appropriaete oratioos, the
proper business ol the forenoon oNnmeneed. The roll
of the school was aolemnly called over, and eadi boy,
as his name was announced, went forward and pi«-
seated an offering, first to the rector, and next to his
own master. Whea the gratuity was less tiian the
usual quarteriy fee no notice was taken of it, but when
it amounted to that sum, the rector exclaimed, Viwot ;
to twice the ordinary fee, FlorttU bis / for a higgler aum*
Fhreat ter; for a guinea and upwaidf, QUriall £aeh
announcement was the precursor of an amount of cheer-
ing commensurate with the value of the ** offering;''
When the business was over, the rector rosei, and in an
audible voice declared the motor, by menttoniag the
name of the higheat donor. Tliis, it must he eon&sed,
was a very disingenuoua practice, for the toost meri-
torious scholars might he the least able^ .so to distia-
guish themselves. There was usually an ei^ier compe-
tition for the honour of hin§» It haa beea av«cved in
regard to a provincial school, on . an oooasioa sisiiiar
to tliat to which reference haa been made* that a bpy
put down a guinea to insure the enviable distinetioo
of being king for the day, when the lather of a rival
scholar gave his son a guinea to add to the first ^ of-
fering;" whereupon an alternate advance oC a guinea
each took place, till one bad actually laid down twen^r
four, and the other twenty-five guineas! Again and
again did the Town-Council of Edinburgh issue injano-
tions to the toachers, to prevent " all craving and re-
saving of any hU%$ $ylver or bent sylver of thair baimis
and scholares, exceptand four penneis at ane tyiae
allanerlie.'* In daya of old, when many of our bouses
boasted no better floors tlian the bare earthy it was
customary to lay down rushes or bent to keep the ieet
warm and dry, as well as to give a more comfortable
appearance. At the close of the sixteenth oentuiy and
commencement of the aeventeenth, during the summer
seaaon the pupils had leave to go and cut bent for
the school. As in tiiese excursions the young beat
collectors ** oftentimes fell a-wrestling wiUi hoo^s ia
their hands, and sometimes wronged themselves, other
times their neighbours," it was resolved that the hpys
should have their accustomed *' libertgr " or holiday, and
likewise that every scholar should present the custom-
ary gratuity to the master on the first Monday of May,
and on tlie '* first Mondays of June and July, which is
commonly called the bent-silver play, with which mon^
the master is to buy bent, or other thinga needful for
the schoot" Happily all such exactions are novrun-
known; and at four regular periods in the course of
each session the teachers receive firom thc^ pupils a
fixed fee, which is regarded as a fair riemuneration fat
their professional labour.'
Early in the last century, a person of considerable
literary celebrity became connected with the High
School of Edinburgh in a humble capad^ty. * David
Mallochy who about this time filled ^e aitnation of
janitor in this seminary, distinguished hims<df ^n.afteC'*
life. Pr Johnson, in his ** Liyea of the Poets*" says that
^Ulioch or Jltf allet, from the penury of his parenta, was
Ir=
^ '"•-' '-■
y^- ..ru-. ;
1
CHAMBERS^ EDIKBUEGH JOURNAL.
153
gW to accept •ufih a humble appoiotRient. We were
iodiiied to <)aeetioii the aoocuracy of the ftatement, as
hit hiognqfftber meotioDt that the memoir was drawn up
eUeflj ttiyak hemnay tesUmony. Obserring, however,
that the eleotion of a jaoitor was not at that period
feeorded in the minutes of the corporation, it occurred
to tts that the Toudiiers in the oitjr ohamberlaio*8 custody
might probably throw some light on the point The
disputed qnestk>n was speedily put at rest by the pro*
tetion of MaUoeh*s hcmgraph receipt, dated February
2, 17 IS^ for wixieem skiBmgs and eigfUpence tierhng, being
Us fVdl atlarjr for the preceding half-year. That was
the exact period he held the office. The janitorship, it
should be borne in mind, was not esteemed a post un-
suitable to tiie age, or beneath the dignity, of a junior
aeademic. In the uniyersity the same situation was
repeatedly filled by students. . . . Malloch was after-
waids tutor to tiie sons of the Duke of Montrose, with
whom he made the tour of Europe. He subsequently
settied in London, where he altered his name to Mallei
In reference to this ^ange it was tauntingly said of
him that he was called Malkch by his relations. Mallet
by his fricsids, and Moloeh by his enemies. His first
pubUotioii was the beautiful baUad of '* WiUiam and
Margaret," which was folk>wed by several other works,
whioi secured for him considerable celebrity. With
I^jpe, and Thomson, and a host of literary characters,
he was on intimate terms.'
A pkauant personal anecdote is recorded of a Mr
Matheson, who was obliged to retire from the head-
masterthip in 1768« on account of bad healtli, but who
afterwards recovered by taking abundant exercise in
the open air. Under a mask of oddity, his conduct
exhibited the clearest wisdom; and we, whose life is
one exclusively of mental activity, can candidly say
that we have often fdt the wish to do as he did. * In
hii summer peregrinations, he has frequently been
known to sp^d several hours with any ditcher whom
he found busy at his humble calling ; and at his depar-
ture^ gave the rustic some gratuity for the loan of his
pfeckaxe. The temptation was too great, he also con-
fened, to pass a barn where the thrasher was at work,
without intreating that he might be indulged for a
little with tiie use of his flail. In winter, when he could
not go much alMroad, he was in the habit of repairing to
the shop of Mr Auchenleck, a well-known eutler, where
he would amuse himself in driving the large wheel.
One day, when thus employed, a medical student from
tile sister isle happened to call, and, in the course of
eoQversatioa, talked boastingly of the attainments of
his cemrtfymen in classical lore. Auchenleck patiently
hsCencd till a supposed stigma was attempted to be
thrown upon Scotland. Firing at thn, and wishing to
confound as well as convince his loquacious customer
that his averments were most erroneous, he adroitly
ebserfed that even some of his own workmen were by
no means deficient Having said this, he singled out
Mr Matheson, who, in a quiet corner, at his voluntary
task, had been all the while doomed to have his ear
grated by thn 'Soluble pseudo-scholar, who held quati'
tkg at defUmce, Matheson came forth, and to the utter
confusion of the stiianger, convinced him that learning
was not exdnsively the product of his native soil ; and
from the spirited lecture of the ci-devant rector, the
Irishman was soon made fully aware that his censure
was premature and unmerited'
Our amiable author touches lightly on the severities
formerly practised in grammar-schools, and in this
among the test It might have been cu^ous, as a con-
trast to the present more rational and humane methods,
to have given a few traits of the severities of Nicol,
which, we have been assured, were not much short of
the atrocities of the Inquisition. Strange to say, in
Sifate life, this teacher was warm-hearted and genial
e seems to have entirely gained the affections of
Bohert Bums, who wrote, on the occasion of Nicol's
house-heaiiTtg^ his popular song, * Willie brewed a peck
e* maut* Bven Dr Adam maintained no small rigour.
We have heard that at one of the examinations of the
school, late in the life of this eminent man, he was
honoured by the presence of several distingui^ed per-
sons, his former pupib, including the president of one
of the supreme courts of the country. It was getting
dark, but, in tiie ardour of his examinations, the vener-
able rector heeded not the circumstance. Some one at
length whispered to the Judge, * Would it not be well
to give Dr Adam a hint that it was time to conclude
and dismiss?' *//' cried his lordship wiUi a shrug
whicih involted a thousand recollections ; * what, / pre-
sume to interfere with the master! Oh no, indeed.'
The last words of Adam on his deathbed are striking
and afibcting — * It grows dark, boys — ^you may go.'
SUMMER AT NICE.
Amono the fair spots my memory loves to revisit — and
they are not a fbw — ^Nice is the dearest Almost every
one seems to know Nice, and to know it is to love it
It is never mentioned without some afibctionate adjec-
tive, nor, as I foncy, without a brightening of the
speaker's eye, as if in sympathetic remembrance of that
ever-smiling sky, and of the Mediterranean flashing
joyouriy beneath.
Nice has no ruins, churches, or galleries of art to
invite the tourbt: it has only its Altered situation,
simple beauty, and delicious cliniate *, but with these it
needs no other riches. I would remark, however, that
its dimate is decidedly unsuited for those whose lungs
are actually diseased. The dear air and, sharp sea-
breezes prove very irritating to consumptive invalids.
But where the patient suflers merely f^om general
debility, stomach com^aints, bronchial delicacy, or
great susceptibility of cdd in the humid climate of
England, Nice is the place to invigorate him, and make
him literally a new being. I never was aware of the
buoyant pleasure of life until I hved in Nice— I mean
the mere animal enjoyment of emsUnce — and now I
look back upon those bright winters as the halcyon
days of a calm beauty never to be forgotten. Think
of never venturing out in November, December, or
January without a parasol to shade one from the glare
of sunriiine, and sitting for hours, almost in summer
clothing, on the ruins of the old cattle which sur-
mounts the hill behind the harbour, with ^e Mediter-
ranean spread out at your foet as flpu:* <is the eye can
reach, so cafan, so deeply blue — still d^per in colour
than the sky t^at looks down. lovingly upon it, as if
protecting and watching the fishing-boats, whose white
sails are like sea-birds in the distance! It is impos-
sible not to feel better in mind and body when living
amid beauty, and impossible not to feel, with Words-
worth—
* A presence that disturbs mo witli the joy
Cf elevated thoughts ; a eeQae subUme
Of something far more deeply interfused ;
Whoee duelling is the light of setting suos^
And the nmnd Mesa, and the living air,
Andtbebltie«ky.'
But this is the Nice that everybody knows— the Nice
of the tourist. Uie painter, the poet, and the' English
absentee. It is piy bint to speak of It in summer, when
it is usually considered by such visitors to be no more
inhabitable than if it were seate4 in t]ie very heart of
the Great Sahara. Towards the etid of April, or of May
at the farthest the place is desCi^ed; the season i«
over, and the town is left to Jmninierlioat and solitude.
The mountains which shelter it from the northern
blasts, and conseq^uently make it so desirable a residence
in winter, now render it an oven ; and in fact it would
be utterly insupportable were it not fo)^ the sea-breeze.
As a general rule, the English and tdl other foreigners
take to flight at the approach of this season ; but some
few families, influenced by VfiriouS motives, stand their
ground. One summer we were among that number, for
we wished to spend a second winter there ; and the dis-
tance to any very cool summer quarters was great enough
154
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
(I
to decide ub to braye tiie heat where we were* HoweTer,
we would not Tent^ on this again, for the temperature
was reallj more than snfflcient to undo all the good the
previotts winter had eflbcted. Northern oooftitutionf
are certainly not the better for four months' frying^
with a shake of mosquitoes, and an extra hiss now and
then, ocMsioned by ^ sirocco beUows. Now, however,
that the physical inoonyenienoe is oyer, memoiy spreads
before my ddighted eye nothing to mar the fairest pos-
siUe picture A an Italian summer in all its indolent
luxury. The fire-flies dancing through the nights of
June, the shining licards, and the mosquitoes them-
selves, seemed to be the only living things onresigned to
spend their time in the * ddce far niente,* the delights
of which state are so totally unappreciable by those who
have never felt warmer summers than our own. There
was a novelty in our first southern summer which
was not wi^out its charms, in spite of the drawbacks.
Rising at four or five, bathing in the transparent
water, if the sun was not ahready too hot, taking a short
walk in shady green lanes, eating firesh cherries as we
went along (ana peculiarly sweet they seemed at that
early hour), coming home before six to an early break-
&st, then dresming through the day, dining chiefiy on
fruit, passing an hour or two in a siesta, breathing a
little more f^ely as the evening drew on, reviving siA-
dently to dress and go out about nine o'clock, stroll-
ing on the sea-shore, dreaming again while gazing at
the calm, silvery moon riding peaoefhlly in that sum-
mer sky, and nevertheless ^ging down a shower of
almost golden light into the rippling waves beneath;
then home again, and, looking out of the open window,
feeling more awske than we had done since the morn-
ing—for the sea-breeie was now cool (almost sharp
sometimes) — and the moon and its showers of light in
the water more beautiful than ever. Tliis, continued
day after day, may seem a monotonous routine ; but it
is not so ; and I defy the veriest despiser of day-dream-
ing to pass a summer in Italy and escape the infection
of tiie dimate.
But we are someUmes roused by a storm. Indeed a
thunder-storm is by no means unfirequent during the
summer months at Nice. In July we had three or four,
and one I remember very vividly. It began at eight
o'clock one evening, after a day or two of intolerable
oppressiveneu. We heard the first peal of thunder with
deUght : it approached nearer and nearer, and the light-
ning flashed, as it seemed, without a moment's inter-
mission } then the rain began to fall. It first rebounded
ofi* the hard-baked ground, which soon, however, yielded,
and drank in with eagerness the ref^shing shower. It
ceased: the thunder roared more savagely, the house
shook to its foundations, the lightning filled the room,
as, in spite of the jalousies, it came in at the four large
windows, and was reflected in the mirrors on the walls.
There we sat for hours, some admiring, some terrified,
all silent and awe-stridcen. The lightning at length
ceased to come in ordinary flashes ; it appeared at the
windows a broad thin sheet of light. The effect was
most beautiful, as it illumined every object in the
room for a few seconds at a time. Some of our party
would not go to bed on account of the iron rods whi^
supported the mosquito curtains ; so we all sat up for
company's sake. Suddenly we were alarmed by a
rushing noise without : it was not the thunder, but was
distinctly heard iriiA the thunder. We rushed to the
windows, threw back the jalousies, and saw the wonder-
M finale of the storm. Beneath our windows was Uie
dry bed of a torrent, supplied abundantly in winter by
the mountain streams, but long dry, and used, on account
of its smooth dean stones, as a Ueach-green by a num-
ber of neighbouring laundresses. Now, however, there
rushed idong its bed an impetuous river, carrying along
with it logs of wood, quantities of hay, straw, charcoal,
&c. which it had pillaged as it swept along the cottages
of the mountaineers. The lightning was flashing on it
the while, now and then seeming to convert it into a
river of Uood. It was a fearful, yet a grand sight I
was rivetted to the spot, and did not leave it imtil at
length the storm, which had now lasted five hours, gra-
dufUly subrtded } the douds raUed awi^, and the moon,
in all her gentle beauty, shone down upon the rushing
torrent, and by her peaoeM imiles wooed the discordant
elements into harmony.
So much for ih»phyti^^ of IHce in the summer) but
the morak is hardly so picturesque. I Mt an interest,
however, in one of the peasant i^rls, called Madeleine
Bonnet It is no harm to tell her name; for she ooold
not read, even if she should see it written here. Her
faUier was a working silversmith in Genoa, and ^hen
he died, his widow and children removed to Nice, where
they had rdations. They tried to support themsdves
by a little form ; but this did not soooeed. The bofs
were too young, and the two girls, who were the ddest
of the family, resdved to go into service. Marie, the
eldest, soon found a situation in a Nizsard fomily ; but
Madeleine was ambitious, and determined to go only
into an English manage. She ofibred bersdf to ua, and
we found 1^ appearance veiT prepossessing. She wore
the becoming costume of the Nice peasantry— the graoe-
f\il cappeline, and the black velvet ribbon round her
glossy dark-brown hahr. Her complexion was the dear
dive of Italy, and her eyes had the lustre of that pas-
sionate climate, but beautified in their expresikm by the
long bladE lashes, which hung over them with a mourn-
ful air I cannot describe. As she was well recommended
by the hotd-keeper, we resdved to try her. She did
not profoss much knowledge ; but her great willingness
to learn soon made her a favourite, even with the cron
old cook, and with our own English servants. This
peaceful state of things in the kitdien did not last long;
however. The dd cook soon brought grievous charges
against Maddeine, who, she said, stole the charcoal,
and ought to be dismissed instantly. We ooold not
readily acquiesce in thii ; especially as we found, on
farther inquiry, tiiat on no other head but tiiat of char-
coal was her honesty impeached. We could have ima-
gined a giii of eighteen being tempted by cakes, or
artides of dress ; but what could she do with charood ?
It seemed nonsense. However, week after wedc the
cook persisted in her allegations, and the matter must
be investigated. Maddeine was called, and the dutfge
made. She blushed scarlet, and did not attempt to
deny its truth. • It is a pity, Maddehie,' I said, < that
you have acted so, for we must lose confidence in yoa
henceforth.'
This seemed to give her courage, and she answered,
' Ah, signorina, you think I would steal anyUiing now !
You are mistaken : I would rather starve than steal for
myself; but, signorina, I have a mother, and she is veiy
poor, and my fittle brothers are too young to work for
her. She finds that she can make a very good trade
by selling roasted diestnuts in the street; but it re-
quires a great deal of charcoal to roast them all day
long, and she grudged to buy it when she wanted food
for the children, and I have sometimes given her a
Uttle.'
Though I felt that tiie poor girl's temptation had been
strong, I thought it right to say, ^Tet, Madeleine, it
was aUaiing when you gave away what was not yours
to give.'
Her eyes flashed indignantly : her ideas of morally
were evidently different : her heart swelled, and witti
tears she answered me — * Ah, signorina, you who have
a mother whom you dearly love, to speak so to me I
You are rich, and I am very poor ; but if you and ymtf
mother were as poor as I and mine, you would hdp btf
in any way you could, espedaUy if you had plenty to
eat, as I have with you : and if you knew thai she had
a scanty meal at home, yon Uxmld, signorina' — she
added with energy, seeing me about to reply — *yot
would have done what I did.' She paused, and bei^
pardon for her vehemence, but not for the theft whkh
it was dear gave her conscience no imoGmfortabld
qualms. I never fdt more puzded for a reptf . I
'ideleine that she had acted wroog;
nererthdetfl the oooftrence ended here; and ended,
•trange to say, bj interesting us all more deeply tiian
erer in the impenitent culprit.
Towards the end of June, Madeleine came to me one
da/ in great sorrow, saying that she must leave us, for
tet it was now the sesson to work at the fkotory —
winding the rilk from off the pods of the silkworms —
that fibe would much rather stay with us, as the work
is Tety bad for the health ; not that it is laborious, but
because the room in which the women sit is heated to
a most distressing degree by the caldrons of boiling
water in which the worms are immersed, and out of
whidi th^ are ti^cen, one by one, by the wunders. The
wages are Tery high to the good winders, and they are,
io ooDseqoence, willing to endure the bcdling tempera-
ture. We oflfered Madeleine equal wages, as we did not
wish to lose her; but the master of the factory said
ttat if she reftised to work that summer, he would not
employ her in future— for she was one of his best wind-
en, and he could not affi)rd to do without her--So she
went One day we went to see the factory : the wind-
ing of the silk was yery curious : those accustomed to
the work hare acquired such delicacy of toudi, that
as they wind, they separate, with unerring precision,
the silk of one worm into eighteen or twenty different
degrees of fineness, and ttiat without erer using the eye.
The witfk in which Madeleine was engaged soon made
a very marked alteration in her appearance. From a
robust, roqr-faoed girl, she became in a little time thin
' snd pale. The heat of a Nice summer would suffice to
I lide the roses on her cheek f but when, added to that,
she had to live all day in a room steaming with caldrons
of boiling water— kept boiling by fires below— it was
no wooder that she looked three or four years older
in the course of as many months. We often met her
when taking our evening stroU along the shore. When
the autumn approached, I asked her one evening when
she meant to come back to us. She looked very mudi
pBssled, and at last it came out that she hoped it woidd
be unnecessary for her to go into service again. She
was, in short, going to be married. But how was this ?
I must hear the story. It appeared that she had a
Cousin Antonio, whose parents lived in Genoa, and to
whom die had been in a manner betrothed almost firom
childhood. He was a baker ; and when Madeleine and
her family left Gtaoa fbr Nice, he had left it for Antibes,
where he had a promise of employment as foreman to
some wealtiiy baker. He was most anxious that Made-
leioe riionld marry him then, and accompany him to
Antibes t but she * was not ready,* she said.
* Why not ready, Madeleine?^
* Well, iipiaorina, I must tell you the truth. We were
very poor just then, after burying my father ; and my
■M&ier could have given me no dothes wt^th mention-
ing^ and so I could not think of marrying ; for it is
our custom here, when a young man marries, that his
mother irfiall examine beforehand all the linen and
cfetbes of his intended wifo ; and I could not submit
to be mocked and called a poor wretch by Antonio's
mother and sisters^ who aro much better off than I am,
and wbOi to tell the truth, would be glad to have some-
ihiiig to bring against me to Antonia*
'But, Madipileine^ your poverty would be nothing
against you with your lover, I suppose you %M him
why yon wished to wait?*
* Oh no, signorinal If I had, he is so generous he
would have bought me eversrthing I asked ; but I wished
to earn mw dothes, and not to be scoffed at by my
mother and sisters-in-law.'
' I admire your nairit But was Antonio satisfied to
wait?'
' Oh, he ought to have been satisfied ; but he was
Wgi;r with me certainly, and made me cry a great deal
Bi* fee wag good again bef<»re I saw him for the last
te« you never heard flrom him since he has
for I cannot read { but of course, if he
was ill, I should have heard from somebody. Ill news
always travels. But I shall soon see him, and never
part again,' she said earnestly. * U was a long, long
separaSon — almost two years. I dm not know what I
was undertaking when I refdsed to go at onee with him
to Antibes ; but now it is nearly ow, and we shall be
happy all our lives together.'
I could scarody share in the young girl's simple
faith, and Could not fadp saying, *He may be well,
Madeleine, but it seems very negligent to have left you
a year without some message. Can he be growing
cardess or forgetful ? '
* Forgetful!' she repeated after me with an arch
smile and shake of her head, no doubt piling me for
my ignorance and scepticism as to her lovers character,
but noway i^ected further bv my doubto ; and then
she added, * Ton know not, lady, how long Antonio and
Madeleine have loved. There never was a time in their
memory when aftght was dearer to them than each
other.*
I could scarcely share her trustfidness ; yet I thought
she might have good reasons Ibr it, and I sincerely
hoped so, and would not add a word to diminish her
joy. But as she went away, I said, * Well, Madeleine,
we shall be here again for the winter ; and if you be
in Nice, and disengaged, you can have your old place
if you choose.' Shortly after this we kit Nice for
a few weeks, making various excursions along the
coast On our return, my first care was to inquire after
Madeleine. Her M mother came in answer to the
message I had sent for her daughter. The poor old
woman seemed quite overwhelmed at the conduision of
her daughter's lifelong betrothment I cannot say that
I was surprised, though I was indeed grieved, at what
the told me. She had accompanied Madeleine to
Antibes shortly after we left Nice. They had found
Antonio alive and well, and prosperous — but married
to the only daughter of the wealthy baker whose fore-
man he had been, but who was now dead, and to whose
business and riches his son-in-law succeeded.
Madeleine was completely stunned by this intdli-
gence ; it was not, cdmm not be, riie thought; nor would
she bdieve it until the faithless Antonio's own lips had
left her no room for farther incredulity. Broken*
hearted, she returned with her mother to Nice ; and
sick of the wotid, at the age of nineteen she lost no
time in gaining admission to a convent, and I saw her
no more.
TUBNING THE PENNY.
It is a common thing to hear wonder expressed at the
great increase of street beggars. Is tliis really won-
derful ? A few extra pence will fiood with candidates
for work the meanest and dirtiest trades in the country,
and why should we be surprised to find the same efiect
produced upon beggary by our virtuous generosity ?
We are said in statistics to give away, in the copper
and small silver line, not much less than L.l,500,ooo
per annum ; and if to this is added the summing-up a£
the begging-books, in whole and half-sovereigns, crowns
and haH-crowns, we shall have a most tempting total
of revenue for destitution. Even the reftige off^ed by
the workhouse and nightly Shelters is found to aggra-
vate the social disorder. A nomade population has been
fostered in the bosom of a settled community. To the
*workus,' as a permanent retreat, beggars have the
most determined objection. Nor is tUs surprising.
There is a charm in rags, dirt, halfj^ience, uid gin, asso-
ciated with freedom, v^ch greatly transcencb all the
elegancies of the Union. Let us run over a few of the
more recent cases, and inquire what it is our pensioners
do in return for our bounty, and how they employ
themselves abroad, instead of stagnating to the woric-
hoose.
Gould any one show a more marked disregard of all
propriety of conduct than Ann Brady, who, though
arrived at the mature ungirlish age of thirty-six, made
her nnwiUiiig appearAnoe at the late M iddleaex SeeeioDs ?
Ann was accoaed of haying turned the penn j aa a street
beggar on ever j mailable occasion these fonrtaeu years
back. Not much good was said of Ann. Her aceosers
describe her as * one of the nuMt incorrigible begging
▼Rgrants who had erer been heard ofl For rears she
had led a begging, dranken, and vagabond life; and
the court woulQ 1^ astonished to hear that, at the in-
stance of the Mendicity Society alone, she had been
committed for various terms of imprisonment as many
as forty-nine times 1 A kind-hearted magistrate, think-
ing to get her to abandon begging, had supplied her
with money to set up a fruit-stall ; but the whole of
that money she had spent on drink. Whenever let
loose from prison, she began begging in the old way ;
and with the first money she procured, she got regu-
larly drunk in the nearest public-house. When last
taken up, she kicked and knocked about terribly, and
could not be brought to the station-house till she was
tied on a stretcher. It was of no use doing anything for
this woman, your worship. When good peo|^ got her
a comfortable situation, she stole out of the house to
beg ; her fiivonrite pUoe of resort being the Park. And
then she soon got herself into trouble. Since 1834, she
hftd spent, put it all together, five years in prison.' In
vindication of her rights, Ann said, * It was a very hard
case that the police would not leftve her alone — it was
enough to kill her.' Verdict of the court, * six months.*
Will the honourable bench of magistrates kindly explain
what is to be the use of this fresh incarceration, beyond
giving Ann a keener letish for begging and dram-
drinktng ?
Much about the same time, up is brought to the
police-offloe, Quildhall, *a wdl-known impostor, Michael
Lc«ry,' charged with being a confirmed beggar, who
carried' on business by simulating a most dreadful pain
in his back. Michael, it was alleged, lived on that back
of his. * The prisoner,* so sayeth the reporter, * who
was sdtowed to be in the anteroom, instead of being
locked up in the cells, continued groaning all the time,
declaring that he was djung from rheumatic pains; and
when helped into the court, he vedoubied his cries,
** Oh my back, my back !" and dung to the railings of
the dock, in which porition he conUnued moaning at
times, and to all appearance snfibring great pain, while
the evidence was taken down.' No. 267 of the city
poUoe gives eviidence •^* That about eight o'clock the
previous evening he was on duty in Holbom, when he
observed Uie primmer walk from house to house begging,
always appearing. to copiplsin of his back ; after which
he. went into several ' pubHc-houses, and obtained a
quartern of gin, which lie draok, and at last became
rather intoz^ated. Next he went into a cofiee-shop,
but did not get anything ; and on his coming out, he
took him into custody.' Michael denies being drunlc,
pleads ill health, and only begs because he cannot work.
The magistrate tells him that wont do : * You are too
well known to make me believe you were ill at all ; and
it's all sham now.' 'Hope you will send rao to the
hospital, sir, where I may get some relief to my aofaiog
bscK.' * I shaU tend you somewhere else «before you go
there, and that is to prison lor fourteen days, on bread
and water.' The prisoner, unpitied, was then carried
out by Na 267 ; loudly protesting, however, that he was
suffering severely from rheumatism, and that he should
certainly die under that terrible pain in his back I
Some people will laugh at this, and tell you that
Michael Leary wat doubtless an impostor, all his pro-
testations about his back notwithstanding. But who
demoralised Michael? That is the question Wasn't
it good fdks who believed all the rigmarole story of
the back, and gave him halfpenoe out of pure soul-
struck compassion ? To be sure it was ; and it is these
good folks, with their credulity and their charity, that
make beggars abound. Take another example. The
other day, * Thomas Henchcliffe, a thick-set, powerful
young fdlow, was placed at the bar of the Worship
Street police-office, charged with being a begging im-
postor. A ooiislable of the A division said he was on
duty thskt morning in the City Road, when he saw the
prisoner knock at a great number of dioors in suooession,
and damorously solicit charity, upon the ground of his
being in great distress, and that he had sustained some
very serious injury in his arm, which was sospraded in
a sling, and appeared to be crippled. Witness wu
dressed in plain clotlie^ for the more ready deteotioa cf
ofienders ; and tlie prisoner, after leaving the last door
he had applied at, at once made up to him, and in a
canting whine commenced a harrowing detail of hii
real or assumed misfortunes, which would have no
doubt been successful in the extraction of money from
any casual passenger, but which instantly stopped upon
the witness seizing him by the collar, and, pointing oat
his mistake, telling him he should take him to tbe
station. He then asked him what he had been doisf
at the houses he had knocked at? and the prisoner,
without the slightest prevarication, answered, **Bsg-
ging." ** And what is the matter with your arm?"
said the witness. ** Oh, nothing at all I" said the
prisoner. ** Then what do you put it into a sliag iior?"
^ Why, yon see," said he, ** when I went about with
my arm not suspended and wrapped up in this way, I
found that I could get noUiing out of anybody, as the
people I asked for assistance immediately exdaimed,
* Oh, you are a strong yotmg man, and ought to get a
living by work ;' and then went off without dropping s
penny ; so I put my arm into a sling as it is now, be-
cause I found that those who did so got more money!'*'
— Sentence, a month's imprisonment, with hard hdxNir
in the House of Correction.
But the professed beggar resorts to many other sbami
besides malingering. He is a shipwredced msriner,
a workman out of work, a bwned-out tradesmsn, an
unfortunate actor on his way home to his friends, s
distressed foreigner, and, generally speaking, he bu a
wife and family. In liondon, there appear to be placei
where beggars can be accommodated with * properties'
of all sorts, dying infants included. * At a recent meet-
ing of the Wesleyan Missionary Society, the Bev. Mr
Branch said that a short time since he visited a room
in Westminster where he saw a woman with a dying
child in her arms. Commiseratiog the wretdied ores-
ture's condition, he inquired into her history, and ber
means of livelihood, and in answer to his questions, she
replied, ** Oh, sir, my sufferings are great, and so are
those cf my child ; but when my child is gone, I know
not what to do." ** But," observed Mr Branch, ** it will
be a happy release for yoiu and your child, as you can
make no exertions while you are burthened with her."
" Oh, dear sir," cijacnlated the mother, ** when she it
gone, I'll have to pay Od. a day for another child, while
she costs me nothing. Unless I do so, I'll earn nothing
by begging, for it is the ohildseo that excite oompss-
sion t " In another room in tiie bouse Mr Bcanch found
forty beggars, vagabonds and rogues, male and femsls,
young, old, lame, and blind, gathered round a fire, all
relatUg their exploits, and planning for their neit
attacks upon the public In a reg^ar wareroom in
Westminster he saw exhibited for hire and sale eveiy
variety of dresses, including widows' weeds and tsttsrei
rags, shabby-genteel costumes, clerical suits, ftc. adapted
to the different plans of mendicant operations pursusd
by the several parties who patronised this extraordiosiy
bazaar, and who made begging a profesaiMi.'
Going about with certificates of character is a verj
effective method of operating on the compassionate. On
a former occasion we referred to a case related to w
by a party concerned, and it will still bear a few more
{Mirticulars. Some five or six years ago, a man who
carried on a small trade as a tinsmith in a countiy
town in England, was one night burnt out of house
and home. A great misfortune for the poor msn!
Not at aU. It was the best thmg he ever expe-
rienced that burning. He became a fit o)^^
tbe philanthropists ; and all very proper, if they bn
aeted with considerate caution. In his dastitutioa,
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
167
Ike hoatdbm tiiinoitii was tooght oat by a genUeouui
whom we thaU eall Mr Bfomwcil, iind furntohied with a
rahiQriplion*pftper, beaded by a true and partknilar
•ocoont of the fire and its consequences — wife and family
hpnsdew, slock in trade gone^ oontribotions would be
thankfhl^ reoeiTed, &c. Armed with this commission
of bottieration, off went the mined thismith on his
tratels, destined nerer more to tike hammer in hand,
first, he made a round of the town. In one day he
pocketed ei^t pounds seventeen shillings and sizpenoe
of the remarkably good coin of these reahns. with
this neat sum jingling in his pocket, his hand dipping
down among soTereigns and sliiUings--ideasant feeling 1
~« new li^t dawned on the fbrk>m tinsmith. He had
a rsalisation of the Tast powers of a subscription-paper.
B beat tan-beating all to nothing. Formerly, he had
tailed weeks and weeks, and not made as much as he
bad now done iu one day. Work was all nonsense.
Next day, at tiie begging again. Three pounds eloTen,
s& equally good mooey, rewarded his perserering in-
detfety, independentty of expressions of commiseration
whieh dlid not count The impetus towards mendicancy
was DOW altogether irresistible. To go back to the tin
tiaie woald be dearly a running in the face of destiny.
Misstts being of a similar way of thinking, it was soon
airaaged to cany on the new and lucrative profiBssnin.
Hamg exhausted all possibilities of cash within the
iaaediale sphere of the conflagration, the burnt-out
tiatmitli and his wife, a ' decent-looking woman in a
black bonnet,* went away on an excursion through the
protrincea. And from that excursion they haye never
returned, and never wilL Occasionally liey are heard
sf on tiielr peregrinations, picking up a sovereign here
and a hatf-crown there, all through the virtue of that
woederftil subscription-paper. ' It is the worst thing I
ever did in my life,' said Mr Meanwell to us, * giving
that nnliicky oertiflcate of character, with my own
Basse down mr a guinea at the top of it. It is a wanm-
iDf to me how I do anything of the sort again.'
When onoe a man has experienced the benefits of
begging— the very great ease of the thing, its superiority
in point of money-returns to downright hard work-*-you
omdd not convinoe that man that labour was more
honourable and more profitable. All your philosophy
about the dignity of independent labour would be thrown
away on him. The Liverpool papers give us a very
pretty case of a genteel incurable in the begging line.
*Tb(Mnas Holland was yesterday committed to prison
ibr one month, on a charge of street begging. It seems
be baa pursued his avocation to a considesable and very
proAtaUe extent, as the dreumstaoces we are about to
relate will prove. We learn that his committal was the
cnwiequence of his having importuned, amongst others,
the stipendiary magistrate himself For some time the
ddiaquent has been in respectable lodgings kept by a
widow, who has also several other lodgers, derks in the
costomhoose and meteantile establishments in the town.
From the time he went to these lodgings there has
always been some mystery as to his means or pursuits ;
and all that seems to have been known of him by his
Isodlady was, that he represented himsdf as a respect-
able decayed tradesman come to reside in liveipod.
Us was always a completo epicure in his diet^ and un-
iparlng in procuring for himsdf all the choice edibles
which tiie most fastidious taste could desire. To break-
&st he uniformly had his broiled chop or steak, and
vu roost particular as to the qudity of his tea and
coffee, always procuring the best of each, and having it
prepared loir him in the best possible manner. In this
Mspect he was exceedingly hard to please. In his otiier
Bsals he was equally hospitaUe to himselt and on all
ceessions his appetite was pofeotly astonishing to the
iMMtas of the house. As regards the other bodily
Mfoets of life he was equally particular. During the
time he remaineijl in tiie house he would sit before a
huge fire, which he always insisted should be kept up;
kii ket being comforted by extra carpets and rugs, and
bii legs wrapped up in blankets, fudeed^ in all his
arrangemento he seemed to be exceedingly well ac-
quainted with the means of personal oomrart, and did
not fail to make the most of them. ,He sddom turned
out of the house until eleven or twdve o'clock in the
morning, except on Saturday, when he was always
ready for his breakfast by eight o*dock, and uniformly
anxious to go out soon, as if he had urgent business on
that day. He was very fidgety if his meals were not
always ready at the moment he wanted them, and
would on these occasions tell his landlady that she could
alwa3rs look after the young men's wants, but because
he was ** a poor old gentleman, he must be neglected."
He had latterly beoone so tedious, that she gave him
notice to quit ; but he declined to reodve it» observing,
** What a wicked woman you are to ask me to leave ; it
is not convenient for me to leave, and I shall not leave! "
He was always very prompt in the payment of his
board, and until his committal, the landlady had not the
remotest idea that he was obtaining his livelihood by
begging. This was only found out by his unaocotmi*
able alMcnoe from home fbr a few days. At the time of
his committal his larder was well stocked fbr the follow-
ing week.' Of course^ since his liberation^ Mr Holland
has resumed business, and the world will most likdy
hear of him by and by.
* Punch,' that philosopher by contraries, hM recently
parodied Burns's * JoUv Beggars' with conaideiable suc-
cess, at least in the spirit of one of the songs. Among
the company, met at midnight for a characteristic jdli-
flcation, there is the Serious Poor Young Man, in a
threadbare blade coat, white cravat, and excessively bad
hat This is the sentimental strain he contribotca ;-^
•Alaaylrambairrwas'Wfti, *
To «An m J kraad I held it sscassb.
And liimod it far a teU«r yUm
To act the Seriooa Poor Young Man.
Sing hej the SerioasPoor Yoong Man !
Sing ho the Serioua Poor Toung Man 1
There's not a soamp In aU our mi,
Can mateh the Serioas Poor YAuog^ Man.
With oedar pendls In my hand,
Or stioks of seaHng-wax, I ela»l,
«« Soil Vommior " hearti Z tliaa tr^an.
The deoeot Serious Poor Young Mail.
Sing hey, &o.
Vm ne'er oaught keggiag ia the fact.
So don't infringe the Yuftant Act :
And let the latr do what it can
Agin the Seriooa Poor Young Man f
Sing hey,' tek
■ ^^^MM I ■ IJ ■! I !■! II ■ ^ — - 1 " 1^^^ * ^— ^ -^^-> -^^^ f~ ^^^
A CURIOSITY IN LITERATURE.
AxoNQ recent instances of the dispersion of our sheete
in quarters where it was not antidpated they would
penetrate, one of a peculiarly gratifying nature baa
come to our knowledge, and we trust to be excused fbr
drawing attention to it as a fact interesting in literA-
tore.
It may be generally known that during Qxe last twdve
months we have been engagediA pr^Muring and issuing
a new edition of the 'Information foor the People,' a
work of which seventy ^ousand copies Itad been pre-
viously disposed of, and wbioh now, in ito improved
form, has attained a drculation of fbrty-five thousand
copies. Some time ago, we had oceadon to notice that
the work had been reprinted, without our concurrence
being asked, in the Umted States, and also formed the
basis and modd of a work* * Xnftruction pour le Pcuple,'
issued in Paris. The eboumgtaaoe now attcaoting our
attention to the trtmslaliob of the work, into Welsh,
and ite Issue in parte in a form very dmilar to that of
the English original For this commerdd adventure
of a Welsh bookseller, Robert Edwards of PwUhdl,
Caernarvonshire, we had not been altogether unpre-
pared I for to his application for caste of our wood-
engravinga to lAgert in hie letter-press we had given
some attentioii— of oonne makiiig no charge for these
iUustnitiont, «od only too happy to aid fo fkr in what
appeared to he a meritoHoos and haxardont enterprita
The first part of this remarkaUe translation is now
before us ; and on the front of the blue coTer appears
the following title: — 'Cttieithiad o Addtsg Cham-
BEB8 Fb Bobl, can Ebbnezeb Thomas, ** Eben Fardd."
Cynnwysiad--^Seryddiaeth, Daeardraith.' The two Ut-
ter wofds signify Astronomy and QeoLogj^ snch being
tlie c(»tents of the pari At the foot S the title are
the words *Pris Chwe^ Cheiniog,' which means price
sixpence — a charge doable that of the original ; but, we
should infer, barely sufficient to repay the onHay on the
nndertaldng. The translator, Sbenezer lliomas, or
Eben tiie Bard, is a person of no mean celebrity ih
Wales. A correspondent, who calls him the * Shakspeare
or Bnms of the Principality,' forwards the following
notice of the bard and his present literary efibrt from
the * Amserao,* a popular Welsh newspaper : —
* Eben the Bard has already immortalised his name
as a poet Here we meet with him in the character (^
translator, and his abilities as such are equal to those
whidi distinguish him as a poet It must be absolutely
superfluous to attempt saying anything by way of re-
commendation to the work he has now trandated. What
necessity is there for writing a panegyric on the sun ?
And why should the Talue of knowledge require to be
made a sulgect of laudation ? The treasure oi miscel-
laneous instruction contained in the work of Chambers
is beyond all price [Thank you, Mr Critic I], and there
are thousands in England, Scotland, and elsewhere who
hare been drawing from this store for several years
past The ** Information for the People ** is now brought
within the Welshman's reach in his native tongue, so
that he likewise may participate in the same privilege
and pleasure. The first part is highly interesting : it
leads the reader to contemplate the wonderful works of
God in the heavens and earth. It ofiers a vast amount
of instruction, more valuable than much silver or gold 1
The language is chaste, elegant, and intelligible. The
translator is in every respect worthy of the author.
The paper and printing are good — an honour to the
Pwllheli printing establishment Surely such a work
as this will meet with a hearty welcome and extensive
circulation.'
Mr Edwards, in undertaking his costiy speculation,
seems to have found it necessary to bespeak the favour-
able consideration and assistance of a numb^ of dis-
tinguished Welsh divines, who obligingly fdrnlshed
him with their testimonies to the general utility of the
work. These certificates of character, as they may be
called, are printed in Welsh inside the cover, and may
be supposed to carry with them a due degree of weight
among the ancient Cymry. A few passage^, translated!
may be given, for the sake of showing that the clergy
of the I^inoipality are fully alive to tiie value of gene-
ral secular knowledge within the range of their pro-
fessional duties. The Rev. Isaac Jenkins, St David's
College, says—' Such a work is greatly needed in the
Welsh language; and as one who loves his country,
and desires the improvement of its inhabitants in aU
useful knowledge, I can do no less than wish that every
facility may be given for placing this excellent work
before them. The undertaking is arduous and weighty ;
but I hope that lufficient sympathy and co-operation
will be manifested so as to encourage the publisher.
Failure in such an attempt would be a great dishonour
to our nation, as wdl as give room for further reproach
from our neiji^bours.' The Rev. Arthur Jones, D. D.,
Bangor, observes—* I am surprised and delighted that
there is a prospect oi the Welsh acquiring the elements
of knowledge necessary to all men and women. The
work in question will enrich our nation ; and as it will
gradu^y reach every neighbourhood, all, both old and
young, even children, by practising economy, may
possess the treasures it contains ; and by it may culti-
vate their abilities in a very high degree.' The follow-
ing, from the Rev. Lewis Edwards, M. A., at Balla, is
still more pointed :— * I am exoeedinfl^y glad to find that
** Chambers^ Information for the People*' is to be
translated. Works snch as this are what the Wekh
require, not to the exdusion of r^igious, Irat in addi-
tion to all the theological works alrMdy in dscolstiQB
amongst them.'*
The last sentiment in the above conveys what has
all along been a prevailing principle in the prodaetiQo
of these sheets : they are not intended to exclude nli*
gious culture from the general concerns of lifo, but to im-
part what is prqpetly additional to vdigkm. Whslhsr
the difiiision of the 'Information' in Webh will be u
serviceable as is indnlgentiy iuf^iosed, we have bs
means of judging. That any necMsity should have ex-
isted for the tnmslation, is exceedingly to be lamented.
Not even the gratificatiim of seeing the work is ^
new character can lessen the pain of knowing tiist s
large section of tiie people still use a language— aadeDt
and copious, no doubt, but calculated, we foar, to letsid
their social progress. That until the middle of tbs
nineteenth century, the Celtic tongue, in its varietiei
of Qadic, Welsh, Irish, and Manx, should be cBipbyed
as a vernacular, is matter not less of surprise thsa of
national discredit Who has been to buune for tkii
scandal — the dvil government, the ohuvdi, or the
people? Perhaps all three. No thought appears to
have been bestowed on the foct, that large Bissses of
tiie population were isolated from general {oogreis on
account of their inability to speak English. And for
this neglect witii other drcumstanoes of misussge, how
conspicuously has the nation at large suffered I One
thing, however, must be said for the Welsh, that uader
all the disadvantages of a local tongue, they hafs not
languished as a people, nor become burdensome to tbeb
Anglo-Saxon neighbours. Failings they have, bat s
disposition to live by begging is not among the number.
A plodding race they are, and, as respects a living lite-
rature, they go very far ahead of their Celtic brethren
in Scotiand or Ireland. The very circumstance of their
attempting the enterprise which has suggested these
remarks, £ significant of an energy of character which
we shoidd in vain look for in the Highlands, where
Celtic newspapers and periodicals have never met with
that degree of encouragement necessary fat their per-
manent establishment
LIFE IN NEW ZEALAND.
Thb newspapers give the following copy of a letter jmt
received by Mr John Clark, yeoman of Thnsbnry, near
Romsev, Hants. The writer— William Battin— wsi
formerly diepherd m Mr (park's employ, and emigiated
to New Zealand about six years since. The stmp^
unadorned narrative of New Zealand lifo, which the
letter fVurnishes us with, will doubtieaa be interesting to
our readers :-^
Nbw Pltmouth, Kbw Zbalawo, ApiH », 18W.
I think that I can now say that the settlement h likely
to do well, as the »)yeTmnent have purchased from the
natives every mile <n rich ground, and ths setticn that
have been so long deprived of their land are now allowed
to ohoose hmd from the district The whole of TsnnskM
is well 8UTO>lied with 8|nings and fine rivers of good water;
lOraty of fish and wild duoks. The greatest produoe of
the land hitherto has been wheat, of which we have very
excellent sorts. The finest wheat that can be sold u
L.8 per load; barley, 6s. per bushel; oats, Ss.; pototoet
L.2 per ton. The settlement has been very low, andtte
settlers in general badly off"; but even then the l*boa^
ing-classes were much better off than the labouiing-daajoj
in £higland. But now, thank Qod, wo have got the boot
on the other lev, and every settler has plenty; in aone
but the miseraUb huts of drunkards ean the tauastes ssy
they ever know a banyan day. It is just five p*"*.^
months and ten days since I landed here, and have bein
« In the original—* Da lawn gwmyf wdtfd bod " Gbanbin'i
Informfttion for the People." i gMl el gyflei-thn ; Llyfrau M nya
§ydd eisiau ar y Cymy—nid i gau aUan Grefy dd, ond yn }fdmnu$M
at yr hoU Lyfiau dnwinyddol sydd eliloeByn ein iaitb.*
GHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
159
taii tines jwmn tad twHitjr ^^ff'^ independoiil on mj own
ftse land; and if John and Thomas nad oomo with mo,
thflj might have bean joft aa well off, and tot three yeaks
have been Imds oi splendid harvests. I hare moved from
Fokeokepe, and am now at Pegrikorik. I have a large
t«o»8tovej boose, with eight rooms, oonvenient for every
poipoae. I haTe the best garden in the plaee, oontainlog
two aorae, and rise everytnnig to an amaraig siae. I tiave
the krgest and most oonvenlent bam in tne settlement.
1 ham this yaar about 400 bushels of wheat, afo\v of barley
and mnlaew I raise yeaity abont SO tons of potatoes, very
ki^e, and aboot 1000 tons of Swedes, and abont 800
cabbages from 10 to 40 lbs. each, and a great qnantity of
froit and flowers and other VMpstables m abundance. I
have also ten good hogs^u^ onen twenty. Bacon, pork,
pooHry, egg^ butter, mUk, fish, and such-like, very plen-
tiftiL I have firewood eD(Migh to last mv house a century,
and bom on the land thousands of loads to disencumber.
Two bushels of seed wheat to the acre is the regnli^ to;
the fern land produces thirty bushels to the acre; and tne
bosh land in general about fifty. Mine is all timber land,
and my plaee will bear inspection by any person. In
May is tne best season to sow wheat, and mignt be oon-
tsmed tfll AngfMt, and hardest in January and February.
The winters bere are verv rnnoh Uke a eold wet sommer
in Bngiand. I luve only thiee times seen lee as thick as
ooamon window-glass, no snow, and very little white frost.
This is, I thii^ the finest elimate in the whole world;
neither myself nor one of my frtmily have ever known a
day's illneas since we left Engpland. I am now forty-eight
yeara two months and a few days old. I aopear twenty
Tears younger to look on than when I left. My eldest son
WiUisitt is about to purchase for himself 200 acres of land,
eutir^by bis own savings. Here Is a chance for everv
one. Ttm natives are be^huiing to raise wheat in abund-
snoe, and hmwe several mills to grind com in several parts
of the eoontry at their own expense; they liave (the
greatest part of them) embmoed Christianity, and are be-
eomevery civilised.
The missionary stations are about forty miles apart, and
manj of them quite in the desert, amongst the natives
only, and have to travel and preach twenty miles each
waj; and it is surprising how the minds of the most savage
tribe— those that have been making war — are now begin-
ning to be very humble. Ttiose about us are very civil and
honest They work just land enough to keep them : it is
not one acre out of 1,000,000. There wants now, in this
dirtrict of Tamnakie, 100,000 emigrants. People starving
in fitdand, and millions of rich, wilHng land bere useless
—saeh easy-working land, that any man can throw out
twenty sacks of potatoes in one day. The town of New
Plymouth is sittuited by the sea-side, and is laid out in
straight streets, two miles long, and one mile across, with a
belt at the bade, sid^ and ends, containing a larae new
hospital, many small farms, and much waste lanoL The
town at present is but scattering— most of the houses built
of timber. The church is built of stone, about three times
the slxe of that at Tlmsbury. The Wesleyan chapel is
bnilt of stone; also a strong unoccupied prison built of
stfloe. Here is no clay fit for brickmaking, but plenty of
stone of an sorts and sizes. Along the oeaoh, the river
rons over amazing beds of pebbles for many miles. Fresh-
wat«r eels are often caught, ten, twelve, and twenty lbs.
eseh. The settlers aie soattered ont wide. At the Omri
there is a church buflt with timber, and a Primitive chapeL
Sabbath pohools are kept on, as in England. Wild fowls
are pbotUhL and it is every one's own fault if they do not
slemonbeosofdown. Half a mile in front of the sea the
land is sandy^ bearing saving crops; further in it is black
noold— no stones. Oxen want no grass ; horses want no
■boss; one share point will hut six months. Beneath the
black mould it is orown earth— wants subsoiling*
The timbet and big bosh is ont dovm in a rough way,
lyim six months^ when the fire bums all up olean, except
ktgs and stomps. The wheat is sown and sorH>ed in, in a
"^ a^ light maimer, and without grabbinflf. A crop of
fifty bimielt to the aore is pretty sore. It is not a very
gUMl eoontry at presont for aheem although here is no fiy
or nuOftt, and sheep fatten hiu and aome have good
fleece. All oattln hcM are hi good condition. Gattle here
toerease fiist, as no calves are killed, and ship-loads arrive
from New Holland. All that will may have cows, and at
the cattle station there are about dOa Here is some
iMses, but the work is mostly done bv oxen. The hours
for labooring-men are from seven till nte. The price for
tbiBshing is 8s. per quarter. Tliere are font thrasfahig-
maohines beret but the slow paoe of the oxen, and reek-
oning an hire, brings the prioe to 1^ the quarter. Com
thrashes better than in England. Men might earn very
high wages, but Tery few can get their beads off their
downy pillows till the sun is three hours in the sky. Thank
God! I can rise most mornings to salute the opening
dawn. Almost every one has land, and is half independent.
'Hiere are no soldiers; but we have a poUee of about twenty
men, drilled to tiie musket like soldiers. There are no
natives more than about three miles inland, except when
wandering about, which is common.
Here is no manner of wild beasts, no seipents or reptile;
no manner of vermin but rats; no tnoms or thistles. You
might travel barefoot, lie down and sleep in any part of the
wildemess, without tne least danger. Amongst the thou-
sands of birds, I have never seen one like one I saw in
^gland, except hawks. The small green parrot, with red
heads, are the only birds that hurt the com. Amongst the
many sorts of woo<L I have never seen one sort like any I
ever saw In England: it Is astonishinff the size and height
of the timber. The hen bark is nearly as good and equal
to oak for tanning. In many places is found red, white,
yellow, brown, and black ochre, very soft and fine, and fit
for making paiot The mines are not yet worked, and the
Cornish miners have all left for other settlements, being
useless here. In sinking a well, dose to a town, was found
some metal, and tried by BIr Woods, a goldsmith, and
proved to be hard silver. No chalk or limestone is yet
discovered in Taranakie. Money has for a long time been
scarce, and most of the business is done by bi^er. Flour
is sold by the dozen pounds, and it is Is. 6d. per dozen for
the best, and Is. 4d. for seconds ; it has been as high as Gs.
per dozen. Many ship-loads of flour is sent to Auckland
and Port Nicholson, where it fetches about double the
price. The highest price for butter of good quality is Is.
per lb.; inferior lOd. Pork, best quality, at dear shops, 3d.
per lb,; other shops, 2d. I and many others kill our own.
All clothing is about double the price as in England, also
iron work. Bfillers, shopkeepers, blacknniths, and carpen-
ters, are making their fortunes, and I have no ^oom myself
to complain. I hope everr kind gentleman in England
will trv and get my nephew Wuliam Battin sent to
New Plymouth, Berkshire, and ship for New Plymoutli.
The wheat is cut after the Comisn fashion, with large
owing hooks, and I my own-self can cut and bind a
foil acre in a day of stout wheat. He need not bring
any reap hooks. Here are four breweries, and hops have
sold at 10s. per lb. I have not spent one penny on any
kind of spirits, or at a public-house, for more than four
years, thank God. I and my children are safe and happy
as larlu. It is not certain whether the Topo mountain is
burning now or not, but it is certain that a river of boiling
water issues from it, wherein much cooking is done. There
is no smell or bad taste from it. Topo is the native name
of the mountain. The district of Taranakie is fifty mUes
across, and is the native name of the mountain from
whence the district takes Its name. There are wild pigs by
legions, half fat. As the climate is good, and soil rion, very
little art is required for farming. Holloway and his family
is left, and gone to New South Wales, but writes to Gib-
bons to say he is coming back, for there is no place like
Taranakie. Here in the summer the singing-flies charm the
country. I have seen some of the cannibal ovens ; they
are pits about 6 feet sauare, and 2^ feet deep, and con-
tain about three cart-loaos of stones, which, when heated,
cooked two or three huge bodies at a time. All that
is totally done away with now. Bees are increasing
fiist; I have six stocks at present, and intend keeplns
forty standing stocks. Bees gather the whole year, and
can take the honey at any time ; they gather about 5 lbs. of
honey a month throughout the year: honey and wax is
about the same quality as that of Hampshire: honey is
selling at 2s. per lb., and wax at 5s. Two mills are said to
be fimshed in a month, one having two water-wheels driv-
ing three pair of stones, the other with one, driving two
pidr. The vnoe of sawins timber is reduced from 20s. to
lOs. per 100 feet — 300 feet a day^s work for a pair of
sawyers. Savryers and shoemakers have been making
money rapidly. Carpenters* wages have risen firom 58. to
6s. per day. At the commencement of the settlement,
very few thought of anything but extravagant living, fine
dressing, and the grog-shops; but when the Company's
high prices were ovct, they were forced to alter, and get
land ror a living, and the money that had been thrown
100
CHAMBEKS^ EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
away a* with a shoTol waa then wanted. I worked oat
eight aeres of land at earning 10s. a day. I hate an entbe
free estate, sufficient for every comfort in life ; and if John
and Thomas could but once see what I have gained by
coming to New Zealand, what chain could hold them in
England?
It is said that emigration is going on, and I hope it is
true, and hope that my nephew will pluck up courage and
come ; I should be pretty sure to meet him when he and
his fiunily lands ; but if I should not, he must inquire for
* Goshen House ' or * Noah*s Ark.*
The sands here are proved to be the best of iron, and
Bfr Price is about to erect a foundry. Ships are now
taldn^ loads of potatoes to Sydney, where the wholesale
Frice IS now L.8 per ton. Earthouakes are not felt often ;
have felt but two heavy shocks for two years. It appears
there have been two great earthquakes, as the land in some
places is broken in pieces: one appears to have been
2000 years ago; the other most have been in very ancient
days.
1 cannot learn by any of the most ancient natives that
there was ever anything like dearth or fomine in this isle.
There have been erupttons at the big mountains, and mil-
lions of tons of stones and massy rocks are thrown out,
either by fire or water.
The postage of letters fh>m England is 8d. ; if to Sydney
or Adelaide first, it is lid.
Public-house licences till ten o^clock, L.30 ; and twelve
o^clock, Ih40 a year. Only two shops of that kind in this
place. My eldest daughter has been married some months.
The natives are all married by the mlBsionaries, and the
old-foshioned way of knocking their heads together is done
away with.
There have been wars in different parts of the island,
and some soldiers and settlers killed; but it is in peace
now, and we have never had any wars, although wc have
once been threatened by the natives of the Topo tribe.
The natives of this place prepared, as well as us, to attack
them; all we could muster was ^ht pieces of cannon,
some guns, and twenty muskets. I^c news soon reached
Port Nicholson ; the government brig happened to be
there, which sailtd immediatelv with a supply of arms
and ammunition fQv us. A native went to spy, and in a
month retnmcd, flaying a voung man, a sort of prinoe,
had shot himself playmgwith ms gun: the whole tribe
went to bury and bewail him ; meantime a missionary
found his way to them, telling them the white people
meant them no harm, and if they did go, it was likely
their heads would be taken off and sent to JSngland to be
made sport of. Not liking these thoughts, the^ thanked
the missionary, and return^ to^Topo, leaving us in neaoe ;
however, a part of the same tribe have since maae war
with the settlers and soldiers at Zouganesie, but being
beaten, are again returned to Topo.
Here there is no tumip-fiy, out the grasshoppers are
verv destructive to all late-sown crops. •
This settlement of New Plymouth has been for some
time like an infant without a fHend: it seemed like no
man^s land, belonging to neither government nor company:
but since his exoelienoy Governor Grey has visited, and
seeing it a paradise, and a ^[ood com and cattle district,
although no harbour for shipping, he is very desirous to
put and encourage it forward; ana, with the good industry
of the settlers, this will be the best settlement in the
south. The summers are not so hot as in England; the
weather has been very fine this last twelve months ; the
thunder here is little, and very mild and gentle.— From
your well-wisher, William Battin.
* SIX DATS SHALT THOU LABOUR.'
It seems generally to escape observation that the fourth
commandment as effectually ei^ina work during the six
days of the week as it does reti on the seventh. This
double meaning is alluded to as follows in the Cape Lite-
rary Magaeine. * It is asked somewhere in the Tiumnd —
** The wealthy of many countries, whereby are they de-
serving of becoming rich ?^ SamueL the son of Tosi, re-
plies, ** Because they honour the Sabbath.** Samuel, the
son of Yosi, if I might presume to put another construction
upon thy answer, I would say, ** Because they keep the
/burth commandment.** Let not the idle vagabond, who
rests on the Sabbath and on the $ix daif» tUao, upbraid the
Lord and say, ** I keep the Sabbath holy, and yet am poor."
Poor thou art, poor thou wilt be, and poor thou deservest
to be ; for though thoa keep the Sabbath never to holy,
unless th<m work six days out of the seven, thou braik-
est the fourth commandment, and canst never attain to
wealth, to health, and to hi^piness. This is the doctnne
which I proclaim, and maintam, upon Scriptural authority;
and if that suffices not, go to yonder bloated, gouty cox-
comb, who, upon a bed of down, fioels his foot in a lake of
fire ; the mere moving of his footstool is a volcano to htm,
and the ringing of the bell by his physician's fbotaian is
an earthquake. Had he kept the commandment, not only
on the seventh, but on the six days, he might hav« thrown
physic to the dogs, and left me to seek another illostiatioQ
of my moral'
BEN AND LOCH LOMOND.
Still ileepi Loch Lomond by her mountain aide.
And stni within her bosom's plaoid deep.
The image of her lord her waters keep,
In all the freshness of a firrt love's pride.
Grief hath not seared them, time camiot diride.
Youth hath not fled : as beautiful sre they.
As when the morning of creation's day
Saw them first Joined, a bridegnxun and a bride.
Nature, undianged, still meets the gaser's eje ;
The hills are still as dsrk, the skies as blue.
But vainly fsnoy wonldst thou now descry
The waving tartan's many-coloured hoe ;
Vainly wouldst listen for the pibrooh's oiy ;
Man and his works: thess things havepaariSd by. F. P.
TEMPERANCE IN WINE COUNTBIES.
My observations in France, as well as in Qermaay and
Italy, satisfy me that the people in wine-nowing countries
are much more temperate than in the North of Europe
and in America. The common wines which are used on the
soil that produces them do not intoxicate, but nourish,
forming a large item indeed in the no^tmi of the peasant
When he goes out to his daOy toil he carries with him a
loaf of coarse black bread, and a canteen of wine^ and
these reftesh and sustain him: he rarely tastes mea^
butter, or cheese. This vin ordinaire makes a ptst of his
breakout, of his dinner, and of his evening meal; Mad oosli
him perh^M two or three cents a bottle, if he parohaan ik
It is the luice of the grape, not deriving its body or tasCs
from an infusion of s^rit and a skilral combinaiion of
drugs, as in our oountry, but from the genial aoU and
beneficent sun. The truth of what X have here said is
supported by the general remark, that dmnkennesa is but
seldom seen in France; and when it is, it does not proceed
from the use of the common wine which enters so largely
into the sustenance of the peasantry and common people,
but from brandy and foreiffn wines; particulariy tlie first)
to the allurements of which the hard-worked and dooelj-
confined mechanics, artisans, and dense fiustory populations
of the cspital and large towns are particularly exposed.
I am obliged to believe that the use on the soil of any
native wines in any country is conducive to health, cheer-
fulness, and temperance; and I am as equally convinced
that all foreign wines are injurious in all these respecta
Hence the bad effects of the wines imported and used in
England and America. — Durbin^s ObtervaUotu on Europe,
BB-VAOCINATIOM.
Is^, Every individual is susceptible oi vaoetnatioB ; 2^
Re-vaccination is not necessary before paberty; Stf, The
system undergoes a change at paberty, and re-vacoination
is then necessary ; itk, Yaccination is a sure preventive of
small-pox; 5/^ Re-vaccination is a sure preventive of vario-
loid; oM, The third vaccination is inert; 7<A, The system
is susceptible of varioloid after puberty, whenever the in-
dividual is exposed to small-pox, without re-vacoination ;
Qtkf Re-vacdnation is not necessary if the first operattoa
was performed since paberty; 9tk, Those who msrogud
vaccination are always liable to small-pox, whenerer ex-
posed to the infiuenoe of that dreadfiu disease ; lOcA, If
every individual were vaccinated before paberty, and w-
vaccinated at that revolution of the aystem, tbnre would
be no such disease existing as small-pox.— ^nAilanesy a
paper in tie Bo$Um Medical and Sitrjfieal JomrmaL
PubUdied by W. & R. CaAMaans, High Stissi, Rdinbufh. Abo
sold by D. CHAMBsas, 90 Argyle Btosst, Olssgow ; W. A. Oas.
147 Strand, London ; and J. M'Olashav, 91 D'OUar BUsst,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and B. CaAMaaaa, Bdlnbwfb.
Tl
COfXDUCTED BY WttLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,* &e.
No. 272. New Sbbibs.
SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1849.
Price 1^.
MUSIC OP THE WILD.
Pbocbssiohb of the fairies long ago were always accom-
pmied bj the sonnda of music :
'Tbdr oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear ;
And loader notes from hemlock large
And bog-reed struck the ear.*
^BcUlad qfTamlane, Border Minstrdtjf,
The Indies of the elfin steeds wete also heard to ring,
ssUie troops, seen or unseeD, dashed past the alarmed
BMrtiU. It is juat possible that there may have been
A Dstaial fdMindation for this feature of the fairy
lapeisfcition, as has been proved to be the case witii
iDsnj other once-aupposed supernatural things. There
^ at ksst a cUas of natural sounds, of a somewhat
sbscve character, which appear not unlikely to have
Wen mistaken Id a superstitious age for fairy music.
W9 hate been aaaored, though only on hearsay autho-
I ,/Hirvlfaat a few years ago the people of a small district
I iB^'fiMlnirgbshire were kept in a state of excitement
l^leimldays by ^dunds, as of music, wandering over
ffmntty, for which no one could account, though all
B^^ ii In ISiiO, some moaning sou&ds in the Ochil
' HiJb in Perthshire, attracted scientific attention, on
the occasion of an earthquake taking place at Comrie,
a few miles off. The sounds pay have been occasioned
byeirkbqnaket in both cases. It has indeed been re-
L msrkad as probable that the Odiil Hills anciently
ll aeqtifcd tMr name from sounds connected with the
, Comrie earthqiMkes, which are of notable frequency,
ij beii^ lieird amongst them ; for the Gaelic word for
I iBOibin^ howling, wailing, is obtain or ochaH*
I There ia a floe descriptlTe passage in one of James
I * Jhat midsfined and mingled horn,
II Voice of the desert, noTer dumb.'
1 Ksny must here obserred this indescribable sound, as
• they^iwM ^fuietly and listened in lonely situations. It
I fsema the T«ry shadow of absolute silence. The author
of tiie ' Jdnreal of a Naturalist' apparently alludes to it
I when he speaks of tiie * purely ratal, little noticed, and
' ifid0ed'kK»l ooenrence, called by the country people
, kmmhi^ M» ih4 air,* as annually to be heard in the
1 ndtry fiirenoona of July in one or two fi^s near his
I MfKng. * It It generally,' he says, * in some spacious
I open spot that thii nmnaiartng first arrests our att^n-
I tiee. * Ai we mafi onward, the sound becomes fainter,
I tad by degreea is no longer athlible.' He thinks it
most be owing to swahns of bees elerated to such a
distaooe io lite air as to be ittrisible. ' Another writer
temltfs to tfaie ezp!inatl6n ; * for,' sayshe, * it so hap-
, Na n, 184i.
pens that in the bosom of a thick wood, where there is
a space partially opened, though still arery narrow and
confined spot^ in days precisely such as he describes
them — that is, sultry, and in the middle of summer,
when the air is calm — ^I have often paused to listen to
a similar aerial humming, appearing to result from
some unseen power close at hand, which for set'eral
years I hesitated not to attribute to insects ; an opinion
I felt Compelled, though reluctantly, to give up, since,
after the most diligent search, I could ncTer detect the
presence of any collected body sufficiently numerous to
account for the effect.'*
Humboldt, in his Personal Narrative, speaks of sub*
terranean noises, like those of an organ, heard towards
sunrise by those who sleep upon the granite rocks on
the banks of the Orinoco. This will recall to the
reader the celebrated statue of Memnon in Egypt, which
at sunrise emitted musical sounds — a fact attested by
so many respectable writers of aotiquity, that there
seems no good reason to doubt it A frozen bay de-
scribed by Mr Head (brother of Sir Francis) in his
'Forest Scenes' presented similar phenomena. Afler
speaking of the loud noises produced by the cracking of
the ice, he goes on to say — * A dreary undulating sound
wandered from point to point, perplexing the mind to
imagine whence it came, or whither it went» and
whether aerial or subterranean; sometimes like low
moaning, and then swelling into a deep-toned note, as
produced by some .£olian instrument — it being in real
fact, and without metaphor, the Yoice of winds im-
prisoned in the bosom of the deep.' He found this
recur whenever the temperature fell very suddenly.
It seems a phenomenon nearly allied to what the Welsh
and Scotch call the sotighiwf of the wind. The writer
already quoted by his initials £. S. says — 'On turning
to a map of Cheshire, it will be seen that from within
a short distance eastward of Macclesfield, a range of
hills extends in an irregular curve to the north-west,
forming a sort of concave screen, somewhat abruptly
terminating over the comparatively level plains of this
part of the county. In different parts of these, as well
as in more elevated spots, at the various distances of
from four to six miles or more, at certain seasons of the
year, usually in the early part of spring, when the wind
is easteriy, and neariy calm on the flats, a hollow moan-
ing sound is heard, luniHarly termed the ** soughing of
the wind," and evidently proceeding from this elevated
range, which,. I should add, is intersected with number-
less ravines or valleys? and I have no doubt that when
the atmosphere is in that precise state best adapted for
receiving and transmitting undulations of air, a breeze,
not perceptible in the flat country, gently sweeps from
the summits of the hills, and acts the part of a bk>wer
*«as.*inJi
■ Joamal, Maroh 1830.
t
■iJ
1
on the sinxiositiefl and hollows, or doughs, m thej are
called, whidi thus respond to the draught of air like
enormous organ-pipes, and become for the time wind-
instruments on a gigantic scale.*
We take leave to borrow another beautifully-related
obseryation from this writer: — *In the autumn of 1828,'
says he, * when on a tour through Les Hautes Pyrenees,
I formed one of a party, quitting Bagneres de Luchon
at midnight, with an intention of reaching the heights
of the Porte de Yenasque, one of the wildest and most
romantic boundaries between the French and Spanish
frontier, from the summit of which the spectator looks
at once upon the inaccessible ridges of the Maladetta,
the most lofty point of the Pyrenean range. After
winding our vray through the deep woods and rayines,
constantly ascending above the valley of Luchon, we
gained the Hospice about two in the morning ; and after
remaining there a short time, proceeded with the first
blush of dawn to encounter the very steep gorge ter-
minating in the pass itself, a narrow vertical fissure
through a massive wall of perpendicular rock. It is
not my intention to detail the features of the magni-
ficent scene which burst upon our view as we emerged
from this splendid portal, and stood upon Spanish
ground — neither to describe the feelings of awe which
rivetted us to the spot, as we gazed, in speechless admi-
ration, on the lone, desolate, and (if the term may be
applied to a mountain) the ghastly form of the appro-
priately-named Maladetta, I allude to it solely for the
purpose of observing that we were most forcibly struck
with a dull, low, moaning, JEolian sound, which alone
broke upon the deathly silence, evidently proceeding
from the body of this mighty mass, though we in vain
attempted to connect it with any particular spot, or
assign an adequate cause for these solemn strains. The
air was perfectly calm. The sky was cloudless, and the
atmosphere clear to that extraordinary degree conceiv-
able only by those who are familiar yrith the elevated
regions of fouthem climates. So dear and pure, in-
deed, that at noon a bright star which had attracted
our notice throughout the gray of the morning still
remained visible in the zenith. By the naked eye,
therefore, and still more with the assistance of a tele-
scope, any waterfalls of sufficient magnitude would have
been distinguishable on a front base, and exposed before
us ; but not a stream was to be detected, and the bed of
what gave evident tokens of being occasionally a strong
torrent, intersecting the valley at its foot, was then
nearly dry. I will not presume to assert that the sun's
rays, though at the moment impinging in all their glory
on every point and peak of the snowy heights, had any
share in vibrating these mountain chords; but on a
subsequent visit, a few days afterwards, when I went
alone to explore this wild scenery, and at the same hour
stood on the same spot, I listened in vain for the moan-
ing sounds : the air was equally calm ; but the sun was
hidden by douds, and a cap of dense mist hung over
the greater portion of the mountain.'
There is no small difficulty in accounting for such
sounds. They may be connected with changes of tem-
perature ; but how ? Sometimes they may be produced
at a great distance, but rendered audible by a form of
the ground favourable for the collection of the rays of
sound, so to speak. The wind is doubtless the instru-
ment in many instances. Earthquakes, as we have
seen, are another source of uncommon sounds, though
how these should be produced in such drcumstances we
cannot say. Amidst this difficulty, it is satisfactory to
refer to one class of such sounds for which an explana-
tion has been attained.
On the east coast of the Bay of Suez, about three
hours from Tor in Sinai, there is a sandstone ridge, at
one part of which, where it is about 150 feet high, there
is a steep acclivity named Nakuh, having much loose
sand laid against it, the produce of the upper part of
the hilL When the traveller ascends this sandy cliff,
his ears are saluted with a sound which at first resem-
bles the tone of an iSolian barp^ ^1>^ ^lutt of a hum-
ming-top, and finally becomes so loud, that the earth
seems to shake. After many speculations about the
cause of this phenomenon, the matter was set at rest by
the distinguished naturalist Ehrenberg. * He ascended
from the ^ue of the hill, over its cover of sand, to the
summit, where he observed the sand continually re-
newed by the weathering of the rode; and conrinoed
himself that the motion of the sand was the canie of
the sound. Every step he and his companion took
caused a partial sound, occasioned by the 'sand thus set
in motion, and differing only in continuance and inten-
sity fh>m that heard afterwards, when the continued
ascent had set loose a greater quantity of sand. Be-
ginning with a soft rustling, it passed gradusUy into a
murmuring, then into a humming noise, and at length
into a threatening of such violence, that it could only
be compared with a distant cannonade, had it been
more continued and uniform. As the sand gradmUy
settled again, the noise also gradually ceased.'* Mr
James Prinsep, who also inquired into these sovndi,
states that the effect is produced by ' a rednplicatiQa of
impulse, setting air in vibration in a focus of echo.' It
is, in short, a phenomenon in acoustics.
There is a similar marvd at Heg-Ruwan, about forty
miles north of Cabod, towards Hindoo Koosh, and near
the base of the mountains. To quote the description of
Sir Alexander Bumess : — * Two ridges of hills, detached
from the rest, run in and meet each other. At the
point of junction, and where the slope of the hills is at
an angle of about 45 degrees, and the height nesriy
400 feet, a sheet of sand, as pure as that on the sea-
shore, is spread from the top to the bottom, to a bresdth
of about 100 yards. When this sand is set in motion
by a body of people sliding down it, a sound is emitted.
On the first trial we distinctly hei^ two loud hollow
sounds, such as would be produced by a large dram.
On two subsequent trials we beard nothing, so that
perhaps the sand requires to be settled and at rest for i
some space of time before the effect can be produoei
The inhabitants have a belief that the sounds are wij |
heard on Friday ; nor then, unless by the spedal pe^
mission of the saint of Beg-Buwan, who is interred I
dose to the spot. The locality of the sand is remark- I
able, as there is no other in the neighbourhood. Beg-
Ruwan faces the south, but the wind of Purwan QM i ;
Purwan), which blows strongly from the north for the
greater part of the year, probably deposits it by sn
eddy. Near the strip of sand there is a strong mo;
and the same joonformation of surface which ocoadooi
this is doubtless connected with the sound of the mov-
ing sand.'
An explanation being supplied in this case, we may
hope to see all mysteries of the same kind in time
cleared up.
FROM THE PIECE TO THE PATTERN.
Passing through a couple of green gates at the bottom
of a narrow street in the outskirts of Manchester, and
very near the terminus of the North-Westem R«lws7>
we are at Hoyle's printworks in Mayfidd, which is eqoi-
valent to saying that we have entered upon a scene dis-
playing some of the finest and most adentifio proocsMS
connected with the preparation of ootton for humsn
apparel. ' Hoyle's prints ' has become a household name,
known alike to the wearer of the most exquisite and deli-
cate of patterns, and to her who, whether for a tidy apron,
or for a work-a-day dress, or for a Sunday gown, oan pick
out the genuine ' Hoyle's' out of a dosen imitaAois, with
unerring accuracy. Although that forms by no mesoi
the sde description of article produced by this imaoM
firm, yet the name is generally assodaied with the idea
of some homdy, useful, and cheerful lilac-pattenied dreo.
The peculiar excellency of the establishment is un-
♦ BdlnbioifaNawPliilossfliiealArarML luuim.
doobftadlj thii simple, nnobtniaiTe, bot indelible dais of
ptttenMyOr 'ftjlo;' and at the demand for pattemt of
tUi fori liaa beeome at regular as the demand for apparel
M( eontinoing imaltered bj the smiles of fMhion or
the frowns of caprice, it is probably ooneot to found upon
the fortunate discoverj of this dje the splendid reputation
of these extensire works.
Kajfield is a little town of itself and the rarious
hoildings, works, and reserroirs occupy no inconsiderable
tptm in this portion of the City of Steam — the title being
Bswhers so w^ earned as here^ where, from the open roofii
of the dje-houses, torrmts of steam soar up into the air.
Upon the territory of the linn, in fkct, a considerable
nomber of cottages, for the workmen and their families,
duster together ; and we were gratified to enter a capital
•ehool,weU filled with boys and girls, the children of
this print-Tillage, so to write. The entrance is effected
mim a handsome doek-iower, forming at its base the
porter's lodge. Crossing an open area, the Tisiter's atten-
tion Is first caught by the large water-reserroini placed
on the boundaries of the premises. These are filters on
t great scale: the plan is peculiar to these works. A
gieit sssential in securing a good and brilliant dye is to
git water as free from iron and lime as possible. For
this parpoae solphuric add is often intentionally added,
IB small quantities, to precipitate the lime. The same
end is eflf^cted in this instance by couTeying all the
water used in the establishment, by an aqueduct, from
the enpne-pump to the highest of the reserroirs, and
there adding to it the refuse from some of the dye-rats.
By this means all the iron and lime are deposited, and
the water* descending through sereral beds of sand, Jcc
m the diffisrant Altera, at length enten the reserroir, from
wheaee it is drawn for the use of the dye-house.
Haring now fiurly entered the busy spot, we must pro-
ceed aoeording to order, and to that end must first enter
that portion of the works which is called the White
Room, from the circumstance that .the bleached * pieces'
SR first brought to tliis place, to be submitted to one or
two inspections, ko. before proceeding to the print-ioom
snd dye-house. In one dirision of this place was the
examiner — her duty being to see that no knotty portions
exist in the cloth, removing them with a sdssors of pecu-
liar form. We were amused at the rapidity and method-
iim with which the woman, by an alternate glance of the
•je to one and to the other edge of the cloth, instantly
detecting the least imperfection, removing it, and,
■aehine-like, going on as before, pushing yard after yard
over the board in front of her. In the next room were a
Bomber of females, seated in different portions of it, with
a large number of pieces of the cloth before them, plying
their needles in sewing them together at an extraordinary
rate, and with a peculiarity of knack only to be learned
by long experience. Fifteen pieces is the average num-
ber sewn together at their ends, making on the whole, if
we redion each piece at about 30 yards long, a length of
cotton doth of about 450 yards I The pieces are then
Mded up, and conveyed to a third department in this
building. If the reader would be at the pains to examine
the edges of the calico as thus folded, he would find them
very uneven, many probably bent in, and creased. Un-
less thsM PTsasss were removed, it would be next to im-
poas&le to print a dress evenly, and in all parts alike.
The means of removal Is very rimple, but peculiar. A
powerful and athletic man lays hold ot the cloth, and
standing before a stone placed at a particular angle,
whiris the doth in the air, and strikes it with a peculiar
twist upon the edge of the stone. After beating the edges
thes fcr a Ibw times, they will be found, on examination,
ti be an saseth, lad iwii j r mss taki oit> OneaetiTe
fellow told us he could despatch 600 of these compound
pieces as his day's work. The calico is yet in folds, and
retains a certain amount of dust and fine ' flue,' which
must be removed before it can be fitted to receive the
pattern. The reader must therefore accompany us, as,
following the steps of our companions, we entered a very
dusty and bustling apartment Four or five curious
machines were here arranged, and, in connection with the
steam-engine shafts, were in rapid action. The end of
the folded calico waa taken up, and partly rolled upon a
wooden roller. On the machine being set in motion, the
cloth was wound up on this roller, at each end of which
were heavy weights, by which means the roll acquired
almost the solidity of wood ; and in its passage It had to
cross a couple of bars of iron, grooved diagonally, for the
purpose of taking out any remaining creases, and also
over a circular system of brushes, which revolve with
great rapidity, and sweep every lightly-adherent particle
from off the frkoe of the fabric The whde process is
effected with a degree of rapidity which much surprises
the uninitiated in the marvels of mechanism ; and that
which was formerly a slow, imperfect, and tedious process,
is now effected in the space of a very few minutes with
the utmost rapidity and certainty of result
The roll of doth is hurried to the print-room: thither
let us accompany it This is a beautiful new building,
of considerable size, and some degance of appearance.
It forms a distinct division of the works, and its wonder-
ful mechanisms are actuated by a distinct motive power
from those of other portions of this extensive establish-
ment Ascending a short flight of steps, our ears already
greeted by the tumultuous moving sounds which vibrated
through the half-open door, we entered, and had dis-
played before us such a stirring prospect as we have rarely
beheld. On the left-hand side, looking down the room,
were eighteen or twenty of those beautiful inventions,
the cylinder-printing machines, all in full work. We
beheld our cloth-companion carried to the back of one,
pATtly unwound, the machine set in action, and lo ! it
rises from the iron bosom of the ^>paratus a printed
fabric: it passes through the ceiling, and we think it lost
for ever to view, when, at the other side of the room, see
the same piece descends, hot and dry, and, as one might
think, ready for use, but not nearly so yet Conodve of
eighteen machines all performing the same evolutions;
of eighteen fabrics entering them without spot or wrinkle,
emerging covered with fig|ures, spots, and marks of various
hues and designs; of their again soaring up out of right,
and once more descending in smooth mlds on tiie other
side, and an imperfect idea of the singular scene before
us may present itself. As the machines before us are,
without question, the most important mechanisms in the
whole of this interesting manufru^uring process, they
deserve to be fully understood ; and tluit, we believe,
n^y be very easily accomplished b^ a little attentive
eonrideration of the following analysis of one of the most
modem of them. There is, then, an upricht framework
of cast-iron, within the two sides of whi^ the printing
apparatus is contained; externally to it is the gear which
connects the rollers, &c with the shafting running under
the floor; in the centre of the frame is a series of rollers,
the most important of which is a copper cylinder, the
lower side of which dips into a trough containing the
colouring paste; at the back of the machine is the rolled
cloth preparatory to printing; and rising from its fimit,
the same cloth is seen imprinted with the peculiar de-
vice, and resting on an endless web of Mackintosh fsbric^
enten the room above bjr a longitudinal slit in the ceil-
ing. To trace the cloth in its proper progress, we will
commence with it behind. Unwmdfing from the roller,
it makes a dight descent, and then enters into the ma.
diine between an under copper cylinder, the snr&ce of
whidi is engmved with the pattern — ^the under part of it
dipping into the eolour-trough, reodves its cbaive of
colour by that means — and an upper roller of wood, the
aufiMM of iKrieh U covmd by the Maekintosh web : these
1
164
0HAHBEBS*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
roUera being tightly screwed together, exercise great com-
pression upon the cloth as it passes between them, and
force it to take up ot^ ▼estige of colour from the depres-
sions in the suriace of the cylinder. Appearing in the
front, it is now found to have taken an accurate impres-
sion of the design on the copper, and its further stages
of progress will come presently under our notice. At the
side of the room are a number of vices, at which the
machine attendants will be frequently seen at work,
smooijiing and straightening a long steel blade, like — if
we may venture to draw the comparison — what ladies
o&ll, we believe, a *busk;' a kind of iron eubstitute for
the whalebone in stays. Reader, without that simple
blade, all this costly mechanism would be utterly value-
less, at least for printing purposes: that is the doctor. If
the copper cylinder were allowed to dip into the colour,
and then to be pressed against the tissue, the result
would be, that a homogeneous broad band of the colour
would remain on the fabric. What is wanted is, to remove
all the oolour from the surface of the engraved metal,
yet to leave all the engraved portions charged with
colour. Manifestly no onlinary wiper would or could
efEoct this end. The smooth sharp edge of the doctor
does it completely. The blade receives an alternate
lateral motion by a crank; and resting, as it doe?, at a
certain angle upon the surface of the cylinder, it smoothly
scrapes away every particle of surface-colour in the most
admirable manner. It is said to have received its odd
name from the expression of surprise of a workman, who,
seeing the inventor, after many trials of other methods of
getting rid of surface-colour, take up a long-bladed knife,
and, to his astonishment, finding it answer the purpose
excellently, ejaculated, *■ You have doctored it now, sir!'
Each machine has two of these ferreous medical attend-
ants : one — the one in question — is called the * colour-
doctor; ' the other, which is placed in front of the (nrlinder,
and is intended to fr^e it from any cotton filaments
which may have got upon it during the passage of the
fftbric over it, has the more congenial appellation of the
' ^-doctor.'
Havini^ as we trust, made the construction of the
single-colour cylinder-printing niachine sufficiently clear,
we shall now be able to comprehend, without dimculty,
that yet more remarkable, and, at first sight, highly-com-
plicated machine, which prints Jive, or even six colours,
at the same time! If the reader can imagine that,
instead of passing over one cylinder, the cloth passes in
succession over one, two, three, or more, each dipping in
troughs containing difierent colours, and each fumi^ed
of course with the doctor, he will have all the essentials
before him of the compound machine. As may well be
imagined, the paramount difficulty here is so to engrave
the diffisrent patterns on each cylinder as that each spot
of colour shall drop into its right place; and no ordinary
exercise of ingenuity and patience is called for in the
adjustment of the machine in the first instance. It is a
beautiful spectacle when seen at work. You behold the
smooth band of cloth enter in snowy purity, you watch it
swiftly passing in a zig-zag direction over a number of
cylinders, each charged with different colours, and each
kept clean by its busy ' doctors,' until at length it comes
out covered with a pretty pattern, in which five or six
colours glitter with most attractive brilliancy. The meta-
morphosis is as rapid as it is complete, from the unsullied
piece of calico to the almost perfected pattern dress.
Stepping across to the opposite side of the room, we
see, as we have SMd, the prmted eloUi come streaming
down at a great rate; and, curious to say, it is laid in
regular foldt by machinery 1 It passes between a pair of
wooden rollers placed at the end of a long swinging frame
of iron; and this frame being made to swing to and fro
by a crank, it directs the cloth passing between Ahe
rollers into similar folds, thus diq>osxDg what would
otherwise be inevitably a confused heap of calico, vequir-
ing the oonstaut supervision of one man to prevent its
getting all over the floor, into smooth and even folds, in
which form it lies, without irregularity, and can be easily
removed by an attendant when the ii4iole piece is nrintcd.
There art, it is truO) minor ingenuitiei, but we delist to
mark them as indicative of the pervasion of a system of
refined mechanism even to the most triflbg particulan.
We have thus seen, as far as this room is concerned, the
beginning and the end of the piece. Ascending up stain,
we shall be able to see the intermediate process of * div^
ing.' A few yurds, and we are in a tropiod climate ! A
blast of hot, suffocative air strikes the face, fills the
clothes, and makes the skin tingle all over, and a few
minut^ must elapse before the impulse to plunge back
again into the comparatively cold air of the room beUnr
can be fairly mastered. Then the heat ceases to be wi-
pleasant — at least, it was so with us. The evolution of
this heat is due to the immense range of steam appaiatw
which fills the room from one end to the other. It cod-
sists of tall upright frames of cast-iron, to which are at-
tached a number of fiat iron cylinders filled with steam.
The printed cloth, rising through the floor, is made to lie
flat on a series of these hot chests, over which it is diawn;
until, descending again on the other side, it is found to
be quite hot and dry, and passes once more throvgh tlie
floor to the folding ^>paratus.
A vexy singular and interesting machine calls ut to
stop before finallv quitting the printing-room. The men
call it the ' gas-blue machine.' As we had the pririlege
of witnessing the erection and first working of one of
these ingenious machines, we shall briefly describe it.
Up to the point where the cloth enters the madkiiW) its
arrangements are precisely those of the ordinaiy cvlindep
print engines. Just, however, aboTO the colour-doctor, a
horizontal pipe, perforated with many holes, lies close to
the revolving cylinder; this pipe is in connection with a
gas-supply pipe, and by its means gas is blown on to the
cylinder charged with colour just before the latter comei
in contact with the cloth. In front of the machine is a
flat box, glazed like a picture frame : immediately tiiat
the cloth leaves the copper cylinder, it enters betweca
two tiffht lips of caoutdiouc into this box, and maj be
seen throvgh the glass moving upwards into a diest
above, where it is rolled up — not passing into the dryiog-
room, as in other cases. By ample pipes connected with
a eas-meter, this flat box and the larger trunk are kept
filled with an atmosphere of gas — the ordinary carburet-
ted hydrogen of the streets — which, esc^ing in small
quantities, renders its presence very perceptible to the
senses of the bystander. At the fcop of the larger dicet
is an escape-valve, by which the gas is allowed at iIlte^
vals to flow into the external air, to give place for a ire«h
Quantity. This machine, which has been patented bj
Ir Woodcrofl, is intended to produce a most bsautifol
and indelible blue colour on the print. The paste is of t
peculiar kind, undergoing a certain decomposition when
brought into contact wi& coal gas, and the result beis|
the production of a very fine and lasting blue. The exad
chemical proeesses whidi are concerned in this smgttlar
machine are not permitted to be divulged. It is very
singular to see it at work, and to behold thiongh the
pane of glass the cloth, erst so fair and pale» deepeniag
into a rich blue as it passes slowly upwards Uirough the
gaseous atmosphere, with the appearance at the same
time of some pretty simnle pattern on it. We beliere
that this invention, which is quite recent, has already
proved a most valuable aid to the resources of the caUe«
printer.
The rate at which the ^Under-priAtinf machines ess-
cute their task is surprising when looked at is the
aggregate. Some machines will sw:tually print a mils of
calico in an hour ! or, to make it more intelligible to
some of our fairer readers, each machine will print ^€C
cotton drestee in a minute I Supposing that fifieen of tbe
machines in this room were to work uninterruptedly i<v
only ten houra each day, and for six days in the vwek,
they would be able to print cotton dresses in one sack wse*
{oT one ktmdredmtdeixt^-twothotuondlmtRett HewmsDV,
then, in a year t We believe the actual number el mm
of calico printed by this eminent firm mionc in a single
year exceeds ten thousand, more than sufficient to mea-
sure the diameter of eiir planet with I The whole efthe
machines in this large apartment require the unditridBa
energieref a couple of tWrnost baaatafrU stsm^sai^
— J
CWAMBKRyS EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
165
I
I.
we li»T» erer Men—on the locomotiTe principle — hi^h-
nnman boilen, and horixontal c/linden, each en^ne
btiog ettimated at twentj-fire hone power. The engine-
nmk WEI iieelf a miracle of neatneet, nay, eren of ele-
pnoe : but we hare more pressing claims on our atten-
tion.
A man comes, and taking np a heap of the folded
prints, starts off for another department. Following hard
b his wake, we entered the * ageing-room ' — such is really
iU odd-sounding title. The print is then handed orer
to a number of boys, who, taking the one end of it, hang
U in folds upon hooks placed at short intervals apart,
la this way the whole of an extensire room was conyerted,
Ai it were, into a great laundrr, the windows at the sides
bting all open, to permit a nee current of air to pass
thro^h the entire space. On examining the pattern
upon some pieces which hare ended their stay, it is
found to have undergone a considerable change of hue,
from a pale fawn to a sort of rust colour. This is due to
the action of the air upon the mordant — in this case
Dsnally a salt of iron. The intention of the ageing pro-
cess is to produce a chemical decomposition upon the
lobstance of the mordant, so as to induce its deposition
spon the sur&oe of the cloth in the form of an insoluble
mb-salt, the better to endure the future operations to
whidi the fabric is about to be exposed. Some care is
neoessaiy in this ^>parently simple process to effect the
maUe decomposition of the mordant all orer the surface
01 the doth; and we were assured by a practical man that
oeeasionally the passage of the air across the fabric may
be noted by the deeper colour of the outer folds, and the
paler hue of the inner. The cloth takes four days to
besome, in dyers' language, properly ' aged.'
Accompany us noW, gentle reader, to a region of mists.
Mid liting damps, and foes, on whose warm wet wings is
the odour of niadder and other dyes, to a place where
dim specties are to be seen wheeling about barrow-loads
of reeking dresses ; where the sharpest sight cannot for a
while see a yard before the eyes ; where there is such a
dishing about of scalding water, such a clattering of deep-
Boathcd medianism, and such a din and terrible sensa-
tion in the air, as if something were going awfully wrong,
thst Tou may be glad your companionship does not
stitt^ beyond this page. Such is the ' beck' or dye-
home into which we have now entered. A pile of calico
from the ageing-room is cast at our feet ; before us is a
long wooden cistern, three Pirts filled with water, which
it kept boiling by the influx of steam at the bottom.
Just aboye it, and placed honsontally along it, with a
bearing on each end of the cistein, is a wince or frame
of wo<^en bars, which is made to reyolye by machineiy.
late the dstem are put a gallon or two of the manure
from cattle. Hie cloth is then put in, and one end being
laid oyer the wince, the latter being also set in motion,
the cloth is seen to be wound oyer from one side to the
tnket of the cistern, of course nroducing in its rapid pro-
gnm no ordinaiy amount of splashing about. This, which
is called, in the not-oyer-refined language of the dye-house,
* the dunging process,' ii twice repeated. It is a most
cmioos fact that, until lately, no rational explanation of
this operation could be offen^ nor was any substitute for
the maouie discoyered. Eyen now the modus <^perandi
is by no means clear. It appears certain that the manure
owes its efficacy to its phosphates of soda and of lime,
which i4>pear to act in a peculiar manner, so as to remoye
^superfluous portions of the mordant from the cloth;
sod what is called * dung substitute,' consisting of these
two IngifNiients, is now largely employed in its place: we
nnst mention, however, tl:^ it is a patent article. The
doth is then taken to another part of this busy place,
sod is wadied by a similar wince and cistern, containing
pure hot water, and is by this means freed from all impu-
ntiss oontracted during the last processes. It is thence
ismoyed to the 'dye-beck:' this is an apparatus in all
teipecls nmilar to the last — oonsisting of a reyolying
viaee and cistern, which in this instance is filled with a
boiling decoction of the dye, such as madder; and after
vhiiUng and splashing about in this hot fluid for a couple
«f hours, the clotAi b Sien remoied. It has now lost its
snowy whiteness, and has assumed a deep red hue, verging
on purple; and a pattern can scarcely be detected on it,
for the whole surface appears almost uniformly coloured.
But excepting in the mordanted parts — that is, in the
pattern wnich has been printed with a paste of * mordant '
—all this colour is fugitiye: in these a true chemical
union has taken place between the colour and the mor-
dant, and the colouring matter has been deposited in the
fibres of the cloth in the form of an insoluble precipitate;
consequently no future washing can get it out, lor the
colour is, as it were, locked in within the fine tubes which
compose the structure of the fabric; hence, indeed, the
origin of the term mordant^ or 6iter-m. Uludi might be
said, and a yast amount of interesting matter could be
adduced, upon the philosophy of dyeing, but it would
swell this artide to a most unreasonable length to intro-
duce it. The grand principle has been just stated, and
is easily extended to other instances; while for a variety
of interesting chemical i^enomena exhibited in the difl^
rent processes, the reader may be referred to any of the
valuable works, on * Applied Chemistxy.'
The superfluous colour has now to be washed out, and
a most singular machine is called upon to fulfil that
office. The appropriate title for this immense washing-
engine is the * dash-vdieel.' Along one side of a sepa-
rate house, which might be termed the laundry, five or
six of these dash-wWIs are placed. They consist of
large circular boxes, seven or eight feet in diameter, the
interior of which is divided by boards into four compart-
ments, with a large round hole looking into each of these
divisions. These wheels are placed upon transverse axes,
which are in connection with moving gear, and cause the
whole frame to revolve round and round. The cloth is
put into one of these compartments, a jet of pure water is
allowed to flow into the interior of the machine near its
centre, and the whole is then set in motion. The doth is
thus dashed about with considerable violence, while all
the time a copious current of pure water flows over it; and
when taken out, it is found to have lost a large portion,
though not all, of its superfluous colour. It is taken
back to the dye-house, and washed in a dilute solution
of chloride of lime: this is called ' dearing.' The dash-
wheel once more receives it, and now it is fit for apparel
as far as colour goes. But it is reeking with water. This
is expelled by a most ingenious contrivance called a
hydro-extractor, or patent drying-machine. The dripping
folds are put into a hollow circular wheel with a per^
forated margin; by means of speed-cones this is made to
revolve with a gradually-accelerated motion until its
revolutions reach a firigntful rapidity. On stopping it,
after a few minutes, it is found that the centrifrigal &rot
has made every particle of water fly from the cloth, and
)t is almost as dry as tinder I The cloth is then
between two wooden rollers, revolving in a trough filled
with starch: it goes up what is called a * Jacob's ladder,'
an endless band with shelves on it, into the steam-drying
room. In this place is a large apparatus consistinff of a
number of cylinders filled with steam, under and over
which the piece is wound, until it comes out smooth and
diy. . It is then folded, put in a hydraulic press, and
tied, and the impatient horse in the dashing-cart outside
receiving his load, carries it from Mayfield to the railway,
and the railway scatters the wonderful production to the
veiy ends of the earth.
This is, however, but a sketch of the processes con-
cerned in the production of the very simplest patterns:
cloth which receives patterns containing four or five
colours, often goes through twenty or thirty different
operations before it is finished, the number, complexity,
and variety of which makes it a matter of astonishment
that the articles can be produced and sold under anything
but a most extravagant price. Hie copper cylinders on
which the pattern is engraved are stored up in a separate
apartment of considerable sixe, said to contain cylinders
to the value of L.60,000 1 A<iyoining it is also a long
and even elegant room, in which the designers and girl-
engravers work. The works comprise a vast number of
other departments, such as pumping, workshops, tool-re-
pairing, sraiUiies, madder-gnndiug, ke, the most vitally-
Hteiita
M^MM
166
CHAMBERS»S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
important of which is the eitensiye and beautifullj-fitted-
up chemical laboratoiT» where yarioos experiments are
conducted by a scientinc chemist, and where all the dyei
are prepared. This place contains a number of admirable
machines for grinding, eyaporating, mizinff colours, &c.
which it would be yain to attempt to descrioe. Suffice it
to sajr, that it is the yery heart of the whole manufacture,
and upon the skill practically manifested here depends
the entire success of the yast establishment. To giye the
reader a concluding idea as to the immensity of these
works, it may be stated that they produce in a single
Tear cotton dresses for a million and a-half of human
beings!
AN mcroENT IN THE PENINSULAR WAR.
Onb «yening at our club we had the latii&ctlon of
hearing Captain Marmaduke Smith relate an adyentore
in which he had been concerned in Spain, and which I
shall try to giye as nearly as possible in the language
of the narrator. The reader is aware, for he has already
made the captain's acquaintance, that he was somewhat
of an oddity, and his story on this occasion was sug-
gested by a hot discussion among us on the subject of
pa^otism.
'Don't tell me of patriotism,' said the captain: 'I
have seen such queer exhibitions of the article in my
day, that I am pretty well tired of hearing anything
more about it I could giye you a story of Spanish
patriotism that would astonish you ; however, it*s no
use talking of the afiair.'
'The story— let us have the captain's story by all
means,' replied several voioes. * Come, captain, begin.'
'Well, well, if I must, I must, though I would rather
have the matter forgotten. You of course all know that
I am not exactly an Englishman?'
• Indeed I We always thought'—
'Never mind; I shall explain. My fatiier was a
Scotsman, my mother was an Irishwoman, and I was
bom in Gibraltar; so that vou see I am an Anglo-
Scoto-Irish Spaniard — a nondescript animal — though I
hope not the worse subject of her Majesty, God bless
her I By my fkther, who was a mariner at Gibraltar,
I was sent to England for my education ; and in conse-
quence of my great merit — ahem ! — a commission was
easily got for me in the army. Well, that is a good
while ago now. I served in the Peninsula, and was
promotai — mark you, not by brevet. The Peninsula,
you will observe, was a sort of native country to me — I
spoke Spanish as fast as English. During one of the
lulls in the campaign of 1811 I got leave of absence in
order to visit Gibraltar. My father and only parent
was lying dangerously ill, and requested my presence.
Before I got to Gibraltar, he had died, leaving me
his sole heir, which was a great consolation. When
I came to look into his property, I found that it in-
cluded a handsome schooner, the "Blue-Eyed Maid,"
which lay in the harbour, loaded with a capital cargo
of printed cotton goods. The craft was waiting for a
skipper, and none could be had. An idea struck mc —
•* Why not turn skipper myself for the occasion ?" The
voyage was designed to be only as far as Bilboa — a
regular smuggling transaction. I need hardly tell you,
for all the world knows it, that Gibraltar is useful to
us chiefly as a smuggling depot The Spaniards want
our goods; their government wHI not let them buy
them in a regular way; and we, kind creatures, let
them have them without giving any trouble to the
customhouse. Now, here was a fine opportunity for me
distinguishing myself as a contrabandista. My leave of
absence having yet some time to run, I determined on
taking the command myself; for although I had every
proper confidence in Bill Jenkins the mate, yet know-
ing the weakness of human nature, and especially of
smuggling human nature in such cases, I judged it
might be as well to be my own cashier. On ChrLtmas
eve everything was ready for a start ; the anchor was
atrip, and a firesh breeze was blowing from tiie south-
west, which promised, if it did but last, a swift and
Sleasant run. I had just reached the bottom of the
ight of rock steps leading to the signal station, where
I had been to take a last look at the weather, when I
was accosted by an old, odd, withered-looking gentle-
man— ^his hair and beard white as snow, and Seised in
an old-fashioned grandee suit of velvet, with a ihort
doak over his shoulders, and a Spanish cocked-hat
and feather on his head. He had a letter from a weQ-
known merchant of Gibraltar, recommending him as a
safe, trustworthy genUeman. His object, he explained,
was to procure a passage in the ** Blue-Eyed ^d" to
Bilboa, then in the occupation of the French. As our
rendezvous was a little to the south of the mouth of the
Ebro, I had no difilculty in acceding, for a ** coniidera-
tion," to his request An hour afterwards, we were on
board, and I had an opportunity of more dosdy obserr-
ing our new companion. He seemed a stunted, dried-np
specimen of grandee pedigree and arrogance. He could
not be less, judging firom his palsied limbs, tremnlooi
shrill voice, and shrunken features, than eighty yean
of age. His eyes, too^ were filmy and dull, except when
anything occurred to rouse him— an allusion to titt
French especially — and then a fire would gUue out of
the M decaying sockets — whether of heaven or the
other place this story will best teU— enough to icordi
ona He looked at such times for all the world like an
E^ptian mummy animated by a fiend from the bottom-
less pit
* We were soon under weigh, and cracking along st a
spanking rate. The old Don kept very quiet, girini
little or no trouble, except that some one or other
of us was continually tumbling over him ; for the rest*
less creature would totter about the deck all day and
nearly all night muttering to himself, and eyecy nov
and then irr&verently flapping down on his knees. Thii
conduct at last greatly scandalised Bill Jenkins, who
argued that a roan who threw out such an mamxm
number of that sort of signals must have an unoom-
mon queer cargo to run; mid Bill darkly hinted
that if extra bad weather should come on, or any oot*
of-the-way mishap occur, he should know who to thank
for it Nothing, however, happened contrariwise tiU
we were within a hundred miles of our desthiatioD,
when, just as day broke, the look-out hand reported a
strange sail on the weather-beam. AH eyes and the
only glass on board were immediately turned In the
direction of the stranger, who finally proyed to be a
French war corvette. Bill Jenkins glanced st me,
and then at the Spaniard, as much as to say, I told
you what would come of having that precious rascal
on board ; and then made preparations to hoist enrj
stitch of canvas the schooner could carry. But tpite
of all our exertions, the corvette gained rapidly upon
us, and the prospect of a French prison became mo*
mentarily more and more distinct, and apparently hi*
evitable. Our grandee seemed struck with utter m^
ness: he stormed, raved, gesticulated, and execrated
the advancing ship with a fury scarcely human I As
something more to the purpose, we were preparing,
with sorrowful hearts, to throw over the best wd
heaviest of the cargo, in order to lighten the schooner,
when Jenkins, who had gone up with the glass to the
foretop, sung out — ** Avast heaving there ; here comei
a customer for the Frenchman — hurra!" We all ran
to the side, and gazed to where Bill's arm pointed;
and there, sure enough, about four miles a-head-^be
wind was right on our beam — was a British ship of
war, just rounding a headland, and coming on like s
race -horse. Up went our ensign — we bad hitherto
modestly concealed it — in a brace of shakes; we
crowed out three lusty cheers, and fired our two little
brass popguns, as valiant as turkey-cocks, at the cor-
vette. As soon as the Frenchman perceived his nev
friend, he lufied up into the wind, and seemed for a f^
minutes doubtful whether to show fight or a dean vut
of heels. The British vessel was the ** Scorpion* iloqp
of war, and about a fair match for the gentleman who
had to nearly mapped up m j father's son and his in-
heritance of marketable snndries. But the Frenchman
ftoaU/ made up his mind for a tnssle. In little more
tiian ten minutes the ** Scorpion" swept dose by us, and
we were hailed from Uie quarter-deck with« ** What
sdiooner's that ? " «* The Blue-Eyed Maid of London,"
was the prompt reply. ** Heave to, and wait here till
ear return," was ^e as quick rejoinder. " Ay, ay,
sir!" shouted Bill Jenkins, at the same time respectfolly
toocJhing his hat, and adding in a lower Toice, '* We'll
lee you smothered first I " In those days, gentlemen,
merdiant Teasels were by no means desirous of too In-
timate an acquaintance with his majesty's cruisers,
miey had a pestilent way of carrying off the best hands,
and both skippers and sailors, like the sheep in the
story-book, used to make ugly comparisons between the
wotres and the shepherds: so we kept on under as
moch sail as the sticks would bear. The appearance
of the British cruiser had changed the delirious rage of
the Spaniard into the wildest joy; and when the fight,
of which we had a capital view at a pleasant and
rapidly - increasing distance — a circumstance, let me
tdl you, which adds wonderfully to the agreeableness
of sudi glorious spectacles — indeed, to teU the honest
tmth, I doubt if they are erer thoroughly enjoyed in
any other manner *
* I always understood,' interrupted a thin, squeaky
Tmoe, stripling through the smoke from a comer of
tiie room ; * I always understood that warriors delight
inbttttle.'
*Did you. Tape?' rejoined Captain Smith: * then
your innocence has been shamefully imposed upon. A
great pleasure over a battle map be ; but ball-fiiTours
hi actual course of distribution are anything but plea-
sant to the two-legged targets expectant He who
tiiinks otherwise, you may depend upon it never pli^ed
at the game. But to return to my story. The Spaniard,
I was saying, capered like a maniac — which in truth he
was, and that* s the best thing, youll admit presently,
can be said of him — at every mishap that befell the
Frenchman's spars or rigging-gear; and when, after
both ships had been some time hull down. Bill Jenkins
announced from the mizzen-truck, with a roar like a
small hurricane, that the tricolor was struck, he fairly
veiled with delight, and was so overcome with jov that
he fainted away, and had to be carried below. A man
must have lived in Spain in those days to know to what
a pitch national animosity can be carried ; and this
fienor Cortina, to add to his aversion for the French as
the invaders of his country, had suffered, I afterwards
learned, personal wrone and violence at their hands.
His ch&teau, after a foohsh resistance, had been sacked
and burned, and his daught^ ill-treated by the savage
soldiery. After a few hours' repose he was again on
deck, ejaculating as before ; and by what I could piece
oat from detached sentences I now and then overheard,
I believed him to be imploring strength and help for
the accomplishment of some great and awful duty
which he had made a vow to periorm.
' Nothing further occurred till we made the entrance
of the Ebro, where we stood on and off for a couple
of days and nights. At last our signals were answered,
and we made a successful run of the entire cargo. As
soon as I had pocketed the cash, I paid the crew libe-
nlly, and despatched the schooner back to Gibraltar, in-
tending to join my regiment over land. I lingered a few
days at the podesta, where my late passenger had put
up, and became, in consequence, an actor in the affair
which followed.
*One day, after a late dinner, I told Senor Cor-
fina who I was, and the occupation I usually followed.
His dun old eyes flashed with joy, and having first
pressed a considerable present on my acceptance, and
ninted that he wished to confer privately with me in
the morning, he retired to his chamber. The sight
•nd feel of the money e^cted a decided change for the
better in my opinion of the M gentleman's rabid pa-
triotism, and I began to think somewhat highly of one
who evinced such touching gratitude towards an ally.
The next morning I was summoned immediately after
breakfast to his apartment, where he sat as cold,
stem, and rigid as an iron image. All his flightiness
was gone, and he was as solemn as a judge. His first
sentence was a stunner ! ** I want you, Mr Smith, to
convey a message to an officer of the garrison of Bilboa."
** Bilboa ?" says I, almost lifted off my feet with surprise.
•* Yes," he replied, cool as a cucumber — •* Bilboa. The
service is, I am aware, dangerous ; but the reward shall
be ample." This was to the point, and sensible.
•* What is the officer's name, senor ?" •* Colonel Delisle,"
he replied, naming one of the most active and success-
ful officers in King Joseph's service. He was, I had
before heard, a Spaniard bora, though he now bore a
French name ; that, I believe, of his wife. Ton must
know, gentlemen, that many Spaniards, through dislike
of the old corrupt system of government, which, they
said, had ruined the country, joined the intrusive mo-
narch, as he was called, in hopes of establishing through
him a more enlightened rule. They were called Afran-
cesados, and were more bitterly hated by the ''mtriots"
than were the French themselves. ** Colonel Delisle 1"
I exclaimed ; " why, what on earth can pan have to say
to him?" ** He is my son," was the reply. I was
dumbfounded. ** Tes," resumed the old man, his cold,
hard eye glittering like a serpient's, '* Colonel Delisle is
my son ; and as I feel that I have not many weeks, per-
haps not many days, to live, I wish to see him once
more ere I die. I wish you to convey this message
to him. I cannot enter BUboa myself, for a price is set
upon my capture. Tou are used to such enterprises ;
and, as I said, the reward shall be ample. This ring,"
he added, taking an old family affair from his finger,
*• will accredit your message." Well, I at last consented
to undertake the commission, and immediately set about
my preparations. They were completed in about an
hour ; and in the afternoon of the same day I arrived
safely at Bilboa, distant about eleven mUes from where
we were stopping. I soon succeeded in procuring an
interview with the colonel, a fine soldierly-looking man,
and at once imparted my message. He was greatly agi-
tated, and pressed me with a hundred questions, which
I answered or evaded as well as I could. Finally, he
agreed, though with much hesitation, to meet his father,
for whom he seemed to entertain a strong affection, a
fbw miles without the town on the following day. From
his inquiries concerning his sister, I gathered that he
was ignorant of the burning and sacking of his paternal
mansion, and I left him in happy ignorance on the sub-
ject
* I got safely back to Senor Cortina ; and when I in-
formed him of the result, a fiash as of demonhic joy
lighted up his withered features, and fading in an instant,
left them paler, stonier than before. I could not com-
prehend his strange expression of face ; but the faintest
suspicion of his motives never crossed my mind. It
was arranged that I should meet the colonel, and
conduct him to a small farmhouse, about half a mile
distant from the place of rendezvous, where the senor
would be in waiting.
* Evening was rapidly closing in as I next day reached
the appointed spot I gave the concerted signal, and
a tall figure immediately emerged from the concealment
of a large clump of stunted fir-trees : it was the colonel !
He expressed surprise at not seeing his father; but,
satisfied with my explanation, agreed at once to proceed
to the^ farmhouse. We set off at a smart pace, and
were just entering a narrow sort of gorge leading
through some intervening hills, when thirty or forty
muskets were suddenly presented at us by a number of
men who seemed literally to start ojut of the ground.
The colonel glared fiercely for an instant in my face ;
and muttering "Accursed traitor 1 " sprang wildly up the
declivity. The attempt was useless : he was instantly
seized. Our arms were pinioned; and having first
searched and stripped us of all the money and valuables
168
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
wc had about lu, we were placed in the centre of the
party, and marched off at a brisk pace. After about
three hours' smart walking, we arrived at the head-
quarters of the guerilla party into whose hands we had
fallen. It was a wild-looking spot, encircled on all
sides by bare and rugged hills. The night was cold,
dark, and stormy, and the only objects we could dis-
cern were several stacks of piled muskets, baggage and
horse-furniture scattered here and there, and a rude
portable table, near which was placed a number of
equally rude camp-stools. Not a word was spoken ;
and the only sounds we heard for a space, I should think,
of more than twenty minutes, were what I took to be
signal whistles replied to at greater and lesser distances.
At the end of that time men wrapped in cloaks stalked,
silently as shadows, iuto the space in front of us, and
seated themselves in grim silence near the table or
trestled boards. I counted fifteen of them, when a
whistle louder and shriller than any that had preceded
it announced the arrival of the chief of the pleasant
party. He took his seat in the centre of them. Pine
torches were then lighted, at which the grim gentlemen
kindled their cigars, and business commenced in yery
dangerous earnest.
** Who and what are you ?" said the chief, addressing
me in a voice as rough as a nutmeg-grater. I informed
him. The explanation was satisfactory, for he imme-
diately said, ** Ton are free." I started with joyful
surprise, and was just about to claim restitution of my
stolen property, when I was silenced by a peremptory,
** Who is yoar companion ? '* This was a poser ; but as
I had anticipated some inquiry of the sort, I answered
pretty readily tliat he w^ a gentleman living in Bilboa,
with whom I had some pecuniary transactions; and
that we were proceeding to a neigubouring farmhouse
to settle matters wlien ve were arrested. For the truth
of which statement, I added, one Senor Cortina, who
was stiU no doubt waiting there for us, would readily
vouch.
* A meaning imile, as I uttered the senor's name,
gleamed over the rugged features of the chief, and was
reflected on the countenances of his companions.
Puzzled and alarmed, I stopped abruptly, and held my
peace.
"la this fellow's story true?" said the president of
the court, addressing the coloneL
* The colonel was silent for a few seconds, and then
said, " Yes ; I am a peaceable and loyal inhabitant of
BUboa."
"Does any one know him?" said the chief, looking
around inquiring^. **We must have no mistake in
this business." There was a long and anxious pause ;
but no one answered.
<* I am sorry for it," muttered the president, as if
speaking to himself; "but it must be oone." He tlien
whispered one of his cpmpanions, who instantly rose,
and quicklv disappeared in the surrounding gloonu
* A painful silence ensued. The colonel's countenance
was dark and troubled, and I am pretty sure he partly
guessed what was coming. At last two figures approached
the circle. The^ were the guerilla officer returning to his
seat, accompanied by Senor Cortina ! I could scarcely
believe my eyeSf and trembled in every joint of my
body. The old man looked harder, colder, stonier than
ever ; but as his eye fell ui>on his son, the same fierce
gleam I had before so frequently noticed flashed from
his eyes, and his features worked with convulsive
passion. The fit lasted but a moment, and he was
calm again. The chief had risen at his approach, and
his manner, as he invited the senor to be seated, in-
dicated both respect and compassion. The old man
declined the proffered seat, and remained erect, motion-
less, and rigid.
" Is the prisoner the man whom we seek ? " asked the
president in a nervous, agitated whisper.
" Yes," replied Senor Cortina, in a distinct, but some-
what hurried voice and manner, like a man repeating a
lesson he has long conned over, and is anxious to be
done with. " He is Colonel Delisle, as he calls himscU;
in the usuri)er's service. His real name is Cortina : he
is my son, and a Spaniard by blood and birth. He is
one of the most active foes of his suffering country-
men. I was on my way to England with my daughter,
who, you may have heard" The old man ptusei
and again the expression of insane hate and fory flitted
across his features. Recovering himself, he proceeded,
but more hurriedly even than before, "She died at
Gibraltar, and I returned here with that worthy man
(pointing to me), in order to atone by this sacrifice for
the crime of having given birth to a traitor."
*A deathlike siifence followed. The stem coonte-
nances of the members of this rude court of militaiy
justice, as seen by the fitful glare of the torches, as-
sumed a gloomier and more savagely-sinister aspect u
the old man spoke ; but not a word or gesture of com-
ment followed. Senor Cortina, upon a gesture from
the president, was led away.
*' You hear. Colonel Delisle?" said the chie( as soon
as he supposed the father was out of hearing.
" I do," replied the victim, mastering, as well ss he
could, the frightful emotion which the old man's denun-
ciation had excited. '* I do, and perceive that I am
hopelessly entrapped into the power of remorseless
ruffians by that mistaken, much-to-be-pitied old mso,
whom may God forgive, as I do I I ask not for mercy
from such as you ; indeed I know it would be bootless
to do so ; but I tell you to your teeth that my love and
devotion to Spain are as strong and pure as yours can
be. I sought to liberate her — with foreign help, 'tis
true, fbr how else could it be done? — ^from the vilest
tyranny that ever debased and ruined a gallant nation ;
you fight to restore her, also by foreign aid, to thraldom
of both soul and body« You sure impatient : well, then,
your sentence — and be brief I"
' It was soon passed — death without delay.
** Do you wish for a priest ? " said the chief.
' An impatient gesture of refusal was the only answer.
Half-a-dozen musketeers, at a signal from one of the
officers, stepped forth from the ranks behind us : the
colonel drew himself fiercely up, and looked them
sternly and steadily in the face : the chief waved me
away: the words, *' Make ready, present, fire!" were
rapidly given: the death -shota rang sharply on the
silence of the night ; and the colonel fell stone-dead on
the greensward. A soldier tapped me lightly on the
shoulder, and bade me follow him. I mechaaically
obeyed, and soon found myself on the high road, where
my guide, having first generously restored me three of
the many gold pieces I had been robbed of, left me. I
was so knocked up, so bewildered by what I had wit-
nessed, tliat I sought shelter smd repose in the first
house I came to ; and it was not till the fourth day
after the colonel's execution that I arrived at my old
lodgings. I was there informed that Senor Cortins
had returned, bringing with him his son's body, which
was interred in a neighbouring burying-ground, and
that the old man had since passed most of his time
there. I waited several hours for him, as I had not
yet touched the reward, which, although I wished
to Heaven I had never earned, still, as the mischief
was done, I felt a natural denre to receive: but
finding he did not arrive, and feeling anxious to be
gone, I proceeded to the churchyard in search of him.
As I approached, I saw him kneeling, with his back
towards me, by ike aide of a new-ms^e grave, at the
head of which was a wooden crucifix. I cdled to him,
at first gently, then louder: receiving no answer, I
went up, tapped him on the back, and found that be
was dead I The unnatural furor which had preyed on
him had at length quenched the last spark of life. He
was a victim to his own vengeful passions I'
' What a horrible transaction altogether!' said one or
two of the part^.
* Yes,' said the captain in conclusion, *it was an af&ir
I shall never forget, although I do try to banish it from
recollection. It was, however, after all, only one of
3C
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
169
tbooMuids of cases of family desolation and murder
that occnrred dnriDg the Peninsular war. Gentlemen,
good-night!'
THE MYSTERY OF IRELAND.
IsKLJLND is a mystery to all mankind. Amidst the
mazes of its erratic conrse, there is but one thing to
which it is constant — disaffection to England. Let the
goremment be severe or mild, parUal or impartial, let
the English feed its starring millions, or hesitate about
eren so sraall a grant as fifty thousand pounds, Ireland
hates England all the same. One could almost suppose
that it keeps itself wretched, only to, he an annoyance
to England in the way of throwing discredit upon it
In no other way can we account for that strange con-
duct of the sister Island which seems so nearly to trans-
Ibnn into an expression of real design the celebrated
innstratioo of the national grammar — ' / tviU fall, and
nobody thaU help me.*
Amongst the many attempts that have been made to
explain the mystery, we wonder that nobody has ever
snggested the idea that offended self-love is the chief
thing at the bottom of it There is a self-love in nations
and in provincial groups of people, as well as in indi-
viduals. Enter any littie town, and on coming into
intimate conversation with the people, you will find
tiiem to have some sense of its importance — ^its church
celebrated for this, its schods for that, uncommon ale
brewed in it^ some of the cleverest men at the bar natives
of it, and so forth. In any small provincial nationality,
this feeling is usually very intense : their slumping their
distinct name and character with any greater body
of people they always look upon as a kind of favour
which ought to be handsomely acknowledged. It re-
quires some nice management on the part of the great
man to keep them sweet — at least till new and supe-
rior feelings have come to supersede or regulate ^ose
originally manifested. It is very much the same case,
iodeed, as that of having relations in a somewhat lower
locial grade, and who have but a limited acquaintance
with the ways of the world. All must have felt how
difficult it is, with the best feelings, to keep on a per-
fectly amicable footing with such persons. No Common
observance of polite n^es will serve, for they do not know
them, and cannot measure their force. No scrupulous
sbstinoice from every positive ground of offence will do.
The composed and easy familiarity which suits with
eqoals will not uiswer here. There is a restless jealousy
of slight to be overcome, an uneasy sense of inferiority
to be soothed and lulled asleep. Without something,
therefore, like a violent good-will, and expressions which
in anotb^ case would appear exaggerated, it is scarcely
possible to keep things right The matter may be said
to retol?e itself into the well-known maxim, that the
fkit requisite for our standing well with any one is to
put him at ease with himsell Now nationiUities may
be so drcnmstanced with "Respect to others, as to be
nnnsy on the score of self-love. It may be a childish
fxling, but for the. time they cannot help it. Ireland
M> we think, in this predicament It is just at that
point in dviKsation when such puerilities have a force,
i^ootlsnd, being geographically connected with England,
lu^ having had ths grace of sending a king to take
i^ in the larger country, had less to overcome at the
fiot and her superior civilisation has quickly done the
reit ^ But Irdand is still thrilling with the poor-rela-
tioQ jealoo^, and, strange as tlie case may seem, we
aspect that little else is required to account for the
extrsordlBary state of that unhappy country.
If such be a true view of the case, the required remedy
would appear to be simpler than has been generally
repposed. England must set herself, with what zeal
^ nu^, to smoo^ down the ruffled plumes of her
unfortunate sister. As there is a cheap defence of
nations, so there may be a cheap cure for some of their
maladies. Kind words would go farther than money,
for they infiict no sense of obligation. Some expressions
tending to soothe the self-esteem of Ireland with regard
to her political status are called for. A royal visit
would be a grand stroke of policy. We are not even
sure but that it would be worth while to encounter
the chance of some inconveniences, in order to obtain
the obvious benefits of a national council of some kind
seated in Dublin, at least to deliberate, if not to legis-
late, on Irish public business. Say it were a mere toy,
yet we know that toys have their efiect; and there may
be cases in which no higher infiuence would be of avail.
Anyhow, whatever may be the particular measures to
be t^en, they must certainly, if we are right in our
premises, be of the kind here indicated. We can ima-
gine some great minister taking up such a policy, and,
by a few dexterous measures, putting all to rights. It
was by such generous yet simple means that the Scot-
tish Celts were gained over to be the friends of the
English government in the middle of the last century,
THE BIGETRE IN 1792.»
It was in the latter end of 1792 that Pinel. who had
been apppinted some time before medical superintendent
of the Bic^tre, urgently applied for permission from the
authorities to abolish the use of the irons with which
the lunatics were then loaded. Unsuccesslbl, but re-
solved to gain his object he repeated his complaints
with redoubled ardour befbre the Commune of Paris,
and demanded the reform of this barbarous system.
• Citizen,' replied one of the members of tfhe Commune,
* to-morrow I will pay you and the Bicdtre a visit Bat
wo to you if you deceive us, and are concealing the
enemies of the people amongst your madmen ! '
The member of the Commune who spoke thus was
Couthon. The next day he arrived at the BicOtre.
Couthon was himself perhaps as strange a sight as
that which he had come to see. Deprived of the use of
both his legs, he was always carried about on men's
shoulders ; and thus mounted and deformed, he, with a
soft and feminine voice, pronounced sentences of death ;
for death was the only logic at that moment. Couthon
wished to see, and personidly to question, the Innatics
one after another. He was conducted to their quarter
of the building; but to all his questions he received but
insults and sanguinary addresses, and heard nothing
amidst the confused cries and mad howling but the
chilling clank of the chains reverberating through the
disgustingly dirty and damp vaults. Soon fatigued by
the monotony of the spectacle and the futility of his
inquiries, Couthon turned round to Pmel, and said, * Ah,
citizen, are not you yourself mad to think of unchaining
such animals?'
'Citizen,* replied the other, *I am convinced that
these lunatics have become so unmanageable solely
because they are deprived of air and liberty, and I ven-
ture to hope a great deal from a thoroughly diffbrent
method.'
•Well, then, do what you like with them; I give
them up to you. But I fear you will fall a victim to
your presumption.'
Now master of his actions, Pinel commenced the next
day his enterprise, the re;.l difficulties of which he had
never for a moment disguised to himself. He contem-
plated liberating about fifty raving madmen without
danger to the more peaceable inmates. He decided to
unchain but twelve as a first experiment. The only
precaution he judged necessary to adopt was to prepare
an equal number of waistcoats — those made of stout
linen, with long sleeves, and fastened at the back, by
means of which it is easy to prevent a lunatic doing
serious mischief.
* Prom the account of Dr Bclpion Pinel, son of the humane
and soientiflc ph>ticlan of that name.
n
170
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
The first whom Finel addressed was the oldest in this
scene of misery. He was an English captain ; his his-
tory was unknown ; and he had been confined there for
forty years. He was considered the most ferocious of
all. His keepers even approached him ¥rith caution;
for in a fit of violence he had struck one of the servants
with his chains, and killed him on the spot. He was
more harshly treated than the others, and this severity
and complete abandonment only tended still more to
exasperate his naturally violent temper.
Pinel entered his cell alone, and addressed him calmly.
' Captain,' said he, ' if I take off your chains, and give
you liberty to walk up and down the yard, will you
promise me to be reasonable, and to injure no one? '
' I will promise you ; but you are making game of
me. They are all too much afraid of me, even you
yourself.*
* No, indeed, I am not afraid,' replied Find ; ' for I
have six men outside to make you respect me : but be-
lieve my word ; confide in me, and be docile. I intend
to liberate you, if you will put on this linen waistcoat
in place of your heavy chains.'
The captain willingly agreed to all they required of
him, only shrugging his shoulders, and never uttering a
word. In a few minutes his irons were completelv
loosened, and the doctor and his assistanti retired,
leaving the door of his cell open.
Several times he stood up, but sank down again :. he
had been in a sitting posture for such a length of time,
that he had almost lost the use of his limbs. However,
at the end of a quarter of an hour he succeeded in pre-
serving his equilibrium ; and ttom the depth of his dark
cell he advanced, tottering towards the door. Hia first
movement was to look up at the heavens, and to cry
out in ecstacy, * How beautiful 1 ' During the whole
day he never ceased running up and down the stairs,
always exclaiming, ' How beautiM I How delightful ! '
In the evening he returned of his own accord to his
cell, slept tranquilly on a good bed which had been pro-
vided for him in the meantime, and during the follow-
ing two years which he spent at the BioStre he never
again had a violent fit ; he even made himself uf eful,
exercising a certain authority over the other lunatics,
governing them after his fashion, and establishing him-
self as a kind of superintendent.
His neighbour in captivity was not less worthy of
pity. He was an old French officer, who had been in
chains for the past thirty years, having been afflicted
with one of those terrible religious monomanias of
which we even now-a-days see such frequent ex-
amples. Of weak understanding and livdy imagi-
nation, he conceived himself destined by Grod for the
baptism of blood — that is to say, to kill bis fellow-
creatures, in order to save them from hell, and to
send them straight to heaven, there to enjoy the feli-
city of the blessed I This horrible idea was the cause
of his committing a frightful crime. He commenced
his homicidal mission by plunging a dagger into the
heart of his own child. He was declared insane, con-
fined for life in the BicStre, and had been afflicted for
years with this revolting madness. Calnmess at length
returned, but without reason : he sat on a stone silent
and immovable, resembling an emaciated spectre of re-
morse. His limbs were still loaded with the same irons
as when first he was confined, but which he had no
longer strength to lift They were left on him as much
from habit as from the remembrance of his crime. His
case was hopeless. Dr Finel had him carried to a bed
in the infirmary ; his legs, however, were so stiff and
contracted, that all attempts to bend them fuled. In
this state he lived a few months longer, and then died,
without being aware of his release.
The third presented a strange contrast He was a
man in the prune of life, with sparkling eyes ; his bear-
ing haughty, and gestures dramatic. In his youth he
hi^ been a literary character. He was gentle, witty,
and had a brilliant imagination. He composed romances,
fbll of love, expressed in impasiioned language. He
wrote unceasingly ; and in order to devote himielf with
greater ardour to his favourite compositions, he ended
by locking himself up in his room, often pasiing the
day without food, and the night without sleep. To
complete all, an unfortunate passion added to hii excite-
ment : he fell in love with the daughter of one of hit
neighbours. She, however, soon grew tired of the poor
author, was inconstant to him, and did not even allow
him the consolation of a doubt Durine a whole retr
the anguish of the poor dreamer was the more Imter
from oonoealment At length, one fine day he saw the
absurdity of his despair, and passing firom one extreme
to the other, gave himself up to every Und of ezoeii.
His reason fled, and taken to the Biodtre in s raging
fit, he remained confined for twelve years in the dirk
cell where Finel found him fiinging about hii chaini
with violence. This madman was more turbulent than
dangerous, and, incapable of understanding the good
intended to him, it was necessary to employ force to
loosen his irons. Onoe be felt himself at liberty, he
commenced running round and round the coortysrd,
until his breath flailing, be fell down quite exhaoited.
This excitement continued for some weeks, bat unae-
companied by violence, as formerly. The kindneu
shown to him by the doctor, and the especial iotereit
he took in this invalid, soon restored him to reaion.
Unfortunately he was permitted to leave the sfylnm
and return to the world, then in such a state of agita-
tion : he joined the political fiactions of the day with
all the vehemence of his passions, and wu beheaded oo
the 8th Thermidor.
Finel entered the fourth cell. It was that of Cheringi,
whose liberation was one of the most memorable eyenti
of that day.
Cheving^ had been a soldier of the French Guard,
and had only one fault — that of drunkenness. But once
the wine mounted into his head, he grew quarrebooM,
violent, and most dangerous, fhmi his prodigiou
strength. Frequent excesses caused his dismissal item
his corps, and he soon squandered his scanty resoofoei.
At length shame and misery plunged him in despair,
and his mind became a£Eected. & imagined that he
had become a general, and fought all who did not
acknowledge his rank. It was at the terminatioa of a
mad scene of this kind that be was brought to the
Bicetre in a state of fury. He had been chained for ten
years, and with stronger fetters than his companions,
for he had often succeeded in breaking his diaioa by
the mere force of his hands. Once, in particular, when
by this means he had obtained a few moments of liberty,
he defied all the keepers together to force him to return
to his cell, and only did so after compelling them to
pass und^p his uplifted leg. This inconceivable act
of prowess he performed on the eight men who were
trymg to master him. From henceforth his straigth
became a proverb at the Bicetre. By repeatedly visiting
him, Finel discovered that good dispositions lay hidden
beneath violence of character, constantly kept excited
by cruel treatment On one occasion he pronuaed to
ameliorate his condition, and this promise alone had
greatly tranquillised him. JPinel now ventured to an-
nounce to him that he should no longer be f<»ced to
wear his chains. * And to {wove that I have confidence
in you,' added he, * and that I consider you to be a man
capable of doing good, you shall assist me in releasing
those unfortunate individuals who do not possess their
reason like you. If you conduct yourself properly, ■• 1
have cause to hope you will, I shall then take you into
my service, and you shall not leave me.'
Never in the mind of man was there seen so sudden
or complete a change: the keepers themseltes were
forced to respect Chevinge from his conduct No so(«er
was he imchained, than he became docile^ attentive,
watching every movement of Finel, so as to execute his
orders dexterously and promptly, addressing words ^
kindness and reason to those lunatibs with whom be
had been on a levd but a few hours previouslv, b^J|ii
whose presence he now fdt the full dignity or liberty.
rf^MMb
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
171
This maot who btd heen unhumanised bj his chains
daring the best years of his life, and who doubtless
woold hare dragged on this agonizing existence for a
otmsiderable length of time, be^me at once a model of
good oondact and gratitude. Frequently in those
perilous times he sared Find's life; and one day,
tmongst others, rescued him from a band of ruffians,
▼bo were dragging him off ^ la lanteme, as an elector of
1789. During a threatened fkmine, he erery morning
left ihe BicStre, and nerer returned without prorisions,
which at that moment were unpurchaseable eren for
gold. The remainder of his life was but one continued
act of deToUon to his liberator.
Next room to ChcTing^, three unfortunate soldiers
hsd been in chains for years, without any one knowing
the cause of this rigour. They were generally quiet
snd inoflensiTO, speaking only to each other, and that
in a language unintelligible to the rest of the prisoners.
Tbey had, howerer, been granted the only privilege
which they seemed cabbie of appreciating--that of
being ^ways together m the same cell When they
becsme aware of a change in their usual mode of treat-
ment, they suspected it to proceed from imiriendly
motiTes, and yiolenUy opposed the loosening of their
irons. When liberated, they would not leare their
prison. Either from grief or want of understanding,
these unhappy creatures were insensible to the liberty
now offered to them.
After them came a singular personage, one of those
men whose malady is the more cufflcult of cure, fit>m its
being ' a fixed idea,' occasioned by excessive pride.
He was an old clergyman, who thought himself Christ
His exterior corresponded to the vanity of his belief:
bis gait was measured and solemn ; his smile sweet, yet
levere, forbade the least familiarity ; everything, even
to the arrangement of his hair, which hung down in
long curls on each side of his pale, resigned, and expres-
sive countenance, gave him a singular resemblance to
the beautiful head of our Saviour. If they tried to
perplex him, and said, ' If thou art Him whom thou
prttendest : in short, if thou art God, break thy chains
and liberate thyself!' He immediately, with pride and
dignity, replied, * In vun shalt thou tempt thy Lord!'
The sublimity of human arrogance in derangement!
The life of this man was a complete romance, in
which religious enthusiasm played the first part He
had made pilgrimages on foot to Cologne and Rome,
and had tlien embarked for America, where, among the
savages, he risked his life in the hope of converting
them to the true faith. But all these travels, all these
voyages, had the melancholy effect of turning his ruling
idea into a monomania. On his return to France, he
publicly announced himself as Him whose gospel he
had been preaching far and wide. Seized and brought
before the archbishop ci Paris, he was shut up in the
BicStre as a lunatic, his hands and feet were loaded
with heavy irons, and for twelve years he bore with
singular patience this long martyidom and the inces-
sant sarcasms to which he was exposed.
Argument with such minds is useless ; they neither
osn nor will understand it Pinel, therefore, never at-
tempted to reason with him ; he unchained him in silence,
and loudly commanded that every one for the future
should imitate hb reserve, and never address a single
word to this poor lunatic This line of conduct, which
was rigorously observed, produced an efibct on this self-
ooooeited man far more powerfol than the irons and the
dungeon. He felt himself humbled by this isolation,
this total abandonment, in the full enjoyment o{ his
liberty. At length, after much hesitation, he began to
mix with the otiber invalids. From that time forward
he vinbly improved, and in less than a year was suffi-
ciently recovered to acknowledge the foUy of his former
ideas, and to leave the Bicetre. * *
Fifty lunatics were in this msnner released trom their
diains in the space of a few days. Amongst them were
individuals from every rank of life, and from every
eonntry. Hmce the great amelioration in the treat-
ment of insane patients, which, until then, had been
looked on as impracticable, or at least fraught with the
utmost danger.
PRENTICE'S TOUR IN THE UNITED STATES.
Mb Prentice's small volume, 'A Tour in the United
States/ to which we referred in a previous number,
presents the unvarnished account of a rapid run, for
the sake of health and recreation, in the summer of
1848. The author, who had for some yean been con-
nected with the press in Manchester, sailed from Liver-
pool in the Hibemia steamer. May 13, his friend Mr
Brooks accompanying him on the voyage and subse-
quent journey. A few passages here and there from
tiie * Tour' may amuse our readers.
On arriving at New York in splendid summer wea-
ther, ' with the delightfully cool temperature of only 75
degrees in the shade,' the tourists were struck with the
liveliness and beauty of the scene. The spectacle of the
noble bay, crowded with ships and steamers, was in the
highest degree picturesque and exciting. A lady, * who
hi^ kept the deck in all weatiiers, said the scene was
worth coming across the Atlantic to see, even though
the spectator should turn home again without landing.'
The beauty of the more retired part of the city was still
more unexpected. * The better class of houses are of
white marble, or the light-gray siennite granite. All
this, and the absence of smoke, give an exceeding lively
air to the whole aspect of the city. We have nothing
to match it in that respect in the old country. We
have been much struck also with the great number of
good dweUing-houses in proportion to the population.
There are mUe$ of streets in which there is not a house
worth less than 500 dollars, or L.100, per annum, and
many of them worth three or four times that amount'
The tourists went to the Astor House, a hotel consist-
ing of an immense pile of buildings, endoeing a court-
y tfd like the quadrangle of an Oxford college ) the houae
accommodates 400 inmates, and 150 sat down to table.
IMnner most luxurious ; strawberries with iced cream
for dessert Ice is an article of great consumption here.
* At table, your tumbler is supplied from a great jug
one-fourth filled with lumps of ice ; we have found a
tumbler of milk with a piece of ice in it a great luxury
after breakfast and tea.
' Any one can see at a glance that New York is des-
tined to be one of the lugest and wealthiest cities in
the world. When evacuate by the British in 1783, it
contained about 25,000 inhabitants; the number is now
about 500,000. Although always crowded with loitering
immigrants, the wages of common labour are about 50
per cent more than they are in England, and the price
of food is one-third less. It is true that rent clothes,
and coals aro 50 per cent, higher ; but where a man has
scarcely earned more than has kept him in food, the
change by coming here is decidedly to his advantage,
always premising that he brings tlie kind of labour
which is in demand. If the labourer has earned Ss.
a day in England, he will earn 4s. 6d. here. Let us
compare his relative position in the one country and
the other. At home, his food has cost him 12s. a week,
and his rent clothes, and coals, 6s., absorbing all his
wages. Let him live in the same style here, and he
will pay 88. for his food, and 9s. for his rent clothes,
and eoials, leaving him 10s. a week of dear savings.
The misfortune is, that whisky is only la a gallon —
very wretched stuff no doubt; not at all tlra "real
Glenlivet" — ^but men get drunk upon it for a trifle, and
either die, or half-starve, or seek refuge in the alms-
house. There is encouragement for 9ober and indus-
trious men. Irish labourera save a few pounds, enter
into some small street-trading, ultimately take a store
of one kind or another, and ^eir sons become respect-
able merchants— a process which we never observe in
Manchester.'
Talking of Manchester suggests a comparison be.
tween it and New York as to churches. The population
=12
172
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
is about the same in both ; but while Maucheater hat
114« New York is profided with 215 places of worship $
and * the various sects live in comparatiTe amity one
with another.' We wish as much could be said of any
large English or Scotch town. The tourists go from
New York to Philadelphia, which has 150 cliurches,
aUo * a much larger proportion to the population than
we ha'Pe in Manchester.' The churches in America are
fiimished and decorated with much taste and a great
regard to comfort. The pews are utoally of the finer
polished woods. From Philadelphia they proceed to
Baltimore and Washington ; then on towards the
valley of the Mississippi, by following the course of the
Potomac to the Alleghany ridge. The scenery on the
Potomac was rich and pleasing : road across l^e Alle-
ghanies very bad: jolting in the stage dreadful: all
pains compensated by the comforts of a magnificent
hotel at Pittsburg : views around the town very fine :
take steam down the Ohio to OindnnatL Prentice
grows almost poetical in descending the Belle Rividre,
as the French truly named it * Constantly winding,
every quarter of a mile presents a new form of beauty.
At one place we have steep hills on each side, clothed
with trees growing as ff they never could grow old ; at
another the ends of ridges, with magnificent monarchs
ofthefbrest filling the hollows between tbrai; at an-
other the high banks receding half a mile or n mile on
each ride, preaenting a combination of lawns and trees
such as might be expected aiwiad an English noble-
man's scat ; at another islands o£ fuvpassing beauty ; at
another vineyards and orohlurds { aad at every opening
dearinfifs which indicate the cultivation that is going
on behind. I grudged every moment apent at the
breakfast, diimer, or tea-table. I apent hours alone at
the highest elevation, where the steersman, perched
aloft for a good long look-out, steered the long light
steamer through its tortuoua course ; and after th« bHef
twiligiit^ I felt as ooe might f^l after listening a whole
day to the grandest and BMst beaotifttl strahra of music,
sorry that it was over^ yet fktngoed wf t|i the very in-
tensity of pleasure eojaytd, Tbs next day was Sun-
day, and we enjoyed the same succession of splendid
pictures; and I thought of the time when, fresh from
the Creator's hand, the earth was seen rejoicing in its
loveliness. And then ths sunset ! It was worth while
to cross th* great Atlantic fdr that sight alone. We
were in a bend of the river, seemingly completely land-
locked. When the sun went down behind the western
baftk, ft deep ihade was thn>wn on the trees on that
side, while those on the opposite bank were of a brighter
and lividier hue \ and tlien the shadow went upwards
from the bottom of the deep slope, and upwards, with a
distinctfy-tnarked line, till that bank was also in the
shade. And then the bright white chMids — as white as
snow— begati to change to all manner of bright colours,
the orange predominating, in a gorgeonsness of which
the imitative art could convey no idea ; and all this
splendotif was reflect^ by the Httle inland lake^— 4101
perfeoUy, fbr that would have been a repetition, but
reflected front a liquid surface slightly in motion, the
colour becoMing more golden, till there lay before us
** a living sheet of molten gold." Early next morning
we found the vesMl lying iU'Shore in a fog io dense,
that we could not see ten yards on each side—strange
contrast to the scene of the preceding night ! . . . The
sun soon dispelled the fog, and then the river was before
«i agsin in aU its glory, widening, and its high bsnks
receding-^ llio white houses, and villages, and small
oitlei increasing in number as we went onwards. In
the afternoon of Monday we arrived at Cincinnati.'
From this thriving town the tourists proceed to
Louisville* near which is tiie state prison of Indiana ;
an establishment worthy of inspection, for it has the
merit of being more than self-supportinjt. 'It contftins
only 125 prisoners, the wliole number of persons under
sentence in ft popnlation of 800,000 ! Thev are set to
work in ysrds and workshops as coopers, joiners, black-
smiths, &c{ and provisions are so cheap, that the sale
of the produce of their labour yields a profit to the State
of L.1600 a year, after deducting all the expense of their
maintenance, including the salaries of their oiBcert.
They are not permittS to converse together while tt
work, and are locked up in separate c>ells during the
night Some are working in brick-fields outside the
w^ls, and do not attempt to escape.* To something of
this sort our jails must ultimately come : the principle
of giving dainty lodgings in palaces is exploded.
The tourists afterwards go by railway up the vsle of
the Little Miami towards Lake Erie. The ooantry,
though very partially reclaimed, was beautifiiL In Ihii,
the upper part of the state of Ohio, easily to be reached
through Canada, there is a favourable field for emi-
grants with a capital of a few hundred pounds. 'la
this beautiful part of the country,* says Mr Frentioei
* I found that land, having ihe rich alluvial soil all in t
state of cultivation, and the woodlands partially desred,
with a good substantial fkrmhouse, and the necesMrj
farm ofilces, might be had at fVom L.7 to L.8 an sere.
A well-informed fanner was in the train with us, who
said, ** If a young man comes on nndeared land, he ii
completely worn out before he has his work done, sod
dies when he should be beginning to enjoy himself; bnt
he escapes almost all the hardships if he begins with a
good bit of cleared land, and has a house to go into, tod
a shed to put his cattle inta" I asked him what sa
English farmer could do who should bring L.1000 into
such a country. •* Do ! " he said : •* why, he could buy
and stock a farm of a hundred acres of capital land, and
live like a gentleman." Land partially cleared cafl
frequently be had very cheap. It may sell for ten or
twenty times more than it originally cost the desrisf
purehaser, and would be much cheaper thsn the forert
land at 5s. an acre. The tendency is still westward.
A farmer has four or txe sons, and he desires that eadi
should have a farm of his own. He sells his 80 acre
lot for a sum which wiH enable him to purchase 500
acres farther west ; and there, with 100 acres for each
son, he says, **Now, lads, clear away!" He has been
the pioneer into the forest west of the Ohio, and ii quite
ready to b^Kpme the pioneer west of the Wabash. Hii
sons will }g^e the same migratory spirit. As their torn
grew up, each father wilt sell his 100 acres, that he
may purohase 600 west of the Illinois or the northern
branch of tlie Mississippi. Thus can the English far-
mers always find smsll lots, purehaseable at a rate cheap
in compurison with the cost of clearing land, with a
dwelliii^-hotise and of^ttle-sheds all ready ^ and thni h6
may avoid the feter and ague, which are almost certain
to attack the northern Europeans who venture to break
ground in the dank fbrest or swampy prairie.' Capi-
talists, he adds, may \^re lend money on good mort-
gages at 8 per cent, interest, payable half yesily.
* We hare hundreds of tradesmen in our towns who
cannot eontiniie iu business without the fear of loring
all, snd who have not accumulated sufficient money t6
retire upon. A man of such a class in Englsnd cannot
Kve ttpon^aie interest of L.1000; but here, for L.200 he
could Mrehase and stock ft little farm of twenty.fiT«
acres, w^i^h would enftble him to keep a horse and cov,
sheep, pig<», and pouHiy, and supply his family ^rith
every atticte of food, while his L.800 at interest would
give him an income of L.64 a year. He oould even
have his own sugar from his own maple-trees to tweeter
his cup and preserve the pea^iet from his own ftint-
trees I ftnd almost all he would need to bny, besidei
clothes, would be tea, whteh may be had, of good qua-
lity, at from Is. 9d. to 2s. a pound. Still farther west
he could have 10 per cent interest fbr his money.'
Sandusky is the point of embarkfttion on Lake Erie,
and the tourists steamed thence to Buffak). A view of
some of the finer parte of Csnada leftds to the reflection
that a leUler in that country may be as successftil i* in
the United States, < as far as individual eMrtions go;
but the man hi the States profits not only by his ^
, activity, but by the activity of all around him. ^»
I fkrm is not only improred 1^ hii own labouf siid tklUf
L..
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
173
1 1
but H is inereased in ralne by the lupidly-increMing
popakNuaeM of the district in which it is placed.* So
I nys ereiy traveller. Canada is retarded in erery effort
•i adTmnce by the perplexing regulations of the colonial
offlce» aa well as traditional usages ; and on that account
slooe^ eyen with a prejudice in favour of British insti-
tutiona and mannera, we should, if emigrating, decidedly
pcefier the United States.
The tourists risit Toronto, see Niagara, and thence
go on to Montreal by water. The descent is somewhat
hasardoua. *At Kingston we left the lake-boat, and
went on board an iron steamer, admirably constructed
lor the rather hazardous naTigation of the rapids on
the St Lawrence. We were soon amongst the ** Thou-
sand lalanda;" and here^ as at most placea much
praised, I waa somewhat disappointed. The islands
were flat, and the wood was stunted and thin. The
•oeoery waa little better than we see in England when
a river baa oTerAown its banks, leaving only the hedge-
rows and little hillocks visible above the water. But
the ialands became larger, rose more abruptly from the
river, and increased in magnitude, till, instead of a
wide lake studded with islands, we had an endless suc-
cession of canals cut in the solid rock — ^now straight,
now Gurred ; now wide, now narrow ; now running in
a strong torrent^ now placid as the surface of a mirror.
It was not until very recently that the steamboats
went through Irom Kingston to Montreal, the naviga-
tioa cf the rapids being conaidered too hazardous ; and
the pasaengers were ti^ce landed, and thrice had to
proceed portions of the way by stage-coaches. Now the
vesaels go right through; for although the mighty
stream flowa with extreme rapidity, there is a great
dep>th of water, and little real danger if the steersmen do
their arduous dutiea faithfully. The passage down one
of tiiese rapida is rather an exciting scene. Although
the rocka are far down in the depth of the river, the
surface ia agitated like the face of the sea in a brisk
gale. Throttgh the high waves the ship dashes bravely.
The danger is only firom careless steering; but one
fieela that the slightest blunder would dash the ship to
pieces on the rocks that line the rapids on each side.
There is life and excitement in the scene ; and we, who
bad been much urged to take a voyage on the sluggish
and muddy Mississippi, rejoiced that we had chosen
rather to intrust ourselves on this magniflcent and ira-
petaona oottet to the great inland flresh-water seas.
At Lachine our noble steamer stopped all night, the
rapids between that place and Montreal being too
hazaidous to be piaseed except in broad daylight. Many
oi oar pasaengera took the railway theeee to the city,
a fine steamer having been lost in the strongest of the
currents only a few days before, in consequence of
coming upon an nnperoeived raft of wood, and the
passengers reseoed ^th difikml^. We thought there
night be safety, in the additional vigilance that would
be exerciaed after an accident, and we were rewarded
by the sight of a beautify and highly-exciting scene.
While carried downwarda at an alarming velocity — rocks
rising up at each side, in the middle, now here, now
there, often aa if we wore inevitably upon tb^n, till a
sodden twitch of the wheel changed our course — we
enj<^yed a sight not to be forgotten. There were six
BMO at the wheel on the forepart of the deck, and their
aiuseBlar strength was conaUmtly in full requisition.
I know sot which waa finest, the look downwards to
the raging stream, or upwards to the eagle glances of
the Indian. pibt and his assistants, whose looks be-
t^ned their deep sense of the great responsibility
they had undertaken. When we were safely through
the greatest cAttle, we again breathed freely.'
Mr Pcentiee returns from Canada to the States by
vay of SamtO0a,-a northern wateriag-plaee, resorted to
by the w^M^ from all parts of the; Union. The irater,
which is gaaeoua^ and * tastes pleasantly sharp, like the
sodarwster of oursbops^' has a wonderM effect on the
iMfuid visitara.from tbe^outh. Alter a few days' use
oCtbt wwl^, (h«(y impBoreaiopriawi^ iu health.,' The ;
eye begins to reeover its brilliancy, then the yellow
tinge gradndly leaves the complexion ; in the course of
a fortnight or three weeks, activi^ and cheerfulness
are restored, and then the patients are able to take a
tour to Champlain, Montreal, Quebec, Niagara, and the
great lakes, before their return to the relaxing heats of
the south. This tour becomes an annual necessity, and
with many of the planters an annual luxury. We were
told of one gentleman who, bringing his fkmily with
him, spends L.8000 sterling every season in pursuit
of health in the country, and amusement in the great
towns; and of two others who each spend L.2000 in
their northern trip.'
On the 6th of August the tourists arrived in the
Mersey by the Niagara steamer, which kept^ its time to
a minute. From the time of leaving Boston, ten days
and a-half had elapsed; and deducting twelve hours
spent at Halifax, exactly tea days were occupied in
crossing the Atlantic— distance 2950 miles. * In 1818,'
says Mr Prentice in conclusion, * I was the same time
in making the voyage from Glasgow to Liverpool.'
THE PET LIZARD.
It is a saying as old as Sterne that * the heart must
have something to love.' Oo into a convent) jrou will
perhaps see the solitary nun cherishing a pair of cana-
ries, and watching their domestic labours of feeding
and rearing their young, it has been said of state
prisoners shut up in the most horrible dnngeona-~such
as, thanks to the progress of civilisation, are now never
used, but only ihown aa relics of barbarity — that they
have beguiled their heavy hours by taming and feeding
those most noxious of vermin, nuts and mice. I have
read of a missionary at the Cape of Oood Hope who
had a puff-adder in his room as a pet and rat-oatcher.
They tell also of a gentleman who watohed day after
day in his solitude a spider, which hftd won bit heart by
showing so great a predilectioh for his sweet music, aa
always to descend by a long silken shining thread, and
remaining so suspended above the piano until its sounds
ceased. For my. own part, I had a much- valued and
dearly-beloved relative who once petted a lizard. Of
this friend and his lizard I wish diiefly to speak i not
only to illustrate further the fact, that * the heart must
have something to love,' but alto to let those who may
read these lines beoome acquainted with this harmless
and interesting companion of man in the Bast. There
is not a house or a wall which has not its Tio-Hc-kie,
so called from the chucking sound they emit, or Cheep
KkeUie — literally, hide-and-seek player; and these no
one thinks of disturbing or molesting.
The friend above alluded to had met with a severe
bereavement; and Arom being a cheerful, social man,
he became gloomy and retired, chiefly occupied in his
library. One day, as he was rummaging amongst his
bo^cs, and making some new arrangements, he, fortu-
nately for himself, fell in with two little beautifully-
smooth round eg^. No bird could enter ihert^ nor was
there a nest to be seen. They could not be snake's eggs,
for they were not larger than a white dry pea ; so what
unknown creature could have deposited them on the
boards of the book-shelf behind the Bible?
An old venerable khansamah^ or steward, who was
referred to, immediately pronounced them to be lizard's
eggs ; and when this was known, they were carefully
deposited in dry sand, and a watchful eye was kept
over .them, keepii^ the fi^ass covered with a perforated
paper. One of the eggs was unproductive, but from the
other there came forth a little slim, brown, active crea*
tiire^ which was shifted into a clean abode, and daily
fed with flies and small insects, until it grew as large
as a man's finger; and Mr K , knowing how tame
it was, and how attached the Tic-tic-kie is to his old
haunts, at laat allowed his foundling to leave his prison.
As good-luck would have it, he was let loose upon
the toUet-table, and always remained behind the glaas,
creeping out ^d in into one of the empty drawers, and
literally plajing bo-peep when an insect was offered
by the kind hand which nursed him. When the wall-
shades were lit at night, each containing a tumbler
made for the purpose, half-filled with water, and the
rest pure oil of the cocoa-nut floating on the top, in
which biased a wick of white cotton, the lizard would
leap upon the wall, and the bright round circle of light
thrown by the mouth of the shade was its faTourite
restingplaoe. Its little prominent jet-black eyes were
indeed two sparklers; and wo to the moth or insect
which Tentured into the magic circle, or came under
the fascination of those eyes ! The agile lizard imme-
diately became as if transfixed ; then, by imperceptibly
gradual paces and evolutions of its body, it advanced
until the last deadly jump was given, and then its vic-
tim was firmly held between two toothless, but never-
relaxing nttle jaws. And so the hunt went on, to Mr
K 's great delight ; the game being most abundant
on a damp night, when the flying white ants, grass-
hoppers, and moths swarm, particularly in the sultry
weather of August and September.
So months and days flew by, and the rational and ir-
rational ftiends lived on in undisturbed harmony, until,
as Mr K was gazing with uplifted eyes on the wall
one night, a light-coloured, almost white Kzard made
its appearance! He having studied only his own pet,
knew little of the genus besides, so be could not account
for the change his lizard seemed to have undergone;
but in a little he was undeceived, for out crept his own
pet also, first gazing cautiously, then appearing ruflled,
and at last angry at the intruder. They exchanged
fierce glanoes, wagged their tails, and defied each other,
till at last the deadly leap was Riven, with a sli^t
crstA-creeA, and oh, horror! Mr K 's prot^g^ had
his tail bitten off; and he had the agony of seeing it
wriggling and trembling in the mouth of its assailant!
The brown Uzard fell stunned to the ground, and lay
almost lifeless at Mr K ^*s feet ; and his white enemy^
having been frightened by the commotion in the room,
dropped the little worthless tail, and took himsdf off,
and was never again seen within the limits of the
library.
Mr K *B pet, however, came soon to himself, and
kept as usual to his wall, glass, and drawer ; and was
watched, if possible, with more than the usual interest
In a few days, to Mr K 's surprise and satisfkction,
the mutilated tail was seen to grow : it waxed bigger
and bigger daily, and, what was more strange, a little
deformed side-tail was seen sprouting at the root of the
old stump. Jackey's tails were shown to all Mr K 's
wondering and sympathising visitors, who, like many
others, had never troubled their heads about such trifles,
until the old khansamah enlightened them anew, by
stating * that Tic-tic-kies were of various shades; that
the males, when they intruded upon eaoh other*s sport-
iag-ground, or met in their courting season, gencorally
fought and attacked eadi other; and that in these
battles the tail was frequently seized and bitten off, and
as frequently grew again, as the daws and foet of
spiders and lolMters do; and that he, the khansamah,
had now and then, but not nften, seen a lizard with a
double tail.'
I may as well observe, before this is concluded, that
the subject of our discussion has a very curiously-made
foot, as the impressions which it occasionally leaves on
the damp panes of window -glasses show. The foot^
with four little toes, has the power of making a vacuum,
and has the appearance of a file, or the sucker d the
Jlemora fish ; so it is enabled to hold on, even when it
walks over a steep wall, polished glass, or with its head
downwards, like the files crawling over the ceiling of a
room. The body or feet of a liztfd would seem to emit
something corrosive or irritating ; fbr when it happens,
as is sometimes the case, to run over the face of a per-
son asleep, the skin is found in the morning to be blis-
terod or excoriated. The tail of the lizwd has a ring-
streaked appearanoe, and, as has already been related,
grows readily when if acoidant broken oft
Rearing and tending the Tic-tic-kie proved oertdnly
to Mr K what searching and looking for the fern
blossom would be to a melancholic mind — a r^p6 for
the blue devils. It beguiled many sad hours, uid
cheered a drooping heart
EARLY PRINTING IN CHINA
AocoRDiNO to a German antiquary, the idea of printing
from types was suggested to the mind of Faust by hii
seeing the footprints of a horse in the soft mud of a
road by the side of which he was walking. Hs went
home cogitating on the drcnmstance, and firom that
day printing was discovered.
Whatever value may attach to this traditioD, rancfa
of it would disappear in the fact that it does not record
a first discoveiy. The East which has proved to be
the birthplace of so many of our arts, also originated
printing. Klaproth states, in his ' History of the M sri-
ner's Compass,* that the first use of stereotype, or solid
wooden blocks in printing, dates from the tenth century
of the present era. * Under the reign,' he writes, * A
Mingtsong, in the second of the years Tchang-hing(9dS),
the ministers Fong-tao and Li-yu proposed to t^ Acs*
demv Koue-tseu-kien to review the nine king, or csoo-
nicM books, and to have them engraved upon blocks of
wood, that they might be printed and sold. The em-
peror adopted the idviee ; but it was only in the seeond
of the years Kouang-chun (952) that the engraving of
the blocks was oompleted. They were then distribnted
and circulated in all the cantons of the empire.'
This author fiirther observes that the art thus prse-
tised in China might have been known in Europe 150
years prior to its discovery by the Germans, if Eoro*
peans had been able to read and translate tiie PertisB
historians, as the Chinese method of printhig is olesrl/
explained in the Djeroma'aret-tewarikh by Bschid«
Eddin, who finished this immense work about the yesr
1310.
It has, however, been shown, in a oomnunication
made to the French Academy, that the art of printiaf
was known to the Chinese at a period still more reiaote;
and had Europeana been at that time in correspondence
with the Celestial Empire, we should not bow have ts
deplore the loss of manuscript books by early cUssis
authors ; their multiplication by printing would faavt
secured the survival of at least a few. However i»*
perfect the process might have been in its origin (before
the 6th centtU7), the master-woriu of Gredc and Bmnsn
literature— some of which are now irrepsnUy lost—
might have been reproduced at comparatively smsll
cost That the antiquity rests upon good ground, sp*
pears from the 39th volume of the * Chinese Bncjekv
poDdia.' We there read— * The dghi^ day of the tweUtb
month of the thirteenth year of the reign ef Wen-ti,
founder of the Soul dynasty (593), it was ordered bf s
decree to edlect the worn-out drawings and inedited
texts, and to engrave them on wood, and publish them.
This was,' continues the work quoted, * the coannence-
ment of printing upon wooden blocks.' This Hmi is
confirmed by other Chinese writings; and the art» ^
are infbrmed, grew much into use under Tbang, 818 to
907 ; made still greater progress during the dif9 kmt
dynasties, 907 to 960; and reached its perfeotleii sad
greatest develcmnent in 960«1ST8. It is considefed
probable that tne art was known even befbre 398, ss
the block-printing was Mm ordered by the cmpsrOT*
had it been altogether a new invsntion, somethbgwosld
have been said about Its origin and author.
About the year 175 the Clonese began to oat iascrlp-
tions on stone, to preserve the purity of eertshi texts
which had been corrupted by the errors of copyMa
The six canonical books were ineetifaed in tfav ^'/Jf
slabs ; the literary scribe wrote the ohanMsten hi red,
iHiioh were afterwards cut in by skilftil artists. These
slabs were pfaused outside the college gales, so thatfts
learned might compare and oorreot their manuMnpt
copies of the six bo(3n. These taUets wm oofled sbA
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAIi.
175
Kcopied as they decayed by age, and sometimes in thfee
Cerent sets it diaracten, to each of which students
were allowed one year's study, and at the end of three
years, were expected to read them all fluently. About
904, engraring on stone in the inverse sense was intro-
duced, so as to print white on a black ground.
In 993 ^ Emperor Thai-tsong issued a decree, order-
ing that all the manuscripts recorered fh>m those per-
sons into whose hands they had fallen.after being stolen
from the royid tombs, should be engraved and repro-
daoed in printing. These, we are told, were printed by
band, without being soiled by ink.
Between 1041 and 1048 &e method of printbg by
movable types was introduced. The account is inte-
resting : — * la the period King-li, one of the people, a
biackunith named Pi-ching, invented another manner
^ printing with ho-pan, or tablets formed of movable
tjrpcs.' The name is still retained in the imperial print-
ing-offices at Pekin. The ingenious blacksmith's me-
tlMd is thus described : — * He took of a fine and glutin-
ous earth, which he formed into plates, and engraved on
them the characters most in use. Each character was
a type. These he burnt in the fire, to harden them, and
thai placed them upon a table of sheet-iron, coated with
a fodUe gum composed of resin, vrax, and lime. When
Ik wiihed to print, he took a frame of iron, divided
interiorly and perpendicularly by strips of the same
metal (Chinese is read vertically) ; and having laid
it on the sheet coated with gum, inserted the types,
placing them one dose against the other. Each frame,
when filled, formed a tablet This was brought near
the fire, to make the gum melt, after which a level piece
of wood was pressed forcibly on the surface of the types,
and pushed them down into the gum, by which means
tb^ became firm and even as a stone.'
There is so much in this account that would answer
for a description of the present mode of printing, as
further to exemplify the perfect state in wMch the art
originated. Compared with others, there was but little
fe^g of the way in reducing it to practice ; an impor-
tant fact, when we consider the object — transmission of
tiiooght. Fi-ching's method, we learn, was very expe-
ditious when a Itfge number of impressions was re-
qoired. On such occasions two forms were worked,
one being inked while the impression was taken from
the other. It is the custom in China to print but two
pages at onoe, and on one side of the paper only ; the
sheets are then folded for binding, and the blank sides
either left open or pasted together. Duplicates of many
of the characters were kept wrapped in paper, and
twenty of those most in request. When a new cha-
racter was wanted, it was immediately prepared on the
spot, and the inventor showed the advantage of clay
over wood ; there was neither grain nor porosity, with
a greater CMulity of separation from the gum when re-
quired tor distribution.
At Pi-cdiing*8 death, all this apparatus was carefully
preserved by his successors ; printing, however, went on
io the old way, the reason being, that the Chinese has
not, as other languages, an alphabet made up of a few
dtaracters with which all sorts of books may be printed,
bat a separate type is wanted for every word ; and as
the language is (Uvided into clnseos of 106 aouads, so
106 oisei (part of the furniture of a printing-office)
wmdd be required, each one to contain a proiligions
mmbcr of types, thus rendering the mechanical task of
ooBiposiBg and distributing one of enormous difficulty
and labour. It was easier and cheaper to follow the
usual method. This was, to write the text on a sheet
of paper, which, being pasted on a wooden tablet, all
the b£Mik spaces were cut away, and the writing ]eU in
nikt In this way printing in China was carried on
for a number of years, either by blocks of wood, or
plites of stereotyped copper.
Ib 1663 the Emperor Khang^hi, on the r^iesenta-
tiflos of Enrepean niissiGnaries, ordered that 3IK)«000
I aofable ^pes should be cut in copper. With these
I the Kioii-km*thoa-choii, a ooUeotion of ancient and
modem works, was printed in 8000 octavo volumes, of
which a considerable number have found their way to
Europe, and are deposited in the Royal Library at
Paris. This work is a beautiful specimen of Chinese
typography : it comprises treatises on music, a history
of the language and of foreign nations known to the
Celestials. Some of the works issued from the imperial
press at Pekin are so fine and beautiful, that the empe-
ror named them Tsiu-tehin, or collected pearls. An inte-
resting fact occurs with regard to the casting of types.
In Europe, the steel pundies and copper matrices re«
quired for the purnose involve a considerable outlayi
and are liable to deteriorate by rust The Chinese
obviate this double inconvenience by making the
punches of a very hard fine-grained wood, at a cost, for
each type, from one farthing to a halfpenny. With
these the matrices are struck in porcelain clay, baked
in an oven, in which the t7pe metal is melted. Judging
from the specimens of printing, there is no more diffi-
culty in * justifying' the matrices thus produced than
those of other mat^aL
In 1773 the enlightened Emperor Khien-long decreed
that 10,412 of the most important Chinese works
should be engraved on wood, for printing in the usual
way. Kin-kien, a member of tne finance ministiy,
drew up a report, illustrated by plans and modeta,
setting forth the expense of so large a quantity of wood-
engraving, and recommending movable types. The
minister's advice was followed; and from that day
printing with movable types has made steady progress
in China, and superseded the old method of Mock-*
printing. It was formerly the custom to defi^ all the
corrections until after the printing; this also has been
broken through, and the printers of the ' central
flowery land' now adopt the more sensible European
method of correcting before going to press.
Remote as is the antiquity thus .assigned to printing,
a French writer. Monsieur Paravey, shows it to be stUi
more ancient According to his stotoments, Hie Chinese
only did on paper what had been done ages before on
cotton by the Assyrians and Indo-Persians.
THE EXPELLED LACEWOI^ERS OF CALAIS.
It vd\l be remembered that at the outbreak of the Revo-
lution in France, February 1848, a large number of Eng-
lisli operatives at Calais, Roueo, and other plaoes were
expelled from the country under circurostances of great
injastico and indignity. At Calais, where about a thou-
sand persons, chiefly from Nottingham, had been for some
years settled in connection with the lace trade, tho cry of
d has Us Anglais was particularly violent, and personal
injury was only averted by the timely interference of the
English consul. Unwilling to return to England, where
their profession was overcrowded, the unfortunate lace-
workers sent a memorial to Lord Palmerston, desiring to
obtain passages to one of the English colonies, and prefer-
ring, if a choice were permitted, to go to South Australia,
In three days an answer was returned by his lordship, aod
a government oonunissioner arriyed io make the requisite
inquiries. He was immediately succeeded by Mr Cooper,
a gentleman from the othce of her Majesty's Land and
Emigration Commissioners, who instituted diliaent scru-
tinv into the characters and circumstanoes of the memo-
rialists, and then arranged for their passage to England,
preparatory to emigration for these colonies. On their
arrival in London, they learned that a benevolent com-
mittee was sitting daily at the Mansion-House, under the
auspices of Lord Ashley, and engaged in getting up a gene-
rous Bubscriptioa, to which the town of Nottingham con-
tributed from U300 to Lv400 for the relief of those who
were hourly compelled to return to England from the French
territory. The objections of the oeounissioners to send
laoemakers and their families to a young oolony like South
Australia were compromised by an alfowanoe of 1^5 per
head from the subscription fimd, and an engagement to
proride a good outfit The details were then arranged, and
the • Harpley ' being appointed, a detachment of the emi-
granU embarked, and soon the poop of the ship, to use
our informant's words, was * translUruied into a habei^
dasher's shop,* from which everything necessary was
-=1
176
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
patoitotulT and tmiparingly supplied to those who were
m need; Mr Cooper being chain^ed with Lord Ashley *a
princely commands to let the unfortunate want for nothing.
Mr Commissioner Wood visited them. at Gralresend pre-
vious to their departure, and addressed to them an admir-
able speech, full of kindness and encouragement, assuring
them they were proceeding to a land where honesty and
indastry seldom miled to find their proper reward.
We notice all this for the purpose of mentioning that
intelligence has been received in England of the safe ar-
rival of the Harpley with the detachment of emigrants on
board. The vessel came to an anchorage at Adelaide on
the 30th of August, having occupied the interval from the
12th of May on the voyage. Referring to the anival of the
Harpley, the S^uth Australian * Register * of September 6
observes: — * The only instance of death among tne adults
in the course of the voyage was an aged and aUing man (in
his sixty-seventh year), who was unwilling to be separated
from his family, and to whom the commissioner humanely
Sauted a free passage. He died in traversing the Bay of
iscay; the only instance of mortality besides being a
delicate infant of three months old. During the passage
the ship only sighted the Cape Yerd Islands and St Paul's.
The passengers, who were scarcely becalmed on the Line,
sufi'ered little from heat in the tropics, and as little from
cold in the southern hemisphere, 39^ degrees south being
the most southerly latitude the vessel attained. There
was no case of serious illness durins the greater part of the
passage, and 256 souls liave arrived in excellent health, in
a remarkably clean and well-commanded ship, manned by
a fine crew. During the passage Mr Spencer, the surgeon-
superintendent, read prayers every Sabbath, when the
weather permitted. We have seen in the hands of tho
refugee emigrants some of the certificates granted by
employers and municipal officers in France, and they
speak well for the character of the people, who, we hope,
will find thoy have exchanged the inhospitable treatment
of the French for a hearty welcome in a British colony.
Theirs is an instance calling for especial sympathy and
spirited exertion on behalf of the colonists, and we shall
much mistake if the newly-arrived do not in their case
confirm the assurance, that any honest men and women
who venture to South Australia with their offspring will
be likely to find the right hand of fellowship extended
towards them in a land of plenty.' Other detachments of
the Anglo-French laceworkers have, we believe, gone to
Port Philip and Sydney.
DUBLIN AND KINOSTOIVN RAILWAY.
It is a fact worthy of consideration, that the only rail-
way in Ireland which is fally remunerating the proprietors
is the line from Dublin to Kingstown, six mUes in length,
which was made in the midst of ignorance as to the now
existing light of railway engineering, and which actually
cost over a quarter of a million of money, or at least double
the rate per mile for which it could be now completed.
And how was this ? Simply that this line was an accom-
modation to the inhabitants of Dublin — first, for pleasure,
and ultimately for daily intercourse ; and that this accom-
modation was given at a tolerably moderate rate of charge,
and with a wondrous saving of time. We have before us
some strange records and statistics concerning this railway.
From the first, we find that Mr James Pirn and his col-
leagues were set down as a set of mad, jobbing Quakers,
for thinking of such a scheme, and that a certain lord
mayor of the city actnally protested against the undertak-
ing, on the grounds that her Majesty's loyal subjects wonld
be in danger of losing their lives, or at least their sight,
• from the starting of horses on the Rock Road, and the
red-hot dust that would issue from the engine' And we
ourselves knew more than one respectable old gentleman
who prided himself to his death on the fact tliat he never
travelled by the * vile railway.' These are some of our
records. From our statistics, we find great facts of the
advantages to the public. The houses along the line have
actually increased one hundredfold; the number of pas-
sengers carried yearly have more than doubled from the
commencement ; and in 1847 a dividend of 9 per cent, per
annum wfts made at the half- yearly meeting. In order
clearly to nnd^stand what the inoreasing traffic on this
little Me is, we may state that, in 1840, 1,280,761 pas-
sengers were carried; in 1847, 2,303,910; showing an in-
crease of 1,023,149. — The Adtooatey an Iri^ nmc$paper.
EVENINa SOLACE
[From ' Poems by Currer Bell/ lately pu1>Uihed.]
Thk human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleaiorofi,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in Fosy riot fly.
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.
But there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence oome.
When, soft as birds their pinions dosing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not wo ;
And thoughts that once wrung groans ot anguhb,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.
And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back— a faded drsam ;
Onr own sharp griefs and wild sensations.
The tale of others* sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding.
How longs it for the thne to be.
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !
And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer.
On evening shade and loneliness ;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress-
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room.
To solemn thoughts that soar to Heaven,
Booking a life and world to come.
JOHN HOME, AUTHOR OF * DOUGLAS,' IN THE *45.
John Home, with many others, took up arms to oppose
Prince Charles and his Highlanders. A band of volunteers,
consisting of students and others, inhabitants of Edin-
burgh, was quickly raised, and in this corps he was chown
lieutenant. In that capacity he waited on General Hawley,
who commanded the cavalry, requesting permissbn for
the volunteers to march with the king's troops to Falkiric,
where the rebel army lay, which the general readily granted.
This is mentioned by himself in his * History of the Rebel-
lion.* But it was not collegians and burghers of Edinbuigh
city, nor even the king's troops, that were able to stand
against the fury of the bold Highhmders. Prince Clisriet
swept everything before him, and at the battle of Falkiik
the royalist army, with the volunteers, was completely
routed. General Hawley fled from the field, and with his
scattered force betook himself to the old palace of Linlith-
gow, from which, it is said, he was driven in scorn by the
spirited matron, the keeper of the palaoe, who to hii fsoe
upbraided him with running away. John Home wis top-
posed to have fallen in the battle. He was taken prisoner
oy the Highlanders, and, along with Barrow and Butlet,
his fellow-collegians, was sent captive to the castle of Doooc,
in Perthshire, from which they contrived to make tlieir
escape in the following manner: — During the night, wliai
the prisoners were not very rigidly watched, they tied their
bedclothes together, and by the precarious line thus fbrnied,
descended one after another fitom the window of the prison.
Barrow, his favourite companion, was the last to commit
himself to the rope, which gave way with him, and he was
precipitated to the earth, and very seriously injured. John
Home, stout and able, took Barrow on his back, as did
each of his companions by turns, until they reached a pUoe
of safety. — New Monthly,
PUNCTITATION.
Csesar entered on his head, his helmet on his feetjSnn^
sandals upon his brow, there was a cloud in .his right hand,
his faithful sword in his eye, an angry glare M^hig nothing
he sat down.
Published by W. & R. Chambbrs, High Street. Kdinburgh. Ako
sold by D. Chamobrs, SO Argyle Street, Glaaiow: W. 8. Oas,
147 Strand. London ; and J. M'Glashah, 21 D'Olier BU«e^
DnbIin.~Printed by W. and R. Cuambbks, Edinburgh.
COXDUCTED BT WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHABfBERS, EDITORS OF « CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
No. 273. New Series.
SATURDAY, MARCH 24, 1849.
Prick 1|<£.
CONVERSATION. NOT DISCOURSE.
A Fbsnchman remarked of a gentleman in company,
io whom he could not discoTer any other quality sua-
eeptible of a compliment, that he had * a great talent
for nknce.* This, under an equiyocal appearance, it
i oomplimait, for to powet a the self-contrd required
for the holding of one's tongue is no unimportant gift
It it weO to he ahle to talk ; hut it is also well to be
able to listen. Without this there can be no conyer-
atioo ; there only can be discourse, which in company
most eTer be a bore.
Some persons do occasionally allow others to speak,
witiioat those other people deriying much benefit from
the concision. It is the fault of many of my fViends,
Dty, I know whole families afibcted by the peculiarity,
oolf to pause while another speaks, and then to go on
vift their own stream of ideas, saying nothing apropos
to vhit they haye heard but * yes * or ' indeed,' pro-
noanoed probably in a way which implies that they
bare not taken in a single idea from what was said. It
it only an adyanoed stage of the disease, when no pause
is allowed except on the merest compulsion, and no-
tiung is heard in the circle of company but one cease-
las rattle of the hailstorm of loquacity from one
persoo. Such discourse is sometimes not bad in it-
lelf; but this is nothing to the purpose. Though it
be replete with intelligence and cleyemess, it is not
the less a pest if it pi^sdudes others from uttering
their sentiments — if, in short, it preyents conyersation.
In geaeral, howeyer, loquacity is not attended by either
briUisDcy or any more solid quality. It is almost in-
▼aritWy fun of repetition—repetition of words, repeti-
tion of sentences, repetition of ideas — one principle
niling with the discourser, that he must be saying
•omethiDg in order to keep 'possession of the house.'
We sfe usually condemned, in the company of such a
persoo, not merely to keep our own good things to
ounelTSs, and to lose all the benefits of the excitement
deriTshle from conyersation, but to hear things said ill,
ttd St great length, which we could haye said twenty
times better ourselyes, if we had thought them worth
«ying at aH ' •
There is a point of yiew in which ' discoursing' may
be regarded, somewhat different from that in which we
vaaQy see it regarded, and of no less importance. This
* as respects the moral destiny of the discourser him-
>d£ Re shuts himself out from learning anything in
^ society of his fellow-creatures. He goes firom Dan
to Beersbetita, and maket all barren. A friend and con-
tributor has stated this so clearly and practically, that
^ give it as a good illustration, both of the tyranny of
the talker and the sufibrings of the talkee.
'Haying, fnm position and the direction of my
itvdies,* says hit, ' acquked a sort of character as a
cicercne in my natiye city, I am frequently honoured by
Uie introduction of strangers to my attentions and good
offices. I always do gladly what I can ibr their grati-
fication, seldom failing to inyite them to my house,
besides conducting them to whateyer public objects are
worth seeing. It may sound oddly, but it is a fact,
that only a small portion of these strangers allow them-
selyes to be instructed or informed by anything I haye
to tell them. It is what I might almost describe as the
general case, that my new acquaintance is far more
eager to tell me what he knows of other places and
things, than to listen to what I have to tell him of the
places and things now under his actual attention. He
may haye started at the beginning with a declaration
of his satisfaction in being introduced to one possessed
of 80 much of the local intelligence which is useful to a
stranger ; but it is all the same. He begins to talk — he
continues to talk — he ends talking. I may haye, at the
most, been able to arrest him for a minute before a par-
ticular object, while I reoounted what I knew about it,
or pointed out its most notable beauties. But eyen
during such interyals, it was eyldent that he bridled in
his struggling muse with pain, and waited with imi>a-
tience till he could with decency cut me short, in order
that he might launch once more into his own nobler
strain— possibly a detail or discussion of sometiiing ten
thousand miles away from the object of his yisit, and
which might haye been quite as well detailed or dis-
cussed at any other time. Is not this a strange anomaly
in human conduct ? Tet I assure you it is what I am
continually meeting with. Certainly one out of every
three men and women who professedly come to get the
benefit of my ciceroneship, goes away without properly
hearing one word I have to say; and all from being
so much more disposed to be speakers than listeners.
What is yery provoking, I sometimes hear of such
persons telling the introducing friend afterwards that
they did not wonder at my having such a repute in my
particular walk; they had found my conversation so
instructive ; as if they had done nothing but listen to
me all the time we were together.
* Some time ago I had a lady sent to me with a
strong recommendation, and I lost no time in bringing
her before some of the best company I cotild command.
Our party was small, but it comprehended two or three'
extremely clever agreeable persons — persons, too, who
were " lions" in their own way. What was the result?
The stranger b^an irith a string of commonplace talk
before she had sat down. Ere three minutes had elapsed,
I exchanged a look with my wife, implying our com-
mon sense of the genus she belonged ta Our prophetic
souls were justified. There was no end to the lady's
chat If I contriyed, now and then, to get a remark
thrown in, she waited till It was done, and then went
on without reference to it, as if it had made no impres-
178
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
lion upon her mind. My clever friends were kept in
silence the whole evening. At last our visitor departed
in the highest spirits* as if she had accomplished some
great mission. And so she had. She had succeeded in
keeping up a talk for three hours, to her own infinite
satisfaction. I onlj felt how great a drawback it was
from her triumph that she had fedled entirely to benefit
by her accidental rencontre with two or three of the
most intelligent and reflecting persons of our age — ^men
with whom she might never meet again. In exchange
for this, and for the local information of an interesting
kind which was at her command, and which might
have been of considerable use to her during the re-
mainder of her stay in our city, she had obtained —
what ? — only the pleasure of hearing her own tongue
rain off insipid chat about nothings and nobodies for
three hours together.
* I write this in sober earnest, as an account of facts
which fell under my observation. Be it for you to
philosophise the subject. I would only add, that this
inoontrollaUe spirit of talk strikes me as one of the
greatest misfortunes that can befall a human being,
seeing that it almost precludes all receipt of instruction.
Such a mind may see new things, but it can get none
by hearing. One great channel of intelligence is shut
up. Such a person, I conceive, might go over the
worid, and come back nearly as ignorant as at the
outset ; while a much duller person, who could listen,
would return laden with a prodigious stock of inform
mation.'
To this we can add an amusing experience of our
own, the hero <k which is a literary man of some note.
We were both at a party in London a few years ago,
where General Miller, who had recentiy returned with
many laurels from South America, was the principal
lion present. My friend came up against me in the
crowded drawing-room.
' Do not stop me,* said he, glaring anxiously around :
* I muMt see him : I have been promised an introduction,
and I feel the interview to be a necessity.'
* Whom do you mean ? ' we inquired.
' Why, Miller — that prodigious fellow, who can tell a
South American bullet by the feel I It is worth a
thousand pounds to me to know such a man: don't
stop me ; ' and catching a glimpse of the general talking
with our hostess, who had promised to introduce him,
he bore gallantiy up through the crowd. Being curious
to witness the introduction, we followed at his heels.
The cabalistic words were pronounced, the bows ex-
clumged, and our friend drew himself up.
' (^neral Miller,' said he, ' I am oveijoyed to make
your acquaintance. I consider this, in fact, a re-
markable moment in my life, and a moment from
which henceforward I — hem — shall date my proudest
thoughU f '
* Upon my word, sir, you are very*
* Not at silL That land which was the field of your
exploits has haunted me like a passion ; and an intro-
duction to one so thoroughly conversant with her
arcana, and whose history is so inextricably interwoven
with her fate, must unquestionably be a matter of the
very highest interest to me. Ton must often have
meditated on the chance which robbed Portugal of the
honour of discovering America *— —
* Sir, I do not'
' Frankly, I stand corrected. I was wrong to say
" chance;" for it was really the perfidy of John U., as
you were about to observe, which drove the Genoese
pilot into the arms of Spain. Think of three Large
crazy boats — for you know they could not be called
ships — for such an expedition, and a cost of not more
than L.4000! Think of the position of the gallant
Colon, when his despairing crew broke at lengtii into
open mutiny ! Well, sir, the fhigment of a tree with
red berries, floating on that desert ocean, was like the
olive branch brought by the dove into the ark; and
then came that ever memorable tenth of October '
•But, sir'
* Old style— 1 was going to say old s^le (thank joa)
—when the new world was for the first tiaie tiod by
European foot Columbus fancied that he wss sbodi
the Indian isles, and that China and Japan veie notiS
off: hence the name of West Indies still retiinedbjhii
first discoveries. Amerigo Vespucci came bter into the
field (with Q)eda*s expedition, you know! and gave hii
oum name to the entire continent I l^ink of thtt!
The reason was, that Amerigo was not a meie com-
mander: he was an author— he wrote a book £h,
general? He I he I hel'
* Sir, I must really *
* Oh, I was only in jest It was undoubtedly t
usurpation of the right of C<dumbus. Wdl, nr, the
Portuguese now followed in the track cf the Spsniaidi,
and discovered Brazil ; then came the absndoomeot of
Columbus by the capricious tyrants whose reign his
genius had rendered illustrious: he was csiried in
chains to Spain, and afterwards permitted, as a fatov
conferred upon his oM age, to endeavour to find a pu-
sage to India bv the w^ of America, and, while look-
ing for a strait into the Fsadfic, to £soover an importut
patft of the mainland. Now '<— ^>
* But really, shr, aU this'
* Is introductory (thank you)— merely introdactoiy.
The colony planted originally by Columbus in Wm^
niola made tne natives virtually slaves, and then thinned
their numben with fire and sword to such purpose, that
in fifteen yean the population had decreased mm a mfl-
lion to 60,000. This was partiy made up, however-fif
the mines could not be worked forwant of laboiisw-hy
the importation from the continent of 40,000 new ik?ea
And now we come to ti»e conquest of New Sfsis bgr
Cortes, and that of Peru by PiMrro in'—
* Oood sir '
* I know all that These Mexicans and F^mtiaoe
tDere really civilised nations, whereas the other Ameri-
cans were in a state of innocent savagism. Corta,
notwithstanding, marched his handful of Spaniardi to
the oapitel of a vast and populous country, UjA poi-
session of the person of the Emperor Montesams, losded
him with chains, and burned his son and the chief offi-
cera of his army alive. His atrocities at length roniid
the indignation sufficientiy to overpower the cowardice
of the natives; and surrounding his little force, thejr
compelled him, with much slaughter, to retreat On
obtaining reinforcements, however, he returned, ctp-
tured the dty of Mexico, and with it subdued the lihe^
ties of the entire country. The success of Fisairo it
Caxamaka was equally wonderfUL He got hold of tibe
Inca; held him to ransom for a roomfd of gold, m
this being dulv paid, put him to death, and rendered lU
Peru a Spanish province. When this was done'- —
* Once for all, sir, I beg you to excuse me !'
* And with good cause. The modem hiitoiy of
South America is your own, and it would come ni(w
gracefblly fkwn your lips. But it now waxes late, end
I must be satisfied for the present with this delightM
and profitable conversation. Believe me, I shall not
readuy forget so ridi a treat, so valuable an iottf-
communion!' Our firiend bowed respectfullv; •»
General Miller, shaking him by the hand with oni
alacri^, dived in an instant to the farther end of the
room.
* Well,' said we, * how do you like hina?'
* He is a prodigious fellow ! I would not hate iBi«ed
this for a thousand pounds!' For months "ft** Jj
expatiated upon the honour and advantage he had
eiyoyed, and we were told that he proposed to the
booksellera a • Continuation of Bobertson^s History w
America,' on the strength of his interoommunioo with
thepatriot-generaL
We remember another interview of a lees gratifying
nature, in which the interlocutors, who had been e«pe-
ciaUy introduced, were both talkera. When this ie the
case, it is no amicable ride-and-tie aflkir, but a ^^^^^^
race, in whioh the runnera grapple as th^ fly* On tbe
occasion referred to, it was curious to obserre how
dotdy the opinkms Ihe^ fbnned of eioh other ocnn-
eided. * He it a leiuible man' said one ; * he talks
veO, Dobodf hetter i hot, hang lt» he talks too mtiM / I
ooold not get In a word edgeways the whole Hine.* The
other, on bc^ng asked how he liked his new friend, re-
jitied candidly that he liked him much — Tery mnch
Meed. * But he has one Ikult,* added he : ' so absorb-
iof a passion for hearing his own voice, that he will
Uitm to nobody else. I do not think, moderately speak-
ing; I was able to ntt^ a doien words from first to
Ustt'
These are examples of ' dlsooursers,' < ontponrers,'
'Dooopolisen,' call them what you wUL Ltring sole-
dsDDf tbey are in themselres, wretched nnisances to
others. Oar correspondent calls on ns to philosophise on
the iabject We are not disposed to do so ; but we may
lemark that the fbundation of the eril appears to ns to
le a kind of intemperance. The fkolt is found very
frequently in literary men of intense activity of brain,
iu whose writings are rather effbsions of telling words
thsn of sdid ideas. They engross conversation under
the fame incontrollable thirst of excitement which
drifei other men to drams and opium. It is fbr this
reawQ that the conversation of a set of simply weU-
edwatad men of moderate talents is often fbund more
agreeable than that of a set of dever writers or cele-
hnted orators.
THE GOLD-SEEKERS.
Tn iasatiable thirst lor gold whidi distinguished the
enly Spanish oonquerors ef SouUi America, is still a
chuicteristic of many of their descendants, who form
pait of a nomadic population that frequent the immense
•nd leantily-peopled r^ons lying between the United
8liks and tne fertile provinoes of northern Mexico.
The three great branebes of the commeree of the eountry
hen find a host of lawless representatives. The hunters
are the most active supporters of the trade in skins and
ha; that in leather and cattle is followed bv the
fsfeerot,* while that in precious metals falls to the lot
of the 9«naAtMm<My or gold-seekers. The work of a recent
tiaTeller presents us with some particulars concerning
the hal^ts and precarious mode of life of the latter,
vhidi, in the highest degree adventurous, are compara-
lirely but little known.
Under tiie denomination of gambusinos is included a
W of Tagabond miners, practical metallurgists, who
Mem endowed with a marvellous instinct for the dis-
CDTeiy of Teins of gold, more abundant in the north than
in any other part of the States. Without capital to
cujy on subterranean excavations, they are obliged to
eoBtent themselves with skimming the surface. Their
vonderful tact is assisted by certain general indications.
The matrix of the mineral is almost always composed of
qoirts rodu, which in some spaces are scattered for
leagoes over the scorched soil in irregular projecting
naoes called cretttmes. The gambusino never travels
without his hmrreUif a pointed iron bar. By the aid of
this instrument he detaches portions of the rock, which
he afterwards submits to the action of a violent fire, and
continues or abandons his labour in accordance with the
quantity of mineral they contain. Sometimes a frag-
ment brea3cs off glittering with grains of gold ; the soli-
taiy explorer then labours with redoubled energy, and
foiSetB all his privations while following the vein, which
he pursues until it penetrates too deeply into the earth.
He then sells the mine to any one able to buy it, and,
Uke tiie American squatter, removes without renet to a
&ew field of labour. The same instinct leads the gam-
Iminoo to explore the rivers for gold dust ; this is, if
ponible, a more dangerous and exciting occupation than
the other. They follow the rivers and torrents to their
MMtrces in ike mountains, meeting frequently in their
&dTentarous journeys with the Indians, who are vigilant
cmnpetitoTs in the same occupation, and kill the in-
^dery without mercy. Sometimes, by direrting a stream,
tt^ dijcorer a ^ein oif metal which repa3rs them for all
tlteir fttigues, rufKsrings, and privations; and on their
return, laden with booty, whole families, excited by the
promise of wealth, set out to brave the dangers of the
wildemess in seardi of the £1 Dorado. In some instances
the greatest discoveries are made when least expected, at
times of such a nature as to rind the wonders of fairy
tales. Enormous lumps of gold have been found in the
dead ashes of the camp £e, or among tiie shapeless
bloeks of stone that strew the surface of the soil ; some
have been seen by oasual adventurers of a dazzling
brightness, a certain indication of mineral wealth. Ao-
ooiding to calculations, one-fourth part of the gold an-
nually exported by Mexico is collected by the labours of
the gambusinos.
The head-quarters of the gold-seekeis are two villages,
Bacuache and Nacoma, situated at oppoeito sides of the
mountain-chain washed by the two branches ef the river
Uris. They are separated by an arid desert of many
leagues in extent fix>m other civilised communities, and
the inhabitante of one rillage regard the others with
mortal enmity, and take everv opportunity to cut off
parties or indiriduals whom they encounter while ex-
picking the mountain. Desirous of making himself
acquainted with the locality, which presents many inte-
resting geological features, and with the people, the
writer of the narratire about to be given set out with a
Slide to visit them. During the first da^s journey, the
tter held on his way seemingly unconscious of the pre-
sence of a companion ; but at nightfkll he reined up his
horse, saying, as he seized the other's bridle, ' What can
be better! Here we have water for ourselves, grass for
our horses, plenty of wood, and, above all, in these blue-
flowered lianas we have a sovereign remedy against serpent
bites. Do you not admire,' he added, while unsaddling
the horses, ' how Proridenoe has fdways placed the remedy
by the side of the danger! Wherever you see the lianas,
it is a sign that rattlesnakes are in abundance. Do you
see that bird yonder like a pheasant flying round and
round above us, and that black one, about the size of a
pigeon ! They are the two most formidable enemies of
the snakes, and they are endowed with an admirable
instinct for their destruction. Their presence here proves
what I said — ^that these places are infested wita ser-
pents.'
'Then why stop here!' inquired the traveller, whom
we shall now leave to narrato his own tale.
' Because,' replied Anastasio the guide, ' we diall find
the same inconvenience everywhere, without being cer-
tain of the same advantages.'
So saying, he threw the two heavy saddles on the
ground, and spreading the sheepskins on one side, re-
quested me to lie down while he prepared supper. After
the meal, while stretehed on my temporary bed with a
saddle for a pillow, I asked my companion whether he
had ever been to Bacuache. He smiled at what he con-
sidered the simplicity of the question, and replied that
erery one went at least onoe in his life.
* And were you not tempted to become a gold-seeker ! '
I inquired.
To which he rejoined in a melancholy tone, 'No; it is
sometimes a horrible trade, and my apprenticeship to it
disgusted me for eyer.'
At my request Anastasio proceeded: — ^'I was scarcely
fifteen years old — now I am thir^-five — when my
fiftther, who was an enterprising gambusino, heard of
a valuable plant of gold, and took me and my two
brothers to go and search it. The accounte given by
my father's mformant, who accompanied us, had so in-
flamed our imaginations, that we lost no time on the
way. At the end of the sixth day we reached the last
settlement on the borders of the desert, where we each
contributed something towards paving for a mass before
continuing our journey. The plant of which we were
in quest was on the edge of a small stream, but before
reaching it, we had to cross the hot sandy plains where
not a drop of water was to be met with. One evening
we were dying of thirst, with only a single gourd
full of water left among five. So great was our suffer-
ing, that at last we began to fi^t for possession of the
gourd. In the heat of the struggle a blow with a knife
180
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
was atruck, wad my fftUier fell atabbed bj the hand of
his friend. At the sight oi the blood streaouDg from the
wound, mj elder bri^her inflicted sonmutfy vengeance
upon the assailant. We gathered loond our father, who,
in the agony occasioned by his wound, bemed Tehemently
for water. I rushed to the goord, but, iSas ! all its con-
tents had been lost by beinc upset in our quanel ! The
night came on, during whidi our parent's intreaties for
water, growing fainter and £ftinter, were the only sounds
that disturbed the awful silence of the desert. We
wandered about like madmen, without knowing what to
do to comfort him: theie was nothing around us but
bare sand. At last my fathei^s moanings ceased — ^he
was dead ! I wept by his side till the sun rose, ^hen
in the sand, reddened by the blood that had flowed from
the wound, we saw the glitter of gold. But I need not
tell you, s^or, that not one of us would touch it. We
consulted together : he who could hare guided us to the
plant was dead, and we were compelled to retrace our
steps, afler burying the dead body of our father, but
leaving the other to bleach upon the sand. That is the
reason why I have disliked the trade of gold'Seeker ever
eiuce.'
' And what became of your brothers I ' I asked, as Anas-
tasio came to a pause.
* The eldest, like myself, determined not to be a gam-
busino; but Pedro, the next to me, kept on ; I daresay
we shall find him at Bacuache.'
After two days of further travel we reached the savage
valley in which Bacuache is situated; small parties of
men, reckless and brutal in i^tpearance, were washing
gold in the beds of the rapid streams that ran down
the mountain. To Anastasio's inquiry for his brpther,
they replied by pointing to a torrent on the opposite side
of the Talley. We rode to the place indicated, where,
on climbing the slope, we found a man up to his waist
in the stream, busily engaged in constructing a dam, by
piling stones one on the other. It was Pedro. A cor-
dial, and even solemn recognition took place between the
brothers, who had not seen each other for some years.
Pedro invited us to take up our quarters in his hut,
informing us at the same time that we ran considerable
risk, as the gambusinos of Nacoma were at open war with
those of Bacuache. I alighted, and seated myself on the
bank of the torrent, as the gold-seeker still continued to
work at the dam, and questioned him as to the cause of
his wish to divert the stream.
' Senor,' replied Pedro, * from the fall that you see up
yonder to this place, there is not a pebble or grain of
sand in the brook that has not been through my hands :
the result is bcvond my hopes, and that is whv I began
the dam, now almost finished.' This answer left me as
far as ever from the object of my inquiry; and Pedro
continued, at the same time taking a lump of gold about
the size of a nut, with the edges sharp and unworn, from
a leathern bag concealed beneath his shirt : ' List^,' he
said : * what would you think of the plant you were
searching, if you found such a specimen as this!'
' That the vein was not far off,' I rejoined ; ' since there
has not been time for the lump to become worn by fric-
tion.'
* True,' was the reply ; ' and the slope about here is the
place where it came from.'
* But are you not afraid of being attacked by those who
may envy you your good fortune?'
' I am prepared for it,' answered the gambusino ; * but
do not fear it. From my infancy I have been accus-
tomed to the dangers of my profession. I have learned
prudence as well as daring, and hid away in safety a
considerable part of my broty. In case of misfortune,
I shall reveal the hidingplace to my brother Anastasio.
Do not think, senor, that it is cupidity that urges me
on, in thus risking my life so frequently in our scorch-
ing deserts: I only obey an invinciUe instinct. I am
like the torrent destined to carry down and scatter gold
in the plains.'
While speaking, the ffambusino had kept on working
at the dam, and the bed of the stream was now nearly
dry. Believing himself near the source of the goldj he
plunged his two hands into the soft soil, and brought up
a quantity of clayey gravel, which he washed carefully in
a larxe wooden ImwI provided for the poipoee. No ncns
of gold were visible, until, after reneated trials, a few
minute grains glistened in the sediment. Theee the
gold-seeker collected, placing them in a small piegfs of
reed, and stopping the ends with wax. He then vent
twenty paces lower down the stream, where the first
handfuls of soil contained several lumps of gold. Hen
was an indication that the vein lay somewhere between
the two places where the earth had been taken up for
washing. Sure of the locality, the gambusino seised his
pike and drove it vigorously into the bank, where it strack
against a rock. After repeated blows, a piece of the bard
stone was knocked ofi^, which he examined with a per-
fectly immovable countenance. At last, placing » finger
upon his lip, as though to recommend me to silence, he
put on an appearance of disi^pointment, while depoeit-
mg the fragment of quartz in one of the pockets of his
vest; he then kicked aown the stones of which the dam
was constructed, the water again leaped along in ite ori-
ginal course, and hid all traces of his labours.
With the same disappointed air he then invited me
to follow him to his cabm, whither Anastasio had already
preceded us. No sooner, however, had we entered and
closed the door, than Pedro immediately changed his de-
meanour, which had been assumed to deceive any lurk-
ing spies without, and cried joyfully, as he tossed tiie
piece of stone to his brother, ' You were right, Anastasio;
the past hail done nothing for me yet, but what ought to
be the future of the owner of a vein like that I Still
more gold,' he added with enthusiasm, ' which will see
the li^t, and pass from hand to hand.'
After Anastasio had expressed his admiration and asto-
nishment at the beauty of the specimen, delicately lined
in eveiy direction with threads of gold, the labours of the
eventful day ceased, and we all retired to rest. I had
been asleep for some hours, when a sudden glare of light
and a confused shouting awoke me. I started up. On the
opposite side of the viQley a tall pine-tree was wrapped
in flames, from the trunk below to the topmost branches.
A number of men were running wildly about in the light
of the raging fire, shouting, ' Nacoma, Nacoma !' Anas-
tasio and Pedro were already armed, and prepared to
join in repelling what was supposed to be an attack of
the people from the village on the opposite side of the
mountain. My gnide to^ the opportunity to represent
to his brother the dangers of the perilous trade he had
chosen, and to persuade him to abandon it. But shak-
ing his head, Pedro replied with an emphatic ' Never ! '
and pointing to a dark comer of the hu(^ showed me his
partner lyin? wounded on a low bed.
'To abandon him now,' he said, * would be to kill
him. A few days more will decide his fate. I count upon
your generosity, senor: you will sti^ and protect him
while we go on the scout. Should I not return, dig up
the earth under that bed, and you will find the store of
gold which I have collected on this plant. There is enough
to give my poor associate Christian burial, and to be of
good service to you in addition. It is a secret wtiich I
have never intrusted to any human being, but it would
be a pity that it should not see the day and circulate.'
The gambusino turned to leave the hut with Anastasio,
but checked himself, as he made a remark which revealed
more of his singular character. ' In case you fear taking
charge of such an inheritance, by reason if the attempts
that might be made to deprive you of it, scatter it rather
than leave it buried; for once out of the earth, gold is
made for man's profit — such is the will of Providence.*
At these words the brothers left the hut with cutXatses
in their hands. I sat for some time musing on my
strange position, and listening for the sounds of strile,
whidi I doubted not would soon disturb the silence.
Pedro and my guide, however, were not long abaeiil
The alarm was a false one. The fire, now scarcely per-
ceptible, had been kindled by a poor maniac, in triuxni^
over the death of two of the gold-sedLers, who, he fancied,
had waylaid and murdered his only son. At the end of
six days I left Bacuache with Anastasio, glad to quit a
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
181
Ajatikt nhvn no law wmi reipectod but that of the
itroBMt. Somo time afterwards, I heard that Pedro,
bjmal to hiB Tooation, and the extraordinarf impulsei
bfwiidi he was actuated, had sold the rich Teia at whoee
dinofeiy I wae pieeent, and betaken himielf once more
to ^ perilous oeoupatton of gold-seeking — scaling the
ragged heights, and penetrating deeper into the sarage
iSfiMi of the range, with a persereranoe and energy that
wtn to cease only in ots^ of the numerous fatalities inei-
desl to his adventurous profession. I was much im-
pnsMd hy the sincerity with which he regarded himself
ai SB inslnment in tiie hands of Proridence for the dis-
wnrj of gold that would otherwise haye remained hid-
da; sad haTe preserred this record of my acquaintance
vitk him as an extraordinary instance of apparently dis-
mtossted, though mistaken character, in a country idiere
tnsdieiy and yiolence hare long been the principal social
clcflMBts.
A DAY IN THE SALT DISTRICTS.
*ABsyoa for Nor^wich?' was my inquiry on leaTing
the train at the Chelfbrd station of the North- Western
BaQway, addressed to the driTer of an uncommonly
MBsrt omnibus, painted in vermilion and white, and
boned with a capital pair of animals, whose appearance
VIS eloquent of good fare, good grooming, and a con-
nderite whipw * Yes, sir,' was the reply; and jumping
up, I was soon seated by his side, and on my way to the
saliieroas regions of the ' wichee,' as the Cheshire folk
an them. An boar's ride through smiling fields, along
a Nsd whose borders glittered with wayside flowers of
ereiy kind and hue, now orerbung wi^ far-extending
bfinches, now mounting up a gentle hill, and creeping
across s green common, now descending, and threading
the depths of a miniature forest, where rank vegetation
marked the quiet course of a shallow, but silent river,
brought us to KnutsfOTd. This is an old-fashioned, but
efesn and wholesome-looking town, consisting of a few
streets, a chur<^ a large jail, and a factory or two.
Changing horses at a tavern, a little in front of which
wn an angel on a great sign, employed in the unangelic
d&oe of squeezing two bunches of grapes, while ftnrtfaer
OD up the street — which was full of inns and taverns —
glesffied the more terrific representation of St George
deahng smnmarily with one <^ the Sauri, we were again
on oor way to our destination. Three-quarters of an
boor more broiight us in sight of Northwich, whose
hazy atmosphere* polluted by the smoke of a number of
Isife diiinneyB, marks its position before it can be actu-
ally descried by the traveller. Approaching nearer, the
taU shafts of the salt-mines, with tiieir engine-houses of
bn^red brick, at the upper part of which the half-
beun of the labouring st^un-engine may be seen in
ceasdess motion, dragging up to the light of day the
aeoet treasury of the earth, assure us that we have
aetnally entered the salt district, the exploration of
vhkh was the special object of our visit. Dismounting
from the florid vehicle, and unpocketing an introductory
letter to a resident friend, I was soon put in the way of
getting together all the information I was in quest of
vpon this important trade and manufacture. Being
nndly recinved by the proprietor of one or two exten-
Kie mines of rock-uJt, I was escorted by him to a very
large and old salt-mine in full work, and taking a guide
vitii me, I prepared to descend with him in a salt
hvcket. But before taking the reader down with us, a
naark must be made upon the aspect and character of
the salt regions.
If we ascend any elevatioii in this neighboorbood,
ceoaumdiDg a prospect of any extent, it is impossible
Mt to be struck with the level aspect of the land in
cniy direeiioo, interrupted, however, occasionally by a
fr« ioaigQifiaaat hills, whidi are in some places isolated^
vhile in othera they form determinate lines dividiog
the oountzy into sections. In the most southern of
these salt is found almost exdusively, being confined
to the valleys of the Weaver River and those of its
tributary streams. This section of the Cheshire plain
is remarkable fbr the disposition of its hills, which
are so arranged as to form a basin of considerable
extent at its inner borders, but narrowing as it ap-
proaches the sea. The river Weaver, at first an insig-
nificant stream, but enlarged by subsequent additions,
and by the hand of man, into a navigable current, has
its course through the oentral portion of this basin.
Standing in this position, and looking on so large a
tract of land, whose level surfhce is only broken for
some distance by woody knolls, it requires but a small
effort of the imagination to carry back the mind to the
time when curUng waters occupied the space now
adorned with woods, green pastures, and yellow com.
fields, and enlivened by genUemen's country-seats, and
labourers' cottages, or nearer at hand by the busy,
steaming, smoking town of Northwidi itself.
The pit's n^outh, however, is no place for a reverie,
as every minute brings up great loads of rock-salt,
which are seized by a couple of half- naked brawny
men, and cast into carts, waiting to be filled. Nor,
indeed, did I and my companion look very imaginative
persons, as with rusty old hats, the manufacture of some
iong bygone period, and miners' jackets, all grimy with
earth-stains, and otJier suitable apparel, we got into the
budcet, and began to descend into the mine. Going
down is a far more unpleasant sensation than that of
ascending; and as by and by we got lower and lower,
until we lost the daylight, and sank by jerks, which
told us we were at the mercy of the panting iron giant
above, down and down into the still, cold, and dark pit,
a strange unearthly feeling crept over us, which was
not altogether dissipated by the jerk of the bucket
upon the solid floor at the bottom of the pit. We both
jumped out, and trod with uncertain steps the dry rock-
salt under our feet All seemed impenetrable darkness,
save for the twinkling of a few miners* candles here
and there. My guide, more accustomed to the transi-
tion, was soon able to see as well as in daylight, but
my eyes refused their ofSce for at least ten minutes,
after which most objects became tolerably visible, and
were increasingly so to the end of my stay in Uiese
subterranean regions. As the period of my visit was
in the middle of summer, and on a warm, sunny day,
the impression as to temperature was that of cold. The
air, however, was very dry, and as there was no per-
ceptible current, the coldness was not disagreeable.
Miners were busily engaged in all parts of the mine.
Some were labouring with the * pick/ detaching masses
of rock-salt from the roof or sides of the galleries;
others were loading trucks with the salt; and others
were rushing at a great rate with the trucks to and
fh>m the mouth of Uie shaft. Yistas, lit up with here
and there a candle, stretched away in every direc-
tion from this point, and conveyed a strong impression
as to the extent of the mine, which was increased by
the impossibility of assigning any bounds to it by the
eye. As the guide preceded me, and lighted up the
way by a feeUe tallow candle, giving me another for
my own course, it was easy to imagine that we were
treading the pearly streets of some enchanter's hall, as
at every step flashes of broken light gleamed from the
floor or glanced from the sparry roof. The sight was
indeed a curious one. At every twenty-five yards a
great square pillar of glittering gems many yards in
diameter uphdd the roof, looking in the dim light of
the abyss more like the work of giants than the results
of the labours of men. Add to this the spectral appear-
ance of men naked to the waist, hurrying to and fro,
and thie dancing lights on every side, and some concep-
tion of the singdkrity of the scene may be formed.
After walking for some distance over an uneven, and
oftentimes slippery pavement, we reached the extremity
of one galleiy,. Here the guide proceeded to show the
c^[>eration of bksting; and charging a drift-hole with
mining.powder, and calling out * FiieV aa a ^gnal to the
n
rest of the minen, he flrod the train, while I remained
at a respectM distance. A muffled report followed,
and re-echoed in a strange manner along the galleries,
while a considerable mass of the mineral was torn up,
and more was so loosened as to be remored without
excessive toil by the pickaxe. It was easy to trace
the extent of the loosened portion by striking it with
an iron rod, when it gate forUi a hollow sound, the
imshaken rock sounding as firm as tlKmgh it were
stone, and being, indeed, almost as hard. Mounting up
heaps of broken rook to the roof of the mine, a most
curious appearance presented itself. On the dark yellow
surface of the rock-salt thus seen in a horiaontal sec-
tion, it was easy to d^scorer a large number of different
figures marked out in white. These were quite distinct
from the marks of the miners* tools, and a dose inspec-
tion showed that they were really in-grain markings.
The figures formed assume different characters : some
approach the circular, others are many-sided, and others
form different mathematical figures. It is Tery difficult
to explain the origin of these appearances. They con-
sist of masses of impure rock-salt» surrounded by a
narrow boundary line of the purest white salt Occa-
sionally the cross sections of such markings are Tisible
in the sides of the mine. The aspect of the salt in the
mine is more that of smoky quarts than anything else.
It is far from being that dMr transparent substance
which appears to be the genoml idea formed of it. Often
it is mixed with clay, or it is coloured of a dark-yellow
or brown, or coral red. Sometimes it is met with
pure white, and as pellucid as the dearest glass, being,
indeed, of a whiter lustre than most crystal; and the
guide said that masses of this kind were generally
£)und in the immediate yicinity of masses of grayd or
rock. They are generally kept for Tisitors. Leading
the way to a cask of the salt jewels, he presented me with
two or three fine specimens, in which the cubical form
of the salt-crystal was admirably illustrated, and which,
I was tdd, would serre hereafter as weather-glasses, the
least humidity in the air being indicated by their sur-
faces. Nerer was a subterranean caTem so perfectly dry
as this : no stalactites bung from the roof, no pools lay
on the fioor ; so much, in fact, is this the case, that the
miners are often somewhat harassed by the duti, and
the trackway in many parts of the mine looked not
unlike a macadamised road <m a dry sunmier day.
The temperature of the mine ranges from 45 to 50
degrees, and is pretty constant between these points
summer and winter alike. In the excessivdy sultry
weather of some years, owing to imperfect yentilation,
the men suffer from impure air, and biecome painfully
drowsy; but at all other periods they hare excellent
health, and consider their occupation a most salubrious
one. We now returned to the shaft, and were slowly
drawn up ; and being more at our ease now, the nature
of the strata perforated became an interesting occupa-
tion for our minds while ascending. The shaft is about
300 feet deep. We reached the surface at length in
safety, and removing our underground appard, were
refreshed with a good wash in fair water.
The gedogy of these mines may be shortly mentioned.
There are two beds of rock-salt — an upper and an
inferior. These beds are both horixontally placed on
their different levels^ For a long time the existenoe o{
a lower bed was imknown : it was at length ^iscorered
by some adrenturons persons who determined to go
deeper, and were rewarded with the discovery of this
the greatest deposit of the two. In fact the existenoe
of salt in this form at all was only discovered by acd-
dent in boring for a coal-mine a century and a-half aga
The lower bed being found on its discovery to be of
superior quality, the working of the upper was imme-
diatdy abandoned, and it has lain unworked ever since.
It is a remarkable fiust, that the middle portion of
this inferior bed is mote free from foreign ingredients
than the upper or the lower portions of the same bed.
The thickness is rariable. Until latdy, it had never
been entirdy perforated. The friend who accom-
panied me stated that this had now been done to tlie
depth of seventy fee^ and that bdow the bottom bed
clay and salt were foimd in alternate layers, the thick-
ness of which yaried from three inches to seven feet
Ascending toward the surflMie, above the lower bsd, i
stratum of indurated day occurs, tinged vatiooaly, sod
as bard as stonet it is alxml thirty or thirty-five feet
thick. Then comes the upper bed of inok-ssit: this ii
firom sixty to ninety feet in thickness. Above it an
layers of clay and marl tinged red, brown, and bhn,
to the thickness of 120 feet, covered with the vegetable
soil composing the surface. These beds of salt lie in a
direction firom north-east to south-west; their leegtii is
doubtful, but has been conjectured at from a saile and
a-half to two miles. The breadth is more satisbctorily
ascertained, as mines have been sunk on each side joit
beyond its boundaries. From these data it is probable
that the transverse breadth of the sdt-beds is not more
than from 1000 to 1400 yards. It has been dMervsd bf
one well acquainted with the district of whidi hs wrote,
that these beds appear to thin off in a direction from the
sea, being thicker at the ends next the sea. Itisremark-
able that) so far as our knowledge extends, no oiiganio
remains have been discovered in any of the stnta
covering them, or in the fossil salt itself. The hUli in
the yicinity are sandstone rock. One of these, at some
distance, called Alderley Edge, a very romantic ^pot,
and a great resort of pic-nic parties, is a very cnrioos
one, containing fragments of stones rounded by attri-
tion, and pieces of various ores — of lead, copper, cobalt,
&c The rocks which f^imished the day of the alloriil
soil must dther be at a great distance, or have been
swept away under the footsteps of advancing yean*
The mines are sixteen in number. The oeldirated
Marston mine is one of great extent and antiqaity,
extending for many acres under ground. This mine
has occasionally, on the visits of great personages,
been illuminated, when it is said to present a spectacle
more dazzling to the eye, and more attractive to the
imagination, than can easily be conodved. A very
strange occurrence took place in one of these minei,
which is worth recording. The floor in a partieolar
portion of it had long been suspected to be hoUow,
from the sound emitted when it was struck. Some
persons at length determined to perforate it, and vith
a chisd and hanuner they soon efifected their olQcct,
when up burst through the bole a jet of it^lammahk
gtuy which took fire, and streamed up in a gigantic
flame to the roof of the mine, full sixteen feet The
visitors were of course greatly alarmed, and made pie-
dpitate efforto to extinguish the blase : this was at
length effected, and the hole has been carefelly stopped
up ever since. It is singular that in Anoerica a simutf
occurrence took place in boring for salt ; and it is dif-
flcult to assign any satisfectory reason for the prodnc-
tion of this gas in such podtions.
The total export of rook-sdt is about from 60,000 to
70,000 tons a year; but if in full work, eadi mine ii
capade of affording a supply of 10,000 tons yeariy ; sad
the mass is so large, that tlds quantity mig^t be mind
for many years without materially diminishing the
amount Bock-sdt is almost exdudvdy exported, a
very small portion bdng retained for home use. The
great mass is composed of pure crystals of common
sdt, or chloride of sodium, with day, oxide of iron,
traces of sulphate of lime, and magnesia. In a thoo-
sand parts, about fourteen would be different impnritiei.
Sometimes a spring bursto into one of the pits, and its
certain destruction is the oonsequenoe : the water dit-
sdves away the pillars, the roof loses ito anpport^ ^
falls in, and the superincumbrat soil follows^ leaviDg a
great hollow on the surface. WitAiin u^t of the ^
from which we had just emerged was the scene of so^
a catastrophe ; the deep gulf and crumbling wslk of
what had been an engine-house, with the manifest
desolation of the spot, were the sad indications of a
calamity which had invdved some loss of life tf^ ^
large loss of property.
"^^
Althoogh Toy often ooafounded, a salt-mine and a
nl(-work an two entirely separate and distinct things.
Having seen salt supplied hy the hand of nature, I
ieit desinms of witnessing the pieparation of the same
sitiele by the art of man. Oar route lay across the river
Weaver, the passage of which is effected by a cnrioos
lerpentiDe embankment, terminating at the foot of tlie
Bioand on which the works, together with a number
of otfaera, were situated. On entering, we were con-
tecftsd to the eraporating-hoaie. This is a room of
loe feet in bveadth, but upwards of 2000 feet in length,
m thai the men working at the farthest end \o€k quite
ilisrfwtlfn when seen from the door. It is covered
\f a wooden roof, oontriyed in a peculiar manner to
(brilitnte tiie escape of the steam from the salt-pans.
The appearance it presents, with its clouds of white
mpoor and multitodes of hslf-dad men stirring and
ihsfveiHttg about the bdling brine, can scarcely be con-
seived. The heat of the house is ezoessiTe, though the
sbundant m<^stoie of the air prevents its becoming
soaoying; The salt-psns are shallow vessds of iron,
80 feet fai length, to in breadth, and about a foot
sad sk-half in depth, thus exposing an enormous eva-
porating anrfece. The reader may form his ideas as
to tlie siae of the shed, by being informed that it con-
tained seventeen of th^ spacious caldrons, each sepa-
rated from tlie other by an interval ci three or fbur
feet» which formed tiie pathway tor the removal of the
ssiL The pans are fed by pipes connected with ^le
bnne-ieservoir, the supply being regulated by the
sntfpqat of evaporation. The heat is supplied by four
sr ftve fomaees, the fires of which play under each
pan, while al tiie many flues from thU vast house
teraainate in a couple of tall chimneys at the side.
Ob looking into the pans, they are seen to be in many
wnshywes partly filled wi^ a white granular sub-
stance lying at the bottom, while a film of the same
is ouuliiiually fenning at the top, and sinking down-
wards. Many of the pans, again, are seen to be
bahbtiBg and boiHng with considerable vehemence,
wliilst Sm others the process goes on riowly. It is
by tfasB means tiiat the various descriptions of salt are
aianufeetwed. Ihe finest or lump salt is prepared
by very qnidc boiling, and the pans are frequently
rdced ahoMit; it Is then taken up in a shovel, and
poved into wooden trougha perforated at the bottom,
<Mt of whidi the brine runs; when sufilciently dry,
the salt is carried into the stoving-room to be stoved,
siter wUch it is fit fbr sale. Common salt is procured
by a dower process of boiUng : after the first set-off,
when It is heated to ^le boiHng-point of brine (225
degrees Tahrenheit), in order to precipitate some of
Us impurities — sndi as carbonate of lime and oxide
of iroa» which adhere with surprising t^Mcity to the
bottom of the vessds, requiring even to be removed
oocasioBaly witii the pi(d»xe — it is cast up in heaps
by the side of tlie pans, and is 'drawn' every other
day. Fishery salt is made in a dower manner still,
the brine being only heated to 100 degrees Fahren-
heit; but it is the s^ongeet aalt of aU. A curious
variety to cafled 'Sunday Salt;' it is large-grained,
wefi-erystiAised, and is formed by slackening &e fires
between Saitnrday and Monday. The men atnuse them-
sdves oocasionafly by making little ships ci twigs, and
BBoersing them in these solutions, and they soon be-
come incnisted witii the most briltiant white crystals.
Thus the whole secret of the manufecture of these very
iMfeieut-liioking varieties depends on the temperature
at winch the braie is evaporated.
By the side of this inMoense shed is a second, and be-
yond it a third, each containing a large number of pans,
iSBe of which were in full work, while others were
unused. The stove-room between them is heated by
the fines of the various furnaces ; the floor of this room
is coteted with sheet-iron. At anoUier portion of the
bidl&ig waa tiie store-room, in which tiie salt is stored
previous to shipment. It was calculated that this
room would hdd at least 10,000 tons of salt The aver-
age production of these works alone is about 1000 tons
a week, or upwards of 50,000 tons annually; an amount
nearly equal to that of the whole sixteen rock-salt mines.
The brine-spring, the ever-flowing source of this enor-
mous amount of Mlt, is fortunatdy situated at a distant
part of the works, and is drawn by a couple of pumps
driven by a steam-engine. The brine is by this means
pumped up into the reservoir, which is of considerable
dimensions, formed of day, and lined with bricks. It
is as neariy as possible a saturated solution of salt; a
crystal of salt not being dissolved by it when placed in
thie liquid, and an egg, which is the simple hydrometer
in common use, lying high and dry upon its surface.
It is conveyed hence by pipes to different parts of the
works, the flow being regulated by a proper mechanical
contrivance. It has been estimated that every pint
contains about six ounces of salt There is generally
a small proportion of saline and earthy impurities pre-
sent in it but by proper care in the manufacture, these
can be almost perfectly removed. There is nothing
mysterious in these springs. They are formed, without
doubt simply by springs of water, originally fresh,
permeating a vast oed of rock-salt thus becoming
saturated, and then rising to within a certain distance
from the surfece. Brine-springs have been wrought in
these districts for a great leng& of time; they are men-
tioned in Doomsday-Book ; and old Camden says that
there was a sort of brine-well in this neighbouriiood,
with a Stan: about it down which half-naked men went
to draw the brine in leathern buckets, and tiien carried
it to the wich-houses.
One of the most curious circumstances elicited by
my visit remains to be mentioned. My road back led
me by the side of oUier salt-works, and surprise was
created by the number of chinmeys whicH were griev-
ously out of the perpendicular. One very large one
was actuallv held up by a long chain, and raked as
much as the spars of any fast-sailing clipper ever
built The ground, too, in various pli^es had given
way, and the road passed dose by a land-slip of some
size. The scene bore a fkint resemblance to a territory
shaken by an earthquake. Following up the inquiry,
it was found that the embankment we had crossed was
continually and steadily sinking; that a lake of some
acres of surface had appeared onl^ within a space of
thirty or forty years; that under its waters were the
sites of former salt-works; and a stomp of a log was
pdnted out to us as the only relic of a cottage which
was now buried in the waters : all these were evidences
of a gradual subsidence of land of a very singular kind.
An intelligent inhabitant assured us that a once favou-
rite summer's walk of his lay through a deep part of
what was now a lake. He stated also that many salt-
works near this spot had been obliged to be removed
to a distance, while those which were formerly fiir from
the water became washed by it; and the water conti-
nuing (apparently) to rise, they were repeatedly com-
pelled to raise their fiimaces ; and he doubted not that
in three or four years they would be compelled to re-
move altogether. As fiir as could be ascertained, the
rate of subsidence was about one foot in each year, or
rather more. The inhabitants of the town are well
aware of the fkct but the sinking goes on so slowly, as
to give them no alarm. Many of the houses are screwed
and bolted togetiier to keep them secure. There is no
doubt that this interesting, though destructive pheno-
menon is entirely due to the brine-springs; the immense
quantity of salt annually removed by Uie water leaves
a space which is filled by the subsidence of the super-
incumbent soil, and this sinking bdow the river^s levd,
is immediatdy covered with water on ^e surface. If
these salt-works continue to be prosecuted with their
present vigour, the time will come when the busy
Northwich will have found a grave beneatii the waters
of the Weaver ; but this time will not be seen by the
present nor probably by the next generation. The
entire produce of the Qieshire salt district is estimated
at 400,000 tons a year, or four-fifths of the entire pro-
184
CHAMBE;RS'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
duce of Great Britain. An equally pleasant ride back,
and a rapid hour's whirl at the tail of the iron horse,
terminate our day in the salt (Ustricta by conveying
us home.
ROBESPIERRE.
Monster as Robespierre if stamped in the judgment of
mankind, there can be no good reason why his life should
not bo written. It has been undertaken by Mr G. H.
Lewes,* and executed with spirit and fidelity, but
within limits which we suspect will be generally felt as
too narrow for the subject It appears that Robespierre
was probably descended from an Irish immigrant of tlie
sixteenth century : Mr Lewes conjectures &at he may
have been a person named Robert Spiers. Prince
Charles Stuart planted a freemason lodge at Arras in
1744, and * confided the presidency of it to his old friend,
Robespierre's father.* Of the early days of our hero no
anecdotes have been preserved. It is made plain, how-
ever, that he was distinguished at school, and was
looked upon at Arras as a young man of talent, both
in the exercise of his profession as a barrister, and in
the cultivation ofliterature. The philosophical ideas
of Rousseau — the original equality of all mankind, the
foundation of society in a contract madd by all for the
good of aU, and the sole foundation of property being
the expenditure of labour upon it — these formed the
favourite dogmas of Robespierre, and were at the bottom
of mudi of his political conduct Mr Lewes remarks per-
tinently on one of them : — * This contract is altogether
illusory : no one's consent was ever asked or given. . . .
The time will come when society will be a contract —
when government will be made by all for the good of
all ; but Rousseau should have placed his ideal in the
future instead of in the past' Robespierre also partici-
pated in the religious ideas of Rousseau, which were at
once heterodox and intolerant This is a curious and
unexpected feature in the great Terrorist He was at
every period of his career distinguished Arom the bulk
of his fellows by a sincere and earnest theism ; and this,
indeed, was partly the cause of his ruin.
Mr Lewes takes, we think, in the main, the right
view of the character of Robespierre. He was not
naturally a sanguinary man (he resigned his situa-
tion as judge in the criminal court at Arras, from dis-
gust at having to condemn a murderer to deatli) — he
was only a fanatic, who, having once set out in the
advocacy of an idea which he thought of consummate
importance to the whole public, scrupled at no minor
immediate sacrifices for its realisation, though these
might infer much bloodshed. One of the most remark-
able acts of his early obscure days, was to take up the
cause of certain peasants against the injustice of the
bishop -ruler of the town, notwithstan(Ung that the
bishop had been his own patron. In this sacrifice of his
own feelings, and incurring a possible stigma for the
sake of a principle, we see, Mr Lewes thinks, the germ
of a fanatic. Robespierre had tolerably dear percep-
tions of right and justice ; his deficiency lay in those
affections which soften the hard afiairs of human life.
In the States-General and Constituent Assembly he
was at first, as is generally known, overlooked as an
insignificant person, his mean spare figure, pinched
countenance, and reserved manner, being of course much
against him. By industry in cultivating liis oratorical
talents, and by a rigid adherence to his own idea of the
public good, he gradually acquired importance. One
observes, nevertheless, on a careful examination of the
history of the Revolution, that Robespierre was wanting
on almost all the signal occasions. The secret of this
was his timidity. Strange to say, the man who floated
upon the top of revolutionary violence for so consider-
* The Life of Maximllien Hobesplcrre, with Extracts from his
tJnpubll&hed Correspondence. By O. IT. Lewes, author of * Ron-
thorpe/ the ' Biofnraphfcal History of Philoeophy,' Jio. London :
Chapman and UaU. lS4a
able a time, was a coward ! He only could make an ap-
pearance when, through the operations of others, things
had become decided in a particular course. The glory of
Robespierre is that which is essential to all fana^cism —
his disinterestedness and incomiptibUity. He lived in
the garret room of an obscure carpenter, giving out of
his salary of eighteen francs a day as a representative
one-fourth to his sister, another to his mistress, and
living frugally on the remainder, sometimes positively
at a loss for decent clothes. His ultimate scheme of
life was to marry one of the carpenter's daughters, and
retire to live obscurely in the country. But Mr Lewes
jusdy remarks that money is not the only corruption
that avails with public men. ' The voluptuous soul of
Mirabeau was not more avide of pleasure than the vain
ambitious soul of Robespierre was of applause. ... I
accuse him of having flattered the mob, which flattered
him ; of having shaped his convictions so as to gain
the applause of men whom he should have ruled and
enlightened. ... I accuse liim of having uttered lan-
guage which in his heart he knew was false, and that
at a time when such language was translated into bloody
acts.* Here we are not quite sure that Mr Lewes is
riglit Vanity, doubtless, had great sway with Robes-
pierre ; but any specimens of his oratory given in tiib
work express only such sentiments regarding the people
as might be presumed to flow from the man's convic-
tions, as these are represented to us by Mr Lewes him-
self. We suspect that the fanaticism acoounts for all,
or neariy all.
The British public is, we believe, little aoquAinted
with the oratoiy of Robespierre. It seems to ns as
in general very far above mediocrity. In oonnectioB
with the above remarks, we mav adduce a specimen
in which he says no more in favour of the people
than may fairly be supposed to have been sincere:
— *The mass of the nation,' said he, *is good, and
worthy of liberty ; its real wish is always the wish of
justice, and the expression of general interest A par-
ticular corporation may be corrupted, however imposing
the name which decorated it, as you may poison stag-
nant water ; but you cannot corrupt the whc^ natloB,
for the same reason that you cannot poison the ocean.
The people, that immense and laborious class — the
people, I say, are not open to those causes of depra-
vation which afi*ect the so-called superior classes. The
interest of the weak is justice. It is for them that
humane and impartial laws are a necessary safeguard.
The people know neither idleness nor amUtion, which
are the two most fruitful sources of our evils and onr
vices. The people are nearer to nature, and less de-
praved, precisely because they have not received that
false education which, under despotic governments, is a
perpetual lesson of ffilsehood, of baseness, and at ser-
vitude. Compare courtiers with artisans, who in this
respect are found at the two extremes of the scale.
Witness our whole Revolution, every epoch of which is
marked by the courage, by th6 disinterestedness, bj the
moderation, and by the generosity of the people ; and
by the cowardice, by the treachery, by the pei^ury, and
by the venality of those who would raise thems^ves
above them. Vile egotists and infamous conspirators
feign to believe nothing of the kind. Th^ obstinatdy
continue to calumniate the people, and to degrade them.
Not content with having enriched themselves by their
spoils, they look upon that day as a fortunate one in
whiclv they may bathe themselves in the blood of the
people. They assemble the sateUites of foreign tyrants
against the people ; they render divine honours to as-
sassins ; they have on their side power, treasures, foixse,
arms ; the people has only its muery and celestial jus-
tice ! It is this great cause we have to plead before the
face of the universe I '
As to his dispositions at a cool moment with regard
to the shedding of blood — * The news,* said he, * hav-
ing been brought to Athens that some citizens at
Argos had been doomed to death, the people ran to
the temple, and prayed to the gods to turn aside the
I
tf^
■^^^^i^i^—^l—^ m t t
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
185
Argires from such cruel and fatal thoughta. I am
about to pray, not the godf, but the legislators, who
ihouM be interpreters of those eternal laws whidi the
Deaty has implanted in the human heart, to efface fh>m
the code of the French those laws of blood which com-
mand judicial murdera ; and which our feelings and the
new constitution idike repel. I will proTe that the
punishment of death is essentially unjust; secondly,
that it has no tendency to repress crimes ; and thirdly,
that it multiplies offences much more than it diminishes
them. Before society is formed, and law established, if
I am attacked by an assassin or a robber, I must kill
him, or be killed myself; but in cirilised sodety, when
the power of all is concentrated against one alone, what
principle, either of justice or necessity, can authorise
the punishment of death? The conqueror who kills
his prifloner in cold blood is justly stigmatised as a bar-
barian. A grown man, who murders a child whom he
can disarm and punish, appears a monster. An accused
person whom Uie law has condenmed, is neither more
OCT leas tiian a ranquished and powerless enemy. He
u mare at your merer than a child before a grown
man. In the eyes of justice and merc^, therefore,
thow dttth- scenes, which are got up with so much
solemnity, art nothing has than base attauincUkms ;
solemii crimes committed not by individuals, but by
entire nations, and of which erery indiridual must bear
the responsibility. The punishment of death is neces-
sary, say the partisans of ancient barbarity. Without
it there can be no adequate security against crime:
Who tells you so? Hare you really estimated the
springs whidi more the human heart ? Learn to how
many things does the catalogue of human woes tell you
that death is a relief. The lore of life yields to pride,
the most injurious of all passions which destroy the
hemrt It is often sought after as a cessation from pain
by the loyer, the bankrupt, and the drunkard. The
punishment, which is really overwhelming, is oppro-
brium— the general expression of public execration.
No one seeks Una a, refuge from the ills of life. When
the legislator can strike the guilty in so many ways,
merciful, yet terrible, bloodless, yet efficacious, why
should he ever recur to the hazard of a public execu-
tion? The legislator who prefers death to the milder
cfaastisements within his power, outrages every feeling,
and brutalises the minds of the people. Such a legis-
lator resembles the cruel preceptor who^ by the fr^
quent use of punishment, degrades and hardens the
miod of his pnpiL Listen to the voice of justice and of
reason. It tells us that human judgments are never
certain enough for society to condemn a man to death ;
those who condemn him being men, and . sul^ect to
error. If you had imagined the most perfect judicial
piocedure, if you had found judges the most honest and
the most enlightened, there would still always remain
some place for error. Wherefore will you, then, inter-
dict aU means of repairing your error ? Of what use
are sterile regrets, iUusory reparations, which you ac-
cord to a vain shadow, to the insensible remains of
your victim ? They are the sad witnesses of the bar-
barous temerity of your penal laws. To take away
from man the possitulity <k his expiating his misdeed
bj his repentanee, or by acts of virtue, is pitilessly to
dose against him all return to virtue, to his self-
ssteem ; and to hasten him to the tomb, covered with
the stain of his recent crime, which is in my eyes the
most horrible refinement of cruelty.'
It is the mark of weak writers and ordinary thinkers
to Uke but one sdf-consistoat view of any human cha-
racter. Human nature is in reality remarkable for no*
thing so much as its inconsistencies. Men change with
drcumstanoes, and even independently of them. It
ought not, therefore, to be exceedingly surprising to find
thu this man, who acquired by public acts the reputa-
tion of an inhuman monster, was bebved in the family
where he lodged, and by many other persons, and that
Bcsriy tb^ whole strain of his conduct as a politician
oonld be interpreted into a kind of philanthropy prose-
cuted under difficulties. Mr Lewes tells a whimsical
anecdote, which may help in its own way to illustrate
the character of the man.
* There is now Uving,* says our author, * in Paris, a
certain M. Legrand, who boasts of his acquaintance
with Robespierre, whom he regards as ** the best abused
man " of his acquaintance. To him Robespierre was a
** very amiable man in society.'* He only thinks of him
in that light The Reign of Terror is a sort of night-
mare—he no longer thinks of it The ** incorruptible"
to him is no fierce demagogue hounding on the passions
of an excited nation — ^no vain pedagogue, striving by
words of reason to calm those passions — ^but a pleasant,
amiable, gentlemanly Mlow enough, whom he delights
to remember. There is one story he always tells ; and
I regret that I must spoil it in the telling, wherein so
much depends upon the gesture, and the quiet senile
tone of voice ; but such as it Is, it wHl, I think, amuse
the reader :— ** Je me rappdle qu'une fois 6tant chez la
famille Lebas . . . . o& il aUait tres souvent . . . . j'entends
du bruit sur I'escalier. * Tiens I ' me suis-je toi^. * Je
pane que c'eet ce farceur de Robespierre .... car il
etait tr^s gal .... en sod^t^ (this epithet of farceur is
very piquant ! ) Effectivement c'^tait lui. II entre dans
le salon . . . .- je m'approche de lui, et je lui dis: * Citoyen
tu sais . . . . ou tu dois savoir .... que M. Legrand, un
parent h moi— -eh bien I il est condamni, et domain matin
.... (here a very significant gesture imitative of the
guillotine completes the sentence) .... Un homme,
citoyen, dont rinnooence m'eet prouv^ ! dont je r^ponds
comme de moi-mSme I . . . . Et la vie d'un innocent
citoyen, c'est quelquechose— quoi ! ' Alors il me r^pond :
* Yoyons, voyons, votre affidre' .... (car il 6tait fort
aimable en sodet^ — M. de Robespierre I) Je lui conta la
chose ; alors il me demande : ' A quelle heure ton ami
doit-il mourir ?' .... (car il ^tait fort aimable en society
— M. de Robespierre.) . . . . ' Citoyen,' que je lui r^ponds,
'c'est k neuf heures precises!' — ^* A neuf heuresi c'est
facheux I car tu sais que je travaille tard ; ainsi comme
je me couche tard, je me Idve tard. Je orains que je ne
serais pas lev6 en temps de sauver votre ami .... mais
nous verrons, nous verrons!' .... (car il 6tait fort
aimable en soci^t^ — M. de Robespierre.) After a short
pause, he continues : ' II parait .... que M de Robes-
pierre avait beauooup travaille cette nuit: car mon
pauvre ami ! ' .... (Here again the guillotining ges-
ture.) ' C'est ^gal I Je suis sur que s'il n'avait pas tant
travaille, il aundt sauve mon pauvre ami .... car il
dtait fort aimable en soci^t^— M. de Robespierre.' "
It is interesting and satisfactory to observe the pro-
gress of truth in even such a case as that of Robespierre.
The exigency which drove into sanguinary measures
a man who naturally started at the very idea of judicial
death, also caused his character to be regarded by his
feUow-creatures as something beyond nature. By and
by, terrw and rage cool down, and our sense of the
naturalness of aU things is pleasied to find that Robes-
pierre was, after all, nothing more or less than a man.
TWO AFFAIRS OF HONOUR.
Thb duel is by far the most curious relic of barbarism
that has come down to modem times. In the dark ages
it was simply the law of the strong, afterwards modified
and harmonised by the forms and pageants of chivalry.
But so far from passing away with other mediaeval
customs, in the first eighteen years of the reign of the
' good Henri Quatre' the lives of 4000 gentlemen of
France were sacrificed to the Moloch which men fantas-
tically called Honour; and in the time of Louis XIII.,
we are told by Lord Herbert that at PSris the question
asked by acquaintances in the morning was not ' What
is the news ?' but ' Who fought yesterday ? '
Now that this hideous absurdity seems, in England
at least to be passing fairly out of fashion, one is sur-
prised io think how men, in any tolerably enlightened
age^ could have been such fools or cowards as to submit
1 1
to a Uw BO tynumical and irratioDaL It is easy to
conceire that a boUy, oonfident in hii bnite nenres,
dexterous aim, or practised swordsmanihip, might desire
to employ these adrantages in reyenging himself upon
his enemy ; but the odd thing is, that tibe enemy, possess-
ing perhaps neither nerre, dexterity, nor practioe, should
have felt himself compelled, in defiance both of the law
and tiie Qospel, to * go out' at the command of the
other, and altow himsdf to be slaughtered like a calf!
We all remember the story of * fating Fitagerald,'
when he determined to be *chose*amemb^of Brooks^s,
and the nerrous shrinking and foeTarioation of ad-
mirals, genovls, ktfda, and oommooers, when the bully
marched into the club-room, and inquired of eadi in
turn who it was that had bladcbaUed him ? *Iaityou,
sur, who has been after blackballing an Irish jontleman
— % jontleman both by ikther and mother— and a jon-
tleman—<a general laugfa)~a jondeman, I say (in a
Toice of tiiunder), who mvtr wuued hig wumf* Not one
would own the graT« ofifenoe; and Fitzgerald, oaUing
for a bottle of champagne, sat cooUy down to enjoy
himself remarking that * he knew bt was chose — ^tfaat
he was sure the blackhalling was all a mistakel'
But now that men have at length thrown off tiie
bondage of buUyism, or at least are in the act of doing
so, we cannot shut our eyes upon the hct, that there is
one cUun of the community which wiU sufSsr by the
change : this is the daas of dramatic authors. To say
nothing df the duel itself being a stock incident in the
modem comedy, the laws of 'honour' are among the
principal moral agents of the piece. The leydution in
manners, therefore, now in progress, wiU here be pro-
ductife of some embarrassment, and in conjunction wift
the melandioly depriTation of highwajrmen, and by and
by of Scotch marriages, will porhaps eventually driTe
the dramaliafes into a new field. If these gentiemen,
howcTer, read as industriously as they write, there would
be no occasion to despair for aome time to come, at least
in the case of the melodrama. They would leam that
their Terrific Combats haye grown nauseous, not from
repetitionof the fact, but of the manner; and they would
discover in the dndling costooM of foreign countries
enov^ of Doyelty to ei^ble them to make the hair of
their audience stand on end for years to come. To
prove this, we shall now pceaent ^em with a recital of
two affahv of honour, one occorriDg in Africa, and the
other in Asia; and we choose these eTsmplea the rather
that most writers en the duel deny the existence of the
practice to Eastern countries.
Our first scene is laid in Kordo6ui, one of the most
southern prorinoes of Egypt* lying between the deserts
of Dongda and Darte, and stretching away aoutiiwards
into the term Moofaite of tiie continent, llie Dongolavi
are the wealthtest tribe in the country, and are distin-
guished from the other inhabitants by wearing long
shirts with wide sleeves, and a small white cap, with a
shawl of the same colour wrapped round it in the man-
ner of a Turkish turban. Hie married women are
swathed in the folds of an ample cotton doth, the end
of which hangs gracefully over one shoulder; their
eyelids are adorned with powdered antimony, and their
noses, fb^ers, wrists, and anUes, with rings of copper
or s'dver ; and their woolly hair is arranged, with infinite
labour, in hundreds of small curls, which they are so
afraid of disarranging, that they frequently sleep on a
couch with a boUow to admit the coiffure.
These Dongolavi belles, it may be supposed, are
objects of considerable interest to the men; although
this does not prevent them from being employed in the
drudgery of servants, such as pla^mg straw -mats,
making wicker-baskets, so ckMely ister&ced, as to be
used for milk vessels, and even tanning lealher, while
the lords of the creation look gravely on smoking theff
pipes. But when the laboun of the day are ended, then
come the compensations of the vroown. The sound of
the tarabaka, a drum beaten by the hand, caUs the
inhahitaats to a blazing fire, lighted here and there be-
fore the houses; where the men, with their glittwiag
wives, sit down in a cirde, and all begin to sing la
chorus. Presently there bounds into the drde an an.
married girl, who performs a dance to tiie meatoie of
the tune, marked by ihe beating of hands. At tfaii
moment tSt her laboun are fbrgotten. She is oonttitB-
tionally merry and thoughtless, but now she is wild wiA
delight; and although her hard work had probaUx
lasted without intennission from eariy moraing, aU
symptoms of weariness disappear, and m the ooone of
the dance ahe performs feats of muscular strength,
tiiougfa moving her feet but little, sudi as in England
we only see on tiie stage. The movements are at fint
slow, but increase gradually in rapidity, till, as sn eye-
witness remarks, 3rou can hardly persiude yourself tlial
you are actually looking on a human bdng, and not on
a thing of springs and wires. When she hss dsnoed
herself out, die retires, and another takes her place;
and so on till the whole girlhood of the party is astii-
fied, which rardy takes place before midnight
When one of these danoen has particulaziy distia-
gnished hersdf, die is called back by the speckaton, la
is the fashion in Europe, to receive their pbuiditi; snd
here, as a special honour, she is made to stand forth,
while a sword is fiourished over her head. This cere-
mony is performed by her admirer; but alas! it some-
times happens in Kordofan, as elsewhere, that the hai
more than one; and thus are introduced into the
happy party jealousies and heartburnings, to be fol-
lowed on the morrow by blows and blood. Let is tnp-
pose that a quarrd has oocunted. Let us rsase our
curtain upon tiie fatefiil morning which is to determine
it Let us see whether there is not something nofd si
well as striking (without a pun) in the settonent of
an African affair of honour.
The season is the beginning of spring, and the place
one of the islands of the desert which fSrm the country
of Kordofon. The first showw has fallen ; and nature,
burnt up for months before to a cnnder, has assumed, si
if by magic, her livery of verdure and flowers. The
grass rises to sudi a hdght, that in the fidds people an
aware of the approach of a passenger more by sonsd
than sight Creeping plants wind up the loftiest toeei,
and fling their gay streamera in triumph from the
summit InnummUe birds flutter through the groresi
andflll the air with mdody;* butterflies and other in-
sects vie with them in variety and gorgeousness of hie;
and plants equaUy countless, and as brilliant breathe
forth so powerfol a perfunoe, that the traveller of the
desert is aware of his neariag the oasis before it eomei
in view, and feds a sort of intoxication sted over hii
aensei as he seems to Inhale
* SabcBsn odonis fr«m the spicy ahoce.*
On the present occasion the village is pouring lacth ill
crowd to a common centre at some llttie distsnee; sad
while an astonished ostrich is seen here and there^
sparring oil^ * like a horseman that travels in hsst^'
the antelopes and giraffes browsing in the plain wait
for a moment to gase on tiie cavalcade before boan(fiB|
out of its way.
The first arrivals are chiefly women, Uanog in tH
the finery of rings, bracelets, and anklets ; and adoreei
besides, with strings of beads of Bdiemian glass rouDd
tfadr heads and necks, and with small round pistes of
gdd deprading upon their foreheads. T^en come the
men, armed with sword and dagger, the aheatiis sooe-
times ornamented with agates, and the handles of mas-
sive silver. On thdr back is a large ovd shield, snd in
a leathern quiver hanging firam their ahoulden a soppi^
of spean or javdins. Some slaves oairy an oiyw
used both as a bedstead and sofia, and covered with
beautiAilly-variegated matting. This is set down amosf
the trees, in a phtce affording snflUnent shade, and yet
spacious enough to hdd ihe eompany. Among tkii
company there is one young giri vrfao seems to assuw
some airs of mingled modesty and importance. She
is tiie distinguish^ dancer of the evening before, aad
is now the daject of unusod attentloo, having been
fmiied bf lore mnd gauos ftom domeetio into public
life. Among the men are the two doeliiftt, as yet un-
amed, mnd whoUj nnooTered, except bjr a doth round
the kunaw Their dark akina, laboriooaly poUahod with
▼aiioQa oik, ahine like patent leather ; and a noTice in
the spectacle that la to enaoe woold shrink at the idea
that thia beantifhl svriiioe is presentljr to be broken with
woonds and dabbled with blood.
AU ia now ready. The dndlista stand confronting
each other, with only the narrow angorsb between
Ihain; and their weapons are pnt into their hands.
What weapon t Piatol— «pear---jaTeIin ? No : a whip 1
Bot it ia no joke thia wh^ bat m solid thong of the
hide of the hippopotamoa. Their friends endeavour for
the laat time to shake their resolution, to ezi^ain, and
padfy I but all is in Tain. How could it be otherwise
when the lady of tiielr krre is standing by, when her
reputation, aa mil as their own, hangs upon the issue,
whsD her eyes are fixed upon their Ikces, and readyto
detect the first symptom of a ikltering heart? The
yonng men are firm; and as the aignal is at length
giveo, one of them^ who has the first fire, disdiarges
his terrible whip upon the naked back of the other,
wttik a Ibroe which makes tfie blood spout, and tears off
the akin in a ribbon. A shout of applause rises from
the spectatora, for the youth has borne tbe lash without
shrinking ; and in his turn he now whirls the thong
nmnd hU head, and makes it descend upon his rivid
bstireen the shoulders. The result is the same ; and,
warming in the glorious game, the floggers ply their
whips fiercer and fiMter, neither of them making the
riigfateat attempt to elude the blow, but, on the con-
truj, diaposing their bodiea so as to reoeiye its fhll
bsD^t—fbr that is the DongolaTian point of honour.
And BO goea on the combat of force ana endurance, till
tbe bodiea of both are one mass of exposed flesh, fringed
with long strips of skin, and the blood pouring down
thw limba, and forming a pool round tli»ir (bet Not
tiie aligfatest expression of pain has beeU uttered by
sitiier party : but at length 1»e strength of one of them
foils; ho ia iaint with the lose of blood, and unable,
through fatigue, to return blow for blow ; and, with an
efibK of perhaps stiU more courage than he has yet
exhibited, he throws down his whipw This terminates
the duel; the two combatants shake hands; and the
spectators rend the air with thehr phiudita, and Crowd
around to congratulate them on tiiehr reconciliation.
The laowated bi^ks are washed with odd water ; plen-
tiful draughts of morissa (a kind of beer) are quaflfed by
tbe whole assembly, and the caTalcade return to the
Tillage — in time no doubt for the erening dance.
8<Kfa is a DongolaTi dud; and any one may see
ttat it requirea infinitdy more true courage to go
thraugh wi^ it creditably than the sword or pistd
eombi^ of £un>pe. If Fighting Eitsgendd, on refusing
to leaTo tiM room at Brooks's, had been offered this
aUematiTe, he would haTe made Tery fisw ateps trwn
the top to tbe bottom of the stairs, and we have a strong
suspicion that he would ncTer haTe been seen again in
that quarter of ttie town in his lifo. But independently
of the pietnresque of ^e affidr, whidi we trust we have
made maaifbst^ we would impress upon the dramatists
the great moral lesson of which it is the direct and
Mtural Tehide. It was a magnificent idea to place
vhipe in iSbe handa of the boy-men who settle their dis-
putes by meana of single combat; and without putting
the goremment to the expense CTen of a thong, to make
tiiem leaTe the Add with well-scourged backs, that
would be SOTO hnd stifl^ we will warrant you, for a
iBonth tooome.
We must now turn to our second tableau, a duel de-
cided with swords, but in a fidd of battle, so original,
sod, Ittotdly, ao unearthly, that we wonder how the
idea could haTe entered into peojde*s heads at all. The
afiair came off on the borders of Sinde and Bdoochistan,
where the two countries are at odds with each other
whidi is which. A feud had raged there for some time
between two cooaideraUe tribes, to the great efi^ision of
blood and destruction of crops and flocks; and at length
a khan, or chief^ of the name d Buckree, addressed a let-
ter to another called Fungus, proposing that the afiair
should be decided once for all by a personal encounter
between them. Buckree, be it understood, was a Jack
Ram, and Fungus a Bungoolzuddock-nfor these are the
euphonious names d the two warring tribes to which
the gentlemen seTerally belonged. Fungus accepted
iho cartd without hesitoUon, and a day and place were
appointed.
In ordinary circumstances, ^e Bdoochi women, who
are somewhat of the plainest, are regarded by their
lords as infbrior animals, and are suffered unnoticed to
get through the drudgery of the house as they think
fit ; but in any extraordinary exigence, such as a duel
or a foray, they are taken into council, and their opiniona
listened to with singular respect In fbct it is only
such exigencies that rouse the male sex at all, for at
other times they do nothing but smoke, drink, sleep,
and fotten. Accordingly, there was on the present occa-
sion a great fluttering about the houses of the two chiefii
of full petticoaU and blue mantles, which, with trousers
and kerchief, form the costume of the Beloochi fair.
There were also the seyuds of the two fomilies, holy
men wearing green manties and red beards, and acting
as physicians and father confessors in one. With the
aasistance of these adTisers the affair was arranged;
and when tiie day came, the whole population of the
country-side might haTe been seen crowding to a groTe
of tamarind-trees in the plains of Kowsharra. From all
pointo of the compass the Bdoochis came scudding
along on thdr wild shdties, to which the rider presents
a remarkable oontaiast. Small, meagre, and unkempt,
but swift and hardy almost beyond belief, the horse
looks unworthy of the large and muscular personage he
bears, whose dark compl^on, aquiline noee, large and
expresslTC eyes, and long hair falling in bushy ringlets
OTer his shoulders, appears to some to bespeak a Jewish
origin. He wears an immense turban twisted round bis
head, and a short-waisted, tight-fitting body, and sleeves
of white doth, with a Tast petticoat. This strange figure
is armed to tiie teeth witii sword, shidd, matchlock,
poniard, and other weapons, and loaded with bdts,
powder-flasks, ball-pouches, and numerous other mili-
tary appendages, embroidered in coloured silk, and
adorned with fringes and tassds. A numerous con-
course of this kind must form a striking sight ; but at
present they are Taried with groups of women in their
out-of-door's mantie, coTcring them like a shroud from
head to foot and wayfaring seyuds and armed fakirs
wdl mounted and equipped. The tamarind grove was
already crowded with spectotors, and the tom-tom or
drum, cymbals, and guitar, were heard from the midst
A group of dancing-girls, the unfailing accompaniment
d CTery spectacle in this part of the country, were dose
at hand, and numerous camels and horses picketted
around filled up the picture.
Tbe two combatante at length appeared, each with an
escort of his clan ; and besides being Urge and heavy
men, appeared loaded with arms to an extent which
threatened to impede tiieir motions. But this is not the
case, for there are no swordsmen in Asia more ex-
pert ; and their weapons are so exquisitdy keen, that a
Bdoochi will fling upon the air a leaf of tissue paper,
and sever it in two before it reaches the ground. Such
were the swords that were to dedde the feud — but not
on terra firma ! Two loftr tamarind-treea that were
within a slight distance or each other were selected,
and a long thick rope was fostened to the upper branches
of each, and the other end firmly knotted round the
waisto of the two combatants. They were then drawn
up, each to his own tree, till their toes were four feet
from the ground, and the ropes were then made fast
Thus they hung for a while, balandng thdr weight,
adjusting their large shidds, and tiying their terrible
swords upon the idr, till the signal was giTen.
At that moment some assistanto below, catehing
them by the fieet chew them back as far as they could
nz
188
GHAMBEBB'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
reach, and then gave them an impetm forward. On-
ward flew the warriors towards each olher, and a crash
and a clang told of their meeting. But the collision
was only instantaneous ; for haTing struck, they finished
their swing, and then returned, hack to back, but
struggling desperately to whirl round, that thejr mi^t
either stnke or defend themselyes. And so this truly
Terrific Combat went on, encouraged by the beating of
the drum, the dash of the cymbals, the screaming of the
women, the shouts of the men ; and the aerial pace of
the warriors accelerated by the Airious pulls and pushes
of their anxious dan. Their great shidds serred for
some time for a defence ; but as their motions became
more irregular, from tiieir own maddening efforts and
the enthusiasm of their firiends, their bodies were more
frequently exposed to the blows, till their white gar-
ments were at length dyed wiUi blood, which rained
down in showers upon the heads of those bdow. It
seems scarcdy credible, but this singular dud actually
lasted thrte hourt; and it was only terminated by one
of the combatants being thrown within the guaurd of
the other, and entirdy disabling him by a thrust
through his right arm.
This decided the Tictory, as was instantly acknow-
ledged by all parties ; the chiefs were lowered to the
ground, and clasped each other as friends to thdr
bloody bosoms; and the tom-tom, the cymbals, the
guitar, the dancing -girls, the fakirs, the Beloochi
women, and the Beloochi men, celebrated the result
with a prdonged noise which rang through the tama-
rind groTe, and startled the londy flock-keepers at the
most distant boundaries of the pUuns of Nowsharra.
And what more, oh ooncocters of the mdodrama?
Only this — for we do not rdate a flction, but a fact —
that Buckree espoused a sister of Fungus, and that
peace was restored in the two tribes. Down with the
curtain I
ANECDOTES OF THE ARISTOCRACY.*
* Thb nobles and gentlemen of England, Ireland, and
Scotland,' says Mr Burke in his prefisce to those anec-
dotJes, ' haTe a capadty and chivalry of soul, and a
daring spirit of adTenture, which must make $ome qf
them at Uatt heroes of manrdlous transactions at every
time, whether their course of life confines them to their
statdy mansions, and their unriTalled senate at home,
or whether it leads them to foreign tra?d or to fidds of
war.' The qualifying words we have printed in italics
cripple this peroration, but it is incurably lamed by
what follows : * and we submit that such is the case by
the attestation of these volumes.' The volumes attest
nothing more than what the rational reader would be-
lieve if the work had never seen the light at all, that
in the aristocracy there are good and bad, mean and
heroical, just as in other classes.
As a literaiT performance, we cannot say anything
in praise of the work, and indeed the author seems
rardy to have aimed at much more than a plain state-
ment of facts. The exceptions are a few legends, in
which preternatural machinery is introduced as origi-
nating real events ; but in general the anecdote is given
in a brief business-like manner, and frequently termi-
nated in the style of a peerage, with the names, mar-
riages, and deaths of the descendants. This adds in
some cases to the value of the work, but does not render
more readable a book of miscellaneous anecdotes, where
the thread of interest is broken almost in every page,
and where the readers of the Lounger's Commonplace
Book and other similar collections wiU not find a great
deal that is new and original
Wi^ all these deductions, nevertheless, the book has
its value, and may be dipped into from time to time
with advantage, both by the genealogist and the mere
seeker of amusement To the latter of these readers
* B. J. Benuwd Durke, Esq. 2 vols. London: Calbnm. 18401
we shall offer some favourable spedmens of the sort of
entertainment he may expect.
It is repeated by everybody that ' tru^ is stranger
than fiction ;' but on perusing some of these psges ve
are more struck by the fact, that there is a stemoen
about truth which makes fiction shrink and wither.
Who does not remember the story of that damsel of
low degree who was wooed and won by an obtcore
stranger, and who, on being taken home to her fotue
dwelling, found it a palace ? This palace was Biildgh,
the magnificent mansion of the Cecils ; the mysteriooi
bridegroom was the late Marquis of Exeter; and the
astonished giri was a farmer's daughter, afterwards the
mother of the present matrquis. Poets and noveliiti
have revelled in this charndng story, and dwelt witii
sympathetic ddight upon the bewilderment dt the
lovdy bride subsiding into true and lasting haroineM.
But this is fiction looming fact — for, alas! w ro-
mance had a very different termination. *Her Udj-
ship, unaccustomed to the exalted nhere in which ihe
moved, chilled by its formalities, and depressed in her
own esteem, survived a few years only hcnr extnordi-
nary elevatton, and sank into an early grave— a me-
morable example of the insufficiency m rank and lb^
tune to secure happiness.'
In skimming the first vdume, we are arrested neit
by an inddent of a different kind, occurring in the life
of Lady Catherine Thynne, who was married to an old
gentleman. Sir Walter Long of Drayton. When the
old husband was on his deathbed, he exacted a solemn
pledge from his young wife that she would remain
iaithM to his memory $ but her ladvship forgot her
obligation, and gave her hand eventually to Sir Edwsid
Toung. When the marriage procession returned from
the church, and the new bridegroom was leading hii
lady into the parlour, the portrait of old Sir Walter
Long, which hung above the door, fdl suddedy down
upon the shoulder of the bride, and cracked itself againit
the floor 1 ' This,' says Aubrey, * made her ladyihip
reflect upon her promise, and drew some tears from
her eyes. It was indeed a capital hit of pofthmnoai
jealousy.
Here is another promise better kept Mr Hsit-
ings, the legitimate neir of the earldom of Hontiog*
don, while residing with the earl as his domestic disp-
lain, ' became enamoured of a pretty chambermsid
called Betsy Warner, then living in the family, and to
her he promised solemnly that she should be his wife,
as soon as he got possession of the living of Great sod
Little Leke. In the ebbs and flows of human life, snd
its shifting concerns, early acquaintances are looo
separated and forgotten. Thirty 3rear8 had etspsed.
Mr Hastings, meantime, had married and lost his wife,
and gained a second living — that of Great and Little
Leke. One day the venerable dd pastor was surpriied
by the appearance of a strange postchaise- and -four
driving rapidly up the avenue to die parsonage-boose;
An dderly gentlewoman alighted from it, ioA Min
Warner was ushered into his veneraUe presence; After
an interval of surprise and recognition, she proceeded
to tdl him ** that she had come to daim the fulfilment
of his promise ; that he had long since made the sc-
quisition of fortune on which his obligation of perfonn-
ance depended ; and that on hw part she had nerer,
by the dightest indiscretion, swerved from an engage-
ment which she considered sacred from the first mo-
ment'* The result was, that the Beverend gentiemsa
having duly satisfied himself by diligent inquiry coo-
oeming his betrothed's conduct and obaracter, which
was found to have been strictly correct the bans weif
tbrmally announced in the church by himself and
the parties married accordingly.' The old gentleman
was not ambitious. He assumed the title of esri fer
a while; but disliking litifl^tion, he gave himidf no
troi:dl)l0 about it being loth, as he said himself to
miUco his wife Betsy Countess of Huntingdoo.
Mr Burke tells in a few sentences the story of Ladj
Drogheda and Wyoherly the dramatist alreai^ Oyniliar,
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
189
I
we prerame, to many of our readers. The Goontefli of
Drogheda — a young, rich, and beaatifiil widow, eldest
daughter of Uie Earl of Radnor, Lord-Lieutenant of
IreUnd — ^waa one daj, in the year 1679, in a bookseller'fl
ah<^ at Tnnbridge hiqairing for the 'Plain Dealer.'
The author happened to be present, and the bookseller
good-naturedly presented him to her ladyship as the
real Plain Deiler. This casual meeting led to an ac-
quaintance, and soon after the poet and the countess
were married. The poor lady died soon after her mar-
riage, settling her whole property upon Wycherly ; but
the will was litigated, and the extraTagance of the
dramattat landed him in prison, where he lay for seToral
years. When in his eightieUi year, however, and just
efeTen dnjn before his death, he married another young
woman with a fortune of L.1500. A considerable por-
tion of this he contriTed to spend, learing her with
the renudnder the very judicious adyice, * not to take
an old man for her second husband.'
It haa not be<»i a very uncommon thing, it appears,
for lady - aristocrats to marry beneath their rank.
Frances, a daughter of Viscount Bindon, * descended so
low aa to marry one Prannel, a yintner's son in Lon-
don.' The husband died, and left her a young, beautiful,
and rich widow. She thereupon encouraged the ad-
dresses of Sir G^rge Rodney ; but on the appearance
of the Earl of Hertford in the field, die jilted Sir Cxeorge,
and married the peer. The deserted loyer followed the
eari and countess to Amesbury, where, after sending
her some despairing yerses written in his own blood, he
feu upon his sword, and slew himself. After the earl's
deoesuse, she might haye been Duchess of Lennox ; but
te fiair heroine's success had opened out such yast pro-
spects for her ambition, that ahe oould be satisfied with
nothing less than royalty, and actually spread her nets
to cflitdi the king. The king, howeyer, would not be
eaoi^t, and she died Countess of Hertford in 1639. An
amttsing anecdote of her is giyen by an old writer : —
* When she was Countess of Hertford, and found ad-
aiirers about her, she would often discourse of her two
grandfathers, the Dukes of Norfolk and Buckingham ;
recounting the time since one of her grandfath^ did
this, the other did that : but if the earl her husband
casDe in i>resence, she would quickly desist ; for when
he Ibund her in these exaltations, to take her down he
would say, ** Frank, Frank, how long is it since thou
wert married to Prannel ? " which would damp the wings
of her spirit, and make her look after her feet, as well
as gaudy phtmes.'
A more interesting heroine is Mary, Countess of Ork^
ney. This lady was deaf and dumb, and was married in
1753 1^ signs to her cousin, the first Marquis of Tho-
mond. Soon after the birth of her first child, the nurse,
who seems to haye watched with curiosity, and not
witiiout suspicion, the proceedings of * a dumbie,' saw
the young mother creep cautiouSy towards the cradle
of her child, as if her brain was busy with some deep
dedgn. Presently she took a large stone from under
her shawl, and raised it up in both hands. The woman,
who had expected nothing so dreadf\il as this, was pa-
ttljwsd with horror. She could not moye — she could
not scream ; and the next instant down came the stone.
It fieQ on the floor, howeyer, not on the cradle ; and
when the child started, and awoke screaming, the
countess fell on her knees in a transport of joy, her ex-
periment haying proyed that her infant possessed the
sense which was wanting in l^rselfL
Let us instance one more lady, and then turn from
the fiftscinations of the sex. Eli»ibeth Spencer, wife of
hard Compton, afterwards Earl of Northampton, was
the greatest heiress of the time of James I. Her flsther
was Sir John Spencer, lord-mayor of London, who left
a fbrttme estimated at fitmi L.300,000 to L800,000 — an
shnost boundless treasure in those days. On the inhe-
ritance fUUing to him through his wife, Lord C<Nnpton
went out of his wits for joy; but recoyerinff after a
time, he receiyed the following letter flrom her ladyship,
whk^ is given as affording a pretty complete, though
perhaps exaggerated, picture of the woman of fashion
and fortune of that day : —
* Mt Swsbt Life— Now I haye declared to you my
mind for the settling of your state, I suppose that it
were best for me to bethink and consider within myself
what allowance were meetest for me. ... I pray and
beseech you to grant to me, your most kind and loying
wife, the sum of L.2600 quarterly to be paid. Also I
would, besides that allowance, haye L.600 quarterly to
be paid, for the performance of charitable works : and
those things I would not, neither will be accountable
fbr. Also, I will haye three horses for my own saddle,
that none shall dare to lend or borrow; none lend but I,
none borrow but you. Also, I would haye two gentle-
women, lest one should be sick, or haye some other let.
Also, belieye it, it is an undeoent thing fbr a gentle-
wonum to stand mumping alone, when God hath blessed
their lord and lady with a great estate. Also, when I
ride a-hunting, or a-hawking, or trayel fW>m one house
to another, I will haye them attending ; so, for either fk
those said women, I must and will haye for either of
them a horse. Also, I will haye six or eight gentlemen ;
and I will haye my two coaches, one lined with yelyet
to mysdf, with four very fair horses ; and a coach for
my women, lined with doth, and Uoed with gold, other-
wise with scairlet, and laoed with silyer, with four good
horses. Also, I will haye two coachmen, one for my
own coach, the other for my women. Also, at any time
when I trayel, I will be allowed not only caroches and
spare horses for me and my women, but I will haye such
carriages as shall be fitting fbr all, orderly, not pester*
ing my things with my women's, nor theirs with either
chambermaids, nor theirs with washmakis. Also, for
laundresses, when I trayel, I will haye them sent away
befbre with the carriages, to see all safe. And the
chambermaids I will haye go before, that the chamber
may be ready, sweet, and clean. Also, for tiut it is
undecent to crowd up myself with my gentleman-usher
in my coach, I will haye him to haye a conyenient
horse to attend me, either in city or country. And I
must haye two footmen. My desire is, that you defhiy
all the charges for me. And for myself, besides my
yearly allowance, I would haye twenty gowns of apparel,
six of them excellent good ones, eight of them for the
country, and six other of them yery excellent good
ones. Also, I would have to put in my purse L.2000,
and L200, and so you to pay my debts. Also, I would
haye L.6000 to buy me jewels, and L4000 to buy me a
pearl chain. Now, seeing I haye been, and am, so rea-
sonable unto you, I pray you do find my children apparel,
and their schooling, and all my seryants, men and
women, their wages. Also, I will haye all my houses
famished, and my lodging-chambers to be suited with
all such furniture as is fit — as beds, stools, chairs, Buit*
able cushions, carpets, silyer warming-pans, cupboards
of plate, fiur hangings, and such-like. So for my draw-
ing-chamber in ail houses, I will haye them delicately
famished, both with hangings, couch, canopy, glass,
carpet, chairs, cushions, and all things thereunto be-
longing. Also, my derire is, that you would pay your
debts, build up Ashby House, and purchase lands, and
lend no money, as you loye God, to my lord-chamber-
lain, who would haye all, perhaps your life, from you. . . .
So, now that I haye declared to you what I would haye,
and what it is that I would not haye, I pray you, when
you be an earl, to allow me L.2000 more than I now
desire, and double attendance.'
An old English squire of the same reign is equally
interesting. Mr Hastings was of high rank and good
estate in Dorsetshire ; but he built himself a lodge in
the New Forest, Hampshire, and shut himself up there
for life with his horses and dogs. * He had enclosed
with his own labour a yast paddock, which he called
his park, and which he kept well stodced with deer and
rabbits, with fish-ponds of his own making. He had
also contriyed a narrow bowling-green behind this
eodosure, where he pUyed by himself, chalking up for
parties, at if he had any* In the same place he had
190
CHAMBEKS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
also a banqnetiiig-foom, built like a booth in a fidr,
where he entertained some of the poaching peaaantry ;
for although he waa a ranger, he waa reasonable, and if
they ma^ him preaents, he took no more notica' Hia
best room waa (nil of the implementa and ipoila of the
chase ; and his bedroom and parlonr were lumbered
with numerous litters of kittens and puppies. His talk
was of the genealogy of cats and dogs, of hawks' bills,
rings, and birds' eggs, which last he kept in great num-
bers in the crowns of hats. After the example of his
patron and matter, King Jamea L, he deyoted a room
in his house to deyotion — that is to say, to a pulpit and
desk, the only use of which he made waa as m safe de-
posit for salted meata and seasoned pies. * The troubles
of the times disturbed him not; for he had forgotten
the Idng, and the court had forgotten him;' and at
length, in 1650, he died peaceftilly at the age of ninety-
nine.
The f(^wlng amusing anecdote is told of the late
Earl of Dudley's habit of thinking aloud :— ' Lord Dudley
had been iuTited to the house of a fHend, upon the occa-
sion of some great iete, but being a man of early habits,
had orde^ Ms carriage at a certain hour, having some
miles to travel before he could obtain his accustomed
repose. To his great mortifloation, after repeated in-
quiries for Lord Dudley's carriage, it had not arrived,
and his lordship, as well as others, imagined that some
accident must have happened to it One of the gueats,
seeing how much his lordship was disconcerted by the
event, very politely offered him a seat in his. The
gentleman in question had to pass his lordship's house
on his return home, and though he was almost a stranger
to Lord Dudley, hia rank and position in the county
were of course well known to him, and the civility waa
no more than one gentleman would, under similar cir-
cumstances, have offered to another. Nevertheless, they
had not been seated in the carriage more than twen^
minutes, when the peer, who, being tired, had up to that
moment maintained a most perfect silence, observed, in
a low, but distinctly-audible tone of voice — '* I'm very
sorry I accepted hia offer. I don't know the man. It
was civil, certainly ; but the worst is, I suppose I must
ask him to dinner. It's a deuce of a bore!" He then
relapsed into bis former state of taciturnity, when, after
a few minutea, the gentleman, pretending to be afflicted
with the same failing, and imitating his lordship's tone,
observed, ** Perhaps he'll think I did it to make his
aoquaintanoe. Why, I would have done tiie same to
any farmer on his estate. I hope he wont think it
necessary to ask roe to dinner; for I sha'n't accept
his invitation I" Lord Dudley listened to him with
earnest interest, immediately oompvehended the joke
which he had himself provoked, offered his hand with
much hearty good-will to his companion, making every
proper apology for his involuntary rudeness, and firom
that night the travellers became inseparable fHends.'
SYSTEM OP EDUCATION IN AMERICA.
The following sucoinct aecount of the edacational system
In Ameriea was given at the November eoirde of the Lan-
cashire School AjBsooiation by Mr Walter Ferguson: —
A feature which strikes every visitor is the general in-
telligence of the Americans. Except in one or two of the
lar|(eit cities, and that chiefly among the imported popu-
lation, there is no class to be found answering to oar masses
of unskilled labonrera in town and country, whose wants
and enjoyments are for the most part those of the lower
animalsi and their power to eontribute to the wellbeing of
themselves, their families, and the state, little differing in
kind or degree firom that of brutes or machines. The de-
gree of elevation of the mass of the populace above this
level varies in different states in remarkable proportion to
the quantity and quality of popular education — according
as the common schools of the state are best and most ex-
tensive, and have been so the longest time. The states
may be classed, in an eduoational point of view, hi three
divirions. The first comprises New England and New
York; the second, the far states of the west ; and the third,
the slave states q£ the south and south-west Femisylvania
and New Jersey, geogrspUeayy speaUag, would beloQg to
the first division, but their edueationsl status is sosietiy
such as to entitle them to a place in it.
The five old New England States, Msssaehusetts, Con-
necticut, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and YeriBooi,
are by far the most interesting portion of the new worid;
and it is questionable if in either hemisphere a coounimiiy
of equal size can be found which exhibits such a model
of moral and physical wellbeing as the commonwealth of
Massachusetts. These states are a striking Instance of the
vast preponderance of moral over physical elements in the
prosperity of states. In spite of tne disadvantages of soil
and climate under which na people labour, they are better
off and hapi^er, and their praqserity rests on a sorer fbo-
dation, than that of the states move favoured bj satint.
The New EngUnd States, with New York which s^joiiii
them, are about the twelfth of the surface of the Unios,
but contain one-fourth of its population, and prohaUy
much more than half its wealtn. This is the part of the
country in which popular education is most widdy diffowd,
and of the best quality. Each state has its own ivetem :
that of Massachusetts, which has affbrded a model to the
other New England States, and which has been reeentlj
adopted by the state of New York, with some important
mooifications, is the most celebrated. It is the frnit of a
series at enaetanents extending tnm the middle of the seffoa-
teenth century to the present day. Conneotioat paaaed a
law for the establishment of school* in 16S0, and the other
New England States provided at various times Ibr the nu-
vemal instruction of tneir youth, in what still stands in the
statute book of Massachusetts as the minimum of teadiing
in her schools — ^namely, ' Reading, writing, Eojgliah gram-
mar, geography, arithmetic, and good behavioor.* Pre-
vlonslj to the vear 1847, there had been no medinm of
communication between the different common sehoob of
the state, but each was supported by its own distriet, and
followed its own system of education, the legiaktore hi-
terfering no fhrther than to exact the penalties for nefrieet
of the school laws. In that year, however, a Board of Edu-
cation was appointed, to which. Mr Horace Mann wai
nominated secretary, to collect and diffuse information,
and to devise and recommend improvements. It was
clothed with no power but that of enforcing retoma, iti
functions being to act on the local school committees hj
persuasion alone, and to lead them to improvement bj
the light which its yeariy reports afforded them on the
subje^
The Massachusetts system, as It at present snhsiita,
may be thus described: — Its means are derived from local
taxes, aided by a school fund, dispensed by the state.
This fund arises fW>m old sales of state propertj, aad
claims for military serviee, &o. allowed to the state hy the
United States government. It amounts at pveseet to
750,000 dolhtfs, and its increase la limited to a niHioD.
But the chief support of the schools is from local taxei»
which are raised oy every town as, and along with, ito
municipal taxes for genend purposes. The expenses maj
be thus divided :— I tf. The parent provides oooks, sta-
tionery, &c. ; 2rf, The district provides school-honses, ftir-
niture, and apparatus ; S(f, The town provides salaries of
teachers ; ana fbr this purpose, and proriding Aiel, most
raise a tax of at least 1| dollar for every child in the town
between the ages of four and sixteen. Towns, aeoordiMta
their population, must maintain schools of different gradei,
and ror longer or shorter portions of the year, proTided
that each town raise not less than the above unoaDt for
each child, to be expended aa above. School districts, or
territorial subdivisions of the towns, when formed by the
towns, and authorised by a note of the town for this ^m-
pose, may elect their own district officers, raise money for
Dullding and repairing school-houses, and providing ap^
ratus and libraries. Every inhabitant who has any wice
in public affairs is recognised fai the admhiistration and
benefito of the system. Every child, white or ookrared, ii
entitled, as a right, to all the privUeges of the schools sod
library of the district. The executive of the system com-
prises three grades of officers, whieh, beghming with the
lowest, are— !«/, The Prudential Committee for districte;
2rf, The Town School Comnaittee for towns ; and H The
Board of Education for the state.— 1«^, The Prudential Cod^
mittee consists of one member for each district, when the
town is divided into districts. They are chosen by the
legal voters of the town, or by those of the district Mtn*
town may decide. Each member superintends a district,
of whioh he must be a resident. His bushiess is to engage
t •
the teacher, to proYide ftxel, see that the sohool-hooM is in
good repair, and attend generally to such matters of
manaffement a« the Town (x>nimittee may depute to him ;
%i. The Town School Committee, which may consist of
three, five, or seroi persona, is chosen annually to super-
intend all the schools of the town: its fimotions are the
apportioidng of school money among the schools or dis-
tricts ; PTamining and licensing teachers ; monthly visita-
tion of the schoMS ; regulaUon of text-books ; and presen-
tation of a written report annually to the town, respecting
their own proceedings, and the condition and improvement
of the schools: a copy of this document must be forwarded
to the secretary of state of the commonwcy th. which he
lefers to the Board of Education, as part of the returns
which, as above-described, that Board is empowered to
eoUect ; 3d; The Board, which is the head of the system,
soosiats of the governor and lieutenant-governor of the
eommonwealth, eat-ojffteas^ and eight persons appointed by
the governor and council. They appoint their own secre-
tary, who receives a salary of 1500 dollars, and the members
are reimbursed their expenses*
In 1845, the amount raised by tax in the different towns
ZMued from the legal minimum of 1^ dollar for each child,
to f dollars 64 cents. Boston, the capital, stands third on
the list ; it raised 124,968 dolhurs, or about L^OOO, being
at the rate of 6] dollars for each child. The amount ex-
pended by the whole state in the same year was about
Ll70,000, of which Ul 15,000 was raised by tax. The
avo^ge time of the schools being in operation was 7^
months. The aggregate of scholars of all ages was 149,189
in sommer, and 169,977 in winter, or about 2 in every
9 of the whole population. These chUdren were taught
by 2523 male teachers, assisted by about twice as many
fonales, who are almost universally emj^oyed in America
to teach the girls and younger boys. The report for 1845
complahis much of irregular attendance, as shown by the
maned difference of numbers in summer and in winter ;
and it appears firom a closer calculation, founded on the
fall population returns of the state, and the admirable
■ehool statistics published by the Board of Education,
that, allowing for the members attending private schools,
about 1 in 3 of all the children in the state, who ought to
be found in the public schools, was permanently absent
from them. This, and other evils whicn the light thrown
on the subject by the operations of the Board enables the
public to detect, have sinee been met by prompt remedial
measures, whieh, I believe, have much abated, and promise
to remove them.
The average of saUries paid to male teachers was L.77 a
year. To the female assistants, L.30L When I mention
that the city of Boston pays its head-masters salaries of
L.300, and some as much as L.400, it must be obvious that
some of the country teachers must be very inadequately
remunerated. The Board is turning its attention to the
remedy of this important evU. After referring to the
■ystons of education established in Connecticut and Rhode
Island, Mr Fmama said that the school system of the
state of New Yorii dated only ftom 1812, and its present
development was the fruit of recent le^lation. It is
for the most part moddled <m that of the New England
States, but with important modifications. It is maide a
separate depwtment of the state^ and has at its head a
state supermtendent There are also superintendents of
ooonties and of towns elected by the people. Its financial
sjstem includes contributions fifom a state fhnd of half a
million sterling prc^xurtioned to local exertion; and it
differs tntn the qysteofl of New En^and in deriving a part
of its support from a rate levied on the parents of the
pupils, but assessed fbom the district at huge in cases of
poverty. It provides the most approved normal-school
edneatioa tat its teaohen; and has in every district a dis-
trict fibrary, containing already upwards of a million of
volumes, which are firee to idl the children of the state.
Of the aohools of New York city, which cost annually
about L.50,000, 1 can say, from personal observation, that
thry are in aU respects most creditable. Its inhabitants
witely remunerate thdr teaehos so Hberally, that private
•ohoola eamot eonpete with them, and are being aban-
doned by their best teadwra. Even stationery and books
^ ire fumbled by the dty, and children of all classes may
he fbnnd side by side on their benches. I never saw ohil-
I dren anywhere who appeared to be better taught. A free
college has also been established to receive such pupils
f^om the oonmion schools as may earn that privilege by
tbeir proficiency, at which they may be earned, at the
public expense, through the gradations of a complete nn^
versity education.
Cf the western states it is difficult to taidieate anything ;
for what is true of those wonderfdl countries tonday, is
false to-morrow. Ohio has established a system of com-
mon schools which is said to be efficient. That of Mloldgan
appears to be inferior to few of the eastern systems in its
arrangements and results. The nucleus of a general fhnd
has been provided by the general government for all the
western states, by setting aside a thirty-sixth part of the
land in each for the support of schools.
The state of education in the slave states appears ftom a
return of the number of white males in eacii state above
twenty-one years of age who could not read and write,
taken firom the census of 1840, to have been at that time
genially backward as compared with the western states,
and greatly behind that of the first group. Connecticut
occupies the highest place in the return ; North Carolina
the lowest. He did not, however, place much confidence
in the accura^ of this docoment. The educati<mal aspect
of the United States is, on the whole, cheering to the phi-
lanthropist. The evil influences which have beoi, and
which are at work in that great country, and which make
her enemies jeer, and her friends blush, are rifest in the
least-educated parta of the country, and will no donbt be
altogether obliterated by education.
RiaHT OP LABOUR.
On the question now i^tated, whether the state ought to
Eovide labour fbr all claiming to be employed, the foUow-
g remarkably sound and practical speech was lately made
b^re the French National Assembly by Marius Andr6,
an operative, and deputy of the Var: —
* Citizen Representatives — However great may be the
talents of those who appear on this tribune — ^however elo-
quent their worda-7-they can only give you their individual
opinion on the questions which are before the Assembly.
I have no eloquence to bring you ; bnt allow me, at least,
to offer vou my opinion. Labour is the subject of debate,
and perhaps you will be glad to have on that snbieot the
opinion of^a working-man. Citizens, I think the Republic
ought not to allow the providing of labour to be imposed
on it as a duty; for in doing so she will create for herself
an immense and pennanent danger; since the working-men
all over France would leave their present emplovments on
the slightest pretext; either £rom insufficiency of wages, or
fWmi pure conceit, and crowd into Paris, or at least into
the principal manufacturing towns, which abeadv over-
flow with operatives. Suppose an operative to be dissatis-
fied with his master, or suppose he thinks himself not pro-
Serly appreciated : ** Very well," says he, ** I will go and
nd work elsewhere— the country owes me work, and there-
fore it mutt give me work ;** and so he sets off for Paris.
What will the Republio do with all these operatives thus
floeking to the capital P Will it give every one of them
the labour of his trade? Will it give the shoemaker shoes
to make? Will it give the watchmaker watches to make?
No ; it will g^ve them all spade-work — that is, a pretext for
doing nothing. It will make these men lose the taste for real
work; and when the taste is once gone, it never comes back
again. If you want an example of the fktal effects which
the right to have work provided for them has already had
on the operative population, listen to thisi An employer
in Psris had eighty operatives at work when the national
workshops were first opened ; and his men were earning,
on an average, frnv f^cs a day (this is equal in value to
five shillings a day in England for a poor man). When the
national workshops were opened, the greater part of these
operatives left their master*s work: fbr what advantage?
you ^nU ask me. To earn in the national workshops just
half what they earned with their master ! I am aware that
in this number one-half were driven to it by the threats
of the other half; bnt at all events it is a Ikct, that of
eighty workmen wanted at that very time by the master,
and to whom he was wUling to pay fbur fhmes a day,
eight only resisted the intimidaticHi, and were obliged to
shut themselves up, that they might work without being
persecuted. The rest, or at least the leaders, preferred
earning two fhmes a day for doing notking, to getting four
by teorlnmff mhuitiomtiy. It may he an unpleasant thing to
say, but I repeat it, the taste fbr labour is much sooner lost
than acquired ; and it is fbr that very reason that it has
pleased Pmvidenoe to cherish that taste in us by a feeling
of necessit jK it is necessity that makes the good workman,
192
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
just as it is good oonduot which makes him saooessfoL If I
declare myself against the right in question, I do so, gentle-
men, as a question of prudence, and not because I do not
sympathise with the operatives. I ought not to be obliged
to remind you of it, but I believe I speak, if not in the
name of the operatives in general, at least in the name of a
very lanafe numbw of them ; for the minority of those who
have chosen me from among their number to be their
deputy, think just as I do. As for the state having a duty
imposed upon it by nature to find work for operatives, as
far as its power extends, and even to make some extraordi-
nary exertions when the circumstances are extraordinary,
there can be no doubt of that ; but between sayins this,
and saving that the operatives have a right to exact labour
from the state, there^s an absolute gulf. What a number of
things a father thinks it his duty to do for his children ! vet
the children ought not to claim these things of their fatner
as a right You will tell me that nature has infused into the
hearts of parents sentiments which induce them to perform
these duues dmost unconsciously; well, what nature could
not put into the hearts of employers, is supplied in another
way, by making it their interest. There is no sort of com-
parison between the work which is done by the operatives
who love and esteem their master, and what is done by
those who have cause to feel differently towards him. I am
in the same way of opinion that it is an imperious duty in
the state to give food to its children ; but at the same time I
am bound to observe that the exercise of this duty, which
can still less be contested than the duty of giving work,
would, nevertheless, lead to very unpleasant consequences
if you proclaimed it as a right In the quarter where I live,
when tney b^nn to make a list of those who were in want,
the numl>er mrst announced was 40 ; in a few days it was
found there were 72; and soon after, when a third list was
made, there were 111. God forbid that I should seem to be
bringing forward an argument here for refusing succour to
those who are realfy in want! No; I merely desired to show
to what an extent the state was committing itself when,
instead of confining itself to assisting those who were ah$o-
luiely in uxitUf it gave them the right to exact this assistance.
Gentlemen, I think I may confine myself to these few words :
if I were at the head of a shop or manufactory, I should
give you the same reasons for my opinion; but then you
might fairly consider them as interested reasons. Well,
then, I who am speakiuff to you am no master : I am my-
self an operative, who nave passed all my life in labour,
and I come to tell you that tiune who seek for labomr in good
earnest^ hardly ever fail of obtaining it. When that does nap-
pen, and not before, then it is the duty of the state to
mterfere ; and in such a case it is too much the interest of
the state to do so, for any one to suppose that it will fail in
Its duty. It is with the labour of my own hands that I
have obtained the moans of educating my family respect-
ably ; I have therefore a right to speak as I do ; and I
dcolue that on every occasion, if I have had a comrade
who was industrious and economical, I have never found
that he wanted work more than mvself. I shall vote,
therefore, against operatives having the power of exacting
labour from the state as a right'
PROOBES8 OF TEMPERANCE IN LONDON.
Let us pause to indicate the movement of temperance
by comparing the proportion of publicans to sinners against
sobriety in former days and now. ' About a centurv itfo,*
said Dr Golquhoun before the police committee of 1816,
' multitudes of men and women were constantly jecQ rolling
about the stroets drunk;' and it was not unel/itvtoon to
behold such an enticement painted under a publie-house
sign as this: ' You may here get drunk for a penny, dead
drunk for twopence, and have clean straw for nothing!*
The crime became so general, that the legislature deter-
mined to lessen it by making its commission more costly
and diflicult, and le^ed a duty of 20s. per gallon on spirits,
and prohibited their sale by retaiL The result was, that
?uitc as much was drunk as before ; for within two years,
2,000 persons were oonviotied under the act within the
bills of mortality of selling gin clandestinely. At that time
the population of London may have been about 680,000 ;
so that the generality of drunkenness in London at that
time may be eethnated by the fact, that during two years,
the proportion of oonviciions for merely sellhig gin Ul^ally
to the amount of tliQ popuUtion was nearly 1 in 60 ; but
of course many persons were each convicted many times.
Ttie decrease of vhe Yioe was not rapid; for w find that
in 1785, to a population of about 800,000, there were in
London 7180 nouses at which beer and spirits were sold
— namely, 5975 alehouses, 207 inns, 447 taverns, and
551 coffee-houses — or a proportion of 1 public-hooie to
neariy 112 individuals. The comparison becomes more
gratifying as we approach the present year. In 1840 tliere
were about 1,873,000 individuals ; and according to Flg-
gott^k Directory for that year, 5840 persons, exclasire of
wine-merchants, dealt in stroi^ drinks, of whom there w
therefore I to nearlv every 321 Londoners. The present
year shines more brightly in this respect than any of its
predecessors. , In 1849 a London population of perhapi
^,250,000 gives encouragement to no more than 5017 pur-
veyors of beer and spirituous liquors, exclusive of bottled-
ale and wine-merchants, or a proportion of 1 publiosn to
about every 450 individuals. We recommend these fketi
to the especial attention of temperance societies, and tmst
they will afford encouragement for renewed exertion in
the excellent cause. — Daup News,
THE CHANGE-SEEKER.
BY CALDKR CAMPBELL.
Who to imknown lands would wander.
Having health and hope at h<Hne ?
From the spot where be abideth
Wherefore should the happy roam ?
Love— 4ike ivy to the min —
CUngoth where it hath been bred ;
Peace of mind forbids ambition
With Its schemes to vex the head.
'lis the Bpixit, disappointed
In its wajw&rd hopes and cares.
That for novel pleasures seeketh
Foreign shores and new— despairs ;
Meeting, 'neath the alien sunsbJne,
For the treasures missed at home.
Fangs that flrat the weary body,
Joys that go, and griefs that come.
* Give me change ! ' the morbid spirit
Calleth, with a voice that tells
How its inner sense hath sufiPered
From the world's pernicious spells :
* Give me changes, ^ve me chances.
Friendships new, and new desires;
I would blot from memory's pages
Thoughts that scorch like fever's fires.
* For the fields where roved my childhood,
Give me scenes that have no look
Of the garden, or the wild wood
Where I studied first Love's book.
Fell each tree that *mld those forests
Gave me shelter from the sun ;
In their stead plant stronger foliage,
'Neath whose shade new rivers run I '
So he say»— the disappointed-
Tired and fretted, soured and palled ;
Wishing still for alterations,
Finding fears that come uncalled.
Those who have no wish to wander
(Lapped in ease, and rich in health)
Lo(>k with wonder at the longings
That can ne'er be quenched by weslth.
There is sorrow In the knowledge
That the gayest heart may find.
Ere the head hath gathered snow-drift,
Fresh desires to haunt the mind ;
But the Loved, the Loving, Healthy,
Hold alone Ckmtent's true gem ;
What they know, and what they live la.
That is all the world to them.
RGDUNDANCT OF WORDS.
The excess to which the unchecked use of pednndsney
tends may be imagined from what the Arabian autbon
tell us, as a boast, of their tongue. The lexicognpher
Mohammcdcs Al-Firanzabadius reckoned above fooncoit
names for honey, and 1000 for a sword; and Ebn Khalsww
composed one volume on the 200 words expressing wy»^
and another on the 500 signifying a Uom, — QuarteHjf Revtev,
Published by W. & R. Cbambbrs, High Street, Bdlnbnrfh. Abs
sold by D. Chambbrs, » Amrle Street, GbUROW; W. S* ^
147 Strand. London ; and J. M'Olashan, «1 lyoiier Bttw.
IlublhL— Printed by W. and R. Cbambbbs, Bdiobnigh.
^^
^^Hb^
CONDUCTED BY WnjJAU AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERSnS EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ 6cc
No. 274. New Series.
SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1849.
Price Hd,
EXPBBIEKCES OF A BARRISTER.
THB CONTBflTED MABRIAOE.
I BAD jnst escaped to my chamben one winter after-
noon from a heavy trial * at bar ' in the King's Bench,
Westminster, and was poring orer a case upon which
an ' opinion ' was urgently solicited, when my cleric
entered with a letter which he had been requested to
deliver by a lady, who had called twice before during
the day for the purpose of seeing me. Vexed at the
interruption, I almost snatched the letter from the
man's hand, hastily broke the seal, and to my great sur-
prise found it was fh>m my excellent old friend Sir
Jasper Thomely of Thomply Hall, Lancashire. It ran
as fi^owa : —
• My Dear , The bearer of this note is a lady
whom I am desirous of serving to the utmost extent of
my ability. That she is really the widow she represents
hoself to be, and her son consequently heir to tiie
magniflcent estates now in possession of the Emsdales —
you remember how they tripped up my heels at the last
electioD fbr the borough of l—I have no moral doubt
whatever ; but whether her claim can be legally estab-
lished is another affiur. She will tell you the story her-
sdt It was a heartless business ; but Sir Harry, who,
you have no doubt heard, broke his neck in a steeple-
diase about ten months ago, was a sad wild dog. My
advice is, to look out for a sharp, clever, persevering
attorney, and set him upon a hunt for evidence. If he
succeed, I undertake to pay him a thousand pounds
over and above hii legal costs. He*ll nose it out for
that, I should think !— Tours truly,
Jasper Thobnblt.
' P. 8. — ^Emsdale's ton, I have just heard — confound
their impudence! — intends, upon the strength of this
accession of property, to stand for the county against
my old friend , at the dissdution, which cannot
now be fiff off If yon don't think one thousand pounds
enough. 111 double it A cruelly, ill-used lady I and as
to her son, he's the very image of the late Sir Harry
Oompton. In haste — J. T. I reopen the letter to
endoM a cheque for a hundred pounds, which you will
pay the attorney on account. They'll die hard, you
nay be sure. If it could come off next assizes, we
ihoold sp<ul tiiem for the county— J. T.'
• Assizes ' — * county '— • Sir Harry Compton,' I invo-
luntarily murmured, as I finished the perusal of my old
fKend*s incoherent epistle. ' Whaton earth can the eccen-
tric old fcxhunter mean ? ' * Show the lady in,' I added
in a louder tone to the derk. She presently appeared,
accompanied by a remarkably handsome boy about six
years of age, bo^ attired in deep mourning. The lady
ipproacbed with a timid, furtive step and glance, as if
■be were entering the den of aome grim ogre, rather
ttan the quiet study of a civilised lawyer of mature age.
I was at once struck by her singular and touching love-
liness. I have never seen a woman that so completely
realised the highest Madona type of youthful, matronly
beauty — its starlight radiance and mild serenity of^
sorrow. Her voice, too, gentle and low, had a tone of
patient sadness in it strangely affecting. She was evi-
dently a person, if not of high birth, of refined manners
and cultivated mind ; and I soon ceased to wonder at
warm-hearted old Sir Jasper's enthusiasm in her cause.
Habitually, however, on my guard against first impres-
sions, I courteously, but coldly, invited her first to a
seat, and next to a more intelligible* relation of her busi-
ness with me than could be gathered from the letter of
which she was the bearer. She complied, and I was
soon in possession of the following facts and fancies : —
Violet Dalston and her sister Emily had lived for
several years in dose and somewhat straitened retire-
ment with thdr father. Captain Dalston, at Rock Cot-
tage, on the outskirts of a village about six miles dis-
tant from Leeds, when Captain Dalston, who was an
enthusiastic angler, introduced to his home a gentle-
man about twenty-five years of age, of handsome exte-
rior and gentlemanly manners, with whom congeniality
of tastes and pursuits had made him acquainted. This
stranger was introduced to Yidet (my interesting client)
and her sister, as a Mr Henry Grainger, the son of a
London merchant The object of his wanderings through
the English counties was, he said, to recruit his health,
which had become affected by too dose sppUeation to
business, and to gratify his taste for angling, sketching,
and so on. He became a frequent visitor ; and the re-
sult, after the lapse of about three months, was a pro-
posal for the hand of Violet. His father allowed him,
he stated, five hundred pounds per annum ; but in order
not to mortally offend the old gentleman, who was deter-
mined, if his son married at all, it should be either to rank
or riches, it would be necessary to conceal the marriage
till after his death. This commonplace story had been,
it appeared, implicitly credited by Captain Dalston ; and
Violet Dalston and Henry Grainger were united in holy
wedlock — not at the village church near where Captain
Dalston resided, but in one of the Leeds churches. The
witnesses were the bride's father and sister, and a Mr
Bilston, a ndghbour. This marriage had taken place
rather more than seven years since, and its sole fruit
was the fine-looking boy who accompanied his mother
to my office. Mr Grainger, soon after the marriage,
persuaded the Dalstons to leave Rock Cottage, and take
up their abode in a picturesque village in Cumberland,
where he had purchased a small house, with some
garden and ornamental grounds attached.
Five years rdled away — not, as I could discern, too
happily — when the very fluent abaences of Violet's
husband in London, as he alleged (all her letters to him
were directed to the post-office, St Martin's le Grand—
194
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
till called for), were suddenly greatly prolonged; and
on his retam home, after an absence of more than three
months, he abruptly informed the family that the affairs
of his father, who was dying, had been found to be
greatly embarrassed, and that nothing was left for him
and them but emigration to America, with such means
as might be saved from the wreck of the elder Grainger's
property. After much lamentation and opposition on
the part of Emily Dalston and her lather, it was finally
conceded as Violet's husband wished ; and the emigra-
tion was to have taken place in the following spring,
Henry Grainger to follow them the instant he could
wind up his father's affairs. About three months be-
fore their intended departure— this very time twelve-
month, as nearly as may be — Captain Dalston was sud-
denly called to London, to close the eyes of an only
sister. This sad duty fulfilled, he was about to return,
when, passing towards dusk down St James Street, he
saw Henry Grainger, habited in a remarkable sporting-
dress, standing with several other gentlemen at the door
of one of the club-houses. Hastening across the street
to accost him, he was arrested for a minute or so by a
line of carriages which turned sharply out of PiccadiUy ;
and when he did rekch the other side, young Mr Grainger
and his companions had vanished. He inquired of the
porter, and was assured that no Mr Grainger, senior
or junior, was known there. Persisting that he had
seen him standing within the doorway, and describing
his dress, the man with an insolent laugh exclaimed
that the gentleman who wore that dress was the famous
sporting baronet. Sir Harry Compton I
Bewildered, and suspecting he hardly knew what,
Captain Dalston, in defiance of young Grainger's oft-
iterated injunctions, determined to call at his father's
residence, which he had always understood to be in
Leadenball Street No such name was, however,
known there; and an examination, to which he was
advised, of the * Commercial Directory ' failed to dis-
cover the whereabout of the pretend^ London mer-
chant Heart-sick and spirit-wearied. Captain Dalston
returned home only to die. A violent cold, caught
by imprudently riding in such bitter weather as
it then was, on the outside of the coach, aggravated
by distress of mind, brought his already enfeebled
frame to the grave in less than two months after his
arrival in Cumberland. He left his daughters utterly
unprovided for, except by the legal claim which the
eldest possessed on a man who, he feared, would
turn out to be a worthless impostor. The penalty he
paid for consenting to so imprudent a marriage was
indeed a heavy and bitter one. Months passed away,
and still no tidings of Violet's husband reached the
sisters' sad and solitary home. At length, stimulated
by apprehensions of approaching destitution — whose
foot was already on the threshold — and desirous of gra-
tifying a whim of Emily'a, Violet consented to visit the
neighbourhood of Compton Castle (the seat, her sister
had ascertained, of the ' celebrated sporting baronet,' as
the porter called him) on their way to London, where
they had relatives who, though not rich, might possibly
be able to assist them in obtaining some decent means
of maintenance. They alighted at the * Compton Arms,'
and the first object which met the astonished gaze of
the sisters as they entered the principal sitting-room of
the inn, was a fdl-length portrait of Violef s husband,
in the exact sporting-dress described to them by their
father. An ivory tablet attached to the lower part of
the f^ame informed the gazer that the picture was a
copy, by permission, of the celebrated portrait by Sir
Thomas Lawrence, of Sir Harry Compton, Baronet
They were confounded, overwhelmed, bewildered. Sir
Harry, they found, had been killed about eight montiis
previously in a steeple-chase ; and the casUe and ettttes
had passed, in default of direct issue, to a distant rela-
tive. Lord Emsdale. Their story was soon bruited
about ; and, in the opinion of many persons, was con-
firmed beyond reasonable question by the extraordiDary
likeness they saw or fancied between Violef s son and
the deceased baronet Amongst others, Sir Jasper
Thomely was a firm believer in the identity of Heiuy
Grainger and Sir Harry Compton ; but unfortunately,
beyond the assertion of the sisters that the portrait of
Sir Harry was young Grainger's portrait, the real or
imaginary likeness of tlie child to his reputed father,
and some score of letters addressed to Violet by her
husband, which Sir Jasper p^sisted were in Sir Harry's
handwriting, though few others did (the hand, I saw at
a glance, was a disguised one), not one tittle of eri-
denoe had he been able to procure for love or money.
As a last resource, he had consigned the case to me, and
the vulpine sagacity of a London attorney.
I suppose my countenance must be what is called a
* speaking ' one, for I had made no reply in words to
this statement of a case upon which I and a ' London
attorney ' were to ground measures for wresting a msg-
nificent estate from the clutch of a powerful nobleman,
and by ' next assizes* too— when the lady's beautiful
eyes filled with tears, and turning to her child, she
murmured in that gentle, agitating voice of hers, ' My
poor boy I ' The words I was about to utter died on my
tongue, and I remained silent for several minutes. After
all, thought I, this lady is evidently sincere in her
expressed conviction that Sir Harry (Compton was her
husband. If her surmise be correct, evidence of the
truth may perhaps be obtained by a keen search for it ;
and since Sir Jasper guarantees the expenses I
rang the bell. * Step over to Cursitor Street,' said I to
the clerk as soon as he entered ; * and if Mr Ferret is
within, ask him to step over immediately.' Ferret was
just the man for sudi a commission. Indefstigablei
resolute, sharp-witted, and of a ceaseless, remorseless
activity, a secret or a fact had need be very profonndly
hidden for him not to reach and fish it up. I hare
heard solemn doubts expressed by attorneys opposed to
him as to whether he ever really and truly slept at all
— rthat is, a genuine Christian sleep, as distinguished
from a merely canine one, with one eye always half open.
Mr Ferret had been for many years Mr Simpkins'
managing derk ; but ambition, and the increasing re-
quirements of a considerable number of young Ferrets,
determined him on commencing business on his own
account ; and about six months previous to the period
of which I am now writing, a brass door-plate in Cursitor
Street, Chancery Lane, informed the public that Samuel
Ferret, Esq., Attorney -at -Law, might be consulted
within.
Mr Samuel Ferret was fortunately at home; snd
after a very brief interval, made his appearance, enter-
ing with a short professional bow to me, and a very
profound one to the lady, in whom his quick gray eye
seemed intuitively to espy a client As soon «• ^ ^
seated, I handed him Sir Jasper's letter. He perused
it carefully three times, examined the seal attentively,
and handed it back with—* An exceUent letter as w
as it goes, and very much to the point You intend, I
suppose, that I should undertake this little affair?'
• Yes, i^ after hearing the lady's case, you fed dis-
posed to venture upon it'
Mr Samuel Ferret's note-book was out in an instant ;
and the lady, unintemipted by a syllable from him, re-
ti^ he? ttory.
'Good, Tery good, as far as it goes,' remarked undis-
msjed Samuel Ferret when she condnded; 'only it
can scarcely be said to go very far. Moral presump-
tion, which, in oar courts unfortunately, isn't worth a
groat Never mind. Magna est Veritas, and so on.
When, madam, did you say Sir Harry — Mr Grainger —
first began to urge emigration?'
* Between two and three years ago.'
' Have the goodness, if you please, to hand me the
barooetage.' I did so. * Good/ resumed Ferret, after
toning over the leaves for a few seconds, * very good,
as far as it goes. It is now just two years and eight
months since Sir Harry succeeded his undo in the title
and eetatea. Tou would no doubt soon have heard,
madam, thmt your husband was dead. Truly the heart
of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately
wicked ; and yet such conduct towanls such a lady'
Foret intended no mere compliment; be was only
giving utterance to the thoughts passing through his
brain ; but his client's mounting colour warned him to
change the topic, which he very adroitly did. * Yon
ioteiQl, ai course,' said he, addressing me, * to proceed at
kw? No rumble-tomUe through the spiritual courts ? '
'Certainly, if sufficient evidence to justify such a
coarse can be obtained.'
* Exactly : Doe, demise of Compton, versus Emsdale ;
action in ejectment^ judgment of ouster. Our friend
Dos, madam — a very accommodating fellow is Doe —
wiU, if we locoeed, put you in possession as natural
guardian of your son. Well, sir,* turning to me, ' I may
as wdl give you an acknowledgment for that cheque.
I undertake liie business, and sludl, if possible, be off to
Leeds by this evening's maO.' The acknowledgment
was given, and Mr Ferret, pocketing the cheque, de-
parted in high glee.
' The best man, madam, in all broad London,* said I
iu answer to Mrs Grainger's somewhat puzzled look,
'joaoevld have retained. Fond as he seems, and in
net is, of money — what sensible person is not? — ^Lord
Fimsdale eould not Inribe him with his earldom, now
that ht is fkir^ engaged in your behalf, I will not say
to betray you, but to abate his indefatigable activity in
fmrttiearance ci your interests. Attorneys, madam, be
assured, whatever nursery tales may teach, have, the
very sharpest of them, tiieir points of honour.' The
hdj and her son departed, and I turned again to the
afanost foE^oiten 'case.'
Three weeks had nearly glided by, and still no tidings
of Mr Ferret. Mrs Grainger, and her sister Emily
Dalstoo, a very charming person, had called repeatedly ;
but as I of course had nothing to communicate, they
were s^ condemned to languish under the heart-siek-
ness caused by hope deferred. At last our emissary
made his wished-for appearance.
*Well, Mr Ferret,' said I, on entering my library,
where I found him composedly awaiting my arrival,
' what soooeas ?'
' Why, nothing of much consequence as yet,' replied
he ; ' I am, you Imow, only, as it were, just commencing
the investigation. The Leeds parson that married them
is dead, and the old derk is paralytic, and has lost his
memory. If, however, they were both alive, and in sound
hesSMi of mind and body, they could, I fancy, bdp us
hut Utiles as Bilston teUs me neither the Dalstons nor
Gkamgtf had ever entered the church tiU the morning
of the weddingi and they soon afterwards removed to
Cttsnheriand, so that it is scarcely possible either parson
sr dierk ooald prove tiiat Violet Dalston was married to
Sir Bsmx Compton. A very intelUgeat fellow is Bil-
ston : he was present at the marriage, you remember ;
sad a glortoQs witness, if he had only something of
importanoe to d^Mse to ; powdered hair and a pi^ail,
dooUediin, and six feet in girth at least; highly respect-
able—capital witness, very — only, unfortunately, he
can only testify that a person calling himself Grainger
married Violet Dalston; not much in thatt*
' So, then, your three weeks' labour has been entirely
thrown away 1 *
' Not so fast — not so fast — ^you jump too hastily at
conclusions. The Cumberland fellow that sold Grainger
the house — only the equity of redemption of it, by the
way— ^there*s a large mortgage on it — can prove nothing.
Nobody about there can, except the surgeon *, he can
prove Mrs Graingw's accouchement — that is something.
I have been killing myself every evening this last week
with grog and tobacco smoke at the *' Compton Arms,"
in the company of the castle servants, and if the calves'
heads had known anything essential, I fancy I should
have wormed it out of them. They have, however,
kindly furnished me with a scrawl of introduction to the
establishment now in town, some of whom I shall have
the honour to meet, in the character of an out-and-out
liberal sporting gentleman, at the ** Albemarle Arms "
this evening. I want to get hold of his confidential
valet, if he had one — those, go-a-head fellows generally
have — a Swiss, or some other fcnreign animal*
'Is this aU?'
' Why, no^* rejoined Ferret, with a sharp twinkle of
his sharp gray eye, amounting almost to a wink ; ' there
is one circumstance which I cannot help thinking, though
I scarcely know why, will put us, by the help of patience
and perseverance, on the right tiack. In a comer of
the registry of marriage there is written Z. Z. in bold
letters. In no other part of the book does this occur.
What may that mean ? *
'Had the incumbent of the living a curate at the
time?'
'No. On that point I am unfortunately too well
satisfied. Neither are there any names with such ini-
tials in any of the Leeds churchyards. Still this Z. Z.
may be of importance, if we could but discover who he
is. But how ? — tiiat is the question. Advertise ? Show
our hands to the opposite players, and find if Z. Z. is
really an entity, and likely to be of service, that when
we want him in court, he is half way to America. No,
no ; ^at would never do.'
Mr Ferret I saw was getting into a brown study ; and
as I had pressing business to despatch, I got rid of him
as speedily as I oould, quite satisfied, spite of Z. Z., that
Mrs GraingerV«hanoe of becoming Lady Compton was
about equal to mine of ascending the British throne
some fine day.
Two days afterwards I received the fdlowing note : —
* Dear Sin—Z. Z. is the man t Tm off to IK^pshire.
Bade, if possible, the day after to-morrow. Not a wo^
even to the ladies. Hu^za I In haste,
Samuel Febbst.'
What could this mean ? Spite of Mr Ferret's injunc-
tion, I could not hdp infomung the sisters, who called
soon after I had received the note^ that a discovery,
esteemed of importance by our emissary, had been made ;
and they returned home with lightened hearts, after
agreeing to repeat their visit on the day Mr Ferret had
named for hia return. ^
On reaching my chambers about four o'clock in the
afternoon of l^at day, I found the ladies tiiere, and in a
state of great excitement Mr Ferret, my clerk had
informed them, had called twice, and seemed in the
highest spirits. We had wasted but a few minutes
in conjectures when Mr Ferret, having ascended the
stairs two or three at a time, burst, sans cir^monie, into
the apartment
' GkK>d*day, sir. Lady Compton, your most obedient
servant ; madam, yours ! All right ! Only just in time
to get the writ sealed ; served it myself a quarter of an
hour ago, just as his lordship was getting into his
carriage. Not a day to lose; just in time. Capital!
GlOTiousl' *
'What do you mean, Mr Ferret?* exclaimed Emily
Dalston : her sister was too agitated to speak.
'What do I mean? Let us all four step^ sir, into
your inner sanctum, and m soon tell you what I mean*'
196
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
We adjourned, accordingly, to an inner and more
prirate room. Our conference laated abont half an hour,
at the end of which the ladies took their leave : Lady
Gompton, her beautiful features alternately irradiated
and donded by smiles and tears, murmuriDg in a broken,
agitated yoice, as she shook hands with me, * Tou see,
sir, be intended at last to do us justice.'
The news that an action had been brought on behalf
of an infant son of the late Sir Harry Compton against
the Earl of Emsdale, for the recovery of the estates in
the possession of that nobleman, produced the greatest
excitement in the part of the county where the property
was situated. The assize town was crowded, on the day
the trial was expected to come on, by the tenantry of the
late baronet and their families, with whom the present
landlord was by no means popular. As I passed up the
principal street, towards the court-house, accompanied
by my junior, I was received with loud hurraings and
waving of handkerchiefs, something after the manner, I
suppose, in which chivalrous steel-dad knights, about
to do battle in behalf of distressed damsels, were formerly
received by the miscellaneous spectators of the lists.
Numerous favours, cockades, streamers, of the Compton
colours, used in election contests, purple and orange,
were also slyly exhibited, to be more ostentatiously dis-
played if the Emsdale party should be beaten. On
entering the court, I found it crowded, as we say, to
the ceiling. Not only every seat, but every inch of
standing-room that could be obtained, was occupied,
and it was with great difficulty the ushers of the court
preserved a sufficiently dear space for the ingress and
egress of witnessed and counsel. Lord Emsdale, pale
and anxious, spite of manifest effort to appear con-
temptuously hidifferent, sat near the judge, who had
just entered the court. The Archbishop of York, whom
we had subpoenaed, why, his Graoe had openly declared,
he knew not, was also of course accommodated with a
seat on the bench. A formidable bar, led by the cele-
brated Mr S— , was, I saw, arrayed against us, though
what the case was they had to meet, so well had Ferret
kept his secret, they knew no more than did their horse-
hair wigs. Ferret had sdemnly enjoined the sisters to
silence, and no hint, I need scarody say, was likely to
escape my lips. The jury, special of course, were in at-
tendance, and the case, *Doe, demise of Compton vemu
Emsdale,' having been called, they were duly sworn to
try the issue. My punior, Mr Frampton, was just rising
* to state the case, as it is technically called, when a
tremendous shouting, ra^ndly increasing in vdume and
distinctness, and mingled with the sound of carriage
wheels, was heard approaching, and presently Mr Samud
Ferret appeared, followed by Lady Compton and her
•on, the rear of tlie party brought up by Sir Jasper
Thomdy, whose jdly fox-huntlns face shone like a
fnU-blown peony. Tne lady, thouf^ painfully agitated,
looked charmingly; and the timid, appealing glance she
unconsciously, as it were, tlirew round the court, would,
in a doubtful case, have secured a verdict * Very well
got UD, indeed,', said Mr S , in a voice suffidentiy
kmd for the jury to hear — * very eilbctively managed,
upon my word.' We were, however, in too good-humour
to heed taunts ; and as soon as silence was sestored, Mr
Frampton bridSy stated the case, and I rose to address
the jury. My speech was purposdy brief, business-like,
and confident I detailed the circumstances of the
marriage of Videt Dalston, then only eighteen years of
age, with a Mr Grainger; the birth of a son ; and sub-
sequent disappearance of the husband ; condnding by
an assurance to the jury that I should prove, by incon-
trovertible evidence, that Grainger was no other person
than the late Sir Harry Compton, baronet This address
by no means k$$ened the vague apprehensions of the
other side. A counsd that, with sudi materials ibr
doquento, disdained having recourse to i^ must nceda
have a formidable case. The smiling couatenanoes of
Mr S and his brethren became suddenly overcast^
and the pallor and i^tation of Lord Emsdale sensibly
increas^
We proved our case clearly, step by step : the nlt^
riage, the accouchement, the handwrithig of 0r8bf>er
— ^Bilston proved this — to the letters addressed to hii
wife, were dearly estaUWbed. The register of the
marriage was produced by the present derk of the
Leeds church ; the initials Z. Z. were pdnted out ; and
at my suggestion the book was deposited for the pur-
poses of the trial with the derk of the court Kot a
word of cross-examination had passed the lips of oar
learned friends on the other side : they allowed our
evidence to pass as utterly indifferent A change wai
at hand.
Our next witness was James Kirby, groom to the
late baronet and to the present earL After a few un-
important questions, I auEed him if he had ever leen
that gentleman before, pointing to Mr Ferret, who stood
up for the more fadle recognitton of his fHend Kirby.
* Oh yes, he remembered the gentleman wdl ; and i
very nice, good-natured, soft sort of a gentleman be
was. He treated witness at the ** Albemarle Arm,"
London, to as much brandy and water as be hked, out
of respect to his late master, whom the gentieiDan
seemed uncommon fond of.*
* Well, and what return did you make for so moch
liberality?'
' Return I very little I do assure ye. I tdd on bow
many horses Sir Harry kept, and how many races be
won ; but I couldn't tdl un much more, pump as nroch
as he would, because, do ye see, I didn't know no more.'
An audible titter from the other side greeted the
witness as he uttered the last sentence. Mr 8 — ,
with one of his complacent glances at the jnry-boi,
remarking in a sufficiently loud whisper, * That be bad
never heard a more conetasive veaaon for not telling is
his life.'
* Did you mention that you were preaent at the death
of the late baronet ? '
* Yes I did. I tdd un that I were within about
three hundred yards of late master when he had that
uglv fall ; and that when I go| up to un, he sort of
pulled me down, and whispered hoarse-like, ** Send for
Reverend Zachariah Zimmerman." I remenberBd it,
it was sich an outlandish name like.'
* Oh, oh,* thought I, as Mr S reached aero* the
table for the parish register, * Z. Z. is acquiring signifi-
cance I perceive.*
* Well, and what did this gentleman say to that?'
* Say ? Why. nothing particular, only seemed quite
joyful 'mazed like ; and when I asked un whv, he said
it was such a comfort to find his good friend Sir Harry
had such pious thoughts in his laat moments.'
The Uugh, quickly suppressed, that foUowed these
words, did not come from our learned friends as the
other side.
* Sir Harry used those words ?'
* He did ; but as he died two or three minutei after,
it were of course no use to send fbr no parson vbat-
somever.*
* Exactly. That will do, unless the other side hare
any questions to ask.' No question was put, and the
witness went down. * Call' said I to the crier of the
court — ' call the Reverend Zachariah Zimmennsn.'
This was a bomb-shell. Lord Kmsdale, the better to
conceal his agitation, descended from the bench and
took his seat beside his counsel. The Reverend Zacha-
riah Zimmerman, examined by Mr Frampton, depood
in substance as follows : — * He was at preisent rector of
Dunby, Shropshire, and had been in holy orders mow
than twenty years. Was on a visit to the Reverend
Mr Cramby at Leeds seven years ago, when one norn-
ing Mr Cramby, bdng much indisposed, requested him
to perform the marriage ceremony for a young ooaple
then waiting in church. He complied, and Joio^J"*
wedlock Videt Dalston and Henry Grainger. Tbe
bride was the lady now pointed out to him in court;
t^ bridegroom he had discovered, about two yem
ago, to be no other than the late Sir Harry Coroptoo,
barenet The initials Z. Z. were his, and wiittea b;
■ f I r —- r ffcfc.
■*ir
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
1
Wm, The piriih cterk, a failing old man, had Dot
oAciited at the marriage ; a nephew, he helie?ed, had
acted for him, bat he had entered the marriage in the
wad form afterwards/
'How did you ascertain that Henry Grainger was the
Iste Sir Harry Comnton ?'
'I was introdiioed to Sir Harry Compton in London,
it the house of the Archbishop of York, by his Grace
hiiDself.*
'I remember the incident distinctly, Mr Ziromer-
man,' ttid his Grace from the bench.
'Besides which,' added the rector, ' my present living
wss prcsontod to me, about eighteen months since, by
the deceased baronet. I must further, in justice to my-
lelf, explain that I, immediately after the introduction,
lought an elucidation of the mystery from Sir Harry }
sod he then told me that, in a freak of youthful passion,
be had married Miss Dalston in the name of Grainger,
iiEtring his uncle's displeasure should it reach his ears ;
that his wife had died in her first confinement, after
firing birth to a still-bom child, and he now wished
the matter to remain in obli?ioD. He also showed me
aereral letters, which I then belieyed genuine, confirm-
ing his story. I heard no more of the matter till waited
npoQ by the attorney for the plaintifl^ Mr Ferret'
A breathless silenoe preyaUed during the ddirery of
thii efidenoe. At its conclusion, the dullest brain in
eoart comprehended that the cause was gained ; and a
wccession of cheers, which could not be suppressed, rang
throagfa the court, and were loudly echoed fh>m with-
out, Sir Jasper's Toice sounding high abore all the rest
Suddenly, too, as if by magic, almost cTcrybody in court,
nre the jury and counsel, were decorated with orange
sad porpie farours, and a perfect shower of them fell at
the feet and about the persons of Lady Compton, her
litter, who had by this time joined her, and tne infant
Sir Heoiy. As soon as the expostulations and menaces
of the judge had restored silence and order, his lordship,
sddressing Lord Emsdale's senior counsel, said, ' Well,
Brother S , what course do you propose to adopt? '
*Mylord,' replied Mr S— — after a pause, *I and my
learned friends have thought it our duty to advise Lord
Emidale that further opposition to the plaintiff^s claim
vonld proTe ultimatelT futile; and I have therefore to
aooonnoe, my lord and gentlemen of the jury, that we
acqaiesce in a verdict for the plaintiC
*Yon hare counselled wisely,' replied his lordflhip.
' Gentlemen of the jury, you will of course return a ver-
dict for the plaintifT.*
The jury hastily and joyfully assented : the verdict
vas recoroed, and the coiurt adjourned for an hour in
the midst of taunultuous excitement The result of the
trial flew through the crowd outside like wildfire ; and
when Lady Compton and her son, after struggling
through \he densely-crowded court, stepped into Sir
Jsiper's carriage, which was in waiting at the door, the
enthusiastic uproar that ensued — the hurraing, shout-
ing, waving of hats and handkerchiefs — deafened and
bewildered one ; and it was upwards of an hour ere the
ibw-moving chariot reached Sir Jasper's mansion,
though not more than half a mile distant from the
town. Mr Ferret, mounted on the box, and almost
(mothered in purple and orange, was a conspicuous
object, and a prime favourite with the crowd. The
next day Lord Emsdale, glad, doubtless, to quit the
neighbourhood as speedily as possible, left the castle,
giving Lady Compton immediate possession. The joy
of the tenantry was unbounded ; and under the wakeral
soperintendence of Mr Ferrety all claims against Lord
Emsdale for received rents, dilapidations, &c were ad-
josted, we may be sure, not adversely to his client's
interests ; though he frequently oomplaioed, not half so
Mtisfactorify as if Lady Compton had not interfered,
with what Mr Ferret deemed misplaced generosity in
the matter.
As I was obliged to proceed onwards with the circuit,
I esled at Compton Castle to take leave of my interest-
iag and fortooate (^ent a few days after her installa-
tion there. I was most gratefully received and ent<
tained. As I shook hands at parting, her ladyshi
after pressing upon me a diamond ring of great vah
said, whilst her charming eyes filled with regretful, y
joyful tears, * Do not forget that poor Henry intend
at last to do us justice.' Prosperity, thought I, will t
spoil that woman. It has not, as the world, were
authorised to communicate her real name, would read]
acknowledge.
GOSSIP ON MINERALS.
A yERT attractive volume is before us, professing
convey ' such information on the more important mii
rals and their uses as an inquiring mind may be desiro
of possessing without going minutely into the subject
The only fault we have to find with the execution
the task, is the epistolary blending of scientific a
young-ladyish gossip. The author, in revising his 1<
ters ibr the public, should have been satisfied with t
former ; which is in reality so amusing, as to make t
small-talk with his fair cousin, his dearest Floren<
vexatiously insipid. A book of this kind is usual
passed over by reviewers with a general sentence
commendation; but in the present case we think
better, both for author and resider, to give some exampl
of the kind of entertainment with which it abounds.
In treating of the salts, Mr Jackson does not fail
remark to his fair correspondent that the smellin
bottle she thinks so elegant an appendage is filled frc
the refhse of the staUe; the volatile sal ammonii
though a solid white salt^ being formed by the union
two aeriform bodies — carbonic acid gas and ammoniac
gas — obtained firom animal and vegetable matters in
state of putrefaction.
Potash, another alkaline salt, but of very difiere
properties, is likewise obtained from the most worthli
rubbish. The thistles, potato-stalks, &c from which
is made are burnt, and the salts contained in their ash
dissolved by the admixture of water. The water,
being drawn off", is evaporated, and what renuiins is t
potash of commerce. This, with nitric acid, forms sai
petre, of such extensive use in the manufacture of gle
and the murder of men. Saltpetre is found amoi
minerals, united with nitric acid; but perhaps t
ffreater part is obtained from the produce of the ru
bish-heap and dunghill, left to rot in the open air, ai
the liquor which is the result filtered and crystallised
The salts which exist in solution in the sea (t
greater part of which is common culinary salt), wou
cover all Europe and its islands and waters to the heig
of about 16,000 feet Near Montserrat in Spain there
a mass of compact salt 500 feet high, and 16,000 feet
circumference ; and in other parts of the world there a
likewise yast aggregations of the same mineral. T
rock-salt of Kirman is so hard, that it is employed, li!
stone, for building purposes. In the famous salt-min
of Wieliczka in Poland, ' there exists in the first
upper storey a chapel, wholly sculptured out of the sa
and dedicated to St Anthony. This chapel is 30 ft
long by 24 in breadth, and 18 in height ; the altar ai
steps, the candelabra and other ornaments, the twist
coluums that sustain the roof, the pulpit, the crucifl
and the statues of the Virgin and of St Anthony, a
all sculptured in salt, as is also a statue of Sigismun
king of Poland.'
"[Hie earthy salt, alum, is produced in great abundan
both by nature and art It is used in dyeing, candl
making, preparing leather, &c. and renders paper ai
wood almost incombustible. Alum is the great socr
of our fire-kings ; for when reduced with common si
to an impalpable powder, and several coats of it, mixi
with spirits of wine, spread upon the hand, we mi
grasp a red-hot iron witiiout inconvenience.
The various forms of carbonate of lime — mountair
« Bliii«ralt and their XJgm. In a Series of Lctten to a Lady. ]
J. It. Jackaon, P.R.8. London : Parker. 1849.
marble temples and statues, pearis and coral, form an
interesting part of the subject. The cayems contained
in limestone rocks are fk'equently adorned with stalag-
mites in the form of pyramids, columns, altars, organ-
pipes, yases, and flowers. These stalagmites rise fVom
the bottom, being formed of the sediment deposited by
the drops from aboTe, and are eventually met by the
stfidactites from the roof. This process goes on till the
caTem is filled up, and becomes a solid deposit of da-
baster. The fine ladies of antiquity kept their cos-
metics in vessels of alabastrite, or gypseous alabaster ;
while the Roman ladies applied the calcareous ala-
baster to the purpose of lachrymatories, or vases for
receiving the tears they shed for their deceased hus-
bands. The same material was used for cinerary
urns to preserve the ashes of the dead. The fiuate
of Ume, commonly called fluor spar, imitates very
beautifully the emerald, sapphire, and other gems;
but it is comparatively soft, being scratched even by
rock-crystal. Its fluoric acid, however, when disen-
gaged, has the power in turn of dissolving the crvstal.
* The fiuate of lime is phosphorescent by heat, and in a
darkened room it shines with a very beautif\il-coloured
light If, then, you have the iron stove of your boudoir
studded in any fanciful manner, as, for instance,
in the form of a wreath of leaves and flowers with
various-coloured pieces of fluor spar, you will have a
pretty object in the day-time ; and when at night your
lamp is eztiuffuished, the garland will show with a soft
and exquisitely-beautiful efiect, of which you may form
some idea by pounding some of the green Derbyshire
spar, and placing it in the dark on a heated shovel.*
The gems are represented still more closely, because
with greater hardness, by quartz. When of a violet
colour, this is called amethyst ; red, it is the Bohemian
or Silesian ruby ; yellow, it is the Scotch topaz or cairn-
gorm, &C. ; but when perfectly pure or ccMourless, it is
rock-crystaL A mass of Alpine rock-crystal, weighing
eight hundredweight, was taken by the French in Italy,
and brought to Paris in 1797. Sometimes it is suscep-
tible of a fine polish, and is termed Bohemian, British,
Irish, &c diamonds. *The most beautiful work exe-
cuted in rock-crystal is, in the opinion of Mr Sage, an
urn nine inches and a-half in diameter, and nine inches
high, and of which the pedestal was taken from the
same block. This vase is enriched with carvings and
masks, and the history of the intoxication of Noah, all
most admirably sculptured. This splendid piece of
workmanship, which belonged to the king of France,
cost upwards of L.4000.'
The variety of rock-crystal called the amethyst takes
its name from a Greek word signifying * that which is
not drunk,' the ancients having believed that one might
drink wine out of an amethyst vessel without any risk
of intoxication. ' They also thought that by wearing
this stone they could foresee future events in dreams,
that it drove away evil thoughts, assured presence of
mind, and secured the favour of princes ; and when
adorned with figures of the sun or moon, it was worn as
a charm against poisons.' The following is mentioned
in the * Curiosities of Literature:' — 'There was found
on an amethyst a number of marks or indentations
which had long perplexed antiquaries, more particu-
larly as similar marks or indents were frequently found
on ancient monuments. It was agreed on (and as no
one could understand them, all would be satisfied) that
they were secret hieroglyphics. It, however, occurred
to the French antiquary Heresc that these marks wer^
nothing more than holes for small nails, which had for-
merly fastened little laminse that represented so many
Greek letters. This hint of his own suggested to him
to draw lines from one hole to another, and he beheld
the amethyst reveal tlie name of the sculptor, and the
frieze of the temple the name of the god. This curious
discovery has been since frequently applied.'
The agate called carnelian is much valued by some
of the Eastern nations. The Arabs believe that it stops
bleedinjc when applied to the part. * In order to test it.
they wrap it up in paper, which, on the application of a
hot coal, should not bum, if the stone be good. M. Be-
naud tells us that he has often seen the people of the
East perform a simiUr operation with perfect snooesi.
They cover the carnelian with their handkerchief, and
then bring it to the flame of a taper at if they woold
bum it ; but the handkerchief resists the most ardent
flame, and even remains perfectly white.* Mohimnied
declared that he who se>aled with a carnelian wodd
always be in a state of blessedness and joy ; but Mr
Jackson tried both experiments, and without succeii.
Agates occasionally represent with wonderfiil sccq.
racy the appearance of faces, figures, and other objects.
* PUny speaks of an agate belonging to King Fyrrhos
which represented the nine Muses, with ApoUo in the
midst holding a l3rre; the whole being most perfect,
though a mere f^ak of nature. Majolus informs lu that
there is in Venice an agate on which is the figure of a
man thus drawn by the hand of .nature. It is also said
that in the Church of St John, at Pisa, there is s stone
of the same kind, representing an old hermit in a desert,
seated on the banks of a stream, and holding in his band
a little beU, just in the way St Anthony is general^
painted.' A Scotch friend of Mr Jackson possessed an
agate * on which was the most admirably perfbct repie*
sentation of the sun setting beneath the sea. The bwer
half of the stone was in parallel lines of light gray, blue
and white interspersed, in the way calm water is painted.
On the upper edge of this, and exactly in the middle.
was seen half of the sun's disk, from which rays di*
verged, filling up the rest of the stone. Bat the most
remarkable agate of this kind I ever saw was io the
possession of the Dominicans, in one of their conveots
abroad. It represented a most admirable portrait of
Louis XVI. in profile, with a blood-coloured crescent-
formed streak right across the throat There were alio
other marks having allusion to that monarch, but which
I do not now remember.'
Flints fUraish their share of gossip. A good work-
man can make 500 gun-flints in the day ; but, as if in
punishment for the preparation of so mischierous an
agent, he dies early — before thirty yearsof age— of con-
sumption, brought on by inhaling the flinty dust In
striking fire wiUi flint and steel, the result, we all know,
is a quantity of sparks and little brilliant coruscation?.
' In order to know what these really are, let the Wowi
be given over a sheet of paper, and then examine with
a magnifier the small particles that have fallen on the
paper : you will find them to be of three kinds. Fmt,
minute splinters of the flint struck off by the blow, and
which remain unaltered ; secondly, little chips of steel
of an irregular form, but also unaltered ; and tkirdi^,
small round bodies, ten times smaller than a pin's bead:
these latter have the appearance of a scoria or cinder,
and being hollow, may be crushed with the nail like
little glo^s of glass. These have generally been taken
for little bullets of melted iron, but M. Brard suspects
them to be a combination of silica and iron, a tme scoria,
attractable by the magnet ; the heat produced by the
blow being sufficient to beat the steel-chips red-hot,
and effect the combination of the silica and iron in the
smaller molecules, which are those that coruscate in
little brilliant stars with a hissing noise.'
The preparation of the beautiful and costly pigment
known by the name of ultra -marine is described as
follows: — *The pieces of lazulite, the most rich in
colour, are picked out; they are washed, and then
plunged into vinegar ; and if the colour does not change,
the quality is esteemed to be good. The stones are then
again repeatedly heated, and plunged each time ioto
vinegar. By this means they are easily reduced to an
impalpable powder. This is then well worked up into
a paste with resin, white wax, and Unseed- oil, to which
some add Burgundy pitch. The paste is then put into
a linen bag, and kneaded under water, which at fint
assumes a grayish colour, resulting firom the impurities
that are first separated from the mass. This water is
thrown awav. and renlaced bv fresh, and the kneading
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
199
recommenced, when the water becomes of a fine blue.
This if poured off, and allowed to settle, the precipitate
being ultra-marine of the finest quality. The repetition
of the process famishes colour of inferior quality in sue-
eetsion ; uid finally, the residuum, being melted with
ofl, and kneaded in water containing a little soda or
potash, yields what is termed uhra-marine cuhes*
The emerald was one of the stones to which super-
stition ascribed occult yirtues ; but the early Peruvians
(before the goTemment of the Incas) paid dirine honours
to ao emerald of the size of an ostrich's egg. When it
wu exhibited on great festiyals, the people came firom
far and near to worship the goddess, and present youn^
emeralds to her, which they called her daughters. Those
daughters were all found by the Spaniards; bat the
mother was so effectually hidden by the Indians, that
she has not been discovered to this day.
Amianthus, the well-known variety of asbestos, is
composed of filaments which, with the addition of a
little flax, may be carded, spun, and woven into a cloth.
In this cloth the ancients wrapped the bodies of their
distinguished dead before they were consumed on the
fimeral pile, for the purpose of keeping their ashes
separate from those of the fuel. ' It is said that Char-
lemagne had a tablecloth of amianthus, which he took
pleasure in throwing into the fire after dinner, for the
amosement of his guests.' In the * Dictionnaire Orien-
tsSe,*it is said — *It cannot be doubted that the cloth
which may be thrown into the fire (without injury) is
that which the Greeks call cubestos. We are not agreed
as to the matter of which the cloth is made, nor do the
Chinese themselves know it any better than we do.
Some even say it is wove of the hair of certain rats that
fire in the fiames of certain volcanoes.' These rats,
doubtless, were the salamander. In our day the origin
of the amianthos is no longer a mystery, as it is found
in Eogland, Scotland, and other European countries.
* There was a lady at O)mo who manufactured cloth of
difTereot degrees of fineness, and even lace, of amian-
thus. The lady of the viceroy of Italy, in Napoleon's
time, possessed a veil of amianthus. In Siberia also,
puies, caps, gloves, and similar articles, are some
kitted, others woven, of amianthus. In the Pyrenees,
girdles are made of the same substance intermingled
with silver thread. These girdles are much esteemed by
the women, not only on account of their beauty, but for
certain mysterious properties they were believed to
possess. Amianthus has also been employed as incom-
bustible wicks ; and it has been suggested that the per-
petual lamps of the ancients were formed of this sub-
stance, and constantly supplied by a spontaneous oozing
of petroleum. It is also asserted that the Greenlanders
uie wicks of anaianthus. Attempts have been made to
manufacture incombustible paper of this mineral ; and
H. Demidofi', a Russian proprietor of great wealth, even
offered to supply all the government offices of the em-
pire with Uiis kind of paper; but up to the present time
the attempt has not succeeded.'
On the subject of diamonds we have the following
gossip:— * This diamond, the Sanci, formerly belonged
to Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, who wore it
in his hat at the battle of Nancy, where his army was
completely defeated, and where he lost his life, in 1477.
It was found on the field of battle by a Swiss soldier,
who sold it to a French gentleman of the name of Sanci.
The diamond was preserved in the family of this gentle-
man for nearly a hundred years, until Henry III. com-
I missioned a descendant of that family, who was a cap-
t^ in the Swiss troops in his service, to raise fresh
recruits among the Swiss. Driven from his throne by
a league whidi his subjects had formed against him,
the monarch, without money to pay his troops, bor-
rowed the &mci diamond, in order to pawn it to the
I Sviss. Sanci charged one of his servants to take it to
te destination, bdl both the man and the diMuood dii-
■ppeared, no one could tell whither. The khig re-
pfoached Sand bitterly for having confided an otrject of
neh value to a vaikit. But Sand, full of confidence In
his servant, set out in search, and discovered that the
man had been assassinated by robbers, and that the
body was buried in a neighbouring forest Thither he
went, ordered the body to be disinterred and opened,
when tiie diamond was discovered in his stomach ; the
faithful servant having swallowed it, the more efifectuaUy
to hide it from the rapacity of the brigands. From
that time it has always been called the Sanci diamond.
It ultimatdy came into the jMssession of an English
monarch.'
Glass is not cut with the point of a glazier's diamond,
but with the curved edge formed by the meeting of two
contiguous curved facets of the stone. A pointed diamond
ring meRly scratches the glass — it does not cut it ; and
writing in this way is attended with some risk to the
ring, as diamonds, though hard, are not difficult to break.
The diamond was supposed to protect from poison, pes-
tilence, panic-fBar, hallucination, enchantments, &c. It
likewise calmed anger, maintained affection between
man and wife, and was thence called the stone of recon-
dliation. Mr Jackson might have added that it pos-
sesses these latter virtues to this day. ' A talismanic
virtue was also attributed to it : when, under a favour-
able aspect, and under the planet Mars, the figure of
Uiis divinity, or of Hercules surmounted by a hydra,
was engraved upon it, in such case it secured the vic-
tory to him who wore it, whatever might be the num-
ber of his enemies. It was even pretendied that diamonds
engendered other diamonds (this is a pendant for the
Peruvian em^ald mentioned in a former letter); and
Bueus informs us that a Princess of Luxemburg had
some hereditary diamonds that produced others at cer-
tain times (why not, if money makes money ?). In the
language of iconology, the diamond is the symbol of
constancy, of strength, of innocence, and other heroic
virtues.'
This is sufficient to show the stuff* of which the work
is composed ; and such of our readers as desire a little
amusement blended with a little instruction, cannot do
better than send for the volume itself
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
ELEGANT BEADING.
In the rage for making children understand all that
they read at school, reading itself is now too much
overlooked. At some schools of no small note, to hear
more than a fhll sentence enunciated at a time is a
rarity. It is more common to hear the young learners
stopped at the end of three words, that some one of
these words may be made the theme of an examination,
philological, scientific, and historical, running off" into
an episode of several minutes, till the scholar has been
perhaps driven into a field of intelligence ten thousand
miles away fVom the point of starting, and himself and
his audience are alike tired. The old system of ex-
plaining nothing was bad ; but it is almost as bad to
make school exercises consist of little besides an eternal
jabber from Philips's * Million of Facts,' or * Maunder's
Treasury of Knowledge.' Formerly it was a glory for
a young person to be a good reader. At most schools,
it is now scarcely to be expected of any that he should
acquire the art of reading fiuently, elegantly, and with
expression. It would be well, we think, while taking
.care that the intellecttuil system is qpt lost sight of, to
see that this accomplishment is also duly attended to.
Of its value we get a livdy idea when we hear a Charles
Kemble or a James Russell give their readings from
Shakspeare» a kind of entertainment of which no one
could form an adequate idea till they heard it, so much
of all that is most valuable in good acting does it involve.
With even a moderate endowment of such a gift, wc
can imagine no resource for the amusement of a family
drde during the long evenings superior to this ; nothing
200
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
more servioeable amongst a groap of young bosineM
men living together, or in a worksliop where the nature
of the employment la such as to admit of the Yoice
being heard, and due attention being given. Far from
being a dull amusement, our experience represents it as,
on the contrary, fascinating and exciting— combining,
indeed, all the pleasures of ' taking a book* with those
derivable from company. For the success, however, of
readings in families or elsewhere, it is essential that a
power of easy and agreeable enunciation be acquired;
and to favour this, it appears to us that some change in
our present plans and modes of school-instruction is
necessary. We must cease to be ao wbcdly for the un-
derstanding, and begin to give a little «Mre attention to
the manner and form.
THE ARTICLE ' BBACTION AGAINST PHILAMTHROPT.*
We find that the article in Na 269, entitled ' Reaction
against Philanthropy,' has been so far misunderstood in
some quarters, as to be made a tlieme of unfavourable
remark. The gravamen of the charge brought against
us is, that we approve of a return to the old system of
severe punishments for criminals, and indifierence to-
wards the claims of the poor. There is certainly nothing
in the article to substantiate this charge, and we must
protest against any such meaning being attached to it
It is well known that we have for many years been the
advocates of a mild criminal code, and Uiat scarcely any
project for the promotion of the physical and moral
wellbeing of the humbler classes of the community has
failed to receive early and efficient support from this
Journal. It was therefore very unlikely that any writing
capable of being interpreted by a cool or candid person
into such a spirit should have appeared here. In reality,
the design of the article was rather to moderate that
reaction against philanthropic schemes which appears
to be setting in. We admitted that the philanthropy of
tlie past age, itself a generous reaction from the mer-
cilessness and indifference of a preceding era, had been
carried to , extravagance in some points, and we ex-
pressed ourselves as prepared to see the ebb of this tide
attended by many circumstances of anything but a rose-
water character. We advocated, what we have all along
advocated, the principles of self-reliance, of industrious
application, and prudent frugality, as those roost indis-
pensable to the welfare of individuals. But so far from
dictating one inhumane step, or expressing any indiffer-
ence on such subjects, we both intreated that the tran-
sition, if there was to be a transition, to a somewhat
sterner system, should be a gentle and gradual one, and
expressed our belief that, *by the never-failing humanity
of such a society as ours,* no monstrous outrage would
be committed. While we enforced the maxim, that it
is incumbent on all to work, that they may not want, as
the only economical one by which society in the mass
could be benefited, the daims of those who cannot work,
and of those who, in particular exigencies, cannot find
employment, were expressly admitted, though only on
the ground of humanity. These reclaimers, indeed, bear
a small proportion of space ; but this was because the
main obgect was a discussion of the fact of the reaction,
aad an exposition of the principles on which it might
be presumed that the world was not to be permanently
and wholly a scene of pure philanthropy, the error to
which we seemed lately to be tending, and from which
the present reaction takes its rise.
We can assure all who may have been thrown into
doubt on the subject, that we are, and ever must be,
lovers of our kind. We must, however, confess that,
other circumstances being equal, we are most disposed
to feel intensely, not for the idle and dissolute, but
for the worthy and industrious; not for the abject
soulless batteners on public bounty in all iU shapes,
but for the constant, modest, distressed tax and rate-
payers, who struggle under many difficulties to preserve
their independence, and observe the decencies of life—
who make no figure perhaps in novels and orationi,
but who are, in very fStct, tlus back-bone of the Britiib
empire.
ODDS AND ENDS OF A SPORTSMAN.*
This book reminds us of the conversation of a sports-
man after a hard day*s shooting. He has eaten and
drunken ; he has turned his chair half round to the fire ;
a sensation of warmth and comfort opens his heart and
loosens his tongue; while a slight degree (^ fever withal,
the consequence of fatigue and excitement, gives an
incoherence to his ideas which, though amusing for a
while, ends by making us vote him a bore. He skipi
from one subject to another, in the chance-medley w&y
in which the game appeared. He winds and dontis^
repeaU himself a dozen times over, and brings ont hii
observations, just as, before sitting down, he haddiaken
forth the heterogeneous contente of hia wallet
In one way, however, the garrulous sportsman ii
better company than the book ; for a question now and
agidn has all the utility of an index, and brings bin
back to the point you wish to note, however far he may
have travelled from it In the book, the moment yoi
turn ^e page the thing is irrevocably lost This d^Kt
seems to have struck either the author or publisher ;
but the plan fallen upon to remedy it has but little in*
genuity. It is simply to break up the mass of mate-
rials, without the slightest attempt at arrangement, and
oUl one portion a Tour in Sutherland; another, Held*
Notes ; and a third, Extracte from Note-Books.
It is so far a compliment to Mr St John, however, to
complain of the want of a clue, for his facts or ideu
must occasionally be of some value, or we should not
care about fixing them. And indeed the book, slthoagh
to read it straight through is like reading a dictionaiy,
has much that is entertaining, and something that it
useful ; and the numerous class of persons interested in
such subjecU will, we have no doubt feel considerable
interest in dipping now and then into its heterogeneoiu
pages.
That class does not seem to diminish much either io
numbers or enthusiasm. It is of little consequence
whether the quarry is a tiger or a hare, a vulture or a
partridge, the chase appears to awaken pretty nearly
the same excitement, and to be associated in pretty
nearly the same degree with ideas of courage and man*
liness. The reason, no doubt, is to be found in the air,
the exercise, the natural scenery, the determinate pur-
suit ; and likewise, perhaps, in the thirst of blood ss as
instinct of carnivoroua man. It is of little consequence
what creature it is whose life we seek ; although the
enjoyment may be enhanced by the difficulty of tiie
enterprise, and we should thus derive more plessore
from stalking a deer than from shooting a rabbit But
we altogether deny that the love of the chase presenti
the human character in ite manliest phssia Occa-
sionally it does the very reverse, when it leads the
sportsman to delight in mere slaughter. In the very
book before us there is an account of the butchery of s
deer (given in a detail betraying much bad taste),
which, by the graphic picture it draws of the hooian
fears and human agonies of the poor maimed aniniaJ,
suggeste irresistibly the idea of— murder.
A description, in much better taste, of the ssMso-
nation of an osprey by our author himself, points tft
other feelings of a more afiecting kind shared with ns
by the lower animals. The nest was on a rock rising
from a beautiful and solitary lake ; and the sportsman,
after lying in wait for some time among the diin os
the margin of the water, had the satisfaction to see ha
victim rise from its retreat • For some time after the
» TOOT in BntheiUndihire, with Extracts from the PIdd-Booki
of a Sportsman and Naturalist. By Charles 8t John, B»<l- .•""*?
of • Wild Sports and Natural History of the Hlghlsnd*. Witn
Woodouta 2 vols. London : Hnrray. I849L
departure of my oompanuma, alie flew round and round
it a great height, occaaionally drifting away with the
biffa wind, and then returning to the loch. She pasaed
tvo or three times not very far from me before I shot at
ber. Bot at laat I flred, and the poor bird, after wheel-
ing blindly about for a few momenta, fell far to leeward
of me, and down amongst the most precipitous and rocky
psrt of the mountain, quite dead. She was scarcely
dovD behind the cliffs when I heard the cry of an osprey
ifl qaite a different direction, and on looking that way,
I nv the male bird flying up from a great distance. As
became nearer, I could distinguish plainly with my glass
tbtt be was carrying a flsh in his daws. On approach-
iog, he redoubled his cries, probably expecting the well-
knovn answer or signal of gratitude from his mate;
bol not hearing ber, he flew on till he came immediately
ofar the neat I could plainly aee him turning hia head
to tbe ri^t and l^t, aa if looking for her, and aa if in
Mtnnishroent at her unwonted absence. He came lower
sad lover still, holding the flsh in his feet, which were
stretched out at fall length from his body. Not seeing
btf, be again ascended, and flew to the other end of the
kke, the rocks echoing his shrill cry. The poor bird,
I after making one or two circuits of the lake, then flew
avay far out of aighti still keeping possession of the
fiik He probably went to look for tlie female at some
known and frequented haont, as he flew rapidly off in
a diiaet line. He soOB,^lK)weTer, came orer Uie lake
^guB, and oontioued hia flight to and fro and his loud
erift for aboTe an hour, still keeping the flsh ready for
bis mate. I at length heard the voices of my friends,
and we soon launched the boat The oaprey became
DQch agitated aa we neared the rock where the nest
W8I, and dropped the flsh he held into the water. We
hmd two beautiful eggs in the neat, of a roundish
ibape; the colour white, with numerous spots and marka
at a fine rich red brown. Aa we came away, we stiU
obienred Uie male bird unceasingly calling and seeking
kt hit hen. I was really sorry that I had shot her.'
Another osprey's nest is described as consisting of a
perfect cartload of sticks, some aa large aa a very stout
walking-stick, the lining being composed of coarse grass.
It was not leas than eight roet in length, and four in
width. Many other birds have the aame conjugal at-
tachment n the oaprey. Mr St John mentions a hen
liraose caught io a trap, whose mate collected, with
msay houra' labour, at least a hatful of the tender sprigs
of the heather, and laid them beside the priaoner ; and
lit fifes a pretty picture of the mutual attachment of
two red-necked phalaropes, feeding in a little pool
mantled with weeds. * Whenerer, in their search for
ibod, they wandered so far apart aa to be hidden by the
iuterrening weeda, the male bird stopped feeding sud-
denly, and looking round, uttered a low and musical
oslt of inquiry, which waa immediately answered by
the female in a different note, but perfectly expressive
of her answer, which one might suppose to be to the
porport that she was at hand and quite aafe. On hear-
iag her, the male immediately recommenced feeding,
kii at tiie aame time making hia wa^ towarda her ; she
aiss flew to meet him. They then joined company for
a noment or two, and after a few little notea of endear-
Bieot, turned off again in different directiona. Thia
•oene waa repeated a dozen timea while I was watch-
ing them.' £ven a cat is an affectionate and devoted
mother. One had her kitten carried more than a mile
fiS, while its twin waa left at home; and the poor
mother, who Uved> in a large town, dared every night tlie
dsogers of hoy and dog, and made a journey to auckle
her di^ant offspring, returning, aa soon as the process waa
orer, to perform tl^ same duty to the other. The otter
goes beyond this. Not only does she feed her young,
lart the young repay her carea with fllial respect ' My
keeper tells me that he haa aeen an old otter feeding
her young with fish; the two young ones were sitting
00 a flat stooe at the edge of the bum when their parent
Imui^t them a good-sized trout They immediately
both seized the fish, pulling and tearing at it like two
bulldog puppies. At last they came to a pitched battle
with each other, biting, squealing, and tugging, and
leaving the trout to ita fate. On thia the old one inter-
fered, and making them quiet, gave tlie trout to one of
them aa his own. The other young one, on seeing the
parent do this, no longer interfered, but sat quietly
looking on, till the old otter (who in the meantime had
renewed her fishing) came back with a large trout for
it also.*
This may be instinct, but what shall we call the
stratagem fallen upon by a fox to get hold of a flne
mallard, feeding with its companions at the rushy end
of a Highland lake ? He crept round to windward, and
set afloat upon the loch some bunches of dead rushes,
which floated down among the ducks without causing
alarm. He repeated the experiment again and again,
till he had accuatomed the ducks to toe appearance;
and then, taking in his mouth a bunch of the same
kind, he floated himself gently off, with nothing above
the water but his snout and ears. In this way he drifted
down among the unsuspecting feeders, and captured his
victim. This is precisely the mode of duck-hunting
practiaed in some of the rivers in Cliina. The Celestiid
sportsman sends a gourd now and again to drift among
the ducks, who, by and by, feel themselves all on a sud-
den drawn under tlie water by aome myaterioua agency.
The explanation is, that the last of the gourds haa
within it the hand of a Chinaman, who makes use in
this manner of his hands. Mr St John does not give
the story of the fox on his own authority ; but he him-
aelf aaw * one in conflnement lay out part of his food
just within reach of his chain, in order to attract the
tame ducks and chickens about the yard; and then,
having concealed himself in his kennel, wait in an atti-
tude, ready to spring out, till some duck or fowl came
to bin bait, which he immediately pounced upon.'
Our author is of opinion that few or no wild animals
die either from natural disease or old age. They either
serve aa food for each other, or fall a victim to the gene-
ral devourer — man. When unmolested, wild birds more
especially, he thinks, live in a state of constant eigoy-
ment ; and even when the evil hour comes, their terror
or pain ia of short duration, having no anticipation, and
if they escape, but little memory. Their want of anti-
cipation, however, we doubt; for wild animals, and
more especially birds, appear to be in a state of constant
alarm. Many of them, even when roving in flocks,
cannot go to feed in conofort before placing a sentinel to
keep watch. His own account of the precautions of wild
geese is interesting. * Wild geese, while feeding on the
open flelds, invariably leave one bird to keep watch, and
most faithfully does she perform this duty. Keeping on
some high spot of the field, she stands with neck per-
fectly erect, watching on all sides, and listening to every
sound far or near. Nor does she attempt to snatch at
a single grain, however hungry she may be, till one of
her comrades thinks fit to rdicve her guard ; and then
the former sentinel sets to work at her feeding with an
eagerness which shows that her abstinence while on
duty waa the result not of want of appetite, but of a
proper sense of the important trust imposed on her. If
any enemy, or the slightest cause of suspicion appears,
the sentry utters a low croak, when the whole flock
Immediately run up to her, and, after a short consulta-
tion, fly ofi^ leaving the unfortunate sportsman to lament
having shown the button of his cap or the muzzle of his
gun above the bank of the ditch, along which he had
perhaps been creeping, ** suadente diabolo," for the laat
half-hour up to his knees in water, well iced to the
temperature of a Scotch morning in February.' These
birds are likewiae quick in taking hints from creatures
not of their own qiecies. Once when our sportsman
waa lying in wait for them in a hiding-place, a couple of
gulla chanced to come by, and detecting him at once as
a suspicious character, immediately began screaming
and wheeling round his head. This was enough for the
geese, who were dispersed throughout the field, and they
immediately took to flight
xhS
202
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
The manner in which voodcocks are described as
transporting their young from the vood to the swamp
is carious. This operation, it seems, thej perform in
the evening, by taking up the unfledged bird in their
claws, and carrying it down to the soft feeding-grounds.
They bring it back in the same way, before daylight, to
the shelter of the woods, where it remains in security
daring the whole day. This story may be doubted by
those who take their analogies from the young of par-
tridges and other birds, which run Tigorously about as
soon as they are hatched ; but with snipes, woodcocks,
and waders, the case is different Their bills take some
time to hiurden, and their legs and wings to strengthen ;
and without the assistance of the parent birds they
would certainly perish, as their nests are usually placed
in dry heathery woods, which afford nothing for their
support
While on the subject of birds, we must not omit to
mention the fact — which all of us, as well as Mr St
John, must have remarked — ^that notwithstanding the
kind of religious immunity they enjoy, the robins do
not appear to increase in numbers. We have the same
solitary visitor of this species, year after year, with
hardly a single rival to dispute the ground with him.
The reason is supposed to be that the robin thinks fit
to build upon the ground, and that the rats, weasels»
and other animals, do not share in the tender feelings
with which he is regarded by mankind. But this,
after all, is no great matter; for your robin is the
most litigious, irritable, desperate fellow imaginable.
* When snow and frost cover the ground, and we feed
the birds at the windows and on the gravel walks,
thrushes, blackbirds, sparrows, and many other birds
come to share the crumbs, but none dare eat if any
robin is there, until the fiery little fellow permits him.
Thrushes and all are beaten and driven away, and even
after he has crammed himself to repletion, the robin will
sit at the window and drive away with the most furious
attacks every bird whose hunger prompts him to try to
snatch a morsel of his leavings. Perched amidst the
crumbs, he looks the very personification of ill temper
and pugnaci^^.' The thrush is more mild, or less in-
hospitable. He fredy allows other birds to share with
him ; and even when some impudent vagabond among
them snatches at the morsel in his bill, he looks more
in sorrow than in anger.
Our author is as amusing in his remarks on fish.
* Among others,' says he, * I have more than once seen
a most hideous large-headed brute of a fish, whom the
country people call sometimes " the sea-devil,*' some-
times " the sea-angel," but whose more regular cogno-
men is, I believe, " the sea-angler.** The first name he
owes to his excessive and wicked-looking ugliness ; the
second must have been given him ironi(»lly ; whilst the
third is derived from his reputed habit of attracting fish
to their destruction by a very wily ruse. He buries
himself, it is said, in the sands, by scraping a hole with
his two most unseemly and deformed-looking ** hands,**
which are placed below what may be called his chin.
Being in this way quite concealed, he allows some long
worm-like appendages, which grow from the top of his
head, to wave and float above the surface of the sand :
fish, taking these for some kind of food, are attracted
to the spot, when the concealed monster, by a sudden
spring, manages to engulf his victims in the fearfully
wide cavity of his mouth, which is armed with hun-
dreds of teeth sloping inwards, and as hard and sharp
as needles, so that nothing which has once entered it
can escape. So runs the tole, the exact truth of which
I am not prepared to vouch for.'
Our author's personal adventures are neither nume-
rous nor uncommon ; but one hairbreadth *scape when
in pursuit of ptarmigan is worth mentioning. The
scene was the summit of a mountain covered with snow,
and sloping down to a nearly peroendicular diff of great
height. He shot one of the birds, which fell upon the
slope, and as it was fluttering towards the precipice, ran
to secure it * The shepherd was some little distance
behind me, lighting hit everlasting pipe ; but when be
■aw me in pursuit of the ptarmigan, he shouted at me
to stop : not exactly understanding him, I ^U ran after
the bird, when suddenly I found the snow giving way
with me, and sliding en nutsse towards the precipice.
There was no time to hesitate, so, springing back with
a power that only the emergency of the case could have
given me, I struggled upwards again towards my com-
panion. How I managed to escape I cannot tell ; but in
less time than it takes to write the words, I had re-
traced my steps several yards, making use of my gun
as a stick to keep myself fh>m sliding bade again to-
wards the edge of the cliff The shepherd was too
much alarmed to move, but stood for a moment speech-
less ; then, recollecting himself, he rushed forward to
help me, holding out his long gun for me to take hold
of. For my own part, I had no time to be afraid, and
in a few moments was on terra firma, while ft vast mass
of snow which I had set in motion rolled like mn ava-
lanche over the precipice, carrjring with it the unfortu-
nate ptarmigan.*
We must now conclude with a very interestiog pic-
ture exhibited in quite a difibrent department of nature.
The subject is the Merry Dancers (aurora borealis) and
the sound of their petticoats ! * The keeper,' says he,
* told me that when the aurora was very bright, and
the flashes rapidly waving through the sky, he had fre-
quently thought that he heard the merry dancen emit
a faint rustling noise, like the ** moving of dead leaves ;**
but this was only when the night was quite calm, and
there was no sound to disturb the perfect stillneas. . . .
I was pleased to hear him say this, as I had more than
once imagined that the aurora, when peculiarly bright
and rapid in its movements, did actuidly make exactly
the sound that he described ; but never having heard it
asserted by any one else, I had always been rather ahy of
advancing such a theory. The aurora is seldom seen,
or at least seldom attentively watched in this country, in
situations where there is not some sound or other, such
as voices, running water, or the rustling and moaning
of trees, to break the perfect silence: but it has oc-
casionally happened to me to be gajnng at this bean^al
illumination in places where no other sound could be
heard, and then, and then only, have I fancied that the
brightest flashes were accompanied by a light crackling
or rustling noise, or, as my keeper expressed it very cor-
rectly, " the moving of dead leaves.'* ... In the nortbom
mountains of Sutherland, where the aurora is frequently
venr bright and beautiful, there is a fascinating, nay, an
awful attraction in the sight which has kept tne for
hours from my bed, watching the waving and evo^
changing flashes dancing to and fro. I have watched
this strange sight where the dead silence of the moun-
tains was only broken by the fancied rustling of the
** dresses ** of the •• merry dancers,** or by the sudden
scream or howl of some wild inhabitant of the recks ;
and I have done so until an undefinable feeling of eoper-
stitious awe has crept over my mind, whidi waa not
without difficulty shdcen off.'
From this rapid survey of the book, the reader will
see that it has good matter ; although, from the want
of common arrangement he will find it somewhat diffi-
cult to make the discovery for himselfl
ELIZABETH FRY.
EuzABBTH GuBHEY, afterwards Mrs Fty, bom oo the
21st of May 1780, was the third daughter of John
Gumey, of Earlham in Norfolk, a member of the
Society of Friends. She lost her maternal parent, a
woman of jgreat worth and ability, when only twelve
years of age. The family then consisted of eleven chil-
dren, the eldest of whom was only seventeen. Her
feelings of benevolence towards her suffering fellow-
creatures appear to have been drawn out in very early
childhood, by her being the companion of her motiier
in her visits to the cottages of their poor neighbours.
CHAMB£BS*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
208
In other respects there was nothing striking in her
diancter excepting strong affection, which was parti-
colarlj called forth towards her parents, and brothers
and sisters. When about seyenteen, she was seriously
impressed with the importance of religion, and boUi
itfr JBdgfoaent and oonscirace subsequently decided in
fifoiir of the jociety to which her family belonged, and
of whifdi she afterwards became such an ornament
She was now enabled to gratify her feelings of bene-
Toknce by becoming her father's almoner, and she
was neyer sparing of her own personal sacrifices,
both of time and property, for the benefit of others.
Though her own education waa rather deficient, owing
to aome want of application in herself, and partly from
her general delicate state of health, yet eren at this
eariy period of bar life she felt the necessity of glying
ii»tnictioi] to the humbler classes, as a means of impror-
iog their moral condition. To carry out this idea, shQ
taught the poor children in the neighbourhood ; and in
a short time her school, which was commenced with
ooe little boy, increased to above jieyenty scholars, and
was then held in a raca^t laundry attached to their
hovse. The first mention we have of her aympathies
being drawn out by the moral degradation of her spe-
des, was while on a tour through part of Wales and the
south of England, in company with her father and six
sisters. When at Plymouth (1798), they yisited the
dockyards ; and she notes in her diary : * My mind felt
deei^ hurt on account of the poor sailors and women,
of whom I haye seen a sad number, and longed to do
them good, to try one day to make them sensible of the
eyil state they appear to be in.'
On the 1 9 th of August 1800 Elizabeth Gumey was
xmited to Mr Joseph Fry, who was then a junior partner
in a Urge mercantile establishment, and she and her
husband took up their abode in St Mildred's Court,
City. During their residence in this place» their fiye
ddest children were born; and notwithstanding the
duties of her £unily, and the ddicate state of her own
health, she deToted much time to visiting the abodes of
want and misery. Her removal to Plashet, in 1809, was
not only more congenial to her feelings, by gratifying
her natural love of the country, but opened fresh fields
for her benevolence. The change was occasioned by the
death of her husband's father, whose country seat it had
previously been. She established a school in the neigh-
bonrfaood, and was looked up to by the poor around as
the Lady Bountiful of the place. Even the gipsies^
who, about the time of Fairlop Fair, were in the habit
of pitehing their tents near her house, came under her
kuMi notice; and the pariahs of society heard them-
srimei many perhaps for the first time---addressed by
hk and gentle lips in terms of sisterly sympathy.
But we must now follow her to the principal sphere
ef her philanthropy — ^the loathsome and neglected ceUs
of the prison ; where her sweet voice was het^ whisper-
ing to the most abandoned of her sex of a return to virtue
ai^ happiness. In 1813^ several members of the Society
of Friends visited Newgate, to see some felons under sen-
tence of death. These gentlemen were on terms of inti-
nucy with Mrs Fry, and they gave her such a sad account
of tbe state of the women confined there, that she, accom-
panied by a female friend, Anna Buxton, entered this
sbode of misery and crime, for the purpose of adSTording
warm clothing to the wretched inmates. Owing to iU
hesHh and domestic trials, she did not renew her visits
for three or four years; but during that time she was
learning in the school erf affliction to sjrmpathise even
■ore troly with the sufibrings of others. Her next efibrts
were made in 1817, when she formed a school for the
diildren of tiie i^isoners and the young criminala In
• Wiwp fn Vtrntm iiA^mk aialMW- aihm ovrn
^Yi<k in^,
she took in the cause of these poor outcasts — * My
heart, and mind, and time,' she says, ' are very much
engaged in various ways. Newgate is a principal ob-
ject; and I think, until I make some attempt at
amendment in the plans for the women, I shall not
feel easy ; but if such efibrts should prove unsuccessful,
I think that I should then have tried to do my part,
and be easy.' In the spring of this year an associa-
tion was consequently formed for the ' Improvement
of the Female Prisoners in Newgate.' The object of
this society was to provide clothing, employment, and
instruction for the women. They were paid for their
work, and received part of the money immediately, that
they might procure any little comfort they needed ; the
rest was placed in the hands of the committee, as a
reserve for l\iture use. This plan was found highly
beneficial, by occupying the time which had before been
spent in gaming, drinking, and quarrelling.
Before these steps were taken, however, the city
authorities were consulted. They expressed their ap-
probation of the plans, but looked upon their realisa-
tion as hopeless, thinking that the prisoners would
never be brought to submit to the restraints which
such a change must impose upon them. But Mrs Fry
collected the women together ; and after having pointed
out to theni tbe advantages of industry and sobriety,
and the pleasures of conscious rectitude — at the same
time contrasting this picture by their own direful expe-
rience of the misery of vice — she told them that the
ladies of the committee had not come to command their
obedience, but had left their homes and families to in-
treat them for thehr good. She then asked if they were
willing to act in concert with them, assuring them that
not a rule should be made without their entire and
united concurrence. Each rule was then put separately
to the vote, and such was tbe effect of gentleness and
reason even upon minds so untractable, that they were
all unanimously carried.
Hitherto, a scene of riot and confosion had occurred
on the occasion of removing the female convicts from
Newgate in open wagons. The common sense of Mrs
Fry revolted at this indecent exhibition, and she sug-
gested that the removal should take place privately by
means of hackney-coaches. The governors having ac-
ceded to the proposal, the experiment was tried, and it
proved perfectly successful When on board, Mrs Fry
and the ladies of her party examined into the accommoda-
tion, and made many wise arrangements for the voyage ;
among others, materials for work were provided, which
was to be sold for the benefit of the convicts on reach-
ing the place of their destination. This was of more
essential service to them than she was then aware of,
for she afterwards learned from the chaplain of the
colony at New South Wales that there was at that
time no asylum provided for them on their arrival. A
building has since then been erected, and many proper
arrangements made for the preservation of the morals,
and for the comfort of these unhappy beings.
In August 1818, Mrs Fry journeyed into the north
of England and Scotland, accompanied by her brother
Mr Joseph J. Gumey. They made a close examination
into the state of the prisons in their route, and Mr
Gumey published an account of these investigations,
and laid before the magistrates at the various places
a statement of facts, pointing out to them modes of
improvement, which were in most instances adopted.
Two years after, Mrs Fry took another joumey into
the north, and in many places was able to form com-
mittees of ladies to visit the female prisoners in their
own county jails. • The British Ladies * Society for
Promoting the Reformation of Female Prisoners ' was
instituted soon after. Its object was to unite these
branch societies in one body, that there might be sys-
tematic effort in the good work. Tliis association has
proved highly beneficial in many ways, by establishing
houses of shelter for discharged prisoners who had no
homes, and affording relief, part in the shape of a loan.
*««<4 v%mm^ MM M
•^ ^A a.aAt* MM V0AWA vvllllniv ^f\ Aorrt on
204
CHAMB£B6*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
honest living by their own exertions : also by founding
schools of discipline for female vagrants and juvenile
offenders, &c. &c. In the summer of 1824, in conse-
quence of ill health, Mrs Fry made a stay of several
months at Brighton. While here, she was much inte-
rested in the state of the poor around — both that of the
numerous beggars and the resident poor in the neigh-
bourhood, fi^ehad, a short time before, consulted with
Dr Chalmers on the best method of assisting this class,
and was therefore in some measure acquainted with his
views : she now directed her attention to the subject, and
'District-Visiting Societies' were in consequence set on
foot, to examine into and relieve real cases of want.
Her illness was attended by frequent attacks of faint-
i^ss in the early morning, and she was at such times
carried to an open window for the influence of the fresh
breezes. The coast was visible from her cliamber, and
as 'she sat and wntched the first gray streaks of dawn
over the foaming ocean, or gazed on the dreary cliffs be-
fore her, only one living object was present to her view.
This was the coast-guard, who paced with measured step
the lonely beach. Her thoughtful and ever-active bene-
volence suggested means of benefiting tliese men, who
were in a great measure shut out from intercourse with
their fellow -creatures. One day, when passing near
one of the stations, she ordered her coachman to stop,
that she might make inquiries into their general con-
dition. The man addressed, however, politely told her
that he was not allowed to hold communication with
any one whilst on duty. Fearing that this short col-
loquy might therefore bring him into trouble, she gave
liim her card, telling him to present it to his command-
ing officer. A few days after, the lieutenant in com-
mand allied upon her, and oflbred to answer any inqui-
ries. He informed her that the coast-guard were subject
to many dangers and privations, being exposed to all
weathers, as well as to the vidlenoe of the smugglers.
She at once provided those in the vicinity with Bibles,
and afterwards made strenuous efifbrts to obtain libraries
for the use of all the men thus employed. She saw
that the loneliness of tlieir situation, and the absence
of proper sutjects for thought, together with their con-
tact with lawless smugglers, roust of necessity produce
idle habits and fierce manners ; and that, to prevent this
moral evil, it was requisite to provide wholesome food
for the mind*, In consequence of her representations, a
committee was formed for this object, and by means of
a liberal grant from the government, and various sub-
scriptions, upwards of 21,000 persons were supplied
with religious and instructive books; 498 libraries
were establidwd for the stations on shore, containing
26,896 volumes r 74 also for districts, comprising 12,880
volumes; 48 others for cruisers, composed of 1867
volumes, beside 5357 numbers of pamphlets, and 6464
school-books for the use of the duldren of the crews ;
making a total of 52,466 volumes.
In 1835, Mrs Fry accompanied her husband on a jour-
ney into the souUi of England ; and, as usual, it fur-
nished objects of interest for that strangely active mind,
which Ibund * sermons in stones, and good in every-
thing.' When passing over Salisbury Plain, she noticed
the monotonous life led by the numerous shepherds,
and the Uiought suggested itself that libraries would be
equally, useful to tl^m as to the coast-guards. She
tnerifere stopped a short time at Amesbury, in order to
forts sk library there ; and the following letter, which
wai written a few months after by the person who had
thd' charge of the books, will show the suocess of the
plan : — * Forty-five books are in constant ^circulation,
with the additional magazines. More than £fty poor
people read them with attention, return them with
thanks, and desire the loan of more, frequently observ-
ing, they think it a very kind thing indeed that they
should, be if uroished with so many g(K>d books, free of all
cosif so entertaining and instructive these long winter
eveniBgs.'
At Falmouth she witnessed the arrival and depar-
ture <]f different vessels and packets, and her benevolent
heart again pointed out the benefit to be dented irom
books, especially to those who have much time unem-
ployed. By the co-operation of friends, chiefly the
captains of the vessels, and generous grants from dif-
ferent societies, she was enabled to see this defldencj
supplied, each packet being furnished with a box con-
taining thirty volumes, which were changed from time
to time. Captain Clavdl kindly undertook the chvge of
this library, and one of his family sent the followiog 8^
count of it to Mrs Fry : — * Our library is getting on with
much success : the men appear more anxious than erer
to read. I cannot tell you how much we all feel ind^btoi
to you for your kindness and benevolent exertioni, hat
particularly our poor sailors.' At a later period :— ' I
have delightful accounts from all the packets : the men
really beg for the books. I wish I could show 70a 1
box just returned from sea ; the books wdl thumbed, t
proof, I should think, of their being read.'
Another object of interest to her was the nafil hoi-
pitals ; and by her influence libraries were introdooal
there likewise. Nor must we omit to mention the read-
ing-room and library she formed, a short time before her
death, whilst staying at the little village of Cromer for
change of air. This was for the use of the fishermen in
the neighbourhood, to draw them from the pablie-boue;
and though it was but a small experiment, it was
entirely sucoessfld, and is full of enoouragemeot tod
instruction to those who seek, on a larger scale, the
deliverance of Uieir fellows from the bonus of vice nd
idleness.
Mrs Fry had at this time the gratification of reoeir*
ing numerous letters from officers of the coast-guard
stations, informing her of the good resulting from her
labours in this way. She had also many written exprei-
sions of gratitude and affection from the poor priaonen
in Newgate, as well as cheering intdligenoe from Nev
South WiUes, several of the convicts having sent letten
of thanks to her for the instruction she had giren to
them, and for the kind interest she had taken in their
welfare. These things greatly encouraged her in her
arduous undertakings, and showed that she had not
mistaken her mission, though, in fulfilling it, the vai
obliged in some instances to step out of the conventional
rules of her sex. She had much to endure from the
narrow prejudices of some, and the illiberal jodgroent of
others. Her noble self-sacrifices were attributed to lev
motives, and she was even charged with a neglect of her
home duties. All this, however, was of tittle momeot,
for it could not overturn the obvious and practical
results of her labours. If Mrs Fry had preferred the
opinion of the world to the divine spirit of philanthro})/
which impdled her from within, she would have con-
tinued to dance and sing at least aa long u the son (tf
life shone.
In 1828, a house of business in which Mr Fry wai
concerned failed. It was not the one which that gentle-
man personally conducted in St Mildred's Court, hot it
occasioned )i loss so serious to him, as altogether to
change the circumstances of the family. They were
now obliged to give up Plashet House, and sll tbe
luxuries of affluence, and remove, after a short ^7J|°
London, to a comparatively humble dwelling in the
vicinity of their late abode. The chief cause of regret
to Mrs Fry arose from the fact of her being now unable
to render assistance to the poor around, who 1»*^JJ
long looked up to her as their friend, and being oUig^
also to witlidraw her support from her school Macn
sympathy was expressed in this hour of trial by thoie
who had united with her in her labours of l^i^J^
many gratifying testimonies of esteem and sflwoon
were presented. Notwithstanding the diminished re-
sources of this remarkable woman, she continued to
devote her time to the cause so near her heart In cot-
pany with one or other of her brothers, she msde nwn
tours into ScotUnd and Ireland, and afterwards ex-
tended these journeys to several parts of the contin«it
Their object was not only to inspect the P""^*"*^,
also the lunatic asvluma. national schools, and hospttsia,
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
205
I
I
whkh were equally in need of improrement; and a rast
ftRHHint of good reaolted from their labours. Our limits
will not allow of our entering into details respecting
these journeys ; but Mrs Fry and her brothers made
personal appeals to the sovereigns of England, France,
Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Prussia, Hanover, and
others, on behalf of suffering humanity. Nor did they
Ibrget the claims of the poor slave, but remonstrated
wi& these exalted individuals on their countenancing
the slave-trade in their colonies. They were received
with courtesy, and many of their suggestions adopted.
None could listen to Mrs Fry's simple eloquence, bold
io its truthfulness, yet breathing the very soul of love,
without being touched by it. The monarch felt that
the beauty c^ sincerity surpassed the homage of the
oQfurtier ; and tlie hardened heart of the criminal melted
aoder the gentle influence of her nature, and felt the
loveliness of virtue. That she experienced no self-exal-
tation at the universal respect which was shown to
her, ia obvious from many passages in her diary. At
one time she says — * I have fears for myself in visiting
palaces rather than prisons, and going after the rich
rather than the poor, lest my eyes should become
blinded, or I should fall away in anything firom the
simple, pure standard of truth and righteousness.'
Fatigue of body and mind had long been weaken-
ing her health, and in July 1843 her friends became
alarmed. This illness continued, with short intervals
of ameodment, until October 1845, when her earthly
career ended. All that affection could devise was
done for her : she was taken from one watering-place
to another ; but nature was exhausted. In her sixtv-
sixth year she breathed her last at Ramsgate, deeply
kmeuted not only bv all who were bound to her by
the ties of kindred, but by thousands whom her phi-
lanthropy had assisted, and her virtues had attachexi to
her. When estimating the success of her labours, some-
thing must be attributed to the general spirit of im-
provement of tlie age ; yet surely much praise is due to
those individuals who nobly pioneer the way. At the
thne Uiat Mrs Fry entered this field of labour, the
prisons were in a lamentable state. Various causes had
operated to destroy the good wliich Howard had laboured
to effect* jmd the acts of parliament' which were passed
in consequence of his exertions had become a dead let-
ter. The ground had therefore, as it were, to be trodden
afresh, and for this work Mrs Fry was eminently quali-
fied, tier warm, loving heart embraced the whole
human fiunily ; but her chief object was to stretch forth
the hand of encouragement to those of her own sex
who were sunk in vice and misery, and to lead them
to virtue and happiness.
ANECDOTE OF ALBONI.
Not very long since there resided at Bologna a gentle-
man worthy in character, but of somewhat eccentric
habits, whose age might be about forty-five. He had
obtaioed a certain degree of celebrity in the musical
verid : his name was Rossini. Partial to tranquillity,
foed cheer, and . solitude, his door for some years pre-
vious had been closed against a particular class of
visitors ; his concierge having received directions not to
admit any lyrical composer-— a little farther, and he
might have written on the walls, * No musician enters
^Mfe.' Despite these injunctions, a young damsel one
■Mrning gilded into his presence, bearing a letter of
iatroducUon. Bossiui was ftirious, but his better feel-
iogsmevailed.
' What is your pleasure, mademoiselle ?' asked he.
* To ling before yon, monsieur, and to solicit your
advice.'
*Eh, my poor child, you wish to sing? Why, no
person sings oow-a-days.'
' I have, however, a tolerable voice.*
'Pauvre petite! At her age donbto never intrude.
Lotawieei what can you sing— owtialto or loprano?'
' Both, monsieur.'
'Howl Both?'
* Certainly : anything you wish.'
* Do vou know " B Barbiere ?" '
* By heart : I shall sing, if it pleases you, the air of
Rosina and the morceau ^ the Calumny.'
* Ah, ah ! the young rogue is merry,' muttered the
composer, patting her cheek. * What is your name ?'
added he.
* Marietta.'
< Well, Marietta, open the piano, and sing whatever
you choose.'
The young girl sat down, and accompanying herself,
sang the grand air of Basile with the greatest steadi-
ness and accuracy. Rossini was confounded. Without
taking time to repose herself, she sought amongst the
music ranged on the pupitrej and selected the air of
Mathilda in ' Gulllaume Tell,' which she executed with
inconceivable expression, and with the same faultless
precision as the former.
* The organ is superb ! ' exclaimed the composer,
affectionately shaking her hands ; * but it must not
remain idle. Study and sing, and heed not what per-
sons say or do around you.'
This young girl, whose dilnU in the arte was mainly
owing to the undeviating kindness of Rossini, is the
same who, a short time sUice, completely revolutionised
the musiciil world of Paris. Her name is Alboni ; the
most extraordinary songstress, with the exception of
Jenny Lind, that has been heard for thirty years.
Mademoiselle Alboni's character is a compound of
winning frankness and strange caprice. Devoid of that
self-love so common to other artistei, she willingly suite
herself to any part assigned, provided the melody is such
that she can do it justice.
She has often been compared to a German student,
having all the tang-froid and courage usually attributed
to that class. An amusing incident which occurred
during her stay at Trieste is thus related: — Having
heard on the day of her arrival that a cabal ag^nst her
was being organized, she wended her way to the estaminet,
and mingled amongst the conspirators ; her short locks,
fall figure, and digagSe air, rendering it difficult to divine
her sex.
* I am a stranger,' said Alboni, addressing herself to
the Brutus of the cabal ; * but if there's fun on hand,
count upon me.'
* Agreed ! ' was the reply. ' We are preparing to hiss
down a cantatrice this evening.'
< What has she done — anything wicked ? '
* We know nothing about her except that she comes
from Rome, and we wish to have no singers here of
whose reputetions we are not the creators.'
' That appears to me fair enough : now as to the part
I am to teke in the affair? '
' Take this whistle ; each of us carries a similar one.
At a signal which will be given after the air of Rosina
in the " Barber of Seville," you have but to add to the
tempest which will be raised.'
' I comprehend ;' and Alboni, faithful to her disguise,
received from the hands of her dupe a pretty black
whistle attached to a red ribbon.
That night the theatre bent under the weight of spec-
tetors. At the rising of the curtein, Almaviva and
Figaro, two favourites, were listened to with attenti>n ;
but when Rosina appeared in the scene in which she
addresses the jealous tutor, a half-dozen whistles sounded
their shrill notes through the house, unmindfhl of the
signal to be given by the leaders of the cabtL
Alboni advanced to the foot-lighto, and displayed the
whistle suspended round her nc^. * Grentlemen,' said
she with a smile, * we must not hiss me, but the cavatina ;
you have commenced too soon ! '
There was a moment of silence; then thunders of
applause rang through die house. The cantetriee was
that night recalled eleven times amidst showers of
bouquets.
I *I had no idea that you were aware of this cibal?'
206
CHAJif BERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
said the director after the performatMsewaa be kiaaed her
hand.
' My dear imprestario,* replied she, * it is here as in
politics — ^you must conduct the movement, or else be
swept away/
A STORM IN THE BALTIC.
SomE years ago, during a temporary residence in the
small island of Sylt, on the coast of Schleswig-Holstein,
I had an opportani^ of witnessing the ^ects of a storm
in the Baltic, of which I had often heard very strange
things stated.
The season was autumn, and the weather had become
broken and unpleasant. At length we had a day of
incessant rain, accompanied with a gale which Uew
with considerable fierceness. Next day matters seemed
approaching a crisis. The storm had fairly commenced
operations. I shall never forget the scene which now
presented itself. At the beginning of the hurricane, all
the trees in the island were in fcdl leaf^ tiiough tinted
with autumnal hues. When the storm was over, vege-
tation seemed to be destroyed, the leaves being black-
ened and withered on the branches, and in a few days
more, I was told, they would all fall offl Only a few,
which had occupied peculiarly-sheltered positions, re-
mained undestroyed; while some tiut the wind had
whistled through in a particular direction had the one-
half of their leafy crowns left as black as a coal, and the
other quite uninjured. It was really a pitiful sight :
one could almost fancy the wind must have had a
poisonous breath. But the effect proceeded, it was said,
from the loi^-con^ued violent shaking, which hindered
the proper circulation of the juices, just as a human
creature might be shaken to death ; yet in the inland
parts of Germany and in England trees are often shaken
by the wind for days together without any such fatal
consequence, and many of their coasts are as much ex-
posed to gales from the North Sea. Can this injurious
action take place only fh>m the west? The first that
went were, I perceived, the leaves of the chestnut trees ;
then followed the limes ; and lastly the poplars and the
willows. Those that endured it best were the black-
thorns; and it is natural that the larger the leaves,
and the more firmly attached to the bramthea, the more
they suffer. Those of a long narrow shape, or which are
very small and limp, yield more easily to the storm, and
feel it less«
When the wind had Listed a short time, the windows
became covered with a coat of fine salt, like hoarfrost,
and the lips and skin also acquired a salt taste. At the
back of the house where I was staying Uiere were some
swallows' nests, in which the young ones now began to
make a most pitiful and unusual noise. On going to
see what was the matter, we found them all stretching
their necks out of the nest, and the <M birds flying a
little way o^ screaming, and evidenUy in great dis-
tress. It appeared that the violence of the wind pre-
vented the parents from flying out in search of insects,
and that they were consequently suffering from hunger.
Our good-natured hostess, however, took pity on them,
and chopped up a quantity of meat and bread crumbs
to feed them till the storm was over. But it was not
enough that this fierce gale should destroy the leaves and
starve the birds : it had worse things in store for us.
Oh the second day we suddenly became aware, to our
dismay, that the white surf, which we had been admir-
ing, as it broke at some distance on the shore and the
sandbanks, was now dashing up in the middle of the
island. The sea had risen and covered the marshes, and
towards evening a swift stream was rushing through
the most fruitful part of the island, which unluckily
was the lowest, ana cutting it into two divisions, having
opeaed a passage for itself from one bay to another.
The raging storm had lashed up the waters to such a
height, that we could not distinguish whether the tide
was in or outi it seemed to sweU as much at ebb as at
flood. The inhabitants of the island, not expecting such
a storm as this in the summer, had left thdr flocks ook
on the pastures, and it now became a question bow to
provide, if possible, for their safety.
The flooded country, which we were anxknuly ooo-
templating through the tdescope, presented an intereit-
ing spectacle : the dark-gn^ waters were mshiDf io
various directions across it, and leaving only Bumerooi
strips and patches of green visible, as far as the h^
geest land against which they were breakmg. The eat^
horses, and sheep were crowded together on the spoti
still left for them ; and the composed manner in whidi
they were feeding formed a striking contrast to &e
excitement and agitation of their masters. It not sd*
frequently happens, indeed, that the peofde lose their
lives in attempting to save those of their flocki. Ai
night came on, tlw gale seemed to grow even Aerccr,
and it now became decidedly necessary to go to the bdp
of some of the sheep.
I joined one of tiie men who were going out for thii
purpose, and we walked along towards the inner Hofl^
where we hoped to be able to cross to where tiie snimah
had taken refuge; but we found an arm of the ses, which
was rushing across with great fury. It was imposiAde
to go that way, and we sought another passsge, tod
got on some distance towards them by wading;< bat we
soon found the water getting ao deep, that we were oom-
pelled to give up our intention. The poor man wsi n
a state of the greatest alarm — not for himself, bat fiir
his sheep ; indeed oor danger was no more than jost
sufficient to create a pleasant excitement : the sky wai
covered with clouds, and sea and huid seemed Biingied
together in the thick darkness. As we passed slong
the edge of the geest, or high heathy land, we pe^
ceived on the little border of reeds around it that the
water was lower than it had been; and at midai|^ the
shepherd went out again, as he said if his dteep woe
drowned, he should still perhaps be able to save their
skins. This tioM, however, I was not his oonraanioo;
another aian went with him, and I returned and paased
the remainder of the night in smoking, and listemng to
my host's stories of perils in the great deep. His hooie,
fortunately for us, Uy very high, on a tongue of firm
geest land.
On the following morning we heard much of tbe
sufibringt of the night One of the isbndecs bad kut
ten sheep, one thirteen, another his whole floek; tad
the bodies of many were carried in moumf ol prooeaooa
into the village. I ooifld not help, however, adminog
the patience of the peo^. Hhen was no kiad cod-
plaining, and still lesa any oorsing; but all shoved
sober patience and resignation, although tiieir ifaeep
are almost theur only possessions. Several vssseb had
been wrecked in the night on or near the iaUnd, aod
indeed we had heard guns fired, but had no means of
giving assistance.
As we rode along the shore we passed two cf the
wrecks. The crews of these had got safe to hod ; asd
the captain of the one, still drippmg weti wasstaadiDg
answering a long string of questions put to him bj the
ttrandvogt, or steward of Uie shore, who was driviog
about the sands in a little light oHe-horse carriage^
with wheels of three yards' diameter. * Whence hid he
come ? What was the name of his vessel ? What was
his cargo? Why he was lying there? How came be
to go ashore?' &c.; though the stiU howhnf wind
might perhaps have answered the two hitter p^'f'^
for him. At a abort distance f^irther on we wand »e
next wreck. It was a little Dnteh vessel; and, like
other aquatic creatures, the eaptain had made ^^^
quite at home on the waves : he had had hk^wt^
baby on board. These had been deposited m^J^{° *
oottoge; and the father, a grown-up son, and s b^i
were busy getting what they could out of the wrecfc
Here lay a little iron stove ; there a blue-painted coro^
cupboard, a copper tea-kettle, and a china teapot, witn
cups, &c thereunto belonging, besides a tobiif batter, a
cheese, and an old kMf. Sometimes one of then would
return with nothinff hotter than a nair oftroeseri,a
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
207
tombler, or tome little ginneDt of the baby'i : but they
ooottnoed their work, though the lea was still breaking
over their Teuel* bo thct they got nuuiy a ihower-bath.
A litHe &riher on we oame to a large matt that had
ifiJMit^y beeo cat away. The marki of the hatohet
««t rtiU fnih upoo it; hot of the teMd to whkh it
M bekeged there wa« no* a trace. Probably it had
gooe oitirely to pieces, and the crew been scattered
like chsfT before the wind.
THE ICARIAN PARADISE LOST.
Poi ft iitimber of years, a M. Cabet in Paris carried on a
ddmioa wbieh I»s ended as badly as all knew it would,
the dopes tf the delusion alone excepted. Whether M.
Oibet was a rogue or a fool, or a mixture of both, is a
matter of little ooosequenoe. He was one of those men
vho alleged that the oompetitive system of society is all
vnog, and that Communism, or a general partition of
fooda in common, is the only means of earthly happiness.
In order ta practise what he preached, he induced a large
noaber of oredoloua people to make an investment in an
Aawioaa Utopia called Icaria, to which they proceeded
in riiiploads by way of New Orleans.
It always appeared to us that Icaria had no real exist-
eaee, bet it now seems to have a locality somewhere in
Texu; sad here, oo this happy spot, Communism was at
ksgtk to hsTc a fair start. Alas! evil tidings have reached
FiMse isspeeting the loarians ; and li. Cabet is de-
nooaced aa a most perfidious indiridual ; though he still
eanisaoohisi^aaa, aad is not without supporters among
tW Red RepnUieaBs. Let the following account of Icarian
aiuB% taaasribed fix>m the ' Journal dee Debate ' and
oUht psptts into the * Times,* not be lost on those who
Ighe fsr to sehemes lor reeonstmoting society :—
*8ffeial artlcka fai the Ameriean papen, and some
l0ttsn tlwt we hatfe partly repobBshed, have made our
icadcfs acquaieted wHuthe fkte of the unfortunates who,
eiailsd to fiaiatiekm by the dootrines ef M. Cabet, had
tbe dsplssaUe teaaerity to abandon their homes, their
todes^ and their fiaeailies, to go aad found in the solitudee
of tW New Worki the Paradise of Icaria— that "* new
Jonaleai'* wheaee ^rece to ariae the aalratkm and hi^pi-
nMBofthehoBaaimee^ We thought these afflictkig discio-
snei would hare ptoroked explaHations,or at least a rej^y,
froai tbo Base who is accused aa the author of so many
naiBttaass; aad without really yielding any eredeaee
ta lbs extran^aat and immoral Utopias of M. Cabet, we
bapsd that he weald at aU events be able to prove that
Iys dsplerable narratives were exaggerated. We were
<kaiiv«4 bowerer, and we still wait — for we cannot view
•ismoos the letter addressed to several of our contem-
pemiss by forty-nine adepts of the learian doetrinea, who
P>vteit, in the most vague, but violent terms, against those
«baai tbey sail traitors. We esrtahily do not queetkm
tbe |ood fUth of the subseriben of this letter, but they
■oil Imvs been aware that abuse is no answer to precise
ad defiaite aeensatjoaa, and that they oug^t, for the
ooaaot of the school, to have opposed to the foots speei-
fodaBagations no leas positive.
'As for IL Oabct, be^keepe aloof. Just as if he were a
pttrtjoot concerned. in the matter at alL Disdaining to
iraeet on aach miseries, he continues his labours with the
"Mae ardour aa before, and if we are to believe public
'^port, he is still urging the departure of new colonists —
taat k to say, of new victims for his chimerical Icaria. We
["••eno power to prevent these unfortunates from rushing
w^sk min; we know ef no other available jurisdiction in
tsk alUr than that of the press; bat we deem it our duty
w mf bflfote the public such foets as have come before us,
« «der that the tribunal of omnlon may be in a position
^ ^QQoaaee, with a foil knowle^ of the circumstances,
« *e merits of the Icarian doctrine and its prophet.'
▼cm anything wantfaig to substantiate the intelligence
f the otter nnn of Icaria and its victims, it would be
^ in what foUows from the 'Echo of Louisiana* of
NoieiBber29:—
*TMrty more eokmists arrived from France last Sun-
«y, to fe^jtaMtgj the republic of Icaria. The blindness
J***^ poor people is truly incomprehensible ; for our
J^dintte aware that all those who reached the promised
■JJhsTB heen obliged to abandon it, and have succeeded
r2lP«* diiReuky fa regalnfag our city, the majority
boagtedneed to the greatest distress.
* These new-comers have met those who preceded them
and the latter have ^ven them a sad description of ttv
dreadful state to which they would be reduced if the]
continued their journey to Texas. You perhaps imagine
that this gloomy account frightened the new colonist*
By no means! These unhappy wretches must have beei
fonatidsed by M. Cabet. It is in vain to point out U
them the emaciated and ragged ex-emisrants in question
or to urge them to halt — ^ro they wil^ and nothing wUJ
stop them ! They do not believe the assertions of theii
old companions; and the picture of the sufiferings whidb
await them is regarded as a frightful falsehood, invented
by paid agents of the French government, in order to pre-
vent the foundation of the Icarian colony.
* Poor idiots! Some of them, however, have come ic
the conclusion that there may be some truth, after all, iu
these narratives ; for if Icaria were a country of eternal
felicitv, why should their predecessors have left it te come
and die of starvation at New Orleans? Many would have
galdly remained, but before sailing, they had been so simple
as to confide their money to the agents of M. Cabet, and
they wiahed to recover at least a part of it. The purse
of M. Cabet, however, is a gulf far more profound than tliat
of the ocean on which his lulepts are wafted to the scene of
his delusions. Never has a smgle one of the one hundred
soiM pieces, of which the worthv high priest of Icaria virtu-
ously deigns to despoil his victuns oefore sending them to
the proimsed land, been returned to the pockets of the
owner.
*As to the unhappy chosen ones who have reached
this land c^ enchantment, they m vam consign M. Cabet
to perdition. M. Cabet seems to pursue his career in
France notwitlistanding, despatching fkesh recruits after
having despoiled them like the rest. His only occupation
is to obtam as many as possible, to accompany them to
the place of embarkation, and to give them his paternal
blessing. As soon aa theaidls are set, Cabet exclaims — "^ Ite
mi$$a Mt / **—(** Qo, the force is played ! **) He then returns
to Paris, and eats and drinks to the prosperity of the bappy
loariana whom he baa just despatched to starvation in
the badLWOods of Texaa. In our opinion, M. Cabet alone
can claim the pompous title of ** the first Rol>ert Macaire
of transportation.^
* The first victims that he has despatched to us did not
obtain a single son to remain here, and they then decided
to push on to Texaa — a fhrther instance of insanity in our
opfauoiv They did not reason; their faith in Cabetism is
perfect.
> * What I They are running to Icaria, where they know
that distress awaits, and will be fatal to them, if it do not
drive them back agafa more miserable than ever. And
wherefore? To get back their money? Not so; for^they
are aware that all is lost. No matter; they are setting out
for Icaria; so stick a pin there.
' If these unfortunates had reflected a little, they would
have seen that they must make the beet of tbe deceit tlius
practised upon them; and if they had set to worl^ tbey
would have made another fortune, instead of going to
endure acute suflRnings for twdve weeks» aad then return-
ing hither sick and destitute.
* One of them, a member of the second vanguard, and who
has now (as he poetically expresses it) had his bellyful of
Communism, informed us that there was no slavery to equal
Communism fa action. No idea can be formed of it: for
example, there is not soup enough for everybody; so it is
given to the dogs, fa order that no jealousy naay be excited
amongst the Socialist guests! At table, each fadividual
watches— not his own pUte, but that of his neighbour, and
generally discovers that the pittance of the latter is larger
than his own ! Each must have the same appetite and the
same tastes, for the morsels of food are weighed and mea-
sured, and all must eat of the same dish. So much tbo
worse if you have a keen appetite, for you have only your
own portion; whilst those (a rare occurrence amongst the
Communists) whose stomachs are not so sharp-set, throw
the superflucas part of their provender to the dogs, for the
same reason as before — to prevent jealousy. **We were
told,** added our friend from Icaria, ^ that Icaris was a
wonderfhl oity» which utterly dbtanced Paris and Capua
in luxury and sensual gratifications. When we arrived,
however, we only found a few huts, open to all the winds
of heaven and aU the inclemencies of the weather. Thou-
sands of acres of land were to have been sown — so we were
told. But what was the feet? We found fifty square
leagues of ground, fa which they had planted five hundred
208
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
ndiahes, of which not a single one appetred above the soil ! **
Such \m Icaria. It is the pendant to the Botany Bay of
Great Britain ; with this difference, tliat instead of trans-
porting thieves thither to live, they send out plundered
dupes to die.
'Such was the account given by our ez-Gommnnist of
this promised land. What a picture ! *
TRIFLEa
Onb Saturday night we listened to a very amusing dis-
course, the tendency of which was to show, that although
no one should be a trifler, yet that every one should be
attentive to trifles. A trifler was defined to be one who
habitually gives up his time and attention to thing* that
are, or that ought to be, beneath his notice ; while a trifle
was said to be something insignificant in itself, yet capable
of producing important results. By way of illustration, an
incident in the life of Laffitte, the great French banker, was
quoted. Lattitte, in 1787, entered Paris as a poor peasant
boy: his introduction to that career in which he was after-
wards so eminently successful was owiuff to a mere trifle.
M. Perregaux, to whom he applied on his arrival for em-
ployment at first rejected iiis suit; but on seeing the
youth, while crossing the courtyard of the hotel, disap-
pointed and rejected, suddenly stop, pick up a pin, and
carefully stick it in the cuff of his coat, the man of money
was moved, the petitioner was recalled, and after a few
minutes* conversation, appointed to a vacant post in the
office. In 1804 Laffitte became the partner <n Monsieur
Perregaux; and subsequently obtained the entire direction
of the bank. After enjoying the highest civic honours of
his country, he died a millionaire in the year 1844; owing
his extraordinary success in life, probably, to the habit,
early formed, of never neglecting the most trivial thing
likely to be useful.
The falling of an apple from a tree is said to have occa-
sioned the discovery of the laws of gravitation : apples had
fallen many many times, no doubt, before Sir Isaac Newton
seated himself in his arm-chair ia hb orchard ; but until
that afternoon, it would seem that no one accustomed to
r«^fard even trifles with attention had noticed the oireum-
stanoe. ' History, if referred to,* said the lecturer, * would
afford numberless instances of the veriest trifles producing
peace or war, entailing prosperity or adversity for whole
generations.* As an instance how fkr even eiviHsation is
affected by trifles, an anecdote from Sir Francis Head's
narrative of his govemorsliip of Canada was cited. * At a
certain season of the year,' continued the speaker, ' if my
memory serves me. Sir Francis Head says that a little fly
appears upon the prairies, and torments the wild animals
there terribly. To escape its stin^ they flee to the forests,
and hide in Its reeesses ; the Indian follows, and to drive
out his game, sets fire to the underwood. He obtains his
venison and buffalo hump, but loses his hunting-ground ;
for as the land is thus cleared, the white man advances,
and his red brethren are compelled to retreat fiirther
before him.*
The lecturer next touched upon the influence of trifles
in promoting or destroying domestic happiness ; and con-
eluded by explaining a few such phrases as: a man ought
to be above trifles, &c B — t.
[We take the above flrom an interesting little paper
called the Queenwood Reporter, published periodically at
Queenwood College, near Stockbridge, Hants, and which
purports to consist of articles written by the pupils of that
establishment We have heard much of Queenwood, as
agreeably uniting the character of a home with that of a
public academy for boys.]
MtNBRAL CAMBLEON.
If one part of the black oxide of manganese, and three
parts of tne nitrate of potash, both reduced to powder, be
mixed toffether, and thrown into a red-hot crucible, and
continued there until no more oxygen gas is disengaged, a
greenish friable powder is obti^ned called mimeral eamekon,
from its property of changing colour during its solution in
water. If a small quantity of this powder be pat into a
glass of water, the solution is first blue; oxide of iron then
separates, and by its vcUotc colour renders the fluid arten;
this Bubsidinff, the blue reappears; then, as the onde of
manganese absorbs oxygen from the atmosphere, it be-
oomes reddiikf broumish^ and at last black It then subsides,
and leaves the fluid cotourUis, Again, if hot water be
poured upon this singular substance, a beaotiftd greem
solution will be produced, whereas cold water will give one
of a deep pmrple. These changes depend upon the varioos
states of oxyoiaement which tne metal aoquires by ebaage
of temperature. In the first formation of this oompoond,
care shoold be taken that no sulphur eomea in eootaei
with it ; as the addition of a very small portion of snl-
phuret of potash would counteract its eflfecta. — Pcarkm^t
Chemical Catechism,
SONNET.
Who hath not treasured somethinf of the
The lost, the buried, or the far away ?
Twhied with thoM heart-aflbetiont wUeh ootlast
All aare tbetr memories— these outlive decay !
A broken relio of our ohfldhood's play,
A faded flower, that long ago was fair-
Mote token of a love that died untold !
Or silken curl, or look of silrery hair—
The brows that bare them long sfnoe in the mould!
Though tbeee may oall up griefs that elae had riept,
Tbetr twillgfat Huhie« o*er the soul to bring ;
Kot every tear in bfttemees Is w^,
WbUe they revire the droc^ng flowers that qwing
Within the heart, and round its mined temples cling.
J. CBAia.
INVENTION OF SUSPENSION- BRIDOB8 BT THE CHINl
1600 TEARS AGO.
The most remarkable evidenee of the meehanioal
and skill of the Chinese at this early period, is to be found
in their suspended bridges, the inventioa of whi^ is
assigned to tne Han dynasty. According to the eoncor-
rent testimony of all their historical and ge<^raphical
writers^hang-leang, the commander-in-chief of the aray
under Kaou-tsoo, the first of the Hans, undertook and
completed the formation of roads through the mountaiaoas
proiioce of Shen-se, to the west of the capitaL Hitherto
its lofty hills and deep valleys had rendered oommnmea-
tion difiicult and circuitous. With a body of 100,000
labourers he cut passages over the mountama, throwing
the removed soil mto the valleys, and where this was not
sufficient to raise the road to the reauired height, be oob-
structed bridses, which rested on pillars or abotmeota. In
other places he conceived and accomplished the dartog
project of suspending a bridge from one mountain to an-
other across a deep chasm. These bridges, which are
called by the Chinese writers, very appropriately, * flying-
bridges,* and represented to be numerous at the prtaeni
day, are sometimes so high, that they cannot be traversed
without alarm. One still existing in Shen-se stretehea 400
feet flrom mountain to mountain, over a chasm of 500 feet.
Most of these flying-bridges are so wide, that foor hone-
men can ride on them abreast, and balustrades are placed
on each side to protect travellers. It is by no meana im-
probable (as M. Pauthier suggests) that, as the misrionaries
in China made known the n^ more than a century and
a-half ago, that the Chinese had suspension-bridges, and
that many of them were of iron, the nint may have been
taken flrom thence for similar constractioiia by Eoropeaa
engmeers. — Tkomton^t History o/China,
TIME.
In all the actions which a man performs, some part of
his life passes. We die while doing that for which alone
our sliding life was granted. Nay, though we do nothing,
time keeps his constant pace, and flies as fast in idkaess
as in employment. Whether we play, or labour, or sle^
or dance, or study, the sun posts on, and the saad rana
An hour of vice is as long as an hour of virtue. But the
difference between good and bad sotions is infinite. Good
actions, tuouffh they diminish our time here as weU as bad
actions, yet they lay up for us a happiness in eternity; and
will recompense what they take away by a plentifal return
at last. When we trade with virtue, we do but bay pl«a-
sure at the expense of time. So it is not so much a con-
suming of time as an exchange. As a man sows hb com,
he is content to wait a while, that he may, at the barrest,
receive with advantage.— Ouwa Felthamy 1636.
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sold by D. Chambbrs, 80 Argyle Street, Olaigow ; W. & Oas,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Glashaw, 21 D'Oller Stitei.
Dablla.— Printed by W. and R. CuAMaaas, Edinburgh.
I
CONDUCTED BY WILUAM AND ROBERT OHABfBERS, EDITORS OF •CHABfBBRS'B IKf'OftMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 275. New Series.
SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1849.
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MOVERS AND RESISTERS.
Wb lately endearoured to trace the natural bases of
political partizanship in certain characters of mind.
We may now go on to remark that ^e same pecu-
Haritiea of temper and thinking which determine for a
man which colour he is to wear at elections, or on
which side of the House of Commons he is to take his
teat, rule his choice as well in scientific matters. Phi-
losophy has its Whigs and Tories, its Radicals and
its Nondescripts ; and if doctrines of all kinds were as
r^nlariy subjected to Yotes as is the case with political
questions, we should be not less able to foretel the
I^Kses of our fHends in the dirision list, than the best
whipper-in erer was to raticinate on the fate of any
ministerial motion in parliament.
It is a curious curcumstance that Resisters of all
kinds always beliere themselves to be the represen-
tatires of the Morers of a former age. The unfor-
tonate Conserratives of the Reform -Bill era went
to the mar^frdom of their defeat under the oonvic-
tkn that they were the true Whigs of 1688. The
modem possessors of that title they held to be a de-
generate race, who were seeking to destroy the yery
fabric which their venerated predecessors had reared
with so much trouble and so much wisdom. ' We,'
said they, * though yon call us Tories, are in reality
the protectors, and, alas! the only remaining protec-
tors, of what the Whigs did in the days of William
of Orange.' This was true in the letter ; but at a
cool moment we must own that it was not true in
spirit Whatever might be the merits of the question
so keenly agitated in 1831-2, no reasonable person can
doubt Uiat if Somers, and Seymour, and Halifax, had
been summoned from the grave to take a new lease of
polttical existence, they would, with the dispositions
we know they possessed, have ranked themselves, not
beside Sir Robert Peel and Lord Lyndhurst, but Lord
John Russell and Lord Durham. To think otherwise
is to suppose men more true to a lifeless word or phrase
than to their own inborn impulses, which all experience
» opposed to. So also in some of the ecclesiastical
questions of the last few years, we have occasionally
beard the stand-still, or defensive party, referring with
pride to great reforming names of a former age as the
glory of their cause, when it was more than doubtful
whether those reformers, if recalled to life, would have
taken their side. The fallacy consists in overlooking
the diange of ideas and of the relations of things which
has taken place since the time of the persons referred
to, and in failing to see that these persons, if now alive,
would have something to judge of very different from
what they had in their own day. If still actuated by
the diaposltioos which they manifested in their former
life, they would judge of the matters submitted to them
under the bias of those dispositions, and determine
according as these were affected by the new circum-
stances. Thus we can imagine a great founder of some
particular form of external religion, after three cen-
turies, taking part against the very system he had
founded, seeing that it did not, in its new relations,
fulfil the end he had originally in view. Perhaps, in-
deed, there is scarcely any such system which would at
the end of three centuries obtain the full sanction of
the very persons who, at the beginning of the period,
were its most zealous advocates and defenders. That
duty would in general have to be left to a difierent
class of minds.
One can easily see how precisely it is the same phe-
nomenon, when a stand-still party of scientific men seek
to shelter themselves under the prestige of some great
man of former days, whose doctrines, originally them-
selves an innovation, are now predominant. The oppo-
nents of the natural classification of plants wielded
against it the authority of Linnaeus, whose system was so
very difierent But LinnsBus was in his day exactly such
an innovator as Jussieu was afterwards. The improve-
ment which he effected was as great as could be expected
of any one man in his day ; but it was not all that was
capable of being made. Much remained to be done,
and no one knew this better than LinnsBus himself.
When Jussieu, passing from the artificial arrangement
of the Swedish naturalist, brought plants into the asso-
ciation of their natural affinities, he only took the next
proper step in the process. The haters of improvement
affected to rally round Linnssus, whose name was a
tower of strength. But would Linnaeus, if still alive,
have stood up for his own system as against that of
Jussieu? Very improbable, seeing that his mind was
essentially active and progressive, and therefore apt to
adopt exactly such novelties as this. We can scarcely,
we think, be going far wrong when we affirm that
many a man to this dsy patronises Linnteus in a de-
gree for which that great man would blush were he
capable of appreciating the superior system of the
French botanist
Aristotle, as we all know, was at one time a kind of
religion to the learned world. When a new system
came into notice, it was held as a sort of heresy. Men
professed to defend their ancient master, as they would
have defended the temples or images of the gods against
a barbarian enemy. But no one now-a-days can study
the character of the Stagyrite philosopher, and doubt
that, if he had lived in the sixteenth century of the
Christian era, he would not have been an Aristotelian.
Far more probably, he would have defended De la
Ramee in the Sorbonne, when that extraordinary genius
was seeking to undermine his own method of logic So,
also, when the Cambridge doctors held out for him
against Bacon, we cannot doubt that be would have
210
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
himself been the leading Baconian. He would have
astonished them by giving up his own books. Bacon,
again, if now Uring, would probably be busy with
some improvements upon the InductiTe method ; some
expansion of it, or some ascension aboye it, which, were
it to be propounded by any namelcM man of our day,
would, beyond question, be denounced as a heterodoxy
with respect to the actual ideas of Bacon.
The Uci la, in such cases, minds of very different
calibre are concerned. The original mover was a great
man ; the resisters are small men. The latter can take
up an idea, and make food of it, when once it has re-
ceived a stamp from authority or from age ; but they
cannot truly judge of it, or of the character of its ori-
ginator. Had they been his contemporaries, they would
have been his greatest opponents and vituperators — re-
sisting the very doctrines which now they hold fast as
they would their most valued possessions. It is the fate
of the great man to be before his age, of the small men
to be behind theirs. The ideas of a great man, at first
difficult of acceptance, acquire in time a wide pre-
valence. They may then be regarded as in harmony
with the general mind to which they are addressed.
As the general mind advances, they fall behind, and
then it is that they become suitable for the tribe of
Resisters. Then is the time of the dotage of ideas, and
it is of course as absurd to appeal from a new idea to
one in this state, as it would be to endeavour to correct
a man in the prime and vigour of his days by showing
how his bedrid grandfather would have conducted him-
self in similar circumstances. The true and just appeal
is not to what the great man of a /onner age has said
on a particular subject, for everything he has said must
bear a character from the circumstances and prevalent
ideas of his own time; but to the spirit of the man.
We must call into court the Aristotelian mind, or the
Baconian mind, as a mere instrument, and endeavour to
imagine what would be the tune which would flow from
it under the existing circumstances, after it had been
dnly adjusted to the pitch of a new and advanced age.
It is difficult to imagine this. Well, then, put it entirely
out of court, and endeavour to decide the question
otherwise. But if the great dead are to be brought
forward at all, undoubtedly this is the only right way
in which they can be brought forward.
Akin to the fallacy here described is that of the ap-
plauder of bygone times. When he praises some feature
of a past age, as a thing whose extinction is to be re-
gretted, because there is nothing now like it, be is
usually under a complete niistake. It is only the
narrowness of his own judgment which prevents him
from seeing that, in as far as any such thing is now
needed, its place is filled by something of an analogous or
corresponding character, which perhaps serves the end
even better. What is more, if this person had lived in
the past age referred to, it is probable that the feature
which he now deplores as extinct would have affected
him disagreeably as an innovation. He only can love
it because he cannot see it On the regret sometimes
expressed by romantically-inclined persons for the sys-
tem of chivalry, we take leave to quote some remarks
which appear to us strikingly just : — * To lament its
extinction, still more to affect the restoration of its
outward semblimce, is not only childishly to attempt a
reversal of the march of wisely-ordered events, but to
militate against the very spirit from which the system
attempted to be recorded flirst arose, and to which,
while prevalent, it owed its short-lived existence — the
spirit of improvement upon worse manners, and yet
more imperfloct institutions of an earlier date. As io
every other system in which the better principles im-
parted to man have been more or less perwted hy hit
weakness, his ignorance, his attempt to restrict that
which was intended to be universal, and to indiri-
dualise that which was destined for the common good
of all — whatever was worth preserving in those dsyi,
to which some even in the present time are fond of
reverting as the epochs of the truest glory of our rtoe,
still lives among us — lives a nobler and more vigoroai
life. It is but the false and the imperfect, the vain
and the useless, the deceptive and the dangerous, which
has been irrevocably swept away. In return, therefore,
to the lament that the i^e of chivalry is gone, we may
truly reply that we have a better and a nobler chiralry
of our own— a chivalry which, if it watches no more in
steel, and wields no weapons of mortal warfiue wiUiis
the field of actual contention, has its vigils and struggles
yet more painfull in their character, and undertaken for
a far higher end^which, if it no longer traverses tea
and land, the tempestuous ocean and the paiching
desert, to seek
•* In Oalvary Him dead who lives in Htavm,**
often goes forth into painful exile in lands yet more
remote— or, nearer home, confronts the ghasUioeii of
misery and the perilous atmosphere of contagion and
death, to multiply living monuments to the commoo
Lord of Christianity in the recovering from crime and
ignorance, from anguish and disease, those over whom
— as far as their improvement, whether mental or phy-
sical, is concerned — every revolution of society hu
hitherto passed almost in vain — which sees, moreorer,
in difference of faith or of nation, no longer, as foraierly,
fresh pretexts for warfare and extermination, bat rather
motives for closer intercourse, and a wider exerdie of
the common law of charity and love.'*
The characters of men might be regarded as so many
casts from a certain number of moulds. The indiridoil
men change in generations; but the moulds remain,
and the characters accordingly are continually repro-
duced. Two similar events, or relations of drcoai-
stancea, in two distant ages, are surrounded by pe^
fectly similar characters, though by different fleah and
blood. Let there be a persecution for opinion in oar
age, and men precisely corresponding to the diitio-
guished inquisitors of old, and to all their subordinate
instruments, would immediately appear. Let there be
a new attack on France in circumstances prediely
simiUr to those of 1792-^, and we should have a nev
Robespierre and Marat, a new set of Girondioi, and
finally, when the crisis was nigh past, a new Tallien
and Barras. In the recent Revolution, the men whoie
character would have fitted them for a Committee of
Public Safety have been, under the totally diflerent
direction which things have taken, remanded to the
obscurity of the Parisian jails, instead of being drawn
on to dictate who should live and who should die.
In his play of the 'Baptistes' George Buchanan in-
troduces two Pharisees, Malchus and Gamaliel vbo
do the hero to death on fallacious grounds which m«y
be supposed. Without in the least violating the tnith
of the picture, the poet is understood to have^
scribed under these names two of the leading doctors
of the ancient faith of his own day— the kind of inej
by whom HamUton and Wishart In Scotissd, sod
* From a paper reoMiUy read befora th* U^mvjtaA rUo*^
phioal Society of LeioeiUr, by J. F. HelUB$% B«
OHAMBERgPS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
211
Oranmer and Latimer in En^^and, were adjudged to
the flamet. In onr age, we have no rach fleroe contro-
^reniet ffoinff on, and no mch tiemendont punishments
for opixdon inflicted } but amidst those which we liaye,
it is not dlfflcnlt to distinguish the Makhuses and
Gamaliels^ or the men at least who would fill those
parts if the times were in a temper to cell thenrinto
foil deTetopment;
THE QOL]>^££K£R AND TH£ WATER-SEEKER.
A MEXICAN NAUBATIYB.
fiT PSaCT B. SI JOHIf.
Af BO great distance Irora the dty of Chihuahua, in a
Tsst pl£n, is a small Tillage in the centre of a deep
wood, almcst whollj unknown saTO to the wandering
hoBter, and the few inhabitants who dwell in its poor
huts. It is called Torpedo. Twentj sheds, with roon, it
is true, hut with scaroelj anj walls sare on the northern
side, composed, with one exception, the small hamlet. A
Bsat wooden hut stood aloof from the rest, marking an
advanced degree ci ciTilisation which excited the wonder,
bat not the emulation, of the happy but idle and povertj-
stricken Mexicans. This hut had been built by an Ameri-
csn who, haTing taken to the woods after a quanel in the
eepital, had selected this obscure retreat for himself and
his two boys, now orphan youUis of nineteen and twenty.
The Mexicans did as their fathers did before them: they
planted a little maize and a few vegetables ; they caught
wild horses, and hunted emmgh to procure lihat was
strictly neeessaiy ; and after this meed of exertion, thought
thesBselTes justified in spending their leisure hours, at
kail nine months in the year, in smoking, drinking puhu§,
aad gambling for the few rags which they mani^ged ijo
procure in exchange fer a little surplus maize, some fowls,
aad otiier commodities which their wives and daughters
took to the market of Chihoahua. Zealous and Patient
J«MS| the lads above-mentioned, were venr fer from
being satisfied with this state of existence. They worked
six days in the week, they went to market themselves,
tbsy took there six times as much produce as did any
other two men in Torpedo; they buieied tobacco— -the
v^MKOUs luxniy of all idle nations and idle people —
aipiinst maize and wild turkeys, and at the time we speak
o^ bade fair to make of the lethargic village a place of
trsde, and hence a place of prosperity. Though only just
emerging from boyhood, they could have bought the
whole village, inhMitants and all.
But iSealons and Patient Jones had no such vast de-
sirss; and of all the men, womoi, and children residing
in the hamlet, they coveted only the possession of two.
Umbo were Zsnetta and Julietta, the daughters of the
alcalde or mayor of the small locality. Zealous loved
Zanetta, and Patient loved Julietta. Their affection was
warmly returned, and nothing was wanting to their feli-
city but the passage of a year, when it was agreed that all
parties would have arrived at their years of discretion,
which, however, are oftener supposed to be reached than
really attained.
It was a warm autumn afternoon, and the brothers sat
at their door enjoying the refreshing breeze wafted over
the tranblinff tree-tops, and odorouR with floral richness.
They were taUdnff of the future, and of the world of which
Uiey knew so little, when a horseman suddenly appeared
before them. He wore a costume which was not of the
eoentiy, and had features which reminded them in their
character of their departed parent. They rose as the
traveller halted before their nut, and asked, in veiy bad
Mexican, the way to Chihuahua. Zealous hurriedly
replied in English that it was eleven miles off.
' I expect you're countrymen/ said the horseman, much
Burprised.
' We are from New York State,' replied Zealous.
'Well, that's pleasant. I*m dead beat, so is my horse.
WHl you give a countryman a shake-down for a night !*
The young men eagerly preferred their hut ; and while
^e held the horse's head, the other assisted the traveller
to dismount. Mr Bennett, a merchant ^o travelled
annually to Mexico, was the visitor the hospitable
Americans had received ; and it was difficult to say who
derived most pleasure fjrom the meeting. Mr Bmnett
was delighted with the candour of the young men; th^
with his convenation and knowledge. He gave them
glowing descriptions of the world; of the power and ad-
vantages of wealth; of the ddights ci an existence among
one's fellows; and in fact so firad their imaginations, that
when he sought his Mexican grass hammo^ the brotheis
were wholly unable to sleep. They talked, they thought
of nothing save the world; and when the traveller quitted
them next day, they fislt for the first time impatient and
discontented.
' I have a great mind to turn gandmrimOf and go gold-
hunting in ttie mountains,' said Zealous. ' I should like
to become rich, and return to my native land.'
* For me,' cried Patient, less wild and fiery than his
elder brother, ' I could wish to find some hidden spring
in yonder forests, and there found a village.' The oountiy
was bare of water, and a spring in the WM>d was a treasure
which enabled the fortunate fmder to fertilise a vast pro-
perty, if he had enterprise sufficient to carry out his plan.
' It would be scarcely worth abandoning our home for
that,' said the ambitious Zealous, and the conversation
dropped. But the thoughts remained, and at the end of a
week Zealous had become so infiituated, and so restlessly
eager to become rich, that taking a horse^ a rifle, powder,
shot, a mattock, and a few clothee, he started towards the
far-distant mountains without even bidding adieu to his
brother or Zanetta, so alarmed was he that his visionary
enterprise should be prevented.
Though Zealous had quitted humble prosperity, gentle
and real happiness, to go run the world for mere money,
he was no common youth. He had genius, couraffe, and
determination, and his whole conduct displayed these
qualitiee. From time iiomemorial, it had been a tradi-
tion that the far-off mountains were full of gold, and
regularlpr every year some ardent and young spirits
started m search of the precious metal, to meet only with
death or disappointment. Few returned, and of theee few
none ever brought any portion of gold worth the labour
of their search. They hinted at vast treasures disoovered
in places so distant and difficult, as to preclude their
being readied with mules or horses, and returned to the
search with renewed zest, but always alone, each man
expecting to be the fortunate one, and refusing to diare
his visioned wealth with a partner. Zealous Jones
knew all this, and was determined to take warning by
the fibte of his fellows. He travelled slowly and steadily,
used as little as possible of his powder and shot, and
when he killed game, bore away the remains to >e eaten
with wild firnits, berries, and the esculent roots of the
tropics. He was careful, too, of his horse, and reached
the entrance of the hilly regions without having violently
fatigued man or beast; He then rested two days in the
mouth of a sublime goige of the mountains, where cliff
and rock, tree and water, height and vastness, all com-
bined to give grandeur to the scene. But Zealous
thought little of the maffnificent landscape: his eye, wan-
dering over the green plains behind, seemed to wish to
pierce space, and discover, five hundred miles behind, the
forms of his brother and his affianced wife. Once or twice
his heart was touched ; but a glance at the mighty ram-
parts of the gold region roused within him other thoughts,
and he still advan^d on his perilous journey.
Months passed, and Zealous was still wandering in the
hills, now ascending steep gorges, now predpitous olififs,
that forced him to iu>andon his faithful horse to graze at
their feet; now leaving him a whole day to feed the
length of his tether while he explored the rugsed hills,
mattock in hand, in search of gold; now travdling over
lofty table-plains; now resting in delidous valleys scarce
if ever trod before by the foot of man; but never finding
a trace of the treacherous metal that had lured him fW>m
home. Zealous was getting gaunt and thin, his clothes
were in rags, his horse was lame, and his ammunition was
nearly all spent, having only lasted untU now because
Zealous had starved himself to spare it. ^
Overcome by theee considerations, he determmed to
212
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
make a halt in a gretn TaUey watered bj a itream that
fonned a pool in the centre. He bathed hii hazdr iteed,
examined hie feet, and left him to graie unbound, quite
certain of his not leaTing the Tallej, and took himself
to the water. He floated an hour in the warm sun on
the surface of the water, and then struck for the shore, on
the banks of which something sparkling made his heart
leap. He tore up a handful, and the glittering globules of
pure gold rerealed the riches of the ralley. To dress,
to seize his mattock, to tear up the ground, was the work
of an instant. The whole mass was full of the precious
metal; and foigetting all cares. Zealous began his work of
gold-washing and digging. A mattock, a tMsket of green-
willow bou^is— such were all his tools; but a month's
arduous lalx>ur put him in possession of a heap of treasure
perfectly marrellous. He now thought of returning, when
the fisial idea entered his head — ^how was his treasure to
be remored 1 Zealous stood speechless with astonishment
and despair. His horse, though fattened hy a month's
rest, was unable to bear much more than himself and
his hea?7 ^^ ^^ acoordinsly resoWed to take a little,
burj the rest, and return to Uie settlements in search of
assistance. He accordingly restored the precious heap
to its former position, mounted his steed with a small
parcel of gold, and bcffan his journey back. It was diffi-
cult and painfuL Hun«r came upon him, his ammu-
nition was all spent, and a few days made him despair
of reaching home. A ferer and ague, contracted in the
mountains, came strong upon him, and his mind besan
to wander. He gained at length the Tast forest that
bordered his home, but at nightfall was exhausted with
sickness and fatigue. He alighted, lit a fire with diffi-
culty, and lay down beside it to die. The foTer was raging,
and he lost consciousness.
When he reooTered, he was in a comfortable bed in a
large farmhouse, with every si^ of opulence and wealth.
Patient and his wife were beside him. His brother had
sought his fire from curiosity in time to sare him. The
greeting was warm on both sides, and Zealous found to
his surprise that he had been more than a year abfent.
The young man looked wistfully at his brother and at
Julietta, who pressed to her bosom an infant a month
old. ' Zanetta is married too,' he said with a deep si^.
A sob behind the curtains was his answer, and the faith-
ful girl was kneeling next minute by his couch. The
gold-seeker, when an nour had been giien to unconnected
greetings, asked his brother's history. Patient replied
that his grief on the departure of his brother had almost
deprived him of reason, but that Julietta had made him
cling to life. He resolved, however, to go a journey;
and burying himself in the forest, sought as diligently
for water as his brother did for gold. A month's search
rewarded him. A spring, bubbling at a tree foot, was
found, and here he took up his dwelling, married
Julietta, hired all the youths of the old village, and
was now master of the richest hacienda or farm in all
the country. Zanetta, true to her first afiection, had
come to live with them.
' And so will I,' cried the gold-seeker. ' I have gold
enough to buy a vast herd of cattle ; that is mv share.
We will be partners once more, brother ; and if Zanetta
will forgive '
A smile was his answer. The water-seeker now asked
his narrative, which he fVankly told. Zanetta shuddered
at the dangers he had incurred. Prudent wondered at
the gold ; but all joined to dissuade Zealous from again
risking his life in the daneerous occupation of a gam-
busino. He cordially agreed ; and a month after, the tie
of husband came to bind him more strongly to home.
The gold he had brought made them amply wealthy;
every happiness was around them ; love, duty, prosperity,
a life without a care, made the hacienda in the woods a
little paradise. But the very calmness of this existence
acted unfavourably on the ambitious Zealous, who could
not feel the reasoning and solid enjoyment of his brother
the water-seeker. He thought of his vast treasure in the
hills, grew silent and moody, spoke little to his wife, and
one day disappeared with five horses and as many sacks,
taking this time ample ammunition and some food.
Leaving the inhabitants at the hacienda to thnr friei;
we follow the wild gambusino, nho travelled for tome
days with intense rapidity, for fear of being poisaed. It
was only at the foot of the mountains that hs hslted.
As before, he stayed two days ; but this repose ov«,bs no
longer went searching through the mountains, bat led
his five horses strai^t towards the unknown tsUcj.
After many days of arduous and painful traveUisg it
was found, and Zealous had the delight of finding tlw
his treasure untouched. Two days were devoted to rot
and to packing his gold in the sacks morided, one of
which he placed on Mdi horse, that he himself mounted
bearing the lightest.
When the gold-seeker started on his return, the itid
season of the hot days had commenced ; the mu wm
scorched up, and scarce a drop of water could be frani
Zealous travelled rapidly, but this acted fiitaUy, for ot
the fifth day one horse dropped with heat, fiitigue, hanger,
and thirst, and more than a fifth part of his treasuie vm
lost. To load the other horses with it was vain; tiie
poor animals, parched with thirst, stagzered under thnr
present load. Ze^us, with a deep ngh, abandoned hit
sold, and struck across the desert towards the diittnt
forest. No water was found that day, and at night both
man and beast were raging with thirst. They halted in
a sycamore grove, the dewy leaves of which at night&U
slightly restored Zealous, who, however, found snoUier
horse unable to move. Rage, despair in his heart, the
young miser pursued his journey ; but on arnving s
whole day's journey distant from the forest, hit whole
caravan had broken down. The |^d-seeker, msd, hii
brain fevered by the heat and by disi^pointment, toned
back on foot. His senses seemed gone; and when he
reached the first stage where he found a carcase, his mind
was really affected, for he wildly strove to drag the gold
towards home. From this moment his senses were utterly
lost. He flew back on the trace of his fatal treasure ; hs
ate roots, horse-flesh, and berries, and at last readied the
spot where lay the last horse. His dav was spent in
frenzied efTorts to dra^ the sack of gold onwards, hii
night in sleeping with it for a pillow ; and in this state
he was found by his brother and a mounted part/, who
found him after a long and weary search.
It was many montlu ere the gold-seeker was restored
to health and consciousness, and then sad was the result
He seemed a premature old man ; his wife vainly strove
to charm him ; and but for the constant watch set upon
him, he would again have started on his perilous sod
mad enterprise. The water-seeker clearly saw the cause
of his brother's grief; but he said nothing, continuing
calmly his course, and reaping every day the reward of
his solid industry. When, however, a certain time had
elapsed, and the body of the gold-seeker was sufficientlj
restored. Patient determined to try an experiment on hu
mind. He shut himself in a room with him, and spoke
thus : ' My dear brother, you are unhappy, and jour
misery causes ours. My wife and yours equally suier
from your sorrow: we can do nothing to remove it,
because we know not the cause.' The gold-seeker sighed
deeply, and shook his head. ' Speak, Zealous,' cried his
brother, * and there is nothing you can wish but that we
will all gladly do.'
* It is in vain to struggle against my destinj,' said
Zealous. < Did you find any sacks of gold near me!'
*They are all five in yon cupbouxl,' said Patient
* They are untouched : they are yours. They contain
vast wealth, but was wealth like that necessary to us!
See how happy I am. Why! Because all around is
the fruit of my labour and my industry. You are un-
happy, your wife is wretched, and all because |ou hsTO
an inordinate thirst for mere gold. With millions of
dollars in your cupboard, you long again to teppt
fortune.'
* Never ! ' replied Zealous firmly. « Take the gold : it
is not mine, but yours. Use it for our mutual adrsn-
tage. Give me my task to perform, and from this dsy
you shidl have no reason to complain.' And the gold-
seeker went out in search of his wife, with whom he
conversed for an hour ; and that day at dinner all were
I*^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
318
happj. Bat Pfttieni detennined to ipare no sftcrifioe to
insim his brother*! happineis. A month after that, he
left his hacienda, sold it to a rich convent, and retired
to the United States, where the brothers entered into a
psitnership as merchants. But Zealous was wholly cured.
He felt deeplj the noble conduct of his brother and his
wife, and sou^t in eTeir way to repay them. They are
DOW all contented. Patient has three children. Zealous
as many ; and their commerce succeeding, they haye few
cares for the future. They are looked up to in the great
city they inhabit ; and when the Califoraian gold foTer
burst oat, the most sensible adrice came from the lips of
?«ealoqg. 'Do not quit the certain for the uncertain,'
•aid he to young men ready to abandon lucratire posts to
go gold-digging ; * honest industry gives you an existence,
mcoesa can do no more, while the chances of failure are
10 great. I was one of the fortunate. But then if the gold-
seecer did not perish, it was because the devoted water-
seeker was at hand.' And he would hurry home to press
the hand of his brother, and thank him once more for all
he owed to him. The advice of Zealous is little fol-
lowed, because youth and ardent imaginations are little
influenced bj reason; but it is probable that, in after-days,
the few who stick to their counters and their situations
will never regret having taken the counsel of the now
cautious gold-seeker, lliere are always bold and enter-
prising ^aracters enough to risk such perils, there are
always sufficient men of desperate fortunes who cannot
lose, without fathers of families and comfortable citizens
leaving their home and household gods to tempt Dame
Fortune. So always thought Patient, and so now thinks
Zealous Jones.
MARINE PHENOMENA.
Tbe ocean, beautifully rounded in as it is, agitated
}tf storms, and holding in solution the saline par-
tides which elsewhere are distributed so differently,
includes a congeries of gn^'A^d movements, by whose
means the waters of the Pacific, Atlantic, and Polar
S«as are continually being interchanged. Its appa-
rently capricious magnificence becomes still more
iubUme when thus beheld subjected to rigid law; as
when we connect the pulses of the tide upon the
beach with the distant moon emerging from the ho-
rison, or see the tempest-clouds out at sea drawn gra-
dually into the suction of the trade-wind. More in-
teresting yet is it to tbe voyager to fall in, ever and
anon, with tokens of that g^at motion from the East
whidi turns the Gape, runs up towards the line again,
crosses Uie Atlantic, issues from the Mexican Gulf, and
flowing upward like a river till it meets the ice-streams
of the nortli, sweeps round upon itself again, or diverges,
like a fan, towards the Mediterranean Strait and the
coast of the Great Desert Hence probably the number
of dangerous minor currents that bear in landward
slong the south-western shores of Africa *, and some of
whi^ none but the eye of a practised old sea-dog ac-
customed to those parts can detect A sailor who was
one of my shipmates told me he was once homeward-
bound in tlie same latitude we were in at the time, in a
Hull barque, commanded by a hard-a-weather captain,
who depended, however, on his mate for the navigation,
when they fe^ into a mess, as he said, all owing to a
* double current' They were driven to eastward a good
deal by a strong south- wester, after which they had just
begun to lie their course again, with a very light breeze
from south-east, when, according to the mate's reckon-
ing, they were but a few degrees from land. The cap-
tain got rather uneasy, knowing the nature of the coast
and the badness of the chronometer; but the barque
kept slipping all day through smooth water with every
ftitch of canvas set, and the mate considered it was all
right, and {denty of sea -room, even though she had
b^ a Dutch tea-ship instead of the sharpest barque
oat of HnlL There was an old fellow of a sailmaker on
board that bad been once in a slaver, and the mate saw
him setting over tlie side, and watching it go past
* Well, my man,' said the mate, ' what does she
make?'
* Barely a knot and a-half, sir,' said the sailmaker ;
* though, to my thinking, there's a current with us by
all appearance.'
* So much the better, my man,' said the mate, rub-
bing his hands.
* I don*t like the look of it though, sir,' said the sail-
maker. * That same haze yonder to nor'-eastward, you
see, sir, 'tis a good sight nearer on our weather-bow, to
my thinking, since the morning. There's a bluer colour
in the sky thereaway too; in short, sir, it's dreadful
like the loom of the slave-coast I shouldn't wonder,'
said he, * if there was an under-current sliding her in,
stam foremost aU the time she looks to be forging
ahead I'
The mate only laughed at this idea ; but the old sail-
maker having kept hard at work for some time sound-
ing alongside with a line and a half-sunk float found
reason, as he thought, to confirm his notion ; and by next
morning they were actually in sight df the African
land, almost embayed, and setting in towards it Upon
this the captain had recourse to the old seaman's
advice, and altered the course, so as to steer across the
drift of the current until they had got free of it and
gradually edged off with the sea-breeze ; probably just
in time to escape being grounded upon a b«ink.
We were once in a oidm on the Atlantic, a little to
the southward of the line, and in longitude somewhere
between 20 degrees and 30 degrees west; the ocean,
having subsided from a swell on the previous evening,
appeared so perfectly at rest And so did the vessel also,
as to recall the poet's image of
*A painted aliip
Upon a painted ocean.*
There was not even that low tremulous heave, or those
long serpentine undulations, resembling the faint breatlis
of a sleeping or shackled monster, which generally seem
to pervade the most entire repose of the g^at deep;
the round expanse lay intensely blue in the paler em-
brace of tlie sky, that poured upon it as from a mighty
cup of light whose inverted bottom glowed like a single
diamond, the equatorial cornucopia of light and heat
Which of tbe two was the more impressive it were
hard to say — a * sleeping calm ' or a * dead ' one, as they
are emphatically designated by sailors ; but the latter,
as is obvious, indicates in itself the far bnger continu-
ance of its reign, since it shows how distant is even the
impulse of any breeze ; and perhaps because, although
* every calm breeds its own squall,' yet for « time the
very smoothness of the water tends, within so wide an
extent to spend, diffuse, and prevent the acceleration of
those that may arise. What gave one the most striking
sense, however, of helplessness and awe, was the manner
in which our Indiaman, so long true to her compass and
her sails, not only lay like a log upon the sea, but by
degrees revolved as upon a pivot until at length she
boldly faced the way she had come, then the pole, north-
west, and west while the motionless and unbroken
horison round her betrayed no sign of the change. It
was difficult to conceive what cause this freak could
be attributed to without a breath of air or a pulse of
ocean; but the more complete the calm became, the
more apparent on the surface gre^ the long-drawn
wrinkles and winding lines that testified to some sub-
superficial agency. Rising, as it were, with the cessa-
tion of all upper influences, from the blue depths of
ocean into light, or possibly elicited by the inert mass
of the sliip, tbe undulation of their movement seemed
traceable towards one direction — that of north-west
With next morning's dawn^ indeed, when the sun's pre-
sence below its rim gave a leaden tinge to the water,
and a long thin cloud li^ along it these faint traces
looked stiU more obvious in tbe shadow, wearing the
aspect of a path to the horison, or of a gigantic web-
work intermingled with slow, oily eddies, while the
ultra-marine tint of the sea was variegated with wind-
ing patches of pale, of emerald, and of darki the hori-
8011 itself glowed purple, and was edged with a keen
semicircle of light, as the morning radiance spread from
heneath it. Here was probably displayed some palpable
development of the westward equatorial current, or
some modification of it, ttom the South American con-
tinent and the estuary of the river Amaaon. But in
the evening again the surface appeared to have beoome
perfectly smooth ; the fragments thrown overboard by
our cook seemed to float away ahead inch by inch,
though in reality it must hare been the ship that, from
her deeper hold of the water, drifted almost broadside
on in the course of this secret draught. From chrono-
metrical and quadrant observation, we had by next mid-
day aotuaUy crossed the line again, and increased our
west longitude by some perceptible proportion of a de-
gree. This sudden smoothing of Uie water to a glassy
uniformity too was to all appearance premonitory of
wind, which that evening came on from north-westward ;
gently at first, then almost failing, then with increased
force, and which might at a considerable distance have
exercised such an influence upon the surface as to de-
press the motion of the current. In Uie twilight, while
we stood away with all sail set upon our former course,
the ship was surrounded by little floating lights, cross-
ing her track astern and ahead, as if produced by
columns of medusse, that rose on the tops of the small
surges or sunk in the hollows. As the shock dT the
waves became more violent, they absolutely blazed up
into flame under her bends, seething in liquid fire over
the chains, the whole ocean apparently rising into vivid
life after the long calm, and communicating with every
wash of its waters the sense of joy partaken by a thou-
sand unknown creatures.
While upon this head, I cannot forget the emotions
produced by my first conscious view of the celebrated
Oulf-Stream. From about 30 degrees north latitude,
and 80 degrees west longitude, nearly opposite to the
Canary Islands, the continuation of a violent south-
easterly gale had driven us for no less than eight or ten
days so far to the nortii- westward, and in such a wild
state of atmosphere and sea, that by the dead reckoning
alone we had but a poor idea of where we were. Our
ship was strong and new, and bufibted gallantiv against
it; the increasing cold, the pale savage look of the
billows, with the showers of hail and sleet, made us
think we were fkted to drift over the Newfoundland
banks, and some fine morning or other might have to
hail an iceberg from the fore-topsail yard. At length,
however, the storm seemed to have blown itself out,
our usual canvas was again gradually substituted for
the stiff, dingy-looking staysails, and we began to beat
up for the north-east, though still close-hauled, and
occupied in furbishing up our weather-marks. Before
a disthict observation could be taken, the atmosphere
being pervaded by a moist blue haze, there was sud-
denly a perceptible change of temperature from the
sharpest cold to mild and balmy } the wind, shifting to
south, became warm, and all at once we were surroumled
by floating pieces of light-coloured weed, which thick-
ened as we proceeded, appearing to keep down and
encumber the rise of the waves, till at length we felt
as if they impeded the ship's course. The huge dark
surges were now long low swells ; the interesting variety
of marine productions, vegetable or animal — of tropical
waifs, even of nautical odds and ends, which turned up
from the furrow we ploughed, or were seen floating
astern — ^kept those who had leisure perpetually on the
look-out Bunches of beautif\illy- delicate sea -weed,
trailing patches of green /ucuc, fragments of reed and
cane, a cask-head covered with barnacles, and numbers
of mollusca, medusae, and star-fish— all intimated our
being on the outskirts at least of the * weedy' or * grass
sea:* those oceanic meadows whic^ towards the south-
eastern bend of the great current, become at times so
dense as to convey the notion of a vast swamp or rice-
fleld.
Next morning watch at daybreak, with a light breeze
firom the loath, the sea soaroely ruffled, but heaving^
and sunrise crimsoning the long line of base upon
our larb(Mtfd-bow, the edge of the Qulf-Stream oonld be
seen from the bowsprit and decks, marking the north*
eastern and eastern horison. It wat distincUy con-
trasted with the colour of the sea around us, as a dark
indigo blue from a more azure one, having somewhat
the appearance of the broken water at a distance which
betokens a squall } although the level beams of the sun
gave it a pure opal tinge, which was deepened by the
horizontal focus ; while the mild deamets of the sky
beyond sufflcientiy precluded any notion of danger from
wind. However, on ascending to the fore-topsail yard,
where it seemed like a broad band of intense ookmr
fading into a sapphire rim, one could easily perodve
the waves of which it was composed to be toppling and
dancing up at a brisker rate than those near us, as wdl
as to be runnhig in a diflbrent direction— namely, to the
east or south-east At particular conjunctures of wind
and sea, the Gulf-Stream is understood by saikyrs to
enlarge or contract its volume, and to increase or dimi-
nish its rate of motion, which latter is here generally
about a mile and a-half per hour: at present, the
eddy along its limit with tiie counter-impulse of the
two sets of surges, formed a short cross-sea, yeasty,
broken, and passing farther on into larger foam-topped
waves. The nearer to a calm over the sea in genml,
the more striking must be the phenomenon displayed
by the sight of this bluer and warmer expanse of water,
in an atmosphere of its own, moving along to the south-
east like the current of a huge river. Our entomoe
upon it an hour and a-half after was sensible even
below by the pitching, jerking, disagreeaUe heave of
the ship : she went dancing and tossing her martingale
over it, tne wind almost instantaneously having shifted
to a strong breeze from nOTth-west that brought in our
topgallant sails; while another vessel was perceived
hull-down to westward of us, apparently heading acrosa
our course under single-reded topsails, as if ahe had
met with a gale.
From the Qulf-Stream, one branch of its fanlike ter-
mination sets in towards the Mediterranean, blending
probably with the strong suction through the Gut of
Gibraltar, where the encounter of these with the fre-
quent greggakM^ or north-easterly gales from the Levant,
miJces that strait rather a ticklish situation for the most
skilful and hardiest of mariners. The whole of the Medi-
terranean, by the way, firom the variety and flddenes*
of its moods and peculiarities, is calculated for a usefU
school to the seamen bred in it ; yet it may be remarked
that even in their own sphere these inland sailors show
nothing equal to the experience, ingenuity, and practical
readiness of the regular northern tar accustomed to
blue water. They are too much addicted to coasting,
and dodging about from point to point ; and in a Levanter
their pkn is to haul down or cut away everything;
while tiiey do not appear to be better prophets of a
* white squall ' than those whom long use of an open
horison has taught to be always looking to windward.
Speaking of tiie Mediterranean, which is well known to
have no tides perceptible on land, it is the .i^inion of
old sailors that there are, however, many strong currents
throughout its expanse, on which the moon, both at
fhll and change, has a verv powerful eflect A similar
remark is made in the journal of Mr Williams, the
nautical friend of the poet Shelley, who was with him
up to the point of his melancholy fate off the coast oC
Italy. He mentions a heavy swell having got up aloiiff
shore, evidentiy caused by lunar influence, and which
made a noise on the beach like the dlMsharge of artiflery.
the moon shining brightiy; while out at sea it wsm
quite calm, and without a breath of wind for days to-
gether, although succeeded by violent gales.
The photphoresoence, or luminous property of the
ocean, in various circumstances, and vdth difGbreot
modifications, is another phenomenon generally known.
This, although observed more or less not only in the
extra-tropicid, bat in the polar seaa, becomes atiU mora
>»»%
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
215
diitiiicl between the Umltt of the torrid 2oiie»— perhaps
iDott of 1^ remftrkubld in the Indian Ocean. B j Hum-
boldfe, Sooretbj, Darwin, and others, the appearance in
qnei^on haa been nnmittakeably assigned as the result
o€ no qnali^ in the water itself, or simple phosphores-
oenee of animal or vegetable matter, but as proceeding
from the Innumerable animalculft; medusfe, and moUusca
whidi people the upper regions of ocean, as glow-worms
do a groen bank in Kent, or flre^flies an Indian grore.
Of these minute creatufM there are eridently many
spades, tome of wliich not merelj produce light in the
daiic but in the daytime give a peculiar tinge to the sea.
In site they no doubt vary fh)m imperceptible points up
to serend inches in diameter ; the presence of electric
(broes in the atar-llsh, torpedo, and other marine animals,
might teem to point towards some special economy in
the ocean with respect to the distribution of this yital
fluid. Humboldt found that if a rerv irritable Medusa
neetUuea were • placed on a pewter plate, and the plate
were struck with any metal, the small vibrations were
eaoufh to make the animal emit light.' The lingers
which had rubbed it also remained luminous for two
gr three minutes. Either a change of temperature,
or the ahock of the waves, would in various wavs act
ran these curious species in the production of light,
phenomena discoverable in a drop of water are, as
it wtie, shown on a scale of corresponding magnitude in
the depths of the sea, which sometimes appears about
to display at large the common experiment of the cbe-
mksal lecturer — ^turning water into lire, or vice versd ; so
Baked together are nature's apparent extremes.
To the voyager towards tropical regions this wonder
sf the soHtary ocean Aimishes one of those beautifully-
vahed spectacles which, growing ^miliar, become almost
a compensation for many lost home-comforts. Like the
outspiiead starry heaven, too, of the sea vigil, the
ship^s track glows winding astern in the dusk, where
the gulls and petrels hang aslant, or run along like the
crows after the plough in the field, to pick up the food
turned out by her mighty keel ; it grows brighter as the
darkness increases, the wave crests glimmer, the water
splashes on the bulwarks in fiery spray, keen sparks rise
in constellations under the eyes of the passenger as he
gases overboard. The phenomenon exhibits sometimes,
nevertheless, a solemn and almost awful aspect even
to one accustomed to It I remember this one dark
night at sea, In the equinoctial latitudes, with a light
bieese after a swell, when the slow, sullen, long wash of
the surges rising and fkUing round us had in itself
something impressive, heard in tbe boundless obscurity
of the first watch on deck. Here and there detached
floating liglits were faintly distinguishable to a distance
on eit^^ hand, dipping in a hollow, rising on the top of
a wave, or suddenly brought near by a wider swell, so
that one could scarcely get rid of the notion of being
surrounded by mystical dfln things, or in the vicinity
of some strange foreign shore. Now and then, too,
looking into the water aJongnide, with the slow motion
of the vessel, you could perceive coming up towards the
surface, or gradually sinking down from it into the
Uqaid dark, some luminous point, or a larger form dimly
visible by its own trailing glimmer, like a star-fish or
sea-jelly. QradnaUy the breeze had freshened a little,
while out of the gloom of the northern horison burst
DOW and then a silent flare of 'summer lightning' or
* wild-fire,' that showed the outline of the dark surges
heaving multitudinonsly for miles around. Almost all
at onoe the water, as it washed up about us, and the
lops of the waves next to the wind, began to sparkle
and Uaxe } the dark hull of the ship, as she leant over
with her upper canvas rising into the obscurity, was
brought out in vivid contrast to the face of the rolling
eleoient seen by its own light. Every time she plunged
into it you expected the whole abyss would kindle next
moment in actual flame; and although, with the help
of custom and experience, a thrilling interest was soon
fi^ in hanging over it, till the crest of a sea burst,
wsnn and iee&ing, above the fore-chains, yet one was
relieved, after all, when he went below, or the dawn
gradually restored the original ocean colour.
The natural colour of the ocean, as essentially com-
IKMed, and when unmodified by extrinsic circumstances,
is a property which, most obvious as it is of idl others
at first sight, fhrnishes in itself no small source of plea-
surable sensation to the voyager. By landsmen, green
is considered the tint most calculated to refresh the eye,
or least ant to weary ; but the sailor is still more strongly
convinced in fkvour of deep blue, trhich perhaps, ind^,
(torn its transmitting no direct rays of red or yellow,
may have the advantage in this respect The colour of
the sea, unlike that of rivers and lakes superficially de-
pending on the sky, is the result, not of simple rtfiection,
but of refraetion in the dense medium constituted by
its diffhsed salts, where all but the blue rays are ab-
sorbed in the absence of any bottom to intercept those
of greater subtlety. The skv over the ocean is, it has
been observed, comparatively less blue than that towards
land, and of a paler azure ; since tiie watery vapours
collected near the coast transmit the blue rays to us
more freely. The deep fixed indigo of the main surface
continues almost irrespectively of the floating clouds
above it ; deepening, however, with the compression or
the wrinkles of a breeze, and softened at the distant
line of horison into that exquisitely-delicate tint hence
called ultra-marini, which varies, according to the light,
from, the hue of the * forget-me-not' up to that of trans-
parent opal. The true tinge of the sea is best noticed
by looking through a tube or orifice, such as the ship's
rudder-trunk; while that of the sky is naturally hi-
tenser in degree when seen between the openings or
past the wUte edges of the sails. Objects floating
within sight below the surface, the blade of an oar or
the body of a flsh, reflect back the absorbed rays of
yellow or red, and appear visibly green ; so that, even
from the highest mastheads, a shark or smaller flsh can
be discovered as it swims past the vessel
The various accidental tints of portions of it, how-
ever, both in and out of soundings, bring into stronger
contrast that of the great main ocean, and might, on a
large and wdl-flgured* terrestrial globe, be represented
with interesting efifbct. The brown or green sea along
a coast — the Red Sea, coloured by its bottom or by
animal matter — the Yellow Sea, by clay in solution, are
familiar to most. The blue of the Mediterranean, em-
braced by its pure, violet-tinted atmosphere, is of a
lighter and more shifting character, more in harmony
with the sky and air, than that'll the solemn tropical
waters, over which the heavenly vault looks more pale
and unearthly, while the distances seem smaller to the
horison. Within soundings, where the depth is not
great, the colour is afibcted by the quality of the bottom.
* Fine white sand, in shallow water, yields a greenish-
gray or apple-green, deepening with tiie depth of water
or decrease of light : yellow sand, in soundings, gives a
dark-green ; dark sand, blackish green ; rocks, a brown-
ish or blackish ; and loose sand or mud, in a tideway, a
grayish colour.' Not only from these causes, probably,
but from foreign admixture, as well ^ weaker reflractive
power, does the well-known sombre green prevail, even
in the deepest parts of the ' narrow seas.' The local
varieties, however, which here and there occur with
apparent caprice, and irrespective of such influences as
those already mentioned, are still more illustrative of
the boundless fertility of nature, when, as it were, re-
quired to rdieve the otherwise monotony of her efiects.
In the western Atiantic, in the parallel of the island of
Dominica, or about 15 degrees north, is a large space,
where the water, although of course very deep, is con-
stantiy milky. Another remarkable anomaly is found
in the abrupt transitions of the Greenland sea from blue
to green, the former of which tints was supposed by the
earlier discoverers to denote the vicinity of ice, the
other an open passage. These alternations were seen by
later voyagers, especially in high latitudes, about the .
meridian of London, to lie near each other in long bands
or stripes upon the open surface of the ocean, chiefly
7\€
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
tovank oorth mud sootb, rarying with greater or less
saddeoDeas, and from a few nules to leagues in breadth.
Lines of pale-green, olire-green, and dear blue were
faHen in with doriog a quarter of an hour's sailing ; at
oilter times the sh^ was nearly grass-green, with a
•bade of black; and the separation of the two colours
was frequently as definite as the rippling of a current
In this green water the whale was known to prefe**
seeking ibr food; while, od account of the greater
oUcuritj, it was there more easily cau^t, so that the
fiftbers generally resorted to these localities. Captain
S-x>resby's obserrations proTed that some yellow sub-
stance was held in suspeusioa to give this peculiarity
of hoe ; and on microscopic analysis of dissolved snow,
which had been stuned orange by such a substance, he
ascertained the cause to be analogous with that which
in other latitudes occasions the phosphorescence of the
waTea. The melted water was round full of semitrans-
parent globules and fine hair-like substances ; diffisrent
species of small mednsaey possessing the property of de-
composing light» uid in some cases showing distinctly
the colours of the spectrum. Whether these were lumi-
nous or not, it was impossible to say, from the absence
of darkness during the long polar day ; but in no case
do we remember baring heard of this latter phenomenon
to any extent in the i^ctic seas ; nor do the medusse of
the tropical waters, on the other hand, seem to commu-
nicate any foreign tint to the ocean, except in one case,
to be mentioned immediately.
In about the year 1796 or 1797, the Dutch captain
Stavorinus, when commanding an East-Indiaman, steer-
ing for the Channel of Mamala, between the Laccadire
and BialdiTe islands, on the south-western coast of
India, met with a rery singular appearance in the
colour of the sea. During the day they had observed
the water to be darker and browner than usual, without
that azure clearness it always has in the open sea.
With the approach of evening it gradually assumed
such a degree of whiteness as, when the shtart twilight
was fading, to have become perfectly like milk — in-
creasing in paleness tiU nine o'clock, when it looked as
if covered by a white sheet, or like a flat country at
night overspread with snow. The horison was not dis-
tinguishable, except to north-west, where the line of
separation between sea and sky was only discernible
from the lailcr being somewhat dark and gloomy. No
bottom was found with a line of 150 fathoms. The
water was transparent in a vessel, but tasted less briny
and bituminous than ordinary. The same appearance
was observed by the English captain Newland in the
same part of the ocean, with this difference, that he saw
it intermixed with bUck stripes, nmning in a serpen-
tine direction through the whiteness. He also distin-
guished animalcula in it, by putting a glass with some
of the water in a dark place, and holding his hand close
over it From the SOth of January till the 3d of Feb-
ruary, the thermometer standing generally about 72 de-
grees. Captain Btavorinus and his ship*s company con-
tinued to see this phenomenon every evening and night;
each time, however, decreasing in vividness, till it was
no longer perceptible. He, too, succeeded in tracing the
cause in what he calls * very minute mussels, of the
same shape and appearance as those wc vulgarly call
fong-necki, which adticrc to timber that has been long
in the water, and to the curiously-beautiful shells float-
ing on the surface of the water from the Ked Sea with
currents (nautilut). The rapidly-varying and shooting
motion of these animals occasioned, in my opinion, this
circumstance.'
The same phenomenon has been remarked in the seas
between Amboyna and Banda (Philippine Islands). It
is called by the Dutch the white water, and occurs twice
a year in the seas around Banda ; the first time, at the
new moon in June ; the second, at new moon in Au^st,
not having altogether subsided during the interval.
Very few fish are caught while it lasts, but afterwards
so much the more : the flsh do not like the water, and
from its clearness, they more easily see the boats and
tadde. It has also been observed to rot the bottonia
of vessels allowed to lie much in it; while it throws
up ashore great quantities of slime, filth, and difle-
rent species of mollusca. It is dangerous for small
craft to be at sea in the night where it comes ; siocse,
though the air may be (uilm, the sea always rolls
with heavy surges, enough to overset them. This
* milk-sea' has generally been supposed to originate
from the Gulf of Carpentaria: it has been bj some
attributed to sulphureous marine exhalation, condensed
at the surface ; by others to the myriads of animmlcnls.
To the southward of Amboyna it appears in the form
of stripes ; and westward, more in heavy rollings of the
sea. The more tempestuous the weather proves, the
more it rains ; and the harder the south-east tradewind
blows, the more this white water is seen. Probably a
similar provision is thus furnished for those larger mol-
lusca on which the sperm-whale of the Pacific feeds,
to that made in the north for the wliale of Oreenland.
A phenomenon resembling the last in some particn-
lars has been met with in a different part of the Indian
Ocean — that vast repository and arena for the more
singular marine wonders, whether aqueous or meteoric.
It is known by English seamen under the name of * the
ripples,' and an account of it will be found in the
* Edinburgh Philosophical Journal' some time back. It
generally takes place with a sudden calm and oppressive
atmosphere at night or evening. Electric tokens of
disturbance are discernible in the distance, and the
horison glimmers with sudden coruscations, followed by
a hollow murmuring sound, which increases gradually
till the crews of ships thus overtaken have supposed
themselves in the ridnity of breakers. The light in
the distance seems to approach, brought vividly oat by
the darkness of the sea, which beoMnes agit^ed, and
appears to indicate the Prions burst of a hurricane, in
spite of the stillness overhead. All at once, with a
tremulous motion of the smooth water idongside, the
tumultuous line of fire, foam, and noise reaches the ves-
sel, which reels to the shock ; the spray rises over her
bulwarks, and the whole rushes past like a torrent to-
ward the opposite horison. This strange disturbsmce
is repeated again and again, as soon as the first has di^
away; the roar and hiss each time generally diminish-
ing ; and the luminous appearance less intense ; the air
all the while still, but suffocating, the sails not even
flapping to the masts. Its effect is appreciated in the
greater freshness and coolness of the morning, and the
breeze which succeeds ; but hence some of those ground-
less accounts of new rocks or shoals given by timid
navigators, who have happened to be thus surprised by
the phenomenon partially taking place, and while they
had yet steerage-way for making off from the fancied
breakers.
THE OUTCRY ABOUT CHICORY.
There has lately been no little clamour respecting the
adulteration of coffee with chicory, the exact merits of
which we will attempt to analyse. In the first place,
what is chicory ? Chicory is a vegetable of the en-
dive or dandelion order, only larger in the root, and it
is cultivated chiefiy in Grermany. From Hamburg there
is a large export of tlte root to Great Britain. It arrives
liere in a dried, shrivelled-up state, cut into morsels re-
sembling the shreds of a carrot. In this condition it is
whitish in colour, almost tasteless, and exceedingly light
in weight as respects bulk. To render it available as a
beverage, it is roasted like coffee beans ; and when it
has undergone this process, it has a black-brown ap-
pearance. After being ground, it resembles ground
coffee : if anything, it is finer in the grahi, of a nghter
brown colour, and when put into water, it mdts almost
entirely away. It soils the hands much more than
coffee ; and from this liability to impart its colouring
properties, it may be distinguished from cofl^ powder.
la Germinj, its infiuion, without adj mixture with
coffee, is taken as a beverage by peraont in humble
drcoinstances. The flaTour of chicory in this pure
state is that of a sharp, sweetish wort, slightly resem-
bling the taste of liquorice, and in colour it has the
sppearance of a dark sherry.
In its fresh vegetable state, chicory, or succory — the
Cidurium Jntifbug of botanists, is said to be a good
tooic, and to have the effect of an aperient. Judging
from the vast care which nature has taken to spread the
dtodeiion and its kindred species over the earth, we
mifht infer that plants of this kind were designed to be
of lome considerable use to man or the lower animals ;
and it would be more than a matter of curiosity to learn
what are the actual and beneficial uses to which the
Tegetable in question may be put What if the des-
pised dandelion, the ' unprofltably gay * decorator of our
roadsides, and the pest of our grass-plots, turns out to
be a most important material of human solace and
sabsittencet
Whatever be the discoverable properties and applica-
bilitiet of the dandelion tribe of vegetables, our object
in the meanwhile is to s^ what part chicory is made
to perform in the preparation and sale of coffee. To
get, if possible, at the truth, we have had three infu-
sioiu made, one of pure chicory, a second of pure
coffee, and the third of coffee and chicory mixed, in
the proportion of one to two ounces of chicory to a
poood of coffee — that, we are assured by a respectable
coffee-merchant, being the proper ratio of admixture.
The experiment was made without and with sugar and
cream, so as to be assured against any fallacy in the
iegredients. Of the flavour of the pure infusion of
duoory we have already spoken: it was that of a
peculiar bitterish sweet, not very palatable, yet not
podtifely distasteful. The flavour of the pure coffee
vaa something different from what coffee is usnally con-
sidered to be. There was a thinness of body about it, as
wine^tasters would say ; it was not exactly tlie thing ;
few would take it from choice. The flavour of the
mixed coffee and chicory infusion was at once recog-
nised to be that which the beverage called coffee ordi-
narily has when well made, and which most coffee-
drinkers, we should imagine, would prefer. Any one can
of ooorse make the same experiment for himself, and he
win probably arrive at the same conviction. The truth
*eems to be, that coffee is not what people call coffee,
Qoleis a certain quantity of chicory be prepared along
vith it; and it is rather remarkable that the world has
been so long in getting at this fact The chicory seems
to give body to the coffee. It gives it also depth of
oobmr ; but that is nothing. It fortifies the quality of
thioDess in the coffee, imparts that softish and pleasing
aroma which makes the beverage acceptable. Besides
this, we are informed that chicory improves the me-
dical virtues of coffee, by neutralising in some degree its
OQQStiictive effects.
So far, then, the use of cliicory as an attendant of
cofl^ may be said to be not only unobjectionable, but
pwper. The commercial part of the question, however,
presents a different aspect Chicory is a cheap, coffee is
a dear, article ; and therefore if dealers sell an over-pro-
portion of chicory in their coffee, without making a cor-
'Mpooding allowance in the price, they commit a fraud.
The correct and reasonable proportion ought to be not
more than two ounces al chicory to sixteen ounces of
wfte ; but it is stated on good authority that in many
•hops the proportion is half and hslf, or in some cases
asmuch as two-thirds of chicory to a third of coffee.
Any such intermixture is undoubtedly dishonest, and
cannot be spoken of without reprobation. A principal
reason for our alluding to the subject has been to warn
coffee buyers against practices of this nature. The
most effectual method of guarding against deception
will consist in all parties buying coffee and chicory
unground, and having ground them separately, they
can then mix them in any proportions they please.
From all respectable dealers the two articles can be had
separately. A good coffee-mill may be purchased for
about 4s. 6d. ; and with this handy little machine, a
housewife may set all the tricks of coffee-dealers at de-
fiance. But there are persons too poor to buy a coffee-
mill. That is too true, and in this, as in many other
things, the destruction of the poor is their poverty. At
the same time, there must be few artisans who cannot
spare the sum we speak of; and the knowledge that the
public are roused to the subject of coffee adulteration,
will at all events prevent grocers from carrying on their
adulteration to the extent above referred to.
The discussions in the newspapers respecting the
chicory cheat have brought into view another question.
At present, a moderate custom-house duty is levied on
foreign chicory ; and under the operation of the active
demand for the article, farmers have begun to raise it
duty free ; nor can we see any reason why people should
not grow it for themselves in their own gardens. Be-
fore the cultivation goes any great length, the Chancel-
lor of the Exchequer may perhaps attempt to procure a
repressive act of the legislature, such as exists against
the home cultivation of tobacco, though we should
scarcely expect with the same success. To stop the
growth of dandelions, big or little, would baffle even the
omnipotence of parliament, and the very effort to do so'
would be a step beyond the sublime.
As if chicory were destined to raise an uproar, still
another branch of the subject has excited declamation.
The ooffee-gnrowing interest in our colonies has begun to
be alarmed at the increasing consumption of chicory,
whether foreign or native. It is stated that, fur
36,000,000 lbs. of coffee, 12,000,000 lbs. of chicory were
sold last year. To stop this abuse, they propose that
a duty should be levied of 4d. per lb. on home-grown
dried chicory, by that means placing it on an equality
with British plantation coffee, and thus, if not checking
the consumption of chicory, at least producing a reve-
nue of L. 200,000 annually. Coffee-drinkers will feel
obliged by the colonists taking so much care on their
account ; but we believe they may spare themselves any
farther trouble. Chicory-growers and chicory-drinkers
are quite competent to look after their own affairs. If
any fresh law is required in this department of econo-
mics, it is one to remove all duties whatsoever on coffee;
and everything portends that such a law will be in ope-
ration at no distant date.
To wind up these rambling observations, it is our
belief^ as it is that of respectable coffee merchants, that
if the use of chicory were utterly put down, coffee-
drinking would be lessened in a very considerable de-
gree— perhaps as much as would be the drinking of
beer if the use of hops were proscribed. As a diluent
of coffee, chicory is used all over continental Europe ;
and it was not until the English learned that a small
proportion of chicory was put by the French hi to their
cof&e, that they attained the same skill in the prepara-
tion of the beverage. This knowledge was first acquired
by those coffee-dealers who aimed at selling * coffee as
in France.' Statesmen are not ignorant that the use
of chicory helps the sale of coffee. In April 1844, when
a debate on the budget took place in the House of
Commons, Mr Baring observed that * we were mistaken
about chicory, in thinking that the use of it prevented
the consumption of coffee : he believed that cliicory was
mixed to a large extent with bad coffee. When Lord
Spencer first proposed the redaction of the duty on
chicory, the result was, that a certain amount of bad
I
It
218
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
1 1
coffee, which would not paM in the market, was, by ad-
miztore with chicory, made to go down. People were
wrong in supposing that chicory made bad coffee ; he
believed that the foreign coffee, which we so much pre-
ferred, contained one-third chicory. Cross the Channel,
and in point of fact all the coffee you drink contains
one-third part of chicory.* It may, howcTer, be urged
that, fur the protection alike of the fair trader and the
public coffee exposed for sale in a ground state should
be liable to the examination of ofBcers of excise, and to
confiscation in the event of chicory being found too
largely intermingled with it Nothing wotUd be more
proper than sudi a power of inspection and seizure,
provided it could be exerted at little expense or trouble.
But we need hardly point out the practical inexpediency
of employing excise ofiELcers to visit every little grocery
establishment throughout the United Kingdom, com-
missioned with a power to judge of the quality of an
article which even experienced parties would be at a
loss to determine. On this account, we fear that the
public must in this, as in many other things, be left to
its own unassisted shrewdness, as well as the ordinary
principles of competition in trade, for protection against
the unfair imposition of chicory for coff^
THE MENZIKOFF FAMILY.
Close to the Kremlin at Moscow was to be seen, about
the end of the seventeenth century, the shop of a pastry-
cook of the name of Menzikoflf^ famous for mudng a
kind of honey-cake in great request amongst the Rus-
sians. This Menzikoff had a son, who, though a mere
boy, from his quickness and intelligence was most useful
to his father. It was his business to sell the cakes ; and
he nnght be seen in every quarter of the city with a
basket, which he was often fortunate enough to empty
three or four times in the day. On some occasions,
however, he was unsuccessAil in disposing of his mer-
chandise ; and when thus bringing home again part of
what he had carried out, he used to steal into his little
room to avoid meeting his father, who in such cases
would fly into a passion, and send him to bed supper-
less, and perhaps, in addition to this punishment, beat
him severely. And never was chastisement more un-
just; for Alexander did his very best to sell his cakes,
repairing to the most public walks, and the doors of
the principal churches, traversing the streets and the
thoroughfares, till at length he was well known to all
the inhabitants of Moscow — ^nay, even to the Czar
Peter himself, who condescended, while buying cakes
from him, to chat with him, and laugh at his lively
sallies and quick repartees.
Brought thus into contact with princes and nobles,
the sight of the luxury and magnificence that sur-
rounded them soon inspired the young Menzikoff with a
disgust of his trade sufficiently strong to make him long
to throw aside his basket, and bid adieu for ever to his
cakes. But his aspirations had scarcely tidcen the form
of hope, so vague were they, and so little probability
did there appear of any change of condition. Little did
he imagine that fortune was even then about to take
him by the hand, to raise him to the highest pinnacle.
One day his father received an order for cakes from
a nobleman, who was giving an entertainment to several
of the courtiers of the czar. Alexander was of course
the bearer of them. Admitted to the banqueting-room,
he sees a large company, all of whom had indulged in
copious libations, and the greater number of whom were
quite intoxicated. To Alexander's astonishment, in
the midst of the jingle of glasses, and the clamour of
drunken riot, he hears threatening words against the
czar. A Vast conspiracy exists to expel him ttom the
throne, got up by the ^ncess Sophia, whose ambition
could not be satisfied in the obscurity of the convent in
which her brother Peter obliged her to remain. The
very next day the conspirators were to carry into effect
their terrible plot. Alexander hesitates not one moment;
he glides unnoticed firom the room, and hastens to the
pahice. He is surrounded on his arrival by the guatds,
to whom he is well known.
* Good-day, Menzikoff; what brings you here wiA-
out your cakes?*
* Talk not of cakes!' he answered, panUng and breath,
less, and almost wild with terror : * I must see the czar;
I must speak to him, and that on the instant!*
' A mighty great man truly to speak to the czar : he
has other things to do besides listening to your foolerj.'
* In the name of all you love best, for the sake of
great St Nicholas, our patron saint, take me to the
czar ; every moment lost may be the cause of frightfol
misfortunes. If you hinder me fh)m seeing the empe-
ror, you will repent it all your life.'
Surprised at his urgency, one of the guards deter-
mined to go to the emperor and ascertain his pleaiure
concerning him. Peter, always accessible to the meanest
of his subjects, ordered Menzikoff to be admitted. 'Well,
Alexander, and what have you got to say so very im-
portant?*
*My lord,' cried the boy, throwing himself at the
prince's feet, *your life is at stake if you deUy a aingie
hour. Only a few paces from your palace thej are
conspiring against you : they have awom to have yoar
life.'
* I will not give them time,' answered Peter wnflfag.
' Come, rise, and be my guide. Remember only ^t
you must be silent as the grave upon all you slreadj
know and all that may happen. Your ftiture fortonei
depend on your discretion.
With these words the emperor wrapped himself in a
cloidc, and repaired alone to the house where the con-
Bpu-ators were assembled. A few minutes* pause at the
door of the room gave him, in the words he overheard,
suflicient proof of the truth of Menzikoff*8 report, and
he suddenly entered the room. The conspirators, sup-
posing that his guards were at his back, fdl oa tbor
knees before him, imploring pardon at the very moment
that his life was in their hands.
From that day might be dated the brilliant fortsnci
of the young Menzikoff. Peter, grateful for the serrice
he had rendered him, kept him about his person, and
gave him all the educational advantages within his
reach. And well did he profit by them, acquiring in a
short time several languages, and such skUl in armt,
and knowledge of state affairs, that he soon became
necessary to the czar, who never went anywhere with-
out him. When on his return from Holland, Peter
wished to carry out those plans of social ameliofttiQQ
at which he had been labouring for so many yean, be
found in Menzikoff a second selS able and willing to co-
operate with him in all his projects. Such aignal to-
vices soon obtained for him the government of Ingria,
the rank of prince, and in 1702 the title of mijor-gene-
raL He was then five-and- twenty years of age.
War having been declared against Poland, Meniiijn
signalised himself in several battles, and attained to the
highest offices. But was he happy ? No : the perpetml
fears of a reverse that haunted him, the conacioiiro«i
that he was an object of lealousy and envy to all who
surrounded him, robbed him of anything like tran-
quillity of mind. Every thought was abaorbed in the
unceasing effort to maintain his elevated rank, no»
only second to that of the emperor himself. Bat be wai
even now ill ; he might die ; what, then, would become
of the favourite Menzikoff? Would his succeaior ex-
tend to him the same countenance ? This thought preM-
ing upon him perpetually, induced him to try and flrw
out fh)m the emperor what his intentions were as to tM
succession to the throne ; but the prince was so mucn
offended by the attempt, which he had too m«* P^
fration not to perceive, that, as a punishment, ne^
prived him of the principality of Pleskofll Menilkon
was fully aware that his fate was bound up with taat w
the Empress Catharine, over whose mind he had aiwaj
had great influence, and in concert with her be gai»^
over all parties to favour her succession to "J«"^
after the demise of her husband. No aooner weir
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
219
Peter's eyeM doted in death, thftn Menzikoff seized on
tbe ti«Miii7 and citadel, and proclaimed Catharine
enpress under the name of Catharine L
The csarina proTed herself no nngratefdl mistress ;
ihe ordered her stepson Peter, whom she had named as
her soooessor, to marrj the daughter of Menzikoff} and
tfaroogh tile same influence a marriage was also agreed
upon hetween the son of the latter and the Princess
Anna. Both couples were betrothed; and Menzikoff^
left nothing to desire, thought himself henceforth secure
from all reverses ; but it was not long before he ex-
perfenoed the proTerbial inconstancy of fortune. All
his efforts to place his power on a solid basis proved
fraitlBss ; the sudden death of Catharine I., which took
place two years after that of her husband, entirely
changed tiie aspect of affairs. Peter II. ascended the
throne, and soon the impending storm burst upon
his head. The Dolgorouki- family were the coun-
sellors and favourites of the new monarch, and they
had long been the enemies of Menzikoff They ex-
cited in the czar's mind a jealousy of the power of his
ioteoded father-in-law, and succeeded not only in break-
ing off the projected marriages, but in procuring the
bsnishment of Menzikoff to his estate of Reuneburg,
about 250 leagues ttom Moscow. But their hatred was
not yet satisfl^ : his w^th alone gave him formidaUe
power ; he might reappear at court ; and they now re-
presented to the czar in the most odious light the pomp
and splendour which Menzikoff had been imprudent
enough to display in the removal of his family from
Moscow ) and the ruin Ot the unhappy man was irre-
vocably sealed. At some distance fh>m Moscow a de-
tachment of soldiers, commanded by one of his bitter
enemies, came up with him, and a decree was shown to
Menzikoff condemning him for the rest of his life to
Siberia, stripped of iJl his honours and wealth. He
was made to alight from his carriage, and after he
and his wife and children had been compelled to put
on the coarse garb of peasants, they were placed in the
covered carts which were to convey them to their place
of exile.
Who can paint the despair of the unhappy Menzi-
koff I A few short days before, he held the second rank
in the state, under an emperor whose throne his daughter
was to share; and now, stripped of his possessions, of
liberty, of hope, he was borne along in a wretehed
veht^ to the horrible place where he was henceforth
to drag out his miserable existence! As a fiivour, the
emperor sent him to the circle of Ischim, called the
* Italy of Siberia,' because a few days of summer are
known in it, the winter lasting only eight months ; but
that winter is intensely cold, though not as long as in
tiie other parte of the country. The north wind is con-
tinually blowing, and comes charged with ice from the
deserto of the north pole ; so that from the month of
September till the end of May the river lobd is com-
pletely frozen over, and the snow thickly covers ite
rode and desolate banks.
Immediately on his arrival in Siberia, Menzikoff was
put in possession of an isba (the Russian name for the
peasant's bovel\ situated in a very remote district of
tile ^oomy region, and there he was subjected to the
strictest watch. He was forbidden, with his family, to
pass beyond a certain prescribed limit, even to go to
church. A few days after their installation in their
wretehed abode, some cows and sheep, and a quantity
of Ibwli, were bronght to Menzikoff, without any inti-
natkm to whom he was indebted for this act of kind-
ness. It was indeed an alleviation of his sad fate, not
only as an addition to his physical comfort, but as
inspiring a cheering hope, by showing that he had
frioids who still remembered and were interested in him.
Ferhaps their zeal to serve him would not stop here,
lliis feeble ray of hope sufficed to cheer the unhappy
fuailj, and impart to them some degree of fortitude for
tile endurance of their misery; and Menzikoff steadily
devoted himself to the cultivation of the ground which
Whs to be the support of beings so dear to his heart
But new trials awaited him. The health of his beloved
wife gave way under the sad reverse and unwonted
privations of her new situation, and a short time after
their arrival she died. Menzikoff, in his despairing
grief, would have soon followed her ; but the thought
of his helpless children bade him live to be their
guide and stay. Religion now imparted to his mind
that elevation and fortitude which it alone can give ;
he now knew the fleeting nature, the nothingness of
the riches and honours of which a moment sufficed
to deprive him ; and he submitted with resignation to
his fate, finding in prayer and in the affection of
his family his sweetest consolation. But his cup of
sorrow was not yet full: his three children were at-
tacked at the same time by the small-pox. His son
and one of his daughters recovered; but the eldest,
she who had been betrothed to the czar, fell a victim
to the fearf\il disorder. The unhappy father could not
bear this fresh bereavement : he sunk under his grief
on the 2d of November 1729, after two years' abode
amid the snows of Siberia.
The death of Menzikoff caused some relaxation in
the severity of the government, and a little more liberty
was now allowed to the two children ; such as permis-
sion to go on Sundays to divine service at the town of
Ischim, a considerable distance from their isba; but
they were not allowed the gratification of being to-
gether—the brother going one day, and the sister the
next
Three years elapsed without any change in the
situation of the young Menzikofik; but now events
occurred that totally altered the aspect of affairs at
the court of Russia. Pete^ II. died without issue, and
Anna, the eldest daughter of Peter L, ascended the
throne. The solicitations of the friends of the unhappy
family found a ready response from the compassion she
herself felt for them, and an edict soon received her
signature, recalling the jronng Menzikoff and his sister
from banishment, and permitting their return to Mos-
cow. The young creatures, fkr from expecting such a
change, passed their days in cultivating their farm, and*
alternately availing themselves of their weekly privilege
of going to church at Ischim.
One day, when the young girl was returning as usual
alone, as she was passing a cabin, a man put his head
out of the little hole that served as a window, and called
her by name, and then made himself known as Dol-
goroi^i, the enemy of her father, the author of all the
misfortunes of her family, now in his turn a victim to
court intrigues. She was hastening home to inform her
brother of this fresh instance of the instability of human
greatness, when, as she approached the house, she saw
a government jager, escorted by a band of soldiers, at
the door. Her heart sickened with the apprehension
of some new misfortune, and her trembling Hmbs were
unable to bear her farther, when her brother ran out to
meet her. * Joy, sister, joy I' he cried ; * Heaven has at
last had pity on us. Our gracious sovereign restores
us to our home and our country. Here is an order from
the Czarina Anna recalling us to court, and putting
us in possession of the fifth part of our poor father's
property.'
For wonder and joy, the young girl could not believe
that she heard aright; and it was not till she actually
had the document put into her hands tl^at restored
them to liberty and to their country, that she could be
persuaded that she was not the sport of illusion. But
once assured, she stood motionless, breathless, under a
revulsion so mighty, so sudden. Then came the thought
of her father, of her mother, of all they had suffered;
and the first joy was soon mingled and tempered with
pensive regret It was with eyes dimmed with the
tears of memory that she met her brother's glance
beaming with hope, as on the day fixed for their depar-
ture they got into the carriage that was to convey them
to Moscow, after having paid a last visit to the grave of
their parente, and made over to Dolgorouki their isba
and au that it contained. The czarina received them
most graoiovily, and gave to Menzikoff the place of
captain of her guard, and that of tire* woman to hia
sister. Soon after she richly endowed her, on the occa-
sion of her marriage with one of the most powerful
nobles of her court
FESTIVALS AND HOLIDAYS.
Kefbbence to festival days was a primitiTe mode of
marking the seasons as they circled away over earlier
and less-occupied generations. These were doubtless
the oldest reckoning points in mankind's measurement
of time, as the earliest festivals of nations were insti-
tuted to celebrate those natural occurrences in which
they were most deeply interested, such as the rising of
the Nile in Egypt, the date season in Arabia, and the
gathering in of the corn in Europe. Old country people
still oount in a similar fashion. From Halloween to
Hogmanay is a well-known period in the calendar of
the Scottish peasant; the English rustic knows the
weeks and days between May-day and Michaelmas;
while ^iidsummer. Candlemas, and Patrick's Day are
recognised terms in the cabins of Ireland.
The holiday times seem to have passed from ua hard-
working and hard-thinking Britons, with the exception
of some Christmas doings by English firesides, accom-
panied by the emptying of schods and the thronging
of theatres ; the royal birthdays, known only in our
great towns ; and a feeble remnant of Scotland's ancient
welcome to the year. We are careful and doubled
about many things of more importance ; but as these
half obsolete words meet us in rural districts and legal
documents, to which their very mention is now almost
confined, it is curious to look back on the variety of
days that have been regarded, and the still more various
fashions in which they were celebrated.
The observation of days is among the facts which
prove the dominion of memory over human life ; as dates
are the pillars of history, so anniversaries are the most
enduring memorials; since time, which corrodes tlie
brazcn« and crumbles down the marble monument, per-
petually restores them, in spite of wars and vicissitudes:
lience, though the first festivals of the world had always
a natural sign and origin, yet the commemoration of
important events by their real or assigned anniversaries
has been sanctioned more or less by the divines, legis-
lators, and the custom of all nations. Fast as well as
feast days were indeed thus instituted ; but our attention
is for the present bestowed on the latter, being at least
a more cheerful subject.
The Feast of Fools was the most remarkable festival
of the middle ages, the oldest in its establishment, and
the first to disappear — having come into use in the
middle of the fifth century, and been utterly abolished
at the Protestant Beformation. It was observed in al-
most every country of Christendom on different days,
but always between Christmas and tlie last Sunday of
Epiphany. Its chief ceremonies were the election of an
abbot or bishop of Unreason, and a burlesque imitation
of all the acts and offices of tlie then dominant Church
of Rome. That these mockeries were not only tole-
rated, but encouraged by the ecclesiastics of the period,
whose authority was so extensive and imquestioned, is
in itself a phenomenon ; yet such was generally the case
in spite of both popes and councils, whose decrees were
frequently issued, but in vain, against the Feast of Fools.
Similar minglings of the burlesque and the pious of
every description were characterbtic of the Gothic
times, and are still observable in the Uluminated manu-
scripts and elaborately-carved columns they have left
us, where grotesquely -comic figures are occasionally in-
troduced amid theological, and at times most instructive
allegory.
The Feast of Fools is believed to have been a deriva-
tion of the Saturnalia, an ancient Roman festival, in
which all social positions were reversed for the time,
and a good-humoured sort of anarchy prevailed. It
occurred at tlie same season as did many festivals
among the elder nations ; nor is it the letst cunotu
part of our subject that almost every feast day known
to us or our fathers dates its observance from the most
remote antiquity, and has been transmitted from sge to
age, and from people to people, changed in nsme pe^
haps, and in the cause of its festive honours: u ooe
order of things passed away, and another came in iti
stead, successive generations found the old feast dsyi
in their places, and used, rejoiced in, or, it may be.
abused them, as they did with the other prodoctioni of
their seasons.
It is also remarkable that the earliest tnd moit
widely-celebrated festivals of the world occur in mid-
winter. Amongst the Chinese, Persians, and Indiiiu,
not only was our Christmas observed with the foil com*
plement of twelve days, according to old travellers, bat
the very sports and amusements peculiar to the lesmi
among our European ancestors, and still practised in a
small way, were current in thoae remote regions of the
East
Our New-Tear's Day bdongs not entirely to the Chrii*
tian era. The Romans patronised the 1st of JanaaiyiD
a similar fashion : it was sacred to their god Jaoos, from
which the month was named ; an idol with two facet
representing time, the past and future. The custom of
New- Year's gifts seems also to have descended from
them ; for the despotic Emperor Caligula was socu-
tomed to remain in his hall of audience the whole daj
for the purpose of receiving such offerings. Henry IlL
of England profited largely by the Roman's exampk,
when he intimated to his courtiers and subjects gene-
rally that his feelings towards them for the &amg
year would be regulated by the gifts presented ei^itt
1st of January. Queen Elizabeth availed herself 4ftiie
steps of her predecessors : she was wont to fiirniih her
jewel-box and wardrobe by contributions so levied; and
judging from the three thousand dresses which that
* bright occidental star ' left behind her, the presentatioDi
must have been neither few nor small ; they were even
accepted from the servants of her majesty's hoaichold;
among othen, the dustman is recorded to have pre-
sented her with two pieces of cambric. But to return
to the perpetuation of festivals : it is worthy of remark
that Twelfth Night, whose attendant cake, beans, and
lambs'-wool, not to wear, but drink, stood so high ia
tha estimation of old festive times, and from which
Shakspeare named his finest comedy, is known to haie
been observed by the early Egyptians with strange
sjrmboUcal ceremonies of joy for finding their dei^
Oairis : some philosophers have attributed this coinci-
dence of festivals in different times and natioos to
what has been asserted as a historical fact, thst oocnr-
rences of great moment in the destiny of nations or in-
dividuals generally take place at the season to which
we have referred. It is singular that even the Green-
landers believe their magicians can visit the Land of
Souls much more easily at mid-winter than sny other
period, because the way is shorter ; and they also cele-
brate a festival called the Feast of the Departed aboot
the end of December. There is a sort of agreement to
differ between these ideas, not unfrequently fomid m
those of widely-separated men ; but it appeara that
mankind generally have concurred in cheering up mw-
winter with festal lights and doings, and, independeit
of weightier considerations, the season seems to req^
theuL Strange to say, France and Scotland have been
tlie two modem nations that most extensively p»^
tised and longest retained the celebration of New-Year i
Day by gifts and visits ; and though diverse in hiitoiy
and character as any lands could be, they still aawm-
late in this respect In Paris, before the recent Kcvwa-
tion, the sales of confectionary, jewellery, and hncf
articles of all sorts on the last week of the year w^
estimated at one-fourth of iU entire purchaswt. ^o
statist, as far as we are aware, has yet cakulated the
amount bought and sold north of the Tweed for sumlsj
purposes ; but it would probably seem of more account
in the eyes of the present generation than the !««*•
,1
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
221
Tear^s gifts most Taloed by their British ancestors;
which consisted of the mistletoe bough, cut down with a
goUeo* knife, and distributed among them by the Druids
of their tribes. After-times gare to that wintery para-
site of the oak a less mystic signification than that
sttacbed to it in the faith of the Celtic nations, to whom
it was A pledge of safety and good fortune.
The C&miral was a worttiy suecessor to the Feast of
¥s6Im: its glory grew, while that of tiie former de-
dined; but was almost restricted to the south of
Europe, and flourished especially in Italy, from whose
language its name — signifying PmUaU, to flesh — was
derived. The custom of masking on that day is said
to haTe been introduced by the Venetians, amongst
whom it was always common ; and being in many re-
spects saited to the Italian genius and character, it still
pievmils to a considerable extent in those showy but
grotesque celebrations for which the peasant or me-
chanic of Italy musters up his whole stock of merri-
ment and paras, as the Camiral has been for many
oeBtwiea tiie only holiday enjoyed by those classes.
The aplendours and the license of the Carnival at
Venice were standing themes with the old tourists;
bat they hare long since shared the fortunes of its de-
serted palacesL At Rome, the festival is still observed
with all its ancient honours ; and in Paris it is kept as
a day of more than usual display and freedom, particu-
larly among the lower orders ; while in Britain, under
the Catholic name Shrovetide — ^from the Saxon word
skrioe, to confess — it was distinguished only by a feast
of pancakes, prepared of old in both castle and cot-
tage, but now remembered no more except in remote
hamlets.
Vsientioe's Day is said to be the heir of a Roman
festival at which the young unmarried were accustomed
to draw lots, by way of divination, regarding their
future partners, in the temple of Venus. When trans-
finred to the saiut whose name it bears, this practice
remained associated with the day, according to tradi-
tkm, because St Valentine was the only one among the
&thers of the church who contemned celibacy : its ob-
servance is old in Britain, but has undergone various
modifications before reaching the present form of post-
ofllee emplpjrmrat Shakspeare, in the play of * Hamlet,'
introduces a rustic song, from which it appears tiiat
about this time, or earlier, the choice of Valentines,
then meaning persons only, was shown by visits ; and
in the reign of Cliarles IL it was exhibited by presents,
especially of gloves. Pepys in his * Diary' mentions
with wcmted minuteness * half-a-dozen pairs bought for
his Valentine.'
The OKxm has been the governess of many festivals :
Vat apparent growth and wane of that familiar planet,
in iu revolution round the earth, presents in all climates
a vptcikM o{ visible calendar, which they Uiat see may
read: it is the simplest method of astronomical com-
putation, and is still in use among the Mohammedan
natioos, who reckon their year by moons. The Greater
and Lesser Bairem are the only festivals countenanced
by the Moslem faith ; the latter, which is of compara-
tively littie note, ii kept sixhr days after the former :
it begins with the new moon imoiediately following the
Ramagan — a month of fasting from sunrise to sunset —
which no doubt contributes to the welcome of the feast
In Mohammedan cities this is given with a general
burst of illumination, prepared for some hours pre-
viously, and loud shouts from all the dervises, the
moment tiie imaun, who has been on the look-out, an-
nounces from the minaret that he has descried the first
bright edge of the new moon. The Great Bairem con-
tinnes for three days, and is the special season for
present-making in tibe East ; even European residents
sod ambassadors are expected to remember the pachas
and viziers to some purpose. The festival is believed to
hsve existed long before the days of Mohammed, and
vas probably adopted from the Jews, whose ancient
oddiratloas of the new moon are known to all ac-
qsa&iited with their history. Travellers have remarked
that the only trace of stated festivals observed among
the aborigines of Australia was a sort of assembly
which they were accustomed to hold on their wide
plains, in order to practise the kangaroo dance under
the new moon ; but their traditional reasons for so
doing have never been assigned. The full moon has
also its attendant festivals : tiie Olympic Games, which
were celebrated every fourth yeBT, and governed the
historical calendar of ancient Greece, four years being
reckoned an Olympiad, commenced at the first full
moon after the summer solstice with sacrifice and feast,
and were attended by the expert of all nations, who
contended for prizes in every department of gymnas-
tics, as well as in eloquence, music, and poetry.
Every year, on the fiftec^ith day of the first moon,
the emperor oif China repairs in great state to a certain
field; accompanied by the princes and the principal
officers, prostrates himself, and touches the ground nine
times with his head, in honour of Tien the god of
heaven. He pronounces a prayer prepared by the
Court of Ceremonies, invoking the blessing of the
great being on his labour and that of his people ; then,
as the high-priest of the empire, he sacrifices a bullock
to heaven as the fountain of all good. Whilst the vic-
tim is offered on the altar, a plough, drawn by a pair
of oxen highly ornamented, is brought to the emperor,
who throws aside his imperial robes, lays hold of the
handle of the plough, and opens several furrows over
the whole field, llie principal mandarins follow his
example. The festival closes with the distribution of
money and cloth amongst the peasantry.
Easter, the most generally - observed of Clvistian
festivals, occurs, as decreed by the Council of Nice, on
the first Sabbath after the full moon on or after the
equinox. It is especially rejoiced in by the Greek
Church throughout her wide dominions. At the same
season, splendid processions move under the green
olives of Jerusalem, and through the deep snows of
Moscow ; but their Easter is different from that of the
West, as the nations of the Greek faith retain what is
commonly called Old Style — the calendar as it stood at
the Council of Nice in 322 — consequentiy reckon our
Ist of April the equinox, and k^ the festival accord-
ingly. The said Ist of April, All-fooPs Day with our
fathers, though scarcely a festival in the ordinary sense,
was long and widely distinguished by its peculiar license
for practical jokes. The custom can be early traced
in France, Grermany, and even Hungary; but its origin
remains in more ttuin rustic obscurity.
May-Day, though essentially rural in its character,
is a festival whose very memory is bound up with
pleasant and graceful associations. It was probably a
natural tribute to the general joy and beauty of the
season, and early practised among the Greeks, the
Celtic nations, and the Saxons, by whom it was be-
queathed to the rustic hamlets of England, lingering
among them almost till our own railway times. It has
been referred to by every poet from Chaucer to Tenny-
son, whose ' May Queen' is at least the most popular of
his poems. Cervantes mentions it in his day as one of
the rural feasts of Spain ; and the celebration of May-
Day with garlands, queen, and morris dances, was con-
sidered one of the grandest afiairs of London in the
fifteenth century.
Beltane E'en, the Vigil of St John, or Midsummer
Eve — ^for by all these names it has been known-— is
now scarcely recognised except in the remote districts
of Ireland, where fires may be seen kindling from hill
to hiU as the sun goes down, and round them groups of
the younger peasantry, gathered to dance, sing, and
chat, till the long twilight of that season fades into the
dewy night The festival is old among the remnants
of the Celtic race, and has been observed in the High-
Uinds of Scotiand, in Wales, and in Brittony. Some
say it was derived from the Guebre faith or flre-worsliip,
mtroduced into Irdand by the buUders of those round
towers that have been such a puzzle to antiquaries.
Certain it is that traces of it are found throughout
L
992
CHAMBERa'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
AtU: the well-known Chineae Featt of Lanterns if
•nppoied to have a similar origin ; ai\d on the steppes
of European Russia it is practised exactly as on the
hills of Ireland. The affinity of human beliefs and
fashions might be almost proved from festivals) but
among those of summer days, there is one peculiar to
North-western India and the adjoining Persian provinces,
extolled by all the poets of Asia as the Feast of Roses.
It occurred when Uiat queen of flowers — for the culti-
vation and abundance of which those regions have
always been remarkable— was in its fullest bloom, and
flourished most under the eariy Mohammedan sorereigns,
who were accustomed to leave the cities with their
whole court and harem for some chosen spot, where
they might enjoy its sports in rustic ease — Uie burden
of Eastern etiquette being cast aside for the time.
Moore gives a glowing description of this feast in his
* Lalla Rookh.' But on the principle that mankind na-
turally rejoice over their profits, it evidently originated
from the fpct, that the rose has for several ages fur-
nished the chief articles of commerce to those provinces,
in the ibrm of a variety of perfumes, including the
famous attar and rose-water, both indispensable to an
Asiatic toilet
Similar causes promoted the merriment of the vintage
in France, and made the sheep-shearings of England
such festive scenes when Thomson described tiiem.
Wine in the one country, and wool in the other, were
linked with naUonal industry and interest — so all
nations have kept feasts in autumn. The Indians
of North America, with whom agriculture was confined
to a Uttie half-weed maize, had their com feasts ; and
the * harvest homes' of Britain have in some degree sur-
vived the changes of creeds, of thrones, and of manners.
They were doubUess more important affairs when, as
tradition hath it. Queen Elixabeth assigned a goose for
the Michaelmas dinner of all her subjects who could
afford it, because her miOesty was engagied in discussing
a portion of one when informed of the defeat of the
Spanish Armada.
The last dav of October, our Scottish Halloween, and
the Saxon AUhallows, though now fallen into nearly
total neglect, was one of the most noticeable and pecu-
liar of all our popular festivals ; the celebration df the
feast only at night, surrounded by a perfect network of
legendary beliefs and tales, which Bums has so gra-
phically sketched for the amusement, or perhaps in-
struction, of less credulous generations, mark it with
strange characters of mingled mirth and fear. It may
be observed that something of the latter has been at-
tached to the eve of almost every festival in the popular
belief of diflferent countries. To the Grerman peasant,
St Mark's Eve, which occurs at the opposite season,
was notable for the same degree of activity among the
spiritual powers characteristic of our Halloween ; and
in the western provinces of France, Christmas Eve was
invested with a still more extraordinary terror, as on
that night the domestic animals, espeoisdlv cattle, were
believed to be endowed with the power of speech ; but
their conversation was fatal to all the human fsmily,
for those who heard it invariably died soon after.
These remnants of what in old English phrase is called
•Fochlore,* illustrate the times to which they belong
no less than the specimens of quaint carving and rude
utensils exhibited in our museums. Both represent a
state of things which has been, and enlarge our know-
ledge of the past with all its lessons.
The festivals of Christendom were mostly instituted
for religions purposes, ftt>m which, however, the greater
part were soon alienated ; and in the progress of the
dark ages they increased to such a degree, that at one
period Europe had not a single common or working-day
throughout the entire year, all being dedicated to one
commemoration or another. In short, to quote from a
modem poet, * They had weeks of Sundays, a sainf s
day every dav;* but as a matter of necessity, the
majority remained tmobserved, for to the great mass of
mankind life can never be a succession of hdidays;
but the peasants of Russia and France, though lo far
apart, ooncurred in appropriating a kind of individiul
festival fh>m that literal calendar : the Freoch csUed
it their *Fete,' and the Russians their 'Nsmss-Day,'
being, in fact, the day of the saint whose name a penoo
happened to bear, which was thei^re odebrated bj
his or her friends after the fashion of tbdr respectiTe
countries. Parties were made in France, and preienta
in Russia ; but the custom is stiU retained in the domi-
nions of the cxar, and servants particularly Deter per-
mit their names-day to pass without the knowledge dt
both master and mistress.
The utility of festivsls to nations and sodetjr in
general is a question of oonsiderable controveny: the
opposing arguments are founded chiefly on the inter-
ruptions they occasion in public business, the fsedlitiei
they afford for improvidence and idleness, sod 'the
abuses by which tiiey have been too frequeottj dis-
graced among the working-classes, to the injury c^both
their means and morals. There is sad truth in this lait
objection ; but, on the other hand, it is contended that
the institution of festivals is natural to humanity, and
one of the distinguishing traits of our species; that
they serve great moral purposes, in reviving tiie pioai
or elevating recollections connected with those erenti
which they generally commemorate, and apt to be
forgotten in the dustnr bustle of business, or tiie doll
routine of mechanioal employment It is slso main-
tained thai they contribute to the cultivation of the
social virtues, and refresh, with needfhl relsxatkm asd
amusement, the toil-worn lives of the labouring popola-
tion, which without them would be * all work, snd no
play,' with the proverbial consequence — ^t sll human
privileges and arrangements are liable to abossi, and
those to which they have been subjected, are no aigi-
ments against festivals.
CURIOSITIES OF MENDICANCY.
Ik the * Journal of the Statistical Society' there are
some curious particulars given of the progress of mendi-
cancy in London. During ^e past twenty yean, Eogliih
mendicancy, as shown in the appHcstions to the Hen-
didty Society, has scaroely varied at all in the svenge.
The principal increase was in ^le severe winten of
1893-3 and 1837-8 ; and a corresponding deeresae (k-
curred in the mild winter of 1843-3. This seoosnH
naturally for the variation, and shows that there ii
neither a moral nor economical deterioration going on
among iSxe people.
Irish mendicancy, on the other hand, hss iocmied
in London so enormously, that there are about eferen
Irish relieved for one English I It is stated tiist the
food-tickets of the Mendicity Society were prohsUy
one of the causes of this influx of mendicants. It ii
supposed that the low lodging-house keepers contriTed
to obtain a supply of the tickets, and offered Hiem u
bonuses to their customers. The news woold Unme-
diately fly throughout the country, and induce thoo-
sands of tramps to pay the metropolis a visit The
rapidity of communication among persons of this dan
is illustrated by a very remarkable fact: two days
before the dosing of the Society's ofllce, on the desth of
the assistant manager in 1848, there were 697 caiee,
and on the following day not om applicant sppesredl
A system of communication, therefore, mutt exist
among the London mendicants about equal in effect
and rapidity to that of the teb^graph. In the oonne of
a single day the whde vast body were informed that it
would be a waste of time to present themsdves in Bed
Lion Square on the following morning.
The alteration in the poor-law in the years 1837-^ i«
described as another cause of the evil, so far ss London
is concerned. Before that period it was the cw*^?f
the metropolitan parishes to reftise relief to sH but tnoie
who had a settlement in the parish ; but since *ea, «
wandering mendicant has as good a right to relief a^ >
resident The remedy suggested is the diecontiBntfJce
of aU eftabluhmeoti which proTide fbod or lodging for
meodicanU without inquiry or the labour test ; and to
open in their stead district reoeiying-houies under the
superintendence of the police, where, in return for the
labour of the applicants, they might be supplied for a
limited time both with bed and board. Such places
would accommodate the really deserving labourer mor-
iog in quest of work; and they woiUd be carefully
shunned by the tramps, whom they would bring under
the power of the Vagrant Act.
But eleven Irish beggars in London for one English
—with an enormous majority on the same side in the
amount of crime, M is shown by the reports from the
great provincial towns I This is the startling curiosity
in the affiiir ; and taken in ooqjunotion with the large
sums mentioned from time to time as being remitted to
Iiriand, the produce of work, theft, and beggary, it
points to a state of things without a parallel in history.
MISFOBTUNES OP MR NIBBS.
Thb other day, on glancing over a newspaper, the fol«
bving paragraph, descriptive of proceedings in the
Coort of Bankruptcy, met our eye. Tiie name of the
party only is altered : —
*ib Commissioner sat, but the eases dis-
posed of were of no public interest Augustus Nibbs,
who was director of a society called the
Coal Company, oame up on the question of cer-
tificate. Mr Nibbs, an ddeily gentleman, had retired
from trade on a handsome independence, and was un-
iortunately Induced to become a member of this bubble
company. Being the only solvent man in the concern,
be was sued for the debts of the company, and ruined.
His booour expressed his surprise at the credulity with
wbuch Mr Nibbs had suffered himseLf to be gulled by
sharpers, but at the same time expressed his concern
at the condition to which he was reduced. — Certificate
granted.'
We think the reporter for the press was scarcely jus-
tified in saying that the above case had no publio in-
terest. To oar mind it is full of meaning and instruc-
tioa. We have never, in so few words, read a more
aflec^Bg case of individual ruin — hopes destroyed, con-
fidence abused by ths blackest roguery. We offer a
tribute of oompassion to Mr Kibbs, idthough we know
wftthiag of him beyond what the reporter has given of
his sed history. Ignorant of sotual particulars, we can
nevertheless easily fancy a biography for the unfortu-
nate gentleman. Svery line in the paragraph aids the
*ipftcinstinn_
Mr Augustus Nibbs is an slderly person retired from
busipessL By a k>ng course of diligence in his profes-
sion, be bad realised a competent fortune, and had re-
tired to a neat villa at Hampstead, Norwood, or some
other pleasant suburban retreat In this delightful
seduaion, within an omnibus distance of town, and an
arrangement by which he might read the 'morning
paper daily,' Mr Nibbs had every reason to look forward
to a few years of tranquil ei^oyment, along with the
aged partner of his fortunes. There is a slight difficulty
as to whether Mr Nibbs had any family. We rather
believe he had an only daughter, who was grown up,
and married, and therefore, as he supposed, off his
hands. But the marriage of Eliza, as we shall call the
daughter, had not turned out happily, so far as worldly
prosperity is concerned. Her husband had not been
successful in business, and shortly after the retirement
of the father, his son-in-law stood very much in want of
a situatioQ. Let us here moralise for a moment
The patting of sons, sons-in-law, or brothers into
hostness, or giving them • share of your own concern,
is often a very, perilous thing. Tou mean well, no
doubt Tour heart glows with delight at the notion of
giving James, Thomas, or whatever his name is, a chance
of getting forward in the world. And all very right, if
the said young personage is really deserving and com-
petent to the undertaking-— if he possess that degree
of skill, steadiness, and self-denial which will enable
him to do battle in the great struggle in which society
is engaged. If you be not perfeoUy sure on these points,
don't make the risk. Let James feel by experience that
he must be self-reliant And if reasonable help and
advice fail, far rather put James on an aliment for life
than send him into business. Give him L.]00 a year
to do nothing. It will be the cheapest way in the end.
Patbers-in-law are not always Sobmons. Mr Nibbs
was anxious to see his son-in-law employed t and his
son-in-law seconded the intention. Just at this junctore
there appeared an advertisement in the * Times' an-
nouncing the formation of a joint-stock company for
supplying London with coal on surprisingly profitable
terms to the subscribers, and vast benefit to the publia
Nibbs was taken with the idea. His money was little
better than rotting in the 3 per cente. Here was an
opportonity for making an investment ; and besides, if
he took a hand in the thing, it might be the means of
getting a good situation for Tom, that unfortunate
son-in-Uw of his. Here we again take tiie liberty <^
moralising a little.
One with another, at least three-fourths of all the
joint-stock companies projected rest on false or de-
lusive statements. Decent people, who have retired
for life to their easy-cbairs, are not blessed with a
thorough perception of this fact There they sit re-
posingly at one side of the pariour fire, tbeir wife on the
other. There is a pleasant warmth from the grate, A
favourite little dog lies stretched out oonfidingly on the
rug, a pictore of animal ease and enjoyment. No sound
is heard but the cheerfiU piping of a canary, which is
hung up to bask in the sun's rays at the kitehen
window. Employment— old man reading the paper;
* missus' at darning or crotohet Now who would have
the soul to break up this scene ; shift the accessories ;
turn out the old gentleman from his well-eamed ohim-
ney-oomer ; break the heart of the wife } send the little
dog adrift to be the sport of bntehers' boys ; and kill
the oanary? Trust us, there are such upbreaks. The
law is an unrelenting monster; and those may think
themselves well off who do not come under its talons.
Not to wander too far firom the point : the worthy
beings whom we talk of commit a serious indiscretion
when they have anything to do with joint-stock com-
panies. To understand these concerns, you require to
go about and hear all the gossip respecUng them — who
has got them up? whether the names appended to pro-
spectuses are real or sham ? what, soberly speaking, are
the prospecta of success ? Not being assured on tiiese
points, let the schemes, however fair-looking in print,
pass unheeded. By no means attend anv preliminary
meeting. If you do, you will get yourself in some way
or other committed. Should you be afflicted with a
benevolent tendency, be only still more on your guard.
Let all projecta involving money-risks be examined on
rigorous commercial principles. It may sound harshly
to say thisi but who thanks Mr Nibbs for having
ruined not only himself, but his wife, his dog, and his
oanary, all to help on a concern which he had some
notion would benefit his son-in-law ?
Unfortonate Nibbs ! It was a bad business your ever
going near that preliminanr committee meeting of the
Coal Association. Why did you
ever take the chair, and feel flattered at seeing your
name down as a director? That polite gentleman in
the satin waistcoat and rings, who acted as secretary,
was a regular sharper. The whole thing was a scheme
concocted to cause decent people like yourself to lose
their money. And had not Birs Nibbs always her
suspicions? Do not you reroemb^ her saying to
you one day, when you were taking your hat to go
out * Really, my dear, I wish you would have nothing
to do with them joint-stock concerns? What business
have you to run suob risks? Are not we quite com-
fortable as we are ? Any more money would do us no
sort of good; we could not eat, drink, or sleep better
if we h«d the whole Bank of Coghmd. Twelve and a-
224
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
half per cent, you sav ! I bellere that is all nonsense.
My advice is, let wdl alone ; and don't go bothering
about joint-stock companies, of vhich you hare no
proper experience.* *It may lead to something good
for Eliza and her husband.' * Stuff: let EUza and Tom^
fijrht through the world as you and I have done.
* Think of the great benefit to the poor in giving them^
coal at a moderate price ; that weighs greatly with me.'
* Then help those poor you know something about ; but
don't run into schemes involving thousands of pounds,
and which you cannot see the end of. Well, well,^ I see
you are determined; but mind my words— you'll re-
pent it.' ^
Married women are not speculative. They are gene-
rally suspicious of clap- trap-looking projects ; and, on
the whole, they are right They see things coolly.
They have a salutary fear of domestic disorganisation.
Nibbs, a bankrupt, cleared out, now feels the force of
his wife's observations and counsels. All the fruits of
forty years' industry are gone. An old man, almost
forgotten by professional acquaintances, he finds that
he has once more to begin the world. But compas-
sionately we drop the curtain over the efforts which a
manly though subdued spirit makes to recover itself.
At the worst, there are nooks to shelter men like Nibbs
from the blasts of adversity. The corporations of Lon-
don, with a munificence which has no parallel, offer a
humble and not comfortless home in their respective
almshouses to those whom the world has not treated
kindly. Let us hope that, all else failing, the too cre-
dulous Nibbs and his old woman— not forgetting the dog
and canary— will in one of these homes have found a
refuge wherein their aching hearts may rest in peace !
hours. * Eight weddings hi twenty-four hours !' quoth our
contemporary ; * pooh ! in Portland there would have been
sixteen in twelve V We perceive that some of our London
contemporaries have been making oomparisons (aU m our
favour, by the way) between America and Australia as
fields of colonisation. Wo think, with the above matnmo-
nial matters of fact before them, our fair countrywomen
at home wiU acknowledge that the Australian colomes are
the true * United SUtes.'— J««<raf«» JoumaL
A8TB0N0MT.
The least acquainted with the philosophy of the heavens
must derive, more <$r less, instruction and improvement
firom the most superficial view that can be taken of them.
We cannot even oast our eyes above us or about us without
feeling our minds expanded with admiration, and our hearts
warmed with devotion. In an age of ignorance and bar-
barism, the heavens taught idolatry and superstition ; but
now that knowledge is more generally diffused, and men
are better informe<£ they inspire only gratitude and piety.
They borrow all their brightness from the great Fountain
of light and life, and diffuse it liberally for our use ; to
teaoh us that all our endowments are likewise bestowed
for the benefit of others as well as ourselves. We learn,
from their inviolable steadiness and order, the incalculable
advantages of regularity in our conduct, and exactness in
dischartfing the duties of life. Clouds may intercept their
lustre, but cannot interrupt their tranquillity ; and the
upper regions are never more serene than while the lower
are convulsed with storms. They affect no precedence but
what is sanctioned by nature ; as the lighter arc ever at-
tracted and controlled by the weightier masses ; intimating
to us that they are best entitled to rule who are best able
to fhlfil the ends of government, which is the welfare of
the community; and that, among members of society
possessing unequal parts, a perfect equality of condition is
impracticable. Their obedience to the primary institu-
tions of their Maker is a standing condemnation of our
habitual aberrations from the laws he subscribes and the
precepts he enjoms. Their beauty, which arises more
particularly from their answering so perfectly their respec-
tive destinations, reproaches our moral deformity; their
harmony, our mutual dissensions; and their combined
utility, our want of public as well as private worth. —
Jewish Chronicle,
A 7INB FIELD FOR THE FAIR.
Out of the female immigrants who recently arrived at
Melbourne by the * William Stewart,' eight were married
within twenty-four hours after their landing. An offer
made to the ninth (a cautious Scotch lassie) was deferred
by the fair one, who, with some sUght adumbrations as to
higher aspirations, professed her intention to * wait a wee
while.' The * Portland Guardian,' in noticing the nuptial
arrangements, only regretted that the ladies nad not oeen
landed in that delightful bay, where doable the number
would have met «digible matches in half the number of
LITTLE MILLY.
LiTTLB MiLLY hsth ft loolc Ui hcr dark and serioua eyes.
Sure it bodeth future grief— hidden teari and atlfled dghs ;
LitUe Milly hath a voice of a low and plalnUve tone.
Bad aa western btecaes dying o'er the harp with thrilling moan J
And she Uketh weU to wander o'er the solitary hill.
When the sUver moonbeams flicker on the diamond-orea*ed rill.
And the apple-btossoms glisten laden with the subtle rime.
When It falleth noiadeedy In the latter evening time.
Little MlUy looketh up, and the stars she tries to number.
Then a pleasant thought doth come— 'tis of Jacob's happy slumber i
Little Mniy fain would sleep here beneath the cedar-tree.
Dream of angels floating down, singing songs of melody.
Shnple prayers she now repeateth. and her tears begin to flow ;
Why she weepeth often thus. LitUe Blilly doth not know ;
Only that her heart is f uU when she speaks to One above ;
Above and all around she sees proofs of His Almighty Love.
LitUe Mflly txwnbleth much at a harshly-spoken word.
Cowering in silent pain like unto a wounded bird ;
Little Milly shrinketh ever from a cold reproving eye.
And her timid faltering tongue frameth not a bold reply.
But she goeth "mid the flowers, precious comforters are they ;
God made both the stars and flowers— stars for ni^t, and flowcfs
for day; .
Earthly friends may prove unkind, but the gifts of bonnteons
Heaven
Pledges are of love and truth— to the sin^hearted given.
Little Milly is a child. Presages of wo to come
Fling not gloom across her path, for she hath a sheltered home ;
Little Biilly hears the storm, as It wildly onward sweeps.
For the drooping birds and blossoms she Is pitiful, and weeps.
But a day is coming soon when she will stifle tear and sigh.
Hiding holy tender thoughts, lest the soomer should be nigh.
Stars may shine, and flowers may bloom, but they oan no '
prove
Solace to a heart that pines— sickening for Mman love !
C A. Ba. w,
A FRENCHMAN AT HIS ENGLISH STUDIES.
Frenchman. Ha, my good friend, I have met with one
difficulty— one very strange word. How you call H-o-u-g-h?
— TWor. Huff.— /JV. Tris bien, Huf; and Snuff you »eU
S-n-o-u-g-h, ha!— TWor. Oh no; S^ is S-n-u double t
The fact is, words ending in <mgh are a little irregular.-—
Fr. Ah, ver' good. Tis beautiful language. H-o-««-*^»
Huff. I will remember ; and C-o-u-g-h Cuf. I have one Ud
Cuff, ha \— Tutor, No, that is wrong. We say K<u^, not C»ff,
—Fr, Kauf, eh bien. Huff and Kauf; and, pardomtesm*^
how you caU D-o-u-g-h— /)»<^ ha!— rwtor. No, not />^—
Fr. Not Duff? Ah! out; I understand— is X>a»/, hcrl
—Tutor. No, D-o-u-g-h spelto Doe.^Fr, Doe! It is vw^
fine ; wonderful Unguage ; it is Doe; and T-o-u-g-h m ror,
certainement. My beefjateak was very Toe.— TWor. Oh w^
no ; you should say 7^/:— i?V. Tuff '^J^,^^^ ^
farmer uses, how you call him P-l-o-u-g-h, Pii^s Ha.
you smile: I see I am wrong; it is Piau/7 No? Ah, then
it is Ploe Uke Doe; it \» beautiful language, vcr' fine-
PloeT— Tutor, You are still wrong, my friend: it » -™5
—Fr. Plow! Wonderful language! I shall understand vcT
soon. Plow, Doe. Kauf; and one more— Ro-u-g-h, what
you call General Taylor; /totf/and Ready! No? ceHmne-
ment it is Row and Ready !—7Yrfor. No: R-o-n-g-h speM«
Ruff.—Fr, Ruff, ha! Let me not forget. RrO-u-g-h Is Rt^,
and B-o-u-g-h U Bt^, ha!— 7\«ter. No, Bow,— Ft, *rSs ver
simple, wonderful Ungusffe; but I have had what you
call E-n-o-n-g-h! Ha! what you call bimP— iV: Y, Heat
JoumaL
Published by W. & U. CuAUBias, High Street, Edinbinih. Abo
sold by D. CHAMnsRS, 80 Argylo Street. Glasgow ; W. 8. Ci<»,
147 Strand. London; and J. M'OiasnAN, «l D'Ollcr Street,
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. CRaMBBaB,^Bdinbuxgh.
IL
^^ff^^
^slu^
COlfDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' 4ec
No. 276. New Series.
SATURDAY, APRIL U, 1849.
Prick 1^.
ll
OLD TIMES IN ENGLAND.
Scotch leminifoencet, Irish recollections, jottings on
Germany, notices of fVench manners, sketches of Italy,
kc seem to be the order of the day; and eTery one
vho writes at all, has something liyely to relate about
modem manners and foreign scenes of the nineteenth
ceotory. Why may not I, an old woman, go back a
few score of years, and try whether a description of
bygone English manners, in a remote part of the
coontry, might not interest the few who are lovers of
qU things, as I can pledge myself for the truth of my
own reooUections?
My great-grandfather married in 1722, and new-fur-
nished his house when he brought home his bride : my
grand&ther and my father made few additions except
to the library, so that in my youth all remained much
as it had originally been. There were four public
rooms — namely, a dining-room, drawing-room, library,
and parionr, which last was our school-room. The fur-
Ditore was very solid, and not very commodious — high,
hesry, straight-backed chairs ; odd little 8o£u ; fire-
screens and hand-screens representing flowers and fhiit,
frightfully worked in worsted by my sisters and my-
self; and two stools embroidered in silk by my mother ;
antique rases, services of transparent china (baby cups
and saucers) ; family portraits ; inlaid tables and tea-
diests ; very full silk curtains drawn up by cords into
two scoHoped festoons over each window — these formed
the furniture of the drawing-room, in the middle of which
was a small square carpet, looking even in those days
eold in winter. The tall narrow windows, which we
duldren had to stand on tiptoe to see out of, commanded
the least cheerfhl Tiewfjrom the house ; and it was only
upon 'company days,' when plumcake and flattery
ahounded, that we liked to find ourselves in it. The
parlour was a large, low room, with three windows
looking into the garden, and broad window seats,
where work and books were always to be found, and
where cheerful employment and lively conversation
made us pass our time happily. This room, as well as
several of the bedrooms, was hung with painted canvas
in imitation of tapestry, by which name the decoration
went : the figures represented on it were most grotesque,
being only copies of famed originals. The garden was,
sad is still, to me * a dream of summer.' In spring, a
perfect wilderness oS birds, bees, and blossom ; in au-
tumn, of fhiit in such abundance, that we never missed
the portion abstracted by the wasps which swarmed
there. Everything was in abundance — * Lavender and
thyme, and rosemary and rue j * balm and tansy } * every
barb that sips the dew,' in short; and all common
flovers, waUfiowers, jessamine, lilacs, and laburnums,
thotn sod sweetbrier, guelder-roses, moss-roses, cabbage-
fOssB, York and Ijoicaster roses, maiden-bin^ yoses
smelling as roses never smell now : and much occupa-
tion the distilling of the herbs and preserving of the
fruits occasioned the whole household. The apple,
pear, plum, and cherry-trees were realh/ trees ; and un-
der the shade of their o'erarching boughs I have spent
many a happy hour. In the midst of a smooth-shaven
grass-plot there was what in those days was considered
rather uncommon — namely, a fine mulberry-tree, the
berries of which regularly became red under our northern
sun, but never purple. The herb-garden was busy with
bees, the hives being placed there near a certain honey-
suckle bower, which we children considered especially
our own, and where, from babyhood to youth, we spent
much time.
My father was very proud of his ancient Saxon
family, and looked down upon many of the magnates
of our land as mere modem adventurers, who had come
over with William L (he hated to call him the Con-
queror) to be made gentlemen of by robbing better men
than themselves ; and he congratulated himself that,
from the remoteness of the situation, and the insigni-
ficance of the property, his ancestors had lived undis-
turbed in their possessions, and never owned the sway
of any of Norman blood. We all bore Saxon names —
Ursula, and Edith, and En^ma, and Ulrica; Ralph,
Harold, Edward, and Edmund (my father would not
have called a son William for the world). My brothers
were all six feet high, with bright bold countenances,
brown hair, and blue eyes ; my sisters were tall, fine-
looking women. Those were not the days of accom-
plishments, but we had all a correct ear for music, and
sweet true voices; and we used to sing very agreeably
in parts • The Banks of the Dee,' * Sweet Willy, oh,'
* Barbara Allen,' 'Shepherds, I have lost my love,'
and other then popular songs. My sister Edith, in-
deed, soared much higher, and both played and sung
Banders music much better than it is now executed ;
and Ursula performed country dances with such spirit,
that it was difficult for any young person to tit stUl
and listen to her. We could all read French, although
our pronunciation was rather barbarous ; and all the old
standard English authors, Sbakspeare particularly, we
had at our fingers' ends. All the linen of the family, our
father's and brothers* frilled sliirts, all our own and our
mother*8 under-garments, were made by my sisters and
me; and as. we sat in the sunny windows I have de-
scribed, one read while the others sewed, taking the
book by turns ; and our conversation when we met at
dinner was always directed by my mother to what we
had perused in the morning, in order to prevent us as
much as possible from indulging in gossip.
Scandal we certainly never talked; but news was
eagerly listened to, and the common events of the
family and the farm became subjects of importance.
Every animate, and many inanimate thhigs had their
226
CHABfBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
names, much as Miss Bremer describes ,in her delight-
ful *Home.' The serrants, who were all tenants'
children, and who did not seek ' to better themselres,'
and nerer dreamt of change, had two names : Marias
and Louisas, Elizas and Emilys, were unknown ; it was
Nanny Wilson, Molly Allen, Betty Bee, and Jenny
Foster. BiUy Bee, Betty Bee's brother, was the groom,
behind whom my mother — when her health beclune
delicate, and she was reconunended horse-exercise— rode
on a pillion, holding by a broad leathern belt strapped
round his waist; and Tommy Fenwick, so callea by
every one but ourselves — ^who thought it dignified to
promote him to Thomas — ^was the footman. BiUy Bee
was a Jack-of-all-trades, though nominally groom ; he
drove the carriage when the horses were not employed
with the carts, he assisted Thomas as footman on com-
pany occasions, gave a helping hand to the gardener at
a busy time, and carried coals and water up stairs for
the maids when they asked him: it was even re-
ported that he had once been seen in the ignoble em-
ployment of shelling peas; but this wants confirmation,
and I believe was a coinage of the brain of Jemmy
Barrel, a boy who carried the post-bag, fed the pigs,
and was everlastingly busy or idle about the house.
All in those days and those districts were Billys and
Bobbys, Tommys and Jackys; their sons became
Will, Bob, Tom, and Jack; and their grandsons are
now William, Robert, Thomas, and John.
We had a cat with a lame foot (Molly Allen, the
oook, not deeming it reapeoUible to be without a cat),
which my mother, who had pet canaries in the house,
and pet robins in the garden, mercifully permitted to
live, inasmuch as it could not possibly catch any of them
any more than it could the mice. Under the name of
Mrs Tabitha Grey, she daily lapped her milk, and re-
gularly every six months brought forth four kittens,
which were as regularly drowned, until she produced
one with a defect in its fore-paw similar to her own,
and this, to our great delight, we were aUowed to keep,
and called it Kitty Grey. The cows, Daisv and Dapple,
Cherry and Lady Coventry, were fondly cnerished ; tbe
horses, the pony, the dogs, even the very pigs, all had
their names; and everything relating to these animals
was duly descanted on. The quarrels between the three
terriers, Tag, Rag, and Bobtiul, and the two cats, Mrs
and Miss Grey, more than once caused serious domestic
disturbances, my brothers siding with the dogs, and we
sisters invariably taking the part of the cats. But, upon
the whole, we were an affectionate and united family,
and the sun 'never went down upon our wrath.* I
love to dwell upon these happy careless days and their
simple pleasures. What was most unlike the things of
to-day, perhaps, was the kitchen. It was a very krge
apartment, hung on one side with every conceivable
description of vessel in pewter, none of which were ever
used by any chance, though all were regularly cleaned
four times a year, MoUy Allen priding herself in keep-
ing them as bright as silver. The meat was roasted by
dogs—little ugly turnspits, named Cupid, Venus, and
Psych6 ; and although the manner of teaching them
was cruel, no sooner had they learned their lesson, than
they seemed to like the fun, and those left out barked
and yelped angrily at the one selected. There was a
large pot for drying feathers, as big as a slipper-bath;
and several others, of so enormous a size, one wonders
what they coidd possibly have been intended for. The
fireplace was large enough certainly to have roasted a
sheep, and even« I think, an ox whole; but in my day
nothing larger than a sucking-pig was ever prepared at
it. On one side of this furnace, in a sort of recess, was
a large square stone trough, with a round wooden mallet
called a maU. It was used to separate the outer husk
fVom the wheat, which, when cleansed from it, was boiled
in milk, and called * f^mity.' My brothers and sisters
were very fond of this mess, which I never could eat,
preferring and begging for what they were indifibrent
to— the chocolate, thick 6dou|^ for ths q^oon to §ttind
in it, that wai always kept ready, and offered to all
visitors who came from any distance.
While upon the subject of forgotten dishes, I may
allude to a happy evening my brother Harold and my-
self spent with his nurae, a pitman's wife, at a village a
short distance from our house. It was tiie custom in
those days when the lady felt herself unable to perform
a mother's first duty, to send the child out to a more
healthy nurse: Harold was accordingly ddivered to
Peggy Comf(nrth, who returned him, at fourteen months
old, a rosy robust infant, fonder by far of his mammy
and black-faced daddy than of his more refined papa
and mamma. Her cottage was kept brilliantliy dean
by the tidy, industrious Peggy. It bad whttowashed
walls, nicely-sanded fioors, mahogany cheat of drawers,
a good dock, and tins which reflected the rudd^ glow
of the large blazing fires that ever cheered the winter's
day. Her husband coming home aa black as the
coals he worked amongst never seemed to soil any-
thing ) and well he enjoyed the good tilings it was
her pride and pleasure to welcome him to. Hie otco-
ing she kept Harold and me to tea, nothing loth,
all pretending to believe that it was impoasifale to
return home because of the rain, she produced a
* scalding of peas'— that is, peas boiled in the pods,
and served with butter— a * singin' hinny,' and bxunbie
or bummlekite jam— the first an immense girdle cake,
the last a preserve of blackberries and brown sugar,
which, to the day of his death, my brother preferred
to any other ; indeed we all liked north-conntiy disbea
— * lambs' wool,' made of apples and ale, and m ipiea
veal pie— that is, a veal pie half-filled with prunes
in addilion to other seasoning. We also ate currants
with roast pig, fried crumbs with our game, sage and
onion with goose and duck, and so continue doing to
this day, such of us as survive, in spite of modem im-
provements. My fattier was a pious man, and regularly
attended church with hii whole household, wet or dry.
Moreover, he insisted on our walMing there : to be iure,
the church was not at a very great distance— for Sunday,
he said, was a day of rest, and on it no beast belonging
to him should cany a weight or draw a load. We bad
no parasols to protect us : they were unknown. Um-
brellas, I suppose, must have been as uncommon, fbr
there was kept, I remember, ia. the vestry an enormous
one of green leather, studded with gilt nsils, at least six
feet in diameter, which was held over the dergyman at
Amends in bad weather when he read the service at the
grave. To see father, mother, their eight childrai, the
tutor, governess, and all the servanta eotet the diiirch
in order, was a sight worthy of old England, and calcu-
Uted to raise the femily higher in the respect of the
tenants and labourers than if they had come, like some
of our neighbours, in a carriage-and-four. Two families
even appeared in what I never see now — a carriage^
and-six.
Manv years afterwards the church and our pew were
the only things I found unchanged in the deariy4oved
home of my childhood. My visit to the diwdi was
indeed a sad one. I sat alone in the old square pew, the
green baize linings of which had grown almoiat white
with age. I looked on the worn hassocks where my
father and mother had knelt in pious abstraction, with
their blooming sons and daughters round them — all
gone now, with their hopes and fears, their ambitions
and expectations I I gazed on the painted windows and
old monuments where often, as a child, I used to fix my
eyes while drowsily struggling to give my attention to
the sermon I was made to write oat afterwards ; swd
which I looked at in later times whilst striving to keep
my thoughts from wandering, from what ouahi to have
b^ their employment in such a placcv to the gallant
young soldier, whom I followed aftorwards as my hus-
band through all the Peninsolar war, and to the East
and West Indies, where 1 lost him axid the last of my
children. Oh what had I not felt and suffered aince I
last sat tiiierel The old house in its new dreta waa as
little agreeable to my fidtfaful afiection lor tbt pasL
OHAMBERS'8 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
227
Tbe girden, I mm told, ▼«§ mueh impiored: it
osrttMjr altered. The fhiit-trees were down, and re-
plioed 1^ ptradlie-atocks { the little, rough, red goote-
bsrias, ao old and orergrowD, that the birdi uied
iometiinea to build in their branohei, were rooted
out, and nnall planta growing Brobdignag fruit oecu"
pied the aame ground} the early acariet Virginian
itrawberriea were gonei and roaeberriea, king'i-owna,
tad qneen'a«ownf, and a hundred other names, grew
there inatead. The old honeyfuekle bower, lo fUl of
memorieB, waa iwept away *, fbw York and Lancaster
cibbage or oomnum roses remained, but there were
plsBtf of pretfy-looldng scentless flowers of the name.
The old heib garden was i^anted with dahlias, and the
beeves lemoTed. The old mulberry-tree still stood
on the green, which waa now enliyezied with beds cut
into heuis and diamonds, squares and orals, and filled
vilh ftichalas, geraniums, and Terbenas— all very pretty
DO doubt, but they said nothing to me.
I wandered through the ohiffohyard beneath the old
trees, and pored over the tombstones where slept those
witti whom I bad often trod the aame ground. I shall
aerer rerisit these scenes more : the church has been
painted and repaired, and beautified, the spire taken
down, and a tower raised instead. Our seat is lined with
crimson doth, and filled wiUi well-stufied cushions and
sew plump hassocks. The few old peofde who remained
when I pidd this my last Tisit are dead, and repose in
the old churchyard, where the sun ever seemed to shine
br^ter than in any other place, at least to me. I am
a widow in confined circumstances, living in the west
of England with an old woman some few years my
junior, whose fkther and husband belonged to the — ^th
Begiment, and whose granddaughter assGts her to keep
my small housdiold in order. We talk over old times
nwte like fHends than mistress and servant, follow the
regiment In idea wherever it goes, watch for the pro-
motions and exchanges in it, and take an interest in all
the young men who at present compose its strength,
many of whom are the sons of those who jested and
enjoyed life with us * in the merry merry dajrs when
we wete young.' One day, hearing it was to pass at
some short distance, we took a weary walk in the heat
to hear ' our band' once more. It was long before we
recovered the pang of listening to the wdl-remembered
* quick-step' to wUoh those we loved had so often and
so gaUy marched, or of seeing ourselves carelessly
k>oked at by our own regiment aa unknown old women,
whose home knew them no longer.
It is said M age deadens the sensations; mine at
seventy-xdne are as acute as ever. I have often re-
marked that as people get old, even when the intellect
continues to be vigorous as ever, the thoughts con-
tinually revert to childhood : even the accent in speak-
ing wlddi they had lost at times strikes again upon
the attentive and observing ear, and they think of oc-
currencea that have lain dormant in the secret chambers
of memory since that time. Our very dreams become
again the dreams of youth I Not a week ago I awoke in
tears and distress, fancying that taO, sharp-nosed gover-
ness of my youth was going to punish me for a mistake
in nay lesson. I remember my dream perfectly : the
room, the fire, the old harpsichord, were as vividly pre-
sait to my fancy as they could have been in reuily
seventy rears ago. I saw my voung sisters in their
low-cot irocks and diaper pinafores. I saw distinctly
tbeir healthy mottled bare arms, their stout black
leathern shoes, their dose-cut hair. I saw and Imew
again tlie music-book, andmany of our old schod-books,
aa plainly as I see the pen I am writhig with, the pat-
tern of the paper on the wall, the naked waving boughs
of tiie trees. I heard footsteps which I recognised for
my mother's in the passage, and heard her speaking
to a servant, though I could not distinguish the words.
I waa once more a child and at home again ; and when I
awoke, it was some time before I could realise to my-
~' that I was indeed an old woman with whom life
wdl-tiigh over, and all those loved ones, who had
been before me so distinctly but a fbw minutes ago, long
sinoe dead. I dose my reminisoenoes here i to pursue
them ftirther might be uninteresting, since I have so
little to add to the above reodlections of a long-past age.
Education is £ut assimilating the manners and tiie
habits of even the remoter districts, and there is hardly
a trace now left in my old ndghbourhood of the ways
of the merry days when I was young.
RAILWAY PROPERTY.
* * Railway Property, its Condition and Prospects,* a
pamphlet by Mr 6. Smiles, is one of tbe most compre«
hensive tr^tises on the economic history and present
condition of En^^ish railways which has yet appeared ;
and suggests a number of facts and observations that
will probably interest general readers.
Rfdlways are a creation almost entirdy of the trading
and manufacturing dasses. They have been made fhnn
the spare money of people in business ; the rural p<mu-
lation have had little hand in them, and the landed
gentry and aristocracy have chiefly concerned them-
sdves in extorting high, sums for tiie land whidi was
required. From the interested opposition of landowners,
as also of rival companies, the cost of carrying Wit
through pariiament haa generally been enormous, ^e
expenses incurred in obtaining the act for the Great
Western Railway waa L.88,710; the London and Bir-
mingham, L.72,868; the Eastern Gounties, L.45,190;
and for the Great Northern, L.4d4,861.
Our author hinta at a great blunder having been
originally committed by government, in not prescribing
certain main routes, and disallowing all railway under-
taldngs till these were completed. A well-digested
scheme of railways, superintended by scientiflo men
appointed by government, might no doubt have averted
many serious evils ; but in idl probalnlity tlie people
would have been the first ta cry out against any such
interference, and no ministry could have stood against
tbe storm ^t would have been raised. This difficulty,
however, Mr Smiles does not notice, though, in our
opinion, it meets the whde question. The trntii is, the
blame of any redundancy in railway undertakings rests
substantially with tbdr projectors, the great bulk of
whom cared for nothing at the time but making money
by tbe sale of shares.
The total length of railway sanctioned by parliament
till the end of 1847 was 11,678 miles; the capital to
be raised was L.S86,580,210 ; the amount actually raised
was L.167,S31,S66 ; and the length of lines opened for
traffic was 3816 mUes. * In the session of 1848, about
300 miles of new railway were sanctioned, making the
total mileage at present sanctioned by parliunent amount
to about 12,000 miles. And in the course of 1848 there
was called up on railway shares L.33,260,159, making a
total of about L.200,500,000 of railway eajntd raised
[by calls and loans] up to the present time.' As there
are 8000 miles of prcnposed railways too absurd to be
executed, the length of railways for some time to oome
will not be extended beyond 9000 miles, and years will
elapse before even that extent is completed : at pre-
sent, only about 4000 miles are opened.
The gross traffic receipts of all the railways in ope-
ration amounted in 1847 to L.8,5 10,886 : this sum repre-
sented an average per mile of L.2804, and was made up
of L.5,148,003 for passengers, and L.3,362,883 for goods.
In 1848, the receipts were L. 10,068,000; and when the
9000 miles are completed, the gross returns will amount
to littie short of L.20,000,000 per annum. The statistics
of passenger traffic are curious. In 1847, there were
6,572,714 first-dass passengers ; 18,699,288 second dass ;
22,850,804 third dass; and 3,229,857 mixed— total,
51,862,163. This shows that about a million of people
travdled by rail weekly: 140,000 souls daily on the
move! Railways devdop traffic in the ratio of the
length of time they are in operation. First, the pas-
senger, and then the merchandise traffic is developed.
' Afready the railways had afforded, up to 1847, aooom-
228
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
modation for 34,000,000 of traTellen yearliy, beyond
what was proyided by the old coach and other accom-
modation.'
It is incontestably proTed that those railways pay
best which pass through a populous country. It is all
rery well for a railway to rest on a large town at each
terminus ; that of course helps it ; but, with some pecu-
liar exceptions, the true paying quality in a line is its
accommodation to a thickly-peopled intermediate dis-
trict In short, it is local, not through traffic, that a
railway company ought in general to reckon upon.
The great sums-total are made up not of soYcreigns,
but of shillings and half-crowns. 'Manchester and
Leeds are two excellent termini for a railway, and it
might be supposed tiiat the through-passenger traffic
between those two places would be Tery considerable;
yet it is the most inconsiderable part of tiie passenger
traffic which is more of the character of ** omnibus
traffic" Many passengers are taken up at one station
and set down at the next Ibe Yorkshire traffic is
distinct from the Lancashire traffic : as the trains pass
through the tunnel under Blackstone'Cdge, the pas-
sengers are generally reduced to their smallBst number;
then a new influx takes place at Littleborough and
Rochdale, and continues down to Manchester. The
same features are discernible, in a greater or less de-
gree, on roost other lines of railway.' The average dis-
tance trarelled by each passenger differs accor£ng to
the class. First-class passengers travel greater dis-
tances than those of the second or third dass. In 1847,
the average distance travelled on the London and North-
western by each first-class passenger was 60j miles;
of each second class, 31^; and of each third dass, 17.
The average fare paid on this line by each passenger
of all classes was 4s, 2d. Small as was this sum, it was
above the general average, which in 1847 on all the
lines was only 2s. each passenger. About two-thirds
of the passenger traffic oi all railways is of the second
and third class. It has fkrther been brought out by
statistics that 'the rural population travd about on
railways much more, in proportion to their numbers,
than die numufactunng population. The agriculturists
live out of doors ; they attend markets and fairs, and
their pursuits lead them regularly away from home.
They go to look after the sale or purchase of their farm
produce or stock, to hire or to be hired, to buy and sell
m the luge towns; and hence we find that the pas-
senger traffic on such lines as the Eastern Counties is
much greater, in proportion to the population living
along ti^ line of railway, than in the densdy-populated
manufacturing districts of Yorkshire and Lancashire.'
Some lines of railway are fed by a stream of passengers
in pursuit of health or pleasure, espedally during tiie
summer season, a species of traffic very remunerative.
In 1845, the pleasure traffic of the London and South-
Western Railway is stated to have amounted to 500,000
passengers.
Some curious particulars are stated with regard to
the traffic in cattle and other stock. In 1847» there
were carried by railway 500,000 cattle, 2,000,000 sheep,
and 390,000 swine. This kind of traffic, and also the
tri^o in killed meat, are rapidly increasing. * Large
Quantities of country-killed meat are now sent to Lon-
don for sale ; much of it is from Scotland. The dectric
telegraph is employed in the ordering of meat ; such
a message as tfie following traversing the wires: —
** Send up 600 or 700 stone of lore and hind quarters of
mutton.*' And such is the de^Mitch used, that Mr
Hicks, a London salesman, says, that on an order of
this kind being recently given to a butcher at Ipswich,
the required quantity of meat was in his premises in
Newgate Market for sale on thefdlowing morning by
five o*dock, having been alive on the day before. Not
only this, but the country butchers are buying their
meat from London, which is becoming the centre of the
meat trade. The country south of London supplies
itself witli meat from the London market ; and even
Birmingham market is in a great degree supplied from
London through the medium of the railways. The tnfflc
connected wi& catUe promises to continue an inoeas.
ing and remunerative branch of railway ix^hutry.'
Rural districts at a distance from the metropolis are
so largely profiting by railway accommndatjop, that
tracts of country through which no railways ptu an
placed at a prodigious disadvantage. The traflic on tiie
Eastern Counties Bailway to London will giTe an idea
of what is doing in the trannt of rural produce. *Iq
one week, in September 1848, there were canied oa
this railway~529 cattie, 73 calves, 5598 shee]i, 865
pigs, 17,71 1 sacks of grain and nudt, 6578 sacks of floor,
197 tons of meat, 37 tons of poultry, 332 tons of flth,
643 tons of fruit and vegetables, 229 tons of beer, 73
tons of wine and spirits, 19,608 quarts of milk, 59 cwti.
of bread,' &c. In 1847, 300»000 tons of lime vers car-
ried by railway for agricultural purposes, and a great
trade is springing up in distribution of town manure
over the country. * The ooiporation of Newcastle has
already set a good example in this respect, haviog
undertaken the collection of the town's manure, which
is sent along the nulways branching out firom that
town, and delivered in the agriculUiral districti at
2s. 6d. per ton. The farmer* H NorthumbeilaDd use
the whole of it, and the demand is far beyond the tap-
ply. Guano has recentiy been a considerable article of
traffic on some of the lines in agricultural districti; bat
the manure of the large towns promises to be a far more
lucrative source of traffic : only 40,000 tons were car-
ried in 1847. Sand is also used in some districti for
agricultural purposes; the Bodmin and Wadebridgc
Railway (Ck>mwall) carried 15,000 tons for this pur-
pose in 1847.' In the same year, 8,900,000 tons of ooil
were carried by railways, at tiie rate of leas than I^
per ton per mile. The general goods traffic on rail-
ways is still in its infancy ; thoi^ it may be joitly
inferred that it will never be able to compete with the
traffic of steam navigation where sea transit is arail-
able.
The cost of construction of railways necessarily rega-
lates the fares of passengers. To pay 5 per cent oo
capital expended in construction, the following ratio of
returns is requisite. U a line coat £10,000 per mile, it
will require a weekly average revenue of £16 per mile;
if £20,000, £32 ; if £30,000, £48 ; and so oo. To Taiy
the calculation, for each passenger, or each ton of goods
carried, Id. per mile must be charged, if the cost of
construction was £15,000 per mile; 2d. per mile if the
cost was £30,000 ; and so on. On this account, ezpeo-
sivdy-constructed lines must either charge compara-
tively high fares, or resign thdr profits. Much also de-
pends on working expenses. The more levd a line ia, it
is the easier and cheaper worked. * To master an ssoeod-
ing gradient of 1 foot in each 300 feet of distanoe-a Tery
trifling rise — a traction force is required twice as great as
is sufficient to move the same load at the same speed aloog
a levd railroad.' The greater speed required on sny line,
the greater must be the power employed. ' A good
locomotive of the heavy kind now used will draw a train
of fifty loaded wagons, or a gross weight of say 375
tons, at a speed of from 15 to 20 miles per hoar; hot
the same engine will only be able to draw on the same
line a train of twenty -fivo wagons, being half the
above weight, at a speed of 30 miles an hour. Thus it
appears that the thirty -mile speed costs douhle the
slower speed of fifteen to twenty miles, besides the great
tear and wear that is inevitably produced by the more
rapid traffic' The demand for power increases in rapid
proportion to the rate of speed. Going at the rate of
10 miks an hour, a locomotive will draw 250 tons; bat
push the speed to 30 miles an hour, and it will dra*
only 28 tons. Great speed is therefore a most costly
thing in railway economics. High vdocitv is said to
be more damaging to the rails than a low ^J^
speed ; but on &is point we entertain doubts. Wsifht
of engines, and, still more. Irregular bumping motiaD.
we should think to be the more injurious dement An
objection has been raised to express trains, oo aoooont
■"•'- -
(SAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
229
of their damaging the permanent waj. According to
oar experience, oridinary trains go actually faster tiian
expresses ; they pot off so roach time in their namerons
stoppages, that inordinate and dangerous speed is usoally
eftcted between the stations. Steady smooth motion,
irrespectiTe of speed, is what ought to be aimed at. By
the subfltitation of lighter engines and carriages, a con-
siderable saying remains to & effected in the working
of lines. At present, * the average weight of a train on
the brandi lines of the leading railways is 56 tons, and
the average number of passengers conveyed by each
train on such branches does not exceed 40. The weight
of tiieae passengers is about 3 tons, so that for each ton
of paying load there is a dead-weight of about 20 tons.'
Twenty tons of apparatus to draw one ton I
On continental railways, trains run at a low rate of
speed, usually from 15 to 20 miles per hour, and thus
insure safety, and enable companies to charge light
flues. All, however, in this country wish to drive on
at a prodigious speed, and yet they complain of high
diarges, whidi is scarcely reasonable. Assuredly the
niblk: cannot have both high speed and low prices.
Under the old stage-coach system, the higher charges
nade for fi»t travelling were recognised, because rea-
sooablft There was a great difference between the fares
of the mail and the ordinary coaches ; and tiie same
oonditions should hold equally with railway travelling.
Hie right of travelling in parliamentary trains at an
average speed of not less than 12 miles an hour, and at
a penny a mile, must be considered no small boon.
Mr Smiles takes a hopef\il view of railway property,
and ooDsiders that the public is blind to its own interest
in not investing in it with greater confidence. He
speaka of the financial statements of leading railways
as being put forth ' in good faith,* and to be reUed
upon. On this, unfortunately, the public entertain
doubta, which no representations of the press can re-
move. There is everywhere a lurking fear that the
statements issued by directors are to a certain degree
ftilecioas ; and the undeniable circumstance of certain
companies paying interest out of ciq)ital, tends to con-
firm popular incredulity. The extreme difiiculty which
comxMniea have in raising loans by debenture is the
most convindng evidence that something is financially
defective. No one, in lending money in this way, can
teQ whether he is protected by act of pariiament or not
For anything that is known, the borrowers may have
^bndy incurred obligations up to or beyond the sum
saoe^oned by the act There is only one way of re-
storing railway property to the thorough confidence of
capitslists : it consists in the affairs of each company
b^ng investigated and published annually under the
anthori^ of a public officer ; and also in establishing
a record of loans efiected on each line, open to public
inspection. When tiie railwajrs are more developed,
arrangements of this reasonable nature will be consi-
dered a proper part of the system.
THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY.
Mr elder sister Ruth and myself were the only children
of our widowed motiier. She was poor, and we were
brought up in a cheap retired village in the west of
En^and. We had two paternal aunts, Mrs Wilson and
Mrs Oooingsby, and a vast array of cousins, of all ages
and rixesL Mr Wilson and Mr Coningsby were wealthy
nen of business, living in large towns, and we knew but
little of these rdatives. We had one uncle also, a
Iwcfador, our deceased father's only brother ; and it had
been a mystery to me from earliest childhood why he
was ao mooh didiked and vilified by all the Wilsons
and CoBingrtiya. He resided in a distant part of the
country, and I did not remember having ever seen him ;
bat kiad and voefbl prtaents occasionally arrived from
Unole Mots, for which our dear, patient mother was
\aaSik$ gntttfnl; and both Ruth and I learned to think
with affection of this unknown uncle, to whom we were
indebted for many good and pleasant things. Not that
the gifts were costly : they were simple and inexpensive ;
but to us, unused to notice of the kind, they were very
valuable. It was not their value we thought of— it was
the remembrance, the interchange of mutual sjrmpathies
we rejoiced in; and when we did see our aunts and
cousins, and they sneered at Unde Sabby, as they called
him, denominating him * sdfish, crabbed, and odd' — ^yet
never, to u« at least (in the midst of all their afliuence),
following his benevolent example — ^no wonder if Ruth
and I defended him with all our might Moreover, we
never called him Uncle Sabby, as Mr Moss had a perfect
horror of the name, and our mother told us we had no
right to offend the feelings or prejudices of any one
unnecessarily.
As we advanced in years, we understood better the
meaning of the animadversions unsparingly lavished on
our nude's conduct ; for he had, some fifteen years i^^o,
bought a Ufe-annui^f with his fortune of ten thousand
pounds, bequeathed by a godfather — thus * defrauding,'
as the Wilsons and Coningsbys said, the legitimate ex-
pectations of nephews and nieces. * Surdy,' said Mrs
Wilson, * the interest ought to have satisfied the sdfish
old curmudgeon ! ' 'It would serve him right if he had
died a year after the transaction was completed,' chimed
in Mrs Coningsby. But our mother, who had never ex-
pected anything, thought Mr Moss * had a right to do
what he liked with his own. It would be far different
were he married ; but a bachelor, confirmed in celibacy
as he was, ought not to be blamed for making the most
of his means — ^particularly as all his nephews and nieces,
with the exception, indeed, of her poor fatherless girls,
were the children of affluent parents. And as Uncle
Sebastian had disapproved of her portionless marriage
with his brother, she might not complain that Ruth
and Berenice were excluded from any possibility of
eventually benefiting by his deatiL' Thus argued our
pious, charitable mother; and when we heaA on all
sides of Unde Sabby's egotism, ridiculous vanity, and
disgusting selfishness, we almost wondered how it was
he continued from time to time these especial tdkenB of
regard to the poor widow and her two little girls. Our
mother herself informed us that Mr Moss had a peculiar
weakness attached to his Christian name. The abbre-
viation of * Sabby,' for Sebastian, had given him mortal
offence ; and although the Wilsons and Coningsbys had
never trespassed on his forbearance during the con-
tinuance of their hopes as to the ultimate destination of
his fortune, whenever they found this was disposed of
past redemption, to spite him, and revenge their sup-
posed wrongs, they persisted in the abhorred abbre-
viative, until * Unde Sabby' had disowned, and refhsed
all further intercourse with the of!^ders.
Now, as she ever had done, our mother always hu-
moured her brother-in-law in this particular. It was
an innocent, if a foolish whim, she said. He was Mr
Sebastian Moss at all times witih her. He had a morbid
craving to see his name in writing, or printed, or in any
manner that would bring it into notice ; and she hu-
moured him, and he was kind to her after his fashion,
and she was very grateful, and taught us to be so tea
When Ruth was in her nineteenth year, she married
the curate of our parish. * It was a most fodish and
imprudent thing of our mother to permit it,' said Aunts
WUson and Coningsby, for Mr Mordaunt ^as nearly
as poor as ourselves; although he had a snug par-
sonage and productive garden, and was young, and
loved Ruth dearly, while she was weU fitted to be a
clergyman's wife on a small income, l^y bad not
been married above twelve months, and it was charm-
ing to witness their felicity — my mother and I thought
them very rich indeed I — when a letter came from
Unde Sebastian — a most singular epistie we thought it
— requesting * that his niece Berenice might be spared
to him for two or three months. He required a cheer-
ftil companion — low spirits — ^nerves affected,' See, My
mother hesitated fi>r a long time; she did not know any-
■■riMi
230
CHAMBims^ EDINBURGH JOUENAL.
thing aboat my uncle's mode of life; it waa a long
journey too; but a ten -pound note was enclosed to
defray the expense of that, plainly intimating that
acquiescence was expected.
*Ben7 is cheerfm and good -humoured enough to
enliren anybody/ said my partial mother ; ' and as I am
fortunate in baring you so near me, Ruth, perhaps I
had better let her go : her uncle seems to wisn it rery
much ; and Berry is a spirited girl, and can take care of
herself.' And so, after much deliberation, it was finally
arranged that I was to pay Uncle Moss a yisit of three
months : my mother coold not spare me longer. To
Branxholm, therefore, I went by the mail-coach; and
nerer haying been far from home before, erery olject
charmed me by its novelty, and I made the best use of
my eyes and ears, drinking in ¥dth avidity the chang-
ing scene, and endeavouring to catch information from
the conversation of my fellow*passengers.
I had always heard so much about Uncle Moss's
Wdler, that I naturally expected to see a fine house and
many servants ; so that I was much surprised to find
his domicile a small common-looking cottage enough,
on the outskirte of the quiet gray town of Branxholm.
He was a tall and thin elderly gentleman, with a long
pale visage, and a flaxen wig beautifully curled ; a con-
tinual nervous twitohing about the mouth, and blinking
of the eyes, made me fed quite nervous and uncomfort-
able till I got used to it ; he had a peculiarly low sweet
voice, and he looked refined and delicate, took extreme
care of his health, and was terribly afraid of getting cold.
He had sufibred a good deal from low spirits or melan-
choly of late ; and his medical man advised change of
air and scene ; but as the patient refrised to quit his
beloved Branxholm, the neA best thing, if not the best,
said the accommodating practitioner, was to have a
cheerful yoimg companion for a whUe I The cottage
consisted of eight apartments : a breakfost-room at one
side of the door as you entered ; behind that my uncle's
library ; opposite were the kitchens ; up stairs was my
uncle's be£'oom over the breakfast-room ; opposite, the
spare chamber, now mine ; behind these were two more
rooms corresponding with those below, and looking into
the garden — one the housekeeper slept in; the other
was shut up. That other !~it was the mystic chamber
of Blue Beard.
Tlie housekeeper, Mrs Dawson, a middle-aged decent
female, had resided with Mr Moss for nearly five years ;
and during that period she had not seen tne interior of
that mysterious chamber. I never knew any individual
so utterly devoid of curiosity as she was ; she did not
think about it till I spoke to her. There she was,
night after night, in this small house, sleeping oppo-
site to this (uosed room, and never wishing to know
ite contents, or caring anything at all about them. She
had once a^ed her master if he would like to have it
cleaned ; but he simply replied, ' No, thank you, Mrs
Dawson ; it is an empty uncarpeted room, ana I never
require it.* From the garden I looked up at the
single window, and that was often open to admit the
air, for Unde Sebastian Moss went into it once every
day. I found tiuU out very soon. Did I not long to
dimb up to that window, and iust take one peep ? This
did not appear to be utterly impossible of accomplish-
ment ; for there was a fine spreading apple-tree bdow,
whose branches reaohed to the casement, and as I was
an expert dimber— an accomplishment my worthy unde
littte suspected— it would be an easy feat to swing
mysdf m>m the said branches into the Blue Beard's
chamber. But honour forbade me doing this, until at
least I had tried fairer means ; for my curiosity was
really painfrilly aroused, and I became quite feverish
and fidgetty. Mrs Dawson had a boy to assist her, but
he did not sleep in the house ; and although my unde's
establishment was so humble, and his table perfectiiy
plain, though excellent and abundant, I was not an
mmate many weeks ere I became aware that he needed
all his income, however plentiftil that might be, to meet
the expenses he incurred by his liberal, nay lavish outlay |
of sums for beautifying and repairing the parish church
and erecting almshouses— to say nothing of a migni'
ficent pump in the middle of the market-plaoe, bearing
an inscription signifying ite erection by * Sebastian
Moss, Esq. churchwarden,' &c. &c In short, my tmde
was a second * Man of Ross' as regarded Branxholm ;
but here the comparison between the individuals ceased,
for Uncle Moss's liberality did not arise from either
philanthropic or ostentetious motives, but simply ftm
a singular craving to hand his name down to posterity.
I found this out afterwards, though at the time I waa
ignorant of it He was much respected and conBidered
in Branxholm, and his existence was as unvaried hi mo-
notonous routine as it is possible to conodve a human
existence to be. He was a nervous, timid being, but
inoffensive ; fond of reading memoirs, pleasant traTdi,
and such-like ; while his game at backgammon and
weekly dub were the amount of recreation he indulged
in. * Then what can he have in that chamber?' loli-
loquised I. Often I listened at the door, and peeped
through the keyhole ; and at last I made up my mind
to the bold step of plainly asking him for an expla-
nation.
' Dear Unde Sebastian,' I commenced one mmiing
at breakfast-time, * I hope you will not think me im-
pertinent, but I am very desirous of knowing if I can
GO nothing for you. I fear I am a poor oompanioD,
and tliat you are disappointed in me.*
'Not at all. Berry— not at all,' he answered shortly.
' I have not been very well of late, and I wanted to tee
a young blooming fiice near me. I should like to hare
had Ruth too ; but you do very well, and iBmnotdii-
appointed,*
* Then, Unde Sebastian, let me be of use to yon.
Let me go in and dust the spare room, and open the
window each day as you do.'
He looked sharply at me, and became so nerroDs,
twitching his moutii, and winking his eyes, that I
feared having gone too far ; but the scrutiny of my
countenance seemed to content him, and he said, 'I
daresay vou meAn well : you are a good notaUe girl
Berry; but that chamber Is sacred to myself Ttke
my advice, and never pry into secrets ; there b a
" skdeton in every house, did we but know it'
*A*A:c/e/<m,* thought I: « how horrible I What can
he mean?' I did not know that it was a mere cod-
ventional expression.
I fancied he became more particuhtf than erer io
locking and double-locking the door; and / daily be-
came more fidgetty and feverish with the uncontrol-
lable desire to explore the forbidden precincta.
I had been my unde's guest for six weeks, half my
time was expired, and I already looked forward with
joy to returning home ; for though I was moat ktodly
treated, yet the wearisome sameness of the life I led—
companionless, and far more confined than I was med to
be— preyed on my spirits. I longed for the woods and
streams, for a madcap race, and for a hearty langh
agahi ; for I had not heard my own laugh since I had
been at Branxholm.
It was on a beautifhl imnmer evening, my nnde
was at his club, and would not be home till late;
Birs Dawson was in the front kitchen bu^ msking
preserves, and I sat alone under the apple-tree txyioif
to read : but read I did not ; for, alasl the temptatKxi
was too strong to be resisted any longer. Tk win-
dow was invitingly open : how simple and easy to
dimb the knotted trunk of the apple-tree, and to jpuQ
the broad window-sill! One peep was all I wanted;
just one peep, to see if there really was a skdeton there.
This was all wrong, and showed great weakness, mj.
turned away once or twice. Honour forbade ths grara*
oaticm of my curiosi^, but the excitement was deugjjt-
ful J the idea of a dimb— the peep-the descenMhe
secret gained, and none the wiser but II I f^*^
no longer ; but in a few minutes sat exultingly amM
the high branchee, and crept with ease and sa&lyto
the casement.
Onoe tkere^ I was not latiified with peeping; but
dnckiog in, I alighted in the midst of the mysterious
chambaTy Icmked roond, and what do yon think I saw ?
Ton wonild nerer, nerer guess were you to puzzle your
tains for twelve months.
The room was hare, utterly doToid of furniture of an v
description, and the only thing in that Blue Beard s
den was a slab of pure white marble, leaning against
the wan, and £uhioned as monuments erected to the
memory of the dead usually are. There were cherubs
at the comers, with wings outstretched and smiling
fiues, and tbm was an inscription, legible from a
distaisoe, signifying that 'Near tlus place repose the
mortal remains of Sebastian Moss, Esquire,' a blank
being left for the date of the month and year of decease ;
beneath were soTeral lines of yersification, the oompo-
ntioQ of my uncle, and hii sole literary production.
The tablet was efidently dedgned fat the inside of a
dmrdi ; and I may here mention that Mr Moss had
bequeatfied 1^50 to the clergyman in his will, to see that
his wishes were carried into effect, and the tablet well
How long I gazed in blank amazement at the unex-
pected sight before me! It was di£Ek!ult for me to
realise the morbid Graving which had led to such
strange results — this wish of an obscure, unknown,
kmely old man to have hit nam$ remembered apart
from his deeds.
After the first astonishment subsided, I indulged
in a hearty laugh. I had a pencil in my pocket, and
a sudden impdse of mischief prompted me to fill up
the blank spaces in minute fairy-lU^e t^ct, tiiat day
lbrtn%ht being the date I chose to insert This done,
I cautiously desomded, leaving the window as I fbund
it, and not so muoh as disturbing a leaf out of ito
place, by which I might be discovered as the daring
pcrpotiatuf of the outrage. My dress, indeed, was
torn, and my hand was hurt; but, I perfectly suc-
oseded In concealing both these disasters; and I was
la bed long ere I heard my unde return. He went
to the empty apartment, but quickly returned, having
only remained to dose and secure the open window.
After breakflMt next morning I heard him softly enter
again. A considerable time Icmger than usual he re-
mained ( and when he came out, locking the door care-
faQy as usual, he went straight to his own room, and did
not make his appearance below until dinner was an-
nounced. I Mt very sorry to see him looking paler
than ever, tnd with a disturbed air, as if some weighty
misfortune impended. My heart begsn to quake, for
donsdenoe wldspered he muH suspect my impudent
tridi:, and everr moment I expected to be taxed with
H, and to reoeive a serious chiding. But no : dinner
psssed away, he ate little, and no allusion was made.
Could he have discovered the pencil-marks ? When a
vredc went by, and day after day he gradually pined
away, and loet all appetite, still making no comment
irfai&ever, I became dreadfully alarmed ; this silence
Was an awful punishment ; and I asked mysdf; cottJd it
be possible that my uncle attadied importance to the
minute writing? On the dghth day from my ascent
of tiie ap^e-tree Unde Moss became so much worse,
that Mrs Dawson wished to call in medical advice ; but
he woold not hear of it. l!liat morning he had received
a letter fhnn my mother, requesting him to stend god-
hXber to Buth*s little son, who was to be named Sebas-
tian Moss. At any other time the compliment would
have ddighted him extremely ; now he merely adverted
to it by saying, * Well, I am glad the name wiU be per-
petoated : as the old Sebastian departs, the young one
comes, ne stroke cannot be averted ; concealment is
usdess ; I have received my call, and I hope I am pre-
pared to ober it*
When I heard him speak thus, I was almost dis-
tracted: and without another moment's hesitetion I
■honld nave thrown myself on my knees beside him,
ind confessed my foolish tridt But he stc^iped my
precipitancy by kindly saying, ^Berry, I wish to say a
few words to you, my dear. I do not think tiiat I shall
be much longer in this world— in fact my time is very
limited — and I desire you to pay particular attention to
what I am going to say. Should any sudden change
teke place whilst you are here, which is more than pro-
bable, you will send to Hospital Street for my solidtor :
he has my wiQ, and will attend duly to ito ftilfilment
Out of my income I have saved upwards of a thousand
pounds ; L.600 1 mean for Buth, and L.500 for you, my
dear. Nay, do not weep ; you must be prepared ; for
I have received a myst^ous and extr^dy solemn
warning. A few days more, and all will be over. Berry ;
but worthy Mrs Dawson will take care you are pro-
perly conveyed back to your estimable mother, to whom
present my parting i^ctionate remembrance.'
Poor dear Unde Moss I Need I say what I did— need
I repeat my confession, delivered amid tears, remorse,
and terrors unspeakable, for he disbelieved me at first
It was mpostible I could have gained admittance to
that room, for the lock was one that could not be tam-
pered with ; and as to a young lady dimbing a high
tree, that was out of the question. Nor untU I con-
vinced him of the possibility, by repeating the experi-
ment in his presence next morning, did he signify his
belidT of my assertion by an outburst of wrath which
did more towards facilitating his recovery than my
confession itself. JTe, Mr Sebastian Moss, church-
warden, &C. &0. of Branxhohn, had been duped and
laughed at by a littie saucy girl! She had witnessed
his exhibition of superstitious vreakness; she had also
discovered his treasured secret; and would he not be
hdd up as an object of ridicule and contempt for the
residue of his life? I guessed what thoughta were
passing in my unde*s mind, as I innocentiy said, * In-
deed, indeed, dear Unde Sebastian, I am so ashamed of
myself; tiiat I will never repeat the circumstance even
to my own mother; say you forgive me — ^pray forgive
me, and forget it*
* I do forgive you, Berenice Moss,' he solemnly an-
swered ; ' but I cannot forget^ neither shall I suffer you
to do so.'
I did not comprehend the hidden meaning of these
words at the moment, but ere another vreek had dapsed
their signification was explained. My uncle's solidtor
at Branxhohn waited upon him, and they were doseted
together in the library, where by and by my presence
alw) was required. My unde introduced me to the young
lawyer, gravdy requesting me «to be seated, and then
proceeded to say that he had sent for me in due fbrm
thus, tiiat I might be properly acquainted with the
alteration he had made in his affairs.
' Your unjustifiable curiosity. Niece Berenice, meeta
at my hands with the punishment it deserves, to say
nothing of your having played off so crud a practical
joke on gray hairs. The L.500 destined for you, before
I discovered your real character, I have now transfinrred
to your sister Buth ; she will therefore inherit HlOOO
on my decease. Your secrecy, young lady, I do not
desire on my own account being convinced that your
share in the transaction will secure that during my life-
time at least'
Oh I never shall I forget what I endured on hearing
these cutting words. It was not regret for the paltry
hundreds— besides, I would fax rather Buth had them
than I — she needed them more — but it was that I
appeared ungrateful and heartiess to the uncle who had
been kind to us for years. Silly, weak, and vain he
might be; but he was, as he had just said, a gray-
he»ied old man, sickly and ailing too, and not a fit
subject for my joke. Bitterly I wept and intreated
forgiveness : my unde thought I was weephig fbr the
loss of the money, and that made me cry the more; but
I considered it as part of my just punishment to be
thus miqudged.
The other individual present at this scene read my
hea^ aright ; and though I deserved punishment end
met with it my genuine distress and contrition won for
me a fiiend in the wise young man of law. From a
II
232
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
friend, he became a lover ; and nrhen I left Branxholm
at the expiration of the stipulated three months, it was
as the betrothed of Mr Richard Blossom. Yes, thus I
met my dear husband, in humiliating circumstances
enough, my uncle expressly warning him to beware of
attempting to preserve any secrets from me — and I am
quite sure he never has.
We were not married until Richard settled in the
metropolis; and soon after the blank spaces on the
marble tablet were filled up, and the real date of my
uncle's decease inserted, the tablet itself occupying a
conspicuous place in Branxholm church.
GOSSIP FROM LONDON.
We are approaching what is called the 'full blaze' of
the London season. The dawn will ere long be lost in
meridian brightness. The votaries of pleasure are on
the alert: ruminant philosophers are revealing their
thoughts, in preference, for a time at least, to chewing
the cud ; the litterateur is thrashing his straw with
renewed vigour ; the man of science is on the qui vive,
hoping to meet with listeners for his theories, and new
applications for his fiusts ; goldsmiths and silk-mercers
are rubbing tiieir palms with expectation ; interests of
all sorts, from those of the prime -minister or prima
donna down to the pickpocket, are hastening to their
periodical culmination ; and perhaps abetter time could
not be chosen to make country readers acquainted with
a few jottings of town talk.
London has been compared to a big pond surrounded
by a restless crowd, each individual eager to throw his
stone in with a buder splash than his neighbour : and
those who can mi^e a splash in no other way will do
it by talk. The Arctic Expedition under Sir John
Franklin Ivis been a fertile subject One party con-
tends that the authorities are to blame for not taking
further measures to obtain intelligence of the long-
absent explorers, and that public meetings should be
held with a view to raise subscriptions for the equip-
ment of additional vessels ; while another party main-
tains that government has done all it can in the de-
sp^ch of the three expeditions sent out last year, with
a provision-ship this spring; and the best-informed
persons consider that the present year will not pass
without bringing us intelligence of the missing adven-
turers. Let it not be. forgotten that the country has
been put to an outlay of nearly L.500,000, first and last,
in making attempts to discover the north-west passage,
which, if discovered, would not be of the slightest prac-
tical value.
Another topic is the South-Sea whale-fishery: the
fact that the United States have 600 vessels engaged in
that trade, while England has less than twenty in the
southern whaling-grounds, has for some time been felt
as a reproach to this country, and British enterprise
is now about to attempt further efibrts in the antipodean
seas. The want of a proper station has perhaps been
a cause of delay; but Mr Enderby, late M.P. for
Greenwich, whose name is already associated with
antarctic discovery, has just obtained a grant of the
Auckland Islands, on condition that government be
called on for no portion of the incident expense. This
group of islands Ues to the south of New 2Sealand, and
is said to be well suited for a depdt, both as regards
climate and situation ; and a successful trade may be
anticipated, as the vessels engaged in the capture of
whales will be spared the long voyage to Enghmd as at
present No special inducements are to be held out to
colonists, as it is believed that a community will natu-
rally establish itself in the islands in course of time.
Mr Enderby himself will go out to superintend the
arrangements.
Among engineetrs considerable discussion has taken
place with respect to the government project of harbours
of leftige, which originated in the report of a parliamen-
tary committee, stating that the average annual loss for
several years by shipwrecks on the coasts of England
amounted to nearly L.3,000,000 sterling, be^des nearly
1000 seamen ; and one of the causes was said to be the
want of secure harbours, to which vessels might ran for
shelter. Various schemes have been propoKd to meet
the di£3culty : one was to moor huge wooden gratings,
both vertical and horizontal, at a convenient dL-
tance firom the shore, as lately carried into ef^t at
Brighton, within which the sea would be oomparitiTely
quiet ; another was a line of floating caissons, on which
tiie waves should expend their fury ; a third proposed
a belt of huge reeds or tubes to be made of oocot-niit
fibre, indestructible in salt-water, and coated with
caoutchouc. These were to be mo(»ed so as to ftand
erect in the water, and at the same time present no
impediment to the passage of a ship between them. A
fourth suggested driving piles and laying down bnuh-
wood on the shallows off Deal, which it was expected
would be silted up by the action of the tides, and that
eventually the Goodwin Sands would be thus converted
into an idand of 8000 acres 9 and the necessity (tf st*
tempting something of the sort was shown by the Udtt
that the Brake, one of the smaller sands, is now half a
mile nearer the shore than it was fifty years ago. None
of these plans was considered aa suited to the dream-
stances of the case.
The places recommended as sites for the harbonn
are Dover, Portland, Seaford, and Harwich : the one at
Dover, to contain 520 acres, is determined on, afiar a
good deal of debate as to the rdative merits of slopei or
perpendiculars ; and a vertical breakwater of stone and
rubble 800 feet in length is to be erected in the bay.
Another question at present exciting much attentson
is that of electric telegraphs under sea. It is piopoied
to enclose the coated wires within a leaden tube, whid),
being sunk, will in a short time bend and fit itself to the
conformation of the sea bottonpu No difficult is anti-
cipated in laying down such a line across the Channel ;
and instead of Holyhead and DuUin, it is suggested
that the telegraphic communicatioa with Ireland should
be made to the nearest point opposite Fori Patrick.
Those who propose to cross the Atlantic with wires,
say that it can only be done by the route of the Ork>
neys, Faroe Islands, and Iceland, to New Brunswick--
equivalent to pronoimcing the scheme to be impracti-
cable, or indefinitely deferred. But more sangmne or
more skilful experimentalists affirm it to be possible to
establish a telegraphic communication througli the sea
without wires : earth and water, it appears, are quite
sufficient for the purpose. The fact that such a com-
munication has already been effected across the Thames,
is quite enough to cause the partiea now in motion to
persevere. The modiu operandi generally stated would
be this :^-A galvanic battery is placed at Dover, from
one end of which a wire passes to a sheet of zinc or
copper buried in the sea beyond low water-mark; from
the other end the wire is led into a ccnl, from which it
is continued to a greater distance along the shore thaa
to the opposite coast, and there terminates in a metallic
plate also under water. A similar arrangement would
be made at Calais, and the condusioi^ as far as jet
worked out is, that the resistance being less between
shore and shore than between the extremities of the
wires on the respective coasts, the electric corrent
would find its way across in sufficient force to deflect t
needle. The idea is most ingenious, and if carried out
as anticipated, will obviate we difficulty presented bjr
liability of submerged wires to fracture. One reall/
important advantage to accrue firom a wide extension
of telegraphs would be the announcement of storma
Take, for example, such rivers as the Loire and Rhone,
liable to sudden inundations; if the news, 'a fiood is
coming,' could be fiashed along its course, the dwellers
in the lower country would receive twelve hours* notice
of the rise, and take measures to secure their prcf^*
In palmontological science, an important addition
has belen made to our knowledge bjr Dr ManteU's com-
pletion of the skeleton of &e iguanodon. Becent
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
233
excftTitioiM in Tilgate Forest, and the Isle of Wight,
have bronght to light portions of fossilised bones
hitherto wanting. These hare been laid before the
Royal Society, and serve bat to heighten our concep-
tions of the magnitude and powers of the antediluvian
monster; upon which it is said Dr Mantell will go
down to posterity. Among other interesting topics
eooneeled with l^e same socieiy, may be mentioned an
iostroctiTe paper by Captain Beechey on the tidal phe-
nomena of the English and Irish Channels.
Acoording to Mx Smee, the human body is nothing
mofe or less than a voltaic machine, and mental and
physical action depend on ^e efficiency of the animated
bakery. The idea is not new, but it will give people
somettiing to talk aboat for the next few months. And
while on the subject of ph3rsiology, a curious fact is
wortii notice, of which Quetdet was perhaps unaware
when writing on physicid growth. Lord Lovelace ad-
daces it fWmi a recent French work on the deterioration
of the pc^Milation in France. ' In spite,' it is observed,
'of so large a portion of the French population being
agricaltarists — ^that is, belonging to that calling in life
whldi most develops muscular strength and acUvity —
in sjMte of that proportion being on the increase as
compared with the rest of the inhabitants, it is proved
that the number of recruits rejected as unfit for the
mOitsffT service, firom deficient stature, health, and
strengttif is slowly, surely, and constantly on the in-
crease: 40 per cent, are turned back from this cause,
and yet the required height is now less than five feet
two inches. The stan^ird has been lowered three
times sinoe 1789, and yet there is as large a proportion
of conscripts below it as ever.' Here is one of the
(dianges gcnng on before our eyes, attracting but little
attention in detail — like a geological upheaval — but
startling in the aggregate. In connection with it, a
lact brought forward by a writer in the Edinburgh
Review deserves consideration: — 'There are certain
dis^icts,* he states, *in Leitrim, Sligo, and Mayo,
diiefly inhabited by the descendants of the native Irish
driven by the British from Armagh and the south of
Down about two centuries ago. These people, whose
ancestors were well-grown, able-bodied, and comely, are
now reduced to an average stature of five feet two
indies — are pot-bdlied, bow-legged, and abortlvely-
featared ; and are especially remarkable for open pro-
jecting mouths, with prominent teeth, and exposed
goms, ttieir advancing cheek-bones and depressed noses
bearing barbarism on their very front. In other words,
within so short a period, they seem to have acquired a
prognathous type of skuU, like the savages of Australia
—thus giving such an example of deterioration from
known csoaes, as almost compensates, by its value to
future ages, for the suffering and debasement which
past generatkina have endured in perfecting its appal-
ung lesson.' But truly may It be urged that such facts
as these are Interesting not only to fhture ages ; the
siAjJect of pauperism and mendicancy is in every one's
mouth, aira here we seem to arrive at one of the
physiod eaoses of the evil. With nearly 2,000,000 of
paupers, people may well iterate — ^What is to be done?
CaHfbmi^ of course is a prolific topic of discourse ;
bot it is a little singular that the returns from the
* digghigs ' should be considered as unprecedented
Large lumps of gold have been found in other coun-
tries. Sir R Murchison states that at the time of his
visit to the east of Russia, lumps weighing fVom 13 to
24 lbs. had been discovered in the Ural district ; and
subsequently, in 1843, a mass weighing 78 Ibs^ now
deponted in the museum of the Imperial Mining-School
at St Petersburg; and in the same year the total
yldd firom the Russian gold works was nearly L.3,000,000
sterling. In fact the gold districts of eastern Russia
and Siberia comprise an area larger than France ; and
it is only within the past few years that Chinese Tar-
tsry, as weH as Siberia, a tenth of the earth's surface,
has been proved to be auriferous. Hence we may look
for large returns from other regions besides California.
Among the schemes, too, for a route across the
isthmus, no one appears to remember Mr Uoyd's survey
made in 1828-9. He was commissioned by General
Bolivar, and carried levellings across at the points now
considered as the most desirable; the commencement
of the work being marked on a stone on the shore at
Panama^ and the termination on t^e stem of a tree at
Chagres. The * Philosophical Transactions' for 1830
contain an account of the whole proceedings.
Prospectuses are issued for a * Panopticon of Science
and Art,' a sort of rival Polytechnic Institute, originat-
ing, it is said, in a bequest of L.20,000 left for the pur-
pose. Several houses adjoining Exeter Hall have been
purchased, and are to be cleared away to provide a site
for the new edifice, whic^ is to . be opened next Christ-
mas. Besides this, cheap gas and cheaper water are
much talked about : one projector proposes to form a
reservoir by erecting a dam across Dovedale, and thus
to supply London with pure water brought in pipes all
the way from Derl^shire. But to detail all the topics
of London talk would require more than two or three
brief columns; I must ^eref<»e dose with the fact,
that amidst the various claims of model lodging-
houses, new streets, abatement of nuisances, and public
slaughter-houses, Mr Layard's * Nineveh* is most highly
esteemed, and competes successfully with MacauUiy s
* History' as the book of the season. Though not a
politician, the author is acknowledged to be one of the
first men of the day ; and it is a source of regret that
government has granted no more than L.1500 to enable
him to resume his interesting excavations.
INCIDENTS OF CANADIAN TRAVEL.
It was on a fine morning in the month of June, a few
years ago, that I stepped on board tiie steamer * Canada,'
just as she was about to leave the wharf, on her way up
the river, from Quebec to Montreal. Their steamboat
architecture has recent^ much improved on the St
Lawrence ; but the Canada was one of the old, clumsy,
and gaudy race of boats at one time so common on the
inland waters of America. She had been constructed,
like all her fellows, without much regard to proportions,
her hull being scarcely visible, from the extent to which
her double tier of dedcs projected over her sides. Be-
hind two enormous funnels, which were simultaneously
ejecting dense columns of flame, sparks, and smoke, the
* working beam ' rose high above the upper deck, and
when in operation, was one of the most striking fea-
tures in her singular tout-ensemhle. Seen from a little
distance, she appeared like a huge concoction of Bristol-
board and paint, the ground-colour being white, with
jet-black stripes traversing her whole length along the
most prominent lines of her frame. To one accustomed
to the sight of a British-built steamer, it seemed as if the
slightest breeze could have reduced her to her original
elements ; and as the hot steam shot shrieking from the
escape-pipes, you felt her shake like a jeUy beneath
your feet
Having no further occasion for delay, we steamed
with all speed up the river. The tide being in our
favour, we were soon extricated from the labyrinth of
ships anchored in the stream — each being surrounded
with its small raft of timber, wiih which the crew were
busily loading it. Thousands of men being thus simul-
taneously at work, there was something indescribably
cheerful in the songs with which they lightened their
labour.
As seen from the river, Quebec has a most impos-
ing appearance. The bold promontory, crowned b^
the battlements of the citadel, rises like a perpendi-
cular wall immediately behind the lower town, which
nestles at its feet, and which it has the appearance of
crushing into the water. The spires and roofs of the
upper town, covered with tin, and glistening in the sun-
shine, are seen peering over the fortifications, the only
connecting link between the two towns, on the St Law-
rence side, being a zig-zag street, appropriately called
L
Mountain Street, which straggles np a deft in the rook.
In some places the battlements of Cape Diamond seem
to impend oyer Chami^ain Street, a long and narrow
street, which leads to the western extremity of the
lower town.
Immediately on passing the dty, the riTer expands
to nearly treble width. Bo^ banks are Tenr lofty,
that to the sonth sloping dk>wn to the waters edge,
and being covered with the richest foUage. The north
bank, on which the city stands, is rugfted, precipi-
tous, and almost naked. At the end of Champlain
Street are many building -yards, in some of which,
as we passed, vessds were on the stocks, and nearly
ready for launching. Then came the ' cotes,* as they
are called, and which are neither more nor less than
those portions of the beadi on which the great timber
merchants transact their business. Wolfe's Core is
about two miles above the town, and is the spot at
whidi that gallant general struggled with his army and
artillery up an almost perpendicular dif^ to gahi the
Slains of Abraham above, on which he afterwards lost
is life, fighting the decisive action which strack the
last blow at French dominion in America. These coves
fbUow each other in dose succession for near^ three
miles, the whole beach being lined for that distance
with vast quantities of timber, squared, and ready fbr
shipping.
There are similar coves on the other side of the river,
about seven miles above the town, where the Etchnin
enters the main stream, on its southern side. At the
mouth of this tributary we passed a series of saw-mills,
erected on a most gigantic scale, and in which the
largest logs are converted, almost in a twinkling, into
slabs, beams, deals, and scantlings. On the wharfs
which surrounded them, the produce of these mills was
piled in enormous masses, ready for conveyance to
Europe in the vessels anchored hard by. Two miles
farther up, the river receives, on the same side, another
tributary, called the Chaudiere. The Falls of the Chau-
diere, which are not more than a league firom its mouth,
are fkr superior in size and grandeur to those of Mont-
morency, nine miles below Quebec And yet there is
not one traveller in twenty who sees the former, although
only twelve miles fh>m the dty, whilst almost every
stranger thinks it necessary to pay a visit to the latter.
The Chaudiere, at its mouth, is spanned by a noble
bridge of one stupendous wooden arch, somewhat re-
sembling in its oonstraction the centre arch of South-
wark (iron) Bridge. It springs from rock to rock at a
great devation above the stream ; and as we passed, its
complicated frame looked, in the dear morning air, like
light gossamer-work suspended from the foli^ which
richly mantied the two banks.
The town of Three Rivers is at the head of tide-
water, on the north bank, the tide thus flowing fbr
nearly 500 miles, or nearly the whole length of Great
Britam, up the channd of the river. The banks here
are comparatively low, and continue so, with but Uttie
exception, up to the great lakes. A few miles above
Three Bivers we entered Lake St Peter, a broad and
magnificent sheet of water, resting on a shallow and
ever -shifting bottom. The changes which are con-
stantly taking place in Its navigable channd render it
the most precarious point in the navigation of the
river from the Gulf to Montreal. At its upper end it
is studded with islands, some of which are made the
basis of great government works, with a view to
straightening, deepening, and rendering imiform its
channel About ttie middle of the lake we met an
enormous raft firom the Ottawa, making its way slowly
towards Quebec It was covered with small sheds, for
the accommodation of the lumber-men who navigated
it, and looked prickly with Jury-masts, to each of which
was appended a sail. These rafts sometimes encounter
rough weather in Lake St Feter, which in numerous
instances diatters them to pieces, and leads to mdan-
chdy loss of life.
It was early next morning that we approadied Mon-
treal. The country was exceedingly rich, snd rsdiinfc
with all the glories of ' leafy June.' Its geaersl chs*
racter was fla^ but here and there firom the vt^krd
plain, which extended on both sides as far ss the eys
could reach, small isolated and oonioal bills roie to s
moderate elevation, to rdieve the scene from the mono-
tony which else would have diaracterised it It wsi
fblly an hour before breakfast-time when we msde^
to we noble stone quay which lines the river hi firaot
of the dty.
While Quebec owes its chief odebrity to Iti oom-
manding military position, Montreal has f^ id?iB«
tages in a military point of view, the strongest pteoe
of fbrtification about it being on the island of 8t
Hden's, a little bdow the city, and about mUiwty
between both banks of the river. It is, howerer,
admirably situated with a view to the reqniremeoti
of modern dvilisation, which looks more to good com-
mercial thui to military positions. Although dtostied
upon a large island, it may be said to occupy s posi-
tion on the north bai^ of the river, the miin itreim
running between it and the south bank— that whidi
sweeps around the northern side of the island beiof
comparativdy insignificant. Occupying the very oentn
of a vast and exiu>erant agricultural region, it ii the
point upon which four great natural highwayB con-
verge, leading fh)m regions as varied in circmnstances
as they are great in superfldea. The site which it
occupies is but about thirty miles bdow the conihieDce
of tiie Ottawa and the St Lawrence— the former lead-
ing, for miles counted by the thousand, from the Tety
heart of the territories of the Hudson's Bay Company;
and the latter from the great lakes, with all the yet
nndevdoped wealth of the far north-west coontriei in
the midst of which they lie. To the south, the Atianfo
is directly accessible to it by the route of Lake Cham-
plain and the Hudson ; whilst to the eastward itcin
reach the ocean, by following the river to the golt
This is the spot which, within the last few yean, hu
been selected as the capital of United Canada ; andfev
capitals have a situation afibrding so mudi promiie for
the future.
Montreal has a fine appearance when approached by
steamboat firom La Frairie ; a small Frendi-Canadiin
village several miles firom it^ on the opposite bank. It
is diiefiy built of stone, as are Quebec and Kingitoo-
the three forming in this respect a marked exertion to
all the other towns of the province, and to neany all in
the United States, in which the wooden is ahnost in-
variably sup^seded by the brick tenement ThelfRnch
portion of tnedty is very characteristic Thenewpait,
all of which has been added since .the conquest, has more
of an Engliah aspect about it ; and some very inagni-
ficent streets and terraces have been added to it ^
its sdection as the seat of government ThefbeitlHuld-
ing by far which it contains is the Catholio cathedial,
which is second only on the continent to that of Mexico^
and of which any city in the old world might be prood
as an ornament The small hill immediatdy behioa
the town, and firom which it derives its name, icreenf
it completdy firom the cdd northern winds. The ik^
which descends towards the dty is covered with tHIu
and orchards, and having a southern aspect, it pro-
duces the most luscious fruits. Erom the sommtt of
this hill the view is very superb, conomandii^ the city,
the river, the Bapids, and a vast region of fisrtOe ooontry
beyond.
The Rapids of the St Lawrence! who, within the
domahi of intelligence, has not heard of these ftopeo-
dous phenomena ? They needed not the muse of Moore
to spiead their fame : they are too gigantic in their
sweep— too impetuous in their flow— too mighty »
their power— too terrible in their aspect, ever to oe
forgotten by those who have once behdd them, am i
was hurrying to the i^>per country, I had but a fcj
hours to spend in and about Monti^ of which ItooK
advantage to cross to La Prairie and see tiie Bi^i^
of La Chine. The y»<\in rapid is almost enorety
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
235
fcreened from the dtv by some islands, which here
break into dlfflsrent channeLi the great body of the
streanL La Prairie, which is about nine miles from
Montreal, lies at the foot of the Great Rapid, which
rolls in tunmltoons grandeur between one of the Islands
and the south bank of the riyer. The steam ibrry-boat,
tn crossing, had to stem a portion of the rapid, but
(ftAy where the ddirions waters had subsided into oom-
paratiTe qulesoence. Below, all was smooth and quiet;
aboTe, an was noise, tumult, and commotion. The river
appemd to be rolHng down the broken fragments of
some gigantic staircase *, and as it leapt maddened from
rock to rock, the deep-blue current 'dashed itself into
masMS of foam, which for miles up corered its surface,
like so many snow-wreaths borne down upon the Ude.
It is impossible that, in the presence of such a scene,
even the most stolid and unimaginatiye can escape be-
mg struck with awe. The first feeling whidi it inspires
is that of terror, the troubled flood seeming to bound
onward to overwhelm you. Once assured by a sense
(tf seeuritf , the mind becomes divided between amaze-
moit and self-humiliation } for you cannot avoid con-
trasting your own weakness with the stupendous de-
vdopment which nature here vouchsafes of her power.
ndi is not the greatest rapid of the series, which, with
some interruptions, agitate the river for the next hun-
dred and fifty miles up, but it is in some respects the
most terrible to encounter.
Haying determined to ascend the river in a * Durham
boat*— a trafficking vessel which visits Uie upper coun-
try for flour— I set out, in the first place, in the stage
for La Chine, in order to avoid the tedium of the first
canal ascent. Here I found about twenty Durham
boats ready to proceed on their upward voyage, but
I having no favomring wind, th^ were to be towed up
■ the lake by the midl steamer. There being nothing
> novel in this part of the journey, I preferred the steamer
to the Durhiun boat ; and it was about noon when the
'Swan' started for the head of the lake, with a littie
fleet of cygnets behind her. Lake St Louis, now entered
upon, la the result of the confluence of the St Lawrence
and the Ottowa. It is a small body of water for these
r^ioDS, but it is surpassingly beautifhl, bemg studded
wiUi islets, covered with shrubbery dipping into the
lake, so that they seem to be afloat upon the water. At
its head the Ottawa enters it by a broad and placid
estoary, stretching off to the right, and flanked by
Idty banks, the St Lawrence bounding into it on the
left through a screen of islands by a series of raging
rapids caUed the Cascades. On getting ashore, it was
with no little interest that, standing upon a small rocky
point, I witnessed the first intermingling of the con-
fluent waters of these two mighty torrents.
The Cascades being impracticable to upward -bound
craft, they are turned, as on the La CMne Rapids, by a
short canal, which leads into still water above them.
Here, for the first time, I betook myself to the Durham
boat, which was ' polled' close along-shore by the crew,
until we reached the lower end of another series of
rqtids caUed the Cedars. These being practicable,
mi brought me in contact with the peculiarities of the
navigation. A strong rope was atteched to tiie boat^
by means of which we were pulled by eight lusty oxen,
which slowly scrambled along about midway up the
high sloping bank to our right They were attended
by two Canadians— one to drive them, the other walk-
ing immediately behmd with a large, sharp, and trusty
knife in his huid, from which the sunlight every now
and then flashed in our faces. I was about to inquire
the olijeet of this formidable armament, when an alarm-
ing incident furnished me with ocular demonstration of
it We were dose upon shore, but the current which
ve had to stem ran prodigiously swift, although but
UtUe broken on the swace. Twenty yards farther out,
however, it was roaring, and covereid with breakers.
The great point in steering was to keep the boat* s head
direct to the current. We had neariv mastered the
ttpid, when, by some unfi:»tunate acddent, her head
was allowed to tehd slightiy outwards. The current
thus caught her broadside, and brought the oxen in
their smm-Uke course to a stand. The confusion on
board was only equalled by the hullaballoo raised by
the two Canadians ashore, who, in an incredibly short
time, exhausted all the oaths in their fertile vocabulary.
In yain did tiie driver urge the oxen to their utmcMit
efibrts ; the resistance was too great, and they could
not move. In the meantime, by the action of the cur-
rent, the boat was being driven farther out into the
stream, until at length the oxen failed in their powers
of resistance, and began to give way. They had been
dragged backwards and downwards about three feelj
when the man with the knife sprung to the rope, and
in a twhikling severed it in twa The cattie were thus
saved ; but tiie boat, abandoned to the mercy of the
current, shot, stem foremost, like an arrow down the
stream, tossed about amid foaming breakers, which
now and then dashed upon her deck. So suddenly did
all this happen, that for a moment or two I felt as if
awaking from a trance. Trees, banks, bushes, houses,
every &ed otject ashore, seemed reeling around me, as
if in the delirium oit some fjemtastic dance. The great
anxiety of the crew was to prevent her from shooting
the Cascades, which were within sight but a short dis-
tance bdow. At one time it appeared in the highest
degree likely that she would do sa
' Stand to your oars, and be ready to put her head
about,' cried tiie captain.
The men obeyed, ready to turn her round as soon as
she was in smooth water, so as to shoot the Cascades
safely and in regular style. Fortunately this was not
required, for at tiie foot of the rapid she swung into an
eddy, which enabled her to gain the shore.
* What would have happened had we gone down the
Cascades?' I inquired very simply of the captain, who
was already giving orders for reasoending the rapid.
' We should have been back again in Lake St Louis
by this time,' he replied with an air of great indiffer-
ence, leaving me lost in wonderment at his estimate of
the greatest calamity contingent on such an event
We were not long in making up lost ground. The
oxen were once more attached to the boai^ and by dint
of better steering we soon mastered the Cedars. The
channel of the river is here again broken by numerous
islands, between which it passes with prodigious force
and velocity. Close to the southern bank, some miles
off, are the Rapids of Beauhamois, which showed us
their white crests until hidden from view by a sud-
den bend in the river, which brought us to the village
of the Cedars. From this, up to the foot of Lake St
Francis, we were alternately polled and towed, ascend-
ing several minor rapids, and flanking, by another very
short canal, one too formidable to be breasted, and
which formed on one side the defence of a smaU fort
which rested upon it, and which, on that side at least,
was impregnable. At the village at the foot of Lake
St Francis we passed the night.
Next morning, as on Lake St Louis, a whole fleet of
Durham boate were towed up LtUce St Francis by a
steamer. This is a somewhat larger sheet than the
other, its upper half being very much broken with
iriands. On one of these, near the boundary line be-
tween the upper and lower provinces, is a rude pyra-
mid of unhewn stones, raised hy the Highlanders of the
border county of Glengarry in honour of Sir John Col-
borne, who crushed the insurrection in Lower Canada
in 1837. After sailing through many beautify and
mazy passages at the upper end of the lake, we arrived
at Cornwall, the first frontier town of the upper pro-
vince.
Twelve miles above Cornwall is the greatest and
most formidable rapid of the St Lawrence, known as
the Longue Soult, or, as it is commonly called, the
Long Soo Rapid. Hitherto we had come along the
northern bank ; but to overcome this rapid we had to
cross the river, the only practicable ascent being on the
southern side. The stream was narrow where we crossed.
'- " ' -^ "^^ - "-'"^L tJJJl..«.H.J>^ _IMII> HM WIIIU M ■
^M
2S6
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
and the point aimed at was the mouth of a amall rivulet
on the other side. We ascended the still water on tlie
northern side, until we got nearly a mile above this
point. The men then took to their oars, and pulled
lustily across the stream. As soon as we touched the
impetuous current in the middle, we were swept down
with amazing rapidity, until we got into stiU water
again on the other side, about half a mile below the
rivulet, to which we were then leisurely polled up.
The rapid being still a mile or two up, I walked
along the beach, leaving the boat to be polled to the
foot of it In doing so, I^-bounded over the rivulet
which crossed my path. That bound brought me from
monarchical to republican jurisdiction — the boundary
line between the province and the United States here
intersecting the St Lawrence, the broad current of
which henceforth intervenes between the rival juris-
dictions. I embarked again at the foot of the Great
Rapid, which, in all its appalling grandeur, was now in
full view. As at all the rapids, islands here also blocked
up the channel, the river escaping with terrific violence
between tiiem. The broadest and most fearful rapid
was on the Canada side, some distance from us. The
channel on the American side, which we ascended, was
narrow, and comparatively tranquil ; but the strength
of the current may be estimated by the fact, that it took
no less than twenty-eight oxen to tow an empty boat
against it, keeping quite dose to the shore. The rapid
is in all twelve miles long, and it took us some hours to
ascend it We were almost at the top, when I was
favoured with a sig^t for which I had yearned — that
of a boat shooting ti^e rapids. Doubling a point of the
island to our right, and emerging, as it were, from the
trees and busbes, which seemed to hem in the still
water above, came a boat, on her downward voyage,
laden with flour, a tier of barrels being upon her dedc
For some distance before the rapid broke, the current
was swift and powerful, although the surface was
smooth. Down she came, faster and faster every
moment, as the current became stronger. No human
power could then have stopped her course, or saved her
from the rapid. The crew stood motionless, each at his
appointed post Having reached the line where the
rapid broke, she made one bound into the troubled
current Her prow was every now and then buried in
foam, and twice'and again did the water wash over her
deck, as she was hurried past us, like an arrow on the
omnipotent stream. My eye followed her, until a point
below concealed her from view. It was like a d^m.
Almost in a moment she came and disappeared. I had
scarcely withdrawn my eye from the spot where I last
saw her, ere she would be riding safe in less trouUed
waters at the foot of the rapid.
It were needless much further to prolong this recital.
At Dickenson's Landing, which is at the head of the
rapid, on the Canada side, we passed another night
Thence we next day ascended to Prescott, encounter-
ing many smaller rapids, up which we were towed.
The channel was thickly strewed with islands t\m whole
way up to Prescott, at which town my journey by tiie
Durham boat terminated, this being the place at which
it received its cargo for Montreal The neighbourhood
of Prescott was the scene of one of the most sanguinary
conflicts that took place in the upper province during
the rebellion in the winter of 1837-38 — a Pole, of the
name of Von Shultz, having landed with some hundreds
of sympathisers from the American town of Ogdens-
borg, directly opposite, and taken possession of a wind-
mill a few miles below Prescott. From this they were
dislodged after a sharp engagement Von Shultz was
tried at Kingston as a freebooter, and hanged.
The steamer by which I proceeded from Prescott to
Kingston crossed over to Ogdensburg on her way up.
It was the first American town that I had seen, and
left a very favourable impression upon my mind. It
is situated at the mouth of the Oswegatchie River, the
waters of which are deeply tinged by the masses of
vegetable decomposition through which It flows. From
this to Brockville, on the Canada side, and twelve miles
up, the river is dear of islands, and has the appearance
of a large lake. Great is the change, however, ioune-
diatdy above this town, which lies at the lower end
of the frir- famed < Thousand Islands.' I shall say
nothing of them at present, as to do them justioe
would require more space than is now at my disposal
It was evening ere we reached Kingston, at their
upper extremity. Here my eye rested upon what ap-
peared to be tiie broad and boundless ocean, quietly
rufiSed by the evening breeze, and over which the set-
ting sun threw a briUiant pathway of ruddy Ught. It
was Lake Ontario, the smallest, and the last in the
order in which they lie, of that wonderful chain of lakes
which drain into themselves one-half of a contineDt
I remained for some time gazing upon it in mute
wond<v, as I thought of its vast proportions and the
illimitable regions to which it led.
The distance from Kingston to l\m>nto is 180 miles.
This was prolonged by the steamer touching at Oswego,
on the American side of the lake. From Oawego we
took an oblique line across to Coburg, a Canadian
town. During this part of the voyage we were for
many hours out of sight of land. Think of that, reader ;
out of sight of land on a fresh-water lake ! Even to
this one becomes accustomed in America, as I did
afterwards. The distance from Coburg to Toronto,
which is sevenhr miles, is accomplished during the night
Toronto is still fifty miles from the head of the lake.
Arrived at my destination, I took up my quarters at
the North American Hotel, where I rested for several
days, after a journey novd and varied in its prooeases,
and replete with inddent and interest
HISTORIC TABLEAU.
FBOM THE FRENCH OF X. B. 8AINTIKB.
It was Saturday, the last day of August 1483. In a
gloomy castellated mansion on the banks of the Loire,
not far fh>m the dty of Tours, five persons, each of a
very difSsrent aspect from the other, were assembled in
a large apartment, hung with gilt leather, and more
abundantly furnished wiUi arms, vials, and relics, than
with articles of comfort or of luxury. This dreary
chamber was only to be approached by a narrow stair-
case, which wound its way through the massive wall
A pale, worn sufibrer, with a haggard and restless eye,
lay stretched upon a couch. At one side of him a
venerable hermit knelt in prayer; at the other stood
a physician, immovable as a statue, with his forefinger
pressed upon the pulse of his patient Two others stoDd
in a distant comer, silently observing what was going
on, or now and then conversing in subdued whispers,
or by the silent interchange of looks.
The first of these, of middle stature, and in the prime
of life, united with an air of firank good-nature an ex-
Sression of acute intelligence and detf -sightedneas. He
eld an inkhom in his hand, as if ready to write from
dictation. He might have been taken for a notary, had
it not been for tiie rich robe of black rdvet which
formed his attire, and the chain of massive gold whidi
hung around his neck. The second, a man of tall
stature and spare form, with a bald head, and a counte-
nance expressive of mingled crudty and cunning, stood
with his arms folded, as if in the deepest anguidi, and
his thidc shaggy eyebrows dosdy knit, whDst every
now and then t^ere burst fVom him a deep-drawn ngfa.
There was vet another being, another suflknr, in
the room. Will it, however, be seemly here to speak
of him f — for he was but a greyhound. He lay in a
corner, on a little bed which had been made expressly
for him — for his master loved him well Both had been
equally devoted to the pleasures of the chase, and both
had been taken iU on their return from a fatiguing
course. The dog, like the rest of those who were pre-
sent at this scene, kept bis eyes intently fixed upon the
patient ; whilst the latter, turning apprdiendvdy firom
I the gloomy and foreboding gase A the physician.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
237
glanced towards the dumb animal, and ezdaimed with
peeviih impatienoe, * Can we not contriye to get up a
death-atroggle between the cat and the rats, aa we did
yesterday, to divert my good greyhound and myself,
and to keep us awake ? Oh what agonies I am suffer-
ing!' he siiddenly exclaimed, writhing upon his couch.
Then turning towards the hermit, he continued, * My
fiuher, pray to God to alleriate my sufferings. He only
can. Even if He will not show this farour to me, He
wVi do it for you, who are a holy man, and hare never
oflteded Him as I perhi^M may hare dona Fray to
Him, fiither — praj very deyoutly ; He surely will not
be aUe to xefme you anything.' And deep sobs minted
witii the patemosten of the hermit, as he bowed his
head hi supplication, and earnestly beiought of God
and St Eutropus that they would assuage tiie sufferer's
SBfuish, and restore to mm the health of the soul as
wdl as of the body.
' That of tiie boify for to-day ; speak only of the body,
my fiilfaer,' said the tick man, laying his wasted hand
upon the hermit * When one wants very mudi to ob-
tain anything, one must not ask for so many things at
a time.*
The monk obeyed ; but the sufferings of the patient
continuing in unabated force, he now turned towards
the physician.
* Cannot ytm help me, my best firiend?' he exclaimed.
' Oh, for pi^s sal^ do give me some relief : you are my
only hope. I have already made you rich and honour-
able, I w31 make yon ridber still ; but do not look at
me in tint way, or I shall think what I would not think !
Unknit your brow, and rejoice in your good fortune ;
for by'r lady, for every month you keep me alive from
this day forth you shall be paid, not, as heretofore, ten
thousand crowns, but twenty thousand ; yes, and more
even if you require it' The physician, apparently un-
moved by all these brilliant promises, held a bottle of
smeBing-sslts to the nose of his patient, and adminis-
tered to hhn a few drops of some narcotic mixture. For
a brief moment the sufferer seemed relieved, but it was
not kog before his sufferings returned with aggravated
power.
* The relics ! — the relics ! * he exclaimed, turning anew
to the saintly man, who still knelt by his couch. The
nu»k, having made the sign of the cross, reverently
appTMcbed a rich reliquary which lay on a small table
in the centre of the room, and made the necessary pre-
parations for charming away, by its touch, the suffer-
ings of the patient For this purpose it was necessary
to lay it gently for a moment on the sufferer's head.
The monk was feeUe and attenuated— less perhaps by
age than by continual festing and self- mortification.
lS& required assistance. He raised his c^es timidly to-
wards the physician, who stood facing him at the other
fide of the bed: the latter only replied by oontemp-
tnottsly shrugging his shoulders, and with a scornful
smile quitted his post by the bedside, where, however,
be was quickly replaced by the man who wore the ink-
horn by hb side.
* If I recovCT tiiTough your means, oh, my holy and
most powofid relics!' excUimed the patient, *I will
erect to yoar honour a church, in which eveiy one of
you slnUl have his chapel ; and there you shall repose
in pure gold^ studded with jewels, and prayers and in-
vocationa shall continually be offered at your shrine.'
llien suddenly interrupting himself, he exclaimed in a
hurried voice, and as if gasping for breatii, * The potion !
thepotioa!'
A moment of oahn now supervened. He sought to
deceive boih himself and others, and his courage and
odofidence in himself and in his destiny seemed suddenly
to revive. ' Why should I die of this stroke ? ' said he :
* am I tiien so very old ? That dog which lies there look-
ing at me out of the corner, and which was ripped up by
the stag — ^he is yet worse than I am : he is not possessed
of all the appUanoes and means for the recovery of health
witit whi(^ I am surrounded : none pray for him. And
yet they say he will recover. Well, then, / too will
reeover! I swear by the blessed Virgin I wtUt It is
the want of air and of nourishment which is killing me :
it is this confinement to my couch which turns my brain 1
I wiU rise and take a turn in the gallery, or breathe the
fresh air ; or else I shall go, I think, into the town, and
show myself to the people---not as a miserable invalid,
but in my hood and doublet of crimson silk, lined with
ermine ; or, better still, my rich dress of doth of gdd :
it cannot be much worn, for I only used it once— yes,
the day I went to meet the lord high constable. Let it
be brought to me directly ; and order my horse to be
saddled; let him, too, be richly caparisoned with his
Persian embroidered housings. Tou, my good friends,
can come along with me, and in case I should need a
little support will lend me a helping hand. Come, let
us lose no time.'
Those whom he thus addressed took all these vain
words for a passing delirium ; but with a movement of
impetuous haste he threw off his bedclothes, and sprung
from his couch. The faithful greyhound, perceiving
this unexpected movement raised himself, not without
effort from his bed, and hastened with feeble steps to-
wwds his nuMter. But weak as were the demonstrations
of joy which the poor animal could at this moment
show, even they were too much for the exhausted frame
of the suflferer: he stumbled, and sunk fainting on
the fioor. The monk gently lifted him to his couch,
whilst the unconscious offender was driven rudely to
his bed. Wlten the patient recovered from his swoon,
he peevishly exclaimed, *It was that accursed grey-
hound which tripped me up ; but I will make another
attempt'
* You must not stir ! ' cried the physician in a tone of
conmiand which kept him passive as a child ; whilst u
he looked on all around, and saw consternation and
dismay in every countenance, a pang of anguish shot
across his heart, for he felt that the fotal hour was at
hand.
If ever man feared deaiky it was he who now lay on
that bed of anguish. The very word was so hateful to
him, that^he had long forbidd^ it should be uttered in
his presence. And yet for the sake of his soul's safety,
he did not wish to allow this dreadful hour to come upon
him unawares. He therefore signed to the man with
the inkhom to approach him, and bend over his couch.
The latter obeyed ; and the sufferer, gasping for breath,
feebly whispered in his ear, *My foithfhl servant it
is possibU tiiat this illness may end badly for me ; but I
do not wish that the news should be conveyed to me in
any other way than that on which we have already
agreed ; and if— in a few weeks — in a few days — per-
haps— ^I should be in danger of-— may God avert such
an eviir he added, interrupting himself—* remember
onlv to say those few words, '* Speak but little!" that
will suffice.'
Whilst he thus whispered his wishes to his confidant,
the physician was engaged in conversation with the
bald-headed man whom we before noticed standing in
the comer. This latter now approached the sick man's
couch} and as the restless sufferer turned from his
friend, he beheld this pale and sinister countenance
bending over his pillow, and heard this voice, more
harsh than sorrowful, saying to him, almost without
preamble, 'Neither prayers nor remedies can longer
avail you aught ; you must prepare yourself to die in
a holy manner, as all good Christians should do. The
event is inevitable, and probably near at hand. It is to
me a painfull duty to announce it to you, as it is doubt-
less to mu a painful task to ' The dying man, with
a shudaer, turned in his bed. His eyes were haggard ;
his lips compressed with rage ; and he darted upon the
speaker such a look of concentrated fury and despair,
that he caused him to pause in his speedi. A moment
of awftil silence ensued, which the stufferer was the first
to break.
* I am not yet' said he, * fallen so low as you seem to
think. Besides, had I only two moments to live, here
I am the master, and I can still punish whosoever has
288
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBOH JOURNAL.
dared to disobey me, and to dispute my wilL Yet 1 I
•wear it, on my mTs salratioD, amongst those now
present it is not I who shall be first to diet' As he
thus spoke, he raised to his lips a small silver whistle
which hang suspended near his bed. The monk laid
his hand upon his arm, and said in a yoice whu^ was
still firm, though ezpressire of deep emotion, *And
God I the Almighty God! do you forget that soon,
rery soon, you may be standing before Him?'
* God will grant me absolu]^on, father, and so will
you ; for it is an act of justice which I am about to
accompUsb. This man has many a crime to answer
for/
* Sinner t ' replied the monk in a tone of deep earnest-
ness, * it is God alone who has a right to be swift in
executing His judgments I The justice of man should
be slow, for he is blind and liable to err. Betraot what
you have said ; if not, neithw from God nor frmn me
can you hope to receive absolution I '
The dying man listened in gloomy silence $ and after
a moment of reflection, replied in a voice which was
more subdued than before, but which yet betrayed ill-
suppressed passion, * And this oath, on which I have
staked my salvation} this oath! I cannot break it
without risking my share in the joys of paradise.* And
raising himself with much effort, he exclaimed in a
resolute tone, *Thisoathl I will f^Ufll it { lotf^rtodo
so, andI<Aa2//' The monk had fallen upon his knees
with his hands clasped; his companions gathered
around the couch wiUi an air of supplication. The
proposed victim alone, the man with the bald head,
stood immovable, his coxmtenance impassible, and
seemingly prepared to brave the danger. And yet it
was evident that he was wdi aware of the imminrace
of the peril His death-like paleness, and the odd dew
which nung upon his brow, proved that his eahnness
imKeeded rather from terror than from resignation.
The expiring man fixed upon him an eye whose ex-
pression was that of power and of malignity. ' I have
sworn,' he ezdaimed, ' that amongst tiie living beings
in this room I shall not be the first whose breath shidl
fail' Then pointing towards the comer where the poor
greyhound lay crouching on his bed, he said in an au-
thoritative tone, ' Take that dog, and let him be put to
death tiiis moment.' The man with the bald head did
not wsit for the order to be repeated a second time, but
taking down a dub which hung against the wall, he
strudc the dog violently, but wiih an uncertain hand.
The unfortunate animal howled piteously, and was
struck three times before he received his death-bbw.
* Good Heavens I how he makes him suffer ! * ex-
claimed the dying sportsman as he sunk backwards on
his bed, his countenance betraying at the same time
an unwonted degree of emotion.
* My son,' said the hermit, ' even the death of this
dog is an act of guilt which you must expiate by a
speedy repentance 1 '
' If God reckons the death of this animal amongst my
sins, what may I not then expect ? ' murmured the suf-
ferer in a feeble voice. * Of this sin, father, I do indeed
repent ; for I loved this poor dog. We had often been
companions together in the chase ; and I cared so much
for him, that I have had him nursed here under my
own eyes. I have at least this conviction with regard
to him, he is the only being amongst those lives I have
taken away who never once ofibnded me. As an ex-
piation of my offence, I desire that his form may be
sculptured upon my—you understand me ? Yes, sculp-
tured in marble, and placed by my side. Now, father,
receive my oonfession.'
From that moment the thought of death no longer
seemed to press upon the mind of this still formidable
sufBsrev ( he recovered all his cdleotedness and sang-
froid ; he passed a long time in dictating instructions
concerning his last wishes to the man who bore the
inkhom by his side ; made his confession to the monk ;
and tovrards eight o*dock in the morning, after having
discoursed long and wisely on the course to be pursued
with regard to politics in France, he passed from time
into etcurnity, and the hermit dosed his eyee.
This hermit was 6t Francois de Paule i the physi-
cian, Jacques Coitier; the man with the inkhom,
Philippe de Comines the historian; the man wi& the
bald head, Olivier le Dain, sumamed Le Diable ; he who
had just gone to his long account, the king, Louis XL
Amongst all the dying wishes of this once absdute
soverdgn, but one, that which related to his dog, wu
religiously executed. In the church of N6tie-Dame
de Clevy, near Tours, a marble monument represents
Louis XI. in the costume of a hunter, kneeling upon
his tomb, his white greyhound by his side.
ROBIN CABBICK.
A Scotch country paper— the ' Ayrshire News Letter'
— presents a biographical sketch of Bobart Carrick, a
merchant and banker who flourished in Gla^pow half
a century ago. Robin, as he was fimiiliarly called, was
the son of a clergyman, and began life as a derk in a
banking-house in Glasgow, in which he ultimatdy rose
to be a partner, after which event the title of the firm
was 'Carrick, Brown, and Company.' This ooooem,
located in an dd dingy building at the comer of Argyle
and Glassford Streets, united the business of manirfko-
turing muslins with those of banking and bill discount-
ing. As is usual with Scotch buiks, the company
issued notes of a pound and upwards. We have a dis-
tinct remembrance of these notes ; they were printed
in blue ink, with the picture of a ship in frill aail in ^e
comer, and obtained a wide circulation. The firm
issued no small number of notes on its own account, liy
paying them awav to weavers and others employed by
the company in their muslin manufacture.
The apartment in which the banking business was
carried on was meanly frimished with a couple of ^ain
deal desks, and a kind of barrier with a slip of flat board
which served as counter. The notes were kept in
pigeon-hdes in one of the desks, and were not seen by
customers ; for when the desk vras opened, the lid was
supported by the head of the derk, and this operation
screened the interior from too curious observation.
These details are significant of the great diArence in
the style of money-dealing in past and present times.
A siinilar simplidty of arrangement prevailed among
the old London banking-houses ; and till the ineeentday
banking is conducted in much Uie same primitive man-
ner in most continental countries.
Robin Gairick was the heau ideal of a steady, otlcti-
lating, plain-living, old-fashioned Scotsman. His tibdn
gray hair was tied behind with a black ribbon ; his gar-
ments were ample, and of an antique cut; and his legs
were encased in a pair of white ribbed woollen stockings.
His mode of doiog business, though consistent wiUi per-
fect dvility, partook of that d^^ree of sly caution whicfa
the national dialect expresses l»y the word panokif. In
his room, he sat on a high-legged stool at a wtMdea
desk, with his feet resting on a cross bar; and when
any person called on discounting business, he did not
rise, but wheeled only half round, in order not to commit
himself too far. When he declined to discount a bill,
he always said with a bow and a odd smUe, 'Ifa not
convenient;' and never yidded to importunity, but
became more firm in reusing the more the snitor
pressed. To test the solvency of his customers, he was
wont to disappear from Glasgow ft>r some time ; tins
enabled him to discover who could and who oould not
pay their bills without rraewals, otdiging all to cany
their paper dsewhere. ^ these means many b^
debts were avdded. Such absences he turned to ac-
count He went privatdv to look at lands and estates
that were for sale ; and picked them up if they oflbred
a profitable investment His plan was never to bi^
good or improved land. He preferred purchasing exten-
sive iU^redaimed bogs, mosses, and wildernesses, where
com never ripened, and the flunu-houses were turf
hovels. With the eye of a c(»moissenr he knew what
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
239
tracts were sufloeptible of improyemeDt by draining,
fencing, and road-making, and theae he bought if they
were a bargain. In this way he purchased a great
breadth of luid in New Monkiand, a bleak region within
the north-eastern boundary of Lanarkshire $ of course
di^wtsesaing a large number of small lairds and tenants,
whose poTerty and ignorance stood in the way of all
sorts of improTement Bobin, be it obserred, did not
let it be known that he wanted to buy any property to
which he took a fancy ; had he done so, three prices
would have been asked fbr it He resorted to all sorts
of mancQUTres, aided bv confidential agents, and in these
was generally sucoessfuL
Bobin Camck*s housekeeping was conducted in the
rigidly-economical st^le of a Scottish bachelor of the
old schooL He lived in the floor aboye the bank, to
which there was access by a common stair entering by
a door behind. His house was kept for him by a re-
spectable female domestic; and firom aU accounts, this
lady was as economical in her plans as her master.
Sometimes— we should suppose not very often — ^Bobin
gave a dhmer to a party of friends, and on these occa-
sioos his housekeeper bought a pound of old cheese, on
CQi^tion that what the company did not consume should
be t^en ba(^ l^ the cheesemonger — a trait of par-
simony pretty w^ known, but probably only relished
as a joke on the rich banker's method of housekeeping.
So far go the facts which are given of Bobert Car-
rick*s career. He died a number of years a^o ; and the
concern of whi^ he was a member havmg latterlpr
merged in a new joint -stock banking company, his
fanaons i^p-notei are withdrawn, and no longer seen
bj the public. At his death he left a large fortune,
amtiifd by the means that have been mentioned } but
what became of his wealth is not stated. With the
exception dT having once been a bailie and dean of
guild, two offices in Scottish civic economy, it does not
appear VoaI he took any part in public afialrs ; and his
historian is sUent as to any services he performed in
connection with social improvement It would seem,
therefore (for we know nothing of the iactX that, after
all, this man— rich, * respectable,' and with every pos-
sible opportunity of being useful in his generation—
WBt a mere money-gatherer, a muck-raker of the most
oommonplaoe character. It is hard to say this of
Bobin Carrick. But we want to know what he did.
Providence gave him the means of doing much, and
did he do much? Did he devote his growing riches
to ejects of a nature which would benefit bis fellow-
creatnres ? Did he abundantly relieve the sick : bind
up the broken-hearted; build and support schools;
open up new and useful thoroughfares; erect whole-
some dwelUngs for the classes condemned to live in
the midst of filth and pestilence? The only good
sort of tiling that we have heard of him was buying
land for the sake of reclaiming it ; but when he cleared
out tbe wretched inhabitants, did he help them to emi-
grate to more suitable fields of indus^ ? If he did
none of thoe things, bis life, though not useless to
society, must be pronounced to have been undeserving
of commendation ; he may be lemembered as a mil-
lionaire, but that goes a short way in the summary of
what ocuBsUtutes the chief aim of ^stence.
The stupid money-making life of Carrick — supposing
it to be confined to what his historian relates — is a fair
^edmen of the beginning, middle, and end of hundreds
of lives of meiduuits, manufacturers, and bankers.
Firstt there is much painful labour ; then there is rapid
aoquisitioo ; lastly, there is a large fortune, which the
mSkssn leave to be spent by persons who only laugh
at them for their folly. To vary the insaniiy, they
I occasionally leave thdr hoards to build magnificent
I hospitals, which demoralise society, while they per-
petuate the vulgar name of the founder; and which
institutions, we may rest assured, will some day be
swept away l>y law as public nuisances. Why, in the
name of common sense and human experience, will
not people make proper use of their money while
they live, instead of leaving it in a lump to be squan-
dered thanklessly, uselessly, mischievously, when they
are dead ? Considering the frequency of fortunes being
made only to be left at death, it would almost seem
as if money-makers were not aware of the pleasure
which might be derived from working out benefidary
and other plans under their own cognisance. Were
men, on whom fomily obligations do not heavily rest,
properly conscious of this fact, we think they would
be Indhied to expend at least a reasonable pintion of
their accumulations on objects of taste and publio
utility. We know of no lodiility which might not thus
be gieatiy benefited at even a moderate outiay.
DUELLING MONOMANIA.
The hero of the action we are about to record was
Mr Mathew, the proprietor of the estate of Thomas-
town, Tipperary, where Dean Swift paid a visit of
four months. The rental of the estate was L.8000 a
year, and Mr Mathew desiring to spend the whole in
the exercise of hospitality, had the resolution to live
abroad for seven years at an annual expense of L.600,
tiiat he might accumulate enough of money to build
a commodious house for the reception of visitors. Tliis
house contained forty apartments for guests, where
each might take his meals by himself, or invite his
friends to join him. Or they might meet at a daily
ordinary in the common parlour, where the only rule
was, that there waa no one master of the house. In
addition to these accommodations, there was a place
fitted up like a cofifoe-house, where the guests might
obtain refreshments at any hour of the day ; and like-
wise a tavem^ where such of the guests as were addicted
to intoxication might indulge theinselves without the
reserve which would be occasioned by the presence of
more abstemious perKnu— among whom Mr Mathew
himself was one.
When Mr Mathew returned from abroad, the duel-
ling-mania was at Its height There were in London at
that time — towards the condusion of Queen Anne*s
reign — ^two gentlemen, a Maior Pack and a Captain
Creed, both of them accomplished fencers, who, hearing
of the daily exploits in duelling which took place in
Dublin, repaired to that dty in quest of adventures.
Here they learned that Mr Mathew had the reputation
of being one of the first swordsmen in Europe ; and
Pack, firing at the news, insulted him by jostling one
of his chairmen as he passed, and boasting of the exploit
in a tavern as an aflront which Mathew had not had
spirit enough to resent This brought about the desired
oonsummation ; and Mathew, accompanied bv a friend,
Macnamara, repaired to a tavern where mey knew
Pack and Creed were to be found. The sequel we
give in the words of Mr J. B. Burke, in his recent
work, * Anecdotes of the Aristocracy.' * After securing
the door, Mathew and Pack drew their swords; but
Macnamara stopped them, saying he had something
to propose before they proceeded to action. He said
that in cases of this nature he never oould bear to
be a cool spectator. ^ So, sir," continued he, address-
ing himsebT to Creed, '*if you please, I shall have
the honour of entertaining you in the same man-
ner." Creed made no other reply than that of imme-
diately drawing his sword. The conflict was of some
duration, and maintained with great obstinacy by the
two officers, notwithstanding the great effusion of blood
from the many wounds which they had received. At
length, quite exhausted, they both fell, and yielded the
victory to the superior skill of their antagonists. Upon
this occasion Mr Mathew gave a remarkaUe proof of the
p^ect composure of his mind. Creed had fallen firsts
on which Pack exdaimed, ** Ah, poor Creed! are you
gone ? " '* Yes,** replied Mathew with the utmost calm-
ness, '* and you shidl instantiy jpocAr after him," at the
same time making a home -thrust quite through his
body, which threw him to the ground. This was the
I more remarkable, as he was never known in bis life.
240
CHAMBERS'S ia>INBURGH JOURNAL.
either before or after, to haye aimed at a pun. Tlie
number of wonnda received by the yanquished parties
was yery great; and what seemed most miraculous,
their opponents were untouched. The surgeons, seeing
the desperate state of their patients, would not suffer
them to be remoyed out of the room where they fought,
but had beds immediatdy conyeyed to it» on which they
lay many hours in a state of insensibility. When they
came to themselyes, and saw where they were. Pack,
in a feeble yoice, said to his companion, *'Creed« I
think we are the conquerors, for we haye kept the
field of battle." For a long time their lives were
despaired of, but, to the astonishment of every one,
they both recovered. When they were able to see
company, Mathew and his friend attended them daily,
and a dose intimacy afterwards ensued, as they found
them men of probity, and of the best disposition, except
in this extravagant idea of duelling, of which, however,
they were now perfectly cured.'
AN ARTISAN EMIGRATION SOCIETY.
A HANDBILL has bccu broQght under our notice purporting
to bo the • Rules of the Wardour London and New York
Self- Affecting Transit Society* (a name much too long and
oomplioated), the object of which is, to afford means of
emigration to artisans and their families. The locality of
the association is Wardour Street, Soho — ^Thomas Slmte,
secretary, 24 Cecil Court, St Martin's Lane. We nossess
no means of judging of the respectability of the club, as it
may be called; and our only reason for notioii^ its estab-
Ustunent is, to point out what a body of men propose doing
on their own behalfl At the head of the rules is insoribea
a proverb, by way of motto — * Help yourselves, and your
friends will love you all the better;' and this wise saying
is apparently significant of the principles on which the
society is to act. The members seek no assistance firom
anybody. All they desire to do is, to gather up small
weeldy sums tiU enough has been accumulated to remove
the members and their families en masse to New York. The
payments are to extend throughout seventy weeks; during
wliioh each adult is to pay Is., and for eaoh child above
four and under fourteen years of age, 6d. per week. The
estimated cost of transit, therefore, appears to be L3» 10s.
for each adult, and L.1, 15s. for each young person; infants
being tree. Thus for a man and his wife the charge will
be L7, exclusive of children, which we believe is the usual
priee of a steerage passage to New York.
For the credit of the working-classes we hope the scheme
will do welL It manifests an earnest self-reliant principle
worthy of all praise; and the only thing wanting to its per-
fect success, besides steadiness in making payment, is the
security of the aeonmulating fund. We trust that means are
taken to prevent misappropriation of money, or anv other
of those Irregularities to which associations of a numble
class are too l^qucntly exposed. To such societies men
of respectability and capital might lend valuable assistance,
if only by charging themselves with the safe custody of the
funds. And what is this but saying that a mutual depen-
dence, as well as a spirit of kindliness, ought to p^ade
society. It is to be regretted that unworthy suspicions
in many instances stand m the way of this intercourse, and
these can be removed only by education and experience.
Meanwhile, the inst^ti^ of a society, chieflv, if not alto-
gether, composed of artisans, affords a useftil hint to work-
men whose thoughts are turned towards emigration. ^ Each
man has only to save up TOs. to get himself carried to
New York, where he wlU be hi the way of obtaining em-
ployment. Of course, besides this sum, eaoh individual
will require to possess a trifle more, as well as clothes,
beddhig, and some other articles; but what thrifty family
is without these necessaries ?
PBOORB88.
Progress is the touchstone of revolutions ; but it does not
accomplish itself in a day, nor dart forth as the lightning
which illuminates space. Nations gain freedom bv degrees.
Liberty widens, and the base of power extends in pro-
Eortion to the spread of intelligenoe. Every evolution of
umanity brings out a new idea, and consecrates new
rights: eaoh has its destiny to fmfil. The laws ought
neither to rush in advance nor pass abreast of manners, for
then they would be chimeras or assaults.— £&m Fanner,
A SISTER'S VALENTINE.
Know ye tbat erery flower that hlowa
A Uaguage hath, to ronm or melt;
That falls not on the outward ear,
But In the lonely heart is lUt?
8o I, a gentle jMNsft, oomt
A messenger of lore to you;
Beiring a billet in my leaTes
Of nature's thoughts transcribed In dew.
My mistress placked me Car away.
Beneath a bright and sunny sky.
And said, < Sweet gem, with aatanm*B breath.
Like other flowers, thou shalt not die.
* Within my herbal thou shalt lire ;
To stranger lands with me ttioult roam ;
A little exile dearly loved,
And dierished for the sake of homo.*
Yet now a misdon she provides.
And sends me with mv gentle art.
To fan the sweet and holy flame
Tbat warms a darling brotherls heart
Then fkeqoent thou my leaves pemse,
Bxamine ok)sely, and tlKmlt see.
In language of the flowerets writ.
That fond appeal, * Oh think qfmef *
THE PBrVEMTIOM OF SABTHQUAKBSL
"When the electric origin of earthquakes first oocvrted
to me, I thought it quite possible to prevent them, if a
metallic or other good conducting communication could
be effected through the temporary, or permanent, non-
oondueting strata, so that the electric onncnts might find
a ready passage. I found, suheei^uently, that this idea bad
actually Veen carried into execution. The CBievalier Viye»-
zio, at the latter end of the last century, bein^ oonvineed
tliat earthquakes were the result of electric disohaxges ^
the earth, through bad or non- conducting me<Ua, «nd
probably borrowing from the lightning oonduotor, pcopoaed
to fix metallio rods, terminating in a nnmber of points, like
a brush, in the ground to as great a depth as possible. But
a better method has been carried into execution. In
Naples there is a pyramid erected befbre a chureh, under
whieh is a deep ml, with several months openhig abevt
the base. Thiswasmade that the water, being a oondoeter,
might form a good electric communication between the
strata through which the well is sunk, and thus, aotioff on
the principle of a lightning conductor, draw off the fmid.
In the city of Udhie, wells and other excavations have been
made for the same purpose, and also great numbers in N<^
in the kingdom of Naples. The success of the attempta at
Naples and Udine does not appear ; but at Nola it seems
most unequivocal, for that city was never known to be
damaged by earthquakes. — Polyteckmc Review,
POPULAR ERROBS REGARDING SUGAR.
Amongst the common errors entertidned by the peo|4e
in regard to the origin and causes of diseases, is that of aap-
posing sugar to contain certain ingredients destructive to
teeth, and thereby a promoter of toothache. Chemists
have proved that beyond doubt sugar contains no prcpci^
ties that can act chemically on the bone, and no inrary
can arise in this respeet fh>m the use of it. At the same \Saae
they have discovered that the crystals, or partieles of the
sugar (when in a state fit for use), are n suoh a hard
nature before being thoroug^y moistened with the aalivi,
that they rub or scratch the enamel of the teeth when in
the act of crushing it between the molars. This brings on
the gradual decay of 'the teeth, and consequent toothache.
A ' PINCH ' FOR THE QUEEN.
The *New York Standard' havfaig read in < Jerrold^
Weeldy News ' that * Messrs Stiven and Son of Lanrenee-
kirk had be«i appointed snuff-box manufiMtuicn to the
Queen.* not unnaturally concluded that her Mi^esty * took
a pinch ; ' and expressed surprise that * this young wooaaa,*
who had * ci\joyid the advantage of a good eduoMion,* and
was stdd to * smg some,' and * draw pietures worth steal-
ing,' should * not only be a snuff-taker, but carry a box ! *
Puhliahed by W. Je R. Gbaubkhs, High Street, Edinbinvh. AI»
sold by D. Cuambsrs, 20 Argyle Street, Ola^ffow; W. 8._OBa.
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Glasbak, SI I>*Olier
DubUn.— Printed by W. and B. Cbambbbs, Bdiahnigh.
CONDUCTED BT WILUAH AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &ou
^^^^m-m^^m
No. 277. New Series.
SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1849.
Prick 1^.
SELF-DEPENDENCE AND MUTUAL
DEPENDENCE.
Ths oement which, in a state of adyancmg ciyiliBation,
keeps hmnan sodety* together is mutual dependence;
ind this mutual dependence, although perhaps origi-
natmg in social sympathy, Is mainly sustained by com-
mttity of interest The degree in which mutual de-
pendence exists indicates the point of civilisation reached
hy ttie commanity, and !t affords a test of the probable
stability of the goremment and prosperity of the people.
The working of the principle may be likewise traced,
it is true^ in the tribes of the wilderness, and in the
trained savages of some of the ancient republics ; but
in both it betrayed the restricted character that might
be expected in conditions of society obviously not
adapted for permanence. It was there the mutual de-
pendence of a small commuxiity, surrounded by other
ooomniBities which it supposed to be its natural ene-
mies, and itself fated to be extirpated by conquest, or
swallowed up in new forms of social lif^. In the pre-
sent age, partaking of the character of a higher civi-
lisation, and inflnenced by the cathdic q>irit of Chris-
tiamty, it is more fhlly developed. Its circle, though
not wide enough, is wider than before, and is widening
stilL It acquires strength from this enlargement; it
feds stirring within a vitality it was hitherto uncon-
scious of; and already half suspects thst it is destined
to girdle the earth.
From this we gather that mutual dependence is
not innate, or similar to the gregarious instinct we
find in the brute creation, but the result of experience,
reflection, and intelligence. It grows with the growth
and strengthens with the strength of society ; it QNreads
itself throoghoot all the ramifications of life, moral,
social, and pditical ; and yet, so far from being destruc-
tive of M^-dependence, as w? shall endeavour to explain
in the sequel, it is its surest safeguard. But there is
one thing mutual dependence wants; and that is, a
knowledge and recognition of its existence as a great
social principle. At present, its influence is felt without
being formally recognised ; and the consequence is, that,
acting, as it does, like an unaccredited agent, it is con-
stantly liable to interruption from the circumstances of
Ufe or the passions of men.
If we only look closely at our state of mutu^ depen-
dence^ we shall be filled with wonder at the hardness of
heart, or obtuseness of intellect, which permits the
continuance of the hostile feelings that still exist in a
society so thoroughly knit, so inextricably interwoven,
as ours. Look at that party of men lounging beside
the railway — idle for want of work, moneyless and
fHeodless. They perhaps assisted in constructing the
wonder on which they are gazing i and their eyes are
perhaps now following the proud traflic that sweeps past
them on the line they themselves pioneered. What pre-
cautions do we adopt regarding them ? Creeping ever
the lines in the dark, to tear up a small portion of the
rail, would be to them only the work of a few minutes ;
and what horror would be the result! Hundreds of
lives might be destroyed ^ and before the news of the
catastrophe could reach the great cities, a pause of
terrible expectation would take place in the communi-
cations of the country, whi^ wmdd be felt throughout
the whole of her social and commercial relations. There
stand these men, however, unwatohed and uncared for,
and there pass they on in their hunger and desperation.
We are safe, for they bdong to the same system of
which we form a part. In a political convulsion, or a
great class agitation, they might be our enemies; but
in the ordinary circomataDoes of life, they acknowledge
universally ^at law of nratnal dependenoe on the pro-
tection of which we as universally rely.
The still more recent wonder of the electric telegraph
is as completely at the mercy of the evil-diq;M>8ed or the
desperate. A single blow, dealt in the daric^ cats off a
communication which we believe to be as seettie and
infallible as if it were protected by the most ingenious
mechanical contrivances. To sever a thin wire is to
neutralise one of Uie most brilliaat and important of
the inventions of modem times ; and this wire eztonds,
in the open air, over a vast line of country, and is
almost everjTwhere accessible to the casual passer-by.
When we observe the brilliant appearance presented
by our cities at night, where innumerable jets of gaa
illumiae the streets, and make the interior of our dwril-
ings almost as light as at noonday, it never occurs to us
that a few bbws of a mallet and chisel struck upon the
main pipe, would at once reduce the whole to the dark-
ness of the grave. Mallets and chisels are not scarce,
nor are hands that can wield them, nor are bitter and
blighted hearts fit to suggest the blow: but the idea
never occurs even to the most unfortunate or the most
depraved; and so the city blazes on, and the hymns
continue to resound from the church, and the music
from the hall, and the lonely hearts to brood in harmless
despondence over their idle hands and useless tools.
We might place the public supp^ of water in the
same category with that of gas, but a still more fami-
liar illustration presents itself in domestic life. The
maid -of -all -work is condemned to almost hopeless
drudgery ; and owing to the mechanical nature of her
employment, and the roughness and want of finish we
permit in it, she is far worse remunerated than if she
only took a part in the distributed labour of the house.
She eats and drinks, however ; she sleeps at night ; she
is able to purchase the homely clothes of her degree ;
and so matters go on till a fit of illness renders her unfit
for our purpose. What becomes of her then ? We do
not know. She goes forth, no one can tell whither.
We are ignorant whether she lirea or diea-*we nerer
see her again. Bat suppose, heft^re this ooours, the
famUy desifs to betake themselTes (br a aiooth or two
to the oountry : what do they do with their house and
househcdd pn^terty? Why, they leare all in the cliarge
of this despised drudge, wliose oonnection as a link of
the family system is so slight and arbitrary, and sleep
tranquilly at a distance of a hundred miles, undisturbed
by the sUghtesI snsplcioo of her unfmthfulness I
But an these are only negative instanoes of our de-
pendence upon others : we trust to the rarious classes
we haye mentioned fbr abstmining fh>m doing us injury.
The aotiv6 and positire instances, howeyer, are stUl
more numerous — so numerous, that to mention them is
to deioribe the whole maohinery of social life. On the
railway we have alluded to» the passengers, flying along
at the rate of foirtf miles an hoar, hare intrusted their
limbi and liyes to the skill and experience of two or
three men of the bwer dasses, whose names they do
not know, and whom they probably never saw and
never wUl see in their lives. In a ship we lie comfort-
ably in our oot^ listening to the hurried footsteps of the
saikva on deck, on whom we depend for safe guidanoe
across Ike ooean. The roar of the midnight storm
nlnglee with the sound of their footst^[)s, with the
hoarse cries of the orew, and the creaking and groaning
of the timbers, which are the sole barrier between us
and the ftthomless abyss of the sea. The ship rolls and
staggers, now climbing the vast and almost perpendicular
steep oi a wave, and then plunging headbng into the
trough bek>w, as if seeking the bottom. What<tfthal?
— ^we are only passengers t In like manner, we loU lasUy
in our carriage while it is guided by our ooachman
through the tumultuous and dangerous streete of a great
city; or if night has ftdlen upon the road we travel, and
the progress of the vehicle is slow and difficult beeause of
the darkness, we call to the man to *mind where he is
going,' and compose ourselves to sle^ We every d^
emulate the boasted heroism of Alexander, and trust our
Hves to our physician. In getting a prescription prepared
at the apothecar/s, we see him sdecting our medicine
fVom among the poisons by which he is surrounded;
and never suspect him for a moment of a want of know-
ledge, ov even a simple carelessness, which might make
the draught our last in the world. But the catalogue
is endless. From the moment we open our eyes in the
morning till we dofe them at night, our hbtory is a
series of such instanoes of dependence ; and if we live
in a dty, when we draw the oortains around us, perhaps
the last sound of whioh we are conscious is the roar of
a fire-engine, as it passes at faH gallop, tolling of some
accidental calamity, and of the headlong haste with
which men are flying to stop ito progress and succour
ite victims.
We have hinted that in order to derive the fhll benefit
firom this mutual dependence, it must be recognised,
not merely by abstract reasoners, but by the people
generally, as one of the great principles of social life.
It is not enough that we lean upon our neighbours fh)m
habit or instinct : we must know and feel that we do
sa Such knowledge and feeling will make us aU of
more consequence to each other, and draw nearer and
closer the bonds of social union. But they will have
another effect, which many will consider an anomaly :
the mutual dependence thus recognised will strengthen
our #e(^-dependence.
Mutual dependence springs fVom community of inte-
rest, and can be sustained only by the reciprocation of
rights and duties. No man can lean-— not the highest
in the stote-*without submitting to be leaned npoo in
turn. We must all contribute to the oommoa raid in
one way or other : some bv personal scnrvioe; tone bj
goods; some by money, which represents service and
goods; some by the work of the hands; and some by the
work of the brain; for the oondition of our ei^ojiDg the
rights of society is our performance of its duties. Self-
dependence, therefore, so far from being inconnitent
with mutual dependence, is one of ite essential elementi
For this reason the reoent ' phflanthro|)4oal' tendocy,
alluded to on a former occasion, towaids reUering the
poor as much as possible ihmi the care of tbemielTei, ii
still more uqjurious to them than to the rich. HsTiag
no foundation in social science, the principle csimot
last, and reactions are always dangerous, snd ofteo
fatsi The unfortunate otrjecto of this philanthropy ate
robbed by their quari ben^ustors of their sodal nghtt;
fbr it is absurd to suppose that these can be enjoyed by
men who are absolved ttom the soeial duties.
We think it is in Locke that a remarkable ilhiitn-
tion is given of the doctrine of ri^hte and datiei 'It
is the duijf of a king to protect his subjects: thekinf
has a right to obedience from his sul^ects.' Hie one
eondition depends upon the other : neither ii biiiAog
alone. If the king falls a victim to treachery, and ii
unjustly deprived of his throne, it is impossiUe ibr hio
to extend protection to his people from the fatofi
country in which he has taken refoge. Are the vell-
disposed part of the people, then, sUU to obey? No:
their right to the royal protection is lost throogh the
force of circumstances, and they are therefore steoM
from their duty of obedience. This is no doubt so iii£-
vidual hardship, but it is necessary for the cooubob
good ; because if the claims of the sovereign npoo his
people oontinued to exist after he was unaUe to imver
their daim upon him, the oooseqnence might be^ the
sutgoction of the nation to Ibudgn policy— perb«fi
eventually to foreign arms.
The same kind of hardship is felt in otiier grtdei of
life. A man is thrown out of work by drcanntaooei
not under his own control ; and he is forthwith fiioed
as a pensioner upon a large fund wrung firom m fa|*
dustrv of the country to meet such exigeaoies. Tbit
fund is not expended in finding him employiaent» udA
thus maintaimng him in the pttformanoe of the dvtiei
and the enjoyment of the rigbte of a oitiieo. U np*
porte him as a public pauper, at once useless snd offin-
sive, and breeds hostihty between him and that sode^
on which he is a mere excrescence. This is s M^
hardship as regards the individual; and as reprdi »•
dety, a crime not inferior to the unjust deposlttto of the
sovereign. But when the destitution is caused not bj
want of work, but inabUit^ to work, arising eitkerflnsi
illness or age, the case is difTerent The msm hsw
served the oommunity till hia power to do lo cesw,
either in the course of nature or by tiie viiitetiQa tf
God, has earned his pension, and has a right to eiyoy i^
It will of course be observed that, in describing the
system of dependence, we have not referred txAm^J
to the dependence of the rich upon tiie poor, ef tiK esi-
Sloyer upon the labourer ; for the omditimiMjMf^
'he quid pro qua is exacted by those whose ftetoDe^a
to serve to the uttermost farthing— even iq> to thv
prospective pension from the oommunity in the eye «
disease or superannuation. The fortune to serve, hov-
ever, is constantly changing by the force of tskot sod
industry, aided by circumstances. In numberlen cues
the servant becomes the master, the employed ^heoi^
ployer— requiring a new adjustment of the sodsl rv"*^
and duties. And so revdves ihe *whiriigig of tiiB>e.
with a general equality resulting even firom its w^
nating series of individual elevations and ^'^'P^f'^^l'^
Such views of society are neither new nor pf?"*;
but they are wholesome. It is too much the iStfhioo n
consider the righte of the poor as nothing more usn i
right to public beggary. This is gross iiyoitioe to w
poor themsdves, since, by absolving them from t^
social duties, it degrades tiiem firom the rank of dtisent.
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
248
U fabduei their ipirit, enerratet their manlineefl of
chtftcter, and saps gradually the vital strength of the
nstum. The cause of liie fatal mistake so often fallen
iivto on this suhject, is the forgetfulness of the fact,
that there can he no right without a corresponding
duty; that self-dependence is inseparably bound up in
matoal depen<knce ; and that both, in union, form one
of Uie grand principles of social science. L. R.
I
COMMERCE HOUSE.
A TALE.
Decembbb. 184- had just commenced, and not a shop
in the City Road but gare earnest of the approach of
Qiristmas. The publicans issued handbills discoursing
of forthcoming largesses of geese and spirits, resulting
from divers weekly shilling instalments, and iQforming
those for whom the announcement possessed interest
that Smith or Jones was drawing the finest glass of
ale in tiie United Kingdom. The grocers exhibited
cartoons representing the 'Hearty Family' seated
immd a phimpudding of mammoth size, whose merits
extracted, from the juniors especially, unreserved and
rhyme-expressed eulogy. The cheesemongers displayed
Stiltons and Chedders, inscribed with toasts of a social,
not to say convivial character, in addition to Leaning
Towers of Fisa in cream cheese, and cottages with water-
mills in the best Dorset The chandlers, toymen, and
ooofeetiooers contributed severally coloured candles;
curioos little presentable devices, like the underlined
dramas at the minor theatres; and all-prize-and-no-
Uaok Twelfth -Cake lotteries: shopkeeper and shop
alike heralded in our great national festival.
Nor was Commerce House, the great drapery estab-
lishment oi Messrs Tappdet and B^gs, less demonstra-
tive of the impending occasion than its neighbours.
Hie resi^endent ribbons, and loveable neck-ties, wit^ so
remarkable a bias to ultra low prices ; the diminutive
and flossy parasols clearing out at 2s. 54d. ; no less than
ib» cheap prints sacrificing at Is. lljd. the full dress ;
even to the disclaimer of connection with any other
establishment, so vigorous and defined in its ink out-
line on the pasteboard ticket— all seemed to wear a
jaanty holiday air, that rendered them unusually ap-
pealing to the hesyrt and purse-strings of domestic ser-
It was an dd-fkshlotied shop oi ordinary dim»isions,
with nothing more noticeable in its appearance than
a wooden beehive over the door, with a bee about
to take wing on the threshold. The generally anti-
eiiatad air of the place, the beetle-browed, drab-pidnted
Iraot, and the small panes of glass, presented a striking
eootraet to the phunrds wafered to the windows, an-
nooneing that ' in consequaice of extensive robberies
by eonfldential young men, realisation without regard
to ODSt had been determined on; and that T. and B.,
ToneluBg lor every five shillings to give the value of
ten, appealed to a discerning public to copy the address.'
That geotleman standing outside is Mr Sweeny
Begg», the joniw partner; and a glance will sufiSce to
»bow Jim that he is an oddity. Light hair of un-
usual length, sloping down his coat -collar, rigidly
hmslied back from the temples, and trained behind the
ears; a lay-over collar, encircled by a wisp of black
silk, slovenly to eccentricity in tie ; a suit of Uack,
and a oolourieaa fiioe, that, with something of a sinister
expression, evidenoes considerable natural talent; such
ace his leading characteristics. The old-sohool-look-
inir geetleman inside with the bald hinsd, and some
hatf-doaen haira crossing it transversely, is Mr Tap-
polet ; while a younger man farther in the shop, whose
ingenuous and manly fkoe impiessed yon ikvonrably
at irsi sight, is the worthy Mr Hadnum, * the young
man.' Mr Ti^polet had been in business some thirty
yean in tiie same hoese; and only within a few
batee our tale's commencement, had taken
Mr Beggs, heretofore a stranger to hun, but who was
understood to have been unsuccessM in the same line
in the country, into partnership; and this he had
done partly from a conviction that he himself was * be-
hind the time,' and partlv from a desire that more
active superintendence of the business than his own in-
creasing infirmities permitted him to give ^ould be
exercised by a party equally interested in its welfare. Mr
Beggs, apart from his business character, concentrated
in hunseu the attractions of *an ancient Forester,' * a
Druid,' 'a loyal united friend,* * a benevolent brother,'
and * a total abstinent son of the Phosnix,' besides being
a popular advocate of enlightened views, and a stanch
friend of progress. In addition to these recommenda-
tions, he was of very agreeable manners, and entertain-
ing in conversation ; so much so, that if you had been
giving a party, you would have been sure to have in-
vited him. Since Mr Beggs's admission into the con-
cern great external change was visible in its conduct
— his favourite theory of an equal distribution of
chattels being in part borne out by an innovating
practice he had introduced of giving away certain
articles of small value to purchasers of above a certain
amoimt While, under Mr Tappolet's sole manage-
ment, Commerce House had gloried in the brightest
window-panes and most burnished brass-plates, it had
now of late absolutely revelled in an out-of-oondition
sort of appearance, which, if accounted for as in the
case of books from circulating libraries, would seem
to point to the large share of patronage enjoyed.
And now we must introduce the reader to a little
shop nearly opposite Commerce House, whose occupant
is cast for leading lady in our brief drama. It is
a little suggestion of a shop, of amphibious descrip-
tion, combining the tobacconist and newsvending, and
adding the sale of cooling summer drinks and mul-
tiform walking-sticks. It is a very Uttle plaoe, but so
scrupulously neat and clean, that you involuntarily
stop to look at the wooden but lifelike representa-
tion of Mr Punch puffing a huge meerschaum, the shag
being symbolised by brown paint, and the incandescent
ashes by glowing red tinsd; likewise at the strip of
plate-glass, suspended by pink ribbons, on which are
so captivatingly laid out the Taglioni pipes, saucers of
difBsrent tobaccos, and genuine Yarina's c'naster ; at the
huge Christmas cigars ; at the newspapers, so artfhlly
disposed for effect; and lastly, at the little green cur-
tain, keeping out cold air and curiosity at the same
time.
In this tiny box, ' cabined, cribbed, confined,* but yet
' gay, cheerfhl, and industrious,' lived Emma Norman,
Mr Tappolef s niece — ^an orphan who, with her im-
married brother, who was engaged in tne City by day,
and returned at night, were the sole tenants of the
house. She, or Emma, as we shall call her, was rather
above the ordinary height of woman, with large, black,
love-darting eyes, of which I would say, with Cowper,
' blest be the art that could immortalise them,' beauti-
fhlly-arched brows, a profusion of glossy and fine black
hair, neatly braided on either side of a lo^ forehead,
dimpled Hps, teeth of perfect shape and colour, hands
small and plump, and a skin of the complexion of ala-
baster. Her figure, shown to advantage by a dress of
dark merino^ close-fitting, homely in its want of orna-
ment, and rising high to the throat, the painter's brush
might convey some idea of; but our deponent steel pen
never could describe these items, any more than the
bewitching toss of the head, the arch and fascinating
glances from under the long lashes, or the general sunny
and ingenuous aspect She bore no resemUance to the
portraits of * an English giri,' such as one sees in albums,
at picture exhibitions, or in frontispieces to love-sick
music The pictured pretty faces in the Burlington
and Lowther arcades woidd in no degree help you to a
just conception of my heroine. For the rest, she was
great in the manufacture of pastry ; exemplary in the pro-
duction of mufiatees for wrists, purses, watch-pockets,
and guards ; untiring in glove cleaning; fimd of reading
fF
244
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
norels, Mr James's in particular; could sing * Molly
Bawn' and *I should like to marry' unexceptionably ;
danced in such a way, to quote Suckling, that
* No ton upon an Easter day
Was half 80 fine a sight i *
and> in a word, wherever she went, made all the young
men crazily in love with her, and set all the girls
insanely jealous. What wonder, then, that the very
policeman came here for his tobacco ; that the curate
regularly had his box filled fh)m her stores of rappee ;
and that Mr Beggs, after closing, so regularly visited
here for his five minutes* conversation and cigar, while
Mr Hadnum would come alone, or with Mr Tappolet,
and stay to supper? What marvel either that the Mrs
Grundys of the place, intent on her afikirs, endeavoured
to evolve a unanimous verdict on the subject of her
matrimonial intentions; or that, while one faction
declared for Mr Beggs, another recorded its opinion
in favour of a youngster endowed by nature with
good connections, a coarse complexion, and red hair,
and by art with blue spectacles, and aspirations after
literary fame, imd who, moreover, had published a
little volume of poems, in which * gibbous moons,' * sil-
very waters,' and * brilliant mazes of clustering stars,*
were constantly introduced. No one thought of Mr
Hadnum on this occasion, any more than of Uncle
Tappolet ; for Mr Hadnum, being only the young roan,
behoved of course to give place to his superiors. One
might have thought, indeed, that he was Enmia's young
roan, as wdl as the young man of Commerce House, he
made himself so useful in one way and another ; and
especially in directing her taste in novel-reading, and
fetching and carrying the volumes.
Novels, however, transact a good deal of business in
the way of love, and there are always a few marriages
at the end of them ; and perhaps it was these dangerous
associations which made Mr Beggs look very austere
whenever Emma and the young man began to talk of
Lord Reginald and Lady Wilhelmina, which they did
as familiarly as if they were their first cousins. He
was a great dealer himself in the fictions of trade, and
the ingenuity of his plots would have made Mr James
blush for himself; but he never had time to study much
the productions of other masters, and perhaps, there-
fore, he regarded them with a little of the contempt
which clever men are apt to bestow upon what does
not come within the scope of their own knowledge. His
remarks to his partner upon this head had some efiect,
and by degrees they deepened in shade, till Mr Tap-
polet felt nervous as he read in large letters everywhere,
in passing along the street, * Jack Shephard,' * Eugene
Aram,* and * George Barnwell,' and saw in his own
window, the first thing on coming back to business,
* Robberies by confidential young men.'
Matters were thus thrown into the state very un-
pleasant to Mr Hadnum, who had almost resolved upon
giving warning, and advertising for a new situation;
although his success would in all probability compel
him to migrate far from the City Road.
* What can it mean ? ' said Emma one evenmg with
the tears in her eyes ; * there is uncle looking at you
tliese three weeks, as if you were an Ojibe-away ; and
that Mr Beggs smiling at you like any lago, till I'm
sure I creep all over I '
* It*s all along of the novels,' replied Mr Hadnum
moodily.
'And why, I wonder? Is a novel so much worse
than a Soul-stirring Romantic Melodrama? and I know
he reads them.'
* Why, how do you know that ?'
* Because,' said Emma, ' I caught him in a whole lii^e
twice ; and not a line of the kind one would pick up
from the stage. It was in the drama written by Pic-
colo, the player of Bonder's End, which long ago, you
may remember, we were going one night to see ; only
we didn't. But you bought me the work for threepence,
and I keep all your things — somehow.' Mr Hadnum
was in a brown study, and in it was the ' work' in quea-
tion and its author.
•Piccolo— Piccolo— Piccolo,' said he, endeavourioff
to grasp some idea, as Macbeth would have dutcbea
the air-drawn dagger. 'Yes I' cried he— for now be
had it—* I saw Piccolo once— he was pointed cot to me
on the street— and he was the very moral of Mr Beggs !'
The young couple looked at one another strmngdy.
Emma at length laughed, for she did not know what
else to do ; but Mr Hadnum, catching up his bat, made
a hasty exit from the shop. Whither he went, how he
acted, what he discovered, are the mysteries of this
story ; for no story is worth paper and print that does
not leave something in doubt ; but it will be seen that
the dramatic leminiacenoea of our Emma had impor-
tant results.
Aboutten days before Christmas- Day, and about eleven
o'clock in tiie morning, an unusual stir was observable
at Commerce House, where Hadnum and Mr Tappolet
were talking with great energy to two ill-fisvoured
looking men in the shop ; and not a few idlm, like the
chorus in Greek plays, looking on and giving advice.
To put the reader in possession of the fkcta more
quickly, and without the accumulated mass of fiction
which a rolling narrative proverbially acquire*— a letter
had arrived fur Mr Beggs, marked * confidential' in one
comer, and * haste* in another. Immediately on glanc-
ing over it, in Hadnum's presence, Mr Beggs had be-
trayed great excitement ; and in a quarter of an hoar
had hurried from the house. Shortly irfty his depar-
ture, two gentlemen of unpromising exterior, linhs of
the hiw, had cleared up the mystery by their appearanos
in search of a man named Benson, who, under innumer-
able oHoMes, had committed almost numberleaa frauds,
his appellation having, as we have seen in the present
instance, been Beggs. The sheriff's officers (for sodi
they were), who described this Chevalier d'lndustrie as
owing money in almost every counf^ in England, stated
that he had been * everything by turns, and nothing
long ;' at one time a mesmerist professor, popular advo-
cate, and editor of the * Toiling Millions* voioe,' under
the name of Bachofi*; at ano&er, under the name of
Piccolo, an actor, whose genius had shaken the boakined
stage of the Theatre-Royal, Pender's End, for whkh
thriving establishment he had written a drama, of
which tlie playbill candidly stated that * a sympathetic
joy diff'used itself through every bosom as the thrilHng
situations and efiects of the author's exdUng eflbrts
drew onwards to a conclusion ; ' in short, a swindkr
equally au/aU at a lecture on Cromwell and the Com-
monwealth, or a sale of depressed manufkoturer's ttocks
at terrific prices.
Of course Mr Tappolet acquainted the oflloers with
the circumstance of the letter, and they were toon again
in pursuit of Benson. However, he was gone, and most
probably not to return— so thought the tradeepeople, to
all of whom, with the exception of Emma, be waajn-
debted; so thought that coarse-complexiooed but gifted
author, who had lent him some ten pounds, modi <m
the Roderigo and lago principle; and so thought Mr
Tappolet, who set to work vigorously to ascertain the
state of the concern. As for Hadnxmn, he thon^t no-
thing about the matter, for he htetD how it would be,
and so he devoted himself to taking stock, and strik-
ing balances. This occupied a day or two, bat the
result was more favouraUe than might have been an-
ticipated; the ruinous prices and alarming sacrifloes
had not, it is true, brought much grist to the mill;
but still the prospects of the business were just those
which advertising columns daily set forth at ' capable
of great extension by a persevering young man with
moderate capital.' This being so, then, Mr Tappolet
being desirous of retiring on his little income, and con-
ceiving Mr Hadnum to be the persevering young man
above-mentioned, and Mr Hadnum drawing oot of a
banker's no less a sum than one hundred and fifty
pounds, which he had saved by a course of aelf-denial
almost amounting to amateur paoperiim, and incxttrnd
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
245
hy jndidoof inTettment, and being willing to condnct
the bniinen on his own account, and Emma, with her
QDcie'i cordial aoqnietcence, agreeing to make Edward
the happiest of men — the fact will appear less surprising
that Christmas -Day 184- beheld the little cigar shop
let to a diflbrent business, and Mr Hadnum, Mrs Had-
nnm, late Miss Norman, and Mr Tappolet, all three
eating their Christmas dinner in the parlour of a newly-
painted shop, where the name of Hadnuro was newly
written up, and the distinctive feature of the beehive
stiU remained.
Boaslind says * men are April when they woo, De-
cember whoi they wed;' but seven Christmas-Days,
snniversaries of their wedding, have passed over this
couple's heads, and Mr Hadnum finds the wife (who
has no time now to read novels) dearer, if possible, than
the bride. They have two or three children of their
own, and follow that
* Good old fashion when ChilsimM Is come.
To cell in sll their neighboan with bagpipe and dram.*
Mr Tsppdet is always present on these occasions ; and
on the last, delivered himself of * a wise saw,* with which
oar litUe history shaU conclude— «amdy, * That popular
progress, as some people regarded it, was Walk-er, and
that moutiis always ftill of the people's cause were to be
suspected of watering at the people's effects*
MEMOIRS OF SIB BOBEBT MUBBAY KEIXfi.*
Sn Waltsb Soott> in his * ChrooMiBs of tbaOanon-
gate^' has immortalised, under the name of Mrs Bethune
Ballol, a charming specimen of the Scottish female aris-
tocracy of Uie last century, whose actual appellative was
Mrs Anne Murray Keitlu The real lady had a brother,
a notable person of the last age in a wider circle than
that of Scottish society. Sir Bobert Murray Keith had
been, fiit the twenty years antecedent to the French
Bevolution, the British ambassador at Vienna ; previous
to whkAk time he had served in the same capacity at
Copenhagen, where it was owing to his firmness and
discrvtioa that the unfortunate Queen Matilda, sister of
our George HL, was rescued from the malignity of her
eneoiiea. The traditionary character of the man is
hi{|^ for honour, spirit, and talent He was beloved
and esteemed by his sovereign; and during his long
residence at one of the most degant courts in Europe,
be had endeared himself to one-hisdf of the young aris-
tocracy of En^and by his unaffectedly benevolent ser-
vices and his many delightful accomplishments. When
we learned, therefore, that the m^noirs and corres-
pondence of this pattern of plenipotentiaries was to be
publjshed, we prepared ourselves for a roost agreeable
book, and we hiave not been disappointed.
The chief value of it, in our opinion, lies, not in the
light it reflects on history, though this is also of no
small consequence, but in the new and unexpected view
which it affords of a group of men whom popidar chro-
nicles and disquisitions usually present in an unfavour-
able light We here find that among the statesmen of
the days of Junius there were such tilings as honour,
and even dirinterestedness. It is seen that an ambas-
•ador of those days could be a perfectly upright man ;
that a Scotsman could be manly, generous, and entbu-
nasUcaOy attached to his friends. The screen is with-
drawn from before many of the public men, whom the
contemporary journalists were every day abusing ; but
it is only to show them as men acting in general under
no unworthy impulses, while in their private capacity
they were plajrfnl and kindly to a degree which might
disarm rancorous opposition, even where it was more
just A very large portion of the first volume is de-
' J
* Memoin and Correspondeooe of Bir Robert Murray Keith,
K. Bl, Envoy Bxtraordtnary and Minister- Plenipotentiary at the
Ooorti ef Dnedan, O^enhagm, and Vienna, from 17W to 1792.
With a McfDoIr of Queen Carolina Matflda of Denmark, and an
AeeovBt (tf the Berolntlon there in 177S. Edited by Mra QiUeqOe
Sayth. S Tok. Londom : Henry Colbum. 1849i
voted to a history of the afflur of Queen Matilda, and
this has a deep tragic interest of its own, though our
ambassador's part in it is somehow left more obscure
than could be wished.
The best of the book is to be found, we think, in the
ambassador's letters to his sister Anne. A clever man
writing to a very clever woman, and relatiDg, in all the
ease of unrestrained confidence, everjrthing which came
under his eye in a most refined and delightful society,
the reader may readily suppose that the result is of no
commonplace character. Acting as envoy at Dresden
in 1769, being then a gay bachelor of thirty-nine, he
thus writes — * Now Tm about it, Fll give you a little
sketch of my way of living. Morning, eight o'doek--
Dish of coffee, half a basin of tea, biUits aoux, embroi-
derers, toymen, and taibrs. Ten — ^Business of Europe,
with a Uttle music now and then, pour (gayer les affaires.
Twelve— Devoirs, at one or other of the courts (for we
have three or four). From thence to fine ladies, toilettes,
and tender things. Two — Dine in public — ^three courses
and a dessert ; venture upon half a glass of pure wine
to exhilarate the spirits, without hurting the complexion.
J^otir — Bendezvous, sly visits, declarations, Sctaircisse^
mens, 8cc &c. Six — Politics, philosophy, and whist
Seven — Opera, appartement, or private party. A worid
of business; jealousies, fears, poutings, &c After
settling sll these jarring interests, play a single rubber
at whist en attendant h souper. Ten — ^Pick the wing of
a partridge, propos gahns, scandal, and petites Hansons,
Crown the feast wiUi a bumper of Burgundy from the
fiurest hand ; and at twelve steal away mysteriously —
home to bed t* The reader must not suppose from this
that the ambassador was altogether a mere butterfly of
high life, or tainted at all with the vices attributed to
courts. He never touched cards; he consigned *that
old harridan Etiquette, with all her trumpery, to the
lowest underling of all possible devils;* and when he
conceived himself ill-used either by parties at home or
in the seat of his embassage, he spoke out in a tone of
boldness which forms a striking contrast to his ordinary
good-humour.
While at Dresden, he had frequent occasion to visit
the chief of his family, the venerable ex-rebel, the Earl
Marischal, who had spent half a center in exile, and
was now near eighty, and converted to Whiggism. * Hia
taste, his ideas, and his manner of living are,' says Sir
Bobert, * a mixture of Aberdeenshire and the kingdom
of Valencia. ... I had mentioned Dr Bailies to him,
and begged he would send me a state of his case and
infirmities, that, the doctor might prescribe for him.
This is a part of his answer : — ** I thank you for your
advice of consulting the English doctor to repair my
old carcase. I have lately done so by my 61a coach,
and it is now almost as good as new. Please, therefore,
to tell the doctor that from him I expect a good repair,
and shall state the case. First he must know that the
ntachine is the worse for wear, being near eighty years
old. The reparation I propose he shall begin with is •
one pair of new eyes, one pair of new ears, some im-
provement on the memory. When this is done, we
shall ask new legs, and some change in the stomach.
For the present, this first reparation will be sufildent;
and we must not trouble the doctor too much at once."
You see by this how easy his lordship's infirmities sit
upon him ; and it is really so as he says.'
A circumstance which afforded some amusement at
Dresden is thus related : — * You must know that we have
more pages here than any court in Christendom ; all
pickles I One of these little gentry, during the last fair,
stood for a considerable time at a booth where toys were
sold by an ill-natured old woman. His looks spoke de-
sire,,his cloth forbade credit ; and the beldame told him
peevishly not to take up the room of one who might be*
come a buyer. The page observed that the lady had
upon a shelf in her booth a pitcher filled with cream,
and as idl pages have packthread in their pockets, he
slily fixed one end of his clue to the handle of the
pitcher, and retired grumbling to a private comer at
24€
OHAMBEBS'S EDIXBUBGH JOURNAL.
lome diitance. There he lat perdue with his pack-
thread in his hand, watching the moment when he conld
tumble down the pitcher upon tilie old woman's head.
' At the instant, the Chuvemeur deg Pages, a graye,
sententious, Uaden man, came that way, and seeing little
pickle in the comer, he wisely smelt a rat. ** W^ are
you doing, you litUe dog?" ** Nothing." **l suspect
you have been pilfering: show me your hands." Be-
hold the packthread, which the goyemor immediately
seized. Supposing some stolen goods at the end, he
SttUed, and pulled ; the nimble page took to his beds ;
own came the pitcher ; out screamed the beldame, and
she and twenty of her neighbours fell with tongue and
nail upon old gratity, who, being caught in Vie rery
hct, was scratched and hooted out of the fkhr without
the possibility of making a defmoe. If you knew the
proud old fociL of a goyemor, you would kiss the little
page for his cunnin^l'
Haying made a journey to Vienna, the ambassador
described the drcumstanoes in a letter to his Cither,
who had once been ambassador there^ and was now
liying in retirement at Edinburgh. * I must t^ you a
little aneodote which gaye me real pleasure, and took
prodigiously at Vienna. The second day of my being
there, I was strolling about the streets, and stopped,
with a spy-glass in my hand, at the front of the Gollo-
redo and Chancery buildings. While I looked up at
the statues, an old senrant (porter to Prince CoUoredo)
knew me at once, and stepping forward, with the kindest
familiarity, and slapping me on the shoulder, said in
German, ** Precisely what your dear papa used to do
twenty years ago I " Nothing could be more beneyoloit
than the look with which he accompanied this, and I
own I was struck with it I mentioned the agreeable
sensation it had glyen me in the company where I
passed the eyening, and next day I found the porter
and I had been in the mouths of all Vienna. It is, in
my opinion, no bad sign of the people of a great capital,
who expressed themselyes pleased with so simple an
incident as this.*
After this one is not surprised to find Keith an-
nouncing his api^intment as ambassador to Vienna,
and his intended journey to receiye the congratulations
of his friends in Scotland, with this addition — * My poor
nur$e tmut be told of my happy arrival : inquire into her
situation, and let me know when and how I can mend
it' And when he had gone to Vienna as resident
minister — ^writing to a gentleman friend, he says, * The
first ten days of my residence here were trotted away
in Itaying bits of card at doors, and repeating my
dancing-master's bows to crowds of people who may,
in a course of years, become my friends, or at least
acquaintance. I don't know how my own face looked
upon these occasions, but I know that I felt pleased, as
eyenr person turned of forty said somethiifg kind about
my fatiier.'
In so many letters to friends in Scotland, there wei%,
as might be expected, many allusions to Scotland itself
and to its people, and many affectionate reminiscences
of home. It is charming when the great ambassador,
in the midst of details regarding continental politics
and great people, raps out some homely or humorous
phrase of ms natiye land — as where he says that * the
king of Naples has delighted all Germany by his un-
affected cantinest* — Anmce, cheerfhlness ; or remarks,
that the New Town oi Edinburgh being so yery geo-
metrical, * the yery dubs will run at right angles ' (dubs
being the home-phrase for puddles) ; or tells from Sis-
toyo, a remote place in the domains of the sultan, fiiat
he has a score of Turkish tmco^s to relate (unco's behig
manrels). Haying inherited flrom his grandmother a
small property in a moorish part of Peeblesshire, he de-
lights to speak of himself by his territorial appellation
of MurrayshaH It is amusing to hear of what Mnrrays-
haU is next to do in a negotiation conducted near the
shores of ttie Black Sea for a pacification amongst the
powers of Eastern Europe. He tells Anne to haye the
plaoe Ranted I7 all means: ' you shall be ranger of the
new forest in Tweeddale ; and your husband, when yoi
get one, shall be lord- warden of the marches 1* Some*
what oddly, while Mr Woodfall was niliiig st Sir
Robert as a full-fed placeman and pensioner, he was
actually kept so low in pocket by the expeniei of hit
situation at Vienna, as to be under a oonitant fnr of
haying to sell tiiis poor moorland in Tweeddsle merdjr
to keep out of debt In his good-will to hii nttbs
country, he subscribes largdy to the new boildingi fbr
Edinburgh College, and only refrains firom urgiiif the
same duty upon his friend, the celebrated Genenl
Loudon, who was a Scotchman at only four or flfs r^
moyes, from a oonsideration of the poor old gsDenTi
Soyertry. As a pendant to all this, ue following sneo*
ote Gt^ joumey he made at an eariy period of Itfe ia
France tells pleasantly : — * In passing through the ndUe
forest of Compi^gne, I took the Hberty of quettkoiof
as follows my man Andrew, who is a gentiemsnof oeit
sagacity : — ** Pray, Andrew, saw you oyer so fine s uRit
as the one we haye come through?** "Sir," qooth
Andrew, *' the forest is a gay forest, but Fee warrant
I'ye seen other forests before now." ** Where, Andrew?
Haye you anything like this in Athol ? " ** Ay, lir. I
wish your honour had only seen the Duke of Perth's
grit forest in our country I It has a hantle of fine deen
in't, and Colonel Greme pays a bunder pund itvlini
by the year just for till keep the deers frae hdn' de-
stroyed intilt" '* Well, Andrew, Pm glad to hear what
you say i but are the trees in that forest as fine sa thoN
we saw to-day ?" " Trees, sir /" quoth Andrew: •«>,
sir, there's no a stannin' stick in the duke's grit fixeit;
but if s a' bonny hill and heather, like the wood 0' Matt"
Oh patriotism, patriotism, thy errors are beauttfolt I
embraced my man Andrew, and we pursued onr jour-
ney.'
Next to the letters to Sister Anne, we wonld pboe
those which pass to and fro between tiie ambanador
and a certain fraternity of friends, chiefly offidal men
in London, who were designated the Gang, and two or
three of whom seem to haye been riyab to Sir Bobert
in gaiety of heart, humour, and unaffected, nnwaiMj
character. Thus it is, for instance, that Mr Bradihsv,
a lord of the Admiralty, addresses his friend atYSenM;
— * All that you loye here, loye, remember, and regret
vou. If our parties are dull, you are wished for toes-
Uyen them ; if cheerful, you are longed for, that yoa
may haye your share of them. There is not a D— .
or a B , or any honest letter in the alphabet, that h
not deyoted to you, and would not willingly Diakeyra
a partaker of our pleasures ; because, by coming to toi
your share, you would more than double our ito».
finish your business, obtain your well-deseryed rewari,
and " live with us, and be our loye," as the old wng
says.' Sir Robert, on his part, oyerflows with beoero-
lent expressions towards this set of his correapopdenta.
Amidst all the dignity and eyen splendour of hia ^oa-
tion abroad, he sighs like a schoolboy for the ajoT-
mento of home : for example — * I don't know how it^
my dear friend, but the same old story which yoa m
I talked oyer in a postehaise about a thouaand pottMi
a year, a wife and a farm, is continually trilling throogn
my bridn ; and I can't for the soul of me hdp thinW
that in something of that kind consists the ^s**"*
bonum. But mounted as I am upon the •'w^*^""?!
tioned hobby-horse, I can, howeyer, assure jwi™
great troth, that whilat I am to senre my msster awoad,
I neyer can haye a commission so honourable and ag^e^
able as the one I now enjoy. I like the soyereigna I tm
sent to, their capital, and their subjecto. There !•««
a happier man in all Austria than myaelf j yet I »]'
a hankering after home, which, as it is buflt upon WOr
able motiyes, I cannot wish to suppress. I ^^J^
thought that not one in a hundred of you odd wum
-.*,. my own part, . -«,*. ..».» -- --^
lUOs proud uland without a singular pleasure. W^
is a queemess in John that I delight in j there isaitwap
CHAMBHRS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
247
•pan Watt — « character^-Hi nrietr— « xnonliness, which
nothing can come up to ; and then John's women are
•o fresh and ti^, his grass so green, his mutton and
dsret so good, his hoiue jo imidi his oum, that I cannot
refinqnlsh my share of those adrantages.'
This appreciation of England strikes witkthe less sur-
prise when we read of the ambassador's experiences in
Denmark, whcre« except for formal audiences and busi-
ness Tlsits, he found scarce a door open to him } or read
that, erren in refined Vienna, oobversation was apt to
be made up of oommont^aces. Ai to Denmark, he
ssjri to his fiither* * You know K Hall, that nastj,
boggf , bare» and foggy comer of the world. If I would
etchange it against some kingdoms I hare seen, with
the ob^Uion of goTeming them« may I be hanged and
disseetsa I t hare seen more mirth at a Scotch dredgy *
fiian eret brightened tiie foatnres of the best sort of
people I hare seen hera' Speaking in another letter,
tl Viama« of some caricatures which had been sent to
him, be iaya— ' I lauded mrself black in the fooe at
tiie " S/kaoer and the Bhavee r And my Qerman serrants,
who had nerer hesrd the TUlgar sound of a krad laught'
ran into the room to see what the deuce had btfallen
his excellency. You must know that we never laugh
here beyond a gentle simper that dimples the cheek,
unless when a grandee or a dear creature happens to be
immoderately witty, and then we indulge them with a
flying tittef . lliey say through Europe that John Bull
is a grare, morose fcUow) but hang me if John does not
shake his fill sides with ten times the glee that I ever
•aw sinoe I left hlml' On another point he compli.
ments England with, we think, eten greater truth—it
is in speaking of what \Mtohe done With the rebellious
Americans : — * If I hear of a hajf measure in the next six
mootiis, I shall be sorry for it ; if I could hear of a cruel
erne, I ^ould be still more so. But there is at bottom
in John Bull and all his children an innate principle of
humanity which no other nation under the sun can
boaal €/t» John Bull can quarrel and box with his own
brother, and give or take a black eye with every ex-
ertion ot his hot-headedness ; but to shake hands and
be friends again, without the smallest remnant of ran-
cour, is a species of benevolence which, as far as I
know, belongs to John exclusively, and I love him for it
most cordially.'
Our space forbids us to dilate farther on the merits
of this churning book, except to remark that the
editress, a daughter of the hero, has in general per-
formed her task with great judgment, and in a spirit of
sympathy which pleases without ever being offensive.
But before concluding, we would make room for a cu-
rious anecdote of Charies Fox. ' He was under a neces-
sity of sti&ing L.aooo at Newmarket last Monday for
some nui^^dies that were to be run that day. The twelve
tribes of UmA were an tried, bttt their hearts were
uneiffcamoised and hard, and he could not raise a
single guinea. He declared this at White's and Al-
madL*s oa the preceding Friday night) he seriously
ofTefsd L.6000 at the end of six months foir an imme-
diate fvpply of L.3000 } and at last, thinking himself
sure of wiiming his matches, he offbred L.600 for the
loan of LJ2000 tiU the following Tuesday night No
oi&en would tempt his friends, nor soften the hard
hearts of the Jews ) and poor Oharles was in the last
rtsge of distress. In this situation, with five guineas,
his whole fbrtune, in his pocket, he came into White's
an hoiff before dinner on Saturday; there he found
Harry Cavendish (the House of Commons note-writer),
with whom he began to play billiards for a guinea ; and
having a run of luck, he won, with the assistance of
some bets, eighl^-five gi^eas ; which enabled him to
Sto Almadrs at nl^t, where, without losing one cast,
won Ii.8000 1 His good fortune then left him, and
be lost back I4.70O} but he cut at. three o'clock in the
iDondng with L.8d00, which enabled him to make his
stakes at Newmarket All this I know to be exactly
# An SDtvtaliiiMnt afMr afuneraL
true. I have not heard what he did at Newmarket but
I will venture to pronounce that no lord of ihe trea-
sury ever had such a practical knowledge of cireulationf
nor sudi extensive dealings with the monied intereM of
this country. If he escapes a pistol in a gloomv hour,
when the ways and mians are desperate, what has not
this country to expect when h9 is at the head of its
finances ! '
THE THBUBH.
' Ligbt-he&rted herald of the oorahig epring I
To Fancy*! ear, whose wildly-warbling e^nlas
Speak of f reih foliage, onerald-tinled plains,
And flowers that all around sweet odours fling :
Of these— yea, more than these— thy glad notes bring
Fair promise ; for they tell of azure skies,
Bright days, soft breeaes, and the melodies
Of birds and rills, and inseotsT tremoloas wing.
To him whose healthful frame and gladsome breast
Are yet unscathed by withering care or pain,
Thy chanting seems to say, that he again
Bh^ be with vernal joys and {flsasares blest
But to the Tiotim of disease or grief
Thy spirii-soothiog ta&e brings small relief I'
Pleasant memories of bygone days are said to be A
source of vigour to the mind — a well of contentment to
their possessor. He who, when called upon to bufibt
with the world, can revive a bright thought, a gladsome
association, feds that life is not altogetner vexation of
spirit—that it has some animating impulses. Among
pleasant reminiscences, few are more welcome than
those connected with natural objects ; and many, now
the denizens of populous towns, will recall a time when
the music of birds afforded fnll scope to all their powers
of enjoyment. Such at least will not be reluctant to
refresh their memory —
' near how the bushes echo ! by my life,
These birds have Joyful thoughts. Think yoQ they shig,
Like poete, from the vanity of song ?
Or have they any sense of why they ting J
And would they praise the heavens for what Uiey have ? *
Of all the ' messengers of spring,' the thrush is one of
the earliest to communicate his joyfiil thoughts in most
musical language. Ornithologists describe twenty varie*
ties of this bird proper to Europe, of whidi seven, and at
times eight, are found in this country, comprehending
the water and ring ouzeh the song and missel-thrush;
the blackbird, redwing, and fieldfare : it is chiefly, how'
ever, to two of the number that we shall confine our
attention. On the continent the song and missel-thrush
are migratory, in common with the fieldfare and red-
wing; but in England they remain the whole year,
giving us music when otherwise not a note would be
heard. The song-thrush {Turdus muaictu)^ or throstle,
breeds three times in the season— In April, May, and
June ; but the first brood is considered the best. The
n^t is constructed of moss and vegetable fibres, lined
with a cement of cow-dung and decayed wood, of so
firm a texture as to hold water. The birds pair at the
end of winter, and maintain their imion* for a long
period with great fidelity. They are of a shy and soli-
tary habit, and for this reason generally avoid open
districts, preferring thick hedgerows, copses, and woods.
Most commonly the nest is placed high up in the fork
of a tree ; y,et, as has been remarked of even the wildest
birds, a degree of tameness is induced by the season of
nidificaBon, and thrushes will then build near to public
thoroughfares or human habitations, and several in-
stances are on record of the nest being constructed
within the house. A pair once buUt in Gray's Inn
gardens but a few feet above the ground ; and though
dose to a much-frequented thoroughfare, were appa-
rently undisturbed by the busy traffic. Unfortunately,
one day while the female was sitting, a cat climbed up
and killed her. An interesting account is given in
'Loudon's Magazine* of the constructive process as ex-
hibited by two thrushes, who made their nest between
the teeth of harrows laid up on the beams of a shed at
Pitlessie, Fifesbire, where several wrights were at work
248
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
making a thrashiDg- machine. The birdi were first
obserred about seren o'clock in the morning, and from
the forward state of the nest, must have begnn by pe^
of day. At noon they began to carry mud for plaster-
ing the inside, and before sunset, one of them was seen
sitting, while the other continued the work of finishing
the structure : the hen had been compelled to deposit
an egg before the whole of the inside was plastered.
When this was complete, the male took his share in
the task of incubation, but for a shorter time than his
mate, whom he was often seen to feed. Other eggs
were laid, and the whole hatched in thirteen days. The
old birds remored the empty shells, and fed the young
brood on crushed snails, worms, and butterflies. As the
demand for food increased, the actiyity of the parents
became incessant ; Uiey were perpetually on the wing.
One Sunday, in the absence of the workmen, a prowling
boy discovered and made a prize of the nest The
honest Fifesbire artisan, who had watched the pro-
ceedings with much interest, related that * the parents
mourned about for twa davs : maistly the hen ; and he
himself couldna weel settle to his work for an hour
or twa, being neither to hand nor to bind, he was sae
mad at the Uldeedy laddie.'
The thrush has a bright and piercing eye, yet it is said
to be ratiier a silly bird, avoiding only the most obvious
dangers, and easily captured by means of springes or the
pipe. It has been known to lay its eggs in the pUce
from whidh its nest had been stolen the day before.
Thrushes are, however, more intelligent than many of
their congeners : they quiddy learn to feed themselves.
A young one shut up wiUi a blackbird soon acquired
the power of satisfying its own wants, and fed its com-
panion, which otherwise would have died of starvation ;
and a similar case occurred where a newly-hatched
thrush became nurse to a cuckoo, and laboured unceas-
ingly to satisfy the larger bird's voracious appetite.
Wherever known, the thrush is celebrated for its
•ong. The Germans cidl it tmg^droueU equivalent to
our song-thrush or throstle. By many persons it is
considered as the most musical of British birds. It
commences so early in the season, as to be often heard
singing while the ground is covered with frost and
snow. Perched on the top of a high tree, it will sing
for two or Uiree hours together, repeating a number of
short passages, which in numerous instances are beauti-
fully true to the chromatic scale. In fact, scarcely ex-
cepting the nightingale, its notes are more varied than
those of any other songster of this country. Like the
nightingale, too, it is endued with the emulous spirit.
A thrush had for a long time frequented a garden in
Sussex, where its copious song obtained willing admira-
tion : one day it was seen to fall suddenly in the midst
of its exertions, and on being picked up, was found
dead from Uie rupture of a bkK>dvessel In May, the
thrush has often been heard singing after dark, and
again before two o'clock the next morning : it sings also
upon the nett Grahame conveys these characteristics
in pleasing verse :—
* The thmah'f tong
b Tiried •• hit plumM; mnd m his plamM
Blwd beauteoiu, each with each, to run hit notes,
Bmootbly, with many a happy rise and faU.
Sometimes below the nerer-fading leares
Of iry oloae, that overtwlstinf binds
Some riren rock, or nodding castle wall,
Seoorely there the dam sits all day long ;
While from the adverse bank, on topmost shoot
Of odour-breathing birch, her mate's blithe chant
Qieers her pent hours, and makes the wild wood ring.'
The truthfulness of the poet's description will be recog-
nised by all who are acquainted with its subject There
is something peculiarly English and inspiriting in the
•ong of the thrush, especially when heard in the silence
of early mom or evening twilight, and the thoughtftil
listener will assent to Wordsworth's sentiment —
• And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings !
He, too, is no mean preacher.'
Nor are we without evidence as to the quality of the
warbler's voice ; for Browne, describing a bird's ooneert
in his * Pastorals,' says —
*The thrash
Sang coonter-tenor sweetly in a buah.'
The food of thrushes consists of berries, womi, in-
sects, snails, and they exhibit extraordiniiy sbU in
breaking the shells of the latter ; besides which, the
fact of their breaking the hard shdls of periwiskki
and whelks in order to devour the occupant, ii vdl
authenticated. This habit of the birds rendm them
particularly useful in a garden, where they bunt for
snails and worms with knowing perseverance. ' Watdi
an old thrush,' observes Stanley, * pounce down apon i
lawn moistened with dew or rain. At first he itaodt
motionless, apparently thinking of nothing at slMiii
eye vacant, or with unmeaning gaze. Suddenly he
cocks his ear on one side, makes a glancing sort of dsrt
with his head and neck, gives perhaps one or two bopi,
and then stops again listening attentively, and hiieyei
glistening with attention and animation. His beik
almost touches the ground — he draws back hii hesd u
if to make a determined peck. Again he psuies—
listens agidn — hops perhaps once or twice, scsroely
moving his position, and pecks smartly on the nd;
then is once more motionless as a stuffed biid. Bat be
knows well what he is about; for after another mo-
ment's pause, having asoertaixied that all is right, he
pecks away with might and main, and soon driwi oot
a fine worm, which £ui keen sense of hearing had in-
formed him was not far ofi^ and which his hopi ssd
previous peckings had attracted to the surface to etctpe
the approach of what the poor worm thought might be
his underground enemy — the mole.'
Doubtless what have been considered as mischiefooi
and destructive propensities on the part of the tfaroib,
would be proved, on correct observation — as in the cue
of most other birds — to be rather a persevering tnd
beneficial wufaro against the countless tribes of minor
hurtful creatures. At all events we may afford to listce
to Uieir expostulation, as stated in ' Jenningi'i Oni-
thology :* —
* How Is it that the good we do
Is kept most carefully from view?
We hear not of the numy seeds
Which wo devour of noxious weeds;
Of worms and grubs, destructive things.
That each of us his oApring brings.
What though we snatch a feed Qi corn
Or ere it's nfe in yonder bam.
Yet is there not enough beside
For MAN and his consummate pride?'
The different kinds of thrushes wero grestly etteoned
by the Romans, who kept thousands of these birdi,
together with quails and ortolans, in huge aviariei or
voleries, where they were fatted for sale. These stnK-
tures were traversed by numerous perches, snd trees
and turf so disposed about them, as to cheat the csp>
tives into a belief that they were in their natire woodi;
and a small clear stream of water was constsntly ran*
ning in a channel along the floor, to furnish the Desot
of drinking and bathmg. The famed Lucullos had m
of these aviaries so constructed with glazed sides srosoo
a dining-hall, that his guests could see fiyiog shout io
their natural state the same kinds of birds ss tlwie
eaten at the extravagant repasts. The stock of tbrnibeB
was kept up by renewed captures, as it is said they
did not lay whUe imprisoned. They yielded, how-
ever, a large profit to their owners, the demand being
such for the luxurious feasts of the Bonuns, tbst
Is. 3d. each was a common price for the birds, luj-
tial gives the first place among meats to the ^Jr
thrushes ; and on account of the succulence of tbfiff
flesh, the songsters were often used in the stuiBng of
roasted pigs, a dish greatly relished by the impeml
citizens. Tiberius once gave 40.000 sesterces to •
writer who had composed a dialogue in which » "J^jJ*
room, becafico, oyster, and thrush contended wJ^J
pre-eminence. According to Pliny, a thrush rositea
with myrtle berries was a specific for 4y»«>tefy j »«•
eersled tvo days in rinegar, the flesh was adminis-
tered as a core for the plague; while the gall was
held to be remedial in white leprosy and skin diseases
genially. Bat to quit these medicinal errors, it is
certain that, for persons of weakened digestion, the
flesh of finishes, including the fieldfare and redwing,
is particularly restorative, as oonyeying stimulating and
eicitisg properties into the system in a small volume.
Thnuhes are found all over Europe, but appear to
be most abundant in northern countries, not except-
ing Lapland and Siberia. They are so numerous in
Brandy as to be exported in boat-loads at a time from
certain provinoes of that country. They migrate on
the approach of winter, and arrive in vast numbers
on the tonthem shore of the Baltic Klein states that
90,000 pairs are consumed annually in the city of
Dantzio ! They swarm also in the forests of Silesia,
and famish the inhabitants with an ample supply of
food from one season to another ; it being the custom
to preeerve the birds, partly roasted, in vinegar. In
France and Germany the bird is called the wine-thrush,
on account of its frequenting the vineyards, and devour-
ing large quantities of grapes during vendanpe^ or the
grape-harvest It speedily becomes fat, and is much
sought after at this season. At times, indeed, it appears
to be intoxicated with the luscious food, a phenomenon
which in Bourgogne and other places has given rise to
the phrase * drank as a thrush.'
According to Bechstein, the thrush requires a large
cage, on account of its vivacity, and is best provided
for when at -one end of a room enclosed by a screen of
wires. In this way it will live for ten or twelve years.
Sonnini mentions one belonging to a lady that lived for
eight years, and in each year consumed ^y-two pounds
of brnd-crumbs mixed with rape-seed. 1^ bird had
learned to whistle several airs in a very agreeable man-
ner ; it was subject to occasional fits of gout, and at
last died from accident The writer first quoted says
that the best method of catching a fine male is to use
a perch with a limed twig: water-traps are also em-
ployed in September and October, as the birds delight
in bathing. * When they enter the water, haste must
be avoided, because they like to bathe in company, and
assemble sometimes to the number of ten or twelve at
once, by means of a particular call. The first which
finds a convenient stream, and wishes to go to it, cries
in a tone of surprise or joy — sik, sik^ sik, «iArt, tsac, Uac,
taae ; immediately all the neighbourhood reply together,
and repair to the place : they enter the bath, however,
with much circumspection, and seldom venture till they
have seen a redbreast bathe without danger ; but the
first which ventures is soon followed by the others, and
if the p4aoe is not large enough to accommodate all the
bathers, they begin to quarrel.'
The habits of the missel-thrush {Turdui vitdvonu)
are very similar to those of the song-thrush ; it is, how-
ever, bolder, and less easily snared. This bird, it is
s^d, is BO named because it 'missels' or soils its feet
with the viscid slimy juice of mistletoe berries, on which
it occasionally feeds. But figs and olives, beechmast,
joniper and ivy berries, are much sought after by the
bird in their respective climates ; and in winter it eats
holly bones ; and selecting a particular tree, contends
resoiBtely for exclusive possession. The missel-thrush
builds in lofty situations, and is equally early with the
Turdus wtutious in commencing its song. Although said
by some to be a mere repeater of four set notes, its song
is very mosical ; and even in the stormy gales of March
it may be heard piping away for hours at a time. Thirty
years ago, this bird was not to be found in Ayrshire ;
but from tome unexplained cause, it is now common
in that county, where its song is considered a sure
presage of a fall in the barometer. This supposed pre-
dictive faculty has obtained for it the name of * Storm-
cock,* and, as a writer observes in the * Journal of a
Katoralist,' not without reason ; for * the approach of a
sleety snow-storm, following a deceitful gleam in
snriiur. U aIvavs annonnoed to iii bv the loud nntnneftil
voice of the missel-thrush, as it takes its stand on some
tall tree, like an enchanter calling up the gale.' He
can fight as well as sing: Le Vaillant says he once
saw an osprey vanquished by ten missel-thrashes in
the neighbourhood of Paris ; and Gilbert White states
that * the Welsh call it pen y Uwyn, " the head or master
of the coppice." He suffers no magpie, jay, or blackbird
to enter the garden where he haunts ; and is for the time
a good guard to the new-sown legumens. In general,
he is very successful in the defence of his family. But
once I observed in my garden that several magpies came
determined to storm the nest of a missel-thrush : the
parents defended their mansion with great vigour, and
fought resolutely pro oris et foci§: but numbOTS at last
prevailed ; they tore the nest to pieces, and swallowed
the young alive.' There is a variety in the United
States known as the wood-thrush {Turdus mebdus)^
which possesses many qualities in common with the
European tribes, and is an interesting exception to
the general unmusical denizens of American forests.
* The prelude to its song,' observes Nuttall, * resembles
almost the double-tonguing of the flute, blended with a
tinkling, shrill, and solemn warble, which re-echoes
from his solitary retreat like the dirge of some sad
reduse, who shuns the busy haunts of life. The whole
air consists usually of four parts or bars, which succeed
in deliberate time, and finally blend together in impres-
sive and soothing harmony, becoming more mcdlow and
sweet at every repetition. Rival performers seem to
challenge each other from various parts of the wood,
vying for the favour of their mates, with sympathetic
responses and softer tones ; and some, waging a jealous
strife, terminate the warm dispute by an appeal to com-
bat and violence. ... In dark and gloomy weather,
when other birds are sheltered and silent, the clear
notes of the wood-thrash are heard through the dropping
woods from dawn to dusk ; so that the sadder tiie day,
the sweeter and more constant is his song.'
With his loving spirit and trathful ear for natural
music, old Izaak Walton could well appreciate the
' throssel's' melody ; and he expatiates on it eloquently,
yet reverently. And here, with a sonnet to the wel-
come vocalist, we may appropriately bring our jottings
to a close : —
' A flute-like melody is thine, ohthnuh 1
Full of rich eedenoee, and clear and deep:
Upon the aenae it oometh like a gosh
Of perfume stolen by the winds that eweep
"Where spioe-ifllee gem the boeom of the deep.
At early mom, and 'mid the ere-tide'e hush.
Pouring thy mellow music, thou dost peep
From out the lilao-tree or hawthorn bush.
I love thee for the love thou bear'st the lowly :
The cottage garden is thy favourite haunt ;
And in those hours so calm, so pure, so holy.
It ever is thy pleasure forth to chant
Those blithsome paeans, seeming, as it were.
Thy wish to make all happy dwelling there.'
SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY OF EDUCATION.*
COMENIU8.
None of the early reformers of education is entitled
to more notice than John Amos Comenius, who was
bom at Comnia, in Moravia, in 1592. His parents
belonged to the sect of the Moravian brethren, and he
himself was pastor at Fulnek, the head -quarters of
that body, until driven from his native country by the
imperial edict of 1634, exiling all Protestant clergy-
men. From that period he led a wandering life.
Sought after by the governments of England, Sweden,
and Transylvania, to assist in the reform of education,
he passed some time in each of those countries ; and
driven from several of the stations at which he bad
settled by the ravages of the war which then deso-
lated Europe, he at last found refoge in Holland,
* The preceding arttole under this head appeared in No. S63,
(Wmtjitnlnff mn f»/wwmn» nf th« Mluefttlonal VieWS of Ratich.
and died at Amsterdam in 1671. At an early age he
dedicated himself to the improrement of education;
and during the whole of his long and anxious life, in
spite of all the losses and disappointments to which he
was sulDJected, he laboured for this darling object He
was not one of those who content themselres with par-
tial attempts at improyement, and seek for a complete
remedy by opposing or adyocating this or that par-
ticular method ; but he was, in the best sense of the
wordi uniTcrsal ) and yet, with this uniyersalitj, he was
not superficial, but strove for an absolute and radical
reform. * All,* says he, ' must be educated ; rich and
poor, boys and girls i and all must learn erefything.
Not that each of them can be grounded in eyery science ;
but all — since it is the mission of all to be not merely
spectators, but actors in this world — ^must be taught to
mark the reasons, relations, and objects of eyerything
of importance. At present we never teach realities,
but instead of them, spend fifteen or twenty years in
teaching Latin, and yet make nothing of it' Comenius's
principle was, that all useful knowledge was to be im-
parted to his scholars ; but then he was not to follow
the system of the generality of the teachers of his time,
who graft in plants instead of sowing the seeds of
plants I and instead of giving their pupils simple prin-
ciples, carry them at once into a chaos of books and
perplexing exercises.
His abstract theory of instruc^on Is as follows : — ' We
must first exercise the senses, then the memory, there-
after the understanding, last of all the judgment. For
knowledge begins with the appreciation by the senses,
which, through the imagination, is borne in upon the
memory ; then the understanding, by a process of in-
duction applied to the obsenration of indiyidual oljeots,
realises uniyersal truths, and finally certain knowledge
results ftom the judgment exercised upon that which
is sufficiently understood. Nothing, therefore, is to be
taught by rote which has not been thoroughly com-
prehended. That which is appreciated by the senses
sticks fastest to the memory, and therefore the use of
pictures is much to be recommended. On the same
principle every branch of knowledge is to be taught by
actual practice : the art of writing, by practice in writ-
ing ; singing, by practice in singing, &c. The master
must commence by giving a specimen for imitation by
the pupil, without wearying him by Uieoretioal instruc-
tions.'
In the same style Gomenius, as a true disciple of
Bacon, goes on to enlarge upon the inutility of merely
theoretical study. ' For,' says he, * do we not dwell, as
our first parents did, in the garden of nature ? Why,
then, should we not make use of our eyes, and ears, and
noses, as they did ? Why should we seek for a know-
ledge of the works of nature by means of other teachers
than our own senses? Why should we not, instead of
dead books, open the living volume of nature, in which
there is far more to observe than any books can repeat
to us, whilst the very observation brings of itself more
delight and richer fruit than is to be found in them.
The schools formerly did little more than teach the
pupil, like the daw in the fable, to dress himself in bor-
rowed feathers. They showed him, not things them-
selves, as they are in themselves, but imparted to him
what was thought or said of the same by this man
or the other, so that the proof of the greatest learn-
ing was to be able to remember the contradictory
opinions of various authors on various subjects. In
this way it came to pass that the greater number did
nothing more than extract oertdn phrases, sentences.
and opinions out of various authors, and string fhem
together like a piece of patchwork .... Man should
seek for knowledge not from books, but fh>m observa-
tion of the heavens and the earth, trees and plants —
that is to say, he must know and inform himsiuf about
things themselves, and not merely learn what othera say
of them. Instruction must not commence by a verbal
exposition of things, but by a visual observation of
them ; and then, after the insnection of the thing itsdl^
the verbal exposition should follow. He who has onoe
seen a body dissected, will understand the anatomy of
the human body far better than he who has read the
most admirable treatises on anatomy without dissec-
tion.'
With these views, Comenius began with edncafion
at the vety beginning, dividing his course of instructioii
into three stages, of which the first was tiie mother-
school — ^that is, the education at the mother's knee.
During this period the child is to be instructed in the
first principles of morals and rehglon. Many roles are
laid down as to diet, exercise, &c $ and he is to ootB-
mence his study of the sciences— as, for instance, astro-
nomy— ^by being taught the names of the sun and stan,
and being led to observe the increase and decrease of
the moon ; and geography begins with an acquaintance
with the localities en the house, the roads, and the fields,
&C. At six years old the child is taken to the German
school, for the mother-tongue is to be tau^t before
adventuring on any other. Here he Is taught to resd,
write, reckon, and tiie elements of general history. Hie
school is to be divided into six classes, for each of which
a class-book in the mother -tongue is to be provided.
From this the pupil rises to the Latin echoed, where he
is instructed in grammar, physics, mathematics, dia-
lectics, &C., and so on to the highest branches of learn*
ing.
Comenins's principle, then, was— literally, and only too
literally— that everything within the cirde of human
knowledge was to be brought imder the view of his
pupils. Education was not to be restricted, as formoly,
to the learning of certain languages and sciences, but
was to be extended to a comprehensive survey of sll
that is, and passes around us, to an acquaintance wi^
the habits and customs of men, their occupations and
trades, natural and mental science. Thus, also, his
system embraced the training of the body as wdl as the
mind, the moral as weU as the intellectnal fkcultiesL
As a specimen of the universality of his views, it may
be mentioned that his academiod plan included tl»
supervision of the sports of the pupils, and that a cer-
tain time in each week was set apart for the reading d
the public journals, in order to impart a knowledge of
what was passing in the political worid.
The reader will now have a general idea of what
Comenius meant when he said that everything ought
to be taught, and to be taught by experiment ; but the
best mode of conveying a thorough understanding of
his system will be to give a short account of some of
the many books composed by him for the use of
schools. The fundamental principle of theae books
is, that the learning of languages, especially of Latin,
should go hand in hand with the teaching of thing* ui
designed and explained by means of the limguage. ' The
schools,' says he, ' proceed on an erroneous principle in
teaching language first, and then proceeding to tmngs ;
the pupils are busied for several years wiUi the stndy
of language and the knowledge thereto appertaining,
and then for the fijrst time Uiey are presented witti
realities, such as mathematics, physics, &c. And yet
things are the substance, words only the accident —
things are the body, words the dothing. Things and
words should therefore be taught at the same time ; hut
things above all, as being the object of the understand-
ing and the language.' And he then proceeda, almost
in Ratich's words : — * In teaching language, it is wrtmg
to commence with the grammar, instead of beginning
with some author or schodbook, since tiie book Airnishei
the material of the language, and the form wiU be rap-
CHAMBRHH'S BDIKBtJBOH JOURNAL.
251
plied by the grammar. So ezamplet must preoede ab-
stract mlet, imd in all cases the matter the form. The
proper plan, then, is to present pupils with a cydopsedia,
as it were, of things to be taught, which is to be gradu-
ally rend^ed more and more extensive ; and every lan-
guage, art, and science is first to be learned according
to its simplest rudiments, and then more ftdly by means
of roles and examples, idl exceptions being systemati-
odly adduoed.' The last sentence expresses the object
which Comenins proposed to himself in all his works ;
an object which, he says unreasonably enough, cannot
be obtained by reading the classics, since they do not
treat of all subjects. His own works were, in Uct,
Latin phrase-books, containing, in enoyolopsddio arrange-
ment, the terms and principles of the rarious branches
of knowledge as then understood. The first of these
in the order of publication was the ' JanuaB Beseratss ;'
bat he afterwards produced an amended edition of it,
making it the second of his course. This course com-
menced with the ' Janu» Beseratss Yestibulum,' which
was intended as a class-book for the lowest dass of the
school organized by Comenins at Patah in Transylvania.
In the 'Yestibulum,' to use his own quaint words, the
foundations of language are laid down ; in the * Januie '
the essential parts of the building are erected ; in the
'Atrium' the ornamental portions are added ; and the
scholar may then enter the palace of authors — that is,
betake himself to the authors themselves. The * Ves-
tibulnm' commences with the consideration of things
individually, substantives alone being introduced — as,
for instance, ' the elements are, fire, air, water, earth.
In the sky are the heavenly bodies, from which pro-
ceed beat and cold. The heavenly bodies are, the sun,
moon, and stars. In the sun is light; without light
there is darkneo,' &c. ; and so on through trees, ani-
mals, man and his occupations. We then come to the
qualities of things, and are presented with adjectives.
'The sua is bright or obscure} the moon fhll moon or
hslf moon,' &c We then go on to pronouns and verbs
— as ' everything can be or do something. The action
of God is to create, to sustain,' &c. l%en follow the
various actings of man by the members of his body, his
mind, and so forth. In the same manner the author
pursues his way Uirough all the various parts of speech.
The 'Yestibulum' was accompanied by a rudimentary
grammar, and a glossary of the whole <x the words con-
tained in the text.
The * Janme,' in the first edition, was a phrase-book,
consisting of one tiiousand Latin sentences on all sub-
jecta, beginning with the creation of tiie world, and
condnding with a chapter on angels. The second
* JanusB ' was a more complicated work, consisting of Uiree
parts. Of these, the first is an etymological lexicon,
arranged aooording to the roots, so as stiU to keep up
the connection between words and facts, in the follow-
ing manner: — 'jFui-is-it omnia, et ostendit rei-em;
k.€n alem causam. De-ibos agrorum saepe sunt lites,
quaa-itor de-it' That is, FbtU, the end ; finite finishes
all tUsgs, and shows Jhtem^ the end of the thing ; h,e^
Jmidewi, the final cause. With regard to ftnibus, the
boundaries of fidds, there are often disputes, which
/Mtar, the surveyor, ^Jbiii, defines. In this way the
pupil goes over about 2600 roots, together with the
words derived from and compounded with them, and
the rules of derivation and composition are then c^ven.
This is fiAowed by a grammar; and lastly bv the text,
whidi is the same as that of the ' JanusB* m the fint
efitkm, though much enlarged.
The ' Atrium' also consists of three parts, beginning
with grammar, which Comenius defines as the art ot
■peaking elegantly; and the treatise relates, in fact,
rather to what is generally styled rhetoric, than to strict
grammar. This is fiiUowed by the text and lexicon,
llieie three works were intended to be dass-books of
the tiiree lowest classes in the Latin sdiod, after com-
pleting wludi, the pupOs were to betake themsdves to
the reading of the dasinciy and a more extended course
ofiMy.
Besides these works, which we have subjected to
special consideration, as containing a regular course of
school-instruction, Comenius was the author of many
and elaborate treatises, all tending to the development
of his one great idea— a system of pansophistic, or uni-
versal education. Of all his productions, however, the
* Orbis Pictus/ that which he perhaps considered, on its
philosophical merits, of least value, is the one by which
his name is best and most advantageously known. It
is similar in its general method to the 'Janus,' but
witii this most important addition, that it is prohiselv
adorned wiUi pictures illustrative of the subjects treated.
Comenius had long fdt that the want of pictures was
a serious defect in his books. His prindple being, that
instruction must proceed on the basis of actual practice
and personal appredation, it followed that where this
ooula not be obtained, the want could only be supplied
by visible representations. Comenius saw that the
teaching realities by a series of barren descriptions,
devoid of that which could make them best appreciable
by his pupils, was little better tiian the verbal realism
which he nimsdf decried. So strong was his feeling on
this subject, that he had made every exertion to get
illustrations for his previous works ; but in vain ; nor
was it without great trouble, and much loss of time,
that he succeeded in supplying this desideratum in the
' Orbis Pictus.' The realisation of Comenius's great
prindple, that instruction in things must go hand in
hand witii instruction ia words— that the knowledge of
words by themsdves is vain — ^was only promised in the
' JanusB :' in the ' Orbis Pictus' that promise was ful-
filled ; and how admirably the work was fitted for its
purpose, may be inferred from the popularity enjoyed
by ft firom its first appearance in 1651 up to the pre-
sent day. The ' Orbis Pictus ' has been translated into
several languages ; and with many alterations, often no
amendments, on the quaint force of the original, is still
a favourite diild's book in Germany.
It is unnecessary to enter at length on the many
points on which there is a striking similarity between
the prindples of Batich and Comenius : the slightest
examination will show how dose was the agreement
between them, both in general views and on spedal
points; in none more than on the inexpediency d
harshness, and the advantages of renderinff instruction
agreeable to the pupils. There was tms additional
similarity between them, that the prindpal error into
which Comenius fell was occasioned by his carrying
his own principles to excess. We have seen that
whilst altogether averse to the neglect of the mother
tongue, he insisted on the most thorough study of
Latin. His object in this seems to have been a fan-
tastic idea that Latin might be made the universal lan-
guage of the world ; but be this as it may, the rules
which he lays down, as those on which language is to
be studied, are lost sight of in his Latin pluase-books.
* Latin,' says he, ' must be thoroughly mastered. By
which, however, I do not mean that every word of the
language must be known. Ton may understand Cicero
thoroughly, and yet not know the technical expressions
of handicraftsmen. Why not ? Because you have not
visited their workshops. It is not to be expected that
any one should trouble himself to learn those terms
in another which he is unacquainted with in his own
tongue. The meaning, therefore, of a thorough mastery
of a language in its rallest extent, is to be taken ac-
cording to the circumstances and necessity of each
student of it All must consequentiy learn the lan-
guage, so far as common to all who spei^ it ; but the
physician alone need learn the technical terms of medi-
dne, the divine the theolofficid.' But why, then, does
he object to the classics 'that they do not treat of all
subjects?' If they contain all that is requisite for
learning the language, so far as common to all who
speak it, is not this suffldent? Nay, why does not
Comenius remain true to the correct principle just laid
down by him in his own books ? They are crowded
with technical expressions and phrases relating soldy
to particular trades and occupations, collected with
incredible trouble, but totally uaelest. Latin they are
not, many of them being his own composition, and
such that, in the general case, the better the Latin
scholar, the more they would puzzle him. In tills way
near one-half of the * Orbis Pictus,' so far as Latin
is concerned, is useless. How, then, did Comenius fall
into this error ? Simply by a too literal carrying out
of his principle of parallelism between things and words.
The * Orbis Pictus was to embrace the universal world
of reality, and accordingly the verbal explanations of
the pictures must be equally universal. But why should
he embrace the universal world at all ? In attempting
to force upon the memories of his pupils — for it could
be nothing else — a mass of undigested minutise relating
to every art and science in existence, he was rejecting
the principle recognised by him in the study of lan-
guage. Was he not liable to tlie same objection as that
urged by him against the former system of instruction,
that it attempted to plant trees instead of sowing seeds ?
Pansophistic education, properly so called, consists not
in tiie teaching of everything, but in laying the founda-
tion for self-instruction in everything *, and Comenius
fell into the same error, though in a smaller degree, as
Ratich.
Allowing all due weight, however, to this failure on
the part of Comenius in carrying his theory into prac-
tice, the cause of education is still greatly indebted to
him. It is not merelv that in his works may be found
the original idea of the elementary school-books of
Pestalozzi and Basedow, as well as of almost every one
of those improved treatises for facilitating instruction
which issue daily from the press, but that he imparted
an altogether new view of education to thinking men in
general A witty author of the present day sums up
the instruction to be gained at a modern public school
thus:— 'When I left Eton, I could make fifty Latin
verses in half an hour; I could construe without an
English translation all the easy Latin authors, and
many of the difficult ones with it ,* I could read Greek
fluently, and even translate it through the medium of
a Latin version at the bottom of the page. I was
thought exceedingly clever, for I had been only eight
fears in acquiring all this fund of information. As
was never taught a syllable of English during this
period, and as one learns nothing now-a-days by inspira-
tion, so of everything which relates to English litera-
ture, English laws, and English history, you have every
right to suppose that I was, at the age of eighteen, in
the profoundest ignorance.* It was of such education
as this tliat Comenius first practically showed the fu-
tility; and it was to obviate such miserable waste of
time as that described above, that he composed his pan-
sophistic phrase-books. Following in the footsteps of
his master, he did Uiat for education which Bacon had
done with regard to philosophy in general At the pre-
sent day, it is almost impossible to realise the difficulties
wMch lay in his way, or the vast improvement offered
bv these little works, crude and meagre as they were, on
the previous means of tuition. In our present super-
fluity of illustration, both pictorially and otherwise, we
smile at the almost imintelligible pictures of the original
* Orbis Pictus,* and wonder at the anxiety which its au-
thor expresses to obtain such blind guides for his pupils;
and yet there can be no doubt that the appearance of tlus
book forms in itself an era in the history of education.
Let any one — to take the simplest case — ^but imagine for
a moment the difference of the impression which would
be made on a youthful mind bv a picture, however rude,
of any animal, and that likely to be produced by the
most detailed description, and he will at once see the
importance of the Baconian principle, imparted by Co-
menius into education, that our own personal experience
is the true medium of instruction. How great was the
improvement effected, even in his own day, by his exer-
tions, is proved by the testimony of his contemporaries.
Adolphus Tasse, professor of mathematics at Hamburg,
writes : — * In every country In Europe the study of a
better method of instruction is pursued with enthusiaim.
Had Comenius done nothing more than kindle this
desire in the public mind, he would have done enough.'
A DAY IN THE GOVERNOB*S HOUSE.
' Henceforth,' says a recent writer, speaking of the
East, * a lovely and stately vision is ever present to
my mind and my heart . . . Mountains, valleyi, snd
oceans are now between us, but mental portriitore
can never be obliterated.' To this I yield a cordiil
assent ; for in far more vivid colours than any other
scenes of my life are those of a short residence ia
India painted on my memory; Baguerreotyped there
perhaps by that glorious sun, the remembrance of
which makes the brightest day of our northern ram-
mer appear pale and faded. My Eastern booie vti
the governor's house at Parell, a noble building, origi-
nally a Portuguese convent, surrounded by the neueit
likeness to an English park that ever I saw in Indii.
The chapel of former times has been made a nit
dining-room ; the chancel a billiard-room— a ssd de
secration, to which time, however, has reconciled the
inmates of the dwelling. Above this transformed church
a suite of drawing-rooms has been built, opening into
lofty stone corridors hung with the painted Umpi of
China. The sleeping apartments are also in soitei, and
to each is attadied a sitting-room and bathi. The
jalousied windows of our chambers commanded a floe
view of the Kandalla Hills ; and Inunediately benetth
them lay Uie garden, which, though rather quaint tod
formal was very pretty. In the centre path, oppodte
the dining-room, stood that loveliest of onuunenti, t
fountain, having on eadi side of it one of thoie till
trees, the berries of which are natural castanets, thst
ring most musically in every breeze, bringing to remem-
brance the singing-tree of the * Arabian Nights.' From
the branches of these leafy musicians a magnificent
creeper hung in a festoon over tlie fountain, snd the
sparkling water, playing high above it, left in its descent
many a liquid opal on its large white bell -shaped
flowers. Beyond these opened a glimpse of the tank,
shaded by lofty palms.
A day spent in tills Eastern dwelling wu so diiie-
rent in its routine, its business, and its pleaiuree, from
one passed in busy England, that a sketch of the 'saj-
ings and doings' of four-and-twenty hours there may
not be void of interest to those who know Uttle of the
detaU of Oriental life; in which *the golden hoon'
glide by in such a sweet monotony, that a pictare of
one day would image forth nearly aU the yeiy ••
Very regularly, at five o'clock every morning, tiie
crows awidce, and by their discordant matins effec-
tually banish sleep; a very unromantic ending to
pleasant dreams ; but the freshness of the monuog
air stealing through the jalousies atones for the nn-
gracious noise. Those of our household who rode or
walked early then prepared for their excursion; for
myself, I preferred the * between sleeping and wskiog
of the coolest hour of the day, except on a fev occa-
sions, when I was tempted to sketch by starlight Gn-
duaUy this half sleep U disturbed bv the lov plashing
of water, as the bearers conmnence filling the hath; an
employment of some duration, as it is efl^cted byhnng'
ing the water in jars called chattie* up severs! fligot>
of stairs. The bath is undoubtedly the greatest haofT
of the East: one lingers in it as long as possible, ^
the toilet which follows is in the heat a weary task;
though, on returning to the sleeping-room, the rp^f^rj
ment of a cup of tea and biscuit is always presented
to the bather. On issuing from our chamber, we wtfj
greeted in the long corridor beyond it by the •'■^^Jjj*
servants, who had passed the night there— the hesd-
servants, the seapoy, the bearers, and a gardener; the
last of whom held on a salver his firagraot m?°^
offering of a bouquet of red roses, tied round a sU<*ro
preserve them from the warmth of the hand, ai^ b«J^
in rose-water to increase tiieir freshness. This piwy
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUROH JOUBNAL.
253
gift is offered with a profound salaam, and a grace
which is apparently the inheritance of the children of
the East
The corridor we traTersed was a gallery open on one
side with jaloosies; on the opposite wall hang some
ptctnres^ on which, from the train of thought thev
awoke, I conid never gaze without feeling touched.
They were Tiews of SctDtland, and a fad^ likeness
of Kiel 6ow, memorials of the patriotic feelings of
a former and Scotch governor. But the climate of
India is unfriendly to the arts. The monsoon is the
unsparing enemy of pianos and pictures ; and the
Tiews of the Falls of the Clyde and Melrose Ahbey
have become, under its influence, rerr ghostly and
faded images of the distant scenes they represent
Nine o'clock brought breakfast, a meal consisting of
fish (of which the pomfret is perhaps the best), curry,
mutton-chops, grilled chickens, eggs, guava-jelly, mar-
malade, limes, oranges, mangoes, bananas, tea, &c. At
its dose the serrants bring finger-glasses, in which are
fragrant lime leaves, a delightful addition to the cool
water they contain. Over the breakfast table a punkah
is suspended. As we dispersed to our several morning
occupations, we saw a number of horses on the lawn in
front, led about by the grooms, and adorned with
strings of the calamata-flower. On inquiry, we found
that the day was the * festival of horses,* and that their
owners were expected to give a hvcksheesh to the ani-
mals* attendants, part of which was devoted to reli-
gious purposes — if such a term can be applied to a
heathen sacrifice — and the rest to a grand entertain-
ment among themselves.
The governor had retired to his office, whither he
was speedily followed by a royal suppliant, whose ap-
proach excited no small amusement. We were standing
in the drawing-room, when fVom the grand staircase
rote the sudden apparition of a couple of large blankets
held sideways by six bearers, so as to form a sort of pas-
sage. Within this extraordinary veil walked the Eastern
princess, her tiny and jewelled ankles and naked feet
being visible below it She did not deign to take any
notice of us; but without appearing to observe any
one in Ihe room, the procession iboved slowly and
solemnly past us, and ascended to the Burra Sahib's
apartment Here, as we afterwards learned, she stepped
firom her screen, and after a speech to the governor,
informing him that she considered him as a father,
and hia private secretary as her brother, she lifted her
veil, and displayed the features of an elderly Hindoo
woman, which are almost invariably plain even to
ugliness. The request she came to proffer was, that
she might marry her minister ; but for certain political
reasons, the Burra Sahib had the cruelty to refuse her;
and after trying all kinds of eloquence unavailingly, the
disappointed lady returned behind her blanket screen,
and departed in the same singular and solemn state in
which she had appeared. As strange, or even a stranger
guest, occupied the remainder of the governor's morn-
ing. This was a chief whose mother had vowed before
bis birth ^t if Siva granted her a certain prayer, her
diiM, when he had attained a proper age, should creep
on his hands and knees to pay his homage to the nearest
English ruler. The fated period had now arrived, and
the involuntary pilgrim, in obedience to his mother's
vow, had crawled nearly seven hundred miles, t^dng
many weary days or nights for the journey, and gained
Farell, his hands and knees torn and wounded by bis
terrible toiL I missed seeing him, and regretted the
circumstance much, as such unselfish performance of
duty gave him a strong hold on our interest
Tiffen, or luncheon, was ready at hidf-past two, and
in the profusion and variety of the viands, greatly sur-
passed the breakfast The attendants, who wait behind
eadi person's chair, are Parsees^ — the ancient fire-wor-
shippers, or Ghebers of Persia, who fled from Moham-
medan persecution to Bombay, and have there risen,
by their talent and energy, far above the original lords
of the land. Tiffen is tiie time when in general all
the family assemble, and occasional visitors are re-
ceived. It is, I believe, usual for people to take a
siesta after luncheon; in this Eastern custom, how-
ever, we did not indulge, but read, played, or worked,
as in England, till five o'clock, when the carriage was
announced, and we went for our usual drive. The
governor's equipage is always attended by a cavalry
guard; and on this occasion it was frt>m the Hindoo
Uncers his escort was chosen ; whose slim forms, dark
complexions, gay uniform, and the fluttering pennon at
the head of their lances, added greatly to the picturesque
effect of the runners with gold sticks, and the gaudy
gorra- wallahs belonging to the turn-out Our drive was
either to the esplanade outside the fort, where the regi-
mental bands generally played, or (as on the day I am
describing) to the Breach — a broken shore' facing the
setting sun. It was a long and picturesque drive ; the
road being sometimes bordered by cotton -trees, at
others winding through cocoa-nut groves, and at inter-
vals giving to view Uie round towers in which are the
Parsees' sepulchres. Here the hateful vultures have
their haunt, and sometimes swoop low, over the carriage,
gorged with their foul repast upon the dead ; for on a
grating upon the top of these towers the Parsee corpse
is laid to be devoured by the birds of prey, the bones
falling through in time, and thus making way for an-
other body. The Breach is the loveliest spot in Bom-
bay ; it is a winding shore, on which the waves of the
Indian Ocean lose themselves amongst small and low
black rocks. A grove of palm-trees bounds the view
towards the south ; a Hindoo temple towards the north ;
and on the landward side of the road, black broken
rocks are crowned by the palmyrene, in whose fan-like
crown of leaves and branches the bird which, like the
Parsee, loves the light, hangs her nest with fireflies.
And here, at sunset, a singular and impressive scene
presented itself. Our carriage was at first alone, but
presently several white-robed Parsees made their ap-
pearance, and standing in a line on the shore, offered
their worship to the elemente in silence. Then a
mounted Affghan gallopped up, and springing from his
steed, spread his prayer-carpet, and commenced the
gesticulations of Mohammedan devotion, laying his
forehead on the earth. At a little distance, by the way-
side, a Hindoo knelt in prayer. His altar was a red
stone with a flag over it The stillness of the hour —
for not a sound was audible except the dash of the
waves — added greatly to the interest of the scene ; and
the carriage was kept stationary here for some time,
the gorra-wallahs fanning away the insecte from the
hordes till the moon rose, when by its dear pure light
we drove homewards.
That evening was to be marked by a display of royal
favour to the first descendant of Shem who (since
Saladin I) has received the honour of knighthood. After
a grand dinner, the governor was to present to Sir Jam-
setjee Jecjeebhoy, a Parsee, a gold medal set with dia-
monds, and bearing her Majesty's likeness, as a present
from the Queen. The dinner hour was eight, and the
party consisted — what would people think of such
a dinner-party at that season? — of eighty persons!
It is the duty of the aides-de-camp to arrange the pre*
eedeiice properly ; and as the Anglo-Indians are some-
what jealous of the essential privilege of going down
stairs first the East India Company have given certain
rules by which the judgment of the gentlemen of the
staff is guided : one point being, that all the civil and
military people of the Company's service shall precede
the Queen's. A dinner at the government house is a
grand affair. The stairs are of black marble, and on
each step stand two Hindoo soldiers, each with a drawn
sword ; flowerpots of choice planta being also placed
near them on the same wide step. The dinner is served
in the Bussian fashion : a splendid display of plate,
fruit and flowers on the table, and a bill .of fare on
everybody's plate, from which all choose their repast
These biUs of fare are curious, from the mode of expres-
sion adopted m them by the Parsee writer. After
Boap, fish, &0. *cock-tarkey roast* generally heads an
endless list of strangely-spdled dishes { * plumpudding
boU* and * bananas /^' being almost always in the eata«
logoe of the second course. About eighty serrants wait
on the guests at Parell : in priyate houses it is usual,
we were told, for the guests to bring their own attend-
ants to wait at table.
When the gentlemen came into the drawing-room,
preparations were made for the presentation of the
medaL A small table, covered with a Telvet cushion,
was brought to tbe upper end of the principal drawing-
room, and the governor took his place beside it The
Farsee knight was then led forwaM by the secretaries ;
he was a tall, fine old man, with a most benevolent ex-
pression in his dark eyes and on his lofty brow. He
was dressed in the costume of his nation — a flowing and
snowy-white robe girt round the waist with a rich
scarlet shawl of Cashmere, and on his head the stiff
square cap, covered with deep lilac cotton, which was
originally a badge of degradation and inforiority im*
posed on his race by the Hindoos (as the yellow cap
was during the middle ages on the Jews), but is now
retained by the Ghebers as an honoured memorial of
their adherence to their ancient faith. The governor
presented him with the golden gift in the Queen's name,
informing him that It was a token of her Majesty's
esteem, and of her sense of the munlflcenoe he had dis-
played towards her subjects, he having in the course of
a year bestowed the immense sum of L.90,000 in charity
on Europeans. The Parsee listened with looks of intense
gratification ; and when the governor ceased speaking,
drew a paper from his girdle, and read his answer of
thanks very intelligibly. He was then presented to the
ladies near him ; and his little daughter was introduced.
She was a lovely child, of about ten years of age, wear-
ing a head-dress similar to her father's, and in her nose
a splendid ring, about the circumference of htdf-a-crown,
to which were suspended an emerald and two large
pearls. This ornament is by no means unbecoming,
and is equivalent in signiflcation to our wedding-ring.
We learned, however, that the little Perojeebhoy was
not betrothed, as is usual at her age, her father, with
singular liberality, leaving her the privilege of choosing
her husband ; but that he judged it expedient to con-
form to the prejudices of his caste by making her wear
the nose jewel. Her attire otherwise consisted of a
scarlet satin tunic covered with figured lace, trousers of
the same materials, a close jacket of dark-blue satin, and
four necklaces— one of emeralds, another of sapphirea,
and the others of large pearls and diamonds: these
costly (^naments were valued at L. 10,000, or a lac of
rupees. The Parsee girls are allowed to mix in society
till they attain the age of twelve, when they are dosely
shut up in the zenana ; and it is not considered etiquette
to make even an inquiry after their health of their hus-
tMinds.
Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy owes his immense fortune,
estimated at L.800,000 a year, solely to his industiy
and energy. He was originally a hottle-vxtllah, or seller
of old bottles ; but by carefhlly husbanding small gains,
and Hving flrugally, was at last able to speculate in
opium, and other branches of Oriental traffic His com-
mercial genius directed these speculations so judiciously,
that he is now the richest of his race, and the gold thus
won is used for the noblest purposes. The sum men-
tioned above on the authority of the governor, an hos-
pital erected and endowed at his own expense, a cause-
way to unite the islands of Salsette and Bombay,
formerly a dangerous passage — are but a few public
instances of his beneficence. When he drives out, he
has always a bag office (halfpence) beside him to throw
to the poor, and is of course followed by a strange and
motley crew. Dancing followed the presentation, and
terminated at eleven by the performance of * God save
the Queen.' We asked the young Parsee if she would
like to dance ? She replied very quietly, • No : when I
wish for dancing, I need not do it myself; I get people
to dance* for me ; and I wonder the rich English do not
so likewise, instead of dancing themselves.' She mide
the same observation with regard to music, a itietcb of
philosophical contempt for the fine arts which we fining
much more difficult to pardon. At deven we retired
for the night, passing again through the pictore-gslleiT,
the fioor of which was now partially covered with dem.
ing figures, dosely muffled m bug robes, and extended
on mats ; one Parsee boy being diirtlnguiBhed firam his
companions by a floating drapery of &ver game orer
his head and shoulders. Through the pai%ally-open
jalousies shone the ludd stars, looking so dearly brigiit
and solemn, that (but for the mosquitoes) one hmged to
keep a vigil on ' the house-top,' and watch thdr lileDt
courses. But the shrill horn of the tiny tormeDton
hovering round us forbade the wish : tiiis is fiiek hou,
and their reign is a despotic one. No marvel oae oto>
not see a feature of the dark visages of the deepen;
they are muffled from the burning sting or bite (tf thne
evil genii, who as effectually destroy repose as if thej
were so many troubled consdences.
At the end of the c<^dor stood an unkindled Jaggrj/,
or iron basket of charooal, wiUi a ketUe and a &a nev
it, in case the * ma'am sahibs' should require tea in the
night ; and near it sat our seapoy Juan, a taU grMefal
Hindoo, waiting our coming with his sword beside hio,
before he also went to sleep, which he did on the mit
outside our silken screen. A cup of tea,and a ihoeof
bread and butter, ocmstituted our evening mesl, and thn
we prepared for rest. The lamps oi coooa-not oil veie
placed on the matting; the mosquito net had beat al-
ready let down, as, if kept up after five o'dock, there is t
chance of a mosquito finding a hiding-plaoe within it
The bed itself is raised from Uie floor, and stands on nmU
stone pedestals, hdlowed, and filled with water, to pfi-
vent the ascent of ants or other insects. Getting witiiiB
the mosquito net must be a very rapid aduevement, and
is effected while the ayah waves a large fan round, to
keep off the tiny foe ; it is then dosely seooied, tbe
candlea extinguished, and all seek repose. Thii, neT6^
theless, is sometimes difficult of attahunent, as oocsnoO'
ally the heat at night is intderably oppressive, and the
noises are varied and ceaseless : snakes hits; a oertiin
unknown inseet snores so like a man, that at lint I
laid the blame of the disturbance on Juan ; and the
jackals that cross over from Elephanta in sesreh of
prey, utter thdr shrill wail, wluoh bears a wM
resemblance to the cry of an iiiCaot Tbwards nudnigli^
lights glancing by tiie palm-trees near tbe tank, tbi
sound of the tom-tom, and of an instnunsnt veiy Vikt
a bagpipe, announced a native wedding in tbe ^Skfi,
reoallmg the beautiAil parable of the Bridal Yirgim;
and before the last shnll tones became inaodihle, ve
were in the land of dreams, gazing on home iinageii and
hearing long ailent voices ; for in sleep the East and iti
gorgeous visions were invariably forgotten, and we wen
again in that little northern iale which has bo e^ol
dther in the Western or Eastern world.
THE DEAF MUSICIAN.
It was the Mth of March 1827. In the pooriy-fif
nlshed apartment of a small house in Baden m Awtna,
an dd man was making preparations for a journey
He hastily folded within a knapsack a few dufflgajM
linen. The weather was odd, the windows were oovefed
with hoarfrost, and yet only a fow dying emben bmed
upon the hearth. Either the dd man's mind wai too
deeply engrossed to think of feeding the flame, or pe^
haps his scanty resources needed carefol husbsnding to
meet the expenses of his approaching journey.
In truth, the aspect of the room bespoke a stote «
want rather than of affluence. A bed with cnrtsttioi
faded green serge, a few antique arm-ehairs of ▼>™M
wood, covered with wdl-wom tapestry, a wataut tabi%
and a harpsichord, composed its entire tonitnie. Tw
harpsichord was strewed with music, partly >>». "^
script J and a flying sheet covered with netHj ffl^fjJJJ
notes, uid disflgu^ by oumeious eiasures, sbowetf
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
255
what had been the old man's recent emplojrment. The
oocapter of tiiia desolate abode was between fifty and
sixty yean of aga His lofhr forehead, encircled bv
bcla of sUyer gray, beamed with intelligence, although
he appeared Iwwed down beneath the weight of some
greal afflirtinn. A dark fire kindled in his hasel eyes,
and bis cheeks, lowing wi^ one br^ht feyerish spot of
haotio oolour, contrasted strangely with the deadly pale-
MSB which orerspread the rest of his countenance.
Wfaeo tiie knapsack was made up, the old man ap-
proaehid the taUe, on which lay an open letter,
stamped with the Vienna postmark. He took it up,
and stood a while with his eyes fixed on its contents,
thooffh it only contained these fisw words : —
* My dear Uncl&— Pardon me the grief which I am
occtsloning yoa { but implicated in an unhappy trans-
action, I have just reoeiyed an order to quit Vienna,
wbeooe I am commanded for the Aiture to absent my-
•e^ I beseech you to come to my aid i you alone can
save mt. Adieu. John.'
"Diis letter came from a nephew whom he had brought
up, and whose disorderly conduct had rendered neces-
sary the rigorous mandate which now banished him
from the capital.
When the old man had perused it once more, he ap-
peared confirmed in his resolution, and with his knap-
sack in one hand, and his walking-stick in the other,
he prepared to set out. But on reaching the threshold,
he tonied back, and casting a look of deep regret on
this modest asylum, where he had long and happily
dw^t, he sighed; then, as if attracted by a magic
cluuin, he letumed to his harpsichord, and quickly lay-
ing down wha^ he held in his hands, he ran his fingers
over the discoloured notes of the instrument. His
gloomy and dejected countenance was ipulually lighted
up with an expression of intense happiness, and a sub-
lime strain ascended towards Heaven, a fitting hymn
of praise to the Almighty.
As be plnnged into these regions of harmony, it
seemed as if his spirit had Ud adieu to earth, and soared
to the reafana above in search of consolation. But soon
an was again silent ; the old man wept ; he heaved a
deep sigfa, and exclaimed — * And to think that I can
hear nothing ! ' Alas ! he was deaf.
The poor pilgrim again took up his stafl^ and set
forth on his journey. At the turning of the street, he
once more looked round on the humble dwelling where
he had passed the last ten years of his life, shut out bv
his infirmity from the sounds of the external world.
Musb for km only existed Mfithin the soul. He walked
on ii^ the eoontry; for, l^ way of husbanding his
soi^ tikK% be was going on root firom Baden to Vienna.
The evening closed in : the old man stopped before a
peasant's ooitage. He had presumed too much on his
strength, having expected, before nig^t closed in, to
reach Vienna, m}m which the village of Baden is only
ten leagues distant He had walked vigorously, but
night approached, and he felt his strength failing him.
He knocked at Uie door ; a young girl opened it, ask-
ing liim iHuit he wanted. The old man, who guessed
her qoestioii from the movement of her lips, replied,
' Hoqiitality, my good girL' * Come in then : there is al-
ways a welcome at my father's hearth for the benighted
trmveller.' Thus coNUally invited, he entered a large
room, whexe the firugal evening repast was smoking
upon a homely table. A cover was quickly laid for him
near the Csther of the family, and he sat down to table
with yie firiendly household group. After supper, he
seated himself in an old leathern arm-chair by the
dumMor«comer : a cheerful fire blazed upon the hearth.
The mother and daughter cleared the taUe, whilst tke
fiUher evened an old harpsichord, and the three sons
took down their instruments which hung against the
wafl. They consisted of an alto, a violonc^lo, and a
hautboy.
The p^ormen attuned their instruments, the mother
aad daughter seated themsdves with their work near the
fire, whm a single lamp afforded the needfhl light. The
father gave the signal, and the four musicians began a
piece with that ensemble, with that knowledge of mea*
sure, which the Germans possess beyond aU other na-
tions. By decrees their eyes kindled, divers emotions
were depicted on their countenances, they abandoned
themselves to the ardour of the senthnent wiUi which
they were transported. The two women listened whilst
they ahnost held in their breath. Thcdr work fell firom
their hands. The music ceased— they exchanged looks
of delight— the young girl kissed her father's gray hairs
with emotion : they forgot the presenoe of their guest.
He had followed all their movements with a longing
eye, for his deafness prevented his hearing a single note
of the music which had so deeply afl^cted them.
< Oh how happy you are,' he said with a filtering
voice, 'to be able to ei\joy this delioious pleasure I
AlasI it is long since/ have been able to hear either the
human voioe, or music, which is the voice of God.
When I go out to meditate in the forest, I feel indeed
the wind which blows around me, but I mot not its
mighty voice, whilst it shakes the trees, or murmurs
among the leaves, mingling with the general harmony
of nature. When I return firom my walk at the close
of a fine summer's day, I can indeed see the young shep-
herdess as she leads hei fiook to be watered at the foun-
tain, but I cannot hear either her joyous song or the
tingling sound of the sheep-beUs. I can see the hurk fly
swiftly to the valley where her nest lies hidden, but I
hear not her mdomous voice mingling with the whis-
per of the breeze. Oh, music! harmony! it is my
lifb ; but, alas ! its vocal en)ression is lost to mo for ever.
Let me, I pray you, read tne pages which have so deeply
stirred you.' He rose, took the sheet in his hand, a
sudden paleness overspread his features ; he sunk upon
his seat overwhelmed with emotion.
He had just read upon the oover, * Allegretto, from
the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven.' ijl gathered
around him, and inquired the cause of his agitation.
When he was able at length to command his voice, he
arose fh)m his seat and said, * / am Beethoven!* At the
sound of this name the father lifted his woollen cap
fh>m his head, and the sons bowed with the deepest
reverence. Beethoven pressed their hands in his, and
wept for joy. The good peasants kissed these venerated
hands ; for this man they felt was the genius who had
lightened for them the daily burthen of life — ^the genius
so honoured in Vienna, that when he took his daily
walk, the passers-by exclaimed, * There is Beethoven !'
and silently made way fbr him, lest they should inter-
rupt his meditations. The peasants looked with un-
wearied delight on that noble brow where grief had
indeed stamped its fatal marks, but which still was
encircled wiui the halo of genius.
Beethoven then seated himself at the harpsichord,
and desiring the young people to take up their instru-
ments, he ^yed for them his own symphony. It was
a moment of unspeakable happiness.
When they had finished, Beethoven mproviM sublime
melodies : his spirit, breaking through the bonds which
enchained him to earth, seemed to rise triumphantly
towards Heaven.
The poor harpsichord under his hand gave forth
unwonted sounds— sometimes m^estic as the voice of
thunder, sometimes mysterious as the sighs of the
dying.
Alas I it was the song of the swan I A part of the
night thus glided on. llie bed usually occupied by the
faUier of the fsmily was prepared fbr Beethoven, and he
was constrained to accept it.
During the night he became fbverish, and to cool his
burning brow, he arose and went out into the open air
too slightly clad. The air was bitterly cold : the wind
groaned in the branches of the trees, and penetrating
rain drifted over the country. When the old man re-
turned, he was benumbed. The dropsy from which he
had long suflbred mounted to his chesi and too soon it
became apparent that all remedies were useless. He
was with difllculty transported to Vienna, where he was
256
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Tif ited by a physician, who pronounced his case a hope-
less one. Hummel, his dearest and truest friend, heard
of his danger, and flew to attend him in his last mo*
ments; but he was almost insensible. The words he
•ought to utter expired on his pallid lips. Still he
recognised his early friend, and thanked him with a
moumfdl smile. Hummel pressed the icy-cold hand
within his own with deep emotion.
When the dying man felt the pressure, his glazed eye
kindled with a momentary consciousness.
He sunk back upon the pillow. With a gentle sigh
the spirit had fled !
PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF THE ELECTRIC UOHT.
A series of beautiful experiments of a most interesting
character has been made at the establishment of Professor
Glukman, Saokrille Street, Dublin, before a number of
scientific gentlemen, who deemed the results in the highest
degree satisfactory. The principal object sought was to
asoertiun, among other appliances of the electxic light, its
power and capability of producing portrait by means ^
the Daguerreotype as a substitute for the solar rays. In
the effectuation of this process the several experiments
proved eminentlv succe^ul, and afforded the greatest
satisfaotion to all who had the privilege of witnessing
them. The electric battery employed was that of Mr
Qlassford, and under his direction. The Ulnmination
obtained was of the most sunlike brilliancy, and remark-
able for its steady and luminous bearing on every point
towards which the focus of the reflector was directed.
The first experimeuts were on plates prepared by the ordi-
nary process — the battery being managed by Mr Glassford,
and the camera and Daguerreotype process by M. Glukman.
Portraits were instantaneously produced — the marked
fidelity of outline in which, witn the depth and delicacy of
shade, elicited the highest admiration. After the complete
success of the experiment in that respect had been estab-
lished, a new test of its power was essayed — namely, the
preparation of the glass or plate on which the portrait is
fixed by means of the electric light. In this novel and
ingenious applianoe the utmost success also rewarded the
efforts of the experimentalists. Surgeon Lover took the
direction of the battery ; and Mr Glassford having occupied
' the chair,* an exquisite portrait of that gentleman was
produced in a few seconds. Messrs Galbraith, Yates, and
others, who took much interest in the procciedings, also
tested the agency of the new power, and expressed' them-
selves delighted with the result. — Freeman''» Journal,
WHAT ALL MUST EXPECT.
Manhood will come, and old age will come, and the
dying bed will oome, and the very last look you shall ever
cast on your acquaintances wiU come, and the agony of the
parting breath wiU come, and the time when you are
stretched a lifeless corpse before the eyes of weeping rela-
tives will oome, and the coffin that is to enclose you will
come, and that hour when the company assemble to carry
you to the churchyard will come, and that minute when
you are put into the grave will come, and the throwing in
of the loose earth into the narrow house where you are
laid, and the spreading of the green sod over it-4ll, idl
will come on every living creature who now hears me ; and
in a few httle years, the minister who now speaks, and the
people who now listen, will be carried to their long homes,
and make room for another generation. No^ all this, you
know, must and will happen — your common sense and com-
mon experlenoe serve to convince you of it. Perhaps it
may have been little thought of in the days of careless, and
thoughtless, and thankless unconcern which you have spent
hitherto ; but I call upon you to think of it now, to lay it
seriously to heart, and no lonffer to trifle and delay when
the high matters of death, and judgment, and eternity are
thus set so evidently before you. And the tidings where-
with I am ohazged — ^and the blood lieth upon your own head,
and not upon mine, if you will not listen to them — the ob-
ject of my coming amongst you is to let you know what
more things are to come: it is to carry you beyond the
regions of si^ht and of sense, to the regions of faith, and to
assure you, m the name of Him who cannot Ue, that as
sure as the hour of laying the body in the grave comes, so
surely will also come the hour of the spirit returning to
the God who gave it. Yes, and the day of final reckoning
will come, ana the appearance of the Son of God in heaven,
and His mighty Uriels anmnd Him, wiU oome, and the
opening of the books win oome, and the standing of the
men of all generations before the judgment* seat wOl oome,
and the solemn passing of that sentence which is to fix you
for eternity will come.— />r Ckalmeris Scrmont ta Pos^&a-
mous Works,
A BENEVOLENT METHOD OV SERYINO OHS*8 SEUT.
An Italian gentleman, with great sagacity, devised a
productive pump, and kept it in action at litUe expense.
The garden wall of his villa adjoined the great high road
leading from one of the oapitids of sorthem Iti^, fton
which it was distant but a few miles. Posseesing within
his garden a fine spring of water, he erected on the ontsi<fe
of the wall a pump for public use, and chaining to it a
small iron ladle, he plaoea near it some rude seats for the
weary traveller, and by a slight roof of climbing plants
protected the whole from the mid-day sun. in this delight-
ful shade the tired and thirsty tiavellers on that w^-
beaten road ever and anon reposed and refreshed them-
selves, and did not fkU to put in requisition the services
which the pump so opportunely presented to them. Vnm.
morning tul night many a dusty and wayworn pilgrim
plied its handle, and went on his way, blesnng the fiberal
proprietor for his kind consideration c^the passing stranger.
But the owner of the villa was deeply acquainted with
human nature. He knew that in that sultiy niim»»^ the
liquid would be more valued firom its scaieity, and from
the difficulty of acquiring it. He therefore, in order to
enhance the value of the gift, vrisely airanged the pump,
so that its spout was of rather contracted dknenaioBa, and
the handle required a moderate application of foroe to
work it. Under these circumstances, the pump raised fiv
more water than could pass through its spout; and to
prevent its being wasted, the surplus was conveyed by an
mvisible channel to a laige reservoir judiciously [daeea far
watering the proprietor's own house, stablea, and garden,
into which about five pints were poured for every spoonful
{>assing out of the spout for the benefit of the weary travel-
er. Even this latter portion was not entirely n^ilected,
for the waste pipe conveyed the part which ran over firam
the ladle to some delicious strawbeiry-beds at a lower level.
Perhaps, by a small addition to this ingenious arrangement,
some kind-hearted travellers might be induced toindalge
their mules and asses with a taste of the same cool and
refreshing fluid ; thus paying an additional tribute to the
skill and sagacity of the benevolent proprietor. My aeeooi-
plished friend would doubtless make a most popular chan-
cellor of the Exchequer, should his Sardinian majesty re-
quire his services in that department of adndnistiation. —
BcAhage"* Thoi^ihU on Tcucation,
EARTH NUTS.
The earth chestnut is the indigenous growth of our toil ;
but, like the potato plant, before its introduction into this
country as an article of sustenance, it is now quite ne-
glected, and nobody thinks it worth while to have a pint
in his garden, although it is as ptentifal in its native and i
wild state as the potato is in Peru, or in the first plaoe c( [
its discovery. Yet, by cultivation in two or three years, it i
will, I have not the least doubt, produce as luge a quantity
per acre, of a root three times more nuteitiouB than the
potato, and at less than one-fourth the expense. Hie plant
IS known to almost every schoolboy ; it grows in old pas*
tures, and is called in these parts jar nuts, earth nuts, or
earth chestnuts. The plant is like a small key, rather
larger than a parsley plant, and something like mt aW;
it bears a white fiower, and is to be found m almost all <^
pastures in any part of England. I planted aome roots of
theae nuts (but they may be produced frwn the seed as
well) in the year 1840, and they came up beautifrilly ; and
in the summer, when I dug them up, I found some of them
two inches in diameter, and nearly as laige as a man's fist
I roasted some of them, and found them delicious. They
somethinff resemble in taste the sweet potato of Virgfaiisi
or roasted chestnut of our own growth. They are a rich
vegetable production, containing more of the elements of
nutrition than the potato by three times at least, and wffl
be relished as well oy the conunnnity as soon as tibey can
be introduced.-— CbrreipoiMieii^ of Qardmen^ amd Farwten*
Journal,
Published by W. & R. CHAuaaaa, High Btnat, Edinbwfb.
sold by D. Chambkrs, SO Argyle Street, OUucow ; W. 81 Okk,
147 Strand, London ; and J. BTGlasrait, 21 D*01lcr aiRSt.
Dnblinw— Printsd by W. and B. Chambbbb, Ediabnivh.
CONDUOTBD BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF « CHAMBERS'S INFORHATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,' * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c
No. 278. New Series.
SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1849.
Price 1^.
LITERARY ASPIRANTS
I AM a literary man — that is to say, I have only my
inkstand lor my bank, and have no income to look for-
ward to but what dividend my brains can afford me. I
do oof, however, gmmble at my profession, for I weigh
iti advantages against its evils, and find they are both
nicely balanced, which I takp to be as average a state
of living as we should expect. Favonrable critiqnes
have ceased to make me vain, for I have passed my
first yonth ; and depreciating ones are no longer causes
of annoyance, for I express my own opinion at times
contrary to that of many others, and must expect others
in retani to do the same. I never abuse publishers if
they do not heap money on me when any work I have
sold them makes a * hit ;' on the contrary, I am glad of
it, because its publication has been a speculation on
thdr part ; and had it not succeeded they would have
been the loeers, whereas I was safe either way. And
lastly — ^which possibly will not be believed, but I don't
care— I am never sore when another book in my own
Ksv aehieves a success, beeause it most probably creates
new readers still ; and so, indirectly, we are all benefited
thereby. Writing for periodicals and journals is very
wearing work. Sometimes I am very worn and jaded
with family matters and the countless engagements of a
London life, even when I begin ; and sometimes I catch
rayadf heaving a deep sigh whilst penning what may
diaooe to be considered my best bits. But I reflect
thai possibly my earnings are lightly got in comparison
with those of others; and I know, from what I am
about to allude to^ that many believe they would be
gupnsa^j happy in my position.
I have worked very hard for these last ten years;
and by constantiy keeping my name before the public,
and DOW and then by fortunately observing something
wWch they tiiemselves perhaps knew of, and placing its
actuality in a pleasant or appropriate light before them,
have been considered as one of a somewhat insecure
rlasn that of * popular ' light authors. Hence my name
ia tidenbiy w^ known, as I find from letters which
arrive from remote parts of England, bearing unknown
postmarks, asking for my autograph ' to add to a col-
lection which,* &c But I am assured of this, in a man-
ner certainly more troublesome, by certain individuals
to whom I am about to allude.
Unlees one is in a position to become acquainted with
them, nobody can form an idea of the swarms of aspi-
raats bursting to appear in print in London, and, I
doobt not, the United Kingdom generally. Editors of
magazines know the number of immature communica-
tions they receive, aiming at the higher styles of com-
poattioD, but they do not come in contact with the
aatlMca. The manuscripts are *left with the publisherSk'
mad are called for, and that is aU. It is only your ac-
cessible authors who understand fully the daring ener-
gies of the * great unprinted * of the present day.
If we by chance encountered a man who all at once,
not being hitherto accounted a mechanic, fancied he
could make a church dock, and proceeded gravely to
file out pieces of brass, and fix them in certain positions,
with the notion that they would work, and infonn the
town of the time of day, we should say he was remark-
ably fbolish, to use no stronger terms. And yet every
known literary man will tell you that every week he
has a novel sent him, in manuscript, either by a friend
or through his introduction, the first work of a person
who, with scarcely a knowledge of putting down a
phrase, or the sim^st elements of the art of composi-
tion, dashes at once at the conventional three volumes,
and, as is usual in such cases, only building the cha-
racters fVom typeiB that struck his fancy on reading,
and which he thought he could imitate, instead of ori-
ginating, introduces us to all those old friends in slightiy
new dresses, characteristic of such productions. The
subsequent history of these works is always the same.
The literary man is worried into taking the manuscript
to a publisher, but of course he cannot recommend it
It is returned, and the author, burning to rush into
print, pays heavily for some feeble utterer of false novels
to bring it out. Favourable notices in the reviews are
begged by all sorts of private manoonvres ; people read
these, get the work, and are grievously disappcunted ; a
heavy stock remains on hand, and the author gets off
luckily with the loss of a hundred pounds. I have re-
marked that the majority of these amateurs are ladies ;
and here at times one*s gallantry is severely tested.
But it is always in the end kinder and more charitable
to crush these aspirations at once, than, by a seemhig
approval, to lead the writers into all kinds of quicksands
and difficulties.
The aokateur novelists are bad enough in their way»
but they are nothing to the dramatists of the same
order. It does not appear to be generally known, even
amongst many actual authors, that to write a play which
shall have a chance of success requires not only great
terseness, and almost epigrammatic closeness of expres-
sion, but also a practical knowledge of the mechanical
exigencies of the theatre — a story in which a peculiarly
constructed or culminaHng interest is needed, and an
experience in the action of the different soenes^*aU
which being not attended to, will weary the public, and
make them hiss. But our aspirants do not think of all
this. One of tiiem calls iq>on a friend, who may have
had one or two successful pieces produced, and some-
thing like this conversation ensues :—
Amateur. I wish you would look over a piece I have
got here. {_T%e literary Jriend trembles^ as he knows that
in his ohiffoHuigr closet there are a score qf numusor^ats
HaU for ^ 9ame pmrpose^vM potUe nolM,'] If you would
1
■end it to a manager, your recommendatidn would do
anything. [ TTiU is the old «tory, the mttateur forggttmg
that the author might compromise hie rejnUaHon for judg^
ment by ao doing,'}
Friend, Well, what if it?
A, It's in fire acts. [The comtaumce qf Aefrimd
falls f he having thought that it was a harmless farce, j It's
called 'Francesca.' Fve taken the subject from old
Itidian history. There's a great character for in
it A friend spoke to him about it, and he appeared to
like the notion. [7%is is the most fatal roch upon which
the barks of the amateurs are wrecked. They get some one
who knows a performer to mention it to Aim, and the poor
many not wishing to offend^ or driven into a comer, says he
thkUes Ae idea good,"]
F, Ah; do you know much about the mechanical
appUanoes of a theatre ?
A, Not a great deal. I hare gone for poetry and— if
I may call it so— elevated writing.
P. Yes, I see. [The friend lodes over ihe manuscript,
and sees speeches of two or three pages long; and the pteee
altogether would play dboUt seven hours,'] I hare not got
the time to read it, but I will give you a note of intro-
duction to Mr , the manager, and I am sure he will
pay attention to your views.
A, [Emphatically.'] Oh— thank you.
The note is written, and the author starts off filled
with visions of a great success and being called before
the curtain. He leaves his piece, and the first glimpse
is sufficient to show that it is an amateur work— one of
the hundreds poured into a theatre during a season.
The manager wishes you would really not introduce
such rubbish to him. The manuscript is thrown by
amidst a pile; and the author every week begs you
will make an application for its return, as he has called
often and can get no reply. Then when he gets it, he
hunts you down for introductions to other theatres,
and alwajrs with the same effect ; and at last, fii^ding
this piece rejected everywhere, he sets to work and
writes another, assumes a oodnets towards you, and
fastens on another writer.
The most indefatigaUe class, however, are the asia-
rants to periodicals, and small poets. During my con-
nection with a tolerably well-known ' monthly,' scarcely
a day passed but one called, either an acquaintance or
with a letter of introduction. It was the same story
with alL * They knew I could do anything with .
Would I get the article into his magazine i^ upon read-
ing, I thought it suitable ?' I really did read a great
many of these, but none were ever availaUe. If the
notion was original, the style was either immature or
over-elaborated; and if betraying some knowledge of
ooostruction, the articles were nothing more than clever
imitations of popular writers. The would-be aspirants
to light literature were the most painful — those who
thought it comic to use such phrases as, ' the immense
sum of eighteen-pence,' or, *that specimen of sable
humanity yclept a chimney-sweep;' or believed that
humour consisted in a simple change of synonymes,
sodi aa calling an old maid an 'antiquated spinster ;'
or in that elalxH^tion of meaning by which a dancing-
master was described as ' a professor of the saltatory
art' (which, according to the present stvle, he is not) ;
and the simde word * married' could only be explained
as * led to the hymeneal altar.' In fact, the drollery
chiefiy aimed at was of the school in which police cases
are written by facetious reporters. I once heard fh>m
the treasurer of one of our largest theatres, that in the
course of twelve years he never knew an amateur play
accepted ; and I may add, in like manner, that during
my connection with the magasine I never knew an
amateur * funny' paper made use of. Yet the constant
rebuffs do not check the aspirants. With the elasticity
of Indian-rubber balls, which would be invaluable other-
wise directed, the harder they get knocked down the
higher they rebound.
The poets, as a mass, are less troublesome, for the
iSMhion-books and annuala open sooie leAige to than.
Besides, their productions being usually oomparativelj
short, they can with less expense get them printed and
published. In this latter case it is curious to observe
that the preface is always the same. The author invm-
riably remarks, that ' several kind, but in this instanoe,
he fears, too partial friends, have suggested the publi-
cation ; ' and then he assumes the habits of the * lion ' in
society, loves to read his own works, gasps for notices,
and believes, in common with most young authors, tibat
his ideas have pervaded the entire world.
Perhaps the aspirants will now ask, * How does anj-
body begin?' If they are curious to know, I will tell
them how I began myself: and I pray thenoi not to
accuse me of egotism, which would be most cootenip-
tible, hot rather look upon the statement as a wiah to
show them that I am practical and somewhat expe-
rienced, when I say that I have written several novds,
and produced several plays, whidi have met with more
or less success ; that I have now and then attempted
poetry, when applied to by composers for the wora <tf
ballaos; l^at I have written sketches for magirfnos,
criticisms and notices for newspapers, and paragimplie
for light ephemeral periodicals; in fSust, that I have
gone ttirough all the work which a man must be em fasd
at to attain even the humblest position in the hig^-
pressure literature of the present day.
I began, then, as every profession ought to he com-
menced, with the rudiments. I used first to make up,
with great care and trouble, small paragrafriia and no-
tions which struck me as I walked about, for IMe
penny pubUcataoBS, and put them, unknown to mnj ane,
into the editor's box. This was when I waa at aehooL
Sometimes these were printed — which was a droom*
stance of great but secret glory to me ; sometimes they
never appeared, and I heaM no more of them. After a
time, I began to see the style which waa uanally the
most fortunate. I found that little domestic sketches,
made fh)m actual observation, and not comic in-renttoD,
were readily accepted. The materials for ^eae were
within my grasp ; indeed, never having read moeh, I
did not attempt to soar beyond titem. My paragraphs
grew to sketches} my sketdies to more flniaiuM^ AJin^^
Uons ; and at last I tried a short story, and sent it to a
periodical which was exactly the size of the old *■ Mirror.'
It was directly accepted and printed ; and with an en-
gagement forthwith to write at half-a-crown a oolomn,
I considered my fbrtune made.
The periodical fUled; but I was still so ddigfated at
communicating my notions to (as I considered) the
world, and fancying t^y sympathised wiUi aooia of
them, that I went on writing for nothing, when eer-
tainly I ought to have been at times attending to aosae*
thing else. I then went to studv abroad ; and an ad-
venture occurring to me, which found its way into
the London papers, I was applied to by the editor of a
magazine to send in an account of it This waa an
honour I had never dreamed of. I transmitted 1117
seven or eight pages, and they appeared. Two or three
kind opinions were passed on the artide \ and I aooa
found myself a regular contributor. I then began a
story, to be flinlsh^ in two chapters, one «w^ month.
There was something in the first that applied to
please my readers, and the editor asked me if I conid
not elongate it into six. When the fourth was sent in,
I was asked if I could not extend the sketch to the
length of a three-volume novd. I was so frightened at
this that I took two days to consider ; and at last, fai
great nervous anxiety and mistrust, acquiesced. Witii
this novel possibly you may be acqnainted; and its
completion and tolerably-favourable reception brought
me up to London. But otherwise I should never h»Ta
conceived so daring a project.
From this time I got a great deal to do, but I never
sought it. An engagement to write small essays 00
social topics for a paper, led me to the positioo of the
theatrical critic, on the secession of my predecwaor;
the principal reason for tiiis being that my style aad
(^iniQDs were known to the propristors. Than, as
OHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
259
ooDvtaDt ftttendanoe I got experienced in dramatic mat-
ten, and aav tolerably well what would, and what would
not flocceed, the authors used occasionally to ask my
opinion about hazardous points or effects in their works ;
and finally, one suggested that I should join him in
concocting a piece. Fortunately this was rery success-
ful, and I learned more on its production than years of
mere obsexratioa before the curtain would have taught
me. Then I tried a pJay, at a minor theatre, myself,
snd had ten shillings a night for it Sereral pieces in
two and three acts followed, with yarying luck, but
oerer Tery bad; and now I have product a dozen.
But I should think myself crazy to start on a five-act
piece, like all those whidi the aspirants wish to have
fiDrthwith accepted and represented,
I haTe thus endeaToured to show that the progress of
a literary man is very gradual — step by step, and each
step made sure before the next is taken. Amateurs
think because at times an author comes suddenly and
brilliantly b^ore them, whose name they were hiUierto
yTf«ip«i"»^ with, that this coiq} has been obtained all
at oooe. It is not so, however. Be sure that he has
worked long and patiently at other matters, and com-
■leooed wi£ the humblest compositions, and anony-
OKNuly. Bare instances to the contrary occur, it is
true; bat every rule has exceptions except one — and
thai is, when ao amateur, unprepared by experience,
and for no other purpose apparently than the mere
gratificataoQ of a little ranity, produces off at once a
OBMB of manuscript, the best thing he can do with it, to
avoid modi e^^eose and disappointment to himsd^ md
the duDoe of occupying the time and compromising
the iwommendation of his literary friendSk is to put it
in the fire. A. 8.
OPTICAL MAGIC OF OUR AGE.
Art one who is at all fSuniliar with the optical illusions
and scemo effects which form a favourite portion of some
of oar public exhibitions, must be convinced that the art
of producing these phenomena, with their various and
mind-bewildering play of colours and change of charac-
ter, has attained great perfection. But probably few per-
sons are in the least degree acquainted with the manner
in whidi the appeaianoes they so much admire are pro-
daoed. It will therefore be possibly an interesting sub-
ject to many, if we glance first at the optical phenomena
themselves, and then proceed to explain the method of
their production.
The magical effects which owe their origin to the
magic lantern, are those which will chiefly occupy our
attention ; and it will be found that the position of this
ingsnious instrument in the popular estimation is very
far below that which it deserves to occupy. In fact, all
those af^warsnces which so much perplex, surprise, or
please us in exhibitions of this kind, are entirely due
to various ingenious contrivances appended to, or in oon-
neetion with, this instrument, although this fact is but
little known generally. This instrument, as now em-
ployed, is tke same in principle as it was when first in-
vlnted in the middle of the seventeenth century by the
universal genius, Kircher ; but in common with most
other optical apparatus, it has largely benefited by the
advance of mechanical and mathematical science, and is
now constructed in a form apparently little e^>able of
further improvement. Essentially, it consists in its im-
{■oved foRQ of a powerful source of light, of two double
eoBvex lenses nUdi ooacentrate the rays, and direct them
■pea the picture placed in front of them; and of two
other lenses which concentrate the rays after they have
passed through the picture, and direct them on the disk
where the image is beheld by the spectators. There is a
little contrivance of some importance which has been
added by Messn Caipenter and Westler of London to
the extremity of the brass tube holding the second pair of
lenses, by which some of the extreme rays are cut off, the
effoot of which is to give a great degree of distinctness
to the depicted image, although with some sacrifice of
illuminating power. This contrivance consists simply of
a brass ring, and may be adopted or removed at pleasure.
From this casual description of the instrument, it will
be manifest that the various delusions and singularities
of effect we are about to describe are referable liot so
much to any alteration effected by modem science in the
principal instruihent, as to the accessories of the exhi-
bition. But let us admit the reader into the mysterious
apartment, where science can bid to i^pear more and
more strange phantasms than ever obeyed the summons
of enchanter's wand.
And first about the Phantasmagoria, In 1802 a French
gentleman, a M. Philipstal, astonished crowds of people
in London by an optical exhibition which he entitled the
Phantasmagoria. It was a soul-appidling spectacle to
those who had hitherto been ignorant of the wonders of
light and shade 1 The spectatory was a room where no
light but that of a dismal oil-lamp hanging in the
centre was admitted. On the assembling of the audience,
tlus lamp was drawn up into a chimney, and a pitchy
gloom overspread the place. Presently the soft and
mournful notes of sepulchral music were heard, and a
curtain rose displaying a cavern, on the frowning walls
of which were depicted the forms of skeletons and
spectral figures. The muric ceased : the rumbling of
thunder was heard in the distance. Gradually it became
louder, until at length virid flashes of lightning, accom-
panied with peals apparently of the deep-toned organ of
the skies, gave all the impressions of a tremendous
storm. The thunder and lightning continued at their
height, when suddenly a small cloud of light i^>peared in
the air ; it gradually increased in size, until at length it
stood revealed a ghastly spectre, around whom the light-
ning gleamed in fearful reality. Its eyes moved agonizedly
from side to side, or now turned up in the sunken eye-
socket, the image of unutterable despair. Away, back
to the dim abyss ftom whence it came, it was seen swiftly
to retire, and finally vanished in a little cloud, the storm
rolling away at the same time. Then came other phan-
tasms, some of which rushed up with apparently amazing
rapidity, approaching the spectators, and again as rapidly
receding — to return clothed with flesh and blood, or in
the form of some well-known public personages 1 After
a display of a number of similar apparitions, the curtain
fell, and the lamp was uncovered ; the spectators depart-
ing with expressions of great astonishment at what had
b^ seen. Such was the early introduction of the Phan-
tasmagoria to the honours of a public exhibition.
This variety of optical effect, although occasionally
resorted to since that time, has only recently been rein-
troduced at some of our public places of resort in more
than its original power. In some of these exhibitions
the effect on the mind is indescribable, and in a less
enlightened age would be far from desirable; but all are
now so well acquainted with the source of the awful and
mysterious beings which appear to present themselves to
the eye, that the exhibition simply creates wonder where
it would formerly have excited superstition or alimn.
Images of birds on the wing are introduced with great
force : the bird is seen rapidly moring its pinions, appa-
rently at a great distance, then swiftly approaching and
inereasing in size. Motion is also given to its eyes ;
and when a particularly solemn-looking bird, like the
owl, is selected, the eSeei is, to say the least, very re-
markable. Scenes are now introduced in which a move-
ment of figures is managed with great adroitness — a fieiy
snake, for example, may be seen winding its undulating
body across some in-cavemed pool. Then appears a fikiry
scene, where fountains are playing, and Cupids fiying
about or shooting at a tanrai in whose centre— to camr
260
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
out the poetical idea — is a bleeding heart : or, through
a narrow gorge, we catch a glimpse of a lake encamped
round about bj tall mountains ; and behold ! some
Undine or water-spirit, with her attendant sprites, ap*
peaiB in a majestic chariot drawn bj the most graceful of
swans, whose long necks are elegantly bent into the
waters every now and then ! Again, a cloud of fire hangs
in mid-air, enlarges, brightens, and rolls gradually aside,
disclosing one of the mythological impersonations seated
in the quadrijuga, A farourite concluding scene is a
British oak. While the spectators are looking on, and
listening to— of course — ' Rule Britannia,' suddenly, in
ereiy bough, behold ! a flight, a whole flight of sailor-
boys waring the Union Jack : the trunk opens, and oat
steps the sailor-prince ; presently the sailors in the
branches take their flight, the prince once more is re-
oeired into the mighty trunk, and the scene Tanishes.
' Some of the minor phantasmagoric displays descend to
the ludicrous. The spectacle of an industrious cobbler, who
keayes long-drawn gasps for breath, and busily plies his
arms, is much^admired among this series ; and the know-
ing look of the eyes is wonderfully productiye of merri-
ment. The next scene is a yiew by the sea-side, wh^e
a bathing woman is seen dipping a reluctant little girl
into the rolling waters : smiths are seen hammering
ferociously upon their anvils : shoe-blacks are giving ex-
quisite lustre to boots : old men are breaking up stones,
or bowing politely, and unbonneting to draw forth the
duurities of cotti^-door lingerers: the chameleon is
well shown in all his versatility of tint: and roses,
tulips, and otiier flowers, including cauliflower, blossom
with Cupids, white and black, or other representations
grotesque as unexpected. Perhaps the most extra-
ordinary of them all is the feat of a man asleep in a
bed, who swallows rats and mice by the dozen, and with-
out awaking !
The explanation of these varied eflTects is veiy simple :
the phantasmagoric displays are always shown upon a
transparent screen ; a broad piece of IVatfizoo^ muslin
wetted with water, and fixed in a convenient position, is
better than any other contrivance whatever. The magic
lantern, slightly modified, is the instrument employed
for developing the images, and is thus managed : — it is
either held in the hand or placed upon a little railway:
it is then brought close up to the screen, the light being
■haded by the hand ; and when suflSciently near, the
hand is removed, and there appears on the screen a little
cloud of light without any definite image depicted in it.
The lantern is then gently carried backwards, and there
appears on the screen the gradually-enhurging imaf e of
some spectre, or other object, whicn appears rapidlf to
approach the spectators. On bringing the lantern back
again nearly up to the screen, the spec&e seems to recede,
and finally vanishes in the little doud spoken of: thus is
the astonishing efiect of advancing and receding images
accomplished. It requires of course some little arrange-
ments as to focus; and mechanical contrivances for effe^-
ing this have been applied to the carriage of the lantern
BUccessfally. Sending up a balloon is well exhibited by
this means : the balloon, at first swelled in all its vast
proportions, presently becomes smaller and smaller until
it is lost to si^ht; and by a little swaying of the lantern
£rom side to side, the undulating character of its motion
is well represented. By using two, three, or even four
lanterns in the hands of several clever assistants, a sur-
prising degree of life can be given to the scene. One
manages the flying Cupid; anoSer the moving chariot; a
third the fountain; and so on. By means of two lanterns.
Fame may be made to descend from the skies and plant
a laurel-wreath on a warrior or a statesman's brow. The
opening of clouds is effected b;^ drawing gently aside two
Slips of glass which cover the slider containing the picture;
the figure behind thus seems to step out of the clouds.
Movement is communicated to the figures in various ways:
sometimes in the manner already described, by a separate
lantern; more frequently by a double slider, one slider
being painted black, with the exception of a dear space,
througn which the head or some one of the limbs is shown
or obecured at pleasure : thus a cook cantinK in a pitr's
head alternately loses and regains his own bj moving
the slider to and fro. The rolling about of spectral eyes
is efibcted by painting them upon a slider which moves
from side to side, the e^dnlls showing thxtni^ the
eye-sockets of the image with singular eroct. A water-
wheel is set in motion by a doable slider, on one of i^iich
the landscape is painted, on the other the wheel; and Hum
one is moved round by a pinion-wheel working into a
cogged rim. The reeling motion of a ship is given by a
slider moved up and down by a lever. A little reflectioii
will soon show the infinite number of movementa which
by these simple means may be effected. A very strange
effect is sometimes produced by giving the lantern a md-
den shake, when the images wUl seem as if seised with a
cold shudder.
Leaving, however, the chamber of sotestifie hoivon and
supematuralitiee, let us advert briefly to the more raceot
and beautiful diseoveiy, the Duadving Fieies. Very few
persons are, we believe, at all awaie of the means by
which the exquisite efl^ects of these exhibitioBS are accom-
plished ; yet they are surprisingly nmple. A eooa^
landscape, basking in the warm glow of a July son, lies
outspread before us ; the fields are golden with cota, the
trees in full verdure clad, and the water tumbles, ha^ m
play half at work, upon the over-shot wheel of the mill
in the foreground. A diange comes o'er the spirit of the
scene : the sky loses its wann and glowing tone ; a eoM,
gray, ghastly look creeps over the picture; the air
darkens ; the babbling stream is stayed in icy bondage;
tiie wheel has stopped, and icicles a fbot lonff bang fmm
its spokes and rim ; the trees are leafless ; ih% Mm are
brown and naked ; the path is covered with enow ; and
the flickerings of a roaring fiie are seen tfaroagh the
cottage windows. But, marvd of marvels ! the iky gnnro
thick and lowering, and a few flakes of snow are seea It
fcUL Presently a thick shower of snow descends. The
illusion is complete, and it reqaiies some little i^
recollection to form the conception that, after all, it ii
a mere picture we are looking upon. The sBOw-etona
passes over, the sky and air gently resume their warmer
aspect, leaves come on the trees, the snow melts away, the
brook runs again, and the wheel resumes its duties, fat
summer has returned! This sketch presents us with
the leading features of the Dissolving Views : let us now
explain how the changes are brought about.
To exhibit the Dissolving Views, two lanterns of eqnal
size, and placed on the same platform, are aeoessaiy. la
the one we will suppose the summer scene ; in tin oiks;
the same scene, but in its winter dress. Now, immediately
in front of the brass tubes of both lanterns is a drcolar
disk of japanned tin, in which a crescentic slit is perfmted
half reimd near the rim. This disk is made to rcvolye
on an axis which passes between the two lantems, and Is
moved by a little handle behind. The rays of light pro-
ceed through the slit on to the screen, bat only allow the»
of one lantern to do so at one time, the tube of ^e oAer
being shaded by the imperforate part of «lhe disk. The
rays of the summer scene are now poaring throagh diis
slit, while those of winter are obscured by the other part
of the disk. Tlie lanterns beins properly arranged, so as
to cast their images on predse^ the same place on the
screen, the exhibition begins. Sammer is shown fat a
little time; then by means of iAne little handle the didc is
very gentry turned round, and thus while, firom the
crescent shape of the slit, tiie rays of one lantern are
gradually cut off, those of the other are at the same time
gradually allowed to fall on the screen, until the disk is
turned quite round; and now the tube through which
summer shone is obscured, while the colder lij^t of winter
from the other tube streams through the slit in the dude
The effect to the beholder is the gradual and impercep-
tible transition of the one scene into the other. If the
reader will be so kind as to suppose that his two eyes
represented the magic lanterns, and will close one eye
first, and then gently lift the lid while he dinta down
that of the other, he will obtain a perfect idea of the dis-
solving mechanism. The plan of the perforated disk*
iriiich, as being the roost gradoal, is the most perfect, is
the plan obs^ved in the instrameata we have eeen of
WiW I
■**>•
iWphi
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
261
Cupeater and Westlej's make; but there mn
etbcr and simpler means of effecting the same object, the
prinoiple remaining in erery instance the same ; namely,
(he gndnal blinding of one lantern, and unblinding of
another. To produce the falling of the snow, a slider is
introdneed upon the preriously, blinded side, a c^> is
uasuewgpl off the disk, and so both tubes shed their light
«a the screen. The slider is painted black, with little £>ts
soaped oat to rq>resent snow-flakes; and on its being set in
motieo bj a wheel, the i^pearance on the screen of these
BOf ing dots of light is exactly that of snow-flakes falling.
We haTt understood that the best effect is produced by
drawinff a piece of perforated paper slowly upwards in the
plaoe ^niere the sliders go. This principle of causing the
Lj^t from two lanterns to fall upon the screen— the one
tuedttcing the picture, the other introducing some fresh
eieoMnts into its^composition — is largely applicable for the
derekprnent of other effects besides the falling of snow.
By lepieeenting a Lapland scene with one lantern, a beau-
ts leiemblance of the Northern Lights, or aurora, can
be thiowm on the sky by means of the other lantern, and
when w^ managed, the eflfect is most extraordinary.
Lightning or a nunbow is thrown on the scene by the
same means. The flickering fiery glow of a Tolcano, or
a ship on fire, is managed by quickly morlng the fingers,
so as aHemately to intercept and giro passage to the rays
strsaming from the tube : this appearance, too, is Tery
siagnlar aadreoiL
A woid now about the Chramatrope — ^literally, the co-
loMT'tmnm', The iip^e on the screen ncoduced by this
imstrttBent may be described for those wno haye not seen
it as stren^y lesembling that presented to the eye by
the kaleidoKope. A ml^ed, moving multitude of colouii^
Tyintg in lustre with the precious stones, are seen whirl-
ing together, threading in and out; now, as it were, blown
frSok a trumpet-mouth, now pouring back into the same,
aad in their rerolutions producing a variety and per-
plexity of patterns which would weary even the eyes of
a manafiacturer to gaze upon. These results are pro-
duced by means of compound sliders, two or three in
oae. Two of these are movable, the third is often fixed.
They an painted variously in designs of different colours,
eonnsting generally of some combination of circles or
other mathematical figures : all the portion of the glass
containing no, figure is mdnted bl^k. The movable
Jsisnfi are turned in dinerent directions by a handle
itUAed to the slider, and the result is the complicated
play of colours and forms which is depicted on the screen.
A semewhat similar but more varied effect was produced
soon after the invention of the kaleidoscope by Sir D.
Biewster,by adapting that beautiful instrument to the
magic lantern, and was exhibited by a celebrated chemi-
cal lecturer to his class. But the present is the simplest
fonn, and in the beauty of its images leaves little to be
desind. Two lantoms are commonly employed in its
exhibition, so as to avoid any stoppage of the perform-
ance. The ai^pearance of a fountain casting up wator
if managed by a variety of the same contrivance as the
Chromatrope. The introduction of this variety of optical
inukce is recent.
The exhibitions which have received the fantastic
titles — the Opaque Mieroscape, and the Phytioscopey are
veiy pleasxog of their kind, and may be readily made
intelligible to the reader. By the contrivance entitled
the Opaque Microscope, the images of medallions, bas-
tdie£^ Paris-plaster casts, and other opaque objects, are
Uirown on the screen, and produce a singular raised
tSkfL The surface of these objects is very highly
poliihfd, and they are introduced within the body of
the lantern : a strong light there falling upon them in
a particular position is reflected from their surface on
to a concave mirror, and thence through the lenses of
the tube of the lantern on to the screen : thus the image
is produced. The Physioscope is apparently a modifica-
tion of Sir D. Brewster's contrivance for the exhibition
of what he calls the Catadioptrical Phantasmagoria. The
visitors to the Royal Pol^chnic Institution uMd nightly
to be diverted by beholding a benevolent old gentleman's
half-fi^nve in ffiirAnfcie nronnrtinnfl iiTtnn thu iM*T«An. Fap
their amusement this old gentleman used to drink wine,
eat buns, gape and Oieeze, all of course in the most life-
like manner; and generally finished the exhibition by
standing gradually up, and revealing a stajture as tall as
any of the monstors commemoratod iu fable or in song.
This really remarkable exhibition ' is produced in the
following manner : — in an apartment out of sight of the
spectators are a large concave mirror, a powerful light,
and the person whose figure is to be thrown on the screen.
He is so placed that the rays of light reflected by his
person are received by the mirror, and, collected by it,
are reflected through a lens, and then directed on to
the screen, where they appear in the form of a gigantic
image. Other objects may be effectively exhibitod by
the same means; and some singular and startling effects
are capable of being produced, such as the decapitation
of a warrior, and restoring his head again, and such-like,
by intercepting a part of the reflected rays from the mirror
by means of a prism. In this, as indeed in all the other
exhibitions, everything depends on the power of the arti-
ficial light ; and the oxyhydrogen lime-lifht is the best
for this purpose. The electric light, coiud it be made
steady and permanent, would pn)ve valuable. In exhi-
biting the human face, the glare has the disagreeable
result of causing the eyes to blink, and thus in some
measure interfere with the perfection of the image.
The last marvel of our modem optical magicians that
we shall notice is the Diorama, This beautuul method
of exhibiting optical effects is, we believe, the invention
of M. Daguerre and another gentleman. In the produo-
tion of a life-like imnression on the eye, this Diorama is
unequalled by any other contrivance : it is nature itself.
All the accidents of the landscape — sudden gleams of sun-
shine, the passage of a cloud, the dim diffusive light of
early morning or i^proaching night, are all thrown in
indescribable oeauty and truthfulness upon the painting.
The solemn soul-subduing influence of some of the scenes
which have been exhibitod at the Regent's Park in the
metropolis cannot be conveyed in words. The destruc-
tion of an Alpine village by an avalimche can never be
forgotten after it has been once seen. The manner of
effecting this representation is strikingly simple: the
spectat^ b a darkened room, which revolves upon
rollers; tne sight-aperture, or proscenium, is of moderate
size, and through it is seen a large painting representing
some scene or celebrated locality. The light is thrown
upon this picture from above, through ground-glass; and
arrangements exist, by means of shutters and blinds, to
modulate the tone of the light cast upon the picture, so
as to imitate with the nicest accuracy the natural effecte
of light and shadow. Some parts of the paintine are
transparent, permitting light from behind to be employed
with great effect, where a chapel or such-like scene is to
be lit up at night. By having two pictures, the specta-
tors are insensibly carried round to behold first one, and
then the other. In some large continental dioramas
several pictures are employed. Few who have witnessed
the changes represented in a well-managed dioramic ex-
hibition, would believe that the whole art consisted, as we
have seen, in a skilful manner of operating with light.
Before concluding this article, we may be allowed to
express pleasure at the rational amusement which may
be afforded by means of the simple instrumentality here
variously described, iu addition to the lighter diversions
also spoxen at The various sciences of astronomy, natu-
ral history, meteorology, botany, anatomy, geography —
are all capable of the most beautiful illustration by the
same means as, when amusement is the object, will de-
velop all the phenomena of the Phantasmagoria and Dis-
solving Views. Need we^ repeat it t This is simply the
magic lantern fitted with the appliances of modem
science. Well is it for our age that the powers conferred
by science on man are no longer, as formerly, prostituted
to enslave the mind in the bondage of heathen ignorance
and superstitions. Far from feeling terror, even a child
would now laugh at what once made the stoutest heart
quail in the courte of Grecian and Roman temples — the
apparition of the so-called * divinity ' on the wall of the
hiiilHinrr. nr ittniil tht* firea of the sacrificial rites. There
262
GHAMBEBS*8 EDIKBURGEt JOURNAL.
is ererj reason to beliere that to ends base as these, as
dishonoaring to the Fonner of all things, as enslaring to
the minds of the people, were the interesting phenomena
of light and shade of which we hare here spoken once,
and for a protracted period, made sabserrient. The
optical magic of oar age, we majr thankftillj say, sets up
no claim to the sapematoraL
MR ROBERT SIMPSON'S COURTSHIP.
About three years hare elapsed since Mr Robert Simp-
son succeeded, at the demise of Mr Isaac Simpson,
ironmonger bj trade, fishmonger bj Liyerj, and common
councilman of the City of London by election, to the
prosperous business and municipal honours established
and acquired by his respectable, painstaking parent.
Some natural teus he shed; but, the exigencies of busi-
ness and the duties of his corporate office — replacing, as
he immediately did, his father in the representation of
the important ward in which his shop was situated — ^not
permitting a protracted indulgence in the selfish luxury
of wo, he fortunately recoyered his equanimity in a
much less space of tmie than persons acquainted with
the extreme tenderness of his disposition had thought
possible. Mr Robert Simpson, albeit arriyed at the
mature age of thirty-fiye, was still a bachelor ; and not
only unappropriated, but, as ward-rumour reported, un-
Eromised; at perfect liberty, in fact, to bestow himself,
is yery desirable stock in trade, business premises, and
three freehold houses in the Poultry, upon any fair lady
fortunate enough to engage his i^ection, and able to
return it. Indeed to this circumstance, it was whispered
at the time of his election, he owed his unopposed return
to the municipal niche so long and worthily occupied by
his departed father; Mr Crowley, the hiehly-respectable
spectacle-maker, haying suddenly with£rawn from, the
contest on the yery day of nomination; thereto induced,
hinted gossips of the City, by the fact that Miss Crow-
ley, who chanced to meet Mr Robert Simpson on the
preyious eyening at the house of a mutual acouaintance,
had been by him most courteously and gallantly escorted
home. The matrimonial inference drawn from so slight
a premise as a few minutes' walk along unromantic
Cheapside, by sas, not moonlight, proved, as might be
expected, an altogether erroneous one. The Fates had
other yieirs regardmg the prosperous ironmonger ; and as
those ' sisters three,' like most ladies, generally contrive
to have their own way, Mr Simpson was ultimately quite
otherwise disposed of ; and Miss Crowley, for au/^t I
know to the contrary, remains Miss Crowley to this day.
Not that Mr Simpson was by any means insensible to
female fascination : he was, unfortunately for his own
peace of mind, somewhat too susceptible; an ardent
admirer of beauty in all its hues and varieties, from the
fair and delicate grace and beauty of the maidens of the
pale north, to the richer glow and warmer tints of orient
loveliness. The strict surveillance of his honoured fa-
ther, joined to a constitutional timidity he was quite
unable to overcome, had, however, sufficed during that
gentleman's lifetime to prevent rash impulse from even-
tuating in rash deed. He was also, I must mention,
extremely fastidious in his notions of feminine delicacy
and reserve ; and his especial antipathies were red hair,
or any hue approaching to red, and obliquity of vision of
the slightest kind. Such was the Mr Robert Simpson
who, about two o'clock on the afternoon of March the 1st,
1847, stepped, richly and scrupulously attired, into a
Brougham, specially retained to convey him to dine at
his fnend Mr John Puckford's modest, but comfortable
establishment at Mile End, where he was by express
arrangement to meet his expected, expectant bride. Be-
fore, however, relating what there befell him, it will be
necessary to put the reader in possession of certain im-
portant incidents which had occurred during the three
previous days.
On the evening of the preceding Tuesday, Mr Simpson,
finding himself at the east end of the town, and moreover
strongly disposed for a cup of tea and a ^uiet gossip,
resolved to * drop in ' upon his new acquamtance Mr
John Puckford, hoping to find him and his wife iIom.
In this, however, he was doomed to disappointment ; for
he had scarcely withdrawn his hand from tlM knocko,
when he was startled — Mr Simpson was, as I hate befon
hinted, a singularly bashful penon in the presence of tkt
fiurer and better half of creation — by the sound of fiansle
voices issuing, in exuberant merriment, from the front
parlour. There was company it was evident ; ind Mr
Simpson's first impulse was to fly : as the thou^l croaed
his mind, the door opened, and Mr Puckford, who chsnoed
to be in the passage, espying him, he was &in to make i
virtue of necessity, and was speedily in the midii of tke
merry party whose gaiety had so alaimed him. That the
introduction was managed in the usual way, I hgn no
doubt ; but the names, however distinctly uttered, seem
to have made no impression upon the confused bnun of
the bashfril visitor ; so that when, after the laxiee of s
few minutes, he hegui to recover his composure, he foond
himself in the presence of three ladies and one geotk*
man, of whose names, as well as persons, he wai pro-
foundly ignorant. The ladies were two of Mn Puck*
ford's married sisters, and Miss Fortescue, a young lady
of reduced fortunes, at present occupied as teacher b a
neighbouring seminary. The gentleman was Mr Alfred
Gray, a ba<£elor like Mr Simpson, but nothing like »
old, and scarcely so bashful. Mrs Frazer, the eldeit of
the two sisters, a charming lady-like person, o( 70Q
would say, judging fit>m appearances, about twentj^tiute
or twenty-four years of age, seemed — after some oscilla-
tion between her and Mrs Holland, whose fuller piopor-
tions, dark hair, and brunette complexion, conttaited sot
unfavourably with the lighter figure, and fair hair and
features of her sister— to engross Mr SimpBon'i wbolo
attention, and to arouse after a while all his ooanna-
tional energies, which, by the way, were by no means
contemptible. Mr Simpson's time was oome: ere a
couple of hours had fl^, the hapless ironmonger was
hurt past all suigeiy ; had fallen desperately in lore with
a married lady, and the mother of three or four ehildren 1
On the only single female present. Miss Forteecoe, Mr
Simpson had bestowed but one glance on entering the
apartment : that had been quite sufficient to chea mj
desire for a more intimate perusal of her features. The
lady combined his two antipathies : her hair was do*
cidedly red ; and a strong ccutf to use a mild term, d«>
tracted from the uncommon brilliancy of her mifid*
glancing eyes. She took very slight part in ti»e coo*
yersation ; and that little, so absomd was Mr Simpeoe,
was by him utterly unheeded. She wore, like her mend
Mrs Frazer, a plaid-dress, and the baptismal name d
both was Mary.
The ladies depicted early, and Mr Simpson ffid Mr
Gray followed tneir example a few minutes tfterwanb.
• Mr Gray,' said the former gentleman, as he took lesTe
of his companion at the end of the street, * what ii that
charming person's name ! I have quite forgotten it
• Which charming person?' inquired Mr Alfred Onj
with a quiet smile.
This Mr Simpson thoueht a yery absurd qoestion; he,
however, replied — ^*The lady in the plaid-dreee: Maiy,
Mrs Puckford called her.' ,
• The lady in a plaid-dress, whom Mrs Puckford caUw
Maiy, is a if iss Fortescue : die is a teacher of mnijc •»«
drawing,' rejoined Mr Gray with demure accent. « *••
too dark for Mr Simpson to see his eyes. ^
• Thank you, sir : good-night,' rejoined the a»*J»^
municipal dignitary. Mr Simpson was soon at k<>"J*»''^
before an hour had elapsed, had carefully P*""**^*?
posted with his own hands, a letter to his friend Puci-
ford. He then retired to bed, and dreamt dreami.
• Sarah,' said Mr Puckford the next morning to hii
wife after reading a letter, just delivered, with » pe^
plexed expression of countenance — 'did Mr Simpwn
seem to you particularly struck with Maiy Forteecue
yesterday evening!'
' With Mary Fortescue! Surely not Why do J«i
ask!'
• Only that here is a letter from Simpson t^^^
violent love for her ; and stating his detennmation, woua
joa and I be able to assure him, which he scarcely dares
rentate to hope, that she is disengaged, to immediatelj
solicit her hand in marriage!'
' Gracious ! — Is it possible !'
' Read the letter younelfl Her beaaty, he observes, is,
lie is quite sure, her least recommendation. Comical,
imtitr
' Well, it tff odd; but she is, jou know, a most amiable
enature ; and will make, I am sure, an admirable wife/
' And he, too, that so especially detests red hair, or the
ili^test tinst in the organs of yision'
* Maiy Fortescue's £ur,' interrupted the wife, * can
Karoely be called red : a yeiy deep gold colour I should
•ay'-
' Verj deep indeed — ^remarkably so,' inteijected Mr
Pockford.
'And as to the slight cast in her eyes, ^€ti no one
obsores after a few days' acquaintance with her.'
' I suppose we may with a safe conscience assure him
that she is not engaged t'
' Of course we may. It is a Wonderful match for her,
and we ought to do all we can to forward it. Friday
next, the lit of March, is Alfred's birthday ; suppose jon
ask him to dine with us on that day to meet her ! We
need hare only the same party he met yesterday eren-
ing.\
This was finally i^reed upon; and accordingly, as
soon as he had finished his business in the City, Mr Puck-
ford, preTious to returning home, called on Mr Simpson.
Ue found him in a state of great excitement, which,
howerer, gradually calmed down after Mr Puckford's
solemn assnranee, which he gave unhesitatingly, that the
charming Maij Fortescue was certainly disengaged ; and,
in^ his opinion, by no means indisposed to entertain an
eligible matrimonial proposition. All this was balm to
the stricken Simpson; and after several failures, he at
last succeeded in inditing a formal offer of his hand and
fortune to the lady of his affection ; of which impassioned
misdre Mrs Puckford was to be the bearer ; her husband
undertaking that she would exert all her eloquence and
influenoe to secure acceptance of the proposal*
' And now, Puckford,' said Mr Simpson, ' well have a
glass of wine, and drink the future Mrs Simpson's health.
What a charming ornament,' he added with a sort of
rapturous sigh, as he placed the decanters on the table —
'what a dttrming ornament she would be to this fire-
placel'
'An odd expression thatl' thought Mr Puckford,
foigetting that the speaker was an ironmonfler, and
deait in such articles. In fact, from the way m which
Simpson had been rapturising upon Miss Fortescue's
efaanns, a doubt of his mend's perfect sanity had sprung
im in John Puckford's mind ; and he shrewdly suspected
that the affiur would terminate in a de lunaHco inqid-
nmdo instead of a license.
*D» you know, Puckford,' said Mr Simpson with a
benerolent, patronising air, after the third or fourth
glaai — ^'do you know I fancy there is a great likeness
Between you and Mary Fortescue 1 *
Mr John Puckford, the reader must understand, was
a handsome young man with a brilliant florid com-
^ezion, pofiM^y-agreeing vision, and liffht-brown hair.
No wondeiv thpefore, he was more startled than flattered
by the comparison. The colour mounted to his temples.
and a conyiction of Simpson's utter insanity flashed
acroas his brain. ' Biad as a March hare 1' he mentally
maculated; at the same time resoWinf, should the pa-
romm grow dangerously violent, to knock him down
wiui one of the decanters; both of which, as two could
play at that game, he drew, as if in doubt which wine
he would take, to his own side of the table. Mr Simp-
son, mistaking the nature of his friend's emotion, added,
'Don't suppose, Puckford, X intend any absurd flattery!'
'Not at all, Simpson; I didn't suppose anything of the
sort, I assure you.'
' To be sure not; nothing is more contemptible. You
sfe a good-looking fellow — very : but of course I couldn't
B«aa that you^ a man, axe to be oompved to Maiy
forteecue.'
'I should think not! 'drily responded the more and
more mystified and bewildered Puckford.
'Exactly: you do not resemble each other about the
eyes, either in colour or expression.'
*Ohl'
' No : as to hair,' continued Mr Simpson meditatively,
'yours, there can be no doubt, is decidedly the lightest/
' It's coming now,' thought Mr John Puckford, grasp-
ing at the same time one c^ the decanters, and eyeing Ms
friend intensely.
Mr Simpson, quite misinterpreting the action, added
3uickly, ' Do, my eood fellow, fill me a bumper, and we'll
rink her eood-looking friend's health — the lady, I mean,
with the dark silky hair and brunette complexion. Do
you know,' continued the complacent Simpson, crossing
nis legs, throwing himself back easily in his chair, and
hooking his thumbs to the arm-holes of his waistcoat —
' do you know that, if Mary Fortescue had not been at
your house yesterday evening, I mi^ht have '
What the worthy ironmonger might, in the case sup-
posed, have done or said, must be left to the reader's
imagination, for on the instant a clerk hurriedly en-
tered the apartment, to aimounce that an important cus-
tomer awaited Mr Simpson in the counting-house below.
Hastily rising, Mr Simpson shook hands with his friend,
and both departed their several ways: Mr Puckford
bearing off the epistle addressed to Miss Fortescue, and
musing as he went upon lover-madness, which, he fully
agreed with Rosalind, deserved chains and a dark house
quite as much as any other variety of the disease.
The next day Mr Simpson received a note from Mary
Fortescue, modestly and gracefully expressed, in which,
with charming humility, and many expressions of grati-
fied surprise, the offer of his hand was — on one condition,
unexplained, but which rested altogether with himself—
gratefully accepted.
Such was the state of affiilrs when, on the 1st of
March, Mr Simpson, as I have before stated, entered a
Broueham, and directed the driver to make the best
of hu way to Mile End. It was a fine bright and
exceedingly cold day ; but notwitlistandinff the nipping
eager air, the love-lorn ironmonger, as he approached
the house which contained his charmer, was m a state
of profuse perspiration and high nervous excitement.
Once more he drew from his pocket the fairy note, and
glanced over the modest, grateful, delicately-feminine
expressions. 'Dear lady,' he audibly exclaimed as he
finished about the five-hundredth perusal of the familiar
lines — ' dear lady, she will be all tears and tenderness!'
About a minute after giving utterance to this con-
solatory reflection, Mr Simpson found himself in Mrs
Puckford's presence, who, congratulating him on his
punctuality, and pointing to the door of the firont apart-
ment said, ' Tliere is only one lady there, and you know
her* Mr Simpson's heaxt leaped and thumped, as if de-
skous of bursting through his green velvet waistcoat. He
stepped desperately towards the door, and essayed to
turn the hnuaa handle ; but so profusely did the bashful
man's very fingers perspire, that they slipped round the
knob without turning it. The second trial, with the help
of his cambric handkerchief, was more successful, and the
lover was in the presence of the lady.
Certainly it was she ! Mrs Frazer, the hapless Simpson's
Mary Fortescue, was there in bodily reality. But the
grateful humility, the ' tears and tenderness,' prefigured
by the charming note ! Oh Alfred Gray!
The unruffled ease, the calm, reserved politeness With
which Mrs Frazer received him chilled his enthusiastic
fervour wondrously. His perspiration became a cold
one, and in a few moments he felt as if enveloped in
coatings and legspgs of Wenham-Lake ice. Recovering
himself as spe^ily as he could from the shock of this
unexpectedly-chilling reception, Mr Simpson stammered
forth something about his extreme good fortune in hav-
ing obtained a favourable response from so^uniable a
person, et cetera,
* Certainly,' replied the lady, * I think vou are very
fortunate, Mr Simpson.' And then, by way of saying some-
thing particularly civil, and to relieve the modest man's
264
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
embamasment, she added, * But few men hare, like you,
sufficient discrimination to discern and appreciate attrac-
tions which lie hidden from the merely superficial ob-
serrer.'
Poor Simpson gasped for breath! He was literally
dumbfounded! Here was modest gratitude, to say no-
thing of 'tears and tenderness,' with a yeugeance! Miss
Fortescue, with a precarious salaiy of some twenty
pounds per annum, exclusive of bread and butter, was,
m her own opinion, conferring a tremendous obligation
upon a ciric dignitary worth at least twenty thousand
pounds, by dccepting him for a husband ! That was
quite clear; and although Mr Simpson was too much
in lore to deny such a proposition in the abstract, still
it was, he thought, scarcely consistent with maiden mo-
desty to state it so rery broadly.
Notwithstanding his amazement, Mr Simpson, as soon
as he recovered breath, continued, so well had he studied
for the occasion, to get out a sentence or two about the
superiority of connuBial to single blessedness. This sen-
timent also met with ready acouiescence.
* Oh dear, yes,' said Mrs Frazer; * I would not have
been an old maid for the world!'
'Well,' thought the astonished admirer of feminine
reserve, almost doubting the evidence of his ears, ' this
is certainly the frankest maiden I ever conversed with!'
A considerable pause followed. Mrs Frazer, seated
upon a sofa, played with the luxuriant auburn — really
auburn — tresses <^ her nephew Alfred.
' A handsome boy,' at length remarked Mr Simpson.
' It's a pity that he hasn't dinerent coloured hair !'
*A pity !' exclaimed the lady: < I think it beautiful!
And,' added she, looking the astonished man somewhat
sternly in the face, ' I should be well pleased if all our
children had hair of the same colour !'
This was a climax ! Simpson leaped to his feet as if
impelled by the shock of a galvanic battery. * Our
children I Well, after that ! But I must be dreaming,'
thought the fastidious ironmonger, as he wiped the per-
spiration from his teeming for&ead ; * labouring under
8om& horrid endutntment.'
Dreaming indeed, and to be swiflly and rudely awak-
ened. The door opened, and a gentleman entered, whom
Mrs Frazer immeoiately intooduced with—' Mr Simpson,
my husband Mr Frazer I'
The blow was terrific ! Simpson sta^ered back as if
he had been shot. He glared alternate^ at the husband
and wife for a few seconds ; then, pale as his shirt
collar, tottered to a chair, and sinking into it, ejaculated
with white lips, 'Oh!'
'What is the matter, sir; you look illl' said Mr
Frazer.
The bewildered man made no reply. His brain was
whirling. ' Who on earth, then, had he been courting ? '
A loud knock at the street door somewhat aroused him.
' My sister, I daresay,* exclaimed Mrs Frazer.
' Her sister 1 Possibly his Mary might be the bru-
nette ; and yet There were but three females present
on that fatal evening, besides Mrs Puckford, that he dis-
tinctly remembered ; and perhaps '— -» Vain hope ! the
door opened, and the brunette and two gentlemen en-
tered— * Mr and Mrs Holland, and Mr Alfred Gray.'
All illusion was now over. He, Robert Simpson,
wealthy tradesman, respected fishmonger, and common
coimciunaa, was the betrothed husband of a red-haired
damsel with a decided cast, with uriiom, moreover, he had
never exchanged a sentence ! His first impulse, as the
certainty of his miserable fate flashed upon him, was to
strangle Alfred Gray out of hand as the author of his
destruction, when fortunately another rap4€q> arrested
his fell int^t.
' Miss Fortescue at last 1' cried Mis Frazer, as if an-
nouncing glad tidings.
' Oh ! ' ejaculated the accepted suitor, dropping nerve*
lessly back into the seat from which he had just risen—
'Oh!'
He was seized with a sort of vertigo; and what occurred,
or how he behaved for a considerable interval, he never
distinctly remembered. He was, however, soon seated at
table by the side of his affianced bride, Mr Puckfocd say-
ing grace. This was the actual state of afiain ; but poor
Simpson's impression at the moment was, that he had
been led out to sudden execution by an enormous Jack
Ketch with red hair and a frightful squint, and that his
friend Puckford was the chaplain reading the funeral
service. Gradually, however, his brun cleared, and he
grew cooler and more collected. Upon reflectaon, his
position did not appear so very desperate. As to Mrs
Frazer, all that was of course over, past praying for,
and he must dismiss it from his mind as speedily as
possible. The lady beside him, who he could see was
almost as discomposed as himself, was, he had no doubt,
a sensible person — her letter was sufficient evidenoe
of that; and when he had explained the unfortunate
mistake that had occurred, which he would by and by
take a quiet opportunity of doing, would no doubt re-
lease him from an engagement he had never intended io
contract. He would, moreover — Simpson was anything
but a churlish or ungenerous man — bestow upon her a
marriage-portion of, say, four or five hundred 'pounds,
which would doubtless enable her to marry respectably,
and thus console her for her present disappointmest.
Thus philosophising and reasoning, Mr Simpson's spirits,
considering the suddenness of the shock he had endured,
rallied wonderfully, and he was enabled to address a few
words of course to Miss Fortescue in almost a chettfril
voice and manner. The lady's answer was uttered in tiM
gentlest, sweetest tones he had ever listened to ; and Mr
Simpson was a connoisseur in voices. The conversation
continued;' became general; and the dinner, commenced so
inauspiciously, pas^ off, considering all things, remark-
ably welL After dinner Miss Fortescue — her mends, who
greatly esteemed her, generously drawing forth her powen
— appeared to great advantage. Her mind, of a superior
order, had been well cultivate, and her conversation was
at once refined, sparkling, and sensible. Mr Simpson was
surprised, pleased, almost charmed. Music was proposed,
and she sang several songs admirably. Mr Simpson de-
termined to postpone ms explanation — necessarily an
unpleasant one— till the next day, when he would do it
by letter. The party separated about nine o'clock ; Umg
before which hour it had several times glanced across the
ironmonger's mind, that a dislike of any particular
coloured hair was, after all, a very absurd prejudice : as
to the caitf that, he was satisfied, was so slight as scaro^y
to deserve the name. It had been arranged that tiiey
should all dine with the Frazers the day after the next ;
and M Mr Simpson handed Mary Fortescue into Uie caiha
in which Mrs and Mr Frazer were already seated, sbe
whispered, ' Oblige me by coming on Sunday half an boor
before the time appointed: I have something of impoit-
anoe to say to you.' Mr Simpson bowed, and — ^how conH
he do less ? — raised the lady's hand to his llpe. Tlie
carriage drove off, and the worthy man was left in tl«
most perplexing state of dubiety and irresolution ima-
ginable. He began to think he had gone too far to receda
with honour ; and, what was very extraordinair, he ft^
scarcely sorry for it ! At all events, he woula not act
rashly: Sunday was not fitf off: he would deler hii
explanation till then.
Mr Simpson, punctual to his engagement, found Misi
Fortescue avraiting him alone. He felt on tiiis oocasraa
none of the violent emotions he had experienced ou tke
previous Friday. His heart, instead of knocking and
thumping like a caged wild thing, beat tranquiUy m Ua
bosom ; yet it was not without a ^mly-pleasucame ecaa-
tion that he met the confiding, grateful smile whidi beaiaed
on his entrance over the IfMdy's features. Seating kim-
self beside her, he, with respectful gentleness, requeated
her to proceed with the matter she wished to oMnmuni-
cate. She blushingly complied, and speedily broiled
him, if not of his tears, which I am not quite sure i^tovt,
of something, under the circumstances, fu more TalualiliL
' Her family, not many years before in apparently affiucat
circumstances, had been, by reverses in trade, suddenly
cast down into extreme poverty. The only surriTiag
members of it, her mother and youngest sister, had been
long principally dependent on her exertionB for auppoci.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
265
Th0 mirtiince ahe hftd foitaiiAtely been able to render
had hitberto nifficed tbem; but of course, if sbe married,
that foiuoe of income must fail ; and sbe neTer would
many — ^indeed sbe bad nerer, till surprised by bis
gencfoos offer, contemplated marriage — but sbe was even
now fiilly resolTed neyer to do so unless — unless'
1CU7 Fortescue paused in ber narratire, and ber timid,
iaqoiring glance rested anxiously upon tbe raiying coun-
tenance of ber auditor.
Mr Simpson was not made of adamant, nor of iron
tbongfa be traded in tbe article ; and no wonder, tberefore,
tbat tbe graceful manner, tbe modest, pleading earnest-
ness, the gentle tones, tbe filial pie^ of bis betrothed,
ihoald bare Tanquisbed, subdued bim. Her features,
plain as they undoubtedly were, irradiated by tbe lustre
of a beautiftil soul, kindled into absolute beauty ! At
all erents Mr Simpson must bare thought so, or he would
not ha?e caught the joyfully-weeping maiden in bis arms
and ezelaimM, in answer to her agitated appeal, ' Unless
jour home may be theirs also t Be it so : I baYe, thank
Ood, enough and to spare for all.'
Thus was oddly brought about, and finally determined
00, one of tbe b^ypiest marriages, if Mr Simpson himself
is to be believed— *«nd be ought to know — tbat holy church
has erer blessed. Should be attain, of which there is
rrcty reaaoniU>le prospect, tbe dignity of Lord Mayor, be
will, I am quite sure, attribute &at, as he now does all
fortunate erents, to his supreme good-luck in having un-
witUngly fallen in lore with another man's wife !
HUBLBUT ON HUMAN RIGHTS.*
AxTHouGH this cannot be considered as either a com-
plete or a classically-written treatise, it possesses a
strong claim upon our notice, in as far as it is an at-
tempt to trace the true natural root of human rights in
the bmnan ooostitution itself. The author, an Ameri-
can lawyer, is an adherent of the doctrines of Gall,
which is only saying that he acknowledges a definite
mental organisation in man as a department of nature
—a doctrine which has led this school to many views
of human happiness and destiny now rising into im-
portanoe, eyen amongst those who start most at phreno-
logy in its ordinary — ^we might say Tulgxir, acceptation.
*Tbe doty of the legislator,' says Mr Hurlbut, Ms
limply to conform to natural truth. If Infinite Good-
ness baa ordained the employment of the human facul-
tiea tar the attainment of hairiness, and invited their
activi^ by sorroonding them with the means of em-
pbymeot and gratification, human wisdom has but one
work to p^orm — and that is, to reduce the means of
happiness to possession according to the natural design.
.... The law is merely declaroiory as to all natural
n^^AM, It does not create, but enforces them. ... If
U8 law forbid that which nature allows, it restrains
bsman liberty. If it enjoin a duty which nature does
not impose, it inflicts an act of tyranny upon man. If
it coolisr a right which nature has not ordained, it robs
some one or many of that which it confers, and works
inJQStiee among men.' How can we aroid this tyranny ?
' Nature outraged appeals from human to dirine laws.
We hare but to know ourselves and our natural rela-
tioDs, and we may be redressed at once.'
* Man,' pursues our author, ' has a right to the grati-
ficatioo, indulgence, and exercise of every innate power
and fSunlty of his mind. The exercise of a faculty is
its only use. The maimer of its exercise is one thing ;
Aor invfdves a question of morals. The rigkt to its
exerdse is another thing, in which no question is in-
volved bat the existence of the innate faculty, and the
olgectspreaented by nature for its gratification.'
Mr Hnrlbot then argues that, as li£9 has been given
by tbe Creator, it is a right as against all but the donor ;
as God has surrounded man with the means of happi-
ocis in confonnity with his nature, he has further a
♦Origiiiny poWMiad In tbe ' Phrenological Jonraal ;' reprinted
oMrty tar ICadaehlaa and Stewart. Bdhklranrh. 1847.
right to happiness. Having a right to happiness, man
has also a light to employ the means for its accom-
plishment which the Creator has conferred upon him in
certain innate desires, emotioiis, and faculties. ' Here is
the consummation of man's rights.' There is, however,
' a wide difibrence between the rational gratification of
human desires, and the abusive indulgence of them.
There is the same difierence as between eating and
gluttony — between drinking and drunkenness — between
mirthfidness and satire — ^between justice and vengeance.
We are not contending for the abuse, but for the en-
lightened gratification of man's natural desires; not
justifying violence to the laws of the Creator, but
struggling for conformity to them. We are seeking to
estabUsh tbe divine origin of human rights, and not the
divine origin of human transgressions. Here will be
found no apology for vice, but a vindication of virtue.*
It has been a favourite doctrine, that ' the individual
substantially bargains with society upon becoming a
member of it, by surrendering a portion of bis natural
rights for certain acquired rights or advantages which
the laws of government may confer.' Mr Hurlbut
denies this, and shows that, the love of society being
one of the natural appetites, it is itsdf a right, instead
of a reason for the surrender of rights. * The social
state emanates from our proper nature, and must not
contradict or wrong it lliere need be no war between
society and the individual man; and tyranny alone
declares it'
Mr Hurlbut regards government — ^that is> we pre-
sume, government as it ought to be — as an egression
of the aggregate of morality tbat may be in a country.
A nation composed exdusivdy of high moral charac-
ters, each of whom was a law unto himself, would re-
quire no coercion. But, as mankind actually exist, this
is necessary. ' A large share of the members compos-
ing the social body is constituted of persons in infiuicy
and youth — ^periods in human life when the passions
are strongest, and the intellectual and moral forces have
the least control over them. Tbe process of moral and
intellectual culture is not perfected, and the advantages
of e^terienoe and reflection have not yet been attiui^
Here, then, are defective characters placed in the midst
of society, and their restraint is necessary for the safety
of its members.
' Again, as we have seen, the mental constitutions of
the different adult indiriduals of tbe human race vary
indefinitely. All are o^ilre, but not tqwd. Uniformity
oikind, but inequality of jxnrer«, seems to have been the
rule of nature when she formed the character and ap-
pointed the destiny of the various members of the hu-
man family. It is easy to perceive this disparity in the
physical proportions, strength, and appearance of diffe-
rent individuals. Their intellectual and moral powers
vary no less, as is established by phrenological science.
The same divine hand which made '* one star to difibr
firom another star in gbry," has made one man to differ
from another in the str^gth and activity of the vari-
ous instinctive, moral, and intellectual foroes of his
mind. All men may rise upward from their starting-
point but be whom nature has favoured most may
retain his advantage even to the end.' Government
accordingly, becomes necessary, 'in order that there
may be imposed upon the actions of each individual in
society such moral restraint as is felt by a man having
the best moral and intellectual endowment and culture.
In other words, government ought to prescribe such
limits to individual action as are sanctioned by reason
and natural morality.'
' A just government,' adds our author, * will impose
no res^aint upon man which his own moral nature and
enlightened intellect do not sanction. A good and
proper man ought to feel no restraint under govern-
ment but that a his own enlightened nature. »The law
of government and the law of his own mind ought to
present the same limit to his actions. Government no
more directs him than he directs the government The
obliiratioiis of the law and those of humanity are to him
one and the sama If the laws are jnit, fhey are the
offfpring of his moral nature. The obligation of the
lawg is derived from their moral fitness. His submis-
sion, then, is not to man, but to the Creator ; not to
government, but to himself— to his better, his superior
self. If he make a sacrifice, it is upon the altar of his
own happiness : he surrenders no right but ^ right to
do wrong ; he gives up no privilege but the privilege qf
erring. But he had no right to transgress a rule of
action presmbed by his superior nature to efl^t his
happiness. He surrenders no positive right, therefore,
when he becomes a citizen of a just and free govern-
ment. He is yet as free as his own true nature ever
allowed him to be.'
Mr Hurlbut then asserts the right of man to adapt
government to the constitution of his nature. *The
next great requirement of humanity is — ffuU the knee
ahaU be genertu in their scope and ap^ication, equal and
impartial to all.
* If the aim of all mankind be happiness, and if that
depend upon the same rule of intellectual and moral
action, then the rule prescribing or limiting that course
of action must be the same for all men. Hence the
demand of all the enlightened world, that the laws shall
acknowledge the equidity of all men ; not tiie equality
of their physical, moral, or intellectual powers, but the
universality and equality of human rights. The doc-
trine of human equality is not understood by all who
assert it Legal equality exists where the laws create
no factitious greatness, confer no partial privileges, and
denv no natural rights. So that if the laws be adapted
to tiie constitution of the human mind, and apply to all
men alike, or are just and general, afikiting ail men
alike, then all men are equally regarded, protected, and
punished by those laws, and legal equidity is estab-
lished. But the inequalities arising ftt>m the disparities
of men's physical and mental constitutions will sUU
exist One man will have the advantage of another
still ; but he will owe it to the laws of his organisation,
and not to the laws of man. So fiir as human legisla-
tion has gone, it has left him as it found him— strong, if
he were strong before, and weak if he were weak. It
has guaranteed the freedom of his nature, not the powers
of it It has kept his course free from human obstruc-
tion. It has conferred neither rights, nor privileges,
nor powers — but protected all, and all alike. It is not
the fault of the law if he is still weak, as it is not the
boast of the law if he is now strong. It made him
neither. It took him as he was, and kept him as it
found him. The most perfect human laws can daim
no higher merit than that they have followed nature ;
not having conferred the rights of humanity, but gua-
ranteed and defended them; not having bestowed
powers upon any man, but having kept him free from
obstruction in the exercise of his natural faculties.
The boast of the laws should be, that they have not
obstructed the true courm of humanity ; that they have
neither advanced nor reuirded any man ; but that they
let him alone to work out his happiness in the exer-
cise of his own true nature, according to its beautiful
harmonies, and to attain happiness in accordance with
the laws of his mind.'
Our author is strong in his denunciations of that
kind of legislation which seeks to confer local and spe-
cial benefits. It is a kind apparently in great force in his
country, and unhappily it is becoming somewhat formid-
able in ours. He adds — * The legislator properly repre-
sents the state, the whole people ; nay, humanity itself.
He is the guardian of human rights, not the promoter of
selfish interests. He should be moved from within, not
from without ; and if he considered only the justice of
general laws, he would act under the impulses of his
enlightened sentiments alone. No bribe would tempt
his integrity, and his only reward would be the reward
of virtue. What dignity, what moral grandeur in his
work ! He toils now for humanity. Not for particular
men, but for mankind he labours ; not for the present,
but for ku time he rears the structure of human govern-
ment, and adorns the temple of Justice. He beeomes
the student of nature, and reverences her laws. He
E reclaims the rights of man, asserts their sacred invio-
ibility, and keeps the high course of humanity free
from obstruction. He is the friend of all rights and the
foe of all privileges.'
In descending to details, Mr Huribut advances upon
ground where we cannot follow him. We would, how-
ever, recommend his treatise to the class of minds which
desiderate rational inquiry into such subjects.
ADYENTUBES IN THE LIBYAN DESEBT.
One error appears to prevail almost universally respect-
ing the great Deserts of Africa, whose aspect is sumxMed
to inspire melancholy by suggesting ideas of death.
This is in direct opposition to our own experience. On
many a day have we ridden through these fiery wastes,
accompanied by natives of the Nilolie Valley, or Arabs
from the borders of the Bed Sea; and on these occa-
sions, instead of depression and sadness, have felt the
most buoyant cheeifulness, and an inexpressible enjoy-
ment of lue. Among all the things around you, there is
nothing that can die. Tou seem to have overstepped
the boundaries of mortal existence, and to be moving
within the regions of immortality. The sun pouring
down its rays through an unclouded sky; the endless
expanse of rocks and feand, seemingly rendered trans-
parent by excessive light; and the elastici^, purity,
and sweetness of the air, which almost intoxicates you
by its exhilarating qualities, render the traversing of
the Desert a source of more than ordinary pleasure.
That many who have made the Irial think dififerently,
is to be accounted for by accidental circumstaooes.
They have been sufibring perhaps from HI health, or
been rendered dejected by other causes, and have attri-
buted to physical infiuences what should rather have
been ascribed to the condition of their minds.
These, however, are the feelings with which (he
generality of mankind regard the Desert Hiitory and
poetry have peopled their fancy with varied images of
terror: whirling sand pillars reaching to the clouds;
tracUess regions unblessed with spring or fountain ; an
unstable soil in perpetual motion, rolling like the waves
of the sea before the wind, and ever ready to submerge
the luckless traveler ; fierce tribes of men addicted lo
pillage and murder; scorpions, serpents, pestilential
blasts, and death by sufibcatin^ heat But the spirit of
enterprise overcomes everything. Trade perpetnaOy
conducts caravans across these burning tracts; and
curiosity and the love of science from, time to time im-
pel single adventurers to despise the sand-atorm and
the simoom, and to penetrate into these half-fabuloos
solitudes, in which the venerable traditions of antiquity
are found side by side with the oi&pring of modem
ignorance and superstition.
When we were ourselves in I^rpt, invincible obstedes
prevented our approach to the Oaais of Jupiter AnmMO.
We have therefore read witii deep interest the narra-
tive of Mr Bayle St John,* who was more fortunate tiian
ourselves, since he succeeded in reaching the site of the
oracle and the celebrated Fountain of the Sun. He
was lucky enough to find at Alexandria tiiree gentle-
men, who consented to become his companiona; and on
the 15th of September 1847, started in the direction of
the Arab's Tower. The four travellers were mounted
on asses, camels carried their tent and baggage, and
they were accompanied by a number of donkey boys
and two Moggrebins or African Bedawlns. For various
reasons, the natives who attend you on such expeditioiis
are greatly given to multiply Uie dangers of the wity.
First, ignorance is always prone to the marvdlous;
second, the persons whom they meet returning from
the place to be visited are apt to exaggerate, in order
to enhance their own intrepidity; and third, if they
* AdTentures In ibe ZJbysa Denrt and fh« Oaris of ^ipiter
Ammon. Qy Bayle 81 John. London: Mniny. 18IIL
CHAMBERS»8 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
267
ire expected to fkce thint, fatigue, fevera, robbers, and
assattins, it is bat fidr that their reward should be aug-
mented in proportion to their risks. We were ourselTes
fbrtonate enough to meet with Arabs of a better dass,
who made light of real dangers, and exhibited unusual
disinterestedness and forbeinranoe. But they were evi'
dentlj exceptions to the general rule; at least old
Tdnus, who conducted Mr Bayle St John to Siwah,
was one of those unprincipled and uncompromising
ragabonds who are too commonl j found on ttie frontiers
of aQ counties, more especially in the East.
The region oyer which they travelled for scTeral days
lies along the borders of the sea ; and though represented
almost by a blank in our maps, exhibits tokens of baring
been wdl coltiyated and extremely fertile in antiquity.
Tanks, wells, cisterns, fountains, and streams of water
existing in great numbers, attest the industry of its
ancient inhabitants, and justify the reports transmitted
to us by historians. But it is now no longer the abode
of civilisatiDn. Instead of husbandmen and yine-dressers,
merchants and shipowners, we only encounter a few
straggling Moggrebdns, half shepherds and half thieves,
who vanish at the approach of a powerful caravan, but
fie in wait and attack stragglers, whom Uiey pillage,
and occasionally assassinate.
The party in whose company we are about to pro-
ceed to the Oasis having remained two days at Abusir,
the Tapostris of £g3rptian geography, and made dur-
ing that time all necessary arrangements, on the 18th
of September committed themselves to the perils of
the Desert The sheik who was to be their guide
lingered veny naturally about his tent, loth to quit his
young wife and the command of his dan, however
small, in order, for gain, to herd with those whom he
regarded as unbelievers, and to brave in their society
thirst, pestilence, and famine. Gold of course prevsil^
ultimately. Having held an affectionate dialogue with
his hdpmote, and ^ven a great deal of good f^vice to
his son, Tiinui put the diminutive caravan in motion.
In this march, though they kept moving till midnight,
little way was made. Next day also the spirit of linger-
ing prevailed. The guides were restive ; the traveUers
not yet invested with that authority which habit and
distance nsually confer on them ; and so it was late in
tile afternoon oefore they recommenced their march.
But with the Arabs little diflbrence is made in travelling
between day and night ; or rather, we should perhaps
say, ttiey prefer the latter, partlv through prudence, and
puutly through an Instinctive hankering after that ex-
dtement which new scenes, beheld by star or moonlight,
everywhere afifbrd. Few objects presented themselves
to arrest tiieir curiosity. Close upon dusk they passed
tiie ruins of a fortified camp, and three hours later a Sa-
racenic castle, which, standing amid the white sands on
the beach, awakened in their minds many assodations
of legend and romance. Then, again, about the witch-
ing time of night, they spread their mats upon the rocks,
enjoyed their pipes, and having fhrther fortified them-
selves with brandy and water against the cold, slept in
their doaks beneath the open sky. In this way they
proceeded day after day, sometimes pausing to examine
the ruins which presented themselves on the route,
now and then meeting kafilas going down into Egypt
to buy com : here pitching their tent to defend tfiem
from the chin blasts of the Mediterranean ; and there,
overcome by weariness, omitting this precaution, and
contenting themsdves with the shelter of a rock.
The reader, perhaps, has studied Plutarch, or Quin-
tus Curtius, or some other historian of Alexander the
QrcAt In that case he will remember that the Mace-
donian conqueror pursued exactly the same route,
though with far greater celerity, when he undertook
his expedition to Ammon's Temple, in order to strengthen
among his followers the belief that he was sprung from
a Divine source. In his case there was greater haste
ttian prudence. Four days after leaving the border of
I^ke Mareotis, the ftiture site of Alexandria, he and his
coopanicms were in danger of perishing from thirst.
and were at length saved only by the occurrence of
copious showers, which enabled them to fill their water-
sldns. It was customary, however, in those times al-
ways to look for marvels, into which, by a peculiar sys-
tem of interpretation, they converted whatever they
saw. The Macedonians lost their way in the Desert,
when a flight of crows making its appearance, guided
them through the dangerous passes until they behdd
the verdant Oasis expanding before their eyes. In the
protracted duration of traditions we put less faith than
many others ; but from the nomenclature of the Desert,
it appears that a wild gorge hi the interior still retains
the name of the Pass of the Crow, from the fact, perhaps,
that that bird is constantiy observed there. Mr Bayle St
John and his companions lost their way, like the Mace-
donians, and were extricated from their difficulty by
following in the wake of a couple of crows, which, they
concluded, were flying towards the Oasis. In the Yall^
of the Nile there is a particular mountain, which, though
several hundred miles from the Mediterranean, is habi-
tually covered with flights of the Damietta duck and
other aquatic birds. They doubtless find some favourite
food in the Nile at that spot, and therefore proceed
thither in numbers, which sometimes render all the
rocks in the neighbourhood almost black. The constant
presence of the crow in the pass which bears its name,
may probably be accounted for in the same way. On
the night after this adventure, they found themselves
under the necessity of traversing a series of hollows,
that remind us of those which intersect the route be-
tween Ti^ara and the Abyssinian Highlands. For some
time they had been journeying along a lofty ridge, firom
which it became necessary to descend by fordng the
camels down a narrow and predpitous declivity, rail of
danger and difficulty. At tiie bottom they halted three
or four hours to wait for the moon, in a position suffl-
dentiy romantic and uncomfortable. A north-east wind,
cold and cutting, came whistling over the tops of the
hills, and seem^ to be sucked down into tiie hollow,
where they sat on tiie chilly stones enveloped in their
doaks, or lay prostrate to catch a brief space of sleep.
* On aQ sides,' observes the traveller, * perpendicular
masses of rock reared themsdves, black and frowning,
looking like a vast ruined wall encircling us ; whilst
overhead the Milky Way spanned the heavens, and all
the constellations shone with a brilliancy known only
in the East, and, I may add, in the Desert. At about
ten the moon lifted up its slightiy-depressed orb over
the vast pile of rocks, and we were soon again in motion,
right glad to escape from so bleak a spot. A few hun-
dred yards ahead, after passing a narrow defile, an ex-
traordinary scene burst upon us. Whilst the irregular
line of rocks continued dose on our left, we suddenly
behdd to the right a great chasm ; and beyond, glitter-
ing in the moonlight, and dothed by it, no douH, with
yet stranger forms, and more eigantic proportions than
nature had afforded, a huge pile of white rocks, looking
like the fortifications of some vast fabulous dty, such as
Martin would choose to paint, or Beckford to describe.
There were yawning gateways flanked by bastions of
tremendous dtitude *, there were towers and pyramids,
and crescents and domes, and dizzy pinnades and ma-
jestic castellated heights, all invested with unearthly
grandeur by the magic beams of the moon, yet exhibit-
ing, in wide breaches and indescribable ruin — evident
proofs that, during a long course of ages, they had been
battered and undermined by the hurricane, the rain-
shower, the thunderbolt, the winter torrent, and all the
mighty artillery of time. Piled one upon another, and
repeated over and over again, these strangely-contorted
rocks stretched away as far as the eye could reach, rink-
ing, however, as they receded, and leading the mind,
though not the eye, down to the distant plain below.
In vain did our eager glances endeavour to ascertain
the limit of the descent to which we had so abruptiy
come. The horizon was dissolved in a misty light ; but
stars twinkling low down, as if beneath our feet, showed
that we were about to abandon, once for aU, the great
range, along the sammit of which we had toiled during
■o many nights and days.
' A gorge, black as Brebus, lay directly across our
path ; and we had to make a detoar to the left in order
to reach Uie place where it is practicable for camels.
Here there was a panse ; for again the generally patient
beasts hesitated, and moaned, and baclred, and drew up
their long necks, and huddled together ; as well, indeed,
they might. The declivity was steep, and filled with
heayy shadows. Precipices hemmed it in on every
side } and here and there we could distinguish a huge
fragment of rock standing like a petrified giant in the
way, and catdiing perchance on its bare scalp some
stray beams of sickly light. But down we did go ;
the camels, when once the impetus was given, carried
forward by the weight of their burthens, yet keeping
their footing with admirable sagacity ; we, almost in
the same manner, each leading by the halter his long-
eared monture. In truth it was a picturesque scene :
gtaUy lighted by the slanting rays of the moon, partly
uried in broad masses of shade, and only requiring a
few Bedawin heads appearing from behind the jagged
rocks, and the fiash of a gun or two, to make it wcnrtiiy
of the pencil of Salvator Rosa. According to our guides,
some probability existed of such an illumination taking
place ; and our imaginations were thus supplied with
materials to work on^ as in the solemn hush of that
romantic night we scrambled, slid, staggered, almost
rolled down.'
Having thus reached the bottom of the gorge, they
there bivouacked for the night ; and next day, tSter the
usual quarrels and altercations with the guides, moved
along the base of a series of white and red cliffs, passed
the Hill of the Cannons, and traversing an exceedingly
rough and rooky tract of country, entered upon a plain,
where they discovered the first signs of vegetation
since leaving Alexandria. By these they were inspired
with such feelings of pleasure, that although they con-
sisted of nothing but a number of huge thorns, they
could not, as the traveller expresses it, take off their
eyes from the green of their leaves. They were now
drawing near to what, in the poetical phraseology of
the Arab, is called the Gates of the Milky Mountains.
Their Bedawlns always took care to keep them in a
state of perpetual expectation, and indeed would them-
selves appear to have looked forward hourly to the oc-
currence of some unfortunate disaster. Already several
times had they been surrounded by the elements of
strife, and only escaped what might have proved a
fatal encounter by the prudence of the Cyaops who
had taken them under his protection. Now, however,
danger seemed to approach in a formidable shape.
Weariness and want of sleep had sharpened their
powers of apprehension. The heat was terrific. They
were standinff in their tent faint and dispirited, when
they descried some objects ahead, which created the
usual interest and excitement ' Pipes were laid aside
and guns taken up. For aught we knew, the Manser
might be coming down upon us. It soon appeared,
however, that a large caravan was approaching; still
there might be cause for alarm. To what tribe did
these strangers belong? If hostile to the Waled Ali,
a collision might take place. Presently we beheld a
number of armed men advancing ahead of their camels.
Our tent, no doubt, had attracted their attention, and
roused their curiosity, perhaps excited their alarm.
They came on cautiously, as towards an enemy, with
their muskets half presented. One of them at length
detached himself, and drew near us, keeping a little
out of the direct line, i>068ibly to allow his companions
an opportunity of firing in case of necessity. He
was a strapping giant, above six feet high, with a
fine open countenance, high Roman nose, and reddish
complexion. I could not help admiring the appear-
ance of this young lion as he crept along, slightly bend-
ing, with his gun thrown forward, gazing at us wiUi
eyes in which distrust and curiosity were amusingly
blended. As he approached, Tunus, who had more of
the tiger in his composition than the Hon, went with the
same precautions to meet him ; and we heard them both,
with the infernal suspicion perlu^M necessary in the
Desert, bring their weapons to full cock ere they came to
close quarters. A moment afterwards, however, hand-
shaking and embracing succeeded ; and the whole parU
coming up, our little encampment was soon flUed with
a set of ruffianly- looking young fellows, with ikall-
caps, that had been white, pulled nearly over thdr eyes,
with brown blankets wrapped closely round thras, and
tucked up in marching trim, and shoes of varioni
colours in various degrees of dilapidation. Many had
daggers and pistols in their belts, from which were lui-
pended shot and powder -purses, with an amulet or
two ; and all were armed wiUi long guns, some with the
addition of bayonets.
'Now began a prodigious number of nmtoal in.
quiries, all in cut-and-dried phrases, after one another^i
health, each of the new-comers thinking it neoesiary to
ask at least ten times of each of our oonapantoni hov
he did. The most satisfactory answers were invariably
given ; but the anxiety and solicitude of these kind
people were not easUy soothed. They seemed reiHy
afraid that some peculiar source of sorrow might be
suppressed through mere delicacy. Exquisite display of
the finest feelings of the human breast I I wish I had
not detected certain covetous glances at various artidei
of property, and that tliis affectionate meeting had
terminated in any other manner than a general cry for
drink, and a rush at our water-skins. They were bat
ill supplied for their journey. Improvidence, or po-
verty, or both, had presided over their arrangement!.
I coiUd only see about five small kwrheha diatribnted
among the thirty or forty camels that crowded patt
laden with heavy bags of dates. However, the tfainty
souls were not unreasonable ; they were made to under-
stand that we could not satisfy the wants of the whole
party, and we only spared two or three draoghti of
water to those that seemed the heads of this band of
youtlis, among whom he who had advanced to recon-
noitre was the chief. We received in return for oar
limited civility a small pile of fresh dates of excelleot
quality, and the information that there was no fever
reported at Siwah ; the party, which came fh)m nme
point on the coast to the west, had only been as far u
Garah, where they had obtained their winter's prori-
sion of dates. They were good-natured, but rough cos-
tomers. I should not have liked to have enooontered
them beyond the range of Tiinus's bland eye.*
They now passed through the little Oasis of Garah,
where they were well received, and reached the great
valley, which, for ite extreme beauty, was denominated
by the ancients the Island of the Blessed. The cha-
racter of its inhabitants, however, had greatly changed
since those days. Instead of being hospitable and
genial, they have now degenerated into a horde of sa-
vages, fierce, bigoted, vindictive, and disposed to tiinut
the stranger from their doors : for the honour of the
children of Ishmael, it should be stated that they wm
not Arabs, but descended from the Berber race, whkh
would appear to be scattered under various names over
all the eastern division of the Sahara. Out of considera-
tion for the Bedawin who brought them to &wah, they
were granted a conditional permission to remain ; takmg
advantage of which, Mr St John explored the valley
in its whole length and breadth, visited the nuni of
Ammon's Ten^le, the Fountain of the San, the Hill of
Tombs, and the margin of those salt lakes which, w-
circled with a glittering snow-white rim, connects the
Oasis with the Desert: what still remains of natural
beauty and fertility may be said fully to jo***^ *^
descriptions of the ancients. Everywhere you behold
magnificent palm groves which produce valuable date^
gardens of superb pomegranate-trees, and apricots and
bananas, equalling in richness those of Boretts. Tw
olive also, as in El-Fayoom, interposes its dusky vcrdiire
among the clumps of brighter green, and large expanMi
of bursin or Egyptian clover, interspersed with brtxtfi
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
269
and rills, separate the orchards and the groves. The
c^ief town, Siwah-el-Beber, constructed with blocks of
rock-salt, rises in a castellar form, tier above tier, to
^e height of one hundred and twenty tieet, and glitters
like a pyramid of tinted snow in the sun. But into
Uiis the strangers were not permitted to enter. In
Uiese were the women of the Berbers, whom it was
not permitted to any other eyes than those of the Mus-
lims to behold. Fearful this rule might accidentally
be broken, the natives desired to terrify away the tra-
▼ellers as speedily as possible ; and without doubt suc-
ceeded in thorou^y disgusting them. They fixed,
therefore, upon an early day for their departure ; and
the occorrenoe of the following scene may be supposed
to have hastened their movements : — The travellers are
seated in their tent, having made all the necessary pre-
parations for their departure, and are discussing in a
friendly manner as to whether their evening's entertain-
ment should consist of grog or tea. * The vote having
been given for the latter, Derweesh and Saad, who had
been heard through the canvas astonishing the weak
minds of the Bedawins by accounts of the ** fast" life they
led in Alexandria, received orders to light the fire, to boU
the water, and to skim it ; for at Siwah a thick scum
always rises to tiie surface as soon as it begins to warm.
Oar kettle was nothing but a tin can, employed for a
variety of purposes; none, however, more important
than this. Wcdl, a cheerful blaze was soon lighted up,
and ^e two lads crouched down to it, spreading out
thear bhie shirts to keep off the wind that came sweep-
ing along as usuid, howUng amidst the palm groves, and
threatening at every moment to bear away our little
tent. By this flickering light we could discover our
patient donkeys still weary, after four days' rest, hang-
ing their noses in melancholy companionship together
dose along the wall of the plantation near at hand ;
and the surly Tunus casting ever and anon towards us
a sinister glance from his remaining eye ; and the good-
tempered Wahsa showing his white teeth ; and old Saleh
mumbling and shaking his long thin beard— all three
crowded round some mess of their own making ; and
we could dimly see the camels at no great distance,
either holding their heads erect, or working their way
here and there in spite of their fettered legs *, and in the
background the huge dark mass of the town of Siwah
rising in sullen silence against the sky. . . . Our con-
versation that evening was not of long continuance.
One 1^ one we stretched out to repose in anticipation
of the labours of the next day, and a general silence
soon prevailed. Hie fire had gone out, our guides and
attendants had sought shelter from the wind in little
nooks formed by the zembeels and bean bags, and the
whole encampment would probably have been soon
yftft^pped in slumber, had not the report of a gun dose
at band among the palm-trees aroused us. It was pretty
evident that some evil-disposed person had crept up
behind the wall, and taken a shot at the Nasara.
iM^kSly he could not aim, and was too cowardly to try
bis fortune a second time. However, Mr Lamport, who
was the first to understand what was going on, put out
the lantern at once, for there was no knowing how
many mfflans were prowling about anxious to make a
target of us; and we quietly waited events, making our
prqiarations in silence to resist any attack unless of
overwhelming ntmibers. Presently a crowd of people
were besrd coming with loud cries from the direction
of Siwah, and we could soon distinguish the name of
Y6nQs several times repeated. It appeared that his
friends within the city had heard the report, and being
aware of tiie feeling tiiat existed against us, because we
were Christians, and against him for bringing us, had
come out to see .what was the matter. They expressed
great sorrow at what had taken place, and some of them
resolved to remain all night in the neighbourhood of
the tent. We now understood that thero was a large
party at Siwah, who» if they had their will, would
asssacre na at once ; and unpleasant reports reached
I as that twenty-four individuals had leagued together
to waylay us on our return towards Garah. However,
sleep being absolutely essential, we arranged our carpet-
bags so as to protect us as much as possible in case
half-a-dozen slugs should intrude into the tent, and
soon forgot the incivility of which we had been the
objects.' The return to Egypt was accomplished in
the utmost haste. Some firesh ground was gone over ;
but the novelty, and therefore the interest of the Desert,
had been exhausted. Compelled to live on bad food,
to drink bad water, and to sustain the annoyance and
everlasting quarrels and bickerings with their guid^
it was with unusual pleasure that, after a journey of
nearly forty days, they found themselves once more in
Alexandria, amid the comforts of a comparative civili-
sation, and in the midst of genuine friends, who had
almost given them up for lost, and were engaged in
urging the pasha to send out a body of horse in search
of them.
QUADRUPEDS OF NORTH AMERICA*
Whoever has read the ' Ornithological Biography,' one
of the most delightful of all contributions to sdentiflc
literature, will hear with great interest of the appear-
ance of another work of the same kind, and by the same
author, although on the present occasion Audubon has
had the assistance of Dr Bachman. The non-scientific
reader will perhaps be startled at the outset by the title
' ViviparouB Quadrupeds,' and inquire what animals of
the kind are oviparous. The expression, we presume, is
intended to distinguish quadrupeds, popularliy so called,
from the four-footed oviparous reptiles ; but we doubt
whether, in its general application, it would answer
even this purpose, since some of the lizard tribe (though
possibly not American varieties) are viviparous — that
is to say, the young are born alive, the eggs being
hatched within the body.
This is the first attempt — except those made by early
writers, when the number of spedes known was incon-
siderable— to give a complete description of the quadru-
peds of America ; and the authors have been compelled^
in the course of their researches, to consult the various
sdentific journals for the information scattered through-
out the papers both of American and European zodo-
gists. They have themsdves described, however, not
from stufied spedmens, but from the living or recently-
living animal ; and in the department of * habits ' more
espeoally, their information appears pretty generally to
have been drawn dther from their own observation or
other original sources. The book, therefore, indepen-
dently of its sdentific importance, possesses a strong
interest for the general resider ; vast numbers of whom,
in these comparatively wdl-informed days, have at least
that smattering of sdence which enables them to obtain
instruction from entertainment.
We are told in the introduction that the history of
the habits of the quadrupeds was the production of both
authors ; but occasionally there occurs a passage which
is Audubon all over. Who can doubt fh>m what pen
comes this description of an assembly of flying squirrels ?
' We recollect a locality not many miles from Philadel-
phia where, in order to study the habits of this inte-
resting spedes, we occasionally strayed into a meadow
containing here and there immense oak and beech-trees.
One afternoon we took our seat on a log in the vidnity
to watch their lively motions. It was during the calm
warm weather peculiar to the beginning of autumn.
During the half hour before sunset nature seemed to be
in a state of silence and repose. The birds had retired
to the shelter of the forest: the night-hawk had al-
ready commenced his low evening flight, and here and
there the common red bat was on the wing ; still, for
* The ViTlpftitrat Qoadrnpedt of North America. By John
Jsmes Audubon and the Rev. I>r Baohman. YoL U London ;
Wiley and Putnam.
270
CHAMBEBS'8 EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
some time not a flying squirrel made its appearance.
Suddenly, however, one emerged from its hole and ran
up to the top of a tree ; another soon followed; and ere
long dozens came forth, and conmienced their graceful
flights from some upper branch to a lower bough. At
times one would be seen darting from the topmost
branches of a tall oak, and with wide-extended mem-
branes and outspread tail gliding diagonally through
the air, till it reached the foot of a tree about fifty yards
of^ when, at the moment we expected to see it strike
the earth, it suddenly turned upwards and alighted on
the body of the tree. It would then run to the top, and
once more precipitate itself from the upper branches,
and sail back again to the tree it had just left Crowds
of these little creatures joined in these sportive gam-
bols ; there could not have been less than two hundred.
Scores of them would leave each tree at the same mo-
ment, and cross each other, gliding like spirits through
the air, seeming to have no other object in view than
to indulge a playftil propensity. We watched and
mused tiU the last shadows of day bad disappeared, and
darkness admonished us to leave the little triflers to
their nocturnal enjoyments.*
These little creatures enjoy life only during the night
They become tame in a few hours, and show little dis-
position to change the residence that is allotted to them.
One of them, with its young family, was taken ftt)m a
hollow tree, carried home in the finder's hat and placed
in a drawer with a chink open to admit the air. The
mother, however, made her escape, and some fears were
entertained for her progeny, as they showed no dispo-
sition to eat Thev seemed to thrive, notwithstanding,
and were always in good order — a circumstance that
was at length accounted for by the discovery, that the
mother saonflced her gambols on the trees to her natu-
ral affection, and, stealing in by the window, passed the
night with her offspring.
The migration of the northern gray squirrel towards
the east is curious. They are stopped neither by moun-
tains nor rivers, but march on in vast troops, devouring
the com and wheat wherever they pass, and filling the
farmer with dread. As on ordinary occasions the
squirrel has an instinctive dread of water, some stories
have been invented to account for their being able to
cross rivers. One of these, which is believed by many,
is that they float across on a piece of bark, raising their
broad tails by way of a sail I Our authors, however, saw
them swimming, and some so unskilfully that they were
drowned ; while others were fain to rest on the long
steering-oar of the boat
The squirrel is preyed upon by many animals, but
more especifdly by the snake ; and the common mode of
accounting for so agile a creature being caught by its
sluggish enemy, is to suppose that it has been * fascinated,'
or paralysed by its deadly glance. Our authors, however,
contend that &ere is no fascination in the case, but that
the squirrel is either transfixed with horror, or induced
to approach by simple curiosity. As an instance of the
latter feeling, they mention having seen one come down
from a tree to inspect a beautiful little scarlet snake,
not much larger than a pipe stem, and scarcely able to
master a grasshopper. But this, we submit is no case
in point ; for the squirrd, like other animals, is doubt-
less well acquainted with the strength of his enemies.
We once witnessed an instance of what very much re-
sembled fisscination in the case of a bird. It was a
canary, so admirable a songster, that when we put him
out in our balcony in London, he usually gathered a
crowd of listeners in the street There was in the house
at the same time a Tom-oat as black as night a quiet
and sagacious old gentleman, but to whose appearance
the bird could never be reconciled. Tom frequently
crept up to its cage, and stole its bread and cake ; but
although he never made the slightest attempt at per-
sonal violence, tiie canary on such occasions always
fluttered and squeaked as desperately as if it appre-
hended murder. With us it was on such good terms
that it would come upon our flnger, to be taken out oi
the cage for a fly about the room ; bat on one imfor-
tunate day a third individual was present unobserved.
The canary flew up to a comer of the ceiling, and at
that moment we caught a view of the head of the Tom-
cat protruded from beneath a table-cover which bad
concealed him. The discovery was made too li^ ; fat
at the same instant the canary, after a flutter or quiver,
darted right down into the mouth of the animal, and
was crushed to death with one movement of his jaws.
Tom's American relations in a wild state— the Indians
of the cat race — are represented in these pages as rather
interesting in their character. They have all the ex-
ternal marks of ferocity, and but little of the reiiity:
they look daws, but use none — but when flight becomes
hopeless, they tum to bay, and grapple in infuriated
despair with either man or dog. They are sometimes
hunted with packs of foxhounds, and on these occa-
sions the wild-cat exhibits ' an exercise of instinct so
closely bordering on reason, that we are bewildered in
the attempt to separate it from the latter. No sooner
does he become aware that the enemy is on his track,
than, instead of taking a straight course for the deepest
forest he speeds to one of the largest old fields over-
grown with briery thickets in the neighbourhood ; and
having reached this tangled maze, he runs in a varied
of cirdes, crossing and recrossins his path many times;
and when he thinks the scent has been difif\ised sufli-
ciently in difierent directions by this manoeuvre to
puzzle both men and dogs, he creeps slyly forth, and
makes for the woods, or for some well-known swamp;
and if he should be lucky enough to find a lialf-dried-iq>
pond, or a part of the swamp on which the dayey
bottom is moist and sticky, he seems to know that tibia
adhesive soil, covering his feet and legs, so far destroys
the tcerU, that although the hounds may be in faH cry
on reaching such a place, and while crossing it they
will lose the track on the opposite side, and perhaps not
regain it without some difficulty and delay.'
This is indeed a curious part oi the instinct of ani-
mals— ^the knowledge they have that they are betrayed
by their scent On other occasions the wild-cat is de-
scribed as making a desperate, and therefore t^nporary
effort to get some distance ahead of its pursuers, when,
instead of continuing to run on, which it feds would be
unavailing, it loses time, as an inexperienced looker-oa
might suppose, by traversing repeatedly from end to
end the trunk of a fallen tree. It then makes a sudden
spring, and leaps, without touching the ground, into the
branches of a neighbouring tree ; and dunbing to one at
its highest forks, awaits, doselv squatted, the arrival of
its enemies. The result usually is, that the dogs, con-
founded and wearied out by the soent on the tree, which
they can trace up and down, and down and upb a doua
times over, but not a foot farther along the grooDd, ai9
soon at fault and the huntsmen calling them off fron
the hopdess search, give up the chase.
A wild-cat hunt of this kind, but with a difil»ent ter-
mination, is described in our authors' best manner. The
cat is for a time difficult to find, but at length aaaie of
the more experienced dogs begin to give tongue, and os-
ward goes the trail through a broad marsh. * ** He will
soon be started now I" ** He is upl " What a bnrstl
you might have heard it two miles off— it comes in
mingled sounds, roaring like thunder, ifrom the miMldv
marsh and from the deep swamp. The barred ovt
frightened from the monotony of his quiet life amoag
the cypress-trees, commences hooting in mockflty, as 11
were, of the wide-mouthed hounds. Here they eooM^
sweeping through the resounding swamp like an equi-
noctial storm — the crackling of a reed, the ^haVi^^g a( a
bush, a glimpse of some object that glided past nke a
shadow, is succeeded by the whde paiok, ratUing away
among the vines and fsdlen timbers, and leavinc a trail
in the mud, as if a pack of wdves in pursuit 3 a dasr
had hurried by. The cat has gone past It is now
evident that he will not climb a tre& It is almost in-
variably the case that wheie he can retreat to bv
swampy situations, or brier paftdies^ he iHU not take a
CHAMBRKR'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
271
tree, bat seeks to wetiy the dogs by makiDg short
windfaigs smong the aknost impMssUe brier patches.
He hss DOW been twisting and turning half-a-dozen
times in a thicket oorering onlj three or foor acres —
let ns go in and take our stand on the rery trail where
he last passed, and shoot him if we can. A shot is
heard on the opposite edge of the thicket, and again all
ii still ; bat once more t£u9 pack is in Ml cry. Here he
comes, almost brashing our legs as he dashes by and
disappears in the bushes, before we can get sight of him
and poll trigger. Bat we see that the dogs are every
moment pressing him okMer* that the marauder is
showing eridenoes oi fiitigae, and is nearly ** done up.**
He b^&is to make narrower drdes ; there are restless
flashes in his eye; his back ia now corred upwards ; his
hair is bristled nerrous^ Ibrward; his tongue hangs
oot ; we raise our gun as he is approaching, and scarcely
ten yards off— a loud report — the smolce has hardly
Mown aside, ere we see bun lifeless almost at our rery
feet: had we waited three minutes longer, tiie hounds
would have sared us the powder and shot I '
A fbz is described as hunting on his own account, and
watched in l^s operations by one of our authors, who,
after the animal has been sucxsessful in capturing a bird,
pots his gun instinctiYely to his shoulder. He is stopped,
howerer, by the reflection, that Uie marauder had only
obeyed an instinct of his nature, and obtained a meal
in the preacribed way; that he killed only a single bird,
instead of murdering, as man would do were he able,
the whole cor^ ; and that he took no wanton pleasure
in the destruction of his pr^, or in exhibiting his spoils
to his companions, but was perfectly content to satisfy
his hanger. This is good reasoninff, and well befitting a
pbfloeopber, as oontndistingaishea firom a mere sports-
The fox is frequently hunted in his turn, and on such
occasions displays a sagacity which is altogether won-
derfuL ' The li^ Benjamin G. Tancey, Esq. an eminent
lawyer, who in his youth was very fond of fox-hunting,
relUed the Avowing : — ^A fox had been pursued near
his reddence at Edgefield several times, but the hounds
always lost the track at a place where there was a foot-
path leading down a steep hilL He therefore deter-
mined to conceal himself near this declivity the next
time the fox was started, in order to discover his mode
of baffling the dogs at this place. The animal was ac-
cordingly pot up and chased, and at first led the hounds
thioo^ many bayous and ponds in the woods, but at
length oame nmning over the brow of the hill along
the path, stopped suddenly, and spread himself out fiat
and BotlMiless on the ground ; the hounds came down
the hiH in porsuit at a dashing pace, and the whole
pack passed, and did not stop until tbey were at the
bottom of the hiH As soon as the immediate danger
was over, tiie fox, casting a fbrtive glance around him,
started up, and ran off at his greatest speed on his
"backtrack."'
An anecdote is given of a wolverine, which, on get-
ting Ua leg into a trap, carried off the whole concern,
weiring ^ght pounds, a distance of six miles. This
he did, not by dragging the trap after him, which the
snow and hanging branches of the trees would have
leodend the next thing to impossible, but by taking it
■p IB his mo«th, and running on three legs.
We are not aware that an opportunity has fireqoently
oeeaxred of observing a hybernating quadruped in his
state of torpi^ty ; but this occurred in the case of a
ground hog, or wood-chuck, which was kept in a house
as a pel Its chamber was a large box supplied with
a bed of hay, and on tiie approach of winter this was
placed in a warm comer of the room. The instinct of
the animal, however, was not to be deceived. Ttie time
fbr its winter sleep had arrived, and entering the box,
it arranged its couch with care, and became torpid.
After six weeks had passed, it was taken out of the
box, and fbond to be inanimate, and as round as a ball,
its nose messed npon its abdomen, and covered with
its taO. It was lo&ed over the oainet anin and amin
without effect; but after being laid down for half an
hour dose to the fire, it slowly unrolled itself^ raised up
its nose, and looked round in bewilderment. It was
now replaced in its box, when it went to sleep as before,
and so remained until spring.
The habits of the Florida rats in America, as regards
their habitations, are highly curious. In some places
they burrow under stones and ruins; in otiiers they
remain in the woods ; in others, in swampy situations,
they pile up a cone of dry sticks ; and in others still,
they nuike tiieir nests in the forks of lofty trees. * About
fifteen years ago, on a visit to the graveyard of the
church at Ebeniezer, Georgia, we were struck with the
appearance of several very large nests near the tops of
some tall evergreen oaks (Qfiereus aqtioiiouB); on dis-
turbing the nests, we discovered them to be inhabited
by a number of Florida rats, of all sizes, some of which
descended rapidly to the ground, whilst others escaped
to the highest branches, where they were concealed
among the leaves. These nests, in certain situations,
are of enormous size. We liave observed some of them
on trees, at a height of firom ten to twenty feet firom the
ground, where wUd vines had made a tangled mass over-
head, which appeared to be larger than a cart-wheel,
and contained a mass of leaves and sticks that would
have more than filled a barrel'
Of all the animals described In the present volume,
the skunk is the most curious, and the most detested.
It has claws and teeth, but is too timid to use them,
and is so slow of foot that it might seem to be com-
pletely in the power of its enemies ; but the most fero-
cious of these, while still at a distance of many feet
firom their prey, turn tail, and fly, or run their noses
into the earth, and roll and tumbte, as if in convul-
sions. As for a man, he usually runs f^m the little
animal, which is only seventeen hiches long, as if a lion
were at his heels. The means fixmished by nature for
this creature's defiraoe, is simply a liquid, contained in
two small sacs on each side of the tadl, and which it is
able to discharge at its enemies to a distance, as mea-
sured by our authors, of fourteen feet It takes an
unerring aim, saluting a dog in the fsce and eyes, and
setting the animal distracted with pain and inexpres-
sible loathing. So offensive and so permanent is the
odour of this liquid (which has nothing to do with the
ordinary excretions), that clothes once sprinkled with
it are useless. No washing, no perfume, not even bury-
ing them for a month in the earth, has tiie slightest
efi&ct The following is an account of the adventure
of one of our authors with a skunk : — * It happened in
our eariy schoolboy days that once, when the sun had
just set, as we were slowly wending our way home firom
the house of a neighbour, we observed in the path before
us a pretty littie animaJ, playfinl as a kitten, moving
quietiy along : soon it stopped, as if waiting for us to
come near, throwing up its long bushy tail, turning
round and looking at us like some old acquaintance. We
pause and gaze : what is it? It is not a young puppy
or a cat ; it is more gentie than either : it seems desirous
to keep company with us, and, like a pet poodle, appears
most luippy when only a few paces in advance, preced-
ing us, as if to show the path. What a pretty creature
to carry home in our arms ! It seems too gentie to bite ;
let us catch it We run towards it ; it makes no effort
to escape, but waits for us ; it raises its tail, as if to in-
vite us to take hold of its brush : we seize it instanter,
and grasp it with the energy of a miser clutching a box
of diamonds; a short struggle ensues, when — ^faughl
we are suffocated ; our eyes, nose, and face are suddenly
bespattered with the most horrible fetid fluid. Imagine
to yourself, reader, our surprise, our disgust, the sick-
ening feelings that almost overcome us. We drop our
prize, and t&e to our heels, too stubborn to cry, but too
much alarmed and discomfited just now to take an-
other look at the cause odf our misfortune, and effectually
undeceived as to the leal character of this seemingly
mild and pUyfiil Uttle feUow.'
It would be easv to multiply extracts of this kind :
272
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
bat the abore are rafficient to show the style and cha-
racter of the book. Scientific readers wUl find in it
information of more Talue, to which it is not our pro-
Tince to direct their attention.
SUCCESSFUL INDUSTRY.
At the seventh annual meeting of the London Early-
Closing Association, held on Tuesday se^niffht, at which
the Marquis of Blandford presided, Mr WiUiams, M. P.,
pithily pleaded the cause of early shop-shuttinp; by a refe-
rence to his early life. Ho said — *No man m England
had felt the disadvantages of late shop-shutting more than
hinuelll He came to London at the age of fourteeUi and
the fint situation he obtained was in a draper*s house,
where he served twelve montlis for L.6. At the end of the
twelve months his first ambition was — leaving Wales as a
poor boy — to be enabled to do something for his mother.
(Cheers.) He saved just enough to buv her a pound of
tea, for which he paid 88. (Hear and cheers.) He used
to sleep under the counter, and he had no doubt that mimy
whom ne addressed slept under the counter, if they were
not too proud to own it. (Laughter.) He thsn moved
from the situation where he had wages, to one at the west
end, where he had a salary. (Laughter.) There was a
difference between wages and a salary. (Laughter.^ His
great prayer and aim was to do his duty to his employers,
and aarist his poor relations in Wales. (C!heers.) He used
to get up at six o^dock in the morning, and go to bed at
two o'clock the next meaning. Many a time had he sat
down on his bed to rest himself for a moment, before he
undressed, and many a time had he found himself, at six
o*olook in the morning, almost as tired, with his clothes
on. (Hear.) Was there any state of slavery so bad as
that? He had to bear with it, for he had no one that
would give him twenty shiUinss to support him until he
ffot another situation. The only time he had to read was
oetween two and six o*cIock in the mwning, and he some-
times did so bv the light of the gas in the wfaidow, until he
was discovered, and censured for so doing.*
THE CHANCES IN MATRIMONT.
The Belgian statistical documents, which have been kept
with great oare in that country, show that the annual
number of marriages, r^ard being had to the increase of
the population, maintains constantly the same proportions
— nay, that it varies less even than the number of deaths ;
although this latter event is not, like the former, an act of
the wilX But more than that, not only the number of mar-
riages continually recurs, but the proportion of bachelors
marryiag spinsters, bachelors marrying widows, widowers
and spinsters, widowers and widows even, perpetually
reappear; and these last unions, however few in num-
ber, manifest a remarkable identity, of which there exist
few stronger instances in statistics. Indeed the harmony
of aaes is so gensval, that it almost seems as if severe
.penmies had been appended by law to marriages between
uersons of disproportionate years. These instances, stand-
ing prominenUy out from a long series of studies, induce
M. Quetelet to conclude that the Ubentmarbiirium, as far as
social phenomena are concerned, is restricted within very
narrow limits ; that, in point of fact, indisputable as it may
be for each individual, it is effaced, and remains without
any perceptible effect when the observations embrace
mankind in the mass ; for man is as sociable on the one
huid as he is selfish on the othf^* — he voluntarily renounces
a great part of his individual caprices, pleasures, fselings,
and liberty, in order to form an aliquot part of aggregate
society, the circle, the city, or the nation to whioh he
belongs. — Prospective Review,
FAITHrUL SHEEP-DOO.
We have heard an aaeodote connected with the Inver-
ness floods which is worth recording. The scene is the
river Conon, near to Brahan Castle. In an island, about
900 sheep were pasturing — so that when the swelling river
changed the dry land into a deep swamp, all were in inomi-
nent danger of beira drowned ; there was no possibility of
reaching them ; anof in this dilenuna a &ithful coUy was
sent for, and told that the sheep required his aid. The
hardy beast soon breasted the billows, entered the island,
and tearinff down a portion of the enclosurcr that penned in
the flock, ne drove thorn to the only safe spot, keeping
watch and ward round them for two days, until the river
subsided low enough to make the fords passable*— /iiw»v
awt Oomritr.
THE MODERN DAKlE.
In vain ! In vain ! it wfll not bo.
There is no answering sign ;
Unheeded thy heart's worship lies
On that fair idol's shrine.
She sees not, boy, thy graceful form.
Thy frank and manly face.
Where an that's bright, and pure, and good.
Hath left its holy trace.
She does not hear the voice of song
That thrills to every heart.
And bears the very sense away
By its resistless art.
She does not/se/, when all on fire.
The poet's fancies poor.
In bursts of doqucnoe diriae.
From the mind's varied store.
Nor worth, nor beanty, genius, fame.
Can move that maiden's sool :
She mocks Affection's sacred ties.
And Bcoms soft Love's oontroL
A second Danle all confined
Within her brasen tower
Of wmldly selfishttesB and pride.
She owns but one high power.
And he, fond boy, who seeks to win
That heart of earthy mould,
A second Jupiter most oome
To woo in showers of gold.
AoiTBs SMm
Now Ready,
In Two Parts, price U each ; or in One Volume, ctoth, price 9b. 6i.
MEMOIRS OF FRANCIS HORNER,
WITH SKLKCTIONS FBOM HIS CORRKSPOMOaNCC
[publishers* notice.]
Ik 1813, the Memoirs of the lamented Fhawcis noaiiBa im
given to the world under the able and ^ypcopriata editorabip of
his brother,>* BIr Leonard Homer. The work having latterly
gone out of print, it occurred to us that a new edition, in a form
which would render it accessible to a large portion of the com>
munity, would be favourably received. With the approval of Mr
Homer, the present edition has thnnefore been preparwL
The career of Francis Homer is one of the most exemplary
which biography can present to the young. It Is that of a man
who, without aristocratic birth, fortune, or even dswiiny gooioi,
had made for himself a great nnsnlUed name, and waa fnitliig
the sure path to high station, in whioh he was stopped only bgr aa
untimely death. The great importance of his evample lies in tkia,
that the secret of his success rested in qualities mare or leas at lbs
command of every one— diligence, stesdinciss, independsoee^ and
integrity-and his biogr^ihy teaches more emphaticaUy than al-
most any other that has been writtoi, how mndi onr lot in liia Is of
our own making. In troubled times, the young political aapinnt
may leam how to steer his course by this example: lie wJU see
how ardour, courage, and independence may all tend to good par-
poses when they are regulated by reflection, firmness, and inte-
grity, and he may leara how the boldest and most original political
views may be followed out with safsty and advantage.
In producing this work in a condensed fonn, it was neriMBBij in
some degree to re-arrange its parts— to unite together
ginally dispersed, whioh served to explain each other, and t»
eard much that had a mere temporary or local interss*. Bk
necessary hers and there to insert remarics or brief
serving as a means of cementing, as it wsra, the djfftifl
together. But essentially the plan of the original work lua
adhered to in this important feature, that Homer ***mirTlf is
made, through his Journal and his correspondence, the teller of
his own history. W. axd R. C
* Memoirs and Correspondence of Francis Homer, M. P.
by his Brother, Leonard Homer, Esq., F.II.S. S vols. Sro.
don : Murray, 1843.
Published by W. & R. CHAMaaaa. High Stnst. Edinkoiik. jum
sold by D. Cuambkrs, 90 Argyle Stavet, Olasfow ; W. & Oaa,
147 Strand. London ; and J. M'Ot.ASBA«, SI D'OISer BUml,
Dnblin.— Printed by W. and R. 0mamb»8, Bdlnboifk.
I
^^
^^M^^
'BV3^m
£^JD1^
CX)NDUCTBD BY WILLIAM AND ROBBRT CHABfBBRS, EDITOBS OF ' CHAMBERS'S INFOBMATION FOB
THE PEOPLE/ « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
No. 279. New Sbribs.
SATURDAY, MAY 5, 1849.
Pbicb 1|<2.
USE AND ABUSE OF MEDICINE.
BT A PHYSICIAN.
The English public attach too much importance to the
mere adminiitration of medicine. They appear to think
that for erery complaint medicine is to be taken ; that
the chiefs if not the only duty of a medical man, ia to
prescribe and administer drags ; and that medicine is
the sole cause of eyery change in a disease, whether for
better or worse, which follows the use of it. In all this
there is much error. An illustration will at once show
what is meant, and prove its truth. Take a case of in-
digestion. The disease may have arisen from excess or
impropriety in eating or drinking, or from some other
bad habit continued through ignorance, necessity, or
•elf-iodnlgence. In the migority of such cases, if the
cause be removed, the suffering will cease. If the me-
dical man, however, were to content himself with point-
ing out the cause, and directing the patient to avoid it,
and were to prescribe no medicine, such is the invete-
rate expectation of physic, that most patients would go
away dissatisfied. Medicine is therefore given, together
w'Uk directions to avoid the injurious habit; the pa-
tient recovers, and the drugs get the credit Too often
the cause is repeated, and the same process of cure is
again and again submitted to. It is not to be supposed
that off cases of indigestion belong to the class fh)m
whidL the above example is taken. There are some in
which the cause may not admit of being removed ; those
arbing fhxm mental anxiety, for instance; others in
which, owing to great debility in the stomach, the suf-
fering is Tery disproportionate to the offence. In both
theie medicine may be legitimately and usefully em-
ployed to paUitU* suffering, until time can be gained for
cflbcting a more radical cure by other means.
It is important to know that there is great power in
tiie human body to throw off disease, and to restore
health, wititout any help, when the cause is temporary,
and has ceased to operate. This power alone is suffi-
cient to cure many diseases, not merely the trifling, but
even In many instances the more severe ones. Sup-
pose a cold has been taken, and the sutject of it is a
little feverish. In the mass of cases the patient will
get well witiiout any medical assistance. The duty of
the medical man, if called in, is to find out whether
tha« be any serious disease : if there be, he will treat
it ; if not, little further may be needed. He may po/-
Uate suffering, and may shorten the illness — ^both good
things ; but nature would effect a cure without him.
Again, suppose a caie of measles, scarlet fever, or
typhus fever. The disease has arisen from a conta-
gioos poison, and it will run a certain course. Some
rises are very mild. In these the medical man has little
to do but to keep the patient out of harm's way, and to
be ready to act lit the case becomes more severe. Each
of these diseases is liable to become complicated with
serious internal changes, or with a dangerous failing of
the strength. A case that is mild to-day may be severe
to-morrow. The prompt attention of a professional
man in these circumstances may save life. If it were
known, however, beforehand that the case would be
mild, it might be safely left to nature. In the case of
^phus, it will be important to find out the cause of the
attack, with a view to its removal, or to the removal of
other members of the family from the sphere of its in-
fluence. Suppose, lastly, a case of eryripcUu, It may
be the most trifling or the most serious disease ima-
ginable. Many cases are so mild, that they might very
safely be left to themselves ; others are so severe, as to
baffle the highest professional skilL How often do we
find the cure of the trifling cases ascribed wholly to the
drugs taken, whether from the hand of a regular or an
irregular practitioner; whether in the ordinary doses
of the Allopath, or in the inconceivable dilutions of the
Homoeopath.
The habit of looking to physic for everything, and of
taking it to excess, prevails much more in England than
in Scotland; and the difibrence depends very much
upon the difference in the circumstances of the medical
profession in the two countries. Originally, the English
apothecary was a dispenser of medicines only, and
not a medical practitioner : he compounded physicians'
prescriptions. About the close of the seventeenth cen-
tury, the apothecaries in London and its neighbourhood
began generally to prescribe, as well as to dispense
medicines.
The encroachment was resisted by the College <^
Physicians; and from a pamphlet published in 1724,
defending the apothecaries, it seems that they only
claimed permission to prescribe for the poor. Even so
lately as 1812, the parties who were instrumental in
obtaining the present Apothecaries' Act express the
opinion, * that the management of the sick should be as
much as possible under the superintendence of the phy-
sician.' Since 1815, the course of instruction, and the
examinations instituted by the Apothecaries' Company,
have been gradually improved ; so that the apothecary
of the present day, instead of being ignorant of physic,
as his prototype was, is a well-educated medical man ;
and, in point of attainment, may fairly rank with the
surgeon.
Whilst the education of the apothecary has been thus
improving, and his position changing from that of a
dispenser of medicines to a medical practitioner, the
mode of remunerating him has not changed correspond-
ingly. The old^apothecaxy appears to have been paid
for his medicines only, no account being taken of his
visits or advice ; for it has been only very recently de-
cided by the judges that a licentiate of the Apothecaries'
Company can legally claim compensation for his visits
•*■«*•■
274
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
and his time. Many are still paid almost exdosirdj
by their charges for medicine, and nearly all look to
this as the chief source of their income. A yery fbw
charge cost-price only for thehr drags, deriving their
gains from charges for their visits. A still smaller
number of general practitioners supply no medicines,
but write prescriptions, and are paid solely for their
visits and time.
It is easy to see that the practitioner who is remu-
nerated chiefly by payments for medicine, is not only
subjected to the temptation, but is often really obliged'
to send more medicine than is needed, in order to be
able to live. It is not meant that medicine is sent
which will do harm, but patients are often called upon
to swallow innocent, though not always agreeable drugs,
instead of being required to pay for the really useful
article — ^namely, the medical man's time and skill. A
community so trained of course think all this medicine
useAil and necessary ; an irrational faith in its powers
is fostered ; and they would feel dissatisfied with the
man who ^ould adopt the more straightforward and
honest practice of sending them no more drags than
are good for them. The evil is not confined to the
public : it has been equally felt by the medical man.
He has been a petty trader rather than a professional
man; his self-respect has been lessened by having to
Bupp]iy under reallv false pretences, and to charge for
an artide not wanted ; his position in public estimation
has been lowered by the gradual discovery of the real
state of things ; and too often an unfounded degree of
confidence in drags has been fostered in his own mind.
He gives physio for the sake of the pay, until he ends
by believing in its neoessity* A habit of meddlesome
activity is apt to be engendered, by which not a few
patients are made worse instead of better. His practice
also suffers; for the public, finding themselves dosed
with iwnecessary drags, often run into the opposite
extreme; and losing aU confidence in them, and in re-
gular practitioners, fly to hydropathy, homoeopathy,
and other forms of error or imposture.
In Scotland a diffierent state of things has prevailed*
There they have druggists, surgeons, and physicians,
but no apothecaries. The surgeons sometimes supply
their own medicines, charging a low price for them, but
more frequently they only prescribe. The duties of the
* genend practitioner' are performed by surgeons, often
by physicians, who in that case charge only a smsdl fee ;
and very commonly by gentlemen possessing at the
same time a surgeon's diploma and a physician^ degree.
Most of Uie leading physicians in Sa>tland are * family
physicians' in a great number of families— that is to
say, they are the only medical attendants. At the same
time, being the most eminent men of their body, they
are applied to as ' oonsultingpractitioners' in cases of
greater difficulty or danger. Tne physician in Scotland
retains the place which he has always held, whereas in
England he has been almost superseded as a 'family
physician' by the advancement of the apothecary, and
he is too often regarded as a consulting practitioner
only. It wUl be at once seen that the temptation to
give unnecessary quantities of medicine has been much
&s in Scotland than in England, and that this fkct will
explain the corresponding difference in the habits of
theprofession and of the public in the two countries.
The remedy for these evils is simple. Let the public
be made to understand that the money which they pay
to a medical man ought to be given chiefly for his time
and skill, rather than for drags. Except in remote
country dbtricts, it would probiUdy be an advantage if
medical men kept no drags, but only wrote prescrip-
tions. This would remove every temptotion to the
evUs which have been described, and would also render
the professional intercourse of the consulting and gene-
ral practitioner more satisfactory. When two medical
men agree upon a plan of treatment, it ought not to be
in the power of one of the two to yield to the tempta-
tion, which may be presented in various ways, to adopt
a difterent practice firom that which has been tettkd
between them.
Whilst the evils adverted to admit of renwdj, then
is another class of evils far less remediaUs, not sriting
from the abuse of medicines, but still ooimected with
the rdationship between medical men and the paUic.
It is very much to be regretted that even the most io*
telligent portion of the conununity have not, snd per.
haps never can be expected to have, the knowledge of
physio required to enable them to compare justly the
merite of one medksal man with another, or of medial
men with quacks. It is the right of esch penoo to
choose among a number of practitioners, regolsr ssd
irregular, the one that he wul employ, and to chooie
among rival systems that by which he wfll be trettod.
Tet nothing is mora certain than that finr persoM iie
qualified to choose well. Their selection, even if it hap-
pen to be a wise one, is more likely to be determioed by
bad than by good reasons. Tbete is much trafii, m
well as some exasgeration, in Dr Johnson's remark,
that ' a physician in a great city seems to be the mere
plaything of fortune ; his degree of reputation ii ior the
most part totally casual ; they that employ him know
not his excellence ; they that reject him know not hii
defidence.' This is a very discouragtaig dreamitsiice
in the lifb of a soi^itific physician, as oompsrsd vitti
that of a member of either of the other learned prote-
sions. One or two illustrations, taken fiom actual ob-
servation, will show the kind of diflicultisi whieh the
public encounter, and by which they are liable to be
misled.
The cure of a patient Is accounted, and, with dot
precautions, ought to be accounted, a proof of ikilL
But the recovery of a patient is not always a proof d
skill, nor even of the absence of ignoranos on the part
of the practitioner ; for to keop a patient from iiSM-
diate death is only one part of a medical msn's dstj.
Take, as an example, rheumatic fever. The patiest'i
suffering is excruciating, yet he seldom diet during the
attack. Suppose two similar cases, treated hj two
difierent medical men, of one by a regular, and ooe bj
an irregular practitioner. Botii patients will probaUf
escape death, and both the practitioners will tfaereftre
probably be accounted skilftu. But on f^irther inqtihy,
it may be found that one case lasted four or flte dip
only, the other twenty or thirty. Is it notfahig to bafi
saved a patient several weeks of agony? Both, bov*
ever, at last resume their duties. It may then bi
found that the one can do aujrthing that he wsa able to
do before his illness, and with the same comfort; whibt
the other begins to suffer, sooner or later, flrom lyttp*
toms which tura out to have ihsAt origin in dlaeseeof
the heart, left by the rheumatism. Both theie tm
were reputed to be 'cured,' but surely the erne wm t
very different thing in the two oases. Ths one paticBl
continues well; the other is an invalid from the fltiti
and after a few yearS| dies of dropsy: yet ^ pibUe
know no difference.
The disease to be treated may be an inaurM ooe.
Patiente or their fHends are too ready to think that it
does not matter by whom an incurable diseaae ii
treated. There is the greatest difl^noe^ howerer,
in the amount of sufEbring to be endured, sad Is tbi
length (tf life in such cases, according as tbe tiiat-
ment is judicious or otherwise. But the gresleit
difference between different medical men, and eo^
cially between medical men and quacks, in ioonnble
diseases, as well as in others, is in uieir skill in findiiV
out what the disease is ; in otiier words, in what ii
technically termed the art of Diagnotit, An ignoftnt
medical man, conscious of his initrwtity to abler eeei
in this branch at knowledge, often plumes hhmelf WM
bemg still able to itmt disease as well as they can. Bi^
it is easy to show that, both in curable and iB^ime
cases, the correct treatment must be btmd upo'i.^^f^
diagnosis ; and therefore that the man who ia u>"'*f
hi the one art, must, in the great mass of caaet. he m-
fierior in the other abo. A patient seeks sdrice^sod,
CHAMBEBS9 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
275
withovfe perh^iM lOfptctiiig it» is in the ear 1/ itage of
ooDsmnpUon. How much maj depend upon the poii*
tife diioovery of the reel diieasel To eay nothing of
core— which, if it is to he hc^ed for at ell, can only he
in the earliest period — ^nor of the prolongation of life h/
jodicioas change of oliaiate> the disoolrery of the disease
umj affeol the question of mairiage, of entering into or
IsaTiDghiiainei^ andof lift insnranoe. Again, another
patient seeks adrioe who suspects Uiat he is oonsump-
tirei. A Bian unskilled in diagnosis can onlj give an
•qeirocal answer to the inquiries made^ whilst another,
better informed, maj be able to state absoluteljr that
the disease is not cfmsumption, and that there is no
fsssoD to fear that disease, and so ma/ dissipate at onoe
Ihe fearful anziet j of the sufibier and his fiunil/.
Another patient suflbrs from drops/. One man treats
it bj rule, and for the time gets rid of it» but does no
more. Another disoorers the cause of it, and gives the
patient such further directions as maj prolong his life
tat /ears.. A patient is the subject of disease of the
hsarti hut does not know it. A man who can detect it
is aUe to apprise him of it, to warn him against iigu-
rbus or dangerous habits, and so to pclong his life^ and
enable him to make arrangements m anticipation of a
sadden death. Another patient /sorf that his heart is
diaeaaed, and aeeks to hare the question determined.
A practitaooer, skilled in diagnosis, may be able with
eertaintj to assure him that the disease is only nerrous
pal^tation, and is wholly free from denser.
In MraUi diseases the importance m skill in diag-
nosis iseren greater than in incurable ones. A patient
IB the sut];{ect of jcurey^ One man does not know the
disease^ and cannot tiMrefwe treat it, and the patient
diee* Another sees what it is, gives lemon-juice, re-
slofes health in a month, and then points out the
oaases ihmi which it hM arisen, and thereby enables the
patient to aydd the disease in ftitute. The ignorant
medical man and the impudent quack, if asked the
questiflo, will no doubt answer that they can cure
searry as well as the ablest man in the land. So tiiey
can, when they ate tdd that the case to be treated is
scarry 9 but ere they disoorer this the patient dies.
A female seeks adrice with a nain in the side. One
man sees in it a pleurisy, bleeds tiie patient, and throws
hsr down for months. Another sees it is a nerrous
pain, strengthens the patienti and cures her in a month.
A patient is seiied with symptoms of high ferer. One
practitioner sees that it is the beginning of typhus,
hosbands the strength, and sares Mm. Another be-
UsYUs it to proceed from an internal inflammation,
faleede largdy, and so takes away that power which
alone eould resist the fetsl poison of the disease. All
these instances are taken from obserration; and the
same obserration has shown that the patient and friends
lan^ see the difference between the two pnustitioners,
and that tiiey not unfrequentiy blame and discard the
skilfal one, and land and patronise the ignorant or the
dishonest one.
A medical man is often Tery unduly praised or
blamed for dianges which arise from the natural course
of the disease^ and with which he mar hare nothing to
do. The same disease runs a tery mfferent course in
di^brent eases, from causes with which we are but im-
perfectly acquainted, and quite independentiy of any
dIfirrBDoe in treatment The course o! commitplibn will
aflbrd a good illustration of this truth. One case will
get TwplMy and progressitely worse, and will end fatally
hi a few months, whaterer treatment is adopted* An-
other ease will begin and go on in the same way as the
first up to a oertein point : the patient will tiien im-
pnttt and perhaps appear to get welL After a time he
fclapees again; and these altomations of comparative
heahh aa^ serere suffering may occur many times, and
tile disease be protracted over a period of many years,
ending ftMr at last The medical man commonly gets
tbb ondlt of being the cause of each change, whether
fer good or ill, ai^ is praised or Uamed accordingly.
Bach caaes are a fertile source of reputation to irre-
gular practitioners, who daim credit for the improve-
ment, and easily find something, or nome person, to
blame for the aggravation of the disease.
A surgeon is consulted in the early stage of a serious
disease. The nature of it is yet doubtful: he may
think the case trifling. The illness goes on ; the pa-
tient becomes worse; consults another surgeon. The
nature of the disease has then become pQn, and is
announced accordingly. The first surgeon is acoounted
a blunderer, the second skilfal; yet the very reverse
may be true.
A surgeon makes a dear mistake ; the patient finds
out that he has done so, blames and discards his adviser
for ever. The surgeon may, notwithstanding, be a very
able and a very skilfal man. There is no man living
who does not make mistakes sometimes.
Two medical men are consulted in sucoesskm : each
gives a difEbrent opinion. The patient almost invari-
ably assumes that the $eeond U right, and blames the
first If the two men previously oooupied an equal pro-
fessional station, the one opinion should still be re-
garded as equally good with the other, until farther
evidence has shown which was right
Another error consists in suppodng that a medical
man cannot have acquired much experience until he
is considerably advanced in life. The frequent conse-
quence of this is shown by the adage — ' A physician
cannot earn his bread until he has no teeth to eat it'
The late eminent surgeon Mr Listen has well exposed
this error in the following words i — * Tears are not the
measure of experience. It does not follow that the
older the surgeon is, the m(»re experienced and trust-
worthy he must be. The greatest number of well-
assorted facts on a particular sulject constitutes expe-
rience, whether tiiese facts have been culled in five
Sars or in fifty.* One man advantageously placed may
ve seen more patients at the age of thirty tiian an-
other has seen at seventy. But the number of patients
seen is not the only guide to the amount of experience.
One man, from natural ability, or industry, or the sti-
maltts to think, famished by tiie drcumstances in which
he is placed, sees more and reflects more, and therefore
extracts more experience from one case than another
does from a hundred.
An excessive confidence in physic, if not the parent,
is certainly the nurse of quackery or irregular practice,
both without and within the pale of the prafession.
Whilst there is suffering to be relieved, there will be
found ignorant and weak men, who deceive themselves,
and dishonest men, who deceive others, in professing to
have the power of relieving it Exam^des of cure are
adduced, drculated, and bdieved, and so the fame and
practice of the empirio are extended. We do not pro-
pose to enter into a discussion of the subject of quackery :
the question is too large for the end of an artide like
this, but one or two remariES upon it may not be with-
out their use.
Medical men and the public commonly take dlffsrent
views of this subject Medical men are charg>sd with
professional pr^udices, and with interested motives,
which shut tMr eyes to the truth. They, on the other
hand, think that the public are not qualified to discern,
until schoded by a disastrous experience, the deceptions
practised upon them. We believe that it is not the
interest of medical men to oppose any improvement of
their art» and that, as a body, they do not think it to be
so ; and as to professional prejudice, we ask for evidence
of the existence of anything more than a due measure
of scientific caution. History will show how many in-
fallible remedies for various diseases have been vaunted
and forgotten : for how many improvements can his-
tory show us that we are indebted to quacks ?
But cures are adduced, and respectably attested. Facts
are stubborn things — how are these to be set aside?
Some of them are true, and some of them are falsa The
history of empiricism is fiill of interest to the mental
philosopher. The phrendogists have an orgtai of won-
der ; and of the existence of ihB/acukjf ascribed to this
organ, we think it is impossible to doubt Whaterer is
new or marrdlous has an irresistiUe attraction for some
minds ; to doubt the marrel is to rob them of their idoL
What they love they cling to ; and without a particle of
conscious dishonesty, they will solemnly attest to be
true that which is plainly and indubitably false. His-
tory will place beyond the power of any to doubt the
assertion, that it is impossible to invent statements
more absurd and more false than some which have been
attested as facts by intelligent and respectaUe persons.
One instance of this kind may be given from the life of
an individual, of the value of whose pretensions most
persons will probably by this time have formed the
same opinion. St John Long professed to have a lini-
ment which would cure consumption ; and he declared it
to possess this remarkable property — tliat when rubbed
upon the diest, it woidd prodnee a sore upon the skin
over the diseased part (^ the lung, but would produce
no effect upon the skin over the sound parts. Many
persons of rank, intelligence, and undoubted integrity
attested the truth of this statement in a court of justice.
Yet the fact so attested was undoubtedly false, and few
persons probably now believe it. The public caressed
St John Long, enriched him, and when, in spite of his
own liniment, he fell a victim himself to consumption,
they raised a splendid monumant to his memory. The
liniment still exists, and consumption finds as many
victims as ever. Can it be a matter of surprise that
medical men, whose pursuits necessarily familiarise
them with a long succession of such frauds or follies,
should be dow to believe the reports of improbable or
impossible cures, which are propagated by silly, san-
f;aine, or wii^ied men, even when. they are attested by
respectable and disinterested persons? But some of the
recoveries are real : how is the argument in favour of
quackery drawn from these to be disposed of? The
explanation will be different in difibrent cases.
It is not by the result of a few single cases that the
benefit of any plan of treatment can be judged of. It
is only by a comparison of Uie reeults of a large num-
ber of cases treated in one way, with an equal number
similarly circnmstanced, treated in another way, that
the truth can be arrived at. . Such a comparison the
public have neither the opportunity nor the requisite
knowledge to make. Take a number of cases of any
curable Ssease, and treat them all in the worst possible
way, and a few of them will be almost sure to get well.
The most ignorant quack will therefore be able to ad-
duce some recoveries, which he will parade as cures.
The failures he will take care not to talk about ; and
no other person will think the matter worth his trouble.
Thus a number of persons may die who could have been
cured; still more may have been kept in protracted
suffering ; and the public can never know these facts.
An occasional recovery, well advertised, either by zeal-
ous friends or in the usual newspaper channel, will
make a reputation that will often wear long enough to
accoroi^ish the author's purpose, by filling his pocket.
All quacks are not to be placed upon the same level,
nor are they all without the limits of the medical pro-
fession. The essence of quadrery is one spirit assuming
many shapes. Universally it ministers to the love of
the marvdlons, by its reports of wonderfhl cures, gene-
rally effected by some novel means: it profits by the
pain which doubt, or suspense, or absolutely blighted
hope inspires ; and it soothes and pleases by confident
promises to do that which is impossible. It builds up
a reputation out of the ruinous materials of the repu-
tation of others which it has pulled down : it creates
a danger that it may have the honour of removing it :
it conjures up disasters which would have come but for
its timely and providential interference : it blows its
own trumpet, and persuades or pays others to blow for
it : it offcen makes a profession of pure disinterested-
ness, whilst it is always purely selfish, although it often
for a time ingeniously hides the vice.
We will now briefly indicate a few of the ways by
which an explanation may be given of most of the
* cures' attributed to quacks, admitting at the ume
time that they may at times do good by accident: and
also that tnany cures ascribed to the regular docton
might fairly be attributed to the causes here pointed
out: —
1. The regulation of the diet — the omisuon of ex-
cessive drinking, or smoking, or the correction of lome
other bad habit, may have done all the good. Exam-
ples : cases of indigestion, nervous depression, &c 2.
The natural powers may have effected a core in many
cases, independently o^ or in spite of other meant em-
ployed at the same time. Examples : common cold,
slight fever, mild cases of erysipelas, meaalea, acar-
let fever, &c. ; and even some more severe diauaei
3. The improvement may be a part of the natinl
course of the disease. Example : some cases of con-
sumption, as previoudy explained. 4. A trifling dii«
ease may be mistaken for a serious one— as a cold for
consumption — and the latter disease may then appear
to have been cured. So an innocent swelling maj be
mistfl^en for cancer. 5. We have known patients con-
vfldesoent from serious diseases, before they hsd regained
their wonted strength, become impatient, oonanlt ao
irrc^gular practitioner, and then give him credit for the
subraquent improvement, which was simply doe to the
gradual return of health under the influence of natoni
causes. 6. Faith.-~The confident expectaUon of benefit
cures many. This is especially seen in nerrooi dii-
eases. Many years ago Dr Beddoes and Sir E Davy
were engaged at Bristol in experimenting upon the
effects of breathing various gases. Sir H. Davy wished
to observe the effects of the respiration of lome gii
upon a patient sufiering from palsy. Before using tiie
gas, he noted the temperature of the patientfi body,
and for this purpose he inserted the bulb of a imall
thermometer under the tongue. The mao imagined
this little preliminary proceeding to be the means of
cure, and immediately declared himself cured. Iboq-
merable examples of this kind might be culled from the
records of science. 7. Injudicious medical men not
unfrequently do harm, as by Ueeding, purging, and
otherwise depressing patients who really requite mp-
port Suppose a bomoeopathist then called in, and
doing what we take leave to assume as nothing, the
patient may gain time to recover strength, and appean
to be benefiteid. 8. There are some diseases wbidiye
have little or no power to cure, but which ordintfily
cease after a time of themselves — such is the softriBg
produced by the passing of gall-stones. A patient may
have been treated for months by a surgeon withoot
benefit ; another surgeon or a quack is then oonnM.
The disease ceases sooner or later spontaneoualy, and
the last-comer takes the credit, which is due to neither,
but solely to nature.
In conclusion, we must guard against an hifefenee
which would not be warranted, but which an inatteo-
tive reader might draw from what has been said-
namely, that we have no faith in drugs. AlUioogfa we
do not believe much which is currently received, both
in the profession and out of it, we have the firmest
faith in the benefit to be obtained fh)m the proper tue
of drugs. We will refer to a few facts, as examplo
only of the kind of evidence upon which our faith reiti.
We appeal, then:— 1. To the case of ague.— It will go
on for months if left to nature ; it will ruin the general
health, and destroy life. It may be stopped in moat in-
stances, at almost any period of its course, by a single doie
of quinine, and almost always by a very small number
of doses. 2. To cases of anoemia or bloodlessness.— A gin
blanched, feeble, and useless, becomes rosy, strong, sod
fit for any work under the use of a short course of iron.
3. To the immediate benefit often afforded by qnon in
asthma, colic, neuralgia (tic), rheumatism, snd many
other spasmodic and painful diseases. 4. To the 1^^'
of opium in delirium tremens— the trembUng deiiiinni
of drunkards.— A furious maniac is restored to reason
by a few doses of this drug. 5. To the bwicflt of opinm
and other astringents in dysentery and diarrlKBS. 6. lo
the Qtility of iodine in many cases of swelled teck
(bronchocele). 7. To the utility of arsenic in various
diseases of the skin ; of sulphur in the itch ; of yarious
drags in St Yitus's dance, and in losses of blood fh)ni
different parts ; and lastly, to the utility of alcoholic
drinks in certain forms of fever.
These facts might he increased, if necessary, to any
reasonable amount. They are simple enough, and com-
moo enough to he verifled by any one, and tiiey admit
of no dispute. We inrite those who doubt the utility
of drugs to seek an opportunity of witnessing them, and
to reflect upon them, with a simple desire to find out
tiie truth, and we will answer for the conclusion to
which tiiey will be forced to come.
THB CONTRAST.
It was in a town in one of the northern counties of
England that a festire meeting was one evening held.
The light from the chandeliers fell on a table loaded
vilJi the choicest delicacies, and glanced back a«un from
the plate and rich cut glass with which it sparkled. It
was indeed a gay sight that splendid table : the rarest
wines circulated neely, and many was the glass of n>arkl-
ing diampagne, or rich glowing Burgundy^ quafiM by the
joyoos company assembled there. It was a dinner where
all the officers of a certain honourable corps of yeomanry-
eavalrr met to eat and drink, and diow their loyalty to
their QiMen and country.
The colonel of the regiment, a peer of the realm, was
acting as president on this auspicious occasion; and, to
use a neinq>aper phrase, the utmost confivi^ity and
|ood-feeiing pnvailed amonff the guests. They did ample
justice to tli« well-furaished board, proving the sincerity
of their commendation by ^eir actions, when they pro-
Doimeed both the venison and the champagne excellent,
snd seemed resolved to enjoy themselves to the utmost of
Uwtr power. Speeches followed the dinner — toasts were
proposed and drank with acclamation — songs were sung
—the laugh and the jest circulated as freely as the
bottle; and nothing could exceed the hilarity of the
whole meeting.
Mirth and music combined to make it charming: all
thai money could purchase, or refined taste could &Bire,
was there; and who would raise a voice of disapproba-
tion I — who would call in question the propriety of such a
meeting !— one which tended so strongly to create a social
sad frMndly feeling, to give rise to acquaintances use-
ful in life, or to promote and strengthen a kind and
Bttgfabonrly disposition amongst the guests.
Sat this was not the only convivial meeting on that
erening. A few miles from this place, had any one
taken a view of the tap-room of the little beer-house
called the Crown, they might have witnessed an assembly
Si mirthful, though less el^ant, than the feast of the
jeomanxy-cavalry. It was a long, low room, well fur-
nished with settles and tables, wmch bore the^ marks of
many a blow, and much rough usage; the plaster walls
wiere diseoloiued by smoke, and greasv from the heads,
shoulders, and fingers which for vears had lolled against
them. Two dingy oil lamps, high upon this wall, added
their smoke to that of the many pipes at this moment
lighted; and certainly to a refined or fastidious taste the
l£ice would have had little charms. But there were
meny voices there too; laughter and song was to be
heard; the joke was not wanting; and many a rough
swarthy face, resting on the broad hand, or leaning over
the croesed arms, which sprawled upon the table, relaxed
into a grin as some favourite topic was touched upon —
some standard jest among the village gossip.
A thin, anxious, careworn - loolung man entered the
room whilst thev were merrily laughing in this way; he
looked around him with a sigh as he saw the joyous
fiuses assembled there, and thought of his own comfort-
len and squalid home. Thev pressed him to join them:
he was fretting! — ^he was working too hard? — he was out
of work?— or what was the matter to make poor Johnson
look so very wo-begone!
No; he could not stay; his wife was sick, his children
were hungry, and he must return with the wages which
had just been paid him for half a week's work — the only
employment he had had for ten days.
But they pressed him to stay; they set before him a
foaming tankard ; one even offered to treat him to a pint
if he would remain and sing the song for which he was
so famous.
He yielded; flattery, comfort, and cheerful society
carried the day over natural affection: he fully intended
every draught should be the last, but there seemed
always some excuse for swallowing another; and by mid-
night, when he attempted to return home, he was suffi-
ciently intoxicated to be unable to walk steadily.
In company with one of his companions, who was more
sober, but much more noisy than himself, he set out T%e
other man would shout and sing, and succeeded in mak-
ing such a disturbance,'that the rtiral policeman was seen
approaching. Andrews, the noisy one, was sufficiently
sober to effect his escape, whilst his quiet but stupid
companion Johnson was detained by the poHoeman, with
an assurance that he should be taken before the mads-
trates next morning, and fined for being drunk and dis-
orderly in the streets at night*
It was two o'clock before the officeni of the yeomanry-
cavalry broke up their gay assembly. Time had flown
rapidly away, and perhaps there were few who felt no
surjwise when they discovered the lateness of the hour.
After a few hours spent in heav^ feverish sleep, one of
the corps rose eariy on the following morning to retam
to his own home, a distance of nine or ten miles. His
temples vet throbbed with the excitement of the evening
before; tide shouts of merriment and applause still rang
in his ear; tiie glittering scene still danced Ixtfore his
eyes. But he felt dull, hea?y, and miserable — ^in a fmae
of mind to quarrel with everything, and espe^tUy him-
self. In the wild excitement of the pieoeding night,
all had seemed brilliant; now he felt rather inilineato
wonder whoe the charm could have been. He remem-
bered all the early part of the evening distincUy, but
towards the latter part his recollections were dim and
uncertain; and the splitting headache which oppressed
him made him conscious that he had somewhat exceeded
the bounds of sobriety on the occasion.
He was a young man, and being usuaUv a sober one,
to say the truth he felt a little ashamed of himself upon
this account. He returned home slowly throu|^ the
cool morning air, which refreshed .and invigorated him;
and many a resolution did he form to avoid in future
all such excesses.
Edward Gardner — this was his name — ^was a magistrate :
it was bench day; and though he did not often attend,
he resolved this morning, m a sort of penance for last
night's excess, to do his duty.
Of course one part of their business was to hear the
case of poor Peter Johnson, accused of being found at
twelve oxlock at night intoxicated, and making a dis-
turbance in the streets. The culnrit stood before the
magistrates with a countenance still more dejected than
it had been last night, and his whole air and attitude
betokened miseiy and shame.
Mr Gardner's companion on the boich, a middle-aced
man, fond of talking, with pompous manners, and ratW
a narrow mind, intenogated the unfortunate man. 'And
so, my good friend, we are to understand that you got
very drunk last night — eh, my man 1 '
' Why, please your honour, I was a little overtaken.'
' Overtaken indeed! But what right had you to be
drunk, I should like to know I — a man like you, who ought
to know better ! Pray where had you been drhiking 1 °
• At the Crown.'
* The Crown ! Eh ! Well now, am't you ashamed of
yourself, idling away your time like that ! Why were
you not at your work 1'
• Please your honour I have no work.'
* No work ! — ^no wonder I A drunken, disorderly fellow
like you, who would employ you ! It's your own fault
entirely.'
Peter Johnson only hung his head more sheepishly
than before at that assertion, which he dared not deny.
278
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
since it came from Squire Fletcher, though he felt it to
be untrue ; for he was perfectly willing to work when he
had the opportunity, and was as seldom at the aldiouse
as most men in the neighbouihood. But Mr Fletdier
delighted to bully the poor, at least all those who came
before him in his magisterial capacity ; not that he was
really unkind, but it resulted from a desire to show his
wit, wisdom, or judgment to the spectators, without any
eonsideration as to the feelings of his helpless rictims.
* Well,' continued he, * I should like to know how you
came to go to the alehouse at all?'
' Please your worship, I went to meet Mr Gardner's
bailiff, who was to pay me for three days' work.'
' I am sorry my bailiff selected so injudicious a place
to pay it,' obserred the young magistrate. ' I must look
to this.'
' Injudicious t Why, the Crown's a Teiy decent house,'
replied Mr Fletcher. ' The premises are mine, and
Turner is as regular in paying his rent as any tenant can
be. I consider him ahi^y-rsspectable man.'
Mr Gardner was silent again: he appeared to be le-
fleotinff. His companion went on — ^ But why could you
not go nome quietly when you had the money ! Answer
me that, my good man. No one stopped you, no one
compelled you to get drunk, or to make a noise, I pre-
sume!'
' Please your worship it was not I made the noise — it
was George Andrews, wno was with me.'
* Oh no— -I daresay it was not you 1— and it was not
you that was drunk t and ifs not you standing here before
us I I am sorry, my good fellow, extremely sorry to appear
to doubt your word ; but unfertunately it's not in my
power entirely to credit your statement.'
^I think,' interposed £dward Gkurdner, 'you mieht let
him off, Fletcher, he looks so wretchedly poor ; and after
all, it's not clear that it was he who was making tiie dis-
turbance.'
* Ah, but then, you see, it's suoh a shookinf habit that
of loitering in the alehouse: it leads to so much eril, waste
of time, and discontent and political discussions, and,
above all, poaching x it's there that they arrange all ihmi
Tillaaous plans for the destruction of our game, lliere
is no end to the immorality it gives rise to.'
* If Tou think so ill of this beer-shop, shall we with-
draw the lioensel'
* What ! Turner's I No, no ; I didn't mean his ; it's a
▼er3rrespectaUe house: I do not accuse him of anything of
the sort. Howeyer, we must fine this man one shilling.'
' Please your worship I cannot pay.'
<£hl \Vhat did you say!' (gaculated Mr Fletcher.
* What's become of your wages I'
* It was but four shillings, your honour, and I paid two
to Jackson for bread we had eaten last week.'
' And the rest— whaf s become of that 1'
Peter remained silent, and fidgetted from one foot to
the other with a desponding air.
< What I gone! all gone — swallowed — gone in your
cups— eh man t Now isn't it a disgrace to such a man as
you to haye reduced yourself to such extremities! But
you shall learn a lesson ; you shall remember and take
care of your money: we will commit you, and giye you
something else to do than to indulge in drinking. Clerk,
make out the warrant.'
Whilst the clerk was busy writing, Mr Fletcher, turning
to his companion, said, • Ah, Gardner, I suppose you had
a meny meeting last night!'
Edward Gardner feeling this topic to be peculiarly inap-
prcmriate to the place and the matter before them, gave
a reluctant assent.
« Was his lordship in good spirits !' pursued Mr Flet-
cher.
•Very.'
' And the wine good !'
He nodded his assent.
* You look a little heayy,' laughed the other: * too good
perhaps. Does your head ache!'
The younff man reddened, but knew not how to stop
him, when their attention was suddenly diverted by the
hurried entrance of a woman, pale, emaciated, and poorly
clad. She carried <me child in her arms, whilst two otktr
sickly-looking creatures dung to her gown, sb4 tried to
conceal their frightened faces in the soan^ folds of her
clothing. Tears stood in her hollow e^ss, and h« ftame
tremblM as much from weakness as mm ezmtenMii
' Oh please your worships,' cried she with ftmiic m^
ness, putting back those wmo interpossd to stop hflt^'hiTe
pity on us, and do not send my poor husband to jail; 1m
nas seldom, yeiy seldom, dene so htian ; and if yoa will
forgive him, he will never do so again: bat «e an all
weak in temptation.'
' My good woman,' said Mr Flet<d«r, ' I oannot lUot
this noise. If Peter Johnioii is your husband, let m
tell you that he is here to answer fer having hidkm
the law, the dignity of which we nt hers to Q^old; and
that it is this same law whidi condemns him, not m
alone. Pray remember to whom yon are qpeaking, and
oempose yourself to a proper and rsspeetfiil maiiBcr.'
* I should be munj to show disrsqpeet to your wonkipi}
but pray have pity <m my hmsband, who is a good maa ai
times go, I assure you.'
' And pray how do yon aeooont th«i for hii 6|iiai»d*-
ing all his money at the alehouse, and Itaving yoa aa4
your family to starve !'
' It's eompany, sir) and joviality and goad-isUoffikii|^
your wocship. If you found yourself in a sosifnta^
warm room, li^t and cheery like, neny compaiiioM
mtioing you, and pleasant oiat, and good Utuof (o^
would you leave it at once for a dreary, darhoma koan^
no comfort, ciying ^ildren, and haidly a moaikfol to
give them? Oh, gentlemen, majyon never be so tsm^
or feel how hard a thing it is to resist i'
< Woman, I desire you will not talk in this wayl D»
you mean to place us on a level* or imagine thatl ihsold
succumb to the temptati^is which oveipowsi your veak-
minded husband? Begone! Clerk, is the warrant m47 1'
< And what is to beoome of us!' shrieked tha vife.
'Are we to starve, I and my little ones, whilit Mr
father is in jail !'
* Constable, remove that wonuui,' said Mr Fle(^
harshly. * Her noise interrupts the course of juitioe.'
Peter Johnson was committed to prison, but hii co*
finement was of short duration; in a very fSew hooii h
was informed that the fine was paid, and that hs mifM
return to his own home. He did so, and to his astoaiik*
ment diaeoyered that it was no longer the dettitota Iiobm
which he had left it. Food was there for the pnmii
and work was promised for the fiiture, to be depatdest
on steadiness and «xm1 conduct for its continoanos.
This was the work of Edward Gardner: he had aooe-
science, and it whiiq>eied to him pretty loudly thai tke
revellers at the Crown were only humble imitaton of tin
gay and aristooratio- party which he had joinsd, and tM
the exossses which &ey were obliged to punUh ia w
poor, were equally wrong, and far more insTfflmW<> is
the rich.
A VISIT TO THE SCOTTISH ANTIQUABUH
MUSEUM*
7IB9T ARTICLB,
*How shall we employ ounelyet tfaii forenosD^'a*
claimed a young lady to her uncle, shortiy Ate^**^*
fast, on the morning of a nleasant day to AofMi
•What would you reoommend to wile away Mrs Btt[-
sell's time, now that it drawa near her lust dsy m
Edinburgh?'
* I must first know what yon have sew befefi I «■»
ofifer my advice on the occasion,' r^ed Mr I*^'
* You cannot surely hare exhausted the hom » ^
Northern Athens in a single week ? ' .
At this moment Mrs BosseU entered the n^ ■J^
overhearing Mr LaudOT's remark, she ^""■••^'SrJ
replied, as she shook hands with the querist, •Wiw
have we seen ? My dear sir, I think we have **** JJ*'^
hole and comer of the fair city, and it would pui«e ms
to sav what delighted me most. We have »» "^ 5*
the Water of Leith, and drank of St Bcfnaitfs WeiL
We have looked down on il from the lofty span of the
Deea Bridge* with its splendid and varied prospect of
dty and ooiutiy on either side. We have gone through
yoor west-end squares and circuses, with their sub-
stantial architecture of polished stone t and then, after
looking down on them, as on a map, from the airy
heights of your Calton Hill, nothhig would satisfy Mr
QfCfor hut that we should explore fiie lanes and alleys
of smoky old buildings which we saw piled up in con-
ftised msssoB beyond.'
•Well,' said Mr Lauder, 'and what think you of
Anld Reekie? Wapping or Lambeth is attractive, I
prcsume, when oompared to its dingy repulsiveness?'
*I do ooofess,' replied Mrs Russell, ' thatlwas loth to
be decoyed into tiie grim alleys and tall narrow courts,
where Uie light of heaven seems struggling in vain (br
sdfflission ; but there is certainly, after alU something
fETSod about these substantial piles of masonry, with
their half-deCiMed shields, and Ad legends and inscrip-
tiflns. Then, too, we had for our guide an intelligent
friend, who told us so many romantic tales and old-world
stories of knights and dames of high degree ; or of hob-
goblins, warlo<dBS, secret chambers, and haunted houses,
tfiat it leaHy seemed like reading a romance, or rather
perhaps hke acting one, amid the very scenes where it
k laid. Ifor was it all romance either. All the asso-
dntions of Modem AUiens seem of right to belong to
its venerable precursor. We were shown the residence
ef David Hume, and the mansion — a humble enough
one to be sure — ^whith^ Boswell conducted Dr Samuel
Johnson when he visited Edinburgh on his way to the
W^estem Isles, and where he treated learned doctors
and unlearned duchesses with equal bearishness. Not
fkr from this was the haunt of Bums during his first
visit to the same city — a dusky old mansion, deserted
by Scottish grandees even in the days ci the ploughman
poet But indeed your old scenes are a peifiBct haunt
of poets. We were shown the dwellings of Ramsay,
Seott, and Campbdl ; the lodgings of Oay, Smollett, and
Goldsmith ; the birthplaces of Falconer and Ferguson ;
while, ever and anon, there mingled with these some
old-world story of Queen Mary and John Knox, of
King James or Cromwell, of Montrose or Argyle and
the martyrs of the Covenant— that I do confess I shall
retnm to Taunton with an impression of interest and
pleasure such as I did not conceive it possible any mere
town-rambles could convey.'
' You do, indeed, seem to have heartily enjoyed your
visit to the wynds and closes of Anld Reekie,' re^ed
Mr Lander. * It is, I confess, a source of pleasure I
iboold hanfly have ventured to propose as one of your
pastimeSb But yon would not of course omit its more
popular attractions ?'
Ifrt RuM$elL You mean the Castle and Palace, I pre-
tnme? We visited both with great delight; inspected
te Regalia, the crown of Bruce, the sword of James
rv., the ring of Charies I., and the York jewels — ^these
strangdy-interesting relics of the hapless race of the
Stuarts. We peeped in too at the newly-discovered
chapel of St Margaret ; but we did not dare to venture
over tiie threshold.
Mr Zauder, And pray what grim goblin haunts its
hallowed predncts that you went no farther ?
Mn R, Very substantial goblins I assure you, Mr
Lauder. On remarking to the old soldier who escorted
us Uiat we would need a light to explore its old Nor-
man chancd — * A light I ' said he hastily. ' Quite against
orders, ma'am ; the gentleman is standing on a bag of
gunpowder I '
Miu Oreffor. You would have laughed indeed, unde,
had von seen how papa jumped when he heard this.
We uiought no more of Malcoim Canmore and St Mar-
garet, or the usurping Donald Bane, and the miracles at
Dunfermline. I am sure, for my part, I trembled till I
■aw the door sa&ly locked on the dangerous stores. Is
it not strange to turn the most andent chapel in Scot-
huid--as they say it is— to so vile a use ?
ifr Xw It is indeed, and disgraoeftd too. But we
must remember what is still stranger, and may in
some degree account for it, that the venerable chapel
associate with our pious Saxon Queen has only been
brought to light during the past year, after remaining
for centuries unheeded and fbrgot But we must not
waste the forenoon in reverie or vain regrets. You have
seen the Palace of Hdyrood, I presume ; and drunk to
George Heriot's memory out of his own cup, still pre-
served in the magnificent edifice which he founded and
endowed ! You have visited the old Parliament House,
the libraries, and colleges ; and have even, as I under-
stand, extended your excursions to Roslin, Hawthorn-
den, Corstorphine, and Dalkeith. What say you to a
visit to the Antiquarian Museum ? To-day it is open
to the public, and I shall have great pleasure in being
your guide.
MiM$ O, La, unde, you are surdy joking! What
should we see in the Antiquarian Museum ?
Mr L, Much, my dear niece, that may both interest
and instruct you. Besides, Mrs Russell describes her
visit to the Old Town with such gusto, that I think she
is half an antiquary already.
Mrs Jt, Nay, nay, my dkar sir, you altogether mis-
take me. I do conibss, indeed, that I enjoyed my visit
to the Old Town in a way I could not have conceived
possible : but as to inspecting a collection of old Roman
pots and kettles, rus^ pikes, and broken crockery, I
must confess its merits would be thrown away upon me.
I am not quite sure wheUier I should laugh or yawn.
Jtfr L, Laugh you may, possibly enough, and you
shall have Aili permission to do so; but I am quite
sure you shall not yawn. So come along: lose no
more time ; but get on your bonnets and shawls, and
let us see if the New Town has not also its antiquities,
quite as capable of yidding interest and pleasant re-
collections as those you discovered, so much to your
surprise, in the dingy doses of Auld Reekie.
Sudi was the conversation which led to the visit we
are now to describe, to the Museum of the Socie^ of
Antiquaries of Scotland. Mrs Russell was an English
lady, who had left the pleasant glades of Somersetdiire
for a brief sojourn in Scotland, during which a whde
host of old prejudices had evaporated at the touch of
experience, like the moming mists on the hills before
the rising sun. The carriage was speedily at the door :
and in a short time the paity alighted at the entrance
of the Sodety of Antiquaries' Rooms, in George Street,
and ascended to the gaUery in which their miscellaneous
collection of antiquiSes is displayed.
Mr Lauder wdked with his companions round the
room, and at the first listiess glance, it seined to pro-
mise little more than Mrs Russell's half-jesting inven-
tory of its contents had described. He was one, bow-
ever, to whom the study of Archteology was no new
thing. He had learned to regard the relics of dder
times as something very difibrent from mere idle rari-
ties dc»rigned to beguile a listless half hour, or employ
the Idsure of * children of an older growth.' Having
allowed them to get over the novd^ of the scene, along
with which there seemed some risk of their getting
over its interest also, he begged them to put themselves
under his guidance, and take an orderly survey of its
contents, as a collection designed to illustrate the sdence
which deals with the unwritten hUtorioal reoordi of our
race.
The first case to which Mr Lauder bcj^ged their at-
tention contains what he described as rdics of the Stone
Period— A collection of hammers, adzes, spears, arrows,
kc all made of stone or fiint, which have been dug up
from time to time chiefly in the burial-places of the
British aborigines. The large stone -hammers were
popularly known during the last century, in Scotland
at least, as ' Purgatory Hammers,' being designed, ac-
cording to the vulgar creed, to enable the deceased
warrior to knock so loudly at the gates of heaven, that
St Peter might hear him without fail, and hasten to
turn the key, and gire admission to the Elysian fidds.
A different and more homdy superstition conferred on
the little flint irrow-heftdi — of which the Muoenm con-
tains a variety of beautifully -formed speoiinens — the
name of £l/'bolts or Elfin-arrowj. These are regarded,
even in our day, in the remoter Highlands, as well as
io parts of X)enmark, Sweden, and Norway, as arrows
shot by the fairies, and pecuUatly injunous to the
peasants' cattle. Thus Wilson represents his discon-
solate iiurmer mourning
* 0'«r harried roQftoanT anlcert toom,
By wailocks riding on » broom ;
Or on ft blaok-oftt nftig beWve,
Or Mtatb-fait sftllf ng 1« « Oem t
While tuftir^riif to «noor«!the ttOf ifaeep,
An' dwlai0* ky» the d/^thoi (hreep,
Hftugre the Elfin oup should keep/
Among these curious illustrations of the rude arts of
the British aborigines, 4nd the simple si^tstiiions of
their descendants, are «ome Teiy heautuuUy - formed
fl'tat spear and arrow-heads, a donation of the present
king of Denmark, who visited this country in IB44
when crown-prince, and took a lively interest in the
comparisons which such collections emabled him to
make between his own rude Scandinavian ancestry and
those of like barbarian simplicity in the British IsleSf
While the ladies were examining these evidences of
the primitive arts of Britain^ and pressing Mr Lauder
with questions which showed how much he had already
excited their interest^ he directed their attention to a
collection of modern New Zealand clubs, spears, and
the like relics of a southern voprage* which every sailor
who visits any of the Polynesuin islands brings home
with him as the spoils of the southern hemisphm ; and
there, among the tattooed clubs and fantastically-carved
oars, hung several Polynesian adzes and chip-axes of
0int, exactly corresponding to those they had been
examining as the weapons and implements of the abori-
gines of Britain and Denmark.
* But surely, dear uncle,' exclaimed Hiss Gregor,
' you do not mean to say that our ancestors were ever
such a set of savages as the Tahitians or Kew Zea-
landen?'
* Undoubtedly I do^* replied Mr Lauder. * In the
mechanical arts we have evidence here that they were
at one time far inferior to the natives of Polynesia.
Here,' s<iid he, pointing to a rude flat-bottomd boat
which occupies a stand in the centre of the Musenm—
* here is an ancient British boat, no doubt of the Stone
Period we are now considering. It was dug up within
300 (eet of the margin of the river C^de, opposite the
Broomielaw, at Glasgow. Mr Stuart remarks of it, in
his notices of Glasgow in former times: ** This relic of
a very primitive age in the history of our country has
been formed from a single piece of timber ; the trunk,
we may believe, of one m those giant oaks which over-
shadowed In their day of life the gloomy solitude of
tiie ancient Caledonian forests, and has most probably
been hollowed, with the aid of fire, by the ruae hanos
of some barbarian Briton." This rude British boat,'
added Mr Lauder, ' if compared with one of the vessels
of the New Zealanders, decorated with a richly *carved
prow, and furnished with a raised platform or deck,
would undoubtedly compel us to give the palm of supe-
rior civilisation to the New Zealander over the early
Briton. But,' said Mr Lauder, leading his companions
to another part of the room, and pomting to a long
canoe, also formed of a single trunk of a tuee, ' let us
compare it with this Malay canoe» U'ought home by
Captain Thompson in 1833 : even this, you will perceive,
though destitute of ornament, is more regularly sha|>ed,
and more skilfully and neatly finished, thian the ancient
Clyde canoe.'
* It is astonishing indeed,* said Mrs Bussell. ' I con-
fess I now look upon that rude boat with an interest I
never felt in any vessel before. Centuries — many — veiy
many centuries ago, that and such-like vessels formed
Uie fleets of the Clyde, where now hundreds of large
steam-ships are arriving and departing every hour, and
vessels laden with the wealth of distant shores daily
crowd into the port of the western capital of Scotland.
How inltrestittg vonld it be to be able to reoover some
traces of the progress of these British barbarians ; bat
every record of th« interval of mesxj centncies is kist
beyond recall l'
* By no loean^* ivplied Mr Lauder. * W« learn here,
in the first plaoew that tkey were altogether ignetant
of the use ef nietals, and conatmcted tbeir weapons
and implements ef eton^ er eC deees' bkom, or bone.
Here, for example, is a jrude hmee-jboid.ef beacw feend
la an ancient tumulua, and ahnost exacts cogesyood-
ing with another hanging on the walls^ oonetnicfced
by the nnidern Esquimaux for a fish«-spear. One not
dissimilar to this was fouedt et a oonnderable depth,
in the Blair-Drnmmond Moss>,seme eeven nrike alMve
Stirijngf lying among the bonesef a whalti The spe-
cnlatigos which such a disoorery anggcsts are CBcioes
indeed, , but we have not now Ume to enter <m them.
It points to a remete period when the broad estuary,
in which a whale couU ewim, net only eztcsded in-
land, where now a child might wade nenm the deeptft
of its streams, but stood at a iheight of maay tint
above its present level ; and yet even at that wsniate
era the Briton inhabited the oarse-husd of Stilling^
constructed his rude .deers'-hom harpoon, and boU^
waged war with the monsters oC the deep* Here,'
said Mr Lauder, directing the ladiea to the oonttals
of another case, * you see the personal omamenta ef
the aame period: braoelets or armillae of ooal, jfii, or
wood; necklaces of the same simple materieleft eenshs,
still ruder an construction i and even oupsi baalnsi, and
porringecs roughly hewn out of stoneb Here, teo^ is
the half-burnt clay pottery of the British aborigines.
Some pf thjC urns are deomted with eooaiderable taste
with ornamental patterns, yet we detect in the veiy
finest of tbepn that their makers were igimraiit of eae
of the most ancient meahanigal con^vaooee— the
potter's wheel In the Frepliedes of Jer«flueh» the
prophet remarks, ** Then I wait down to the potter^
house, and beliold he wrought a woric on the wbeda !"
So that we perceive this simple deviee, whiels was
familiar to the Jewa more than six bundled years befive
the birth of Christ, was altogether unknown to oar
British ancestry.
* But we cannot afford to spend all day on thia de-
partment of antiquities*' said Mr Lauder« 'X^et es
therefose examine next the relics ef the JBnaur Period,
as it is styled. Here is a very rich ooUectioo of the
we^>ons and implements of the period when the early
Britons had learned the art of workiag in metala an
immense step in the progress of oiviUsikion, Here we
see a beautinil pair of the Uaf-thaptd moor>d$, as they
are styled, which were dug up only two yeara ago en
the southern slope of Ar&ur's Seat, in making the
Queen's Drive ; while others, dredged out of Dudding-
stone Loch in considerable numbers, point to this as an
early aeat of northern civiUsation, The meet ooasoMe
relic of this period is the axe-like weapon tensed a
Celi, one of whidt was found along with the swoede «e
Arthur's Seat, These have been assigned by eaalisr
writers as the works of the Phmniciana, if net ci the
Romans ; but all idea of their foreign origin kM been
set at rest of late years by the discovery of- nonlds,
made, some of bronze, ana others of stone, ii^ioatiog
that the old Briton furnished himself wiUi wemptme very
much ap the modern sportsman casts his owa bulkti
for his rifle.
' It is worth your while,' added Air Lauder, * to read
when you go home the picture which Milton has eo
happily conceired of these first ingenious workers in
metal Tou will find it in the fifth book of the ''Para-
dise Lost," where the Archangel Michael rei^eals to
Adam the future progress of liis race, and the varied
displays of inventive skUl end ingenuity exhibit»i by
his descendants : —
> ** The llqnid ore he dr&In«d
Into flt moulds prepared ; from which he fanned.
Pint, his own tools, then what might else he wrmi^l
FnsU or graTen In metaL**
* But I exlMtitst your palienee, I ftar?' taid Mr Lander.
'Oh Do» not in the f lightest,' vetponded both his
oompftoioiit. * On the contrary, yo« interest us exceed-
ingly.'
Eoeoonged by thit uanrance, MV lender drew their
atteatioa to another oase, which contained the personal
onmmeaa^^ the Bronie Period ' Some of these were of
the roost beautiftil description.^ Massive gold and silrer
annkta ; or laife and heavy bronae coUani for the neck,
sfyM J\>pqne$ ; and armillae, in like manner constmcted
of broBae, in ^ form ef snakes — a common ScAndina-
fiaa deTioe. There^ too, were Tariegated g^ass beads of
lirfa atey wbieh frequently ocenr in the tnmali of the
maae period i with bronie and bone needles and pins ;
lsrg» and riohly^decorated brooches made of bronze ; a
BunaiTe c^uda of pfore silver, weighing nearly a hnndred
oaaeea, dug up in laaking the Caledonian Canal ; and a
vsriety of o^er objects, all proving the rapid progress
io the arta of dvillsation consequent on the discovery
of the art of iMifking in metal
The ladies were stiM busy inspeetang this interesting
department of the collection, when a carious old dock
in another oomer of the large hall struck the hour of
Imkv and warned them that they must retuni home.
' The dock must surely be wrong, dear uncle,* said
Hiss (Sregor ; * it seems scarcdy half an hour since we
tefthoase.'
Mt Lauder smiled, as he assured his niece that the
dd dock was correct and trustworthy. * Yon see the
old foia^md pmu are not so unattractive as you ima-
gined. We have not gone over one-lialf of the coUeo-
tion, and it is time that we were home.'
Mrs Russell was equally unwilling to leave the Mu-
seum. She thanked Mr Lander again and again for the
very pleaaant day she had spent under his guidlmce,
and expressed an earnest wish that, should she be able
to prdoog her stay in Edinburgh, he would again be-
cooM their guide, tn inspect the remaining portion of
the ooDection. Mr Lauder expressed himself no less
patiOed by ^e sympathy they had manifested in what
he tcimed his favourite study of archaedogy, and as-
sured tiiem that he would gr^rtly enjoy their company
on some future occasion, to investigate the Roman and
Medinval Departments, in which the cdleetion is no less
lidi than in those of an earlier date. In this under-
standing they retunied home, discussing on the way
many curious speculations, suggested by what they had
sesn and heard. Our readers, we trust, have been no
lets interasted, and will be equally willing to accompany
them should they accomplish their proposed second
Tisit to the Museum of the Society of Antiquaries of
Scotland.
A GLANCE AT THE SIKHS.
Mo«r people have by this time formed some notion of
the rise and progress of our Indian empire ; but the
notksi ia not, generdly speaking, so ^xed and precise
as mii^ be desirable. The time, indeed, has gone by
when our dear countrymen pleased themselves with the
kfea that the Eaist India Company had marched a regi-
ment of sepoys, officered by Europeans, against the Mo-
hamnedan empire, driven the descendants of Timour
ftm the throne, and clapped upon its own four-and-
twenty heads the crown of the Grand Mogul. But this
heroical illusion has given place in many minds only to
ether illusions, and much valuable time, therefore, is
lost in arguing about shadows and mockeries. It ought
to be ^atinctly understood — or else as distinctly denied
—that the Mogul dominion had been utterly broken
up, and that the English, who had their commercial
interests to protect, as well as being goaded on by
their jealousies d the Frencli, found Uiemsdves strug-
0ing for life and purse among the contending ele-
ments of the crumbled empire ; that they fought their
way step by step, bravely and successfully, till, drunken
witii Uood, and maddened by the rage far gold, they
found themsdves in a position where retreat was im-
possible, and the onward movement thdr only hope of
safety ; that as their territories increased, the idea at
length dawned upon them that they were destined to
rebuild the empire; and that although this idea was
Combated from time to time, chiefly by an ignorant, but
generous outcry at home, the period at length came
when they comd no longer doubt that they were the
paramount ix>wer in India, and, as such, intrusted with
Uie fate of more than a hundred millions of their fellow-
men.
While thus driven onwards by chance ur fortune, the
English exhibited a remarkable mixture Cf recklessness
and timidity. At times, the Mahrattiis themselves
never went out * a-kiogdom-taking* with less remorse ;
iHiile at other Xitnea they paused, a#e-8truck at the
apparition of legitimacy, m the person perhaps of some
brigand who had within their own memory risen from
a petty robber into a king. Thus their vnst empire
was dotted, and is so to this day, with native states,
left in greater or less indcj^dence, wlijch serve as hot-
beds of disafTection and mtrigUe, counteract success-
fdly the influence of European civilisation, and keep
up a chronic war from the Indus to the Brahma-
pootra, firom the Himalaya to the sea. We have for
some time past been engaged (much against our own
will, as usual) in fortifying our frontier on the west
and north-west, by the reduction of the Valley of the
Indus, and the country of the Punjaub within that Hne.
The lower Indus, or Scinde, to the delight of its people,
has been already rescued from the savage Belooches;
and now we shall no doubt be forced by recent events
to inviH, after our fashion, the warlike Sikhs to place
themselves under the wing of our motley empire. This
will be a most important attainment ; for the Indus is,
geographically, the outer ditch of our vast fortress,
beyond which there are only the thinly-peopled wastes
and mountains of Beloochistan and Afghanistan —
utterly worthless as acquisitions, and if acquired, utterly
impossible to retain.
But the reduction of the Siklis, which would have
been easy at the proper time, is now a very dlMcuIt
matter ; for the Sikhs are not a people, but a Sect,
which, bdng in close rapport both with the Hindoo and
Mohanmaedan mind, has a power of expansion that
defies all ordinary calculations. We have now before
us a history of this singular body, from which we shall
endeavour to collect some particulars; and the rather
that it is a task which few general readers will be
tempted to undertake for themselves. The histonr is a
work of great abHiipr, and exhibiting iodefatigabie in-
dustry ; but it is written only for the erudite on such
subjects. The very names, which the author has drawn
up in grim and nireatening array on every page, are
more than a sufficient barrier against the ordinary
reader: it is as though a historian of Great Britain
were to form in line the septs and families of Scotland,
Ireland, and Wales; and this not for the purpose of
exhibiting their distinctive characteristics, but merely
the frantic spelling of thdr patronymics.*
The Hindoo mind is not stagnant, as many people
suppose. A thousand years before the Christian era,
the reform of Buddhism, as pure as the first message of
Mohammed, made a strnggle against Brahminism and
its degrading system of caste, wliich deluged oil India
with blood. The Brahmins appear to have been suc-
cessAil within the empire ; but the nations on the north
and east became converts, and the island of Ceylon was
the head-quarters of Buddha. In process of time Bud-
dhism degenerated into a system as wild as Brahminism
itself i and then came Mohammedanism, to leaven and
quicken them both for a new development. Towards
the end of the fourteenth century a philosopher promul-
gated the doctrine that * where the spirit of the Lord
is, there is liberty,' and thus broke the fetters of caste
• A History of the Sikhs, from the Orlghi of the Nation to the
Battles of the Bntl^. By Joseph Davy Cunningham, Lieutenant of
RnRineers and Captain in the Anny of India. London : Murray.
1048.
ii
amoDs his disoiplet ; he wat ibllowed by another, who
preached the omnipotence of ftdth and self-denial ; and
then came one who made war upon the worship of
idols. As we approach the sixteenth centorj, we find
the minds of the people, both Hindoo and Mohamme-
dan, in a state of strong fermentation ; and in the midst
there arose the founder of a sect destined to become a
nation.
This nan, who was bom in the neighbourhood of
Lahore in 1469, was called Nanuk, and he set himsdf
to the diligent study of both religions, but * could find
Qod nowhere. He preached one indivisible and eternal
Ood, the equality of men, the necessity for Dirine grace,
and for leading a virtuous and bring life. He called
his fbllowers Sikhs, or disciples, but assumed no other
superiority oyer them than as a spiritual teacher. He
was followed by a succession of eminent men ; one of
whom, by interdicting quietism or ascetism, rery early
preserved the community firom sinking into a mere
sect Another mustered his followers in a hamlet (»lled
Amritsir, which has now become a populous city. He
collected the writings of his predecessors, established a
tax instead of the voluntary offerings of converts and
adherents, and began to accustom the people to a regular
government This lawgiver encouni^;ea the pursuit of
secular occupations, and was himself a great merchant ;
but one of his successors — Hur Govind— took to the
trade of arms, and marched his followers to the wars
of the Empire. He had a stable of 800 horses, and a
constant guard of 300 mounted followers, with 60 match-
lock men round his person.
In the last quarter of the seventeenth century, Govind
Singh purified and strengthened the Sikh doctrines,
and this church was now called the 'KhAlsa' — saved,
liberated, or chosen. The worship of the one true Qod,
in spirit, and not by means of images, the abandonment
of ceremonies of all kinds, and the acknowledgment of
the perfect equality of mankind, were the grand essen-
tials. Baptism by water was the form of initiation.
The Sikhs were commanded to bathe ftt)m time to time
in the pool of Amritsir, to call themselves Singhs or
soldiers, to leave their locks unshorn, to wear arms con-
stantly, and to pass their lives in war. *The last
apostle of the Sikhs,' says Captain Cunningham, ' did
not live to see his own ends accomplished, but he effec-
tuallv roused the dormant energies of a vanquished
pople, and filled them with a lofty although fltfiil
longing for social A*eedom and natlonid ascendancy, the
proper adjxmcts of that purity of worship which had
been preached by N&nuk. Govind saw ndiat was yet
vital, and he relumed it with Promethean fire. A living
spirit possesses the whole Sikh people, and the impress
cif Govind has not only elevated and altered the consti-
tution of their minds, but has operated materially and
given amplitude to their physical fhimes. The features
and external form of a whole people have been modified,
and a Sikh chief is not more distinguishable by his
stately person and free and manly bearing, than a minis-
ter of his faith is by a lofty thoughtfulness of look,
which marks the ftrvour of his soul, and his persuasion
of the near presence of the Divinity.'
This remarkable change has been operated in two cen-
turies upon the Jut peasants of Lahore, who were the
first converts made by Nannk to his doctrines of religious
reform and social emancipation. After Govind Singh, the
Sikhs must be considered as a nation, not as a church ;
but our limits forbid us to trace their history. During
the breaking up of the Mogul empire they obtained in
sovereignty the provinces of Sirhmd and Lahore. ' In
1784 the progress of the genuine Sikhs attracted the
notice of Hastings, and he seems to have thought that
the presence of a British agent at the court of Delhi
might help to deter them from molesting the vizier of
Gude. But the Sikhs had learned to dread others, as well
as to be a cause of fear; and shortly afterwards, they
asked the British resident to enter into a defensive alli-
ance against the Mahrattaa, and to accept the services
of thirty tiiousand honemen, who had posted themselves
near Delhi to watch the nmtkmt of 8ltidhia> Tbe Eng-
lish had then a slight knowledge of a ntm and distant
people, and an estimate two generatkms old may m-
voke a smile from the protectors of Lahore. ** The
Sikhs," says Colonel FranckUn, ** are in tlieir persons
tall ; . . . . their aspect is ferocious, and tiieir eyes pierc-
ing ; . . . . they resemble the Arabs of the Bi^hrales,
but they speak the language of the Ai%)iaiia{ ....
their collected army amounte to 990,000 men, a
terrific force, yet, finom want of union, not mudi to be
dreaded." The judicious and observing Forster put
some confidence in similar stafeemeBts of thdr Vast
array, but he estimated more turdy than any otiier
early writer the real character of the Sikhs ; and the
remark of 1788, that an able chief would probably aMaia
to absolute power on the ruins of the rude oommoii-
wealth, and become the terror of his oeighboura, has
been amply bwne out by the career of Ru^eet fiingfa.'
At the dose of the last century tiiis oelebrtled adven-
turer rose into eminence, organized, by the aid of Euro-
pean science, a powerful military sjrstem, and extended
fkis dominions from Thibet to Moultan. *Rniqeet Singli
grasped the more obvious charaoteristies of the impotee
given by NAnuk and Govind; he dexterously tamed
them to the purposes of his own material ambitioii, and
he appeared to be an absolute monarch in the midst of
willing and obedient subjects. But he knew thai he
merely directed into a particular channel a power which
he could neither destroy nor control, and that, to pre-
vent the Sikhs turning upon himself^ or destroying oae
another, he must re^arly engage them in conquest
and remote warfieire.' The Maharajah died in 1889;
and in six years after — in 1845 — the Sikhs crosaed the
Sutlej, and engaged deliberately in a struggle with the
British empire, which, after a momentary iotermiaite,
still continues.
The Sikhs may become able coadjutors of the Eng^sh
in the work of dvilisation ; but they are the most for-
midable enemies we have yet crossed swords witii hi
India. According to the highest estimate, they are
only about a million and a-hfuf in numbers ; but thdr
increase is not according to the ordinary laws of popu-
lation. Theirs is the standard both ot reUgioua and
social reform; and it invites under its folds not only
the reflecting and philosophical, but the desperate and
depraved — the Pariahs of dvilisation. The MahraMaa,
who had no aid fh)m rdigious enthusiasm, were merrily
the low castes of Southern India; and yet ia a few
years they became a mighty nation, which, with a tithe
of the military sdence of the present Sikhs, would have
formed an impassable barrier against the advance of tli«
English beyond Bengal
* The observers of the ancient creeds,* sayt ofur au-
thor, * quietlv pursue the even tenor of their wi^, sdf-
satiafled, and almost indifflerent about others ; out the
Sikhs are converts to a new religion, the 8C»1 of tlie
double dispensation of Brahma and Mohammed : tiletr
enthusiasm is stiU firesh, and t^V fUth is still an active
and a living prindpla TTiey are persuaded thai God
himself is present with them, that He lupports tliem in
all their endeavours, and that sooner or Later He will
confound their enemies for His own glorv. Thia fedte;
of the Sikh people deserves the attention of ^e Ei^^
lish, both as a civilised nation and as a paramount go-
vernment Those who have heard a fdlower of Goroo
Govind dedaim on the destinies of his race, his eye
wild with enthusiasm, and every musde quiveriBg with
excitement, can understand that spirit whidi impeUed
the naked Arab against the mail-dad troops of Rome
and Persia, and which led our own chivalrous and be-
lieving forefathers through Europe to battle fbr the
cross on the shores of Asia. The Sikhs do not form a
numerous sect ; yet their strength is not to he esti-
mated bv tens of thousands, but by the unity and energy
of rdigious fervour and warlUce temperamait. Thej
will dare much, and they will endure mudi, fbr tfeie
mystic *' Kh&lsa," or commonwealth : tii^ are not dia-
oouraged by defeat, and they ardentiy look Ibrward to
tm^mm
CHAHBEBS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
288
tbt day whea Indiaiii and Arabf, and Peniaiui and
Tnrka, ihall all acknowledge the double mbsioa of
KAnnk and Qoyind Singb.'
Bat eran their religiona enthnaiaam ia not necessary
fiir tfa« extension oC llieir away, for in India it is an easy
ma^er to coUeot armies without the plea of religion, or
anything else bat pay { and en this sobjeot our author
gives a few details of the history of George Thomas, a
Boropean adrentorar, who acquired a prinoipality in
Northern India. Thia man waa bred to the sea, but
desvted firom a vessel of war, and took military serrioe
al Madraa. He waaderad to the north of India, and
entered the employment of the famoos Begum Bumroo \
hot being disappointed in obtaining her highness's hand,
ha want into tiie Mahratta service, in whidi he defbated
a body of Sikha at KumaL The soldier of fortune at
length determined to set up for himself. Hie repttbred
the eramblmg walls oi Hansee, once an Important for-
tress, ssaesnWod addiers, east guns, and proceeded, with
fariova altematkwa of auoceas and defeat, to conquer
, temtary. He possessed at one time 10 battalions, 60
■ guns, and a land rerenue of L.40,000. He waa sup-
. peaad to be ambitioas of subduing the Bikhs ; but his
anandea were too strong for him, and he returned in
ISOS into the BriUsh provinces, where he died.
The first husband of thia Begum Sumreo, to whom
Qeorge Tfaomaa made love, firom a private in the French
service became a military chief of some consequence in
In^a, ^thoi^h, as he was not connected with Sikh
history, our author does not mention him. He was a
native of Saltmrg, and his real name was Walter Bein-
bard, although, from the gloomy cast of his counte-
nance, his companions gave him the name of Sombre.
How he came to manv the Begum, a lineal descendant
of tha Fro^et^ we do not remember; but he first
rose into eminence by murdering, at the command
of Kasim Alee, Mr Ellis and other British officers
taken in the city and factory of Patna in 1763. He
thra persuaded his mast^ to endeavour to seize upon
tlie pstodpaHW^ of Nepaul; and they would actually
Iwre aueceeded, but for the circumstance of one of the
men in the seisiet of the enterprise getting drunk.
Sombre now entered successively into two other ser-
▼ices ) but eventually set up for himself, like Thomaa—
fairing out his battaliona to the highest bidder. At his
death, the Begum took the command of the force her-
9M, and made an excellent commandant. Among the
oAoeis who entered her service were George Thomas
aad Le Vassoult, both of whom proposed marriage to
their mistress; but tiie Frenchman, unfortunately for
himaelf, gained the piiie. After his tragical death, the
Begum entered into an alliance with the British govern-
ment her fiMTces then consisting of six battalions, a
party of artillny, and 200 horse. Her expenditure at
thia time was L.60,000 a year; but she nevertheless
ooatrlved to leave at her death a magnificent fortune,
Iiu600,000 of whic^ ^ime to Mr Dyce Sombre, a grand-
aoQ of her first husband, whose daughter (by an earlier
will) had married Colonel Dyce.
Theae instances show what may be the fortune of
unaided individuals ; and with so many higher infiu-
saesa at work in their favour, it is hard to say where
the pragresa of the Sikhs mav stop. In our opinion it
eaght to be advanced, not hindered, by the British.
Bftbiam ia the intermediate step to Christianity, with,
oat which, to all human appearance, Christianiijr has
bat little ehaace in India. * Our missionaries,' says
Captain Conningharo, * earnest and devoted men, must
be content with the cold arguments of science and
critidsm; they must not rouse the feelings, or appeal
to Uie imagination ; they cannot promise aught which
their hearers were not sure of before ; they cannot go
into the desert to fast, nor retire to the mountidn tops
to pray; they cannot declare the ftilfllment of any
fiBodly-oherished hope of the people ; nor, in announc-
ing a great principle, can they point to the success
of the sword and the visible fiivour of the Divinity.
No auaterity of sanotitude oonvhices the multitude, and
the Pundit and the MooUa can each oppose dialectics
te dialectics, morality to morality, and revelation to
revelation. Our aealous preachers may create sects
among oursdvea, half Quietist and half Epicurean;
they may persevere in their laudable resolution of bring-
ing up the orphana of heathen parmits, and they mav
giln some converts among intelligent inquirers, as well
as among the ignorant and the indigent^ but it seems
hopeless that they should ever Christianise the Indian
and Mohammedan worlds/
"When we say that the progress of Sikhism ought to
be aided by the British, it will oocur to our readers,
firom the foregoing sketch, that there is no necessary
or original connectioa between their social and reli-
gious reform and the trade of arms. The Sikhs were
as eealous when they were a mercantile people, and
their lawgiver a great horse-dealer; and when Hur
Govind detached them from their peacefiil pursuits,
and wedded them to a military life, it was only because,
in tlie confusion of the time, when the Mogul empire
was crumbling in pieces, they could not otherwise have
remained an undivided and flourishing body. The case
is now difibrent There is a paramount power in India ;
and there is nothing extravagant in the idea that, by
a series of judicious measures, the Sikhs might be led
back to their original standard*-' Peace on earth, and
good-will towards men.' 4
This, however, cannot be accomplished in a day-— or
a generation ; and the hasty politicians of our time will
therefore demand that we shall cither crush the Sikhs,
or leave them and their country alone. They are
already counting the cost of our retaining Scinde, and
exclaiming that the money would be better spent in
improving our original tenitories and civilising their
inhabitants. They forget that, by the insecurity of our
position, we have hiUierto been forced to postpone
almost all such projects; and that without a strong
frontier, we should never have either the leisure or the
power to do our duty to our interior dominions. The
deprecators of the annexation of the Punjaub say that
in the countriea beyond there is as numerous and
powerful a nopulation, which in their turn will offer
themselves lot conquest But this involves an error.
The tribes beyond the Indus have no national union,
and the Afighan cities are divided by barren moun-
tains and deserts, and still more by antagonistic inte-
rests. The Punjaub is the last countrv on our frontier
where there is a regular government and a concen-
trated population ; and of this we must either assume
the rule, and lead the Sikhs by degrees into habits
of peace, or submit to have the territo^ of H^ Five
Rivers a thorn in our side for ever.
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD.
Onb evening in the month of July 1525, a child about
ten years old, badly dressed, and with bare feet, was
driving a flock of sheep across a plain in Picardy,
Toung as he was, his countenance was grave and pale,
and his large dark eyes were intently fixed on a book,
which he held open in his hand; while, but for the
watchfiil care of a dog that accompanied him, his fleecy
charge might have striked in errexY direction without
his being conscious of it He walked slowly on, still
looking at his book, until, as he was passing a cottage,
a voice from its door recaUed him from his abstraction.
'What, Pierre^ are you going to pass by your old
friend Louison without saying good-evening?'
These words were spoken by an old woman who was
spinning at the threshold.
' No^ good Louison,' replied the boy with a very
serious air ; ' I intended to call and embrace you.'
*How say vou that, Pierre!' said the old woman.
' One would think you were going away, and that we
were never to see you again.'
'I hope, whenever I see you, to find you well and
happy,* replied the child.
'Ajid always ready to share my luncheon with my
CHAMBERS'S EDINBDHGH JOURNAL.
little Pierre, who on Euaday hw tbe kindneai to coma
Bnd rewl pityen far me, lince I hare became too feeble
to so to eburch myselT. Hera, Pierre, take thia nice
littK whit* loof «hich the baket ipire roe thi« morning.
and the>e freah nat*— and itny, put thii in your pocket.
Wh^t't thq child afraid ofP— 'tit only a silrer lixpence.
Ah, Pierre, jo\i Iibtc fine ejci, and a luge high fore-
head. Do f ou ^now I often think von are not deitined
to keep abeep all your life : Bomethmg tells me yon will
be a great man one of theae days. Still one thing
puzzles toe : tf jeu remain here in this village of St
Gobain, how are yon erer to becotoe great? — a man
•Ktum erery oo/t will tallc of and «ay, " Do you know
that he was once UtCle La lUQiee, tbe son of La Ramee
the charcoal-burner and Calinettehia wife?"*
' Indeed, Louiioo, I don't tliink I shall remain long
at St Gobtua Who knows ?— better dayi may come;
and then,' added be, throwing his little cnresaing arms
round tlii: old woman's neck, ' when you don't see me
bore, will you pray to God for me7 Farewell, dear
Lanison, I shall nercT forget yoa.'
■ '^^L' what do yon mean by that, Pierre?— Pierrot!'
But FiMre va« already but of bearing ; and having
■ ' ■ '- -•--— 'rore them towards a farmhouae
diitance, aurronnded hy piles of
' he attuiped at an old oak-tree,
r branches, he placed In a deep
le bread, the nuts, ami the silver
i given him. As he was getting
'asped by a powerful hand.
birds'-nests, have I caught yon?"
yon?' said Pierre. "Toustartled
it WHS my father.'
borne long ago ; and when your
mother went to the fold, ahe found a very sorry account
of her abeep.'
' Oh my mother wont ho teij anpy*
'Yes, but that's not all,' repUed Bichardt 'while she
vac looking for tbe aheep, the found something else —
a book!— ^d jon never saw such a fuss ai she made
' I hope she win gtre me hack my book,' laid Pierre,
•peaking more to himself than to hit falhcr's servant
As be entered tbe boaie. after putting up the sheep,
hit mother met him, and tald coldly, 'Go in; your father
wants to apeak to you.'
A rongb-bMking man was seated at a table laid for
tapper, his eyei were fixed on the fire, and his hand
rested on tlie hook found in the thecpfold.
' Bushand, here is Pierre.'
La Kam& looked up. ' What has happened to keep
you so late?'
'Nothing, fother.'
' To whom does thia hook belong ? '
' To me, father.'
' WbognveityoQp'
■] did, sir,' aald Ricbardt 'I gave him money to
'.And what do you do with it. chQd?' asked his father.
' I read it, father.'
■You read it I' cried hia father and mother together)
' and where did you learn to read?'
■I taught him,' said Richard. > The little fallow did
meAaerriae one day, and I returned it by doing hi
another.'
' A fine serrice truly 1' said Calinelte.
'If this child is ruined, Richard, we shall have you to
thank fJT it- Teacli him to read! Did any one er-
hear such folly ? Perhapa you have taught him
write too?'
'Alaa, I can't do that myself, mistress 1' replied
Bicbard.
' That's fortunate, Pm sure i and I should like tc
know what good will learning ever do him?'
'That's not the question, wife,' aald La Itamte
'certainly, if I coaM, I should like to have him in-
ttructed ) but poverty is a aad thing.'
Ob, indeed it is.' said Pierre with a deep tigh. Then
taking courage, he added, 'However, father, if yon
' Send you to achool, I suppose yon mean?' Inter- I
npt«d hit father. ' You know I have not the oiaana ; I
' — 't afford to feed idle months.' I
ere it your supper,' said his mother, giving him a |
basin of soup and a bit of brown bread. i
'May 1 have my book?' asked Pierre, taking hit
nipper with one hand and extending the other towardt
■ '» father.
The latter handed it to him, and asked, 'Who wrote
tbit book ? ' I
Jean de Roly,' replied Pierre.
Who was that priest?' aaked bit mother, ai At
continued to help the soup. '
' He was ooe of the most eloquent orators of the last
century, mother,' replied tbe child. ' He was chancellor
and aichdeacon of the church of N6tre-Dame io Patia
He knew how to read and to write too,' added Fieir* .
with a sigh ; 'so that in 1461, vlien parliament aent a ,
remanatrance to Louit XI., it was he who composed it L
Afterwards in 14S3, tbe clei^y of Paris sent him to the i
aaiemhly of the States-Generid at Tours, whore he spoke
of the suppresaion of abnsea. Charles VIII., the ton '
of Loula Xl„ and the father ot our present king, IiOais i,
XII., was so much pleased with him, that be appointed |
bim his almoner, and kept him at court'
' There, there— that will do,' cried Calinette. i
'You see now / was the mcana of teaching all that !
to the little feUow." aaid Richard proudly,
'Fine things Pm sure to teach him! Go to bed, li
Master Wiseacre.' added she, giving her sou a alight [
push — 'go and look for your Jean Jolyl' I
' Jean de Roly, mother ; and I can't go look for him, '
because he died ticenty-six years ago.'
' But for that, I auppoae you'd go to him and all the I
grand people in Paris ; and yon, forsooth, the son of a |l
charcoal-bamer in Picardy t' .1
' My father certainly Inims charcoal.' aaid Pierre in a j
low tone 1 ' and yet he has gentle blood in hii veins.' {
' And you think yourself s gentleman, I tuppoec?'
said his motlier. i
' Ob,' cried the boy, ' I care not for rank or wealth) i
all T want is to gain knowledge 1' |
' Well, go to bed and dream that yon hare it, and it ' ,
will t>e ail the same thing.' ,
' Good-night, mother ; good-night, fathsr; good-nigbb
Richard ;' aaid Pierre, and went to sleep in the stable ,
among his theep. I
Tlic next morning, when Fjerre prepared at osual '
to take out his flock for the day, he paused on the \
threshold of his father's cottage, and tuming ba^ I
laid, ' Eisi me, mother.'
' What for. child?' replied Calinette.
' Old Iioulson aaya,' replied Pierre, ' that we new
know wheu we may die. If you were never to tee me
again'
' What strange Ideas the boy has ! ' said hia mother,
giving him a hearty kiaa. ' There, Pierrot ) 'tistimctir :
you to go.' I
An hour afterwardi, Pierre, having led hit Cock to '
their sccuatomed posture, commended them to tbe cue
of his failliful dog, and turned hit ileps towards the i
Parit road. Something in hia heart reproached him '
for leaving hia parenta, and told him that nii enterpriae
commenced against their wialies could not prosper ; bat
the boy tried to stifle the uneasy feeling, and walked on. I
carrying a ttick and a bundle containing a change of
clnthea, a few book*, and the provision given him by '
old Louiaou.
Be had not gone far when be taw Richard coming
towards him.
' Whcio are you going?' asked the man.
' I can't tell you, Richard ; for if they ahonld ask joa
at home, I want you to be able to say you do not know.'
' 1 gneas it, child— you're going to leave us ;' and Uw
<dd servant's voice faltered as be tpoke.
CHAMBEBS*S EDINBURGH JOUBNAli.
285
' Richard,* said the child, hunting into tears, ' dear
Richard, don't hetray me. You taught me to read ; that
vaa like opening the gate of a beautifal garden, and
now I want to enter and taste the fruit. I am going to
Paris.'
* Without your father's permission?'
* Tea ; you know if I had asked him, he would have
reftised. I shall never forget you, Richard ; and when
I am learned and happy ' He could say no more;
but dashing away the tears that blinded him, was some
distance on his way before Richard turned slowly to-
wards home.
That evening there was sad consternation in the
fiirmhouse i^en the sheep returned under the sole
escort of Lonlou the dog.
* Pierre ! Pierre t— where is Pierre ?* resounded on all
sides.
Richard alone sat silently in a comer praying God to
protect the little traveller.
After much fatigue, Pierre La Bam^e at length
reached Paris. While passing through the country, he
was kindly received, lodged and fed by the peasants, so
that be had no occasion to spend the few sous he pos-
sessed. But it was different in the great city } there he
was oUiged to purchase a piece of bread, and having
eaten it, to seek a lodging where he best could. The
covered entrance to the market afforded a tolerable
shelter; and there, with a stone for a pillow, Pierre
managc^d to sleep soundly. Next morning he was
awoke early by the noise of the town ; and seeing a
number of children going towards a school, he followed
tJieoi to the gate. They entered, and he remained
standing alone. His heart beat fast, and taking courage,
he knocked at the gate.
The porter opened it * What do you want?'
*I want to enter and listen to what is going on/ re-
plied the little stranger with simplicity.
•MTho are you?'
' A poor child come on. foot from his own village to
acquire learning.'
* Can you pay for admission ?*
* Alas ! I have nothing in the world.*
' Then I advise you to go back as quickly as you
can,' said the porter, shutting the door in his face.
Still the child was not discouraged ; he sat down on
the step. *The children,* he thought, 'will soon be
coming out : perhaps one of them will take pity on me.'
He waited patiently until the great gate opened, and
the scholars, leaping and shouting for joy, rushed out
tumultnously. No one minded poor Pierre; and he
might have remained quite unnoticed, had lie not started
forward to raise a little boy whose foot had tripped
against a stone.
* Are you hurt, little master ? * asked Pierre.
* No, thank you,' replied the child, and passed on.
Fancy the despair of poor little La Ramee when he
found himself once more alone before that large green
gate, which seemed resolved never to admit him. Still
he wuted until the pupils returned ; and as the child
who had fallen passed by, he saluted him.
* Master/ said Pierre advancing.
' Here,' said the cliild, offering him a piece of money.
' It is not that,' said Pierre, drawing back his hand.
* Wliat, then ?' asked the pupil with surprise.
* Lend me one of your books, little master ; I will
retom it when yon come out'
* What good will that do you ?' said the child, greatly
astonished.
* Oh, a great deal ; it will make roe very happy.'
* Here, then,' said the pupil, giving him the first book
that came to hand.
It was a Latin grammar. Pierre opened it, and
turned over the leaves witliout being able to compre-
hend a sentenca When its little owner came out,
Pierre returned it to him with a sigh. * To-morrow
I will lend you a French book,' said the child, and he
kept his word.
But in tills world reading and learning are not all-
sufficient ; it is necessary likewise to eat : and in order
to do this, however sparinglv, Pierre was obli^d by
degrees to sell part of his dotnes, and yet sleep in the
open air. Hooger and misery produced their usual
effects, and the poor child ftit that his ihime was
sinking.
*This,' thought he, 'Is a just punishment fh)m God
for having left home without toy parents* permission.
Oh my poor mother, I have caused you grief enough
without adding to it the anguish 6f hearing one day
that your son died far from you without your blessing,
or hearing you say that yOu fbrgave him. My God,
give me strength to go home ! '
The prayer was heard. Some time aftetwards Pierre
once more entered his native fields, fueling that he had
done very wrong, and deserved punishment, yet fall of
trust In his parents* afi^tlon,
Richard was the first to see Pierre. He rather guessed
it was he than recognised him ; for the po6r eUld was
so altered, so pale and thin, that he looked like the
shadow of the pretty little X^a Ram^e. Richard caught
him in his arms, and hugged him with transport.
* Oh how they wept for you t * said he j * and What
difficulty I had in keeping your secret Well, have
you seen Paris ? Is it as large as people say ? Have you
learned a great deal there ? Are you very wise now ? '
Pierre smiled sadly : * I have seen but little of Payii.'
he said ; ' and I return as ignorant as. when I set out,
Oh, Richard, I have suffer^ i great deal, especially
from hunger. But mother, father — how are they ? '
Just then they reached the cottage door : the patents
of Pierre tried to look stern and unforgiving, hut it
would not do. The father's eyes were filled with tears
while he told his son that he had forfeited his affection ;
and the mother covered him with kisses while she pro-
tested that she would never embrace him i^gain in her
life.
' Come,' said a brother of Calinette, who had lately
taken up his abode with the family, * this is the return
of the Prodigal SoQ. Let every oUe embrace him and
be satisfied. You, brother-in-law, forgive the little ftl-
low ; and you, sister, give him some good warm soup.
And do you, my boy, promise your parents not to
leave home again.'
* Without their permission,' said Pierre.
< What ! do you still think of returniug ?*
* Yes, uncle.'
* Notwithstanding all you have sufibred ?'
* Oh, to suffer is AoUiing t to learn is everything !*
Astonished at this determination, the uncle conei-
dered for a moment, and then said — * Your desire shall
be accomplished, nephew ; it would be a pity to disap-
point so much courage and perseverance. I am an old
man without children, and I have a few gold coins
lying idle in my trunk : I think, brother, I'll e'en spend
them in indulging our young scapegrace : what do you
say?'
* I say, Vincent, that if you will pay for his schooling,
I do not desire better than to have hitn instructed,
and I will readily allow him to return to Paris.'
Great was the joy of Pierre at hearing these words.
Behold him again on the high road ; but tbld time With
a light heart, an easy conscience, and a pocket fur-
nished with money, and a letter of introduction to the
principal of the college of Navarre In Paris.
He arrived, and was admitted. The first time that
our young hero found himself seated in a class, witli a
professor about to instruct hlro, was an hour of nni:^xed
delight It seemed to him as though he had neither
eyes to see, nor ears to hear, nor memory to retain all
he wanted to learn. He came to the banquet of science
as a hungry man would come to a delicious feast; there-
fore the progress that he made, especially in Latin, was
so marvdlous, that his companions, to commemorate it.
Latinised his name, and ciuled him Rah us. By this
name he was ever afterwards distinguished. But the
trials the poor boy was destined to undergo were not
yet ended.
2M
CHAMBBRS^ BDINBUBOH JOUBKiJL
His nndle, more geirarfmi than rich, fimtsd it ledgtti
that hit ftuidi were exhauited. He oanaM -a letMr to
be written to him containing these words : — * Leare the
college, dear Pierre; I have no more monejr to send
yon. You have now quite sufficient learning to conduct
your father's trade.*
Just befbre the receipt of this letter the prindpal had
told Ramus that in two years more his studies would
be completed.
' Two years I* thought hej * only two Tears ; and I
must leare tiie ooUege 1 Oh no! I wiH find some means
of remaining.' And instead of despairing, as an ordi-
nary b^ might have done, Bamus appBed himsdf to
diligent exertion.
For some time the managers of the college had been
seeking a serrant to brush the clothes and dean the
shoes of the pupils. As the wages were small, and the
work laborious, Dut ftw candidates offered for the place,
when one day a young lad presented himself, whose
appearance greatiy astonished the principal
'Ramus!* he cried t 'Bamusl One oC our besi pupils
oflferiog himsdf as a shoe^boy 1*
* My uncle can no longer pay for my education, shr,
and I cannot bear to leare the college.'
'Well, my child, then remain,' said the master,
touched by his anxiety ; ' but 'tis a great pity. You
would make a better pupil than serrant How much
do you expect?*
' Ah, I dare not say.'
' Let us see ; on account of your age and anxiety to
remain, I will increaee the wages somewhat.'
' Sir,' said Ramus with a desperate eflbrt, * I do not
ask money ) aU I wish is permission to retain my place
in the class. I will contmue mr studies by day, and
work hard as a serrant by night.^
'And when will you sleep?* asked the principal,
greatly affected.
' During the hours of recreation 1* replied the noble
boy.
What may not be acoomplished by a real thirst for
knowledge. Ramus steadily continued his almost super*
human labours of mind and body, and in the end he
reaped a reward. After learing tiie coBege, he received
all the honours and degrees that are conferred on learned
men; and Kihg Henty n. named him professor of
eloquence and i^ilosophy in the CoUege of France.
Ho published sereral works, which still attest the
enlargement of his mind and the extent of his know-
ledge. It was he who inrented the letter V. Befbre his
time, U had been employed in all cases when either
letter was required.
Ramus became rich and prosperous, as well as learned ;
but he did not forget his parents, nor his old friend
Louison — who had predicted that he would become a
great man — ^nor Richard, who was the first to derelop
his inteUeet, in teaching him to read. I am sorry to
hare to add, that Ramus perished in the year 157t, in
the cruel massacre of St Bartholomew.
THE JEWISH PASSOVER AND ITS
SANITARY TENDENCIES.
The origin of the obserrance of the Fassorer among
the Israelites is well known to readers of the Bible. But
rery few are acquainted with the trouble and expense
entailed on the orthodox Jews who adhere to the eanon
law as inculcated by the * Mishna,* partioulariy the por-
tion entitled * Helchas Passochim,* wherein is giren the
formula for the Passover, for the guidance of all true
belierers.* It is not the intention of the writer to enter
into the minutiae, but simply to show the hygienic
tendency of the laws of cleanliness, as enforced in the
portion of the oral law to which reference has been
made.
* The * MiHhna' la ft digest of All the Iftws and OMgM extant amonf
the Jews, and was published aome hundred* of yean since to pre-
serve uniformity in the oommunitice of this pec^e, howerer they
might be separated in many lands.
We Biay premise that the Scriptural or written law,
on which the rules, as enforced by the Mirfinaic dootoM,
hare been based, are to be found in Exodus, chap. xiii« 7 :
* Unleareoed bread shall be eaten scren dajra ; and ttiea
there shall be no learen seen with thee, rteither dbaU
there he any led/fsen im att thy muuient* The portion
of this text mariced in ittUktM forms the data fat the
minute ebserranoes of those laws on which we shdl
treat; and in order that they may be htenny and
spiritually obeyed, there is a list in tiie ' HelcfaM Pas-
sochim' of ercry imaginabto substanoe that may be
subject to fermentation: so Uiat the rabbins in their
catalogue indude under the term learen erery reget-
able and animal substanoe which modem ohemiste in
their tables speak of as capable of vinetis aad mattk
fermentation.
As soon, therefore, as the Feast of Pnrim haa paswii,
it Is a custom, from time immemorial, for Uie fcrnales
of erery Jewish family, rich and poor, to commenoe
the annual cleaning.* Brery nook and oonier, ereiy
drawer, box, and cupboard, erery room, from the at^ to
the kitohen, and erery artide of Aimiture in them, is
deaned, fbr the purpose of remoring all acvumnlatJon^
whether of dust or other extraneous matter, becaaae
such accumulations are considered by the Doctors of the
Tidmud as subject to a species of fermentation, or as
generating impurities, which they deem dependent om
a similar law. Erery room and cupboard ia Uose-
washed ; and erery shelf is scrubbed, to remore em
any stsin or extraneous impression, from the probal^lly
that such stidn has beoi produced by fermented oiatler.
Thus the rabbins, under the express command of re-
ligious obserrances, hare enfbroed such rigid deanHneei^
tl^t the houses of Jews are rendered pure and beal^
by the preparations for this annual festiraL This may
in some measure account for the known kmgerily of
Israelites— Uie writer of this baring known many who
attained the ages of 100, 110, and eren 120» whilst few
die, oomparatirely speaking, rery young. These fiscts
are worthy of attention, as they hare been in operation
for many hundreds of years before sanitary reforms
were thought o^ and bdbre sdentiflc men had aaoer-
tained that the want of radical deaoliness in the houses
of the poor often generated malignant fvnn and otter
disorders.
In most European dties the Jews hare beea fcroed
to reside in some obscure and huddled locality, where
one might expect them to be more liable than the aver-
age of the population to ferers and other aUmoits sup-
posed to arise firom filth and want of feesh air. It
appears, howerer, that the Jews are in feot leea Waited
by disease than the generality of their Mlow-dtiaeiii.
This, while attributable in piurt to their superior tam*
peranoe, may well be beliered to be owing in no small
measure to iteit one montii of annual puriflcatioa and
the consequent deanliness. It may not be altogrtber
uninteresting to add, that ttie plates, dishes, teaonpt, and
saucers, knires and forks, saucepans, kettlea» spoona,
&C. which are used during the year, are not used Jot
the Passorer ; these things being kept from year to
year for this one week, or else new artioiei are pxa*
chased. In cases where porerfy preoludea the possi-
bility of dianging ererything, there are certain fbrmufaa
showing how to purify them with boliing wala^ or with
fire, or both, so as to deprire them of any fermenftahle
matter which might otherwise, as in eome kimte of
porous earthenware, be absorbed*
The houses of the middle-class Jews, when the aaitwl
preparations for the Passorer are completed, prceent a
norel and a most deanly aspect Erery shelit dreoeer,
table, tray, and cupboiurd, is corered with beantiM
white napldns ; and as each Jew has a pre-knowledfe
of the pains and penalties consequent on not remorluf
* Some idea may be formed of this annual andertaktbt, trhaa II
Is known that Pvvlm oommenoes on the I4th day ot A4aa, {tm tiM
Book of Esther) ; and the Passorer commanoee on tba 14th daj of
Nissan (Exodus, chap^ xil. fto.) Hence a whole mootii ia nf^mpiid
in these important aSlutions.
JJ
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
987
all tliingf Bolject to fSBrmentatioo, there is experienced
a feontion of purity which reacts on the mind, and
disposes the stnoere Israelite to express an intense
gratitiide to God« as if he had been actoally a manu-
mitted slave, and felt for the first time the pore
air of freedom.* To theee fiKits may be added the
constant ^utions prescribed during this month by
both the written and oral laws^ rendering cleanliness
of povon a religious oUigation ; whence also arises
fiA^nlinw in culinary preparations. In short, it is
manliest tliat the injunction of the lawgiver, even while
one is disposed to smile at the literalness with which it
is followed out, has been attended^ through that very
fiteralnesa, with eflbets of a moti salutary as well as
extraordinary kind.
THE EDINBURGH REVIEW ON THE
WORKING-GLASdEa
Tbb 'Bdhibmrffh Reriew* fcr April 1840« in an article on
the dwornorel of *Maij Barton/ combats some of the de-
kuiooB ot the present oay respecting the workmg-classes.
It i^MuwM from iSMSts the fiUlaov of supposing that the em-
ployers remain onafTected in their prosperity and comforts
mbad times, while their workmen are thrown out of em-
pbjment and starve. It shows the greater fallacy advanced
tfj the stirrers of sedition among the working-men, that
capital and Uboor are antagonistic, and that the share of
the labomrer is unfostly smuL This writer comes clearly
and distinetly to the conclusion that f&ctorv workers are,
as a daas, ud taldng aU times toeether, well off, and in a
aitnation to realise many of the blessings of life. He says
— * The wi^es of men in most snoh estaUishments vary
from 10s. to 40s., and those of girls and women from 7s. to
15s. a week. And as from tiie nature of the work, in
which even children can be made serrioeable, several indi-
ridnals ot the same frmily are generally employed, the
earnings of a frmily will very frequently reach LlOO
a year— and by no means unfiwquently, when the father
is an overiooker or a spinner. L.150 or L.170 — a sum on
which ftunilies in a much higner rank contrive to live in
deeeney and comfort. Saving, then, out of such earnings
Is dbvioosly not only practicable, but easy. Unhaimily it
i» rare: for not only is much wasted at the alehouse
(though leas now than fbrmerlv), not only is much squan-
oered in snbseriptions to trades* unions and ttrihts, bat
among the more nighly-pald operatives, spinners especially,
both by betthig sna at cards is cairied on to a
extent.f Much also is lost by bad housewifery ;
not scrapie to affirm that, were it possible (and
who Shan say that it is not?^ to transport among these
people those thrifty habits, that household management,
that shrewd, sober, steady conduct characteristic of the
Scotch peasantry, and which are so well dqyicted in Somer-
viOe^ ** AutoblMfrsphy of a Working- Man,** not merely
eonfari^ but wewh and independence would speedilv be-
come the rule instead of the exception among our Man-
elicster artisans. Etsu as it is, we are cognisant of many
eases where hundreds — in some instances thousands— of
pomids have been laid by for future calls by fitctory work-
men.'
The writer alleges that the men who habitually labour
to perroade the operatives to lay the burthen of their own
sins and folBes at the door of their emplovers are never
the leaHy distressed, ' but very generally those who have
ihfvwB up Ittorative employment, beoause they piefrrred
taateiifaig and haranguing to steady and honest toil ... The
plain tn^^' aayt tw reviewev^ and most cordially do we
eeaenr in the whole stiain of his remarks, * cannot be too
baldly spoken, nor too fkequsntly repeated : the working-
ilssses, and tiiey only, can raise theb own oondition ; to
themselves akme must they look for their elevation in the
soelal scale; their own intellect and their own virtues
work out their saWation ; their frte and their future
s The paimt sad pmottfet ftar retafainf say fermented matter
OsaiM) on the Paaorer, InvolTe nol only moral sad sooUl exoi-
frioo, trat also jx^tical ezolsion.
t We hare now Iring before us lome purtiouUtrs showing the
wvrslenee ot Uds Tioe in one single factory. One man had lost
W, aaotbsr h^, another LJ, lOs. in a single night at oarda
la the «me mill the losses incurred on one occasion, in the
hsttint OB a foot-raee, by the hands in one department only,
exseedcdL.UL
are in their own hands— and in theirs alone. Of the newer
of the agricultural population to do all this we snoold
speak more doubtingly, if we spoke at all i but in referenoe
to the manufacturing and meonanlcal opoatives, we speak
with the conriction of positive knowleoge ^and the ucts
we have just mentioned cannot Csil, we think, to obtain
some credit for us with most of our readers) when we pro-
nounce that for them to be as well off in <Ae«r station as
tiieir emplovers are in theirs— 4M Well prorided against the
evil day of depression and reverse as comfortable^ accord-
ing to their standard of oomfoft^ in their dally hfo— «s
respectable in their domestic oireumstaneee little more
is neoessary than that they should emnlate their empknrers
instead of envying them: that they should imitate tndr
prudence and worldly wisdom, thdr unresting diligence,
their unflagging energy, their resolute and stea^ eoonomy.
It is not mgher wsm nor more unvarying employment
that our artisans need. As it is^ they are more highly paid
than many clerks, many schoolmasters, many curates. But
with their present habits, twice their present earnings
would not mend their position. The want Ls moral, not
materiaL . . . The desperate delusion that the CTils of
society are to be remedied from wlUkmi, not ttom vitMm,
that the people are to be passivs parties— «nd not the
principal, almost the sole sgents— in their own rehabilita-
tion, has met with fkr too ^eral countenance in quartern
where sounder wisdom might have been looked for. . . .
The sounder, sterner, healthier doctrine which we have
ventured to enunciat<^— hard as it may seem to preach it In
a period of distress Is the only one which can prevent this
distress from perpetual and aggravated recurrence. The
language which every true friend to the working-man wUl
hold to him is this :—** Trust to no eztemal source for
your prosperity In lifo } work out your own welfare ; work
it out with the tools you have. The Charter may be a de-
sirable object, the franchise may be worth obtaining ; but
your happiness, your position in life, will depend neither
on the franchise nor the Charter, neither on what parlia-
ment does nor on what your employer neglects to do, but
simply and solely upon the use you make of the fifteen or
thirty shillings which you earn each week, and upon the
circumstance whether yon marry at twenty or at twenty-
eight, and whether you marry a sluggard and a slattern or
a prudent and industrious woman.** We are as ceriain as
we can be of anything, that if the frctory operatives and
mechanics were possessed of the education, the frugality,
the prudence, and the practical sense which generally dis-
tinguish their employers, no change whatever, either in the
regularity or the remuneration of their work, would be
needed to place them as a body in a state of indepen-
dence, dignity, and comfort.*
OUR NATnOB FL0WSR8.
Perhaps no one of our readers would dissent from the
proposition that beauty, not rarity, is the first Quality to
be desired in the tenants of our parterres ; and for them-
selres, we have no hesitation In saying that that gardener
should not havs the direction of our flower-borders who
rejected the beautiftil beeanse It was oommon, to make
room for the more Insignifleant mer^ beoause it wss
scarce. No» we prefer before aUothseoonsideraiions beauty
of colour, beauty of fonn, and ezeelleBoe of Ihigranee.
Moreover, we are not of those who admire most that which
costs most ; but, on the contrary, we should be best de-
lighted to save every guinea we could from being expended
upon the tenants of our out-door departments, in mder
that we might have that guinea to spare upon our stovs
and greenhouse; the denisens in which must, beyond
escape, be excellent in proportion to their costliness. We
make these obsertations beoause we hmpen to know that
effects the most beautiftil may be obt^ned by the aid of
our native plants: we have seen rustks seats looking gay,
yet refreshmg^ from their profose. eldhing of our vhca
mmor and m^pr; and we will ventare to wager a Persian
melon against a pompion, that half the amateur gafdenem
of England wouhl not reoognise these flowers in their cul-
tivated dwellinff-place. Again, if any one wishes to hare
the soil beneath nis shrubberies gladsome in Mriy spring,
let him introduce that prettv page-like flower the wood-
anemone, to wave and flourish oter the primroses and
violets. Let him have there also, and in his borders too,
the blue and the white forget-me-not, MyotoHi palu$tri$,
and M, alba. We will venture the same wager that not a
tithe of our readers ever saw that last-named gay Uttie
native. Mr Paxton*8 obserration applies to them both
when he sayi — as a border-flower, it has very high oharao-
teristiofl ; it onlv reqoiree planting in a moist soil, slightly
sheltered and shaded, to become a truly brilliant object ;
it is equally good for forcing, rery Taluable for bouquets,
and alike fit for windows, greenhouses, borders, and beds.
Under fitrourable cultivation, its blossoms increase in sise
nearly one-half. The plants only require to be diWded
annuaUy, and to have the flower-spikes cut off as the lower
florets decav. By thus preventing their seeding, a very
protracted displav of bloom is obtuned. These are not a
nundredth part of the native flowers which might be intro-
duced with happiest effect into your gardens. We have
seen the broom, the honeysuckle, and the holly blended
with rarer shrubs, and aiding the best conceptions of the
landscape gardener ; and we have seen garlands of flowers
in which not one exotic was interwoven, so beautiful, that
none culled from our choicest stove plants could have much
excelled them. — Qiurdenen^ AlmaaMo,
THE PSR Rentage of poetry that will probably
ENDURE.
When we look back upon the havoc which two hundred
years have made in the ranks of our immortals and the
accumulation of more good works than there is time to
peruse — we cannot help being dismayed at the prospect
which lies before the writers of the present day. There
never was an a^ so prolific of popular poetry as that in
which we now live. The last ten years have produced, we
think, an annual supply of about ten thousand lines of good
staple poetry — ^poetry from the very first hands, and as
likely to be permanent as present success can make it
Now if this goes on for a hundred years longer, what a
task will await the poetical readers of 1919! Our living
poets will then be nearlv as old as Pope and Swift are at
present — and if Scott, and Byron, and Campbell have already
cast Pope and Swift a good deal into the shade, in what
form and dimensions are they themselves likely to be pre-
sented to the eyes of our great grandchildren ? The thought,
we own, is a little appalling ; Mid we confess we see nothing
better to imagine tlian that they may find a comfortable
place in some new collection of specimens — the centonary
of the present publication. There shall posterity still hang
with rapture on the half of Campbell — and the fourth part
of Byron— and the sixth of Scott— and the scattered tithes
of Crabbe — and the three fitr cent of Southey — while some
good-natured critic shall sit in our mouldering chair, and
more than half prefer them to those by whom they have
been superseded I It is a h vperbole of good-nature, how-
ever, we fear to ascribe to toem even those dimensions at
the end of a century. After a lapse of two hundred and
fifty years, we are afraid to think of the space they may
have shrunk into. We have no Shakspeare, alas ! to shed
a never -setting light on his oontomporaries ; and if we
continue to writo and rhyme at the present rato for two
hundred years longer, there must be some new art of shoriF-
hand reading invented— or all reading will be given up in
despair. — Zxtrd Jtffrty,
MEDICAL interpretation OF DREAHB.
Dreaming, as the precursor and accompaniment of dis-
eases, deserves continued investigation ; not because it is
to be considered as a spiritual divination, but because the
unconscious language often very clearly shows, to those
who can comprenend its meaning, the stato of the patient.
According to Albert, lively dreams are in general a sign of
the excitoment of nervous actions : soft dreams are a sign
of slight irritation of the brain — after a nervous fever,
announcing the approach of a favourable crisb: fr^htfhl
dreams are a sign of detormination of blood to the head:
dreams about fire are, in women, signs of an impending
hemorrhage: dreams about blood and red objects are
signs of inflammatory conditions : dreams about rain Mid
water are often signs of diseased mucous membranes and
dropsy : dreams of distorted forms are fr«quently a sign
of abdominal obstruction and disorder of the liver: dreams
in which the patient sees any part of the body especially
suffering, indicato disease of that part: dreams about
death often precede apoplexy, which is connected with
determination of blood to the head. The nightmare
{tnadiUM epkiaUes\ with great sensitiveness, is a sign of
ctetormination of blood to the chest. We may add, that
dreams of dogs, after the bito of a mad d(^, often precede
the appearance of hvdrophobia, but niav be only tne con-
sequence of excited imagination.— Z)r nintlow^s Journal of
Piyekalogioal Medicine,
THOUGHT AND EXPRESSION.
BY THS LATS MmS JAMSS OSAT.
Tbsy flit, they oome, they go,
The vidoos of the day;
They change, they fade, they glow.
They rise, they die away.
And all within the scope
Of one poor human breast.
Where Joy, and fear, and hope.
Like deads on heaven's Uoe cope.
Can never be at rest.
They pras, they throng, they fill
The heart where they have birth ;
Oh poor them forth to thrill
Thy brethren of the esrth !
In drdes stOl they swim.
But outward will not go ;
The lute-atrings csge the hymn.
The cup Is full, full to the brim.
Yet will not overflow.
When will the lute be stridcen
80 that its song shall sound?
When disll the spring so quicken
That its streams shall pour around ?
Wo for the struggling soul
That utterance cannot find.
Yet longs without control
Through all free qiaee to roll.
Like thunders on the wind !
The painter's pencil esme
The struggling soul to aid.
His visiODS to proclaim
In odoured light sad shade s
But though BO fsir to me
His handiwork may seem.
His soul deqKmds to see
Bow psle its colours be
Before his cherished dream.
80 from the sculptor's hand
To life the marble's wrought;
But he can understand
How lovelier far his thought.
The minstrel's power ye own.
His lyre with bays ye bind;
But be can feel alone
How feeble is its tone
To the mnslo of his mind.
80 strife on earth must be
Between roan's power and will ;
For the soul unchecked and free
We want a symbd stilL
Joy when the fleshy vefl
From the spirit shall be cast.
Then an ungsrbled tale
That cannot stop or fafl
ShaU genius teU at Ust!
IMPOBTAMCE OF COOKERY.
It is a curious £sct| that during the war fai Spain,
forty years since, when the Fr«ich and Enghah annks
were alike suffering from the scantiness of provkSoaa, the
French soldiers kept up their strength mneh better thaa
the English, solelv because they put such food as tiiey
could get to much better account The En^i^ soldier
would take the lump of meat, and broil it on the ooals till
a good part of it was burned almost to a cinder, thoosh
even then part of the remainder was probably rsw. l%e
French soldiers, on the contrary, would chib two or tliree
together, and stow their bits of meat with bread, and sack
herbs and vegetables as they could collect, into a savoury
and wholesome dish. So great was the differenoe betw«co
these two ways, in their effect on the strength and health
of the soldiers, that it was remariced that a Freneh any
would live in a country in which an fiigUsh army would
starve. — Family EoonomitL
II
PubUahed by W. ft R. CHAMsaas, High StrssC, Bdlnboxi^
sold by D. Chambbrs, SO Argyls Street, Glssgow; W. S. Oas,
147 Strand, London; and J. M^Glashav, tl ITOlles
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. CHAMaaas, Edfaibargk.
1
CONDUCTED BY WIUJLAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, BDrTORS Of « CHAMBERS'S HVPORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ • CHAMBERSrS EDUCATIONAL C0UR3B,' Ste,
33:
=r
No. 280. New Series*
SATURDAY, MAY 12, 1849^
PmcK IJcJ.
■ ""-' '■■" '< ■'■■i?H^'-i -rnr:
1'!' 'II
■^T"
UTOPIAS.
' Before you, had you monihig's speed.
The dreamy Und would ttiU recede.'
Like Sir Guy the Seeker wandering round the en-
chanted cmstle of his ladje-love, and eren when his
locks had grown gra^, and hit knightly arm had lost
its Tigoor, still ardently hoping and longing for one
more glimpse of the fair yision that had once long ago
for a moment blessed his sight— even such is the belief
in utopiaa — a belief more of the heart than of the
brain, and against which all the weapons of logic often
fdl broken and ineflbctuaL Every one has a Utopia in
his heart, though it may not have ' a local habitation
and a name.' Every one pictures to himself scenes of
ideal happiness, various as the spirits of their framers,
but all lovely — day -dreams which the heart delights to
contemplate, but which youth alone is ardent enough
to hope to realise. This tendency has existed in every
age ; and hence the belief or superstition which is the
subject of our remarks. But before proceeding farther,
the title of our article perhaps nuiy require a few ex-
planatory words.
In giving to an imaginary spot, in one of his Scottish
novds, the title of Kennaquhair, Sir Walter Scott has
very happily translated into Scotch the originally Greek
term * Utopia.' It is a place which has no latitude or
longitude in physical geography | and which, accord-
ingly, is a most suitable region wherein to place all
that is too wonderful or too beautiful for ordinary earth.
The term, therefore, has been applied to those repre-
sentations of a so-called perfeet slate of human society
whkdi Phito and many after hhn hsrve delighted to
draw; but it is not wHh such limbos of vanity that
we have now to do. All the Utopias of philosophers
are 'stale, flat, and unprofitable' when placed by the
fide of the living and lovely ideal worlds which have
arisen tike emanations from the heart of nations, and
have become engrafted on their popular creeds. A brie|
^etcb of these is what we now propose to furnish : and
when thousands are rushhig to a new El-Dorado on the
banks of the ^io Sacramento, it may not prove nninte-
rcstiog to review, among kindred suogecta^ the struggles
a€ our forefistbora after an equally alluring, though
ilDiginary, land of promise*
The Greeks, who had all sorts of marvels, had a
Utopia also, in which the fancy of their poets could
hoviate uotrMnmelled by tbo ordinary laws of nature ;
sDd this ideal realm they called the Garden of the Hea-
perides, and placed far away, nigh to the setting stm.
As to its exact geographical position considerable di-
versity of opinion prevailed ; and Hercules, their great
hero for accomplishing impossibilities, had to inquire
first of the nymphs of the Po, and subsequently of the
•11 . VvwMw{«««* AAA - (Mwl WttWBtia o* ¥rt i^ «rKaiM»aYv\ti^
ere he started on his seareh. One old writer pkoed
it * beyond tbe ooean;' but if plurality of votes ia to
decide the question, its site was near the foot of Mount
Atlas. Here, in the country where, says Diodorus, all
the gods of antiquity received their birth, sheltered by
lofty mountains from the scorching blasts of the south
wind, and with streamlets from the heights meandering
through it, and flowing on afi eldea -round it in a ser-
pentine course, bloomed a fair garden, where grew all
manner of delicious fruits ; and Ovid, pleasing the eye
and the fancy more tlian the palate* makes trees, foliage,
fruit, all of gold. The beings who presided over tliis
fair scene were the Hesperides, sister nymphs, varying
in number, according to diflTerent authors, from three to
seven ; while a dreadful dragon, whieh never slept,
guarded the ptecinotafrom the intrusion of advlsnturooa
mortals. This monster is said to have had a hundred
heads, and possibly had lives in proportion } but at last
his extraordinary existence was cut short by Hercules,
wlio carried some of the golden apples back with him
into Greeee i but Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, re-
stored them to their native gardens, because she fore-
saw they could be preserved nowhere else on earth.
(This conclusion of the legend is finely allegorical of
the distance existing between the world of imaginatioa
and the common life 6f man.) As there are some who
consider the wide-spread belief in * Isles of the Blessed'
as the e£^t of vague traditional reminiscences of the
lo^ Eden of our first parents, we may mention for their
behoof that in Paris there is an antique medal (at least
there was one last century : for aught we know, it may
ere this have been melted down in the revolutionary
mint) representing Hercules and the dragon at the foot
of the gold-fruited tree ; and this medal, in the opinion
of the Abb^ Mftssieu, but for the male sex of Hercules^
would pass for a memorial of the temptation of Eve by
the serpent.
The natives of Hindoostan have a story of a great
city named Boly having been submerged in the sea^
whose gilded pinnacles were seen by their forefathers
glittering above the waters, and whose streets are alill
visible in the dear depths of ocean. Bot as no one
depones to having personally inspected this submarine
abode (albeit tlie best of divers are on these coasts), we
pass oo to Another which has been more fortunate ia
this respect, and whose story bears some reaemblance
to that of Jonah and Nineveh ; with this difiTerence,
that in the present case the prophet would have had no
oocasieu ' to be angry* at Urn ultimate fate of the city.
Amid the bnhiing wastee of sand which lie between
Abyssinia and Aden tliere once existed, say Moham-
medan writers, a great city and lovely gardens called
the Paradise of Irem. But the king and people of the
place (the tribe of Ad) were very wicked ; so that the
"Omrk^Vta^ Tlnm*A »•• mttnti *t\ tfiMiafAn f.hi*m irith indor.
290
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
ments nnleM they repented. Bat they did not; and
accordingly all, except the prophet, were destroyed;
or, according to another versioo, turned into apes ! The
city, we are told, is still standing in the deserts of Aden;
hut it is only visible to such as are privileged by God
to behold it This favour, it seems, has b^n enjoyed
by one favoured mortal, Colabah by name, who, being
summoned by the Caliph Mo&wiyah, related how that,
when he was seeking a camel he had lost, he found
himself on a sodden at the gates of the city, and ' enter-
ing it, saw not one inhabitant ; at which, being terrified,
he stayed no longer than to take with him some fine
stones, which he showed to the caliph.'
Leaving the turbaned Mohammedans of the East, we
shall find the imaginative spirit and vague aspirations of
the northern races creating a Utopia even more poeticid,
we think, than those hitherto noticed, and certainly
exercising a more powerful influence over those who
believed in its existence. Passing over, as apocryphal,
Macpherson's legend of the Flath-innis, or Noble Island,
authentic records show us the belief existing among
the Welsh mountaineers, then just emerging ^m pa-
ganism. Looking from their native mountains, they
beheld the sun setting, amid golden glories, over the
waters of the western sea ; and it was far away upon
those sunset waves that they placed their Utopian
realm. They called it Choerdonnan Lion — the Green
Isles of Ocean, or the Green Spots of the Floods ; and
they deemed it a fairyland of bliss, where dwelt the
souls of good Druids, who, being pagans, were not per-
mitted to enter the Christian heaven. Yet^ Uiough
thus the abode of spirits, it was nevertheless a material
paradise: they considered that its happy shores were
accessible to mortals, and that he who succeeded in
reaching it, imagined on his return that he had been
absent only a few hours, when in truth whole centuries
had passed away. At times it was visible from land.
' If you take a turf,' says an old author, * from St David's
churchyard, and stand upon it on the sea-shore, you
behold these islands. One man,' he adds, 'once got
sight of them by this means, and forthwith put to sea
in pursuit ; but they disappeared, and his search was
vain. Nowise daunted, he returned, looked at them
again from the enchanted turf, again set sail, and again
was unsucoessfuL The third time he took the turf on
board with him, and stood upon it till he reached them.'
Whether this fable originated in an optical delusion
similar to the Fata Morgana — in the prevalent tradition
of the lost Atlantis, or large island in. former times tx-
isting in the Western Ocean — or in vague rumours of
the American continent, cannot he determined ; but it
is undoubted that the fable was received as sober trutii
by the Welsh.* It is on record that several expeditions
were undertaken for the discovery of the happy islands;
and the ' three losses by disappearance of the island of
Britain,' lamented by Welsh bards, appear to have all
been connected with it The first of these was the ex-
pedition of Madoc, a Welsh prince, who sailed for the
' far west,' and who is believed to have reached Mexico;
the second was that of Prince Gafhm, who avowedly
went in search of the Choerdonnan Lian ; the third was
that of the far-famed Merlin and his bards, who like-
wise voyaged for the west Considerable dubiety, it
must be acknowledged, attaches to the accounts of the
last of these ' disappearances,' as MerUn is said to have
sailed in a ship of crystaL
A veil hangs over the fate of these adventurers:
whether they triumphed, or whether they sank in mid-
ocean, we know not One thing alone is certain, that
even in the savannas of the new world they were as
4i We wonld mgfesl thAt In thff, u in many other casee, natnnl
appesnmoes gare riM to the flotinn. it fa remarkable. In the oaae
of the Hesperian gardens, as In this case, that the supposed place
was held as situated under the radiance of the setting sun. The
Idea of a glorfous land amidst this many-hned efful|^oe seems
natural. Perhaps, for similar reasons, the Greeks of Asia Minor
adopted the idea of a residence of the gods on Olympus, which
they might see to the westward while voyaging on the EgeaB.>-ED.
far from sucoess as ever. Islands of the blest, indeed,
were not unheard of among the simple tribes ; but they
were known chiefly for the deceptive nature of their
fascination. A belief of this kind stiU lingers among
some of the American tribes ; and in recent times Ber-
tram mentions in his * Travels through North and South
Carolina' that he found it entertained by the Creek
Indians. The river St Mary, he tells us, has its source
in a vast marsh nearly three hundred miles in circuit,
which in the wet season appears as a lake, containing
some laree islands or knolls of rich land. One of these
the Creeks represent as * a most blissful spot of earth ;'
and they say it is inhabited by a peculiar race of In-
dians, whose women are incomparably beaatifiiL Thia
terrestrial paradise, they add, * has been seen by some
of their enterprising hunters when in pursuit of game ;
but in their endeavours to approach it they were in-
volved in perpetual labyrinths; and, like enchanted
land, still as they imagined they had just gained it, it
seemed to fly before tiiem. alternately appearing and
disappearing.' At length tney resolved to abandon the
delusive pursuit and after many diflkulties, they suc-
ceeded in retracing their steps. * When they reported
their adventures to their countrymen, the yonng war-
riors were inflamed with an irresistible desire to invade
and make a conquest of so charming a country ; but
all their attempts have hitherto prov^ abortive, never
having been able again to find that enchanting 8i>ot.'
Here, then, is the human spirit first creating an ideal
paradise, and then pining for the work of ita own fiuicy.
Thus it is also with the most gifted sons of genioa,
upon whose spiritual eye or ear fidl sounds and forms cl
more than earthly beauty, and who, even while eigoying
the delights of human life, long for the realisation oif day-
dreams, nobler and more lovely far. Listen to the lay
which the sweetest of lyric poets puts into the month of
the wild Indian of the prairies ; and say, as he ainga of
the fascination of his Isle of Founts and its aparkllng
waters, if the picturesque strain be not emblexnadc oC
the enthusiast- votary of high art, wrapt up in tb% ideal
beauty which his soul beholds : —
' Bat wo for him who sees them bortt
With their bright spray-showers to the lake !
Earth has no spring to quench the thirst
That semblance In his soul shaU wake—
From the Blue Mountains to the main.
Our thousand floods ahall roll in vain.
E'en thus onr hunters came of yore
Back from their long and weary quest;
Had they not seen the untrodden shore t
And could they 'midst our wilds find rert ?
The lightning of their glance was fled ;
They dwelt amongst us as the dead !
They lay beside onr glittering riUa,
With visions In their darkened eye;*
— the visions of the dreamy land that once bad glowed
before them like a new Eden, and the memory of which
so filled their hearts that there was no room left fbr any
other joy. Thus, in ordinary life, do the imaginatioii
and exquisite susceptibilities which provide genius with
her divinest joys become to her at times the source of
angiiish. Pleasure and pain enter by the same portal,
and in this way is the lot of her possessors reduced to
little above that of mankind at large.
Having thus traversed the four quarters of the ^obe,
and obtained glimpses of Utopias (tf various Idnds, and
as variously tenanted — some by hoary Dmida, others
by beautiful women ; some by apes, and some by nobody
—we now start for the isles of the Pacific Oc^ua» to view
the happy land of the Tonga people. Bolotoo— aoch b
the name of this singular place — is a large island, they
say somewhere to the norUi-west g£ the Tonga group ;
but a long way distant Thev deem it the ubode of
their gods ; and certainly, by their account, animal and
vegetable life proceeds there on venr strange principlea.
Its fruits, flowers, birds, and Ao^^— in the last of whidi
it abounds— are all of rare beauty (except the pigi» wo
should think); and they are iminorta), nnleaa wbea
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
891
plucked or eaten by the Hotooat, or godf ; in which
coae a new pig, bird, or flower forthwith oocupies the
plaoe of that destroyed. Like all plaoes of the kind, it
If fery difflcolt to be found; but once on a time a Tonga
canoe waa driyen thither by BtreM of weather. The
crew were short of victuals, and not knowing where
they were, tiiey landed, and proceeded to gather some
trad-fruit; but to their utter amazement they could
DO more grasp it than if it had been a shadow I They
waUud through the trunks of trees, and passed through
the substance <^ the houses, without feeling any resist-
SDce ; and at length the Hotooas themielyes appeared,
sad completed the amaaement of the Tongese by walk-
ing through their bodies as if they had been of air. ' (xo
away immediately,' said the Hotooas; 'we have no
proper food for you ; and well give you a fair wind,
and a speedy voyage home.' Profiting by the good-
natured offer, they put to §em directly ; and after sail-
ing for some days with the utmost velocity, they at last
got safe to Tonga. But in a short space of time they
sU died— not as a punishment for having been at Bolotoo,
but as a natural ooniequenoe — the air of Bolotoo, as it
were, infecting mortal bodies with speedy death.
We cannot conclude this notice of the imaginary
realms whidi fancy has located in various parts of the
world, without adverting to the celebrated fable of El-
Dorado, which for ages dazzled and deluded the most
gallant adventurers of Europe. Misled by the imperfect
science of his day, the illustrious discoverer of the New
World imagined that one part of Southern America
was nearer the sun than the rest of the world ; and in-
fluenced by the fervour of his imagination, and the
novelty of the scenes around him, he deemed that there
the original paradise of our race was to be found. This
idea of Columbus seemed to be confirmed by the reports
(^ the natives; and soon it became generally credited
^M% a golden region existed in the interior of the country
lying l^tween the Orinoco and the Amazons. Its rocks
were represented as impregnated with gold, the veins
of whidi lay so near the surface, as to make it shine
with a dazzling resplendency ; and its capital — Manoa
— was said to consist of houses covered with plates of
goU, and to be built upon a vast lake called Parima,
the sands of which were auriferous. Among the many
stories told of this wealthy region, one Martinez, a
Spaniard, deponed that, having been made prisoner by
the Ouianians, he was by them carried to their golden
capital, where he remained several years, and was then
conveyed blindfold to the borders, that he might
not be able to miJce known the approaches to that
enried principality. Yon Huten and his companions
in arms solemnly averred that they saw — but, by a
body of ferocious Indians, with whom they had a long
and bloody combat, were prevented from reaching — a
place containing structures whose roofs shone with all
the brilliancy of gold.
The tales of this golden land were not altogether
fsholoos, and the recent investigations of Humbddt
afford an explanation of many of these recitals. When
near the sources of the Orinoco, he informs us, he found
the belief in £l-Dorado still existing among the natives,
and he points out the district between tite sources of
the Rio Essequibo and the Bio Branco as furnishing
the groundwork of the fiction. * Here, in a river called
Parima, and in a small lake oonnected with it called
Amoctt, which is occasionally much augmented by in-
mdations, we have basis enough on which to found
the beUsf of the great lake bearing the name of the
fimner; mod in the idets and rocks of mica -slate
and talo which rise up within and around the latter,
reflecting from their shining surfaces the rays of an
aidotf sun, we have materUls out of which to form
that gorgeous capital whose temples and houses were
everiaid with plates of beaten gold. . . . We may
judge of the brilliancy of these deoeptious appearances,
fhxn baming that the natives ascribed the lustre
of tiie Mageuanic donds, or nebuIsB of the southern
hemispharo^ to the bright r^ections produced by them.'
Moreover, we find an old resident in Guiana represent-
ing part of the country as abounding in 'mines of white
stone, in which are much natural and flue gold, which
runneth between the stones like veins.' Another says
— ' The high country is full of white sparre ; and if the
white sparres of this kind be in a main rock, they are
certainly mines of gold or silver, or both. I made trial
of a piece of sparre, and I found that it held both gold
and silver, which gave me satisfaction that there be rich
mines in the country.' So late as the middle of last
century, a Spanish companv attempted to extract gold
fh>m these alluring rocks ; but after great loss had been
incurred, the undertaking was abandoned.
Though enterprise succeeded enterprise to discover
this fabulous kingdom, each new adventurer expe-
rienced little difficulty in finding comrades to embark
with him. The excitement in Europe was extraordi-
nary. In Spain, we are told, * the desire to be included
in the adventure excited an eager competition, and led
multitudes to dispose of their property— even landed
estates — never doubting to be repaid tenfold from the
treasures of El-Dorado.' For long the belief lingered in
the hearts of men. In the early part of last century
the Jesuit Gumilla unhesitatingly embraced the old
opinion ; and about 1770, Don Manuel Centurion, then
governor of Spanish Guiana, was so ardent in bis faith,
that one more exi)edition set out on this luckless enter-
prise. Of this party only one man returned to narrate
the disasters which had overwhelmed his comrades !
Thus terminated the dream of the golden Utopia;
and with its sad tale of rash enthusiasm we close our
sketches. If of less airy form than its predecessors, it
was equally delusive as they, and infinitely more fatal to
the enthusiastic spirits who adventured on its search —
foremost and noblest among whom was our own gallant
Baleigh. All the sufferings of those ardent adventurers
— some in search of riches, others with the higher but
still vainer dream of Eden in their hearts — hardlv con-
vinced them that El-Dorado was but a fiction of their
heated fancy. Toiling onwards in courageous hope,
everything seemed to them to announce their approach
to the golden land : rocks of mica glittering in the sun-
beams were its golden barriers, the hues of sunset were
its gorgeous skies. But vanity of vanities was sdl their
searching. Hunger, and pestilence, and fatigue thinned
their ranks and bowed their spirits; and many a gidlant
heart, worthy of a nobler fate, thus fell a victim to its
high-wrought fancies amid the wilds of Guiana—
* All o'«rqMnt with toQ and angnidi.
Not in gtorioas battle ■lain I *
THE CHAMBEB OF BEFUOE.
In the year 1783 there occurred in Sicily and the south
of Italy one of the most fearful earthquakes on record.
In this terrible convulsion perished upwards of forty
thousand people. Mountains are said to hare changed
places ; new rivers burst forth, whilst old ones disappeared ;
entire plantations were removed from the spot they occu-
pied to one far distant ; and the face of the country was
so altered, that a native returning to it after a month's
absence would not hare had the most remote idea where
to seek the home he had so lately left.
It is one of the most frightful facts connected with the
hi((tory of mankind that occasions of this description are
always more or less seized on for the commission of crime ;
and the robber and the murderer, reckoning on the im-
punity iifforded by the universal terror and confusion,
not content with the horrors of the time, add to them
those of their own dark deeds. Many sudi instances of
atrocity occurred at the period we allude to ; and we are
about to relate one of them, not for its own sake, since it
is to be feared the incident was of too common a nature
to merit particular notice, but for the sake of the influ-
ence it had on the iate of two innocent and estimable
persons.
In the neighbourhood of Reggio lived the Marquis
Agostino Colonna, a widower, who counted a long line of
392
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
anoestoTB, and had only two sons to inherit his wealth and
his titles, the fonner of which was reputed to be very con-
sidetttble; not that his manner of liring countenanced
this notion, but he had the reputation of being a miser,
and was supposed to be hoarding immense sums for those
much-beloTed sons, the junior of whom was at the period
of the earthquake residing in Paris with his joung wife
and child, as enroy from the Neapolitan to the j^ench
court ; and this immense treasure was belieyed to be de-
posited in a secret chamber situate somewhere in or near
the castle, but where no one knew except the marquis
himself. In the disturbed times of our ancestors, such
chambers were attached to many a baronial tower, either
for the purpose of concealing treasure, or to serre as a
hiding-place in case of danger, and as the value of the
resource depended on the inyiolability of the secret, the
head of the family was alone permitted to possess it, with
the liberty, howcTer, of communicating it, whenever he
thought fit, to his immediate successor.
In accordance with this custom, the eldest of the two
sons. Count Agostino, was duly made acquainted with
the family mystery ; but in 1782 the young man being
accidentally killed whilst hunting. Count Neocles be-
came the heir. Hebein^ absent in France at the time,
the old marquis, not choosing to commit so important
a secret to tne insecure post of those days, prefened
writing certain directions oy which the chamber might
be discovered, depositing the sealed paper, with others of
importance, in a casket, which, in case of his death, was
to be opened only by his son. The marquis had a servant
called Baldoni, who had been the foster-brother of the
eldest son. To this man, in whom he placed entire con-
fidence, he pointed out the casket, enjoining him, in the
event of his the marquis* dying before Uie return of Neocles,
to deliver it into his son's hands himself. Baldoni pro-
mised ; but it appears that the idea of what the casket
might contain had haunted his mind; and not the less that
some inadvertent words dropped by the marquis led him
to suspect that the key to the great family secret would
therein be found. Nevertheless Baldoni might have con-
tinued honest had not a fatal temptation to be otherwise
fallen in his way.
On the 5th of February 1783 an oppressive sirocco
wind had thrown the inhabitants of the castle of Colonna
into that state of languor so well known as one of its
effects, when the marquis, who was confined to his apart-
ment by the gout, summoned a young girl called Pepita,
who had been a protegee of his late wife's, to come and
sing to him. This girl had so exquisite a voice, that the
manager of the small Opera company at • Reg^o had
made her liberal ofiers to induce her to join them ; but
the marquis, by promising to provide for her at his death,
persuaded her to remain where she was. She was gentle,
cheerful, neat-handed, and pretty ; and these qualities,
together with the charm of her singing, rendered her very
vJuable to the old man in his declinmg years and sick-
ness : insomuch, that whenever he was ul — and he was
subject to long and frequent fits of gout — she was ap-
pointed his special attendant; and in order that she
might be always within call, he appropriated a small
room adjoining his own to her particular use. On this
fatal 5th of February, however, Pepita being as languid
and incapable of exertion as her betters, had retired to
this little apartment, locked the door, and thrown herself
on her bed, where she lay silent and still, even when she
heard Baldoni knock and say the marquis wanted her.
He had scarcely quitted her door, concluding her to be
elsewhere, when a strange sound arose in the air, and the
castle began to rock to and fro like a ship on a stormy
sea. At the same time a large beam that supported the
ceiling fell, penetrating the partition wall, and bringing
great part of the ceiling with it. A cry from the adjoining
room alarming her for her master's safety, made Pepita
rush towards the door ; but it was so blocked up by the
fallen beam that she could not reach it : whereupon she
sprung to the hole in the wall, and leaping on a table,
looked through. The marquis was stretched insensible
upon the ground, evidently struck down by a heavy piece
of cornice that lay beside him ; and Baldoni, who had just
entered the room, was standing beside him. Pepita wai i
on the point of raising her voice to ask hii aflsistance,
when she saw him rush to a comer of the room, open a
press, take out a small casket, and hastily quit the room ;
the whole transaction being so rapid, that the girl had
scarcely time to comprehend what she beheld tUl it was
all over. Nor, indeed, had she much leisure to think of
it, for the shocks succeeded each other with such rapidity,
and the noise and darkness were so terrific, that she ex-
pected every moment to be her last ; but, unfortunately
for her, she was reserved for a worse fate. By sheltering
herself under the beam, she escaped being crushed by the
falling masses around her ; and although the castle was
destroyed by the earthquake, poor Pepita was dug out
of the ruins alive, after lying under them for three days
without food. A severe illness was the first oonaeqaeoce
of this calunity; and the second was, that her hopes
of a provision from the marquis were annihilated, he
being found apparently crushed to death, and no will
discorered. As Pepita had no friends, she was earned
to a public hospital, temporarily arranged for the re-
ception of the sufiTerers: and here, as soon as she was
well enough to be permitted to see anybody, she was
surprised by a visit from Baldoni. She had, during her
confinement, had plenty of time to reflect on what ahe
had witnessed; and an Italian herself, she was well
aware of the danger she would incur, should the party
principally concerned suspect her acquaintance with hxa
fatal secret, until she had some one to protect her Irom
his vengeance. She therefore resolved to preserve an
unbroken silence on the subject till the return of the
heir. Count Neocles; but, not doubting that the casket
contained some valuables belonging to the family, she
determined, on his arrival, to disclose what she had seen,
and in the meantime to avoid, if possible, a meeting with
Baldoni, apprehending that her countenance might in-
voluntarily betray her. Nothing, therefore, could be less
welcome than his visit, the more so as it was quite unex-
pected, and she had no time to compose her spirit or
prepfure her countenance for the interview. He spoke to
her with considerable kindness — too much, ind^d; for
jealousy of her interest with the marquis had hitherto
made him rather her enemy than her friend, and the
altered tone alarmed much more than it encouraged her.
He offered to supply her with anything she required;
bade her entertain no anxiety with regard to her future
subsistence; assuring her that although the marquis had
left no will, he would communicate to Count Neocles
his father's intentions in her favour, and her claims on
the family; and finally left her, promising shortly to
repeat his visit. And what rendei«d this sudden acces-
sion of good-will the more suspicious was, that during
the whole of the conversation his countenance belied his
words: no benignity was there, no sympa.thy, no pity. It
was evident to her that he was racked with anxiety, and
that, while he was speaking to her, his eyes sought to
penetrate her soul; whilst she, terrified and conacioas,
could not summon courage to meet his glance.
Baldoni, on his part, left her, convinced that his worst
fears were realised — Pepita knew his secret. He had
expected no less. He had been foremost in the aeai^di
for her and the marquis when it was discovered that they
were both buried beneath the ruins : the one he knew to
be dead, and he felt perfectly indifferent as to the other,
till they reached the spot and found her alive. Till
then, he had not believed her to be in that room; nor,
in his haste and eagerness to fly, had he observed the
rent in the wall made by the fallen beam. Stni^
with dismay when it was ascertained that she was there
and alive, Baldoni had immediately retreated, lest the
sight of him should have provoked her to an abrupt
d&cloHure of what she had witnessed. It possibly mi^t
hare done so; as it was, all she did was to point to the
adjoining room, exclaiming 'My master!— jny masto'!*
And then, Qvercome by her sufienngs, bodily and mental,
she fainted, and in that state was carried to the hospitaL
The unwelcome visitor soon returned; and ahe was
more alarmed than before when ahe found that his pro-
fessions of kindness were beginning to aasnme a mocv
CHAMBEBS'8 EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
293
fpecial form; and that, whilst hit stubborn features ez-
preaed hatred, he wished to couTej the idea that he was
in lore with her. This was worse than all; and anxious
to elude the persecution that she feared awaited her,
Pepita quitted the hospital, and sought a refuge with a
sister of her mother's, who had a son called Antonio, a
fise joung man, who earned his bread as a Tinedresser.
Antonio had long entertained a tendreue for his pretty
cousin; but her situation at the castle, and the farour in
which she stood with the marquis, had so far lifted her
oat of his level, that when she yisited the cottage she
was receiTed rather as a superior than a relation. Be-
sides, it was well known that Pepita was to be provided
for: Pepita, in short, in the estimation of the poor Tine-
drener, was an heiress, and far above his aim. Now she
was as poor as himself; and that event, which to her
was the most severe misfortune, first Awakened his heart
to hope. Although Antonio had never told his love,
Pepita was quite as well aware of it as if he had, and
had been, even in her most prosperous days, extremely
well disposed to return it. She was now doubly so; there
was love on one side to propel her, and fears on the other.
Once the wife of Antonio, she reckoned on being free
from the persecutions of Baldoni, and she would have
some one to protect her from his vengeance till the
letum of the new master. Young, innocent, and simple,
and residing under the same roof, it was not long before
the priest was spoken to, and the wedding-day fixed.
How they were to subsist gave them little concern. In
that mild climate human necessities are with less diffi-
culty supplied than in colder countries, where more sub-
stantial shelter and food, together with fuel and warm
clothing, are required. Besides, Pepita was well aware
that she could gain money by her voice if she needed
it.
Whilst these arrangements were making, she scrupu-
lously avoided Baldoni, and she truHted that he kn^
nothing of her movements ; at all events, he seemed to
have intermitted his pursuit, and she almost ventured
to hope that her alarm had been groundless. But she
was mistaken : Baldoni had intermitted his pursuit,
which had been prompted by policy, and not by love, be-
cause he had read in her countenance that it was worse
than hopeless. He apprehended his perseverance might
only have served to provoke her to some decisive measures
agunst him, and therefore he forbore ; but he had his eye
npon her, was informed of all her movements, and cun-
ningly penetrated the motive of her temporaiy silence.
It is needless to say he hated her, and her husband no
less, for he never doubted that she had made him ac-
quainted with the fatal secret ; and as there is nothing
so cruel as fear, he would probably have hesitated little
to take their lives could he have done it without danger
to himself; but that being impossible, he hit upon a
scheme for securing his own safety a thousand times
more barbarous.
When the period appointed for the return of the mar-
quis approached, Baldoni one day presented himself at
the cottage of the newly-married pair, with a letter in his
hand, dated from Rome, and signed Neocles Colonna.
The epistle was addressed to Baldoni, and in it he was
desired immediately to despatch Pepita to Rome, where
he had procured an engagement for her to singftt one of
the theatres on very advantageous terms. The writer
then save directions as to how she was to travel, adding,
that if she had any relation who could accompany her, so
much the better, as she might need a protector. Your
husband will accompany you of course, said Baldoni.
That the letter was a forgery seems never to have
entered the mind of the girl ; and to dispute the will of
the master would have been out of the question ; whilst
to have so convenient an opportunity of communicating
with the count at a distiuice from Baldoni was very
agreeable to her. As for her husband, no misgivings
assailed him, for he was not aware of any reason for en-
tertaining any; she having prudently resolved not to
make him the confidant of her dangerous secret till the
marquis's arrival. Baldoni, in accordance with the orders
given in the letter, undertook to arrange everything for
their journey; and as quickly as their preparation! could
be made they started.
In due time, the marquis with his wife and son arrived;
the latter a &ae lad of twelve years of age. Baldoni
shortly afterwards relinquished his situation in the family,
and went to reside at a lonely village called Tempesta,
where he associated with no one but his own household,
which consisted of his wife and a lovely daughter, of
whom he was passionately fond. As for Pepita and her
husband, it not being the custom to interrogate great
people aJi>out such matters, no inquiries were made re-
specting them ; especially as the old woman, Antonio's
mother, who was the only person interested in their fate,
after a reasoni^le interval, received a letter announcing
their safe arrival at Rome, and also their extreme satis-
faction at their reception, and the engagement made for
them. In less than three years after &e departure of her
son and daughter-in-law the old woman died ; but as
she had nothing to leave, there was no necessity for seek-
ing her heirs ; and thus, as is the way of the world, no
more being heard of them, Pepita and her husband were
soon as much forgotten as if they had never existed.
We must now request our readers to imagine a lapse of
six years. Young Count Agostino, the son of Neocles, who
was twelve years of age on his return from France, is now
a noble, handsome youth of eighteen; romantic, bold, very
fond of sport, and a capital shot. Adored by his father
and mother, he enjoyed a great deal of liberty; and as
there was very good shooting in the neighbourhood of
Tempesta, he was in the habit of paying Sequent visits
in that quarter ; on which occasions he frequently con-
trived to be benighted, and Baldoni's house being the
best in the neighbourhood, he had an excellent excuse for
making it his lodging. The fact was, that on one of these
excursions he had met with Baldoni's beautiful daughter
Lucia; and although she was some years older than nim-
self, had fallen in love with her. Baldoni was perfectly
aware of the effect of his daughter's charms, and instead
of repressing, encouraged the attachment, allowing him-
self to indulge ambitious hopes of a imion betwixt the
young people ; and although to any other person such a
project would have appeared utterly absurd, Baldoni had
his own private reasons for considering it by no means so
desperate as it seemed. It is also not to be doubted that
whilst his ambition on the one hand, and his paternal
affection on the other, made him desire the match, the
stings of conscience, which did not prompt him to resti-
tution, were yet sufficiently troublesome to make him
rejoice in an occurrence whioi would enable him to render
back his ill-gotten gains to the family he had injured,
by simply making nis daughter heiress of his hidden
treasures.
Ever since the death of the late marquis, a mass was
annually performed for his soul on the anniversary of
the earthquake ; and this ceremony took place in the
evening at Tempesta, in an old chapel belonging to the
family of Colonna, situated on the sea-shore, which was
especially dedicated to services for those who perished
by sudden accident, whether by land or water. However
little disposed for such solemn offices, the gay young Agos-
tino was expected to be present at these rites; and it is
scarcely a matter of surprise that, weaiy with his day's
sport, he should be more inclined to indulge in a sly nap
in an obscure comer of the chapel, than to listen to the
prayers for the dead, chanted by the quavering voice of
the family chaplain. At all events so it was ; and on
one of these occasions, so soundly did he sleep, that the
whole congregation defiled out of the chapel without
arousing him. Neither did any one miss him ; his father
and mother concluding that he intended to remain at
Tempesta to shoot, and Baldoni, at whose house he had
slept on the preceding night, taking it for granted that
he had returned to the castle with his parents.
It was long past midnight when he awoke, and it was
not immediately that he could recollect where he was;
and when he did so, uid comprehended his situation, he
soon found that he must be obliged to content himself
with his lodging for the rest of the night. There was light
enough from the moon to enable him to find his way to
H^MmMU
294
CHAMBERS'S EDINBtntGH JOURKAL.
the door; but it waa locked; and haTing called as loodly
as he could, without obtaining any response, he made up
his mind to ihe worst, and settled himself once more to
sleep, till the sacristan, coming to sweep out the chapel,
should release him in the morning.
He had, howerer, scarcely fallen into a state of forget-
fulness, when he was once more aroused by a noise pro-
ceeding from the altar; and turning his eyes in that direc-
tion, he was surprised to perceire a man muffled in a cloak,
with a lantern in his hand, who seemed suddenly to rise
out of the earth. Amazed and alarmed, for the young
man was without arms, he remained silently watching the
stranger, who first stooped down, then blew out the lan-
tern, and finally, with a stealthy step, crossed to the door
of the chapel 4nd went out, locking the door after him.
Who could this be! and what could he be doing there!
The face of the stranger was undistinguishable; but there
was something in the air and gait that put him in mind
of BaldonL Now although Agostino was after a manner
in lore with Lucia — that is, in lore with her as great lords
are in lore with maids of low degree--he was far from ad-
miring Baldoni, whom he thought a gloomy, forbidding
man, and whose designs on himself he had penetrated ;
and it was therefore less difficult for him to conceire some
evil purpose on the part of the ex-steward, than to imagine
what that purpose could be. In vain he puzzled his brain
to discover it; and morning finding him quite unsatisfied,
he resolved that the matter should not rest there; and as,
in order to facilitate his further investigations, it was
necessary to be silent with respect to what had occurred,
after examining the spot where the man had emerged, and
finding nothing to explain his appearance, he climbed
up to one of the windows, opened it, and letting himself
carefully down on the outside, made his way back to
the castle long before his father and mother were out of
their beds.
On the following night, unseen by anybody, the young
count repaired, well armed, to the chapel, to which, as
the family had a private key, he had no difficulty in
obtaining access. There, in concealment, he remained
till dawn, without seeing anything of the mysterious
stranger. For three successive nights he met with no
better success, by which time he not only beean to be
extremely tired of his stone pillow, but he also began
actually to doubt whether he had seen what he imagined
he had, or whether the whole had not been a vivid dream.
For several ensuing nights, therefore, he slept quietly in
his bed ; but as soon as he was thoroughly ref^hed, his
spirit of adventure returned, and his curiosity urged him to
make one more attempt. It had been on a Saturday night
that he had seen the stranger; a fortnight had now elapsed,
and it was Saturday again ; and with a strong presenti-
ment of success, he started once more for the chapel, and
h^ing locked himself in, took up his position in an ob-
scure comer near the high altar ; and, sure enough, shortly
after the clock struck twelve he heard a key turning in
the chapel door, and presently he saw the same indivi-
dual enter, with a lantern in one hand and a basket in
the other. He walked straight up to the altar, near to
where Agostino crouched, concealed by a pillar; and then
placing his lantern and basket on the steps, he stooped
down under the table, and took something which Agos-
tino concluded was a key, since he immediately after-
wards opened a door in the pillar adjoining that behind
which the young man was concealed, and entering the
aperture, shut it after him, and disappeared. In about
half an hour he returned, with the basket still on his
arm, locked the door, replaced the key, blew out his lan-
tern, and left the chapel as before. Agostino not only
now felt himself secure of penetrating the mysteiy, but
he was also satisfied that the man was no other than Bal-
doni ; and for the first time a recollection of the family
tradition regarding the secret chamber, and the treasures
it was supposed to contain, recurred to his mind. Bal-
doni had no doubt discovered it, and was helping himself
to its valuable contents. It was a grand thing at eighteen
to have found out this ; and it would be still grander to
complete the enterprise himself; and this he resolved to
do. So he waited till the morning dawned, and then set
about searching for the key, and the door to be opened
with it : but neither could he find, nor even the snoiaUesI
trace of them. What was to be done! Go to Baldoni,
tell him what he had seen, and insist on a confession !
But how force him to it ! He was a dark, silent, reeolute
man, and might prefer dying, and taking the secret with
him to the grave. On the whole, Agostino thought a
better plan would be to wait till the next Saturday, then
place himself in ambush, and just at the moment that
Baldoni had opened the door in the pillar, and was enter-
ing the aperture, to place a pistol at his head, and stop
him; and to this scheme he adhered.
Accordingly, when the night came, he was at his post
betimes. At ike accustomed hour the chapel door opened,
and, as usual, Baldoni advanced to the altar, stooped
down, and then, turning to the pillar, stretdied out his
arm to insert the key in the lock. It had been the inten-
tion of Agostino not to stir till the door was open ; but
in his eagerness not to lose the opportunity, he mored
too soon, and the instant he emerged from behind the
pillsf that concealed him, Baldoni, without pMising to
see who the intruder was, drew a pistol from his boeora
and fired ; whilst at the same moment the youns ooont,
perceiving the action, levelled the one he held in his
hand, and drew the trigger. The two reports were simul-
taneous, and both the combatants felL On the following
morning, when the sacristan entered the chapel, he found
Baldoni and the young count both apparently dead on
the floor ; beside them lav their weapons, an empt^ bas-
ket, and an extinguished lantern. News was immediately
sent to the marquis, who soon arrived with a physician.
What could be tne meaning of so extraordinary an inci-
dent nobody could guess. Why they should have been
in the chapel at all, and still more why they should have
shot each other, was altogether inexplicable. Lud& d^
clared that she had no idea that her father was anywhere
but in his bed ; and that as for the young count, he had
not been at their house for a fortnight or more. In spite
of this, the conclusion to which eveirbody inclined wa^
that Baldoni had quarrelled with the count in conse*
quence of his attentions to his daughter, and that, for
some incomprehensible reason, they had met there to dis-
cuss the question.
In the meantime, whilst everybody was guessing and
wondering, the physician declared that Baldoni was dead,
but that Agostino, though wounded, was not dangerously
hurt, and was sufiering chiefly firom loss of blood; and
due remedies being applied, he was ere long restored to
consciousness; but as he was exceedingly weak, talking
was forbidden, and all inquiries as to the meaning of this
strange event were deferred till he was stronger.
In the meanwhile there was nobody more perplexed
about this affair than Lucia herself. Whatever the
world might think, she felt assured that there had been
no quarrel betwixt Agostino and her father about her;
and a thousand circumstances recurred to her that had at
various times induced her to believe that there was some
strange mystery connected vrith that chapeL In the first
place, she was well aware that double the quan^ty of
provisions they consumed were weekly provided, and as
regularly carried out of the house, to ne given to the
poor, as her father had told her; but who these poor were
she had never been able to ascertain. Then, as for lamp-
oil, the quantity that was bought and disappeared was
truly astonishing; added to which, she not only was
aware of her father's having at different times purdiased
coarse clothing which he never wore, but since her mother^
death he had also desired her to procure complete suits
of female attire, and even baby-linen of the same ordinary
description, which she had done and delivered to him,
but which vanished in the same mysterious manner.
Many slight observations of her own had connected these
disappearances with the chapel; and she never went into
it without casting her eyes around in the hope of discover^
ing some clue to the mystery; and finally, finding none,
she concluded that some poutiod offenders or state cri-
minals, whom her father favoured, were concealed in the
vestry room, probably with the cognisanoe of (he mar-
quis; and this last opinion was strengthened by bar
I
M^^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
295
knoidedge of tbe Bmnf of monej her father expended,
though whence he drew hie fanda she did not know.
There wbs not only the tmoant larished on proTisioni ,
ml, and eo forth; bat she knew that he had lately pur-
chaaed an estate, although the transaction had been con-
ducted with great secrecy.
On one occasion, too, when her father had been ill, and
confined to his bed for some days, she remarked that he
was Bofiering great anxiety of mind, and he was even
OBoe on the point of disclosing a secret of importance to
her. He had cone so far as to swear her to secrecy, and
had commenced his instmctions, which were to the effect
that uhe ahould fill a basket with proTisions and a jar
with oil; bat there his commanications stopped, and he
said he woold wait to see how he shoald be on the fol-
lowing day. On the following day he was better; and
his httlth oontinaing to amend, she heard no more of the
matter, iriiilst an attempt she once made to renew the.
confeisation waa too eminently onsacoessfal to admit of
her repeating it.
Renewing all these circamstanoes, Lacia, who was a
well-di^KMed girl, felt extremely aneasy. That these
profisions and dothes were for some concealed fagitire
die eoold scarcely doabt. In those dajrs, too, and in
that part of the world, sach hidinffs were by no means
oneommon. Sappoeing sach to be the case, the sanply of
their neoetsities mast now fikil : she trembled to think what
might be the consequences. Yet whom to apply to she did
not know. She would haye selected Agostino; but in the
first plaoe, he was ill; and in the second, she. naturally
ooDcluded \kak the quarrel, if such there had been, must
hare been connected with Uiis secret.
Thus perplexed, her first step after her father was in-
terred was to send for the sacnstan and question him :
if there were any persons above ground in the chapel, he
must know it. However, he assiued her there were not;
bat he admitted that he had his own suspicions about
the diapel too. He was not altogether ignorant of Bal-
doni's visits, though the latter had made it worth his while
to be silent; and how he had obtained the key with which
he entered he could not tell. The sacristan confessed
that he believed somebody was concealed in a vault beneath
the building, but the entrance to it he had never been
able to discover.
' Tbey will be starved,' exclaimed Lucia, ' if we cannot
find it !' And terrified at this possibility, she resolved
to take the curate of the village into her confidence.
He, apptehmsive of incurring too much responsibility, lost
no time in applying to the marquis's confessor for advice.
Now it happened, on the day before this visit of the
cafate*s to the castle, that Agostino, being considerably
recovered, and able to speak without inconvenience, had
dcaoibed the circumstances which had led to his
being wounded, concluding his narrative with a request
that no attempt should be made to penetrate the secret
passage till he was well enough to accompany the ex-
ploren.
The intelligenoe brought by the curate, however, altered
the case : th«re was not a moment to be lost : Agostino
had no great difficulty in indicating the situation of the
door, but where was the key! Baldoni had certainly
had it in his hand when the ball struck him ; and as he
had not been able to move from tiie spot, the chances
were, that it might be found near the pillar, and with
that hope the two priests and the marquis started for
Tempesta. On inquiring for the key, the sacristan said
he had picked up a small one of a singular construction
on the noor of the chapel a day or two before, and not
knowing to whom it belonged, he had left it on the
window sill; and there they found it.
The directions they had received from Agostino enabled
them, after some seeking, to discern a small round hole
in the pillar, into which the key fitted, and immediately
a panel elided back, and discovered a flight of steps,
whidi, having provided themselves with lights, they de-
eoended, till they reached a door which was locked; they
were about to send for instruments to break it open, when,
observing a hole like that in the pillar, they bethought
themselves of trying the same key: the experiment suc-
ceeded ; and a second door bein^ opened in a similar
manner, they found themselves in a kind of chamber
about twenty feet square. It contained a bed and several
articles of domestic use; whilst three individuals, huddled
together, with haggard features and sunken eyes, sat
crouching on the floor in the dark. These were Pepita,
her husband Antonio, and a child bom to them in their
dismal captivity!
The poor prisoners were so reduced firom want of food,
and their senses so dulled by their long confinement,
that at first ihef could hardly comprehend that relief
had reached them. They had been two days without food
or light, and had alreadv quietly resigned themselves
to the death which they believed awaited them. They
were immediately conducted above ground, where every
kindness and attention was shown them. It was re-
marked that the woman was mucli less blunted and
stupified than the man, the influence of her maternal
affections having operated favourably by supplying her
with a constant source of interest.
As soon as they were in a state to be interrogated,
Pepita, having just communicated what she had seen on
the day of the earthauake, proceeded to mention the order
she had received to join the marquis at Rome; and how,
under the guidance of Baldoni, they had started on their
journey, with a vettura provided by him. They tra-
velled at a slow rate along the sea-shore, and had not
been more than an hour on the road when a wheel came
off, and they were invited to descend, and take shelter in
a sort of grotto or hermitage close upon the shore, whilst
the driver went to fetch somebody to repair the carriage.
' Here we waited some time,' continuea Pepita; 'and as
we had started in the evening, night soon came on, and
after partaking of some supper, Antonio getting uneasy at
the driver's alMence, went out to seek him ; whilst I, feeling
excessively drowsy, stretched myself on the floor to rest.
How long I slept I do not know; but when I awoke, I
found myself in a place I did not recognise, with Antonio
lying on the floor beside me fast asleep. There was a
lamp burning on a small table, a bed in one comer, and
the casket of provisions and wine with which Baldoni
had furnished us for the journey, standing close to me. I
tried to wake my husband, but could not; and being still
overcome with drowsiness, I turned round and went to
sleep apin. The next time I awoke it was he that had
aroused me.
"Pepita,** said he, •'where are we! What has hap-
pened! "
" I do not know," answered I. " We can't be at Rome;
can wef For my head was quite confused, and I did
not remember well anything that had occuind since we
left home.
* My husband's memory was very much perplexed too,
and it was some time before I recollected how I had £one
to sleep in the old hermitage, and before he was able to
describe to me what had happened to him.
*' After we had eaten some cold meat, and drank some
wine out of our basket," said he, ** I remember going out
to look for Baldoni, but I could not find him; and a
strange feeling coming over me, as if I were intoxicated,
I returned to the grotto, where I saw you lying asleep on
the floor. I believe the wine I had drunk had given me
a relish for more, for I remember opening the basket, and
applying again to the bottle. I must have drank a great
deal, I am afraid, for after this, I cannot clearly recall
what happened ; only I think the Signer Baldoni came
and said he was sorrv for the accident, and that he would
take us to a better place to pass the night; but which way
he took me I am sure I cannot tell ; but I suppose in the
morning we shall learn where we are, and pursue our
journey."
' I thouffht so too,' continued Pepita ; ' and it was not
till muiy hours had elapsed that any suspicion of foul
play entered mv mind ; and when it md, I did not dare
hint my thought to Antonio, till at length he himself
began to be uneasy. Not that he had anv suspicion of
Baldoni ; but many strange stories of travellers being be-
trayed into the hands of banditti by the vetturinos had
reached us, and he was a£raid we had fallen into some
296
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
such ambush. As for mj own apprehensions, I confess I
was afraid to arow. them; for if thej were well-founded, I
comprehended that our case was desperate ; for Baldoni
must either intend to take our lires, or keep us in perpe-
tual captivity, in order to insure his own safety.
' We had no means of computing time, but we fancied
about twenty-four hours had elapsed since we awoke
from our heavy sleep, when we first heard the sound of an
opening door and approaching footsteps. By this time
our lamp had gone out, and we were in the dark ; but our
Tisitor had a lantern, and I saw that my fears were
yerified — it was Baldoni. He brought us provisions and
oil; but when we asked him where we were, and wherefore
imprisoned, he refused to tell us. All he would answer
was, that he was acting under authority, and that we
should shortly be released. In this story he always per-
sisted ; and sometimes he gave us reason to believe that
our freedom was at hand. He said we were to go by sea,
and not to return to Italy under pain of death. I be-
lieve it was this constant hope of liberty that kept us
alive through all these tedious years. We never wanted
for food or clothing, nor did we sufifer much from cold.
Neither did any incident vary our sad life, except that
once Baldoni ezceedejl the usual period of his absence by
about twenty-four hours, which alarmed us very much,
and himself too, I believe ; for after that, he always
brought us a larger quantity of provisions in case of any
Accidental impediment to his coming ; and it is to this
precaution we owe it that we are now alive.'
The history of the melancholy six years passed in this
cruel imprisonment was comprised in these few words;
and as Baldoni himself was gone, no further particulars
could be collected. These vaults were the secret refuge
known traditionally in the family, to which Baldoni had
found the clue in the casket. The amount of treasure
reported to be there had been greatly exaggerated; but a
considerable sum had been always left in case some sud-
den danger should necessitate a precipitate flight, and of
this Baldoni had possessed himself. There were three
entrances or exits: one under the castle; one in the old
hermitage by the sea-shore; and the third, as we have
Been, in the dmpel.
There was every reason to believe that the wine the
unfortunate travellers had drunk was drugged; and it
appeared evident, from a variety of circumstances, that
the wretched man had intended to send them away by
sea, afttr alarming them to such a degree as to deter
them from ever at&mpting to return; but the difficulty
of arranging the removal, and his personal apprehensions,
had delayed the fulfilment of his intentions till he was
himself cut off in the blossom of his sins; an event which
would have insured the death of the poor captives, but
ibr the singular train of accidents that led to their
release.
It is needless to say that the sufferers were well taken
care of for the rest of their lives; whilst Lucia, who was
guiltless of her father's crimes, was, at the request of
Agostino, respectably married, and sent to reside with her
husband to Rome.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
WHAT BECOMES OF DISCHARGED PRISONEBS ?
No one believes that imprisonment in the usual way
produces reform ; and the question, therefore, is highly
interesting, * What becomes of discharged prisoners ?*
They leave the jail without money, and without charac-
ter, and are turned loose upon the world to seek a sub-
sistence as they can. Their former haunts are the
only places open to them, and their former associates
the only human beings who do not turn away from
them in terror or contempt. What resource have they ?
Is it possible for them to change their evil habits, and
become good members of society? It is not possible.
Crime is their destiny. Society has punished them for
their transgression of its laws ; its dignity is vindicated,
its outraged virtue appeased; and having deprived
them, by the stigma it nas attached to their character,
of any possible altenMitive, it dismisses them to thdr
old course of villany. Society has caught a ivolf ; and
having punished its depredations by imprisonoient, it
gravely unlocks the door, and turns it out— with teeth
appetite, and instinct as sharp as ever— into the iheeiK
walk! ^
If the liberated prisoner is caught again, he it of
course punished for his offences as before? Kotaibe>
fore. He receives a heavier ptmishment, becauie this it
the second time ; because he has yielded to an ODcontrol-
lable fate ; because he has done what he could hardly by
possibility avoid doing. The magistrate ezamiDei the
record, discovers a former conviction, and is indignut
at the depravity which took no warning, bat on the
contrary, after a wholesome chastisemeni gave itself
up anew to crime. The poor wretch is awe-stmck by
the dignity of virtue, and is too much abashed to ofo
even the poor excuse, ' But I was hungry— I had not
a penny — ^no one would give me work— what cxnM
I do?'
In Manchester, we are told in the Daily Newi, it is
the custom of the criminal class to celebrate the liben*
tion of a comrade by a day of caronsaL They wait at
the door of the prison, carry him off in trinmph, ind
thus guard against any extraordinary circnmitanoe,
any exception to the general rule, which might occur to
save him. But of late years, it seems, an onpoiitioQ
has started ; an influence of an opposite kind ii lying
in wait, and now and then a brand is plucked firom the
burning. This opposing force, it may be thoo^t, ii
the respectable class of Manchester, who have lim
arrayed themselves against the criminal class. AIm!
no. The good angel is a solitary individual— a hnmble
workman in a foundry, who obeys the Divine impolK
without knowing why ; and without a theory or a plu,
neutralises alike the destinies of the law and the alioR-
ments of the law-breakers.
This individual is Thomas Wright, an old man of
threescore -and -ten, and the father of nineteen chil-
dren. The following account is given by the paper ve
have mentioned of the way in which his attention wu
first attracted to the prison world : — * There was a nan
of a sailor-like appearance who had got work at the
foundry as a labourer ; he was a steady and indottriooi
workman, and had obtained the favourable notice of
Mr Wright One day the employer came and adud
if he (Wright) was aware that they had a retoned
transport in the place? He had learned thai tbeivlor
was such. Mr Wright desired to be allowed to ipeak
with the man, and ascertain the fact Fermiadon vai
given ; and during the day he took a casual oppcrtn*
nity, not to excite the suspicions of the other worianeo,
of sa3ring to the man, ** My friend, where did yon work
last?" "Tve been abroad,'* was the reply. The ©an
was not a liar. After some conversation, he confeiaed,
with tears in his eyes, that he had been a convict He
said he was desirous of not falling into ill cooraes, and
kept his secret, to ayoid being refused work if he told
the truth. Wright was convinced that in the ftttnie
he would act honestly^ and repairing to their commos
employer, begged, as a personal favour, that the nai
might not be discharged. He even oflfered to become
bound for his good conduct This was ten yean ago ;
and the prejudice against persons who had ever broken
the law was more intense than it is now. There wot
objections ; and other partners had to be conanlted in
so delicate a matter. Great numbers of men were em-
ployed in the foundry ; and should the matter come to
their knowledge, it would have the appearance to them
of encouraging crime. This was on the day of paying
wages for the week. Before night, however, Wright
had the satisfaction to obtain a promise that^ upon bu
responsibility, the convict should be kept The fiiDow-
ing day Wright went to look after his proteg^— bs w*j
gone. On inquiring, be found be had been paid off and
discharged the previous night It was a mistake.
The first orders for his dismissal had not been coonter-
manded, and gone he was. Mr Wright at once sent oir
I'
a mefsenfEer to the iium*i lodglog; to bring him hack to
the foandiy. He retaroed only to smy the man had
left his lodgings at twe o'clock in the morning, with a
handle containing all his property under his arm.' In
short; notwithstanding every effort of this benevolent
penon to find him, the poor convict was never more
beard of.
This incident made Mr Wright think as well as feeL
The case was only a solitary one. He had been attract-
ed to the man by the mere circumstance of their pass-
ing a portion of the day at the same work; but were
there not hundreds of other cases, of equal exigence,
which bad as strong a claim upon his sympathy ? He
went to the New Bailey, and conversed with the pri-
soners, passing with them his only day of rest — Sunday.
The jc^ousy with which the authorities at first viewed
hb proceedings was gradually changed into approba-
tion ; and at tength, when a prisoner was about to be
diicharged, lie was asked if he could find the man a
ritoation. He did sa * This was the commencement
of his ministry of love. In ten years from that time he
has succeeded in rescuing upwards of three hundred
persons from the career of crime. Many of these cases
are very peculiar; very few, indeed, have relapsed into
crime. He has constantly five or six on his lift, for
whom he is looking out for work. Very frequently
he persuades the former employer to give the erring
another trial. Sometimes he becomes guarantee for
their honesty and good conduct; for a poor man, in
considerable sums — L.20 to L.60. In only one instance
has a bond so given been forfeited, and that was a very
pecuh'ar case. The large migority keep their places
with credit to themselves and to their noble benefactor.
Most of them — ^for Mr Wright never loses sight of a
man he has once befriended, through his own neglect —
attend church or Sunday-school, adhere to their tempe-
rance pledges, and live honest and reputable lives.
And all this is the work of one unaided, poor, unin-
fhwotial old man! What, indeed, might he not do
were he gifted with the fortune and the social position
of a Howard?'
There are probably very few Mr Wrights in Man-
diester or anywhere else; but there are hundreds of
individuals in every large town in the empire who
would dieerfnlly subscribe a small sum each to aid in
the institution of a society for doing on a large scale
what Mr Wright does with the limited means and
powa of an individual. This, we presume to think,
would be the noblest of all charities. It would not,
like lome other public charities, including the work-
house, rob men of their social rights, and withdraw
them from their social duties. It would restore to
them the one by leading them back to the other; it
would turn felons into dtisens ; and, in fine, it would
lave the country the expense of one or more new con-
victions and new imprisonments for every man rescued.
Do not let us be told of impossibility, or even difficulty,
in the hce of the fact, that in ten years three hundi^
^oos have been saved from a continuance in a life of
villaoy by a poor workman in a foundry !
FURTHER PBOORE8S OF ADULTERATION.
We have at various times referred to the processes by
which articles of general consumption are adulterated ;
and we drew the attention of our readers lately to one
^-mimbik dietu/^-of a beneficial nature rather than
otherwise. This was the mixture of coffee with chicory,
which, in proper proportions, improves the taste of the
beverage, while it lowers slightly the price at whidi
the article can be sold. We were not then aware, how-
ever, tiiat chicory is itself the subject of large adulte-
rations ; and that, when advising the addition of two
ounces of the powder to fourteen ounces of coffee, we
could offer no security that our docile readers would
not be thus indulging in a preparation of carrots, pars-
nips, and other vegetables, or old worm-eaten ships*
biscuits, highly roasted and ground I
The best chicory is sold to the retailer at 45s. per
cwt, but he can obtain it as low as fourteem shillings
— a fact which is tolerably significant <^ itselt Per-
haps the cunning purchaser, however, may buy his
chicory in nibs ; but that is of no avail, for the nibs are
plentifully mixed with a kind of bread very highly
baked, and broken into pieces of the proper size. That
our information on this subject is correct we have no
doubt, from the result of an experiment we recollect
making ourselves in London some years ago. We tried
the admixture of chicory first in small proportions, and
then gradually to the extent of a fourth part ; but all in
vain. The desired taste would not come, or anything
like it ; and we were at length obliged to have recourse
again to a grocer who had acquir^ the reputation of
selling French coffee, and who took care no doubt to
supply himself with the genuine adulteration.
The only article the trade sells at a * prodigious sacri-
fice' is sugar ; and on this they make no scruple of sub-
mitting to a loss of 58., 7s., or even 10s. per cwt. The
custom, no doubt, commenced when sugar was dear,
and brought in inadequate quantities into the market.
Some speculative grocer, to tempt and secure his tea
and oofiee customers, submitted to a loss on the condi-
ment requisite for these beverages ; and this stratagem
being of course imitated by his rivals, became a custom
of the trade. But this cheap sugar was not cheap
enough ; and some enterprising defders sought * in the
lowest deep a lower still.' They intermixed with it
potato sugar and sago flour, and so produced an article
which they announced with great truth as being able
to * defy competition.' The public, however, must share
the blame with the grocers. They will not take
the trouble of calculating what the fair remunerating
price of an article should be, which they can easily do
by adding the duty to the publicly -known price in
bond, and allowing a reasonable profit They demand
what is cheap; and they pursue cheapness from shop
to shop till they obtain adulteration. In this country
of shopkeepers there is no demand that does not meet
with an almost immediate supply. Do you desire cheap
tea ? How can that be obtained with a duty of 2s. 2|d.
per lb. ? Very easily. The used leaves can be collected
in large quantities, and even after deducting the ex-
pense of manipulation, can be sold to you — since you
must absolutely have it so — at 3s. per lb. Cheap coffee,
we have already said, is a mixture of the ground berry
with chicory, culinary vegetables, and ships' biscuits ;
but sometimes burnt treacle or sugar is added, which
confers upon the beverage a strong and peculiar taste.
But perhaps you want cheap cocoa? Why not? A
good dash among the powdered beans of baked fiour,
common starch, sago fiour, or a dozen other things of
the sort, property coloured with red ochre, will give
you at once what you want. Is the desideratum cheap
pepper? This is easily manufactured of rice, linseed
med, and an article (a mystery to us) caUed African
Powder. Cheap soda is simply Scoteh and English
soda intermixed. Must you have cheap fruit? In
that case the obliging dealer will purchase for a trifle
damaged raisins and currants, and give himself the
trouble to have them well sodden in treacle and water.
This will make them new fruit, and you will hug your-
self upon your bargain.
But if the man sells cheap raisins in the natural state,
is it not an imposition in him to charge dear for pre-
serves ? Tour indignation recalls him to his duty ; and
since in buying marmalade you will not pay for the
rind of Seville oranges, he sells this to you in the can-
died state, and gives you the pulp for your marmalade,
intermixed with apples, turnips, carrots, and other
wholesome, but not very expensive matters.
Cheap soap you readily obtain, but sufllbr, we fear,
some disappointment in its use. The adulteration
here is merely water, mixed with it during the manu-
facture. It is sold to you at a most conscientious price,
and of course before it has had time to dry. Cheap
butter is produced at your demand by the admixture
of floor and water — pea flour with salt butter, and
■k«a
lim^mmmt.
■^■^MMMta
298
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBtntGH JOUBKAL.
wheaten floor with fresh hntter ; the proportions heing
one-third hntter, one-third flour, and one-third water.
Many of the ahoye-mentioned articles are not, and
could not he, sold to the retailer by the wholesale houses
at as low a price as he charges to the public The dif-
ference is in the adulteration ; and we repeat, the public
is as much in fault as the dishonest dealer. They will
not give the fair dealer even the price which he himself
has paid, and he is compelled either to cheat them or
* decline business.' But is it not lamentable to think
that this system of fraud penrades a considerable por-
tion of the retail trade of this great country, celebrated
throughout the world for the integrity of her mer-
chants? Who are the men who perform such juggle-
ries? Are they the grave and sober citizens we see
behind their counters, or passing, genteelly dressed,
along the streets, or sitting, with reyerent air, in their
pew at church, or deciding upon far lighter crimes than
their own in the jury-box ? The imagination is con-
founded by such questions. We are ready to think that
there must he a mistake somewhere ; but the stubborn
fact remains confronting us, that there are adultera-
tions, and hundreds more than we have mentioned, and
that there must, therefore, be hands to eflect them, and
retailers to sell with ' a guilty knowledge even apart
from the manipulators themselves.
Such facts as we have stated throw an odium — in
many cases, we believe, undeserved — ^upon those houses
which profess to sell cheaply for the consideration of
ready money. Would it not he worth the while of one
of these houses to publish from time to time a list of
wholesale prices (including the duty separately speci-
fied) and retail prices, thus showing the amount of
profit they charge ? Many higher businesses make no
secret of their per-centages, and why should they hesi-
tate— ^more especially since they are well aware that it
is only a secret as regards them, because the public
will not take the trouble of making the calculation for
themselves ? If this were done by a house of established
character, whose profits were really fair and reasonable,
it would convince the public of the stupidity and cri-
minality of their incessant outcry for cheapness, and it
would sink the dishonest traders into the scorn and
infamy they deserve.
MR SMEE ON ELECTRO-BIOLOGY.
The philosophy of the present day is characterised by
the desire to investigate causes rather than to speculate
on effiBcts— objective takes precedence over subjective re-
search ; and tiie popular inquirer asks to be informed not
only of what is aone^ but howf To talk of gravitation
now-a-days is hardlv safe ; people want some more defi-
nite term: they would like to have an image, so to speak,
of the abstract idea. Hence the multifaxions attempts
to explain and clear up the abstruse and undefined in
phjrsical or moral science.
Readers of the Journal can hardly be ignorant of the
fact, that for some time past it has been considered that
the life-principle manifests Itself by an electric or voltaic
process* In No. 57 (1846),* we published an account of
Professor Matteucci's researches on the subject, in which,
although the phenomena examined were clearly referrible
to voltaic action, yet the complete arrangement of the
animal battery was not satisfactorily made out. But
according to a work now before us, the title of which
appears ]&low,t there need no longer bo a doubt upon this
point. Mr Smee not only confirms the conclusions of
prior investigators, he goes farther, and endeavours to
account for mental as well as physicsJ phenomena. * The
physiological matter,' he observes, ' required two lines of
investigation: the one having reference to the ultimate
structure of organic beings; the other to the actions tak-
* Bee also Journal, Na 167* ' Remarkable Electrlo Agenolea.*
t Elements of Electro-Biology, or the Voltaic Meohanlsm Of
Man; of Electro-Pathology, e^>eciaUy of the Nervous System;
and of Eleotro-Therapeutici. By Alfred Bmee, F. R. a London;
Longmans. 1849.
ing place in them. ... Bpr the electro-voltaic test, the
mechanism of nervous actions has been determined. . . .
Whilst, however, electricity appears to me to be an im-
portant agent for the cure of disease, the cases in whidi
it is especially valuable are comparatively few; and I
myself regard the treatment upon general electro-thcm-
peutic laws as more valuable than the immediate action
of electricity itself.' Thus much premised, it beoomee
necessary to describe the battery : the author states that
' a central parenchyma,* a peripheral parenchyma, con-
nected together, and each supplied with bright arterial
blood, are necessary to life. It follows that blecdinc
causes death; that the supply of imperfect blood, sncii
as carbonaceous blood, is msufficient to life, lioreovcr,
a destruction of the central parenchyma, by injuring
the brain, or of the peripheral, by destroying the body,
instantly prevents the manifestations of the functions
of animal life. . . . Now a central apparatus, supplied
with a peculiar fiuid, a peripheral apparatus dniUarij
supplied, the whole connected together to form one uni-
versal total, is the apparatus desired; and such an appa-
ratus we have in a double voltaic battery. If we abstract
the proper exciting fiuid from either end, or substitute
any other fiuid, or destroy the structure either at one end
or the other, or divide the connecting portiona or wire%
the effects proper to the apparatus will not be manifested,
and the batterv will be destroyed.'
That animal membranes and fiuids may take the place
of metallic plates, wires, and acids, is apparoit from aa
experiment suggested by Liebig : a pile was constructed,
* consisting of disks of pasteboard moistened with Uood,
of muscular substance (flcwh), and of bnun. This arrange-
ment caused a very powerful defiection of the needle of
the galvanometer, indicating a current in the direction
of the blood to the muscle.* On this Mr Sme« obe»ves:
' In the muscles we have a nitrogenised material which is
acid; in the blood we have a nitrogenised material whidi
is alkaline ; and the connecting p:^ or nervous fibres are
neutral. . . . The periphery or body, therefore, consisto of
the muscular substance, fonning one pole ; the cutaneous
tissues the opposite; the serous fiuid, which luloicates the
parts, being the electrolyte. The whole forms a voltaic
battery, which I shall hereafter consider in minute detail
as the Peripheral Battery.
* From the peripheral battery two series of connecting
media proceed — the first, the muscular nervea, or nerves
supplied to the ficah; the second, the nerves distributed
to the cutaneous textures. If we examine the nerve-fibres
in recently-killed animals, we find that they consist of
fine tubes containing a fiuid, and lined with a peculiar
species of fat, which may be obtaiped, firom their prol<m-
gation into the brain, in large quantities, when the part
IS soaked in alcohol for a long period. In this structure
we have all the conditions necessary to insuUti<m-—
namely, a fine membranous tube lined with &4 on its
inner side, and containing a fiuid in the centre ; and such
a structure, as far as electrical properties are conoentcd,
would he analogous to a glass tube containing liquid.
* If we follow the course of the nerres, we find that
they are prolonged to the brain, and end in the gray
matter, where tney again come in contact with a large
quantity of blood-vessels. As the two series of nores
are not immediately connected in the brain, it follows,
according to the laws of voltaic action, that another bat-
tery exists there, which may be termed the central bat-
tery .... For the integrity of the circuit, it is essential
that the peripheral and central batteries be perfect ; that
their connection be maintained; and that a proper excit-
ing fiuid, or bright arterial blood| be distributed to —th
part.'
Such is Mr Bmee's view of the living battery : we come
next to his detail of the mode of action. For this he pro-
poses the term Electro -Aisthenics, or a study of the
various organs of sensation; and these again are oom-
e Pareiu^yma, In phyriologlcal language. Is the Qwofy,' porooa,
or membranous substance which forms the balk of some of the
. viscera of animals (as the Uvsr), and the tissue of Hm leaves aad
I growing puts of ^ants.— En.
1
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
299
priied under a new terminology : Opeaiethenics, of sight ;
Oosutthenics, of hearing; Oumaisthenics, of taste;
Rinaisihenics, of smell ; Caenaisthenics, of toneh ; and
lait, a Mixth sense, Somaisthenics, or bodily feeling.
Blood and nerre being present in a normal condition,
the integrity of the rarioos actions is assured. The eye,
fbr example, is stimulated by light, leading to the infer-
ence of a photo-Toltaic current. By means of Tarious
chemical solutions, the author establishes the fact arti-
ficially. * Upon exposing,' he writes, ' the apparatus to
intense light, the galvanometer was instantly deflected,
showing that the light had set in motion a roltaic cur-
rent, which I propose to call a photo-voltaic circuit.'
The eye itself is tested by thrusting a needle through the
choroid coat, and another into a neighbouring muscle,
and passing the animal experimented on suddenly from
darkness into light, when, if cu^fulty conducted, a
sli^t deflection of the galvanometer is the result. With
tiie retina and blood of the choroid coat for the posi-
tive pole of the organ of vision, we find the iris and
muscles of the eyeball and eyelids proposed for the
negative. The phenomena of hearing are accounted for
in a somewhat similar way; the poles being the audi-
toiy nerve and adjacent muscles. The specific action
esn only be determined by showing that sound effects
a voltaic current; and then how various are its modifi-
cati<His ! ' Tlie range of sounds appreciated by the human
ear consists of about 12^ octaves, and perliaps extends
to the 32d of a note in those endowed with most perfect
heixing. From this it follows that the human ear can
distinguish about 3200 sounds; and therefore it would
require 3200 poles for that purpose.' With respect to
the oigan of taste, Mr Smee assumes the gustatory nerve
as the positive pole; and states that 'we may make a
voltaic battery in which the circuit shall be determined
by savours, in very diflerent methods. For instance, if
we place a little per-salt of iron, with two platina poles,
in a V-ehaped tube, and then drop a little infusion of
meat into one side, a voltaic circuit will instantly be
produced.' Next in order comes the sense of smell: and
here the author supposes that odorous substances deter-
mine a voltaic current, by ' facilitating the reduction of
the highly-oxygenated blood;' and that the olfactory
nerves constitute the positive pole of the battery. He
then proceeds to establish a sense of feeling, Caenaisthe-
nics, as distinct from Somaisthenics, or bodily feeling.
The former, he says, ' is that feeling by which we derive,
certain impressions from without, and is never in our
understandings confounded with a bodily feeling, or that
sense by which we estimate the changes taking place
within our own frame.' Thus Caenaisthenics may be ex-
cited by heat or cold, of by mechanical or other pressure;
and it is possible to imitate this efiect by varieties of
voltaic apparatus. But it would appear that, in experi-
menting on the living body, muscular power must be
exerted before the galvanometer marks any trace of a
current, as will be understood from Mr Smee s statement.
The subject under test was a * black rabbit, into the fna$-
ttler of which,' he observes, ' I introduced one sewing
needle, whilst the second was placed in the subcutaneous
cellular tissue. After leaving them for a few minutes, so
that they might be in the same state, they were connected
with the galvanometer without sensible deflection of the
needle. After a few moments, the animal, not liking its
treatment, made an attempt to bite my finger, and the
deflection of the galvanometer instantly showed the me-
chanism of volition. I then gave the creature a piece of
wood to bite, upon which it uwd all its power of mastica-
tion; and by catching the oscillation of the needle, a very
powerful current was exhibited.'
We have thus, as clearly as the subject would well
admit of, traced an outline of the author's peripheral
battery: we now come to the details concerning the
central battery. The author maps out the brain into
dii^rent region^ separated by commissures : to the first,
which repeats the impressions conveyed by the sensor, or
sisthenic nerves, he assigns the term Phreno-Aisthenics :
the sec<md, or that by which combined impressions are
vetainedy it Syndximics : third, the seeing of numerous
objects, or hearing of numerous sounds, oonvejrs but one
idea of sight or audition ; the term for this mechanism
is Aisthenic-Noemics: fourth, Syndramic-Noemics, for
the ideas derived from combined senses : fifUi, Pneuma-
Noemics, for the notion of infinity : and lastly, to quote
the author's own words, ' we have to consider firom whence
the impulse is sent for the bnun to cause action : a study
which may be conveniently followed under the term of
Noemic-I^amics. . . . The details are exceedingly diffi-
cult to comprehend in all their minutin; and yet I
trust, by passing gradually from the simple to the com-
plex, the leading features of this wonderful and intricate
apparatus will l^ developed ; and thou|;h the exemplifi-
cation of the structure of a single bram would occupy
man^ acres, I can exhibit examples of the mode of act-
ing m the several departments by ordinary voltaic com-
binations.
* The requisites of action, blood and nerve, are found
in sufficient abundance in the central batteiy or brain,
as that orean is literally nothing but fibres and blood-
vessels. The nervous fibres are so numerous, that no
estimation could be given of the myriads of which the
brain is composed; in fact the whole of the white matter
of the brain is composed of nerve tubes.'
We believe it was Coleridge who once met a meta-
physical serving-maid at a tavern in Germany, and was
surprised by hearing her express her belief that every
thought, idea, or impression received generated in the brain,
remained there ever afterwards, each one stored up in a
minute cell, and that good or bad memory would consist
in the greater or lesser power of reopening these cells and
making use of their contents. If science be competent
to determine the point, she was not far from the truth.
Mr Smee states : ' When a man receives an impression,
it is not evanescent, passing immediately away, out it is
retained in the system to regulate future actions. Now,
in voltaic constructions, it is not difficult to produce an
action which shall influence future motions, and thus
exhibit the effects of memory.
' If we take two iron wires, and place them in a solu-
tion of arEcnto-cyanide of potassium, and direct a voltaic
current through them, silver would be reduced at that
wire constituting the negative pole. The two wires would
be ever afterwards in different electric relations to each
other; one would be positive, the other negative; and
thus the ejects of memory would be shown, and future
actions regulated.'
As the nerve fibres all terminate in' the gray matter of
the brain, these terminations are taken to hb the negative
poles. In this way the entire body is repeated in the
brain, which organ again is supposed to be double, and
yet so constituted, that two impressions made at different
parts of the body convey but one idea to the mind. Under
the head of Syndramics the author shows that the large
size of the brain, with its multiplicity of fibres and vesi-
cles, is necessary for the reception of the endless variety
of impressions made upon that organ. When it is re-
membered that twenty-four changes can be rung on only
four bells, we may form some conception of the myriads
of changes to be effected in the 2000 or 3000 elements
from ewch. organ of sense. Mr Smee considers that the
brain * probably contains room for all the most impor-
tant, when pacxed and arranged with the absolute per-
fection manifested in all the operations of nature.'
Without following each step of the investigation, we
may state that each portion of the brain, as enumerated
above, is seveially treated of in a somewhat similar pro-
cess of reasoning. A few of the conclusions at which the
author arrives will serve to show the mode by which he
builds up his theory. * The faculty of desiring,' he ob-
serves, ' resolves itself into a tendency to act, and is ma-
nifested when the central batteries are in a condition of
excitement. Desire is to mental operations similar in all
respects to tension in electric arrangements. When the
desire is gratified, it ceases for a time. This phenomenon
is similar to an exhausted battery in which arrangements
exist for replenishing the exciting fluid; as in this case,
after a time, the battery would again become active, and
exhibit tension.'
■*»■
■■MriMB^MSki
800
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Anin — * I might dilate laigely upon the mechanism
bj which pleasure and pain ma^ be reflated; but it
will be sufficient to giye a single illustration of the most
simple method in which, in the Toltaic circuit, a strong
impression might stop action. If a Tery minute piece of
metal be placed in a glass of fluid as a positive pole, and
a large current be passed through it, the metal would
instantly be dissolred, and the circuit could not be com-
pleted by that road. What is true of solid poles is true
of liquid poles, or intenrening fluid; and where repair is
constantly necessary, as we know it is in the brain, a
strong impression would more than equal the ordinary
supply, and thus action, through that combination, would
be stopped. The effect upon the brain by a painful im-
pression appears to amount to more than mere exhaustion,
as the part seems damaged permanently, and the action
through that road does not again readily take place.'
Next in order we come to Electro- Psychology or * pro-
perties of the mind, deduced from the voltaic structure
of the brain.' This portion of the subject involves many
important considerations and metaphysical speculations.
Mr Smee finds a process for every faculty, even up to the
idea of immortality. *We know,* he says, *from the
very organisation of our bodies, that we are immortal ;
that God exists ; that there is virtue and vice ; a heaven
and a hell. Man, in every age, in every climate, is com-
pelled, by his very organisation, to believe these first
principles. . . . Electro-noemics,' he also explains, * should
be the basis of jurisprudence. It shows that crime and
pain should be associated together at the same time,
because a stronger result would attend punishment in-
flicted the moment the crime was about to commence.
Such a course is suitable for the lowest intellects, or
persons of the lowest mental capacity. ^ When, however,
good principles could be effectively instilled, they would
control every action, and prove far more useful.
' Electro-noemics also show that to produce a strong
efiect in future actions, a strong impression must be lett
on the brain. From this cause punishment should be
inflicted upon a man in a healthy, vigorous condition,
and neither ill-fed nor debased in enei^; otherwise the
impression would be transient or evanescent, and would
not deter the party from the commission of future crime.
Electro-noemics also indicate that slight and propor-
tionate punishment invariably following crime, would
have more effect than severer punishment, with less
chance of its infliction.*
From the foregoing summary of Mr Smee's book, it
appears to contain matter interesting to other classes of
readers as well as electricians and physiologists ; but we
believe that the time is distant when legislators or philan-
thropists will discuss questions of social economy or po-
litics in an electro-biological point of view. Still, we are
willing to accept the woA as another contribution towards
an inquiry that has long engaged the attention of philo-
sophers : biology, the science of lift^ is a subject of perma-
nent interest ; and if a writer do no more than provoke
discussion, he may do that which will eventually elicit
truth.
We here close our notice of Mr Smee's book with an
enumeration of its further contents — points of the inves-
tigation into which we have not thought it necessary to
enter. They are— Electro-bio-Dynamics, or the forces pro-
duced in the living body; Bio-Electrolysis, or the changes
taking place in the human body; Electro-Biolo^ of Cells,
or the relation of electricity to growth, nutrition, and
circulation; and last, Electro-Therapeutics and Patho-
logy.
PARTING OF THE HINDOO BRIDE AND HER
MOTHER.
[Hindoo girls are generally married at the age of flye
or six years, and remain under the paternal roof till
they are eleven or twelve, when they are taken away by
their wedded lord. The sussoorie, or mother-in-law, is
held in aniversal detestation by the young Hindoo wife ;
for these women have generally great influence over
their ions, are jealous of their affiectioni, and misuse I
their power, their ignorance making theai unfediog and
tyrannical. As the uneducated Hindoo female has few
retouroea, so her love of external adornment is greater
perhaps than is generally ascribed to the fair sex, and
jewels and silken sheen constitute her most cherished
day-dream. She dyes her feet with alkah, extracted
from the Brazil wood, a lovely red. Cotton is steeped
in this, and dried in the sun in thin patches like lint,
and about the size of a dessert plate ; in which state it
is kept in the bazaars for the toilet of the Hindoo,
whose delicate little feet, after being pared and scraped
with a pumicestone by a professional female barber,
are very tastefully painted with the cotton. The Hindoo
females have generally fine long glossy hair, which is
neatly plaited at the back of the head into a knot; the
fh>nt hair is parted ^ la Madona ; and the toilet is not
complete without a stripe of sindoor^ a red powder,
where the hair parts on the forehead ; and a tiooa, or
ornament of tinsel, or talc and gold-leaf — sometiines
characteristic of caste. The rich have handsome orna-
ments of gold or silver, which are fixed to the fore-
head, and set off very much a fine Hindoo face, peeping
out from under a white transparent veil. Tenderoess
for her offspring is the characteristic of the hestiien
mother: she lives for her children, and partaog with
them is almost death.
The bunnia-bhow^ or twrroff^t daughter, also cslled
hhow'Cottah-cow — (* Speak, daughter-in-law ; spaik!')~
from its saying these words in a mournful manner chiefly
during the lovely moonlight nights of the East, is, to
its own climate, as interesting a bird as our ' visitant of
spring.' The bunnia-bhow is of the Oriole tribe ; and
its yellow plumage, varied with sky-blue and white, is
greatly admired. The Europeans sometimes style this
lovely creature * the mango bird,* as it makes its appesr-
ance when that fruit is in perfection.
The Asiatic connects no romantic feelings witii the
turtle-dove ; on the contrary, from the following ooo-
versation, it will be seen how our favonrite in all tender
matters is looked upon; she, too, is metamorphosed
into a wicked penitent, doomed to proclaim b^ own
sins, and to wander through ages to come over the
wide world.]
THE HINDOO MOTHER AND HBR DAUOBTSm CHAMDIKA.
Mother. My dear Cliandika, you look very dull to-
day, and your fingers are very slow. See, I have finished
for you the wreath of beko(d blossoms I began; and
there is your string, and the little stick to string the
flowers with. Look how pretty these champoM wffl be
in your black hair : they are like gold I
Chandika, Oh, mother, I can do nothing ! Must I not
soon leave you? That odious emissary from my hus-
band's house, is he not to be here this afternoon with a
dodk t And then, my own mother, I shall be under a
sussoorie!
Mother, Dear Chandika, every Hindoo girl is dis-
graced if she has not a husband and a home to go ta
Tou must look to your lord, Rajhissur, for protection.
I saw him, and I am not deceiving you ; he is kind,
young, and handsome; and your mother-in-law is -not
such a firebrand as you suppose.
ChancUka, I don*t know : I hear all the yonng wives
who come to our tank for water at noon, and every
one is louder than another in invectives against h^
sussoorie. Oh I wish never to leave you I
Mother. Come, let me see your feet. Has the nap-
tanie painted them neatly with alkahf And are the
fiowers nicely done on your insteps ?
Chandika, Oh dear, yes : she is the handiest naptanie
in this village. See, my hair is all oiled and plaited,
and I have gummed on my ticca, and tied on the
fW>nt]et of gold; so there remains little else to do to my
toilet
Mother, Come, then, now, and put on your gay new
red ioree of rustling fiax : it has cost six mpeea, and it
is one of the best Your bracelets (cangoonM) and arm-
lets Q)agonbandi) are all pure silver, and your nose-riog
ii RAJhiMur'B most raluable gift : the pearls in it are of
a fine lustre, and the garnets are sparkling.
CkandiJka. But roy eyes are heavy, and my spirits
are dulL Last night, although I did not disturb you,
I went under the niem-tree ; and there, as the moon
shone brightly, I listened to the beautiful bunnia-bhow
reiterating her sad notes. Was she not once an odious
mother-in-law ? And did she not cruelly knock her son's
wife on the head for leaying an assigned task un-
finished ? The soul of the sussoorie should hare been
put into an owl instead of the yellow bunnia-bhow.
WeU, I fell asleep at last, and at sunrise I was awakened
by the cooing of the turtle-doTe. Oh, it kept wailing,
* Bow outtoo, poora poora ! * — (* Rise, daughter-in-law ;
the measure is full — ^is fiilll') She, too» was a cruel
wretch, and killed her young 6010 for not pounding and
fiUing a certain measure of rice fast enough j and for
that crime she has been transformed into a dove, and
can never forget her wicked deed. Oh these odious
mothers-in-law I
Moiker. Come, dear Chandika, my fkir one ; come,
forget all this : I shall come and see you at the Door-
g^poojak. How well you look in all your new things I
Tour skin is as dear and beautiful as the fresh peel of
an onion just drawn out from between its flakes!* But
there, behold, there oomes your father, and the old
Brahmin agent with him. Cover your face, and do not
cry; I must go and cast myself at the thagoor's feet.
Let us embrace, my own Chandika ; my only child, I
must away. [She prottratei herself at the Brahmin*s feet,
Brohwtim, Good woman, arise. Where is yourdaughter ?
The eewakree] waits, and we must reach Burdwan to-
night : so bring out the young wife. / am answerable
for her.
Mother, Just as you please, maharaj. [Chandika is
bromght oui^ covered and veiled^ aiui placed sUentlff
and •adhf m the litter. The mother is l^ gazing,
tuUU the sewahree diminishes to a speoh; then her
gritf breaks out in loud cries and lamentations.
OUR CORRESPONDENTS
Abs as numerous as ever, and nothing gives us so much
pain as the continual rejection of papers in prose and
vase, written with an apparently earnest wish to suc-
ceed ; and though not exactly up to the mark, yet occa-
sionally manifesting no small amount of taste and
ability. An editor, however, must have no compassion.
He stands himself before a critical tribunal, and re-
quires to act with scrupulous indifference in rejecting
what seems unsuitable. At the same time, we are of
course anxious to help on aspirants for literary honours,
and a word of counsel and kindness to the deserving
is not wanting where it can be of service.
Correspondents, however, who favour us with hints
00 miscdlaneous topics, are perhaps still more nume-
rous than those who send us papers for consideration.
Sometimes these communications are of an amusing
kind. They reveal what seems to be the ruling passion
of the writer, and go pretty fkr to give one a notion
that society abounds in people each mad on one idea ;
and all thinking everybody else crotchetty and un-
souod but themselves.
The following candid announcement, enclosed to us
under cover, will be received with much satisfaction by
ftheworid:—
' The hour is come, but where is the Man ? He is
ready when he is wanted I Fourteen yeara have I
waited and watched the progress of events, since I first
received the impression that on me depended the rege-
aeiation of my country. ^lAt omnis spes in memet Hta,
* This is ihoagbi a p«at oonnpliiunt in the East,
t Prooswion or oaTsloada.
[All my hopes are centered in myself.] — Oliver (not
Cromwell).'
A correspondent, who writes from Birmingham, sug-
gests our giving our opinion on a matter of great deli-
cacy and importance : —
• Gentlemen— You would very much oblige a great
many of your readers if you would please give them
your opinion on Marriage in your Journal. Is there,
generally speaking, more happiness in a married or
single state? Do you think that men who do not marry
till they are thirty-five or forty years of age, would be
happier if they did not marry at all ? '
Answer —Let all bachelors marry as soon as possible;
the older they are, the more expeditious they should
be. — Not a bad picture of matrimonial felicity is pre*
sented in the following lines fh>m a poem, * Hours of
Solitude,' just handed to us by the author, who tells
us he was lately a private soldier : —
' Behold the bardjr tnier of the toU,
The humble peasant, bom to daily toU,
With what delight, when sinke the setting mm.
He hiee him homeward, all his labour done.
How joys to know, attending his return.
The board is spread, the biasing fagots bum ;
But sweeter stiU his gentle wife will wait
His weary footstep at the garden gate.
He thinks how she, through life's oft dreary hours.
Has strewed his path with love's unfading flowers;
He thinks, though proridenoe to him denied
The glittering splendour of the sons of pride,
He is not poor, for thus, his own to prove.
The unequalled treasures of a virtuous love,
Is greater wealth, and purer rapture brings
Than all the glory, ail the pomp of kings.
Buoh are his thoughts, as 'neath the rising ray
Of the pale moon he slow pursues his way.
Well knows his wife th* accustomed step, before
The latch is raised, or opes the cottage door.
He enters I see, her eye, for ever bright,
Now instant kindles with a clearer light;
And oh ! how soon, before its smiling ray,
Fade all the cares and labours of the day.
Soon as their prattling babes to rest retire.
They sit discoursing by the cheerful fire;
In converse sweet, each kindred feeling share,
ninme the moments, and foiiget their care !
« ♦ • •
Oh ! prize that worth, and bless indulgent Heaven,
Whose bounteous hand a kindred heart has given.
Life's rough and dubious paths with thee to share.
Increase thy pleasures, and divide thy care !
There is a charm that words can ne'er reveal.
Known but to those who all its {deasures feel.
When some dear being sheds a lustre bright
Around our home, and fills it with delight.
When friends are near, we feel with lessened force
The little cares that cloud our daily course.
This Shalt thou own when, partner of thy home.
Thou lead'st the nudden to thy peaceful dome ;
And loved, and loving, prove, in every hour.
The calm pure pleasures of affisction's power ;
True Joys, indeed, which shun the noisy haunts
Where riot reigns, and dissipation flaunts.
Nor deign to smile amid the thoughtless throng
Qay folly draws in flowery bands along.*
One who signs himself a ' Constant Header' is con-
cerned on a subject eminently deserving the attention
of the social economist and the theologian : —
' Gentlemen — I think you would confer a great bene-
fit on the male portion of the community if, in your able
Journal, you would advocate the ancient custom of wear-
ing the beard and moustache. I think it can scarcely be
consonant with the design of Providence that we should
addict ourselves to the practice of shaving ; for if tlie
beard was not intended to be worn, why does it grow ?
Shaving, therefore, is surely irreligious, and a violation
of the conscience. I would suggest that there should
be an Anti- Shaving Association, which, if properly
begun, would soon get plenty adherents. Pardon the
liberty of drawing your attention to this far fh)m un-
important subject*
802
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
The abore sagacioof proposition would scarcalj pleaie
the razor and strop-making interests ; which are, by the
way. yery active and stirring interests indeed. Some
months ago, we reoeiFed a specimen of G. Saunders's
(of New York) Razor -Strop, certainly an advanced
species of its class, seeing that it is a fonr-sided article,
having a hone on one side, and leathern strops of
graduated smoothness on the remaining thrcne. More
lately, there was submitted for our approval a droll-
looking razor called the ' Plantagenet Patent' What
the Plantagenets had to do with the affair is beyond
our comprehension, as we rather believe shaving was
not fashionable in their day. However, that is not the
point What invited notice was the principle of the
instrument, which gives the power of shaving without
the possibility of cutting the skin. This desirable end
is achieved by fixing on the side of the blade a guard
resembling a metal comb, the teeth of which project a
little beyond the edge. By holding the instrufnent at
the right slope, shaving is at once effected ; but if held
at a wrong angle, the teeth of the comb rest on the
face, bearing off the edge of the razor, and the chance
of cutting is thus effectually prevented. This razor is
really a very clever thing, and will be of great use on
shipboard, or for people with unsteady hands; indeed
there is nothing now to prevent any one shaving him-
self in the dark, or in a railway carriage going at the
rate of fifty miles an hour. What next?
Of all the strange presents sent to us editorially, the
most strange was that of a trap to place on the months
of drains, in order to prevent the escape of bad smells I
Fortunately, we had no reason to call this patent engine
into operation, and are therefore unable to speak of its
merits. The authorities of Gwyd^r House would be
competent to pronounce on the subject ex cathedrA.
In this category of correspondents we may place one
who subscribes himself a * Hosier in the Midland Coun-
ties.' This tradesman begins by complimenting us on
a* late article, which hinted, in the most remote way
possible, at the fashion among ladies of wearing inordi-
nately long petticoats ; * a fashion,' proceeds the hosier,
' that has rendered our business almost good for nothing.
Formerly, ladies bought, according to their circum-
stances, very elegant stockings, both silk and cotton.
Hundreds of men were employed in weaving, and women
in embroidering. Even servants and country girls prided
themselves on a nice dean pair of good stockings, and
a pair of neat shoes. What could look so beautiful as
a handsome ankle and foot in a white stocking and
black shoe, either crossing the street on a bad d&y, or
tripping along the floor of a ball-room ? I am sorry to
say you never see anything of the kind now. I might
as well shut up shop. Ladies are contented to wear
sixpenny and ninepenny hose, and none of any account
above two shillings. In the streets they go dragging
along with ugly dirty boots; and in a ball-room you
cannot tell whether they wear any stockings at all:
the dresses are so long, that the room is in perpetual
dust; and the gentlemen, in dancing, treading upon
and tearing theis clothes, and apologising. I could
weep for the hundreds it has thrown out of employ-
ment and the trade which it has ruined. The gen-
tlemen, also, should never go into even a dining-room
where there are ladies, much less a ball-room, with
boots; for let them be ever so thin, they are boots
stiU. A pair of nice black trousers, and either black
or some choice (not vulgar) fancy silk stockings, with
a pair of neat shoes, either tied with a bow of ribbon or
a buckle, would make a 'man look like a gentleman if
he was leally not so ; and then the comfort and venti-
lation he would have when dancing ! Pray, gentlemen,
take the few hints I have hastily set down, and publish,
ere long, a good article on the abomination of booto and
long petticoats.'
A late article, ' Hoodless, the Horse-Swimmer,' has
called forth several communications, from which we
select the two following : —
* ** Hoodless, the Horse-Swimmer" is the heading you
gave to an interesting anecdote in ** Chambers's Journal ;"
you will be pleased to know that an occurrence similar
to that narrated took place at the Cape of Good Hope.
Many years since, a ship was lost during one of the
tremendous gales that visit the ** stormy C^pe." The
crew and passengers were in imminent danger of perish-
ing, when a farmer dashed into the surge with hia horae.
The brave adventurer reached the ship, and returned
in safety with one or more of the mariners clinging to
his steed. Again he perilled life with the same fortu-
nate result A third and a fourth time did be riak him-
self in the waves, on each occasion saving one or two^
till eight altogether were rescued. On the fifth attempt
he was less fortunate. Whether ftom fiatigiie, or the
violence of the surge, he lost hia seat His horse re-
turned to the shore riderless I The gallant farmer
perished, A monument, I believe, marks the spot, and
recalls an incident honourable to humanity.'
The Life Boat. — * It was about the year 1783 that a
ship ran upon the hard sand at the mouth of the Tyne.
The sea was running high, and no boat dared venture
out to the relief of the crew, who, taking to the rigging,
were distinctly seen by observers on shore. For aeve-
ral days the storm continued unabated, and the poor
wretobes were seen morning after morning still dinging
to their only remaining hope. At last from sheer ex-
haustion, they dropped one after another into a watery
grave. The people on shore watehed them even to the
last : he also fell, and no one was left
* How different is the state of things at the pmeot
day I Let us fancy oursdves standing on some rising
ground at the mouth of the same river Tyne : a violent
storm from the north-east lashes the sea into a fury ; a
ship is observed making for the harbour; perham a
signal of distress may be fiying from the mast Bow
many anxious eyes are watehing her from both sides of
the river, as she rolls and plunges in the boiling waters !
She takes the bar, when suddenly, from some canae or
other, her course is altered (ipaybe she has unshipped her
rudder), and she runs direct upon the hard sand, where
every sea that strikes her washes the deck, and aends
the snowy spray far above the mast-head.
* Now is the hour of peril ; the life-boat is manned ;
she sweeps along with incredible speed ; no clockwork
can be more regular than the steady stroke of her
double-manned oars. She dashes into the breaker*, aft
one time looking as if she would throw a somerset at
another lost to the eye in the trough of the sea : ahe
reaches the wreck, takes out the crew, and returns. As
she comes near home, the crowd upon the beach follow
her, cheering as they go ; the crew is landed in aafety ;
three hearty cheers are given, and that is alL
* For those unacquainted with nautical aflkira, it may
be necessary to say, that before the inventioD of the
life-boat no boat was found that could live in a heavy
sea : all boato of ordinary construction being liahle to
turn bottom up, and remain so. From the ahape
and make of the life-boat there is no chance of such a
thing : being made high at stem and stem, she resem-
bles, when viewed in profile, nothing so much aa a
crescent with the horns uppermost Beneath the gun-
wale is a broad layer of cork for the sake of greater
buoyancy ; and she is provided with air-boxea, &c. for
the same purpose. It is customary to laah c»r tie the
rowers to the thwarte or seats, which is sufilcient to
give one an idea of the danger of the undertaking.*
The following letter, written by a person in the
country to her friend, a lady in Edinburgh, waa latdj
put into our hands, and speaks for itself. —
* Dear Mart — I heard a circumstance to-day, whidi
gave me so much pleasure, that I cannot fbrbear men*
tioning it Some time ago an English gentlemaD,
Mr , was travelling in a railway-carriage, aod to
amuse himself he had purchased two or three of Meean
Cbamben*B pablicatioos. An article in one of thete
aUracted his attention t it was showing the great necei •
fitj for Lfife Assoranoe. Soon after, when his tenants
were all dining with him, and paying their rents, he
read the article aloud to them, and recommended to
them to insure their lives without delay, as it would be
a good thing for their families after their death. His
land-steward was so struck with what he hesi^, that he
insured his life directly. This roan, I am told, is now
dying, and has the greatest satisfaction in knowing
that he leaTes wherewith to bring up his family. He
is a Scotsman, and feels a strong desire that his boys
should be educated; for if he had not got education
himsdf, he would still have been a Roxburghshire
ploughman. Well, as I understand, his sons are to be
sent to Scotland to their schooling in a plain way ; and
this could not possibly have been done but for the life
assurance. The poor man is said to be quite happy
that he acted on the adrice given him. I daresay Mr
Chambers will be glad to hear of this instance of good
being done by one of his articles.'
Nordty is the order of the day. The ' Proprietors
of HaU*s Wisbeach Sewing Cotton ' have become pub-
lishers of a tiny periodicid called *The Olive Branch,
a Journal for the Work Table,' which they distribute
gratis along with their reels. When literature is thus
made an associate of threads and needles, one would
think it cannot help going off. As a specimen of the
Wisbeach sewing-cotton periodical, we present the fol-
lowing from the number for March : —
*MocK Drapery Auctions. — There are few more
profitable employments, to persons roguishly disposed,
than buying a quantity of inferior drapery, generally
the clearance of old stocks, and then travelling through
the country to sell them. Mock auctions are a very
&vourite mode adopted, and are usually announced by
some specious advertisement of *' wreck," ** contraband
setznres," or other equally imposing terms. Candle-
light, which obscures so many imperfections, is fre-
quently employed at these sales. To avoid the impo-
sitions practised on such occasions, we would recom-
mend those who are disposed to purchase to make a
visit by daylight, as they would ordinarily do with the
draper, and &fore purdiasing, look carefully at the
dass of goods offered for sale. There is also an effi-
cacious mode of ascertaining the value of piece goods.
Ask some respectable draper for a few patterns, which
he win generally furnish with pleasure, and compare
them with those of the itinerant merchant. It is our
belief that in almost every case the goods of the resident
tradesman will be found much the cheaper of the two.
The favourite plan of tiiese systematic deceivers is, in
the first instance, to offer something exceedingly cheap,
and by that means decoy as large a company together
as possible; their inferior commodities are then the
more easily palmed upon the buyers. The active
agency of a few allies purposely employed to secure the
highest prices, for bona-fide sales, secures also the with-
drawal of any articles the public are likely to obtain
too cheap. It is to be remarked that the goods gene-
rally sdd consist of shawls, woollen cloths, and other
expensive articles, the value of which it is difficult for
the most experienced accurately to determine. In pur-
chasing articles of fashion, our female friends generally
desire to have the greatest novelties, and shawls are
perhaps one of their most important items. Now
there is no way to form so sure an opinion on this sub-
ject as to notice their condition. Tou will usually see
the goods of these travelling auctioneers have been
folded time after time, and the creases are so many,
that yon with difficulty discover those originally made
by the manufacturer ; hence, we should say, especially
Dotioe their condition. As to woollen cloths, when in
their finished state, the face being raised, it requires
much judgment to tell the fineness of the yam of which
they are made — and the whole value depends on this—
and tlie aoaudnesa of the wool. If there is one article
moce than anotiier which requires to be purdiased of a
tradesman of character, it is woollen doths. Any
complaint would be sure to be attended to by him ; and
by advising the manufacturer, with sufficient proofs
that the damages were occasioned by his mismanage-
ment, any necessary compensation would be silowed.
There are few, when buying, who would calculate on
seeing their auctioneer friend again if required, and
fewer who would ever expect, if they found him, any
allowance for damages.
' We should be sorry, by these remarks, for any to
suppose that we do not wish them to buy at the
cheapest market Our only desire is, to point out the
fallacy of supposing that persons depending for their
livelihood on the precarious sales of a few days, at very
indefinite intervals, and incurring travelling expenses,
can compete with the regular tribesman. It must be
remembered that the latter has a character to sustain,
and that his constant attention is given to select those
articles that are most in request by his circle of fiiends.'
We close for the present this word about our corres-
pondents by submitting the following letter, just re-
ceived, to the sagacity of the reader: —
* When you see the signature at the conclusion of
this, you will probably recollect having received com-
munications from me before. It is with deep interest
that I see oocasionally appearing in your numbers the
earnest yearning for more light and truth. I find that
the putting of pen to paper for the purpose of writing a
concentrated article for publication — suitable for the
public eye— does not draw — the effort will not yield. I
require a leading-string : I acknowledge to myself to be
guided by the spirit. Far removed from literary cirdes,
I necesssrily draw deeply from the original fountain of
truth for those intellectual and spirit^ pleasures, the
former of which I confess I believe comparativdy few
of my fellow-beings would be able to afford me — that is,
when the subjects nearest my heart, and of the highest
character in truth, were to come under notice. Sub-
iects of paramount consideration to tiie whole of the
human race are not likely continually to give place to
those of a more trivial, though of a perfectly innocent
and suitable character in their way. Without any pre-
tensions to deep learning, in the ordinary acceptation of
the term, and which I consider likdy to become an en-
cumbrance rather than an aid in all that is truly valu-
able in lore, I have seen much of life and business, and
into the recesses of the human heart, if I may use the
term ; indeed I have been led about and instructed in
the arduous and painful career which thus far it has
pleased an all-wise Providence to carry me through.
When I commenced this, I was almost as ignorant of
what the contents were likely to be as you were when
you commenced reading, with the exception of a pre-
vailing desire to open a vein by which I might commu-
nicate with you.
* I was induced to make the attempt, as (being re-
quested by a sister to write to her) on Satunlay even-
ing I wrote in a few minutes, without any effort, some-
thing I have since thought might do for your Journal ;
and yet, had I sat down to write for that purpose, I
could not have done it at all.
* I find that with me my sentiments can only be com-
municated easily and agreeably by letters or conversa-
tion : the latter is preferable when attainable, and the
parties are perfectly at ease, able to reciprocate, and.
each equally open to receive the impressions of truth in
all its simplicity, copiousness, and power. I will endea-
vour to call to mind the extract, which, with a few pre-
liminary remarks, constituted the whole of my note.
*I believe that in any attempt to produce a formal
artide I cannot get on, because my thoughts are too big,
too brief, and too concentrated; and though conscious
that my spirit is pregnant of unutterable Uiings, it finally
says "reace, be stUl.** Who knows but that the sister
who drew out the following may prove the midwife
called in preparatoiy to your more abte and skilful
accoucheurs.
*I find that I cannot renew the essay to my sister.
804
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
therefore I beg to refer you to her address for a note
written on the Slst March 1849, from yours truly.*
This note would doubtless be worth perusal, but the
world mores so rapidly, that we cannot wait for it
ftom each other by a thousand leagues or more of Ma!
Oh, Uncle John ! the world would forgiTo you for all the
unpleasant accidents you have occasioned in apportioiuitt
so much of this globe to the members of your&mUy.if
you would but give to mankind an ocean pmnj/ fottay,—
Burrites Christian Citixen,
ALLIGATORS BOARDED AND LODGED.
We made an excursion lately to what is called here the
* Muggur Tank,* a lake of alligators, which lies in a small
and beautifully-situated grove of trees, surrounded by a
range of low hills, about nine miles from Kurraohee. After
having breakfasted, we proceeded to the spot where these
hideous monsters are congregated. They are held sacred
by the natives of the country, and are regularly fed by the
contributions of devotees. The tank is more like an over-
flown meadow than a lake, having deep channels inter-
seothig each other, and is literally alive with these huge
* muggurs,* some lying basking on the knolls and ridges,
others floatmg on the surface of the deeper water. They
are of all sizes, from a foot or two to twenty or twenty-five
feet in length, and bulky in proportion. Havhig purchased
a kid, and cut it up on the banks, there was a universal
opening of their capacious jaws, which they kept distended
in expectation of having a piece of flesh pitched into them;
they are too lazy and too well fed to make any further
demonstration: the native keeper, who feeds them, then
began calling to them, when they came one by one lazily
along, and waddling on to the shore, each took what was
given to him. The rapidity with which the poor kid
vanished, head and heels, was truly surprising. They
know the keeper quite well, and if any one should take up
what is not thrown to him, the keeper makes him drop it
by striking hhn on the snout with his stick. Their jaws
are certainly dreadfUl clap-traps, and the crash they make
when brought together is horrible, crushing the bones even
of the head of their prey like so much crust It is pro-
bable, setting aside motives of superstition, that the inha-
bitants now find it necessary to feed these voracious
monsters, for were the 'supplies to be stopped,' they
would become dainrarons neighbours. In fact they do at
times pick up anddevour a stray child left on the banks
by accident or design. There are here three hot springs,
one of which supplies the tank, and is of a temperature of
about 96 degrees. The two others have a temperature as
high as 180 degrees. The water issues from the rook as
pure as crystal, and in great abundance. The females of
the country repair to these springs after their confine-
ment, to perform their ablutions, and to present their sa-
crifices to the ' muggurs.*— -4>^/»irfMin p<q)er,
OCEAN FENNY POSTAGE.
Our friends in America are awaking up to this subject
They are determined not only to have pennu postage from
the Atlantic to the Pacific, but also across the Atlantic to
the old world ; and all to be established by the United
States. So the question will soon be, whether Uncle John
Bull or Brother Jonathan shall carry letters across the
AtUntio for a penny a-piece. Jonathan can do this, and
would do it, if the world should challenge him to do * sorne-
thing imarL* But Uncle John ought to do it before any
one die in the world. He owes it to the colonies which
he has planted all over the globe— to the millions of his
children which he has sent out to live in the islands of all
the oceans and seas £ar and near, and who want to write
home every week. That is the ocean penny postage the
world wants: not a penny postage across the Atlantic,
fh>m Liverpool to Boston, but a penny postage across all
oceans and seas. Brother Jonatlian is smart for his ag:e
undoubtedly, and would do a great thing for the world if
you should once * raise his dander* in the right direction.
But we fear his purse is not long enough, nor his ships
numerous enough, to establish a universal ocean penny
postage. This m Uncle John Bull's mission, and we must
all put him up to its fulfilment All his children and
grandchildren, nieces and nephews, at home and abroad,
must tug at his skirts in their most winning way, md with
filial faith and hope smilins in their eyes, meet him by the
wayside, and fireside, and m all accessible moods and eon-
ditions, with this question—* l/ncle John, when wiU you give
us an ocwn penny postage V Dont be discouraged if he
poh pohs at it at first, and buttons up his pockets, and
talks about hard times, and all that Keep at him stea-
dily for a year in this way, and, like all other good-natured
uncles, he will give m. Then what a jubilee there wiU be
hi thousands and tens of thousands of homes separated
A FEW SHORT YEARa
A raw short years— and then
What changes Time hath wrought 1
8o strange they seem, we scarce can deem
The world, onr life, ourselves are anght
But one long fitful dreun.
The cloudfl that fly
Across the sky,
Wares toesed upon the sea,
Shadows that iiass
Before a glass.
Our fitting emUema he.
A hm short yea»-and then
When are the hopes that sboae
When youth with flowers enwraatlisdikshoiB^
And earth had but one maslo tone
Of Joy for us and ours?
The rainbow's hues.
The morning^ dews.
The blossoms ot a day.
The trembling sheen
On water seen
More stable are than they.
A few short yeaxs-and then
>Vhere is the ad'mant chain
That passion wrought, and madly thought
Nor time nor change could ever strain
Till life's last strife was fought ?
A rope of sand,
Agoss'merbaad;
The filmy threads at e'en
The spider weaves
Amongst the leaves i
A firmer bond had been.
A few short years— and then
Where is Ambition's pile.
That rose so high against the sky,
O'ershadowing all aronnd the while,
With its proud boast mi^t vie ?
A shadow's shade,
A oard-house made
By children for their play :
The air-blown bells
That folly sweito
May vaunt a sorer stay.
A few short years— and then
Where is the mighty grief
That wrung the hesri with toiiare^ ait,
And mode it feti. that ito relief
Time's hand oould ne'OT impart?
A storm that's burst,
And done its worst.
Then left the heaven more clesr i
A night-msre dread.
With momh>g fled.
These sorrows now i^pear.
A few short years— and then
What of our life remains,
The smiles and tears of other years,
Of passion's joys, of sorrow's pains,
Ambition's hopes and fean ?
A faded dream
To-day they seem
Which memory scarce can trsce-
But seals th^ve set
Shall Time nor yet
Eternity efface 1 ^^^^^ g,u„.
Published by W. & R. CHAMsaas, H****^'"!** ???I w^ 0»»,
sold by D. CHAMBaas. 80 Argyle Street. ^1»*>'^ gj^,
147 StJand. London ; and J. ^'Oi^sbas. Wl^
I>ublln.-Printed by W. and B. CnaJiasas, Bdlnwrg.-
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHABfBERS, EDITORS OP • CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ ' CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 281. New Series.
SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1849.
Price 1|c^.
REPULSION.
Teisb are aome popular maxims which haye passed
current for ages, perhaps from the heginning of all
reflecUoo among mankind, which neTcrtheless may, we
think, be shown to inroWe some dilemma or absurdity
miterially sobtracUng from their value.
It is, for example, held as of great consequence that
we SToid low and wicked company. Every parent tells
his diild to do so. Being seen in such company is ge-
nerally regarded as sufficient to stamp any one*s cha-
racter. Now it may be, and no doubt is, quite true
that most persons contract the character of the com-
pany they keep, and therefore noscitur a socits is a
justifiable rule. We should be the last to dispute the
viadom of a parent in counselling his son to avoid the
lociety of mean or depraved characters. But what
itrikes us ia, that just in as for as it is good for the
good to keep away from the bad, so is it bad for the
bad, because, associating only with themselves, they
bsye no means of reformation or improvement near
them. By the action of this rule, while there is a
freedom from corruption on the one hand, there is an
absence of correction on the other. So left, the rude
can acquire no better manners ; the wicked no better
dispositions. They must each form a festering mass
devoid of every healthy element
Hu it never occurred to any one to consider what is
iorolfed in the phrase — He has acted in this manner,
and be must be put out of society? It is a punish-
meot : we shall say a deserved one. Society can perhaps
inflict no other. But what is to be the result? De-
prived of the approbation and communion of his fellows,
the ddinquent is clearly doomed to become something
worse, ^e do not, by merely ignoring his eziBtence,
negative him. Be must appear, and appear, over and
over again before us, and probably every time in a
mote malign aspect than before. It is not, then, a plan
purely good for the public, however difficult it may
be to devise any better. We are accustomed to hear
tiiat a fother, being indignant at the misconduct of a
daofr^^ter, turns her out of doors. The act excites little
.w ^ic To most people it seems right But what is
involved in it by way of consequences? No one can
doobt that the victim, unless redeemed by some extra-
ordmary accident, is destined to tenfold degradation,
sod a depth of guilt compared with which the first
oflSnce was a mere trifle. Considered with regard to
coDseqnences, there would appear to be something
vroog in the father's act, though it may be scarcely
possible to point out what it were better for him to do,
neiog that be has his own honour, and that of the aS
yet innocent members of his family, to protect
Maimers form a comparatively trifling consideration ;
yet they are a question not beneath the philosophio ob-
server of society. What chance have the humble of im-
proving their tastes, if their superiors do all they can
to obtain habitations in another quarter, frequent their
own exclusive places of amusement, meet only vrith each
other, and only know of inferior grades by report ? The
system of exdusiveness, from its obvious consequences,
is generally condemned ; but few have the candour to
see or to admit the difficulty involved in the case. The
fact is, as every refined person has felt, it is a positive
pain to associate with persons of inferior tastes and a
lower tone of manners. It seems as vain to expect that
one shade of refinement will consent to blend on easy
terms with another, as that any honourable man will
willingly ^associate with one of tainted reputation. The
rude, therefore, appear destined to continue rude, as
far as this means of difiUsing better tastes is concerned.
Somewhat akin to the thrusting out of unworthy
members from society is the discharging of servants and
workmen for faults. The master assumes the right to
dismiss any one whom he employs, if he has occasion
to be displeased with him for any moral ofience, bow-
ever slight We cannot, under existing arrangements,
deny this right, or say how the matter could be other-
wise. But does it ever occur, either to the master him-
self or to society, to consider what necessarily follows
on the privilege being exercised ? If A is found naught
in some respect by B, and is on that account thrown out
of employment he may apply for work to C ; but he
will be no. better to C than to B. If C is to employ him,
he might have as well remained with B. If C rejects
him, he is as likely to be rejected by D, by E, and so
on. In short, he is thrown entirely out of the way of
making his bread by honest labour. There is, therefore,
this at the bottom of it : B, in his right of discharging
for a fault (seeing that others are not to be expected to
put up with what he rejects), is possessed of a right to
extrude men from the trade or art by which they ob-
tain an independent subsistence. Every time he exer-
cises the privilege, he is putting a man in the way of
becoming a Pariah or a pauper. He will choose to hold
by the right ; but in that case he should not bo sur-
prised that there are ' dangerous classes,' or that poor-
rates are leviable.
It is a necessary, though a startling consequence of
these speculations, that the extremely good people arc
partly a cause of there being extremely bad people.
They do not mean it, but they cannot help it Tlie
seeming paradox is easily explained. In a society where
a particular vice is generally prevalent, and no great or
influential class is clear of it that vice will have no
very bad repute. A guilty individual will neither be
persecuted nor thrust out Maintaining his place in
the world, and some share of the good opinion of his
fellow-creatures, he will have no occasion to sink into
extreme degradation. The very opposite is the case of
the person who sins amidst an excessiyely yirtnons
society. He goes down into the depths at onoe, past
all redemption. We see an illustration of this role
in the state of degraded women in England as com-
pared with the continent It is a complete dilemma.
Virtue cannot soften her firown, and her crown produces
efibcts hy which she must he still more shocked.
It is these things which make civilisation so strange
a problem. Jails, poor-houses, legions of outcasts, are
as iuTariably its exponents as are lofty probity, rast
wealth, consummate luxury, and grandeur. In a middle
state of society there is, on the contrary, neither great
wealth nor great poverty, neither great virtue not great
vice. Jails are moderate-sized buildings ; poor-houses
exist not at aU. We smile at the story of itie man ship-
wrecked upon an unknown coast, who, walking into
the land with some fear, at length came to a gibbet
with a culprit depending from it, and then congratu-
lated himself upon being in a civilised country. But
the subject has its side of serious truth as weU as its
ludicrous aspect The object was quite sufficient to
show that crime was here held in detestation, and duly
punished. It would hare come to the same thing if the
stranger had lighted on a huge poor-house, or been let
down from a balloon into the midst of a St Giles, or a
Cowgate, or one of the Glasgow wynds. He might have
argued in that case, * I see that this is not only a civi-
lised country, but a country where there is plenty of
wealth for the winning. These wretched people are
they whom wealth finds unsuitable for its works, and
whom exquisite virtue repudiates. An excellent country
for me r
What can we say of it all ? It is a system extremely
favourable to clever people and good people — to those,
in general, who have well-regulated mindj — ^but deadly
to all others. Continually from such a society there
must be a shedding off of the inferior natures, down,
and down, and down, to gn^aw for a while at the feet
of the prosperous and the worthy, but by and by to
sink imder some of the malignant physical influences to
which they are exposed, and thus oease to be a trouble
or a burthen. In a less advanced state of things, these
people would have passed off tolerably among the rest,
and lived all their days. In the mysterious arrange-
ments of Providence, good has been their evil. Wealth
has doomed them to poverty — ^virtue has plunged them
deeper into vice. Their yery harshness of manners is
partly owing to there being nice gentlemen ready to die
of a rose in uomatic pain. Such being the case, can
there be a doubt of its being only more decidedly im-
posed upon us as a duty, to contend with every opposing
influence, our own feelings included, in endeavouring to
raise up, succour, and, as far as possible, improve and
redeem, those who, from the less suitable constitution
of their natures, are to be ranked as the victims of
society ?
THE DARK CHAMBER.
Not Tery long ago there dwelt at Brookdale, a sunny
spot of Warwickshire, one of the prettiest, merriest
maidens, Phoebe Morris by name, that ever danced upon
a green sward, or broke the susceptible hearts of a quiet
pastoral and agricultural village. The neatest, smartest,
handiest dairymaid in the county, she nevertheless
created at times such dire confusion, heartburnings, and
jealousies amongst the somewhat numerous operatives
on the fSEmn, tiiat Farmer Gadsby would fi^uently
threaten to discharge her if she did not leave off playing
the mischief with his young men. To all which good-
humoured objurgation Phoebe would demurely reply,
' That it was no fault of hers : goodness knows, she gave
the "jackanapes" no encouragement and should be
heartily glad to be rid of the whole pack of theml'
Honest Farmer Gadsby, a man of peace, though wear-
ing buttons, seldom pursued the colloquy much further;
consoling himself as he walked off with a quiet reflec-
Uon that had been firuned and glased in his family for
several generations, to the effect — ^I am not able to quote
the precise words — * That a maiden is a riddle, the trw
solution of which is seldom discovered till after raairiage.*
Phoebe, moreover, from being an orphan, ' who had seen
better days' — ^that indefeaaiUe claim to fiorbearaaoe and
consideration with all unsophisticated peopieH-waa a
privileged person both with the farmer and hia dame;
and it was therefore with no little satia&ction, both as
regarded the peace of the feutnstead, and the comfort-
able settlement in life of the light-hearted* weU-mean-
ing, though somewhat skittish maiden, that the
worthy couple observed after a time sjmiptoms of a
serious intimacy growing up between her and Wilham
Bayfield, the steady, thriving master wheelwright of
Brookdale. Young Bayfield was quite a eatdht, as re-
garded clrcumstences, for a dairymaid, howerer smart
and well-featured; and innumerable — ^in a village sense
— were the exclamations of contempt and wonder in-
dulged in by maids and matrons of the amall-fimner
and shopkeeper dass at the m6$aUumc€ oi a proipetoiis
tradesman with a mere milkmaid. lattle recked, bow*
ever, it soon became manifest the object of these ill-
natured strictures of the displeasure of his critics \ and so
spirited and successful was the wooing, that the banns
between William Bayfield, bachelor, and Phoebe Morris,
spinster, were published within one little month of the
day which witnessed the first apnearanoe of the ena-
moured wheelwright in the list of Phoebe's raisceUaneovs
admirers : oonverting into certainty the apprehension
suggested, by the arrival at William Bayfield'a dweUii^
the very day before, of an eight*day dock* a mabogiay
chest 0^ drawers, a gilt pier glass, and a carpet — poit^
tively a Brussels carpet 1 The spinsterhood of Broolulile
had no patience — ^how could they have? — with such airs,
and indignantly wished it might last that was all!
Alas, it soon became extremely doubtful whether ttie
modest housekeeping so sharply criticised would ever
commence! The rustic incense so long and ytdttmAj
offered to the pretty Phoebe had not it may be eaailiy
imagined, tended to diminish the stock of Tani^ with
which the merry maiden was naturally endowed. She
was unfortunately far too fond of exhibiting the power
which she possessed, or fancied she did, over her humble
admirers. The true affection which she fdt towards
her affianced husband did not suffice to shidd him from
her coquettish, irritating arts; and just three day*
vious to the expected wedding, a riolent quarrel betwii
the lovers, threatening to end in a total rupture of tbe
proposed alliance, had taken place. The cauae dT qnanel
will be best understood by the dialogue which tocdc {daos
between them on the following afternoon. Bavfidd, who
had not slept a wink all night, nor been able to settle
himself to anything during the morning, had sent a
message through kind Dame Gadsby, that he wished to
speak to Phoebe, and was waiting fbr her by ttie chertnut*
trees. Phoebe bad herself been in trouble all day, ftar-
ing she had carried matters too far ; but thia lUiisitii
at once reassured her, and she determined, fooUsh weachi
to make no concession whatever to the wounded piite
and sdf-esteem of her lover.
' Well, Mr Bayfield,' said she, approaching hha after
a purposely protracted dday, ' what have yon to say to
me? I understood you had resolved never to speak to
me again!'
* Well, Phoebe, I did say so, and meant it too at the
time; but you well knew I was too mudi in bve to he
able to keep my word.' Phoebe laughed. ' Oome bow,
let us be friends again : there's a good girl.*
* Oh, I daresay; and so give you leave to show off
your jealous airs again with impunity ? No indeed ! '
* Nay, Phoebe, it was partly, at all events, your own
fault. You tried me sadly: but come, let bygones be
bygones. As to young Gaythorpe, of course he
nothing of you ; so that '
•Don't be too sure of that, Mr Bayfidd,* int ^ ._
Phoebe, tossing her head, and pouting her pretty'^t^
* Edward Gay thorpe has ^ee in his head, I suppose^ as
well as other folk.'
GHAMBBRS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
807
*I daresaj be has,' replied Bayfield, his jealousy
reawakening; ' and if you prefer him to me, eyen so let
it be: HI not stand in his way.'
nioebe angrily retorted, and the result was a more
Tebemenft quarrel Uian beftne; and they at last sepa-
rated, both aTOwing a fixed determination never to see
or think of each o&er again. After striding nearly to
the Old of the long hme in which they had been standing,
William Bayfield turned round, half-repentingly, just
at the moment, as ill fortune would have it, that Edward
Gaythorpe, who had b^ obserring the pair from the
coTerl <^ the chestnut-trees, joined his mistress, and
ofiioioasly widk^ by her side as she proceeded home-
wardsL Her soft ejres were sufihsed with tears, and she
replied only bf curt monosyllables to Ihe soothing blan-
dishments of the young farmer. Of this poor Bayfield
was neoeasarily unaware: he saw only the ill-timed,
fospieioQs remeontre, and, his heart OTerflowing with rage
and grit^ strode fiercely away towards the Tillage. In-
stead of proceeding to his own dwelling, he entered (a
most mrasmd thing for him to do, especially in the day-
time) the principal tayem of the place, and seating
himsdf in tiie parlour, called hastily for brandy and
water.
It uidbrtunately happened that Sergeant Crump, a
xeakms reemiting officer in the servioe of the Honour-
able East India Company, and indefatigable trumpeter
of the manifold yirtues, civil and military, of that dis-
tingulihed corporation, was, at the moment of Bayfield's
entrance, hnanguing the two or tiiree persons present
npoo the brilliant advantages profi*eied iy his lavishly-
geDaroua employers to aU heroic spirits desirous of
obtaining fame and fortune, glory and prize-money,
where alone those desirable articles could, in the present
stagnant state of the world, be with certainty attained
— namdy, in the delightfhl daazling EaatI The mag-
niloquent oratory of the sergeant, hot and glowing as it
was, altogether failed of kindUng the odd clods he so
pathetically addressed; and he would probably have
soon ceased his funning in despair, had not his practised
ejre discerned in the countenance of the new-comer
iodicalions of a state of mind extremely favourable to a
proper appreciation of recruiting eloquence. He con-
sequent^ .peraevered, and by the time William Bay-
i^d bad poured the third tumbler of brandy and water
down his throat — he couM hardly be said to drink the
liquor— 4iad ^ satisfaction of perceiving that he was
listened to with a sort of moody desperation and half-
soomibi approval More liquor was called for; and
finaUj Bayfield, maddened by potetions to which he
waa anac(nistomed, acting upon his previously exas-
perated state of mind, accepted with reckless idiocy
the Company's shilling, and was at once enrolled in the
sergeant's memorandum book as a full private in one
of the East India Company's cavalry regiments I As
it was qnite out of the question that a man in the posi-
tion of liniHam Bayfield would, whatever his present
firensy might prompt, think seriously of enlisting, a
night's rest, and two or three pounds by way of
'smaai money,' would probably have terminated the
affair, when, just as the orgie was at its highest, Edward
Gi^ythorpe entered the room. It requir^ but this to
raise the excitement of the new recruit to downright
madncisa. Purious taunte and menaces were quickly
exchangvd: Bayfield sprang wildly up, seizing at the
same time, and drawing, the sergeant's sheathed sword,
whkh 1*7 on the taUe: Oaythorpe caught hcdd of the
poker, and a desperate struggle ensued. Bayfield re-
ceived a heavy blow on his left shoulder, and at the
sanw inatant thrust the sword through the body of his
antagoniat. The outcries of the sergeant — the com-
pany had departed some time before— quickly brought
tht Umdlora and two or three others into Uie room :
Bayfield waa first, with mudi difficulty, secured; and
tfa«a Gaythorpe was conveyed to bed, and a surgeon
sent for. William Bayfield, thoroughly sobered by the
tragic iasiie of the fray, was, a few hours afterwards,
bv the entire oonstabnlarv of the nlaoe to the
nearest borough town, about six miles distant, and there
securely lodged in jail
Such a catastrophe had not occurred in quiet pastoral
Brookdale within the memory of the oldest inhabitant;
and dire was the tumult and the tossing to and fro of
the bewildered mind of that small pubUc. Phoebe
Morris was in despair; her silly, coquettish behaviour
had, she felt — ^though few others suspected it — occa-
sioned all the mischief: and fervent were her vows of
future amendment shoiidd this peril pass away. After
a day or two, the excitement of the good folks began to
gradually cahn down. Toung Gajrtiiorpe's wound was
found to be merely a flesh one, the sword having barely
grazed his ribs, and consequently not at all dangerous.
He was a good-natured young man ; and though some-
what smitten with Phoebe's pretty face, was not at all
disposed, upon calm reflection, to avenge his fandfbl
disapp<Hntment upon his rival. His father, too, a rather
wealthy yeoman, having, reasonably enough, mndi
higher views for his son, was very anxious that nothing
should occur to prevent Phoebe's union with Bayfiel£
No wonder, therefore, that under these circumstances
a rumour speedily gained ground that the Gaythorpes
did not mean to prosecute; and that, moreover, the
wounded man had no distinct recollection as to who
began the fight — whether he first assailed Bayfield
with the poker, or Bayfield him with the sword. It
seemed, therefore, mofte than probable that the at one
time ugly -looking afiiur would end after idl in mere '
smoke.
There was apparently but one obstacle to this much-
desired consummation ; but that was a formidable one.
The sergeant, who, in the struggle to disarm Bayfield,
had received a slight cut on the cheek, which, in the
owner's opinion, somewhat marred ito martial com^-
ness, persisted that the prisoner had committed an en-
tirely unprovoked and intendedly deadly assault upon
Edward Gaythorpe, whom he had, moreover, repeatedly
menaced with the direst vengeance previous to his
entering the room. This evidence, it was felt, would
entirely change the complexion of the case, and have
the efibct, if deposed before a magistrate, of consigning
the unhappy wheelwright to prison, there to await his
trial on something very like a capital charge at the
next assizes.
The hearing of the charge had been adjourned firom
the following Thursday, to which day Bayfield had been
first remanded, till Saturday at ten o'clock, in order to
compel the attendance of Edward Gaythorpe, who had
declined to obey the mere summons of the magistrate.
On the Friday evening, disconsolate Phoebe Morris
arrived at the Falcon Inn, an old-fashioned, straggling
hostelry, in which the obdurate sergeant, accompanied
by a newly-entrapped recruit, had taken up quarters
for that night only, in order to be present in time at
the next morning^s investigation. Phoebe's purpose
was to essay what effect * be&nty in tears' might have
upon his iron nature. Vainly, however, did beauty,
not only in tears, but pretty nearly in fits, plead to the
recruiting rhinoceros: he was inexorable. 'He had,'
he said, ' one duty to perform towards society, which
had been outraged; and another,' glancing grimly at
his plastered cheek reflected in &e glass over the
mantelpiece, * towards himself, who had been injured ;
and those two duties he was determined to fulfil'
Phoebe was at her wite' end; and but for some very
strong consolation whispered in her ear by the chambov
maid of the Falcon, who had assisted at the conference,
and felt greatly iiriteted at the sergeant's fiintiness,
would probably have gone off into permanent hysterics.
As it was, she contented herself with one or two re-
proachfhl sobs, and indignantly withdrew fW>m the
presence of a monster whom smiles could not soften nor
the tenderness of tears subdue. * A perfect brute I ' said
the chambermaid, as soon as she was out of the ser-
geant's heuing : * but never mind. Miss Phoebe, here's
more ways to kiU a mad dog besides hanging the
cfeechurl' With which enigmatical illustration Mar-
gftret DftTies — to was the angry lady Darned— dismissed
the subject; and Phoebe found herself shortly after-
wards joirgin^ sorrowfully, yet hopefully, homewards in
Farmer Gadsby's taxed cart, much musing on the pos-
sible events of the morrow. Margaret Dayies, I should
mention, had nursed Miss Phoebe, as she persisted in
calling her, ia those * better days' to which I have
allud^, and thence doubtless arose her sympathy with
the afflicted fair one.
The sergeant had walked a long distance that day,
and feeling more than ordiimrily tired, regretted, as be
undressed himself in the double-bedded room he had
bespoken for himsctf and his recruit, that he had not
desired Boots to call him. * Never mind,' thought' he,
* I shall be sure to wake by ten o'clock, and that will
be quite early enough.' So thinking, he tumbled into
bed, and slept without roeking.
The next morning William Bayfield was brought be-
fore a bench of ma^strates, and Mr Gkythorpe, junior,
being in attendance, the charge against him was pro-
ceeded with I and it was soon apparent that if no other
evidence than that of the unwilling prosecutor could be
obtained, nothing but a common assaiUt, arising out of
chance medley, would be smbstantiated. The name of
Mr Crump was bawled out with immense emphasis,
both inside and outside tiie hall of justice, by the
bustling town-sergeant; but much to the astonishment
of those fomiliar with the peecise hak^ and pvnfttUioiii
attention to ordera of that rigid soldier, no Onxmp an-
swered to the summons. The zealous functionaiy was
directed to proceed to the Falcon in quest of the miss*
iog witness; and after about a quarter of an hour's
absence, he returned with the tidings that *No. 24,
Sergeant Crump and another/ had left the Falcon at
daybreak, and had not been sinoe seen or heard et
Hiis inteUigenee the town-sergeant had received from
the respectable landlady's own lips. The attorney em-
ployed to defend Bayfield urged an immediate adjudi-
cation upon the evidence already heard as a matter of
right; but the magistrates finally determined upon
waiting for Crump till four o'clock in the afbemoon,
the usual hour for closing the office ; when, if no addi-
tional evidence appeared, tbey would decide the case.
Poor Phoebe's lieart sank within her. StUl her friend
the chambermaid had spoken so confidently of * all day,'
that after a minute or two she rallied amsaingly, and
bestowed such a shower of gracious and encouraging
smiles upon the penitent prisoner, as would, if, as those
story-tdling poets UH us* imagination possessed wings,
have raised him from the dock up to the seventh
heaven. As it was, his mortal part---whatever flights
the ethereal essence indulged in — ^remained in durance
vile, tremblingly apprehensive of the arrival of Crump.
And where was that dexterous snapper-up of youth-
ful heroism all thi^ anxioua whila? Alas! himself could
icavody have answered the question.
Sergeant Crump, as I have b^re mentioned, feeliag
unusually iSstigued, was soon in a state of the pn^undest
slumber. Not less intense was the drowsiness of the
jdter-headed recruit, who snored in the a4)<uning
truckle-bed, and whose natural heavy-headedneiM had
been considerably increased by copious draughts of malt
liquor. Long and sweetly did they sloinber ; tall at last
the sergeant, after a few preliminary twists and turns,
started has^y up in his bed, impressed with a strong
conviction that he had sadly oyecslept himself, and
forthwith began rubbing his eyes. This he did partlv
from habit, and partly to rub out the darkness which
still — fUly aw^ as he deemed himself—* seemed
strangely to encase them. ' Very odd,' growled Ser-
geant Cmmn i *it it dark! Well, if I couldn't have
sworn I had slept twelve hours at least 1' Sergeant
Crump was quite right ; it wot dark, one of the da^est
nighti» especially for summer-time of year, as it then
was, dther he or anr other gentleman had perhaps
ever experienced, mr Crum^ tried to remember if
thbre was a moon, or at what tmie that luminary went
down, or rose up, but could not for the llfo of hhn de-
termine: his last and present night's experieDoe sug-
gesting such totally diSOTerent condusions. * I oannot
have been in bed anything like the time I auyi,* he
soliloquised. ' It must be so ; but it's very ooH' Big-
gins, the recruit, was snoring away as vigorously ^ If
be had only just begun the exercise ; and ^le sergeant,
convinced at last that, contrary to his usual habit, he
had awoke before his time, again addressed himself to
sleep. By dint of perseverance he managed to dme off
again, and had remained in a state of semi-somiiole&cy
for perhaps three or four hours, when he again bolted up.
right in his bed, thoroughly vdde awake and tlioroDg)4y
bewUdered ! It was still as dark as before; and a hor-
rible surmise crossed Mr Crump's mind, that possiMy
the mechanism of 1^ universe had somehow got out of
order, and that the sun might consequently never again
rise upon a benighted world !
The fact was. No. 94, * Soldiers' Booms,' to whidi,
wilfully misunderstanding the landlady's directiooi,
tlie sympathising diambermaid had directed the nnder-
bedmaker to convoy the sergeant and his mao, waa an
inuer apwtment in a distant part of the rambling old
inn, the windows of which, as well as those of the
rooDis surrounding it, had been dosed up, to mitigate
the pressure of the window -tax, and waa of omvse
nothing more than a large roomy dark closet, to wliidi
even air obtained access oidy through the chimney.
The sole window left was at the top of a wooden par-
tition dividing the sergeant's room irom the next, and
had in its time done duty as a * borrowed light;' bat
inasmuch as the acUdning rooms were also hennvtieaBy
sealed Uom the glare of day, was now at beat trnt a
borrowed * darkness.* These rooms w^e usoally ie>
served for soldiers of mardiing regiments oocasiooany
biUetted on the Falcon; a compelled eatertainment* Ij
the way, which is seldom of a very superior chuacter.
The reader will now be able to comprdiend the Ganse
both of Phoebe Morris's nervous anxiety and of the
sergeant's perplexity.
He was indeed perplexed in the extrenke. At last,
jumping angrily out of bed, be groped his w%y, after aeve-
ral tnishaps in which both feet and shins soffisred aboml-
naUy, to the door, the key of which he remembered to
have left in the loek. In Ins haste to find and graap it;
he struck It unawares, and out it flew from its sfaaBow;
iU-fitting receptacle to the floor; and all Mr Cramp's
efforts to find it were unavailing. Had he been able to
open the door, he would not have been mudi ^e better
of it, as it merely led into another dark room, Ite
outer key of which, for fear of acddents,
Margaret Davies had taken care to aeoure. The
geant next bethought him of the window: tfaere
be, he argued, a window; and by means of a
tive process round the walls with his cane, he at last
managed to discover its wl^reabout lite ontside
shutter was, he ooqjectured, dosed; but how to reach
itP Bovting tha recruit, who by this tune had pretty
well slept off* the efibot of his previous evenlng'a pota-
tions, he proposed to mount upon that worU^a wonl-
ders. This was agreed to, and with some dilknlty
aeoompli3hed; but the sergsiukt, even on that »**^^^^*>»
eminence, coi^d scarcdy reach above the bottom of the
narrow casement; and the lasteaiugs were, lie coo-
duded, considerab^higher up. In order to obtain the
necessary altitude, Diggins drew his truckle-bedstead*-
a narrow fold-up affkir» steady enough when a
was lying on it, but misera^y unfit as a base for
to stand upon, espedally with another mounted
shoulders—^dose to the wall; and after aeveral
cessful efibrts, the sergeant at last stood onoe
upon Diggins's shoulders, and was enabled to
gmgerly over the surihce of the casement in sei
shutter bdts, of course without success. In his wrvHiftd
energy. Crump, for a moment obllvioas of the
rious nature of the base upon whidi he waa
pushed angrily at the window-frame, and at onoe
set the equilibium whioh Diggins ^id till that
with so much difficulty Tn^infi^Sti^, ^^ foidins
il
I
1
I
I:
I.
i;
■■»".•■■< ■ '■■
' ■ • ' ■■ '• '— —
MU»«lh.A^^b.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
809
atttid heded raddenly over; Biggins caught insUnc-
tivdj at the sergeanVs legs; and th^ sergeant, in his
torn, made a desperate snatch at the casement, sending
in the effort' Ms hand dean through one of the squares,
dearlj but painfolly demonstrating, to himself at least,
the idieence of shutterl ; and then down came Crump
andDiggins with stunning yiolence, and mutual execra-
tioRS and discomfiture. Bruised, bleeding, and incre-
dibly savage, the sergeant, having first helped to replace
the bedstoid of his equally savage companion, once
more resigned himself to his pillow, persuaded, in his
owa Respite, that it could not yet be day. Hour after
hour they lay watching for the davrn, the fiiintest
streak of which would have been unspeakably welcome.
At last, his patience utterly exhausted. Crump sprang
up, «ad kicked and bawled for help with all the power
of his feet and lungs, in which exercise he was zeslously
aided by Diggins, whose appetite had by this time
become ravenously sliarp. Long and fruitlessly had
they raved and thumped, and were just on the point of
abandoning their efforts in despair, when a step was
heard evidently approaching tneir dormitory. Pre-
sently a light ^ne through the crevices of the door,
and the voice of the chambermaid, Mrs Margaret
Davles, was heard generously demanding who it was
making that disturbance at nearly ten o*dock at night,
when quiet folk were just going to bed? 'Going to
bed ! ' Crmnp huddled on his doChes ; and having, by
the aid of the light, espied the key, opened the door
with a bounce. ' Going to bed 1 * he shouted dis-
tractedly as he glared upon the chambermaid — 'going
to hed!' No sooner did that amiable damsel catch
sight of the haggard features and bloodstained hands
ami linen of the sergeant, than she plumped down in a
chair» and set up a succession of the dismallest shrieks
that ever disturbed and dismayed a Christian house-
hold. * Murder— Are — thieves — robbers T resounded
through the house with an effect so startling, that in a
trice ^MUers, porters, waiters, with a plentiful sprinkling
of female helps, came ruling hurriedly to the rescue.
Nobody eithcor could or would recognise the culprits,
spite of thdr energetic asseverations, till the arrival of
the pnrsy, slow-moving landlady. The screams, which
had gradually diminished in in tensity,. then altogether
ceased ; and in echo, as it were, of tlie ejaculation of her
mistieaa, 'Sergeant Crump and ^e recruit, as I'm
alive!' Ifrs Margaret Davies naively exclaimed; ' Mercy
npon ns! Seirgeant Crump I Why, so it isl Then
y<m did nai go away tliis rooming without, paying
your laat night's score? '
The aergeent, who dimly suspected the jade's trick
which had been put upon him, only glared fHghtfully
at her, and hastened his toilet
' Margaret t thought I told yon to put Mr Crump
mtoNa24?'
'Certainly, ma'ani, you did; and I told Susy the
same ; but it appears she must have understood it to be
No. M •* Soldiers^ Boom&'* Dear me, whoever would
have ttioo^ht it? And, bless me, what a dreadful
sititaticm fi two gentlemen in her ^adous Majesty's
serrioe to have been in so long ! It's quite shocking to
think of re^y!'
The iuppiess^ tJtttefing of th<j other servants— all
of theoa, I suspect, more or less in tlie secret— here
bnMl itio tiproarious merrim^t : the sergeant, almost
daMng witti fury, looked round for some safe object
to vent It upon, but finding none, wisdy kept it corked
foe future use.
'And to think, »ai*am,* continued Phoebe's friend,
'that in consequence of this uttcommimoned officer's
long 11141, that scapegrace bf a Bayfield should have got
off* this afternoon with only a trumpery hne of five
pounds ; not more than half the amount of the recoUee-
Horns whldi the sergeant has forfeited for not being at
the hall to give evidence.'
'What is that you say, woman f* exclaimed
Crump, using the roost vituperative epithet he could
at the moment think of.
' Why, I sav,' meekly replied Margaret, ' that your
ten-pound reedlgetUmi^ which you gave the magistrates
to appear, is declared forfeited; and that the town-
sergeant is below with a warrant for the amount in
case you should return to the Falcon this evening.'
The exasperation of the sergeant was unbounded.
The landlady, thinking probably that mischief might
come of it, drove off his tormentors ; and he was left to
finish his ablutions in peace.
'Oh, Sergeant Crump T exdaimed Mrs Margaret
Davies, returning at the end of two or throe minutes,
and holding the door .^ar in her hand, * if you please,
missus wishes to know if you mean to bespeak a bed
for to-night?'
Crump darted towards the door; but the playful
damsd was too nimUe for liiro, and the long corridors
and staircases echoed again with her joyous merriment
as she skipped away.
The account given by the diambermaid of the result
of tho inquiry before the magistrates was quite correct
William Bayfield was fined five pounds^ ar, in default, to
suffer two months* imprisonment for a common assault,
without intent, etoetera. The fine was at onoe paid, and
the certificate of adjudication of course barred any
further proceedings. On the next bench-day, Crump
having related, amidst shouts of laughter, the trick he
had been played, asked to be excused payipent of his
forfeited recognisance. This, under the circumstances,
was, after some demur, agree<l to ; but he was unable to
obtain even * smart money ' from Bayfield, he having
been, upon tlie sergeant's own admission, inebriated
when ho accepted the Company's retainer.
The imminent peril in which her criminal ooquetry
had involved her affianced husband proved a salutary
lesson to Thoebe, who has settled down into one of the
discreetest, as well as prettiest and cheerfullest, wives in
Warwickihire. Bayfield is now a prosperous man ; and
has recently purchased, at his wife's suggestion, the
Falcon Inn, which the sudden death of the fat landlady
had thrown into the market, chiefly for the purpose of
assuring the succession of the business to Margaret
Davies, to whose good offices he was on a very critical oc-
casion so largely indebted. Sergeant Crump, disgusted
with England, which in his indiscriminate wrath he
rashly confounded with its chambermaids, betook him-
self with all convenient despatch to the gorgeous dime
whose glories he had so frequently described; and if
report speaks sootli, has discovered a still daricer cham-
ber than that of the Falcon beneath the towers of fallen
Moultan.
CURIOSITIES OF GLASS-MAKING.
The history of useAiI art is always interesting, not
only on account of its obvious applications, but b^ause,
when examined into, we find it envelops many details
which justly come under the designation of curiosities.
Hiere is doubtless no trade, however humble, that
could not famish a notable collection of facts ; our own
pages contain ample evidence on this point We have
now before us a work which promises well for a further
contribution.* The author is already known by a trea-
tise on the manufacture of gloss, published some years
since, and for lectures on the same subject delivered ui
the Royal Institution in London. In the present
volume we have amplified details on most parts of the
interesting process whereby opaque materials are con-
verted into a perfectly transparent substance.
Without going minutely into the manufacturing
operations, we mav give a brief notice of them for the
better understanding of what is to follow. The mate-
riids of crown-glass are — of sand, 5 measures; of ground
chalk, 2; carbonate and sulphate of soda, of each 1.
The sand now used, in preference to the former practice
* Curtoaities of Olan-making : with Details of tho Processes and
Productions of Anoiont Mid Modem OmomsnU! Glass Monufsc-
tim». By Apeley Pdlatt. London : D. Bogue. 1849.
310
CHAMBERS'S £DtNBl%aH JOt^BNAL.
of grinding flints, is obtained from Beigate, Lynn, and
the Isle of Wight When mixed together ready for
melting, the compound is technically known as ' batch;'
and when melted, as ' metaL' Greater opacity or
brightness and differences of colour are obtained by
variations and additions of oxides, alkalies, and metals
before the batch is transferred to the melting-pots.
The making of these pots is a material part of the pro-
cess; unless constructed of the best kind of fire-clay,
they will neither bear the intense heat of the furnace,
nor the pressure of the eighteen hundredweight of
molten glass which they severally contain: a large pot
will cost L.10. The pots are dome-shaped, with a
lateral aperture ; there are ten of them to a furnace,
each one placed opposite an opening in the wall, through
which the workman takes out tiie melted material,
which requires from fifty to sixty hours of the intensest
heat before it is fit for working. As fast as the articles
are made they are conveyed away to the annealing oven;
on leaving which after the cooling process, which lasts
from six to sixty hours, they are in most instances ready
for sale. Before the repeal of the late vexatious Excise
laws on glass, manufacturers were exposed to a most
irritating and injurious supervision: the wonder is, that
they ever submitted to it
The tools used in glass-making are very few; two
kinds of nippers (puceUasY* a pair of shears, an iron tube
and rod (pontil), and a battledore-shaped instrument.
More depends on the tact and dexterity of the workman
than on anything else ; he must have a quick eye and
ready invention, as he has to deal with an article which
rapidly loses its pliant qualities, and becomes intractable,
and which is imperfect in appearance the more it is
touched with tools. To describe the making of a wine-
glass would convey a tolerable idea of the facts and
circumstances. First, a ball of * metal' is gathered at
the end of the blowing-tube, the workman blows it
slightly, and rolls it, without separating it from the
tube, rapidly backwards and forwards on an iron table
(marver), which gives it an elongated oval form. The
free end is flattened by a touch of the battledore, and
receives a smdl lump of hot glass, out of which the
stem is shaped with the nippers, while the workman
rotates the article rapidly by means of the tube laid
across the arms of his chair. Presently the stem is
flnished, a small globe of metal is attached to its outer
end, and by dint of furUier rotating and compression, is
formed into the base or foot of the glass. The blowing-
tube is then detached: the lower side of the foot is
affixed temporarily to tne pontil by which the article is
presented to the ftoiace hole to be rewarmed and
softened, and while in this state, the edge or rim of the
cup of the glass is clipped round with the shears, and
the article receives a final twist or ' flash' from the
hands of the workman, which produces the required
form. The making of a number of wine-glasses per-
fectly alike in all respects, and free from tool-marks, in-
volves a high degree of skill and dexterity on the part
of the manipulator.
Glasses of a gradually-tapering form, and ale-glasses,
are made of two pieces only : the simplest of all articles
in the manufacture is a tumbler, but it needs a good
quality of metal The ribs seen on light, cheap tum-
blers are marks made by tiie rolling on the marver in
the first stage of their blowing. These are not taken
out, as is the case with better goods, neither are the
edges dipped.
Chemical retort! require peculiar manipulation to
keep the neck {torn collapsing at the bend. They are
blown and swung about at the end of the blowing-
tube, until the lengthened gourd-like form is nearly
produced ; and then, while yet soft, are made to bend
over a bar by their own weight, which gives the neck a
direction at an angle with the bulb. The blowing of
* It is curiom to note the adoption and transfonn&tion of foreign
nunet for implements : the jmeelkH and pontil of the Briti^ work-
man are the proccUo and punto of the Venetian.
large lamp-shades of graoeM outliae and lily-like diim-
ney is also a nice procets. The modtu operandi, it must
be remembered, is generally the same as ibat described
for the wine-glass; and to one uninitiated, the apparent
ease with which ttte accuracy of form is obluned be-
comes perfectly marvellous. The rounded projectang
ribs, cidled moulded Boman pillars, whidi impart so
elegant an appearance to glass vases, are produced by
pressure. The metal collected at the end of the tube is
pressed faito a mould ; and the workman, by blowing into
it, forces the molten glass into the hollows of the mould;
while, by a precaution, the interior surface remaiu
smooth and even. The invention of this proceas was
supposed to be altogether new; but late reaearcbes
prove it to have been known to the Bomans.
As Mr Fellatt observes—* The ductility of flint-glass
is strikingly exhibited in the process of cane or tube-
drawing, which is extremely simple, and depends so
much upon tact and adroituMs, that it is a matter of
surprise how an approximation to uniformi^ of size
and hore can be attained. A solid ball bemg gathered
on the end of the blower's iron, if for hollow tube, is ex-
panded by blowing ; but if for cane, blowing is not re-
quisite: when partially cooled, it forms a nnctes for
one or more other gatherings, until the requisite quan-
tity be obtained. Where fiat bore tube is required for
thermometers, the first ball is flattened by an iron or
wood battledore on the marver prior to the subsequent
gatherings; this insures a flat bore, althougb the ex-
terior of the tube is round. The ball is then dongated
by swinging, and the farther end of it is chilled by
dipping it kito cold water. A workman, then, having
prepared a disk of hot glass, called a " post," placet it
vertically as near the ground as possible, to receive tiie
ball from the chief workman, who ascends his chair, or
an elevation, so that the hot glass may by its gravity
be dropped upon the post below, to whi<di it adheres
by partial welding. Tne chief workman then deaoends,
and the drawing oegins — each workman constantly re-
ceding from the ofiier: at flrst the suspended ^aas
between the two rods assumes (at a red heat) Uie iorm
of a parabola ; but as the tension prooeeda, the woik-
men are continuaUy rotating. Some parti are cooled
by fanning with the hat of an attendant boy, to insnre
uniform elongation, till the cane or tube is drawn to a
length sometimes of from sixty to seventy feet: as ^
metal cools, the tube ceases to rotate, and it assumes,
by continued tension, nearly a straight line : except at
the extreme ends, it is nearly of one uniform bore, dia-
meter, and substance; and whatever may be the dia-
meter of the tube, the bore and substance wiU always
bear an exact relative ratio to each other. Lastly, it is
deposited on the wood round of a ladd^, and requisite
lengths are whetted off by the cold iron, or by a steel
file.' In the mode above described, the forty-Jeet tube
for the Boyal Society's water barometer waa made: it
is erected in the hall of the society at Somerset House,
and is, we believe, the only instrument of the kind in
Europe.
Canes of various colours, when thus drawn, axe used
in the production of what is called ' filigree glaaa;' a
branch of manufacture in which the Venetians exoeUed,
and which of late years has been suooeufiilly pcoae-
cuted in Bohemia and France. In making a vase of
this sort, different coloured canes of the required length
are selected, and i^aced upright round tiie inner sur-
face of a mould resembling a flower-pot A lump of
metal gathered on the end of the rod ia then praaaed
into the mould, and the heat is such that the tarnniod-
ing canes adhere fijmly to it. This, when reheated^
may be drawn out into any form wiUi longitodinal
coloured stripes. These stripes may be made to assume
a spiral direction by holding an end of the article firmly
with one hand, while the other givea a twist to the
right or left With a slight change in the preUmiBary
process, hollow articles, vases ana goblets, mi^ be ob-
tained ; and many pleasing effects brought out by appa-
rently simple means. The * vitro di trino,' as it is termed.
,1
aflbrds a remarkable inttanee. A rase of thk make
praaenta a brUtiant diamond or lozenge<^8haped anrfaoe,
internally and externally ; produced by fitting a case or
cap whoM canea are twiated to the right into another
whoae twist ia to tiie left 'Theae two conical cases
now cToasing eadi other are, by rewarming, coUapsed
together, entrapping between each white enamel crossed
section miform interior air-bnbbles ; and the two cases,
now become one, may be formed into the bowl <^ a
wine-glaaa or any other vesseL' It appears almost
incredible that boEintifal effects should be produced by
SQch extremely simple means.
The Venetian ball is formed of a nnmber of waste
plecea of filigree packed inside a pocket of transparent
^ass, which, when softened, collapses npon the con-
tents, and becomes one entire mass. ' Mille fieri,* or star-
work, also of Venetian origin. Is somewhat similar. A
donble hemisphere of white glass is prepared, forming
bat a ain^e piece, yet with a space between the upper
and lower cases. Ttirongh a small opening in the
centre of the upper one numerous pieces of coloured
glasa, of different shapes and sizes, are introduced, and
sometimes arranged in a regular pattern, or as a group
of flowers. This is afterwards reheated ; and the con-
tained air being sucked out, the two walls come to-
getiber, and fix the intervening deposit, and the whole
mass may then be fashioned to any required shape.
As tazzas and paper-weights, such articles may now be
met with in t1^ ahops of glass-dealers and stationers ;
their appearance is very attractive, and no trouble is
required to keep them dean. It will be easy to under-
stand that by analogous processes cameos, inscriptions,
antiquarian relics, &c may be incrusted with glass,
and thereby imperishably preserved. The first stone
c^ the new Waterloo fiarracks in the Tower, laid by the
Duke of Wellington in 1845, waa coated in this way.
Such a preparation fully justifies the expression, 'more
lasting than brass.'
The 'beautiful semi^paleacent, veUowish-green co-
lour/ so much admired in scent-Dottlea, handles for
doora, drawer-knobs, &e. ia produced hy the admixture
of oxide of uranium and copper to the raw materiid
before melting. The ever-alteniating appearance— now
jellow, then green — ^which it presents is caused by
djfierenoes of refiecUon, according to variations in the
thiekneas of the glass.
A frosted surface is obtained by suddenly dipping
the lieated ball at the end of the blowing-tube into cold
watn; The aubmersion, as the author explains, ' pro-
duces crystalline convex firactures, with a polished
exterior, like Derbyshire apar; but the concave inter-
vening fijsurea are caused, first by chilling, and then
reheating at the fumaoe, and simultaneously expanding
the rehnted ball of glaaa by blowing; thus separating
the eryatals firom each other, and leaving open fissures
between, which ia done preparatory to forming vaaea or
cnrnameBts. Although frosted gUsa appears covered
with fractnrea, it is perfectly sonorous.'
Sevend results which the Venetians perfected hy
patient manipulation, are effected by our glass*workers
by compgeasion in moulda: among tiiese is a lozenge or
diamond sur&ce. formerly each angnlated section was
pinched into form while soft; now tiie whole vessel is
diamonded at once. The drops and studs which glit-
ter so beautifully on lamps and chandeliers are, how*
ever, produced singly, being pinched one at a time in
a brass compreaser contriv^ on the same principle as a
ballet-mould.
Glasa engraving, as it ii termed, is effected by an in-
genkma process : a die or cast, made of porous materid,
bearing the device, coat-of-arms, &c. in relief is fitted
into the side of a mtould in which the engraved article
it to be taahioned. On removing the latter, the die
edherea to and ia annealed with it ; but being subse-
quently soaked in water, the die comes away, leaving a
rtiarp, and distinct, and perfectly-finished intaglio.
There are other curiosities of glass-making which the
wofk under consideration leaves altogether unnoticed^
or diamisaea with an incidental allusion. Malleable
glass, for instance, a new preparation of which has
Utely been discovered by Sdioenbein. Strictly speak-
ing, however, we can scarcely call it glass, seeing that
it is composed of the pulp of common paper transformed
by a process for which no more intelligible term has
jet been found than caUdyUc, This substance is ren-
dered waterproof; and being then perfectly transparent,
ia manufactured into window-panes, vases, bottles, &c
which bear a fall without breaking. Then there ia the
ribbed glaaa used for skylights and windowa, which,
though it admita light effectually, conceals the interior
of an apartment from inquisitive eyes outside. Watch-
glasses, too, which are blown in globes, and then cut out
one bv one, might have afforded anoUier illustration of
the adaptation of means to ends. The glass-works of
Bohemia would furnish many additional examples : in
most respects the manufactures of that country are
unrivalled. Perhaps the beauty of form which so many
of them exhibit is to be accounted for by the faci
that the Bohemian workman blowa nearly every article
inaide a wooden mould, not trusting, as the English
operator, to a practised eye and dexterous hand. It is
to Bohemia that we are indebted for hyalite, a species
of black glass as yet but little known, but which, owing
to its quidity of resisting boiling liquids, is coming into
use for teapots, coffee-cups, &c Mr Fellatt instances a
glass vase by a Bohemian artist which rivals the famous
Portiand Vase. The subject, Le Brun's picture of the
defeat of the Persians at Arbela, is moat elaborate, and
worked out with consunmiate skiU.
Mr Layard, in his valuable work on Nineveh, has
shown that the Assyriana were acquainted with glass.
This fact will tend to diminish the surprise not unfre-
quently expressed aa to the proofs of glass having been
manufactured in Egypt prior to the exodus of the
Israelites. Assyria gives us a higher antiquity than
S£7Pt ; whether we shall ever get farther back with
curiosities of glass-making remains to be proved.
Many rare and interesting apeoimens of ancient glass
are preserved in the British Museum, where they may
be inspected by the curious. They prove what has been
often advanced, that mental progress is wave-like, at
times rising to a commanding elevation, and then de-
scending to a deep subsidence. It ia not more than
three hundred years ago that the first glaas-houses were
erected in England; much has been achieved in the
intervening p^od. In what constitutes really good
glaaa our manufacturers are aaid to be pre-eminent;
and now that invention and enterprise are freed flrom
the Excise incubus, we look, ere kmg, for fiirther curio-
aitiea of glass -making.
THE FESTIVAL OF THE PROPHET.
One of the most remarkable and characteristic sights to
be seen in Cairo is the Festival of the Prophet, held in
commemoration both of the birth and the death of Mo-
hammed. It takes place in the beginning of the third
month of the Muslem calendar, and moves gradually
therefore all round our year. In 1847, it occurred in Feb-
ruaiy during my winter's residence in the City of Victory;
and though I had seen slArrt, or dervish prayers, performed
before, I was much struck with the scenes that presented
themselves throughout the Festival.
The place chosen for its celebration is the flouth-weit
comer of what n^ay be called the Esbekiyeh Gardens —
formerly a vast open space, alternately a lake and a
morass, now drained, encircled by a moat and a splendid
drive, and planted with all sorts of trees. On nearly
eveiy side rows of palaces, hotels, and other boildings
overlook it. In the alle3rs are numerous coffee-sheds,
frequented every evening principally by the Frank popu-
lation, who exhibit their version of the Parisian fashions
in sight of the place where Kleber fell by the hand of an
assassin.
312
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
On the third night of the month the derrishes pitch
their camp and commence their performances, which con-
tinue until the twelfth night. Bj daj there is nothing
remarkable to be witnessed sare the antics of one or two
buffoons, by whom the idle crowd is amused. A little
old black woman seemed the most popular of these. She
carried about with her a huge club wrapped up in many-
coloured rags, with which she went through a yariety of
manoeurres, considered infinitely comic, if one might judge
by the grins they excited, but not at all pleasing to a
European eye. A Tory raw Englishman from Shepheard's
Hotel, with whom I walked out one day, muttered some-
thing about the propriety of giving her in chaige !
A little after sunset on the third or fourth night I went
with a party to see what was to be seen. As soon as we
entered the Esbekigth from the north, we heard a confused
hum of human roices coming from the camp, and saw,
flashing through and oyer the summits of the trees nume-
rous clusters of bright lights. On reaching the western
ayenue, the first object that presented itself was the kayim,
or row of four tall masts kept steady by numerous long
lopes stretching from their summits to a great distance
OQ both sides. Thctfie were coyered with lamps disposed
in ornamental order, each cluster being hung up by some
pious person in honour of the Prophet, as in Roman Ca-
tholic countries tapers are burned in honour of saints. As
we drew near, a burst of musical instruments to our right
announced the approach of a body of dervishes from
Boulac. They came hurrying with torches and strings of
lamps hung upon poles through the city-gates, and pro-
ceeded to oooupy their tent, not far distant from, the
kayim.
There were two long rows of tents, some very laige, and
all open to the public gaze, stretching on either side of
the road. Some were very brilliantly adorned with
wooden chandeliers ; in others a circle of dervishes went
through their devotions in the dim light of one or two oil
lamps. The most attractive were at the southern extre-
mity, near the nuwque of Sheik Bakri. It is difficult to
convey an impression of the filings produced by a walk
through this extraordinary camp. The very fact of the
ceremonies being performed by night, is calculated to fill
the mind with a kind of awe ; not at all likely to be
diminished by the knowledge that if fanaticism exists
anywhere in Egypt, it must be concentrated upon that
spot. The rows of black tents, the gleams of light here,
the sombre shadows there, the streams of people moving
to and fro, the heavy masses of foliage, the dim tapering
minarets of neighbouring mosques, the drumming and
shouting of distant athdrahs, or processions of dervishes,
but, above all, the unearthly sounds proceeding from the
performers themselves, all unite to stimulate curiosity
and kindle the imagination.
Let us pause before one of the principal tents about
the centre of the right-hand row. It is spacious, but
sparingly lighted. A number of men in ordinary cos-
tume sit in a circle, whilst a respectable-looking indi-
vidual stands in the centre. He begins to chant in a
low measured tone the praises of Ood ; and the dervishes
having list^ied a few moments in silence, become acted
upon at length by the commencement of an extraordinary
excitement. In the first place, they turn their heads
round and round vety dowly, repeating the first syllable
of the name of Ood as tiiey look to Uie right, and the
second syllable as they look to the left-—* Al — lah ! ' By
degrees, as the singer beeomet more eaeer, they grow
more impassioned, and socfn every head rolls with fngfat-
ful rapidity. At length all start to their feet ; and,
still repeatmg the name of Ood, turn from right to left,
and left to right with increasing vehemence. Their faces
show signs of great excitement, and even of delirium.
Qavma *xf ^ttavn Amn nff their turhA.n«. ttnt\ /Mnfi/»n11v
shake their shaven crowns, their eyes being half clo«d,
their mouths foaming, every feature oontiacted. Ooea-
sionally a man fell down in a fit, but his place wu imoM-
diately supplied ; and on went this extraordintiv pttTcr
— the motion now having become a forward inclinaftiQo,
during which the word * Allah ' was pronoonoel it one
jerk, as if it had been ]^umped up from the very bottom
of the stomach. It is impossible to describe the eitn-
ordinai^ sound produced by thirty or forty men keying
exact time. I can only compare it to the growl of mok
enormous wild animal.
I had not patience to wait from the beginning to the
end of a zikr, as these performances are called ; btit I
saw them during my walks in all their various its|ci.
Towards the end, the ranks seemed often thinned, ef|w-
cially late at ni^ht ; and the performers, pale, and nm-
nine with perspiration, seemed scarcely able to piercnt
their knees from giving way, though still gaspug out,
however, in accents that had no resemblance to anything
human, the name of Ood.
On one occasion I saw a woman come forward from
among the crowd, and without seeming to attract ao;
notice, stand behind the dervishes, and perform a gnre
and solenm dance. Occasionally ahe uttered a match of
some song ; not the same as that sung b^ the leader of
the zikr, out to the same air, and harmonising well with
the scene. It may be worth while to mention, as nj
experience is opposed to the opinion of most ttaTellets,
that I have more than once seen women pray in Egjpt,
with all the formalities of prostration and genuflcctitt.
They seem to prefer doine so, when alone, on the ba&ki
of the Nile, on the seawore, or near some well TUi
accounts for their being seldom seen. A large dan of
Mohammedans consider that women have no basinflss to
pri^.
The principal seat of the camp was at the loothen
extreme of the left-hand line. It was fitted up t«7
handsomely with carpets and cushions, and brilliaDtlj
lighted up. All the dervishes in it were Texpectab^
dressed, and wore turbans, green and white, whereas elie-
where there was always a large mixture of iarhootket aad
gray-pointed caps. The penormances, however, were in
all respects the same, except that, perhaps from gieate
practice or greater moderation, the excitement seemed
never carried to so high a pitch as in some of the other ,
tents. After every ir^Vm, or sitting, coffee and pipes ;
were handed round.
From the camp we proceeded one night into the ha- 1
zaars in the neighbourhood of the mosque of Sbeil
Bakri, which we found to be all lighted up, and crowded |
with people. The shops were open, and fiill of waiej, ,
especially cakes, and dried fruits, and sweetmeats of ul i
kinds. Of course every cofiTee-house was crowded, and
many extempore places of refreshment had spmng a^
In one might be hesurd a story-teller, in another a nifer;
sometimes men, disguised sis women, performed danca
suited to Eastern tastes. There seemed a good deal cl
merriment going forward ; and the men who came with
ffrave faces and Knitted brows from witnessing the pe^
formance of a zikr, were soon grinning like true oro-
grown children. To a very late hour of the ni^t the
illumination and throng continued in this quarter; and
in all the principsd streets processions of derriibes oeca-
sionally passed, moving slowly along with great no»e «
drums and peat flashing of lights, and cries and shouts,
and every sign of joy and excitement.
The most remarkable sight to be witnessed during the
Festival of the Prophet is, without doubt, what is ealW
the dosehf or ceremony of trampling. It takes ^•"^
day, and attracts an immense concourse of peopla Toe
draeh is one of those numerous customs P**^'*'*'
Egypt, or rather to Cairo, which have been engrafted «
the genuine Mohammedan practices. \^'hether they
are of modem growth, or relics of some prerious s»p«^
stition, is difficult to determine. The ceremony I sUw*
to is, on a smaller scale, not unlike in character to tiw
progress of the car of Juggernaut ; for it consists in »
certain number of fanaticslying down upon the groun<».
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
81S
' (
)/■
which a heAvj man, representing the Sheik Bakri, npon
an iron-shod hone, passes at a quick walk.
The opinion has been expressed that the persons who
lahmii to this trial are not injured. The Arabs, how-
erer, do not even profess this : they merely say that such
as are pure escape, whilst such as are impure may be
killed. I hare heard of several instances of death
ensuing ; whilst, on the other hand, a Tery respectable
authority has assured me that he knew a boy who, for a
few piastres, would expose himself to be tn>dden upon
three times in succession on the same day.
There are, in fact, three places at which this sight may
be seen, between the Mosque of the Hasana'in, from
which the Sheik Bakri, or rather his substitute, takes
his departure, and the house of that important ^rsonage,
tttuated at the south-east comer of the Esbekiyeh ; but
at the first two only thirty or forty people ue down,
whilst at the third sometimes several hundred come for-
ward to try their luck. Determined to see as much as I
could, I went to the ground early, before the great crowd
had collected, and kept hanging about what appeared to
be the centre-point for a Teiy considerable time. The
weather was most unfaTOurabfe. Violent gusts of wind
tmised immense clouds of dust, that darkened the skies
for a time, and then swept away to hang like a threaten-
ing rapour over the city. The rich green acacias were
in a perpetual state of agitation, tossing and waving their
boo^is, and filling the air with a mournful moaning
sound. And yet the place where we stood, protected by
a lofty wall, was at times unpleasantly hot. Our eyes
soon became sore, our mouths full of dust, and our throats
parched. Sereral times it suggested itself that a bowl of
sherbet and a shiskeh mifht afibrd a fair compensation
for the loss of the spectacle ; but we stood to our ground,
and at length had the pleasure of discovering, bj the
movements and growing excitement of the multitude,
that the important moment was arriving.
After about ten minutes of unusual animation, several
men bearing flags, and others armed with nabootes, came
to clear a narrow alley through the crowd, in the front
line of which I was fortunate enough to get. Immediately
SQOoeeding these couriers of the sheik came, two and two,
those briiind leaning on the shoulders of those before— a
long column of youn| dervishes, worked up into a most
repulsive state of excitem^it They appeared to be per-
fectly intoxicated, and I have no doubt were so — ^the result
being produced in some cases by heuhuh^ or hemp-seed,
in ouim by religious enthusiasm. Most of them wore
pointed gray caps, a few tarbooshes, none turbans. The
column passed me, swaying like one man from side to side,
and uttering in a deep gasping tone the word ' Allah ! '
The lane formed throush the centre of the crowd curved
slifhtly, so that I could not see either end; and I was un-
able to count the number of dervishes that lay down.
They were calculated at above two hundred. After they
had been passing me rapidly for some time they stopped,
and without more ado threw themselves flat on their
faces side by side. I leaned forward, but could not
•ee any termination to this human pavement. Several
persons, evidently acting in an^ ofiicial capacity, now
began running to and fi^, arran^ng a shoulder here, an
arm there, a leg farther on; examining that no spaces
were left between the sides of those unhappy men, who
all the while kept up a kind of codvuIhIvo twitching
motion through their bodies, and shook their heads
violently from side to side as they muttered in voices
dioked with dust the name of God, and invoked his help
to assist them in the trial they were about to undergo for
Ms sake, grovelling there upon the ground, in the sight
of assembled thousands ! The spectators seemed to inte-
rest themselves very much in all the arrangements; and
I noticed that, obeying an impulse of humanity, one of
tiiem snatched up a child not more than ten or eleven
years old, who had boldly lain down to go through the
ordeal, and forced him to make way for a lad of about
fifteen. The sight of these preparations produced a
nekening feeling, and I became very impatient for the
eeremony to take place. My suspense lengthened the
time; for it was in reality not long after the pave-
ment had been formed that a buzz, a shout arose, fol-
lowed by a dead silence, and then by an eager movement
and forward pressure of the crowd, causing me nearly to
lose my footing. What occurred was the work of an instant.
A man on a powerful horse, nreoeded, supported, and
followed by about a dozen attenctants, moved with a quick
lively walk over the bodies of the prostrate dervishes.
My whole attention was attracted to the feet of the horse,
which I distinctly saw to be shod with a flat plate of iron,
as is usually the case in Egypt. Every one of the victims
received the heavy tread somewhere near the small of
the back; and I noticed one lad especially who writhed
under it like a worm. I never saw anything more dis-
gusting and painful than the sight that succeeded. No
sooner had the representative of the sheik passed by,
than the friends and relations of the dervishes snatched
them up, surrounded them, and endeavoured to make it
appear that they were not hurt * Declare the unity of
God 1 ' whispered they in their ears ; and some of the poor
wretches, though half insensible, murmured with their
bleeding lips ' Wahedl' Many of them, however, were
in an undisguised swoon, and Imt senseless and ghastly ;
others responded with groans. Their general appearance
was that of drunken men taken up fVom under tne wheels
of a carriage. In several instances the suflTerers seemed to
have fallen into fits resembling epilepsy; and one giant
Arab attracted considerable attention by the violence of
his struggles. I did not see a single man get up and
walk away as if unhurt ; but there is no doubt that a
great deal of the exhaustion I witnessed arose from
mental and bodily excitement. The tread of the horse,
however, must have inflicted injuiy in many cases. I was
told that two or three of the men died, but it was impos-
sible to ascertain whether this was true or fklse.
A tremendous blast of wind, rising almost into a hurri-
cane, swept over the Esbekiyeh as this painful scene con-
cluded, and conceited every object except those near at
hand in a dense cloud of dust. We hastened to take
shelter in a cofiee-shed, where, over a shisheh or a chibouk,
we discussed the events of the day. I am disposed to ad-
here to the opinion to which we then unanimously came,
that there was little of hypocrisy in any of the actors in
the extraordinaiy ceremony we had witnessed. All, or
nearly all, seemed impressed with the deep importance of
what they were doing; and both those who sufSned-^
though soxpe had prepared themselves with hashish — and
those who officiated as assistants, from the burly repre-
sentative of Sheik Bakri, to the meanest runner, I have
no doubt believed they were concurring in a very meri-
torious action. That attempts seemed made to conceal
any accidents, and to represent the result of the ordeal as
more satisfactory than it really was, proves nothing but
that men are anxious for the good reputation of their
friends. I have heard some people maintain that there
must be juggling in the whole anair ; but I as distinctly
saw the hoofs of the horse tread upon the yielding forms
of the dervishes, as I see the pen trace these words on
the paper before me.
During the succeeding night the zikrs were performed
with unusual animation and vigour, and the ash&rahs
perambulated the streets more frequently and with
greater noise. Until very near dawn, the lights of the camp
twinkled through the trees, and Uie measured grunting
of the dervishes might be heard at a vast distance. At
length, however, all relapsed into repose; and when I walk-
ed out, late on Uie afternoon of the following day, scarcely
any trace of the tents or the kayim could be seen. I passed
the BpQt on my way to the house of an Englishman who
lived in a garaen quite in the Turkish quarter. He had
promised me a good dinner ; but I had scarcely put foot
into his place, when I gave up all hope of anything of the
kind; for I beheld him standing with a JcMath^ or whip
of hippopotamus' hide, over the prostrate form of his cook,
who roared for mercy. Being averse to this mode of deal-
ing with natives, I interfered, and discovered that Master
Mohammed was a dervish, and had taken it into his
head to lie down in the ddseh. The consequence was,
that he could scarcely walk, and had only ^ust arrived
limping, with back bent, when I came expectmg my din-
ner. A few pipes serred us to pass the time whilst he
repaired his negligence, and we enjoyed the fried fish, and
cutlets with tomata sauce, perhaps much more keenly for
the delay.
THE ITALIAN OPERA.
Ik the age of Elizabeth, the English drama seemed to
start into mature existence rather by creation than by
the process of slow and gradual growth. Banished
during the ciyil wars, and corrupted by the Restoration,
and even by the Congreves and Wycherlys of a genera-
tion later, it regained much of its peculiar national vigour
during the reign of the comic writers of the eighteenth
century. Never was the theatre a more essentially
national amusement than in the age when Goldsmith,
Sheridan, and the two Colmans wrote for the stage;
when Fritchard, Garrick, and Siddons trod the boards
of Drury Lane or Covent Garden ; and Macklin and
Foote, treading in the paths of Gibber, united the parts
of author, actor, and dmer-out of the first lustre.
The French revolutionary wars, and the rise of a new
poetical and romantic literature, deprived the stage of
its pabulum. None of the great writers and poets of
the Scott-Byron era were reidly successful on the stage.
The actors a generation ago were as good as ever. The
grins of Mathews, Listen, Dowton, and Munden were
as broad as those of Quick, Suett, and Parsons had been,
but new dramatic writers were wanting. The great
theatres kept playing the comedies of the old stock after
they had ceased to hold the mirror up to the manners
of the town, and after two-thirds of the allusions had
ceased to tell; and instead of original pieces, the grand
resource was the translation of French plays. The
consequence was, that as soon as London came to have
a permanent French theatre, the rich and fashionaUe
ceased to frequent Drury Lane and Covent Garden ;
and in this they were imitated by that portion of the
middle class that apes the aristocracy. Hence the jargon
about the decline qf the naiUmal drama. The drama in
Great Britain has declined because it has ceased to be
national, and because nine-tenths of the so-called
national dramatists are translators from the French;
for who that has ever seen 'La Reine de Seize Ans'
could endure to have the sparkling wit of Bayard de-
canted into the vapid ' Youthful Queen?' One might as
well expect to enjoy champagne served from pewter
quart pots. Last year the English actors petitioned the
legislature to be allowed protection against foreign com-
petition; but they would have acted with greater wis-
dom had they petitioned Dickens and Thackeray to
send their comedies to the Hay Market instead of
Bonverie Street
But the great cause of the swamping of the English
drama, is the tide of music which has set in from the
continent with such irresistible force. The natural
philosopher may like it or dislike it, but it is far too
remarkable a sign of the times to be left unnoticed by
the student of living manners. Let us hope that a
prejudice against music which exists in the minds of
many men of the highest attainments in science and
literature, is gradually giving way to the sentiment
that the science of sweet sounds is as essential a part
of civilisation as the viviflcation of form and colours
by sculpture and pdnting, and that the perfection of
civilisation is neither in science alone — in commerce
alone — nor in the purely imitative arts — but in the
concurrence of all. How catholic is the spirit of a
Fusell as compared with that of many of our greatest
one-sided thinkers I * I know,' said he, ' that the pro-
ductions of Mozart and Beethoven are of the highest
excellence, because the best judges say so; but to me
they give no more pleasure than a finely fore-shortened
limb of Michael Angelo does to an unpractised eye.'
But there never was any period of civilisation in
which all the arts floorished simultaneously, and ^ere
probably never idll be. In the perception of the grace-
nil inform, nothing has equalled the age of Pericles ; in
painting, or the viviflcation of colour, there is the riie
of the art in the fifteenth century, and a dmdfbl falling
off after the conclusion of the seventeenth, for yande^
heyden, the last of the Dutch school, died in 1712, and
Carlo Maratti, the last of the eminent punters of Italy,
in 1 7 14. Music is the only one of the fine arts in which
the present can be called a really luminous period; and
it requires no great power of divination to foreiee that
when the present cycle of musical production is com-
pleted, the names of Rossini, Meyerbeer, and othen,
vrHl be enshrined as classics by a generation ai remote
from them as we are firom the great Itahan andFlemuh
painters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuriea.
With the fact of London being the only capital in
Europe that ever had at the same time two flrit-daai
Italian Operas, it can no longer be said that we are
not a musical people. Mere fashion will notacoooot
for this : it is not to be denied that a decided taste for
highest-class music has descended rapidly to all brandMs
of the middle nmks ; and we therefore imagine that i
more familiar acquaintance with the management of
Italian theatres, both Cisalpine and Transs^ine, and
the manners and customs of the profession, wiQ not
prove unacceptable.
The musical capitals of Italy are Naples and Milin.
All the talent of the south converges to the former dtf ;
that of the north to the latter. Here are the greet cos-
eervatorietf as tliey are called, where the yoong mmicil
idea is taught how to shoot ; and here are the laigot
and best-appointed theatres $ but both in instrocto
and stage appliances Naples takes the precedence of
Milan. The theatre of San Carlo in the former citj is
larger than that of La Scala in the latter, and the con-
servatory of Naples has a higher reputation than that
of Milan) the late director having been Zmgn^tod |
the present being Mercadante, the most sdentiflc of i&
the modem ItaSan compoieri. But any one flrom the |
north of the Alps would wonder how the science of
sweet sounds could be learned in such a plsoe. He |
might think it rather the kdl of Dante^s 'Divine
Comedy ; ' for while he is almost inclined to smile at the
groaning of a violoncello, which the small legs of s tyro
can scarcely compass, a violin at his right ear jan pain- ;
fhlly on the nerves, of which he is no sooner sennUe
than a wind-instrument, which the performer tos
scarcely strength sufficient to sound, strikes lo dit-
agreeably on the other tympanum, that he thinks a
Tasso's * Rauco snon della Tartarea tromba.'
Most of these youths belong to the humbler danes
of society, but strange fortunes and misfortunes ofta
bring upon the Ita]Qan stage both male and female
singers who have never pass^ through a conserrato^.
For instance, a young man of ancient and noUe ftamy,
passing rich with an appanage of forty pounds a year, has
cultivated music as an amateur; his voice and style hate
been admired ; his small patrimony is still fhrtber re-
duced by the gaming-table ; or, disomtented with rege-
tating in a small provincial capital, he covets the earn/
gained wealth of the Operas of London or Paris. He
changes his name. His musical education is comiwte,
for he has done little else but sing all his moroingf
these dozen years ; a few months' prac^ce in the pro-
vincial theatres acquaint him with the routine of stage
business; and in ft few years he makes an income in
Paris or London quadru^e th^t of the richest of hw
relations. This produces the most curious oontrssti w
the families of Italian singers residing in London. A
tenor or bass is perhaps a man of exquisitely-poushw
manners, whose relations one may have seen in the best
society of Italy ; while the beautif^il and i«wf •com-
plished prima dotmoj who has passed through the coo*
servatory, has for a protector some brother w one*
from a village of the Abruzzi or Bergamese, with sun-
burnt features, huge brown hands, and an incoopi^
hensible patois.
Musical education is frequently carried on toj»]||^
where there are no conservatories, on the specnisims
of a music-master, who receives a moiety of • fW"s
^BBkB
CHAMBEES'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
8]
finger's profits for a term of years — a 83rstem which
fires rise to some amusing lawsuits ; since the pupil,
tf highly successful on the stage, ustially gets restive
long before the expiration of the term mentioned in the
ODotract. The arrangement, however, is usually advan-
tageous to botii parties ; for these undertakers of musical
education are generally in relation with the conductors
of theatriod agency, through whom most engagements
are made in the earlier stage of the career of an artist
Singers very rarely begin with the larger theatres of
Italy, but geowally with those of the third or fourth
digs. In the first rank are Nicies and Milan, which
have good singers all the year round. In the second
are the Feoice of Venice, the Pergola of Florence, and
ssveral others, which shine in &eir full lustre only
during the carnival. In the third rank are those towns
that have their good Opera singers not during the
carnival, but in spring and autumn. The fourth
dass may be considered to be those that have their
Opera season in summer, or a carnival season of inferior
singers. At these last-mentioned places may be heard
the same singers who in after-times become famous.
In the little town of Cremona, in the year 1835, the
writer of this article saw the early campaign of Marini,
then unknown to fame, and now the excellent first bass
at the Queen's Theatre — for London and Paris, or lat<
terly St Petersburg, absorb the prime of a singer!s vocal
powers ; the best performers on the Italian stage being
either those whose reputation is not quite in full bloom,
or who have been superseded as favourites in France
and England by younger and more vigorous powers.
The consequence is, that while in liondon fVeshness and
strength of voice are combined^ with dramatic expe-
rience in ^e same individual, on the Italian stage they
are in union with a merely peninsular reputation ; or if
there be a European name and artistic experience, they
are conjoined with an organ somewhat the worse for the
wear. But these old singers, alUiough giving less plea-
sure to the Italian public, contribute by their style of
performance to modd the rising generation, and to keep
up the native school of the lyric drama, in which even
the Germans, with their more profound musical science,
are decidedly inferiw to ihe Italians.
Thus owing to the demand for young singers in the
theatres of the north, the tasting of wine and tea is
not better understood at the Docks of London than the
tastmg of singers of rising talent in Italy. The
tasters know by a singer*s countenance, before he opens
his month, whether he be a bass or a tenor, and on
hearing him, can not only tell exactly what are his
voice and st^le, but what they are likely to become.
These tasters are always a sore annoyance to a manager
in possession of a singer engaged under a remunerating
contract ; and the manoeuvres and counter-manceuvres
between them are like the intrigues of politics and law.
The greatest manager of modem times was a certain
Signw Barbaja, who, during all the prime of Bossinrs
genius, was the Impressariot or undertaker of the prin-
cipal theatres of Italy, and had in fact a sort of musical
monopoly of the Italian capitals. One evening, seeing
through the hole of the curtain a person whom he
knew to be a taster for the Opera of Paris, and dread-
ing that he might have some design upon his prima
donna, he waited until the grand scena of the lady was
ended, and stationing hin^f at the side -scene, de-
dared with enthusiasm that she had covered the Italian
lyric drama with glory. The poor prima donna, in an
fusion of tears, could scarcely express her gratitude ;
and the warm-hearted manager, finding her in the
melting mood, produced a contract for three more years,
with a small rae of salary, which was at once signed :
but a new light broke in upon her on receiving next
morning, and just in time to be too late, a letter from
the Paris agent, ofiering her a considerably higher suul
Onoe signed, these contracts are usually so binding that
there can be no mistake — the only releasing circum-
ftaDces, such as the burning of the theatre, being
e^edaOy mentioned.
An Italian opera consists of two acts — the fir
always longer than the second. ' Otello ' has three act
' L*inganno Felice ' only one ; but these are rare exce
tions. The singers absolutely indispensable to every It
lian Opera are a prima donna with a soprano or mezz
soprano voice, a tenor, and a first bass. Nearly i
the inferior male parts are written for bass or bary-toi
singers; voices of this description being much mo
abundant than tenors. In many operas principal pax
are written for a bary-tone ; and a very few, such
Tcmoredi in * Tancredi,' and Araaee in * Semiramid
are written for a contralto (a female voice with Ic
notes), as there are many good soprano voices for oi
contralto. All the buffo, or comic parts, are written f
basses or bary-tones of small compass, and are a so
of refuge for those middle-aged and elderly basses wh
having no longer sustaining power and tendemei
make up for the loss of their voices by comic actin
This remark is of course not applicable to Englan
where the buffo parts are filled by singers still in the
prime. But the distribution of compass is very mui
determined in new operas by the accidental capaci
of the company for which the composer writes; all t!
effective notes of a singer being brought out with
view to the first success of the opera, which is the grai
point.
After the distribution of parts, the composer tries ov
all the solo and concerted pieces with the singers at tl
pianoforte, and alters and amends according as his jud
ment directs. Meanwhile the chorus has been practi
ing ; and it is not until both singers and chorus are wi
drilled at the pianoforte that the first msieme^ or genei
rehearsal with the orchestra, takes place. An orchest
very soon gets its part; and the stage rehearsals in
good company are more for the sake of the groupin
of the chorus, and the stage effect, than for any mat
rial advancement of the purely musical business.
The first night of representation is one of agonizii
suspense to both manager and music-director. Ti
singers have all eaten a very light and early dlnn<
and having been fasting for several hours, are in pric
vocal condition, which they aid by a few anchovies oi
glass of wine ; and the composer having taken his pla
in the orchestra to direct the music hunself, the ope
begins. In Naples the royal family usually attend
first performance ; and according to etiquette no one c;
applaud until the king sets the example from his be
If an opera, therefore, please at first hearing, as was t
case with many of those of Donizelli, which came o
mostly at Naples, the impatience for the signal fro
the royal box becomes feverish ; and when this com
at last, the result is like an ice-pent torrent let looi
There is scarcely such a thing as damning an opera >
the first night Any glaring impropriety in the dr
matic part of tlie arrangements is unceremonious
hissed ; but final judgment on the music is never pass
at once, as an opera docs not make the instant
neous impression of the spoken drama, and its bea
ties do not always lie on the surface. For instanc
* Norma,* now the most popular of Bellini's operas, w
coldly received on its first production ; but as the Ope
is in Italy the nightly lounge, and a sort of social e
change, the merits of a new production soon rise to
premium or fall to a discount But success In Italy 1
no means insures a composer a European reputatio:
for, on account of the perpetual demand for new oper
for the carnival season, many a musical hero who, lil
Ricci and Coppola, has conquered a Cisalpine reputatic
cannot pass the Alps and fix his productions secure
in London, Paris, or Vienna; and a firm footing
these capitals is the great test of the excellence
either new operas or new singers. We may, therefoi
now quit the sunny south, and turn our attention to ti
state of the music nearer home.
The history of the Italian Operas of London ai
Paris previous to our own period has been so frequent
written, that it would be quite beside our purpose
go farther back than 1814. In that year the coni
<• t'M."
-wwr
S15
CHAMBERS'S EDIMBUBGH JOURNAL.
nent waa reopened, and Rotsini, by the production
of * Tancredi at Venice, began the bright part of
his career. Previously, Italian music was in England
little more than a fashion. It was Rossini more than
any other composer who first created that vivid and
widely - spread relish for it which hi^s now taken a
firm hold of even the middle classes. * Tancredi,' the
'Barber of Seville,' 'Semiramide/ *6azza Ladra,' 'Ce-
nerentola,^ and the other operas of this master, were
successively reproduced in London and Paris, and
held undisputed possession of the Italian tlieatres of
these cities until 1832, when Bellini divided public
attention in the * Pirater.' Both these composers
Tisifced London, their persons and manners being as
different as their styles in music Rossini is strong,
lusty, and corpulent, and was made such a lion of by
George IV. and the principal nobility, that Theodore
Hool^ in one of his novels, talked sneeringly of ' a
great personage, such as Signer Rossini or the Emperor
of all the Russias.' Bellini, whom the writer of this
artide frequently met during his visit to London in
1833, was quite different: he was slim, pale, and gen-
try with yeiy modest manners and a soft voice. We
recollect that he was on one occasion dreadfully puzzled
in an attempt to understand the British constitution,
while we endeavoured to explain the functions of each
part of the machinery. This will not appear surprising
when we see what a sad business foreign dramatists
and novelists make of I/>rd8 and Commons. Even M.
Scribe, wiUi all his historical reading, makes a peer
and ousted cabinet minister enter into a dark intrigue
to become lord mayor of London I On the death of
Bellini, Bonizelli continued his prolific career with a
series of operas, less exquisitely beautiful, but much
more varied in character, than those of Bellini; and on
his m^tftl derangement occurring a couple of years
ago, Verdi remained the only effective living composer
of the Italian school, Rossini liaving produced no gi«at
original opera for twenty years.
The Italian Opera of Paris might be said to have
the same company at the Queen's Theatre; for, be-
ginning their season in Paris in October, it was ter-
minate in holy week, so as to make the high season of
London comprise the months of April, May, June, July,
and the half of August The opening of the Covent
Garden Italian Opera effected a great change in this
system; the hard work of rehearsal was all done in
Paris, and the singers In London bad an easy time of
it, in merely repeating the lessons already learned ; but
tlirough the energy, perseverance, and talents of Signer
Michael Costa and Mr Balfe, the rehearsals in London
are now as laborious as in Paris, and as independent of
mere imi1»tion; while, by the translation of the best
works of Meyerbeer and Auber, tlie repertory of the
Italian Operas of London has a richness and rariety
of character unknown to the native Italian stage.
The first-class Opera singers are generally a quiet,
gentlemanly, and well-behayed class of men, utter
strangers to those dissipations that used sometimes to
incapacitate our Cookes, Reeves, and Keans from per-
forming: they usually reside in Regent Street, the
Quadrant, or St James's Street, and some of them are
much attached to London, while others have the affec-
tation of saying that there is no existence out of Italy.
One of these said to a well-known buffo that London
was quite an exile ; to which he answered, * Tes, and
a rery agreeable exile too.* The actual sallies in Lon-
don are not much larger than those of Naples or Milan ;
but the concerts proNduce a large sum, the income de-
rived from singing a few songs at two or three con-
certs being sometimes, with much less labour, more
than the salary of an Opera night Italian singers
may thus realise a large fortune in a few years ; and
DonizeUi and many others are extensive landed pro-
prietors in Italy. The greatest prima donna of our
age, however, had the misfortune to see her large ac-
cumulated wealth dissipated in a few years by a gam-
bling husband. In no profession is it more true that
hay must be made while the sun shines. A weQ-knowB
tenor was accustomed to make his two thontand poonds
for many seasons during the London summer, till Ills
voice fell off, and other favourites obtained the public ear.
Unwilling to quit London, he remuned at a salary of
L.800 for the sake of the concerts; soon he fell to
L300 ; and at last begged the manager to allow him to
sing for nothing, that he might the more readily obtaia
pupils, and was refused !
So much for Italian music, of which we make to largs
an annual importation and consumption. It must be
confessed that the balance of trade is terribly against
us ; for Mr Balfe is the only English compoaer whose
productions have stood the voyage across the Channel
Him, however, we may congratulate on the signal soc-
cess that has attended the production of his operas over
all the continent of Europe.
CALIFORNIA— COMING DISAPPOINTMENTS.
Unless all experience is vain, and something like a
miracle should take place, we must quickly bear of
miserable disappointment and great disasters in Cali-
fornia.
We argue thus from the history of all former gold-
<ligRiii?i where the circumstances were similar. The
gold hitherto found in the valley of the Sacramento and
neighbouring regions is, as is well known, mixed with
the alluvial matter of tlie country, along with whidi it
has been brought down in the course of time from the
mountains, the lighter particles, as usual, travdling
farthest In aU cases hitlierto, such deposits of gfM
have never lasted long in their pristine abundance.
After the first and best harvest lias been res^ted, the
washings become comparatively unproductive, imd soon
they cease to remunerate the labour expended on them.
After that, there is no chance of gold but by excavatiof
it from its native seat in the mountains, where, how-
ever, its amount is so uncertain in proportion to the
labour, that even in South America proverbial wisdom
treats gold-digging as a bad business.
What, however, gives us most reason to fear for the
upshot of this Califomian crusade, is our knowledge of
the dangers and difficulties of the way, and of the state
of tlie country itself* To reach the sickly valley of
the Sacramento, and the still more unwholesome namw
ravines running into it, a voyage or journey of incre-
dible fatigue and peril must be surmounted, whether
by the long northern land journey, or by the aea and
land passage by the Isthmus of Darien. The sea voyage
round Cape Horn for ill -provided emigrants in a
crowded transport infers an amount oi human suflfering
which may be left to the imagination of the reader.
The adventurer who chooses the first and most
direct route will have first to travel from a thousand to
fifteen hundred miles across the United States : here a
well-lined purse will overcome sdl difficulties. Thea
commences a second journey of fifteen hundred miles
through a wild country, without roads, or inns, or
inhabitants — almost destitute even of water. The
traveller ought of course to be provided with eveir
necessary for the whole way at setting off; bat mtm
an outlay must far exceed the means of many who
will only make the discovery too late to retreat. They
will be induced to attempt the journey without doe
provision for their subsistence or safety, and their
bones will be left to whiten the prairie. The toils
and dangers of their more opulent companions, weO
provided as they may be, will be excessive. The
bitter piercing cold of the night, as the fierce wind
sweeps over the boundless plains, penetrates to the very
bones. The noontide fervour of the sun is an opposite^
but not less serious evil, under which human strength
sinks and dies. As the heat hourly increa•e^ the
breeze languishes, and the saline vapours arising from
* The present paper Is tho production of a Rvntleman wbo is
•onally conversant with the countrin ho zefon tow— Exk
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
817
the earth, being then no longer agitated or ditpened by
its impulse^ giTe rise to the phenomenon of the mirage.
The wajrftirer, exhausted by heat, dnst, and thirst, is
then tantalised with the cruel deception of lakes and
streams of water flowing aronnd him, and extending
befim him as far as the eye can reach, jret ever duding
his approach. Tlie delnrion is so complete, that dogs,
languid and disheartened, will at first dash forward
witib sodden energy to rash into the seeming gratefhl
fluid, and e^joy its cooling refreshment. Absence of
water is one of the great &priTations of this country ;
it is often the cause of the seyerest suflSsrings of the
trardler and his cattle, and frequently occasions the
loss of beasts of burthen. Persons of nerrous tempera*
roent occasionally endure excessive irritation flrom the
exeitement created by this continual exhibition of de-
oepttve waters upon their parched throats while suf-
fering under the effects of protracted thirst It in
some oonstitntioiis proceeds to such excess as to pro-
dooa spasms and severe nervous attacks; and the
suiftrer is then compelled to submit to the disagreeable
necessitj of riding Mindfolded, as the only efilectual
antidote to the exciting cause of his illness.
During a considerable portion of the year, the rain
and snow render these plains seas of impassable mud.
The practicable seasons for the journey, therefore, are
Hmited to the intervals between this wet period and
tiie time of excessive heat and drought Strangers, not
aware of these drcnmstanoes, may arrive on the fh>ntier
at such a time of the year as will oblige them to remain
statkmarv for some weeks or months before they can
proeeed nrlher on their way. For a short season, when
sniBcieot DMusture and heat are combined, some of
these plains, where sand prevails^ present a scanty vege^
tatioo, aflbiding beautiAil specimens of flowers in de-
tadied masees. The sight of some of these plants in
conservatories or gardens in Enriand is apt to inspire
an ernmeoos oninion of the ferity of their native soiL
In reality, verdure and herbage for catUe are there un-
known, and a few brilliant flowers scattered over the
•urlkce are a noor compensation for the want of them.
The whole land assumes the substance and appearance
of an anbamt briek when dry ; where clay or loam
prevaflsy it becomes, wheo moistened, a plunge of mud,
but also exhibiting here and there flne flowers.
Duting the gres^ part of this long journey the tra-
vdlsra, tf not in strong force, are liable to ^e attacks
of the Indiana, usually the fierce Apaches; who make
sodden irruptions from their distant abodes on the
noro civilised inhabitants of the frontier of the plains,
and kill or carry off any stragglers that fall in their
WSJ. In these usually barren regions are occasional
fertile qiota blessed with sufficient water and vegeta-
tion, cadi fbcming an oasis in the desert, the ikv<mrite
resort of these Indians— men wild, ferodous, and with-
out mercy. Wo to the unhi^py traveller who en-
counters them in their foraysl Afounted upon hardy,
a^ve horses, frequently the plunder of former excur-
siona, they sweep over the land, carrying death and
devsitation in their course. Appearing when thdr
presence to least anticipated, tbev vanish again as sud-
denly into their unapproachable rastnesses in the desert
It to difficult in peaoefhl EngUnd to imagine such a
state of psecarious extotence as the life of the emigrant
or the traveller in these countries daily presents.
The shorter journey through tiie mountain deffies on
the Isthmus of Darien or Panama is not less proliflc in
danger and suflbring. The Atiantic coast on the whde
of the tothmus to fetal to Europeans during many
Bionths of the year. Between the end of Febnuoy and
the beginning of October, one week's residence on shore
to a tnal few strangers go through without an attack
of yellow fever. The miserable, stupid, indolent native
Indian alone restots for the penod of a short life
the baneAil effiBcts of the climate. The smallest service
these half-animated beings can be induced to perform
to to be remunerated with a ddlar ; they appear to have
no ooQceptioa that five minutes' exertion can be re-
compensed by any smaller coin. It may be supposed
from thto that traveling to here expensive ; and should
the traveller be unprovided with suffident apparatus
against the reptiles and insects everywhere besetting
him, even at more favourable seasons of the year, such
as raised bedsteads, their feet immersed in pans of oil
or water when in use, hammocks, mosquito-curtains,
&C. he will inevitably endure a degree of torment from
their persecutions unima|^nable to natives of our tem-
perate dimate. Reptiles of the most poisonous de-
scription present themsdves in alarming proftision;
snakes in many varieties, large and small ; centipedes,
scolopendras, and similar lengthy creepers; scorpions
in multitudes. Tarantulas, and various enormous
spiders, said to be venomous, are met with. At night,
monstrous beetles of disgusting odour wUl, uninvited,
alight upon him; while torge bats, attracted pro-
bably by the light colour of hto bedding, will fiutter
about him, and dispel hto sleep; or, if dumber over-
takes him, the vampire may settle upon him, and
suck his blood, greatly to the detriment of an already
reduced constitution.
Arrived at the western or Pacific shore, supposing
the traveller to have surmounted the toito of the way,
his perito are only varied, but not abated. On thto coast
the myriads of insects and reptiles are undiminished ;
and although the yeUow fever is here unknown, there is
little cause of congratuUtion for thto exemption, as its
place is most effidently supplied by tile peculiar scourge
of these coasts, the fatal fevers cf intermittent type.
So inimical to Uie health of strangers is this destroyer,
that in 1826 a Ck)ngress of Deputies from some of the
new republics, which was held at Panama, though com-
posed of native Americans, some of whom were of
Indian extractifm, and though supplied witli every com-
fort avdlable for the dimate, was broken up after two
or three sittings, and obliged to adjourn to a locality
more congenial to strangers, sickness having already
made such inroads among them, as in a short time to
threaten the total extinction of their numbers. And
this was not in the worst season of the year.
The emigrant, on his passage to more distant shores,
must await the sailing of the vessd that is to bear him
to his destination, and an interval of many weeks may
eUpso before he finds an opportunity of quitting tho
shores of the isthmus. Ere that time has arrived, the
departure of the ships will in all probability be a mat-
ter of indifference to him, for the most sufficient oi all
reasons. Should he fortunatdy get on board ship, an-
other tedious voyage in a crowded vessd within the tro-
pics awaits him. If the traveUer arrives in these coun-
tries during the rainy season— for here the rains are
periodical— all hto difficulties will be increased. A
European can form little idea of tiiese tropical showers,
though he may imagine the discomfort and danger of
having hto clothes altematdy soaked in water and dry-
ing upon hto back during his entire journey. *
The emigrant, once landed at San Frandsco, most
not suppose hto difficulties at an end. He must be pre-
pared to receive the heaviest calto upon hto already
■ -" ■ , MM I
* There is a oompsimtivriy dlraot road to California through
Mexico, landing at Tampioo, and embarking at San Bias on the
Pacific in the north ; or landing at Vera-Crux, and embaricing at
Acapulco in tho south. The sea Yojage in the Pacific is thus
materially shortened, and that in latitudes nearest the lino. The
land Jouniey is through a oiTilised, healthy country, with the
exception of fifty or sixty mUes on approaching the ports. Duting
the whole Journey, homely aocoromodation can be obtained, and
several large towns are passed on either route, where any dcfl*
cienoles may be supplied: but the Spanish language is indis-
pensable, not a word of any other European tongue being known
there. This same difllcnlty must occur in crosdng the istfamas;
but there the distance behig only short, the traveller can, and
indeed must, depend more upon his own resources, and require
less oommnnioation with strangers, except at the ports, where pro-
bably English wUl assist him. Whether there is any direct com-
municatioQ between San Bias or Aoapolco, and the port of Ban
Frandsco, most now be a sul^fect of inqniiy, as, till lat^, there
was little inducement for frequent intercourse, and only chance
occasions occurred of passing from Uie Mexican coast to that of
Upper GsUforaia.
818
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
impoTerished foods, to eoAble him to prooeed ioto the
gold districts. Nooe but the wealthy cao afford the
price of a mole or horse, if they are procorable eveo
for mooej. The commonest necessaries of life are 400
or 500 per cent dearer than in the coontries he has
leffc, and the i>oor adventorer will soon discover that his
only means of sobsistence, at least for a time, is by ser-
Yitode, until he can amass sofficieot resources to enable
him to ventore on the joomey into the interior. The
report of wages of a dollar an hoor, or eveo two hoors,
to a porter soonds promising; hot when boardiog at
the homblest table, with only water to drink, costs now
one poond per day, and lodging and washing are paid
in proportion, at the end of the week there will be
found only a moderate residue firom such earnings.
The place has now also become the resort of despe-
rate characters firom the ports of South America,
and the wildest adventurers firom the cities of the
United States. The unsettled wanderers of Texas,
and deserters from the army, with runaway seamen
from the South-Sea whalers, and the idle profligates
abounding in the islands of the Pacific, compose the
mass of the population, without law, religion, or mo-
rality. The accounts of rapine and murder fh>m the
district are what might be expected in such a society.
Fourteen detected murders are stated to have taken
place at the diggings shortly previous to the writing of
a letter conveying the intelligence.
While this evil has been gradually gaining ground, the
first vague reports of the immense discoveries of gold
remain unconfirmed by proportionate importations of the
precious metal either into the United States or into Eu-
rope. In reaUty, the value of the gold hitherto announced
to have been received scarcely indicates a gold region of
more than ordinary richness, if it even attains to that
standard, the whole sum not amounting to the eighth
part of the produce of the mines in the Ural Mountains
in the same time. The whole history of this marvel-
lous land of treasure seems now to be resolving itself
into a land -jobbing speculation of some go -a- head
Yankees to attract population to their waste allot-
ments. This view of the case becomes more probable
on reooUecting that this is not a new -discovered
country. The Spaniards, always most diligent in their
mioeralogical researches, possessed it, and had missions
near San Francisco, and consequently not far from
the valley of the Sacramento, administered by men
of skill and ability, who almost to a certainty must
have seen, or had some intelligence (^ this store of
wealth, if it existed in such abundance. The Indians,
idso, of idl the tribes, are well aware that gold is the
most valuaUe article that they can bring whien coming
to trajfic with civUised men, as they have long been in
the habit of doing ; accordingly they bring some gold,
occasionally in large pieces : but if a land so ptoliflo in
this metal had been known to them, horse-loads instead
of a few pounds would have been offered in barter at
the stations. Not long since the Oregon territory was
the attractive point of resort, and dreadfhl sufferings
and loss of life were sustained by the hasty adventurers
hurrying there to obtain the first choice of settlement
in the anticipated paradise. Unfortunatdy, a great
part of the favoured land proved on trial to be tmin-
habitable, and most of the remainder appeared only a
poor ungrateful soil for cultivation. It is much to be
fesfed that many now blindly hastening to enrich
themselves in the gold regions wiU, if they survive the
experiment, have to retreat as light as they came in
seardi of some more fertile soil, where they may pro-
vide for their maintenance by the cultivation of a few
yams or potatoes, as the climate may serve. With
tolerable industry they may soon be surrounded with
8i:tifficient supplies of the necessaries of life, if they have
located themsielves judiciously ; but little beyond this is
to be expected in a country where the wants of all the
inhabitants are similar, and their means of supplying
them equal. The golden dreams of regal wealth will io
aU probability be only realised io the form of a log-
house if trees are near, or a mud-hut on the moontaiB,
with a plot of cultivated ground ; where, instead df gatto-
ing gold by handfuls, ijae proprietor must devQie some
portion of his time and attention to the protectbn of his
most valuable property, by scaring away birds and other
granivorous enemies fh>m his maize-field, and teaming
the art of making tortillas and atU^e of the grain S
the Mexicans, or mush and hominy from thdr United
States neighbours.
THE LACE-MAKERS OF SAXONY.
We have already given some details respecting tiit
lace-makers of Ireland, and it may be curious, if not
useful, to bestow a glance likewise upon their German
sisters. The district of Erzeberg is situated amid the
mountains of that name which separate Saxony from
Austria, and its inhabitants are all of the industeial
class, consisting chiefly of Uacksmiths and laoe-maken.
The former artisan, tifiongh working constantly at hb
rude profession, is seldom able to lay by anything fot his
old age. Commencing in eariy youth, the ordinary le.
suits of his labour are blindness and deafiiees, which
make his age useless; and so, leaving the anvil, be
wanders wi& a beggar's wallet from door to door, until
one day he entirely disappears, and is forgotten. Tfeda
course is so common, Uiat when a man is suddenly
missing, and nothing more is heard of him» it is said
' he has gone like an old blacksmith.'
The laoe-makers are a more interesting dass, and an
composed wholly of women and children. When tbey
are thus employed, the management of the house it
entirely given up to the men, whose duty it then ia t»
cook and wash the linen for the fiimily— the fine tiuMds
of the lace requiring the more skilful and deBeate
fingers of a woman. A good workwoman, in fsToonible
times, working morning and night, was gencratty able
to earn firom 6d. to 7^ a day ; but during last year
the most industrious among them oould not gain more
than from Ijd. to 3d., and many are now entirely
without employment.
The three principal villages of the district, oootain-
ing collectively nearly 7000 inhabitants, are built on
the most barren part of the mountain, and aU on the
same plan : each house has but one floor, roofed with
shingle. In consequence of the late distroi, tfaeae Til-
Uges now present the most wretched appearanoa.
Bundles of straw fill up the holes in the broken win-
dows, while the apertures the weather has made in the
roof are unstopped, leaving a firee ingress to tiie rain
and snow. It is not an uncommon thing for three or
four families to be crowded together in one smafl room,
with perhaps no other bed than an armftd of straw
thrown on the bare earth, and rendered more suffocating
in winter by the heavy smoke of the green branches
with which the stove is fed. Eadi house is geocnBy
provided with a small piece of ground, wfaldi the men
cultivate literally by * the sweat of their brow,' akhoa^
it yields nothing but potatoes, which, seasoned with
salt, are the usual food of the laoe-maker and her
family. Bread and buttw is a rare dainty with thnni,
and many have never tasted meat in their Hvea. One
of the luxurious dishes of these poor people is a baked
potato-cake, soaked in a kind of syrup made of beet-
root sugar. They drink what they call ooflbe three
times a day ; that is, a compound of chicory and par-
ticles of roasted beetroot — ^the former used in smaB
quantities, as it is now too expensive for their small
means. Added to the accidents of bad crops and low
wages, they are cheated by rogues somewliat less poor
than thenolselves. These are wandering pedlars, who^
speculating on the necessities of the moment, roam firom
one village to another, lending small sums of money at
usurious interest to the inhabitants, who, to rdleve their
embarrassments for the moment, are. prcrtMsbly ruined
entirely in the end.
Yet in this situation, miserable as it is, tii^ bare
their compensationa, preserving as they do a hmnliftd
CHABfBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
819
I
I
gentleneM and contentednett of character. The maun-
fiMstore of lace has given than the habit of eztraor-
dinaiy deanlmett, and the slightett nnezpected re-
creation oonaoles them for all their hardship*. The
women are fond of mnsic and dancing, and dnring the
beantifnl summer erenings the joung girls sit in a
drde^ and join in singing, as with one mdodions roice,
their popular airs. In winter, fh)m Michaelmas to
£aster, manj families assemble at one of the houses ;
esch woman brings her work, and thus economising
the light and flriog, escapes the dreariness of solitude.
Each in her turn enliyens the evening by recounting
some old superstition or traditional stray. But in the
depth of winter few are so hardy as to venture from
the house; when they do so, however, they envelop
themselves in an- did doak, one of which is possessed
by every family, and serves to protect each member of
it l^ turns from the cold air. In this cloak the father
wraps his child, and carries it through the snow to
school, where he leaves it, with a morNl of bread or a
potato -cake, until the evening, when he returns, and
esrries it back as before. When the child is old enough,
H is taught by its mother to make lace, and soon is
capable of earning perhaps a penny a day.
Thus live thousands of bdngs in obscure and per-
manent isolation in the midst of that Germany where
there has latterly been so great a change, and within
a few leagues of those great towns where their
beautiful embroideries excite so much admiration and
cupidity. Government has lately taken the condition of
this poor colony into its consideration, and has willingly
toit them its aid ; but unfortunately^^ from taking the
wrong method of doing so, the help has been worse
Uian useless. A sum of L.8000 has been expended in
purchasing the remnants of old lace remaining useless
in tiie presses of the fabricators and dealers ; but the
merchants alone have profited by this thoughtless mea-
sure, and the wages of the lace-makers remain as before.
CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND AND AT THE CAPE.
Thsbb is no denying the self-evident fact, that our
holiday season comes at the wrong period of the year.
Christaias and midsummer do not agree well together.
In ibB ncnthem hemisphere, the joyous week which
ushers the old year out and tlie new year in, falls, not
by an accidental ooincidenoe, at the time when men
have most leisure for enjoyment — ^wben labour of all
kinds is little required, if it b» not absdutely forbidden
by that indemency of the weather which serves to
hdgfaten the sense of the domestic in-door pleasures
proper to the season. Then, too, the scattered mem-
bers of families seldom find their avocations so urgent
as to prevent them from meeting, to re-knit the ties of
M aobction, about the cheerfm hearth and the social
board.
Then merry games and unfashionable dances, in
which all ages join, awaken a hearty pleasure, such as
a formal bidl-room never knew. Then, on the conti-
nenty the Christmas Tree displays its annual glories,
diifrising radianoe from its hundred lights on the happy
tactB ateut it. Then» through the clear crisp air of
winter are heard the voices of the wandering singers,
last remnant of English, minstrelsy, appealing to the
charity which at th^ reason can rarely fail them, and
reminding their hearers, in the simple strains of antique
harmony, of the solemn reason for their happiness :
* QoA rest yon, merry gentlefolk,
Let nothing yon dlmay,
For Jesoe CHuiit oar 8«Tioiir
Waa bom on Chrletmu-Day.*
Tlie same sufficient cause remains why, under such
sltered circumstances as prevsdl in this southern region,
the season should still be duly commemorated. Unfor-
tunatelv, however, as has been already remarked, the
time of the year is most unfavourable for holiday mak-
ing. Omiing, as it does, in the middle of harvest in
the eoanftiy» and at tiie bnsieit season of the year in
town, it finds the people unaUe or indisposed to yield
up their valuable time to the d^ms of domestio festi-
vals. Neither Christmas nor the New Tear can be
celebrated in this land with the same hearty pleasure
and oare-forgetting zest with which they are welcomed
in England, Holland, or Germany, and indeed through-
out the whole of Christian Europe.
There is rarely an evil without its compensating
good. There are in Great Britain some millions ^
people to whom Christmas is the only day of rc«l enjoy-
ment in the whole year. More thim three millions—
one-eighth of the whole population — are in tiie receipt
of parocliial relief These unfortunates generally re-
ceive, through the favour of the parish authorities, or
the liberality of charitable Christians, a hearty dinner
of the national roast -beef, plumpudding, and 'hum-
ming ale,' their only good dinner ttironghout the year.
And on these viands the poor creatures make merry
about the workhouse table— a dismal mirth at the best
There are many more millions whose state is little
if any better than that of the unhappy paupers. There
are agricultural labourers overworked, ill*clad, badly
housed, toiling from day-dawn till dark for a pittance
which barely sustains life; sturdy men with families
labouring through the year for a weekly wage of Ts. or
88. There are myriads of hard-working operatives in
the towns, crowded in wretched cellars and garrets,
earning barely sufficient to support life, on inferior and
unwholesome food. Once a year, with much pains, and
pinching, and forecast, all these suffering millions gene-
rally manage to procure a single meal of unaccnstomed
plenty and savour. Numerous are the devices to which
the poor pale mother must resort in order that Uie eyes
of her ragged brood may sparkle with delight at the
sight of a real Christmas pudding. Many in these
classes eat meat but onoe a year. Not a few, particu-
larly in Ireland, live and die without ever having tasted
animal food.
It is hardly necessary to speak of the contrast pre-
sented by the ordinary life of all classes in this colony.
To many millions in the mother country the easy toil
and abundant food of the poorest here would seem like
a perpetual holiday — Christmas the whole year round.
The enjoyment which we, owing to the difference of
seasons, cannot well concentrate in a brief series of fes-
tival days, is diffused, in superabundant measure, over
the whole circle of the year. And this, it will be ad-
mitted, is good substantial compensation for a misfor-
tune which, after all, is chiefly imaginary.
We shall be reminded, however, that this advantage
is due in a great measure to the circumstance of the
colony being a newly-setUed country, and the popula-
tion very scanty in proportion to the abundant resources
of the BoiL As the number of inhabitants increases,
this proportion will be gradually altered for the worse }
until at length, even here, pauperism, with all its atten-
dant miseries, will make its appearance, to diminish
the general sum of happiness, and perplex our lawgivers
with evils more real and more dangerous than those
temporary grievances (the natural result of the present
superfluity^ which now occupy their attention, and give
birth to voluminous ' blue-books.'
There is a certain amount of truth in this view— so
much, indeed, that it deserves our most careful consi-
deration, in order, if possible, to discover how these
anticipated evils may be, at least in part, avoided.
Now is the time, in this early age of our country, when
its condition is yet plastic, and its destinies may be
moulded by laws — this is the time when our legislators
should mike it their especial care so to establish the
frame of our society» and the distribution of property,
as to preclude those unnecessary evils, and tiiose pain-
ful contrasts, which are seen in many countries of
Europe, but chiefly in Great Britain. By the laws of
nature there will be in South Africa, as elsewhere,
great wealth and great poverty^ ; wealth, the result of
industry, temperance, and fhigality ; poverty, the fruit
of indolence and vice. But it will depend chiefly on
830
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
human laws whether there shall exift here alio that
fejurM and unnatural inequality which hettows on one
part of the community, and that not the most deserr-
mg or the most industrious, superfluous riches and cor-
rupting luxuries, while it dooms the toiling millions to
perpetual want and almost hopeless misery.
If we have heen hetrayed into a rather more serious
vein of speculation than the occasion seems to call for,
we must plead the example and excuse of the poet.
Journalists are sometimes, like song-writers, led away
hy Uie concatenation of ideas and phrases, and might
commence their lucubrations, as the Scottish hard began
his poetical epistle, with the ihink admission —
' Bat how the nil^Ject theme may gang.
Let time and chance detennine ;
Perhaps It may turn out a sang,
PeHUqpi turn cut a sermon.*
But, after all, a sermon is not inappropriate at
Christmas ; and a little serious thought, we are assured
on great authority, can nerer 'make our pleasures less.'
With this persuasion, we will dose our present admo-
nition, in more cheerAil guise, with the ' compliments
of the season,' wishing to each and all of our courteous
readers a merry Christmas-tide, and the happiest of
New Tears. — Cape - Town Mirror,
CIBCUMSTAMTIAL EYIDBNCB.
▲ negro who had run away from his master in South
Carolina, arriTcd in London in an American ship. Soon
after he landed, he got acquainted with a poor honert
laundress in Wapping, who washed his linen. This poor
woman usually wore two gold rings on one of her fingers,
and it was said she had saved a little money, which induced
this wretch to conoeiye the design of murdering her, and
taking her property. She was a widow, and lived in a
hnmble dwelling with her nephew. One night her nephew
came home much intoxicated, and was put to bed. The
negro, who was aware of the cironmstance, thought this
would be a favonrable opportunity for exeoating his bloody
design. Aeoordingly, ne climbed np to the top of the
house, stripped himself naked, and descended through the
chimney to the apartment of the Idundress, whom he mur-
dered—not until after a severe struggle, the noise of which
awoke her drunken nephew in the adjoining room, who got
np and hastened to the rescue of his aunt. In the mean-
thne the villain had cut off the finger with the rings ; but
before he could escape, he was grappled with by the
nephew, who, being a very powerful man, though much
intoxicated, very nearly overpowered him ; when, by the
light of the moon, which shone through the window, he
discovered the complexion of the villain, whom (having
seldom seen a negro) he took for the devil I The murderer
then disengaged himself from the grasp of the nephew, and
succeeded in making his escape tMongh the chimney. But
the nephew believed^ and ever afterwards declared, that it
was the devil with whom he had strugsled, and who had
subsequently flown into the air and atsappeared. The
negro, in the course of the struggle, had besmeared the
young man's shirt in many places with the blood of his
victim; and this, joined with other circumstances, induced
his neighbours to consider the nephew as the murderer of
his aunt. He was arrested, examined, and committed to
prison, though he persisted in asserting his innocence, and
told his story of the midnight visitor, which appeared not
only fanprobable, but ridiculous in the extreme. He was
tried, convicted, and executed, protesting to the last his
total ignorance of the murder, and throwing it wholly on
his black antagonist, whom he believed to be no other than
Satan. The real murderer was not suspected, and returned
to America with his little booty; but ne, after a wretched
existence of ten years, on his deathbed confessed the mur-
der, and related the particulars attending it. — Boaton Met'
ccmtile JowmaL
ANECDOTE OF BURKE.
The following affecting incident, det^led by Mrs Burke
to a friend, took place a few months before Mr Burke^s
death in 1797:— 'A feeble old horse, which had been a
great favourite with the Junior Mr Burke, and his constant
companion in all rural jonmeyings and sports, when both
were alike healthfhl and vigorous, was now, in his age, and
on the death of his master, turned out to take the ran of
the park for the remainder of his life at ease, vith strioi
iiyanctions to the servants that he should neither be ridden
nor molested by any one. While walking one dav in soli-
tary musing, Mr Burke perceived this worn-out old lemat
come close up to him, and at length, after some monunts
spent in viewing him, followed bv seeming reooUeetion and
confidence, dcUberately rested its head upon his botom.
The sinffularit^ of the action itself; the remembrance of
his dead son, its late master, who occupied madi of hk
thoughts at all times ; and the apparent attachment and
almost intelli|B;ence of the poor brute, as if it could Bympa-
thise with lus inward sorrows, mshing at once into hii
mind, totally overpowered his firmness, and throwing hit
arms over its neck, he wept long and bitter! j.'
LONGING FOR REST.
Into the woods, into the woods ! this fret
And bustle of the big e'er-anxious world
Likes me not : hither, gentle winds, and let
Yonr blue and mstling pinions be unf nried
To bear my vexM sirfrit far away
Into the bosom of yon dusk old wood.
Winding as the valley winds Ibr many a rood:
Westward the burning chariot-wheel of day
Is in the durome-dyed ocean axle-deep ;
Haste, ere the twinkling dews o'er the green earth ihall crecf !
*Ti8 featty done. Oh now at length repose
Shall find me, here, where nothbig is that breathes
The q»izlt of nnrest. How riddy those
Rays that oome streaming whero the king-oak wrealhn
His warped and gnarled boughs, make the moes floor
Of this vast temple seem mosaic-wrought ;
Each knoll's an altar whence ascends untaught
The willing inoense ot the flowers, that more
Than all mute things on earth their homage pay
To the dear love that keeps their fair forms day by day !
Here would I worship too, listening the note
That rii^les out upon-the sUrless air.
In sweet wOd gushes from the ruffled throat
Of some winged minstrd : how that mutio rare
BrimfiUs my sense with stillest quietude I
Alack, 'tis past, and sQenoe and repose
Reign in twin sisterhood : yon meek wild rose
Her silken leaves, with softest tints imbued,
Uath folded in the shade, and now appears
When wet with dew more sweet, like Innocenoe in tcais.
Dear dreamy wood ! Ha ! the small aqian learts
Are quivering in a white and misty beam;
In the deep-shadowed foliage it
A aQyer-tinseUed tissue, that doth
Meet Cor the bridal robing of the fay
That queens it in this forest ; upward see
The clustered stars that glitter witohingly.
That shed o'er many a lone ship's ocean way
Their soft diq^assioned lustre: oft when care
Hath forered and harassed, I've Uest their radiance tsir.
I would not wish a sweeter home than this,
BInoe man his brother still wili vex for nought ;
Even here, where rival flowers entwining kits,
And all things yidd their beauty, Ueaven-taugbt,
To bless each other. Tremulously faint
Gleams by the river brink yon glow-worm's Ismp,
Where now he banquets him on rank weeds dsmp
With beaded dew; while, simply sad and quaint.
Night-winds a low and dirge-like oadanoe bttng
Where cloistered in dim shade the owl sits sonowisg.
Oh sure there is a wordless eloquenoe
Breathed freely forth witlUn these leafy gtooms.
The odour which all verdurous thhigs diqicnso.
The bhrds soft nestled in the drooping plumes
Of the all-muffling ivy, and the dear
Unhindersd glory of the moon, that makes
A glittering heaven of dew-stsrs in the brakes,
Whisper my sorrow-burthened heart that hero
For every wo there is a gradous balm.
For all its o'erwrought fears a hushed and hdy c, ji.'Zsta.
Published by W. ^ R. CBAMBBas, High Strsst, Bdlnltoft AbB
sold by D. CuAMBsas, 90 Argyle Street, Clasfow; W. ^ws
147 Strand. London ; and J. M^Glashait, W D^w "'*^
DubUiv— Pdnted by W. and B. OaAiiBBas, BdJabaigk*
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 282. New Series.
SATURDAY, MAY 26, 1849.
Price 1^.
HEADS, HEARTS, AND HANDICRAFTS.
[BT ONE LATBLT A BANDWOBKEB.]
I HATE frequentlj thought that working-men in general
do not take .a proper view of their position as co-workers
in a progressiTe state of societj ; and it might not be un-
profitable to inquire as to how far certain allegations
eoDoeming them are tenable — namelj, that they hare no
real pleasures — no command of elerating resources — and
that their position is of necessity one of depressing and
hopeless toiL I hare already been faroured with an
opportunity of recording some of my experiences in con-
nection with the subject (Journal, No. 244), and recur to
it now in the hope that a few additional observations,
based also on personal experience, may prove acceptable,
particularly to the great body of artificers with which I
was, until within a few years past, intimately associated.
The wearer of a shoe, it is said, beet knows where it
pinches; but from all I have seen, I doubt whether work-
ing-men (exceptions apart) are the best judges of their
own circomstMices : a defect whose origin may be traced
to several causes, the principal being, a certain tradi-
tionary influence of custom circumscribing their moral
horixon within very narrow limits, and comprising — ^per-
haps the whole evil — an unconsciousness of latent power.
If fashion dominates the high, custom no less sways the
humble ; and being ' to the manner bom ' is mistakingly
with the latter a paramount reason for never being other-
wise. Take, for example, the convivial drinking usages,
most honoured by those least able to afibrd the expense
— the reluctance to adopt improvements in domestic
economy, markedly evinced in the tenacity with which
they ding to wretched residences even when better are to
be had — and in the qpecies of fatalism with which they
look upon themselves as shut up in an inexpansive groove,
the last being perhaps a cause of the ridicule not unfre-
qnently inflicted on such of their co-mates as manifest a
diqpontion to improve their circumstances.
It would not be fair to impute unmitigated blame for
sadi a ttate of things, since blame must attach chiefly to
wilful error; and we know that among the thousands of
British handworkers there are many noble examples of
manful resistance to adverse circumstances, of brave self-
rdianoe and successful peneveranoe. Would that there
were more such ! that this were a triumphal ode, and not
a didactic essay ! But though ignorance of what is right
may be pleaded in extenuation, this will only avail to a
limited extent ; for the reply might be — Have you ever
made an efibrt to remove your ignorance I Have you ever
once eerionsly thought about the end of all this scramble
for exiflteoce t
Now don't be alarmed, for 1 am not going to inflict a
sermon on you: my desire is simply to convey a few lead-
ing principles which experience has taught me are the
mainsprings of individual progress, and to illustrate a
few errors which are obviously inimical to advancement.
I have said above that an important defect consists in
working-men's unconsciousness of latent or undeveloped
power within themselves. You are almost, if not quite,
at the bottom of the social scale (conventionally speak-
ing); and so, thinking that matters cannot well be worse,
you are content, in nine cases out of ten, to let them
take their chance. Your existence seems uncertain ; and
therefore you trifle with its opportunities, or squander its
impulses in mischief. A case or two in point occurs to
me. An excellent individual, who keeps a mill on one
of our inland streams, had been accustomed to present
each of the men in his employ with a shoulder of mutton
at Christmas, a quantity of vegetables, and materials fat
a pudding. But how was this attempt to gladden labours
scanty board received! — with apathy or worse. It w*8
regarded as a bribe for general service, not as an expres-
sion of sympathy with subordinate co-operation. By and
by the i^parent mystery was cleared up, by the discovery
of a nefarious system of plunder that prevailed in the
mill. Again : at the building of a house in a London
suburban thoroughfare, the bricklayers fancied themselves
aggrieved in the quality or quantity of the beer supplied
to them by the owner of the property, and to revenge them-
selves, they placed a board over the' mouth of the drain,
at its junction with the sewer, so as to close it up effec-
tually, and stopped the vent of three of the chinmejrs. The
consequence was, that the first tenant was nearly pMSoned
by a stagnant drain, and suflboated by smoke ; and after
all, the expense of remedying the mischief did not fall
upon the party whom it was intended to punish. An
additional instance offers itself in the case of a journey-
man cabinet-mak^ whom I once knew : he was animated
by a desire to better his position, and opened a school for
drawing and singing in the evenings; but these endea-
vours, instead of meeting with encouragement firom his
shopmates, only provoked their ridicule. They seized
every opportunity of annojrance; and having discovered
that the nickname * Shot-bag' was once extant among
their comrade's family connections, they immediately
applied it to him, and worried him so unmercifully, thai
his life became a misery : he was compelled to keep as
much as possible out of their sight, and made his way in
and out of the workshop through a back window.
There are many intelligent working-men who will
deplore these instances of perverse principle, this flagrant
misdirection of purpose. But I would remind those
whose views are yet imperfect, that such violations of the
law of justice and kindness are more harmful to the
injurer than to the ii^jured. Prosperity does not consist
in detraction, but in aspiration ; if we wish to rise, we
must look upwards. The social pyramid is not kept
erect by adventitious embellishments at the apex, but by
the addition of sterling material to the base. Here,
then, is a prime motive for us to stai^t with : by bettering
322
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
ourselres, we better all that is above us. It is a grand
thought for one who has hitherto considered himself as of
no account in the sum-total of society, to know that his
efforts, whether for good or for eril, react on the common
weal. Here we have the first step upwards ; a little fund
to put out to interest ; and good interest it brings — cent,
per cent, at least. The power to see a purpose in life, a
significance in our actions, is thus one of essential im-
portance. We cannot, if we would, diveet ourselves of
the manifold and often secret ties by which humanity is
bound together.
Let us now look for a moment at the ordinary po-
sition of the working-man. Early compelled by the
primeval necessity to labour, he masters some art or
operation ; and after this his life goes on in a mono-
tonous mechanical routine, involving but little inci-
dent, and varied in too many instances only by blame
from his employer. And herein lies a cause of dis-
content ; for we too often find that, although accident or
error is visited with blame, the commendation due to
well-meant effort is withheld. The money wage is made
to take the place of the touch of nature, of the word of
sympathy, oftentimes more highly esteemed than the
golden fee. Masters, too, will be capricious; and not
unfrequently the poor employe becomes the pUee de
rUUtanoe of all his vexations and irritations. Such a
liability tends naturally to diminish a man's self-re-
spect, and aggravate the desponding feeling with which
the handworker is apt to contemplate his prospects, and
which I have felt more than onoe in all its bitterness :
with nothing more than a small weekly income depend-
ing entirely on your own ability to earn it, your hold
upon the world seems to be «o feeble, so precarious.
Such a feeling could not exist were proper means taken
to lay up a sum in the savings' bank, or to purchase a
small endowment. But how often did the thou^t over-
cloud my mind — ^let me be out of health for a month,
and beggary awaits me : the i^prehension was at times
unnerving. You despair of ever obtaining a secure foot-
hold, of getting your plank fairly across the stream, and
are ready to sink into recklessness. I remember another
source of annoyance — ^it was having to wait for payment
on Saturday. Our custom was to have our toob put
away, and benches swept down, &c. by six o'clock in the
evening of that day, at which hour the master sometimes
made his appearance with our wages; but frequently we
were kept waiting till seven, eight, or nine o'clock,
growing every moment more impatient and more angry,
before the cash-bearer made his appearance. Thus we
lost both time and temper, and were prevented from
going to market until a late hour ; the more provoking
as, having fulfilled our week, we considered ourselves
fairly entitled to prompt payment. I adduce these facts
because they are such as are still common, and in the
hope to convince masters that tft humanising and ele-
vating of their workmen involves a reciprocity of duties.
€k)od may be done with but small means ; eveiy fSM^ry
and workshop might become a centre of most beneficial
influences, with but a small sacrifice of selfism ; and the
combined action of so many effiisive centres would pro-
duce an amount of good beyond present calculation.
The above, it may be said, is not a very flattering pic-
ture of a working-man's condition; but there is no ques-
tion as to its truth ; and I hope to show that even thus
it is not devoid of compensations. A small income does
not necessarily involve a corroding anxiety; we must
learn rather to extract the best even from the worst of
circumstances ; and in doing this, we are not, as is some-
times feared, predestinating ourselves to the lowest level,
but, on the contrary, best acquiring the ability to
conquering one of the rudiments of self-reUinoe. T^e
wealthy merchant or banker is obliged to exeiciae lug
thou^ts and talent severely in order to adminiititte
his income profitably ; and why should not the working.
man be willing to devote a little thought to the Mune
subject t First, a portion of the weekly eamingi thoald
be set 9/ptai for rent ; a second for food, waihing,
clothes, and other household requisites; a third for
schooling ; and a fourth for the savings' bank. Kow, u
much wisdom comparatively may be shown in i«giilatmg
this humble expenditure as in that of the richest finan.
cier. The greatest outlay will occur under the second of
the above items, and will reqiiire most looking after;
and here we have to conquer another instalment of self*
reliance. Having sat down and calculated that we eu
keep house for so much, we must perseveringly adhere to
this limit ; no matter what the temptations to oretstep it,
we must show them the cold shoulder. It may be, and ii^
hard work to follow such a ^course ; but
* Fruit •con comes,
And mwe than all our troubles iiagn vs powen;
So that we Joy to have endured so mooh.'
The reward is certain ; and oh how sweet I What t
world of care and anxiety disappears as soon as a man,
by diligence and thrift, has a small fund in the nringi'
bank 1 The snubbings and collisions encountered is
daily avocation suddenly lose their asperity ; leif-cad*
denoe, with something to back it, not only ^tei a man
a sense of self-respect, but renders him more valaaUe to
his employer. At first the new-bom energy is a souoi d
astonishnoMsnt : tiie novice wonders to find gieakar foiee
and precision in the stroke of his mallet, and inoMied
vigour in the bite of his saw.
This, which I would call a rudimentaiy compenatioB,
yields an encouraging assurance ; but there are o^en
yet before us, and chief among them is the acquiatioa
of knowledge. Books are so cheap in the piesent day,
as to afford unlimited resources io all for the improT^
ment of their minds ; and it is a fiaot, that the iMfe
knowledge a man gets, aU other things being equal, tbe
better workman will he be. Mr Chadwick ratei the
value of a labourer at L.30 ; at how much more ihall we
estimate the worth of an intelligent artisan, who has B«t
only added to his command of pleasures, but enlarged hii
resources against casualty ! Manual dexterity, vhn
directed by thou^tful intelligence, becomes a comtaot
source of pleasure. Often, when wearied with wod, I
have found myself invigor^ed by watching, so to apeak,
the object on which I was engaged : how beaatifolly tk
hand obeyed the thought — ^how, from a rough man of
boards and planks, the sideboard or secretaire grew op io
harmonious proportions \ I have often been struck witli
Channing's observations on this subject: — * It ii,' he mji,
* one of the beautiful ordinations of Providence, that to
get a living, a man must be useful ; and this usafnlBMi
ought to be an end in his labour as truly as to earn kii
living. He ought to think of the benefit of these be
works for, as wedl as of his own ; and in so doio^~ffi
desiring, amidst his sweat and toil, to senre othofsaiieU
as himself, he is exercising and growing in benerideBtie,
as truly as if he were distributing bounty with a \^
hand to the poor. Such a motive hallows and diftiifiH
the commonest pursuit . . . One would think that t
carpenter or mason^ on passing a house which he had
reared, would say to himself, *' This wori^ of bum i«
giving comfort and enjoyment every day and hour to
a family, and will continue to be a kindly aheUer, a
domestic gathering-place, an abode of affection, ftf *
century or more after I sleep in the dust : " and ought not
a generous satisfaction to spring up at the thought! U
I.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
328
b bj tlmfl intarvMYinc goodnen with oommon la.botin
that we giT« it BtNogth, and makt it a habit of the
Hero are noble oompeneations ; and the eamenees so
often compl^ned of in the working-man's life enables
him to draw largely upon them. To cultirate the quiet
domestic rirtues, while plying the instruments of labour,
the mind maj be occupied with thoughts of the home
circle, its chastening griefs and eleyating jojs. It may
reriiit and roam at large in fields and lanes, or the
Toice may attune itself to the melodies of sound ; and a
weaiy hour may often be beguiled by recollection of all
that the worker knows of the materiaLs — their history and
manipulation— on which he is employed.
Thus a man need not be ignorant or debased because
he is compelled to work for nis living. With such re-
sources uid recreations at command, there is no yalid
mson why his life should not be one of progress. But
this, you may be apt to say, is too much trouble. But * all
aspiration is a toU ;' and were it not for the struggle, you
would never become aware of the slumbering powers
within you; if eyerything came smooth and ready to
our handSf we should soon relapse into a stagnant de-
moialiBation. We must remember that passions are
given us as stimuli, and duty is the bridle with which
these pasnitwiff are kept in due subservience, in efficient
working order. Society owes duties to us, and we owe
duties to sodety. We are apt to accuse society of de-
frauding us of our due proportion; but is not this a
touch of tradition — a taint of the ancient serfdom still
clinginff to us ! What is the remedy ! — to prove our right
by proving our desert. Here is a lofty compensation : we
may each say— I will conquer for myself an improving
position, by such conduct and moral discipline as must
overcome. Even the passive force of such a determina-
tion would be resistless ; and bewailings about social in-
jostioe would subside into an echo. _
Reject for a moment: there are about 4,000,000 men
of diJSerent ages in this country who depend on manual
labour of smne sort for their means of living. What if
the legions of this industrial army were animated by the
' mounting spirit,' by the might of self-reliance I Society
would have beffun its noble^ crusade against ignorance
and its attendant evils; for the incubus of pauperism
would disappear, knowledge would gladden and humanise
our land, and * Unions ' be converted into universities of
industry.
Am I anticipating too much I Let the numerous ex-
amples of what has and eon be done suffice for reply.
We want something beyond the mere instinct of the ant
and bee, and the attainment of this lies open to each one
of us. It is dieering to know that many a man plodding
at the work-bench originates and revolves thoughts in his
mind that would do honour to the proudest philosopher
—that the fire of a lofty and earnest purpose g:low8 in
many a humble dwelling. There wants but the will; and
marvellous are the effects that result from small begin-
nings. The fifteen or twenty cotton-spinners whom I once
knar meeting week after week in a village near Stock-
port to study French and mathematics, I will venture
to saj have gone on addinj^ to their knowledge, and
experienced its elevating infiuences in all their social
rektions; proving that it costs less in conscience, as well
as coin, to obtain the amenities of life than to obey its
animal propensities.
Difficulty, if we would but so consider it, is only the
wave's deq>ened hollow, frx>m which we may rise to a
hi^bsr summit. We are so prone to take things easy,
that an intimation to brace up our enenies is from time
to time necessary. The life most devoid of incident will
afford reminisoenoes of such (mportunities. Many years
ago, under an unpropitious combini^ion of eircumstsAices,
at the eommencement of a dreary winter, I walked from
the interior of the state to the city of New York in
ieai^ of work. I had but two or three cents left on my
arrival, and while searching for employment, was depen-
dent for subsistence on the kindnen iS a firiend. How
diuia— ifw in ihm wmnt of oecnB&tiiml I was fflad at times
to step into a book auction to divert my feelings. One
evening a second-hand lot was put up—' Raynal's Hirtoire
des Deux Indes,' in seventeen volumes : no one spoke.
' Going for the price of waste paper !' said the auctioneer.
I took him at his word, and bid a shilling (7d. sterling),
which I happened to have in my pocket. Down went Uie
hammer, and a general laugh went round as I took the
books under my arm and wa&ed away. By and by I found
work : the * boss ' nive me leave to sleep with his appren-
tice in the attic; I got my meals at a cheap boarding-
house, and thus liv^ economically. And not without
reason; for besides providing for current expenses, it was
essential to retrieve the lost time. I worked from day-
light in the morning until ten at night ; kept my family
in comfort, where I nad left them in the country; and at
the end of four months, found that my savings amounted
to thirty dollars, a sum which enabled me to open a new
career of prosperity. But I must not forget the books :
every worVman knows that there are times when he has
to wait for materials, or for a new job. On such occa-
sions * Raynal's Histoire ' proved a valuable and instruc-
tive resource, and furnished me with food for thought.
'Vat an inquisitive Englishman I' often cried a French-
man, whose nench was next to mine, as I sat reading on
a * saw buck '; and the boss would say — * Ah, you'll never
get on while you're so fond of books.' But when he found
that I was as fresh and ready for work on Mondays as on
other mornings, he ceased to rebuke my inclinations.
Since that time another reverse threw me into a coun-
try village in England, pinched by penury, and lacking
everything but the will to make the best of whatever
happened. After a time a situation was offered me at a
music-publisher's in London: it was out of my line, but
I started at once, leaving my family in their rural cot-
tage. The place of business was in the Strand ; my hours
of work were from seven in the morning till eight at
night; wa^ thirty shillings a week, for which I did duty
as Jack-ofjdl-trades : serving in the shop— keeping stock-
book and pettpr cash-account — giving out work to book-
binders, watching printers, correcting proofs, and so forth.
Here, again, past losses were to be retrieved : I bought
every morning a threepenny brown loaf, and divided it
into three portions. One of these, with a cup of coffee, was
my breakfast ; the second, with a little salt or an apple,
formed mj dinner; and the third, with a glass of water
or cup 01^ tea, was my supper. My bed was in a little
book-room in the fifth storey: I rose at six in the morning,
and made myself acquainted with the topography of the
neighbourhood, and saw some of the aspects of London
which can only be seen at an early hour. One evening
in the week I went after eight to a singing-class; on an-
other I walked to Islington, #here a kind friend gave me
lessons in G^reek and German; and for the rest I had
Elenty of books at command. Sometimes I had to sit up
ite to receive proofe from the printer, and on one occa-
sion found it necessary to go to his office near Temple Bar
after midnight. Our establishment was then on the eve of
being given up, and I was expressing my apprehensions
about obtaining another situation to the master-printer
as we stood together at his desk. I shall never forget
his reply — * Never you fear,' he said, patting me on the
back; * I have watched you long enough to know that you
can do your duty for others as well as for yourself: such
as you are sure to do.' The hopes which then began to
inspire me as I walked back through the solitary street
have been more than realised.
Now for the conclusion. Let every man do his best,
and in some shape or other the rewind of the best vrill
certainly come to him. Let him cultivate a spirit of
hopefulness : if things do not come round according to his
notion, let him put them round; and if even then not
^uite palatable, don't give up the struggle, and take to
listlessness and dissipation. You can mould inert matter
to your will; strive for the master-hand over yourself.
Evexy man's house is his castle. See that yours be not
a Doubting Castle, with Giant Despair for its occupant.
Do not curse God and die !
The chiefest reward of a writer is the hope or the cer-
tainty that his writiniTH m&v be nseful. What say vou.
824
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
fellow-workmen t May I entertain this hope I May I anti*
cipate this reward for my humble attempt to show that
without the concurrence of Head and Heart, there can
be no real profit in Hamdicbapt I
EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER.
THE MOTHER AND SON.
Dinner had been over about half an hour one Sunday
afternoon — the only day on which for years I had been
able to enjoy a dinner--and I was leisurely sipping a
glass of wine, when a carriage drove rapidly up to the
door, a loud rat-tat followed, and my friend Dr Curteis,
to my great surprise, was announced.
* I have called,' said the doctor as we shook hands,
* to ask you to accompany me to Mount Place. I hare
just received a hurried note from Miss Armitage,
stating that her mother, after a very brief illness, is
rapidly sinking, and requesting my attendance, as well
as that of a legal gentleman, immediately.'
* Mrs Armitage !' I exclaimed, inexpressibly shocked.
* Why, it is scarcely more than a fortnight ago that
I met her at the Rochfords* in brilliant health and
spirits.*
*Even so. But wiU you accompany me? I don't
know where to find any one else for the moment* and
time presses.'
* It is an attorney, probably, rather than a barrister,
that is needed ; but under the circumstances, and know-
ing her as I do, I cannot hesitate.'
We were soon bowling along at a rapid pace, and in
little more than an hour reached the dying lady's resi-
dence, situated in the county of Essex, and distant about
ten miles from London. We entered together ; and Dr
Curteis, leaving me in the library, proceeded at once to
the sick chamber. About ten minutes afterwards the
housekeeper, a tall, foreign*looking, and rather hand-
some woman, came into the room, and announced that
the doctor wished to see me. She was deadly pale, and,
I observed, trembled like an aspen. I motioned her to
precede me i and she, with unsteady steps, immediately
led the way. So great was her agitation, that twice, in
ascending the stairs, she only saved herself from falling
by grasping the banister'iaU. The presage I drew
from the exhibition of such overpowering emotion, by
a person whom I knew to ^ave been long not only in
the service, but in the confidence of Mrs Armitage, was
soon confirmed by Dr Curteis, whom we met coming
out of the chamber of the expiring patient
* Step this way,' said he, addressing roe, and leading
to an adjoining apartment. * We do not require your
attendance, Mrs Bourdon,' said he, as soon as we reached
it, to the housekeeper, who had swiftly followed us, and
now stood staring with eager eyes in the doctor's face,
as if life and death hung on his lips. * Have the good-
ness to leave us,' he added tartly, perceiving she did
not stir, but continued her fearful, scrutinising glance.
She started at his altered tone, flushed crimson, then
paled to a chalky whiteness, and muttering, left the
apartment.
* The danger of her mistress has bewildered her,' I
remarked.
* Perhaps so,' remarked Dr Curteis. * Be that as it
may, Mrs Armitage is beyond all human help. In an-
other hour she will be, as we say, no more.'
* I feared sa What is the nature of her disorder ? '
* A rapid wasting away, as I am informed. The ap-
pearances presented are those of a person expiring of
atrophy, or extreme emaciation.'
' Indeed. And so sudden too !'
* Yes. I am glad you are come, although your pro-
fessional services will not, it seems, be requixed— a
neighbouring attorney having performed the necetmy
duty— something, I believe, rdative to the will of the
dying lady. We will speak further together by and by.
In the meantime,' contmued Dr Curteis. with a percep-
tible tremor in his voice, • it will do neither of ui any
harm to witness the closing scene of the life of Mary
Rawdon, whom you and I twenty years ago worshipped
as one of the gentlest and most beautiful of beiogi vith
which the Creator ever graced his universe. It will be
a peaceful parting. Come.'
Just as, with noiseless footsteps, we entered the silent
death-chamber, the last rays of the setting son were
falling upon the figure of Ellen Armitage— who knelt
in speechless agony by the bedside of her expiring
parent— and faintly lighting up the pale, emaciated,
sunken features of the so lately brilliant, courted Mn
Armitage! But for the ineffaceable splendour of her
deep-blue eyes, I should scarcely have recogniaed her.
Standing in the shadow, as thrown by the heaiy bed-
drapery, we gazed and listened unperceived.
'Ellen,' murmured the dying lady, *oome nearer to
me. It is growing dark, and I cannot see you plainly.
Now, then, read to me, beginning at the venc yon
finished with as good Dr Curteis entered. Ay, the
faintly whispered, * it is thus, Ellen, with thy hand
clasped in mine, and with the words of the holy book
sounding from thy dear lips, that I would pass awaj I
EUen, interrupted only by her blinding tears, making
sad stops, complied. Twilight stole on, and threw itt
shadow over the solemn scene, deepening its hoUuMS
of sorrow. Night came with aU her train; and the
silver radUnce kissed into ethereal beauty the pale feoe
of the weeping girl, still pursuing her sad and sacred
task. We hesitated to disturb, by the slightest moTt-
ment, the repose of a deathbed over which b^ wd
hope, those only potent ministers, shed Ught and c^i
At length Dr Curteis advanced gentiy towarda the bed,
and taking the daughter's band, said in a wwrwce,
« Had you not better retire, my dear young lady, for s
few moments ?' She understood him, and rising fioa
her knees, threw herself in an ecstacy of gnef upon
the corpse, from which the spirit had just passed away.
AssisUnce was summoned, and the sobbing girl wii
borne from the chamber. -.
I descended, full of emotion, to the library, 'here i|r
Curteis promised shortly to join me. Noiselessly end-
ing the room, I came suddenly upon the houseiapa
and a tall young man, standing with their ^" w**?
me in the recesses of one of the windows, and pwuy
shrouded by the heavy cloth curtains. They wwe en-
dentiy in earnest conference, and several 'f?*' **
significance of which did not at the moment »w»^
reached my ears before they perceived my «PI^
The instant they did so. they turned hastUy ro*°^"J
eyed me with an expression of fiurried aUnn, wmcn »
the time surprised me notalittie. *AU " oTcr, jsji
Bourdon,' said I, finding she did not spedc; and you^
presence is probably needed by Miss Armita^ ^
fiash of inteUigence. as I •Pol^e..Pf«^ Jl'^S!
pair; but whether indicative of grief or joy, »^^
tary was the glance, I should have been P^^f^^
termine. The housekeeper immediately left tue rw^
keeping her eyes, as she passed, fixed »P<» °»\7^
the same nervous apprehensive loo*^*"?^!^^
irritated Dr Curteis. The young man followea mo^
slowly. He was a taU and rather handsome 7^^^*%
rently about one or two-and-twenty years « •«r«ihr
hair was black as jet, and his dark eye« wereof ^^
brilliancy ; but the expression, I thought, ^^a^JjS^
a refined or highly-inteUectual one. His w«^"JJZ
to Mrs Bourdon, whose son indeed he ^•••/"•toii
striking. He bowed slightly, but <»«rteously. •• »
equal, as he closed the door, and I was left » tj??^
turbed enjoyment of my own reflectwos, "^^^^
defined and indistinct as they were, were f^^^.
pleasant company. My reverie was at leugw
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
825
rapted by the ratranoe of the doctor, with the announce-
ment that the cairiage was in waiting to re-conrey us
to town.
We had journeyed sereral miles on our return before
a word was spoken by either of us. My companion
was apparently eren more painfully preoccupied than
myself. He was, howeyer, the first to break silence.
* The emaciated corpse we have just left little resembles
the gay beautiful girl for whose smiles you and I were
ODoe disposed to shoot each other !* The doctor's voice
trembled with emotion, and his face, I perceived, was
pale as marUe.
*Mary Rawdon,' I remarked, 'lives again in her
daughter.'
*Tes; her very image. Do you know,' continued
he, spesking with rapid energy, * I suspect Mary Raw-
don — Mrs Armitage, I would say — ^has been foully,
treacherously dealt with !'
I started with amazement ; and yet the announce-
ment but embodied and gave form and colour to my
own ill-defined and shadowy suspicions.
* Good heavens ! How ? By whom ?'
* Unless I am greatly mistaken, she has been poisoned
by an adept in the use of such destructive agents.'
* Mrs Bourdon?'
' No ; by her son. At least my suspicions point that
way. She is probably cognisant of the crime. But
in order that yoo should understand the grounds upon
which my conjectures are principally founded, I must
enter into a short explanation. Mrs Bourdon, a woman
of Spanish extraction, and who formerly occupied a
much higher position than she does now, has lived with
Mrs Armitage from the period of her husband's death,
now about sixteen years ago. Mrs Bourdon has a son,
a tall, good-looking fellow enough, whom you may have
seen.'
* He was with his mother in the library as I entered
it after leaving you.'
' Ah t Well, hem ! This boy, in his mother's opinion
—but that perhaps is somewhat excusable — exhibited
early indications of having been born a '* genius." Mrs
Armitage, who had been first struck by the beauty
of the child, gradually acquired the same notion ; and
the result was, that he was little by little invested —
with at least her tacit approval — with the privileges
supposed to be the lawfiil inheritance of such giftied
sfMiits ; namely, the right to be as idle as he pleased
— geniuses, you know, can, according to the popular
notion, attain any conceivable amount of knowledge
f€r solium at a bound — ^and to exalt himself in the
stilts of his own conceit above the useful and honour-
able pursuits suited to the station in life in which Pro-
vidence had cast his lot The fruit of such training
soon showed itself. Toung Bourdon grew up a con-
ceited and essentially-ignorant puppy, capable of no-
thing but bad verses, and thoroughly impressed with
but one important fact, which was, that he, Alfred
Bourdon, was the most gifted and the most iU-used of
all God*s creatures. To genius, in any intelligible sense
of the term, he has in truth no pretension. He is en-
dowed, however, with a kind of reflective talent, which
is often mistaken by fools for creative power. The
morbid fimcies and melancholy scorn of a Byron, for
instance^ such gentry reflect back from their foggy
imaginations in exaggerated and distorted feebleness
of whining versides, and so on with other, lights celes-
tial or infernal This, however, by the way. The
only rational pursuit he ever followed, and that only by
fits and starts, and to gratify his faculty of ** wonder,"
I fancy, was chemistry. A small laboratory was fitted
up for him in the little summer-house you may have
observed at the further corner of the lawn. This study
of his, if study such desultory snatches at science may
be called, led him, in his examination of vegetable bodies,
to a sm^tering acquaintance with botany, a science of
whidi EUen Armitage is an enthusiastic student. They
were foolishly permitted to botanite together, and the re-
sult was» that Alfred Bourdon, acting upon the principle
that genius — whether sham or real — ^levels all merely
mundane dbtinctions, had the impudence to aspire to
the hand of Miss Armitage. His passion, sincere or
simulated, has never been, I have reason to know, in the
slightest degree reciprocated by its object ; but so blind
is vanity, that when, about six weeks ago, an ScUarciase-
ment took place, and the fellow's dream was somewhat
rudely dissipated, the untoward rejection of his pre-
posterous suit was, there is every reason to believe,
attributed by both mother and son to the repugnance
of Mrs Armitage alone ; and to this idiotic hallneinA-
tion she has, I fear, fallen a sacrifice. Judging from
the emaciated appearance of the body, and other pheno-
mena communicated to me by her ordinary medical
attendant — a blundering ignoramus, who ought to have
called in assistance long before — she has been poisoned
with iodine^ which, administered in certain quantities,
would produce precisely the same symptoms. Happily
there is no mode of destroying human life whidi so
surely leads to the detection of the murderer as the
use of such agents ; and of this truth the post mortem
examination of the body, which takes place to-morrow
morning, will, if I am not grossly mistaken, supply
another vivid illustration. . . . Legal assistance will no
doubt be necessary, and I am sure I do not err in ex-
pecting that you will aid me in bringing to justice the
murderer of Mary Rawdon?'
A pressure of his hand was my only answer. 'I
shall call for you at ten o'clock,' said he, as he put
me down at my own door. I bowed, and the carriage
drove ofll
* Well ?' said I, as Dr Gurteis and Mr the emi-
nent surgeon entered the library at Mount Place the
following morning after a long absence.
* As I anticipated,' replied the doctor with a choking
voice : ' she has been poisoned 1 '
I started to my feet * And the murderer ? '
'Our suspicions still point to young Bourdon; but
the persons of both mother and son have been secured.'
'Apart?'
'Yes; and I have despatched a servant to request
the presence of a neighbour — a county magistrate. I
expect him momently.'
After a brief consultation, we all three directed our
steps to the summer-house which contained young
Bourdon's laboratory. In the room itself nothing of
importance was discovered ; but in an enclosed recess,
wmch we broke open, we found a curiously-fashioned
glass bottle half full of iodine.
' This is it ! ' said Mr ; ' and in a powdered state
too— just readv for mixing with brandy or any other
available dissolvent' The powder had somewhat the
appearance of fine black-lead. Nothing farther of any
consequence being observed, we returned to the house,
where the magistrate had already arrived.
Alfred Bouj^on was first brought in ; and he having
been duly cautioned that he was not obliged to answer
any question, and that what he did say would be taken
down, and, if necessary, used against him, I proposed
the foUowing questions : —
* Have you the key of your laboratory ? '
* No ; the door is always open.'
' Well, then, of any door or cupboard in the room ?'
At this question his face flushed purple: he stam-
mered, ' There is no'— and abruptly paused.
* Do I understand you to say there is no cupboard or
place of concealment in the room ? '
' No : here is the key.'
* Has any one had access to the cupboard or recess of
which this is the key, except yourselif ?'
The young man shook as if smitten with ague : his
lips chattered, but no articulate sound escaped them.
* Tou need not answer the question/ said the magis-
trate, ' unless you choose to do so. I again warn you
that all you say will, if necessary, be used against
you.'
* No one,' he at length gasped, mastering his hesita-
tion by a strong exertion of the will — * no one can
326
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
have had aocess to the place but myself I have never
parted with the key/
Mrg Bourdon was now called in. After interchanging
a glance of intense agony, and, as it seemed to roe, ci
affectionate intelligence with her son, die calmly an-
swered the questions put to her. They were unim-
portant, except the last, and that acted upon her like a
galvanic shock. It was this—' Did you ever struggle
with your son on the landing leading to the bedroom
of the deceased for the possession of this'bottle?' and
I held up that which we had found in the recess.
A slight scream escaped her lips ; and then she stood
rigid, erect, motionless, glaring alternately at me and at
the fatal bottle with eyes that seemed starting fh>m
their sockets. I glanced towards the son ; he was also
affected in a terrible manner. His knees smote each
other, and a clammy perspiration burst forth and settled
upon his pallid forehead.
* Again I caution you,' iterated the magistrate, ' that
you are not bound to answer any of these questions.'
The woman's lips moved. * No — ^never!' she almost
inaudibly gasped, and fell senseless on the floor.
As soon as she was removed, Jane Withers was
called. She deposed that three days previously, as she
was, juSt before dusk, arranging some linen in a room a
fbw yards distant from the bedroom of her late mistress,
she was surprised at hearing a noise just outside the
door, as of persons struggling and speaking in low but
earnest tones. She drew aside a comer of the muslin
curtain of the window which looked upon the passage
or corridor, and there saw Mrs Bourdon striving to
wrest something Arom her son's hand. She heard Mrs
Bourdon say, * You shall not do it, or you shall not
have it — she could not be sure which. A noise of
some sort seemed to alarm them : they ceased strug-
gling, and listened attentively for a few seconds : then
Alfred Bourdon stde off on tip-toe, leaving the object
in dispute, which witness could not see distSictly, in his
mother's hand. Mrs Bourdon continued to listen, and
presently Miss Armitage, opening the door of her
mother's chamber, called her by name. She imme-
diately placed what was in her hand on the marble top
of a side-table standing in the corridor, and hastened to
Miss Armitage. Witness left the room she had been
in a few minutes afterwards, and, curious to know wliat
Mrs Bourdon and her son had been struggling for, went
to the table to look at it. It was an oddly-shaped glass
bottle, containing a good deal of a blackish-gray powder,
which, as she h^d it up to the light, looked like black-
lead!'
* Would you be able to swear to the bottle if you
saw it?'
* Certainly I should.'
' By what mark or token ? '
* The name of Yalpy or Yulpy was cast into it— that
is, the name was in the glass itself.'
•Is this it?'
* It is : I swear most positively.'
A letter was also read which had been taken fSrom
Bourdon's pocket. It was much creased, and was proved
to be in tiie handwriting of Mrs Armitage. It con-
sisted of a severe rebuke at the young man's presump-
tion in seeking to address himself to her daughter,
which insolent ingratitude, thb writer said, she should
never, whilst she lived, either fbrget or forgive. This
last sentence was strongly underiined in a <^erent ink
from that used by the writer of the letter.
The surgeon deposed to the cause of death. It had
been brought on by the action of iodine, which, admi-
nistered in certain quantities, product symptoms as of
rapid atrophy, such as had appeared in Mrs Armitage.
The glass bottle found in the recess contained iodine in
a pnlverised state.
I deposed that, on entering the library on the pre-
vious evening, I overheard young.Mr Boiudon, addx^-
ing his mother, say, ' Now that it is done past recall, I
will not shrink firom any consequences, be they what
they may ! '
This was the substance of the evidence adduced ; and
the magistrate at once committed AUIed Bourdon to
Chelmsford jail, to take his trial at the next assise fbr
*wilfhl murder.' A coroner's inquisition a few days
after also returned a vercBct of * wiUhl murder ' against
him on the same evidence.
About an hour after his committal, and just previoos
to the arrival of the vehicle which was to convey him
to the county prison, Alfired Bourdon requested an in-
terview with me. I very i^uctantiy consented ; but
steeled as I was against him, I eould not avoid feding
dreadfully ^hooked at the change which so brief aa
interval had wrought upon him. It had done ibe work
of years. Despair — ^black, utter despair — ^was written
in every lineament of his expressive countenance.
* I have requested to see you,' said the unhappy cu^nii;
* rather than Dr Curteis, because he, I know, is bitterly
prejudiced against me. But you will not refbse, I think,
the solemn request of a dying man — ^for a dying man I
feel myself to be — ^however long or short the interval
which stands between me and the scaflR>ld. It is not
with a childish hope that any assertion of mine can
avBul before the tribunal of the law against the evidence
adduced this day, that I, with all the solemnity befittii^
a man whose days are numbered, declare to you that I
am whoUy innocent of the crime laid to my diarge. I
have no such expectation ; I seek only that you, in pity
of my youth and untimdy fate, should coxivey to het
whom I have madly presumed to worship tiixs raeonge:
'* Alfired Bourdon was mad, but not blood-guilty ; luid
of the crime laid to his charge he is innocent as an
unborn child." '
*The pure and holy passion, young man,' said I,
somewhat startled by his impressive manner, ' however
presumptuous, as fer as social considerations arc con-
cerned, it might be, by which you affect to be ins{^ed,
is utterly inconsistent with the cruel, dastardly crime
of which such damning evidence has an hour rinoe been
given »
* Say no more, sir,' interrupted Bourdon, sinldiq; bade
in his seat, and burying his face in his hands : * it wen
a bootless errand ; she could not, in the face of tint
evidence, believe my unsupported assertion t It were
as well perhaps she md not. And yet, sir, it is hard to be
trampled into a felon's grave, loaded with the mal^c-
tions of those whom you would coin your heart to serve
and bless ! Ah, sir,' he continned, whilst tears of agony
streamed through his flrmly-dosed fingers, ' you cannot
conceive the unutterable bitterness of the pang whkh
rends the heart of him who feels that he is not only de-
spised, but loathed, hated, execrated, by her whom Ids
soul idolises ! lifine was no boyish, transient passion : it
has grown with my growth, and strengthened with nQp"
strength. My life has been but one long dream of her.
All that my soul had drunk in of beau^ in the viriblB
earth and heavens — ^the light of setting suns — ^the nidi-
ance of the silver stars — the brea^ of summer flowtsi^
together with all which we imagine of oelesti&l pnri^
and grace, seemed to me in her incarnated, ooDoe&-
tred, and combined! And now lost — ^lost — ^fbr ever
lost ! ' The violence of his emotions choked his utter-
ance; and deeply and painftilly affected, I hastened
from his presence.
Time sped as ever onwards, surely, sitentlly; and
justice, with her feet of lead, but hands of iron, ctostB
gradusJly upon her quarry. Alfred Bourdon waa ar>
ndgned before a jury of his countrymen, to answer
flnfldly to the accusation of wilfU murder prefemd
against him. *
The evidence, as given before the committing magis-
trate,' and the coroner's inquisition, was repected with
some addition of passionate expressions used by the
prisoner indicative of a desire to be avenged oo ^e de-
ceased. The cross-examination by Uie oounsd fiir the
defence was able, but failed to shake tiie case for the
prosecution. His own admission, that no one hut him-
self had access to the recess where the poison wasfomid,
told fatally against him. Wlien called upon to addrsM
EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
327
be jury, he deUvered himaelf of a speech rather than
defence ; of an oratorical effhsion, instead of a figo-
ona, and* if pooihle, damaging commentary upon the
Tidence arrayed against him. It was a lahoored, and
Q part doquent, exposition of the necessary fidlihility
f hnman judgment, illustrated hy numerous examples
f erroneous Terdicts. His peroration I jotted down at
be time : — ' Thus, my lord and gentlemen of the jury,
I it abundantly maiUfest, not (mly by these examples,
lut by the testimony which erery man bears in his
»wn breast, that Ood could not hare willed, could not
lare commanded, his creatures to perform a pretended
hity, which he Touchsafed them no power to perform
ighteously. Oh, be sure that if he had intended, if
le had commanded you to pronounce irrerersible de-
Tees upon your feQow-man, quenching that life which
■ his highest gift, he would have endowed you with
pits to perform that duty rightly I Has he done so?
/Uk not dbne the pages dripping with innocent blood
irhidi I hare quoted, but Tour own hearts ! Are you,
locording to the promise oi the serpent-tempter, ** gods,
knowing good m>m evil?** of suc3i dear omniscience,
that yoa can hurl an unprepued soul before the tribunal
^ its Maker, in the full assurance that you hare rightly
loosed the dlTcr cord which he had measured, have
justiy broken the golden bowl which he had fashioned !
Oh, my lord,' he conduded, his dark eyes flashing with
sxdtemeiit, ' it is possible that the fint announcement
of my innocence of this crime, to which you will gire
credeoce, may be proclaimed from the awfol tribunid of
him who alone cannot err I How if he, whose eye is
eren now upon us, should then proclaim, " /, too, sat in
jodgmeot on the day when you presumed to doom your
fellow-wonn *, and / saw that the murderer was not in
the doeli^ but on the bench I " Oh, my lord, think well
of wlwt you do — pause ere you incur such fearful ha-
zard; for be^ assured, tiiat for all these things God will
alio bring jM( to judgment I*
He ceued, and sank back exhausted. His fenrid
dedamati«m produced a considerable impression unon
the auditory ; but it soon disappeared before the calm,
impressiTe charge of the judge, who reassured the
Ktaraed jury, by reminding them that their duty was
to honestly execute the law, not to dispute about its
jnstioe. For himself, he said, sustained by a pure oon-
acienoei, he was quite willing to incur the hazard hinted
at by the prisoner. After a careftd and luminous sum-
ming up, the jury, with very slight deliberation, returned
aTerdidof'QuUty.'
As the word passed the lips of the foreman of the
jury, a piercing shriek rang through the court It pro-
ceeded from a tail figure in blade, who, with dosely-
Snwn rdl, had sat motionless during the trial, jiut
before the dodL It was the prisoners mother. The
next instant she rose, and throwing back her reil, wildly
exdaimed, *He is innocent— innocent, I tell ye! I
akne'— —
* Mather ! mother I for the love of Heaven be silent I '
ihoQied ike ptisoner with flrantic vehemence, and
fltretdiiBg himself over the firont of the dock, as if to
grasp and restrain her.
* Lmoeent, I tdl you! ' omtinued the woman. ' I— I
akmesmthegmUypersonl It was I alone that perpe-
trated the deed! He knew it not, suspected it not, till
tt was too late. Here,* she added, drawing a sheet of
paper from her bosom — *here is my confession, with
each dreumstance detoiled I '
As the waved it over her head, it was snatched by her
Bon, and, swift as lightning, torn to shreds. * She is mad!
Heed her not— believe h^ not !' He at the same time
•bouted at the top of his powerftil voice, * Sheis dis-
tracted—mad I How, my lord, your sentence I Ckmie ! '
The tumuH and exdtement in the court no language
whidi I can empk>y would convey an adequate impres-
rioQ ot As soon as calm was partially restored, Mrs
Bourdon was taken into custody: the prisoner was
icmoved ; and the court adljoumed, of course without
passing sentence.
It was even as his mother said ! Subsequent invest
tigation, aided by her confessions, amply proved thai
the fearful crime was conceived and perpetrated by her
alone, in the frantic hope of securing for her idolised
son the hand and fortune of Miss Annitage. She had
often been present with him in his laboratory, and had
thus become acquainted with the uses to whidi certain
agents could be put. She had purloined the key of the
recess; and he. unfortunately too late to prevent the
perpetration <» the crime, had by mere aoddent dis*
covered the abstraction of the poison. EQs subsequent
declarations had been made for ttxe determined purposd
of saving his mother's Hffe by the sacrifice of his own I
The wretched woman was not reserved to fall before
the justioe of her country. The hand of Qod smote her
ere the scaffold was prepared for her. She was smittea
with firenzy, and died raving in the Metropolitan Lu-
natic Asylum. Alfred Bourdon, after a lengthened im-
prisonment, was liberated. He called on me, by ap-
pointment; a fbw days previous to lesrjng this country
for ever i and I placed in Us hands a small pocket-
Bible, on the fly-leaf of whidi was written one word —
^ EUent* His dim eye lighted up with something of
its dd fire as he ghmced at the characters; he thea
dosed the book, placed it in his bosom, and. waving
me a mute fSarewdl— I saw he durst not trust himseo
to speak — ^hastUy departed. I never saw him more !
SHAKSPEARIAN HYGIENE.
Shakspkare, that * myriad-minded man,' as Coleridge
has emphatically called him, who has left no subject
untouched and unadorned, has scattered through many
of his wondrous plays scraps of medical wisdom of equal
truth and value with anything that sdence can teach
us. A few of these hygiinie maxims, or plain rules of
health, we here sutjoin.
First we have the important Amotions of the sto-
mach in the animal economy accuratdy sketched in
the faUe of the Belly and the Members in ' Coridanus.'
The stomach thus replies to the rebdlious limbs :—
* Trna is it, my Inoorponte friendi, quoth he,
That I reodTe the general food at first
Whioh yon do Uve upon : and fit It is;
Beoanse I am the sttHehonse and the shop
Of the whole body. But if yoo do mnember,
I send it throvgh the riren of your blood.
Even to the ooort, the heart--to the seat o* the brain ;
And through the cranks and offices oi man.
The strongest nerves, and small inferkw vehis.
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby thoy Uve.*
And now,
* May good dlgeetlon wait on appeIKe,
And health on both ;'i
rather than
' A sick man's ttffpetiie, who deelret most that
Which would increase his evil ;' *
at the same time remembering that
' Nature's with nttle fiteased, oMigh't a feast.'
The influence of the mind on the digestive organs is
thus glanced at, when the poet makes Henry VIIL,
in giving Wolsey the schedule of his ill-gotten weslth,
say—
* Read o'er this— (j^vlr^ him jxip^rt)
And, after, this ; and then to breakfiut, with
What appetite you may.'
Nor is the * green and yellow melancholy' of her who
' never tdd her love' to be regaaded as a metaphorical
or poetic fiction.
'' And truly, for aught I aw, they are as aiok that forfeit with too
lanoh, as they that starve with nothing.'^
1 Macbeth.
' COriolanus.
* Merchant of Venice.
328
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Howr ofteq w thf wealthy epioure, even although
■ * Bpioimui oooks
. Sharpen with cloykaiBfluioetb»HV>tUe,*i
tempted to exclaim,
• WiU Bortone nawr oooM with both hwid* fuU ?
She eithev giT«» » stomach, and no fooo—
euch are the poor in health-or else a feast
And takea away the stomach ; such axe the rien .
That have abundanoe, and enjoy It not ■
From the fecetioui Sir Toby Belch we may learn the
banefit of early rising \ for, says he,
* Not iolie a^hed after midnight, la toba tjp bettawa ; and cf«u-
«to»iw»sr««rftAsrrtimi««ft.tho«lqjoweat »
Heat likewise the reward of active exertion, the in-
dustrious poor man's especial privilege:—
• W^arineas caanioM upon the flint, while rertlng aloth
Finda the down pillow hard.**
Rarely, indeed, are the indolent and luxurions
• As fast iDolced up In sleep as gufltjess labonr
•When It lies starkly in the traveUer^s bonee. »
Many 1^ time *nd oft does the pamp«;ed itt^al^».^,}|«
tosM^ rettlesBly oo bis uneapr oowOi. cry out in the
language of the dying monarch—
• Sleep that ImlU up the ravelled sleeve of care.
Thedeath of each day's Mfe. sore labour's bath.
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's aeeand oootse,
Chief noartsbet Usk Ufe'a feaat ''-
Beware, however, at all times of those pests of sociefy
— quacks:
* I say we must not
Bo stain our judgment, or oormpt our &ope.
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To empiilos.' *
•Sleep, genUe sleep.
Nainca'a aoft nurse, how have I fHghted thee.
That thorn no mon> wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my seuses in fo|^«*J»io«* ' ,„^
Why rather, sleep, llest thou in nnolty crihe.
TTpon uneasy pallets stretching thee, j.^^^.
And hnriied wUh boazinf night-fliee to thy slumber;
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great*
Uuder the canopies of costly state.
And lulled with ««««dspf8Wwtert melody .
Oh thou dull god. why llest thou with the vito.
to lilSsome^ , aid lea»;at the ktoriy couch.
A watoh-caaa» or a common 'larum-beu 7
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the diip-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude fmperioos surge ;
Atidinttievlaitatfanofthowlnda,
Who take the ruffian blUowa by the u^, ^
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
Withdeafening clamours in the sUppery clouda.
That, with the burly, death itself awafcea?
Canst thou, oh partial sieep I «lve thy wpoaa
To «he wet aea-boy In an hour so rude ;
And in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot.
Deny if— unto me ? «
That excessive exercise of *the mind is iignrious to
the body, is consteutly seen in the lean, pale, shnveUed
a^ect of htrd atudents. Thus C«sar says—
« Let me have men about me that are fat ;
Sloek-beaded men, and such aa alcep o* nigbts:
Vond' Cassiua has a lean and hungry look->^
He thinks too much.' ^
Compared wilto such medicine as healthful exercise,
♦ the most sovereign prescription in Galen is bi^ em-
piricutle, and, to this preservative, of no better report
than horse-drench ;'» so that he who makes good use
of it may weU declare, * I wiU make a lip at the phy-
sician,'* and is almost disposed to exdaim, with Mac-
beth—
* Throw physic to tiie dogs, ril none of it I •
' Out. loathed medioine ; hated poison, hence ! '^o
For most of our slighter ailments we shall often find
that
• The labour we delight In physics pain.' » >
1
1 Antony and Cleopatra. ' Henry IV.. Part Sd.
3 Twelfth Night. ♦ Measure for Measure.
« Maoboth and Henry IV. 7 Julius Cesar.
B Coriolanus. ' Ibid. ^° ilidsummer Night's Dream.
filbkl.
" Ibid.
SECOND VISIT TO THE ANTIQUARIAN
MUSEUM.
On the return of Mrs BusseU and her friends fnm the
visit to the Museum of the Society of Antiquaries,
which was described in a former number, they found
Mr Gregor awaiting them, and overwhelmed him with
exclamations of wonder and interest about the obje^
which had engaged their attention in that curious col-
lection.
• I had no conception that they could have proved so
attractive,* exclaimed Miss Gregor to her &ther. • I
am sure I have heard more than one of my companionj
speak of a visit to it with extreme indiflfference. I
really believed there was nothing worth looking at,
even after we had glanced round the Museum, unm
Uncle liuder directed our attention to its contents. I
do believe Mrs Russell and I might have returned
homfe, had we been left to our own guidance, vowing
we had seen nothing.'
Mr Gregor smiled as he replied : • Do you lemanber
a story I used to read to you long ago, in Dr Aikin a
delightful " Evenings at Home," entitled Eyes and no
Eyes ; or the Art of Seeing. Two schoolboys return
home from a holiday ramble. Robert haa been to
Broom-heath, round by the windmill on Camp-Mount,
and home through the meadows by the river-aide. He
decUres it to have been all very dull : he met nolwdy,
and saw nothing. Meanwhile William arrives, and re-
counts the deUghtful walk he has had. Here a parasitie
misUetoe tempted him to pause, there his attention was
arrested by a woodpecker. Insects, the meadow flowers,
the fine view, the meandering stream, the setting sun,
all interested and delighted him. And where, think yoa,
had he been walking ! ' , „. ^
• I remember the story, I think,' said Miaa Gregor,
with a look of some confusion ; * but what haa it to do
with our visit to the Antiquarian Museum ! '
• Much, my dear Jane,' replied her father. • William's
delightful ramble was found, on inquiry, to have led bnn
over exactiy the same route which had proved ao duU to
his indifferent companion ; and your pleasant riait to
the collection of antiquities to-day— thanka to Undc
Lauder's teaching you to use your eyes — was apent in
inspecting exactly the same objects which your com-
panions had pronounced so unattractive. Depend upon
it, the question of Eyes or no Eyes enters far more
largely than most people think into the proper use
and the enjoyment of experience.'
• I feel,' said Mrs Russell smUing, • that your remarks
are not a whit less applicable to myself tiian to J«ie.
Mr Lauder has taught me a lesson which I shall not soon
forget, for I was equally ready on my first visit to the
antiquities of Atdd Beskie, and to those of the New Town,
to follow the example of Sterne's splenetic Smelfungua,
who returned from the grand tour only to pronounce
all barren. But I hope Mr Lauder haa found ua su^
willing pupils, that he will favour us with hia able guid-
anoe to finish our survey of the Museum.' Mr Lander
assured his friends of the pleasure it would afford him
to comply with their request, and they accordini^ ac-
companied him a day or two afterwards to renew their
inspection of that varied collection of antiquitiea.
• Our whole time,' said Mr Lauder, • was taken up ou
our fir$t visit in inspecting the objecto belonging to what
archaeologists agree in styling the Stone and Bronze
Periods. They include all those relics of a remote period
which indicate to us the habito of the rude nomade tribea
who first peopled the north of Europe, and form a depart-
iLcar.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
339
raent peooliarly valoed by the archaeologist. He justly
prides himself on haviog written a new and most im-
portant chapter in the history of the human race, and
in the annals of our own country, based on scientific
inductions derived from such relics. In this depart-
ment the Edinburgh Museum is Tery complete. Though
the examples are not numerous, no important link is
wanting in the chain of eridence, and it will well repay
repeat^ risits and careful stu4y. Now, however,* said
Mr Lauder, *■ we turn to a new and entirely different de-
partment. Mark the peculiar forms of the British and
early Celtic pottery in the case we were examining on
our last visit Some of the urns are evidently finished
vith much care. Great labour has been devoted to
their ornamental decoration, and we find among them
considerable variety of form. Now, however, we sliall
turn our attention to the Roman period. The adjoin-
ing case is entirely filled with Roman pottery, in which
department the Museum is also very well provided.
Here are examples of Romano-British pottery from
Inreresk and Falkirk in Scotland: from London and
Ccdchester in England ; from France, Spain, and even
from Tangier. It is in>possible for the most careless
observer to overlook the marked contrast in form, even
of the very simplest and rudest of the latter, when thus
placed in juxtaposition with the fictile productions of
the Celtic era. In the Roman pottery we at once
detect the influence of the potter's wheel, while we
observe the beautiful combinations of elliptic lines to
which so much of the graceful symmetry of Greek and
Roman art may be traced.
*Not less curious and interesting are the smaller
fictile works of the adjoining case ; the small cinerary
cups, incense cups, as they arc frequently styled, and
the lachrtfmatorieSf or tear-bottles, which were placed
in the tombs as emblems of the sorrow of weeping
friends. The latter idea, indeed, is derived from a very
remote period. We discover the expression of it among
the Egyptians at the funeral of Jacob, where the great
company that had come up out of Egypt paused for
seven days mt the thrashing-fioor of Ataa beyond Jor-
dan, ** and there they mourned with a great and very
sore lamentation.*^ A similar practice may be observed
among the native Irish in our own day. But a more
distinct resemblance to the Roman lachrymatory is dis-
coverable in the reference made by David, amid his
lamentations in the fifty-sixth psalm, where he cx-
dums, "Thou tellest my wanderings; put thou my
tears into thy bottle."*
* And were these little bottles really filled with tears,
uncle?* exclaimed Miss Gregor. *I would cry for a
month, I think, without filling the largest of them.'
Mr Lauder smiled as he replied, 'My dear Jane,
human nature appears, upon the whole, to have been
very much the same among the old Romans as it shows
itscJf in our own day. We frequently find the most
costly funeral and the most lugubrious epitaph where
very little real sorrow is felt ; and very possib^ these
huge lachrymatories, that could hold wellnigh a pint
of tears, were only the ostentatious formula of grief
of some decorous Roman widow or impatient heir.*
^frs Russell. Really, there does seem something
excessively ridiculous in the idea of a disconsolate
widow sit&ng with a bottle at each eye, in order to col-
lect satisfactory evidence of her sorrow.
Mr Lauder. Doubtless. And vet we must beware
of judging thus hastily of the old Roman matron, or
thinking oif her only like Lady Macbeth, struggling * to
show an unfelt sorrow.* The best cure for any such
misapprehension is a walk to one of our own ceme-
terki, where we have weeping Cupids, inverted torches,
urns and wet clouts, ad nauseam, to say nothing of dis-
amsciate hiscriptions that might make a dead Roman
laugh. But we must hasten somewhat faster over the
collection if we are to finish the inspection to-day.
So saying, Mr Lauder proceeded to direct their at-
tention to a very beautiful and curious collection of
Raman lamps. One. from the Baths of Caracalla. has
a camel embossed on it $ another, from London, is deco.
rated with a fh>g ; a third, of a very unusual but ele-
gant form, repreMots a fbofe eloUied with a sandaL Mr
Lauder failed not to direct the attention of his compa-
nions to the potters* names stamped on these, as well as
on the beautiful specimen* of Samian ware, by means
of which the antiquary is able to trace the manufacture
of them to certain fixed localities, and to elucidate in a
most satisfactory manner the extent of the commercial
intercourse which prevailed at the period of the Roman
occupation of Britain. Next the party examined the
beautiful Roman bronzes, induding several fine ex-
amples found in Scotland. The fibuia, and other ob-
jects of personal ornament, speeialiy excited the interest
of the ladies I and, in particular, one elegant bronze
brooch, beautifully inlaid wbiclv as Mrs Russell re*
marked, * the finest lady might now be proud to wear.'
In the same cases were specimens of Roman glass, in-
cluding small lachrymatories ; of Roman iron, includ-
ing axe and spearfaeadi, hamiaers, &«.; and of Imwze
sacred and culinary vessels. Next Mr Lauder drew their
attention to a small but ver^ valuable collection of
Etruscan pottery, decorated with the graceM artistic
designs, executed in blank and white on a red ground,
which 'form so valasMe a feature of these moniments of
antiquity.
' You sec from these examples,* said Mr Lauder, * how
great was the clionge effected by the Roman invaders.
They were, in reality, the nussionariea of civilisation,
introducing to our knowledge neariy all the useful and
ornamental arts. Invention, however, was not ex-
hausted. Here are broocltes and other ornaments of
the Anglo- Saxon period no less beautiful than those of
the Romans, but altogether different in form ; while of
a later date wc can examine a rioh and varied collection
of medieval art, differing from both, and yet rivalling
them in grace and beauty.'
Now that the interest of the ladies was thoroughly
roused, it was only witli great difficulty that Mr Lauder
could get them to follow him when he sought to hurry
them on from one case to another, so as to survey the
remaining portions of the collection. A large central
case, chiefiy filled with mediaeval objects In brass and
iron, displayed a curious collection of spurs. One was
from the field of Bannockbum ; another from that of
Falkirk ; a third from Linlithgow Loch. One elegant
pair had belonged to an old Lord Napier; another,
beautifully inlaid with silver, were those of Archbishop
Sharp ; and a third had been worn by the great Gus-
tavus Adolphus at the battle of Lutzen, where he fell.
Swords, spearheads, bolts, and dirks in like nuinner
carry back the fancy to tlie struggles of Wallace and
Bruce, to the fiital field of Flodden, and to the romantic
associations of • the forty-five.'
In another comer a smgutar coHection of keys at-
tracts the eye and excites the fancy. One large one
of antique form, dredged from Loch Leven, tells of the
escape of the hapless Mary Stuart from her island
prison, only to exchange it for crueller and more hope-
less scenes of captivity, One thinks involontarUy,
while gazing on this curious relio of old historic scenes^
of the fair queen, with whom so many romantic associa-
tions are indissolubly bound upland of her touching
lament v-^
• Bom AH too Wgh, by wedlock raised
Btill higher— to be cast thus low I
Would thai min* eyca had oever gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Tbao th« sweet ilowerets of the field 1
It is my royal state that yields
This bittemcai of wo.'
The same case contains another, though less appro-
priate relic, associated with the fair Scottish queen — a
curious ancient chisel recently found imbedded in the
wall of Queen Mary*s chamber in Edinburgh Castle,
where her son James YI. was bom. Another of the
keys, decorated with a graceful coronet at its handle,
was found on the l.iwn at Falkland Palace, and is sun-
■^
330
CHA3{BCIU3*8 fiDlNBtmGQ JOtTRHAt.
posed to have belonged to her father Jamea Y. A
rariety of scalptured Gothic remaina, and a richly-caryed
oak door, are the memorials of the prirmte oratory d
her mother, Mary of Quise; an ancient marbte quegh,
or Scottish drinking-cnp, decorated wltii the crown and
royal initials, is regarded as a memento of her son ; a
large and beantifnl comb is afEbmed to be that which
arranged the long and graceM loTe-locks of her unfor-
tunate grandson Charles L ; and, to close our enumera-
tion of Stuart relics, the blue ribbon worn by Prince
Charies in 1745, as port of the ensigns of the Order of
the Garter, hangs amid the miscelliuieous collection of
another case.
* We hare thus,' said Mr Lauder, affcer satisfying the
interest and curiosity of his fair friends with anecdotes
suggested by these romantic relics — * we have thus step-
ped, wdl*nigh at one bound, fh>m the thirteenth to the
eighteenth century : nor can we venture to retrace our
steps. One case, indeed, entirely filled with mediaeral
ecclesiastical relics, awakens scarcely less interesting
associations by its memorials of Robert the Bruce, of the
good Bishop Kennedy, Mary of Lorraine, &c. llie ad-
joining one is rich in equally valuable evidences of the
civil arts of the same period. The next attracts by a
miscellaneous, but scarcely less curious assortment —
relics of Rob Roy, of Bums, and Scott ; illustrations of
Scottish manners and superstitions. Here, for ex-
ample,* said Mr Lauder, * is the collar of a Scottish slave
of the eighteenth century.'
'A Scottish slave!' exdaimed Miss Gregor; 'was
there ever such a thing, dear unde?'
'Undoubtedly there was,' Mr Lauder replied; 'and
here is a brass collar scarcely differing from that of
your great watch-dog Jowler, which was worn by a
Scottish slave only lasfbentury. You can read the in-
scription on it, engraved in large Roman characters —
** Alexr. Stewart, found guiltt of death, for theft,
AT Perth the 5th of December 1701, and cofted
BT THE Justiciars as a perpetual servant to Sir
John Areskine of Alva.*"
'That is really a most remarkable modem relic,' said
Mrs Russell ' Do you know anything of the history of
the unfortunate wretch who was doomed to wear this
badge of slavery in a free country?*
* Nothing more,' replied Mr Lauder, ' than may be
surmised from the circumstance of its discovery. It
was dredged up in the Firth of Forth; and one can
hardly avoid the conclusion that the unhappy culprit
terminated his hopeless existence by a vident death.
There is nothing, however, that an antiquary can do
which involves so much danger of error and exposure
as the giving the reins to his fancy. So let us proceed
to employ our brief remaining time in seeing all that
we can. We have arrived now, in our circuit of ^e
Museum, nearly at the point firom which we started,
and here we are once more thrown back on remote
antiquity. Here are antiquities of Mexico and Peru,
constructed, in all probability, before the adventurous
Columbus had found for Castile and Leon a new world ;
and alongside of them are the still older relics of Egyp-
tian art, coeval, it may be, with the miraculous signs and
wonders of Moses, and the exodus of Israel firom the
land of bondage. Among these are a variety of the
beautifiil little mummy -like figures usually styled
Penatea, one of the most remarkable of which is evi-
denUy designed as a representation of the god Thoth.
Notwithstanding the grotesque form of the head, the
beauty and grace of its form might stand comparison
with a work of Greek art But these, with the Egyp-
tian rings, amulets, signets, bronEes, &c, must all be
reserved for future study, if c^portunity occurs.
' Let us now,' said ^ Lauder, ' take a hasty glance
over the larger objects which stand exposed. Here is a
valuable series of casts from the ancient Collegiate
Church of the Holy Trinity, founded in Edinburgh, in
1462, by Mary of Gudders, the widowed queen of James
IL of Scotland. Among them we discover the most
grotesque caricatures of the monks; ludicrous, and, as
we would think, profane representations of imps, and
devils, and monkeys, all of them most unseemly decora-
tions for a church; sufficing pretty plainly to illnstrate
Scottirii morals and manners in the middle of the fif-
teenth century. On the walls, again, are the old two-
handed swoo^ of the middle ages ; Highland broadswofrdi
and targets, some of which have done service at Preston
and CuJQoden. The long civic spear of old Andro Hart,
the celebrated Edinburgh printer, funed not only for bis
Bibles, adorned with the quaint emblem of a huirt, but
also for his share in the fkmous tumult of 1596, whoi
King James was put in such bodily terror, that he vowed
in his wra^ to levd Edinburgh with the ground, and to
make of it a hunting-field. We can almost fancy we see
the sturdy old printer sallying forth, with bis loog spear
and jack, and diouting *' Armour^ armour T according- to
the fashion of the tumultuous old citizens of Edinburgh.'
A weapon of a very difi*erent description next attract-
ed ^eir attention. The world -fiimous stool of Jatng
Cfeddes, with which she struck the initial s^oke in the
great dvil war; hurling it at the dean of Edinburj^'s
head on his venturing for the first time to read the
English liturgy in a Sa>ttish church, with the pithy ex-
clamation, ' (hit, faute thief! wilt thou read mass at «jr btf f *
Jenny's belligerent stool now reposes quietly within
the time-worn pulpit of John Knox; while dose by
there stands in grim, but equaUy peaceful repose ^be
ancient Maiden, the Soottish guillotine, by which bo
many brave and noble men have been done to the dea^
Popular tradition assigns its invention to the Regent
Morton, and adds that he was the first to perish
Vy its maiden axe. In this, however, tradition errs.
Thomas Scott, one of the inferior accomplices in tiie
murder of Rizzio, was the first whose death was aooom-
plished by its means. Since then, the Regent Morton,
the Marquis and Earl of Argyle, Sir George Grordon of
Haddo, Johnston of Warriston, and a host of other vic-
tims, bAve perished by this seductively-titied, but dread-
ful engine of death, ere the happy Revolution cooaigiied
it to repose. A broad banner on the wall, inscribed,
between the arms of the Scottish saltier, ' For Rdimom^
Covenants, King, and Kingdom/* is one of the standards
borne by the Covenanters at Bothwell Bridge. A back
and breast-piece of rusty armour, recently dug np on the
same field, forms an equally appropriate memento of the
enemies of the Covenant Nor must we forget a copy of
the Covenant itself, exhibited in one of the cases, with
the signature of Montrose, Rothes, Lauderdale, sod
many others adhibited to it, who afterwards bore fit^
love ei^er to it or its adherents; while the horrible
instrument of torture, the Thtjiibkims, is displayed in
a neighbouring case.
' xou are familiar, I daresay,' said Mr Lauder, while
they were looking at the thumbkins, 'with the stoiy
told of King William and his shrewd Scottish adviser
Carstairs. This person, who was a clergyman, and <me
of King William s chaplains, had undergone the erod
torture of the thumbkms rather than betray his mas-
ter's confidence. After the Revolution, the magisteatas
of Edinburgh presented the instrument to CarstaitB, as
the fittest memorial of his fidelity and coorageoos
endurance. King William, it is said, hearing of this,
ordered the thumbkins to be produced; and r>"^"g
bis thumbs in the engine, desired Carstairs to turn Qie
screw, telling him that he wi^ed to judge of his fortitude
bv experiencing the pain which he endured. Carstaizs
obeyed; but timied the screws with such courtly ten-
derness, as best suited their application to royal ttiambs.
The king remarked, on its pinching him a little, that it
was unpleasant, but could be endured. At length the
divine, feeling a natural jealousy of his own reputation,
gave tiie screw so sudden a wrench, that the king roared
for mercy, and vowed, had he been subjected to such a
trial, he would have confessed anything they chose to
dictate to him.'
* Did the king ever fi^ve him,' said Miss Gregfor,
* for forcing firom him so cowardly a oonfiession ?'
'He was much too magnanimous,' reputed Mr leader.
L
GHAMBER8*8 m)IKBUR6H JOURNAL.
831
* to take offence at rach a cause ; nor must we be misled
by his friendly candour, to suppose that he wonld not
hATeendored much, rather than betray confidence simi-
Uriy reposed in him. So great was the inflnenoe Car-
stairs acquired and retained till his death, that his fellow-
coimtr3rmen dabbed him with the questionable title of
Cardinal Carstabs.'
It was now time that they should return home, and
Mr Lauder expressed a hope that the Museum of the
Antiquaries had not lost its first attractions on ftirther
inspection. To this Mrs Russell replied by assuring him
that she only regretted she could not again and again
return to familiarise herself with its raried contents.
Before leaTing, B(r Lauder obtained permission to yisit
the Council Room and the Libraiy. In the former,
they were gratified with the sight of some valuable his-
toric portraits which adorn the walls. The most ancient
of these is a fine portrait of Cardinal Greorge Innes, who
was created cardinal of St Lawrence in Lucina in the
beginning of the fifteenth century; the first Scotsman,
it is b^eved, who was made a prince of the church.
In the Library they were shown the Hawthomden
Manuscripts, containing nearly the whole works of the
Scotch poets Drummond and Fowler in their own
handwriting. There also they saw original auto-
graphs of Queen Mary, King James I. and III., the two
Charleses, Cromwell, Monk, Rothes, Lauderdale, Argyle,
&c ; a beautifVil manuscript Latin Bible of the fifteenth
century; several finely -illuminated missals; a large
Spanish music-book of the fourteenth century; and
many rare and beantiAil specimens of typography. Even
the lobby, as they retired, attracted them with one or
two quaint memorials of the olden time. A pair of huge
steel pokers, of gigantic proportions, were pointed out to
the visitors as &e mace and sceptre of * The Knights of
the Cape,' a celebrated convivial club of last century,
which numbered among its early knights Tom Lan-
caster the comedian, Fergusson the poet, Runciman,
Jacob More, and other artists, and a host of citizens of
no little note in their day. In another dark comer of
the lobby their attention was directed to a quaint little
Dutch mannikin, with goggle eyes; the identical old
wooden citizen who long maintained his post, lint in
hand, at the door of the ancient yam merchant's booth
in the West Bow, where the rioters of 1736 obtained the
rope with which the wretched Porteous was hanged.
With this grotesque memento of the famous Porteous
mob, Mr Lauder and his friends bade adieu to the
Museum of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland; their
minds stored with many pleasing and instmctive recol-
lections, which supplied ample subject for lively con-
versation during the remainder of the day, and still
famishes flrequent topics for discussion in the friendly
interchange of epistolary correspondence between Taun-
ton and Edinburgh.
LIFE IN NEW SOUTH WALES.
Works on the Australian colonies continue to stream
from the press, and if mistaken notions are still enter-
tained respecting these regions, it can be owing to no
want of materials for judging. The last book is so far
likely to be impartial, as the author appears to have
no personal interest in the success of the new country.
He did not go out as a settler, but as a visitor in quest
of health ; and in committing his impressions to paper,
he is uninfluenced by any prospect of returning to the
antipodes.* Under such circumstances, we are disposed
to receive Mr Townsend's representations with the re-
spect due to the sentiments of an educated and tolerably
observant person, whose residence in the colony of four
years was long enough to familiarise him with the
aspect of its' men and things, and not long enough to
Bnahlai sad ObMnratiaDt in New Soath Wales, with Bkeiohes
"^ and Maantn, Notloes of the Aboriginos, OlimpMe of
. , and some Hints to Bmignnto. By Joseph Fhipps Town-
London: Chapman and HbU. 1849.
imbue him with the party prejudices of a resident. At
the same time, the impression left upon us by the book
is, that its au^or is 'more capable of describing than of
reasoning, and that he is better able to understand the
parts of a subject than the whole. His sketches of the
various dasses of the population, however, are all good
and lilb-like, although of course not absolutely new ;
and to this portion of the vohime we shall confine our-
selves.
The city of Sydney, as it is now styled, contains a
population of 60,000, collected in no more than sixty
years, and is governed by a mayor and corporation. Its
wharfs are excellent, watermen plying in neat wherries
at their steps; but when approached by land, it resem-
Mes Birmingham in appearance, witn manufactories
surrounding it, and houses resemUin|f the tradesmen's
villas^ of the old country. The firesh colour of the Eng-
lish, however, is wanting in the inhabituits : in Sydney
they are <hne hrown. But in Sydney there are charac-
ters and costumes which alone are worth the trouble of
the voyage. Here is a picture of a ' young com-stalk *
coming pacing along on a coarse-bred tramping filly : —
* Tou observe that he has a very long pair of spurs,
fixed in sockets in the heels of his boots. He wears a
broad-brimmed cabbage -tree hat (manufactured from
the leaves of the palm of that name) ; a check shirt,
open at the neck, and presenting a hold frmi ; a blue
jacket, and a gay waistcoat His trowsers are made,
as those of many others, of the ticken generally used
for the cases of beds, and are cut so much to the quick,
that your dread of tiieir bursting keeps you in a state
of uncomfortable nervous apprehension. He wears an
immense moustache, and Yandyck beard, and a red
scarf or comforter is tied round his waist. I sketch
strictly firom life ; and I well recdlect the astonishment
I felt when I beheld this apparition moving along in
solemn state, ** witching the worid with noble horse-
manship." Tet such a phenomenon would be an ad-
mirable bushman, would endure hunger and fatigue,
and travel (as this person has done) many hundred
miles to a distant station, sleeping out every night, and
exhibiting great perseverance and foresight ; and such
a life he would greatly prefer to that of a salaried official
in Sydney, upon whom he would look down with no
small degree of contempt, as efi*eminate and helpless.'
In another part of the country our traveller saw a
girl on horseback driving cattle with a stock whip. She
bestrode her steed like a man ; the gay ribbons of her
bonnet fiuttered in the wind ; and she was arrayed in
white pantaloons adorned with large frills. This was
a * currency lass,' the daughter of a settler, and a speci-
men of a generatton which does not appear to be brought
up in a very accurate knowledge of the old country.
One of them asked if ticket-^- leave holders made
good servants in England ? and another, when talking
of a visit to Europe, declared her intention to attend
Queen Victoria's At Homes in Buckingham Palace.
A description is given of a fkrmer of New South
Wales, which might well excite the envy and admira-
tion of his brethren at home. * The owners of this
noble property hold, as freehold, eighty thousand acres
of fine land, of which twenty thousand are naturaJly
clear and fit for the plough, and I speak within bounds
when I sav that on the estate are five thousand acres
of white dover. This, indeed, mpreads so fast, that in
a few vears the greater part of the property will be
covered with it ; but a mixture of clover and rye-grass
is preferred. On this estate, and on the adjoining
waste lands, are maintained upwards of three thousand
head of cattle, and several herds of horses. Wheat and
maize are grown in great quantities ; and the fields,
when waving with these luxuriant crops, present a noble
appearance, which is most strildng when one enters
the farm from the southward, after a wearisome journey
through a barren country. . . . Great pidns have been
taken to improve the breed of cattle on this estate ; and
bulls have been imported from England at great ex-
pense. ** Ella," a short-homed Durham, is a splendid
332
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I
creftture, and cost L.&0(> ; and there are also some beau-
tiful Ayrshire bulls. Choice animals of this description
are kept for sale in an extensive clover puddock devoted
to them atone; and to this place they become so at-
tached, that there is a dlfflculty in removing them, even
in tlie company of cows. Some of the bullocks, reared
and fed on the swamps, attain a great size, and a lew
weigh fifteen hundredweight ; and the rolls of fat on
their backs fatm hollows something like a saucer. . . .
A large dairy^ is kept on foot, v/here ofben two hundred
cows are milked, but only once a day ; for, after the
morning's milk is taken fVom them, the calves are allowed
to run with them until night. These cows yield about
two gallons of mUk each per day, and under another
system wottld doubtless give more. The skim-milk
feeds a little army of pigs. Many beautiful mares are
to be fbund amongst the herds of horses, and when I
last visited the property, a stallion fVom the English
turf was in the stalls. The horses bred on this property
attain a good size, their points are well developed, and
many have been sent to India.^
The proprietors of this princely property lived in
corresponding style. * The owners of this estate reside
in an excellent brick -house, which crowns a rising
ground. Their hospitality is unbounded; and the
" travellers' room," with its neat and clean beds, has
been the place of rest of many a weary pilgrim. Well-
built cottages have been erected in convenient situations
for the accommodation of the different superintendents.
The garden is large, and exceedingly productive ; in-
deed, with such a soil, with moisture and a hot sun,
what may not be expected ? The prolific nature of the
soil and climate js evidenced by the fact, that a peach-
tree bears in the second year after the stone from which
it sprung has been sown ; and to the climate, as well as
to the abundance of fine feed, the large size of the cattle
is no doubt to be attributed. The Shoalhaven, being
navigable, adds much to the value of the property j ana
the produce of the farm is sent up to Sydney in vessels
built on the river. This estate would maintain some
thousands of people ; but the owners of it can never be-
come rich by farming it To give an idea of the value
of farming produce in this colony, I may mention that
one of these gentlemen told me that he once grew two
thousand bushels of barley, but could only find pur-
chasers for half the quantity, and did not know what
to do with the remainder. This estate did not suffer by
the late drought, and when I left the colony, the dairy
returned L.70 sterling per week in butter alone, many
other dairies having been brought to a stand-still, and
amongst them that at UlladuUa, where, indeed, the
cattle were then dying for lack of food, at a distance of
only fifty miles.*
The run of a squatter — that is, an unsettled breeder
of sheep and catUe— described by Mr Townsend, was
100 square miles in extent, consisting of open flats divided
by belts of trees. Here the squatter has numerous sta-
tions (dl apart from each other : his sheep station, breed-
ing station, heifer station, and so on ; and these stations
require to be moved from time to time, on account of
the drought Some squatters grow their own wheat ;
but the frequent droughts render it so uncertain a
crop, that their supplies have usually to be brought
from a great distance in drays drawn by bullocks. The
operations of the squatters extend over a line 1500
miles in length, and they sometimes go 400 miles into
the interior. * A large squatter is a great traveller, and
is continually moving from one station to another, to
inspect the state of his flocks and herds, and to attend
to numerous operations going on amongst them ; but
fully to describe his operations would be to write a
treatise on sheep, horses, cattle, and climate. Many
perform long journeys in tandems ; and those who are
particularly hilarious adorn their horses with bells, and
make the woods echo with the sound of the bugle as
they rattle along. Some of them, in spite of the uncer-
tainty of their tenure, had, when I was in the colony,
r.ft excellent cottages ou their runs as settlors within
the boundaries, and lived in all respects as welL Not a
few of these were married, and to most estimable and
well-educated women, who lightened the home and
cheered the heart of the wanderer.*
The shepherds are of course a class of men absolutely
necessary to the squatter ; and here they are — at hcyme.
' A shepherd's hut is a hovel, built of slabs, and covered
with bark. Between the slabs a man could thmtt his
foot, and nothing could be more easy than to carer the
walls, as well as the roof, with bark, thus making the
tenement weather-tight ; but the men will not take the
trouble to do this, and probably airiness in summer
compensates for the cdd of winter. The accommo-
datlonaare the simplest. A sheet of bark, on treaties,
forms the bedstead on which the mattress is ■premd;
and another sheet, supported by sticks, does duty as a
table. The cooking apparatus consists of an iron pot
If the traveller faBs in with one of these aoUtRTj
dwellings, he is immediately asked to take " a pot of
tat/;** and the tea is produced from a bag that hangs
on a peg, and the sugar from another ; whilst salt beef
and damper make their appearance from tome very
original substitute for a shelf. The bark is generally
secured to the roof by strips of green hide ; and it is a
common saying, that if it were not for green hide and
stringy bark, the colony would go to a place more re-
mote than even the antipodes. In some huts whic^
it has been my lot to visit I have had rough fare, and
rougher beds. The salt beef is sometimes hard ami
black, worthy only of a place in a museum, and cer-
tainly not of a depository in a human stomach. ** The
greatest hardship I endured was -salt beef," says Wil-
Uam JPenn ; and this I can echo from the bottom of
my heart. In some huts black pieces of beef are sus-
pended from the roof by strings, and if it is marvellous
that any man can be induced to swallow such a curions
production, it would be still more marvellous if he
could digest ii My bed has sometimes been a sheet of
bark with a sack spread upon it ; and I have lain, near
the fire, almost literally in sackcloth and ashes!*
The hut-keeper receives the sheep at night from two
men, who have each the charge of a separate fold. Being
answerable for the safety of the flock till the muroing^,
he sleeps in a kind of sentry-box, to guard tiiem against
the attacks of the native dogs. ' The first obfject of
the ambition of a labouring man in the bush is to pos-
sess a marc. He then buys a few cows ; and many a
** ticket-of-leave holder" has a nice little property ia
cattle and horses before he becomes free. Some shep-
herds have their wives and children with them in the
bush } and, with the assistance of the hut-keeper, milk
a cow ; and, where the climate will allow it, cultxvate
a small garden ; but this is the exception, and not the
rule ; and the opossums often destroy their gardens, at
least the produce of them, when there is any.'
The stockman, or keeper of cattle, considers himself
to be a personage of more dignity than the shepherd.
He is always on horseback, and his greatest pride Im in
penetrating to a part of the country previously unknovn.
The bullock-driver performs long journeys, carrying
the wool or tallow to market, and bringing back sup-
plies for the station. * He is generally trustworthy,
save as respects rum and tobacco. He rarely can resist
the allurements of these bewitching articles, and resorts
to the most ingenious devices for wheedling the spirits
fVom the casks. He carries a mattress with him, and
sleeps under his dray, whilst his bullocks graze near it.
I think no sight in the colony would strike a new-
comer 60 much as the passage of a number of drmys
over Liverpool range. Often thirty pair of bullocks tote
to be seen harnessed to one dray, and the shouts swd
execrations of the drivers, Avith the noise made by their
whips, are almost appalling. No men swear more
dreadfully, or have so great a variety of oaths of the
most extraordinary derivation. As horse- teams in-
crease in number, it is to be hoped that some of th^r
expletives will be laid aside. Their " camps" at night
I are in regular gipsy style, and they always light huge
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAJU
333
fires. In a large boiler, which was brought on a dray
to the station I described in the last chapter^ a woman
and her children used to seat themselves during the day
as they travelled, and I am assured by a friend that he
saw her there knitting very quietly.'
Tlie position of the convict populatbn is already
sufficiently familiar to the publia Mr Townsend, with
regard to them, remarks that he was much struck by
the good behaviour of men who had been convicts, and
he tells of one of them driving about in his carriage —
his fortune having been gained by honest and untiring
industry. He describes the fate of some convicts well
known on this side of the ocean by their names and
their misdeeds. * Bolam was employed in Sydney as a
derk, and I believe took an account of the linen that
WIS sent to the factory to be washed. In 1842, Frost
the Chartist was at Cascade, near Port Arthur, and
laboured in a gang, but was permitted to sleep alone.
He was sent to Cascade for insolence. When first
landed, he was sent to Port Arthur, and employed as a
copying derk. When I last heard of him, he had ob-
tained his ticket of leave, and was a shopman in a
chemist's shop. Jones, the Chartist watchmaker, was
overseer of the mess of some dozen refractory lads at
Port Arthur. He was circumspect and orderly, and
worked at his own trade, or in the nailer's shop.
Williams was tlien also (1842) at Port Arthur. He
built a boat, and effected a temporary escape, and was
retaken, and was worked in a chain gang. Some of
his associates in his flight, when at Large through his
means, committed a murder, and were bung. He was
represented to be a bad, designing man.'
At the conclusion of the volume there is a chapter
for emigrants. The labourers most in request in New
South Wales are of course stockmen and shepherds ;
but carpenters, blacksmiths, and shoemakers do very
well. A convict bootmaker was paid by his master
10s. a pair fur making his own boots. Shipwrights and
sawyers likewise do welL
Mr Townsend's chief care, however, is bestowed upon
emigrants of the genteeler class, who go out with the
intention of purchasing land and employing servants.
The autumn, he says, is tlie best time for sailing from
England. The passage money ought not to be much
more than Ii.80, which will comprise good fare, separate
cabins, room for a ton, by admeasurement, of baggage,
and wine, beer, &,c, at discretion. Money, with the ex-
ception df a handful of sovereigns for spending in any
port they may call at, can be exchanged with the Union
Bank of Australia for a letter of credit on Port Philip
or Sydney. London ships are better than Liverpool
ships. * On going on board some of the ships bound
for New South Wales, it would be easy to imagine that
one had boarded a pirate, all the passengers seeming to
think it necessary to be armed to the teeth. Double-
guns, duck-guns, rifles, pistols, swords, &c adorn the
dtflerent bertlis, and the passengers themselves are
often, in full piratical costume. But the expense of
buying these arms is usdess, and if the owners of them
could be followed to their destination, such weapons
would probably be soon found rusting neglected in a
comer. A good gun, a few bags of large shot, and a
few pounds of powder, will, however, be found useful in
the bosh, and in Sydney a good gun can sometimes
be bought for a few shillings — the piratical gentlemen
sforesaid being often anxious, in the course of time, to
sell their weapons. Powder and shot are comparatively
dear in Sydney.'
On getting to Sydney, the plan Mr Townsend would
adopt himself is this : * I should go to Illawara and rent
about a hundred acres Of land well covered with clover ;
or if I had capital enough, I should buy such a place,
taking care that there was plenty of water upon it, and,
if possible, the means of irrigation ; for I am convinced
that the settlers there could make their farms as valu-
able again if they introduced this, since, though the dis-
trict is not subject to drought, there is often much dry
weather. If there were no house on the place, I should
build a brick cottage, which I think would cost about
L.150. I should go to Mr Berry's, or to Mr M'Leaj's,
at UUaduUa, and buy sufficient dairy cows to stock this
land, and engage a steady married couple to manage the
dairy. This dairy would be my mai^istay for a time ;
for the butter, cheese, pork» and bacon produced on the
farm would sell well in Sydney, provided that I attended
to the matter nnrself. It would be aeoessary that I
should be often, ii not always, up at daylight, and that
I occasionally saw that the cows were properly milked.
If I neglected my own interests, I could xkot expeat that
my servants would attend to them, ,
* I should keep bees, and make as much as possible of
honey ; and I stM>ttld also establish a good gardem, and
send fruit regularly to Sydney. I should have to get,
yearly, a good crop of clover bay, lest the stock might
sufler in the winter or the dry weather ; and I ^ould
have to find a run for the dry cows, lest they should
consume the olover without giving a xeturn. But, with-
out further details, this farm at Illawara should be my
homestead, and nothing should induce me ever to en-
cumber it' He would not at flrst attempt to grow wool,
but would put out flock after flock of sheep into the
hands of a squatter, on the principle of division of pro-
fits, till he had a sufficient stock to make it worth his
while to look out for runs, and ait down as a squatter
himself. To start at once in this capacity, a man should
be possessed of L.20,000 ; and then, after realising a fair
profit, in order to secure himself from the vicissitudes
of a new country, he should return home as fast as
possible !
'II I i 1 1 1 I ( I 1-^^—^ II .III. ^^— ^—
THE ANGLO-FBEKCHMAN.
A SINGULAR character appeared in Prance about the
year 1772, under the name of Thomas Dh5le; but ho
was the son of an English baronet, and his real name
was Hales. He was bom in Gloucestershire in the
year 1740, and liis father being fond of adventure, was
anxious that the only descendant of his house should
encounter the perils of the sea. As soon, therefore,
as the disdpUne and the studies uf cliildhood were over,
he was sent into the navy. In this service he visited
almost every part of the world, and afterwards took
up his abode in Italy, where lie resided a considerable
time, and whence he finally removed to Paris with the
wreck of his patrimony.
Dh^le was now above thirty years of age ; and though
his constitution was much impaired by dissipation, he
still had a very handsome person. The lines of his face
bore a striking resemblance to some of the English
court portraits by Vandyck, the mouth wearing an
expression of careless disdain.
He soon spent his all at Paris *, and finding himself
penniless, he began to write plays for the Italian
theatre. Such was his talent, that his very first work
was deemed a masterpiece. He wrote slowly, for he never
liked to retouch his work : he said that the judgment
of to* morrow had no more value tlian that of to-day.
By this employment he realised above a thousand
crowns a year at an average. But what was that to
an EngUsn baronet who had spent a fortune? His
sudden poverty, however, did not in the slightest de-
gree alter the pride either of his feelings or manners :
his bearing indicated the gentleman, however mean his
attire. Gretry, who has left notes on the life and cha-
racter of DhMe, says that he has seen him for a long
time almost naked, but yet inspiring no pity. 'His
noble and severe countenance seemed to say, ** I am a
man, what can I want?" It was the haughtiness of a
Spaniard, with the composure of an Englishman.'
He was one of the ablest critics of his day, though
he never wrote his critiques. In matters connected
with the drama there was no appeal from his judgment ;
and so clear were his views of the political horizon, that
the newsmongers often framed their articles according
to his prognostication of the probable course of events.
But out of consideration for the writers, as well as re-
834
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
spect for himself, he never spoke of this, or claimed the
credit due to his superior penetration.
His first piece at the theatre in association vith Gr^try
was ' Le Jugement de Midas/ The original wit of DhMe,
softened by the liyely and beautiful music of Gr^try,
elicited the highest applause from the Parisians, and
the authors were loudly called for. Dh^le, very shabbily
attired, came forward with perfect gravity, and without
appearing either pleased or annoyed — * This,' said he,
' is the prescribed epilogue of my comedy.'
A year afterwards, Dh^le and Gretry, who always
lived on the best terms with each other, completed
' L* Amour Jaloux,' the ground- work of which is taken
from the English com^y of ' The Wonder.' It was
played first at Versailles; and on the day of its re-
presentation, while Gretry was strutting about at
the chateau, unable to conceal his elation, Dh^le was
quietly seated at the table of a tavern, like a man who
had retired from the vanities of life. The success of
' L'Amour Jaloux ' was still more brilliant in Paris at
the Italian theatre ; and people began to make inquiry
as to who or what this gifted EogUshman might be.
The odd stories told of him only served to raise their
curiosity still higher ; and many were anxious to judge
of his eccentricities from their own personal observa-
tion. ' If I appear to them a singular man,' said he, * it
is only because they are not simple. A simple man —
that is what I am.'
The Duke of Orleans, learning that Dhhle generally
passed his afternoons at the Cafe duCaveau in iSxe Palais
Royal, disguised himself one day, and went down to
see him. He found a remarkably grave man, sitting
with his legs sometimes crossed, sometimes stretched
on a chair, musing at leisure, and quite regardless of all
around him. If he engaged in conversation, he spoke
little, but always well : he never took the trouble of
telling people what the^ must already know ; and he
interrupted the loquacious by saying in a dry tone,
* That is in print.' If he approved, it was by a slight
bow of the head -, if he was teased with nonsense, he
crossed his legs, locked them tightly together, took
snuff, and looked in another direction. The duke,
knowing that Dhele was in pecuniary difficulties, sent
him next morning a hundred louis by a valet.
• You will say that this is the first payment fallen due
of a pension which the Duke of Orleans grants to Mon-
sieur Dh^le for his eloquence.'
The valet found Dh^le lying on a bed which was any-
thing but luxuriously soft
• Do I disturb you, sir ? '
•Yes.'
'You were asleep?'
•No.'
• You are Monsieur DhMe ? '
« Yes.*
•Shaillshutthedoor?'
' No ; for if you chatter much longer '
• Don't disturb yourself; I am come from the Duke
of Orleans.'
•WeU?'
• He sends you the first payment of a pension which
his royal highness grants you for your eloquence.'
• That is well'
' Here are a hundred buis.'
• One for you.'
•Is that sil I am to say to his royal highness?'
•Yes.'
. But *
• Begone — the Duke of Orleans knows my eloquence.'
Within three or four months afterwards the hundred
louis were all gone, as may easily be believed. The
Duke of Orleans having had • Le Jugement de Midas '
played at his own residence, gave Gretry a hundred
louis to divide with Dh^. Gretry wrote to Dh^
with his share of the money. He answered the servant,
• It is right.' Gretry, a little piqued at having no reply
to his letter, hoped that Dhele would answer him in
person ; but twenty times he met him in vain. At last
he could not help saying, • You no doubt received '
• Yes.' Dh^le added not another word.
He was held up as an example of ingratitiide for seem-
ing to forget his benefactors. But dM he forget?
One day at the cafe he was insulted by a man who
had lent him money without any security. * Here I am
forced to fight a duel with myself,' said Dbdle : • it is a
sad waste of time.' The creditor and debtor, to avoid
delay, withdrew, unattended, to a garden in the neigh-
bourhood. Scarcely had Uiey drawn swords, when
Dhdle, who had the advantage of superior hei^t and
self-possession, very adroitly struck his adversary's
weapon into the air, and said with his nsual gravity,
• If I were not your debtor, I would kill you ; if we bad
witnesses, I would wound you ; we are alone, I forgive
yoiL'
During the time of his greatest distress, he called one
day at the house of a fHend who had just gone out, and
his eye was caught by a handsome ctdotte* made of
lilac silk. He considered that his own had served its
time, put on his friend's culotte without the least cere-
mony, and walked ofij delighted with his good fbrtnne.
By and by the friend returned home, and found a rag
at the foot of his bed. *My culotte, where is my
;:ulotte?' The reply was, that Dh^le had been there:
but he could not bdieve that Dhele would be guilty of
such an act In the evening, however, he visited the
Cafe du Caveau, and at the first glance he recogm^d
his property : Dhdle saluted him as usuaL The firiend,
more and more surprised, tapped playfully on Dh^k^
leg.
*Is it not there?'
•Yes,' said Dhdle with the greatest coohiess; *I had
none.'
A disease of the chest, the consequence of dismpatioa
and breathing so constantly the atmosphere of theatres
and taverns, brought poor Db^le to the brink of the
grave about the beginning of the year 1780. He rallied,
however, as the spring advanced ; and thinking be had
escaped all danger, he returned to his labo^ara. He
had become seriously attached to Signora Bianchi, so
Italian actress, who condescended to think him anrai-
ing, and who perhaps admired him for his simplicity'.
With all his imperturbable gravity, he was a perfect
child in the society of a female. The s^-poaeessed
Englishman really loved with all the delicate sentlme&-
tality affected by a Frenchman. Yet he spoke of hii
passion, as of everything else, without circumlocution.
•Have you nothing more to say, Dhdle?' asked
Signora Bianchi one evening.
• I love you.'
• What else?'
• You are beautifhL'
•Well?'
• I love you.'
The ItaUan theatre was discontinued ; the young lady
set out for Italy, and it proved the deathUow of m
poor philosopher. For his consolation, she pnMnised
to await him at Venice. He spent two monthiB endea-
vouring to obtain money to follow her ; but in vain. Ko
charitable soul came to his assbtanoe. Gretry ofl^ed
him a hundred louis, but it was for a comic opera which
was to be finished before he set out. Betaking himself
to work too assiduously, he again became ill, and hav-
ing once taken to his bed, he never left it but for his
grave.
He had by his pillow a travelling book, and the opera
which he had commenced. The situation of the persons
of his piece occasionally diverted his mind, and led htm
for a time to forget lus sorrows; but grief at leng^
quite overcame the poor patient. He revised to admit
any one whatever to visit him, desiring to dwdl con-
tinually on the thoughts of his love and his despatf .
At the last hour, however, Gretry contrived to obtain
access to his room.
♦WeU,Dh^le?'
* Pair of amsU-clothea.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
835
*ADdoiir<^)eni?'
'Twoacts.'
Dh^ mm cMiMSfy tondng oTer the leavet of the
trmT^iiig bo(^
* What are yoa looking fx there?' said Gr^tiy.
♦My way/
•Where are you going?'
•T6 Venice.'
*It this a serious painon then?'
Dhdie, who had raised himself up, now sunk hack on
the pUlow. Gr^try was struck with the sudden pallor
of hui countenance and the wildness of his eye.
« Would you like a driidc?' asked Grgtry.
•Na'
* What do you wish for, my poor friend ?'
*The traTeOing hook,' saki DhMe, and expired im-
mediatrty.
THE DATURA.
The artide on * Hashish,' wliieh appeared in Na 256, has
attracted the attention of seyeral correspondents ; one
of whom, who writes from Patna in Bengal, desires to
draw our attention to the narcotic effects of the common
datum, giving some curious instances of the way in
which it is emplojred by the thieyes of India. Before
we come, howerer, to Us information, we shall men-
tion, for the benefit c^ general readers, what the datura
is, and to what uses or abuses it has been turned in
other parts of the world.
The plant belongs to the order Solanaces, or night-
shades, in which are included the deadly nightshade
and henbane, as wdl as the wholesome potato and
tomato. Tobacco and beUadonna are likewise members
of this apparency anomalous order, and the Aeoeanthera
rmmata ii the Cape, with the juice of which the Hot-
tentots enrenom tiieir weapons, and poison the baits
laid for wild beasts. The Datura stramonium, or tiiom-
apple» is smoked as a palliatiye in spasmodic asthma,
and ued as a medicine m mania, epilepsy, conyulsions,
and tic -douloureux. The seeds, taken intemaUy in
small doaee, bring on a kind of delirium. The Datura
tattia and wtetd are still more energetic, and are said
by some writers to hare been used b^ the priests of the
Delphic temple to produce the rayings of the Pythia.
It is supposed, howerer, tiiat the chasm over which
the tripod was placed on which the prophetess sat, was
known for Uie properties of the smoke it emitted before
the building of the temple — the shepherds tending their
flocks in tibie neighbourhood, on approaching the place,
being seixed with conmlsions. If this be correct, the
datura must be found not guilty in the present instsnce ;
unless it was a particeps criminis, in heightening the
natural eifiacts A the smoke, under the influence of
which tiie Pyttiia sometimes leaped from her tripod and
foU down in conTulsions, which in a few days ended in
death. The seeds of the Datwra aanguinea, however,
were ccrtunly used for a similar purpose in the Temple
of the Sun in the South American dty of Sagomozo ;
and the Peruvians prepare from them an intoxicating
drink, which either stuplfles or maddens, according to
its greater or less degree of dilution.
Tlie common datura of Bengal is described by our
correspondent as a rambling, thorny plant, ¥rith a very
large and beautiAil white flower; and it may be inte-
rei^^ng to our medical readers to know that its leaves,
when heated by being held over the fire, are used by
the natives for assuaging pain in the head. The root,
however, supplies a powder, which is turned to a less
beneficent account Thuggee, as everybody knows —
thanks to the energetic measures of the British govern-
ment, so zeakmsly carried out by Colonel Sleeman— is
now almost, if not entirely, unlmown ; but it has been
succeeded by a Idnd of robbeny, into which murder no
longer enters as a necessary part of the crime. The
victim is not. as fomneriv. stranried or noisoned. but
merely drugged— or hocussed, to use a slang expression
— and this is efiected in a safe and simple manner by
throwing a little of the datura powder into the flour
which the traveller is about to prepare for his dinner.
Now and then, it is true, the druggee dies ; but this is
an accident, and b^ no means desired by the practitioner,
whose interest it is that his patient shall merely be re-
duced to a stiute of temporary insensibility. The effects
of a liberal dose sometimes last tor a couple of di^s.
Although the powder retains its energy for a long
time, the robber makes it only in such small quantities
as may be readily concealed upon the person ; and in-
deed he has no occasion to do otherwise, as the plant
is common, and grows wild throughout the country.
The thoroughfares are beset with these people, who
get into conversation with the wayfarers they meet, and
induce them to join company. If the traveler only
consents to dine along with his new friend, he is undone.
An account of the process may be given from the mouth
of an approver, as the Indian king's-evidence is called ;
and we shall put into tiie witness-box a gentleman
of the name of Sookoo. * I first learned the business
of drugging,' said he, * fh>m Ramkishen, whom I met
in Calcutta some four years aga He asked me to find
out a good subject, and I told him of a man who had
some 600 rupees' (L.60) worth of property. Ramkishen
hired the house adjacent to this man's, and next day
picked up his acquaintance. Two da^ after that, he
contrived to put some powder into his thrab, and he
became insensible. We then broke open his box, and
went off with 400 rupees' worth of property and jewels,
which we realised and divided. Some time after this,
as I was going along the Grand Trunk Road alone, I
met a man returning from Calcutta. We began talk-
ing together, and widked to a well close to a police-office,
aud around which there were some eight or ten more
travellers assembled. I drew up some water, and gave
him to drink, asking him at the same time to eat some
of the food I was myself eating : he did sa I mixed a
little powder into the portion I gave him, and in about
an hour he became insensible. Some of the travellers and
policemen asked me the cause. I told them he had been
drinking freely, and was tipsy ; liiey believed me, and
I attended to the insensible man until I secured his
purse, containing some fifteen or twenty rupees. I then
went off on some pretence, leaving him at the police-
office. About seven months after this nffait, I and a
friend met two merchants who had been to Patna to
sell goods. We got leave to travel with them, and put
up for the night at a serai ; they bought some flour,
and went to the well for water, and I managed to put
some of the powder into it In an hour or less they
both became insensible, and we took their property —
some 300 rupees. We t^n wanted to get off, but found
the door of the serai was shut On saying, however,
that one of us was ill, we got out and msde off. About
two years ago I and Ramsahai met a man on the road
witii a tin-N>x ; we walked together some way, and on
coming to a toddy-shop, stopped to drink. He would
not leave his box, and requested me to bring him a little
grog; I did so, and we walked on. In about three-
quarters of an hour he fell down insensible, and we
relieved him of his box and all his clothes. We got
nearly 800 rupees from the sale of the contents (jewels,
ornaments, &c.). About seventeen months ago I and
Gungaram met four men and two servants, and con-
sent^ to carry their luggage for them ; we all slept in
a house in the village of on the second night, and
there they wished to dismiss us ; but we begged to be
entertained for a few marohes farther on towards our
homes, and they agreed. The man whose box I had
charge of bought some flour, and I contrived to drug it ;
be ate, and became insensible. His companions were
all asleep, and I, after five hours' work, broke open the
box, and, with Gungaram, made off with its con-
tents.'
The dass to which Sookoo belongs do not, like the
ThiunL minfflfi rAliflrlmu notions with their crimes.
336
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
They are simply thieves, who do their spiriting as gently
AS tiiey can, and are satisfied with small gains. In
India, a labouring man or servant can keep himself, his
wife, and four or five children, for four rupees a month ;
and it is no wonder, therefore, that so many shoidd be
tempted to have recourse to the datura powder, and
that drugging, though less deadly in its purpose, should
become a crime much less easy to be dealt with by the
goyernment than Thuggee.
UnLITir AND 8AGACITT OF SIBERIAN DOGS.
Of all the animals that live in the high north latitudes,
none are so deserving of being noticed as the dog. The
companion of man in nil climates, from the islands of the
South Sea, where he feeds on bananas, to the Polar Sea,
where his food is fish, he here plays a part to which he is
unaccostomed in more favoured regions. Necessity has
taught the inhabitants of the northern oountries to cm-
ploy these comparatively weak animals in draught. On
all the coasts of the Polar Sea, from the Obi to Behring's
Straits, in Greenland, Kamtohatka, and in the Kunle
Islands, the dogs are made to draw sledges loaded with
persons and with goods, and for considerable journeys.
The dogs have much resemblance to the wolf. They have
long, pointed, projecting noses, sharp and upright ears, and
a long bushy tail ; some have smootti, and some have curly
hair ; their colour is various — ^blaok, brown, reddish-brown,
wliite, and spotted. They vary also in size ; but it is con-
sidered that a good sledge-dog should not be less than two
feet seven and a-half inches in height, and three feet three-
quarters of an inch in length (English measure). Their
barking is like the howling of a wolf. They pass their
whole life in the open air ; in summer they dig holes in the
ground for coolness, or lie in the water to avoid the mus-
quitoes ; in winter they protect themselves by burrowing
in the snow, and lie curled up with their noses covered
by their bushy tails. The female puppies are drowned,
except enough to preserve the breed, the males alone being
used in draught. Those bom in winter enter on their
trainings the following autumn, but are not used in long
journeys until the third year. The feeding and training is
a particular art, and much skill is required in driving and
guiding them. The best-trained dogs are used as leaders;
and as the quick and steady going of the team, usually of
twelve dogs, and the safety or the traveller, dejiend on the
sagacity and docility of the leader, no pains are spared in
their education, so that they may alwavs obey their
master^s voice, and not be tempted from their course when
they come on the scent of game. This last is a point of
great difficulty ; sometimes the whole team, in such cases,
will start off, and no endeavours on the part of the driver
can stop them. On such occasions we have sometimes had
to admire the cleverness with which the well -trained
leader endeavours to turn the other doss from their pur-
suit; if other devices fail, he will suddenly wheel round,
and by barking, as if he had come on a new scent, try to
induce the other dogs to follow him. If travelling across
the wide tundra in dark nights, or when the vast plain is
veiled in impenetrable mist, or in storms or snow-tempests,
when the traveller is in danger of missing the sheltering
powamo, and of perishing in the snow, he will frequently
owe his safety to a good leader ; if the animal has ever
been in this plain, and has stopped with his master at the
powama, he will be sure to bring the sledge to the place
where the hut lies deeply buried in the snow; when
arrived at it, he will suddenly stop, and indicate signifi-
cantly the spot where his master must dig. — Von WrangeWs
Polar Seas.
LAZY BEAVERS.
It is a curious fact, says our trapper, that among the
beavers there are some that are lazy, and will not work at
all, cither to assist in building lodges or dams, or to cut
do^n wood for their winter stock. The industrious ones
beat these idle fellows, and drive them away ; sometimes
cutting off a part of their tail, and otherwise injuring them.
These *Parcsseux' arc more easily caught in traps than
the others, and the trapper rarely misses one of thenu
They only dig a hole from the water running obliquely
towards the surface of the ground twenty-five or thirty
feet, from which they emerge, when hungry, to obtain food,
returning to the same hole with the wood they procure to
eat the bark. They never form dams, and are sometimes
to the number of five or seven together; all are males. It
is not at all improbable that these unfortunate fellows
have, as is the case with the males of many spedes of
anunals, been engaged in fighting with others of their sex,
and after having been conquered and driven away from the
lodge, have become idlers from a kind of necessity. The
working beavers, on the contrary, associate, males, femaka,
and young together. — Audubon and BackmatCs Qaadrmpeds
0/ North America,
THE RIVER'S VOICE.
BY TUK LATK MRS JAMBS O&AV.
Summbr's sunbeams brightly dart
Where the silver waters quiver;
Find a voice, oh happy heart !
In the whisper oi that river :
Speaks it not of love like thine.
Of all hues and flowers divine ?
Loud the rapid rivers roO,
Winds tlie bending 01^ -trees thiver;
Find a voice, impassioned soul.
In the roar of that wild river :
Speaks it not of storms that be
Madly sweeping over thee ?
loy chains the waters bind.
None the prisoners may d^ver ;
Hear a voice, oh lonely mind I
Even in that silent river :
Bpeaks it not of fair hopes lost.
Chained in hapless sorrow's frost ?
inning again the currents melt.
Sounding praise unto the Giver ;
Mourner, be His glory felt.
Like the sunbeam on that river :
Let the loosened torrents raise
Sounds once more of thankful praise.
THE SHADOW OF AN ASS.
The Greeks had a proverb which ran thoa : — * To dispote
on the shadow of an ass.* This took rise frt>m an anecdote
which Demosthenes is said to have related to Umb Athe-
nians, to excite their attention during hia defence <tf a
criminal, which was being but inattentively listened to.
' A traveller,* he said, * once went fVom Athens to Megara
on a hired ass. It happened to be the time of the wjf-
days, and at noon. He was much exposed to the nnmitt-
gated heat of the snn ; and not finding so mnch as a bo^
under which to take shelter, he bethought himself to de-
scend from the ass, and seat himself under its shadow.
The owner of the donkey, who accompanied him, objected
to this, declaring to him that when he let the anin^i^^ the
use of its shadow was not included in the bargMD. The
dispute at last grew so warm tliat it got to blows, asd
finally gave rise to an action at law. After having sigd so
much, Demosthenes continued the defence of hu client;
but the auditors, whose curiosity he had piqued, were
extremely anxious to know how the judges decided cm so
singular a cause. Upon this, the orator commented seveidy
on their childish injustice, in devouring with ^tentkti a
paltry story about an ass^s shadow, while they innied a
deaf ear to a cause in whidi the life of a human being was
involved. From that day, when a man showed a pR^ienee
for discussing small and contemptible subjects to great
and important ones, he was said * to dilute on the sbadow
of an ass.' — Newspaper paragraph.
CHAMBERS'S
INSTRUCTIVE AND ENTERTAINING LIBRARY.
Ju$i PvbliiKed, Part V. </
HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONS
rnoM 1789 till the prbsknt ykab.
BY T. W. REDHEAD.
On July }tt wUl be published Part F/., also VoL lit.
Price of the work complete, in Six Parts, sowed, Qs. ;
In Three Volumes, doth boards, 7«> 6d.
Published by W. & R. Crambbrs. High Street, Bdiabnrgb. Also
sold by D. Chambbrb, SO Argyle Street, Olasfrovr ; W. 8. Okb,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Glashan, 81 D*01ier Street,
Dublin.~Printed by W. and R. Gbambbrs, Edinburgh.
COVDUCnrBD by YHLLUU and BOBBRT chambers, editors of • CHABl[BER8*8 INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ *CHAMBERSrS EDUCATIONAL COtTRSE,* 6tc
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SATURDAY, JUNE 2, 1849.
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1
I
A GOSSIP ABOUT FOUNTAINS.
Axi> first let there be no mistake as to my title. I
speak not of fountains made by man, but of fountains
made by God. I abjure and repudiate all the tribe of
jets and spouts, and flashing pyramids, and circles and
domes of gushing water — all the race of stone dolphins
ffinghig the element from their nostrils-— of metal Tri-
tons Mowing it through shell and conch — and the entire
dan of Cupids and Njrmphs of bronze and gold pouring
limpid treasures forth from dripping cornucopias. All
such deiices may be pretty in their way — most are so ;
but I would speak of a quieter, calmer, holier beauty —
that of the font which wells forth from the deep places
of tiie earth in drops of liquid crystal — ^the cradle of
the infant stream, exquisite in its unadomment, or
mayhap just complimented by some such simple and
appropriate rural gift as a rudely-carved channel down
toe sfippery and mossy rock, or a large green fresh leaf
cunningly disposed, so as to conduct the living waters
fairiy and gracefully into the sparkling basin.
I have ever loved water in its almost every shape.
Let the beach be what it may, rocky and grand, or
eUmy and flat, there is eternal variety and glory in the
sea — glory whether the white waves come roaring and
tumbling to Hht land, flinging their brine-crests gaily
into the fVesh eager air ; or whether the slow tide creep
ailenUy but surely into the brown wrinkles of the level
sand, refreshing the salt sea-w^eds which have lain
sinoe its ebb flaccid and clammy, and giving new life to
the tribe of small crabs and shrimps, which, as your foot
plariies in the salt pools, bury themselves with one dig
in the Irien^ sand.
As much beauty, too, in another way is there to be
sought and fbund upon the river-bank. I do not mean
your navigable rivers, which, after all, are very little
better than canals, but the clear stream which sparkles
by quiet pastoral meadows, and through green woody
cmTiiK% wfaevs the fly-flsher often entangles his casting-
line amid the leafy boughs which droop across the
water ; or, better still, perhaps the real mountain tor-
rent— the wild Highland bum — coming raging and
roaring from the hUls, dashing its way to the loch, or
the river in the strath, down a succession of brown,
fbaming cataracts, and sometimes stopping to rest in
great black caldrons of scooped-out rock, where the big
red trout lie tax down in the swurling pool, farther, per-
haps, than you can plumb with your twenty-feet sal-
moo-rod«
And if I try to analyse my love for water in all these
forms, I think one principal source to which I can trace
the ieding; is the quality ot motion so generally pos-
sessed by water. Nature moving is always more beau-
iifai than Nature sleeping. The com never looks so
w^ as when the breeze rustles it ; the forest is more
picturesquely glorious when the summer wind cans
the boughs to dance, and twine, and intermingle, the
when each particular branch grows flxed and rig!
clothed with unwinking and unrustling leaves; tl
lark, too, is more glorious aloft thain crouched amid tl
herbage. And so vrith water. No river so uninteref
ing as those fat, sluggish streams where it is difflci
to determine in which way the fabled current moy«
Such was Lethe. Canals of course are as bad, b
they make no pretences to river beauty. They •
their work in floating barges, and there is an end
them. In mwdi the same category, too, I must perfbr
place the sullen tarn one often comes to amid the hi
— a deep, black, cheerless hole fllled with water, b
from which no bum runs sparklingly, which the ruffiii
breeze only makes more u^y and wrinkled — a grii
chilly, torpid lump of water, into which you hesitate
plunge on the veiy hottest summer day, having a vag
fear of horrid animals which may live down in the mos
depths — indefinite, abominaUe monsters— -iomethi
between horse-leeches and water-kelpies I
From such places, with motion, half or more thi
half of the charm of water is gone. Comparative vai
ness avails but little. An unmoving river has no mo
poetry in it than a tubful of its own muddy fimd stan
ing to settle in the back-kitchen. Of course I do n
talk in these disrespectful terms of the shining lake, wi
its clear waters mirroring rock, and willow, and bin
its mountain streams foaming down to join it, and t
sunshine and the cloud making rariety upon its bro
breast No: it is your little Dead Seas, your sull
ponds, and provokingly lazy rivers, which excite on
wrath ; so that I like to fling big stones to waken
the stagnant torpor of the on^ and love to see a qui
steamer pass, churning with her paddBe-wheels the slee
masses of the other. Such sluggards ought ever to
soundly shaken : although you only succeed in stirri
th^n up for a moment, it is some satisfisction to km
that you have broken their lazy rest.
But there is one development — the inf^t develc
meht of water — ^which possesses almost an epitome
the grace and living beauty which we find in the fr€
stream or the salt sea. It is the fountain, the well, t
spring'head, the very shrine of the young water, wht
it comes bvbbiing into the sunlight firom the unknot
depths of the earth. The motion of water is, as I ha
tried to show, that which gives it charm, which gii
it life. Here, then, is the beginning of the motion,
the charm, of tiie hfo ; here is the cradle of the you
existence ; and as infancy is hdy, and pure, and un(
flled by a world into which it has but just come, so
there a certain sentiment of purity, a certain deep ho
ness about the welUng fountain.
Ever since I can remember mjrsetf, I can rememt
that I had a sort of instinctive reverence for a qui*
n
fr
338
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
pure spring. I think I must haya had loixie vague
percoption of the feeling which in the last paragraph I
hare endearoured to ezpresa. I always had a notion,
perhaps neTer then soaght to he clothed in words, that
fountains were, I was going to tay haunted, but I ought
to say holy places; thi|t there was some inrisible
Presence near them, which cooled the air around, and
spoke in the gurgle of the water. Nothing in the way
of a grisly phantom ; no ghost No : only the water-
spirit — something to admi^ and yet to be in awe ot
A pleasing half-conscious awe, yet still distinctly exist-
ing; distincUy enough, for example, to hare kept me,
had I ever been so inclined, firom rudely disturbing the
water, or seeking to pull asunder the mossy and splin-
tered ledges of rock through which the young stream
came dancing up into the clear basin ; from which, again,
it trickled out through the' green fresh herbage into
the warm open sunshine.
And this £9eling must be general : it must be expe-
rienced by plain country-folk who never heard of a
Naiad — by solitary shepherds and herdboys, who,
when they pile grottos and carve runnels and basins in
honour of the fountain, do ignorant homage to that
creative imagination which framed the tale of Are-
thusa, and moulded out of the sunny Grecian air the
beard, and the urn, and the migestic presence of the
river-god.
You seldom or never find a fountain in Scotland
which has not a local name— few which have not their
local traditions — and in many of these the idea of a
presiding and conscious Gtenius of the Well is curiously
and clearly acknowledged. There is a story attached
to a fountain not far frt>m Cromarty, which has always
struck me as being conceived in a spirit of as exquisite
poetry as vivifies and flushes any legend ever sung in
the Ionian tongue. It was a hot summer, and a pea-
sant approached to drink at the grateful source : as he
rose refreshed, he saw a neighbour whom he hated ap-
proadi hot and flustered, his eye fixed upon the cooling
waters. With an exclamation of spite the churl seixed
a handAil of gravel and dashed it into the sparkling
basin. Instantly, and with a low subterraneous mur-
muring, the insulted water sunk back into the earth,
and the enemies stood glaring at each other over the
empty and polluted well I Dajrs passed, and the aggres-
sor became uneasy as he reflected upon the insult which
he had ofiered the sprite of the font ; so, having oon-
sulted a seer, he repaired to the spot, knelt at the
spring-head, and cleansed the basin with a fair linen
doth. The expiation was accepted : the subterraneous
murmur sounded as before, and the live waters leaped
up again from the earth I But mark the sequel ; and
herein lies some of the grace, and all the moral of the
story:— The fountain having signified that the atone-
ment was not without its fruits, again ceased to fiow ;
and ever aftwwards it has only burst forth in the wet
and cheerless time of winter, disappearing in the earth
whea the summer days grow long, and the sun is hot
and the soil baked, and man and beast anxious to slake
thefr thirst
But how can we wonder that man, amongst the hills
of the Morea, or amongst the hills of Scotland, agreed
in attributing godlike life to the fountain? The Naiads,
after all, were the most beantifiil and poetic of the sub-
sidiary spirits of the Greeks. The Dryads, who peopled
the woody ravines and breezy uplands, were beautify
buxom, and gay ; but they had something coarse and
animal in their composition. They danced with the
goat-footed Satyrs to the rude pipings of Pan, and, with
the Bacchantes, hM open their ruddy lips to catch liie
luscious squeexings of the ffrape. But the Kaisdi m
spirits of another sort— filmy and tgfial— graoefbl u
the gliding of the waters they inspirtd— soft-riiiriiur u
the lullaby of the streamlet over whose criS titer
hovered. Minerva was not more pure, or Vemn mm
beautifhL The musing Athenian mi^ deem tfati he
caught glimpses of the flushed fleeces and hroozed
limbs of the Dryads and the Fauns gleaming thnmgh
the woody brake ; but if his ftnoy saw the NaiaCSe
was rising like a delicate white exhalation from her
crystal home ; or if he heard her voice, it wai as tiKragh
the font were speaking by its waters, and ai thoogji the
gurgling of the well had become articulate in flie lu.
guage oi Orpheus and Hesiod.
There was a fountain near my native town ia Oi
north of Scotland which is indisMlnbly connected Ttth
my first giimmerhigs of memory, and which had ahrayi
a strange mysterious awe for me; the causes of v)^
I can yet only partially divine. It alwayi teemed to
me that an animating Presence dwelt in ti^ qnfet gnre
in which that fountain rose. I had vagne ftm oC
entering it alone, even at hot noontide; the ipotm
so shady, and solemn, and still, and the Uving wtka
gushed forth with so musical a gurgle. Lstmstiyto
bring back the scene . — The spring lay in a remotB naok
of extensive grounds appertaining to an old oaitelM
mansion-house : the proprietor was an iuTalid. almoit
a recluse ; and both house and grounds hadalom and
deserted look. The grass grew rank in the Iswni, leedi
choked up the fish-ponds, the woods were unkempt nd
shaggy, and in the low grounds the oveiflovingi of i
stream made patches of luxuriant marsh, vhen the
woodcock loved to haunt in summer, and mhoAm the
wild duck resorted in spring from the neighbonrisf Mi
The whole spot wore an air of beautiful descistifln. Fer
people f^uented it The townsfolk had no feettagfir
the particular sentiment of the landscape, and onlj nov
and then the figure of an old servant (tf the fhmflj voild
be seen traversing the hedf-choked-up paths, or irafiDg {
through the rank waving grass nndw ue dd tnea i
In a sequestered comer of these groundi wai m
vaguely-bved and vaguely-dreaded fonntsin. Yoala
the white dus^ highway, pushed open a rni^ ins
gate, the decaying bars of which formed the iotraiof
the owner's name, and following a bdt of planting, ni
seeing on one haiid rustling fields (k com, snd on the
other gently-swelling meadow-land, you canie to a little
grove of birch-trees. At some Httle distsnoe nee i
steep craggy hill, the gray rooka kxmUng out filv biU
places amid the sombre lira. On the summitwaiQie
of the most striking vitrified forts in 6ootiand,vhete,
ages ago, those great bale-fires burned— kindled hsv or
why we know not But in the little grove spnog ay
fountain. Tou could trace it by the tiny ttnunkt
which freshened the graas« and nouriihed the famd
water-plants as it passed. The fountain wss endoeei
in a grot Two great slabs of gray whinstone ihdtend
it on either side, and it was ro(^ over with a third.
Beneath was the oblong baain of dearest wstsr; sad tt
the back, issuing from a delt idl overgrown with nifct
moss, came bubbling up the waters of the q^HnS* ^
roof slab was a massive one, and upon it— on tbelisv,
as it were, of the fountain — ^were carved in desp ssRov
letters some half-dozen lines of poetry; an inTocrtioP
addressed to the * Nymph of the Grot' I can noviewi
only broken fhigments and Jingling remnants of ^
lines; but thevwere, I think, the spdl whidi lint nadi
the spot a holy one in my mind. They ««»«»*"|![*5
existence of a Goddess of the Grove; they ^''^'^
her ; they recommended silence and reverenoe nssr w
shrine ; they thanked the Nymph for her. boontf; si»
on the part of the thirsty, thev blessed her for the oool-
ing waters she bestowed. These lines had somethsu
to me of awfW yet beautifiilimport I vagne^r bcUewd
them. They were, if I may use the exptenSfm, w
BibleofmyfidthintheSpiriSoftheWdL Andheseath
them was carved a Latin ^U^ch, which was saolbcr
CHAMBERfirS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
339
Bomce of awe and mjtterj; becaoie I am speaking,
not of ichoolbcnr times, but childhood's times. In after-
days I could, I hope without much difficulty, construe
the line — that simple, beautiftil, ever fresh, and dewy
fbnn of words—
* Abmb Inglorlvs flamlna dlTasqaa } *
But then the great power of the charm had departed.
I drank of the well if I were thirsty — ^indeed, like most
hoys, I always drank at a well whether I was thirsty or
iiot---bnt altnough I knew all about Naiads and Nerdds,
I cared nothing for them, and only associated them with
school-liours, £atin yersions, and Adam's 'Roman An-
tiquities.' It was the child, not the boy, who was the
fimotain-wofshipper. How yague, yet how sweet, is
the memory of the sultry afternoons I haye passed
within found of that rising water — ^that sound which
was at once a liquid gurgle and a low tinkle, as of
lightfy-amitten silyer ! Beside that noise there was no
o&er. The afternoon sun came sprinkling down through
the treQis-work at boughs and leayes. and upon the
gray mossy dabs, lighting and warming them. But
within the grot there was no sun* Here liyed the cool
twilight of the water-sprite's house. You could kneel
down, and, as it were, put your head through the wide
opeoing into her dwelling. It was leaying the summer
and the sunmier air behmd. How cold, and pure, and
solemn was the simple temple, with its floor of fairest
water I And here the murmur of the spring was almost
loud, dear-yoiced, and jocund. But it sounded more
in unison with the calm beauty of the place, with the
•hade c^ the stately trees, with the massiye walls of the
grot, with tite solemn inyocation uttered perpetually
there by the silent yet speaking stone, when you
listened to it from without : and when, sunk in the soft
arms of a summer day's dream, you lay upon the sward,
and with half-open eyes watched the dear water coming
out of the deep-brown shade, and almost fancied, as
your glance strayed from the quaint poetry which
hailed tiie Nymph, and your mind drunk in the shadowy
solemnity and stillness of the place, that the dim genius
hei, whose inyisible influence you felt, would rise
from the recesses of her well, the tender yision of a
filmy Ibrm, and stand upon the water-floor of her
palace, loydy, yet awful to flesh and blood — a thiifg of
the water and the air — a painted fancy — ^the yisible
echo of your own sweet dreamings I A. B. R.
ANOTHER AFFAIR OF HONOUR.
I AX reminded, by a recent artide in the Journal, of
the singie combats which in former times were wont
to defile the green turf of my natiye island. Of course
I seed Mt name that island t the two simple ideas of
'fighting' and *green' wiU infalUbly suggest to tiie least
logteal intdlect in QtetX Britain a compound one repre-
senting the locality intended. But although the pro-
gress of dyilisation in my country has, through many
painful causes, been wofully retarded, yet there is some
comfort in reflecting that the enormity of duelling may
now be rlissed among the things that ' haye been, and
are not' I wiU, howeyer, for the amusement of my
readers, reiate the history of an affkir of honour which
took place in a district of Munster some sixty or seyenty
years ago.
Albdt a wild locality, so far as the natural features
of tiie landscape were concerned, yet the yicinity of
Bamagore, as, for the double reason of concealroent and
euphony, t shall call it, was a tolerably peaceable place,
yiewed with respect to its inhabitants. Barring the
occasional beating of a tithe-proctor, or ducking of a
sheriff's officer, the country for miles around the yillage
whidi gaye it a name was singularly f^ from agrarian
outcageu The land was diriaed into moderately-sized
eatat^ each supporting the hospitable mansion of a
country gentieman, wiu his good-natured wife, and
their handsome rollicking progeny. During a long series
of years yarious intermarriages had talran place be-
tween the seyeral families; so that, at the time I write
of, there was scarcely an indiyidual of note in the
country who could not dum oousinship with each and
eyery one of his neighbours. One gentieman there
was, howeyer, who was wholly unconnected with the
magnates of tiie district He was a Mr Fooks, a rich
dd bachelor residing in a yery pretty cottage dose to
the boundary hedge of a large estate which had lain
for some time unoccupied. 'Hie dwelling fk Mr Fooks
stood in the midst of a beautlftdly-cultiyated pleasure-
ground, a wilderness of sweets, where the emerald turf
of the lawn was soft, and rich, and smiling, as though
it lay in the heart of England's sunny Hampshke. A
kind man was Mr Fooks *, beloyed by the squires, with
whom he neyer quarrelled, when, in the heat of the
chase, following the hounds in full cry after Reynard,
they trampled his haryest-flelds. He was beloy^ by
them, I say, notwithstanding his uniform desertion of
the dining-room after the first magnum of claret had
gone its rounds ; a grieyous dereliction from tiie rules
of good-fellowship, which would not haye been easily
pardoned in any one else : but Mr Fooks was a priri-
leged man, and, as the kuues were wont to remark, * it
was really a comfort to feel sure of haying one gentle*
man steady on his legs in the drawing-room, so tiiat
one might yenture to giye him a cup of coff^se without
the chance of haying half of it spilled on one's best
satin.'
With the young people he was an especial fayourite.
No better partner in * Sir Roger de Coyeriey,' or merrier
opponent in the game of * Matrimony,' could be found
in the entire county ; while his skill in making * hur-
leys' for the boys, and canring wooden bab»Bs for the
girls, secured for him a widespread popularity among
the rising generation. By common consent he was
known in the neighbourhood as ' Holy Fooks ;' and this
epithet was bestowed not in ridicule, but as a sincere
acknowledgment of his singularly blamdess and useful
life. Perhaps it was also meant to commemorate a
peculiarity m his character — ^he was neyer known to
hght From the tithe-proctor, whom he hospitably
entertained and regularly paid---an unprecedented line
of conduct, which caused that much-enduring man to
exclaim, * Sure Bamagore would be a heayen upon earth
if eyery man in it was like Hdy Fooks' — flrom the
tithe-proctor down to the urchins whom he often caught
snaring hares or cutting sticks in his wood, he never
abused or quarrelled with any one. Tet Holy Fooks
was no coward ; that the poor widow at tiie mill could
testify, whose fkir-haired boy he sayed firom drowning
by jumping into the mill-pond at the imminent risk ot
his lifle. And when Tom Maloney's house was burned,
who but Holy Fooks oould be found to tread the falling
floor ; and while with one hand clinging to the black-
ened rafters, with the other to seise in succession three
children, and hand them safdy to those outside ? Mr
Fooks, in short, was that, I grieye to say, anomalous
character in Ircdand — a hrav^ pood man who tPotUd not
fightl
The estate which bounded his had lain, I haye said,
for some time unoccupied ; but at length a tenant for
it appeared in the person of a professed duellist from
Tipperary, who, haying made eyen that fiery locality
too hot to hold him, and possessing as much money as
impudence, resolyed to settle at Bamagore, and break
Aresh ground among its quiet inhabitants. Tom Ma-
gennis, for such was his name, had not been long settled
in his new residence ere he managed toestaUish seyeral
' yery pretty quarrels' with his neighbours. He was
an unerring shot, seldom failing to kul his man at any
number of paces, and was as prone to take office as
the infamous Fighting Fitzgerald. He challenged one
young gentleman for acddentally tonohing him with
his whip as they were leaping together across a stream
while following the hounds. Ail attempts at a recon-
ciliation were rejected by the scornful bully: they met;
and an hour afterwards a fine lad» tbe hope of hii
house, was carried home a lifeless corpse.
The neighbouring gentlemen tried to send Magennis
to ' Coventry,' but it would not do ; he was a man of
good family, and contrived to maintain his position in
society literally at the point of the sword. Every one
wished him away, but who was to * bell the cat?'
It happened that a small field belonging to Mr Fooks
lay next the upper comer of Magennis's lawn, to which
the latter wished to have it annexed; he accordingly
wrote a letter, couched in a very high and mighty style,
requiring his pacific neighbour to sell him the piece of
ground in question. A polite reply in the negative was
returned; and Magennis, boiling with rage at having
his will opposed, hastened to seek an interview with
Mr Fooks. He found that gentleman seated in his
pleasant parlour surrounded by his books; and after
the first salutations had passed, Magennis began ab>
ruptly: —
' Mr Fooks, am I to understand fW>m your letter that
you ref^iae to let me have the lawn field ? '
* Certainly, sir : I have no intention whatever of
parting with it'
' But I tell you I want it, and have it I will.'
' I ^ould be sorry,' said Mr Fooks mildly, * to dis-
oblige a neighbour; but I am sure Mr Magennis will
see the impropriety of pressing the matter fiirther,
when I repeat that I am quite determined not to sell
the field.'
* You wont sell it?'
«No,sir.»
'Then/ said Magennis with a fearfVil imprecation,
' if you don't give me the field, you shall give me MatU-
faction; and maybe TU find your '* heirs, executors,
administrators, and assigns" easier to deal with than
yovrselfL'
A quiet smile passed over the countenance of Fooks.
*Do you mean, Mr Magennis, that you wish me to
fight a duel?*
' Certainly : name your friend, and FU send mine to
meet him.'
' I am not much versed in these matters,' said Fooks;
* but I believe, as the challenged party, I have a right
to select the weapons and the place of meeting ? '
* Oh, certainly ; nothing can be fairer. Choose what
you like, my boy: the sooner the better.' And the
buUy rubbed his hands with delight at the prospect of
slaying another man.
* Then,' said Mr Fooks, * I wish to dispense entirely
with seconds, to fight on horseback, and to arrange that
each of us can oome armed with whatever weapons we
may choose. Let the place of meeting be the wide
common between the school-house and the mill; the
time twdve o'clock to-morrow ; and let him who is first
driven off the field be declared vanquished.'
'Queer anangements as ever I heard,' said Magennis.
' Why, my good fellow, don't you know that if I come
armed witii a long sword, and mounted on my hunter
Highflyer, HI ride you down and spit you like a lark
before you can say Jack Bobinson ? However, that's
your look-out, not mine ; so of course I agree to what
you propose, and have the honour to wish you a very
good-morning.'
He then walked away, marvelling much at the cool-
ness of his antsgonist, and thinking what fun he would
have on the morrow. Every one he met was told of
the jest, and invited to witness the combat Great was
the consternation caused by the news throughout Bar-
nagore.
* To think,' said Mr Penrose, one of tiie chief landed
proprietors, *that our own honest Holy Fooks, who
would not willingly ofibnd a worm, is to be slaughtered
by this scoundrel : it mustn't be. Ill go to him, and
oflbr to fight in his stead.'
Accordingly, he repaired to the dwelling of Fooks,
and found tiiat gentleman as tranquilly occupied with
his books as when he was visited by Magennis in the
morning.
'A bad business this, Fooks,' said Mr Penroie; *a
very bad business. Why, man, rather than joa ahould
meet Magennis, 111 fight the rascal myself.'
* Thank you, my fnend,' replied Mr Fooki: *I fed
most grateful for your kindness ; but since Mr Magennii
has chosen to take causeless offence, I hsTe resdTed to
give him the meeting he desires. Perhaps,' be added,
smiling, ' the result may be better than yoa expect'
* Oh, my dear Fooks,^ said his firiend, * don't, Ibewedi
^ou, build on that The fellow is a regolsr asssssiD, ind
if he had his deserts, would long since have gtined pro-
motion at the hangman's hands. However, there vfll
be a score or two of your friends on the ground to lee
fair play, and have satisfaction from him for joor
death.'
With this somewhat equivocal piece of consolitioo,
and a hearty shake of the hand, Mr Penrose took letre
of his friend, who, during the remsinder of ttie dij,
stayed within doors, and declined sedng any Tiaton.
On the following morning a large concourse of people,
including, indeed, nearly every inhabitant of the psrnh,
assembled on the common to witness the spproacbing
combat Long and loud were the lamentatiooi of tbe
poorer people, who had experienced much kindoea
from Mr Fooks, at the fate which awaited him; while
the deepened txmes and darkened looks of the geDttemeo
testified their sympathy with him and their abhoRenoe
of his antagonist Precisely at twelve o'clock MagcDoii
appeared on the field, mounted on a splendid blood-
horse : a dagger was stuck in his belt, and he branded
an enormous two-edged sword in his hand. He cut i
scornful glance around, and not seeing his oppooent,
exclaimed, without addressing any one in particolsr, *I
thought the cowardly fool would be afraid to meet oe;
but if he sneaks away, perhaps one of his fiimii (with
a sarcastic emphasis) will take his place.'
' Here he comes himself !' cried a boy, thiovini vp
his hat, and a general cheer announced the appmdiaif
Holy Fooks.
He advanced rapidly, mounted on a Kerry po^ of
so diminutive a size, that its rider's feet were bat little
raised above tbe ground. He wascompIetdyenTebped
in an ample crimson dressing-gown, which waved tod
flaunted in the breeze after- a singular fashion. lo hii
right hand he bore something which had tbe appeswaee
of a very long lance ; but which, having both extroni-
ties covered 1^ the extended folds of the dressing-ioffii.
was not as yet clearly visible. With his left band be
shook the bridle, and urged his tiny steed towsidi the
spot where stood the astonished Magennis.
Whatever the latter gentleman may have thosgbta
Mr Fooks's costume, his mettled horse seemed to bivs
formed his own private opinion on the sulgeet; ftr w
sooner did the gaudy dressing-gown flaunt beoesth hii
eyes, than he started, shied, and began to prsDceiBi
manner which caused his rider to exdaim, with sn a-
pletive too forcible for transcription, * Whaf s tbe neis-
ing of this bufibonery ? Come on, man, and meet se
like a man.'
• Always happy to oblige a friend,' said Mr Mb;
and suddenly throwing bsick tbe oflcssive S*'*'''^,?
raised his weapon, and shook it full in the fue of bs
adversary. It was a long slender pole, hafioffit ^
end a distended bladder containing some dried pesi
A fearf^ thing it looked in the ^es of m^xSijfi *°f
so appalling to his ears was the rattling noise it nide.
that despite the furious eflbrts of his master, be wur
bolted, turned tail, and gaUopped at Mi speed sovii
the common. After him rode Fooks, shaking his »»
and shouting, • Come back, Mr Magennis! come bsot. j
'tis a shame for you, man, to be afraid of a dre«Df'
gown and a child s rattle I ' ,^
But faster and faster flew the aflWghted bonft ««•
ing his enraged master beyond the sound ^J^ *" J"t*
tmguishable Uughter which hailed his defeit sad w
bloodless triumph of Holy Fooks. The bn^/JJ"^
courage to return to the county and brave tte^g^
ciless ridicule which awaited him. He dtipoiea a
»i^^mmt^m^Jtm^m-^^^^m^
0HAMBBIIS*8 EDINBXmOH JOUBNAL.
841
I
hit prc^>erty, and retired to England, where he was
compelled to lire in peace, as his neighbonrs soon
leaned to appreciate him, and declined to indulge his
pcq»isit7 for fighting. Yet the few persons who
oootinued to associate with Mr Magennis were often
pozzled to account for the transport of rage which pos-
sessed him whenever the slightest allusion happened to
be made in his presence to dried peas, Kerry ponies,
or crimson dressing-gowns.
PERIODICAL PHENOMENA IN THE
VEGETABLE KINGDOM.
At the meeting of the British Association in 1843, Pro-
fessor Qoetelet of Brussels threw out some suggestions
idatiTe to various natural phenomena, which, there was
every reason to helieve, would prove in many respects
of high value if hrought under an extensive and com-
bined tyntem of ob^rvBtion. For a few years pre-
viously, the attention of scientific men in difierent parte
of Europe had heen directed to the sulject, and the
results were published in the ' Memoirs of the Boyal
Observatory at Brussels ' and other places. The pheno-
mena in question are immediately dependeitt on meteo-
rdhgy. investigations in connection with them had
firequently been made, but with no attempt to studv
thcxn as a whole, or to determine the laws by which
they are governed ; and the object proposed was the
establishment of a series of observations on the vege-
table and animal kingdoms, wherever co-operators could
be found to undertake the necessary labour.
A brief summary will show that the inquiry would
prove Ur more interesting than might at first sight
appear. If the temperature of the years were deter-
mined beforehand, and a certain degree of heat or cold,
moistare or sunshine, allotted to every week, day, and
hour, the phenomena dependent on these efiecte would
be everywhere the same, and we should be able to pre-
dict to a day^the time for gathering cherries or reaping
wheat. We find, however, that plante do not reappear
and germinate at identical epochs. There is a certain
mean, or medium point, round which heat and cold,
dryness and moisture— idl the elements, in fact, which
go to make up what we call weath^^ — ^appear to move ;
and <»i the greater or lesser degree of these movements,
or oscillations, depends the advance or backwardness of
vegetation. According to M. Quetelet, the existence of
the smallest aphis, of the most insignificant insect, is
dependent on changes in the existence of the plant by
which it is nourished ; and the plant iteelf, in ite gra-
dual development, is in some measure dependent on all
previous changes that may have taken place in the soil
and atmosphi^ The observations would naturally
apply to the annual and diurnal periods of plante. The
annual period is the space of time comprised between
two successive returns of leaves, flowers, or fruit : the
diurnal period brings round the hour of the day or night
when the opening or closing of certain flowers takes
place ; whi<^ it mav be presumed, would be always the
same in the same locality. It is only by a combined
system of observations, to be carried on at numerous
places to be agreed on, in. difilsrent countries, that the
inquiry can b^me of real practical value. One single
pluit, studied with care, would furnish most interesting
results. We should then be able to specify the places
where the leafing of the plant was observed to com-
mence on the same date ; and so of flowering and the
wpearanoe of fruit Lines drawn to connect these
pLkoes on a map would be called tynchronoua, or lines
of equal time. The next point would be to ascertain
whether these lines were equidistant firom each other,
sod what relations would exist between them and the
isothermal lines, or Unes of equal heat, which have
been laid down with tolerable correctness over the
wh<de ^obe. And lastly, would the i$anthe*ic lines, or
lines of simultaneous flowering of the plante observed,
be dways at regular or parallel disUnces from the lines
of fnlUiinn and fmetifiGation?
By observations on the animal kingdom, it was con-
sidered that the data would be increased in value, as
temperature plays an important part in the migrations
of birds and cdour of animals. Hitherto, however,
little or nothing has been attempted beyond the study
of plante. The variety and magnificence of flowers are
such, that observations on the phenomena they present
must be a most delightful labour, divested of all weari-
someness. It is important to notice the difference of
colour and odour in difiisrent latitudes. The inhabitent
of the north, on travelling to the south, is always struck
by the increase in these respects. Warm climates fkvour
the development of essential oils : in the north, the ole-
ander has a scarcely perceptible scent ; but at Naples
it exhales a powerfm perfhme. ' The seasons,' pursues
the prof^or, * have marked effbcte upon the colours of
leaves and flowers, the latter more especially. At the
end of winter white predominates among the tinte of
the c(»oll», to be followed by deep and vivid dyes, that
fiide in autumn.* The temperature of the earUi, parti-
cularly of the layers penetrated by the rooto of trees^
merite especial attention. It wotdd be interesting to
follow the diurnal fluctuations of three or four thermo-
meters, whose bulbs should be equidistant, in a vertical
line, tiie upper one immediately under the surface, the
others from one to three feet below. Two series of sudi
thermometers, in the sun and shade respectively, have
for some years been regularly read off* in the guden of
the observatory at Brussels. The pursuit of this in-
quiry promises interesting resulte not only for meteo-
rology, but for geographical botany. It is somewhat
remarkable, that while the opening and closing of
many flowers shows them to be greatly affected by solar
influence, others, on the contrary, appear altogether in-
sensible— ^a peculiarity which has led to more frequent
observation of solar radiation. Although the amount
of influence due to each element of growth cannot yet
be determined, it is evident that temperature is the
most important : ite influence on the organisation of a
plant is that of a vital force, and must be estimated
in squares of the degrees. Two spring days, at a tem-
perature of 50 degrees, are not eqiuil to one of 70
degrees; the effect of the latter would be more than
double that of the two former.
A country whose winters are mild, notwithstanding
a high latitude, may produce flowers earlier than other
countries in a lower latitude. On comparing the western
coast of England, for example, with France or Lombardy,
snowdrops and crocuses are found flourishing in fUll
vigour before they are ready to open at Parma. Bui
as the temperature increases with marked differences of
intensity, an equilibrium is soon established, and the
southern regions, in their turn, take and maintain
the lead. The period between f<^tion and flower-
ing would also be less long in Italy and Spain than in
England. M. Quetelet considers that, as a general rule^
plante in the neighbourhood of Brussds wake from their
winter slumber from the S5th to the 27 th of January.
The farther, however, that we go from the sea towards
the interior of continents, the lower is the temperature :
islands, as is well known, have a milder climate. The
hazel buds in London about the 4th of January, but ia
Brussels not before the 26Ui of February — a difierenee
of flfty-three days. The croeua vemus appears in Lon-
don on the 3d of February, in Brussels on the 21st« The
greater mildness of the English winter gives London
tiie precedence at the commencement of the season, but
it soon diminishes. In March it is only twenty days;
in the flrst half of April, four days ; but firom the 15th
April to the end of June, Brussels is from seven to eight
days in advance of London. Extending the comparison
to a more northern locality (Stettin), the advantage at
starting in favour of London is nearly double that over
Brussels ; but in July and August, Stettin and Brussels are
from flve to six days in advance of London. Accwding
to observations made at Sir T. M. Brisbane's observa-
tory near Kelso, the period of foliation in that vicinity
lA t.wn dftVIC in OilvnnoA nf 'RrnasAla A «»r>rm«M.««An. ^r
842
OHAHBEBS^ EDINBUBQH JOUBNAI*.
periods of flowmng with those of Parma shows a re-
tardation of six days at Zurich, thirteen days at Tubin-
gen, twenty-five days at Berlin, thirty-three days at
Hamburg, and at Christiania fifty -two days. There
are, however, some curious exceptions to the general
rule i near Geneva there is a large chestnut-tree, which
puts forth leaves and blossoms a month earlier than
other trees in the district, without any apparent local
cause to which it can be traced. Another, in the gar-
den of the Tuileries, is named, from its early leafing, thg
Chesinui of the 2Qth March; and at Baam, near Utrecht,
an oak, which has been observed for fifteen years, anti-
cipates other trees by a fortnight in throwing dot its
leaves, without losing them eariier in the autumn.
A degree of latitude corresponds approximattvely
with a difference of four days in fiowering. Some ano-
midies, howevw, remain to be deaied up. Between
Christiania and Hamburg the difierenoe is three days ;
but between the south of Germany and Smyrna it is
seven dajrs ; between Naples and New Jersey, both in
the same parallel of latitude, the difference is two
months. An elevation of one thousand feet in our lati-
tudes is equal to a delay of fourteen days in the epochs
of vegetation. A diunial variable temperature, aU else
being equal, is more iavouraUe to vegetation than a
uniform temperature. It has been observed in the
orangeries of the king of Prussia, at Berlin, that the
cold to which they are exposed during the winter is
rather beneficial tiian otherwise; and at Astraoan,
where the thermometer falls from 30 to 40 degrees
below zero, the grapes are remarkable for their rich
and ddidous quality. It will thua be seen that for-
wardness of vegetaUon is not a constant charactwis-
tic ; that which is true at one season of the year is not
true at another. The revivification of phmts com-
mences with the cessation of frost, which in our climate
lasts for three or four months ; and the period of folia-
tion may be comprised between the first great move-
ment of vegetation and the covering of the plant with
leaves, at about the end of April, from whidi time to
the first half of July is the fiowering period ; that of
fructification, from the 15th July to the fall of the leaf
The latter procesa depends as mueh on the actual tem-
perature, as on that whioh has preceded. In our lati-
tudes tbs leaves generally fkll with the first autuom
frost.
In observing plants, care should be taken to exclude
dosely-related species, which it might be difficult to
distinguish ; annuals sod biennials are also, for obvious
reasons, to be avoided ; the sdection should be made
among perennials or woody plants, which exhibit the
influences of the soil as well as those of the atmosphere.
The cerealia, sown in autumn, as the most widely-culti-
vated of plants, and the most essential to human exist-
ence, are especially deserving of attention — ^the object
being to determine the exact time at which the ear ap-
pears. In Toumay, it is an axiom among cultivatm
that 'April never passes without showing ears;* and
the ascertaining of the various periods for the whole of
Europe will, it is anticipated, lead to the formation of
data highly interesting in an agricultural point of view.
Hie ripening of grain appears to be mainly dependent
on a high autumn temperature. At Yakoutsk, on the
confines of Siberia, where the temperature is above zero
during four monUis of the year only, rye is grown.
According to Sir George Simpson, the temperature,
which in summer is 106 degrees, falls in winter to 83
degrees below zera The long day of the arctic regions
compensates for weakness of solar action ; and although
snow frequently falls on tiie last sheaves, the crop is
generally good. On one occasion, the soil was dug into
after the carrying off* the grain, and was found so hard
frozen at seven feet beneath the surface, as to be im-
penetrable by the ordinary instruments. At other
places in the same country, lying more to the south,
and apparently in a more favourable position, grain
cannot be grown, in consequence of the lowness ol tibe
temperature in autunm.
The lines of equal teii4)eratnre drawn throo^ Bnrgpe
correspond in a remarkable degree with those traced 6r
the summer rains, which, in t^ir turn, hATe a mstenal
effect upon tiie growth of plants : coontries mdavonr-
ably situated in other reelects will, firom this cause,
produce a greater number of plants than ooumtriea ia
which rain fkUs more rarely. Dropghl, ia moat in-
stances, has the same effiBct aa cold in retarfling vege-
tation : in the equatorial xegiooi it produoea all the
effects of winter.
With regard to flowers, many interestiDg joints re-
main for further consideration — In what conaista their
dependence on solar light— on the amount of mcnsture
in the atmosphere? Why do some open in the day, or
at certain hours, and others at night — some only when
shone upon by tiie son, while others under simBar cir-
cumstances dose, although of the dass whidi open by
day? Do the leaves dose when the floweia open, or
vice vers&f And what is the rdation between the caloars
of flowers, and the times at which thev appear ? Such
are a fbw of the questions yet to be sdved with respe^
to the periodiod phenomena of plants.
The action of the sun appears to be both poei^ve and
negative : positive to the opening, and negative to tbe j
dosing flowers. In this way the organic fofce of tiie
leaves, &c. is exdted and polarised, the effect of wfaicii
would be to open and shut tbe various parts alter-
nately. From a series of observations, extendiiw over
several years, made at Prague, it is fbund that flower-
ing plants grow more abundantly on a levd sur&oe
than on a stope. A conical hill, exposed on evenr sids
to the sun, and planted with flowers, would show a
decrease in their numbers from south-east to north-
west, and an increase from north-west to aoutii-eaeti
these two points representing the maximum and mini-
mum. A southern slope is the most desirable; east
comes next in order; then north; and lastly west The
south and south-eastern slopes recdve more of the son'k
rays, are deprived of their redundant moiatore, and
are in fun enjoyment of tbe vivifying effocts of heat
and light, long before the sun reaches the west. Tbe
plants towards the latter quarter, conseqiientfy, are
developed under different ciicumstanoes ; aobiiect, how-
ever, to great modiflcations, firom the prevalence of
westerly winds. The number of flovrers in wanny sitaa-
tions is three times greater than when in an iD^HSt-
rent or shaded situation.
Some dependence has been traced between the cqIoibs
of flowers and the time of the year at which ibej ap-
pear. Tellow tints predominate in the autumn, and
varieties of white in spring. Taken in the IbBowing
order— white, yellow, orange, red, green, blue, violet,
indigo— there u an increase flrom Januaryto July, and
a decrease in the last half of the year. White flowers
are the most numerous throughout the year, jdow
come next, and the others follow in the order above
enumerated ; indigo being the most rare. The proper
tion of flowen which open and shut is greatest amoog
the yc^ow, somewhat smaller in the white, dlmintirfies
largely in the red, and is least among the Idae. White
flowen increase rapidly tram January to the vernal
equinox, less rapidly firom March to the middle of yLaj,
after which period they decrease ; the greatest increase
of yellow flowen is ttoai April to June. Bed flowen,
which are rather more numerous in Febmary than in
April, increase firom the latter period to September, ||
and diminish in October and November, when red is I,
perhaps the only colour visible. In these phenomeaa ,-
there is a manifest dependence on the rise and fkll of t]
the temperature. |,
In representing these efftets by coloured lines oo' a
diagram, in the same way that the fluctuadooa of tfie
barometer are representeo, the curve line of each cokxir
rises twice to a positive and a negative point — one de-
scending, while tne other ascends. The effing b seen
most dearly in the white and the veDow: the flnt posi-
tive point of the white, and the flnt negative point of
the yellow, both CeJI in Januaiy ; the first negatiTe of
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
843
the white, with the finl podtiTe of the jeUow, in
March; the tecond poeitiTe of the white, with the
•eoood negmtiTe of the yeUow, at the heginning of Mayi
and laatlj, the eeoond negatire of the white, with the
wooDd poritiTe of the yellow, in October. Ill March
the two corree almoet touch each other, are widest
apart in May, cat each other in Angnrt, and mn nearly
parallel Ibr the remainder of the year. White, red, and
jeDow are thus seen to be the ookmrs that aSoi them-
wlres moat faTonraUy for obaenration.
The farther inrestigation of theae interesting cttieS'
tioiia» en which obsenrers are most dlll^BDtly at work
■poo the continent, is pregnant with many TalnaUe
nsolta te ftitue use and pabHcatiOD. Professor Qne-
tdef s soggestloiis have been carried into effect at about
Vty different places, and on tike aocmnnlated obsenra-
tioDa of dz years the ascertained data are based. These
briefly lesnmed, are— first, that temperatote la the most
active among all the oanses by which the periodical
pheBounna of vegetation are influenced in onr climates:
the progress of Tege«ation is eqnal to the snm of the
tempsiatiire : firosts, when not in excess, so as to alter
the eonatitiition of a plant, eanse no sensible delay in
their nUerior derelopment, and rariations of tempera*
tare promote regetation s isanthesio lines, or lines of
dmnltaiieoiis foliation, are not parallel ; in the coarse
of a week, tibe asone between two series of places be-
cornea of oneqiial width, and inconstant: the law by
which Ibey ace to be espvessed remains to be dis-
oorered.
SIERRA LEONE.
Sofn Hue ago the pnbBc were amosed, if not in-
■UuLled, bf a parades called the 'White Man's Orare,*
hi whidi H was maintained that Sierra Leone was an
sgieeable and healthy, though somehow or other an
slways eahminiated i«ace. People were at a loss to
know how the author oontriTed to get orer the trifling
obstacles of statistios ; bat by a new work on Sierra
Lsone^ we eee dearly enoagh the sdntion of the mys-
tery.* The troth is, this African para^ is delight-
ftil--lbr a bttle while. Its scenery is as beantifhl as
can wen be hnagined, and it presents so many objects
of interest and noreky, that one has no time to fall
sick. In this position the new resident cannot con-
oeire what people mean by finding faolt, and is angry
with the enennes of so enchanting a spot; and the
Lady, to whom we new present the p(^te reader, ex-
piessee her great sorrtyw at the alamring reports she
sees in fiie newspapers respecting a climate which is
growing herithier and hearaiier erery day, as the trees
are eat down and the bash cleared. But this is in
Part L of her JonmaL In Part II. (haying had serere
and oontittiied illness) her tone is a little diflbrent
She wonders how the antiior of the ' White Man's
G^rare' can paint so nrach en Ama, denying eren the
extreme inaalnbrity of the dhnate. To be sore he
was only a flpw weeks in the place, or he would have
seen what this loTely land really is, and hare agreed
-wrUh Ghamier and herself that the climate Ib the worst
Wider fke suiL
Piperiops to 1835, the period of serrice before a retir-
ag pennon coald be obtained was six years, and two
oommisBloaers actnally sarrived to make the daim ;
but the term was snbseqoently altered to eight years,
and dnoe then not one ^ilHng has been drawn on this
aoooont. As for the commissioner's derks, who hare
twehre yeanT broffing to undergo, the pension as regards
^wm is as nnieal as a risiott of the night When the
Lady heard of the death of a resident who had called
on her shortly before in perfbct health, she was much
riioeked. Btit this was daring her noritiate. Tidings
^▲B«aidcoM at Biim Leone. Desertbed from » Journal kepi
oa^ Spot, and from Leitera written to FriendB at Home. By a
i^ig. Bdlted_by the Hon. Mrs Norton. Miuray's Home and
of the kind soon came too thick and Umt to make nradi
impression ; and * the surprise,' she tells us, * has long
beoi, when any one recorers.' She once sent to inquire
at what time a merchant ressel, by whieh she desired
to write, would be ready to sail fm England ; and the
reply was, that the Aim Grant had been laden for some
time, but cooki not come down the rirer, all her hands
bemg deadl
'Ae first sight of the fatal shore would oonTey rery
different impressions : — * As soon as daylight streamed
in at the little window of our cabin, I looked eagerly
oat, and saw fnitastically-painted buildings glittering
in the glorious light of a tropical sun, and beyond^ the
krfty mountains of Sierra Leone. Through the faint
shadowy haae their Terdure appeared more soft and
beautiful than that of the foliage near us, which flaahed
on the eye with a supernatural tint, and formed a strik-
ing contrast to the deep cornelian cdoar of the earth
in the paths and banks of the rirer— the whole Und-
scape conyeyiog the idea of a perpetual sammer.' The
spot on which she landed was extremdy picturesque ^*
' Fancy a very small and seduded opening Into ^e hmd
— ^the waves rippling against loose masses of rock
covered with white gulls — ^the steep red bank abore
bordered to the rery watt's edge with green boughs
— the thatched roofs of one or two native hats peeplog
out from among the bright foUage^ in which the shady
leaves of the banana and plantain were most conspi-
euous— while a long fiight <^ roughly-built stone steps
(up which oar path lay) marked the fbrmer landing-
place to a rubied house, dose enoagh to form a pic-
turesque feature hi a place, the soft quJet beauty of
whidi reminded me of the paintings of Poussin and
CUude.' Then came the tall Mack figures that flitted
past her— the gorgeoos trees and flowers-^the richly-
plumaged birds-Hmd, when darkness set in, the hum of
myriads of insects. The vidtor fdt better in liealth as
the day wore on ; she fancied the air possessed a sana-
tory influence ; and she suspected the appalling storiet
of the climate to be the inventions of envy I
Our Lady is a good painter of minute ejects, but she
wants breadth : her pencil is feminine, and addicted to
stippling, and reminds yoo, by its neatness and colour-
ing, of the effect of a kaleidoscope. Here is a notion,
however, of the general aspect of one of tiie localities s
— 'There are three distinct phases of ttie landscape
here. The flnt is hill and dale, dothed in all their
original exuberance of statdy forest, and appearing in
their primeval grandeur, as it were, firesh from the
hands of their Maker ; the second is the flrst denuded
and laid waste by fire and hatchet, as are now the
greater number of the hills in this kicality, and that is
the scenery I would gladly see changed ; the third is
the second rich in psurtial cultivation, and whidi, with
the first, constitutes the peculiar beauty of the tnypics,
and in it I certainly desire no variety. Here fruits and
flowers, which attain to but a dwarfish height when
coaxed in our home hothouses, spring up md flourish
spontaneously in aH their own native lovdiness. Setting
wide the many gracefhl sdons of the acada tribe, tnm
the noble locust-tree to the deader shrinking mimosa-^
overlooking the queen-Hke palm, with her not less regal
dster the feathery^branched cocoa-nut-tree— here the
broad-leaved pfamtain and banana form a natural arcade
that breathes of codness even under the sun of Aflica ;
there the pawpaw raises its dight shaft, which you
wonder can support the green and gdden load at top,
while its ydlow blossoms perfume the air« and form
the centre of attraction to a flock of bri|^t- winged
humming-birds. But it is not here and there. Mingled
in one rich mass of harmonious colouring, and flinging
their sweet scent to the welcome sea-breeze, orange and
lime-trees, spangled with snowy flowers, and bending
under the weight of thehr gorgeous fhtit, vie with those
of the luxuriant mango, the iMty-leaved coflee, the pale-
stenmied guava, the dark densely-foliaged rose-apple,
the sour-sop, with its orchard-tree aspect and portiy
produce, upon our own pretty little hlU, that boasts of
Jl
1
344
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
many hundred others in the bush, whoae namet I can-
not tell'
Among the trees is a wild fig, admitting a diequered
light through its widely-spreadSng boughs, and remind-
ing one of the peaceful seat allud^ to in Scripture. But
this tree is l&ewise an object of great curiosity; for
rising apparency out of its trunk 'another tree shoots
up, tall, straight, vigorous, and leafy, although the
lower part of its stem is enclosed within the body of the
fig-tree, which is not in the slightest way disfigured by
this strange adherent, although the colours of the bark
and leaves, with their shape and texture, are quite dif-
ferent. I am now inclined to think that the apparent
parasite in the centre has been a young tree encased
whilst growing up by the fig twining round it; as I
hare more lately seen other and far loftier trees, round
which many climbing stems had wreathed themselres
in tortuous meshes, tracing in their turnings and wind-
ings the most elaborate network-like patterns on a
truly gigantic scale ; and no doubt had they done this
before the trunk from which they derived support had
attained its ftill growth, in time Uiey must have formed
a wooden case for it by uniting all together, as those of
the fig-tree have evidently done.'
This beautiful vegetation, however, has sometimes
visitors more curious than agreeable. 'Whilst sitting
on a sofa in my room busily writing, I suddenly per-
ceived first one black ant, and then a second and tMrd,
scampering over my papers, and looking round, saw a
portion of the wall covered with straggling ants, while
another moment showed me that the floor was alive
with them. Boiling water was immediately put in re-
quisition, and for upwards of an hour, pouied over the
outer boarding of the house, where the ants swarmed
pretty thickly. A huge centipede was attempting to
crawl from under one of the planks, but quite unable to
extricate himself from a few ants, who, at regular dis-
tances from each other, held their colossal prey un-
dauntedly, while large spiders were running about in
terror, trying to hide themselves. The track of the
main army was nowhere to be discovered ; and as our
vigorous opposition had caused them to retreat from the
room, I thought this had been merely a reconnoitring
party, until an outcry was raised that they mustered in
great force in the piazzas below. I ran down stairs,
and beheld the floor, pillars, walls, and boarded roof
literally black with myriads of ants ; while here a great
scorpion, startled out of his den, stood boldly at bay ;
and there another centipede was being dragged away
alive, lifter having in vain tried to elude pursuit But
it was not one or two — several dozens of cockroaches,
venomous-looking spiders, millipedes, and innumerable
other ugly forty-footed creatures, were first pounced
upon by a few of their Lilliputian enemies, and then in
an instant hidden by the accumulating masses, which
fitf tened upon each opponent, and bore it off the field
with the utmost regularity. I forbade the people to
kill any more of the ants, so long as they were kept
from entering the house — ^really feeling compunction in
waging war against the destroyers of such detestable
reptiles as scorpions and centipedes, with their many
almost equally unwelcome cousins of other tribes.'
Another incident of African life occurred in the
middle of the night Our authoress, feeling cold, had
got up for an additional coverlet, and had just taken
her baby from the bed, and had wrapped him warmly in
it, when she was startled by a loud noise, and in an
instant a mass of falling brides rattled about her ears,
and completely demoli&ed the bed. 'There was the
rolling of thunder, and the yet more awfhl sound of a
migh^ wind ; and in that moment of terror a thousand
^oug^ts rushed into my mind — of hurricanes, earth-
qmUces, and lightning-struck houses. I could not tell
what had happened; but, although free from bodily
hurt, believed that the whole house was tumbling down,
and that the hour of death was come to us all I could
raise nei^er the infant nor myself, being literally
jammed amidst broken fragments of masonry and plas-
ter. Although it takes long to describe, thii sU <».
curred in the shortest space of time— the beaiy gut of
wind not lasting three minutes ; while in one intttnt
M had torn the curtain through, and then, ilmott
choked by the lime and mortar whidi showered upon
me, I was enabled, by the fiickering light of the Ump,
to see baby, whom I drew out as I best could, tnd held
firmly, M extricating me at the same time, lod
then hurrying us from the room.'
But we must come to the black deniseoi of tfaii
strange place. The cries of Freetown, the capiial of
the colony, appear to be as numerous as the criei of
London. They begin shortiy after daybreak, iilien
women and girls are seen fiooding in to maiket vttfa
round baskets on their heads called * Uies,' w«t»ffmig
fruit and vegetables. * Some have bowls hei^ om
with arrowroot ; a greater number are laden witii large
round balls of dingy white called ** foo-foo," a ooDaai
food of the natives prepared from casiada, somewhat in
the same manner as flour is from potatoes, and wfaicli
they cook with palm-oil Here are boji beario;
wooden traya covered over with little brown caka,
and crying out, *' Wboll buy hot ginger-cake?"— tiieie
girls shouting as loudly, " Agahdee! wholl bgjf iveet
agahdee?" (a sweetened mass of boiled rice or lodiu
com, relied up in a broad green leaO* Numerau other
and still more unintelligible names are shooted ost by
difierent people ; whUe men saunter along imdei ^
burthen ai stone-botdes, similar to those wfakh bold
Seltzer-water or ginger-beer, calling, witii much the
same perverted pronunciation as the London old*dothei>
men, "Pamh-wenh!" meant for palm-wine. I have
seen one girl, apparently a sort of travelling pedUr, her
smart blue gown, yellow shawl, and crimaon handte-
chief rivalling the plunuige of a parrot, while aboat a
dozen strings of as variously-cdkmred glaaa beadi voe
fastened round her neck. From several of titeie huf
small looking-glasses in red-painted or yeUow-lacqaend
frames ; to Sie rest were attached papers of motber-of-
peari buttons ; and her basket displayed a teopting
aasortment of pins, needles, reels d cotton, pieoei of
tape, and brass thiml^es. One hand supported her Hj
of precious wares, the other held skeina of thread, ii^
more gay necklaces, which she kept dangling back*
wards and forwards with an air of the utmost tttii&c*
tion and triumph.'
The most simple dress is a ' country doth,' thrawa
over one should^, and under the other. IliewiiaBen
have gowns of a blue thin print ; but the better doi
wear pink or lilac dresses of fine calico» and ailk ahawli
On Sundays girls are to be seen in white frocks oi
chequered muslin, and pale -blue beaver hate Thef
have almost all silk umbrellas, to keep the tim fraa
their black complexions, but none wear shoes. 1^
Mandingoes, or Mohammedan negroes, ha?e * a vide
flowing mantle, gathered into a pdnt above the vv^
in front, and with looae hanging sleeves; ▼^*'^
trousers drawn fuU round the ankle ; a high piaku
cap of blue doth embroidered in gaudy ookmn, or eue
of plain scarlet or* white atufi:* The v wear amnkti Md
rosaries. * The settlere in the cdony, and abo tbe
slaves that have been emandpated here, who in
termed *< liberated Africans," assimilate their dieiito
that of Europeans ; the wealthier sort wearing jicm
waiatcoats, and trousers of doth, white dock, or Uae
baft (a thin flimsy cotton stuff, much in reqneit amongrt
the blacks), with broad-brimmed straw-hata ^^
with black or coloured ribbon, or round amart dm
capa; while the ordinary apparel of domestic ^f^^
consists of a white jacket, check shirt, and dotf
trousera.' .
The faces of some of the blacks are hideooily^
formed by gashes and tattoo-marks ; but oor «»JJJ^
discoven a surprising physiognomical diflerence J^I^S
those bom in slavery and those bom free. * "™^
many of the liberated Africans, other than thoie emffl-
dpated after bemg grown up, present <»nntenw^
rendered repulsive not crnly by their natural uniignw
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
345
iie«» but b J the ezpraasion — whether it be that of utter
Ttcancj of ideM, or of the predomiiuiice of bad pai-
•ioDf, added to forms caat in the Terj coarsest mould —
the free-bom children of perhaps those very people hare
better features, with fine intelligent eyes, and figures
olteD well-proportioned and delicately made. Indeed
some of the Uttie mountain-maidens I meet bringing
down their blies of vegetables to market have qnite a
prepossessing aspect ; and I hare seen sereral amongst
the school-children too, both boys and girls, with that
frank, ingenuous, animated look, and upright graceful
carriage, it is impossible could belong to any one who
did not know he was free.'
The history of the settlers, as contradistinguished
from the liberated Africans, is very melancholy. In
1787 sereral hundreds of the destitute blacks in London
were s^it to Sierra Leone ; but they all died off before
^ main body of settlers arrived flye years afterwards
from Nora Scotia. These were the negroes who had
lemained faithful to En^and during the American war,
snd they had petitioned to be sent as colonists to the
land of their ancestors. They were accordingly trans-
planted to the number of 1196; but many died on the
passage, and the ranks of the surrivors were greatly
thmned by wild beasts, hunger, and sickness. During
the first wet season 800 of this black colonists were laid
up at Uie same time with the climate fever, while the
while serrants of the Sierra Leone Company were al-
most swept away. Thm came the French, who burned
down the in&nt town ; and in 1800 the Nova Scotians,
exaqierated by their continued calamities, and finding
a pretext in a small quit-rent levied on their farms,
rose in insurrection. After this disturbance was quelled,
the ookmy was several times invaded by a neighbouring
tribe; but in 1807 it was transferred by the Company
to the Britbh government ; and since then, among tli^
black people, there have been only the usual grumblings
about bad times and inadequate wages.
The settters look upon themselves as the gentry of
te blacks, being able to trace a kind of Norman ances-
try of some forty or fifty years' antiquity. The children
of the recH>tured slaves, in like manner, forget as soon
as possible the parentage from which they sprang, and
\ook with ccmtempt upon the newly-liberated Africans
ttiat are drafted from time to time into the colony.
Some of the blacks make large fortunes, competing even
with the European merchants ; but all of them contrive
to adl something or other in the market of Freetown.
Some cot down a tree, and saw it into boards for sale;
otiiers shear the grass on the hill-sides for provender ;
ottiers, again, deal in underwood, Guinea-grass, and
Canada plantains, bananas, pawpaws, yams, &c. which
they cnltivale with the sole aid of a rude hoe. Soap,
tobaccob bous^old furniture, baskets, mats, and nume-
zoBs other native manufactiures, attest their industry.
We must now talk of the lUercUure of the negroes,
and with that we shall condnde. Blany of them learn
to read and write, and of the latter they are especially
fond. A servant applying for a place sends an doquent
leUer with his character ; and one morning our authoress
received the following epistle : —
'Please, madam, I very sorry no mutton live in
market tbiB morning. — ^Your affectionate butcher,
John Macadlat.'
The following three specimens are very good :—
• M 1 Esqre.
Have me excuse for the other name.
Freetown, Sierra Leone.
' HoNomuO) Sir — With deep humiliation and earnest
desire I come to sdicite you a certain thing, and that of
your kindnesa it will grant to your humble servants.
Sir, will you be good enough as to employ me in the
boainess as a messenger in your office, sir, and only
tfj me, and you will not see me in advertent?— I must
snbacribe my name under this paper.
(Sygned) Daniel Davis.'
' Sir — ^Your humble petitioner brings his petition
to you, showing that he is about passing within your
premises to his fiirm, and would be obliged should you
be good enough by allowing him to shot any birds or
monkey, for to be eaten, previous to his going along. —
And your petitioner, as in duty bound, I ever pray to be
your obedient servant, J. S. D. Davies.'
' Dear Sir — I have hard that you are in want of a
Horse man, and I can retake furthering myself; should
my services be required as a Horse man, you will find a
good horse man and a man of knowledge of aboute horse.
— I am your very truly servant, Mosbs Johnson.*
The following mystic paragraph, occurring in a beg-
ging-letter, we commend to the cogitations of our
readers : — * There is a way of which one cannot com-
plain in common terms. It would draw imprecations
from a man that never used a stronger affirmative in all
his life than " yea verily,'* and raise the indignation even
of the mildest father of the Oratory.'
GUILLAUME DUPUYTREN.
FROM THE FRENCH.
One of those water-carriers who attend the houses of
the poorest and most populous quarters of Paris was
going along the streets one morning in November 1794.
He was a young man, whose ruddy complexion and firm
open countenance indicated both healtii and good-
humour. He sometimes laid down his buckets, that be
might rub his benumbed fingers, for the weather was
intensely cold ; and as often as be did so, he took the
opportunity of crying out in a voice that did credit to
his lungs, * A Teau I h Teau ! '
On reaching an old-looking house in the Rue Haute-
feuille, he entered the court, and called out to the
woman at the lodge, *Do you want water, mistress?*
On receiving an answer in the affinuative, he took in
his buckets, and had just emptied them into the foun-
tain, when the postman entering, threw down a letter
on the table, saying, 'Post-paid/ and continued his
way.
' If you are going up stairs now, Chassagne, perhaps
you would take up this letter? It is for the young
student in the next room to yours.'
' Is he above now ? ' said Chassagne, taking the letter.
' He has not been down stairs these three days,' said
the porteress ; * and I have reason to fear that he has
not had a morsel to eat either yesterday or to^ay. If
he were not so proud, I would have carried him up a
little bread and milk ; but I am afraid of offending
him.'
' We must take him something, Madame Gibard ; we
must indeed,* said the waterman, quite affected by what
he had heard.
* Yes, to have him say as he did last week, •* Who
desired you to bring that to me, madame ? I am very
much obliged to you, but I do not require it ;" and as
he said that, Monsieur Chassagne, the tears came into
his fine blue eyes.'
* Well,' said the waterman, holding up the letter, ' I
think there is something here that will comfort him :
post-paid letters always contain money, I know that ;*
then whistiing a little merry air, he proceeded up the
stairs till he reached the student's room at the top of
the house, when, rapping at his door, a low and melan-
choly voice desired him to come in. On entering,
Chassagne beheld with compassion the scene that pre-
sented itself to his view: it was one of complete misery
and desolation. On a low truckle-bed, barely covered
with a thin mattress, a pale delicate-looking youth sat
writing; and firom the number of well -filled sheets
which lay scattered on his wretched coverlet, it was
evident he had been writing for some time. His books
were on a small table at his bedside, and on an old
straw-chair (the only one in the room) his clothes were
carefully folded.
' What do you want ?' inquired the youth, over whose
fine countenance a faint blush was diffiised.
346
GHAMBESEUS'S EDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
' The portereM begged me to bring 700 this letter,'
replied the watemum, as be handed it orer to the
yoong student.
' From Pierre Boffi^re !* exclaimed the latter, eagerly
breaking the seal } bat no sooner had he glanced orer
the contents than he tamed pale, his eyes dosed, and
he sank back on his pillow. For a few minutes he ap-
peared to be straggling with some severe mental suf*
lering} bat qaiokly recorering himself, he raised his
head, indignation flashed in his fine expressire otos,
and crumpling op the letter with his thin white
fingers, he ezdaimed, 'How crael! how shameful!'
He then remained as if stupifled, and unconscious that
he was not alone.
Chassagne, who had lingered in the hope of witnessing
his neighbour's joy, when he saw the diffioent efiect the
letter had produced, was afirsid dT being considered an
intruder, and was about to retire, when a square piece
of paper lying on the ground caught his eye. Guessing
wluLt it was, and thinking it had fallen from the letter
unperceived, he picked it up, and presented it to the
student, who merely thanked him, without looking at
either him or the paper.
This was not what the waterman was aiming at;
his compassionate feriings were stoongly excited, and
though be could not comprehend the nature of the
Jrouth's disteess, he saw that he saffsred much. On
ooking attenti^y about the room, he could not per-
ceire the slightest vestige of food. The words of the
porteress rang in his ears — * I fear thai he hag not had a
morsel to eai eUker yesterday or Po-day/* There were,
then, greater evils to be endured than working for small
wages, or walking the streets of Paris exposed to the
severity of the winter frost or the burning heat of the
summer sun.
A long pause ensued, during which Chassagne was
oonsider&g the best means of renewing the conversa-
tion. At tength he said alffuptly, *It is not right of
you, neighbour, to keep so much to yourself, just be-
cause yon are better dressed and richer than I am.'
'Richer I' exclidmed the student; 'richer I I §m
dying of hunger I'
'That is but too evident,' said Chassagne; 'and If
you will allow me, I will just come in a neighbourly
way and breakfast with you.' And while the student
stared in ignorance of his meaning, Chassagne cleared
the table ; and spreading on it a sheet of dean white
paper, he lidd on it a small loaf of bread and two
sous' worth of cheese, which he had purchased for his
own breaklsst ' Now,' said he, ' I must go and bring
in something to moisten it;' and when, in about ten
minutes, he returned with a bottle (^ wine and two
glasses, he fbund his companion in the same state of
stupor and dumb despair. Without making any re-
mark, Chassagne quieuy ditided the bread and cheese
in equal shares, and facing one-half befbre the student,
he helped himself to the otiier ; then filling out two
glasses of wine, he said, 'Your good health, neighbour.'
But suddenly the good-humoureid countenance of Chas-
sagne became douded ; he put down his glass, and said
with some emotion, ' You will not drink with me, be-
cause I am a pow waterman, and you are a gentleman t'
This reproach seemed to recall the student to him-
self. ' Forgive,' said he, ' forgive me ;' and seizing the
glass, he was about to ndse it to his lips, when a flood
of tears compelled him to place it back upon the table.
' Oh,' said he, ' you can have no idea of what I am
suflbring! And you, a perfect stranger to me, to be so
kind, whfle a near relation of my own-Hme who is
wealthy, and has known me from my birth, would
leave me to perish with hunger! I wrote to him a full
account of my situation, and told him that, in conse-
quence of the breaking up of all the public establisb-
roents, I had been obliged to leave the college of
La Marche, but that I continued to pursue my studies
with equal assiduity. I told him that I had no means,
that I was without money, without clothes ; I begged
of him to advance me a few louis to pay fm my lodg-
ings, to boy books, to buy even food : well,' oootinned
the unhappy youth, taking the letter and paper (which
was a poet-ofllce order), ' he sends me one look, and
for this miseraUe louw he thinks he has pudiased
the right of remonstrating, advising, and repraachiog
me. He reproaches me with having left the ooontry
to oome and starve in Paris, and be a burthen to ny
family.'
' Yoa ought to return that kmis to joar luffd-beartsd
relative,' said Chasngne, wiping awaj a tear with the
cuffof his coat
The student warmly pressed the hand of his com-
panion. * You are right,' said he; ' you haw a heart*
and that is a oomfbrt and leUef to mine. I will share
your breakflttt, my firiend, and after that, I will send
back to the rdation on whom I had depended botili Us
money and his letter, 9fea though I shoold dia cf
hunger.'
'Oh, as to that, Monsleiir Ouillaame, aa lonf ai
Chassagne can carry a pair of buckets, ha will aew
rilow a neighbour to die of hunger. I, who was left a
poor destitute orphan, have never been allowed to waal
—and should I suffer a fmow-creature to die of hnagsr
beside me? Ko, no; we must help one aaothw: tt is
my turn to hdp you to-day, it may be yoon to help aa
or some one dse to-morrow.'
' NoUe, generous sentunente I' exdahned tiie etialiial,
who had risen, and was dressing hirasdf whie Chas
sagne was speaking, and bad with difiksuHy swaBowed
a few morsds of bread, and taken a few stpe of wioii
' Chassagne,' he continued, 'I accept your kindness, §m
I shall not always be a poor, sorrowlU, medical afeadeat:
I have abilities; and if I live, I win endeavour to aoquirs
a name and a reputation, and then I will repay yoa a
hundredfold for all your kindness to me. (m, I an
ambitious, Chassagne} and I hope ooe day to be hand
surgeon of the hospitaL
'I am ambitious too, Moosiev €krtHswtne, bnt wf
ambition is not like yours: my ambitioa ia to have a
water-cask Instead of two buckets— a nevr watar^ask
of my own, painted red, with blue Ikx^sl Oh whaik a
happy day that will be when I can draw n^ oim wator*
cart!'
In sptte of his grief, the young stodent ooold ne* fadp
smiling at the ambition of the waterman. * Wonld a
water-caskbe very expensive?' Gnlllauma joggadnd, m
be sealed up tiie letter and order.
^ Why, monsieur, a new one, with eart and Iwehais,
would cost at least two hundred and sixty f^ranes } hnl,'
he added in a confidential tone, 'I have two
put by fbr it And now,' said he, * what tn yon
to do? You had better leave me in ease of yoor
and go «id put your letter In tiie poat-eAoe : a
win refresh you, and I wiU arrange efery thing
my customers are served, and I have nothing ctoa
at present.'
'The two fHends again warmly prasaed each othg^s
hand ; and the student having deputed with hie iattet^
Chassagne sat down to finish his twfielf^st
Five minutes had scarody ekpsed, when the watoi
man, hearinga step at the door, exclaimed, ' What 1 haek
already?' when, turning about, expecting to aae Onil-
laume, to his surprise he beheld Monaianr BonTasd,
the proprieter of tiie house.
'Where is GuiUaume Dupuytrea the atniteit?' he
inquired.
* He is gone out. Monsieur Bouvard; but I will ddiver
any message to him,' said the waterman dvilly.
' Very wdl ; then begin by coming out yourself^' re-
plied the proprietor.
Chassagne obeyed, expecting to be aent on auinu
errand after his companion ; when, to hia amajBemeat,
Monsieur Bouvard locked the door, and pot the key in
his pocket
' what are you doing ?' exdahned Chassagne.
' You shall see,' replied the landlord coldly. ' I take
possession of the key, in order to prevent the late
tenant from entering tiie room agai&*
I
to 4a
GHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
847
' And where if be to go ?* inquired ChMmgne in a
tgoe of pity.
' Wherever he pleases ; that is no oonoem of mine s
he owes me fire months' rent ; that is enough.'
' Oh, Monsieur Bouvard, do not do such a thing as
that!* said poor Chassagne^ clasping his hands in the
most supplicating manner. * Monsieur Dupuytren is
honest: he will pay you.'
*When?' inquired the propriet(ff, endeaTouring to
get between the wall and the waterman, who was stop-
ping the passage.
' As soon as he is able,' replied the latter. * But you,
sir, who are rich, do no^ for a paltry sum, brmg such
ruin on a poor young man* Oh wliat can I do to
excite your compassion ? '
* Pay me,' said the landlord roughlT.
' And yon are depriving him of his books and his
nspers, as if he had not trouble enough without that
Monsieur Bouvard, give me that key,' said Chassagne ;
* give me back that key t'
*WhatI>-you menaoe me, do you?' sud the pro-
prietor, turning pale with anger. * Take care that I do
not turn yoa out along with him. Come, let me pass
directly.'
' Oh, Monsieur Bouvard,' said Chassagne, whose
quick ear had recognised the Toioe of the student
spfiking to the porter below, * he is here already 1 Oh,
Monsieur Bouvard, give me the key I I beseech you to
give it to me ; and,* added he, lowering liis voice, ' if
he does not pay you, I wilL'
' With what money ? ' inquired the landlord in a
tone of contempt, which made the colour rise to the
ibrehead of the young waterman.
* With the money of an honest Auvergnat, which he
has earned by the sweat of his brow.'
' These are mere words,' said the landlord, again en-
deavouring to pass.
' Put bi^k the key, and come into my room,' said the
kind-hearted waterman, opening a door beside him.
Hie landlord did sa Guillaume, who had nownearly
reached the top of the stairs, timied pale at seeing
Monsieur Bouvard, and was on the point of speaking to
him, and requesting a little more time i but Chassagne
prevented him by almost pushing the landlord into his
room, when he immediately followed him, and dosed
the door.
Guillaume entered his own garret} the partition
which divided it from that of Chassagne was not so
thick but that he could distinctly hear the sound of
oooey counted out upon a taUe. ' He is paying his
rent,' thought he; * and now Monsieur Bouvard w3l be
eoming in to me. What shall I say to him?— what
ean I si^? Or rather what will he say to me when I
again ask him for a little more time ? Oh what a humi-
Bating position to be in I My God P said he, throwing
himself upon his knees, while the tears rolled down his
cheeks, * grant me strength to bear this accumulation
ef sorrowsl'
Presently the door opened, and Chassagne entered
* Where is Monsieur Bouvard ?*
' He is gone,' said Chassagne laughing.
'What! without asking me for my rent I '
* Oh, I have settled that : he will wait'
* And what did you say to satisfy him ? '
* Why, I said— I said— that you would pay him when
yoa were head surgeon of the hospital'
The student at first thou^t that his neighbour was
ladined to ridicule him ; but Uie oonntenance of the
waterman remained so calm and so simple, and bis
BMmner so kind, that, banishing the thought, Guillaume
took up his booksf saying with a smile, *Wdil, I must
begin to work my way to it'
* And I,' said Chassagne, leaving the room, ' must go
and earn my water-cask.'
GuiUaume wished to set about his studies ; but after
aB the agitation of the morning, he found it impossible
to ooOect his ideaa. Hit heart wae torn by conflicting
emotions : now bursting at the thought of his rich, but
cruel relative, who refiised to assist him ; then thrilling
with gratitude to his humble neighbour, who had so
kindly come to visit and to share his breakfast with
him. ' Oh,' said he, ' if I must be indebted to any
one, let me at least endeavour that it may be to some
one who is wealthy and able to assist me I' This idea
prompted him to undertake what was at once humbling
to his pride and revolting to his delicacy. He arose,
and nuudng his appearance as neat as possible, he put
on his college cap, and took his way to the Bue du Bac,
in the Faubourg St Germain. He rang the bell at the
gate of one of the finest houses in the street ; and on
being answered, he inquired if Monsieur le Comte Leon
were at home.
' Are you invited, sir?' inquired the servant.
' No,' replied Guillaume.
* Oh, because this is Monsieur Leon's birthday, and
he expects company.'
Guillaume was about to depart; but having endured
the greatest pang attendant on the step he was about
to tdce, that of ringing at the gate, he determined to
go through with it *Tell your young master,' said
he, 'that an old classfellow of the college of Ia Marche
wishes to see him.'
The footman took the message, and on his return,
showed Guillaume into the antechamber, where the
duke's son soon appeared.
* Oh, is it you, Guillaume?' said he, holding out his
hand to his old schoolfellow: *what have you been
doing since the breaking up of the colleges?' Then,
without waiting a reply, and while Guillaume was hesi-
tating as to the best means of mentioning the cause of
his visit, the young count himself introduced tiie sub-
ject by saying abruptly, 'Do you know, Guillaume,
that I am perpetually assailed by some of our old class-
feUows, who think that, because I am rich, and the son
of a duke, they have a right to draw on my purse, or
rather on that of my father ? '
'And surely you would not refuse them, Leon?' re-
plied Guillaume in a voice expressive of the roost pain-
nil emotion. ' You receive them kindly as old friends
and sdioolfellows ? '
'Tott do me but justice in saying so,' said Leon;
' for certainly if an old schoolfellow were in distress, I
would put my hand in my pocket and give him a three
or a siz-livre piece.'
* Oh, you would do more than that Leon !' exclaimed
Gnillaume. 'If an old classfellow (like myself, for in-
stance) were to come and say to you, " Leon, it is not
charity I am about to ask, but I want some assistance
to enable me to live until another school is established
(which must be before long, for they cannot do without
physicians and surgeons), could you lend me ten louis,
and on the word of a man of honour, I will repay
you?"'
Leon burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. ' Ten
louis I' repeated he ; ' ten louis I Why, that would be a
month's pocket-money ! How you tidk 1'
Guillaume took his handkerdiief to wipe the cold
perspiration from his forehead, and replied with all the
energy of despair, ' It is true you would be a month
without your amusements, but your friend could live
and study for four.'
* Tou are a fool, Guillaume ! ' said Leon, shrugging his
shoulders. ' But some one rings ; we are expecting com«
pany to celebrate my birthday ; will you come in, and
twill introduce you to my father?' Guillaume, who
had now nearly recovered his self-possession, coldly de-
clined the invitation. ' Is it on account of your dress ? '
said Leon ; ' you know I would not wi^ you to appear
to disadvantage ; and as we are about the same height,
Lapiene can lend you something from my wardrobe.'
' No, I am obliged to you,' said Guillaume, so coldly,
that Leon exclaimed, 'Oh, you are too proud 1 Very
well, I must leave you, and you can see me another
day when I have no company. Adieu 1 when shall I
see you again?'
' NeTer ! ' said QuiUaume. Bat suddenly recollecting
himself, he added in a tone of bitterness, * That is to
siiy, Leon, we may meet again ; but it shall be when
yon need assistance from me I '
"nien that will be ncTer,' replied the wealthy youth,
as he turned haughtily round to enter the saloon.
Guillaume Dupuytren retraced his steps homeward
with a heavy heart ; for the first time in his life he had
stooped to ask a loan, and he had been refused it by a
wealthy schoolfellow, who spent yearly twelre times
the sum in trifling amusements, that would have en-
abled him to liTe and pursue his studies for four months.
On entering his garret he found Chassagne there, who,
as soon as he he^d his step, called out, *Come, loiterer,
your soup will be cold.*
' Dinner ! * exclaimed Guillaume, surprised and afibcted
at seeing a bowl of hot soup smoking on the table.
* Do you not like it ?' said the waterman with a good-
natured smile, as he placed a small dish on the table
beside the soup ; ' and if I were in your place, would
you not have done the same for me ?'
* But,* said the young student, * you must, I fear, be
encroaching on your savings?*
' Pshaw ! * replied Chassagne ; 'you can pay me for it
when you are made head surgeon of the hospitaL*
'Then, Chassagne,' said Guillaume smiling, for the
kindness and good -humour of the waterman cheered
the heart of the poor student — ' then, Chassagne, you
shall have a water-cask with a good cart and horse.'
' Oh, a horse I ' replied Chassagne. ' I do not aspire
so high : to possess a wat6r-cart is the utmost of my
ambition.*
From that day forward the young waterman took
upon himself the office of purveyor to the student : he
was more ; he became his friend, his brother, his ser-
vant ' Now listen to me,* said he one day when Guil-
laume was refusing to accept such innumerable benefits :
' you know that my greatest ambition is to possess a
water-cart. Well, I would give up the water-cart, if I
had it, for a share of your ft'iendship. I am the person
obliged : until I knew you, I was a solitary orphan
alone in the world. I had no one to speak to, no one
to take any interest in me. I ate my meals idone ; and
when I returned home tired in the evenings, I went to
my cold garret, where I had not a creature to take me
by the hand as you do, and to say, *' How goes it, Chas-
sagne ? ** Ob, that does me good. Monsieur Guillaume !
It warms me like a good fire.*
* But, then, your cask : you are making me eat your
water-cask,* replied Guillaume, endeavouring to hide
the tear wliich quivered in his eye at hearing the noble
sentiments expressed by the poor waterman.
* Oh, we are both voung,* said the latter ; ' and God
will not forsake us if we remain in the path of duty.
I pray for you, Monsieur Guillaume, both night and
morning.*
The tear, till then restrained, fell on the hand of
Chassagne, which Guillaume pressed in silence. This
state of things did not continue long. Towards the
commencement of 1795 the establisliment of the School
of Medicine effected a change in the situation of the
two friends : Guillaume entered the hospital as in-door
pupil. The separation was severely felt; and Chas-
sagne extracted a solemn promise from his friend, that
should he at any time be in distress for money, he
would apply to him, who loved him as a brother.
Some time after his installation, the principal physi-
cian, knowing the difficulties of his situation, and wish-
ing to assist him, proposed that he should take care of
a patient of his — a man of rank and wealth, who in the
first place would pay him a louis per night for his at-
tendance, and whose influence and patronage might
afterwards be of service to him.
On hearing that the i[Mitient was the father of his
heartless schoolfellow, Guillaume was at first disposed
to refuse ; but a moment's reflection made him gladly
accept the offer. He repaired the same evening to the
duke's residence, and proceeded immediately to the
invalid's chamber. By the blessing of God on his assi-
duous care and attention, before the end of the month
the duke was pronounced to be oonvalesoent ; and on
the same day he presented to his young care-taker
twenty-five louis in gold.
Let us now return to Chassagne, who, since GuU-
laume had been unable to visit him in the evenings,
had found the time unusually long. When the boor
had passed which used to unite those two friends, that
they might enjoy a little cheerful conversation after Uie
labours of the day, poor Chassagne would go down and
stand at the gate watehing in the direction by which
Guillaume woidd come, if he came at aU. On the even-
ing of the day we have mentioned Chassagne was at
his usual post : the street was neariy deserted, no sounds
were to be heard but the steps of a few stray paasengerii
when suddenly the rolling of a light water-cart, bf
breaking the stillness of the street, interrupted tiie
musing of Chassagne. But do his eyes deceive him?
Who is that young waterman who in dress and ap-
pearance so much resembles Gidllanme? The cart
rolls on ; the figure becomes more distinct ; the cart at
length stops at the gate ; and Guillaume, breathless and
fatigued, could only call out from between the shafts,
' Chassagne, here is your water-cart I'
'Mine !* said Chassagne in astonishment.
' Yes, yours certainly : whose else should it be ? Bat
come and unharness me, for I cannot play the horse
any longer.'
' Mine I ' continued Chassagne, unable to believe hb
senses ; ' this cart, this cask, these fine new buclrets ?'
GuiUaume, who had succeeded in disengaging him-
self from the cart, took Chassagne by the hand, and
leading him round to the back of it, showed him hit
name painted at full length. * There,' said he, ' read
that: No. 835, Chassagne! Whose name is that?—
yours or mine?'
Joy, surprise, the realisation of his fondest hope, sH
combined to bewilder the happy waterman : he looked
alternately at the cart and at Guillaume, then suddenly
exclaimed, * But where did you get it?'
*I bought it,' replied Guillaume.
' Are you, then, made head surgeon of the hospital?'
said Chassagne, opening his eyes wide, as if the better
to see the great person he believed stood before him.
' Not yet,' he replied laughing ; ' but I have earned a
little money, and your ambition was so very moderate,
my good Chassagne, that I was anxious to gratify it
Come, put up your cart, and let us go to supper.'
It was on a fine morning in May 1816 that a splendid
equipage drew up at a Urge house on the Fboe de
louvre. A gentleman descended, and inquired for the
Baron Dupu}rtren. On being told he was at home, he
desired the servant to announce the Duke Leon ds
X .
' No person is announced here, sir : walk into the
waiting-room, and the doctor will see you in time.'
When two patiente had been dismissed, the doke
was shown into the doctor's study.
* I fear I am too late. Monsieur le Baron ; or rather I
should sav, my dear Guillaume. Do you not reoaemlMr
me? 'said the duke.
* I remember you perfectly, Monsieur le Doc,' fe-
plied the baron coldly.
' My son, my only son, is dangerously iU,' said (he
duke ; * if any person can save Mm, it is you : pny
come with me ; my carriage is at the door, and any
sum you name shall be yours.'
The baron took his hat, and inquiring if his cabriolet
was in readiness, he followed the duke down stairs.
On crossing the court to reach the street, a man entered
it who seemed in the deepest affliction.
' Chassagne r exclaimed the doctor, 'what is tiie
matter?*
' Oh, Monsieur le Baron !*
' Call me Guillaume, or I will not listen to you.'
' My little girl, my youngest child, is dying, and I
came to ask you to see her,* replied Chassagne.
J]
CHAMBERS^ EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
84Jl
'Gome with me,' said the doctor.
*Bok my son, Monaieur le Boron ; a moment's delay
may be fatal to him.'
* I will visit yonr son, Monsienr le Due, as soon as I
have seen this man's child,' replied the baron, taking
Chassagne into his cabriolet.
•Mooaienr le Baron, I will give you. six thousand
francs oo condition that you come witii me instantly.'
* Otherwise you will not,' said the baron ; and bowing
to the dnke, he desired the coachman to drive to the
residenoe of Chassagne.
It was not until he was assured of the safety of the
Bttte girl Uiat he repaired to the duke's residence : the
heir ^ his tiUe and fortune had breathed his last
We have seen Gnillaume Dupuytren in the year 1794
nearly perishing with hunger. Twenty-two years after-
wudM we find Urn at the highest pitch of eminence and
prosperity, and that by dint of his own talents and in-
dmtry. This celebrated surgeon was bom at Pierre
BufB^re, in Limousin, in the year 1777. He came to
FuiB when twelve years old, and was placed in the
ooUege of La Marche under the care of the principaL
The breaking up of aH the public institutions having
forced him to leave it, he was exposed to the Bufferings
we have described. In 1795 the School of Medicine was
estaWshed, to which he was at first attached as protec-
kmr: at a later period, in 1801, he continued there as
prindpal of anatomy ; in 1811 he succeeded Sabatier as
professor; and in 1813 he was appointed second sur-
geon to the Hotel Dieu at Paris, and soon afterwards a
member of the Coundl of Health. In 1815 he was ap-
pointed head surgeon of the Hdtel Dieu, and in 1816 he
was created Chevalier of the order of St Michael, and
baron. His fortune and celebrity continued to increase
until hb dMth, which took place on the 8th February
1835. He left one daughter, Madame la Comtesse de
B — — , who inherits his large fortune.
The life of Dupuytren is one among many instances,
that in order to arrive at eminence in any profession, it
is not necessary to be bom of wealthy or distinguished
parents. Those of Dupuytren were respectable, his
nther having been, before the Revolution, a parliamen-
tary lawyer ; but havinglost his place, he was reduced
to great poverty. While Dupuytren lived, his talents.
Ins life, his fortune, were all at the service of those who
stood in need of them. He was the physician of the
poor as wen as of the rich ; and their gratitude was
more valued by him than the gold of the wealthy. He
never forgot his early days ; and was fond of affording
that assistance and support to youth which he had
hinuelf received from a kind though humble friend.
SONGS AND POEMS ON COSTUME.
SixcE, ay and before, there was resort to mirrors, the toilet
hsB betn at onoe the most changeable and prominent
feature of human life; on which account its whimsicalities
—and their name is l^ion — ^have been largely noticed in
ibe popular rhymes and songs of almost every age; a
coiioQA collection of which, ranging from the thirteenth
to the nineteenth century, has jub't been given to the
public by Frederick W. Fairholt, Esa. F.S.A.»
It ia worth notine that nearly all the efforts of the
mose on this subject have been of the satirical order; and
the most conspicuous experiments in costume, though
occasionally illustrated in old paintings and those guud
coins of the middle ages called tokens, are made known
to posterity chiefly by the denunciations of divines or
the pasquUs of contemporary poets. The earlier pieces
of this kind give strange evidence of the dawn of Utera-
tore in Europe; some being written in Latin, some in old
French, and others in still less intelligible English.
The fourteenth century was pre-eminently an age of
monstrosities in ladies* head-dresses. One variety of horns
succeeded another on the heads of the court dames of
* fktiTkcl Songs sad Poems on Oostome. Printed for the Peroj
Booiflty. 1849.
France and England throughout ite entire course, with a
diversity of shape and size which the genius of absurditi
alone could invent. Now th^ were curved backwardsy
with the large linen handkerchief worn round the neeh
pinned up to them on either side, and space enough^
according to a French author, for the largest weasel in
his proTince to run between. Then they met in a cres-
cent form over the forehMid, and again rose almost
straight from either side of the head. To all of them tha
satinsto haTO left us ample memorials of their hostility,
strengthened as it was by that of the clergy, who, aftef
vainly exhausting their energies in preaching against the
horns, at lengUi hit upon the expedient of offering pardon
in the old church fashion, at least for the sins of a few
days, to those who would publicly jeer and annoy the
wearers.
The satirical poets of those times occasionally turned
their shafts against the costume of the clergy themselves ;
and not without reason, if one mav judge from the forms
of fopperr with which they were diarged about the close
of the fiiteenth century — such as wearing their hair so
long in front, that it almost covered the eyes ; sporting
{'swelled daggers ; and delighting, in common with all the
ords of the creation at that period, in long-pointed shoes,
curving upwards, and fastened by chains to the knees ;
not to speak of wide purfled sleeves, and trains so long,
that two pages were reouired to carry them. Whether
the ladies borrowed the last-mentioned feshion from the
church, or vice vend, cannot now be ascertained, as their
trains have waxed and waned through many a generation
to the very confines of our own. Trains were believed to
have been introduced to the English by Richard II.'s
Bohemian queen, who was also said to have made the
ladies of England acquainted with the side saddle, and
bequeathed them the riding-habit, still worn as a laisting
monument of her love for ample drapery. Certain it is,
that in the following age the longitude of feminine skirts
was felt to be a nuisance of such magnitude in Scotland,
that Sir David Lyndsay addressed a poetical petition
against them and similar abuses to James V. In it the
bard sets forth, in language more strong than elegant, the
natural results of ' syde taillis ' — that is, long skirts — and
when the condition of the High Street for more than a
century after is recollected, from that notable act touching
the removal of ' middinges,' quoted in the ' Traditions of
Edinburgh,' the consequences of a promenade thereon, with
such appendages, in full sweep, may, as the newspapers
say, be imagined, but never described. Perhaps the most
curious /ama ever circulated against trains was contained
in the following legend, which, as it was made current by
a monk in the reign of Edward I., proves that those incon-
venient appendages were at least known in England before
the coming of the Bohemian princess. ' I have heard of
a proud woman, who wore a white dress with a long
tail ; which, trailing behind her, raised a dust even as far
as the altar and the crucifix. But as she left the church,
and lifted up her train on account of the dirt, a certain
holy man saw a devil laughing ; and having adjured him
to tell why he laughed, the devil said : ** A companion of
mine was just now sitting on the train of that woman,
using it as if it were his diariot, but when she lifted her
train up, my companion was shaken off* into the dirt:
that is why I was laughing.'' '
The satire of Lyndsay was enforced not l6ng alter by
that of Sir Richi^ Maitland of Lethington, a poetical
ancestor of the Earl of Lauderdale, whose papers have
been preserved by Pepys. It might surprise some of our
southern neighbours to learn in how fine a style the wives
of Scottish burgesses dressed in the time of Queen Mary.
Maitland says — * On claiths they wair [spend] mony a
crown.' Their gowns are barred with velvet, sleeve, neck,
and tails; the foreskirt of silk, with cambric ornaments.
* And of fine sUk their fmrdd cloaks.
With hinging sleeves, like JeUj pocks.' . . .
' Their wylie-ooaU maun weel be hewit—
Browdered ridit braid, with paaamcnta sswit
I trow wha wald the matter speir.
That their gudeman has cause to me It,
That ever their wives wear sic gear.
8M
CHAMBERS^ EDIKBUB6H JOURNAL.
Thdr wwm hoM or flUk an AavIb,
BuTit ftboon with tosteU drawin
Witli garteos of ane new vuumiri
To gar their ooartUneai be knawin.
And all for newfimgledneB of gear.
Sometime they will bear up their 0own,
To iliaw their WTlie-coat hinging down ;
And aometime balth tfa^ wfll upbear.
To ahftw their hoae of Maddc or brown.
And all for newfangindnaai of gear.
Their eoUan, oaroata, and falae beadi.
With velret haU heioh on their faeada.
Corded with gold like ane yoonkeir,
Browded about with golden threads,
AndallforaewfangledneaBofgear.' . . .
The 'muffler' was another piece of ladies' wear which
aroused the honest indignation of many a bard, probably
tnmi its somewhat Oriental character, and erident adap-
tation to mjrstery and concealment. It consisted of a
tnaogular piece of cloth, generally white, with two long
ends which were fastened behind over the cap. Some
say it was introduced into Scotland by the German and
Flemish Jews, who took refuge there from ancient perse-
cutions: othc^ that it came with the first hordes of
gipsies. Whicherer is true, it preyailed in Scotland for
a long period. A sumptuair law of James II. forbade its
being worn at kirk or market ; and Sir Darid Lyndsay
mentions with approbation the superior manners of the
French ladies, who kept their faces unooTered in public,
so as to receire and return ciyilitiss. Whereupon the
poet suggests-
' WItlioot ttiefr f adta be soon ameadlt.
My fljrtiag, air, aaU oarer be endit ;
Bot wald four graoe my oonnael tak^
Ane proolamatlmi ye suld mak,
Baith throw the land, and borrowsteons.
To Shaw their faee, and oat their gonna.
Nana anld fira that azemptit be,
Bxoapt the queanJa majaatie.'
As neither the mutability nor eztraraganee of fashion
was confined entirely to the ladies, something like poetical
Justice was done by old satirists to the ranities of the
stronger sex; and many a witty thouffh rustic rhyme chro-
nicles the fiantastic guises worn by their dififerait geneia-
tions. The yarious forms of b^rds, cloaks, caps, and
doublets, all are commemorated. Songs on sudi subjects
multiply as we approach the seyenteenth century, and
the titles of some of them, like the tracts of that period,
are their most curious parts : for example, one written
during the reisn of distended nether-garments is called
*A Lamentable Complaint of the Pore Countrymen
Minste Great Hose, for the Losso of their Cattelles Tails.'
The substance of this ditty is, that all manner of wool
and hair, including the much-missed tails, were literally
swallowed up by way of stuifing for the enormous hose ;
and there must haye been some truth in the complaint,
accordingto a contemporary writer, who states in sober
prose— -'Thejir are almost capable of holding a bushel of
wheat; and if they be of sackcloth, they would serye to
carry malt to the milL'
* What hurt and damage doth ensue
And fall upon the poor,
For wmt of wool and flax of late.
Which monatroua hoae deroor. . .
. . not one beast nor horse can teU
Which way his tail is safe.
For now in country ronnd about
Mo gelding, horse, nor mare,
Kor other beast of any price.
Put forth all night we dare.
I7othlng ao feared we are of thieyes
Which oft are laid in Jails,
Aa now we are of mi<diing knavas
That out oflT horae^ taUs,' ho.
Another costly portion of male attire, though the articles
were common to the dress of both sexes, was sleeves,
which in those times were detached from the garments.
Their shape and size were ireauent subjects of sumptuary
laws; and expense both in the quality and quantity of
material was thus regulated according to rank. At one
period it was forbidden that mere burghers or i^eir wiyes
should wear purfled sleeres. A pair of dssfei «f doftnir.
gold is mentioned, among seyeral ethcn, in theiaidnbe
of Henry VIII.; and down to the raign of Loidi X?L
'sentleroanof the sleeve' was the title of a eomiefioff'
The special oonnderation bestowed upon thsse aitkia ii
obseryable from an old pastoial, writtsa about tht dan
0f£li2abeth,caUed«MylAdyGresns]ee?es.' Tkei^
appellation was, by the way,eonfiRied en a sortofiw.
tholodcal peoMn who accompanied ' Qoldj-Lodi.' tad
the Morris^dancsn, with Maid Marian, aaTS M»
games of later times, to the great tHiI aad walk if
the Long Parliament.
Among the complicated contsntieiM of tin StiMk
reigns, oostome itself became a matter of palt7di•tia^
tion, and was mixed up with seotvian tnkamn
Henoe many eongs of that period ware darofeed k ttt
subject of dress. The Cayalier minstrel ponied eooteui
on the close crop of the Puritan, aad the Roosdkid
bard by turns denounoed and ridiculed louf hiir.
One of these choice spirits boldly proeliSiDed it te bi
nothinff less than the banner of Satan dii^a^ n
triumph from a man's head ; while a poet of the offMita
opinion asserted that cutting the hair short vai a dt-
miteM casting away of a fair gUt from PrvridisMk
Another class of poems regarding costume wnt callid
* Moralisations,' in the sym W-loymg fiuhion of tkm old
times. They represented yirtues and yioes, (fpiaku asd
eyen parties, by fimiiliar and fashionable vticlci «f
dress. Though most frequently emnloyed si the pciod
referred to, this method was muca more sneiflBt A
French poet some ages before inyested his dtm ikmm
with eyery equipment to match, from the lUppm of
humility to the pincushion of ^tatienoe; and a Soottiih
bard, in a song called * The Garment of Gude Lad^
minutely describes an entire suit as worn in Ui on
times, but made up of yirtues and graces wbkk mild
become a wearer of any ace. The 'points' i^pesr to hn
been often pressed into this kind of serrice. Tbef icn
metal tags at the ends of ribbons used to fiutes erej
description of dress, before either buttons or boob wen
inyented; on account of which general uaefnlneai, tkar
designation was giyen to theological doctrines and aiticki
of belief, in ages when these were at once the ttanding
topics of conyersation and perpetual grounds of diiqwte.
Sometimes, too, the simile was employed for simpler ltd
more terrestrial puiposes. ' A Dozen of Points seat bj i
Gentlewoman to her Loyer as a New-Year's Gift,' wai the
somewhat lengthy title of a sentimental song; snd good
points they were, being all wise and worthy coonMi»
mcluding the last —
' Lore me aa I lave thee, aai ahan
From henoe for eyermore.*
One of the best-written party songs of the dren odff
represents Cromwell and hu oolleagues as a
' Cloak that hXL out with a gown.
That cramprt all tha Uapkna aad orippM the omrs.*
But as those bones of contention grew old, the wtin*
cal muse turned once more to the doings of the ladio.
One author entitles his song * A Meditimon on the Pride
of Women;' and the still more complimentaiy le^ ^
another is, ' Women, monstrous women, what do jos
mean to dot' It is strange and edifying to read a poos
of this description called 'Tlie Lady's Drttaing-w«|
Unlocked,' which its author presents as a warning to lU
adventurers on the sea of matrimony iHiat thej sie ex-
pected to proyide. What a numbw of long-disused sod
foigotten articles is there summed up as then foimi^
the indispensable apparatus of ftshion t Just by «sf«
samples— * plumpers for hollow cheeks, and chioien^kiA
gloyes to whiten the hands in sleep.' How oddlr, to^
some of their toilet appellations would sound t For in-
stance, 'heart-breakers^ and •murderers'— thess gentle
titles implying merely knots and curls. Soffice it to
sa^, that the patches, the blue hair-powder, aad the ni|h^
rail all were sung as they appefved. The latter srtide
was worn in Ireland by elderly ladies of the last woers-
tion oyer their gowns, though singulariy disliked > «•
I, especially those of Dublin, who Alriy pat «
tion oyer their
lower orders
0HAHBSB3'S SDINBUBGH JOUBNAl*.
851
Mt ^ finhioa by indaoiog An anfortaiybto criming to
VMT ii <m ike day of aztcntion.
Any iMkdir mufl obattre that tho latirieal 8<mgi eon-
eecning eostii]ii% though fdnilshed with amplo m«tt-
mkf dagmonte woaderftillj, lith in wit and compod-
tioB, aa we deaoend to modern timea. Thoae on the
giABtie head-dienea ^diioh giew vp in the latter years
of the eighteenth oentniy are Texy inferior, but their de-
ficiency waa in aome degree aapplied by the caricatures
of that period, which repreaented eren its hiatorical
scenes aa tailing place on the heads of ladies.
The ' hoopa,^which became general many yean before,
called forth sundry effusions, tne liyelieat of which was
the popalwehant,' Oh, mother, a hoop 1' And a French
sXm^w*^ written under the (Means rwency, records a
similar, tluragh ephemeral ftshion, by whidi the nntle-
men's sJdrta were kept atiff and square by means ofstrong
whalebone. Bereral keener satires followed the appear-
ance of ita contemporary the 'Pantin,' or 'Tumbling-
Jack,' a toy whose motiona still awaken the delight and
wonder of many a juTcnile mind; but in that mTolous
and profligate court it was publicly carried about as
an appenda^ to a walking gentleman, aa necessary to
oompleta hia totU enie$Me aa the sword and hat, the
latter being inTariably carried under his arm. Only
think of physicians, magistrates, and dirines displaying
thair Taried graoea or grarity with audi an aooompani-
ment in the atreeta of Lonm)n 1 Tet aueh waa the case
in thoae of Paria about 1746, and the £Mhion waa par*
tially established in Epgland.
Bong anxious to preaent one specimen of the dress
Tersea of this epoch, we select, after some hesitation, an
*Adno9 to a Painter,' of date 1755 1^
* Bm* of palnlMi, ihew thy sH,
Draw the oliannar of my hsarl,
I>mir liar as the ■hines away
At the rout and at the play t
Carefully each mode ezpreii ;
Woman'* better part is dreia
Let her <mp be nughty small,
Bigfer Jnet than none at all {
Ptetty, Uke her eenae, and little ;
Like hm beauly, fraU and brittle.
Be her thininf lonk* ffi?nfltitd
In a threefold braid behindt
Let an artificial flower
Set the f risore off before ;
Here and there, weare ribbon pat In,
Bibboa of the flneet mttin.
Olr^nf nrand her Irory neek,
Prinia oat the anart Y andyok ;
Like the raff that beietof ore
Good Queen Bees'* maiden* wore ;
HMoy maiden*, a* we reed,
Ifald* of honour, maid* indeed 1
Let her breaat look rich and bold.
With a stomacher of fcdd ;
Let it keep her boeom wann.
Amply Btretohed from arm to arm;
Whifluloally traTeieed o^er.
Here a knot, and then a flower.
Like her ttttla heart that danoes.
Poll o# aMfgote, fuU o# fenoiee.
Plowing looeely down her back.
Draw with art the grao^ql sack t
Ornament it well with glmping,
Plounoee, furbelows, and crimping ;
Let of rufflee many a row,
Onard her elbows, white as snowt
Knots b^w, and knots abora,
EmMeoM of the ties of lora.
Let hsr hoop, extended wide,
6how what pettiooate should hide ;
Garters of the softest silk.
Stockings whiter than the mOk ;
Charming part of female dress,
Did It show us more, or less.
Let a pair of vtrivet ihoea
Oaatty press hsr pretty toes.
Gently press, and softly eqaaeflSt
Tottering like the fair Chineee,
Ifoonted high and buckled low.
Tottering ersry step they go.
Take theee hinte, and do thy duty,
Padifams are the tests of beauty ;
Peatures rary and pen^ez.
Models the woman, and the asz.'
The beat Bcitiah aeng* which refer to costume are
these of the Jacobites celebrating the tartan hese or tha
white oookade, both alike obnozions to tiie powers that
were, with the exception of some Irish iTrics, also of i^
political character, the finest though leaat known of which
is Curran's * Wearing of the green,' that colour being
symbolical in the eyes of the goyemment, as well as thosa
cf the Opposition, of concern in the rebellion of 1798.
It is remarkable that in all the songs of the present
age there ia scarcely a reference to preyailing modes of
costume. Fashion still makes our people ' i^ms of her dia-
tortions,' though not to the extent of former times; for
as ciTiliaation q>reada among the masses of erery rank,
a preferenoe for the oonTenient and becoming gradually
gains ground* Yet there haTO been, and are, oecaaionu
extraTaganoea. Poaterity will be edified concerning the
* bnatle^ and the * Albert Hat,' by the platea and articlea
of our jeating periodicalB, when chanses yet undreamt of
hare passed orer both society and literature, and the
sheets OTer which we hare laughed are laid up by scanty
remnants in library and museum, as riddles for the cu-
rious inquirer, ana eyidenoes how flowed the current of
our times.
ENGLISH NEWSPAPERS AND POBEIGN NEWS.
Thb anoeesa of Engliah newapapar proprietors in attaining
pro-emineooe o^er oontinantal rivala, haa been greatly
aaaiated by the extent and perfSsetion of our mail-paeket
aRangemantau We hafe now neatly 150 ateamera, moat of
them of the greateat power and apeed, encaged neoiaUy
in brining poUtleal and oommereUl intell^enoe nom aU
parte of the world. They are nerer delayed at any port at
whioh they mar touoh but for the purpoae of ooaUng and
landing and embarking maila, and their rapid and pnnotual
arrival in thia oountry, after in aome inataneea running a
diatanee of 3000 miliea without atopping^ ia one of the
wondera of thIa remaifcaUe age.
The expenae of ediUng, aub-editing, and printing Eagliah
newapapera, enormona aa it ia, ia inaignifieant when oom-
pared with the vaat auma expended m oolleeting fSneign
newa. To obtain that newa, oorreapondenta are oeou-
pied in all the chief eitlea and aeaporta of the world.
Theae persona are men of the highest intelligenoe ; and
their are expected to penetrate the aeoreta of courta and
cabineta, to attend the marta of busineaa and exohange,
and aubmit to the inoouTenienoea and eren dangera of tne
oamp, for the pnrpoae of gleaning information of what ia
transpiring abroad. Agenta are kept at erery Engliah port
for the pnrpoae of ooUeoting this infonnation aa aoon aa it
arriyea. Conriera are oftentlmea trayelUng ttom the moat
diatant parte with newapaper infbrmation, ateamera aro
aolehr employed in oonTcying aueh oouriera aeroea the Ei^
liah Channel, and moial railway traina aro hired to oon-
▼ey a few itema of roreign newa, and the eleotrie telMraph
ia snbaidiaed fbr the aame pnrpoae. In fsot no outlay or
eflTort ia aparod by the Britiah Journalist to outstrip in
speed erery meana that can even partiaUr aoqusdnt the
public and the goyetnment with foreign intelligenoe.
The newspaper agenta at the outporta muat be well ac-
quainted with the neoeaaitiea, aa fhr aa infonnation ia oon-
oeroed, of British commerce, and ita peeoliar ramifications
and oonneotiona in different parte of the worid ; they must
alao have a knowledge of the polltiea of diffwent oountriea,
and of the lateat fordgn newa whieh haa been poblished in
the EngUah joumala. The foroign newa ooUeoted at South-
ampton ia principally from the citiea and aeaporta of the
Peninsula, from the BriUah, Spaniah, Dutch, fiVeneh, and
Daniah Weat India lalanda, the Qulf of Mexioo, the United
Statea, and the Spaniah main ; oecaalonaUy alao impor-
tant newa reaohea Southampton from Hayro and the Cape
of ChxMl Hope.
It ia a well-known ihct, that oftentimea beforo a foreign
mail paeket oomea alongalde the Southampton Dock wail,
hundreda of persons in London eighty mllea diatant aro
reading from the public jounala with breathleae intereat
the newa ahe haa brought $ that while the pallet ia com-
ing up Itchen Creek, the intelUxenoe of which ahe ia the
bMrer haa been tranamitted to m metropolia, and printed
and publiahed ; that during that abort faitaral of time her
news haa affected the publio frmda. and hiduoed nurobera
to risk the aequiaitlon and loaa of whole fortunea by apeou-
latlona in trade and in the publio aeenritiea.
When a mail paeket la doe at Southampton, watchmen
352
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
are emploxed day and night by newspaper proprieton to
look oat for her. In the davtime, when tne weather is
clear, and there is not much wind stirring, the smoke of a
large mail packet in the Solent may be seen by lookine
from the quay over Cadlands; but homeward-bound
steamers are generally made out by means of powerful
telescopes after they haye passed Eaglehurst Castle, by
looking over the flat tongue of land which terminates
where Calshot Castle stands. When she rounds Calshot
Castle a rocket is thrown up from her, which is a mail-
packet signaL As soon as the rocket is observed, the
watchmen are in motion, running in different directions up
the town. In a few minutes may be seen stealthily
gliding towards the quay a few persons, who, if it be a
winter night, would scarcely be recognisable, disguised as
they appear to be in greatcoats, comforters, and every
kind or waterproof covering for the head, feet, and body.
These persons are the outport newspaper agents. They
make for the head of the quay, and each jumps into a small
yacht, which instantly darts firom the shore.
Cold, daik, and cheerless as it may be, the excitement
on board the yachts is very great in «Jculating which will
reach the steamer first ; and at no regatta is there more
nautical science displayed, or more keen and earnest con-
tention. Let us suppose the time to be about six o*clock
of a dark winter mon^ng, the yachts reach the steamer
just as ' ease her* has' been hoarsely bawled by the pilot
off Netley> Abbey. As soon as praHque has been granted,
the newspaper agents climb up the side of the steamer,
bfl(eotimes. by a sm^e rope, and at the risk of their lives,
and jump on board. A bundle of foreign journals is handed
to each of them, and they immediately return to their
yachts, and make for the shore. The excitement and con-
tention now to reach the shore is £Etr more intense than
was the case during the attempt to reach the ship. While
makiDg for the shore, sometimes in the most tempestuous
weather, perhaps the rain peppering down, and the wind
blowing great guns, or thunder and lightning overhead, the
foreign journals are hastily examined bv means of a lantern
similar to that used bv policemen, the most important
items of foreign news which they contain are immediately
detected, and the form in which they must be transmitted
to London arranged in the mind. The agents are landed
as near as possible to the electric telegraph office, some-
times on the shoulders of their boatmen tnrough tne surf
or mud. They arrive at the telegraph office, and to write
down their messaffes ii the work of a few minutes only.
The rule in writmg down telegraph messages is simple—
to convey the greatest quantity of news in the fewest po»%
sible words. Perhaps the message is as follows : — ' Great
Western. Jamfdca, 2. Cruz, 26. Million dollars. Divi-
dends fifty thousand. Mosquito war ended. Antilles
healthy. Havana hurricane. Hundred ships lost Crops
good. Jamaica, rains. Sea covered, wreck, plantations.*
While the agents are writing these messages, the telegraph
is at work, and by the time the messages lyre written in
Southampton, they have been almost communicated to
Lothbury. A cab conveys written copies of them, with
the utmost despatch, to the newspaper offices. They are
immediately in the lumds of the foreign editors or sub-
editors, who comprehend the purport of them immediatelv.
In a few minutes they have been elaborated and maue
intelligible, and they shortly appear in a conspicuous part
of the morning papers in the following shape : —
* Arrival of the Wbst India and Mexican Mail— Impor-
tant Nbws from the West Indies — ^Dreadful Hurri-
cane at Havana— Awful Destruction of Property
IN Jamaica.
* The Royal Mail Steam-Packet Company^s steamer
Gi'eat Western has arrived at Southampton. She brings
news from Jamaica up to the 2d inst!, and from Vera
Cruz up to the 26th ult. ; she has on board on freight to
the amount of 1,000,000 dollars on merchants* account, and
50,000 dollars on account of Mexican dividends. Tlie
miserable " little war '* unfortunately entered into by this
country on behalf of the black king of Mosquito has termi-
nated. We regret to learn that a most destructive hurri-
cane has happened at Havana, and that a hundred ships
have been wrecked in consequence. The weather, we are
happy to say, has been fine in the West Indies, and the
islanos are healthy. The crops of West India produce are
progressing fisvourably. The May rains at Jamaica have
Deen very heavy, and done considerable damage. The
rivers have swollen enonoouslv, overflown their baioks, and
done great damage to tbo plantations. The sea, at the
mouths of the rivers, was covered with the wie^ of ti).
planUtions.* In an incredibly short space of tims tbo^
sands of newspapers, containing this news, bsTs been
and taiman
_ , ^ tine tlie Lon.
don papers have reached Liverpool, Bristol, Hull, BriAton.
Dover, Folkestone, Southampton, east, west, notS, aod
south. Hundreds have been dropped at intetmediite
stations. Before the foreign mail brought by the Sooth-
ampton steamer has been sorted, perhups the LoodoD
papers have neariy reached every town in Eogiutd, Wika
Scotland, and Ireland, and are travelling with a giaati peee
over the continent.
But let us return to the London newspaper offioei, vhere
the steam-engines that print the pmn never tii«, bat are
unremittingly throwing off hundmb per numte, ud m
now wooing at seven o^clock in the moming to mppij the
metropolis. In a short time the newspapers eater eofie-
houscM, taverns, counting-houses, public offices, aod printe
dwellings, and thousands in London and distant paiti of
the country are reading simultaneously from the jHibfic
journals the news which reached Southampton an hour or
two since. The holders of Mexican stock smile as thej
read of the dividends ; nndowritera, and thoonnds who
have seafaring relatives, feel a pang at the news of tbe
hurricane ; and tens of thousands feel an interest ftom
curiosity, or a more powerful motive, in the detidb of the
news, cargo, passengers, or letters the ship has faroogfai
It is a singular fact, that the inhabitants of Soathsmptoo
generally first learn of the arrival of the mail psdiets in
our docks from the moming p»;pen. Persons come to
Southampton to meet frien£ or relatives from abroad ;
they lodge near the water, to be certain of knowing whn
the packets arrive, and it often happens that the mondng
papers on the breakfast table give them the fint mt^u-
tion of the arrival of those they are anxious to meet Two
or three years ago the celebrated Paredes escaped ftoa
Mexico, and came to Southampton in a West lodia
steamer. He arrived almost mcog., and was scareely avars
that he was known on board. Some slight dday took
place before the steamer could get into the dock, owiag to
the tide, and Paredes had no idea that any eomawnipatioo
had been made with the shore. To his utter astonisboMnt,
the first sound he heard on landix^ was his own name; for
a newsboy was bawling to the paasenffers f^m a monuBg i
paper, * Second edition of the . Important news frraa i
Mexico. Arrival of Paredes in Southan^>ton.^ |
The great Mexican monarchist has since trafeDed aD
over Ectfope, and is now in his own country; aadhehu
been heard to declare that the greatest wondor he knew ia
this quarter of the globe, was the rapidity with iriii^
news was obtained and oircolated in England.— Himpiitrt i
Advertiser, '
THE FRES WILL OF MAN.
Let any man dive into his own heart, and obsore Ub- i
self with attention. If he have the power to look, and tke ^
will to see, he will behold, with a sort of terror, the inces-
sant war waged by the ^>od and evil dispositions wi^ ^
him — ^reason and caprice, duty and passion ; in shoit, to
call them all by their comprehensive names— good ^^
We contemplate with anxiety the outward troubles and
vicissitudes of human life ; but what should we feel tf w j
could behold the inward vicissitudes, the troubles of tk '
human soul? — if we could see how many dangers^a^cj I
enemies, combats, victories, and defeats, can oe orowd«d |
into a day — an hour? I do not say this to dS80oarageintf|
nor to humble or undervalue his free wilL He is eaued i
upon to conquer in the battle of life, and the honour of tie i
conquests belongs to his tree will. But victory is te>|>p»-
sible, and defeat certain, if he lias not a just ooneeim
and profound feeling of his dangers, his weskneaies. and
his need of assistance. To beUeve that the free will « ■»
tends to good, and is of itself sufficient to accomplish good,
betrays an immeasurable ignorance of his nature. It is tte
error of pride ; an error which tends to destroy both nwoj
and pohtical order, which enfeebles the gorermneni «
communities no less than the government of tbs insvu
man. — Demoemcy in Frcmce, by M. Guixot. _
Puhllahed by W. & R. CRAMsaas, High StxMt, Edinbvffk ik»
sold by D. CRAJcaaas, SO Amrle Street, Olasiow ; W. & Ov,
147 Strand, London; and J. M^Qlashak. « D*Olier 8W*.
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. OBAmaas, Bdinbarfk.
^^
^^Hl^E
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U1^
3
^'M
:ANC
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAU AND ROBBRT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP • CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
>i
f
No. 284. New Series.
SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1849.
Price 1^.
WHAT IS CRITICISM!
At a time when no inconsiderable portion of English
Utecatore oontiists of criticism, the question may perhaps
be impertinent, as well as a little startling^— YTAai is criti-
cism f It is a qaestion, howerer, to which no answer can
be found in any one of the publications that are deroted
to criticism, or in all of them ooUectiTely. Day after
day, week after week, month after month, quarter after
quarter, the press flings forth upon tho country a host of
so-called critical works; but we will defy the most in-
genious person liring to collect from them the slightest
notion of what criticism is. In some there are long, and
oocasionally elegant, or eyen profound, dissertations on
a giren rabject, sparingly illustrated with extracts from
a partioular book. In others there is little or no origi-
nal diesertation, but merely a garbled statement of the
author's opinions, with quotations in eyidence, selected
without reference to the context or general scope of the
work — ^mere bricks brought forward as specimens of the
edifice. In others, the specimens are of the ornamental
kind; for it is the main business of this class of critics to
proride amusing or interesting reading for their sub-
scribers, and fill up their sheet, not at their own, but
at Oktit author's expense. Here the original remarks
are brief and inoffcnsiye, and usually indicate that the
critic has taken the trouble to put himself in possession
of the subject by reading the preface to the book. In
others, again, there is no room for either dissertation or
cxtncts, bat we are fayoured, instead, with a character
of the work, conveyed in a few lines, and in such distinct
and peremptory terms, as leave us no pretext for doubt.
Luckily, this sort of testimonial (in which the minor
Mwspapers deal largely) is usually on the favourable
side; partly, no doubt, from the good-nature of the editor,
bat priaeipally from his intellectual aspirations after pre-
sentation eopies and advertisements.
If you know the political party or religious sect of the
critic, you may predict with little hesitation the fate of
the author (when his sentiments are known) who comes
before him. This would be natural enough if the theme
of the work were politics or religion; but the rule holds
good even when these dangerous subjects have been care-
fully avoided. The critic, supposing him to be of the
udwmm eeet or party, looks upon the author as his enemy;
•od betag^onier no obligation to show his whole scope and
■MUiing, he takes him up on as nanow grounds as he
and must be a bungler indeed in the trade if he
'> support his indictment even by the victim's own tes-
Personal likings and dislikings may be indulged
m the same way; and it is the conunonest thing in the
world for an author, in consultation with his publisher, to
aay, ' I am sure of a favourable opinion in such a quarter,
ior Ike editor is a friend of mine.' Nor is he mistaken :
thm editer serves his friend, and loses no character either
moral or literary by the transaction. The desire of pre-
sentation copies is usually reckoned the lowest of a critic's
motives; but there is a meaner influence still — that of
mere senseless, abject imitation. Unless led by some
temptation into a path of his own, he follows the crowd,
joining in their praises or objurgations, but more espe-
cially in the latter : just as, to use a simile of the histo-
rian Joinville, ' when there is one dog pursued by an-
other, and a shouting made after him, all the other dogs
fall on him.'
That criticism as we have described it, taken generally,
whether gentle or severe, whether laudatory or damnatory,
is in plain language a fraud, can hardly be denied ; and
it is a fraud which the more demands expoHure, from the
circumstance of the publishers lending themselves to it
as accessories. There are no men who know better than
they that it » a fraud; and the 'extracts from reviews,'
therefore, which they append to their advertisements are,
in nine cases out of ten, a deception practised upon the
public. We have often been amused by the anxiety with
which these gentlemen search out the notices of their
works, the scorn they express for them when read, and
the haste they make to turn them, when that is possible,
to profitable account. As for the excellent Public, when
disappointed in a book thus introduced, they doubt their
own discernment, not the critic's infallibility, and send
to the libraiy for another volume recommended on the
same authority. We need not be told that there are
numerous instances of book-reviews as impartial as they
are talented, and conveying a distinct and accurate idea
of the scope and value of the work noticed. These are
exceptions proving the rule; but the exceptions them-
selves, although careful and skilful analyses, are mot
criticism.
Our readers are of course aware that we are not alone
in our reprehension of the abuses of this misnamed de-
partment of our literature. All men are agreed upon the
point, including the reviewers themselves; and the only
thing in which we are original is, in refraining from call-
ing names, and charging the oflTenders roundly with igno-
rance, incapacity, and wilful dishonesty. This has been
done again and again in most of the journals, from the
quarterlies downwards; but instead of inquiring, in a
philosophical spirit, into the origin of the evil, these
works are accustomed to occupy themselves with such
superficial questions as the advantage or disadvantage of
the anonymous. The reason is, that they confound the
art of criticism with mere opinion. * Give us the. name
of the reviewer,' say the enemies of the anonymous, ' and
we shall be able to tell what credit his verdict deserves :
give us the name of the reviewer, and he will not dare to
subject himself to the accusation either of falsehood or
stupidity.' This is a very humble demand, and a very
unimportant one. In most of the great reviews the
writers' names are sufficiently well known, but that is no
1
354
CHAMBERS'S EDmBURGH JOURNAL.
guarantee for their good faith. It is not the name we
want, but the thing : we want criticism. In a word,
we have many critiques in our literature, but no cri-
ticism in the true meaning of the term. The cri-
tiques may stumble upon the truth — or not: it is all
chance, since they are not based upon understood pre-
mise not the application of recognised laws. They
are the mere expression of indiyidual opinion ; and
being wholly independent of any common theory, they
may, and do differ firom each other toto calo, without ex-
citing any doubt as to the critic's ability. When we see
two opposite judgments pronounced in two reyiews of
equal character, we perhaps ascribe the difference to
party or personal motires; when yery possibly, in the case
m question, such motives may haye had no existence.
The reason simply is, that we haye no ultimate authority
to refer to — that, in the midst of all the luxuriance of our
literaturo, it wants the grand element of criticism. This
giyes a hurdness and meagreness to our common reyiews,
which is not found to the same extent in those of Ger-
many or France, where the philosophy of art is more
generally studied.
Criticism, though not eesthetics, but merely a practical
application of their laws, possesses a higher intellectual
dignity than the proudest of our quarterly reyiews are
conscious ot But it is not beholden for its dignity to
the yague or mystical : it is, on the contrary, so practical
and distinct, as to have every capacity for being reduced
by careful study to a science ; and to this object the best
energies of our literati should be consecrated. In Eng-
land, the dawn of aesthetics only begins to touch with a
faint light the pictorial and musical arts; while in the
other countries we have mentioned, it is likewise felt in
literary criticism. Not that criticism is anywhere as yet
what it should be, and will be ; but already it possesses
on the continent a higher tone, and exhibits a more
catholic spirit. It does not confine itself to mean and
paltry details, but essays to grasp the whole subject; and
throwing aside party and personal considerations, it regards
the work it chooses to examine as a contribution to the
literature of the age, or of the world.
When we state — and we wish to do so in the broadest
manner — that our literature is deficient in the essential
element of criticism, we must not be supposed to advo-
cate the publication of elaborate theories laying down
the literary law. There is no such wholesale way as this
of building up a science. It must be the gradual pro-
duction of many minds, and many conflicting opinions,
and the meanest of us all may lend his aid to the work.
No one, for instance, should presume to deliver a judg-
ment upon any work, in any department of taste, without
trying it by the sesthetical laws, or, in other words, with-
out giving a reason for the faith that is in him. If this
rule were observed, we should not long want a common
standard, or a public capable of judging of the dicta of its
self-installed teachers. If this rule were observed — if
criticism became really the System it ought to be — ^no
man would stultify himself for friend or foe by bestow-
ing one iota of praise or blame beyond the deserts of his
author.
If an author were to say to his publisher, * Here is a
chemical speculation, to which I am sure to obtain the
sanction' of Liebig, because he is a personal friend of
mine ' — how the man of books would stare 1 Why does
he not stare when his author tells him that, for the same
reason, he can obtain for a certain work the praise of a cer-
tain review 1 Because, criticism having made no approach
to a system, no collusion of a criminal nature can be sus-
pected ; the laudatory sentence, if very much out of the
way, will pass for a mere eccentricity of taste; and the
critic will sufier for his generous friendship neither as a
man of honour nor as a man of letters. When a scientific
speculation appears, it is on its own merits either accepted
as a true theory, or rejected as a false hypothesis. If it
possesses any value, it mu»t be noticed, and the contribu-
tion it brings, whether great or small, added to the stock
of the science of which it treats. A literary work is dif-
ferently situated. It may be passed over or not at the
pleasure of the critics, who have no science to protect or to
enri^ ; but even if subjected to their ordeal, it is mdy
examined on its own merits, and almost never vith refe-
rence to the philosophy of taste. The critie desk ia
small details; catalonMS as deadly linB, if be hu hostile
views, those blunders ARt in reality modi^ bat little the
general efifect; and in the case of poetry, more etpeciallj,
never fails to measure rigidly the syllables, and trj vith
his quill plectrum whether they are in tone.
The low state of criticism has of course an important
reaction upon general literature. An author, ooaaoou
that his work will be tried by no lofty standard of ait,
never aspires, but in a few exceptional instaooei, b^d
popularity ; and if he did so, his bibliopolical patnn,
dreading, even while affecting to despise, the leriewiug
hydra, would not consent to publish anything beyoad iti
common calibre. Genius is thus repressed by those vhon
task it should be to encourage and foster it; and the
meanness of the public taste is blamed for idiat innalitj
is the fault of the public monitors. Every age, we koov,
produces its few great men, who rise triumpluuit oTor ci^
cumstances; but we never shall have an improred iUa>
dard of national taste till a rrformatlon is eiscted in
criticism.
And now to the practical points of the sobjeei Tie
brief laudatory notices we have adverted to are amen
mistake. The editors desire to express their thaab to the
obliging publishers, and the beat way to do thii ii nmply
to mention to their readers the contents of the Tolome or
pamphlet received, instead of racking their braloi fw
new terms of praise that nobody cares anything about
All that is wanted is a gratuitous advertisement m tetarn
for a gratuitous copy. The 'reviews' that fill op their
sheet with interesting or amusing extracts have little in
them objectionable but the title and the prttencet All
they have to do, in order to be of real practical um^ ti to
drop the critical name, and to aspire to give nothing more
than pains-takinff and impartial analyses, internened
with such quotations as they know will be agreeable to
their readers. As for the great e«say-reriewer8,aUwewilI
venture to suggest to such. Tritons is, that they of ill
others are called upon to devote their un^estioBaWe
power towards the introduction into the national liten*
ture of the department of literary criticism. This tbej
can do with very little sacrifice in other matten; but if
they despise the hint, as coining from a minnow, we vill
firoceed to prophesy, from unmistakeable signi in the
iterary horizon, that the task will be undertoken bj in
entirely new order of teachers.
As for ourselves, having dared to preach, we will »ot
shrink from practising, but on some other oeauci «•
deavour to show the iMAring which the want ti s higher
criticism has upon certain important depaitn»ti of
literature, and offer— though with more miagiTing-«o>e
hints for the consideration of those who may be co«pi-
tent to supply the desideratum. ^ ^
EXPERIENCES OP A BABRISTEB.
* THB WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS.*
In the month of February <tf the year following thit
which witnessed the saccessfol establishment «f the
claim of Sir Harry Compton's infant son to hit nufw-
ficent patrimony, Mr Samuel Ferret was trtvilUDg poit
with all the speed he could command towsrdi Unci-
shire, in compliance with a summons from Wjr Coop-
ton, requesting, in urgent terms, his immediate pww«
at the castle. It was wild and bitter weather, Md tte
roads were in many places rendered ^**''*?!*T
almost impassable, by the drifting snow. Mr 'Btm,
however, pressed onwards with hU haWtusl enersr ^
perseverance; and, spite of «U elemental sad poW
opposition, succeeded in aocompUshing his joenJiy «
much less time than, under the circumstsBces, cxm
have been reasonably expected. But swiftly «^ *JJ
those slow times, he pushed on, it is necessary I *wi»
anticipate, by a brief period, his trrival at hiiM**
ttoo, in order to pat the reeder in poMeidoo of the
drcamstancet which had occmiioned the harried and
yiDg metsafe he had receiyed.
Tvo days before* ai Ladj Cqpipton apd her sitter,
who had been paying a risit to Mrs Ailington at the
Grange, were retomiog home towards nine o*cloc]c in
the ervDing, they obserred, as the carriage tamed a
Aarp angle of the road leading through Compton Park,
a oooaiderable nnmber of lighted lanterns borne hor-
riedly to and fro in rarioas directions, by persons appa*
renti^ In eager bat bewildered parsoit of some missing
object The carriage was stopped, and in answer to
the servants' Inqalrtos, It was replied that Major Bran-
don's eraiy nleoe bad escaped from her ancle*s hoase }
and although traced by the snow-tracks as far as the
SDtranfle to the park, had not yet been reooTcred. Mrs
Brandon had offered a reward of ten pounds to whoerer
sboold eecore and reconduct her home } hence the hot
pvsoit of the fttgitire, who, it was now supposed, roust
oe concealed in the shrubberies. Rumours regarding
this unfortunate joong lady, by no means favourable
to the character of her relatives as persons of humanity,
had preriously reached Lady Compton's ears } and she
determined to avail herself, if possible, of the present
opportunity to obUdn a personal interview with the
teal or supposed lunatic The men who had been ques-
tiooed were informed that only the castle servants oould
be allowed to search for the missing person, either in
the pafk or shrubberies ; and that if there, she would
be taken care of, and restored to her friends in the
morning. The coachman was then ordered to drive
on; but the wheds had not made half-a-dozen revo-
lutions, when a loud shout at some distance, in the
direction of the park, followed by a succession of pierc-
ing screams, announced the discovery and capture of
the object of the chase. The horses were urged rapidly
forward ; and ere more than a minute had elapsed, the
carriage drew up within a few yards of the hunted girl
and h^ captors. The instant it stopped, Clara Brandon,
liberating herself by a frenzied effort from the rude
grasp in which she was held by an athletic young man,
sprang wildly towards it, and with passionate intreaty
implored mercy and protection. The young man, a
son of Mrs Brandon's by a former husband, immediately
re-aeized her ; and with fierce violence endeavoured to
wrench her hand from the handle of the carriage-door,
which she clutched with desperate tenacity. The door
flew open, ihe sudden jerk disengaged her hold, and she
strug^ed vainly in her captor's powerful grasp. ' Save
me! save me I she frantically exclaimed, as she folt
hovelf borne ofL ' Tou who are, they say, as kind and
good as yon are beautifhl and happy, save me from this
cruel roan!'
Lady Compton, inexpressibly shocked by the piteous
spectacle presented by the unhappy girl — ^her scanty
dothing soiled, disarrayed, and torn by the violence of
her struggles; her long flaxen tresses flowing disorderly
over her face and neck in tangled dishevelment ; and
the pale, haggard, wild expression of her countenance —
waa for a few moments incapable of speech. Her sister
was more collected : * Violet,^ she instantly remonstrated,
' do not permit this brutal violence.*
' What riffht has she or any one to interfere with
OS?' demanded the young man savagely. 'This girl
b Major Brandon's wu^i, as well as niece, and $kali re-
turn to her lawfril home 1 Stand back,' continued he,
addressing tile servants, who, at a gesture from Miss
Dalston, barred' his progress. ' Wi^tand me at your
petal'
'Force her from him!' exclaimed Lady Compton,
recovering her voice. ' Gently ! gently ! I will be an-
swerable for her si^ custody till the morning.'
The athletic fellow struggled desperately ; but how-
ever powerful and determined, he was only one man
againat a score, nearly all the bystanders being tenants
or labourers on the Compton estates ; and spite of his
fteioos efforts, and menaces of law and vengeance, Clara
was torn firom him in a twinkling, and himself hurled
with some violence prostrate on the road. ' Do not let
them hurt the man,' said Lady Compton, as the ser-
vants placed the insensible girl in the carriage (she had
fainted) ; ' and tell him that if he has really any legal
daim to the custody of this unfortunate person, he mast
prefer it in the morning.'
Immediatdy on arrival at the castle, the escaped pri*
soner was conveyed to bed, and medical aid instantly
summoned. When restored to consciousness, whether
flrom the effect of an access of fever producing temporary
delirium, or from confirmed mental disease, her speech
was altogether wild and incoherent — the only at all con-
sistent portions of her ravings being piteously-iterated
appeals to Lady Compton not to surrender her to her
aunt-in-law, Mrs Brandon, of whom she seemed to enter-
tain an overpowering, indefinable dread. It was evident
she had been subjected to extremely brutal treatment —
such as, in these days of improved legislation in such
matters, and greatly advance! knowledge of the origin
and remedy of cerebral infirmity, would not be permitted
towards the meanest human being, much less a tenderly-
nurtured, ddicate female. At length, under the influ-
ence of a composing draught, she sank gradually to
sleep ; and Lady Compton having determined to rescue
her, if possible, from the suspicious custody of her rda-
tives, and naturally apprehensive of the legal difficulties
which she could not doubt would impede the execution
of her generous, if somewhat Quixotic project, resolved
on at once sending off an express for Mr Ferret, on
whose acumen and zeal she knew she oould place the
fullest reliance.
Clara Brandon's simple history may be briefly summed
up. She was the only child of a Mr Frederick Brandon,
who, a widower in the second year of his marriage, had
since principally resided at the 'Elms,' a handsome
mansion and grounds which he had leased of the uncle
of the late Sir Harry Compton. At his decease, which
occurred about two years previous to poor Clara's escape
from oonflnement, as just narrated, he bequeathed his
entire fortune, between two and three thousand pounds
per annum, chiefly secured on land, to his daughter }
appointed his elder brother. Major Brandon, sole exe-
cutor of his will, and guardian of his child ; and in the
event of her dying before she had attained her ma-
jority—of which she wanted, at her father's death, up-
wards of three years— or without lawful issue, the pro-
perty was to go to the major, to be by him willed at his
pleasure. Major Brandon, whose physical and mental
energies had been prematurely broken down — he was
only in his flfty-seoond year— either by excess or hard
service in the East, perhaps both, had married late in
life the widow of a brother officer, and the mother of a
grown-up son. The lady, a woman of inflexible will,
considerable remains of a somewhat masculine beauty,
and about ten years her husband's junior, held him in
a state of thorough pupilage ; and, unchecked by him,
devoted all her energies to bring about, by fair or foul
means, a union between Clara and her own son, a cub
of some two or three-and-twenty years of age, whose
sole object in seconding his mother's views upon Clara
was the acquisition of her wealth. According to popu-
lar surmise and report, the young lady's mental infir-
mity had been brought about by the persecutions she
had endured at the hands of Mrs Brandon, with a view
to force her into a marriage she detested. The most
reliable authority for the truth of these rumours was
Susan Hopley, now in the service of Lady Compton,
but who had lived for many years with Mr Frederick
Brandon and his daughter. She had been discharged
about six months after her master's decease by Mrs
Major Brandon for alleged impertinence ; and so
thoroughly convinced was Susan that the soon-after-
wards alleged lunacy of Clara was but a juggling pre-
tence to excuse the restraint under which her aunt-in-
law, for the furtherance of her own vile purposes, had
determined to keep her, that although out oif place at
the time, she devoted all the savings (rf* her life, between
dghty and ninety pounds, to procure 'justice' for the
ill-used orphan. This article, Susan was advised, could
be best obtained of the lord chancellor ; and proceedings
were accordingly taken before the keeper of the kin^s
conscience, in order to change the custody of the pre-
tended lunatic. The affidavits filed in support of the
petition were, however, so loose and vague, and were
met with such positive counter- allegations, that the
application was at once dismissed with costs ; and poor
Susan — rash suitor for 'justice' — reduced to absolute
penury. These circumstances becoming known to Lady
Compton, Susan was taken into her service ; and it was
principally owing to her frequently-iterated version of
the affiiir that CUra had been forcibly rescued from Mrs
Brandon's son.
On the following morning the patient was much
calmer, though her mind still wandered somewhat.
Fortified by the authority of the physician, who certi-
fied that to remove her, or even to expose her to agita-
tion, would be dangerous, if not fatal. Lady Compton
not only refused to deliver her up to Major and Mrs
Brandon, but to allow them to see her. Mrs Brandon,
in a towering rage, posted off to the nearest magistrate,
to demand the assistance of peace-officers in obtaining
possession of the person of the fugitive. That func-
tionary would, however, only so far comply with the
indignant lady's solicitations, as to send his clerk to
the castle to ascertain the reason of the young lady's
detention ; and when his messenger returned with a
note, enclosing a copy of the physician's certificate, he
peremptorily decided that the conduct of Lady Compton
was not only perfectly justifiable, but praiseworthy, and
that the matter must remain over till the patient was
in a condition to be moved. Things were precisely in
this state, except that Clara Brandon bad become per-
fectly rational; and but for an irrepressible nervous
dread of again falling into the power of her unscrupulous
relative, quite calm, when Mr Samuel Ferret made his
wished-for appearance on the scene of action.
Long and anxious was the conference which Mr
Ferret held with his munificent client and her interest-
ing protegee, if conference that may be called in which
the astute attorney enacted the part of listener only,
scarcely once opening his thin, cautious lips. In vain
did his eager brain silently ransack the whole armoury
of the law ; no weapon could he discern which afforded
the slightest hope of fighting a successful battle with a
legally-appointed guardian for the custody of his ward.
And yet Mr Ferret felt, as he looked uf>on the fiashing
eye and glowing countenance of Lady Compton, as she
recounted a few of the grievous outrages inflicted upon
the fair and helpless girl reclining beside her — whose
varying cheek and meek siiffused eyes bore eloquent
testimony to the truth of the relation — tbat he would
willingly exert a vigour even heyond the law to meet his
client's wishes, could he but see his way to a safe result
At length a ray of light, judging from his suddenly-
gleaming eyes, seemed to have broken upon the troubled
chambers of his brain, and he rose somewhat hastily
from his chair.
* By the by, I will just step and speak to this Susan
Hopley, if your ladyship can inform me in what part
of the lower regions I am likely to meet with her?'
* Let me ring for her.'
' No i if you please not What I have to ask her is
of very little importance ; stilH to summon her here
might give rise to surmises, reports, and so on, which
it may be as well to avoid. I had much rather see her
accidentally, as it were.'
* As you please. Ton will find her somewhere about
the housekeeper's apartments. You know her by sights
I think?'
* Perfectly ; and with your leave 111 take the oppor-
tunity of directing the horses to be put to. I must be
in London by noon to-morrow if possible;' and away
Mr Ferret bustled.
* Susan,' said Mr Ferret a few minutes afterwards,
* step this way; I want to have a word with you. Now,
teU me are you goose enough to expect you will ever
see the money again you so foolishly threw into the
bottomless pit of chancery ?'
* Of course I shall, Mr Ferret, as soon as ever Miss
Clara comes to her own. She mentioned it only this
morning, and said she was sorry she could not repay
me at once.'
* You are a sensible girl, Susan, though you dU go to
law with the lord chancellor! I want you to be off
with me to London; and then perhaps we may get
your money sooner than you expect'
* Oh, bother the money ! Is that aU you want me to
go to Lunnon for ?'
Mr Ferret replied with a wink of such exceeding
intelligence, that Susan at once declared she should be
ready to start in ten minutes at the latest.
' That's a good creature ; and, Susan, as th^e's not
the slightest occasion to let all the world know who's
going to run off with you, it may be as well for you to
take your bundle and step on a mile or so on the road,
say to the turn, just beyond the first turnpike.' Susan
nodded with brisk good-humour, and disappeared in a
twinkling.
An hour afterwards, Mr Ferret was on his way bad^
to London, having first impressed upon Lady CcMnptoo
the necessity of immediately relieving herself of the
grave responsibility she had incurred towards Major
Brandon for the safe custody of his ward, fay sending
her home immediately. He promised to letum on the
third day from his departure ; but on the nature of the
measures he intended to adopt or the hopes he enter-
tained of success, he was inflexibly silent ; and he more*
over especially requested that no one, not even Miss
Brandon, should know of Susan Hopley's journey lo
the metropolis.
Mr Ferret, immediately on his arrival in town, called
at my chambers, and related with his usual minuteness
and precision as many of the foregoing particulars as be
knew and thought proper to communicate to me. For
the rest I am indebted to subsequent oonversationa with
the different parties concerned.
* Well,' said I, as soon as he had concluded, * what
course do you propose to adopt ?'
* I wish you to apply, on this affidavit, for a writ of
habeas ad sub,^ to bring up the body of Clara Brandoo.
Judge Bailey will be at chambers at three o'clock : it is
now more than half-past two, and I can be off on m/
return by four at latest'
' A writ of habeas!' I exclaimed with astonishment
* Why, what end can that answer ? The lady will be
remanded, and you and I shall be laughed at for our
pains.'
This writ of habeas corpus * ad subjiciendum,^ I had
better explain to the non- professional reader, is the
great prerogative writ, the operation of which is some-
times suspended by the legislature during political
panics. It is grounded on the principle that the sore-
reign has at idl times a right to inquire, through the
judges of the superior courts, by what authority his or
her subject is held in constraint. It issues, as a matter
of right upon the filing of an affidavit averring that to
the best of the belief of the deponent the iudividosl
sought to be brought up is illegally confined ; and it is
of the essence of the proceeding, that the person alleged
to be suffering unlawfi^ constraint should actually be
brouglit before the * queen herself;' that is, beibre one
or more of the judges of the court which has issued tiie
writ, who, if they find the detentum iiUoaiy the only
question at issue upon this writ may discharge or hail
the party. It was quite obvious, therefore, that in tiiis
case such a proceeding would be altogeUier Ihtile, as
the detention in the house of her guardian, under the
sanction, too, of the lord chancellor, the ex-offido cus-
todier of all lunatics — of a ward of alleged disordeted
intellect — was clearly legal, at least prima/acie bo, and
not to be disturbed under a habeas ad sub. at all eroita.
* Perhaps so,' replied Ferret quite coolly in r^t^ to
my exclamation ; ' but I am determined to try every
means of rdeasing the unfortunate young lady firom the
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
357
cruel thraldom in which she is held by that harridan of
an aont-in-law. She is no more reaUy insane than you
are; bat at the same time so excitable upon certain
t<^ics, that it might be perhaps difficult to ^sabuse the
chancellor or a jury of the impression so industriously
pfopoLgmted to her prejudice. The peremptory rejection
by her guardian of young Burford*s addresses, though
sanctioned by her father : you know the Burf ords ? *
*Of GrosTenor Street you mean — the East India
director?'
* Yea, his son ; and that reminds me that the declara-
tioo in that everlasting exchequer case must be filed
to>morrow. Confound it, how this flying about the
country puts one out I ' I thought some one had kid-
napped her son, or fired Compton Castle at least By
the way, I am much deceived if there isn't a wedding
there before long.'
'Indeed!'
' Tea, Miss Dalston with Sir Jasper's eldest hope.*
•You don't mean it?'
' They do at all eyents, and that is much more to the
purpose. A fine young fellow enough, and sufficiently
rich too*
* All which rambling talk and anecdote,' cried I, in-
terrupting him, * means, if I have any skill in reading
Mr Ferret, that that gentleman, having some ulterior
purpose in view, which I cannot for the moment divine,
is determined to have this writ, and does not wish to
be pestered with any argument on the subject. Be it
so : it is your affair, not mine. And now, as it is just
upon three o'dock, let me see your affidavit.'
I ran it over. * Rather loose this, Mr Ferret, but I
suppose it will do.'
* Wdl, it i* rather loose, but I could not with safety
sail much closer to the wind. By the by, I think yon
had better first apply for a rule to stay proceedings
against the bail in that case of Turner ; and after that
is decided, just ask for this writ, off-hand as it were, and
as a matter of course. His lordship may not then
scrutinise the affidavit quite so closely as if he thought
counsel had been brought to chambers purposely to
apply for it'
'(>iutious, Mr Ferret! Well, come along, and Fll
see what I can do.'
The writ was obtained without difficulty ; few ques-
tions were asked ; and at my request the judge made it
returnable immediately. By four o'clock, Mr Ferret,
who could fortunately sleep as well in a postchaise as in
a feather-bed, was, as he had promised himself, on his
road to Lancashire once more, where he had the pleasure
of serving Major Brandon personally ; at the same time
tendering in due form the one shilling per mile fixed
by the statute as preliminary travelling charges. The
Tituperative eloquence showered upon Mr Ferret by
the major's lady was, I afterwards heard, extremely
copious and varied, and was borne by him, as I could
easily believe, with the most philosophic composure.
In due time the parties appeared before Mr Justice
Bailey. Miss Brandon was accompanied by her uncle,
his wife, and a solicitor ; and spite of everything I could
urge, the judge, as I had foreseen, refused to interfere
in the matter. The poor girl was dreadfully agitated,
bat kept, nevertheless, her eyes upon Mr Ferret, as the
source from which, spite of what was passing around
her, efiFectual succour was sure to come. As for that
gentleman himself, he appeared composedly indifferent
to the proceedings; and indeed, I thought, seemed rather
relieved than 'otherwise when they terminated. I could
not comprehend him. Mrs Brandon, the instant the
case was decided,' clutched Clara's arm within hers, and,
followed by her husband and the solicitor, sailed out of
the apartment witii an air of triumphant disdain and
pride. Miss Brandon looked round for Ferret, but not
perceiving him — ^he had left hastily an instant or two
before — hisr face became deadly pale, and the most
piteous expression of hopeless despair I had ever beheld
broke from her troubled but singularly-expressive eyes.
I medomically followed, with a half* formed purpose of
remonstrating with Major Brandon in behalf of the un-
fortunate girC and was by that means soon in posses-
sion of the key to Mr Ferret's apparently inexplicable
conduct.
The Brandon party walked very fast, and I had
scarcely got up with them as they were turning out of
Chancery Lane into Fleet Street, when two men, whose
vocation no accustomed eye could for an instant mis-
take, arrested their further progress. * This lady,' said
one of the men, slightly touching Miss Brandon on the
shoulder, * is, I believe, Clara Brandon?'
* Yes she is ; and what of that, fellow ? ' demanded
the major's lady with indignant emphasis.
* Not much, ma'am,' replied the sheriff's officer, * when
you are used to it It is my unpleasant duty to arrest
her for the sum of eighty-seven pounds, indorsed on this
writ, issued at the suit of one Susan Hopley.'
' Arrest her I' exclaimed Mrs Brandon ; * why, she is
a minor I '
' Minor or major, ma'am, makes very litUe difference
to us. She can plead that hereafter, you know. In the
meantime, miss, please to step into this coach,' replied
the officer, holding the door open.
* But she's a person of unsound mind,' screamed tlie
lady, as Clara, nothing loath, sprang into the vehicle.
* So are most people that do business with our estab-
lishment' responded the imperturbable official, as he
shut and fastened the door. 'Here is my card, sir,'
he added, addressing the attorney, who now came up.
' You see where to find the lady, if her friends wish to
give bail to the sheriff, or, what is always more satisfac-
tory, pay the debt and costs.' He then jumped on the
box, his follower got up beliind, and away drove the
coach, leaving tl^ discomfited major and his fiery
better-half in a state of the blankest bewilderment !
* Why, what is the meaning of this ? ' at length gasped
Mrs Brandon, fiercely addressing the attorney, as if he
were a pariiceps criminU in the affair.
* The meaning, my dear madame, is, that Miss Clara
Brandon is arrested for debt, and carried off to a spung-
ing-house ; and that unless you pay the money, or file
bail, she l^iU to-morrow be lodged in jail,' replied the
unmoved man of law.
' Bail I money ! How are we to do either in London,
away from home ? ' demanded the m%jor with, for him,
much emotion.
I did not wait to hear more, but, almost suffocated
with laughter at the success of Ferret's audacious ruse,
hastened over to the Temple. I was just leaving cham-
bers for the night — about ten o'clock I think it must
have been— when Ferret, in exuberant spirits, burst
into the room.
* WeU, sir, what do you think now of a writ ad
sub.r
* Why, I think, Mr Ferret,' replied I, looking as
serious as I could, * that yours is very sharp practice ;
that the purpose you have put it to is an abuse of the
writ ; that the arrest is consequently illegal ; and that a
judge would, upon motion, quash it with costs.'
*To be sure he would: who doubts that? Let him,
and welcome ! In the meantime, Clara Brandon is safe
beyond the reach of all the judges or chancellors that
ever wore horse-hair, and that everlasting simpleton
of a major and his harridan wife roaming the metropolis
like distracted creatures ; and that I take to be the real
essence of the thing, whatever the big-wigs may decide
about the shells!'
* I suppose the plaintiff soon discharged her debtor
out of custody?'
* Without loss of time, you may be sure. Miss Bran-
don, I may tell yow, is with the Rev. Mr Derwent
at Brompton. You know him: the newly- married
curate of St Margaret's that was examined in that
will case. Well him : he is an intelligent, high-
principled man ; and I have no doubt that under his
and Mrs Derwent's care, all trace of Miss Brandon's
mental infirmity will disappear long before she attains
her majority next June twdvemonth ; whilst the liberal
sum per rooDth which Ladj Compton will advance,
will be of great service to him.'
* That appears all very good. Bat are yoa sure yoa
can effectually conceal the place of her retreat ?'
* I have no fear : the twigs that will entangle her
precious guardians in the labyrinths of a false clue are
already set and limed. Before to-morrow night they
will have discovered, by means of their own wonder-
fully-penetrative sagacity, that Clara has been spirited
over to France } and before three months are psAt, the
same surprising intelligence will rejoice in the discovery
that she expired in a maiaon de sanU — fine comfortable
repose, in which fool's paradise I hope to have the
honour of awakening them about next June twelve-
month, and not as at present advised before ! '
Everything fortunately turned out as Mr Ferret
anticipated; and when a few months had glided by,
Clara Brandon was a memory only, save of course to
the few intrusted with the secret
The whirligig of time continued as ever to speed on
its course, and bring round in due season its destined
revenges. The health, mental and bodily, of Miss
Brandon rapidly improved under the kind and judicious
treatment of Mr and Mrs Derwent; and long before
the attainment of her majority, were pronounced by
competent authority to be thoroughly re-established.
The day following that which completed her twenty-
first year, Mr Ferret, armed with the necessary autho-
rity, had the pleasure of announcing to the relict of
Major Brandon (he had been dead some months), and to
her brutal son, that they must forthwith depart from
tlie home in which they, to the very moment of his an-
nouncement, thought themselves secure ; and surrender
every shilling of the property they had so long dreamt
was their own. They were prostrated by the intelli-
gence, and proved as mean and servile in the hour of
adversity, as they had been insolent and cruel in the
day of fancied success and prosperity. The pension of
three hundred pounds a year for both their lives, prof-
fered by Miss Brandon, was eagerly accepted ; and
the^ returned to the obscurity firom which they had by
accident emerged.
About six months afterwards, I had the pleasure of
drawing up the marriage settlements between Clara
Brandon and Herbert Burford; and a twelvemonth
after, that of standing sponsor to one of the lustiest
brats ever sprinkled at a font : none of which delightful
results, if we are to believe Mr Ferret, would have ever
been arrived at had not he, at a very critical moment,
refused to take counsel's opinion upon the virtues,
capabilities, and powers contained in the great writ of
habeas corpu$ ad subjieiendum,
GOLD MINES OF SCOTLAND.
The loffic of children is sometimes puzzled with the ques-
tion, whether a pound of feathers or a pound of lead is
the heavier I ' A pound of lead,' savs at once the thought-
less urchin, who is not destined to ne a Locke or a Des-
cartes. Fallacies of this description perpetuallv pervade
the full-grown children of mankind, and in nothing have
they been better exhibited than in the search for gold.
The pound worth of gold has been considered so much
more valuable than the pound worth of anything else,
that people have contentedly given two, three, and four
pounds for it. King James Vl. expended about L.3000
sterling — a large sum in his day — m searching for gold
on Omiwath Moor; but he never obtained more than
about three ounces — not quite L.12 worth. This was so
extravagantly ill-paying a concern, even though its re-
turns were in gold, that the monarch declined to push it
farther. Perhaps if he had eot L.1000 worth of gold for
his L.3000 worth of labour, Vie mining operations would
have been set down as highly prosperous, and of great
advantage to the community.
It was at the conclusion of this disagreeable experi-
ment that the king was strongly urged by a sanguine
speculator, named Stephen Atkinson, to renew the na-
tional hunt for the precious raetal, and ^ua * to make
his majestv the richest monarch in Europe — yea^ in all
the world.*^ Mr Atkinson, like many other apeeiilAten,
discovered the main weakness of the person to whom he
addressed his project, and assailed him in thAt dirsction
with great courage and skill. James had been often com-
pared to King Solomon, and he was accuitomad to hear
the comparison developed in variooa forms. Aikinsoii
made a bold addition to the compliment, by ahowlng tiiat
he possessed the united virtues of David and of kk wise
son, ' in respect of the wonderful resemblaaee wbidi many
of his majesty's gracious deeds have with thm doinp it
the prophet David and Solomon the wisest.' Aeoordm^y
there is a series of parallels between the acta ei Uwse two
kings towards Israel, and the acts of the modem Bekmeii
towards his Scottish subjects, which ooncladee with the
remark : * Who doth not see that the king's m^esty, the
prince, and his subjects, do reape as great benefits ftem
Almighty God, as did the Israelites by the raeaas of King
Solomon, or may do in riches, by Scotland!'*
From a perusal of Mr Atkinson's book, one might net
unaptly adopt the conclusion that gold was s staple pro-
duce of Scotland — that it had been extracted iii grsat
abundance — and that, (Vom time to time, it afforded em-
plojrment to a considerable mining population. He speaks
of Crawford Moor and Friar Moor m Lanarkshire^ and
Wanlock Moor in Dumfriesshire, together with a nnall
vale called Olengaber in Peeblesshire, as the diief auri-
ferous districts. They form, it may be remarked, pro-
perly one district, being all of them portions of a moun-
tainous region in the centre of the south of Scotland,
where rocks of the transition series prevail. To this day,
we believe, the ahepherds occasionally find grains of gc^
in the channels of the streams which water this dis^kt
A few centuries ago, the imaginations of the people were
set on fire bv t^e comparatively promising quantities
which were discovered. Atkinson says, of tke places
which he enumerates, that he had. tried them all, and in
all gold was to be found. * You shall always,' he says,
* find skilful seekers and discoverers HhertaC dwelling
near unto these foresaid places for to use the trough or
skewer, but not very perfect in the briddle, nor any at all
in the art of extracting. Some of these laborious Seotd-
roen know the naturu gold perfectly, and too well — I
mean that gold gotten in valleys, not upon cold places
namely, on high mountains and mosses. . . . The vuiar
sort of Scotsmen uifually sought for it on these moon ana
a great rain, and after the speats [floods] of rain had run
hu course : and this rain, or force of water, brought down
no other gold than gold which had been lemovM by the
force of waves' flood, and that gold was and is Ailed
superficial gold to this day.' He then {nx>cee4s to de-
scribe the operation of the deluge on the crust of the
globe; and in continuation, says — -^ And then, even at that
time, natural gold and silver (which now is found to be
in combes and valleys) was forced and torn fit>m his dwell-
ing-place— namely, God's treasure-house in the earth,
&c.; and thither even our Scots gold, which is now fimnd
in stems or in grains and pieces, did descend or was washfid
down. In which valleys, combes, skirts of hills, or clof^ghs,
even until this present day, it hath laid still or not been
removed, except after a great speat of rain» the face
whereof doth break and wear the superficies of the cMth.
but not the solid earth; after which the Scots men, «ftd
women, and children run to seek for it, and do find it
still, even to this day.'
We are not responsible for the distinctness or condst-
ency of Mr Atkinson's statements. He appears to have
been peculiarly liable to the hazy influence whidi oUcn
surrounds the dreams of speculators. In the above ex-
tracts, he evidently alludes to washings for gold in tts
alluvial matter in the bottoms of valleys and beds of
rivers, and seems to entertain the idea Uiat ihean was
some grand storehouse of the metal to be discovered Vy
diligent research in the recesses of the earth. He ooisla
* Ths Diwoverie and Ristorie of ths QeU Mynss la 8eollaa4.
By Stephm Atkinson. Written in the year 161& MateA fas
Bannatyne Club, 182S.
L
CHAMBEBffS EDINBURGH JOURNAI.
859
j
C
I
I
i
umHimm beoome •loqotni and luxurioiit in his d«8crip-
kioiia, M tpeculatocs Me often wont to be. He describes
tbf prooeedinns of his predecetson in gold-finding tJtw
tbis eloquent £ubion :— One ' Cornelius, a lapidary,' of
German origin, had approached our gold mines with a
neommendation from Queen Olisabeth to the king. ' And
then Coraellua went to Tiew the said mountains in Cljdes-
dsle and Nydesdale, upon which mountains he got a
imaU taste of small gold. ThiB was a whetstone to
ibaifWD his knife upon ; and this natural gold tasted so
fvett as the houOToomb in hie mouth. And then he con-
mlled with his uiends at Edinburgh, and by his per-
suasions provoked them to adTenture with him, showing
thsa at first the natural gold, which he called the tempt-
sUe gold, or alluring gold. It was in stems, and some
like unto birds' eyes and eggs : he compared it unto a
woman's eye, which entiseth her lorer into her bosom.'
Comelius was not inferior to his class in speculative ex-
invagance. He found in his golden dreams a solution
tor the question regarding the poor. He saw Scotland
and Engfand ' both oppreosed with poor people which beg
fram dwsr to door for want of employment, and no man
looketh to it.' But all these people were to find good and
profitable employment if his projects were adopted. We
are not aecustomed to consider our countiymen inferior
in energy and enterprise to the Germans. Yet Cornelius
stated, thai if he had been able to show in his own country
such indication! of mineral wealth as he had found in
Scotland, ' then the whole country would confederate, and
not Tm\ Ull youn^ and old that were able be set to work
theieat, and to disoorer this treasure-house firom whence
this gold descended ; and the people, from ten years old
till ten times ten years old, should work thereat: no
charges whatsoeyer should be spared, till mountains and
mosses were turned into Talleys and dales, but this trea-
fure-house should be discoTored.*
It appears that Cornelius so far prevailed on the Soots
to * confederate,' that they raised a stock of L.5000 Scots,
eqnal to about L.416 sterling, and woiked the mines
under royal privileges. Atkinson, whose object it was to
pnt these operations in their most favourable light, says
that es^t pounds' weight of gold was extracted by the
company, the value being L.450 sterling. ' Cornelius,'
he says, * had six score men at work in viuleys and dales.
He employed both lads and lasses, idle men and women,
whidi before went a-bemnr. He profited by theire
work, and they lived weliand contented.'
Atkinson tells a story whioh will be found applied, in
Scott's ' Tales of a Grandfather,' to different persons and
an earlier period. He says that in the days ot the Regent
Mesion, a Dutchman, with the very British name of
Abmham Grey, worked the Scots mines, and made out of
their gold ' a verie faire deep bason,' which ' contained,
by esliination, within ^e brims thereof, an English
gaUen of liquor.' He continues: * The same bason was of
dean, neat, natural gold. Itself was then filled up to
the brim with ooin^ pieces of gold, called utUooms;
which bason and pieces both were presented unto the
FkcBck king by the said regent, the Earl of Morton, who
signified upon hie honour unto ^e king, saying, ** My
lord, beheld this bason and all that therein is : it is natu-
ral geld, gotten within this kingdom of Scotland, by a
XHiMman named Abraham Ore^;" and Abraham Grey
was standing by, and affirmed it upon a solemn oath.
Bat be said unto the said king that he thought it did
eDgeoder and increase within the earth, and that he ob-
•srved it see to do by the influence of the heavens.' It is
not eai^ to conceive how such a meeting could have oc-
id between the king of FVance and the Regent Mor-
Str Walter Scott makes King James to present the
filled with gold bonnet-pieces to the French and
arabassadon. Mr Atkinson revels in many other
loxurioos descriptions of the Scottish gold-seekers; and
SkUMng others, the efforts of his contemporary. Sir Bevis
B«lmer, Queen Elixabeth's Master of the Mint. We need
jEkOt overwhelm oar readers with more specimens of his
magniloquenoe, but content ourselves with the general
'xnofal to be derived from his book — that those who speak
^bout the findinff of rold. seem alwAvii mt dAxzled with tliA
brilliancy of their subject, that sober truth is not to be
expected from them, and Uiey exaggerate trifles with the
wild excitement of a mob propagating a rumour. The
chief district in which these adventurers hunted for the
precious metal was Wanlock Head. It is now celebrated
for its lead mines, whence fortunes have been derived;
but it would appear to have been ransacked by the im-
poverished gold -seekers for a full century before any
one condescended to enrich himself by attending to the
humbler metaL The clergyman of the parish says, in the
* New Statistical Account ' — * A mine has been cut a consi-
derable way into one of the mountains dose to the Wan-
lock Stream, which is supposed to have been cut in search
of gold. For such as wish to procure a little in a state of
purity, or for the purpose of being formed into a ring, &c
it is still collected by the miners, though not in any great
quantity. It is generally found at the bottom of the
glens, of a granular form, disseminated among rocks, and
mixed with sand and gravel. During the last four years
two specimens have been found which weighed respec-
tively ninety and sixty grains.' The two together would
be worth about a pound.
SPORT IN THE PETRIFIED FOREST.
Most persons who have read anything about Egypt, know
that in the neighbourhood of NCairo there exists what is
called the Petrified Forest. Geological travellers gene-
rally visit the spot in a devout spirit of sdentific research.
They set out with the full determination of filling a cer-
tain number of pages of their note-books with acute ob-
servations and ingenious theories: they go forth in a
rigid spirit of inquiry: above all things, they are on
their cuard against bem^ humbugged. FYom the moment
they bestride their donke3rs' backs, their countenances
assume all tho severity of philosophical investigation ;
and it is certainly not their fault if the world is no wiser
after all their exertions.
As a resident in Egypt, I used often to' make a trip to
the Petrified Forest, merely for the sake of enjoying the
fine bracing air of the hills. On one occasion I remember
going out with a small party to look for gasolles ; and I
will take the opportunity of describing what is to be seen
in an account of our day's proceedings. My companions
were two Germans and two Englishmen — one established
in Cairo, the other on a visit from Alexandria. The ex-
pedition was decided on the previous evening ; and our
Teutonic friends undertook to provide the necessary re-
freshments. There was great talk of the excellent sport
to be anticipated, and some difference of opinion arose as
to the disposal of the various cazelles we were to bring
home in proof of our prowess. At length, however, a fair
division was made among the ladies and gentlemen of
our acquaintance ; and we separated, all promising to be
at the rendezvous next morning precisely at habf-past
six.
It will be but courteous if I introduce wj friends more
particularly to the reader. In the first place, there was
Mr M , the representative of one of the commercial
houses of Alexandria, and having some claim to the dig-
nified appellation of a * Gonsol.' In Europe, the impor-
tance of this position will scarcely be appreciated, and it
would be difficult to convey an idea of it without going
into too lengthy details. Suffice it to say, that a flag on
the roof, and a coat of arms over the door of a house, con-
vert it into an inviolable sanctuary. The consul, who
^nerally exerts completely arbitrary power over the sub-
jects of the country he represents, is always an influential
person with the government ; and if he sometimes fails to
be successful in procuring redress for an injurv done to
any one to whom he desires to afford protection, ne always
obtains the infliction of punishment for an offence. No
wonder, then, that he is looked upon with a kind of awe,
and that the Arabs have formed ridiculously exaggerated
ideas of his importance. My friend M would, there-
fore, have been a valuable companion had there been the
slightest reason to apprehend insult. As there was not,
we coveted his society for his own personal merits, which
WArA crrf^ftf.—'rnf Via «poa a. invial rmrtA m}\»m T^jui ft>i}lnvr» nn/l
•abMaUMA^^,
360
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
though he had nererheen in England, spoke our language
capitally.
The same thing may be said of my other German friend
Herr Fist — I mean with reference to his knowledge of
English — for though he was one of the best-hearted young
men I hare ever met, he was yery far from joviaL I can
still see his calm, melancholy face, and lofty intelligent
forehead, as if he were before me at this moment. I
always took pleasure in his company, although I had
generally to furnish the greater part of the conyersation.
This, you will suggest, may have been no hardship ; but
I can assure you that among talkatiye people I am re-
garded as yeiy taciturn.
Perhaps, howeyer, these details do not interest you.
Let me, then, hasten to introduce my two English friends,
who rejoiced in the names of Messrs Fox and Cog. The
first was rather scientifically inclined, and eyidently had
some sly notions of scientific research in resenre; but
knowing the temper of his consorts, he kept these hetero-
dox tendencies as much as possible to himselfl He did
not do, as another friend of mine once did — namely, bring
out a spare donkey for the purpose of carrying bacx speci-
mens of the Petrified Forest, but he quietly chose an
enormous brute, that looked as if it could haye carried
half a museum in addition to its geological rider. Mr Fox
was a natiye of Liyerpool ; and though I may be thought
to speak rather irre?erently of his studious tendencies, I
^must freely confess to haying drunk more tea and eaten
more preserves at his hospitable table than at any other
house in Egypt. His literary tastes and extensiye know-
ledge made him an excellent travelling companion ; but
we were compelled on this occasion to remind him more
Uian once that we were not travelling, but merely look-
ing out for gazelles and an appetite.
Mr Ck>g was the superintendent of one of the cotton-
factories of Boulac; and having a rank in the pasha's
service, turned out in full Stambouli costume. He was
one of those long-headed Englishmen who contribute by
their straightforward manners and energetic character to
make our country respected in the East, where we cer-
taiuly are looked upon as a yeiy superior class of beings
to all other Franks.
> It was past seven — in spite of our industrious inten-
tions— before we were all ready to start ; but when once
in the saddle, we rattled away through the Sookhs at a
fine rate, followed by a troop of donkey-boys and servants
carrying our guns and ammunition. Two large saddle-
bags contained our supply of creature comforts ; for we
had resolved to lunch out at the coal-pit, and return
home to a late dinner.
I shall say nothing at present of the streets of Cairo,
although the portion we traversed is rarely visited by
professed tourists, not being set down in the guide-books.
We wound our way along a variety of little lanes, flanked
often by half-ruined houses, with a tall minaret leaning
over here and there in a most terribly insecure way.
Half the shops were closed, not because it was too early
— the natives always get up with the sun— but because
prosperity had departed. The palmy days of Cairo haye
long ago passed away; and in most of the quarters a
great proportion of the houses are uninhabited. Many
of the streets, however, presented a lively aspect; and
some of the market-places were so crowded by yociferous
customers, that we could scarcely get along. In these
unaristocratic regions we don't remark the goigeous va-
riety of costume which one is accustomed to think of in
connection with Eastern life: dingy turbans, threadbare
tarbooshes, blue shirts, ragged shawls, and naked feet,
may be enumerated as the principal characteristics that
present themselves: a shabby-genteel Copt, with black
turban, sombre dress, and inkstand stuck like a pistol
into his girdle, alone perhaps aspires to the dignity of
shoes and stockings.
Escaping from the close streets of the city, we gallop
with delight through the sombre archway of the Bab-en-
Nasr into the City of the Tombs. Here the air is pure,
and the sun is bright; everything conspires to fill the
mind with joy; and I defy the most obstinate moralist —
after emerging from the clammy, cold atmosphere of the
low quaiieri of Cairo — to conjure up a ringle iIssbtI
idea, in spite of the hundreds of fresh white tombitaiMi
that meet the eye on eyary side, and tiie cromblingiBODa* ||
ments of ancient kings, near which the path, as «e pn>. I'
ceed, leads us.
It was a happy holiday, and we were all folly raelTcd
to enjoy it. M ^'s servant led a fine i^te hont^
which the master occasionally mounted to take a giUop
up the slopes of the hills. The rest of us stud to oor
donkeys, and enlivened the ride by a yarietj of tiMo
dotes, which succeeded one another wiUi rasTreUooi
rapidity. We soont reached the rocky pass thst ksdi
round the base of what is called the Oebel-el-AIiiiisi^ or
Red Mountain — an immense detached hill of Tolesoie
origin — into the yalley of the Mokattam range. A few
minutes took us out of sight of the city of Cairo, asd the
vast Egyptian plain, that had been devdoping a* we
ascended; and we found ourselves in the midst of aienei
of barren hills — ay, as barren as though thej were a
thousand miles from the beneficent Nile. To our rigbt
was a long line of precipices, broken here and there by a
rugged defile, one of which leads to a little apring ^
pours forth its limpid waters at the foot of a aditaij
tree; to our left a series of sloping hillocks, piled, ai it
were, one above the other, soon closed in the rieir; befaiad
us were the purple peaks of the Red Moootain; aad ia
front, as is usual in the Desert, the long flat nilej ve
had entered seemed, by an optical illnsioii, to eondvde
with a vast amphitheatrical sweep.
When we had jogged about half-way up tlui TsUej,
we were passed by a group of English toorista, ridiag
furiously along on horseback, and casting keen glaDcei
on every side to collect geological facts. In two or three
minutes they dashed round the comer (Mf the nagt d
precipices, and were lost to yiew. I may mestioo that
about half an hour later we caught sight cif them Moariaj
along a distant valley on their return to Cairo with, u
we afterwards learned, a very interesting bndset of oW
vations. Egypt, it appears, is a country in which he who
runs may read.
A rugged ravine to the rights at the end of the nlky,
leads to the top of the range of hUls. Here the petriiifld
wood begins. Two or three trunks of trees, half imbedded
in the soil, and broken into lengths of five or six feet,
present themselves at once. The whole grooDd, too, ii
covered with smaller pieces, not seemingly at all diiai*
nished in number, despite the industry of apedmcs ool-
lectors, who are genenUly content not to go £wthtf thaa
this spot.
As we proceeded, a splendid yiew of the Vallifef the
Nile, and successively of all the Pyramids fion Oia^
to SakkanA, was obtained through the mouth of what it
called the Valley of the WiuideringB, that stretchaften
the yillage of Toura to the Red Sea. This paaoraote
picture, enveloped in a slight mist, seemed to ram
slowly as we ourselves proceeded acroes the opeoifighe
tween the rugged ranges of Mokattam and Mssiara, asd
induced us to linger for a while. But we soon h^
descending from the elevation we had obtained, aid at
length came to the proposed field of aotiye exertion.
The northern side of the Valley of the Wandoiaf^
unlike the southern, which is nearly predpitooib s«^
upwards in yast slopes, intersected by little sandy talk^
where a few green plants and bushes, kept alire hjthe
dews of night, occasionally attract whole troc^ <^ga3«l& |
On reaching there, we put foot to ground ; and V^i
who was a keen sportsman, went forra:d,sli^tljitoepiBg)
according to the true Bedouin fashion, to look oat for tht
game. It is often extremely difiicult in the desert, whea \
the sun's rays beat scorchingly on the ground, and daiui ^
the eyes, to distinguish a herd of gazelles. It fnenUy >
happens that you come close upon them, and hafsjoor
attention attracted by seeing them scud along like a nau j
of light. So it happened in this case. M ww ejMP* ,
ing over a stony swell, and looking far ahead, when ban-
a-dozen of these beautiful creatures went bounding swajr
under his yery nose. 'There— there!* ♦Where— wh««! ^
* Hennak— henneh 1' shouted Franks and Arabs. Bany-
bang! went the fowling-pieces; but before M ««"^
n*^.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
S61
I
his rifle to beur, the frightened gazelles were dis-
■|»pcMiiig OTer a distant hilL A little cloud of dust
bsateo up close alongside of them, showed that he was a
good shot; and the warp scolding he gaTO us for shouting
sad shooting; at random, proved that, like a true sports-
man, he took his failure to heart.
' Better luck next time,' said we ; and on we went>
eantiouslj examining every Talley before we entered it.
There were thousands of footprints, and other traces of
the gazelle; but we got among the rocks and hills again
without having had an opportunity to pull another
trigger.
A shower of rain, discharged by a huge cloud that had
crept up irom the east wiUiout our perceiving it, drove
some of us to shelter ; the others found that a bottle of
Madeira had been broken in the saddle-bags, and drank
what could be saved, as an internal greatcoat. The sky
toon cleared up again; and after riding through some
TDugh ground, we got down into the great vaUey, and
about eleven o'clock reached our destination.
This was what is called the shaft or coal>pit — one of
the follies oT Mohammed AH. For the last twenty years
no subject has occupied his mind more than this. He
had hetn told of the immense advantage the possession
of coal has proved to England, he had made up his mind
that Egypt should be a manufacturing country, and he
had resolved that coal should be found in his dominions.
An immense number of adventurers have made fortunes
out of the pasha by encouraging this weakness. Every
year two or three reports are sent in of discoveries of
coal-beds. He believes them all, orders shafts to be sunk,
and never gives up until he has spent enormous sums of
money to no purpose. Some years ago, a European, who
had been made a bey, presented himself before his high-
ness with two or three black stones found in the Petrified
Forest, which he stated to be pure coal. * Peki— peki 1 '
exclaimed the pasha : ' I have been seeking this precious
mineral in Kordofan and Sennaar, and I find it within
three hours of Cairo ! Sink a shaft directly t Sink a
shaft ! Let Burmanchan and Mangustar look out ! Egypt
will be the great manufacturing country after all ! She
produces cotton, she produces flax* The worthy
pasha was interrupted by a stubborn, ignorant old Turk,
who suggested that the black stones should be put into
a fire, in order to see whether they would bum. The
pasha looked at the unfortunate sc^ic's beard, as if he
woidd have pulled it off ; but his good sense predomi-
nating, he ordered Khoerew Bey, the chief interpreter,
and aevenU other functionaries, to eo to the kitchen, and
be witnesses of the experiment. The deputation accord-
ingly went ; the stones were put upon the fire ; and a
Tariety of attempts were made to induce them to ignite;
but though they got red-hot, they would not bum.
Solemn laees were made by the courtiers, who knew the
reoepti<m they would meet with if they retumcd with an
wafiavowable report. Mohammed Ali had got it into his
head that all Turks are * tors,' * bulls,' meaning * asses ;'
and that they are jealous of all Europeans, and disposed
to discredit their ideas. He was not wrong in the main ;
bni he pushed the idea too far. After the cook had been
rxhausting his breath by blowing on the stones for half
Ml hoar, Khosrew Bey, who ran Uie risk of singeing his
jpfloetaches in his anxiety, exclaimed, ' Wallah t it
Imuss ! Wallah! it bumsl' * Do not swear, oh Khosrew,'
sAid the cook, wiping the perspiration from his forehead:
* I am nearly dead, and shall certainly give up the ghost
beHMe this accursed stone takes fire I '
Meanwhile the European, who had not prepared him-
self for this experiment, had recovered from his surprise,
and was explaming to the pasha that he did not mean
to say that the specimens he had presented were real ooal,
but that they indicated the presence of coal beneath the
surface of the earth. * Why did you not say so before ! '
at length cried the pasha. ' There is poor Khosrew in
the kitchen endeavouring to make the stones bum. Call
him back, call him back ; it is all a mistake. And you,
sir, listen to me : go to Baki Bey, get all the men you
reouire, and sink a shafl at once.'
The works were accordingly begun; and it seems they
intend to go on until coal is found— even should it prove
necessary to bore through to the antipodes. Every year
the shaft is carried down through all sorts of strata some
hundred feet, and no one ever talks of giving it up, or
expects to find coal at last.
Immense mounds of material had been thrown up near
the shaft. These at first concealed the little house and
the sheds in which the guardians dwell; and as they
looked exactly like portions of the desert, it was some
time before we struck into the right direction after getting
down into the valley. At len^, as I before stated, we
reached our destination, and alighted. The more lazy
and hungry went immediately to look for a shady place,
whilst we — ^that is to say, myself and the scientific Fox —
amused ourselves by dropping stones down the shaft, and
counting the seconds that elapsed before they were heard
to reach the bottom. I think twelve seconds was about
the result. We were going to make still further progress
in the search after useful knowledge, when a cry arose,
'Heir Fist is eating alLthe lunch!' We accordingly
rushed to the rescue; and our appetites being good, &11
to in right good earnest. When the more solid viands
had disappeared, along with tiie greater part of the wine,
we began most industriously sucking oranges, and pro-
posed to go on a geological excursion up the long slope in
front of us. Though this was rather in/ra dig^ it was
resolved upon, and away we started.
1 am almost sorry that I did not choose to describe
another of my visits to the Petrified Forest, where, as I
have already hinted, my friend A took out a spare
donkey to load with specimens; and on arriving on the
ffround, wished aloud he had broueht a camel, and no
doubt in his heart regretted he could not carry away the
whole forest ! How we laughed as, in slowly ascending
the steep, he collected at evezy fifty yards a monstrous
pile of blocks of petrified wood, which he could scarcely
lift in both hands, and from which he made up his mind
with a sigh to select on his return. We had not pro-
ceeded far, before he had gathered sufficient to build a
good -sized house. It is true that L and I were
wageishly inclined, and added a round number of huge
blocks that had nothing to recommend them but their
size; but in addition to making these piles, A — ^ actu-
ally carried along with him an enormous carpet-bag, into
which there was a perfect shower of curious specimens,
partly improved by his own severe judgment, partly
thrown in wilfully by us. His greatcoat pockets also
were made receptacles for all sorts of interesting pebbles
— black, white, and red — so that he had not proceeded
above a quarter of a mile in that broiling sun before he
was absolutely compelled to come to a stand-still, weighed
down by some hundredweight of petrified wood and agates.
Imagine his indignation, on examining his carpet-bag
and his pouches, at finding some prodigious masses of
puddingstone and common flints. Having hurled these
away, and rejected also with regret some migments con-
taining knots and others with portions of bark, my inde-
fatigable friend proceeded; but ere long he was again com-
pelled to sit down exhausted, and pronounce condem-
nation once more on a large assortment of rubbish. On
our return towards the shaft there was a l<M)g halt at
every pile, and a regular debate on the value of each
specimen, I and L endeavouring to make up for our
previous practical jokes by tuming ourselves into beasts
of burthen. At length we reached the hidting-place
laden with stones, to the great astonishment of Uie Aral».
It was found, however, that no donkey could cany for any
distance all we had collected; and in moody melancholy
A threw away two small tranks of trees which he
had fondly hoped to be able to transport via Alexandria
to Europe !
But, as I have said, this was on another occasion. On
the present, none of us was enthusiastic ^ough to afibrd
much scope for merriment of that kind. M would
rather have seen a troop of gazelles than all the petrified
forests that ever existed; Cog had often been there before;
Herr Fist's curiosity was moderate; Fox certainly ex-
hibited some interest, but the collection he made was too
trifling to laugh at. For my own part, during my travels
3S2
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUIIGH JOURNAL.
I had 4 fbolUh prejudice Againsl briogiDg away relics and
specimens, so that I haye nothing icaroely but mj le-
minisoenoei remaining.
I hare no thooiy on the subject of the Petrified Forest.
An immense number of trees hare eyidentlj been con-
yerted into stone on this spot. Hundreds of trunks, sixty
or seyentj feet long, may be counted from whaterer point
you ohooee. It would appear that they were conyerted
into stone whilst upstandmg, for they are all broken into
lengths of about fiTO feet, as if in falling down. The
whole ground is coyered with fragments, mineled with
agates of eyeiy description. This district extend far into
the desert, petrifaction occurring, I beliere, throughout
the whole of the Valley of the Wanderings to the diores
of the Red Sea. It is not difficult to break the wood; it
riyes a metallic sound; many specimens retain traces of
bark, which crumbles off like red ochre; numerous knots
are to be found; and the rings can be distinctly counted.
We picked up the petrifaction of a fhiit exactly of the
shape of an almond, and of another which bore some re-
semblance to a date. Many of the trees I belieye to haye
been palms, but others were certainly not.
We got up to the top of a peak ooyered, or rather com-
posed of pebbles, and obtained a good yiew of the series
of hills and yalleys of which this part of the desert con-
sists. A distant group of gazelles almost induced M
to start off with his gun after ^em; but we restrained
him by representing the lateness of the hour. It was
time, indeed, to be on the moye back; so descending
quicker than we had ascended, we regained the spot
where we had left our donkeys, gaye a piastre or two to
an old Bedouin, the guardian of the place, and returned
by a different route — that is to say, down the broad yal-
ley, and round the foot of Mokattam by the Im&m. An
account of the frolics in which we indulged on our ride
would be beneath the dignity of history. Suffice it to
say, that haying taken a long shot at an old yulture half-^
way up the mountain, we returned to our evening meal,
the harmony of which was not disturbed by disputes as
to how we should dispose of the resiUts of our day's shoot-
ing. To console themselres, the sportsmen related all the
wonderful feats they had ever performed, and made up
their minds to go out a boar-hunting in a yery few days.
* And if I don't bring back a joint to send to Mrs ,*
exclaimed M , * I'm a Turk I»
'Allah kerim 1' COod is mercifVil!') cried the com-
pany, smoking their ehebauques and shithehSf and puffing
out yolumes of smoke — which being an appropriate con-
clusion to this learned disquisition, I make my salaam,
A CHAPTER FOR LADIES.
MANUTACTUftS OP THREAD.
Wb are told that the delicate fingers of Ariadne were
buned in the manafacture of thread ; and eyery ichod-
boy oan tell ns what a aeryioe this fair lady rendered
to Tbeeeoa by her industry. Bat the race of Ariadnes
is at an end, and toiling iteam •giants, witii riba of
iron, aiid hands of brass, wood, and iteel, are now con-
oerned in this duty. For the credit of the dexterity of
this lady's fingers, it is painful to haye to add, that
not only can the iron monstere turn out a million
timet more work, but can likewise supply threads
finer than the most gauxe-Iike filamenta that eyer
left her hand. How this has been brought about,
how mighty mechanisms of wonderfhl construction
haye taken the place fbrmerly occupied by the fingers
of a feeble woman, will doubtless be interesting to all to
learn, especially to those who, as Cowper, with a Pope-
ish affectation, says, < ply the threaded steel,' and to
whom the, to us, mysterious words, • darning cotton,'
• wire thr^d,' • Persian thread,' • sewing cotton, Nos. 90,
100,' &C. are well-understood phrases.
At the comer of a quiet square in Manchester— if
indeed any square or other place in this mechanical city
deserres such a title— stands one of the most famous
of the thread manufactories. Externally it is a tall
hut unpretending rectangular structure, presenting the
usual fSkCtory features, although Inferior in size to the
giant piles of buUding whidi meet the eye is aU quar-
ters of the city. Here entrance must he obtained by
those who would learn the number and nature of the
processes concerned in the manufacture of tmnm^ ecHm,
But in order to conyey a complete account of the thread
manufacture, commencing witii its leaying the * throstle*
or the * mule' engines, it is necessary to begin hy enter-
ing a cotton-mill where the preliminary operatioiis con-
nected with the manufacture are carried on. It is to be
borne in mind, therefbre, that in addition to the yarie-
ties of thread in use for the needle, there are a number
of different kinds required by the manufacturers ; tome
for making stockings, some for the manufacture cf lace,
some fbr bobbin-net, &c And for the preparation of
all these, some slight yariations of the meduuiical pro-
cesses are necessary.
When the wonderful processes which conyert the
* sliyer* into * yam' — whether efiteted by the heautifiil
and complicated mechanism of the mule, or by the
simpler cootriyance of the throstle-spinning enginet—
are at an end, the filament produced is fit indeed for the
loom, but is not sufficiently strong for other purposes.
In this state it is called by the term * yam ;' ' thread,'
on the contrary, is a combination of fibres which re-
quires great tenacity and hardness, and consists of two
or more yams closely twisted together. It appear* that
the earlier processes of the thread manufacture were
introduced into our country from Holland by an en-
terprising individual resident at Paisley. We read that
the total annual yalue of thread produced in Scotland
so early as the year 1784 was L.220,000. Paisley long
retained its first honours, and eyen now shares them
with its magnificent riyal, Manchester.
Beautiful as is the operation of the mule and throstle
engines, the yarn they form possesses seyeral diaracters
in addition to those of weakness and softness, which unfit
it for the needle or for the manufacturer of lace, stock-
ings, &c. In particular, the filament is not amooth, or
free from knots, and is coyered with down or hairy
fibres. It is therefore necessary to remoye such defects;
and a method perfectly successful in thia object, and of
the most ingenious and singular character, ia now ex-
tensively adopted. This is the operatioo called* with
the usual homeliness of the factory people, the * gaasiag'
process. Probably no preyious coQJeoturea would aflM
to ibe reader's mind anything like a aatisfactorr eola-
tion of the problem, which d^nands the specOT and
complete remoyal of the fine down fh>m the attilMe of
the yam. Nor would the liyellest imagina^oD sueeeed
in picturing the extraordinary, and eyen beaotifii], ap-
pearance of the room in which the prooeas ia peifeiwed.
B^Id a long apartment, thickly tenanted with low hot
noisy machines, busy with the inoessantlj-aotiyeeBgiDe-
* tenters,' whose eyes and hands are * bei«, thve, and
eyerjrwhere,' and apparently all at the aame tins;
11
while the eye is pained by thousanda of brilliant jets of
gas bedotted oyer the upper plane of the maohinea; snd
the ear oppressed with whirring, oUdcinf , and iwifk-
reydying sounds. To look at the star-Ske pokits of
fiame which rise in thick abundance along this length
and breadth of the room, one might imagine we wcR
in the entrance-hall of some enchanted palace ; but to
look again at countless rollers, bobbins, and spindles fcr
ever flying round their heated axes, and to hear the
grand roll of a thousand mechanical adjustmenli, im-
pelled by the distant deep-buried steam-engine, undoes
the illusion, takes us out of fairy land, and places us in
our true position in one of the magniflcent workshops
of the age of iron.
But more in detaiL Ko great degree of medmdeid
knowledge is necessary to render tbe ezplanatioB of
the gassing -engine pofectly compreheniible. It has
to perform the fbllowing distinct actions : — ^To detect
and arrest aU uneyenness or knottinesa In the tfaresd, to
remove all down or bairinees from its eurfaoe, and to
wind it up in a convenient fbnn fbr future operstions.
The engine consists of a long frame of about fbor fleet
in height, constructed partiy of tron, partly of wood
i;
■I
.1
I'
Mta««^ta
•*«N
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
S6
JtM machaiiical amuigeiDeiitt are the tame on both tides,
to that eadi engine it a double one ; that it, both the
front and tiic back are tnppiied with the tame apparetut,
and efl^ot together the tame procettet. Along the
middle of the upper tarlkce of the engine mnt a tort of
* creel' or thelf, which it fitted with a number of little
eyelel hokt and wire ejet ; thete are intended for the
reception of the bobbint of yam at they come from
the throtUe-engine, or for the * copt' of yam from the
muln. It it from off these bobbint or copt that the
yam it wound, at it patset on itt way through the
Ttriout portiont of the machines Thete bobbint or
eopt are placed perpendicularly, rerolying on their axes
at the yam it drewn off them. In front of the machine
is a long row ci what are called ' driving cylindert ' — ^that
ii« reTuTing drums, upon the upper turface or edge of
whidi the empty reelt rett on which the yam it to be
wound after the other processes are completed. These
empty reels turn round simply because they rest upon
the rerolring surface of the drums, and in so doing wind
up the yam from the bobbin or cop, and through the
otiier arrangements of the apparatus. This is what we
might call tiie * first and last' of the machine : we shaU
now get a dear glimpse of that which oomes between.
After the yam loives the surface of the bobbin or cop,
ft pssses by a little peg of glass, along the smooth sur-
&oe of which it glides with facility; the intention of
this peg is to act as a guide to the yam as it is swiftly
drawn forwards through the apparatus. It then entera
a Httie slit in an upright bar of steel, which is called
the ' deaner,' from the fact, that it is so small as in-
stantly to detect the presence of a knot or other uneren-
ness in the yam, let it pass never so quickly. To this,
however, we shall immediately return. It then passes
underneath a small roller or pulley, through the middle
tf a JUxme of pa$, over a second roller, across a hori-
sontal glass bar in frt)nt of the machine, through a
little wire eye, which guides it finally into the horizon-
tally-revolving reel driven by the cylinders, of which
we have spoken above. The gassing process is thus
completed, and it is seen essentially to consist simply
in sending the delicate thread through a fiame of gas,
by means of which the easily-combustible down on the
surfeoe of the yam is removed in the most complete
manner. If any fair reader will take a thread of the
cotton in use for darning stockings, and will pass it
swiftly through the flame of a wax taper, it will be
found that the cotton has lost all its downy covering,
and resemUes in some respects ordinary sewing cotton.
The rapidity with which the yam is drawn through
tiie flame is the cause that it does not take fire ; and
the finer the yam, the more rapid must be the revo-
lution of the machinery, so as to efibct its passage
ttirough tiie fire in safety. The least alteration in the
speed of the machinery would cause every thread to
take light and bum, so also would any temporary de-
rangementt unless specially provided against Such a
deraagementt strange to tay, it It one of the chief
beantiet and excellendet of thit apparatut to effect,
wh&e avoiding the otherwite inevitable result To
ohserre this, we must return to the ' deaner ' contriv-
ance. This was described as simply a minute slit in
a small upright sted bar. The lower part of this bar
is conneoted with some of the cleverest apparatus of a
dmple kind with which we are acquainted. The bar
moves backwards and forwards by means of a pivot in
its centre ; in the upper arm is the deaner slit ; in the
lower, a little notch, which hooks on and off to another
lever connected with some mechanism, and placed in
the horizontal position. This second horizontal lever
efl^ts the movement of several parts in the machine :
It is able to lift up the winding-red from off the driv-
ing cylinder, and so as with an animate hand stop its
revolutions, and consequently the winding off of the
thread. Here, then, is an instant and imminent source
of danger to the thread, whose frail substance lies in the
embrace of a small but intensdy hot vdume of flame.
But mechanical wisdom foresaw the peril; and the same
movement which lifts up the red firom the cylindc
strikes aside the swivd-jointed gas-pipe, and tumM awe
the Jhrne^ leaving the thread stationary, yet uninjurec
The mode of action is this :— Suppose a knot in it
yarn to approach the deaner slit of the upright level
as the yarn is dragged rapidly forwards, this kaot passi
through the slit but in so doing, communicates, as wi
be readily conceived, a slight jerk to the lever ; th
has the effect of disengaging its lower arm from the pi
at the extremity of the - horizontal lever, and the latt
then immediately springs up, strikes to one side tl
little gas-pipe, and lifting up the winding-reel, sto]
the whole process as regards this individual threa
until the sharp eyes of the tenter catch the signal. SI
hastens forwud, removes the ineqnslity in the threa
depresses the horizontal lever until it is again hook<
by the notch of the other, when all things resume the
accustomed course, and the career of the yarn throu^
the flame continues as before. Can anything mo
admirably automatic, and by means so uncommon!
simple, be conceived? In order to insure the equ
distribution of the yam over the surface of the windini
bobbin or reel, there is an odd contrivance called
* heart-wheel.' It is, in truth, a wheel of the exact sha]
of the heart ; that is, such a heart as we see depicted (
those elegancies of epistolary interoourse — the flowe
crowned Valentines. The flat edge of this wheel press
against a movable fhime, and as it revolves, pushes
before it the returning motion of the frame beii
effected by the means of a weight and pulley. In
the edge of this tnme the little wire-guides are i
sorted ; and thus, as th^ fhime moves to and fro, tl
stream of yam is directed over the surface of the bobbi
so as to insure its perfectly equal distribution. Tl
rate at which these bobbins revolre is from two to thr
thousand times a minute ! In order to accommodate tl
rate of revolution in the machine to the nature of tl
yam to be ' gassed,' cog-wheds of various numbers a
fitted to it by means of which, in a few minutes, t!
desired alteration may be effected. Over the jets
flame a little chimney of sheet-iron is suspended, whit
has the effect of preventing the disturbing influences
cross currents of air, &c. Altogether, these machin
deserve an attentive study, as well for their efflciem
as for their elegance, for their ingenuity as for the
simplidty.
The next process is, reeling off the yam into hanl
In the mill visited by the writer, this was carried on
a low room of great length running by the side of tl
factonr, and a very interesting and pretty scene it pi
sented when seen from the open doon. The reelin
engines, arranged in two jMiraUd rows, formed the loi
lines of the perspective, and by their curious eve
whirling reels added a peculiar degree and kind
animation to the whde. Looking at one indii
dually, it is found to be of a far less complicated
formidable character than the generality of the m
chines employed in the cotton processes. On the o
side of the frame are arranged the bobbins from t
gassing-engine ; and on a higher level, the long ho]
zontal fhime called the reel. This reel is of very simi
construction : it consists of six long horizontfd piec
of wood, arranged about a central axis by six wood*
arms. The objects contemplated in its constracti)
are, to wind off from the bobbins on the other ni
of the frame the singed yam into hanks or lengtl
and to admit of these being readily removed when tl
required length is wound on them. This red is ma*
to revolve on its horizontal axis by a pulley and stra
which are in connection with the driving gear of tl
mill In thus turning it winds off the yarn fh)m tl
bobbin, and this with great rapidity, as may be co
jectured from the fact that at each revolution a va;
and a-half of yam is wound on to the surface of tl
reel The distribution of the yam on Uiis surface
efil9cted by a contrivance analogous to the one pre?
ously described, an eccentric wheel directing the threa(
to and fro by causing motion of that kind to a fran
\
■Md«AAMaii«Mi«»«*iAi^»MM^Ki*H
i^«^
364
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
over which the ymmt i>ms. When the reel has per-
formed exactly eighty rerolationa, it ■trikes a check,
which informs Uie attendant that 130 yards of yam
have heen wound upon it This takes place seven
times, and the entire length of the hank, 840 yards, has
then been wound upon the reel ; tl)at is, a little less than
a half mile. The machine is now stopped by shifting
the strap on to the loose pulley, and the tenter pro-
ceeds to remove the gathered hanks. In order to do
tliis, a peculiar contrivance is had recourse to in the
formation of one of the radii, or arms of the reel. It is
made with a double hinge, so that it and the long piece
of wood it supports can, upon occasion required, be bent
in. The effect of this is to set all the hanks loose, which
before were so tightly wound, as to resist any effort to
slip them off; and tying each separately, she takes
them into her hand between the thumb and finger, and
slides them up to one end of the reel, which is now
lifted up out of its bearings, and the hanks are slipped
off. The hinged arm is then bent back to its former
position, the ends of the yams attached to it, and the
whole set in motion again, while the collected hanks are
conveyed to the Bundle Fress-Boom.
There are few circumstances which impress the mind
of a visitor to this emporium of machinery more than
the indications of ingenuity which appear in the most
trifling processes. Few persons would imagine, for
example, that the yarn would require the assistance of
machinery in order to make it up into bundles or
parcels ; yet so it is, and the * bundle press,' though a
simple, is a most powerful and clever invention. In
the mill visited by the writer were a number of these
machines arranged in a distinct apartment They con-
sist of a sort of metal box, placed at the top of a frame.
A kind of square piston of metal rises and falls in this
box by means of a couple of iron rods or arms, con-
nected to a wheel, which a ratchet and catch prevent
from revolving back after it has been forced forwards.
The sides of the box are formed of bars of metal, which
leave interstices between them, through which the
string for tying the yarn is put ; and the top, in like
manner, consists of five or six flat bars, which hook
over the side bars, and thus resist the pressure of the
yam upwards when the piston is made to rise. The
bundle-presser now takes a certain weight of yam,
generally from five to ten pounds, gives to each hauk a
twist or two, and lays them smoothly in the box, at the
bottom of which he has previously laid several pieces of
twine for tying it up with. He then, by means of a
handle, turns round the wheel, causing the arms to push
up the piston, and consequently to squeeze the bundle
of yarn lying on it very tightly against the top and
sides of the box. After he has exerted the requisite
amount of pressure, the ratchet-and-catch contrivance
prevents the wheel from returning, and the presser, at
his convenience, ties up the bundle in three or four
different places, cuts off the ends of the string, strikes
up the catch, and lifts his bundle out of the press to
make room for another. The degree of compactness
and hardness communicated by this process to the
otherwise soft mass is very striking. The yarn is now
sent off to the lace, stocking, or thread manufacturers,
in the gray condition.
After undergoing the various processes of cleaning
and bleaching, which do not essentially differ from
those descnb^ in a former article, and also, when ne-
cessary, of dyeing, the yarn is fit for making sewing
cotton. If the reader will take a small piece of cotton
from the reel, and untwist it, it will generally be found
to contain three distinct yarns of various degrees of
fineness, according to the * number' marked on the little
disk of gUzed paper placed over the top of the reel
The lower the number, the larger the diameter of the
thread. Thus one now before us, a No. 12, is the thick-
ness of four or five hairs combined, while No. 100 is
but a little thicker than a single hair } yet in both cases
there is the same number of yarns. Now the machine
by which sewing cotton is manufactured is one by
I
which this trebling process is efifbcted, with the addi-
tion of the requisite amount of twist to combine the
three into one thread. The apartment in which this
process is carried on is a very busy and a particularijr
noisy one, and is crammed with whirling medianiams
until there is scarcely room to move. The aspect of
the wh(4e is confusing in the extreme, but an indi-
vidual engine will be readily ooropreheoded. There
is, as ususJ, the proper form and hdght of llramework.
in the oent^ of the upper plane of which is the tMf
for holding the bobbins, off which the separate yams
are being wound. Along the froift is a row of twiiiing
spindles, which twist and wind up the thread; and
between there is a little simple apparatoa, the inten-
tion of which will be best understood by the follow-
ing description: — The yams, after leaving the bob-
bins, are drawn downwards into a little tvou^ whidi
contains a weak solution of starch in water, or some-
times water only ; this is found to facilitate the twist-
ing process, and also to communicate a peculiar glou
to the surface of the sewing cotton, or. as we shall
henceforth call it, ' thread.'* They pass under a little
horizontal grooved glass rod, placed under water in the
trough ; they then rise, pass between a pair of roUen,
the lower of which is iron, the upper wood, oovered
with flannel, to absorb any superfluous molstaire from
the thread, then over a smooth horizontal wire |daoed
in front of the machine, through a wire eye, and Uien,
by the contrivance known as the bobbin-juid-flyer, it is
both twisted and wound up. The a^iustments which
effect these latter operations have been so fUOy described
ia a former paper, that it is merely neoesaary to state
that they are in almost every respect the same as thoae
of the throstle spinning -engine. To each inch ef
thread there is a certain amount of twist, which is not,
as might have been supposed, a matter of chance, but
is made the subject of rigid calculation ; and by meaas
of different-sized cog-wheels and pinions this is vesy
readily adjusted. The contrivance of the heart-whsei
is here again called into requisition, to direct the even
distribution of the thread over the whirling bobbiik
We are unable to state the philosophical reason, and it
may perhaps be questioned whether such a roaaoo exists,
why the direction in which the three yama are twisted
into one cord or thread is just the oppoaite to. that in
which the yams themselves were twisted when they
were made. One would have supposed this was an no-
wise step, but the practical result is not apfsaiently
affected by it Thread fit for the lady's needle is thos
completed, and assumes its characteristic smootboess
and tenacity of fibre. We may be perhaps asked, where
lies the difference between the various kinds of thread
used by ladies ? The finer and softer kinds are made
from yarn produced by the mule-engines, the harder
from that formed by the throstle. Might we ventoie
again to name the cotton for stocking dammgf — it is
prepared, we believe, without gassing, thus retaining its
wooUiness of aspect, and also receives but a very small
amount of twist.
But the thread has yet to be transferred to those neat
wooden reels which form the most conspicuoos orna-
ments of the well-filled work-box. To see this, we most
ascend to an upper storey, the workers in which are ex-
clusively females. There is much exercise of iogeni^^
yet to be seen before we have quite done with aewmg
cotton. It is sold principally, as our fair readers bwl
know, in the form of reels, and of little baUs, siytaan w
so to the ounce. How the latter were formed waa levg •
source of the deepest perplexity to ourselves, nor ttiM
any light be thrown upon the matter by any hnahi
treating on the cotton manufactures. In five minvlai ttt
difficulty was solved. At a low bench a woman nt%ir
whose side is a brown paper-bag full of these aarot hIVv
balls. Before her is a little brass horizontal sptndlVbdf
somewhat conical form, revolving at a very rapid
* In •triotnflH, the word * thread' ap|lles
fcttined oat of the fibres oSjtojf, not ootton.
to
i|
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
S6S
ind by her side ia a little shelf, on which the bobbin
rests from which the thread is to be wound o£ Con-
nected with this simple mechanism is a little horizontal
axis, also in rapid rerolntion, the free end of which is
cut into an endless screw. The winder now takes hold
ot a sort of handle, one end of which has a slit which
guides the thread, while the other is cut into teeth
which exactly fkll into those of the screw. This handle
moves up or down, so as to bring these teeth in or out
of connection with the rerolving endless screw; it is
also so arranged as to hare a free moTement from side
to side. Taking now the end of the thread between
her fingers, she applies it to the surface of the reTolving
brass cone, which instantly begins to wind it up; at
the same ^me keeping the guide-bar, or handle, in her
other hand, she alternately raises or depresses it, bring-
ing its teeth into connection with the screw ; and it is
thus carried by the reyolutions of the screw to and fro,
in so dcMng carrying the thread with it, and thus causing
it to be wound up into a sort of spirally-formed ball
As sooa as the woman considers a sufficient amount
wound np, by a motion of her foot she stops the revolu-
tions of the cone, swiftly slips off the accumulated ball
ci thread, cuts the end off, pushes it inside, and taking
up a little disk of paper ready gummed; and labelled
with the number and maker's name, she applies it over
the bole at one end of the ball, and tosses it finished
into her bag. Long practice enables her to form these
bolls with the utmost nicety to weigh just thirty grains
or half a drachm each. As, however, she sometimes fails,
and is paid only for perfect work, she keeps her judg-
ment accurate by weighing an ounce of them — that is,
sixteen — every now and then. One of these persons
assured us that she could make twenty pounds, if we
reooUect rightly, of such balls, of thirty grains each, in
a 'factory' day, which would make upwards of five
thousand balls in the day I It is possible this statement
may be alightly in excess, and it is therefore left open
to coivection.
The process of winding on reels ia very similar. The
reel is placed on a revolving axis of brass, which passes
through its centre ; the thiead is conducted on to it by
a precisely similar contrivance to the one above de-
scribed, being thus made to assume that beautifhlly-
legi^ evenness of * lay' which must often have excited
admiration and surprise. When the reel is full, its
levolutioos are stopped, the thread cut, and the end is
slipped into a little notch made with a pocket-knife in
the edge of the reel ; the maker's name and the number
a then [Msted on, and it is complete.
Our visit to the thread-factory was now concluded.
In passing through the packing -room, piles upon
piles of boxes for exportation and home consumption
met our view ; the former lined with pitch and sawdust
and prepared brown paper inside, to resist the destruc-
tive effects of the sea or of insects. On the whole, this
factory, giving occupation to some hundreds of opera-
tives, a large number of them females, affords us a
good illustration of the amount of labour and capital
cancemed in the production of even the most trifling
article in our domestic economy, when that ean be pro-
secuted by a combination of large mechanical means.
THE PEASANTS' PRINCE.
LcT OS transport ourselves for a moment into the im-
perial palace at Vienna, and become invisible spectators
of a very animated scene that took place within its
watts aboBt thirty years aga It was in the emperor's
cabioet Erancia of Austria was there, surrounded by
his vumsters. Every eye was fixed upon two men, who
were engaged in an earnest, and almost angry discussion.
Stem the purport of their conversation, it might easily
be gathered that they were keenly opposed to each
otlmr in the great questions of the day, and that each
of thfem contended for pre-eminence in the council and
ia the political guiduioe of Austrian affairs. One of
them was already advanced in years : his courtly dress
could not impart grace to his spare and shrivelled form ;
and whilst engaged in an obstinate defence of absolute
monarchical authority, the icy and impassable expression
of his features remained unchanged. The only symptom
of emotion he betrayed was a frequent and almost invo-
luntary application of his fingers to a costly gold snuff-
box, while he was expressing sternly his resolution to
destroy, everywhere within Uie limits of Austrian do-
minion, those seeds of liberty which had been scattered
by the arms of France upon Oerman soil. The other,
young, ardent, generous — ^representing by his energy,
his instincts, his affections, and his principles, as well
as by the frank and manly expression of his coun-
tenance, and the mingled cordiality and independence
of his manners, the newly-awakened aspirations after
liberty of the Austrian youth — earnestly strove to win
over the Gk>thic court into the path of constitutional
freedom. The first was the Prince de Mettemich ; the
other was a member of the imperial family, whom we
shall name by and by, and who at that time filled the
office of Director-Greneral of the Fortifications.
Mettemich carried his point, and the prince imme-
diately quitted Vienna. A few days afterwards were
assembled, upon one of the Tyrolean mountains, a large
body of huntsmen, who were exercising themselves with
the crossbow and the carbine. Damasquined guns,
leathern game-pouches, sheep decked out with foliage,
fiowers, and ribbons — such were the prises prepared for
the most skilful and intrepid bowmen. Many an aged
chasseur encouraged the younger ones by reciting their
own early exploits. The women and maidens of the
district incit^ their husbands, their brothers, their
lovers, by earnest smiles and hearty clapping of their
hands.
A stranger advances into the arena; his bearing is
graceful and noble ; he wears the popular costume, and
carries a crossbow and a gun. With a sure eye and a
steady hand he takes his aim, and carries off most of
the prizes. Guns, pouches, sheep, nosegays, ribbons —
all fall to his lot. He distributes the former among the
poorest of the huntsmen, and divides the gayer part of
the spoil among the maidens who were present ; after
which he is borne along as victor by the peasants, and
required to tell his name. This name is repeated by
the crowd with such joyous and boisterous acclamations,
that they re-echo far and wide through the lofty fast-
nesses of the Tyrol. It was the German prince, the
proscribed rival of Mettemich.
His popularity becarAe so great, that the court grew
alarmed at it, and banished him to a more distant place
of exile. The prince took refuge in Upper Styria, where
for many long years he pursu^ the same rude and pri-
mitive course of life as the mountaineers. He ate and
drank with them, spake their language, sang their songs,
killed the chamois at their head, listened to their com-
plaints, and relieved their misery. He taught them
to manure their fields, to double their harvests, to im-
prove their flocks, and to sell them at the best markets.
He revealed to them the value of many plants and shrubs,
which hitherto they had left unnoticed in their woods and
meadows. For their sakes he made himself practically
acquainted with all that concerns a country life, so that
he became one of the first botanists and agriculturists
in Europe. His scientific discoveries were spoken of
in the Academies of Vienna, Berlin, Paris, and London ;
while his unfailing skill as a marksman brought down
the chamois at a distance of two hundred feet in the
deepest .gorges of the Alps. For above and beyond all
other attainments, he gloried in being a himtsman ; and
he slept upon the snow, wrapped up in his cloak, as
soundly as if he were lying beneath a coverlet of down,
overhung by the damask draperies of a royal couch.
His popularity became still greater in Styria than it
had been in the Tyrol ; and at last he was regarded as
the idol of the whole people throughout Grermany. For-
tunately for Mettemich and the emperor, he had re-
nounced politics ; for if he had not respected the throne,
he might easily have overwhelmed both him and his
366
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL*
minister at the head of a million of peasants, who would
readily hare placed themselves under his command, and
obeyed his orders, whatever they might have been.
An adventure Gt a singular kind, which occurred about
this time, contributed to make this remarkable man a
still fonder object of idolatry to the Styrian race. It
was a bright warm morning in the month of August
At the open window of a country posthouse, situated
near the base of the mountains* there sat an old man
and a young girl, who were talking quietly together.
The maiden was a comely daughter of the Alpine ral-
leys, with long brown hair tinged with a golden hue {
her large eyes gentle, and yet animated in their expres-
sion ; her countenance beaming with health and cheer-
fulness} her tall full form set off by a dose black
spencer. Her companion was the aged master of the
establishment In other days he had been a bold and
skilful horseman, but was now confined by old age and
the gout to the comer of the stove, and was at tUs mo-
ment warming his white hairs in the sunshine, while
he watched his granddaughter's busy fingers as they
stitched a postilion's jacket, which she seemed in haste
to finish. They were alone in the house, and there
was but a single stable-boy left to take care of the
horses. Every other creature belonging to the house*
hold — husband and wife, brothers, servants«>«^ were at
work some way off, cutting the ripe corn and gathering
it into sheaves. Suddenly a caleche with four horset
approaches, and draws up in front of the posthouse.
' The prinoe 1 ' cries out the old man, who has quickly
recognised the illustrious exile. * The prince 1 and
there is not a single postilion at home 1 la the name
of all the saints what shall I do ?'
Meanwhile the traveller, expressing his desire to
proceed as quickly as possible, calls for four horses and
a guide.
* The horses are there,' muttered the old man ; * but
as for the guide, that is another question. That stupid
lout Michael knows no more how to manage four horses
than to command a regiment of hussars t '
The young girl, on seeing her grandfather's perplexity,
seemed to reflect for a moment, coloured up, and then
darted out of the room.
The royal huntsman becomes impatient) and the
old man curses his gout and his advanced age, which
fasten him to his chair, when he would fain fly in the
service of so noble and beloved a prince.
At length a postilion appears, whip in band, booted
and spurred, and looking quite dapper in a new scarlet
uniform. The horses are quickly harnessed ; the posti-
lion leaps into his saddle, and instantly sets off at a ML
gallop.
The prince is pleased at the rapid pace of the horses
and the skill of the young postilion. At the end of the
stage he desires the youth to come and speak to him —
is struck by his gentle manners, his charming counte-
nance, his sweet voice— obtenref him blusUng — and
recognises in him a woman !
* Who art thou, then?' inquired he with a surprise
mingled with deep interest
* I am the daughter of the master of the posthouse,'
replied the young girl, quite disconcerted at being thus
discovered. * Tour royal highness could not wait ; so,'
continued she, her colour heightening as she spoke —
* so I dressed myself like a postboy, and have done my
best'
* Thou hast done rery well indeed, my child,' rejoined
the prinoe in that tone of kindly benevolence which
endeared him so much to the people—* thou hast done
very well ; and I thank thee for thy gracious mode of
serving me. Thou must accept this,' added he, while
holding out a small purse with some gold pieces in it,
* as a proof of my gratitude.'
The maiden looked irresolute for a moment; then
opening the purse, she withdrew a small gold coin, and
kissing it fervently, placed the remainder in the prince'e
hand, saying, ' This piece shall always be precious to
me } but your royal highness must not be displeased at
my reAuing to take any more* I have served yon with
the duteous love which every Styrian woman bean to
you, but not for the sake of a reward.'
The prince looked surprised at this cofurageoos and
noble-minded young girl, and each moment her fine
intelligent countenance grew more attractive in his
eyes. He detained her some minutes in conversation ;
and just as she was about to lead away the horses, he
said to her with an air of gallantry, ' Come, my child,
it would be a pity for us to part so soon. I will retan
back with you; but some one else shall guide the hoisei^
and you shall bear me company in my carriage.'
The young girl blushed far deeper Uian befbfe ; but
this time it was with an air of offended dignity, and she
replied in a resolute tone, * Each one in his own plaoe,
may it please your highness ; thus it is that kings and
shepheniesses preserve their honour.'
On hearing these words, the passing fancy of the
traveller changed into a passion full of re^ieol and
esteem.
' Tour fair fame is as dear to me as my own,' said
he ; * and it depends on you alone whether they shall
for ever be united in one. Toumadeyours^a man to
serve me, and I will make you my wife to h>va you.
Say, shall it not be so?'
The astonishment of the young girl may readily be
conceived ; but she did not appear disconcerted, and
after a moment's consideration, replied with perfect
simplicity, * If you can obtain the emp^tn's oofnsent
and my father's, you shall have mine also, air.'
An hour afterwards, the prince and his postilioo en-
tered the wayside inn, and he formally demanded of the
postmaster his daughter's hand. There waa very little
difficulty in obtaining his consent With the emperor
it was quite another matter.
It was affirmed at the court of Vienna that the sogiut
chasseur was mad, and that he ought to be treated as
such. His highway romance became the theme of
mockery and ridicule ; but he took care to prove tiiat
he was perfectly in his senses. And lert he shoold
prove the strength and the power of his will also, the
emperor of Austria most leluctontly subscribed to the
union of his race with that of a Styrian peasant.
And so the marriage was celebrated, to the great
scandal of the court and to the unbounded joy of the
people of the mountains. From that day forward the
prince was worshipped by the nation, and aooifed at by
the imperial family.
A celebrated painter having taken his likenen in the
costume of a Styrian hunteman, and had it engraved,
the sale of these portraite was prohibited under rigoroos
penalties ; and yet every honest mountaineer oontrived
to have a copy of it which was inyariably placed be-
tween his gun and his crossbow, as being two of his
choicest household treasures. Even in the public places
of Vienna, and on the very boards of the theatre, ^
dress and the habite of the * royal adventurer' wen
represented for the amusement of the courtiers.
All this went on until the revolutionary ontbursl of
the last year. Most fearful was the uphesYing of tbe
political earthquake in Austria. Tlie old empire tottend
to its base; Mettemich fell and fled; the emperor quitted
Vienna ; Italy revolted ; the provinoes detached theoi-
selves from the capital; Germany seemed threatened
with a total dismemberment It was then that a fedend
Diet formed itself at Frankfort, with the view of unit-
ing Germany under one directing central government
This Diet created a vicar-generel of the empire, to whom
it confided the supreme and central power in the name
of the confederation; and it chose for this sovereign '
office the most popular prince of Oemiany— ^e who i
had been proscribed by Mettemich and the emperor ;
the huntsman of the Tyrolean and Styrian mountains ;
the husband of the postmaster's daughter ; in a word, j
the Arohduke John; he who, at the age €i tweoly- ^
seven, had been the conqueror of Napoleon and the
deliverer of Tyrol; who, as a German, at the grand ^
Oologne festival in 1842, had given this memorable ,
f
CHAMBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
W
toast, * No mote Pnugia I no more Austria t hut a strong
amd united Germany!* The Archduke John did not
thrink from the arduous office Msigned to him.
He quitted his country dwelling, and laid aside his
hunter's garb, his crossbow, and his gtUL He raised
the tricoloured standard of Qermanic unity, and en-
tered Frankfort in triumph, with his beloved com-
panion, the daughter of the mountains, at his side —
the who had known so well how to preserve the true
dignity of a woman in her humble life, and who con-
sequently was not daszled by the almost imperial splen-
dour of her present position. It lies not within our
scope to discuss the political wisdom of the mission with
which the archduke was charged by his countrymen :
ours is a humbler task — ^that oi portraying Uie romance
of domestic life in one of the proudest and most ancient
families in Europe. This being aocompUshed, we have
d(Hl&
THE PRAYING INSECTS
* Imagination itself,' says Dr Shaw, * can scarcely con-
ceive shapes more strange than those exhibited by some
particalAr species of mantes,* or praying insects ; and
this peculiarity of form has procured them a name and
reputation which is, we fbar, sadly belied by their fero-
cious and pugnacious habits. The anterior feet, which
are very large, and furnished with a claw, are frequently
extended in a manner which induced the ancients to
believe that the insect possessed the power of divining
or foreshowing events : hence, according to some, arose
the generic name of mantis, which signifies diviner ; but
Griffith, in his supplementary additions to Cuvier*s
* Animal Kingdom,* derives it ftom a Greek word, which
is employed in one of the Idylls of Theocritus to * de*
signate a thin young girl, with slender elongated arms :*
certainly not a flattering comparison for the maiden of
whom the poet sang ; for the mantes (properly so called)
are a most unsightly race, with long lean bodies, fero-
cious countenances, and shapeless wiry limbs.
They are seldom seen beneath a northern sky, but de-
light to dwell in the regions of the sun ; the most north-
ern latitude in which Uiey abound is, we believe, in the
bright plains of Languedoc and the fair Provence, where
the Af. reUpoea obtains the names of devin, prega-dieu^
prieke*di€m, or prie-dieu, from the power which they
BOHSss of raising the long oorslet in such a way as to
rarm a right angle with the abdomen, and of folding the
arms, if we may so call them, across the breast, as if in
the act of prayer. Every land appears to regard them
with the same feelings : the Turk deems that they are
under the especial protection of Allah ; the Hottentot,
though he does not, as has been asserted, worship them,
yet p^s them the highest veneration, draws augurs of
good from their flight, and holds the person on whom
they BMJ chance to alight as pre-eminent in sanctity,
and as the avowed favourite of Heaven ( and the Hindoo
displays the same reverential consideration of their
movements and flights. Whether the inhabitants of
China also deem them sacred we know not, but certain
it is that these * Celestials * so far descend to earthly
thin^ as to amuse themselves with the spectacle of
mantis-fights, for which purpose they are kept sepa-
rately ami oarefuUy in small bamboo cages, and re-
tailed by the Chinese boys, who regularly deal in them
as a marketable commodity. When put together, these
insects, with the most extraordinary gestures, com-
mence a battle, in which the weaker soon falls a victim
to his fellow, who, after a few preliminary movements
of exultation, devburs the body of his fallen foe. Ro^sel,
who paid great attention to t^is singular tribe, observes
that 'their manoeuvres very much resemble those of
hosaars fighting with sabres ; and sometimes one cleaves
the other through at a single stroke, and severs the
head from the body.* He also affirms that he has fre-
onentlv seen the Tomiff mantes, when * newlv disclosed.
attack each other with fury, raising their corslet in the
air, and holding their two anterior feet joined and ready
for combat, as if already longing to
** Meet In mortal ihook.***
We understand that one of the amusements with which
our countrymen in British India endeavour to wile away
the long hours of heat and languor, is that of placing
an unhappy mantis on a table, and fighting it with a
straw, for the purpose of witnessing the caricatured
boxing attitudes into which it throws itself— an amuse-
ment which probably affords more mirth to the * man
of straw ' than to the poor mantis whom he It irritat-
ing.
With regard to the cannibal proi>ensities and mur-
derous disposition towards its own species exhibited by
the mantis, we imagine that such are only seen when
in a state of captivity $ and moreover, that similar
instances of misplaced revenge for ii^jmies inflicted by
man, may be met with in various animals which are,
when at liberty, perfectly peaceful and kindly. We
remember on one occasion seeing a trap in which four
mice had been caught alive in one night, but when
morning dawned, Uie three weakest lay dead, and
partly devoured ; whilst the wretched survivor, who
could not have been impelled by hunger, alternately
endeavoured to effect his escape, and attached, as if in
desperation, the lifeless bodies of his companions.
When watching for its prey, which principally con-
sists of various kinds of flies, the mantis assumes its
sitting posture, and patiently waits, with folded arms,
as before described, until the nnconsoiouA fly comes
within reach; when, with sudden spring, it seizes the
long-wished-for morsel, and conveys it to its mouth,
using the pincer-like claw in the manner of a hand.
But should an ant approach, the mantis, which, like all
other quarrelsome natures, is a sad coward, flies away
in great haste, and with evident signs of consternation.
The genus mantis is subdivide into four distinct
species — namely, mantis, spectrum^ phasma, and phylUum,
Of these the true mantis appears to be the most blood-
thirsty, yet at the same time the most venerated for its
supposed sancti^. The spectrum, as well as the phyllia,
live on vegetable substances: the inhabitants of the
Seychelles islands rear the former as an object of com-
mercial speculation, selling them to collectors of natu-
ral curiosities.
The phyllia are sometimes appropriately called ' walk-
ing leaves;* for not only do the wings resemble leaves in
colour and form, but idso in apparent texture and dis-
position of the nervures } whilst the legs are winged, or
flnned, as it were, with parts which may be perfectly
imitated by tearing away the tissue of a laurel leaf with
the flngers in such a manner as to leave irregular por-
tions attached to the larger veins. It is said to be ex-
tremely difficult fbr the most practised eye to detect
these phyllia when at rest on the bough of a laurel or
orange.
The phasma, again, closely resembles the stalk or
branch of a tree. We speak from experience, well remem-
bering the laugh which turned against us when, after
gazing with doubtful glance at a phyllia, in the first col-
lection we ever saw, which we oould scarcely believe was
not concocted of laurel leaves, as a practical joke at
our expense, we pointed out, what in our ignorance
we thought was a bit of dead stick, which had fallen
accidentally into the case, but which proved to be a
much- valued specimen of P, gigas^ an East Indian insect
eight inches in length.
The dry-leaf mantis (Phgllittm siccinfoiia) resembles,
as its name imports, a withered leaf, and the delusion
is increased by its habits ; for hours it will remain mo-
tionless on the trees, and then springing up suddenly,
indulge in evolutions similar to those of a leaf at the
meroy of the winds. This species is common in South
America, where the natives believe that it is really pro-
duced firom, and attached to, the tree at first, and that,
when arrived at maturity, it loosens itself and files away ;
368
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
a conceit which certainly reiti on a more natural hasis
than the fancifUl idea of the barnacle goose, with which
Britoni formerly delighted to amnte their imaginations.
The eggs of tlie mantis tribe are deposited on the stalks
of plants and shrubs, the clusters, which might be mis-
taken for fruit or some Tegetable excrescence, being
corered by the mother with a glutinous or gelatinous
matter, which dries into a flexible parchment.
THE TRIUMPHS OF OUR LANGUAGE.
BY TBS BKV. JAMK8 OILBOBNC LYONS, LL.D.
[We hare received this flne-tpirlted poem from Philaddphim,
and beg to celum our aoknowledgmente to the gifted author.]
Now gather all our Saxon bardfl.
Let harpe and hearts be strung.
To odebrate the triumphs of
Our own good Saxon tongue ;
For stronger far than hosts that march
With battle-flags unfurled,
It goes, with raaaooM, thought, and troth.
To rouse and rule the world.
Stout Albion learns ita household lays
On erery surf-worn shore.
And Scotland hears it echoing far
As Orkney's breakers roar—
From Jura's crags and Mona's hills
It floats on erery gale,
And wanns with eloquence and song
The homes of InnirfaiL
On many a wide and swarming deck
It scales the rough wave's crest.
Seeking its peeriess heritage—
The frash and fruitful West :.
It climbs New England's rocky'steeps, •
As victor mounts a throne ;
Niagara knows and greets the voice
Still mightier than ita own.
It spreads where winter piles deep snows
On bleak Canadian plains.
And where, on Essequibo's banks.
Eternal summer reigns :
It glads Acadia's misty coasts,
Jamaica's glowing isle.
And bides where, gay with early flowers,
Oreen Texan prairies smile.
It lives by dear Itasca's lake,
Bfissouri's turbid stream.
Where cedars rise on wild Ozark,
And Kansas' waters gleam :
It tracks the loud swift Oregon
Through sunset valleys rolled.
And soars where Califomian brooks
Wash down their sands of gold.
It sounds in Borneo's camphw groves,
On seas of fierce Malay,
In fields that curb old Ganges' flood,
And towers of proud Bombay :
It wakee up Aden's flashing eyes.
Dusk brows, and swarthy limbs—
The dark Liberian soothes her child
With English cradle hymns.
Tasmania's maids are wooed and won
In gentle Saxon speech ;
Australian boys read Crusoe's life
By Sydney's sheltered beach :
It dwells where AfHc's southmost capes
Meet oceans broad and blue.
And Nieuveld's rugged mountains gird
The wide and waste Karroo.
It kindles realms so flur apart.
That, while its praise you sing,
Th€$e may be clad with autumn's fhiits,
And Oum with flowers of spring :
It quickens lands whose meteor-Ughta
Flame in an arctic sky.
And lands Uxt which the Southern Cross
Hangs its orbed fires on high.
It goes with all that prophets told.
And righteous kings desired.
With all that great apostles taught.
And glorious Greeks admired ;
With Sbak^ieare*s deep and wondrous verse.
And Milton's loftier mind.
With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore.
To cheer and bless mankind.
Mark, as it spreads, bow deserta bloom.
And error flees awaj,
As vanishes the mist of night
Before the star of day I
But grand as are the victories
Whoee monuments we see,
Theee are but as the dawn which speakt
Of noontide yet to be.
Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame.
Take heed, nor once disgrace
With deadly pen or spoiling sword
Our noble tongue and race.
Go forth prepared In e wy cUme
To love and help each other.
And Judge that they who counsel strife
Would bid you smite— a broths.
Go forth, and jointly speed the time.
By good men prayed for long.
When Christian states, grown Just and wiee.
Will scorn revenge and wrong ;
When earth's oppressed and savage tribes
Shall cease to pine <x roam.
All taught to priae these English words—
Faith, fbbkdoii, hkavbh , and bomb.
WBIOUINO MACHINBBT AT THE XZHT.
A Tery ingenioos contrivance for weigfanig ooinf delight*
oa most, not havinff aeen it adopted at an j other miat. A
native of Vienna olainiB the invention ; and thoiwh it has
heen in use for some years, it has only just been samcieatly
a^jnsted to be eflfectiuilly used. It consists of some twdve
small scales, suspended on a light beam, and parallel to
each other. The proper weights for the ooina are plaeed
in the outer scales, while the inner ones fMot a slide, with
three horizontal slits before each scale. As the pieces of
coin are slid into the scales, the man turns a wheel, which
raises the whole set of balances up to a certain height,
when the scales are jeiked against the slits: if the coins
are of the proper weight, they are pitched throogfa the
centre slit ; if too heavy, they are shot into the lower ; and
if too light, into the upper. The scales aro now empty, and
on the descent, are again replenished fkom the slides: thus
in a few seconds a dozen coins are weighed and sorted
without one having been touched. It is a very ingetnoos
contrivance, the man's labour consisting merely in tuning
the wheel to elevate the scales, and occasionally to renlenish
with coin the tubes which feed the scales as they bccoBie
cleared. — Pidureafrom the North.
A DINNER-8HOOTINO ARTIST.
That artists arc sometimes grievously hard np in Rome
there can be little doubt. I happened one cold momii^ to
caU upon N-
whose absence from his usual seat at the
Lepri had been remarked by manv of us. Instead of finding
him, as I had anticipated, unusually busT with his chisel^ he
was engaged in shooting his dinner at the open window of
the garret, which commanded an extensive range <rf leads,
tiles, and gutters. His sport, which he pursued in sokma
silence, was the common sparrow, and his weapon a mar
chine much in use among lawyers* clerks when the princi-
pal has turned his back, known by the name of a * puff and
dart,* from wliich any one with a good pair of hongs caa
expel pins with great force. Having knocked over n^rty a
dozen birds, N walked out of the window to ooUeot thesi,
and then plucked and spitted them, enjoying his rqiast
with a thankful relish unknown to those who get a good
dinner every day. — BevanU Sand and Cattvoi,
ACORNS IN SPAIN.
The acorns are still called beliotOy the Arabic boUoi — Uiid
being the Scriptural term for the tree and the gland whIdL
with water, formed the original diet of the aboriginsl
Iberian, as well as of his pig : when dry, the aoons were
ground, say the classical authors, into bread ; and when
fresh, they were served up as the seoond cooraa. And in
our time, ladies of high rank at Madrid constantly ata
them at the Opera and elsewhere : they were the presents
sent by Sancho Panza's wife to the dnoheas, and formed
the text on which Don Quixote preached so doqaently
to the goatherds on the joys and innocence of the Goldea
Age and pastoral happiness, in which the^ constituted the
foundation of the kitcnen. — Ford*s GaUtenng$ in Spam,
Published by W. & R. Chamrbrs, High Street, Bdinbotgh. Al«
sold by D. CRAMSKRa, 80 Argyle Street, Ols^w ; W. & Oaa,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'GLAaaAV. SI D'OUer Strssi,
I>ttbUn^Priated by W. and B. OaAicaaas, Bdinbnigh.
I
I
I
COICDUCTED BT WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHABIBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c
No. 285. New Series.
SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 1849.
Price 1^.
1 1
THE ART OF ROMANTIC FICTION.
The abeence of criticiBm, to which we hare referred,
is perhaps more obvious in Fiction than in anj
other department of our literature.* Everybody writes
lIctiQo: Mt is as easy as lying.' When the boy
and girl have left school, and look around for the first
time upon society, they sit down at once to dash into
three roluroes of an account of its life and manners,
tracing out the springs of action, and anatomising the
sentiments and passions. They know, if they know
anytiung at all, that their theme is philosophy in action,
and their Mr A's and Lady B's the algebra of morals.
Bat, after aU, it is only fiction they aspire to deal with ;
and they have no mistrust of the powers that have
been exercised, from the age of dolls up to that of
sweethearts, in peopling the small area in which they
lived, moved, and had their being, with shadows and
ox>ckeries!
If the authors do not hesitate, why should the re-
viewers? If it is so easy to write fiction, surely it is
stin easier to estimate it when written; and accord-
ingly the journalist, who would look with respectful
suspidon upon a work in philosophy, declares, without
a moment's hesitation, his opinion of a noveL, The opi-
nions, however, with which the public are thus favoured,
are rardy consonant ; and the reason is, that they usu-
ally Sluing from individual tastes or fancies, irrespective
of any general principle of criticism; just as Lamb
might have pronounced Scott to be a confhsed writer,
because he himself was bewildered, rather than inte-
rested, by his narratives. In a recent number of the
* Edinburgh Review,' there is an attempt to generalise
on the subject, introduced in an essay on the 'Iliad' and
* Odyssey,' to which are appended, oddly enough, some
specimens of a romance of the day. The attempt, how-
ever, is partial ; and to us it conveys the idea that the
writer had not sufficiently elaborated his theory, to have
any very distinct notions himself on what he would com-
municate to his readers. He divides works of fiction
'as to their peculiar merits' — ^that is to say, as to
their construction, apart from considerations of sub-
ject and style of composition — ^into those whose prin-
cipal aim is excellence in plot, in character, or in
aceaety. But no novelist, practically speaking, aims at
aoythhig else than to tell his story well and effectively,
huweter his peculiar genius may lead him to excel in
one of the three assumed conditions of success, and fail
in tiie other two. As to that which relates to scenery,
the critic includes in it not only the playhouse proper-
ties of picture, dresses, and other physical appliances,
but the fancies and r«Sections that give its moral co-
loaring to the piece. This involves a manifest error ;
« See ' What fa (Mtloinn?' in last number.
for these two kinds of colouring are not only distinct
in themselves, but in their higher qualities are almost
never found in union. It would in our opinion, there-
fore, answer better the purpose of criticism to consider
the conditions of success as fourfold; namely, plot,
character, moral colouring, and material colouring.
We remember having been much amused by the
ingenious theory touching the production of what may
be called optical mtwio, by presenting certain colours to
the eye in artistical sequence, so as to have a similar
effect to that of the notes of the piano upon the ear.
This silent music was to be pU^ed by the fingers, like
an instrument of sound ; and the beholder was expected
to be softened or stirred by the mystic harmonies of
colour, in the same way, and to the same degree, as if
he was listening to the piece of a master. Fanciful as
the notion may seem, it is not without its foundation in
truth ; and perhaps, when we are more highly educated
in 83sthetics, and our perceptions have become in con-
sequence more acute and refined, men may revert to
the subject as at least a possible means of extending
their enjoyments. A similar harmony is unconsciously
extracted from an extended view of natural objects —
spread out before us, for instance, in a wide and varied
landscape. The picture does not come upon us in one
impression. We separate its parts ; we bring together
its affinities ; we arrange its contrasts and sympathies ;
and the pleasure we receive is in proportion to the
refinement of our taste, and the unconscious skill we
exercise in its gratification. The work of an artist is
of the same kind, but more determinate in its object
He does not collect, but select the parts of the land-
scape. He fixes perhaps upon some special feature;
but even then he is not a mere imitator of the physical
realities before him. The position of a tree, the incli-
nation of a branch, the introduction of a figure, the
form of the clouds, the calm still blue of the heavens-
all these, and a thousand other similar circumstances
as trivial in appearance to the uninspired or uneducated
eye, may give its character to the piece. The artist,
in fact, does by rule what the idle spectator does by
instinct. Were this not the case, he would create — or,
to speak more correctiy, construct — only for his own
gratification; for he would be without his world of
admirers to cheer him on by their applause, and ad-
vance in knowledge and refinement, and in virtue and
happiness, by his aid.
A strict analogy may be traced between the artist in
forms and colours and the writer of fiction. Human
life is the wide and varied landscape from which the
novelist selects his incidents, characters, and hues ; and
on the taste and skill with which these are combined, so
as to form one picture^ depends his success. He is no
more to follow • nature,' as the phrase is— by which is
meant mere physical reality— than the painter. He
370
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
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II
must select, adjiut, interweaye. He most be pottesaed
with a ooDioioiisnesB that the whole of the landscape
before him — in other words, the whole of human life —
is at his disposal ; that he is not a surveyor, or land-
measurer, or statistician} but tiiat» howeyer circum-
scribed maj be the scene he has chosen, it is his
business to take care that there is a sympathy, a har-
mony, a oneness in its parts, which will form a perfect
enckaUemetU of interest in the whole.
In writing biography, or in relating in conrersation
the history of one of our acquaintances, we are not
permitted to sacrifice the true for the sake of artistic
effect, any more than a surveyor is permitted to trans-
form or transpose the parts of an architectural drawing
for the sake of the picturesque. We relate the circum-
stances just as they occurred ; although adorning them,
according to our own taste, with the elegancies of lan-
guage, and flinging upon them the incidental colouring
of sentiment and description. Fiction, however, is
widely different from biography. There we have not
only the colours, but the incidents and their sequence,
at our own disposal, and it is our business to select and
arrange them according to the rules of art This seems
a trite observation ; but we can undertake to say, from
a somewhat wide experience, that it is very rarely
applied. The sequence of incidents, or, in other words.
Plot, is misunderstood even by the critic whom we have
alluded to above. He declares the plot of 'Quentin
Durward,' for instance, to be absurd, when it is in reality
a perfect masterpiece of the art We of course do not
talk of the incidents themselves, but of their sequence
and connection. We do not praise the object in view —
which is simply that of getting a commonplace adven-
turer married to a commonplace heiress — but the skill
exercised in bringing even the most trivial drcum-
stances, as well as the great events of history, to bear
upon that ol^ect Thus, in estimating the science which
has constructed a bridge, we do not take the purpose
of the work into account; for that belongs to an inquiry
of a totally different nature.
An artistically-constructed plot resembles the arch of
a bridge in this : that all its parts are necessary. We
may indulge our taste or fancy as much as we please in
extrinsic ornament ; but the real works of the construc-
tion, whether this be literary or scientific, must form an
indispensable part of the whole. The best test to which
to put a fictitious narrative, is to deprive it of a leading
incident ; and if it stands under the deprivation, its con-
struction is not artistic, and it must be condemned in
point of plot An illustration of this fact may be found
in the works of nature herself. An imperfect animal
(such as a centipede) may have any number of limbs
the trunk will carry, and in many tribes the loss of a
limb is attended with no inconvenience, and, indeed,
with no permanent derangement even of symmetry,
since it grows again. But as we ascend in the scale of
being, the Great Architect is not so lavish. The limbs
become fewer as they become more valuable; and in
the most perfect of all developments they are in exact
proportion to the requirements and necessities of the
species. The human body resembles a perfect fiction,
where all the parts are necessary, congruous, and sym-
metricaL
It is curious that Scott himself the greatest master
of plot in our language, was not aware ol its value in
fiction.* But the gifted novelist wanted a philosophical
* It must be admitted that the fourth rolume of the * Heart of
Mid-Lothian* haa hardly any ommeotioa with the plot: bat it
appean to hare beeo written merely to fiU up to the length of
the former wriee, and for the sake of pecimiary gain.
and inquiring mind, just as Uie world-renowned author
was. destitute of a sense of the intellectual grmndeor of
literature. Among the novels he commends most highly
as novels is * Marriage ;' a work which, thoof h aboood-
iog in character, fulfils no otiier oondition of the ficti-
tious narrative. In < Marriage,* the heroine is brought
up in the Highlands of SootUnd. having been deserted
by her fashionable mother. In due time she repairs to
London to seek this parent, and is met with coldne« or
dislike. She falls in love with a gentleman, wboee
mother desires their union ; but the fear that her suitor
is influenced only by sentiments of filial obedieooe,
makes her hesitate; till at length, being accideiitally
convinced of his affection, the marriage tidces {daoe, mad
the story ends. This is the plot of * Marriage.' ETerjF-
thing else in the book is extraneous. The sketches of
character throughout, however, are striking, and aome-
times excellent; and the reader, led on from oae to
another, fancies he is interested in the narrative, tili
on looking back at the end he sees only some uoooo.
nected groups or individuals dotting the distanoe io hk
memory.
If Character were the most important oosditiao of
success, we should have to place various ooDtempora*
neous names above that of Scott Scott never reached
the philosophical depth either of Godwin or Bulwer
Lytton (two completely opposite writers); and there
are several of the characters of Dickens and lliackeray
which would lose little by comparison with those <rf the
Waverley Novels. Scott, in fact, may be said to stand
higher as a painter of manners than of charaoter; bet
it is the completeness of his fictions as works of art—
the indestructible web, so to speak, of their story—
which, notwithstanding some deficiencies in charactn,
and at least moral colouring, place him at the head of
the artists of this century, and will make the wofld
recur to him again and a^^ when suooessive sdioois,
after fiourishiog for a while, sink and disappear. This
distinction between character and mannete wee IbU
before the time of Soott by Johnson ; althoo^ ie the
illustration he gives, the conversational orac^ M^pem
to confound elaboration with profundity, preferring ^
surface -carving of Richardson to the artistical com-
pleteness of Fielding. * There was as great a dif&renes
between them,' says he, * as between a man who knew
how a watch was made, and a man who conld tdl the
hour by looking on the dial-plate I' Bat Johnsoa felt
the philosophical fkot, though mided in its mpflbmtkm
by his customary prejudice, and he shows why mumtn
will alwavs have the advantage in popularly over cha-
racter ; characters of manners being * understood by a
more superficial observer than characteis df nature,
where a man must dive into the recesses of the humsa
heart'
We are not sure, indeed, that character, in the hi^iest
sense of the term, belongs to prose fiotitiotta narrative
at all Manners are the material indication and ee^
ward garb of character, and have their natoni plaot iea
story of the events of human life; but Uw depttie of Hh
mind can only be explored and revealed in m mefc^tfay-
sical essay or a poem. * Macbeth * — * Othello * — ' Xeer'—
these are narratives, and in a certain sense motiolafBeSi
of character.^ In them all things are subordinate to a
single end. The design is not so much to relate a slsrf
of human life, as to dive into the arcana of the faeasa
mind. Thepersonsof the drama are brought iafiirths
purpose of ministering to one personage; aad the aotiae
is described, not as interestinf in itself hut aese^ as
the vehicle of an idea which could not otberwiM bs
revealed to the senses. In prose fiction, characfesr—
always speaking of it in the highest sense of the tenn-
is never duly appreciated, otherwise * MandeviUe,' Ibr
instance, woi^d not now lie buried in the dust of a seen
of years. The only reason that need be given is, Hiet it
can neither in itself fulfil the oooditioBs of rpmaaos, nor
consent to the conunon rules of co-operation.
After plot and character comes Moral Cokumng, ia
which the author sometimes appean as ao*interpieter
I
CHAMBEESPB EDINBUItGH JOURNAL.
S71
I
I
I
of esoteric cymbolg, and flometimet teayerws the fto^e
lilae Abe cboriM of a Ganeek tsage^, tthe popular ezprei-
aoa of Intdligeaoe and ijnqpathy. Thk ia a more
ia|Mrtaiit yast of the fictitioiis narratiTe than it would
at Ani ai^it afipflair ; and the reason is, IMt its mode
«C opecatloB is not alnraf s obvious. It would be easy
to dispute a direct pcopositioB, cr guard against a false
ooroUaiy; but 4be mond colouring is sometimes so
clssdy inteiworen in the action described, that its
muQe as iBapenseptihle. The slightest possible ezagge-
EBlioii, for instance, will not unfrequently make a
virtHna action ri^Qcoloas. The coHouring is thus given
to the mode of representing circumstances, as weU as
in a:v«ywed aeirttments and comments, and may be de-
serihed as being reflected thvough the prism of the
author's indiridinality. This affMs a very tempting
outlet for self-«steem. Toung writers, whos young per-
sons, alwafv begin with novels and moral essays — ^tiie
verf tilings of t^ others which they cannot by posd-
U^ know anything about; and wlien they bet^e
themselves to fiction, they can never refrain from £»-
voucing tiie worid with cbokse bitsaf their idioqrncrasy.
The tine has been, indeed, idaen this aecessory to fic-
tion was eatcomod capable of anfflcmc^ te aU, and when
sentimental novels weite supposed to require little or
no aid fnat plot, character, or material oolouring. In
fioott tUs nrie is reversed. His sentiment is neitiier
pfefound nor always even corseet. fie does not reason,
bat Aeaetibe. His fidd is action, not tiieui^t He
knew intuitively that the exterior Hfe was 1^ province
of romsnec, a^ that when romance went dei^er, it
atr^red iota the bounds of poetry. But ^bie Mne must
not be harshly drawn* ISmr there will always be a de-
bafteable ground between the two regions of art : and
btre waa tlie weak point of 6oott in his literary cha-
racter, te his poems themselves are merely romances in
The Material Colouring is to fiction what the scenery,
dressra, and decorations are to the drama; and the
gTMtest living master in this department of the art —
£tf superior even to Seett (though far hiferior to Defoe)
—4s tfas American nofelist Cooper. Knowing nothing
of the requirements of plot, and very littie of manners ;
with hardly the fidntest notion of ethograf^y, or the
depictmcnt of mental character, and destitute of the
depth of mind required in moral o^uring, it is wonder-
lol hofw much he does, even in nairative, bythe mere
aid eC scenery. The desert and the ocean seem in his
hands endowed with life; their phenomena are tiie
material agents of the ttcvy ; and the human beings
who wand^ over their bosom seem hardly necessary as
a point of haman interest The vessel at sea, or the
wagon in the praiiis, is the true personage of the piece;
and even if we were to divest these of every connection
with sodal Uls, they would still rivet our sympathy.
Though so great, however, in the distinct branch of the
»t now refored to, Cooper is so poor even in character
ef flumners, that the Americans themselves, if we may
judge from a satirical poem recently published, begin
to turn his pretensions as to this essential condition of
romantic fiction into ridicule*
Material ook>uring, however, has been devated in
point of art by younger writers, althougli not rendered
more subseirient to the purposes of fictitious narra-
tive. The pantheistic tendency of poetry has encroached
upon the region of romanoe ; and tiie sights and sounds
of nature are now endowed with a mystical meaning,
wUefa, however adapted for the inner life, must diminish
the cflbot of those external incidents that are the staple of
fiction. Dickens is a master in this way ; but the more
extravagant be is in the acoessory, the less successful
be b in the art His reputation as a novelist will, in
our opinion, rest ultimately upon * Oliver Twist' and
* HiohoUs Niddeby ;' the overcharge in the kind of
coknring alluded to, so obvious in his more recent pro>
dnctions (not to mention iheit comparative inferiority
in plot and manners), injuring them as works of art
We have now glanced rapidly at the prindptd condi-
tions of romantic fiction ; and if we only Temeaolber that
the main subject of this department of art is a narration
qf events, we shall be at no loss to conclude that plot is
the most important of aU. It is no excuse for a story
inartistically constructed, that its incidents are true. If
they are incapable of standing alone in their sequence,
why present tiiem in the form of a fiction ? This cannot
arise from our respect for the true, but from our con-
founding the true wit^ the nsturaL The truth of
romsooe, however, is the truth of poetry, 'ttie truth ef
nature, and not the truth of individual facts. Neither
sketches of character and manners, nor moral and mate-
riid colouring, however good in themselves, will make a
good romance. A painter of figures might as well de-
pend upon his flesh-tints, drapery, and back-ground,
without a knowledge of anatomy. 3E^ot is the bones,
sinews, musdes of the piece, and the other conditions
give beauty and finish to the whole. We cannot give
up too mudi to plot ; but the rest must be kept in due
subordination, and toned down when necessary, so as
to contribute to the general effect
Let us not be told that fictions tuoceed when they are
mere sketches of character — ^mere sentimental rhapso-
dies— mere descriptions of scenery; for we are not
pointmg out the way to popularity, but to improvement
in art ; and not depredatmg the merit of ethologists
and oolonrists as such, but denying that they are, in
the large sense of the word, artists. The fetters we
would impose upon the novelist are not restrictions
upon genius any more than the rules of the drama, of
epic poetry, of pictorial art, or of the other provinces of
taste. We would only suggest that there can be no
steady improvement in any of these departments with-
out weoretical Imowledge, and that it is the duty of
criticism, as the handmaid of art to profibr her assist-
ance in the misty aspirations, the convulsive throes,
and instinctive graspings of genius. The present would
seem to be a favourable time. The Germans, in their
search after the mystical, have stumbled upon the na-
tural, and borne the first torch of discovery into that
magnificent mine, rich in all the more elegant and gem-
like treasures of mtellect Systematised by them almost
into a science, sesthetics, or the philosophy of art is
now extending throughout the whole woM of ta^;
ukd criticism, though not SBstiietics — though nothing
so high and holy — ia based upon its laws, and bows
reverently to its authority. Let criticism, then, prevent
the waste of mind that has so long been going on. Let
romantic fiction, under its tutelage, share in that pro-
gress which has now become an almost universal law ;
and let a department in literature, only second to epic
poetry, assume a position of corresponding dignity.
L.B.
THE LADY OF LOUDTJN.
BT DUDLEY COSTELLO.
About the end of October, some six or seven years ago,
I was returning homeward from the south of France,
afler passing a part of the autumn in the Pyrenees.
My only companion was a puppy of that famous breed
of Pyrenean watchdogs, in whom the wolf finds a deadly
antagonist, and the bear a formidable foe. But at that
time there was nothing very fierce in the appearance of
Oave — such was the name it bore, in memory of the
mountain torrent beside which it was bom — ^for it was
only three weeks old, and travelled very comfortably
in one of those round baskets which the B^arnaise pea-
sants use to carry their eggs in to the market of Fau.
As the basket was rather cumbrous, I found, after the
experience of the first four-and-twenty hours, that it
would be as well for my own comfort if I placed Gave
under the care of the conducteur, and to that functionary
I accordingly consigned her, leaving myself nothing to
look after but my own comfort. The route I chose from
Bbrdeauz was by the steamer down the Gironde as far
372
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I
M
il
as Mortagne, where I took the diligence to Saintet, and
from thence by waj of Niort to Poitiers. Nothing more
remarkable occurred before I reached the antiquated
capital of Poiton than a furious cold, which I caught
en route from keeping the window open all night on my
side, in consequence of the disagreeable proximity of a
young priest who got into the diligence at Lusignan,
and who certainly could have had nothing in his person
to charm the fairy Melusine, the tutelar genius of that
romantic spot, unless her olfactory nenres were French
overproof. At Poitiers a grand fair was being held, and
it was with some difficulty I could find a bedroom to
spare at the Hotel de France where we stopped ; but as
I wanted one more on account of my four-footed com-
panion than on my own, I succeeded at last in getting
the necessary accommodation, locked up Gave for the
day, and devoted the whole of the time I was to remain
at Poitiers in Tisiting the countlees relics of antiquity
for which the old city is so remarkable. In the evening
I resumed my journey towards Saumur on the Loire,
and a little after midnight arrived at Loudun.
The occasions are few on which I have been more
impressed with a feeling of solenm awe than during
the half hour I stayed at Loudon ; for so long did it take
to obtain the relay that was to convey ua the next stage,
and to receive the only passenger, who certainly did not
appear to be in any extraordinary hurry. In the mean-
time, such traveRers as had started from Poitiers with
me had been set down at difierent places on the road ;
and when the tired horses were taken out of the heavy,
lumbering diligence, and I was left alone in the wide
market-place, with the bright moonlight casting the
towers of tiie old church of St Pierre into deep shadow,
and throwing a ghastly Ught on the tall houses oppo-
site, it seemed as if no efibrt of memory were necessary
to bring vividly before me the scene of cruelty which,
two hundred years before, had been perpetrated there,
when Urbain Grandier, accused and convicted of witch-
craft, but in reality the victim of priestly tyranny, was
burned in the squarQ on which I was now gazing. Gould
we recall, or were we acquainted with the events which
have happened wherever, in the course of our wander-
ings, we may chance to have paused, no doubt the
recollections might be as melancholy as they proved to
be on this occasion ; for where is the spot of earth un-
profaned by crime more or less recent ? But even those
places with which we are most familiar depend in a
great degree upon Uie aspect under which they are
presented to us for the impression whioh they produce.
In the broad light of day other influences are at work :
we argue more coolly, we take things more as a matter
of course than at any other time; but when, unex-
pectedly, and in the dead hour of night, the memory of
deeds of blood forces itself upon us, it meets with a very
difibrent reception. It was for this reason, I suppose,
that the fate of Urbain Grandier had so much bold upon
my imagination at that moment.
The uncomfortable foeling which I have described
was gaining ground very rapidly, when the clattering
sound of horses* hoofs and the postilion's rude voice
of encouragement luckily dispelled them. Our cattle
were put to with the usual noise which accompanies
the yoking of a team, or anything else, in France ; but
before we started for Fontevrault, the steps of the dili-
gence were let down, and the door was thrown open by
the conducteur, to admit the person who was to occupy
the interior with me for the rest of the night The
night appears to be considered the most propitious of
all seasons for travelling in France, and indeed gene-
rally on the continent ; and whether the diatanriea be I
long or short, the public conveyances always set out at
the most inconvenient hours. Perhaps locomotioQ is ao
much less natural to them than to ouradvea, that tfaej
try to get over it in their sleep. Their own excme ia»
that it saves time ; and so it does, if you are fit for any-
thing next day, after travelling all night in a diligeiioe.
I did not, however, question the propriety of the ar-
rangement at Loudun when I found that my compa-
nion was a female, and as far as I could judge by the
glimpse I got of her figure, young and well formed.
The conducteur, with customary politenesa, aaaiated her
into the diligence, and then handed to her somethinf
covered over with a handkerchief which had great^
the appearance of a lurd-cage ; nor could I have muca
doubt of the fact when I heard the lady utter m chirp-
ing sound, and desire Coco ' rester bien teanqoiUe.'
* A canary,' thought I ; * it's a pity that my pet is not
inside too.' But I consoled myself with the refledaoa
that she was most probably fast asleep in her basket ia
the sheltered cabriGlet overhead.
The terrific rattle of the wheds of the diligence
through the deserted streets of Loudun totally pre-
cluded all attempts at conversation, even had eitli^ of
us been so inclined *, and when the carriage waa £urly
ofi* the pavif each seemed more disposed to entertain a
previous current of thought than to excite a new one.
For my part, I insensibly got back to poor Urbain
Grandier, and waa speculating on the probable fate of
his cruel persecutors, when» hidf an hour perhaps having
elapsed, I was disturbed from my reverie by aome dkxjps
of water falling on my hand. I looked about me to
ascertain the reason, and could just see, by the waning
light of the moon, that the bird-cage which my feUow-
traveller held on her knee had slightly Ulted oo one
side, though her hands still rested on it, and that the
water which was meant for the bird waa drc^>ping
upon me.
For the better explanation of our relative positiona, I
ought to mention tnat the lady and myself aat on tiie
same side, the back seat of the carriage, which left oar
limbs more at liberty, and gave each of ua the neat
comfortable comer.
* Pardon, madame,' said I, addressing my oompanioot
' I am afraid yoiur cage will fall : permit me to rqslaaa
it.' The lady offered no objection, but neither rallied
nor stirred, not even to raise her handa; ao I fixed the
cage in an upright position as well as I could. * She is
sleepy, I suppose,' said I to myself my vanity p^tiag
the bc»t construction on her indifference. * WeQ, I will
try to follow her example.'
I accordingly crossed my feet on the seat oppoute ;
and setting myself well back, prepared to court the
drowsy god, who genially shuns me when I trav^ at
night I think I should soon have been suooeasfnl, for
in a very short time that sense of indistinotoeas which
precedes sleep began to steal over me; but before it bad
quite obtained the mastery, I was again diatarbed by
the dripping of water, which this time foirly tridded
through my clothes. I felt excessively annoyed, not
only on account of the humidity, which made rae foel
very uncomfortable, but because the ni|^t itself was
exceedingly cold ; and it was with somethins^ of asperity
in my tone that I said, in a louder key than I had asad
before, * YoiU qui est bien g^nant, madame ; preBci
garde h votre oiseau, je vous prie ; je auia toat-^fiol
mouiUe.'
But neither by word nor sign did the lady show the
slightest consciousness of my having again adiliieaml
her.
* If people wiU go to sleep in public carriagea,' I mot-
tered, * they ought at anyrato to be carithl not to
annoy their fellow-travellers I '
TMs truism, however, f<^ harmlesa on the ear oC the
sleeper ; and seeing that there was nothing to be ^ot
from her, I resolv^ to take the renae^y into mj awn
hands. Leaning forward, Umefore, I tzted to withdrw
the bird-cage from ito place on the lady's kaeees ha%
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
373
ihe h^ it 8o tightly, that I could not release it, though
I employed a Httie gentle force to accompliah my pur-
pose.
* Very singnlar/ thought I, ' that she should sleep
so soundly. Why, the fluttering of the hlrd would
hare awakened me /*
But the lady was still, and so now was the canary ;
for as I had given the thing up as a bad job, it had re-
covered its equilibrium on its perch, though the cage,
like the Tower of Pisa, h»i lost ito i>erpc»Ddicular.
Luckily, however, for me, all the water had oozed out,
so I once more leaned back in my comer.
Though the roads in this part of the country are,
generally speaking, Tery good, inequalities sometimes
occur; and this I imagine must have been the case
when we got to about a league and a-half iVom Fon-
terrault, for I suddenly felt a violent jerk, which not
only completely woke me up, but threw my companion
heavily upon my shoulder, where she lay with all her
weight
* Well,' said I, ' this is rather too bad : * can't she sleep
in her own comer? People have no right to go to
sleep who can't keep their balance.' Saying which
I tried to raise her ; but she was as heavy as lead, and,
embarrassed as I was with my cloak, I could not stir
her.
* Madame !' shouted I in her ear as loud as I could ;
*savez-Tous, madame, que vous m'ecrasez? Ayez-la
boote, madame, de vous relever.' But I might as well
have talked to a stone : there she lay like a log, and
the villanous bird-cage still in her lap. Presently a
thought struck me: I remained for a few moments
perf^tly still, and listened attentively — I could not
hear her breathe ! I hastily put my hand on her side ;
bat there was no sign of respiration : I grasped her
hands ; they were clinging to t^e bird-cage, and as cold
ac ice : I felt her pulse ; it was gone !
' Gracious Heaven !' I exclaimed, * the lady is dead ! '
As quick as thought I raised her then, and kept her
body upright ; but Uie head fell heavily forward. In
vain I eagerly chafed her hands, untied the strings
of her bonnet, and strove by every means in my power
to restore animation : every effort was useless. Failing
in these endeavours, I threw down one of the carriage-
windowa, and thrusting out my head, cried at the top
of my voice to the postilion to stop. The man seemed
at first uncertain whence the direction prooeeded : he
looked right and left, then up to the place where the
oonductenr sat, and last of all he turned his head
towards me.
* Qn'est-oe-qu'il y a, monsieur?* he said, bringing up
his horses as sharply as he could.
* CoDdncteur, conducteur ! * I called out : ' descendez
vite ! II y a une dame qui meurt ! '
* Sapristi ! ' shouted the conducteur, tumUing rather
than jumping from the cabriolet, where he had been
doping; * qu'est-ce que vous dites, monsieur?*
' Venez voir,' said I ; and he rushed up to the
door.
' Bring a light, if you have one,' I cried. * I fear
soraething dreadful has happened I *
* Dam I' he exclaimed; * ah, 9a, o'est done du serieux ! *
Although the moon had shone brightly when we left
LoaduD^ she was in her last quarter, and the conducteur
had not emitted the precaution of lighting the lamp in
front of the diligence. He hastily ran back and brought
it, and I was then able to see the features of my fellow-
&»veUer. They were as pale as marble, and perfecUy
rigid ; the eyes were filmy and staring, and the mouth,
from which there came a slight moisture, was partly
optm ; her hands, as I had before imagined, were firmly
cseoched in the wires of the bird-cage. Again I felt
her pulse, her throat, her heart ; but nothing stirred.
The conducteur did the same. We looked at each other
io silence. At length, after screwing up his mouth and
shrugging his shoulders, he spoke : * Ma foi ! * said he,
* pas de doute qu'elle est morte ! Quel accident I '
* What's to be done ?' I asked. * Let us get on as
quickly as we can. Perhaps if she were bled she might
revive. How far is it to Fontevrault ? *
* A league and a-half,' was his reply, as he shut the
door again, climbed up to his seat, and gave the word
to the postilion to drive on ventre h. terre.
Away we went with the speed of light, my dead com-
panion and I, like Lenore and her lover, only the situa-
tions were reversed :
* Hurrah ! the dead oan ride with speed ;
Doet fear to ride with me ? ' ^
I did not actually fear the corpse, but there was some-
thing particularly unpleasant in the t^te-a-tSte, and I
felt inexpressibly relieved when, in the gray of the
morning, wc dashed into the village of Fontevrault, and
pulled up at the Croix Blanche.
The landlord of the inn, expecting the diligence, was
already stirring ; but if such had not been the case, the
conducteur and I made noise enough to wake the whole
household, who soon came crowding round us.
Unfortunately we found Fontevrault so poor a place
that no medical man resided there, not even the smallest
apothecary. The only hope of assistance was at the
Maison de Detention, once the celebrated abbey where lie
the remains of the most famous of the Angevine race of
English kings, Henry IL and his son Coaur de Lion,
witih Eleanor of Guienne and Isabella' of Angoul^me.
We knocked loudly at the porter^s lodges but whether
it arose from sheer obstinacy, from uawiUingrness to
take the trouble, from a suspicion that some trick was
afoot for effecting the release of the prisoners, or from
whatever cause, the old concierge, who replied to us
through a half-opened lattice, turned a deaf ear to our
request that the surgeon of the prison might be sent
for.
*S'il y a quelqu*un de mort Ih-bas,' said he; Me
roedecin ne pent pas le gucrir; si, par hasard, votre
individu est toi^ours vivant il se guerira lui-m£me.'
And with these words he closed tho window, and
crawled back to bed again.
Further examination had in the meantime convinced
everybody who looked on the unfortunate lady that the
brutal old concierge was right, and that the skill of the
most accomplished surgeon in Europe coold do nothing
in suoh a case.
Hie next question was, the necessity for drawing up
a prooia vei^bal; but the village, which could not iMast
of a doctor, did not contain a single legal official, not
even a stray gendarme. It was necessary that the body
should be taken on to Saumur, the chtf-Ueu of the dis-
trict ; besides, the conducteur was anxious to get on to
deliver his mail-bags. It was necessary also that I
should accompany it, being the principal witness in the
unhappy affair. To this I made no objection, as Sau-
mur was the place of my destination ; but I did object
very strongly to continue an inside passenger. But
even for tlds there was no help, as there was no room
for me in the cabriolet beside the conducteur. Being a
cross-country diligence, constructed on a pattern which
few are acquainted with who liave not traversed the
cross-roads in the heart of France, it was provided only
with a narrow seat, with a hood to it, that with diffi-
culty admitted of the addition of Gave in her basket
Reluctantiy, therefore, and with the worst grace ima-
ginable, I re-entered the vehicle, choosing, however, the
remotest comer from that which was occupied by the
stiff and ghastly corpse, now fully revealed in the
dull light of morning.- To sleep, or even turn my eyes
away, I found to be impossible ; and for two long hours
— ^mortal ones they might well be called — I sat gazing
on my dreary neighbour, obliged every now and then
to steady the body in its place lest it should roll off the
seat.
At the octroi of Saumur, the douaniert^ always on the
look-out for articles to pay duty, thrust their heads into
the diligence, demanding to know if there was anything
to declare.
* VoiU de la contrebande/ said I, pointing to the dead
I '
374
CHAMB£B6*S EDmBUBGH JOUB^AL.
body ; * li jamais il en fut ; mais je croia qne tooa las
droits soieot pay^s.*
The proems verbal before the mayor of Saumor added
nothing to the details of this adrentore, and the next
day Gave and I pursued our journey.
THE UNITED STATES AS AN
EMIGRATION FIELD.
It would be dangerous to trust to the impartiality of
the ordinary books addressed to intending emigrants.
They are almost always recommendations of some par-
ticular fieldi to which ilie author is attached by pecu-
niary interest, family ties, or even the mere circum-
stance of temporary residence. The honesty of the
writers — and some of them are known to ourselves to
be men of strict honour — is by no means decisive as
to the value of their representations ; for the proverbial
deceit of the human heart acts upon itself as well as
externally. Thus the biographer identifies himself
with his hero, and becomes an advocate ; and thus the
author attaches himself to the country he describes,
and is metamorphosed into an emigration touter.
A little book that has just come in our way — one of
the liberal shilling's worths of this vulgar era— proceeds
upon a different plan.* The comj^er does not confine
himself to one emigration field, and he makes no pre-
tensions to personal knowledge of those he describes.
His oliject is to sift and compare the testunonies already
given, and lay the body of digested evidence before
the public, so as to enable everybody to judge for
himself. Now the value of a work of the kind must
of course depend upon the merit of the author as re-
gards industry and judgment; and as the name of
Sidney Smith is familiar to most people as that of a
writer and thinker of more than a score of years' stand-
ing, it would seem to be some guarantee for his fitness
for the task. But for our own part, we must honestly
confess that we were attracted to the book at the outset
by its great literary superiority over other productions
of the class. The compiler is, obviously, a practised
writer, a working author, and is as much at home in
reasoning as in describing, in philosophy as in bare
statistics. The introduction pronounces a eulogy upon
colonies as a refhge even for the imagination, which
will show what we mean :— * Colonies are ** the world
beyond the grave ** of disappointed hopes. The anti-
podes are the terrestrial future, the sublunary heaven
of the unsuccessful and the dissatisfied. The weaver
in his Spitalfields garret, who tries to rusticate his
fancy by mignionette in his window -box, and bees
in the eaves, bathes his parched soul in visions of
prairie fiowers, and a woodbine cabin beside Arcadian
cataracts. The starving peasant, whose very cottage is
his master's, who tills what he can never own, who
poaches by stealth to keep famine from his door, and
whose overlaboured day cannot save his hard-earned
sleep from the nightmare of the workhouse, would often
become desperate, a lunatic, or a broken man, but for
the hope that he may one day plant his foot on his own
American freehold, plough his own land, pursue the
chase without a license through the plains of Illinois
or the forests of Michigan, and see certain independence
before himself and his children. The industrious trades-
man, meritorious merchant, or skilful and enlightened
* The Settler's New Home : or the Emlgnmt's Looftiion, heing a
Guide to Bmigntnts in the ■deoiion of a Settlement, and the Pre-
liminary Details of the Yojage. By Sidney Smith. London : John
Kendriok. 1848,
pfofessionBl man, jacked pOThaps by tiie mere chanoe
of tiie war of competition out of his panlldogfmm,
and exhausting his strength and very life in the wain
struggle to get back again into a position alreadyiUled ;
compelled by the tyranny of social convention to main-
tain appearances unsuited to t^e state ot his pune;
plundered by bankrupt competitors or inaolveot cus-
tomers, and stripped of hia sabstance by high ptioes
and oppressive taixation, would often beoome the dssi-
gerous enemy of society or of government, but for ttie
consideration tliat, in South Africa, in America, in
Australia, or New Zealand, he may find repose from
anxiety in independence, rude and rough thou^ it may
be, emancipation from the thraldom of conventioii, and
an immunity from any compulsion to keep up appear-
ances, and tO'Seem to be what he is not.'
The motives for emigration are afterwards esamiaed
in detail, and its general advantages stated ; then the
subject of colonisation is discussed; and we at length
arrive at the emigration fields, after having gone
through the necessary preliminaries of mode of transit,
choice of a ship, and the voyage and t^ie sea. In tiie
present volume, which we presume is only a part of
a whole, the author oonfines himself to Caoada and
the United States? and we siiall give opt readeta a
specimen of the kind of information conveyed on tiw
latter part of this wide and interesting subject
The eastern, or New England states, which extend
from the sea to the Alleghany Monntaina, are distin-
guished by rigorous winters and torrid heats in sununef.
They are the oldest and most populous distiicta of the
Union ; and although, firom the sudden eztreDoea of the
climate, subject to consumption and otber palrooiiaiy
affections, are favourable to European energy and pliTii-
cal development. They are the more open as a Add
for our labourers and artisans from the migratory habits
of the Yankees, who wander into other districts where
they think to become their own mast^ns. At Loag
Ishmd, New York, according to Cobbett, tiiere is not
a speck of green from December to May; and yet
in June the crop and fhiits are as in Bngland, and tiie
harvest a full month eariier. mie people, however, m
more sallow and spare than with us, although for this
our author blames mainly the dietary arrangemcats of
the country. * The abundance and univenai acces-
sibility of everything that can provoke tiie f^^^
the long sauce and short sauoe, the preserves and tniita,
the infinite varieties of bread, i^ baked in a way to lie
heavy on the stomach, the endless array of wines and
liquors, the interminable diversities of meats, taken at
least three times every day, acthig upon a people whose
brain runs away with the nervous energy required by
the stomach to digest sueh high-seaaoned meals, gite
the assimilating organs no chance of fair play at sH
Dr Caldwell tells us that the amoont of sheer traih
swallowed every week by an American, is greater tion
would be consumed in a year by an inbibitaat of
Europe.'
Mr Smith is inclined to giv« the pref^renee to m
eastern over the western states as a field of em^n^ioa
for persons without capitaL * Gardeners, weU-tndned
agricultural labourers, good wagoners, would al«rsys
find full employment in the east at fair wages, poMlm
numep. They would have to encounter no privatioos,
and run litUe risk of disease. They would be snr-
rounded with superior comforts, a great security for
health, and endure none of the hardships of inexpe-
rienced persons in a new country. A good house, netf
markets, medical attendance, and the accessories of
civilisation to which they have been accustomed st
home, they would be sure to meet. They would not,
indeed, rise to the position of proprietors of land easily,
or so soon eoMUoeipate themselves from service; but
1-^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
375
I
BerYice i« only an eril where It it coupled with depend-
ence and precarioot employment. . . . SkilM car-
penters, millwrights, blacksmiths, shipwrights, shoe-
makers, hatters, engineers, tailors, would never hare
any difficulty in procoring good engagements in the
east ; and although the cost of food and rent is higher
tfiere than in the west, they get money wages, and pro-
cure clothing and many other articles cheaper than in
the west.' The wages of mechanics are ftom L.2 to
L.2, lOs. per week, and those of labourers from 48. to
5s. per day. Women earn Ss. per day at farm work,
l^e factories are * models of elegance and comfort;*
iBd the workpeople, both men and women, have almost
alirays sums of money out at interest. But this is
better still — * A journeyman brassfounder, writing from
Sdienectady, states he earns 6s. per day, and pays 16s.
per week for board and lodging for self and wife, with
meat three times a day, stei&s and chops for breakfast,
with poric sausages and hot buckwheat cakes, with tea
•nd eoflbe, stewed peaches, apples, pears, wild honey,
sadmolassee!'
The western states extend from the Alleghany to
the Rocky Mountains ; and their climate raries, accord-
ing to geographical position, from six weeks to Hre
months of winter. Ohio is an eminently agricultural
state ; and the population, comparatively dense, are of
a dnxnt, quiet, mral character. Towards the south it
produces wine, silk, and tobacco, and has the roads,
canals, and railways, farm -buildings, markets, inns,
drarches, and sdiools of a highly-civilised country. As
a matter of course, the land is higher, and the wages
bwer than in places less favourably situated ; but still
there is abundance of employment of various kinds for
t)ie labouring or operative emigrant.
minms is considered the chief of the western states
is regards agriculture ) but having been more recently
settled than Ohio, it presents fewer social advantages.
*Rut Its dimate is far superior— in a six weeks' winter,
a lengthened and beautiful spring, a productive sum-
mer, and a delightM autumn. Less rigorous, and uni-
formly milder in all its seasons than the neighbouring
states, in that alone it holds out unrivalled advan-
tages ; but when to these are added a greater quantity
of uniformly fine soil, of unbounded fertility, than any
oitber of the same extent in the worid, and vast prairies
of attuvial mould rea()y at once fbr plough and seed, we
have said enough to prove it to be the very best of
locatlcns for the emigrant.' Live-stock Is never housed
— tiie dimatedoei not require it; and game and fish
are abundant and excellent. Timber for building is so
plentiful that houses are cheap. * Oood boaM and
lodging can be had for persons even of the middle ranks
fbr Lu26 per annum ; and the ways and means of life
are so inexpensive and accessible, that, except to the
fiatidious and finical, the settler may be said to be
relieved ttom all but the merely imaginary cares of lifb.'
Money is here the grand desideratum. It fetches 25 per
cent ; -but this <^ itself shows that everything else must
be low, and that the value of money, therefore, in any-
thing more than trifling sums, must be only imaginary.
To grow rich in money in such a place is difficult, if
not impossible ; but a rude yet luxurious independence
is easily attained. Illinois is a sanatorium for asth-
matic and consumptive patients ; but other diseases are
induced nevertheless. * Tempted by the cheapness of
an sorts of liquors, the abundance and variety of fbod,
and the extensive resources of confiectionary, preserves,
and made dishes, emigrants accustomed to the regimen
of colder dimates continue a diet unsuited to any, espe-
cially a warm climate. Disease feeds on the poison of
an ovetfbd system.'
An emigrant farmer would require a very triffing
ootiay of money to secure a good and speedy return.
It is calculated that on the purchase of 200 acres, four
cows, eight young cattle, and ten pigs, fencing, plough-
ing, &c building, furnishing, and maintaining his family,
he would expend only L.340, 1 7s. In eighteen months
hif expenditure would amount to L.484, 4s. 6d. ; and in
that time he would have reaped 6400 bushels of In-
dian corn, and 1600 bushels of wheat, besides enjoying
abundance of vegetables, dairy produce, beef, pork, and
poultry. The farm labourer is said to be 800 times
better off in Illinois than in England. In Springfield,
according to Mr Sherriff, * market butter is worth 4d.,
beef 1 Jd., pork Id. per lb., and much cheaper by the
carcase ; eggs Sd. per dozen ; wheat Is. 6^d., oats 9d.,
com 5d. per bushel ; good Muscovado sugar 5d., coffee
lOd. per lb. Illinois abounds in all kinds of fhiit in
perfection. Honey, cotton, wine, castor-oil abound.
Game of all kinds is in perfection.'
Opinions differ as to Michigan ; but Mr Eergusson,
who was employed by the Highland Society, asserts
that the dimate is healthy and temperate, and more
favourable to European constitutions than that of the
other western states. He gives the following estimate
of a location : —
160 acres at U dollars par acra, .... L.45 0 0
Seed, labour, rail fenoa for 15 acres at 6 dollars, . . fl02 10 0
Harreetinff at 2 dollars 67 10 0
DweUing-hotue, stables, Ao* 160 0 0
L.4M 0 0
Retnms :—
Produce of ISO acres, at 90 badiels per aers, 1 dollar
perbashel, <nv 0 0
Profit, . . I-ISO • 4
Indiana somewhat resembles lUhiois In climate and
soil ; it is mostly prairie, and well watered, and tiie soil
is highly productive.
Wisconsin * commands the navigation of the Mis-
sissippi, Lake Michigan, and the Canadian lakes; is
very fertile, and produces wild rice in abundance. It
abounds in coal and other minerals, and is in course
of very rapid settlement, being the southern boun-
dary of Upper Canada.' *It is by far the best place
in the world,' says a visitor, * for the English farmer
or rural mechanic with small capital 'Diere is now
plenty of land near this handsome seaport (Racine)
at 5s. an acre, deeds included; and improved farms,
with house, out -buildings, and fenced in, at from 3
dollars to 6 dollars per acre. The land here is the best
I have ever seen; black loam firom six inches to two feet
deep, all prairie, with timber in dumps, Kke a gentle-
man's park, and suited to every crop. Garden vege-
tables grow in perfection, as well as English fhiits and
flowers. It is the best country in America for game,
fish, and water ; there is plenty of living water on every
farm ; wells can be got anywhere, and every kind of
timber. Wild fhiits of all kinds. The crop is thirty to
forty bushels wheat, thirty to sixty Indian com, forty to
sixty oats, and barley, and flax, and buckwheat in propor-
tion per acre. The best pasturage for cattie and sheep ;
hay three tons per acre. No country can be more healthy,
being open, high prairies in a northern latitude. Ko
persons aro ill from the climate, only ague in the swamps.'
* The expense of coming hither,' continues this enthusi-
astic gentleman, * f^om New York to Buffalo, is, by canal,
3 dollars in seven days ; by rail, 10 dollars in two days ;
and by steamboat thence here, 6 dollars in fpur days
and a-half. Upwards of a hundred farmers have come
here in consequence of my former letter ; not one has
left. We have all conveniences — shops, goods as cheap
as in England, places of worship, saw and flour mills,
daily newspapers, and the New York mail every day :
in short, every convenience you could have near New
York ; and your produce will sell fur nearly as much,
with double the crop on the new land.'
Iowa was formerly included in Wisconsin, and as
political divisions have nothing to do with the laws of
nature, its capabilities may hd considered to be the
same as those of the former state ; but, alas ! * its popu-
lation are rude, brutal, and lawless ; and possessing no
settled institutions or legislature, it is obvious that it
will be avoided by all persons of character and orderly
habits. Its miners, Uke those of Galena, are worse
than savages. We may dismiss our account of this
876
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUB6H JOUBNAL.
region, for which nature has done ererything, and man
nothing, by the aasurance that at present it is entirely
unfitted for Uie settlement of emigrants, except such as
" LMTe their coontrj for tbelr oonntry's good.**
** He has taken Iowa short," is the American phrase for a
rascal who has made other places ** too hot to hold him." '
The following is part of Mr Sidney Smith's general
summing up of the western states. * They abound in
beautiful flowers, wild fruits, and birds of erery variety,
and of the gayest plumage. The glow-worm and fire-
fly, and butterflies of every hue are common ; and the
mosquitoes in the shelter of the woods are very annoy-
ing. Snakes are very numerous, of great variety, and
some of them exceedingly dangerous ; yet few accidents
happen from their attacks. Day and night are more
equally divi^^ in America than in Europe ; and in the
former thei^ is an entire absence of twilight, or gray,
still evening, darkness hastening on the moment the sun
sinks behind the horizon. As a general rule, roads are
few and bad, and bridges still worse. Public conveyances
are conducted |n an inconvenient way, from the indepen-
dence of the conductors upon the custom of the public ;
and inns and steamboats are indijQferently regulated. In
the former, the innkeepers bear themselves as the oblig-
ing parties, and often decline to serve customers when
it is inconvenient The beds and bedrooms are very
badly managed, and the houses overcrowded. The
balance of testimony is in favour of the American cha-
racter for evenness of temper, deference to women, sub-
stantial good manners, with great plainness of speech
and address, and great and genuine kindness to the sick
or the distressed, particularly strangers, widows, and
orphans. Commercial integrity is low, and there is
much overreaching and sharpness in bargains and mer-
cantile contracts. The litigious and pettifogging ten-
dencies of the people are the result of their acuteness,
logical intellect, and inferior sentimental endowments.
Law and lawyers are the curse of the country, and it is
"emphatically said that an American will go to law with
his own father about a penny. . . . The market of Eng-
land is now opened for the provisions and grain of the
western states, and we cannot entertain a doubt that
for centuries to come this great republic must advance
in comfort, security, prosperity, and every good which
can make civilisation desirable, and the institution of
society an element of human happiness.*
Texas has been denounced by the Land Emigration
Commissioners, and our author has little to say in its
favour. * The southern position of Texas, and its capa-
bility of raising tropical productions, argue a too toirid
climate for a European constitution. It is compara-
tively unsettled ; it is a border debateable land betwixt
Mexico and the United States ; and it is peopled by the
scum and refuse, the daring, adventurous, and lawless,
of all other countries. When AiUy peopled, well settled,
and placed under the vigorous control of permanent
government and institutions, its natural capabilities wiU
render it a desirable place of settlement.' He merely
mentions Oregon, Vancouver's Island, and California.
In the flrst, the climate and soil are unobjectionable, but
everything else is bad ; Vancouver's Island may offer
greater advantages to the adventurous; but both of
them, and California in a more especial manner, may
be regarded * as the destination only of men of desperate
fortunes, and as a certain source of unhappiness to all
persons of orderly, industrious, prudent, and virtuous
habits. Their ultimate fate will, in all probability, be
prosperous ; and if the new projects for connecting the
Pacific with the Atlantic by canals joining chains of
lakes and rivers, or by railways or aqueducts at the
Isthmus of Panama, be speedily realised, they may be-
come much more rapidly populated and settled than is
with the present means probable.'
We have now run rapidly through the portion of the
volume devoted to the United States, and we do not
hesitate to say that we consider the work to be a most
useM and impartial publication; and even without
reference to any practical purpose of emigratkn, ex-
tremely well adapted for the perusal of the general
reader.
THE SAILOR PRELATE.
It was in the year 1580 that Sir Frands Drake reiumed
in triumph to his native land, after a suooetiful expe-
dition against the Spaniards in the South Seaa. He
anchored at Deptford, and Queen Elizabeth booooicd
the brave admiral by dining on board his sliip. After
the banquet, her migesty conferred the honour of knigfaft-
hood on her entertainer, and inquired of him whcihcr
he wished to name any captain in his fleet as pecoliariy
distinguished for valour.
* So please your msjesty,' aaid Drake, ' many tbere
are in every ship who have borne themaeJYca ri^kl
bravely, as the subjects of their gradoos mlstiiwi
should ; but one there is who merits praise above all,
for by his steady daring alone three goodly galleona
were taken. He stood himself at the gnna until victory
was declared, although a flnger of his right hand waa
shot off^ and he had received various grievous wounds.
His name is William Lyon, commander of the Albion.'
* Let him be introduced into our presence,' said the
queen ; * we love to look on a brave man.'
Sir Francis bowed, gave the necessary direcfciona« and
after a brief delay Captain Lyon was ushered into the
royal presence. He was a good-featured, finely-fanned
man, with the blunt, frank beuring of a British sailor ; in
the present instance slightly dashed by a conscioaaness
of his position. Her msjesty received him witii tiiat
kindly manner which she knew so weU how to combine
with dignity— s speoies of * king-craft' which seldooi
fails to secure for sovereigns the warm love of their
people. She asked him several questions teaching the
late expedition, which he answered in a sensible, re-
spectful manner ; and the queen dismissed him, snyiog,
' You deserve to rise. Captain Lyon ; and we now pledge
our royal word that you shall have the first vaoancy
that offers.' She then gave him her hand to kiai» and
the gallant seaman retired.
About three months afterwards, as the queen on a
state day was giving audience to hw noblea, CapitaiB
William Lyon presented himself and craved an inter-
view with her msjesty. Good Queen Dees, amoof
whose faults indifference to the wants and wiriies of her
subjects could not be classed, willingly granted his re-
quest, and smiled as she asked him to makit known his
wishes.
* Please your majesty, I come,' he said, * to remind
you of your gracious promise. You said I should have
the first vacancy that offered ; and I have just beard
that the see of Cork, in the south of Ireland, is vacant
by the demise of the bishop; therefore I hope joor
nu^esty will give it me, and so fulfil your royal word.'
* Gramercy,' said the queen, * this is taking us at
word with a witness ! How say you, my lord,*
tinned, turning to the Earl of Essex, who stood
the throne ; * would a brave sailor, think yon,
for a bishop in our troublous kingdom of Irdand ?*
' If Captain Lyon's clerkly skill, please yoor mije^y*
be equal to so grave a charge his worth and yalonr (of
which I have heard much) wiUL I doubt not, render lim
worthy of your Grace's favour.'
* Besides,' chimed in the captain, as undauntedly as
though he stood on his own quarterdeck, * her majcety
promised mc thefirti vacancy; and God forbid ahe ahonld
be the first of her royal house who was worse than the
word of their lipsT
A less absolute sovereign than Elicabeth might pio-
bably have been offended at these blunt words, iad have
dismissed the unlucky speaker with scant oereraoiqr;
but thoroughly secure in power, she liked to reign in
her people's hearts, and brides she had the roush eld
Tudor love for words of truth and deeds of bnlilnaes :
therefore a right royal burst of laughter proceeded liroai
the throne, echoed by the attendant courtlws ; and
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
877
r
I t
.1
■ >
the qneeo'ft merriment had subsided, she graciously dis-
missed Captain Lyon, with the assurance that his re-
quest should meet with due attention. An inquiry into
&e seaman's qualifications was accordingly instituted,
sod the result as to his moral character being i>erfectly
satisfactory, and the fact of his baring received a toler-
aUe literary education being established, the queen
was graciously pleased to grant his request; and Wil-
liam Lyon was duly consecrated Bishop of Cork, Cloyne,
and Ross.
Elizabeth said to him on the occasion, *I trust. Master
Lyon, you will take as good care of the church as you
have done of the state;' and indeed, contrary to all
reasonable expectation, he did make a most excellent
prdate— carefully extending his patronage to the most
ezeroi^ary men, and labouring with unwearied zeal to
promote the interests of the diocese. He built the pre-
sent episoopal palace, situated near the cathedral ; and
orer the mantelpiece in the dining-room hangs his por-
trait, Tery finely painted. He is represented in his
naral uniform, and his right hand is minus the fourth
finger.
Bishop Lyon enjoyed his elevation for twenty-five
years, with reputation to himself and benefit to his dio-
cese. He never attempted to preach but once — on the
occasion of the queen's death. When that melancholy
event occurred, he thought it his duty to pay the last
honours to his royal mistress, and accordingly ascended
the pulpit in Christ-Church, in the city of Cork. After
giving a good discourse on the uncertainty of life, and
the great and amiable qualities of the queen, he con-
cluded in the following characteristic manner : — * Let
those who feel this loss deplore with me on the melan-
dboLy occasion ; but if there be any that hear me (as
perlmps there may be) who have secretly longed for
this event, they have now got their wish, and the devil
do them good with it I '
The remains of Bishop Lyon have recently been
discovered by some worxmen employed in repairing
the palace. In a comer of the lawn are the ruins
of what was once the chapel; and when some stones
and earth were removed, a tombstone was discovered,
with an inscription in old English raised characters,
stating that the tomb was erect^ for 'William Lion, an
£og^ man bom, bishop of Corke, Clou, and Ross, in the
happi raigne of Queen Elisabet, defender of the ancent
apo^oUke iaithe.*
A BOAT EXPEDITION DOWN THE JORDAN.
A GOOD deal of attention, scientific and otherwise, has
of late been directed to the Holy Land and adjoining
countries; many interesting points of geography and
topography have been discussed, among others, the
depression of the Dead Sea, the level of which has been
ascertained to be more than 1300 feet below that of the
Mediterranean. The Sea of Tiberias also is reckoned
as 84 feet below the latter level ; the difference between
the two lakes, which are 60 mUes apart, being more
ttian 1000 feet. This observation, made by the president
of the Geographical Society in 1842, has elicited addi-
tional remarks and suggestions; and Dr Robinson, in
discussing it, states that in the distance traversed by
the river * there is room for three cataracts, each equal
in height to Niagara.*
Some authorities affirm that the observations to deter-
mine the levels must have been incorrect ; on the other
hand, it has been shown by comparison with British
rivers, that there is nothing extraordinary in the pre-
swned falL The Dee is a river which may be classed
wilfa the Jordan : from the Linn of Dee to the sea,
7S miles, the fall is 16 feet to the mile; and in this
distaiMM there are neither rapids nor cataracts. In
Ae fall of the Tweed we have a nearly parallel illus-
tration. The question, however, has been answered
for the present in another way, an account of which
appears in the last published part of the Geographical
Socie^s 'Journal' Lieutenant Molyneux of the ship
Spartan^ left the yessel at Caifia on the Bay of Acre
towards the end of Aug^ist 1847, with three seamen,
who had volunteered for the occasion, and Toby, a
dragoman. The object was to transport the dingy
(ship's smallest boat) on camels' backs overland to
Tiberias ; to proceed from thence down the Jordan to
the Dead Sea, and return by way of Jerusalem and
Jaffa, after an * examination of the course of the Jordan,
as well as of the valley through which it flows, and
specially to measure the depth of the Dead Sea.' The
commander of the vessel offered every aid, and fur-
nished his lieutenant with letters from and to the
authorities of the country, so as to facilitate operations
among the Bedouin tribes, from whom molestation was
to be apprehended.
Four camels were provided for the boat 4nd baggage,
besides horses. After two days' travellihg, the party
* arrived at the top of the last ridge of hills^verlooking
the Lake of Tiberias and the Valley of the Jordan,
and enjoyed a most magnificent view. Jebel Sheikh,
smothered in clouds, was distinctly seen ; before us were
the blue waters of Tiberias, surrounded by fine ranges
of hills ; to the left the white ruins of Safed, perched on
a hill ; and near the northern end of the lake a gap in
the mountains, with a green patch, which pointed out
the spot where the Jordan discharges its waters into
Tiberias.»
In descending the hills to the lake-shore the difficul-
ties began. * By degrees,' says Lieutenant Molyneux,
* the road became so steep that we were obliged to hold
the boat up by ropes, tiU at length we arrived at a
point beyond which the camels could not proceed, and
to return was impossible: the stones, when started,
rolled to the bottom ; the camels began to roar ; tlien
followed the usual trembling of the legs — the certain
precursor of a fall ; and, in short, to save the boat, it
became necessary to cut the lashings, and let her slide
down on her keel to the foot of the hiU. There we again
harnessed the unfortunate camels, and proceeded with-
out further misliap to Tiberias, where, passing under
the walls of the town, we pitched our tent within a few
yards of the water.'
After crossing the lake once or twice, and taking
soundings and other observations, the boat was steered
for the entrance of the river ; and encamping for the
night on the bank, the party were visited by numbers
of Arabs, who, after some persuasion, left them un-
molested, but kept the travellers in a state of apprehen-
sion during the night, and again the next morning for
several miles of the route. The tme character of the
stream soon became apparent, as the officer relates : —
'Hitherto, for the sliort distance we had come, the
river had been upwards of 100 feet broad and 4 or 5 feet
deep; but the first turning aQer leaving the Arabs
brought us to the remains of a large ruined bridge, the
arches of which, having all fallen down, obstructed our
passage. Here our d&culties commenced; and for
seven hours that we travelled that day, we scarcely
ever had sufficient water to swim the boat for 100 yards
together.' The Arabs hung on the skirts of the party,
apparently with a view of turning any misadventure to
account; and when villages were passed, the whole
population turned out to look at the strangers. Some-
times the river spread out into shallow channels, in
which the boat had to be unloaded, and carried over
the obstracting rocks and bushes. ' The Ohor^ or great
Valley of the Jordan,' is described as 'about 8 or 9
miles broad; and this space is anything but a flat —
nothing but a continuation of bare hills with yellow
dried-up weeds, which look, when distant, like com-
stubbles. These hills, however, sink into insignificance
when compared to the ranges of mountains which
enclose the Ghor ; and it is therefore only by compari-
son that this part of the Ghor is entitled to be called a
valley.'
Besides other impediments, the river was obstructed
by numerous weirs, built by the Arabs to divert the
water into the frequent smsll channels cut for irrigating
their fields. It was not easy to pass these weirs with-
oat a ' row/ as the natiyes insisted on the gap made for
the boat being built up again. In one instance the
masonry was so thick and high that the boat had to be
lifted oyer. In addition to this there was uneasiness
respecting the cattle and baggage, which, writes Lieu-
tenant Molyneux, * were frequently obliged to diyerge
to a considerable distance fVom the riyer ; but a capital
HeOow that we hired at Tiberias as a guide assisted us
greatly in oyercoming all our difficulties.* By and by
a sheik and four Bedouins stopped the party, and de-
manded 600 piastres for a free passage across his terri-
tories; but sifter some altercation, a compromise was
effected for a third of the sum.
In this way the trayellers proceeded, opposed not
only by natural obstacles, but by the fierce and rapa-
cious character of the natiyes. In some places the riyer
was BO rocky and shallow, that it was found desirable
to transfer the boat again for a time to the camels'
backs. On this occasion, obseryes the lieutenant —
• Prom a hill oyer which our road lay I had a very fine
yiew of the whole yalley, with its many Arab encamp-
ments, all made of the common coarse black camel-hair
cloth. Very large herds of camels were to be seen in
eyery direction stalking about upon the apparently
barren hills in search of food. The Jordan had split
into two streams of about equal size shortly after
leaying El Buk'ah ; and its winding course, which was
marked by luxuriant yegetation, looked like a gigantic
serpent twisting down the yalley. After forming an
island of an oyal form, and about fiye or six miles in
circumference, the two branches of the Jordan again
unite immediately above an old curiously-formed bridge,
marked in the map as Jisr Mejamia.' On encamping
in the evening, an interesting instance of sagacity is
recorded by the leader. 'I was much interested,' he
writes, ' during the night, in observing the extraordi-
nary sagacity of the Arab mares, which are indeed
beautiful creatures. The old sheik lay down to sleep,
with his mare tied close to him, and twice during the
evening she gaye him notice of the approach of foot-
steps by walking round and round : and when that did
not awaken him, she put her head down and neighed.
The first party she notified were some stray camels, and
the second some of our own party returning. The
Benisakhers generally ride with a halter only, except
when they apprehend danger; and then, the moment
they take their bridles from their saddle-bow, 'the mares
turn their heads round, and open their mouths to re-
ceive the bit*
For the next few days, so frequent were the disputes
with the Arabs, the bargainings with new escorts, that
the lieutenant was 'almost driven mad.* Sometimes
the Bedouins would go off in a body, thinking to frighten
him into terms ; but the party were well armed, and
could command a certain degree of respect So tor-
tuous, too, was the river, that, as we are told, * it would
be impossible to give any account of the various turn-
ings; and the leader was obliged to ride continually
between the boat and the baggage, to ascertain the rela-
tive position of each : a railway- whistie which he had
with him proved very useful in making signals. The
expedition, indeed, ' was almost like moving an army
in an enemy's country — ^not only looking out for posi-
tions where we could not be taken by surprise, but
anxiously looking out also for supplying oxa commis-
sariat' With the thermometer ranging from 83 to 110
degrees, this was no enviable task.
On the 30th of the month, it having been found im-
possible to satisfy the exorbitant demands of the Arabs,
Lieutenant Molyneux determined on proceeding with-
out an escort; and after the place of rendezvous was
reached by the mounted party, continues: — *We, as
usual, stuck Toby's spear in the ground, with the en-
sign flying on it, as a signal for the boat to bring
up, intending to proceed as soon as she arrived. The
last time I had seen her was from the top of the
western cliflii ; she was then nearly abreast of us ; and
notwithstanding the windings of the river, as the water
was good, and as she had four men to pull and one
to steer (Grant, Lyscomb, Winter, with the guide we
had brought from Tiberias, and the man we had en-
gaged by the road), I expected her arrival in about
an hour.^ The boat, however, did not arrive ; and tiw
lieutenant becoming anxious, sent out scouts to look
for her, but they returned unsuccessfuL Meantime be
had taken up a secure position with his party, and
eventually determined on going in search of tbe miss-
ing crew himself; but being ignorant of the language,
Toby offered to go in his stead. The lieutenant tim
pursues : — * After most anxiously awaiting his return for
an hour, he came back full eallop to inform me that he
had found the boat; that she had been attacked; and
that he had learned this painful intelligence from tiie
guide and the other Arab, who were now alooe bringinf
her down the river. . . . Forty or fifty men had collected
on the banks on each side of the river, armed with mus-
kets; and commenced their attack by tiirowing stones
at the boat, and firing into the water dose to her; and
after they thus terrified the men, they all waded into
the river, seized upon her, and dragged her to the shore.
Lyscomb, who drew a pistol, was knocked into the water
by a blow of a stick ; and having got the boat on the
shore, they robbed the men of all their arms and am-
munition, took their hats, and let them go. They also
robbed the two Arabs of their arms, and of most of
their dothes, and threatened to kill them, bat 1^ tiiem
off with a beating. This was all the intelligenoe we
could obtain ; and, as may be supposed, I was thondero
struck by the recital of these melancholy facta. The
guide and the other Arab had remained by the boat for
half an hour, hoping that our men would return ; bttt
seeing nothing more of them, they conduded that they
had endeavoured to follow me, and accordingly tiiey
proceeded down the river with the boat'
The party were now in a critical positioD: sur-
rounded on all sides by bands of notorious phmderers,
and darkness coming on, added to which, anjdety as to
the fate of the missing men, rendered the Ueotenaat
truly miserable. It seemed cruel to abandon tiiem;
but the only chance of safety and succour lay in readi-
ing Jericho as speedily as possible. The two Aatirei
who had brought the boat down were with mndi ^fl-
culty persuaded to take her on to the castle, and in ease
of the non-arrival of the party, to make their way fhn
thence to Jerusalem, and report their position to ^ooo*
sul The lieutenant, with Toby and an old man as
guide and driver of the animals, then set forward; and
notwithstanding the difficulties of the ground, and
at times losing their way, reached Jericho, a distance
of more than thirty miles, just at sunriae. The letter
from the governor of Beirout was forthwith preaeBted
to the old governor at the casUe ; and so well did the
lieutenant urge his case, that in a short time ftmr wdi-
mounted soliOers, accompanied by the guide with r^
freshments, and a note for the sailors, were scoorinf
the country in search of them. Meantime Lientenaal
Molyneux rode over to Jerusalem, where, in compsni'
with the consul, he visited the pasha, and dytaioed
f^om him letters to two other pashas, directing tfaett
to send out men to the search, oesides ten soldien to
assist the officer in his own exploration, and accompsay
him afterwards to the Dead Sea. On returning to
Jericho, the boat was found to have arrived ; and the
next day the district of country in which the outrsge
occurred was diligently explored, but without obtaining
any tidings of the missing unfortunates; a result whi^
despite a hope tliat the men might have succeeded is
reaching the coast, threw the Ueutenant into * a de-
sponding and gloomy mood.'
He determined, however, on accomplishing, H pos-
sible, the grand object of the expedition; and the o^
(leader of the soldiers) was requested to be in readiness
with his men the following morhing. * At last,' pursues
the lieutenant, ' we reached the mouth of the river,
where I was glad to find the boat floating on the slof-
II
II
J
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOUKNAL.
379
gMi walflffl ui tli6 Dead Sesb Wo had gveat difficulty
in getting aoyvhem near the shore, on acoonot ci
the mmniby natore of the ground^ sevend honea and
nnriea hwing snnk up to l^eiv hodiet in the mad ; but
at length we pitehed tiie tent on a small patch of found
bat sandy grotmd.'
Two aoldlem were left in> charge of the tent, while
the offloef; with Toby and two-men^ aa Araib and Greek,
embarked^ *^We shoved ofl^* he saya^^'just aa it waa
Ming daric, with only two oara^ and with no one who
bad much idea of uring them except mysdf, or any
notian of boa^aailing. Under these cireomstances, as
I made sail and lost sight of tiie novtfaem rtiore, I could
not help iiBelingthat I waa embavked in a silly, if not
»peiiiou*uiidertakin9. The breeae gradually freshened^
tyl there waa quite sea enough for such » Uttle orait:
we pasaed' aewnpal patdies ot white ftothy foam, and as
the sea made an unusual' noiae, I waa aaony timea afraid
that they were bveafaers.'
Twe daya and nighta w^e paaaed on the bosom of
the dread lalce : when> the sun was up, the party were
scorched by the heat, as though they were in a well-
heated OYen; and on the second night they were
chilled with cold winds, and the boat became so leaky
as to add greatly to the risk. In some places tiie arid
cKA rise perpendicularly to the height of 1200 or 1500
ieet; and only in one little gap was there any sign of
ipegetaCion : a drewier scene could scarcely be ima^ned.
Sounding8<were taken three times, the deepest being 235
fatfaoma^ and- the least 176 fathoms ; the lead brought
up rock-salt, and dark-ooloured mud. * On the second
da3\' oontinuee the narratlTe, * at eleren o^dock, we got
sight of the tout} and at twelve we reached the^ i^ore,
quite done up, and thankM for having escaped, which
none of ua expected to do the night before. Everything
in the boat waa covered with a nasty slimy substance :
iron waa dteadiVilly corroded, and looked aa if covered
m patehea wi^ coal-tar ; and the effect of the salt spray
upon ouraelvea, by lying upon the skin, and getting
into the eyes, nose, and mouth, produced constant thirst
and drowsiness, and took away all appetite.
* Aa to the alleged destructive effect of the Dead Sea
on bizda fl3Fing over its sutfiBuie, we killed some which
were actually standing in the water ; and on ^iturday,
while in the very oentre of the sea, I three times saw
docks, or acme other fowl, fly past us within shot. I saw
no signs^ however^ of flsh, or of any living t^ing in the
water, aUhoogh there were many shells on the beach.
I must here mention a curious bioad strip of foam which
appeared to lie in a straight line, nearly north and south,
throughout the whole length of the sea. It did not
oonmenoe, aa might be supposed, at Hie exit of the
Jordan, but some milea to the westward, and it seemed
to be constantly bubbling and in motion, like a stream
that nma rapidly through a lake of still water ; while
nearly over thia white track, during both the nighte
that we were on the water, we observed in the sky a
white streak' like a^ cloud, extending also in a straight
line from nc^th to south, and as far as the eye could
reach.'
Just after storting the next day to return to Jericho,
ibe party saw a horseman at a distance gallopping
torwards them, and at times firing a pistol ; and we can
sympathise with the leader's * inexpressible delight that
it proved to be the consul's janizary, witii a letter to
teMme that the three lost men had reached Tiberiaa in
softly; he brought me also a most kind letter from
Captein Syraoods, enclosing a copy of the account that
tliey had given- him of their adventures. It would be
a mere waate of words to stote my joy at these tidings.'
The boat was carried back to the coast, and on the 12th
of September Lieutenant Molyneux found himself once
UMMe on board the Spartan. And until more accurate
information shall be obtained, we may consider that the
questleo as to the nature of the Jordan is answered.
Wewiah we could dose our narrative here: but it
ia necessary, however painful, to add, that since the above
cahiimia«rare commeneed, intelligence has been received
of the death ef this gallaait officer, which took place,
through the combined effect of climate and over-ezertum,
soon after his return to the ship.
MR JEBEMIAH JOBSOITS 'THREE DAYS.'
The revolutions, the foil of potentates, the change of
dynasties recorded in the columns of the daily press,
numerous aa they have been of late, are trifling and
insignificant, not alone in point of number, of which
there can be no dispute, but also, I suspect, in impor-
tanoe to tiie parties more inmie<fiately afB^^ted, when
compared with those which sometimes occur in private
life. A vivid illustration of this truth ia supplied by
the following transcript of a brief but stormy passsge
in the history — ^hitherto restricted to very private cir-
culation—K>f Mt Jeremiah Jobson, a gentleman who for
several years enjoyed a rather distinguished position
in numerous sporting and fsacy circles.
On the evening of Tuesday the 13th day of February
last, Mr Jeremiah JobMn, a stout, portly, rubicund-
visaged personage of some il£ty years of age, was sitting,
painfully meditative, in the large handsomely-furnished
drawing-room of Mr Charles Frampton, a young but
wealthy silk-mercer of famous London town. It was
just between the lights, and candlea had not been brought
in ; but the ruddy flre-blaze sufficed to trace the work-
ings of a perturbed spirit in his flame-coloured oounte*
nance, and to bring into bright relief the object towards
which his troubled glance was principally directed —
namdy, a new, splendidfy-carved, and highly-polished
rosewood pianoforte. Mr Jobson waa just returned
from a fortnight's sojourn with a sporting friend in the
country, and the fbrst intimation he had H the cal«nity
with which he was threatened, was the sight of that
instrument of harmony. Although a man, as he fre-
quently boasted, of first-rate energy and unbounded
resource, he was for several minutes everwhehned, be-
wildered, paralysed. Crusoe could not have been more
unpleasantly startled by the naked foot -print on the
sand. The housekeeper — Mr Frampton was out — was
instantly summoned, and a fow questions amply sufficed
to convince Mr Jobson that nothing but the most con-
summate generalship could prevent the sceptre he had
so long wielded, with immense satisfaction to himself
at least, from passing from his grasp: a catastrophe
not to be thought of without terror and dismay.
' I always suspected it would come this way,' mused
Jobson; *and directiy I saw that abominable case of
wires, I knew the crisis waa at hand. Pianos and
petticoats, music and matrimony, genendly run in
couples ; although' — and he laughed savagely — * there's
a precious sight of difierence, I am told, between the
pretty tunes played before, and the airs with variations
after the ceremony. To be married to-morrow, and I,
as I am returned, to have the felicity of giving the
bride away! Well, Heaven forgive me all my sins!
I suppose I must do it. It's obviously too late to pre-
vent the marri^ie : I had better, therefore, endeavour
to make the best of it As for Charles, I have sum-
mered and wintered him, and know thoroughly well
how he's to be managed. Through him I must govern
the wife, since wife it seems there must be. That will
scarcely prove, I should think, a very difficult task to
a man of my experience and knowledge of the world. . . .
Not only very handsome, but, according to Mrs Homsbv's
account, uncommonly mild -spoken and amiable. No
doubt she is just now — they all are before the noose is
fairly adjusted-— all softness, all oharmingness, all dis-
tracting gammon; but the question is whether after-
wards'
Mr Jobson's trouUed soliloquy was here interrupted
by the entrance of a servant bringing lights. * Is Mr
f^mpton returned?'
'No, sir.'
' The instant he comes in, tell him I wish to see
him.'
• Yes, sir.'
380
CHAJIBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
The lerTuit withdieir, and Mc Jotwon reaanwd hii
■neUnchol; muaiDgt : —
'Han iiadi5utiiflediuiimBl.t)iere'a no miittka aboat
that I Here, nov, u Charlei Frampton. rolling in clorer
without erer haiing had the trouble of sowing it Hi»
father. Old Timothy, must have left him at Uatt. one
way or another, eleven or twelve thousand ponnda. he-
■Idea the trade and clear itock ', and though we have
,aat can't be muck diminiihed
ning in from the buimeai 1 He
iog. ipoiting of all kind* ; and,
aa and advice, lie u enabled to
I in them all. 1 have been hia
rriend these five year* past ; I
: off hii handi, arranged hii
hia itable, hii Uble, and hia
I Jie'a not contented 1 Tlie per-
< ii really outrageoni !'-
... _^ y the haaty entrance of hii very
ungrateful friend Cbarles Framptoo, a rather good-
\ looking young man of about aix or seven- an d-twenty
years of age, and, like hia mentor, somewhat bnckiahly
' Ah ! Jobaon, my old boy, how are you P Welcome
backl'— and he shook handa pretty heartily with his
philoMpbet and guide. ' Hut come, Hornsby has of
coarse toM you all about it Mrs Herbert and her
•ister are down itaira, and I wish to introduce yon.'
'jifn Herbert!' guped Jobsoni 'a widow! an ex-
I perience'- — ■
' A widow I yes ; and what of Chat? She is still two
or three yeart my junior. But come along, aod judge
for youiielf.' Mr Chatlei Framptoo led Uie way out
~ ~Ir JobsOD, groaning heavily Id
ctant atepi.
, the four aat down to tea, and
erve that SIra Herbert— Maria,
led her — was really an elegant,
ly not more than three or four-
Ber sister — alio a youthful
la, he aaw, a merry, keen-look-
about two years her senior,
and hii JUmctt went up stain
I, leaviog Mr Jobioa to enter-
She seemed in exceedingly
I 'ed a vivacity and archoess in
lite captivated her companion.
He vraa graciously pleased to assure her, that nut only
should be interpose no obstacle to his friend's union
with her siiter, but that in fact he was rather pleased
than otherwise lie had made so judicious a choice. This
aisnvaDce aud encomium seemed to tickle tbe'Ioily's
fancy aroaz^ug^y, and her merry eyai twinkled with
rogaish humour ; but when Jobaon, in punnance of the
patcouiaiog sclieme he liad mentally reiolved upon
sioce be had seen the bride, condescended to say that
he ahould lie pleased to see her there very often of an
evening, and tnat ha would, moreover, uae hia influence
with Charles to have her very frequently invited indeed,
she hunt into a laugh so loud and merry, that the
room rang again with her exuberant mirth. She, how-
ever, quallSed her appnreut nidenesi by exclaiming, as
aoon as she could sumciently recover breath — ' Will you
really, though? Why, what a dear, good-natured old
soul you must bel' Tlie carnation of Mr Jobson's
cheeks deepened several shades, and at the same time a
cliiUing doubt of ultimate success iu the struggle iu
wbioh be was so suddenly and calamitouily involved
swept over him. Had be not known himself to be a
man of fint-rate energy and resource, or if the stake at
issue had been leas enormous, he would— so rapidly did
a sense of the difficulties of his position crowd upon his
brain— have absodoued the field at once. Whilst he
was still dubitating, the lovers returned ; and one or
two rubbers of whiit, proposed by Mr Jol»oo, carried
the party in a sufficiently laliaf^ctory manner through
the evening.
The ladies took their leave early. ' Chailei,' said
Jobaon solemnly, aa the expectant bridegroom re-entend
the room, after seeing them safely off in a cab 1 'Cbariea, I
did my ears deceive me, or ii there a family — babbies?'
' Oh yes, Jobson ; did'nt I menlJon it?' returned Mr |
Charles Frampton, whoae'. flashing eyes and floabed
cheek proclaimed thathevasatiU in the seventh heaven, j
' Maria has two, I think, perhaps three — if a dozen, it's
of no consequence — pictures in little of her cbanniag
self. Beautiful aa angels I have no doubt they art; |
Maria married very early, as I told you. Of course ,
she did. How could it be otherwise?' j'
Jobson snatched up his chamber candleatick. and I
bolted out of the room. But compassion, either for him- |[
self or his friend, induced him to return, with a view Ij
possibly to a last effort ^e opened the door, bat a ''
glance sufficed to convince him <^ the utter bopeleasoaaa
of the attempt Hia once docile pupil had seated him- ^
self in an easy-chair, and, with hia legs stretched at fall i|
length, and his arms croased on bis breaat vraa apoitra- ,:
phising the lady's portrait— an admirable likeiwai I7 "
Cbalon, brought home the day before. In the neOi-
Buous words of Moore — |i
* II« flosllDK evei ! ab thaj vasgnibla '
Jobaon stayed to see no more, but alatntDlng loo Ow :
door, hastened off, and was soon in bed ; for he was Dot .
only mind-harRssed,buttraveI-wearied. * Well.'thoQgfal II
he, as he laid his very uneasy head upon tbe pillow,
' this is going the pace— this is 1 Two widows both
of whom know hnw many beans make five, if ever |
woman did, and three small angeli in petticoata ste j'
pretty well to begin with at anyrate I But never mind. I
That black-eyed divinity laughs gaily just now; bet '
we have yet to see who will iaugh last Charley's '
taitea are fixed, I know. Habit with him is aeooDd 1
nature; and when a honey-week or *o has paaact ;
" Bichard will be himself again," or I am very imtb
mistaken.' With tliis coniolacoiy prophecy Mr Jebaoe
fell asleep. ,
Meantime the ladies had aafely arrived at their abode 1
in Islington — a rather genteel-looking domicile, opoa <
the outer door of which glittered a braai-plate, intimst- I
ing to paasen-by that the inmates kept ' a aeminaiy
for young ladies,' They had not long arrived when a
visitor was announced — Mrs Batstowe, a young and ,|
rather interesting-looking person, who, with Hk fami- .
liarity of an old scquaintance, haaleiMd to ezchangc ^
greetings with Mrs Miley.
' My dear Cnroline, how well you are lookiagj and
Where's Maria?' '
' In the ueit room with the milliner. But what ,
brings you here at this time of nightP'
* How can you aik me, when you m awaie bow
much I am interested in the event of to-nM^row, and
that I know my brother's evil genina — that borrid Job-
son — is returned home 1 '
' Well, if that be all, make your mind perfcctlr tllf.
Your brother is too much in love with Maria for that
knave's Influence to avail in preventing the match. I
have told you so half-a-dozen tiroea.'
' You have ; but if you knew how conatantly Cbatfaf
IS deferred to him for these five or aiic yan pMl;
that he has had sufficient influence to prerent a m-
coocilemeot between my brother and hia own (wo ,
' Well, but I do know all about it I have hmd |
the story over and over again, and can repeat it ante' ,<
book. Miss Mary and Miss Jane fYampton — foidiih '
girla both of them — married: one a young surgeon wilb
scarcely any practice ; the other, worse r^H, one of her
father's shopmen : both very excellent peraooa, I dai»- |'
Oh yea ; indeed they are.
Which silly as undotiful conduct naturally gtesfiT |
ofibnded Mr Timothy FramptiM. who had other viewi -.
for them both. He, dying shortly afterwards, be- j
queathed the whole of hia property to hia son, wbicb
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
381
•on, prompted bj the fabehoods and misrepresentations
of one Jeremiah Jobson — as paltry and mean>spirited a
IniaTe as ever existed — has adopted his father's just,
bat, I am sure, had he liyed, temporary resentments,
snd refused to assist his sisters, although a sum which
he would not miss would coilyert the businesses of their
imsbands, crippled for want of sufficient capital, into
profitable ones. Furthermore, Mrs Barstowe, one of the
aforesaid sisters, haying the honour of one Mrs Herbert's
acquaintance, is yery anxious for the marriage of that
lady wiUi her brother, in order that through her in-
fluence the family breach may be healed, and all things
end happily, as in a play. That, I belieye, is about
the sum and substance of the matter, Mary?'
* To be sure it is. And now, will they be married to-
morrow?'
* Most assuredly ; unless Maria should change her
mind, which, between you and me, I don't think at all
likely. As for your brother, nothing but chaining him
up could keep him from being at ^lington church by
ten to-morrow.'
' Oh, I am so glad ! And Jobson, what is to be done
with him?'
' Oh, hang the fellow ; he'll be properly disposed of,
never fear. And now, good-night; for I haye my bonnet
to try on, and a thousand things to do.*
The next morning Mr Frampton and Mr Jobson, after
waiting for upwards of an hour in Islington church —
the bridegroom, in his neryous dread of being too late,
baying arrived long before the appointed time — were
joined by Mrs Herbert and her sister ; the bride look-
ing as only a young and beautiful widow in white satin
and orange blossoms can look. The magical ceremony
was duly performed, and the gay party were reseated
in the carriage and on their way homeward in a veiy
brief aimoe of time. Mr Jobson, gloomy and dispirited,
gathered himself up into a corner in silent savagery.
He was, however, soon roused from the gloomy reverie
in which he had begun to indulge.
* So kind and generous of you, Charles,' said a silvery
voioe, * to insist that not only Caroline and her little
ones, but Selina, should share my home.'
* What I ' cried Jobson fiercely, rousing himself and
glaring round upon Caroline. * More babbies ; your
babbiM, ma'am?'
* Tes, to be sure, Mr Dobson, or Jobson, or whatever
your name may be. Mine and Maria's : just half-a-
dozen in all!' and the black -eyed lady laughed as
merrily and maliciously as on the previous evening.
Jobson sank back into his comer speechless, paralysed ;
tiie thing, he felt, was getting unbearable.
* But then, Caroline,* continued the bridal tones, ' is
such an excellent economist, that she will save us, I
have no doubt, hundreds a year in the kitchen and
cellar alone of so large an establishment, and that, too,
without meanness or parsimony I ' Jobson groaned in-
wardly, and closed his eyes : it was all he ccmld do.
' And Selina is so admirable an accountant, that she
win be quite able, with my assistance, to take much of
the drudgery of the books and accounts off your hands ;
so that Charles' — ^here the sugar tones, Jobson reports,
grew double refined — * you will be able, I daresay, to
dispense with the services of the two additional assist-
ants you thought of engaging, by being enabled to de-
vote all your own time to the sale department'
Jobson opened his eyes to their fullest width in order
to see bow his quondam pupil would relish his elevation
to a permanent situation behind his own counter, and,
to his utter bewilderment, saw him delightedly kissing
hands upon the appointment !
* So that really it may be said I bring you a fortune,
Charles, in my sisters, if in nothing else. . . . Nonsense,
you foolish man ! Where did you learn to flatter so ?
Fie I But there is really one thing,' continued the
bride, not at all exhausted, * I must insist upon ; and
that is, that there be no more tobacco-smoking in any
of the apartments. I declare the dresses we wore
yesterday evening have contracted so intolerable an
odour, that we shall not, I think, be able to wear them
again.'
Jobson listened intently, but without turning his
head, for the answer to this audacious proposition. It
was not long coming. There was a light, musical
laugh, followed by * Of course, how could you refVise a
request so reasonable?' Jobson began to have a notion
that this charminff dialogue, or rather monologue, was
chiefly intended for his own especial edification and
amusement, and dire was the passion that raged within
him. « Wen,' thought he, * the " Road to Ruin," played
upon the stage, takes longer than this. We have got
to the end of it in much less than a quarter of the time
the players take. Let me see: since we left the church
we have permanently adopted another widow and a
spinster, and acknowledged three extra juvenile bless-
ings in petticoats ; we have surrendered the comptroller-
ship of the kitchen and the keys of the cellar *, cash and
cheque-books are of course gone with the accounts;
smoking is prohibited ; and we have been elected shop-
man to our own establishment. If that is not being
polished off out of hand, I should like to know what is,
that's all!' The stopping of the coach interrupted his
troubled meanings ; and pleading headache as an excuse
for not joining the bridal breakfast-table, he sought
refuge and counsel in the privacy and silence of his
bedroom. Having resolved on the course to be pur-
sued, he left the house, having first ascertained that the
bride and bridegrroom, who were gone a few miles into
the country, would return on the morrow Itbout the
middle of the day.
Mr Jobson returned home about ten o'clock, accom-
panied, as was his frequent wont, by a number of jolly
fellows. They all forthwith proceeded to a large room
on the second floor, hitherto set apart for convivial pur-
poses. Jobson turned on the gas, and one of his rollicking
companions, with the help of a lucifer match, kindled it,
when, to the utter astonishment of the gay party, they
found themselves surrounded by half-a-dozen narrow
iron bedsteads, tenanted by as many white-robed inno-
cents, who, disturbed by the intrusion, sprang up on
end^ne after another, and set up the frightf^illest yell-
ing and screaming that ever issued from juvenile throats.
Dire was the hubbub throughout the house. Servant-
maids, porters, shopmen, shopwomen, came running up
by dozens ; and finally, by Mrs Miley's directions, the
entire party were very roughly and unceremoniously
bundled into the street, Mr Jobson amongst them.
An hour or two afUrwards that gentleman quietly
returned, fully resolved upon inflicting signal vengeance
on the morrow.
* Pray, Mrs Miley,' said Jobson, stalking majestically
into the breakfast-room on the fbllowing morning, * at
what hour is my friend, Mr Charles Frampton, expected
home?'
' Mr and Mrs Frampton will be here about two
o'clock. In the meantime, perhaps you will read this
note, wh:ch I should have given you last night had I
seen you previous to the disgraceful riot whlc^ you and
your drunken companions created.*
Mr Jobson looked indignant daggers at the audacious
lady; and then adjusting his spectacles,, perbsed the
note. It was from his friend Uharlea, and Intimated
that, under existing circumstances, it would be better
that Mr Jobson should change his quarters. It further
hinted, that in the event of immediate and cheerful
compliance, all existing pecuniary arrears would be for-
given.
The rage of Jobson was unbounded. He took off his
spectacles, replaced them in their case, crammed the
note into his breeches pocket, buttoned it up, and
stalked towards the door in awfully-indignant silence.
There he paused ; and presently finding words in which
to void his pent-up fury, returned with menacing
gesture towaras Mrs Miley and her maiden sister.
Selina, who continued, nevertheless, to sip their coffee
with the most provoking indifference.
* I expected this, madam, ladies, women I I expected
thiB, I My, though not quite bo sood. Bat a word in
your ear, laughing Mrs Miley — ^the person who wiU hare
to leavo this house is not Jeremiah Jobson! The
habits of yean, ma'am — ^the habits of years, I say '
He could proceed no farther. The outburstiog merri-
meat of the apostrophised lady drowned his bellicose
threatenings ; and putting on his hat, and then so fiercely
striking k on the erowa that it came down over his
eyes, and tequired to be pushed up agaio, he stalked
furiously out of the room, a peal of merry laughter
pucmiing him to the bottom of the atain.
A fi»w hours afterwards Mr and Mrs Frampton re-
turned from t^ir bri^ bridal excursion ; and oi course
the druoken iq>roar of the preceding evening, and the
coarae insdenoe of Mr Jobaon, were duly related and di-
lated upon. Mr Frampton, who had for some time been
tired of a domination which long habit and indolence of
temper alone caused him to endure, readily consented to
his wife's p«>posal, that the said Jobson should forthwith
be oompeUed to leave the house. He had previously
solemnly promised her to give up associates who, if
they had not materially damaged his fortune, had con-
siderably tamisbed his reputation in the eyes of sober-
judging citizens, and here was an opportunity of putting
his Mnoerity to the test, whidi she detenmned not to
let sUp. Mr Frampton agreed to leave the matter in
her hands, not alone because she wished it to be so,
though that would doubtless have more than sufficed,
but baeause he was not only somewhat doubtful of hu
own resolution, but desirous of avoiding an angry en-
counter with a person with whom he had so long lived
in terms of intioiate fellowship.
* Mr Jobson is ooming up^ madam,' said Jones, an
cdd gray^headed clerk, who had been in the firm since
he was a boy. * You will, I know, excuse my freedom,
but I do hope the establishment will efiectually get rid
of the ibllow at last If you only knew the mischief
he has made, the tyranny he has exercised 1 There
are Mr Charles's two sisters, whom I have known from
ialancy'— •
* Mrs Barstowe and her sister. Th^ and their hus-
bands will dine with us to-day.'
*Thank Oodl thank Oodl' exclaimed the old man
fervently ; and then in quite aaother tone he added, * Oh,
here's Mr Jobson !'
^ Yes, here U Vtt Jobson; and pray, old fellow, what
have you to say to him, eh?' Mr Jobson had evi-
dently been drinking to some excess.
* You had better address this lady, not me,' returned
Jones quietly.
* WeU, madam, and what have you to say to yoor
husband's old friend?'
* I understand, Mr Jobson,' said that lady quite un-
moved, *■ that yoo refuse to leave this house ? '
* You understand quite correctly, madam ! '
* Then how do you propose to pay the debt you have
already ineurred for your board and lodging, which, at
two guineas per week, the sum you signed a written
agreement to pay when you oame here, already amounts
to—how much, Selina? '
' Five hundred and twelve pounds two shillingB.'
* Pay ? I don't mean to pay it at all ! '
' Aiid to meet this demand, to say nothing of money
borrowed, there are— read the list, Mr Jones,' continued
Mrs Frampton.
* One bay filly, one gray gelding, five bridles, and
three saddles, in the stables. In the bedroom, two gold*
mounted canes, one silver-mounted riding-whip, three
greatcoats, four '
* Fire and fagot! why, what do you mean?' roared
Jobson in distracting perplexity. * You don't mean to
plunder me of my valuables?' »
* Plunder you I Can you pay this debt ? '
* No, I can't: no, I won't'
* Then I have my husband's authority to say, this
property of yours wUl be sold by auction as speedily as
possible in discharge of the debt; and that whether he
will sue you or not for Uie balance, which will be a
Urge one^ difwnds entirely upon ycMir iiitare hdia-
viour.*
* Why, you abominable woman, I l^ven't a^Siange «f
linen, nor five pounds in my purse.'
* So much the better: the lawon wall be the moie ex-
emplary. Now, sir, please to leave the house.' Jobson
glared at her like a maniaQ, but seemed 4etenninpd not
to budge.
' Mr Jones, have the kindness to <»U ia the ftarteei
Mr Franapton directed to renuua in tikb passage, Nov
Thomas, Henry, or whatever your saiaes mm; ihov
this gentleman out of the house.'
Infuriate but vjain were the strugglea of tbe deooMd
potentate. The hour <^ defeat had struck, bia aceptie
was broken, and he cast rudely and ignominiously lorth,
to reascend his throne no more for ever I
' My dear Mary— Jane tool' said Mrs Ramptoa, ad-
vancifljF to meet if rs Barstow^ Mrs Jamas, and their
husbands. * Didn't I tell you I would soon exorcise the
evil spirit that so loqg exerted such baae^ inflnppee
over your brother ?*
< I couldn't have bdieved it,' said gentle Hra Bar-
stowe. * You must be a witch, Biaria.'
* To be sure t^ is,' said Mr James, witii a a%nificant
glance at Mrs Frampton's really beautiful £K9e and
figure; * and of the onl^ potent apecies — that which
operates by natural magic. '
* Theze— there— there; that will do', replied the lady,
smiling and blushing. * I have, at all events, suffiripat
sense to know that if beauty may temporarily enslavi
a lover or a bridegroom, it is only kindness» gentknsai,
and respectful £orbeannoe that can permanently attach
a husbMid. They are our only lasting apella of power.
I owe your lurother much, my dear Mn Barstowe ; and
I think, in restoring him hia sister^ and ridding him of
a knave, I have given a splendid earnest of my desise to
repay him. But come ; Charles is expecting us in the
dining-room { and mind, all <^ you, not a word ahoot
** victory" or "triumph:" they are woids which
grate unpleasantly upon ears masculine. Come.'
Thus ended Mr Jeremiah Jobson's * Three Bayiw'
He has wisely wasted no time in foolish eflorts to t^
gain his vanished sceptre; and the lest time I heard of
him he was preparing to ship himself and very ragfad
fortunes to the brilliant Califomian Land oi * Fronipi^*
if naught else.
KOYAL AND NOBLE ECONOMISTS.
BoYAL and noble personages have not always oonsidond
it below their dignity to superintend personally their
hbuseholds; thus, by regulating their expensei^ tajpcwent
an undue waste and improvident expenditure, rohapa
our readers will be glaid to have some illnstrationa of
this point laid before them, which were cdlpictrd during
our literary peregrinations through some oC the ooBti>>
nental libraries.
Henry YIL kept memorandums, written ua liia own
hand, of all his exoenses : and the raoacioms ipoffcynA
maintained an eoonomy in his palacea borderiof tm
meanness. To quote Lord Baoon: * la expffidif sf
treasure, Henry kept this rule, never to speae a^f
charge his affairs required* In his buildings be was
magnificent, in his rewards close-banded ; so thet hit
liberality extended rather to what regarded himself and
his own memory, than to the rewarding of nnerit,'
Nor did the prodigal aon who annoeedfld him, Haeiy
VIU., fail in this inspect to foUow his father's examplsk
In the great library at Paris may be seen a cwioui
document in French, and in the handwritiag oC that
sanguinary monardi, containing regulationa fo the use
of &e royal household. The extracts we have oopied
from the autograph manuscript are further intarestiBg^
as showing that our merchants' houses in the ninetwenth
century exhibit more elegance and ooralbrt than was ta
be found in the royal palaces during the sixteenth :— ^
1. *The barber must always keep himself clean, in
order not to compromise his mijesty'a heeUb.
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S. The treasorer shall not keep ragged scullions, who
walk aboat almost naked, and sleep or lie down before
the kitchen fire.
3. No meat beyond a certain price shall be serred on
the king's table.
4. The servants to furnish a sufficient guarantee to
proTide against the subtraction of wooden bowls and
copper utensils belonging to his majesty.
5. Pewter plate being too costly for daily use, the
greatest care most be taken of the wooden platters and
pewter spoons.
& No boy or commissioner shall be kept at court for
the use of the seryanta.
7. Women who are prodigal and extravagant shall be
banished the court
8. As likewise all kind of dogs, except a small num-
ber of spaniels, reserved for the use of the ladies.
9. The officers of the king's household to live in har-
mony with each other.
12. The stable-boys not to steal his majesty's straw
to put in their beds, as a sufficient quantity has been
given them.
13. Between six and seven o'clock, the officers charged
with the service of the king's chamber shall light the
fire, and lay straw in the private apartments of his
migesty.*
14. Coal will be only furnished far the apartments of
the king, the queen's, and Lady Mary's.
15. The ladies of honour to have a piece of white
bread and some beef for their breakfast.
17. A present will be made to any of the king's offi-
cers marrying— on condition they make a present to
his majesty.'
Amongst the French archives we have likewise ex-
amined ^ie private journals of Charles IX. and Henry
ULy one of the suitors of Queen Elizabeth when Duke
of Anjoo. They are interesting as containing many
carious facts, and throwing considerable light upon the
■lanners and customs of the French court in the six-
teenth century. In the diary oi Charles IX. the most
minute sums are marked down s and the monarch, to
whom some historians have attributed the massacre of
St Bartholomew, is frequently making presents to his
old nurse, and invarial^y accompanying them with
some such aiGKstionate language as, *to my good
nune' (* a ma boims nourrice').
The regulations for the household of Henry III., and
said to be composed by that depraved and effeminate
king, occupy a considerable number of pages i and the
extnordinary character and minuteness of some of the
r^nlations gave rise to a well- known satire, published
daring his reign. In the regulations, the duties of every
person about the court are pointed out * No person
shall be allowed to swear. None shall touch the royal
chair, nor sit down in it Those entering the royal pre-
sence with their clothes in disorder shall be ordered to
go out' The dress of the councillors is described, and
they are forbidden to appear before his majesty unless
dressed in the manner indicated. There are further
imtnietionB for the royal household while attending
Divine service. The service — in particular of the royid
chamber — is of the most complicated description ; and
the task of the royal dressers was by no means a light
one, which our readers may imagine when they are
iaCoffmed that Henry UI. was exceiedingly £oQd of cos-
metics, and took especial care of his faoe and hands.
The layal visage was anointed every evening with costly
migiients, over which was placed a tafieta mask, in
which his majesty slept
Alfehoogh but little comfort was to be found in royal
palacet in these times, nevertheless they were far from
being deroid of splendour. Notwithstanding tiie eco-
nomy practised in the household department, the great-
est encouragement was afforded to artists. Genius
everywhere fbnnd the most noble and munificent pa-
* At Hill ptriod th« romns In England wen not boarded : straw
and nuhes beinc ipvMd oat in winter, and leaves in summer.
trons, and the palaces presented a magnificence and
artistical value we might in vain endeavour to find in
our modem residences. A curious contrast with such
splendour is found in a letter of Louis XIIL to his
queen, Margaret of Austria, where he writes :-*
* The season for melons only just commencing, we
sought for the best that could be procured, which we
should have sent, but for their snoiling before they
reached you. We send you a small basket of grapes,
and a small one of peaches. If it were not for the ex-
pense of the carriage, we would send yon some oftener.'
Neither should we omit in the list of distinguished
persons who personally directed their households, the
great name of Louis XIV^ to whose taste for splendour
and magnificence the French nation owe the celebrated
palace of Versailles, and the unrivalled galleries of the
Louvre, successively augmented and enriched by Napo-
leon and Louis-Philippe.
There is kept amongst the Belgian archives at Brus-
sels a manuscript containing the list of the household
of the unfi>rtunate Mary Stiuirt The names and diffe-
rent salaries are inscribed ; but we could obtain no satis-
factory information aa to the origin of the document,
which is certainly not in the handwriting of that ac-
complished queen. In the library at Bruges may also
be seen a written list of the estaldishment of Charles
IL and the Duke of York, afterwards James JL, when
the royal exiles resided in that once celebrated and still
most interesting city. It is wholly devoid of interest 1
and we only observed that the barber of tba roving
monarch was favoured with a larger allowance of beer
than any other person of the household. We might
mention, by the way, that the only traces we could
meet with of Charles's residence at Bruges, is an account
of a visit the princes paid to the company of archers of
St Sebastian, of whicMi they became members, and in-
serted their names in the register, which may be stiU
seen by the curious. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert,
when they visited Bruges, likewise enrolled themselves
amongst the members of this ancient corporation, and
added to the number of rojral autographs already in its
possession. To cite more modem examj^s of economy
in the houses of the great, we find that Frederick the
Great even disputed daily with his intendant about the
expenses of his table, and knew the exact cost of every
dish served up before him. Napoleon likewise insisted
upon regulating his domestic expenses ; and De Bonr-
rienne rdates that he entered into »xuk minute details
as to the expenses of the palace, that when, after a visit
to Fontainebleau, th6 accounts were presented to him,
the Emperor declared the sum for the orange-water
placed in the ladies' rooms had been doubled.
Madame de Maintenon, who, with her confessor, may
be said to have governed France during the declining
greatness of Louis XIV,, considered that her sister-in-
Uw could with 16,000 francs (L.600) support all the
expenses of her establidiment * Meat,* skua said, ' costs
five sous a pound, sugar eleven. Your famUy oomprises
yourself, your husband, three maid-servants, four foot-
men, two coachmen, one commissioner — ^in all, twelve
persons.
* Bread, per day, . 1 fnwo 10 boos.
IVine, .... . .1 ••• 10 •••
Butler, 9 ... 10 ..,
"Wax Candles, 10 ...
Common Caadles, ..... 8 ...
' You ought not to count more than four sous of w}n#
for the four footmen and two coachmen, and you only
need two fires in the house for four months besides the
kitchen fire.
' Expenee during the Tear for mainfiatntng the Family, including
Fuel, Wine, 4eo. eouo francs.
Horses' keep. Coaches, and Liyeriee, . . . 4000 ...
Rent, lOUO ...
Clothes, Opera, Private Expenses, . auoo ...
Salaiifis, and BarvantiT Clothes, .... 1000 ...
Total, 15,000 francs.
* Thus you see,' continues Madame de Maintenon,
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884
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
* tbat yovL are wealthy with such a iiim, and ought to
liye like a princess.'
The expenses of housekeeping haye, it is true, consi-
derably augmented since 1679, when the above letter
was dated ; and we have transcribed it only as affording
an example of a domestic budget in those days, and to
proTe that housekeeping may be allied to wit, grace,
and high rank. The fascinating Marquise de Seyigne
likewise managed her household, and numerous examples
might be adduced from her letters showing that she
knew how to regulate her expenses. Still more might
be said upon this subject ; but it is sufficiently shown
that individuals of the highest birth, alike distinguished
by their talents and position in society, have not thought
it derogatory to superintend their own affairs, or, in
homelier language, keep tiieir houses in order.
PARADISE OF DEBTORS.
The number of debtors in the County Prison at York
seems to be always very laige : many remain a long time,
evincing no disposition to leave the place ; and when it is
considered what a very comfortable life thoy pass, with
large airy rooms to dwell in, no woric to do, plenty of com-
pany to associate with, spacious grounds to walk in, and
with the county funds ready to purohxtse food for them if
they have not property of their own, all sorprise on this
score must cease, the wonder really being that there are
not ten times as many debtors, which there probably
would be were the attractions of the place generally
known. In fact, this prison, like many other debtors*
grisons, is a luxurious kind of poorhouse — loorkhoiue would
ideed be a misnomer — where the lasy and extravagant
are maintained at other peonle^s expense, and where the
bare idea of being required by their labour to do some-
thing towurds earning their own bread, would be looked
upon as the herald of unheard-of oppression and cruelty.
Of the debtors in York Castle, at the time of my visit, one
had been there nearly eleven years, two more than eleven
years, and one fifteen years. The governor said that he
did not think these men had any wish to leave the prison.
I sent for the men to have some talk with them ; and the
drill of their replies to my questions was, that they would
not apply for tneir liberation, because in so doing they
shoula have to surrender their property. — Fourteenth Hi-
port of Primm-lntpecton,
FR08T-SLEBP— ITS CURE.
In an excursion made in the winter 1792-3, from St
John^s to the Bay of Bulls, North America, Captain Tthe
late General) Skinner forming one of our party, we had
on our return to cross a large lake over the ice some miles
in extent. When about the middle. Captain Skinner in-
formed me that he had lon^ been severely pinched by the
cold, and found an irresistible drowsy fit coming on. I
urgml him to exertions, representing the fatal consequences
of giving way to this feeling, and pointing out the state
in which his wife and Cunily would be found should the
party arrive at St John*a without him. These thouehts
roused him to exertkm for some time; but when he had
reached the maigin of the lake he gave way, and declared
he was utteriy unable to struggle fMther, delivering, at
the same time, what he considered his dying message to
his family. As there were some bushes near the spot I
broke off a branch, and began to thrash my fellow-traveller
with it; at first without much apparent effect, but at
length I was delighted to find that my patient winced
under my blows, and at length grew angry. I continued
the application of the stick until he made an effort to
get up and retaliate. He was soon relieved from the tor^
rr, and as we were now but a few miles from St Jolm^s
pushed on before the party, leaving the ci^itain under
special care. I left also the stick, with strong injunctions
that it should be smartly applied in the event of the
drowsiness returning. I soon reached the town, and had
some warm porter, with spice, prepared against the arrival
of my frienos ; with this and considerable friction he was
enabled to proceed home, where he arrived perfectly re-
covered. He himself related the story at the Eari of St
Vincent's table, at Gibraltar, many years afterwMds, es>
pressing at the same time much gratitude for the beating
lie had reoeived.^A/«motr« of Admiral Brmkm. ^
THE AULD HEAL MILL.
BY ALKXAKOBR MACLAOAV.
Thb anld meal mill— ob, the anld meal mill.
Like a dream o* my scbule-dajs it haunts me stOI ;
Like the son's summer blink on the face o* a hUl,
Stands the love o' my boyhood, the aold meal mllL
The stream tnB the numntaiB, rook-ribbet and brown.
Like a peal o' loud langhter, oomss rattUn* doon.
Take my word for't, my freen— *tis nae pony till
That ca's the big wheel o* the aold meal mOL
When flashin* and daahin' the paddles flee ronnd.
The miller's blithe whistle aye blends wi* the sound ;
The spray, like the bright drape whilk rainbows dtstU,
Fa's in showers o* red gowd round the auld meal milL
The wfld Hielan* heather grows thick on its thack.
The iTy and ^iple-tree creep op its back ;
The lightning. winged swallow, wi' nature's ain skQl,
Builds its nsst 'neath the eaves o' the auld meal milL
Keep your e'e on the watoh-dog , for Cesar kens wesl
When the wild gipsy laddies are tryin* to steal ;
But he lies like a lamb, and lloks wi' good-will
The hard homy hand that brings grirt to the milL
There are mony queer Jokes *bout the auld meal mill;
They are noo sober folks 'l>out the aold meal mill ; .
But anoe it was said that a bet Hielan' stm
Was aften at waric near the auld meal mllL
When the plough's at its rest, the sheep i* the fauld.
Bio gatherln'S are there, baith o* young folk and aold ;
The herd Uaws his horn, rldit bauldly and shrill,
A' to bring down his clan to the auld meal miU.
Then sic Jumpin' o'er barrows, o'er hedges and harrows.
The men o' the mill can scarce fin' their marrows;
Their lang-barrelled guns wad an armoory fill —
There's some capital shots near the auld meal mUL
At blithe penny- weddin*, or ohristnln* a wee ane.
Bio ribbons, sio ringlets, sio feathers are fleein* ;
Bio laochin', sic daffin', sio danoin* ontU
The laft near comes doon o' the auld meal miU.
I hae listened to music— Ok varying tone,
Frae the harp's deein' fa' to the bagpipe's drone.
But nane stirs my heart wi* sse h^y a thrill
As the sound o' the wheel o* the anld meal milL
Buooess to the mill and the merry mUl wheel !
Lang, lang may it grind aye the wee baimie*s meal !
Bless the miller, wha aften, wi' heart and good-wiU,
Fais the widow's toom pock at the anld meal mill.
The auld meal miU— oh, the auld meal mHU
Like a dream o' my schule-days it hsnnta ma stBH;
Like the sun's summer blink on the face o' a bill.
Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal milL
-Scottmatu
ENGLAND THE CENTRE OF THE BABTB.
If we divide the globe into two hemispheres,
to the maximum extent of land and water in eaci^ we ar-
rive at the curious result of designating England as the
centre of the former, or terrene half; an antipodal peat
near New Zealand as the centre of the aqueous heons-
phere. The exact position in England is not far ttcm tin
Land's End ; so that if an observer were there raised Is
such a height as to discern at once the half of the cIsH
he would see the greatest possible extent of land ; If simi-
larly elevated in New Zealand, the greatest poaslble smAos
of water. — Quarterly Review,
TO DETECT CHICORT IN tXVFEB,
We have only to put gentlv into a tumbler of dear eold
water a spoonful of coffee, which, if pjure. wlU swim oa the
surface: u otherwise, the chicory will detach itaeU^ ^
colouring the water as it sinks.
Published by W. & R Chambkes, H1|^ Street. Bdinbargh.
sold by D. Chambbrs, 90 Argyle Street, Glasgow ; W. 8.
147 Strand, London; and J. M*OLasHAif, n ITOller '
Dublin.— Printed by W. and R. CnAMsaas, Bdlabuigh.
. I
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CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF < CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ dec
No. 286. New Series.
SATURDAY, JUNE 23, 1849.
Prick l^c?.
THE MYSTERY OF FRANCK
Feamce is a myBtery to everybody: no one can tell
what to make of its odd ways, or what it will by and
by come to. Its people are a puzzle to the world — a
terror to their neighbours. All Europe waits to see
what they will do next. I have been in France some
half-^ozen times, and have just returned from it after a
more than usually lengthened residence, during which,
with nothing else to do, I mingled with native society
, of different grades. On this, as on former occasions, I
; experienced not a little perplexity. You see a fine
ooontry, rich in natural resources ; beautiful towns and
cities; art realising its highest aspirations; boundless
ingenuity and taste ; and, generally speaking, an active,
oUlging, and industrious people. It is quite a mistake
to suppose that the French are given to idleness. Among
the classes enjoying a competence there is an excess of
leisurely recreation. But take the mass of the people.
The rural population are everlastingly toiling in their
fields, and making the most of their small possessions ;
and the consequence is, that the lands are for the most
part kept as clear of weeds and as tidy as a garden.
And so also in the towns : you see much constant and
humble application, particularly among the women.
We talk of the privations of shopmen and shopwomen.
Go to Paris ! Opposite my lodgings in the Boulevards
dee Italiens were several shops, in which, from eight
in the morning till ten at night, a number of men and
girls ministered daily without intermission — no Sab-
bath for these poor creatures ! Every Sunday morn-
ing off came the shutters as usual, the windows were
wiped and decorated as usual, and business went on as
usual, as if such a thing as the Day of Rest had never
been heard of. This is France: incessant toil; occa-
siooallj a iete, when souls in bondage are let loose;
but no repose — no time for thought — probably no
thought, if there were time for it
An Eogiishman of ordinary ideas sees that the French
hare lost two things — religion and loyalty : the sense
of God's presence in the world, and the sentiment of
veneration for human authority. It may be, doubtless
is« a passing phase of a great people, to be succeeded
in time by a better. But yet the Englishman must
admit that the alleged vacuum in the national feelings
does not wholly account for the mystery, for the French,
while wanting what Britons think so essential, exhibit
aome social and moral features in which we do npt
appitMch them. Accustomed to the spectacle of re-
iSned usages and objects of taste, they possess a remark-
able love of what is neat and tasteifbl. At no time
do you observe sluttish dirtiness, rags, and brawling
mtaety, such as the eye and ear encounter in the meaner
quarters of our large Scottish towns ; nowhere are seen
diaorderiy females, unwashed and unkempt, such as
may be noticed at all hours of the day in Glasgow.
Annually, in sober and constitutional Edinburgh, some
hundreds of beings are carried to the police-office drunk
on a barrow — such sights attracting no special obser-
vation, as if a keen sense of decency were wanting
amongst us. Can any one say the same thing of a
French city? On the 4th of May, I walked the streets of
Paris from morning till night. Along the chief thorough-
fares, towards the scene of festivity, crowds of people
from the eastern faubourgs streamed in a ceaseless
flood ; and finally, at a late hour, all returned peacefully
homewards : it was a grand sight, that stream of well-
dressed people ; it was civilisation of a high order. For
all that day there was not beard a high or coarse word,
nor was there seen any jostling or act of rudeness.
* The French,* said I, * know how to behave ; they can
be happy without being disorderly.' I write this in
Edinburgh on the Queen's Birthday : it is a day of ge-
neral rejoicing — that is to say, the bells are ringing, and
there is a good deal of hard drinking. Some lads fbr the
last two hours have been amusing themselves next street
kicking about an old tin kettle ; and at this moment,
vomited from a public-house, two tipsy men are fight-
ing under my window. Is this civilisation, or what ?
It is tolerably clear that the i)eople who can endure
favourably comparisons of this kind, if not in all re-
spects estimable, are deserving of a greater share of
admiration than is usually accorded them. Vices and
crimes abound in Paris, and are perhaps of the darkest
shade ; bat the people are, in the main, orderly, deco-
rous, and well-disposed. The very dregs of the com-
munity, when in open hisurrection, do not steal — ^in
arms for a political cause, they would scorn to be
thieves. Let this fact be compared with the conduct
of the band of insurgents who for an hour plundered
the shops of Glasgow. Nor do we find, even among
the better classes of French society, anything like that
far-sighted cunning which has lately come out so
strong in the English character. Their Mississippi
Scheme — the invention of a Scotsman — may well
balance our South Sea bubble; but the entrepreneun
of the Parisian gambling-houses have been outdone in
swindling by English railway speculators. On these
various accounts the French cannot, without prejudice,
be spoken of contemptuous^. With all their faults,
they are a great people. It is because they are great,
and can make themselves respected, that we feel so
much interested in getting at the bottom of that mys-
terious unsettledness which aflfects their public career.
In a people who can be so assiduously industrious, and
do such marvellous things in art, science, and litera-
ture, we might naturally expect the ability for con-
structing a government on a solid basis ; but from all
experience, it is evident that this is prediely the one
thing they cannot do.
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CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
II
A defect bo remarkable in the character of a nation
might yerj properly engage a degree of philoiophical
inquiry beyond the scope of theie limited pages. In a
glance merely at the subject, howeyer, it could probably
be shown that the recent and prospective misfortunes
of the country are due to causes which lie on the very
surface of history. It is fashionable to trace na-
tional idiosyncrasies to the effects of race. Essentially
Celtic, the giddy impulsiveness of the French charac-
ter is ascribed to something in the physical constitu-
tion. It might be improper to meet this species of
allegation with a point-blank denial, though it is very
evident that the pure descendants of French families
in England are in no way distinguishable in regard to
solidity of understanding from the oldest inhabitants
of the country. Without venturing farther into this
delicate matter, I am inclined to impute the whole —
or very nearly the whole — of the French incapacity
for government to the plainly obvious reason, that
they have never been taught. 'Tis education makes
the man — not meaning by that merely school learning,
but the rearing up of habits, through the daily influence
of example, from generation to generation. When the
Englishman sits down comfortably at his fireside, and
congratulates himself on the steady working of the
institutions which shelter his life, his liberties, and his
property, he is, I fear, not sufficiently cognisant of the
fact how all this was brought about On comparing
the course of events in English and French history,
the source of our security and French insecurity is
revealed. From the most remote times, self-govern-
ment of some sort has been habitual to the Anglo-Saxon
race. From the forests of Germany, they brought
with them the practice of wardmotes and juries. This
was but the A B C of their learning. Substantially,
they owe their training in constitutional forms to their
kings. Municipal privileges— that is, powers of local
self-government by delegation — were communicated by
the sovereign to bodies of traders in towns, as a make-
weight against the encroachments of the barons ; and
it was this alliance of the people with their kings that
is the fine feature alike in English and Scottish history.
In France, <m the contrary, the kings and the barons
united to oppress t^e people, and keep them in a state
of tutelage; even the church, usually favourable to
popular claims, was in France, up till the period when
repentance was too late, an arrogant, overbearing corpo-
ration. It is trite to remind the reader, that when the
Revolution of 1789 broke out in France, all power what-
soever was in the hands of the crown, the nobility,
and the clergy. The privileged orders, as they were
called, ruled everything, but contributed nothing. The
people, viewed as objects of taxation, alone furnished
means to carry on the operations of government The
slightest concession of the nobility and clergy to pay
a trifle towards the disembarrassing of the finances,
would have averted the Revolution. We all know
what the privileged orders would have afterwards given
to recall their fatal opposition. Have they not been
punished?
Everybody likewise knows how the French people,
suddenly and unpreparedly admitted to self-manage-
ment, have gone on blunderingly till the present mo-
ment Had Bonaparte been in all thmgs an enlightened
despot, he possessed the means, as he had the oppor-
tunity, of conferriog charters of self-government on
communities sufficiently enlightened to have merited
the privilege. So far, however, from doing so, he
strengthened and perfected the principle of centralised
i!
government— put the whole nataon under the roper
vision and control of the executive in Paris. No doubt
it was an important object with the esriy revolatioDiry
authorities, to unite the hitherto ditjomted prorincei
and towns in the new and uniform departmentid ^
tem ; and yet in this by no means discreditsUj-eie.
cuted arrangement, they only perpetuated the donenti
of social disorder. The people still remained pKtty '
much In their ancient state of tutelage ; were not taught
to depend exclusively on themselves for local goTern-
ment ; did not so much as learn how to meet, oooiolt,
and petition for a redress of general grievaooes. The
successors of Napoleon continued the same desdemog
policy. Guizot with all his philosophy, did nothing to
temper or elevate the spirit of a democracy sgaintt
which he iS now pleased to declaim. He foond tlie
French people children in the art of constitatioiul go-
vernment, and he left them so.
The pernicious principle which enables a ministe is
Paris — no matter how installed — ^to commsnd a whde
nation by telegraph, is aggravated by the paMirsneii,
which has grown into a habit, under the procesi of
property distribution. Abstractly, the law of sqoal
inheritance may be just; but in France it bat unde-
niably the efiect of disposing the vast body of peasaat
proprietors to take no deep interest in dynastic coqtqI-
sions. What care they about * rallying round the throne?'
One throne to them is as good as another: their fieldi
yield their produce as plenteously under a repuhUc u i
monarchy. Only when the screw of taxation reoeiTa
an additional twist, do they begin to feel that Kiog
Log would, on the whole, have been preferable to
President Stork. Whether arising from the aame easie,
or otherwise, it is certain that the Freoch are the
least inclined of any people in Western Europe to puh
abroad into the world with a view to bettoing their
circumstances. Kept at home by their ignoraDoe of
foreign languages, their love of country, or their coopi-
rative indifference to commercial gains beyood a linuted
point, they are further restrained from dispenal bf
the hopes of honours and place. The Legion of Hooosr
is an exchequer as inexhaustible as the maniifactory of
ribbon fh>m which it draws its supplies. Even yout^
owns the potency of decoration. A-reasooaUediftf^
tion of cocked-hats and sworda is discovered to Iminre
flagging schoolboys with a love of France, gkiiyt *n^
grammar ; and not to be be^nd in sentioieDl, crunioali
yield a becoming obedience, provided they are mitehid
to work to the efficacious strains of a tambour. FM
however, is the solid material on whidi general nter*
viency is erected. The free resources ai Uie eaastiy ,
are literally eaten up by a host of functionaries decW
out in every variety of uniform. The whole citil fas^
tionaries in Great Britain dependent on the state m
under seventeen thousand in number *. in Frsno^ tsi :
number is upwards of half a million, and as vamjwm
are looking for office. Demoralisatioo, by the £i|**
sation of petty offices, is thus a powerful engi« «
authority. The French government maintains a ii*
variety of trading monopolies, not for purposes d» \
venue, but compensation and bribery. 0ns of (m ,
ministers lately entertamed the AssemUy by a^
ment, that he had on his hands as many "f^*!!^
thousand appUcations for the privilege of i^^
tobacco i each applicant patting forth soma ipj^
claim for state favour! An eager parsait ^^JJ^
among restless poUtidaas and a redundant WJ*
lUUreUeunt of course go far to explain the ncW»l
phenomena of French revolatioDfl.
CHAMBlSbS'S EDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
887
To an EDi^ishman who gived any conaidaration to
tiie aspect of French lodety, nothing appeara more in-
coosistent than the letter and the practice of the new
republican oonstitntion. With *Ziberti^ EgaliU, Fra^
knUUf* inscribed in wearifome repetition on the walls
of poblie ImildingSy with trees of liberty planted in
moddng proftision« the people — at least those whom I
bad the fortone to oonyerse with — appear to be in a
condition of infantine ignorance respecting what consti-
totes the first elements of freedom. All their revolu-
tioos, all their changes of forms, still leaye them at the
mercy of fiscal regulations diametrically opposed to the
prindplea fbr which they have freely i^ed their blood.
Tb» nnisance of passports, prerenting all freedom of
locomotion, except by permission of a magistrate, is
coDtinned in all its ancient Tinilence. At eyery public
meeting commissaries of police possess a legal title to
appear ofildally ; to overawe the speakers ; and, if they
think proper, to turn all to the door by means of a
company of soldiers. The same functionaries, backed
l^ gensdaimes, exercise the authority of paying domi-
dhary fisits at the dead of night, and carrying off all
papers fbr which they hare a fkncy : no redress. Fer-
aons taken into custody for any alleged offence are kept
in prison for any length of time without trial : prelimi-
Diry public examinations, with the privilege of giving
bail, are unknown : practically, whatever be the law on
the subject, there is no habeas corpus. In the single
word ' conscription' we have a whole chapter of horrors ;
but I content myself with noticing, that not until a
young roan has passed tiie ordesl of the ballot, in his
twenty -first year, does he possess the privilege of being
married: the demoralisation arising from this cause
slooe is beyond computation. Now, the surprising thing
if, that none of those despotic regulations is made the
m^ect of general complaint: they are submitted to,
poHibly with fretfulness ; but no movement takes place
towards their removal or modification. Indeed every
new convulsion may be said to rivet them the more
closely on the country ; for every fresh executive, feel-
ing the increased criticalness of its position, is obliged
to maintain itself by restrictions on liberty, which no
staid monarchy, like that of Britain, finds it requisite
to emj^oy. A government in danger is always seem-
ingly tyrannical — brea]cs through all constitutional prin-
dplea and forms, and scruples not to set aside any law
tiiat is opposed to its self-preservation. Hence I can
really see no end to the series of revolutionary troubles
in France. A century may elapse before the people
aoqoire the habits of thought essential to a state of
freedom. They will, to all appearance, go on destroying
government after government, in expectation of finding
ton«thing better; while all the time, their imagined
corrective is but aggravating the disorder incidental to
tiieir unhappy condition.
I left France with gloomy forebodings of the future ;
nor did I find any person in my journey who enter-
tained the most distant hope that the then present state
of affairs could last. Unfortunately, no one can exactly
define what form of government is at once practicable
add expedient. There is a chaos of principle — antago-
nisms impossible to be reconciled. In the political
paroxysm of 1848, forms were established thoroughly
at Tariance with national tranquillity, and yet which it
does not seem to be in the nature of things to abolish.
The deliberative power given to the army would alone
rend a state in pieces ; though this weak point in the
cooatitution is im>bably less fktal than the reliance on a
Katiooal Guard, which considers itself entitled to assist
the constituted authorities only when in the humour to
do sa Whether without passing through the furnace
of a civil, or the distractions of a foreign war, France
will be able to compose her internal differences, is a
question deeply affecting all Europe. Let her be at
least assured, that England looks on her struggles
towards an improved and settied government with
anything but an unfriendly or jealous spirit, with in-
deed a degree of sympathy and solicitude very unlike
the feelings which once unhappily prevailed between
the two countries. W. C.
THE EMIGBAKTS.
▲ 8T0BT OF THE BACKWOODS.
A YOUTHFUL newly-wedded couple were preparing for the
decisive step of emigration to one of the North Ameri-
can States: it might be called dlnr/xtvtf, because, under
any circumstances, they contemplated no return hither.
It is unnecessary to detail all the reasons which deter-
mined these young persons to abandon their fatherland
and the amenities of cultivated society, for a retired and
self-denying residence amidst the primeval forests of the
'far west.* It may be sufficient to remark, that they
were every way creditable to them ; and that, while their
wishes and expectations were moderate, their energies
were braced to meet, in a firm spirit of self-relying
industry and courage, whatever inconveniences or dis-
appointments might await them. On one all-import-
ant pohit they felt satisfied— namely, that strong mutual
affection must be the foundation of every step in the
path of life they had chosen. Amidst the dimoeu with
which the visions of their fhturity were blent, thii only
seemed clear. They were voluntarily about to leave,
perhaps forever, the luxuries and appliances of polished
society, together with all the ties of kindred ahd friend-
ship which had hitherto smoothed and beguiled their
young life's journey; and they felt, therefore, that the
love must be of the nature of an enduring, self-denying
tenderness, which would make them all in all to each
other, and which would cheer whatever solitude, and
make amends for whatever privation, they might have
to encounter in their wilderness lot On this main
point, then, their youthful hearts were at rest: they had
long been intimately acquainted with, and almost as long
fondly attached to, each other. But in other respects
they were also peculiarly fitted for the mode of life they
now anticipated, and it was probably an intuitive per-
oeption of this fact that finally influenced their decision,
so they set themselves cheerily to their multifarious
preparations.
* I shall make a much better farmer than I ever should
a merchant I feel confident,' said George Hadley ; * and
now my early penchant for edge-tools will, I hope, find
useful exercise. I think I shsll be able to make some-
thing better than clumsy — that is, ver$f dumsy — tables
and chairs for our new home.'
* And I,' said his wife, witii a fond responsive smile,
'am getting rapidly into all the mysteries of home-
brewing and ^king. I was not idle during my late
short visit to Cousin Grace, at her country cottage,
though she did stare prodigiously at my anxiety to pry
into the depths of everything. I often think of Aunt
Jane's lesson, and will even have a hand in every dish
we have upon the table. Aunt Jane, you must know,
promised a particular provincial pudding to a very parti-
eular English gentleman. She felt sure she knew the
ingredients necessary, the proportions, and how to mix
them, having often done it: but alas ! she knew not how,
or the proper time, to cook it When she had learned
,to make pies and puddings, the cook or a iMiker finished
them : here she was at fault snd to her shame and mor-
tification the pudding was spoiled and uneatable.'
Thus they encouraged each other, and chatted over
their prospects and plans, till the time of leave-taking
L=
388
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
arrived. Here they did wisely also, we think: they
made no formal farewells ; but having incidentally men-
tioned their intentions to each of their friends, so as to
feel assured it would not be taken amiss, they quietly
slipped away by themselves; and thus, as Marion said,
when she stood on the vesseFs deck, and looked her last
on England, the gaze was not dimmed by friendship's
tears, but the past looked bright, as did the future.
They had collected rather a formidable equipment of
articles for personal and domestic comforts, as it was
one of their aims to retain as many of the agrimens of
tlie past as their future position would justify or admit
of. In one particular they practised praiseworthy self-
denial : they were both passionately fond of music, but,
fearing lest this pursuit should tempt them to sacrifice
to it too much of their time, after some consultation
they agreed to take no musical instruments or music
with them. We shall just add, that they had unitedly
about two thousand pounds; a capital which would go
but a little way in their rank in Britain, but which is
ample for a settler in a colony who is contented to
begin moderately.
After a pleasant voyage, George and Marion Hadley
landed in New York. There they immediately sought,
and soon obtained information, as to the best district
to which to proceed. For tfte most part all things
went favourably. They secured a farm, partially cleared,
which the occupant, from various misfortunes, was
obliged to resign, and which their romantic wish to be
alone induced them to prefer to others, from its isola-
tion, and being rather out of the track which the tide
of immigration seemed likely to take. They had a
fancy to keep their home reticed amidst the wUds, even
should townships arise at no great distance around
them.
At the last place on the borders of civilisation, our
emigrants provided supplies of such additional things
as they seemed likely to want, with wagons and assist-
ants to convey them to their destination. This was the
most toilsome part of their long journey ; still novelty,
curiosity, the longings, and even the suspense of hope,
made it pass gladsomely. But yet, hopeful and light-
hearted as were Mr and Mrs Hadley, it was not in
human nature, when their future resting-place was
reached, not to exchange a look tliat seemed to say,
* Shall this desolate spot ever become the paradise we
have dreamed of? ' The fence, originally but partial,
was now lying broken down and destroyed ; the un-
sightly stumps and tangled ground, a half ruinous log-
house, and the dark interminable forest, amidst whose
gloomy recesses the strong breeze was sighing what
sounded more like a melancholy dirge than a cheer-
fiil welcome — these were the dark features. But the
summer sun shone gloriously; a cluster of majestic
trees shaded and sheltered the dwelling ; a few apple-
trees were even now bending beneath their load of
fruit, and some cultivated rose-bushes showed that
here a, garden once had smiled, and might smile again.
The house was hardly Ik to shelter the newly-arrived,
with their goods and chattels; their first care, there-
fore, was to arrange for assistance in the erection of
a new and more commodious dwelling. This, where
wood was BO plenty, and wood nearly all that was re-
quired, was soon accomplished. The waUs were of
rough logs, inside they were neatly boarded, and after-
wards varnished : tlie roof vras also of boards, with tar
and bark instead of slate or tiling : there was a light
and spacious kitchen, and above it a comfortable room,
intended for guests: there was no hall, but directly
opening from the kitchen was a good apartment, which
might be called a parlour from its furniture and appoint-
ments ; and still within, leading from it, was the chamber,
or gancium tanoionm-^Y^sty snug, yet light and cheerful,
its window looking to a pleasant glade in the solemn
wood, where Marion felt sure they should find some'
agreeable walk ; and in fact they did find so many, that
on that side they allowed the stately trees to remain
in their ancient majesty. Hardly was the house made
habitable, ere the team was at work for the antonm
sowing ; and then succeeded winter, with its fenoe-mak'
ing, and almost equally important in-door employmeoti,
completing the domestic comforts ; and tiien ^y called
their home * Toung Hope Farm.*
But it is not our intention to follow these lettlen
through all the details of their transatlantic itsidenoe.
Suffice it to say they prospered. Their modente
wants were soon abundantly supplied from their ovq
farm, and chiefly by the work of their ovn hands;
for, except in spring and harvest, one stout aenaat-
girl was all their help. Marion had a small dairr,
she had poultry of the finest kinds in aboodance, and
she raised in the garden the only ornaments tbey
cared for — the flowers of their country. George culti-
vated excellent fruit ; he followed his plough, and super-
intended in person every operation of the farm; while
for healthful recreation, and a pleasant variety to tiidr
table, he had his gun and plenty of unrestricted game.
In the evening they had a few well-chosen books, or,
if busily engaged with their hands, they oAen joiD^i
their voices in some of the melodies of home, and coa-
duded with a grateful hymn of praise. Happily passed
their time, not a moment unemployed; and they cait not
one 'longing, lingering look behind.* But, mouotooons
as to some this life might appear, unvaried by friendly
greetings or pleasant reunions, and uncheered by Sab-
bath bell or social worship, yet one or two inodenU
befell Mr and Mrs Hadley of interest JfiEir sarpasiiug
the average of those in our every-day existence; and
these it is our chief object to narrate, as tenifiog to
illustrate how a self-possessed demeanour and a gene-
rous heart will meet exigencies the most trying, ud
eventuate in results the most satisfactory.
The following, as the preceding incidents, are strictly
true. One of them we should especially shrink from
having the hardihood to invent ; and it is another proof
of the trite remark, that tlie romance of real life ii oAea
more highly wrought, and more deeply afiecting tluui
any fiction, however well drawn : —
One hot bright day in the early harvest of the yeir
succeeding their arrival in America, Mrs Hadley wu
engaged in the cheerful, cleanly kitchen, making prepa-
rations for tl\eir mid-dayjmeal, of which several labonitn
in the harvest-field had also to partake. Her husband,
as usual, superintended his work, and even the lemnt-
girl had gone out to assist. Mrs Hadley had her fiue
turned from the window ; but as she saw one ahadov
after another darken the opposite wall, she raised her
head to glance at the wooden clock, to see if itwm
possible that the dinner-hour haj brought her bbooien
from the field. What was her surprise and cowteret-
tion to see the dark figures of several Indians valkioto
her presence with noiseless tread and in utter rilence!
She had always felt an undefined but extreme dreidof
these savages, often represented as so terrible, and hid
shudderingly imagined such a circumstance as now o^
curred ; but hitherto she had never seen any of^JJ*
so that the novelty, the suspicion, and her unprotected
situation, caused her heart to sink within her. It vn
only for a moment however.
When two men had entered, she was reliered to see
them followed by a young woman, carrying on to
shoulder a little child, and whose timid stealing ittpi
formed a striking contrast to the bold and ccdWcDt
bearing of the men. Mrs Hadley, rallying her ecfo-
rage, and endeavouring to appear quite unmoTed, cob*
teously greeted the intruders. Though they conH nj
understimd the import of her words, her gesture aad
her smile were nature's well-understood tekgrsph «
kindliness and welcome. The men exdianged ooMTi'
lable, it seemed to her of satisfaction, and oontiiwM to
gaze earnestly at every object they saw around tii»«
One of them was tall, and seemed advanced in yeani
the other was young, and was the husband ei we
female. Mrs Hadley, observing that the l****']'^}
almost sinking fh)m heat and fatigue, took the chin
from her arms, car^sed, and gave it a lai^ge pisee or
4j;=
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
389
I
white bread, which it eagerly ate, and then a draught
of new milk. She then lifted from the ample pot that
bung orer the fire a mess of sayoory soup, which she
placid on the table, with spoons, and pointed to her
uoinyited guests to eat. They looked at each other, at
the food, and at her, but said and did notliing. Eager to
propitiate their good-will, as well as anxious to fulfil
the duties of hospitality to any of the brotherhood of
mso, the hostess seated herself at the table, took a
■poon and a piece of bread, and began to eat, as if invit-
ing and showing her guests the example. She then
resigned her seat, and was plea^d to see the men
grtrely, yet with the utmost propriety, eat as they had
leen her do, though in all probability they had never
hiodled a spoon before. Meanwhile the female had
meekly squatted down at a respectful distance from
her lord and father ; and Mrs Hadley, recollecting that
the Indian squaws do not eat witii the men, placed
before her some of the nicest of the meat and vegetables.
Hie yoong woman — for she seemed scarcely alx>ve six-
teen— looked sad and very gentle, yet smiled thank-
fully and admiringly at the kind and comely white
woman.
Short time sufficed for the strangers to make a
plentiful meal, after which, seeing a pitcher of water
by, they drank eagerly, and then, with a gesture of
•tatdy courtesy, stidked away, having hardly uttered a
word daring their visit. As they were departing, Mrs
Hadley, seeing the child much attracted by a handker-
chief she wore of many- coloured silk, took it from her
■boulders, and spread it over the poor babe*s uncovered
•kin, to protect it from the fierce rays of the noonday
ion. Ti^ mother more than once looked back with a
deeply-grateful smile, and very soon they were all out
of flight amidst the forest.
Mr Hadley was much annoyed by this occurrence,
and thought it only prudent that his wife should not
sgain be left alone, for fear of a similar or a worse
alarm. They saw no more Indians, however, till the
fall of the following year. By that time they had a
Gttle girl of their own ; and one day when Marion was
lifting her from her cot in the inner room, she suddenly
saw a dark and frightfully-painted countenance glaring
in at the low window. Afi^n she preserved her cool-
ness and composure, though the effort was even greater
than before ; for ere she could call her husband, who
was not far off, the house was surrounded by eight or
ten fearful-looking savages. This time, as no females
were wiUi them, Mrs Hadley justly concluded that
they were a war party, and might be bent on mischief.
"With her child in her arms, she hastened into the
kitchen, and warned the servant-girl of their unwelcome
neighbours, commanding her on no account to display
the leAst distrust or displeasure. Hardly had she had
time Ibr this communication, when the armed warriors
crowded into the house, unceremoniously, yet with the
i^^earance of harmlessness; and she soon had the plea-
sure to recognise among them the elderly man who had
forsierly visited her. He advanced to the fireplace, and
looked as if for the great boiling pot; but Uiere was
none there that day. The hostess, however, understood
him ; and smiling at him (she afterwairds averred it was
a very fainthearted smile), as if to let him know she did,
she tvonght a large bowl of sweet milk and a basket of
wheaten cakes, inviting the Indians to partake, which
tbcgr did, but without seating themselves. Mr Hadley
non after stepped in, his gun on his arm, and lookeid
aghast when he saw by whom his kitchen was occupied.
Cne of the Indians instantly wished to examine his
fowling-piece. Alarmed at the danger, and anxious to
make an impression on the wild strangers, George first
fired it off at one of his own pigs that had strayed near.
Moat ol the savages started, uttering exclamations of
surprise, and then leapc^ to the dead animal, to examine
it more closely. When he saw their excitement and
frantic gestures, he began to fear he had not acted
wiaely; certainly he hwi not exeircised the prudence
and adf.nnmmAnd hia Marinn hsiA done. Some of the
warriors remained within the threshold, and appeared
acquainted with the use of fire-arms ; so George loaded
again as composedly as he could, while his brave wife
observed suspended round the neck of one of them a
well-used tobacco-pipe. By her suggestion her hus-
band offered a supply of the weed he never used him-
self, but kept for the use of his visitors and labourers.
This courtesy was received by the Indians with every
mark of satisfaction, and shortly afterwards they took
their wished-for departure. After this scarcely a year
passed that some parties of Indians did not call at the
farm, and never without interchanging marks of hospi-
tality and good-will, till it seemed to be generally un-
derstood that these white people and the Bed Men were
friends and brothers.
A few seasons now glided peacefully past with ^Ir
and Mrs Hadley. They still enjoyed in a great mea-
sure their beloved retirement; only one fiunily had
become domiciled within five miles of them. But that
is near neighbourhood in the backwoods ; so these soli-
tary families occasionally interchanged visits. *Few
and far between ' were they, it must be said, except
when some neighbourly assistance was required of
either. Perhaps it was a candlemakiog, or a grand
maple-sugar-boiling, or it was to look after the house
during a confinement ; on the whole, it "was agreeable
to all parties. Mr and Mrs Oswald had, like our friends
the Hadleys, emigrated on the strength of love and
industry; but they were not so fortunate, perhaps not
so judicious, as the others. The lady had been tenderly
nurtured, and was little fitted to sustain the roughnesses
an immigrant family has, especially at first, to encoun-
ter.' Moreover her health was delicate, and hex family
increased rapidly : three children they had carried with
them, but only one survived to reach their future home.
This damped the youthful pair at the outset. Still Mr
Oswald and his interesting wife were happy, for tbey
were contented and affectionate ; and the husband (an
energetic Irishman) was indefatigable in industry and a
desire to do well.
Mrs Hadley had put her two little ^irls to bed one
stormy autumnal evening, and was lookmg forward to a
few hours of tranquil industry by their happy fireside,
when the kitchen door was heard to open, and a female
voice spoke in accents of grief and anxiety. George
hastened to ask what was \\\e matter, and found it was
the servant-maid of their ^/^iends the Oswalds. She
had come to ask Mrs Hadley to go imine4iately to her
mistress, who had been taken seriously ill. Tlieir only
farm-servant had met with an accident that had quite
disabled him, and Mr Oswald himself had ridden off for
tlie nearest surgeon, a distance of sixteen miles. The
girl seemed much excited and distressed ; and Marion,
knowing the delicate state of her amiable friend, was
deeply concerned. '
* What shall I do, George?' she exclaimed ; 'a night
of storm, and such a road! Had it been during day-
light, or could you have accompanied me. But I coudd
not be easy if both of us were to leave our children.*
* Had not I better go? * asked the husband sympathis-
ingly.
* Ah, I suspect it is / that ought to be with her :
poor Lucy I Tes, I will go without more hesitation.
Get the mare saddled ibr me : I will leave this gi^l with
yon, and take our Betty, as the more efficient assi|tant
Hasten, dear George, and I will get ready some little
matters that may be necessary.*
* Wrap well up, then, my love,' said George ; for he
felt he dared not oppose his heroic wife's proposal, the
necessity being so pressing.
After a fervent kiss, and a * God be with too, my dear,
on your errand of mercy,' from her husbana, Marion was
seated on the steady animal, and Betty trudged reso-
lutely by her side. The wind howled dismally, sweep-
ing snowers of witliering leaves to the ground at every
blast; and masses of bkck clouds were careering past
the moon» then, fortunately for the night- travellers, near
thfl full- The liftrrllv.tn.h»-*1ial:incmi«hpd nAfhwAV wfta
1
im^tm
390
cfiAMBfinsng EDmBUUGfi journal.
broken and merged ; but the mare knew it pretty well,
and after a short time Mrt Hadley proposed that her
servant should try to ride behind her, thinking they
would thereby get on more rapidly. This was done, and
the strong sagacious animal stepped out more surely and
swiftly, as if aware of the confidence and responsibility
reposed in her. In fact, in a time which, eren to their
anxiety, seemed short, Uie good Samaritans reached Mr
Oswald's dwelling:
Marion knew that there were none to receiye or to
greet her ; but all the more eagerly she hastened into
the house, leaving Betty to attend to their steed. The
kitchen was in darkness; a large house-dog sprung
growling to meet the guest, whose arrival would doubt-
less be so welcome ; but almost immediately recog-
nising the visitor, the animal retired to the cheerless
hear& whining piteonsly. There was no other sound
to be heard, and Mrs Hadley hoped her suffering neigh-
bour might be asleep, as the children doubtlcM were ;
so she stepped softly into the family room. A light
burned dimly near the uncurtained window: it had
been placed there as a beacon to light the aUerU home.
The wood-fire had sunk low, but the regular breathing
oi sleepers was distinctly heard. When Marion had
snuffed the candle, she saw the eldest boy, who was
eight years old, with his head laid down on the table
before which he sat; another little feUow, stretched
on the fioor, carefully covered with a cloak ; and the
youngest on his mother's bed, which stood in a comer
of the apartment — all fast asleep. No word, or whisper,
or sigh came from the invdid. Marion held her breath
while she stooped over to listen for her friend's, and
only the increased throbbing of her own heart was
audible. The stillness was oppressive. Alas, alas I it
was that of death — the mother lay a corpse, surrounded
by her sleeping children I Alone, unaided, she had
perished in nature's extremity! The appidled gazer
soon became too painfully convinced of this fact ; and
the pulses of her own life almost stood still, as she
beheld the once lovely countenance distorted by pain and
sorrow, and fixed in its last unconsciousness. Marion
was a brave-hearted, but she was also a deeply-sensi-
tive woman. Here was wo indeed I In the wMrlwind
agony of that moment she perceived all its bitterness ;
yet the lightning glance she permitted herself to take
of the circumstances, also disclosed to her what was re-
quired of herself. She stooped over ^e dead, and closed
tne glased eyes, and smoothed the convulsed muscles
of the face ; then with a heavy bursting sigh she took in
her arms the hapless child that slumbe^ on its mother's
deathbed, and tenderly kissing, she laid him in another
and less sorrowful resting-place : his little brother she
soon nestled beside him, and then she gently touched the
sleeper at the table. The poor child started, as if dis-
tressed that wearied nature had overcome his intended
and promised watchfulness.
*Has papa come back?* he asked. 'Is mamma
better ? I am so glad you are come, Mrs Hadley I *
* Qo to bed beside your brothers, my dear boy — ^you
must be sleepy,' said his sympathising friend, deeply
affected to hear him name his mother, whom he idolised.
*Tour papa will soon arrive now, I daresay ; and in Uie
meantime I will see to everything.'
The boy looked wistfully to his mother's bed, and
whispered, * Mamma is surely asleep— she was so ill,
and groaned so sadly ; but when Ann went for you,
she was better, and I gave her a drink ; and then she
told me to sit down and watch the children, for they
were so sleepy and cross they would not let me put
them to bed ; so they fell asleep, and I waited, and
waited, and at last I could not keep awake, I believe ;
but I hope dear mamma did not want me.'
• I daresay she did not, my dear ; so go to bed now.'
And to bed he went
Mrs Hadley had a severer task to restrain within
bounds the expression of Betty's horror and dismay
than her own feelings. She at length prevailed on her
to assist in making the house more conofortable, for it
was too apparent that all that day's work had been left
undone. A fire was made to blaze cheerfully, the roooi
swept, the kettle boiled, and tea prepared to lefieih
the gentlemen, now momentarily expected, though one
of them at least, both females thought, and Bettj itid,
could hardly be expected to partake of it M theie
cares were scarcely completed, when a horse's tnunplinf
was heard ; and Marion was thankfU the sargeon hid
first arrived, so that some preparation might be thought
of for the husband, bereaved under such dJitremog
circumstances.
The medical man attempted all he thought poMihle, in
case the poor lady might yet revive. It proved unariO*
ing, and the living now were first to be thought oC Mr
Oswald, exhausted by fatigue and anxiety, hastened u
fast as his jaded horse would carry him ; yet dreuned
not of the fearful blow awaiting him at that home whoe
he had so often met his Lucy's smile of wdcome. Bnt
we shall not attempt to paint the scene on his amriL
Henry Oswald, notwithstanding every tenderness of
preparation that circumstances admitted o^ was at iint
almost stunned into insensibility; and I am sorry to
say, sifterwards acted the part of an utterly districted
person. The warm-hearted, impulsive Irishman yielded
to paroxysms of sorrow and despair unworthy of a
brave or a Christian man, and subversive of his duty to
his helpless children.
Almost as soon as the cheerless morning had dawned,
Mrs Hadley was relieved by the appearance of her hD^
band. She had done all that seemed immediately neces-
sary ; and thought it best to take the motherios Me
boys home with her till their father was more com-
posed. Alas, that time came not I The kindly sorgeoo
and George Hadley attended upon him throngh the
ravings of a brain-fever — ^and ere the necessary it-
rangements for the wife's ftmeral could be completed,
he had followed her to the other world.
In a few moments of composure preceding deith
he recognised his friend; and when his roringeje
seemed to ask for his children, the other assnred him
they were with his Marion, and should be tendslv
cared, and, if necessary, provided for. The exhaosted
father smiled as if satisfied, and closed his eyes io
death. The pledge thus given to the dying parent wsi
amply fulfilled. Mr Hadley endeavoured to let the
Oswidds' farm, but did not succeed ; therefore, u he
was unable himself to attend to it, and part of the
purchase-money remained unpaid, it rdapied ilmost
into its pristhie state. The relatives of theftmi^
Europe were of course informed of what had occaned.
Oswald's friends were unable, poor Lucy's were mrrffl-
ing, to interfere or assist ; ana the ch*^^''^ J*"^^
with the Hadleys, whom God continued to prosper and
to bless. The two youngest required not long the esies
of these compassionate strangers. Inheriting maj
frames, they soon sank to the grave, over which piwj*
tal tears of anguish were shed by those whose ****
ginal tie had been pity for the desolate and J^^*
Richard, the eldest boy, however, grew up » **f**
and thoughtful lad ; and very early became mort Mp*
f ul to his adopted parents. He was a few years <*»
than their girls ; and as Providence had givai i^ ^
sons, Dick Oswald was to them instead of one. H'^
indeed even more ; for to the welllngs of devotedfej^*""
reverence were added In his breast a tide of o^erflowi^
gratitude, that one might soon foretell would P^JJ^
influence all his future life ; and though out w tender
respect to the memory of his unfortunate V^Jl
retained their name, yet by others he was much oiw*
called by that of his benefactors. . .
Richard had reached his sixteenth year, ▼l*^;*^
great surprise, a letter fh)m his maternal graiwtwy
called him to the countrv and estate of hia »2mS
There appeared so muc^ that was cold-hearted m
selfish in this tardy acknowledgment of the orphan WU
that he at first spumed indignantly the unwdootwi"'
vitation. Accustomed, however, to school hi« '2?rf
tions to meet tiie paramount claims of dn^ a kwmj*^
cilni oonaideration dianged or modified the young man'i
opinions at to bis ftitare prooednre. He felt as if he
had not courage to open the subject to bis adopted
mother, but with Mr Hadley he then sought a full con-
saltation.
' I think you ought to meet your grandfather's wish,
if not obey his mandate,' was the result expressed by the
paternal Hadley. ' I am persuaded mercenary motives
are lil:eiy to hare little weight with one brought up
nmply and industriously as you have been ; yet it can-
not be orerlooked on other accounts, that by the deaths
of your uncles you are the hope and heir of your
Bother's ancient family. As a matter of choice, my
opinioii of course is yours, since it would lead you to
remain with us.' His Toice trembled as he felt the pres-
sure of the young man's hand. * As a matter of duty,' he
proceeded, * doubts arise. Has or has not your grand-
father any claims on you? Tou tenderly cherish your
motber*8 memory — ask yourself how she would have
irished you to act ? ' This latter consideration was ever
a sacred point with the youth ; it appeared to decide
the conflict in his mind, and immediately he so ex-
pressed himself.
* Wen, then, my dear boy,' concluded his friend, ' we
must, howerer reluctantly, consider this matter settled.
Only this remains to be said : if you should not find
STerything in Britain as you have reason to expect, or
if you should erer feel the want of friends, or a conge-
nial home, remember my house and heart, and the
hearts of my family, will erer be open to receive you
with a glad welcome.' And so terminated this painful
interview — equally painful to the well-balanced mind
of the excellent Hadley and of the child he had edu-
cated with so much care.
The present occurrence was, in truth, a very severe
trial to all the inmates of Toung Hope Farm. And who
can wonder that it was so? The melancholy parting
orer, and the young man launched abroad into life, we
can readily imagine he carried much of * Toung Hope '
with him. Manly and energetic, he was not withont
praiseworthy ambition and ardent curiosity to see the
world, and all its novel wonders. Yet still the secret
withes of his spirit were, that after a few years of
improvement or of wanderings, he might be permitted
to return — as a wearied bird would to its nest — to
ihe peaceful sheltering haven in the western wilder-
ness.
He wrote regularly, though at considerable intervals,
to his parted friends : his short epistles contained little
but the strongest expressions of gratitude and aflec-
tionate remembrance, and almost with each were sent
fittle articles of use or elegance to those he still called
his mother and sisters. He had a tutor, and then he
went to college ; and afterwards he travelled with his
tpd relative, and thus he wrote to his friend — * Amidst
m the puerilities and conventional forms of artificial
sodety, its heartless ceremonial and tiresome etiquette,
bow oiften do I find my heart and memory turning to
the booadless liberty of the glorious woods — ^the crystal-
like candour, and outspoken tenderness, with all the
innocent hilarities and simple enjoyments of my trans-
atlantic home ! I am to study for the bar, I believe, as a
matter of aiatus and (dat, and I am to inherit a moderate
patrimcmial estate. Oh how gladly would I rather assist
my father to improve and decorate Toung Hope Farm!*
And again — 'Greatly would I prefer sitting an hour
on the lonely grave by our little lake-side in communion
with nature, to minng with the most recherchS society
I have yet seen. And oh how much rather would I
read one of your letters, that tell me I am still dear to
you, than reap even such academic honours as I have
attained to, when I cannot have your voices to add
your meed of applause ! My grandfather is very kind,
and most indulgent : on but one subject are we not con-
geniaL He thinks my heart is too much in my child-
hood's home. He seems to be seriously in dread that
some fine morning he will discover that I have escaped
to the woods, like a Bed Indian but half redaimed from
savageism. This, too, may come to pass some day.
Keep up your hearts, dear ones, in hopes it may.'
Half a dozen years escaped thus, tedious in their
transit, like a dream when they are gone; and then
young Oswald's grandfather died. The patrimony tiiat
now became Richard's was found to be heavily burdened :
for the law, as a profession, he had an unconquerable
distaste ; and to keep up a hollow show on an inadequate
income, was at variance with every sentiment of manly
candour and straightforward principle so carefully and
early instilled into his breast Kichard Oswald, there-
fore, immediately entered into negotiations with a
cousin who panted to become a landed proprietor and
head of the family (and who, indeed, had ever been dis-
posed to consider the former merely an interloper), and
from him he accepted an equivatent in cash for his
patrimony.
How giadsomely was a letter from the beloved absent
one now read and re-read at Toung Hope Farm } for it
said, in a few thrilling, joyful words, that, his duty per-
formed, his mission accomplished, and himself at Uberty,
he would now return to devote his life to the fHends
that had nurtured his orphanage. From that day mighty
preparations went on at the farm — preparations intended
to welcome the wanderer to his nest again. But weeks
and months rolled on, and Richard arrived not They
knew not now how to address him a letter ; and hope
deferred, began to make sick the longing aflfoctionate
hearts. The spring flowers, whose Uossoms fae had
almost promised to greet, were withered ; summer was
fust brightening into a rich productive harvest; but
Toung Hope Fkrm looked cheerless and sad. Not a
living thing was to be seen without ; no ehoerftil busy
sounds, so usual there, were to be heard, except it
might be the birds singing among the trees — those
trees which, twenty years before, were planted as mere
saplings, now enclosed and conoealed the fair home, till
it was like a nest indeed, and like nothing so much.
The birds, we say, still sang blithsomely around it: but
was there mourning within? Tes: in the inner
chamber lay the matron, the mistress of tlie house,
apparently in the last doubtfd stage of an acute disease.
Her devoted husband sat near her, his fM!e buried in his
hands, for she could not recognise even him. Her
eldest daughter, most like herself in form and cha-
racter, supported the sufl'erer^s head, and endeavoured
to soothe her restless meanings; while the other, a
beautiful girl of seventeen, was altogetlier overoome,
and weeping bitteriy. The low casement was partly
opened to admit the summer breeze, bearing with it
refreshingly the fragrance of woodbine and roses, while
it swept the long branches of a graceful acacia against
the window-panes, with a caressing-like gesture, throw-
ing shadows as gracefVil and lifb-Uke over the nicely-
papered walls of the rooms and the snow-white draperies
of the silk couch.
The watchful daughter fancied her mother spoke:
she bent her ear to catch the words, and heaved a
deep sigh as she heard only 'Richard, Richard!' Tes,
many times during the ravings of delirium in the last
few days had that name burst with deep pathos or
impatient longing fh>m the parched and fevered lips.
Richard came not * Oh would he but arrive to soothe
the last moments, if so it must bet' thought the
daughter.
The family were anxiously expecting, too, the arrival
of the friendly surgeon, who had been obliged to leave
them the day before. He at least now came. They
heard his horse's feet ; and Mr Hadley was beckoned
noiselessly firom the room to meet him. Almost imme-
diately he reappeared, and was followed by a stranger^
who silently gave a brother's kiss to each of the afllicted
girls ; and ere they could recover their surprise, he was
kneeling beside t^e low couch.
'Mother,' he said, *my more than mother! am I
returned to find you thus ?'
She opened her eyes, and again murmured dreamily
'Richard I'
392
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
'Richard is come, never more to leave you. Oh
mother, live to bless us I'
She looked at him with a sudden, jet faint gleam of
intelligence, and then wearily turned her head, as if to
rest
The surgeon, who now entered, drew the young man
and the agitated maidens from the room, which was
instantly darkened; and the patient slept, happily to
awake composed and sensible, the crisis past, and re*
newed life in prospect And she has lived since then
many happy years, the valued wife, the tender mother, to
rejoice over her recovered treasure and reunited family.
The adopted son built a fair and graceful addition to
the farm>house, and imparted many elegancies and
useful appendages to it and to the flourishing gar-
dens. There be married the eldest daughter, to whom
his thoughts had long in secret involuntarily turned.
A nephew of Mr Hadley's afterwards joined them
from Scotland, and became the husband of the lovely
second sister ; while a third, yet in childhood, was the
cherished darling and plaything of all. So the roof-
tree of Toung Hope — its owners delight to think that
not one of their early hopes has really failed — pro-
mises fair to become a flourishing stock, adorned
with numerous noble branches and rich fruit At all
events, the fair dwelling now stands in nestling loneli-
ness and loveliness, a heart-stirring ornament of the
migestic wilds, an oasis of happy rest, and of anticipa-
tions realised ; demonstrating — how much more breath-
ingly than our poor words may 1 — what skill and energy,
when combined with upright intentions and good feel- ^
ing, may accomplish amidst the boundless soUtudes of
the • far west*
FLOOR-CLOTH.
It has been remarked, that a people's progress in
civilisation and reflnement, may be ascertained from the
state of their dwellings; and we have no doubt that in
general it may. There is a commendable selfishness
that prompts men to cdlect the fruits of their skill and
enterprise around them, and make them subservient to
their pleasure, so that domestic arrangements generally
reflect not a little of individual character and resources.
The history of household furniture in Scotland for the
three last centuries, would present a pretty accurate
picture of the national progress. In the single depart-
ment of the floor, there has been a gradual ascent from
plain mother earth to the elegant Brussels carpet, and
scarcely less elegant fabric of which we purpose to speak.
The making of Jloor, or, as it is sometimes improperly
cidled, iMxx-cloth, is comparatively of modem date, and
like most manufactures, has reached its present state by
slow degrees. Of late years the growing demand for it
as an elegant and fashionable article of household com-
fort, gave rise to a few large establishments in England;
but the only one of the kind in Scotland, is the ' Sa>ttish
Floor-Cloth Manufactory,' of which we purpose giving
some account Beside the importance that attaches to
it as a new branch of skill ariH industry, the operations
carried on possess no little interest in themselves.
This work was erected in the summer of 1847, near
the populous town of Kirkaldy, and is by far the largest
pile of masonry in the district, forming a conspicuous
object from a distance, both to the traveller by railway,
and the voyager by sea. It is 160 feet long, 87 feet
wide, and 52 feet high, the walls being of correspond-
ing thickness. There are four tiers of windows, 150 in
all, mostly what are called ' flake-windows,* for the pur-
pose of ventilation. The principal apartment, which is
the drying-room, occupying the main body of the build-
ing, contains two rows of immense pillars, reaching from
the ground to the roof, for the purpose of support-
ing cross beams, from which the cloth is suspended
when drying. These pillars are entire pines, such
as are used for masts, imported direct from Russia.
Some idea may be formed of their strength when it is
considered, that beside the support given to the roof,
they sustain the weight of 180 or 200 pieces of htlf a
ton each. We were shown over the preroiies hj the
enterprising proprietor, Mr Nairn, who kindly ex-
plained all the different processes. The original fabric,
which the English works mostly import from ScoUaod,
but is here manufactured on the spot, is a coarse flaxen
cloth, which is worked by two men in broad looms,
being eight yards wide. The cuts of canvas, on being
hoisted to an apartment called the * frame-room,' are
stretched on lai^ vertical frames, for the purpose of
receiving the ground-paint ; but before deicribiog this
process, let us look at the preparation of the paint
The materials used are chiefly the ochres and leidi,
which are thoroughly pulverised by a crashing roller,
and then mixed with linseed-oil, and other ingredieoU
suitable to the purpose. To reduce them to a farther
degree of fineness, they are then poured into a * hopper,'
and ground by a pair of millstones, from which they
flow into stone tubs, where they are kept for use. The
cloih, having been stretched on the frames already
mentioned, which reach from side to side of the build*
ing, receives on the back or floor side a coat of size-
paint, and is thoroughly rubbed with a large piece of
pumice-stone, in order to render it perfecUy smooth.
The paint is then applied from the tubairitb s brush in
large daubs, and afterwards spread over the cloth with
a long narrow trowel. The process of rubbing with the
pumice-stone is repeated, and when the coating is infB*
ciently dry, another and another is added, according to
the desired thickness of the cloth. The consistence of
the paint, which is about that of molasses, imparts gmt
strength and durability to the fabric. On the back <^ the
cloth being finished, the face undergoes three or four
similar processes, and at last receives what is technically
called the * brush-coat,' to fit it for the ornamental prints
of the blocks. As the former coating must be dry be-
fore another is applied, these operations usually occupy
three or four months. The pieces are then taken dovo
from the frames, and conveyed to the printing gallery,
in the opposite end of the building. 'This is a narrov
platform, placed near the roof, and the operations cir.
ried on in it are precisely similar to those of common
block-printing. At one time a much ruder method
was pursued : holes were cut in a piece of pateboard,
in shape of the intended pattern, and the paint applied
through them, as is still done in stencilling the vaUs
of rooms ; but it always leaves the figure ill-defined,
as well as deficient in paint. Blocks were inbo>
duced by the late ingenious Mr Nathan Smith of
London, and have continued to -be used ever since. In
the establishment is a designer, whose business it is
to devise patterns ; and as every work of the kind has
one or more of this profession, whose skill and genlos
are considered its peculiar property, it is always tn
object not to copy, but to combine as much as possble
originality with elegance. The lately-instituted Schools
of Design are doing much to supply and improre tiiii
department in wldcli we are stiU confessedly behind
our neighbours across the Channel. The designs ire
transferred to blocks by the woodcutters of Glssgovi
an art that has now attained a high state of perfec^
many woodcuts being little inferior to engrrnop-
There arc always as many blocks used in printing t
piece as there are colours, usuadlyafew more; and is
no one must interfere with another, the utmost nicety
is required in adjusting them to each other, so as to
bring out the pattern correct and entire. It is inteiest-
ing to observe the printing process, how the design is
transferred to tlie previously -prepared cloth in brokea
portions, till, from seeming irregularity and confoioo,
there results a beautiful and wcU-defined figure. As
these operations ure concluded, the doth is drawn from
the hands of tiie printers over the side of the S>Q^*
and hung up in the immense drying-room, fonae^y
described. ^
The choice of patterns, as in calico-printiog, is pamT
a matter of taste. Each manufacturer exots his own
ingenuity, and avails himself, as far as it can be hoaoaS'
UtaM^^B
rr ■ I » ■
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
383
Ably done, of the ingenuity of others, to produce such
desigai ns will meet public favour. In a manufacture
like that of calico, where the demand is extensive, a
single happy design has been known to realise a fortune.
In floor-cloth, howeyer, the leading patterns are not
rery numerous; but they are brought out with consider-
able variety of detail, and a few of tliem are rich and ex-
quisitely beautiful. They are chiefly g^ranites, marbles,
oak panellings, Gothics, and chintz. The marbles ex-
hibit a pleasing variety, in exact imitation of nature ;
but the three last are the most numerous and diversified.
Some specimens of the Gothic, prevailing colours red
snd green, look very graceful, and are well fitted for long
pissages and spacious haUs; but we were most attracted
by a chintz, consisting of two bouquets of flowers, with
a variety of drapery interspersed. This expensive cloth
has ten different colours, and fourteen blocks were re-
quired to hring out the design. The variety of colours
and patterns, when the cloths are suspended in the large
drying>room, forms a rare and gorgeous sight It is
impossible to examine this work minutely without per-
ceiving that floor-cloth is a much more complicated
and expensive manufacture than is generally supposed.
Few and simple as the processes may seem, they imply
sn advanced state of the sciences and arts. Some of the
materials used are the products of researches and dis-
coveries that extend over ages, and are still very costly.
A small bag of paint, not larger than a steer's bladder,
was pointed out to us as having cost L.20. The arts of
block-making, designing, and transferring the designs,
require a degree of skill and nicety, of which those un-
acquainted with them can form no conception. This is
a condition of almost all modern manufactures ; they
are raised upon others, without which they could not
exist. As with the . functions of the human economy,
one is necessary to another. We were wont to consider
the price of floor-cloth as exorbitant, but our visit to this
establishment has materially altered our opinion. In-
dependently of the large outlay on the requisite build-
ings, most of the labour required Is of the most ex-
pensive kind ; and here, at least, the principal workmen
aie from the large English houses: but, above all, is
tlie time that must elapse before the manufacturer can
obtain a return for his goods. The cloth has to be
about ten months in the factory before it is flt to be
sent into tiie market.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
THE * 8WEDISH-NIOHTINGALB ' PEST.
We wish — ^though entirely with a regard to our own
comfort — ^that Jenny land would either marry or take
the veil, and so be done with it one way or another.
While she remains as she is — a spinster — she is a
serious evil, especially in the provinces. There we hear
not her sweet strains — except perhaps once or twice
altogether, when she has condescended to become a
Wandering Voice. In general, our doom is only to hear
of her in the London journals ; and there we hear too
much. Would metropolitan editors only consider that,
thongh it is sport to them to listen to the actual perform-
ance of this nightingale, it is death to us to have limit-
leas paragraphs about it ! This, however, we could bear,
as we b^ hundreds of other matters local to London,
and which London innocently supposes to be interest-
ing to the whole world of Britain. But this eternal
paragraphing about the personal history of tlie vocalist
— this is what we most specially complain of and re-
m<mstrate against. That a simple Swedish girl should
have proved to be a wonder and a prodigy to a multi-
tude of London English, in as far as she cared little
about money or pufifery, is nothing to us in the country,
who are of much the same unsophisticated character as
Miss Liod herself. Their incapability of appreciating
her motives, and the pure bewildermenf'which they
experience in consequence, are no doubt very natu-
ral to them, but exceedingly impertinent 'to ut. To
thfim. marfiriTpr. thn mvnfcprim of thpatrinal interests
are matters of gossip of vast consequence: but to
us, who know nothing about them, they are vapid
stuff! The dread of losing a source of entertainment
which they alone can enjoy, why should we be ever-
lastingly bored with it ? Why, above all, should we be
condemned to see this delightAil specimen of unspoilt
and unspoilable humanity badgered through all the
newspapers about her wish to retire, her intention to
be married, and so fortlii as if the sanctity of an indivi-
dual will were in this case to be held as a compromised
right? To us, in the simplicity of the provinces, the
whole of this generation of paragraphs about Miss
Lind*s heart and hand is an utter abomination, which
we should be disposed, if in our power, to make very
short work in reforming. Since this is not the case,
we roust return to our first position, and say that, were
it quite the same to Miss land to become a Mrs Some-
thing, and thus cut off the whole troop of Impertinents
who at present howl after her, we should feel truly
obliged, being thereby exempted from a trouble and a
pest which we fear must otherwise continue to vex us
for years to come. . .
people's college at SHEFFIELD.
The word ' college ' is associated with ideas of extensive
buildings, richly-endowed chairs, and all other * appliances
and means to lioot ' for the advancement of learning. A
People's College, then, would mean an institution of the
kind distinguished by popular features, and more espe-
cially open to the classes hitherto withheld by want of
funds from slaking their intellectual thirst at the more
costly fountains. Let us see how the People's College
at Sheffield answers to this definition.
When Mechanics' Institutes are arranged for the sup-
posed advantage of those classes for which they were ori-
ginally intend^, the only branches of education taught
at them are the rudimental ones — reading, writing, and
arithmetic. A mechanic, therefore, after having got over
these stepping-stones to knowledge, is thrown upon his
own resources. There is no establiiJiment adapted to his
means where he can receive instruction in the higher
branches of learning; and if he pursues the path of in-
quiry at all, he must do so at home, and in the midst
of many discouragemente and interruptions. About seven
years ago a gentleman, then an Independent minister in
Sheffield, was struck with thb tmperfection in tbe educa-
tional arrangements of ths country; and afiet a prepara-
tory lecture, he startled the adherents of the M system
by opening an institution, which he called the People's
College; and in which, besides the instruction usually
giren to mechanics, were classes for grammar, mathe-
matics, logic, English composition, elocution, &c. besides
Greek and l4ttin, and some modem languages.
This institution was, in point of fact, a private school,
the property of the reverend gentleman ; and it passed
through a variety of vicissitudes incidental to such specu-
lations, during which it was chiefly worked by Mr Bayky
in person, asttisted by seme of the senior students as
monitors. It seems, hoWism, in the opinion of the cor-
respondent to whom we m indebted for this informa-
tion, to have at least proved that the working-classes
are by no means indifierent to those h^her studies which
are usually considered to be beyond their intellectual
reach; although this opinion would seem to be some-
what at variance with the fact, that at the close of last
summer the number of students amounted only to thirty.
At that time Mr Bayley was aj^ointed to a congregation
in London, and he bade adieu to Sheffield, learing the
orphaned college to the chances of the worid.
r^ow comes the most interesting part of its history. A
meeting of the principal students took place, at which
much regret was expressed at the impending fate of the
institution, and strong opinions advanced as to its pecu-
liar adaptation for the work of supplying the educational
wants of the lower-middle and lower classes. In fine, it
was resolved by these somewhat enthusiastic and high-
minded persons to continue the coll^ themtdves; and in
so spirited a manner were their exertions responded to by
the neonle. that unwards of one hundred vounir men and
women at once enrolled their Bunes ae members. This
WM six months ago; and so steady has been the increase,
that at the present moment there is a weekly attendance
of one hundred and eighty.
Now let our readers obserre this, for here lies the great
interest of the subject. The college continued, and still
continues, to be under the sole direction of twelve stu-
dents, who were chosen as a committee for the puipose;
and so disinterested are the labours of these persons, that
they not only derote mtuitously their time and talents
to the serrice of the mstitution, but they pay the same
fbe as ordinary scholars — ^namely, sixpence per week, and
one shilling per quarter. This fee is the sole reyenue—
the college has never received a shilling in the way of
donation; and besides these twelve, there has never been
more than a single other teacher, a gentleman who is paid
for instructing in Flrench and Qerman.
In order to convey a correct idea of the class of society
by i^ioh this self-supporting and self-governing estab-
lishment is earned on, we hero indicate the occupations
of the teaching and managing committee :•—
One master shoemaker.
- One steel refiner.
Two brushmakers.
One banker's clerk.
One tailor.
One grinder.
Two fender-makers.
One caster.
One cooper.
One ironmonger.
Of these, all are journeymen, with the exception of the
shoemaker and banker's clerk. Our informant is one of
the committee, Mr Isaac Jackson, brushmaker; and he
concludes his letter thus : — * My only object in sending
you this statement is, that you might use your influence
to induce the young men and women of other towns to
" go and do likewise." . What has been done in Sheffield
may be done elsewhere.'
The most effective way in which influence can be used
in a case of this kind, is simply to give it publicity.
We have always stood up for the true dignity and inde-
pendence of the working-classes; and here is a remarkable
exemplification of the resources they possess within their
own body. The time has been when a People's College,
such as is described above, would have been reckoned
the idle dream of an enthusiast; and it would have been
so in reality so long as this belief continued. But, in
spite of the ill-judged attempts that have been made to
persuade the working-men that they can do nothing of
themselves — that they are lost without the fostering
care of wealth or authority — a healthy conviction would
appear to be rising in their minds tnat they are them-
selves the arbiters of their own destiny. We trust this
may spread, and that our readers wUl repeat to one
another, and to themselves, the words of our correspon-
dent— * What has been done in Sheffield may be aone
elsewhere ! '
SKETCHES IN NATURAL HISTORY.
THE PHOLAS FAMILT.
If any one will go to the sea-coast at no great distance
from Edinburgh, with a hammer in his hand, we can
promise him a speedy introduction to the Phoias family.
Finding some rocks of shale or day, which the ebbing
tide just uncovers, let him give a smart rap or two with
his hammer at the doors of the phoias mansion, and he
will presently see a hundred tiny jets of water pop out
of a hundred minute apertures. This vriU teU him the
pholades are at home ; but to get at them personally is
more difficult, if possible, than to get personal inter-
Yiew with the * great ones ' of another family. Always
iuppofling that the hammer in question is a geologist's,
let the sharp end of it be diligently used until a mass of
the rock if detached some five or six inches square,
which, from the friable nature of these strata, is not
rery difficult, and he wiU secure a sufficient number of
these aoimali for the purpose of investigating their
hal^ts and eoonomy. Having got the frsgmoit of rock
home, and examined it closdy, it will be ikmnd perfb'
rated by a large number of hdes, which lead to csnsli
in its substance. The holes are about the diameter of
a quUI. On splitting a canal perpendicularly doim.
warda^ it will be seen that its direction is for the moit
part vertioal, and that fAm direction is common to
every oanal in the mass. Sometimes, however, there ii
a certain degree of inclination in the direction, a fact,
as we shall have to notice further on, oC some cooie-
quence to the geologist The canal runs with a per.
ceptible increase of diameter, for five or six inchei in
some cases, into the stone ; in others it is not so deep;
and at its extremity is a pear-shaped cavity, the hmdsit
end downwards, and narrowing toward the opening of
the canal into it. Snugly ensconced in this cavitj liei
the terrified and home^invaded subject of our article- .
the phoias, or, as it is eomroonly called, the File-fiib. '
When it is considered tiiat the pholades are loeaiiljr
come at, and abound in many limestone rocks oo ov :
coasts, it is somewhat surprising that so much igno*
ranee should have prevailed, and still exiiti, about
these curious but simple creatnres. Many loologiits
consider the pholades to belong to the family of bivalve .
animals ; but as, in addition to the two valves chara(y
teristic of this class, there are several small sspplenen- ,
tary portions whi(^ protect the hinge, otheis con^
der it belonging properly to the multivalves. It need
scarcely be said that these valves are the casei or
coverings of the body, resting upon the fleshy mantle |
which secretes them, and united at the portion oafled
the hinge. The shell, thus formed, is chemically ooo-
posed of carbonate of Ume, and is of the most ddicate
white colour, and frequently of an elegant form. Tbe
shape is oblong, and narrower at one end than at the
other. The external surface of the shell of many spe-
cies is raised into a series of cross-hatched elevations;
some proceeding longitudinally, and others traniverKly;
in others, however, the surfiu:e of the shell is qoHe
smooth. These two large valves enclose snd prottct,
so far as such a rock-inhabiting creature needs pro*
tection, the most important visceral organs of the
phoias. But the habits of the creature deinand tbatit
should be furnished with some long and pliant instni.
ment, by means of which, although deep-buried to iUceB,
it may reach the surface of the rock, and bathe ia the
fresh waves outside. On a clear day, and in cahn waten,
any one with sharp eyes may detect lolling oat of the
holes of the rocks, here and there, a curious tnbnhr
process, apparently formed by soldering two tubes to-
gether laterally, like the barrels of a fowUng-pae-
This is called the * tube' of the phoias, and is eri<tentiy
intended to supply the imprisoned creature with food
and fresh water for respiration,* under the active assist-
ance of the numerous cilia of the creature. This organ
is possessed of a certain measure of retractile and con-
tractile motion for the performance of its functions; Ij
virtue of the latter, squirting out the jet of water frfud
formed our introduction to tiie animal. It is stated by
some observers, that the creature is constancy suctaf
in and ejecting water through the tube; but with vmJ
degree of accuracy we have not had the opportnmtf of
ascertaining. At the broad extremity of the shdl »«
powerful muscular organ called * the foot 'is situated;^
means of which, applying itself closely to the "^^^jjv
phoias obtains a firm fulcrum and point of attachment
The pholades derive the whole sum of their n«m«to^
from the water, most probably from minute animsfcnto
floating therein: on this, as we should say thin, m
doubtless waierp diet, they live, thrive, and grow ftt
being conspicuous exceptions to the general "*^ J^*Jf
case of such rigid hermits. Being inci^blc of in«w^
the young pholades are dropped flrom the tube oi tw
parent on the surface of their native rock. Having m*
briefly mentioned the organisation and pecnlisritiei «
♦ vide • Ciliary MoUon,' under Popular laformatton on W«*«
inNo.l2&
sss:
rt*i«BMM
ttmummm^^t
MhMM»*a«dlMMM
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUKGH JOURNAL.
895
these creAtnres, we may rdiere the possible tedimn of
pore description by Adyerting now to that interesting
part of their history — ^their terebnttng or perforating
powers.
Althoogli the pholades are most commonly to be
fonnd imbedded in limestone rocks, or in mtrly strata,
Uiey are by no means exclusiyely confined to snch
habitats; since there are some which perforate wood of
the hardest description, and have also been fomid in
kra, trap, and sandstone rocks. The yomig pholas,
thns ctat ont upon the tender merdes of a rough world,
trithont a protector, and without a home, with a tender
deHcate body, and a stubborn rock for its couch, and in
sddition, exjiosed to all the Airy of a raging tide or
boisterous sinf, is in a condition which demands amazing
■toutneas of heart and energy of purpose. The supply
is equal to the demand; for the little creature soon
sets about its work, and in a little while has produced a
sensible impression on its bed of stone : tMa deepens
into a hole; and at length, by dint of unremitting perse-
▼erance, the rock-cell is formed, and the molluscous
hermit dwells therein at ease, as the fruit of his labours.
In what manner this operation is commenced no one ap-
pears to haye determined, although the ingenious Oliver
Goldsmith, in his usual easy way of getting oyer diffi-
culties, aays : ^The instrument with which it performs
all its operations, and buries itself in the hardest rook,
is only a broad fleshy substance somewhat resembling a
tongue, which is seen issuing from the bottom of the
shell With this soft and yielding instrument it per-
forates the most solid marbles; and having, while yet
little and young, made its way by a very narrow entrance
into ^e substance of the stone, it then begins to grow
^tg^» luid thus to enlarge its apartment' Reject-
ing, however, this very i^ausible hypothesis, it is inte-
resting to inquire upon what grounds zoologists have
endeavoured to explain the process by which this feeble
animal e^cts its entry into the obdurate surface of
the rock. Probably upon few subjects in natural his-
tory does so much discrepancy of opinion still exist ;
and when the abundance of subjects every coast pre-
sents for our investigation is considered, it looks some-
tiiing Hke an opprobrium to the science that the ques-
tion remains now just where it was forty or fifty years
aga The slowness of the process is probably the real
difficulty in the investigation ; but surely a little pa-
tience would not be misspent in settUng the point ? The
opposing theories may be classified under the two deno-
minations, the mechanical and the chemical. M. Reau-
mur, that aU-intelligent observer, was early attracted to
this subject ; and in an interesting paper communicated
to the French Academy, he supposes that it is effected
by a muscular action of the foot, and that the creatures
entered the rock when it was in a soft condition. The
latter part of this suggestion is undoubtedly erroneous,
as the pholades perforate rocks which were only soft
when at an intense heat at some far-distant time; such
as trap and lava. The ingenious Mr Gray of the British
Museum, in a communication contained in the * Zoolo-
gical Journal,' believes that by means oi the *foot ' tiie
pboUdes obtsin a firm attachment to the rock, and per-
forate it by a sort of rasping process, effected by a semi-
rotatory motion of the valves of the shell. Mr Stark
oonstdmd the subject deserving the attention even of
the Royal Society of Edinburgh ; and in a paper read
before that learned body, he states that, from repeated
examination of the recent animals, he felt no hesitation
in asserting that two species at least form their holes
by rotating and rasping the stone with their valves.
In confirmation of these gentlemen's opinion, it is said
that circular lines are distinctly yisible in the cell of the
animal corresponding to the elevated striae of the shell ;
presenting the appearance as if the bearing had been
effected by an auger ; and in some of the cells scooped
out in wood, this appearance is very striking. Toward
the upper part of the canal these marks have disap-
peared, in consequence of the continued friction of the
fleahy tube in its motions in that part of the cavity.
A formidable argument is wielded by a host of un-
reasonable opponents, who say that this cannot be the
right explanation, because several species of terebrating
pholades have smooth shelU. On the other side, this is
met by calling to remembrance tiie constancy of the
operation ; and littie is known as to the length of time
which may elapse while these patient miners labour out
their deepening cell I *A drop of water wears away
stones ;' or, in the elegant language of one of these side
advocates, the keys ^ the pianoforte are hollowed by
*the softest touch of the softest fingers.' And it is
always to be remembered, that the constant presence of
water must facilitate the operation. At the meeting of
the British Association at Plymouth, this question was
brought forward, and dicited, as usual, tlie observations
of a numerous party on either side. Professor Owen,
with all the weight attaching to his authority, consi-
dered the holes were produced by the incessant action
of the cilia of the creature producing currents of water,
which in process of time wore away the rock. But
Dr Buckland replied by saying, that if that were the
case, the cavities would be largest at their openings,
where greatest force would be exerted ; and he rather
inclined to believe that the creature, by yirtue of some
acid secretion, softened the rock, and then produced
the cavity by rasping away the softened parts by the
rotation of its shell. And Mr Phillips followed on the
same side, saying that the regularity of the holes proved
that they were made by the motion of the shell, and
not by currents of water. Sir H. de la Becbe thought
it probable that the carbonic acid evolved in the respi-
ration of the animal softened the material of the rock,
and assisted in its disintegration. Were it not that M.
de Blainville declares, that on a carefVil examination ho
could detect no trace of acid in the secretions of the
pholas, we should be disposed to agree with the roe-
chanico-chemical theorists, and say that the perforations
were the effect of the joint agency of these two causes ;
and if we accept Sir H. de la Beche's suggestion, the
same supposition may still be the correct one.
When such • learned Thebans ' contend so ardentiy be-
tween themselves, we may well retire from the field, and
turn, as it is best to do in all similar cases, rather to the
established effects than to the litigated causes. Insig-
nificant as it may seem, the pholas is the cause of great
anxiety to man, with regard to the stability and perma-
nence of his submarine undertakings. These tiny
galleries and mines, multiplying by thousands, and
attacking a large surface, at once may commit the most
extensive damage, and lay the foundation of a train of
events which may one day bring down to ruin the
proudest monuments of human skill. The Breakwater
at Plymouth was soon attacked by them, and the unseen
mischief which they are now effecting there cannot be
rightly estimated. Not only do they attack stone struc-
tures beneath the wave, but wooden piers of the most
solid construction suffer equally; and the only remedy
against their invasion, is to drive a multitude of nails
into the timber, so as to render it impossible for the
creatures to effect an entrance. Their ravages on the
rocks of different portions of our coast, produce a magni-
tude of results wluch, when compared with the minute-
ness of the agents, is something surprising. The coast
near Edinburgh is formed by alternating and parallel
strata of shale and sandstone. The pholades have long
taken up their dwelling in the shale, and have so honey-
combed it in every place, that it has become rapidly
disintegrated and washed away; while the sandstone re-
mains, only rounded by the influence of time and tide.
Those who are acquainted with Mr Lyell's valuable
work on * Geology,' will remember that the frontispiece
is a view of the temple of Serapis at Puteoli. At a cer-
tain height, the pillars present a completely worm-eaten
appearance; while above and below they remain unin-
jured. It is quite evident this is not the work of de-
sign; and it has been supposed to be accounted for by
the former subsidence of the land beneath the waters,
when tiie pillars beoiume exposed to the attacks of the
^01^-^-M^m
MMAl«i^»-ta^B>«rfhfl
rilii"fcii I bT 1 ii ^^^.^^Miii.^^^
399
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
pholades, and its snbgeqoent eleyation aboye the surface,
when these invaders perished. A similar occurrence
appears to be testified by the present condition of the
limestone rocks at Plymouth. Many of them are far
above the highest tide-mark, yet arc found penetrated
by holes, undoubtedly the cells of former generations of
pholades. Lower down, the shells of these creatures still
remain; and at the water's edge are to be found the ani-
mals aliye. Thus these perforations are often of the
greatest yalue to the geologist, in enabling him to deter-
mine the former height of land. And, as was formeriy
mentioned, the inclination of the perforations, which
are generally vertical, may afford him some clue as to
whether any alterations have taken place, in the lapse of
ages, in the arrangement and disposition of the strata.
The destruction they cause is greatly accelerated by the
large amount of surface these innumerable holes afford
to the destructive energies of the atmosphere and water;
and thus where the smooth surface of the rock might
have suffered but little degradation by the lapse of a
considerable apace of time, ^ese little excavators greatly
help forward the process, and become roost important
agents in the formation of fresh strata out of the ruins
of the old ones. Yet the creature means not so: in im-
muring itself in the rock, it is obeying the impulse of a
Divinely-inspired instinct, which teaches it that its
fragile and delicate shell is no sufficient protection
against the fury of a boisterous element. Entering into
the rock, it is safe alike from howling winds, thundering
waters, and prowling enemies. Thus, in Goldsmith's
smoothly-turned sentences, * the pholas lives in darkness,
indolence, and plenty. It never removes from the nar-
row mansion into which it has penetrated; and seems
perfectly contented with being enclosed in its own
sepulchre. The influx of sea-water that enters by its
little gallery satisfies all its wants; and without any
other food, it is found to grow from seven to eight inches
long, and thick in proportion.'
It may be poetical to imagine the pholas thus spend-
ing a long existence in the obscurity of an undissipated
night ; but it is not so in reality. One of the roost sin-
gular circumstances in their history, is their phosphores-
cence. This property has been long known ; it is even
mentioned by PUny. The creature is said to secrete a
certain luminiferous fluid, which causes everything on
which it falls to shine with a pale phosphorescence. M.
de Blainville says, that the pholades are the most lumi-
nous of all molluscous animals; and he even relates that
those who eat the animal raw, in the dark appear in a
most awe-inspiring fashion to be breathing flames!
This phosphorescent quality is roost powerful Uie fresher
the animal is; disappearing if dried, and reviving, it is
said, by the addition of a little salt water. The cheering
beams of the solar ray cannot light this patient miner
to its work, nor penetrate to the confines of its cell; but
the Creator has given it a ' light in its dwelling,' wholly
independent of the great source of light to the world
around; and this pale, gentle, lambent flame makes,
what o^rwise would hav6 been a dismal, gloomy cave,
a light and cheerful home throughout the long years
of the creature's existence.
We have mentioned the pholades as the enemies of
man in some respects ; we may, in conclusion, advert to
a different and more agreeable relation in which they
stand towards him. At the tables of some epicures
these creatures are donsidered as a great delicacy. The
Romans, who, as Dr Adam tells us, were particularly
fond of shell-fish, bringing them all the way from Britain
to the luxurious city, appear to have set an edible value
upon the pholades. M. Desmarest, to the great annoy-
ance of the geologists, has attempted to prove that the
celebrated perforations in the temple of Serapis by the
pholades, took place, not in consequence of the subsi-
dence of the land, but of the conversion of the temple
and its vicinity into a fish-pond! And M. de Blainville
aggravates them still more by putting the question,
* Whether the pholades were not put there purposely for
the supply of toe table ? ' At the present day they are
largdy used as an article of food in France and Italy,
and on the coasts of the Mediterranean, where they
abound. In the neighbourhood of Dieppe, Mr Stark
tells us that bands of women and children, each inned
with a pickaxe, make a formidable army againit the
unhappy pholades, who tremble in tlieir rock«citiddi
as these besiegers approach. By means of tiie sharp
point of this implement, they are able to detach conn-
derable fragments of the rock, and a rich harvest of the
molluscs ensues. They are ^hen sent to market, or, I
deprived of their shells, are used as bait for oUier fiih. |
That gem-like phrase, * sermons in stonei,' to oae the
words of a living poet, has sparkled so long ' upon the
finger of Time,' that its brilliance has become somevhit
damaged for our purpose. But if inanimate creatioD
can teach lessons of wisdom to man, few, we think, will
be disposed to deny that a fragment of perforated twk
is more forcibly eloquent upon the subject of pene-
verance under difficulties, than the most nervooi ap>
peals to the mind from the pen or lips of my hnmu
philosopher.
MOHAMMED ALI'S EXPEDITION UP THE
WHITE NILE.*
I
It is perhaps some reproach to European enterpriie and
skill, that one great quarter of the world ahoold still
remain in many parts unexplored. Mighty rivera rite ve
know not where, and flow for hundreds, perhfps thou-
sands of miles, in we know not what direction; vhik on
their banks, and in their vicinity, dwell numerous trihes
of men whose very names have not yet met our wt.
Long before the birth of history there was a dty-hniM-
ing, mummy - making, and tomb - excavating people
settled on the Lower KUe ; and yet, after the lapse d
four or five thousand years, we have not been able to
follow up that stream to its source, or to decide whether
it falls from the Mountains of the Moon or from the
moon itself. Two travellers, penetrating into Africa
from different points, are even now, it is said, engaged
in attempting to solve the problem ; and it cannot be
doubted that, however unwilling Old Nile may be to
show his head, the perseverance of man will be too stnog
for him, and dissipate every particle of the roysteiy in
which he has so long delight^ to involve his origin.
Once in Upper ifubia, we held a conversation with
certain Arabs, who professed to have penetrated fa
into the interior, and to be well acquainted wi& the
character of the tribes found there. They spoke (^
them as gentle and hospitable ; and as a pnxif that
they fully believed the truth of what they had ad-
vanced, offered to accompany us any distance np tbe
river. Various obstacles then concurred to hinder
our making the attempt : the Kile was too k)v to
allow of our boats being dragged, without much diffi-
culty, up the dreary length of the second cataract;
the Strygians, almost in open revolt, barred the p«-
sage across the Desert ; and Mohammed AH'a iynovj
had irritated the black population, and rendered then
inimical to all strangers proceeding under the protectioo
of a firman from him. Still, had the season of the jeff
been favourable, our persuasion is that the attempt if
then made, would have been crowned with •«**
Our Arabs were bound to us by strong personal .attach-
ment ; and their natural courage and passion for adjen-
ture would have enabled us to face without flinchini
the dangers of the way. ^^
Mr Weme proceeded up the White River under mm
more propitious auspices — as far, we mean, as regards
safety. The expedition consisted of four daftcMei tm
Kalura (vessels with two masts, and cabins about 100
feet long, and 12 to 15 broad, each with two cannon);
three dahabies from Khartum, one of which had sJw
two cannon ; then two haidss (ships of burthen witD
♦ Expedition to I>lscover the Souroes of the White Nfleta ftj
Year* 1840-1841. By Ferdinand Weme. Prom the <*"""••'
Charlee Willlun O'BeiUy. In 8 voia. London : Baitlaf. wV'
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
397
I
I
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one mrnst); and a sandal (skiff) for communication.
The crews were composed of 250 soldiers (Negroes,
Egyptians, and Syrians), and 120 sailors and mariners
from Alexandria, Nnbia, and the land of Sudan. They
■et sail from Khartum on the 23d November 1840,
and soon reached that imaginary line which consti-
tutes the boundary of the Turkish dominions. On the
White, as on the Blue Nile, travellers soon learn to
complain of the monotony of the scenery, just as men
do when they are descending through the Alps from
Switzerland into Italy. The similarity between moun-
tuns is as great as the similarity between plains ; and
you become, therefore, tired of the Alps at least quite as
icon as of the Desert But what by Werne and others
is termed monotony, is only in the general aspect ; for
when you come to note the minuter accidents of the
landscape, you cannot fail to discover abundant variety.
In a succession of date and other groves, there is
a constant vicissitude of light and shade; of expan-
sion and contraction; of closeness and irregular dis-
persion ; and then the rise and fall of tlie banks, the
aspect of the villages, the open ground or forest in the
biick distance, the sky clouded or bright, and the ever-
fluctuating river, now narrowing its dimensions to those
of the Rhine or the Thames, and now spreading away in
lakes terminating in woods of reeds or gigantic rushes,
and suffused with pink or tinted with blue by innunie-
rAble varieties of the lotus, suffice to keep alive expecta-
tion and the appetite for novelty : add to these the occur-
rence of new tribes acting as a mysterious link between
you and the unknown interior. Bear also in mind that
every day brings its chances of strife, its probabilities of
danger, its certainty of perplexities, embarrassments, and
difficulties, and you have enough to impart vivacity to
the tamest imagination.
But in the case of Werne, had external sources of
interest failed, there would seem to us to have been
always an ample supply of amusement on board. The
old Egyptian pasha had apparently caught all the
oddities within his reach, and put them on board these
exploring arks, to excite the curiosity and multiply
the entertainment of each otlier. There were Turks
with Circassian slaves, Kurds from the Alpine regions
of Central Asia, full of their wild and primitive su-
perstitions, which they developed in strange stories
or legends; Arabs, Nubians, Barabras, Negroes, and,
above all, adventurers and vagabonds from France,
Germany, and Italy, who had spent half their lives in
roaming about the shores of the Mediterranean, perse-
cuted loj fortune, and persecuting each other with still
more unrelenting malignity. The Frenchmen hated
the Italians; and the Grermans, not without reason, paid
and received the same compliment. Still all was not
pailful in this motley society: all the more remarkable
originals laboured with incessant assiduity, and gene-
rally with success, to keep awake the merriment of
their companions. Of these the most curious was per-
haps Feizulla Capitan, who sought consolation from t^e
iUa of life in mending his own breeches, or rest, or
doak. He always sat ready to ward off with his needle
the blows of adversity. If the wind riackened, Feizulla
stitched ; if his crew were lazy or disobedient, he stitched
and if malaria, or heat, or moisture spread
through the expedition, he looked solely to the
magic little instrument of polished steel for comfort.
Hut time and vicissitude work wonders in the greatest
at men. No needlewoman, compelled to make shirts at
three-halfpence a piece for advertising houses in the
Oity, ever plied her thimble with more persevering
enthusiasm than Feizulla Capitan ; yet at leng^ it would
not do. His sorrows bore down his needle, and he took
to brandy-and-water, or to brandy-neat, as the next
best substitute.
The European adventurers, though sometimes equally
comic, were much less harmless than Feizulla Capitan.
AVliile he was engaged in stitching up rents, they were
oMslly busily employed in making them. Tearing to
each other's reputations, scheming, plotting, ma-
noeuvring, to ingratiate themselves with the Turks, and
overreach their Christian companions, if the epithet be
not in general a misnomer. Werne has diligently chro-
nicled these achievements of theirs ; allowing it at the
same time to appear, however, that he was very little
more disinterested or amiable than they. Doubtless he
had sometimes good reason to complain ; as, for example,
when Yaissier sold him four sacks of moulded biscuits,
with a few good ones at the top to make the cheat pass.
We forgave him on that occasion for seizing the iron
shod in a boot, a heavy stick four feet long, and sallying
forth in search of the culprit ; and we are likewise dis-
posed to overlook the fact of his not having pushed him
into the Nile, when, meeting in a narrow pathway over-
hanging that river, he muttered, by way of deprecation,
the words 'wife and children;* but for the honour of
our western character, we should have preferred that
the various instances of meanness^ rapaoity, and profli-
gacy recorded in Werne*s volumes had not taken place
in the sight of pagans and Mohammedans.
When men travel through a known country, they
often mention names which serve as resting-places fur
the reader's imagination. In ascending the Lower Nile,
for example, you meet with Kahira, and .Benesaef, and
Manfidoot, and Dendera, and Thebes, and Fhilea ; but
after leaving Khartum, the voyagers up the White
Stream appeared to be overwhelm^ by the endless ex-
tension of the same idea. You cross and recross the
Nile, you sail through reedy lakes, you see the bed of
rain -torrent after rain -torrent, you successively en-
counter the villages of the Barabras, Denkas, the Shil-
buchs, the Keks, the Bundurials, and the Dushoils.
But these terms are linked with no associations, and
point out no differences to your mind. In vain does
the traveller descend to minute details — inform you tlmt
the banks to-day were higher or lower by a foot than
yesterday ; that the river turned now towards the east,
and now towards the west; that its rate of flowing was
sometimes three, and sometimes four miles an hour:
you long to push on rapidly towards the mountains,
where the stream has its perhaps fabulous cradle.
Tet, by the way, you like to hear a little of the Keks,
&c; and therefore Mr Werne, digressing a little from
south -south -west and south -south -east, which is his
stock topic when he aims at being eloquent, makes
a descent upon the shore, and favours us with a few
particulars respecting the people. The following is a
favourable specimen of this sort of information : —
* A young woman was so enraptured at the sight of
my glass beads, that she wanted to sell me her child,
which she carried in a skin under her left arm, as if
in a bag. I do not think that I am mistaken with
regard to this offer, although one ought not to be con-
fident that the daughter of a harmless nation like the
Keks would do so. Perhaps she was a prisoner, which
might be the case here generally, and that these women
are watched by the men. It is always possible that
the men take their favourite wives with them for com-
fort's sake, and leave the otliers at home, or put them
in some kind of bodily restraint
* A very large and broad surtuk caught my eye, and
I was curious to find out the species of wood of which
it was built ; but the bulls, standing close to each other
there, pointed their horns at me. Two natives sprang
nimbly to them, in order to quiet them, whereupon I
went off as quickly as possible ; and the more so, b^use
last year a soldier had been gored to death. A village
bull towered above all of them. His high horns were
adorned with two animals* tails ; he had also ornaments
around his neck. I was not able, however, to examine
these ornaments very closely ; for he rushed too quickly
into the herd, that he might, like all the other beasts,
stick his nose as quickly as possible into the smoke.
This is a ludicrous sight. Every beast appears to know
exactly his heap, or rather his neighbourhood, else an
uncommon confusion would take place ; for they have
their stakes very dose to one another.'
Having escaped being gored by the village bull, Mr
Werne, fklling from Scylla into Gharybdii, gets into
awkward proximity to twenty crooodilef. He is ill and
weak, and one should say, hardly worth eating ; yet the
crocodiles were of a different opinion ; and no sooner
scented his Teutonic flesh, than they began to put their
noses and their tails in motion, each for the selfish
purpose of taking the first bite. But we must allow
him to tell the story in his own way : — ' I have for-
tunately overcome a Tiolent attack of illness which
overtook me yesterday evening. Such a faintness
seiz^ me in my excursion yesterday that I was
obliged to sit down. I slept or lay in a swoon, I know
not which. I awoke when it was already dark. A
shot was fired near me : I tried to answer ; but my
gun flashed in the pan ; for I had flred it off in a half-
unconscious state to call for assistance. I dragged
myself in the direction of the spot, and worked through
the bushes to the shore, in onler to walk more com-
fortably on the sand. At last I had the stream before
roe. On my left I saw the flres near the ships *, but I
was suddenly struck with terror, for there was the hor-
rible sight of more than twenty crocodiles a few paces
before me on the light sand ! I had really commenced
to count the beasts; but did not, however, remain
long in bivio heretdia, for they began to move, scenting
human flesh. I hastened back into the bushes, plunged
into the holes hollowed out by water which I had pre-
viously tried to avoid, and arrived without any accident
close to the ships. I heard voices behind me, and recog-
nised my servants, who were in search of me. They
were mourning, and reproaching themselves for having
left me. Sale set up a loud howl, because he thought I
was devoured by the crocodiles. They found me on the
ground; they had also been pursued by the beasts.
What a poor creature a sick man is 1 '
Most persons who have ever known the Turks will
read without surprise almost any illustration of their
cod inhumanity; yet even these perhaps will experi-
ence some astonishment at reading how, without provo-
cation, they shot down a number of the harmless natives :
the sorrow of whose relatives is thus described by
Werne :— * We sailed away with the wind favouring
our criminal action, for our men had again come on
board before the firing commenced. . . . The natives
were hastening towards it; but they did not trust them-
selves near us. Yet they knew not the melancholy
truth that our shots would hit at a distance. Hitherto
they feared only the thunder and lightning of them, as
we had seen several times. We halted a moment ; the
unhappy creatures or relatives of the slain came doser
to the border of the shore, laid their hands fiat together,
raised them above their head, slid upon their knees
nearer to us, and sprang again high in the air, with
their compressed hands stretched aloft, as if to invoke
the pity of Heaven, and to implore mercy of us. A slim
young man was so conspicuous by his passionate grief
that it cut to my heart; and our barbarians laughed
with all their might This unbounded attachment to
one another, and the circumstance that that woman, in
spite of the danger so close at hand, sought for the man
of her heart among those who had perished, affected
me exceedingly; because such moral intrinsic worth,
flowing from pure natural hearts, is unfortunately more
acquired than innate in civilised nations. We had only
advanced a little on our way, when above thirty unarmed
natives, who must yet at all events have been informed
of the tragical incident that had just occurred, sat
down on the sand directly close to the river, without
suspicion, or designing any harm to us, as if nothing
had taken place. And really I had enough to do to
prevent their being shot at'
After this incident, it was not unnatural that the
Turks should entertain suspicions of the designs of the
natives : they could not help feeling conscious that they
deserved to be viewed with detestation, and looked for
a display of treachery and cruelty similar to thdr own.
Having reached a natural obstruction in the stream,
which, however, would have been none at the period d^the
inundation, they began seriously to think of their reton;
and Mr Werne describes the collected oircamitsocei
which determined them in the following pausge:—
* Nature has drawn here a real bsr of rooks through the
White Stream, which we dare not venture to raniUMint ;
for the water has fallen for some days, as is quite evi-
dent, and the vessels could only, bv taking out sE tbeir
freight, pass the defile near the large r^ki, whivU ii
called on this account Bab-agate. The river-bed be*
ginning from hence appears to be generally of i moie
rocky nature ; for we perceive, even from &e rocks od
the island of Ishanker, breakers in the stream up the
river. However, there is no doubt that we might nil
away victoriously over these obstacles at the time d
the inundation, for the river here rises to abont eighteea
feet high. The main thing would be, then, for nortk
winds to blow exactiy at this period strong eoongfa to
withstand the pressure of water rising in this mountiin
land ; for I am still of opinion that the rapidity of the
current increases from hence in such a manner, thit
we could not advance by the rope even with the bat
will. We have remained here at the isUnd three entire
days, and the ne p/tct uUra is not so much inscribed n
the pillars of Hercules in the water, as desired in the
hearts of the whole expedition.
' The war-dance which the blacks performed yeita-
day has contributed certainly to the final determinttion
to return. Even I thought yesterday that I hesrd ud
saw in the fearful battie-song a declaration of vsr, and
a challenge to the contest It was almost unponibk
to persuade one*s self that it was merely a mark of
honour. The natives marched up and down the idiod
in columns, brandishing their lances in the sir; long
their war-songs with threatening counteosncei vA
dreadful gestures ; then fell into still greater eostacy,
ran up and down, and roared their martial chant
Nevertheless I altered my opinion that this vu dooe
with hostile views, for the native interpreters remained
quietiy with us on board the vessel ; and when we seot
them to request that this honour might not be paid
to us, they returned, though not having effected thdr
object
*It was thought advisable that we should tesTe tiK
shore, for the natives had only need to have spnnf
down to be on board our vessels. There were certainly
too many black people ; and a warlike rapacions sntha-
siasm might easily, it was true, possess their miod%
influenced as they were by the military rosasunei
It was well, therefore, that a reiterated request oo our
side was answered, and an end put to the wazlike
ceremony without our having betrayed oar fear by
pushing off from the shore. . . . Selim Cspitso vai
really inclined to explore the ascent ; but this cootimia^
tion of the vovage was not to last Imiger than idg.
But when he knelt this morning on his carpet before
sunrise, directing his face to the East for prayer, sad
discerned the numerous fires on the right shore, wlua
he had not remarked during hia ablutions, he few
at me so mournfully and auspidously that I ooon
scarcely restrain my laughter. He condnded hia praytf \
and now he saw also, on the island Ishanker near uM
number of such littie straw fires, over which the naked
people were warming thonsdves, whilst nesriy eroy
single man was stretching out hia long legs o^^J^
own littie fire. Then his courage sank anew, for »a«
were still more blacks than yesterday.
• These men, however, did not come empty-band^
and barter rose to a pitdi of greatness and variety aocs
as we had not before seen : a quantity of ^^^^f^
sheep, cows, and calves, wood, ferruginoas ssnd, sm
iron dross, tobacco, pipes, tunsim durra, '^^I"'* !v
kinds of omamente for the body— everything for »•»
Nevertheless the good Ethiopians did not «*"!^*^
selves to-day quite blamdets, for tiiey sold ^"^'"'[Jj
of arrows, many of which were witiiont pohits. Tug
delivered the wares while receiving the beads; orlM
seller ran hastily away, retaining the 800^VJ*™.JJ
the purchase-men^. They oo&d and wrestled witt
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CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
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oar lueD, without, howeyer, making use of their wea-
pom. On the whole, however, the iojuitice was on
OCT side I the dram, therefore, heaX to re^dl the crew to
therestels.
' It was the middle of the day, about two o'clock, when
Selim Capitan, in order to take his leave, and to employ
tiie dreaded people at the moment of our departure, and
keep them far from us, threw ten cups of sug-sug on
ihore; and the cannons on all the vessels were dis-
charged, to bid solemn farewell with twenty-one shots
to the beautiful country which must contain so many
more interesting materials.'
They were at this time somethiog less than five de-
grees from the equator ; and considering the nature of
the stream throughout the whole northern portion of its
coarse, we may infer that if its channel tend southward,
the sources of the White Nile may be beyond the equi-
noctial line. The stream was still large, and the naviga-
Uoo of it beyond the rocks apparently quite practicable
Bat it may beyond that point be fed by numerous tribu-
taries, which would enable us to account for its great
volume of the much shorter course. All this, however,
remains in doubt ; though, as we have already observed,
tiiere is some probability that the veil may ere long be
lifted from the fountains of the Nile.
RAMBLES OF AN OBJECTLESS MAN.
' Happt are they who find their bread ready baked,' is a
proverb which often recurs to the thoughts of those who
have the trouble of baking it for themselves. But, as
Sancho would say, ' every one knows best where his own
shoe pinches him,' and my misfortune consists in having
that very abundance for which so many others pine.
I am one of those who may be said to enjoy a life of
easy competence. As there is no reason why I should
work, I do not work ; as no one opposes my will, I may
be said to have no will ; in short, I am losing all appetite
for enjoyment of every description ; and I am really ill,
seriously ill: even my physician is ready to allow it
He tells me to amuse myself; but this is more easily said
than done : he orders me to walk } I obey him ; but ennui
follows me everywhere. I am as weary of the parks
and the West End, as of the bustling City. I find it as
difficult to suppress a yawn at a fancy ball, as when
seated at my own chimney-corner, or my friend's fireside.
As to the parks, I go there but seldom. I feel morti-
fied at not having a handsome tilbury, or a prancing
horse; neither of which, if I had them, would, after all,
afford me any real gratification. I am made unhappy
by seeing others enjoy luxuries which I cannot afibrd
Efijojfl did I say? Perhaps, after all, they enjoy them
not. They are envied by pedestrians, that is ^; and
yet the sight of even this poor satisfaction is irksome to
me. To-day, however, for a wonder, my walk was suffi-
ciently agreeable to make me wish to remember it. It
enal>led me to pass two hours in blissful oblivion of my
fits of indigestion, my aching head, and the leaden pace
of time. A bright thought struck me — I will write the
history of my walk, and this will enable me to pass one
more hour without ennui.
I went out, as I had done day after day, weary of
being at home, without feeling a wish to be anywhere
else. I turned my steps, with a sort of mechanical indif-
ference, towards Hyde Park. It was a dull April day;
the atmosphere was neither hot nor cold : all around me
looked gloomy and uninviting. Still I strolled on, not
knowing what else to do, till I reached a spot which was
the resort of numerous pedestrians, workmen bunging
awsy their hour of repose, women, old men, and chil£«n.
I leant against a tree, and stood silently observing the
scene before me. There were a number of children
bekniging to the poorer classes, playing about under the
eye of their mothers, or perhaps under that of a grand-
iktheror grandam, proud of their little charge; whilst
mingled here and there amongst them were groups of
high-born children, handsomely dressed, and attended
by their nursery-maids. I could not help asking
myself the question, * Which are the happiest ?'
My attention was quickly arrested by two of the
loveliest and most tastefully-dressed children I had ever
seen. It was impossible for the eye not to rest with
pleasure on their graoeM forms, rosy cheeks, fair blue
eyes, and cherry lips. A kufy might be able to describe
more particularly their costumes of richly-broidered
cashmere pelisses, and beaver hats with waving plumes
-—but the charm of the entembie was enough for me ;
and I could not take my eyes off these little embryo
dandies, the eldest of whom seemed barely five years
of age. They were throwixig from one to the other,
with the most imperturbable gravity, a ball, which con-
tinually missed its aim, and rolled upon the ground.
It was picked up each time by the little boy whose
turn it was next to throw it \ and the brilliant ball of
gold and blue was thus passed backwards and for-
wards with as much cool gravity as if they had been
two old ambassadors exdianging their credentials.
The only variety which occurred to enliven the mo-
notony of the game, was the care with which the elder
of the two — who, I suspect was the owner of the toy —
wiped off the dust from the glittering plaything with
his little white hand, which he took care each time
duly to rub in his nurse's apron, and then returned to
his game with the most stoical indi£Eerence.
As I stood contemplating these beautiful children,
my attention was sudden^ arrested by a very different
object. A ragged, chubby-cheeked boy sprung forward
with a cry of delight, and knelt upon the grass by the
two young players. His features were irregular and
strongly marked, his shoulders high, and his well-worn
fustian garments hung clumsily about him. The new-
comer cUpped his hands, and laughed for joy : his large
eyes sparlded with delight The sedate, high-born
boys, the brilliant ball, seem to exist only for him.
Each time that it bounds towards the side where he
kneels, he bends forward in wondering admiration ; but
still he ventures not to touch, hardly even to breathe
upon it The young players, without deigning to be-
stow upon him mofe than a passmg look, take up their
toy carelessly firom his side — the game recommences,
and with it his transports of joy. No one, however,
invites him to take his turn ui playing with this beau-
tiful balL No one, in exchange for his joyous sym-
pathy, offers him the smallest share of the pleasure
whidi they were themselves so listlessly enjoying.
Each kept that which was his own t the poor boy his
superabounding delight ; the two others their plaything
and their dignity. Whilst I remained a passive looker-
on at this scene, that verse of the Gospel, * To him that
hath shall more be given, and from him that hath not
shall be taken away even that which he uemeth to
have,' came forcibly to my mind. It seemed to me that
this joyous-hearted little fellow, with his well-patched
dothes and beaming countenance, was an exemplifica-
tion of this truth. I know not what irresbtible folly
possessed me, but I felt a sudden desire to give a play*
thing to this child, who certainly did not need one — he
who took so much delight in only seeing the playthings
of others.
* I traversed the park in haste, not indeed without
some misgivings that I was perhaps creating an artifi-
cial want and helping to mar an unsophisticated hap-
piness. But it so seldom happens that I feel cmy im-
pulse to action, that I have not the courage to resist one
when it is thrown in my way. I hastened to the nearest
toy-shop, and purchased a small wheelbarrow, thinking
it very possible that the infantile enthusiasm of my
young protege for the glittering ball might already
have expended itsel£ I could not help enjoying pro-
spectively the delight of my ragged friend. But, alas I
on my return the whole group had disappeared: the
two Uttle boys, their smart nurses, and the joyous
looker-on, all had vanished from the scene; neither
could I any longer discover on the empty benches the
pale and sickly-looking woman whom I had tappoeed
400
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
to be the mother of the poor bojr. I explored every
aTeDne» aod looked at every ragged child; bnt all in
Tain.
I soon found, however, that I, or rather the toy I
carried, had become the object of unirenal attention,
and that I wai followed with longing eyes by every little
ragamuffin in the park. Whenever I appeared, I heard
echoed on every side of me, * Tlie wheelbarrow ! — ^there
is the gentleman — the gentleman with the wheel-
barrow !' After a quarter of an hour spent in a fruit-
less search, I turned my steps towards my solitary home,
grievously disappointed. I felt also somewhat embar-
rassed by my purchase, and not a little discomposed at
hearing myself caJled by every group of childrni whom
I passedT * The gentleman with the wheelbarrow.' As I
thus pursued my way, doing my best to conceal my
toy, I overtook an old man carrying on his back a little
girl, warmly wrapped in a fur cape, which in its days
of pristine freshness had doubtless borne the name of
ermine ; but to which time— the unveiler of still more
important secrets — ^had restored the appearance and the
name of cat-skin. The old man leant with one hand
upon his stick, whilst in the other he held a wind-
instrument, whether a clarionet or bassoon I know not,
for my eyes were fixed upon the child whom he carried
on his back. Hie moment the poor wandering musi-
cian stopped, the little creature glided into his arms,
and was gently deposited on the ground. I then disco-
vered a pair of crutches which formed her only support :
the was a perfect cripple.
The poor father had stopped at the steps of a hall-
door, and was seeking with gentle care to seat his un-
fortunate little charge as comfortably as he could, when
I approached them. 'Here,' said I, *this is for her.
You will be able to seat your chUd more comfortably
there than on the cold pavement'
I am no poet, and such one ought to be in order to
give the most remote idea of the transports which the
poor little suflTerer manifested on receiving this unex-
pected gifb. Her eyes danced with delight as she
exclaimed eagerly, 'For me! — for met* She dropped
her crutches ; and, seeming inspired with new vigour by
the excitement of the moment, pushed it before her for
a few yards.
* Yon do not thank the gentleman,' said her father
gently. She let go the iv^edbarrow, raised towards me
her sparkling eyes, and with an expression of grateful
pleasure which I shall not readily forget, kissed her
little hand to me over and over again. Never did any
expression of gratitude so touch my heart as that of
this little cripple : never can I forget the tone in which
she exdaimed, * For me !— for me !' As I entered my
own door, I met an old college-companion, to whom I
related this little incident. He asked me coldly, * Whether
the little girl were pretty?* Where shall we find a
face which is not pretty when it beams with grateful
joy?
For the first time during many a long year I passed
this day without ennui; and during my walk I learned
this one important lesson — that as the luminaries of
heaven reflect from one to another their light and heat,
even so it is that one human heart must reflect upon
the other the genial glow of happiness and joy.
FBESH AIR.
lian acts strangely. Although a current of fresh air is
the very life of his lungs, he seems indefatigable in the
exercise of his inventive powers to deprive himself of this
heayenly blessing. Thus he carefully closes every cranny
of his bedchamber agabist its entrance, and he prefers
that his lungs should receive the mixed effluvium from his
cellar and larder, and from a patent little modem aqoarins,
in lieu of it. Whv should man be so terrified at the admis-
sion of night afar into anv of his apartments ? It is nature'^
everflowing oorrent, ana never carries the destroying angel
with it. See how soundly the delicate little wren and ten-
der robin sleep under its fiill and immediate influence, and
bow firesh and vigorous and joyous they rise amid the sui^
rounding dew-drops of the morning. Although ezpoied
all niffht long to the air of heaven, their lungs sre never
ont of order, and this we know by the daily repetition of
their song. Look at the newly-born hare, without uy
nest to go to. It lives and thrives, and becomes strong and
Slayful, under the unmitigated Laclemoicy of the uffi^
ews of night. I have here a fine male tmkey, foil ci^
years old, and he has not passed a single night in belter.
He roosts in a cherry-tree, and always is in primeit health
the year throughout. Three dunp^hill fowls, preferriof tliii
cherry-tree to the warm perches m the hen-hoose, took op
their airy quarters with him early in October, and haTe
never gone to any other roosting-plaoe. The cow and tbe
horse sleep safely on the cold damp ground, and the io>
buck lies down to rest in the heather, on the dewy moon-
tain's top. I myself can sleep all night long, bsiriieaded,
under the ftill moon's watery beams, without say fear of
danger, and pass the day in wet shoes without catching
col<£ Coughs and colds are generally caught in the tnn-
sition from an overheated room to a cold apartment; bat
there would be no danger in this movement if ventilation
wero properly attended to — a precaution little thought of
now-a-days. — WatertxmU E8$ay8 on Naiund HUtory.
MY EEN ARE DIM WI* TEABS.
My eea are dim wf tears, John,
My heart is sair wi* wae,
I lie an* watch the stars, John,
Awearying for the day ;
Yet it winna bring me rest, John,
An* It oanna bring me peace,
Till the clay is on my breast, John,
An* thocht and feeling cease t
I hae looed ye wed and lang, John,
An* shsU while I hao life ;
Bnt ye*ve caused me mony a pang, John,
Wha should hae been your wife.
Though ye never said a word, John,
My trusting heart to win.
Ye hae leed before the Lord, John,
An* that is deeper sin !
Ye're hand leed seeking mine, J(din,
When naebody could see ;
An* ye kissed it mony a time, John,
An* wasna that a lee ?
An' your een leed looking luve, John,
Whene'er they turned on me;
An* }'our gifts, what did they pruve, John,
Bat love— or treachery ?
An* your step leed coming here, John,
8ae aft in oauld an* rain.
For mony a hai^y year, John,
Whase memory is pain !
For I thocht the tioae would come, John,
AVhen we nae mair would part ;
Yet ye gaed without ae word, John,
To ease my breaking heart !
Ye cam* o* your aln will, John,
Ye saw that I was poor ;
Ye kenn*d I was nae light o* lore:
Ye should hae passed oar door.
Bnt I loo ye after a*, John,
An* pray to God in heaven.
That I may be ta*en hame, John,
An* your deceit forgiven !
Ma a v.
PBSCAUTIONS AOAIK8T POISON.
In Gkrmany, to prevent poison being obtained f"***^!?*
poses, none is allowed to be sold without a writtsn anet
or certificate from a physician. To prevent rat-poisoo W
made a bad use of, or taken by mistake, the ««"J*"
mixed with UUow and lampWaok, which m^ » ^
pound that no human beUig could partake of. Aa>« »
allowed to be sold in a pure state.
Published by W. & R. CHAMaaas, High Street, Bdla»«l*- ^
sold by D. Chaubsbs, 20 Aifyle Street, Glasiow ; W. a w
147 Strand, London: and J. M*Gla8HA», 11 DOUtf BIWS
DnbUn.-^rinted by W. and R. OaAMBsas, Bdinbsi|S.
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP « CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,' * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' Ac.
No. 287. New Series.
SATURDAY, JUNE 30, 1849.
Price 1^,
KEYF:
THE OBIENTAL CONCEPTION OP ENJOYMENT.
The idea entertained by the Orientals of pleasure has
Teiy HtUe resemblance to ours. When in search of
enjoyment we excite ourselves to action, shun solitude
and quiet, and surround ourselres with noise and bustle,
marrellous and thrilling sounds, colours brilliant and
gay, forms of all beauty, eyerything, in fact, that can
sfoike, and, as it were, irritate the senses : the Orientals,
on the contrary, endeavour to relapse into perfect repose.
Tranquillity has little charms for us except when we
cannot attain it, whereas for them it is the first requisite
of happiness. A soft deewan on which to recline, in a
half-darkened room by day, and a diqily-lighted kiosque
at night, with a cool breeze to fan the air, and the low
voice of a singer, or the tinkling notes of some simple
instrument at a little distance, rather to mark than to
disturb the general stillness ; a few grave companions,
allowing at long intervals a solemn word or two to
escape from amidst the snowy waves of their venerable
beards ; the soothing pipe, replenished in formal silence
by a respectful slave ; an occasional * fingan* of coffee :
tiiese are elements of keen enjoyment in the opinion of
many a wealthy Muslim, and would not be exchanged
for all the gorgeous and giddy amusements which all
the capitals of Europe afford. Often, it is true, they are
not found sufficient Differences of age and tempera-
ment, varieties of fortune and taste, lead people to look
for the tame result amidst other impressions. But the
state of mind coveted is always a kind of contemplative
beatitude, expressed in Arabic by that untranslateable
word, • Keyf.'
It is easier to ridicule than to appreciate this said
keyt Travellers who merely pass through the coun-
try have never any opportunities of enjoying it; for
it seems to require the preparation of a relaxing cli-
mate. Frames braced and invigorated by the keen air
of the north are no more fitted to receive this kind of
intoxication, than the mind of a grave political econo-
nllat is capable of experiencing the maniacal excitement
into which a howling derwish can throw himself almost
at will. The most calm and indolent of Englishmen is
restless and uneasy compared with the placid Egyptian
in his DKNnents of repose. It was long before I could
feel, and therefore before I could understand, the plea-
sure of sitting huddled up for hour after hour in the
same position in the comer of a divan, with a pipe in
hand, perfectly indifferent to the flight of time, and
perfectly careless of putting the passing moments to
profit, exchanging now and then, in a low Ufiguid voice,
with one or two companions, a brief remark, just suffi-
deot to keep up the communication between us, and
escape from the impression of complete solitude.
During the latter part of my residence in the East, I
had begun to relish this sort of thing occasionally, al-
though active pursuits fortunately prevented me from
becoming a complete OrientaL I admit the pleasure ol
such an existence, and can now understand why many
Franks, fascinated by its mysterious charm, forget their
household gods, and lingering near the banks of the
Nile, dream away their whole lives in one conjkinued
state of keyf. But it is not the less true that this
passion for reverie and unproductive contemplation,
indulged in more or less by a whole people, is a great
obstacle in the way of its progress ; and as long as the
doctrine of Fatalism prevails to justify and encourage it,
we may expect to see Mohammedan countries continuing
in their present backward condition. As I have men-
tioned this doctrine, I may venture to remark that its
pernicious influence in the ordinary affairs of human
life has never been accurately estimated. It is certainly
true that it sometimes produces great and admirable
resignation after overwhelming catastrophes, and co-
operates in preventing those violent accesses of despair
which are so common with us. Suicide is unknown
in Eastern countries, except among slaves. On the
other hand, it checks improvement in the arts, and
stands in the way of every kind of reform. * As our
fathers did, so do we ;* ' what our fathers suffered, that
must we suffer ; ' ' that which is ordained, it would be
presumptuous to endeavour to alter.* Such are the
arguments by which an Oriental usually meets every
proposal of amelioration. Of course, if they were logi-
cal, and carried out their doctrine to its utmost conse-
quences, the result woiild be perfect immobility; but
they are not so consistent, and act upon the principle
they lay down only so far as to justify their mental
indolence. I will add, that in spite of their affected
resignation to the decrees of Fate, the natural instincts
of man constantly get the upper hand. They seek
refuge from those decrees when sickness befalls them,
for example, in charms and incantations, as well as in
the prescriptions of infidel doctors ; but they will not
take any means of avoiding disease, except those which
are absolutely prescribed in their ritual. They will
escape from a house if the roof threaten to fall in ; but
they will not study to improve their mode of architec-
ture.
I once had a conversation with an Arab, whom I
roused from a state of keyf to pester him with argu-
ment I told him that it was criminal to pass sovmany
hours of his life in both bodily and intellectual inaction ;
and succeeded at length in making him understand my
meaning. He at first sought refuge in the pretence that
he was elevating his mind by the contemplation of the
unity of Ood ; but he soon acknowledged that this was
only true in a vague sense, and that he had been in a
state of half-unconsciousness, with a few indistinct un-
connected images slowly traversing his mind, forgetful
402
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
of ever3rthing that had passed* and indifferent to eyery-
thing that was to come. ' Tou were drunk I ' said L
' No/ said he ; * I was enjoying my keyf.* Whereupon,
being perfectly roused, he began to make the apology
of this condition, and endeaToured to show that it was
the only consolation which man possessed for the erils
be suffered in this world. At my obserration that
most of those evils existed only by man's sufferance, he
smiled in pity, and said that idl was ordained from
above ; that we could not modify one tittle the course
of events, and had nothing to do but to submit pas-
sively, and take every opportunity of relapsing into the
unconsciousness of keyf.
The reader has now some idea of the state of mind
irhich the Orientals regard as the highest happiness
realisable upon earth. Their modes of producing it are
various. Some reaort to the dangerous but expeditious
meUiod of smoking or eating hashish — a preparation of
hemp-seed, ffofhashin (the origin of our word assassin)
—that is to say, men who indulge in this practice — are
indeed not uncommon in Egypt, where I have known even
Europeans occasionally thus degrade themselves. Not
long hetoire I left the countoy, a horriUe incident oc-
Quired. Th^re had been a party of these unhappy
wretches collected in a coflBee-house during what is
called a Fantasia, which may mean either any ordinary
amusement, or an orgie. Next morning the shop re-
mained closed after the usual hour. The neighbours
assembled, and knocked loudly, but got no answer. At
length they burst open the door, and saw twelve bodies
stretched on the divans on the floor. Seven were ascer-
tained to be quite dead ; two or three more died in the
course of ^e day } whilst the remainder recovered, and
related how they had swallowed pastilles containing
hashUhf sold to them by a pedlar from Constantinople.
The dose was unusually strong, but was such as the
still more depraved Stambouli are accustomed to take.
Another and more vulgar class of men drink arraki —
a spirit distilled ftt>m a variety of substances, but prin-
cipally from dates. It is sometimes flavoured with
mastic, and has not a very unpleasant taste. It is con-
sidered to be extremely prejudicial to the health, but is
oevertheless swallowed in large quantities by the dimc-
ing-girls of all classes,aswell as the dancing-boys and the
dissipated frequenters of coffee-houses. The consump-
tion of it must be great. It may be procured not only in
the cities, but in almost every village of any importance.
Almost all donkey-boys, many boatmen, and some ser-
vants, will drink spirits if offered to them by Europeans ;
and I remember a Sherif, or descendant of the Prophet,
wearing a green turban, whom we met on the desert
coast near the Maadieh, and who, i^ter refusing to
partake of the cup with us before witnesses, came and
begged some cognac on the sly, and tossed it off neat
with great gusto. Good wines are enjoyed in private
by some wealthy Turks ; and Ibrahim Pasha, it is said,
was once found dead-drunk with champagne one morn-
ing under the sycamore-tree in a public avenue through
his own grounds.
The classes I have hitherto mentioned, however, are
exceptions to the general rule. The Muslim is, on the
whole, very sober, and contents himself with the gentle
exhilsuration caused by coffee and pipes. The universal
use of these stimulants in Egypt b^mes less remark-
able when we find that, as far as has hitherto been
ascertained, they are perfectly innocuous tiiere. I never
heard of tobacco producing sickness as in Europe. For
my own part, although I could not smoke at au on my
arrival, I adopted this necessary accomplishment with-
out the slightest inconvenience. It is almost universal
in all Mohanmiedan countries; although at Slwah, in
the Libyan Desert, I found that nearly all the inhabi-
tants abstained, as from a vice. The Wahabis, a fana-
tical sect of Arabian reformers, prohibit smoking among
other luxuries ; but I was assured by a native trader,
who professed to be familiar with Arabia, that they in-
dulge to excess in coffee, which they never sweeten. He
told me that they ground it with stone p^es in large
rude mortars, made of a peculiarly hard stone, and that
It often fffoduoes in them a complete stats (^ intozica.
tion. * This is their keyf.' Some of them, be laid,
smoke in secret ; but this was merely an opinioa of hu
own, and indicated that his lax pracfeioe was oftoded
by their austerity.
There is one fact connected with smoking vhidi ii
worth mentioning — namely, that in Bamad'han time,
when the whole population fasts from sunrise to sniuet,
the hoisting of the flag at evening no sooner aanouDoei
that the fasting time is over, than the ready-filled pipe
is snatched up, and a few whifb are taken, before either
hunger or thirst is satisfied. A small cap of cofilK
succeeds, and then the solid food is devoored. I find
it difficult to explain this, because it would appear more
natural that, after a long day of hard labour onder ndi
privation, an intolerable thirst should exist ProbiU/
habit is more imperious always in its demands thin
ordinary appetite ; and it is not impossible that thii
practice of smoking, instead of eating and drinldng it
once, may have some efibct in counteracting tbe er^
effects of long abstinence.
I have now mentioned the erery-day methods wiuob
the Arabs have of obtaining keyf. Colleeted in gmipi
of two or three, or even alone in a comer, they seen,
under the influence of the above stimnlant, to be
capable of isolating themselves for a time in imtgias-
tion from the world, and surrounding themselTes wi&
agreeable thoughts. There is no nation more prooe
than they to build castles in the air. They sre alvtyi
making extravagant suppositiont— representing then*
selves, fbr example, in posseeeioa of wonderfol wealtli or
marvellous supernatural powers, by the aid of wUcb
tibey sometimes do the most ordinary thmgs posiilite.
We were once dropping down one ol the plicid
reaches of the Nile, very indiflSerent whether our boii
advanced or stood stilL The sail, lazily iwejfio^
urged us gently along the side of a little island finoged
with reeds, that rattled against the panes of oor
cabin. Over the banks, that shut us in like hage
hedges, a few palms rose here and there in the diiteooe,
flecking the sky with spots of dark green. The witer
was steeped in all the brilliance of the heavou} a bv
aquatic birds stooped gently sometimes along the n^
face. The crew seemed to feel a sense of inenresaUe
enjoyment, and one of them producing a dofvM'A
or Arab tambourine, began to heat a tune, whilst snotiifr
chanted a plaintive love-song ; and we listened ate
the influence of coffee and pipes, and allowed oonthci
to be soothed into a perfect state of keyf. Abani
our servant, came and sat down on his heels near «
with his cup in hand, and liter listening devoatiy to
the end, could not contain his satisfkction. No ^^'^
he said, was equal to being on the Nile ; and ' i/"^ w
five millions of guineas,* he would buy a boat, snd lire to
ever in it! We said he might do the thhig formal
less ; but he would not abate one jot of his snpporitte,
and we were obliged to admit the five millioQi. Bii
plan, at first, was to carry about the whole sum istbe
hold ; but he afterwards consented to invest I^^^JV^
in some English commercial house of acknowMgn
stability. He then said that he would procure the noft
beautiful woman in Egypt as his wife, with an sooia
to watch over her. This addition to his family diewja
the necessity of having a second boat as a herimi w
Ahmed took terrible anticipatory vengeance on eteiT
audacious wight wbM) attempted to gsin a 8^PJfJ|
his beloved. We were a long time settling sU thin
matters ; and the evening had come traaqaifly on n
the midst of our specuUtiiHia. The state of ksjng
grew too perfect to allow of our oontinuiBg the cm-
rence, and relapsing into silence, we watwed the no
streak, and the yellow streak, and the gray '^'^'^•"f'
cessively disappear, and the stars unfold ^^^^JJP^i
and the moon come peering over the bank, rttetfsj
five or six ghost-like sails, gliding dowly *»^^*"j*
wake. How long this state conttnned, and ▼^jj^
reverie was suoo^ded by slumber, I know not; M *
11
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
403
kmd cborus of Toicei, and the bumping of the boat
against other boats, and the grating of its keel on the
tindjr bottom, and the spUshing of the water, and the
lights along shore, and, aboye all, the barking of dogs,
told ns that we had arrired, as the reader likewise has,
without knowing it, at ihe decayed city of Er-Bashld.
This gires me an opportunity of describing another
mode the Orientals hare of producing key! We landed,
and repaired to the cofflse-house. It was a spacious
bonding, surrounded by dirans and sheives corered
with ffozefu and shiBkeha-^ two kinds of water-pipe.
Some groups were collected here and there watdiing
tlie game of fad; but we soon understood that there
was anoUier point of attraction in the neighbourhood,
and tiiat most of the idle fblks had repaired tliither.
One of the entrances of the coflbe-house led into a broad
passage oorered with trelliswork, supporting a huge
grape-rine, through which the moonbelEuiis worked their
way, and fell In bright spots on tlie stene parement
below. On the opposite side was a kind of kiosque,
from which sounds of merriment and laughter pro-
ceeded We repaired thither, and found two or three
Turks sitting smoking their pipes in state, whilst a
mottey erowd of idlers squatted or stood round in a
ring. The point of attraction was a poor fellow, deaf
and dumb, playing a game with a waggish scldier.
The latter held a long piece of cotton-wool in his
mouth, and the deaf man was trying to take it from him
with his teeth. The various incidents of this contest —
the wise looks and rapid moyements of the soldier, and
^e awkward attempts and disappointed whine of the
infirm one— seemed to affbrd infinite amusement to the
whole company, most of whom were smoking, or drink-
ing coffee. The principal Turk — no less a person
than the governor of Rosetta himself— perceiving two
strangers, ordered seats and coffee to be brought to us ;
a courtesy which we duly acknowledged by laying our
hands to our breasts. Our arrival, however, did not
mterrupt the sport, if sport it can be called, wbich
mxm led to sonM exhibitions of real or affected anger on
the ptft of the actors. We left them in about half an
hour; but for some time after could hear firom the
cabin of our boat, moored close by, occasional exclama-
tions of pleasure and bursts of laughter, which showed
tiut tiieae worthy Muslims were not sensible of the
monotony of Uieir amusement.
Exhibitions of dancing-girls were formerly most po-
pular among this keyf-lo^ng people ; but the tribe of
Qhawaseh has been banished from Lower Egypt; and
although many dandng-women are still to be found
exercising their calling illicitly in the villages, the inha-
bitants of the great towns can rarely indulge in such a
luxury. The displays of the MtawUs, or dancing-boys,
are substituted ; and it is only on certain festive occa-
sions that the aumlim, or female singers, imitate the
poformanoes of the Ohawazeh before the women ; whilst
tbe men listen to their songs from behihd a screen, or
through an open window. The accomplishments of the
swidim do not necessarily include a knowledge of danc-
ing ; but since the exile of the Ghawazeh, many of them
have emulated the renown of their predecessors.
^ngiog is very general in the coffee-houses, scarcely
one of v^ch is without some professional attendant,
who lives on the few para pieces, &c.,'.which the poorest
Arab will liberally bestow on whoever contributes to
produce his darling state of keyl Some of these per-
fbnners have fine voices when young, but their powers
do not last for many years. Whether it be from over-
exertion at first, or want of cultivation, few seem to
acquire a rqratation of long-standing. Two or three
musicians often accompany the singer, who generally
occupies an elevated seat outside the door ; whilst the
scudience not unfirequently nearly fills up the part of the
street opposite — all sitting on benches or seats made of
palm branches. After a few stanzas, the performer be-
gins to throw his head about as if in a state of ecstasy, his
eyes all the while ' in a fine firenzy rolling.' He assists
liis voice by forming a kind of trumpet with his left
hand half round his mouth. Every now and then the
crowd expresses its admiration by ejaculating in a sort
of deep diorus the word ' Allah !' These ejaculations
become more and more frequent as the song proceeds,
and at length follow hard upon every equivoque, every
impassioned esroression, every long-drawn and volup-
tuous quaver. The audience associates itself completely
with the enthusiasm of the performer. A collection is
usually made at the moment of greatest excitement
Story-telling is not so common an entertainment as
singing, but it prevails to a oonsiderable extent The
romances related are often very amusing, and set off
with all kind of picturesque gestures. The reciters are
divided into various classes, each of which confines itself
to the relation of a particular kind of adventures. It
is not common to hear the stories of the ' Thousand-and-
One Nights ;' but I was present once at the telling of
tiie story of the * Sage Dubare ' in a cofibe-house near
the mosque of Abn-1- Abbas at Alexandria. Many
Arabs who are not professional possess extensive reper-
tories of tales and anecdotes, which they are fond of
relating one to the other ; and the incidents are often
well put together, and very interesting. However, I
will not at present diverge into this subject, having
given, I trust a tolerably correct idea of the mentfd
state which the Egyptians covet above all things, and
call * pleasure,' as well as their various modes of pro-
ducing it
EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER.
ESTHER MASON.
About forty years ago, Jabez Woodford, a foreman of
shipwrights in the Plymoutti dockyard, whilst care-
lessly crossing one of the transverse beams of a seventy-
four gun-ship, building in that arsenal, missed his foot-
ing, fell to the bottom of the hold of^ the huge vessel,
and was killed on the spot He left a widow and one
child— a boy seven years of age, of placid, endearing
disposition, but weak intellect — almost in a state of des-
titution. He had been a coarse-tempered, improvident
man ; and like too many of his dass, in those days at
least, dissipated the whole of his large earnings in pre-
sent sensuous indulgence, utterly careless or unmind-
ful of the future. Esther Woodford, who, at the time
of her husband's death, scarcely numbered five-and-
twenty years, was still a remarkably comdy, as well
as interesting, gentle-mannered person; and moreover
had, for her station in life, received a tolerable educa-
tion. Her rash, ill-assorted marriage with Woodford had
been hastily contracted when she was barely seventeen
years of age, in consequence of a jealous pique which
she, for some silly reason or other, had conceived re-
garding Henry Mason, an intelligent, young seafaring
man, of fair prospects in life, and frank disposition,
with whom she had for some time previously, as the
west-country phrase has it * kept company,' and who
was, moreover, tenderly attached to her. Esther's mar-
ried life was one long repentance of the rash act; and
the severance of the tie which bound her to an ungenial
mate — ^after the subsidence of the natural horror and
compassion excited by the sudden and frightful nature
of the catastrophe — must have been felt as a most
blessed rehel A few weeks afterwards, she acc^ted an
asylum with her brother*in-law, Davies, a market-gar-
dener in the vicinity of Plymouth, where, by persevering
industry with her needle, and thrifty helpfhlness in her
sister's household duties, she endeavoured to compensate
her kind-hearted relatives for the support of herself
and helpless, half-witted child. Mason she had never
seen since the day previous to her marriage; but she
knew he was prospering in the busy world, and that
some time before her husband's death, he had been ap-
404
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
pointed chief-mate in a first-class merchant-ship trad-
ing to the Pacific. He had sailed about a fortnight
previous to that event ; and now, ten lazy months hay-
ing slowly floated past, the loTcr of her youth, with
whom, in that last sunny day of her young life — how
distant did it seem, riewed through the long interven-
ing Tista of days and nights of grief and tears ! — she
had danced so joyously beneath the flowering chestnut-
trees, was once more near her ; and it was — oh happi-
ness!— no longer a sin to think of him — no longer a
crime to recall and dwell upon the numberless proofs
of the deep affection, the strong love, he had once felt
for her. Once felt! Perhaps even now! How
swiftly had the intelligence communicated by her sym-
patliising sister tinted with bright hues the dark cur-
tain of the future I
' And yet,' murmured poor Esther, the flush of hope
fading as suddenly as it had arisen, as with m^k sad
eyes she glanced at the reflection of her features in the
small oval glass suspended above the mantelpiece — * I
almost doubt, Susy, dear, if he would recognise me ; even
if old feelings and old times have not long since faded
from his memory *
* Stuff and trumpery about fading away !' broke in
Mrs Davies. * Henry Mason is the same true-hearted
man he was eight years ago; and as a proof that he is,
just read this letter, which I promised him to give
you. There, don*t go falling into a flustration ; don*t
now, Esther, and to-morrow market - day and all !
Dofi*t cry, Esther,' she added vehemently, but at the
same time sobbing furiously herself, and throwing her
arms round her sister's neck : * but perhaps — perhaps
it will do us good, both of us !'
It may be necessary to state that I owe the foregoing
particulars to the interest felt by my wife— herself a
native of beautiful Devon — in the fortunes of this
bumble household. Esther was her foster-sister; and
it happened that just at this period, it being vacation-
time, we were paying a visit to a family in the
neighbourhood. A few hours after the receipt of the
welcome letter, my wife chanced to call on Esther re-
lative to some fancy-needlework ; and on her return, I
was of course favoured with very full and florid details
of this little bit of cottage romance ; the which I, fh>m
regard to the reader, have carefully noted down, and as
briefly as possible expressed.
We met Henry Mason with his recovered treasure
on the following evening ; and certainly a more favour-
able specimen of the vigorous, active, bold-featured,
frank -spoken British seaman I never met with. To
his comparatively excellent education — for which I
understood he was indebted to his mother, a superior
woman, who, having fallen fh>m one of the little heights
of society, had kept a school at Plymouth — in addition
to his correct and temperate habits, he was indebted for
the rapid advance — ^he was but a few months older
than Esther — he had obtained in the merchant service.
The happiness which beamed upon Esther's face did
not appear to be of the exuberant, buoyant character
that kindled the ruddy cheek and ran over at the bright,
honest eyes of the hardy sailor : there seemed to mingle
with it a half-doubting, trembling apprehensiveness;
albeit it was not difficult to perceive that, sorrowfully as
had passed her noon of prime, an * Indian summer' of
the soul was rising upon her brightened existence, and
already with its first faint flushes lighting up her meek,
doubting eyes, and pale, changing count^ance. WiUy,
her feeble-minded child, frisk^ and gambolled by their
side ; and altogether, a happier group than they would,
I fancy, have been difficult to find in aU broad England.
The next week they were married ; and one of the
partners in the firm by which Mason was employed
happening to dine with us on the day of the wedding,
the conversation turned for a few minotes oo the hride-
groom's character and prospects.
* He has the ring of true metal in him,' I lemirked;
* and is, I shoiild suppose, a capital seamao?'
* A first-rate one,' replied Mr Roberts. * hdeed n
high is my father's opinion of him, that he intendi to
confer upon him the command of a fine brig now build-
ing for us in the Tliames, and Intended for the West
India trade. He possesses also singulu cooitge tai
daring. Twice, under very hazardous drcumitaooei,
he has successfully risked his life to save men who had
fallen overboard. He is altogether a skilfal, gilliot
seaman.'
' Such a man,' observed anotjier of the compinj,
' might surely have aspired higher than to the hud of
Esther Woodford, dove-eyed and interesting ai the
maybe?'
'Perhaps so,' returned Mr Roberts a little coiUy;
* though he, it seems, could not have thought so. lo.
deed it is chiefly of simple-hearted, chivalroai-miaded
men like Mason that it can be with general tenth ob-
served—
** On revient toiOoms k aes premien amonn.*"
The subject then dropped, and it was a cooaidenbk
time afterwards, and under altc^ther altered drcnm-
stances, when the newly - married couple once more
crossed my path in life.
It was about eight months after his marrisge-jQwogb
he had becm profitably enough employed in the intoim
— that Henry Mason, in consequence of the wekooe
announcement that the new brig was at bat ready for
her captain and cargo, arrived in London to enter upon
his new appointment
* These lodgings, Esther,' said he, as he wai pre-
paring to go out, soon after breakfast, on the mormng
after his arrival, *are scarcely the thing; sod-a* I,
like you, am a stranger in Cockney-land, I hid tetter
consult some of the firm upon the subject hefore ve
decide upon permanent ones. In the meantime, yoa
and WiUy must mind and keep in doors when I am not
with you, or I shall havo one or other of yon leak ia
this great wilderness of a city. I shall return in two ,
or tliee hours. I will order something for dinner ai I
go along : I have your purse. Good-by ; God \Am yoo
^th.' .
Inquiring his way every two ^or three minntei,
Mason presently found himself in tha vicinity of Tottf
Stairs. A scuffle in front of a public-house sttracied
his attention ; and his ready sympathies were m *a
instont enlisted in behalf of a young sailor, Ttinl.T
struggling in the grasp of several athletic men,aad
crying lustily on the gaping bystanders for help. Maioo
sprang forward, caught one of the asswUnta hy the
collar, and hurled him with some violence igsimtwe
wall. A fierce outcry greeted this audacioua intofer-
ence with gentlemen who, in those good old timea,i««
but executing the law in a remarkably good old mtnaa
Lieutenant Donnagheu, a somewhat celebrated sn^iptf*
up of loose mariners, emerged upon the scene; sndm*
few minutes was enabled to exult in the secure ?«•»•
sion of an additional prize in the unfortunate J^JT
Mason, who, too kte, discovered that he had emhwiW
himself with a prettgang! Desperate, frenzied *eit
the efforts he made to extricate himself from the ps"
in which he had rashly involved himself. In ^
His protestations that he was a mate, a captain, in Uie
merchant service, were unheeded or mocked •^^^^
To aU his remonstrances he only got the pwaeiw^ <
answer — * His majesty wants you, and that is enoopi
so come along, and no more about it' .
Bruised, exhausted, almost mad, he was borne off is
triumph to a boat, into which he was thrust with aeTC-
ral others, and swiftly rowed off to a reoeiving-ahip m
the river. Even there his assertions and P'^**^^^
were of no avail Nothing but an Admiralty orw; tw
officer in oonunand candidly told him, should w^ iu*
CHAMBfiRS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
405
i liberation. His majesty was Id need of seamen ; and he
was eridentlj too smart a one to be deprived of the
glory of serving "his country. *You must therefore,*
condoded the officer, as he turned laughingly upon his
heel, ' do as thousands of other fine fdlows have been
j compelled to do — " grin and bear it.*' ' In about three
' weeks from the date of his impressment Mason found
himself serving in the Mediterranean on board the
'Active' frigate. Captain Alexander Gordon, without
having been permitted one opportunity of communicat-
ing with the shore. This was certainly very sharp, but
it was not the less very common practice in those great
days of triumphant battles by land and sea.
Very drearily passed the time with the bereaved wife.
Her husband had promised to send home something for
dinner, and various groceries ; yet hour after hour went
past, and nothing arrived. Morning flushed into noon,
day faded to twilight, and still £e well-known and
always eager step sounded not upon the stairs I What
could have detained him from nis wife, shut up, im-
I prisoned, as it were, in that hot, hurrying, stifling city ?
I She feared to listen to the suggestions of her boding
I h^trt ; and with feverish restlessness ran out upon the
landing, and peered over the stairs every time a knock
or ring was heard at the street-door. This strange
behaviour was, it seems, noticed by the landlady of the
lodging-house, and injuriously interpreted. A knock
came to the door, and that person entered to know at
what time Mrs , she had forgotten the young
woman's name, expected the dinner, she, the landlady,
had undertaken to cook.
Esther timidly replied that her husband had pro-
mised to return in two or three hours at latest; and
that she did not comprehend his continued absence —
was indeed quite alarmed about it
' Tour husband ! ' said the woman, glancing insolently
at Esther's figure. * Are you sure he is your husband ? '
The hot blood suffused the temples of the indignant
wife as she said, * This apartment, madam, I believe is
mine?'
* Oh, certainly, as long as you can pay for it ; ' and
rudely slamming the door, the landlady departed.
Thie long wretched night at last over, Esther rose
with the light ; and after giving her son his breakfast
from tiie remains of that of the day before, set off* with
him to the place of business of the Messrs Roberts. It
was early, and one derk^pnly had as yet arrived at the
office. He informed lier that Mr Henry Mason had
not been seen, and that the partners were greatly an-
noyed about it, as his immediate presence was abso-
lu^y necessary.
Stunned, terrified, bewildered by the frightful cala-
mity which she believed had befallen her, she felt con-
vinced that her husband had been entrapped and mur-
dered for the sake of the money he had about him : the
wretdied woman tottered back to her lodgings, and
threw herself on the bed in wild despair. What was to
be dcme for food even for her boy ? Her husband had
not only his pocket-book with him containing his larger
money, but had taken her purse ! She was alone and
penniless in a strange city I Tlie hungry wailings of
her witless child towards evening at length aroused her
froon the stupor of despair into which she had fallen.
The miserable resource of pawning occurred to her:
she oould at least, by pledging a part of her wardrobe,
procure sustenance for her child till she could hear from
her sister; and with trembling hands she begaa ar-
rBoging a bundle of such things as she could best spare,
when the landlady abruptly entered the room, with a
peremptory denumd — as her husband was not returned,
and did not appear likely to do so — for a montli's rent in
adwmaoe, that being the term the apartments were en-
gaged (oee. The tears, entreaties, expostulations of the
mijerable wife were of no avaiL Not one article, the
woman dedared, shoi^d leave her house till her daim
was settled. She afi*ected to doubt, perhaps really did
00^ that Esther was -married; and hinted coarsely at an
eafbroement of the laws against persons who had no
visible means of subsistence. In a paroxysm of despair,
the unhappy woman rushed out of the house ; and ac-
companied by her hungry diild, again sought the count-
ing-house of the Messrs Roberts. She was now as
much too late as she had been too early in the morning:
the partners and derks had gone, and she appears to
have been treated with some rudeness by the porter,
who was closing the premises when she arrived. Pos-
sibly the wildness of her looks, and the incoherence of
her speech and manner, produced an impression un-
favourable to her. Retracing her steps — penniless,
hungry, sick at heart — she thought, as she afterwards
declared, that she recognised my wife in one of the
numerous ladies seated before the counters of a fashion-
able shop in one of the busiest thoroughfares. She
entered, and not till she approached dose to the lady
discovered her mistake. She turned despairingly away ;
when a piece of rich lace, lying apparently unheed^
on the counter, met her eye, and a dreadful suggestion
crossed her fevered brain : here at least was the means
of procuring food for her wailing child. She glanced
hastily and fearfully round. No eye, she thought, ob-
served her ; and, horror of horrors ! a moment after-
wards she had concealed the lace beneath her shawl,
and with tottering feet was hastily leaving ^e shop.
She had not taken half-a-dozen steps when a heavy
hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a voice, as of a
serpent hissing in her ear, commanded her to restore
the lace she had stolen. Transfixed with shame and
terror, she stood rooted to the spot, and the lace fell on
the floor.
* Fetch an officer,' said the harsh voice, addressing
one of the shopmen.
* No — ^no — no 1 ' screamed the wretched woman, falling
on her knees in wild supplication. ' For my child's
sake — ^in mercy of the innocent babe as yet unborn —
pity and forgive me ! '
The harsh order was iterated; and Esther Mason,
fainting with shame and agony, was conveyed to the
prison in Qiltspur Street The next day she was fully
committed to Newgate on the capital charge of pri-
vately stealing in a shop to the value of five pounds.
A few hours after her incarceration within those ter-
rible walls, she was prematurely delivered of a female
child.
I have no moral doubt whatever, I never have had,
that at the time of the committal of the felonious act,
the intellect of Esther Mason was disordered^ Any
other supposition is inconsistent with the whole tenor of
her previous life and character. 'Lead us not into
temptation ' is indeed the holiest, because the humblest
prayer.
Three weeks had elapsed before the first intimation
of these events reached me, in a note from the chaplain
of Newgate, an excellent, kind-he^uited man, to whom
Mrs Mason had confided her sad story. I immediately
hastened to the prison ; and in a long interview with
her, elicited the foregoing statement I readily assured
her that all which legal skill could do to extricate her
from the awfiil position in which she stood, the gravity
of which I did not afieot to conceal, should be done.
The offence with which ^e was charged had suppUed
the scaffold with numberless victims; and tradesmen
were more than ever clamorous for the stem execution
of a law which, spite of experience, they still regarded
as the only safeguard of their property. My wife was
overwhdmed with grief; and in her anxiety to save her
unhappy foster-sister, sought, without my knowledge,
an interview with the prosecutor, in the hope of induc-
ing him not to press the charge. Her efforts were
unavailing. He had suffered much, he said, from such
practices, and was * upon principle ' determined to make
an example of every offender he could catch. As to the
plea that the husband had been forcibly carried off by
a pressgang, it was absurd ; for what would become of
the property of tradesmen if the wife of everv sailor so
entrapped were to be allowed to plunder shops with
impunity ? This magnificent reasoning was of course
406
CHAl^ERS'B EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
uoanswerable ; and the rebuked petitioner abandoned
her bootless errand in despair. Messrs Roberts, I
should hare mentioned, hod by some accident disco-
vered the nature of the misfortone which had befallen
their ofi^cer, and had already made urgent application
to the Admiralty for his release.
The Old Baiiey sessions did not come on for some
time : I, however, took care to secure at once, as I did
not myself practise in that court, the highest talent
which its bar afforded. Willy, who had been placed
in a workhouse by the authorities, we had properly
taken care of till he could be restored to his mother ;
or, in the event oi hex c<mvictioD, to his relatives in
Devonshire.
The sessions were at last on: a 'true bill' against
Esther Mason for sho^ifting, as it was p(^ularly
termed, was unhesitatingly found, and with a heavy
heart I wended my way to the court to watch the pro-
ceedings. A few minutes after I entered, Mr Justice
Le Blanc and Mr Baron Wood, who had assisted at an
important case of stockjobbing conspiracy, just over,
left the bench: the learned recorder being doubtless
considered quite equal to the trial of a mere capital
charge of thefL
The prisoner was placed in the dock ; but try as I
might, I could not look at her. It happened to be a calm
bright summer day ; the air, as if in mockery of those
death-sessions, humming with busy, lusty life ; so that,
sitting with my back to the prisoner, I could, as it were,
read her demeanour in the shadow thrown by her figure
on the opposite sun-lighted waU. There she stood,
during the brief moments which sealed her earthly
doom, with downcast eyes and utteriy dejected pos-
ture; her thin fingers playing mechanically with the
flowers and sweet-scented herbs spread scantily before
her. The trial was very brief: the evidence, emphati-
cally conclusive, was confidently given, and vainly cross-
examined. Nothing remained but an elaborate ad
misericordutm ezcusative defence, which had been pre-
pared by me, and which the prisoner begged her coun-
sel might be allowed to read. This was of course re-
fused ; the recorder remarking, they might as well allow
counsel fw felons to address juneBj as r^^ defences; and
that, as every practical man knew, would be utterly sub-
versive of the due administration of justice. The clerk
of the court would read the paper, if the prisoner felt
too agitated to do so. This was done ; and very vilely
done. The derk, I daresay, read as well as he was able ;
but old, near-sighted, and possessed of anything but a
clear enunciation, what coiild be expected? The de-
fence, so read, produced not the slightest efifect eithor on
the court or jury. The recorder briefly commented on
the conclusiveness of the evidence for the prosecution ;
and the jury, in the same brief^ business-tike manner,
returned a verdict of Guilty.
* What have you to say,' demanded the clerk, * why
sentence of deaUi should not be pronounced upon you,
according to law?'
The shadow started convulsively as the terrible words
i^ll firom the man's lips ; and I saw that the suddenly-
upraised eyes of the prisoner were fastened on the face
of the fearful questioner. The tips, too, appeared to
move ; but no sound reached my ears.
* Speak, woman,' said the recorder, ' if you have any-
thing to urge before sentence is pronounced.'
I started up, and turning to the prisoner, besought
her in hurried accents to speak. * Remind them of
the infant at your breast — your husband'
* Who is that conferring with the prisoner ?' demanded
the judge in an angry voice.
I turned, and confronted him with a look as cold and
haughty as his own. He did not think proper to pursue
the inquiry ftirtfaer; and after muttering something
about t^e necessity of not interrupting the proceedings
of the court, again asked the prisoner if she had any-
thing to urge.
'Not for myself— not for my sake,' at last faintly
murmured the trembling woman j ^but for that of my
pNOor dear infant— my poor witless boy 1 I do notthiok,
sir, I was in my right mind. I was Btsrving. I vu
friendless. My husband, too, whom you have hend' —
She stopped abruptly ; a choking sob struggled in her
throat ; and but for the supportiog arm of one of the
turnkeys, she would have fiulen to tiie grouod.
* Unhappy, guilty woman,' said the recorder, with
the coolness of a demon, * the plea of iasanitj you woold
set up is utterly untenable. Your husband, it leemi, ii
serving his mi^^ty in the royal navy ; defeodiog hit
counta^, whilst his wife was breaking its laws, by the
commission of a crime which, but for the stem lepcet-
sion of the Law, would sap the foundations of the NCft-
rity of property, and'
I could endure no more. The atmosphere of the
court seemed to stifle me ; and I rushed for rdief into
the c^n air. Before, however, I had reached the street,
a long, piercing scream informed me ^t the kanied
judge had done his duty.
No effort was spared during the interval which dipsed
previous to the recorder presenting his report to ti»
privy -council— a peculiar privilege at that time attached
to the office — to procure a mitigation of theseDtaxsa A
petition, setting forth the peculiar circumstanoes of the
case, was carefully prepared ; and by the inde&tigiUi
exertions of an excedlent Quaker gentleman— vhoo, «i
he is still alive, and might not choose to have bis Dime
blazoned to the world, I will caU William Eriend-itt
soon very numerously signed. The prosecotiv, hov*
ever, obstinately refused to attach his name to the doeo-
ment ; and the absence of his signature-HN itnsg^
did men reason on such matters in those days— voild,
it was feared, weigh heavily against the soocen of tbt
petition. The amiable and enlightened Sir Stmnd
Romilly not only attached his name, but aided ni seil-
ously by his advice and influence. In short, Dothmg
was omitted that appeared likely to attain the desired
object
Two days before the petition was to be forwaided te
the proper quarter, Henry Mason arrived in En^iod,
the exertions of his employers having procured bis dif-
charge. The ' Active' was one of Cwptain Hoite's squ-
dron, which obtained tiie celebrated victory off Um,
over the Franco-Venetian fleet commanded by Admw
Dobourdieu. Henry Mason, it appeared by tiie testi-
monials of the captain and offioers of hit iluft bad
greatiy distinguished himself in the action. We o*
dosed these papers with the petition i and then, bATDig
done idl in our power, awedted with anxioiis ifflj*"
tience the result of the recorder's report Itwis lo-
nounced to me, as I was sitting somewhat latff thin
usual at chambers, by Mr WiUiam Friend. The jidg-
ment to die was confirmed! AH our representitww
had not sufficed to counterbalance the suppoeed aeoes-
sity of exhibiting terrible examples of the nte awaibsg
the perpetrators of an offfence said to be gw»tJy <■ ^
increase. Excellent William Friend wept like a dBW
as he made the announcement
There are many persons aKve who recoBecttto
horrible tragedy— this national disgrace— this so«
gross barbarity on the part of the grwit ptfsonsge, to
first having carried off the poor woman's hwoMj
left her to die for an act the very caisequenoe rf^
robbery. Who among the spectators can cfer foif»
that heartrending scene — the hangman **^^*!
baby from the breast of the wretched oeatow js«
before he put her to death! But let us not rrte^
these terrible reminiscences. Let us hope tiist <"* Jjjj
gwlty are forgiven. And let us take consdatioo wn
reflecting that this event led the great BomiDy to fla»
on his celebrated career as a reformer of the amm
law
The remains of Esther Mason were obtsined frwaftj
Newgate officials, and quietly interred in St Sepo^JJ
churchyard. A plain slab, with her name awTP'^J
chiselled upon it, was some time afterwards^ced swre
ttie grave. A few years ago I attended a f^ioe***^'^
same graveyard; and after a Blight search, discoTeiw
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
407
i
I'
I
h
the spot The imcriptioDy though of course much wotd,
▼u ftUl quite kgiUe.
I had not seen Henry Msson since his return ; but I
was gUd to hear £rom Mr William Friend that, after
the first Asionate burst of rage and grief had sub-
sided, he had, apparently at leas^ thanks to the tender
sod pious expostulations of his wife— with whom, by
the Idnd intenrention of the sheriffs, he was permitted
long and ftequent intenriews — settled down into calm-
ness and resignation. One thing only he would not
bear to hear eren from her, and that was any admis-
lion that she had been guilty of eTen the slightest
offence. A hint of the kind, howeyer unintentional,
would throw him into a paroxysm of ftiry{ and the
rabject was consequently in his presence studiously
STcaded.
A &w dajrs after the execution, Mr William Friend
eslied on me just after breakfast, accompanied by ^e
bereaTod husband. I neyer saw so changed a man.
AQ ihe warm kindliness of his nature had vanished,
and was retraced by a gloomy fierce austerity, alto-
gether Muoful to contemplata
* Well, sir,' said he, as he barely touched my prof-
lend hand, * they have killed her, you see, spite of all
yon could my or do. It much availed me, too, that I
had hdped to win their boasted yictories;' and he
laughed with savage bitterness.
*Henry— Henry r exdauned William Friend in a
reproving accent.
'Well, well, sir,* rejoined Mason impatiently, 'you
are a good man, and have of course your own notions
00 these matters : I also have mine. Or perhaps you
think it is only the blood of the rich and great which,
shed unjustly, brings forth the iron harvest? Forgive
me,* he added, cheeking himself. ' I respect you both;
bat my heart is turned to stone. You do not know —
none ever knew but I — ^how kind, how loving, how
gentle was that poor long-suffering girl.'
He turned from us to hide the terrible agony which
OQOvnlsed him.
'Henry,' said Mr Friend, taking him kindly by the
hssd, 'we pity thee sincerely, as thou knowest; but
thy Utter, revengeful expressions are unchristian, sinfi^.
Tlie authorities -whom thou, not for the first time,
railest on so wildly, acted, be sure of it, from a sense
of duty) a mistaken one, in my opinion, doubtless;
stm*
'Say no more, sir,' interrupted Mason. 'We differ
in opinion upon the subject. And now, gentl^nen,
SnewelL I wished to see you, sir, before I left this
eoiiutry lor ever, to thank you for your kind, though
firuitkaa exertkms. Mr Friend has promised to be
steward for poor Willy of all I can remit for his use.
FsrewriL God bless you bothi' He was gone !
War soon afterwards broke out with the United
States of America, and Mr Friend discovered that one
ef the most active and daring officers in the Republican
navy was Henry Maaon, who had entered the American
werriat in the mai^n name of his wife ; and that the
large soma he had remitted from time to time for the
use of WiUy, were the produce of his successful depre-
dationa on British commerce. The instant Mr Frknd
made the discovery, he refused to pollute his hands
with raooiea so obtained, and declined all fturther agency
in the ;matter. Mason, however, contrived to remit
through some other channel to the Davies's, with whom
the b^ had been placed ; and a rapid improvement in
their circumstances was soon visible. These remit-
tances oeaaed about the middle of 1814 ; and a twelve-
numth alter the peace with America, we ascertained
that Henry Mason had been killed in the battle on
Lake Champlain, where he had distinguished himself,
aa everjrwhere else, by the reckless daring and furious
hate with whidi he fou^t against .the country which,
in Ids unreasoning frenzy, he accused of the murder of
his wife. He was recognised by one of his former
messmates in the * Active ;' who, conveyed a prisoner
asi board the American oommander Maodonough's ship.
recognised him as he lay stretched on the deck, in the
uniform of an American naval officer ; his countenance,
even in death, wearing the' same stormful defiant ex-
pression which it assumed on the day that his beloved
Esther perished on the scaffold.
GOSSIP FROM LONDON.
We have progressed since my last The Queen's Birth-
day is over; that anniversary on which mail-guiurds,
postmen, and official understrappers make their appear-
ance in new coats, rejoicing in all the brightoess of
virgin scarlet * Derby Day,' too, has come and gone ;
than which none causes so much stir and locomotion
among metropolitan hege»f its gulf of vivid excitement
now converted into a cud of mingled bitter and sweet
for adventurers to chew. In the back-greens of law-
courts, and other such crafty precincts, the grass and
shrubs are emulating their country kindred ; and our
squares look summer-like in their foliage, which has at
last come forth ; while dronthy folk indulge in unwonted
libations, reminding us that midsunmier is at hand.
There are so many things to talk about that I hardly
know where to begin; however, the sale at Gore House
will serve as well to lead off with as any other quid-
nunc. Few evento of late years have created greater
sensation in the world of tan than the dispersion of
Lady Blessington*s effecte by the hanuner; and dur-
ing the view week, the road at Kensington was beset
by long lines of carriages and pedestrians, all crowding
to the centre of attraction. The sight was one weU
worth seeing ; so numerous were the rarities and curio-
sities, and so tasteful the luxurious elegance. It is said
that connoisseurs are disi^pointed that the portrait pf
her ladyship by Lawrence, on which Byron wrote a
poem, sold for no more than three hundred and sixty
guineas — poet and painter alike at a discount But to
particularise would demand whole pages; so I shall
just remark that Gore House has seen strange contrasU
in ite occupiers — ^first the famous Whitbread, then Lady
Blessington, and now, so says rumour, about to pass
into the possessi<m of a Quaker M.F.
I need hardly tell you that the Royal Academy Exhi-
bition is the grand spectacle of the day ; but in addition
to this, there are so many sighto and riunianit that it is
a wonder how people find time to ' do' them idL What-
ever may be thought about the world growing wiser,
there can be little doubt that it grows cleverer, as the in-
dustrial-art exhibition of the Society of Arts, the soir^
of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and of Lord Rosse,
^ae new president d the Royal Society, fully evidence.
It is pretty well known that the late president Lord
Northampton, gave the smrees at his own residence;
but those of his successor have been held in a suite of
rooms in Somerset House. Of the four which take
place during the season, three are now over ; from five
to six hundred gentlemen — titled and untitled, scientific,
philosophical, and literary — Shaving * assisted,' as the
French say, at eadi. Ton know of course that on such
occasions it is customary to bring together models and
specimens of new inventions and works of art which,
if the refreshmente fail to do so, may give the visitors
somethinff interesting to talk about Some of these
things wUl bear talking about on paper, if you can put
up with general description instead of technicalities.
Foremost I may enumerate the working models of his
two famous telescopes, brought over from Ireland by
Lord Rosse. That ol the ' monster telescope ' especially
conveys an accurate and satisfMstory notion of the huge
instrument to those whose opportunities do not adnSt
of their taking a journey to Castle Birr to see the giant
We are promised ere long some account of ite ex^oits.
Then, commending itself to all interested in navigation,
comes a model of Mitchell's screw-pile lighthouse, as
erected on the Maplin sand. A cause of astonishment to
the uninitiated in this, as in the case of the screw-pro-
peller, is the apparent inadequacy of the screw to its
office. It coBsiste of a ttDi^ disk of metal adjusted near
the lower extremity of the pile, whereby a sandbank may
be penetrated, and the timber afterwards fixed in its
place. The * screw mooring* also exhibited is similar in
construction : it may be twisted into any part of a shoal
or bed of a rirer, where its powerful * bite ' affords secure
hold for the attached buoy. In juxtaposition with such
objects as these, you would see choice specimens of Da-
guerreotype ; a triptych of the sixteenth century, dear
to antiquaries; Varley's rotating- winch double-action
air-pump; Clement's apparatus for making fire hogs-
heads of sugar per diem ; or Hill's potato-crusher. Next
in order are several beautiful designs intended to show
the adaptability of iron to architectural purposes : the
elegance and variety of the combinations are indisput-
able; but are iron arcades and houses suited to our Eng-
lish climate ?
Gutta-percha again : specimens of wire coated with
the Protean material, giving rise to projects for econo-
mical telegraphs. The wires raised on poles, as at pre-
sent in use, are, as shown by experience, exposed to
atmospheric disturbances and other casualties. Tou
wiU remember the throwing down of miles of wire by
the weight of accumulated snow, on the South-Eastern
Railway at the beginning of this year. It is proposed
to avoid such accidents, by burying a coated wire under-
ground, carrying it across the country independent of
fines of rail. ^Diis may be laid down for L.30 or L.60
per mile; in the latter case, the gutta-percha coating
is in turn braided or 'served' with rope, and covered
with marine glue. In Germany they content themselves
by giving a coat of pftint only, to the gutta-percha ; and
according to the statements, there are 400 miles so
prepared laid down on one of the lines in that country.
If carried into execution as proposed, we shall be able
to send you a message to Edinburgh at less than one-
half of the present charges.
While on the subject of gutta-percha, a few words
may very well be given to Mr Whishaw's inventions :
among these are speaking-tubes, to supersede bells in
private houses or offices. So extraordinary are the
conducting powers of this new product, that a whisper
can be conveyed to long distances; and it is obvious
that much trouble will be saved by a person being able
to state his wants without the preliminary delay of a
bell-summons. The cost is not great ; seeing that the
tubes, with terminals or mouth-pieces, can be supplied
at 8d. per foot But we are, it seems, to be able to speak
to a distance without any connecting tube at all ; across
the inner quadrangle of a building, for instance, by
means of large concave gutta-percha reflectors, fixed,
one opposite to the other, on each side of the court, at
an upper window, if required, each having a short tube
attached, through which the message is spoken. By
experiment, the inventor has ascertained that a whisper
can be heard at a distance of forty feet ; and he antici-
pates hearing a loud-spoken tone from a quarter of a
mile. Such an instrument has long been desiderated
on railways during repairs, so as to avoid the delay
which now occurs in sending a messenger from one
gang of workmen to another. In this case each reflector
woiHd be mounted on a stand similar to that of a theo-
dolite ; and thus the portable telephone would be avail-
able where the tdegraph^ as at present arranged, does
not admit of application. The instrument might be so
fixed at each end of a tunnel, that the attendants at
either extremity could commtmicate without leaving
their boxes.
Perhaps you will say I am dwelling too long on these
soir^s ; but I cannot leave the subject without noticing
two other models, which you will very likdy consider
the most noteworthy of all. The first is Mr Appold's
' centriftigal pump for draining marshes,' &c. ; and a
most ingenious adaptation it is. You have heard of
the turbine — a small box water-wheel possessing extra-
ordinary capabilities for work. Well, Mr Appold's
model contains such a wheel, made of tin, a little thicker,
but not larger, than a halfpenny. This is fitted at the
bottom of a i^uare tube dipping into a small cistern
containing water, which may represent a lake, &c. The
little wheel being made to rotate with great velocttj,
throws up water rapidly into the tube above i^
until it overflows in a continuous stream at ^ top,
and the volume of this stream is such as to ddiver r^
gallons in a minute ; and on applying a nozzle, the
stream is driven to a distance of twenty feet This, jon
will say, is a marvellous eflect from so apparently in-
significant a cause ; but a wheel, about fifteen indies
diameter, exhibited at the same time, will ddiTer 1800
gallons per minute : it requires, however, to be worlxd
by an engine of four-horse power. Mr Appold bu
lately proposed to the engineer of the Dutc^ goretn-
ment to fix a similar wheel on the Haarlem Ses, now
in process of being drained, by forty pumps driTen by
steam. A centri^gal pump of forty feet diameter
would do more work than all the others put together,
and would deliver — so the inventor asserts— 1,500,000
gallons per minute. With such power at oommaDd,
one would think we ought never more to hear of ship
foundering at sea ; and the emptying and redam&tion
of the Zuyder Zee resolves itself into a possibility.
Though last not least is the newly-invented coacfaine
for mak&ig apyrotypes^ which, to quote from the deicnp-
tion, are — * Printing types manufactured by self-actifig
machinery, of copper or other hard metal, without tlie
aid of heat' It is the work of a Frenchman, Mooneiff
Pettit, expatriated by the unsettled state of affain io
his own country. Such a machine scarcely admiti of
being gossipped about so I must just give you atom-
mary of the inventor's own words. The essential prin-
ciple of type-manufkcture, he states, has remaioed the
same since the invention of printing, more thsn 400
years ago ; and, as is well known, the compantire soft-
ness of the metal employed is a defSect Hiis defect ii
now overcome. * The extreme durability of copper,'
we are told, ' when employed as a printing torfiioe, ii
Mly admitted by all printers. A London firm, em-
ployed to print stamps for the government, is in the
habit of using raised copper surfaces for this purpose.
No less than 125,000,000 impressions have beoi taken
from one of these plates ! If this result hu been
arrived at with copper in ito ordinary state, it must be
evident that the durability of the apyrotypea, formed
of copper, hardened by the compression to which it is
subject in the process of manufacture, will be afasost
infinite.' The first cost of 100 lbs. weight of the copper
type exceeds that of ordinary type by more than LSO-,
but as it will last sixty times as long, there must be
sixty renewals of the common type ; so that ultimately
there will be a saving in favour of copper of more than
L.800 : besides which, the production of bad work by
the soft metal types at sixty different times in tiie same
interVid will have been avoided. The copper not only
remains uniform, but effecta an economy of ink in iti
greater power of resisting pressure.
M. Pettit informs me that be made three mschiBei
before he succeeded in reaching the present stage o^
perfection. The one exhibited is about four feet bag
and two feet wide, constructed entirely of iron or c^
metal, and is of enormous weight. There is s vincb
turned by hand, and a fly-wheel ; on revolving ftij
fourteen different motions are produced, vhkh, aU
combined, form the types from square strips of copper
inserted in the proper place : so that the workman has
nothing to do but turn the wheel, and types drop into a
tray at the rate of thirty- two a minute ! Many pfinfeers
and scientific moi have expressed their approval of^
new machine ; among the latter Professor Taraday,m
explained its mode of action to the company '^■'^"^^
at Lord Rosse's soiree. The proposal is, to dispose oi it
in six shares of L.6000 each ; two of these, it is >>^^t^
sold, one of the purchasers being an eminent ^^'^^
typefounder. And now, if all anticipations be I'Bsiised,
we shall from this time ' date a new epoch in ^ irt w
typography.*
Although I have done with the soir^ I mutt da^
a letter-writer's privilege to discuss eveiythiBg; tfd
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAt.
409
under this comprehensiye head I may mention, what
you will be pleased to learn, that the Geographical So-
ciety have awarded their medal to Mr I^yard for his
eminent researches in Nineveh — a recognition of merit
honourable to both parties. As new (^dmants rise to
bonooTy old ones pass away. Mr Vernon is dead ; but
his name will liye for centuries to come, while eyes are
kft to yiew the noble gallery of paintings, worth
L. 120,000, which he gare to the nation. He doubtless
foresaw this reward, when he had the good sense to
decline an offer of knighthood made to him by autho-
nty. Faraday, amid his grand magnetic researches,
has been making science familiar to juvenile auditories
at the Royal Institution, in a course of six lectures * On
the Chemical EUstory of a Candle.* Who can protest
about infra, dig, after this ? But among other inciden-
tals, there is one bearing on * the sanitary interest : ' the
* Lcvds' have been discussing the merits of a project for
•applying Whitehaven with water from Ennerdale Lake.
Thooe who have seen this magnificent sheet of water will
recognise the excellence of the source, and we can but
wish success to so promising a scheme. The distance
ii eighteen miles; and bearing in mind the Croton
aqueduct of New York, which delivers 60,000,000 gal-
lons every twenty-four hours, we presume the question
of impracticability is not to be entertained for a mo-
ment.
To descend from great things to little : is it to the
doubles in France that we are indebted for the dicrotteur,
or ahoe-black, who, with his stand and polishing appara-
tas, has been seen of late about the ' west end ? ' I should
like to see the profession become general in London.
The convenience would be great for dirty-booted pedes-
triiuM. Besides this enterprising individual, we have a
wurekand tie gaUetUs established in Fleet Street. Thus
you see it does not always require revocation of Edicts
of Nantes to send us foreign talent.
You are perhaps beginning to query if I ever mean
to stop ; yet to close without a few words about lite>
rature would be to omit an important item of the
everything. I promise, however, not to be prolix. The
FMiamentary Committee is still pursuing the inquiry
relative to the establishing of public libraries in populous
towns and districts throughout the country. This is a
sign of the times. It is easier to lead educated minds,
than to coerce brutal instincts and unreason. And here,
too, it is worth remembering, that with a People's Col-
lege at Sheffield and Nottingham, we are likely to have
a third in the metropolis of the eastern counties — Nor-
wich, where the building of one is proposed by a gentle-
man of fortune. Thus may we hope to
* Hake knowledge drcle with the winds.'
Bot apropos of literature : Sir John Herscliel has re-
written his astronomical treatise, under the title of
* Outiioes of Astronomy ; ' and from such a source you
may be sure that the advantage is on the side of scien-
tific readers. And Dr Forb^ whom you woiild take
for a Btaid medicus, having scampered over Switzerland
last autumn with all the vivacity of a truant schoolboy,
has just published ' A Physician's Holiday,' by way, I
suppose, of making others as cheery as himself. Be
this as it may, he tells some things unknown before,
and has produced a very readable book.
Accounts from the continent state that no one there
now cares to read any publication larger than pamph-
lets; and of these there are legions, in which vexed
questions of politics are discussed with every variety of
talent and temper. Among these trifles I observe one
— ' Jonmal d'un Insurge Malgre Lui ' — * Journal of an
Insurgent in Spite of Himsell' There ought to be
something worth picking out in such a book. It ap-
pears that the writer was taken prisoner by accident (?),
and shut up in the cellars of the Hotel de Ville, until
removed to the dungeons of Ivry. He suffered much,
and observed more; and comes to this conclusion —
' tnsuRecti<m ought never to be permitted.' Of a dif-
ferent stamp is the uniform series of quartos containing
the works of their best philosophers, printed at the
expense of the French government. Laplace's works in
seven volumes have recently been presented to various
institutions in this country by the minister of public
instruction. The Academy, too, in conjunction with this
functionary, offers a prize of 600 francs for ' Un Petit
Traite ' — or rather * A short Treatise on Popular Hy-
giene, avoiding purely Scientific Details, for the Use of
Workmen in Towns, and the Inhabitants of the Coun-
try.' The book is to be more especially adapted to the
department of Seine-Inf§rieure, and is to convey general
precepts in the most attractive style possible.
In France, the early history of the language has been
much studied ; and the Academy, with a view to the
further promotion of the study, is about to republish
the most ancient known French Grammar. Singular
enough, this was written by an Englishman, Jehan Pals-
grave, tutor to Princess Mary, in the reign of Henry VIII.
There are but six copies in existence ; and of these, five
are in this country, and one in Paris, in the Mazarine
Library. Being written in English, it is said the pecu-
liarities of the old pronunciation will be better detected
than if the work had been written in the vernacular of
GauL
It has often been a reproach to our government that
they neglect the collection of our national historical
documents ; and in the rdign of Greorge IV. an order was
issued to remedy this defect. The results have now
appeared in the first of a series of thick red-backed
folios, entitled * Monumenta Historica Britannica,' or
* Materials for the History of Britain, from the Earliest
Period to the ^nd of the Beign of King Henry YIL,
published by Command of Her Majesty.' This initiatory
volume contains the writings of Gildas, Bede, Asser,
Aethelweard, Henry of Huntingdon, Maistre Geffrei
Gaimar, with many others, and Uie Anglo-Saxon Chro-
nicle, and engravings of coins. At the same rate, a
volume in twenty years, we shall have to wait a long
time for the remainder of the series.
But if legislatorial debates have a claim to intcrmi-
nability, gossip has none — so, ad rescribendum.
A MONTH AMONG THE PYRENEES.
As the regular routine of a Pau season, where either
health or pleasure is concerned, includes a few weeks'
residence at some of the many watering-places among
the mountains, we proceeded to the Eaux Bonnes im-
mediately on giving up our apartment in the pretty
little town where we had so pleasantly passed the
winter. My brother had hired a caleche for the sum-
mer, with three horses and a driver, on very reasonable
terms. The driver was a very intelligent man, and
proved extremely useful to us in the course of our wan-
derings.
Our drive from Pau through Gan to Louvie was both
cold and rainy, although it was near the end of May at
this time. The air became really piercing as we ad-
vanced deeper among the hills ; but we forgot all dis-
comfort as we proceeded, the scenery became so beau-
tiful. The road lay up a valley enclosed by mountains,
whose summits seemed to reach the clouds, and it fol-
lowed the course of a rapid stream through a gorge
sometimes no wider than the road and river, sometimes
opening into meadows, sometimes extending into plains.
There was no want of wood on the lower slopes of the
hiUs or in the valley. Many a pretty-looking hamlet
improved the cheerful aspect of our route; and here
and there a smaller glen diverged on either hand, as if
there were no end to the intricacies of this range of the
Pyrenees. We stopped frequently to walk to different
points of much attraction ; and in this way so lengtli-
ened the journey, that it was hite in the afternoon when
we reached a la^ phun filled with viUages, and through
410
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUB6H JOURNAL.
which flowed seyeral small rirert, the marble qoarries
and the hnta of the labourers in them appearing high
up among the forest-trees that covered the lower sweeps
of the distant mountains. From this basin-like plain a
road turned off oyer a handsome bridge, and up a very
steep hill above a mile in length, ending in a ravine,
along one side of which, on a narrow ledge a consider-
able height above the torrent, which we heard thunder-
ing bebw, runs a row of high white houses, built for the
visitors to the Eauz Bonnes. We put up at the Hotel
de France ; and ordering fires in the bedrooms allotted
to us as our private chambers, we declined the public
table for that first evening, and drank our tea in my
room in English solitude. The singularity of our abode
struck me the next morning with wonder. There
we were in a very large hotel, one of a long row of high
houses, for there are fifteen of these boarding-houses
rising firom a shelf apparently just wide enough to sup-
port them, a precipice below, a mountain behind, and a
mountain opposite — the noise of rushing waters ever
filling the ear, so many cascades dash down into the
troubled stream which frets along among the rocks at
the bottom of the ravine. The shelf looks narrower
than it really is { for besides the houses which stand on
the brink of the precipice, there is a road and a side-
path between them and the sheltering mountain, and
part of the way a narrow strip of shrubbery, and a little
brook running along beside it carrying away the waste
waters of the springs. These were within a few minutes*
walk of our hotel The street ends abruptly by turning
off round a comer of the rock, and forming a crook of
some hundred yards long, piercing into the hill as it
were. This crook contains a few private houses, the
rooms in which are let as required to those who prefer
a more retired life than is led in the hotels, the pump-
room, and the chapeL We determined on following
exactly the prevailing habits of the place, and therefore
decided on remaining where we were with a large agree-
able party, many of whom were well acquainted with
us, and in lodgings where cleanliness, space, comfort,
and good cookery were all combined for by no means
an extravagant charge -, for we had made our bargain,
and soldered it with the magic * tout compris.*
We found our life a very pleasant on& We rose early ;
went to the springs ; wandered about till the hour of our
substantial breakfast; formed then the parties for ex-
cursions, which occupied the remainder of the morning;
dined all together in the fine room, which would have
held almost as many more; and spent the evening in the
still finer saloon, where work, reading, cards, music, and
dancing went on without efibrt, and where a lively con-
versation, full of wit, full of good-nature, and full of
information, accompanying manners studiously polite
and often high-bred, made these sociable rhtnions really
enjoyable. The company from the other houses fre-
quently joined us, and we returned the compliment,
when, although we had only amateur music, the younger
members of our society managed to play the double
parts of band and dancers, till the elders began to wish
for their pillows, as no late hours overnight ever pre-
vented the early walk to the pump-room. Whether it
were the waters in which my invalid son bathed daily,
and drank of plentifully, or the fine air, or the gay spirits
round us, or altogether, I know not, but never did any
one so rapidly gain strength as did my boy up in this
beautiful wilderness. We were almost always out, on
foot or pony back, wandering in all directions among
the mountains — sometimes along roads leading to well-
known places, sometimes sauntering in the well-kept
walks nearer at hand, ■ometimes led on by a mere
bridle-path to some hidden hamlet, stumbling npoa
some fantastic rock or some enchanting wateiM, or
some deep narrow glen running up into the gloomj
forest, from whence issued the smoke df the cfatfOQs]
burner and the sound of the woodman's axe. Tbe
picturesque appearance of the small villages, or the itill
more interesting lonely cabin, either perched on loae
height, or half-concealed by the woods of the TiUejr, sft
a dUtance, added considerably to the peculiar besoty tf
the ever -varying scenery. Close at hand, thej sis
rather squalid-looking dwdlings, small, low, and mdely
finished, and very untidy about the doors, exhibiting
no luxury, but containing the few humble comforti ie>
quired by so hardy a people. There appeared to be s
sufficiency of food and fuel among them ; good beddbf
was invariable, and good stout clothing. The ospoduB,
or hood, which is generally worn here by all during nisj
weather, is a singular addition to the head-gesr: Hit
nothing but a bag open on one side, pulled oo orer tiie
cap or handkerchief quite low down upon the shoolden,
the comer left sticking up as a top ; but being gow-
rally of a bright colour on the women--4cazlet trimmed
with black, or gray trimmed with scarlet— the efleet if
gay as well as odd. Hie men seldom afforded them-
selves any stuff better-looking than sacking— the nme
dingy hue at least — without nny ornamental edgiog,
though the material was woollen. When not rcqnind
as a parapluiey the capuchin is folded flat, and stsfM
into the belt of the blouse, or apron, unless it csa be
used as a cushion breath the weight burdens slwsyi
home on the head in these mountains, and by the
women mostiy, who seemed indeed to do sU the
dmdgery, the men emplojring themselves as herds cr
shepherds, in the quarries, or ia the forest, where tbeir
habits of labour were beyond my observation. I eu
only answer for the industry of the hard-worked women,
none of whom ever seemed to lose a moment: wben
not in the flelds, their knitting was ever in their
hands— they would trot merrily adong, a fagot <m their
back, or a pail or a basket on their head, knittiiig tO
the while fester than my eye oould follow the neeffl^
The dress of botii sexes was well suited to the roogh
weather of the mountains, but it was extremely nglj:
dark gowns, dark aprons, and dark handkerchief os
the women ; dark caps, dark blouses, and dark ti^ouea
on the men ; and no linen to be seen on either.
My love of wild flowers carried me often on foot dii*
tances I should hardly have ventured on had I let oat
with the intention of reaching them. Often, too, thii
taste set me scrambling up and down to positiooi i
little awkward for an elderly gentlewoman, who, the
excitement of advance over, foiuid the retreat in cold
blood sometimes difficult. These adventures, however,
formed a very amusing foundation for oor efenisg
gossip, and also led to a more intimate aoqnsiataDce
with a young person in whom I became extRmdy
interested — a young English lady, of great skill si s
botanical artist. She arranged all my bmtlAil booqoeti
scientifically in her dried collection, copying them flnt,
by painting them on card-paper, as I have seldom lefl
nature rivalled. The colours^ she employed the pro-
cured in Pau, in little round flat cakes, mixed up, m»
with gum, but honey. Their brilliancy and »oftMii •»
much beyond anything we are at home accnitomed^
I should think the result of our united Ubours mwt
form a rare collection : many of the larger flowen wtie
superb, and I hardly think my researches omitted one
of any size or species, so that the Hora of this psrtw
the Pyrenees was perfectly represented. The ^^•J^
of the employment was tiie improvement in the heriw
of this very delicate young person during its I*®P**
She and her donkey soon penetrated into manv of n^
recesses of treasure; and Uiough the rocks "^JJ^*"^
courses remained bcryond her reach daring ^^^''f*^
the Eaux Bonnes, she had explored them all before we
met again at Cauter^tz. -^
One of our favourite long walks was to the Bjw
Chaudes [Hot Springs], to which there was • •««
fijotpath acroii the bills, rude in many places, and
not altogether free from danger in .descending to, or
crossing, the torrents. The ordinary approach to these
hot springs by the carriage-road xnade a considerable
roimd ; for when we drove there, we had to return to
the wide plain full of villages, and after recrossing the
biidge to meet the Pau road, we followed it on straight
Bp the steepest hill anybody almost could ever have
had to aao^id in a carriage. Near the top, the rock has
been tonneUed through to admit of a passage, the over-
hanging summit rendering any other mode of reaching
the opposite side oi the mountain impracticable. In
^is narrow, gloomy vault, where an icy blast always
meets Uie traveller^ stands a small chapel dedicated to
the Virgin, who is supposed to protect all wayfarers
during the dangers of this journey, paying her for the
same a few sous merely, the descent on the other side
being fully as steep, though not quite so long, as the
ascent It is a zig-zag road, cut out of the rock, by the
side oi which a torrent dashes turbulently down in the
chasm it has worn on the face of the precipice. The
•cene is so wild, and made me so nervous the first time
I travelled it, that I felt quite relieved on reaching the
boUom, and turning round the wall of rock which had
icrraned us from a^ other prospect, to find myself in
soother valley, where, nestled down in a quiet meadow,
was a small hamlet, attached to what ai^ared to be a
fine baronial castle.
This imposing edifice is placed on a rocky promon-
toiy, whidi rises from the bank of the river, and
sb»ws remarkably well amidst the steep surrounding
moantains. It is the new bath-house, which has been
for many years in the course of erection, and is to
OQOtain baths, pump-room, library, and shops below,
and numerous apartments for the invalids above.
But French workmen are proverbially slow — so slow,
there is no saying when this spacious building will be
ready for occupation — and in Uie meanwhile the few
lick persons who now visit these waters must lodge in
very indifferent quarters, and put up with the dreary
but essentially comfortaUe accommodation of the old
bath-house. This we entered from the road by an
upp^ floor, and then descended a staircase to a long
oonidor connecting the two wings of the hotel, where
we found established a cook-shop, a confectioner, a
grocer, a wine-shop, all in a row, diligently served by
tradesmen visitors, who come during the season to
supply invalid visitors with these necessaries. It is not
ranch the fashion to resort to the waters here : they
have gone out of repute since GauterStz and Bareges
became so celebrated : probably their fame may revive
with their improved accommodation, for the scenery
around, and on far into Spain, is wonderfully fine, and
they are just in the way of the most interesting of the
many excursions to the various mountain-tops to which
tourists in general have such pleasure in ascending.
My brother was foremost in all these enterprises. He
never seemed to me to be satisfied while there was any
heigkt above him he had not reached. Every pic on
the Pyrenees he had, I believe, the satisfaction of re-
membering he had set his foot on, though I never could
make out that he saw anything from them surpassing
the beauty which quite contented me in the valleys.
We once or twice drove as far as Gabas, where stands
a small Spanish customhouse on the frontier. The
soenery on this excursion was superb. Mountain rose
above mountain, rock towered over rock, assuming
•very sort of fantastic shape; often taking the resem-
Uanoe of battlemented keeps, or the long flank walls
of a time -stained fortress. And then we entered
the forest, where the black pine, oak, and other ha^-
mood trees, ming^ with the lighter birch near the
stream, combined to form a gloom that was delight-
Ud : through which, and a thidc underwood of box, we
P^ied to catch at intervals small patehes of wdure,
Driuiant with flowers. We crossed the river several
tJOMsbymeansof good wooden bridges, and at these op-
portanltiet observed that sheep covered the lower hills)
cattle, with a few mares and foals among them, grazed
upon the strips of meadow ; and sometimes a goat ap-
peared gazing from some pinnacl& We saw no habite-
tions after leaving tiie Eaux Chaudes a couple of miles
behind } and it was not till I mentioned, in surprise, the
absence of all visible ownerf of these flocks and herds,
that I heard of the curious village, hidden from view
high up among the fastnesses of nature's contriving,
where dwcJQ the singular people who boast so wide a
pasturage^ On through this wild ravine still stretehed
the w^-engineered road, the increasing gloom of the
forest adding to the interest with which we traversed
its solitary length. Eagles soared above: cascades
innumerable dashed down on every side. We were
shown the paths by which, during the winter season,
the hunters tracked the bear, and the rocks where the
wild-cat and the wolf were sheltered. A lively trade in
furs is carried on through the medium of tiie active
mounUdneers, who bring many varieties of this rich
merchandise into the market, the martin-sable of the
Pyrenees, in particular, being much sought after.
In sununer, no such exciting employment is going
on. The only evidences of man we met with were the
newly-fdled pines, which lay in large piles among the
undc^ood, waiting to be barked by the woodmen, who
oarry on their trade in a rude style, marking the little
progress in the arte yet made in these remote regions.
An axe, and a small double hand-saw, by the aid of
whicb two indolent workmen cut up a log into planks,
was all the machinery they seemed to be acquainted
with. The branches lopped off" the trees were made
into charcoal on the spot by a set of most hideous
old women in dark dresses, who also gathered the bark.
The general run of the timber was used for building
and for firing in the district, but any very large tree is
sent off to Bordeaux or Bayonne for the flipping.
Another of our long excursions was to Oleron, from
whence we went to visit the Yallee d'Aspe. This
indeed involved an absence of a few days, as the dis-
tance was considerable. We had to drive down the
steep hill, and back to the plain with the villages, and
then retrace our route along the valley to Louvie. We
then left the Pau road, and struck off to the west,
skirting the roote of the mountains, across a very
fertile plain to Oleron, a large town, not remarkable for
much but ite situation upon two wide rivers, and the
surrounding well -wooded and well -cultivated fields.
Part of the country we were now travelling through
was very park-like, very English, in many places very
pretty, full of small ch&teaux and villages, which looked
well at a distance, though they were disappointing to
enter 1 On arriving at the lower part of the Yallee
d'Aspe, we found that it resembled North Wales — a rich
and peaceful scene, quite pastoral in ite character — a
rest to the imagination after the sublimer scenery of the
Eaux Chaudes and the Eaux Bonnes. The low hills, of
various forms, are cultivated nearly to the top; the
fields are of many strange shapes, divided by wooding,
and dotted all over with little clumps of trees, hsdf
concealing the cottages: a wide river fiowed. quietly
through the meadows — all was repose for the first few
miles of our journey. B^dous, where we stopped to feed
the horses, is a sort of town in a large plain, perfectly
uninteresting ; and the inn so little agreeable, that as
soon as we had shown our passporto to the gensdarmes
(for B^dous is another firontier station — Spain was very
near us), we took our sandwiches in our hands, and
walked to a waterfall at a little distance, considered to
be among the finest in the district We also crossed
the river, and went along a rude mountain-road to the
village of Osse ; a collection of mean cottages set down
on a bare hill-side — stones being the principal feature
in ite scenery. We had stones aU round us ; we walked
over stones and by stones ; and there were stone-walls
for hedges, and no trees anywhere. About three hun-
dred Huguenoto are collected here in thirty or forty
houses, who, thus isolated from their brethren of the
Beformed faith, have maintained the integrity of their
creed from the time of the Albigenses. Their perpetual
intermarriAges have resulted in lowering their capaci-
ties, mental and bodily, to a yery imfortunate degree.
Slow, lazy, stunted in every way, many of them de-
formed, they have vegetated in the miserable discom-
fort consequent on their increasing inertness till this
present time, when a possibility of improvement has
presented itself in the form of an intelligent young man,
sent from the Evangelical Normal School at Paris,
where he was educated, to take charge of the rising
generation. He is paid by the society ; supplied by it
with books and other school requisites ; and he teaches
much after our own improved methods — by the help of
monitors, tablets on the walls, the black-board, and
pictures, which last he told me had liad the effect of
wakening up the minds of very dull pupils. One can-
not but painfully regret the degree of ignorance which
has tended to deg^rade this unfortunate community. At
the time of our visit, the pastor was a superannuated
old man, more occupied with the means of support-
ing his family than zealous in his clerical duties.
His house was the best in the village, yet was but a
poor one. His kitchen, in which he seemed to live,
was no better finished than any small farmer's in
the district; it was, however, well filled with simple
stores, implements of husbandry, bright pots and pans,
and all the evidences of woman's thrift. His daughter
or granddaughter was at her wheel within the large
chimney, dressed like the peasants of a humble class,
as was the old minister, who must 'rest in peace' ere
the schoolmaster's labours can be fUlly rewarded. A
young and better-instructed priest would much assist
in the regeneration of this desolate place : but he would
need to be an enthusiast in his holy calling ; none else
could endure so cheeriess a situation among a degraded
people, despised by their neighbours, and with no
means of living on a sterile mountain amid rocks, and
stones, and misery, but the poor pittance paid by the
French government to the dissenting clergy.
Close to Bedous there is a column in £e centre of a
field raised to the memory of a Bernais poet, much ad-
mired by all classes of his countrymen : his verses are
in all mouths, but being in the patois tongue, we could
not comprehend their peculiar beauty. There is a
Roman inscription on a rock near the first bridge we
crossed on entering the valley, announcing the advance
so far of a cohort more than a thousand years ago.
Traces of the Romans abound in these parts, their love
of mineral waters having led them to most of the health-
restoring springs of these mountains. We stopped at
Sarrance, a very pretty village, to see its very pretty
church, much resorted to all through the summer by
sick pilgrims, who come to beg the prayers of * Our
Lady,' represented here by a small stone image, which
tradition reports to have fallen from heaven in a mira-
culous manner. Another tradition has it, that the
Romans dropped this image in the river as they crossed,
and that the legion long lamented its * Minerva.' The
fine bracing air of this sunny spot may have something
to do with the cures certainly effected under the shadow
of the shrine of our * Lady of Sarrance,' who, like many
other excellent objects, must have that within which
passes show, for she can boast of little outward beauty.
She is rudely hewn in black marble, her features much
defaced, and her stature of the smallest, being but a
foot and a-half in height She is very finely dressed,
and is enclosed in a box, with one side of it glass, which
turns upon a pivot, so that she can either look out from
the top of her altar upon the faithful kneeling below, or
turn to a select few in her private cliamber, wliither we
ascended by half-a-dozen steep steps to have a nearer
view of her. The attendant priest quitted the confes-
sional hurriedly upon our entrance, pushing aside with
little ceremony his humble penitents, to do the honours
of the shrine to a party of strangers. As we drove on
towards Oleron, and again on driving from it, the
scenery around reminded me of Kent — fine old wood,
heights and hollows, hedges, corn-fields, and a great
many country-houses, and no water after leaving the
two rivers at Oleron behind. It was all rich and lovely,
but tame when compared with the wildneu of the
mountains towards which we returned, with Uie sort of
joy that one feels on meeting old friends again ; lo mnlj
do the more marked features of a rugged landscape im-
press the heart of a true lover of nature. The walks
about the Eaux Bonnes were more attractive tous thia
ever ; and in particular I took pleasure in waadering lov
down by the rocky banks of the stream, whose thnnden
we heard so plainly from our aerial dwelling, though we
seldom saw much of it till we sought for its foaming
waters among the trees which shrouded its ooone;
This noisy torrent leaps, rather than fiows, from one
rock to another, forming a succession of rapidi eadi
more attractive than the last, till in some half-doies
places it meets with an obstruction of sufficieot size to
send it foaming down in what would be quite a cawide
elsewhere.
The air, the pure water, the cleanliness, and fte
cheerfulness of this singular place, made ut leave it
with regret ; but the proper time had been spent it
these fountains, and we were ordered to Canter^
There is a bridle-road across the mountains between
the two places, which we at one time thought of taking,
sending the ciUdche with the luggage round by the pub-
lic road ; but on further consideration, we abandaned
this excursion, on account of a fancy I or my son hid
taken to return to Pau. The company of acton ap-
pointed to this district had arrived there, and I had got
it into my head that I should like to see them. I hid
not been at a play for years — at a French play nerer—
and as the Toulouse theatre had a fair repotatioo, I
wished to take advantage of this visit from part of the
troop, to form my own judgment of French oooedj.
We took rather a large party with us, many of va
Eaux Bonnes friends agreeing to accompany m. On
our arrival at Pau, we found it necessary to take a
whole box for the somewhat numerous party. The
theatre is small: it was well, though not teilliantiy
lighted, and there was little scenery, and only three or
four actors, yet I never was more diverted. They give
us two vaudevilles of one act each ; five actors q>>
peared in one, only four in the other. They were per-
fectly well dressed ; there were no clap-traps, no hinti
to the galleries, no allusions to the politics of the day,
and very little story ; but that little was so wdl toU,
the actors were so completely the people they repK-
sented, they were so fuUy occupied with thdr parti,
apparently so unconscious of an audience, the diakgae
was so spirited, so well given, that we were carried
away in earnest by the illusion. One young tctiesi
would have been quite a ' star' in England from her
comic powers : she had a fine dear soprano voice too.
Besides these little comedies, a young Spaniard played
very brilliantly on the pianoforte between the piecei}
music that was very agreeable to listen to, from the
beauty of the severid airs he introduced into his com*
position, and the style and the touch he was master d
There was also some very good dancing by three mem-
bers of the corps du baUei at Madrid, who were making
a little money on their return to Spain from ftriii
where they had just concluded an engagement Ih^
were handsome young people, very grao^ol, and t«7
agile, and particularly happy in their costumes, wh^
were varied to suit their dances. When they danced
the • fandango,' the girl wore a dress of white WjUJ
flounced and trimmed with broad black lace, the e&ct
of which was really elegant, though in descriptoflo
reminding us a little (rf the magpie. I daresav these
active Spaniards were capable of performing all those
astonishing whirls, and twirls, and flights, and c<*^
tions, so much in fashion at our own Opera; bnt twy
had the better taste to confine themselves to nateonw
dances of a lively character, during the evolutioM »
which they merely attudinised a Uttle more than un-
professional exhibitors would have considered •e*"^
Altogether, we passed a most agxeeaUe evening; •»»
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
413
we all agreed, that if the Toulouse company rank only
third amongst the provincial actors, numbers two and
one most be well worth taking a longer journey than
our twenty miles to see.
CURIOSITIES OF METEOROLOGY.
Metbobologt, or the science of the phenomena of the
atmosphere, can scarcely be said to naye been known
at all before the latter part of the last century, since
it was not till then that the atmosphere wholly ceased,
in the imaginations even of the learned, to be a simple
body, and was diyided into its constituent fluids. The
prc^tortions in which are intermixed the two gases
oxygen and nitrogen, forming the idr we breathe, are
the first curiosity we meet on entering the subject, and
fill us with surprise and admiration. Two Tolumes of
the former fluid, and half a Tolume of the latter, compose
the atmosphere, fitted for Uie respiration both of the
animal and Tegetable world : but if differently combined,
even in a slight degree, what would be the result ? If
instead of half a volume of oxygen there were a whole
volume, all mankind would die in convulsions of intoxi-
cation, for the production would be nitrous oxide or
loMghing gas. If the volumes were equal, then we should
have the poisonous acid called nitric oxide ; and if two
of nitrogen and five of oxygen, instead of the wholesome
fiuid surrounding our globe, there would be a sea of
aquafortis ! In short, the otdy combination of the two
gases fitted for the support of animal and vegetable life
is precisely the one that exists.
In a former paper, we mentioned the curious effect of
elevation upon the temperature of boiling water ; and
in « work which will supply us with abundant materials
for the present article — and which we wish strongly to
reoommend to our readers* — there is an anecdote on
the subject taken from a traveller on the Andes. * Our
potatoes,' says Mr Darwin, * after remaining for some
hours in the boiling water, were nearly as hud as ever.
The pot was left on the fire all night, and next morning
it was boiled again; but yet the potatoes were not
cooked. I found out this by overhearing my two com-
panions discussing the cause; they had come to the
simple conclusion that the potatoes were bewitched, or
that the pot, whicli was a new one, did not choose to
boil them.* This phenomenon depends upon the weight
or density of the atmosphere, which becomes less as we
ascend. The weight of the whole mass of air surrounding
the globe is computed to be equivalent to that of a glob^
of l^id sixty mUes in diameter ; or, according to other
writers, if expressed in tons, it would give 5114 billions.
The temperature of the currents of air that sweep
across the ocean, and diminish the region of cold on
the land, is another curious subject The explanation
usually given is, that these winds chill the particles of
water on the surface of the deep, which immediately de-
scend, and have their places supplied by others, warmer,
and of less specific gravity ; and that this goes on till
the temperature of the wind itself is increased.
Of the various phenomena of the atmosphere, that of
twilight is one of the most beautiful. * Although it is
the western horizon,' says Dr Thomson, * which glows
most lovingly, still, immediately opposite the setting
sno, especially under certain atmospheric conditions,
the eastern sky partakes of the roseate hues. The
intenaity of this tinge is greatest at the moment when
his disk sinks below the horizon. It is the last effbrt of
the sun to dart his rays upon the sky before leaving us
for the night, which reach us by refiection, deprived of
all their colours but the red. Below this a deep-blue or
dusky-looking segment appears, and when circumstances
are favourable, it is well defined. This is the anti-twiUght
of Mairan : it is the shadow of our globe cast upon the sky.'
Our author notices the singular brightness witnessed
* IntTodiiotion to Motoorolofy. By Darld Pardie Thomson,
M D., a^rwA, Unir. Edin., Lloent Roy. ColL of Surgeons, Bdin.
Bteekwood and 8000, Bdinborgh and London. 1840.
at midnight in some European countries in 1831. This
second twilight (if such it was) was so light, that small
print could be read; and during the months it ap-
peared— August and September-*- the barometer fell,
storms swept the earth, and the sun was of a silvery
whiteness. At the north pole, from the autumnal to the
vernal equinox, there is a period of continual twilight,
then of continual night, and then of twilight again, till
the sun asserts his place in the sky, and reigns supreme.
Continual daylight I What a splendid idea I Captain
Beechey and his comrades were at first reluctant to quit
the dec^; and when they did so, it was so wonderful —
when they came again to keep their night-yratch. — to
find the sun still gilding the firmament ! But this soon
became irksome ; and the mariners, taking a lesson from
the instinct of the birds around them, went to their
roost at a regular hour.
Clouds are not essential, as they are commonly sup-
posed to be, to the phenomenon of rain. Sometimes the
rain may be wafted on the wind from a distance ; but it
likewise may arise from the condensation of moisture,
* without its passing into the intermediate state of
clouds. In the higher regions this vapour may become
frozen, even without the semblance of a cloud, and
descending to a warmer stratum, be again dissolved,
dissipated, or precipitated.' Sir J. C. Ross tells us that
in the South Atlantic it rained for above an hour when
the sky was free from douds. In the Mauritius this
is not a rare phenomenon; but in Europe, the greatest
time of its duration was ten minutes at Constantinople.
In old writers we are frequently told of the sky * rain-
ing blood;' and in fact a red rain, as well as a red
snow,, is perfectly well authenticated. There occurred
a fall near Bristol consisting of the seeds of ivy-berries.
Pollen showers, vulgarly cfdled yellow or sulphur rains,
are common : some are the pollen of the Scotch fir :
and one extraordinary fall of this kind of rain, which
took place during the night, was phosphorescent, and
greatly alarmed the beholders. * On the afternoon of
the nth of June 1847, the wooded part of Morayshire
appeared to smoke, and for a time fears were enter-
tained that the fir plantations were on fire. A smart
breeze suddenly got up from the north, and above the
woods there appeared to rise about fifty columns of
something resembling smoke, which wreathed about
like water-spouts. The atmosphere now calmed, and
tiie mystery was solved ; for what seemed smoke, was
in reality the pollen of the woods.' Showers of * manna'
are frequent, and consist of an esculent lichen, which in
time of famine has often done good service. In 1670,
the lakes and ditches at the Hague looked like blood ;
an appearance which was discovered by. the microscope
to be owing to myriads of small red animals. In 1815,
a lake in the south of Prance suddenly became a patch-
work of red, violet, and grass-green, and was referred
to similar natural causes by the experiments of EUa-
proth. In short, the preternatural rains of the olden
time are ascertained by science to have received their
colour from plants, animalcules, or mineral substances.
The phenomenon of a celebrated black rain has not
been explained. ' Upon the 23d November 1819 a very
remarkable black rain fell at Montreal, accompanied by
app^ling thunder. It was preceded bv dark and gloomy
weather, experienced over the United States : at times
the aspect of the sky was grand and terrific. "In
Montreal the darkness was very great, particularly on
a Sunday morning; the whole atmosphere appeared as
if covered with a thick haze of a dingy orange colour,
during which rain fell of a thick and dark inky appear-
ance, and apparently impregnated with some black
substance resembling soot. At this period many con-
jectures were afioat, among which, that a volcano had
broken out in some distant quarter. The weather after
this became pleasant, until tlie Tuesday following, when,
at twelve o'clock, a heavy damp vapour enveloped the
whole city, when it became necessary to light candles
in all the houses ; the stalls of the butchers were also
lighted. The appearance was awful, and grand in the
extreme. A little before three o'ckxsk a alight shook
of an earthquake was ftlt, accompanied wi& a noise
resembling the distant discharge of artillery. It was
now that the increashag gloom engrossed oniTenal
attention. At twentj minutes past three, when the
darkness seemed to hare reached its greatest depth, the
whole dtj was instantaneonslj illuminated by tine most
TiTid flash of lightning ever witnessed in Montreal, im-
mediately followed by a peal of thunder, so loud and
near, as to shake the strongest buildings to their foun-
dation, which was fdlowed by other peals, and accom-
panied by a heary shower of rain of the colour aboTe
described. After 4 p. m. the heayens began to assume a
brighter appearance^ and fear gradually subsided." '
Showers of sand and earth haye been numerous ; but
showers of flesh, flsh, frogs, &c are worth noticing.
The flesh * was recognised as a distinct substance by
Scheuchzer about the beginning of last century, and in
1747 its true animal nature was shown by Lemonnier.
Since then, its properties haye been inyestigated by
Yauquelin and others. It bears a greater resemblance
to mucus than to gelatine or tannin } but it does not
exactly agree with any one of these: it is unctuous,
grayish-white, and when cold, inodorous and tasteless :
it is soluble in hot water, and then resembles thin beef-
tea.* This substance has skin attached, and resembles
human flesh! In South America, in 1698, an area of
country forty-three miles square was strewed with fish;
and in England, at a considerable distance fVom the sea,
a pasture-field was found scattered oyer with about a
bushel of small fish. A shower of herrings fell in 1825
in Kinross-shire; but instances of the same kind are
numerous both in this country and elsewhere. At
Ham, in France, M. Peltier, after a heayy rain had
fallen, saw the square before him coyered with toads.
* Astonished at this, I stretched out my hand, which
was struck by many of these animals as they feU. The
yard of the house was also full of them. I saw them
fall on the roof of a house, and rebound firom thence on
the payement. They all went off by the channels
which the rain formed, and were carried out of tiie
town.*
Blood spots haye produced greater terror than eyen red
rain. ' A widow chancing to be alone before her house in
the yillage of Castelenschloss, suddenly beheld a fright-
tvl spectacle — ^blood springing from the earth all around
her! She rushed in alarm into the cottage; but, oh
horrible ! blood is flowing eyery where — ^fh>m the wains-
cot and from the stones — it falls in a stream from a
basin on a shelf— and eyen the child's cradle oyerflows
with it The woman imagines that the inyisible hand
of an assassin has been at work, and rushes in distrac-
tion out of doors, crying murder! murder! The yil-
lagers and the monks of a neighbouring conyent assemble
at the noise ; they succeed in partly facing the Uoody
stains : but a little later in the day, the other inhabi-
tants of the house, sitting down in terror to eat their
eyeniog meal under the projecting eayes, suddenly dis-
coyer blood bubbling up in a pond — blood flowing from
the loft — blood coyering all the walls of the house.
Blood — blood— eyerywhere blood!* These spots were
merely mould; the remarkable, almost instantaneous
growth of fungi in a humid atmosphere.
In Scripture we read of hailstones being miraculously
showered down upon the Canaanites, and of the * thnn-
derings and hail* which struck the Egyptians with
terror. In other countries there haye been natural
showers of the same kind. In England, in 1202, hail-
stones fell as large as eggs ; at the end of the seyen-
teenth century some were found measuring from eight
to fourteen inches in circumference; and in ScoUimd,
in 1269, * there rose ** great winds, with storms of such
unmeamrable hailstones, that manie townes were thrown
down'* by their yiolence, and fires spread throughout
the kingdom, ^ burning up steeples with such force of
fire, that the belles were in diyerse places melted.**' In
the Orkney Islands, in 1818, hailstones were gathered
as large as a goose egg; and in 1822, men and aidmals
were killed by them on the banks of the BMna * The
most extraordinary hailstone on record is said bf Hme
to haye descended near Seringapatam Awards the ens
of Tippoo Sultan*s reign : it was as largo ts sn eli-
phantl*
The icebergs are immense glaciers which hare tomUed
fh)m the mountains into the ocean. 'Frost,' ssyi Pen-
nant, ' sports with these icebergs, and giyes them ms.
jestks as well as singular forms. Masses hare been mb
assuming the shape d a Gothic ohnroh, with ardied
windows and doors, and idl the rich drapery of that
style, composed of what an Arabian tale would touted
dare to relate, of crystals of the richest sapphirins btee;
tables with one or more feet; and often flit-iooiBd
temples, like those of Luxor on the Nile, supported by
transparent colunms d cerulean hue, float by the lpc^
tator.* Icebergs haye been seen in tiie ftyrm of chntii
spires 300 feet high. Some haye an area of six iqaMe
miles, and are 600 feet high.
We now come to a difibrent, and perhi^ a more i8t^
resting dass of phenomena. The glory sorrooDdisi
the shadow of the obseryer in certain oonditioiu of the
atmosphere has frequently attracted attention. *Da^
ing the intense frost of January 1820, this besntiflil
meteor was seen at Perth, upon the fog which sroee
firom eyaporation firom the ice upon the Tay. Lookiiif
from the bridge, the spectator behdd his shsdow on
tile yapour, of gigantic size, surrounded by a hslo, isd
throwing off prismatic radiations.' An anslogooi ap*
pearance was sometimes witnessed by Mr Qneo, the
aeronaut, when about two miles aboVe the esith. b
was the shadow of his balloon thrown upon the upper
surface of a cloud, and always surrounded by s tr^
iris. The parhelion, or mock-sun, is a more magnifiaat
meteor, but it has been fineqnently described. The
mirage is usually caused by * the irregular nfrsetioBof
light passing through strata of air of unequsl deuity.'
* Dr Vince, when at Bamsgate, saw the wktk €i Dorer
Castle, as if upon the Bamsgate side of a hiU wfafefa
obscures the castle, excepting the turrets, firom tint
town. Between Banosgate and Uie land from whkh
the hill rises, almost six miles of sea httenrene, aad
about the same distance thence to the csstle, whieb
stands upon a diff about 820 feet aboye tin ess. Do^
ing the continuance of this beautiful mirsge, the cuth
was so yiyidly depicted, that the hill did not iteelf ^
pear through the image.* On the beach at BMtAafi,
the coast of France, from Calais to Dieppe, bectoe ^
tinctiy yisible ; and the fishing-boats were seen with a
glass lying at anchor. When hnman figures in awCiaB,
such as soldiers, are seen in this spectral msnoer, the
picture becomes yery exciting, and may aocoant ftr
some appearances described in history — such u the
phantom-fight of Artayeld — and set down ss pcele^
natural. A phenomenon of this kind wss teen oo the
Mendip Hills. *It represented a large bodyof tmpi
moying onwards with drawn swwds; their jMsitiaB «d
space were often changed; and so distinctly vere they
yisible, that the yery trappings of the horses, ad the
seyeral accoutrements of tiie soldiers, could be duti^
guished: the phenomenon lasted aboye an boor, u
was afterwurds ascertained that a body of yeoBMSty
were practising about fifteen miles off' The IbBofrinj
is still more interesting, and is susceptive of a simStf
explanation. * On a summer eyening in the yesr 1743,
when Daniel Stricket, a seryant to John Wren of Wfllw
Hall, was sitting at the door slong witii hie dsiIb'i
they saw the figure of a man with a dog pursoinf mo*
horses along Souterfell side, a place so extremely elMg
that a horse could scarcely trayel upon i* ■* •"• J*J
figures appeared to run at an amafing pace, tOI W!
got out of sight at the lower end of the fefl. Ontte
following morning, Stricket and his matter «***J
the steep side of the mountain, in fUl e^^V^^^^*^^
finding the man dead, and of pitdung up eooe oi^
horses' shoes, which they thought must haye beenetWi
while gallopping at such a furious rate. ^^'^^^
tations, howeyer, were disappointed^' In ti* W»w"^
CHAMBEES'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
415
year, the same Daniel Stricket was walking about Beren
o'dodc in the eTening, a little aboTe the house, when
*he saw a troofy of horsemen riding on Souterfell side,
in pretty dose ranks, and at a brisk pace. . . . The
equestrian figures seemed to come from the lowest parts
of Souterfell, and became visible at a place adied Knott.
Thex then adyanced in regular troops along the side of
the fell till they came opposite to BlakehUls, when they
went oyer the mountain, after describing a kind of curvi-
lineal path. The pace at which the figures moyed was
a regular swift walk, and they continued to be seen for
upwards of two hours ; th^ approach of darkness alone
prerenting them from being risible. Many troops were
seen in succession ; and frequently the last but one in
a troop quitted his position, gallopped to the f^ont, and
took up the same pace with the rest'
The Fata Morgana, as seen from the Straits of Mes-
sina, is thus described by an Italian writer : — * On the
15th August 1643, as I stood at my window, I was
surprised with a most wonderful and delectable spec-
ta(&. The sea that washes the Sicilian shore swdled
up, and became, for ten miles in length, like a chain of
dark mountains; whilst the waters on the Calabrian
shore grew quite smooth, and in an instant appeared as
one dear polished mirror, recllnlog against the ridge.
On this was depicted in chiaroscuro, a string of several
thousand pilasters, all equal in altitude, distance, and
degree of Hght and shade. In a moment they lost half
their height, and bent into grades like Roman aque-
ducts. A long cornice was next formed upon the top,
and above it rose innumerable castles, all perfectly alike.
These soon split into towers, which were shortly after-
wards lost in colonnades, then ended in pines, cypresses,
and other trees, even and similar. This is the fata mar-
fiona, which) for twenty-six years, I thought a mere
fable.' The Enchanted Coast of the polar regions is
another beautiful e£fect of refraction, and presents, ac-
cording to Scoresby, the appearance of an ancient dty
witii its ruined towers and monuments.
The Spectre of the Brocken is the shadow of the
spectator himself cast upon douds and mists. This is
seen of gigantic size from the summit of the Hartz
Mountains ; but the following adventure of a traveller
on our own Skiddaw is equsdly interesting : — * One of
the party was a short distance in advance, when a ray
of sunshine darted through the mist, and he saw a
figure walking ten or fifteen yards distant from his side.
Taking it fw granted that this was one of his compa-
nions, whom he had supposed at some distance, he
vested some expressions of disappointment; and re-
ceiving no answer, repeated, and repeated it again. Still
there was no answer, though the figure kept steadily
advaodng with even steps. At last he stepped, half
angry, and turned quite round to look at his silent
companion, who did the same, but receded as he ap-
iat)ached ; and it became evid^t that the figure, appa-
rently dimly seen through the mist, was his own shadow
reflected on it. It was then surrounded by a bright
halo^ and as the light became stronger, grew less and
less distinct The rest of the party came up in time to
witoeM this remarkable appearance, witii some modi-
ficatioo. On reaching the ridge of the mountain, our
figures, of supra-human size, appeared to be projected
on the mist in the direction of the Sdway.'
St Elmo's Fire is a luminous meteor which appears
retting upon the tops of the masts of a ship at sea, or
sometimes upon the points of spears on land. Lord
Kapier describes it as * a blaze of pale phosphorescent
light flitting and creeping round the surface of the
mast ;' and this, in an intensely dark night, and accom-
panied by thunder and lightning, must have formed a
very impressive spectacle. The fireball, though pro-
bably electrical, has never been properly accounted for.
The most remarkable one on record * occurred on the
18tb August 1783, about 9 p. M., and was visible over a
wide extent of Europe, from the north of Irdand to
Rome, frequently changing its form and hue. It crossed
the zenith at Edinburgh, and then appeared round
and well-defined, of a greenish colour, casting a shade
upon the ground of a similar tint : a tail of consider-
able length attended it. Its aspect was much changed
when seen at Greenwich, for it ihea looked like two
bright balls, the diameter of which was about two feet,
followed by others connected together by a luminous
body, and finally terminating in a blaze tapering to a
point : the colours of the balls were dififerent. This was
a phenomenon awfully grand ! The height of the ball
was estimated to be far above that usuidly assigned to
our atmosphere ; its speed was not less than 1000 miles
a minute, and its diameter was computed at 2800
yards.' The fireball sometimes heralds the appearance
of fedling stars, a phenomenon equally mysterious : on
one occasion at least a thousand ik the latter fdl before
dawn.
The Ignis-Fatuus is supposed by some to be of elec-
trical origin, while others suppose it to be phosphuretted
hydrogen evolved in the process of decomposition. * The
suggestion of this gas,' says Dr Thomson, * as an expla-
nation of the meteor, recalls the chimera of sepulchral
lamps perpetually burning. The sober matter-of-fact
man may join the sceptic in rejecting the fable, though
told by Licetus, of the unextinguishable lamp in the
tomb of Pallas, the hero of the Mantuan bard, discovered
about the year 800, after being shut up nearly 2000 years.
Are we to accept the account of the burning lamp of
Olybius, encased in its double urn ; or that of Tulliola,
which was said to be found burning, when, in the time
of Pope Paul IIL, fifteen centuries after Cicero had
bewailed the loss of his daughter — ^her sepulchre was
acddentally opened ? But what shall be said of Camden
in the seventeenth century, or of the alleged discovery
in Spain in the present era? This antiquarian and his-
torian tells us that the vault in York, where the remains
of Constantius Chlorus reposed, was violated when the
monasteries were ransacked, and the sepulchral lamp
was found burning, but it immediately expired I So at
Bacna in Spain, near l^e Castellum Priscum, between
Granada and Cordova, so late as August 1833, another
ignited sepulchral lamp was discovered Like the for-
mer, the flame instantly expired, and the vessel was
broken from its fastenings on attempting its removal.'
We must now condude, but for no other reason than
that we have come to the end of our space. Dr Thom-
son's book is full of sound and entertaining instruction.
Evincing extensive reading and judidous arrange-
ment, it will be found an admirable * Introduction' to
the sdenoe of which it treats — a science consisting as
yet more of detailed observations than of established
prindples, of description rather than of explanation.
Less technical than the treatises of Danid and Kamtz,
our author's work will be espedally useful to general
readers, carrying them pleasantly over what is known,
and referring with scrupulous fidelity to the sources
from whence he has drawn his materials, or in which
attempts have been made to explain the phenomena
described.
CAPTAIN POSITIVE.
A French veteran with one arm was seated before the door
of his neat cottage one pleasant evening in July. He
was surrounded by several village lads, who with one yoice
intreated him to commence his promised story. The old
man took his pipe from his mouth, wiped his lips with
the back of his remaining hand, and began thus : —
* In mv time, boys, Frenchmen would have scorned to
fight with Frenchmen in the streets as they do now. No,
no; when we fought, it was for the honour of France, and
against her foreign enemies. Well, my story begins on
the 6th of November 1812, a short time alter the battle
of Wiazma. We were beating a retreat, not before the
Russians, for they kept at a respectful distance from our
cantonments, but before the biting cold of their detestable
country, more terrible to us than Russians, Austrians,
and Bavarians put together. For the last few days our
officers had been tdlmg us that we were approaching
Smolensko, where we should be certain of finding food,
416
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
fire, brandy, and shoes; but in the meantime we were
perishing in the ice, and perpetually harassed, by bands,
of Cossack riders. -i ' [
'We had marched for six hours, without '{teusiag to
draw breath, for we knew that repose was certain death.
A bitter wind hurled snow-flakes against our faces, and
now and then we stumbled orer the frozen corpses of our
comrades. No singing or talking then ! Eren the
grumblers ceased to complain, and that was a bad sign.
I wallttd bdiiind ury papain: lie wa« a vhort man,
strongll buipy rugflfq ana'^rere, (ut t>r^e aiid true bs*
his t>im swotd^blale;' We^«alled him Captain Positire;
for, once he said a thing, so it was — ^no appeal — ^he never
changed his mind. He had been wounded at Wiazma,
and his usually red face was now quite pale ; while the
pieces of an old white handkerchief which he had wrapped
round his legs were soaked with blood. I saw him first
moTO slowly, then stagger like a drunken man, and at
last he fell down like ablock.
" Morbleu ! captain,'' said I, bending oyer him, ^ you
can't lie there."
'' You see that I can, because I </o," replied he, point-
ing to his limbs.
" Captain," said I, "you mustn't die thus;" and rais-
ing him in my arms, I managed to place him on his
feet. He leaned on me, and tried to walk ; but in vain :
he fell once more, dragging me with him.
" Jobin," said he, ** 'tis all oyer. Just leave me here,
and join your column as quickly as you can. One word
before you go : — ^at Voreppe, near Grenoble, lives a good
woman, eighty-two years ol<L,my-7-my another. .G9 to
see her, embrace her, jOkI teflher that-^that^-tell her
whatever you like, but give her this purse and my cross.
That's all."
"Isthaball,ciiptofi«?"
" I said so. Oood-by, and make haste."
* Boys, I don't know how it was, but I felt two tears
freezing on my cheeks.
" No, captain," cried I, ** I wont leave you : either
you shall come with roe, or I will stay with you."
** I forbid your staying."
"Captain, you might just as well forbid a Womitn
talking."
** If I escape, I'll punish you severelv."
" You may place me under arrest then, but just now,
you must let me do as I please."
" You're an insolent fellow !" '
" Very likely, captain; but you must come with me."
* He bit his lips with anger, but said no more. I raised
him, and placed his body across my shoulders like a
sock. You may easily imagine that while bearing such
a burthen I could not move as quickly as my comrades.
Indeed I soon lost sight of their columns, and could per-
ceive nothing but the white silent plain around me. I
moved on, and presently there appeared a band of Cos-
sacks gallopping towards me, their lances in rest, and
shouting their fiendish war-cry.
* The captain was by this time in a state of total un-
consciousness, and I resolved, coat what it might, not to
abandon him. I laid him on the ground, covered him
with snow, and then crept under a heap of my dead com-
rades, leaving, however, my eyes at liberty. Soon the
Cossacks reached us, and began striking with their lances
right and left, while their horses trampled the bodies.
Presently one of these rude beasts placed his hoof on my
left arm and crushed it in pieces. Boys, I did not say
a word; I did not move, save to thrust my right hand
into my mouth to keep down the cry of torture; and in
a few minutes the Cossacks dispersed.
* When the last of them had ridden off, I crept out sad
managed to disinter the captain. He diowed few ngsi
of )iie i nevteriheleti I contrived with my one Uad (0
drag him towvds a rock, which afforded a sort of iheltcr,
and then lay down next him, wrapping my a^te aiound
us. Night was closing in, and the snow continued to
fall. The last of the rearguard had long disappeaied,
and the only sounds that broke the silence were U»
whistling of distant bullets, and the nearer howling of
ther wolvef , which were dtvouri^g the de«d bodin God
kn«w$ what things, wete passing through n^ mini tiiAt
night, which, I feH assuitd, would be my hst en earth.
But I remembered the prayer my mother had taught me
long ago when I was a child by her side; and kneeling
down, I said it fervently.
' Boys, it did me good; and always remember thtt &n.
cere earnest prayer will do you good too. I felt wonda-
fully cidm when I resumed my place next the captain.
But time j^assed on, and I was becoming quite numbed,
when I saw a party of French officers approachisg. Be*
fore I had time to address them, the foremost— a low.
sized man, dressed in a fur pelisse— stepped towirdi me,
saying, " What are you doing here ! Why did you itay
iM^iind your regiment ?"
" For two good reasons," said I, pointing first to the
captain, and then to my bleeding arm.
" The man speaks the truth, sire," said one of bis fol-
lowers. ** I saw him marching behind the column cany-
ing this officer on his back."
°The Emperor— for, boys, it was he !— gave me one of
those looks which only himself or an Alpine eagle codd
give, and said, **Tls well. Yon have done very weU."
Then opening his pelisse, he took the cross whioi deco-
rated his inside green coat, and gave it me. That mo-
mekrt I waa no longer cold or hungxy, and < no moie
pain in my arm than if that ill-nartiired beast had oerer
touched it.
** Davoust," added the Emperor, addressing the gentle-
man who had spoken, "cause this man and his captain
to be placed on one of the ammunition-vragons. Adieo!"
And waving his hand towards me, he passed on.'
Here the veteran paused, and resumed his pipe.
* But tell us about the cross, and what became of Cap-
tain Positive,' cried several impatient voices.
* The captain still lives, and is now a retired general.
But the best of it was, that as soon as he recomed, be
placed me under arrest for fifteen days, as a punishment
for my breach of discipline I The circumstance reached
Napoleon's ears; and after laughing heartily, he not only
released me, but promoted me to be a sergeant. As to
the decoration, here is the ribbon, boys : I wear Ma< in
my button-hole, but the cross I carry next my heart!'
And unbuttoning his coat, the veteran showed his yoang
friends the precious relic, enveloped in a little aatin bag
suspended round his neck.
LEAF-OOLD AND PAPER- SHAVINGS.
Some idea may be formed of the extent of the London
bookbinding trade In the nineteenth century, when »«
state that the xowkiy consumption of leaf-gold, enricfains
the exterior of books, amounts to about 3,600,000 equaie
inches ; and that the weight of paper-ebavinga told u-
nually by the London binders, out off the edges of boob,
amounts to 350 tons ! — Illustrated Historic Times,
The present number of the Journal completea the eiereotli Toi«B>
(new aeries), for which a title-page and Indaz hare been w^V^
and may be had of the publiahors and their agents.
trm OF ELBvmSfTH volume.
Printed and Published by W. and R. CHAMBsaa, Edinburgh.
Bold by W. 8. Orr, Amen Comer, London.
CHAMBERS'S
EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
NEW SERIES.
WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS,
EDItOBS OF ' CmMBMWB EDUCAHOHAI. CODBSE,- • UIFORIUIIOM FOR TBI F80PLB,' A*.
VOLUME XII.
K(M. 368 TO 313L JULY- DECEHBBB, IbO.
EDINBURGH:
PllBLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS,
AHD W. a OBR, LONDON.
1650.
FiMIUAB 6KBTCHBS AIO) MORAL
B88AT8.
African Detert, -
AgeofGirin^
Aflglen' Fauces,
Appeuanoes.
Atnn, Uana of,
AitofBiocmphj^
ArtoTHbtory, -
Bcggm, RMpectal>lo,
Change, . - - -
Charaoten Beconnidered, •
Oieapiiess,
domiania, ...
Oiriiliaiiia to Latugaard,
City of the San,
OoQtent, ....
Copenhagen, Descrriptiou of,
— Voyage to,
Conntiy Life in Itcasia,
Detert and ita AdTentnrea,
Dovre Fidd,
Eanwitnete,
QiiDore t6 Ootteubnig,
Eiperienoe,
Fame, . . -
Fuides, Anglera',
Fnoeh Pedbis in. Itolr, >
Otrman Unirerrity life,
Cbttenboig to ChrittianiA, -
Qiaodmaoinia, - - >
Habit, Force o^ -
Half.Boaider, .
H«o-Wot8hip,
flirtory. Art of ,
Island of AnMi,
Knowledge,
JCoh-i-Qoor, or Mountain of Light,
liadaaT, Robert, Story of;
LyeantJiropy,
3tanphia aad Sakkarah,
Moonthlne, . . -
Moral Periodicity,
tfsrder HaniA,
Natore'a lee Cavee,
New Year, Reflections Peculiar to
the, - - -
Oat of Work, -
Palace of the French Pretideut,
I'edtaua, French, in Italy, -
Pcnonal Originality.
Present, Worth of the,
PHwina of Pwia, - 185, 298, 402
Mob, - - - 308
MMia, Country Life in, - 263
StJohn'k Wood, - * 237
Story of Robert Undaay, - 226
'77
113
345
289
253
385
145
113
33
59
241
337
360
125
193
294
273
263
17
369
97
305
257
161
345
251
234
328
90
105
321
129
145
258
353
49
225
124
218
81
401
209
169
401
394
280
251
65
1
INDEX.
Page
Tracujgi of the North of Earope~273,
294, 305, 328, 337, 360, 869, 390, 407
Tromsde— Kaaflord, . - 407
IVondhiom, and Voyage to the
North, - - - 390
Worth of the Preaent, - - 1
POETRY.
Automn Leayea,
Chillianwallah,
Dead, the.
Dig Deep to find the Qold,
Eye-Drink,
Gnardian AogelB, >
Holiday, the,
Home,
Jaqnee Balmat,
Little Woodland Gleaner. -
Mother Dear, Where art Thou?
Mountain Wind,
My Blanket Shawl,
My Childhood'a Thought, -
Night to Wexford,
Oh bring me Pearls and Jcwcla
rare!
Oid-Faahioned Ditty, -
Preaent Time,
Relica of the Dead.
Shepherdesses Craole Song, -
Song of the Wild Flowers,
Sonnetj ...
Stanzaa on ,
There's Light behind tho Cloud,
Watch Chants of the Swiss,
What ia Beauty?
304
16
256
368
32
208
96
224
352
288
384
176
128
64
191
112
320
144
160
48
128
336
272
416
174
400
POPILAH SCIENCE.
Albatros*^, - - -
Araott, Dr, on Ventilation,
Beetle Family,
Birds as Weather Prognoaticatora,
Birds of Shetland,
Blood Prodigies, -
British Weasel Family,
Earwig and Beetle,
Epidemic Dlseasea,
Familiar Entomology — Beetle
Family, - -
Fema, Repfoduotion of,
275
318
247
261
181
228
200
399
132
247
411
Hybcmatlng Quadrupeds of Bri-
tain, ...
Incombustible Men,
Inconatanoy of the Dotc, -
Ink, a Word on, . >
Indelible Writing,
Lichens, ...
Monas Prodigioaa, -
Pigeon, Inconatanoy of the,
Stai^Fiahea, *
Tamarind-Tree, - -
Weather Prognostieatora — Birds,
Page
2\i
45
40
120
239
101
228
40
376
359
261
TALES AND OTHER NARRATIVES.
Barclay, David, -
Cadet Branch,
Catalani, Madame,
Circumstantial Evidence, -
Confessions of a Bashful Miss, -
Crime and Geniu9, -
Dragon and Heroine, -
Emperor and Artist,
Estelle St Ange,
Experiences of a Barrbter —
147, 177,
Female Doctor of Philosophy, .
First QoarreU,
Governess's Recollections of Ire-
land,
Half-Boarder, -
Honour of Honest v,
Idiot Girl, - * -
Infant King, ...
Irish Baron, ...
Legacy,
Legal Advice, a Piece of.
Letter of lutroduction.
Long Lowiaford.
Madame R^camier, -
Marriage Settlement, -
Ni^leon, Life of, in a Quarter of
an Hour, ...
Norman M^Leod, Story of, -
Paddy the Tinker,
PanUne,
Phoebe Grant, -
R^camier, Madame,
Recollectious of a Police-OHiccr —
55, 115,
Return of the Compagnon, •
Second Marriage,
Song and Sinser,
Squatters ana Gold-Diggera, *
2±2
19
34J
212
139
208
399
171
373
212
31
259
314
321
83
230
302
211
23^
285
67
216
U7
414
29
o
w
99
412
216
306
274
177
181
105
J ip.i » ■■
?l
Taffy Lewin's Grecneric,
Talleypind, Youifch of. ^
Tinker, Paddy tlie, -
Trial by Caiman,
Two Empresses and Artist,
Wedding- Ring, -
AVorldiy Wisdfcm, . . -
^iimpt, Dr, - .- , , -
Pace
290
204
2
340
388
163
353
308
332
NOTIOBS eP BOOK&
Akenuan's TradoAmen'b Tokens, 20^
Alexander^ L*Acadie. - 81$
Byam's WUd Lifo in Central
America, - - - IS
Central America, Byam's, - 13
Chronicles of the Stock-Excltsngc,
Francis's, - - - 380
Cinderella, by Mrs Orlebar, 80
Cola Monti, - - - 838
Croslao^ Toil and Trial, - 350
Canningham^d Ilirtidbo^kfor Lon-
don, - i - 27
Dead Setf*, Lynches Expedition to
the, - - - - 103
English, Whittaker's Letters on
the, - - - 122
Forbes's Physician's Holiday, - 174
Francis's Chronicles 6t the Stock-
Exchange, - - 380
Qliddon's Otia i^^ptiaoa, - 41
Halliweirs Popular Uhymes, 9
Harebell Cliimes, Symington's, 269
Head's Rome, - - 154
L'Acadie, Alexander's, - - 316
Lindsay's Lives of the Lind-
says, - - - 107,225
London, Cunningham'^ Guide
Through, ... 27
Lyell's Second Visit to the United
Stetes, - - - 38,52
Lynoh's Expedition to the Dead
Sea, - - - - 103
Marigold Window, - 72
Orlebar's Cinderella^ - - 80
Otia .^^ptiaca, Gliddon'ji, 41
Panchkouree's Revelations, - 325
Physician's Holiday, Forbes'*, 174
Popular Rhymes, Halliwell's, 9
Reade's Revelations of Life, - 2G9
Revelations of an Orderly, - 325
Rome, Head's, - - - 154
Southey's Life and Correspond-
ence, - - - - 385
Summer-time in the Country, Wil-
roott's, - - - 138
Symington's Harebell Chimes, 269
Toil and Trial, Mrs Croskind's, 350
Tradesmen's Tokens, Akenuan's, 206
United SUtes, Lyell's, - 38, 52
Whittaker's Letters on the Eng-
lish, - - - 122
Wilmott's Journal of Summer-time, 1 38
MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES OP IN-
STRUCTION AND ENTERTAINMENT.
African Desert, Description of, - 17
Albatross, - - - 275
America, Lyell's Travels in, - 38, 52
Arran, Ltland of, - . 253
Artesian Wells, Dr Buckland on, 414
Ashantee, Mission to, - - 60
Atlas Works, - - - 212
Australian Wine Manufacture, - 77
Barclay, David, - - 222
Basiii, the Female Doctor of Phi-
losophy, - - - 31
INDEX
Bedsteads^ Blatofy of,
oeeties, ~ •
Birds of Shetland, •
Blood Prodigiei,
Books, Jottings on, -
Bremer, Frederika,
Candelabra, History of;
Carpets, History of,
Catalani, Madame, ^
Cauterets in the Pyrenees,
Page
396
247
181
228
286
76
396
396
342
98
Central America, Peculiarities of, 18
Chah«, History of, ^ - 396
ChariUble, the Mistaken, - 378
Cheap Railways^ - - 366
Chicory, More about, - 266
Ciroumatantial Evidence, Anee^
dote of, - - . 228
Colunm for Young People, 8S0» 412
Confessions of a &shfiu Miaa^ 139
Consumption, N«w Hypotbeaia of, 44
Crime and DostitutioD, Juvenile, 281
Criminals and PauperiL - 26
Dahomey, Kmg o^ and the Slavo
Trade, ... qq
David the Paintct and Kapcdeon, 1 71
Dead Sea, Lynch's ExpednioB to
the. - - - - 103
Doubleday's Theory of Population, 301
Drvsdale, Miss, her settlement in
Australia, - - - 334
Dwellings of Working-Classes, - 11
Earthquake in New ZeaUnd, - 188
Emigration Field, New, - 249
Emimtion, Statistics of, - 127
Epidemic Diseases, - - 132
Factories, Short Time io, - 46
Ferns, Reproduction of, - 411
Frederika Bremer and her Com-
peers, ... 76
French Pedlars iii Italy, - 251
French Political Economy, - 268
Furniture, History of, - - 396
Genius, Temperament of, - 91
German University Life, - 234
Grandmamma, - - 90
Guildford, Lord-Keeper, - 75
Heliopolis, or City of the Sun, 125
Hieroglyphics, Egyptian, Account
of the, - - - 41
History, Art of, - - 145
Hungarians, Who are the, - 6
Hybemating Quadrupeds, - 23
Ice Caves, Natural, - - 169
Improved Dwellings for Working-
Classes, - - - 11
Incombustible Men, - - 45
Indian Police Revelations, - 325
Ink, a Word on, - - 120
Indelible Writing. - 239
Ireland, a Governess s Recollec-
tions of, - - - 314
Irish Misery, Mystery of, - 158
Jackson, William, the Naturalist, 165
James I., Real Character of, - 59
Jottings on Books, - - 286
Juvenue Crime and Destitution, 281
Koh-i-noor, or Mountain of Light, 49
Labouring-Classes, Plan for their
Independence, - - 332
Lady Settlers in Australia, - 334
Lawing, the, - -' 95
Lichens,- - - - 101
Lindsay, family of, - 107, 225
Liverpool Observatory, - - 265
Locomotive- Engine Manufactory, 212
Lodffings, Model, - -' 151
London Gossip, - 130,232,364
Guide Through, - 27
Morning Newspapers, 85
Looking-Glasses, History of, - 896
Lord-Keeper and his Matrimonial
Adventures, - - 75
Macbeth, Real Character of, - 59
MaohiaveUi, Real Character of, 59
Maori Messenger,
Memphis and Sakkank,
Mission to Ashantee, • . ^
Model Lodging-Honse, Night in s, l£
Model Lodgings, . . \^
Money Trade, - . jgo
Moonshine, - ' • SI
Mortality, Retrospect of; • ^
Mystery of Irish Misery, - 1S|
Napoleon and David the Painter, 171
Natal as an Emigratkm Field, - 3^
New Zealand, Earthquake in, ttt
New Zoaland Newspaper, . )ll
Newspapers, Maehinety of, - 8$
Night in a Model Lod^^-Houe, 166
North of Europe, Tradnn of->!^i
294, 305, 328, 887, 860, S&, SM, 407
Obaervatoiy at livopool, . 9B
Occasional Notes, - 266,414
Ocean Penny-Postage,
Oddities of Gential Ameriea, •
Palace of the Freneh President,
Patrons of the Poor, -
Paupers and Criminals,
Pemiy- Postage, Ocean,-
Progress of,
0
Pestilence, Considerations oo,
Philanthropic Farm Sehool,
Pianos for the Million,
Political Economists, French,
Population, New Theory of,
Post-Office, Machinery of the,
Prison Instraction, Benefits of,
Prisons of Paris and theh'Tenaoti-
185,298,402
m
%
79
32
1»
84J
257
SOI
202
S5
Pure Air verau* Cholera,
Puritans, Intolerance of the.
Railways, Cheap Class of, -
Mismanagement of,
190
175
236
216
347
Recamier, Madame, Aocoont of,
Red HUl Reformatorv Fann,
Retrospect of Mortahty,
Richard IIL, Real Character o^
Scott, Sir Walter, Anecdote o(^
St John's Wood,
Short Time and Relay Systems,
Slave Trade,
Slave Trade in Western Afiica,
Smithsonian Institution,
Star-Fishes,
Stock-Exchange, History of the,
Tables, Notice of,
Talleyrand, Eariy Life of, -
Tamarind-Tree,
Tapestry, History of,
Taxes on Knowledge, -
Temperament of €feniu^ •
Thames-Bank Building- Works,
Toleration, - - -
Vampyrism, a Disease, -
Veno Bene, ...
Ventilation, Dr Amott on.
Visit to Improved DwelliDgs fbr
Working-Classes, - - »
Weasels, British, • 3W
Weather Prognosticators-Birdi, 361
Who are the Hungarians? • '
Wilson the Vocalist, - • Ij
Wine Manufacture in Aostndia, 77
Working-Classes, Counsels to the, 63
Working-Man out of Work, • gj
Zumpt, Dr, - . - 33=
59
237
46
IM
69
184
376
380
396
^
33)
396
318
91
141
175
134
*»
318
ANECDOTES AND PARAGRAPHS.
Adulteration of Flour, - • JJJ
American Whitewash, • 3W
Amusement, Importance of, • ^
Authors, Hint for, - • ^^
Banker^s Parlour, - '^
Banking, its Influence on Mopsntj", 85.
Bells IMg by Flog, - - ^^^
L
/
Briaa BoroUime^s Haip, - 288
GuiTtM of an Aaannoe Agent, 144
CbemiM] Inquiries, - - 303
ChiimalffiBr Carting, - 112
QritieioD, how to bear lU-natored, 176
Deer,
IXIineli the Younger,
Domettio Telegraph, -
Heetrio Telegnpfa In Ireland,
Dephaot, Peouharity in the, •
Fiathftil Slave liberated, •
Ffarw in Chimneya,
Flowen, Effect of Charcoal on,
Renehxaan^ Description of
Emtish Pubtio Dinner,
Gime, Vakie o^ •
Gentlonen Emigrants, •
GliM Beadfl, MannAusture of,
Hippiness, Philosophy of,
B^>py Home,
Uow to Prosper in Bosiness,
leeberg, Neanng an,
bmortant Inventioa,
bdisn Post-Offiee, •
bdostrial Spirit,
Irory, - • .
an
320
223
160
48
368
416
304
80
304
272
144
415
48
16
112
384
416
303
240
320
INDEX.
Pam
Juvenile Refiige in Westminster, 127
Library of the British Museum, 64
Ught and Darlmess, - - 206
Melbourne Thieves* Association, 240
Men for Sale, - - 224
Mesmerism, its Effects on a Bear, 27^
" - " - - 386
862
64
400
208
224
m
224
240
224
336
304
112
240
48
336
272
383
Mrs Fry's Rules,
Music, Influence of.
Music of the WUd,
Never Get Angry, -
New York, Growth of, -
New Zealand Household, •
Newspaper Reporting, -
Nottingham Lace Trade,
Old Age, How to Nurse,
Pauperism in England,
Piolung up Thoughts, -
Poison of the Viper,
Postage Labels,
Potter's Baiigration Society,
Prison Aooommodation, Cost 6f,
Profcftrional Lifo,
Reading and Thinking,
Recreation, ...
RespoasiUHty of Badi the Happt^
nessofAll,
112
Til
Rice, - • - ^
Rougct de risle and the *Mar9cil'
U&e,' - - - - 336
Scotland in England, - 368
Scottish Bank^^, - - 335
ServiUtv, - - : 160
Sound-ripes for a Deaf Congrega-
tion, - - - 224
Spanning the Globe, - ' - d6
Suicide SUtistics, • • 111
Taxes on Knowledge, - - 239
Temperance Law at Wisconsin, 192
TransformatioB of -Matter 192
Trap Question, - - 16
Troth, InpoitanQe of; - ' - 128
Turkish Dinner, - . - 416
Turpentine* Inodorous, - 82
Water, - - - J28
Water, Value of, to Plante and
Animals, - -^ - 95
Wine, How to Make, - ^ 160
Wise Distinction, - • 240
Women, Influence of, - '64
Women's Opinion? of Husband li)2
Young LadMs,.I^reAtaifnt of, - 48
Ziczac and Crocodile, - 48
^^H^^^
^1^^^
TJBi
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ « CHAMBERS*S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ dec
No. 288. Nbw Series.
SATURDAY, JULY 7, 1849.
Price 1^.
I
WORTH OF THE PRESENT.
In iJie record of hii Journey to the Western Ides,
SuDod Johnion, among other reflections made on
landing at lona, gires us the following characteristic
Kotenoe:— ' Whateyer withdraws as from the power at
oar senses, whaterer makes the past, the distant, or the
fatore predominate over the present, adTanoes us in the
dignity of thinking beings.* In varions shapes, and
imder different tarns of phraseology, we may meet with
t similar cast of thoaght in almost all the professedly-
r^ectiTe writings of the eighteenth century. There is
t constant proneness to undervalue the passing day,
ind to consider time as interesting and significant only
in its past and fhture relations. Sach a tendency is
doabtless inherent in human nature, and has sin appro-
priate fanction to fulfil in the general economy of
things. In the contemplation of the past resides one of
the purest and most affecting kinds of poetry, while the
looldng forward to the future is connected with aspira-
tions in which there is much to purify and refine. It
ii, howerer, more thim questionable if the present
■bonld be hdd as so dcToid of these ennobling charac-
teristics as to require to be degraded below either past
or fntnre time.
If Johnson's aphorism were true, the fond musings of
the poet oyer the romantic barbarisms of early ages,
the prepossessions of foolish politicians in favour oi
whit they call the wisdom of our ancestors, the dreams
of the castle-builder, and the arguments of the procras-
tinstof, woold all be supreme rationality. All efforts
to gife a just economy to the passing hour, and to
tectne the means of ministering to our daily epjoyments
ud necessities, would want the respectability which
common sense attaches to them. Seen in this light, we
Teadily detect the fallacy of the saying — ^that is to say,
its orer-statement of the truth. It were well to ascer-
tain, if possiUe, how Johnson, who was not a man to
write anything which he did not believe to be true,
■hoold have been led into uttering so flimsy a sophisnL
No error, it has been said, can be properly reftited,
sinless we place ourselves in the position of the erring
P^, and from thence perceive how, and under what
conditioas, his mistake originated. Now Johnson,
though a man of conmianding intellect, and in other
respects sufficiently capable of thinking soundly, was
nererthelessy like every other writer, necessarily and
uiooDsciously influenced by the temper of the times in
which he lived, and accordingly his views naturally
ptrtook of the current tendencies of thought The age
he lived in was remarkable for nothing more than for
its want of faith in man. It did not recognise noble-
ness as an inherent quality of the soul, which, with
every opportunity for action, might reveal itself in be-
oefioent facU or exalted efforts, confornuibly to the
general laws of life, and thus announce the relations of
human purpose with the universal aims of principles ;
but it sought to deduce its conceptions of duty flrom
the casual and accidental phases of external pros-
perity, and reckoned only that virtuous which could
exhibit the signs of a material success. Thus men
were temporarily deprived of those everlasting sanc-
tions which once made heroism and a severe virtue pos-
sible, and surrounded life with awfhl and beautifhl obli-
gations. With this degradation of the scope and ends
of existence, all existence assumed an aspect of mean-
ness and triviality, and to the eyes of a wise man natu-
rally looked contemptible. Life, as men lived, had only
a paltry and ephemeral signiflcance, and afforded no pos-
sibilities of activity answerable to the aspirations of the
gifted and earnest minds which in all ages appear among
mankind. Only in 'the past, the distant, and the
ftiture,' could these contemplate the realisation of their
soul's exalted dream. It had been realised in the olden
primitive days, when men felt themselves related by an
unspeakable mystic wonder with invisible realities ; it
woM be realised again, when men should have learned
science in love, and, through new stages of inquiry,
recovered the simplicity of spirit which a presumptuous
scepticism had obliterated : but it was not capable of
being realised here and noio, because of the inevitable
baseness of the present time, and of the littleness of
the pursuits of existing men. Hence the past and the
fliture would be invested with a sacredness which the
present did not reveal, and the dignity of human na-
ture would seem standing in abeyance. To a stern
reflective moralist, looking with a profound pity on
the low and trivial concerns wherein men for the most
part seemed engaged, and finding in his own heart
some prophecy of better things, it might naturally
enough seem wise to escape, if possible, fh>m the bon-
dage of prevailing customs, and to assert the freer
dignity of man by a habitual commemoration of his
nobler achievements in former times, or in contempla-
tions of the unborn grandeur of his fiite, which the
fhture might be expected to make manifest Thus
the intrinsic purport of Johnson's saying might per-
haps, to his own mind, be even this: — Let not life be
consumed and wasted utterly in such poor enjoyments
as the passing day affords you, but know that man's
powers and responsibilities are linked with the inflnity
of things — ^that of old men made their lives sublime,
and that the promise of futurity is nothing less than
a continual advancement Ponder w^ the record of
the heroic energies which worked so sucoessftiUy in
the past, and admire this boundless realm of possibility
which stiretches yet before you onwards to the utmost
boundaries of time ; and the capacities and desires of
your souls shall be thereby quickened and expanded, and
you shall be elevated in the rank ai * thinking beings.'
iMta
CHAMBERSnS EDINBUEGH JOURNAL.
Whether Johnson was aware of this enlarged moan-
ing of his words, or had no apprehension that they
could be so interpreted, is of little moment to the
purpose now in hand. It is enough that this, or some-
thing like it, was probably the latent sense which
he struggled to express. So considered, the words
conrey a measure of obyious, though not yerr striking
truth; which, howerer, being once perceived and ad-
mitted, we can the more readily understand the actual
deficiencies of the writer's insight It is a dear case
of limitation. It is true enough, as he apparently
wished to say, that when men are inmiersed m purely
frivolous pursuits, their minds may be enlightened and
entertained by the act of bringing imaginatively before
them the high accomplishments of earlier and better
eras, or by prefiguring to themsdves the ulterior develop-
ments of an advanced system of sodety ; but it shows a
very imperfect appreciation of the capabilities and needs
of man to eject the present firom our thoughts by a too
habitual and exdusive veneration for the past and
future, since over the first of these we can have no pos-
sible control, and can influence the other only by what
we now actually perform.
A juster view oi life would lead us to recognise the
present as the sole possession of time with whidi we
are praotiodly and spedally concerned, * Work while
it is called to-day' is one of the wisest of all possible
injunctions. The past ought doubtless to be contem-
plated for the significant experiences it will yidd us:
the historical glories and catastrophes of the olden
time, with whatsoever interest and warning they may
hare, need to be eflfectually studied by the living,
inasmuch as they aflfbrd instructions for tiieir own life-
voyage of discovery. The ftiture, too^ which for ever
loGons brilliantly, if often ddusivdy, before us, has
a perennial and inevitaUe charm for the imagination;
and, as a land of perpetual promise, is linked inti-
mately with our sympathies and hopes. The past and
future have a historical and prophetic connection with
the present, and therefore can never be severed from
the regards and considerations of men. But the pre-
sent alone is the available field and workshop of our
actual performances. The hour that now is, is the de-
ment wherdn we are ordained to Uve, and out of it we
have to unfdd the possibiUties of our destination. It is
the point which visibly connects us with the boundless
contmgencies of universal being. We build our fate out
of the rough materials which every day hurls confusedly
around us. From a rude unshapen mass of capability,
it is our appointed task to rear the temple of a manfiol
and worthy life. Time, thoughtfidly considered, is as
earnest and awftil as eternity. It is indeed eternity in
the vesture of an hour— a visible revelation of the infinite
continuity, disdosed to us under finite limitatLons; a di*
yergent ray of duration, under an aspect of mortal cir-
cumstance. Not lightly should a man esteem this fleeting
phenomenon called to-day. Under the lowest conside-
ration, it is the outcome of all preceding generations;
and with its chequered sunshine and gloom it is ours
even now to work in with faithf^ilness and courage.
Gird wdl thy heart with integrity and strong endeavour,
and put the stamp d an everlasting emphasis upon
whatsoever duty viovl oanst flnd to do ( for every act
and effort of a man is charged with an abiding force
whose vitality is never quenched, but visibly or imper-
ceptibly circulates for evermore.
It is only by a constant faith in the saoredness of the
present that lifb can be effectually ennobled. Let us
understand the pre-eminent worth of the living time,
and learn to solemnise our lives by large and universal
aims, that shall embody the suUime suggestions which
the future prefigures to our belief, in noble and com-
manding deeda and institutions, such as may be left,
without apology or regret, to take their place hereafter
among the memorials of the past If men would take
life earnestly, it would never appear mean. Ck>u]d they
sincerely believe themsdvet accountable to the universe
for the fit employment of their powers, and tiiat the
whde creation is wronged by any baseness or crsTen
ibar, and that it is blessed and benefited to the Uke
extent by every stroke of rectitude, by every bceafii of
love, they would deem their activity of some soooont,
and regard the transient common moments ss coop-
erated time. He who cannot, witii a proud rdisnoe on
its sufiBciency, accept the duty which the dsy bringi to
him, and throw some grace of truthfdoesi over the
meanest occupation he may have, will never be qnili-
fled to perfi>rm successfully any greater or morehoooor-
able work. And never to any man shall tiise, under
any of its remoter aspects, disclose its tnily gnnd lod
complete significance, unless a sense of its present ligDi.
ficance has been in him already consdonsly derek^
Whoever would faithfully fldfil the measure of hii dei-
tiny, let him dwdl in the hour that now is, in the ear-
nest experience of every day. Here let him cherish
lofty and noble thoughts, and dare to perferm great ind
magnanimous actions. If this hour suffice him not for
all the purposes of manly and earnest liring, there ii
small likelihood that any other hour wodd soit hho
better. Postpone not thy lif& Stand where thoa irt,
and work manfully towards thy ends. So ihsU thy life
be profitable to thee; so shall it be as a stream of wel-
come tendency, bearing thee brardy onwards to mwmt
satisfactions — to quiet and suffidng joys.
PADDY THB TINKER.
A VERT few years since a poor family residing m fiie
suburbs of Omagh in the county of l*yrone sttrMted
muc^ notice. The adventure which caused it fisiind iti
way to the local journals ; uid the details as repesled,
though varying in some points, agreed in the msin or*
cumstances of the story. A friend, who spent mm
time in the neighbourhood, fsvoured us with inch pl^
ticulars as he could gather, and which probsU; com-
prise the true version of the aff^.
The Callaghans — who are a large family— fire hi a
cabin by the wayside at some distance from thetovo.
Peofde wondered how so many found room within Hi
narrow walls ; but they not onJy found room, hat eos-
tent and cheerfhlness. And those who passed the door
often heard the sound of pleasant voices and mmj
laughtw, chiming in with the clatter of tint snd
the tinker*s hanuner : for it was the tinkering traik
which gave support and occupation to those within
Those who were too young to be initiated into the
mysteries of the craft, could at least wipe the dint froo
the pots and pans, and make them look height isJ
dean. The donkey, who drew theae precioiu sitidei
to distant parts of ibe ndghboorhood and to osntif
fairs, was an ohgect of respect and love to the whoii
fkmily. His lodgings were in the £sr ooner of the
cabin — which was portioned oflf by a ledge <rf wood-
where he was duly cared f(» by the elders of the
family, and fondly caressed by the youngit^i. As
he passed along on the winding road of a fine nm?
morning, the guttering of the tins might be ssosm
they fiashed through the green hedges. SonelisMi
his master walked by the aide of the Uttle osri eDSH-
raging the patient beast with familiar words. Whes
a shawl for herself; a cap for Mic^y or Jack, ot lay
artide of dress for some member of the family, «■ ^
be got in exchange for a kettle or a sawxpan, Un
Calb^han took her husband's place : nor did she ever
forget in her mercantile transactions to secere sow
tobacco for her goodman. Paddy, their first-bcfp,— °
his mother's special darling, waa aometinies dspvld ts
attend the fain ; and Mrs Galla^ian declared thsk be
made larger sales and better banrains than she or hu
father could. It was no wonder that Paddy i^^'
tomers; for he was, as all the neighbours sDovea,j
likely 5<w, and had a pleasant word for every one ij^
so much fhn, that he d nuUie a eat laugV Indeed ftoPc
and laughter were always to be had in his wap^y*
Besides his convivial talents. Faddy bad a dedded^Btof
for tinktfing; and his ooptes of fome of fail nwin
M^
CHAMBERS^S EDIKBtmoa JOURNAL.
B
eft^ d^anuBte* were so exact, that it was diffloult to dis-
ttegnirii them from the originalB. It was not to be sup-
poeed thai a peraon so endowed, and of snch social pro-
pensities, shomd not Join in such amnsements as offered.
It must be confessed that he, like many oth^ gifted
men, left many of his works nntinished, so often was
he tempted beyond the domestic circle. He was a gnest
at an the dances and the weddings in the neighbour-
hood ; and there was not a ffiri of the party who did
not wish to have Paddr for her partner ; for if he was
merry at other times, he was almost out of his wits
with spirits when dancing a jig.
It was one morning after lie had retnmed ftocn
one of those merry meetings that Paddy aUled his
mother aside, and told her that he had ofRned him-
self to Nanctr Bfagnire, and been accepted. It was
in a thoQghUess moment that poor Paddy had prof-
fered his heart and hand; bnt it must be confessed
that his thoughtless moments were neither few nor
far between; seeing that they generally continued from
the time he opened his eyes in the morning till he
dosed them at night Tnid news was anything but
pleasant to his mother, particularly as she found that
Paddy was to leave her, and set up for himself in
Magoire's cabin ; which was to be giren up, rent free,
to him and Nancjr, by her father, who meant to settle
ft few miles farther on. Considering Paddy's great
talents, and his high reputation for tinkering, Mrs
Callahan looked on the whole affair as a take-in on
the part of the Blaguires. She thought, too, that the
rirl might go gadding about ; but, after all, that would
hare made her the fitter for a tinker's wife. Paddy
knew that she was pretty, and could dance a jig
It well; and he hoped all the rest He left his home
a sigh ; for though it was but a mud cabin, he
lored it dearly. His fkther resolYcd that he should
haye an equiralent for the cabin ; so b^towed on him
a supply of sheet-iron, and the necessary tools for work-
ing at his business. He was soon settled in his new
abode with his pretty little wife, and it was not his
fault tf they were not always good-humoured and gay.
Some folks, howerer, said that Nancy was better tem-
pered at a wedding or a dance than she was at home ;
and otiiers went so far as to say that she nerer gave
Paddy an easy minute, but that the vooi ever at him,
Kaacx* friends told a different story; and said that if
Vb» girl thwarted and snubbed him, it was all out of
good-nature, and for his good. Constant dropping, they
say, wears the smoothest stone, and however Ft was,
poor Paddy lost all his fine spirits ; and his ^es, that
used to be for ever dancing in his head, looked dull and
heavy; and instead of the hop^ ship, and jump which
had distinguiahed his gait he now moved listlessly on,
as if it was all one to him where he went It was said
that he had on two or three occasions threatened to
go away for good; but Nancy, let matters have been
how they might, would have been sorry if he had parted
in anger.
,' ' IHiat is come over our Paddy? 'Mrs Callaghan said
to Ms fkther. ' He's not the same boy he was— the half
of him aint in it— and his cheeks, that were like the
reddest roses I ever seen, have no more colour in them
than the drivelHn' snows; and no jokes and laughs
any more. Pm afraid of my life that Nancy has a con-
trary temper; and he is one that never was come across
since the day he was bom — one that was used to have
his own way in anything he'd take into his head, from
the first moment that 1^ could use his little fists, and
came to his natural speech.'
' Maybe,' replied her husband, * his sheet-iron is out ;
but that needn't trouble the boy, for m share what I
have with hhn.'
One day, as Mrs CaUaghan was sitting on the low
sto(d l>v the fire, and the bellows with which she had
been blowing it lying on her lap, Paddy walked in, and
passed by ^e dmdren, who were standing about the
door, wiaout speaking. He went over to the fire, and
drew the other stool, aad sat down by his mother.
* Mother,' said he, after a moment's silence, ' Pm come
to bid yees all good-by; for I can't put up with Nancy's
tongue no longer— i^s beyond tiie beyonds: she's all
out too cantaScerous : the very heart's fidrly scalded
in me. So I think it better to go quiet and aisy at
oust ; and so I have listed with the party thaf s baitin'
up for recruits ; and Fm come to lave my blessln' with
yees all, mother darlint''— —
His poor mother burst into violent fits of crying; and
Paddy^ eyes, which had been fbll when he entered the
room, ovei^owed, and the big tears rolled down his
cheeks : the children all hung about him, and with sobs
joined their intreaties to their mother^s that he would
not leave them. But Paddy could not go back of his
engagement, and go he must It was a sorrowftd part-
ing to them alL He never had be^n longer from home
than for a few days, when he happened to go with a
cargo of tins to a place too distant to admit of his return
on the same day. On these occasions he was always
missed, and his return eagerly watched for by the whole
fsmily : the children woidd be up and away at the first
dawn of day to look for him from the point which com-
manded the most extensive view of tiie road. There
would they remain, straining their eyes, till the donkey-
car, with Paddy by its side, came in sight ; then, with
shouts, they would bound on to meet him. And now
he was to go beyond the seas-^perhaps to foreign parts,
and might stay away for years upon years ; and if he
did come back, he might find the green grass growing
over those who would have been the most delighted to
grive him the Cead miUe faiUa. It was thus the poor
mottier thought ; but all couldn't keep him. He shared
his bounty with his parente; but the money looked
hateful in the eyes of his mother. A few days, and he
was away with the party with whom he had enlisted.
None grieved more after him than his wife; for she
blamed herself^ and thought that he would not have left
her if she had not been too cross. She feared to call
on his people, for she felt that they were angry with
her; and so left the neighbourhood without seeing
them, and went to stay wiSi her father. The cabin in
which she and Paddy had lived was soon inhabited by
other inmates. Paddy's mother fretted sorely after
him — and she was for ever talking of him. She never
wearied of telling of all the arch ways and *eute remarks
of his boyish days. The neighbours heard the stories
so often, that they had them by heart Every one ob-
served, from this time, what a favourite little Jack was
with his mother ; he was like what Paddy had been at
his age, and he was always by her side.
Paddy liked a soldier's life at first when it was new
to him ; but its monotony after a time tired him. He
felt as if one sight ctf we green fields, and the little
mountain rill at home, would do him good. The very
cabin, humUe as it was, seemed to his fancy, in the
distance, a very paradise. Vague longings to return,
it is said, at length formed themselves into regular
plans; and in the third year of Ifis service, we have
heard, he did actually desert
It would lead us into too great length were we to
detail all that he suffered in his vain endeavours to
reach home ; all the harassing expediento to which he
was driven to elude the police, who were on the look-
out for deserters, and who, he had often reason to think,
were on his track; the days of concealment and the
nighto of watehing ; or, if slumber came, the troubled
diiams, in which girim-visaged police and fiendish drum-
minors were sure to present themselves in the most ap-
palling attitudes. To escape from this wretched stete he
intreated the aid of an uncle, in whose house in Clogher
he had sought refhge. His unde applied to the Roman
Catholic bishop, who, through the instrumentality of an
officer very high in the army — ^to whom he had once ren-
dered an essential service— effected all that was required,
and Paddy was extricated from his perilous situation,
on condition of his immediately returning to quarters.
Arrived there, he must have thought himself very for-
tunate hi being let off with a good scoldmg, and a few
n
days' retirement in the black hole. To do him justice,
after his probation he showed himself grateful for the
lenity he had experienced ; and by the strictest atten-
tion to his duty, proved how anxious he was to reinstate
himself in the good opinion of his officers. After serv-
ing for another year, he got his discharge ; and now
he might go home with an easy conscience, and free
from idl anxiety. He took a kind farewell of the com-
rades whom he had before left with so little ceremony.
His excitement and hurry to reach home were very
great: he took passage in the first vessel which he
found bound for Ireland. Unfortunately, she was not
sea-worthy, and he narrowly escaped being wrecked.
They found much difficulty in reaching the port ; and
poor Paddy was so worn out by his exertions in as-
sisting at the pumps, that a little rest would have
been necessary ; but the moment he put his foot upon
his native soil his heart got up, and slinging his worldly
goods, which were tied up in a blue and white handker-
chief, on his stick, whidi he rested on his shoulder in
musket-fashion, he set out in double-quick time, singing
and whistling snatches of merry son^ for the first two
or three miles, and thinking of the joy with which he
would be greeted on his unexpected arrival, especially
by his poor mother. But his limbs grew weary, and
his hands and feet burned with heat ; his head ached ;
and he was tormented with parching thirst He put
up on his way for the night at a little shebeen shop (so
are the humble houses of entertainment designated);
but he could partake of none of the good cheer spread
before him; the smoking dish of potatoes, and the
tempting rashers of bacon and fried eggs, utterly failing
in provoking his appetite. The bed to which he retired
was no resting-place to him, for he rose from it in the
morning guilUess of a slumber. The people of the
house saw that he was ill ; but he said the air would do
him good. So he paid his reckoning for the dinner which
he had not tasted, and for the bed in which he had not
slept, and pursued his way. He was indeed ill ; and how
he ever reached his uncle's house was wonderful.
The pleasure which his relations felt at seeing him
oome back his own master, was subdued when they
saw how weak and ill he appeared. They, however,
gave him a hearty welcome: he sat shivering and
cowering over the fire, complaining of the cold, though
his face was flushed, and his hand was burning. He
lay upon the bed ; but sleep would not come : the head-
ache and thirst increased. His uncle and aunt whis-
pered that it was the sickness which he had (the term
always used to express fever). They imparted their
fears to him in the morning ; spoke of their dread of
infection, and proposed his removal to the hospital of
the workhouse. Paddy acquiesced in the propriety of
the measure; and he was accordingly brought there,
and instantly put to bed, which, from the crowded state
of the establishment, was shared with another fever
patient. The fever ran high, and bad symptoms came
on. Chi the eighth- day his case was pronounced to be
hopeless; and at his earnest request a messenger was
sent to tell his parents that he was in Clogher— ill, and
in hospital. What would have been such joyful news to
his family, who had no expectation of his coming back,
was embittered by the account of his illness ; but he
was young, and had always been strong and healthy;
so they hoped he would soon be well, and among them
once more. It was resolved that his father and his
favourite sister Peggy should go to see him, and bring
him bade on the donkey-car, if he could be removed
with safety. The poor mother stayed at home, to take
care of the cabin and of the children ; she stayed at the
door till the travellers were out of sight ; she offered up
an earnest prayer for Paddy's recovery, and safe return
with his father and sister.
The way seemed long to them, who burned with
impatience to see him. At length they arrived at
the house of their relations : the accounts of poor Paddy
were most disheartening ; he was so much worse, that
his death was every moment expected. His father and
sister gained admittance to the ward: he was in in.
deed ; and they wept bitterly when they looked i(
him. His eyes were directed towuds the door; and,
after a moment, he hid his face in tiie beddotfaei,
exclaiming, ' Why didn't my mother come to leeme?'
His father and Peggy caressed him, and wept onr
him; but still he would interrupt their foiid voidi
with, ' Why didn't my mother come to see me?' Tbeie
were the last words they heard him spoik, as ^ left
the ward at the hour prescribed for visitors to take tliar
leave. They were at the door at daybreak the next
morning, when they learned, what they most dreaded
to hear, tiiat poor Paddy had died at twelve o'doek
the night before. From the nature of the oompliint-
which made every precaution for the prevention of the
spread of infection necessary — but a few hoars had been
allowed to pass till the remains were consigned to a
coffin. The grief of the father and the girl affected thoie
who witnessed it ; and the earnest request, tiut tiiej
might be allowed to take poor Paddy's remains home
to his own burying-place, was complied with; and the
coffin was placed in the donkey-car. Bitter were the
tears which Callaghan shed as he acljoited it, and
covered it with straw, that it might not shodL the ejci
of the poor woman at home, till the sad newi vii
broken to her.
In the meantime she had cleaned np tiie o^
and put everything in order. She made the bed n
comfortable as she could for her darUog, haTiog fixed
on the snuggest comer for his resting-place; 'for
wake and weary my poor child will be,' ahe said, y
she made all her little arrangements. She had made
some purchases for the jubilee whidi she was de(e^
mined to have to welcome hiuL The tea and ragar,
and the bread and butter, were all ready on the ifaelf
for a refreshing repast The sound of every distant
car, and the bark of every dog, brought ha to the
cabin door. At length, nearly at nighSui, she caoi^t
a glimpse of a car and persons walking by its tide. She
called to the children within to blow up the fire, and to
make a good blaze. She soon ascertuned that tbe
travellers were her own people ; but Paddy was not
with them. She tried to comfort herself for the £sap-
pointment which she felt hy saying, ' It was better not
to bring the dear creature so far, till he gathers a littk
strength ; and the night-air, sure enough, might give
him cotdiL But it wont be long till he comes to; ftr
sickness never lay heavy upon him.' When they
reached the door, sne perceived by the face of her has*
band that sometliing was amiss; and when she looked
at Peggy, she saw that her eyes were red, as if shehsd
been crying. She feared to ask what was the matter:
but the sad tale was soon told ; and the coffin washid
upon a table, and the poor mother knelt by it, wxingmg
her hands, and calling Paddy by the fondest epitbeti;
and telling the poor lifeless clay how she toved him;
and asking why he had parted fix>m her. Her hasband
tried to c^m her ; but the words of comfbrt which be
spoke fell coldly on her ear, and did not reach her heart
Paddy, wild and thoughtless as he had been,hsd alwayi
been the joy of iJuU heart. It was agony to think sbe
was never to see him again who had been the very IJ^
of her eyes ! She asked for any message he oigiD
have sent — ^for every word that he had spioken. Tbey
repeated his last words, * Why didn't my mother cone
to see me ?' They cut her to ttie very heart, and secwd
as if they would for ever mar any nope of P^'oej foft
while they spoke of his love, they told too plainly^
he had felt her neglect. Oh how she accused henes
for having let anything on earth detain her away from
him at such a time I « Why didn't my mother eooe
to see me?' seemed for ever to '"JjJ "* ^ *''''
and vibrate through her very heart—* Why didnl my
mother come to see me ? '
The remains were borne the next day to the qmet
old churchyard about two miles ofl^ and were W-
lowed by a great concourse of persons; fof ^J^
neighboun wished to pay tbe last mark of respect to
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
one who had been born and bred among them, and who
had been so well liked ; and as they walked along, many
were the anecdotes of his good-nature and plMisantry
which were recounted. It was with difficulty that the
friends, who had lingered behind the rest, could prerail
on the poor mother to leave the grave, on which she
bsd thrown herself in wild agony. A few days more,
and she might be seen about her usual occupations.
The poor cannot afford to indulge their grief; but
•till, as they go about their business, it Ue» heavy
St their hwt; and though they cannot sit apart
for hours and days, and let their tears flow on without
restraint, yet they find time in all their active hurry
for passionate bursts of agony.
The poor mother might still often be seen wending her
way with her cargo of tins to some neighbouring fair
or market. Many an object that she had been wont to
pass heedlessly by, told stories of other days that wrung
her heart. As she passed the rich pasture-lands, and
heard the tinkling of the sheep-bells, she remembered
bow often Paddy, who was ever at her side when a
diild, would make her stop, that he might dance to
thdr merry chime. The very primroses, glinting out
oo the green banks, seemed too beautiful and sweet, now
that Paddy, who loved to gather them when a boy,
was gone. The little birds, chirping and hopping gaily
among the green branches, seem^ as it were, too happy
without him, who was wont to seek out their nests
and attend the young brood. She would sometimes
■top on her way and let the donkey feed by the road-
side, while she sat near the hedge to think of Paddy ;
snd she would dasp her hands, and utter vehement cries,
snd exclaim, * Why didn't my mother come to see me ? '
Stnmgers who went along thought she was some poor
demented creature, and passed on to the other side.
The neighbours knew it was grief that ailed her, and
pitied 1^ the more because they thought that sh^
was erased. As she sat thus one day, she might have
heard the step of one close by, if she had heeded any-
thing. A trembling hand was laid upon her shoulder, and
in a tone, low almost as a whisper, Nancy — Paddy's
wife — said, * Wont you turn round? Wont you give
me one kiss? ' She did turn round, but it was to give
an angry look ; for she blamed her for his having gone
away. The poor girl said no more ; but gathering the
end of the mothePs doak in her hand, she kissed it
passiooately, and went on her way. After a moment,
the vuihappy woman thought she had been too harsh,
and she called after her; but Nancy had hurried on,
and was already far out of hearing: and this, too,
weighed upon her heart ; and so months passed on.
CHie evening when she had returned late from market
she sat down to reckon her gains. She was weary after
her long day's journey ; but she did not neglect to see
that the poor dumb baste was comfortable. He was in
his own comer of the cabin, and the children were busy
about him. The dusk of the evening had come on, and
tiie blaxe from the turf-flre was not strong, so the cabin
was rather dark and gloomy. The latdi of the door
was raised, and those within thought it was by the
goodman of the house, who was expected home about
that hoar; but it was a stranger who entered. He
said nothing, but went over to the fire, drew a stool, and
sat down ; and having taken a pipe from his waistcoat
pocket, lit it, and applied himself intently to smoke.
Mrs Callaghan conduded that he meant to pass the
n^t there, as it is very usual for wayfarers at nightfall
to tarn into the cabins by the wayside to seek a night's
lodging. The required hospitality is seldom refused, ex-
cept in cases where there is sickness within, or too many
in the family to admit of room for another. The latter
behig the case in Callaghan's cabin, his wife told the
unbidden guest that she would give him a night's lodg-
ing and welcome if there were room ; but added, as she
pc&ted to the group of children, that they were too
many, and advised the traveller to push on to the next
bottse, which was not liar, and where there was plenty
of room. As he made no reolv. she concluded that he
had not heard her, and repeated what she had said.
After a dense whiff from his pipe, he merely said he
was very well where he was, and did not mean to go
farther, and then resumed his smoking with increased
energy. The unwilling hostess felt a little alarmed, lest
he should be one of those bad characters who sometimes
intruded into houses with a design of robbing the in-
mates. She wished most anxiously for Cidlaghan's
return, as she did not know how to act by a person
who appeared determined to have his own way. The
children looked frightened, and stood motionless, observ-
ing the intruder : little InUry, summoning up her cou-
rage, came from among them, and went to the obscure
comer where he sat, &at she might take an accurate
survey of his features : when she got dose to him, and
looked up in his face, she called out, ' Mammy, it's our
own Faddy ! '
The poor woman rushed over, took one look, and fell
to the floor in a state of insensibility. The children
raised her ; but she had not quite come to herself when
her husband entered: the children ran to him, ex-
claiming, * That's our Paddy 1' as they pointed to the
man, who went on smoking at the fire.
Callaghan looked at the man, and ran in terror for
protection behind the donkey. * Don't go nigh it^ childer
— it's a speret: don't go nigh it' Then turning to
the donkey, he inquired of him, < Wasn't it you that
brought home our Faddy from Clogher hospital ? Wasn't
it yourself that drew the cart yritix his coffin and him-
sdf in it all the ways? Hadn't we a wake, though he
was shut in it? Didn't we Uy out every pinny we had
to buy candles, and pipes, and tobacco, and all that was
right and requisite? And didn't all the neighbours
come? And hadn't they a pleasant night ? And didn't
they all go to the funeral? And didn't we lave him
with his own people, that had been there for these hun-
dreds of years? Ajdd what is it, then, that can make
his speret unaisy?'
The donkey denied nothing that his master asserted ;
but was perhaps unaUe to answer the last query, as he
still remained silent
*0h, Paddy, darlint!' excUdmed Mrs CaUaghan,
* what is it disturbs you out of your grave ? Is it more
masses you want for the repose of your poor sowl?
Sure if it is, you have only to spake the word ; and if
every screed in the house was to go to the pawn-office,
it shall be done.'
Taking the pipe ddiberately out of his mouth, the
man or spirit rose, and came forward into the middle
of the room, and waving his hand, said, < I am Paddy I —
Paddy sure enough ; and though I've made my ways to
yees, it's onlv to tell yees all my mind, and to go away
for good and all : for I don't feel mighty well plaised
with any of yees. Mother, you never came nigh me at
all, though you heard I was so bad in the hospital, and
that the doctors had given me up. Why didn't you come
to see me ? Father, you and Peggy seen me dyin' in my
bid, and left me there, and never asked for a sight of
me again. Tou wouldn't have sarved a dog so. There
was I left ; and the comrade that was in the bid with
me died by my side that very night you seen me. He
was put in his coffin, and his friends came next momin'
and took him away. I suppose yees all thought I was
dead, and thrown out upon some dunghill, and that
you had fairly got shot of me for tiie rest of your
days. But you see Fve come back to tell you my mind,
and to say to yees all that I never will darken your
doors again after your unkind tratement But I lave
yees my blessin' '
Paddy would have gone out, but they all dung to
him. Everything was soon deared up by the expla-
nation which took place. Paddy's father had brought
home the remains of the poor man who had died, and
who had been supposed by the nurses to have been his
son. He had been wept over and waked by strangers,
attended to the grave by those who had never seen him,
and laid with tiiose with whom he had never claimed
kindred or friend^o.
CHAMBERS^ EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
Faddy and hia mother were in each other*! anna
crying for joy. Hia father waa by hia aide, and the
children gathered round him, laughing and crying by
tuma. An hour had scarcely passed, when Nancy,
who had been on her way home with aome purchases
for her fisther and mother, heard the strange report,
and rushed into the cabin in breathless haste. Paddy's
arms and heart were open to reoeiye her, and she wept
for a moment in silenoe on his bosom; then looking
up in his face, she said, * I have got you back, Paddy,
and you will nerer laye me again : never will a cross
or oonlrary word pass my lips any more.'
* And aa for myself,' said Paddy, * I waa all out too
careless and too fond of royin' ; but I have more sinse
now ; and now that Pm back with yees all again, Fll
never lave you while the breath'a in me.'
No friends ever came to look after the man who had
been buried in Paddy's stead.
'Well, let him stay where he is, the poor lonely
stranger,' said Mrs CaUaghan ; * for never again wiU I
be tb« one to turn out livin' or dead. Wasn't I near
tumin' out our darlint Paddy from his own natural
home the night he came back to make us all so happy 1'
WHO ARE THE HUNGARIANS?
This is a question ^ich has been firequently asked of
late ; and the present article— if so inspiriting a subject
may be handled with the due avoidance of political
excitement, and matters of historical fact tolerated — is
an attempt to answer it.*
The inhabitants of Hunganr— which term generally
indudea Transylvania and Croatia — comprise several
distinct races : the central districts are occupied by the
Magyars, with Wallacks to the east t Slovaks on the
north ( and Croats to the south. The two latter are
Sclavonians or Sdaves by origin, being descendants of
the niyrians and Isheks, and, with the Pannonians, had
cultivated the faithful soil ftom the earliest ages until
the Magyar invasion. The Wallacks were a tribe that
had replace the Dacians, exterminated by Tnjan in
the days when Rome stretched her mighty arms to the
remotest comers of Europe.
The Magyara, or Hungarians Proper, though of the
same stock, are not the same barbarian Huns of whom
we used to read in our schoolboy-days as issuing from
their Mongolian wilds, devastating and terrorising in
their march westwards, even to the very walls of Rome.
This division wandered over various parts of Europe
before approaching the Danube; and soon after the
days of Attila, a colony distinguished for bravery estab-
lished themselves at the eastern extremity of the Car-
pathians, under the name of Szeklers (petty Scythians).
They were followed by others under Arpad — a chief
still fsmous in the national annals, from the sixth to
the ninth centuries — ^until the whole territory was sub-
jugated I and afterwards consolidated by the wise policy
of King Stephen, whose crown is regarded by Hun-
garians of all classes, even at the present day, with the
most fervid reverence. Animated bv a restless warlike
spirit, the Magyars were oontinuaUv making inroads
on the lands of their neighbours : but not with im-
punity ; for in the sixteenth century they were totidly
defeated in a tremendous battle at Mohacs by Sultan
Soliman, a reverse of which no Mag3rar can speak
without mingled feelings of grief and shame. So dis-
astrous was the result, that partly by constraint, and
partly bv treachery, they were led to place themselves
under the protection of Austria — a proceeding more
fatal to their liberties and welfare than the Turkish
victory. The emperors of Austria became kings of
Hungary, but with no other legal powers than those
recognised by the constitution of the kmgdom. The
* TIm Bdit(«0, bdng onabto to pronoimos any oplnton of their
own on tke <tnettloa bet wen Hungary and Auetria, deelre that
the pneent vttole, which they fne^ on acoount oi ite infonna-
tion, should be regarded as representing only the views of ite
author.
great otjeoi, however, of the goremmsot at YieuM
was to Germanise the Magyars as modi as poiiflile}
and for a time the result proved aooordiBg to with.
By an edict of the Emperor Joseph IL, Qennsa wn
substituted for Latin— wbich had been, and itifl wm,
until recently, the political language of Hoagsiy. Tht
Magyars resisted this encroachment, and mide in
attempt to found the Hungarian Academy, for the cil-
tivation and dlffhsion of their native tongoe, which,
th^ contended, was aa well adapted for sll porpoiei o(
literature and polity as that forced on them by soths-
rity. They would speak neither Latin nor QeraiiD, bst
Magyar ; and the Latin name of their coontiy— nov
inapplicable — should be chat^ged to Magjrsrie. Bst
Joseph pushed his leforms with a high hand: beeno
caused the national stamp to be disusA-Hui tppneiiDy
insignificant act, but one which had the eiftct of
strengthening the resistance opposed to him. Haoea
the origin of the Magyar movement, which hii ooo-
tinued down to our own dasra, and whose afan is togiii
a uni^ of action to the different races bj whom tfai
soil of Hungary is occupied.
After Joseph's death, when a new Beiwrslioa of
Magyars had arisen, they pushed their dun§ with n
much energy, as to regain a portion of the oooittti.
tional rights of which tiiey had too long been depdicd.
Their viewa comprehended no throwfaig off of itti-
giance with regard to Austria: tiiey denred on^thit
old-standing treaties should be adhered to; tiist « •
limited monarchy tiieira should be a free nstiooslify
under the crown of St Stephen worn by the emperor.
But their demanda or remonstrances were ijitaDiti-
cally evaded ; messages firom the Diet were eithff sol
answered, or treated aa the communicatioDS of lelieh.
They had nothing for it but to oppose a penersiog
aim to the caprices of a government whioiioaghtto
overcome practical difficulties by fkndfal theorieMo
coerce mind as the best mode of satisfying its s^im*
tions.
The national pride of the Magyar is extnorfinoy-
surpassing that of the Spaniard or the Scottish Hip-
lander of olden time. A peasant clad in a gresqr ibeep>
skin will tell you the Magyars are the gtestest imosf
nations; their language the most harmoniooi, bon^ is
fact, the medium through which Divine revefatkm wu
vouchsafed to mortals ; and that the naSlonsl coftmM ii
perpetually worn in heaven. Tet the oonditioa of tbM
peasanta is almost identical with that of the Aogio*
Saxon serfb in the eleventh and twelfth ceotnriea
The population was divided into three diiM»-vi
say UHM, for reasons which will presently appesr: tbc
magnates, or chief nobles, who, among oUier prifflegei.
were exempt fh>m all payment of taxes *, the hotAmt
nemesek, sandalled or peaaant nobles, a dsss whidi io
intelligence and education scarcely diifinwl from ciber
cultivators of the soil, yet they had a share fa there"
presentation of the country, besides certain inmnmihe^
one of which was, aa stated by Mr K5h], ihst 'tber
could not be hanged like other people fat snyerisie
they might commit, for it is their privilege to be te*
headed, and to have their hands tied before imtsM of
behind the back.' In common with the id*I°*{*^
too, a peasant noble could walk across the msgniifatf*
suspension-bridge at Pesth, or any other taxed thonffgn*
fare, without payhig the toll; while his less fortnM
neighbour, between whose appearance and bit ovd
scarce a difference could be detected, would bi eom*
polled to pay the charge. Last came the P**J5
designated wrviable, which means that whether tb^
pleased or no, tiiey had to bear all sorts of bwrtfatfttf
everybody else : they had first to work for thewpp*"
of themselves and fomilies, then to pay sll titewPi
and tolls, to keep tlie roads and bridges in np^r|
over the kingdom, to fhmish the noWes M^other »•
vellers with horses fox their vehicles when twnUinft
and to forego the enjoyment of all political rigbte. »
is difficult to believe in the existence of •w)!'*^,?
things, the evils of whidi must always be pomw
OHAMBaDUro 8DINBUBOH JOURNAL.
obriow. As may bt expected, at little troaUe at pos«
liUe was taken in mending roads and bridges j each
peasant threw down his quota oi material without re«
gard to its fitness fSor the purpose: thus the roads
Bwstly took care of themselTes; bridges would some*
tknes be altogether wanting; and the casualties of tra-
▼eiling in Hungary were reckoned at ' a risk a mile.'
Had not nature been as bountiM to the land as man
was peiferse, the peasant daas must long ago hare
perished.
Happily for lord and Tassal, feudalism and serfdom are
becoming matter of history : the (me may now aspire*
while to the other remains the noUe dutr of guiding
and fructiiying ibe aspiration. Here wiU be a new
claim to our notice ; yet spert from this, there is much
ia Hungary that commends itself especially to English
•empathies. Of all continental na&ns» they perhi^
approadi tiie nearest to ourselTes in general character ;
and though we hare seldom bestowed a thought on
them, England and her literature haye long heen ob-
jects of their attention. They are not unwilling to be
influeooed by exterior experiences ; and looking abroad
orer Weatem EuropOi as obferred by a French writer,
M. Despres— ' It is to England they address themselTes.
The paniamentary institutions, the diriaion of the two
countries into oounties, the resemblance of the Chamber
of the Magnates to that of the Lords, and of the ElectiTe
Chamber to the Commons--all these ooinddenoes natu-
raUy attract the attention of the Magyars. Tet eyen
among the more enlightened there would probably be
a persoatioa of the superiority of their race to that of
Uie Anc^D-Saxon. Still they admire English society the
moie because it resembles theirs ; they study Enfi^h
politics with eagerness, following the course of events
ia their newspapers; they write learned works, in
which British institutions are compared to theirs, not
without showing that the political forms of Hungary
are simpler, closer to tradition, than those of England.
Besides, political life among the Magyars assumes
instinctiTely or purposely the habits and usages of
English life. Their casinos may rank as dubs ; the
leading orators are fdted and feasted by^ their parti-
sans, and on great occasions take part in public meet-
inga, and sometimes they harangue the multitude from
bdoony or hustings. Some among them have obtained
the name of the (yConneU of Hungary. In fine, when
the Magyars wish to giye a prompt estimate of them-
sdves to a traveller unacquainted with them, they do
not hesitate to call themselves English of the East'
As above indicated, the Diet, or Parliament of Hun-
gary, consists of two assemblies, the institution of which
is nearly contemporary with our own, being only five
yean later. As Miss Pardee writes — 'It was strange
and startling to remember, that within nine hours'
journey of Vienna — surrounded by absolute govern-
ments like those of Austria, Turkey, and RuMia, the
iron link being broken only by the frontier of ruined
Poland, standing like a sign and a warning to the
nations — a race still exist^ who had resdutely flung
the yoke of despotism from their necks, and dared,
deq^ the intrigues of cabinets and the threats of
power, to assert their rights.'
Sudi, however, is the Hungarian Diet which met at
Presburg. As before observed, it oonsistsof two assem-
blies, numbering — recent changes apart—six hundred
members, of whkh two hundred form the Upper House,
or Table*-Upper and Lower Table being the terms
used. The former sits by right; the latter is elective,
and trienniaL All motions originate with the Lower
TShle, but are first discussed at what is called a * circular
meetlnff.' Bespectably-dressed persons are admitted to
the bo^ of the hall as weU as the galleries, and are
permitted to applaud when anything is said which they
consider worthy the honour. The author above quoted
gives us an aooount of one of tiiese meetings, wUch it
may not be out of place to transcribe :— * The first cir-
cumstance that strudc me,' she observes, ' was the ex-
treme order and business-like appearance of tiie whole
assembly. No listless loungers occupying a couple of
chairs with their elaborate idleness ; no boots, lodidng
as though they had collected all the dust or mud td a
great thoroughfere ; no members sitting with their hats
on, as if tadtly to express their contempt both for their
occupation and theur colleagues, were to be seen even
in the unformal and undress meeting of the Hungsffian
deputies. The tables were covered with papers, folio
volumes oontaining the national laws, and the caps and
gloves of the members. . . . The crowd who thronged
the lower end of the hall, and extended for some distance
betweoi the tables, were orderly and attentive ; and the
regularity with which the proceedings progressed was
admirable; and, after all that I had been tdd on the
subject of the ** semi -barbarous legisUtors" of the
country, surprised me not a little.'
Another peculiarity is worth notice t — * In one respect
the Hungarian peopte have the advantage of our own
as regards their representation — ^no deputy being per-
mitted to vote against the feeling of his constituency.'
Remarkable instances sometimes occur of the exercise
of this privilege. On one occasion a debate arose as to
the late King Ferdinand's right to levy troops, while at
the same time interfering with tiie freedom of public
discussion. Among others, a depu^ from one of the
most populous oounties spoke strongly in fevour of vot-
ing the levy, much to the satisfeotion of the government
party ; but on conduding, he said — * These are my opi-
nions, my principles, and my views. I cannot look
upon the question in any other light But— I am in-
structed by the county which I represent to vote with
the opposition ; and my vote must be registered accord-
ingly.' As may be expected, the Opposition were not
slack with tiieir cheers. The elections, in which the
system of voting l^ ballot prevails, are conducted pretty
much as in En^and — ^that is, with music and shouting,
speechifying and exdtement
In 1828-24, the government, forgetfol of constitutional
stipulations, attempted to levy troops without the con-
currence of the Diet This produced a new Magyar
movement in 1825, headed by two of the most distin-
guished nobles, Szechenyi and WessdenyL To the
former is mainly owing the navigation of the Danube,
which, prior to his exertions, was in a very imperfect
state. He is the author of several treatises on political
and economical questions ; in which, for the first time,
his countrymen have been able to read wholesome
truths, and to find their fenlts unsparingly rebuked.
The Magyars have had the good sense to appredate
the writer's oliject ; and his frankness, instead of repel-
ling, has won their esteem. Ssechenyi has mainly sought
to indoctrinate the higher nobility, while Wesselenyi
has laboured to extend the influence of the lower ranks;
and, with a view to acquire greater popular rights, has
purchased land in numerous counties. Thus, on the
one hand, Magyarism has been catechising and criti-
cising administrators and political economists ; and on
the other, energising the provinoes, stirring multitudes
to tiie necessity of action, and inspiring a band of ardent
writers. Among the latter, the poet Worosmarty has
roused and thrilled the national heart by his songs and
poems, overflowing with generous sentiments and ex-
alted patriotism.
It is not to be expected that the course of nolitics,
any more than that of love, should run smooth ; and
causes of difference have arisen in Hungary frt>m the
impatience of the Magyars to realise their views with-
out delay t tiie Croats and Slovaks contend for equal
privilege on their part, at times wHh a warmth that
threatens vidence. Austria has alwajrs been ready to
foment these jealousies, as a means of attttming her own
power; but late events have tended to abate them, by
showing the necessity for combined eflR)rt unbiassed by
prejudice. The two great champions are not now heard
as formerly : Szechenyi shidcened his exertions on find-
ing the course of events leading to extremes ; and Wes-
sdenyi, for a speech in which he dmounoed Austrian
iigustice, was punished by a long imprisonment, which
■o weakened him, that on his release he was unable, as
before, to take an active part in public life.
But if the hour be come, tiie man is there : Ludwig
Kossuth* has prored himself no unworthy leader. He
began life as an attorney, and first came into collision
with the goremment by publishing reports of the pro-
ceedings of the Diet in defiance of the law. Mr Kohl
thus speaks of the * noble deputy.* ' He was imprisoned
for a considerable time for having made public some
discussions of tiie Diet, which were forbliden to be
printed, by distributing a considerable number of manu-
script copies. He was subsequently liberated, and is now
editor of the **Pesti Hirlap" (** Pesth Journal"), the
most popular Hungarian paper, and the most fearless and
untiring advocate of all that tends to the amelioration
and advancement of his country ; the boldest and most
unsparing dmounoer of the errors and abuses in the
constitution and government. He has made it his
especial care to keep gutfd over what he considers the
weak side of his countrjrmen — namely, the liability of
the judges and other officers to corruption and kregnlar
iofiuences, and never fails to discover and expose offonces
of this description. Under these circumstances, it can-
not be but that Mr Kossuth should have many ene-
mies ; but he counts a far greater number of friends—
the whole public of Hungary being on his side — and he
is the favourite and political hero A the day. His ** Hir-
lap ** is the oracle on all occasions ; and during my stay
in Pesth, whenever any public matter was discussed, I
continually heard the eager inquiry — ^** What does Kos-
suth say of it?"
' I looked with mudh hilereBt at this man, on whom
the eyeB of all Hungary may be said to be fixed. He
is of middle size, and very agreeable exterior ; his fea-
tures are regiflar, and decidedly handsome, but strongly-
marked and msnly. He is in the prime of life, with
rather redundant hair and whiskers, but a mild and
modest expression of countenance. He was ratber pale
when I saw him, and his features wore an air of earnest-
ness, dightly tinged by melancholy, though lighted up
by his fine flashing eyes. He spoke for full half an
hour without a moment's hesitation, and his mode of
delivery appeared to me extremely agreeable. His
voice is as fine as might be expected firom so handsome
a person ; and the sounds of the Hungarian language,
powerftil and energetic, seemed, firom his lips, I might
almost say warlike, although they come hard and haish
firom the mouth of an uncultivated speaker.*
The above description was written six years ago,
since which time Kossuth — the Magyar Cobden — has
risen higher in popularity and usefuUiess. He is now
* Governor-Protector* of Hungary ; and should his life
be spared, there is every reason to heme that the exer-
cise of his noble talents will prove a lasting benefit to
his country. The difficulties of the position are great,
but not greater than may be overcome ; and the elements
of success are not laddng. Hungary possesses a soil
of unrivalled fertility, producing an almost tropical
vegetation, teeming with grain and firuit. The Banat
alone will grow ten times as much com as is needed
for her whole population ; and beneath the surface the
mineral treasures are inexhaustible. There are mining
and other schools, and libraries and learned societies in
her towns; her- press sends forth numerous works
annually, and the spirit of improvement animates the
people. Much may be done by the application and
development of such resources as these. Instead of
being pitted against neighbouring states, their entire
strengui may now be devoted to the social wants of
their own country, and tiie amelioration of its condition.
The bulk of the population is Protestant: they em-
braced the doctrines of Calvin at an early period ; and
their manful strug^es against persecution, and their
valiant effi)rts in behalf of the Empress Maria Louisa,
are noUe chapters of history.
During their present struggle for constitutional rights,
* Prooooiioed JToiMwC
the savagery of surroundbig races has been let looas
upon them with a vindietiveness which we could oidy
expect fttm a Tameriane or Nadir Shah ; but which, to
present notions, savours more of a desire to exterminate
than to conciliate. Ever since 1895, the party which
sought to modify the relation between noble and peasant
has been gathering strength. By and by came the out-
break in Galicia, which alarmed the one and excited
the other. The Diet of 1847 drewup a series of resofai-
tions embodying certain rdbrms : no class was to be
exempt item taxation, but all were to pay in propor-
tion to their means ; civil equality was dedared ; the
peasant relieved from his earvies; the old exactioiis were
altogether abcdished ; and a large extension of the saf>
firage granted. But to accomplish all this, it was ne-
cessary that Austria should no longer hove onooatnllad
power over tiie pnblio purse of Hungary, and tiiat her
danoralising efibrts to bend every commiaiiy to her
deadening policy should cease.
The Diet proved itself in earnest, for every re-
ligion was tolerated, and the peasants were not only
released firom feudal servitude, bufe the nobles gave up
to them more than two-thirds of the cultirated lands
throughout tiie kingdom. Twenty millions of acres
have been divided into thirty w njdy-acie lots, and ap-
portioned among five hundred thousand peasants, now
invested with all the rights of ownership. Brery person
is entitled to vote who pays a yeariy rent of L.10v or
whose proptfty amounts to an annual value of L^ :
a mechanic who keeps an apprentice, and individuals
holding university diplomas, may also vote. Croatia was
pacified, the Diets of Hungary s^ Transylvania united,
and the whole of the proceedings signed and ceoflrmed,
by the emperor at Vienna in April 1848; but whiie
the r^oicings were still going on throughout the newly-
regenerated kingdom, the central government oooi-
menced its schemes for deliberately nulli^jring what,
through its sanction, had become the law c& the land.
A revolt was excitei in Croatia, and a Croat cobnd,
Baron Joseph Jellachich, appointed Ban, or ruler ; and
at the same time the frontier tribes were everywhere
instigated to attack the Hungarians. Atlast Austris
threw off the mask, and sided openly with the Croats
and then tiie Magyars became aware of the duplicity
of which they had been the victims. Still th^ did not
wish to renounce their fealty ; and the documents antho.
rising levies of troops, and an issue of paper money,
were sent, as usual, to be countersigned by the emperor.
For a time circumstances appeared to favour the Aus-
trian cause ; the rebel kingdom was overrun with mar-
vellous rapidity, and encountering but few enemioi.
But the roads were broken up and barricaded, ditdics
dug, and filled with water, bridges broken down, streams
of water made to fiood the lowlands, everything in the
shape of food was destroyed ; so that by the time the
conqueror reached Pesth, he had lost ingloriously tfaov-
sands of men. It was now the Magyars* turn ; under
the brave generals Georgey, Bcm, and Dembinski, they
came up from the interior of their land, and before many
weeks were over, a series of splendid victories had
crippled the invaders, and driv^i them dean out of
the country. A provisional government was fbrmed,
which hitherto has successfully provided against all
contingencies. Russian troops are now catted in to
assist in extinguishing this newly-kindled spark of fhee-
dom : should the Magyars succeed in beating them slso,
Eastern Europe will have scope to march on its noUt
career of civilisation.
Hungary and Transylvania united present an area a
littie larger than that of Great Britain and Irdand, being
125,000 square miles. The population is 14,000,000, of
which 5,000,000 are Magyars, the remainder bebg
Sdaves, Wallacks, Jews, and Germans. Now that
tiiey are treed from the oppressive burthen of Austrisn
duties, their internal and foreign trade may be largely
extended. The vast body of new enfranchised pro-
prietors will pour supplies into the market, and may
obtain manufectured articles in exchange by other
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
9
rnems than the periodical fiurs on the Bavarian frontier.
There ia a great demand for articles and munitions of
war, which are admitted duty free ; cotton goods pay
a small diarge. A correspondent of the 'Mining
Journal* xeoommends Engli^ merchants, as soon as
^bej hear of the capture of tiie port of Fiume hy the
Magyars, to lose no time in forwarding cargoes of
fsddlery and hardware, which would meet immediate
isle. In return, we may get hemp, flax, tallow, wool,
grain, hides, and splendid tohacco.
It has been the misfortune of the Hungarians to be
orerpraised or calumniated ; we tiiink the time has
eome when their true character will be better under-
■toed. With many defects, they possess qualities and
lodal customs well worthy of imitation. While writing
this sketeh, a thought has been present to our minds,
witii which we conclude. It is this : how much misery
and mischief would be avoided if rulers would take the
trouble to learn the A B C of polity and morality !
POPULAR RHYMES AND NURSERY TALES
OF ENGLAND.*
Ma Hauliwkll has been encouraged, by the success of
his ooUectioD of nursery rhymes, to form a more com-
prehensiTe collection aspiring to contain tiie popular
rhymes of England, on tiie model of the Scottish collec-
tion of Mr R. Chambers. While regretting that, from
defectiTe opportunity or want of time on the part of
the editor, it is a less eztensive or perfect assemblage
than might be wished, we receive it with pleasure, as
at least tending to supply a desideratum which we had
long had in view, and as being, in itself, and as far as
it goes, a most agreeable contribution to our literature.
Mr Halliwell gives, like Mr Chambers, a collection of
rhymes, generally of a proverbial character, on places
and families; also rhymes on natural objects and on
popular superstitions. He puts on record the snatches
of quaint verse employed in the nursery for the solace-
ment of influits, and amongst children themselves in
their amusements; likewise the prose recitals which
pass current by cottage firesides through all ages,
and all over the land. He gives a serious interest to
many of these things by tracing their great antiquity
and their connection with similar examples of what
Mr Chambers originally, we believe, called natural liU'
ratwrt, in other countries.
It is curious to learn that variations of the fiunUiar
song on the ladybird belongs to the vernacular literature
of England, Germany, Denmark, and Sweden ; and that
the riddle, Humpty Dwmpty sat on a toall^ is, in one
form or another, a favourite throughout Europe. The
following is the Danish version of that ingenious
enigma: —
•LilteTrille
Laae pas Hylde ;
LUIe TrUle
FaldtnedafHyldc
IngMiiland
IbctoLand
Lille Trille oorere kan.*
Which may be thus translated : —
• LItUe Trille
Lay on a shdf :
Littte Trille
Thence pitched himself:
Not an the men
*In <mr land, I ken,
Can put Little Trille right again.'
Equally curious it is to learn that an old woman in-
trusted with an infant in Jutland will amuse it, exactly
* By Jamea Orchard HaUlweU, Esq. London: J. R. Smith.
1849.
as her remote English cousin will do, by touching its
features in succession, with a facetious play upon the
name of each ; thus : —
* Pandebeen,
Oisteen,
Ncsbeen,
Mmid^Pp
Hagetip,
Dikke, dikke, dik.*
Thati
* Brow-bone,
Eye-stone,
Noae-bone,
Mouth-lip,
Chin-tip,
Dikke, dikke, dik I'
a ticklement under the chin following the last line. Or
to find that, while the English mamma apostrophises
the fingers of her babe, as —
* Tom Thumbkin,
Beie Bumpkin,
Bill Wilkin,
Long Linkin,
And Little Diok/
the Danish dame is equally prone to the following mys-
terious allusions : —
* Tommeltot,
SUkkepot,
Langemand,
Guldbrand,
LUle Peer gjfllwnan ;'
running over the several digits in succession as she
speaks. The last line means * Little Peter the Fiddler,'
which Mr Halliwell justly remanks is not a bad name
for the little finger. The community of such things to
northern Europe and a country which stands towards
it in nearly the same colonial character as Massachu-
setts to Great Britain, seems a sufficient proof of their
great antiquity.
It is not merely in such simple matters that such a
community of ideas is to be traced ; we find it likewise
in productions of the intellect where a more special as
well as elegant character is observable. There is, for
instance, a game reported from Essex by Mr Halliwell.
* Children form a ring, one girl kneeling in the centre,
and sorrowfully hiding her face with her hands ; one in
the ring then says —
Here we all stand ronnd the ring.
And now we shut poor Mary in ;
Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,
And see your poor mother go through the town.
To this she answers —
I will not stand up upon my feet.
To see my poor mother go through the street.
The children then cry —
Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,
And see your poor fother go through the town.
I will not stand up upon my feet.
To see my poor father go through the street
Children.
Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,
To see your poor brother go through the town.
Mary.
I will not stand up upon my feet.
To see my poor brother go through the street.
ChUdren,
Rise np, rise up, poor Mary Brown,
To see your poor sister go through the town.
Iforjf.
I win not stand np upon my feet.
To see my poor sister go through the street
ChOiirm,
Rte up, rlM up, poor Mavy Brown,
To wo the poor beggars go through the town.
ifary.
I will not stand up upon my feet,
To see the poor beggars go through the street
After a protracted dialogue, in which gentlemen and
ladies are Buccessiyely Introduced without haying any
effect on Miss Brown, the following occurs : —
Rise up, rise up, poor Mary Brown,
And see your poor sweetheart go through the town.
The chord is at last touched} and Mary, frantically
replying —
I will get up upon n&y feet,
To see my sweetheart go through the street,
rushes with impetuosity to break the ring, and gene-
rally succeeds in escaping the bonds that detain her
from her imaginary love. Now it appears there is a
similar ring-dance song in Sweden. ' A girl sits on a
stool or chair within a ring of dancers, and, with some-
thing in her hands, imitates the action of rowing. She
should hare a yeil on her head, and at the news of her
sweetheart*s death, let it fall oyer her face, and sink
down, overwhelmed with sorrow. The ring of girls
dance round her, singing and pausing, and she sings
in reply. The dialogue is conducted in the following
manner : —
TheRiMg.
Why row ye eo, why row ye so ?
FairGundelal
Oundela.
Sure I may row, ay sure may I row.
While groweth the grass.
All summer through.
TheBkig.
Dal now Fye spdred that your father's dead,
FairGundelal
Oundela.
What matters my father 7 If y mother Htos stilL
Ah, thank hraren for that I
TheRhv,
But now I've speired that your mother's dead,
FairGundelal
Chmdela.
^Vhat matters my mother 7 My brother Uyes still.
Ah, thank heaven for that *
TheRifig.
But now Vre speired that your brother's dead,
Fair Gundda I
Oundela.
What matters my brother ? My sister lives stUL
Ah, thank heaven for that !
The Xing.
But now rve qpeired that your sister's dead,
Fair Gundda I
Gundeku
^Vhat matters my sister 7 My sweetheart lives stUL
Ah, thank heaven for that 1
TheRkig.
But now Ft* qieired that your sweetheart's dead.
Fair Gundelal
IHare she einks down, overwhelmed uHCh grt^^f.'}
Gtmdela,
Say, can it be true
Which ye tell now to me.
That my sweetheart's no more ?
Ah, God pity me I
TheMng.
But now Tro speired that your father lives stni,
FairGundelal
Cfundela.
What matters my father? My sweetheart's no more !
Ah, God pity me!
TktJUfig»
Bnl BOW Fre ^slred that your moOisr llvsB sUD,
Fair Gundelal
(hmdeku
What matters my mother 7 My s%reelhiaii's no
Ah, God pity me I
T%eRlng.
But now Tre speired that your brother Hvh tUn,
Fair Oundela!
OundOa.
What matters my brother 7 My sweetheart's bo mart 1
Ah, God pity me I
TheBing,
But BOW Tvo qpeirtd tha* your sister lives sUU,
FairGundelal
Oundela.
What malten my sister 7 MysweethaarifSBaiBoral
Ah, God pity me I
But now rve speired that your sweetheart Uvea stni,
FairGundelal
Owiideku
6^, can it be true
Which ye tell now to me.
That my sweetheart lives still 7
Thank God, thank God for thai!
The yell is thrown on one side, her face beams with joy,
the circle is broken, and the juvenile drama oondodes
with merriment and noise. It is difficult to say wbdlier
this is the real prototype of the English game, or
whether they are both indebted to a still moxe primttrft
original. There is,' pursues Mr Halliwdl, «a poeticil
sweetness and absolute dramatic fervour in the Swediih
ballad, we vainly tty to discover in the English version.
In the latter all is vulgar, commonplace, and phkf-
matic Cannot we trace in both the national character?
Do we not see in the last that poetic simi^dty which
has made the works of Andersen so popular and irre-
sistibly charming ? It may be that tiie style pieases by
contrast, and that we appreciate its geooine chastemss
the more because we have notiiing similar to it in oar
own vernacular liteiature.'
Of the antiquity of the popular rhymes of England
Mr Halliwell adduces some special illustrations of a re-
markable character, though not always, we think, with
the effect of convincing a cautious reader. We over-
look for the present the more problematical cases, and
would merely remark that it is interesting even to lesra
that • A was an apple-pie, ft bit it. C cut it,' &c is assd
as an illustration in a work on preaching, published bf
Eaohard in 1671 ; or that ' Nan^ Panty, Jack-a-Daody,
loved a piece of sugar-candy,' &c besides many of the
like rhymes, is referred to in a satirical poem writtn
about 1720, it is supposed, on a popular bard <^ that
day: thus —
* Namby Pamby*s double mild.
Once a man, and twice a child t
To his hanging sleeves restored.
Now ho fools it like a lord ;
Now he pumps his little wits
All by littte tiny bits.
Now, methinks, I hear him say.
Boys and girls come out to play.
Moon does shine as bright as day :
Now my Namby Pamby"** found
Sitting on the Friar^s ground.
Picking saver, picking gold—
Namby Pamby's never old :
Bally-cally they begin,
Namby Pamby still keeps in.
Namby Pamby is no down-
London Bridge is broken down ;
Now he courts the gay ladee.
Dancing o'er the Lady Lee :
Now he sings of Uokspit Uar,
Burning in the brimstone fire {
«* Namby Pamby is said tohavnbeena
FhnUps. Another ballad, written about the
above, alludes to the rhyme of ** Gooqr Goo«y,
i^
OHAHBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
11
Ljw, Irar, Lioloptt, liok,
Tani mat the oandUwttdc
Now he rfnga of Jmdkj Homer,
Sitting in the ohtmney oomer,
Ealinf of a Ohristmas pie,
Pattiiit in his thii]nb--<oh lie I
Pattii^ in— oh fie 1 hie thumb.
Palling oat— oh stnunge I a pluml
Now he acts the greoedler,
ddUng Ibr a pot of beer :
WhereTe hie nion«yr H^fiorgot—
Get him gone, a dnmken eotl
Now on cock-horse does he ride.
And anon on timber stride.
Bee and saw, and Baok*ry down,
Londoa le a gallant townl *
The probability we belieye to be, that nearly all the
popular rhymes of both countries hare come down from
an early age^ albeit in many cases with slight altera-
tions.
The fireside stories, thongh indndlng Jack and the
Giants, and some other old faTonrites, are disappointing.
They are not told in the nursery manner, and hare in
genml a more prosaic character than we should expect
In rhymes and tales alike, if we could depend on our
own impartiality, we should be inclined on the whole to
say that Scotland shines out as a more poetical and
iQitlmental country than England. But this is not a
Cit for us to press, and we are too much pleased wifh
HaUiwell's labours to criticise rigidly in the matter.
As a conclusion to the short notice to which we are
limited, we cannot do better than quote what our editor
gires reguding tiie robin and the wren. * The super-
stitious rererence with which these birds are almost
uniTersaUy regarded takes its origin from a pretty belief
that they undertake the delicate office of coyering the
dead bodies dt any of the human race with moss or
iMTes, if by any means left exposed to the heavens.
This opinion is alluded to by Shakspeare and many
writers of his time, as by Drayton, for example-
Covering with moss the dead's nn61oe4d e]re,
TheUttleredbrsast teaoheth oharitie.
* Wefaater, in his tragedy of *' Yittoria Corombona,"
1612, oouples the wren witn the robin as coadjutors in
this frienoly office : —
Call for the robin redbreaif and the wren,
Snoe o'er shady grores they borer.
And with leares and flowers do coTor
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
* Notwithstanding the beautiful passage in Shaks-
peare to which we haye alluded, it is neyertheless
undeniable that, eyen to this day, the ancient belief
attadhed to these birds is perpetuated chiefly by the
simple ballad of the Babes in the Wood. Early in the
last century, Addison was infktuated with that primi-
tive song. ''Admitting,'' he says, ''there is eyen a
despicable simplicity in tiie yerse, yet because the senti-
ments appear gentdne and unaffected, they are able to
moye Uie mind of the most polite reader with inward
meltings of humanity and compassion." Exactiy so ;
but this result arises from the extraordinary influence
of early association oyer the mind, not from the pathos
of the ballad itself, which is infinitely inferior to the
foUowlBg beautiAil little nursery song I haye the plea-
sure of transcribing into these pages >—
My dear, do you know
How a long time ago.
Two poor little children,
Whoee names I doot know.
Were stolen away
On a fine summw's day.
And left in a wood.
As Pre heard people say.
And when it was night,
8o sad was their pUgfat,
The eon It went down.
And the moon gave no light t
Thqr eobbed and they si^ied.
And tb«y Utterly cried.
And the poor uttle tfadngs
Thev laid down and died.
And wlMD thqr were dead.
The robins so red
Brought strawbeny teaTee,
And orer them qireadi
And all the day long.
They sang thwn this song ■«
Poor babes in the wood I
Poor babes in the wood I
And don't you remember
The babes in the wood ? '
VISIT TO IMPROVED DWELLINGS FOB
WORKING-CLASSES.
Whki lately in London, I had an opportunity of yisit-
ing the large building which, a few years ago, was
erected at Somer's Town, St Pancras — a northern exten-
sion of the metropolis— as Model Dwelling-Honses for
the Working-Classes. Approaching it from the south,
alter crossing the New Road, we haye occasion to pass
t^tmg^ a sciies of small, narrow streets, enyironed by
houses and lanes of the meanest possible kind, and at
the time of my yisit, well strewed with yegetable and
other refuse from the shops and stalls of greengrocers
and costermongers. On getting pretty well clear of this
unsightiy district, I arriyed at the model dwelling-house,
whidi may be said to terminate at the comer of a main
line of street It is a large brick building composed of
a centife and two adyandng wings, with a courtyard in
fh>nt; the whole enclosed with an iron railing. My
first impression on seeing the edifice was disappoint^
ing: it had too much the air of a workhouse, a fac-
tory, or at least a public institution of some sort — per-
haps an 'hospital supported by yoluntary contribu-
tions.' I would humbly object to the fkncy of getting up
any species of dwellings for working-people, which will
haye the least efi^t in keeping these classes distinct
from the ordinary population ~ in making them feel
that they are a catte* to be done for' by kindly-disposed
people. I am afrtdd that the edifice in question Is too
much calculated to conyey such impressions, and so far
I think there has been an error in the structural ar-
rangements. Unless there be some special reason to the
contrary, I should prefer seeing houses of this nature
forming part of the general line of street, or at all eyents
not hospital-like in external appearance.
The building has no sunk storey : it rises from the
leyel ground to a height of fiye storeys, each showing
a long range of windows. The entrance to the court-
yard in front is by two gatewajrs in the railings ; from
the courtyard, the difibrent floors are reached by com-
mon stairs. There are no outer doors on the stairs,
which is a disadyantage, for by this means the cold
wind has tree access to the top of the building ; and
the doors to the respectiye dwellings on the landing-
S laces being thin, the houses in winter are far from
eing so warm and comfortable as they might other-
wise be. On making an obseryation as to the want
of outer doors at the foot of the stairs, I was told
that that was admitted to be a defect ; but that, on
the other hand, if doors were attached, openable at
pleasure by all comers, the stairs would be the nightiy
resort of tramps — ^the lazzaroni of the streets, who
gladly shelter themselyes an3rwhere. The application
of a process for opening and shutting the outer-doors
fr^m each landing, on a bell being rung without, as in
Edinburgh, would unfbrtunately entail far too heayy an
outiay ; and besides, the yast number of children who
require to go freely out and in, renders any process of
outer-door shutting inadmissible.
With these preliminary remarks, we ascend to
one of the dwemngs. The first thing noticed is the
narrowness of the passage and stair ; and the second,
that the walls, from bottiom to top, are unplastered —
the bricks being only whitewashed oyer. I would
not say that the want of plaster is objectionable ; it
only raises an unpleasant idea of ultra -economy as
to the construction. I, howeyer, found eyery stair re-
markably clean, considering the amount of thorough-
farfk t whinh ia mora than can be said of many common
t).
12
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Btairt in Scotland. Each stair is lighted hjr a sky-
light On every landing there are three, sometimes
four doors, of as many distinct dwellings. When we
enter one of tiiese house -doors, we find ourselres at
once in an apartment seemingly half -kitchen, half-
room. I did not observe that any houses had inner
porches, though in some a short passage leads to the
first apartment. The apartments in a dwelling always
lead from each other : you go through the kitchen to
the bedrooms. From a plan furnished by the resident
collector of rents, I obserre that in one dass of houses
the sitting-room, which is used also as kitchen, mea-
sures 14 feet by 10 feet 6 inches, the bedroom 12 feet
1 1 inches by 6 feet 10 inches, and the bed>closet 12 feet
1 1 inches by 9 feet 7 inches. The kitchen is provided
with a range, which contains a small boiler and oven.
Entering from the kitchen or sitting-room, there is a
small light closet, provided with every suitable accom-
modation— water, sink, &c ; in one comer is a shaft,
down which dust may be poured. The various shafts
communicate with dust-holes beneath the groimd-floor,
which are deared out at short intervals. The entering
of the closet from the sitting-room, which is not un-
usual, must appear to every one as an objectionable
arrangement: the superiority of an entrance from a
porch between an outer and inner door on the landing
is obvious. Another structural defect is the want of
accommodation for coal. In one of the houses I exa-
mined there was only the bottom of a cupboard, which
would hold perhaps one or two hundredweights of this
much -used article. As the working -classes are held
down not less by their general improvidence than a
habit of buying all articles in small parcels, it should be
an important object to encourage tJiem, by all suitable
appliances, to purchase eversrthing, coal particularly, in
a reasonably large quantity : all Scottish dwellings on
floors, except the very meanest, have accommodation
for at least a ton of coaL In looking round the interior
of these houses at St Fancras, I was again struck with
the plain style of finish. There is not a bit of cor-
nice, and the make of the windows and doors is far
from creditable — contract work, it may be presumed,
jobbed, relatively dear, and unsatisfactory. It is right
to add that every house I entered possessed the usually
tidy and comfortable look of English dwellings, however
humble. Many windows had neat curtains; some rooms
were prettily papered, and hfid prints in frames: all
were less or more carpeted. But who can do anything
but praise the love of order and decency which signalises
the English, wherever found in an undegraded state ?
At one stair-head an inhabitant had railed in a litUe
space on the landing for flowers in poto, a circumstance
suggestive of pleasing reflections. What dwelling may
not be adorned and rendered more loveable by a few
flowering-plants ?
The number of distinct houses in the building is
110, or at the rate of 13 to 15 houses in each of the
eight stairs. The rents vary according to size. Houses
of two rooms are from 38. 6d. to Ss. per week ; and of
three rooms, from 4s. 9d. to 6s. 3d. per week. These
charges indude water and all taxes and rates. The
rents are no doubt low in comparison with those pay-
able for floors or i>ortions of floors by many families
of a humble dass in the densdy- crowded parts of
London; but I am disposed to consider them high in
relation to what ought to have been, by prudent ma-
nagement, the outlay on tiieir construction in such a
situation. The sum of 6s. 3d. per week, or L.16, 58.
per annum, seems no light charge for a house of three
small apartments up a stair, when compared with the
rents at which independent dwellings of five or six
rooms can be obtained within three miles of the Ex-
change. And yet, all things considered, they are a de-
cided improvement on the houses of a small size usually
rented in crowded neighbourhoods.
The building, it may be known, is the property of
the * Metropolitan Assodation for Improving the Dwell-
ings of Uie Industrious Classes,* incorporated in 1845.
The capital of the Association was nused by shares, on
what we consider the only sound principle in such un-
dertakings— the profitable investment oi money. As
yet, the return has not come up to the expectation of
realising 5 per cent interest The speculatioD, how-
ever, is not a failure. The olject of providing houses
of a decent and whdesome kind to the industrious
dasses has been satisfactorily realised. Having seeu
it somewhere mentioned that these dasses had not
taken advantage of the opportunity here presented to
them, I was at some pains to inquLre into this allega-
tion, and have pleasure in stating that it is entirely
groundless, as tiie following list of inhabitants will
demonstrate: — 13 printers and compositors, 7 piano-
forte-makers, 7 derks, 5 working-jewellers, 3 engravers,
2 porters, 2 rsdlway police, 5 chasers, workers, and
polishers of silver, 3 artists, 1 usher, 3 engine-maken,
4 tailors, 2 missionaries, 3 coach -makers, 3 painters,
3 journeymen stationers, 2 pattern-designers, 1, each,
whip -maker, cutler, grainer, cabman, cabinet-maker,
copperplate - printer, blind -maker, typefounder, &c
Whatever, therefore, maybe said with regard to tiie
better construction and arrangement of buildings d
this nature, it is an undoubted fact that the wti^iiig-
classes, as they are called, do in suffldent niunberi
take advantage of them.
From a report read at a late annual meeting of tbe
Associated Proprietary, we transcribe the following pas-
sages:— *A11 the dwellings have been occupied, and
almost without intermission, from the date of tiieir
completion ; and several applicants have been, and are
still, waiting for vacandes. Fifty-nine families have
continued tenants since their respective dwdUngs were
ready for occupation in January, February, Marofa, and
April 1848. The total number of tenants has beat 173,
several of whom, having left their apartments, have
subsequently wished to return. It is gratifying to the
directors to make this statement ; and they have plea-
sure in being able to add, that not only have the tenants
expressed themselves pleased with the superior com-
forts and accommodation afforded them, but have also
proved, by regularly paying their rents, and then" ge-
neral strict observance of such rules as your directon
have thought proper to lay down for the managemoit
of so liu-ge a building, that they are desirous of assist-
ing them in preserving a high character fbr respecta-
bility in its occupants. The strongest fact, however,
which the directors can advance to prove the healthy
condition of this first investment of the Aasodatioii, is,
that out of L.1390, Is. 3d. of rents accrued due, L1383,
12s. 4d. have been paid, leaving only L.7, 8s. lid. ia
arrear ; the whole of which, within a few shillings, wiU
be ultimatdy recdved, the prospects of the artisan
being better at the present time than at the period of
the actual receipts. It may be remarked thit^ of 173
tenants who have occupied the buildings, on two only
has it been found necessary to distrain, both of whom
have since paid thdr arrears. Nine deaths only have
taken place in the building, eight of which were diil-
dren. There are now 351 children on the premises,
and 29 have been bom there.'
On the same occasion the Earl of CarUale obserred,
that * even in a commercial point of view, the success of
the Association could no longer be doubted ; but were
they to look at the case in a moral point dT view, all
doubts and misgivings as to success must vanish from
their minds, and their language and feelings must be
those of con^atulation and assurance. To enable thea
fully to partidpate in these feelings and sentiments, be
would only advise them — such as had not done so--to
pay a visit to the dwellings. It was that which would,
more than anything dse, exdte them to vigorous actioai
in behalf of the objects of the Association. When they
saw the neatness and the deanliness of tbe apartmeDts
in those dwdlings, and thought of the miserable horels
in which the minority of the industrious dasses had
been hitherto crammed, and from which those who in-
habited those apartments had been traDsfisrred— in
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
13
damp oellan, tanoanded with foul air and filth of all
kinds, or mounted up in attics under the broiling tiles,
exposed to the summer sun — when they thought of that,
and contrasted the pleasant apartments they were now
placed in, certainly no one could but feel ti^t a more
rational mode of exercising their benevolence could not
be derised. It was true there was nothing gaudy about
those dwellings; but they were well aired, and were
capable of affording many comforts which their ances-
tors, who lired under lofty ceilings, and in g^ded apart-
ments, could not boast of. They were capable of afford-
mg most of the comforts, and many of the luxuries of
•ooal life. The proportion of deaths which had taken
place among those who iohabited them were few in
oomparisoo to the rest of the metropolis; while the
society of the metropolis had been enridied by a number
of births which had taken place in them. It was said
at the outset that these dwellings would be inhabited
by a set of ill-behaved, troublesome individuals ; but he
spoke the truth when he said that the fact was the re-
verse: a better-conducted class of people could not be
found.'
Dr Southwood Smith spoke to the same effect ; and
Tdierring to the comparatively small number of deaths,
observed : — ' Taking the deaths at twelve— five adults
and seven children — the mortality was only 1 4-10 per
cent., while the mortality in the metropolis generally was
S 3-10 per cent, or double that among the residents of
those dwellings. There did not seem to have been a
single case of ^hus fever, nor fever of any kind among
the adults ; neither had there been any case of cholera.
But tiie best test as to the healthiness of a place was
afforded by the deaths of children. In different parts
of the metropolis the amount of the mortality among
children varied. In Holbom, St Giles's, St Saviour's,
and Whitechapel, the mortality among children under
five years of age was so high as 10 per cent In other
parts of the metropolis it was 8 per cent, but in this
establishment only 1 4-10 per cent Those facts spoke
for themselves, and must convince every one of the
good the Association had effected.'
The Association is at present eogaged in erecting a
similar estaUishment at Spitalfields : it is to be called
the Artisans* House, and to possess a lecture and school-
room, cc^ee-room, cook's-shop, and other accommoda-
tions for general use. We regret to see that some of
the defects of the St Pancras building are to be repro-
duced in this.
ODDITIES OF CENTRAL AMERICA.
Thsbe is a little volume before us which is a favour-
able specimen of what may be done, even in the way of
writing a book, by a man ignorant of science or litera-
ture, but having reasonably observant eyes in his head,
and common sense to direct them.* It affords at the
lame time, however, an illustration of the abiurdity of
the common educational curriculom, which begins and
ends with certain languages. In the exceptional cases
in which the boy is bom an artist, this introduces
him to a literary career, but to nothing else. His mind
has not been fiirther opened. It has not been sought to
make him acquainted with the globe he inherits, with
the system of which it is a part, with its materials and
their combinations, with its inhabitants, animal and
vegetable ; and the consequence is, that when he goes
al^oad into the world, he sees without understan£ng,
and is satisfied with receiving and reproducing a series
of mere sensuous images, fit only for the amusement of
minds as vacant as his own. It is truly lamentable to
think how many ardent, chivalrous, and talented ad-
ventures penetrate every day into the most interesting
countries in the world, and return without having added
anything to the stock of human knowledge beyond a
*Wild Life In the Interkir of Central America. By George
Bjam, Late Forty-third Light Infantry. London : Parker, Weet
8tna4. lS4a
few facts, unconsciously given, but seized upon by
those at home who comprehend their vsJue. If travel-
lers carried with them a knowledge, however general,
of geology, mineralogy, botany, zoology, &c. — fkr more
easily acquired than Latin and Qreek. — they would
take altogether a new status as a body, and their books
would be ransacked with eagerness by the learned,
without giving a whit less ddight to the vulgar.
Mr Byam, with perhaps somewhat less than the ave-
rage literary skill in setting them forth, has more fkcts
than are usually found in the compass of so small a
volume ; and wi&out any scientific knowledge of natural
history, his tastes as a sportsman have led him to
bestow special attention upon the habits of animals.
Some of the anecdotes he gives are new, and a greater
number odd; but Oddity appears to be the characteristic
of the whole country which is the scene of his * wild life.'
Central America, our readers know, is the isthmus
connecting North and South America ; and our travel-
ler— whose objects were to hunt wild animals and discover
rich mines — built his hut on the borders of Nicaragua
and Segovia, about 120 miles from Leon, the capital of
the former state. Food is plentiful, though coarse,
throughout the country; but even in the towns the
people are very poor, so far as regards the possession of
money. If thev have little weal&, however, they have
few wants. All they care about is idleness and tran-
quiUitv. Mr Byam, in passing through a town (not on
a holiday), counted the number of persons who were at
work, and found them to amount to four t The oddity
is, that these good quiet souls are never out of the tur-
moil of a revolution ! The government is perpetually
changing ; proclamations flying about, neutralising eacn
other ; and the few hundi^ troops robbing and mur-
dering all parties time about. In explanation, we are
told Siat it is the few hundred troops who make the
revolutions. * Leon, being the capital of the province
of Nicaragua, and head-quarters for the troops, may
contain fifty thousand inhabitants and about three hun-
dred dissolute soldiers ; and it is by this mere handful
of ruffians, or rather by a portion ra them, that revolu-
tions are effected. A subaltern officer gains over a
portion of the men with promises of plunder, increased
pay, and promotion for the non-commissioned officers to
the commissions soon to be vacant They await the
time when the barrack-guard and sentries will be all
composed of the men so gained over. The barracks are
then taken possession of in the night the commandant's
house stormed and plundered, and the next morning a
few volleys of musketry make the people acquainted
with the fact, that their late commandant and his adhe-
rents have been placed on the fatal " Banqueta,"* and
have made vacancies for the successful rebels, who may
most likely be destined to suffer the lex talionu within
a very few months.'
But it is only near the coast where these revolutions
are felt : the interior is secure in its poverty, its paucity
of population, and its independence of spirit There
the sturdy peasant sows his maize, and then has nothing
to do but to hunt or fish. He has a horse for riding,
and a cow or two for milk, curds, and cheese ; and once
or twice a year he takes a colt and a quantity of bees-
wax to the nearest town, and buys with Uiem a piece
of chintz for his wife and daughters, and enough of
strong linen for himself to make a pair of trousers and
a shirt. What has such a man to do with revolutions,
or revolutions with him ?
The first oddity we come to among the animals is
the ox, who has a great talent for deer-stalking, and
takes much pleasure in its exercise. His education,
however, is somewhat severe. He is tied up to a tree
by the horns, and is every now and then beaten near
their roots, tUl the horns are loosened, and become ex-
tremely sensitive. A cord is then fastened to each tip,
and he is now guided as easily as a horse is when bitted.
The horns in time get well, but not till he has acquired
* The leat upon which priaonen are placed when about to be thot.
I!
the habit of behig gmded by them ; and as soon as thia
is accomplished, he is taken ont to stalk, and in a short
time follows the anrasement with all the keenness of a
sportsman. ' It is really curious to watch the sdentiflc
mode in which an experienced oz conducts the opera-
tion on an open plain ; he must take a pleasure in it,
or else acts the part to perfection. No sooner does he
Eerceive a deer on the open plain, than down goes his
ead, and he nibbles, or pretends to nibble, the grass,
walking in a circular direction, as if he were going
round and round the deer ; but &e cunning file always
takes a step sideways for eyery one he takes in front,
so as to be constantly approaching his yictim, but in
such a manner as to excite no alarm. In a lai^ open
plain the ox will make two entire circles, or more,
round the game, before he has narrowed the inner one
sufficiently to enable the hunter to take aim within
proper distance ; and the first notice the unsuspecting
stag receives is an arrow, generally behind the shoulders
—a gun-shot is best directed at tiie neck, but an arrow
as above, for it impedes more the movement of the deer.
An experienced hunting-ox is best left alone, as he is
far more cunning than any hunter, and ^ways keeps
his master well hidden ; he is only checked by a small
pull when within shooting distance.'
Another way of hunting deer would seem to be very
barbarous, but for the necessity the poor Indians are
under of preventing depredations which, when success-
Ail, reduce their fEimilies to starvation. They observe
the part of the fence which the deer leap over into their
maize fields, and fix some sharp-pointed stakes in the
earth for their reception. The marauders come boimd-
ing down after dark, and having no suspicion of a place
they had passed in safety the night before, do not take
the precaution to look before they leap. They are
transfixed on the stakes, and an Indian watching at a
distance runs up and destroys the victims.
The ox is not the only s^mal distinguished for his
sporting propensities. The cuyote, supposed to be a
large breed of dog run wild, hunts the panther in packs,
but only when the latter has by some aggression
aroused his vengeance. When the panther, for in-
stance, in the course of his travels, finds himself sud-
denly in the midst of an assembly of cuyotes, he can
rarely withstand the temptation to knock some of them
over before taking to flight. The e^pnY d^ corps is
immediately on fire at the insult, ana the fugitive is
followed by the dogs one and all. Tired out with the
pertinacity of the pursuit, he at length takes to a tree,
and perches himself on a branch high enough to be out
of the reach of his enemies. But this does not dis-
hearten them : the contest merely turns to a blockade,
and assembling round the trunx, they wait patiently
tUl their enemy descends, well knowing that he cannot
remain there for ever. The conclusion of one of the
odd hunts we give in the words of an Indian, Mr
Byam's authority, only premising that by the word
* tigre' he means a panther : — * " The tigre was tree'd,
Don Jorge, and the cuyotes were about mty in number,
and they kept continually walking round and round the
tree where the panther was sitting, uttering now and
then a fierce growL I saw this in the forenoon," said
the Indian, ^ from a high tree which I had climbed up
in search of honey ; and towards sunset I mounted the
same tree, and the tigre was still there, with the
cuyotes under the tree ; but only about half the num-
ber, as the others had most likely gone in search of
food ; but at sunset they returned and took the others'
places, who then took their departure. I went to my
rancho, and at sunrise was again at my post, for I was
very curious to see how it would all terminate; the
tigre and the cuyotes were still there, but the smeU
even where I was was horrible j and if I could smell it
BO strong, what must the tigre have done, who was only
a few feet above it I At last he took a leap into the
middle of the pack, and though he Idlled and disabled a
few, be was soon pulled to pieces." '
The cuyotes hunt the deer likewise as regularly as
a pack of hounds. When they loae the Kent, tbej
separate in all directions ; and when it k rdcorored, tiie
sucoeesAil individual announcef the fact by a peooAiar
howL These dogs never bark even when tAinad, whidi,
the Indians say, is a proof of their being of a dJshomt
breed : a dog of honour, according to tfaem, baiks in
imitation of his master's shouts when driving cattie ;
but a cuyote has no seme of fidelity, and will mi take
the trouble to learn.
The racoon is another odd fdlow. He JunaHj Hvci
in communities of fifty and upwards ; but oocationally,
for some inexplicable reason, he separatM from Ids
comrades, and takes to the life of a hermit This life
agrees with him exceedingly weO, and be groira sledc
and oily. The beavers in North America who live ont
of their village have probably been expellad tor their
misdeeds, for they grow thin and shabby, and lui;ve a
careworn, neglected look, Uke ao mairy M bacbdow.
But the solituy racoon is probably infiucDoed bj aooe
virtuous motive. He soon ceases to be lean and dry, as
are all the comrades he has left { and instead of plin>iBg
the ascetic, he gets all his little comforts about wm,
and eats, drinks, sleeps, and grows fat, like a raeoon
whose conscience is at rest A hermit of this kind Is
rarely met with. Our kutbor never saw more ttm
one, and * he was far heavier than his livdier Ixettnee;
also, when the skin was ofi^ the fat was half an inofa
deep on his hsick, and half of him roasted the aame day
proved a most excellent feast for several peraoos : tlie
weather would not allow of its being hung im for a few
days, which no doubt would have improved it Ue
meat was like excellent roe venison with plenty of fiit
which that sort of venison does not possess.'
There is a monkey in the forests surroandtnff the
lake of Nicaragua which attaches himself to a parliieiilar
locality, and even a particular tree. ' Tbey geDeraS^
appear to choose trees about a hundred yards aparl^ aad
there the great red-bearded monkey sits, making wbal
seemed to me a booming no&se, but v^y horriUe^ and
without much variation. The cry is responded to by
others, and taken up again by those more diatant, aM
the forest resounds and echoes with the most imearthly
sounds.' This monkey is himsdf an oddity, for tbe test
of the tribe wander about from place to piaoe — * cone
like shadows, so depart'— and as they never travel bat
at night, have something mjrstical both in their appear-
ance and disappearance. Here is an instaooe of tiie
afibction they show for their young : — ' A person witk
me wishing to secure a young monkevaUve, fired at the
mother in whose arms it was, thinking she woidd fiifl,
and the baby be unhurt :* however, the faQ only broke
her arm, when she shifted her diHd to the other ana,
and tried to dimb, but could not She then plaoed the
little one on her back, and with the assistance of aaottier
monkey, who was slso wounded, raised heraeif fiem
branch to brandi of the surrounding trees, and, I wia
very glad to see, escaped.' To shoot wantonly w&A
creatures ! — ' I have never but once;' sayt oar trafrileE;
' fired at a monkey, and would never do it again, ex-
cept at a troop of fdunderers — and then a good eiaiapfe
is not lost on their little community. Wantonly shoel-
ing them is crud and useless ; but let us wiwuj9 eaoepl
ftom the Hst of the cruel those who are making
tions of skhis for stuffing ; those who have firuil
and wish to keep t^em for away ; and, above
who are hungry, and like a tender roasted
which, setting prejudice aside, is as good a cBdi as
is possible to eat But if a sportsman, for mete wperf^
sake, could see, as I have seen, a monkey witii a i0e*
ball through him, lying on his back on fbe |IWd4
gutting his hand upon the wound, and then rakiqg Ifae
and to the glazing eye to look at the blood, togelber
with the anguish plainly shown liy the alraoet haiBMi
distortions of the hoe, he would never fire at one a
* * The«uiati way to procun a young
a riMinoiikty, with ayooogoiM in her
is generally between the gnrand and the
hart*
moBkey is to loak oat :
i irihelUU40im,ii
f
I
f
?»
CHAMBBBS'B EDINBURaH JOUBNAL. .
15
Noond tinie, or if he did, his heart mm t be of stmnge
stuff and in a strange |dace.*
The monkey, howeTer,i8 an odd animal eyeiywhere ;
and we shall now direct onr attention to another Mbe
of creation, selecting an instance to show that there are
human feelings, haUts, and manners among the birds
u wen ai the beasts. Our author was one day watch-
ing at aome distance the carcase of a pon^, which had
been placed on a hill with a Tiew to its being deronred
hj the Toltnres. He saw with interest the gathering of
these birds from all parts of the compass } and at lei^th
the dim specks in the sky, enlarging as they approached,
resolved in one instance into a magnificent bird, with
extended and seemingly motionless wings, the whirring
noise d which became distinctly audible. This was
the King of the Vultures ; and the spectator, who had
heard much at his migesty, was extremely anxious to
obsenre what effect his presence would have upon those
of his subjects who, coming fttan shorter distances, had
already conmienced the feast They all retired ; some
perching on the neighbouring tre^ but the greater
number forming a circle around, and watching with
courtier-like deference while the monarch alighted and
conmienced his meaL Long and heartily did the king
eat ; but not a sin^ daw was extended towards the
MTOury food, either ftom the circle already formed,
or by any one of the numerous guests who continued
descending to the banquet At length the Boyal Yul-
tore was satisfied; and having tidcen his departure,
with a slower and heavier flight than before his arrival,
his subjects threw themselves upon the fragments of
the repast, and devoured them without ceremony.
Mr Byam, we may say in passing, combats the no-
tion that vultures are attoacted by the scent ' Sight I
bdieve to be the cause of the ** gathering of the vul-
tures;" for, having lived for six years in countries where
vultures abound, and having examined their habits very
dosdy, I have often seen tins opinion confirmed. The
enormous height they soar at gives th^n a widely-ex-
tended view, Uieir keen eye enabling them to perceive
a dead animal from incredible distances, and ^eir in-
•tinct teaching them to watch the movements of dogs
and other carnivorous animals, as well as to watch the
flight of their own species.'
We come now to an odd adventure, which must have
involyed an agony oi terror altogether without parallel
The ooral sm&e is the most deadly in existence. After
its iMte there is no time even to attempt a cure ; the
victim fells instantly, his blood coagulates, and he soon
becofnes a lifeless mass of putridity. There is no mis-
taking Uie appearance of this terrible creature, which is
made manifest not only by its bright-red colour, but by
its body being of an almost uniform thickness firom head
totaa
An Indian, dressed in a pair of loose drawers, with a
coarse poncho over his head, lay down on his back on
the side of an eminence near the path to sleep. He was
awakened by something crawling over his leg. It was
a coral ; and gliding up his drawers, the reptue went to
sleep upon his stomach. To move, almost to breathe,
was death: but what to do? Even if travellers passed
hgr, the first touch of their friendlv hand would be the
^g^ fiMT the snake to sink its deadly fengs into his
flesh. Yet this was his only chance of eaci^e, slight as
it mi^tt be; and after enduring unspeakable mental
agOBiea, for what was to him an immeasurable time, he
actoally heard fbotstros apim>ach. He called oat The
footsteps hastened — out hastened on — the passer-by
taking Uie voice to be that of the decoy of some ma-
rauding Indians. Another came and passed, and another;
tiU at length the poor wretch could only moan inarticu-
latelly as he heard the tramp of ahorse. The rider saw
him ; and drawing near, observed distinctly the form
of the snake (which was three feet bug) beneath his
drawers. He dismounted ; and taking a pair of scissors
frooa his ttddle-bags, cut gently ^e cloth tall the crea-
tufb's head was visible as it lay isst asleep. He imme-
diatdy seined it by the neck, and threw it suddenly dT;
but it was some little time before the rescued Indian
recovered sufficiently fh)m his prostration both of mind
and body to oomprdiend his safety, or even to be able
to stand.
Another adventure is related of almost equal peril,
but of a kind which, with somewhat less remorse, we
can describe as * odd.* Everybody remembers Mr
Waterton*s celebrated ride upon an alligator, and the
severe remarks that were made upon the narrative by
persons who had never seen an alligator in their lives.
Mr Byam, however, who is intimat^ acquainted with
the animal, who resided long near its haunts, and ao-
qidred a neighbourly knowledge of ite habits and man-
ners, declares that, even setting aside the prima facie
evidence of Mr Waterton's high character, the account
is perfectly probable and consistent The tail of the
alligator, he says, is the only dangerous weapon of the
creature, which in the water he uses to stun any large
animal he may encounter. When he accomplishes this,
he drags his victim to the bottom, and holds it fast with
his powerful teeth, while he tears it asunder with his
daws. The tail is much less manageable on land, even
if Mr Waterton's courser had been less occupied with
the anchor in his mouth. The alligator, indeed, is dealt
with very unceremoniously by the Indians of Central
America ; for when dragging the large pools of a river
for fish, if one of these enormous creatures gets into the
net, a man walks coolly into the water, throws a noose
round the fore-leg, and he is straightway drawn on
shore, and kUled with the axes of the party.
Sometimes, however, these lords of the pod give more
trouble, as the adventure we allude to will show. One
of them was a perfect dragon among the calves, and
even cattle that came to drink at the river, pulling
them every now and then under the water; till the
farmer, a dusky acquaintance of our author, became
wild with rage. One day, when riding, he had the for-
tune to fall in with his enemy in shallow water at some
distance from his accustomed pool; and having, as
usual, his lasso with him, attached to the pommel of
his saddle, he at once gave chase, and as the beast was
making for his haunt, threw the noose round his neck,
and tried to drag him to a tree on the bank. But he
had entirely miscalculated his means: the horse was
no match in strength for the alligator, and was brought
upon his knees. The avenger, thisrefore, was compelled
to fdlow where he thought to have led, and in an
instant man and horse were spinning through the river
to the opposite bank.
The predicament was serious, and our friend tried to
sever the lasso with his axe. But the instrument was
blunt; the hard thongs resisted its edge; and on dashed
the alligator with lus prisoners in ms wake. Down
thundered the three, through shallowa and deep water,
rattling over stones, plunging in pods, till a voice of
terror came upon the former's ear— the roar of a fall of
the river as high as a house I On hearing this, the first
thought that darted through the man's mind was, that
he was about to die unconfessed I * No, cabaUero,' said
he, when telling Mr Byam the story — • no, senor, there
never was, nor ever will be again, such a paseo (pro-
menade)!' He now remembmd, however, all on a
sudden that there must be a knife in the pocket of his
sheep-skin mantle ; and succeeding, after some troul^
in getting at it, he at length severed his tow-rope.
' For nighto after, Bon Jorge,' continued the rdator
of this adventure, 'I could not sleep; or if I did for a
moment, awoke foncying myself going again on my
maldito voyage down the river — sometimes soused to the
bottom of a pod, and sometimes tumbling and rdllng
about among the big stones — ^until at last I took such
a vident hatred to this particular alligator, that I used
to lie awake all night thinking how to be revenged.
I used to go to the pod every morning to try and
get a sight of hkn, and one morning I did see him ;
but what made me still more angry was, to see the
loop of the lasso still round his neck, for all the
world like aneddaoei he most have gnawed off the
I ■"> irtft Jj^M
16
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
remaiDder aboat a yard from the noose. I then went
home, loaded my long Spanish gun very carefully with
two balls, and taking with me a cur of a dog, who
could do nothing but yell and howl, I returned to the
pool, and tied the dog to a tree close to one of the alli-
gator's paths. I then took a long string, and making
it fast to the cur's leg, hid myself behind another tree,
and began to piill ha^ at tlie string, and the dog began
to howl lustUy. In a short time the laffarto*9 nose
appeared above water, and then his eyes and head:
both dog and alligator must have seen each other pretty
clearly, which made the dog howl more than ever. The
beast, after looking round to see if the coast was clear,
made straight for the shore, and was just creeping up
the steep bank to seize the dog, when I fired my long
barrel at him, not five paces distant, and sent a ball
just into his eye. He was dead before you could say
** Ave Maria ! " and, Don Jorge, I slept soundly that
night, and gave the cur-dog a good supper.'
This faimer stood much upon his dignity, which
must hare given a still higher relish to his story of
having been run away witb by an alligator. He was
one day in a great rage with his son for having failed
in an errand he had intrusted to him. He would fain
have thought of some terrible name to call him, but
ass, mule, or dog, would have been a reflection upon
himself as the father of such an animal ; and so, to save
his dignity, while venting his indignation, he said to
Mr Byam, 'Don Jorge, my son has eaten a he-mule
for his breakfast I '
Let us conclude our list of oddities by mentioning
that in Central America it is the custom for a man
when overtaken by heavy rain, which there comes
down in a deluge, not to cover himself up from the in-
vasion, but to strip to the skin ! This was our author's
own practice when in the forest ; and the reason was,
that in that climate ague is invariably produced by wet
clothes. The reader now sees, we hope, that there is
some amusement to be gleaneid from this little work ;
and he cannot do better than undertake the task for
himself.
' HAPPT BOUE.'
A young man meets a pretty face in the ball-room, falls
in love with it, courts it, ^marries it,* goes to house-keep-
ing with it, and boasts of having a home to go to and a
wife. The chances are nine to ten he has neither. Her
pretty face gets to be an old story — or becomes faded,
or freckled, or fretted — and as that noe was all he wanted,
all he * paid attention to,* all he sat up with, all he bar-
gained for, all he swore to Move, honour, and |wotect,'
he gets sick of his trade ; knows a dozen faces which he
likes better; gives up staying at home of evenings, con-
soles himself with cigars, oysters, whiBky-puneh, and poli-
tics, and looks upon his *home* as a very indifferent
boauxling-house. A famUy of children grow up about him;
but neither he nor his * face ' knows anythhig about train-
ing them; so they come up helter-skelter — ^made toys of
when babies, dolls when boys and girls, drudges when
young men and women; and so passes year after year, and
not one quiet, happy, homely hour is known throughout
the whole household. — Another young man becomes ena-
moured of a * fortune.* He waits upon it to parties, dances
the Polka with it, exchanges biUetB-doius with it, pops the
question to it, gets ' Yes * from it, is published to it^ takes
it to the parson's, weds i1^ calls it ' wife,' carries it home,
sets up an establishment with it, introduces it to his
friends, and says (poor fellow!) that he, too, is married,
and has got a home. It*0 false. He is not married: he has
no home. And he soon finds it out. He*8 in the wrong
box ; but it is too lato to get out of it. He might as weu
hope to escape from his coffin. Friends congratulate him,
and he has to grin and bear it. Tliey praise the house,
the furniture, the cradle, the new Bible, the newer baby;
and then bid the * fortune* and him who 'husbands' it
good-mOTuing! As if he had known a good morning since
he and that gilded 'fortune' were falsely declared to be
one.— Take another case. A young woman is smitten with
a pair of whiskers. Curled hair never before liad such
oharms. She sets her cap for them: they take. The
delighted whiskers make an offer, fitst one and then tiie
other, proffiering themselves both in exobange for her
one heart. The dear miss is overcome with magnaoindty,
closes the bargain, oairies home her prise, showi it pa nd
ma, calls herself engaged to it, thmki there never vu
such a pair (of whiskers) befbre, sod in a few weeb thej
are married. Married I Yes, tiie world oaDt it lo, isd
we win. What is the result? A short honeymoon, nd
then the unlucky discovery thai they are as nnlike ai
ohalk and cheese, and not to be made 'one, thongh iH
the priests in Christendom pronounced them so.— AvriVi
C^truttan Ciiuien,
CHILLI AN WALLAH.
BT osoaea mbrsdith.
Chillzanwallab, ChnUanwallah 1
Where our brother* fonght end bled 1
Oh thy name la natoral musio.
And a dirge abo^re the dead 1
Though we have not been defeated,
Though we can't be overoome,
Still, wheoeTer thou art repeated,
I would fain that grief were domlk
Chilllanwallah, ChflUanwallah !
'Tie a name so ead andetrange,
Like a breese through midnight harpatriafi
Ringing many a mournful chai^ ;
But the wildneas and the aorrow
Hare a meaning of their own—
Oh, whereof no glad to-morrow
Can relieve the diamal tone !
Chillianwallah, Chllli&nwaUah !
'Tie a Tilli^ dark and low,
By the bloody Jhdum River,
Bridged by the foreboding foe ;
And acroaa the wintry water
He ia ready to retreat.
When the carnage and the daughter
l^all hare paid for hia defeat.
Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah !
Tie a wild and dreary plain.
Strewn with plota of thkHceat Jui^,
Matted with the gory ataln.
There the murder-mouthed artillery.
In the deadly ambuacade,
Wrok the thunder of its treachflry
On the akeleton brigade.
Chillianwallah. ChiUianwaUah I
AVhen the night set in with rain,
Came the aaTige plundering derila
To their work among the alain;
And the wounded and the dying
In cold blood did Share the docnn
Of their oomradea round them lying,
Stiff in the dead akyleaa gloom.
Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah I
Thou wHt be a doleful chord.
And a mystic note of mourning
That wiU need ik> chiming word ;
And that heart will leap with aagidib
Who may underatand thee best ;
But the hopea of all will langnirii
Till thy memory la at rest
▲ •trap' QUKSTION.
Looking in the other day at the JubUee School rfl^*
oastle, we fonnd a score of the lads hitcriMMnj *°,
other in history. One young,rogue csme out with s twp
question. « How many kings,' said he, * hate been aow
in England since the Conquest?' Several ">«^,2
returned, but none receivable by the qa*™*» •??Jr2
called upon at length to fumieh the information htaMjM'
repUed, * One ! ' « One 1 ' exclaimed a dozen uy»«»"Jr
voices. 'Yes, one! 'repeated young QuibWe: J"»**j;
Sixth of Scotland was the only king that waa e^^ o^
hi Eag\asidV— Gateshead Obecrver. [Richard *» "Jj
hearted was of course a king when he was crowned ww"
second thne on his return to England after ha ■
ment by the Duke of Auafcria.]
Publiahed by W. & R. Chambsrb, HIj^ Street, Bdmhui^ ^
aold by D. Cbambbrs, 20 Argyle Street, Glai80w;^%riL
147 Strand, Lontlon ; and J. M'Gi^haw, 81 Dw »«— ^
Dublin.— Printed by W. at R. CHAMSsas, BdinwBgS"
CO>'DUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CIIAMBERS, EDITORS OF * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' Ac
No. 289, New Series.
SATURDAY, JULY U, 1849.
Prick 1^.
THE DESERT AND ITS ADVENTURES.
Tbe ancient and classical comparison of the Desert to
the ocean, and the oases to verdant islands scattered on
its surface, is as true to nature as it is beautiful in
poetry; and it may assist in presenting to the ima-
ginttlofl a more correct picture than is usually drawn
of the great African wilderness. The Sahara, or Falat,
u it is now more frequently called, has too long been a
land of mystery, peopled only with paradoxes, and fertile
only in natural impossibilities. It is represented as a
uQJfonn plain, entirely composed of arid sands, without
water, without regetation, offering, in short, no suste-
nance for either animal or vegetable life ; then palm-
trees are made to rise in this empire of absolute ste-
rilitj, and wild beasts to raven in solitudes denuded of
ererytbing that could serve for nourishment or prey.
Let us try if we c^annot extract from the Algerian expe-
riences of the French some ideas more consonant with
natore and probability, and at the same time still more
reddent of that spirit of romance which hovers over
the waste places ofthe earth.
The fertile tract of country occupying the north of
Africa, and stretching along the shores of the Mediter-
ranean, is called the Tell, and may be considered the
continent of the white people. It is a belt of about eighty
miles broad from north to south, bounded on the north
by tbe humid plains of the Mediterranean, and on the
south by the burning waves of the Desert, which recent
French writers call the Algerian Sahara. This desert,
which includes the solitudes of Shott, Aughad, &c
divided by the great Atlas Mountains, and diversified
with numerous oases, represents a sea studded with
iilaods grouped in archipelagoes. Proceeding south-
ward, we arrive at the great ocean, that is, the Central
Oeterti and beyond it, still southward, is Soudan or
NIgritia, the name given to an immense region little
known to Europeans. This is the continent of the
hJack people, bounding the sandy ocean to the south.
Tiie fleets wliicb plough these dangerous deeps are
the cara?ans. They are equipped on the shores of
the Tell ; put in to the islands of the Algerian Sahara,
to renew Uieir provisions and trade with the inhabi-
tants; at length they quit these archipelagoes, turn
their head southward, and make for the continent of the
blacks, whose principal port is Timbuctoo. The cara-
vans that merely pass from one oasis to another are but
cniiaers ; those only which steer for Timbuctoo or the
Haonsa, undertake what is deemed a voyage. They
are organised on a most extensive scale, and supplied
with impleiDeat« of war, on account of the enemies that
they may eicpect to encounter.
The great Central Desert of Falat exhibits consider-
able portioDS of surface covered with scanty vegetation ;
besides these there are stony plains, for the most part
somewhat elevated *, lines of dunes, or sandy hills,
which are generally, but not always, liable to shiftings ;
large sheets of perfectly arid and barren shingle ; and
depressions constituting basins, in which the waters
settle that have flowed through the country in the
rainy season. Tbe most remarkable deviation from this
general character is the famous Djebel-Hoggar, which
rises like a large island in the bosom of the sandy ocean.
The plateau and peaks of Djebel-Hoggar must be very
high, for though it is in the torrid zone, the inhabitants
line their dresses with fiir, and huddle together under
tents covered with skins, to secure themselves against
the intense cold.
The driest and most barren parts of the Falat are
those where the ground is stony, raised, and steady.
Over these tracts the sands often roll in the form of
vortices, or settle in temporary hills, which are soon
removed by the wind, and rolled down the declivities.
They then gather and settle in the hollows above-
mentioned : and thus it is easy to explain why vegeta-
tion is seldom found in the bottom of these basins — why
there is no formation of beautiful oases, as in the Algerian
Sahara. If the water is a fertilising element on the
one hand, the quantities of sand on the other, passing
and repassing over every inch of the soil, is a powerful
obstacle to vegetation. The hollows thus present simul-
taneously the principles of life and death. Even in
the Algerian Sahara this antagonistic operation of sand
and water on vegetation may be observed ; the oases
are constantly menaced by sandhills, which advance
towards them, encroach by degrees on their gardens,
and threaten their very existence.
But the Falat differs from the Algerian Desert, in
having much more sand and less vegetation; being
subject also to a temperature considerably higher, and
liable to severe storms, which sometimes bury whole
caravans in the sand. Far also from being studded
with frequent and beautiful oases, its wells are often
two or three hundred miles apart. And if, as some-
times happens, a storm has blown the sand in such a man-
ner as entirely to cover the wells and springs to which
the fainting caravan had been pressing, both man and
beast must perish, unless the encumbrance can be cleared
away ; or the water, having taken another course, be
found in some neighbouring spot. In the twenty-three
days* journey from Agabli to Timbuctoo, eight or ten
are reckoned on without water ; and this is the portion
of the' journey which is most dreaded. If the sirocco
overtakes a caravan here, and blows for some time, it
dries up the water, and occasions many deaths. But
this is not a sandy tract ; the soil is composed of a stiff,
red earth, which is called tanegroufle.
The padm-tree does not grow in the Falat ; and there
are some places quite destitute of every species of vege-
tation. But for the most part we find plants scattered
r
18
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOTTB^AL.
ererywhere, and more thickly in ibft hoUows whioh
have not heen invaded by the sgnd. On the drieat
tracta, few aiiimato are to be met with ; but about the
skirts of the Desert, and in the mountains, we find
giraffes, ostriches, gazelles, zebras, antelopes, lions,
panthers, and serpents. Among the domestic animals
are the goat and the sheep — nearly the only ones which
thrive in the moat inauspicious situations.
The apaoea which are utterly dry and barren have of
course no settled inhabitants, but are flrom tinoe to time
tracked by cararans or traversed by freebooters. On
the other hand, wherever there are found even scanty sup-
plies of water and vegetation, there may be seen groups
of tents, sheltering a miserable population whom one
might suppose incapable of supporting life on the little
share of nature's bounty that falls to theif inheritance.
The inhabitants of the Central Deaerl are ealled
Touareg ; Targui being the aingular. They are a white
people, and are often supposed to be like the inhabitants
of Sahara, of the Berebber race. Certainly there are
several points of resemblance between them ; but the
Touareg have habits, manners, and a way of life quite
peculiar to themselves. Their language is derived
from that of Barbary } but it is a dialect yery diffisrent
from that spoken in the oases. It has a roughness,
whioh has led to ita being called th^ German of the
Insert ; and aeami toi^i|iroximate moat to the language
of the Gouanches, the former inhabitants of the Cana-
ries. In religiop the Touareg follow IsUmism-, but
they singularly mingle the idolatrous rites of Fetishism
witJi the duties of the Koran.
The Touareg do not compose a tribe merely, but a
great nation — the seum, the piratea of the aandy ocean.
Driven in all probability at some remote period from
the Tell, by the invasions of the conquerors who have
successively appeared in Algiers, then expelled from
the Algerian SaJiara, which they seem to have occupied
in early ages, they appear desirous of avenging them-
selves to this day on the descendants of those who
banished their race to the Desert. Their families live
in towna to the south-east, along the borders of Soudan,
or occupy huts in the Djebel-Hoggar above-mentioned ;
and here the men also apend the montha of winter. But
in spring th^ betalbe themselves to a wandering life,
their oeeupation being either to transport goods along
the line from K'Damea to Demergoo, or to rob the cara-
vans on the Une from Timbuctoo to Insalah.
In all his expeditions, whether honest or otherwise,
the meharl is the inseparable companion of the Targui.
The accounts which nave been ^ven of the sagacity,
docility, and swiftness of this animal are almost incre-
dible. General Harey, who appeara to have Ken three
of th«n, thinka that the m^ari is to the common
camel iust what a racer ii to a draught-horae. The
Central Desert is not only its native country, but, it
would seem, its exclusive aoode. It has very rarely been
seen in the Tell, or indeed in any of the more northern
parts of Africa ; the reason being, either that it cannot
be acclimatised, or, as some say, that it dies from eating
a poisonous plaint called drias; which is so like a nutri-
tious one belonging to Fala^ that the animal dees not
perceive the diiforenoe, and parishes the victim of its
error* It is a dryi nervous, lean, aupple, sober, and
submissive creature, and allows itself to be guided b^
means of a long rein, which is either passed through
the ring, or hooked to the small metallic trunk which is
fastened through the muzzle. His prodigious swiftness
is suitable to the immensity of the pUdns which he has
to traverse. The natives divide their meharii into ten
classes: the lowest comprehends thoee -whioh can make
about twenty-flye of our milea in a di^, and the higheat
those which dear ten timea the distafice in the saaie
SfMnoe of tine. It is confidently asserted that a good
mehari can travel from seventy to eighty miles day
after day continaoudy.
Their mode of learing this favourite animal is singu-
lar* When it ia bom, they plunge it to Uie neck in fiae,
shifUng sand, that the delicate bones of ita legs may
not be bent by svpporting the weight of its body; and
for fourteen days it is luloected to a praaoribed diet,
chiefly oonsiating oi butter and milk, of which belh the
composition and quaatitj «<« varied fiom day to d^,
acccurding to well^^own rules. It ia an object of grot
sdi&itude that it should have a dam renowned lor the
rapidi^ of its movement) for it is * settled point ia the
Desert that the mehari inherits chiefly the matenal
qualities. It is sddom allowed to run till the end of
the first month; an iron ring is then paased thsooghiti
nose, and ita eduoation is begun.
The sagacity of a well-trained mehari ia ao kaa wea-
derful than his swiftness. If the Targui chooaea, in the
midst of a rapid course, to plant hia laoee in Ilia sand,
the attentive aninsali cogniiant of hia maatev'a evcr^
wish, turns round tbe weapon, till the cavaUer has
aueoeeded in picidng it up againi then, withooi at aD
abating his apeed, ha ponraea 1^ oonrae aa Maaa
When the warrior «iiUs m battle^ hia fhitbM oo«-
pauion doea not abandon the Add: he appvx^acbea the
Targui, stretches himself en the sand, like a dog ftwa-
ing at his master's feet, watches whether he exhibits
any sign of life, and appears to invite him to reraeoDt
his hwck, and fly from the scene of carnage. If the
Targui remains mute and motionless, the mehari takes
tbe way to the town or dbwir* where his fiMnily resiiki ;
and when they aee him return akma, tbe vornei
their la»entatk>na for the dead, and the ehildivn
the hittercat criea. The agitation ^reada tbrov^ the
village, and all turn their anxious mqairiag faze to-
warcU the horizon : some dark spota appear s thej in-
crease and approach : these are other meharia wiuoat
their masters; silently, but too truly, teHing that the
bved ones have been defleated and dain.
The oonatitutiim of the Tmiaseg, like that at Hub
meharia, is dry i and their form ao atender* that Ihs
appeUation oi laih is given to them thyo^glmil the
Desert They are divided into blaek and wlutes wt
according to the colour of their skin, bnt of their cos-
tume. The white Touareg dress nearly like the Arabs,
but the black have a peculiar stamp; thehr dothiqg,
mounting, arms, manners, habitatiQiia, are tnUikB any
of their nei^bours.
The black Touareg wear pantaloons^ like Jkmofmm
oGBfined at the waiat with a wodlen gtrdla. Hm7 fs
barefooted, beeause they aearoely ever walk, kol laoMt
their mehaiis to pass the ahorteal distance from Mt
place to another. Those, however, who are not ridi
enough to have an animal to ride on, wear %■ kiDd ef
sandal tied on their feet with strings. They dicai is a
variable number of Testments, nnde in the fom ef
blouses, or loose gowns^ and composed of eettan
variously striped, and only a few inehaa tamaf^
doth k called sosc, and is bnrogfat froos the K<
country. Whether in the town or tiie camp, th«r
rally wear at least three of these hlouaas^ tibe
most of which is ornamented witib rich emhroidciy la
gold, forming irregular designs, and particular^ ~
on the left breast and the right shcalder-blade.
they betake themselves to the open oomitry, tlHf
otiier two blouses of a dark eokmr, and cover the ~
and neck with a long deep Mek, orvraoUen acar^
leaves only the eyes uncovered. The atnff i4
this is composed U covered with a yamish, naada
various gums, to prevent the adhesion of the asaA.
They shave the head, leaving only « kmg qxt&m bifaM ;
and they wear a Chechia^ which disappears nndsr Ike
folds of the hatek, so that at a distance the TttJi0
appears like a black spot gliding over the tmhm «f
the glittering sand.
When tiM winter ia oven, tiie Targni pnpaaw 4a i
himself fh>m his repose and hia hmOj^ *id ta
hia aMraudinf oareer. The fleets of oamvaaa are i
4 Adoiisrisairoapof tenia
1'
I,
GHAHBBRS^S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
19
I
floofhing o¥er the Eftkt r they miift either w ^^ an
impoitr and thus gain hia protectum, or elie they ma«t
flght their way. He fumithei himf elf with lome scanty
pioTiaionf, ana a leathern hottle ^ed with water : he
anna himself with his long lance^ hroad two-edged
Mrard, a dagger^ enclosed in a sheath attached to the
foie*«n|i, bis bow and arrows, and a shi^ of elephant's
iki«. Thus equipped for war, he mounts his mehari,
bestriding m kind of saddle plaoed between the hunch
and shoulders. He bids a hasty adieu to his fsmlly in
the aot of urging on hia courser, which carries him away
so rapidly, that he hears not their responsive wishes for
the auooesa of hia enterprise. He joins the piratical
troop, which may number from a few hundred to two
tiieusand men. They march only by night, under the
guidanoa of the stars, and thus suffer much less from the
noontide heats, as well as apnroach the caravan with
iMiie probability of being unobserred. Each morning
they take their observattona, and thcn^ can perceive the
aplireaoh of a caravan at a distance of twenty-five miles
at least Wh^aever the cameUdrivers have left their
tai¥oiiao and commenced their march, the usual stillness
of tiie DoKrt is distttrt)ed, not by cries, not even by a
vague sound, but by certain vibrations in the air, which
oau be detected only by the acute senses of the Touareg.
Th» robber^horde advance with caution, and presently
a ckmd of sand proves they were not mistaken. The
attack ia fixed £ar the followiDg morning. But the
caravaQ also has its scouts, who have gU£d like ser-
pents among the undulations of the sand to reoonnoitre
Hw ibroi cf the enemy. The main body, encamped
axovid some water-springs, wait with patience the re-
tom 9i the e^q^rers. If it appear that the robbers are
fo pomeiotts that it would be unsafe to venture abne
into the Desert, the caravan remains by the water for
seviMal days, or even weeks, or months, till other simi-
larly-destined bands arrive ( they then unite, and when
the body is large enough, they prosecute their course.
U, OB the oestrary, the pirates do not appear very for-
midable, the caravan determines to proceed, sure to be
attacked, and likely to lose some of their men, as well
as loaded camels.
The next morning a glimmering light appears in the
horisco, and the disk of the sun comes into view almost
immediately afterwards } for in these countries the twi-
light and dawn are but momentary. The camels lying
i^tli tlieir long neoka stretched oat on the sand are
awaked by th^r oonductors, and utter their frightful
grombliog. Some with great docility allow themselves
to ha loadedi others rise and attempt to esoapo} but a
few gentle blows from the driver make them crouoh
down again. The Sheik-el-Bakal, commander of the
fleets la absolute master of aU its movements, and gives
the alg^nal for starting when he deems all in readiness.
^The Meaair, who are experienced travellers, acting in
the capacity of piloto, take their places in tbe van, and
the vhole mass puts itself in motion. The scouts have
4ibmrf9d the Touaref retire, doubtless to seek another
pney^; the marauders gradually fade in the distance,
till ihey are entirely lost amid the warm tints of the
Bot the merefaanta have mistaken a rtm of the enemy
iar » final retseat. The Touareg, leaming from one of
tbiir own scouts that the caravan is prooeeding, ap-
niQAch it after the evening has closed in, clearing per-
hmpm a hundred miles in a single night At daybreak
m noana, wild, fearful ery breaks the silenoe of the
plain: it la the signal of attack. A desperate eon-
flict ensves. The sand is the battle-field; and it will be
the OD^ pave of the vanquished. Happy those who
fall by a mortal blow, rather than be lefk lingering
wotuaded on the i^aia 1 The conqueror would not take
tbfi trouble of despatching those he has ppoetrated ; he
know that the Desert wSi complete the wOTk of daiith,
mad tbat the tedious agonies of thbrst and despair are
more cruel than any tortures hia bitterest vengeance
ooald suggest. After tbe massacre comes the jnllage ;
aad tbe victorions troop, carrying off their spoil, and
leading away their loaded camels, disappear behind the
sand-hills.
In the evening the aaad and sky are bathed in lurid
colours by tbe ^tting sun : these brilliant tints become
by degrees brown and sombre; till, in the darkness
which veils the heavens and weighs on tlie earth, no-
thing meets the eye but a track as of fire in the horizon.
In the stillness of night one may for a time hear cries,
and prayers, and blasphemies from the scene of the late
carnage ; but tba Mussulman soon wraps himself up in
that passive resignation which is one of the leading
features of hia charactAr; and he will die without a
rebellious feeling against the fate which he believes
was determined for him by an unalterable decree from
the moment of his birth. Some shadows may be seen
to move, to creep along, and to fall again immovable :
these are the last convulsions of the dying.
A dull somid arises, increases, approaches ; the atmo-
sphere heoomes unusually dry and heavy i each breath
d wind is as suffocating m the blast which escapes
from a burning furnace i and the pi^^cles of sand, which
are lashed into shape, appear to burn like sparks from
a crackling fire. It is the sirocco! The sands roll
tlieir impalpable grains over each other : the surface of
the plain ripples at first like a tranquil lake when agi-
tated by the fall of an insect. But tbe undulaMons in-
crease more and more ; now it may be called a billowy
sea } and tbe vortices rise in the air, turning spirally
at the base, spreading like a sheaf at the top, and in-
creasing in their course over the sand, which they worm
out by this whirling motion.
The noise again decreases, and at last is entirely
hushed } the troubled air becomes calm ; and the ood-
ness of night supersedes tbe hot breath of the siroooo.
But the aand has engulfed the wreck of Uke caravan ;
the moon shines on a level plain ; and all ia silenoe and
solitude in the Desert 1
THE CADET BRANCH
Two of the oheeriest, blithest ladlea of my acquaint-
ance were the Misses Tabitha and Deborah DarviU,
who, with their long** widowed, gray -haired mother,
resided, a fbw years ago, in one of the pleasant semi-
rural cottages the neighbourhood of London is so
thickly stu<uied with ; upon an income which, to per-
sons unfamiliar with the magic of a minute and judi-
cious economy, might appear barely sufficient for the
mere necessaries el IKe, bat whioh f/t^ made amply
suffice for most of its modest luxuries. Guileless,
cheerfiil - hearted maidens! who thai witnessed with
what a gentle, loving-kindness yov
' Bocked the cradla of dec^nixlg &sjd '—
how gaily you gos^pped, how prettily you played and
sung^— how sensibly, when you had nothing better to
do, you discoursed — oeuld have thought otherwise than
contemptuously of ^le venerable fallacy which oonnects
misanthropy with elderiy^maidenhood, and invariabfy
associates singleness at forty with erabbedness and an
evil disposition? "For myself, I beg to express a firm
belief that if Tabby and Debby-— familiar domestic
brevities these, permitted, be it underatood, only to a
fisvoured few—I say I firmly believe that if Tabby and
Debby had each blessed three husbands, and been
surrounded by a doaen oripoi% dierubs in bibs and
pinaft>res, they oouM acaroely have been more gentie,
obliging, and thoroughly amiable than they aotually
werew This, I repeat, is my solemn opinion. But
coming as it does from a confirmed old baohdor, It
must of course be taken cum gremo satis. One weak-
ness, besides tea, these ladies confessed to : they loved,
with an enthusiasm unsurpassed by that of the cele-
brated Mrs Battle, a sound, quiet rubber of whist-^ood
ohi constitutional whist, mind} none of your short
heroeftcs with its Illustrations, *a dear fire, a clean
hearth, and the rigour of the game.' Fortunately they
lived in a thoroughly whist neighbooi^ood. The two
20
CHAMBEllS*S EDlNBtntGH JOURNAL.
' I
) I
h
semi-detached cottagea that, with their own, cons tituted
the chief street of that young locality, were occupied by
two staid widowera ; with whom, 'since the death and
burial of their wires, whist seemed the one-cherished
object of existence; and hundreds of rubbers were
yaliantly fought out in that pleas^ntest of pleasant
parlours betw0eq the mature maidens and their some-
what ancient neighbours— Mr ^eter Dauby, and Mr
John Busatoy.
Tes, Peter Danby and John Dusatoy are the names
of the gentlemen ; but if the reader Is to understand
clearly this charming little 'histoirette' — that is, if I do
not mar it in the teUiog — something more of introduc-
tion than the mere announcement of their names is
essentially necessary. Mr Peter Danbpr — a man erf
singularly-expressive silence—may he dismissed after
his own manner in a very f^w words. He is a retired
drysalter, living, pliysically and morallv upon the accu-
mulations, material and menti^I, of mrmer exertions.
The first—the material — are decidedly the most tangible,
consistinjp; as they do of between five and six thousand
pounds in sundry solid securities, national and joint-
stock. The mental capital^ though not perhaps so accu-
rately set down, nor so' easily reckonea up as consols
and debentures, roust necessarily be considerable; as,
without having added one single item to it within the
memory of the oldest inhabitant of the street — who is
unquestionably the old ludy yonder, nodding so com-
fortably in her arm-chair over her knitting--n^ has for
many years enjoyed, and still continues to enjoy, a
daily reputation from it : a man of powerful action I
have no doubt, but of marvellous few words. Many a
brave talker, I am told, he has in his time listened down :
kept steadily at it, in fact, till the fountain was tho-
roughly run out, Shortiy,, to sum him up, and give his
bri^-total, he is a kind of drysalter-illustration of Mr
Carlyle*s somewhat paradoxical apothegm In his Hero
as Poet ; ' speech is great, but silence is greater.*. His
tremendous superiority at whist may be imagined. .
Mr Jphn Dusatoy, on the other hand, is essentially a
man of wo^s ; but unfortunately of such small ones,
that a shower of them produces the faintest imaginable
impression. A decent, quiet» well-meaning little man,
nevertheless. Is John Dusatoy. Dusatoy, IrepeAt, is a
very quiet, respectable person; wears a carefully-kept
flaxen wig. ana has everything handsome and com-
fortable about him; and, to crown all, a daughter,
who ^
Yes, sir ; positively the young lady seated at the rose-
wood work-table, with the beautifully-moulded Grecian
head, raven tresses* dark full brilliant eyes — and now,
as she rises to snuff the candles for the absorbed whist-
players, you perceive, of queenly figure and graceful,
elastic carriage — is the little flaxen wig's heiress and
only daughter, Geraldine Dusatoy. . . . Well, sir, what
of that? I maintain that it is a soap and candle
dealer's birthright — his and eveiy mans inalienable^
constitutional privilege — to have his daughter christened
by any name he pleases. Ton admit it? Tliat being
the case, I don't mind still farther enlightening you.
But in order that I should be enahled to do so, you
must, if you please, step back with me to just seventeen
years ago last Monday evening. A long distance ! And
now we have got to it, only Took what a dark, gustv,
•leety, plashy, disagreeable evening it is! Well,
on this very evening Mr John Dusatoy was belated at
a distance of some&ing more than six miles from his
lawful home and wife, situated both of them in one of
the large manufacturing towns qf the north of England.
Jt wai entirely his own fault, I must tell you, that he
was thus belated. He might have been home hours
before, had he not been fascinated, juggled out of hia
usual prudence, by a troop of spangled vagabonds,
with a black-eyi»d gipsy girl for their prima donna,
who weife exhibiting their tricks and tumblings at the
* Golden Fleece,' whither Mr John Dusatoy had betaken
himself by appointment early In the afternoon, for the
lettlement ox a rather heavy account When he at last
rose to depart, he found that he had awfully overstayed
his time ; and direful w^re the forebodings which filled
his mind as to the reception he should meet with from
Mrs Dusatqy — a respectable, but altogether over-elo-
quent lady, who, John instinctively felt, as hp glanced
at the hands of his watcli, had already heaped up abun-
dant treasures for him. *Neady seven niUea by the
road/ soliloquised the repentant self-accoi^ng soap-
dealer : * bless me, I shall be two hours or more getting
home that way. Through the wood saves nearly three
miles; but then it is so plaguy dark, I might miss
my way.* He nevertheless resdlved to venture. The
brandy and water he had swallowed rendered him
unusually valiant; and on he desperately staggered,
through marsh, and brake, and brier. Baab, rarely
successful men are they who wander from "beatea paths
in search of short cuts to desired, havens ; and. honest
Dusatoy proved no exception to the rule. For^moif
tlian two mortal hours did he wander to and ^ In ^
dark, marshy, perplexing wood; tiD, worn out, be-
wildered, terrified almost to death, he sat down qsoo a
damp, uncomfortable stump, fairly overcome with trii^t
and vexation. The imminenoe of the peril roiwed him
to renewed exertion. *Man lost! — maalfitl-^'^pao
lost!' he shouted, jumping up, and raising hii TOfoe to
a dreadfully -cracked pitch, in the desperate Ikiw of
attracting assistance. The strange aoundt owed
through the stillness of the forest ; bat zio>ympat^lttag
voice responded to th4 agonised appeal. 'Hanilofi! —
man lost ! ' reiterated the perturbed but peraiateol «!-
man witli quavering vehemence. This time there —
an answer. * Who — o— k) — o — o V came distinctly down
the wind. *Poor Johnny Dusatoy!* lie replied wUlk
deprecatory supplication: 'aa honest a man as
broke a bit of bread!' *WUo — o — o— o — o?*
returned the sympathising stranger. Johnny eage^J
repeated his description, baptismalt patrot]^mic, and
moral, and still the same query replied to liis firantic
asseverations. On, however, he pressed in the diredMi
of tlie voice ; anc^ at he conjectured, was not more dai
a quarter of a mUe from Uie cold-blooded qutttaoDtt:,
when, emerging from the tangled darkness into a fpooe-
wbat dear opening in the wood, he was startled oat
of his f\gw remaining wits by the apparition of an jeoar-
mous gipsy suddenly confronting and striding tovaids
him, No wonder his jaws rattled like a pair of cattft-
nets, and that he shook in ever^ fibre of his little bodr;
it was— no doubt about it, considering the boor and At
locality — a most unpleasant meeting.
* Who is that?' demanded the gnm yagabond; ' who
is that dialoguing with the owls at this lime of
night?'
* I — I— I, p-o-o-o-r Jo-<dinny Du-n-u-aatoy^ ai
ho-o-o-nest a '
* Oh, it's you, is it? Pm glad of it, for I tiwa^ I
had missed you. Tou are the very man I want/
*A-a-a-amI?'
* Yes : you are rich and childless ; and. yon vioittiki
this one, and bring it up aa your own. The ^li jo«
saw at the inn has preserved it during the last ibre ar
six days at the hazard of her life. The band, ior ▼adni
reasons best known to themselves, will have itdestnsel
and buried snugly out of the way. I have-imdertMBi
the job; but at the request of that girl haT^profaiseile
deliver it to you; with this distinct undersbindin^ thet
you bring it up as your own ; and above and belbraal»
that you never breathe a word to one living ao«l aa-)to
how you came by it.* . .
* Ye-e-es.' .
* You consent : I am glad of it, as it mav tare tBPlAI»
Now, then, here's a Bible : look an^ see that it ttaceal
one. Good. Kow place your hand upon i^ano i mil ft
after me.' Mr John Dusatoy stretch^ fom hisj^aa^
and mechanically repeated the words ai aa awibl oaHl
binding him to secrecy. He then, at ^ke eommand ef
the gipsy^ kissed the oook.
* It is well Kow mark : if ever yon rereat fa a sinda
human being what has passed to-night, yoa wiO be a
I
r
CHA]«BEBS*S EDINBUIW5H JOURNAL.
21
dead min before tweqty-four hours are over. Come;
thU is j-onr path.'
Five minutes afterwards, Mr Jolra Dusatoy found
himself upon the high road, within ten minutes* distance
of his home, with a lusty infant of about two years of
age in his arms. His pfiipd wm in a state of complete
oonfdsion. He certainly ^ad seen such things done
in a phiy, and had read of them in circulating ro-
mances, but that a respectable maji and a rate-payer
should be served a trick o| the kind In actual real life
seemed uttedy ahaurd and incredible. He, however,
moved mechanically homewards, holding the babe nearlv
at arm's length, something after the fanner in i^hich
people carry joints of meat to a bakehouse ; and had
arrimed within a yard of his domicile before a thoroughly
fqH sense of the utter desperateness of his condition
flashed upon him. If he had before dreaded encounter-
ing his amiable partner, how on earth was he to face
that determined woman with such a present as that in
bis arms ? The tery Idea of it turned him up and
down ; and cold and sJeety as it was, he perspired like
a roasting cook in the dog-days. Long, long he stood
Irresolute ; but at length nerving himself to despera-
tion, he rang the bell. Quickly a well-remembered step
Was heard upon the passage floor-clotli, and a well- re-
membered voice exclaimed — *0h, there you are at
hsti Upon my word this is very pretty — remarkably
fomdeed. Aint you ashamed of yourself?* continued
Mrs Ihisatoy, fairly boiling over, and at the same mo-
ment throwing open the door. • Aint you ashamed '
The current of her eloquence was checked at once.
T give you my word, sir, that a company pf grenadiers
Chajfiring nito that passage with i3xea bayonets and
bear -skin caps could not have so scared that re-
markable woman, as did the blessed babe sustained
qpmt her husband's outstretched arms. She started
hack dumbfounded, paralysed! Johnny, profiting by
the Rioroetitm-y panic of his better half, darted by her,
htfb^ frantically into the parlour, and deposited the
infafii on the table, exclaiming, as he wiped his teeming
forehead, • There! I swore a dreadful oath I would do
it, and I hate done it There ! '
The scene which followed must be left to the ima-
ginatiob, which, if a very brilliant one, may possibly
do it Justice. I can only relate the fag-end of the
fray, after the storm had spent itself, and John
Dt^toy had escaped to bed. * Well. Sally,* said the
mistress of the house^ addressing her confidential maid-
of-all-work ; * we cannot throw tlie brat into the Street,
s^ TOO had better take it and let it sleep with you to-
jttgtit ; * and Mrs Dusatoy, who had been engaged for the
bst two or three minutes in an unsatisfactory voyage
of dijcovery over the baby's features, endeavoured to
transfer it to the arms of her handmaid. But the child
would not be so shifted. It clung perversely, but most
enidesmngly, round Mrs Ihisatoy's neck, pressing its
coral month upon her lips, and ^remptorily refusing
to depart The Kood woman's better nature was awak-
^i>ei J^ the diild's appeal. Thoughts of the one, only
oaA sireet bod of promise that had briefly blessed her
life, Bwelled her heart and filled her eyes. * Kever
minA, Sally, she shall remain with me to-night at rU
evedtt.* The next morning, after patiently listening to
her fmshand'd 'Explanation, Sirs Dusatoy agreed to adopt
th^ ehild. rt soon secured a firm hold on the affections
of both husband and wife ; and as the Dusatoys were
even In those di^ys comparatively rich, a liberal edu-
cation was ungrudgingly bestowed upon the beautiful
Geraldine — this name was found marked upon a portion
of the infant's dress, and was of co^se retainea — and
posses^ as she was of great natural capabilities, she
speedily refiedted credit on her instructors. Her birth,
or Mther her rescue and adoptipn, Atrs Dusatoy a few
w«e1ts "before her death unreservedlv communicated to
ihe sorrowing, adopted daughter, 'that knowledge has
not, «B yon perceive, in the Slightest degree abated the
affectionate respect which she has constantly manifested
tow4fd& her kind, weU-meaniug, reputed father.
And now, sir, having, as X trust, fuUy satisfied your
curiosity respecting the young lady at the work-table,
you win, if you please, allow me to continue my story
witliout interruption.
The whist-players, then, on the evening in question,
were not, it was quite clear, In harmoQipus accordance.
Both Tabby and Debby seemed fldgetty and nervous,
strangely fotgpt what cards were out, and altogether
played abominably. Twice Mr Dusatoy, as fresh hands
were in cpurse of distribution, had que^'ulously remon-
strated with pebby upon npt leading the right suit at
the right time; and once Mr Peter Danby, after endur-
ing much nnwincingly, paused in the midst of the play,
laid his cards emphatlcAtly on the table, raided his spec-
tacles f^om his eyqs to his forehead, and glared solemnly
in fair Tabith^'s face with a look which said as plainly
as look could, * Itemember, madam, you are losing my
money as well as your ownJ* There were four six-
pences, 1 should state, under one of the candlesticks.
This done, he replaced his spectacles^ resumed his carda,
and steadily continued the game.
* Well,' said Miss Deborah at the conclusion of the
hand, * we are pl.-wing shockingly j but the truth is, we
have been a good deal flustered this afternoon by a
letter from General'
* Zicu^nanr-Qeneral ft*Harville,' interposed Tabitha ;
at the same time volunteering the orthography of the
general's name.
*Te8, J^ieutenant-General D'lTarvllle,' rtsumed De-
borah ; * and that, it seems, is the correct mode of spelling
Qur name, which has been somehow shortened and vul-
garised by dear papa's connection with the City. The
general reminds us that we arc A cadet branch of the
family tree. Now what,, for mercy's sake, is a cadet
branch?'
* Xt's people that go to the East Indies to serve tlieir
queen and country in the capacity of gentlemen,' re-
plied John Dusatoy with confiilent alacrity.
* Nonsense, Mr Dusatoy. How can Tabby and I, or
dear njamma, h^ people of that sort?'
Mr l*eter panby paused for an instant in the act of
sliufUing the carets for a fVesh deal, and looked with
mucli intelligence at Miss Deborah : he then favoured
Mr Dusatoy with another emphatic glance, easily
translateable into * You're a donkey ;* he, however, only
said^ as he placed the pack before him, ' Cur ! ' Every-
body felt that Mr Danby hiew what a cadet branch
was, but that he for the moment declined imparting bis
knowledgp. This was a favourite trick; and indeed
one of the chief modes by which 1^ raised and sustains
his great reputation.
* f believe.' said Geraldine, coming, as usual, to the
rescue, * Uiat a cadet is a younger brother, ana I sup-
Eose his family might be called the cadet branch of the
ouse?'
*That explains it, dear Geraldine,' cried the spin-
sters both in e breath. * Qnite. Well, who loould have
thought it?'
General Sir Frederick D'Harville had in fact written
a curt stately note, informing Mrs D'Harviile-r— corruptly
spelt Darvill — that having lost Ws only son about a
twelvemonth previcusly in one of the great ludlau
battles, he and Lady D'Harville Jiad determined to
adopt one of their nieces, and bestow her haudsomely
in marriage, Jn order, as better could not be, that the
anciftit family might be continued and i^erpetuatcd
through the cadet branch. He would call, for the pur-
pose of escorting his niece to Maida Hall, on the
morrow about noon.
For obvious reasons, the entire contents of this slrangd
missive were not communicated to the company ; but
enough transpired to convince tue widowc^rs that a
dreadful blow had been aimed at the peace of the card-
table ; and that, moreover, any further play even on that
evening was out of the question. Mr Ttter panby
rose, .^ietly placed his broad-brimmer on his deliberatQ
head,arewon his gloves, buttoned up his coat, bowed
comprehensively, and stalked forth ixj accusing siltiuce.
I
22
CHAMBCB6*ft EDINBUBOH JOURNAL*
Mr Bnsatoy and hii adoptefl dttghter departed half
an hour Iater«
Ahit, there was more, mnch more in danger than the
whist-tahle I Pope was quite right : in these days the
Evil One tempts, not by poverty, b«t riches. For the
first time Tabby remembered with bitter maleTolenoe
that Debby was three years her junior ; and Debby* for
the same reason, exnlted nngeneronsly oter her sister.
Twelve honrs befote, neither of them would baTe be-
lieved in the possibility of such feelings arising within
their gentle bosoms; so sad was the change wrought
by the glittering bait, present «nd prospective, set be-
fore them by their craftv undo the Uentenant-^neral.
The general arrived the next morning in great state.
He was a fine military-looking man, and was indeed
possessed of many admirable qmditles ; but aU dimmed
and obscured, to the superficial observer at least, by
overweening pride of birth and lineage, and haughty
superciliousness of manner. He was ushered into the
front parlour by the awe-struck maid -servant; and a
minute afterwards, Geralditie Dusatoy, blushing, and
somewhat embarrassed, but losing nothing of her native
grace and dignity of manner, entered to apologise for
the momentary absence of Sir Frederick's nieces.
The instant the general's eye fell upon the form of
the beautifhl girl, he started firom his chair with strange
emotion ; and advancing rapidly towards her with ex-
tended hands, exclaimed in a tone of joyi\il surprise^
• My niece ! * Geraldine explained, and Sir Frederick's
countenance immediately fell. He did not, however,
relinquish her hand, and continued to gaze at her with
a troubled, inquisitive glance. Presently the door
opened: *M1ss Deborah D'Harvllle,* said Geraldine,
very much embarrassed, and anxious to divert the
general's attention from herself.
* It is very strange,' muttered Sir Frederick, gently
yielding Geraldine's hand, and turning mechanically to-
wards Deborah : * Who is this young lady ?*
* Geraldine Dusatoy — a neighbour.'
Tabitha now entered ; and Sir Frederick's attention
being necessarily given to the sisters, Geraldine Dusa-
toy adroitly slipped away, much wondering at the
general's strange behaviour.
General D'HarviUe's reception of his nieces, as soon
as he recovered his rarely-disturbed self-possession, was
kind and courteous. It was soon arranged that Deborah,
as the youngest, should succeed to the vacant niche of
heiress to the House of D'Harville j and preparations
for immediate departure were at once commanded. I
will not say that the general's hopes and anticipations
were not somewhat damped by the perusal of the record
of mature age stamped upon the countenance even of
his youngest niece ; but he by no means despaired of
the stability of his ancient House. He was a man of
singularly sanguine temperament, and had in his youth
led two forlorn-hopes.
Arrived at Maida Hall, Deborah was introduced to
her stately aunt. Lady D'Harville^a tall, splendid, but
apparently a grief-stricken woman. • Surely,' thought
Deborah, ' I have seen that face before. Oh, to be sure.
If she were twenty years younger, and happier looking,
she would be the very image of Geraldine.'
Lady D'Harville received her niece with a cold, sad
smile ; and Deborah, after a few frigid words of course,
was consigned to the care of her appointed atten-
dants.
'Your niece's education. Sir Frederick,' said Lady
D'Harville as soon as Deborah had left the apartment,
* has. I fear, been sadly neglected. You will have enough
to do to render her presentable at the next drawing-
room.'
' Yes : there is no time to spare neither. At all events,
she has good blood in her reins. We must make up
for lost time as well as we can.'
The result of the general's resolution to make up for
lost time is very clearly set forth in ^e following epistle
received by Miss Tabitha about a fortnight after her
sister^s departure :~
' Haida Hau.
DsAR Tab.— If you stiU fed any desire to be s greit
heiress, and live in state, get your things pAcked op
ready; for, please goodness, I'll put up with the li& Pm
leading here no longer ; no» not to be cadet brandi to
Queen Victoria ! The general comes home to-motro?
evening ; and if he wont take me back in the carriige,
I'll run away ! Why, Tabby dear, you can htre do
conception of the torments and martyrdoms I hm
been made to endurey in the hope of transmoi^i^g
me into a fine lady. But it's no use. Tabby desr—
not the slightest t it*s not in me, and that's the hooeit
truth. First of all, as early as seven in the morning,
I'm drilled for three-quarters of an hour by Sergeaot
Pike, in order to make me keep my sbonlden back:
after breakfast, my French and Italian maiten tike
me in hand for an hour ea(^ : then come the piano i&d
harp professors, and I am made to thump and tvtag
away till luncheon-time : directly that is over, iloo-
sieur Pirouette, the dancing-master, exercises me for
two mortal hours : and when be has concluded, it is time
to surrender myself into the bands of Mademnidle
Ang^que, to be screwed up, frizzed, and plaited
for dinner. Ah, Tabby, if I could once see that (tear
Angelique upon the bare back of our donkef, sod
I behind with a good fwitdi in my hand, limh'i
I But no matter, here I wont stop, thsfi poi!
The cadet branch and posterity may shift for themdres
fbr what I care ; I'll have no more of it, and so joa mi;
tell dear mother*, and belieye me. Tabby, jonr aflbc*
tionate sister in affliction, Deborah Darhll
« Yes, Darvill ! good, honest downright Darrill! TU
deuce take their H's, and their E's, and their qioiUophfii,
say I, for ever and amen !'
Tabitha and Geraldine Dusatoy were still occapied m
the following morning conunenting upon thii porteo-
tons letter, when the general's carriage wu wen to
drive furiously up to the garden gate, and presently otI
sprang Deborah, before the door was wett <^)0^edjiBd
came running frantically up the gravelled path tomdi
the cottage. In she burst, hot, panting, and impslteit
' God bless you. Tabby ; here's an uproar, sad sB rf
my ranking ! Geraldine, don't be frightened ? therrt*
dear : but as sure as you're alive, you are an dderln^
or worse. Turn down your left shoulder, and ymu
see. Tlie general had been talking to his hdy Aoi»
your uncommon likeness ; but there, poor stml, J*
don't know anything about it ; and I happened to W
out that you were a *• babe in the wood,'^stKAW by
gipsies seventeen years ago, and that your name tw
Geraldine ; and if Lady D'Harville hasn't been go^
distractedly ever since, wringing her hands, and waft*
ing in her sleep like the lady in the phiy. Cft,to
she is.*
Lady D'Harville, supported by her husband, ww
entered the room in a terrible state of agitatlon^Tw
instant she saw Geraldine she sprang wildly totirft
her, and clasping her in her arms, exclaimed in idjwj
ing voice, and with frenzied eagerness, 'It li ahel 1
know it— feel it ! Oh, God would not so ^wo** *
mother ! Quick— quick, if you would not *e me® '
Her left shoulder— three moles triangnlarly pUced!
* It is She I— look here I ' shrieked Sit FredW*
with wild excitement, and at the same time seirtif g
astonished Geraldine in his arms. Lady I^™^
slid down on her knees, and with clasped J'™??
streaming eyes raised towards Heaven, qawliW n
broken accents, • Thanks, Father of Mercies, ftag»A.
The explanation which, as soon as the o^^^jj^
had in some degree subsided, was gone infc^ JJ*^
perfectly satisfactory. Maida Hall had *««** Jjff*^
mto and plundered a few days previous to th* WHJ*
which John Dusatoy had duetted with the o^jjj^
band of gipsies, and the child carried ofl; faWJ^^
tation, it was coi^ectured, of obtaining a J*^^*^
restoration. The pursuit, however, was *» bo^ »«
the band nanst have liMred to afford aqy dOB n »
OHAMBfiRem eDMBtm^H J^THKAC;
33
detection of tlie authors of the burglary bv any nego-
tiation of the tort ; and hence doubtleBS thehr tesohi*
tion to put the child out of the way : a desl^ happily
frustrated by the compaBilon of the gipty girl, And the
oppottnne appearance of Mr John Dusatoy at the
* Golden Jleece.*
Matters were tpeedily Arhinged: Mr Dttsatoy patted
regretfully with Geraldine ; but both were consoled by
the frank ar.d cordial invlfeltlon the honest man re*
eclYcd from Sir Frederick and Lady l>*Harville to tisit
Maida Hall as frequently as he found it convenient ahd
agreeable tb do so. A mrge addition to the income of
Mrs Daryfll and her datighters was also spontanedtwly
offered by the general, and of course gratefully acceptea.
Sir Frederick, Lady, and Geraldine D'HatTille de-
parted just as the shadeii of evening begati to fall Half
an hour afterwards, the candles were lighted, the card-
table again ^t out— Mrs Dftrvill was wheeled closer to
the fire, and the accustotned fbur once more seated
themselves at their beloved board of green doth. De-
borah, enfranchised Deborah, all smiles and sunshine,
baring shuffled the ctirds, waved them in the air with
a gesture of exnbetant triiitfinh, and then, bringing
them down with a flourish, pfump before Mr Peter
Danbr, exclaimed, • Cut ! * * With all my heart,* re-
joined Mr Danby, suiting the action to the word.
•Hurra I* This unwontea outburst added of course
considerably to the excitement, which, however, com-
pletely subsided during the progress of the deal ' Play !*
cried Tabitha. Deborah pfay^, and on went the so-
lemn game ; and on it is going to this day, as any lady
or gentleman who ean procure an iatrodvction may
«asily satisfy him of hersetf on nay eveninf during the
week, ' Sundays excepted.'
■ * *r
UYBBRNATINO quadrupeds of BRITAIN.
A BBAtTTiPVL dispensation is obsetrable in the hjbcma-
tioB of SQch creatures as feed entirely on insects, or on
the more delicate parts of vegetable structures. As soon
as the blasts of wmter destroy the substances which are
esstotial to their support, they ffor the most part) bury
thexDMlf es in the ground, as in the case of the hedgehog:
or roll themselves in a sofl warm coverlid of moss and
fibres, as in that of the dormouse. The bat, however, is
an exception te this rule; it merely ' puts itself by,' as it
vere ; suspending itself, for this purpose, by the hinder-
legs to th« roof m a dark cavern, or the rafters of some
deserted castle or neglected church, where it quietly
ileepc, until the warm sun calls forth from their chry-
ssJid tombs the moths which serve it for food. Let us
glaaoe at the habits of the winter-sleepers peculiar to
these islands
Being possessed of a most sensitive acuteness of ear,
the rest of the bat raieht be frequently broken, and its
fsnses roused to a feeling of hunger, which it had no
means of satisfying, were it hot for the curious apnaratus
br which it can at pleasure close the aperture tnrough
frhlch sound is conveyed. This consists of an integu-
ment resemblins a small ear, placed backwards, at the
entrance of the larger or real ear, which acts at will, in
the manner of a valve. Some species of bats are distin-
guislied bv very large ears; while in others, as the vam-
pire-bat, ft is small; but this aural appendage is observed
m all. The body of the common bat is somewhat smaller
than that of the mouse, which it much resembles in form
and colour, though the fuf of the latter is lighter than
that of the bat. The face Is like the visage of a faery
masiifi*; and though its ciy seems bDt a fKint piping, yet
If it be held close to the ear, it sounds like the miniature
bark of a dog : the wings are formed by the continuation
of the skin of the back and breast down the fore-arms,
encasing the l)nger-bones, and extending along the body
te the legs, and again to the tail; and thus the order of
bats has been appropriately named Cheiroptera, from two
Greek words signifying hand-wings. We swf appropri-
ately, for when the but spreads ito wings, it has the ap-
peaxince of extendhig them with it* muidt, as ft iMy
wtmld do wilh A liuiwl n^iiAt w«ft|>lAoed im iMt shoittlders,
and which she was about to wrap around hen The wingi
Kte blaet, and of s Itatkery tastttre; the froAt peiat of
eaeh is fhrniflhed with a ho<^ with which the animal
supports itielf when not about to retire to sle^. By
means ef these wings» it Is enabled not only to follow the
etolutione of the insoets on which it preya* but to sweep
them together by ft fenrard setnleiroiuftr movement, so m
to bring them more within reaeh* The mottier also folds
her wings found her young whilst euckling them. The
maimer in whibh the yeung ftre eatried about by the
parente is exceedingly curious : the former attftehes itself
by the liind«elaWB to the breast of the mother, and in
such a way, that when the latter flies about with her
hurlhen, the hack of the young ene is downwards.
The fbed of the bate eonsL^ of those oeuntless tribes
of insects whleh eome abtoftd in the wann twilight of a
smSraer^ evening ; henee their icientifio name Vgsper-
Hli&. They drink en the wing, in the manner of swal-
lows, and frequent the maigin of waters, on accoont of
the large number of ^secte whioh abound in such places.
Bats are excessively sciMitivei so much so, that Spal*
lansani oo&sidered them to be possessed of ft sixth sense ;
for they avoided objects placed in their Way, when de*
privet by him of eyes and the power of smelling. This
delicacy of perception seems to exist princi^allv in the
membrane of the wing. An instance of the acuteness of
all their senses is observable in the rapidity with which
they turni if, when flying low, two persons, placing them-
selres a few yards apart, alternately raise their hands as
the animi^s approaoii| whioh will cause them to fly back-
wards and forwards incessantly; this being what we, at
children, used to call playing * living battledore and
shuttlecock/
It is stated that there are fourteen distinct species of
bats in Britain. Of these the most common are the noe-
turle ( r. nocturia), which is mostly found in trees, though
sometimes in houses also; as is the whiskered bat (K.
mp8tacua)f the long-eared bat ( V. auHius)i which attaches
itself to churches, Where it banes in clusters from the
joints of the rafters like swarms of beeS. We must not,
however, omit to mention, that though bats frequently
congregate together in this manner, they never fly abroad
in flocks t the pipistrelle (F. pipiifrelltu), which dwells
mostly in cayemi; and the batbastrelle, which is rare,
and which is said to have no odotir — which certainly it
not the case with the others.
If we consider the anomalotiS |>osltion in which these
animals were placed in the eyes of our forefathers, we
shall not feel surprised at the superstitious feelings with
which they were regarded. Flying with the wings of
birds, yet bearing the head and fm of quadrupeds; pur-
suing the itisect tribes, and eschewing the gfonnd, yet
bringing forth and suckling their young} rejected of the
earth and air, shunning the pure light of the sun, dwell-
ing in dark and hiiunted places, serving as a prey te no
creature save the ominous raven or the solitary owl, atwl
appearing only at the hour of spirits; these observers of
old, who were at once accurate and superficial, could not
but regard them with suspicion; a»d thus we find, as Mrs
Jameson remarks, that while angels wisre represented with
the Wings of birds, malignant spirite bore tho«e of bats.
The bat is easily tamed, and becomes an amusing and
familiar pet. Mr Bell mentions one which, being set at
liberty in the parioor, would, if a fly were held between
the lips, settle on the cheek of ite young patron, and take
the insect with the ^atest gentleness t and so far was
the familiarity carried, that when elthei* of his young
friends made a humming noiiie with the mouth, In imi-
tation of a fly, the bat would search abotit the Dps for the
promised dainty.
The squirrel (Sciunu vulgaris) is undoubtedly one of
the prettiest of our native qtladrtipeds, whether we con-
sider the brilliancy of his black eyes, the beauty of his
red back and white chest, the luxuriance of bis bushy
tail, or the agility and grace of his playful movements;
so may he in one particular lay claim to being one of the
most singular. We allude to his bird-like propensity for
building his nest in trees. Choosing ft oenvenieBt spet^ he
lays the fousdationiA theibrk of th» bvandhei, and tttere
lie bringti moM, lesine», atid twigff^ wkh which to make a
straottne wMch wHl MAisi the most vSotent ffiorniB 7 he
mdbte it with a^dome^ M the wren fbrtns hert, and leaves
only a enali aperture n^r the top for ingrem and cfresfr.
And' if. not more interestiiiff, it is at least more araasing
to watch hiui (firm should say her) during the lime of
buikUo^-? ibr-riie well knows that no bird's patience will
be nsqusiad lor the puipose of sitting en e||gB, and the
labour, though not one of greater love, is one of more
cakwleisgleeit and the litlle animal becomes so buoyant
with4el%ht at^each addition to the nest, that it would
appear as if no gambols were sufficiently ecoenf^ic to ex-
]»»» her joy* We, hot having been bom in the days
when otH spirits ro&med at lai^e upon the earth, hare
a great paitia^ty for bats ; but it is a grave and staid
fondnev^^a regard assodated wHh lonesome carems and
ruined buildings, with tombs and 8pirits->-a feeling which
makfs us sad, yet most calm. Not like this Is our love
for the bright and joyous squirrel-^a lore which oalls
back childai^ thoughts and feelings, atid makes the very
throbbuBg of our faMtts imitate the aotlod of the exulting
aoiKud. And then what intense pleasure it gives us to
see the little creature sitting with a fir-cone between its
paws, picking out the seeds with his long front teeth, and
eyeing us sideways all the time with an expression of tibe
utmost > roguery and fun ; or perhaps, as we approach a
little iiearer, chattering and scolding in the fiercest man-
ner. possible: for he is a courageous little fellow, and
v»i7 doiring when he knows that we only are near; as if
petsuaddd that he had discotered our nature, and knew
that we would not hurt him, and therefore he defies us.
But oaly lei a gun appear, or a schoolboy approach within
a stone'a-ihrow of ^e tree, a^id down goes the hero : the
hitherto pert tail is' extended as flatly on the bough as
the tDembling body, and there he crouches, dose and
raotiosiless, until the danger^ past
But the fir-cone is not htsenly food : the nut, the acorn,
the J>eeeb •< mast, and a variety of similar fruits, are de-
voured by him, as well as the young buds of trees, with
occasionally a few grains of com, ov a blade or two of
grisa... Jesse ha» stated that squirrels catch and devour
birds, but this appeata to have neooeeded l^m some un-
aeeountAble mistake, which a glance at the teeth of ihi*
reileili alumal willatonoe cUspMve. That squirrels will
pursue birds with great vehemence^ we are perfVetiy
alvaie, for we have seen them so engaged, more en>ecially
ift the buildia^ season ; but this is <taus6d merely by some
UitU passing jealoo^ or annoyance ; and it is quite as
c^mmion to see the squirrel chased by the bird. Not-
withstanding the fun and frolics of the squinel, it is a
peovideai and caoefnl little creature, which lays up in a
hollow tree, oit «ome simiUr cavity, a store of mit(f, acorns,
&c. for ^hedimtfy days of winter, or rather for the bright
swmy days with which ike winter is occasionally en*
liveaed; for on snch days the mild air partially rouses
the little sleeper^ who peeps out to see if the glad spring
is Diear» nibbles a nut* ot two, and goes to sleep again.
Somewhat allied to the squicrel; is the dormouse, the
soft'furred little emblem of sleepinesa It is of the same
family^ and resemblea it in the length of its tail, its
colour^ the agility ^f its movements, and the brightness
of its eyes 3 though the ferm of its teeth appean to con-
nect it more doeely with the mouse £ikiBOy {muritUB).
It ako, like the squirrel, lays up acorns, nuts, and ether
frviita of this description for the winter, on the approach
of whidi it rolls itself in a warm ball of moss, from which
it emeiiges occim tonally to take a little food, and then
rolls itself up again. The nest of this prettv little ani-
mal is farmed in the hollow of a tree, or in ^e roots of a
bushy shrub, and is thickly lined with moss and leaves.
There ave.^fow animals whidi are so easily tamed, or
whii^h J^pear to be so completely happy in confinements
Acjinistomed, when in a state of nature, to the most se-
cluded a^a most beautiCul forest coverts, it appears, when
in captivity, as if it knew not a thought or wish beyond
its cp^ge,.fdt.not a want, except for food and materials
for itft,hybemaculium« and exprnneneed not a regmt fot
its fy^ ^xP^^f^f . AAd it sqe& beoomes «e sophiaticated,
as to find a piece of laC6 Cr a handkerchtfef qtiite as con>
ventent a substance to be nibbled up for a triiiter coit
as the frec/hest, greenest moss.
The hai^vest-mouse {Afus metsorhttt) is th« noallesi of
our British quadrupeds ; measuring from nose to i^ two
inches and a-quarter, four-fifths of which measunhnettt n
oectrpied by the tail. It was first brought Itito DotSnhy
White, the Selbome naiuralist, who ^ub <!«scribei id
nest : — * They breed as many as eight at a litter, fa %
little round nest C(miposed of the blades of gran «r vM.
One of these nests I procured this autumn, most aittfididlj
platted, and composed of the blades of wheat; perftetly
round, and about the size of a cricket-hall; vHh ilt«
aperture so ingeniously closed, that thcte was no €b"
covering to what part it belonged. U was so conpad
and well filled, that it would roll across the taUe with-
out being discomposed, though it contained elgkt little
mice that were naked and blind. This elegant instaDce
of the effbrts of instinct was found in a wheai-fi«ld, nu*
pended in the head of a thistle.' It also builds in Hkt
stalks of the growing wheat. The iiest—
* A wee bit heap o* leaves and stibble,
Tliat costs it mony a weapy nibble '-*
is nicely lined with delicate fibres, and the ysnt art
ready to leave it by the time the com is ripe anl the
straw is cut down. In the trinter,' the harrest-moaie, if
not comfortably located in a com stack, rstiies into tiie
ground, where it forms a bed of dry grass and ksTW. H
is one of the prettiest little creatures possible. It irwi;
slender, and most graceful in its movements, imminxi^
and down the blades of wheat with the utmost a|ffi^
and lightness. Professor Henslow particulariy tHAie«i
the prMieUsile properties of its tall, which is serriccilb
to it' when climbing. He says that he kept one «f thai
little animals in a large deep earthenware paaforamt
than a year. In the centre of this pan was fixti a wt-
pendicular stick, -up which the mice would run, and wo
slight^ bending the tip of the tail round it, the^lvQifld
slide down with great rapidity. When the^itieMa
knob in the stick, they would quickly untwist fte tut,
and immediately coil it round again. It is a moat
cleanly creature, and spends mock time in bnuilusg ih
face, ears, &c. With its paws.
The water-rat {Artioola ampkibmy^ or vole, ss H Ii
sometimes called, is certainly the most unoou^^etaMf
shy of all our native quadrapeds; yet if we can wfi*
cieBFtly accustom it to our presence, it is a most e^ttf*
taining little animal : now darting from bensilth &e
broad leaf of the water-lily, and swimming a little V17
down the stream; now concesding all but its hts^ under
water, while it fixes its sharp eye en us, and nihUei a
few blades of river-grass; now ascending the hsfilc, mi
indulging in a few gambols
* On the happy autamn fieldfi ; *
and ^ally^ on the slightest alarm, disappesriDg vi^
the rapidit^ of lightning into the matted roots vm
hang over the stream, or diving uatil the danger is ov«*
past. In form it Is allied to the common tat; birt ^
structure of its teeth places it amongst the feml/ df
beavers; its fur, which is of a dark nd-breim, is HKf
thi<d[ and wana. It makes its nest, in which it •&•
sleeps through thtt winter, in the holes and intsntlediii
the river bank, where it freauently brings up sii ^^^
young ones. It is extremely expert in diving^ ^ w**
nows and other small fish, as well as in catchiflig fi^
for ^e qpawa of which it seems to have a grsat liMfigi
Perhaps few animals have in all ages been gMttar
objects of supeostition than the shrew (Skrttt), Tb|
E^rptians piid it divine honours ; and the iiiumii^«
two - distinct i^yecies have been discovered, ia a stiti m
perfect preserratioD, in the crypts of Thebss tM M^
phis. Of tluse there are twenty speoimeDS in tlie esl-
lectaon of %3rptiaa antiquities in Paris, bdon^^ K.
Passalagna. It was worahipped in the AthriUtie dtt^
trict of £gypt, and was sacred to La^a» !*• ^^S*?!
smallness of its mytB caused its dedication te ooi 01 tw
gads e€ darkiDefs and oouoealmemt. Ariitotle, f^* w"
I
Agric9^ dealnce iM bite io l)fi d«pge^us J^o- boK9flf oacl
other Wsts of burthien; the last i;eQamiu«ii(l3» as a rtp}e4;»
thai the little animal should be cut auinder, and appli^
to the VQund. In France, and eren in our own land, it
baa been believed to paralyse any animal over which it
tons; in thiv case * planet-struck ' and * shrew-struck '
appear to be 8)rnonjiBen8 tenna; and fiinglej Elates that
the pitescrihed cuse wa» * to drag the animal through ^
piece of ^^^"[^bl^ that gr^w at both end^** White also
meakfi of AfiolLard ash which was highly regarded aa &
uv^w-aah. * ^ow a ahrew-a^h is an ash whose twigs or
bcancJMS, «h£n gently applied to the limbs of cattle, will
immediately re&evo the pains which the beasts sufier
Ceo^ the jcunniog of a shrew-mouse over the part; for it
is flofiposed that the threw is of ho baneful and delete-
riooa » nature^ that whenever it creeps over a beast-*be
it hofse, cow, or sheep— the suffering animal is afflicted
with <:nicl anguish, and threatened with the loss of the
use of th^ limb. Against this accident, to which they
woEe continually liable, our forefathers always kept a
shrew-ash at hand, which, when once medicated^ would
keep its virtue for ever. A shrew-ash was thus made : —
Into the body of the tree a deep hole was boted with an
auger, and a poor devoted shrew was thrust* in alive ;
and plugged in no dojobt with several quaint incanta-
tions now forgotten.'
The shrew has an extremely long nose, which is pointed
and oToriianging. This appears to be of use in burrow-
ing and digging for its food, which principally consists
of insects, grain, and other miscellaneous sobstances.
The common shrew {S, (ed'ag^nuruo) raoaaures about 2^
inches from the nose to the tail. This tail is somewhat
quadrangular, from which the name is probably derived.
It it of a mouse colour, and not reddish-brown, as haj9
been frequently stated* , The nest is usually formed in
loose heaps of stones, ruined walls, or, not unfirequently,
in the clefts of broken ground. We ha^e often remarked
greai numbers of these animals lying dead in the fields
and lanes in the beginnieg of the autumn : their death
appears to have been a natural one, and always to occur
at the same period of the year. The upper fore-teeth of
the fihrew ara of a peculiar formation, having an ex-
tmnely minitte barb on each side. The water, or long'
tailed shrew {S. fodiens) is larger than the last -men-
tioned, and is extremely rare in most parts of our island.
The ibrm of the two species is very similar. It Is an
exeeUent div^ and swimmer, and is so exeessirely shy^
that-ii is^dom seen. They usually make their homes
ia «lie banks ^ rivers and streams. They are meniy,
saoi^hle, little things^ who spend a great portion of the
day in play.
It is a common enor to regard the shrew as a * kind of
mowe;' whereas it belongs to the order lasectivora, whioh
inclades the hedgehog and the mole. The first of these,
the common hec^hog or urchin (Erinaceus Europceua),
tM well known, on account o^ its armour of prickly points,
a«i ^IsO'from the pecoUar faculty which it peeaesses of
roUi:^ itself into a ball when attacked; or, to speak, mooe
cQsiBctljr» of withdraiwiag its head and legs within the
mwynlar envelopment of the back; in which state it
reoeiTes oo ii^ory from aay fall, however great the dia-
t«DC0 may be^ Like the shrew, it has been the o]^eei of
mmnj SBp^stitiovs fianeies; the greater part of which,
heveveri are of & curative, instead of an L^juDons nature^,
' jMI plants,' sajfs the * Journal of a Naturalist,' * produo^
ing Mkocns, or tonding to leughness, were formeriy consi-
dered to be of a drying nature, and upon this foundation
the ashea of the hed^og were adsainistered as a great
deaiogativot' Pliny prescribes the gall ef a hedgehog,
nia«^ with the bnum of a hat, as a depilatory : while
AlbertiM Magnus ideolarea that the oil in which one of its
eywe liao beeft fjcied, i£ kc^t in a brass Teseel, will endow
the homan eye with the faculty of seeing aa well by nighi
aa by day; an economical substitute for a lamp which
racunt have been vei7 oseful to this learmed seeker of the
Philosopher's Stone, as that vaioable substance did net
deign to bestow any portion of its riches on those who
studied its materiala* Perhaps thia was one of the valu*
abie idea* givea to him by his £ar-faiaed speaking head
of )jttfm4 In. (modern times* ithe hedg^Mig has been used
as an, article of ibod, though ijt has quite now faUen inta
disuse in £nghu9ul:, ii was (and^stiU is, on the continent^
generally roasted, or made/into a pie« and. was eonsiderca
best in the month of August. The skin, with the ^inos
on it» is constantly used in country^rplaces aaa.muazle.te
place on the nosei .of caJv^ fior the purpose of weaning
them ; and before the oultivatiofi of teaatls was oanied
tQ any extent^ this skin was found serviceahie aa. a. carder
of hemp* ., -. . I
The hedgehog is a inoetumal feeder, and extremely
tijpi)id« for whicjit reasons it is hut rarely seen ;. though ii
exists in great numbers even -in Uie cuHivaAed distriets*.
from which the generality of our native quadruped! have-
long been banished* The food of the hedgehog consbta
principally of insects and worms ; we say priudpvliyi
because its alleged propensity for eggs and young bloda
has gi?en rise to much controversy amongst naturalistM ;.
and a# we have had no opportuni^ of proving ^e qass-
tion, we leave the decision, to those better qualified to
make it. That the hedgehog, destroys and devours snakes^
has been ^atis^torily shown by the Dieatf of Westminster,
and none can deny that aointftl matter is occasionally
consumed by it; yet the habit of hybematingsaemsTeffy
unusual in a carnivorous ot an omnivorous cnatftre.
The nest is formed amongst the roots of bushes, in the
most secluded coverts ; .each nea* contains from three to
fi.ve young ones ; they are born blind ; and their spines,
which are white, become hardened t^vo or three days after
their birth. In winter thfe hcdgehag burrows, though
not to any depth, in the ground ; and befiirie establishing
itself in its retreat^ it weaver itself ,a warm coat^ by roll*
ing amongst the di^ leaves which lie on the gceund;
and which, adhering to the prickles, form a Isorge ball,
which appeats as if entirely composed of some vegetable
and inanimate substance. It it difficult to account for
the universality of the belief that this animal commits
a robbery by sucking the oows, unless it be from the
attraction the cowhouse presents to it in the swarms of
flies to be found there ; while a glance at the small size
of its mouth' must at once show the fiillacy of the idea.
It ist notwithstanding its retiring habits, easily tamed ;
in which case it becomes very tiMful in a garden, as it
devours a great number of depredating insects. We' once
knew one which was perfectly domesticated^ and whkh
would lie for hours partly drawn within its coat of mail,
but with its. head and conning eyes peeping out and
watching for the children, who brought it M/Sa, Wlien
one was held out to ity it would wake up very briskly,
seize the proffered morsi^ and then return to its staite of
dreamy contemplation.
As' the m^leis eommonly regarded aa a hybevnathig
animal* we shall include it in tAiis paper; -though at the
same time we most heartily concur win those natamlist9
who a^irm, that though the mole probably sleeps f^ a
greater nomber o£ hours each di^ in the winter than it
does in the summer, yet it cannot properly bo callied a
winter-sleeper or hybemator. That it retires deeper into
the ground i» indeed true; but in tkte its movements' only
follew those of the grubs and worms on wbitoh it prby*.
During the past winter, 1848^9, we hs(ve observed-^
moles at work every di^: this will perhaps be atli^ibnted
to the unusually mild weather which they experi<moed ;
but even in the most severe seasons, the approach of a
thaw brings wbh it:fireHh mole-hills; a fact which may
be accounted for by the radiation of heat from the earth,
by which the moles ihel the genial diange before 'we do.
Keen and accurate observation is the only instriitn^t^
by which a controversy of this* kind can be determined;
but analogy is certainly in favour of the non^^hybemation
of the mole; for no animals hybersate sa^ tho^ Who
are with difficulty supplied With food in the wintM divys.
The mole feeds aluMst ecrclwsively on eartbwotitii atid
grabs, which in* winter bury themselves de^ in' the
grownd; therefore we raAyreaftom^y 'Conclude that the
mole does net hybemate.
Tbere axe peihaps fewai»)mads whose form seems better
adapted to the eircumstanees^ in Whioh tht^r mode of Kfd!
places thei% or less caienlated for mo^meni itt any other
".r-i
26
CHAMBERS'S «DINBimGfl JOlTllNAI,.
sphere, tban the moles. The strong, hand-shaped claws
would, with their out-turned palms, be found almost
useless on the surface of the ground, though perfectly
contrived for excavating, as well as for moving in the
burrows, in which these creatures are bom and die: the
short leg, heavy and keel-formed breast-bones, and shape-
less body, which, above ground, seem almost incapable of
movement, travels at an incredible pace when under it;
nay, even the diminutive eye, and the texture of the fur
(which lies smoothly, whether stroked backwards or for-
wards), are instances of the same adaption of form to
habit which we sec in the wings of the bird, the swiftness
of the hare, or the armour of the hedgehog.
The mother mole hollows out her ne<)t not under the
small hillocks which we see in tho flelds^-and which are
merely the aecamulations of earth made in, and rejected
from, the salleries — ^but under a larger one. which is
placed in the shelter of a hedge, a wall, or the roots of
a tree. Here she raises a mound, on the flattened top
of which she Ia3rs a little bed of dried grass, and de-
posits her young. This apartment also serves as a sleep-
ing^room for the parent during the winter ; but in the
summer it generally reposes in one of its open galleries.
When one district or pasture-ground is exhausted, the
moles usually migrate to some nesh field ; and it is stated
that in so doing they frequently cross large rivers. The
mole displays great and heroic devotion as a spouse or
a mother. An instance is on record in which a female
having been caught in a trap, the male was discovered
lying dead beside it : few, we think, would imagine that
the heart of a mole was so easily broken, or that his love
was so strong. The ejes and the organs of hearing are
so minute in this animal, that it was not formerly sup-
posed to possess either, though men soon discovered that
its sense of hearing was remarkably acute —
< Tread softly : let not the blind mole
Hear thy fbot fall.'
Such are a few habits of those animals of our own
land which sleep * the winter through;* but there is one
common, we believe, to them all, which wo state in con-
clusion, because it is so beautiful an illustration of the
instinct by which their Creator leads them. We allude
to the care with which, when they store up grain for their
winter supply, they bite out the embiyo or growing point
of the seed, so as to prevent it from germinating, and
thus becoming worthless.
■ * —^••^•^ ■ —^p— ^— — »^
PAUPERS AND CBIMINALS.
One can scarcely look over a newspaper without per*
oeiving indications of a growing feeling that the recently-
fashionable doctrinei respecting paupers and criminals
act injuriously on society without being beneficial to
the parties commiserated. Humanity is felt to be not
less commendable than ever It was, but not that blindly-
inconsiderate humanity which almost obliterates a sense
of justice. The indiscriminate relieying of paupers with
weeidy doles of moQey« no matter how the paupers
have brought themselves into a state of wretchedness,
no matter how they misspend the means placed at their
disposal, is found not to answer: it is found to manu-
facture pauperism at so rapid a rate of increase, as to
appear to be going on to an absorption of all the avail-
able resources of the country, leaviog a nation of beggars
instead of independent labourers.
England, by its workhouse test, more or less strin*^
gently applied, may be said to hate escaped the con-
summation here hinted at ; but Ireland and Scotland
are too surely gravitating into an abyss of pauperism,
and their case demands the roost earnest consideration.
A few facts will show the working of the new Sootdi
poor-law : —
In the year ending 1st January 1836 the sum ex-
pended on the poor did not exceed 1^171,042: in the
year ending 1st FVtniary 184« it amounted to L.29d,999,
an increase of L.124,190 in ten years : in the year end- |
ing 14th May 1847 it was L.433,915, beteg anincreaie '
of L. 138,683 in one year : in the year ending 14th May
1648 it was L.544^34, being again an iocrease of \
L.110,419.
The number of poor on the rolls at 1st FelnarjiSia
was 63,070, or about 1 in 42 of the populitkRi: os tht ,
1st February 1846 it was 69,482, or about ens in W: '
on the 15th May 1647 it was 74«161, or abourt 1 In S9U i
The total number of paupers of all sorts relieved dvrinjf
that year was 146,370, or about 1 in 17*8 of the por-
tion. On the 14th May 1848 the tiumber of poof on '
the roll was 77,782, or 1 in 37*7 of the popuktion. Tie
total number relieved during that year was 227,^7, or '
1 !n 11'51 of the population.
Besides the evil of an enormously-incressed noM-
ture, there is a rapid deterioration in the genersldit-
racter of the labonring population. This ii foidbfy
stated in a Report by a O^mmittee of OomroiMloflenQf
Supply for the county of Peebles ^—• The tTeniOT.
which was almost universal in rural districti^ to rdiei
from the parish is now unknown. The provident lubAi
of the people are giving way, and their friendly lodietiti
for provision against sickness are in many fantuioM
dissolved ; and it is not unlikely that a f^w ynn vHI
witness the complete extinction of these beneiktil in-
stitutions all over the kmgdom. Families no loofer
show any desire to maintain their parents in old tg«;
and from the facility with which illegitimste dul^
are thrown upon the parish, a direct encoorsgemat h
held out to immorality, and to the indefinite extmioa
of pauperism. In one word, the working of the Uw, n
it stands, removes all stimulus from the labooriog p»*
pulation to exercise habits of industry, firogslitf, tnd
foresight, and acts as a positive incentivs to cinlM*
ness and improvidence.' Such are the nnfortonats
effects of an act of philanthropy which is now piroeiTCd
to have proceeded on too favourable a view of boniQ
nature.
And so with regard to criminals. A few yssn ip
the national mind was all for tenderness, kindly tP8^
ment, reformation. Severity was scouted ss nwhw*
tian, inhuman, calculated to s^ngUien rathtr tba
weaken evil dispositions. Then was esfeaUifbed thit
beautiful organisation of prison discipUne which f"
to each delinquent a neatly -fVu*rosbed spsTtaKiltB
live in, with all the oomforU of elegant sedMJwu Tto
object was amiable ; it was designed as a owrsjfijs
by humane means. Has this end been aooooiplisW'
Alas, no I It is found that while you poisiMy op«^
beneficially on a few, you give the bulk »th«r sM
for imprisonment : they contrast the oowftrts rf war
cells with the wretchedness of their ordiosiy p^
and cellars, and act acoordingly. In short, ths prins
has krat its terrors, and the result, as mi|M to ex-
pected, is an expansion of the criminal elsss.
Besides the great Central Prison at Pkrth, whiA i^
be called Downdraught - Qeneral for Scothmd, wi*
county has been put to an immenea expeoss fir F>"'*
prisons. One or these estaldishments, eiscttd siir
Cupar, for the county of Fifo, we ione tinedeceh*
an opportunity of visiting. Nothing coidd hs i*J
perfect in its way : it was a • Pentooville* oa a »»
scale. The Fife Prison Board has juit issued t iJJ^
rial respecting the operatton of this instltatkm, in «■»
they present a variety of flKsto worthy of eanarty
sideratlon. After making every altowsnce kt UJU"
lence at railway works, increased yigibpcs rf Pgg
&c they regret to arrive at the wuvoldahlsfloB*^
that * crime, even amongst the permanent P^H^JJ
the county, has been tnaterlaHy on the iacreM* w
reach some proximate ide* how the preseut P'JjJJ'^
tern has worked in deterring from the repwn «
crime, it may be stated that in the c«wtyjrij« «
Cupar the recommittals have been neariy in tie w»^
ing proportions :— 4br the second time, I iu 1»» *"*2
time, 1 hi 44; fourth tteie. 1 in 144 ; «fth !te» •»
CHAMBEBS'a EDlfilBUBGH JOUBNAU
27
dftanert 1 in 216. In Danfermline pricon the proportion
for the second committal has been much the same, but
Ifreater for those beyond that number. The County
Board beliete that these statistics show a smaller ave-
rage of recommittals than the returns of Scotland at
la^e, but still they substantiate the inefficiency of tlie
present system of prison management in proTenting the
repetition of crime/
With regard to incarceration, at now regulated, * they
conisder that the system aims too indiscriminately at
reformation, without reference either to age or length of
sentence.
'It must be acknowledged by all who have thought
upon the subject, that it is almost impossible to over*
estimate the importance of a first punishment *on the
subsequent character of an offender ; and hence the ne-
cessity for its nature and severity beiog such, according
to the age of the criminal, as will deter both him and
his associates from the commission of crime : this the
present lystem is not fitted to do.
* Id their own prisons not only has the separate system
becoflse impractioahle, but frequently two or three male
prisoners are confined together, which, in an apartment
heated and ventilated according to the present regula-
tiona, and supplied with whol^me food, and allowed
entertaining reading and conversation, is not only no
ponishmeat, but in their opinion positively holds out a
temptation to the commission of crime. And even were
the separate system practicable, the County Board be-
UeT« tiie comforts ei^oyed in prison, in point of clean-
lineaa, food, and lodging, to be so superior to what the
nugonty of the working-classes can command in their
own dweUinfs, or the lodgings which they frequent, as
^ktirely to annihilate the moral effect of incarceration
aa a punishment Indeed several prisoners in the
ooval/ of Fife have admitted that their comforts were
greater in prison than in their own homes.'
The Board are of belief that the present prison
syafeem has been formed too exclusively with a view to
reformation. ' A hardened criminal's mind/ they pro-
peri/ add, * must be prepared for the influences which
the «hapbuQ and teaohc^ may bring to bear upon it;
aod tliey oonsider that it would be beneficial to their
iutew progress that their stubborn hearts should be
brokea down under 10 or 15 days* close confinement on
stinted diet, without work or instruction, before the
preaerat system is brought into (^eration, when they
can conceive no treatment more likely to promote a
wbcdeeoma reformation than kind, religious, and tern-
ponl inatmctoi and advice, aooompanied by moderate
fadxMsr in aeparate confinement, with separate out-of-
door esrarcise. Any treatment with the view of refor-
matioo for ahort-sentenced prisoners without stringent
penal acoomyaniments suited to the age of the convicts,
ftfaa Camity Board consider to be worse than futile.
* In tbcAT experience many of the long - sentenced
prisoners have made wonderAil progress in education,
and not a few have been taught to read and write toler-
Mf who were in perfect ignorance on their admission.
alao have made pro^sions of repentanoe, and ex-
nsolations of amendment during their confine-
; but they know of few who have evidenced the
reality of their reformation by a sustained course of
good cxHidnct.
* Tha County Board approve of the present separate
syatetD, as likely to lead to reformation in the case oi
kmff*wmtBaeed prisoners, provided it were fully carried
into opevation after a period of more penal regulations
allar tbeir first short conviction.*
Ia eondoding, the Board observe that, on the whole,
flieir ezpersenae has led to the conviction that the pre*
sent system of prison discipline has proved inefiectual in
the objects of pravention, punishment, and reforma-
tion ; uid the remedies which they venture to propose
arev a mere severely penal system in the case of all
ahorft aenlences; flageUation exclusively for the petty
and flagellation, with imiwisonment, for the
offeoees of imveniles; and tlMt; in cases of long
sentences, the separate system should be fully en-
forced.'
Every Prison Board of management could, we believe,
tell the same tale, and point to the necessity for a less
indulgent system of discipline.
•^•^—^ II ■ .^i^>«i». I I . I I I n
A GUIDE THROUGH LONDON.
* The limits of London, as defined by act of parliament,
are the circumference of a circle, the radius of which is
of the length of three miles from the General Post-
Office. This would make London about twenty miles
in circumference ; it is generally said to be about
thirty.'* This thirty miles of ground, which geologists
call the London Basin, is, as everybody knows, cram-
med with habitations as closely as they can pack.
Tliese are arranged — if such a word can be applied ' to
a world without a pUn' — in streets, alleys, squares,
lanes, crescents, &c. in so dense a confusion, that a map
of London strikes the stranger as an inexplicable puzzle
which no Ingenuity can unravel Most of the streets
take such heterogeneous directions, that be often travels
east when he thinks he is going west, and finds himself
in one of the four counties on which London stands,
when he is perhaps in another, two counties off. The
Thames, instead of afibrding him a clue out of the
maze, confounds him. ' I began to study the map of
London,' says Southey (Esperella's Letters), * though
dismayed at the sight of its prodigious extent The
river is no assistance to a stranger in finding his way.
There is no street along its banks, and no eminence
from whence you can look around and take your bear-
ings.'
There is therefore no place in the world for which a
guide is so thoroughly reqinsite as the Great Metro*
polis, and it is remarkable that till now such an auxi-
liary has not existed — at least such a one as gives a
comprehensive as well as detailed view of the vast sub-
ject. Perhaps no man — till the courageous Mr Cun-
ningham, whose volumes are now before us — has had
the nerve to deal with the million of facts London pre-
sents ; or whoever has, may have been crushed under
the mountain of labour it entailed. We heartily con-
gratulate the present author, not only on having sur-
vived his task, but on having performed it thoroughly
and well.
It is quite clear that Mr Cunningham gave up as
hopeless and impossible the notion of guiding his reader
through the streets of London. All, however, be could
do for the bewildered stranger he has done. He says
to him in effisct — * Find your way into any locality,
street, or public edifice you are interested in or want to
know about, and I will tell you everj'thing worth know-
ing concerning it.' His * Handbook * is therefore ar-
ranged alphabetically. * The dictionary form, though not
a novelty in books about London,' he says in his preface,
* is, I am confident, the very best form the woiic could
have taken. The visitor who finds hiaeelf in a certain
street^ or near a certain building, and wishes to read on
the spot whatever is known about them, has, where tlie
alphabetical plan is followed out, only one reference to
make — ^he goes direct to the article itself.'
As a specimen of Mr Cunningham's knowledge of his
subject, of his research, of the quantity of knowledge
afforded in a small space, and of the cdlateral informap
tion to be instantly got at by cross references, let us
take an article at random. You are in fleet Street —
the chief scene in Sir Walter SeoU's * Fortunes of
Nigel ' — and you turn up the entry in the ' Handbook.'
' Fleet Street. — A line of street with shops and
houses on either side between Temple Bar and Lud-
gate Hill, one of the largest thoroughfares in London,
and one of the most famous, deriving its name from a
streamlet called the Fleet, obscure in itself, but widely
known from the Ditch, the Prison, and the street to
* A Handbook for London Past and Preicnt By Tctet Cnn-
nlagluBD. In two Totomwi Loadan : iobm Uvanj.
28
wluch it liu lent its naiiis. There are two chorches in
the stieei— Si Dunilaa's-iH-lhi'ltesl nM si Diidt'i. TliB
fullon-ing pUcea of interest are cieacribed unJet tlitir
rftipectLvaUtleB:— &n(A or ZXaniMSirfe—Miildle Temple
GMei Iiinet Temple Gate! Falcon Court; Mitre Courti
" ™ :ei Sergegnts' Inni.lValer
jury Court. A'orSt Siile—
outti Bolt Courti Jolinaon's
er LuiB) Chancery Lanei
lite Lane. Tlie Fire of Lon-
)f St DuftBtan'R-in-lhe-Weit
1 a feir hoiwe* of the Inner
r. Fleet Street lias been
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOUAHAU
" probabTj." BW' Gifford,
tlioroughrure of tlie Citj'.''
ita . cliarBcter for waiirgrk
•■ ScgliatA/. Tliey uy Ihere-a ■ new m
Teh, ■ilh Jonmn ud the while, lo be «
MMFleet^U
F^n^.y^,
a*i /miHB, Biff)/
hing! iMwlh
fa,, «„y *fa
' " An
dno.r.llinglhhc-sbro
DntoM^LmADa'clty
All ItuHSHV Wt
That will DDL bcUeven
TBllt ■
J dillj."-jlr,/
tmie-i,w^d^a
1 hwc nn expllcatloD o
all «ia itmi
lit a! Ih« Moi
Mra . Simmon's celebrated wnxnork exhibition (_» pcr-
tnnncnt exlilbition like Sladame Tusaaud'O vna ehonn
the Horn Tavern 14 Fleet Street." The liou»e
. jBtiuguislied by Uio aign
been engravnd Ijy J. T. Smith.
.vo"l[h.pte«D(
Eetiii^iit /uAoJi(anl».— Sir Symonil BTJ^'n;
"fflrliawT'Qiwtaim.iiv aged ind-leanuid a
yl-tt RW M mj: Ivd^isBE ueai the Ipucr Trmpic Rtl
S'fiW* Jwnul, ml. II. )>. 97.
MithaU Draytgn, the poer,
" llvi4 at the iBjr-WiKlou* liniu«, nnt tbeea
•laD'i cb : lo Fleet f ir«t."--i.i"-#-( Lnn, il. m;
I ifieomc."—
Cowley, Ihe-pOet,
Key.'tD thepflrishof 3t'I>nnMni'in-the-W<?st.lpt tn n
family^ tlie name of Spnglit, in whose oatuimttflii it
WM when it was eomunicd in theGreat Fire of London,
it -was relmilt bj Barelmneff."— T. Snellitifr. known by
his wurkfl on coins. One now belbro nie hn thia ini''
printJ, " London : printed for T. Snetlinp, next the Horn
Tavefft in Fleet Street, 1766; irtia bnjs and ie1l« all
•ort*'«f eolnr'nil& ihedntB." Tlife Horn Tavern is now
'•'Andertan's Hotel," No. IM Meet Street. Eminem
J»riW»W,M«lo»i#w,'OHrfB*i«-<rffcf«.— WynltyndeWotde,
"at thenlitne of ttit Son dp," ■ Riohtrd Pynaon, " em-
pren»yil by me Hyvhatde Pynwn,»tthe temple barrc
of London, 1493." Rastell. ■' at the rtgne of the Star."
Hiohard' Tottel. •• ■wlBlitn TerBTde Bar, at the aigne of
Ihe IlRiidt <fnd Blan^ t" fiew tbo ibop and propcrtj of
Mr BMMi^Wlh. th« fav'hWikKllen who poaaesna the
Wlgjwri leilMa frfHa tlie ein4leaC grMt in tin laga of
H«m7 THI. dowit to UK' period of hl« own puKlute.
IV. Copeiand, " at the Bii,'ne of the Koae G«rUBd.*
Bernard Lintot, at " the Croai Keya." " between fiw
Temple-galea/'andnextdoor toiVaBi^V Edmund Colli. ''
"at the Dial and Bible against St UunatanV Cbnri:ii."
Lawton Gilliver, "at Qomer'a Head agaioal St Don- '
itan'a Church." Jneob Eohinaon, " on tha west aide of
the gatewi^ leadins down the Inner Temple .XaDe;* ,
now proonj the confectioner'a. ;
** T^frindBblpoll^Qpc'nidW
If the loHlH. WH Bk
A.Ttlitir CMiff, "at llie BlaiA Boy in Floet BtrMli'
here, in 1109, lie pnbllifaed the 8nt eJiUon of tiiiei-
celkirt Peerage. T. White, at No. 63. H. Inwedn,
at No. 77. John Marmj-, at No. &9. [Saa SUan
Oourt] Eamrmt £an(«n. — ChiM't, at I'enapk Bit
Within, tlie oldoat exnting ban hing- houK in Ijoniaa:
" Richard Blandiard and rranciB Child, U tha Uny-
giUi in Fkeet Stnet," were goldimithi witk "raniag
caihea" in the reign of Charlea II. The otd aian rf
the houie, tlie Marygold, it atill preserved. AldmiB
Inkwell, irho wai ruined by tha ihutti^ up of Ikt
Buohequer in tlie reign of Charles IL. w«a foa awe
lime a partner with BUnelianl and Ghdil 1 kia accvoflti
for the gale of Duukirk to the Freock are anung tka
recorda of the firm. Ttie diief propviotof' in the IwiR
is the pretcnt Cuuntesa of Jenef , waf« of Ooorge Quid
Villisra, Earl of Jersey. "In the handa of lirBfaw-
ohard, gtJdsmith, next door to T»o)ple Bar," Zhyda
deposited hia L.50 for tl^e diteovery c^ Lord BoobcMiS
buUiea, by whom lie wai bartiamiuly aMavltad Mi
w»UBded in Roae Street, Covent- C«rie«k.— H«M«5ii
"JanieaHore, atthe Giddm Bottle in ChMpaiA^ ana
a goldamitii, with a ''running oaah" in iaT^) mi Mr
Ritdiard Huare, a goldamiUi, "at the OalOm BoWah
Fleet Street," in 1G9.1. Among (ha debt* *rf tti«««M
Lord CUicndon occura, " To Mt Horo for plat«, UL
lOa. 3d."— Goaling'a, at "The Thrm Bqniml'e.^W
aRuinat St Dunatan'ai" Uajor Fincloey, & g4MA.
lived, inIG!Q^, at " Ttic Thm Squirrela. «*a* igMMl
St Danatan'a Cliurdt in Fleet Stree*." Otk^rdti »f
ptrnttad CBlfre-Uwu.-—'am Deril TMCttt^tbg-Hiat'*
Hixid Tavern, " at tlie enmer of Chanuwy Lmb;' Ike
Bolt^iv-Tuil ; the Hurn Tarern i the MitM',.a»^>aA;
the Hainbowi Diok'i 1 Maada'si Peeh^*^ at te tanv
of Fetter Lane (in cxittence aa eariy m 1 7I>9>. Omm
IB aaidtohave beaten a Franoiiaanftiar.iii nectSMfli
and to itave been fined two ahiUii^a r«n tha c^naUf
tiie HonoQPnUe Society of tlie Inner Tem^iaoEml^
had heard from Mailer Bnrkly, who liad tem tiiMriV
in the recorda of the Inner Templet' ■•it
Here all that the inquirer wi«fa«t to ItatnuibiM 1M
cehibrated thotonghfare ia oompmaed iMo tbn*(M*
Ur CnncinghaHi doobtleaa had not roon te BotnMi
and Dr Johnaon'i opiniaa of the cfaarma itf JBett 9RfA
aa reported by the former:—' Wo walked im tLll IIWW^
in Greenwich Park. He (Johoon> naked nw,IaB«at
by wayof tryingmy diapMitJoD, "la Bftt lhi> ittf Utit
Having no exqtualte rdirit for the beautna irfiMMii(
and beiog mora delighted with the baiy; bom ilf'MM|9
u)aw«red, "Yea, air; bat mt. equal 10 Slaal fl
Ji^maon 1 " You are (igiit, ■ir.'"
Fleet Street natuially reoaUi to the raadv'a M
tioQ ita neighboBTing Akatia; and with tl« ta
Jeremy, in Cnngreve'a 'Lore, for Lovo.' tat ha-MK
'*' - aMdmnt^tnetlwewl
' Pleaae your honour, liberty ai
CHAlkfBEttS'S EDlNBtJIlGH JOURl^At.
29
be viU natttnDy tnui td Mc CanninghamV amusing
tccomit of that prechitt, the tinbricned liberties of which
vere aindently not altogether bounded by its northern
limit, Fleet Street
The dJctionfry, which of course occupies the bulk of
the boolC; is preceded by concise general information re-
tpectifig London, and ditectious as to what 'the painter
and connoisBetir should see/ and what the architect, th^
sculptor, and the archaeologist should see. There are
also lists df the celebrated palaces neat to, and the
palaces and chief houses of the nobility fn, London.
The aotlMr also informt the weary pedestrian where he
can best recrtdt exhausted nature during his peregrina-
tions. He points out where he can best dine, where a
draoght of the best London porter is to be had, and
where She best cup of coffee; where he can best lodge,
and'honr he can b^t get fh>m one end of the brick-and*
mortar wilderness in omnibuses and cabs to another ;
and to show how necessary this last sort of informatioo
i«, be gives the length of some of the streets. We find
tint the N^wRoad is 51 15 yards, and its continuation,
the City Road, 1690 yards more; so that this single
thoroughfare is nearly 4 miles long. Oxford Street is
23M yards, Begent Street 1780 yards (or within 30
paces of m mile), aad the Strand I8G9 yards long.
The 'Haadbook* is ntot only a guide to the surface,
bol takeathe rsader into the lower regions of London^^
ita suh-ways. The amount of sewerage within the eiiy
of Loa4on— that small centre which does not occupy
at>ov<e an Slgblh of the space on whioh the metropolis
staodt, bol whi<^ notwithstanding, includes flfV|r miles
of streets gees under 47 j miles of them. The ton-
ndltag ht Urn ^arpose of drawing off reftise under the
vast of the Iowa must be prodigious, for the ordinary
daily aaoant of Lomkm sewerage discharged into the
rii«r Thames, on ^e north or Middlesex side, has been
eii<Wlat»d at 7,045,120: and on the south side, 2,457,600
eahiit ilet, making a total of 9,502,790 cubic leet--a
quaati^ equivalent to a surface of more than 86 acres
in «cttot, and 6 feet in depth. In other words, this
vaaibody of bane is allowed to poison the water of the
ASbbos aoA the aur of London, and by consequence the
haalib of the people^ when, by judicious management,
it -might be conrerted into a blessing} ibr H is the
teest pessible manut^ and, if properly dealt witb« oould
he Blade to fsrtilise the land for hundreds of miles round
LoMioflu We peroeite that the *• Gardeners' Chroniole'^
a flist amtbori^ on this suhject^promises hal^a-doaen
cio^ per ammm on grass land by the use of London
sewerage ss manure; and Mr Chadwick shows its
ceoaoffiy l^ stating, from actual experiment, that the
eosl of hriioar in apptyingit to the land is im> more than
la. Mi per acre, white ttie ordinary cost of a less effl-
ckmt top*drttshig in present use is from 13s. to 14b« per
aore. A company has already obtained ftili legislatiV<e
powers for difverting the foetid but most valuable refiise
info the agrkntitural districts by meaos of underground
pipes and steam-foroing agency. Thus London will
soon become a vast centre of sewerage^^and there ie
great room fbr the eadension of the centre ; for a vast
povtioD of the metropolis itself is still without the
means of drawing off refuse. It will scarcely be believed
that it is only within a year or two that fiackingham
Bdaae, the vesidenoe of her Majesty, had the advantage
of sewers } and Mr Conningbam states that the parish
of 81 James's, with 168 streets and alleys, has fifty.
eigtet of them totalltK without sewers. If the court
parish be ia this condition, what must be the state of
tboso wretched sinks of filth and dlse^e Rotherhithe,
Betiinal Green, Jacob's Isbnd, Ice. ?
There are several hundred ' miles of water-pipes
hidden in the soil of London. These are said to supply
36^006,000 gallons of that flaid to the itthabitants per
diem; yet of the 270,000 houses in London, 70,000 have
BO water sopphed to them whatever^ The London
poblio are the vietimsof seven WaterOimpanies, whose
charges sre so eaiorbitant, and their profits so 'inordi-
nate, that ahuAdred-pound share in the New Blver
Company was sold a short time ainde for 1. 17,000!
Tet the water supplied from the sewer-polluted Thames
is, despite filtration, so bad, that Mr Cdnningham
advldes his readers by no means to drink it, but to
draw on the public pumps, which happily abound.
We liave'refferrea to these points because, as they
do not Ue on th^ surface, tbcy are less heeded by
strangers than more prominent subjects. In relation
to the demands of slg^t-seers, the 'Handbook' will
sneak most efficaciously for itself ; henpe we do not
allude to the 'show-places' so elaborate^ described in
it The extraordinary research displayed by the author
gives his work a Htersry charm which is a novelty in
a dictionary. It can be read with pleasure, p^ige afVer
page, because of the countless extracts from the works
of the best authors illustrative of various localities. Mr
Cunningham states in his preftice that he has been
seven years engaged on this useful undertaking.
STORY OF NORMAN M'LBOD.
I AM the son of a veteran named Daniel M'lieod, who
entered the army when he was a mere boy. By good
behaviour, he was raised to the rank of lance-corporal
in the 72d foot. When the regiment was passing
through Darlington, my mother, at that time a young
servant-maid, became attached to my father, and
shortly afterwards was united to him in wedlock. After
sojourning a abort time in the south of England, the
regiment was shipped on board a traasport, and con-
veyed to Qraham's Town, Cape of Good Hope, where
they were placed on garrison duty, their only relief
from such monotonous employment being in occasion-
ally repelling the attacks of the Carres. My earliest
recollections are of camps, soldiers, red coats, waving
plumes, and gaudy military displays ; and even yet I
have a dim remembrance of calls to krms, of the groans
of the wounded, of the ghastly dead, and the wailings
of the bereaved ; for I was old enough before I left
Qraham*s Town to get such speetaoles 'Stamped on my
memory. '
I had no choice in a profession : I was bom a soldiec,
if I may use such an expression. When a mere boy, I
was placed under the charge of the bandmaster, stad in
a short time hecasne quite a profieient pl^rer on the
fife. I am still fond of the instrument, tiiough it has
frequently led me into trouble. For a number of years
I continued doing my duty to the entire satis&ction
of my superiors, and altogether I felt pretty comfoct^
able. I had received a passable education in the regi-
mental schools, and as I was ibnd of reaifing, I got plenty
of books out of the barracks* library. These books con-
sisted chiefly of tales of adventure by *fiood and field/
or such as threw a kindi of chivalrous lonmnce round
tlie profession of arms, and fired tiie tmaginatioa with
military ardour. When our period of foreign service
had expired, wo were ordered to embank for £ngland» as
wo were ito be relieved by the 9- regiment of infanli^.
The vessel whioh brought ua to the siiores of Old Eng^
land was a clumsy old hulk osUed the ' Ganges )' and
instead of saihng, she literally droUed over the billows
until she arrived at Portsmouth* Before leaving, the
Cape X had manried ayouag girl named M'Kensie^ whose
father originally belonged to Inverness. He^ like many
other country lads, had enlisted in a iroMo duaing ^
' fair' time in his native town ; and afterwards aiarried
a Highland servant, whom he became acquainted, with
in Glasgow* i^he bore him two sons and one daughter.
One of the sons is now in a good line of business in N)ew
York, the other is an sgent for a West India houserHe^
resides itt Livespool*
In the iwdst of.our.vfieicings.alt^ reaehsng SSiUglaoA
X was ^ifsed, with diyseotei3r« and pUped Wk the hospital
where in a short time I was reduced to skin and bone.
When^^etting better« lleanaed onedsar ti^it a n«mber
of our men^who bed been 'long abroad^ and who were
advanced in years, were to get their discharge, amongst
whom were my fathei; and £athsr-io-law. This was a
— I
ao
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
1 1
•eyore shook to me, aod the paHiiig with them was the
greatest trial I had as yet experienced. My father,
before leaving, gave mf some good soldierly advice, and
faintly encouraged a hope that he would * buy me off.'
He went to Perth, where, by dint of telling wonderful
stories and selling good whisky, he manages to drive a
brisk business as a vintner. My wife's parents took an
afl^tionate leave of us» and many w«re the * salt tears'
all of us shed. They retired to their native town, Inver-
ness, where they live in comparative comfort ; but from
some unknown cause, tliey have never» siooe the day
ihaj left the regimentk recognised me.
After we had been about two years in England, we
were sent to Edinburgh Oastle, and here an accident
oeourred that changed the whole current of my after-
life. One warm day in the mouUi of June, our band-
master* with whom I was a great favourite, went to the
Forth to bathe« and when at a considerable distance
from shore, he was seized with the cramp, and was
drowned. The death of this man snapped the cord that
bound me to military life ; I never enjoyed a day's hap-
piness in the army after I lost him. An ignorant perscm,
who disliked me, was promoted to his situation; and
after he was made ray master, be ddighted in torment-
ing me. To suc^ a length did he carry his vexatious
annoyances, that they became uubearable. There is no
redress for such sufferings. On review day, the general
asks if the men have any complaints against their
officers ; but this is a mere farce — no oom^^nta could
be made with safety, or the after-consequences would
be indeed galling and bitter. From the circumstance
mentioned, and other causes, I took an insuperable dis-
like to the military protession } and without calculating
the oost, I decided on deserting.
When I bad formed that resolution, I kept as mueh
aloof from my former companions as possible: the
thought of what I was to do made me melancholy, and
my comrades tormented me with questions; and ad-
vised me, if I was ill, to go to the hospital My wife,
who was an affeotiaBate creature, was unceasing in her
efforts to cheer my drooping spirits. She saw I was
unhappy, and longed to impart a healing balm to my
soul. She was indeed a sweet, lovely creature. Well,
one day I announced to her my roMlution to desert ;
and although ^e borat into tears wiUi the surprise and
terror, she made no opposition. With a fbw shillings
which I bad saved, I purchased a suit of old mokskins
from a broker in St Mary's Wynd, and told my wifb to
stop for two days after I had gone, as this would lull
■ospioion. On the 1st September 18 — , all my i^ans
being oompleted, I decamped. I bivouacked for tiie first
night in the woods adjoining Oraigmillar Oastle, a few
mUes south from Edinburgh. I here took off my regi-
mentals, and hid them in the branches of a dark, thick-
set Sootch Hr^teec, where they possibly iffe to this day.
On the following morning I set out, by way of Alloa,
Dollar, and Milnathort, for Pertii, which I had ap.
pointed as the meeting^place of mysdf and wife.
On arriving in Forth, I went straight to my father's,
and asked for refoge until I had arranged pkuu for my
future guidance; but he would not listen to me, and
ordered me out of his house, aa the harbouring of a de-
serterwould cause him to lose his pension. I was stunned
by this unexpected blow : I slowly withdrew ; and after
I reached the door, I burst into tears. I stood on the
opposite side of the street nearly two hours watching
the expected arrival of my wife. When she did arrive,
the news of my father's receptioQ Completely unnerved
her, and I was obliged to carry her in my arms to a
somU publio^house in the Watergate, where we got re-
freshments and lodgings. We settled that, on the fbl*
lowing mernhig, w« would pvooeed to Aberdeen, horn
whence she would go on to l^vemeas to her fathei'a.
After much toil and trouble we readied Abeideen,
where we separated, not without mutual angui^ and
loviog protestations. I obtained emi^yment atDevanah
Brewery, where I oontinQed fbr tluee months in com-
parative comfort, if I exoept the akwish few and jealousy
that always hovered o'er my romd. It wsi ositsinlT
wrong in the first place to desert) for it was a Um
breach of promise to be faithful to my duty. B«t it
was not less foolish for me to think of eseapiQg dete^
tioii and oapture. Till thia day, I am unahle to nf/^
my conduct in this respect, unless by a candid BlIowMce
for stupidity. Detection, as a matter of coartt,eiDa
One day I was wheeling a bavrow along Union 8tnel,
when I was suddenly arrested by two polioeineB, ud
thrown into jail as a deserter. On the flawing ooniBf
I was marched off to Perth between two lokSesi, ^
armed, who had the usual instructions hi soidi cmol
Nothing occurred worth mentioning until vt snived it
Cupar-Angus, where the people appeared to syopi.
thise with me in my unfortunate coaditioo. We astend
a publio-hottse there to get dinner, and were aihsndiBio
a large room in the second floor. The ssrvsot vk tt*
tendeid us upbraided the men for not remor iog mj
haadoufifb, and ultimately they yielded to hu N^dti-
tions. We began dinner, and silently despatohedsflile
of broth each. While one of my guards vu ffiUag
the plates a second time^ I seized the bsitn of nm
soup, and dashed it in his fece. In a nonsat I MM
the otlier to the ground with the wooden li&; ud
before they could recover, I was on the itnet
I ran in as xig-aag a direction as possible. Od icsch-
ing the outskirts of the town, I held ri|^tMfil«tlont
a mile, when I came to a wall of great beigM, iW
apparently enclosed a gentleman's garden. At I mi
anxious to see about me, by the aseitanoeofiyoBDf
tree which was dose to the wall, I climbed tottstop
of it, and stood up to look for my pursoen: is ano-
meat I lost my balance, fell to the groond, sad hiam
insensible. When I awoke to oonsdoamen, 1 haA
myself stretched on a sofa, and an old Isdy bsiftdiiCBf
temples with cold water. I told her the whole tnth;
and when I spoke of my poor wife, she feeliog^ pifed
me, and the tears ran down her dieeks. I wu mM
to stay all night, and next morning she pretested m
with five shillings and a packet c^ bread saddueK,
and wished roe Crod-speed. I left her with s htivf
heart, and made my way to Errol, a small love istle
Carse of Gowrie, and situated close to the bsidn ef Ae
Tay. On arriving there, I felt ooropletsly pn^aied
in mind and body. I entered a small tb(^ sod |Mr-
chased a penny roll, which I ale, seasonhig il ealy «itt
a drink of water. When evening came, I tried ttW
lodgings, but failed ; and I entered a fanner't iMdMi
by the town, and slept amongst the straw.
Next morning I crossed &e Tay to Newburghi ftw
thence I proceeded to Dunfermline, where I folveii
at a bieaohfield in the neighbourhood of the tova
Feeling myself pretty secure here, I sent to InTentfi
for my wUe, and on her turrival, we took np Iwsie ia
Dunfiermline. Here I suffered severely fwwi the eftcti
of my fall in the garden at Cupar ; and for t kmg tisie
I was very unhappy in my mind. I started at efcry
knock, and my sleep was disturbed by visiontof bisd-
cuffi^ jails, and halberds.
I had continued here fhUj two years, sad sawsfij
Hhe young men of the work I had organised s mAb
• band,' and devoted all my leisure honn ts te***^
ing them j and by my diligence and knowWiMi
musio, made the * Dunfermline Band* fidnoetittf**
shire. One day I was busy at work preparing fifj*^
when two soldiers entered, and aiked me wheif w^
oould find Norman M'Leod. I pohMy in^^^^^**
I had not been long about the work, Irat dlreew w
to the manager's house, that was some distaatf^
and I had no doubt he could tell them wtoe "^
would find Norman. They had no sooner tanwiy
backs than I hastened into town, changed isydn^
put a few shillings in my pockety tore ^^^^J^J* "^
wifb, and fled, never stopping till I reached !)•«****
wrote to my wife, requesting her to seB our w^"j
and prooeed to liverpool to her brother's, whgei<w»"
join her j as ftom thence, by his as^taaes, wt^HIJ*
get out to America. Shedid ••Idifeeted,aDdI«w
I
I
CHAMBEES'S EIHXBURGH JOUBNAL.
31
saw her more. Worn oat with conttant terror, anguish,
and fatigue, she waa seized with feyer when passing
through Carlisle, and died ; and before the people con-
nected with the infirmary could find me out, she was
buried. How bitterly I felt this bereayement I need
not telL Indeed my griel^ added to the pain I waa suf-
fering from the effects of my fell at Cupar- Angus, for a
moment allowed thoughts of suicide to enter my mind ;
but my better nature prevailed.
For eight months did I live unmolested at Cherry-
fldd, Dundee; when one night a few friends, who were
f(Hid of music, invited me to a small party in a tavern
close to the Magdalen Yard — the place where George
Kinloch held the reform meeting that was the cause
of his flight from Scotland. On going home to my
I lodgings, I played all the way on my fevourite instru-
nent, the fife, when suddenly I was arrested on the
Perth Road as a deserter. My comrades, who were
entirely ignorant of my former profession, were asto-
nished, and protested that the poUcemen were mistaken.
I was Uirown into the police cells, and next morning
waa marched off to Glasgow, wheN my regiment was
lying. The sudden shock I thus sustained increased
the danger of the maladv I was and am sufbring from ;
and my trial was delayed, as the surgeons decided I was
in A dangerous condition. While couflaed in the hos-
pital a letter reached me, announcing the death of an
uncle, who was a farmer in the vicinity of Arbroath.
He was a bachelor, and bequeathad the sum of L.500 to
my unfortunate self. Through the medium of one of
our surgeons, who was a very feeling-hearted man, I
proposed to purchase my discharge ; and as his repre-
tentations were unfavourable to my ultimate recovery,
it was granted, and I returned to Dundee to spend the
remainder of my days. How thankful I was to escape
from the vulgar oppressions of sergeants and bandmas-
ters. No man, I think, can fully know the value of
Uborty till he has gone through the slavery of soldier-
ing.
Broken in constitution, X feel that my days are not
to be long on the earth; but I hope, while I Uve, that I
may be able, by frugality and temperance, to keep
myself upon the legacy so providentially left me.
Bat oh, that life of a deserter — that reign of terror and
torture I I still start and tremble at the sight of a sol-
dier ; and the idea of that profession, which kept me so
loBg in bodily and mental anguish, and murdered my
only friend and love, my sweet and gentle wife, makes
my blood run cold.
[The above autobiography, we are told, is literally
troa, and we give it as a curiosity. Norman M*Leod
is now at rest : the weary, soUtary man sleeps soundly
in.the old graveyard of * bonnie Dundee.']
THE FEMALE DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY.
FROM THE ITALIAN.
Laura Mabia Catbabinb Bassi was bom 29th Octo-
ber 1711. Her parents and friends, remarking in her,
intn tiie earliest age, a most ardent desire to learn, and
a gravity much bevond her years, believed that by
cultivating her mind by study they might develop some
remarkable powers. Her rapid progress amply justi-
fied the hopes they had conceived. While she was yet
very young, she easi^ acquired a knowledge of the
Latin writers, so as to be able to appreciate their
beauties. This proved of great advantage to her ; for
to write Italian with elegance and purity a most care-
ful study of the Latin language is indispensable. In this
way the value of the words which have in such large
numbers been transplanted from it is estimated, and
the majesty of the Latin tongue is imitattd within the
limits dictated by sound judgment. But as the loftiest
genius is, by its very nature, bent upon the search for
truth, which alone furnishes repose to the soul, Laura
gave herself up to the study of philosophy, and therein
discovered such charms, that to the end of her days
it remained her favourite pursuit The study <^
the laws of the universe, the observation of natural
phenomena, everything which related to general and
experimental physics, were for Laura the objects of
indefatigable application. It would be difficult to paint
the delight with which her friends and instructors ob-
served so much wisdom in one yet in the budding of her
youth, and how ardently they desired that her merits
should be crowned by public approbation. They con-
jured her to overcome her sex's bashfulness, alleging
that, since she was endowed by superior genius, and
the cultivation of her powers had obtained for her so
distinguished a position, it became her to demonstrate,
in a public disputation on philosophy, that women have
a right as well as men to penetrate into the mysteries
of knowledge. But Laura, whose natural disposition led
her, above all things, to deUght in a quiet and retired
life, and who also feared she might be accused of pride
by acting in a maimer so contrary to the usages of her
sex, replied, ' I have devoted myself to study in order
to find incentives to good actions and models to follow.
I know that glory i a vain and fugitive thing, fre-
quently denied to him who is most arduous in its pur-
suit. I never felt any ambi^n to become illustrious
in the eyes of the world, and am nowise solicitous to
ftirnish arms to envy, which is always ready to tear
to pieces even the most worthy. L^ve me to con-
tinue, unknown to the public, my delightful studies;
and greatly will thfy profit me, if I can by their aid
procure some gratification for my relatives, and deserve
the esteem of the worthy.' The will and prayers of
her relatives at last triumphed over her modesty. On
the 17th April 1732 she furnished a brilliant proof
of her acquirements, by replying to five of the most
celebrated professors of the university of Bologna, who
interrogated her on the most important philosophical
subjects before a large assemblage of the princip^ per-
sonages of the city. The audience were at a loss which
most to admire, her elegant enunciation of the most
profound doctrines, or the modest reserve of her de-
meanour ; and as a mark of the esteem and admiration
site inspired, by the consent of all present it was deter-
mined to invest her solemnly with the degree of doctor
of philosophy. The 12th May, when this prise of
wisdom was conferred on Laura, was indeed a day of
triumphant reioicing for her friends. Accompanied by
ladies of the highest nobility, Laura presented herself
before the authorities of the university assembled to
receive her, and having assumed the doctor's robe
and a silver crown, thanked, with tears in her eyes,
those to whose good opinion riie felt herself indebted
for so remarkable an honour. For several days the
entire population cdebrated with festivities an event
wliich they regarded as adding to the glory of their
town.
The favours which Laura had so deservedly received
at the hands of the public were continued to her un-
diminished as long as she lived. Persons of note arriv-
ing at Bologna from ferelgn countries were at once con-
ducted to her as being the person who could most ad-
vantageously represent Italian genius; men rendered
eminent by thek acquirements or dignities felt honoured
by her friendship ; and foreis^Mffs, who were so sparing
in their praises of her contemporaries, lauded her to the
skies. All this failed to diminish the simpUcity of her
manners ; her actions and language continued as gentle
and benevolent as erer, and she always appeared anxious
rather to conceal than exhibit her rare quahflcations.
Scarcely had she attained her twenty-first year, when
the senate oonfided a professor's chair to her in the
university; and her activity, her judgment and quick-
ness, the luminous order in which she expounded the
most difficult theories, and the gracefulness of her
demeanouiv placed her on a levd with the most distin-
guished in the art of teaching. Students fiooked from
distant countries to hear her, and on th^ return, cele*
brated her wisdom and excellence. The church of Rome
was at that period governed by Benedict XIV., a pontiff
who proved to the world that the sanctity of religion
82
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
may be cherished and venerated in the highest degitse
by one animated by the love of wisdom. In an academy
founded by him at Bologna, and named after him the
Benedictine, Laura held an appointment, and exacted
the usual admiration of her auditors whenever she ad-
dressed them. She formed a valuable collection of
philosophical instruments, and took great pleasure in
making experiments, and in observing natural pheno-
mena.
Those engaged in the pursuit of truth regard the
cultivation of literature as an agreeable relaxation ; and
Laura considered such studies as not only useful, but
necessary ; and doubtless, had she been a stranger to
them, she never could have expounded her theories so
eloquently ; for it is in vain that we may be endowed
with a lofty and fertile understanding if we are ignorant
of tlie art which teaches the expression of the thoughts
with grace and dignity, and enables us to render the
approaches to science both easy and agreeable. This
art can never be acquired if the divine productions of
poets and orators are neglected.
In the letters which Laura wrote to her friends, or to
the most celebrated personages of her times, we clearly
discern the care she took to attain a purity of style,
and the great skill with which she expressed her noble
thoughts. She made some attempts in poetry, and
acquired enough of the Greek language to earn the
praises of the erudite. Two treatises which she wrote
on the laws of hydraulics and mechanical powers, and
which are found in the * Memoirs of the Institute of
Bologna,* exhibit sufficiently her scientific acquire-
ments ; and it is to be regretted that she did not pub-
lish more of the results of her prolonged studies. From
this she was in part deterred by that modesty which
continued so remarkable in her, and in part by the
cares of her family. Having married Dr Veratti, she
fulfilled admirably all the duties of wife, mother, and
mistress of a household. Her twelve sous were brought
up and educated by herself; and it was indeed as
honourable to her as the distinguished renown she had
gained, that she never forgot the obligations upon her
as a woman and the labours of her sex, and that she
never trusted her young children to mercenary hands.
To compass her various duties, she guarded, above all
things, against indolence — that mortal enemy to every
good haMt and worthy occupation : she only allowed
herself sufficient sleep to recruit her powers, and ab-
stained from all frivolous amusements. The constant
and respectful afiection of her husband and children
amply repaid lier. Even in advanced life, though of in-
firm health, she never abandoned her habitual labours
— regarding inactivity of body and mind but as an
anticipated and prolonged death ; and only a few hours
before Bt^ogna had to deplore the loss of one of its
brightest ornaments, she took part in a long and
learned discussion at the Benedictine Academy. She
died 20th February 1778; and although somewhat
advanced in years, every one felt that her career had
been too short The ladies of the city erected a monu-
ment to her memory.
INODOROUS TURPEMTtNB.
A most important chemical discovery has been recently
made, by means of which oil of tnrpentine can be freed
from its peculiar smell so completely, tliat not only is it
inodorous, but it can be impregnated witli any desired per-
fume, without at all deteriorating from its useful proper-
ties. The eminent chemist, Dr Semy, who has analysed
the sweet oil of turpentine, states that while all the useful
properties of oil of turpentine are preserved intact, aH
deleterious qualities are completely obliterated. The doc-
tor iU»o states that paint, when mixed with aweet oil of
turpentine, is free from smell, and does not emit those
noxious vapours which are so prejudicial to health : and
that, in short, the use of sweet oil of turpentine is a certain
preventive of painter's eoHc, and by its use liouse-painting
becomes a perfectly inodorous process. — Newspaper para-
graph.
EYE-DRINK.
BY CALOBR CAMPBBLL.
With spUit-thint I wander forth
From towns, with right good- will ;
And marrd if on all the earth,
Down d«U and over hQl«
A brother-«pirit pines like mine
For want of rook and rill.
Week after week, month after month,
'Mid crowded streets to Hve,
Imparts that fever to the blood
Which fatal vapours give ;
And life ebbs from us. La a flood.
Like water from a sieve.
The ocean and its margins, then,
They are a pleasant sight ;
And heated, from the haunts of men.
The eyes upon them light —
Like birds sun-parched and weary, when
They rest near waters bright I
The fields, all gvten with fr«M, all red
And yellow with wild flowers—
Tlie hedges, whence comes tngnntx, shed
By blosaome f^m bird-bowera—
The gantens, near trim oottage-homss.
Refreshed by short soft tdiowers :
The lanes, old lanes near hamlets neat.
Lanes rich in leaf and bloom —
The avenues of elm, where feet
Bfay saunter in cool gloom
When July is at mid-day heat.
As in some quiet room :
And, more than an, the Shady woods
Where mossy banks abound ;
And dingles, where the painted hoods
Of foxgloves still are found.
Though summer drought hath dried the kaAs
Of nuwy a plant around :
Whore here a glade, and there a glea«
And up and down them twain,
Qyaint little brooks run oat and In,
As if they tried to gain
The secret life of leafiness
By dint of questings vain !
Woods, where the dove is heard all day.
The nightingale all might ;
Where Summer shines a goddess gay.
And Winter, clothed in white,
A cosie earl, with fagots gray
To make his fireside b^ht !
And mountains, brown with heath— «ad cUA
That ovcrtf^ the sea.
Covered by sea-gulls, ships, and Skiflb,
That seem intent to be
Enoh on its separate track of life.
And each a mystery !
And purple moorlands— yellow tracts
Of golden furze and broom ;
And rushy marsh, where music harsh
SweUs in tho bittern's boom ;
And ancient c&lrn, near wayside bam.
Where gipsy tents find room !
All these make Eye-drink ; and the thiMi
Of spiritB worn and hot,
Assuaged by the delicious burst
Of waters, that flow not
From source Impura, here tta4a a cure
That sweetens nature's lot.
Dut though I prise the forest best
Which quiet shelter givM,
And wonder how from sun and botigh
Such bliss the soul reoeiv«s,
I love it not for all iU wood.
But for its wealth of leaves.
The path of life seems only green
When we ascend the hill ;
But though gray shades are on it «seD,
Its downward course to fill.
In nature wo may sometimes see
A pleasant prospect stUL
And BO from crowded dties iH'V
Do well, at times, to go ;
And when athirst, all heavily
We feel our nplrits grow,
TIs wise to think such sweet Kjie-drink
From country sights may flow !
Published by W. & U, CHAMBKns, Btgh BtrSet. Baash«ni^
sold by D. Crambbrs, SO Atgyle Streot^ QIalgvw; W. &
m strand, London; and J. M*GLA8BAy. SI l>t>lier SUvet,
Dublin.— Prhited by W. & R. Crambbrs, Bdinbmgi^
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE P^PLE/ « CHAMBERS'S EDtJCAmONAtr OOtTRSB/ 4a
No. 290. New Series.
SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1849.
i*RICB 1^.
CHAKGE.
A LADT was aecnttomed to tramiMirt hef iktnily every
lammer to the country fbr change of aSr, And nerer
witbont obtaining the desifed benefit The inhabitants
of a certain Tlllflige, however; were far from enjoying
roboit health themselves, and she expressed to the local
doctor her surprise at the pale faces and languid looks
she 80 frequently met In her peregrinatkxis. * The air
here,' she said, ' is so exhilarating, that one would think
there is no cause for the kind of exhaustion that seems
to preTul among ao many of tiie aativea. Why should
we derive more advantage from St than they, and carry
back to oor smoky town a health we do not find?'
' AIss, madam,' replied the doctor, * if these poor people
ooold return your visit, and spend every year a certain
time in some smoky town, there would be fewer pale
ftcet and Umguid looks in our village. The benefit you
deriTB is not so much from the quality of ^le air, which
joa lee clearly enough is not of the nature of a specific :
it ii from the ckangc of air/ To many persons this doc-
trioe will be a little pusiling ; for it is more common
thso otherwise to attribute certain mystical qualities to
the air of a particular locality. How are these qualities
•vpposed to originate ? Is there m different intermixture
there of the gases forming the atmosphere ? Or is the
change produced by exhalations from the earth? In
either case the air is not stationary. The village, which
is of the earth earthy, has no fields of air it can call its
own. The wind bloweth wheresoever it listeth ; and
the lady in her smoky town eqjoy? the reversion of that
exhilarating fluid, which she found when in the country
to haye the power of reanimating the drooping health
of her family.
The TiUagtt doofcor waa right t it is in Change that
the caratiTe influence resides 9 and this fact is demon-
itrated by all the analogies of life and nature, whether
drawn from the history of hours and seasons, of plants
and animals, or of men and nations. The only thing
constant m this world is change. The lites of human
heiogs are a perpetual alternation of ease and labour, of
•lumber and waking, of hunger and isepletion ; and it
i> these conditions which preserve the bidance of health.
AU are wholesome — all necessary. We must rest, or we
cannot work ; we must sleep, or our waking energy is
lost; we must hmve an appetite, or we can derive no
latisfaction from food. These are truisms ; and a man
wooki be laughed at who lectured upon the propriety of
fasting when one is tired« or eating when one is hungry.
80 moch the better. We thus obtain a firm starting,
point from which to proceed In a speculation on the
general nature aad necessity of change, as a preservatiye
and cnratiTe principle.
Change must partake more or less of contrast ; and
^ the doctor's notion may be philosophically just,
2SS
act:
=ci:
that % villager wotM be likely to derive m such
benefit from his visit to a town as the townsman WK>uld
from his sojourn in a village. The latter wbtild gain
nothing by removing to another town, or the fbrmer to
another viUage like his own, where both would find
themselves uoder the same atmospherical and other con-
ditions as usuaL It would be use&il to establish thU
fiiot^ if it be one ; for it would involve the bfmishmeat
of sundry loeal aiqiersikitioua, which wo believe to be as
ln«tioBal as those of {ghosts and dreana. It would de-
stroy ^vb sanetily of macny fasMotaMe yilgtimsigeav and
disenchant many sacted wells, hitherto supposed to be
haunted in a special manner by the Spirit of Ht^alth.
The temple of Hygeia would be thrown open to rill
who have * the passion and the power to roam ; ' and
we should no longer meet with the .pitiable anomaly
of Ofowds iof health-seekers ooaverging at some giveu
sj^t, as if ^r the douUerpwrpoaaiof enhmieifig the prioe
mA neutralising t^ liettefit of change xH air. Supersti-
tidns of the kind are oommo», even when they have no
conUection with fashibh. A family' drives advantage
from their summer sojourn in a particular village, and
straightway take it into their heads that ttiis Is owing
to seme mystical quality of the air. They return year
after year to the same place; and even altliough the
beneficial eflM may dimiaash, they never auapect that
thieis dwing to the scene having become to familiar as
to deprite them to a ^iertwin extent of the sensation of
change.
To establish thie fact, however, would be <A sHll higher
importance to those who have fbwer fiicilities of migra-
tion. If they knew that what they want is simply con-
trast t that the curatiTe principle does not reside in a
pavticttlar air, but w change of air; and not in change
of adr alone» bat ofaange ol* sceae^iu aU tbiags that
or^imUie new fimprtasieos^ and divert the thoughts into
new chaunde 1 and if thcr^ could be made to oompre»
hend that an evening wt^ or a holiday stTol), the sight
of the green trees, the breath of the fields, the murmur
of the river, the dash of the sea, the singing of uncaged
birds, the lowing of cattle — any, in short, or all of the
sights and sounds of nature, coming upon tiieir wearied
senses in contrasli with the artificial things of their daily
life-^would ultimately purify and refresh hoth soul and
body, we should have fewer pale faces and lapguid looks
in our manufaetories, and fewer diaeaeed httavts brooding
over necessary and manly labour, as if it wera a curse
instead of a blessing !
Change of employment has a similar refreshing e/fcct
to change of air: original authors, for iostancew who
cannot in the usual way rcoaain long upon the wing
with advantage, have been known to eiiiend their hours
of labour, by working in the . same day upon two or
more separate and wholly difiereni compositions. Even
during sleeps these individuals tell as, the mind is busy,
although we are unconscious of its operations ; and its
demand, therefore, is not for cessation, but merely
change of occupation. The connection, however, is so
close between the mind and body, that it would be un-
wise to carry this theory too far into practice. The body
demands periodical rest, even to unconsciousness ; and
the mind, whose workings conduce in a still higher de-
gree to the wear and tear of mortal life, must be treated
not only with as much, but with greater tenderness.
There is no doubt that in this instance of authorship,
the intellectual power would depend upon the contrast
in the two kinds of composition being sufficiently great
to urge the mind into new trains of thought : but still,
there is so much general similarity in literary brain-
work, that conversation, music, or other social amuse-
ments, would be a far better alternation than mere
change of labour.
Amusement, in fact, is change of air for the mind ;
but, in spite of the erery-day experience of mankind,
its necessity is not recognised by modem legislators.
Among the ancients, and up to the close of the middle
ages, it was a matter of grave consideration how to
entertain the people ; but in the present new Iron Age,
we act upon the principle that amusement— except in
the case of those who want it least — ^is mere waste of
time. The sovereign patronises the Opera, and sets the
good example to her well-bred subjects of dancing, and
fgte-making, and travelling for change of air ; but her
Majesty, we fear, has never been taught to consider that
something analogous is still more necessary for the
masses of the people. The efforts of parliament and of
the moralists are directed, and very properly so, against
such popular recreations as are inconsistent with the
comparative refinement of the time. They give no
quarter to boxing, bull-baiting, cock-fighting, and other
barbarities ; but while saving human and animal life,
they have depressed the tone of the national mind, for
they have provided no substitute for these sports of a
ruder age — no change of air. Under the influence of their
well-meant crusade against barbarism, the knife has
now taken the place of the fist in the decision of vulgar
quarrels ; poison, the most dastardly, at well M the most
atrocious of all weapons, has come in to the assistance
of the knife ; and the instances of crime given by our
historian Hume, in proof of the barbarism of the epochs
he describes, seem positive virtue when compared with
the gigantic horrors of the passing day. This is the
result of a disease, a moral typhus, occasioned simply
by the want of change of air. The popular amusements
we have referred to were brutal and abominable ; but
we are clearly of opinion that they were lesf hortftU
than no amusement at all.
We may be told that in mechanics* institutions, lec-
tures, and cheap reading-rooms, we have both the substi-
tute and the contrast sought for : but this is a mistake.
The province of these excellent novelties is to rival the
taproom. Like it, they ofi^r sedentary occupation, but
of a totally different nature. They elevate the mind,
and not merely the spirits, with an excitement which
is followed by no reaction ; and they inspire a sacred
thirst which is more reviving, and yet more eager, after
every draught They are the natural combatants of low
desires and mean indulgences, and transport the liberated
soul from a poisonous to a wholesome atmosphere. But
they are not, in the popular sense of the word, amuse-
ment, which can only contrast with work. The artisan
can be expected neither to perform his duties nor enjoy
his book without a frequent release from thought and
care, such as his ruder ancestors sought in games of
blood. We ask too much of him, and give too little. We
demand that he will lay aside his ancestral tastes, but
never think of providing him with the means of grati-
fying the new ones we would substitute. tVe restrain
him from unwholesome amusements, but take no care
to provide him with others. We surround him with
personal restrictions, and congratulate him on his in-
tellectual emancipation. Read the commentary in this
voice from the workshops of our country : —
' Air ! air I We are sick with the breath of this iron
civilisation : we are faint for want of air. Give ns parks
and promenades instead of enclosed fields, which we can
only look at over the wall. Throw wide open to ui
your miscalled public gardens, and let us sit on the
grass with our wives and children, and watch tlie flit-
ting figures of the picture, and listen to the mnnc till
our souls comprehend it Beflnement ! approxioiAtioo of
character I What refinement, what approximatiaQ caa
you expect from us with these iron rails between ? Ytn
have taken from us our rudeness, and will yon not give
us something better in its stead ? You have touched oor
imaginations, you have roused our longings, you hare
troubled our spirits with gleams and visions, and will
you keep us panting and gasping here for ever? Gi?e
space to the limbs you have set free, and freedom to the
souls you have made too big for their babitatioo. Airl
air ! ' And these are not the humble longings the in-
reflecting imagine; for in the wholesome exhilaratka
of such amusements, contrasting with the monotooy of
daily toil, there resides an influence more powerfd
than that of all the moral lectures in the worid. If
our governors studied political philosophy as much as
politics, they would know that to open placet of baim-
less recreation to the people is to i^ut jails and woik-
houses. Nay, the very desire to enter the former arg«n
an advance in refinement; there is soraething trail-
quilUsing even in the restlessness of this aspiratioa. Eke
the murmuring motion of a stream ; and though it kt
but a day-dream, yet doth it—in the vorda oC Ban OU
Ben—
* Tet doth it like an odovr riaa
On all the eenaee here.
And fall like sleep upon the eyss.
And muio oo the ear t'
But change in this respect being neceasary for fbt
moral health of the people, it is sure to come. History
does not flow in England in the spasmodic gnabes tiial
make France a marvel. Change, whether sodal or
political, is slow with us, but it Is certain and efl^etnal ;
and already we can see the dawn of a coming time when
we shall all, now and then, set to play together fike
philosophers. The Scottish games in London, for in-
stance, were a good omen ; but independently of in^
vidual facts, there is on all sides a growing tone of foad-
hnmour. Even in those parts of the country whert the
Reformation confounded vice with gaiety, and recrestioa
with irreligion, we can see the brow of orthodoxy begin
to smooth its wrinkles. It is fully time for thia, for we
have now had leisure to separate things essentially dis-
tinct, though accidentally grouped together. We are
weary of restrictions no longer necessary, and want
change of air.
Is it not to the desire of change, intuitive in faviDaa
bosoms, that we owe nearly everything that is great or
good? Is it not this which has in all ages lighted the
torch of discovery, and sent forth the pilgrims of scknee
to the ends of the earth ? Is it not this which has boQt
up the civilisation of the present world into a form so
peculiar ? And is it not this principle in our being cm
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
35
which the minifters of religion more eipecially rely,
wheo exhorting us to press forward to the world to come ?
But the desire of change and contrast, like eyerything
else, most 6e regulated by good sense ; and, as usual, we
must take for our guide the analogies of nature. More
sleep than is required to repair our faculties, more food
than suffices to allay our hunger, and more amusement
than is necessary to unbend our minds after mental or
bodily toil, are all equally injurious. One day of rest
in the week (setting aside its religious character) is
among the wisest of our social provisions ; but more
than one, eren if permitted by economical considera-
tions, would be a yery questionable good. Amusements,
in like manner, depend for much of their zest upon
their periodicity ; and as for the literal change of air
with which we began, if our country sojourn be too
much prolonged, it is no change at all.
Bat even while recognising the urgency of our
aspirations after change, there is no occasion to mis-
take their other characteristics. If genuine, they will
take advantage of circumstances, but not war against
them. We have no right, before exhausting the indul-
gences at our command, to clamour for those beyond
our reach. The artisan who does not enjoy sometimes
an evening walk or a plunge in the river, who does
not stop to look with tranquil pleasure upon the trees
and fields, who does not listen with a glowing coun-
tenance to the natural music that floats upon the air,
has no claim to be admitted to the resorts of the more
refined. We have all access to a thousand humble and
inexpensive pleasures, if we only choose to enjoy them.
At this moment the town is going into the country ;
houses are shutting up on all hands, and dingy old
women posting notices in the window that * letters and
parcels are to be left at No. 10.' Some families, who
find inconvenient a further migration than to their
back rooms, ashamed of remaining behind, have closed
the shutters in front, to make-believe that they are in
the country. And what becomes of ««, whose pen be-
trays the nngenteel secret that we are at home ? Why,
a ramble now and then by the banks of Forth, a tour of
the Calton Hill, a buffet with the breezes of Arthur's
Seat, and a joke with some other last man in town —
these are our change of air ! L. B.
THE INFANT KING.
Tm day had not yet dawned on the 7th October 1715
when a little boy of about five years of age, who occu-
pied one of the most splendid apartments in the palace
at Versailles, started from his sleep, and sitting up in
bed, fixed his eyes eagerly on a man who was seated in
a large arm-chair by his side. The light of a bronze
lamp which hung suspended from the ceiling showed
him that his companion slept. He coughed two or
three times, as if undecided whether or not to disturb
his slumbers, but at length cried, ' Comtois — Comtois ! '
* Sire ? ' replied Comtois, rousing himself hastily.
' Do pray look out, and teU me whether much snow
has fiUlen in the night.'
Comtois approached the window, and lifting the cur-
tain, quietly replied, * Tes, sire, a great deal.' But the
young king, who had followed with anxious eyes the
morements of his valet, and had caught a glimpse
through the window of the snow-covered landscape,
exclaimed, * How glad I am ! Oh, take me up quick,
Comtois ! quick — quick : dress me— but do make haste,
Comtois.'
* What can have put it into your majesty's head to
wish to get up so early this morning?' replied Com-
tois, seating himself quietly in his arm-chair.
* Yoa do not know, perhaps, that I have a great battle
to fight this morning, Comtois ; and I would lay a wager
that the enemy is already under anns. I would not for
anything he should be in the field before me.'
* The enemy is asleep, sire ; and if you take my
advice, you wUl follow his example.'
* Sleep I the day of a battle ? Who ever heard of such
a thing ? But take me up, Comtois, I say,' continued
the child, tossing himself impatiently in the bed.
* Calm yourself, sire ; you must be more reasonable.
Madame de Ventadour has forbidden me to dlow you
to get up so early.'
* And I, Louis XV., king of France, I command you
to take me up!'
* Your majesty must please to understand '— —
* I do not understand anything ; I chooie to get up,'
said Louis more eagerly. * The little Duke de Chartres
sent me a challenge yesterday : he is the head of one
party, I of another. I am sure, Comtois, you would not
wish your king to appear either lazy or cowardly in the
eyes of his subjects?'
*You may be quite easy, sire, on that head — the
kings of your race have never been either cowardly or
indolent'
* Take me up, then, if you please, before the sun rises.'
' What, sire ! has the sun also sent you a challenge ? '
' No, no, good Comtois ; but it would melt my arms.'
' What arms have you then chosen, sire, which melt
before the sun?'
'Excellent ones, Comtois, I can assure you — good
balls of snow. You need not laugh, Comtois : a biUl of
snow, well thrown, can give a famous blow I can tell
you.'
* I have not the slightest doubt of it, sire,' replied
Comtois, still laughing.
' You shall be present at the battle, Comtois, and you
shall see what a grand affair it will be. Just fancy — we
shall form two camps : the Duke de Chartres will com-
mand one, and I the other. I shall have all the best
under my orders — the Duke d'Harcourt, the Count de
Clermont, the Marquis de Nesle. Oh, I have not been
able to sleep all night linking of it, and I have so
longed to get up I Now, like a good Comtois, do make
haste — the sun will melt all our weapons ; and I am sure
that those who are to fight under my banners are wait-
ing for roe already on the field of battle. Oh, how un-
happy kings are, that they cannot get anybody to obey
them!'
A slight tap at the bedroom door interrupted Louis
in the midst of his speech ; Comtois opened the door,
and was not a little surprised on seeing the Duke de
Yilleroy, the governor of the young king, entering the
chamber at this early hour.
*I8 the king awake yet? ' inquired the marshal
* He has been wanting to get up for this hour past,
monseigneur,' replied the valet de chambre.
The Marshal de Yilleroy approached the bed. ' Sire,*
said he, *the Duke of Orleans is this day to be ap-
pointed to the regency ; it is necessary that you should
make a short speech on the occasion. Do me the honour
of listening to me, I beg of you ; for you must learn
this speech by heart, so as to be able to repeat it before
the whole court.'
* Yes, sir, I will,' replied Louis, who was in reality a
timid boy, and who did not venture to show his dissatis-
faction at this delay.
* Listen to me attentively, then, sire : say after me,
** We declare"*
* Don't you think the sun, whenever it rises, will be
sure to melt the snow?' interrupted Louis, whose at-
tention was suddenly attracted by the glittering white-
ness of the park, as its snowy vestment reflected the
first beams of the rising sun. He had not heard a word
of the commencement of his speech.
* Very possibly, sire,' replied Yilleroy with an impa-
tient gesture ; * but repeat after me now — " We declare
the Duke of Orleans."*
* We declare the Duke of Orleans^* said Louis ; then,
almost in the same breath he added, * Comtois, just look
whether the snow is still hard.'
*No matter whether it is or not, sire,' interrupted
the marshal, who did not attempt to conceal his impa-
tience at the inattention of his royal pupil * Now let
us proceed, then — " regent of this kingdom,** *
36
CH.AAIBEES?S EDJJ^UBOH TOUftNAIi*
* I daresay that the Duke de Chartres has a pile of
snowballs as high as this ready by this time.'
* If you do not pay more attention, sire/ said Marshal
de Viileroy in a tone of severity, *yott will neyex learn
your speech.'
'But I should much rather play in the park with
the other children,* replied I^uis petulantly.
* Yo« shall go there, sire, after the ceremony.'
' But the snow will be melted, sic, by. that time/
- ' Well, sire, then it mtut be melted/,
' But then I shall not be able to make sfiowbaUs/
' Well, then, you must do without them, sire.'
' And my battle, and my warriors, and all the other
child]%n who will be amusing themseWea, while I am
here shut up in my room I'
* Kings, aire, are not like other children ; they cannot
be allowed to be always running about and amusing
theniselves/
' Then if so, it is not at all an amuaing thing to be
a king, Marshal de Viileroy.'
*I must reajyiy insist; sire, upon your learning this
speech : you ought to have known it an hour ago.'
' Well, I will hstra now,' said Xiouis.
The marshal, somewhat softened by this promise of
docility on the part of his pupil, seated himself by the
bedside, and repeated, word by word, a very short
speech, which his pupil recited after him wit]^ great
exactness. He th&a retired, feeling fully assured that
the young Louis was well prepared to perform his part
in the approaching ceremony.
Louis bounded with joy when he saw the door close
upon his governor. ' Now, then, for the park I ' he ex-
claimed.
' Here is Madame de Yentadour, and your tutor Mon-
sieur de Fleury,' said Comtois, as he ushered in these two
new personages, followed by some domestics belonging
to the palaoe, who carried a complete suit of clothes
fitted for the royal child. When the divers articles
which composed it were spread upon the table, the sight
of so brilliant a costume helped to divert the mind of
the youug king for a moment from the fixed idea which
had hitherto occupied his thoughts. But suddenly the
idea seemed to strike him that this equipment was just
the thing which would do to wear on the field of his
faitended battle.
* How beautiful it is — how very beautiful ! Are you
going to dress roe in all these pretty things, dear
mamma?' said he to his governess, of whom he was
very fond, and whom he always called by tlie sweet
name of mo^er.
' Certainly, my dear king,' she replied, as she began
to perform his toilet. ' It is a pretty costume ; is it not?*
' Oh how pleased my comrades will be to serve under
my orders !' said Louis^ as he examined separately eadi
article.
First, there was a little jacket with falling sleeves of
violet-coloured doth (violet being the colour appro-
priated to royal mourning, and the little Louis having
only lately lost his grandfather, Louis XIV.); then
there was placed upon his head a cap of violet cripe^
lined with cloth of gold ; and finally a blue ribbon was
passed around his neck, to which hung suspended the
Cross of the Order of St Louis, and that of the Order
of the St Esprit Up to this point everything went on
as smoothly as possible ; the child, absorbed in the con-
templatiou of this rich and brilliant costume, was begin-
ning to forget his morning vexations : he longed to be
dressed, iu order that he might escape from the hands
of his governess ; and he was just on the point of s^iag
Comtois to hand him his miniature weapons, in order to
be ready for the battle, when, to his g^reat surprise)
Madame de Yentadour handed him a pair of splendid
leading-strings in cloth of gold.
^ What are these for, mamma?' said he.
* They aire leading-strings, sire,' she replied.
* And what are you going to do with them ? '
' Ta pot them on you, sire.'
* On m« / leading-strings I You, are jokiog, mamma ? '
*Thaf complete your costum/et aire: they must be
put on.
' I cannot put them on, mamma : I really will not ! *
' I am very sorry to be obliged to do anything which
annoys you,.my dear king; but it has jbeen decided that,
ia order to fnark your ag^ leading-Btnings shouU fonn
a part of your costume.'
* But I do not choose tq have them oo, dear manma.
{ do not want them, and X ,witi J)ot. put theoa ool'
' But they cannot be dispensed with, sire,'
*J!irot.di4>ePfl^ wtthvleading-sttiiiial Indeed I can,
dear mamma. What is the use qf putting them on me ?
Do you ever see me tumbie fir hen I am walking? Uov
long is it; since I have given myaelf-a bruise up mj
forehead? You do Urot put leadkig-stringa «a me to
run aU day in the woods, to go up and down stain, to
skip over the trenches, and now you want to put then
on me when I am only going to ride io:a camage, aad
then to sitia an apm?chair«> Indeed, bmjubww 7<ni are
not reasonable: leading-Birings are only puJt «» Uuk
children/
'Every ona knows, sire, that yMt are not a UlUe
child ; certainly one is no longer a child at five yean
and a-half ( but still it cannot be helped— etiqeetle
requires thai on grand occasions yeu aboukl wear Jeadr
iog-strings until your educatk>n is confided to tlie care
of men.'
* Stiquette, custom I You aay that every mkiuia, dear
mamma. The custom OMgM to be only to pefc kadiaf-
strings on little ohildren who do not know how to waQt.
But Si pec^le are so anxious to use ieading-striogi, why
not put them on all those old seigneurs we ha¥e here-
on the Duke de Bourbon, who can hardly atand ; or oa
the old Bishop de Troyes, who stumbles at every step:
they, indeed, may be in want of them : but as far me,
it is qutto decided — I will not have them 1 '
* I iutreat you, ^re, to oomply.'
* Do not talk, to me any more about it, dear mammk,
The sun is idready risen ; I have a battle to fight thii
morning, and my munition of war is not yet prepared ;
so pray do not keep me any longer.'
' Your leading-strings will not be the least in yoor
way, sire. Pray put them on.'
' And how my companious would laugh at me, eipe-
cially the Duke de Chartres 1'
* Th^ would not dare to do so, aire. Indeed it is not
well done* of you to require so much preanng aboet
such a trifle. You ought to show yourself a Itttie more
ready to obey one whm you honour with the title of
mother.'
' If the other children had them toe^ luainina, tkesL I
should not mind ; but look at the Duke de Nasigis, itt
little Marquis do Nesl^ &c : did you ever see then ia
leading-strings ?'
^But they are not kings, sire, as yoo are.'
* And I am sure, then, it is very tircsoBDe to be a
king. How I have been teased ever since I got up this
morning on account of my kingdom ! My battle hai
been d^ayed; I have had a long speech to lean kf
heart; and now you want to put on these ugly kadiig
strings. But it is of no use talking to me : I will boc
doiti'
* Monsieur de Fleury,' said Madame de Veotadoar Is
the king's tutor, who stood in the window reading Us
breviary, * will you have the kindness to come hen snd
make the king listen to reason ?'
* Monsieur de Fleury,' said the child, * aa you are at
the window, wiQ you be so good as to tell me wfaetfasr
the snow is beginning to melt?'
'Not yet, sire,' replied M de Fleury, ^iproadiiog
the fire, in front of which stood Madame de Yentadoar
with the leading-strings in her hand, whilst the yeoag
king kept his hands clasped behind him, to prevent
her from taking him by surprise, and slipping tbem
*Why are you so obstinate, sire? Give me
hand, and let me see you do cheerfully, and for te
of pleasing Madune de Voitadour, that whicfa,
er later f taaut be done.'
!|
OHAMBERS'S EDINBUHGH JOURNAL.
37
'But I want to go to the parit/ said th« little Louis
with a swelling heart, and tears starting to his eyes : * I
hare snowballs to make/
* Ton hare, in the first place, duties to perform, sire ;
and jrcw, site, more than all other childien : fbr, as a
king, you ought to set them the example. Begin to do
80 at once by yielding to the wishes of your governess:
raise your arm, sii«e, if you please: well; now, the
other. Thefre, now, it is dome, sire, and I thank you for
your obedience.'
'If kings are happy, it is not while they are dnldren
at an events,' sidd Louis XV., as he looked witii
tearful ^eson the geld belt of his leading^strhoga.
* You are right, sire,' said M. de Floury. * It is later :
it is when they have learned to make their people happy/
* The king's carriage is at the door,* said a gentleman-
io* waiting, opening the fokling- doors of the king's
apartment. Madame de Yentadour rose, took the king
by the hand, and led him down the grand staircase to
the carriage, whilst M, de Reuory and the R>yal pages
followed. The day was bitterly cold ; but the poor liUte
king rpjoleed in the flreezing blast, for h» thought it
woAi keep the snow fgom melting, and he could yet
have his battle on his way back. With this hope he
oheerfially entered tiie oarriaget and waited with patience
for M. de Villeroy and the Doke du Maine, who had
Ixrth the right of entering the royal carriage. They
Tcacbed the step at the same moment; and tlie foot of
the one having accidentally touched that of the other,
eadi measuied hi* opponent with a, disdainful glance.
* I beg tfrobserve to the Marshal de YiUeroy,' said the
Duke dm Main^ ' that, in the quality of prince of the
blood, I have a right to the seat of honour in his
majesty^ carriage.'
' And I,* replied the marshj^, without yielding a step,
' beg to observe to the Duke du Maine^ that, as governor
to the king, I have a right to the aeat of honour, and
an amiy bs^d to yield it to a legitimate prince of the
blood, and not to M. le Doc du Maine.'
' We Aali see that,' replied the duke, stepping into
the carriage. The marshal, with a fiery ^anoe, laid his
hand on the intruder's arm. During, tiiis. diatsussion
the carriage door was necessarily kept open, and the
yonng king was fireezing with the cold. At length he
ezdaimed impatiently, * For goodness' sake, gentlemen,
come in, and both of you take the place of honour : I
should just OS soon sit with my back to the horses.'
.* Thait is out of ^e question, sire,' replied the marshal.
' WeU« then,' replied the 3roung king, shivering with
the cold, * draw lots to see who shall sit by my side, or
else both take your seats with your backs to thie hOEses.'
Thia last advh» of the young king was at length fol-
loved, and the eight horses Marted at full gaUop.
The carriage was no sooner in nK)tion than the
Marshal de Villei<oy« bending forwards' towards the
young king, asked him if he remembered his speech ;
but at that moment they were passing the - park oi
Vincenncs, and his heart was too full to answer. He
heard the joyous cries of his young companions, who
wtae fighting the battle of wbich he had dreamt all the
{Hsecediog night; he saw the hard, glittering snow,
whi<^ would have made such glorious bombs ; and then,
Winn he began to think that before he waa free again
ail the fun would be over, the tears started to his ^es.
* What are 3ron thinking ofy sire?' inquired the mar-
shal. Louis made no rep^, but pointed to the battie^
field, and hia luge black eyes looked so lull of socrow,
th^ it touched ^e heart of the marshal.
* What can we do, sire?' he observed, as M. de Fleury
had^ already done. * The children of kings are not like
oiher dsiMrtn s they have duties to fulfil ; and as it is
tibciv business to set an eocomple to their people, mo duty
oraat he left undone.'
Bjr this time they bad reached the Faubourg St An-
taiMe,andthe people, both in the windows and the streets,
were aasemUed to look at their king. A thousand ac*
daantlons welcomed lum on every side, but the poor
little fcUow was sad and pale— he sUU thought of his
lost battle. They at length reached the palace of the
Tuileries, and the young monarch was conducted to
his throne in the Chamber of Peers by the Duke de
Tresme, who filled the office of Lord High Chamberlain.
Madame de Yentadour was already seated upon the
steps of the throne, and the countenance of her little
pupil brightened as he saw her. He eicclaimed aloud
with childish glee, * Madame de Yentadour !' * Hush! '
said his governess kindly, whilst with an expressive
glance she designated to him ^e imposing assembly by
which they were surrounded. Louis XY. immediately
resumed a little air of grave dignity which was natural
to him, and began to look composedly around him on the
striking speotiMSle which ^e court of France of that day
offered when assembled in full costume. The young
king himself, who formed ttue centre of attraction in
this brilliant circle, was well formed to grace the high
post he occupied. He stood erect upon his throne, and
awaited with a dignified patience the commencement of
the ceremony. It might almost have been imagined
that he folt ^e importance of the fuactfons he was
called to fu^.
Soon the mass of courtiers began to move around the
throne, and -one great fhnetionary of state after another
approached the little king, and addressed him in speeches
prepared for the occasion — all of which had one point
in common, which was not a little distressing to their
young auditor — namely, their interminable length.
However, he bora the infiiction with great apparent
tranquillity, although it must be avowed that his glances
were more frequently directed towards the window,
where mig^t be seen a tree bending beneath its spark-
ling, snowy burthen, than towards the grave speakers
of very grave and very heavy speeches. When the
moment at length arrived for the young king to deliver
his speech, the Marshal de Yilleroy bent forward, and
asked him in a whisper whether he remembered what
he had taught him in the morning.
* Perfectly,' he replied.
' Now, then, is the time to say it aloud, sire,' said the
marshaL
With perfect graoe^ and with a certain infantile
timidity of manner, which added yet more to the
dmrm of Jiis appearance, Louis XY. repeated aloud, and
with perfect correctness — ' We, king of France and of
Navarre, dedara the Duke of Orleans regent of this
kingdoni, to administer the afiairs of state during our
minority, oonf(»inafaly to the decree of pariiameat
made oa the 3d of September.'
The Duke of Orleans advanced to kiss the young
sovereign's hand in tc^cen of gratitude, the Council of
Begtney waa then named, and each member of it came
forward in turn to perform the same act of homage.
Then followed the administration of oaths, more speeches,
and an endless routine of ceremonies, which be-
came wearitome to all, but insupporiable to the poor
ehild. He at length ceased to listen, his eyes wandered
towarda the door, be stood up, sat down, yawned, played
with the crosses which hung suspended from his blue
ribbon, and l^en pettishly throwing them from him,
began to yawn anew. Suddenly his attention seemed
arrested by some object in the far corner of the room ;
his eyes ceased to wander, and were filled with an ex-
pression of comic surprise. The marshal, who had been
£[4k>wing with anxiety every movement of his pupil,
looked in the direction to which the ohildVi glance was
directed, and soon discovered that the oloeot of hia atten-
tion was the old cardinal of Noailles, a prelate of pre-
eminent ugliness, which was shown off still more by hia
scarlet costume, and who was as yet unknown to the
young prince, as he had only lately returned to tlie
court, having been disgraced in the reign of Louis XIY.
The marshal, fearing doubtless that the old courtiec
might be displeased at this marked attention, whispered
to his pupil a request not to lo<^ so steadfastly in that
direction.
* But I choose to look that way,* replied the child.
* It ia not polite,' replied his governor.
38
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
* So much the worse/ said the king.
* Bat it is very wrong of you, sire.'
* I am sorry for it ; but it amuses me.*
'Listen to this gentleman who is making you a
speech, instead of looking about you.*
* I am Tery tired of hearing him,* replied Louis.
* I beg of you, sire — sire — sire — pray attend to me.*
'Leave me alone,' sdd Louis impatiently, quite
wearied out by the admonitions of his governor and the
interminable speeches of his courtiers.
' But, sire, I cannot leave you alone,* replied the mar-
shal: ' you are not here for the purpose of being amused.'
' Ah, my snow, my beautiful snow!' said the king, to
whose mind the word amutement recalled with vividness
his morning disappointment
* You must not think about that now, sire, but at-
tend to what is going on here.*
' Oh, do leave me alone 1' said the king, burstiDg into
tears.
* Sire, sire; pray hold up your head, and do not dii-
grace yourself in this way.*
The poor little king's tears were, however, unheeded ;
the wearisome ceremony lasted till the close of the day ;
and when poor Louis passed the park on his way back
to Versailles, the finishing stroke was put to his sorrows,
for — the tnow had tneUedl
* Oh, my battle, my snowballs I* he exclaimed, weep-
ing bitterly. To add to his mortification, as he mounted
the stairs of his palace of Versailles, he met all his
young playmates talking and laughing over the divers
feats of prowess which had been performed during the
day. They were all glowing with health and animation ;
and as the pale, wearied Louis passed the merry group,
there was not one of them who envied his royal lot
* Who gained the day ? * inquired Louis mournfully.
'The Duke de Chartres,' was the reply; 'but the
Marquis de Neste fought very well too.*
* Come, then, at least, and tell me all about it,* said
the little king.
* Sire,* interposed Madame de Ventadour, ' this is the
hour for you to retire to rest'
' Well, then^ the hour must be put ofi^,' said Louis
pettishly.
' That, sire, is impossible; your gentlemen of the bed-
chamber are in waiting.'
'Oh how tiresome it is to be a king!' said Louis
XV., his tears commencing to flow afresh as his gover-
ness led him to the bedchamber. * I am always unfor-
tunate : in the winter, I am not allowed to make snow-
balls ; and in the summer, when it is so fine, and every-
body walks out, I am kept at home in the palace.*
* Oh, sire,* said his governess, as she began to undress
him, * are you not taken out whenever you please?'
* Am I indeed ? And do you think I have forgotten
the day of the fite of St Germains, when I was at the
window, and saw such numbers of children passing by,
and they all looked so happy? I asked you where they
were going, and you told me to the fkir; and when I
asked what this fair was, you told me it was a place
where they amused themselves under the trees, and
bouglit toys and sweetmeats ; and that in the evening I
should see all these children returning with their play-
things and their cakes. Oh, how I did long to go! But
you were sick, manuna, and so I was obliged to stay at
home.'
* You shall go, sire, next year.*
' And in the winter,* resumed the king, ' it is so plea-
sant to run upon the snow, to make snowballs, to throw
them at one's companions, and have them thrown at
one's self in return ; and now, to*day, they have made me
miss the finest battle in the world! When will some
snow fall again t '
* Come, sire, you must not think any more of that
now, but try to go to sleep.'
' I can*t go to sleep: I suppose I shall be told presently
that this is the hour at which I must go to «/eepi because
1 am a king!*
' Console yourself, sire,* replied his govemeas ; ' when
you are a man, you will be happier.* As Madame de
Ventadour said this, she sighed, for she knew but too
well that the future happiness of her little pupil waa, if
possible, even still more uncertain than tiie preseiU.
LYELL*S SECOND VISIT TO THE UNITED
STATES.
FouB years ago, we had occasion to notice the ' Travdi
of Sir Charles Lyell in the United SUtes,' chiefly in
relation to the geologioal explorations of the antbor. A
' Second Visit * to the States by the same writer haviog
just made its appearance,* we are enabled to revert to
this deeply-interesting subject On the present, as oa
the previous occasion. Sir Charles travelled with a specisl
view to the investigation of natural pbenom^ia ; bat ve
can assure all who feel inclined to pemae hia seeood
production, that it abounds likewise with obeervatkai
on matters of social concern, and is, on the whole, ose
of the meet amusing works which has for tome yesn
appeared on the United States. Having travelled with
his wife, the author possessed more than the nsnsl
means of acquiring a knowledge of the people amoof
whom he travelled.
Passing over one or two of the earliest cbaplera, ve
take up Sir Charles as he journeys thraugh the New
England States. Here he has occasion to refer to that
very curious phenomenon, the discovery of organic
remains in ice. How the bodies of animals beooaw so
imbedded, is a question of much interest It appears
that in extreme northern and southern puta of tlie
world, the ground is a mixture of rock and ice. the ioe
lying in strata below the general surface. In 1821,
when the captain of a merchant ship wished to inter tfas
body of a sailor in one of the Soutb Shetland Islands, be
set a party * to dig a grave in the blue sand and gravd;
but after penetrating in nearly a hundred plaoes thmogfa
six or eight inches of sand, they came down everywboe
upon solid blue ice. At last he determined to have a
hole cut in the ice, of which the island principally eoo-
sisted, and the body of the man was placed in it' This
body was afterwards found as fresh as when buried.
The bodies of whales and other creatures often get as*
bedded in icebergs, and it is then discovered after the
ice has become partially mixed with sand and grarvl,
that has led to so much learned investigation. The ros
and fall of masses of ice, according to the actioo of the
tides, when in contiguity with Und, aooonnta for no
small part of the phenomenon.
Talking of icebergs, we are led to remark, that to
these floating masses in the Northern Atlantic much of
the irregularity of our summer climate may be inpeted.
Icebergs are occasionally seen as far south aa the Mth
degree of north latitude, and of immense siae. *Sir
James Boss saw icebergs which had run agmmd in
Baffin*s Bay in water 1500 feet deep.* An iceberg of
much less dimensions than this turns the climate to
winter wherever it goes, and its approach to any coast
is a terrific visitation. A military officer told our aatlmr
* that last year, when he was in garrison in Newfoand-
land, an iceberg continued aground in the harboorof SI
John's for a year, and they used to fire oannon-baUs at
it from a battery.' We have heard of more ridiciilaas
projects than would be the fitting out c^ an expeditioa
to clear the Atlantic of icebergs by bombardment
Sir Charles made a pilgrimage to the ta^ oi Moant
Washington (one of the White Mountains), vhich
reaches to a height of 6225 feet above the level of tlM
sea. Here a Flora was observed similar to thai of lands
bordering on the sea in the extreme north of Ameriea,
Europe, and Asia. How did these planto attain this
height in an inland mountain in a comparatively
southern latitude ? * Gredogy,* says our author, ' teaches
us that the species living at present on the earth arc
older than many parts of our existing continent*— ^at
is to say, they were created before a large part of the
4> London: J<dm Murray. 9 vids. IML
■
I,
r
CHAMBEBfiHS EDmBURGH JOUBNAL.
89
exiating mountains, yalleyf, plains, lakes, rirers, and
leas were formed. That such most be tlie case in re-
gard to the island of Sicilj, I announced my conriotion
in 1839, after first returning from that country. And
a similar conclusion is no less obrious to any naturalist
who has studied the structure of North America, and
obserred the wide area occupied by the modem or gla-
cial deposits before alluded to, in which marine fossil
shetts of living but northern species are entombed. It
it dear that a great portion of Canada, and the country
surrounding the great lakes, was submerged beneath
^ ocean when recent species of moUusca flourished, of
which the fossil remains occur more than 500 feet aboye
the level of the sea near Montreal. I have already
stated that lAke Champlain was a gulf of the sea at
that period, that large areas in Maine were under water,
and, I may add, that the White Mountains must then
have constituted an island, or group of islands. Tet as
this period is so nradem in the earth's history as to be-
loog to the epoch of the existing marine Fauna, it is fkir
to infer that the Arctic Flora now contemporary with
man waa then also established on the globe.' We have
thoa to consider that many of the higher mountains
were at one time islands, in a sea chilled by the mdting
of floating ice. ' As the continent grew by the slow
upheaTal of the land, and the islands gained in height,
snd the climate around their base grew milder, the
Arctic planto would retreat to higher and higher zones,
and Anally occupy an eleyated area, which probably had
been at first, or in the glacial period, always covered
with perpetual snow. Meanwhile the newly-formed
plains around the base of the mountain, to which north-
am species of plants could not spread, would be occu-
pied by others migrating from the south, and perhaps
by many trees, shrubs, and planto then first created, and
remaining to this day peculiar to North America.'
Intermingled with interesting disquisitions of this
kind are graphic notices of tiie odd sectarianism — it
might almost be called the religious derangement — in
many parte of New England. * At the Franconia hotel
I first heard of the recent fanatical movement of the
Millerites, or followers of one Miller, who taught that
the millennium, or final destruction of the worid, would
conie to pass last year, or on the 23d day of October
1844. A fanner from the village of Lisbon told me
that, in the course of the preceding autumn, many of
his neighbours would neither reap their harvest of In-
dian com and potatoes, nor let others take in the crop,
saying it was tempting Providence to store up grain for
a season that could never arrive, the great catastrophe
being so near at hand. These infatuated people, how-
ever, exerted themselves very diligently to save what
remained of their property when the non-fulfilment of
the prophecy dispelled their delusion. In several town-
ships in this and the adjoining states the parochial
oflicers or •* select men " interfer^, harvesting the crops
at the public expense, and requiring the owners, after
the 23d October, to repay them for the outlay. I after-
wards heard many anecdotes respecting the MiUerite
movement, not a few of my informante speaking with
marked indulgence of what they regarded simply as a
miscalculation of a prophecy which must be accom-
plished at no distant date. In the township of Concord,
New Hampshire, I was told of an old woman who, on
paying her annual rent for a house, said, *' I guess this
is the last rent you will get from me." Her land-
lord remarked, " If so, I hope you have got your robes
ready" (alluding to the common practice of the faithful
to prepare white ascension robes) **for going up into
heaven." Hearing that there had been s^vertisemente
from shops in Boston and elsewhere to furnish any
number of these robes on the shortest notice, I took for
granted that they were meant as a hoax ; but an Eng-
lish bookseller, residing at New York, assured me that
there was a brisk demand for such articles, even as far
aouth as Philadelphia, and that he knew two indivi-
duals in New York who sat up all night in their
ihioudfl on the 22d of October. ... In a subsequent
part of our tour, several houses were pointed out to us
between Plymouth (Massachuseto) and Boston, the
owners of which had been reduced from ease to poverty
by their credulity, having sold their all towards build-
ing the Tabernacle, in which they were to pray inces-
santly for six weeks previous to their ascension. Among
other stories which, whether trae or not, proved to me
how much fraud was imputed to some of the leaders, I
waa told of a young girl who, having no money, was
advised to sell her necklace, which had been pre-
sented to her by her betrothed. The jeweller, seeing
that she was much afl^ted at parting with her treasure,
and discovering the object of the sale, showed her some
silver fbrks and spoons, on which he was about to
engrave the initials of the very minister whose dupe
she was, and those of the lady he was about to
marry on a fixed day after the fated 23d of October.'
The society of Millerites has since become bankrapt,
and their tabernacle has been transformed into a
theatre, where the author had the pleasure of seeing
Mr and Mrs Kean perform * Macbeth.'
In a conversation with one of the managers of the
Lowell factories. Sir Charles elicite what may be con-
sidered a good hint as to an improvement in the posi-
tion of Uie working-classes. These factories, it appears,
are joint-stock concems. The shares are often as low
as 500 dollars, and held by operatives. ' By this system
the workpeople are prevented from looking on the
master manufacturers as belonging to a distinct class,
having diflbrent interesta from their own. The holders
of small shares have all the advantages of partners, but
are not answerable for the debte of the establishment
beyond their deposits. They can examine all the ac-
counte annually, when there is a public statement of
their afiairs.' Unfortunately the law of partnership pre-
vente plans of this kind being carried out in England.
To procure an abolition of this law, the working-classes
in Great Britain ought to make a strenuous exertion :
but when do we find these classes aiming at anything
half so practical ?
At Boston onr author makes the common observation
that the New Englanders have generally a pale, care-
worn look, arising * partly from their striving and
anxious disposition, and their habite of hard work,
mental and bodily, and partly from the efiecte of the
climate. One of their lawyers expressed to me his
regret that the members of his profession, and their
most eminent politicians, physicians, and literary men,
would not spare themselves, and give up some time to
relaxation. ** They seem determined," he said, ** to
realise the sentiment so finely expressed by Milton —
' To scorn delights, and live laboriooB days.'
Our ancestors had to work fifteen hours out of every
twenty-four, in order not to starve in the wilderness ;
but we persist in straining every nerve when that ne-
cessity has ceased." He then reminded me how much
more cheerful, plump, and merry the young negro chil-
dren looked in the south than those of New England,
who had all the appearance of having been for^ in
their education, and over-crammed at school. I suspect,
however, that the principal cause of the different aspect
of the Anglo-Saxon race in England and America is
the climate. During both our tours through the United
States, my wife and I enjoyed excellent health, and
were delighted with the clearness of the atmosphere,
the bright sun, and the great number of cloudless days ;
but we were told that, if we stayed a second year, we
should feel less vigorous. Many who have been bom
in America, of families settled there for several genera-
tions, find their health improved by a visit to England,
just as if they had returned to their native air; and it
may require several centuries before a race becomes
thoroughly acclimatised. English travellers often ascribe
the more delicate health of the inhabitante here to their
in-door habite and want of exercise. But it is natural
that they should shrink from exposing themselves to
the severe frosto and long-continued snows of winter,
*■••■•*■«<•«•■
iM«-
*•"
40
CHAMPli^'^ , BOmBUBGW JOmi^Ah.
and to the loteDoe beat of ,tbe «wQiDflr*i yuo. An
Englishman i$ usually recognised at oncft ia % party by
a mon» robust look, and greftter deAmeas and ruddiA^sfi
of complexion ; aud it is, surprising bow diatinguiahaUfi
he is even from persons born of English pareqta in the
United States. It is also.^ purious fact* which aeems
generally admitted^ that the, ^Uve AoglonAustralianf
bear a considerable jresembl^ce tp the Anglo^ Americans
in look and manner of speaking, yihich. is a mystery,
for tbere is certainly in that ease no anajlqgy bei^eei^
the climates of the two countries.*
"^ew England, as every one knows, is ipefttly in
advance of Great Britain with respect to national edu-
cation ; and on this subject tbe author speaks of the
Americans in language of just commendaUon. Where
all are called on to take part in the action of govern-
ment, it is felt that tlie safety of society depends on all
being educated. Tbe. education iu>p^i^ted is uoder a
general, not party or sectarian management ; and evei^
attempt m^de by Religious denominations to acquire a
special oontroi over the public schools has bejen promptly
checked. The affected belief phat this unsectarii^i eJu- .
cation would lead to irreligion and discontent has been
completely falsified. Nowhere are the people more re-
ligious or better citizens. * It is acknowledge^i by the
rich, that when the free schools have been most im-
proved, the people are least atidicted to intemperance,
are more provident, have ?nore respect for property
and the laws, are more conservative, and Jess led away
by Socialist or other revolutionary doctrines. So^ far
from indolence being the characteristic of the labouring-
classes, where they are best informed, the New Eng-
landeirs are rather too much given to overwork both
body and brain. They make better .pioneers when
roughing it in a log-house in the backwoods, than the
uneducated Highlander or Irishman ; and the factory
girU of liowell, who publish their " Offering," contain-
ing their own original poems and essays^ wyrk twelve
hours a day, and have not yet petitioned for a ten-hour
bill.* Tiirther on, the author observes, in reference to
the independont position which schoola and teachers
have attained: — * There is in no state any dominant
ecclesiastical body sufficiently powerful to thwart tlie
maxims of those statesmen who maintain that at the
people are determined to govern themselves, they must
be carefully taught and fitted for self-government, and
receive secular instruction in common schools open to
aQ. Tho Koman Catholic priesta, it is true, In the state
of New York, where there are now 11,000 schools in a
population of 2,500,000, have made some vigorous efforts
to get the exclusive management of a portion of the
school fund into their own hands, and one at least of
the I^otestant sects has openly avowed its sympathy in
the movement. But they have failed^ from the extreme
difficulty of organizing a combined effort, where the
leaders of a great variety of rival denominations are
jealous of one another ; and fortunately the clergy are
becoming more and more convinced that, where the
education of the million has been carried farthest, the
people are most regular in their attendance on public
worship, most zealous in the defence of their theological
opinions, and most liberal in contributing funds for the
support of their pastors and the building of churches.*
Sir Charles speaks togretfully of the tendency in New
England to cultivate a sour conventional spirit, which
discourages innocent recreation, without finding a suit-
able substitute. Tlie injury arising from this social
defect is only in part remedied by the growing taste for
reading. In every district there are lending libraries,
which prove of great use. * Towards the purchase of
books for these libraries the St^te grants a certain sum,
if an eq[ual amount be subs6ribed by the inhabitants.
Tliey are left to their own choice in the purchase of
bbuks ; and the best English poets and novelists are almost
always to be met witii in each Gollection> and works of
biography, history, travels, natural history, and science.
The selection is cni^eftilly made with reference to what
tho people wiH read, and not what men of higher educa-
tion oiB«t$ti«a think they .«aiflit to mmL* When will
our own kgkUtofe Tote mum in aid of ppWr district
Ubrfuriea? Not, Hnniyb^ supposed, tiUaQQitthiQele«i»
spent m the appi^atua <^ tmwtiX and mili^My wsnouomL
Aa<a matter, of eouN^ fth« •tttJ»o^ in tr»vriUog» wa«
exposed to ;the ntuaL unmrnl^ quMttooing «i to )iii
age« £saMly» mm! objects^ i^ursttit ( bat UMVigh aaatj^^
iog, thia enabled hm to q^estkw im mtnuh mod ^ tiMt
queans t9 proeuve TaUiable' intotmtktiou. An Antnitnn
raUited tp him mt^y divtvtiag Aoeodotos la iUttsttsto
theinqoiaitiTe turn of . his. fion^rymoa^ Am<mg otto
stowies he gay« a Uvely destoriptioA of a New JBtigJandwy
who was seated by a reserved eonapanioo in a «Mlwa(jF
caTf Aod wbo» by way of begimung a^ooAVivaa^ao^ eaid,.
* Ara you a baohelar?' Tct which tiie otlMir rapM
^^ryly — *Noi I'm not-* * You are amariMid ma»?* qsb-
tinned he, ,*No; rm not* 'Thea you moat bs a
widower?'. i/Noi Via not.' Here th^ w^ » ibaH
pauae.i bat the undaunted ^ueriit lefcumqd to Ihe
cbargOt obfer^ipg-'* If yea are neither, a bai^ielofw nor
a married maDt Apr a widower, what in tba woHd caa
you be?' '^f you waxui know,' said tha Q^bee^ *l*m «
divoroedmaa*'
"tj"' II
. *! IM
^ I 1 1 ■ t 11 H 1 n ^
^^m^^
IKOONSTAKOY OF THB DOVJE.
In a paper in No. 2S0, we referred to the anpteataat
ideas associated by the Hindoos witb the cooing oC tbe
dove ; a sound whioh, however aweet and loviag to u^
seems to them like the wail of a doomed cvtatnre
memorating the cruelties it committed in a %nne
of existence. . We still clung, notwithstanding, to tka
conslanq/ of the dove. We might abandon tbe miaot
graces, of gentleness, innocence, and timidity; but Ada-
lity in lo^e it still retained iu our imaginatiQii —
^ — ^* an other vfrtaMftinft,
HM «nltl ilMlf oonM qvaotli thai kiMlltit (
13*
Pliitosopliy, liowever. is always bursting bubUeat or
blowing up steamboats, and Poetry is ruined in breakr
age by her awkward or malicious handmaid
Here is a letter stripping our favourite dove of the lad
of its fine feathers I
The letter has been presented to us by the comtesgr
of Mr Waterton, the well-known natur.'Uist ; and it is
addressed to liimself by Mr Ord of Philadelphia, to
whom the scientific world Is indebted for various con-
tributions to natural histoiy, and for a life of WHsoa
tbe ornitholagist : —
* t promised you, in one of my late letters, an anec-
dote concerning the common pigeon, tending' to show
that inconstancy in conjugal afik:tion is a failing by iu>
means peculiar to the human kind, but may be dis-
cerned ip tiUe inferior animals, ^iy dovecot ijraai its
position and economy, is an attractive object lor the
pigeon; hence every apartment is occupied ^ and wiMa
a male disappears, eveu for a single day — an oocncraoce
by no means unfrequent — an adventurer, alwa^t dn tiie
look-out for advantages, steps into the vacant donwrihL
and asserts his right of possession on the principle m
pre-emption. A poor little vagrant pigeon, driven bam
its natal home, sought refuge on my premises. &
flagging wing and simple countenance denoted )$t
youth and its poverty. 1 enticed it by food : daily 9$$
of kindness produced familiarity. It proved to be a
male of uncommon docility and sprightliness ; and U
soon become a favourite of the whole family. Tba
period of connubial attachment arrived, and xny litl^
stranger soon felt the influence of the univernall paiB|j!En*
A wandering female responded to his vows of afectwn;
and their union, after the usual ceremoniea, was ^afy
consummated.
' The first care of our youthful couple was to p|K>-
cure a dwelling. Day after day did they endeavottr
to secure some comfortable quarters : even attempts at
encroachment upon the rights of othera were made;
but all in vain. At length one of the residents of Om
coIuDibary, ti fijtie old malei disappeared: bis hooie*
'I
I
d&jaftt^
^i^MM^t^idta
OttAMBttRSlS BDtNfttTRiBlt JomWAt.
41
•teftd was enviable; ttnd our o6apIe to6k poisessfon
of it, in defiance of the dpposltf on of the widowed oecn-
pant, wtio atood nd chance in sttch a contest The
ht(ppy'f/»i9\ thus domiefiiated, lost no ttme in their do-
dMAu^ eeobomy. A neat was amnged, e^gn were laid
and iilclil«ted, and one fl^«a^ was the reward of tli^
tc^ and saHelAide of its parents. The offspring* ^rew
akid fltmrislied 'dntit mat watikri^, when I perceived a
ostttto^dh i^ the doveoot: my ppot^g^ was engaged
IB Rtortal cohihal, in hto own premises, witii ttn intrttder^
who, from his sapenor siM and stirength, rendered the
■0^ noeqoal, and wlio ^aiXLf succeeded in 0U9tingf the
poaseasor. While I atood sympathising with nry fa-
Toortte on this vnexpected calamity, whAt was my sur-
prise to find that the supposed intruder was no other
than the former proprietor of the mansion, who liad
been entrapped by some lieigbbouring poacher, and
who tukd returned to asaert his rights! My sense of
JBsfice would not allow me- to interfere In this affiiir,
althoi^ I waa tempted 1A take ^ part for the sake of
the poor yonnglfttg, that I observed was maltreated by
the wratlUM vie^ien In battles fbr the acquisition of a
home, the male pigeons alone are generally the warribrs :
heneetbediffi^ty of auccess, as the pair in possession,
by mujtual ^aasiatanpef akuost alw^s proYe to be too
powerful for the assailant
* But in the case in question I noticed a singularity:
my fa^ourite^s mate appeared to be a passite spec-
tator of the contest; she afforded no succour to her
pacTtn^r in his desperate struggle; and when he was
finally expelled, she evinced no disposition to associate
with him. Her affection fbr her offspring, however,
seemed to be unabated, as she continued to feed it, and,
what I thought strange, she was permitted to do so
without any molestation from the conqueror. The
my^ery waa soon expUuned by the revelation of the
&ct, that the fiutbleis creature had actually abandoned
him whom she had vowed to love and cherish, and
had united herself to his enemy. Well might the poet
ezdaim — **^ Frailty, thy name is woman I" What! for-
sake her vouthfol partner at a crisis when commonly
the best reelings of the heart are called into action I
Tet such was the fact Long did the forsaken make
the groves vocal with his murmurs; but all in vain,
{ At length his pathetic complaints touched a congenial
' soul : a kind female tendered him the consolations of
sympathy ; her love was reciprocated, and former griefs
I seem now to be forgotten in present enjoyment
* The dove or pigeon is represented by the poets as
; the eriiblem of innocence and constancy : —
In constancy and nuptial lore, ^
I learn my duty from the doTc— 6^ay*
The domestic kind are eminently gregarious, and yet
they are eternally at war ; the slightest cause will pro-
vdre their pugnacious habits during the day ; but no
evening passes without a figiit, as if the hour of rest
required excitement to render it salutary. As to their
coonubiai constancy, the above-mentioned circumstance
will tbow that there are exceptions to the law of sexual
affinity, which, however, should seem to be more fUith-
fully observed in those animals that pair, than in the
nobler part of creation, which is so eminently distin-
gubhea by the superiority of reason.*
THE LANGUAGE OF THE TOMBS.
' EoTPT otBsn subjects of conversation and meditation
which no one can entirely neglect, whoever he may be,
if be have eyes to see, a memory to remember, or a
sprinkling of imagination wherewith to dream. Who
can be indifferent to the tableaux of unaccountable
nature on the banks of the Nile ? At the spectacle of
thia river- land, that no other land resembles? Who
will not be moved in the presence of this people, which
of old accomplished such mighty deeds, and now are
reduced to n^isery so extreme ? Who can visit Alexan-
I tirlst^ rTalrn. thi* PvrftmidiL Hpllonnlia. Tliphpn. wit-.lmiif.
bMng moved by rerninfscences the moit imposing and
the moat diterSe? The Bible, Homer, pliilosophy, the
sciences, Greece, Bom^, Christianity, the Monks,
Wamism, the CrUsades, the French Revolution : al-
most everything great in the world's history seems to
converge in the pathway of him who traverses this
memorable country ! Abraham, Sesostris, Moses, Helen,
Agesilaus, Alexander, Pompey, Caesar, Cleopatra, Aris-
torbhus, Ptotinus, Pacomus, Origen, Athanasius, Saladin,
St Louis, NkpdeCtt — what names! what contrasts!'
Thus exclaims an eloquent writer in the ' Revue des
Deux Mondes :* but his list of memorabilia, M. Ampdre
vety well knows, begins where the really marvellous
ends ; and to arrive — not at the origin of Egyptian
dvilisation, but merely at the epoch where our re-
searches are lost in the darkness of antiquity — we must
go back at least fifteen centuries before the calling of
Abraham I With Moses, between two and three hun-
dred years after the first patriarch, begins the pro-
cession of the historians, lawgivers, and warriors of a
world now passed away; but in the tombs of Egypt
there are written, with a freshness that endures to
this day, the annals of a long anterior greatness — a
greatness earlier than antiquity itself,
Egypt is now the great highway between the East
and West ; and one may as well stay at home as pre-
tend to travel without seeing the Pyramids. To enjoy,
however, the descriptions we receive from every suc-
ceeding tourist of a buried people, who, 2400 years ago,
reproached the ancient Greeks with their modern juve-
nility, it is necessary to know from what sources these
records are drawn, and what are the claims to authen-
ticity possessed by the Language of the Tombs. To do
this, we do not require to understand the ancient
tongues, or any other modem one than English ; Colonel
Vyse having thrown into an appendix, in the second
volume of his quarto work, all that is known on this
subjecf^ But a much smaller book has recency been
published, touching upon all the Egyptian questions
together; and although, from the highly -condensed
form in which the knowledge is conveyed, it is some-
what difficult of study for persons previously ignorant
of the subject, we are in hopes or being able to ex-
tract from it, for the benefit of our readers, some rudi-
mental information. It consists of a series of reports,
taken from several American newspapers, of the lec-
tures of the distinguished Egyptian antiquary Mr
Gliddon ; and the whole has l^n revised by himself,
and enriched with learned notes and appendices.f
Previous to the year 1802, the hieroglyphics, or
sacred characters of the Egyptians, found in the
sepulchres and on monuments, were a mystical scrawl,
the unknown signs of an unknown tongue, which the
learned gazed at with unavailing longings. But a
stone, found three years before between Rosetta and
the sea by a French officer of engineers, was destined
to give the hint, which fell like a sudden spark of light
upon their conjectures. This was the celebrated Rosetta
Stone (now in the British Museum), a fragment of
black basalt, 3 feet in length, and originally 2 feet 5
inches in breadth, and from 10 to 12 inches in thick-
ness. The sculpture was not in itself of great anti-
quity, dating 196 years before the Christian era. It
contained two inscriptions — one in the Greek, and one
in the popular Egyptian character, called Demotic or
Enchorial, afterwards discovered not to have been much
used before 700 years B.C.: but there was likewise a
third, in hieroglyphics ; and it may be supposed with
what interest it was discovered that these three were
identical in substance ! They were an edict chiselled
at Memphis, in honour of Ptolemy Epiphanes, and the
concluding sentence was in these words : — * That this
* operations carried on at the Pyramids of Ghizeh from 1837
to 1839. See also Gliddon's Chapters on Early Egyptian History.
1843.
t Otia .Sgyptiaoa: DItoourses on Egyptian ArolMeoIogy and
Hieroglypbical DiacoTeries. By Geoi;^ K. GUddon. London:
MmAAnn IfUO
««A««A^arti*«i^«kHa**««afli^B^rtri^HMAat^litf*^k
t^a^m^mm^tm
>«ia**asMM«BrfMa^M
■•MaavaMMv^aa
MMMA^riW
rtk^
42
C^L^IMBERS'8 EDlKBUBiOH JOUBNAU
decree ihould be engrared on a tablet of bard stone, in
hieroglypbical, enchorial, and Greek characters, and
should be set up in firsts second, and third-rate temples,
before the statue of the ever-living king.'
The inscriptions being identical, would of course re*
peat the name tlie same number of times ; and the word
Ptolemj, in its yarious inflections, being found in the
Greek eleven times, the first business was to look for a
corresponding word in the Demotic character. In this
inscription a group of seven letters was found repeated
eleven times ; and these were discovered to compose the
word Ftolmis, thus giving seven letters of the alphabet,
from which the whole was afterwards deduced. But
the hieroglyphic inscription? How was it possible to
interpret those representations of animals and things,
intended though they roust be for the symbols of a lan-
guage? Here and there some of them were enclosed
in an oval This was repeated again and again, and
must no doubt be the name sought for. The middle
figure was a recumbent lioness, the Coptic name ol
which is lab9i. Might not the lioness represent tb«
$ound of the initial letter of her own name ? It was a
wild and fantastic conjecture, to which the explorer was
no doubt driven by mere despair : but it was inspira-
tion. The moment it was taken for granted that this
was one letter of the name, the others were read with
ooroparAtive ease; and thus were obtained to begin
with the signs of seven hieroglyphical letters, Ptolmcss.
We of course cannot pretend to follow here the course
of the discovery ; but Mr Gliddon declares, that with the
aid of the published literary resources, any intelligent
person noay at this day read into English, direct from
the hieroglyphics, words, phrases, and consecutive sen-
tences, as easily as he would acquire any other Oriental
tongue. The revelations thus made have released Egypt
from the plague of darkness. She is no longer a land
of sorcery and myaticism, such as she appeared to the
Hebrews, Greeks, and Komans ; but thousands of years
ago, her every-day life appears a prototype of our own.
The hieroglyphics are at once manuscripts and pictures
— illustrated books, speaking at once to the eye and the
mind ; and the genius of the people seems to have de-
lighted in perpetuating themselves in their records.
* If we enter a tomb,' says Mr Gliddon, ' we see the de-
ceased surrounded by his family, who ofi'er him their
remembrances. The — I had almost said Christian —
name, the profession, rank, and blood-relationship of each
member of the family, are written against him or her.
The scenes of ordinary life are painted on the walls.
Study, gymnastics, feasts, banquets, wars, sacrifices,
death, and funeral, are all faithfully delineated in these
sepulchral illustrations of manners, which are often epic
in their character. You have the song with which the
Egyptian enlivened his labour in the field ; the anthem
that, when living, he offered to his Creator; and the
death-wail that accompanied his body to the grave.
Every condition, every art, every trade figures in this
picturesque encyclopaedia — from the monarch, priest,
and warrior, to the artisan and herdsman. Then these
tombs are real pnuseums of antiquities — utensils, toilet-
tables, inkstands, pens, books, the incense-bearer, and
smelling-bottle, are found in them. The wheat which
the Egyptian ate, the fruit tliat adorned liis dessert-
table, peas, beans, and barley, which still germinate
when replanted, are also discovered. The eggs, the desic-
cated remains of the very milk he had once used for his
breakfast, even the trussed and roasted goose, of which
tlie guests at his wake had partaken — all these evidences
of his humanity, and a myriad more, exist, in kind, in
the museums of Europe, to attest their former owner's
declaration to us, modem occidentals, athwart the
oceans of time and the Atlantic, Homo sum ; humani
nihil a me eUienum ptUo. But not only do the scenes
sculptured or painted on the temples or in the sepul-
chres furnish every detail concerning the Egyptians ;
they give us the portraits, history, geographical names,
and characteristics of an infinitude of Asiatic and
African nations existing in days long anterior to the
Exode — many of whom have left no o^er record of
their presence q|n earth, and others again whoae naows
are preserved in the Hebrew Scriptures.*
Not the least curious and important of the hierogly-
phical revelations, is the synchronism which exists be-
tween the Scriptural annala and the monuoients of
Egypt The names of some of the Pharaohs are not
only the same, but they are identified in partioilars of
their history ; and authenticated portraits of tovereigBs
incidentally referred to in the Bible are now eschibited
in engravings throughout the Christian wc^ld. These
portraits are carried baok to 3500 years ago (about the
time of Joseph), bat the synchronism cannot be tr^eed
earUer than 97 1 b.c. This is unfortunate, as it wooM
be very interesting to identify in their monameDts the
Pharaohs who were oontemporary with Solomoii, Moses,
Joseph, and Abraham. The eariiest, boweven; as yet
reached is Shishak, the conqueror of Behohoam, sod of
Solomon ; and indeed, as the Bible does not mention by
name the earUer sovereigns of Egypt, there is little pro-
bability of farther advance in this interestinip stody.
As for the supposed death of the Mosaic Pharaoh ia tbt
Bed Sea, it is neither countenanced by the text of the
Pentateuch — which merely relates the destnBCtHio of
Pharaoh's host, chariots, and chosen oaptaios — oor by
the traditions of the Talmud, which expressly state
that the king returned and repented the loss of his army.
The hieroglyphics, however, are silent on both pmnts.
Neither has any trace at all been found in them oC the
patriarchal relations with Egypt. We may add that
Mr Gliddon makes the pertinent remark, that if the
validity of hieroglyphical history be proved * £rom tbs
Scriptures for the times succeeding Moses, in all those
cases where either record refers to the events meotiooed
in the other, the authenticity of l^erogfyphieal oioou-
ments in afikirs whereon the Bible is ulent, and which
antedate Moses by twenty centuriea, cannot Csirly be
called in question.' While mentioning portraits, kt as
descend to later times, and say that the portrait dC
Cleopatra, taken from the temple of Dendera, by do
means establishes the Shakspearian authority wiUi re-
gard to the personal beauty of that * serpent of ^
Nile.' The Cleopatra of history appears to have bsen
celebrated only for her powers of lascination and tte
splendour of her court.
The earliest date of the sacred languafe is not
known ; but if the antiquaries are correct, there must
be an error in the commonly -received interpretatian of
Bible chronology, the original fifteen hieroglyi^ic ktten
having been in common hm only 250 years alter Meosi
the first Pharaoh. This would carry back the origia
of hieroglyphics to near the time commonly assagned
to Cain and Abel I The emblem of the scribe's paktte,
reed-pen, and ink-bottle, is found about 3400 yean b. c }
and books, indicated by the sign of the paf^ms or scroti,
are long antecedent to the time of Abraham. Thxa
language received afterwards some change, and In that
form became more current as the hieratic or sacerdotal
About 700 years b. c. there was introduced an alpha-
betic kind of writing called the Demotie, Enchorial, or
Epistolographic ; and this remained in popular use tSU
it was suppressed by Roman imperial authority, and
replaced by the Coptic alphabet, formed of Greek waA
Egyptian letters intermixed.
The prayer-book of the Egyptians, called tiie Book
of the Dead, is traced as far back as 3200 a. c It
was a collection of hymns and liturgical prajrers ofiered
by and for the departed Egyptians ; and ecxtracts froai
it are met with on mummy cases, and every other ob-
ject connected with death or religion. In this antique
ritual are taught the doctrines of the soul's immortality
and resurrection of the bodv ; but instead of the Jewsdb
commandments, and the Cnristian petitions for DItibc
aid to observe them, they present only a series csi self-
righteous assertions of innocence, supposed to be made
by the departed spirit In these, however, whic^ are
forty -two in number, is found tiie whole^ sod
than the whole, decalogue.
I
1
t
i
I
I
It is impoMible to BBoend to the origin of the mum-
miet that are covered with extracts from this ritual.
Uammification, as the science is now called, is sapposed
to have been earlier than the Pyramids or tombs, the
first mammies haying been buried in the sand. The
Neeropolts at Memphis is twenty-two miles in length
by about half a mile in breadth, and here, it is supposed,
one -fourth of the population of Egypt was buried.
The Great Pyramid was built 4000 years ago ; but sup-
posing the period of mummification to be only 3000
years, Mr Gliddon calculates that the number of mum*
mies in Egypt is about 500,000,000. A Cairo journal,
a year or two ago, went further : it counted up the
quantity of cloth in the wrappers, and came to the con-
ciasion that if the linen were manufactured into paper,
it would bring into the pasha's treasury L.4,S00,000 1
The objection as to the yast Mpaoe so many mummies
would fill, is met by a calculation which shows that they
oould be contained in a cube half a mile in length,
breadth, and height; although, so far from being
cramped in room, the tombs of a single individual
sometimes cover several acres of subterranean ground.
Under the fourth dynasty the bodies m'ere prepared
by saturation with natron, and were baked in ovens,
and wrapped in woollen cloth. The sarcophagus of
Cheops was a plain monolithic bin, and that of Myoe-
rious a rectangular chest, with an inscription in which
the dead Osirian king is saluted with a sublime sim-
plicity, ' Liye for eyer I ' Under the twelfth djmasty
linen is Ibund in use, the bodies are partially gilded, and
all the luxury in coffins had commenced which, from the
eighteenth dynasty down to the time of the Romans, re>
mained at a great pitch of extrayagance. Under the
eleventh dynasty, round the * sides are usually painted
the whole sepulchral equipment of the dead — his bows,
arrows, quivers, shirts, wigs, mirrors, sandals, and cos-
metics. They are, in fact, the pictorial portmanteau of
an Egyptian gentleman twenty centuries before our
era, as well as a bill of fare : his ducks, geese, haunches,
ihofdders, chops, bread, cakes, biscuits, flour — his drinks,
water, beer, wine, white, northern, or Marseotic — his
salt and pnstiles — ^are detailed at the head of these
coffins.' The eighteenth dynasty is the era of the in-
troduction of bitumen, which became known to the
Egyptians through their conquests of Assyria ; and the
new fsshion changed the colour of the mummies, which,
since that epoch, are black, while those earlier embalmed
are of the natural hue. By this time the system of
idolatry had attained its full deyelopment; even the
bodies of animals were at length embalmed as well as
those of men ; and the religious simplicity of the earlier
mammies existed no more. About the Augustan period
the shape of the sarcophagus was changed, and the
mammies were not wrapped in the human form, but of
an equal thickness all down, and swathed in a coarsely-
painted cloth exhibiting portraits of the deceased.
The cost of these embalments yaried from L.4 up to
L.250, according to the rank in life of the deceased, and
the luxury of the coffin and ornaments. There are
specimens still in existence which contain above 1000
yards of linen, yarying in texture from good calico to
superfine cambric The majority, however, belong to
the middle-classes, and their cost Is estimated at L.60 :
but calculating them all at the cheapest — namely, L.4 —
this would give an annual expense for manufacture of
L. 666,000. For our own part, howeyer, unless the lowest
classes were mummified at the public cost (which is
rery improbable), we do not see how even L.4 could have
been paid for their funeral expenses ; and as Mr Gliddon
remarks that only a single neffro mummy has been
found, although negroes were always yery numerous in
Egypt as domestic servants, there must, we think, have
been a portion of the population allowed to moulder in
the usual way. The whole of the revenue arising from
this process belonged to the priests, • who ware the
physicians, apothecaries, mummy-makers, undertakers,
scribes, and sextons, and who, besides, leased out the
repose.' They held also the monopoly of the linen cloth
used for wrapping the body, the flax for which was
grown and manufactured by themselves. The mummies
made, however, were so strictly the property of the
purchasers, that a debtor was obliged to give up in
pledge to his creditors the remains of his ancestors ; and
if he died insolvent, his next relations were held bound,
both in honour and law, to redeem them.
The Pyramids, it is now known, were lepulchrea for
containing the mummies of the Pharaohs. * As to the
epoch of those of Memphis,' says Mr Gliddon, * these
were all built between the times of Noah and Abraham
in the scale of Biblical chronology, and those of Menes,
the first Pharaoh of Egypt, and the founder of the fint
dynasty at Memphis, and the thirteenth dynasty in col-
lateral Egyptian hieroglyphical chronology. Thus all
the Memphite pyramids existed and were ancient 3000
years before Christ All the pyramids ia Lower Egypt
are 4000 years old ; and taking the pyramid of Mosris,
according to Lepsius' letters, built between 3131 and
2194 years before Christ, as the last of this series, the
remainder will successively recede to abore 6000 yean
ago.'
When a king commenced his reign, a small isolated
hill of rock was fixed upon for his tomb, and a chamber
excavated in it, with a passage communicating with the
surfsce. Around and over this a course of masonry was
built in a four-sided figure, converging at the top, in
general of limestone, but in fbur instanoea of sun^ried
brick ; and if the death took place daring the year« this
was immediately cased oyer, and thus a small pyramid
formed. If the king liyed a second year, another course
of stone or brick was added, and so on another and an-
other, till, as in the case of the Great Pyramid, the scdid
materials thus piled over the chamber in the rock would
suffice for the construction of a city. * The pyramid con-
tinued to be increased every year until the death of the
king in whose reign it was erected, fresh courses being
added each year of his life. When the king died, the
work of enlargement ceased, and the casing was put on
the pyramid. This was done by filling up the angles
of the masonry with smaller stones, and then placing
oblong blocks one upon another, so as to form steps
from the base to the apex ; after which, beginning at
the top, and working downwards, these stones were
bevelled off* at the corners, so as to form one uniform
angle, and give a smooth surface to the pyramid, leav-
ing a perfect triangle. . . . Two conclusions will strike
the observer : first, that a pyramid, being smooth from
its base to its summit, was by its builders never meant
to be reascended : secondly, that the entrance was her-
metically closed, never to be reopened ; although its
location, to judge by classical and Arabian traditions
of hieroglyphics on the exterior, was probably indicated
by a roycU tablet^ or atele, commemorative of the Pharaoh
interred in each sepulchre The philosophical
deduction from all this is, that the size of the pyramid
is in direct proportion to the length of the king^ reign
in which it was constructed, having been begun at tiis
accession, and finished at his death. Large pyramids
indicate long reigns, and small pyramids short reigns.
The sixty-nine pyramids, therefore, represent some se-
yenty or eighty kingly generations (two kings having
been sometimes buried in the same pyramid), the last
of which race died before Abraham was bom. Such is
the law of pyramidal construction. Of its importance
in chronology the reader can judge.'
In the Great Pyramid there are seyeral chambers:
the Great Hall, the Kings' and Queens* Chamber, the
Well, as it is called, &c. ; and there are air -passages
communicating from these with their external surface.
The casing-stones were eight tons in weight, but were
removed by the caliphs, so that the edifice can now be
ascended as if by the steps of a stair. There is no
danger either in the ascent or descent; although, in
1831, Mr James Mayes, an English traveller, con-
trived to commit suicide by throwing himself from
tYiA anmmS^
•A^i
The private tombs scattered around the regal pyra-
mids are taH of interest of the ^ame kind; being
covered with paintings of the manners, customs, genea-
logies, &c, of ^e ancient Egyptians to such an extent,
that the at^quary Lepsha promiteB to wdte the Court
Journal of the fourth Memphitic dynasty, which flou-
rished five thousand rears ago ! * The manufacture of
glass,' Mr GUddon tells us, * was known in Egypt 2000
years prerioUsly to its reported discovery by tlie Phoeni-
cians ; and the decimal system of numeration, units,
tens, hwtdredt, thcusandt, and upwards, was curreut
in the days of the Pyramids, or 4000 years before the
Arabs of Mo^mmed*6 era. In the tomb of £imei,
architect of the pyramid of Shoopho, of the fourth dy-
nasty, is an inventory of his wealth. There are, amongst
other details, ** 835 oxen, 220 cows, with their calves,
2234 goats, ^90 asses, and 974 rams." The numerals
are hieroglyphical ciphets; and the same decimal system
is found in the guarrier? maHcs on all the n3rraraid8,
Indeed it became evidetit that perhaps, with tne excep-
tion of steamboats, electrotypes, Daguerreotypes, tlie
magnetic telegraph, dilorotbrm, printing-presses, and
cotton gunpowder, the arts and sciertces, were much
the same at that early period in the Valley of the Nile
as at this time in our own country. The drawings of
the trades, as found pictured on the walls in the tombs,
show the practical sort of people the Egyptians were.'
Corroborations of the last remark are to be found in the
various paintings now extant of 'carpenters at work,
boat -building, musicians, poulterers, veterinary sur-
geons, wine-pressing, brick-making, weaving, ploughing,
transporting of columns,' kc All these are illustrated
by, and serve as illustrations of, that sacred language
which, at the end Of fifty ages, speaks to us from the
tombs almost as intelligibly as it did to the priests at
a time whidi could only be known to the Jewish patri-
archs as an old-world tradition. *
Having now run through these lectures — although not
in a cursory manner, for one tnust pick his stepe whlie
traversing such a mass of erudition-^we have only to
recommend the volume to the studious reader, as one
from which he win receive as much general Information
on Egyptiological science as he could obtain by the
prusal of a variety of more bulky, though not more
learned, productions, '
NEW HYPOTHESIS OF C015BXJMPTI0N.
[We havD refl^Ttd 4lttt toUowlng 09rop»nnicntiQii Atom Mr D. B.
BlooiB of Brfetoli a^d our cev^era :viU probably be iaterasted by
tho npvelty of tb« aptbor's oon^Jocfeurea, and more especially by
ibo hopefnl view be ^akc9 of a «U9eaae which baa hitherto re-
mained a ttaading opprobrium of Che medical art We are not
corapeteqt ourselves to form any judgement of the real value of ^e
hypothesis; bui nothing tvhloh serves to Simulate thou^t and
inquiry can be tisel€«^] '
J HAVfi veotHred to address the foUowing remarks to
you (£9r roasosn 'which I bbali by and by state), believ*
ing that tlhey contflhi tb^ true explanation of the nature
and causes df that ftarful malady, * pulmonary con-
sumption j* fearful, not so much ftam the number of
its victims, as from the circumstance that it is most
fatal-^npt in infancy, when life is witlvout plan, and
attachments are but vague — ^DO(t in old age, when the
powers of raiod and body are leeble, end seem but to
wait to be suspended by an attack of some diseaaa inci-
dental to that period of life^btit from itk ravages being
almost confined to youth and dawYiing maturity, when
life is in its spring, and vjieu those attachments are
formed, and engagements entc^rcd into, intended to cease
but with i«xi4tence. 1 shall not now attempt to point
put the reasons why this disease has hitherto bafiSled
(he taqf iriea of phyeiologisif^ but ppoceed at once to
explain Irhot I, with ^eat cociftdenoe^ beUerre to be ita
nature Midi causes.
liife, or at least animal lifb, may be onnsldered to be
a prolonged struggle between opposing forces: the oxy-
gen of the air endeavouring to unite with the various
tissues and fluids of the b<^y, and the vital forces pre-
venting this union beyond the extent req[aired for the
maintenance of the conditions of health. Deatii is a
suspension of those forces, and the consequent decay is
but a recombination of the constituents of the biod^
among themselves with the oxygen of the tir. The
tarious organs of which anhnsl bocSes are composed
consisting almost entirely iof cartMVi, hjFdrogen, oxygen,
and nitrogen, the products <il decomposition mi« car-
bonic add, 'from tftie union of oxygen and carbon; am-
monia fbotn that of the nitrogen with part of the hydro-
gen ; the remsintng hydrogen escaping «iiSier free^ or
in combination with the small quantities of svdphnr sad
phosphorus 4bund in sMne of the tissues of sol^urettsd
or phM^horetted hydrogen. I have conceived it to be
bstter thus to txplaln scieotUleatty the mtitre of decay;
the popular idea not gating beyond destmctioa «r
periflliiiig!.
It is now w^ understood that the offloo of tlw lungs
is to expose the blood to the action of thestmesphciu,
and bring about the union of the oarbon of the one wUh
the oxygett of the other, producieg enimsl beal Norn
it seems impossiUs to effect this if the sntast^Boe of tibe
liiogs were of a compeot or hard nature, sr wifthewi
their presenting a vety extended surface to the Me|>hed
air« this being contrived by their minute snbdivisiee
into an incalculable number of ceUa. Beering these
facts in mind, and remembering alsp that the materiels
of which the iungs are composed are ohteined froos Cbe
constituents of the blood, and are chemicaUy ideaHcil
with tliem» there wiU be no difficulty in peroeiyiag that
there is extreme liability of the substanoe of tiie lung^
in breathing; to enter into combination with the oxygea
of the air, or* in other words, decay. To counteract
this tendency, the vital forces are in action, and, in
a state of health, are quite adequate to prevent the
structure of the lungs from being impaired ; but if thsse
forces be from any. cause so reduced as not to produce
this result, decay of their substance, indicated by tuber-
cular deposits, as they are termed, follows.
It seems here necessary to say something q£ the vital
force. Of its higher manifestations the writer is hea
silent; but of that portion constituting animal and veget-
able Hfe, there seems to be evenr reason to helieve it
to be either electricity (as Mr Smee in his late work
has attempted to show), or some modification of thai
surprising agent. Consumption, then» I conceive to bs
simply a decay of the lungs, and other soft tissues ooca-
^ionaUy (tubercles being frequently foood in coosuiDp-
tive patients in tlie brain, and various other parts of
the body), frooi a deficient supply of this protecting
influence ; and tubercular deposits, to be organic matter
in an earlv stage of decapr. To explain my anartng
further, take an illustration in close analogy ^— The
function of the stomach is to digest or dissolve,' tay ftt
action of the gastric juice which it secretes, org^fllii.
bodies submitted to it ; but this secretion has i|0 aeCSoi
whatever on the substance of the secreting organ, wlddi
is protected by the agency of the vitid force ; thdvA
it readily dissolves muscular fibre, or even part ef as
stomach of a dead animal : just such an influence doce
ritality exert over the lungs and other soft tissues whkfti
it protects from the oxygen of the atmosphere.
It win be seen how completely these views are in
accordance with what hss been observed of this disrasr
Persons so afllicted st^flbr most, and the oonsuramatian
is hastened most rapidly during the Colder mootte,
when, as modern chemistry has revealed to us, a larger
quantity of oxygen, principally through the disptaee*
ment of aqueous vapour, is contained in a given votuee
of atmosplierie air inspired by the lungs, and which sA
each inspiration is a constant quantity. In an enooMS*-
tion of the Causes of consumption in tlie * Penny Ojx3L^
peedia,' we find : * Next to hereditary ^-anemissioo of
the consumptive diathesis, tiie causes in predtdng tMs
U
CSHMfQKHS'S .$;DB^^"itQH. J0U[Ji;^4^Ii.
45
state of oonttitutlon are a sedentary life, .more espe-
cially whea associated with a coofined posture of the
body and impure air ; bad quality, or insufficient quan-
tity of food 3 iasufficient clothing ; excessive mental or
bodily labour ; mental depression ; and abuse of spiri-
tQOQf liquors.*
I peed scarcely point out in detail ^e harmony of
the prec^ng theory with this statement And it^ will,
I thhik, be admkteo, that in the great m&iority of co^-
sompfeiye cases a want of buoyancy of feeUogmanifeats
itM^, iodicatiag» from whatever cause it may arise^ a
defioiesQy of nervous energy y and although to this it
nuby be obiected that the nervous stiiaulus supplied to
the longs is nol from the braiB» hott frooi the ganglions
of the eoteito^motory system, 3net every physiologist ia
awsuret of the intimate sympathy esiBting betweea the
braja and that portion of the nervona airangeoaentB,
Itis'iiota little remarkable, if this the<fty^ the time
one* l^at pMrnitf the ieiefttifio name foe oonsumplioB,
means' decay or cor£iiptiaik;;thusacriviiig at: the very
threshold of the true explanation, and shadowing ferth«
as iiL.iHnndrova othev instances is soi^twe, 'important
discaifieries arrrved^at by a bdtter method; ' i
The mode of treatment^ thenv which these -Tiewt sugi*
gest as a remedy ibrt conramption, is to streogtheo, iu
moat ' eaaes^ by increasing' the healthy actiivi^ of the
nervous system i just in the same way in which cures
have taken t)lace, to appearance spontaneoasly in some
individuals, after unmistakeable symptoms have pfs-
senled thSBMelves; when, on rsmoViagr to a warmer
cliiBate, or from a painful or monotonous ooc^patioA,
which has depressed tlie nervous system, new scenes
and incidents have excited a vivid interest; thus fn^
creasing the power, or, to vary the phrase^, the qttan^
tily o( the vital force. The present practiee of acting
as though there were no remedy, because meditHne
famishes none, is obviously calculated to aggravate
the existing causes by further depressing the nervtms
powers.
A word before closing on the fnethod employed in
the preceding explanation. Mr J. Sv Mill, than whom
there does not exist a higher authority, in his 'Systetti
of liOgic,' after explaining and illnstniting the ineffl-
ciem^ of the methods of direct observation and experi-
ment in investigating physiological phenomena, says:
* Neither, again, after physical science had attained a
certain development, could there be any real doubt where
to look for the laws on which the phenomena of life
depend, since they must be the mechanical and chemical
laws of the solid and fluid substances composing the
organized body, and the medium in which it subsists,
tt^ether with the peculiar vital laws of the different
tissoes constituting the organic structure;' and again:
* The insufficiency of these resources (those of direct
iodaction) is so glaring, that no one can be surprised
at the backward state of the science of physiology t in
which, indeed, our knowledge of causes is so imperfect,
that we can neither explain, nor could, without specific
experience, have predicted many of the facts certified
to us by the most ordinary observation.' He then shows
that the a jfriori^ or deductive method, is that which is
alooe practicable; and this I have endeavoured to apply,
prooeeding from the known laws of the oxygen of the
air and of the elements of organized bodies, and their
tendency to enter into combinations with the infiuence.
so far as known, of the preservative power of the vital
forces: aqd tlien verifying the results, by showing them
to be in harmony with what is known empirically of
ibm disease to be aooounted for. I cannot help remark-
iu ia additiop, that in the above quotations from Mr
lim must be , found the reasons why tlie elid)orat^
vKorks on cgnsi^mption extant, with their tables of dura*
^oo. Mad microscqpic appearance of the tubercles^ have
hitherto furnished no explanation, and consequently no
remedy, beyopd a palliative for that fearful dise^. ^
The novelty ef the above views rendering their rqec*
tsQA all hiot .certain with the medical periodicals apd
profession, there remained but a single resource : I have
therefore ^ubi;Bitted them to yon 9» editors of a perio-
dical of general literature, and now place them at your
di9po9al. . , . ,, ,
TT^
■j"T '* Tr'!'
I* ) !■■
' INCOMBUSTIBLE MEN.
The , fpllovingj extracts from a p^per J>y Mr P. H.
Bouli^iY^ paying tqr, titlp *^Qaelque^ iFaits ijelatifa I,
r^ta^ Spn^roi;44 ^9^ Cfvps Bpreu.ve du Feu. |lororae
lucomb^stibl^/ &c, >irhica appe^ed in the/ Coraptes Ren-
dus' of tlie,^rench.Afiwn?y for May 14, wi^l probably
interest oi^r reailers: — ,
In France^ in .EDglan,4» in Italy, m aB pljaces where I
have had , occasion to ^pe^k, of bodies in. a spheroidal
state* I baye m&t with, perspns }>y whom the question has
been ,put to me, ' Should not some, relation ^ist between
these phenomena an4 those ^f men ramming ^barefooted
over uquia braw, of a white heat, or those where we
heaf of the ]^d being plunged into melted lead^ &c.t*
I have ia^apa^^ repUed, * Ves, I believe the^ ^q be an
intimate connection hetweei^ all these facts and, the sphe-
roidal, sitatef' an^lXjhave aCterwards^ in my turn, asked,
* Bid you witness auj one of the instances tp which you
rcfprl* and the^ax^swer in variably Jiw been in the nega-
tive. I cpniess taat these.que^e^ adued ^o th^mprreUous
tales wluch I had perused > in, , varju)us worl(3 concerning
the proof by fire, ai^d incombustible men*- admitted with-
Qut reserve by 8ome,.a^d.by 9thew as obstinately disbe-
lieved* warmly excited my curiosity, and rendered me
extremely desirous of establishing, the truth of such
phenomena, and recalling them to the memonr of the
present day;, fox it iq all, alas! as old as the hiUs — Nil
I ifrxi^e, in the first instance, to my ixiend Br Koch^,
who passes his life in the midst of ^he j^^maces of
the Bepartment da IrEure, and who is the healer of bodily
ills to a portion of the Qyclofpeftxi populatioi). which it
supper^. , His auswer fm t<v the, effect, thjat a man named
La Forge, aged about thixty^five or thirty-six, and very
robust, frequently walked with naked feet upon the
melted metal* immediately after its being poured into
the trenches for casting into p;gs: but he; had not wit-
nef^ed it himself. This was not sufficient to dissipate my
d^.bts« I then betook myself : to a.£oun4r7 ia Paris,
where they smiled, and snowed me the door. I said
nothing, but withdrew, musing on the difficulties attend-
ing the verification of a solrtaiy fiact — itself vciy simple.
A shori time subsequently I was fqiiuna^ enough to
meet with M. Alphonse Michel, who resides among the
fbr^ of Fnmehe-Oemt^. M. Miohel wMi vreat kind-
ness prt)m$sed that be would 'institute Careful inquiries,
and communicate to me the results. Th^ subjdncd is an
extract from a letter which I have received -ftom him,
dated 2Gth March last :— '
• On my return. I did not omit to speak with the work-
men concerning the subject of our conversation, and gene-
rally was laughed at for my pains. This, however, did
n«t rebuff me. One day, at ietigth, Aiding nyself at the
foxge of Hagxnr, aearto Luin, I renewed asy- questions to
a workman, who assured mei^at! nothing was mere com-
mon; and to prove hit assertion, at the memeni w^n the
brass in a state of fusion was pouring forth from a TTi/Atn-
$on, he passed. his finger through the incandescent jet.
An employ^ of the house repeated the experiment with
Impunity? and I myself, emboldened by what I beheld,
likewise efffected it. I would rematk, that in making
these trials, neither of vs moistened oar ^gerd.
* I hasten' to imabe yon acquainted with i^is faot^whieh
appears is rat 4o suppctri your, ideas in reiialiea to the
globalsr state pf liquids; for tbe.£ng«fls b^iag naturally
more <?r less humid, it, is, I think, to tibia humidity pass-
ing into the spheroidal condition,, to which their momen-
tanr incombustibility must be attpbuted.'
I have made the fol!owing experiments:—! have di-
vided tor cut with my hand a jet of m^Hed brass, exceeding
t#o fnohitt in diameter, which spnmig from the plug-hdte
of tbe meHiib; pot^ asnl immediately afterwards I have
plunged my otl^er hand into a mass of mes^e¢ metal
truly frightful to gaze upon: I shuddered involuntarily.
46
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Nerertlieless both hands remained perfectly unscathed;
and at the present moment, if anything give me cause
for astonishment, it is that such experiments are not al-
together common and oFerj-day matters.
It will probably be demanded of me, what precautions
are necessary to preserve one's - self from the destructive
action of incandescent matter? I reply, None! Have no
fear, but make the experiment with confidence, and pass
the hand rapidly, yet not too much so, through the liquid
brass: otherwise, if the trial be made timidly, and the
action be too rapid, the resisting power possessed by all
incandescent bodies will exhibit itself at the cost of the
experimentalist.
The experiment succeeds best when the skin is in a
state of perspiration; and the trepidation occasioned by
the vicinity of such masses of fire is highly conducive to
placing the body in the state of moisture necessary for its
proper performance: but on taking certain precautions
we become absolutely invulnerable. I have found the
following mode to answer best : — After rubbing my hands
with soap, so as to give to them a polished surface, I at
the moment of making the experiment steep the one I
am about to employ in a cold solution of sfll-ammoniac,
impregnated with sulphuric acid; or, in place of that,
fresh water. Regnault, who is engaged on this subject,
says, ' Those whose profession is the handling and eating
of fire, sometimes employ a mixture composed in equal
parts of spirit of sulphur, sal-ammoniao, essence of rose-
mary, and onion Juice.'
M. Bouligny concludes by saying that the experi-
ment, so formidable in appearance, is almost insignificant
in reality, and that he has frequently repeated it with
lead, bronze, &c. and invariably with like success.
THE SHORT -TIME AND RELAY SYSTEMS
IN FACTORIES.
A QUESTToir afiecting the wellbeing of a large class of
operatives, and the prosperity of their employers, is
now agitating the manufacturing districts. It relates
to the duration of daily labour in factories, and may be
called the * Long>Time Question,' in opposition to the
' Short-Tim^ Discussion,' till that was resolved by the
Ten Hours' Act passed in 1847.
This measure having come into operation about a
year since, we are now able, from data supplied from
authentio sources, to judge of its eflfects in connection
with what the other faotory acta have done for women
and children,* and to remark npon a meana of erading
these acts, which the maeters have recently adopted by
what is called the 'Shift and Relay System.'
It would appear that, on the whole, the Short- Time
System has worked well. It was at first feared that the
reduction in the hours of labour, necessarily lessening
the amount of wages, would diminish the personal com-
forts of the operatives, and that they — for whose espe-
cial benefit the act was passed — ^would be eager to have
it rescinded ; that, moreover, their spare time would be
spent in idleness and profligacy.
Happily these fears have not been realised. There
has been no diminution of wages that has not been
practically made up by equivalent advantages. It has
been found that the lessened amount of money received
at the end of the week or fortnight is by no means in
proportion to the reduction in the number of hours, ex-
cept in Scotland, where it is precisely the same — namely,
one-sixth. In England, under the old system, the two
last hours of the twelve were not those in which the
greatest energy and vigilance were shown ; while under
the new, the hands are enabled in ten hours to do more
work, and in a better style, than they could in the first
ten hours of a working-day ; hence their wages are not
so liable to abatements for bad work, and to fines for
negligence. The masters have also found it necessary
to accelerate the speed of the machinery, so that a
* The * Factories* Act,* p«fised In 1844 (7th Vic c. 16), and the
7th and 8th Tic. o. 29, solely applicable to print-works.
greater amount of work ii turned out in the shorter
time. The reports of the English factory inspectors
inform us that the operatives get through their taiks
with more hearty good-will, with greater care and
attention, and in better spirits, than heretofore. We
are also told that the spare hours have been employed
profitably and well; so much so, as to aid materially in
counterbalancing any pecuniary loss sustained by the
daily loss of two hours' pay. The females are able to
attend to their household duties themselves, instead, ss
under the old system, of being obliged to employ hire-
lings ; and, in consequence, ^eir households are better
and more frugally kept* The factory children have now
time to acquire some education ; for one clause in the
act of 1844 provides that where there is a good sdiod
in the neighbourhood, children from eight to thirteen
years of age shall attend them half the day, and woi^
the other half. *A combination of trade and wfSbKxA
for such young persons,' says Mr Leonard Homer, one
of the factory inspectors, * is attended with great ad-
vantages. Their intelligence and powers of observatiao
are quickened by their employment, and by living moie
amongst older people ; school is made less wearisome ;
and their wages, small though they be, are mare than
sufiicient to clothe them, and to pay ibr their edoca-
tion.' It would appear, indeed, that, with few excep-
tions, all the educational clauses of the Factones* Aete
relating to children and young persons have worked
well.
The eflTects of the new system upon the adult males
have been equally beneficial. The strict enforcement of
the former acts applicable to women and young persons
employed in factories has had a tendency to increase
the demand for the labour of men, and to keep op their
wages. Neither has their spare time been misapplied.
' I find much more garden ground is cultivated in the
suburbs of large towns than formerly,* writes the in.
spector over one-third of the manufacturing districts cf
England. *It is no uncommon occurrence for hands
who are employed at a factory to be residing in snr-
rounding villages at a distance of four and sometiiaes
five miles from their work. This reminds me not ts
pass over unnoticed a remark made to rae by a nedioHl I
practitiorf6r of much experience — ** That the bands under
the Ten Hours' system enjoy an advantage which yoa
cannot appreciate in money, but to the valae of which
they are keenly alive — improved health.^' In tmUsit
needs not medical authority to prove that all, espccnflj
young girls and boys, must be benefited by walkiaf
long distances to and from their work« which, if ool
always sedentary, is often perforn>ed in dose apart-
ments. The benefits of the Short-Tinoe movement are, it
would seem, fully and extensively i^preoiated by the
operatives tjiemselves : there is a common ei/neseioa j
among them, * I would rather give up a meal a day ,J
than go back to long hours.' |j
To the workpeople, therefore, it would appeer that Ibe
Short-Time Acts have been generally, though not aai-
versally, acceptable. The exception is Scotland ; and it
may be noticed as characteristic, that the operatives
so much prefer, if not performing the roaximam
of work, receiving the maximum amount of wsges, that
many of them have struck in consequoioe oi the re- I
duction of hours and pay. Mr Stuart, tiie lospeetar
of Factories for Scotland, reports as IbUows. — *Ytry
many of the persons employed seem to have taktfi :
it for granted that when trade revived, as it has j
done, they would be able to prevail oa their employers
to pay them twelve hours' wages for ten hoars' woclts
and their disappointment that wages are not raissd to
the old standard is such, that while I was in
for a fortnight in the month of April, sererral
of them discontinued to work, and about 4000 I
still (1st May) hold out, refhsing to receive less than
their old wages. I had frequent opportunities at da**
gow of communicating with the employers and employed
of all classes ; and I am very much indfaied to think, fi
all I heard or observed, that tiie latter, with the
OHAMBER^S EDINBUKGH JOURNAL.
47
tkm of married women having famiUes to attend to, and
of orerteers, clerks, and enginemen, who, on aoconnt of
fkill or superior qnaliflcations, must have extra wages,
would far rather have twelve hours* wages and twelve
hoars* work, than ten hoars' wages and ten hoars*
work.'
Taking, however, the whole population of operatives
in Great Britain, it may be with confidence stated that
the Factories* Acts relating to women and children, and
the more recent * Ten Hours' * statute, have worked
well for those on whose behalf they were enacted. They
have appreciated the benefits so conferred on them, and
have not misused the leisure the legislature has been
the means of aflbrding them.
But as there are two sides to every question, and as
there is no good unmixed with evil, so the interference
of the legislature with factory labour has dready caused
some serious difficulties and emliarrassments to the
masters, and will eventually do so to the workpeople.
Unhappily the operations of commerce from exterior
causes are so intermittent and capricious, that the manu-
facturers of this country are sometimes overwhelmed
with orders, and at others their machinery is but partially
employed, or stands wholly idle. The consequence is,
that on some occasions they are called upon to manu-
facture a vast quantity of goods in a short time ; for
if delay takes place, the market flies from them like an
ignia-fatwu ; or else they have nothing to do, and work
their mills at a loss. It is then that these restrictions
upon the periods of labour operate disastrously. Under
ever so great a pressure, the law forbids them to allow
their operatives to be employed longer than ten hours
daring each day, although for montl^ previously a defi-
ciency of trade may have prevented them from employ-
ing them at all or only in part Thus neither the
master nor the man can make up for previous losses.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that, in times of
manufacturing prosperity, means should be taken to
erade the law in respect of the hours of labour. This
has happened to a very considerable extent of late by re-
sorting to what is called the * Shift and Belay System.*
This consists of working the operatives in classes or
' relays * during the day, one gang succeeding another
at stated intervals, yet each not working in each fac-
tory more than the legal number of hours ; by which
the maoufkcturers have endeavoured to keep on the
safe side of the law in the face of the 26th sec of the
7 Vic cap. 15, which expressly states that 'the hours
of work of children and young persons shall be reckoned
from the time when any chUd or young person shall
firgt begin to work in the morning,* &e. According to
thia plan, a relay of operatives may begin work at half-
paat Hre in the morning ; work four hours ; be idle four
more ; and then continue to work till half-past eight at
nigbt: making the whole number of hours, as computed
by act of parliament, fifteen instead of ten. The con-
trivance of ' shifts,* indeed, makes the whole number
actually working hours ; for by that the relay is not
idle, but works the * off* four hours at another factory.
By this ' shift ' a combination of mill-owners get fifteen
hosra* work out of a given number of persons who get
fifteen hoars' wagaa. This is a virtoal repeal of all Sie
Ftootorias* Acts.
To diow bow extreme the prestare for manaiStctored
gooda ia on some occasions, and of what value even
miniitea are, we may qaote ftom Inspector Saanders*s
Repcirt:— 'Statements have been made to the sub-
ioapectors and myself of overwork, by certain mill-
occupiers running their machinery five minutes (a little
naore or less) over each meal hour, and in the same
manner commendDg work a few minutes before the
meal hour had been actually completed; thus in the
ooane of each day running tlie machinery from twenty
to thirty minutes more than the ten hours.* The
Sooitiah inspector mentions the case of a Paisley firm,
wtucb, by means of the Relay System — but by employ-
iniT adult males only for ten hours* night-work — kept
tbfiir machinerv ffoinor for some time dorimr twmtv
hoars per diem, the other four being oocupied for meals.
This was done to supply a pressing demand for the
American markets. This gentleman also reports that
the system of Relays is very general in Scotland, exist-
ing, in fact, in forty factories, and is perfectly satisfac-
tory both to employers and employed. In some in-
stances, indeed, as in the one case we have mentioned,
it is, though illegal, indispensable. It does not appear
that the less legitimate and proper contrivance of shifts
is resorted to anywhere north of the Tweed.
The inferences to be drawn from the facts we have
adduced are — \*t^ That when work is plentiful, and
danger exists of too much labour being exacted from
operatives, especially from women and persons of tender
age — the factory laws now in force are everything to
be desired for all parties; but that, 2<%, at times
when slackness of trade is succeeded by too great an
influx of it, some relaxation of the Short-Time statutes
might with safety and advantage be allowed, in order to
admit of both master and man making up for lost time
and capital. In print-works propelled by water-power,
the hardship is grievously felt ; for in them the time lost
by floods or drought cannot be recovered on streams
that are much subject to such fluctuations ; and these
losses, added to the ordinary vicissitudes of trade, cause
the Short- Time Acts to be felt as a serious inconvenience
by calico and silk printers. The difficulties which sur-
round the whole question are doubtless great \ bat it is
to be hoped that the practical experience of those con-
cerned, sifted and weighed by the government — whose
constant exertions in favour of the working-classes
must be warmly felt by them —will eventually bring
the matter to a satisfactory adjustment
ON I'HE TREATMENT OF YOUNO LADIES.
This is a most difficult subject — How to treat young
ladies. If you are a married man, your course is clear
enough ; they regard you with perfect indifi'erence ; allow
you to take your seat at their father^s table without
troubling themselves to criticise either your demeanour
or your dress. To them you are a dummy — a monk — a
monopolised individual ; you are safe in their indifference,
except when you officiously ofier your arm to them, and
so stand in the way of a younger or single man. A married
man, therefore, derives at least one advantage from his
double state^the advantage of being regarded by the
book muslin and bare shouKlers that crowd metropolitan
drawing-rooms with indifferenoe, or, may be, contempt
Let a married man presume to pester a young lady to
dance with him twice in one evening, and he would be
sorry to overhear her eommenta on ran at the morrow's
breakout. A Benedict must submit to be snubbed by
virgins. The truth must go forth; in the estimation of
young ladies a family man is a ball-room nuisance. Leavincr,
then, all married men to meet virgin contempt with their
best philosophy, to bear all the weight of the blame if the
bachelors remain long over wine ffor youno; ladies inva-
riably declare that the married men detain the baclielora),
let me turn to the unfettered men of England— to those
epionres not yet betrothed to oonjuffal skirts, and who,
moreover, with a moderation worthy of aU honour, are con-
tent to have for a home, at some L.20 per annum, one of
those west-end palaoes called olubs, from the contempla-
tion of which the virgin minds of England shrink with in-
stinctive horror. The unmarried epicure, if his wishes are
bounded with the moderation to which we have referred,
has a stormy path to traverse. Live and die a bachelor!
Ha ! ha I shout a hundred silvery voices in derision. It is
no easy matter, let me tell yon, my single friend. Did yoa
hear the mooking musio of that plotting hundred ? Well,
they have each netted a mesh in the net that is to catch
you. And how will they lore you to the snare ? Why,
with baited smiles wad dimples, and pearly rows of teeth,
and scented breath, and fairy forms, and mountains of
muslin, and yards of ringlets, and rarest perfumes, and
crimson blushes, and whispered vows, and pouting pulpy
lips. And these are snares, believe me, that count their
thousands of rictims, your humble servant among the
number. Onoe defy beauty, and you must remain on guard
against her for ever. You will know no cessation of hosti-
lities— she will pursue you to the grave — therefore it is in-
dianAnaft'hlA frt«i fhA afntvlA A««iAnvA *n «mtAr nnnn Itfn 'nrith «
n
48
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
toagh and a stoat heart ; to him the dalcet accents of the
vii^gin must ever recall the marriage bell ; he moat toach
her hand as he would a red-hot oinder. He most be a block
of ice, defying thaw, keeping at the same time in coolest
places ; yet mast he, for the satisfaction of his stomach, so
act, that he may not give offence to his host's daughters.
He may not behave C(ndly towards them, and to treat them
with marked attention would endanger his own peace of
mind ; the safest course, therefore, for him to pursue, is to
talk seriously with their father on the subject of marriages,
to say incidentally that his host^s daughters will make
charming wives, that, in fact, they deserve to marry into
the very best families in the kingdom ; and then (it must
be dexterously done) let him advise their father to watch
them narrowly, and to seek to ally them to titled husbimds.
By acting in this way, he will secure the good-will of the
father, and, if the matter.come to the ears of the daughters,
flatter their pride, and make them turn their thoughts to
coronets. He will of course have prefaced this discourse
hj declaring that he is not a marrying man ; that, in fact,
his habits arc those of a confirmed bachelor ; besides, he is
too humble and limited in hi* mean* to provide what he
considers a suitable home for a speotmen of nature^s
masterpieces. — Kni/e and Fork,
BLECTiaO TELBOBAPH IN IKE]:.AliD.
Thia mveiition has been introduced into Ireland, and is
now in operation on a portion of the Great Southern and
Western Raflway. *One peculiarity of this telegraph,'
says Saunders's News-Letter, *i8, that the wires usually
placed upon poles are in this Inatanee burlefd at a consider-
able depth h& the ground. No peraon travelling oo the
line would myii^ose that such a mysterioua agsnt as the
Electric Telegraph was at all in operation. Two great ad-
vantages are gained by the adoption of this plan — namely,
secanty- firom the effects of lightning and depredationa
The means employed for generating the eleotrio fluid is
somewhat novel, and consists in the use of a certain salt
known to chemists as chloride of calcium, being, in fact, the
pure base of lime. This salt has the property of attracting
sufficient moisture from the atmosphere for keeping np the
supply neceasary to work the telegraph, thereby entirely
dispensing with the use of aeida, found by all cleotriotaos so
destructive to tlie metals employed.'
COST OS? PBIION ACCOMUOfiA^ON.
The smns hitherto expended on |»isoB bnildinga have in
some oases been enormous. The cost is seldom less than
Ii.100 to L.150 per prisoner (a sum sufficient for building
two or three neat cottages, each able to contain a whole
family) ; and in some instances it has been much more. A
pottion only (the newest) of tho CTounty Prison at York,
capable of aooommodnting only 1^ prisoners, cost L.200,000.
which is more than L.1200 per prisoner — enough, if it had
been desired, to build for each prisoner a separate mansion
with stable and ooaoh-hoose. — Fonrteenth Report ofPHson-
Intpeciors,
THE ZICZAC AKD THE C^nOCODTLE.
On one occasion I saw, a long way off, a lairge crocbdile,
tweltQ or fffleen feet long; lying asleep under a perpendi-
oular bank, •boui ten feet high, otk the margin of the river.
I stopped the boait at aome ^stance, and noting the place
as well as 1 could, I took a circuit inland, and came down
cautiously to the top of the bank, whence with » heavy
rifle I made sare of my Ugly game. I had already cut off
his head in imaginatieii, and was oonaideang whether it
should be atuffed with its mouth open or shut. . I peeped
over the bank : there he was, within ten feet of the rifle. I
was on the point of firing at his eye, when I observed that
he was attended by a bird called aeiezac. Itieof the plover
speolea, of a grayish oelour, aad as large as a small pogeon.
The bird was wiUkipg up and <k>wn, close to the crooodile's
nose. I suppose I moved, for suddenly it saw me ; and in-
stead of flymg away, as any respectable bird would have
done, it jumped up about a foot from the ground, screamed
*aiosao!' 'zVozael' with all the powa» of hia voiee, and
dashed itself against the erooodile's face two iir three times.
The great beast started up, and immediately Bpying liis dan-
ger, made a jump into the air ; and dashing into the water
with a splash which covered me with mud, hedived into the
river, and disappeared. The zicsac, to my iooreased admira-
tion, proud apparently of having saved hia friend, rentained
walking up and down, uttering his cry, as I thought, with
an exuTting voice, and standing every now and then on the
tips of his toes in a conceited manner, which made me |
juatly angry with his impertinence. After bsving inited
in vain for some time to see whether the crooodiM voold
oome out agaui, I got up from the bank when I wm Ijk^
threw a clod of earth at the ziczae, tad eune btd to
the bo^ feeling some oonsolation for the loss of taj pne
in having witnessed a oircomstance, the tniUi of nkh
has been disputed by several writers on natonl hiitot;.-
Curzoni'i Vmls to Moneuieries in the Levant,
THE SHEPHERDESS'S CRADLE-SONa
raoM THB oaaiiAM.
Slbsp, baby, sleep, \
Thy father tends the ihesp;
Thy mother riiakes the little tree,*
Down falls a pretty dream for the^^
Bleep, bahy, sleep.
Sleep, baby, deep.
The skies are full of sheep,
Baoh starlet's but a UtUe Ismb,
The moon it is the lambkin's dun—
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, deep,
The Sarionr tends htS sheep ;
Himself the gentle lamb indeed,
Who for us all wasmade to bleed-
Sle^, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, deep,
And thou shalt have a dieep ;
A sheep with gotden bdls to Hm^
A pUymate be shaU be of thine-
8toep« bata!3% slespk
Bleep, baby, deepi.
And bleat not like a dieep;
Or else the shepherd's dog to wild
Will come and bite my naughty chUA-
Bleep, baby, deep.
Sleep, baby, sleep-
Away and herd the sheep;
Away, thou sbepberd't dog so wiM.
And do not wake my dsrling diUd—
Sleep, baby, sleep.
* The cradles are suspended to the treca
III I !■ ■
PBIL060PHT OF HAPPINSSi.
Whoever judges of things by appearance, findi tbt
Providence has d Utributed his gifts m a very unequal bj*
ner. I could show that we often attribute to ^^^^^
is alone due to our own Ignorance, but I confine Byjw »
the affirmation that Providence has conferred on dl ii«
the oonditiens necessary to happineas. Seeing ihd iw«t
all able to perfect and develop our faculUes, we M^JJJr
ourselves a prompt and facile means of obtaining mm»
peace, and at the same time eontentment •"« '*PJJV'|
ordinary life. If, therefore, education aocusto^d si ^
tham it^does to live with and ia ourselves, *« •»y!r"
and confidence the pleasures of conscience, bvj«ww*
them to the deceitful and fugitive pleasures o^^wP**^
we should find at all times, and in every conditioawP^
the means of satisfying our innate deiire for hsppw*-
Sipnora Ferruoei,
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THE KOH-I-NOOR, OR MOUNTAIN OF LIGHT.
If there is one object in nature more interesting to
hwDsn beings than another, it is the Diamond. Whj
this should be so. Philosophy might perhaps be able to
tell if we consulted her; but it is not surprising that
Poetiy, who is always more or less inclined to super-
stitioD, should refer the influence of the stone over our
judgments and imaginations to some occult talismanic
power working upon us like fascination. This idea is
fortified in a enrsons maimer by a consideration of
the history of the most xemariEable ef all diamonds,
DOW lendared, by circumstanoes, an object of public
cariosity and interest to both hemispheres : the cele-
brated gem which has been named, with Oriental ex-
trsTagance, the Mountain of Light.
Some time ago Sir Charles Napier assured us in this
coontiy that it was on its way from the Pnnjaub to
Eoglsad, destined for the treasury of Queen Victoria ;
bat a more general opinion now is, that Gholab Singh,
lUrmed for its safety during the Sikh conyulsions, car-
ried it off to JamoO) and that it still remains in his pos-
lessioD. The whole Punjaub, howerer, haring become
s portion of our dominions, this fiamoas historical dia-
mond, it is to be presumed, will fall ere long to the
Briti^ crown: and at anyrate our readers will pro-
bably act be displeased to have before them an account
(tf the Koh-i*>noor and its singular fortunes.
LOce other subjects of history, the Koh-i-noor has its
fiibaloiis as well as authentic era; but of the fbrmer we
ihaU ooly say that the diamond is believed by the Hin-
doos to have belonged to mythological Pandoos before
it came to illumine with a fatal gleam the close of the
Kogol dynasty. Although we spare the reader, faow-
eret, on this point — and perhaps derogate thereby from
our own character as an orthodox historian*^ we may
tt least advert to one of the omens whicb preceded its
•ctoal appearanoe. The anecdote is given by Captain
HsniKon ;* and although obviously wrong in chronology
(the loyal pair referred to having been married before
their accession to the crown), it is sufficiently charac-
teristic to be probable. Shah Jehan, he tells us, was
led by his well-known love of the arts and sciences, and
by his constant patronage of foreigners, into strangely-
libenl notions of the rights and true social position of
▼oosea. ' He was sorry,' says the captain* 'to see the
most beautifbl part of the creation caged in seraglios,
bred up in ignorance, and kept from useful and pleasant
conversation, by the heavy fetters of blind and unreason-
sble custom s ' and the {dan he took to break through
the conventionalities of his court was to get up a fancy
ftir. In those days, however^ the doctrine of free trade
was unknown; and when the ladies on the appointed
- ^»^^— III I
« Bamilton'B New Aoooimt of ths East Indies, from 1688 to 17S3.
day had established themselves in their booths, pro-
vided with jewels and trinkets |pr sale, the courtiers
were comp^ed to buy at whateiver prices they ohose
to ask, and the emperor himself was among the pur-
chasers.
Shah Jehan, Id his piogress among the booths, was
struck by the engt^gkag expression of one of ^e seHers,
and inquired what she had to dispose of; on which she
told him that she had still one largie rough diamond on
hand» and would not oliJsot to part with it ior a con-sid-
er-a-tion. Herei^on she prodnosd in a grave, business-
like manner, the object in question ; s:nd the emperor,
unaccustomed to that feminine freedom he had himself
desired to call into existenoe> was s^ doubt much amused,
as well as surprised, to find it a piece of fine transparent
sugar-candy cut in the diamond (brm. He asked her
how much she demanded ; and with a pleasant air, which
passed off very agreeably the pretty assurance, she re-
plied that it was well worth a lac of rupees— L.10,000 !
SfaiA Jehan gave an order fbr the money upon the
spot ; and in this way began his Scqualntance with his
future empress, l^mother of Aurungzebe. When Ranoo
died> her huriwnd perpetuated her name by bnMding for
her 0ue of the moM remarkable tnrausolea in the worid,
the famous Taj, the construction of which, we are told
by Xavernier, occupied 50,000 nneu for twenty -two
years, and oost IjA174»802 sterimg^ Wiieo Colonel
Sleeman visited the place with his wif^, hd artfed her
what she thought of It * I cannot tell you,* she replffed,
* what I think, for I know not how to criticise, such a
building ; but I can tell you what I feel : I would die
to-morrow to hi^ve s^ch another over me.T
Aurungssebq, bornpf this marriage, capje into the
woridf it may be supposed, with aa air-drawn diamond
glittering in his imaginatioa; and perhaps it was his
knowledge of the prodigious ^ifP^ tit his mother^ sugar-
candy whicli led to the introduction of the Koh-i-noor
into the treasury of the Great Mogul 1 Shah Jeban,
notwithstanding Ms raagnifloeDee in building— exempli-
fied in the Taj Mahal' alltided to, arid hi the great
mosque at t)elhi— had filled the cofiers of the state ; for
the oelehrated Peacock Throne, likewise hia work, was
not a mere extraragant bauble, but a seoeptsele for the
jewels of the crown^ with which it was incrusted. In
his later years, however, unprotected by the influence
of his queen, now no more, he had sunk into intem-
perance, and consequently disease i and on a report of
his death in 1658^ his four sons, as was always the
fashion in India, flew to arms to scramble for the tlirone.
But Aurungzebe made no, pretensions for himself : his
thoughts were fixed upon another world. He was
never seen without the Koran under his arm, and never
fafled to say his prayers five times a day hi a kmd and
« Bleeman'B lUmblM and ReooUectlona of an Indian Official.
I 50
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
t(
melodious yotce. He professed himself to be a faquir,
or religious mendicant — a kind of Mohammedan friar —
lived upon rice, roots, and water, and dressed in plain
white, without a single jewel or other ornament. His
sole object of ambition was to retire to Mecca, to spend
the rest of his life in prayer near the tomb of the Pro-
phet ; and in the meantime he espoused the cause of
the ytmngcst brother, joining his army with his. But
even in this union they were not a match for the other
two separately, and something more remained to be
done.
Aurungzebe governed the province of the Deccan,
and there had formed a strict though secret alliance
with a man as extraordinary as himself. This was a
Persian adventurer, Ameer Jumla, who had come to
Southern India as an attendant upon a merchant, and
risen in the service of the king of Golconda till he be-
came viceroy over the richest portion of the country,
containing its celebrated diamond mines, and com-
mander-in-chief of the army. His wealth was so im-
mense, that the king at length looked upon him as a
rival in the state ; and Ameer Jumla, whose grand am-
bition was to be the founder of a royal dynasty some-
where or other, was glad to enter into a union with the
Mogul prince even at a sacrifice of a portion oi his pro-
digious fortune. As arranged between them, therefore,
he repaired to the ooort of Shah Jehan, the report of
whose death had been ptemature, and oflbred to lead
an army against Golconda, and deliver up to him its
boundless wealth ; as a specimen of which, he presented
to the dazzled emperor, not a piece of sugar-candy, but
the veritable Koh-i-noor, the Mountain of Light \
The Koh-i-noor being our theme, we can spare but a
few words for the human personages of the great Indian
drama. Ameer Jumla was intrusted, by the avarice of
the fated king — in spite of the remonstrances and in*
treaties of his eldest son, whom he had destined ita
the throne — with the army he prayed for ; which he
first carried against Golconda, and then added to the
forces of Aurungzebe. The two eldest brothers in the
meantime had met in the field, when one was worsted,
and forced to fly; and Aurungzebe led his combined
strength against the victor, whom he completely routed
in a pitched battle. The farce of the faquir was there-
fore at an end. He deposed and oonflned his father,
who still clung to the cause of the eldest of his children ;
and making his youngest brother drunk at an enter-
tainment, sent him quietly off to a state prison, and
mounted the imperial throne himself in 1658.
The Koh-i-noor was by this' time set in the Peacock
Throne, and from that proud seat looked with its Urge,
cold, bright, unwinking eye upon the approaching crisis.
It witnessed the rise in a few years of the peasantry of
its own Golconda and the neighbouring countries into a
great power, known as the Mahratta Empire ; it watdied
the new inundation roll over the Mogul dominions,
sweeping away their political demarcations; it ad-
mired the firmness and intrepidity with which the
brave, unscrupulous, and crafty Aurungzebe fought
and finessed by turns, and struggled with his destiny
even to extreme old age ; and it read the will in which
the last of the really great Moguls proclaimed in these
words the vanity of human life : — * I came naked into
the world, and naked I go out of it Let no ensigns or
royal pomp accompany my funeral : let a faithful ser-
vant convey my corpse to the place of Shah Zen al Bin,
and make a tomb for it in the simple manner of der-
vishes : let not my fortunate children give themselves
any concern about a monuments' * Long ere now the
family competitors of Aurungzebe had perished ; and
Ameer Jumla, while planning the conversion of the go-
vernment of Bengal, which had been bestowed upon
« Fraser's Hlstonr of Nadir BlMh.
him, into an independent sovereignty — ^the grand ambi-
tion of his life — had died quietly in his bed. In the
twelve years succeeding the emperor's death, no fewer
than five other princes reigned and died suoeetsifdij,
each leaving the Mogul empire deeper ia decay. Bet
still the Koh-i-noor continued to gace and glitter fnm
the Peacock Throne, tiU ita mookaDfr gleams wen at
length beheld afar off in the visiona of Nadir Shah.
Nadir Shah was a soldier of fortune, who had seind
upon the throne of Persia; and after ooa^veriog, s«
had been done more than once before, the then impe-
rial territories of Ghknl and Cabul, he yielded to the
temptations of the Koh-i-noor and the other treasmf
of India, and resolved to snatch a booty even frsn
under the beard of the emperor himaelf aft D^i Then
was nothing very surprising in this, as the riches of
Mohammed Shah, the great Mogul of tl» time, were
very dazzHng to a jxirvmu king ; and aa the sIsAs d
the acclimatised TarUrs, who had gradually sunk faito
effeminacy, seemed to point them (mt as tlie prey sf
the first oomer of the many eoemice wbe were mm
gathering like vultmres round the dying enpire. Kato
advanced into India, defeated Mehasamed Sbafa in a
general engagement at Kurnaul; and then the two
kings, the conqueror and conquered, proceeded tt^getber
toDelhL
Here the pretext chosen by Nadir was an Ininnec-
tlon of the populace ; and so savage were the ftrtlsns,
who had hitherto been kept down by the poBcy ef their
commander, that even the aaimato foond in the streets
and houses were not spared, for leas the men, wemeo,
and children. * Aa the great number of dead bedics
that lay about the castle, and in the baaaars and oth«
places, caused a very ofiensive stench, they pressed
most of the people they met with in the streets, and
employed them in removing the bodies. Some, by
tying cords to the feet, they dragged without the dty;
some they threw into the river ; and those whom Uiey
imagined to be Hindoos, they piled forty or fiHy of thsir
bodies a-top of each other, and burnt them with the
timber of the demoliiftiiaf buildmgs.' * Nadir »ow pio-
oeeded to the main ol>)ect of his inroad — rohUog tk
treasury, and then the inhabitants individually, aud tor-
turing or slaying all who wete refractory. In this nisa>
ner he collected in money and plate about L.1 2,000,000,
not indudmg the Peacock Throne, the crown jevdi,
and, above all, the Koh-i»noor. This booty ooet in sfl,
according to Fraser, 800^0 Hvei.
On his march hontewttrds, he dittriboted large SH»
among his addiere ( and at Herat made m, disf^y o(
his acquisitions, of which the ibUowing desoriptioa
is given by a Kashmerian writer of caredit, who vsi
an eye-witness: — * When Nadir Shak was at Ddhi,
he had such a profusion of jewels, that he ordered
the moabrr bashy to make up arms and faaracM d
every kind, inlaid with predoui stonee, and to ona-
ment alarge tent in the saase nmuier. For this |nr-
pose the best workmen that could be prtiuiued vift
erapk^ed a year and twa movthe during the iMrdi}
and when Nadir Shah arrived at Herat* the moahir
bashy informed him that a great number of the fal-
lowing articles, richly inlaid with precious stoaet,
were prepared — namely, horse harness, aword sheatki.
quivers, shields, spear-cases, and macee, with matddm
or chairs of different siees, and a hirge tent liaed with
jewels. The tent was ordered to be pitched ia tbs
ikwan khaneK in which were placed the #dUbl tosei-
«M« or Peacock Throne, brought from DtdXA the b^
nadtry^ with the thrones of some other naoaarGhs, to-
gether with the inlaid svnddees. Publication was ssde
by beat of drum throughout the city and the camp,
that all persons had liberty to come to this magniikent
exhibition, such as had never before been seen in aay
age or country. Nadir Shah was not pleaeed with the
form of the tent ; and besides being lined with grtea
satin, many of the jewels did not appear to advantage :
* Ft«s»'kHislorjaf NattrBbah.
CHAMBEBS'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
SI
be tberelbre ordered it to be taken to fkieoef, and a
new one to be made, the top of which, for the oon-
▼enieoee of traniportation, ahoold be separate from the
walla, woeh at in Hindooataa ia called a r9wty. When he
returned to Meahed from hit expedition into Turan,
this new tent being floitbed, was diaptayed in the tame
manner as the former one; but its beauty and mag-
niflcence are bejond description. The outside was
ooTered with fine scarlet broadcloth, the lining was of
Tiolet-celoaved satin, upon which were representations
of all the birds and beasts in the creation, with trees
and flowers, the whole made of pearls, diamonds, rubies,
emeralds, amethysts, and other precious stones; and
the tent poles were deoorated in like manner. On both
sides of the Peacock Throne was a screen, upon which
were the figures of two angels in precious stones. The
roof of the tent consisted of seTen pieces ; and when
it was transported to any place, two of these pieces
packed in cotton were put into a wooden chest, two of
which were a tttfflcient load for an elephant ; and the
screen filled anottier chest. The walls of the tent, the
tent poles, and the tent pins, which latter were of
maasy gold, loaded five mors elephants ; so that for the
carriage of the whole were required seren elephants.
This magnificent teut was displayed on all festivals in
the dewan khaneh at Herat during the reraaioder of
Nadir Shah's reign. After his death, his nephew, Adil
Shah, and his grandson, Shahrokh, whose territories
were Tery limited, and expenses enormous, had the tent
taken to pieces, and dissipated the produce.' *
The monster Nadir is represented by the same writer
as baring been tall, with a beautiful complexion of red
and white, and a fine animated countenance* Fraser
repmte, firora one who knew him, that he was upwards
of six feet high, well proportioned* of robust make and
constitution, with an incUaation to be fat, coiAiteraoted
by the fiitigue he constantly underwent. His diet was
simple, his wine of moderate quantity } and even these
indulgences gave way, when necessary to business, the
king satisfying his hunger rather than his appetite
with a. few parched peas, which he always carried in
his pocket, and a draught of water. He was extremely
generova, but yet a nmct man of besiness, and a fierce
disciplinarian, punishing ofibnoes with death or mutila-
tion without mercy. In the evening, be was accus-
tomed to unbend freely with a few chosen companions ;
but on one occasion two of them chancing to address
him the next day, as if remembering their intimacy, he
caused them instantly to be strangled.
Nadir now proceeded from conquest to conquest, be«
coming more cru^ every day, and unlnekily, accord-
ing to honest Kbojeh Abdulkurreem, neglecting those
prayers and prostrations which had given success to his
former cmelties. He now rarely prayed at all, and yet
continued to indulge himself as usual in depriving his
friends of their eyes or lives on the most trifling pre-
tences ; till at length his * imprudence ' in this particular
ended in his forming a design for a wholesale massacre
of his Persian troops by the Afghans and Uzbecks,
whom he preferred. This was a little too much. A
cabal was formed against him ; and one morning the
body of Nadir Shah was found in his tent, with the
head cut ofi^ and an old woman lamenting over it The
Koh-i-ooor was not a witness of this tragedy: it had
been previously sent off with the other diamonds to
Kelat; and when the successor of Nadir mounted the
throne, he found himself the possessor of L. 10,000,000
in money, besides gold and sHver btdllon, and the Pea-
cock Throne.
This prince, however, wms not allowed to preserve
long either the diamond or bb own eyes^ His rebellious
subjects deprived him of the latter ; and Ahmed Shah,
the commander of Nadir's Affgban cavalry, who had
thought fit^ in the confusion of the time, to make him-
self a king in Aflghanlstan, relieved the blind man of
* Xemoira of Khojoh Abdnlktirreem. Translated from the
Pfenian hr Praneia Gladirln.
the charge of the Koh-i-noor. This fatal gem may be
thought to have acted like a talisman upon its possessor.
He first wrested the Punjaub from India, and then, by
an unoontrollable impulse, threw himself headlong into
the miUe, when the Mogul empire, convulsed with its
last throes, was in the death-gripes with the Mahrattas.
At Paniput, within fifty miles of Delhi, in the year
1761, the battle was fought which decided the fate of
all parties. The Mahrattas were beaten and dispersed {
Ahmed Shah returned to his own dominions, i^r hav-
ing assisted at the slaughter of 200,000 men ; and the
empire, already mortally struck, fell to pieces, and
made way for a company of foreign merchants, to raise
an English sovereignty upon its ruins.
The Koh-i-noor remained at Cabul, emitting its sar-
donic gleams over the vicissitudes of the Affghan mo-
narchy. The third in succession from Ahmed — for
reigns are short in such times and countries — was
driven from his throne by a younger brother, and taking
refUge with his diamond in a distant castle, found him-
self there in confinement He hid the Koh-i-noor in a
crevice in the wall ; and even when betrayed into the
hands of his brother, and blinded by his orders, he
refused to discover the treasure, affirming that he had
thrown it into the river as be crossed. The third and
youngest brother of this amiable family — well known
to our readers as the Shah Shoojah — now set both the
others aside, mounted the throne himself, and en-
deavoured to satisfy poetical justice by blowing from
the mouths of cannon the treacherous castellan and his
wife and children ! In gratitude for this vengeance, the
blind brother disclosed to Shoojah the place where the
diamond was concealed : and when the latter was soon
after compelled to fly into the Company's territories, he
carried with him the Koh-i-noor. The Aflghan portion
of this narrative we take from Colonel Sleeman, who
reeeived it from the old blind king himself.
When Shoojah and the Koh-i-noor arrived at Lahore
on their way to the Company's territories, they were at
first received with great distinction by Bunjeet Singh :
but this did not last long. If the roytd fugitive had left
the diamond in the wall, he might have passed on in
peace; but Ronjeet felt as powerfully as any of the
others who had been exposed to it that spectral gleam
which, like some fatal meteor, had always been the
herald of strife and disaster. The Koh-i-noor, in fact,
even before its recorded history commences, had per-
haps ahoays been the object of violence and robbery. In
Oolconda, as we are informed by the Venetian traveller
Marco Polo, the richest diamonds were obtained from a
small valley so completely surrounded by inaccessible
rooks, that it afforded no approach for human beings. It
was the custom of the people, therefore, to throw large
pieces of meat over the cliffiii and when the white eagles
of the region darted down upon the prey, to pursue them
to their retreats, and in their turn rend away the spoil.
Adhering to the meat, they found diamonds of great
value. This, for aught we know, may be a fiction ; but
the story is repeated in the * Arabian Nights,' and was
the faith of aU Asia.
The unlucky Shoojah was ofiered a territory and a
fort, and all sorts of things, for the diamond; but he
denied that he had it in his possession, and his wife,
drawing upon her feminine imagination, declared that
it bad been pawned for supplies. * Runjeet, disbelieving
these assertions, placed guards round the Shah's resi-
dence, and allowed no access or egress without strict
search. The exiled family, however, being proof against
the severity of mere restraint, the prohibition of food
was added, and for two days the shah, with his wives,
family, and sccvants, suffered absolute deprivation ; but
their firmness was even proof against this trial; and
Runjeet, from a regard to his own reputation, deter-
mined to proceed with more art, and ordered food to^ be
supplied.' A letter was now forged, implicating Shooiah
in some correspondence with Runjeet's enemies ; and it
* was now assumed to be indispensable to take precau-
tions asraiost the intrieues and machinations of the
52
CHAMBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
shah ; and a guard of two companies of Sikhs, fh>m the
newly-raised corps, being added to that previously set
over the premises where he resided, threats of a transfer
of the shah*8 person to Gorindgurh, with treatment of
the most galling and injurious kind, were resorted to,
in order to enforce compliance with the demand for the
jewel. Having tried remonstrance in vain, the shah
next resorted to artifice, and solicited two months' delay,
to enable him to procure the diamond fVom certain
mahajuru with whom it was asserted to be pledged,
and he said that some lacs of rupees must be expended
to effect this. Runjeet reluctantly consented to allow
the time solicited, and severities were accordingly sua-
pended for a season. They were renewed, however,
before the period expired ; and Shah Shoojah, wearied
out by them, and seeing that the rapacity of the Sikh
would not hesitate, even at the sacrifice of his life for
its gratification, agreed at last to give up the precious
jewel. Accordingly, on the 1st of June, Runjeet waited
on the shah, with a few attendants, to receive it. He
was received by the exiled prince with much dignity,
and both being seated, a pause and solemn silence en-
sued, which continued for nearly an hour. Runjeet
then, getting impatient, whispered to one of his attend-
ants to remind the shah of the ol^ect of his coming.
No answer was returned, but the shah with his eyes
made the signal to a eunuch, who retired, and brought
in a small roll, which he set down on the carpet at
an equal distance between the chiefs. Runjeet desired
Bhooanee Das to unfold the roll, when the diamond was
exhibited and recognised, and the Sikh immediately
retired with his prize in hand.'* Runjeet, however,
was enraged with Shoojah for having kept him so long
from the object of his desire, and another attempt vras
made to implicate him in political intrigues. Accord-
ing to the anonymous author above quoted, however,
he was finally permitted to purchase his liberty with
L.2000 ; but another writer says that he made his escape
only by climbing over the roofs of some houses, and
creeping under the walls of the city through a sewer.f
Runjeet remained in possession of the diamond till his
death, and by his last wiU bequeathed it to the temple
of Juggeniaut ; but although the other bequests of the
dead Lion of the Punjaub were carefhlly attended to,
his successors disregarded this one, and the Koh-i-noor
remained in the royal treasury. Since then, it continued
to glare steadily upon the distractions of the country,
till all on a sudden it disappeared.
It cannot, however, remain long in obscurity. Before
these sentences see the light, it will in all probability
have been discovered, and have returned, after passing
through so many strange adventures, into the hands of
the Masters of India.
Having now brought our historical narrative to a
close, we must proceed, after the manner of our betters,
to give some accoimt of the appearance, character, and
value of our subject. The Koh-i-noor, like many other
great personages of history, is not indebted much to
external form. It is not cut so as to sparkle like a
brilliant, but returns the beholder's gaze with a cold,
steady glare, fit to make a nervous man wink. It is
plainly set in gold. With regard to its pecuniary
value, the common superstition is, that it is worth
L.3,500,000 sterling ; but this will not stand the test of
figures for an instant. The professional mode of esti-
mating the value of a diamond is to square the number
of carats it weighs, and then to multiply the product
by the price of a single carat. Thus a rough diamond of
eight carats' weight, at L.2 for one carat, is worth L.128,
the arithmetical process standing thus: 8 x 8 x 2 » 128.
But although a rough diamond is estimated at L.2,
when cut brilliant-fashion the price is L.8, and rose or
table-fashion L.6. The carat, let us further premise, is
four grains diamond weight, which is equivalent to 3*174
grains Troy.
♦ History of the PuQjnub. London: AUcn.
t Psne^t Fire Ymrs in India.
Now our diamond, though said, when in the roagh
state, to have weighed 900 carats, has been dirainiflhed
by cutting and pofishing to 279, and not being shaped u
a brilliant, its price must be based upon L.6 for one cant
This, by the rule above stated, would give L.467,000— •
splendid sum, no doubt, but not a seventh part oC tbe
conraionly-assigned value. A similar exaggeratioe is
current as to the value of the great diamond of the
Emperor of Russia, a splendid stone which we had ooce
the honour of gazing at in the Kremlin at Moscow. It
is said to be worth L.4,804,000 ; whereas, taking it at
the most favourable estimate, it would not come to
more than L.264,200. But the truth is, the rule ve
have given is rarely extended to stones of more than
20 carats, after which weight the valuatton is arbitrary.
The Empress Catharine is said to have given fbr tfae
Russian diamond L90,000 in ready money, and an an-
nuity of L.4000 ; and our diamond, we say, is wortii—
just as much as it will fetch. We have only to add,
that the Koh-i-noor is the second largest diamond in the
world ; that of the Rajah of Mattan, found in Borneo,
weighing 367 carats. As for the Brazil stone of 16S0
carats, it is supposed to be nothing more than a ookrar-
less topaz. L. R
THE PROGRESS OF PENNY POSTAGE.
A SET of tabular returns has recently been issued by
order of parliament, which will afford some curious aod
interesting information respecting the Post -Office to
those whose patience and arithmetical powers are equil
to the task of extracting it These tables exhilHt a
history of the Penny Postage : the first shows the num-
ber of chargeable letters which have passed through the
London General Post, inwards and outwards, since the
first reduction of postage from distance-rates to tbe
uniform rate of fourpence, which happened on tbe 5th
December 1839, to the beginning of tbe present year,
dividing the time into periods of four complete weeks
each. This of course takes m the whde period of the
Penny Postage, which was commenced on 10th Januaiy
1840. That a means of comparison may be afforded,
there is shown on the same page the estimated ave-
rage number of letters for the four weeks immediatdy
preceding the introduction of uniform rates.
The conservative character of our nation, and the
tardiness with which we avail ourselves of aoythinf
that is new, even though highly beneficial, is strikingly
shown in this document It appears to have takea
eight years for the public to find out the advantages d
Penny Postage ; and even now, it is by no means desr
that these are as extensively appreciated as they wiU
be. The number of letters passing through the Gene-
ral Post-Office to and from London, and every other
part of the world, has, it is true, increased in the eight
years above eightfold } but the increase has been can*
ously slow and gradual In 1839, the estimated ave-
rage number of letters per lunar month was 1,622,147 :
in the first four complete weeks noted in these return
as having elapsed after the Penny Post began — nameijrf
from the Ist to the 29 th February 1840 — the nunher
little more than doubled, being 3,338,074. From this
point the augmentation goes on in progressive numben
with extraordinary stealthiness, as is seen by nuuiii^
the eye down the colunm of totals, where we find the
initial figures representing millions mounting up bf
units, at almost regular intervals of tinoe, to 9,268,457,
which is given as the total number of letters whi^
passed through the London General Post-OiBce dariag
the four weeks ending on the 17th February 1849.
To show the influence of cheapness on the amount of
public correspondence, we need only addnoe the letocttt
refpecting the district or local post of Ix)ndon. Up to
1840, when the tax was twopence per letter 'on the
atones* — aa the inner circle of the metropolis was then
called—and threepence ' off the stones,* or to the ex-
tremity of the outer circle or suhurhs, the estimated
average number of letters for four wee|u was two-thirds
as manj as that whicli passed through the London
Post-Office to and from the rest of the world. In other
words, in 1839 the ayerage local correspondence of
London occasioned the passage through the post of
1,021.386 epistles permeiuflM; while for its provincial
aikd foreign correspondence, with the excessire distance-
rates then enacted, the number was no more than, as
before stated, 1,622,147 per month during that year*
Another singular revdatioa tending to show the in-
fluence of cheapness may be discoYcred in studymg
these returns ; for it would appear from them -that the
increase in the public interchange of letters through
London has been in almost exact proportion to the de-
crease in the chargea for transmitting them. Thus, as
we And the reduction for the London district post was
from an average of twopence and a fraction to one
penny, so we tdao find that the number of letters has
more than doubled; being—instead of 1,021,386» as in
1839—2,601,951 for the month ending the 20th January
in the present year. We have also already seen that
tiie increase in the number of London General Post
letters has b^n above eightfold; and eightpenoe was
about the average per letter charged under the old
system.
Although London, being the great mart and centre
of the empire, would appear to present a matter of this
kind in its most magnified aspect, yet if we turn to
another table, which includes, besid^ the London, the
local district, and cross posts of the Eo^h provinces,
Ireland, Wales, and Scotland, the ratio of increase in
public correspondence occasioned by the Penny Postage
which we have named is not overstated, even when
applied to the whole of the United Kingdom. We
giMn from a comparative statement of the number of
tetters delimered in one week of each calendar month,
banning with Novembw 1839, and ending with the
present time (20th March 1849), that during the week
terminating with the 24th November 1839,^ there were
delivered iu the United Kingdom 1,585,973 letters.
That was under the old rates of charge. In the week
that ended on the 21st of last February, the number
was 6,849,196. This is an increase of more than five
million letters per week, delivered at a penny each, to
which must be added, to make up an approximation of
our former estimate, letters sent to the cdoniea and to
foreiga parts, and those misdirected, or, from other
causes, not delivered at all, and destroyed in the Dead*
Letter Office. As a matter of curiosity, we ma^ add,
that the number of letters which was delivered m the
United Eangdom in the year 1848 was about 328,000,000,
and the number which passed through the London
General and District Post-Offlces during tlie same year
was something over 144,000,000 !
When Mr Kowland Hill first proposed the uniform
Peony Bate, one of his calculations-^in the correctness of
whidi the public found it moat difficult to place faith —
was that which prognosticated that in time the gross
revenue of the Post-Office would be as great under his
cheap as it then was under the dear system. That
<?alculation is now very nearly verified in accounts re-
turned three or four weeks ago to an order of the House
of Commons. The gross sum paid for postage by the
public in the official year ending 5th January 1838 was
L^2,339,737, and their contributions of pennies in 1848
amounted to a sum not very far short — namely, to
L.2, 192,478. Neither has the cost of management kept
pace with the eightfold accession of business, for that
has not quite doubled. In 1838 it was L.687,313, and
in 1848 St was L.1,386,853. It is, however, wdl known
that Mr Rowland Hill has met with much official resist-
jwce to his plans of economy; and that were they fully
oat, the cost of the estaUishment would be so
nmteriaUy diminished, as to be brought much nearer
the former expenditure than it remains at present
The new regiuation, forbidding the reception of un-
stamped paid letters, will relieve the Post-Office of much
expense and trouble. The public were not sufficiently
aware that the effect of paying a penny with a letter,
instead of putting a stamp on it, was to help in occa-
sioning some half-dozen unnecessary entries on post-
masters* bOls, cash accounts, &c in its transit to its
destinatioa.
Although the expenses of the Post-Office department
have doubled, yet the net revenue or profit accruing to
the treasury has not been diminished in like proportion.
The net revenue in 1837-8 was L. 1,652,424; in 1848-9
it was L.740,429. There is no doubt, however, that
when all Uie obstacles which have been thrown in the
way of Mr Bowland Hill's plana have been removed,
and his plans efficiently carried out — together with such
improvements in them as have been suggested by his
own practical experience in office, and by his colleagues
— the Post-Offioe will become a source of revenue as
great, if not greater, than it ev^r was.
Not tiie least benefit which the Penny Post has con-
ferred, is the facility it has created for the transmission
of small sums of money. The progress of the Money-
Order Offioe has been commensurate with that of the
other branches of the vast establishment In the three
months which ended on the 5th April 1839 — ^when the
old system was in force, and when a commission of 6d.
was charged for transmitting L.2 and under, and Is. fur
over that sum un to L.5, besides the postage of the
money order its^, wliich was from London to Edin-
burgh Is, l^d. — the number of money orders issued in
England was 54^623 fqr various sums, amounting in all
to L.92,734. Now each order costs ouly dd. or 6d^ and
one penny for transmission ; consequen^y in t^e quarter
which ended on the 5th of January 1849, the number
of money orders issued was 1,775,783 for sums aau>unt«>
ing in sdl to L.3,544,250, 19s. lid. During the whole
year, L.2 6,303,781 passed through the Moneiy*Order
Offices of the United Kingdom I
The uniform Penny-Postage rate is ao longer, then,
an experiment^ but a fact achieved; a^d achieved
against a^i amount of official resistance and lukewann-
ness which wou)d assuredly have discouraged and ap*
palled a less energetio and well-balanced mind than,
happily for this country, that which Mr Bowland Hill
possesses.
LYELL*S SBGOND VISIT TO THE UNITED
:^/^'- 71' STATES.
^ '- eBCCmm NOTICE.
In going* southwards. Sir Charles has ftequent occasion
to speak of the * domestic institution' which is the
great bone of contention in the States. He of course
greatly laments the existence of slavery, nor does he
oonceal its more odious and dangerous features ; but
we should infer that he , considers the proceedings of
the Abolitionists as not always warranted by goodr
feeling or sound {x^y. It se^ns at least certain that
the uncotnpromising violence of the Northerns hak
greatly offended the Southerns, and contributed in no
small degree to perpetuate the very evils which it
was wished to eradicate. Many Southern planters
would gladly liberate aud dismiss their slaves, if they
could be assured of having their fields cultivated at
a reasonable e3q>ense by free labour. An intelligent
Louisianian, conversing with our author, observed that
emancipation * must be thO work of time ; the prejudices
of owners have to be overcome, and the sugar and
cotton crop is easily lost, if not taken in at once when
ripe — the canes being damaged by a slight frost, and
the cotton requiring to be picked dry as soon as mature.
and being ruined by rain. Very lately a planter, five
miles below New Orleans, having resolved to dispense
with slave labour, hired 100 Irish and German emi-
grants at very high wages. In the middle of the har-
vest they all struck for double pay. No others were
to be had, and it was impossible to purchase slaves
in a few days. In that short time he lost produce to
the value of 10,000 dollars.' Notwithstanding this un-
fortunate attempt, it could be demonstrated that free
labour, in general circumstances, is greatly more pro-
fitable and satisfactory than the employment of slaves,
who must not only be bought, but supported in child-
hood and old age. The author mentions a case in which
free settlers completely outstripped their slaveholding
neighbours only by their more active industrious habits.
It is pleasing to know that whenever free negroes are
allowed fair-play, they manifest a disposition to im-
prove. Various instances are mentioned of able coloured
preachers, and many of this unjustly-persecuted race
are making fortunes in trade. * One of them, by stand-
ing security for a white man, had lately lost no less
than 17,000 dollars, or 3400 guineas ; yet he was still
prospering, and kept a store, and being a free man,
would willingly have sent his son to the college of Tus-
caloosa, had he not been prevented by the prejudices
of a white aristocracy, ostentatiously boastful of its love
of equality. In consequence of similar impediments,
many thriving artisans of the coloured race remain un-
educated, and are obliged to have white men to write for
them and collect their debts ; and I found that many
cabinetmakers, carpenters, builders, and other mecha-
nics earning high wages, who in New England would
send their sons to college, do not contribute here even
to the maintenance of common schools, their children
not being permitted by law to learn to read and write.
I cannot believe, however, that this state of things can
endure many years.*
We are presented with some amusing anecdotes of
electioneering. In some parts of the country there is
the strongest indisposition to elect wealthy men to
ofiBoe, in consequence of a belief that they would not be
sufficiently subservient. * One who had for some time
held a seat in the legislature, finding himself in a new
canvass deserted by many of his former supporters,
observed that he had always voted strictly according
to his instructions. ** Do you think," answered a for-
mer partisan, *' that they would vote for you, after your
daughter came to the ball in them fixings?" His
daughter, in fact, having been at Mobile, had had a
dress made there with jounces according to the newest
Parisian fashion ; and she had thus sided, as it were,
with the aristocracy of the city, setting itself up above
the democracy of the pine woods. In the new settle-
ments there the small proprietors, or farmers, are keenly
jealous of thriving lawyers, merchants, and capitalists.
One of the candidates for a county in Alabama con-
fessed to me that he had thought it good policy to go
everywhere on foot when soliciting votes, though he
could have commanded a horse, and the distances were
great' The doctrine of political equality appears to
have been carried on one occasion to a remarkable
length. Natchez, a populous and commodiously- situ-
ated town, was decided to be no longer a metropolis,
from being discovered fb be several miles away from
the centre of the state. A search for the true centre
being ordered, it was found to be a spot in the middle
of a swamp, accessible only by a canoe. * This was
welcome news ; all might now be placed on a footing
of equality, the spot being equally inaccessible and in-
convenient for all When the architect, however, came
to build the Capitol, he took the liberty, instead of
erecting the edifice on piles in the centre of the swamp,
to place it on an adjoining rising ground, from which
they had cleared away the native wood — a serious
abandonment of principle, as it wss several hoodred
yards from the true geographical centre.' We hope
our American friends can laugh as heartilj at tldiii
we da
At New Orleans, 8ir Charles was stmck with the
difference between the English and French qotrten of
the town, as well as the diuimilarity existing between
the Anglo-American and French-American chancter.
In the First Municipality, you would almost coniidef
yourself in Paris ; in the second, all is English tnd go-
ahead. It seems that here, as elsewhere, the tendencf
of French society is to stand stilL How struge the
following circumstance : — * Hearing that a gaide-book
of New Orleans had been publish^ we wished to ]w- ;
chase a copy, although it was of somewhat ancient date
for a city of rapid growth. The bookseller said diat
we must wait till he received some more co^ ftom
New York, for it appears that the printing even of booki
of local interest is done by presses 2000 miles diitaot
Their law reports are not printed here, and there ii
only one newspaper in the First Municipality, whid I
was told as very characteristic of the French race; for,
in the Second Municipality, although so mach newtr,
the Anglo-Americans have, during the list tea jean,
started ten newspapers.'
On going up the Mississippi, the author makes similar
remarks on the comparative backwardnessof theTreoch
settlers. ' My attention was next called to the old>
fashioned make of the French ploughs. ** On this river,
as on the St Lawrence," said an American, " the French
had a fair start of us by more than a century. Thej
obtiined possession of all the richest lands, yet are dov
fairly distanced in the race. When they get into debt,
and sell a farm on the highest land next the levee, they
do not migrate to a new region farther west, hot fall
back somewhere into the low grounds near the svamp.
There they retain all their antiquated usages, secmiof
to hate innovation. To this day they remain rooted in
those parts of Louisiana where the mother country tint
planted her two colonies two centuries ago, and they
have never swarmed off, or founded a single new settte-
ment. They never set up a steam-engine fof theif
sugar-mills, have taken no part in the improvement of
steam navigation, and when a «ulway was proposed in
Opelousas, they opposed it, because they feared it would
* let the Yankees in upon them.* When a rich pro-
prietor was asked why he did not send his boy to »!•
lege, he replied, * Because it would cost me 450 doUan
a year, and I shall be able to leave ray son three more
negroes when I die, by not Incurring that expense.'"'
Dr Carpenter informed me that the legislature rf
Louisiana granted, in 1834, a charter for a roedictl
college in the Second Municipality, which now, in fte
year 1846, numbers 100 students, and is about to he-
come the medical department of a new university, xhe
Creoles were so far stimulated by this example, ii to
apply also for a charter for a French college in the
First Municipality. It was granted in the 8ameye«r»
but has remained a dead letter to this day.*
As might have been anticipated, this ♦ Visit* ham
been unproductive in a geological point of view. BeiioB
corroborating certain opinions formerly adranced In w*
ference to the occurrence of gypseous strata in cooaec-
tion with the Coal measures of Nova Scotia, t*«^'
paratively recent emergence of the North AroenOfl
continent tcom the waters of the ocean, new e'*^***^
of the glacial or drift period, the existence of air-l«»w-
ing reptiles during the Coal era, and other facts of im-
portance. Sir Charles is now satisfied that the ^'^
of Richmond in Virginia belongs to the Oolitic period.
The data upon which this opinion reste are sUted wi»
his usual accuracy and minuteness, and must ^* ^
admitted as one of the great truths of the science. Tb"
coal beds (in one instance forty feet thick) should ww
been formed at so recent a period as that of the Wp^
oolite, is certeinly a startling fact to those g«J^
who regard each formation as creative distinct eflortjj
and that nature never, aa it were, repeats hendt aji
the hypotheses formerly advanced to account for the
formation of coal, such a8 an excessive temperature, an
atmosphere surcharged with carbonic acid, and the like,
must now be in a great measure abandoned as mere
fancies; and we must return to the wider, but more
sober notion, that the creative energies of nature are
inexhaustible, and that there is no phenomenon con-
nected with the past which it is not in tlie power of
the present or of tlie future again to unfold.
Sir Charles also made some extensive investiga-
tions with respect to tlie delta of the Mississippi, and
the changes effected on the banks of the river by alte-
rations in the course of the stream. The Mississippi
occasionally overflows its usual channel, and forms in-
land lakes, which, strange to say, sometimes acquire
a rich vegetable surface. In the preceding paper, we
noticed the discovery of ice as a substratum ; but it
will seem not less remarkable that lakes are found
beneath pastoral meadows. * A curious description was
given me by one of my fellow-travellers of that same
low country, especially the region called Attakapas.
It contains, he said, wide "quaking prairies," where
cattle are pastured, and where you may fancy yourself
far inland. Yet, if you pierce anywhere through the
turf to the depth of two feet, you find sea-fish swimming
about, which make their way in search of food under
the superficial sward, from the Grulf of Mexico, through
subterranean watery channels.'
For a large amount of original and highly- valuable
information respecting the geological features of the
Northern States we roust necessarily refer to the work
before us, which in all its details is the production of a
gentleman and a scholar. We would, however, add,
that it is still more remarkable for the honest explicit-
ness of the writer*s sentiments on matters usually the
subject of controversy. Alluding to recent discoveries
of vast organic remains and fossil foot-prints of ani-
mals, inferring a prodigious antiquity in our planet,
Sir Charles speaks of that * moral phenomenon,' the per-
secution of men of science in Pennsylvania for daring
to propound undeniable truths to the world. 'Gold-
smith, in the ** Vicar of Wakefield," makes his traveller
say, that after he had walked through Europe, and exa-
mined mankind nearly, he found that it is not the
forms of government, whether they be monarchies or
commonwealths, that determine the amount of liberty
enjoyed by individuals, but that " riches in general are
in every country another name for freedom.** I agree
with Goldsmith that the forms of government are not
alone sufficient to secure freedom — they are but means
to an end. Here we have in Pennsylvania a free
press, a widely-extended suffrage, and the most perfect
religious toleration — nay, more than toleration, all the
various sects enjoying political equality, and, what is
more rare, an equality of social rank ; yet all this ma-
chinery is not capable, as we have seen, of securing even
so much of intellectual freedom as shall enable a student
of nature to discuss freely the philosophical questions
which the progress of science brings naturally before
him. He cannot even announce with impunity results
which half a century of observation and reasoning has
confirmed by evidence little short of mathematical de-
monstration. But can riches, as Goldsmith suggests,
secure intellectual liberty ? No doubt they can protect
the few who possess them from pecuniary penalties,
when they profess unpopular doctrines ; but to enable a
man to think, he must be allowed to communicate freely
his thoughts to others. Until they have been brought
into the daylight and discussed, they will never be clear
even to himself. They must be warmed by the sym-
pathy of kindred minds, and stimulated by the heat of
controversy, or they will never be fully developed, and
made to ripen and fructify. ..." To nothing but error,**
says a popular writer of our times (T. Carlyle), " can
any truth be dangerous ; and I know not,** he exclaims,
" where else there is seen so altogether tragical a spec-
tacle, as that religion should be found standing in thQ
hlgfawayi, to say, * Let no man leam the simpl^t laws
of the universe, lest they mislearn the highest. In the
name of God the Maker, who said, and hourly yet says.
Let there be Kght, we command that you continue in
darkness I * '* *
RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICE-OFFICER.
A UTTLE more than a year after the period when ad-
verse circumstances^-chiefly the result of my own reck-
less follies — compelled me to enter the ranks of the
metropolitan police, as the sole means left me of procur-
ing food and raiment, the attention of one of the prin-
cipal chiefs of the force was attracted towards me by the
ingenuity and boldness which I was supposed to have
manifested in hitting upon and unravelling a clue which
ultimately led to the detection and punishment of the
perpetrators of an artistically-contrived fraud upon an
eminent tradesman of the west end of London. Tlie
chief sent for me; and after a somewhat lengthened
conversation, not only expressed approbation of ray
conduct in the particular matter under discussion, but
hinted that he might shortly need my services in other
affairs requiring intelligence and resolution.
* I think I have met you before,* he remarked with a
meaning smile on dismissing me, ' when you occupied
a different position from your present one? Do not
alarm yourself: I have no wish to pry unnecessarily
into other men*s secrets. Waters is a name common
enough in all ranks of society, and I may, you know ' —
here the cold smile deepened in ironical expression —
*be mistaken. At all events, the testimony of the
gentleman whose recommendation obtained you admis-
sion to the force — I have looked into the matter since
I heard of your behaviour in the late business — is a
sufficient guarantee that nothing more serious than
imprudence and folly can be laid to your charge. I
have neither right nor inclination to inquire further.
To-morrow, in all probability, I shall send for you.*
I came to the conclusion, as I walked homewards,
that the chiefs intimation of having previously met me
in another sphere of life was a random and unfounded
one, as I had seldom visited London in my prosperous
days, and still more rarely mingled in its society. My
wife, however, to whom I of course related the sub-
stance of the conversation, reminded me that he had
ooce been at Doncaster during the races ; and suggested
that he might possibly have seen and noticed me there.
This was a sufficiently probable explanation of the hint ;
but whether the correct one or not, I cannot decide, as
he never afterwards alluded to the subject, and I had
not the slightest wish to renew it.
Three days elapsed before I received the expected
summons. On waiting on him, I was agreeably startled
to find that I was to be at once employed on a mission
which the most sagacious and experienced of detective-
officers would have felt honoured to undertake.
* Here is a written description of the persons of this
gang of blacklegs, swindlers, and forgers,* concluded the
commissioner, summing up his instructions. ' It will be
your object to discover their private haunts, and secure
legal evidence of their nefarious practices. We have
been hitherto baffled, principally, I think, through the
too hasty zeal of the officers employed : you must espe-
cially avoid that error. They are practised scoundrels ;
and it will require considerable patience, as well as
acumen, to unkennel and bring them to justice. One
of iheir more recent victims is young Mr Merton, son,
by a former marriage, of the Dowager Lady Everton.*
* The namet mentioned in this narrative are, for obvious rea-
sons, fictitious.
It
1 1
Her ladyship has applied to us for assistance in extricat-
ing him from the toils in which he is meshed. You
will call on her at five o'clock this a^moon—in plain
clothes of course — and obtain whatever information on
the subject she may be able to afford. Remember to
communicate directly with me ; and any assistance you
may require shall be promptly rendered.' With these,
and a few other minor directions, needless to recapitu-
late, I was dismissed to a task which, difficult and pos-
sibly perilous as it might prove, I baited as a delight-
ful relief from the wearing monotony and dull routine
of ordinary duty.
I hastened home ; and after dressing with great care
— the best part of my wardrobe had been fortunately
saved by Emily from the wreck of my fortunes — I pro-
ceeded to Lady Everton's mansion. I waa immediately
marshalled to the drawing-room, where I found her
ladyship and her daughter — a beautiful, fairy-looking
girl — awaiting my arrival. Lady Everton appeared
greatly surprised at my appearance, differing, as I dare-
say it altogether did, from her abstract idea of a police-
man, however attired or disguised ; and it was not till
she had perused the note of wliich I was the bearer,
that her haughty and incredulous stare became miti-
gated to a glanoe of lofty condesoendent civility.
*Be seated, Mr Waters,* said her lad3rBhip, waving
me to a chair. * This note informs me that you have
been selected for the dut/ of endeavouring to extricate
i^y son from the perilous entanglements in which he
has unhappily involved himself.'
I was about to reply— &>r I was silly enough to feel
somewhat nettled at the noble lady's haughtiness of
manner — that I was engaged in the public service of
extirpating a gang of swindlers with whom her son had
inrolved himself, and was there to procure from her
ladyship any information the might be possessed of
likely to forward so desirable a result ; but fortunately
the remembranoe of my aotnal position, spite of my
gentleman's attire, flashed Tividly upon my mind ; and
instead of permitting my glib tongue to wag irreve-
rently Sn the presence of a right honourable, I bowed
with deferential acquiescence.
Iler ladyship proceeded, and I in substance obtidned
the following information : —
Mr Charles Merton, during the few months whicii
had elapsed since the attainment of his majority, had
very literally * fidlen amongst thieves.' A passion for
gambling seoned to have taken entire possession of his
being ; and almost every day, as well as night, of his
haggard and feverish lifo was passed at play. A run
of ill-luck, iuxx>rding to his own belief— but in very
truth a run of downright robbery — had set in against
hiov and he had not only dissipated all the ready mooey
which he had inherited, and the large sums which the
foolish indulgence of his lady*mother had supplied him
with, but had involved bimsdf in bonds, bills, and other
oldigatbns to a frightful amount. The principal agent
in effecting this ruin was one Sandford — a man of fashion-
able and dashing exterior, and the presiding spirit of
the knot of desperadoes whom I was commissioned to
hunt out. Strange to say, Mr Merton had the blindest
reliance upon this roan's honour; and even now-
tricked, despoiled as he had been by him and his gang —
relied apon bis counsel and assistance for escape from
the desperate position in which he was involved. The
Everton estiates had passed, in default of male issue, to
a distant relative of the late lord •, so that ruin, absolute
and irremediable, stared both the wretched dupe and
hif rel^^ives in the face. Lady Everton's jointure was
L
not a very large one, and her son had been penmtted
to squander sums which should have been de?oted to
the discharge of claims which were now pressed hirdilj
against her.
I listened with the deepest interest to LadyErertoD'i
narrative. Repeatedly during the course of it, m she
incidentally alluded to the manners and appeannoe of
Sandford, who had been introduced by Mr Merton to
his mother and sister, a suspicion, which the police
papers had first awakened, that the gentleman in qoei-
tion was an old acquaintance of my own, and one, more.
over, wliose favours I was extremely desirous to reton
in kind, flashed with increased conviction scroti mj
mind. This surmise I of course kept to mj^elf ; sod
after emphatically cautioning the ladies to keep our
proceedings a profound secret from Mr Mertoo, I toolc
my leave, amply provided with the resources requisite
for carrying into effect the scheme which I had roolied
upon. I also arranged that, instead of waiting penoniHy
on her ladyship, which might excite obserrstioa and
suspicion, I should report progress by letter thnmgli
the post.
* If it shouid be he!' thought I, as I emerged into the
street The bare suspicion had sent the blood through
my veins with furious violence. ' If this Sandford te,
as I suspect, that villain Cardon, success wiH indeed be
triumph — victory I Lady Everton need not in that case
seek to animate my zeal by promises of money recom-
pense. A btighted existence, a young and gentle vife
by his means east down from opiUence to sordid penvy,
would stimulate the dullest craven that CTer crawled
the earth to energy and action. Pray Hea?en mj eoi-
pidon prove correct *, and then, oh mine enemy, look
well to yourself, for the avenger is at your heels!'
Sandford, I had been instructed, was usually present
at the Italian Opera during the ballet : the box he geQ^
ndly occupied was designated in the memoranda (J the
police : and as I saw by the bills that a very successfiil
piece was to be performed that evening, I determioed
on being present
I entered the house a few minutes past ten o'docK
just after the commencement of the ballet, and kx^
eagerly round. The box in which I was instmcted to
seek my man was empty. The momentary disappoint-
ment was soon repaid. Five minutes had not elipied
when Garden, looking more insolently - trittrophaot
than ever, entered arm-in-arm with a pale aristocrstic-
looking young man, whom I had no diflLculty, firaA hii
striking resemblance to a portrait in Lady Erertod*)
drawing-room, in deciding to be Mr Merton. Mycoone
of suction was at once determined on. Paushig onlj to
master tlie emotion which the sight of the ^tteriag
reptile in whose poisonous folds I had been inrolrcd
and crushed inspired, I passed to the opposite tide of
the house, and boldly entered the box. Cardon's bad
was towards me, and I ta'pped him lightly on the shod-
der. He turned quickly round ; and if a basilisk had
confronted him, he could scarcely hate ejMbited
greater terror and surprise. My aspect, neverthekii.
was studiously bland and conciliating, and my oat-
stretehed hand seemed to invito a renewal of oor oU
friendship.
* Waters ! ' he at last stammered, feebly accept n!
proffered grasp—* who would have thought of meeting
you here?'
* Not you, certainly, since you stare at an oU tneA
as if he were some frightful goblin about to svaUov
you. Really'
* Hush ! Let us speak together in the lobby. An
old friend,' he added in answer to Mr Merlon's ws-
prised stare. * We will return In an instant'
'Why. what is all this. Waters?' said Cirdoi, i^
covering his wonted sangfroid the instant we werealooe.
* I understood you had retired from amopgat m\ w*
in fact — what shall I say ? '
* Ruined— done up ! Nobody should know that tettff
than you.'
* My good fellow, you do sot imagine
*I imagine nothing, my dear Gardon. I was very
thoroughly done — done brown, as it is written in the
Tu]gar tongue. But fortunately my kind old uncle'
*Fas8grove is dead!* interrupted my old acquaint-
ance, eagerly jumping to a conclusion, ' and you are hit
heir! I congratulate you, my dear fellow. This if
indeed a charming ** reverse of circumstances." '
, * Yes ; but mind I have given up the old game. No
I more dice-devilry for me. I have promised Emily never
even to touch a cord again.*
I The cold, hard eye of the incarnate fiend — he was
little else — ^gleamed mockingly as these * good inten-
tions ' of a practised gamester fell upon his ear ; but he
! only replied, * Very good ; quite right, my dear boy.
Bat come, let me introduce you to Mr Merton, a highly-
connected personage I assure you. By the by. Waters,'
he added in a caressing, confidential tone, * my name,
for family and other reasons, which I will hereafter ex-
plain to you, is for the present Sandford.'
'Sandford!'
I * Tes : do not forget But allons, or the ballet will
be over.'
I was introduced in due form to Mr Merton as an
I old and esteemed friend, whom he — Sandford — had not
seen for many months. At the conclusion of the ballet,
Sandford proposed that we should adjourn to the Euro-
pean Coffee - house, nearly opposite. Tlds was agreed
to, and out we sallied. At the top of the staircase we
jostled against the commissioner, who, like us, was
leaving the house. He bowed slightly to Mr Merton's
apology, and his eye wandered briefly and coldly over
our persons ; but not the faintest sign of interest or re-
cognition escaped him. I thought it possible he did
not know me in my changed apparel ; but looking back
after descending a few steps, I was quickly undeceived.
A sharp, swift glance, expressive both of encouragement
and surprise, shot out from under his penthouse brows,
and as swiftly vanished. He did not know how little I
needed spurrmg to the goal we had both in view !
We discussed two or three bottles of wine with much
gaiety and relish. Sandford especially was in exube-
rant spirits ; brimming over with brilliant anecdote and
sparkling badinage. He saw in me a fresh, ridi prey,
and his eager spirit revelled by anticipation in the vic-
tory which he nothing doubted to obtain over my
* excellent intentions and wife-pledged virtue.* About
half-past twelve o*clock he proposed to a^ourn. This
was eagerly assented to by Mr Merton, who had for
some time exhibited unmistakable syoaptoms of impa-
tience and unrest. '
• Tou will accompany us, Waters?' said Sandford,
aa we rose %a depart * There is, I suppose, no vow
roistered in the matrimonial archives against looking
oa at a game played by others ? '
' Oh no ; but don't ask me to play.'
* Certainly not;' and a devilish sneer curled his lip.
* Tour virtue shall suffer no ten^ptation be assured.'
We soon arrived before the door of a quiet, respect-
able-looking house in one of the streets leading from the
Strand: a k)w peculiar knock, given by Sandford, was
promptly answered ; then a password, which I did not
catch, was whispered by him through the key-hole, and
we pmed in.
We proceeded up stairs to the first floor, the shutters
of which were carefully closed, so that no intimation of
what was goin|f on could possibly reach tlie street. The
apartment was brilliantly lighted : a roulette table and
dice and cards were in full activity : wine and liquors
of all varieties were profusely paraded. There were
about hnlf-a-dozen persons present I soon discovered,
besides the gang, and that comprised eleven or twelve
well-dressed desperadoes, whose sinister aspects induced
a momentary qualm lest one or more of the pleasant
party might suspect or recognise my vocation. This,
bowerer, I reflected, was scarcely possible. My beat
dariog the short period I had been iu the force was for
distant from the usual haunts of such gentry, and I
otherwise unknown in London. Still, questioning
glances were eagerly directed towards my introducer ;
and one big burly fellow, a foreigner — ^the rascals were
the scum of various countries — was very unpleasantly
inquisitorial * Y*en repcnds /' I heard Sandford say in
answer to his iterated queries ; and he added something
in a whisper which brought a sardonic smile to the
fellow's lips, and induced a total change in his de-
meanour towards myself. This was reassuring; for
though provided with pistols, I should, I felt have little
chance with such utterly reckless ruffians as those by
whom I was surrounded. Flay was proposed ; and
though at first stoutly revising, I feigned to be gradu-
ally overcome by irresistible temptation, and sat down
to blind hazard with my foreign friend for moderate
stakes. I was graciously allowed to win ; and in the
end found myself richer in devil*s money by about ten
pounds. Mr Merton was soon absorbed in the chances
of the dice, and lost large sums, for which, when the
money he had brought with him was exhausted, he
gave written acknowledgments. The cheating practised
upon him was really audacious ; and any one but a tyro
must have repeatedly detected it. He, however, ap-
peaned not to entertain the slightest suspicion of the
* fair-play ' of his opponents, guiding himself entirely
by the advice of his friend and counsellor, Sandford,
who did not himself play. The amiable assemblage
broke up about six in tlie morning, each povon retiring
singly by the back way, receiving, as he departed, a
new password for the next evening.
A few hours afterwards, I waited on the commissioner
to report the state of affairs. He was delighted with
the fortunate dSui I had made, but still strictly enjoined
patience and cauHon. It would have been easy, as I
was in possession of the password, to have surprised
the confederacy in the act of gaming that very evening ;
but this would only have accomplislied a part of the
object aimed at. Several of the fraternity — Sandford
amongst the number— were suspected of uttering forged
foreign bank-notes, and it was essential to watch nar-
rowly for legal evidence to insure their conviction. It
was also desirable to restore, if possible, the property
and securities of which Mr Merton had been pillaged.
Nothing of especial importance occurred for seven or
eight days. Gaming went on as usual every evening,
and Mr Merton became of course more and more in-
volved : even his sister's jewels — which he had surrep-
titiously obtained, to such a depth of degradation will
this frightful vice plunge men otlierwise honourable —
had been staked and lost ; and he was, by the advice
of Sandford, about to conclude a heavy mortgage on
his estate, in order not only to clear off his enormous
' debts of honour,' but to acquire fresh means of * win-
ning back' — that igmu-fattms of all gamblers — his tre-
mendous losses 1 A new prelinuaary * dodge' was, I ob-
served, now brought into action. Mr Merton esteemed
himselif a knowing hand at ecarU: it was introduced;
and he was permitted to win every game he played,
nmch to the apparent annoyance and discomfiture of
the losers. As tnis was precisely the snare into which
I had myself fallen, I of course the more readily de-
tected it and felt quite satisfied that a grand coup
was meditated. In the meantime I had not been idle
Sandford was oor^identiallif informed that I was only
waiting in London to veceive between four and five
thousand pounds — part of Uncle Passgrove's legacy —
and then intended to immediately hasten back to canny
Yorkshire. To have seen the villain's eyes as I inci-
dentally, as it were, announced my errand and inten-
tion ! They fairly flashed with infernal glee I All,
Sandford, Sandford ! you were, wHh all your cunning,
but a sand-blind idiot to believe the man you had
wronged and ruined could so easily forget the debt be
owed you !
The crisis came swiftly on. Mr Merton*s mortgage-
money was to be paid on the morrow ; and on that day,
too, I announced the fabulous thousands reoeivable by
me were to be handed over. Mr Merton, elated by his
repeated triumphs at ecart^, and prompted by his friend
||
1
58
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Sandford, resolved, instead of cancelling the bonds and
obligat^ns held by the conspirators, to redeem his
losses by staking on that game his ready money against
those liabilities. This was at first demurred to with
much apparent earnestness by the winners ; but Mr
Merton, warmly seconded by Sandford, insisting upon
the concession, as he deemed it, it was finally agreed
that ecart^ should be the game by which he might hope
to regain the fortune and the peace of mind he had so
rashly squandered: the last time, should he be suc-
cessful— and was he not sure of success ? — he assured
Sandford, that he would ever handle cards or dice. He
should have heard the mocking merriment with which
the gang heard Sandford repeat this resolution to amend
bis ways— trAen he had recovered back bis wealth I
Tlie day so eagerly longed for by Merton and the
confederates — by the spoilers and their prey — arrived ;
and I awaited with feverish anxiety the coming on of
night Only the chief conspirators— eight in number —
were to be present t and no stranger except myself— a
privilege I owed to the moonshine legacy I had just re-
oeived — was to be admitted to this crowning triumph
of successful fraud. One only hint I had ventured to
give Mr Merton, and that under a promise, *on his
honour as a gentleman,' of inviolable secrecy. It was
this: 'Be sure, before commencing play to-morrow
night, that the bonds and obligations you have signed,
the jewels yon have lost, with a sum in notes or gold
to make up an equal amount to that which you mean
to risk, is actually deposited on the table.* He pro-
mised to insist on this condition. It involved much
more than he dreamt of.
My arrangements were at length thoroughly com*
plete; and a few minutes past twelve o'clock the
whispered password admitted me into the house. An
angry altercation was going on. Mr Merton was insist-
ing, as I had advised, upon the exhibition of a sura
equal to that which he had brought with him — for,
confident of winning, he was determined to recover
his losoes to the last farthing ; and although his bonds,
bills, obligations, his sister's jewels, and a large amount
in gold and genuine notes, were produced, there was
still a heavy sum deficient. * Ah, by the by,* exclaimed
Sandford as I entered, • Waters can lend you the sura
for an hour or two — ^for a consideration,* lie added in a
whisper. * It will soon bo returned.*
*No, thank you,' I answered coldly. 'I never part
with my money till I have lost it*
A malignant scowl passed over the scoundrel's fea-
tures ; but he made no reply. Ultimately it was de-
cided that one of the fraternity should be despatched
in search of the required amount. He was gone about
half an hour, and returned with a bundle of notes.
They were, as I hoped and expected, forgeries on
foreign banks. Mr Merton looked at and counted
them ; and play commenced.
As it went on, so vividly did the scene recall the
evening that had sealed my own ruin, that I grew dizzy
with excitement, and drained tumbler after tumbler of
water to allay the fevered throbbing of my veins. The
gamblers were fortunately too much absorbed to heed
m}^ agitation. Merton lost continuously — without pause
or intermission. The stakes were doubled — trebled —
quadrupled ! His brain was on fire ; and he played, or
rather lost, with the recklessness of a madman.
*Harkl what's that?' suddenly exclaimed Sandford,
from whose Satanic features the mask he had so long
worn before Merton had been gradually slipping. * Did
you not hear a noise below ?'
My ear had caught the sound ; and I could better
interpret it than he. It ceased.
• Touch the signal-bell, Adolphe,* added Sandford.
Not only the play, but the very breathing of the
villains, was suspended as they listened for the reply.
It came. The answering tinkle soupded once — twice
—thrice. «All right I' shouted Sandford. •Proceed I
The farce is nearly played out'
I had inttructed the officers that two of them in
plain clothes should present themseWes at tlie front |
door, obtain admission by means of the password Ihsd i
given them, and immediately seize and gag the door-
keeper. I had also acquainted them wiUi the proper ,
answer to the signal-ring — three distinct pulls tt the
bell-handle communicating with the first fioor. Their
comrades were then to be admitted, and they were all
to silently ascend the stafrs, and wait on the Undiog
till summoned by me to enter and seise the gsmeiten
The back entrance to the bouse was also secnrdy bot
unobtrusively watched.
One only fear disturbed me : it was lest the icoondidi
should take alarm in sufficient time to extinguish the
lights, destroy the forged papers, and possiUf etape
by some private passage which might, unknown to me,
exist.
Rousing myself^ as soon as the play was resomed,
from the trance of memory by which I had beci in
some sort absorbed, and first ascertaining that tbe
handles of my pistols were within easy reach— for I
knew I was paying a desperate game with dopente
men — I rose, stepped carelessly to the door, partially
opened it, and bent forward, as if listening for a repe-
tition of the sound which had so alarmed tibe oompany.
To my great delight the landing and stain were HM
with poUce-officers — silent and stem as deaUk I drew
back, and walked towards the table at w)ikh Mr
Merton was seated. The last stake — an eoonnoai one
— was being played for. Merton lost He sprang npoa
his feet, death-pale, despairing, overwhelmed, and i
hoarse execration surged through his clenched teetli.
Sandford and his associates coolly raked the i^onder
together, their features lighted up with fiendish glee.
• Villain !— traitor !— miscreant ! ' shrieked Mr Me^
ton, as if smitten with sudden frenzy, and darting it
Sandford's throat : * you, devil that yon are, haw
undone, destroyed me ! '
• No doubt of it/ calmly replied Sandford, shilring
ofl^ his victira*s grasp ; • and I think It hai heen mj
artistically and effectually done too. SniTelling, my
fine fellow, will scarcely help you much.*
Mr Merton glared upon the taunting villain in ip«d-
less agony and rage.
* Not quite so fast. Cordon, if you please/ lexehlnri,
at the same time taking up a bundle of forged nota
*It does not appear to me that Mr Merton has pbyed
against equal stakes, for unquestionably this pi^ i*
not genuine.'
•Dog I* roared Sandford, 'do you hold yonrfifesa
cheap?* and he rushed towards me, as if to leia tbe
forged notes.
I was as quick as he, and the levelled tube of a pisra
sharply arrested his eager onslaught. The entire pn^
gathered near us, flaming with excitement Mr Mj
ton looked bewilderedly from one to another, apparently
scarcely conscious of what was passing around b^.
* Wrench the papers -from him!' screamed 8i»-
ford, recovering his energy. * Seize him— stab, •tnap'
him!' ,
*Look to yourself, scoundrel!' I shouted with eqw
vehemence. * Your hour is come ! OlBcera, enter im
do your duty ! ' ,
In an instant the room was filled with police •,!»
surprised, panic-stricken, paralysed by the *"^^*!S
of the catastrophe, the gang were all secured wttiwm
the slightest resistance, though most of them wW
armed, and marched off in custody. ^^
Three— Sandford, or Cardon; but he had |»«^»^
aliases, one of them — were transported for liffe : the R«
were sentenced to various terms of imprisonoient wy
task was effectually accomplished. My »"1*"°"7JI^
pleased to express very warm commendation of "*
manner in which I had acquitted myself; and thenrfei
step in the promotion which ultimately Iw ^ "^i
present position in another branch of the V^^^^!?^
was soon afterwards conferred upon me. ^ Jr^i
had his bonds, obligations, jewels, and ^<^y*^^^
to him ; and, taught wiadom by terribJe cxpenenoe,
t
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
69
never Again entered a gaming-house. Neither he nor
his kdj-mother was ungrateful for the service I had
been fortunate enough to render them.
CHARACTERS RECONSIDERED.
Addicted as men are to the sheepish principle of fol-
lowing where they are led, and apt as the multitude
may be to credit what they are told to belieye, inquir-
ing and independent spirits make their appearance from
time to time to question history, and call for a recon-
sideration of the characters of its heroes. The general
tendency of these inquiries has been to rescue from
obloquy great names that may hare been undeserving
of it — £o add to, and not detract from, the majestic
images in the yet unfilled gallery of the world's heroes.
Many a name once execrated has become respected;
many a false man, in the popular estimation, has been
elevated into a true man; and many a quasi-demon
into a quasi-saint. We shall not attempt to go through
the long and illustrious list of such names — a list which,
to say nothing, of the saints and apostles of Christianity,
would include Socrates, Aristotle, Bacon, Harvey, Ga-
lUeo, Cornelius Agrippa, and a whole host of glorious
men, to whose memory the world has done justice for
the scorn, hatred, and persecution of their contempo-
raries. It may not be uninteresting, however, to group
together a few minor instances of this kind of reaction
in the moral world, of which the effect is not yet com-
plete. We select a few cases still pending in the great
court of human appeal, in which the appellants have
been heard by their counsel, and in which the great
judge. Opinion, has shown by his random expressions,
as well as by the tones of his voice, that he is about
to reverse the judgment of the * court below.*
Two remarkable instances of this kind of reaction
have taken place with regard to characters in Shak-
speare. In his immortal pages, Macbeth stands branded
as a weak and cowardly murderer ; a man who, goaded
by a strong-minded and bad woman, and by the prompt-
ings of his own guilty ambition, treacherously slew his
sleeping guest — that guest the king to whom he had
sworn allegiance, and to whom he owed the double
fealty of a subject and a host. Yet recent researches
hare shown that Shakspeare pilloried a comparatively
innocent man, by founding that noble play upon tra-
dition, and not upon history. Macbeth slew Duncan, it
is true ; but not in his bed — not asleep and unarmed —
bat ia open fight on the field of battle. It does not
even appear that Macbeth was a usurper ; but granting
that he were, still, in the unsettled and serai-barbarous
period at which he lived, usurpation was a common
occurrence ; and in his case the usurpation, if such it
were, proved of advantage to the country that acqui-
esced in it. Shakspeare*s narrative was derived from
Holinshed, who derived it from Boyce, who again de-
rived it from tradition. Banquo is a personage totally
unknown either to history or tradition. Macbeth reigned
over Scotland for fifteen years ; and if there were a legal
flaw in his title to the throne, endeavoured to make a
good moral title by the general vigour and policy of his
administration, and by his justice to the people. Sir
Walter Scott says of him, ' that he broke no law of hos-
pitality in his attempt on Duncan's life. He attacked
and slew him at a place called Bothgowan, or the Smith's
House, near Elgin ; and not, as has been supposed, in
his own castle of Inverness. The act was bloody, as
was the complexion of the times; but in very truth
the claim of Macbeth to the throne, according to the
rule of Scottish succession, was better than that of
Duncan. As a king, the tyrant so much exclaimed
against was, in reality, a firm, just, and equitable prince.'
The reaction has thus begun : men have learned to sepa-
rate the Macbeth of Shakspeare from the Macbeth of
history — to admire the first-mentioned as one of the
grandest portraitures of crime and sorrow in the whole
range of literature; more interesting, although fictitious,
than the r^ 3iacbeth that lived and moved ; but to do
justice at all convenient times to the fame that had the
misfortune (for itself, if not for the world) to cdme in
the way of so mighty a genius, and to be made avail-
able for its purposes.
Richard III. of England is another royal personage,
whose memory has been similarly unfortunate in com-
ing into contact with the purposes of Shakspeare. No
doubt the world has gained ; but the world, while doing
justice to the real Richard, will fortunately lose no por-
tion of the delight and instruction derivable from the
eventful story of the imaginary one. The materials
available for the dramatist's purpose were found in Ho-
linshed, who took them from the prejudiced pen of Sir
Thomas More. Later historians denied the accuracy
of Sir Thomas More*s statements, and the truth of his
portraiture : and while they could not gainsay the fact
that Richard had committed crimes in the pursuit of
power, explained, if they did not apologise for them, by
the character of his age, which was one not tender of
human life, nor scrupulous as to its means for the
attainment of its objects. The Richard of Shakspeare
is a gigantic criminal ; the Richard of impartial history
is still a criminal, but a man not all evil^-« man that
turned to a good use the power that he may have ill
acquired ; a man that m^de enemies of his haughty,
vindictive, and bloodthirsty nobles ; but that ruled the
people with wisdom and moderation, and treated them
in a manner to deserve, if it did not obtain, their love.
His memory has cried aloud for justice. Mr Sharon
Turner has done battle in its behalf — has entered the
court of appeal, and made out such a case in his favour
as goes far to qualify, if it cannot reverse, the previous
judgment.
While we are upon the subject of kings, we cannot
omit the case of James I. — the alleged bigot and pedant ;
the mock Solomon, aud the butt of ridicule for a long
period for every one who desired to have a fling at
royalty. Every one who has read the elder D'Israeli's
inquiry into the literary and political character of that
monarch, will confess that he has found not only n
zealous, but an able defender. Mr D'Israeli, as he in-
forms us in his preface to this interesting historical
sketch, set off in the world with the popular notions of
the character of James I. ; but in the course of study, and
with a more enlarged comprehension of the age, he was
struck with the contrast of his real with his apparent cha-
racter, and developed those hidden and involved causes
which so long influenced historians and memoir writers
in vilifying and ridiculing this monarch. Mr D'Israeli's
treatise is a masterpiece of its kind. It seeks to prove
that the alleged pedant detested pedantry; that tlie
so-called bigot was less bigotted than his age ; that the
epithet * Solomon,' applied to him in mockery, ought to
have been applied in seriousness and in respect ; that
the monarch, accused of personal cowardice, dreaded
war for his people, and not for himself; and that his
contemporaries saw and acknowledged in him those
virtues and talents which a succeeding age, led astray
by prejudiced writers, altogether denied. Who shall say
that Mr D'Israeli has failed in tliis chivalrous attempt?
Not we : on the contrary, we must admit that he lias
done much to rescue the memory of his hero from ob-
loquy that appears unmerited; and that although *this
philosopher on the throne, and father of his people,
lived without exciting gratitude, and died without in-
spiring regret — unregarded, unremembered,' there is
justice to be gathered from the rolling of the centuries ;
that the violence of the blow aimed at his memory
has recoiled upon those who struck it ; and that the
thinkers of the present age, if they do not share in nil
the enthusiasm of his defender, at least suspend their
judgment, and admit that his detractors may have been
in error.
The history of the illustrious Machiavelli Is another
instance of pertinacious wrong disappearing before the
lights exhibited by cool and dispassionate inquiry. Eor
three centuries and upwards, bis name has served to
designate a particular kind of political duplicity aud
60
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
cunning. To accuse a statesman of Machiavellismt has
been to exalt his intellect at the expense of his honesty
and virtue — to exonerate him from the imputation of
lack of brains, only to brand him as possessing too much
for the i^relfare of his species. *I1 Principe* (*The
Prince*), his famous treatise, long considered infamous,
brought all this obloquy upon him. In that much-spoken-
of, but little known work, he drew up the code of des-
potism, concealing his satire so well, that the world
mistook the hater for a friend of tyranny, and the de-
nouncer of crimes against the people for their apologist.
Machiavelli sufibred in the cause of freedom ; he was
put to the torture by a despot, and endured sorrows of
many kinds for his devotion to his country. Disgusted
with princes, and with the people too, he wrote his cele-
brated work, intending a satire upon the crimes of
rulers. The obstinate world insisted upon receiving
this satire in a spirit the very reverse of that which
animated its author, with about as little justice as we
should exhibit were we to accuse Henry Fielding of
preaching up robbery and murder for his * Life of Jona-
than Wild the Great.* Machiavelli's object, it is true,
was not quite so apparent as that of the novelist. The
people, moreover, were not aware of the friend they had
in this illustrious diplomatist They considered the
hard words he employed against men in general as the
outpourings of a demoniac hatred. They could not see
that the severe satire was intended for their benefit, or
make any allowance for the bitterness of feeling with
which unmerited suffering had imbued one of the ablest
men of his time. Machiavelli dedicated his treatise of
* The Prince' to liorenzo, Duke of Urbino, the usurper
of the liberties of Florence; a man whom he hated,
against whose government he had conspired, and who
had caused him to be put upon the rack to extort from
his agony the names of his confederates. This circum-
stance might have served to open the eyes of the herd
of men and of writers to the real purpose of the author ;
but it did not Treatise after treatise was written to
refute doctrines which Machiavelli detested; and his
name became the synonyme for the political criminality
and astuteness which it was his real object to hold up
to tlie abhorrence of mankind. Amongst others who
employed their pens in this cause was Frederick the
Great of Prussia, who wrote in his youth a tract en-
titled • Anti-Machiavel.* *Tliis military genius,' says
DUsraeii, * protested against those political arts which
he afterwards adroitly practised; and realised in his own
character the political monster which Machiavelli had
drawn.' Tlie tide against Machiavelli has long since
begun to turn ; and though his unfortunate name will,
in all probability, survive to designate a species of de-
pravity for which moder:n languages offer no other, the
memory of the man has already received justice from
all the impartial students of history, and will doubtless
receive justice in due time from a still wider audience.
We need not extend the list, though it were easy to
do so. Other names will suggest themselves to the
reader, all showing in like manner the certainty of reac-
tions in the moral as in the physical Morld, whenever
there is sufficient strength in the original impetus to
produce the inevitable result ; and to prove in the long-
run, in great matters as well as in small, the truth of
the dictum —
* That ever the right comes uppermost,
And over is justice done.'
MISSION TO ASHANTEK
A PARLiABlEMTARy paper, purporting to be a report
from Lieutenant-Governor Winniett respecting his
journey from Cape Coast Castle to Ashantee, having
just been hiid before the House of Commons, we are
enabled tx> present Our readers with some particulars
of not an xmiuteresthig kind on the condition of an
African nation. The object of Governor Winniett's
journey was to visit the king of Ashantee, and per-
suade him, if possible, to abandon the ancient practice
of human sacrifice. How he sped in tUb nuaaon,
undertaken by order of the British governmeit, viil
afterwards appear. The narration of prooeedingi,
which is in the form of a journal, commencei by
stating that the travelling party consisted, beiidei tlie
governor, of Captain Powdl, commandinf a dctieh-
ment of forty-eight of his men as a guard of honour;
the Rev. Mr Freeman of the Wesleyan Miuionirr i
Society, who acted as secretary ; and about one hnadRd
and fifty men, consisting of the baud, hammock.beutn,
carriers of luggage, and servants— altogether upvirii
of two hundred persous. The route was through i
rough country, and the distance travelled daily ippetn
to have been from twelve to twenty-five milei Hn
weather was unfortunately rainy, and therefore cimping
out at night must have been anything bat pUmr,
With these preliminary observations, we offbr the fol-
lowing condensed and connected string of extncUfinm
Governor Winniett's clearly-written journal:—
Started from Cape Coast CasUe on the afierDooo of
Thursday, September 28 (1848), and stopped for the
night at Taminansah. Next day, at 6. 15. A.N. *«e
resumed our journey, and travdled through a flat tnd
of fertile country, studded with silk-cotton-trees, pahu,
and plantations of the plantain and banana. At 8. li
A. 31. we stopped to take breakfast at the village of
Assay bu, and after refreshing ourselves, and giftog the
soldiers and people a little time to rest, we ^roceeied to
Akroful, a vilhtge several mQea distant from Anajho;
and on entering it, a party of men came ont to wdoone '
me by firing a salute with muskets : I was mnch giiti*
fied witli the friendly and loyal dispoaition manifested
by the people. While we rested a short time in this
village, the head men came to visit me, and preteot ne
some palm wine. In this place there is a small Chrii-
tian society of the natives, under the care of the Wes-
leyan missionaries ; and I was pleased to ohserre i
small chapel in the course of erection, and nearly
finished, chiefly by the personal labours of thii tittk
band of native Christians. At 45 m'mutes after aooo
we reached Dunkwa, and took quarters for the night io
the school-house occupied by the Weslejan HiuioBiiy
Society. Here I was received by Otu— a Fanti Aie^
and the successor of Pnyntree-^HOientioned lo honoitf*
ably by Bowditch in his account of his jonnej to
Kumasi in 181 7. He (Ota) had come over fhwi Abak*
rampa, the place of his retidence, distant aboot im
miles from Dankwa, accompsDied by many of fail csp*
tains and people, to meet me, and bid me vdoome tt
that part of the Fanti country which is under hit ooo*
trol. After resting a little from the fatigoeiotBy
journey, I spent some time in conversation w^ Ota
and his captains.
* Shortly after our arrival, I received from Otn a pre-
sent, consisting of two sheep, some yams and bBodci
of plantain, with which token of good-feeliog sad il>
tachment I felt much gratified. Dunkwa is veil «ta-
ated on high ground, near to a good supply of valerit
all seasons of the year, and surrounded by fine vhs^
tions of plantain and banana. It is one of the luff^
of the Fanti krums, or villages, and has a popnlatioB d
about 1200 aouls. The Wesleyon school here ii (^
recent establishment ; but it contains tliirty^ightda^
dren, and promises well'
On the ensuing three days passed through a nio^
of populous villages ; stopping on Sunday, and atteod-
ing divine service at a place when tber» was a cbapd
and mission -house.
• Ociober 4, Wednadap.— At 6 A.SL we ccatam^
crossing the river, and in about an hour* the peofik
having all passed over by several trips d" a hmge csooe,
we began our journey in the territories of the king {^
Ashantee. The width of the Prah, at its ordinary height,
may be about 80 yards at tho ferry, and 6db <f» [
extreme bank to the other about 100 yards. The pw* ^
gress of the current seemed to be about three miks m ,
hour. The forest scenery on the banks of the riv^
exquisitely beautiful, orismg from the eleg^ and varied i
E
1
GHAMBBBS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
61
foliage of the trees. We stopped to take breakfast at
Kikiwiri, the first Tillage which we reached after cross-
ing the Frah. Earij in the morning we were overtaken
in the forest hy hetkjj rain ; and consequently, when
we arrived at the small Tillage of Ansah, at 3 p. m., we
were wet throiq^ and greatly fatigued with the labour
of walkijig a ceosiderable distance over a muddy and
rugged road. The Tillage was so sraalU that comfort-
abte quarters could not be obtained for the people ; and
many of the soldiers, hammock-mtn, and carriers were
thereibre obliged to bit<onao in the opea air on the wet
ground. It was great oaiaae of thankfulnesa that it did
not rain during the night ; for had it been otherwise,
the people would haTe sufibred greatly.'
Till Sunday, October 8, passed through the country
ibrmerly occupied by the Assins, and now in a state of
roiti. The inhabitants are so poor, that provisions
could wHh difficulty be procured in exohange for gold-
dttst
Ob Monday morning, October 9, reached Karsi, about
llTe mOes dirtant firom Kumasi, the capital of Ashanteeb
* Here I was waited oa by the king's messeagers, who
were sent to conduct us into the towu. At noon we
pvaoeeded in full preparation for our entry ; and at %
distance of about a mile from the town, a party of mee*
seogen, with gaU-handkd swords of office, arrived with
the king*s oompUmen^
* After halting far a dwct time, we proceeded to the
entrance of the first street, and then formed in order of
procenion. Presently a party of the king's linguists,
with four large umbrellas, ensigns of chief tain^ip, came
up to request roe to halt for & few minutes, under the
shade of a large banyan4ree ia the street, to give the
king a little more time to prepare to receive me. Aflber
a brief delay of about twenl^ minutes, during which a
large party of the king's soldiere fired a salute about 100
ya^ distant from us^ we moved on to the miurket-place,
whore the king and his chiefs were seated under their
large umbrellas, aoeording to the custom of the country
on the veoeption of strangers of distinction* They, wi^
tiielr numerous captains and attendants, occupied three
sides of a large square, and formed a coatinuoos bae of
heads, exteading about 600 yards, and about 10 yards
in dtpth. Under each large umbreUsy aad towards the
back ef the Une, the umbrdias being placed about 30
yardtf from each other throughout tha whole Mne, a
ofaicf was seated on a native chair, decorated with
romd-headed nails of brass, silver, or geld, according
to lua rank, with a narrow space left open among his
people in the foreground, that we might see him di8«-
tJBcflji as we passed, and, according to the custom of
the country on such occasions, wave the right hand in
token of friendly recognition. After we had passed
akMig abeat thiee-ftMuihs of the line, we found the king
surrounded by about twenty officers of his household,
and a large number of messengers, with their gold-
handled swords and canee of office. Several very large
umbrdlas, some consisting of silk-velvet of different
oolonrs, shaded him and bis suite from the ra3rs of the
sun. The king's chair was richly decorated with gold ;
and the display of golden ornaments about his own per-
Boa and those of his suite was most magnificent. The
himpe of gold adorning the wrists of the king's attendr
ants and many of the principal chiefs were so large,
that they must have been quite fatiguing to the wearers.
* The kuig of Ashantee is about six feet high, stout,
and strong buHt, and appears to be about from fifty-two
to fifty-six years of age. He is a man of mild aad
^eadnng countenance, and quite free from any of those
shades of native ferocity which are so disgustiog to the
taste and feelings of a European.
* We oeenpied about an hour in moving in procession
fnm nader the banyan-tree, where we had rested on
ealering the town, over a space of about a mile and a-
half IB length, to the end of the line formed for our re-
ception ; iSter which we proceeded to an eligible situa-
tion ia an open space at some distance from the market-
plaoe, and there took our seats, aooordiog to the etiquette
of the country, to receive the complimentary salute of
the king and his chiefs in return. At 3. 15. p.m. they
commenced moving parties in procession, and occupied
the ground before us from fivQ to ten deep, until 6 p.m.,
a period of two hours and three-quarters.
* Those whom we first saluted in the market-place
passed us first in order, maintaining the greatest regu-
larity ; each chief was preceded by his band of rude
music, consisting chiefly of drums and horns, followed
by a body of soldiers under arms, and shaded by a large
umbrella. Those of the highest rank stopped before
me, and danced to the rude music, by way of testifying
their satisfaction at seeing me, and their good-wiU
towards me.
' When the king came opposite me, he first danced, and
then approached me» and I took him cordially by the
hand. After the king, other chiefs, and a large body of
troops, passed in due order, and at 6 p.m. the ceremony
closed.
* During the whole of the day the greatest excitement
prevailed in the town, the population of which was
swelled by strangers called in by the king, or detained
after the close of the recent yam custom, on account of
my visit, from the usual amount of about 25,000 to
upwards of 80,000.
* Kumasi is very different in its appearance from any
other native town that I have seen in this part of Africa ;
the streets are generally very broad and clean, and
ornamented with many beautiful banyan-trees, affording
a grateful sliade from the powerful rays of the sun ; the
houses looking into tlie streets are ail public rooms on
the ground-floor, varying in dimensions from about 24
feet by 12 to 15 feet by 9 ; they are entirely open to the
street in front, but raised above its levd, from I to
6 feet, by an elevated floor consisUng of day polished
with red ochre; tliey are entered from the street by
steps made of clay, and polished like the floor.
*The walls consist of wattle -work plastered with
day, and washed with white clay : the houses are all
thatched with palm*leayes, and as the eaves of the roofs
extend far over tlie walls, the front basement of the
raised floors, which is generally covered with rude
carvings of various forms, have their beautiful polish
preserved from the effects of both sun and rain. This
mode of building gives to the streets a peculiar aspect
of cheerfulness.
* Each of these open rooms is connected with a num'-
ber of rooms behind it, quite concealed from public
view, which constitute the dwellings of the people, and
there may be connected with each puldic room, in the
manner above described, from 50 to 250 inmates.
* Immediately after the procession had dosed^ we re-
paired to the Wesleyan Mission-House, where we found
comfortable arrangements made by the Rev. Mr Hillard,
the missionary resident in Kumasi, for convenient
quarters during our stay.
* Greatly as I had been interested with the manner in
which the king received me» tlie appearance of such a
vast number of uncivilised men under such entire con-
trol, the new style of building exhibited, and its pretty
contrast with the ever fresh and pleasing green of the
banyan-trees, I was equally interested and excited at
the i^pearance of the Wesleyan Mission-House — :a neat
cottage, built chiefly with the teak or edoom wood of
the country, containing on the second floor a large
hall and two airy bedrooms, entirely surrounded by a
spacious veranda; and on the first floor a store-room
and a smiUl chapel or preaching-room ; in the front,
looking into one of the finest and most open streets in
the town, is a little gardes, {Wanted with oraage, linoe,
bread-fhiitt and fig-trees (the two latter having been
recently introduced from the coast), and behind the
house a spaeious courtgrard, planted with the sour-sop-
tree, and surrounded by rooms oonsisting of servants'
and workmen's apartments, so simply constructed, and
yet so spacious, as to afford room, without any incon-
venience, for quarters for the whole of the men coast-
ing of the guard of honour.
62
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
' As I sat down in the airy spacious hall in the cool
of the evening, after all the toils and excitement of the
day, and contemplated this little European establish-
ment, planted in the midst of barbarism SCO miles
into the interior of Africa, exhibiting to thousands of
untutored pagans the comforts and couTeniencies of
ciTilised life, and the worship of the true Ood, I could
not but think deeply and feelingly on the great triumph
thus achieved by Christianity and civilisation.'
Nine days were now consumed in the ceremonial of
exchanging presents. Desirous of seeing the king, but
found that he was unavoidably occupied with supersti-
tious observances. A private and preliminary inter-
view only permitted.
* October 19, Thurgday. — At 8 P.M., I went to the
palace, attended by Captain Powell and the Rev. Messrs
Freeman and Hillard, to have an interview with the
king, for the transaction of business.
* The apartments of the royal premises are of the same
order and style as those of the native dwellings ge-
nerally— consisting of a number of square courtyards,
connected with each other by doors at the corner*,
and having on one, two, three, or all sides, a room en-
tirely open on the side looking into the yard, raised
from one to four feet above the level of the yard, and
communicating with it by steps made with clay, and
like the public rooms in the streets already described ;
but the royal apartments are of much larger dimen-
sions than those of the people, and are kept exqui*
sitely clean. The king's residence in Kumasi, with its
numerous attached buildings, covers a space of ground
not less perhaps than five acres.
* On our arrival, we found the king seated in one of
the squares of the palace, surround^ by many chiefs
and officers of his household. We soon entered into
conversation ; and I told him that my visit was one
of pure friendship, for the purpose of promoting good
intelligence betwixt him and her Majesty's govern-
ment On this head I made many remarks, with
which he seemed much pleased, and expressed his
great satisfaction at the kind feelings manifested by
her Majesty in authorising me to visit, and in sending
him so valnable a present as that which bad been
delivered to him. Another subject which occupied us
for some little time was, the best means of comnmni-
cation betwixt his and my government; and I em-
braced the opportunity of thanking him for the kind
protection which he had afforded the Christian mis-
sionaries who had visited his country, and also of ex-
pressing my hopes that he would still continue to do
so. The interview lasted about an honr.*
The next day the king paid a visit to the Mission-
House, attended by his officers of the household, and
many of his children. He stayed about an hour, con-
rersing freely; inquired how many queens bad ever
occupied the British throne; the age of her present
Majesty ; and whether the Prince of Wales was heir to
the crown ; and was much gratified and amused when
Captain Powell drew up his men and fired a salute.
On Saturday the 31st his majesty again made his
appearance in front of the Mission-House, whither he
came to drink palm wine, as a mark of respect to his
guests. He came to the spot in a beautiful little phae-
ton, presented to him by the Missionary Society in
1841, and which he ralued highly, and had kept in
excellent condition. The English party joined him,
and the band was ordered out to play, by way of re-
turning the courtesy. While they were sitting in the
street, one of the chiefs entertained them with a dance :
this scene was prolonged for nearly two hours with
much merriment and pleasantry. During this singular
visit, from 5000 to 6000 of the populace were present,
yet there was ample room for aU, and no crowding, the
street being nearly 200 yards in width. The city itself
is about two miles in length, and a mile wide. They re-
ceived an invitation to dine with the king at Eburasu,
his country-seat.
* October 24, Tuesday. — At 2 p.m. we started for
Eburasu, distant about 3^ miles from KmnasL On o«r
arrival we took our seat undo: the shade of a large silk*
cotton-tree opposite the palace, and the king, in a few
minutes, came over to us, took me cordii^y by the
hand, and bade me welcome : we then proceeded to
look over the premises, conducted by one of the offieers
of the household; while the king delicately tocdc his seat
under a tree near the spot where we had been sittiaf.
I have already described the character of the natiTe
dwellings, and observed that the royal premises art
kept more clean, and are of larger dimenaiona, thsa
those of the people : these distioctkms are very strikiiig
in the aspect of Eburasu.
* Many of the rooms around the aquarea were oen*
pied with neat bedsteads of European manniactiire,
dressed with silk hangings, and decorated with rainen,
pictures, time-pieces, fancy boxes, duuideiiers, and
many other articles of European raanufaetare.
* After passing through and examining the prindpsl
apartments, we entered a square where the taUe was
set for dinner, under the shade of some ktrge nmbieilaSr
about 10 feet in diameter, and the king ioiaiediatdiy
entered, and engaged freely in oonvertation with us ; in
a short time dinner was placed on ibe tabk^ la a man-
ner quite consistent with En^tsh taste, latd it was
really very nicely served up : it (mnsisted of soup, a
sheep roasted whole, a sheep dressed in jotnta, ft
turkey, fowls, a variety of vegetables, plumpvdding,
oranges, ground-nuts, &c ale, wine, and Uquewn,
* The king excused himself from actually sitting and
eating at table, on the ground of his inability to ose
with ease a knife and fork like a Eoropeaa; but he
sat opposite roe, and looked on witii great interest,
took wine with me and the gentlemen of my sttit^ aod
talked with great freedom on ordinary topics of coBvcr-
sation.
* At all our previous interviews he has generally been
dressed in a rich doth, but on this occasion he wore an
officer^s unifacm.
* After dinner the king took us to the ftpartmenta oC
the ladies of the court, and introduced me to them, de-
claring that no Ashantee, not even a favourite chidtahi,
had ever been introduced to that part of the paUee, or
to the ladies occupying it
* On leaving this part of the palace, we went oat aad
sat down with tiie king under the shade of a large ties
for about twenty minutes, and then, as evening wai
advancing, we turned our facet towards Kumati: ti»
king accompanied us in his palanquin about two
on the road, and then we took our leave of him.
' The conduct of the king throughout the day
extremely gratifying, and I greatly enjoyed the ptivaey
in which we had dined with him : no chiefs were pre-
sent; there were only two persons of diatinctioii ptwat
connected with the household, and they were wetdj m
attendance on the king, and not taking any part ia Urn
afifairs connected with the dinner.
* The remains of the dinner, together with aome kfft
pots of soup prepared for the occasion, were wesA iats
the Mission-House for the soldiers and people.
* The situation of Eburasu appears to be well iliosit:
the ground is high, the country open, and the distsace
from Kumasi very convenient; and it is ap^tadied by
an excellent road, founded with care, aiul kept deaa
and in good order.
' The extent of the royal premises is very consider-
able, covering perhaps four acres of grouod.
' At 8 P.M. the king sent messengers to tbe llisdoe-
House to acquaint me that he had returned to town, and
to request that we would go down to the palace and
spend an hour with him : to thia I readily cou»uteA»
and was much gratified, on our arrival at the palaei; te
find him almost alone, and quite disposed for liiew&y
conversation. Ossai Kujo, the heir -apparent to liht
throne, and three or four of the king^s principal Bik
guists, were the only persons present.
* We immediately entered into eonversatioii, and after
briefly adverting to the kindly feelingt of her Majesty's
h
|i
I
CQAMBERSrS EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
63
goTemroent towardi him, I embraced the faTonrmble |
opportunitj thai oAsred for speaking to him on the
sabject of hnman sacriflcee t I told him of the anzioot
defire on the part of her Majesty that these san-
guinary rites should be abolished, and begged his
senons attention to a question so important to the
cause of humanity.
* In answer to these remarks, he inquired whether I
had teen any instances of human sacrifice taking place
since I had entered his dominions. I certainly had not
teen or heard of any, and therefore expressed myself to
tliat effect ; and he then obserred, that although human
sacrifices were a custom of his forefathers, he was re-
ducing their number and extent in his kingdom, and
that the wishes of her Majesty should not be for-
gotten. . . . Matters relative to the Wesleyan mission
in Kumasi were then referred to, and I was much grati-
fied to find how completely the mission has secured his
confidence and esteem.
* After oonTcrsing with the kiifg for nearly an hour,
we returned to the Mission- House, greatly delighted
with all the pleasing circumstances of the day.
* October 26, Thursday, — At 7 A. M. we visited the
king, to take our leave of him previous to our depar-
ture. On our arrival at the palace, we found the king
vdMdf to receive us at this early hour.
' The interview was quite private, like that of Tues-
day evening, and the same persons were also in attend-
ance on him. I again adverted to human sacrifices, and
expressed my satisfaction at the remarks he had made
on the sabject during our last interview. He then ob-
served that the number of human sacrifices made in
Kumasi had been greatly exaggerated, and that attempts
had thus been mside to spoil his name. He wished me
to understand that human sacrifices were not so nume-
rous in Kumasi as they had been represented, and ex-
pressed a hope that mere reports relative to such a
subject fiying about the country would not be listened
to ; and he then observed, ** I remember that when I
was a little boy, I heard that the English came to the
coast of Africa with their ships for cargoes of slaves,
for the purpose of taking them to their own country
and eating them ; but I biave long since known that the
report was false, and so it will be proved in reference
to many reports which have gone forth against me."
I answered that I beUered him, and that I hoped he
wovld not forget that in every life which he sav^ from
sacriflee, he would be considered as conferring a favour
upon the Queen of England and the British nation.
' After conversing with him thus In the most unre-
strained manner for about half an hour, we took our
leave of him by shaking him cordially by the band, and
then returned to the Mission-House.'
On Friday, October 30, the party started on their
return homeward, and reached Cape Coast Castle
without any misadventure on Saturday the 4th of
November.
The expeases of the expedition charged against the
goremment appear to have been Ii.305, lis. lO^d. ; and
we can only wish that public money had always been
as well spent
COUNSELS TO THE WOEKING-CLASSEa
Ix the fourth volnme of * Lectures to the Working-Classes,*
by W. J. Fox, M.P., we find the following wholesome and
friendljr eomuels to the parties addressed. It is earnestly
to be hoped that they may be taken in good part, and
acted on: —
' The factious object of plaguing the middle-classes [in
their effbrt to abolish trading monopolies], and of showing
them that, even for the most righteous purposes, thev
were powerless without you, was oefeated as it deserved.
They succeeded, not only without your undivided support,
Imt in spite of the active hostility of thousands who mus-
ter in yonr ranks, and of some whom you recognised as
leaders. Ton thus made enemies, neutrals, or dubious
friends iA numbers whom your cordial co-operation, in a
movement which involved your own interests as deeply as
theirs, would have won to the support of your political
rights. Such is the tendency of a narrow and party ex-
pediency. Yon were taught the crooked tactics of faction,
and learned them with fatal facility. The blot upon your
soatoheon is the darker, because you did not act in igno-
rance, or in a consistent error. ... In fact, you have been
led too easily, and given your confidence too readily. A
doss has risen up amongst you who get their living by afd-
tation and organisation. They toil, nOt with their hands^
but with their tongues. The beer-shop is their factory
and home. The k^m and the plough know them not,
yet they always affect to speak in the name of the worlc-
mg-dasses. Their harangues glitter with pikes, and smell
of gunpowder, although they generally contrive to keep
their own persons out of harm*s way. They drill you to
clamour, and would drill you to blood and plunder could
they do it safely. They fawn on your worst faults, and
yelp and snarl at all other classes, or at those of your own
class who resist their dictation. They are fed by your
enemies or pretended friends, to make tools and fools of
you for selfiih purposes. Through them the demagogue
Cf^oles, the aristoiffat bribes, the adventurer plunders,
and the spy betrays you ; and they are a ready agency for
any scheme however preposterous, oriminal, or disastrous.
I write no names under the picture, and am content to be
called a dreamer if nobody knows anything of the originals.
A^tation, thus pursued, is not an honest trade. . . . You
excite each other, while society is contemptuously calm
around you ; or only in the more timid exchanges its
calmness for alarm. And then the honestly fervid and in-
cautious are laid hold of, to expiate their rashness by
enduring judgments due to criminality, while the crafty
stimulators skulk into darkness until circumstances are
again favoimtble for following their avocation.
* Strangely enough, you who have most need of co-opera-
tion, leave it to the aristocratical and middle-classes, and
look on listlessly or enviously at the splendour of club-
houses, and the convenience of railways, without asking
how they arc created, or heeding the lesson which they
present to your eyes and ears. Tnere are, it is tme, some
legal difiiculties in your way, but they are not of the most
formidable description ; you rarely advance so far as to
come into contact with them, and their removal would not
be difficult when once your earnestness had made them an
obvious grievance. To some extent you may become your
own employers, your own landlords, your own tradesmen,
and that greatly to your advantage and independence. Co-
operation in expenditure is available more easily, and with
more certain and immediate results, than co-operation for
production. Various experiments, the results of which are
before the public, have demonstrated that the great bless-
ing of comfortable homes, with all the incidentals of venti-
lation, warming, cookery, &c. is within your reach for less
cost than that of your often miserable and noisome abodes.
Why call for help, instead of having the virtue and pru-
dence to help yourselves? You have shown, through
many a severely trying time, that you can bear manfully ;
it remains to be seen that you can also act wisely. Do not
rail at political economy : you had better study it. If its
principles be sound, they cannot be abrogated by legisla-
tion, nor destroyed by an insurrection of labour against
capitaL If those jmnciples be sound, and a large induction
has satisfactorily established them in the minds of the
ablest thinkers, they are simply an exposition of the course
of nature, of the sequence of cause and efieet, which is as
certain in the world of trade as the law of attraction in the
solar system. They are merely the brief expression of
classified phenomena, like the laws of mechanical agency
or of chemical affinity. You must work in accordance
with them, in the one case as in the other, or disappoint-
ment is the inevitable result. You can no more destroy
the power of capital, or the dependence of labour upon
capital, than you can destroy the impeding force of frietion,
or square the circle. What millions have been wasted in
useless strikes I Nor is the ofienoe against truth, as em-
bodied in political economy, the wors^ morally speaking,
which has been committed: many of you have been the
sorest enemies of the rights of labour, and severer oppres-
sors of your brethren than your hardest taskmasters. Ho-
nest and skilful men, and in peril of starvation, have been
hunted from shop to shop, from one establishment to
another, because tney had not served a regular apprentice-
ship, till they were fain to find a loathsome shelter in the
poor-house, or lie down and perish by the wayside. Some
of your oombinations are as relentlessly exclusive as tho
64
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
sternest monopolists. This is a crying iiyastiee. It is
cruelty, where the title to sympathy oaght to liave been
most promptly and heartily reoognisecL The jealousy
with which some trades keep down their numbers, exdud-
ing all influx from other traaes, limiting the number of the
young employed, lest they should grow up into competi-
tors, and even invading the natural right of their own mem-
bers to train up all their children to whatever occupations
they deem most advantageous, is a violation alike of ^e
trade and of common humanity. It tells sorely against
your moral right to complain of the oppressions of other
classes when you thus oppress one another. In such con-
duct you may be true to your shop-comrades, but you are
false to the woriiing-class as a body. The freest circula-
tion of labour is the common right and common interest of
that class. It is one of the best physical benefits of educa-
tion, which enables a man more readily to qualify himself
for passing, when necessary, from one occupation to an-
other. It is the corrective and equaliser of a redundant
supply of labour for some trades, and a deficient supply for
others ; and it is the surest safeguard against those vicis-
situdes in trade and commerce which so destructively
affect large masses of the labouringpopulatiou, and plunge
them into prolonged and bitter suffering. Let every man
be free to earn his living as best he can. It is not the part
of a fellow-labourer, a brother workman, to strike down
Ills untasted loaf to the ground, or dash the cup from his
parching lips.*
INFLUENCE OF WOMEN.
Guides and guardians of the rising generations, mothers
chosen by Providence for the grand ministry of preparing
in our children brave and upright citizens for our coun-
try— it is for us to provide the rule and guide ; it is for us
to present to Italy in our sons magistrates of integrity,
generous writers, men of activity, firmness, and justice,
lovers of the beautiful and of the ancient virtues. Let us,
then, examine the means by which we may attain so noble
an object ; let us endeavour to comprehend with clearness
and precision what is the character of true civilisation,
what are the vices and errors which oppose its progress,
what are the thoughts and ideas by which they are most
particularly favoured ; what are the wants of our i^, the
virtues necessary to it, the inclinations and usages which
contend with and impede their advance. And when we
shall have renewed and reformed our own education, wliioh
in these respects, and among so many women, lias been
so unworthily neglected, let us strive to quicken in the
hearts of our children the desires, the affections, and the
hopes which, rendering man good in himself, render him
also useful to others, and fitted to accomplish his social
duties with facility, fervour, and firmness. Let us believe
that in acting otherwise we shall be unable, without un-
truth, to declare our love for our country; and thus, by the
effect of our own errors and negligence, a name formerly
so dear to the world, and so much honoured, would remain
unworthily buried in corruption. — On (he Moral Education
of Italian Women, by Sipnora Ferrucci,
* MUSIC OF THE WILD.'
In the summer of 1846 we were riding along the ridge of
Cefyn Bryn, a mountain which extends from north-west to
south-east across the peninsula of Gower in Glamorgan-
shire ; it was one of those still bright summer days in
which the vibrations, or, more properly, the modulations of
the atmosphere may be seen playing along the surface of
the ground — when I became gradually aware of a faint
^olian-like sound, which I at first attributed to imagina-
tion or the hum of insects. My companion, however, soon
remarked on it ; and as it became louder and more dia-
tinot, the ponies, by their uneasiness, and the restlessness
of their eyes, showed that they too heurd the strange
sound, which continued whilst we passed over about two
miles of ^und ; but on commencing the descent on the
eastern side we lost it. The nearest thing to which we
could compare this unearthly music was the vibration of
nor any other material thing will give a just idea of this
sound, which even in its exquisite beauty was most dis-
tressing from its universality (I can find no other word
which will at all express the feeline which it conveyed). I
afterwards heard tliat others had oeen astonished by this
remarkable phenomenon, which foUy enabled me to under-
stand the fSeeling with which the ignorance of superstitioii
has always regarded sounds such as these, or indeed aay
which it could not understand. — From a correspomdent,
MY CHILDHOOD'S THOUGHT.
Thrbx fields beyond our dw^Ung-plaoe, alimpidatresintetflawctii.
From fipring-head onwards I have traced it wheresoe'er it gaetk ;
I used to Idle on the banks, and ohQdiahly to pondar
O'er that river's shining ooune with jdesunt awe and w<»Mler,
Arranging in my secret mind a creed of mystic birth—
That Elfin river was a type of my own doom on earth.
And 80 from spring-head to the vale where many waters meet,
I learnt the story page by page, and other lessons sweet.
Where the yielding greenest moss gathers o'er the rounded rocks
(*Tl8 the shepherds' favourite rest, crook in hand, to vateh thdr
flocks),
There amid the scented thyme, fern, and hyacinthlnebdto,
Forth a htmdred ripples gush on flowery paths to distant dtils ;
'Mid this waste of summer sweets, mark a fostering hand b near.
And a marble basin fair receives some falling diamonds hen ;
Thence again 'mid beds of roses, sporting, toying on its waj.
Where a classic temple craves mirrored grace and fond delay.
Heedless on the water runneth, wideneth, and will not sUj;
Tasteful bowers are left behind, grand and festal scenes are o'er.
And ere spring-head murmurs fade, bids adieu for everaaora.
Merrily the streamlet floweth, hidden under ardivsys drear, 1 1
MerrOy it floweth through ruins dim and sights of fear ; |
'Tis a young and saucy streamlet frolicking so lightly by.
With its surface all unruffled, e'en though wintry bceeses righ ;
Gliding on transpu'ently with a murmuring smig fev em.
Looking not to right or left— oh, it was a careless river !
Through the sheltered paature-fldds, winding in and winding out.
How the frisking waters ran, hereabout and thereaboiit *
Old oak-roots and ivy-leaves, cowslip beds and violet banks.
Washing o'^, and now and thm foaming op and i^ayiag pvaaka
'T was an idle, roving life ; but the dancing daya were dooa,
When a graver work waa found from the dawn to sot of saa;
And the noi^ mill-wheel turning, whispered to the busy watsr—
' Thy proud heart is humbled now, dainty, foolish, idle daughter T
Useful days and dreamless nights fill up thine appointed rsoe,
WhUe the stars reflected riiine on the miU-pooVs placid Caco.
But stars shone on the other side of that clever taJkii^ mm.
And the holy moonbeams fell not alone on waters stilL
Darting forward with a power they had never known before.
Swiftly onward now they flew escaping from the prison dnor ;
Flowery meads and gardena trim were as though they ncTer badbece.
Darksome dq;»ths, and raging foam, and splitting roeks maAs vf
the scene.
There is a deep and dread abyss, and into it the water
A silver thread diverging ere the furious current madly
I shrank to hear the distant roar of the tumbling waters wfld,
I prayed no wanderer forlorn along that way might be IjtfiJei,
But follow by the silver thread to pastnrea fair whan nature:
Straight and narrow is the stream, the humble stream is kaoamtt
few.
It leads to woodland solitudes, and bids the heartless crowd adka;
Straight and narrow, pure and deep— onwards, onwards ciiBBiy
gliding-
Ocean's mighty bosom this, and many silver streamlets hidia^
C. A. M. W.
LIBRARY OF THE BRITISH MeSECH.
A Parliamentary return * shows that the total nnm^trdt
volumes of printed books received from 1814 to 1917 te*
elusive, under .the Copyright Acts, by the tnuteeaef tke
British Museum, amounts to 55,474 ; and tlie nofl^* sf
parts of volumes, including music, to 80,047' The niuaber
of maps, charts, &c. received shiee 1842 amounts te IWt
and the number of parts of maps, &o. to ISl. The total
number of volumes of printed books contained fai tbc fi^
rary of the Museum at the end of the year 1846
to about 485,000 ; the number of mapa, plana, ;
to 10,221 ; the volumes of manuscripts to 29,6*36 ; Umb
of various kinds to 2946 ; the number of charters aad i
ments to 23,772 ; the number of manuscripta on
and folded, to 208 ; the number of papyn to 55 ; aad tW
number of seals and impressions to 851.* The nwrtiw<l
volumes in the Bodleian labrary of Oxford is
and the number of manuscripts 21,000.
II
|i
Published by W. a. R. Chambkbs, Hi^ Btrcet, Edinbvisfc.
Bold by D. CuAMBsas, 80 Argyle Stroet, Glasgow ; W« & Ona*
147 Strand, London; and J. H*<3i.AaHAif, SI D*01ier
Dublin.— Printed 1^ W. dc R. Chambsbs, Bdtubur^
I
■
I
1
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF ' CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,* < CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ 4o.
No. 292. New Series.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1849.
Price 1^.
PERSONAL ORIGINALITY.
Ant one who la strikinglj distinguished from the gene-
nlitjr of mankind hj tome predominant quality of in-
tellect or dispoeitioOf is usually styled an Original. His
penonal characteristics are so manifestly distinct and
indiTidual, as to giTe the impression of a constitutional
difference, such as b not usually obserrable among men.
A man of this kind appears to us as an exceptional
nature : his bold idoitity stands out from the multitude,
like some prominent headland, or mountain peak, among
the lesser eminences and triTial inequalities by which it
it sononnded. There is no possibility of confounding it
with the ordinary manifestations of personality, any more
than there is a likelihood that we should fiul to discrimi-
nate the Alps or the Andes frtmi the inconsiderable un-
dolations of a comparatively lerel country. Men such as
Milton, Mirabeau, and Napoleon, are persons of such a
detenninate indindttality,as to be instantly and for erer
dislinguMhable from the rest of their generation. They
are among the prominences and towering projections
of humanity, whose figure and eleration assign to them a
distinction in the history of human opinion and actitity,
equiralent to that which a Mont Blanc or a Chimborazo
holds in the geographical arrangements.
This personal ascendancy is the colossal revelation of
a latent ori^nality which abides in all men. As there is
BO human &oe exactly like another, so neither is there
any mind, or intellectual constitution, precisely propor-
tiened after another's image; but eac^ has some dissi*
i milarity of features, and a distinct personality of its own.
Men are never duplicates of their progenitors or contem*
I ponries, but they are the infinite variations of a common
nature, having each a separate state of being to unfold,
lod a separate destination to fulfiL Without some
ilight shade tf originality there is no man bom into the
world. The mL^ stupid person extant is dififerent frxmi
ill othSem by his superlative stupidity, if by nothing else;
end his life aocordingly, if developed in conformity with
the tmor of his constitution, will present aspects of indi-
vidual diversity. His peculiar distinction may have
little to recommend him to himself or to the considera-
tioQ of his fellows, but it is not the less a fact ; and we
«ay say, in passing, that the obviously wisest thing for
to is, to accept his character for what it is, and to
KQost himself in the scale of things according to the
■saner which his nature has prescribed. If in the ranks
pi iMelligeoce he is palpably the lowest, the lowest
plioe in the human relations will be most suited to his
CBpadty ; and he will be happiest, and in the best way
provided for, therein. A true adjustment of men to
their apprc^yriate position in the world would go far
iewwds ^»ening to every one the chance of attaining to
the place in which his personal gifts and accomplish-
plete activity. Society were then in all respects per-
fectly and harmoniously constituted; and, so far as the
social institutions are concerned, there would be nothing
left of what is right and beautiful to be realised. The
kingdom of Perfectibility would have come, and there
would be universal gladness and satisfaction on the earth.
What we desire here, however, more especially to indi-
cate, is the fact of every man's personal independency —
of his being a new variety of human power, destined to
work out a new and peculiar exbtence. Given an alto-
gether dissimilar apportionment of faculties, there will
necessarily result from their due employment a new and
hitherto unprecedented manifestation. Every sufficiently
cultivated man will have an identity as complete and
determinate as that which appertains to the pre-eminent
characters whose magnificent isolation we admire; though,
as the consequence of a less conspicuous endowment, it is
not likely to be so boldly and prominently marked. An
ordinary hill does not present the commanding appear-
ance in a landscape which naturally belongs to a moun-
tain, but the hill is not, therefore, the less real, or in
anywise despicable as a portion of the globe. Not an
atom in the universe could be spared, or innocently and
without prejudice subtracted from the complement of
creation. In like manner, there never was a man en-
dowed with life who was not in some sort essential to the
perfection of that universal humanity which he^ under a
partial and limited personification, represents. When
Luther said that God could not do without great men,
he uttered, profanely, a really profound truth ; since
we may be assured that such men are needful to the
world's affiurs, or they would not have been equipped
with gifts and abilities so largely disproportionate to the
rest. But if the assumption be true as far as concerns
the higher intellects, it must be seen to hold equally in
regard to all the lower manifestations of intelligence;
and every man in his degree must be esteemed as a ne-
cessary and indispensable incarnation. For we are con-
strained to respect the integrity of the' Original Wis-
dom, and may not impiously attribute to that august
Power any superfluous creation.
From such a consideration of mortal being, there will
follow some significant results. We can perceive that a
man's duties are co-extensive with his capabilities. Each
man stands in an original relation to the Supreme Soul,
and is responsible to that for the complete culture and de-
velopment of his nature. The law of his existence is ac-
cordingly an indivisible and unlimited self-reliance. He b
constitutionally bound to unfold Atm«0{^— conscientiously
to work out his peculiar individuality* His personiJ
gifts and tendencies have an obvious reference to the in-
dividual life which he is appointed to accomplish. No
law is so sacred to him as that which he will find written
in his consciousness. Every attempt to represent himself
66
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
identity is therebj diyerted into % foreign fhape, will
result in distortion and disarrangement of his integrity.
Imitation is fatal, is a violation of that sacred personal!^
which has been intrusted to his keeping, and whose en-
tirety it is enjoined him to presenre as the foundation of
his welfare. He shall not import into his constitution
any irrelerant or adventitious elements, but diligently
weed the garden of his mind of everything that does not
properly consort with its free and graceful cultivation and
adornment. Whatsoever he may receive firom books, or
draw out of the experiences of other men, he must diges-
tively assimilate and incorporate it with the action of
his own faculties. Nothing that he cannot transform into
a personal power, or su^ceptively accommodate to the
enlargement of his original resources, can be rightly con-
sidered to belong to him, but, as far as he is interested, is
unimportant and extraneous. Certain facts and images
make a more resolute impressiim upon one man than
upon another : these, if he will take thought of it, have
a reference to his endowments, and exert a special in-
fluence over his education. They are the hints which
Nature offers for the acceptance of his intellect, that he
may the more perfectly fulfil the destination whereof he
is inwardly advertised, and which, being successfully at-
tained, will be seen to be the i^ipropriate outcome of his
inherent qualities.
A strict conformity to the pure idea which he personally
represents would render every man a unique character.
Men would see in him a clearly-defined and self-subsistent
nature; one whose life was the growth of principles within
his soul — the natural embodiment of his intuitions — ^and
not a loose and perverted incoherency, such as results when
a man submits himself to be fashioned merely or princi-
pally by circumstances. That want of a definite character
which is so commonly observable in the generality, fol-
lows from a prior want of truthfulness in themselves.
What Pope said sarcastically of women — that for the
most part they had no character at all — seems to be true
to a large extent of men. But there is no deep-laid neces-
sity for this ; for if a man would abide steadily by his in-
stincts, and trust to the spontaneous action of his mind, his
character would inevitably grow out of the laws of his being,
even as the branches and foliage of a tree proceed out of
its natural vitality. A man needs only to be strictly and
emphatically himself, and he will not want character. By
truly unfolding his latent capabilities, by wisely asserting
through word and deed whatsoever his pure reason shall
command, by so exercising his powers as to reflect futh-
fuUy his in(Uvidual nature, he shall not fail to exhibit
traits of originality, and show forth to the world what
manner of man he is. If he will but think of it, he is
verily here to do that. Why should he cramp his energies
into a foreign shape when the authentic type of his exist-
ence is in himself! All this painful striving to appro-
priate the supposed graces and characteristics of another —
this restless ridiculous ambition to be anything but what
we are — serves only to pervert and dissipate the native
force whereon all maniVil integrity is dependent. Let the
private thought be trusted, follow the honest suggestions
of your conscience, and earnestly endeavour to be what
your best insight tends to make you. All great men have
accepted the admonitions of their genius, and heedless of
the suffrages or clamours of the inconsiderate, have un-
hesitatingly relied upon their inward sense of what was
right and fitting to be by them spoken or performed. By
no other method can any man attain to that noble unity
of life and purpose whidi is ever his highest and worthiest
distinction. He must be a faithAil representative to the
worid of that inmost form of being which is centered in
his consciousness, nor asnire after aasfat th^t in not n&tn. I
ral to his U/eaXiim; for thus only cm he tertify of the
Supreme intentions in creating him, and adequate!/ folfil
his true relations to tiie universe.
Unfortttnately all this may be admitted, and ytt it
will be felt that there are pracUcal diifieiltiei whid
oppose the aspirations we are enforcing. In locistyemT
man is but a part, not a whole : in yontii hii d«tinj
has sent him into a career possibly not congonial with
his faculties and tastes : and worse than this, conndeta-
tions of self-interest — absolute means of existcncfr-mt;
oblige the most noble-minded to assume the tone and
position of subserviency. We cannot kgislate for ex-
ceptions to great rules. Our belief is, that, all i^^
considered, there is infinitely greater soiypefbrietiBgoi
native motives and self-original principles than the worid
usually gets credit for. At all events, let each penon
ask himself this— Shall I be a mere inutator, the sUfiik
follower of the herd in all things, or shall I tiy to mi
out opinions and ?iews of my own t With ciodid ael^ \
examination, how many might not attain distinctioB,!
or at least be greatly useful in their generatko, instead >
of sinking into the nothingness, and it may bt the
vice, of imitation. Wh«t we want to les is eflbrt—
eflbrt to inquire^ and to act on the inqaiij/Whatam
I most competent to do I' Let us be fdQj amtd,
all exceptions to the oontraiy, Uiat each man^s tmi-
tion is prescribed and indicated by the natnn of hii
talent. Endless, truly, mn the obsimctions whsnby s
man is hindered from adjusting hiaself li^tfiilly U
his work. Nevertheless, » certain work alviyi kkngi
to him : namely, that wkidi be can best do-that which
affords him the highest and purest satii&ction ^eo it
is done. If sHiy man is unconscious of a diAmte iidi-
nation towards any particular spedes of acttritj, H
finds all, or nearly iJl, indiflferent,. it beeomsi hln it
least to do well that which &lls at any time in hiitij.i
'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do in the way of dity,
do it with thy might.* By patting heartand ooMomi
into his work, there is bo labour whidi a mta myM
ennoble. But the channel through whidi he on Bti
admirably communicate himself, by a sncoevfil m ^
his special latitudes and powers, is the one to which hi
should boldly commit himself, and esteem as thi crbi
which will most eflfeotoally cendoet him to hi^bsitwl*
fare. Working thus in allianoe and oompaiuonihif fiA
Nature, he is strong througli the virtot of hn itnBi^
and is fortified by her invincibility : no koBsst A
of his can fiskil; but every stroke which he itnkv bm*
fhlly on the anvil of his fiate shall weld his life in «^
unison with the life whidi ia divine.
Let a man, then, take counsel of lus «vb ni^ >»
justify his appearance in the world by an aastsre nfisMi
on his own character. Le6 him have due aspnasA^
since he is bom into the midst of things, and pshaka"
the breath of his generation, be has not besBflBi|iip«|'
fluously into time, but tba^ the universe had im^
him ; since to him sJso a special work has been uvp^ i
—namely, a new and original UA to live. Hs **|}^
bend or cringe to any existing institution, or W ^
less idolatry to any venerated name^ bat ^^
with a sovereign independence stll acoeditod estsbsv
ments and reputations, and by thought and set sbbssmi
that here is a man uriio will siinimon all thisgi ^^
bar of his own judgment. The pomps and boIavM
of history and tradition mmt not be snflbred to hidefi«
him the fact of his inherent signifioancy in Hbfi ^^^^
nor shake his sublime oonvictiim that, in emrj^^^
and right endeavour, the Omnipotent ^^^^'"'^"^^
vertly through his hands. By statioaiog himsstf if^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
67
tke dtodel of bis own mind, he shall dmr raooroei
£roia the w«Us of Eternal Truth, and all hig acts ihall
be eoincident with the primal lawi of things. Haring
come into the uniTerse, he has God's authority to tnuQiact
hit own affi^rs there, to think hit own thoughts, and
eamestlj to do the work which is appropriate to his
Acuities, Let him not roar or oorrupt his nature bj
way eomplianoes with foolish customs and conventions ;
bat lesolutelj abide bj his integrity, as one who founds
his justification on principles which are rooted in the
Ereriasting Soul whereby all things are sustained. With
a stoical magnanimity let him faZe the world on his own
basii^ and soom to be decorated by any distinction, by
any ornament, which does not properly grow out of his
character. Truthfulness to one^s-self— Uiat disposition
and habit of life which permits the soul to shine through
all one's sayings and performances — is not alone the first
condition of aU greatness, but also of eveiy efibrt where-
by any man womd snccessfoUy raise himself in inteUi*
genoe and worth.
LONG LOWISFORD.
IJpoii reooTering fWmi a MTere illness when I was about
sixteen yean of age, I was sent for change of air to
some r^atiTet whom I had nerer eeen, residing in a
distant part of England. Placed under the care of a
friend traTdling the same route, our journey was per-
formed in the mail-coach, which passed through the
town of M , within seren milee of my destination.
Here I was met by a respectable serring-man, and im*
mediatdy trans&ned with my luggage to an old-
faahioned roomy gig. It was a May evening : in the
moming I had left a populous city, and now we were
passing onwards through woodUndi and pastures, as
silent and lonely as the untrodden yalleys of the * far
west' We skirted the side of a swift riyer, and I
was half frightened when we forded it ; but the song of
birds, 1^ gay wild flowers of the waysides, and all the
tigfati and sounds that met my eye and ear, ccmspired
to hifl me into a sort of dreamy consciousness of new
iiie and happiness to come. On attaining the aummit
of a hill, ttie domestic, who had not hitherto spoken,
pointing to a spire rising amid the greenerie of a valley
beneath, cheerfully uaXd, * We be just at home, miss :
yonder is Long Lowisford.'
I had seen but little of the country during my brief
career; and when we descended to the strajefgling
village — ^well deserving its name of * long ' — a narrow
guahhig streamlet flowing throughout its length, with
broad flagstones across to reach the houses, the setting
•nn tfaiting the gray gaUes, and playing in a thousand
prisaatie hues on the latticed windows, whose broad
silla dismayed many brilliant bouquets, fairy-land un-
explored seemed opening to my view. We turned up
a coppice lane, and came to a water-mill with dripping
iliray wheel ; and the foaming waters in the mill-dam
quite awed me. We passed an old solemn church, and
drew up at the little wicket -gate of the parsonage
hcRise, whidi seemed coend in age with the church, the
pOTchea of both being much alike ; that of the aacred
edifice bdng festooned with ivy, and this with roaea
and chestnuts. I had longed to ask my conductor some
questions concerning those with whom I was about to
sojourn, but motives of ddicacy withheld me from
seeking information through this channel. I knew the
Cunily consisted of only two members — the Bev. Mr
Evelyn and his sister Miss Bridget. I also surmised
that they were *old people,' at least according to nay
notion of antiquity; and I entertained many private
doute and feara that they might be 'prim and strict;'
in short, old people who fmget Umt once they had beesi
young themselves !
But now I was in ike hall, with its polished floor of
dark oak, and in the arms of the prettiest, sweetest
creature I had eyer looked on ; and yet these terms are
applied to a lady past threescore years I I instinctively
iuperior being, and that I must be gentle and good to
win her regard, and forget all my wilful rude ways.
There was a strange feding at my heart prompting
laughter and tears by tuma ; and Miaa Bridget— for it
waa she— seeing me weary and emaciated, in a low, soft
voice spoke tender words of comfort and encourage-
ment. ' Poor, dear little creature I she i« exhausted
with her long journey : let us get her to bed, FoUiman/
The call for ' Folliman ' was answered by the appear-
ance of a tiny, active old dame, many years Miss
Bridget's senior, her ei-devoHt nurse, now housekeeper,
or whatever she liked to be designated : but how widely
different was the aspect of these two ancient women I
Miss Bridget was a tall, slight flgure, slight to attenua-
tion, but still bearing the stamp of elegance and refine-
ment. Her comple^don was so transparently fiair and
pure, that I know not how I came to guess her age ;
tbr there were no wrinkles to betoken it: habitual
heavenly calmness had bid defiance to the marks of
time. Her silfer hair waa parted on her brow ; but
her dear blue eyes could never have been more intel-
ligent and ezpreaaive than now. Scrupubus delicacy
and neatneaa charaoteriaed her attire at all timea;
and her extremely beautifiil handa and feet aeemed
more fit for ahow than use: indeed Miss Bridget's
walks never extended beyond the garden; and her
slender fingers brought melody from the curiously-
carved spii^ the tunes she invoked being rare anti-
quarian treasures. Yet let it not be supposed that her
days passed in useless emplojrmeots or amusement —
no : she presided over the stiU-room when assisted by
Dame Folliman; decoctions and herbal recipes were
judidously manufactured and dispensed to the poor;
the doctor of Long Lowisford — chappy place, there was
bui one I— jocosely affirming that Miss Bridget Evelyn
deprived him of half his patients. Then there was
not a poor child in the parish that did not give evi-
dence of Miss Bridget's handiwork in the dothes
it wore: and all the little creatures were ao neatly
attired, their garmenta compoaed of amaU pretty pat-
terns, that strangers remarked what good taato and
thrift distinguished the appearance of the Long Lowis-
ford children. There was not a baby bom into this world
of wo in Miss Bridget's parish whose first robe was not
made by her fair Ib^nds. This was her sde recreation,
except, indeed, the spinet, and those gentle ambulations
round the fiower garden. She never gathered flowers ;
and once I remember ofl'ering the dear dd lady a
moss-rose, but gently she put back my hand, saying
with a half-stifled si^ * No ; thank you, dear girl : I
never accept and never present flowera.' There waa a
aadnesa in her bw tone which aet me thinking for many
a day. — ^A very different individual in all reapecta waa
Dame Folliman from her mistress — a sturdy, wiry,
fldgetty old soul — * here, there, and everywhere.' Nearly
eighty, but with the activity of eigfateeis, her bead-like
black eyes retained unwonted lustre ; and she scolded
the maids, and often kept the parsonage in a ferment
when ' cleaning fits ' were on her.
As to Miss Bridget, Folliman still treated A«r as a
girl, chiding her sometimes as a fond nurse does a
bdoved nursling; still was Miss Bridget beautiful in
FoUiman's sight, and, according to her account, earth
contidned not another such angel in woman's fiirm. * I
wonder she has never been married ?' said I one day to
the busy dame : * it is very strange, so pretty and good
as she is.'
* It would have been ttranger if she had,* quoth the
dame ; but not anotl^r word could I draw fivth.
But thane was another individual of whom I have
not yet spoken, whose aflSaotion for the sweet Bridget, if
more silent than nurse's, was as sincere, and far more
deep and fervent: this was her brother Mr Evdyn;
and Uie attachment of tiiis brother and sister had some-
thing touching and remarkable in it He waa a year
or two younger than ahe, though he looked dder, the
lines of thought and care having impressed their marks
OHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
ruel7 Iqiaed into a amile i but ever bore about with
hint the conscunu dignity of bis high calliiig. Derout
meditttion wh ttamped ou his fine bnnr : he wu a
profound Mholar, and a flaiihed gentleman ; but though
uniforml; courteont and benevolent, I neier fdt at e««e
in hia presence. It teeined ai if he could have no tym-
pathiei in commoa with me ; aod my My prattle ceased
when Mr ETelya'! clear blue ere, lo sereiielr cold, spoke,
as I fancied, reproof to all lerity. He wai a faithful
paatOT, eqoidlf beloTed by the poor and rich : to the
former be prored a valuable 'friend in need' at all
times, while the latter eagerly courted hu society aad
During that long bappy summer I was a coutinual
■onrce of anaoyance and anxiety to Miss Bridget ; for
as health and atrength retnrned, so did hoyden propen-
sities and Dutrageona spirits; beaidea. the novelty of a
ooantiy lifb excited my wildest delight, and I rushed
•bout more like a young savage than a young lady.
Tom frocks scrambling for wild flowers, torn bands
plucking tbem, wet shoes and mudded stockiogs, were
among &e least of my mishaps ; and had matters been
no worse, and rested here, many months of sufTering
for myself, and anxiety far my kind friends, had been
avoided. But despite admonitions and gentle warnings,
received with derisive langhter on my part, and an
obstinate determination to persevere in a wronR-headed
oonrae, I persisted in entering a meadow where a dange-
roas white Jbnll graied, to show my ' superiority tc cow-
ardice,' ai I said. Oace too often I ventured ; the infu-
riated animal teased me to tbe other side of the hedge,
where 1 wai fonod bleeding and insensible, one leg
broken, and a deep gash over my left eyebrow. How
tenderly I was nuraed by Klisa Bridget and Dams Folli-
man, and how latterly did I reprove myself 1 During
convalescence I was haunted by a nervous anxiety to
bear the worat — to have the ieetwt over, which I knew
was deserved, and I thought was in reservation for me.
Repentant and humbled, I earnestly desired to obtun
the pardon of Mr Evelyn and Miss Bridget ; and one
evening, when my heart was full, I told FoUiman this.
aluM together.
'Oli,Follimai)!' I exclaimed, 'what most ttiey think
of me, ao kind and good as they are ? When tfaey were
young, did they ever do foolish, silly things f
' I do not tiiink that Miss Bridget ever did a silly
thing in her life, much less a sinfbl one, bless her dear
heart I' Nurse (poke with much warmth, pladog an
emphasis on the words 'Miss Bridget'
' But Mr Evelyn,' pursued I ; ' he seems to be above
■11 the veakneues of our nature i will he believe my
desire to amend, nurse ; and that I am heartily ashamed
of myself?'
' Set your mind at rest, Miss Anna,' responded Folli-
man: *no one can feetforothersaa masterdoes, because
he haa known a lifBlong repentance for raahnest com-
mitted in youth. I have had it in my mind to tell you
tiu story when yon grew better, because it will be a
lesson to you for the remainder of yonr day* ; for the
memory of your own sickness may pass away with the
occasion of it ; but when you think of Long Lowisfbrd
and dear Miss Bridget, I am sure in ftiture ycara you
will never be vldmit or headstrong again.' And so
saying. Dame FoUiman settled faerMlf in an easy-chair
preparatory te a long gossip. The lubstaoce of her
narrative was as follows : —
Forty years ago, a large party were usemUed at Dal-
ton Park, the seat of Sir Reginald Dalton, in expectation
of passing a joyous Christmas in the true old English
style. Among the guests were Mr Evelyn and his
nephew and niece, orphans tenderly brought up by tbat
excellent man. Bridget wa« betrothed to ^ Reginald
Daltiw'a eldest aon, and tiie marriaga was to be cele-
brated during tbe ensuing spring. 'iWe wta a Ist^
family of Daltoni, and only one daughter, a young lady
about Miss Bridget's age. Tbe boys were schooUellows
and companions of Edward Evelyn, whom hit nnde
destined for the church, always fondly tnutiiig that fac
would become steadier and less headstrong at be grew
older and wiser.
Of a bold, reckleis spirit was Sdward then, |iiii inii
nenUy handsome and active, and tiia leader in evay
mischievous prank attrihuted to tbe Daltona and othna.
Much concern and aniiety he ^ve his vrortby uncle
by his wild ways, for he heeded neither repiuof nor
warning ; he lilted to do a thing, or he wanted a thing
— that wu sufflcient — and the selflih impulse mnst be
instantly obeyed. Even hit uater Bridget^ wbosn he
dearly loved, had no power te check or control hit
violent spirits ; and there was another whose disposi'
tinn and character were more akin to bis owd— the
darling and only sister of many brothers — the dark-eyed,
beautifU Helen Dalten ; who. while admiring prowess
and superiority in every farm, took upon howlf to
admonish, chide, and rebuke her eariy play&Bow,
Edward Evelyn i for wo* she not his senior by two
years? And inrightof tbisseniori^mostnotlMrecaive
the lectures tliankfully and lubmisiively ? Wbetbtr
Helen's mature age or sparkling orbs claimed doainioa,
is not certain ; hut tbat Edward f^assitly bowed to
her decisions it ao ; though not naftcqaratly tbaae
high spirits clashed, when their mutn^ disideaaore
lasted long enough te make reconcilia&o aweet. It
seemed not altogether Improbable that at some future
period the bond twtween tiie respectivs families nugfat
be cemented by another union beside* that of Rrginald
and Bridget : the two fair girla, though opporite in
many respects, were sisters in auction ; and tbe mors
so, perliaps, t>ecauBe Reginald was dearer lo his sisto
Helen than any of her other brotfaas. Nor waa this
partiality altogether inexcusable; for Reguudd Dalton
combined ail those amiable qualities which ia doneslie
life bind and cement endearing love so closely.
Bridget was ever hopeful at to her brotber's tttkan
career ; for he was a generona, warm-hearted fellow, de-
spite his obstinate temper : his brilliant abilitiea nn-
fbrtunately rendering steady application to study rf
teeoDdary Importance to him ; be achieved, as if bj m-
ttinct, what others plodded over at a toail's pace.
This Christoiaa party at Dalton Park, it raaj it
imagined, was a metry one ; though one thing the bi^s
earnestly desired, yet which no human mean* eaaii
procure. This one thing wanting to complete their
enjoyment was a frost; for there was a Sue sheet ti
water in the park, and if that were but Iced ova, wbtt
splendid skating they oould have I Edward was pas-
sianalely fond of this pastime ; and when a aharp bust
did set in, and the earth was covered with soow, aad
tbe miniature lake with tin much-wished-for ic^ his
delight knew no bounds.
' No skatiug to-day, boys,' taid the baronet; 'fatka
water is deep — awfully deep— and I inaiit that do foot
shall venture to cross it To-morrow, if the froat
tinuea, we shall see what can be
Sir Reginald Dolton's word *
but Edward Evelyn felt chafed
peremptory mode of speaking,
lister's dressing-room, swdling
claiming — ' / shall go on the lake
of mine ; and I woot be dictated
gone to S , and there is nobt
know the ice is strong enough fo
Biddy, you have your bonnet i
skate. Ah. what beantifnl flov
saw Belaid gathering them i
guessed they were for yon I'
' They are to^ilace in my taui
ing, dear Ned,' tidd Bridget, arch
' there are plenty more snowy ct
jetty broidt will set them otFtoai
present her with some, and leavi
the peaceful employment of Sow
' Helen may gaUier them foi
ponied Edward ; ' she it at dli
21
OHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
69
Bot I mm not going to lose my sport for her whimi ; so
come along, Biddy— Fm off! '
* Nay. Edward,' urged the tearfhl Bridget; * I am
going to walk with Ranald ; hut I intreat you not to
go on the treacherous ice to^ay : to-morrow, perhaps,
you can all enjoy the pastime together, and we ladles
will then come and admire your grace and dexterity.'
* A parcel of cowards, Bridget I I wonder you should
turn against me too. But go I will, were it only to
shame them all!'
* Reginald is no coward,' said Bridget colouring ; but
she a^ed no more, for remonstrance was unavailing
when the evil spirit of obstinacy was uppermost with
her brother. He darted from the room, scarcely hear-
ing her last words, but shouting, * Walk by the lake— I
shall be there.'
Bridget rearranged the bouquet which her impetuous
brother had displaced ; and bending over the perfumed
blossoms, she kissed them, half smiling and blushing
at hcHT own foUr ; but tiiey had been gathered by the
band she best loved. She walked wi& her betrothed
to the hanks of the lake, in the hope that they might
win Edward to leaye the dangerous spot: but no;
be was on the ice, and cried out exultingly when
he saw them. When Reginald found that Edward
was determined on disobedience, and would not listen
to renuNistranoe, he moved away with Bridget, feeling
as if his prdonged presence tacitly encouraged rebel-
lioo to his father's just commands. They left the
water, and were entering the woodlands, when a shriek
reached their ears — a shriek as of one in extremity.
Pausing far an instant only to gaze on Bridget's blanched
cheek, Reginald darted back in the direction of the lake,
whence the appalling sound proceeded. Bridget fol-
lowed as quickjy as her agitation permitted : she saw
an arm and hand appear above the surface of the water ;
and as Reginald grasped it, her brother struggled for
dear life, and regained the solid ice, fainting and help-
l^s. At the same moment the weaker part crashed in
vith Reginald Dalton's weight, who disappeared beneath
it. frantic screams for aid were unavailing ; for aid
came quickly, though too late — too late ! Reginald had
saved Edward's life at the expense of his own ; and his
affianced bride witnessed the sacrifice. She had indeed
cast herself into the water, with the impotent hope of
saving that precious life : she was with difficulty rescued;
bat her lover rose no more !
What words can paint Edward Eveljm's agonies and
ronorse ! His bereaved sister tended him during the
months of almost hopeless derangement succeeding the
awful catastrophe ; she never by look or word reproached
or reminded him of the dreadfiil past, and her patient
smile first greeted his recovered perceptions. The years
following this fatal event were unmarked by recognition
or forgiveness on the part of the Daltons ; and Bridget
intuitively shrank from obtruding her sorrows on their
remembrance, for was not she the sister of that brother
whose very name brought anguish to the father's heart ?
How often she thought of the warm-hearted Helen, her
dear and early friend ; and Bridget yearned to hear her
speak words of forgiveness I Then hope might once
more 'dawn for Edward : for now he was sunk in
lethargy, his prospects blighted — his heart seemed
turning to stone. Bridget Evelyn knew that her
brother's sufferings were far more intense than her
own; rdigion taught her resignation and submission
when the first tremendous shodc was over ; and to her
sorrows the poignancv of self-upbraiding was not added.
For her alone £d Edward live, or wish to live, and by
a lifelong repentance and devotion expiate his boy-
hood's fatal error ; and when, in the course of time, the
same healing bsdm came also to his aid, and he began
to think of entering on the duties of his sacred calling,
this bdoved sister, whose self-abnegation was so perfect,
lushdned him in his resolutions, and cheered and com-
forted him on his heavy pilgrimage. But yet there was
another trial in ^re ; but Edward was better prepared
to meet it now. Bridset received a letter from Sir
Reginald Dalton, containing the afflicting tidings of
Hcden's hopeless state, and summoning her to Dalton
Park, at the earnest and last request of the dying.
Helen had continued to droop since Reginald had
perished so fearfully: there was a deeper sorrow to
combat with than even her beloTed brother's loss, for
Edward also was lost to her for ever. She could not
give her hand to him ; every feeling of her nature for-
bade it But to win her father's rorgiveness for him,
to accord her own, and to teU him that her affection in
death was unchanged — this Helen felt she must accom-
plish ere she covld. depart in peace. And she did ac-
complish it: and she died in Bridget Evelyn's arms,
calling her * sister,' and charging her to bear the mes-
sage of consolation, forgiveness, and love to Edward.
Need it be added how faithfully this devoted sister
performed the bitter task? But while sorrowing for
the early dead — his first and last love — ^Edward Evelyn
felt lightened of a heavy burthen, which, as a maledic-
tion, had oppressed him. He was forgiven by the earthly
father, and would his Heavenly one prove unrelenting ?
These details, imparted by Dame Folliman with many
tears and discursive comments, coupled with the seTcre
CQishment which had befallen myself, afforded a
ting and salutary lesson. It is Tery rarely that our
misdeeds ii^ure only ourselves ; and it were well if we
early learned to remember how many kinds and degrees
of selfishness there are disguised under the names of
impulse or rashness. To tliis day I have a strange feel-
ing when I am offered flowers : my thoughts are car-
ried away instantaneously to that Christmas bouquet
of poor Bridget, and my ear thrills again with the sweet
sad tones in which she told me that she never gave and
never accepted flowers.
THE KING OF DAHOMEY AND THE
SLAVE TRADE.
Fhox the kingdom of Dahomey, on the western coast
of Africa, the largest and most steady slave -export
trade is carried on. To counteract this trade, the
British government, as is well known, incurs a large
annual expense, and practically fails in its object
Thus disconcerted, our government has made the
attempt to persuade the king of Dahomey to abandon
the trade in slaves ; and the history of this attempt,
drawn from a parliamentary paper, we now propose
to give. The particulars are contained in a report
by B. Cruickshank, Esq. respecting his mission to
Dahomey.
The writer of the report begins by glancing at the
present state of this nefarious traffic. * For a period,'
says he, 'extending over the last twelve years, the
annual exportation of slaves flrom the territory at the
king of Dahomey has averaged nearly 8000. In addi-
tion to this number, another thousand at least are
annually brought down from the interior, and are kept
in slavery in the towns and villages upon the coast,
where they enjoy, when well conducted, a very con-
siderable share of liberty, and all the necessaries of life
in apparent comfort and abundance ; but they are sub-
jected to exportation for acts of gross disobedience, as
well as for social ofibnces of an aggrarated nature.
* It appears to be a general practice with the masters
of the slaves to permit them to prosecute thenr own
affairs, and to receive in exchange for this concession of
their time a stipulated monthly sum derived from their
labour ; owing to this arrangement, an industrious slave
is sometimes enabled to acquire his freedom by obtain-
ing funds necessary for the purchase of two slaves,
which will generally be aecepted as the price of his
redemption. This annual supply of 9000 slaves is
chiefly, I may say entirely, derived flrom a systematic
course of slaTe-htuiting ; for the number paid to the
kinff bj the Mahees and other tributaries, together
•with the criminal offenders who are exported, forms but
a small item in the gross amount.
* The king genendlj accompanies his army to these
slave hunts, which he pursues for two or three months
every year. Its miserable objects are weak and de-
tached tribes, inhabiting countries adjacent to his
dominions, and at diltances from his capital varjring
from twelve to twentv-four days' march. A battle
rarely occurs, and the loss in killed in such expeditions
is not so great as is generally believed in England.
The ordinary plan is to send out traders to act as
spies; these carry their petty merchandise into the
interior towns, and make weir observations upon their
means of defence.
* The trader returns after the lapse of some months,
guiding the king's army, and instructing the leaders
how they may surround and surprise the unsuspecting
inhabitants, who are often thus captured on awdcening
in the morning. As resistance is punished by death,
they generally prefer to yield themselves prisoners, and
thus the king^s victories are often bloodless. It is only
when African kings, of nearly equal power, are ambi-
tious to try their strength, that ^ose wholesale slaugh-
ters take place which only terminate in the extermina-
tion of a people. Such contests, however, are rare ; the
African chief having a much greater relish for an easy
and unresisting prey, whom he can convert into money,
than for the glory of a victory which costs him the
lives of his people ; so at least it is with the king of
Dahomey, who often returns to lUs capital without the
loss of a man either of his own party or that of his
enemy. He has on more than one occasion been re-
pvdsed by the Akus and the people of Aberkoutah ; but
in tiiese and similar cases, where the resistance is likely
to be strong and determined, his troops are led away
before much slaughter has been done.
* After the surrender of a town, the prisoners are
presented to the king by their captors, who are re-
warded by the payment of cowries, of the value of a
couple of dollars for each captive, who is henceforth the
king's slave ; but on his return to his capital after a
sucoessfiil enterprise, he is in the habit of distributing a
number of these unfortunate creatures among his head
men, and at the same time bestowing large sums as
bounty to his troops. A selection is then made of a
portion of the slaves, who are reserved for the lung's
employment ; and the others are sent down to the slave
merchant, who not unfrequenUy has already sold his
goods on credit in anticipation of their arrival
' An export duty of five dollars is paid upon each
slave shipped £rom the king's dominions, even although
the port of embarkation may not belong to him. It is
a fluent practice to convey them by tbe lagoon either
to the eastward, as Little Popo, or to westwa^ as Porto
Nuovo, neither d which towns are in subjection to the
king. He, however, has command of the lagoon lead-
ing to these places, and the duty must be paid previous
to their embarkation upon it ; so that Arom the export
duty idone the king derives an annual sum of 40,000
dollars. But this is not aU. The native dealer, who
brings his slaves to the merchant, has also to pay duties
on each slave at the different custom-house stations on
^eir road to the barracoons. The amount paid at
these stations it is more difficult to aaoertain, as many
of the slaves are the king's own property. A sum,
however, of not less than 20,000 dollars mav be set
down for this item. If we estimate the annual number
of slaves sold by the king himself at 3000, and reckon
them at the present price of eighty dolUrs, we have an
additional item of 240,000 dollars ; thus making in all
a revenue of 800,000 dollars derived annuidly from the
•lave trade.
'But this calculation, which is a near approximation
to the truth, and is under rather than above the exact
amount^ does not by any means <Sonvey a just impres-
sion of the advantages which the king derives firom the
slave trade. By the laws of his country he inherits the
property of his deceased sutjects ; so that his head mes
and oUiers who have been amassing property by this
traffic, have only been acting as so many mctora to tfas
king, who receives at tiie& death the fhiita of the
labour of a lifetime ; a very small portion of the esttte,
in slaves and cowries, is generally returned to the natu-
ral heir, which serves as a species of capital fbr him to
commence in like manner his fkctorship. Under a iji-
tem so calculated to induce an apathetic indifference,
the king contrives, by repeated marks of royal ikvcrar,
and by appointments to offices of trust and emoInmeDt;
to stimulate to industrious exertion the principal men
of his kingdom. These appointments, moreover, be-
come hereditary, and t^eir holders form an arlstoctacT',
with sufficient privileges to induce the ambitioD of
entering its ranks.'
In the circumstances here stated. It will not ^ipear
surprising that Mr Cruickshank had undertaken an im-
possibility. On being introduced to the king of Daho-
mey, and expressing a hope that he would assGit to a
treaty to extinguish the slave trade on his coast; his
majesty was very much at a loss how to repfy. He was
anxious to conciliate the British goverament; but on
the other hand, the abandonment of the dave trade was
prettv nearly equivalent to financial ndn. IBsb ma-
lesty^ excuses are admirable. 'His chiefk bad had
long and serious consultations with him upon the sub-
ject, and they had come to the conclusion that b^ go-
vernment could not be carried on without It The iite
which he maintained was great ; his army was expen-
sive ; the ceremonies and customs to be observed annu-
ally, which had been handed down to him fhxn his
forefathers, entailed upon him a vast outiav of money.
These could not be abolished. The form of hia govern-
ment could not be suddenly changed witiumt causing
such a revolution as would deprive him of hia timoe;
and precipitate his kingdom into a state of anardir.
He was very desirous to acquire the friendship of Eng-
land. He loved and respected the Engtish diaracter,
and nothing lUQfbrded him such high satisfisction as to
see an Englishman in his country, and to do him hoooor.
He himself and his army were ready at all times to
fight the Queen's enemies, and to do anything the Eng-
lish government might ask of him, but to give up fit
slave trade. No other trade was known to his pec^
Palm-oil, it was true, was now eigaging the attenteo
of some of them ; but it was a slow metiiod of makiqg
money, and brought only a very small amount of dotSa
into ms coffers. The planting of cotSbo and cotton hid
been suggested to him ; but this was dower atffl. The
trees had to grow, and he himself would probacy be fai
his grave before be could reap any benefit from iSbtm.
And what to do in the meantime? Who wonM ay
his troops, or buy arms and clothing for them? who
would buy dresses for his wives ? Who would g!v« hfea
supplies of cowries, of rum, of powder, and of do& Is
perform his annual customs ? He held his power br a
observance of the time-honoured customa c^ his n»>
fathers ; and he would forfieit it, and entafl iqpon hioMff
a life fUU of shame, and a death fhll of misery. If he
neglected them. It was the slave trade that made Ub
terrible to his enemies, and loved, honouted, aad re-
spected by his people. How could he give it ^^t It
had been the ruling principle of action inth hinsdf and
his subjects from their earliest childhood. Thcb
thoughts, their habits, their discipUne, their mode oC
life, had been formed with reference to this aU-cagroM
ing occupation; even the very songs wlA wiiidh the
mother stilled her crying in&nt told of trinnmh orcr
foes reduced to slavery. Could he^ by tagomg 1^
trea^, change the sentiments of a whole peo^? II
could not be. A long series of years was neiiiirf to
bring about such a cnange. He himself and his
must be made to feel the superior advantages of
traffic in an increase of riches, and of the neo
and luxuries of life, before they ooold be woiiied
this trade. The expenses of the English gunaiUMBi
I
OHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
71
tre gvetl; woold it snddeiilj give up the principal
•onioe of Ha verMioe without loiiie equivalent proyinon
for dafraying ita expenaea? He oonld not heliere aa
No more wonld he reduce himself to beggary. The
ram oflbred him wonld not pay hia expenaea for a week;
and eren if the BngliA goremment were willing to
gi^ faim an annual aum equivalent to his preaent re-
venue, he would atill have some difficulty in empl^ing
the energiea of hia people in a new direction. Under
fuch drcnmatanoea, however, he would consider himself
bound to uae every exertion to meet the wiahea of the
&igliah government
' Such were the argnmenta which the king used in
justifkaitlon of hia le&aal to sign the treaty ; and much
regret did he enireaa that the olject which the English
government had in view was of auch vital importance
to him that he could not posaibly comply with ita
Akhovgh inwardly acknowledging tiie force of hia
objectnna, I ^d not give up the aulject without endea-
vouring to convince him that in tiie course of a few
yean, \ff developing the reaouroea of hia rich and
beantifu country, he would be able to increaae his
revenue tenfold; and that the alavea whom he now
sold for exportation, if employed in the cultivation of
irtidee of European consumption, would be fer more
valuahle to him than they now were. I endeavoured to
make him comprehend this, by ii^orming him of the
prioe of a slave in the Brazlla, and asking him if he
thou^t the Brazilian would give such a prioe for him
if he did not find himself more than repaid by his
labour? He bdleved this to be the case; but the length
of time required, the whole proceaa of an entirely new
system, and want of skill among hia people to con-
duct auch operatlona, appear to him insurmountable
dilBcultiea. He waa willing, however, to permit Eng-
lishmen to form plantationa In hia country, and to give
instmctiona to hia people.
' At laat the king appeared anxious to escape firom
this haraaaing question ; and by way of closing the
interview, invitiSl me to accompany him to witness a
review of hia troopa. What principally struck me upon
this occaaioo waa the animus displayed by every one
pieacnt, from the king to the meanest of his people ;
every word of their mouths, every thought of t^eir
hearts, breathed of defiance, of bat^ and slavery to
tiieir enemiea: his principal captains, both male and
female, expreaaed an anxious hope that I would remain
in thdr country to witness t&ir first triumph, and
to behold the number ci captives they womd lead
\m3k to Abomey ; and that I might be in no doubt that
the general mass participated in theae aentlmenta, such
an assenting about rent the air as must have often pro-
claimed the victory. A quiet smile of proud satismc-
tioo paaacd acroaa the king's fkce as he regarded me
with a kx^ which said, ** these are my warrbrs ;" and
wlien I heard the loud rattle of their arms, and saw the
wiU qparkle of their delighted eyes, gleaming with
atrong excitement, aa they waved their awords and
ataadarda in the air, I fbUy acknowledged the force of
the kin^a question — ** Gould he, by signing the treaty,
^ange the sentimenta of a whole people ?" The sight
whks I was witnessing was to me a stronger argument
than any the king had 3ret used ; here there was no
palfisting, no soft^iing down, no attempt to conceal
their real sentimenta under the plea of necessity for
undertaking their slave-hunting wars, but a fierce, wild,
and natural Inatinct, apeaking in language that could
not be misunderstood.
* At no time before my arrival in his country did I
ever entertain the fiuntest hope of his acceding to it
in good ftitli ; and afaioe I had ascertained at Whydah
the amount of revenue derived fh>m this trade, and
had seen the rude and expensive magnificence (xf his
state;, I could not but feel that a repetition of my
paltry offiar of an annual subsidy of SOOO dollars would
only dothe me with ridicule. I was anxioua, however, to
iaoertidn whether the kfaig really regarded it in a meidy
pecuniary point of view, and would forego the trade in
slaves upon finding his revenue made up firom other
sources. He assuined me that he would ; but even with
tills assurance, I may be allowed to doubt whether a
monarch and a people of sudi ambitious character
would cease firom making war upon their neighbours.'
Mr Cruickshank had subsequent conversations with
the king of Dahomey on the subject tA his mission, but
all equidly unavailing. Afterwards, De Sousa, a person
famous in the annals of slave-dealing, tendered a piece
of advice which aeema far firom unreaaonable. **' Your
government wishes to put a stop to the slave trade?" said
h& I assented. ** Then leave it alone ; leave it alone,''
he repeated; "and belieye me, you will disappoint the
slave-dealer tax more than by the most stringent laws
you could form ; and in the course of a couple of years
you will be much nearer vour object than by enforcing
the strictest blockade which tiie whole navy of England
could make of the coast of Africa." The aource from
wiiich thia counsel was derived may render it very sus-
picious in the eyes of some; nevertheless, I am inclined
to think that tiie old gentleman was giving a true opi-
nion upon the subject, and certainly, as being the obser-
vation of a man of De Souza's shrewdness and expe-
rience, it is worth more than a casual notice. It is a
distressing truth that our present blockade is no check
whatever to the slave trade: it is flourishing at this
moment to such a degree, that the last accounts from
Brazil report more &ui 8000 slaves in the market
there without any purchaser; and not long ago a cargo
of slaves arrived at the same place, which found such a
bad market, that they were given up to pay freight In
presence of such facts as these, and the additional fact,
that during the whole period that we have maintained
cruisers on the coast, the slave trade has gone on unin-
terruptedly, we must be convinced of the futility of such
a system: it appears to me to serve no other purpose
than to increase the horrors of the traffic. In the first
place, the certainty of losing a considerable proportion
by capture, increases the slave merchants' orders for
supply to the slave-hunting African kings, and so ren-
ders more frequent and incessant their cruel forays, with
their endless tale of miseries from the bloody battie-
field, where they were taken prisoners, or from their
smoking huts, where they were surprised in sleep,
throughout their toilsome journey over the burning
plains and through the swampy forests, until their
arrival on the sea-shore. In the next place, the precau-
tions necessary to avoid the cruisers oblige the slavers
to cram these miserable objects into the stifling holds
of smaU vessels, where it is well known thousands die
ttom suffocation. In addition to this, I believe I may
add, that it sometimes happens that the slave merchant
has been more fortunate than he calculated upon, and
that more of his slaves have escaped capture than
he ei^ected; he does not therefore require the addi-
tional lot of slaves who have been huntea down for him;
so they are left sometimes to starve in the hands of
their captors, and sometimes are led forth to gratify
them with their tortures. There can be no doubt but
that much of this incredible sufferiog would be avoided
if there were no cruisers; and truly, if we cannot alle-
viate the miseries of these wretches by our blockade, let
us not add to their torments by our philanthropic but
firuitiess exertions.'
De Souza was right Our attempts to put down the
slave trade by armed cruisers is proved to be utterly
hopeless, and monstrous on the score of inhumanity,
not to speak of expense. Ships cannot repress tiie
slave trade, neither would a line of fortresses on the
coast: for in the latter case, the trade would onlv be
diverted into a new channel Besides, a land blockade
would embroil us with the Americans, French, and other
nations. In the name of common sense, then, whv is
the present pernicious and ruinously-expensive policy
pursued? If we must have a hand in the thing, why
are not more placable means emidoyed? To the con-
sideration of this moat important aubject the mind of
.^^fli^h^i*^-^h«
■AMfclrt^hArtMiU
72
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
all reasonable peraona ought to be directed. Unreason-
ing philanthropy, in this as in other things, has done
nothing bat mischief.
THE MARIGOLD WINDOW.*
Thc author of this elegant Tolnme means no doubt to
typify his mind by the marigold window of a cathedral,
and his thoughts by the light which passes through it,
modified by its fiuitastic, yet little Taried forms, and
mellowed by its dim poetical colouring. He exagge-
rates, howerer, the yalue of the illumination conveyed
through such a medium ; forgetting that it can be of
little or no utility in bringing out hidden truths, being
introduced merely as a constituent part of a picture,
the main object of which is effect Thought, in fact, is
not our author's province. He is led by the constitu-
tion ol his mind to confound sentimental with philoso-
phical reflection, and to imagine he thinks when he
only feels and fanoiea. Even religion he confounds
with its forms; ascribing a devout character to the
' tide of munificence and taste now widening through-
out the realm,' and tracing it to * that fountain of re-
vived catholicity welling up within the green seclusion
of the Oxford cloisters.' Christianity, to be felt by him,
must be objective. He desires to unite the church on
earUi with the diurch in heaven by praying for the
dead, and bdieving that the dead pray for him. He
sees no incondusiveness in this means of union : what
his nature craves, and must have even in acts of devo-
tion, is $k picture for the employment of his heart and
imagination.
In one respect this peculiarity is of advantage to the
book, although in another it will diminish its chance of
popiUarity. The advantage — and to that we will con-
fine ourselves — is obvious in the excellence of the
descriptive pieces. An old house, a mined church, a
dim and mystic wood, were hardly ever more finely
painted. You see the shapes of bygone days flitting
through deserted rooms ; you listen to the swell of the
organ vibrating through vaults where Uie bat is now
the only inhabitant ; you hear, as of old, the voice of
the Loitl God among Uie trees. At this season of the
year more especially such a book is welcome. We all
of us want to flee away somewhere and be at rest. We
care not about the puradox in saying that God made
the country, and man the town ; but continue panting
for that Thing of Beauty which lives in green shades,
and on mountain sides, and in old solitary houses ; and
so we
^— *Battinhopeg
To tee wide plaint, fair trees, and sonny dopes.
The moon, the ere, the light* the shade, the flowers,
Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overiooking^ towws.*
These ' overlooking towers' are, after all, the grand
charm of the picture, bringing the things of inanimate
nature home to our business and bosoms. * Old man-
sions!' says our author, 'what a worthy theme of
chronicle — what a wealthy mine of romance! That
they were monuments of the opulence, the magnifi-
cence, and the dominion of our forelatiiers ; that their
reverend frontispieces look on us, as it were, firom
beyond
*' The deep baokward and ahysoie of time :**
that their principal connection is with the buried world ;
and that they hold converse with the living from among
the dead — are not considerations to nod ai^ sleep upon,
if you be instinct with one spark of that heavenly fire
which animates the earthy tenement csdled flesh and
blood.' The heart of an old mansion is the fireplace.
'Undoubtedly tho fireside is the Magnus ApoUo of
* The Marigold Window ; or Pictures of Thought. By the
Author of * Fragments of Italy.* dta London : Longman. 184a
romance, the cradle at once, and the none ci Xegmdmej
lore. Look at the superiority of our northern taks
over the voluptuous lucubrations of softer and smmier
realms, and you may trace it to the influence of the
long winter nights, the heartsome homes, and the
hei^h-flame — l£e talkative, the amusing, the eUwRsl
hearth-flame — which at once inspires our Cancies and
suggests our recreation.
' The soft purple sky jewdled with start, the paia-
disal perfumes fVom groves of orange and palm, the
silver sparkles of the marble fountain soothing the stifi
and tepid air, the gushing cadences of the nightingrie,
the tall, pillared pavilion, wooing the apuit-likie bnetts
to wander and whisper round its painted galleries, or
flit through the gilt lattice of its balconiea— all these
appliances had much in themsdves to divide and dis-
tract attention from the story-teUor of Italian gaideos.
' But when the dark night, early swooping down on
the woods and towers of English homes, drove within
their gates, and gathered round their firesidesi, both
young and old, high and low, from the stirriiag excite-
ment of out-door toil or sport ; whra rain, and sleet,
and wind, stalked by door and window, grim warders as
they were, and forbade all egress ; when the weU-apiead
IxMtfd had exhausted its gratifica^ons, and the very
wine-cup had ceased to charm — ^then did that domestie
fane, the chimney vault, manifest its glories unv^ed ;
then did the feudal focus vindicate philosophy fm ap-
propriating its Roman title to express the ccnlie of
attraction!'
To give an account of the heterogeneona contents of
a volume of prose and poetry like this is oat of the
question; but as Scotland, for various good reasons,
will be the great field of the tourist during the pceaeat
season, we aro happy to be afibrded an opportunity of
illustrating, and perhaps exhibiting in a new phase,
some of its more familiar sights. One of the best
triumphs of the railway is the Cheap Excucnoo, whidt
opens out a world of poetry and romance, intemuoi^
with historical monuments, to eyes that hare hitherto
been condemned to behold such matters only in the
pages of a book. But books, although imper&ct in
themselves, very often serve as spectacles to eBaUe
those to see who would otherwise receive only confused
and indistinct impressions ; a fact which we may ilks-
trate by selecting a very common object in a very eoB-
mon and cheap excursion. Common and cheap ! llaeie
words escaped our pen, and it is only on reflection thst
we are startled to think of the character of the jovaij
we would indicate. The tourist proceeds from £dia-
burgh to Glasgow — from Glasgow down the course of
the Clyde beyond the Gareloch — up the whde lengtiiof
Loch Long — across the neck of land to Loch Lonwud—
down Locli Lomond from end to end— overland to Den-
barton — up the narrower part of the Clyde to GluM^'
and back again to Edinburgh : all in one day, aad sB
at the expense of a few shillings I The dfageci on tbn
tour illustrated by our author is the hotel jU the hesi
of Loch Long.
* Descending upon Loch Long, we pasaed the besarii-
fol village and the Hall of Arrodiar, oooe the priac^
mansion of the chief of the M*Farlane dan, alaisit
sepulchred in huge groves of noble old tree*. It ms
not our original purpose to have tarried in this voauHitic
spot ; but in consequence of some defect in the voddiig
of the steamboat, we were compelled to land wltua skwit
half way down the loch, and waUced back to the eU
castle, now used as a hostel, but still in the
of the family (how downfallen !) of the M^Farlaaes.
* Behold us, then, settled for the night in a wide ^
scotted saloon, of carved walnut pai^a, and to whkh
a steep stair rises direct firom the very thzeibold of the
porch — a general air of antiquity hovering over eveiT-
thing, and of course embellidied by a thousand vim
of the old and warlike clan. 1^ ample hearth
a cheerfhl blase, most acceptable to this chil|y,j
night ; still there was an aspect of desolation, i
one powerfully of the Udol^io chamhera, w^ all
ohaiibkub'b sdinbuboh jouenal.
75
Ithflugli it mmj be wSie, therefore, to employ lome-
mm the teletoope and sometimes the rule, it is equaOj
1 to trira a broad sweeping glance at the scene through
md Boch medium as the ' Marigold Window.*
A LOBD-KEEPEB AND HIS MATBIMONIAL
ADVENTURES.
* we wish to measure the tme baseness of a debased
Ate of morals, it may perhaps be better done, not by
jjiggerated aoeoonts, and not eyen by seleothig ex-
:eine instances, but by obswring what those who are
ronght up in tills evil moral atmosphere count as
irtoes. So perhaps the true wretchedness of the worst
'tn is not to be tested so well by the misery of its worst
'>om, as by the tawdry finery of its best Most people
rt made fiuniliar with the vioions excesses of the
*oiiirtien of the Bestoratlon— with the wild libertinism
<f YUUers and Wilmpt— with the anecdotes of the easy,
loot-natnred, and good-for-nothing king and his minis-
-«■; *mad,' as Pepys tells ns, * with the chaslDg of a
loor moth' in the saloon of the abandoned Lady Gastie-
aaln when Van Tromp's cannon were heard booming
ip the Thames. The schoolboy reads with a little
frooder how the Lord^Ohancellor Jeffries canght a cold,
mhkih produced a feyer, ftrom his imprudence— par-
tioipated by another cabinet minister who joined him —
in clfanbing a lamp-post to drink the kingfs health,
when both were stark naked, and had of course drunk
more tiisn was condudye to their own health. About
ijucfa details there is a certain rude and yulgar breadth,
>vhieb, eyen when they are true, makes them look like
exaggeration ; and for a truer and more delicate mea-
sure of ihe morality and principle of that age, we haye
lometimes had recourse to the pages of those who pro-
fess to describe the yirtuous men 6t the court.
In this yiew, the Honourable Roger North's liyes of
his three brothers— Lord Guildford, Sir Dudley North,
and Dr John North — are a mine of minute and precious
yefns. They were published in two quarto yolumes in
1740 and 1742. They were subsequently reprinted,
rastfaer for the use of the curious in historical literature
tiian for the world at large, in 1826. The phoenix
MBong these brothers was Francis, who became Lord-
Kernr of the Great Seal. His portrait, as giyen in his
biomr^s biography, is that of a yery han^ome man,
whose face has a character of judicial grandeur and
dignity. At first sight, it seems that of an honest man ;
and a person who looks at it before reading the book
geoeraJly thinks so; but before he has finished, as from
time to time he looks back at it from the incidents he
Is reading, he thinks he sees a certain i^yness lurking
about the weU-deyeloped mouth, the ftill well-fed cheeks,
and eyen tiie broad lofty brow.
Perhaps the reason why the moral defects of an age
are beet deyebped by the eulogistic biographies, is l«-
cause the biographer, who thinks all is perfect in the
object of his inquiries, introduces us to aU his weak-
nesees, which are the intricate and minute parts of cha-
racter i while the person who records the yices of his
neigfabour onljr sees and describes whatsoeyer is flagrant
For instance, in an account of a man's yices, written
by an enemy, or a person judging him harshly, we
wvold neyer find an instance of sycophancy like the
following, told in such a manner as to secure belief: —
The young barrister courte a miserly but powerltd
man, whom all his more imprudent and more yicious
brethren shun. In his brother's words— 'He was ex-
ceeding carefol to keep fair with the cock of the circuit,
and particnlariy with Sergeant Earl, who had almost a
monopoly. The sergeant was a yery coyetous man ; and
when none would starye with him in journeys, this
yotmg gentleman kept him company.' * I hope,' says
Roger North, the writer of these biographies, * to rescue
the memories of these distinguished persons from a
malewoleiit intent to oppress them, and for that end
brfnsr tiieir names and characters aboye board, that aU
people may judge of them as they shall appear to de-
serye.' In this point he shows his readers how the
Soung lawyer cunried fayour with the judge, fiattering
is prejudices, and was ready to sacrifice the interest
of an honest client wheneyer he found that, by pushing
it, he lost fayour with the judge. Thus * in circuit
practice there is need of an exquisite knowledge of the
judge's humour, as well as his learning and ability to
try causes ; and his lordship was a wonderful artist at
sucking a judge's tendency to make it serye his turn,
and yet neyer failed to pay the greatest regard and
deference to his opinion when he was plainly in the
wrong, and when mere contradiction had but made him
more positiye } and besides, that in so doin^, he him-
self had weakened his own credit with the judge, and
thereby been less able to set him right when he was
inclined to it.'
But his loye passages are at once the most amusing
and characteristic of this astute lawyer^s commendable
proceedings. At the present day, there is doubtless
abundance of mercenary matrimony and hard settle-
ment-bargaining ( but it is usual to draw a yeil over
the harsher outlines of this species of traffic Although
this matrimonial slaye trade is not counted in the cata-
logue of yices, yet it is shielded under that homage of
hypocrisy whidi yice is said to pay to yirtue ; and we
do not find it blazoned, as among a man's gooid deeds,
that he droye a hard bargain for a wife, and was tempted
by ten per cent deduction to abandon the oligect of his
profibred afilection.
His first adyenture may be styled the Romance of
the Usurer's Daughter. It was thus :— * There came
to him a recommendation of a lady, who was an only
daughter of an old usurer in Gray's Inn, supposed to
be a good fortune in present, for her father was rich ;
but after his death, to be worth nobody could tell what
His lordship got a sight of the lady, and did not dislike
her; thereupon he made the old man a yisit, and a
proposal of himself to marry his daughter. There ap-
peared no symptoms of discouragement, but only the
old gentteman asked him what estate his fiither intended
to settle upon him for present maintenance, jointure,
and proyision for ohildrra? Hiis was an inauspicious
question, for it was plain that the family had not estate
enough for a lordship, and none would be to spare for
him. Therefore he said to his worship only, ** That
when he would be pleased to declare what portion he
intended to giye his daughter, he would write to his
father, and make him acquainted with his answer."
And so they parted ; and his lordship was glad of his
escape, and resdyed to giye that affldr a final discharge,
and neyer to come near the terrible old fellow any more.
His lordship had at that time a stout heart, and could
not digest the bmng so slighted ) as if, in his present
state, a profitable profession and ftiture hopes were of
no account If he had had a real estate to settle, he
should not haye stooped so low as to match with his
daughter, and thenceforward despised his alliance.'*
Magnanimous Francis North I
The next incident may be called the Widow's Comedy.
The astute young barrister had met his match in a
young widow, who kept him and seyeral others of his
kind in a long suspense, until she at last married — as
if for the mere purpose of spiting them all — a person
completely out of the circle of her suitors.
* His lordship's next afflur,' says his partial brother,
'was in aU respects better grounded; but against all
sense, reason, and obligation, proved unsuccessM.
When Mr Edward Palmer, his lordship's most intimate
and dear friend, died, he left a flourishing widow, and
yery rich. The attorney-general and all his family had
projected a match of their cousin North with this lady,
who were no strangers to eadi other; nor was there
wanting sufficient adyices, or rather importunities, of
the whole family for her to accept him, against which
she did not seem to reluct, but held herself yery re-
seryed. In the meantime his lordship was excited to
* Lires of the Korths. L 156-7.
bAi^iAitaA«*M
■a*^Mh*Mb^BabHMbda
■d^lMrfhd^M^a
■WMitaa^^Hata
5in
74
OHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBKAL
lament for the approaching dote of his ancient BoUtary
reign. Tlie intwior of Dirlton Castie *is the mott
intricate, shattered, and piquant thing in the shape of
a ndn that erer invited an adventurer of tiie Baddi^
school Galleries, staircases, recesses, howers, halls of
Tanlted stone, tivrets that rise not higher into the
gol^ sky than its vaults sink deep into the pitdiy
earth, sullen wells, shattered niches, dismantled pillars,
and fiBdr and luxuriant trees, waving everjnrhere in
their most finely -moulded chambers. The gorgeous
and aromatic gillyflower glows here in lavish splendour.
One room is very striking. It occupies the great round
south-west tower, and is of course circular, is lighted
by three irindows, whose recesses, nine feet deep, have
each groined ceilings, containing a huge fireplace, with
carved columns and moulded cornice, and terminates in
A stately alcove ceiling or cupola. The castle abounds
in gateways, and there seems to have been court within
covt, some broad and turfy, others tall and narrow as
a welL I never saw a Scottish castle so spacious ; nor
in England one which, with no extraordinary architec-
tural splendour to boast, possesses more attnustive fea-
tures than the basaltic seat, variegated fabric, and anti-
quated gardens of Diriton Castle.'
Here is an old town hit off in a paragraph: — ^' A most
romantic air of high antiquity she truly wears— <Jus-
tering in broad towers and lofty steeples, and girdled
by solemn and darkly-globose woods. I do not know
when I have seen so striking an effect of uchitectural
old age in a city— not in mitred St Andrews itselfl The
town stretches the tall and quaintly-gabled mansions of
its main street along the southern brow of a steep hUL
She then circles round its western ridge, and spreads
her houses and gardens down the sides. Gray stone
fronts, with blue and red roofs, promiscuously inter-
mingled with tufts of verdure, form a highly-colourcd
raiment to the mound ; and at its top the stately emi-
nences of the High Street, like a mural coronet, spiked
with slender shafts, look, glittering in the sun, down
on a fertile ^ain. The dark and arching wrecks of the
regal and abbatic buildings — frowning over a wilder-
ness of gorgeous tinted foliage in the blue misty Glen
of Fittencrief, dose, with melancholy magesty, this
solemn, yet splendid picture. Such is high old Dun-
fermline town ! *
Rothesay Castle is sketched as boldly and as rapidly,
and Elgin is satisfied with a few master-touches. 'The
view of Elgin from the highway on the east is exc^d-
ingly impressive. The boldly -vaulted bridge in the
foreground, baring its gray face among rich woods of
ash and Oriental plane, makes a triumphal arch over
the broad, crashing river. And at the back, monstrous
in their magnificence, the two great steeples of the
minster, with their tall gable and its grand window
between them, together with the graoefhl octagon ot
the Chapter House, elevate their venerable btdk above
the bridge and its green groves. Glooming against the
coloured heavens behind them^ that fill up each mdan-
cholv orifice, their sombre majesty assodates well with
the heavy gleams of a storm-foreboding sunset, and the
thunderv purple of those long, bleak hills. The solemn
I>omp of the principal olgects^ and the gorgeous colour-
ing over an, together with the awful tranquillity height-
ened rather than infHnged at intervals by the hoUow
gusts — (the light horse of the approaching tempest) —
combined in a superb picture, over which the "Hon
port" of the gigantic catnedral reigned paramount*
We can only refer to the description of Loch Leven
Castle as being highly characteristic— some will thmk
it amusingly so— of the writer^s enthusiasm ; but our
space wiU afford nothing more than an abridged
sketch of Falkland Palace. This *is a highly-pictu-
resqxra fabric, and, firom its associations, absdutdy faa-
cinating ; but if a man goes thither merely for archi-
tectural delights, why, then, a great square donjon^ witli
broad turrets and notched gables, a facade of low and
heavy structure, with massive cornice and tiiick cable
mouldings, togethor with the peculiarity of dozens <^
medallions between the buttrcises, every buttecsa eoo-
taining a statue with elaborate canopiea and brackelB,
frowning turridei enringed with Boisy jackdaws, and
tall chimneys with quaintly-carved coronals, an asseoi.
blage of gorgeous but unwieldy deooraticHi — ^wiU, it is
to be fea:^ wofully disappdnt him.
* The great hall is 100 feet long, and 40 broad, and
its roof is redolent of the flattering remains of past
royal^, and wretchedly fislse promisee of fiitore im-
mortuity. It is painted in ribbed oompartmenta of asnre^
vermilion, and gold— in scrolls, in shidds, in diadems,
in manties, in oyphen, in mottoi. . . . Flewr de Mt,
roses, and Uiistles, complete the fuded deoorationa of te
ceiling ; in the centre of which is a large shield con-
taining Uie arms of Scotiand, England, and Ireland;
the B^ Lion being marshalled ySrK, and j&iglaiid quar-
tering France seoond in the escutcheon. I obaerved tiis
portcullis and crown (the badge of the Tudor &mOj>,
and the Prince of Wales's plume, wi^ its motto of
mi^estic humility—'* Ich Dien." A grand gaUeiy witii
flve cdossal windows looking northwud eztoids panlid
with this apartment How like gilded motes in tiie
sunbeam appear its departed companies to the Imagina-
tion I NoUiing but royalty breanies in tbe murky air :
nothing but ermines and coronets break throngfa tiie
dismal arcade : no echoes but of royal command and
courtly adulation flit beneatii that high and dusky roof 1
nurough the windows you may see the soft h31s, lAid-
tered villages, and tinted woods of Strath-Eden ; just
sudi a warm sun as this tinged the imle ftobfalea and
green pastures with golden red when kingly eyes saw,
but recked not of them. But within the towered palace^
within — ^where be the lamps that, with richly-cdovred
lustre, caused tiie departed daylight to be fbrgotten 7
^where the pictures that made the lovdy landscapes
of Strath-Eden appear dull and tame? — ^where ibs
bowered and pillared tapes^ies whkh, when men saw,
they said, " Would Natue were as fidr !** — ^where tiia
migestic forms that dignified these scenes ?— where
the lustrous eyes that deified them 1 . . . The nost
striking feature of Falkland Palace is its cDmbnms
magnificence of mould : even its commanding towen
look low fh)m their bulk. To see tiie haUdingB, hov-
ever, in all their picturesque variety — ^the rooSem and
the roofed, turret and haU, staircase and gateway,
diamond lattices and gaping windows of ridi sculptures,
the brocades of barbaric carvings that laoe its broad
buttresses, and the reverend hue of solemn gray tiat
its huge walls disdose ; while birch and pine-troes of
gigantic trunks and dottered fdiage are mumined bj
the calm evening sun-flame that floats upon the pBe,
and phalanxes of rooks hovering over the trees sad
towers, whose incessant cries scarcdy permitted the
shrill note of the marttet, or the deep soft tones of
the cushat to be heard — thus to see Fslkland Pdao^
makes desolation pompous, and imparta a i^oiy to
gloom.'
At the time and in the place we write^ the easier
dasses are off we know not whither ; and in hea of
them the streets are flooded with tourists from fkr sad
near, come to admire the objects that have palled vpoo
the others. These new birds of passage are iveugoiKd
by the healthy brown of their complexions, and by tbcir
apparel a little wild and undtyish ; but more espedsOf
by the guide-book which they carry, like an ofik^ Islon,
in their hand. An English tourist always goes to vork
in a business-like maimer. His pleasure is occiqiatioD.
He is caref^ of matters of fact, and checks his book
just as he does his hotd biU. Indeed we think there it
* something too much of this ;' fbr in watching dstsih,
he may forget impressions, and fbr the sake of a coU
correctness in things of Httie moment, sacrifice mtA
both of the enjoyment and advantage of ttit jouney.
To such traveUers, but more especially to ^e dieap
excursionists, who have not time fbr details, a wo^
like the one we are notidng is wholesome rea^qgi It
gives the moral oolourhig of the oliject, and iidbrDS
wit^ spirit what would otiierwSae be only inert nattce^
I
ohaiibkub'b SDmBtmon joubnal.
75
Although it mmj be wSie, therefore, to enipl<^ lome-
tunei the teletoope and sometiines the rale, it is equally
n to take a broad sweeping ghmoe at the scene through
WDM such medium as the ' Marigold Window.*
A LOBD-KEEPEB AND HIS MATBIMONIAL
ADVENTURES.
Ip we wish to measure the trae baseness of a debased
state of morals, it may perhaps be better done, not by
exaggerated aoeounts, and not eren by selecting ex-
treme instances, but by obswring what those who are
brought up in this eril moral atmosphere count as
Tirtues. So perhaps the true wretchedness of the worst
inn is not to be tested so well by the misery of its worst
room, as by the tawdry finery of its best Most people
are made ikmiliar with the vicious excesses of the
courtiers of the Bestoration— -with the wild libertinism
of yOKers andWilmpt—with the anecdotes of the easy,
good-natured, and good-for-nothing king and his minis-
ters; *mad«' as Pepys tells us, * with the chasing of a
poor moth' in the Mloon of the abandoned Lady Oastie-
nudn when Van Tromp's cannon were heard booming
up the Thames. The schoolboy reads with a littie
wonder how the Lord-Chancellor JefiHes caught a cold,
which produced a ferer, ftrom his imprudence— par-
ticipated by another cabinet minister who joined him—
in dfanbing a lamp-post to drink the king^s health,
when botii were stark naked, and had of course drunk
more than was conduciTO to their own health. About
such details there is a certain rade and rulgar breadth,
which, eren when they are true, makes them look like
exaggeration } and for a truer and more delicate mea-
sure of the morality and principle of that age, we have
sometimes had recourse to the pages of those who pro-
fess to describe the Tirtuous men 6{ the court.
In this Tiew, the Honourable Roger North's Utcs of
his three brothers— Lord Guildford, Sir Dudley North,
and Dr John North — are a mine of minute and precious
Teins. They were published in two quarto Tolumes in
1740 and 1742. ^Diey were subsequentiy reprinted,
rather for the use of the curious in historical literature
tiian ibr the world at large, in 1826. The phoenix
among these brothers was Francis, who became Lord-
Kemr of the Great Seal. His portrait, as given in his
brower's biography, is that of a very han^me man,
whose face has a character of judicial grandeur and
dignity. At first sight, it seems that of an honest man ;
and a person who looks at it before reading the book
generally thinks so; but before he has finished, as from
time to time he looks back at it from the incidents he
is reading, he tiiinks he sees a certain shyness lurking
about the well-developed mouth, the ftill well-fed cheeks,
and even tiie broad lofty brow.
Perhaps the reason why the moral defects of an age
are best developed by the eulogistic biographies, is be-
cause the biographer, who thinks all is perfect in the
object of his inquiries, introduces us to aU his weak-
nMses, which are the intricate and minute parts of cha-
racter; while the person who records the vices of his
neighbour only sees and describes whatsoever is fiagrant
For instance, in an account of a man's vices, written
by an enemy, or a person judging him harshly, we
weuld never find an instance of sycophancy like the
following, told in such a manner as to secure belief: —
The young barrister courts a miserly but powerful
man, whom all his more impradent and more vicious
brethren shun. In his brother's words— 'He was ex-
ceeding careM to keep fair with the cock of the circuit,
and particularly with Sergeant Earl, who had almost a
monopoly. The sergeant was a very covetous man ; and
when none would starve with hun in journeys, this
young gentieman kept him company.' * I hope,' says
Roger Nortii, the writer of these biographies, * to rescue
the memories of these distinguished persons from a
malevolent intent to oppress them, and fbr that end
^toc tiieir names and characters above board, that all
iww may jodjre of them as thev shall aimear to de-
serve.* In this point he shows his readers how the
young lawyer curried favour with the judge, flattering
his prejudices, and was ready to sacrifice tiie interest
of an honest client whenever he found that, by pushing
it, he lost favour with the judge. Thus * in circuit
practioe there is need of an exquisite knowledge of the
judge's humour, as well as his learning and ability to
try causes ; and his lordship was a wonderful artist at
sucking a judge's tendency to make it serve his turn,
and yet never failed to pay the greatest regard and
deference to his opinion when he was plainly in the
wrong, and when mere contradiction had but made him
more positive ; and besides, that in so doin^, he him-
self had weakened his own credit with the judge, and
thereby been less able to set him right when be was
inclined to it.'
But his love passages are at once the most amusing
and characteristic of this astute lawyer's commendable
proceedings. At the present day, there is doubtiess
abundance of mercenary matrimony and hard settie-
ment-bargaining ; but it is usual to draw a veil over
the harsher outlines of this species of traffic Although
this matrimonial slave trade is not counted in the cato-
logue of vices, yet it is shielded under that homage of
hypocrisy which vice is said to pay to virtue ; and we
do not find it blazoned, as among a man's good deeds,
that he drove ahard bvgain for a wife, and was tempted
by ten per cent deduction to abandon the oliject of his
profibred afilsction.
His first adventure may be styled the Romance of
the Usurer's Daughter, ft was thus :— * There came
to him a recommendation of a lady, who was an only
daughter of an old usurer in Gray's Inn, supposed to
be a good fortune in present, for her father was rich ;
but after his death, to be worth nobody could tdl what
His lordship got a sight of the lady, and did not dislike
her; thereupon he made the old man a visit, and a
proposal of himself to marry his daughter. There ap-
peared no symptoms of discouragement, but only the
old gentieman asked him what estate his fkther intended
to settie upon him for present maintenance, jointure,
and provision for ohildrra? This was an inauspicious
question, for it was plain that the family had not estate
enough for a lordship, and none would be to spare for
him. Therefore he said to his worship only, " That
when he would be pleased to declare what portion he
intended to give his daughter, he would write to his
father, and make him acquainted with his answer."
And so they parted ; and his lordship was glad of his
escape, and resolved to give that affldr a final discharge,
and never to come near the terrible old fellow any more.
His lordship had at that time a stout heart and could
not digest the being so slighted ; as if , in his present
state, a profitable profession and future hopes were of
no account If he had had a real estate to settie, he
should not have stooped so low as to match with his
daughter, and thenceforward despised his alliance.**
Magnanimous Francis North I
The next incident may be called the Widow's C!omedy.
The astute young barrister had met his match in a
young widow, who kept him and several others of his
kind in a long suspense, until she at last married — as
if for the mere purpose of spiting them all — a person
completely out of the circle of her suitors.
* His lordship's next affldr,' says his partial brother,
* was in aU respects better grounded ; but, against all
sense, reason, and obligation, proved unsuccessfbL
When Mr Edward Palmer, his lordship's most intimate
and dear friend, died, he left a flourishing widow, and
very rich. The attorney-general and all his family had
projected a match of tbeir cousin North with this lady,
who were no strangers to eac^ other; nor was there
wanting sufficient advices, or rather importunities, of
the whole family for her to accept him, against which
she did not seem to reluct, but held herself very re-
served. In the meantime his lordship was excited to
* Uvea of the Korths. L 156-7.
I, 'llu.jll
rs
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBOH JOURNAL.
wfkfl an exoellent wine, althou^ 00 recently made, eoond,
of good body, of fine golden colour, and hanng a fuU, rich
flavour: this was pronounced a reallv good wine, and a
number of question! were asked as to its manufacture. See,
Mr Carmichael said that the wine was made fh>m Shep-
herd's Riesling alone, and purely firom the juice of the
grape, the husks being fermented with it: it was made in
February 1848, and bottled in September, about one hogs-
head being made; this was the first produce of those
vines which were planted in land ploughed, but not
trenched.
* Mr King of Irrawang produced two samples: a white
wine of 1844, and a red wine of 1836. The white wine
was made entirely from Shepherd's Riesling grape : it was
a very fine wine, of rich fruity flavour, and a beautiful
golden colour. The red wine of 1836, and consequently
nearly thirteen yean old, was much admired: it was per-
fectly sound, and had a very fine flavour, but was not
equal in our estimation to the red iKrine of Irrawang pro-
duced by Mr King at the last meeting: it had been eleven
years in bottle, and had ouule a considerable deposit on
the sides of the bottle, and it was stated that being shaken
in carriage had somewhat ix^ured its flavour: the oouquet
from this wine was very fine.
' Mr Kelman of Kirkton produced one sample : a red
hermitage of 1847* This was a fine wine, of great body,
sound, and strong ; with the hermitage fiavour and bouquet:
of a remarkably deep colour, but quite clear.
' Some conversation followed about the different wines
produced, but no distinct opinions were elicited. A gene-
ral feeling of confidence was expressed that wine would
soon be an exportable commodity from the colony.
* Mr King produced two samples of liqueurs — an orange
liqueur and noveau. The orange was very sweet and palat-
able, almost syrupy, but was rather fiery in flavour. The
noveau was remarkably good, of beautiful bouquet, and
very agreeable flavour, without any fiery taste.
* Mr Lang produced a sample of wnite brandy, which
was strong and somewhat fiery when tasted pure, out very
pleasant when mixed with cold water.
* Mr Kelman piroduced a sample of white brandy, so strong,
that, when tasting it pure, it was difficult to toll the fiavour;
but when mixed with coldwat«r, it proved of fine and pure
flavour.
* This dosed the exhibition of samples, and a discursive
conversation followed. Finally, reports were read. In one
of these Mr Carmichael observes, * I conceive that a half acre
of vines on the alluvial land will produce in two and a-half
years (torn the time of planting three hogsheads of wine of
sixty gallons each ; in three years and a-half five hogsheads ;
and mil continue to faierease in quantitv till the half acre
will produce five hundred gallons, or pernaps more. I have
at tms moment in ray gwden on the alluvial soil about
twenty-four rods of vines, or about one'^eventh of an aore^
which pcoduoed last year three and a-half hogsheads of wine.
This alluvial land does not so much require trenching as the
forest land ; indeed it may be dispensed with altogether if
the land is twice ploughed, and then a double fiirrow opened
for every row of vmes — a spade deep being dug in the furrow
when the vines are planteo. I have offered to show to these
people the whole process of the management of the wine
(in which they imi^e there is something very abstruse),
and to go at any time to examine their wines, to see that
their treatment of them b proper. There is,* ne adds, * no
cultivation which tiie settlers in this country could enter
on with more convenienoe and profit to themselves than the
vhie, beoanse their time for the vintage is not required of
them till the end of Februarv, when their harvest and
thrashing are all done, and the pruning and cleaning of
their vines not till July, when their wheat-sowing is all
finished, and they have a month or two of leisure.*
The most lengthy and explanatory report it that of
Mr £ang. We well remember this gentleman thirty*
four yeart ago when he was a shopboy in Edinburgh,
and when we employed oar winter evenings together in
varioaa scientific atndies. Having proceeded to New
Sooth Wales, he there, from amall beginningSi attained
eminence in the mannfaotore of pottery and glau; but
in the midst of these professional avocataona at Irrawang,
it would seem that he baa been paying considerate
attention to Tine colture ; and now it falls to oar lot to
give pablioity to bis far from uninteresting e^oriments.
Commencing hit report by a reference to the sample of
red wine, Tintage 1886, he tays, ' This wine it the pro-
duct of the black pinean grape, a hardy variety, thoogfa a
shy bearer. Within eighteoi months, however, from the
time when the cuttings were put into the ground, the
grapes were perfected which produced it.
* The vine cuttings were planted at Irrawang, WiIHam
River, hi September 1834, in trenched land, six hUei by four
apart, were trained to one stake, and pruned to span of two
eves. The soO is f^ee and open, being the debris of pnd-
dlngstone and porphyry. 'Wliea the frnit was ripe, it wm
gathered and pressed in Febmary 1836. The Jniee wm
fermented along vHth the skins in an open vat. When
the fennentation became less nund. as mdicated by the
reduction of the temperature of tne decomposing mass, the
liquid portion (the wme) was ran into a cask, where, after
the fermentive process veas finished. It was allowed to te-
maln until the yeast formed had subsided. The clear wine
was then drawn ofl^ to prevent the precipitated yeast tnm
again mingling with it, and thereby reproducing fermen-
tation. With the same view, and in order to oxidise say
remaining leaven, the vdne was in the following spring
again drawn ofl^ exposed freely to the air,and nm intosa-
other eask, where, ror the sake of allowiijg the remamiiig
yeast and oxidised leaven to subside, it remained UD the
winter of 1837, when it was fined and bottled. From that
period to the pesent time the wine has, in its progress to
maturity, graaually under;^ne various chemical chaqges.
It has consequently deposited in the bottle a portion of
its tartar and its colour, lost some of the grape sugar, in-
creased in alcohol, and at times given out carbomc add ;
all the while it continued to develop more perftmie and
ethereal odour, and is now more agreeable aaid mdlow to
the taste. Altogether, it has thus beeatne a more peifoet
wine, vHthout y^ exhibithig any symptoa of its haviag
reached perfection, or rather that ultimate point of ma*
turity at which, in all wines, deterioration must commenee.
This wine is the produce of the pure juice of the grape, with-
out any addition whatever.
' One of the established laws of nature is, that chaniesl
changes are accelerated with a rapidity proportioned to the
temperature of the mass subject to such change ; and con-
sequently wine in a warm climate will natuiilly arrive at
maturitv sooner than in a colder one. Wine, we weO know,
is sent from Europe to the East and West Indies, se that
the influence of the voyage may fkoilitate the ripeniag pto-
oess, which is generally developed by loog keeping. It Is
found that the wine, after being so oariried to the East
Indies, is superior to that which nad in like manner beat
carried to this West Indies, simply because the lon|Rr voy-
age exposes the whie more to the influence of an «evated
temperature. It has also been found that the same remit
mav be obtained in a much shorter period of time by ex-
posing the vnne to a comparatively mgh artificial tempen-
ture — a practice, however, which I oonoeive to be daioeroa
and objectionable: and Uar more so the reeommen&ticc,
for that purpose, of exposing the wine in bottie to the best
of a batons oven, given in a French work of recent sa-
thority on the subject
'The sample of wine now prodneed, having beea grova
and kept in this colony, must therefore poasesa ita ptcaeai
degree of maturity years earlier than it could have attaiaetf
the same degree in any of the more temperate vine-grov-
ing countries of Europe.
' A practical result to be dravm ftt>m the foet, that te»>
Serature exerts a powerfhl infiuence in modifyinjr chemieii
ecomposition is, that, ftt>m the heat of the chmate, the
wine growers in this colony, particularly in this loeaGty,
will find their wine comparatively soon at a given poiat
of maturity, and will thereby be enabled to send it sooner
into the hands of the consumer. This also points out the
necessity of cool cellars for the preservatioii of wise is
such a climate as this : whereas. In the higher latttedcs,
where vHne is produced in Europe, the prime fiiinsiiliiistina
in the storing of wine is to protect it ftx>m the tt<M.
< There is another law affecting materially the opeiatioos
of the wine-maker in many stages of his process, fiva tiw
fermentation of the juice to the disposu of the wae ia
bottle, to which I beg to call particular attention with
reference to the sample of wine now prodneed. dtmiad
cuOon is active also tn proportion to tie volume of tie mtst
acted on, other conditions oeing ike msme^ Hepoe it foUowi
that wine, in a large mass, will ameliorate mom rapidlv,
and develop its qualities more completely, than in a aBaB
one. It ong^t to be contained, therefore, in large iisseii
till that eff^ be produced ; it may take only a fow months,
or it may take a series of years^ to hiring It to sof&dsnt
mim
OHAMBEBS'S EDINBURaH JOURNAL
79
matoiity. This depends on the original eomDorition of the
wine, the heat of the olixnate. and other modifying oaaaea.
On the Rhine, for instance, wine reqaires the lapse of many
years to ripen to maturity ; and to facilitate that result
by the mere bulk of the mass, it is stored in very large tuns,
•ome of which are estimated to contain hundreds of pipes.
* When the wine has at length been sufficiently so per-
fected, it is necessary to arrest or retard, if possible, this
ohemioal process, which constitutes the ripening to ma-
turity. For that purpose, hi accordance with the law
already stated, the mass must be reduced in bulk ; and the
most couTenient mode of aooomplishing this is that which
U generally adopted — by drawing it off into common
bottles, and paoldng them away m a cool cellar, to re-
main till the wine shall arrire at perfect maturity ; in this
state it may remain, according to circumstances, a longer
or a shorter period. But wine forms no exception to the
nniversal law. That quality which is common to all dead
organic substances — ^to resolve themselves under ordinary
circumstances into their elementary forms^ and which, in
the ease of wine, aids in its formation, wiU assuredly in
time accomplish its destruction. The same chemical de-
composition which promoted the progress of the wine to
maturity, will in oourse of time, even in bottle, as certainly
caose its deterioration and decay.
*The sample of red wine presented is now nearly thir-
teen years old. It was kept only a year and a-half in cask,
and has therefore now been nearly eleren years in bottle.
Had it been some years longer in the cask, It would no
doubt, therefore, have acquired its present degree of matu-
rity in the bottle several years ago.*
Such may be said to be the rndlmental state of a
manufacture which will soon oome prominentlj into
Dotioe in England.
OCEAN PENNY-POSTAGE.
[A oewapeper paragraph with the above heading, whtoh ap-
peared in Na 280 of this Journal, has elicited the foUowiiig re-
marks from a ccnrespoiMlent.]
Tn expenae of conveying foreign letters by mafl-oon-
tract packets to and from this country at the present
time is about L.640,000 a year. The income arising, how-
ever, tnm packet postage ftdls considerably short of this
fom, and it is probable that no alteration of the present
forsign rates of postage would caose the income to equal
the expenditure. The olrject» however, of the govern-
ment in paying large sums of money to private steam-
packet companies for the conveyance of letters, is not
only to Dacilitate commerce, and contribute to public con-
venieooeb but to be enabled to convert such packets into
war steamers in case of need, and to obtain a knowledge
of the proceedings of foreign nations, particularly the
movements of their ships of war, whidi could not be
asoertained so cheaply 1^ any other means.
The English mail-packets run to and from this country
and France, Hamburg, Holland, Belgium, North America,
Mexico, India, China, the Peninsula, Mediterranean,
Brazils, West Indies, and the south-western coast of
America. The sea postage on letters conveyed by these
vessels varies from Sd. to 2s. 7d. To foreign countries
the amount of postage is proportioned to U^ distance of
any particular part, and the quantity of correspondence
conveyed to il It sometimes happens, therefore, that
t!ie packet-postage on letters conveyed a short voyage is
greater than on wose conveyed a longer distance, ^us
the sea postage on a letter to Spain, the international
correspondence being limited, is 28. 2d.$ while to
America, four times we distance, where the correspon-
denoe is immense, it is only Is. To every portion of
the British dominions abroad, however (except Heligo-
land), the sea postage is Is. This is the packet rate for
oonvejring a letter to Gibraltar, a distance of about 1400
miles, aod to Hong-Kong, a distance of above 11,000
miles.
The only important parts of the British dominions
abroad to which th^e are no mail-packets are the Cape
of Qood Hope, Australia, Van Diemen's Land, and New
Zealand. The correspondence to those parts is conveyed
by merchant ships. The ocean postage on every letter
conveyed by merchantmen is 8d. Out of this sum a gra-
tuity of twopoioe is paid to the oaptain of the ship. It
will be thus seen that on every letter conveyed to and
£rom tiie pUces where the poorest and principal portion
of our emigrants resort, the government derives a profit
of 6d. The captains of merchant ships are compelled
by law to convey letters for the ports to which they are
bound, and to deliver them without delay when they
arrive. The gratuities paid them are of no value to
the shipowner, either in regulating his captain's salary,
or in calculating the profits of his ship ; because they
form so precarious an item, and because also they can
only be paid personally to the captain. They are ttiere-
fore considered merely as a perquisite of the latter.
Now it has been suggested that the government
should forego deriving a profit of 6d. on every emi-
grant's letter ; and that» in consideration of the protec-
tion from insult and aggression which it affords to the
merchant oavy, it should compel the master of a mer-
chant vessel to carry letters without receiving gratuities ;
and that the postage on a private ship-letter to and
from any part of the world should be Id. only. Such
an arrangement would scarcely diminish the ocean
postage derived from the mall steamers; because,
traveuing as they do with greater speed and regularity
than merchant vessels, they would stW convev the
letters of the wealthier classes, and all kinds of com-
mercial correspondence.
To all poor persons abroad, and particularly sailors in
the merchant navy having relatives at home, the
arrangement which has been suggested would be a
great benefit To the poor emigrant in South Africa
or in Australia it would prove an unspeakable bless-
ing. The universal complaint amongst emigrants and
their friends is the failure of their correspondence in
reaching its destination. This is caused principally by
defective post-office arrangements in the interior of
colonies, and to loss of ships and accidents at sea. But
if the postage on ship-letters were reduced to one penny,
a dozen letters would be written by the emigrant and
his friends where only one is at present — some of which
woidd be sure to arrive safely. At present, the settler
in Australia is unwilling to burthen his friends unneces-
sarily with a tax of 8d. } he therefore writes his solitary
letter, and must wait at least a twelvemonth before he
can ascertain if it has reached home. If it fail in doing
so, it is nearly two years before his relatives can teU
whether he is living or dead.
All persons who have had to do with the emigration
movement can bear testimony to the anxiety and sus-
pense endured by the relatives of emigrants on account
of the limited correspondence that is received from our
distant colonies, and which arises entirely from expen-
sive sea postage ; and to the unbounded delight felt by
the colonist at receiving at intervals, few and far be-
tween, a letter from the mother country. It will be
utterly useless to organise an extensive emigration
movement suited to the exigencies of this country until
the postage on ship-lettcn is reduced. Emigrants and
friends part with no expectation that they will ever
meet again in this world ; and the only consolation that
can be ofibred them is, that they will be sure to flre-
quentiy hear of one another's existence and welfare.
IHPOBTANCE OV AMUSSMENT.
The whole world is distracted with fiiotlons ; and there-
fore sure the old time was much to be commended, in tole-
rating, or rather giving occasion to, some country Mav-
games, or sports, as danoing, piping, pageants, all which did
serve to assuage the cruelty cf mairs nature^ that, givins
him some littis ease and reeseation, they might withhold
him from worser attempts, and so preserve amity between
men. Upon the aboliBhing of these you could not conceive
in reason, were it not th^ we find it true by experience
(for sometimes things which are small in the consideration
are great in the practice), what dissolute and riotous
oourses, what unlawful games, wliat drunkenness, what
envy, hatred, malice, and quarrelling have succeeded in lieu
80
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
of thMM hannlMt fpoits! And theie are the fruits which
our strict professors have brought into the world ! I know
not how they may boast of their fiiith (for indeed they are
pore professors!), bat sure I am they have banished all
charity. — Goodman'a Fall of Man,
CINDERELLA.
BT MRS OBLEBAR.*
We extract a few stanzas from a metrical Torsion of the
story of Cinderella, distinguished by much feminine
grace and elegance. Cinderella (the name so corrupted
from Ella) is beautifully womanish, whether drudging
for her harsh sisters, or flattering through the prince's
ball Here ia her second appearance at the ball :^
* Soon has the monsioli hailed his foest
With grseioiis emUe and greeting bland ]
And now the prince his suit has pressed.
And won for every dance her hand.
High *neath the gorgeons dome ore swelling
The tones of music; taste and art
In manv a rich disguise are telling
' How ladles change at wOl their part.
But, like the spark of varying light
tn those pale opals round her hair,
A»d like the ftoattng cobe ef white
That ca^t all hues enkindled there ;
Herselfwe same, to each she seemed
A vision of that brightest fhfng
' He e'er had mourned on earth, or deesMd
Might spread o'er life an angel's wing.
The mother thengfat her like her ofaild.
All besnteeois, hurried to the tomb-
On her'ue aged chieftain smiled,
Andsaw M»wif& in viUKfa bloom.
Prinoe Gdrsd's theii«hts enchanted trace
His boyhood's dream in Ella's eyes,
Attd tnark each Aade of woman's grace,
• UisinsntterlwiteslBarBt to prise.
^Cfaat night in many a mirror toll.
The eist^ oft their drese surveyed—
Admiring gUsoea on them fall
For wen was Ella's skill displayed.
Bo* BOW, while all around them float
The ft«teB4st foons of pomp and pride,
With jealous paqg acain they note
The lovely stnqgSr by their dde.
Btai near the l^ujoii wonld Ao oome.
And win for him the prince's smile ;
Then speak to Bybtl 61 her home.
With idayf til «rt and gentle wile :
Who that had seen her waiting Instt
A handmaid at her haughty call,
Bhrbikiag tamt anger's blighting blast,
Had knowB^ the fieauty of the Ball ? *
When she follows her sisters to another f^te, she it
the expected star of the CTening . —
* They went : but 'neath the palace dome
Was all prepared for one alone.
Her time of triumph now was some,
And bright the crystal dippen ehon&
The love within her bosom dirlned.
Had moulded with lU plastic power
The form that answered to the mind.
Like mnsio, played in paarion's hour.
Her girdle flashed with gems of light
Broi^t by some gnome ttaax Bastera mine;
One wild roee decked her royal knight.
Worn where his star was wont to shine.
The ball-room seemed a fairy scene
Enchanted by a lover's spell ;
A thousand lamps, green leaves between,
Gtowed round the motto, " ITwrf pour EIU."
« • « •
Tet on her voice Prince Edred hung
As though no nynl suttor he.
Bhe starts, for through the vines has rung
A peal of fairy melcdy !
** Oh stay roe not-my hour ia gons I "
From hall to hall fear wings her flight.
The prinoe bewildered fi^ows on :
Has Btta vanished in the night ?
She dropt one sUpper as she ran.
He did but stoop to win the prias;
Of all the courtiers not a man
Can tell where last she met his eyes.
*' Ho, guards !— ho, idlors round the gatee I
Which way has gone the Fairy Queen? "
No lady paiMsd— no chariot waits--
No trace of sU the tmin Is ;
The 'dose cf l!he«e entertainments,' our readers are
aware, i* always abrupt for the ftUry-decked lady :—
< She suig, and while Prince Edred heard,
He Mi as tliough a finer sense
Of musio's power wiihte him stimd.
In soul-«waking eloquenoe :
For she had caught aU natural tones
That eweO our English woods among ;
Her voice wss soft as the last low moans
Of the storm, and dear as the blackbird's song.
She ceased, but terror Usnobed her obsek.
The clock slow echoed to her lay;
And like some form that might not speak.
Through wondering crowds she fled away-—
Bhe gained hor car^ the train was nigh»
The pages on their queen attend;
How rapidly— how silently
Tfaehr hfimewaid way they wend 1
Yet ercr die reached the garden gate.
Her hailr nnbouado^lie dress die wore
111 matched her sUimsrs, glanoiqg late
Like sunbeams on the palaoe floor :
Bade creep the lixards to thehr hole—
Gourd* bulruah, pappy, withering fall i
And iKVne the firliB^tened maiden stole.
To wait within that gloomy halL*
♦ liondon: Masters.
" A giri ran by in
*' Here shone the cart" •« A page stood Oiew.*
•• This bulrush liee where pranced bis sieed ! "
** Tnsh," said the prinoe, ** such tales forbear.**
Well was it thai sottS pitytaig fay
Led EUa to her father's home.
Or never had she tracked the way
That late so radiant she had come.'
The lost slipper, as in the original, ia the meaaa of
identifying the radiant creature of the ball with the
shive of the two tyrannical sisters ; and a very diaiiii-
ing little poem endi with ^e triumph of lore, metoess,
&nuly afl^tion, and geiieroaity^-4he femiiiiiie virtMti
HI ■ ■- ■ ■ ■ ' ' ' ' M^.^i^-^-»
TtttJ BFIBCT OP CflABCOAL ON FLOWrtM.
About a year ago I made a bargain for a rose-bosh of
msf^oent growth and ftill of bods. I w^ted (br tbsmto
blow, and ezpeeted roses worthy of sueh a nobis pbal, md
of the praises bestowed iipon it by the vender. At leagth,
when it bloomed, all my hopes were blasted. The fiomta
were of a ftMied colour, and I discovered that I had o«h a
middling multifloi«» sti^e-ooloored enough. I thfl^feis
resetted to ss^riflce it to some e^qieiunents wfaidi Ihsdia
view. My attention had been eaptivated with th# ftfMfti
of oliarcoal, as stated in some EogBsh publicationik I ite
covered the eitrth in the pot in which my rose-bosh ws
about half an indi deep with ptdeerited dtaraxdf Sone
days after I was astonished to see the Mses, which bfeosied^
of as fine^lively rose oolooff asXeenldwii^I IdeieiuuBeJ
to repeat the experiment ; and therefore, when tbe lese-
bush had done flowering, I took oflf the charcoal, and pit
f^h earth about the roots. You may conceive tfasi I
waited 4br the next spriag knpaUently to see the laaker
this experiment When it bloomed, the roeea wete, at st
first, pale and discoloured ; but by applying the- ehateod
as before, tlie roses soon resumed then: rosy red colisai;^ I
tried the powdered charcoal likewise in lar»e qusntiyci
upon my petunias, and fonnd that both the wnite sad the
violet flowers were equally sensible to its actioo. It sKrsjs
gave great vigour to the red or violet ootoors of the fiswsHi
and the white petunias heeanne vekud untk red or mobt imki
the violeU became covered with irrpffiUar $poU of a Wsm* «
almost Uauck tint. Many persons who admired them thoeglit
that they were new varMles from the eeed. Ke0o«r.^nwt
are, as I have proved, insensible to the iniHiiinne of ihs
oharcoaL—Parw MortiwUural i2so»Stfu
t
Published hy W. 4c R. Chamssks, Hjgh Stiwt, IMInbai^
sold hyT). Chambsrs, 20 Argyle Street, Glaagow: W. B. Oaa,
147 Stmnd, London ; and J. H*OukBHAir, SI D'OKer flinct,
Dublin.— Printed by W. & R. Cbamba&s. Ediohorglb
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHABfBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,* « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &ou
No. 293. Nbw Sbbies.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 11, 1849.
Price 1^.
MOONSHINR
Thk moon is somethiog more than what attronomen
teH OS. Poets and sentimentalists of all classes hare
respectiTelj their own ideas on the subject Physically
speaking, there may not be much in a * matter of moon-
shine;' but there is a wide worid beyond the sway of
the fire senses. Beauty, poetry, romance, belong to the
spiritual realm, in which the soul sits supreme, with
Memory and Imagination as her handmaids. Beauty,
of itself, and totally irrespective of any other qualities,
iuTests its possessor with a high and fascinating in-
terest And beautiful, surely, all will allow that orb to
be which, rising upon the darkness of night, pours light
from a sUrery fountain upon earth, and sea, and sky,
making lorely the sleep of nature, as ihe tun makes
glorious her awaking.
Our readers have often heard of an Eastern potentate
who styles himself Son of the Sun and Mood, but com-
paratiTely few have regarded this title otherwise than
as a piece of Oriental bombast Not so, howerer ; and
it is not less true than strange, that in China there
exists at^ this momeBt a race, of pagans, equal in number
to aU the nations of Europe, and superior to some of
them in drilisation* The sun is adored by the Chinese
is the Qreat Light, the moon as the light of Evening.
When saoriflcing to the former, the imperial high-priest
is robed in red; when offering oblations to the fiitter,
in pale vestments ; and the whole rites exhibit marks
of a thtforoughly material worship. We are astonished
to think that this worships whose origin waa coeval
with thai of the Olunese nation, has now endui^ for
more than three thousand years; and its existence
among them at the present day is a convincing proof
that civilisation alone is insufficient to emancipate the
human mind from the blindness of supentition. If
soch is the case among the edocated Chinese, we need
not be stnrprised at finding the moon worshipped by
tribea of the Pacific Ocean and of the Amdrioan con-
tinent, among whom the mental vision has been weak-
ened by a long absence from the light Even among
tboae desperados ^e Sikhs, a reverence for the Itmar orb
haa not died out. During the late bloody campaign in
the Pnnjaub, they monthly saluted the new moon with
salvos of artillery ; and on one occasion, says an Indian
subaltern, when lying opposite our army amid the
jungles <k Russool, they ' kept blazing away at it the
greater part of the night'
In the heathen world of old, whleh worshipped the
Creator through his visiUe works, an orb so beautiM
and aingular as the moon could not fkll to elicit adorA-
tioD. In Uie Sabian worship— the eariiest and purest
form of idolatry, which first seduced the star-gazers of
Cbaldea firom the spiritual worship of the Creator —
honuuEe to the moon held a diief place. When thev
'beheld the moon walking in brightness,' says the
afflicted patriarch, ' their hearts were enticed, and their
mouth kissed their hand.' In the regions of the south,
through whose transparent atmosphere the orbs of
heaven glow with exceeding splendour, the worship of
the moon was almost universal
Well did the Greeks make Luna the sister of the god
of poetry ! Who has not felt that there is romance and
tenderness in the moonlight's haze, hanging like a silver
veil on rocks and hills, and woods and waters ? Modem
poets have celebrated its magic i>ower over the heart ;
and the verse-chronicles of early times are replete with
strange fancies concerning it In Hufse dajrs ^en the
race of man was still young, and fond of the matrellous,
the moon was generally considered the mate of the sun,
and the female generative principle in nature. ^ Fancy
seems in all ages to have given the moon a tenant of
some kind or other. Among ourselves the story is,
that once on a time a p[ian went into the fields on a
Sunday to gather sticks, and that while engaged in
this anti-Sabbatical pursuit, he found himself becoming
thinner and thinner, till at last he waa taken away
bodily, and became ilie Man in the Moon, where he
and his bundle of sticks are still to be Men. In a
similar fashion the prose Edda informs us that Miini
(the moon) carried off firOm the earth two children
named Bill and Hjuki, as they were returning with a
bucket of water firom the spring 'oaDed Byrgir; and
'these children,' the' Edda adds, 'always follow M&ni,
as we may easily observe even from the earth.' Above
all, in the land of tiie Greek, where religion, divested
of its awe, became a science of. the beautiful, the story
of the virgin Luna was weven of graceM fancies^
Lonely amid the blue fields of h^ven, she yet could
not escape from the yearnings of human aflfection. In
the silence of night she beMd from the skies the
beautiful night-watcher oh the Carian H0 ; and when
she sank behind the woods of Mount Xjatmos, the Greek
deemed that she sought there the embraces of the fair
Edymion.
Although there is no heal in iAi» moonbeams, and
though their radiance, say astronomers, is between two
and three hundred thousand times less bright than the
sun's, yet in the regions of the south, a noxious influence
is attributed to them, resembling in a faint degree the
fatal coup-dc'tokil (sun-atroke> of the same latitudes.
*.The moonlight of Egypt,' says tl»e. author of 'Letters
from the East,' * is so bright, that a person can see to
read with perfect ease; and the natives will tell you,
as I found afterwards th^ also did in Arabia^ always
to cover your eyes when you sleep in the open air.
The moon here really strikes and afSects the sight when
you sleep exposed to it much more than the sun:
indeed the sight of a person who should sleep with his
face exposed at nieht would soon be utterly impaired
CHAMBERS^ EDINBUBaB JOUBNAL.
or dettroyed.' And in Hindooatan, it u well known tbti
mnt which hu onca been exposed to the moonbeun*
cftODot be cured, but will qnlckl; potrify; while mest
in precinlj the isme condition, but which hu not been
(0 expoced, will preKrre teadily. Theoretic&l opinion
mtut give «B7 before a belief foonded on experience lo
loDg-extRtlag and eo oniyerBallr prevalent. From the
earlieit Bgea to our own times, from the ileepen on tlie
Sat rooft of BTiia to ttie nlght-Tatch on board a
MediterraQeftn iteamer, comei oorroboratian ttronK-
■ The moon bj night shall not amita thee,' laid the
Fialmlat three thoniand yean ago ; and a modem writer
reUtei the following incident aa having happened to
him when sailing in a Maltese vessel off the northeni
shores of Africa: — It was a brilliant moonlight night
in ipring, and, fatigued with heat, he lay down to sleep
on the open deck ; but aooa afterwards he awoke with
tk feeling of snObcatioo, and found hit cloak drawn
cloself over his head. He lenoved the encnmbrance,
and again went to sleep — again to be awoke from
the same cause. The captain (im Englishman) now
caationed him ag^nst sleeping with hi* head and eyes
exposed; and on his laugliing at what he consid^vd
the captain's limplicityi the latter referred him to his
uuling-goide, where cases were given in which such
exposure had been followed by blindness, and sometimes
bjr mental derangement. Lost wits go to the moon ! —
at least so ran the fable in the days of Ariosto. And
accordingly, when the peerless Boland becomes love-
frenzied by the coldness of the fair Angelica, aod com<
mits all sorts of monstrosities, even to that of mnning
stark-naked through the fields, it is to the moon's orb
that Astolfo rliles on hi* winged etcod to recorer the
senses of his fHend.
In harmony with the preceding aixtan of fact and
fancy, is the common belief in the influence of the moon
upon those most unhapf^ of beings — lunatics !— in whom
tiie god-like intellect ts aitingnished, and the lieart,
left alone in darkness, forgets its high mission — whose
very name (from Itma, the moon) is expressive of this
belief— and whose 'moon-struck' brains are supposed,
like the evsr-iestless sea, to throb more tumultuously
Ri the orb approaches the fnlL Oh, moon) bow can
one so gentle be thus cruel — one so tovely be thus
ensnaring? How like art thou to iromani Like to
woman in thy beauty, like to woman in thy dkaogcst
like to hat in thy power over the heart and brain ;
blessing, yet sometinies blighting, lilm who woold bask
in thy beauns I Bnt let us not Uame thee, nor her to
whom we have likened thee. Bather let us learn tliat
there Is no Influence so benign but it may injure — no
worship io heavenly bat error may mingle therein,
'nis statue cannot always warm to Pygmalion, and
Peril sits by tlie slirine of the beantifiil.
Of the vast influence exerted by the moon orar the
tides of Uie ooesn notliing need liere be said. Only let
It be remembered that when we stand on the shore at
high water, and see the waves come tumbling tn upon
the beach, very strange does it seem to n* that the
wavelet that breaks and dies at oar feet was bom of
the mooo in the tu south, amid the unbroken solitude
But an influence as mighty and subtle, and more in-
explicstde stUl, does the moon exercise In the moral
world ; and aa If in harmony with her mle over the
water, so sways she the tides of tiie human heart
Beneath the rilent moonlight all the eye sees is re-
pose; an tiie ear hears is the muimnr of sleeping
nature. We seem to breathe a tranqoUlising abno-
spbare, under whose genial infinence the wave of fasilni
snbsldee, and bitterness dies away in the heart. When
the Ancient Mariner stood alone on the rotting sblp.
motionless amid a rotting sea — with the fearful spdl
upon him, and his heart dry as dust, so thatheconldnot
pray — tlie moon rose on hii weary vigiL Ttien ytsnsd
he towards her as he saw her jonmeying throsgh tlie
aky as in her home ; and aa ber light made betotifii]
tores of > the great calm ' disporting Uiemselves when
never an eye could behold their beantj, the stony heart
softened, and he blessed them ; and strai^tway lbs
spell began to break. Coleridge had a warm impaUn
tieart i and doubtless in ttiat career of sorrows, sUch
to his sensitive spirit seemed at times like life in destb,
he had often gaied up<m the calm pore face of ths ert)
of night, holding on her way, pasuonless, all Dnmmd
by the tnrmoil of earth ; and with him, toot the qint
has grown tranquil, sod the cry of tiie heart ben
hushed. A sweet consoler is the moim that lodb in
through the lattice on tJie weary and wo-begow^ chect-
ing him like the gentle face of woman, and yet sqing
never a word to remind him that he needs ooatoitiag.
Yet there is meUnclioly in the moonlight Joy is the
ofl^pring of day, and laughter and the 0id toobeaass
go hand in hand ; but merriment b^teath the moon-
beams jars like a loud langh from a wconan. It it in
hour. Indeed, when joys from the past come floafing
into the soul, and the fltces of absent loved eon sis
present to the mind's eye ; but all la calm, passinnlnti.
as an infant's dream. Festival* there have been bnesa
the moon, and enjoyments there are ; but liow diSiatnt
fhim their kindred of the day [ Under the Aia cf
BoutEiern night may beheud the tinkle o( the tntSi^
forms of liandng-girls may flit in the sUvery ^oom, and
the sovndof&lling waters come on the cool hneze hke
the music of a dream ; bat the voice of Uie bratBna
only makes stillness more still, and motioa briicssnt
Uie^eepofthemoonbeani*. Ttroogfa tfae sluewuudsrf
Italy of yore yoaths and maidens stnyed IB Ike dsiaisg
moonlight^ celebrating the vigils of Vauw ; M os
those balmy May-nighta amid the ooDeonrse tfaaa was
solitude, and for shouts of the wonbippers only the >B
small whiaperi of love.
Bat for the moonlight we would miss one of the mot
delicate aspects of our planet, and lose a delicdous on-
trast to the heat and glare of noontide. At midnigU it
makes a softer day — day, withoDt its basiasss, witbstf
its noise — day with Instn enough to beantify, aol ts
make plaia. It is an boor when the covcAtef cans
and suspicions is lifted oS^ and the bewt kwaksi^ sail
fancy builds dreams.
• VoBt bDt Om lOTta* ud IIm knvd,
Bhmld b* imla at this swnt hour,-
Bays Hoore ; and all poets are agreed that the mu»-
light hour is propitions to lover»— daogsronsly wo, aUs '.,
Byron, who in a well-known pasasge erf his* Dim Jan' <|
comments on it* influence in tlirowiog over the haatt
< a loving languor that is not repow.' Terily act *t« !|
thestarofeva, the star of love, Vain* herself— lar^fatat 1]
□f the wandering planets, and goddess of the msgie i
twilight — hears so many loving vows exchanged, so 'j
many sweet words whispered. Tct ' swear not by the '|!
moon — the inconstant moonl' savs Juliet lookiiirf^Gsn .
her balcony In the moonlighl
love prove like variable.' B
many dangos threatened tli
fbt strong assurances, had
changing sanitselC ^wou]
' I will t£ink of my love in ti
ditty ; and whether tlie objc
the garden of his heteditai
' Mdlor-boy ' on his way to tli
in Qie hope ot bringing tiieni
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
83
die millmeiit will generaHj find an echo in thoae who,
thongfa OD0 in hearty era
—« Severed far.
As Its lefleetton from the star.'
Strajing bj the mellow moonUght of aatamn— with
DO Toioee hi the fields, and no Bonnd in the air, save the
Mil mnrmnr of the Teriot, borne on Hob breath of early
night — and tiunking of one then wandering beneath
the tontheni cross, I have looked to the moon waUdng
in brightness, and mj month has kissed mj hand. Not
in adoration to thee, qneen of heaven !^ut I fimoied
tiie eyes of a loved one were then gazing on thee, and,
reflected in thy silver mirror, looked down in nnfor-
getting calmness upon mine I Fancy's
* Smile can make a sammer.
Where darknees elae would be.*
Bat what is the aspect of Hum * silver regent of the
night?' — in what bright world wonld we find ourselves
if transported thither ? Are those silvery beams raying
from a paradise tenanted by happy mortals, or beings
more godlike still? When young, we did not ask our-
selves such questions, but vague fancies like these filled
our brain when gazing upon the bright lamp of night ;
and all that was sweetest in our dreams of fairyland
and dysium we loved to gather round the * moonlight's
home.' The home of the moonlight I — alas ! maturer
years, that have cruelly dispelled many a sweet vision,
have not spared our lunar Utopia t At the glance of the
telescope, as at tiie touch of Ithuriel's spear, the glitter of
Ihe borrowed sunbeams faUs ofl', and reveals — what? A
wilderness of mountains, high as the Himalayas, above ;
a honeycomb of caverns, deep as the Alps, below. Here
and there a circular plain, isolated from the rest of the
lunar world by perpendicular walls of rock, which the
strong wing of the eagle alone could surmount. A
Qshere whose hues are the lights and shadows of its
tremendous peaks — ^bare, waterless, almost airless 1 A
mined world, through whose crust the inner fires have
borst in a thousand craters, spreading havoc sJH around.
Now even the craters are extinct ; &e destroying fires
have exhausted themselves. There may be inhabitants ;
but what a home I
It la night, uid the fair orb is now looking in upon
me through the slender boughs of the Persian lilac at
my window with a calm, sweet smile, as if leased when
an uptnmed eye thanks her for her light. Oh, moon 1
lonely amid the blue skies of midnight, with what
patient goodness dost thou cover thy scarred bosom
wiUi besims, and, forgetful of thine own sorrows, lightest
op untiringly thy husband orb, making beautiM his
aeaaon of darkness, and loving him all the more for the
Instil thou givest him ! In the wide world round which
tbou roUest, thou beholdest, of all its myriad creatures,
one only like to thee — one only so gentle and self-deny-
ing— one only whose love, like thee, shines brightest in
the night -season! Good- night, gentle moon — good-
night!
THE HONOUR OF HONE&TY.
* Wbzx shall I get a new bonnet?' doubtfully solilo-
quiAed a young serving -girl, who, in a dismal back
garret, where a great baby was sleeping, was despond-
ingly considering her head-gear, as she prepared to go
oat one Saturday evening. She might be excused for
reflecting on the subject ; for the coarse straw bonnet^
whicb had never been handsome — was now sunburnt
and dirty, and with its soiled and faded ribbon, looked
hardly neat, though it had been carefully kept ' I
dedAre I'm almost ashamed to go to church in it, it's
9o dirty,' she continued, as she turned it round in her
haod ; * though maybe it's of a piece with my gown and
ahJTfrl : but come, they're not dirty neither. I wonder
wliether mother can spare me my wages this week?
X^erliApa she can : I know she was sure of work last
Saturday : well, well see.' So saying, she tied on the
shabby bonnet, and carefully folding up two shillings,
which she took from the window ledge, she put them
into her pocket ; and giving a last glance at her little
bed, to see that her baby bedfellow was safely tucked
in, she hurried out of the room, and out of lie house,
away on her weekly visit to her family.
Bessie Abbott was a pretty, pleasant-looking girl of
nearly eighteen, strong, active, and industrious. She
was the daughter of a wort^ss man, and an ex-
cellent woman. The teaching of the Utter had borne
good fhiit in Bessie, who, though only a drudge in the
family of a little shopkeeper, was a neat and excellent
servant, as far as her knowledge went ; while her integ-
rity and good-temper would have rendered her valualne
in any situation. She was in the receipt of what she
considered the handsome income of two shillings a week,
for which, with board and lodging, she did everything
in her emplover's house ; for its mistress was constantly
engaged in the shop, and left the whole care of her five
children, as well as all the household work, to * Pretty
BesB^ ; ' and never was burthen laid upon a more willing
worker. Bessie's father did little for the support of his
household : he spent half his time, and more than half
his earnings, in the beer-shop ; and the little money left
for his wife did hardly more than supply his board :
sometimes, indeed, he even demanded focnd when he had
given no means of procuring it. The burthen of the
mmily of course fell wholly on his poor wife, who was a
quick and dexterous needlewoman, and who was glad
to obtain any species of work by which she might earn
a little ; for her supply from the tailors, who were her
usual employers, was not very regular, and sometimes
failed altogether for a time.
Bessie was the eldest of a large ftimily : the two next
in age to herself, a boy and girl of fifteen and thirteen,
were both well placed, though neither could contribute
to the family income ; but there were seven still younger,
entirely dependent on their poor mother's exertions.
Such being the circiunstances of the household, we need
not wonder that a girl so affectionate as Bessie should
have felt very doubtful of the possibility of buying a
new bonnet; for, unlike too many in ner situation,
she never folt that her money was her own if it were
needed for her mother's use, and was only happy in the
thought that she was enabled to contribute to that
mother's comfort; and in this respect her natural
feelings were aided by higher principles, implanted by
Him who so severely censured the unfllial conduct of
the professing Jews.
As Bessie hurried along the streets to her mother's
house, which was on the other side of the town, she
cast many a wistfhl glance towards the displays of
bonnets and ribbons in the shop windows, and even
paused once or twice to bestow particular admiration :
nay, she went so far as to decide what shape she
would buy, and how it should be trimmed, if she could
but get the money for it ; and she bad strong hope of
being able to do this, because she knew her mother had
been promised more work than she could accomplish
for several weeks to come. At last Bessie reached her
home, which was one iU- lighted room, with a dark
closet adjoining, in a tumble-down old house, situated
in one of the courts of a densely-populated neighbour-
hood, and tenanted by five or six families besides the
Abbotts. It was home, however, and Bessie felt that it
was so, as, after running up the tottering stairs, she
opened the door of her mother's room, which, if not very
comfortable, was at least very clean.
' Oh, Bessie, Bessie I — here is Bessie!' cried a posse
of little ones as she entered. * Here is Bessie come,
mother I Come tp mother, Bessie; she's crying!' and
two of the young things seized their darling sister by
her dress, and pulled her forward, as though at her
coming their mother's tears must dry.
* What is the matter, mother dear ? ' cried Bessie,
frightened, as she approached a neat, careworn woman,
who, with her hands convulsively pressed together, and
84
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
silent tears droppuijg from her eyes, looked absorbed
in hopeless disti^ss.
* Bessie, Bessie, what shall we do?' she exclaimed,
as her daughter knelt, and threw her arms round her :
• what will become of us ?'
* Ob, mother, what is the matter? What has hap-
pened?* returned Bessie, her own tears beginnirig to
flow in 83rmpathy and alarm. *■ Oh, dear ! I thought to
find you an so comfortable to-night I *
*Ay, and so we milght have been,* answered the
mother in a tone of heartbroken despondency — *only
for him— for your father, Bessie ! How could he do it?*
* Mother, mother, what has he done?* exclaimed the
terrified giri, aU horrible visions of crime starting^ up
before her.
* He has taken away my work, Bessie — my work, that
I hoped to get so much for— and he has pawned it for
drink — I don't know where ; and he beat me like a dog
when I begged of him to tell me where It was. And
the master wanted it» and I hadn't it for him ; and oh
he was angry — and no wonder; only it's hard upon
me, Bessie. And he says the waistcoats are worth two
pounds, and hell have them, or their worthy if be
takes my bed (Vom under me. Then I owe our land-
lord for a fortnight's rent ; for I didn't pay last week,
thinking I should be so much better ofi" this. And I
haven't a penny in the house fbr tlie children's food;
they've been nigh famished as it is, for the waistcoats
were almost the first work I did. And now where I
am to look fbr m6ney or work I don't know, or how I
am ever to pay this dreadful debt : my poor little ones
will aU be starving about me. How shall I bear it?
And theo.to think ^o.ha« bf^nghtall thisipon me.
Oh, Bessie, it almost breaks ro v heart ! '
' This 1^ trouble indeed, indeed,' sobbed poor Bessie,
as she leant aafainst her mother's shoulder: *I little
thought of finding you like this as I came along. But,
mother dear, you mustn^t be quite cast down ; put your
trust in your Heavenly Father, without who8e know-
ledge not a sparrow falleth to t^ie ground.'
* Ay, Bessie dear; but it's hard to put such trust in
Him, when nothing but trouble is to be seen. I'm
sure I try ; but it's very hard, my child.'
' Yes, it id hard, mother ; yet who else shall we trust
in ? And, mother, here are my wages for to-day and
to-morrow, and who knows what Monday may bring?
Aren't we bid in such times as these to take no thou^t
for the morrow, for sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof?'
Ikfirs Abbott pressed her child more closely without
reply, and those of the children who were old enough to
understand what passed, gathered reverently round to
listen to Bessie's words, as she continued her attempts
to console her mother. Nearly an hour passed in this
manner,,and at last Bessie's earnest, hopeful persuasions
so far prevailed on her motlier, as to excite a feeUng of
tnutml resignatbn; and with lighter heart the girl
began the children's Saturday night's ablutions, while
her mother went out to make the necessary purchases
of food ; and when, on the return of the latter, the
hungry Gttle otiQ$ were regaled with a large piece of
bread, trouble seemed for a while forgotten. However,
Bessie, when she had, as she expressed it, * cleaned all
up,' was dbliged to depart ; and after a tearful adieu,
she was once more hurrying through the streets, which
she had so lately traversed with such ditferent feelings.
* Boast not thyself of to-morrow,' she mused as she
reached her abode. * We may well always remember
that: we little thought last week when we were so
pleased about the work, what trouble it would bring.'
Sunday rooming came, and the sound of pleasant
bells; but to Bessie it differed from other mornings only
so far as her own thought made a Sabbath around her,
for she could not go out until the evening; and she had
even more to do on that day than on the other six,
especially as her mistress, who rarely attended church
herself, was always at hand to find mult. Many were
the sad thoughts she bestowed on her mother's troubles
during the day; and when at ktt the was able to set
out for church, under strict injunctiona to return im-
mediately on the close of the service, she was depressed
in spirits more than she had ever before felt in her
life.
The service came to a dose, and Bessie in a <iiiiet
mind left the church, and slowly and thougbtftiny
walked homewards. She was one of the last who csme
out; and as she walked across the wide ehorchyird to
the least-flrequented gate, she struck her foot agsinst
something, which yielded to her sttp^ and returned a
rattUng sound. She stooped to pick up ^e dgcct.
and it proved a well-filled purse ; the bright beads sad
tassels glittered in the half Us^t of an autnmn erenbg,
and its weight and rotundity showed it w^ tuppBed.
Bessie stood positively breathless for a moment in the
excess of her joy; she felt a dlszy rush hi her head, sad
for a moment dl Surrounding objects aeetned to svim
before her; then clasping her hands in a route aspira-
tion of thankfulness, sue recovered f^ poseessioa et her
faculties, and began to examine the treasure.
* Ode, two, three, four, five, ^x, seven!' she eouBted-*
' seven pounds ! Oh, to think of mother, how deKghted
shd wlU be! Why, this will pay all, and hay I cant
tell what beside. Oh how happy I am! And what m
this?' she continued, as she took fnxn the other end a
roll of soft paper. • Why, these must he baidt-noles,
like that mls'ess gave change ibr once: why, they mwt
be worth I can't tell bow much. ■ Here are one, two,
three, four of them, and that one mia'esa got wu wtoth
five pounds itself. What shall we do with 00 mteh
money ? I'll read what's on these potes, however.' Sa,
approaching a lamp just inside the gate, she wHh ioaK
difficulty deciphered the amounts ofthe notes, of wUdi
two were tor fifty pounds, the other two retpeo6T?iyfbr
five-and-twcnty. 'It's quite a fortune,* she uiUhiaied
in a low, reverential tone, as she tried to ^nsp Ibe Ilea
of so many pounds. * What a happy thii^ for me, md
how sad for the person who lost itr Here^iteuveat
of Bessie's rapturous thoughts recdved a siiddea diedE ;
the smile ihded firom her nps, and she reroahied Gently
looking on the pretty purse with a per^exi^ amoimtiBf
to distress. * Oh me, out it is not mine! ' she tonHbaed,
her thoughts Ending vent in a half-axticnkle Conn.
* This belongs to somebody, who is tts 0onry io lose it as
I am pleased to find it Oh, whstt must I <fo? f wish I
had never seen it. Must I give it up Just when wewtfrt
it BO ? And tlien It was lying in my way, and lisMir
near who could have dropped it' Foot Beasie! tie
struggle between conscience and want was Yeiy miiC
She med hard for a little whfle to convince herself iktt
she had a right to what she found on a highway, Hat
her prindples t^ere too strong to S(Ho# nf auch iidM6-
cention ; and besides, in testing the matter by the ceMBa
rule, she felt that if she had dropped her Cw« stSCsgi
on the previous night, she should have been tery iAi(|*
nant wtth any finder claiming a right ^lo then. *V%I
have ho business with it indeed,* she nninil^fered, is As
tears of disappointment started t& hKSt t^-ea. 'M»
however, surely I may keep just one or -tvo «f tknt
pounds?— the person who lost this nurist be-v^'lUh,
and would never mtss them; surely lloaay- hai« jut
two pounds for my finding it, and that wbold poipitt
mother out of her trouble ?' Jvtst at tMs mptteat mm
words, which she had lately heard, darted into tertMd
like a gleam of Ifght, * ^00, Odd, keest me!* •Olk,^*^
am r thinkinif of^* she eXelMhned, frighteM^iiy^r
own thoughts: Msnt it all jnstene BM'^tMHtgf'-U^
me put this out of my sight ae sbon as ^I eaa^^rtl I
should be too much tempted: I wont keenitanhiff.*
So, resolutely concealing tfaa temptation, Bessie abt odT
at her quickest pace to the pblSce-tftatSoo, whMV-i^
resolved to deposit the money inamedialefy, for jbe
twofold purpose of securing henelf a^nst teispliiltea,
and of affording the owner the best oroertttn^lv
recovering the lost property. When she told liu UMil
to the officer at the station, he looked at hdr firan "
to foot with sbme surprise.
.
Il
. I
*So you didn't thiok of keeping it yourself?' he
asked as he took the purse.
'Yes, sir, I did for a minatc, for we want it bad
enough,* replied Bessie with an ingenuous blush ; * but
I was kept from it, thank God! There's a deal of
money there, sir; will you please to count it, that you
may know, when it*s owned, Uiat I took none?'
The officer counted it accordingly, and gave her a
receipt for the amount, taking down her address at the
same time, which she thought nothing about; then,
with a thankful, happy heart, and clear conscience, she
hastened home.
Frequently, during the labours of the next day, Bessie
wondered whether the owner of the purse had refined
it, and pleased herself in imagining the pleasure its re-
covery must have caused. Then her thoughts sadly
turned to her poor mother, and she would speculate on
the possibility of her recei^ng a reward. Some one
she knew had, been rewarded with ten shillings for
finding a firerpound note; perliaps she might have a
pound giyen her. However, she sedulously endeavoured
to withdraw her thoughts from the subject, and occu-
pied them in the attempt to devise some means of earn-
ing a little money in the family soo>ehow. to carry
them through this terrible crisis. So passed Monday,
and Tuesday was passing in a similar manner. Bessie
yroB busily washing her kitchen floor — talking to amuse
the baby, who was tied on a c^air in one comer of it,
and thinking over a brilliant plan which had just oc-
curred to huTf of proposing one of her brothers as
errand-boy to the grocer round the corner, when her
auBtr^oA looked in, and sharply said /some one wanted
to speak to her. In great haste and surprise Bessie
started up» a^d as quickly as possible wiped her wet
bao4f« threw olf her spron^ settled her gown and cap,
and hJicried into the S^^op^ where she found a middle-
sfsd gentleman, of very pleasant demeanour, leaning
carelessly against the counter. He turned as she
entrndt And advanced a step as she curtseyed and
k^ed, as if to inquire the object of his visit.
* Your name is ifUzabeth Abbott ?* he asked :' Is it not ?'
* Tea. sir,' was Bessie's reply.
* ir^m found a purse on Sunday night, I believe ?*
' ire% sir,' she replied, colouring as she spoke. 'D^l
it Maog to you,.sir? Did. you get it ? I hope it was
ajliijg^t, oil i I got a note of the money at the police,'
Qcmftiooed bessie, speaking rapidly, and as if halT-
£rijfl}ktei9e4 ; lor just tben she on^ remembered the pos-
silntity of some monc^ beiog missing, which might be
(tomsnded.of hen
* Oh yes. all was right,' returned the geiitleman
•miliD^ * I only came to see what made you return
9j purse so honesty and quickly. Were you not in
wapitis mpney?' ,,
• ^Oh, indeed, sir, yesl* she emphatically, replied, as
tearif fiU^d her eyes ^ * but that money ^ss not ours.'
*' i^rhaps you were afraid to keep it, lest It should
be -4isD9Fefed?' continusd her interrogator, looking
esffnestly at her, as a deep crimson flush rpse even to
her forehead.
She raised her eyes to his boldly, though modestly,
tm she answered, in all the firmness of truth, * Sir. I
nerer thought of that. But I would not be so miserable
as Iheft would make me for as much again as is In your
p^kr9^»irV
*.That is well, that is well,* quietly replied the gentle-
nufc w^ a satisfied smile. * Now you say yon want
nsoney rery much ; I came here to ofler you a reward
fof $h9 retqm of my purse. How much would you wish
Bietotg^Teyou?'
' Oh, air r. exclaimed poor Bessie in a transport of
delight* daspi^gherhaads-^'oh. ttionk you I thank you!
TwQ poqoda, sir» if you could be so kjind, would make
na all happy again V
*lt would not. bo buymg hq^inesa veiy dearly,'
jMftaveied ihe stranger/, *but let me hear what you
would do wi^ the twa pounds.'
Accordingly, Bessie related her simple little history
as the reader knows it At its conclusion, her attentive
listener smiled kindly. * You are a good girl, Bessie,'
he said. * Well, the reward I shall give you is twenty
poimds instead of two. I determined upon this if I were
satisfied with your answers.'
Bessie was speechless in grateful astonishment
' Yes, it is a little fortune for you,' said the gentle-
man, answermg her look. • You will of course relieve
your mother from her trouble, and you had better put
the rest into the savings* bank, and tiy to add a little
to it, as a provision m case of need.' So saying, the
gentleman produced the identical beaded purse, and
counted twenty sovereigns into Bessie's hand, who
could only look her thanks ; and Uien he went, and
Bessie hurried up to her little room to give vent to her
grateful happiness, thinking how difi*erent would have
been her feeUngs had she otherwise acted.
I need not moke my story longer by describing the
joy excited by her next visit to her home — ^how the
debt was paid — and how one pound more was devotai
to the purchase of sundnr articles of comfort imd
decency (amongst which Bessie's bonnet was not for-
Sotten^ — and how the remaining pounds were safely
eposited. But I must not omit to add, that the gentle-
man whose acquaintance Bessie had so happily made,
did not forget her. Though his residence was many
miles distant from hers, she was shortly afl^rwards
token into his family as nurse, which post she filled in
comfort and respectability for many years, careluUy
impressing unoa the minds of her young charges the
same principles which governed her own.
1 ' ■■'
LONDON MORNING NBWSFAPERS.
With the exception, perhaps, of the mysterious regions
of the theatrical coutissct there Are no estabUshments
the secret working of which is less known to the
genera! mass of the public than that of those great col-
lectors and condensers of political inte^gence — those
extraordinaij machines which are the contemporary
historians of the world— the London Morning News-
papers. Wiyi almost every olhei: grand branch of
national industry we are more or less acquainted. Most
people have a notion of tbe operations of the blast fur-
nace or the j)ower-loom : most people have picked up
some smattering of the mode in which cottons ore spun
at Manchester, and razors ground at Sheffield. Little
treatises devoted to descriptions Of branches of national
industry are frequently issued from the press: the
coarse row material is traced through its every succes-
sive stage until it arrives at the consummation of a
costly and finished fabric. We may read or see how
the lump of ore becomes a le^^on of shining and delicate
' needles — how certain constituent mineral masses are
fused and wrought until the glittering chandelier or the
wonder-working lens is placed before us. We know
how rags may become paper, and the forest a ship.
' Still, there is a peculiar species of industry of which the
public knows little — one requiring for its successful
prosecution a more peculiar union of elements than is
demanded bv any other pursuit— a branch of industry
demand,ing the combined and constant application of
highly-skUled and intelligent manual labour — of vast
capital — of a liigh degree of enterprise and worldly
shrewdness— and, more than all, of great, and keen, and
cultivated, and fiexible intellectual power, constantly
applicable to the discussion of almost every question —
moral, social, political, and literary — which can spring
up into importance amid the dail^ and hourly fluctua-
tions not only of the public opinion of Britain, but
of that of the civilised world. Such a union of quali-
ties and possessions must be brought together by any
one who thinks of triumphantly establishing, or suc-
cessfully carrying on, a London morning journal.
As, then, we believe that the notions popularly en-
tertained of the means whereby tbe news of the world
is everv morning served up to us with our hot coflee
and rolls are somewhat vague, we propose to devote this
CHAHBEBSB EDINBUBOff JOUBNAL.
paper to a iketch of the inteUectual and materul eDsim
to which lodety and ciTilitatioa ova lo moch ;
after tome ponderuig ai to the limpleat and most
prehenilTe coone to be adopted, we havs coma k
reaolntion — Srat, of ennineratiiig and deaoribiDg thi
■everal parta of the macbine in detail, aud then after
potting them teto gear, and eatting the whole in du
of dli«otiag attention to the general worktog, and of
explaioing the inatiT« tone* and the plan of operation
at the entire tnecfaaiiiun-
All the London daily-newspaper ettabliihmenti
■Itaated dtber upon or cIok to the great artery of o
tnanication between the Clt; and the Weet End. Some
of tboae grfmj.looking newi-manafactorie* are patent
to the itreet, other* skulk in dingy and obicnre oUeyi,
a* though attempting to caTry out, even in their local
habitatiODS, that grand princiide of the anonymons
whic^, rightly or wrongly, ii held to constitute not ooly
the power, but the Tery essence and aoal <rf Ehigllui
joumallaoi.
The TMt body of the employes of a London joomal
may be diTided into six grand categoriea or depart-
ments, it being, however, nnderstood tiiat in winie •
these departments blend, to a little extent, with . .
other, and that those indiTidoals who, aa it were, stand
upon the confloes, occasionally ondertake aomawliBt
mixed duties. There is, first, the Important and all-
■apporting typographic depMtmeat, namb^ing per-
haps somewhere abont sixty IndWidnala. Then tboe
is the commercial department, occn^ed In the bnsioeM-
condact of the paper, in attending to the dne snpply of
the teqoisite material for all the other branches, in
receiving and uraDging the adTorldsements, in manag-
ing the publication, and keeping the generid aocounta
of the whole establishment. This department, includ-
ing those more or less connected with advertising
Bgendes, &c. may fitmish emplaymeot for about a
dozen of persons. We then come to the reporting
estatdiihraent. Of this the principal branch ii Uie
parliamentary corps, a body averaging from twelve to
sixteen members : next them may be classed the law
reportere, who attend regularly in the several courts,
and who may come to some half-doien more: in the
tame category we may perhaps include the regular and
authorised correipondentt of the paper in the prin-
cipal provincial towns and Dutport«: and our account
would be maniftetJy incompleto did we leave oat of
sight the vast cloud of irregular and unengaged re-
Krters, who supply a great portion of the every-day
ndon news, including the proceedings at the minor
courts — particularly the police-ofBces— the inquests, the
' melancholy accidents,' the ' ilu^lng conOagratians,'
the 'extraordinary coincidences,' and the IDu. This
body of men, although tew or none of its members
have any real tangible footing npon the periodical
press, yet play no inconsiderable part in supplying it
with its miscellaneous hoioe intelligence. They form,
as our readers have no doubt diving, the often-talked-
of class, called by tliemseliee 'general reporters' or
'occasional contributors,' but known to the world as
'penny a-liners.' Hext in the order in which we are
proceeding we m^ reckon the Important and expen-
sive department of foreign correspondency — a depart-
ment the extent and importance <^ which have very
much increased since the commencement of the pre-
sent continental disturbances. A glance at any Loudon
journal will show that, besides having a fixed corres-
pondent in almost every European capital of import-
ance, there is hardly a seat of war unattended by a
representative of the metropolitan press. Wherever,
indeed, gunpowder i« fired in anger, a letter to a great
English newspaper is pretty certain to pop out i^ the
smoke. Proceeding with our list, we approach the
editorial department, including not only the actual
executive editors, but the corps of original writers — the
mysterioos authors of the ' leaders,' and the gentlemen
whose pen*, shunning politics, are devoted to the chro-
nicling and analyiia of the line arts, tlie drama, and
literal uTB. Here we tread npoa somewhat sU^Miy {
ground. Aa we have sud, the principle of the aixiay>
mous is kept np with very vemarkable strictneai in
the leading journals ; and even tiioBe who ere tolerali^ 1 1
well behind the scenes in other respects, may atiU know i
tittle oiF the grand arcanum involved in the ■DttMnh^
o[ the leading artidea No doubt the petamity tf '
some of these ia tolerably well known in pteai dniea.
Sometime* the internal evidence of style or pMtknlar
opinion betrays a writer; in other instance* toleraUt
guease* end approximation* are Ibnned j bat in, we
Bbonld say, the great mqori^ of case* tb* kothotslnp
irf a leader ia absolutely unknown to nineteen-tweolistbs
of the employes of the newtpqier in which it appem-
In making ttus assert)on,jt i« understood that we neik .
of the principal doily jonrnal* alone— of thnae the fad-
ing artidea of which ore not gcficnlly written by Om
actual acting editor, or in the eet^dishmeot at all As I
regards theatrical and musical critiquee, then is bo |.
great secrecy observed : indeed it wonld be almost im-
possible to do so, when every aecood hatitii of flv
theatre or the concert-room can point to the itftuta-
tetivB* <d the difibient morning p*4>erB preMst Li th*
reviewing department the ease i* aontewbat nmibtr:
no great attempt at secrecy la made bete dtbar. The
task ts fi«qvently shared by thoee gentlenen of the
parliameDtary corps who have meet Utcfaiy taste and
ablUt?) and we may add, that these an dan fae-
qoently deputed to intend such feettral* or occonencc*
1^ public mtere*t *« demand a certain degree at de-
scriptive and namtiTe talent
We have now catalogued the five peindpol divisigns
into which the intellectual and manual labour sf a
morning newspaper is thrown, and we may add
ment — the day and night porters, the meseengenb the
conrier* emjdr^ed upon foreign aervioe, aod leoerslly
the host of rapemnmerarie* who bang on tbe oitikiiti
of a great newspaper establishment
Having thus cursorily run over tbe diflereat puts
of the machine, we proceed mole tunowiy to detcrike
their individual conformatton. The ^rpogt*pliic«l de-
partment comprehends, as we have oidd, about mi^
compositors. Atnong their ranks are to be fhand tb
very best, the moet intelligent, and the Ti>o*t expeA-
tious printers in London or the world. Tliej arc paid
by the piece i and a few of them earn not less tb**
fnim L.3 to L.4 per week. From L.2, 10s. to U H
however, we believe, the general amount of their wsgHi
The task of a morning paper compositor oommenres
about seven or eight o'dock in the evening, and h em-
tinued ontil the paper is ' put to bed.' sa tbe teduded
K'lraie goes, between four end five o'clock in tbe nae-
g; bnt occasionally bis labours ere even etilllMbtf
protracted. When an important foreign eX|Kss i*
expected — the Overland Moil, for fi^T^pJ" — lie dthtr
remains hanging about the eetablishment. ready at m
instant's warning to commence c^)eretaone npoi tt*
looked-for news, or Aings himself down, aU drcs*sd,dtt*
in his lodgings or a ndghbooring tsvem, pteponl
Instantly to hurty back to the office should a InaO-
leas messenger worn him that the ' Overland is in.' A
useful peculiarity of tb
the extraordinary skill i
coogr^atioos of potboi
is frequently called apoi
half-a-dozen columns o
try meeting, scribbled
Liverpool or Exeter b;
crumpled-up mo** of
scribbling deciphered, i
within a fbw minutes c
ploit is by no means v
of the London morning
with which news is set
tbey are much indebted
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
87
Faning over the oommeroial department of a newa-
paper, which preaenta few charaoteriatio featarea, we
arrire at the important daaa of the reportera. And of
tbeae the parliamentary corpa firat daim our attention.
It would be nnneceaaarj here to dilate upon the bril-
liant literary and legsl talent which haa been for*
nithed to the country from that narrow little gallery
aboTO ihe Speaker'a chair in ^e Honae of Gommona.
It ia goaerally known that, from the daya of Dr John-
•on downwarda, the taak of reporting ^e debatea of
the legialatore haa fomiahed a meana of aubaiatenoe to
a daaa of men, from tiie ranka of which haye apmng
not a few indiridnala whoae namea are known aa widely
aa the fame of onr literature and onr juriapmdenoe ia
extended ; and it may be added, that the ateady remune-
ration fumiahed in tMa way by the morning newapapera
hai been, and doea form in many inatanoea, the ground-
work of an income extended by connection with many
of the leaa important but not leaa faadnating branchee
of periodical and dramatic literature. The ' gallery '
of courae embraces men of very difiBsrent calitoe, and
Tery different Tiewa and habita. With aome it ii the
all in ally with others merely the oonyenient atepping-
itooe. A few, and only a few, of ita membcnra haTe
itttie prefeensiona beyond those of skilfrii short -hand
writers; but a great majority of its occupants aim
higher than tida— posaeasing as th^ do the intelligenoe
of educated gentlemen, sharpened and dereloped by a
coorse of training wfaidi brings them into constant
communication with public men and public eventa;
while not a few are personages of more or less literary
or political cdebrity, who may wdl aspire one day to
make the speedies they now report
The routine duty of the gaUeiy is easily explained.
Eadi newspaper has a regular desx, at which its repre-
sentative ia always seated fh>m the opening to the
rising of the House. The reporters generally succeed
each other in alphabetical suecession ; and the period
~ during whidi each remains on duty is called his * turn.'
Hieae turns are of different lengths at different periods
of the evening. Up to about 11 o'dock tiiey are either
half-hours or three-quarters. After that time they are
generally dther quarter -hours or twenty minutes.
Every newspaper has a distinct set of rules upon the
subject in question, rules which, however, are always
liable to be modified, accenting to certain fixed prindplea,
by the duration of the debate in the House of Lords. As
soon aa a *man ' — reporters are always called ' men ' in
gallery patoia— is relieved by his next successor, he
proceeds to the ofllce to extend his notes — ^ to write out
ms whack '—gallery arpot a^pihi. A foil three-quarters'
turn amounts, with the rnaym^ of speakers, to some-
what more than two columns of the dose type used in
printing pariiamentary reports, the writing of whidi is
sddom accomplished under four hours of severe labour.
It not unfi^quently happens, espedally if both Houses
be sitting— and the corps therefore distributed in equal
proportions in the Lords and Commons — that time will
not permit the full extension of the short-hand notes.
A second turn looming a-head obliges the reporter
to *cut down' many a fiower of eloquence; and on
very hard-working nights there are such things as
three turns, involving, as the reader will percdve, in
many instances a spell of seven, dght, or nine hours of
exceedingly hard and exhausting toil These occasions,
however, are comparativdy rare ; and taking the aver-
age amount of the session, we should say that it is some-
what less than a column per night per man. Of course
&e majority of speeches made in parliament bear very
considerable curtailment The ordinary rank and file of
M. Fa. are merely summarised— their endless prolixity,
their ten-times repeated iteration, their masses dT com-
monplaoe declamation, are condensed and translated
into EngBsh grammaiv-often a most requisite process
— so that the twenty Gnes of what appears to the reader
to be a neat little compact speech, convey, in reality,
the pith and substance, wdl and deariy pu^ of half an
boor or an honr'a ramblinff tedione nnition.
When, however, a reporter, unhappUy for himself,
falls upon one of the cradc men of the house, a minister
or an Opposition leader, the case is very difierent
The report is then almost verlmtim. We say almost;
because there is hardly one man in the House who does
not oooui(Mially owe something to the reporters in the
way of the exdsion of a twice or thrice-repeated phrase,
or the rounding-off of a sentence left inoomplete in the
heat of speaking. As may be expected, there exists a
code of oratoricid criticism in the gallery of an entirdy
technical and profeaaional nature, and which judges oi
public speakers entirdy in reference to the faciUties
which their styles affi>rd for being reported. Perhaps a
hint or two on oontemporary oratora regarded in this
light may not be without its interest and use. Sir
Bobert Bed, then, is a favourite in the gallery. He is
distinct and deliberate ; and when he has to deal with
statistics (the mental horror of the reporters), exceed-
ingly dear and intelligible. Moreover, Sir Robert un-
derstands the gallery. We have heard him on very im-
portant occasions absdntdy dictate rather than speak.
His rival, Lord John, is geniBrally deliberate enough, but
he is not always distbict, and ui&ess he warms aiKl rises
witii his sul]rject, is very apt to be slovenly in the con-
struction of his sentences. Sir G. Qrej is an exceed-
ingly difficult speaker to report : he is too rapid. Sir
Chftf les Wood, again, is often verbally confused, and apt
to make lapitu Ungtuty which in finandal speeches are ter-
ribly onbarrassing. Viscount Palmeraton is a capital
man for a reporter— deliberate, epigranunatically dis-
tinct, and uttoing his sentences with a wdi^ty (^^ a
tdling point Sir J. Graham is also an earily-reported
speaker. Not so Mr Gladstone, who pours himadf out
in an unbroken, fluent, and unemphatic stream of words ;
uttering subtile argument faster than other speakers
rattle out mere verbiage. Mr Ifacaulay was another
dr^ed orator ; and for this reason, that his utterance
was so rapid, as to render it exceedingly difficult to follow
him ; while his diction was at once so gorgeousand so
epigrammatic, that the omission of a word marred a sen-
tence. Much of tiie same remark applies to Mr Shell,
who, moreover, has to contend with a thickened, indis-
tinct, and screaming utterance. Mr Disraeli keeps a
good reporter upon the fUl stretch, but he is not generally
complained of in the gallery. Aa for the Upper House,
Lord Stanley is perhaps tiie most unpopular man, using
the word of course in its technical sense. He is terribly
rapid and terribly good. Lord Brougham is generally
more ddiberate. His parentlietical aentences, however,
often puzzle his recorders. Lord Aberdeen, distinct,
ddiberate, and pure in his style, is easSy reported.
The same of Lord Lyndhurst The Marquis of Lans-
downe's speeches are vastly improved by ^e omission
of a good half of the words which they contain ; and
to Lord Monteagle a similar remark applies with still
greater force. Eari Grey is a capital reporter's speaker
— distinct, dear-headed, and correct; and so, by the
way, is the young Duke of Argyle, who has made a
d^but in public life which promises to give the reporters
many an aching wrist
On the whole, the reporters' galleir, although its
occupants are occasionally very severely worked, is a
pleasant and a merry place, and a great manufactory of
jokes, good, bad, and indifferent As a general rule,
reporters are terribly lukewarm pditidana Probably
they hear too much of all parties to like any of them ;
and so speeches delivered on aH sides of the House are
generally the objects of plenty of droll running com-
mentary, frequently of a nature whidi would please the
rlitical opponents of the orator raUier than himself,
may add that upwards of three-fburths of the re-
porters of the London daily press are either Scotch or
Irish. The English are a dedded minority in the
gallery.
Of the law reporters little has to be said. They are
frequently young barristers, who make up in this way
for any defidency of briefs wiUi which they may be
CHAUBEBS^ EDUTBtntGH JOURNAL.
■.the
•'tly people
Loadon wba Ret tbeir S.iine nlel; bj cumd onetri-
bdtioni of articleB □( news to the prcM. The bodf i« an
odd compound of all maaDer of waifli and ttxnja from
■ociety, and more Temaflcable, we tear, for enterpriae
and impudeoM in the p«rmil «t it* calling, than for
either honesty «r abiUtri Theoalj nation whtoh nuuiy
woKby ftdVu ia London ha»« of the ptnanmi of the
pMH it iKleanad Asm) thepeany-a-linen, who auddenly
■tait Bfitia CB« IcMva how orwbaace, upon ererj-occa-
■ion wjiich' satbers a groap nf people together, boldly
proaUHning bUmitelvea to be the repreaentatiTci of the
prea^iaod idkloin doing it miuh credit either by their
appearulce or their manneri. Uany a good man and
able baa indeed made hii flnt adTancei to jonraaliiio
tluongh hnmble pennr-a-lioing, but no man of ■bilitj'
remain! long in liie ranks. The great bodj of peoDy-ft-
linen an eitlier diaiipated and diMuded reporten, who
have dniBk tbemMlTM out of ttatiAa and reipectabilitj,
or a wondelful onnim goAeram of luwdncatod and
illiterate men, wlio have twen flung oat of tha ordinary
range ot medianicai nt temi-mechanical employmentas
ftad have, aooiebaw or oHter — one by one accident, one
by another — (alien back npon the [Vecariaiu and
BedouiB-UkaexiateDcaofpenny-a-linen. Ofcoorsethe
* occaiional reporter ' Is only pud for those portions of
his eonteibutiuM whidi aotaajly ^peor is t^tnti "i^
on an avenge, not one-tenth of the mtsi of 'flimsy' ma-
niMcripta leceiTed erery night by the sub-editors 'of the
morning papers ia scented and printed. The ' flmuy '
in (pwstion ii the tenbaical name for penny-a-iine copy,
derived from the tlun tisane paper vUch the 'iBani-
tM' writieg appuatns always used neceiaitatts the
employment t^. A. panny-a-tinei slirayi aeBds dapli-
cates 'Cf Us mtelligeiice to all the morning p^)en, so
that he has ocoassontlly the good-lnok to b» paid sb-
Tsral timei OTei for the same psragrai^ Mid that
at the rale of a penny-halfpeonr, not, aa bit name
would implyi a penny pei lin& A penoy<-a-JiMr may
therefore, it i« erident, i^iwi stich oeeasioaa U a ' good
fire ' or a ' good murder ' — both common [dirase* with
the craft— make a tnocfa more pvo&tabie week'i work
than the regular-salaried reporter can hope Ear. We
hare known inituices in which from L^O to I^AO have
bean dfued by a penny-a-liner in a single week. But
in general, the bfoltaerhood are terribly inqmndent.
They spend tbeir nuney aa HM, or fhttar, tiutnthey
make ih and M^dom or HTer have aDylMag laid by for
tha 4«et, and, to ttiem, UDlMkyi iolerrals when no
poUlkal agitatlim caose* gMd cr«pf of meeUng^ and
when tiieie happen* to be aluppydearlli of socldmti
and o^acei. Than cmne the times for fUbricated
ioteUigeooe.i laqBaatairanreported' wfaloh are nf*«r
hsU, aadna^hmrlMtodsMe'auiig'iiita astateof the
utroaat alatm and emtt^meBt' by odMbophM wMch
no ow Jmt ihe peany-A-lintBhlmaelf «ver dreamt of.
We tememher>M[' WaUcy pabUqly atatiiq; tbat upwards
of-a doaen inqoMto itva r^wted in one day at bar-
iag b^n pUw aMkr:lii« presideiwj', not <m« of which
he entt h^J ' Hb* etmslon which elicited this state-
ment wu) a remarkabla one. The snicide of a young
girl, who bad beensednced and abandoned wiUi her
child, wu tepoHcd, and adoToed with so many touch-
ing and reaMy romantic circomttanoes, that public
curiosity and sympathy were strongly excited. We
well rememlMr, on the ni^t when tlie ioteUigence was
banded io-"in ' flimiy ' of course — to a daily paper,
bearing tbs aab-editar — a gentleman, by the way,
well known to the readers of this Joamal — ex-
claim. In dlHaion to one of the letters givan. ' See,
them i« perfectly tonching and human patho*: not
Uie greatest master of fictvm who ever lired conld have
struck off aaytbiag half ao eiquisiee in its tinple
truth to natnre as the itt-written letter of this poor,
UBBJileattd gicL' la two m three day* the whole itoiy
llMae fabricated stories are sddom or nei-er the inTea-
tion of ttwlr concocton : they are umply mpied tittn
some forgotten file of newspapera, or some obabote colo-
nial journal, and adapted to London life and cnitnnn.
Of course erery effort is mode t^ the condncton of
joamals to prevent their being duped hi this manner,
but they cannot always help tbemselTes. They biTt
no hold over the penny-a-liners bnt by n'stemati-
cally rejecting their comnninicationa ; and If a fellow
who has been detected in a fraud finds his copy ' ta-
booed,' he either makes an arrangement with ' * *
for the use of his name, or starta a new appe~
together, under which he either mokes a new
or remain* In an aDdirilom'i^ed poeition nntil tiieoU
ofiSenoe has blown over or been forgotten.
Tlie best ditractnfslia qaaBty of tbs penoy-a-linFn
is their matchless persererance and en^tgj ia' the par-
auit of materials for paragraphs. Does a conflsgrstlea
breakout? — they are in the midst of the flremeo; docs
a remorfcatde crime take place?— tbey tegidarly intUll
themaelves in the locali^ t often they ontiTODber the
gninp of indiTiduols which (bnns the '
reapectattle meeting' tiiey report fiauway
wttori them rich harreats. They And ont .
snidde in a way little short of miracukma ; and hardh
a day posses which does not yield tliem a ' rcmatkabh
coiocldeooe' or an ' extraordinary catastrophe.' Ait
ther, the penny-a-liners are about the most ' '
paid, the moat hBrd-workiog, and the mart
living aet of indtvidoHli in her Majesty'
We have loitered at some length over the reporlii^
department, which is. in sooth, one of the mdart intemt-
ing connected with a daily paper, and we most JLafmhk
the foreign correspondents witli a hastier notice. 'Oor
readers con well undersfand that theirs is a departMCst
whiofa has of lata been quite tuned apride down. In
the old peaceful days, Paris, Madrid, L^bon, and Angs-
bnrg, wen Uie principal ports of continental conespoa-
dence. Now-a-dsys, of course, a newspaper mist nsvt
its agents swarming over Europe team tlw BoUie to the
Mediterranean, from the Kiy of Biscay to Ibt Sea at
Aiof. The duties rf a Parisian corresnndsit, the
grand centre (o wMch tite otiters were alwiTi fnbsi-
diary, were tf a kind requiring watcMhlnCTs latbet
than hard work. Paris, at tbe centre »M
point of continental poUlica, was constantly
theswlden seat of unexpected news, wblclii
duty Kit the correspondent instant^ to fbrwsMi cAs V
special cburier or pigeon - express to ZiOndaa. H*
rontiae of doty was by no meana opprcodte. Itaeoi-
cootiOB of a short summary of the news of tHq day; U
extraction of copious tranjatioD* of the oiMiuiigiaq^Ht^'
fniniibed in tbe Mendly page* of 'GBlignant';' «^T<r-
"■ — - - -it to the flsrtou da A^m Btnmstra, or tM
"^
right way of going to work. This genenllf ftrawltti
day's routine of duty. The real presetire of file wi'*^'
however, lay in the extreme wotchfubiea req,iitte^
the constant lialnfity Of the cortespondent to be a
Qpon to decide whether snch and inch an itmilqf i^
ligence, aa it tranapired, was or was not '"
expense of a special conrier or a flight of
London. Now-a-daya, of course,
Bupetseded by the railwayi, nni:
over one part of the Journey at a!
trie telegraph. Nor will tho moal
doily newqiapera toil to pensei
copious is the letter of the Parts
used to l>e. Of the many in Frai
revolution, none have more cans
own correapondent.' The 'war" i
new class, which hai of course ria
of tlie times. More than one ol
ever, who are now enlightening th
the chances and changes of the I
wars, have seen hot work in the
Sp^, and have bad a fbw tab
■a.JJ
mUm.
■ > I fc
>JUd-
CHAMBEBSnS EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
89
H
I
from being shot or hung as spiet. Indeed not Uler
(hm kst fomnier» a friend of ours, who was in the
thick of the first Schleswig-Holstein dispfate, found
himself placed, by the arrest of a courier whom he had
despatdied, in an extremely awkward situation, from
whush he onlj esoi^fwd by a most liberal expenditure of
horse flesh, and by ultimately seizing the open boat of
a fishennan, in which he crossed the little Belt, and at
last contriTed to oonoeal himself in Copenhagen. It is
quite evident, then, thai the sitnaftion of a correspond
dent at the seat of war ia by no means suited to tiK)se
gentlemen of England who love safety and ease. Ade-
quately to perform the duties of the post, a man must
he a thorough linguist, even to the extent of under-
standing the patois of the district in which he is placed.
He ssust poMOss, moreorer, a good and plausible ad-
dress, be a man of enterprise and resource, one who can
code his own dinner, and make a comfortable biyouao
on the lee side of a tree; Above all, be must have the
pen of a ready wrUer, and have enough of nenre, with-
out needlessly or recklessly exposing himself to danger,
to make up his despatches eooUy and colleotedly, even
should a stray riiot occasionally make its appearance in
his vicinity. Good folks who do not like sleeping ottt
of their own beds, who wink at the crack of a pistol,
and who catch colds in thorough drafts, had better not
undertake to wriAe a contemporary histoiy of a war.
We have now come to the editorial department of
the liondoa dally journal. By the editorial, however,
is hy no nwans to he un^erstiood the leader-writing de-
paitmeot : we speak of the actual working vinkle edi-
tors, in respect to the leader-writing corps» the strictest
aecNcy is, as we have said, preserved. If its members
ever. come to the oifice, they do not come officially; and
though their business may be guessed at, it is neyer
atpwed. Tiie actual acknowledged editorial body gene-
rally eonsists of a sub*e4it(Nr and his assistant, a foreign
editor ; sometimes, but jot jslways, a business-editor, as
we may call hin^ whose fuu|^ns are half literary, half
commerdal ) ana an ^ife9i«|i&-chief, who represents the
proprietors, and keeps a ji^hful ^e over aU the de-
partments, and whose exwQUtiye power is despotic The
moo^-article writer has an establie^ent of his own in
the (Htjr And genewy woda the reauU ef his labours
every evening.
liet ua begin with the two pub^ditess.^ They are at
thetf posts by eight or fune o*doc](^ e-H., and the labours
of one of them at least do not cease until lour o'clock next
moBTung. To their ca^ is confided the mass of penny*
a-Uae matter, from which tl^y select what ia conUidered
as of interest or importaDoe— often abridging or gram-
'*ir^^^"C it, as the case may require* Tb^ have fro^
qpentW^ to attend to the Uteranr and political corref^pond-
9Qfi» cithi^ paper, picking out from the mass of ' Content
^ttbderii ' and * K^gul^ Subscribers ' those lucubrations
mmck^iif&Bm worthy of the notice of the editor-i^-clu^*
Xo them is also confided the task of looking oyer the
multitudes of provincial papers which every day arrive,
ai^ extracting from them all the^ragraphs which may
af^ear. to deserve the honour. The principal sub-edi-
tor is also in. continued and close correspondence with
the priotei^s room, firom which he receives regular bul-
l^tinf of the amount of matter * set up,' and of the space
which remains to be filled. In many d the London
papers the rule is, that every line which is printed, must
go throQ^h the hands of the suh- editor. He is thus
eofJUed to preserve a general idea of the hourly pro-
gfcaa of the newspaper towards completion. Another
part of the suVs duty is a general supervision of the
jqpotlem' rpom. In case of any failure ia this part of
the ^uty, occasioned perhaps by sudden illness, he puts
himaeUin correspondence wl^ another paper^ so as to
obtain die meuis of .suppling the gap. He grants in-
tmrriews to the less important clas^ of business visitors i
miUbea the minor arrao^f^ments for having public meet-
iogai^ diuneis, and ^ lortht reported » has an eye, in
imc^ to ^^cxy departinent save tluit of the 'leaders;*
and Daises A life of constant hurrv and responsibility.
the nugor part of his duties oonsistihg of a hundred
little odd j(A)s, trifling in themselves, but upon his inde-
fatigable and energetic atlration to which the character
of a newspaper greatly depends;
The duties of the ibreign editor will be obvious from
his title. He perfbrms for fbreign idtelligenee what the
sub-editor does for heme news. He receives MA ar-^
rangn foreign expresses, summarises the intelligence
contained in them, and hm frequently w gveafi ddcd' of
hard translating work upon hia shonlderSi Of course
the foreign editor must be an accomplished linguiBt.
We have reserved the editor4n^^ief uitil the last
His is a sitnataon of great power, and< consequently of
great responsibility. To him all matters of doubt an^ng
in the inferior departments are referred. The sub-editor
is his aide-de-camp, who brings him information of
what everybody is doing, and how everybody is doing
it Printed slips of everything reckoned important in
the paper are from time to time laid before him. He
mahies aU the anaogements of magnitude; respecting
iht engagement of correspondents, reporters, &a and
gives audiences to those whose business is of great im-
portance^ or who, finom their situation in public or pri-
vate life, cannot well be handed over to a subordinate.
The peculiar department of the editor-in-chief is, how-
ever, that of the leading articles. He may either write
himself or not In general an editor has ^enty to do
without the oompoeitton of brilliant or pnmrand politi-
cal essays. But he probably suggests subjects to his
writers, hinta at the tone to be adopted, careful re-
vises the leaders when written, and geaeraHy takes care
to communicate to the whole exeottive the pecfCdiar
views as to business or polHieB entertained ^ the "un^
seen proprietary body whom lie represents. The editor^
ii¥-chief usually transacts business in the offioe in t^
course of the afternoon. He makes his appearance
again about ten o^ock or eleven o'doek p.m^ and fre-
quently remains until the paper is actually -published,
about five o'clock in the meaning.
We have now set before our readers a tolerably full
aoooont of the constituent parts of tbe ms«hinery of a
London newspaper. It only remains that we briefly
dash off a sketdi of the machine as it appears in its
usual rapid motion^ Nearly all day long the esti^lish-
meut is almost deserted ; only the clerics in tte oount-
ing-houm ply th^ tasks, and receive and register the
advertisements. At four o'clock or 89 a oouple of the
editors arrival the letters which' may have been re-
ceiTed are opened and run over; arrangements for
*]eaderfl' for next day^ne probably made and commu-
nicated to the write^i thereof^ and such communica-
tions from mgabr or casual conrespondents as may be
selected from the mms are-jsent up* to the printer's
room, in readiness fbrthe oompositcRn when they arrive.
By seven oUock p.m. the woric is begianiiiig in earnest
Three or^ur parliamentary jrepertets hsnre already set-
to at Uieir deska» jsnd tli« potion are laying huge
masses of * flimsy 'and packets, from th^ oomstry upon
the sub-editors' tables* . Meaowhile the eomposttors
above have also oommenoed operatkmsv By ten o'clock
the work is in full awing. Perhaps a* dozeu columns
of pariiamentary debate have been written > the sub-
editors are actively engaged in preparing fdr the printer
the occasional and pcniBy«>a-line intelligence, and two
or three writers in d^erent parte of London are deep
in * leaders.' Hardly a train now arrives in town which
does not oonvey packets of country news and country
newspi^pers, wet from the press, to the great centre o(
intelUgenoe. * Expresa parcels' from abroad drop in,
and are submitted to the foreign editor. All the office
is one blaze of light and activity. By midnight the
great mass of intelligence haa arrived. The porters
carry away from the subi^ditorial rooms basketfuls of
rejected contributions : the master-printer reports as to
the length of * matter ' in his* hands; the editor-in-chief
communicates with the sub, and finds that everything
is working smoothly. The reporters are still at it might
and main. Perhaps tiie House of Commons does not
90
CHAMBERSnS ED1KB0BGH JOUBNAL.
rifle nntil two o'clock, to every quarter of in hour sets
a fresh hand to work. Aa throe o'clock approaehet,
the master-printer gets nerrons, and begins to think of
the early trains : the gentlemen of the gallery are ^-
rected to cnt down at all hazards, and close np their
reports : the last selection is made of the ' matter '
which mnst be flnog orer either nntil next day, or
entirely. Shortly after three the outside half of the
sheet is at press, for the machine*men have been get-
ting np ^e steam on the engine for the last oonple of
hours: the last touches are hurriedly given to the
* leaders ' and the * latest intelligence;' and by half after
five o'dock, fast express-carte are flying with the reek-
ing sheete to the terminus of every railway, to be scat-
tered over Britain as fast as panung steam can carry
theml
GBANDHAMMA.
Thzbs are no real old grandmammifl now; the race has
gone out. All old ladies of the present time have smart
caps with flowers, lace cdlars, and bracelete { but the
grandmamma whom I remember wore a mourning dress,
a white handkerchief pinned in folds over her bosom, a-
black crape hood, dear white apron, and low-cat velvet
shoes. Her out-door costume was a mode bonnet and
doak trimmed with bear-skin, with the addition, in
winter, of a muff and tippet of the same frightftil fur ;
and in walking, she leant on a gold -headed cane.
What a delight it was to visit her as a child! the
awful mysterious feeling of seeing the flngers of the
dock poUiting to ten at night, and we not in bed t the
breakfast of cotke and muffins, the drinking tea in the
parlour, and the absence of lessons, all united to make a
visit to grandmamma the happiest event of childhood.
The dodc above-mentioned was the wonder of my
young life : at the moment the hour struck, a smful
door flew open, and out burst a little wooden bird, call-
ing * Cuckoo — ouckoo f until the striking ceased, when
tlie door shut as suddenly as it had opened, and the
dodc ticked on as quietly as if nothing had happened.
When dder, I took great delight in hearing '-stories of
her youth ; and as her reminiscences extended over
seventy-flve years, and she was blessed with a most
retentive memory, her tales were like dipping into an
old magazine, beginning at the year 1745.
She remembered the Kebellion perfectly ; and how
the rebels stole the tongue of the chapel bell near
her father's house to mdt for bullete. She had danced
at George E[I.'s coronation ball *, and because the hair-
dresser was in great demand, each lady's head requir-
ing two hours to dress, hers was done over-night, and
she was propped up in bed for fear of disarrang^g
the fabric. The town near which she lived was re-
markable for ite attochment to the Stuarts, and many
of ite inhabitante joined the ill-fated expedition that
terminated so disastrously at Culloden. In the bar-
barous spirit of the times, when law was terror, and
punishment vengeance, the heads of several ringleaders
were impaled on the Exdiange of their native town,
and amongst the rest the two sons of an eminent phy-
sidan residing there. She said it was a touching nght
to see the white-haired, venerable father, as long as
he lived, take off his hat, regardless of the weather,
and remain uncovered whenever he came in sight of
the ghastly remains that had once been so dear to him.
To this day, when any of the Stanleys pass through
Church Gate in Bolton, they uncover their heads in
respect to the memoir of James, seventh Earl of
Derby, who was beheaded there in 165 L Another of
the so-called rebds, who, if on the winning side, would
have been lauded as patriots, had a mouniful and ro-
mantic story attached to his name, which was after^
wards cdebrated by Shenstone in one of his most
admired ballads. The lady to whom he was engaged,
anxious to testifr her attadiment, even to the last
moment c^ his life, insisted upon aooompanying him to
the Bcafldd ; but the devoted heart ooold bear no moR;
she expired before the awfiil ceremony was ooodndad.
In grandmamma's young days fismale eduoatioD, with
Cbw exceptions, was limited to little more tlian read-
ing, writing, cooking, and needlework. Sbe atteaded a
schod, where a profbsaimial cook inatracted yooof
ladies in the mysteries of roasting and boOiBg, psstiy
and confectionary. She said one of her aisten wis
looked upon as a learned lady, becaose she midentood
a little of astronomy ; accuracy in apeUing waa qaite
unnecessary, indeed was a little pedantic I Ba^eet
her marriage had not been a very bi^py one, tiv^
she never said so. Her husband intended to ofl^ Im
hand to her sister, and going to her house for the pv-
pose, to his grief and astonishment found that she hsi
jutt expired. It seems he was bent upoo aUying him-
self with the family, for after a time, he prapoaed to tltt
other sister, some years older, who accepted him, sad
they were marri^. The death of the yovng sister wsi
commemorated fai a ring whidi she wore : the flgon
of a lady, about a quarter of an inch long; worked ia
hair leaning upon an urn, overshadowed bj a we^iag
willow. She had a number of rings of this kind, aad
always wore them, except after the reoeoi death of any
of her relatives, when she took them oK, that beiaghar
sign of deeper mourning than usuaL She omdd taKse
the rise and progress of most families aroond her; for, be
it remembered, she lived in a mannfaetniBg ^akiki ;
knew the Ute Sir Robert Ped when he bfoo^ milk to
market, with a great milk-can on each aide hia hoTM.
Whoever waa mentioned, her general xemaik was,
* I knew his or her mother before she was nMRied.'
She had a variety of old-faahioned lerma for draa,
such as we find in comedies of the laat oentiiry ; aad
spoke of how well her wedding-dreaa, a peach-ooloared
satin saque, became her, and how exquisitely Ae cai-
broidered her aprons and ruffles. A child'a dreM she
always called a * gam,' and her babiea wore fro(to of
Irish linen.
One favourite amusement was cleaning her plat& She
allowed us to bring out what we liked, smear it with
whiting, and rub it as long as we pleased. Wlnft clfcel
our rubbing had I have forgotten ; probably mere plsa-
sure to us than benefit to the silver. Oar Tlails to her
occurred at all festivals connected with good Hdngl ts
eat : Christmas had its minced-ples ; Shre^ elide its
pancakes ; Easter ite heavy- spiced carrant-duuiplBgBi
called Easter-bafls, of which there were ahraya as
as she had been years married ; Whitsuntide ~
the Sunday schools' treat ; and Augnst the
which was tiie annual gatiiering of ruahea. Id ateew tte
aisles of the village diurch, and keep it wans dvftit
the winter. The rushes were most artistkseUj pilei4B
a cart in the form of a haystack. The l^oot waa cufued
with a white doth, and adorned with silver taiterds,
cream jugs, spoons, arranged in patterns; and whatever
could be borrowed in tSe way of plate, whldi was
always cheerf\illy lent These were inteiauctsed wilh
flowers, and always a large G. R. In mangolda,
flowers, or hollyhocks: dahlias were unknown,
cart was drawn by four, and sometimes six fine
adorned with ribbons and bells, that jingled
they walked. A dozen young men and women,
ing with ribbons and waving handkerdliiefa,
the rush-cart, dancing the morris-dcnoe.
the shepherdess (with a lamb in a basket) can ring •
crook, a bower hatne over her head, and lavariaMy two
watohes at her side: there was the fool,
figure in a horrid mask, with onions fbr
labouring the crowd with an inflated bladder at
end of a pole. It was a point of honour to appei
amused with his antics, but many a litHe heart
under ite assumed bravery. The prooeaakai wa
by two gariands, carried aloft, of cdoured paper, eift
into fandfbl devices ; and at the doae of tne ^ty Ifee
rush-cart was taken to pieces, tiie nnhea sIreweJ ia
the church, and the gariands hung in the chancel, to
remahi until replaced by new ooet die fUhratog
ij
•I
tj
I
■I
/■■rt»
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
91
Tbe second penon in my affections was a senrant of
grandmamma's, *a yomig person rather superior to her
■tation« who, I remember, told me the whole tale of
'Cecilia,* and of an old novel called * Santo Sebastiano*'
besides setting my hair on end with the black velyet pall
that moyed in the marchioness* chamber in the * Mys-
teries of Uddpho.' How I have dived down under the
bedclothes, and stayed there curled up in a ball, after she
took my candle away at night 1 Her stories were some-
times interrupted by a low whistle at the badc-door,
▼hereupon Betsy was immediately under the necessity
of fetching coals for the parlour, and was so long about
it, my patience was sorely tried. I am ashamed to say
the family prayers were a positive nuisance to me. It
was too hvd to be taken off firom Yalancourt and
£mily in an arbour, or just when Delvile and Cecilia
wa« being married, and the deep voice firom behind a
pillar forbidding the ceremony. To be carried off at
any such crisis to prayers was a triaL I can see now
tbe pattern of the horse-hair cover on the seat of the
old-£Ksh]oned chair to which I knelt, and can almost
feel its pricking on my bare arms, or it might be my
dieek, when I could hold up no longer. Time went on :
Betsy sought the fate of too many of her class— mar*
ried, contended for years against pov^ty, children, and
an idle husband, sunk und^ it, and died. Her mistress
attained fourscore years, and ceased to live rather than
died. Her lamp of life had burnt so feebly, it was
searoely perceptible when finally extinguished. Tiooklng
baek, tiie happiness of my youUi is associated with her;
looking fimrtfd, I have comfort and satisfaction in Uie
b<^ Qdf rejoining dear grandmamma.
TEMPERAMENT OF GENIUa
Tbx calamities of men of genius form an interesting
portion of literary history, which has been well exphiii
by D'Isradi ; but the greater part of their unhappiness
is perhaps the result of a nervous temperament m more
than usual ezcitalrility, occasioning a degree of mental
safiering apparently quite disproportioned to its circum-
stantial cause. Thus ihe * divine Michael Angelo ' was
never satisfied, but sometimes enraged with hU works ;
and if there appeared to his fastidious eyes any imper-
fieofcion in the {Heoe he was engaged upon, he would
cast it aside in disgust, to be commenced anew, or never
ittsumed again. Would we at all times behold the poet
most skilled to charm, we would often see him in his
solitude bewailing the want of language sufficiently
vivid to convey the glowing imagery of his fancy.
Racine speaks of the disappointment which he felt in
reading over in the morning what he had written the
aigfal befbre. What he had then thought good, he
feaeied should have been much better, and he felt dis-
eouraged and ^iuatisfied. Petrarch describes Uhe
feint-heartedness ' which so frequently came over him,
la an account which he has given of an interview which
he bad with John of Florence, to whom he fled for
eorafort and advice while labouring under this depres-
sbn. He thought of relinquishing the pursuit of litera-
ture altogether. After acknowledging in most pathetic
terms all he owed of encouragement to the kind father,
he bewails his want of power :— ' I flattered mjrself that
assiduous labour would lead to something great; but
I know not how, when I thought myse& highest, I
fbel myself fsllen — ^the spring of my mind has dried up—
what seemed easy once, now appears to me above my
strength ; I stumble at every step, and am ready to sink
for cvo into despair.' Rousseau became so doubtful of
the value of the system of education laid down in his
*£nailei,* that after its publication he could not bear to
read a line of it
The lamentations of the successful over the fruit of
their labours would make a very interesting chapter.
We find the great Newton making his own estimate
of his success in his pursuit of science in words which
were spoken to the friends about him when he was
dying: — *I do not know what I may appear to the
world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a
boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in
now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier
shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth, lay
all undiscovered before me.' Even tiie patient and
laborious Johnson poured his lamentation over the
great work which he had just completed, and thus
proved that melancholy feelings greatly predominated
over those of pleasure and exultation. ' in the gloom
of solitude,' he says, *I have protracted my work till
those whom I have wished to please have sunk into the
grave, and success and miscarriage are empty sounds.'
The most pitiable of the sufferings to which men of
genius are liable, is that deep melancholy into which so
many among tiiem have been known to fall — a calamity
the more deplorable, because its cause cannot be ex-
plained, nor its cure be effected by human means.
Cowper, who spoke £rom sad experience, and touched
upon the subject in the most afiiacting manner, says—
* No woimdfl like those a wounded spirit feels ;
No evae for snoh, till God, who makes them, heals.'
This melancholy, having its source in extreme sensi-
bility, may probably be fostered by the pursuit of those
arts where great tenderness of feeUng is required. Even
in his earliest childhood Mozart gave indications of that
deep sensibility for which he was so remarkable during
his short life. Naturally of a fh^e constitution, his
intense devotion to his pursuit was too much for his
physical powers, and his declining health and saddened
spirits caused his wife and friends the deepest anxiety.
All their attempts to induce him to abiiain from it
were unavailing ; and often, while wrapped in his ex-
quisite compositions, a sudden faintness — the effect alike
of bodily weakness and intense sensibility — ^has come
over him, and he has swooned away. But still, gentie
and complying, to gratify his wife, he would walk by
her side, or he would accompany her in her visits,
though all the while he would remain sad and ab-
stracted.
The tender melancholy which we feel in contemplat-
ing a pathetic scene wrought out by the hand of genius,
or in listening to a mournfiil strain which it has in-
spired, is so pleasing, that we would not wish to forego
it Some portion df the pleasure may arise from the
sympathy which we are conscious of feeling with the
genius who has given so much power to art ; but there
are many of the works of the gifted produced under
fedings and circumstances totaUy at variance with the
sentiments they inspire, and with our notions of the
frame of mind in which they were undertaken and
finished. Who could suppose uiat the tale of * Rasselas,
Prince of Abyssinia,' so remarkable for the elegance
and calm and lofty dignity of its style, was written in
erne week (and never revised), in aU the hurry and
agitation of an affectionate son impatient to attend his
dying mother, and to carry with him the means of de-
fraying tiie expenses of her burial? The power whidi
many among the unfortunate have had of difihsing
mirth which they cannot feel, is perhaps one of the
most wonderful achievements of genius. Many a tear
has fallen on pages written to make us smile. It has
been wdl obsorvid by B'Israeli, who said everything
well, that those who make the world laugh often them-
selves laugh least. In speaking of Smollett, whose
works have contributed more to entertain than any we
can tiiink of, he says :-^' His life was a succession of
struggles and disappointments, yet of success in his
writings.' This great genius, so admired, had not suffi-
cient means firom his scanty remunerations to enable
him to try the effect of change of air, which had been
recommended for his impaired state of health. The
daughter who had been the object of his Ibndest affec-
tion died. It wrung his heart to think that his wife
had to share the privations which he endured. 'It
was in want, in sickness, and in sorrow,' that he wrote
'Humphrey Clinker,' that most amusing book. Who
could suppose that Barton, the author of the ' Anatomy
■ ^ ■ l»l1 ■ 1
92
0HAMB£BS*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
of Melaacholjr'^^^a work 00 replete witii vqt And learn*
in^— was liaUe to fttaof 4eep depretaion ; Uiat he who
was the life of etery cenit)atijr into whioU -he eiitered-<^
who eovld roakd the dullest merry^^was himicdf, whea
out of soon^, 'mute 0Ad mopish? * * That raaq is soad,
or reading. Don Qnisote** observed a g^^tleman wh«
passed ift a|mbUc walk another who held a yohune in his
iMttid, and as he waa inteni v^n ite peges* was almost
aeDTolsed with lanshteci Thegentlemanjlole a glanoe :
it was indeed thaiiniaiitable romance^ which ranks as
a daasio ineTeryjconatvjr to which literature' has foui)4
its #ajr*-^^e adooirabie satire whioli was written within
the waNa of a priacm duriofr the cap<dn^ of Cervantes.
In. the portraits, of MeUo^re, the fUte oeuntenanee is
impeessed with' a teader nselanehelj iadicatlve of his
dispariibion. In a satiricai comedy written to kidionle
htm, he is eaUcd Jl^ioUin IfypocbntdrU; yet he waa^ the
firat of' oonric' writers ' Hia eenstitntioMl penaiveoess
annmudh increased hy the nnhappljr fate which he made
fopMaoasIf : he chose^for hiawife one ill fitted to be the
oempamidn of one of 0e< laueh aennbiUty. The diapanty
df their years was not tJie sale cause of the uasuitahilitDr
ef -the union. The diflRsreace was indeed soffleieni to
aoeobnt for a dissidiihwity of taste, for she was but six-
teen 'When ' he was ,f6irty. He waa domestic \ Mid noft*-
withatinding thepensiyeneiB which wasDatural to him,
be could badeUghtfalfyiileBsant in Uie social cirde of
home \ bnt in ■ company he was leserrcd and silent. His
youn^ wii^ nrolatile and gay, aoon showed a leye for
company and ftr adnlratiofi. Molidre^ agponlaed by her
coquetry, beomne 0 prey to the mast poignant jeakuqr,
whioh embittered his cicistence. Notwithstanding tiie
itidlfferetiee with which she logarded him, be was paa*
fionaiely attached to her. She waa beautiftd and
tMgagiHg, and when in her company, she engrossed aH
hi# mouJBfhts ^nd looke. When driyen Arom^ her pre-
lenee by her leVtty and coquetry, he pined to ba with
h«>r again. It was under suoh ^inga that he wrote
Ilia tnatdbteM comedies) and it is said tb«tthe jealoos
aufi^ring^ whieh' he }fai soi ancoesaAiUy depicted were
an drtiwn aftdr hir own.
The pleaewe diffused bythe cempoaltioM of men' of
genius !s often an atf^trtitig contrast to their feelings
and situationv. Poor Hehry Oarcy'was conaidered one
of the moM Micce^ul of writera in that Hght and gay
atyle that Is no ^nlftenlbg to society. He heard his
songs wheiefTer he Went t they were Mmg at every
donrlvhil meeiihg-^hey^ were rapturotialy^ encored in
crowded theatitea^-they Were heard tn every street, but
thMr pdor auttior waa ao utterly destitute and broken-
hearted; that his mhid gave way, and in a moment of
frantic despair he put an end to hia ekiatfence. One
halfpenny waa found in hit pO(iket^-^tl he had poa-
seased 1 Thus peHshed the man to whose humanity
the eatabllshtnent of a ftrt^d for de6aved musiciana is
owing.* 'It' has ^^n' l»ippen<M mt the auccesa
which ia alwaya certain to attend the eflbrta of genius
came ioo Ikte, trhett he Wh6 languirtied fbr it was
in cfreumatattc^a '*to trtiikb it more a subject for
melaocholy niuaing thin e^uHation. We hare an
affectitig e^campte of'ihia in the account of poor Tobln
the dramatiat Worn out %f carca and difficulties, he
fdl into a cansumption, am) waa ordered to a warmer
cflm^e. He was on the eve of saSing from Bristol
for the West Indiea, when he received &e tinexpected
intelligence of the complete auccesa of hia comedy of
^ The Roneymooo.' It had been for such a length
of time in tlic handa of the manager, that he had
^ven it up aa lost, and had long ceaaed to think of
It. It 'liad been accidentally found and brought out, to
tneet with the most unbottnded applause! Tobin aailed,
hoping to return with renovated health to reap the ad-
vantage of his i?ood fortune. The weather became tem-
pesiu6U8, and the veasel waa driven into Cork harbour ;
while in the meantime the comedy waa acted every
night to crowded houaea. But. the author?— he lay
dead in the 6abln pf the ahip !
Thi^ atrutggle of genius with adverse qi^iuuatancee
ia a mdancholy theme. In giving it a passing thought,
we cannot forget CoUina — ^tiiat gifted poet, so neglected
In life, so priied in death : of whom Johnson thongbt
it not tqo mudi to say, * The genius of Collins was a-
pable of everj^ degree of excellenoe in lyric poetry, and
perfectly qualified for that high province of the mose.
Foss^Med of a native ear for all the varietiea of har-
mony and modulation ; susceptible of the fineat feeUafa
of tenderness and humanity ; but, above all, osrried
awiQT by the high enthusiaam whidi gives to imsgina-
tioB its atrongi^t oolouring, he was at onos caaaUe of
soothing the ear with the, melody of bi« numbeti^ of
influencing the passions by the foroa of bia pathos, aad
of gratifying the fancy by the luxury of his descrip-
tions.* All who are familiar with the poet^ of CoUibi
will subscribe to the justice of this tribute. Tet,
eminenUy giiled as he was, his ihte was anch * as must
be mourned tiU Pil^*a. self be ^bad.* His «xti«iBe sen-
sibiUty bcought en that mehmoholy etaite to whieb Y«
have remariDsd the imaginative are so liable. Johnaoa
ascribed this ia OolHns te a deficiency m the Tttsl,
and not in the intelleelaal powersu Ha siiiihlhat
nothing like alienatian of mind waa pevoei^ad 1^^ Ihs
friends^ though he hiaasetf was hannled by Ihe idea
that auch was hia malady. lo the midil of ooanraisa-
tion, the eurrent of hia tnentsl powecs-waa oiten inter-
n^Hed by extreme exhaustaon, whidi woaikl ohUfai him
to break efi* auddcnly, and throw himssif aai tiie eaibh
till their energies revived^ Tliia may have bean, the
ooaamencement of the mnaettiing of his mind; far thaae
can be no doubt that his own feara were bak tee vsH
founded, for he was Ibr aorae time the i— late of a
lunatic asyhnn. His poetry ia a aaffioient evidoKt of
his deep sensibility4 It was mdioated, too, by the power
ful manner in which music afieoted him. In Ins last
days, when in -his natiVe city of Ohiohester, he woaM
pass days and nights in wandarang throat the a&sbs
of the cathedral When 1^ <flieiiiterB joined ia the
anthem, it was too mnoh for the aeiisitrvc peet; he lost
all control over his excited imagtnatioo, and aiwieked
and groaned aloud, prodnomg aaeflEbct upon Ids UadMd
and friends which cannot be daenbed. Tbk eald ie-
eeption with whioh hii poetry had net w«a the corvod*
ing disappointment which pi«ytd iqpen hia tahiA, and
eompletdy upset it. Reduced to the gveataat want» moi
frantic with despair, he had retomed to hU aative dHy
« lo hide himself in the attna of -a aliter.' Crihas
had hie Incld intervalst U was dating «ae anak thst
Warton met him. He obeerved him deeply
iu the book whieh he was reading, and f<^ a,
to find out what volume so nmch inteieatol 4tK lilfr>
rary man. An opportunil^ oflfered, and be kmked Ms
it : it was an English Testament « I teve ^«t mt
book,' said Collins ; *but that is the bee
can be no doubt that he found hi thai tMok the
eolation of whii;di he stood so uMich in -need % ft
hfa constant studr during hia last iflQeea. Theviear
of St Andtews, Chichester, in speaki^ <^ bin to Or
Warton, said—* I was walking in my'tiearial
one Sunday evening during CblUna* heat iBneaa : J[
a female ^the servant I supposed-reading Ibe
his chamber. Mr Collins had been accmrtomed to iKire
much, and make great meanings ; but irhBe the
reading, or rather attempting to read, he Waa nofr
silent, out attentive likewise^ correctbig ^ler
which indeed were very frequent* FhunnatiV
monument to Collins commemorates in the moll
ing manner the comfbrt which the stricken yM
in the Gospel He is represented in a redining pea
the Bible is open before him ; the pladd and tneififB
expression of the whole aspect discloses at onoei^^ote*
Bolation which he ibund ; his lyre, and the * CKte tmfb»
Passions,* as a scroll, lie neglected on ^ ground: /la
relief on the pediment are two female flguieay
seuting Love and Pity, entwined in each otho^s
In this hurried sketch, nhich our limits
permit we have passed over the sotrowa of mtMj til
tl)ose gifted ones on who^e honoured i^mea we iboald
'I
1
!i
.1
I'
).
I.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOUBNAL*
93
hare loTed to dwdl. We hare left mmotleed many an
eariy grare, decked bj the lanrelA which efaoold have
graced the Uring' brow of Uie poet The mthject on which
we hare imperfectly and hastily tondied ia indeed one
of ivrpoasing interest, and leadft to telntary i^eetion.
The worka of genloa are more jtistly estlttiated -vi^ieii
we remember «t what a cost they are ours. The lot of
the dbscore, though it.aflbtd hut the enut easmed by
daily labotir to appease hunger, anid the romilng atream
to slake the thirst, ap/peata less grieyOus if it be fdt'tO
be free firom the reapotisibUitiea, the eai^ and^ disap^
poiotmenta, which hare marked the careers ef many
amcHig the most gifted * the irorld e\!r saw/
m, . ■ - .1 i' I ■ i' ■ I II
A rEW.\^^EEKS AT CAtTTEKETS, .
AMONG THE PYRENEES.
Wa wtre now to proceed io the sironger sulphuric waters
of Canterdts, ah^at f<»rty good acdles from Pav, ^ iikt
6ftTe, nearly the whc^ mtny lit asouth^'eastaify diiectiaaok
Our first rest was at D'Estella, a curious old TiBage at-
tanked to the church of BsttevAm^idiere' we had been
before with some friends -on a skstohiag .expedition; a
picturesque remnant ef a moliaatcry, now used as & sort
of eoHege fbr the education of joung pnestSyand a bddge
near it, OTei|frew» with ivy,fillixtf ^ taiyi pretty fore-
ground in tkia mountain acenoi *]&e' dme was a reiy
eniayahle one, 'through 'a oonntiy abeiMiding in idUages,
situated' among rich fields, and shelteied by Ibmstotrefis.
The toad foltowed the ooutse of the mer, t^ tho' aULa oi
■leadaws of emerald green, with tht'eter^aiying Pyrenees
in the distance. We passed maay coantry^^ouaes, in
any e£ adiich I should haxo beeq quite odatent to liave
beenaet down for life; and weahnost enTled an Ameticaa
gentleman the possession of quite an English » looking
nlaoe^ on a ffBotle slope^ where he had als^y laid out
his lawn and shrubbeciBS.'
The next jTosfewaa Loucdes» ^Euite a.lai||a town«con«>
tainiaig many exoellei^ houses; a good ploe^, with a tergr
lundsMne fountain, in it;, and a castle-^a fortress of some
xeaown in the. old fimdal times, when it irai the strong-
hold of barons of power, whose, border raids kept t£e
whole ceimtiy round in tenor. It is now ocoupied by a
dctadboiflot of teQ<^, ^is being one of the frontier garrtr
sons, Wehad to pees the toivan to reach it,.totiKrel up
•ne sideband return again down the. opposite side of a
oanew rocky rapine, near the entrance of which l*purdes
is sitaMedfhigh upon a rock of the same sterile character
aa the t»1%« We were glad to leare this rugged neigh-
booriiood, and to find ours^res once mora among woodr
land SOTnery, the beauty of which increased as no jouiv
neyedy till we reached the reiy loyely ^laiu and town-.oif
Aigelei^ whcp^ we rested for the nighty Aa £»r ap
Lonides, i^ country above Pau resembled rery much. the
oountU; belovr Pau towacds. Oleren^ After leaving Lour-
des, the character of the landscape changed entirely, . We
hegm to ascend a valley^ through which the Qive, n9ir
oansidotaUy narrowed* ran rapidly. There were abrupt
weU*w>oded banks, mountaja»-tops rising high around,
oflcoa presenting on some projecting clilf the ruins of an
ancient^^ watch-tower. The wooding was quite of a different
description from what .we o£ a more northei;n latitude
are accustomed to look for in scenes of similar grandeuE.
Chestfiuts, walnuts, acacias, are unlike what we are ujsed
to find ^mong rocks. . Tbere y^eTn oaks, too, but hot our
sturdy oaks, with their short, thick trunk, and bual^
head^aiui knotted extending branches. The oaks In these
parts Are very elm-like in their character. taU, aspiring
trees^ with branches rising gj^acefuUy, and bearing larger
leavea of even darker greei^. Along the valley of Gabas,
the birdi, and the black pine suitea my taste better, har-
monised more with, their surroundings: but we l^au not
yet ascended high enough to meet them here.
Argetez is beautiful. A noble circular plain, another
basin enclosed by mountains, across which streams 0ow,
and through which villages are scattered, with their fields,
and orchards, and sheltering clumps of trees, telling of
plen^ in the wilderness. The little town is hardly
wnrf.liv nF it* nitniLtinn. v<»t tt n.f.f.rn/»f.« lYiAnv rA«i(fAnf.if
thewii^fcMS herehetng ielld,'atid'thetummer heat tem-
pered by the breeae !ftom the^hl^er' iibds. ' Lirhig,
firing, and h^use lentaM all^iMim. 'The plaee it' there-
Ibre well suited ^o thedelidite'of modcMte means, who
are earelese abooi societyr for a Uffe i» thik.vemote tfettle-
ment it one -of eompleCepetlvem^t^ ' The^pMo^Aigelesi
endsai PleiYe Lt^ttey a miaU^illage >at the Ibotof a
preeipioet frem-whieh poinib'theJOad^dlYhiesr' Obehnaach
gees eftup^ the eoureeof M Gii^wtlqroagh a ydrynamow
geige to Lttii f' the ether aii^eiidaithdiinick ahruptiytlo
mount te Oauterdls^ andisoendoMedaHmgrhy the'hed>af
tk torrent ivhlfh eeems to ha/vethrokeba xts iivay threiigh the
rock to meet the Q&to. The aoiaMy i difieip iinlfHde'iro^
othet pastes ef like natuxe aUlthroughitkeie wehidetful
mountains; There aaekaps, aiidj Jdaseades^ stad rapids
in quick auoesstlen allidcng timxeane of IthiaibcdsteReus
water^-^oTOrhangiag 'vodu vabOve;) ateep ptelnpiees below,
ttees of all aovts^atid' sieei^ flower».'b€>eTeoy«hue; and
aasid ti^s wildness a heead^ fittely-^eagiseeredt puUac road
invades the- chaem^-ap. which eilr £tftle< hoiaee trotted
easily. The skilfhlnesB of its' ooDstraction made .ae ven-
der: cot into the faee^of the rock heue,/ built up* with
heavy nasonry there, it ied aa^ hy ihaay kig-xags,dreiarthe
wide fertile plain beh>«; to a i»mk^\txiid»j:puAa.9kan^
ba^ed hy a pine-olad- conical /hiil, eoandithe.ihase^of
adiich, scattered^ along the hanks lefi t^ieftDOBsftt: line! the
village of €auter£te»Hor:towB indieed!;'|or .thitf fiiTmartte
watering* plaoa Oontaiaie many gQ0d.flhQps)iatili1vaT|ri,A
market, andnvmarons houses, allaaeatli) fatnished (or. the
bathers, vdie de not li«e here in iaage pdHifla ai.hetelst
aa tbsy do at Jhe £aux Boaiies> but: primalely in -amall
lodgings (^a|iai9tnients. We drove tot loner of .^e .hotels
at firs^ that ,wejni^t hftwe jtime toi look a lUtle about
«w( andwe entensd^tt through 4he atableerriiofc the sAabl^
rrard^ but ^ atables l-^which , arere i mcieljf na WT ^f^
hmg riied^into whii^wedMve,.aAdJ'OMiidxm each side
of. the passage left for tisitots flioea lOf .poMss etanding
ready saddled hefisia e{>en>maaganw th^ir eimevi^ who act
at guides,. gioa|>edl behind them^.iall waitiii^ to. convey
dftffinrenfa sections of the oompany ^pon their morning ex-
cursions. Our rooms were commrtahlet'but there wa9 no
yiew.lrom aayof thoiwiudoii^ an41o.^«ift^e mi^st of
such scenery, and see none^of it, 4id bo|« satisfy our vagrant
iancies* We therefore, iK)oa^j6wli.our»elvee ^ a. small
house near the rireiw whevoTwe had the ooaicaJL hill rising
up VQ( iiont ef us^eftdthe pwertWI forest within sight
and, iea€^^-the wUd fra©ianceT:Of i^hei loWW l^aof often
waited to us by the breeze, ^atonVififn sonae dfgrfie for the
^rong sulphuric odour hi^ouiM 4owirL iroip the ^ths by
the stream* at timea pp. pqwetfully, jthat,,! fancied I
could alw^p detect ihe,mouiQnt ef a i^atlibeiug emptied.
We had no farther tfoub)e, ivpbni.ti^ui lestapU^hlng^ onrv
seli^M than yrm inoluded^in fipq^ii^ ^f doot of ,01^ Jaew
dwelling,, followed, by ou« lugg^g^ ^d . cimosing each of
us our. chamhefi^. Qur mefils ^ep^^PP^^^^^ ^<p the kotel
at so much per dfty, aiMi,W)^^<^.:Rrouglvt our little boane
^mPi^utowaitpn^ 1, ,1 ,' , v . .
The business of bathing «;as the chief oocupatii^ of the
place, and ve^ regularly pi;oceeded with under, a .super-
mtending pl^siciai^, who fixed tl^e hppi$, ii)e temperature
of the waters, and arrangea aU isUe' cpncernmg tjhe in-
vaUd'a use of iihen^, ijhe^was, one very 7<^g0 newly-
erected bath^-hpuse near a, Wi^ge ^heif up the stream,
an4 several smaller ones,, of more ancient ^Ate,^ seated
here and there upon the hank%. ai^d jdmost an equal
number of rapids; for the little riv^r frefs and fumes
away over a yeiy rocky bed. TI^ hours yrere very eady,
so that the day must hav^ seemed, jl,9ng to many- Tliose
ladies whose toilettes were suitably, ws^k^d io^ ,the two or
three public promenades, if nd, then they viisited the shops,
or one another. Some of ^hs gentlen^en attended, them ;
others fished for trout in the^jpifxerous, brooks with
which the neighbourhood a1k>undedi a, few, nnore venture-
some, follow^ the (^ase of the uc^rd, and other wild
animals, fsor into the recesses. of the mountains.^ There
were some determined climbers to tVe mountain • tops,
with whom my indefatigable hrothcf quickly ipade ac-
quaintance. I kept to the lo^^cr grounds, and uoi^er
fVtiin<1 if. <Ti"ffir^iT^. frt nrrnn&fii ft. Vkartv int & lOTW T»0nv-bark
ezeurfioii) to which sort of lamble I was much addicted ;
and when not in the mood for anr ezereiie so fatigoinff,
I wandered about with ny son all daj in the forest. It
wae pleasant to walk along the soanmng pathways that
crossed the Otttskiits of this silent wood, among high
leckS) whereon a fow straggling trees oontrired to lire,
getting a peep oocasinnally of the hem blue distant moon-
taina^ and soon losing the few old hardwood trees that
ornamented the greener slopes near the town. The paths
we followed, as we penetrated deeper into the foreet, were
steep and winding, like the toivents they skirted. The
thicK roots of the pines frequently erossed our road, in
search «f the nouiishment scantily furnished to them by
the stony ground they grew on. They would sometimes
stretch for some foot on without touching the soil, but
rising off the stenle spots, dip down again in richer pas-
turage, and curl away thittagk the tiiMk carpet of plants,
till we lost sight of their extremities. The peculiar odour
of the fir leares, as we stepped over the dried remains of
those so plentifully shed throughout the year by these
stately erergreens, was a yeiy grateful fragrance in such
sunnjr dayi, as was the scent of the bog-myrtle, which
grew in aSundance near the streams, little noisy torrents
rushing at shoxi xnter?als across the path, dashing from
the gray crags abore down to the black rocks below.
Rude bridges, made of logs, carried us pleasantly oyer the
larger of these riyulets] stepping-stones did for the
smaller ; and there were plenty of blocks of granite on
which, when weary, we could rest, surrounded by all that
could increase the beauty of sudi scenery. Much of it
reminded me of our British motmtains ; but the height,
and the picturesque outline of this gigantic range, and
the magnificence of the waterfalls, far exceed the beauty
of any Undscapes it has oyer yet been my lot to wander
One excursion through a considerable part of this
m.
forest, up to the Lac de Qaube, surpassed all we had yet
seen eyen of the Pyrenees. We were a large party, taid
SMue of us had trayelled in many lands : we had Grecian,
Alpine, Indian recollections amongst u#, and memories of
the Western Scottish Highlands; yet all agreed the scenes
around us lost nothing by such comparisons.
We were early in the saddle, and soon leaying the gay
streets of Cautcnrdts, we began to ascend the stony banks
of the torrent, the path becoming steeper as we proceeded.
At the end of a long ride through the forest, we halted
before a high mountain of rock, up the precipitous sides
of which two roads diyerged from the one we had tra-
yelled. The branch to the right hand led to the Spanish
baths of Pantecousa ; the branch to the left hand led up
to the Lac de Gaube. The surplus waters of this still dis-
tant mountain tarn, augmented at this season by the
constantly melting snow, fell down just in front of us
from the rock high aboye, through a chasm of granite, to
some unsounded depth, out of sight, below, in one wide,
stormy, dashing, deafening cataract, worthy of ranking
among the wonders of the district. The dreaiy darkness
of the forest, the traces of desolating tempests all around,
the solitude, all impose upon the senses, and heighten
the ef!ect of the wild grandeur of the scene. We stood
upon the Pont d'Espagne — a bridge of logs thrown oyer a
pause in the downward course of the torrent — and looked
up at the fbaming waters, and down on the foaming
waters, till I felt frightened out of any sense the noise
had left me. The path up the rock by the side of the
cataract is difficult to climb. How the ponies managed
it is a maryel, for it is extremely rugged, as well as steep,
winding about in short zig-zags, with shaip enough comers,
and encumbered with la^ stones. We had ofUn to stop
to rest before reaching the plain at the top. We had a
good bit to go before arriying at the lake, and snow to
cross besidee--« narrow strip, too much in a hollow for
the sun to act on till later in the summer— oyer which we
passed on foot in the path the jraides had trodden for us.
They droye the horses over atlerwards, when one pony
stepping aside, sank to the girths, owing to its indiscre-
tion. Snow in fields, rather than in patches, was aboye,
below, and all round. The little dismal lake in front
sunk deep in a basin fimned by a wall of rugged rocks,
which entirely ettcompaased it, and were seldom scaled,
except by smugglers. Cloee to where cor eayalcade
stopped, on a large block of stone jutting out into the
water, is a square iron-TMled endoeure round a tablet (rf
white marble, cMcted to the memo^ of a young Engliih
husband and hia wife, who yisited this plaoe on their
bridal tour, and perished, but a fow yean before, in these
chilling waters, from incautiously yenturing hr fiiem-
selyes into a little cobble, used for fishing along the
shore by a man who liyes here in a small hut near the
lake. In this yery desolate abode a parly of any siae
may, during the season, get a |;ood luncheon, or erea
dinner, with wine, spirits, English porter, confeotienaiy,
the delicious trout fresh firom the lake, and fine dried
fruits smuggled oyw the frontier, seryed under an awning
with oonsiderable neateiess, the c(4d watera of the lake
scrying as well as ice to set the liquors in. M. and Had.
de Gaude, as we christened our entertainers, do not Utb
in so high a sphere during the winter i they descend h
autumn to the less eleyated position of the ylUage of
CauterSts, only arriying here with the summer. The pri-
yilege has been hereditary in madame's family for some
generations, and she seems to be not a little yain of it
We had time to walk a good way round the lake before
remounting our little ste^s, whioi wae quite a prtttj
sight, as each pony with its guide and rider filed off
through the forest. There was a guide at eyeiy lady's
bridle rein — not a little foot-paee— but a ^ood sturay
mountaineer, or his equally sturdy wife or sister, tmali-
sized, handsome people, actiye and cheerful, and reiy in-
telligent. They were well dressed in solid dothing of
home manufacture, the distaff being in eyeiy wonaa^
hand. My attendant, the wifo of one of the most oel»-
brated of the Luz euides, wore blue knitted stoAinfi,
yeiy neat leathern uioes, short blue stufiT petticoat, blKk
apron, black cloth jacket, with a pink cotton handkerchief
inside of it, and another pink cotton handkerchief nwn
her head. The men, &im and all, mi^ht haye walked
out of any cottage on Tweedside. We did not yentme to
ride down the rugged descent to the Pont d^Eipsgne,
none of us, gentlemen or ladiee, liking to encoonter the
risk of a tumble among such angular stones: we saambled
down on our feet as we best oould, and we took a lou
rest at the wooden bridge oyer the beautiful wateffrl(
before trotting our ponies merrily home. I frequently
rode as far as this cataract, the way thither was so agree-
able, and the object of my journey so well worth an oAoi*
repeated yisit; imd two or three times I went on skng
the road to Pantecousa, not so much for the soeam,
which did not improye, as for the purpose of meeting tie
groups of Spaniaras wluch were constantly passing to sad
from Cauterets. The men were yeiy fine-looking figores,
tall and graceful, eyen commanding, and their caiiams
was exceedingly picturesque : the open jacket, open deert,
and open knee, the sash, the cross-bartered sabot, aad (he
cap with the tassel always stuck jauntily on one sde of
the head, gaye a sort of stage efitect to their appeaitoce,
thoroughly in keeping with the wildnesa of the somei
they were passing through. The women wore the ia^ct
and petticoat common U> the peasantry on the nenek
side of the mountains; but they had no neat apron wift
its useful pockets, and the jacket was cut low between
the shoulden, and exhibited, instead of the neat cotton
handkerchief, a yeiy dirty shift, which was gathered vp
in plaits round the throat. Their hair, seldom combed,
hung in one thick plait down their backsi, and oxer It
they wore a small skull-cap without a border, tied aider
the chin with a narrow stnng. They were far from hand-
some, yeiy fiir f^ra dean, yeiy much sunburnt, and I
neyer saw a distaff or a stocking in their hands. Bott
men and women seemed to be regular porters by tade;
for going or coming, they carried large packages, ooontiy
wares in baskets, to dispose of at Cauterets, and from
thence fhmiture of eyeiy description, intended, we ns-
posed, for the baths at Pantecousa. They bore them Hie
the coolies in India, or the Musselbunh fidierwomen, on
the back, supported by a band round the forehead. I
haye often pitied the women, ^rty as ther were, and
sturdy as they looked, trotting away under that hot^fon,
with a couple of chairs, a small table, or the
CHAHBEBSW EDINBUBGH JOUBNAI*
of A chest of drawen piled up high upon iheir InoAd
ihoulden.
On one of these fnwtA6 OTCTUfions of mine I oTertook
a small partj walking along in an open part of the forest^
whOk taming to hare a look at me» I discovered among
them my botanical friend from Uie Eaox Bonnes. She
and her friends were established at St Sauveur, and had
ridden orer to Cauterdts early in the morning for the
pnipose of Tisiting the Pont d'Emagneu They were flower-
ooUecting on their way, and exhibited to me, with much
exaltation, some fine specimens of dwarf rhododendrons,
fbond wild among the rocks in the little plain we had
met on. Their Ascription of their residence bit us all
with a desire to accompany them on their return the
following day; and one course of the sulphur baths being
OTcr, we reeMTod upon girins ourselres a holiday; and we
accordingly set out to pass the following week in what we
were asrared was the most enchanting spot in all the
Pjnuiees*
BENEFITS OP PRISON INSTBUCTION.
Iv 1815, three Sbeffleld boys were sent to York jail for
TobbiDg a ailTerfmltfa's shop. They were oonricted,
and sentenced to transportation. One of the gentlemen
on the grand jury fdt so deeply interested, however, in
the trial, Diat he took an opportunity of speaking to
them private^ ; and on his return home at the end of
the drcuit, he wrote to the governor of the prison, re-
questing that instruction should be given them during
their stay in England, at the same time offering to pay
an the expenses. The governor consulted with a bene-
v(dent dergyman of the city on the sulject, and it was
decided that a school should be formed on the establish-
ment, in which the lads could be regularly taught A
room was accordingly appropriated to the purpose ; and
a young man from the debtors' side of the jail, who had
at one time kept a small school of his own, was ap-
pointed, and paid as master. Under his instructions the
boys made rapid progress. They, moreover, appeared
voy happy ; and their general good conduct endeared
them to all with whom they had any connection. When
tiie time arrived for their departure, their kind patron
paid them a visit He was much pleased with their
improvement, and made them a present of several use-
ftil and religious books. On tidung leave of them, he
also presented each with a guinea, saying that they
were to do with it as they pleased, but at the same
time tdHng tbem that the tradesman they had robbed
was in the debtors' wards of the prison ; and observing
that, if he were in their place, he should think it right
to make some compensation for the injury done to him ;
though he did not urge the matter on them. As soon
as the gentleman was gone, the boys consulted together,
and, by general consent, agreed to send the man all that
had been given them — which amounted to between
five and six pounds — making only this modest request,
that he woula return them a shilling each for pocket-
money. The silversmith, much afibcted by this act of
justice, returned them more than they asked.
We are happy to say that care was taken to preserve
tiiese three poor lads from evil associates during the
vc^age. Thay also carried with them a letter of reoom-
m^odation to the Bev. Mr Marsden, senior chaplain of
the colony, a man deeply interested in the moral condi-
tion of tibose under bis pastoral care. The worthy
clergyman mentioned in the above — ^to whom we are
indited for the facti — makes the following observations
on prison instruction : — ' This successftd experiment has
exmted in my mind a strong wish that schools could be
formed in all our larger prisons, where juvenile offenders
are so often to be found. This measure, together with
occupation for aQ, and a proper classification, seems to
me, after forty years* acquaintance with the inmates of
a prison, to be the most promising means of producing
reformation/
THE 'LAWING.'
Thb following dialogue oocurred veoentiy in a littie
country inn, not so fu from Edinburgh as the Eternal
evidence might give one to suppose. The interlocu-
ton aro an English traveller and a smart young woman
who acted as waitress, diambermaid, boots, and every-
thing else, being the man and maid of tiie innatthe
•amo time.
TVaseficr. Cosae befe» if you pieaae.
Jenn^, I waa just coming ben to you, sir.
Traveller, Well, now, mistress
/amy. I'm no the misftross : I'm onfy the lass, and
Pm no married.
Draveller, Very well, tiien, miss—
Jenny, Pm no a miss : Pm only a man's dochter.
Travdler, A man's daughter?
Jenmy, Hoot ay, sir. Didna ye see a farm as ye came
up yestreen, just three parks an ?
Traveller. It is very possible.
Jeiuiy, Weel, tiiaf s my father.
Travelkr, Indeed 1
Jmmy, If s a Ams.
Traveller, Well, tiiat faet being iettled, let us proceed
to business. I am now in a hurry to go— indeed I
should have iidd so at first — and so, my good Molly
Jenny, My name's no Molly— it's Jenny. What do
you oa' me Molly for ?
Travelkr, I b^ your pardon, Jinnle.
Jenny, Jenmr, Jennyl
TrmiOer, Very well. Hang it I I am in a hurry,
and must request to seeyour Inll at once.
Jenny, Our Bed? Wully we call him; but I ken
what ye mean. He's no in e'en now.
Traoelter, Wully! What I want Is my account— a
paper stating what I have had, and how much I hare
to pay.
Jennv, And is that 'our Beel?' {Half aside). Did
onybody overhear the like o' that? (Aloud), Ye mean
the lawingt man ; but we hae nae accounts here. Na,
na } we hae owre nradtie to do.
TraveBer. And how do you know what turn to
diarge?
Jenny, Ou, we just put the things down on the
sdate, and then I tell the customers the tottie by word
0^ mouth.
Travdler, Very well, then, for any sake give me the
lawn at once, and let me go.
Jenny, He— he— he !— to hear the like o' that I It's
you that maun give us the lawing, man : the lawing's
the siller.
Traveller, Fray do tell me. then, how much it is?
Jenny, That* s precisely what I came ben for ; and if
ye had askit me at first, or waited till ye were spoken
to, I wouldna hae keepit ye a mhiute. Na, na ; we're
never sweert to seek the lawing, although some folks
are unco slow at pajdn' o't If s just four-and-six.
Traveller. That is very moderate : there are two half-
crowns.
Jenny. 'Hiank you, sir*. I hope we hae a sazpence
in the house, for I wouldna like to give baubees to a
gentleman.
Traveller. The sixpence is for yourself.
Jenny, Oh, sir, it's owre mucUe I
Traveller. What I do you object to take it ?
Jenny. Na, na, sir ; I wouldna put that i^ront upon
e. But mind, the next time ye re in a hurry, dinna
fashing yoursel wi' mistresses, and misses^ and
Jinnies, but just say, * Whaf s the lawing, lass?*
▼ALUE OF WATEB TO PLAKTS AND AlOMALS.
No other liquid than water can afford that which is
neoeesary for the seed to germinate, for the leaves to unfold,
for the iMranehes and roora to shoot forth, for the flowers to
expand, and for the fruit to swell. It is water that is taken
in by the roots, holding dissolved in it certain of the mine-
ral BubsCanoes of the soil ; it is water which fonra all the
liquid portion of the sap that rises in the stem andbrattehes
Z
9$
CHABfBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
to be pexfeoted by the asenoy of the ksves. It it water
which unites with the caibon derived from the atmosi^ere
to form the varioiui eompounds that contribute to the ex-
tension of the fabtio of the tree, or that axe stored up in its
cavities. And eren when other liquids are produced within
the vegetable, such as the fixed olla ^i^pe, linsted, walnut,
&o.), or the volatile oils or essences (otto of roses, essence
of lemon, oil of cinnamon, &c.), these owe their existence
to water, beins formed by the combination of its elements
with carbon tnrough the agency of the green cells of the
leaves. It may be lUrther remarked that tb9 aeUvity
of all the processes of vegetation corresponds with the
amount of fluid exhaled from the leaves, by the functions
resembling the perspiration of animals. If a plant, per-
3>iring actively under the influence of a bright warm sun-
line, be carried into a dark room, the exhalation of U<^id
ceases ; but the absorption by the roots ceases also (or at
least is very much dinunished), untU the light and warmth
are nstoted, and the loss of Bqnid by the loaves recom-
mences. The larger the quantity of water which thus
passes through a plant, the more solid matter does it gaUi ;
since, although the amount dissolved in it be exceedingly
minute, it \H enough to be of consequence to the plant,
v4ueh thus extoaote for itself in a short tteie thai which is
yielded by many times its own hulk of liquid. . A» long as
the plant \» freely supplied with water^ it may continue to
exhale to any extent without injury. Ik is only when the
quantity exhaled exceeds the supply wliicn the plant can
gani by absorption, a«d the proper quantity of water in its
tissues is thereby diminisbeo, that the loss of fluid from
the leaves is really weakening and ii^iriouL KoW| with
regard to animals, precisely the same nolds good. What-
ever animal tissue we deprive of its liquid by drying,
whether the soft masa of a jelly-fish or the hard «heil of a
orab^ the soA nerves »nd mosoles of > a -hmiaii body^ or ite
hard bones and teeth^ we drive off nothing but-ira^. It Is
through this liquid alone that all the active fuuciioins of
animal life are Carried on. It U water alone that can act
as the solvent for the various articles 6f food which are
taken into the stomach t the gaetrio juice itself being no-
thing else than water, wijth a, amU qnantity of animal
matter and a little acid, which Dorm, with^ the albumen*
&C. of the (bod, new compounds, that are capable of being
dissolved in that liqmd. It is water which fbrms all the
fluid portion of the bloody that vlUil current wli^eft pep-
meales th« mimttest textui^sof thetbodyy ssdeooveys to
each the appropriate materials for its growth and activity.
It is watcn* which, when mingled in various propiprtions
with the solid matter of thevanou^ textures, gives to them
tlie consistency which they severally require. And it is
water whith tiUies up the products of theii deQsy> and eon-
veys them, by a most complicated and wondeiful aystem
of sewerage, altc^ether out of the system. No other liquid
naturally exists in the animal body, save the oily matter of
fiit, which is derived from the plant, and which is stored tin
chiefly to serve as respiration food. It might be inferreo,
then, that water, in addition to properly-seleoted axtieles
of solid food, would constitute lOl that the wants of the
system can ordinarilv require ; and there is abundant evi-
denee that the most vigorous health maybe maintained,
even wadeat verr trying olfcumstonoes, without any other
bovemge-— ZV Oarfionter in iSooitish Xaiyteranee Heview.
SFAMNINO TttB GLOBK*
An AmeHoan merchant, bound for Hong-Kong, left New
York on the 4th instant in theCanadamail steamer^ and ar<
rived in Liverpool on the morning of the 19tli4 After trans-
acting some business in Liverpooland London, h.Q arrived at
Southampton by the day mail-train on the 20th,' and Imme-
diately entbarioed on board the Ripm steamer, xrhieh was
prepscing ti> atart lor Alexandria wltk the Indian mail.
This gentleman will reach his destination on the 15th June.
Thus he will have travelled from the United States to
China, a dlstitnce of nearly 15,000 miles, in T2 days. In a
little ttore than two mouths he will have traversed the At-
lantic and Indian. Ooeana, and the MedHemmean, Red, and
China Seas, caUed at England, GibiAltsor, «nd Malta in
Europe; Alexandria and Sueji in Africa; and at Aden,
Ceylon, Pcnang,* Singapore, and Hongkong in Asia. With
the exception of passing through Englanfand Egypt, the
whole ofthe journey will have been perMrmed by water hi
British ships. The Peninsular and Oriental Oompany 's aer^
vants never recollect a passenger for Chhia who had been
so recently in America, and it will probably be, for length
and rapidity) the most extraordinary voyage ever per-
THE HOLIDAY.
• An th« iMtfT^MMtod do tlfflL^-lMlak, «> hV. i;
Is it a holiday, that thus in rale
By two and two march forth the vlllsce school ?
A holiday ! Joy beaming in each hwk,
CSare thrown aside along with date and book ;
Oh, happy little prisoners set free !
Your gtiildess hearts are bounding menUy !
What's this ? how dow and monmf ul is their treed !
And wh#rdlftre droops so heavily each head.
As o'er the green, linked hand in hand they go.
To yonder cottage where the roses blow ?
Ifow with half-pensive, eager looks they wait.
And range theniaelves before the rostie gate~
Thatpeaoefifl-kMHdnfeottagB! What la tine
To fill young faces with sooh signs of care7
Alas ! thy whitewashed waUs, and loiw^thatdied roof,
No more, than palaces are sorrow-proof 1
That open easem«nt-<whers, as white as sbow.
The curtain with the breexe flaps to and fro.
Now caught aside by yonder thorny rose—
Does lOl it« lUtle WofM of grief <Hsdose.
Oh, wherefore, nioamoni, do you kneeUqg ireq»
Beside that Itttle angSI fsBen asleep ?
* Another kiss! ' themotbelMataiestwIld--
Criea as ttiey'd take her ftan ter daitiac iUd:
The husband then doth gsntle farooemplaiy
To loose those arms that clasp their only bqy.
Two little shriokinf giiis approaoUnc
Press their young Ufs upon .that biothec's hrow ;
Another look upon the boy is cast—
Another kiss 1— the mother's— and the lart i
A sad, yet maidy heart the father bore,
'Tfll.'paisinff frem the «krsihoU of talk dosr.
Bethought uponihe voice of his j^mng son
Which used to peei him when his toil w««done^
A mother's grief, when keenest, cannot know
That stifled cry's extremity of wo !
Up to the village church their way they take.
Bis schoolfellows the yoiuig procession make.
Whispering each other—* Does that coffin tSkcrs
Oontais our little playlMlow so fair?
OorpiBltyllsvtoifte! We.skattafvsraaBva
I^eave hio^ in safety at his metbac's dqqr : '
Xaoght ever made us cry so much before*
Gently the tearless father laya the head
Of his loved child within the narrow bed—
Bts young companions there fresh roses strew,
Ahd now the envious earth riiute all from view-*
The tower cut down, almosl as soon as given.
Transplanted in ths hud to Wosmin hesvea t
■ ' ■' "'
■ I »i
iij .Miimi
1' I' ,f.
CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COUBSE.
KEY TO A:BlTHMETrC.
BY W. HAK£L
■ ■ I I II 'i i ii . I M
CHAMBERS'S UBRARY FOR YOUNe KOHA
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has Just been added a simple but oontprriiensive
HISTORY OF FRANCE.
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EARNESTNESS.
Worthy George Herbert, in his admirable old por-
traiture of *The Ootnitry Parson/ says that in preach-
ing * he procores attention by earnestness of speech ; it
being natural to men to think that where there is
nrach earnestness there is something worth hearing.'
This, doabtless, is the true secret of all successful
speaking. It is an ancient saying, and worthy of ge-
neral acceptation, tliat he who would persuade others,
must needs show that he is thoroughly convinced him-
self. WhatsoeYer a man believes, and lays earnestly
to heart, be will be likely to utter again with an em-
phasis sufficient to induce others to believe it also : and,
on the contrary, whoever speaks merely fh)m hearsay,
or without a sincere conviction in regard to the truth
of what he saya, will inevitably fail to effect any real
persuasion. His lack of a perfect belief in his own
statements win betray itself through the looseness or
indiffisrency of his address. He will, to a close observer,
give evidence against himself of his inward insincerity.
Fersons accustomed to witness the proceedings of courts
of justice, cannot iail to have been struck with the utter
incapadty of even tha cleverest pleaders to produce a
favourable impressioa on befasAf of their dient whenever
they are personally conscious of advocating an unjust
cause. There is always some damaging inconsistency,
some unconcealable misgiving, wltich publishes to an
observant bystander that the man is sensible of doing
videoce to his own oonvictions. The cunningest show
of argument, the utmost vehemence of manner, are of
no avail in speaking, unless the speaker is sealously in
earnest, and can ^us give us an assurance that no latent
nobelief^ no residuum of indifference, is lurking in his
miod*
It is this quality of earnestness which explains the
success of every fknatic. Because men love and admire
earnestness, and have an InstiActiirG belief that it is
always the sign ef somethiag true, ^hcjy listen willingly
and eagerly to whatever man may come to them with
an earnest and soul-inspired message. For it is a mis-
take to suppose that fanaticism is mere imposture. The
sorriest zealot that ever gained the slightest credit with
the midtttnder was suooessftil tolely ttirougli the/ power
of some truth which he embodied in his doctrines, and
which, notwithstanding the distortions and disfigure-
ments of its external folds, he could bring earnestly before
the minds of his adherents. No man ever staked his
hope upon a lie.- ' A lie is for ever ubbelievabte, and never
gains even a temporary eredence, save while it is mistaken
for truth. It has to advance furtively in the name of
its very enemy, atsuming the habit and honest accent
of jaality, in order io obtain the. most transitory recep^
tioo witii manklBd. The soul never reHes upon a false*
hood. There was alvavs some particlie of truth bound
< M III
up with the wildest absurdities that were ever yet ac-
credited among men, otherwise belief in them had been
impossible. Wherever error is seen to prevail in any
system of practice or opinion, it is beciuise tlie original
truth which formerly sustained the system, and made
it orediUe, has been lost or progressively perverted \
and not because men had ever willingly and knowingly
accepted or fostered their fmih on mere delusion. It is
not in the nature of tilings that a man should be per-
suaded by anytiung which does not oome home to him
with the effect of truth. The successes of the fanatic
are accordingly traceable to the sincerity of his convic-
tions. Hy relying steadfastly upon these* he would be
emboldened to appeal earnestly to men ; and to minds
of like oharticter and cultivation, his doctrines might
not unnaturally appear credible. The tendency to be-
lieve whatever is earnestly enforced on the attention —
considered above to exist inherently in men '—along
with the e<]iially natural and relevant expectation that
wherever there is the outward sign of sincerity there is
truth, win , readily enough account for the origin and
prevalence of the most exteivagant forms of faith, and
for the wildest ecoentrioitfes of conduct by which these
have been at any time accompanied.
Whilst earnestness, however, is the vital and sustain^
ing element of fanaticism, it fulfils a nobler and indis-
pensable ci^oity in the way of farthering ^e teaeh-
ings and ends of wisdom. Truth, in its own nature cahn
and perfectly serene, becomes more universally attrac-
tive, and attains to a moro effectual pre-eminence, whctn
harmoniouriy allied with passion. The clearest soien-
tiflc statement of my doctrine will not ptoducie that
overpowering effect upon the mind which will arise
when the same doctrine is enforced with an earnest
declamation. The natural ornaments and graoes of
utterance, which spring spontaneously fiom the intd-
lect in a state of high emcCion and excitement, though
adding nothing to the intvinsic weight of i^iicts and
principles, do nevertheless recommend them noi^ Im-
Iiressively to the attention, and, by interesting the feel-
ings and imagination, secure for them a more hearty
and adeq^uate aoceptance. The fable of Ori^us charm-
ing stones into notion by the ' power of his nausic,
symbolises the grand attaractlons 6f do^ufencc and
poetry — of all the fascinating and impassioned forms
of human speech. This fine enchantment, which the
earnest soul of. a man diffiises over other souls, so that
they instantly believe 'the word he utters, ahd are
kindled with high resolves and aspirations, ii as lite-
rally miraculous as anything that is reported of nagkal
or preternatural agency. Woodeviul, tmly^and at all
times inexplioable, is tbepower of persuasion. You can-
no^ by the subtHest analysis, exphtin or scientifically
account for it ; yet it is an incontestable ofilbctr as um-
fornily following firom every srenuine display of earnest-
98
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
nesi as the purification of the air succeedf to the mani-
festation of material lightDiog. One might indeed call
eamettneM a lort of i pirltual electricity, inasmuch as
it is alvays a vital element in human nature; and
when actively aroused, exerts a wholesome influence
through the mental atmos^ere, being even sometimes
not unaccompanied with danger. Its persuaaive effi-
cacy is meanwhile undeniable. It circulates conviction,
and serves the ends of truth, as the electric currents
promote health by an energetic and sanative agitation.
A mind charged with this irresistible puissance has
ready and intimate access to all states and conditions
of sympathy and sensibility, and m^ overrule them to
the promulgation of whatever truths it is inspired
with ; for truth is ever prevalent when its presence is
once felt. The soul delights to be subdued under its
glorious dominioD, and feels a nobler liberty when con-
strained to surrender in obedience to its command.
Like the glow and beauty of the sunrise, like the deli-
cious melody of winds among the summer leaves, is the
kindly encouraging voice which bids thy heart believe !
Welcome as the fbotstep of an expected friend, memor-
able as the tones of undying love, as the speechless joy
of some grand deliverance, is that holy and mysterious
annunciation, wherein truth coraeth like an angel,
saluting the soul with its glad tidings ; for then is the
man an inlet to the rays of aboriginal intelligence, and
' the inspiration of the Almighty giveth him under-
standing.'
All that is understood by intellectual and moral ele-
vation is inseparably associated with earnestness of
character. There is neither true intelligence nor virtue
possible so long as the mind is tainted with indifiference.
He who would be accounted wise« must love wisdom
with an unlimited devotion. If any man seek know-
ledge for selfish and unworthy ends, he will be inevit-
ably deprived of its most invaluable advantages. The
practical profanity which he thus commits will affect
the integrity of his understanding; and that which
should have been an accession of true insight to his
soul, will, through a vicious use, become the sure means
of his degradation. The siiered element of knowledge —
the quality whence the intellect derives new increase of
vigour and enlargement, and which to a reverent and
earnest mind is idways the prime attraction— is utterly
and scandalously thrown away whenever knowledge is
prosecuted solely for secular or mercenary benefits.
Everything that we can know, the meanest fact that
can instruct us, has an intimate and significant re-
ference to the culture of which we are capable, and in
this properly consists its highest and pre-eminent value.
StrioUy and philosophical^ considered, the universe is
a divine college for the education of humanity. All
science, and history, and experience, exist, and are
secured, as an available possession in the world, to the
one end that the man of to-day may be richly and
adequately enlightened.
In this illustrious university every man, by natural
constitution, is appointed to be a student To learn
anything effectually, he will need to incline his mind
earnestly to apprehend it in its total and manifold sig-
nificance. Nature reveals nothing to a mere imper-
tinent curiosity; this, rather, she perpetually confounds,
till a man's frivolity becomes at last the instrument of
his destruction. She will tolerate no vain shallowness,
no trivial pretentiousness. Over all the gates and en-
trances of her institutions she has written in letters of
enduring light—* Use your gifts faithfully, and they
shall be enlarged ; practise what you know, and you
shall attain to higher knowledge.' Her rigorous, yet
beneficent commandments, may not be anywise ftin-
sayed, neither will they suffer the least infringeiDent
without serious loss to tiie ofibnder. It is only l^ com.
I^anoe, by an earnest fidelity to the truth, that a nto
can be established in fkeedora, vakmr, and aotfaortic
worth.
All action shoots around it everlasting inihieneei.
That which thou doest to-day shall not cease oat of
existence, but, as a power more or kia momeotosi,
become incorporated with the universal fb»oes which
circulate for erer throughout time and beyond time.
Profoundly was it said by Schiller, * IMe is earaest.'
The immortality of man enters into evcrythiof he
does — ^how needful, tiien, to da it wdlt Coosidtr thst
the worthiness or worthlessness of an act lies alwaji in
the spirit in which it is performed, and that a maa can
justify himself through no tranaactien wherein he dwi
not throw his utmost capability, as the warranty of a
sincere intention. Can we not transfigure the metaeit
duties by a certain lordliness and magnificence cf per-
formance? True dignity is ever the product of ths
man, and is nowise indigenous to hts dfcamstaoees.
The kingly Alfred, tending the baking of calces io tbs
peasant's cottage, was not the less a ^fy$l nature while
thus humbly employed; nay, he woold hare even
shown himself a greater man could he, in the face of
his manifold state perplexities, have k^ the cakes
from burning. Diogenes was greater tlum Akx&nder,
and might reasonably prefer to be himsdf rather thsn
the conqueror, inasmuch as, with smaller means, he oodd
realise a more sublime contentment ; centralising witiiiB
the kingdom of his tub more wit, wisdom, and asufal
independence, than the other could attain to with bis
wide imperial dominions. He, doubtless, is the giestsit
who can so overpower and subordinate his circumstsaoefl
as to make the grandeur and beauty of character thine
through them, even as the sun makes glorious the doodi
and vapours which hang about the orient horisoo to
the interception of his morning rays. A man may msg"
nify his life, and make it splendid and sublime, by ii»
power of earnestness. livhig, not in the shows of iiattgs
courting not the favours and prosperities of ttAtme,
but intentiy holding on his way, with an eye to soeh
things mainly as tend to a rational and iatcdhgent ad*
vancement, he will grow gradually and securely fa vd-
being, and perhaps eventually attain to that perftstloa
of self-possesBion wherein his habitual impulses sbiBts
in unison with the law of his constltvti^ti.
But now, it mar be said, are we, from thb ene^lM
commendation of earnestness, to infisr that tinnfav
mirthfulness and sport are to be eooteamtnoaahr dis-
paraged, and avoided as things incompidilMe andtfCM*
sistent with manful dignity ? ' Dost tnoa think bseiMt
thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cAtt Ifed
ale ? ' * Yes, by St Anne, and ginger shall be hot f iM
mouth too.' We would have no euperstitioes
tion even for the moderate and whoKsaWB
which we commend. 8port, too, wi
degree, for it also is a true thing, and is
place and countenanoe among men.
the antithesis to sport, but to indifltrence.
ness, wit, and humour, are eoually as app_.^
humanity as earnestness itselL Whatsoever t^te^
genuine, is good in its own province. Honest Ml
being natural to man, is also assuredly desiraUi^ OT
even necessary to the maintenance of a heaMiM iVN
dition of mind. That is but a sickly and fMi
which cannot laugh. It has even been
as we think, not inconsiderately, thai • matt^
and social worth is estimable and raeaaanfak W ^
extent of his capacity for laughter — that tbt liitt
who can bugh well, will be likely to do noMylfc-
differently. Laughter, indeed, might be apthr *IM
considered as the extreme earnestness of tJmkl w
nobody can laugh heartily who does not knu^ ftljlilH
nest. Those manifestations of tiie npatthX s«ml vlHl
we designate pleasantry, wit, huinoar. Hid tbt KklkVl
i
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBaH JOUBNAIi.
99
ehMBcterited by aotiiing more dirtinctlj thAn a oertaia
tart sincerity, the lack of which would be the lureit
indieatioa of their utter destitatioa of all merit; The
keen ironical wit ci i ooh a writer aa Fielding ; the
Afioipletonian' pleasantry of Goldsmith ; the shrewder,
yet generous hiunoiir of Walter Scott; higher stiU, that
fine composite of the humorous and the pensiye of
which Charles Lamb and Thomas Hood haye left us
tome choice examples; but aboTC all, that profound,
transcendental humour, such as Bichter exhibits —
thescy and indeed genuine wit and humour wherever
they are to be found, are oertainly misapprehended if
they art erer regarded as being unimbued with earnest-
ness. Aoeordingly, amongst other earnestness, earnest
sport shall haTtt our tribute of admiration ; that being,
in our belief the presenratiTV saline principle whereby
the general waters of existenee are sustained against
the ftendeney of all mortal things to putrefac^on.
PAULINE,
A HISTORIC 8KBT0H.
BY PKRCY B. ST JOHN.
Paulutb was an orphan adopted by some worthy citizen
of the Rue St Honor^ Paris, who, haying brought her
up to the age of sixteen, had placed her in his shop —
a perfome wardiouse — to dispense his goods at the
counter. Women in France are almost uniyersally the
practicsl heads of commercial establishments. The
master of the house, when he does not lounge away in a
cafe, uiUj billiards or cards half the day, or walk about
like one kying on his means, is contented to occupy a
dignilled and retired position^ attending, not to sales,
but to wholesale purchases. But such was not the case
with M. Boulard, tiie adopted father of Pauline. Both
he and his wife shared the labours of the shop together;
be keeping the books, while Pauline and Madame Bou-
lard attended to the details. The young girl was very
pret^ and very modest, and her presence contributed
not a little to the success of the business. The good
couple, having no children of their own, had manifested
their intention of making Pauline their heiress, and this
sdded to the charm which hung over the perfumer's
store.
Pauline had many lovers, a great many — as young
ladies who are pretty, modest, and virtuous are apt to
havBg especially when rich ; for although the world is
not half so selfish and wicked as certain persons fancy,
yet a grain of interested love will always peep out
among the truest suitors. Two lovers were chiefly
isaidootts in their attentions: the one, a rich shop-
keeper of the same street ; the other, a poor /rotetir.
Both were young, tolerably good* looking, and very
devoted in tiieir attachnieat; and it would have been
hard to say which was roost deserving. But Monsieur
Alexis Laparaut was rich, and Jean Prevost was poor.
It will readily be understood that tlie parents of Pauline
would not have hesitated in their choice; but they
knew only of the afifection of Alexis ; that c^ Jean was
coooealed even from himsell Alexis came often to the
house under one pretence or another, and was always
favourably received. The good Boulards were highly
flattered at bis preference. Pauline liked his frank
open manners, and always greeted him with a smile.
The frotteur^-one who waxes and shines by means of
rubbing the wooden floors of rooms— came to the house
in the exercise of his trade. He always bowed low to
Panliue, and asked her how she was ; and even on her
fiu day had brought a single rose, which was graciously
received. Jean was also a commissioner, ami ran on
errands, and often came to the house to buy perfomes,
soap, &c. for his employers, who, appreciating his
honesty and desire for work, freely trusted him with
purchases. How happy Jean was if Pauline only served
him ; and how gentle and respectful were his tdoes, and
how little he concealed his happiness if she gave him a
good-natured word I Pauline could scarcely be blind to
the open love of Alexis, or the concealed affection of
the poor frotteur ; but however this may be, she said
nothmg, and appeared to notice neither. But young
Laparaut had spoken to old Boulard, Boulard had
spoken to his wife, and his wifis to the young girl ; but
she kissed her adopted mother so afieotionately, and
said so gently that she wished not to leave home, that
the worthy woman was silent, and put off a little while
any serious discussion of the matter.
Jean, meanwhile, became sombre and thoughtful ; he
dared not hope, he dared not even think of making an
otkr; he, a poor workman, with unoertain means of
livelihood, and so far beneath the position of W he
bvedl Had she been an unfriended atf^um, without
home, he would have joyfully offered his heart, and the
only fortune he had-^bis honest labour. While thus
depressed, an event occurred which drove Pauline com-
pletely out of his thoughts.
One dsy he was sent for to wax the floors of a house
near the Palais Boyal, the apartments of which were
generally devoted to the pleasure-parties of the courtiers.
Jean, who was well known and trusted* was told to wax
the floor of every room then unoccupied. He obeyed,
and soon found himself in a chambtf of luxurious ap-
pearance, surrounded by pictures which told of rural
loves and happiness. Jean had seen them often before ;
but they had never affected him so much, and forgetting
time, place, and his duties, he leant on the stick which
held the wax, and fell into deep thought Suddenly he
was startled by voices in the next room ; a horrible
sentence caught his ear, and justified his listening.
Pale and terrified, he hearkened to every word, and
moved not, for fear of being discovered. He had dis-
covered an awful and fngWul secret; and he was a
dead roan if caught in that room, the ill-joined wains-
cot of which allowed everything in the next to be dis-
tinctly heard. ' What shall I do ? ' thought he to him-
self: * to-morrow is the Uto of St Louis ; I have no
time to lose.'
Jean left the room oo tiptoe, and with the utmost
caution ; then desrending the stairs, feigned to leave for
dinner. No sooner was he clear of the house, than he
made for the prefecture of police, and entering the
hotel, asked to see the lieutenant The servants replied
that he could not be seen. It was one o'clock, and the
fashionable Paris dinner -hour of thai day — now six
hours later. Not a valet dared disturb M. de Bellisle
flrom his mesl ; but Jean insisted, stormed, implored ;
and at last, as they seised him by the sheidders to pitch
him out, cried, * Do not drive me out I must see
Monsieur de Bellisle: the lung's life is in danger I'
It was the eve of St Louis 1758, and the king was
Louis XV. The servants hesitated, looked at one
another, and an agent of potioe, struck by the man's
tone, bsde them pause.
* Oo, repeat his words to Monsieur le Lieutenant,'
said be ; ' and show this person into his private cabi-
net'
Jean, recovering his breath, followed his guide, and
soon found himself face to face with the magistrate,
whose mien was severe and inquisitive, and even in-
credubus. He bade the fh>tteur sit down, and asked
him his business in a somewhat petulant tone — the tone
of a man disturbed in the midst of his dinner.
' I come, sir/ said Jean firmly, < to inform yon of a
plot against the king's lif^'
' I am informed of such plots every day,' replied the
prefect vho was used to pretended denunciations from
persons aiming at exciting attention and gaining
money. ' But let me hear the details.'
Jean related all that the reader knows, and added
that the attempt on the king^s life was to be made that
evening at the reception on the ocoaskm of the eve of
the fete of St Louis, when it was usual to present the
monarch with bouquets of flowers. One of these was
to contain a poison so subtile, that the king, oo smelling
100
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
it, would fall aa if struck with apoplexy.* Belllsle looked
at Jean. His mien was agitated: he was profoundly
moved. His handsome tod honest features were ex-
cited, as if by deep indignation : the palor of horror was
on his countenance. But the prefect of police, remem-
bering the pretended revelations of LaTude and others,
was stin not wholly convinced.
' Are you sure,' said he to Jean, * that you have
heard what you tell me? Be carefUI. If you have
done this irom a mere motive of cupidity, and invented
a fable, you viU pay dearly for it: the Bastile for
life'
* Put me to tlie rack if you like,* cried Prevost; • ifr
will not alter my words. I repeat the king is in danger.
I offer my life as leciirity for mylnith ! '
* Enough. I beBeve you. we wlH go together to
VersaiUes.'
It was a very short time after, when M. de BcUisle
and Jean Prevost entered the royal paUcc of Versailles
by the stairs of the (Eil de B<£uf, and arrived secret^
at the king's private apartments. Every precaution
was taken to conceal the presence of the minister of
police from the courlaers, as thus the con^irators might
guess the discovery of their atrocious plot
Louis XY. received the lieutenant, and had with him
a long and secret interview. In fact they parted only
when, at eight o'clock, the monarch went into the Hall
of Treaties to receive the respectful liomage of all the
foreign ambassadors, princes, and courtiers, who on this
occasion were all received in state. The lieutenant of
police joined Jean Prevost, guarded in a private chamber
by two txempt$^ and sat down to a hurried meal, in
which he invited the frotteur to join him without cere-
mony.
Meanwhile Louis XV. had entered the Hall of
Treaties, and oeated himself on his throne at the end of
the apartment. Before him was the magniUcent rdund
mosaic table given to Louis le Grand by the republic
of Venice, and which was now destined to receive the
splendid and rare bouquets offered on this occasion bv
the royal family, the grand officers of the household,
and the members of the diplomatic corps, to th6 king.
The crowd was gav and gorgeous. Every variety of
costume^ rich, bright, and resplendent, shone beneath
the blaze of light, which showed off the brilliance of the
diamonds on the women. The king, who, despite his
frivolity, bad great courage, and a fund of good sense,
which, with other education, would hAve made him a
different man, was by no means moved, but smiled
graciously on Madame de Pompadour, and caressed her
fkvourite spaniel, which sat Upon a stool between them,
and at their feet.
The ceremony commenced. The king, as was the
custom, took the bouquets one by one, tSuiking every
giver by some sprightly word. Pretending to play
with the spaniel, and to repress its indiscreet caresses,
he placed every bunch of flowers near the anlmaTs nose,
and then laid It down on the mosaic table. Madame
de Pompadour laughed, but hid her laughter with her
fan.
' If they feel hurt ?* said she in a whiiper,
* It is u^ur spaniel, countess,' replied the king gal-
lantly.
The foreign ministers hadprecedence, and had pre-
sented all Vax^x bouquets. The members of the royal
family came next, having courteously allowed the diplo-
matic corps to precede them. The king took the bouquet
firom the hands of the nearest of the blood-royid, who
stepped back bowing. He held the flowers to the
spanieTs noae ; the poor brute sniffed it, reeled, and
fell dead! Madame de Pompadour turned pale, and
would have shrieked, but the king had wam^ her by
a look.
• Not a word,' whispered he ; • it is nothing ! Drop
* This Is not botroweA fkom the poi9oaIfig« of C&tharine de
Mediots. The namtive is historical, and to be found in full detail
in the arobiTes of the poUoe.
the folds of your dress over the poor animal. It has
died to mi^c true the saving, ** Son of a king — ^brother
of a king— never king ! ** ^
The ceremony proceeded, Louis XV. completely
concealing his emotion, while Madame de Pompadour
smoUiered her alarm and curiosity. Ai soon as all
was over, the king retired to his chamber, and sent ftr
the lieutenant of police, who at once was struck by his
solemn manner.
* Am I to arrest the guilty, sire?'
' Ton were correctly informed, Belliid^. Last year
tlie dagger of Damiens ; this time a bunch of flowen;
and always from the same quarter. I cannot, nor ought
I to punish. I order you to desist flrom inquiring kto
this mystery. Where is the man who saved mc?'
* Close at hand, sire,' replied the lieutenant, who knev
well whence the blow came, and also that It descended
from too exalted a hand and too near a relative to bs
noticed.
* Bring him to me.'
* I am at your orders, sire ; * and the lieutenant of
police bowed. M. Bertin de Belllsle was far too hottest
a man to do as most of his predecessor! would havie
done — used the discovery, and kept all the merit to
themselves.
' I have brought this ([ood man wi^ me, sire,' oon-
tinued Bertin : * he is in the guard- room, aH oonfbaed
and alarmed at being in a palace in his rude wortdng-
dress.'
'So much tlie better,* said the king; 'it U at least
an honest costume and an honest oeciapalSoii. Briiif
him in. Monsieur de Belllsle ; I will receiv<e bim better
than I would a courtier.' Bertin de Bellisk went ,o«t,
And returned leading the fh>tteur by the hand. Jean
Prevost— bold, stout fellow though he was— ttiembied,
held down liis head, and turned and twiated his cab in
his hands, quite unaware that he was pulling It aU to
pieces.
* Embrace your king,' cried Louis XV. with a gnte-
taX tear in his eye ; * that is your first reward.'
* Sire,' said Jean, falling on his knees, * I ask no re-
ward but the feeling of having saved your majesty.'
' Come hither;' and the king seized him, and kissed
him on both cheeks.
* I am imworthy of such honour.'
* What can I do for you?' adced Lon&aXV., who vss
capable of very good emotions.
* I ask nothing, sire.'
^ But I insist Wliatever you ask yon shall have.'
' If your majesty could give me Pauline,' whispered
Jean Prevost
*0h, oh!* laughed Louis XV ^ onoe more luiiMetf
again; * a love aflair. Come, the frotteur shall sap i^
night with the king whose lifb he has saved, and tdl
his story. Bellisle, send a' coach ^r him in the manSBf,
or rather come yourself. I will give yon further is*
structions about this matter. But silence, mjirmA\
not a word.'
The lieutenant of police retired, and Looia XV., «te
was always delighted at novelty and an nnexpeolel
amusement, took the fVotteur, lust as he was, to the
Trianon, where he was to sup wi^ Ifodame de Poops-
dour ; and there, in the presence of the beautifoi co«rt
favourite, made him tell his story, whidi Jean d^ with
a naivet6, truth, and sincerity, which deepty intereited
tlie king, used wholly to another atmosphere. Kext
morning Louis, after taking Jean wann]^ by the
hand, and holding a private con&rence wiHi Bd&ie,
said, 'Tou shall have a house in the park, my friend,
near the Trianon. Ton shall be honorary head gl^
dener, with a hundred louis a month fbr your aabryyand
every morning you shall bring me a bonqnet. I ahifl
thus never forget you, nor the cause which conpds
my everlasting gratitude.*
K^ext morning, at an early hour, hcfore the houMt
of tlie day commenced, and while a porter was ttHag
down the shutters of the shop, M. Boulard caOed Us
wife and Pauline into hhi little office. The good manli
I
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOtJRNAL.
101
ii
air was graye, and a litUe annoyed. He had gone out
the preyious evening, and returned at a late hour.
Pauline had long since retired to rest, hut M. Boulard
had hdd a long conference ivith his wife. The excel-
lent citizen spoke with animation, and not without a
little anger, hut finally cooled down before tbfi soothing
of his wife.
* Besides,' said he triumphantly, * she can never hesi-
tate. Bah ! prefer a wretched frotteur to a substantial
qitizeii— never I *
' Pauline,' began M. Boulard in the rooming, * 1 have
to speak seriously to you. It seems your marriage must
be diecided on at once, since high people have troubled
themKlves about it. But that I have spoken myself
with the minister of police — I should think — never mind :
I am not a fool. But of course I should be wrong.
Wdl, Pauline, you must this morning decide. Two
lovers are at your feet — Alexis } and, you will never be-
lieve it, Jean Prevost the frotteur I Isn't it ridiculous ? '
* Dear &ther, excuse poor Jean,' stammered Pauline.
* I knew you would forgive him, c)iild. But now you
must decide freely, of your own will, between them.
We have our wishes i but that is nothing : we leave
yon wholly unbiassed. Speak out, like a good girl, and
speak frankly.'
* But, my dear father^ I have no wish to marry.*
*But, ciuld, you must Tou shall know the reasons
another time. So now, child, you must speak out
Wl»ch is to be— Alexis or Jean ?'
* Must I speak now ? ' said Pauline blushing.
* Tts, child,' put in Madaoae Boulard j ' it is absolutely
necessary.'
* Then, dear papa, dear mamma, if it^s all the sanlO to
you, I like Alexis'
*XJuiew itl' cned the delighted Boulard.
.*Yery well; but — I — love — Jean.* And Pauline
buried her pretty, blushing, pouting face in her hands.
The perfumer looked at his wife, his wife looked at
him, and both cried, * I never could nave thought it I '
* But,' said Madame Boulard resignedly, ' perhaps it^s
for tlie best'
.*^erhaps,' replied Boulard with ft melancholy ahike
of his head. ' Oh, women, women I '
A knock came to the door, and then Jean Prevost
QDteeed, ao welljdressed, so proudly happy, so handsome,
that all started.
*I am come to know my fate,' cried he; but the
rogue had heard the last words of the old couple
through the halif-opien door.
* She is yours,' cried M. Boulard with a sigh i
'thcogh what a poor frotteur can want wiUi turn a
idfe ia more ^han I can imagine.'
* I am not a. poor frotteur,' said Jean Prerost ; * I am
honorary head gardener of the royal gardens of Ver-
saiUea, with a hundred buis of monthly income, and a
bouae large enough to hold us all, if you will come and
live with us, and sell your business. That you may
understand my sudden rise, I may tell you, my new
yafentsr— but never repeat it—tliat X have luckily saved
tho king from the attempt of an obscure assassin, and
that Xouis XV» has shown liis gratitude to the poor
fcotteiMT.'
^ lionsieur Jean*^— <
Th/9 young man smiled} he had never been called
Mofuieur beioie.
* Monsieur Jean, here is my hand. We accept and
are yery ^ad, since PauUnc loves you. It was for her
sake we hesitated. There, take her, and may you both
be aa happy as we have been ;' and the old man looked
afecUoni^ly at his wife, and at the young couple^
who had searoely yet looked at one another.
Xbey were married, and the^ were happy. They
went down to Versailles to live m the house the king
gave them« and lived there long after Louis XV. 's
death, the place being kept for tnem by Louis XVI.
Jean oe^ame gardener in reality \ and for the eleven
years that the king lived, he never wanted a bouquet
of some kind when at hia palace of Versailles ; and far
more wonderful, he never forgot the action of tb<
frotteur, itor ceased to bear it in grateful and please(
remembrance. At his death tliere were two who sh^
genuine tears, and cast many a garland on bis tomb-^
and these were Jean Preyost anilPauline his wife.
LIOHENa
When the glided leaves of autumn have fallen from th(
trees, when scarbe a flower remains, and the ripeneii
seeds hay& dropped into the earth, then a new life risei
on the wr^k of summer beau^ : emerald mosses, pearl-
like fUngi, and fantastic lichens, sparkle on every side—
• L«aTitif thaf iMsntiAil WhtehtMU Ib so,
• - AndittUUoglltaAtwUahltiioli' '
turning the yery barrenness of winter into a scene ol
vegetating glory. It is not, however, our intention to ad-
vert to the Deauties of these plants, nor to their various
functions in the econoqiv of the universe, but merely to
uame a few of tlie individual uses of the last-named
tribe ; Or, to speak more correcUy, a few of those uses
to which man has already leamea to apply them.
First in tlie list we may place the Iceland lichen, or
Iceland moss {Cetraria islandicd), whicli, growing alike
in the frigid and temperate zones, fixes itself indiffe-
rently in the icy north, on the British mountains, or be-
neath the Spanish and Italian skies, shunning not even
the stony lava ejected bv Mount Hecla. * Providence,'
say the Icelanders, * a bountiful Prpvldence sends us
bread out of the very stones ! * .
Tliis lichen is steeped in water, dried, reduced to
powder, and made into bread; or it is prepared by
chopping small, and boiling in three or four successive
waters, for the purpose of exacting the natural bitter-
nessy and destroying the purgative quality which it pos*
sesses. It is then boiled (or one or t^o hours in milk, and
when cold, forms is most excelleht and nutritious jelly.
It is also much used In this wa^ in England, as an eco-
nomical and efficacious substitute for isinglas in the
making of blancmange. In the same manner it makes
a good thickening for soups and broth. It is often used
in England in brewing, and also in the composition,
says Withering, * of ship-biscuit, as it is not liable to
the attack of wo,rD3s, and sufle^ little tiy the action of
sea water.'
One ounce boUed in a pint; of water ^iU yield a muci-
lage ^ t^ick as that from one part of gum-arabic and
three parts of water. It must be remembered that two
or three boilings are required entirely to exhaust the
nutritive properties of the plant This mucilage, in
addition to its employment as an article of foo<^ is a
substance in our Materia Medicii, and is thus, accord-
ing to Lord Dundonald, made ready :—* It has an outer
skin, covering a green resinous substance, and the re-
mainder of the plant consists chiefly of gum and resinous
matter, on which water does not act In order to sepa-
rate the skin from the resinous parts, the plant must be
scalded two or three times with boiling water, which
causes the skin to crack and peel ofi*. It is then put
into 1^ boiler with three quarts of water to every pound
of the plant, and about half an ounce of soda or potash,
and the boiling should be continued until the liquor
acquires a considerable degree of gummy consistence.
The liquor is then to be strained, and fresh water to be
added to the plant for the purpose of further exhausting
«the gum. The several liquors, after standing some
hours to settle, and then removing the dregs, are to be
boiled down in a regulated heat to the consistence re-
quired for use — but not furtlier, lest it should become
dry and discoloured,' The above la used as a remedy for
coughs, and even in some cases of consumption, as it
eminently strengthens the digestive jpowers, and con-
sequently the whole constitution. It appears to be
more used at Vienna than in any other place. When
newly gathered, it ia employed in loekuid as a genUe
laxative.
The lungwort, or hazel rag (Sticia pulmonaced), is
^■a*— *
102
CHAMBEHS*8 fiDINBtJHGH JOtJBNAL.
««^
supposed to possess similar or eyen superior qualities in
^onsnroptieii. It is also boiled in ale by the Siberians
instead of hopa, end is used by the Herefordshire and
Qlamorgaa women to dye their wooUen stockings of
a durable brown. The beautiful scarlet-cup lichen
{Oemmmfce eoeeiferd), as well as the common cup lichen
(a tubereulata% are considered specifics in hooping-
cough. The Apthous lichen (JPdUdea apthosa) is boiled
in milk, and giren to children who have the thrush.
The lichens bearing the specific name of esculentia
are natives of Tartary, and are used extensively as an
article of food in that country. The Alectoria ash is
In high repute amongst the Arabians as a oordial and
soporific.
The nobleman above quoted discovered a method of
extracting from the tree lichen (Usuea plicald) a gum
which adequately supplies the place of the expensive
gum Senegal, so much required by calico-printers and
others, and whidi, he says, may be supplied ' at one-
fourteenth of the war price, and at one-sixth of the
peace price.'
The ragged hoary lichen {Evemia prunastri) has the
curious propert^y of absorbing and retaining scents, and
is therefore made the basis of many perfumed powders.
Perhaps, too, it might be useful as an imbiber of noxious
vapours.
The cudbear (Leeanora tariarea of Acharlus) derives
its English name from Mr Cuthbert, who first brought
it into general use. It is a most valuable article of
cpmmerce, on account of the fine purple dye which it
yields, and which is so much used in the tartan plaids.
It grows abundantly in the limestone districts ; and the
poor people collect from twenty to thirty pounds per
day by scraping it ofiT the rocks with an iron hoop, and
sell it at prices varying from a penny to three-halfpence
per pound, by which many, more especially amongst
the Highlanders and the inhabitants of Derbyshire,
realise a comfortable livelihood. Much is also imported
from Norway. It is prepared — chiefly at Glasgow —
with a volatile alkali and alum, and sold to dyers for
the purpose of dyeing woollen yarn, for it will not im-
part any colour to vegetable substances. The same
rock may be scraped every five years: the fructified
specimens are the most esteemed. The crust of this
plant is liable, during its growth, to assume * a red or
purplish tint from access of volatile alkali, as may be
seen if certain animal substances fall upon it in its
natural situations:' this fact probably first led to its
observation and use. All the Lecanorm possess the same
qualities in a greater or less degree; hence the con-
nision which exists on the subject, and the indiscrimi-
nate names of orchal, archelle, arcel, argol, cocker, and
oorcaer.
The Leeanora roccella^ which derives its name from
a corruption of the Portuguese word rocca (rock), on
account of its habitat, is the true and most valuable
orchal of commerce : it yields the fine red dye so prized
by both ancients and modems, and in some seasons sells
for as much as L.IOOO per ton. It has been found in
Portland Island and in Cornwall, but is chiefly imported
from the Canary Islands. The crab*s-eye lichen (Z.
pereUa) is used In France as a substitute for the above,
under the HAme of Perelled*Auver jpiCfyrhence its specific
name. Litmus is prepared from this species, for which
purpose it is gathered in the north of England, and sent
to London in casks. This litmus is a most valuable
test to chemists for detecting the presence of an acid or
an alkali ; it is likewise employed for staining marble,
and also by silk- dyers for giving a bloom or gloss to
more permanent colours.
The valuable pigment called 'lake* is the prodact of a
lichen which grows but sparingly in our island — namely,
the prickly lichen (^Comicularia aculeata). In fine, the
dyes afforded by this single tribe of plants are so
numerous and so varied — red, purple^ blue, yellow in
all its varieties, and black— that to enumerate them
would be to give a long and tedious list of names ; we
will therefore present our readers vrith Mr Hellot's
receipt for ascertaining whether any given lichen wiU
3rield an available dye : — * Put about a quarts of an
ounce of the plant in question into a glass, molrten it
well with equal parts of strong limewaler and spirit of
sal ammoniac — or the spirit of sal.ammoniac made witb
quicklime will answer the purpose without limewater—
tie a wet bladder close over the top of the ressel and
let it stand three or four days. If any colour is llkdr
to be obtained, the small qnantity of liquor you will
find in the glass will be of a deep crimson, and the
Slant will retain the same colour when the liquor ii all
ried up. If neither the liquor nor the plant hare
taken any colour, it is needless to make fhrther trials.
The Leeanora candelaria is so named from the dtcom-
stance of the Swedes using it to stain the candtes used
in their religious ceremonies of a purple colour.
We cannot, however, quit the subject of lichen dyei
without adverting to the calcareous lichen, which is so
peculiar to limestone, that when a stone of it occurs
amongst many others, it may be distinguished at the
first glance by the appearance of this plant Qpon it
When dried, powdered, and steeped in lye, it produces
the brilliant and unrivalled scarlet used to colour the
whittles of the Welsh women ; which stood our cotintry
in such good stead when the emissaries of Hobespierie,
after effecting a landing at Fishguard in Pembrokeshire,
were led to mistake the body of women on a distant
hill for an advancing column of ^ red coata.* But even
these numerous uses will sink into insignificance before
the treasure of the north, the reindeer Qchea iCeruh
myce rangi/erina)^ without which the Laptantes could
have no existence, for this plant alone supports the hft
of the reindeer, and the reindeer alone enables his
master to live. Beneath the pine-forests, and on the
snow-covered plains, tlus hardy plant covers mSes of
sterile ground, springing up spontaneously where oo
other plant could raise its head ; and the d^, endowed
with an unrivalled keenness and delicacy of smeO bf
Him who tempers the wind to the shorn lunb, csik
ascertain the presence of their fbod beneath snow of
many feet in depth; and by scraping wiUi their bosCi
and noses, can reach the plant, which is so careful^
protected for their use by its thick covering. The Ste-
reocaulon is chiefly valuable from its being the ftrit
tribe to clothe the arid lava of vdcanoes ; whilst the
Lepro*ijloridu8 is the first to spring up Upon tile ten-
pest-beaten stones.
An idea long prevailed amongst those sttperior to
many wild fancies, that lichens possessed the povst of
transforming themselves into different species of tiieir
own tribe ; and this strange notion is thus explained liy
Dr Bees : the seeds of L.plumbut are known to ftfl
on its congener L. niger, and!^there to germinate; and ss
this is probably the case with others of the UiH the
mysterious transformation is made dear on tlie floipfcst
and most satisfactory principles.
There is a well-known superstition attached td OM
species of lichen, more especially In Wales — namdf,
that which grows in the well 6f St Winifred or Owes-
fVewy. Winifred, says tradition, was fiving ftom the
infidel Caradoc, who, overtaking her as sne reached Ae
church where her parents were, drew his sword hud tttt
off her head ; the head rolled into the church, wtae St
Beuno was preaching at the time; the saint, piddoi|it
up, fastened it on ; so the maiden recovered ; and Hvittg
for fifteen years longer, became abbess of Owytiiam in
Denbighshire; but Caradoc dropped down dead on tile
spot where he had committed the impious act Afld a
well sprung up from where the head of Winifred
touched the ground, which is said t6 throw up twi^*
one tons of water in a minute, and is supposed to pos-
sess such miraculous powers, that no animal tan be
drowned in it ; but the most wonderfiH part of the sloiy
is, that to this day,
* In the bottom there lie certain stonee that look irtdtt^
But streaked with pure red. as the mMnhig wtUi Hi^
'Which th^ say Is her blood ; '-— -
or rather, which they said * was her blood,* nutfl
CHAMBEKS»S IlDINBURGH JOURNAL.
103
in^uiutiTe and legend-subTerting botanist demonstrated
beyond all doubt that ' these time-honoured stains ' were
nothing more marrellous than plants of the violet-
scented lichen (Lepraria FoHthus), .the same as that of
which Linnaeus remarks — * I saw stones covered with a
blood-red pigment, which, on being rubbed, turned into
a bright yellow, and di£fUsed a smell of violets, whence
they have obtained the name of violet siones, though
indeed the stone itself has no smell at all, but only the
plant with which it is dyed.'
The lichen caninus, cinerus, or terrestris, forms the
powder known as PidvU antitypui. It was recommended
by Mr Bampier, brother of the circumnavigator, and
was, by the author!^ of Sir Hans Sloane, noticed in
the * iniilosophical Transactions,' vol. xx., as a remedy
for or preventive of hydrophobia. It was at first com-
pofied of equal parts of black pepper and the powdered
lichen ; but this mixture being found too hot, two parts
of lichen were added to one of pepper. The patient,
after being bled, was directed to tate one drachm and
a^halfl^ when fasting in the morning, in half a pint of
milk for four consecutive mornings, accompanying the
medicine with the use of the cold bath ; after which
be was unhesitatingly promised a perfect cure. This
recipe was admitted into the London * Pharmacopoeia *
in 1721 ; but on a revision of the book in 1788, was
expung^; and now probably almost ranks with the
* stone of power/ which was said to have fallen down
from heaven on a farm near Caermarthen, and which
would, it waa believed by the credulous, have the same
effect This stone, which is of a soft substance (per-
haps chalk), i0£M, or, we much fear, u, scraped with a
knife, and a few grains given to the person who had
been bitten ; with what ^ect» any man of sense may
imagine.
Such are some of the superstitions which were asso-
ciated vrith even this humble tribe of plants, delusions
which the dawn of science is quickly casting into the
shadow of the night which went before it
LYNOffS EXPEDITION TO THE DEAD SEA.
In October 1847, Commander W. P. Lynch, of 'the
United States navy, received orders to proceed at the
head of a party to explore and circumnavigate the
Lake Aiphaltites, or Dead Sea. That the government
of the United States should have considered it neces-
•arj to promote an enterprise of this nature will be
deemed somewhat surprising. By the Americans them-
selves the expedition was considered, we believe, pretty
much in the light of a job, or at least as a thing use-
less, and not altogether justifiable even on the score of
science. Be this as it may, the expedition to explore
that myaterious sheet of water, the Dead Sea, went on
its way, and now a capacious volume Is given to the
world by Commander Lynch detailing the results of his
inquiry.
In the vessel which carried the party to the coast
of Syria were placed all needful apparatus, including
two boats to be taken in pieces and drawn on carriages,
arms for defence, and air-tight life-preservers. It is
unnecessary to detail the ear^ incidents of the voyage,
and the subsequent visit to Constantinople, respecting
which the volume before us is tiresomely redundant
It is sufficient to state that, afler a variety of prelimi-
nary difficulties, the party, with their cortege of boats
on wheeled trucks, arrived at Tiberias, on the Sea of
Galilee, at the beginning of April 1848. They were
here received into the house of an Israelite, and sdl were
delighted to have once more a roof over their heads after
the exposure and fatigues of a land journey from Acre.
On the day after arrival, the two boats — *Panny Mason'
and *Panny Skinner,' as they were called — were
launched on the Sea of Galilee, amidst the shouts and
dapping of hands of a host of Arabs. The 4real interest
of the narrative now commences, though it is to be re-
ffretted that everything interesting in a historkal and
hydrognphical point of view is involved in long and
: of^Nfessed
tasteless effusions imbeflttlng a work of 'flN^sedly
scientific purJ)ort
The first movement of the boats waa towards th^- \
bead of the lake, to visit Mejdel on t^ plain of Gene-
sareth. * It must have been a singular sight firom the
shore— our beautifhl boats, the crews in man-of-war rig,
with snow-white awnings spread, and their ensigns
flying, the men keeping time with their oars, as we
rowed along the green shores of the silent Sea of
GaHIee.' A village is descried. < Pulling to the shore,
we inquired the name of the place of a fellah [native
peasant] who was watering his donkey. His reply was
** Mejdel." This is the ancient Magdala, the birthplace
of Mary Magdalen. Mejdel is now a poor village of
about forty families. The houses are of rough stone,
with flat mud roofs We had no time to survey the
lake — the advancing season, and the lessening flood in
the Jordan, warning us to lose no time' in making the
descent to the Dead Sea. * The bottom of the lake is
a concave basin— the greatest depth thus fbr ascertained
twenty-seven and ft-half fkthoms (165 feet); but this
inland sea, alternately rising and falling from copious
rains or rapid evaporations, apart from its only outlet,
is constantly fluctuating in depth. The water of the
lake is cool and sweet, and the inhabitants say that it
possesses medicinal properties. It produces five kinds
of fish, ail good' Before the final departure from Tibe-
rias, Mr Lynch purchased and fitted up an auxiliary
boat, which he called the *tTnde Sam;' be also de-
tached a number of his men and officers to act as a land
party in the journey down the Jordan.
In approaching the southern extremity of the Sea of
Galilee, the party fn the boats had a good view of the
rugged scenery around, and gradually ttiey swept out of
the lake into the Ghor (Valley of the Jordan). • When
the current was strong, we only used the oars to keep
in the channel, and floated gently down the stream,
frightening in our descent a number of wild fowl feed-
ing in the marsh grass and reedy islands.' In the after-
noon they came to the ruined bridge of Semakh, which
picturesquely crosses the river, its fallen masses greatly
interrupting the navigation. Here the Jordan is about
thirty yards wide. The boats were guided through the
noisy rapids with considerable difficulty. At night, the
party encamped in tents near the border of the stream.
The descent of the Jordan was in this way exceedingly
troublesome ; shallows, rapids, sunken rocks, and ruined
wears impeding the regular progress of the boats, one of
which, the * Uncle Sam,' was speedily destroyed. The
country around was seen to be generally uncultivated,
and the desolation only here and ttiere relieved by miser-
able mud-built villages. Many spots were evidently
of great fertility, and with proper culture, could have
supported a large population. The course of the Jordan
was exceedingly tortuous. In a space of sixty miles of
latitude, and four or five miles of longitude, it traverses
at least 200 miles. Before reaching the Dead Sea, the
party had plunged down twenty -seven threatening
rapids, besides many of lesser magnitudel. Ko inter-
ruption was met with ftom Arabs, though occasionally
these marauders of the Desert assumed a threatening
attitude. An account of the entrance to the Dead Sea,
which was reached in seven or eight days, may be given
in the author's own words : —
At 3. 16 p. M., April 18, the water of the Jordan be-
gan to be brackish, but still it had no unpleasant smell ;
* banks, red clay, and mud gradually booming lower
and lower ; river eightv yards wide, and fast increasing
in breadth, seven feet deep, muddy bottom, current
three knots. Saw the Dead Sea over the fiat, bearing
south — moimtains beyond ; the surfUce of the water be-
came ruffled. 3. 22, a snipe flew by : fresh wind from
north-west: one large and two small islands at the
mouth of the river ; the islands of mud six or eight feet
high, evidently subject to overflow ; started a heron and
a white gull. At 3. 25, passed by the extreme western
point, where the river is 180 yards wide and 8 feet
deep, and entered anon the Dead Sea; the water a
104
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
nauseous compound of bitters and salts.' Almost im-
mediately on entering the expanse of waters the wind
rose to a gale, 'and presented an agitated surface of
foaming brine : the spray, evaporating as it fell, left
incru8tatk)ns of salt upon our clothes, our hands, and
faces; and while it conveyed a prickly sensation
whenever it touched the skin, was, above all, exceed-
ingly painful to the eyes.' The danger of swamping in-
creased every moment, and the boats bore towards the
flat northern shore. Here they gained calm water, and
the party safely landed and encamped at a point indi-
cated by their companions, who had reached this dis-
tance by land journey.
The breadth of the sea at this place to the Arabian
shore was nearly 8 statute miles. * The soundings
directly across gave 116 fathoms, or 696 feet as the
greatest depth— 90 fkthoms, 540 ^t, within a fburth
of a mile from the Arabian shore. Mr Aiilick re-
ports a vdcanic formation on the east shore, and
brought specimens of lava. Another line of soundings
running diagonally across to i^e south-east Mr Dale
reports a level plain at the bottom of the sea extending
nearly to each shore, with an average depth of 170
fathoms, 1020 feet, all across. The bottom, blue mud
and sand, and a number of rectangular crystals of salt,
some of them perfect cubes. One cast brought up
crystals only. Laid them by for Careful preservation.
The diagonal line of soundings was run f^Nnr^ffais place
to a bladk chasm in the opposite mountains. The
soundings deepened gradually to 28 fathoms a short
distance Ironi the shore; the next cast was 137, and the
third 170 fathoms, and the lead brought up, as itren-
tioDed, dear cubical crystals of salt Tlie casts were
takea. about every half mile, and the deep soundings
were/cssried close to the Arabian shore. It was a
tedious operation; the sun shone with midsummer
fietveness, and the water, greasy to the touch, made the
mea's hands smart and bum severely.'
Ooithe morning of the 21st the party took td their
boaitstoekirt along the lake, and make observations;,
landkig at different points, and cdmping at nig^t The
plants finmd were liie Uly, yellow henbane, the night-
shade or 'wolf-grape, the lambs*^uarter, us^d In the
manufaofcOTft 6t barilla, and a species of kale. Dhom
apples were also -discovered. The pebbles on the beach
were aggiutinatod with salt, and dark briny sprihgs
poured down the ravines, discolouring the vegetation,
amongst which were usually prominent tivmarisk-trees
and canes. In various places lumps of bitufnen were
found. The following is one of the more remarkable of
the discoveries that were made :-^
* At 9, tlie water-shoaling hauled more off shore.
Soon after, to onr astonishment, we saw on the eastern
side of Usdum, one-third the distiVnce from its north
extreme, a lofty round pillar, standing apparently de^^
tached from the general mass, at the head of a deep,
narrow, and abrupt ohksm. We immediately poSied in
for the shore, and Dr Anderson send I went up and
examined it The beach was a soft slimy mud in-
crusted with salt and, a shdri distance from the water,
covered with saline frsg^ents and flakes of bitumen.
We found the pillar to be of solid s^t, capped with
carbonate of lime, cylindrical in front and pvramidal
behind. The upper or rounded part is about forty feet
high, resting on a kind of oval pedestal, from forty to
sixty &et above the level of the sea. It slightly de-
creases in size upwards, cnnitbles At the top, and is one
entire mass of crystallisation. A prop or buttress con-
nects it with the mountain behind, and the whole is
covered with debris of a light stone colour. Its pecu-
liar shape is doubtless attributable to ^e action of the
winter rains. The Arabs had told us in va^e terms
that there was to be fbund a pillar soikiewbere tippn the
shores of the sea ; . but thehr statements In toll other
respects had proved so unSatisfisctory, that we could
place no reliance upon them*' At 10. 10, returned to the
boat with large speciosens^ The shore was soft and
very yielding for a great distanoe ; the boats could not
get within 200 yards of the beach ; and our foot-prints
made on landing were, when we returned, incrusted
with salt.'
Later on the same day, and further souUiward, the
scene was one of * unmitigated desolation. On one side;
rugged and worn, was the salt mountain of Usdnxn,
with its conspicuous pillar, which reminded as at least
of the catastrophe of the plain ; on the otlier were the
lofty and barren cliffs of Moab, in one of tlie caves of
wMdi the fugitive Lot found shelter. To the scHith
was an extensive flat, intersected by sloggisli drains,
with the high hills of £dom semi-girdling the salt plain
where the Israelites repeatedly overthrew their ene-
mies ; and to the north was the calm and motkidess
sea, curtained with a purple mist; while many fathoms
deep in the slimy mud oeneath It lay embedded the
ruins of the ill-fated cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
Tlie glare of light was blinding to the eye, and the
atmosphere difficult of respiration. No bird fisnned
with its wing the attenuated air through which the sua
poured his scorching jays upon the mysterious element
on which we floated, and which alone of all the works
of its Maker contains no living thing within it'
Day after day the heat was tliat ci a furnace; the air
dry, and the evaporation excessive. The se«« nnsturred
by the wind, lay smooth and unruffled as an inland lake.
' The great evaporation enveloped it in a thin, trans-
parent vapour, its purple tinge contrasting strangely
with the extraordinary colour of the sea beneath* and,
where they blended in the distance, giving it the ap-
pearance of smok6 from burning sulphur. It aeemed a .
vast caldron of metal, fused, but motionless. About
sunset ve tried whether a horse and a donkey could
swim in the sea without turning over. The result was,
that although the animals turned a UtUe on one tide;
they did not lose their balance. A" Mr Stephens tped
his experiment earlier in the seisson, andnearef the
north end of the sea^ his horse could not haye tamed
over, from the greater density of the water there thsn
here. H!s animsl may have been weaker, or, at the
time, more exhausted than ours. A muscular msn
floated nearly breast-high without the leaat exetG/omJ
Mr Lynch tried the effect in his own person ; bnt^ saja
he, 'with great difficulty I kept my feet down; and
wlien I lay upon my back, and drawing up my knees,
placed my hands on them, I rolled immediately otof.*
The impression conveyed by geological in^ecfign 1%
thflt nearly the whole region is volcanic v Imt as lime-
stone atid sandstone occur among the rocka, the changes
and convulsions must have been of a diversified ciia*
ractcr. The strongest evidence Is presented that Hic
bed of the Dead Sea hfts sunk by a convulsion, prerioas
to which the waters of the Jordan hadprobahb^ eseqped
by the VallGy of Moab to the Bed Sea. * AH opr ob-
servations hav6 impressed me forcibly with the obo-
viction that the mountains are older than the sea. Had
their relative levels been the same at first, the torrents
would have worn their beds in a gimdnid and oo^tdattve
slope ; whereas, in the northeni sectioo» the part m^ ^
posed to have been so deeply engulfed, alftiangh a siofl^
bituminous limestone prevails, t)ie torrents phmge dofA
several hundred feet while on both sides of the sonilRii
portion Ihe ravines come down without atnaptmM,
although the head of Wady Kersk It more ^un m
sand feet higher than tte head, of Wad^
Most of the ravines, too, as .refinance to the
show, h^ve a southward Inclination near their cmtmn
that of Zerka M^n or Callirohoe etpeclfklly. wl^lAt
next to the Jordaxi, must pour down the,0eftt^Tqnp| j
of water in the rainy season. Bu( eyeu if t]|^ j^jii:
that deflection, the argument which has boea hMM o^
tliis supposition would be untenable; for trihq^trisfc
like all other streams, seek the jsreat^deciiyHiet w^fc*
out regard to angular Inclination. Tbe Tmiak ^m
into the Jordan at ft right angle, and we Sahw will
an acute on^ to its descending course, Huneare
other things tending fo the same coqcHiiaioiii
them the isolation of the mountain (tf tTfdBiiis £li
!■■ Jill
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAIi.
105
ference of contour and of ranget and ita conjiistwg
entirely of a rolcanic product. Sut it is for the learned
to comment on the (acta we have laborio^ly collected.
Upon oorselTes the result is a decided one. Vfe entered
upon this aea with conflicting opinions. One of the
party was sceptical, and another, I think, a professed
QobelieTer of the Mosaic account After twenty-two
days* dose investigation, if I am not mistaken, we are
noanimous in the conriction of the truth of the Sorip-
tisral account of the destruction of the cities of the plain.
I record with difQdaice the conclusions we have reached,
simnly as a protest against the shallow deductions of
woiud-be tmhetieTers.'
Of the excursions by land to difltirept points, and a
midtiplicity of details as to soundings, breadtlis, and
other nautical matters, we do not require to speak.
The inrestigation of the Dead Sea was at iengtli com-
pleted, and charts formed of its yarlous features — for
all which particulars we refer to the book itself, Ko
serious accident occurred during the expedition, which
seems to hare been on the whole satisfactory, We con-
dude with an anecdote relative to the well-known
Syrian, Assad Kayat, who some rears ago studied medi-
dne in England, and is now settled as Sritish consul at
Jaffa., *Dr Kayat has just claims to be considered a
benefiMstor to this section of country. He has encou-
raged the culture of the vine ; has mtroduced that of
the mulberry and of the Irish potato; and by word
and exsmple is endeavouring to prevail on the people
in the adjacent plain to cultivate the sweet potato,
which in this warm climate and light friable soil wHl
doubtless succeed admirably. This section, like all
Syria, has few nutritious and succulent vegetables.
The Introduction of the potato would be a blessing, if
only to supersede the washy and unwholesome cucum-
ber, which is now the vegetable of the country. In the
comtyard we observed an English plough of an im-
proved construction, imported by the consul .... Last
winter a boat was upset in the harbour, i^nd the insen-
sible body of one of the crew was thrown by tlie waves
upon the beach. Dr Elavat had it immediately carried to
his house, where he took instant measures for its resus-
citation. In the meantime a report was spread abroad
that a Giaour was making incantations over the body
of one of the ** fsithfol.*' A crowd was very soon collected
before the house, and became damorous for the body,
that they might inter it ; for, as I have before stated,
it is an uticle of MuslUn belief that the soul of a person
not dain in battle cannot enter thle gardens of Paradise
unti) the body is interred. Dr Kayat, from his offlipial
pocitioo, succeeded in keeping the doors dosed until,
after several hours* persevering efibrts, he succeeded,
and indignation gave way to astonishment among the
peonk, who dedared that he had restored the dead to
■ ' ■ > » I ■ I I s I I 1 1
I . I
THE FORCE OF HABIT.
Wb heu^ so mudli oflener of bad habits than of good ones,
that one is half tempted to suppose the phrase a mere
ezcufe*-a shidd for our failings, but no fitting doak
for oar worthier deeds. The 'iavduotaiy fanlts* aie
alluded to la a tone so iadalgeufe-^aa sometbiog, even
whil» iMDeotedy still to be endured— under the name
of iMUrit; which, being second nature, Is still more diffl-
Golt to overcome than nature itself: but all the while
we sihtit our eyes to the correctire properties it also
possesses, and seldom take the trouble of driving home
the little wedge of true metal, that would scatter right
and left the long-accumulating, and perhaps even Imr-
dened mass.
Let us not despise the humble ally — no matter how
trivial the good halnt may be, when applied to Uie
affidr* of every-di^ life — which, after all, is mostly
madp up of trifles in themselves. We will many a time
find oorsdves suddenly pulled up in an inconsiderate,
or even a headlong course, by some little habit, almost
mediauical^ . perhaps adopted unoonsdously, aad yet
precious beyond all calculation iu its results.
Are any of our readers habitual snuff-takers ? If so,
thougU most probably refusing to class tiiis io the
list of bad habits^ they nqust atleast. admib that it is one
of the most difficult to set xuide. The qneattonable
indulgence becomes in the long-run a chief necessary of
liiie ; Indeed we have it from the lips ef andd admiral
now no more, that afc oae tiiT|e« with shipwredc, starva-
tion, and death staring him in the £Me» amongst all the
contingencies of such a situatioo, the 'One.he contem-
plated with deepest apprehension was the faiUag of
suppUes in, the little hdlow deer*a hoof always snugly
ensconsed within his waistcoat pooket But most inve-
terate of all snuff-takers was our friend Walter Miles :
with him the habit was not merdy personal-^ii was
hereditaiy ; and if he did not imbibe it with his mother's
mdlk, be at least acquired it with the cwcUest lessons
imparted by his Csthenwho, pseferring sedative to cor-
reolive measures, would mv^f » tiiae bribe the young-
sters into the quietness he so dearly loved by impartially
handing his snuff* box round the drde ; and Walter,
making the most of his oppottmUties, soon. became
an adept in the art of taking a piooh*. The usual con-
sequeuces of course &Uowed— inflamed nose^ a* nasal
twang of voice, mid other pbenomeaa.
Such a case jPBught Iwtve been deemed kopdess ; habit
was indeed second nature here^ and sordy thmitened
to clon4 the aahna^on and inteHigenoe which were
really natural ;, but^ jusi in time to avert this conse-
quence, a counteracti^ influenee arose— lie fell in love ;
and, nothing unusual, Uie lady of his fancy had an an-
tipathy, insurmauntalde^ she dedared^ to that odious
snufl^, Th^ was .a viol^iit struggle in Walter!s fed-
ings between the nose and the heart— the box and
the la4y i or rather, to do him justtoe* the force of habit
was so powerful, that some fi»ih tcainsgression, almost
unconsciously committed, wcmld every now and then
renew his term of probation, and leave the accomplish-
ment of his hQft9» ^ disfant as at .first But true aflfeo-
tion has its power over antipathies as well aa cfver pre-
dilections ; the ypung lady began to view the offence in
a mitigated light, and to make some allowance for
Walter^ repeated effort^ rain as they were. He, too,
was ready to give up something ( a compromise was
effected \ and she beoame Mrs Milesy on condition that
the snuff-box was xievec to be opened within the four
walls of the apartment cdled e^tolusiv^ thdr own.
The terms, surc^, were not rigorous i tuid yet none
but our snuff- taking friends can realise the pang with
which, on suddenly neooflecting his promise, Wdter
witlfdrew the oflending box from its wonted station be-
neath his pillow, and hsiDislied it to tiie nsantdplece,
where, with the length of the reom between him and
the temptation, he atiU might contemplate it, yet fed
himsdf sa^ Time passed en ; and honourafo^ true to
his engagement, never was the atmosphere of that
apartment clouded witli the forbidden dust, unless, in-
deed, some stray partide might have floated back from
the threshold where he invariably paused for a momen-
tary sdace, the first thing in Che morning, the last at
night His wife, duly appneciating tlie integrity with
which he adhered at least to tiie letter of his promise,
built perhaps somewhat too sanguindy on the hopes it
afforded of thorough conquest In the end ; but a good
habit against a bad one, why shouldn't it gain the
upper liand?— and tira^ and eirenmstance aiding, she
was right
An accident confined Walter for several days to his
room*, at first to his bed( then, when idile to leave it, he
still lingered powerlessly in his arm^chahr beside the fire,
directly in view, and all but in reach, of his ikvomite
box. All but— for even had he tri^ in his oooasiondly
lonely, and oftener wearisome hours, he could not have
stirred hand or foot to appropriate its contents. Yet,
again to do him justice, Uie thought never entered his
head ; the sdf*d^ual in that spot had become so com-
pletely a habit, that he regarded the once tempting
fl ' I
'>r 1 ii'
^kdyiAMM«hirtM«H
106
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBOH JOtJKNAL.
receptAcle irifh as racant & glance at he threw on the
china pah'ot and shepherd that flanked it oil rither aide.
Bat at last the daf of conTalescence arrired, and
leaning on the loving arm of Ma wife, onoe more he was
allow^ to cross tht threshold of the room, his prison ao
long. Bager enough he was to leave it; yet he had
hardly taken two steps, when he quickly turned back
again with a self-pitying smile, exclaiming, 'Ah, I
declare I had nearly fVnrgotten my^ bo2Ll'
A smothered little sigh was the onlj answer, and
again the rinpporthig arm oondnoted him to the door :
once passed, again came the 6ld habitual pause : open
flew ^e snuff-box ; but, grief of grieft, not one partkle
did it centain ; empty, and cleaned out, there it rested
in hts powerless hand ; and unable to go forward under
the weight of such a disappointment, back onoe more
he tottered to the room where at least he was likdy
best to bear it
His wlfede«erves some ercdit: she did nei langb, or
eyen smile; but 'Hewing the misfbrtune with his ores
fbr the moment; exclaimed in tones of ready tympatby,
* Ah, indeed, I should hare remembered : one of those
days when you wefe so yery ill, Jenny knocked it
down, and my fodish heart quite sunk at what it
ftmcied acn unpropitious omen, when I aaw your fa*
Tourite mixture scattered amidst the ashes on the
hearth ; but fortunately the hot itself escaped, though it
nearly fbll into the Are.'
A gratef^il lit<to imile fh>m Walter, and then there
was a silent pause, as he sat with the box in hia hand,
his eyes fixed musingly on the flames from which it
had 80 narrowly escaped. His wife at length took the
other hand, and hesitatingly and very gently said,
* And then I had some hopcv dear Walter, as day after
day passed by, and you nerer, even after you sat up,
asked one question about it, that perhaps by degrees —
ah, if you could only see what a diflbrence it makes in
your look !— your eyes grown so bright— your colour so
clear *
Again a little pause, and Walter looked up, not to the
looking-glass, though tt stood on the ^essing-table just
at hand, and the flattering picture at another time
might have excited his curiosity; but now — ah, far
better, to see it reflected in the eyea that, half smiling,
half tearful, were now looking down on him. To them
he turned ; no word aocompanied his look ; something
&r more empfaatio ; and the next instant the snuff-box
was courageously thrown into tlie fire» never to be re-
placed again !
And thus many an instance crowds on our recoUec-
tion, true as the foregoing, stronger, graver ; instances of
habits trivial in the beginning, tyrants in the end;
habits of weak concession, soon demanded aa a right ;
habits of expression, gesture, position, all unnoticed by
ourselves until we find cursives ridiculous; and yet
eac^ in its turn reformed or counteracted by some other
IttUe habit which originally may have borne it no rela-
tion whatever. There are habits too— but on them it is
hardly omr province to dwell, being more desirous to
prove our point by illustration than example — habits
acquired in careless hours, deepening into vice, yet still
yielding to some better habit retained tliroughout all.
i>own tjliose depths we will not gaze, nor ligluly speak
of an Influence that would seem to demand a higher, a
holier name ; but yet suggested by the better remedy
comes one familiar instance, which, in conclusion, may
serve as a companion to our first, though all unlikely to
meet, belonging to what in Ireland would be csdled
' different ends of the night'
Arthur Greaves oouM never go to sleep without
reading in his bed for an hour or so, no matter how he
had passed the day — at leisure to cram his brain as full
as it could hold, or witli bodily exertion enough to have
closed his eyes in sleep the moment he laid his head on
the pillow. 'Twaa aU the same to Arthur — it was a
regular habit— ho could not dispense with it ; and the
book and the small table with the lamp by his bedside
wero ai neoeasaiy to hif slumbesf aa the bed ilselC Wo
need not relate the hairbreadth escapee he Utenfly
had ; tl^ are in the experience of all who have rashly
practised the indnlgenee. But not only in vain did his
sinifed lodes many a morning bear testimoDy to the
drowsy moments in which they were caught nodding
over the lamp and the page ; even a still more abiding
witness, a dark unsightly chasm in the gay patten of
his bed-curtain— «n aperture which the houseinaid, who
made pretensions to learning, declared ought never to
be repaired^ but 'kept over him as a menior mory*-^
vainly stared him in the face night after night: the
habit was incorrigible — ' it would not give hiro upi*
Bepeated accidk^nts had at last made bis cuitom so
notoriouf, that wherever he went on a visit, the lady d
the house iniured its aafety by issuing directioiis thtt
hte bedroom candle should never exceed ooe inch io
length ; while if a log burned on a hearth, or a cotl feH
out of a grate in any part of the house during the night»
whoever smelled it first, immediately invaded ArUkor'i
premises, makiog light q( his slumbers in more ways
than one. But, with better fortune than could be ez-
pected, years passed over his head without more serious
injuries than those already alluded to. Ko awful catas-
trophe reformed him, terrifying him into good beha-
viour: neither property nor life paid the ibrfielt antici-
pated by so many ; and at length it was by anoUier
little habit of still eariier date Uiat the unsafe one of
later acquisition was eventually laid aside.
He had been always accustomed from the time when,
not higher than his book, be stood be^de a widowed
mother's knee to read a porUon of Holy Writ before be
laid himself down to sle^ Thus in growing years the
business or the amusement of the day inrarif^y footed ;
and even when many another memonr had fadei dim is
the distance, tliat gentle voice still seemed to say,
* Neglect not this, my son ; ' and thus whatever had
been his study at that unreasonable hour and place, it
was uniformly terminated by the best of all hdkae his
eyelids closed for the night
Without intruding on higher motives, this at btst
had become in time a habit, as many another, frocn
* all the nurse and all the priest hath taught,* uncos-
sciously influences us in after-life. His nightly stttffiei
would have seemed incomplete," and sleep as far awty
aa ever, if not solicited thus : and, as we nave sai4 the
boy became a roan ; the man saw a younger gfoenlS/n
springing up beside him ; and still, hand in hand, tte
good and the foolish habit kept their ground.
At last came news — direful and overpowering : fttt
one best loved of all, his own young Arthur, a tM-
shipman on board one of her Mijesty's frigates stattdKd
amongst the West India Islands, had been lost ^ *
boat upsetting, just as the vessel had weighed jamo^
and was leaving the harbour for home. The shSphntdf
brought the sorrowful tidings ; a letter from the oiptslii,
while it did all that words could do in consobtiDB, hf
its praises of the lost one, still left no doubt of tbt
calamity — no hope to which the mourners might cfiv*
And now more than ever had the bereaved Mar
reason to bless the habit which alone oonid steaflyjfc
mind in the night-watches, so often filled witli thcM^
of his sailor boy. With the words of comfort oa his Bf%
with its peaoe within his heart, he would oAHsARii
asleep, to dream of the time when they should bewW
again.
But his wildest or his happiest dream never Mr*
passed the reality. The shadows were lengtbenJiy^
one autumn evening, about a month after the nn^
had been attired in their mourning garb, when tlMfV^
expected sound of carriage- wheels rattiing tip ttt »•
door drew the inmates of the house to the winoowi jjft
in time to catch— Arthur's gay hurra I and see Hft
spring from the roof of the carriage, where^ ^''f^J
benefit of all beholders, he had conaidevmtely pum
himself.
It was indeed himself, ' alive again ;^ as, mudi to Hi
surprise, and somewhat to his amusement, be bad '
informed at the little neighbooring town
^Hmrnrnd
Mit*adK«*lMH
diB^iMBriMa
U^abMlikl
OHAMBEBS'S EDINBUUGH JOXmNAL.
lo7
•*M
coach had let him down, and where the report of hi*
early death, then first learned hy himself, had awakened
sympathy in many a kindly heart. The landlord of
the inn had insisted on getting out a carriage and his
best pair of posters, that not a moment sbottld be an*
necemrUy lost in restoring happiness to the clouded
home. What a meeting it was I How rapid the expla-
nations! How they laughed, and how they wept^ at
Arthur's graphic account d his Tisit to the fishes, and
his first doubts whether it was by sea Or land that he
had got round to the other side of the iiland where he
found himself coming to life again, until resolved by the
congratulations of t^ nigger crew that had picked him
up ! He had them all woM for word ; and nefver weary
or listening, his auditors, unmindAil of all else, were
drinking in the thricc-told tale, as they drew him still
closer to the gtowing fire — ^to each other ; when, just
before the now forgotten carriage turned away, the
postboy's honest face was seen peeping in for a moment
through the still open window : and did one of the
liappy party assembled within blame the freedom, or
tliink it an intrusion, as, lifting his cap from his head,
be reverently said, ' l^ianks be to Qod, shr, twas alt a
mistake!'
' Yes, let us thank Him all together befbm we separate
this night,' said the rejoicing fether in tones of stHI
deeper reverence, as the sound of the wheels died away.
The curtains were drawn, the fire burned more brightly,
and the night grew old, the hours still unheeded ; until,
remembering his pledge, the chapter apportioned for
another hour was read aloud before they separated, and
^ed its calm over all. The father went straight to his
bed, and put out his lamp at once ; his heart too Ml to
admit any sul^ect after that: then, finding he never
had slept sounder in his life, he wound up his day's
occupations in the same way the next night, aUd every
night after in the midst of his family ; and the lamp on
the little table was never lighted again.
LIVES OF THE LINDSAYS.*
HiBTOBT, even family history, can never be well written
by the spirit of class ; and the reason that Lord Lind-
say has produced one oif the best books upon the subject
that have ever appeared is, that he is not, in the vulgar
lease of the word, an aristocrat. He scorns the mean-
ness of those who value themselves on the deservings of
others, and appUuds the saying of Lord Clarendon, that
birth conveys no merit, but much duty, to its inheritor.
Tliose sluggish persons, says he, ' who are disposed to
rest their claims to consideration on the merits of their
ancestors, and not on their own individual activity,
should remember Sir Thomas Overbury's pithy sarcasm
on such characters, that they resemble potatoes, of
which the only valuable portion is under ground.' He
looks upon birth, in short, as an incentive to virtue, and
thinks that a man conscious of a long line of illustrious
ancestors will be less likely than another to commit a
dishonourable action. This reasoning is strictly philo-
sophical, but it applies to other things as well as high
descent A man, for instance, may be reasonably proud
of an office filled before him by a line of eminent indi-
viduals wholly unconnected with each otfier, and he wfll
be incited to do his best to keep up the reputation of the
class. A soldier, in like manner, will display all the
more bravery for belonging to a distinguished regiment;
for in these cases it is not with the sprinkling there may
chance to be of mean intellects or cowardly natures we
would desire to identify ourselves, but with the wise
and brave who have preceded us. There are of course
many persons In our nobility of such narrow calibre, as
to be incapable of taking this view of the subject, and
whose pride of descent, therefore, is purely ridiculous ;
but we trust there are many more who, like Lord Lind-
say, float on with the spirit of the age, and recognise in
* Orta Meoantr of iba Hoiues of Crawford and Bakarres. By
Locd Lindaar. StoIh Londnn: llnrrAV. 1040.
the aristooratk: feeling an element of o1»tBature the
genuhieness of which is proired by the share i^as in
the scheme of progcessivt development*
* The pdde of race,' says M. Obasles, In a review o^ }
this work in the 'Journal des B^bata,' *now attacked
in its last entrenchments, brings forward its titles for
its support against the spirit of the new time : it fsels
the necessity of skielding itself historically against that
equality which has become the mistress of its destiaies ;
and the most exclusive adstoeraey in Europe^ forced to
act on the defensive^ arms itself with its great buckler,
and shows there insefibed, like a blasson, its proofs of
courage and servioe. . . « . But the genius of the past,
opposed to tiiat of the present, is always the conquered
genius ; and Lord Lindsay's book, filled as it is with
proud seotiments and gkirious memories, is nevexthe*
lees a homage to the new world*' This, however elo^
quent, is only partly true. The genius of the past is
never sobdoed : it merely »e«ves, in the moral progress
of society, another development, just as the ohivalry
of the middle ages still survives as a great principle
under a new form $ just as Christianity itself, according
to a recent writer, changed from the religion of works
into that of faith, will finally be subUmed into love. In
the latter example, Peter and Paul wiU iiot be extin-
guished in the aseendaney of John, for tbey are mani-
festations of the same ideutioal but progtessive prin-
ciple; and thus the mind of the present^ even while
marching onward, will always contiaUB its homage to
great ancestors—*
* The dead but soeptred aoyerelgof, who still rule
Our spizits from their uma.'
If this be correct, the mistake of M. Ckasles consists in
his supposing that it is only the popular genius 'qui
marche en avant,' and only the aristoeratical genius
* qui se rejette sur les ^coules.'
It is not doubted now, we believe, thst moral as well
as physical characteristics descend in families, whether
illustrious or otherwise. The name of the * lightsome
Lindsays' indicates a very enviable hereditary quality
peculiar to this raoe ; but in some indlvidusls, accord-
ing to their biographer, it degenerated into very re-
markable extravagance. This was more obvious towards
the close of the main branch, Crawfbrd; at»d Lord
Lindsay even traces, with a superstitious feehng, a
' curse' devolving fhim the crimes of the Wicked Master
(154S) upon the doomed race. Hie title of IMLaster, we
may say, belonged, from the middle of the fifteenth
century, either to the eldest son or presumptive heir to
a Scottish peerage. Thus the son and heir ni Lindsay,
Eari of Crawford, was the Master of Crawibrd.
* Alexander, Master of Crawford, surnamed emphati-
cally by Scottish tradition "The Wicked" or '*Evil
Master," exceeded all his compeers in prodigality, reck-
lessness, and crime. He was the Absalom ol his cen-
tury. Like the son of David, he had been put in fee of
the earldom by his father, as future earl, which gave
him independent power, and the barony of Glenesk had
been assigned to him in consequence. Attaching to
himself a bond of ruffians, he seized his ikther^s fbrtress
of Dunbog, and commenced the lifb of a bandit, oppress-
ing the lieges, tyramiising over the clergy, and levying
black -mail, or tribute, over the whole surrounding
country. As eariy as 1526, his fkther had been obliged
to appeal to the crown fbr protection ftom ** bodily
harm," threatened against himself, his wife, taid friends,
by his rebeliious son j the Master expressed contrition,
and by the intervention of the ArchHshop of St
Andrews and others, ** as amicable compositors," the
eari received him once more " into hearuy ftivour and
kindness,*^ engaging to confirm him in the fee of the
earidom, provided he relapsed not into crime, and
banished his ** present company" of evil abettors^-the
enfeoffinent to be '* null, cassit, and retretit (broken and
retracted), but ony process" (without any law proceed-
ings), in case of contravention or failure in these eondi-
tions. But the evil nature soon Itfoka out atf^n. and
n^
rfbri
108
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
four years afterwards, on the 16th of February 1530-1,
he was solemnly arraigned at a justice-ayre held at
Dundee, the king himself presiding in person, when a
fearful catalogue of enormities were alleged against him
and his accomplices — rapine, rape, murder, common
brigandage, the occupation of lands belonging to the
Darl of Buchan for five years, the besieging his father's
castles with the intention of murdering him, the sur-
prising, him at Finhaven, "laying violent han^s on
him,** and imprisoning him in his own dungeon for
twelve weeks, and on another occasion canying him by
force to Brechin, Fhere he confined him for fifteen days
— ^besides breaking open his coffers, pillaging his writs,
and seizing his rents and revenues. No defence was
offered— none could be made. The Master admitted
everything, and threw liimself on the king's ^ mercj.
By the Scottish law, founded on the Roman, his guilt
was parricide, and its penalty death — personal to him-
self civil to his posterity. His life was spared, probably
tlirough his father's intercession, and with a Imgering
hope. that he might yet repent Bat the forfeiture took
effect tQ the legal exclusion of himself and his posterity
from succession %o the estates and honours of Cfrawford,
blotting them out as if they had never existed. And he
acquiesced in this, and implemented or fulfilled the law,
by solemnly abjuring and renouncing, of his own free
will, an right or claim " to all the lands of the earldom
of Crawford," in favour of Earl David his father, to
dispose of, in whole or In part, according to his good
pleasure ; confessing liimseu at the same time to have
** sinned grievously and enormously** against his said
father^ and against the decreet arbitral pronounced by
tlic Arclibishop of St Andrews — and stretching out his
right liand and binding himself to this renunciation (as
it was called) of ** all kindliness and right of succes-
sion,** in presence of his unhappy parent, in the public
street between the chapel of St «fohn and the houses of
the lepers at the east end of .the burgh of Dundee* the
third Iipur ai^r noon on the penultimate of March
155?.' .
fn less than a year after this ignominious forfeiture^
tlie Wicked Master was. slain in a broil with a cobbler
of Dupdee ; and after his father's dcath^ the earldom
passing over, his descendants, felt to D^vid Lindsay of
Kdzell Earl David became the protector of the son of
his pjccdecessor, and * as. soon as he was fairly settled in
his new dominions, new feelings began to stir In his
lieart, or old ones rather developed themselves in a new
manner**feeUngs , closely , connected with the days of
clanftliip and feu^afism.* These were the Instinct of
clanship, and of reverence for the principle of legiti-
macy ', and smothering eyeiy feeling of selfish ambi-
tion, tins man, in tlie very^ prime of life, adopted in
Uspi form the excluded heir, the son of the Wicked
Master; his <^umile and formal behaving^ inducing
him; to belicye that he would inherit the good without
beipg ^in^d with the evil in his father's character.
Thcafse^it of the crown being obtained^ * a solemn bond
or contract was dra«'n,up, by which the Master ac-
knowledged his oUigations, and accepted his duties, as
adopted son to Earl David ; and engaged, on failure of
its conditions, or on re-enacting the enormities of his
father, to resign the earldom £or himself and his heirs
for ev^, on the payment of two thousand pounds by
his adopted father, hia heirs or assignees, in the kirk of
Dundee, " and I, my heirs and assignees, fra tliencefbrUi
to he secludit thcrefra for our ingratitude for ever.'* *
The descendants of the Wicked Master, however,
I«ord Xiodsay says, were * hereditarily doomed, it would
8CQm> psy. prodigaiitF^and crime.* The young David, in
due time, succeeded to the earldom. *But long before
that period, his conduct had disappointed the hopes,
and embittered the dedii^g years of his benefactor ;
and in \^59 it is- stated, in a legal document under the
signet of the queen, that he had so conducted himself,
^ tba^ be aU law, w^ural and dvil, he deserves dishc-
resing and tins^e (loss) of tlie benefit of the said adop-
tion; intimating how lenient and forgiving his pre-
decessor had still been, even after his seoond marriage,
the birth of a flourishing fkmily, and the pro^ocaticns
received from tlie ungrateful serpent he nad fiittend
in his bosom, might have tempted him to revoke that
rash experiment* Among the pranks of tiiis youth
during his Mastership, he attackea and spoBed Gtenesk,
ravaging the country, and canying off eighty-fbur oxen
and sixty-nine *lrpe;' a robb^ which his beoe^utor
made good, reimbursing the sufibrers, and pardoning
the ofi'ender. After the Master succeeded to the esri-
dom, he signalised himself by the bitterest hostSlitj to
the House of Edzell!
The next descendant of the Wicked Master fignres
in a fray highly characteristic of Uie time, and which
was fatal to Lord Glamis. 'Crawford and Ghunls
chanced to meet each other, at the head of tbetr respec-
tive foUowings, in a narrow street called the School-
house Wynd, and in front of a large fortified hooie
named **the Lady Mary's Lodging," in Stiriiag, u
Crawford was passing to the castle, and tiie chsncellor
returning to his lodging, after making his veport to the
king.* file consequence was a collision with tlie sword,
for the two uobles were at feud with each other; and
Glamis was mortally wounded by a pistol bulled fired
by the hand of some unknown assassm. 'Altogether
this skirmish, in its scene and circumstances — the nar-
row antique wynd, tlie torches, the pistcA-flashea, the
struggling groups of combatants, Crawford endeavour-
ing to appease the fray, Glamis staggering backwards,
while the " evil.willer*s** pistol and fiice of triumph are
still protruding from the ** heich window," forms a sub-
ject worthy of the pencil of Gherardo deUa Notte or
Salvator Rosa.' Crawford now appears in the chazieter
of a rebel ; and after being imprisoned and forgiven, his
younger brother begins to eclime him by rising in fte
favour of good King Jamie. 'The following letter^ ad-
dressed to this Alexander Lindsay by the king^ is eia-
racteristic : —
• Sanpie— rQuhill (UH) youre goode happe fofneil Joe
sum bettir occasion to recompence vottre hbneft and
faithfuU seruice, utterid be youTe duigent and caltMl
attendance upon me, speciallie at this tym^ ktt US§
assure you, in theinviolabill tvorde of ypure airin ftfiMS
and maist^r, that quhen Godd randeris trie 1(1 Skol*,
lande, I sail irrcuocablie, and with consent cf Taatl^
ment, erect you the temporalitie of Murraye in a tBiB»
poral lordshipp, with all hononris thairto apparteiitfi^
Lett this seme for cure to youre present dh^s^.
*Erom the CasteU of Croneburg, ^haSft *« m
drinking and dryuing our (rattling away) in the anH
maner. X &*
In fulfiUuent of this promise, *Sandie' tras idafte a
baron, with the title of Lord Spynie; but tfmpfye
this, King James set liimself with his trhole liatff to
negotiate a marrifvge for his favourite, addretthtgil^te
My some amusing letters, which we have fio Tdcttrftit
and this note to the intended bridegroom^—
* Sandie— We are going on here in th6 auld vf%%mi
very merry. 1*11 hot forget you when I eoihie himt
you shall be a lord. - But mind (remember) yeuiljM
for her auld tout witl make you a ncir htm, J. &*' '
Notwithstanding such gleams of light, lidwcFV^,^
doom of the descendants of the Wicked Matf^rvif
fixed. * It is a melancholy tale — a malignant ati^ tif
rather, apparently, a hereditary curse, pnmed ^fvvl^
worthiest of them to degradation and mia.' Diiilll
earl we have mentioned was neglected wben a ycniGMQ^
Iiis father, so that his ' pedagogue' dechMres fA It ftHgc
that they had no alternative but either to * Stetf itf
town' or sell thebr furniture. *And an
mentions the tear^ shed by the Master wh^
expectancy, his father visited the , t6lrti-^-aad
without seeing him. His heart cnUhed, hit
wounded, his attempts to wii^ hip ActhCi^ lovB
an the sweet aJSlctions of bisnattir«trdr0 tuitttd ,
his intellect ran to waste, and on attsaininK ttm ^^
pendence of manhood, he giithercd a baiM of brtMltt
Lindsays around him, and revenged bit dxUdhoDdP^roWJT
r--..
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
109
upoD tociefy. LoTG might yet have reolaiined him, but
his marriage proyed unfortunate, and a divorce released
both wife and husband from what had become a mere
bond of bitterness. I have little more to relate of him
except the strange circumstances of his latter years.
Recklees and prorose, and alienating the possessions of
the earldom in a manner which, however unjust, could
not, it would seem, be legally prevented, a solemn coun-
cil was held by the family, who determined to imprison
him for life, in order to prevent further dilapidation :
they accordingly confined him in Edinburgh Castle,
where he spent his remaining years under surveillance,
but a^ing in every respect otherwise as a free agent.
Hence the epithet by which he is frequently distin-
guished by contemporary genealogists, of ** Comes In-
caroeratus," or the ** Captive EarL"" He at length died
in his prisQD, ' leaving only one child, Lady Jean Lindsay,
an orphan, destitute and uncared for, and fated to still
deeper debasement, having run away with a common
** jockey with the horn,*' or public herald, and lived
latterly by mendicancy, " a sturdy beggar," though
mindfol still of the sphere fh>m which she had fallen,
and ** bitterly ashamed.'* An aged lady related her
melancholy history to Crawford the antiquary, who
flourished during the early years of last century, adding
that she remembered seeing her begging when she her-
sdf was young. Shortly after the Restoration, King
Charles IL granted her a pension of one hundred a vear,
^ in oonsideration of her eminent birth and necessitous
condition," and this probably secured her comfort during
the evening of her days.'
Earl David was succeeded by his uncle — wild, prodi-
gal, and tyrannical. His son. Earl George, sold Finnaven
and the tombs of his ancestm to Lord Spynie, and serv-
ing abroad as a colonel of a foot company of Dutch,
cudgelled one of his ofilcers, and was slain by him in
requital of the insult * Earl George was succeeded by
his next brother. Colonel Alexander Lindsay, on whom
the curse of the Wieked Master was even more fearfully
visited^ as he became '* frantic," or insane, and was
kept in oonflnement till his death in 1639, when the last
sorviving son of Earl Henry, Colonel Ludovic Lindsay
— who had risen to that rank in the Spanish service —
succeeded as sixteenth Earl of Crawford, and returned
to Scotland, in order to support the king in tbe diffl-
cnlties that were then gathering round him. He and
Lord $pynie were in that year the last survivors of tbe
seven Crawford cousins who had started in life so gaily
and hopefully not twenty years before.' Earl Ludovic
was nuned in the wars of the Covenant : and homeless,
penniless, and destitute, was glad to obtain the command
of an Irish regiment in the Spanish service. He died
abroad«no one knows where or how; and with the third
Lord Spynie, the last descendant of the Wicked Master,
the anccessioD terminated. We feel that we have not
been Able, in our confined space, to do this remarkable
story justice; but it is certainly one of the most striking
things in the book.
We now conoe to another strange anecdote of a light-
sooid Lindsay of a different stamp, Colin, Earl of Bal-
canes. * The young Mauritia de Nassau had fallen in
love vith Colin at his first presentation at court ; on his
reooTery, Sir Robert sent him to pay his acknowledg-
ment* to her, and ere long, the day was fixed fbr their
moTiage. The Prince of Orange, afterwards William
IIL, presented his fair kinswoman on this joyftil occa-
sion with a pair of magnificent emerald earrings as his
wedding-^ft The day arrived, the noble party were
asaembkd in the church, and the bride was at the altar ;
but« to Hie dismay of the company, no bridegroom
appeared 1 The volatile Colin had forgotten the day of
his marriage, and was discovered in his nightgown and
shp||ers qoietly eating his breakfast! Thus far the
tale is told with a smile on the Up, but many a tear was
abed at the conduslon. Colin hurried to the church,
bat in his haste left the ring in his writing-case ; a
friend in the company gave him one — the ceremony
went on, and without looking at it, he placed it on the
finger of hia fair young bride. It was a mourning ring,
with the mort-head and cross-bones. On perceiving it
at the close of the ceremony, she fainted away ; and the
eril omen had made such an impression on her mind,
that, on recovering, she declared she should die within
the year ; and her presentiment was too truly fulfilled.*
Another of these Earls of Balcarres, deaf, sixty, and
extremely odd, fell in love with a girt of twenty. * But
though Miss Dalrymple respected and looked up to
Um, she was not disposed to pass the bounds of grati-
tude for his marked admiration of her. Lord Balcarres
was almost sixty, and, what was worse, the world
reckoned him eighty ! Though his aspect was noble,
and his air and deportment showed him at once to be a
man of rank, yet there was no denying that a degree
of singularity attended his appearance. To his large
brigadier wig, which hung down with three tails, he
generally added a few curls of his own application,
which, I suspect, would not have been reckoned quite
orthodox by the trade. His shoe, which resembled no-
thing so much as a little boat with the cabin at the end
of it^ was slashed with his penknife for the benefit of
giving ease to his honest toes ; here — there — he slashed
it where he chose to slash, without an idea that the
world or its fashions had the smallest right to smile at
his shoe ; had they smiled, he would have smiled too,
and probal^y said, ** Oddsflsh ! I believe it is not like
other people's; but as to that, look, d'ye see! what mat-
ters it whether so old a fellow as myself wears a shoe or
a slipper?"' Miss Dalrymple refused him, and he fell
sick with the disappointment : he recovered, and she
married him.
Tlie countess proved to be a famous hand at whipping
her diUdren ; but on one occasion, when the culprits
absconded, the punishment was amushigly varied.
• Our flight,' says one of them— Ladv Anne Lindsav,
author of the famous baUad— *was discovered by old
Robin Gray the shepherd—** All the young gentlemen
and the young ladies, and.iill the dogs, are runaway,
my lady 1" A messenger being despatched, not to nego-
tiate, but to bring us back noleru vcktis, the six cri-
minals were carried befbre tbe cooiitess, whd dechited
that on this occasion Irhipping was too good for us, and
that we should each have a dose of tincture of rhubarb
to teach us to stay at home — ^a punishment classically
just in its degrees, as the eldetrt, consequently tbe most
guilty, had the last and most ofibnsive p!^t Of the
bottle.'
Another anecdote of whipping. In ^s case the cul-
prit was Lady Margaret * Our governess, Henrietta
C— , amidst many faults, was passionately fond of her,
but did not spare her when she was wrong. On a
certain occasion, I fo^t what, " If you do so again,"
said she, ^ Lady Margaret, devil take me if I do not
whip you severely!" Adding— ** Ton do not mind What
I say, and therefore I swear to it." Margaret at no
great distance of time committed the same sin. ** I see
now how you have attended to what I told you,** said
Henrietta; •* if this happens once liiore, I posittrdy must
whip you." " I do remember what you told me." said
Margaret, •• and you are bound to^whip me." " I cer-
tainly shall the very first time you do so." ** No, Miss
C— , you mu«t whip me now; 3rou swore to rt, and
said, * Devil take you if you would not whip mc se-
verely.' " Henrietta acknowledged it, hot said ftiis once
she would excuse her. ** And will God excuse you ?
No," said Margaret: **I insist upon it that yon whip
me directly ! '* Henrietta remonstrated ; Margaret cried,
expecting every moment to see the devil take away the
governess. At last she carried the point, and was laid
on her knee ; but Henrietta, feeling no anger, and being
ftiU of admiration of the culprit, who was insisting on a
flogging to save her soul, instead of inflicting the punish-
ment quietly, beUowed so loud hersdf at every stroke,
as to bring my mother into the room, who soon settled
the business.'
This governess was an original, much better than any
character in fiction we remember. * My moth^ had
no
(HAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOUBNAU
found her weeping and pafnting butterflies in the garret
of a house where she lodged for a few days in Edinbur^li.
The mistreBi of it, who was her aunt, treated her with
a seyeritj which she said ** was good for lier pi*otid
little ridiculous niece;" and Henrietta C ^ indinerent
about lier good or bad treatment, wept because she was
not placed, she said, in the sphere of Ufe for which she
was formed. She boasted that in her veins descended
the blood of an old Highland chief— I forget who : pride
had sailed down with the stream, and Henrietta reckoned
herself more highly bom than if she had been one of the
House of Austria. She was carried to Balcarres to try
what she was fit for. ' At first Henrietta had her mess
with my mother's maid in her own room : tears flowed ;
she starved herself; and in order to make Henrietta
happy, she was permitted to dine with the family.
This indulgence was repaid by her teaching us such
things for her own amusement as Margaret and I were
then ci^pable of learning. By degrees she rendered her-
self of use, while she maintained her independence.
The ascendancy she acquired over the mind of Lady
Balcarres, while bending to her in nothing, became
evident ; and my mother, satisfied that her prcject was
ready to answer, proposed to her to accept the ofiloe
directly, and a salary of twenty pounds per annum,
which, being all she could afford to give to a person
possessing nothing, was not contemptible. This pro-
posal nearly cost Henrietta her life : she said it was
** so haugh^jT and unprovoked: as an act ^f fHendship,
she was ready to take care of us, but her soul spumed
emolument" Three bottles of laudanum and some
quieting draughts put matters to rights. Ill could my
mother's spirit brook to make concessionsi but she was
obliged to do it { and Henrietta gained, upon the whole,
more than twenty pounds per annum of consideration,
together with a little pension of fifteen pounds from
government, which my father procured for her.
' Behold her, then, settled at Balcarres, the least little
woman that ever was seen for nothing. Fantastic in
her dress, and na!ve in her manners beyond what was
natural at her time of life, her countenance was pretty,
her shape neat and nice. But in that casket was lodged
more than Pandora's box contained, not only of sorrows
and of ills to demolish mankind, but of powers of every
kind, good as well as bad — ^powers of attaching, powers
of injuring, powers of mind, powers of genius — magna-
nimity, olMtiiiacy, prejudice, romance, and occasionally
enthusiastic devotion.' A curious trait in this strange
Henrietta's pride was her employing her brother to ma-
nufacture a fictitious genealogy I However, she was a
good though strange creature ; and her greatest trial was
Lady Balcarres dividing her affection between her and a
* masculine bravo,' one Miss Sophy Johnstone, as strange
and original as herself. * The father of this lady was what
is commonly called ** an odd dog ; ** her mother that un-
encroaching sort of existence so universally termed '* a
good sort of woman." One day after dinner the squire,
having a mind to reason over his bottle, turned tlie con-
versation on the "folly of education." The wife said
she had always understood it was a good thing for young
people to know a little, to keep them out of harm's way.
The husband said education was all nonsense, for that
a child who was left to nature bad ten times more sense,
and all that aort of thing, when it grew up, than those
whose beada were filled full of gimoraoks and learning
out of books. Like Mrs Shandy, she gave up the point,
and, as he stoutly maintained his argument, they both
agreed to make the experiment on the child she was
ready to produce, and mutually swore an oath that it
never should be taught anything from the hour of its
birth, or ever have its spirit broken by contradiction.
This child proved to be Miss Sophy Johnstone. The
dispute and covenant were known in Uie country ; and
the neighbours, in jest, calling her ** Hilton's Natural
Danghtar," in a few jmn she passed bona fide for his
illegltiniate child.' The result was the formation of the
'mascidlne bravoh' * Nature seemed to have entered
into the jest, and haiitated to the last whether to make
her a boy or a girl. Her taste led her to hunt with htr
brothers, to wrestle with the stable-boys, and to saw
wood with the carpenter. She worked well in inm,
could shoe a horse quicker than the smith, made excd-
lent tranks, played well on the fiddle, sung a man's song
in a bass voice, and was by many people suspected cf
being one. She learnt to write of the batier at her own
request, and had a taste for reading, which ahe greatly
improved. She was a droll ingenious fellow : her talents
for mimicry made her enemies, and the videoos
of her attachments to those she called her favourites
secured her a few warm friends. She came to spend a
few months with my mother soon after her marriage,
and, at the time I am speaking of, had been with htr
thirteen years, making Balcarres her head-quarters, de>
voting herself to the youngest child, whichever it was~
deserting him when he got into breeches, and regularly
constant to no one but me. She had a little forge fitted
up in her doset, to which I waa very often invited.'
Poor Miss Sophy Johnstone lived to he a miserable,
penuriotts old woman. ' The junior members of the
family, the grandfathers and grandmothers of the
youngest existing generation of the Lindsays, were fre-
quenSy sent to visit her, and never empty-handed.
They usually found her crouched in the comer of her
den, and her first salutation was always, ** What hae ye
brocht? — what hae ye brocht ? "— stretdnng out her
skinny arm to receive the offering.'
We must indulge ourselves in another orlgutal — the
venerable Lady Dahymple, mother of the whippiag
countess. * At ten she came down stairs, always a Uttls
out of humour till she had had her breakfast. In her
left hand were her mitts and her snuff'-box, whidi coa-
tained a certoin number of pinches ; she stopped on Hie
seventeenth spot of the carpet, and coughed three times ;
she then looked at the weathar-glass, approadied ibt
tea-table, put her right hand in her pocket for tlie key
of the tea-chest, and not finding it Uiere, sent me up
stairs to look for it in her own room, charging me not
to fall on the stairs.
•* Look," said she, " Annie, upon my little table-*
there you will find a pair of gloves ; but ^e key is not
there. After you have token up the gloves, yoavfll
see yesterday's newspaper ; but you wiU not find it be*
low that, so you need not touch it. Pass on firom tbs
newspaper to my black fan : beside it there Be ftne
apples (don't eat my apices, Annie — mark that ! ). Itts
up the letter that is beyond the applea, and there yea
wiU find" **But ia not that the key io yowlsft
hand, over your little finder ?" '* Nq, AsDle s it oaDDot
be so ; for I always carry it on my right." " That is, you
intend to do so, my dear grandmamma i hot yoa know
you always carry it in your left" ** W^ wdl, «hfldL I
believeldol Butwhatthen? Isthe teamadal JPat
in one spoonful for every person* and one ovw— Aaais^
do you mark me?"
' Thus every morning grandmamma amelt thna
times at her apple, came down stairs testy, coughed on
the seventeenth spot, lost her key, had it detected ia
her left hand, and the morning's pairade being orei^ M
the evening's nap arrived (when ahe had « aew siilf
mancBuvresX she was a plea^g, entvtaiaiQg, talksifiili
mild <M woman. I should love her, for sha loved ■»»
X was her god-daughter, and h9r sworn Iriand'
Before concluding, we are in duty bound to fctafsts
the Lindsays — and here is the end of the * proud Bsm
of Edzell.' * The laird^ like his father, had bees a wU
and wasterful man, and had been long awa*. Be vm
deeply engaged with the unsuooeasfhl paoi^ «f Iks
Stuarts, and the mmoura of Uiefr detfeat wen HS
occupjdng the minds of all tisB oountey-ai^ QaaaftM
noon the poor baron, with a sad and soxsowfiil owiitl
nance and heavy heart; and followed by only ooaflf a*
his company, both on horseback, came to tba outfit
almost unnoticed by any. Everything waa sileot : ha
ga'ed into his great big house a solitary man. Tbmn
waa no wife or child to gi*e him weloome^ for ba had
never been married. The oaatle waa almoit
:=q
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOUBIVAL.
Ill
a few old lerTants had been the oxdy inhAbitantt for
many months. Neither the laird nor his faithful fol-
lower took any rett that night Lindsay, the broken-
hearted, mined man, sat all that night in the large hall,
sadly occupied— destroying papers sometimes, reading
papers sometimes, sometimes writing, sometimes sitting
mournfully silent — ^unable to fix his thoughts on the
present or to contemplate the future. In the course of
the following day he left the castle in the same manner
in which he had come. He saw none of his people or
tenants. His one attendant only accompanied him.
They rode away, taking with them as much of what
was valuable or useful as they could conveniently carry.
And turning round to take a last look of the old towers,
be drew a last long sigh, and wept He was never seen
here again.
* Year after year passed away» and the castle fell to
ruin. The banner rotted on the keep— the roofs fell in —
the pleasamice became a wilderness— the summer-house
fell to decay — the woods grew wild and tangled — the dogs
died about the place, and the name of the old proprietors
was seldom mentioned, when a lady one day arrived at
Edzell* as it is still related, in her own coada, and drove
to the caatle. She was tall and beautiful, and dressed
in deep mourning. " When she came near the ancient
buiying- place," ^ays the same faint voice of the past,
"she alighted, and went into the chapel — for it was then
open : the doors had been driven down, the stone figures
and carved work were all broken, and bones lay scattered
about The poor lady went in, and sat down amang it
a', and wept sore at the ruin of the house and the fate
of her family ; for no one doubted of her being one of
them, though no one knew who she was or where she
came fcook After a while she came out, and was driven
in the coach up to the castle. She went through as
much of it as she could, for stairs had fallen down and
roofs had fallen in ; and in one room in particular she
stayed a long while, weeping sadly. She said the place
was very dear to her, though she had now no right to
it; and she carried some of the earth away with her." '
We have omitted, it will be observed, all mention of
the better-known historical aod literary characters of
the family ; but enough has been said, we presume, to
convince the reader that in these volumes he will find,
together with much truth, some philosophy, and not a
little elegance of fancy, a great deal more even of
romantic interest than in half the novels of the time
coUectirely.
THE MAORI MESSENGER.
Wb have received a newspaper with the above title,
Uie appearance of whidi is an event of too much in-
terest to be passed over without notice. Two Joumab
^t came severally forth with the same objects, the
instruction and entertainment of the native population
of New Zealand, were discontinued ; but the present
adventurer, instead of being disheartened by their fail-
Qre»haa only been stimulated to make his arrangements
more comprehensive and complete. The paper is in
four fblio pages, and printed in alternate colmnns of
Eogliah and Maori, the latter being a free translation
of the former. After a sensible introduction, the first
number proceeds to discuss the question of the civilisa-
tion of the Sandwich Islanders, showing the analogies
that exist between the position of that people and the
New Zealanders. In faet^ the pvogreas made by the
fionner tribe presents one of the most remarkable traits
in modem history. From naked, drunken, ignorant,
Uoentiotis savages in one generation, they have become
in the next a decent, orderly, weU-disposed people. Not
to oiention their advance in religion and morals, they
' practise many of the arts and usages of civilised life.
There are carpenters, blacksmiths, shoemakers, painters,
masonsj and bookbinder*, and in most of the mecbaoi-
cal departments they are re^iectable workmen. There
are those who possess flocks and herds, and hold lands
in fee simple. There are some who are gaining pro-
perty. Equal protection is given to all, firom the highest
to the lowest Neither king nor chiefs can *seize upon
what is not their own, without being amenable to the
laws. The people have availed themselves of the in-
ducements held out to them to labour, with the assur-
ance that aU the products of their industry will be
secnr^ to them. Many are collecting around them
the comforts and conveniences of a civilised people.
Their houses are better than formerly, and many of
them are partitioned off into separate apartments, and
some of them are furnished with tables and chairs, and
many other conveniences of civilised housekeeping.'
The New Zealanders were found by the white navi-
gators in a position still nK>re brutally savage than that
from which the Sandwich Islanders have been redeemed.
An article on the subject commences thus :— * Friends,
Maories, perhaps you occasionally reflect on the many
things the white people introduced amongst you, and
unon their many works by which mankind is elevated.
The white people discovered you sitting in darkness —
you ate men— you were continually fighting, and did
everything else that an evil disposition prompted. He
sent some of his people amongst you, and you were
taught the ways of eternal life j and the good intentions
of God were explained to you ; and you then discerned
that your old customs were very bad ones. With re-
gard also to the things that sustain this life, ^pou were
found living on the plants of the earth — ^for instance,
fern root, tawa berries, the root of the convolvolus,
hinau berries, the tree fern, grubs, the root of the raupo,
and the various other kinds of weeds that the earth
Eroduoed : you were like animals ; you had no clothes,
ut went about naked : such clothes as you had were
the coarsest kinds of noats. When children were born,
tliey were covered with a garment made of the leaves
of the patate-tree j but on the arrival of the white man,
you became acquainted with good food. He gave you
potatoes, Indian corn» pumpkins, wheat, pigs, and all
the other kinds of food that you now use. And with
regard to clothes, he gave you blankets, calico, flannel,
and the many other things with wliich you cover your
bodies.' The article proceeds to sketch the history of
the discovery and fortunes of the islands, and in its
sequel, we presume, will bring the narrative down to
the present day. A paper on small^poz fills up the
number, which thus, it will bo seen, contains no news,
although the deficiency will of course be supplied as
the work goes on. We wish it every success, and trust
that the enlightened portion of the colonists will con-
sider it a duty to lend their aid to the editor ; although
we would hint to that gentleman that the Maori Ian-
guage can he of no utility but as the only means yet
in existence of holding intellectual communication with
the natives. Let him not fall into the common error of
fighting against civilisation, by cultivating the indi-
genous dialect, and perpetuating the absurd nationality,
of a people whose destiny it is to be incorporated with
a mighty nation.
8UI0ID(E STATISnCfi.
A very cnrlons statement and eaSoulstion was published
in Puis by M. Pafret, a medical pE^fetsor, velative to the
number of suieides eommitted in Francs for thirtv years.
From the rsoords of the police, it appears that the total
number of suicides attempted to be committed were 6782,
and three-fourths of the individuals were unmarried. We
sul^oin the figures fumislied to him by the ^olioe, showing <
the relative numbers of male and female suicides: — Crossed
in love, 97 males, 157 females: jealousy, 39 males, 53
females ; mortified pride, 27 males, 27 females ; calumny
and loss of reputation, 97 males, 28 f^nmdss t remorae, 37
males, IS fismales ; disappohited ambition, 110 males, 12
females $ reverse of fbriune^SSd maiea, 39 females ; gaix^»
141 mdes, 14 fenudes t other species of nusoonduot, 208
nkstes, 79 fiomalea ; domestio ohagrins, 524 males, 260 fe-
males; niscfy,5UBuaas,594fsmid«s; £uiaUoismt 1 male.
112
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
=]
13 females. It would thexefore seem to follow that some-
where tiboui five women died from love for three men;
that the ladies have oonslderablj the advantage, or rather
the disadvantage, in jealous j; that in pride thej are on a
oar with the lords of the creation ; that in calumny and
loss of reputation they bear with three times the fortitude
that men evince ; tliat they feci only about one-thhxl of
the remorse which the other sex experience ; and that to
the sorrows which flow from disappointed ambition, re-
verse of fortune, and gaming, they are exposed in a very
slight d^;ree in comparison with their vokefollows. This
oalculatioD, it will be remembered, applies but to French
ladies. In what light a similar calculation would exhibit
our own fidr countrywomen, we presume not to conjec-
ture.— Liverpool Album,
HOW TO PROSPER IN BUSINESS.
In the first place, make up your mind to accomplish
wliatover you undertake; decide i^>on some particular
employment ; persevere in it. All dimculties are overcome
by diligsnee and assiduity.
Be not a&aid to work with your own hands, and dili-
gently too. * A cat in gloves catches no mice.'
' He who remains in the mill grinds, not he who goes
and comes.'
Attond to your business, and never trust it to another.
* A pot that belongs to many is ill stirred and worse boiled.'
Be frugal 'That which will not make a pot wUl make
a pot lid.'
* Save the pence, and the pounds will take care of them-
selves.^
Be abstemious. < Who dainties love shall beggars prove.'
Rise early. 'The sleeping fox catohes no poultry.'
'Plough deep while sluggards deep, and you will have
com to sell and keep.'
Treat every one with respect and cWUty. 'Every thing
is gained, and nothing lost, by courtesy.' Gbod manners
insure success.
Never anticipate wealth from any other course than
labour ; especially ncverplacc dependence upon becoming
the possessor of an inhentanoe.
' He who waits for dead men's shoes may have to go for
a long time barefoot.' 'He who runs after a shadow has
a wearisome race.' « , . , ^
Above all things, never dcspabr. ' God is where He was.'
'Heaven helps those who help themselves.'
Follow impHcitly these precepts, and nothhig can hinder
you from prospering. — From a newspaper,
CHINESE rVOBY-CARVlNG.
I took some trouble and pains to obtain a view of the
Instruments with which the artists worked, but regret to
say I was unsuecessftiL The ivory balls so elaboratolv
carved, and the ingenuity with which they are constmofced,
have long excltea admiration and surprise at the artistic
skill and means by which so many concentric balls can be
carved one within the other. I know not whether any one
else has made the discovery ; but the truth is, that each
ball is construetod of two pieces, the edges of which are
so finely scraped down, that the edge of one hemisphere
is made to overlap its counterpart with the greatest mccty.
Thus one ball is easily enclosed within another. The join-
ings are then united by a pecullariy strong cement, aided
by the employment of steam and pveesuve. Any one who
wishes to make the expensive trial, will soon ascertain the
foct by am)lyiiig a very powerful heat to one of these balls,
which will open at the joints in due time.— DoWin Univer-
sitt/ Magazine.
RE8PONSIBIUXY OP EACH THE HAPPINESS OF ALU
It is an era in life when first the eonviotion strikes home
to our hearts that our actions tell on the happiness, not of
ourselves only, but of our fcllow-creatores. Life has fre-
quently been likened to a theatre, in which * the men and
women are only the pUyers;' but when we come to con-
sider this ittnstration carefully, when we perceive that in
the drama of life, as in that of the stage, every one has
some part to act, and that in both the good or bad perfor-
mances of even the most insignificant actor tells in a de-
gree on an the rest, it is startlhig indeed. Is it impos-
sible to impress this even on the minds of oUldnn ? Is It
impossible to lead them m eacly youth to Kfleofc upon the
great, the awful truth, that all are placed in this world as
actors, not as spectators ; that the Uttle and great, the rich
and poor, the young and old, in thai one point are in the
same position ; and, further than this, that wo are not only
all actors,but also that every human creature is acooontabfe
to his Almighty Father for the due performanoe of the psit
assigned to him, and likewise for the proper use of the ia-
fiuence which he is permitted to exercise over oUien? If
there be a doubt in a child's mind as to the effect pzo-
ducible by the conduct of one person on the happiness of
many, let him be taught to observe how a cross look, an
angry word, may destroy the peace of his own domestie
circle for great part of an evening; and then let him leflcct
how any graver fttult must affect the happin«n d the
tran«gressor'to fismily, and throi^out of those in doie
o<mnection with it. — Sekoolrroom Datft,
LINE&
Ob bring me pearls and Jewels rare.
With these I'll braid my sunny hair:
I would be beautiful to-nightr-
The gayest *mid the gay and bright
Look ! I have chased my tears away.
And smile as in life's esriy day ;
Anil aee how well this wreath doth shade
The lines that grief and care have made.
Oh none shall know this brow is adiiog ;
Oh none shall guess this heart is hreskiif !
The first amid the joyous throng
My voice shaU Join the laugh, the song;
They say its tones were once so clear,
That when they fell upon the ear.
The dark heart would f osgst its guile.
And saddest eye look up— and smileu
Oh I will laugh and sing onoo mora
As gaOy as in days of yore ;
And none Shall know tMs brow is achiag ;
Oh none diaU guess my hsart Is bnaking !
I never cared for beauty's power ;
And never, tUl this darksome hour.
Did pearl, or flower, or diamond rars
Deck the long tresses of my hair.
But oh to-night their aid I'll seek :
They'll lend a radiance to my cheek.
And give the light of bygone years
To eyes that have grown dim wHh tsars*.
And none sban know this btow lsa«Ui«;
Oh BODS shaU guess my hsart U tanakina 1
Perchance in that triomphant boor
When mine Is wealth, and pride, and power.
Our eyes may meet ; andonhisear
May fall the voice he loved to hear.
Recalling days that long have fled—
Forgotten vows, and sweet hopes dead.
Oh bring me pearls and gems most bvigb^-
I must be beautif ulio-vli^t.
jftf must not know my brow is aohing ;
lie must not guoss my heart is brcakiagi
» ♦ ♦ •
Away— away ! these gems, and tear
These gaudy flowers from my hair :
Oh I have borne their weight too long t
What care I though the brilUani throng
Should kneel and worsh^ at my shrine 7 —
The only smile I sought was thine.
And that, slas, was turned aside !
What cared I then for beauty's prids ?—
Oh how my burning brow is aeUag;
Alas-*aiss, my hesxt is breaklag 1
BohaLbc.
P09TAOB LABELS.
In our * Gossip firom London,* in No. 987, there is sjje
mistake as to postage Ubeb. The plates irem whtAw^
are printed are nude of hardened steel, sod theaiawy
number of imprints docs not exceed G0,000. Bacbrfyg^
however, contains 240 labels, so that the number of WP«
stamps printed from an average plate is 14,460,0W>.
Publishod by W. & B. OnAMBsms, High Street, Edtetsqgh. iM»
sold by D. CuA.MRKas, SO Argyls Street, Glaiigow; W. a.J>aa,
147 Strand, London ; and J. H*Olasras, SI lyOoer Stms,
Pablin^— Printed by W. & R. Chambbbs, B»nbnn;h.
CONDUCTED BY ^VlLLIiLKl AND BOBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP « CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE,* ' CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
No. 295. New Series.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1849.
Price 1|J.
THE AGE OF GIVING.
Ir we take the character of this present world from the
vitnesscs that are continually plying about, bearing
either mischief or healing on their wings — from the serial
and periodical publications, we would say, and not a few
of the equally ephemeral volumes, which are supposed
* To show
The Yerj age and body of tho time,
lU form and preeaure '—
we must be bitterly ashamed of our hard-hcartedncss.
The rich crush the poor to the earth, listening with a
cold stony smile ^ to their cries for food. They are
drones, living on the very life-blood of industry, look-
ing upon those who labour as their slaves, doling out
to titem a famine-pittance for their reward, and de-
priving them of every opportunity of freedom and
enlightenment The English, for no other reason than
that they are the wealthier people Of the two, turn
away with disgust from the complaints of the Irish,
looking tranquilly on at their misery and starvation,
and refusing either to legislate for their necessities, or
to allow them a pariiament of their own to do so. We
are all of us, in short (that is, all of us who have
any money), an arrogant, inhuman crew, elbowing our
surly way ttirough the world with buttoned-up pockets,
and acting on the prhiciple of 'Every one for himself.'
This is what the people are taught ; but somehow or
other the words fail to produce corresponding ideas.
They are never alow to repeat them, but with as little
apprehension of their sense as we ourselves had in
days of yore while drawling forth our Latin rules.
The reason is, that the words arc neutralised by things,
and 80 reduced to that state of no-meaning which is
•aid to puzzle more than wit. The affairs of Ireland,
every one knows, occupy vastly more of our parlia-
mentary time in proportion than those of England ; and
as for Scotland, it can scarcely get a word edged in for
itself during a whole session. Besides this everlasting
talk about Ireland, the distresses of the same country
arc relieved with untiring, and perhaps unreflecting
generosity to the amount of many millions sterling. In
addition to a legislative provision for our own poor,
which at one time swallowed up in some instances the
whole annual value of the land assessed, we have cha-
ritable establishments in every town in the kingdom
▼ying in number and magnitude with the churches.
Instil of keeping the lower classes of the people in
alavery by means of ignorance, we force emancipation
upon them, catching up their children from the streets,
aad compelling them to learn. The highest intellects
and warmest hearts in the country are busy night and
day with projects of benevolence, which never want for
funds to bring them into action. PhUaatbropy is the
order of the day.
The only class of beggars whose doings have received
any special notice is the great national gang of sham
beggars, who live luxuriously on their distresses, and
whose destitution is to them the purse of Fortunatus.
We can tell the average incomes of shipwrecked mari-
ners, burnt-out housekeepers, and desolate widows with
a numerous progeny; we know the amount of the
pooraC-rate tiiroughout the country to a guinea; we
can form a fair guess at the weekly contributions in the
churches ; and we need not be very far wrong in ag-
gregating the casual pence bestowed in the streets
without information or inquiry. Bat all this affords
but scanty materials for the statistics of charity. The
government— sturdy beggar as it is, extorting the alms
we would sometimes fain refii88*-*-is not alone in the
trade. Directorships, committees, secretaryships, are
spread like a network over the country, entangling their
victims by all sorts of considerations but that of charit-
able feeling. Vast establishments, ministered to by
troops of liveried servants, look down disdainfully upon
us in the streets, and impress with a feeling- of insig-
nificance that public by whose * voluntary contributions *
they are supported. Our dwellings ajre invaded by
beggars, who come with double knocks, and «8tt down in
our drawing-rooms to argue, us out of our money.
Wherever we turn, we hear one universal voice re-
sounding throughout the land ; and that is the voice
which says * Give — give I ' A dergyroan one day lately
preached a sermon in our hearing, in which he took
occasion to lament that the ' world did not yet know
how to give.' Had this excellent divine been asleep for
thirty years ? Were there ever such examples of ffivinff
as in the present ^y ? Why, the pounds sterling given
in sheer charity every year are counted, not by thou-
sands, but by millions.
It would seem, indeed, that the imputation upon the
Ibelings of the age to which we have alluded is not only
not the truth, but the reverse of the truth. The very
fact of mendicancy being a great and flourishing pro-
fession, shows that there must be charitable inclinations
somewhere; and this is confirmed by the other fact,
that one-hsdf of the respectable classes of the com-
munity employ themselves publlely and habitually in
begging for the other half. But in England there is
always a tendency to convert into a regular business
what would be a temporary occupation elsewhere;
and thus we find amateur beggary conducted with the
same zeal, and systemised with the same art, as if the
bread of the practitioners depended upon it. In the
case of the respeotable persons who go personally about
from house to hooss, they wimildbe ashamed to beg for
themsdves ; but th^ took you tmblulihingly in thoikoe,
and say * Give — give T in a voice both bold and earnest
when begging for others, , , .
Much, one would think, must lie in the manner of
114
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUaGH JOUBNAL.
the thing. At one tune begging consUted In asking
for a few haUlpence. Those dajs of simpUcify are
gone paai Nobodj now aiks for pence. Charity is
requested through the deliberate interrentloa of a sab-
8cription-pap». SubtcriU is now the word for alms ;
and those who, for themsel?es or others, ask a sub-
scription, are quite a different class from the tattered
mendicants of bygone days. Armed with a subscrip-
tion-book, a world is to be had for the winning. Society
is on the move. One half the population are chasing
the other with subscription-bodes in hand ; and against
these engines there is no more safety than against the
gun of the road-beggar in Gil BUs. Whether it be to
send out a missionary, build a church, repair a bridge,
or get up a school — sovereign is the power of a neaUy-
ruled and well-headed subscription-book.
We are not sure of the propriety of the distinction
drawn between this begging for others and begging
for ourselves. If the lady -beggar who oomes to us
in a fiye-guinea shawl would be satisfied with a shawl
at a fifth part of the money, or if the gentleman-
beggar who sports a gold watch would condescend
to a sUver one— these would be trifling sacrifices ; and
the difference in money, applied to their favourite
charity, would save their neighbours from a visitation.
But they will make no sacrifice of the kind : what they
want is to be charitable with other people's money;
and they even take credit to themselves for bestowing
the time and trouble required in begging. These, they
say, are their donation ; and when added to any pecu-
niary mite they can afibrd without diminishing their
little comforts, they fiatter themselves that no one can
deny them the praise of disinter^ted devotion to the
cause of benevobnoe. This is obviously self-delusive.
The same plea, if admitted, would serve the end of
busy-bodies of every description, A cabinet-minister,
for instance, if his fortune were large enough to make his
salary of no moment, would deserve the praise of pa-
triotism for taking the trouble to govern the country.
The truth is, the respectable beggars are rarely influ-
enced by charitable motives alone. They give up their
time for the gratification of their own taste, or fancy,
or ambition, and are naturally solicitous that other
pGogie should contribute their money towards the same
object.
There is another class of respectable beggars whose
object is oonliessedly selfish, and who have therefore not
nerve enough to siddress their selected patrons fisce to
face, but miSce known their wants and wishes in an epis-
tolary form. We do not allude to wllat are commonly
ddled * begging letters ;' for by this phrase are designated
attempts at imposture. It would be more correct to
call them * borrowing letters,' although by this name we
should attain to but little accuracy in definition. The
loan, however, is their conventional stalking-horse,
the writers being ashamed not merely to work, but to
beg. Even if there is no condition specified of return,
the understanding is, that a gift, not an alms, is sought ;
and that ihe donor will at least have the satisfaction of
having relieved virtue, or honour, or talent, and cer-
tainly gentilily, in distress. It is true the distress is
not permanent t a sudden reverse of circumstances has
occurred } the applicant is at that lowest point of misery
where tome change must take place ; and if he is destined
to rise again, his deliverer must feel honoured by being
selected as the agent of Providence. All that man can
do the writer has done — all but work. And work he
is not averse to, if it involved no dbange of station. He
was bom, however, in a particular dass, and to wear a
particular diess ; and if he should sink to be the meanest
and most ragg^ <^ his tribe, this is a misfortune, but
no dishonour. But to sink to a caste beneath his own
is impossible : death rather must- relieve hhn from his
miBery *, and the individual he had selected to rescue
him mm the alternative, at an expense which, with an
ample fortune like his, would rattier have been a rdief
than a sacrifice, must expose himself by his r^osal to i
lifelong remorse.
This may read like irony, but it is a faithful pic-
ture of a department of correspondence far more ex-
tensive than is commonly imagined. The individuals
applied to suppose that there must be something pecu-
liar in their own position or character which lays thoo
open in a special manner to such importunitiea : s(Hne of
them even feel flattered : and nearly all begin by yieUing
a little, either through weakness or humanity, till their
feelings are worn threadbare, or their clients becone
hopelessly numerous. It is this slight compliance which
has tiie ^ect of perpetuating the system. A traditioosiy
success is handed down as a stimulant to the unfifftunate
who woidd thus ennoble generous wealth ; and a poni-
bility, however remote and visionary, continue an in-
superable barrier against the industrial intermixture of
caste. The melan(£dy thing is, that on the part of the
letter- writer there is perfect good faith, and at least a
sort of illegitimate delicacy. His sufferings are real,
and the circumstances that occasioned them ^nly de-
scribed ; he has actuaDy a romantic, not to s^ high-
minded notion of the privilege and duties of fortnae;
and although so terribly frai^ in his epistolary com-
munication (which he marks in large underiined letters
* confidential '), he feels that he would be ready to sink
with shame in making such a statement to Ma selected
patron face to face. Above all, he has a perfect con-
fidence that he is alone, or very nearly alone, in the
ingenious idea which has originated his appUcatioo;
and at anyrate his conviction is sincere, that there ii
something in Au case which renders his desire ressoa-
able, and deprives the recusant patron oi every justifl-
cation. Thus he looks upon refusal as an injury, sad
measures the culpability of the individual by the amooot
of his revenue. * What would five, ten, twenty, a hun-
dred pounds have been out of so vast an income? Yet
this pittance would have saved me ! '
It is a curious thing this disposition of persons liring
in society, to look upon themsdves as solitary io^
viduals surrounded by peculiar drciimstances, sad rea-
soning and acting in a peculiar manner. Tet how £ew
there be among us who strike out a new path! We
never thrust our heads anywhere without hob or soi>-
bing, even in the dark, with scores of oUier beads. An
advertisement never appears in any wdl - circulated
newspaper without stirring up many hundred indi-
viduals miraculously qualified for the business rdened
to. A borrowing letter is never addressed to any human
being who does not receive a whole budget by the laiBe
post The Queen-Dowager was once four days absent
from her residence, and on her return found an aoca-
mulation of 300 of these communications awaiting her.
Poor Queen-Dowager I Poor borrowing letter-writas 1
When Jenny land visited England first, her gentle
heart was melted by compassion for the unmerited aiis-
fortunes which, in a few instances, came in some unsc-
countable way under her notice. Why should tiiess
unfortunates have selected her? If ihej had bees
countrymen of her own, or even membns of the muo*
cal profession, she could have understood the appBca-
tion i but to be addressed in this harrowing manoar by
the English themselves, and English of reapectabilily,
delioapy— or at least shamefaoedness — and no small
power of correct, not to say elegant writing, appeared
to give fearful indication of the social state A that
country into which she had come to gather a g^den
harvest But Jenny Lind, though umible to fathom
the mystery, could at least feel for the distress; and
she answmd some of these ea^ applications by dona*
tions of money, presented with a touching humiii^,
which must have greatiy heightened the 6b%Atioo,
Time passed cm, however, and a change came over tha
dream of the fair vocalist The letters, at first a few
trickling drops, soon became a rivulet, then a stream,
and then a torrent ; and when we heard last of Jenny
land, her tears and her generosity had both dried nm
t.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
115
and the was accuBtomed to refer with a smile to her
former simplicify, saying that she now knew the English
beUert
Another instance came under our personal observa-
tion. A few years ago a Hindoo gentleman called Dwar-
kanath Tagore made his appearance in London, and
partly owing to his reputed wealth, and partly to his
dignified demeanour, made a very favourable impression
upon the first circles of the metropolis. He partook re-
peatedly even of the royal hospitality at Windsor ; and
although nothing more than a Calcutta merchant of
respectability, he was commonly received as an ' Lidian
prince,' and on some occasions was actually annoxmoed,
on entering a drawing-room, by the title of * his high-
ness.' This was the greater triumph for Dwarkanath,
that in India even wealthy natives are not considered
to be exactly upon a footing of equality with the Eng-
lish i and when the letter- writers at length found him
out, and he actually saw these proud, high-caste pale-
faces humbling themselves before him as a tutelary
genius, his surprise and mystification were still greater
than those of Jenny Lind. We have ourselves on more
than one occasion witnessed his puzzlement: but it
did not last long. Dwarkanath was a shrewd, clear-
headed man ; and he returned to India (where he soon
after died) to publish among his countrymen that
whatever airs of superiority the English might give
themselves abroad, there was among them at home a
very remarkable proportion of beggars and sycophants.
We do not find fault with the epistolary form selected
for such applications. It has frequently its origin in
proper pridie ; it permits the whole circumstances of the
case to be fairlv stated ; and when names and references
are given, it admits of time for investigation. What is
objectionable is the address of the letter to a stranger
upon whom the writer has no personsd claim ; and in
the face of the fact— which ought to occur to the most
unrefiecting — that hundreds or thousands of similar
letters are in all probability addressed to the same
individual ' At the worst,' savs the writer, ' it is but
so much trouble lost!' But the result is worse than
that: it involves an infinite loss of character to the
country; it hardens the feelings of the rich; while
sot in one case out of myriads does it benefit the
necessitous.
Amon^ the expedients resorted to for obtaining money
for charitable purposes are balls, concerts, entertain-
taenU at the tiieatre, and bazaars or fancy fairs. A
drcnmstance connected with these last affords a proof
that the system has been overdone, and benevolence
made too much a matter of business. It is the custom
at such j^ces to ask a higher pice than those of the
shops — a kind of rapacity sanctioned by the sacredness
of the purpose; but at the bazaar held recently at
Kentish Town in ud of the Aged Governesses' Insti-
tution, the purchasers, wo are informed by the ' Art
Journal,' even those of wealth and station, declined
parting with their money except for decided bargains I
This t^dency to benevolent bargain-getting is not over-
looked by those artists who mske their market of the
weaknesses of their neighbours. Eveiy day we have
packets of pins, needles, stationery, &c. sent into our
houses, with intreaties to purchase for the sake of
humanity — and marvdlous cheapness.
But to ' write all down' is impossible. The system
of beggary pervades the whole of our social life, and is
so complicated, that a bare description of its machinery
would fill a volume. The worst of its nuisances, how-
ever, in our opinion, is amateur beggary ; and we would
have all directors, committees, and private strollers,
male and female, strictly questioned as to the personal
sacrifices they have themselves made in the cause they
advocate. 1\> talk of their time and trouble, we have
shown, is a fiiice : what we would hear of is the indul-
gences they have denied to their taste or appetite in
order to swell the funds of their favourite charity. If
the answers are satiriactory on tliis point, we will then
take their respective schemes into consideration ; and
when our selection is made, if there should happen to be
anything left in our pockets — an improbable accident,
it must be admitted, in ^s age of beggary— the fortu-
nate candidate shall be welcome to the coin. L. B.
RECOLLECTIONS OP A POLICE-OEEICEB.
OUILTY OA NOT GUILTY ?
A FEW weeks after the lucky termination of the Sand-
ford affkir,* I was engaged in the investigation of a re-
markable case of burglary, accompanied by homicide,
which had just occurred at the residenoe of Mr Bag-
shawe, a gentleman of competent fortune, utuated with-
in a few mUes of Kendal in Westmoreland. The pajrti-
culars forwarded to the London police authorities by
the local magistracy were chiefiy these : —
Mr Bagshawe, who had been some time absent at
Leamington, Warwickshire, with his entire establish-
ment, wrote to Sarah King — a young woman left in
charge of the house and property— to announce his own
speedy return, and at the same time directing her to
have a particular bedroQm aired, and other household
matters arranged for the reception of his nephew, Mr
Robert Bristowe, who, having just arrived from abroad,
would, he expected, leave London immediately for Five
Oaks' House. The positive arrival of this nephew had
been declared to several tradesmen of Kendal by King
early in the dav preceding the night of the murder and
robbery; and by her directions butcher -meat, poultry,
fish, and so on, had been sent by them to Five Oaks for
his table. The lad who carried the fish home stated
that he had seen a strange yovokg gentieman in one of
the sitting-rooms on the ground-floor through the half-
opened door of the apartment. On the following morn-
ing it was discovered that Five Oaks' House had been,
not indeed broken ink>, but broken out of. This was
evident firom the state of the door fastenings, and the
servant-woman barbarously murdered. The neighbours
found her lying quite de^d and cold at the foot of the
principal staircase, clothed only in her nightgown and
stockings, and with a flat chamber candlestick tightly
grasped in her right hand. It was conjectured t^t she
had been roused fh>m sleep bv some nMse below, and
having descended to ascertain the cause, had been
mercilessly slain by the disturbed burglars. Mr Bag-
shawe arrived on the following day, and it was then
found that not only a large amount of plate, but between
three and four thousand pounds in gold and notes —
the produce of government stock sold out about two
months previously — ^had been carried off. The only per-
son, except his niece, who lived with him, that knew
there was this sum in the house, was his nephew
Robert Bristowe, to whom he had written, directing his
letter to the Hummums Hotel, London, stating tiiat the
sum for the long - contemplated purchase of Ryland's
had been some time lying idle at Five Oaks, as he had
wished to consult him upon his bargain before finally
concluding it This Mr Robert Bristowe was now no-
where to be seen or heard of; and what seemed to con-
firm beyond a doubt the — to Mr Bagshawe and his niece
— torturing, horrifying suspicion that this nephew was
the burglar and assassin, a portion of the identical letter
written to him by his unde was found in one of the
offices ! As he was nowhere to be met with or heard
of in the neighbourhood of Kendal, it was surmised that
he must have returned to London with his booty ; and
a fUll description of his person, and the dress he wore, as
given by the fishmonger's boy, was sent to London by
the authorities. They also forwarded for our use and
assistance one Josiah Barnes, a sly, sharp, vagabond-
sort of fcJlow, who had been apprehended on suspicion,
chiefly, or rather wholly, because of his former intimacy
with the unfortunate Sarah King, who had discarded
him, it seemed, on account of his incorrigibly idle, and
in other respects disreputable habits. The <iHbi he
set up was, however, so dear and decisive, that he was
* Journal, N(x 291.
IIG
CHAMBERS^S EDINBURGU JOURNAL.
bat a few hours in custody ; and he now exhibited great
zeal for the discovery of the murderer of the woman to
whom he had» to the extent of his perverted instincts,
been sincerely attached. He fiddled at the festivals of
tlie humbler Kendalese ; sang, tumbled, ventriloquised
at their. tavern orgies; and had he not been so very
highly.gifted, might, there was little doubt, have earned
a decent living as a carpenter, to which profession liis
father, by dint of much exertion, had about half-bred
him. His principal use to us was, that he was acquainted
with the features of Mr Robert Bristowe ; and accord-
ingly, 83 soon as I had received my commission and
instructions, I started off with him to the Hummums
Hotel, Govent Garden. In answer to my inquiries, it
was stated tliat Mr Robert Bristowe had left the hotel
a week previously without settling his bill—which was,
however, of very small anM>ant, as he usually paid every
evening — and had not since been heard of; neither liad
he taken his luggage with him. This was odd, though
the period stated would have given him ample time to
reach Westmoreland on the day it was stated he fiad
arrived there,
* What dress did he wear when lie left?'
* That which he usually wore : a foraging-cap with a
gold bandt a blue military surtout coat, light trousers,
and Wellington boo^.
The precise dress described by Uie fishmonger's
€rrand-boy ! We next proceeded to tlie Bank of Eng-
land, to ascertain if any of the stolen notes had been
presented for payment. I handed in a list of the num-
bers furnished by Mr Bagshawe, and was politely in-
formed that they had all been cashed earl^ the day
before by a gentleman in a sort of undress uniform, and
wearing a S>rAging pap. lieutenant James was the
name indorsed upon them ; and the address, Uarley
Street^ Cavendisli ^uare, was of course a fictitious one.
The casliier doubted if he should be able to swear to
the person of the gentleman who changed the notes,
but he had particularly noticed his dress. I returned
to Scotland Yard to report no progress; and it was
Uien doternuncd to issue bills descriptive of Bristowe's
person, and offering a considerable reward for his appre-
hension, or such mformation as might lead to it; but
the order bad scarcely been issued, when who should
we see walking deliberately down the yard towards the
police-office but Mr Robert Bristowe himself, dressed
precisely as before described! I had just time to caution
the inspector not to betray any suspicion, but to hear
Ills story, and let him quietly depart, and to slip with
Josiah Barnes out of sight, when he entered, and made
a formal but most confuted complaint of Iiaving been
robbed something more than a week previously — where
or by whom he knew not — and afterwards deceived,
bamboozled, and led astray in his pursuit of the robbers,
by a person whom he now suspected to be a confederate
with them. Even of this latter personage he could
afford no tangible information ; and the inspector, hav-
ing quietly listened to his statement — intended, doubt-
less, as a mystification — told him the police should moke
inquiries, and wished him good-morulug. As soon as
he had turned out of Scotland Yard by the street lead-
ing to the Strand, I was upon his track. He walked
slowly on, but without pausing, till he reached the Sa-
raoen's Head, Snow-Hill, where, to my great astonish-
ment, he booked himself for Westmoreland by the
niglit- coach. He then walked into the inn, and seating
himself in the coffee-room, called for a pint of sherry
wine and some biscuit<t. He was now safe for a short
period at anyrate ; and I was about to take a turn in
the street, just to meditate upon the most advisable
course of action, when I espied three buckishly-attired,
bold-fsced looking fellows — one of whom I thought I
recognised, spite of his fine dress— enter the booking-
oflioe. Naturally anxious in my vocation, I approached
OS closely to the door as I could witliout being observed,
and heard one of them — my acquaintance sure enough ;
I could not be deceived in that voice — ask tlie clerk if
there were any vacant places in the night coach to
Westmoreland. To Westmoreland I Why, what in the
name of Mercury could a detachment of the swell-mob
be wanting in that country of furze and firieze-coats?
The next sentence uttered by my friend, as he placed
the money for booking three insides to Kendal on the
counter was equally, or perhaps more puzzling : *I«
the gentleman who entered the office just now — him
with a foraging-cap I mean — to be our feUow-paa-
senger?'
* Yes, he lias booked himself; and has, I think, since
gone into the house.'
'Thank you: good-morning.'
I had barely time to slip aside into one of the passages,
when the three gentlemen came out of the office, paued
me, and swaggered out of the yard. Vague undefined
suspicions at once beset me relative to the connectiKHi of
these worthies with the 'foraging-cap' and the doings
at Kendal. There was evidently something in all tlui
more than natural, if police philosophy could but find it
out I resolved at all events to try ; and in order to bare
a chance of doing so, I determined to be of the party,
nothing doubting that I should be able, in some way
or other, to make one in whatever game they intended
playing. I in my turn entered the booking-office, and
finding there were still two places Tscant, secured them
both for James Jenkins and Josiah Barnes, countrymen
and friends of mine returning to the *nortii countrle.'
I returned to the coffee-room, where Mr Bristowe was
still seated, apparently in deep and anxious meditation,
and wrote a note, with which I despatched the ion
porter. I had now ample leisure for observing the sus-
pected burglar and assassin. He was a pale, intellec-
tual-looking, and withal handsome young man, of about
six-and-twenty years of age, of slight but wdl-knit
frame, and with the decided air — travel-stained and
jaded as he appeared — of a gentleman. His look was
troubled and careworn, but I sought in vain for any
indication of the starling, nervous tremor always in
my experience exhibited by even old practitioners in
crime when suddenly accosted. Seyeral persons had
entered the room hastily, without causing him erea
to look up. I determined to try an experiment oa
his nerves, which I was quite satisfied no man who
had recently committed a murder, and but the daj
before changed part of the produce of that crime into
gold at the Bank of England, could endure without
wincing. My object was, not to procure evidence pro-
ducible in a court of law by such means, but to satisfy
my own mind. I felt a growing conviction thai, mixt
of appearances, the young man was guiltless dfthe ieei
imputed to him, and might be the Tictim, I could not
help thinking, either of some strange combination of cir-
cumstances, or, more likely, of a diabolical plot fye his
destruction, essential, x)ossibly, to the safety df the real
perpetrators of the crime ; very probably — so ran my
suspicions — friends and acquaintances of th& three
gentlemen who were to be our feUow-traveOen. My
duty, I knew, was quite as much the vindication oC in-
nocence as the detection of guilt ; and If I coi^ satii^
myself that he was not the guil^ party, no eflfort of
mine should be wanting, I determin^ to extricate * ''
from the perilous position in which he stood. I
out of the room, and remained absent for some
then suddenly entered with a sort of bounce, walkai
swiftly, and witli a determined air, straight up to tbe
box where he was seated, grasped him tighUyhyOie
arm, and exclaimed roughly, * So I have found yon «l
last ! ' There was no start, no indication of fear wlMfe-
ever — not the slightest; the expression of his cottfite-
nance, as he peevishly replied, 'What the devil do yot
mean ? ' was simply one of surprise and annoyanee.
* I bog your pardon/ 1 replied; * the waiter totd me a
friend of mine, one Bagshawe, who has given me Ike
slip, was here, and I mistook you for him.'
He courteously accepted my apology, quietly rein«dk-
ing at the same time that though his own name ^tm
Bristowe, ho had, oddly enougli, an uncle in the counU:^
of the same name as the person I had mistaken
I
t
for. Surely, thought I, this man is guiltless of the
crime imputed to him ; and yet At this moment
the porter entered to announce the arrival of the gentle-
man I had sent for. I went out ; and after giring the
new-comer instructions not to lose sight of Mr Bris-
towe, hastened home to make arrangements for the
journey.
Transformed, by the aid of a flaxen wipf, hroad-
brimmcd hat, green spectacles, and a multiplicity of
waistcoats and shawls, into a heayy and elderly, well-
to-do personage, I took my way with Josiah Barnes —
whom I had previously thoroughly drilled as to speech
and behaviour towards our companions — to the Saracen's
Head a few minutes previous to the time for starting.
We found Mr Bristowe already seated ; but the * three
friends,' I observed, were curiously looking on, desirous
no doubt of ascertaining who were to be their fellow-
traveUers before venturing to coop themsdves up in a
space so narrow, and, under certain circumstances, so
difficult of egress. My appearance and that of Barnes
— who, sooth to say, looked much more of a simpleton
^lan he really was — quite reassured them, and in they
jomped with confident alacrity. A few minutes after-
wards the * all right ' of the attending ostlers gave the
signal for departure, and away we started.
A more silent, less social party I never assisted at
Whatever amount of ' feast of reason ' each or either of
OS might have silently enjoyed, not a drop of * flow of
soul ' weUed up from one of me six insides. Every pas-
senger seemed to have liis own peculiar reasons for
declining to display himself in either mental or physical
prominence. Only one or two incidents— apparently
unimportant, but which I carefully noted down in the
tablet of my memory — occurred during the long, weari-
fome journey, till we stopped to dine at about thirty
miles lh>m Kendal; when I ascertained, Arom an over-
heard conversation of one of the three with the coach-
man, that they intended to get down at a roadside
tavern more than six miles on this side of that place.
*!Do yon know this house they intend to stop at? ' I
inquired of my assistant as soon as I got him out of
tight and hearing at the back of the premises.
* Quite well : it is within about two miles of Five
Oaks* House.'
* Indeed ! Then you must stop there too. It is neces-
sary I should go on to Kendal with Mr Bristowe ; but
you can remain and watch their proceedings.*
* With all my heart.'
* But what excuse can you make for remaining there,
when tbey know you are booked for Kendal ? Fellows
of that stamp ate keenly suspicious ; and In order to be
useful, you must be entirely unsuspected.'
* Oh, leave that to me. Til throw dost enough in
their eyes to blind a hundred such as they, I war-
rant ye.*
' Wdl, we shall see. And now to dinner.'
Soon after, the coach had once more started. Mr
Joaifth Barnes began drinking from a stone bottle which
he drew from his pocket ; and so potent roust have been
tt^ spirit it contained, that he became rapidly intoxi-
cated. Kot only speech, but eyes, body, arms, legs, the
entire animal, by the time we reached the inn where we
had agreed he should stop, was thoroughly, hopelessly
drunk ; and so savagely quarrelsome, too, did he become,
that I expected every instant to hear my real vocation
pointed out for the edification of the company. Strange
to say, utterly stupid and savage as he seemed, all dan-
gerous topics were carefully avoided. When the coach
stopped, he got out — ^how, I know not — and reeled and
tumbled into tlie tap-room, firom which he declared he
would not budge an inch till next day. Vainly did the
cxMichman remonstrate with him upon his foolish obsti-
nacy ; he might as well have argued with a bear; and
he at length determined to leave him to his drunken
humour. I was out of patience with tlie fellow ; and
snatching an onportuni^ when the room was clear,
began to upbraid him for his vexatious folly. He looked
shamlv round, and then, his body as evenly balanced.
his eye as clear, his speech as free as my own, crowed
out in a low exulting voice, 'Didn't I tell you I'd
manage it nicely ? ' The door opened, and, in a twink-
Kng, extremity of drunkenness, of both brain and
limb, was again assumed with a perfection of acting I
have ne^er seen equalled. He hftd studied from native,
Ifiat was perfectly clear. I was quite sa^fied, and
with renewed confidence obeyed the coachman's call to
take my seat Mr Bristowe and I were now the only
inside passengers ; and as farther disguise was useless,
I began stripping myself of my superabundant clothing,
wig, spectacles, &c and in a few minutes, with the help
of a bundle I had with me, presented to the astonished
gaze of my fellow-traveller the identical person that
had so rudely accosted him in the coffee-room of the
Saracen's Head inn.
' Why, what, in the name of all thaf s comical, is the
meaning of this?' demanded Mr Bristowe, laughing
immoderately at my changed appearance.
I briefly and coolly informed him ; and he was for
some minutes overwhelmed with consternation and
astonishment He had not, he said, even heard of the
catastrophe at his uncle's. Still, amazed and bewildered
as he was, no sign which I could interpret into an indi-
cation of gttih escaped him.
* I do not wish to obtrude upon your confidence, Mr
Bristowe,' I remarked, after a long pause; *but you
must perceive that unless the circumstances I have re-
lated to you are in some way explained, you stand in a
perilous predicament.'
*You are right,' he replied, after some hesitation.
^ItisK tangled web ; still, I doubt not that some mode
of vindicating my perfect innocence will present itself.'
He then relapsed into silence ; and neitlier of us spoke
again till the coach stopped, in accordance with a pre-
vious intimation I had given the coachman, opposite
the gate of the Kendal prison. Mr Bristowe started,
and changed colour, but instantly mastering his emo-
tion, he calmly said, • You of course but peribrm your
duty ; mine is not to distrust a just and all-seeing Pro^
vidence.*
We entered the jail, and the necessary search of his
clothes and higgage was cfibcted as fbrbearingly as pos-
sible. To my great dismay we found amongst the
money in his purse a Spanish gold piece of a peculiar
coinage, and in the lining of his portmanteau, very
dexterously hidden, a cross set with brilliants, both of
which I knew, by the list fbrwarded to the London
police, formed part of the plunder carried off" ftom Five
Oaks' House. The prisoner's vehement protestations
that he cotUd not conceive how such articles came into
his possession, excited a derisive smile on the face of
the veteran turnkey; whilst I was thoroughly dumb-
founded by the seemingly complete demolition of the
theory of innocence I had woven out of his candid open
manner and unshakeable hardihood of nerve.
' I daresay the articles came to you in your sleep !'
sneered the turnkey as we turned to leave the cell.
* Oh,' I mechanically exclaimed, • in his sleep I I had
not thought of that ! ' The man stared ; but I had
passed out of the prison before he could express his
surprise or contempt in words.
The next morning the justice -room was densely
crowded, to hear the examination of the prisoner. There
was also a very numerous attendance of magistrates ;
the case, from the position in lifo of the prisoner, and
the strange and mysterious circumstances of the afiair
altogether, having excited an extraordinary and ex-
tremely painful interest amongst all classes in the town
and neighbourhood. The demeanour of the accused
gentleman was anxious certainly, but withal calm and
collected ; and there was, I thought, a light of fortitude
and conscious probity in his clear, bold eyes, which guilt
never yet successfully simulated.
After the hearing of some minor evidence, the fish-
monger's boy was called, and asked if he could point out
the person he had seen at Five Oaks on the day pre-
ceding the burglary? The lad looked fixedly at the
118
CHAMBERS'S EBINBUBGH JOURNAL.
prisoner for tomething more than a minute without
speaking, and then said, * The gentleman was standing
before the Are when] I saw him, with his cap on; I
should like to see this person with his cap on before I
say anything.' Mr Bristowe dashed on his foraging-
cap, and the boy immediately exclaimed, ' That is the
man I ' Mr Cowan, a solicitor, retained by Mr Bagshawe
for his n^hew, objected that this was, after aU, only
swearing to a cap, or at best to the ensemble of a dress,
and ought not to be received. The chairman, howerer,
decided that it must be taken quantum vaieat, and in
corroboration of other evidence. It was next deposed
by several persons that the deceased Sarah King had
told them that h^ master's nephew had positivd^ ar-
rived at Five Oaks. An ol^jection to the reception of
this evidence, as partaking of the nature of ' hearsay,'
was also made, and similarly overruled. Mr Bristowe
begged to observe ' that Sarah King was not one of his
uncle's old servants, and was entirely unknown to him :
it was quite possible, therefore, that he was personally
unknown to her.' The bench observed that all these
observations might be fitly urged before a jury, but, in
the present stage of the proceedings, were uselessly ad-
dressed to them, whose sole duty it Was to ascertain if a
sufficiently strong case of suspicion had been made out
against the prisoner to justify his conunittal for trial.
A constable next proved finding a portion of a letter,
which he produced, in one of the offices of Five Oaks ;
and then Mr Bagshawe was directed to be called in.
The prisoner, upon hearing this order given, exhibited
great emotion, and earnestly intreated that his unde
and himself might be spared the necessity of meeting
each other for the first time after a separation of
several years under such circumstances.
* We can receive no evidence against you, Mr Bris-
towe, in your absence,' replied the chairman in a com-
passionate tone of voice ; * but your uncle's deposition
will occupy but a few minutes. It is, however, indis-
pensable.'
* At least, Uien, Mr Cowan,' said the agitated young
man, * prevent my sister from accompanying her uncle :
I could not bear that'
He was assured she would not be present ; in fact
she had become seriouslv ill through anxiety and terror ;
and the crowded assemblage awaited in painful silence
the approach of the reluctant prosecutor. He presently
appeared — ^a venerable, white-haired man ; seventy years
old at least he seemed, his form bowed by age and grief,
his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his whole manner
indicative of sorrow and dejection. ' Unde I ' cried the
prisoner, springing towards him. The aged man looked
up, seemed to read in the dear countenance of his
nephew a full refutation of the suspidons entertained
against him, tottered forwards with outspread arms,
and, in the words of the Sacred text, *fell upon his
neck, and wept,' exdaiming in choking accents, * For-
give me — forgive me, Robert, that I ever for a moment
doubted you. Mary never did— never, Robert ; not for
an instant.'
A profound silence prevdled during this outburst of
feeling, and a considerable pause ensued before the
usher of the court, at a gesture from the chairman,
touched Mr Bagshawe's arm, and begged his attention
to the bench. 'Certainly, certainly,' said he, hastily
wiping his eyes, and turning towards the court. ' My
sister's chUd. gentlemen,' he added appealingly, * who
has lived wiUi me from childhood : you will excuse me,
I am sure.'
'There needs no excuse, Mr Bagshawe,' said the
chairman kindlv *, * but it is necessary this unhappy
business should be proceeded with. Hand the wit-
ness the portion of the letter found at Five Oaks.
Now, is that your handwriting ; and is it a portion of
the letter you sent to your nephew, informing him of
the large sum of money kept for a particular purpose
at Five Oaks?'
* It is.'
' Now,' said the derk to the magistrates, addressing
me, 'please to produce the articles in your posses-
sion.'
I laid the Spanish coin and the cross upon the taUe.
' Please to look at those two artidea, Mr Bagttaawe,'
said the chairman. * Now, sir, on your oatb« are
they a portion of the property of whidi you have been
robbed?'
The aged gentleman stooped forward and examined
them eamestiy ; then turned and looked with qmveriiig
ejea, if I may be allowed the expression, in his ne-
phew's face ; but returned no answer to the question.
* It is necessary you should reply, Tes or Nc^ Mr
Bagshawe,' said the derk.
* Answer, uncle,' said the prisoner soothingly : ' (ear
not for me. God and my innocence to aid, I shall yet
break through the web of villany in which I at prosent
seem hopelessly involved.'
* Bless you, Robertn-Mess you I I am sore joa wifl.
Yes, gentiemen, the cross and coin on the table are part
of the property carried off*.'
A smothered groan, indicative of the sorrowing sym-
pathy felt for the venerable gentleman, arose frmn tiie
crowded court on hearing this declaration. I then de-
posed to finding them as previously stated. As soon
as I concluded, tiie magistrates consulted to^eth^ for a
fbw minutes ; and then the chairman, addressing the
prisoner, said, * I have to inform you that the beiu^
are agreed that suffident evidence has been adduced
against you to warrant them in fblly committing you
for trial We are of course bound to hear anything
you have to say ; but such being our intention, your
professional adviser will perhaps recommend you to re-
serve whatever defence you have to make for aaother
tribunal : here it could not avail you.'
Mr Cowan expressed his concurrence in the iatfana-
tion of the magistrate ; but the prisoner veboneotly
protested against sanctioning by his silence the aocnsa-
tion preferred against him.
* I have nothing to reserve,' he exclaimed with pas-
sionate energy ; ' nothing to conceal. I will not owe
my acquittal of this foul charge to any trick of lawyer-
craft. If I may not come out of this investlgatioii with
an untainted name, I desire not to escape at alL The
defence, or rather the suggestive facta I have to oBer
for the consideration of the bench are tiliese : — On the
evening of the day I received my uncle's letter I west
to Drury Lane theatre, remaining out very late. Do
my return to the hotel, I foxmd I had been rtMed of
my pocket-book, which contained not only that lettv,
and a considerable sum In bank-notes, bat paqpen of
great professional importance to me. ^t was too late
to adopt any measures for its recovery that night; and
the next morning, as I was dressing myself to go eat,
in order to apprise the police authoritiea of my ki«,
I was informed that a gentieman desired to see me In-
stantiy on important business. He was shown op, and
announced himself to be a detective p611oe-<Aeer : the
robbery I had sustained had been revealed by an ac-
complice, and it was necessary I should Immediately
accompany him. We left the hotel togetiier; and after
consuming the entire day in perambulating all aorts ef
by -streets, and calling at several suspidooa-looldBf
places, my officious friend all at once disoovered thit
the thieves had left town for the west of Knglf^.
hoping, doubtiess, to reach a large town, and get geU
for the notes before the news of theL^havfig been
stopped should have reached it He insisted vpoo hn-
mediate pursuit I wished to return to the hotel ftr
a change of clothes, as I was but lighttv dad, and
night- travelling required warmer apparel H^ be
would not hear of, as the night coach was on the point
of starting. He, however, contoived to wappfy me from
his own resources with a greatcoat — a sort of pofiiee-
man's cape — and a rough traveUing-cap, which tied
under the chin. In due time we arrived at Bi&stot
where I was kept fbr several days loitering aboot ; tSI«
finally, my guide decamped, and I retimied to London.
An hour met arriving there, I gave infbrmatkm at
I
{
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
119
Scotland Yard of what had happened, and afterwards
booked myself by the night coach for KendaL This is
all I haye to say.'
This strange story did not produce the slightest effect
upon the hei^ and very little upon the auditory, and
yet I felt satisfied it was strictly true. It was not half
ingenious enough for a made-up story. Mr Bagshawe,
I should have stated, had been led out of the justice-
hall immediately after he had finished his deposi-
tion.
' Then, Mr Bristowe,' said the magistrate's clerk,
* assuming this curious narratiye to be correct, you wiU
be easily able to prove an alibi f*
* I have thought oyer that, Mr Clerk,' returned the
prisoner mildly, ' and must confess that, remembering
how X was dressed and wrapped up — that I saw but few
persons, and those casually and briefly, I haye strong
misgiyings of my power to do so.'
' That is perhaps the less to be lamented,' replied the
county derk in a sneering tone, 'inasmuch as the
possession of those articles,' pointing to the cross and
coin on the table, 'would necessitate another equally
probable though quite difibrent story.'
' That is a circumstance,' replied the prisoner in the
•ame calm tone as before, ' which I cannot in the
slightest manner account for.'
No more was said, and the order for his committal
to the county jail at Applebv on the charge of * wilful
murder' was given to the aerk. At this moment a
hastily-scrawled note from Barnes was placed in my
hands. I had no sooner glanced over it, than I applied
to the magistrates for an adjournment till the morrow,
on the ground that I could then produce an important
witness, whose evidence at the tnal it was necessary to
assure. The application was, as a matter of coursct
complied with ; the prisoner was remanded till the next
day, and the court aoljoumed.
As I accompanied Mr Bristowe to the vehicle in
waiting to reconvey him to jail, I coiUd not forbear
whispering, *Be of good heart, sir, we shall unravel
this mystery yet, depend upon it' He looked keenly
at me; and &en, without other reply than a warm
pressure of the hand, jumped into the carriage.
* Well, Barnes,' I exclaimed as soon as we were in a
room by ourselves, and the door closed, * what is it you
have discovered?'
* That the murderers of Sarah King are yonder at
the Talbot where you left me.'
* Yes : so I gather from your note. But what evidence
have you to support your assertion ?'
* Thii! Trusting to my apparent drunken imbecility,
they occasionally dropped words in my presence which
convinced me not only that they were the guilty parties,
but that they had come down here to carry off the plate,
somewhere concealed in the neighbourhood. This they
mean to do to-night'
' Anything more?'
' Yes. You know I am a ventriloquist in a small
way, as well as a bit of a mimic : well, I took occasion
when that youngest of the rascals — the one that sat
beside Mr Bristowe, and got out on the top of tbte
coAch the second evening, because, freezing cold as it
was, he said the inside was too hot and close'—
* Oh, I remember. Dolt that I was, not to recall it
before. But go on.'
* Well, he and I were alone together in the parlour
about three hours ago — I dead tipsy as ever — when he
suddenly heard the voice of Sarah King at his elbow
exclaiming, ** Who is that in the plate closet ? " If you
had seen the start of horror which he gave, the terror
which shook his failing limbs as he glanced round the
apartment, you would no longer have entertained a
doubt on tiie matter.'
' This is scarcely judicial proo^ Barnes ; but I dare-
say we shall be able to make something of it. You
return immediately; about nightfall I will r^oin you
in my former disguise.'
It was early in the eveniog when I entered the Tal-
bot, and seated myself in the parlour. Our three friends
were present, and so was Barnes.
' Is not that fellow sober yet ? ' I demanded of one of
them.
* No ; he has been lying about drinking and snoring
ever since. He went to l^ I hear, this fd^emoon ; but
he appears to be little the better for it.'
I had an opportunity soon afterwards of speaking to
Barnes privately, and found that one of the fellows had
brought a chaise-cart and horse from Kendal, and that
aU three were to depart in about an hour, under pre-
tence of reaching a town about fourteen niiles distant,
where they intended to sleep. My plan was imme-
diately taken : I returned to the parlour, and watehing
my opportunity, whispered into the ear of the young
gentleman whose nerves had been so shaken by Barnes'
ventriloquism, and who, by the way, was my old ac-
quaintonce — * Dick Steples, I want a word with you
in the next room.' I spoke in my natural voice, and
lifted, for his especial study and edification, the wig
from my forehead. He was thunderstruck; and his
teeth chattered with terror. His two companions were
absorbed over a low game at cards, and did not observe
us. ' Come,' I continued in the same whisper, ' there
is not a moment to lose ; if you would save youra^f^ fol-
low me!' He^id so, and I led him into an adjoining
apartment, closed the door, and drawing a pistol from
my coat-pocket, said — * You perceive, Staples, that the
game is up : you personated Mr Bristowe at his uncle's
house at Five Oaks, dressed in a precisely similar suit
of clothes to that which he wears. You murdered the
servant'
* No— no— no, not I,' gasped the wreteh; *not I: I
did not strike her'— ~-
* At all events you were present, and that, as far as
the gaUowB is concerned, is the same thing. You also
picked that gentleman's pocket during our journey from
London, and placed one of the stolen Spanish pieces in
his purse ; you then went on the roof of the coach, and
by some ingenious means or other contrived to secrete
a cross set with brilliante in his portmanteau.'
* What shall I do — what shall I do?' screanoed the
fellow, half dead with fear, and slipping down on a
chair ; * what shall I do to save my life — ^my life ? '
* First' get up and listen. If you are not the actual
mxirderer
* I am not— upon my soul I am not !'
' If you are not, you will probably be admitted king's
evidence; though, mind, I make no promises. Now,
what is the plan of operations for carrying off the
boo^?'
* They are going in the chaise-<^ almost imme-
diately to take it up : it is hidden in the copse yonder.
I am to remain here, in order to give an alarm should
any suspicion be excited, by showing two candles at
our bedroom window ; and if all keeps right, I am to
join them at the cross-roads, about a quarter of a mile
firom hence.'
* All right Now return to the parlour : I will
follow you; and remember that on the slightest hint
of treachery I will.shoot you as I would a dog.'
About a quarter of an hour afterwards h& two con-
federates set off in the chaise -cart: I, Barnes, and
Staples, cautiously followed, the latter handcuffed, and
superintended by the ostler of the inn, whom I for the
nonce pressed into the king's service. The night was
piteh dark fortunately, and the noise of the cart-wheels
effectually drowned the sound of our footeteps. At
length the cart stopped; the men got out, and were
soon busily engaged in transferring tiie buried plate to
the cart We cautiously approached, and were soon
within a yard or two of them, still unperceived.
' Get into the cart,' said one of them to the other,
' and I will hand the things up to y oil' His companion
obeyed.
* HoUo !' cried the fellow, * I thought I told you'
* That you are nabbed at last !' I exclaimed, tripping
him suddenly up. 'Dames, hold the horse's head.
1-30
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
Now, Bir, attempt to badge an Inch out of that cart,
and I'll send a bullet through your brains/ The sur-
prise was complete ; and so terror-stricken were thej,
that neither resistance nor escape was attempted. They
were soon handcuffed and otherwise secured; the re-
mainder of the plate was placed in the cart ; and we
made the best of our way to Kendal jail, where I had
the honour of lodging them at about nine o'clock in the
evening. The news, late as it was, spread like wild-
fire, and innumerable were the congratulations which
awaited me when I reached the inn where I lodged.
But that which recompensed me a thousandfold for
what I had done, was the fervent embrace in which the
white-haired uncle, risen from his bed to assure himself
of the truth of the news, locked me, as he called down
blessings from Heaven upon my head! There are
blessed moments even in the life of a police-officer.
Mr Bristowe was of course liberated on the following
morning; Staples was admitted king's evidence; and
one of his accomplices — the actual murderer — was
hanged, the other transported. A considerable portion
of the property was also recovered. The gentleman
who — to give time and opportunity for the perpetration
of the burglary, suggested by the perusal of Mr Bag-
shawo's letter — indu^ Mr Bristowe to accompany him
to Bristol, was soon afterwards transported for another
offence.
A WORD ON INK.
The ancients knew better how to make ink of a durable
colour than we do. Modem inks are metallic prepara-
tions, and on this account they are liable to deteriomtion
by atmospheric action. The cause of the superiority of
inks of old date has been earnestly and satisfactorily in-
vestigated by Professor Traill. It appears that up to the
fourteenth century, the inks employed for the purposes
of writing on manuscripts were almost, without an ex-
ception, fluids in which the deep-colouring material was
not metalliCf but cat'danaceotu matter. From that time
to the present, hoiyiever, a preparation much resembling
our presieat fluid was employed, to the inexpressible
regret of antiqciaariaa manuscript-lovers, and possibly to
the serious loss of many historical facts of value. From
this period, therefore, as a general rule, commences that
race of yellowish', reddish, or greenish-coloured manu-
scripts, which no patience can decipher, nor imy means
satisfactorily restore |bo life. Although it appears pro-
bable that occasionally metallic ingredients were added
to the ancient ink, yet there can now exist no doubt that
the persistence of colour by which they are dbtinguished
was entirely due to the carbonaceous matter employed
in their composition.
It is perhaps hardly necessary to remind the reader
that the most common writing fluid employed without
discrimination by most classes of our community is a
tanno-gallate of iron, with the addition occasionally of
mucilage, gum, indigo, or sugar, for the purposes of giv-
ing it a ' japan' lustre or intensity of hue. When first
placed on paper, it is in a state of low combination with
oxygen ; hence its pale colour ; but after a few hours' ex-
posure to the oxygen of the air, it passes into the higher
condition of oxidation, and assumes that depth of hue
which makes it valuable as a recording agent* If the
change stopped here all would be well, and a better pre-
paration need not be inquired after. But in process of
time, that ever-active agent, the atmospheric oxygen, de-
composes the compound : its vegetable acids, the tannic
and gallic, undergo destructive changes, and become con-
verted into simpler forms of matter ; and their base, the
oxide of iron, becomes common rust, assuming that brown-
ish red colour so well known under the title of that sub-
fetunce. Here, then, we have the true chemical cause of
the altered aspect of our time-de&oed writings. These
changes are undoubtedly more or less n^id according to
the good or bad qualities of the ink, or of the material
npon which it rests. But in no case, while such remains
its composition, can they be ultimately prevented from
occurring ; and if any author will look over a heap of bis
rough drafts seven or eight years old— or if any teades-
man will turn to the pages of his day-book or ledger for
that period — he will obtain full confinnation of our asser-
tion, and find that the self-deleting process has already
advanced several stages in such writings. Tlie diemiod
agency employed in the manufacture of our writing
papers, especially of the inferior qualities, rapidly assists
such changes, and diminishes, bv a long interval, the
lapse of time necessary to blot the record off the page
to which it was, in over-careless confidence, oommitt^
for safe keeping. Nor is this all. The discovery of the
powerful gaseous body chlorine made the subject still
more important This reagent dissolved in water, or b
union with other bodies, such as antimony, almost m-
stantly removes every trace of ink from the paper on
which it was written ; and b^ means of a pen dipped in
these liquids it was the easiest thing in the world — and
unfortunately the facility still remains In too hrge a
number of cases — for a fraudulent pezson to pencil over
any important writing to insure its complete erasure from
the material on which it was recorded. Behold, therefore,
the door opened to every evil-doer over whom the terrors
of the law, divine or human, exercise no control I How
easy to alter a valuable document, to erase one name
from a deed or will, and insert another! Surely, then,
the consideration that in a fluid of this abominably un-
stable character were recorded the titles and fortunes of
an immense number of persons, was sufficiently alarming
to have long since caused its abolition from our desks !
No : neither the positive certainty of ultimate deletion,
nor the excessive risk of fraudulent erasure, has been
sufficient to upset the old ink dynasty, and establidi a
new one on a less sandy basis. The fickle tanno-gallate
of iron is still the vehicle of our records to posterity, and
the insecure medium for the transaction of oar raoat im-
portant commercial aflfiiirs. The enormous extent to which
fraud has thus extended, without calling into action a
simple and sufficient check, can scarcely be believed. On
the continent it is even more appalling than in our own
country. But amongst ourselves, it has freouently beea
productive of very serious consequences. The Scottish
banks have suffered most seriously on several occasioM,
and that at no very distant perioo, from forgeries ci tbe
most artful kind perpetrated upon them, solely in conse-
quence of the unsafe medium employed in drawing oat
orders upon them. The stratagems by which these wot
accomplished have generally been of the following cha-
racter : — Bank-orders for small sums were obtained oa
some of their country branches; the blank apace in ^
engraved bill xras filled up as usual in writing with com-
mon ink; thus, ' Five — pounds J The daui followiBf
the jrordflve was erased by some of the common chemiau
means, and the word hundred inserted iu its place ! Tks
orders were paid without suspicion, and the fraud watf
only discovered when it was too late to apprehend tlM
offenders. Even lemon juice has been succeasfnilv «■-
ployed for such or similar purpc^es. To all these deteda
let us add that, apart from its decaying and flidiif
character, our common ink has several moat disagreeable
attributes, which alone might have led us to be on ^
look-out for another. In a few weeks it becomes covoed
with a dense layer of minute mucous or mould; after
standing a little time, it gets viscid, ropy, and unfit fer
use; and lastly, in time its colouring-matter precipitates
to the bottom, and the ink becomes less and leas valnaUe
for the purposes of correspondence.
It must not be supposed, from what has been writto,
that men of science have not attempted to improve the
nature and add durability to our ordinary writing-fluids.
Of so much consequence did it appear to the Fcen^
Royal Academy of Science, that they offered a priae for
the best composition of universal applicaiien i^ich
would obviate all the defects of ordinary ink. It is a
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
121
remarkable circimkstaiioe, and we bclieTO we are correct
in relating it, that this prise for so apparently simple an
object wa$ never gained. The Academy at lengtn ap-
pointed a Commission to inquire into the subject; and it
18 somewhat humiliating to find M. Dulong some time
afiei^--4uring a discussion upon the merits of some paper
prepared so as to prevent, as was pretended, the removal
of characters written upon it — reminding the Academy
that the Commission had demonstrated that the surest
means of rendering written characters indelible was to
use Indian ink! dissolved in water with a slight mixture
of some acid, more particularly the hydrochloric. The
requisites to constitute a r«Uly good ink are, that it
should flow freely from the pen, dry quickly, be of deep
colour, take a firm hold of the paper, and be indelible
either by time or chemistry. Attempts have been there-
fore* made to improve upon the composition of ordinary
metallic ink; and in a paper communicated to the So-
ciety of Arts, Dr Bostock states that he conceives the
principal causes of its bad qualities are the mucilage,
tan, and extractive matter whach it contains. He devised
several ways of precipitating these last, and conceived he
separated the whole of the first ingredient by skimming
on the mould until no more appeared on the surface of
the ink. He recommends as the best diluent of thick ink
a strong decoction of coffee. Common ink may be pre-
vented troTo, becoming mouldy by the addition of a grain
or two of corrosive sublimate, or by a drop or two of some
essential oil; but its badness being the result of its che-
mical composition, renders all attempts at its improve-
ment nugatory; so that the only real remedy is a sub-
stitute for it. The basis, in the greater number of the
proposed substitutes, is finely-levigated carbon; and this
has been ingeniously mixed in various ways with essen-
tial oils, solutions of caoutchouc, and of glue^ but in all
cases without any tolerable success — the oily inks smear-
ing the paper, and the others refusing to flow in smooth
and even lines over its surface. Were it not that it can
be removed from paper by washing with water, very pro-
bably the beautiful ink known as Chinese ink, when
genuine, would come nearest the mark. The colouring-
matter here is a beautiful description of lamp-black, ob-
tained in the following curious manner : — A long chamber
a hundred feet in length, constructed of bamboo covered
with paper, is divided into a number of compartments:
and at one extremity a vessel containing some essential
oil, and giving forth, when lit, a dense black smoke, is
placed: the soot collects in delicate flakes in the diflerent
di^nepiments, the finest of course in the last ; and it is
this which is employed in the manufactore of the best
Chinese ink, M. Merimee says it contains not glue, but
vegetable juices, which give it its brilliancy of hue. A
little musk or camphor is added as a perfume. At one
of the meetings of the Linnasan Society, Dr Coxe recom-
mended an inky fluid which oozed out of some curious
fungi; which was of a deep dark colour, indelible by the
sun s rays or by chlorine gas, but destroyed by muriatic
acid; wnich, however, would destroy the texture of the
paper itselfl Could these fungi be collected in sufficient
quantities, it would perhaps l^ worth a trial. More re-
cently, an ink has been invented under the title Manga*
nese Ink, prepared, as we should suppose, with the black
oxide of that body; but of its properties we are ignorant.
We should imsgine, however, from the density of the
substance such ink professes to contain, that it would be
unsuitable for the purpose of an ordiniary writing-fluid,
being necessarily thick and viscid to hold the manganese
in suspension. Dr Ure says, that by decomposing the
vanadate of ammonia with infusion of gall-nuts, an ex-
ceUent ink is obtained, at once black and perfectly inde-
lible; but the scarce metal vanadium must become a
little more abundant before it can be so applied on the
large scale. The Messrs Dobbs and Co., whose stationery
has rendered them famous, a year or two ago brought out
what they were pleased to call the Queen's Ink and
Paper. The paper was a prepared material, and the ink
some fluid which, when written thereon, produced an ink-
like colour. These prepared papers have been many
times tried, but without success; and even if successful
there is a complioation about the process which does not
suit mercantile views at alL The effects of such papers
are often very curious, and where not otherwise useful,
may be made use of as an^amusement. What, for ex-
ample, can be more singula than to write with a limpid
fluid clear as water, using a solution of the bichloride of
mercury upon a paper impregnated with the iodide of
potassium, and, behold, every letter turns to a lovely
crimson ! A curious passage in Pliny seems to have led
Professor Traill to a discovenr which, in spite of its ap-
parent insignificance, we justly consider to be amone the
most important in applied chemistry — a good, fluent, Mack,
indelible, unchangeable ink 1 Pliny recommends, among
other receipts for the preparation of ink, an ink made of
carbonaceous matter diffused in a solution of animal glue
in vinegar. The only difference between Dr Traill's ink
and this is, that instead of animal glue, he uses vegetable
gluten. But this simple discovery was not arrived at with-
out labour and expense; and to form an adequate concep-
tion of the thorough investigation Professor Traill insti-
tuted on the whole subject, it is only necessary to refer to
his paper, printed in the 14th volume of the * Transactions
of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.' In the true and ge-
nerous spirit of the best philosopny, he has there detailed,
without reserve, the process by wnich he prepares this valu-
able fluid; and desirous as we are to effect a revolution in
the kingdom of metallic ink, and to put a worthier ruler of
its important affairs at its head, we cannot do better than
transfer the process from those to these pages. The first
step is the preparation of the gluten. If a small mass of
dough is kneaded underneath a little stream of water for
some time, it will be found that it has parted with all
the starch it contained, and that only a tough, sticky
mass is left in the hand. The more carefully this is
done, the purer will the remaining gluten be. Now, to
ten parts of the liquid sold by chemists under the name
of pyroligneous acid, which is an impure acetic acid, one
and a-half parts of gluten are to be added, and the whole
left in a covered vessel, and submitted to a gentle heat.
In about twenty-four hours a solution of the gluten is
eflbcted, and a saponaceous fluid remains. To form this
into an ink, the very finest lamp-black must be procured,
and used in the proportion of from eight to twelve grains
to each ounce of the liquid, rubbing it quite smooth with
a pestle and mortar. Wh^ this opecatiea is completed,
the fluid is quite ready for use, and will be found com-
pletely to fulfil all those postulates which the constitution
of a good and permanent writing fluid demands. The
addition of a little bruised allspice, cloves, or cinnamon,
gives the liquid an agreeable aroma. This ink has been
subjected to the most severe tests. In a solution of chlo-
rine gas strong enough to bleadi in a few minutes the
blackest writing-ink, a slip of paper written with the new
ink romained twentg-ftmr Ximre without the least change,
and was subsequently exposed for seventg-two hours to its
influence with the same result. Exposed to the sun and
air, it only became of a more intense black hue, and was
more firmly fixed in the paper.
It was not in the least affected by water, strong alkalies,
or acids, not even the pyroligneous acid. Like every
other ink, it may be washed off parchment, the surfiboe of
that substance refusing its admission to the texture of the
material ; but for every other purpose it is incomparably
superior to every ink now in use. Professor Traill modestly
writes : — * It is only offered as a writine-ink well suited
for the drawing out of bills, deeds, or wills, or wherever
it is important to prevent alteration of sums of money,
or of signatures, as well as for handing down to posterity
public records in a less perishable material than common
ink,' It is perh^>s one of the best testimoniali to its
value, that it is exclusively employed now in several lai^ge
commercial houses and banks, and in the National Bank
of Scotland.
Setting aside the value of this discovery, as affording a
faithful and imperishable recording fluid, we would urge
its extensive adoption as a preventive of fmud. No
one who knows human nature will doubt the expediency
of hedging up, so far as is practicable, the narrow road
of rectitude ; and by this means, we believe, not only
122
CHAMBERS'S EDmBURGH JOURNAL.
1
1
would an additional security be given to the honest, but
an additional, and apparently insurmountable difficulty
would be put before the path of those who are unhappily
otherwise inclined.
PICTURES OF THE ENGLISH, DRAWN BY
A FRENCHWOMAN.
An unpretending -looking brochure has accidentally
fallen into our bands, which undertakes to give, within
the limits of some seyenty pages, an account of the
' Manners and Customs of the English.'* Its pretensions
are necessarily more lofty than its outward appearance
indicates ; for very comprehensive powers of observa-
tion, and great concentration of language, are to be in-
ferred from so small a book, which professes to treat so
extensive and varied a subject It should, therefore,
excite no disappointment when it is found that the pre-
tensions of the title are not wholly borne out in the suc-
ceeding pages. Indeed the profession of the authoress
has not afforded her the best possible course of study,
or the widest field of observation for her subject.
Foreign statesmen, lawyers, university professors, his-
torians, political economists, and even £*i^nch cooks and
German princes, have, during their travels and their
leisure hours, 'modestly discovered that of ourselves
which yet we knew not of.' But this is the first time,
so far as we know, that British manners and customs
have ever been criticised between the figures of a quad-
rille or the steps of a Polka ; for be it known that the
serious business of this authoress's life, her mission upon
earth, is — ^to dance. She only, it seems, condescends to
literature during her leisure ; and like Sarah Battle be-
tween hard-fought rubbers at whist, 'unbends over a
book.' Mrs Wnittaker is, in fact, one of the numerous
teachers whom the 'manners and customs' of the revo-
lutionaxy continent have driven thence to find employ-
ment in peaceful England. She ' imparts' (that is now
the pro&ssional periphrasis for the verb to teach)
dancing.
Such books aa the one before us, however full of mis-
takes, may be always consulted with advantage. Pic-
tures of ourselves, painted by foreign artists, possess the
power prayed for by Bums when he sung —
' Oh wad some power the giftie gie us
To see ounela aa others see us I
It wad frfte mony a blunder free us.*
The literary mirror held up to English nature by our
dancing-mistress is not without its moral, but it would
have given a clearer, stronger, and more salutary reflec-
tion of our faults, had she not unhappily spiced her
f^w truths with a great many errors. Let us, however,
be thankful for the truths she tells lis, and take warning
from her blunders.
The strictures of the dancing-mistress on the saltatory
manners and customs of EngUsh peoi^e are entitled to
all respect, as in this department <fltaB adheres to the
good old Latin rule, ne nitor ultra crepidam—{* for the
cobbler sticks to his last') : in other words, the dancer
does not go beyond her pumps. She is presumed to be
thoroughly conversant with the subject, and her opinions
on it are to be received with the reverence due to the
dicta of a professor. The following anecdotes are cha-
racteristic, and cleverly told : —
' In mv profession I have been tolerably successfU *,
but as this is a very aristocratic countzy, professors
hold a very different rank in the scale of society to what
they do in Paris. Of this, however, I will tell you more
hereafter. I had a visit this morning from a very stout
gentleman (a wealthy apothecary), who said he wished
to learn dancing ; but never having learnt before in his
life, he requested that the first few lessons might be
private. This I of course acceded to, and desired him
* Letters on the Manners and Customs of the English. By Mrs
Whtttaker. London: Ebecs.
to come on the following day. The gentleman was
punctual to a minute ; but previooa to coaunendng, he
came up to me and said with great aeriooanesa, ** Ma^
dam, I think I told you that I had never leamt dandng
in my life, but I forgot at the same time toroention
that I have not the slightest idea of music WIU yoo,
therefore, have the kindness to tell me, muft I jump to
every note vou strike on the piano ? " Being littie pre-
pared for this speech, it required my utmost efforts to
avoid breaking out into an immoderate fit of laughter.
I even longed to say ** Yes," merely for the purpose of
seeing what he would do ; but this would not have ben
consistent with my professional character ; comp(»iof,
therefore, my countenance as well as I could, I roer^
said, " No ; not quite to every note." " Perhaps, then,"
added he, with equal simplicity, " you will be good
enough to tell me each time I am to jump ?" ** Oh yes,
yes," said I ; this time turning round, lest he should
see my countenance. I then plaoed myself at the piano,
whilst the gentleman stood in the middle of the room,
giving me many inquiring looks, to know when he wu
to begin. At last I nodded assent, kept on playing, and
found he had an excellent ear for music, it which he
was not at all aware.
' My next applicant was, I think, a mathematician ;
he was a tall young man, rather pale, and of gen^omanly
appearance. He said that he wished very much to learn
to waltz, and begged I would tell him who had written
the best work on the subject. My assurances that he
could never learn to waltz by means of a book were
useless ; he repeatedly said that he should prefer that
method to any other. Not being able, therefore, to give
him the name of any author who had written on the
subject of waltzing, the young gentleman took his kave;
and how far he has been successful in his search I leare
you to guess.'
The rude neglect shown to persons of the ciass to
which oxir authoress belongs is set forth in a contiut
drawn between a French and an English quadrille
party : — * In a former letter I mentioned that profusion
hold a very different raiJc in the scale of society in
London to what they do in Paris. In order to aoqaaint
you with the manner in which they are looked upon in
the two capitals, I will give you a description of two
quadrille parties, one in London, and the oUier in Paris,
at both of which I was engaged to act ^le part of
musician. They were both houses of the same stand-
ing—that is, as I believe, eminent lawyers — and to one
and the other I was a complete stranger. To he^
then, with the one in Paris. No sooner was I armonnced,
than the gentieman of the house came out to meet me,
and took possession of my music book, whilst the lady
herself assisted in taking off my shawl. I was then in-
troduced as one of t^e guests ; tbe latter endeavouring to
make tiiemselves as agreeable to me as did the host aad
hostess themselves. When the dancing had commeaoed,
and I had played one or two quadrilles and Polkas, a
lady, whom I had never seen before, came up to me and
said in the most gracious manner, " I am not gdng to
allow you to fatigue yourself; ifs my turn now." I
readily gave up the piano to her intreaties, and dxaoq
the remainder of the evening we eadi played ans
danced by turns. On my departure, I was as much
thanked by the lady and gentleman of the house as
though they had been the obliged party instead of
myself.
' Now let me tell you how these things are managed
in London. One evening as I wts sitt&g alone nmii-
nating on the state of afihirs in Paris, a message was
brought me that a lady, living at a ccMisiderable distsiMt%
wished to speak to me. Being naturally amdoos to
know for what purpose, I was not long in answermg to
the demand. No sooner had I arrived at tiie house, sod
given my name, than I perceived the servants were
evidently perplexed to know where to {dace me; for the
first allowed me to remain in ^e passage, then a second
scolded the first for having done so ; at last I got sealed
in a pariour, where, after remaining for a considcnUs
I
I
1
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
123
time, a ferrant came to request I would walk up stain.
I was tbeai shown into a back drawing-room, where a
lady, handsomely dressed, was sitting alone ; and, as I
entered, neither rose from her seat, nor invited me to
take one. There appeared to me something so ex-
tremdy awkward in this manner of speaking, that I
should myself have taken a seat uninvited ; but not
seeing the necessity of prolonging my stay, considered
it as w^ to take my leave. I had walked a consider-
able distance to be told that I should be required on the
following evening to play at a small quaiinlle party.
I went accordingly. Few words were addressed to me
during the evening, with the exception of those that were
absolutely necessaxy ; one lady, however, quitting her
partner in the quadrille, ran up to me and said, ** Yous
etes Fran^ais, madame?"— (" Are you a Frenchman,
madam ? ") Without smiling at the pardonable mistake,
I reified in the affirmative, and the lady ran back to her
parUier. Nothing remarkable occurred during the re-
mainder of the evening, unless it be worth while to
mention that display was the order of the day, and that
tibe supper-table was loaded with numerous luxuries
that the climate and the season did not produce. When
I departed, the lady of the house forgot to return me
her thanks ; and I took my leave not a little satisfied
at being able to add a trifle more to the manners and
customs of the English.'
Mrs Whittaker should remember that in no country^
not even in her own, do persons hired to play dance-
music at per evening hold a very high rank in society.
In Sweden, such an employment is considered beneath
the dignity of a professional musician, and is performed
by men-servants and waiters, most of whom number
the ability to play quadrilles and waltzes on the piano-
forte amongst their domestic accomplishments. Still,
the above personage administers a proper censure. In
some classes of society— we may espedally instance the
* vulgar rich' — a vast amount of supercilious ill-breeding
is expended upon persons whom they paff,
Mrs Whittaker is justly severe on the mode in which
our young women are educated and introduced into the
world. It is too true that they are sddom or never bred
to flU with credit and usefulness Uie station which their
parents occupy. They are taught to look higher;
hence a host of flimsy accomplishments are thrust u^n
them, for the sole end of captivating some man moving
hi a higher sphere than their own. It is forgotten that
solid accompUshments adorn any rank, and while they
do not restrain spmsters from looking upward, fit them
for tiie duties of all stations. What is termed a * good
match ' appears to be the be-all and end-all of every
English young hidy's training, desires, and conduct, from
the days of her pupilage to the day of her marriage.
Mrs Wliittaker recounts a wholesome little story whidi
tells upon this failing by force of contrast : — * I recollect
a young French girl named Amelie, whose sole occupa-
tion consisted in making up small parcels of chocolate
behind the counter of a magnificent shop in the Bue
Vivienne. Amelie was exceedingly pretty, and had
numerous off*ers of marriage, all of which, however, she
declined. This conduct appeared rather singular, and
Amelie was questioned by her parents as to the cause
of her refusing so many ofibrs. " I have no objection
to marry," replied the noble-minded girl, '* provided I
can meet with a husband^ on whom I can look as my
equal ; but all the proposals I have had as yet have been
from men considerably wealthier than myself. I am
willing to become the companion of a poor man, but
win never consent to be the slave of a rich one." '
The folly of going, for the sake of display, to great
expense in giving entertainments, which are all the more
gratifying the simpler they are prepared, is thus ex-
posed : — * When the English give a ball or a quadrille
party, they go to a great deal more expense than is
necessary. In many families it is looked upon as quite
an even^ and is talked of for a month, ay, six months
previously ; then there are such preparations and dls-
cussions, so many purchases, and as mudi tasn and
anxiety, as though the whole family were going on a
voyage to Australia. Then, to see the supper table,
one would supjpose that none of the guests were expected
to have dined for a week. There is, besides, a total
absence of Sirop de Groseille, Orgeat, Bavaroise, &c.
&C. which always obliges me on such occasions to ask
for sugtr and water : tUs invariably creates some merri'!>
ment, and induces the English to imagine that in Paris
we drink nothing else. Then there is an abundance of
foreign wines, such as it takes some time for foreigners
to habituate themselves to, having never tasted any-
thing like them in foreign countries. These wines of
course add greatly to the expense of the entertainment ;
and although tastes may differ, I certainly think a cool-
ing beverage would be more wholesome, and better
suited to the occasion. The consequence of all this is,
that few persons can afford to give balls, or at least can
only give them very seldom, which is principally to be
regretted on the grounds that young women cannot
often be indulged in an amusement that is so necessary
for their health, and in which so many of them seem to
place their sole happiness.'
Thus fiir our Terpsichorean censor may be followed
without dissent, and with some degree of instruction }
but when she travels beyond her dancing-school, and
talks of matters of which she is either quite ignorant
or but insufficiently informed, her misconceptions are
amusing. Her knowledge of the Clubs of London is
thus set forth :— ' The English have pulled down all
their convents, and have erected monasteries in the
place of them ; for such, indeed, is the fittest name for
those immense buildings in London called Qubs.' Let
her be assured that the modem monks of tiie United
Service, the Athenaeum, and the Travellers, are not
such severe recluses as the monks of old, and that the
rules of the Beform are not nearly so stringent as the
rules of St Martin or La Trappe. At page 25 the lady
says that these monasteries are erected in every street
and square in the capitaL She has been imposed upon.
The Clubs of London do not number more than thirty ;
and nearly all of them lie in one street and one square
— ^namely, Pall-Mall and St James's Square.
But these are trifling errors, compared with others,
whidi the nimble-footed authoress has been betrayed
into in consequence of going entirely out of her depth.
One chapter of the best cookery book extant — the P^i-
eiohgie du OoH^^iB on ' The End of the World ;' and
in the bagatelle before us an account is given of English
burials. In this we are told that it Is a common prac-
tice in this country to bury persons alive I * That these
cases are very numerous,' she says, * there can be no
doubt, from the many instances tiiat have occurred of
persons recovering just at the time when preparations
were making for their interment; whilst others, leas
fortunate, have only beto aroused when it has been too
late to render them any assistance. To enumerate all the
cases of this kind that have come under my own par-
ticular knowledge, would probably be taking up more of
yourtime to read than is necessary. Not satisfied with
the various accounts that have appeared from time to
time in the public papers, I have also made numerous
inquiries, and have seldom met with a middle-aged or
elderly person who could not add to my stock of infor-
mation on the subject' She adds, that several medical
men have written on the subject, recommending caution
to the public; and that one of the tests applied in
such cases is the application of brandy to the soles of
the feet, and afterwards setting fire to it The lady
displays her physiological leaining by assuring her
friend that, aluiough it is true the dead are kept eight
days before burial, that period is * of course' not long
enough to show whether the vital spark has really fled,
' lethargies lasting,' she adds at p. 49, ' six weeks, or
even longer.'
We must not, however, as is too common in such
cases, exult over this poor lady's ignorance. Travel-
lers and book-makers are too abundant in this country
to warrant laughter at her expense. When we have
124
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
lady book-wrights who place Confltantinopte on the
Danube, and fill up 8ket(£yefl of Parisian and Rhenish
manners with bad French and impossible German, we
must not be too hard on a Urely dancing-mistress when
she ceases to poljit her toe for the purpose of sharpen-
ing her pen against us. Let us rather take a dispas-
sionate view of the real absurdities with wMch we
abound, and try to correct them ; and be all the more
careful what we ourselves say of our neighbours, when
we contemplate recording theiv failings in small pamph-
lets or portiy octavos.
LYCANTHROPY.
WnoEVEB has read the ' Arabian Nights* Entertain-
ments' will be acquainted with the words goul and
vampyrc. A goul was believed to be a being in the
human form, who frequented graveyards and cemete-
ries, where it disinterred, tore to pieces, and devoured
the bodies buried there. A vampyro was a dead person,
who came out of his grave at night to suck the blood of
the living, and whoever was so sucked became a vam-
pyre in his turn when he died. Both these persuasions
have been rejected by the modem scientific world as
altogether unworthy of credence or inquiry, although,
about a century ago, the exploits of vampyres created
such a sensation in Hungary, that they reached the ears
of Louis XV., who directed his minister at Vienna to
report upon them. Li a newspaper of that period there
appeared a paragraph to tlie effect that Arnold Paul, a
native of Madveiga, being crushed to death by a wagon,
and buried, had since become a varapyre, and that he
had himself been previously bitten by one. The autho-
rities being informed of the terror his visits were occa-
sioning, and several persons liaving died with all the
symptoms of vampyrism, his grave was solemnly
opened ; and although lie had been in it forty days, the
body was like tliat of a living man. To cure his roving
propensities a stake was driven into it, whereupon he
uttered a cry ; after which his head wiis cut off, and the
body burnt Four other bodies which had died from
the consequences of his bites, and which were found in
the same perfectly healthy condition, were served in a
similar manner ; and it was hoped that these vigorous
measures would extinguish the mischief. But no such
thing : the evil continued more or less, and five years
afterwards was so rife, that the authorities determined
to make a thorough clearance of these troublesome in-
dividuals. On this occasion a vast number of graves
were opened of persons of all ages and both sexes ; and
strange to say, Uie bodies of all those accused of plagu-
ing the living by their nocturnal visits were found in
the vampyre state — fhU of blood, and free from every
symptom of death. The documents which record these
transactions bear the date of June 7, 1732, and are
signed and witnessed by three surgeons and other cre-
ditable persons. The facts, in short, are indubitable,
though what interpretation to put upon them remains
extremely difficult One that has been suggested is,
that all these supposed vampyres were persons who had
fhllen into a state of catalepsy or trance, and been buried
fdive. However this may be, the mystery is sufficiently
perplexing ; and the more so, that through the whole
of Easteni Europe innumerable instances of the same
kind of thing have occurred, whilst each language has
an especial word to designate it
That which in the East is called ' goulism* has in the
West been denominated ' lycanthropy,' or * wolfomania ; '
and this phenomenon, as well as vampyrism, lias been
treated of by numerous ancient authors ; and though
latterly utterly denied and scouted, was ouce very
generiuly believed.
There are various shades and degrees of lycan-
thropy. In some cases tlie lycanthrope declares that
he has the power of transforming himself into a wolf, in
whidi disguise — his tastes corresponding to his form —
he delights in feeding on human flesh ; and in the public
examinations of these unhappy individuals there was
no scarcity of witnesses to corroborate their confessions.
In other instances there was no transformatioo, and tibe
lycanthrope appears more closely to resemUe a gouL
In the year 1603, a case of lycanthropy was teought
before the parliament of Bordeaux, llie person ac-
cused was a boy of fourteen, called Jean Grenier, who
herded cattle. Several witnesses, chiefly young girls,
came forward as his accusers, declaring tiiat he hid
attacked and wounded them in the disguise of a woU^
and would have killed them but for the vigorous defence
they made with sticks. Jean Grenier himself avowed
the crime, confessing to having killed and eaten several
children ; and tiie father of &e children ccmflrmed tU
he said. Jean Grenier, however, appears to have ben
little removed from an idiot
In the flfteenth century lycanttiropy prevailed exten-
sively amongst the Yaudois, and many persons suffered
deat£ for it ; but as no similar case seems to have been
heard of for a long whUe, lycanthropy and gonlism were
set down amongst the superstitions of the East and
the follies and fables of the dark ages. A circumstance^
however, has just now come to light in France that
throws a strange and unexpected light upon this cnrioos
subject The account we are going to give ia drawn
fh)m a report of the investigation befbre a oonndi of
war, held on the lOth of the present month (Joly 1849),
Colonel Manselon president. It is remarked that the
court was extremdy crowded, and that many ladies
were present.
The facts of this mysterious affair, as they came to
light in the examinations, are as follow: — ^For some
months past the cemeteries in and around Paris have
been the scenes of a frightful profanation, the suthfat
of whicli had succeeded in eluding ail the vigilance that
was exerted to detect them. At one time the gnardism
or keepers of these places of burial were themsdves
suspected ; at others, the odium was tiirown on the
surviving relations of the dead.
The cemetery of Pdre la Chaise was tiie first field of
these horrible operations. It appears that for a con-
siderable time the guardians had observed a mysterious
figure flitting about by night amongst the tombs, oa
whom they never could lay their hands. As they tp-
proachc»d, he disappeared like a phantom ; and even
the dogs that were let loose, and ur^red to seize him,
stopped short, and ceased to bark, as if they were tiios-
fixed by a charm. When morning broke, the ravsfes
of this strange visitant were but too visible — graTes
had b^n opened, coffins forced, and the remains of the
dead, frightfully torn and mutilated, lay scattered upon
the earth. Could the surgeons be the guiitj partici?
Ko. A member of the profession being brought to the
spot declared that no scientific knife had beea there ; but
certain parts of the human body might be required lor
anatomical studies, and the gravediggers might iMve vio-
lated the tombs to obtain money by the sale of ^cm....
The watch was doubled ; but to no purpose. A yooof
soldier was one night seized in a tomb, but be dedsed
he had gone there to meet his sweetheart and had
fiUlen asleep ', and as he evinced no trepidafieo, tk;y
let him go.
At length ^ese profanations ceased in PiralftCMiib
but it was not long before they were renewed m aandcr
quarter. A suburban cemetery was the new ^liiiltfnC
operations. A little girl, aged seven years, mm wmii
loved by her parent^ died. With Uimr owm )fmi»
they laid her in her coffin, attired in the Crock niis ^
lighted to wear on foto days, and with her
playthings beside her; and accompanied by
relatives and friends, they saw her laid in flie
On the following moniing it was discovered flyiite
grave had been violated, the body torn fhun the
frightfully mutilated, and the heart extracted,
was no robbery: the sensation in the
hood was tremendous; and in the general
perplexity, suspicion fell on the broken-hearted
whose innocence, however, was easily proved.
means were taken to discover the orimiiiali tel iSm
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
125
only result of the increaied sunreillance was, that the
scene of profanation was removed to the cemetery of
Mont Pamasse, where the exhmnations were carried
to such an extent, that the authorities were at their
wits* end. Considering, by the way, that all these
cemeteries are surround^ by walls, and haye iron gates,
which are kept closed, it certainly seems very strange
that any goul or vampyre of solid flesh and blood should
have been able to pursue his vocation so long undis-
covered. However, so it was ; and it was not till they
bethought themselves of laving a snare for this myste-
rious visitor that he was detected. Having remarked
a spot where the wall, though nine feet high, appeared
to nave been frequently scaled, an old officer contrived
a sort of n^enud nuuhine, with a wire attached to it,
which he so arranged that it should explode if any one
attempted to enter the cemetery at tliat point. This
done, and a watch being set, they thought themselves
now secure of their purpose. Accordingly, at midnight
an explosion roused tne guardians, who perceived a
man uready in the cemetery ;. but before they could
seize him, he had leapt tlie wall with an agility that
confounded them ; and although they fired their pieces
after him, he succeeded in making his escape. But
his footsteps were marked by the blood that had flowed
from his wounds, and several scraps of military attire
were picked up on the spot. Nevertheless, they seem to
have been still uncertain where to seek the ofiender,
till one of the gravediggers of Mont Parnasse, whilst
preparing the last resting-place of two criminals about
to be executed, chanced to overhear some sappers of
the 74th regiment remarking that one of their ser-
geants had returned on the preceding night cruelly
wounded, nobody knew how, and had been conveyed
to tlie Yal de Grace, whidi is a military hospitoL A
little inquiry now soon cleared up the mystery ; and it
was ascertained that Sergeant Bertrand was the author
of all these profanations, and of many others of the
same description previous to his arrival in Paris.
Supported on crutches, wrapped in a gray cloak, pale
and feeUe, Bertrand was now brought forward for
examination; nor was there anything in the counte-
nance or appearance of this young man indicative of
the fearful monomania of which he is the victim ; for
the whole tenor of his confession proves that in no other
light is his horrible propensity to be considered.
In the first place, he freely acknowledged himself the
author of tliese violations of the dead both in Paris
and elsewhere.
* What object did you propose to yourself in commit-
ting these acts?* inquired the president.
* I cannot tell,* replied Bertrand : * it was a horrible
impulse. I was driven to it against my own will:
nothing could stop or deter me. I cannot describe nor
understand myself what my sensations were iu tearing
and rending these bodies.*
President, And what did you do alter one of tlicse
visits to a cemetery ?
Bertrand. I withdrew, trembling convulsively, feeling
a great desire for repose. I fell asleep, no matter where,
and slept for several hours; but during this sleep I
heard everything thai passed around me! I have some-
times exhumed from ten to fifteen bodies in a night. I
dag them up with my hands, which were often torn
and bleeding with the labour I underwent; but I
minded nothing, so that I could get at them. The
guardians fired at me one night and wounded me, but
that did not prevent my returning the next This
desire seized me generally about once a fortnight
He added, that he had had no access of this propensity
since he was in the hospital, but that he would not be
sure it might not return when his wounds were healed.
Still he hoped not * I think I am cured,* said he. * I
had never seen any one die; in the hospital I have
seen several of my comrades expire by my side. I
bdieve I am cured, for now I fear the dead.*
The surgeons who attended him were then examined,
and one of l^em read a sort of memoir he had received
from Bertrand, which contained the histo^ of his^
malady as far as his memory served him, * ^ - ^
From these notes, it appears that there had been
something singular and abnormal about him from the
time he was seven or eight years old. It was not so
much in acts, as in his love of solitude and his pro-
found melancholy that the aberration was exhibited;
and it was not till two years ago that his frightful
peculiarity fully developed itself. Passing a cemetery
one day, where the gravediggers were covering a body
that had just been interred, he entered to observe them.
A violent shower of rain interrupted their labours,
which they left unfinished. * At this sight,* says Ber-
trand, ' horrible desires seized me : my head throbbed,
my heart palpitated violently ; I excused myself to my
companions, and returned hastily into town. No sooner
did I find myself alone, than I procured a spade, and
returned to the cemetery. I had just succeeaed in ex-
huming the body, when I saw a peasant watching me
at the gate. Whilst he went to inform the authorities
of what he had seen, I withdrew, and retiring into a
neighbouring wood, I laid myself down, and in spite of
the torrents of rain that were falling, I remained there
in a state of profound insensibility for several hours.*
From this period he appears to have given free
course to his inclinations ; but as he generaUy covered
the mutilated remains with earth again, It was some
time before his proceedings excited observation. He
hod manv narrow escapes of being taken or killed by
the pistols of tlie guardians ; but his agility ^eems to
have been almost superhimian.
To the living he was gentle and kind, and was espe-
ciallv beloved in his regunent for his frankness and
gaiety 1
The medical men intcrro^ted unanimously gave it
as their opinion, that although in all other respects per-
fectly sane, Bertrand was not responsible for these acts.
He was sentenced to a year*s imprisonment, during
which time measures will doubtless be taken to com-
plete his curd
In relating tills curious case of the Vampyre^ as he is
called in Paris, where the aflkir has excited consider-
able attention, especially in the medical world, we have
omitted several painful and disgusting particulars ; but
wo have said enough to prove that, beyond a doubt,
there has been some good foundation for the ancient
belief in goulism and lycanthropy ; and that tlie books
of Dr Weir and others, in which the existence of this
malady is contemptuously denied, have been put forth
without due investigation of the subject
THB CITY OF THE SUN.
One of the pleasantest Tides in the ilciglibourhood of
Cairo is to Heliopolis, or the City of the Sun — at least
in my opinion; for some greatly prefer the Slmbra
avenue, and its four miles of sycamores and acacins.
Though I have my preferences, my taste is Catholic
enough; and I admit that so vast a canopy, broken
into only here and there by little patches of sunshine,
through which immense loads of green clover and bur-
sim, piled on the backs of staggering donkeys or stately I
camels, are constantly gleaming — with views of broad
fields, bright reaches of tlie Nile, groves interspersed
with villages and minarets and tombs, the Desert and
the Pyramids — I admit, I say, that all this is very
beautiful. I always felt, however, an inclination to turn
off into the by-paths, and exchange the level road for
some lane rugged with ruts, or some track across a
meadow.
The way by which I first went to Heliopolis is entirely
of this character. After passing the Iron Gate — as one
of the numerous exits from Cairo is named, though why,
there exists no visilile reason — we soon got among tlie
fields, and began to wind about through a most delight-
fully rural tract The interminable avenue of Shubra
retired towards the horizon on our left ; on our right
were gardens interspersed with palaces; and beyond
Btretched the Desert and the mountain ridges. Behind,
the minarets of Cairo and its fortified oitadel occasion-
ally appeared through the trees ; whilst at the extremity
of the plain ahead extended a long grove, ahoTe which
we could soon see the tall ohelisk that remains almost
alone to indicate tiie site of the once celebrated city.
It is difficult to convey an idea of the beauty of the
tract of country we were trarersing, because it is a
kind of beauty entirely local and unique. I set aside
the great features I have aboye alluded to, which rose
upon the near horizon on erery side, and served as a
kind of framework to the picture. The plain itself,
though undiversifled b^ a single mound or single swell,
presented sufficient objects to attract our attention. A
whole sketch-book might have been filled during this
ride with charming studies of nature. At one place
there was a water-wheel turned by two huge black
bufialoes, with a half-naked Arab brat squatting close
by to keep up the excitement with a long jereed. A
vast sycamore with gnarled trunk and wide-spreading
branches threw its shadows over this group. The me-
lancholy creaking of the wheel was not unpleasant when
mellowed by distance. A swift runnel shot round the
trunk of the tree, and glanced like a streak of silver
across the fields. Further on, a few Arab huts clustered
in a grove of palms ; whilst near at hand the white dome
of a sheik's tomb, or the minaret of a mosque glittered
in the glorious sunshine. Sometimes we proceeded
through lanes lined with acacias, which tremulously
shook their thin leaves in a sort of local breeze that
seemed to hang murmuring amongst their branches,
but could be Mt nowhere else. Then we traversed
broad expanses of bursim of true emerald green, into
the midst of which great flights of paddy-birds— called
by travellers the white ibis—sank like giant flakes of
snow into the sea. At intervals these fields were bounded
by single or double rows of trees of graceful outline,
such as were reproduced of old by HeUenic pencils on
the walls of Pompeii and Herculaneum. There were
cypresses, and all varieties of the mimosa ; and there
were palms and sycamores, and olive and mulberry, and
orange, and lemon, and citron-trees. All these were
disposed in an infinite variety of groups— sometimes
developed in long files, sometimes disposed as in a
European orchai^ sometimes crowded together in
masses. I must add, that luxuriant crops of wheat
and barley, and beans and lentils, and lupins and chidc-
pcas, andoamieh and mdochiyeh (the glutinous vegetables
that form a great part of the food of the people), covered
the country ; which was farther interspersed with im-
mense fields of sugar-cane. Nothing can exceed the
fertility of the land in this province. Nature is as
prodigal of her bounties as the heart of man can wish ;
and if we meet wretchedly-clad and miseraUe-looking
human beings moving tl^ough these ridi scenes, like
grim and dirty insects over a robe of silk, it is because
bad government can neutralise upon this earth all the
blessings of Providence.
A couple of hours brought us to the mounds which
mark the line of the ancient fortifications of Heliopolis.
These fortifications were formed of large unbumt bricks
about eighteen inches long, as we could discover at places
where some Arab workmen were digging to take away
the earth to make such bricks as men make in these
degenerate days. A village, and several gardens s^
fields, and pools of water, diversified the enclosed space ;
in the centre of which, in a garden defended by a good
fence, rose the obelisk we haid come to see. A number
of children crowded round us as soon as we made our
appearance ; and alter some search, the key of the gate
was procured. Fortunately, the regular guide — I have
a particular dislike to professional guides — ^was absent ;
and so we were permitted to loiter about as we pleased
under the trees of the orchard. We found the obelisk
to be surrounded ¥rith a moat, cleared out to show its
true proportions; for the constantly-rising soil had
buried its base. The sides are covercKl with deeply-cut
hieroglyphica in most excellent preservation. Towards
the west, however, we found them to be entirely covered
up with a crust of earth ; and it was some time before
we discovered that this had been deposited by the innu-
merable wild bees which were buzzing about, and had
chosen these classical nooks as tiieir residence.
After we had spent some time in admiring this beau-
tiful monument, we began to tiiink of obtaining some
refreshment, and made inquiries whether thm was
any coflliee to be got in the village. At first the answer
was in the negative ; but presentiy an Armenian giri
came forward, and said that if we would wait a while
she would provide us with what we wanted in the
garden. So we sat down on the ground under the shade
of the olive and orange-trees, and smoked our chibooki
in patience. It appeared, from the fragments oC con-
versation we overheard, that there was some difflcolty
in supplying our wants. The mother of the Armeniaa
girl had conee, but she had not sufficient cups : these
it was necessary to borrow of the sheik of the village.
A messenger went to his house, but he was from home,
and his wife could scarcely be prevailed upon to lend his
property. At length all these little matters were ar-
ranged, and the fragrant beverage, burning hot, was at
length served up to us. A few piastres— ^>art in pay-
ment, part in the shape of presents— rewarded these poor
people for the trouble they had taken ; and we returned
by way of Matarieh, which almost deserves the name
of a town. It had formerly been fortified against the
attacks of the Arabs of the Desert At the entrance dL
every street were traces of a gateway, at one time re-
gularly closed up every night These x^recantioDs,
however, were not needed during the latter part of
Mohammed All's government — which monopolised the
privilege of extortion, instead of allowing it to be exer-
cised by every petty Bedouin chiefl I doubt whether
the Egyptians have gained by the change. The irre-
gular oppression of a weak govenmient and a marauding
race of borderers was bad enough, but certainly did not
produce all the fatal effects of the present admirably-
organized system of robbery. The Uesdngt of odx
are great, but the experience of the Egyptian peasant
seems to prove that even anarchy is more fkvoari^ to
individual happiness than an iron despotism. Whorerer
the system of forced labour prevaUs, there must be
almost general misery. I have known instances of
respectable shopkeepers being seized and dragged to
work in a government manufactory at one piastre a
day. No man is sure of being able to attend to his
field when his presenoe is most required ; for ercty now
and then a general sweep is made throughout a whole
district and the population is driven off en aiatte to
labour at some uscdess public works.
From Matarieh we proceeded to another interesting
spot— the garden which Abbas Pasha has caused to be
laid out round the tree of the Madona. We approached
the gate down a lane through a thick grove of oraofe
and other trees. On obtaining admission, we advanced
at once to the interesting object we had come to visit
The first feeling was one of disappointment We beheld
a mere fragment of the trunk of a tree, wi^ aome young
branches sprouting out here and there. The whole
mass of the foliage was not greater than that of a good-
sized apple-tree. The trunk itself^ however, bore evi-
dence of immense antiquity ; and we soon learned tiiat
a great portion had been cleared away, that one of the
cross-paths might not be obstructed! This was a
genuine piece of Egyptian workmanship— a garden
created for the preservation of an object and the otject
itself destroyed for the purposes of symme^. The
remnant of the trunk was covered with names of pil-
grims, some of considerable antiquity, but none of
course aufficientiy ancient to countenance the popular
traditions. Our imaginations were therefore Idtt to
themselves. We were at perfect liberty to bduBve or
disbelieve that on this spot either under this tree or its
parent stock, eighteen hundred years ago, the Virgin
Mary paused to rest after her perilous jouraej over the
Desert ; and that in a fountain hard by she waiAed the
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
127
infant Jesus. There wss no room for controTersy on
the sabject : it wss redaoed to a matter of sentiment :
and some of us therefore discarded the story altojg^ether,
while oUiers received it. All were pleased with the
visit, and went away with something additional to talk
about in times to come.
I have omitted all allusion to the celebrated feat
of arms performed by the French on the ground we
trayersed, because our thoughts during the whole ride
were either carried back to a much more remote period,
or were occupied with the objects that actually pre-
sented themselves to our view. The roar of batUe had
passed over that spot, and a harvest of glory had been
reaped there ; but fifty other harvests have since waved
above the unmarked graves of Frank and Moslem : the
plough has effaced the cannon rut : the humble peasant
has trodden out the footsteps of heroes. The peaceful
monuments of the district, however — the tree and the
obelisk — still remain, and will no doubt, for ages to
come, continue to attract thither the antiquary and
the Christian pilgrinL We returned by a different
road, skirting the gardens of several palaces, and soon
reached, to our regret, the dusty envurons of Cairo.
STATISTICS OF EMIQRATION.
On this subject is given the following statement in the
* Hmes,' condensed from the annual Report of the Colo-
nial Land and Emigration Conunissioners, just pub-
lished >*
' It appears that whHe the average emigration fictmi the
United j^huzdom during the ten years ending in 1846 was
about 84,0W) persons (74,000 to America, and 10,000 to
the Australian ooloniesY the number who left in 1847 was
258,270, and in 1848, 248,089. In the Utter year the total
to North America was 219,298; but of these 188,233 pro-
ceeded to the United States, and only 31,065 to the
British coloQies. About 85 per cent, were Irish ; and it
has been stated that they were this year generally of a
better class than those of former years, and that the
whole body carried with them considerable oapitaL This,
however, cannot be ascertained. The emign^n affects
at New York and Quebec describe the great mass as being
in a state of poverty; but emigrants with money are
genenUly very anxious to conceal it. With regard to the
soma remitted from America to enable relatives to emi-
grate, no accurate information can be given. It is certain,
however, that the amount paid in the United States for
paasages, or remitted to this country, was. during the
year 1848, upwards of L460,000 ; and it is inferred that
three-fourths of the whole expense of the emigration
trova. Ireland last year was thus defri^ed by those who
had emigrated in previous years. The oommissioners
have no means of ascertaining the result of the emigra-
tion to the United States generally; but they assume,
from the absence of complaint on the subject, that it was,
on the whole, unaccompanied by sickness, and that the
emigrants have been able to find employment.
* The B^x>rt of the Emigration Commissioners of New
York states that the personal condition in which the
emsgrsnts arrived was very much better than in 1847 —
that no instance had been discovered of actual insuffi-
ciency of provirions on the voyage — and that the cases of
death and sidmess had been comparatively small. Much
of the inoreased comfbrt of the passive is attributed to
the New York liners having, since the establishment of
steam-packets, come to depend very much on steerage
passengers, for whom there is, consequently, a greatly-
increased competition.
' With regard to the Australian colonies and the Cape
of Good Hope, it appears that since November 1847, when
the renewed emigration was conunenced to New South
Wales, the total emigration has been 28,158, of whom the
number despatched m 1848 was 18,611. Of the enthre
amount, 9656 went to Sydney, 9076 to Port Philip, 8631 to
Adelaide, and 795 to the Cape of Good Hope. As resi>ects
the contributions raised in this country in aid of emigra-
ti<m, the oommissioners remark that they are more limited
than is usually supposed. Out of the three parties who
are interested in the movement — namely, the colonists,
who need labour ; the labourers, who seek employment ;
and the parishes, which are relieved of a superabundant
population, the former, at least in the ease of the Austra-
lian colonies, contoibute in each instance about L.14 (the
cost of passage, whidi is supplied from the land ftmd);
while the two latter contribute only about luB, which may
be taken as the average eroenses of bed-money, outfit,
and cost of conveyance to the port of embarkation. At
the same time the commisrioners point out that the con-
tribution on the part of parishes or labourers is not likely
to increase, rinoe the labourer rarely has any means, and
it is possible to send an emigrant to Canada or the United
States for L.4, 10s. The commissioners describe the in-
stanees in which thtj have relaxed their rules in promot-
ing the emigration of parties who are ineligible under the
orainary regulations for an absolutely free passage, but to
whom it seemed desirable to give a passage upon their
oontoibuting a portion of its cost. Among these were
several of the Bnglish workmen who were foroed to leave
F^moe after the Revolution in 1848, also seventy-one young
women from Ireland, and 150 scholars ftt>m the Ragged
Schools of London. A table of rules has been framed,
under whieh these assisted passages may be granted; and
the total number who have availed themselves of the op-
portunity is 2992, consisting chiefly of artisans. According
to the latest accounts from Sydney and Port Philip, the
oommiwioners learn that it would not be prudent to des-
patch more than three ships a month to the former, and
two to the latter. The rate at which ships have been des-
patched to each of these districts since the commence-
ment of 1848 has been rather more than two a month.
From South Australia, whither the Irish orphan emisrant
girls were sent, a report has been received that, within a
fortoight of their amval, owing to their good conduct, not
one of these girls, fit for service, remained unemployed, and
that 200 more could readily have met with situations.
From New Zealand it is mentioaed that the force of emi-
grant pensioners now amounts to 648 men, and that in
the nei^bourhood of their villages the price of land has
rapidly advanced. The number of emigrants despatched
to New Zealand shioe 1847 has been 1005. of whom 757
were for Otago. With regard to Canada, the accounts as
to the means of employing emigrants arc not encouraging,
although the prospect is good for small capitalists. The
emigration last year was 27,939, of whom 7355 proceeded
to the United States. To New Brunswick the emigration
in 1848 was 4020 persons, being a great decrease as com-
pared with the two proeeding years. It appears also
that almost all this number, as well as 5000 other inhabi-
tants of the province, have lately made their way to the
United States. To Nova Scotia and Cape Breton tlie
emigration in 1847 was 2000, and in 1848 only 140 persons.
As respects the present prospects of emigration, it appears
that it is now going on at even a more rapid rate than
during the past two years, when the amount was unprece-
dented. While the emigration of 1847 and 1848 exceeded
that of 1846 by 99 and 91 per cent, respectively, the emi-
gration of the first four months of the present year from
the ports at which we have agents has exceeded that of
the same period of 1847 by 15 per cent, and of 1848 by 40
per cent The actual numbers nave hem —
First four months of 1847, . 90,714
• ... ... 1848, . • 74,929
1849, . 104,70L'
jrUVElVILE EEFVGE AND SCHOOL OF nn>U6TBY IN
WESTMIN8TEB.
That buUding might long have been designated by its
present name. But a few years ago, and it was a re/uoe for
juveniU thieves, and a $ckool in which they were inauttri-
oudv trained in the arts of deception and plunder. A part
of the process is thus described by an eye-witness : — ^ Let us
look in at the upper roon--^now the giris* school). Here
were fifty youths met arouna their master— as able a one
in his calling as EngUnd could prodne^^listaiing with
undivided attention to his instructions on the ** mi^ ** (a
pair of trousers suspended from the ceiling) on the subject
of ** fobology," or pocket-picking. After tms course of tui-
tion, the next was the mock trial — an imitation of the Old
Bailey Court, with a fiic nmile of its frinctionaries and or-
deal, done with very great taste, and calculated to make
the young rascal not only expert in extracting from the fob
or pocket, but clever in defence. To encourage the young
novice in his first essay, he was supplied with a glass of gin
below in the tap — (now the dining-room of the children).
If suocessAil, then he returned for the purpose of reporting
128
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
his fuooesfl, and having a game at ikittles in the ddttle-
ground— (now the boys' school-room.') For many years
this system of eduealum was carried on without molestation;
for so desperate were the parties engaged in it, that even
the police were afraid to interfSere. At last they removed
to another publio-hoase, a few yards oflf, now known as
' The Working-Men'a Institute.* For a considerable time
were the same practices carried on in the new dwelling,
until circumstances compelled the landlord to give it up.
But although this focus of crime was abandonea, the con-
duct of these outlaws of society remained unchanged. The
streams had run too long and too deep to be so easily dried
up. Hundreds of youths are now prowling the streets of
the metropolis who were educated in these nurseries of
crime, acquainted with no other means of living than rob-
bery and thefL Qroups of them may be seen, m the com-
pany of men grown gray in sin, stanmng about the oomers
of DvLck Lane and Old Pyo Street, gan&bling with the very
gold and silver they have stolen from the unsuspecting
shopkeeper, or extracted from the pockets of the street-
passenger. Would you believe it, reader, that some of
those ragged fellows may be found sitting beside you in
your pew at church, dressed as respectably, and even more
fashionably than yourself, and who will watch the oppor-
tunity of your departure, to relieve either you or some of
your fellow-worshippers of the money you may have in your
possession? A friend of ours lately asked a young man if
he ever went to church. 'I often go,* said ho: *I prefer
ffoing to St M 's, because I do most basinefls there.* —
Ila^ed School Union Magaxim*
WATEB.
Large quantities of rain-water have firequently been col-
lected and examined by Dr Smith, and he says, * I am now
satisfied that dust really comes down with the purest rain,
and that it is simply coal ashes.* No doubt thu accounts
for the quantity of sulphites and chlorides in the rain, and
for the soot, which are the chief ingredients. The rain is
also often alkalhie — arising probably from the ammonia of
the burnt coal, which is no doubt a valuable agent for neu-
tralising the sulphuric acid so often found. The rain-water
of Manchester is about 2^ degrees of hardness, harder, in
fact, than the water from the neighbouring hille which the
town intends to use. This can only arise from the ingre-
dients obtained in the town atmosphere. But the most cu-
rious point is the fact, that organic matter is never absent,
although the rain be continued for whole days. The state
of the air is closely connected with that of the water: what
the air contains, the water may absorb; what the water
lias dissolved or absorbed, it may give out to the air. Tlie
enormous quantity of impure matter filtering from all parts
of a large town into its many natural and artificial outlets,
docs at the first view present us with a terrible picture of
onr undeiground sources of water. But when we examine
the soil of a town, we do not find the state of matters to
Present that exaggerated character which we might snppose.
'he sand at the Cliclsea Water- works contains only 1-43
fer cent, of organic matter after being used for weeks. In
827 Liebig found nitrates in 12 wells in GHessen, but none
in wells two or three hundred yards from the town. Dr
Smith has examined thirty wells in Manchester, and he
finds nitrates in them alL Many contained a surprising
quantity, and were'very nauseous. The examination of va-
rious wells in the metropolis showed the constant formation
of nitric acid, and in many wells an enormous quantity
was detected. The presence of the nitrates in the London
water prevents the formation of any vegetable matter ; no
vegetation can be detected even by a microscope, after a
long period. The Thames water has been examined from
wnter near its souroe to the metropolis, and an increasing
amount of impurity detected. All the water of great
towns contains organic matter ; water purifies itself from
organic matter in various ways, but purticularly by con-
verting it into nitrates : water can never stand long with
advantage, unless on a large scale, and should be used when
collected, or as soon as filtered.— iTeff^isA Independent.
IMPOBTAKCE OP TRUTH.
As a natural corollary from the proposition that falsehood,
the principle of the repuhion of particles, is the world*s
bane, so truth, the principle of the attraction of cohesion,
is its greatest blessing. Again, I must dechire that every
idea we utter during our little life lives hereafter in some
shape or other, and bears fruit after its kmd, which may
be gathered long in the lapse of time, or in the very anti-
podes. Every true man— that is, every man who utters
unequivocaUy what he beUeves — Is a benebctor to his
country, nay, more, a benefactor to the wotld ; for be has
sown a seed that will fructify for ever. It is trite to incul-
cate the doctrine that truth is essential for happiness, tmt
people moralise with cut-and-dried admonitions, without
thinking of the immediate causes that make truth so ne-
cessary to cultivate. I desire to see the utilitarian prin-
ciples of truth a part and parcel of education. In our
National Schools especially, I should desire to see the strict
observance a matter of as much study as the very alphabet;
and I should like to inculcate the belief that truth of
thought and truth of utterance are as necessary to 'get a
man on in the worid* as the knowledge of knowing a good
shilling from a bad one. I know of no aentenee eirer uttered
by human lips more likely to produce a luxurianoe of eT9
than the part plavful, part serious assertion, that * *«"g"y
was given us to hide our thoughts.* The oonvqse m the
one thing ncedftil, and were it not for the large amount of
truthfubioss which is yet to be found in mankind, sodetj,
like a gas decomposed, would be resolved into its origiiiil
elements, the warning of which we receive by the expb>
sions the wonder-struck world has lately been witaesBOig.
Enough, however, of this; and let us oonsole ourselves that
the time is coming — a time, perhaps, purchased by blood-
shed and the liorror of war — ^when the rulers of the worid
will discover that they must govern mors by the hearty
more by its affections, more by the ties of human sympathy,
and less by the diplomatic cunning of ndscalled Maehiaeval
policv, or, what is much the same, by a system of cold-
blooded reason and red tape. . . . Let every man strive
to utter what he believes, and whenever he accomnlishes
a conquest over falsehood, he lias cast a steriing com into
the treasury of the world that will one day purefaass its
redemption. — Affi&cUon^ id Flowers and PrmUa^
MY BLANKET SHAWL.
AuLD friend, aoce mair como frae the khit.
For je're a frien* that ne'er grew amf ;
Ye dightet aye the hidden teir—
My wae, my weal-worn Blanket Shawl !
Oh wae is me I that drcadfa* nfcht
My lammfo's fectio grow aae caol* !
Within thy faulds ^e breathed her last—
Thou sad, thon sacred Blanket Bhawl !
And whan I gaed to sell my tapes.
To screen the rest frae want and cauld,
I feared the Bioht o* faces kont,
An* owTO me drew my Blanket ShawL
Whan queans wad answer to my rap
Wi' uppish gait and voices haul*,
I turned awa' maist Uko to drop.
An' tichter drew my Blanket ShawL
Ungratef u* body that I was !
I Budna been soo itung withal :
I sud hao fixed my thochts on Bim
Wha aye saw through my Blanket KtawL
But better fortune smiles on me.
My laddies noo are stoot and tall— ^
But aye I hear a manly sich
Whan oot I tak my BUnket Bhawl !
J.M.
SONG OP THE WILD FLOWER.
On this desolate heath » all unnoted, unknown,
Fro sprung up but a mean little flower.
Yet on me are the rays of the day-mlo' thrown.
And mine is the wealth of the riiowcr.
I feel the pure breeae as it sweeps o*er the groimd.
Bringing health to leaf, blossom, and stsm ;
And the soft dews of evening encircle me round
With full many a crystal-like gem.
Let me whisper it, then, both to simple and ssge.
That I am (though so lowly my lot)
A legible letter in that beaotif nl page
Mliich can hold neither error nor bloL
Masv Bvdsss.
Published by W. & R. Chaubxrs, High 8tn»t, Edlnbasgh. Ate
sold by D. Chambsrs, SO Argyle Btrcot, Glasgow: W. S. 0««,
147 Btrand, London ; and J. M'Glasoaw, SI irOUer 6tRCt»
Dublin.— Printod hy W. 4c R. CHAMBsas, fidhibniglk
CONDUCTED BT WHJJAU AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THB PEOPLE,* * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' ho.
No. 206. New Series.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1849.
Price l^d.
1 1
HERO-WORSHIP.
In etch cycle of homan progreM there hat utnally been
•ome one great spirit brooding over the latent energies
of the race, and wanning them into life and action.
Each department of knowledge has had, in like man-
ner, its pioneer and guide, wandering far onward be-
fore the mnltitode, and serring as the lantern to their
path. On the observation of these fiusts has been
founded a belief in the monarchy of mind — a conyic-
tion that Proyidence has from time to time, for wise
purposes, called forth oat of the crowd particular in-
diTiduals, showering upon them its inspiration, and
consecrating them as kings and priests of the genera-
tion. This idea has been strengthened by analogies
drawn from the general history of society. The rudest
tribes of the Desert hare their chiefs and great men,
vbose will is law: the moat barbarous nations their
irresponsible rulers, on whose personal character hang
the fortunes of the people. Even refined societies have
some highest caste, and these some highest individual,
before whom the rest humble themselves, and impli-
citly follow: and thus the monarchical principle of
hero-worship— as rife at this moment in America as in
Europe, in France as in England — has become an
artide of universal faith.
A proof of this may be found in a ikvourite tpecula-
tiou of the thinkers of the day. The great lights of the
world, say they, are extinguished — our mighty men
have passed away. Everywhere we see small aggre-
gations in headlong collision with each other ; but the
united tread of nations is no longer heard echoing over
the earth. In science and literature there are at best
only suristocrades, dividing into indgnifleant fractions
a great power ; in poetoy there are multitudet of small,
sweet sounds, discoursing sufficiently eloquent music,
bat no master-song to thrill and subdue. All present
things show that there is a general interregnum — a
panae — and all past experiences teach us to look for a
new advent Who, what, and where are the Coming
Men?
We do not dissent from the data here laid down, but
we question the inference. The epochs of the moral
worid are under laws as distinct as those of the phy-
sical world. The same rule of progression exists in
both ; and we may trace the onward progress of the
human race as clearly as that of the external earth,
prepared by means of successive geological changes, for
their reception. The institutions of earlier ages have
not passed away. Theff character has been merely
modified in new devdopments ; serving as an illustra-
tion of the Brahminical idea of a succession of exist-
ences throughout the same individuality. Absolute go-
Temments, vested in a single person, are overturned in
^ ~.^..«i
mm s^W m^k^%%*^¥m^ W%«^ tk%
ynj\¥ nt
k«VA<9
the elements of their power still exist in an aristocracy ;
and this, in turn, gives place to a wider diffusion. These
successive developments can only end when the whole
species arrives at a state of comparative perfection,
and when, consequently, there will be no individuab
towering, either morally or physically, above the mass ;
but in the meantime the new phases they present are
mistaken in each age, by large masses of mankind, for
new and monstrous existences marring the natural order
of society. The idea of absolute monarchy is thtis, in
one shape or other, constantly reproduced ; and the
world, always governed by traditions, is struck with
fear and wonder when the giants of its race dis-
appear.
At the present moment, the evidences of tiiis supposed
interregnum are sufficiently remarkable. Our great men
have indeed perished. In government, war, sdence, lite-
rature, we see only a crowd of individuals more or less
capaU^, but none supreme ; and we cry out with the
discontented masses of old, ' There is no king in Israel ! *
But are we not decdved ? May we not mistake a new
development for an interruption of order? Let us re-
member that this is not the age of origiaality» but
^>pliaDoe ; not of theory, but experiment ; not of dis-
covery, but invention. We trade upon a capital amassed
by our fathers, at>d carry out into action the ideas they
sometimes only faintly conceived. This is a work which
may employ, and even demands, nia^y brainsi. One naan
may pioneer; but the route being once pointed out,
numbers may enter In, and pass far beyond the dis-
coverer. Some are a little in advance, some lag a little
behind, some diverge from the path: but a siqgle great
leader is unnecessary, for we hava entered upon a
new tide of progress, and live under a new dispensa-
tion.
The hero-worship which shuts our eyes to this fact
should be oonflned to the great men of the past; to
whose example each individual of the new age should
look for instruction and encouragement, instead of
gaping for the advent of a new dynasty, or groping for
the heir of the dormant line. But even this Itero-
worship should not be a blind superstition, but a rational
and discriminating reverence. We must estimate each
age according to its own lights ; and when we see some
one throwing forward his spirit in advance of the time,
and identifying himsdf with a future generation, then
only should we recognise and reverence the new de-
vdopment This large way of viewing the past may be
of great advantage to the present ; for history is not a
jumble of fortuitous events, but a record of what will
one day be resolved into a true science. The prevailing
fault is, to read epoch by epoch, without attending to its
connection with the past and the ftiture } and thus old
ideas are carried down in a stereotyped form, which,
.IfrU^M^t. «.M.<. S~ X.X..
..«.! « \ — -# At. J-
yielding substantiality, opposed to truth and to the
experience of mankind.
But the hero-worship of the past should not inter-
fere, as it unfortunately does, with our respect for the
present ; retarding the growth and manifestation of in-
diyidual g^reatness. The world is said not to know its
great men — till it has lost them. Perhaps each genera-
tion is guilty of this error ; but the present is peculiarly
so. Genius has now to contend against not only the
vulgar detractions of ordinary life, but the hypercriticij
obserrations of a press which is daily extending its in-
fluence. Unless animated with extraordinary courage
and enthusiasm, and to a certain extent independent of
the world's support, few men will Toluntarily run the
gantlet of criticism, and, it may be, partisan abuse.
Thus society is defrauded of its due. How often is it
demonstrated that a charitable and kindly considera-
tion of human conduct, besides being reoommendable
on moral grounds, is decidedly the best in point of
actual return in worldly benefits.
And yet criticism is desirable : the only thing we
plead for is, that it should be cautious and temperate.
It is not to be doubted that our social system is Texed
with 'false prophets' — men who mean well, but whose
OTcrheated fancies carry them beyond all reasonable
bounds, leading them to propound and put themselres
at the head of schemes which experience proves to be
impracticable and fallacious. These * geniuses ' unques-
tionably hare done much in late years to make the word
* progress ' a subject of ridicule. In spite of their errors,
howerer, in the face of all retarding influences, society is
getting on. There is, indeed, a steady and regular tide in
the fortunes of the social world. To understand this, we
must not confine our yiew to one epoch or one nation ;
and we must neither suppose that the great onward
movement is without interruption, nor cast doubts upon
its existence because of the backfalling even of whole
tongues and peoples. The subject is of immense scope;
and we must open our minds accordingly if we would
grasp it. In our own country, the track is so obvious,
that it is impossible to wander if we only use our eyes ;
although we are constantly falling into error because we
confine our view to the little circle of space and time
around us, without looking backward and onward to
ascertain our bearings. This narrowness of calibre, Into
which the large lessons of history cannot enter, is the
grand misfortune of most of our public men. Instead
of assisting progress, they strive to retard it; and in
struggling against the tide, they take credit to them-
selves for public virtue. The * principles ' of such men
(for that is their favourite word) are just in them-
sclres ; but, belonging to the class of stereotyped ideas
— that is to say, to ideas that have had no share in pro-
gressive development — they are inapplicable to the age.
The history of the great political questions that have
been agitated from time to time in this country is full
of instruction, although few are the wiser for it The
successive ameliorations that have taken place have all
been the results of hard-contested battles ; and no sooner
■ is one victory gained, than the defeated party, rallying
afresh under some time-worn banner, take their hope-
less stand by some new obstruction. Not looking at
the context of history, not believing in progressive de-
velopment, the leaders fancy that they are at least
securing for themselves a share in the hero-worship of
the nation. But no fame is secure but that which is
identified with the onward march of mankind. Wit,
eloquence, courage — nothing avails but to illustrate their
defeat; and the only consolation they find is in the
applause of the congenial rabble of their own day, vbo
see no clearer and no farther than themsdves.
If we are correct in supposing tiiat the present is
only an imaginary interregnum — thai, in fact, the go-
verning power of mind having reached a new stage of
development, is merely distributed among a gtester
number — it follows that there is a wider scope for indi-
vidual ambition. Distinction should be looked upon ss
a fhnd for which all mankind have the privilege of
scramUing ; although it is obvious Uiat only a few csn
succeed in the attempt, for if many rose to the ssme
level, there would be no such thing as distinc^n.
Every age has had its few great authora^-artists-^iki-
losophers — statesmen — captains — placed like besoooi
along the descending line of history, to mark the epodi
for posterity. But we should not forget that ^ cha-
racter of the time is never formed by these distinguisbed
individuals. They are tiie wonder of Hieir own, si
well as of succeeding ages. Th^ are exoeptioiis whidi
prove the general rule of mediocrity. Bet thk medio-
crity— ^the mean between the high and the Iow-^jm Uke
the middle dass in society, the pith and nbstanoe of
the whole mass. It is a mediocrity, too, winch is only
comparative. It knows mote than the greatest of its
predecessors, for it begins at the p(Hnt where they
ended. The learning of the present age indndea in its
own the whole learning of the past A gentkmaD of
our day is more elegantly and convenlentfy lodged Dmd
the most powerful noble of the Middle Ages ; and tboe
is not one of our peasant women who does not lesr
habitually a certain under garment whidi, three or
four centuries ago, was reckoned an extravagant Ixarj
in a queen of France.
In this simple and obvious fkct, that eadi geoeraftbn,
besides accumulating for itself, inherits the aocoBndi-
tions of the last, resides the grand artaunim. Rex-
plains the rationale of progressive developmeDt, vsm^
the book of history, and throws a light, like that of a
torch, into the shadowy vista of the future. Itisis
itBeif proffress ; and thus a word which is usually ooa-
sidered as involving either a mystery or a misdneC ^
comes both clear and innocent Taking this ftct fer
our vantage-groimd, we stand up for the dignity of ISu
present generation. We, men of this passing day, sre
the heirs of all time. All is ours that our fsthers woo,
with the sword or the pen, by prayer — stiid|y>-eiidi-
rance — watching — strife. For us the sage has tboaglit,
the warrior bled, and the poet dreamed. OurbAoej
is soothed with the melodies of a thousand yesfs, our
youth thrilled with the love -songs that have gated
fh>m unnumbered hearts, and our parting qiirit boms
away upon the hymns of iaints and martyrsL But re-
member that our high destiny, in the words we quoted
recently when treating of noble birth, conveys no SMii^
but much duty to its inheritor. To us have beeo gltw
the five Talents, and wo to us and ours if we do sot
turn them to profitable account I
It is good to reflect upon our inheritance and its cktU
gations ; and in doing so, we need not tear that ve in-
dulge in any idle dream or unpractical speculatioo. It
inspires us with a noble craving and lofty emolstioD,
and yet is accompanied by all kindly thoughts and fere-
therly regards, lifting us above the mean oonventiaii^
isms of outward life, and making the whole worid kia.
It calls into the field of mental culture thousands dL
high intellects and manly hearts which would oilKmise
have been overborne by the weight of everyday
and transmitted prejudice ; and it enaUes us to li
with a proud smile to the vulgar question touching ti»
I
I
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
131
fappoted dormant race of the world's gianti, and to
ezdaim — ^howerer indiTidoally weak we onraelyes may
feel— there ia no interregnum I L. R
THE SONG AND THE SINGER.
BT PBBCT B. BT JOHN.
It was during the early days of the great ReTolution of
1789, in the year 1792, when a young officer in delicate
health took up hia quarters in the city of Marseilles
for Uie six months of his leare of absence. It seemed
•trange retirement for a young man, for in the town he
knew no one, and in the depth of winter Marseilles was
no tempting residence. The officer Ured in a garret
looking out upon the street, which had for its sole furni-
tore a harpsichord, a bed, a table, and a chair. Little
bat pttpet erer entered that apartment, where food and
fad both were scarce ; and yet the young man genendly
remained in-doors all day assiduously writing, or rather
dotting something upon paper, an occupation he alter-
nated with music
Thus passed many months. The young man grew
thinner and paler, and his leare of absence appeared
likely to bring no convalescence. But he was handsome
and interesting, despite his sallow hue. Long hidr, full
beaming ^es &at spoke of intelligence^ and even genius,
frankness of manner, all prepossessed in his favour, and
many a smile and look of kmdliness came to him from
beautiM eyes that he noticed not nor cared to notice.
In £BCt he rarely went out but at night, and then to
walk down by the booming sea, which made a kind of
music he seemed to love. Sometimes, it is true, he would
hang about the theatre door when operas were about to
be played, and look with longing eye within ; but he
never entered : either his purse or his inclination faiiied
him. But be always examined with care the name of
the pieoe and its author, and then walked away to the
sea-shore, to muse and meditate.
Shortly after his arrival in Marseilles, he visited, one
after another, all the music-sellers and publishers in
the town with a bundle of manuscripts in his hand ;
but his reception was apparently not very favourable,
for he left them all with a frrowning air, and slill with
his bundle of manuscripts. Some had detained him a
long time, as if estimating the value of the goods he
offered for sale ; but these were no more tempted than
the others to try the saleable character of the commo-
dity. The house he lodged in had attached to it a large
garden. By permission of the landlord, the young man
often selected it for his evening walks, and, despite the
cold, would sometimes sit and muse in a rude and faded
bower under a wall at one of the gables. Here he
would occasionally even sing, in a low tone, some of his
own compositions. It happened once or twice that when
be did so, a female head protruded from a window above
him, seeming to listen. The young man at length
noticed this.
'Pardon, lady,' said he one evening; 'perhaps I
disturb you?'
* Not at all,' she rqdied : * I am fond of music, very
foody and the airs you hum are new to me. Pray, if
not a rude question, whose are they ?'
' Citoyenne^' he answered diffidently, ' they are my
own.'
* Indeed ! ' cried the lady with animation ; ' and you
have never published them?'
*I shall never try — again,* he murmured, uttering
the last word in a low and despairing tone, which,
however, reached the ears of the young woman.
* Good-night, citoyen,' said she, and she closed her
window. The composer sighed, rose and went out to
take his usual walk by the sea-beach ; there, b^ore the
grandeur and sublimity of the ocean, and amid the mur-
mur of its bellowing waves, to forget the cares of the
world, his poverty, and his crushed visions of glory and
renown — the day-dream of all superior minds — ^a aream
far oftener a punishment than a reward ; for of those
who sigh fbr &me, few indeed are successfuL
Scarcely had he left the house, than a lady, habited
in cloak and hood, entered it; and after a somewhat
lengthened conference with his conciergtj ascended to
his room, and remained there about an hour. At the
end of that time she vanished. It was midnight when
the composer returned. He entered with difficulty, the
Cerberus of the lodge being asleep, and ascended to his
wretched room. He had 1^ it littered and dirty, with-
out light, fire, or food. To his surprise a cheerfril blaze
sent its rays beneath the door. He opened i^ not with-
out alarm, and found his apartment neatly ordered, a
fire burning, a lamp, and on the table a supper. The
young man frowned, and looked sternly at the scene.
* Who dares thus insult my poverty ? Is it not
enough that I am starving with cold and hunger, that
I am rejected by the world as a useless and wretched
thing, incapable of wielding either sword or pen, but I
must be insulted by charity ? Fire, light, and food, all
sent to me by one who knows my necessity ! And yet who
knows ? Perhaps my mother may have discovered my
retreat Who else could have acted thus? My mother,
I bless thee both for your action and for respecting my
concealment!' And the invalid officer sat down to the
first hearty meal he had eaten for weeks. He had left
home because his friends wholly disapproved of his
making music a profession, and wished him to employ
his leave of absence in learning another occupation.
His mother so pressed him, that he saw no resource
but a soldier's last chance — ^a retreat For two months
no trace of the fugitive had been seen — two months
spent in vain efibrts to make his chosen career support
him ; and now, doubtless, his mother had found him
out, and had taken this delicate way of respecting his
secrecy and punishing his pride.
Next morning the young man awoke with an appetite
unknown to him of late. The generous food of the
previous night had restored his system, and brought
him to a natural state. Luckily, sufficient wine and
bread remained to satisfy hia craving, and then he sat
down to think. All his efibrts to get his music sung,
or played, or published, had been vain. Singers knew
him not publishers declared him unknown, and the
public seemed doomed never to hear him, because they
never had heard him ; a logical consequence very inju-
rious to young beginners in literature, poesy, music,
and all the lib^al arts. But he was determined to have
one more trial Having eaten, he dressed and went
out in the direction of the shop of the Citoyen Dupont
a worthy and excellent man, who in his day had pub-
lished more music, bad and good, than a musician could
have played in a lifetime.
'You have something new, then, citoyen?' said Du-
pont after the usual prdiminaries, and after apologising
to a lady within his office for leaving her a while. * As
my time is precious, pray play it at once, and sing
it if you wilL' The young man sat himself at the harp-
sichord which adorned the shop, and began at once the
* Song of the Army of the Rhine.' The music-publisher
listened with the knowing air of one who is not to be
deceived, and shook his head as the composer ended.
* Rough— crude — but clever..^ Young man, you will,
I doubt not do something gooa one of these days; but
at present I am sorry to say, your effivts want finish,
polish ' The singer rose, and bowing, left the shop,
despair at his heart He had not a sou in the world :
his rent was in arrear : he knew not how to dine that
evening, unless, indeed, his moUier came again to his
aid— an idd he was very unwilling to receive. His soul
repugned from it for he had parted from her in anger.
His mother was a Boyalist, he was a Republican, and
she had said bitter things to him at parting. But most
of all the composer felt one thing: the world would
never be able to judge him, never be able to decide if
he had or had not merit; and this was the bitterest
grief of all.
That day was spent in moody thought The evening
came, and no sign again of his secret friend, whether
mother or unknown sympathiser. Towards night the
133
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
pangt of hunger became intolerAbls, aod after
puleyB with bimaelf, the yoong mail luceniiled
room with a heavy parcel Hi) eye «•• wild, hia cheek
pale, bi> whole iniea Dnearthlj. At he paued (he door
of hi* lodge the concierge gare him a ticket for the
Opera, tigned Dupont, who waa eo-maoager of the
tlieatre.
' Go thjtelf,' taid the composer in a law hiukj Toice,
and be went up itain.
HaTiog gained the room, the unhappy and miaguided
yoong man aat lilent and motitmleii for aome hoan,
ontit at length hunger, deapair, and his dreamy viiions
had driven every cstm and good thought from hia head,
aod then be dared quietly proceed to carry out hia
dreadful and deiperate intent Ha closed carefully the
wicdow, ituSijd hia mattreas up the chimney, and with
paper atopped every aperture where air could enter.
Then he drew forth from hii parcel charcoal and a
burner, and lit it Thus had thia wretched man deter-
nioed to end hii aufferingi. He had made one last
efTort, and now in that aolitary, diaoiHl garret, he laid
liim down to die; and poverty and miaery, geniu* and
death, were huddled cloie together.
Meanwhile, amid a blaxeof lighc,theeventng**amlue-
ment had begun at the theatre. A new opera from
Paria was to be played, and the prima donna waa the
yoang, lovely, and worshipped Claudine, the Jenny
Lind of that time and place. The house was crowded,
and the first act succeeding beyond all expectation, the
audience were in ecataay.
' She is a jewel !' raid U. Dupont, who, from a private
box, admired the great supporter of his theatre. A
of appUaie from the pit delighted at this in-
t the good man's ears. Claudine, called before
nirtain. waa bowing to the audience. But what ia
? Inatead of going off, she baa just signed to the
orchestra to play. She is about to show her gratitude
to the audience in vene. M. Dupont rubi bis bands,
and repeats twice between hia teeth ' She is a jewel i '
But with ea«e and rapidity the band has commenced
playing an unknown air, and the next inatant M. Du-
pont ia standing up with a atrange and wild look.
iluahed and sUU was every breath : the audience look
at each other: not a word of communicatim takei
place : men ahndder, or rather tremble with emotion.
Bat the first atania is ended ; and then a frantic shout,
a starting of all to their feet, a wild shriek of delight,
a cry of a thousand voices thundering the (Aonu, shows
how the song has electrified them.
'', Dupont frowned, for tlie air and the long were
new to him : it was the ' Song of the Army of the
ae' be had refused that morning! But Claudine
proceeds : again the audience ia hushed in death-like
alienee ; while the muaicians, roused to an uauiual de-
gree of eathusiasm, played admirably ; and Claudine,
sUU singing with all the purity, feeling, and energy of
her admirable voice, plunged her eyes into every comer
of the bouse — in vain. At each couplet the entjiusiaam
of tlie people became greater, the anxiety of the singer
more intense. At length she concluded, and never did
applause more hearty, n
t the VI
a songitresa. The
excitable population of Marseilles seemed mad.
When silence was restored, Claudine spoke — ' Citoyens
and citoyenoea I ' she exclaimed, ■ this lOng is both written
and composed by a young and unknown man, who has
in vain longht to put bis compositions before Uie public
Everybody has refused them. For myself, I thought
this the greatest musical effort of modem times \ and as
such I practised it to-day ; and, unknown to manager or
author, I and the band prepared this snrprise. But the
author is not here. Poor and despairing, he is at home
lamenting hia unappredated effort* t Let us awake him ;
let him lean that the generous people of Marseilles can
understand and feel great music. Come, let all who have
hearts ftdlow me, and chant the mighty song as we go.'
And Claudine, stepping actois the orchestra, landed
'd tfae [nt, and, bueheaded, liglit-dressed as she was.
rushed towards the door, followed by ei .
and by the musicians, who, however, put on their bals,
and even threw a cloak and cap on the excited and
generous young aongatrcss.
Meanwhile the comptHter'a dreadful resolve waa bdng
carried onL The horrid fumes of the charcoal filled Qte
room : soon they began to conaume and eihauat the pure
air, and the wretch^ youth felt all the pangs oi comiuf
death. Hunger, eibaoition, and despair kindled a kind
of madness in hia brain i wild ibapes danced arouid
liim : his many songa seemed sung ^together by coarse^
bulky voices, that made their sound a puniihment : aod
tlien the blasted atmosphere oppreating liis cheat, dark-
ening his vision, his room seemed tenanted by myriads
of Infernal and deformed beings. Then again be doaed
hia cyea, and eoft memory itcating in upon hinj, abowed
him happy visions of his youth, of bis mother, of love,
and hope, and joy ; of green fields, and the mormtir-
ing brooks which had first revealed mdody unto hia
soul ; aod the young man thought Uiat death most be
come, and that he was on the threshold of a betts
But an awful shout, a tremendous clamour, burst oa
his ear : a thotuand voicea roar beneatli bi« window.
The young man starts from hia dream : what is tbis lie
* What t* this ? ' he cries. ' My Song of the Blune r
He liatana. A beautiful and clear voice is singing :
It is still his song, and then the terrible choma ia
taken up by the people ; and the poor composer's first
wish is gaiaed : he feels that be is faman*.
t be is dying, choked, stifled with chaiccsl Be
lies senseless, fainting on liis bedi but hope and j<iy
give him atreugtb. He rises, falls rather than darts I
acroea tbe room, his sword in band. One tdow ahiveis
the panes of his window to atoms ; tbe broken glaa leta
in the coal sea-breeze and tbe splendid song. Both
give life to the young man ; and when Claodine eDtetod
room, the composer was able to stand. In tea
tes he had supped in the porter's lodge, dmaed,
and come out, to be home in triumph back to tbs
theatre, where that night be heard, amid renewed ap-
plauae, his glorious song sung between erei; sut, aid
each time gaining renewed laurels.
Ten days later, Kouget da L'Isle was married to Clas-
dine, the prima donna of Marseilles ; (uid the yooBg
composer, in gratitude to her and her coontrymo,
changed the name of his song, and called it by tiw
I it is still known by — ' Tbe MaTseiUaise 1 '
GENERAL CONSTOERATIONS ON EFIDEiaC
Sows of OUT readers may have beard of a work on Qic |i
Epidemica of tbe Middle Ages,' publiabed fifteen a i|
sixteen years ago by Dr Hecker, a ctdebrated Gsia^ il
physician, and recently translated into 1Cngli«h oodsr I
the auspices of the Sydenham Society.* Thia wwk i{
has been much spoken of, as c
ample historical account of some
epidemics of modem times, but
ipecolatlons relative to the pb
%rrible visitations, and the socii
them. Tbe book hardly ansire
had been led to form of it As i
three great epidemics it professe
namely, the Hlack Death of K
Mania of 1374 and aubseiiuent
Sweating Sioknesa of 147B-lsi
illed. The general considerai
ilstM far B. O. Da
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
133
iDtenpersed with the narrative of facts, are by no means
either profound or nomeroos. More yalaable in this re-
spect is a * Treatise on Epidemic Cholera,' just published
by Dr Russell, an Edinburgh physician,* the particular
object of which is to illustrate the homosopa&ic treat-
ment of cholera, by a detailed account of the auUior's
experience during the recent prevalence of the epidemic
in Edinburgh ; but which contains, in addition, a large
accumulation of important facts, noted by medical ob-
senrers of the disease in different parts of the world,
as well as some very interesting hints and reflections,
ofiered towards a scientific theory of this and other
epidemics. Refraining entirely from the homoeopathic
portion of this work, with which of course it is not for
us to deal, we shall avail ourselves of its historical and
reflective portions, in conjunction with the treatise of
Hecker, in order to place before our readers a summary
view of what may be called the present state of specu-
lative tendency in the medico-scientific world on the
subject of epidemic diseases.
In the first place, as regards the physical nature of
epidemics — their nature, that is, as phenomena caused
by or accompanying certain other manifest changes in
the condition of our globe, or of its atmosphere. On
this head the most important of the observations hitherto
recorded may be summed up in two propositions, which
we shmll state separately : —
1. T?ie progress of pestilences appears, on the whole, to he
from east to west, or in the reverse direction of the earth*s
rotation. — According to all history and all tradition,
plagues have made their first appearance in Oriental
countries, and have thence spread over the west. This
law, if it may be so called, is well exemplified in the
case of the Black Death, that terrible disease of blood-
ipitting and tumours which in the fourteenth century
ravag^ idl Asia, Africa, and Europe, and which, though
we caanot trace it into the then unknown hemisphere of
America, probably traversed that hemisphere too, mak-
ing th« round, as it were, of the whole globe, and carry-
ing ofl^ according to the best calculations, one-fourth
piirt of ita entire population ; whilst in some localities it
left but two persons alive out of every twenty. This
dreadful epidemic first arose in China, on the very
borders. It would seem, of the Pacific Ocean ; thence it
advanced westward through Asia, mowing down myriads
in its way : gathering itself on the coasts of the Levant
and of Asia Minor, it then rolled over Europe and
Northern Africa ; and ultimately mingling with the
winds of Uie Atlantic, it disappeared lUce a gloom in
the distance. If^ indeed, we consider its course in de-
tail, we shall find certain deviations from the general
westward direction. Sometimes it leaped ftom one loca-
lity to another, lying north or south of it rather than
west ; sometimes it even appeared to return eastward
to a spot it had missed or postponed ; and on the whole,
in its course through Europe, there appeared to be a
general bearing in a direction north or north-west from
the Black Sea and Mediterranean towards the North
Sea and the Baltic. In short, it appeared that the mor-
bific influence, though impelled steadily in a general
westward direction! was liable to be deflected to some
extent oat of its proposed course by a variety of subor-
dinate causes — as, for example, by the opposition (not
always efiective, however) of vast physical obstacles,
such as a mountain-chain or an arm of the sea *, by a
tendency (denominated contagion) to follow the great
lines of human intercourse — a tendency illustrated by
its ptogreM over Asia, when it chose the caravan-routes,
and by the fact, that in Europe it broke out first in sea-
ports having a direct maritime communication with pre-
viously-infected places ; by a preference for spots already
prepared for its visit by certain favourable conditions
of filth, bad drainage, unwholesomeness of site, &c ; in
which spots it would accordingly concentrate itself with
* A Treatbe on Epidemic Cholera, by J. Ratherfurd Russell,
M. D., with an Appendix of Cases treated in the Edinburgh Homceo-
pathio DiqwBsary, 1848-1840, and a Map, showing the oounie of the
T_J«» A^ n— 1&.:.
.. J__ . %aAn
special virulence ; and finally, by a disposition, probably
native to itself, to zig-aag fh>m place to place in an
dectric manner, according to the varying nature either
of the atmospheric masses it encountered, or of the ter-
restrial strata over which it moved.
And so with other epidemics; as, for example, the
cholera. The course of this disease, during its first pro-
gress over Asia and Europe, is well illustrated in a
map prefixed to Dr Bussell*s work, showing, by means
of red marks and dates placed under the names of all
the cholera-visited towns from India to Britain, the
order in which these towns were attacked, their geogra-
phical range, and their bearings with relation to each
other. One general principle of progress has always
been apparent : the progress has been from east to west,
the rate of advance, however, being various, and one
would almost say capricious. Like the Plague, then,
the cholera appears, speaking in a vague physical way,
to be a vast morbific influence, moving at a certain
rate from east to west over the surface of our globe ;
Uable, too, like the Plague, to be determined to some
extent in its course by the circumstances presented to
it ; finding dififtculty, for example, in crossing a moun-
tain range, advancing with alacrity along the course of
rivers firom their mouths to their sources, and pursuing,
by preference, the great lines of human intercourse (in
many cases, however, also sweeping over thinly-peopled
tracts), concentrating itself in large and unwholesome
cities, as if by an afilnity with the conditions already
existing there.
Plague, cholera, and other epidemics of course act
with more or less deadly efiect according to the sus-
ceptibility of the person *, and it may be laid down as a
general rule, that those who habitually obey the laws
of health — are temperate, attend to proper warmth,
diet, and cleanliness — these have uniformly the best
chance of escape ; for thev enjoy conditions which may
be said to fortify them so far against external influences.
A physician from India has stated, with great plausi-
bility, in one of the pubUc papers, that cholera has ori-
ginated in a great degree from the want of salt among
the poorer classes in Hindoostan — the absence of this
useful condiment having apparently the efi*eot of in-
ducing a susceptibility to atmospheric poison.
The Sanitary Commissioners have directed atten-
tion chiefly to those circumstances determining the
course of the cholera that are within human control
— as, for example, on its undoubted preference for ill-
drained and foul localities. Perhaps, however, their
publications on the subject have tended to draw away
attention from what may be called the mpre purely
scientific considerations respecting the course of the
cholera — as, for example, that the cholera is not gene^
rated by foul sanitary conditions, but is a great pre-
existing morbific influence resistlessly moving round
the globe at any rate, and only seizing on those condi-
tions in its progress; and again, that there is strong
reason to think that there are other conditions, not
within human control, on which it will seize with equal
avidity; the meteorological and geological conditions,
namely, of particular districts or localities. Perhaps,
also, the commissioners have too decidedly committed
themselves to the opinion that cholera is not contagious.
That the disease will advance without any assistance
from human means of conveyance — nay, that all qua-
rantine precautions will be inefiectual to keep it out of
a district that lies in its track — are indeed ascertained
facts ; but, on the other hand, it is equally true that it
has shown, upon the whole, a preference for peopled and
commercial routes, and that it has in many cases
availed itself of the vehicle of an individual traveller, in
order to transport itself a day or two earUer into a place
that it was inany case about to visit. That, had all inter-
course between Europe and America been suddenly cut
off" at the moment the cholera was known to be in
Europe, the disease would not have reached America,
is by no means likdy ; it would slowly have rolled itself
nAt>lia*\a ifit>/\,«CTli fVtn ofmrkanfiovo an^l t\vt*r tllA WAVPJI •
134
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
1
yet we know it did go to America lodged in European
shipi. And as regards the means by which chdera
spreads itself within the limits of particnlar districts,
Dr Rassell has, we think, demonstrated that in Scot-
land, at least, contagion was one of those means. In
this he agrees with Professor Simpson and Dr Alison,
both of whom belieye in the occasional propagation of
cholera by contagion.
2. Pestilen&ea appear aiways to have been precedsd w
tiecompanied by oiher physical phenomena cf an eqwdiy
extensive nature — ae earthquakes^ bKghts in the vegetable
world, violent and continued tempests^ suUry fieats, creeping
palpahU mists^ deluges, unusual suHsrms of insects^ (fv. jrc. ;
as if all these were but so many extemcd indications of
some one deep process affecting at the time the entire bdU if
the earth, — This proposition, according, as it does, with
vague popular trsMiition, rests also on historioal evidence.
Thus in the case of the Black Death, this epidemic was
preceded by earthquakes and serious atmospheric dis-
turbances, as if nature had been somehow out of joint
The same thing has been observed with regard to
other pestalenoes. The plague at Aleppo in 1760 was
'preceded by famine, by uncommon diseases, and by
earthquakes;' and in an account we remember to have
read of the great Plague of London, the enormous in-
crease of insects, especially house-flies, about the time
is particularly mentioned. In the East, it is said, por-
tentous physical events are always regrarded by the
natives as forerunners of pestilence; a fallacy of the
popular imagination it may be, but possibly also, to
some extent at least, the rmlt of an ancient .popular
induction still verified by experience. Even as regitfds
the cholera, observations to the same effect have not
been wanting. The potato Uight and the influensa
must be in every one's recollection ; the connection of
the latter at least with cholera is considered as estab-
lished. More recondite and precise is the observation
of Dr Prout, quoted by Dr Russell, relative to the in-
creased weight of atmospheric air in London during
the cholera visitation of 1832. Dr Prout * had for some
years been occupied in investigations regarding the
atmosphere; and for more than six weeks previously
to the appearance of cholera in London, had almost
every day been engaged in endeavouring to determine,
with the utmost possible accuracy, the weight of a
given quantity of air, under precisely the same circum-
stances of temperature and pressure. On a particular
day, the 9th of February 1832, the weight of the air
suddenly appeared to rise above the usual standard.
As the rise was at the time suf^osed to be the result
of some accidental error, or of some derangement in
the apparatus employed in order to discover its cause,
the succeeding observations were made with the most
rigid scrutiny ; but no error or derangement whatever
could be detected. On the days immediately following,
the weight of the air still contiuued above the standard,
though not quite so high as on the 9th of February,
when the change was &*st noticed. The air retained
its augmented weight during the whole time these
experiments were carried on ; namely, about six weeks
longer. . . . About the 9th of February, the wind in
London, which had previously been west, veered round
to the east, and remained pretty steadily in that quarter
till the end of the month. Now, precisely on the change
of the wind, the first cases of epidemic cholera were
reported in London; and from that time the disease
continued to spread.' The appearance of the cholera
in Sunderland in 1831 was attended, according te Dr
Clanny, with peculiar atmospheric changes — particu-
larly thunder-storms and lightnings during the night
Speaking also of St Petersburg during the present visi-
tation of cholera, Dr Miiller, a German physician, ob-
serves:— 'The air during the whole time of the pre-
sence of cholera here was oppressive, heavy, and very
changefhl in its temperature. There were fi:^uent
thunder-storms : rain fell almost daily : Uie sky was
gloomy — very misty in the evening; Uie sun seldom
broke through. The depressing influence acted m<n«
or less upon every one; almost without exception sH
experienced a certain feeUng of discomfort, wearinesi,
pressure at the pit of the stomach, and teaiing pains
on ^e lower limbs.' In almost all the diatricta where
cholera has been prevalent similar ph^Kmieiia liav«
been observed. In our climate, however, where the
weather is in any case variable, the coonectioii between
such phraomena, even when extraordinary, and the eoo-
temp(»ary or subsequent epidemic, is not eo palpabk
and evident as in India, where the suooesaioa of oertam
states of weather throughout the year being mora tied
and uniform, deviations naturally attract nKX« ooCioe,
and have a plainer significance. Now, in India it is a
belief universal among medical men and others tiiat
the prevalence of epidemic cholera in a locality is prs-
ceded or accompanied by unusual meteon^ogical appear>
ances. One witness states that ' he had particolariy
observed that the epidemic was invariably preceded
and accompanied by a large black doud hanging ovsr
the place ;* and adds, that ' this had been universaSj
remarked, and that the appearance had even recdred
the name <^ the cholera doud* Hurricanes and thondsr-
storms of unusual vidence have also uoally^ attended
the cholera in its march through India.
Qiving to this fact of the contemponmeonmeas o/ epi-
demic diseases with extraordinary atmospherk! or telloric
phenomena its most general expression, one would state
it thus : — That as the earth was not prepared to support
human life until a certain aggregate cf conations bad
been realised in it, and as the human race only entered
on the possession of the planet when this aggregate «i
conditions had been realised, the antecedent geoiof^al
epochs having been occupied by animated creSHons not
requiring so mature or perfect a system of conditioiis,
so even yet there may occur temporary failures of Uie re-
quired sum-total of conditions — ^temporary witiidrawals
of certain items in that total ; temporary rdapses, so to
speak, of the whole earth towards ita preadamite oonffi-
tion. Li some cases, as in that of the Blacdc Death of
the fourteenth century, the relapse was enormous : there
was in that case snch a reduction or altersUioo of the
fixed aggregate of conditions necessary to hvman Hk,
that one-fourth part of all the human inhabitants of tiie
eartti were extinguished ; and had the rednctian or aHe-
ration been but a little greater — ^had the reimmersion, m
to speak, into the preadamite system of conditions been
but a little more complete — ^the whole human race migfat
have been destroyed, or the number of peracms aam
might have been a mere per-centage. It is oooaislait
with this view, that in that case not onlj the atas-
sphere was affected, but, as appears from tbe passigiM
already quoted from Hecker, the very fabric of tbt
earth was torn and shaken, as if tiiere were a relapse
even of the solid body of the earth towards its primHive
state of volcanic instability ; whereas, in zukler and
less destructive epidemics — such as the dxAera— 4be
alteration of the conditions of life appears to be less
thorough and profound, confined chi^y to tiie
sphere, and not affecting, to any great ^rtent at
the solid body of the earth, or the relationa of its
to its molten core.
Blending now the two propositions that we have
illustrating with regard to epidemica, omr notioB «f
these terriUe occurrences would assume the fbfloviaf
theoretic form : — That occasionally, at particolar ^oli
of the earth's surface, there takes place a tadden de-
rangement of the aggregate of atmosphcnc or t^mic
conditions necessary to human life ; that sometinMS ttib
derangement is local and temporary ; bat that at
times it extends itself in some mysterioaa way,
ing slowly in the shape of an impalpal^e morbific
fiuence, and generally in a westerly direction roimd Ibt
earth and through its atmosphere, until the whole wurid
is affected, those spots suffering most sev^erely, howcfvei;
that present to the advancing morbific influence
combinations of circumstances that ^lecially
hold it Still, however, all this is oomparatiTie|y Tagwt
and the questions naturally arise — VHiat ia the
CHAMBEBS'0 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
135
culir derangement^ alteration* or redaction of the ter-
rittrial conditionf of homaa life that commonlj origi-
natea ^idemic diaease ; and is the derangement, altera-
tion, or redaction the same in kind in all epidemics^ and
only different in degree ? How, too, does the derange-
ment or morbific inflnence spread and extend itself ; and
what determines the rate of its dissemination ?
Saeh qQestkHM as these oor sdenoe is, and will long
remaiii, too meagre to answer. In the talk, however,
that DOW preTiJjs on the sabject of epidemics, two
difl&r^it modes of oonoeiying the physical character of
such influences are confasedly discernible. In speak-
ing of cholera, typhas, &c. some theorists habitually
make nse of such phrases as * poison in the atmosphere,'
* disseminated yiros,' * cholera-miasm,' &c. At the
bottom of this mode of speaking tiiere evidenUy lies the
idea that epidemics are caused by the positive addition
of aeme onosoal and nozioos ingredient — necessarily
of a gaseoos kind— to the normal atmosphere. The
quantity of this ingredient may be so small as to escape
the most delicate tests ; or, as Dr Frout^s experiments
on the weight of a given bulk of air during cholera
(tfaermometrical and iMirometrical conditions being the
same) would seem to indicate, it may in some cases be
quite appreciable. Under this * poison-theory ' may be
also indnded that variety of the same mode of think-
ing which, witiumt supposing the addition of any posi-
tiTely new ingredient^ yet supposes such a change in the
relative proportions of the established constituents of
the atmosphere (oxygen, nitrogen, carbonic acid, water,
&C.) as would convert the wholesome fluid into a verit-
able though slow poison. A sudden addition or dimi-
nution of the quantity of moisture, for examine, might
have something of this efibct In either case the theory
is, UMtt a oontaminated local atmosphere may extend
itself and that, bcdng breathed by the lungs of men, it
acta on the system by some process of vital chemistry,
80 as to produce death. Thus, of Asiatic cholera, the Sa-
nitary Commissioners say that * it appears to be caused
by a poison diffhsed through the atmosphere, which acts
with peculiar intensity on the mucous membrane of the
ahooentaiy canaL' Somewhat difierent from this theory
is that which seeks for tiie cause of epidemics not in a
change of the ponderaUe constituents <^ our atmosphere,
so much as in a change in the activity of the impon-
derable influences or forces that hold the whole earth
together, and particularly in a change of its electrical
conditions. The two theories are not necessarily incon-
sistent ; for any change, for example, in the composi-
tion of the atmosphere hanging over a marsh or lake,
would necessarily invcdve some diange in its electrical
omdition ; and, vice versA, a sudden electrical change in
such a case would thrill like a rearranging influence
through the whole mass of atmospheric atoms. Cholera
or pU^gue may consist, therefore, in an envenomed or
altered atmosphere; and yet the characteristic and
deadly fact respecting this envenomed or altered atmo-
sphere may be in the abnormal electrical character that
is thus giv^i to it In fact — though to speak of cholera
or pftague as ' something electrie,* or a * derangement of
the t^oric electricities,' is equally vague as to speak of
it aa a * poison in the atmospheric' — such a leaning to-
vrards the electric view of the case seems a better intel-
lectual direction.
We recollect to have seen some months ago in a
roedicid journal a very curious table or scale of diseases,
arranged according to a theory of their difierent elec-
trical characters. Highest in the list were mania, hy-
drc^hobta, and svdi-lSLe diseases of what may be called
an enormously-excited organism ; corresponding, as the
writer believed, to highly-positive electrical states of the
bodies of the patients. Lowest in the list were cholera,
plague, and such-like diseases of excessive prostration ;
corresponding, as he believed, with low negatively-elec-
trical states oif the bodies of ]>atients ; and intermediate
were the more ordinary diseases, ranking either on
the positive or on the negative side of the deofcrical
such a theory as proved, the resulting conception would
be something to this effect : — That what is called health
in different persons is, or is indicated by, a certain
electrical state of body (differing in different persons ;
lying in some on the positive, in others on the negative
side of zero) ; that whatever tends inordinately to raise
this electrical state — that is, to make the individual too
positively ekMctric, as compared with the general mass
of things — tends to produce disease of one kind ; and that
whatever tends to depress his electrical state-— that is,
to make him too negatively electric, as compared with
the mass of things — ^tends to produce disease of an oppo-
site kind ; consequentiy, that any permanent elevation
of the electrical condition of the atmoH>here, or the
earth's crust, at any locality, would tend to produce
epidemic furor, rabies, or fever there ; while any perma-
nent depression of the same would tend to produce such
epidemics as cholera. Cholera, according to such a
view, would be the result of a greaUy-lowered electrical
condition of the earth's surface or its atmosphere, pro-
duced originally by a chemical process or processes in
or on the earth at some one spot, and gradually extend-
ing itself westward. Various circumstances might be
quoted vaguely corroborative of such an idea — as, for
example, that mentioned by Br Russell — that the true
or typal attack of the disease consists not in the usually
obs^ed dvsenteric symptoms, but in the immediate
nervous coUapse, as if, by an electric stroke, that gives
these their significance : the fact, also mentioned by
Dr Russell, that attacks of cholera are most frequent in
the night, when, as is weU known, the natural electrical
condition of the body is more depressed than during the
day ; besides, all the observations that have been made
clearly connecting the appearance and disappearance of
cholera with thunder-storms, magnetic derangements,
&C. But most conclusive on the point are the obser-
vations of the French electrician, M. Andriaud, during
the recent prevalence of cholera in Paris. According
to a letter from this gentieman, which appeared in the
French, and also in some of the Engli^ journals, an
electrical machine, which he had been in the habit of
oonstantiy working, suddenly ceased to give sparks of
anything like the ordinary magnitude, and this without
the operation of any observable cause. On one day
the machine would yield no sparks at idl, and only after
a violent thunder-storm did it begin to act again. This
variation of the electric capacity of the' machine M.
Andriaud found, to his surprise, to correspond bo exactly
with the progress of diolera in Paris, that at length he
was able to announce the state of the daily bills of mor-
tality by taking the state <^ the machine as his index
and informant. The irregularities of the machine com-
menced with the appearance of cholera : the day when
the cases were most numerous, was the day on which
the machine stopped ; and the same thunder-storm that
restored the machine to working condition, restored
Paris to a better sanitary state. M. Andriaud's con-
clusion, as stated by himself, is, that in the atmo-
sphere of the earth there is a permanent * mass of elec-
tric fiuid,' and that the increase or diminution of this
mass may be a cause of disease. Such phraseology, as
well as that used above, may be premature, and not
accurately descriptive of the real facts of the case ;
but, at all events, the theory that cholera is ' something
electric,' appears to have gained in precision when pro-
visionally so expressed. Whether a well-weighed elec-
trical theory of efaolera, while helping to explain its
manner of progress — ^as, for example, its capricious
selection of certain localities, apparentiy for their mere
peculiarities of soil and geological character — would also
suggest practical curative measures, must be left a moot
question.
To the foregoing general considerations regarding the
physical nature of epidemics, one might add many
others relating to their social effects, and their function
in the historic development of the human race. Hecker
occasionally Ranees at this great theme, but with little
justice, would require a special treatise. Two methods
by which epidemics might act so as to draw after them
social results of great magnitude, must strike erery one
— Ut, That which consists in the unusual stimulus they
must necessarily give to all human actiyity, by leaTing
behind them everywhere a ciric blank or void to be
filled up; and 2£^ That which consists in the permanent
alteration they are calculated to produce in the moral
and emotional' character of a people or an age — an alte-
ration which should usually take the form, one would
think, of increased piety and seriousness. Another way,
howeyer, in which epidemics may produce lasting social
results, is by the direct influence which, as physiod phe-
nomena, they must necessarily exert on all &e human
organisms submitted to them. If, for example, exposure
for a while to a stifling atmosphere blunts and deadens
the intellect— so that a book written in such an atmo-
sphere (to make an extreme supposition) must neces-
sarily be an inferior performance to what the same
person could have produced had he worked all the
while in a healthy room — what must be the result of
the subjection of a whole population for several months
to an equivalent state of things ? Must not the whole
intellectual procedure of the population be for the time
lowered and toned down, as if by universal ill -health
and headaohe? And must not the literary products,
artistic creations, and mechanical inventions of that age
be necessarily in a corresponding degree poorer ? Nay,
recurring to the hypothesis argued above, might not one
conceive that as a certain aggregate of telluric and
atmospheric conditions is necessary to life, and as a
reduction of this aggregate (as, for example, a depressed
electric condition <^ the earth's surface and atmosphere)
tends to kill human beings, and to blunt activity, so a
certain different change in the aggregate (as, for ex-
ample, a raised ekctrio condition of the earth*s surfoee
and atmosfrfiere) may tend to produce a directly oppo-
site eflfeot, and to call the human powers into more
strenuous and lofty exertion ? Might not the series of
different intellectaal manifestations that the different
ages of the world have presented thus rest on a basis
of vast physical vicissitudes? The imagination may
run too fast in this speculative route, but the under-
standing tends to go in the same direction.
LONDON GOSSIP.
In common with all other Londoners possessed of ways
and means and opportunity, I have had a holiday, and
took a flight northwards to view your Highland hills
and lochs, which will account for the long Interval that
has elapsed since my last * Gossip.' It is a delightful
privilege to get away for a few weeks from this huge,
smoky, and noisy city, and the means are wonderAilly
facilitated by excursion trains. A few weeks since, a
multitude was thus enabled to visit that beauteous and
classic city, Oxford, for a very trifling cost ; and 3000
of the busy artisans of Birmingham were conveyed from
th^ fUmace-fumed town to Lincoln and back — - 180
miles — for oinopence ! We may well exclaim— Success
to the rail !
On one of my rides I observed that the grassy slopes
of the cuttings on the Great Western Bailway were
being fed off by sheep, thus turning to profitable ac-
count what has hitherto been waste ground. The same
praetiod will doubtless be adopted in other quarters.
You are perhaps aware that in some parts of France
vines are planted on such slopes : we could do the same,
did our climate permit ; but, at aU events, the sides of
excavations and embankments in this country might
be advantageously converted into strawberry-beds. I
may further mention that a great convenience and
comfort would result to the travelling public were a
r«ady supply of water, with a drioking-ei^ or gliaa,
kept at every station, to that passengers eovld help
themselves from a tap. As a case in point : we weie i
leaving Newcastle-on-l^yne ; a lady became fiaint and i
ill, and eagerly desirous of a draught of water ; hoi <
although we inquired for the pure element at every ■
station, not a drop could we obtain until we bad tn- I
veiled the whole length of Northumberland, and arrived
at Berwick. Perhi^ some general meana oosld be
devised of remedying this defect I am told that oa
the Leeds and Manchester line there is a snpplj at
every station.
Apropos of railway travelling, speed seema to be the
chief essential point with passengers ; and people wbo^
ten years ago, had no locomotive reaouroe Iwt the slow
broad-wheeled wagon, now grumble becauae, for one
penny per mile, they are not conveyed at a greater rate
than twenty miles per hour. Surely, all things eoa-
sidered, this is a sufficiently benefidal result? The
grand desideratum, however, is now to discover some
means of resolving cursives into a mrassgt, whoi we
may be flashed along the wires, and pick oortelvea up
again at the end of the transit ; but in what cort ai
corporeal identity, is not yet determined.
Town wears a very different appearance (Ihat ia, to
the accustomed eye) to what it did when I wrote last ij
Now the press and rattle of carriages at the West Sad
are a phenomenon on which tradesmen, who do not find
their share of the fifteen thousand strangers who vtat
London daily sofilcient for their wishes, dwell wi^ re-
gret and hope, as their cogitations take the retro^weyfe
or prospective hue ; and it would amuse jou to hear of
some of the schemes by which stock-in-trade is kept
moving. No more dinner-parties now — no faiilliaBt
soirees — no reunions — ^no parliamentary debates— Ibr six
mortal months. It is puzzling to know how those de-
pendent thereon for profit or pastime are to exist in tbt
interval River trips, Hampton Court, and the ^Gar-
dens,' are now all the vc^ue: as I remarked bdbct;
everybody goes out of town. The two archseolofiod
associations are ruralising—^ne at Chester, the oter at
Salisbury. Even the astronomer-royal has aaid fiue-
well to his telescopes, and set sail for the Orkney
leaving us to swelter through the ^^anirniUr period wilh
such dogged resolution as we may.
Tou will perhaps say that I am running too mnbh m
* things in general,' and travelling beyond the limits «f
legitimate gossip ; but I stand on my vested right as
a gossip to discuss matters in my own way. Laofidd
as metropolitan life is in many respects, we are net
without tongue-work; and at present attention ii pret^
much divided between Financial Reform, the
rians, and Cholera. I heard a German »««v;ng
on the last-mentioned subject chanting tooie ^^_
as he walked. Perhaps he was an involnntarj ezSa
With regard to cholera, although there ia
like general panic, there is yet a very general
tion prevalent to discuss sanitary measures. Tlie wr
Sewer Commission are rather sharply criticised,
they don't go a-head fast enough, by people who
the good service they have already rendered, were ft
other than reeving us of the late heptardiy oC
Commissicmers ; and who seem to ignore tiie Att
the efiects of mismanagement dating from Urn m
the Plantagenets, are not to be removed with
celerity. By and by, when the maps of tiie
Survey shall be published, so that the levels may- In
ascertained, we shall get to work, and the leaalt wH
doubtless be either a series of reoeptaeles, or oqefwa^ '
deeply4aid poweg ■ a doam mnrinm whicih ihiB nmn^ \
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
137
the refuse of the metropolit far away into the dreary
marshes of Essex; and thus tree the town and the
Thames from their present pollution ; a consummation
deroatly to be wished. I wish the moral refuse could
be as easily removed. Meantime new streets are being
opened and built : one in particular from Queen Street
(Southwaik Bridge) to Blackfriars' Bridge, wiU be a
material improYement, as Tentilating a densely-packed
district, and relieying Cheapside of much of its present
excess of traffic. By the way, it is to be desired that
there were other east and west avenues to the city be-
sides the single line of Cheapside and the Poultry : it
is wonderful how the roaring stream of life and business
oontriyes to effect a passage through such a narrow
strait. We may hope that the citizens will some day
wake up to the necessity of an amendment in this
respect
Talking of streets, reminds me that a month or two
^nce several houses at the comer of Drury Lane and
Great Queen Street were pulled down to be rebuilt
The removal of these edifices has long been desiderated,
so as to straighten and widen the approach from Long
Acre to Great Queen Street; and while tlie work of
demolition was going on, the * Woods and Forests' were
apprised of the fact They sent their surveyor to look
at the place, and that appears to be all they did in the
matter ; for the new houses are now built and tenanted,
and we are as far as ever from a straightened line of
street The comprehensive system of anticipating and
eflbcting street improvements which prevails in Paris,
might be adopted or imitated here with advantage to
all parties.
Tou will be pleased to learn, in connection with sani-
tary matters, that model houses are likely to flourish.
The Society for ' Improving the Condition of the La-
bouring-Classes' has just commenced the erection of a
bttildiog to accommodate forty-eight families in Streat-
baih Street, Bloomsbury. Some improvements will be
introduced which past experience has shown to be
necessary : each set of rooms will have a small lobby,
to be entered from the outer-door, instead of opening
directly into the living room, as is the case in similar
buildings already erected. The floors, too, will be of
hollow bricks laid in arches; thereby rendering the
structure fire-proofl Lodging-houses of this character
are at present attracting much attention in Prussia
and France.
Apropos of subjects allied to general ameliorations,
did you read the statement made in the ' House ' on one
of the dosing nights of the session? If we may believe
the report, the peat-bogs of Ireland are to become * a
second California.' After manipulating, and otherwise
operating on a hundred tons of bog, at a cost of less than
L.20, certain products will be r^sed worth L.91 : a
very satisfkctory and encouraging result, if true. But
several years ago, a company expended many thousand
pounds in works on Dartmoor ; and although they suc-
ceeded in obtaining naphtha, ammonia, grease, &c. from
the peat, yet, as a commercial speculation, the business
did not answer. It is possible, however, that with
newer scientific experience, and the lately-reoognised
value of peat-charcoal as a deodoriser, better success
may attend present effbrts ; and could such be realised,
we shoold at last have something like a well-gfounded
hope for the regeneration of Ireland. Scotland, too,
m^t partl(^)ate io the good fortune ; for, as I have
seen with my.own eye§, peat-bogs are by no means scarce
in the 'canny north.' The subject has come under
discussion at the Botanical Society.
Do you remember giving, about a year ago, an ac-
count of Sir Thomas Mitchell's discoveries in Australia ?
who afterwards headed parties to continue the explora-
tion. The second of these started from Sydney last year,
and intelligence has now been received of Mr Kennedy's
death. He was murdered by the natives, and nine of his
men subsequentiy perished of starvation. This aug-
ments the list of the gallant few who have met their fate
while engaged in widening the boundaries of knowledge
and science. Hopes are entertained that the unfortunate
leader's papers, which were hid in a hollow log of wood,
will be recovered. Jackey Jackey, a native, one of the
survivors of his party, has been sent to search for them.
From Australia to the north frigid zone is a long leap ;
but you will understand why I make it (on paper), when
I tell you that a letter has just come to hand from Sir
John Richardson, dated Fort Confidence, on Great Bear
Lake, 16th of September kst Tou will not have for-
gotten that Sir John is one of those sent out by govern-
ment to seek for Sir John Franklin's expedition. He
has examined a considerable portion of the coast in the
vicinity of the Coppermine and Mackenzie rivers, and
questioned several parties of Esquimaux, but without
obtaining the slightest intelligence of the missing party.
The much-talked-of expedition of the American govern-
ment—for which tbe thanks of certain public bodies in
this country were voted— turns out to be all moonshine ;
so that we have nothing for it but to wait for despatches
from Sir James Ross in Lancaster Sound, or Lieutenant
Moore in Behring's Straits, or from a party just sent
out in a whaler by Lady Franklin.
I have but little to say this time of literary affkirs,
but may just observe that a favourable indication of
* progress ' has just made its appearance from the Ad-
miralty, in their * Manual of Scientific Inquiry,' edited
by Sir John Herschel, and intended for the practical
guidance of officers and others on active service. The
eminent editor's name is a sufficient guarantee for the
value and accuracy of the work, and it will in all pro*
bability pass into general use. In another quarter we
have Sir David Brewster, after thmking of the subject
at intervals for thirty years, attempting to prove that
Junius — the political and literary sphinx — was no other
than Lauchlin Macleane, a descendant of the Madeancs
of Coll The philosopher of St Andrews is perhaps as
far fh>m the truth as all those who have preceded him
in endeavouring to elucidate the mystery.
Neither have I any extraordinary scientific discovery
to announce. New planets do not turn up quite so fre*
quently as continental revolutions of late ; although the
fact that Adams, the discoverer of Neptune, has had
a pension of L.200 a year conferred on him by go-
vernment, may stimulate astronomers to look out for
stranger orbs. A fifty-pound pension, too, is settled on
Mr Sturgeon of Manchester, to whom we are indebted
for the soft iron magnet : Mrs Austin, the well-known
translatress, is down for L.100 a year ; and Lieutenant
Waghom, the fkther of the overland route to India, for
L.200. Such grants as these are well deserved, and are
satisfactory to the public at large, which is more than
can be said of grants to military heroes. And here I
may observe that the note of preparation for the meeting
of the British Association at Birmingham in September
is beginning to be heard. A large temporary edifice has
been erected in that town to serve as the * Exhibition '
on the occasion : a good meeting is expected. And yet
one more fact bearing on science: Spain, which has
long been a dead letter in that respect, shows signs of
awakening ; measures are now on foot for establishing
a Royal Academy of Sciences at Madrid. Should they
be carried out, Spanish philosophers will then be abte
to show us a specimen of thdr abilities.
The whole collection of Nineveh marbles is now ' on
view' at the British Museum — a fact which country
cousins and sight-seers in general will duly appreciate.
Talking of sights, the new and magnificent haU of the
North -Western Railway terminus at Euston Square
promises to become a * lion :' some persons go so far as
to say that it is superior to the entrance-hall of the
. « J 1 t.4.
138
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBOH JOURNAL.
1
decide for themselyea. There if no lack of eye-work for
those who come to town : in addition to a panorama of
the Miisisf ippi, we have now one of the NllCi and an-
other of the Eden-like valley of Cashmere.
summer-time in the country.*
A JOURNAL of tommer-time in the coontry ! How musi-
cally the word! fall upon the ear I What bright and
pleasant fancies they bring! thoughts of the woods,
the birds, and the bees ; of the rustling leaves and the
dancing brooks; of the woodbine-liroidered lanes and
the pure breath of the mountains ; of the sorrel-bells
under the shadowing fern ; and of the bramble wayings
on the broken quarry. As there is no spot under
heaven which has not its own peculiar moments in
which it is most beautiftil, its own atmosphere of sun
or cloud under which it should be visited, so has each
hour in the day its own place, to which we instinctively
turn our steps. In the early morning we wander in
the dewy lanes, moving beneath the glorious cloister of
summer boughs, to see the pearls lie on the web of the
caterpillar, and the vetch climb up the glistening hedge-
bank; or to watch the pimp^nal unfold its scarlet
petals, as the sunbeams peep through the leaves above,
and chase each other in gdden waves over the flower-
besprinkled grass. When the noontide sky is bright
and hot, we go to the woods — the dark, cool woods— to
see the pale frittilaria nod quietly on her slender stalk,
and to dream of long-past scenes and dim futurities,
which, alas! may never come: to blend thoughts and
scenes of childhood's hours until, with the harmless
superstition of early youth, we spy out fairy forms
sleeping beneath the laige leaves of the arum, or lightly
saiUng down the brooks on the beech leaves which our-
selves have set afloat : to sit breathlessly and watch the
water-rat at play on the flowery banks or in the stream,
or the squirrel in the trees: or to behold in thought
smiling faces in the clear depth of the waters, which we
can never more see on earth. But when the sun is low
in Uie heavens, we go to the commons to see the edges
of the heather and the fern gilded by his slanting rays ;
to mark how long ago the bright-eyed oentuary retired
to rest, and how cidmly she sleeps, with the western
breeze coming direct from tfa« sinking sun, and playing
around her ; to hear the lark singing high in the air —
mounting, like the good man, so far above the world as
to seem unfettered by it ; and yet, like the good man,
blessing not only his own household in its lowly nest,
but shedding his flood of music on all below — and to
listen to the sad, yet not unpleasing cry of the lapwing,
that drdes round our heads, discovering her home by
the very damorousness and anxiety of her care to
conceal it flrom us.
To all these places Mr Wilmott leads us, bringing
with him thoughts which are pleasant to read, and
pleasanter far to lo(^ back upon, and to remember in
the twilight and the lonely hours : thoughts of spirit-
haunting pictures ; parallels of prose and verse, to prove
that human hearts have beat with the same pulse in
all ages ; and fancies and feelings of great and good
men — men who * still rule our s|nrits from their urns.'
And when the night comes on, he caUs upon us to
follow him back to the lanes we left in the morning, to
see idle hedge-banks, now thickly studded with the
tremulous stars of the gk>w-worms, to read the * Even-
Song' by their * cool, green light;' but we will let him
speidc for himsdf : —
* All the bank is on fire with these diamonds of the
night, as Darwin calls them. If Titania had over-
turned a casket of jewels in a quarrel with Oberon, the
* A Journal of 8amiaer-time in the Country. By the Rev.
Robert Aria Wilmott, Incumbent of Bear Wood, Berks. Author of
* Jeremy Taylor, a Biography.* liondoa : Fteker, West Strand.
1049.
grass could not have looked gayer. Hiomaoa
the appearance with his usual liveliness : —
** Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge
The glow-warm Ughta his gem, sad throqgh tha
A moTing radiance twinkletL**
Perhaps he is slightiy astray Sn his soology; ht
although the male has two spots of faint faiatre, the
female is the real star of the woodpath.
' Coleridge, in a note to one of his own poems —
'* Nor now, with cnrlons sight,
I mark the glow-worm as I pam.
Move with green radiance throngb tha grass.
An emerald of light **—
drew attention to WordswOTth's epithet of green^ apfiKed
to the Mght of this insect' Miss Seward expresses faer
surprise, in childhood, that poetic eyes diovld not havs
observed this verdant hue. But we own that we IbcI
more astonished that any discussion shoold have been
raised on so self-evident a point ; on a question whidi,
we imagine, no eyes, poetic or prosaic, could for a
moment hesitate about But to return to our eztrscto.
* Glow-worms are the food of night-birds, which of
course track them by ^eir shining, lb pot out the
candle, therefore, is the surest way of ffsping the rob-
ber ; and perhi^ their apprehension of fswinies nay
account for the short time of their iBnmhiatTnn Mi
Nowell quotes a curious experiment of White, who car-
ried two glow-worms from a field to his garden, and
saw them extinguish their lamps between devoi sod
twelve o'clock. Later entomologists confirm this sin-
gular relation.
* But I have been turning giow-worms to a «se ifais
evening which no naturalist probably ever thoai^
of— reiuiing the Psalms by their cool, green Hgliil I
placed six <^ the most luminous Insects I eoidd tad in
the grass at the top of the page, moving them finom
verse to verse as I descendeo. The experiment vss
perfectly successful ; each letter became dear and le-
gible. I never felt so deeply and gratefully the famer
life of the Psalmist* s adoration : — ** Oh Lch^ how mani-
fold are thy works ; in wisdom hast thou made tem sB:
the earth is fhU of thy goodness!"
* I know that poetry has turned tiie fire-fly Into s
lantern* Southey enables Madoc to behold the tetlbam
of his beautiful guide by the flame of two fire-flies, which
she kept prisoner in a cage or net of twigs underneath
her garments. But surdy I am the discoverer of tiie
glow-worm-taper ; and it answers the purpose admirablr.
By the help of this em^ald of the hedgnt>w and mony
bank I can read not only the h3rmns cf siunta to God,
but God's message to me. As the glittering grass of tlie
Indian hills taught me wisdom, so these gknr-wonis are
a light to my feet and a lantern to my psttu I ought
to employ my every-day blessings and comforts as 1
have been using these insects. I could not have resd
** £ven-Song " among the trees at night, unkss I bad
moved the lamp up and down : one verae shone whib
the rest of the page was dark. Patience akne «ai
needed : line by line the whole paalm grew \tn^
What a lesson and consolation to me in my jooisef
through the world I Perhaps to-day is « doiuiy fna*
sage in my litUe calendar : I am in pain or aomv sf
mind or body, my head throbs, or my heart is diai^iMBtrf
within me. But the cod, sequestered paths of Am
Gospd-garden are studded with glow-worms : I ^tB%
only to stoop and pick tiiem up. Yesterday was bsaW^-
fider and more joyous; my spirits were gayer; »J
mind was peacefuler ; kind friends visited me ; or G^
seemed to lift up the light of his countenance upos aa
These recollections are my lanterns in the dsurk. Tb(
past lights up the present I move my glow-
lower on the page, and read to-digr by yestciday.
' Not for myself only should tuese thoughts ~
rished. Every beam of grace that DsUs upon asy piA
ought to throw its little refledioa along my nrtghlw^
Whatever happens to one is te tfae ioitraeiaoa ef m^
i
\i
I
Ml**to^hi^«i.
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
139
other. Even the glow-worm, hmnblett of lights, has
it0 shadow.'
In this kindly spirit Mr Wilmott moves oyer hill and
mle, gossipping giuly of natore, men, and books : now
graydj discussing the merits of a Rubens or a Raphael ;
now stringing together stories of renowned gardens and
gardeners ; now correcting the zoologicfd mistatus of
bard or dramatist ; now following his own shadow,
walking op to the * park-palings to endeavoar to look it
in the £Mse :' and now giving us such graphic descrip-
tions as the following : —
* I see they are r^rinting the speeches of Mr Fox.
It is known that Burke called him a most able debater.
The praise was charactuistio of the ntterer and the
sulject Milton found little to commend in Bryden;
and Rubens would probably have turned away in dis-
gust from the painted hntoriee of Hogarth. Burke did
not exclude the idea of eloquence from his definition.
To Fox belonged the visible rhetoric. He swelled with
the tide of invective, and rose upon the flood of his
indignation. A dear friend has given me a vivid por-
trait of his manner and i^pearance. Hciding his hat
grasped in both hands, and waved up and down with
an erer-inoreasing velocity, while his face was turned
to the gallery, he poured out tempestuous torrents of
anger, exultation, and scorn. But Fox the dedaimer
was paralysed by Fox the man. It was affirmed by a
Gre^ writer, in a passage made fkmous by Ben Jonson,
that a poet cannot be great without first being good ;
and Aristotie intimates that the personal purity <»f the
orator was a question moved in his own day. Fox showed
the truth of this critical axiom. His intellectual capa-
city was impaired by the moral The statue is imposing,
but tiie pedeetal leans. I will add that the late Mr
Green d Ipswich, an acute and wdl-informed observer,
referred with admiration to Fox's speeches on the Re-
form of Parliament in 1797, on the iUissian Armament,
and to his reply on the India Bill in 1783, which he
pronounced to be absolutdy stupendous. His character
had, however, one side of grace and beauty — ^he delighted
in ^be simpleness of rural pleasures, and his eye was
open to all the charms of literature and taste. It is
very refreshing to accompany the stormy Cleon of West-
minster into &e shades of St Anne's Hill, and see him
in the description of his surviving friend—
— — " So soon of care beguiled.
Playful, Bincere, and witty as a child : **
ogoyittg the sunshine and fiowers with an almost buco-
lic tendiemess and freedom from restraint ; either
^— *' WatcUng a bird's nest in the spray.
Through the green leaTee exploring day by day;**
or, with a volume of Dryden in his hand, wandering
from grove to grove and seat to seat —
*' To read there, with a ferroor all his own,
And in his grand and melanoholy tone,
Borne splendid passage not to him unknown.** *
One otiier extract we cannot refrain from making, on
account of the tniUh and beauty which it contains : — * I
was interested to-day by the remark of one of our most
accomplished portrait painters. He says that he has
observed in every celebrated person whose features he
has copied, from the Duke of Wellington downwards, a
lookmg ofAeege into remote space. The idea occurs often
in literature. Milton, perhaps, led the way hy his de-
Bcriptkm of Mdancholy —
— — '* WIUi even step, and musing gait.
And looks oommnning with the skies.
The rapt soul sitting in her eyes I **
Sterne assigns the same peculiarity to the face of his
monk in the '* Sentimental Journey." His head '* mild,
pale, penetrating ; free from all commonplace ideas of
fat, contented ignorance looking downwards upon earth;
it looked forward at eomething beyond the toorid** No-
thing can be more exquisite tiian the iteration. The
late Mr Foster probably had this portrait in his remem-
brancft «rhpn Ha Atmfaihtui t]u» PhrtAHan in anniAtv— Jn
the world, but not of it :— ** He is like a person whose
eye, while he is conversing with you about an oliject, or
succession of objects, immediately near, should glance
every moment towarda eome great tpectade appearmg in
the distant horizon,"
* Mr Moore*8 elegant tale of the ** Epicurean" supplies
another example, &c ; and a fourth Ulustration is fur-
nished by MrKeble, in his picture of Balaam fore-
telling the happiness of Israel uid the rising of the
Star^-
** (^ for a sculptor's hand.
That thou mightsfc take thy stand,
Thy wild hair flosiing on the eastern bnese ;
Thy tranced, yet open gaxe
Fixed on the desert base,
Ai cne who deep in hMven tome airy pageant tea.**
' The artist to whom I alluded does not add literature
to his genius. I believe he never heard of Foster : it is
just possible that he mi^ be unacquainted with Sterne.
His remark would then be the fruit of independent and
individual experi^ice ; and on that account lending a
most interesting commentary upon the illustrations of
fancy.'
In conduuon, we recommend this little work to all
who feel the beauty of nature, to all who seek for health
on holidays in the pure breath of the country, and
chiefly to all who, prizing and valuing these charms,
are yet prevented, by the stem dictates of business
and duty, from visiting the scenes which they so much
delight in.
CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS.
' So sweet the blush of bashf tdness,
Eren pity soaroe oan wish it less.*
The miseries of a bashful man have often been the sub-
ject of pity to the kind-hearted, but I do not remember
ever to have seen tiie miseries of a bashful girl touched
upon; and, believe me, they are as keenly felt, al-
though not so severely remarked upon by the world,
as the other. I received what is called a very careful
education — ^that is, I was taught all that othra girls are
taught — but was kept so strictiy confined to my schod-
room, and so entirely seduded from company, even the
society of companions of my own age, that to me it
was positively a painful sight that of the * human face
divine ;' and when, at sweet seventeen, I was told that it
was now time to form my manners by seeing a little
good company, I think I would rather have heard that
my friends designed me for a convent I was not very
easy even when conversing only with my own sex, if
they ware entire strangers to me ; but when a gentle-
man asked me the nmplest question — ^requested me to
drink wine with him (as was tiie custom in the bygone
days I speak of), or, in short, showed the slightest wish
to be commonly civil — I was in an agony, wished my-
self at home, blushed crimson, stammered, and answered
confusedly I knew not what, and actually, for the mo-
ment, hated the innocent cause of my unpleasant sen-
sations, and indeed myself at the same time for my folly
in brag abashed by a person I may have despised, and
whose conversation, iriien I heard it addressed to others,
perhs^ appeared to me absolutely silly. In order to
improve my mind, I had been encouraged to read a great
deal ; but as novels and tales were strictly forMdden, and
tiie only books put into my hands were history, moral
philosophy, and other grave useful books, my studies
gave me Uttie assistance towards bearing a part in con-
versation in the gay populous country neighbourhood
where we resided. Observing on one or two occasions,
when I timidly introduced the names of those books,
and of the heroes and sages I had been taught to re-
vere, looks of contempt and suppressed laughter, and
overhearing the words, ' has bleu,' * pr^cieuse ridicule,'
&c. I resolved never to name literature again imtil I
was able to dilate upon the last novel. My i>arents,
however, had Uttie patience with my shamefacedness.
And mnftt inindinimulv lAntnnid mA in nriTatft. and
looked at me in pablic One day, after a long sermon,
I was desired to prepare for a dinner at Oakfleld Park,
and * I beg,* added my mother, * you will not sit like a
stidc, and look stapid, but try to talk, and make your-
self as agreeable at least as you can. People will really
begin to imagine you are a fooL'
* It is better,' answered I, * to be mistaken for a fool,
than to open my mouth and prove myself one, which I
should infallibly do ; for wheneTer strangers enter into
conversation with me, I lose every rational faculty/
' Oh, nonsense. You might talk just as well as other
people if you chose it I am sure, if you listen, you will
see how very little there is in the general conversation
that goes on.'
* Very little indeed,' I replied. * I have seldom heard
anything worth remembering.'
* Oh,' cried my father, • 'tis just as I feared ; vanity
is at the bottom of all this modest humility. Tou wont
speak unless you bring out something wondrous wise : '
BO saying, he left the room, and mamma, in following
him, said more kindly, ' Do now, my dear, let me see
you behave to-day more like other people ;' but unfor-
tunately added, * I shall keep my eye upon you !'
I was neither sulky nor obstinate, and had every wish
to oblige my parents, and overcome my bashfulness,
which I felt was foolish ; so, VL^pon finding myself at table,
seated next to a middle-aged, quiet-looking man in a
brown wig and spectacles, I resolved to address him, as
soon at least as I could think of anything to say.
While coursing in vain through the realms of ima-
gination for a subject, the words * government,' * com
laws,' 'radical publication,' struck on my ear; and
taking it for granted that a man with a brown wig and
spectacles mtut be a politician, and, for the same wise
reason — added to a certain pomposity in his look and
manner — a Tory, I resolved to converse upon a squib
that had recently appeared in the ' John BulL* Just
as I was turning towards him, I unluckily caught my
mother's eye making a sign for me to begin some con-
versation, which so completely bouleveriid the little
resolution with which I had * screwed my courage to
the sticking-place,' that I instantly lost all my self-pos-
session ; but not now daring to sit any longer silent, I
began with a fluttering manner and unsteady voice —
* Pray, do you ever read *• Tom Thumb?" '
The respectable man, not sure what could possibly
be my meaning, and wondering whether I was a wit, a
quiz, or an imbecile, after a pause, answered, ' Not for
a long while.'
* I thought,' answered I, unconscious of the blunder
I had made, and gaining courage from what I consi-
dered to be the stupid old gentleman's evident ignor-
ance of what was passing in the world, * that it had not
been published many months.'
' Not many months!' replied my astonished auditor;
' oh — oh — ah ! A new edition, I suppose I It used to
be my delight, as was ** Goody Twoshoes." '
Goody Twoshoes ! thought I ; the poor man is insane ;
and I began to feel more uncomfortable than ever when,
from my amazed and distressed countenance, suspecting
some Diistake, he, with a benevolent smile, requested
to know what question I had asked him. * I begged to
inquire,' I answered in a displeased voice, looking as
steady and stem as I could, in order to awe him, * if
you read the ** John Bull ? " '
* You doubtless, my dear young lady, meant to have
done so ; but you did, in fkct, question me concerning
•* Tom Thumb."*
I tried to laugh, though tears of shame stood in
my eyes, begged pardon, said I was absent, &c ; and,
tingling to my fingers' ends, prayed for the ground to
open and swallow me up, then sat mute, looking like a
condemned criminal, until the joyful signal was noade for
the ladies to retire. I did not recover my self-posses-
sion the whole evening, and had to endure a severe
lecture in the carriage going home, with pretty strong
hints accompanying it, that certainly there must be
something defective in my understanding.
* If you were punished as you deserve to be for your
stupidity,' said mamma, *you ought to be made to send
an excuse to an invitation for a ball to be given by the
officers of the 40th Light Dragoons, and to which
General and Mrs Calderludl have kindly offered to take
you.'
Go to a ball ! go to a prison rather, I felt : it it ten
times worse than a dinner-party. But as it waa tettled
that I was to go, I endeavoured to discipline my mind
to the dread trial, and console myself vr'ith the sigtrt of
my white crape-dress, trimmed most appropriately with
blush roses. The awful night arrived I My tenon rose
thicker and thicker at every whirl of t^ carriage wheels,
which brought me nearer to the place of pnnisiiment;
and when we entered the barrack yard, I beoume UteraUy
sick wi^ apprehension, and was nearly fainting when
we stopped. The steps were let down qniddy, and I
was carried ofi'-— scarcely knowing whether I stood upon
my head or my heels— by one of the ofllcers appointed
to receive the company, through files of soldiers holding
flambeaux, into a room as full as it could hold of ladies,
in every colour of the rainbow, and genUemen in uni-
form, where I was presented to the colonel's wife, and
placed upon a chair almost gasping. When in aome
degree I recovered my recollection, I began to look
about me ; but was soon alarmed aftesh ^ finding a
pair of black bead eyes looking fixedly upon me ; and
whichever way I turned, those horrid eyes teemed to
glare upon me. Their possessor was a taU ailender
young man, who looked as stiff as if he had swallowed
a ramrod, who seemed to amuse himsdf at my agitation,
and succeeded so completely in annoying me, tiiat I
considered all the rest as nothing ; and that, ooold I only
get rid of the eternal glare of those horrid eyea, I ahedd
be quite at my ease. At last we a4ioimied to the
dancing-room ; and I, rejoicing in having got rid of my
tormentor, sat down beside my chapenmtj and fcrvenHy
thanking goodness no one had asked, or was, I hoped,
likely to ask me to dance, as I knew nobody in tiie looni,
felt a lively interest in observing what was
around. But alas I scarcely had I b^un to feel
like calmness, and to hope for amusement from a
so new to me, when I descried Mrs Fitzbattle admiKing
with a smile, my bead-eyed tormentor by her side. She
introduced him as Mr Stonefield ; and when he asked
me to dance, and presented his arm, I did not dart do
otherwise than accept it We took our place in the
quadrille; and after my unfortunate partner had ex-
hausted every subject, and received for a reply n tibKepuk
undertoned ' Yes, sir ;' * No, sir ;' or perhi^ • Oh, rir;'
or the * Yes,' * No,' and • Oh,' without the «r, when I re-
raembered having heard it was vulgar to mr anjr gentle-
man, he turned in despair to converse wiUi a fine-looking
brother-officer, whose open good-humoured ooanteaaitce
made me wish he had been my partner rather than Mr
Stonefield. But my observations on Captun Bivert-
dale's personal attractions were cut short by tiieborritle
certainty that the top string of my firock l»d eittier
broken, or come unloosed, and that any attempt ts
dance would cause it to fall off my shonldert. AnytUng
seemed preferable to such a climax $ and with tlie tm*
rage de^>air gives, I turned hastily round, and olMfV
ing Mrs Fitzbattle not far off, told her my tale of ««^
and b^ged her to retire with me, whidi riie gne^
natnredly did. Upon my return, the first object I to* |
held was ~' ~ " * ' " "^ ' *
It
:l
were,
« Stolen
laughing aloud at his own silly wit
* Poor little thing,' I overheard Giqitaln Kirertddt
say, * she is very young, and must be qnite new to Hii
wicked world, for she seems sadly afhud of ttt «B5
At that moment Mr Stonefldd sp^ his TkrtiBa;
coming up, claimed me as his property, and
we should finish the dance. My next partner vraa Iflli
Bothwell, who did not make much inroad on my p«H»
of mind, inasmuch as he seldom spoke; sod Wbca te
did, said nothing that lequnred an answer.
I
releaaed from him, I so far recovered my ■df-poaweion
as to begin a diacnosion with a young lady who aat next
to me, and whose lively yet gentle manner emboldened
me to chatter even familiarly.
* Can yon tell me who that handsome, pleasant-look-
ing man is whom I danced with last ? I did not catch
his name, and I like him to much.'
* Yes,' reidied she, looking as if amused, * I can — ^it is
Migor Dale.'
At this moment the object in question advanced, and
requested me to go with him to supper; and there, with
the help of champagne and his good-natured attentions
together, I found I could talk even to an ' officer and a
gentleman.'
* Do you know who that pretty girl is to whom I was
talking when you asked me to come to supper?'
*■ Yes : she is Mrs Dale, my wife.'
' Your wife! I didn't know you were married. You
don't look like a married man.'
* Don't I? But I am that unfortunate individual
nevertheless.'
* Ob, oh ! Don't you know it is very wrong to speak
so?'
My silliness or innocence had by this time attracted
the attention of those seated near me, among whom was
Captain Riversdale ; who, at the next pnbUc assembly
I went to, convinced me that balls were not so very
dreadfol, and could even prove agreeable, when among
thoee who composed the party ^ere was one we pre-
ferred. What could make that strange man fall in love
with a bashful miss, I am sure I cannot tell, and far
less could I describe the wild agitation into which I was
thrown by the discovery that he had done so. Such
matters, however, they say, are managed in a very diffe-
rent plaoe from a ball^-room ; and somehow or other it
did h^^n that my extraordinary defect was the cause
of mj lasting happiness. The gallant captain, in short,
was BO much to my taste as a partner in the dance, that
he had little difficulty in persuading me he would make
quite as agreeable a partner for life. So, in four months
from my first appearance, I bade adieu to my name and
my bashi\ilnes8, and have never repented losing either.
THE THAMES-BANK BUILDING-WOBKS.
In London, houses are not built singly, but by whole-
sale. The rapidity with which the town is spread-
ing into tiie surrounding country appears to receive
no check, and to admit of no cessation. Year by
year the map of the metropolis takes new forms, and
juts out in every direction fresh angles. To supply
this insatiable demand for house-room, it is not the
practice — except in rare instances — ^for capitalists and
builders to construct solitary streets ; such limited spe-
culations would, it seems, give no adequate supply:
they therefive plan and execute, with wonderful cele-
rity, whole neighbourhoods, which suddenly rise upon
acres, and even square miles, of quondam green jQdds,
like the city of Cadmus. Maryl^ne fields now bear
upon them the weight of the circular neighbourhood
which surrounds the Regent's Park ; Paddington fields
were wholly bricked over in some five years with a
suburb, which now makes the village itscdf difficult to
find ; although, within the memory of even young Lon-
doners, it stood naked and alone, bounded towards the
west and north with flourishing farms; the West-
bourne estate hard by was covered with streets, squares,
and terraces of palatial-looking habitations, in less time
than was spent in raising the Scott monument in Edin-
burgh ; and the celerity with which the city of palaces,
cooaisting of Belgrave Square, with its surrounding
creecents, squares^ terraces, and streets, was elevated
upon the 'five-fields' of Chebea, has become a byword.
In contemplating these and a hundred other acces-
aions to an already overgrown town, and while won-
dering at the quickness with which they are effected,
the means and systems employed are sddom thought
because London houses are ' run up' rapidly, that they
are unstable ; and although the charge cannot be gain-
sayed as regards a few suburban struts and villas put
together by a not high class of speculators, yet all the
houses we have alluded to above are stronger and better
built than any of an older date ; because accumulating
experience is not only directing architects and their
subordinates to new materials, but science enables them
so to shape and dispose of those already in use, as to give
them the greatest possible strength combined with the
minimum specific weight and economy of materials. The
strongest house to be conceived (in proportion of course
to the quantity of the material which goes to form it) is
the cell of the bee, and it is also the lightest.* The pon-
derous wooden beams employed by our forefathers re-
quired nearly as much support as they gave, and half
Uie time to Uft that a modem builder takes to finish a
small house. It is improved knowledge, tiierefore, and
not bad workmanship, to which, in a great measure,
the rapid operations of builders are due. Indeed the
mansions of ' Belgravia,^ as well as those on the other
side of Hyde Park, were built for the highest class of
occupants ; consequently they are as well put together
as it is possible for brick, wood, and iron to be com-
bined.
To convey a notion of the capital sunk in even one
of the houses in Eaton Square— which is within the
precincts of Belgravia — we may mention that No. 71,
being the temporary residence of the Speaker of the
House of Commons, costs the country nearly LI 000
per annum for rent and taxes,t and that single square
contains exactly 100 houses.
This may give the reader some idea of the magnitude
with which building operations are prosecuted in Lon-
don. It is now proposed to afford him an insight into
how they are carried on. We have recently visited the
works of the gentleman who planned and built the
greater part of the aristocratic neighbourhood we have
more particularly alluded to, and who has also covered
a few square mUes of the ground which lies between
Belgrave Square and the river Thames with another
suburb* In these works every art, science, trader and
handicraft which contributes to house-building is car-
ried on, whether it be for clusters of cottages, orniu^
or for a queen's palace. Mr Thomas Cubitt, the owner
and director of this wholesale factory of habitations,
being an architect as well aa a builder, does everything
within it, from the first plans and working-drawings, to
the making a single plaster cornice, and even to the
manufacture of the plaster itself; from the moukling
of a brick, to the casting of a keyhole soutoheom We
perceive from the ' Annual Bepgrt of the Committee of
the Workmen's Benefit Club at Mr Thomas Cwbitt's,
Thames Bank, Pimlicoy' that at work in, or connected
with, this establishment, are the following trades:—-
Joiners, carpenters, briokli^ers, masons, painters, plas-
terers, smiths, engineers, moulders, briokmakevs, carters,
clerks, and yard-labourers, besides many not mentioned
in the list, whose position does not necessitate them to
belong to the cluh*-such as sculptors and architectural
* This fact is curiously illustrated in * Crombie's Natural Theo-
logy :*— ' Reaumur, presuming that the angles of a honeycomb were
adopted for the purpose of saving material, proposed to Koenig, a
maUieniaiiclaa of eminence, that he should determln* what should
be the angles of a hexagonal cell, with a pyramidal base, to require
the least material. By the infinitesimal calculus he asoertfUned
that the greatest angle should be 109 degrees 36 minutes, and the
smaller 7^ degrees 34 minutes; the very angles ti^iich the insect
adopts. What an astonishing coincidenee is this I A pcofoond ma>
thematioian is required to solre a rery diffioult iwoblem, and it is
found that his conclusion, gained by the exercise of considerable
ingenuity and deep thought, was practically exhibited in the ope-
rations of the beel '
The prinoiplet here erolTid have reocntly reoelTcd an hnpoftaat
praotiiMU application. Those stupendous iron tubular spaps recently
thrown across the Conway and the Menai Straits are oonstruoted
on the cellular system; not in exact, but Iti general accordance
with the honsyoomb.
t The exact sum wb% in J841-<184e,; aa noted in Uie MisseUa-
«»«^^^««4B ay^^A 8 w ^fc 4 <
T rt^k
142
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
and decoratire draaghtsmen ; or others not recogniied ai
artisana — such as a librarian and schoolmaster, stable-
keepers, and, mirabik dictu, cooks 1 As to their numbers,
and the capital required to pay them, there are 1598
men, who are paid upwards of L.1600 every Saturday —
oar informant remarking that this is a peculiarly 'sUck'
tim& The greatest number of men ever employed in
the works was 2400, who were paid L.2700 per week.
The usual calculation as to building expenses is, that
labour is about one-third the cost of material ; conse-
quently there is * turned orer' — ^to use a commercial
phrase — in this establishment erery year from L.300,000
to half a million of money I As, therefore, such sums
are annually disbursed from one establishment — and
there are three or four others nearly as large, besides
those of, according to the Post-Office Directory, about
770 smaller builders — the cost of the yearly additions
to the British Babylon can be dimly estimated. Mr
Thomas Cubitt's works stand upon 19| acres of ground.
The premises occupy lengthwise 1000 feet, on 600 feet
of which stand the workshops. The machinery — of
which there is perhaps a greater rariety than in any
other establishment in this country — is driven by four
steam-engines of forty horse-power each.
Such are the rough statistics of this immense and
unique factory ; but we must descend to details.
The innumerable passengers on the steamboats which
ply between Chelsea and London do not fail to notice
near the Pimlico Pi^r, about midway between Chelsea
Hospital and Yauxhall Bridge, a campanile tower of
great height and elegant proportions, not unlike the
Lansdowne Tower near Bath. It is so handsome an
elevation, that few persons know its uses to be solely
utilitarian — ^that it is, in fact, a disguised fine; not
readily to be detected as such, for smoke seldom issues
ttom it, inasmuch as it belongs to smoke-consuming
apparatus. At its foot are two parallel ranges of shops ;
and the curious who are struck with these objects,
learn on inquiry that they compose the building-works
of Mr Thomas Cubitt They stand near the edge of the
river, on what is appropriately termed Thames Bank.
On entering these buildings, we were, during our visit,
shown the joiners' room, alter passing the pay-office,
whence, by an admirable system, a^ut a thousand
pounds are distributed amongst as many men every
Saturday afternoon at four o'clock in the short space of
twenty minutes. When we say that this place contains
at one side a long range of carpenters' benches, with
room between each for putting together doors and
windows of the largest dimensions, and that the other
side is partly partitioned off for other benches, drying-
rooms, and a sort of kitchen, it will be understood
that this shop bears comparison as to extent with a
small street The precautions against fire are simple
and ingenious. The building is not wholly fireproof,
but is made so at each end, and in the middle, so tlutt an
accidental fire would terminate where it began ; for its
career would be stopped when it reached the uninflam-
mable portions. Such is the mode of prevention : the
cure conveys a usefhl lesson to the proprietors of large
buildings. It is a fact too wdl known to fdl those who
possess fire-engines, that, being not in constant use,
these machines are generally out of order when most
wanted; but in this building they are discarded. In
the joiners' room there are some half-dozen small self-
supplying cisterns always full, and over each a few
buckets are slung, not removable by any person for any
other purpose than to put out a fire, on pain of fine
and heavy displeasure. Thus water, and the means of
distributing it, are constantly on the spot. Should,
however, a flame promote itscJf into a conflagration, it
can be played upon without by hoses applied to a pump
in the yard, always available by steam-power or a
capstan.
It is in the joiners' shop that you begin to understand
the system by which houses are made by wholesale. It
must have been remarked that the habitations of a
modem street, if not precisely like each other archi-
tecturally, are similar in many respects. Tbe doon
and windows are almost all exactly alike. Snpptmt,
therefore, a street of fifty first-class honuei Is to be
built, there would have to be made for it fifty foce-doora,
aU as much alike as are the sheets of this JoonuJ ; for
each house, say 6 doors (all of one size and descripiioo)
for tiie basement, 5 for the ground-floor, 5 for the draw-
ing-room floor, 7 fbr the second, 6 for the third fknr,
&c. or 6 sets each, making in all 1500 doors — wbont the
same number of * copies' as' is usually printed of a
flourishing country newspaper. The jett-books coo-
tain an example of the inveterate habit aome have at
talking in tedmicalities: — A printer's boy once com-
plained that he could not get from one part of hli
master's office to another wi&out opening * « finie of
doors.' A glance into Mr Cubttt's 'dfying-room'
showed us gigantic ' reams ' of them stacked ooe upon
another like planks in a timber-yard. This apartment
is heated artificially to a temperature varying firom 70
to 90 degrees, and dries the woodwork nfter it haa beei
put together. Window - frames, shutters, amd other
stock articles are muHipHed and dealt with in the same
manner.
Let us now watch the operations in tbe jamens' room,
and see the system by which this wholesale work U
carried on. At the end of the shop we observe a
draughtsman. With rule, pencil, and oompaaaea, be U
makUig — on a long strip of board prepared for the por-
poee — ^the working-drawings of a window-frvme, fipom
a design previously furnished him. Upon the maifio
the dimensions of each component piece ia marked,
where it does not actually appear of the intended lixt
on the drawing ; also any spedal instmctiona. Hen is
a specimen copied firom the * rod' (as such a workiiif-
plan is called) of a door-fWune — * Grosrenor Crescent :
height of doors for basement. To be kept in drying-
room at least a week.'
In the ' cutting>out ' rooms — apartments containing
lathes, sawing, pliming, and morticing macfainea, drifcn
by steam — ^the ' stuff' (the carpenter's exjneeaiQa fat
his raw material) is fashioned into tbe ahapes and
dimensions indicated on the rod or pattern. Hie na-
chine-saws cut so evenly, that the plane haa oohr to
go over the work after it very lightly ; indeed floor-
boards are laid down just as they come fW)m the saw, a
few shavings being smoothed away here and there at
the seams after the floor has been laid. Such is tt»
mathematical accuracy attained by the nse of na-
chinery, that in maldng up a hundred door-frames or
windows fVom the same ' rod,' any one of the hondred \
tenants of the hundred crosspieces will exactly fit the
mortices in any one of the same number of npnyfats.*
The proper pieces are therefore taken at raodooi tnm
each heap, tied up, and sent to the joiners to be fitted
and glued together.
TMs is done in the quietest manner i>osnble, and tt Is
some time before tbe visitor discovers how it iathatttdi
joiners' shop differs so much from those of the old sdiosl:
there is no knocking, no noise. The artisan, iniAead of
hammering the door after it is fltted and glued, plHH
it upon a screw-bench. By a few turns of the woini,lhs
sides of a frame contract and force ^emadves agrifll
the outer edges of the door, with the even, stedttf^
inevitable pressure of the Iron Shroud. Tbe
and ponderoiis wooden leaf is then taken from the
and handed off to the hot-air department, jost m •
* We may hero instance tbe infinite meehamioal
attained by Mr Wbitworth of Manchester. That gentlen^aa
constructed a gauge by which, in a temperature of 60 dagieMi
renheit, he can measore to the ten-thoosandUi pari 9t aa
All the Borews, both aotiTe and pasalve, which ha makes fcr
ing together the machinery he manufaotnies are avmbered ;
Bet of screws, dirtingoished by its number, is bo rigidly of tfas
size, that, suppodng two or more stemn-engines or other
to be taken to pieces, and huddled tc^ether In one heap.
screws in another, the engine can be pat together again by
the aotire screws merely by the figure stamped upon
in8a*ting them in the pasdve screws that haTB the
stamped beeide them on the componeat parts of the maoMww
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
143
printer sends awaj his sheets from the press — in nam-
bers hardly greater — to the drying-room.
It enlarges one's ideas of the extent of this hire of
hoose-makers, and of the strictly departmental plan on
which it is necessarily conducted, when we know that
one man is employed to do nothing else but to grind
the joiners' tools, another to sharpen saws, and a third
to cook the ^ne. The bright, clean, copper glue-pots,
marshalled on the stoye that heats them, form an ex-
hibition that would charm the eye of a French chif de
cuisine : but of the culinary department of these works
anon.
The superior lightness of iron in proportion to its
strength has caused a great quantity of that material
to be used for building purposes ; the smithies and cast-
ing-shops of these works are consequently rery exten-
sire. Jobts and girders are chiefly of wrought or cast-
iron, and iron hooping is employed to bind together the
bricks and mortar of party-walls, the use of bond-tim-
ber being forbidden by the new building act Connected
with this department is the ' proving yard,' where, by the
agency of hydraulic power, the soundness of iron girders
and other cast-iron work is tested. The machines now
in use for such purposes attest the omnipotent domi-
nion of science. With great prowess we are apt to
associate great size — ^immensity; but in these works
a small iron vessel is point^ out, in shape like a
gas -retort, and in size not much bigger than a gal-
lon spirit jar. *That,' said our informant, 'is a hy-
draulic press, which, when fitted to a pump, is capable
of applying to any object a pressure equal to one
huncUed tons.' To the test of this little instrument
ewerything destined to bear great weights is brought —
to be broken in shivers should any flaw exist, but to be
pronounced capable of bearing its allotted weight if
sound. The rule for arriving at a rerdict in favour of
ir«>n girders is, th&t if they are found capable of sup-
por^g three cwt. upon every superficial square foot of
flooring, they are pronounced ' good.' Some notion of
tiie capabilities of these small, harmless-looking ma-
chines— and also of those of the common brick for
bearing pressure — may be formed when we mention
that we saw the fragments of a common brick which
had not been smashed till a pressure equal to the
weight of eighty-five tons had been applied to it 1
'nie metal-workers in this establishment are not con-
fined to the rough and massive materials used in mo-
don building, but they also fashion every ornament and
accessory wMch convenience, art, or luxury demand —
from the batterie de cuisiiie which furnishes the royal
taUe at Osborne House,* to the tiniest and most elabo-
rately-omamented grate for the boudoirs of Belgrave
Square. Specimens of this sort of work are rancid in
warerooms, which are as extensive as those of a first-rate
store-factor^s, and form quite an interesting exhibition.
Indeed nothing is omitted. The Yulcans of Thames
Bank are sometimes called upon to produce ponderoiis
park gates (from patterns designed and carved on the
premises), and at others to tame their energies down to
mere railings for scullery areas ; from casting a Corin-
thian column to forging a kitchen poker; from mak-
ing an elaborate planing machine (for nearly all ma-
chines and tools are made on the spot), to hammering out
a simple roasting spit — nothing comes amiss. Not the
minutest detail of household requirement is forgotten.
When we visited the brass-workers, some were casting
water-taps, and others * filing up ' ornamental slits for
those letter-boxes which the Postmaster-General has so
earnestly recommended to be inserted on street-doors, to
facilitate the rapid deliyery of letters.
We should mention tnat the smithies (in one of
which is a steam-hammer) and casting-houses are on
opposite sides of the yard. The former, from its deanly
appearance, is unlike any forge we had ever previously
seen : a housewife would pronounce it * tidy.'
* Mr Cabitt was not only the builder, bat the srchiteot of the
Queen's mszlne vflla at the Iile of Wight.
In crossing the yard, the visitor perceives huge blocks
of marble of all descriptions, frt)m the veined white of
the Orrara quarries, to variegated red from Sienna.
Some of them he sees, under the resistless teeth of
steam-saws, being sliced into slabs; and on entering
another set of shops, he is shown the operation of
smoothing and polishing the slabs by the same agency.
The collection of chimney-pieces thus produced, after
passing under the hands of skilled sculptors, is almost
a study in decorative art. As to the number manufac-
tured, we must help our guesses by again remember-
ing that enough are required at once, not for single
houses, but for streets and neighbourhoods.
The ornamental-plastering department has its walls
covered with erery rariety of design ; some from art-
models, others from nature. It is, we were told, Mr
Cubitt's habit, when he finds opportunity, to collect
leaves and other foliage, and to have such as are
adapted for architectural ornament oast in plaster.
Several of these casts are hung on the walls, and serve
as patterns for cornices, friezes, &c.
The glaziers' shops are stored with window-glass,
and display some rery pretty specimens of transparent
painting. In the painters' shops little is done, as this
branch is necessarily performed on the buildings them-
selves when nearly completed. The colour-makers are,
however, busy enough, for the mills in which the pig-
ments are ground are seldom at rest ; neither are the
plaster and cement -mills often idle. In short, this
establishment is like the kingdom of China — ^it is self-
producing and self-supporting : it discards all foreign
aid. ' Some of the branches,' said the gentleman who
kindly showed us over the works, * are not profitable ;
but we find it indispensable to midntain tnem, that
we may get things when we want them. We have had
formerly to wait weeks for a casting, which often caused
us great inconvenience.' It is therefore frt>m no desire
for monopoly that every operation of the building and
furnishing trades is carried on.
The powers which set all the machinery of these
works in motion present nothing different from other
factory steam-engines, except the elegant fine. There
never, perhaps, existed what an American would desig-
nate a 'taller' specimen of the usefril combined with
the ornamental: assthetically — if a factory chimney
may be allowed so long a word — this erection is a pleas-
ing mark for the eye to rest upon amidst the not very
picturesque landscape which surrounds it ; and will not
be otjected to by the aristocratic neighbours which Mr
Cubitt's houses are fast attracting within sight of it.
But its beauty is also its utility, it being nothing less than
a square case or shield for the enormous bri^ tube, or
real fine, which rises within it^ and which it shelters
from the exterior atmosphere. By ^us keeping the
chimney warm, or, in other words, preventing the hot
air draughted from the famaces firom cooling too rapidly,
an increased draught is caused, equal to that which
could only have been obtained by running up the fine
fifty feet higher than the 105 feet to which it rises at
present That its campanile character might be truly
preserved, it is in this tower that the bell is hung which
summons the artisans fh>m their meals to their duties.
Let us hope that this elegant structure will be a
model chimney for manufacturing towns. Besides
superseding the dangerous height to which some are
elevated (as witness the fate of the St Rollox chimney),
if all the * stalks * in Manchester and Glasgow resembled
Mr Cubitf s smokeless tower, those towns would appear
as cities of palaces, instead of looming in the distance
like the mouths of Erebus.
No one can take the most cursory glance over this
establishment without seeing that it had been formed,
and is sujpervised by a comprehensire mind, gifted with
a ready niculty for contrivance, and possessing an ex-
traordinary mastery over details. Although so many
trades are carried on, yet each set of workmen seem to
play into one another's hands without the loss of a
minute^ or the interposition of the most trifling diffl-
U4
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBXAI..
cnlt}'. Strict rontiiK, and the harmony with vhich it i>
followed, were, lo far u we oould judge, perfect. Thi«
may in w>me degree ariw from tlie fact of Mr Tbomac
CubitC being-, ezuvpt on rare occaiions, hia own em-
plofer. He chieS; buildi apoa gnrnad ho haa already
bought, and that he coTen with houaea npoo a well-
coniidered plan, which embracea ever; detail.
But a far more admirable qnalit; of mind perradea
theae worka than inteUectaal akillorinTentioai and tbat
ii benevolence. That feeling pretenta itaelf in eray
part of the ettabliahtnent — ia interwoveQ with ita 1
mechaniam. The comfort and aafely of the men
preaided over with a care almott parental; — a o
(brtable temperature ia maintsined by an ordinary
beating apparatua, and is regulated 'by thermomeHrai
the ventilation ia complete, and do foul air can pollute
the atmoaphere ; for, by a dm^e contriraoce, the only
exit for tbe airof every cloaet, or place where it ia likely
to bo bad, ia into tbe nearett fttrnace ', so that for it tc
eacape iuto the other apartmenta i* impoaaible. Per.
aonal comfort has been carefully atudied. Attached tc
each department Is a cooking-itove and a — cook, tc
whom luch men as choose to eat their meala on the pre-
mlaet conaign their dinners. The stoves and ovens arc
precisely auch as are snpgilied to noblemen's mansions l
for it ii a principle here to let nothing leave the factory
which haa not been tested by actual experiment. Hence
there ia not a kitchen iu the works in which Soyer could
not diah up a banquet fit for royalty. There is, besidea.
a small house built expressly for making soup
arltm ,- and this la supplied to the men at cot
namely, at a peony per piot. A boiler of cot
ceasea to limmer on each stove i and that
beverage is in some cases aappllei] gratia, aa an
to Btronger and more harmful driuka. To each kitchen
there is attached a lavatory — not, indeed, so handsomely
fitted up aa those nt a club-hooae, but quite aa efficient,
with hot and coid water, aoap, towela, &c at will. Each
'trade' baa alio a separate dining-room; except the
jmners, who prefer to follow the cuatoms of their fathera,
and dine on the enda of their benches.
In the tmithi' lofty and apacioua dining-room intel-
lectual food is also adminiatered. At a quarter to sii
o'clock every evening this beoKnes a school - room,
which every well-conducted boy in Mr Cubitt's employ,
ment attends gratia. The atudiea are directed by a
echoolmaster, under a committee of the foremen, and
are preluded each eveniog by tbe free diatribution to
each boy of a huge mug of cocoa and a biscuit of consi-
derable circumference. At present there are thirty-flve
pupila, and their progress is said to be satisfactory.
For the intellectual improvement of the men there is
library of abont fifteen hundred works, including
works are among the aonodeat that
departments. Tliey are the property of Mr Cubitt, and
are in the keeping of tbe schoolmaster. The subscrip-
tion for current expenses is one penny per week. We
regret to find that only 10 per cent., or 140 of the men
in this employment, avail themselves of tbe great privi-
lege that this library affords.
It is with pleasure we record a growing desire in
being widely spread among manufacturen to ease the
toils of their men by administering to their personal
welfare and intellectoal improvement Visita which we
have made to manufactoriea lately, not only in and near
London, but in the manufacturing diatricta of the more
northern counties, entitle ua to report this pleasing
fact with some confidence. Nothing is more certainly
calculated to consolidate the onion which it is to tbe
interest of both parties should exist between employen
and their workmen. Mr Cubitt's is happily one in-
ita own inhabitants ; but an ii
Bank Bnilding-Worka has tended in a great n ,
to solve the problem, by showing with what eaae lod !
celerity even one well-ordered establiahioent U capable '
of completing the most extensive works. '
THE PRESENT TIME.
L masj a bard of if Draorj dug*.
at avfnl intnt— Ibc pml Ui
' YouVe a remarkably looky feDmr,' said Honia ; ' ftir
in tbe se«tlemesrt that I
iTtUng. For mj part I
.Lree fittt hulking lel-
the hvonr of cAting m
lows ten dollan a mont
ererjthing the feim nodnees, and saodry bureb of ptii
and flour prodaoed by aome other hm, that tbe Idea af
selling anything appears absoid.'
'" '" 'asked Drayton '
■ getting
"large'
But bow in the wmU
Dmmm people at
:11F Some of tbord
and (% •eem bo have pltntT '
-jything. Then an nkatysf I
milies aboat os here, who, when they came, hadai ■ '[
iilliDg,who nowseemtowsat for DOthiot;.' 'Idoatl^^ :j
very difficult b
d HajTy, ' In tbe IM H
customed to labour '
IS privation to ua is <
~v piga, and they hav
od eat themi they fatten their piii^aBJ ;|
IS, and live npon potatoea themaelTB. Sa | I
ter, poultrv, flattr, and everythiu we asrd, ||
lo without : ar-" — ' •' ■*—•• ^- -=•1—' '
ilil1diioad,'aud what »et
them. For insUooe, we
fatten
with eggs, batter, poultry, flonr, and everythiu ■
and tiep can do wltbout : and yet they dont do
tliem entirely either; Ibr after we have bmutht thus ||
thioga from them, wc, as Uorria aava, pay them Hsdi^ 1
wages to come and help us to eat theni. They do aU tkn >
own work, sad then, for " a consideraticm," tbey eccae
help us to do our», during which operation they
well fed. Now, the leiult of this atate of things '
conaequenoo of our ooosuming thdf piodr
are beoaming i
SMcAei o/Vcuai
.ngsia,tlulia ,J
» a>d la^. H
The Mancheat
Uowio^ ourioc
Cliailton, chicfl)
inquiry ahowed
old ( 1 1 who nil
of it. but did no
to assure ; 19 ra<
otherwise inveat
completed,
call again ; 21 n
tion ; 17j doora
sufficient propel
" 1 of iftlgatl.
velanguagi
themsclrei; and
Bg^n, although
^i^
^^K^^
>x
^
»v
Ul^
CONDUCTED BY WILLUM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF < CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOB
THE PEOPLE,' « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ ^o.
Na 297. New Series.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1849.
Price 1^.
ART, OF HISTORY.
HiBTOBT is the most important department of litera-
ture, and, considered as an art, its position is altogether
peculiar. Other literary arts, such as biography, poetry,
sod romantic fiction, hare submitted to yarious ricissi-
tudes in their career ; sometimes adranciog with rapid
•trides, sometimes diverging into a fantastic and unreal
reflnement» and sometimes sinking back into original
mdeoess. At this day, the world, notwithstanding all its
hoary eaq^lence, b often oounsdled, as regards them,
to retrace its steps, and seek not only for truth and
Dsture, but artistical beauty in the earlier models. In
history, on the other hand, all, or almost all, is progress ;
bat a progress so slow, that as yet we are only in the
infiuipy of the art It was not, indeed, till almost within
the memory of liying men that we began to form eren
a faint conception of the true meaning of the term, or
do more than raguely suspect that history had higher
fonciions than as the mere handmaid of memory.
The art of poetry was as well understood in the rude
age of Homer as at any after time ; and Aristotle and
Horace, Bespreaux, Boileau, and Pope, left it just
where they found it The progress of history has been
rery different ; so different, that the one would appear
to belong to human nature, and the other to be an
emaoetlon of the particular age. Writers on this
subject tell us that the first historian was the first
man: that he who related to his children the eyents
of hie life related history; and that the commemo-
ratire altars, temples, trophies, and names of places
of ancient nations, are all examples of tiie same art
But bere^ we humbly oonceire, two very different things
are oonfoonded — the materials of history, and history
itKlf. In the tombs of Egypt were buried with the
dead not mer^ chronological dates, but either spe-
omens or paintings of the local and household ob-
jects the liTing eyes must have rested on ; and in such
abudaace and completeness, that an antiquary of our
day has boasted that he could write the court journal
of tbe fourth Memphitic dynasty fire thousand years
a^o. But although this journal, if executed, might be
blatocy, the specimens and paintings from which it
would deriTe its fkcts are no more so than the separate
staosB of a pyramid are the pjFramid itself. In the
same way, the traditions of a district ddirered by a
down are not history, but materials which must be
ezamined, sifted, compared, and reduced to coherency
by H»"» who would assume the functions of a historian.
AHer aU these things, though perhaps not less ancient,
are the p(^alar rhymes, first used in the serrioe of the
gode» mnd then in the commemoration of great actions.
Of wacAk were the materials supposed to have been
WTcnig^t up by Homer. Even the * Iliad ' itself bdongs
• A ^l^aa . Ak« a1^1»4%«».»1* 4Vi<
Jmf* rif *hl
heroes, natural and supernatural, may throw but little
light upon the actual siege of Troy, the manners de-
scribed throughout the poem are historical monuments
of the highest interest
The Hebrews appear to have been the first historians
as well as the first poets ; but the genius of that pecu-
liar people was consecrated to religion. Their songs
were divine hymns, and their chronicles, after the Pen-
tateuch, the performances of priests acting trader the
command of Joshua and his successors. When religion
no longer demanded their pen, its virtue passed away ;
and the harp of Judah is hung upon the willows to this
day. The Greeks had a greater influence upon litera-
ture i but we must not suppose, from his having received
the name of the Father of History, that the art was
bom with Herodotus : various prose authors, as we read
in Strabo, preceded him ; some of whom merely dis-
carded the measure without changing the poetical style ;
while others left local and personal histories, written
without any attempt at adornment After them came
Herodotus, a man of infinite curiosity, who delighted to
inquire, travelling over the narrow space of the then
known world for the purpose of doing so, and giving
forth in a picturesque narrative, but without comparison
or criticism, the answers he received. • Sometimes his
facts are true, sometimes fabulous; but even in his fable
there is usually a meaning, since the popular belief has
always some nucleus of truth. But his 'collation of
connected evidence' is only a dream of his translators ;
and as for the results of his personal intercommunion
with the priests of Egypt they were unable to tell him
one-half o{ what in our own day has been dug out of
the Pyramids by the school of ChampollioB.
History received a new development in Thu^dides,
who set the first model of per^icadty and selection.
Among the Romans this style came to perfection in
Livy and Tacitus; and then began the convulsions
which overthrew and reorganised Europe, and raised
up new languages and new literatures to rival those of
Greece and Rome. Civilisation was thrown backward
only to make the greater spring ; progress was inter-
rupted, but only like a torrent which sweeps on with
increased volume and mightier force after some tem-
porary obstacle. At the revival of learning, however,
the ancients were consulted merely as a school fbr the
cultivation of individual tastes. Thus, although the
grammarian, the politician, and the soldier, in writing
history, learned something from Livy and Tacitus, they
did so each in his own peculiar line ; and it was this
which made Clarencas, in his attempt at an historical
introduction to the bdles lettKs and sciences, declare,
though writing in the early part of the eighteenth
century, that the andents were still our supeiiori in
history. But at length these petty demarcations were
AffkrtaA In tha rxmtrromu nf {nf*11cM^tntt1 rlAVAlnnment : and
146
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
BO far from Btopping at the point of oomparatiTe exeeU
lence, where the line of history had been broken off by
the diatnrbancea of the Earopean aystem, the same
centory aaw ns far in adranoe, and ttHl on the onward
march. Hume is fax before any older writer ; Gibbon
and Robertson gare an authority to history it had never
before obtained; and Niebuhr and Savigny, Guizot,
Michelet, and Thierry, have brought about what must
be considered as the beginning of a new deyelopment.
The ancients wrote their own history without a guide
or a study, while the modems hare the career of the
whfAe antique world mapped out before their eyes. At
the pteaent day, we not only enjoy this advantage, but
are able to trace the progress of the new nations of
Europe from their coromeneement to their maturity.
The consequence is, that the art has entirely changed
its character. Hen, while admiring the pietnres of
Gibbon, curious in their details, but magnificent when
Tiewed as a whole, feel that there is still something
more in history; and each suooeasiTe work is nowrather
a groping and grasping after that something than an
actual achievement. Yico, even before the ^ days of
Hume, projected a phik>sophy of history, whicli he fitly
called the New Science, with the olject of determining
the principles by which the progress of nations is
governed. He imagined that human nature was under
one unalterable law of progression, and that this law
might be deduced with acientifie accuracy from the
ikcts of human history. This great oonception was
afterwards seized by Herder, who, however, while
recognising the existence of an unchangeable law, per-
ceived that it was constantly modified in its manifes-
tations by time, plaoe, and a thousand other circum-
stances. The obstacle of the difierenee of noes, now
assumed as a iSsct, was thus removed out of the way of
the new science ; but it is obvious that the establish-
ment of a general rule of history, subject to such end-
less modifications in partieidar histories, would be of
little real utility. The grand practical truth, however, is
recognised by all the reoent historians — that there is an
eternal lelation between institutions and idesff ; or, in
other words, between the popular character and the
mode of government The scienoe ai character, there-
fore, or ethology (first se-named by John Mill), must
precede that of history, for the one is b«Md upon the
other.
But in these slight oolnmna we muat confine ourselves
to history considered as a literary art, and explain why,
after all the names of power we have mentioned (to
which the intdligent reader will be Me to add many
more), we have ventured to connder it as being yet in
its ii^ancy. We have said that the restricted views
which, after the revival of learning, bound up history
in individuality, were opened out in the progress of in-
tellectual development ; and this is true, or the world
would have wanted even the works lof those who ace
caUad our dassac histortans, not to talk of any Biore
reeeot ones. But the tyranny of literary and profea-
sional tastes was succeeded by other ts^ruwies $ and the
ignorance which wrote history in the iJMhion d a mere
grammarian, or mere politician, or a mere soldier, was
. absorbed in an ignorance as rcvoltiflg and as uneon-
seious. Even Gibbon sneers throoghout his great woik
at Christiauity— -the philosophy of the vulgar, as w^
as of the learned, and the greater (tf all the agents of
human progress. Then came Protoftant histories, and
Catholic hiatories, and Whig histories, and Toiy faisto-
ries 1 The annals of human natwie were jumbled up
with doctrinal polemics ; and the ta^ of tracing the
eodal and political institutions to their origin in iht
minds of men waa identified with the servfee of a par-
ticular party in the state ! Only a few months ago, the
first portion of a voluminous history appeared, bnt the
author was a Whig — hia very pubUshera were Whi|i;
and its reception by those who assume the nacse of
critics, depended therefore, as a matter of course, upon
the colour of their politics. It was reviewed like a poli.
tical pamphlet, and either praised or condemned upon
small party grounds ; and the author was even censired
for making his book ' as entertaining as a romance,' by
describing with some minuteness the manners of kh
epoch — the external manifestatiooa of that charaBter
on which the institutions of the ptapL^ wnm fMndsd»
and by which their historical fate was decided.
This, it must be admitted, is disheartening, after the
long career of history we have so rapidly traead; aad
in our opinion it is owing, as we explained oo a ktma
oocaaion when treating of another departmant of Itera>
tore, neither to want of genina nor of nsilertfon, b«t
solely to the oomparativn destitntioo we labour mder
with respect to critioal soienoe. We use the qn^rimg
word ' comparative,' because, in rsali^, two or tlwee
excellent, but somewhat mis^ papsrs on history, hnve
within the last six or seven years adorned the parin-
dioal press ; although, even if the number were vastly
greater, there would atill be moch diffieally in open-
ing the mind of the coontry to tiie legitimato d^^eoti
and true dignity of history. In the tiase of that ffl-
assorted, though constantly joined trio— Hama, Qihhsn,
and Robertson — the duty of history waa to taaostht
proximate causes of events. We bov gn de^sc^ and
follow these causes Uirasselvea to their origin in Ideaa
The coatinners of Hume swdled oat thmrpsmaimm^
ratives by reporting the weaiiaome debataa ia psifia-
ment We of Uie preaent day would eoondcr padisBal
as giving voioe to the thought of the timc^ and vs
should eonsider that thought aa existing in the dMS^
ter of the people, modified by drcnmstannw, aad s»>
acted upon by institutions originally cmaaatiag ftssi
itself. We should describe, aa formeriy, the eaaasr rf
war; but war raaea fkom elementa engandered, ors<ia
motion, in the bosom of peace, and there w« shyld ssi*
out its origin. In evserything we h«vn n widsr mi
nobler soope ttian our elders $ md it puts as ««t rf
patience to think tiiat we should wnSm
hindered in our onward path by mviow
paltry idiosyncrasiea.
A Erendi author is smbjected to
than his finglish broths. He nu^ ha
make history as mil as write it: riches,
tical distinetioa — all are withhi hia reach. Ia
a man writes fbr money ; but a titte aooaey wtt
for the su^ort of a true literary a
time for the past and the Aitare ; aad the
no enticements to lead him away frKMB tke
of a prouder ambition than that of a
hitite cabinet But notwithatanding this,
more true literary eothnsiasm in Vvnaen (kaain
land; and in the Ibrmer country there ta nowft
piofimnd erudition tfaaa among tba
Gibbon. The divergence so obvioas in tlw
gMat French historicnl writera ia oaaaej
mere eepaimtioas UtiU^^fi s«d party* bat hf ll»
aapiiiag^ ef thair minds, at a tine whoa a
has eomoMnoed in the art of history aa Bughtyan
of the politieal ceavatsiena of their caantiy.
turning away from the allareaients ef the tine,
ia being merely an nothor i and the wild aad
CHAHBEBS'8 EDINBUB6H JOURNAIi.
U7
Tbieny it tks author, par $3Bodknee^ of the preMot world.
* Hit Ufe,' ttyt a Bdviftw now defunot at a t^parate
work,* * it a leiton to all men of lettera, at once grand,
thoughtAil, and all^fcing. In it may be read the
triamph of a great inteileot, when fortified by a noble
parpote, oyer the painful ** lilt that flesh it heir to.** He
hat prottituted hit pen to no court or ministry ; he hat
■tcrifioed hit toul to no luzuriout and ignoble Idlenett,
Hittory hat been hit pattion and delight Blindnett,
paralytit, and helplettnett, haye been the fatal eonta-
qoencet of hit too great application t the ey9M that read
to eagerly, gradualiy dimmed until they lott all power ;
the very band that traced the narratire of hit country't
ttmggles refuset now to hold a pen. Nothing remaint
but the great heart and intellect " de faire amitie aveo
let ien^bret,** at h^ pathetically ttyt. It it a tad tpec-
tade. The vititor goet expecting to tee the animated,
tnthutiattic author of the '* Norman Oonquett," and be
teet the terrant bringing in hit armt a hel{dett crea-
ture, who, when genUy placed in hit chair, begint to
talk with all the faith and enthusiasm of youth. The
spirit-tighted countenance of the ** old man eloquent"
warmt into a glow at he tpea](t of hit favourite
ttody. You forget, at you hear him talk, that he it to
afflicted : he doet oot forget it, but he doet not repine.'
In an autobiographical work, he ttyt that he hat given
to his country all a mutilated toldier girei on the field
of battle ; and yet, blind and suffering as he it, without
hope, and almost without relaxation, his experience
enables him to declare that there it tomething better
in the world than material enjoymentt, better than for-
tone, better than health ittelf— aa4 that it the devo-
tioo tetcienoel
Although it it beyond our pr^^rinee to enter into the
exteaeire quettion of a tcianoe of hittory, we may yet
deduce from the ppteeding sketch one suggiettton, wbjc^
would teem to involve ao inditpentable preliminary in
every attempt at the advancement of the hittorical art.
The early historians were mere story-tellers, conducting
their narrative with more or Iftt truthfulnett and tact
Ai)»r them there wat infoted into history the element
of dombt, which formed, in fact, a new development {
tnd to thu were added, by the genius of Gibbon, a keen-
eest of view and a breadth of detign which were the
triumph of the art at it then existeid. But hit object
wat eiill limited. la hit handt the body of history be-
came perfect, but it wanted the tout He wrote the
biography of a nation : but hittory it tomething more
thaq tliia. The life of a men it doted in death — and
thepe't an end ; but that of a nation it a tuooettion
of exitfieocet — a tucoettion of developmentt — which
by ao meant terminate with any given epoch. The
Bootaa Bmpire did not perith with itt fall: itt ele-
raeatt v«re merely dittributed, like thote of a dead
body I and they ttill live, and breathe, and triumph
in sew formt. A hittoriaa who rettrictt hit view to
the goal be proposes fsx hit work is a naere mechanic
however ex^nitite hit skill. He will not comprehend
eventt uulett he it aUe to carry hit eye far beyond,
abng that great chain of which they are merely indi-
vidual liokt. He mutt be a poet and a philotopher at
well aa % hittoriaii ; he mutt be able to penetrate into
the flnar mytteriet of human nature, and predict from
individual character and tocial tendcnciet the future of
the homaa race. We intitt the more upon the necet-
ti^ for an open and capaciout mind, and a bold and
aoaring apirit, in him who would instruct mankind in
their hiatory, that it it owing, in our opinion, to mate-
rial aimI rtatrioted Tiewt that ao many of the writert
and efitfai ef thit oeuntry ttill Knger among the mean
poiamiga of tectt and partite. Freedom of the prett it
an attfimnent of Utye Amrf »<iafa tinn myett aaoom-
a British and FonlgBBevitw.
panied by that nobler freedom of toul which iuipliet
in itself large views, generous atpiringt, and a proud
faith in the turpatting grandeur and nobilitiy of lite-
rature. I^ B,
£XP£BI£NCEjB OF A BABBISTE^
THB MARBI^aS 8BTTLBME1IT.
' It it really time that a properly-qualified govemett
had charge of thote girlt,' obteryed my wife, at Mary
and Kate, after a more than utually boitterout romp
with their papa, left the room for bed. I may here re-
mark, inter oUa, that I once turprited a dignified and
highly -distinguished judge at a game of blindman't
buff with hit children, and very heartily he appeared to
enjoy it too. * It it really time that a properly -qualifi^
govemett had charge of those girls. Susan May did
very well as a nursery teacher, but they are now far
beyond her control. / cannot attend to their education,
and as for you '— The sentence wat concluded by a
thrug of the thouldert and a tott of the head, eloquently
exprettive of the degree of ettimation in which mjf go*
veming powert were neld.
* Time enough, turely, for that,* I exclaimed, at toon at
I had composed mytelf ; for I wat a little out of breath,
* They may, I think, rub along with Sutan for another
year or two. Mary it but seven yeart of age '—
' Eight yeart, if you pleate, Bh« ww eight yeart old
latt Thurtday three weekt.'
* Eight yeart I Then we mutt haye been married
ninel Blett me, how the time hat flown; it teemt
tcaroely to many weekt 1*
* Nonsense,' rejoined my wife with a tharpnett of
tone and a rigidity of facial mutde which, considering
the handsome compliment I had just paid her, argued,
I was afraid, a foregone condution. * x ou always have
reoourte to tome folly of that tort whenever J am de-
tirout of entering into a teriout contultation on family
afiairt.'
There waa tome fmih in thit, I conilMt, The ' con*
tultationt' which I found profitable were not teriouf
onet with my wife upon domestic matten ; leading, at
they invariably did, to a diminution instead oif an in-
crease of the little balance at the banker's. If such a
proposition could therefore be evaded or adjourned by
even ap extravegant compliment I considered it well
laid out But the expedient, I found, wat one which
did not improve bv ute. For tome time after marriage
it answered remarkably well ; but each succeeding year
of wedded blitt marked itt mpidly-decUniog eAcacy.
' Wdl, well J go on.'
'I tay it it abtolutely neoettary that a firtt-rate
governett thould be at once eogtged. Lady |daldon haf
been here to-day, and the '-^-—
* Oh, I thought it might be her new ladythip't tug*
gettion. I wish the '* fountain of honour " was tome*
whajb charier of itt knightt and ladiet, and then per-
hapt'
* What, for mercy't take, are you running on about ? '
interrupted the lady with peremptory emphatis. *■ Foun-
tains of honour, forsooth I One would tuppote, to hear
you talk in that wild, nontensical way, that you were
addretsing a bench of judges titting in 6aaco, inttead
of a tentible penun lolicitout £or her and your ohildran't
welfare.'
'Blett the woman,' thought I| 'what an e^ted idea
the appeart to have of forentic eloquence 1 Proceed,
my love^' I oontimieds *there if ft ^ifff!reno» certainly ;
and I am all attention.'
* Lady Maldon knows a young lady— « dittant relative^
indeed, of hert-— wbwA the it anxiovt to aerye '— —
' At our expente.'
'Howcanyoube to voffeperoaa? Edith Willonghby
it the o^»hea daughter of the late Beverend Mr
Wyiowghby, curate of Heavy Tree in Warwickthire,
I bdieve ; and wat tpecially educated for a firtt-clatt
gDy«m«8t and teacher, 3he ngft^ French with th^
148
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JTOURNAL.
true Parisian accent, and her Italian, Lady Maldon
assures me, is pure Tuscan *
• He-e-e-m ! *
'She dances with grace and elegance; plays the
harp and piano with skill and taste; is a thorough
artiste in drawing and painting ; and is, moreover, very
handsome — ^though beautj, I admit, is an attribute
which in a goremess might be rery well dispensed
with.'
* True ; unless, indeed, it were catching.'
I need not prolong this connubial dialogue. It is
sufficient to state that Edith Willoughby was duly in-
stalled in office on the following day ; and that, much
to my surprise, I found that her qualifications for the
charge she had undertaken were scarcely orercoloured.
She was a well-educated, elegant, and beautiful girl, of
refined and fascinating manners, and possessed of one
of the sweetest, gentlest dispositions that erer charmed
and graced the family and social circle. She was, I
often thought, for her own chance of happiness, too
ductile, too readily yielding to the wishes and fancies
of others. In a very short time I came to regard her
as a daughter, and with my wife and children she was
speedily a prodigious favourite. Mary and Kate im-
proved rapidly under her judicious tuition, and I felt
for once positively grateful to busy Lady Maldon for
her officious interference in my domestic arrangements.
EdiUi Willoughby had been domiciled with us about
two years, when Mr Harlowe, a gentleman of good
descent and fine property, had occasion to call several
times at my private residence on business relating to the
purchase of a house in South Audley Street, the title
to which exhibited by tbe venders was not of the most
satisfactory kind. On one occasion he stayed to dine
with us, and I noticed that he seemed much struck by
the appeanmce of our beautiful and accomplished gover-
ness. His evident emotion startled and pained me in a
much higher degree than I could have easily accounted
for even to myself Mr Harlowe was a widower, past
his first youth certainly, but scarcely more than two or
three-and-thirty years of age, wealthy, not ill-looking,
and, as far as I knew, of average character in society.
Surely an excellent match, if it should come to thit, for
an orphan girl rich only in fine talents and gentle affbc-
tions. But I could not think so. I disliked tbe man —
insHnetwefy disliked and distrusted him; for I could
assign no very positive motive for my antipathy.
* Thereaion why, I cannot tell.
But I don't like tbee, Dr FelL'
These lines indicate an unconquerable feeling which
most persons have, I presume, experienced ; and which
frequently, I think, results from a kind of cumulative
evidence of uncongeniality or unworthiness, made up of
a number of slight indices of character, which, sepa-
rately, may appear of little moment, but altogether,
produce a strong, if undefinable, feeling of aversion. Mr
Harlowe's manners were bland, polished, and insinuat-
ing; his conversation was sparkling and instructive;
but a cold sneer seemed to play habitually about his
lips, and at tim^S there glanced forth a concentrated,
polished ferocity-^-^o to speak — ^from his eyes, revealing
hard and stony deaths, which I shtddered to think a
being so pure and gentle as Edith might be doomed to
sound and fathom. That he was a man of strong pas-
sions and determination of will, was testified by every
curve of his square, massive head, and every line of
his full countenance.
My aversion — ^reaaonable or otherwise, as it might be
—•was not shared by Miss Willoughby ; and it was soon
apparent that, fiudnated, intoxicated by her extreme
beauty (the man was, I felt, incapable of love in its
high, generous, and spiritual sense), Mr Harlowe had
determined on offering his hand and fortune to the
unportioned orphan. He did so, and was accepted. I
did not conceal my dislike of her suitor fh)m Edith ;
and my wife — who, with faminine exaggeration of the
hints I threw out, had set him down «s a kind of
polished human tiger — with tears intreated her to :
the glittering snare. We of course had neitber rigbt
nor power to pu^ our opposition b^ond friendly wan-
ing and advice ; and when we found, tiianka to Lady
Maldon, who was vehemently in favour of the match-
to, in Edith's position, the dazzling temptatioa of i
splendid establishment, and to Mr Harlowe's doquent
and impassion^ pleadings — that the rich man's oi&t
was irrevocably accepted, we of coarse forebore froa
continuing a useless and irritating reilataiioe. Jjniy
Maldon had several times very plainly inUmated thst
our aversion to the marriage arose solely from a setf«h
desire of retaining the services of her cbarmiag rela-
tive; so prone are the mean and selfiah to impute
meanness and selfishness to others.
I might, however, I reflected, be of aervioe to Um
Willoughby, by securing for her such a marriage settle-
ment as would i^ace her beyond the reach of one pos-
sible consequence of caprice and change. I spoke ts
Mr Harlowe on the subject ; and he, under tiie infloeooe
of headstrong, eager passion, gave me, as I expected,
carte blanche, I availed myself of the Uoeaae so readily
afibrded : a deed of settlement was drawn np, ^gned,
sealed, and attested in duplicate the day before the
wedding ; and Edith Willoughby, m fyr a§ wealth and
position in society were concerned, had wodoubtedSj
made a surprisingly good bargain.
It happened that just as Lady Maldon, Edith WH-
loughby, and Mr Harlowe were leaving my chambers
after the execution of the deed, Mr Ferret the attgraef
appeared on the stairs. His hands were full of papen,
and he was, as usual, in hot haste ; but he stopped ab-
ruptly as his eye fell upon tbe departing visiton, kxAxd
with startled earnestness at Miss Willoughby, whom he
knew, and then glanced at Mr Hariowe with an expres-
sion of angry surprise. That gentleman, who did m*
appear to recognise the new-comer, returned bb look
with a supennlious, contemptuous stare, and passed «■
with Edith — who had courteouriy saluted the iiisliiii
tive Mr Ferret— ft^owed by Lady Maldon.
' What is the meaning of that ocninoua conjiiBelxMi?'
demanded Mr Ferret as the afllanoed pair disappeawd
together.
* Marriage, Mr Ferret I Do vou know any jast
or impediment why they should not be- jollied
in holy wedlock?'
* The fellow's wife is dead then ?'
* Tes ; she died about a twdvemoiith ago. Bid
know her?'
' Not personally ; by reputation only. A
attorney, Richards of Brahitree, for whom I
London business sent me the draught of a deed
separation — to which the unfortunate lady, nUber
continue to live with her husband, had oottsented — for
counsel's opinion. I had an interview with Mr Harlowe
himself upon the business ; but I see he afbels t» hsk^p«
forgotten me. I do not know much of the miifci «C
the case, but according to Richards — no great
a fellow, between ourselves — the foniia> Mss
was a martyr to her husband's calcubrted
legal— at least not i/legal, a great distiuctioi:^
opinion, though not so set down in the
He espoused her for her wealth : thmt secured,
desirous of ridding himself of the incombsnaBoe t> Bk
A common case ! — and now, if you please, to
I excused myself, as did my wifb, fhMti befatf ]
at the wedding; but everything, I afterwaras
passed off with great ^/ot The bridegroon
fervour and obsequiousness; the bride all
and beauty. The * happy pair,' I aaw by Ihft
noon newspapers, were to pass the hoo^ymooa aA
Harlowe's seat, Fairdown Park. The cvenipy
marriage-day was anything, I remember, hot a '
one to me. I reached home by no meaoa
disposed, where I was gteeted, by way ot rerhrs^
the intelligenoe that my wilb, after 1
energy to Lady Maldon's desoripiioa of tfa«
festivities for two tremendous iKMua, had mt kit
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
149
nliered by copious hysterim, and that Mary and Kate
were in a fair way — if the exploit could be accomplish^
by perseTeranoe— of coring tbemselres to sleep. These
were our bridal compliments ; much more flattering, I
imagine, if not quite so honey^accented, as the cou^y
phrases with which the rotaries and the rictims of
Hymen are alike usually greeted.
Time, business, worldly hopes and cares, the triumphs
and defeats of an exciting profession, gradually weak-
ened the impression made upon me by the gentle rlrtues
ol Edith Willoughby ; and when, about fifteen months
sfter the wedding, my wife infonned me Uiat she had
been accosted by Mrs Harlowe at a shop in Bond Street,
my first feeling was one of surprise, not untinged with
resentment, for what I deemed her ungrateful neglect
* She recognised you then ? ' I remarked.
' BeoQgnised me I What do you mean ? '
'I thought perhaps she might hare forgotten your
features, as she eridently has our address.'
* If yon had seen,' replied my wife, ' how pale, how
oold» bow utterly desolate die looked, you would think
less hardly of her. As soon as she observed me, a slight
scream escaped her; and then she glanced eagerly and
tremblingly around like a startled fawn. Her husband
had passed out of the shop to gire, I think, some direc-
tion to the coachman. She tottered towards me, and
dasping me in her arms, burst into a passion of tears.
**Gh^ why — ^why," I asked as soon as I could speak,
''why hare you not written to us?" "I dared not!"
she gasped. '* But oh tell me, do you — does your hus-
band remember me with kindness ? Can I still reckon
on his protection — his support?" I assured her you
would receive her as your own child: the whispered
words had barely passed my lips, when Mr Harlowe,
who had swiftly approached us unperceired, said,
** Madam, the carriage waits." His stem, pitiless eve
glanced from his wife to me, and stifiiy bowing, he
said» ** Excuse me for interrupting your conversation ;
but time presses. Oood-day." A minute afterward^
the carriage drove oW
I was greatly shocked at this confirmation of my
worst fears } and I meditated with intense bitterness
on the fate of a being of such meek tenderness exposed
to the heartless brutalities of a sated sensualist like
Harlowe. But .what could be done? She had chosen,
deliberately and after warning, chosen her lot, and
must accept the consequences of her choice. In all
the strong statutes, and sharp biting laws of England,
there can be found no clause wherewith to shield
a woman from the ' regulated' meanness and des-
potism of an unprincipled husband. Resignation is
the sole remedy, and therein the patient must minister
toherselt
On the morning of the Sunday following Edith's
brief interview with my wife, and just as we were
about to leave the house to attend divine service, a cab
drove furiously up to the door, and a violent summons
by both knocker and bell announced the arrival of
some strangely-impatient visitor. I stepped out upon
the drawing-room hmding, and looked over the banister
rally curious to ascertain who had honoured me with so
peremptory a call. The door was quickly opened, and
io ran, or rather staggered, Mrs Harlowe, with a child
in long dotbes in her arms.
' Shut— shut the door!' she fkintly exclaimed, as she
sanlc on one of the hall seats. ' Fray shut the door — ^I
am pursued ! '
I hastened down, and was just in time to save her
frmrn falling on the floor. She had fainted. I had her
carried up stairs, and by the aid of proper restoratives,
■he gradually recovered consciousness. The child, a
girl about four months old, was seized upon by Mary
and Kate, and carried off in triumpli to the nursery.
Sadly changed, indeed, as by the sickness of the soul,
was poor Edith. The radiant flash of youth and hope,
rendering her sweet face eloquent of joy and pride, was
replaced by the cold, sad hues of wounded affections
and proud despair. I could read in her countenance.
as in a book, the sad record of long months of wearing
sorrow, vain regrets, and bitter self-reproach. Her
person, too, had lost its rounded, airy, graceful outline,
and had become thin and angular. Her voice, albeit,
vras musical and gentle as ever, as she murmured, on
recovering her senses, ' You will protect me from my
— ^from that man?' As I warmly preued her hana,
in emphatic assurance that I would shield her against
all comers, another loud summons was heard at the
door. A minute afterwards, a servant entered, and an-
nounced that Mr Harlowe waited for me below. I
directed he should be shown into the library ; and after
iterating ray assurance to Edith that she was quite safe
from violence beneath my roof, and that I would pre-
sently return to hear her ex^anation of the affair, I
went down stairs.
Mr Harlowe, as I entered, was pacing rapidly up and
down the apartment. He turned to face me; and I
thought he looked even more perturbed and anxious
than vengeful and angry. He, however, as I coldly
bowed, and demanded his business with me, instantly
assumed a bullying air and tone.
'Mrs Harlowe is here: she has surreptitiously left
South Audley Street in a hired cab, and I have traced
her to this house.'
•Well?'
' Well I I trust it is well ; and I insist that she in-
stantly return to her home.'
*neT homer
I used the. word with an expression significative only
of my sense of the sort of ' home' he had provided for
the gentle girl he had sworn to love and cherish ; but
the random shaft found a joint in his armour at which
it was not aimed. He visibly trembled, and turned
pale.
'She has had time to tell you all then! But be
assured, sir, that nothing she has heard or been told,
however true it may be — majf be, remember, I say — can
be legally substantiated except by myself.'
What could the man mean? I was fairly puzzled:
but, professionally accustomed to conceal emotions of
surprise and bewilderment, I coldly replied — * I have left
the lady who has sought the protection of her true
" home," merely to ascertain the reason of this visit'
'The reason of my visit!' he exclaimed with re-
newed fury : ' to reconvey her to South Audley Street.
What else ? If you refuse to give her up, I shall apply
to the police.'
I smiled, and approached the bell.
' Tou wUl not surrender her then ?'
' To judicial process only : of that be assured. I hare
little doubt that, when I am placed in Aill possession of
all the facts of the case, I shall be quite able to justify
my conduct' He did not reply, and I continued : * If
you choose to wait here till I have heard Edith's state-
ment, I will at once frankly acquaint you with my
final determination.'
* Be it so : and please to recollect, sir, that you have
to deal with a man not easily baffled or entrapped by
legal subtlety or cunning.'
I reascended to the dralnring-room ; and finding Edith
— thanks to the ministrations, medicinal and oral, of
my bustling and indignant lady — much calmer, and
thoroughly satisfied that nobody could or should wrest
her from us, begged her to relate unreservedly the
cause or causes which had led to her present position.
She falteringly complied; and I listened with throb-
bing pulse and burning cheeks to the sad story of her
wedded wretchedness, dating from within two or three
months of the marriage ; and finally consummated by
a disclosure that, if provable, might consign Harlowe
to the hulks. The tears, the agony, the despair of the
unhappy lady, excited in me a savageness of feeling,
an eager thirst for vengeance, wliich I had believ^
foreign to my nature. Edith divined my thoughts, and
taking my hand, said, * Never, sir, never will I appear
against him : the father of my little Hden shall never
be publicly accused by me.'
itm^^tm
ISO
CHAMBERS'S EDWBmiOH JOtJBNAti.
•T<m err, ISdith' I rejoined j • it is a poritire duty to
bring 10 consummftte a yillain to juf tice. He has evi-
dentty calculated on jtmt gentleness of disposition, and
tttust be disappointed.'
I soon, bowever, found it was impossible to sbake her
resolution on this point ; and I returned with a heart
full of grief and bitterness to Mr Harlowe.
* Tou will oblige tne, sir,' I ezcUimed as I entered
the room, ' by learing this house immediately : I would
hold no fiirther converse with so Tile a person/
* How I Do yon know to whom you presume to speak
in this manner?'
* Perfectly. Yotl are one Harlowe, who, after a few
months' residence with a beautiful and amiable girl,
had extinguished the passion which induced him to
offer her marriage, showered on her every species of
insult and indignity of which a cowardly and malignant
nature is capable ; and who, finding that did bot kill
her, at length consummated, or revealed, I do not yet
know which term is most applicable, his utter baseness
by causing her to be informed that his first wife was
stiU living.'
* Upon my honour, sir, I believed, when 1 married
Hiss Willoughby, that I was a widower.'
' Tour honour ! But except to prove that I do tho-
roughly know and appreciate the person I am address-
ing, I will not bandy words with you. After that ter-
rible disclosure — if, indeed, it be a disclosure, not an in-
vention Ah, you start at that!'
' At your insolence, sir *, not at your senseless dur-
mises.'
' Time and the law will show. After, I repeat, this
terrible disclosure or invention, you, not content with
obtaining from your victim's generosity a positive pro-
mise that she would not send you to the hulks *
* Sir, have a care.*
* Pooh ! I say, not content with exacting this pro-
mise from your victim, you, with your wife, or accom-
plice, threatened not only to take her child fh)m her,
but to lock her up in a madhouse, unless she subscribed
a paper, confessing that she knew, when you espoused
her, that you were a married man. Now, sir, do I, or
do I not, thoroughly know who and what the man is I
'am addressing?'
* Sir,' returned Harlowe, recovering his audacity some-
what, * spite of all your hectoring and abuse, I defy
you to obtain proof— legal proof— whether what Edith
has heard is true or false. The affair may perhaps be
arranged : let her return with me.'
' Tou know she would die first : but it is quite use-
less to prolong this conversation ; and I agahi request
you to leave this house.'
* If Miss Willoughby would accept an allowance '
The cool audacity of this proposal to make me an
instrument in compromising a felony exasperated me
beyond all bounds. I rang the bell violently, and desired
the servant who answered it to show Mr Harlowe out
of the house. Finding further persistence useless, the
baffled villain snatched up his hat, and with a look and
gesture of rage and contempt hurried out of the apart-
ment.
The prof^ion of a barrister necessarily begets habits
of coolness and reflection under the most exciting circum-
stances ; but t confess that in this instance my ordi-
nary equanimity was so much disturbed, that it was
some time before I could command sufficient composure
to reason calmly upon the strange revelations made to
me by Bdith, and the nature of the measures necessary
to adopt in order to clear up the mystery attaching to
them. She persisted in her refusal to have recourse to
legal measures with a view to the punishment of Har-
lowe ; and I finally determined — after a conference with
Mr Ferret, who, having acted for the first Mrs Harlowe,
I naturally conjectured must know something of her
history and connections — ^to take for the present no
ostensible steps in the matter. Mr Ferret, like myself,
was persuadea that the sham resuscitation of his first
wife was a mere tricky to enable Harlowe to rid himself
of the presence of a woman he no longer cared lor. * I
will take an opportunity,' said Mr Ferret, * of quietij
questioning Richards : he must have known the first
wife ; Eleanor Wickham, I remember, was her majdeo
name ; and if not bought over by Hariowe — a by-no-
means impossitte purchase— can set us right at once.
I did not understand that the said Eleanor was at s&
celebrated for beauty and aocomplishmenta, sudi u
you say Miss Willoughby — ^Mrs Hariowe I mean— de-
scribes. She was a native of Dorsetshire too, I reftein-
ber; and the foreign Italian accent you mention fa
rarely, I fancy, picked up in that charming county.
Some flashy opera-dancer, depend upon It, whowi he
has contracted a passing fancy for : a slippery gentie-
man certainly ; but, with a little caution, we shall not
fail to trip his heels tip, clever as he may be*
A stronger wrestler than either of us was upon the
track of the unhappy man. Edith had not been with
us above three weeks, when one of Mr Hariowe's ser»
vants called at my chambers to say that hia roaster, in
consequence of a wound he had inflicted on his fix^
with an axe, whilst amusing himself with cnitting or
pruning some trees in the grounds at Falrdown, was
seriously ill, and had expressed a wish to see me. I
could not leave town ; but as it was important Mr Har-
lowe should be seen, 1 requested Mr Ffertet to proceed-
to Fairdown House. He did so, and Ute in the evening
returned with the startling intelligence tiial Mr Har-
lowe was dead !
* Dead !' I exclaimed, much shocked. * Are you se-
rious?*
*As a Judge. He expired, about an hour after I
reached the house, of Utanut, commonly called locked-
jaw. His body, by the contraction of Uie mnsdes, was
bent like a bow, and rested on his heels and the tedL
part of his head. He Was incapable of speech long
before I saw him ; but there was a worid of agoniiei
expression in his eyes I '
* Dreadfdl 1 Tour journey was useless then ?'
* Not precisely. I saw the pretended former wift: a
glendid woman, and as much Eleanor Wickham of
orsetshire as I Am. They mean, howet«r, to show
fight. I think ; for. as I left the place, I observed that j
deligntAil knave Richards enter Uie house. I took fbn .
liberty of placing seals upoU the desks and caUoets,
and directed the butler and other servants to see that !
nothing was disturbed or removed till Mrs HarioveV-
the true Mrs Hariowe's — arrival.' '
The fhneral was to take place on the following Wed-
nesday ; and it Was finally arranged that both of «s
would accompany Edith to Fairdown on the di^ sAer
it had taken place, and adopt such measures as orcMD-
stances might render necessary. Mr Ferrtf wroCc to
this effect to all parties concerned.
On arriving at the house, I, Ferret, and Kn Haflowe
proceeded at once to the drawing-room, where we Icwnd
the pretended wife seated in great state, supported on
one side by Mr Richards, and on the other byMr
Quillet the eminent proctor. Edith was dreaOM^
agitated, and clung frightened and trembling to apr
arm. I conducted her to a seat, and placed myatlf W>
side her, leaving Mr Ferret — whom so tremenddW a
array of law and learning, evincing a detenmoaiSoa ts
fight the matter out d /'onfroace, flUed with lijmliMsBt
glee — ^to open the conference.
* Good-morning, madam,' cried he the tnomesl^t
entered the room, and quite unaffected by the IbIn^
scornful and haughty stare : ' good-noomlng ; I am at-
lighted to see you in such exoc&nt company. TmAo
not, I hope, forget that t once had the hooour of ttWt*
acting business for you?'
'You had transactions of my tmsiaets!* nU tti
kdy. • When, I pray you ? '
'God bless me!' cried Ferret, addfeHfag RSctaM*
'what a charming Italian accent; and out of
shire too ! '
* Dorsetshire, sir ?' exdaimed the lady.
'Ay, Dorsetshire to be sure. Why, Mr
1
t
I
I
;
I
I
OHAHHBBSrB EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
151
our rMpteled olieol AHmurt to bare forgolteii her pkee
of birth I How vtrj extraordinary 1'
Ifr Bichardi now interfered, to eay thai Mr Ferret
waa apparently labouring under a ttranne inieappr&-
henaion. * This la^y/ oontinqed he, * ie Madame Giol-
lattaCoiellL'
' Whe 0 0 wl' rejoined Ferret, thrown for an in*
•tant off hie balance by the enddennest of the oon-
fesaion, and perhaps a UMle disappointed at eo placable
atermhiationofthediepote— *GiallettaOoieUil What
ie the meaning of this array thai ? '
' I am glad, madam,' said I, interposing for the first
tuae in the conrersation, * fbr year own sake, ttiat yon
hmre been adTised not to persist in the senseless as
well as iniquitous scheme dcTised \jy the late Mr
Hariowei but this being the case, I am greatly at a loss
to know why either yeu or these legal gentlemen are
here?'
The briUiant eyes <tf the Italian flashed with trium-
phant secon, and a smile of contemptuous irony curled
her beautiful Hp as she replied—* These legal gentlemen
will not haTe muoh difficulty in explaining my right to
remain in my own house.'
' ybur house?'
'Preeisely, sir/ replied Mr Quillet < This mansion,
together with all other property, real and personal, of
which the deceeeed Henry Harlowe died possessed, is
beqiieatlied hj will— dated about a month since— to this
lady, Giulletto Gorelli.'
'A wilir exclaimed Mr Ferret with an exploslTe
shoat I and turning to me, whilst his sharp gray ^yes
daneed with irrepressible mirth-— * Bid I not tdl you
so?'
' Tour usual sagacity, Mr Ferret, has not in this in-
stance failed you« Perhaps you will permit me to read
the will? But before I do so,' continued Mr Quillet,
as he drew his gold*rimmed spectacles ftaok their
motoooo dieath — * you will allow me, if you please, to
stale that tiie legatee, ddlcately appreciating the posi-
tion of the widow, will allow her any reasonable annuity
— aaj fire hundred pounds per annum fbr life.'
«WiU she reaUy though?' cried Mr Ferret, boUing
over with eestacy. * Madam, let me beg of you to con-
firm this gracious promise.'
* Oeftainly I do.'
* Capitil 1— glorious ! ' rejoined Ferret } and I thought
he -was shout to perform a saltatory morement, that
muat haTe brought his cranium into damaging con-
tact with the chiuidelier under which he was standing.
' Is it not delightfhl ? How erery one— especially an
attorney— -knres a generous giTer 1'
MLr Richards appeared to be rendered somewhat un-
eaar by these strange demonstrations. He knew Ferret
w^ and eridently suspected that something was wrong
somewhere. * Perhaps, Mr Quillet,' said he^ ' you had
better read tiie will at once.'
This was done t the instrument derised in legal and
miMie Ibnn all the property, reid and personal, to
G4iilleCla Corelli — a natural-bom sutr}ect of his majesty
it appeared, though of fbreign parentage, and of partially
fofcigu education.
' Allow me to say,' broke in Mr Ferret, intermpting
me as I was about to speak — 'allow me to say, Mr
Ricbards, that that will does you credit: it is, I should
eay, a first-rate afikir, for a country practitioner etpe-
dally. But df course you submitted the draught to
oooBsel?'
« Certainly I did,' said Richards tartly.
' No doubt— no doubt. Clearness and precision like
thai could only haTe proceeded fnm a roaster's hand.
I shall take a copy or that will, Richards, for future
guSdamse, you may depend, the instant it is registered
in Doctors' Commons.
* Come, come, Mr Ferret,' stid I ; ' this jesting is all
Tcry well ; but it is quite time the farce slrould end.'
* Faroe I' exclaimed Mr Richards.
« Ferce 1' growled doubtful Ut QuiUei
* FftmA 1 ' mnnnnr«d tha heantifnl O-inlletta.
*FaroeI' cried Mr Ferret « My dear sir, it is about
one of the most charming and genteel comedies ercar
enacted on any stege, end the principal part, too, by
one of the most charming of prima donnas. Allow me,
sir— don't interrupt mel it ie too delicious to be shared ;
it is indeed. Mr Richards, and you, Mr Quillet, will
you permit me to obserre that this admirable will has
one slight defect?'
' A defect I where how ?'
*It is really heartbreaking that so much skill and
ingenuity should be thrown away; but the fact is,
gentlemen, that the excellent person who signed it
had no property to bequeath 1 *
•How?'
•Notashilling'iworth. Alk>wme» sir, if you please.
This piece of parchment, gentlemen, is, I haTe the
pleasure to inform you, a marriage settlement'
* A marriage settlement I' excUimed both the men of
law in a breath.
' A marriage settlement^ by which, in the erent of
Mr Harknre's decease, his entire property passes to his
wiib, in trust for the children, if any ; and if not, abio*
hitety to herselfl' F^ret threw the deed on the Uble,
and then giTing way to conTulsiTO mirth, threw Mm-
sdf upon the soft, and fairly shouted with glee.
Mr Quillet seized the document nnd, with Richards,
eagerly perused it The proctor then rose, and bowing
graTcly to his astonished dient taid, *The will,
madam, is waste paper. You haTe been deoeiTed.' He
then left the apartment
The consternation of the lady and her attorney may
be conoeiTed. Madam Corelli, giTing way to her fiery
passions. Tented her. disappointment in passionate re-
proaches of the deceased ; the only effect of which was
to lay bare still more clearly than before her own cupi-
dity and foUy, and to increase Edith's painful agiUtion.
I led her down stairs to ray wife, who, I omitted to men-
tion, had accompanied us firom town, and remained in
the library with the children during onr conference. In
a Tory short time afterwards Bfr Ferret had cleared the
house of its IntrusiTe guests, and we had leisure to offer
our condolences and congratulations to our grateful and
interesting client It was long before Edith recoTcred
her former gaiety and health ; and I doubt if she would
CTer haTe thoroughly regained her old cheerfulness and
elasticity of mind, had it not been for her labour of Iotc
in superintending and directing the education of her
daughter Helen, a charming girl, who fortunately in-
herited nothing from her father but his wealth. The
last time I remember to haTe danced was at Helen's
wedding. She married a distinguished Irish gentleman,
with whom, and her mother, I perceiTc by the news-
papers, she appeared at Queen Victoria's court in Dub-
Un, one, I am sure, of the brightest stars which glittered
in that galaxy of beauty and fashion.
MODEL LODGINGS.
In tiie lowest neighbourhoods of almost CTery town
may be seen a notification of where 'Lodgings for
TraTellers* are to be had. In London, there are alto-
gether three or fbur thousand of them. Such houses
are not only used by the humble class of trsTellers
called * tramps,' but by indiTiduals whom poTerty has
rendered houseless, or whom Tice has cast out firom the
pale of society. There are Tarious grades of these
houses, and a night* s lodging is to be had at a price
per night of from one penny to sixpence. The • sleeping
accommodation,' as the owners are pleased to call it,
consists of the bare boards, of straw, or of a bedstead
and bedding, according to the price paid. There is a
kitchen, and a fire for cooking. Some of the lodging
housekeepers are also chandlers, and supply their guests
with articles of food : nearlT all are * dealers in marine
stores,' which is in most instances a paraphrase for
' receiTcrs of stolen goods,' a great proportion of tiieir
customers being professed thieTes.
We haTa seen a room in Omhftni Rtmufc. WegtinlilslM.
^lU
152
CHAMBiXRS^ EDINBUItGH JOURNAL.
in which two penooi could fotroely sleep hahitiudly
without losing their health — bo small was it, and so
badly yeotilated— where it was no uncommon thing for
twenty individuals, of different ages and sexes, to pass
the night On the floor was a large rag, and no bed-
clothing ; and to make the most of the space, the parties
lay in a circle, with their feet in the oentrew Another
dormitory in Anne Street* Westminster, had sixteen
beds in two small rooms ; each bed held on most occa-
sions three individuals ; so that, in a spaoe not larger
than about eight paces by six, an average of forty per-
sons were huddled together every night throughout the
year. One Sunday afternoon we descended into the
kitchen of another lodging-house : it had no window,
but the door opened upon a yard: the stench was
scarcely endurable, for it was dinner-time ; when about
thirty beings were assembled, consisting of thieves,
beggars, artisans out of work, itinerant musicians,
runaway country lads, girls, women, .babie9« dogs, -a
cat, and in the yard several pigs in a sty. AU sorts
of viands — none of them the most agreeable to the
olfactory nerves — were being cooked and, eaten ; and to
render the air ^e less endurable, and more deleterious,
a woman in one comer was making matches with sul-
phur. The confusion of tongues was also indescrib-
jible : qnarreI^n^» laughing, moaning, and the crying of
children were joine4 in a most complicated hubbub,
the stentorian voice of the landlord occasionally rising
abpve the rest to demand 'less noise,' or to threaten
some troublesome person with expulsion. This man
was, we understood from our companion (a missionary),
a thorough specinien of his class. HefoUpwed a mul^-
pUbiiv of trades, find was, it was thought, growing rich.
Besides being a lodging-hQU8e-ke^p^r,>na gener^U pur^
veyor. of meat and driiik, he bought, sold, And lent cloth-
ing of all descriptions. From Ms wardrobe any sort pf
beggar could be manufactured^ He could ' turn out' a
slniuiated sailor-;-with jacket^ straw-hat, and even the
two curling locks of hair ^hidi tars Uke to cultivate—
so well, that to all oiitwjird appearance the feUow had
only just atepped ashore. He had also aprons for bank-
rupt tradesmen, and t^^ proper costume for a distressed
weaver. He sold matches, baU^ids, stationery, and other
stock -ih- trade for itinerant venders;. he also. lent out
stalls and baskets to perambulating fruit^eflers. He
bought . spurious cpin, and gave such of lus lodgers as
he cottldt. trust large commissions for passing it This
branch of dishonesty is generally performed by coster-
mongers, who give the bad money in the form of change
to t&ir t^nsuspecting customers.
The pictures of crfme, vice, misery, aitd disgust which
lihese l^ging-hpu9es present, are scarcely credible even
ijo a cursory observer of thew : It is only upon getting
B d^p insight into lifb' in these places that conviction
gains streng^. As to the ainlost ingenious devices of
fmraOr^ity which are practised, no perf5?ct notion can
be gaine£ Of the social degradation and comfortless
barbarism these places exhibit, it may be safely stated
that the wigwam 6f the Red Indian, the tent of the
!Bedomn, or the cone of the Bechuann, is more conve-
nient and decent than many of these lodgings.
Th0 most distressing circumstance connected with
ijbese dens of iniquity is, that Ijhey act as traps to draw
the innocent into the circle of denjoralisation and crime.
Poverty drives the well-intentioned into these places ;
fbr, till lately, they had no choice. An artisan or a
country boy, who had no more than threepence to lay
out in house acoon^modation for one day, was driven to
^hese lodgings ; f6r at that price there existed no others.
The faciUties offered for begging and thieving in these
veceptaioles rendered those employments the more tempt-
ing; especially when presented as easy relief from acute
want, «9d eseape from despair. By these lodging-
honses 4done, the number^ the criminal and dangerous
dasses is increased every year by thousands.
. But suppose the wretched wayfarer has no money
whatever? Where does he rest ? The answer is in the
facVthai tb»r« is^ncMoely.aiarge town in the kingdom
in which many have no other bed tiian the sfeonet, and
no other covering than their own rags. In London and
other large towns every night, winter and snminer, then
are thousands who sleep under the dry arches of hhAgm,
in empty casks, carts, and tracks, in old bcukn, oo
ash-heaps, in empty or half-built houses, or aiijFshiwe
they can creep in unnoticed. And here, too, the good
heI^d with the bad, and vice and eorraptioii meet the
unfortunate wherever they tnra.
Theee disastrous evils have been kmg deplored. Tkm
efforts to correct tbem-^thougfa never so soooeaMlf
and comprehensively carried out •■ now — are not of re-
cent origin. Endowments fbr the rapport of reoqrtioB-
honses for wayfarers have been beqneetiiad by charit-
able testators in many parts of England, mod wmm «f
them are centuries old. Not a few have been so fiossiy
abused and misapplied, that the yerj intentions of ^
founders have been perv^ted or forgotten. Sons^
however, still exist : one of the best specnnens is a neat,
dean house in tiie prindpal street id Bocfaester, oo the
high rood, between London and the contiDcot, in wfakh
bed, and breakfast, and a groat, are aflbrded to peer
travellers for one or two nights each, piovidBd Ihey be
not ' beggars or proctors.'
The tint suoe^sfnl attempt to cover vsgraat vratebed-
ness with a roof on an enlainsed mfUem was mode in the
winter of 1819. A few private individnais proposed a
plan for setting np a * Nightly Shelter far the Hoaadess
Poor ' in London. A meeting was eoUed at Gealdhsll ;
and such was the ensigy of thoee who ooodocled tiM
work, that, within «x hours alter it bad disposed, aa
asylum was opened in London Walt the pieniises hav-
ing been gratuitously appropriated by their owner. Ns
tickets nor receaunendation were reqoifed. AH who
were so wretched that they were forced to elesp apea
strawr— f^r snch oidy was the provisioo at first for tbs
men — ^were reeetted. For the females a little beddiog
was provided. In the morning, an allonrance of ssep
and l^ead saved; many a starving wxetek from onadsj^
destitntioa. An avwage of 206 nightly was thas ad*
matted, consisting of several of the most defeased dasss
of fociety . Women who had lost all trace or knowMfs
of reiigiouB educat«onr^men careworn,
hopeless — rushed into this temporary aaylnm.
In process of time improvements
several branch asylums were erected. Thoee whe de-
sire to see the system carried ont in one of the
wretched neighbourhoods of London, should visit
house -Yard, East Smithfldd, wiUiin the
vicinity of Bos^mary Lane. Yon wiU enti
space by a narrow lane, and observe theeein two boild-
ings, or rather large sheds, separoted^oniji hgr a yard.
One of these is the ' Refuge for the .
ai^othier, the ' Modd Lodging.Hoooe,* m
^hich we shall come presently. The
contains two large lofty apartments^ lesM in
roughly wiUi beams and rafters, like an
granary. One of these is a common re
dormitory. In the common room the wandems
ceived in the evening; and supi^ied with
veuiences for cooking and eating audi
they may bring. When they retire to r^ tlM^
a dormitory, in which each bed is separated hy a
tion which rises to a certain height. In the
the institution the beds consisted of stiaw
now formed of India-rubber, and providod with
lets of leather. Every morning, as the dmn
from his bed, a man comes in, washes it
leaves it to dry. A similar process guarda the
coverlet from infection or from dirt For this
twopence a night is now paid; and such are tlie
afforded, and so gratefully are they aj^ireoiaSs^
the same persons return to it again and again,
men of respectable character even reeort to il^
it their permanent abode.*
to
* Se6 an artlde In *
Charitits of London.*
Frssec'slfafaalBs ' for Ji
L
timm
tfMWH*iaa
rf tt>
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
153
nwfe refuges for deititiitioii multiplied mpidly ; not
oo]jr in the poorer parte of the metropdis, bat in ererj
]ugt town in Great Britain. Some are wholly gnu
taitom. The House of Befbge in Edinburgh, for ex-
stnple, giTes bed and porridge gratis to all comers for
one night ; and if the case be deserving, for a week.
It is not only the casual lodger in distressed drcum-
•taooes who finds it impossible to obtain decent aocom-
modatiott ; the humble artisan or ill-paid derk is nearly
ssillofll The 'furnished' or * unfaniished ' lodgings
which they can affnrd to provide for themselves and their
families {it they be married) are for the most part dear,
dirtf , and inconvenient Within the last three years a
determined eflfbrt has been made by certain benevolent
peisoos in high places to increase the household com-
fbrti of their poorer brethren. Several societies, sup-
' portsd by liberal subscriptions, for improving the status
of tiis humbler classes, have been framed. Of these, two
have done good service by building Model Lodging-
Hooses, to meet the demands of each class needing them,
and to grapple with the worst of the evils the lodgings
we have described engender. Other societies also exist
for the purpose of publishing tracts, and other printed
persuasions to moral and social regeneration. These,
however, though useful to some extent, can do little good
compared with the substantial benefits conferred by the
fint-aaroed associations. * No description or reasoning,
however aecurate,' it is said in one of the Reports of the
*8odety for the Improvement of the Condition of the
Labooriog-Classes,' *is likdy to make such an impres-
•ioo on the public as an actual experiment. Hence the
oommittee resolved on building a certain number of
betues as models of the different kind of dwellings
which they would recommend for the labouring-classes
in populous towms.'
* Tbe Sociely for the Improvement of the Condition
of the Labouring4^1asses ' has already provided build-
ings for lodgers, fbom the mechanic in temporary or
permanent employment down to the * tramp.' For the
former class, the houses are intended to supersede the
dear and dirty-furnished lodgings which abound in the
fen aflSuent parts of the town, and are let for not less
tfaaa a week at a time ; for the second and more migra-
tory order of lodgers, the Model Houses are let off at
•0 much per niglit, and have withdrawn many of the
pooiest among traveliera from the low lodging-houses
vhich abound in Westminster, St Giles's, Drury Lane,
sad WhitechapeL Nor do the efforts of this associa-
tion stop here: they endeavour to extend the cottage
tad field-garden allotment system, also the introduction
tod extension of friendly-benefit and loan societies. At
present, however, their efforts have been chiefly directed
to building.
The stmctores, either finished or in progress, which
bdoBg to this society are — l«t, A series of bidldings near
Bsgaigge Wells, London, consisting of nine small houses
for one family each t serven for two families each ; and
ooe large house for thirty aged females. As soon as
thisnmge of dwellings was built, it was fully occupied
bypetsooa who have continued to pay a low but remu-
nerating rent regularly, and express thankfulness for
the accommodation they get. 2rf, A nightly lodgiug-
hoose in Charles Street, Drury Lane, with a supple-
mentary one — arising out of the overflow of demand for
tcoomiiiodatiim in the former^in the next street. King
Stre^ 8<i, A large weekly lodging-house in George
S^eet, St Giles's, accommodating 104 male inmates.
4<^ A simiUr house in Hatton Garden, capable of con-
taining 57 single women, which has recently been opened.
'^ most important undertaking of this society has,
nwrever, not yet been commenc^ — a house to aocom-
DM)date a large number (48) of families, in such a man-
ner as that each tenement shall be so distinct from
the other, aa not only to confer privacy, but escape by
such isolation from the odious window-tax.
The directors romark in their Repori that * amongst
the most important considerations has been that of
preserving the domestio nrivacv and indenendence of
each distinct family, and so disconnecting their apart-
ments, as eff^tually to prevent the communication of
contagious diseases. This, it will be seen, on a reference
to the plan, is accomplished by dispensing altogether
with separate staircases and other internal communica-
tions between the different storeys, and by adopting one
common open staircase, leading into galleries or corridors,
open on one side to a spacious quadrangle, and on the
other side having the outer-doora of the several tene-
ments, the rooms of which are protected from draught
by a small entrance lobby. The galleries are supported
next the quadrangle by a series of arcades, each em-
bracing two storeys in height, and the slate floon of the
intermediate galleries rest on iron beams, which also
carry the endosure railing.' This will in fact be an
attempt to introduce into London the system of * flats,'
so successfully followed in Scotland from time imme-
morial The building will be situated in Streatham
Street, Bloomsbury, near New Oxford Street, and will
cost, according to estimate, L.7370.
The capital subscribed by this society is purely dona-
tive; for idthough, as a commercial speculation, the
buildings would pay 5 per cent and upwards, yet the
profits are laid by for further investment in such new
btdldings as may be required.
AnoUier society — ' The Metropolitan Association for
Improving the Dwellings of the Industrioiis Classes' —
is partly a benevolent, and partly a commercial insti-
tution. The subscribera receive the profits of their
capital in half-yearly dividends ; and to show how truat-
worthy their humble tenants have proved, and how
valuable is the investment^ we find by the last Report
that out of L.ld90 due from the St Pancras Metro-
politan Buildings * last year for rent, upwards of L.1382
were paid, leaving only a balance of L.7 odd shillings to
appear on the defaulters' list. Another set of bailings
is about to be erected by this society in Spicer Street,
Spitalfields, the largest in size and pretension of any
yet attempted. One portion will consiit of accommo-
dation for 334 single men, each having a sleeping apart-
ment 8 feet by 4 feet 6 inches ; the use of a spacious
kitchen, cook's shop, coffee-room, lecture-room, read-
ing-room, baths, washhouses, lavatories, &c. This will
come very nearly to the conveniences, without the luxu-
ries, of the West-End club-houses. Another portion of
the plan includes dwellings for families. Great advan-
tages are expected from the cootiguity of these two
biHldings. The lecture-room, used in an evening by
the tenants of the dormitory, will serve as a schoolroom,
during the day, for tlie children residing in the dwell-
ings ; and the families, by distinct approaches, and at
stated hours, having the use of the baths, washhouses,
and the cook's shop, in the dormitory, the heat from
the flues of which furnishes an inexpensive mode of
ventilation. The absence of this accommodation at the
dwellings in the Old Pancras Hoad has often been re-
marked upon and felt.
Such are the achievements and projects of these two
extensive societies; but there are others doing, in a
quiet, unobtrusive way, incalculable benefit. The humble
establishment in Great Peter Street, Westminster —
which was described in this Journal in 1847t — is still
successfully conducted by its able and intelligent su-
perintendent, under the active and benevolent super-
vision of Lord Kinnaird and its other founders and sup-
porters. This house presents an advantage hardly heeded
by those not intimately acquainted with the habits and
feelings of the poor : it has not the ' workhouse ' look
which the more systematically-planned and larger model
establishments present However unreasonable sudi a
prejudice may be, it exists, and has to be grappled with ;
for it has been the means of deterring a few poor per-
sons, who have a shuddering, but by no means un-
wholesome, dread of * the Union.' llie whole of the
arrangemenU of the Great Peter Street House are of a
• For a deMTlption of this buiUinff, ms this Journal, No. 888.
4- Vnl vlll TV 111 -K^w^a — ««-
more domestic cbaimeter: more community araoog the
lodgen Memt attainable than in the never houses. It
is, as vas explained in the former article, a casual
lodging-house, open to all entrants who are not filthy
or drunk, at 8d. per night, or Is. 6d. per week, the
Bunday's lodging being gratis. Yet, although doubt-
less professional thieres, and certainly persons in Uie
last stage of destitution, occasionally sojourn there,
noUiing has been stolen bdonging to the house except
a couple of blankets about eighteen mont^ aga The
establishnient consists of three old houses communicat-
ing with eadi other, admirably Tentilated, and can
accommodate 117 inmates. When we Tisited it the
other day, there were only 100 lodgers — the usual
arerage for summer, when Uie labouring and itinerant
dasses go into the country to haryesting^ or ibUow the
fashionable world to the sea-side.
Somewhat on the eame principle, although intended
for more respectable lodgers, b the St Anne's House in
Compton Street, Soho. It was founded, like the abore,
1^ a small number of priTate gentlemen, with the rector
of the parish at their head, with the Tiew of testing the
practicability of providing such a resort on an inexpen-
siTc and self-supporting plan ; but with this rule, that
all surplus shall be devoted to charitable uses oonneoted
with the establishment — a rule similar to that of the
* Society for Improring the Condition of the Labouring-
Glasses.* They took a dwelling-house formerly con-
nected with shops, and with very little expense con-
Terted it into accommodation for ISO inmates. Those
for whom it is intended are persons to whom great pri-
TBtions are not unfamiliar, and whoee generally superior
inteUigenoe and original education reader such priva-
tions peculiariy trying and injurious. The charge, in-
cluding coals, gas, provision for cooking, hot and cold
baths, &C. is Ss. 6d. per week. It is under the direo-
tion of a steward, who is responsible for the manage-
ment of the house. It has only been open a fow
months, and has already upwards of 60 inmates.
When we have drawn attention to the Model Lodg-
ing-House in Olass-House Yard, before-mentioned, we
believe we have named all such asylums that exist in
London. This estaMishment — near to one of the largest
and most beneficial baths and washhouses in the metro-
polis— is a large building of three floors, divided into
difiereni wards. The whole tenement forms an oblong
square, having a large, airy, unoccupied space behind.
It was formerly a glass manufactory, which gave the
name to the yard it is in, and was converted to its pre-
sent purpose at a moderate expense, contributed by a f^
benevolent and generous neighbours and their friends.
We have thought it useful to mark and to record the
success of the earnest efibrts of the metropolitan oom-
munity for improving the comforts and morals of their
poorer brethren, in order to contribute, by all the pub-
licity we can give, to the spread of such institutions
throughout the country. A subsequent article on this
subject will embrace an account of a night passed in
one of the Metropolitan Lodging-Houses.
SIR GEORGE HEAD'S WORK ON ROME.*
Amoito the numerous associations connected with Borne,
the classical will of course always predominate, or at
least so long as our modem systems of education shall
continue to be based on the study of antiquity. Yet,
philosophically speaking. It is far more profitable to
comprehend the people who now inhabit the Seven
Hills, than to grope through a labyrinth of architectu-
ral obscurities after the vestiges of a nation long past
away, however great and illustrious formerly. The new
work of Sir George Head leaves nothing to be desired
respecting the more ancient and histeri^ points of in-
terest, as well as matters of social concern, in Rome. The
work, which is written with good taste, is based on an
* Hone : a TVmr of Many Days^ By Sir Qasrga Head. In three
volames. liondon: Longman.
inunense an^onnt of Hutterial, laboriously and eaiefoQy
ooUected axid arranged with considerable akilL Thedty
and its environs are mapped out upon a jodickms plu;
and while the reader is conducted through its varioai
divisions, he is amused by the way with legends, anio-
dotes, brief records of habits and cuatoma, pictures cf
manners, and illustrations of national cliaraot«r, whidi
indicate no mean talent for observation. There is, ia-
deed, nothing of that novelty, freshneaa, and aparkhH
vivacity of language which enable descriptiona to pr»>
duce the effect of pietnrea. Sir George Head ia nov^y
akin to the poet or the painter. He is, nevertheleM^ a
man of acute perceptioo, who knowa what viU tell; Md
haa the power, by enumwation and repeated tondbs^
to produce a result i^>proaching that of pieteuesfis
writing.
It will doubtless be poasiUe, from the deacriptiai cf
a hundred and fifty churchea, palacea, viUaa, mnaeMM,
and iMcture-galleries, to select nsaterials lor maay fea-
sant articles ; but we prefer juat uow conflntng owsdvei
to passages illustrating the character of thai populatiaa
wfaMMo heroio defonee of their heartha and altars has ss
strongly impressed all Burope in their iavoor. Brave
the Bomans may be ; but if there be any truth in the
following trait <^ character, mui^ ia de^uUe in point
of honesty. The author ia deacriUog the great wood-
yard of Rome. It lies near the Tiber, and you paaackiae
to it as you approach the Porta del Fupole by the andcnt
Flaminian way. * A spacious and commodious spot of
ground has been enclosed, whence firewood ia delivefcd
to foreigners and other customers, in eart-loeds or half
cart-loada, at a price regulated by a tarii^ the jfitswrsls
of the public being protected by a gawvnaamt Inc-
tionary* whose duty is to have jostioe dosie betwcea ths
person employed to superintend the delivery aad the
purchaser, and especially to aee that none taat itiaight-
ened fair billets are laden, and that all the etooked aad
distorted branches are icjected. KotwithateodiDg these
precautions, the negotiatiaa altogether, incMing the
purchasing and conveying homeward of « load of wood,
if undertaken by an inexperieneed peraoo, iaaaBsv^ as
the government protection ceases the naoment the wood
is out of the yard, is liable to maay naiwslties so va-
rious, in fact, that one single pair of eyes is totally in-
sufiident, seeing that no manner of ndkuioe can be had
on the truth and good faith of the lower dasaes ; forthe
carter who carts &e wood, and the sawyer who sawt it»
have invariably a host of friends ready et head to back
their operationa, who think it do manner of harm to rob
i^/0r€ttierot and will most certainly ancoeed la doing
so, if not weU watched, to tiie extent of hsif the oargei
* Even the inhabitants themselvee are not less l^ible
to depredation on like occasions ; and one may ohaitve
invariably, on the arrival of a load of wood at a private
dwelling, that from the time the wood is shot out of the
cart in front of the door upon the pavemeni, as ia the
custom, and the sawyer erects his tresssl at the spot,
the Ust bUlet is safoly deposited within, either Um
ter or the mistress, or some trusty person of the is
is never for a moment absent from the sawyer's eBiov.'
From the woodyard our curious traveller
the place where pigs are slaughtered, bat
accompanying him. It will probably be
to our readers to take a glance or two at the
with the amusements, buflboneries, aad
which the Romans pave the way to the observatiaB
Lent This modem satumaha is said to have taken '
rise in the fifteenth century under Paul II. The
mans of course aimed at pre-emlnenoe over all
persons in the Catholic worid in the pomps aad ii
larities of the Carnival } but owing to a variety of
cumstances, the Venetians would appear, daring m ^^
generations, to have borne away the palai Dross ftm
papal metropolis. In those flourishing di^ of fklfl^
public, thirty thousand strangers used annually lafMi
the Alps for the purpose of witnessing the wQi ftellBicf
the Bride ci the Adriatic Those tines have BOir iM
passed awi^ : the lagocoa are aileat and autttaiy* #Bi
li
r
tilOM mperb floating CAbinets of luxnrj — the gondolai —
float through deserted canals beneath deserted palaces.
In Home, howeyer, the CamiTal is still a season of
gaietj and rejoicing, as the reader maj convince him-
self from 8ir George Head*s elaborate description. In
Venice, these fettirities were too often stained by assas-
sinations and crimes of all sorts; but though the poniard
has not 3ret gone out of use at Rome, the CamiTal seems
generally to pass oyer without any sanguinary display
of reyenge.
Tor the ordinary amusements, the masquerades, plays,
operas, races, and mutual pelting with sweetmeats, we
can aflbrd no space. But the i^culiar sport in which
the Romans indulge on the last night of the festival
deaerTCs perhaps to be described at length. It is, as Sir
George Head shrewdly observes, a game at romps,
play^ by a hundred thousand persons in the open air,
and is called * moccolo,' from a small taper six inches
long, and about the thickness of the little flnger, with
which every person is provided. All the previous day
theae tapers are Tigorously hawked about the streets,
until all those who mean to figure in the sport have
made their purchases. * About two hours after night-
ftill, when the Corso is dimly lighted by a fbw solitary
lanterns, suspended by cords, in the middle of the street,
at long Intervals, the darkness is suddenly enlivened by
thousands upon thousands of tiny lights that start
rapidly into existence, and rival the stars in the firma-
ment ; and as the fun begins immediately, the efl^t of
the spectacle — which altogether exceeds any account
that can be written of it — is considerably increased by
the perpetual alternations, caused by pufling out and
relighting the moccoli : producing to the sight an in-
finitely rapid twinkling, extending a mile in length, as
if a continuous swarm of fire-flies filled the air, or the
atmosphere was charged with meteoric scintillations.
The Corso is now again as light as day ; the streets
thronged with masks on foot, the double line of car-
riages, and the people in the balconies, while the noise
of chattering, squeaking, and screaming is as loud as
ever. A continuous howl, moreover, peculiar to the
occasion, is heard continually without a moment's re-
spite— a sound indescribable — an unearthly moaning,
which can be compared to nothing better than the howl-
ing of the wind mid a ship's shrouds in a hurricane.
It is produced by the words ian^a moccoh^ uttered by
many thousands of voices simultaneously, as a term
of reproach between neighbours, as one puff's out
another's moccolo. Meanwhile, as the carriages move
<m at a snail's pace, with frequent obstructions — the
inmates provided each with a lighted moccolo, and
more uniighted, ready for use — pedestrians, masked
and unmasked, assail the vehicles in gangs and singly,
and use occasionally a degree of violence in the act
which is hardly warrantable ; for, not content to cling
to the steps of the carriages like cockchafers, they ex-
tend their arms over the door within the vehicle, and in
endeavouring to extinguish the moccoli, scuffle with the
inmates. They not unfrequently, with a handkerchief
tied at the end of a stick for the puri>ose above-men-
tioned, inflict heavy stripes on the head and shoulders
of many a fair lady, and crush her pretty Roman bonnet
into the bargain. Nay, sometimes a party will actually
storm a carriage, and, for the sake of plunder, clamber
over the door like a troop of bandittf, wresting the
lighted moccoli from the hands of the owners, or rifling
the pockets and the seats under the cushions to find
them. All this time the people in the lower balconies
are no less formidable antagonists than the pedestrians,
for they arm themselves with napkins at the end of
long reeds or poles, of sufficient length to reach below,
and so flap out the moccoli.
• A regular scene of riot and romps is also going on
•nong the occupants of each separate balcony — one lady
perhaps holding the moccolo extended at arm's-length,
while the gentleman is doing his utmost to puff it out
over her shoulder ; and the various groups, like mounte-
t>ankB on a platform at a country tiie — as masks are
seldom worn on tiiese occasions — with the light shining
full in their faces, struggling together, and chasing one
another, as if they were enacting a dramatic show for
the benefit of the public. And such is the extraordinary
assortment of persons and personages who, by chanoe
and the casualties of the Carnival, may be found grouped
together, that I have seen literally a royal lady of the
House of Brunswick, an Italian monsignor, and an Eng-
lish dergyman, all engaged together, like children at
blind-man's-buff, in the most piping-hot state of conten-
tion imaginable in the same balcony.
* One grand conflict I remember to have seen between
the inhabitants of a flrst and second storey. Those in
the second, who at anyrate had the advantage of posi-
tion, harassed their antagonists not only by a bundle
of wet napkins, tied at the end of a long cord, with
which they soused out the others' moccoli, but siso by
a formidable engine, contrived of a hoop garnished all
round by triple lights, which served at once as an offen-
sive instrument and as a beacon of defiance ; for as the
hoop was suspended by a pole across the Moony, the
holder was enabled, by a Hdlftii turn of the wrist, to dis-
charge the molten wax which was passed from the macchi-
edations. The Ajax of the lower balcony— of which the
whole party, notwithstanding the overpowering force of
the enemy, kept their ground valianUy — a very corpu-
lent man, remarkable for a bald head that shone prodi-
giously, and a rosy countenance, seised the bundle of
wet napkins, and held on courageously, while his com-
rades essayed unsuccessfblly, with several blunt ease-
knives, one after another, to cut the rope. At last the
object was accomplished, and the fat man gained a vic-
tory— ^though, as in human aflkirs it generally turns eat,
not without paying dearly for the whistle; for* reduced
by his exertions to the most red-hot state of perspira-
tion imaginable, the blue coat he wore, covered with
melted wax in front, and over the broad Moulders, was
literally striped like a zebra.'
From splendour and gaiety, the transition, all the
world over, is exceedingly easy to the depths of squalor
and wretchedness. A palace with a beggar at the gate
may be regarded as the emblem of most capital cities,
but especially of Rome and Naples. You would almost
imagine in ItsJy that mendicants were persons of the
most refined taste, because you invariably find them
encamped in all t^e hideous picturesqueness of rags
wherever nature has put on an aspect of more than or-
dinary beauty, or collected her most magnificent crea-
tions. To strangers this is painful ; but the eye becomes
by degrees so completely recondled to groups of beggars
scattered over the fsfCe of the landscape, that a k^y of
our acquaintance used to dedare that a widk on the Pin-
cian would be nothing without them. At dl events, you
can only hope to escape thdr presence by getting up in
the early summer roomings at dawn, and then you could
never succeed a second time, because, as soon as the
noise of your expedition got wind, all the ragged frater-
nity would be there before the lights to invite you to
pave your way to the stars by charity. The merriest
beggars perhaps in all the world are to be found at
Naples. With a yard or two of macaroni, which they
buy by measure, like tape, they can subsist no one
knows how long; and while this treasure lasts, they are
too Iszy even to beg. At such seasons of sublime in-
dependence they lie, like mastiffs, in tlie sun, with eyes
half-dosed, in a state of dreamy ecstasy, the very para-
dise of laziness. If inclined to give, you must go to
them, and cast your charity into a tattered hat, which
lies there like a small crater, ready to receive anything ;
but as to the beggar's disturbing himsdf for the purpose
of putting out his hand, it is a thing not to be thought
of! He resembles a boa-constrictor after a meal ; and
so smooth, round, sleek, and glossy does he look, that
you dmost fancy you could roll him from Popilippo
to Yarento without indudng him to uncoil himsdf,
or get up courage enough to be angry.
The Roman beggars, though belonging of course to
the same caste, have their character considerably modi-
I
156
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBOH JOURNAL.
fied by drcnmstances. Rome forms the point of conflu-
ence of all the variouB streams of population in Europe,
who go thither from the east and from the west, ftrom
the north and fh>m the south, to taste the excitement
of superstition, pleasute, and classical traditions. These
multiplied masses of humanity rolling over the Romans,
render them in some sort round and polished beggars ;
and all our countrymen, who delight in taking in the
evening the air on the Pincian, assist considerably in
supporting the vagrants of Rome, whose chief, a fellow
that lives in a hovel, always takes his station on the
most commanding point of the hilL * The Roman beg-
gars, even under the dominion of an arbitrary govern-
ment, are the most independent people that can be ima-
gined ; for such is the comprehensive scheme of public
charity practised by the monastic e8tablishments---such
as the convent of Arecoeli and others — that they are
perfectly secured from absolute starvation, while their
wants are diminished and their spirits exhilarated by
the lovely climate. Neither is the profession of soliciting
alms looked upon, as in some other countries, as a state
of moral degradation ; but, on the contrary, suffered to
proceed as it does at present, is of considerable advan-
tage to the whole community ; the amount of the har-
vest which these people reap from the yearly influx to
Rome of foreigners, being in fact just so much saved to
the public And as a proof of the reliance on the aid
of visitors in this particular, it may be stated, that by
those who arrive in Rome early in the month of Oc-
tober, hardly a single beggar is encountered in the
streets from one end of the city to the other ; though
afterwards, at the end of the month, when the carriages
begin to ToU along the Oorso, attracted, as it were, by
the sound of tlie carriage- wheels, they emerge from
their holes simultaneously, like worms in a pattering
shower of rain upon a grass-plot. On such occasions,
at the commencement of a heah campaign, a visitor
who has resided in Rome before is invariably recog-
nised and accosted as an old acquaintance, in terms
that betray not the slightest consciousness of inferiority,
by the lame beggar whom I remember to have observed
one day, on his perceiving for the first time a newly-
arrived Englishman walk up the steps from the Piazza,
lift up his arms and exclaim with a joyous countenance,
just as if he had met a near relative, *'Caro Signorl"
"Eritomato?" " B stato in Ingilterra." **ya bene sua
excellenza." ''Benoi benissimo,'' replied the other, "e
vol ! ha fktto anche voi sua villegiatura ? " The last allu-
sion to his private affairs was responded to by a hearty
fit of laughter, that, as I proceeded onward towards the
promenade, appeared to illuminate ihe sightless orbs of
two blind members of the profi^ssion, who, as they stood
rattling their money-boxes on the gravd-walk a hun-
dred yards distant^ had heard the conversation.
* The effect too often of extreme poverty is to eradi-
cate fVora the mind the appreciation of the beautiful.
Onr ideas shrink and dwindle under the influence of
^nt and obscurity; at least this appears to be the
case in cold dimatet, where there is naturally but too
little disposition in men to derive delist from tile phe-
nomena of the elements. But where the sun encircles
lovingly the whole face of nature, rendering the land-
sdftpe almost transparent, and imparting a glorr to
everything within the range of vision, even the least
excitable persons feel tiie poetry emanating fVom the
whole material world. It is to be presumed, therefore,
that the very beggftrs who dream away their lives on
t^e Pincian Hill enjoy nightly the gloiions prospect of
the sun sinking behind the Hesperian main. Then and
there is the time and place to view a Roman sunset ;
for as the sun sinks behind Monte Mario, and his course
proceeds from north to south and from south to north
in the eeliptie, 8t Peter's stands in such a position in
the foreground, that during a country residence the
dxmie Is seen under all phases imaginable : sometimes,
when the blazing orb descends close on one side ; some-
times, when he descends on the other *, and sometimes,
wheft sinking direotly behind it, the whole circmn-
f^renoe is surrounded, as it were, by a belt of red-hot
iron. At tliis moment a spectator on the other side sf
the enclosure sees the rays reflected from the boog^ cf
the young trees, as the red beams mingle with the
foliage, till the whole plantation resemblea a goUea net-
work, and the passing carriages and horoan flguzei
appear enveloped in an ethereal mist, such ms poeli
have imagined in their descriptions a[ the gufdwis «f
the Hesperides.'
There is a compound of strange qualities ia tiie cha-
racter of the people of Italy, which is one of tiioK covn-
tries where law secures not life. Innocent persons aie
cut off daily by assassins ; but when the crime has bsen
committed, society feels ito sympathies awakened, and
steps in between the malefactor and death. We thoe,
consequently, behold on all sides the shedders c^ bumaa
blood; not shut up in dungeons, or consigned to the
guillotine or the halter, but walking about, maaaded
and in chains, administering to the meanest necessities
of the social system. At the coiner of any street yea
may, once a day at least, be elbowed by a mnrdeieK,
the nature of whose crime you are compelled to know
by the livery he wears. Gangs of malefkcton labour at
the public works, sweep the streets, cleanse the sewers,
and perform other oflSces, from which the humblest of
paid labourers would probably shrink. But a convict
has no choice : he is a living, breathing, and thinking
machine, whose energies are at the absdnte disposal off
society : the passions out of which this spring may he
in fierce lebeUion against it all the while. ' The ma-
nagement of the Pincian Gardens,' says Sir Gecvgs
Head, • is under the direction of the papal govern^
ment; and the labour performed — as is tiie case sfl
over Rome under similar circumstances — far the most
part by criminals convicted for homicide or robbsfj;
so that, as it not unfVequently happens, or, at anyrata,
occurred in the winter of 1841, during the repair of tiie
city-wall near the Muro Torto, forjy or flf^ of these
unfortunate men were seen marching, two and twt^
dressed in their prison dresses, striped black and brown,
with chains rattling on tlieir legs, driven like sheo by
the soldiers in charge of the par^ from one part of the
gardens to the other, in the midst of the above Uvsty
scene of dissipation. The sight, in fact, was so a
at the time I speak of, that it created no sort at
tion on the ptat of the visitors, neither did the eri
appear to be in the least eonscious of their degraded
dition On the contrary, no other class of the popa^
subjecto appear more thoughtless and lively thaa these
galley-slaves, o£ whom three or four work together, Mt
unfrequently under the surveillance of a single soldier,
both parties evidently on the moat easy "
with one anotlier, laughing and converring;
times tlie convict relaxes firom work for setet
together. Such is the familiar manner is which they
are treated by the soldiers, that while a squad were
mardiing from place to place, I have seeo a convict ship
out of the ranks, accost a sentry on duty— with 'flMaK*
I presume, he was previously acquainted-^^Mjn ■••
hind some time tallong while the rest proceeds ' ' "
snuff at parting, and then, attended by a sln^
of the guard—who, by the way, stood doee bgr
the conversation lasted — overtake the gang in ^
quick time when the conference ended. The
of the guard usually appointed on these -
about five or six infantry, and one or two i
goons before and behind the party, and the
both sides — the latter behaving in the moat
manner possible, lounging along lazily, rathi
marching, with unbuttoned jackets, and i
fixed bayoneto across their shoulders pointahig te
manner of directions.'
It should be remarked that passages like
are but thinly scattered through the three
which are filled with elaborate descriptioos
details connected with antiquities or the
and there, in the midst of such disquisitions,
with an anecdote or a trait of manners
t
I
!
I
GHAMBEilSra £IHKBUBOH JOURNAL.
157
Amusing. But, upon the whole, it is inforanation that
diould be looked for in the * Tour of Many Days/ and
information, moreover, of a somewhat unpopular kind.
Churchea, pictures, statues, ruins, are inrested with a
certain interest ; but not, we think, sufficiently powerful
to keep alire curiosity through three thick volumes
We wish, consequently, that the portions of the work
connected with the actual condition of the people had
been much larger in proportion. The diligent reader
may no doubt turn the perusal of the whole to good
account, because facts may generally be applied to more
purposes than one. But there is seldom any display of
critical power, or even of any taste for art as art This
dicnmstanoe, howerer, which may seem at first to be
an objection, will ultimately tend to enlarge the circula-
tioQ of the work ; because, while few can comprehend
philoeophical criticism, thousands can relish the gossip
in which Sir George Head indulges about architecture,
sculpture, and painting.
f * ■■
-fj*
WILSON THE VOCALIST.
Some weeks ago, the newspapers announced the death
of Mx John Wilson, the eminent Scottish voca^st This
melancholy and unexpected event took place at Quebec
on the 8th of July, having been caused by a sudden
attack of cholera. It would be ungracious to permit
Mr Wilson to pass from the stage of existence without
for a moment recalling what he has done to promote a
knowledge and love of Scottish music and song i nor is
Mr Wilson's career undeserving of notice, as an instance
of what may be accomplished hjr earnest perseverance^
along with good taste and geniaLaspirations.,
John WUson was born in Edinburgh in the year
1800, and began life as an apprentice to a printer. At
an eaiiy age he gave indications of high talent in hil
profession as a compositor, and he was ultimately en-
gaged aa a reader or correctpr of the press, by the well-
kDown James Ballantyne, the printer of Scott's novds,
a great portion of the manuscript of which passed
through the hands of Mr Wilson, who thus became
acquainted with the Author of Waverley^ At this
period Mr Wilson began to feel the defects of his early
education, for he had been sent to work when only ten
years of age, and he applied humself diligently to the
acquirement of the French and Latin languages, with &
view to qualify him for rising in his profession. By
close application in the evenings he soon became versed
in the two languages we have named ; and shortly after-
wards, in company with other two intimate friends, he
turned his attention to the study of Italian. We invite
the attention of the young to these circumstances ; a lad,
in the intervals of daily labour, actually acquiring a re-
spectable knowledge of Latin and other languages I
Mr Wilson was always passionately fond of singing ;
but in boyhood his voice was thin and husky in quality.
His taste was first formed under the auspices of Jolw
Mather, who at that time was leader and teacher of a
Dosical association called the Edinburgh Institution,
which met in the High Church aisle, and to the classes
of which great numbers of children were admitted
gratuitously. The tuition received at the Institution,
with some occasional practice in one of the church
choirs, improved his voice, and enabled him to read
music, more particularly psalm tunes. By and by he
obtained the office of precentor Reader of the psalmody)
in a dissenting chapel ; and as his services were required
only on Sunday, he was able to improve his circum-
stances without detriment to his week-day labours. In
1827, he finally left the printing business. He was now
well enipfoyed as a teacher of singing, and enaUed to
pot hinuelf under the tuition of one who still maintains
a high and honourable standing in his profession, Mr
Finlay Dun; and we have often heard the gratefUl
pupil express his warm acknowledgment of the Idndness
he received at the hands of his amiable and accom-
plfohed teacher.
Mr WUson continued teaching singing, and appearing
oocasionaUy at private concerts in Edinburgh, until
June 1827, when, ever anxious for improvement, he
went to London, where he remained for three months^
receiving lessons from Signer Lanza, an Italian master
of the vocal art. Lanza's encouraging attentions greatly
{promoted Mr Wilson's progress. He next began to take
easons in elocution, with a view of improving his ordi-
nary English speech ; and thus improved in delivery,
he bought of going on the stage. In March 1830, Mr
Wilson made his first appearance on the stage of the
Edinburgh theatre as Henry Bertram, in the opera of
* Guy Mannen^g.' Ma^y of his friends and acquaint-
ances were presanti and several of them recollect well
the tremulous anxiety that pervaded the house when
his voice was first heard behind the scenes, in the open-
ing of the beautiful duet, *Now hope, now foar,' and
with what . uamingled delight they hailed his success.
On the following night he sang in the opera of ' Bosina,'
and daruig the sawe week his fame was stamped as an
actor as y^ as a singer, by his masterly impersonation
of MassanieUo. On that evening, among other magnates
who at that tima frequented the Edinburgh theatre,
was James Ballantyne, Mr Wilson's former employer,
in whos# critical acumen with regard to the drama and
Opera all, parties had unbounded confidence. As the
opera advanced, and the young vocalist warmed in his
part, the vetc^n connoisseur was seen to get restless
and fidgetty, until Wilson, with matchless purity and
intensity of feeling ohanted, in tones that thrilled
through every heart, the delightful song of * My sister
dear,' irhen, unable to contain himself, Mr Ballantyne
exclaimed aloud* * Bravo — bravo! That wiU do I that
v»^ dot Tve been, wrong in my estimation of his
powers aft^ aU.'
Mr Wilson was noyr an estabUsl^ed fsvourite. The
public priess was teeming with i^is praise, and he re-
mained performing for three weeks at the Edinburgh
theatre, at , the coucluaion of which he had a bumper
benefit Immediately thereafter he went to Perth,
where he , performed during' the, summer, and was en-
gaged for Qovent Garden, where he ^ppared for the
first tim^ on the 3pth October, as Don Carlos in * The
Duenna,' and was comj^teW supcessful.
Mr Wilson soon attain^d a high rank in English
Opera, and continued to jsing a^ principal ti^nor, alter-
nately in.Covent Garden and DruryLane, until the
summer of 1837. Among other sqoeessfol pieces
brought out. under his auspice niay be mentioned the
opera of ' Am^ie,' by the late lamented Booke, a com-
poser of great originally, whose genius and worth , the
vocalist highly appreciated^ This opera was brought
fi)rward and put on the stag^ of Covent Garden, then
under the management of Mr Macready, at Wilson's
suggestion; and the nuMi<wer had siU)stantial,rea8oi;is
to congratulate himself ou having followed the sugges-
tion, Mr Wilson was engaged in the English Opera-
House in the winter of 1837-38, where, among other
successful performances, he played Donald, the leading
character in * The Mountain Sylph *-^^n opera which
was performed upwards of one hundred nights in suc-
cession. His knowledge of Italiip rendered him pecu-
liarly useful at this theatre^ and ho translated and
adapted for the English stage the opera of ' Somnam-
bula,' which was so eminently successful, that the. ma-
nager, Mr Arnold, made the translator a very hand-
some present.
We now approach the period when he left the stagey
and devoted himself to tliose original entertainments
which depended solely on his own exertions. The idea
of such a thing appears to have been accidental. In
the spring of 1838, he was solicited by the Mechanics'
Institution <of London, of which Dr Birkbeck wiis pre-
sident, to give three lecturea on Scottish music. This
task be accomplished successfully} and the peculiar
novelty of such a delightful mode of illustraUou, the fa-
miliarity of the lecturer with his tniXt^t, and the exqui-
site manner in which he warbled the melodies, and;
illuatrated the humour, aud the pathos of tjbe epn£i pf
ac
158
CHAMBERSni EDINBUBGH JOUfiMAL.
his natiTe coantry, attracted large aadieDcea, and he
WAS asked by six or seren similar institutiona to repeat
his lectures : this, howerer, he declined to do at that
time. He had resolTed to visit America, bat preTioos
to setting out for that country he wished to bid farewdl
to his native city. His reception in Edinburgh on that
occasion was cordial and enthusiastic in the highest de-
gree. Among other characters, he enacted the parts of
Dandy Dinmont, and of James V. in ' Cramond Brig,'
in the most felicitous manner ; and in a house crowded
to the ceiling, he with much emotion bade farewell for
a time to his old friends. In September of the same
year he went to America, where he remained for nearly
two years, making, along with Miss Shireff, a highly
successful tour throughout the United States. Before
returning to Britain, he gave several of his Scottish
Entertainments at New York ; and during his American
tour he translated and adapted Adam's opera of the
* Postilion of Lonjumeau,' which has ever since been a
favourite both in America and in this country.
On his return in the winter of 1840-41, he foand the
large London theatres shut, and along with Philips,
Ba&e, and Hiss Homer, be leased the English Opera-
House— a speculation which proved unsuccessful
In these circumstances, Mr Wilson bethought himself
of resuming his lectures on Scottish music. In May
1841, he accordingly proceeded to deliver them at the
Westminster and other institutions, at that time ac-
companying himself on the pianoforte. His suooess
exceeded all expectation : the lecture - rooms were
crowded ; the newspapers vrere full of laudation. He
was advised to open a public concert-room, and give his
entertainments on his own account. Accordingly, he
opened the Store Street Booms in the winter of 1841-42,
and since that time his career has been eminently suc-
cessful. In the summer of 1842 he was invited b^ the
Marquis of Breadalbane to sing before her Majesty,
who on this, and on many subsequent occasions, ex-
pressed her unqualified admiration of his vocal and dra-
matic acquirements. In addition to his public perform-
ances, Mr Wilson was very frequently invited to morn-
ing parties at the houses of the leading nobility in
London, where his songs and anecdotes were always
received with enthusiasm, and where he was invariably
welcomed as an intelligent friend, rather than as a party
invited to contribute to the amusement or pleasure of
the guests.
During the eight years that have elapsed since the
commencement of these entertainments, what has not
Wilson done for Scotland? When Scottish song had
slept and slumbered — when a simple Scottish melody
was only to be heard occasionally warbled by some
country maiden in a remote cottage or shelling — ^when
other professional sons of Scotland had set aside her
exquisite melody and poetry, John Wilson suddenly, by
his graphic illustrations, made the peculiar beauties of
Scottish song knovm and appreciated over Europe and
America, and invented a rational and elevating species
of entertainment, relished by all sects and classes. In
the sister kingdom, while almost everybody had heard
of and believed in the genius of Bums, how few could
understand or appreciate its extent till Wilson's illus-
tration, with the ease of a master, and the familiarity
of a friend, pointed out and explained those peculiarities
and beauties which constitute the chief glories of the
high-priest of Scottish song! Often has an English
audience listened to his prelections, laughing and shed-
ding tears alternately at the will of the poetic singer.
With a poet's eye he selected and discriminated — ^with
a poefs heart he felt — ^with a poet's ardour he poured
forth the wood-notes wild of his country — and with a
poet's power he rendered art subservient to nature. Of
pathos and humour no man ever had a more lively
appreciation, and none ever possessed to a greater ex-
tent the power of impressing his audience witii the
emotions by which he was affected. He felt keenly,
deeply, and truly : this was the secret of his success.
Mr Wilton's kindness and charity were proverbiaL
His heart and hand were ever open to tbm needyi kis
house-door was often beset by his poor brethicn of the
stags and ooncert-room ; and there was soarody a cha-
ritable or beneficent institution in London wttli which
he was not associated. He retained all bia early frioid*
ships till death ; and on his visits to Edinbvgk, wss
delighted to meet with his youthful assoeiatea, however
humUe Uieir position in life. His industry and msigf
were untiring and unflagging. Ha delighted ia sar-
mounting difficulties, and continued to iraptove hi his
style of singing on every repetition. He waa, m trmf
sense of the word, a man of progreoion. In additioQ
to his other acquirements, Mr Wilson wrote not onlj
prose, but verse, with great facility ; and wa have sesa
some exquirite snatches of song from his pen« whitft
we hope may yet be laid before the worid. Mr Wikea
also composed and adapted a number of beantiAd melo'
dies. In his entertainment of ' Mary Queen of Bcoti^'
the finest of the melodies were his own oempositkaf
and his « Bonny Bessy Lee,' Hogg's *»iylark,' and *Tks
Year Aughty-Nine,' aro favouraUe spedBieDs of bis
talent as a melodist, in the humorous as well as in the
pathetic styles of composition.*
Mr Wilson, at his death, left a widow and haa^ to
lament his untimely loss.
THE MYSTEBT OP JBISH MISEET.
Few things appear more r^narkable to Scotsmen than
the apparent incompetency of the legislature to grapple
with and settle on a sound basis the law of Und-teoars
in Irdand. The present legal institntea and naagce oe
that subject are avowedly the source of Irish misefy.
Yet how apparently incurable ! It is vainly shown that
to the plain common-sense prindplee of laad-temire, as
regards both landlord and tenant, are to be aaeribed the
vast agricultural improvement, the prosperity, and con-
tented state of Scotland. Obviously, the legisUtare is
unable or unwilling to enforce the brilliant example ia
Ireland ; and banlmipt landlords, with all aorts of defi-
ciencies in titles to property, are suffered to impede the
tranquillisation of &at long-abused country. We are
much struck with the account given of soch inpedi^
ments to Irish improvement in a paper by Dr W-
Neilson Hancock, professor of politick ecooooiy in the
university of Dublin. From this paper, whidi appears
in the * Agricultural and Industrial Journal of Iretaad'
(MHSlashan, Dublin), we take leave to extract the fol-
lowing passages. After alluding to the disgraceAil fiM<
that landlords in Ireland are entitled to all UwfcoBd-
ings erected and improvements effected on their p(^
perty by tenants, Dr Hancock proceeds : —
* The next impediment to the application of capital to
land by tenants, is the state of the law, vhiah aUowv pro-
perty to be settled in such a manner that the owners hAve
short or defective leasing powers. I osaaot ^v« fo«
better iUustration of the effeets of strict cstste
in this respect than by stating a remaritable a
line of which has been fhrnished to me. Abaut
years ago, an enterprising capitalist waa aaxioas ta iMilda
fiax-miU in the north of Ireland, as a cdiaoga had
necessary in the northern linen trade from hand-i
to mill-spinning, in order to enable the trade to be
on in competition with the miB-spinning in En^aad sad
on the continent. He selected as the site for his ntt a
place in a poor but populous district, whic^ had the tSe-
vantage of being situated on a navigable river, a-^ *-
in the immediate ricinity of extensive tuzf bogs.
habitants of the district were well suited for tba
nnfacture, as they had been loi^^ aoenatomed to the
spinning and weaving of the Imea trade. Tlte
applied to the landlord for a lease of fifty aerea Sir a
site, labourers' vifisge, and his own reaideooe. and of Mf
acres of bog, as it was proposed to use torf as the tesl '
the steam-engines of the mill. The landlord
anxious to encourage an enterprise so well
I
I
i
I
* The above sketch of Mr WI]san*s
racter Is abridged chisfly from aa aitiole la the *
rant 'newspaper.
imfgQf bii Mtoie. He thowfoe oflEerod to give all the
land Kquinei}, one huBdred acres, at a nomiDal Knt ; to
mnt tbe longeet leaae whioh hk ■ettlement would aUow
bim te do ; to renew the leaae every year aa long aa he
lived ; and to give a reoommendation to his suecessor to
deal liberally with the esfHtalist. An agreement was eon-
oluded on these terms ; but when the flax-spinner eon-
salted his legal adviser, he discovered that the law pre-
vented the landlord from carrying out the very liberal
tenns he had agreed to. He was boaad, bv settlement, to
let at the best rent only ; he could not, therefore, reduce
the rent to a neaikial amount ; and for the aame reason he
eould not renew the lease each year at the old rent, as,
once the mill was eraeted, he was bound by the terms of
the settlement to aet at the best lent— that is, to add the
rent of the miH to the old rei^ The longest lease the
landlord could grant was for three lives, or thuty-one vears.
Such a lease, however, at the full rent of the land, was
quite too short a term to secure the flax-spinner in laying
out his capitid in buildings ; the statute enabling tenants
to lease for mill sites only allowed leases of three acres, and
oonld not be extended to fifty. The landlord suggested that,
by the custom of the estate, the interest of the tenant was
never confiscated, and therefore the fiax-spinner would be
safe. But the flax-spinner found that this good understand-
ing between landlord and tenant was not a marketable com-
modity on whioh he oould raise money, and it would not
answer him to have capital invested in any way that he
oonld not readily pledge it with his bankers, for the pur-
pose of raising the flMiting capital always necessary to
carry on his business. For these reasons, or, in other words,
in consequence of the legal impediments arinng from the
limited nature of the landlord*s leasing power, the mill
was not built ; and mark the consequences. Some twenty
miles from the site I have alluded to, the flax-spinner
found land in whioh he eould get a perpetual interest;
there he laid out his thousands in buUdings and machinery;
there he has for the last fifteen years given employment to
hundreds of labourers, and has earned money by his own
exertions. The poor and populous district continues as
populous, but, if anything, poorer than it was ; for whilst
the people have lc»t empiovment at hand-spinning, no
null-spinning lias taken its place. Their weavers have to
get their yam firom other places, such as the town twenty
miles oflf, where the state of the law allowed mills to be
erected. Daring the past aeaeons of distress, the people of
that district aoffMred mxuAk from want of employment, and
the landlord's renta were worse paid out of it than from
any other part of his estatcw Could there be a stronger
ease to prove how much the present state of Ireland arises
from the rtate of the law? Here was no ignorance or
perverse disposition. The flax-spinner knew his business,
aa his suooess for fifteen years has proved ; the landlord
opposed no short-sighted selfishness to the arrangement ;
there was no combination nor outrage amongst the people;
but the law alone was the impediment. By this cause all
parties were ii\jured: the poor people were deprived of
employment at buildins, at spinning, and at cutting turf;
the landlord suflbred ra the pover^ of his tenantry pre-
venting the increase of his rent ; the raittowner had to use
Knglish and Scotch coal instead of Irish turf. It is in vain
to teach the people that turf is cheaper than coal, if the
law will not let mills be built in turf bogs. It is in vain to
tell the people that it is their fai^ if they have not em-
Eloyment in mill-spinning like their neighbours, when the
tw prevents the erection of mills.
' The remedy for short or defective leasing powers is to
create general statutable leasing powers for snort terms, for
fiutning purposes, and for long terms for buildings; and
then to prohibit any settlanent ef property which does not
provide for there always being some person to exercise
these powers. This remedy was supplied about eighty
years ago to the same evil, when arising under the per-
petual entails in Scotland ; and the owners were enabled
to grant leases for fourteen years and one life, or for two
lives, or for tliirty years ; and also to grant building leases
for ninety-nine years. Similar statutable powers have
been conferred in special cases in Ireland. Thus tenants
in tail and tenants for life were, in 1800, empowered to
make leases for lives renewable for ever, to persons cove-
nantisg to oarry on the eotton mannfootore. But this
power was accompanied with unwise restrictions: thus,
the number of acres to be leased could not exceed fifteen.
Then the partv erecting the mill had no power to change
the trade, for the coveoAnt of renewal was void if the trade
were not carried on for two years. Now the flax trad*
has almost entirely supplanted the cotton trade in th
north of Ireland, and this largest fortunes have been mnd
by those who were the firrt to ehaoge the eotton roachi
n«ry for the flax machinery ; but in mills built under thi
leasing power, the miUowners eould not change their trad
without forfeiting their right to the renewal of the leas
that secured theur mills. By another act, passed in 178j
a general leasing poww was given iw terms of years o
for lives renewable for ever, fbr the ereetion of mills ; bu
this power was restrained by allowing only three acres t
be inelttded in the lease, which rendered it wholly inaf
plieable in the ease I have mentioned, where the millowne
BsquSred upwards of fifty acres. In the sanw manner, th
leasing powers for the mines in Ireland wwe so restraine<i
as to paralyse in a great measure this important brano
of onr industrial resources ; and it waa only in the lac
sesnon of pariiament that the efforts of those intereste
in mines to obtain a removal ef those restrictions wei
partially sueeessfol when an aot was passed on the snlMeei
Ail these restrictiens are fbiuded on the eeonomie folutc^
that parties who expend capital on land, will not make th
most profitable use of their own improvements if left t
themselves, and require to be restrained by legal proTision
ftmn injnriag thsmsehres. As long aa this IsUaey wi
gmerally b^ved, legislation was aeeordant with th
scisntifis principles of the day ; but at the present timi
when this fsUasy has been completely refuted, and whe
it is no longer believed by any economist or statennan <
character, it is not a little surprising to find the legislatic
framed upon it stiU allowed to retain Its piaoe on th
statute-hook.'
After this, who need wonder that Ireland should I
what It is? Tbe people cannot improye in circiui
Btaiioss, because the Uw wont kt them !
THE SLAVE TRADE.
In the 'Times' there has lately a^^eared some artlch
worUiy of serious oonsideration on the mibjeet of the sla^
trade — the substance of the whole being, that the mail
tenance of a British preventive squadron on the coast <
Africa is little better than a farce ; and that, both on tl
soore ef huBUoity and expense, it ought to be withdraw!
All who peruse the anthorised statements <m this mnc
misnnderstood question must, we think, arrive at tl
same eonviotion. The foUowin« statistios, taken ttw
Feraign Offiee Reports, are wngniariy instmotive : —
1840
1841
iS4e
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
Kumber of Slaves
Exported.
64,114
. 45.097 •
88,408
• 55,00 .
54,108
. 96.758 .
. 76,117 .
. 84,356 .
Nmaber Captured
by CruUera.
3.616
. 5.966
S,ft90
. «.7»7
4,577
. 8,619
2,788
. 3^
Thns the proportion of eaptives has seldom reached
per oent. ; and this at a oost to Great Britain of aboi
L.700/)00 a year, and the loss of a Itfrge number of marinei
If any conclusive confirmation were wanted of the tru
whi^ has been so reoeatedly laid down, that the fluctu
tions of the slave traae were wholly irrespeotive of our i
tervention, and depended solely on the demand for sla
produce in the markets of Europe, it would be found in
seoond table quoted by the * Times,* which exhibits a coi
parative view of the extent of the trade at different perioc
and of the prices, at such periods, of ordinary Havaj
sugar:-—
Average Price of m^^^p^
Sugar per Cwt. ^^ « * *-»
i. d.
Miotoiess 31 0
1825 to 1830 84 6 eperesotriM
2830 to 1836 84 8 88 ... ... /aU
1635tolB40 89 3 19 rise
1840 • 85 4 13 /aU
1841 to 1844 81 1 17 /all
1845 to 1847 25 7 18 riu
Increase or Deorea
in Slave Trade.
91 par oent. incnan
87 ... ... <Uerttt»
73 ittcreasi
53 decrea*
29 decreasi
44 increase
Ths snpprsssion of the African alave trade by arm
emisers is demonstrated to be an impossibility. John B(
must change liis tactics : his costly philanthropy has do
nothing but mischief I
160
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
SSBYIUTT.
Tho flertiHty wbioh punaes indiTidiuas «f the ' dUtiii-
guished,* * e wted** or iroyftl oiasset, to record their mi-
nutett and mos^ triTial^ Aotlona with painstaldng dabora-
tioB, ia s very low and base ittstinot ati dXL times ; ridioa-
loos at the best, sometimefr disgostiiig and defiling. There
is mixed np with it a spirit the very Mverse of reveientiaL
It can be no genuiaa reverence which dogs the fbotsteps I
of kings and princes to note every paltoy movement, and
make a wonderment of every remark, as though it weie
surprising that a priDee should have his fkomties about
him. A royal count cannot visit a factory, and make aa
intelligent observation, but that coryphasus of footmen,
the Court newsman, repeats the saying with applause, as
nurses do when a baby begins to predicate truisms about
its pap <Hr its toya The homage, we all Imow, is paid to
the * exalted station ;* but there musi^ after all, be some-
thing very humiliating to the most hitfdened recipient of
such homage in the gxtMs dispaartgement which it im|^iea
of the individuat- Asovereiim has senses likeothermen:
if you tickle htm, he will lau^ ; if you show to him suffSsr*
ing humanity, he will grieve ; if you exhibit before him
good-feeling, he will be pleased, and will express his plea-
sure in suitable tenna But these ceiisequenoes are matters
of ooune. The exaked persoBaae behaves as all persons
of sense and decent feeling would do ; and if you express
wonder at the foot, you must suppose an exalted person
to be something below human nature. You are regarding
the crowned creature with the same feeling as a enrioslty-
hunter, who admivet an elephaBt or a monkey fbr behavhig
* so like a man ;* and while you worship that person wkcMn
you seek to exalt by your wonder, you debase him by its
implication, and are yourself degraded to tlie level of those
who make idol deities of inferior animab — the monkey-
worshippers of Japan, and tlie ^x-mdottfn of l^^t. —
S^eotcUwr. [The above is well put; but we would lemind
tne 'Specter' tliat by confining its record of births,
deaths, and marriages, to persona of 'exalted station'
only, or for the greater part, it may be said to be charge-
able with a Qtecies of that servility which it very properly
condenma]
D09IESTIC TELEGRAPH.
Tlie extraordinary despatch of railways and electric
telegraphs seems to have given an impetus to the national
oharaoter in econondslng time in an infinite variety of ways
never even dreamt of a few years ago. A scientifle mem*
ber of the Society of Friends hM rtndeied the novel
material of gutta-percha tubing subservient to an impor-
tant saving of time and footsteps in the domestic circle.
In consequence of the peculiar power possessed by this
tubing for the transmission of sound, he has applied it for
the conveyaaoe of messages from tlie parlour to the
kitchen. Even a whisper at the parlour mouthpiece is
distinctly heard when the ear is applied at the other end.
Instead, therefore, of the servant having to answer the
bell as fbrm^Iy, and then descend to the kitchen to bring
np what is wanted, the mistress calls attention by gently
blowing into the tube^ wlii4)h sounds a whistle in the
kitchen, and then makes known her wants to the servant,
who is able at once to attend to them. By this means the
mistress not duly secures the execution of her orders in
half the usual time, but thd servant is saved a double
journey. — Dailp Nws,
HOW TO MAKE WINE.
When the wine ia about half fermented, it is transferred
fiom the vat to tunnels, and brahdy, several degrees above
J»roof, is thrown in, in the proportion of twelve to twenty-
bur felons to the pipe of tswl, by wMoh the fetuenta-
tion is greatly checkea. About two moi^s afterwards,
the mixture is coloured thus : a quantity of dried elder
berries is put into coarse bags ; these are placed in vats,
and a part of the wine to be coloured being tluown over
them, they are trodden by men till the whole of the
colouring matter is expressed ; from twenty-eight to filfcy-
six pounds of dried elder berries being used to the pipe
of wine I Another addition of brandy, of from four to six
gaDons per pipe, is now made to the mixture, which is
then aTIowea to rest for about two months. At the end
of this time^ ft is, if sold (whtoh it is tolesably sura to be
after wa^lijudivknf treatment^ transferred to Oporto, where
it is sacked two or three times, and aeceives probfi^ly two
gallons more brandy per pipe ; and it is then considered |
fii toi>o sapped to Ekigland, its being abont nhie mootb
old ; and at the time of shipment one galion nan «f
brandy is useatty added to each pipe. The wfa>e,tliiii
having received at least twenty-six giBons of hrsndyps
pipe, IS oonsidered by the meMhant sufBclently stnmg'~«B
opinidft whi<di the writer at least is not prepared td4h-
putc.— Forreii^* Word or Two on Port Win^
RELICS OP THE DEAD.
Baa was net fair nor young: at eventide
Then was no friend te sorrow by her sUe ;
The time of lickneas had been kng and divad.
For atrangen tended, wiahhig she were dead.
She pined for heaven, and yet feared to dis^
3b (N«-^ penetrate that mystsry I
How often in the kmg and q«ii^ aight,
'When the dim iaper shed a flickering light.
And the old watch wltlihi its wdl-wom oaas
Loudly proclaimed time speedii^ on ajiaoe.
She fixed ber eyes upon a casket near,
While down Iier pallid cheek there st<de a tesr f
She knew that careless hands aside would cut
The dear memorials of a dierlsbed past;
Hie rifled oaskeTs lamest hoaids sarvey.
And with cold worda and idle laugh dfafJiV
Some withered flower* and a braid of hair—
Those priceless treasures she had fsmered thera
The glittering baubles, and the chata el gold,
The*€ would be oared tor, and their TshwtoU;
But for the tokens oft bedewed with tears
Tluroaghout the silent memory of year»~
Oh fbr the strength efhSBd and nerre ef hesit
Torear <Mr funenl pyve era life dflpactl
It m^ht not be-Sor with the momtng hoars
Agafai she gased apon those faded So wan.
The shadows of the past around her faQ
With agonised and yet entrancing apell ;
To sever that laat link no power was glren—
Doth hiunan weakness pity And in heaven ?
She was not fair nor young : at eventide
Kooe plaeed those worshipped relica by her dde
Within the eoflhied bed where she reposed
la white hablMnMSit»**Jisr sysMis elssed :
Looking so weaiy , e'en the siraagir said,
*Poarthhigl oheresteth— peaoebewiththsdsad!'
CA.JLW.
=x
3=X
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FAME.
Mint of the poeta and other writers of the last century
woe accustomed to dwell largely upon the privileges of
fame. The desire to attain eminence, to be in any way dis-
tinguished from the multitude, and to be accounted one
of die illustrious of the land, was esteemed an exalted and
worthy aspiration, and more or less the sign of a lofty
and noble character. To be solicitous about the ap-
plauses of contemporaries and posterity, was thought to
be indicative of superior capacity, and to recommend a
man as being thereby raised above the triyiality of ordi-
nary pursuits. Whatever could be done which might
thereaiier be talked about, and thus preserve the memory
of the doer, was considered, above all things, as desirable
to be attempted. All ambitious persons, accordingly,
who were not otherwise employed, betook themselves to
the composition of rerses, treatises on philosophy, or the
easier pastime of fictitious narrative — hoping, apparently,
to live thereby among the deathless and memorable
Damet which the world delights to honour. To question
the title of any of these people to everlasting remem-
brance, was the highest offence you could perpetrate
sgainat them, and was even sometimes held to justify a
challenge of mortal combat. The business of reviewer
was then a perilous enterprise, and therefore it was sel-
dom entered on, except by obscure adventurers who had
somehow lost character, and were for the most part looked
upon as literary ragabonds, whose acquaintance Fame was
understood to have utterly rejected. Laudatory celebra-
tions of each other's prowess in authorcrafl were as pre-
valent as blackberries or buttercups in their respective
seasons, whenever two or three of the poetical fraternity
hai^)ened to be living in unity and friendly intercourse ;
each giving and receiring the strongest assurances that
their respective literary reputations would outlast the
most durable material monuments, or at least might be
expected to survive, in undiminished lustre, while the
language should remain. Fancy what a comfort it must
hare been to the aspiring versifier or essayist to hear
his name trumpeted abroad in all directions, and what
felicity beyond comparison he must have enjoyed in the
flattering expectancy that subsequent generaticms would
continue to speak of him with equal, or even louder
admiration !
Alas for all this yanityl The result has been, that
nearly all these writers are now forgotten. A fitful
spatter of popularity was the utmost which the very
he»t of them enjoyed; and could tidings of the living
world bj any chance reach them in their oblivion, they
wooic^ be hardly fiattered by the manner in which their
formoT reputations are accustomed to be mentioned. Fame
baa eluded them entirely. That dreaded forgetfulness,
which they aimed to intrench themselves against, has
all recollections of their feverish efibrts. And it may be
remarked, that those who were most concerned about their
fame, hare fallen the deepest into neglect; the blazing
reputation which many of them enjoyed has now become
extinguished, like the flickering of theatrical lamps when
the play is over. Who were more popular and dominant
in their day than the ' Delia Cruscans ! * — and who now
knows or cares anything about thcmt Only here and
there a man studying or examining the follies and ' curio-
sities of literature ' for his own amusement or the public
behoof: in the general thought and remembrance of the
people they are non-existent. Those who sacrificed their
very common sense to a flimsy celebrity, have lost the
only thing they aimed at, and their history is but occa-
sionally alluded to for purposes of ridicule. Were not
this paltry passion for fame otherwise reprehensible, it
were surely a sufficient proof of its exceeding folly to
mark how tho pursuit of it is attended with the most
pitiful disappointment.
One might indeed ask what, after all, is the good of
fame, even in its best and leatit exceptionable aspect !
Wherein is the peculiar advanta^ of being rei^embered !
Above all, where is the use of it, if you leave nothing
done worthily to be remembered fori Oblivion, the
quiet repose of forgetfulness, is far better. The man
who does anything from no loftier motive than that of
being honourably remembered by it, will scarcely deserve
remembering. The literary man especially, who is not
inspired by a nobler passion tiian the desire of fame, will
be utterly unworthy of his Tocation; and the profhne
altar whereon he idolatrously flipga his gifts, shall yield
him no token of an accepted sacrifice. The writers of
greatest genius hare really been oompanitiTely unin-
terested about their fame; or, if they hare chanced to
manifest any solicitude concerning it, it has been mainly
with reference to the further perfection of their works, «o
that they might not leare anything they attempted in a
state unworthy of themselves. Beyond this, no grea^ man
ever perplexed himself much by considerations of popu-
larity, either with regard to the day in which he lived,
or to any time thereafter. Iiook at the noble uncon-
sciousness of Shakq>eare ; the hearty indi0erence to cele-
brity with which one can suppose old Homer wrote; the
utter oversight and ummipiciob of all fkme erident in
the rhapsodies of the Hebrew prophets. To any truly-
great man, to even any genuinely-cultivated and healthy
man who does not suspect himeelf of being great, th^
paltry notion of doing anything for the sake of the popu*-
lar applause which he may derive thereby, will never
once be entertained as » worthy or sufficient motive for
undertaking it. There is no excellency in thi#; bsA the
wise or sensible man of lettera will always har^ better
things to think abo*it. How* he may lutoMsftiUy vmkid
his endowments into freedom and ^flWcfcfve p6^^itt; how
i-_
.J^._ __'J A«.Al«Jt»«4l<t 4»«Mt>^t«^
162
CHAMBEIUro eduvbubgh joubnal.
into tkings; bow mort admirablj and adeqiuMj ultar the
thought within him, tnd impreng hif influtnce £6r b«ii€fit
upon his age: this will be ever bis earnest and most sedu-
lous concern. What does he liye for, if not to learn and
publidi something more of Jhtih than has hitherto been
Known, or to extend it into regions where as yet it has
not penetrated t Knowing and feipeotiog his high minis-
try, he will deliter himself as he best can with a proud
defiance of all clamour; not insensible, indeed, to the
approbation of intelligent and disoeming mra, but as-
suredly not solicitous of empty praise, nor sorrowful or
disconcerted by the fear of being fbigotten. What if he
is forgotten! If his name should fade utterly out of
memory, and the goierations to come nerer know that
he had Ured t The thing which he did imU, thai cannot
die; but, howsoerer its appearanoe may be changed, con-
tinues to work efiectuaUy under noTel and unsuspected
traiiBfonnations. The truly j^eat man can rery wui dis-
pensa with £une; it is of comparatire indifference to
him ; sorrowing or rejoicing, he holds on his wayi heedless
and unconcerned about it. Like some great unconscious
oak of the wilderness, he will scatter the ripe fruits from
which new forests may spring, and take no thought of
being remembered as the planter.
It is erer true that the greatest benefactors of the
world, with one or two exceptions, aie not the men of
whom Uaae raporta. Where, for instance, are the origi-
nal Tubaloains, iix>n-woriLers and inyentors, forest dearers,
the bold adventurers of navigation, the primeval delvers,
and builders, and spinners of the earth, who first began
to make the world arable and habitiiible; who built
houses, and riiips, and temples, drained matshee, planted
fruit-trees and orchards, devised laws and social consti-
tutions, methods and conveniences for intercourse and
communion among men I They are all forgotten and
unknown to us. What manner of man was he (that
daring original) who first struck a light in the world, and
made a fire, and thus led the way to the introduction <^
the arts of cookexy and bread-baking, and social tea and
dinner parties, and the final invention of the steam-
engine ! The name of him^ his way of life and thought,
the conditions and aspects of his existence, are all gone
out of remembrance : ne survives only as a dim sbadowy
figure in the old .mythology, and is Known to us under
the character of Prometheus, the Fire-Stealer, the invin-
cible and enduring Friend of Men, who braved the wrath
of Omnipotence in their behalf. The endeavourins and
thousandfold achievements of mankind throu^ Innu-
merable ages, as hieroglyphically and compendiously
exhibited in the institutions and acquisitions now estab-
lished and possessed, have come down to us in grand
accumulation and variety, bearing scarcely any vestige
of a recollection of the men whose active brains and
stalwart arms wrought out sudi large results. Yet it
were the most rampant insanity to d^bt tlutt caoacious
heads, and exalted spirits not a few, have in aU timee
existed. In the olden immemorial centuries, among tiie
patriarchal villages and camps of the Fore-world, in the
days when the fbundation-stones of cities were first laid,
dost thou think there were no brave and distinguiehed
men ? — no soaring intellects, scanning the himl i^roblems
of existence 1 — ^no rapt melodious poets, discemmg with
prophetic ken, and celebrating by anticipation the won-
ders and revolutions of the advancing years l-*no patient,
thoughtfiil investigators, devising things of convenience
and use t — no energetic oompanimiUess adventurers, going
forth with girded loins to explore untrodden places, and
bring back tidings of new discovery! The illustrious
forgotten men t~-let these be celebrated ; the ancient
hard and heroic workers, whose names and memory are
everlastinglpr abolished.
It is not imperceptible, however, that while Fame gives
09 little or no aooount of our grandest benefactors, the
world retains, nevertheless, the benefit of thair week. And
•0 it is alwajVk These is no woric or useful influeaoe
which is not permanenk Onoe efiectoally aooomplished,
everything survives, and, under new and unimaginable
forms of renovation, is perpetuated. Let a man cast his
thoughts and good deeds broad-cast around him, heedless
and inoonfliderate of what Fame says of him, and thej will
grow up, as the omi springs, in a way that he knovcth
not) into noble and beneficent fruitions. The great Seal
of the Universe is /iff( ; and no grain of truth or goodaesB
falling by the waysides, or in recluse places where no
eye sees it, but may beeome, thro4gh its hundradCsld
productiveness, the parent of Aiture harvests on tbe
broad fields of Time. Mliat matters it about fitte !
Not all the trumpeters and heralds in oreatton can Bake
our thought greater or better than it is, or diminish in
anywise its Intrinsic value. What concems us is tbe
tmth of the thought, the justness of the action — not bov
it may be spoken of in saloons or market-placea, or com-
memorated in reviews and newspap^i.
The main consideration connected with fame widch
can render it of even temporary memento lies in tke
extent of opportunity whidi it offers to the inflaenos of
a man's genius or diaracter. In so far as he is better
and more widely known, he wUl impart mon laigdy
whatever benefit he maj be able to oowmnni^wta It is
desirable always that a man should have free space iut
his activity; that his thought, such as it is» shMiid dr-
culate without obstruction, conveying whatsoever wisdom
or delight it may contain to the miiids and hearts ci all
who are propped for its reception. The accident of fiune
might thus more rapidly promote the successful disee-
mination of the trutni and prindplss wluoh bt w»a q«a-
lified to teacdi, and the measure of his rt^ifieaacft aa an
instructor of his age would aocordiagly be tha ^ett« and
more promptly ascertained. But should ha be ao unhappy
as to esteem an extensive popularity as tlie sign of hu
superiority of genius, or regard his reputation aa a thing
to be especially delisted in for itself; he will thcc^
give evidence of a signal inferiority of mind^ a&d nerit
the contempt whidi wUi assuredly one d^ be kis portion.
The noisy» admiring world, in whoae ayse to-day these ii
none so conspicuous as he, to-monow will ahaidder haa
aside in its eager scramble after newar wonders j iot the
nultitttde, it has been frequently observed^ reeemhlss no-
thing more decidedly than a flock of dieep, which rush
onwards, with little discrimination, iriiereeoever it may
be the fashion for the most illustrioue sheep to run I
All things great have their spurious imitatioBs. Pspa-
larity is often imagined to be equivalent te Ihaie. N«
doubt, the man who does a great deed» worthy o€ lasttag
oommemoration and ^latitude^ ma^ at the aaaie tiae fc<
popular— leoeive pnuae during his lifew Hutt eii the
whole^ fame is a thing of the future t popularly is ealj
of temporary moment. There are reaeona, alao^ why po-
pularity should seldom be followed by fiune. P^ua-
rity is frequently a result of a vul^ struflgliag for
supremacT — an effort to exalt self by all sorts of mean
arts — and, by a just retribution, it terminates in ehUvioti.
Any man may gain local and riiort-livcd applause ; and
the more basely he panders to prejudioti the more likely
is he to be suooessful. But a suooeeding giaiesaUoa^ witL
more enlarged views, knows how to eetimate these decep-
tive endeavours: it shuts him out of remembraaoe, or
only speaks of him as an example to be despised
ing dishonestly for fame, he is very properly t
with infitmy. With regard to the more cottmon
reprehensible aspirations after celebrity, esperi<
seem to justify us in the belief that % writer or aa
who is really great and original, and whoee effset i^a
society is in the end to be most permanent^ will set galA
so speedy and determinate a popularity as another w£» is
manifestly inferior, and who on that account can oob-
mand a laiger range of spapatfar. A light and gcaee^
ful skiff may be easily and completely laundied is sbil-
low water, but the mighty ship will need a deep
rent, and a longer and more complex preparmtioiig
it can be succcesfully sent forth on the world of
The popularity of a man, as it haa been _
said, can only show the degree of illumination I hen Is ia
him; and serves but as an atmosphere to difiWe the B^
which he contains. While it aids m extoi^ii^kie fie-
per influence, and affords him the chance ofwi
teaching, it mar be considered as oonvebiciit awl ._
able; but should his attention beoome ao intently
'1
f
1
CTTAMmnHgB EDINBUBGH JOUBNAIfc
16S
vpon it AS to be dMzled by its glitter, he will be inoA-
pable of apprehending his trae position. Thus fame
mAT be A Dcareifion And a snAre to him, eren as the de-
losiTA bnUiAiiej of a eAndle Allures moths to their
destruction. Let us stAnd by the seyere and oAmest
tnifeh, erren to the risk of remAining in unknown obscu-
rity for eter, rAther tlum Abuse or disAble our slichtest
tAlent by An inordinAte deferenoe to opinion, shomd we
gAin tiMreby the widest celebrity the world hu oyer wit-
FinAlly, After a somewhAt rigorous handling of our
subject, it will not be unhandseme to admit, that to
liye in the esteem of just and cultiyated men is no
ignoble wish : that the worthy and the wise should think
&youiAbly of our efforts, and account our work to haye
been creditably done, hAS alwAys been, and will be while
human nAture lasts, in a high degree encouraging and
satiafaotoiy. It is this which fiune originally signified.
What we here condemn, is that yain hungenng for ap-
plaase— ^lat ambition to be distinguished, which leads
so OEiAiiy men away ftom the proper oultiyation of them-
selyee. Let us thoroughly understand, and on eyery fit
occasion demonstrate and assert ^t (Ais, both now and
oyer, is a nutn's most intimAte concern. WhAt mAtters
it About distinction ! He who does anything really greAt,
will be distinguished, And is already distinguish^ by
that yery fact; fi>r him in whom there is nothing great,
it is better that he should be without distinction. How
many feeble heads hAye been dizsied into utter ruin by
a little shallow and friyolous celebrity 1 It is the emptiest
delusion. Cannot the quiet paths suffice! Some of the
best liteTAture of the day is lyin^ in books which Are
I leAst known; And the men who will exert the greatest
I influence upNsn the coming age, are not those who are
I moat popular at present ; nay, they whose teachings are
producing the most wholesome effectualness in thu, are
, men oomparatiyely unknown and unobtrusiye — ^m^i not
; 10 much concerned about their popularity, as about the
manner in which they really perform their work. Let
thy works praise thee. Hanker nothing i^fier yain ap-
plause. Hast thou any thought which thou supposest
might adyantage any of th^ fellow-men ! Deliyer it firom
thee, after many pondenngs, untrumpeted— earnestly,
yet modestljr; ready to withdraw it, and reconsider U;
■ or to bury it utterly out of sight, should it hereafter
appear to be unneeded. Care not for that discomfiture,
care only for the eyerlasting truth; and if another can
reycal it better than thyself, do thou cheerfully and
unenyiously giro place to him. Crush yanity beneath
thy feet. Banish from thy heart all solicitude of fame,
and do the thingwhich lies before thee with serene single-
ness of mind. The world will not stand still in its ad-
yanoement because thy name may be foigotten.
THE WEDDING-RING.
A TALE.
* LocuA,' said a gentleman to his daughter, retoming
to the room whioh he had quitted a minute befbre,
• theve is a woman waiting to see yon down stairs — go
to ber at onoe.'
* La, papa I I daresay she is in no hurry/ replied the
young lady, without rising from the easy -chair into
which she was sunk.
* My dear, do not keep her waiting : the time of a
workwonaa is her eapital, and you liaye no right to
defraud lier of it.'
*Defirand, papa; wtiat hafd words yon niel I am
sure I always pay fhem their bills — what more can
they ask?*
Her father had not waited for the conclusion of the
sentence; and Louisa, seeing he was gone, proceeded
with ber breakfast, intending, when she had done, to
•end fi>r tbe woman, who she knew waa bringing lier
some aitiflolal iowvm to inspect Whilst sipping ber
ooIBm, ber^ef^ on a new pablication which ber fSilher
had been that morning examining. She seised upon it,
and soon, engrossed in its pages, forgot the artificial
flowers, the artist, and her father's admonition. An
hour passed, when she was interrupted by the entrance
of some young friends, whose yisit of course detained
her in the drawing-room. After a great deal of liyely
but rather empty chat, one of her yisitors obseryed that
there was a woman in the hall as they passed with a
basket of the most exquisite fancy flowers she had
oyer seen. She longed to examine them aU. With a
slight blush Louisa, recollecting her father's words,
rang for the forgotten tradeswoman ; and the next hour
was consumed by the young ladies in turning oyer the
beautiful specimens contained in the baskets, trying
them on their heads befbre tiie glass, and wishing ear-
nesUy that they eonld afford to purchase them. They
were good-humoured, pretty, elegant girls, weH and ex-
pensiyely dressed, and they seemed Just fitted to be the
inhabitants of the apartment where this scene was pass-
ing. It was a handsomely -furnished room : the walls
hung with paintings, the tables spread with costly books,
the consoles and marble brackets coyered with tasteful
ornaments: perhaps the value of only a few of those
China yases would haye formed a fortune to many a
poor family. The pleasant morning air, which breathed
through the light muslin curtains, and wayed the rich
damask drapery, was scented with the perfume of helio-
trope and jessamine, and the gleam of sunshine which
fell on the glass gbbe, where the gold fish swam, was
reflected back upon the rich-cut chandeliers, and made
them look like fragments of a rainbow. All was in
keeping with the gay girls, who gazed at themselves
in the tall pier -glasses all except the pale, anxious,
careworn face of the owner of the flowers. Dressed in
widow's weeds, which time had rendered shabby, al-
though evidently preserved with care, her look, as she
handed out one graceful wreath after another, was so
sadly in contrast with her customers' gaiety, that, had
they bestowed one thought on her, they must have felt
some pity. But they neither looked at nor noticed her,
except to inquire the price of some beautiful specimen,
exdaim at its deamess, wisli Uiey oould buy tnem all,
and declare they would learn to make them, it must be
such charming work. Finally, after having disarranged
the whole of her stock, one of them discovered that it
was now time to go to the portrait-painter to whom
she was sitting, as that gentleman never waited a mo-
ment, and she should lose the only hour he could give
her. Louisa made some trifling purchase, for she had
changed her mind on the suljeol^ and now desired some
other ornaments ; and the young party hastily quitted
the bouse, leaving the poor widow to replace her in-
jured goods, and return home at her leisure.
Little as these careless girls were disposed to bestow
a thought upon the artificial florist, it is our intention
to fbUow her to ber own home, where, fatigued and
disappointed, slie arrived about two hours after she left
the mansion of Louisa^i fkther. It was a low and narrow
garret, lighted only by a window in the roof, which
threw down a gleam of sickj^ sunshine upon one comer
of the nearly empty room, and lighted up an old and
oomfbrtless bed, which seemed placed there that its
occupant might derive some warmth from a source
whidi at least cost nothing. Reclining on this bed,
and supported by a broken chair back, sUghtly covered
by an old shawl — ^for the luxury of pillows was be-
Jrond their reach — ^was a much younger woman ; but,
ike the flrst-mentioned, she, too, wore a widow's cap,
and such dothing as she had bore the traces of mourn-
ing. Her fkce was waa and thin, and she was evidently
suffering fh)m some serious malady whioh had drained
away the springs of life. Her slender hands were busy
in fabricating some of those beautiAil flowers which
ber mother had carried abroad for sale, and their deli-
164
OffAWBEBSB BI>mBtmGtt JOimNAX.
I
cate colcrtirs and gay gtotro* tnade b6rpale«fcWy «heelrt
look still more ghastly frdm the conttasi A half-
ftnished wreath of orange flowers lay near her ; and the
tale they seemed to whisper of love, and joy. and hope—
of bridal splendour, and all the luxuries of the wealthy
— ^was afifecting when compared with her o"wn appear-
ance and her evident poYerty. '
•Ah. mother, dear!* said she, as the elder widow
entered, *I thought you long in coming; but I hope
you have sold the flowers, and brought me all I want?'
Her mother silently shook her head as she set down
her basket, and with tearful eyes gazed on her daughter's
disappointed ^ace.
♦Nothing! Have you sold nothing?' inquired the
latter agjun in amaiement and despair. ' * How could
that bej I thought both Miss T'rizell and Mrs Dash-
wood had ordered them of you?'
• Miss Frizell detained me nearly two hours,' replied
the mother, * tossed over all my things, and then bought
a two-shilling sprijf; and as I w^s an hour after the
time appointed at Mrs Dashwood's, she was angry, and
would be pleased with nothing. Indeed it is qui^e true;
the flowers were so much tumbled by Miss Frizell and
her friends, that, until they have been all fresh done up,
they are hardly worth looking at.*
•And Miss Singleton's wedding wreath?* said the
daughter. *How can I finish that, unless I have the
materials I require ? Only two shillings for four hours'
walking and waiting ! Ah, mother, mother, how little
they know the value of time to us ! Will you buy the
white and green silk with tjiat money?'
* I spent it. iny chUd^ in buying food. I knew we had
nothing in tne house, and your boy will be wanting his
dinner prescntiy. Ishefwleep?'
• Yes ; see how soundly he sleeps,' answered the young
woman ; and removing a s^ght covering, she exhibited
on the bed beside her a small fair boy, ai^arently about
a twelvemonth old, who peacefully slumbered in tbe
happy, indifl'erence of infancy.
Both gazed at the child till the tears brhnmed to
their eyes ; but after a few minutes, t^e young mother
turned away, and said, * What can ]we do ? This wreath
must be finished, or 4^ another week we shall all be
houseless.' She paused a moment, and a crimson spot,
which told of some internal atruggVB, appeared upon her
clieeks, whilst her thin lips grew paler than before;
then drawing from her finger her w^ding-riog, she
held it out to her mother. * It is but for a short time 1 '
she murmured; ' and what matters it? Why should I
feel so bitterly at. parting with the syaubol, when the
reality has been torn. from me? For. our ehil<ilT.-^
child's sake— 4t must be done I And what does it signify
what is thought of me ? ' In lUenoe th^ mother took
the ring j for what oo^ she say ? It was a sacrifice
she could not have aske4 but which she saw to be in-
evitable; for the^ did not possefls. another superfluity.
Silently, therefore^ she took it, and lelt the room ; whilst
her unhappy daughter, when leffi alone,, catching; np the
orange flowers, exclaimed, * Happy, happy gidi whea
you wear this wreath, how Uttie will yo« suspect the
hitter tears» the weoiy fingers, and the aching hearts
which have accompanied its growth 1 And I was once
as happy I Who would have imagined then the raiser^
able reverse I now present ? But am I not givmg way
to envy ? Because my prospects am blighted* would X
wish hers to be dinuned ? Heaven fioTRSve me I'^-^^md
sinking on the bed beside her stiU sleeping boy, she con-
tinued silent and motionless until her mother^ retsm.
The elder widow, meanwhile, with weary steps and
heavy heart, pursued her way to fulfil this painful
errand;, but. so deeply was she engrosaed in her own
moumfiil reflections,. that Ae soarcefy noticed where
she waa wandering, until she' flimd herself at the door
of a large jetwellei's shop in a fashtonaUe etreet She
entered timidly ; and watting vntil she saw one of the
shopmen disengaged, she ventuied to explain her
errand, and exhibit tbe ring.
* It is not our praetiee, madam, ta buy second-hand
goods,^ was thereby; * and if we do, ^we can orily giw
yxm the- vahie of the gold**
* And what may that be?*' foltend abe*
•I suppose abewt 1wtf*aMorowtH' he earcleeriy m*
* And is tha^ the utmost you can give me?' replied
she in a pleading tone. 'lam in preat distaM, aad
havenot another sixpence in the world.*
* Are you hot the person t^ho selli artHteUl flowwsf
inquired a gentleman who had been for eome nuoeta
thatching her, and was interested by tbe rweetuess and
propriety of her manners.
She replied in the aflftrmative.
'And did you sell nothing this morning?' agahi
asked he. ^^
*One voting lady purchased a two-shimng^ flower,
replied the poor widow; *but she detained toe solon^
that I displeased ian excellent customer by fWUng in
punctuality.' The gentleman bit his lip; and hastfiy
crossing the Shop, he returned In another minute, lead-
ing Louisa; for he was her father, and ahe had been
occupied in seKjcting a new pair of bracelets for hersdf
at the opposite counter.
'Repeat what you have just said to mr datight€>r,*
said Mr FrizelL M ask it ad a ftvour for her sake
enti<«ly.'
* Excuse roe, sir, and forgive the young Udy, repUed
tbe widow firmly, * She was probably not aware of how
much value an hour is to a trades-person ; but I do not
wish to complain of her for that.'
« Permit me at least to rectify her errora,' conUntied
the father ; *but as our business can be better transacted
in a more private place, sufler me, in the first instaQoev
to con v^ you home. You have probably walked finr
this day. It was in vain that ^be ofifired an^ oroo^u*;
and in anothjer minute she waa seated beside lomsa in
Mr Frizell's elegant equipage, to the great nK^tificatkn
of that young lady, who flung herself into a oofnei;
and did her utmost to conceal herself fcoin view, kst
any one should recognise her with such a. compsnina
They could not approach the lodging very doMy «
the carriage; but Mr Frizell, nothing dannted lyrlhe
narrow street or dirty staircase, reaolntely drew on las
reluctant daughter^ and the child of wealth andhnniiy
— the gay, the elegant, the fashionable Znouisa F^^iacfi^
for the first time stood face to face with Oi^ won and
wasted aufi^erers from waqt and diseaaeu
Never could she forget the thrUI with which m
glanced round the miserable roow, and eye4 the faeUe
sufl'erer stretched upon that bed. Poverty I tiM th«i she
had not known what it was ; imd yet tfeot waspoiertj in
its least repuUive shape: for though Imtt Bad deaj^ait^
the room was dean ; and though ieeUe and «Biactaled,
tlie invalid was tidy in her peraon ; ^Ms* the beaotifal
little boy who eat beside her, beading hia ^$A. feasKve
eyes on the strange visitors, as if to -queslaM^ their
ol^ect, gave a degree ef grace aad eleganDe to the
group* When I/>uisa saw the gratitude wii^vj
latber'a purchaaes were acknowledged, asA ^tm
fadaon with which the sum of only apreafy^
was received, she began to understand « iittle.ef As
value and 1^. power of money. But ibBgUae4£ '""
deeper feeling which the restoration of the widiliiigi
ooeasiened was to toaching, that she feH ftir th»
ment that she would willin^y sacriftce half hmtim
to be the author or recover of such a glaiioe as ^1">%-
Happy aa was tkos encounter for tbe
widows, it was eventoally a fhr ha|ipier ^one
Frizellhers^f. Th^ were materially aaeiited in
diffici^ties, and, In fiust, raised from a aituatioB «f
depressing and heart4Mreaking povert^^ te a- dewig «f
Comfort) which, to. their mederate wiriieai ec
i^uence. But she was arouaed'Mn n fsrinore
able state— fhym a poverty of A^eKng, U deartti of
passion, a want of kindly chaytty to bet neMbgil^
which, bttt fbr sotue siKsft leseon aa this, ndgl* Ipn
starved and destroyed every caniable smtfaufcnt in^*"
natiiie* But the lessen iraa eActnai; and Hie
'I
I
■•■^rw
QaAAfBBB3'B BDHf 9UB6H JOUfilW^
165
thonglitless Loqlta J^riaell nov seU b& exaoHpl^ ta her
young companioDB both of coDBideratton toiW»9da tl^^se
trades-people she etapUjyB^ and oC iaodef^tk>n'And salf-
deaiftl So the «ie of the oraMMiMts •and expensee which
her statioQ in life appears to justify or require.
>*»*»J— ■ t I i*»^-^*^»^^ii^**^— »***J— ^L«x»»*i^4».
h4-
■^-^^•^^
WltLIAM JACJtSON, THE KAT0RAL1ST.
Wb. liATt iklnad^r on di0ereut occasions presented our
midws with brief memolw of emin/ent natucaUsts in the
huQibler waUs of Uie^ and. the su^uect of our pxeseni
paper was an individual of that interesting class. Forr
lanhire, besides being one of the richest oqiuntiea in
Britain in the txevnmes it yielda to the naturalist,, is,
moreoyer, one that has produced some of the most peose-
Terivg and industriOMS students of natural history which
science can boast of, and these, haye belonged to the
humble, almost self-taught, class of working-men. Alike
unknown to fame and fortune, they haye, by their own
diligence and perseyerance In their fayourite pursuits,
wrought their way upwards in the world to an honourr
able position in social life^ while they haye acquired a
celebrity and fame in the annals of science which will
perpetuate th^ memory to fu^use ages. Such names as
those of Oeorge Don and Thoma^ Drummond are so in-
grafted in botanical literature, that they can only ,dle
with the science itself.
i Mr William Jackson, junior^ the subject of our present
niemoir« was bom in Dundee on the 10th October, 1820.
I His parents were in humble life, his father belnf a work-
ing tailor, yet imbued with a passionate loye of the oluects
of natural history, to the study of which he devoted the
leisure hours afforded by his employment. His father's
attachment to natural historr must no doubt have had
a powerf^il effect in directing William in tarly life to the
obseryatlon of natural objects, and he soon evinced a de-
cided taste for botanical science. This taste received every
encouragement from his father so far as his circumstances
' would allow; but William does not appear to have re-
ceived much parental instruction in botany — ^hls father
being chiefly en^a^ed in investigating the various branches
1 of zoology, to which he had always a peculiar predilection,
> and which left him very Httle leisure tiine to devote to
I other subjects. WilliamN scholastic education was con-
fined to the elementary branches of reading, writing, and
arithmetic, with a smattering of English grammar, kc;
which form the usual curriculum of the boys of the work-
ing-class of society in Scotland. On leaving school at an
early age, he adopted his father^s employment of tailor,
and diKgently employed his leisure hours, morning and
evening, in improving himself In the brsmeh^ of crea-
tion which he had '^n taught; bat more especially in
the pofsult of his fkTOuiite subject, botahy. He Kk^
wiM acquired some knowledge of Latin, and on aeqdaittt-
ane6 with general literature^ The nature of his employe
meat Oceasionally allewed him an idle day to spend itt
Um fields; hot with him it was not idly spent. The
nelghboniiood of Dundee oflfotfded many pleasing retreats
of pietUFMqne beauty; where he had ample opportunities
of itnd^e the loniy and varied wgetable fimm which
he admtrea so much. The roeky coast in the immediate
vicinage ef the town famished him with maav interest-
ing pUuits peealiae to marine expeeoree, whils the eaa-
braoL Wat strewn with the lovely lecms of algso and
SMiphytes, ttifewn up by the wavesi The extensive casige
e€ Skdlasf HiiUs booe ma^y sub-alpne species (in-
duding messss and Uehens) of consideraUe ibteiest;
and on the links of Bany* at tko month of the river
Xajr^ he gathered Many nase gttow ef beauty, some of
whseh ase seaceely to be found elaewhers. The time
ef Jaekson's heiborifling excursions was genetaUy the
momii^ ; and often were his memiag walks much mere
extended than one with less enthunaam would have ielt
agreeaAde. Ko uncommon oecuirence wouhl it be to
sea him out at Baldovaa Woods (som« f<Hir or five miles
from Dundee) by the ea«lj davm of a summer momin^
alieadjr bnv fiUing^ hU^wucuium with the opening flowers,
■till meUt with Sttw* These e^euxsions he eiy^yed in
tha tniA anirit £i£ ^ fi«ld nAiunsllAt^ And although thev
weioa often attended with much fatigue, and sometimes
hunger and thint to hoot, they were inde^ the happiest
houn of his life. He .loved much in after years te
recall his pleasant wanderings by stream and mountain,
in search of nature's beauties; and tnose only, who have
been in like circumstances, can feel with what grateful
contentment he had sat down on these occasions on the
neen tuxf» after a /lozen, or jpechaps twenty miles' walk,
to dine on his bii of crust moistened in the mossy rilL
Jackson's devotion to the study of plants at length
recommended him to^ tlie attention, of some influential
members of the botanical Sooiety ; and on the 14th Ma;|r,
1840, he was elected an associate of that body. This
event had a highly beneficial efl(ect upon him. Some
men, with less perseverance^ would have leant upon the
oar fi>r ft^ ^i^^ ^^ self-approvmgly enjoyed the honour
so unexpectedly conferred; b^t instead of this, it served
only.tp stjjuulate Jack^n to renewed exertion and more
diligent application. Having by this tim^, however,
gained a pretty extensive, knowledge of the various tribes
of plants indigenous to the neighbouring country, he felt
a desire to extend his researches, and formed arrange-
ments for a tour to some rich botanical district. Accord-
ingly, towards the lattef end of July ,1840, he proceeded
to the Clova Mountains in company with his friend Mr
William Gardiner — another self-instriict^ naturalist, to
whose interesting * I^essons on British Mosses/ ' Botanical
Rambles^' and other publications, we have already di-
rected attention (Ko. 172)— fully equipped with the ma-
teria necessary for collecting, examming, and preserving
botanical specimens. Here the two botanists remained
for several weeks, during which time they collected and
dried large quantities of specimens of {ne rare Alpine
plants that grow so profvrsely on these moiintalns. These
specimens furnished Jackson with subjects for extensive
study fbr a long period after his return, more especially
throughout the following .winter, and they were the
means of greatly extending hii knowledge of the obscure
tribes of mosses and lichens.
^t seldom occurs that a natttralist confines himself
exciuHtdy to the stu^ of one particular class of Statural
objects; nor was this tile case wilh Jackson. He had, along
frith his botanical studies, made himself acquainted (by
assistance from his father) with some departments ai
zoology, and m x»articular fodk considerable interest in
ornithology.' To this sttbjecfe he afterwards devoted con-
siderable attention, sftid took great delight in wandering
alon^ the sea-beai:h even in the cold and stormy weather
of mid-winter, studying the habits of the interesting tribe
of ocean birds. These were the chief objects of his study
subsequently te the time of his fhthet's death in 184G, he
having at this time been appointed ti the cuiwtorship of
the EKindee Watt^ Institutien Musenm, vriiich had been
previously hrid* by his fhther f>r many years. This
museum was one of the best provincial natural history
ooilections of its kind In Seotland ; and to the laborious
exertlent of the^ two Jacksons was it indebted for many
of ^e finest spedmens wiach It contained.
In the year 1847, Mr Jackson and •number ef oftier
enthuriastic natoralists in Dnndee fbimtod a m>ciety,
called the Dundee NatUktalists' Assdoiation, fbr the read-
ii^ ef P«p0m on natotal-histeiy subjects, and otherwise
cluoidirttng the natural produetione of the surrounding
country* Besides acting as treasurer of this association
up te die time of his decease, he 'read 'Various papers
of interest to the meetfakgs. One ef these papers was of
spaoial importsnoe-^being a list,'ftierof the birds of For-
fiushtre^ exhibiting the occaiteacs of many rare species
in tke ooonty, and nartsiinff many ^faots of great interest
firom hie own and his fftther^i obscvvatioiis.
Shortlv previous te the time of hxv deoeate, Jackson
eontemplated preparing more elabornte csntributions to
aoologioal soicnca fbr pubiieathm; bat, alas! the hand of
death arrested his career at the veey.time when he began
to lay the rerioHs ef his laboors befi>re the worid ; aad
he.sink into the grave in Idaroh 1848, a victim, it is be-
lieved, to ovec-*applicfl*ion, at the eariy age of twenty-
seven, leaving a widow and two young children to mourn
tkA loM of ft lannv hnahMMl &nd m/BSma^twmtttfmkhtn'.
•*■
>»>»fji'y>— **—
■■> »M*-
1
166
0HAMBBB8'8 EDINBUB6H JOUBNAL.
Hu ooUectioni of siuffM bitdi, dried plaatt, and otbar
•pecimens of natural hiitoiy, are yery eztentlYe, and form
a remarkable instance of what can be accompliihed by
eteadj persoTerance, eren despite the untoward circum-
stances in whidi a working-man is placed, and without
interfering with his domestic comforts. In too many
instances entJiusiasts in Jackson's ciroumstanoee allow
their prirate tastes and studies to interfere unduly with
the employments upon which they depend for support:
but sucn was not the case with him : he attended scmpU'
lously to his employment, employing only the moments
of remission ftom toil in the mornings and erenings in
his fayourite pursuits; and tiie only instance in whi^ he
deyoted tiie proper hours <A labour to study, was on tiie
occasion of his sojourn among the Cloya Mountains. He
used to say, in the quaint words of a friend—* One must
mind what one makes one'b bread by.*
A NIGHT IK A MODEL LODGING-HOUSB.
With the riew of procuring an insight into the eoo*
nomy of a London Model Lodging-House, I proceeded
one eyening lately to seek for a night's accommodation
in one of these establishments, situated in George
Street, St Giles. Threading my way through a number
of densely-packed and busy streets, I at length reached
the bottom of Qeoree Str^ where I beheld the object
of my search, a lofty and substantial edifice. There
were two decently-dressed men lounging at the door.
* Is this the Model Lodging-House?' I asked.
' Yon can haye apartments here,' replied the better
attired of the two.
This answer was instructiye. It showed that the
title Model Lodging-House was not tastefdl to its
inmates, and reminded me that the name of the St
Pancras establishment had been changed to * The Me-
tropolitan Buildings ' fh>m this cause. It idso eyinced
how uniyersally the pride of appearing aboye their real
condition peryades all classes. But this is not only a
pardonable, it is a commendable sentiment; for the
next step to desiring to appear higher and better, is
becoming sa
The gentleman, howeyer, politely opened a glazed
door, and directed me to a sort of lodge which did duty
as library and office, and is enclosed by what is called
the * pay window.' Here I learnt firom the superin-
tendent that my desire to appear Uiere in the character
of a lodger for that night only could not be complied
with, as that building accommodated weekly inmate^
and no others. Nothing daunted, howeyer, I asked
permission to look into the cofiiee-room, and was not
only allowed to do so, but the superintendent, perceiy-
ing I waa anxious for information, gaye me the en-
grayed plan of the house, which I now consult From
it I find that the edifice presents an entire frontage of
80 feet, and that the coflee or common room is 33 feet
long by 23 feet wide, and is neariy 11 feet high. On
entering it, I found that there are four rows of tables,
with a pair of cross tables beside the fireplace. Some
of the inmates were reading, tome writing, others play-
ing at draughts, and there was a coui^ of chess-players.
The rules forbid games of diance. The other rules are
excellent. The first and seoond are to the efibct that
the establishment shall be kept open fh>m flye in the
morning until twelye at nighty alter which hour the
bedroom lights are extinguished, and the entrance
dosed. They then proceed —
* The property of the establishment to be treated with
due care, and, in particular, bo cutting or writing on
the tables, forms, chidrs) or other articles, and no de-
&dng of the walls to be permitted.
*No gambling, quarrelling, fighting, or piofone or
abusiye language to be permitted.
* Habits of deanliness are expected in the lodgers,
and any person guilty of filthy or dirty practices will
not be permitted to remain in the house.
< Each lodger will be proylded with a box and locker
for tin lecurity of hit property, tbt k^yi of n^iidi wiH
be deliyered to him on d^oaitifig tke ram of oat dul-
ling, to be returned to him on the re^ddiyerf of the
keys.
* All earthenware, kniyes, ibrki, spooBt, and oHmt
articles, used by the lodgers, to be reiutncd by Hmd to
the superintendent immediatdy after tkej haye done
with them.
* A wilf^d breach of any of the above rolet will sub-
ject the party to immediaifee ezdnsion firooEi tke ksnss.*
A rule has been added, by whJcfa« tf a todger prw^s
himself fbr admisdon after nMoSght, he ia Uahie taa
fine of twopence; but if he is not in 1^ one o'dook, tiM
door is peremptorily dosed agalnit Idm. The lOptfiB-
tendent said this is of yery rare ocenmnoei
I soon engaged one of the fedgera In eanveraatiao,
and learnt firom him that persons of aH gnidea had been
aeen in that apartment A reduced piqralciaii vtth aa
Edhiburgh di|Aoma had lodged In the beoae lor aoaa
ttme, and he had seen the upper comer of tke reeai
conyerted into a studio by a humble artlak, nha paMsd
pictures one day, whidi he add to ttie dealers the nett
Anottier inmate of tliis houae was afterwards so
good as to communicate to me his experieooea of it ia
writing. He is an assistant in an attom/'f oOce.
* I did not,' he writes, • at first like tfae nolSon oT
sharing a home common to any one ttiat ndriift diooae
to ayail themselyes of it, and perhaps I shoold not taaye
done BO had my drcumstanoea been elher ^lan tbey
were; but necessity, that sharpest of goada-eompdM
me. I took up my abode in this lodglng-liovae, and
on many occasions I congratulate myself thai I dU ;
fbr, as a substitute fbr tiie home I and my brotfaan bed
lost fbr eyer, it gaye me inlhaitdy more pleaam sol
satisfaction than I had antidpated. A ww d^ sitf-
ficed for my initiaticm into the habits and coatoms of
the place ; and before a week had pasaed, I oould take
in my chop fh>m the butcher, prepare mj Te^ttables,
and cook my dinner with as mudi confidence, wad in ai
masterly a style, as the " ddest inhaMtant.*
* I assure you I did not care to eat anytbixtg I had
not cooked myself in the kitchen. Thai portloa of the
^ace is fitted up with a yery weQ-arranged appatatas.
and is wdl supplied with cooking imtdeawnta, a in
being continually burning. On a leyd with the ktebea
is the laundry, in which there Is a boiler to tmfy Ibe
Inmates and the bath-room with hot water, and afloei-
glete set of washing-tubs and sinks for wasbera. Tbi
ath-room, on the same leyd, I am aorry to a^, oafy
contains one bath, and eyen that is ao ill anppNed wiflk
water, that only one penoa can take a baih in te
course of three-quarters of an hour. The dime £ir a
warm bath is a penny; fbr a cdd now, a balraeBtqri
and it is not an unusud thing fin: hat^a-daasn lodgeca
to be waiting in turn to iMithe.
* Eaob lodger, when he enters the boaaa, oa yajft
of the first wedt's rent, receiyea from the enperiatnaideaft
a key bearing the number of the bedroom be is ta
occupy, and anotiier key, bearing the nvmber of a
sine-lined safe, in which he keeps hia atock ef
As to the bedrooms, eadi is comfMe in ib
are small, but the furniture and fitting* leader
perfect, though simple. A diair, a dieal or laehsib a
small French plain bedstead, and the bed-ctolbMi^jB
regard to cleanliness, would not lose by
that of a West-end hotel ; and as to q
beyond fiiolt Four floors are fitted up with
and to eadi floor tiiere is a washfog-rooiii.
* To dassify the lodgers woold be a moat
ter. On one bench in ihw ooflbe-rooo
person whose garb was one of faded gentllll>y,
haying experienced bettor drcumstaneea,
superior drdes, straggtlas to the last to keep
semMance of respectability ; on another, the
man mechanic, reading from some diea
some interesting story: f^ere a oonpte of
derks $ here a duster of workmen itota
factory, or perhaps half-a-dosen tadKmrers^
a^eacanoe^ and daoent in bcbaykmiv
»mm
^•mm
CHAMBERS^S BDINBUIiaH JOimKAL.
U7
U<m my own experkooe as to the moral
and social effM of tbeso Qlab-hoaaoB for the people, I
should mete out to them oneqaiyocal praise. Th^
habits of the lodgers ave dean, peaceable, and orderly/
To the information of my intelligent correspondent
I voMf add what else I learnt during my short visit.
The house cost L.6000 in building: it has four floors
of donmtories^ which afford separate sleeping-rooms for
104 lodgers, some of whom hare continued in it since
its optoing, about two years since ; and more than half
may be considesed permanent loc^j^ They pay Ss.
4d. p«r week in advance. The building is effectually
wanned and ventilated, and has proved itself extremely
salubrious, in spite of its eootiguity to Church Lane.
Hsivkig finisoed my conversations with some of the
iansAtes, and with the superintendent, the latter with
civil attealion directed ma to the nightly lodging*>house
in Charles Street, Dnury Laae^ in which I desired to
paaa the nighl I remember about ten years ago visiting
this ftftd other places In the neighbourhood with a gentle-
man coaneeted with the City Mission, and was intro-
duced to scenes of misery, squalor, and vice, which no
healthy imagination can picture without actual obser-
vation. The exterior aspect of the locality had changed
but liMs^ except that it now abounds with lodging-
booses, in which human beings of all ages, and of both
sexes, are nightly huddled together amidst the most
levoltincr discomfort and wickedness. To supersede
these Bests of infamy the more effectually, the pro-
iocton v€ the Model Ix)dging-Hous6s have planted some
of their establishments in the very midst of them. But
this seems to have augmented rather than to have
decreased the evil; for as I sauntered up the street,
looking to one side and the other to find the house I was
in aearch ot an emissary darted out from each of the
lodging-houses to solicit mv patronage, and to assure
me that his or hers wss ik9 Model Lodging-House. In-
deed aoBoe of these places boldly exhibited a rude trans-
par»icy. Inscribed with the words, * Model Lodging-
Honeer Many an unwary and weary traveller from
the coontry, glad of the fint chance of rest within his
power» has doubtless been initiated by this sort of
deeeption into orgies he little dreamt c£ Indeed even
I wee somewhat puzsled, and to make sure, put myself
under the guidance of a poUoeman ; for here, as in St
Giles, there was no lack A the force. He convoyed me
safely, and I asked one of a group standing at the door
if I cenld be accommodated: he thought not 'You
most come eadier,' he said, * if you want to sleep here.
My belief is, that all the beds have been taken since
nine o'clock.' It was now nearly eleven; but to be
certain, I walked up a passapie, and tapped at the win-
dow of the Mat. When it was raised, it revealed,
seated in a comfortable apartment, a portly matron, who
oooflrmed what I had been already told ; but relieved
my disa^ointment by saving that I could get a bed at
the 'other bonse,' in Kmg Street. Hereupon there
ensued a whispering between her and a deaf gentleman,
apparently an assistant in the office ; and whether it
wae a mark of especial attention to myself^ or whether
it vras the genersl rule, I know not, but she sent the
deaf gsntiemau round to show me exactly where King
Street and the other house were, lest I should founder
without such a pilot against those ' breakers ahead* —
the touters.
The kitchen of this Charles Strest lodging, of which
I got a glimpse before leaving, is a very good-siaed,
dean, warm-looking place. A capacious kitdien.j»nge
was fully occupied by some of the lodgers making oofSae,
and cooking savoury viands for thdr suppers { others
were seated at the table. There were perhaps some
twenty or thirty present, the msjoril^ apparently me-
chanics not in a very flourishing condition; others of
that class so numerous in London, whose wits have
been rendered sharp and versatile by want*, one di^
th^-may be found working as carpenters ; on another
as bricklayers; the dav after, mending or polishing
■hoea. AJi thnnvh iluiv \%nA r%ttmmm Y^mman njuwi tn Aiiahf.
else I and at other times performing errands and mes-
sages, or supplying jaro Um the place of some suddenly-
disdiarged or invaUded servant; ' everything by turns'
— as chance might call for, 'and nothing long'— ^M
fate willed it
Coaducted by my deaf friend, I arrived at the third,
or supplementary house, belonging to the society, in
King Street I saw at once it was not so extensive as
the Charles Street one, and that was inferior again to
the first building I had applied at In the front parlour
were a man and his wim at supper-*the master and
matron ; and the latter announced to me that my search
after a cow:h in a Model Lodging-House was over ; and
wished to know, on my paying down fonrpencOi whether
I would retire at once? U^ asking if I could have
any refreshment before going off for the night, she
answered, * Oh, anything you wish;' whereupon, with
the innocence of one of the uninitiated, I signified my
desire that a cup of coffee should be served to me at
once. I was speedily enlightened by the infomiation,
that whatever I wanted I must fetch from a neighbour-
ing shop, and, moreover, cook £or and serve up to my-
se&'. Altbongh much temptedt on going down into the
kitoheB, by the row of saucepans, ketti^ and jugs, aU
standing rea^y over the fireplace for any one inclined
to use them, I felt myself unequal to the task of be*
eoming my own oook. There were only two or three
of my fellow -lodgers, who, from what I gathered of
their conversation, seemed to have been companion
boarders for some nights past, but were not communi-
oative ; and I reascended the narrow staircase, the
master came out, and preceded me up stairs to the
dormitories.
I was conducted through a room about eighteen feel
long by about eight broad, in which was pUced four
beds crossways, with their heads to the windows, into
a smaller one adjoining; the partition was not of a
very substantial order, and did not reach to the ceilings
so ttiat the light from one gas-lamp sufiiced for both.
In this kind of large closet were two beds ; and the
master, pointing to one. said that was the one I had
better take, and then left, bidding me 'Good-night'
in as kind and impressive a manner as though he really
wished I should have one.
My first adventure was diaracteristic:— The other
bed was already occupied, and its possessor, when I sd-
dressed himi without any loss of time stretched over
and grasped firom his bundle his waistooat» and took it
into bed with him, a slight jingle of sUver announcing
his reasons, and conveying to me the probability that
he was mentally saying, *Who knows? perhaps he*s
a pickpocket' Not allowing mv feelings to be at all
hurt at this display of caution, I kept up a conversation
while making preparations to turn in for the nig^t;
but as he told me he had come to bed very earlv, be^
cause he was in want of sleep, and that he had chosen
this house in preference to the Charles Street one, as it
was so much quieter, I took the hint, and aUowed him
to rest
I then made an lnq>ection of the place ; and if my
sleeping companion had happened suddenly to open
his eyes, and had seen me peering about, he would
have inwardly regoiced at having taken the jprecau-
Uon he did regarding the contents of his waistcoat
The walls of the rooms had been whitened, but were
now in a state that called for another coat of lime-
wash. I was also shocked to observe several of those
specimens of entomdogy whose especial habitat is
dirty dormitories. A few of them were descending the
walls, and making towards the beds, as though bent
on having a night of it
Between every bed was placed a box for the clothes
of the sleepers, and hat -pegs so abounded, that the
calculation appeared to have been, every visitor would
bring three or four of those artides with him. The
counterpanes on the beds would have been none the
worse for a plunge in the washing-tub, and the sheets
■~iii rTi-i - -! - r*--* --" —
■rf^BMMrfttrf^^taB^kdaMAiMk^>^A-^H
!■ a M
16d
CBAMBEBS'S EDINBimfiH JOUEl^AL.
1
materials, and more frequent changes, WQuld have been
a decided taiprovement The beds I saw in George
Street were scrupulQusly clean, and the sheets are, I
Vas told, changed ever^ week.
Sleeping in a strange j>Iace In a strange bed is seldom
cbriddcivfe to rest ; but the locally of this Model Xiodg-
Ihg-House, and an its arrangements, with the character
df those partaking of its comforts, was so strange to me,
that it would have kept me from closio|[ my eyes had I
Visfaed even to do sa At first my repose was not so
mut^ b^k^if by my Immediate, companions as by our
ttieig^oun the inhabitants of the adjoim'ng lodging-
houses. About midnight, they commenced their eveu-
lAg in'ia sobial tnanner. Windows wer^ thrown open,
and a r^gulai^ tonversazione was kept up by the occu-
pants of the rafious roopns on one side the way with
xboSie in apartment* on. the otlier, occasionally inter-
ruj^^ted b|y holloed rathei^ t^^^ spoken words from groups
at aH' th^ do6f s, so that the mhltiplicity of questions and
ansireirs perj)etoally crossing and recrossing the street,
the cotifUsion of tbngfues, t^ith the whooping and yell-
ing of ofa^i^tt flaying about even at tnat late hour,
htrf an ellbct the reverse of sedative. Presently an
ftinemnt imitation * Jim Ci-ow* and bai^O-player had
T^anifesti;^ returned from his evening's ^tambulation,
attd -Was vociferouMy welcomed. After a short lulL a
loiid can was made for him to present himself at his
window, after the manner, as we were told, the students
Of Cel'nfAny requested Jenny Lrad to show herself at
the Hbtcl balcony, and Sin^ to them. He, too, was called
upon for a song, and probrptty favouned the neighbours
with *Oh, Susanna I ^ accompanying himself on tlie
banjo, and was — to the utter destruction of all sleep for
those who wished it -^joined at each'r<^airt by the
entire voe&l strength of the company of auditors.
Duritig the pauses of this permrmance, the sh^iU
voices of two women in angry cimfention augured a
coming quarrel; arid before the song was quite over, it
was drowned by fierce and frantic oaths of many who
had ceased to sing that they might take part in the
reveling watfare of tongues. IVesently shrieks a£
'murder!' add *pdice?' resomided on all sides. Tlie
last call was, it would seem, instantly answered ; for
in an incredibly short time fhe -riOft w*as tqneHed. AU
seemed' to disappear inta (Aeii* respective homes, doors
irere sKiAnned, windows shut down, and the atrect be-
came pretty qtriet; although I eoiAd for some time
hear the rumbling echo^ of the departed disturbance
till H entirely subsided. '
Just before the ' thne fbr ctoshig the doors of the
house for the n!gfat came ft great infhix of visitors —
some Itampibg t(p the stftirs overtiead, some below —
and four were ushered into the adjoining room. These
teemed to have estabUshed a firiendshfp at some place
wbefd they bad been spending the evening; and after
displaying' mudv politeness in ofieriOgeach other choice
of the b^, and had fairly taken possession of them,
tbsy kept up an animated discourse, diseasing clrctnn-
Btanieei of their dsxrmfy history, and anecdotes of their
penoaal career, whidh >fronId be more anmsing than
liurtruetive w^ I to detail them. AU were agreed
that the acotmnxiodation they were now partaking of
WHS veryauperior ta the- old st^Ie of nightly lodging-
hbusea' 0»d dedarad, ^at idthough he had only had
one w^ekHi regular work since March, yet, distressed
as he-«ras; lie wotrfd rather walk about- tlie streets all
nifflit than turn into a bed in which tliere was * any-
thiDg unpleasant/ I took A hasty shuddering glance
at the wall as he jipokerand beheld a regular army
marehing and mancsuvring previous to commencing
their grand attack under eover of darkness.
With this^iej were soon oMiged $ for at one o^dock
tiie gas was extinguished, and if half-past one eveiy
voioa was silenced and every sound liushed. I tried to
sleep in vsfe ^ I opvie«dd the tough skin and hardy un-
consciousness of 'anything unpleasant' possessed by
nofyeompaBioot who snored lustily.
. Befofe fivQi (K'olook faithe tnondBg^ the stamping of
feet overiiead, and the opening and shufctinfir of doors
above and below, announced many of the Uxlgen were
preparing to commence the day. I was almoat ime <rf
the first stirring, and proceeding throagh the a^nrt-
ment in which lay the four sleepers, descended ta the
kitchen. This was very unlike the one In Chafes
Street ; I cannot say that it was very dean, or poasefacii
too much accommodation, or had an air of ooisiort A
kind of sink in one comer, with a couple of pewter
bowls, formed the lavatory of the eatabliahnoeBt, and
one jack toweL Three bladdng brushes vere thfice fer
those who wished to use them i but blacking there was
This occasioned a facetious lodger to «^ luiottier.
none.
who had a most surprising shine on his aboes, ' if he
would oblige him by allowing him to rub the bruahes
over his boots/ just to borrow a bit of their polish?'
Two small reinnants of a.Ipokiog-gUaa gnahled the
lodgers to complete their toilets. On the wall were
affixed a number of pigeon-hole cnpboarda, with locks
and keys, in which the bread, cofEee, rashers of bacon,
or other provisions brougbt in by the inmates of the
house the preceding night were deposited.
By half-past six the majority of those who hid sl^pt
in the establishment were at breakfast^ while the test
were washing and oressing in the same kitchen with
tiiem. Every one made his own coffee; and the best off
among them griUed bis own rasher, and aa aooa a» be
bad despatch^ them, lit his pipe, and t^ofiisd. away at
tlie deleterious weed. Instead of taking breakfmst, I
kept up a conversation with some of my comyaniona
One inquired wltether I was going to 'feed^' and
ofiered, as I appeared a stranger, to go oat and show me
where to purchase the various comestibles. I deoUaed
those attentions, possibly they thought from lack of
funds s and to show the generous kindness corseot
among the poorer orders (of which I have pcevioosly
seen many proofs), I was invited to parta£e of me
coffee and. etceteras of the identical individual
expressed himself so energetically regnrdii^ his
Of * anything unpleasant' His invitation waa ea^
in these homely but sincere words* * Come alo^g,
pitch in,'* and I'll do the same with vou to-mornMr : if s
alt one.' This was evidently said that I mic^i notM
the obligation too keenly ; for what chaiiee was Qseaeef
my seeing him to-morrow ? J thanked the goo4 IkHdw
warmly, out said I should have breaJdiast^ whidk I
had ; but not till I had made the best of mj wj^ la
a cab to Peerless Pool, and performed ooe of Ihe most
grateM ablutions I had ever experienced*
Although this King Street house has many.dimw.
backs, yet it must be remembered that it' is no^ a fair
specimen of its class, being apparentl^y im 6irtihn.shmeot
hastily formed, to meet a demand greater tztaQ the be-
nevolent projectors of the Model Xiodging anticdpaied.
They should, however, cause a rigid supersinon t^ be
made over their subordinates in the jxaiiiBt c^ i^e^iiU-
ness. Great la)^ity appears to exist in thia
regards this single house. One of my
mates told me that the Charles ^trcft rooms
were cleaner, and I know that the George
leave nothing to be wished. X cannot either
!ng that the locality of all these houses is had^ i ^^^
The intention in placing them where they, axe iamU^
celientL but I think fails. The desir^ w«s to MUpp
* models* to the surrounding inhabitants^ hat of vMt
efficacy can such examples prove to the
lodging-houses who find these powerful vivala?
is their sole object; and to obtain it, ^x&y wtQ
fkir me^s or foul, as many persons into tb^
rooms as they can inveigle into them. CI
tilation, and proper sleeping space cost jnon^
they will never copy a medd which is. calc«
reduce their unrighteous profits.
On the other hand, the wdl-dispoaed lod^ei; Jty
obliged to pass to his lodging through these
where the exhibition of debau6bery is Jopt
♦ Anglicfe, * attack.thp mwl nlgfiinasl/,*
t
1
- ■*^
^ .^ ■ J-^ ^ .. - -M
— '' -'^
■ ■■hi I
I I ■ ■ ■■" f I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURPTAL.
169
flned wKbhi doors— can htrdly be expected wholly to
escape the contamination the model houses are built to
pretenre him from. Hib peace is also dtstarbed by such
disorders as those I have described ; and they, I learn,
are almost of nightly occurrence. In one respect the
rivalry has operated disadvantageously | for the older-
estftl^hed lodgings have lowered their terms, and to
make up the difference, necessarily take in larger num-
bers, and aflbrd less accommodation.
liespite these drawbacks, however, these model
bottles are, I am satisfied, performing their mission,
and will eventually, but slowly, work a reformation in
tbe habits of the working and necessitous classes.
NATURE'S IGE*CAVEa
So^BTK etiriotfs smd but Kttle-known fhets tipon natural
iee-honses having turned tip in the course of our reading,
wc are tempted at this time, when the production of cold
is becoming almost as necessary as that of heat fbr do-
mestic comfort, to set them in some sort of order. When
it is borne in mind that the natural refrigeratories of
whfeta we are about to speak abound in the production
of dear, massive, and valuable ice, and yet that they
often exist in places where the mean or average tempe-
rature is fkr above the freesdng-polnt, we are justlfled in
chdming a peculrar interest for our article. Many of
these natund storehouses of cold are highly estimated
in the dlstriiits where they occur, and furnish in various
instances enormous supplies of Ice at a period when
every other source is either unavailabie or exhausted.
Several natural ice-houses exist in the chain of the
Jura Mountains. Some of these have been long known
to a fbw scientific travellers, and have formed the
•lions' of the unimportant districts in which they are
•ituated. Perhaps one of the best-known is called La
Beaume, and has been described in most interesting
terms by several men of science who have visited it.
M. Pr^Tost, who made a scientific tour in the region,
h&s rdated the following particulars concerning it ; —
Situated in the above-named locality, it is a grotto or
cavern hollowed out in a naturally low hill, the average
temperature of its position being considerably above
32 degrees Pahreiiheit, the freezing-point. From the
pecoHanty of its aperttire and general form, no snow
can enter, and thei^ore the internal cold of this place
cannot be due to any external cause. The cavern is
npuran^s of 300 feet in length, and at its widest is about
100 feet, and is naturally divided into three compart-
ments. The traveller visited it in the middle of August,
on & broiling, scorching day, and on entering it, expe-
rienced the most severe and penetrating qM, *Tlie
first otnect,* he says, ' that struck my eyes was a mass
of ice fed by the water which distilled constantly, drop
by drop, from a sort of spring in the roof.' The whole
cavetn was covered with a solid glittering pavement,
clear as crystal, of ice a foot thick. In it were nume-
rous holes containing water of intense coldness, by
sounding which, the thickness of the pavement was
easily ascertained. This, it will be observed, is the
scene m summer. The winter comes, and all is changed :
the crystalline pavement melts^ and runs away into
water ; the solid masses at ice are no longer visible ;
and the cavern is actually warmer than the external
air ; and during all this period a thick mist issues con-
stantly from its mouth, and fills its interior. Surely tbe ice is thickest at the farthest end. The roof presents
it belongs for a small annual rental, for tlie sake of
the beautiful ice which it produces. In ordinary
years, the cave supplies only the families in the im-
mediate vicinity ; but when a mild winter is succeeded
by a broiling summer, even Geneva itself, although
several leagues distant, receives its store from this
source. At such peasons, every second day a heavily-
laden wagon proceeds from tlie ice-cave to the hospital
at Geneva, which purchases the whole quantity, and
retails it at a profit to the confectioners of tl^ town —
a trade by which its revenues are considerably aug-
mented. This cavern is entered by two well-like pits,
down which the visitor must descend by a ladder.
The bottom is a solid bed of ice, and its form is that
of a Ipfty hemispherical vault about 27 feet in height,
which is covered by a stratum of calcareous rock
only 18 inches thick, 'phe length is 75 feet, its width
40 feet A regular set of ice -masons are ejagaged
in excavating the sparkling solid. It is cut with ap-
propriate tools into long weidges, and then divided by
transverse outs about a.foot distant from each otherj by
wliich means blocks of ice a cubic foot m. dimensions
are detached. After a certain quantity has been quar-
ried out, it is carried in hods to a magazine near the
place, where tbe wagons are loaded. Seme idea may be
formed of the severity of t^ie cold inside, when it is
mentioned, that although the thermometer iii the shade
was at 63 degrees J^ahrcnlieit outside, it was at 34 de-
grees Fahrenheit, or only two degrees from tho freezing
mark inside I That even a more severe cold tlian this
exists during the most btoiling summer day* is evi-
dent from a fact mentioned by the workmen, that if
two blocks are left in contact for a Uttie while, they
become so firmly frozen together^ as to require to be
re- cut to separate them. Now it is an extraordinary
fact, that tlifi temperature of a spring whioh bubbled
from the rock at a littie distance did not indicate in the
remotest manner the existence of such a degree of cold
in its source, as it was as high as 51 degrees. Uence it
was evident that tbe cause of the frigerific effuets was
purely local, and confined to the oave and its immediate
vicinity.
In this cave, as in the last, the ice disappears in
winter ; and, singular to say, the hotter the summer in
both cases, the more abundant the prodvctiveneu of
the caves in this substance ! Had %\\q oave been the
work of some ingenious artist, one would seareely have
felt surprise at the exactness of its fidaptation for the
production of ice ; and it must be coasidezedt with the
rest of the cases to be quoted, fs a rare Uhistmiion
of an apparently ibrtuitous arrangement of inanimate
nature, fulfilling in the most complete maimer ah the
functions of a special contrivance. Bttt, as will be
noticed in the sequelf the law wliioh governs- its tem-
perature sufficient)^ indicates that as all-wi^ Xind
ordained it, and no doubt with a special object in view.
At no great distance from the ioe-oave of St Qeorgie's
another was found, the entrance to whieh wasannooiiefd
by a low vault 40 feet or so in width, and by aicurrent
of air which fell upon the over-*heated traveller with
folds of deadly ooldoess^ so that the gveaiest osntion is
necessary in entering it Descendmi^ by an iacUned
plane, the cavity is found to beeome wider from tiie
entrance inwards. At tho bottom is a horizontal plat-
form of ice* l!he cave ia abo«t €0 Iwt long by ao wide ;
here is a paradox, which, at a less enlightened and more
illiberal period^ would have been scouted as one of the
improbable series called travellers' tales. The fact,
however, can be well authenticated, and will receive
abattdant corroboration in the many similar examples
we shall adduce. '
Professor Pictet of Geneva, who paid much atten-
' tiofi to this natural phenomenon, and has published
a scientific communication upon the subject, in a tour
In the same regions, visited another natural ice-cave
vf atmott equal celebrity called St George's. This
cava is let ont to a oeaaant bv the commune to which
a beautiful appearanee, aU pendent with elegant ftalae-
tites of the purest ice ; and the cofip dtceU is picturesque
in the extreme. The temperatuire in Iheopeia air at
this time was 58 degrees Fahrenheit iir the shade* and
in the grotto it was 34 degieees FahreAhdt The guide
related that when he visited it in the previous Apr^,
three months before, there was no ice then i yet at this
period, uk the middle of an unnsiially hot svmmer day,
it existed in abundance.
The all-observant and renowned Do Saossure, in his
travds.in the Alps, paid much «ttintioato these eaves,
the riddle. He snya that in 1^ ToIcaDic island g(
Isehia, near Naples, which ahonnds with hot springs,
a number of grottos exist in which a great degree of
cold is felt At the period when he visited them, the
external shade-heat was 63 degrees, that of the grottos
45 degrees, and in a tererelj hot summer they were
colder stilL Other caves are mentioned in a freestone
hill upon which the town of St Marin is built, where
the same vic^ent contrasts existed between the tempera-
ture of the external and internal atmospheres. Evdjn
mentions, in his account of his tour in Italy, being
shown as. a wonder in one of the palaces which he
visited a hole out of which issued ft strong current
of cold air sufficiently powerful to buoy up a copper
ball. Saussure states that in a private house near
Temi, in the Papal StateSi there is a cellar of no great
depth out of whldi an impetuous, sharp, cold wind
issues. Numerous natural refirigeratories are com-
memorated by the same phdoBoph«r; among the most
curious weresome which he found at the foot^of a ste^
mountain near Mount Pilatus, on the bapks of tl^
Lake of Lucerne. These places were simply small
wooden huts, on three sides formed of timber, but the
back wall was built against the talus, or heap of frag-
ments, and rubbish at the foot of the rock, and was
formed in a loose manner of diy stones. When these
huts were visited by the traveller, it being the 81st of
Jul}", the thermometer marked 73 degrees in the shade,
in tiie huts it was as low as 39 degrees, or seven degrees
above the freezing-point ; and idl that separated ^ese
remote degrees of temperature was a few planks of
wood ! Hie proprietors of these places mentioned seve-
ral curious facts in illustration of their utility. Milk,
they said, could easily be kept sweet and fresh in the
heats of summer for three weeks, meat for a month,
and cherries from one season to another! In winter,
curious enough it is to notice that outside water wifl be
frozen for some time before it is so within. Saussure
adds, that the 'proprietors of the caves unanimously
affirmed, that tiie hotter the summer was, the greater
was the strength of tiie cold current whieh issued firom
them : ' in the winter a sensible current of air sets itU^
theuL In the mm^ of France is another famous na-
tnral ioe cave — that of Fondereule. M. Herioart de
Thury has given an interesting account of a visit to
it. This cave is situated in a wild and romantic
region, where some long bygone eonvulsion of tiie
earth has rent asunder the solid rockB, and produced
a scene of confusion of the wildest description. The
occurrence of the cave in this district, and its extraor-
dinary phenomena of temperature^ &c. are without
doubt attributable to this geological disturbance, as
will be best perceived in the sequel. It was long
thought to be a subterranean glacier, and has been
described as such ; but tiiis is an erroneous view of
the caae. It is a inagniicent cavern, nearly 200
feet in depth, of very irregular widtii ; tmd the thick-
ness of its vaulted roof is about 66 feet Its in-
terior is decorated with the most beau<^fid calotteous
stalac^tes, and the floor is variegated with curious
alabaster cones, which shoot out from ibe sheet of olear»
transparent ioe forming the pavement. In many places
elegant stalactites of ice drop down from iAiD roof
like pendents of dear glass, and, as it were^ mdt into
the glassy floor beneotti, so that ibe vault Is upheld
by pUlars of this beautiful material The alabastrine
stalactites are found principally at the sfdow of the
cavern, while the icy ones are in the middle, and here
and there produce idl the resemblance of rich folds of
drapery dear as water. One of tiie travellers cut a
hole in a pillar of iee, and placed a oancOe inside { tiie
most magical efltets were thus produced *, and the
fontasHe aisles of this tubterrasean temple o^ cdd
were illuniinated with the richest yeUow, Uue, green,
and red tints, the reflected rays playing with illusory
effect upon the floor of iee, t^ piflars of the same sub-
stsaee, and of alabaster, and tiMr grsat stakgnites which
Uned tha walls. A laiyer iliuminatioo wia aftwwiida
got up by arranging torches in the dearest and best
ciyatallised parts of the cavern ; and Uie result, saj the
visitors, * was worthy of all that the " Thoonad and
One Nights'^ could present to the richest and most
brilliant imagination.* This beautiful cave is some*
times made use of economically when there ia a scaiw
city of ioe j and its crystaUine pavement i» dog vp, uA
carried to several towns in the vicinity.
We have met with an account by Profasaor ^lisui
of America, whidi we have no hesitation in datsifyfaig
under our present head, llie ioe-cava of wbioh hs
speaks is in the state of Oonneoticot, betweeo Haitfgfd
and Newhaven. It is only 300 feet abore the kvsl of
the sea, and is situated in a defile filled with fragments
of rocks of various sizes, through whidi a amalT brook
runs. It was visited in the middle of July, the ther-
mometer at 86 degrees in Hbe ehadei and on amoa^
ing it, an evident chiUiness was fdt in tha air. Psitiei
of pleasure often resort hither in the maltef
days to drink of the cdd flowing waters, and to
themselves with the rich store of ioe have treasured upi
In some pkoes the ice is quite near the aorfaoa^ and is
only covered with leaves. A boy, armed with a hatebeC;
descended into a cavity, and after a little liani wur^
hewed out a solid lump of ioe sevenU pqnads in weight
An idea of the solidity of this pieee vw^ be fosawd, fay
adding that on the third day some of it waa yet un»
melteo. A similar repository of cold eoosts abosit seven
miles from Kewhaveo, at the bottom of a staap ridge of
trap rock. In the hottest summers ioe is oonvcTad ma
this place to Newhaven, much soiled, indoad, w^ leases
and dirt, but useftd for oooliag beverages. A raoif
celebrated one, also in America, has oftan been notiosd
by tourists of that countrv { some aooosnta, in faci^ have
been greasy exaggerated about it It is sitiiatsd la
Hampshire coun^, Virginia, and is widely ceJcbrslBd
under the title of the Ice-Mountsin. The place where
the store of odd exists is a sort of natmalglacier, which
lies against a steep mural ridge of kitty rode, aad is
composed of a number of fragments of anndstona of tSt
sizes loosdy heaped together. In the midsi of these
the ice is oentained. It was visited in the awnmar ii
1838, a season of drought and heat qnite
in the history of that oonntry. But the
temsl heat did not appear to exert the
eace on the Ice- Mountain. At the depth of a few inches
abundance ef excellent ioe was fo«nd« aa4 a tbsBDM»-
meter bwered into a cavity dropped from 9S to 40 ^
grees. The surounding rocks were oovarcd with dsw,
owing to the condenssiion of atmospiierie vapoor by
the exoessive coldness of their surlaoa One osfi^ had
been filled with snow, and only oovaied with a §bw
planks, and yet the snow was as ctisp §aifU had h«t
jiMtfsllenI At the bottom is a Uttle artificial stractaie
called the * daky ,* and used for that pwpsse In tke anm-
mer. In ordinary sunsners its roof is cotered with
icicles, and its sides are often quite incmsted «i& iosL
Strange to say, a spring near the rock has os^y one
degree less temperature than the watsrs of the
rounding district. Tlie atmosphere over this
spot had in this scorching season a bsyhny
coolness, most refreshing to the waar|
Italian tourists know the Monte Testaoeo
It is a hill from 200 to 900 feet high,
broken pieces of urns ; henoe its naase. It
a vast mass of broken pottery; thesefom
light and porous. It is sitsattid in the
pagna, near the ci^i and yet, most singnlar it ia»
from every side of this hill there deseend wiolda cf
the most Nfveshing coolness. The inhshitanta
oaves into the hiU, which they nsei
and in these the thermometer often mariks 44
r
I
oompoaed U <
>
I
J,
when the temperature outside ia ne^dy iO degrees^
We shall conclude oar series sf lunstBationa i
this carious subject by referring to one iHaioiK
traeted a large share of interest and attentMUi of
of the most talented of car learned nun. Ift ia in ha
feund in the splendid wvriE en the Qaotagir of
.1
i
•MdbBi»*MIMd_
•dkMMhi
- — ■ ■ '--^
CHAMfi£BS*8 £J>INBUBGH JOUBNAL.
171
reotntly pnbliahed, by 8ir Roderick T. Murcbivon. The
ice-cave here oommemorated is not far from Orenburg,
and boMUof the unpronovnceftble namelUetziajfa^Ztut'
ckita. It is utuoted at the base of a hillock of gypsum*
at thft eastern end of a Tillage conaeoted with the ini-
perial establishment^ and ia one of a series of apparently
natoral hoUovs used by the peasants for cellars or
stores. It possesses the remarkable property of being
puUy filled with ice in the tummert and totally destitute
thereof in the winier. 'Standing/ says the talented
auUior, .' on the heated gn)und» and under a broiling
sun, I shall never forget my astonishment when the
woman to whom the cavern belonged opened a frail
door, and a volume of air so pieroii^y keen s^ok the
legs and feet, that we were glad to rush into a odd bath
in front of us to equalise the effect I We afterwarda
subgecled the whole body to the cooling process by
entering the cave, which ia on a level with the street
At three or four paces from the door, on which shone
the glaring sun, we were surrounded by half-fjrozen
qmasa and the provisions of the natives. The roof of
the oavem hung wiUi solid undripping ioides, and the
floor might be called a stalagnite of ioe and firozen
earths We were glad to esca{>e in a few minutes from
this io»-bound prisosy so long had our frames been
accustomed to a powerful heat* The odd in this
cavern is invariably the greatest inside when the air is
the hottest outsidft As soon as winter sets in, the ice
diaamiearB, and in mid-winter the peasants assured the
tmveUers that the cave was of so genial a temperature,
that they could sleep in it without their sheep-skins.
At the very period when Sir R. Murchison visited it
ihe thermometer was 90 degrees in the shade, a d^ree
of heat which only those who have ezperieneed it can
appreciate i yet a single plank was the division between
a burning sun and a freezing vault I The oave is about
lO paoes loog, and about 10 ibet high. It has a vaulted
roof^ in which great fissures open, which appear to oom-
mimicate with the body of the hillock. Thia account
was first read before the Geologicid Sodety, and excited
maeh disousion among the members of tiie body« Sir
B. Murehieon at first believed that the intoosely^rigo-
rifio powers of the cave were due in some way, which
the learned expositor oould not make verv dear, to ti^
presence d saline ingredients in the roolci. His geo-
log»al chemistry, however, being shown to be at fault
and the causes on which he relied, if they existed at all,
bein^ such as to produce Aeol instead of cold. Sir J*
Herschel undertook the aohition of the problem. An
ebbocate letter of his soon appeared, in which he at-
tempted to show that the cold oi the cave was explic-
able on dhnatoiogical grounds soleliy, and in which
much was said about waves of heat and eold, so as to
give a very SGientifio air to the explanation. Bat on
similar grtmnds we might expect every natural cavern
rimiUriy situated to be a f^eeaing caves which is not
the casft
Saossure long ago gave the due to the red exposir
tion of this paradoxicd phenomenon; and Professor
Pictet, following it out hsi latiafactorily demonstnted
that it is a beaiitifnl example of a praodeal illuatration
in nature of that first principle in chemistry — eoapora-
tian prodmces ceUL It is well known to the geolegiod
stud^ that in certain mines whieh have a horivoatal
gaUery terminating in a vertical ahaft communicating
with tiie atmosphere, a current of air in mmmer de*
Boenda tiie vertical sliaft, and emerges from the horip
aontal( while in winter the current mt» m atthe horip
zontal, and issues ficom the verticd shaft. Now, in
almoet every instance quoted, the amngement of these
cavea has been precisely similar: they are placed at
the bottom of a hiU perforated by various rents and
chaania. ^uf the oave ia the horicontal, and the
verticd shaft Ilea in the mass of the hilL Suppose,
Uien, the mean temperature of the hill to be ahent 48
or 50 degrees. The deecendiug summer owrrent pass*
ing through the ehannela in the hill etaporatea tibe
it BMMaa wMh hi itm nw*«wi— muI m mmMIsl mm
to become odder and odder in its desoent; until, reach-
ing the cave, it is even bdow 32 degrees, and there
freeaes the water coUeoted in it The hotter the
air outside, the greater the destruction ef equilibrium
between the interior and exterior cdunms, whidi com*
municate at their base in the cave ; consequently, the
more raj^d and intense the evaporation, and the more
severe the measure of cold produoed. Every postulate
is satisfactorily answered ^pon this hypod^is} and
while no doubt occasionally the ioe found in some caves
may be part of a glader, or the remains of laat winter's
product yet the phenomenon which we would indude
under the term Sfature*a Ice-Cavea ia explicable solely
upon tbif simple and beautiful law. * This view,' says
Sir B. Murchison in a postscript to his previous account
* is supported by reference to the climate of the plains
<^ Orenburg, in which there ia great wetnesa of the
spring eaus^ by mdting of the snowi succeeded hy an
intense and dry Asiatic heat*'
— ^— .■ I II — ^— >» iili Hi > ^11 — — »»^i— xwfcw m\ ■ HI 111
THE EMPEROR AlTD THE ARTIST.
FROM THE FRENCH.
Two men made to understand each other*, two men
who were kindred by their genius, their popularity,
and their misfortunes ; two men actuated bv Uie same
prindples, kindling with the same desire ior immor-
tality ^ in a word, two men who, having attained tlie
glory they songht after, fell at the same moment, by
the same stroke, and dosed their days alike in a laDd
of exile.
It is well known that the painter David had in his
earlier years cherished the most exaggerated political
opinions. His ^ent imi^pnation feasted on the recol-
lection of Brutus and Scasvda, lutil he longed for the
austere independence of a Roman r^ublic Happily
for the fame of David, on his deliverance from tlie
prison of the Luxemboui|; at the first revolution, he
gave up the bdsterous activity of poUticd life, and de-
voted himself so successfully to his art that he became
the restorer, as well as the head, of the f cench school of
painting.
David's reputation as a historicd painter was al-
ready established when Bonaparte returned f/om Italy
coveted with ^oiy. Shortly afler his arrivd in Paris,
he waa elected a osember of the Nationd Institute, and
expressed his desire to become acquainted with his
talented eoUe^gue^ They met at dinner at the house of
Lagarde, aecvetuy to the Directory, and were soon
engaged in an animated conversation*
* I wish to paint you. Citizen Qeneral, aword in hand,
on a fidd of batUe.'
* KV replied Bonaparte ; ' battlet are no longer
gained sword in hand. I would rather be represented
sitting calmly on a fiery horse.*
TtS» idea was net lost dthough the portrait was not
at that time undertaken.
When Bonaparte had become First Consul of the
Republic^ be invited David to breakfast with him.
The nationd authorities had just been reorganized in
acoordanoe with the new constitution. 'I have pco-
ierred leaving you to your pencil, instead of giving
you a places' said Napoleon to the artist: * places pass
awi^, but talent abides.'
* Citizen Consul, tinte and events have taught me
that my plaoe is in my studio,' replied David modestly*
* I have dways had a great love for my art, and wish
to devete myedf entire^ to it'
On Bonanarte'a return from Mareogo, he aent for
Danrid lata nis cabinet Lucien Bonaparte, at that time
minister of the interior, was present ' Well, Davids
what are yon at wedc about now?' inf uired Napdeon.
' At my painting of Leonidas at Th^mopylffi, Citizen
ConsuL'
' Ah, di I I know,' rejoined Napoleon. ' Bat why do
you trouble yourself with pdnting the conquered?
Leonldas's name alone hii reached ua; all the rest are
fivroftikmn nniv I'
^^i^hwMi^ "lip 1^ 1 K I
.^b
_ ' '^ - • —
ei
m
GHAMBEBSB.BDOniUBGH JDUBKAL.
' AH^ 4q yoai'mf3^1fC\Masm- 6onftu})?' .All, €K08p4^'the
vMsi resisUMie And sabliitifl i devvliaii of the Vaoquiihed.-
AU,^^««eepl th^maui^rd and oistomfc of> the lACedemo-'
nians, with which it is well that republican eoldient
shoald be acquainted/ ' . ^ <
VJPe(Plmp«««Qq Citi£eD^I3kftvtd/ saidiNapokon^ ahidting
his head doMbt^ili^t aoii aiilier a JODincfit^tf pakise^ -m
adde^tplajfulIjV ' But^jmon ektr^ whe^ are >iou going
to begin my portrait ? — the portrait, you know/
* Wlieii9V0r yo«rolwoB6 lo sit tame.* '
'^apiatx^yml' What istha use of tiiab?' inquired
Napol^orit who [had neither leisuie liov paMenoe to field
tp t^i painter's. wlBhea.; ^DoydU supptue that tha
great men of antiquity whose likenesses have beta
lxM9ded/d<N|nn;toiiiaeTeifiat to a painter^' ^
* This is quite anotiier mattes r^ I wkh to pa&nt y«a
fov 3fou;r.owii. •ger'Hfoc the! bmh wlftd ha^&isetn and
known you, and who wiU Axppct td fiod yo« like.'
t l,\kQV vfd^md Napoleon jmaBkier { * surely ibia not
the^Iour of tliD akin or thdiesiact lonni U %\m features
wbichowiBtictutMcft likenesa? It is the ckaratiber o€ tte
p)\>'siogP0tBy«~*tbe:expreMioa of the souK-^the tout m^
lem^Qf t^ individual,: irhich ought tOibe.sendered;
and that iaaU/'
* Oiti«ea Consul, yoU:«iie toMthiOf.nie the art of
pai^itiAg,' .repMed THyid* : * I will take, your . porta^it
without your sitting to me.*
P^ ]ea;yiaot*K«|iS«on*fl'eabiDet, Iittci«ft xmiewed the
Bi;^ei;t;Qf iiie(midas,.and:obserTedrto David^* The fact
is, that my brother only likes nationai subjeats t it ia
U^ foible, for he ha« no objoefcion to be talked of by the
public* -
* And lie is ia the rigbl ; tor in all those aubjeots
iUuskratire of our national: glory he is largely coneeraed^
But do not fear : ray painting shall bo talked aboiU.*
The artist worthily aAOomptishod Uie desired portraiit
of the First Consul. Kai^oleon is tberaiai represented
Bitting caloi^-en ft fieey horse. vhild lie aseends Mont
St Bernard ; the ample oleak in which he is ^veloped
floats in the wind ; and he is in the aot 4)C oommandiog
his army; to passwtfae Alps. The nataes of Hannibal
and Cbarleoiagne are graren upon the rocks m the fore<»
ground ( and in thdrdistanee.are seen groups of soldiers
and tralBs of artillery. When thift paintins? was sliowa
to Napoleon, after bestowing on the artist all the prai«e
which was his due, hd b«gaa to apeak of tbo groii$>8 of
Agates in the backgrou^ ;
* But, Citizen David, what is the meaning of those
kalf^dcoen good Utile men (pdtit* ban* hwnme$) no
bigger thaa my horse's shoe? Poes it aot look as if
the animal < would crush thdtn beneath his loot 9*
* Citizen Firat Consul, thei« is some truth &n your
obienration^ and yet, . beliere me^ those p<ti4s kont
ifcomiaar^ as you call them^ cannot be i^topensed with':
they contributa : to the eflsot.'
* Tery' wiell^ 1 am <|tnte satisfied to have it so,' re-
plied Napoleon smiling; * and so much the Dtore» as
these little men have helped me out of many a sorape
during that palsBage,'aDd I wi^ to share mtiot them the
glory of the campaign/ ^
Napoleon had no sooner been proclaimed Emperor^ thaa
he appointed Bavid ki^ firat puftter, and oontnanded
hinv to pret>afo aix lai^ painttfigs for the Xjouptc^
the Bub(ject of one «f whidh was to be the coronation.
O^his last pictare is aaid to be the largest in existence,
and three years of the artist's life were devoted to its
eom{Mion. Mokt of the :figuvee tn this admiraUe com-
position ar^ exact bkenessas of the most celebrated
pcEraoDage» of timt epoch f and in order that David
might the more faithfully render the gron^g of the
anguat assemblage, a seat waa provided fbr him above
th» high altar of Notce-'Dame^ from w|iere he could
« Thto poInUnff WHS pUMmted by I>ftVid to the iavaUdfl, and
plAoed in their grand llhrery, from wliMce it was oarried <^ hy
^o ^rusaians In )Sld, as a aort of exchange tor Frederick the
0«eatrs twerd, mhictt Napoleen iiad taken poensiioQ of nine yean
beiere. It is now in the mueeum at Beclfaft • -
Observe ^tu^enmmbk as well as the ddtaila of Mie'ottO'
monies;
Afr length, hi the spring of 1808, the Emporor beiog
iofonhed tiiat the pamtinf waa tinisbsdy waa desinn^
to see it ; nnd acoompanied by tftie Empreaa, aa well si
by sevecsi ladieB of 4he coart^ and «fficera of liia bsnse-
bold,' he went one afternoon to the psinter'a aN>^
sitwUedin the Roe dela Sotbonae,
li44)oleoB oontidtred' tihis no^ compos i^n a wfaik
in pev&ot aifence; Ha had lieard it ooietvad by soaie
ctitiea that the fimpreaa waa in taet the hiendne of tiie
picture^ «a David^ had chosen -far hia anbjeet . that wo-
ment whes Napoleon phices npao Jos^iidne'a hrov the
imperial diadem. . This sdectiott had bean isuide 1^ tl«
Emperor's own desiffe,'and aoeoidini^ he ezpcessedua-
m^diate^ his entitore approbation of it
^ You have perfeetly dxpretaed my thoQ|^t»' aaid he s
* you hairp repstaented flse aa a (French ckevmHeri a&d I
am oUiged to you for that ttansnuttlug to ihiture gsae-
rations this proof of my afiection lor one who shaici
irit^ ue the eauea aad aiudetiea -of !govenioa«ni'
After iiraiaingthA general lefiect of tha cowpositioah
NafKileon aontinucd^* Ah, there ia Mwai wi0i his
aMgotfluent dostume : there is thai €ne head wMh Hs
Veauviail asgieot £ very one will seoegaiaeCambaoena,
althonf^h hit baek . only ia visible. As for TaUeyraod,
you have flatteted 1dm a little; and ha Uk^ as if he
were eoming oat of the ^anvaa to thank yo« iot it.-
Fouoh^.is fri^tfolly like. Those TeKtts and aa^oa
*T an those t^ing deta^'^aue ttdsamble: there is
so much truth, §o mo^i beaut^F ia thonl It iaool a
mere picture: tlie peop^ seem to liv# m4 to sfesk
in that paining !^
Jtist then one of Josephine's ladiea-ii^waitiogirhit-
pered to her ^etxt neighbour ttiat David had made ti«
Kmjiress look far^too yoitthfuL David^ overhearing tha
remark^ turned round gently towarda th» lady^aad aaii
to her in a very low yoioek ' Neverthekai^ roadawi^ I
would not counsel you to say so to her.'
. The Emperor preloiged hia visit imtil warned by the
approaching sunset that it was time to depart. Bdhad
for some tuneatood with his head oovceed, in ^eat
eontontplation befote the jnctare, when aU. of a aodte
he drew back a few stepfl« took off his ^hat* «nd address-
ing tha painter with an air of minted emotion md
digtiity, said to hiia» ^ I>«vid, I salute- y^u ! *
< Sire/ replied the ^Niinter, who waa deeply asoved ^
this homage* * I retfsive yovr mf^tgr^s aahrtatioa ia
the name of all FreiM^ artiato ; and 1 fisel happy aad
proud that it ia to tase that theae iKieda have Im ad-
dretsed.'
Josephine added atiU farther to Dav»d*f frataoatiaft,
by addressing to him eome of ihoae chanasag votda
which alie knew so well how to eag^neaa, and wldoh ahe
always utteced with so mtioh ii propof. The aitiafc Vlbea
accompanied their raigesties to their carriagft, wUch
was in waitli^ for them io t^ie Place de la SothooBe.
There was asaenshled a vast crowd* drawn togetiwr bf
the hope of seeing the Emperor aad Empresa. Bel—
takSog leave. Napoleon asid to David with « leok.4tf
kindness : * Tiiank you, my dear David-^tba^ yea;
I hope you will soon come and return my vieit* Aim.*
And while David signified his aasent by a ntipexM
bow, the ak was rent by a long ory of Fi
vmirJ which echoed throughout the I^aoe loag
the imperial carriage had vaaisbed out of eight;
days after this visit, David presented lumadf
petit-levee of the Emperor. As usual, ^wadkeaa
of him what tvork waa then eaaployuag hi
' lieonidas, sire^-^tiU Leonidaai I have bee«
it for more tiian ten years.'
' A poor subject, my friend — a poor
yott 80 ten years ago.' Then« after a momenta
tion, Napoleon added: * I really cannot underslaBd ^ahf
yon^have such a passion ft^r oonquet>ed people, Gtorf,
greatness, justice, are ever on the side A streogtii eat
victory^ These three hundred Sparteoa wave Ibeli t»
itruggle against the king <^ Persia witih hie
1
I
at tka
I
aat^eet: I taU
MMtMi^w— «n
OHAJklBEIlS'B JBDINBURGH- JIKHIINAL.
171
dteA thcmmnd loldien. In faet they wvoe rt&elf $ and
if they had lived in my day, I would haye had every
CHD^ or them «hot as a set of good^for-mothing ntacals.
Hofrever, I most do than jostioeu They ivete brave
feUowa^ 80 that I eannot be very angry with them 9 but
in certain cases usdess reiistance is worse than a folly
— \^ le a orinie» The worid is composed only of tbc(
strong and the weak : the first are formed to oom»an]f
thesecsndt^obey^ Every nai&Dd which does net kabw
how to-delJBod itself against « eoncfuerori ov-cannetdo
SIS aiid whksta has not even "the' coaragei to strangle
boldly agttinst him, deserves to be crtH&ed first, and
theh ruled. TaHee my adv^ice^ Dai^id ^ leave alMie your
Leonldkis, who was an ohstiiMrte fool^ and flli your ean-
ras wifeb some of our glorious national feats : ihevsare
so many of them, tblit your only difihmlty lies in the
choice of a subject. Tbmre is the rtttol^ of Cfativ, the
ploffm tuJIftfren at Jttjffh^ taoAmtaif other equally ad-
mirable mattePA. Tdu need not go bsok to a etale «iiti«-
quity for jreur subjects.'
David WM net surprised by* thi»: vehement sally of
Napdleou's. He duly understood tttka It that; IF he
wimd to tetain the Bm^rds's goM gvAoes^ he nvvat,
for the tlAie being at least, giv^ up his Letmidoa, and
occ«py himself with Ms contemporaiy epoeh. He (bund
it nraoh easier, however, to eonfovm himself to the Bm^
peroi^s tastes, than to attend to the whims «f some of
the imperial fSsmily, whose portraits he was>«ommanied
obowt this- time to paint The Princess Bor^hcse, more
etfpeoialty, so eompletely worried him by her cAprices
and her great inexabtitudid, that after having borne with
her impertfaMnoee for twoyears^ he >p6sit^ely revised
to finish her portrait ; and even threw the sketch, wthtch
was already ihr advanced, into* the fire.' FauiiAe^m-
I^ttined bitter'ly of it Co her brotiien who, knowing his
siefer^s oharucter, took David's part, replying coldly^
' MadanEAOk if pretty wom^n hare theip caprices^ gireat
n^sts b»re them also. I can do methlng whatever id
the matter.*
A little whfle Hfler this ooovetsaittcin to(^ plaoSran
occurrence happened which seemed likely for a moment
to disturb the friendship of these two remi^kable men;
and which displays in a very strong light the w«ak as
well as the strong points in Napoleon's character;
The Marquis oi Douglas had requested of David to
paint for him a portndt of the Smperor. The artist had
represented Kapoleon standing up in his cabiiiet» ;^t at
the «ioment he had quitted his desk after a whole night
spent in business. The prolonged watohfiilness of the
Kmperor is Indicated by Uie wasted taperv, wMcAi are
burned to their sockets. The figure is as large at life;
and of an the portraits of the Emperor^ this is considered
the best likeness. Before senchogit to the pmrchaseiv
it was conveyed to the Tuileries hy order of the artist,
«id exhibited to Napoleon, who was enthusiastio in his
Admiration of it.
* You have guessed me aright^ my dear David,^ said
he, after having expressed his approbation in very fiat-
tering terms. •! occupy mjiself by day with the happi^-
nese of my subjects, and I labour by night for the glory
of France. It only seems to me that you have< given
too wearied an expression to my eyes. This is a mis-
take, my good friend. Woridng by night never tires
me; rather, oh the contrary, does it-refresh me. My
eomplezion is never more clear than when I have sat
op i& night. But for whom is this portrait intended f'
he inquired with an air of cutiosity. * Who has be-
•poken it? It is not I.'
* Sire, it is destined for the Marquis of Doaglas.'
On hearhig this name, the Bmperor started; and
knitting his brows, cried out, * Whaty David, is it for
an Eaglishmaa?'
'Sire, it is (br one of your mi^esty*s most ardent
admirers*'
* Indeed,' said Napoleon ^Uy; 'I believe ao raeh
thfaig.'
*¥oir ^e man who knowt best how to appieoUite
*'NM >to me, sirv I ptfesune,^ <nt«rr«pited Nip^leon,
still more drily luid brusquely than befeve. * David,'
resuoiedhe in aoidmer tone, -i I potehase this portrun;
flrom you.* 1 r ...
* Sire, it is already sold.* f . .i , ., , . 1.
* David/ n9«ined lbs Empcter^ ^ that porttttit vhWll be
mine 1 1 give yea thirty tiibusand frsJnek' fSor It.^
*^re, I'caMiot yield it to youriclajesty ^ It^siahready
paid for.' *- •■- i- •),■•*'.• \^ <.. ^'..i /*(■ • ■
The Emperor, growing each meiDeiit laere eixt^ted,
said to the arti«t, * David, I witt net sufl^c this -portrait
to be sent into Eaglaad. Do you uhd^rstaud me? It
shull oet gol I-wiM Teturn this'iBarqaii bf yt>urs his
'Sire,' stammered' qut Dftvidv * yeur kuij^dSty weuld
set wish-to dishenotirneB''' <-'•'• -•'•'! '--< "-< ' ^
On hearing' th^se w<ords^ih»'Efflperof^iB<rew pallid
with rage,' and Idi lips qvivet^ with 'etfiotiott. '^Ne;
dertalnly 1 1 would net jo^ eveiiif It Wem Stf my power ;
bntlaih equallyve^ved Ihiit thoso^who 'glory In behi^
theenemiee'0#fratiee,shaU'never botst>'6f hsrving me
in their po^wer^not even in effigy t Thi^ sbstH not hare
this picture^ I tell youl^ •' Ana at the'sstme ^moment
Napoleon raised his foot, and kicked the^ p&iHt^ng so
furiously, thait'ihttfroke'thfwigh the oauvfts, repeating
at«he same time-in an'^iaspemted' te»e^'*Nevei^ 'shall
they have it!' . • .> . . r j. .
Sot saying, he insttfntly left the-aiwrtasetYt, leaving
every one he^ind himstupified'aiid terrified- by the vic^
lenee of hit condncft'^ ^ . /: . / .
' Tw<d days alter this vcene; David fwas conimanded to
attend the Emperor's breakfast - table. As sodn as
Napoleon eaw hMd i4)pear,,he arose fjNitn^lils- seai- and
hafftening forward to nieet himv to6k hold of his hand,
and Mevitly pvebsed it ^itblU' l]d» owni' David, who
mid«rs«ood< bis sovereigu'B thought, only ^plied by
raislng'the august haad to hip Kps. > ■
' My dear David, assure m^ that you are n6t offended
with' fue,''Said he hi an- under voice, which almost
tremhied with ediotioii; '
* Ah, sire t 'w«ve the only li^^rds-tlieurtist bad power
to ptonoimce. In a fbw> minutes they wene both calm
enough to converse as usuid, and Napoleon named to
himsofifie' phtns' he had conceived; ameng o«hei«, he
proposed farming a gallery of ail Dwvld's workk <
^IlMily,' said ihet 'piMsetoss, galleries of Eaphael and
Michael Angelo; France shall owe to m# the gattei^
of DkVid.* ' '. . i .
After expressing his thanks fdr th*s compliment,
David replied tb tite Emperor»-> Siroy I fear it would be
impossible to ^brm^this oolledtieaj My works are t(M>
mueh dispeMedy <and ^bek>Dg to -amateurs who arc too
wealthy to gWe tlieiii up. For instsLnoe, I knew that
Monsieur Trudaine, who possesses my ** Death of
Socrates," sets a very high valtte upon; it.'*
' We will obtain it by eoveiiag itv^ith goM^ ^ow
much did iM piy you for it?'
*Twentythousand francs, sire/ >■
* Offer him forty thousand' for it; aad, if necessary,
give two hundred thousand ftancss; {Here is an order
for the amount'
This picture had oc^ni^y been bespoken, at > 12,000
ihii^csi but M^ Tmdalne had paid £0,000, ta mark his
admiration of the v^rk. The prepnietar refused the
ofibr of 40,00^ francs: a seooUd offer «f Q0,^0 was
equally unsuteessfhL ' ,t , . . ,,
^Your refusal is v^p- flattering tome*^ observed
David 7 * but I hope to pcevaii on you to piart with it,
for I have the Bmperor^a order to go aafor aa two buuh
dred thousand francs,'
*I refuse them,^ saidiM. Tmdame soldly; ^aud beg
you may acquamt the Smpeoor 'respeotfally' that I
esteem your work far too highly to give it up on any
* Thfs potetlnip, mended and mtocsd by PavUl bimtf lt« I0 now
In tlM pownriou of the Marquis of Doufditf , who received It. rather
later than ho might have desired. J)«foce .nndiaf iftto bin, tbe
pain^ made four oepfes of it, one of whk-li is to he found im I^kIb
««4 4t»4» ft*^v»
^# \M Vfi««»kM#ft«
174
0HAMBEES9 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
terms— not eyen if two millions were offered to me.
Besides, if I wore to make « ssoriflee of this picture to
his mi^estr, it should be a gratuitous one ; but I cannot
part with it.*
David acquainted Napoleon with the ill success of
his mission. The Emperor, with that irresistible tone
and manner peculiar to himself, said—* Pray tell him
that he will confer a faTour on me b j yielding to me
your " Socrates " for three hundred thousand francs.'
* Sire,' replied David timidly, ' I am certain that he
will refuse me.'
*He will retaa^ do you say?' inquired Napoleon
angrily. ' Then tell him,' he exolainied in a loud im-
perious tone, and starting from his seat — ' teU him I
•oi^haveiti'
And these words were accompanied by a proud de-
termined gesture which it is impossible to describe.
* Thai,' vepeated David in Ms turn, like a man of
spirit^ and with the dignity of a great artist, * A0 also
will say that he wiH not let you hwe it } ibr this pio-
ture is his propeirty, end ho has a right to dispose of it'
The pafaitel', bowing, was about to withdraw, when
Napoleon, laying his hand upon his arm, and passing
his otticr hand hastily across his brow, as if to efface
some disagreeable impression, said to him genttjr — * It
is true, my friend, I was in the wrongs and I thank you
fbr having reminded roe that I, above aU others, ougHt
to respect property. But I was too anxious to have all
your ebtfs'd^iBwrt in my museum. Adieu, David, and
let us both forget what has now passed.'
l%e following day^ David received the brevet of com-
mander of the Legion of Honour, with the title of Baron
of the Empire, and took the arms appointed to him by
Napoleon: a pale of sable on a shiela of gold, with the
arm of Horace holding the three swords destined fbr
his sons.
Amidst all this glory^aden with honours by Napo-
leon, his protector and his friend; the object of un-
bounded admiration to his countrymen — David fell
beneath the same stroke which laid his imperial master
low* He bade an unwilling adieu to his country, and
went to end his di^ upon a foreign soil. A refugee at
Brussels, he could disoem from his place of exile the
new limits imposed upon his country, and by a happy
illusion of imagination, still suppose himself the inhabi-
tant of that Mk Franee to whose national glory he
had contributed. Napoleon was far less fortunate than
his ex^d prot^g^ in the dosing years of his life.
THE *^ATCH CHANTS OF THE SWISS.
For seme little tine a book has lahi upon our table,
which W9 have hitiierto been prevented ttom. noticing
by a prejudice conceived against it, occasioned by
the iAJiidioioiis encomiums of a great part of the press.
It is, notwithstanding, a very good book in its way,
and contains just such an account of a hasty ramble in
Switzerland as might be written by a man Messed with
good temper and a reasonably observant eye, but
with no pretensions to original thinking or literary
Eower.* The most piquant thing in the volume is the
ict, carried along with him by the reader, that the
author has reached the age of sixty, an age at which
few persons brought up in the mental activity and
bodily Indolence Si a city clinb mountains for recrea-
tion. That Dr Forbes is able to do this, is owing, we
have no doubt, to temperance, to equability of mind,
and to the comparative hardiness ana energy required
in his profession.
The narrative of a month's tour In Switzerland, writ-
ten under the circumstances we have mentioned, can
hardly be supposed at this time of day to afford much
extractable matter. "We may mention, however, in
passing, that there is a remark which everybody feels
♦ A Phyrfoi«n's HoHday, or a Month in Swftzertand in the
AminaroritNe. ByJohnFort>eB,M.D.,F.Il.a London: Mnway.
low.
to be just, although nobody thought of making It he-
fore, on the starange picture presented by Uie Alps, of
summer hi ^e lap of winter. * In the present caae, for
instance, all things immediately beside us — trees, grass,
shrubs, flowers, fruit— were quick with tummer life,
and rich in summer beauty, and obviously no more in-
fluenced by the snowy mountains by wUch they were
overiooked, than if they had been tmsklng in the sna-
shine of a land that never knew winter. & describtog
a scene like this, a poet might seek fbr its analogy in
the moral world, and liken it to a beautiful affection
based on natural goodness, which no ooldneas can chill,
no harshness wit^.' There is also a noticeable sketdi
of ti^e appearance of the Wetterhom in its veil of white
mist, 'having its lower border defined as aceuratdy
along its brow as if drawn by a Une. Sometimes thu
lower border or hem would graduallv and siowly ascend,
so as to leave the inferior and middle region perfectly
dear; at other times the process was reversed, the
dark face of the mountain gradually disappearing be-
neath the descending veil. To whoever looked on tbis
magnificent spectacle. It was a ready and Ua\e imagi-
nation to oonceive some Great Being enUironed on the
mountain top, and raising and lowering the veil at will ;
and reooUecting that it had imroediatefy followed the
suUimest and most awfol of nature's active operations,
the thunder-storm — and on the very fidd of its mani-
fSestation — it was no less easy to understasid how pheno-
mena of a like kind, presented to tiie men of ruder and
simpler times, may have transformed the i>rimary con-
ception into speedy belief— belief that, on the Aroucted
peak, and amid the darkness of the storm, the Great
Author of nature was himself in bodily presence.' Tbeie
is likewise at page S34 a picture of a glacier, icssm-
bling a * silent cataract,' which must strike one who
has travelled in Switzerland by the f^Ucity of the eon-
parison. But the best pictoriid scene is the aeeoont
of a natural exhibition which seems to have been fol
up on purpose for the delectation of onr author. * Ws
were all suddenly roused and startled by a tremeBdoii
noise behind us, Uke a continuous peal of distant thander,
which made us instantly stop ; and while we were ii
the act of turning round, our guides, shootiBg **Ab
avalanche!" pointed to the mountain b^ilnd us. We
looked, and from beneath the lower border of the nist
which covered it, and out of which the hoarse kmd roar
which still continued evidently came, we saw a vast
and tumultuous mass of snow rushing down and dioot-
ing over the edge of the sheer diiff into the air beyond.
At first this had a pointed triangular or eonkal shape,
with the small end foremost ; but as the fiiH oootamied,
it assumed the appearance of a cascade of equal width
throughout. In this fbrm it continued entil Its upper
extremity had parted from the difl!^ and the whole mass
had fallen to the earth, renewing, as its ptrts succes-
sively reached the ground, and with still louder and
sharper reports, the sound which bad momentaiflf
ceased while it was fUllog through the air. The wbA
of the process, which has taken so long to describe, wii
the work of a few seconds — ^half a minute at most; sal
all was over and gone, and everything silent and aft-
tlonless as before, ere we could recover from our afaaoA
breathless wonder and delight.'
The most interesting thing in the boo^, howerei^ Is
the account of the watch chants of the Swiss ; and ftft
is really a contribution to our knowledge of Uie inTi*"*n
of the people. Dr Forbes first heard t^ose simple sooel 1
of the night at Chur. * We had very indifferent rerttt
our inn, owing to the over-zeal of tlie Chur wstdmKD, "
whose practice it is to perambulate the town throuh
the whole night, twelve in number, and who, en ne
present occasion, certainly displayed a most eucifetie
state of vigilance: They not only called, but aimg ont
every hour, in the most sonorous strains, and erea
chanted a long string <^ verses on the striking of eone:
and as the Weisser Kreutz happens to be in a oentnl
locality, with a street bo^ in bade and IrooL we had
rather more than an average share of 13ilt patnotfe sod
IL
0HAMBERS19 EDINBUB(ra JOUBNAIi.
176
»>
«»
f»
»»
tl
»
l»
religioiifl demonstration. I lappose the good people of
Char think nothing of these cnantinga, or, from habit,
hear them not : hut a tired trareUer would rather run
the risk of being robbed in tranquillity^ than be thus
sung from his proprietj during all the watches of the
night
* Through the kindness of a friend, I hare obtained an
accurate yersion of these elaborate night-oaUi, and I
gire in a note the words, as an interesting illustration
of manners. Although the words are in modern dress,
and the verses are yery similar to what are chanted in
different parts of Gennany, there is little doubt that
thej are, like the custom itself, reaUj Terj ancient It
coidd onlj be in the undoubting and unquestioning
simplicity of the faith of the old time thai a ceremony
and formula so entirely religious could have been ex-
cogitated. It speaks well for the faith and temper of
the present day, however, that this noetmmal and ma-
tutinal clamour, even though religious, should still be
tolerated by the children of Chur :—
WATCH CRAMT AT CBtTR.
I.— WTOMT.
ITOrt fhr Christen, lats't each Mgen
UnaTre Qlooke hat Acht geschlaten.
Neun
Zehn
Elf
Zwfltf
«f »• £!■■ ••
Acht, nur ach xnr Noah's seit
Waren tod der Stnf ' tefrait^^cAitf/— &c.
TRANSLATION.
I.
Hear, y Christiana, lat me tdl you
Our olook has eight atrioken,
,, „ bine, Stc*
Etght, only eight In Tioah'a time
Were aayed from pnnishment— J?^A^/
Nine deaerres no thanking—
Man. think of thy Anty i^lHnt/
Tm Commandmants God enjoined :
Let us be to Him obedient.— Tm /
Only Eleven dtsoiples were faithful ;
Qrant, Lord, that there be no falling off I— .Rl#i»en /
TtaBlw U the hour that limits tlm»-
Man, think npon eternity \— Twelve f
Om, oh man, only one thing Is needful t
Man, think upon tiiy death 1— One/
II.
Oet np In the Btma of JiBsas Ohrisl,
The Mght day is near at hand ;
Tlie clear day that ne'er delayed i
God grant us all a good day I
A good day and happy hours
I wiih you from the bottom of my heart.
Fire, oh! ration Five, oh!*
At Altorf he is again disturbed in the same agreeable
way. * In our hotd at Altorf we were again saluted,
during the vigils of the night, but in a very mitigated
degree, with some of the same patriotic and pious
strains which had so disturbed us at Chur. As chanted
here, boweTer» they were Car from unweloome. The
onlv other places I think, where we beard these ITacAler*
rmfe was Neuchatel. These calls are rery interesting
r^lcs of the old times, and must be considered indicatire
as well of the simple habits as of the pious feelings of
the people of old. I am indebted to Uie same kind
friend who furnished me with the Chur chant for the
following additional notices respecting these watoh*caI]s
in Switzerland : —
* In the town of Glarus the ibUowing are tlM evenifig
and morning chants : —
I oome upon the evening watch
God giro you all a good night :
Qnenoh fire and light,
nat God may you fiard:
List to whi^ I ten fo»—
1l4
Get up in the name ol the Lord Jesus Christ,
For tho day has appeared :
The sun comes oyer the mountains down—
Bo I wish you all a good day.
List to wtiat I tsU yon, tek
• The following; 5n the Swiss patois dhilect, Is chanted
in Some places in the canton of Zurich, but not in the
town of Zurich itself^ where the watchman's call is no
longer heard : —
Jss stohni uft der Cbedwacht,
BehOt is Horr In dieser Naoht :
Qib dem Lib und der Seele Rhti,
Und f ohri ia am gea Himmel
New slaiad I en Ihs eveatof wadefa :
Protect us, God, in this night :
Qire t« body and soul vest.
And lead us all to heaven.
* The Chur ohaot, as well as that of Gl8ras« which
are both in the common Qerman« ha^ prdbably been
modernised by some modish reformers of the n^^-
watch, but they are aU very ancient. The one just
giren in the vemacular Swiss is probacy the identical
call chaated centuries back.
* Of the great antiquity of these diants we hare some
strong eyidenoe. In the small town of Stein* on the
Bhineft in the canton of Aargau* thene is^a Qhant now
in nightly ase which dates as far back as thefcorteenth
century. Its predseorigia, as well aeltaorigfaud words,
hare been handed down from father to son, and boA
are of unquestioDed authenticity. This is the story: —
Some time in the fburteeoth c^tury, at a period when
there were very frequent contests between the towns
and the feudal locds of the coontiy, a plot was coq-
oocted to deliver Stein into the hands of the nobles of
the vicinity, in which plot some teaitorous dtisens
were engaged. The night of attack came, and all was
arranged for the admission of the eaemy by the traitors
at two o'clock in the meming ) ^e watchword agreed
on between the parties being ** Nooh ii Wyl"— (** Nooh
eine Weile — Tet a while *'). An industrious shoemaker,
however, who lived dose to the gate, and whom some
urgent work k^t up so late, overhesjxl the whispered
signal and the sound of arms also outside, and rushing
to the watchhouse, gave the alarm, and so defeated the
meditated assault, and saved the town. Ever sinoe, the
night-watch at Stein, when he calls the hour of two,
must chant out the old words which saved the little
burgh from destmctioa Are hundred years since—
- Noch & Wyll Noch & Wyll"
' The same antiquity, and also the inveteracy of old
customs to petsist is strikingly shown by the fkct, that
in some parts of tne canton of Tessino, where the com-
mon language of the people is Italian, the night-watch
-call is stiU in Old German.'
Upon the whde, the volume will be found an agree-
able companion to the professed guide-booka.
TOLERATION.
Not the least U8cf\d quality in Mr MacautaA'^a * Iliatory of
England,' is the impression it will convey, tfiat ioleration in
matters of rdigion was a thing quite unknown in past
times ; that, in point of fhet, the party or sect who attained
the upper hand was intolerant of those over whom it had
achieved a victory. We say it is nsefol to know tliat such
was the ease; beoouse the deaeendanta of parties persecntod
are apt to forget that their anoestocs were persecutors in
turn. Thus in Scotland we hear mudi of tho peraeoutioos
of the Puritans in tho seventeenth century: no doubt these
persecutions were most atrocious; but spiritual pride in
reference to Uiese dark prooecdinga will be lessened by tho
reflection that the Puritans themselves, English and Scotch,
acknowledged, when in power, no principle of toleration.
Mr MaeauUiy aets ns right on this important subject in tho
following himinons passage : —
* The Puritans ought to hav« learned, if from nothhig else,
yet from their own discontmita. fkora their own stnurglea,
nrom theur own victorv, from the fall of that proud hie-
rarchy by which thev bad been 00 heavily oppressed, that
176
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
tlie power of the ciril magistrate to drill the minds of
men into eonformity with his own system of theology.
They proved, however, as intolerant and as meddKng as
ever Land had been. They interdicted, under heavy
penalties, the use of the Book of Conomon Prayer, not
only in churehea, but even in private houses. It was a
crime in a child to read by the bedside of a sick parent
one of those beautiful collects which had soothed the griefs
of forty generations of Christians. Severe punishments
were denounced against such as should presume to blame
the Calvinistic mode of worship. Clergymen of respectable
character were not only ejected from their benefices by
thousands, but were frequently exposed to the outrages
of a fanatical rabble. Churches and sepulchres, fine works
of art, and curious remains of antiquity, were brutally
defaced. The parliament resolved that aU pictures in the
royal collection which contained representations of Jesus or
of tlie Virgin Mother should be burned. Sculpture fared
as ill as pamting. Nymphs and Graces, the work of Ionian
chisels, were delivered over to Puritan stone-masons to be
made decent Against the lighter vices the ruling faction
waged war with a zeal little tempered by humanity or by
common sense. Sliarp laws were paused ajpinst betting. It
was enacted that adultery should be punished with death.
The illicit intercourse of the sexes, even where neither vio-
lence nor seduction was imputed, where no public scandal
was given, where no conjugal right was violated, was made
a misdemeanour. Public amusements, from the masques
which were axhibited at the mansions of the great, down
to the wrestling-matches and grinning-matches on village
greens, were vigorously attacked One ordinance directed
that a41 tho maypoles in England should forthwith be
hewn down. Another proscribed all theatrical diversions.
The playhouse were to be dismantled, the spectators
fined, the actors whipped at the cart's tail. Rope-dancing,
puppet-shows, bowls, horse-racing, were regrardcd with no
friendly eye. Bat bear^bating, then a favourite diversion
of high and low, was the abomination which most strongly
stirred the wrath of the austere sectaries. It is to be
remarked that their antipathy to this sport had nothing
in common with the feeling which has, in our own time,
induced the legislature to interfere for tho purpose of pro*
teeting beasts against the w«iitoii cruelty of men. The
Puritan hated beav-bating, not because it gave pain to the
bear, but because it gave pleasure to tlie spectators. In-
deed he generally contrived to enjov the double pleasure
of tormenting both spectators and bear. Perhaps no
single circumstance more strongly illnstratfs the temper
of the precbians than their conduct respecting Chnst-
mas'Day. Christmas had been, from time immemorial,
the Reason of joy and domestic afifcction, the season when
families assembled, when children came home from school,
when quarrels were made up, when earols were heard in
every street, when every house was deeorated wHh ever-
greens, mmI every table was loaded with good ohter. At
that season all hearts not utterly destitute of kindness were
enlarged Mid softened. At that season the poor were ad-
mitted to partake largely of the overflowings of the wealth
of the rich, whose bounty was pecnliarlv acceptable, on ac-
count of the shortness of the days and of the severity of
the weather. At that season the interval between landlord
and tenant, master and servant, was less marked than
through the rest of the year. AVliere there is much enjoy-
ment, there will be some excess ; yet, on the whole, the
spirit in which the holiday was kept was not unworthy of
a Christian festival. The Long Parliament gave orders, in
1644, that the 25th of December should be strictly ob-
served as a fast ; and that all men should pass It in
humbly bemoaning the great national sin which they and
their fathers had so often committed on that day by romp-
ing under the mistletoe, eating boards head, end drink-
ing ale flavoured with roasted am)le8. No publio act of
tfe^t time seems to have irritated the common people more.
On tho next anniversary of tho festival formidable riots
broke out in many places. The constables were resisted,
the magistrates insulted, th« houses of noted zealots at^
tacked, and the proscribed service of the day openly read
in the ohurobes.*
All severities prodnoe a reaction : the English threw off
Puritanism in disgust ; the Scotch acquired an equal anti-
pathy to Episcopacy. Philosophically speaking, both were
wrong: it was neither the principles of Puritanism nor of
Episcopacy that were to blame: It was the ignorance of
the age ; and it is only a^inst this spooiea of ignorance
that war should now bo waged.
THE MOUNTAIN WIND.
BV TBB BBV. JAMBS OILBORSTB LTOKS, I.L.D.
[This Is taken fhnn a vohmie publiibed in America, entftlad
* Christian Songs,' by the author of ' Triomphs Of our Lanfoa^e,*
whieh appeared in the Journal, "So. f84.]
Blast of the mountain ! the strongest, the fletfteel.
Bounding at eve in the pines of Braemar—
Breess of the desert! the purest, tho sweetest.
Warbling aktne on the moorlands afaf^—
Hasten, unseen ! from the fidds of thy freedom.
Play round my bosom, and steal o'er my brow —
narp-strings of Morven, and perfumes of Edom,
Bring not my spirit such gladnesf as thou.
Come from the brake where the wild bird is rin^nf ,
Come from the f reah bank that gladdens the bee.
Come from the cliff where the bloe-b^ It •pringtng,
Hidden from all but the sunbeam and thee ;
Rise in thy strei^rth from the vale of Ihy slamben;
Waken !— my spirit has pined for thee lon^—
Oh for the musio that swells in thy numbers !
Oh for the wfldness that breatties in thy soof !
Welcome, sweet playmate and friend of my diildhood !
Thou art the same that I loved in my youth-
Others were fslse as thoae leaves in the trfld wwd.
Thou still retatnest thy freshness and trsth ;
Thou sifll rc^icest, in melody roaming
Through the long fern, where the dew sptn^Us ijeam.;
Thou, when the swift brooks are turbidly fbsmipg,
Dasheet the spray from (he vexed mountain-stream.
Bard of the hill ! when thy harping Is londMt,
Bid me not think with the tyrant or slave ;
Tench me to strive with tho worst and the proudest.
Fearless, as tbon with steep GarraTs daric wave {
Teach me to rise with a lofty devotion.
Pure, as thon revest the bloescnilng sod.
Sweeping the chords with a sacred emotion.
Singing of Truth, and Redemption, and God.
HOW TO BBAR UU^VATOBBD CB1TICI81C.
The main comfort under ii^tiriou* eonuiMste of may load
is to look at them iairiy, accept them as an cril, aad cal-
culate the extent of the mischief. These ix^orioiis ooai-
ments seldom blacken all creation for you. A hnmoeoas
friend of mine who suffered some time ago under a spfne
article in the first newspaper in the watld, tails as tibt
it was a very painful sensation for tho finit day, aad that
he thought all eyes were upon him (he being a retixed.
auiet, fastidious person); but going into hia Dursery, and
finding his children were the same to him as nsoal, lad
then walking oat with bis doga, and otiaerfliy ihMt tfccy
fh>licked about him as they were wont to th^ be bq^an
to discover that there was happily a pablie very aaar Mid
dear to him, in which even the articles ot the * Times '
could make no impression. The next/iay my noor friend —
who, by the way, was firmly convinced that be was right
in the matter in oontroversr — ^had beocme ff^dta braasclf
again. Indeed he snapped his fin^^era at the kafiag
articles, and ^ aid he wished people would write mosa of
them against him. — Friends in Council.
BKLL8 BUNO BT TOG.
We believe thare are several points on oor
and in other parts of the worid where what are
* fog bells ^ are now in operation, for the purpose of _
alarm to vessels when approacliing the shore Tbe
of bells being rung by fog, liowever, is ao singular,
require an explanation of the meehsAism omployad.
apparatus which rings the bell is wound up* and dd
in a wound-up state by a lever extending ftom. tJta
chinery into the open air. To the end of the Im
affixed a large sponge, which absorbs the ip61stm<B
the fog, and by beoom!iw heavy, aettlea dowtt the ~
the machinery free, and thaa lings the bcIL j
placed just above the sponge to prevent tho abaoipliBa
rain. — Calendar, U, S,
Published by W. & R. CnAMSSRS, High Street, Bdinbax|;|h. Alw
sold by D..CRAMBxa8, 20 Ar^c Street, Glasgow; W. flL 0«,
147 Strand, Lscdon; and J. M^Gumoah* SI IHW ' ^
Dublin.— Printed by W. & R. Chambsrs, Edinbmgb.
Its
1W
a
■
fall
m
of
CONDUCTED BY WJLLUU AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS- OF « C«A1CBER8« INFQRHATION FOB
THE PEOPLE/ ' CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE;^ Aa '
■ I P I'l'H"! 1
m^f^^^^^^
No. 299. NbwSbries. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER' 22, 1849.
■-^i^-r
Pricb l|d.
EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER.
THE SBCOND MARRTAOS.
A BUSY day In the assize court at Chester, cliequered,
as usual, by altercate victory and defeat, had just termi-
nated, and I was walking briskly forth, when an attorney
of rather low oaste in his profession — being principally
employed as an intermediary between needy felons and
the counsel practising in the Crown Coart-'-«ocosted me,
and presented a brief; at the same time tendering the
fee of two guineas marked upon it.
' I am engaged tt>-morrow, Mr Barnes,* I exclaimed a
little testily, * on the civil side : besides, you know I
very seldom take briefs hi the Crown Court, even if
proffered in due time ; and to-morrow will be the last
d^y of the assize in Chester I Tliere are plenty of un-
employed counsel who will be glad of your brief.*
' It is a brief in an action of ejectment,* replied the
attorney — *■ Woodley versus Thorndyke ; and is brought
to recover possession of a behold estate now held and
farmed by the defendant*
* An action of ejectment to recover possession of a
freehold estate I def^ded, too, I know, by a powerful
bar ; fbf I was offered a brief, but declined it Mr
P leads ; and you bring me this for the plaintiflT,
and at the last moment too ! You must be crazed.*
* I told the plaintiff and her grandfather,* rejoined
Mr Barees, 'that it was too late to bespeak counsel's
attention to the case ; and that the fee, all they have,
with much difficulty, been able to raise, was ridiculously
small ; bat they insisted on my applying to jou-^— Oh,
here tiiej are I *
We had by this time reached the street, and the
attorney pointed towards two figures standing in atti-
tudes of anxious suspense near the gateway. It was
dusk, but there was quite sufficient tight to distinguish
the pale and interesting features of a young female,
dressed in faded and scanty mourning, and accompanied
by a respectable-looking old man with white hair, and
a countenance deeply furrowed by age and grief.
* I tM you. Miss Woodley,* said the attorney, * that
this gentleman would decline the brief, especially with
such a fee*
' It is not the fee, man I * I observed, for I was
somewhat moved 1^ the appealing- dejection exhi*
bited by the white-haired man and his timid grand-
dattgliter ; ' but what chance can I have of establishing
this person's right — ^if right she have — to the estate she
claims, thus suddenly called upon to act without pre-
vious ooDsultation ; and utterly ignorant, except as far
ss this I perceive hastily -scrawled brief will instruct
me, both of the nature of the plaiotiff^s claim and of
the defence intended to be set up against it ? *
'If you would undertake it, sir,* said the young
eyes, * for his sake* — and she glaoc^ at her aged com-
panion— * who will else be helpless* homeless^
' The Messing of tlMse who are ready to perish vrill
be yours, sir/ said the grandfather with meek soleVnblty,
' if you will lend your aid in this work of justice and
mercy. We hav« no hope of withstanding the master^
ftA violence and wro^ of -wkked and powecfttl meA
except by the aid tf the hiw; ivhich'we hare ^een taught
will ever prove a strong tower of defence to those irho
walk in the paths of peace and right.*
The earnestness of the old man*B language and maa*
ner, and the pleading gentleness of the yowag woman,
forcibly impressed me ; and, albeit it was a somewhat
unprofessional mode of business, I determined to hear
their story from their own lips, rather than take it f^om
the scrawled hnd, or through the verfaal medium of
their attorney.
*Tou have been truly taught,* I answered; * and If
really entitled to the property you claim, I know of nb
masterful mep that ia this land of England can hinder
you from obtaining possessaoa of it. Come to my hotel
in about an hour and a^half from hence t I sfaaK then
have leisure to hear what you have to say. This fee,'
I added, taking the two guineas from the hand o^ the
attorney, who still held the money ready for my accept-
ance, * joii must permit me to return. It is too mach
for you to pay for losing your cause ; and if I gain it—
but mind I do not promise to tak:e it into court unless
I am thoroughly satisfied you have right ^nd equity on
your side— I shall expeet a much heaf ier one* Mr
Barnes, I will see you, if you please^ «arly in tihe morn-
ing.* I then bowed, and hastened'on.
Dinner wa?i not ready when I arrived at the hotel ;
and during the short time L bad to wait, I more than
hiilf repented of having bad anything to do with this
unfortunate suit Hovrever. the pleadings of charity,
the suggestions of human kindness, reasserted their in-
fluence; and by the time my new clients arrived, which
they did very punctually at the hour I had indicated,
I had quite regained the equanimity I had momentarily
lost, and, thanks to mine host's excellent viands and
gener9ua wine, was, for a lawyer, in a rery amiable
and benevolent huoaour indeed.
Our confierence was long, anxious* and unaatisfactory.
I was obliged to send for Barnes before it concliided,
in order to thoroughly ascertain the precise nsrture of
the case intended to be set up for the defendant, and
the evidence like^ to be adduced in support of it No
ray of consolation or of hope came from that quarter.
Still, the narrative I had just listened to, bearing as it
did the impress of truth and sincerity in every sentence,
strongly disposed me to believe that foul play had been
practised by the other side; and I determined, at all
hazards, to go into eourt, though with but faint hope
\nAtutA nf a mtrdouml «■
fnl i
178
CHAMBERgrS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
* It tppears more than probaUe,* I renoark^ on dii-
mitsing my olienti, ' that this will ii a, fabrication ; but
before inch a question had been put in issue before a
jury, some producible eTidenoe of its being so should
haye been sought for and obtained. As it is, I can only
watch the defendant's proof of the genuineness of the
instrument upon which he has obtidned probate: one
or more of the attesting witnesses may. If fraud has
been practised, break down under a searching cross-
examipation, or incidentally perhaps disclose matter
for further investigation/
* One of the attesting witnesses is, as I have already
told you, dead,* observed Barnes; *and another, Elizabeth
Wareing, has, I hear, to-day left the country. An affi-
davit to that effect will no doubt be made to-morrow,
in order to enable them to give secondary evidence of
her attestation, though, swear as they may, I have not
the slightest doubt / could fiod her if time were al-
lowed, and her presence would at all avail us.*
* Indeed I This is very important Would you, Mr
Barnes, have any objection,' I added, after a few mo-
ments' reflection, *to make oath, should the turn of
afikirs to-morrow render your doing so desirable, of
your hehef that you could, reasonable time being allowed,
procure the attendance of this woman — this Elizabeth
Wareing?*
' Not the slightest : though how that would help us
to invalidate the will Thomdyke claims under I do
not understand.'
* Perhaps not. At all events, do not finil to be early
in court The cause is the first in to-morrow's list
remember.'
The story conided to me was a very sad, and, unfor-
tunately in many of its features, a very common one.
Ellen, the only child of the old gentleman, Thomas
Ward, had early in life married Mr James Woodley, a
wealthy yeoman, prosperously settled upon his paternal
acres, which he cultivated with great diligence and
success. The issue of this marriage — a very happy
one, I was informed — was Mary Woodley, the plaintiff
in the present action. Mr Woodley, who had now been
dead something more than two years, bequeathed the
whole of his property, real and personal, to his wife, in
fall confidence, as he expressed Mmself but a few hours
before he expired, that sne would amply provide for his
and her child. The value of the property inherited by
Mrs Woodley under this will amounted, according to a
valuation made a few weeks after the testator's decease,
to between eight and nine thousand pounds.
Bespected as a widow, comfortable in circumstances,
and with a daughter to engage her affections, Mrs
Woodley might have passed the remainder of her ex-
istence in happiness. But how frequently do women
peril and lose all by a second marriage I Such was the
case with Mrs Woodley : to the astonishment of every-
body, she threw herself away on a man almost unknown
in the district — a person of no fortune, of mean habits,
and altogether unworthy of accepting as a husband.
Sihis Thomdyke, to whom she thus committed her
happiness, had lor a short time acted as bailiff on the
farm ; and no sooner did he feel himself master, than
his subserviency was changed to selfish indifference,
and that gradually assumed a coarser character. He
discovered that the property, by the will of Mr Wood-
ley, was BO secured against every chance or casualty to
the use and enjoyment of his wife, that it not only did
not pass by marriage to the new bridegroom, but she
was unaUe to aUenate or divest herself of any portion
of it during life. She could, however, dispose c^ it by
will ; but in the event of her dymg intestate, the whole
descended to her daughter, Mary Woodley.
Incredibly savage was Thomdyke when he made that
discovery; and bitter and incessant were the indig-
nities to which he subjected his unfortunate wife, for
the avowed purpose of forcing her to make a will en-
tirely in his favour, and of course disinherithig her
daughter. These persecutions failed of their object
An unexpected, quiet passive, but unconquerable resist-
ance, was opposed by the, in aU other thingi, ooi««d and
submissive woman, to this demand of her domineering
husband. Her failing health— for gently nurtured aad
tenderly cherished as she had ever been* the caUasi
Inutality of her husband «oon told upoo the nnhappv
creature — warned her that Mary would aooo be ao
orphan, and that upon her firmness it depended wbeChcr
the child of him to whose memory she bad been, to
fatally for herself, unfaithful, should be cmst hoiBekas
and penniless upon ttie world, or inherit the wealth to
whidi, by every principle of right and equity, she wss
entitled. Come what may, this trust at least sboold
not, she mentally resolved, be betrayed or paltered with.
Every imaginable expedient to vanquish her reaohitioo
was resorted ta Thomdyke picked a quarrel witb
Ward her £ftther, who had lived at Dale Farm ainoe the
morrow of her marriage with Woodley, and the old gen-
tleman was compelled to leave, and take up hia abode
with a difttant and somewhat needy relative. Kext
Edward Wilford, the only son of a neighbouring and
prosperous farmer, who had been betrothed to Mary
Woodley several months before her father's death, was
brutally insulted, and forbidden the boosa Afl, bow-
ever, failed to shake the mother's resolatioo; and at
length, finding all his efforts fruitless, Tbomdyk* ap-
peared to yield the point and upon this sutgect aft least
ceased to harass his unfortunate victioL
Frequent private conferences were now hM between
Thomdyke, his two daughters, and EliiaYietb Ware-
ing— a woman approaching middle-age, whom, under
the specious pretence that Mrs Thomdyke*8 increas-
ing ailments rendered the services of an experienced
matron indispensable, he had lately inatalled at tkc
farm. It was quite evident to both the naotheraad
daughter that a much greater degree of intinaey
subsisted between the master and housekeeper thsn
their relative positions warranted ; and from some ex-
pressions hee^essly dropped by the woman, they tm-
pected them to have been once on terms of confidential
intimacy. Thorndyke, I should have mentioned, was
not a native of these parts : he had answered Mr Wood-
ley's advertisement for a baiHC and his teatiiiNMiah
appearing satisfactory, be had been aomewhat preopi-
tately engaged. A young man, caUin^p himself Edward
Wareing, the son of Elizabeth Wareing, and said to be
engaged in an attorney's office in Liverpool, was abo a
not unfrequent visitor at Dale Farm ; and onoe be had
the insolent presumption to address a note to Marv
Woodley, fomally tendering his band and fbrtane!
This, however, did not suit Mr Thomdyke*s views, and
Mr Edward Wareing was very effectuality rehaked aad
silenced by his proposed father-in-law.
Mrs Thorndyke's health rapidly do(£oed. The
woman Wareing, touched possibly by lympathj or xe-
morse, exhibited considerable tenderness and compas-
sion towards the invalid ; made her nonrtshing drlnka,
and administered the medicine prescribed by tbe viBbage
practitioner — who, after much dday and pooh,
by Thorndyke, had been called in — with her own
About three weeks previous to Mrs Thorndyke's
a sort of reconciliation was patched up tbitmgb 1
strumentality between the husband and wifis ; aad sa
unwonted expression of kindness and oompaaaionv nsl
or simulated, sat upon Thorndyke's features eveiy tine
he approached the dying woman.
The sands of life ebbed swiftly witb Mrs TlionMe.
Bnfblded in the gentle but deadly embrace with 'Aa
consumption seizes its victims, she wasted rapi^y avsv;
and, most perplexing svmptom of aU, ▼i<»ent ¥«•»•
ings and nausea, especially after taking her ~
which, according to Davis, the village mrgi
variably of a sedative character — aggraTated and
firmed the fatal disease which was hurrying her to As
tomb.
Not once during this last illness could Mary WboAy,
by chance or stratagem, obtain a moment's private It-
terview with her mother until a few minutes befoe her
decease. Until then, under one prelsBod or anoita
!•
I,
1
I
II
» li
CHAMBSaura EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
179
^her Elisabeth Wareing, one of Thorndjke's dangfaten,
or Thorndylm himsdf, waf always pretent in the tick-
chamber. \t was eTening : darknets had for some time
fallen: no light had yet been taken into the dying
woman's apartment ; and the pale starlight which
fkinlly ilhimined the room served, as Mary Woodley
softly approached on tiptoe to the bedside of her, as she
rappos^ sleeping parent, but to deepen by defining the
ihadows thrown by the fall, heary hangings, and the
old massiye ftimitnre. Gently, and with a beating
heart, Marj Woodley drew back the bed-cnrtain nearest
the window. Hie fbeble, uncertain light flickered upon
the countenance, distinct in its mortal paleness, of her
parent : the eyes recognised her, and a glance of infinite
tenderness gleamed for an instant in the rapidly-darken-
ing orbs : &e right arm essayed to lift itself, as for one
fast, last embrace. Vainly ! Love, Ioto only, was strong,
stronger than death, in the expiring mother's heart,
and the arm fell feebly back on the bedclothes. Mary
Woodley bent down in eager grief, for she feh instinc-
tirely that the bitter hour at last was come : their lips
met, and the last accents of the mother murmured,
* Beloved Mary, I — I hare been true to you — no will —
no* A slight tremor shook her frame: the spirit
that looked in lore from the windows of the eyes
departed on its heavenward journey, and the uncon-
scious shell only of what had once been her mother re-
mained in the sobbing daughter's arms.
I will not deny that this narrative, which I feel I have
hat coldly and feebly rendered from its earnest, tearful
tenderness, as related by Mary Woodley, affected me
considerably — case-hardened as, to use an old bar-pun,
we barristers are supposed to be : nor will the reader be
surprised to hear that suspicions, graver even than
those which pointed to forgery, were evoked by the sad
history. Much musing upon the strange circumstances
thus disclosed, and profoundly cogitative on the best
mode of action to be pursued, the ' small hours,' the
first of them at least, surprised me in my arm-chair. I
started up, and hastened to bed, well knowing from
experience that a sleepless vigil is a wretched prepara-
tlre for a morrow of active exertion, whether of mind
or body.
1 was betimes in court the next morning, and Mr
Barnes, proud as a peacock of figuring as an attorney
in an important civil suit, was soon at my side. The
case had excited more interest than I had supposed,
and the court was very early filled. Mary Woodley
and her grandfather soon arrived; and a murmur of
commiseration ran through the auditory as they took
their seats by the side of Barnes. There was a strong
bar arrayed against us ; and Mr Silas Thorndyke, I
noticed, was extremely busy and important with whis-
perings and suggestions to his solicitor and counsel —
received, of course, as such meaningless familiarities
ttsnaUy are, with barely civil indifference.
Twelve common jurors were called and sworn well
and truly to try the issue, and I arose amidst breathless
silence to address them. I at once frankly stated the
circumstances under which the brief had come into my
hands, and observed, that if, for lack of advised prepara-
tion, the plain tiff^s case failed on that day, another trial,
under favour of the court above, would, I doubted not,
at no distant period of time reverse the possibly at
present unfavourable decision. * My learned friends on
the other side,' I continued, * smile at this qualified ad-
mission of mine : let them do so. If they apparently
establish to-day the validity of a will which strips an
only child of the inheritance bequeathed by her father,
they wiU, I tell them emphatically, have obtained but a
temporary triumph for a person who — if I, if you,
gentlemen of the jury, are to believe the case intended
to be set up as a bar to the plaintiff's claim — has suc-
ceeded by the grossest brutality, the most atrocious de-
vices, in bending the mind of the deceased Mrs Thorn-
dyke to his selfish purposes. My learned friend need
not interrupt me i I shall pursue these observations for
the present no further — merely adding that I, that his
lordship, that yon, gentlemen of the jury, will require
of him the itrictast proof— proof deiir as light — that
the histnnnent upon which he relies to defeat the equit-
able, the righteous daim of the young and amiable
person by my side, is genuine, and not, as I verily be-
lieve ' — I looked, aa I spoke^ ftiU in the hce of Thorn-
dyke — * rOBQBD.'
* My lord/ exclaimed the opposing ooumel, * this is
really insufferable 1 '
His lordship, however, did not interpose ; and I went
on to relate, in the most telUng manner of which I was
capable, the history of the deceased Mrs Thomdyke's
first and second marriages ; the harmony and happiness
of the first — the wretchedness and cruelty which cha-
racterised the second. I narrated also the dying words
of Mrs Thorndyke to her daughter, though repeatedly
interrupted by the defendant's counsel, who manifested
great indignation that a statement unsusceptible of legal
proof should be addressed to the court and jury. My
address concluded, I put in James Woodley's will ; and
as the opposing counsel did not dispute its validity, nor
require proof of Mary Woodley's identity, I intimated
that the plaintifTs case was closed.
The speech for the defendant was calm and guarded.
It threw, or rather attempted to throw, discredit on the
deathbed * fiction,' got up, Mr P said, simply with
a view to effect ; and be concluded by averring that he
shonld be able to establish the genuineness of the will
of Ellen Thorndyke, now produced, by irresistible evi-
dence. That done, however much the jury might wish
the property had been otherwise disposed of, they would
of course return a verdict in accordance with their oaths
and the law of the land.
The first witness called was Thomas Headley, a smith,
residing near Dale Farm. He swore positively that the
late Mrs Thorndyke, whom he knew well, had cheer-
tuMj signed the will now produced, after it had been
deliberately read over to her by her husband about a
fortnight before her death. Silas Thorndyke, John
Cummins, Elizabeth Wareing, and witness, were the
only persons present Mrs Thorndyke expressed con-
fidence that her husband would provide for Mary
Woodley.
* And so I win,' said sleek Silas, rising up, and look-
ing round upon the auditory. * If she will return, I will
be a father to her.'
No look, no sound of sympathy or approval, greeted
this generous declaration, and he sat down again not a
little disconcerted.
I asked this burly, half-drunken witness but one
question — * When is your marriage with Rebecca Thorn-
dyke, the defendant's eldest daughter, to be celebrated?'
* I don't know, Mr Lawyer ; perhaps never.*
* That will do ; you can go down.'
Mr P now rose to state that his client was un-
able to produce Elizabeth Wareing, another of the
attesting witnesses to the will, in court. No suspicion
that any opposition to the solemn testament made by
the deceased Mrs Thorndyke would be attempted had
been entertained; and the woman, unaware that her
testimony would be required, had left that part of the
country. Every effort had been made by the defendant
to discover her abode without effect. It was believed
she had gone to America, where she had relatives. The
defendant had filed an affidavit setting forth these facts,
and it was now prayed that secondary evidence to
establish the genuineness of Elizabeth Wareing's attest-
ing signature should be admitted.
I of course vehemently opposed this demand, and
broadly hinted that the witness was purposely kept out
of the way.
* Will my learned friend,' said Mr P with one of
his sliest sneers, * inform us what motive the defendant
could possibly have to keep back a witness so necessary
to him?'
* Elizabeth Wareing,' I curtly replied, * may not, upon
reflection, be deemed a safe witness to subject to the
ordeal of a cross-examination. But to settle the mat-
ter, my lord/ I exclaimed, ' I have here an affidavit of
the plaintiiTs attbrneyt in vhicb he ttatea that he haa
no doubt of beinf? able to find this important witness
if time be allowed him for tlie purpose; the defendant
of course undertaking to call her when produced.*
A tremendous cLamour of counsel hereupon ensued,
and fierce and angry grew the war of words. The
hubbub was at last terminated by the judge recom-
mending that, under the circumstances, * a juror should
be withdrawn.* This suggestion, after some demur,
was agreed to. One of the jurors was whispered to
come out of the box ; then tlie clerk pf the court ex-
claimed, * My lord, there are only eleven men on the
jury ;* and by the aid of this venerable, if clumsy ex-
p(;dient, the cause of Woodley versus Tborndyke waa
defacio adjourned to a future day.
I had not long returned to the hotel, when I was
waited upon by Mr Wilford, senior, the father of the
young man who had been forbidden to visit Dale Farm
by Thorndyke. His son, he informed me, was ill from
chagrin and anxiety— confined to his bed indeed; and
Mary Woodley had refused, it seemed, to accept pecu-
niary aid from either the fiither or the son. Would I
endeavour to terminate the estrangement which had
for some time unhappily existed, and persuade her to
accept his, Wilford senior*^ freely-o£fered purse and
services? I instantly accepted both the mission and
t}ie Urge sum which the excellent man tendered. A
part of the money I gave Barnes to stimulato his
exertions, and the rest I placed in the hand of Mary
Woodley f grandpapa, with a friendly adononltion to
him not to allow his grandchild to make a fool of her-
self; an exhortation wUcU product its e£Eect in due
season.
Summer passed aw^, adtumn bad come and gone,
and the winter assizes were once more upon us. Regu-
lar proceedings had been taken, and the action in eject-
ment of Woodley verstis T^orodyke was onue more on
the cause ^st. of the Chester circui,t court, marked this
time as a special jury case. Indefatigable as Mr Barnes
had been in his search far EUzHbeth Wareing, not the
slightest trace of her <x>uld lie discover ; , ainl I went
into court* therefore, with but slight expectation of ntf
validating the, as I fully believed, Iftotitious wilL We
had, hpwever, obtained a good deal of inibrmation rela*
tive to the former history not only of the absent Mrs
Wareingf but of Thorndyke himself; and it waa quite
within the range of probabilities that something might
come out, enabling me to use that knowledge to good
purpose. The plaintiff and old Mr Ward were seated in
court beside Mr Barnes, as on the former abortive trial ;
but Mary Woodley had, fortunately for herself, lost much
of the interest which attaches to female oomeliness and
grace when associated in the mind of the spectator vrith
undeserved calamity and sorrow. Th& black dress
which she still we're— the orthodox twelve months of
mourning for a parent had not yet quite elapsed — was
now fresh, and of fine quality, and the pale lilies of her
face were interspersed with delicate roses ; whilst by
her side sat Mr John Wilford, aa happy -looking as if no
such things as peijurers, forgers, or adverse verdicts
existed to disturb the peace of the glad world* Alto-
gether, we were decid^ly less interesting tlian on the
former occasion. Edward Wareing, I must not omit to
add, was, greatly to our surprise, present He sat, in
great apparent amity, by the side of Thorndyke.
It was late in the afternoon, and twilight was gra-
dually stealing over the dingy court, when the case was
called. The special jury answered to their namea, were
duly sworn, and then nearly the same preliminary
speeches and admissions were made and put in as on
the previous occasion. Thomas Headley^ the first wit-
ness called in support of the pretended will, under-
went a rigorous cross-examiaatioti ; but I was unable to
extract anything of importance from him.
* And now,* said the defendant's leading counsel. Met
me ask my learned friend if he has succeeded in ol^n-
ing the attendance of Elisi^eth Wureing?'
I was of course obliged to confess thst we bad been
unabW to find her ; and the judge remwked that in that
case he > could receive second«-y evideaoe in pront ti
her attestation of the will.
A whispered but manifestly eager confenraoe Yiere
Uk^ place between the defendant and bis ooonael, occa-
sionally joined in by Edward Warein|r- There appeared
to be indecisieii or Itesitation in their delibermtioDs ; but
at last Mr P rose, and with some ostentation of
manner addressed the court
* la the discharge of my duty to the defendaBt ia this
action, my lord, upon whose fair fame much undeserved
obloquy has been cast by the speeehea of the plaintxff*s
counsel — speeches unsupported by a shadow of evidence
— I have to state that, anxious above all things to stand
perfectly justified before his neighbours and sodety, be
has, at great trouble and expense, obtained the presence
here to-day of the witness Elizabeth Warang. She
had gone to reside in Franoe with a respectable ^glisb
family in the situation of housekeeper. We shidl now
place her in the witness-box, and having done soi, I trust
we shall hear no more of the slanderous impotatiofis so
freely lavished upon my client Call Elisabeth Waiv-
ing into court*
A movement of surprise and coriasity agitated (be
entire auditory at this announoeoseot Mr Silas lltom-
dyke's naturally cadaverous countenance assumed an
ashy hue, spite of his efibrts to appear easy said jubl-
lant ; and for the first time since the commenoeiBetii cf
the proceedings I entertained the hope i^ a socoesifnl
issue.
Mrs Wareing appeared in answer to the call, and was
duly sworn * to tell the truth, the whole trutii. and no-
thing but the truth.' She was a good-looking woaias,
of perhaps iorty years of age, and bore a strikinfr resem-
blance to her son. She rapidly, saioothlj, and vnbesi-
tatingly confirmed the evidence Of Headley to a titUe.
She -trembled, I observed, excessively ; and on the ex-
amining counsd intimating that he had no more quea-
tions to ask, turned hastily to learve the box.
* Stay*— stay, ray good woman,' I exclainied ; * joa
and I must have some talk together before we patl.*
She started, and looked at me with frightened eaiaest
ness ; and then her nervous glances st61e towards Mr
SUas Thorndyke. Tbtre was no comfort there: in
his countenance she only saw the reflex of the agftatioo
and anxiety which m^ked her own. Sleek Siiaa, 1
could see, already repented of the rash mere be hsd
made* and would have given a good deal to get his wit-
ness safely and quietly out of court
It was now nearly dark, and observing that H was
necessary the court nnd jury should see 99 well as bear
the witness whibt under examination, I leguesled that
lights should be brought in. This was <foiie. Two
candles were placed in front of the witness-box, one cm
each side of Mrs Wareing ; a few others wcte disposed
about the bench and jury desks. The eflbel eC this
partial lighting of the gloomy old court was, Hiat tbe
witness stood out in strong and bright relief ftom tbe
surrounding shadows, rendering tlie mhiuteet change er
play of her features distinctly visible. Mr Silas TVm-
dyke was, from his position, tltrown entif^E^ into the
shade, and any telegraphing between him and the wit-
ness was thus rendered impossible. This prepanttfOB,
as if far some extraordinary and solemn purpose, ti^
gether with the profound silence which reigned in tbt
court, told fearfully, ns I expected, upon the nerves sC
Mrs Elizabeth Wareing. She already seemed as W
about to swoon with agitation and ill-deflned
* Pray, madam/ said I, * is your nanoe
Tucker?*
She did not answer, and I repeated tbe
* Tucker,' she at last replied in a tremulous
* I thought so. And pray, Mrs Tucker,
'' in trouble" in London fit robbing your lodgings?*
I thought she attempted to answer, but
passed lier lips. One of the ushers of the cout banded
her a glass of water at my suggestion, and she
1
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V
"~- -—
'^*m »
tm I't.aNTIi
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^ak
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
181
-»-r-
» I >i
to recoTer toreowhst. I pretscd my question ; Mid aiI
kst ibe replied in the same low, agitated roioe* * Yes,
I have been.'
* I know you haye^ Mr Silas Tborndyke, I believe,
was your bail on that oeeasion, and the matter was, I
understand* oosnpromised^-arranged-^at all eveats the
proeecution wat notpiessed. Is nol that so?'
* Yea— no-^yes.
' Very well : either answer will do. Yoa lived also,
I believe, with Mr Thomdyke, as his housekeeper of
course, when he was in business as a oooooeter and
vender of inftdHble dniga and pttls ?•'
* Yea.'
' He was held to be skilful in the preparation of
drug«4 waa he notr-^wdl- versed in their properties?'
* xes^I believe so— I do net know. Why am I aaked
siKsh questions?'
*Yoo will know preseat1y» Aiid now,' woman, an-
swer the question I am about* to put to you, as you will
be eompeUed to answer it to God at the last great day—
What waa the nature of the drug which you or he
mixed with the madicine prescribed ler the- late Mrs
Thomdyke?'
A apasmodic shriek, checked, by^ a desperate -effort,
partislty escaped her. aad she slieod fixedly^ gaxing with
starting ^es in my faee. .
The ptofouadest sileaee rdgned in the eoort as I
iterated the q^iestion.
* You mmti answer, woman,' said the judge atemly)
' unless you know your answer will criminate yourself.'
The witness looked wildly round the oourtv as if in
search of oounsel or sympathy ; but encountering none
but frowning and eager faees — Thomdyke she aoAd nol
discern, in the darknes-^-^ehe beeame giddy- and ' i<aii|c«
strifiken, and seemed to lose all presence of miad.'
* Hj^*he— he,' she at laa( gasped^-n* he mixed it I
do not know — * But hew,' she added^ pushing back her
hair* and pressing her hands agaiswt her hot temples*
'can this be? What can it mean?'
A movement amongst the bystanders just at this
moment attraoted the notice of the judge, and he im-
mediaSely eaolalmed, * The defendant must not leave
the court!' An offieer placed htsoself beside the
wretched murderer as well as ibrger, and I resumed the
crosa-examiaatlon of the witness.
* Now^ Mrs Tucker, please to kx>k at this letter.' (It
waa that whieh had been addressed to Mary Woodisy
by her sen.) * That, I believe, is your son's handwrit-
ing?'
•Yesw'
' The body of this will has be«n written by the same
hand. Now, woman, answer. Waa it your soo-^this
yoong man wlu\ you perceive, if guilty, oauaot escape
from justice — was it he who forged tlie names of the
deceased Mrs Thomdyke, and of John Cummins at^
tacbed to it?'
* Not he — not he!' shrieked the wretched woman. * It
waa Thomdyke—Thomdyke himself.' And then with
a sudden revulsion of fe^ng, as the consequences of
wbttt she had uttered flashed upon her, she exclaimed,
* Ob^ Silas, what have I saad ?-*^hat have I done ? '
* Hanged me, that's all, yoa accursed devil!' replied
Thorndyke with gloomy feroci^. * But I deserve it for
trusting in siMch an idiots dolt and fool that I was for
doing so.*
The Yoman sank down in, strong convulsions, and
was, by direction of the judge, carried out of the hall.
The anxious silence wluch pervaded the court during
thin soeoQ, i^ whif;h the seadet will have observed I
played a bold, tentative, and happily-successful game^
waa brokei} as the witness Was borne off by a loud mur*'
mar of indignation, followed by oongratulatery exohuna-
tionp pn the forUinate termination of the snit. The
de^daat*s oounsel threw up their briefs, and a verdict
wna at once returned for the plain tAff*
All the inculpated parties were speedily in custody )
and the body of Mrs Thorndyke having bscHi ditioterrai,
it was discovered that she had been destroyed by bichlo-
ride of mercut^, of which a considerable quantity was
detected in the- body. I was not present at the trial of
Thorndyke and his accompliceS'-^he for murder, and
Headley fbr peijury — but I saw by the pMi6 prints
that he was found gtrflty, and executed : Headley was
transported: the woman was, if I remember rightly,
admitted evidence for the crown.
Mary Woodley was of course put into immediate
possession of her paternal inheritance ; and is now — at
least she was about four months ago, when I dined wf th
her and her husband at Dale Farm — a comely, prospc^us
matron ; and fts happy as a woman with a numerous
progeny and an easy-tempered partner can In this,
according to romance writers, vale of grief and tears
expect to be. The service I was fortunately enabled
to reader her forms one of the most pleasing recollec-
tions of my life.
THE BIRDS OF SHETLANIX
BY A KEsnmnT*
Abound the bleak coasts of the northern and irestera
islands belonging to Britahi the scenery is wild and
biire; inhabitants^-^meh and quadrupeds at leAst — are
very fow \ bat old Ocean teems with Hfo, and indulges
in all his ancient queralous and riotous moods. In
such scenes also the student of ornithology finds an
inviting field, especially in the department of water-
fowl, whose motions and sounds diversify atid enliven
the oth^wise desolate shores^ At present, ^he reader's
attention is asked to the locality of the Shetland islands {
and perhaps a few sketches may be presented not alto-
gether uninteresting.
There aire a good many fand-birds, from fhe eagle to
the goldeuMirested wren ; but the species ane those whith
require not the shelter of trees, or even of long heather:
hence singhigwbirds, and those e^Hed game, are nearly
unknown. The lark and the mountain linnet are almost
the only songsters; and for those s^rtsmen who con-
sider only the law-protected birds worthy of their aims,
there aSe no attractions hi Shetland. The inhabited or
cultivated parts of these islands are almost exclusively
situated dose to the water side, round the margin of
the deeply-indented bays and sheltered harbours called
jfirthi or coss. There are therefore many lonely spots
among the undulating hills of the interior which, though
probably in no instance two miles from the sea in all
directions, yet have a look of as remote desolation and
perfect seclusion -as if they had been many di^s' journey
from all contact with man, his works, or his passions.
There nature reigns unreclaimed, not in gloomy Alpine
sublimity, or wildering expanse nf primeval western
woods, or nnpraned laxutlousness of tropical beauty,
but in bare, sterile solitude. A coarse brown herbage
scantily clothes the grsy peeping rocks, like a poverty-
stricken beggar in his tattered garments. A surly fog
creeps over the higher eminences^ and a small so-called
loeh— ^ough it deserves not a more imposing nanoe
than that of pe»d — reposes in the bosom of the circum-
scribed valley* In such a scene, on a smaH holm or
islet in the middle of such a stagnant loch, an eagle has
been seen, on a sombre winter day, sitting in solitary
contemplation ( resting perhaps after some long ex-
cursion, fbr the locality Is far from the nearest
eyrie, and food is verv scarce. There are known to
be from eight to twelve pairs of eagles (the white-
tailed eagle) that have their nests in these islands.
They are chiefly od the western side; for there the cliflb
are oomparatively lofty and pveoipitous, as if nature
had prepared against the fell fury of the Atlanta billows
an appropriate and UDOonquerafale barrier.
The gigantic flsh called halibut^ which is a large
species of turbot, often basks, as do other flat flsh, near
the surface of the sea. An eagle has been obscsrved to
pounce upon him^ and bury his powerftil talons in the
^h's back. The latter, naturally surprised at an
attack so audacious, flounders of course, endcavouiing
to dive, and thus drown his adversary, or escape his
182
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
clutchef. It is not the habit of our eagle, however, to
quit a h<^ he has once taken t the bravery, or perti-
nacity, if you will, of tiie king of birds forbids so tame
a relinquishment of bis purpose, and so he spreads his
mighty wings to balance himself, or to present a greater
resistance to the halibut's efforts to sink him, or even,
perchance, in expectation of being able to carry him off
bodily, as doubtless was his first intention. If the wind
or tide be towards land, the eagle's wings act also as
sails, and he floats mijestically in his floundery vessel
tiU it grounds with its passenger, and then, sometimes
a mightier than both — ^m his appliances, if not in his
physical strength — ^interferes, and makes them Aw prey.
This was actiuUly done by an elderly gentleman of the
last generation, who happened to be taking his evening
walk, and saw the whole oocurrenoe. Hastening to the
water's edge, with his stout walking-stick he despatched
both eagle and halibut, as, exhausted, but still strug-
gling, they were wafted to the shore. Quite recently
a pair of similar incongruous companions, thus mur-
derously associated, have been found both dead on the
sea-beach.
Corroborative of these daring and iktal exploits of
the sea-eagle, we may also mention the following well-
authenticated fact In Iceland the seal often pursues
the salmon up the rivers, as it is well known to do
likewise in some of the Scottish rivers, although leu
frequently since the introduction of the all-disturbing
steam navigation. In the flrost-bound regions of Ice-
land— his natural courage rendered desperate by the
absence of other prey — Uie eagle has been sometimes
seen to dart down on the seal while it was quietly re-
posing on a rock; upon which the latter promptly
plunges in its native element, where the erne soon finds
he has eaught a Tartar, and is speedily dragged down-
wards and drowned.
Of depredatory birds, the genus Corwu is in Shetland
beyond comparison the most destructive and audacious,
but of these there are only resident the raven (corbie)
and the hoodie crow. The former builds in the higher
cliffs, almost aspiring to rival the eagle in the subli-
mity of his dwelling-place, though so much his inferior
in size and strength. Formerly, so numerous and an-
noying were these birds, that the Commissioners of
Supply were accustomed to reward any person who de-
stroyed them ; but this usage has long been abandoned.
Lately, however, the ravens and crows have been so
destructive in one of the most populous islands, that a
gentleman has offered threepence and fourpence for
every head of these animals that is produced to him. It
was long supposed that the raven only ate carrion, or
attacked the larger quadrupeds when quite exhausted
and near death. But within these few years, they have
repeatedly destroyed ponies in comparative strength ;
though it must be allowed it has occurred in spring,
when the birds are feeding their young, and the animals
on the common are usually weakened by tlie hardships
of the past winter. Corbie sees a pony lying resting,
or listless and forlorn-looking, near a dike; and with
an impatient croak he dives down, and at one stroke
pierces the eye of the poor animal, who immediately
rolls himself in his agony, generally with the injured
eye next to the ground. This leaves the other eye
a mark for the murderer, who at another stroke blinds
his victim : a third attack is about the tail ; and then
be soars away with his malign, triumphant croak —
croak — croak. He knows he has done for the poor pony,
and he intends to return to the carrion in a few
days. In further proof that it is not sick or dying
animals he always selects, we ourselves found that a
raven had attacked a fine cow in good condition who
had wandered to an unfrequented spot She was heavy
with calf, and therefore not active enough to escape
the bird-of-ill-omen's assaults ; but she was discovered,
and rescued just in time, injured, but not destroyed.
A more melancholy circumstance occurred lately: an
aged man had gone to cast his peats, and never re-
turned. When discoTered, after much searching, which
was not till the following day, he was dead, and dis-
figured by ravens ; but it is impossible to say whetiwr
the wounds were given before or after d^th. Ths
ballad of ti^ ' Twa Corbies ' is not withoat ionadmtkm
in fact as respects these islands.
SheUand is honoured with the residence of atarliiig^
linnets, and here, alao, more strange to say, ia found the
golden-crested wren. The corn-crake (land-rail) ia the
cuckoo of Uie Shetlander. The moootonoua call of th»
elegant bird is most grateful to him, and he woold act
on any account suffer it to be molested or deatrojed, be-
cause he has been taught to believe ita presence fbretdUs
a good crop. This is not howerer, mere anperatitioQ ;
for, as they are delicate birds, wherever they breed and
thrive, it shows the season to be mild, and probably,
therefore, the com will grow and ripen welL The land-
rail, in Shetland, generally builds, not anumg the con,
as in other parts, that being too low and backward bere»
but in the more early rye-grass fidda. While we write,
we hear dose beside us its cheerful but eingnlar ermkt
crake — ereJfc — continued without intermisaioii. A coaplt
of pairs have established themselves in the Immediate
vicinity, and, as everywhere they are said to be omoe-
rous, we welcome the omen, as opening a hope of plenty
at length to the poor and long-tried Shetland cottsgera.
Among the precipices in the very wildest parts of tbo
coast tiie rock-pigeon builds its nest This rare bird ia
believed to be the original of many varieties of pageona,
wild and tame. Shetland has numerous vodtajr Vdrds ;
and they are most interesting in their habits, as well
as everywhere accessible to observatioo. Long legs,
bare of feathers, long necks and bills also^ with small,
elegantly -shaped bodies, these are the distingiiiab.
ing characteristics of all of this dasa, from the dimsmi.
tive sandpiper to the stately heron. Walking on sa
evening along the fiat beach near the confloence of
a narrow brook with the sea, or perchance vaaderiz^
near one of the lonely hikelets we have formerly men-
tioned, may often be seen a heron. He has waded s
yard or so into the water, and looks into it inteatiy ;
then he plunges in his head, and you can sooo
him swallowing a good-sized trout Again he
patiently; then another dip, and he raises a
water eel. You have now a fancy to interrupt
agreeable occupation, and run towards him with a aboat
You don*t intend to harm him, poor fellow, bat just
want to see how he can fiy. With an effort thai lo^s
like laziness or repletion, the eel still stmgglfaig be-
tween his mandibles, the haigrie — for so he is called ia
Shetland — flaps his long wings, and yon can sea how
disproportionately small the body is to the extenaire
pinions, neck, and legs. Slowly he riiea, flap — flap —
flapping like the sails of a giant windmill till he reaches
a quieter spot at a short distance, and then he ftnlalws
his meal.
SheUand has a few swans — ^birds intercepted In their
flight to and from more northern regions ; snd of fbitst
nothing need be said. Of geese there is no sraaU abaa-
dance. The young geese, after having had the
of gleaning in the stubble when the com has
moved from the fields, are considered in the
dition. They are then killed, and having been stripped
of the feathers, are salted for a day, and finally han^ op
in the rafters to be dried. The peat smoke uumssa
nicates a flavour always, and in all circumataBoes it
may be supposed, grateftd to the Shetlanders ; for they
smoke their fish, as well as geese and mutton, ai
too, when they have it. The more fastidious
of our southern compatriots generally revolts
this sort of food ; but tiie French — those
adepts in gastronomic science — consider
goose-pie a decided dainty. Oeese featheva
tered by the small traders with the cottars ;
but rare the latter sleep on anything bat
scanty resources compelling them to turn
can into absolute necessaries.
No solan geese breed in Shetland. The ^
^ver is a magnificent bird : it is nenfy of the
I
1 1
GHAMBBRS'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
188
Ume goose ; the breast is of snowy white, the back a
dusky brown speckled with white^ and it has beaatlM
bars of black around its neck ; its breeding places are
Greenland, Iceland, and Lapland, and it is only found
ill Shetland in winter, when in stormy weather two or
three may be often seen close to the shore in some
sheltered bay or harbour. It is rarely obserred to fly,
but when disturbed, dives, and is seen no more. In
company with these handsome birds there are gene-
rally a few of the same size^ but different plumage, the
Utter being of a darker speckled brown. These were
long called immer geese ; but a Shetland ornithologist,
profltitig by the fkvourable opportunities of obserring
them, dLcoTered that the so-odled geese were only the
young of the northern diver. It indeed appears very
singular to those unacquainted with watef-i^wl in their
nativiB haunts, and it has many times puzzled natu-
ralists in their attempts at classification, that the
plumage of several species changes according to age.
Most of the guU tribes, for example, are indiscrimi.
nately of mottled gray in their first year, and are called
remacolarly by one name — eeorie ; they are then good
for food, being tender, and not fishy in taste. Fdr the
next three or four years the feathers graduidly become
of a lighter colour, yet still those of a size cannot be
distinguished as to species. In the fourth year, the
breast is clothed in its spotless white, the grayish-blue
back appears on the Iceland and herring-gulls, and the
black backs on the two species distinguiihed by that
name — the greater and leuer black-backed guile. The
skua and the Arctic gulls alone are all brown, and seem
sooner to adopt the ^stinguishing adult plumage.
Some of the most precipitous cliffs to the north and
westward of the country are entirely appropriated to
the smallest and most beautiful of the gull genus — the
kittivMiAe, Imagine a wall of rock 200 feet high, on the
slight shelving projections of which sit teds oif thou-
sands of these gentle, lovelv creatures. The adult birds
are pore white, with a light gray shade on the back :
they are busy with their young : two little black«headed
creatures peep from every nest, to and from which the
ptrenta incessantly flutter, with an anxious care, a ten-
der guardianship, most affecting to witness. Fire a gun
in the face of the precipice — what a cry and clouding of
the air succeeds, as the alarmed denizens start off from
their perch ! only for a few yards, however : swiftly and
momentarily they return to protect their nurslings. Fire
again, and the clamour is still greater — the flight even
shorter — while many remain resolntely at the parental
post; and we have repeatedly witnessed the parent
shot rather than leare the nest unguarded.
Pass onward in your boat to the base of the nearest
simiUr cliff; it, too, is peopled thickly from top to
bottom ; but its inhabitants are much stiller than those
jou have before seen : these seem to sit In contem-
pUtiTe enjoyment of the wild scenery, the bright sun-
shine, and the healthful sea breeze, except when one
or two are absent on short foraging excursions. Can
these, too, be kittiwakes ? They are of the same shape
and size as the others ; but they have black heads, and
a black circle like a collar round the snow-'#hite neck.
These are kittiwakes of a year old ; they are not bring-
ing forth this season ; they congregate together ; and
not until next summer will they return to the cliff
where they were hatched to become parents in their
turn. They are called by the fishermen gield kittiwakes,
and are remorselessly captured by those who can climb to
their dizzy dwelling ; for we can assure the reader that
a broiled kittiwake of this sort is as ddicate eating as
a partridge.
Ere we take leave of the gulls, we may relate a
curious trait in the habits of the herring-gull ; namely,
the pertinacity and watchfulness with which it takes
on itself the guardianship of the seals from their most
formidable enemy — man. If a flock of seals are repos-
ing on the rocks, and danger approaches, the herring-
gulls immediately set up an alarmed cry. Warily and
keep to leeward of his quarry. The seals are sleep-
ing securely, but one sentinel watches ; when he hears
the cry of the gulls, he generally raises his head, and
anxiously looks round, snuffing the air ; but as he can
see, hear, or smell nothing suspicious, he begins again
to flin and stroke himftelf with his flipper, evincing the
most tranquil enjoyment But the gulls continue
screaming, and flying lower and lower, circling even
round the sportsman's head ; and at length, widi des-
peration of anxiety, they dash into the very midst of
the sleeping seals ; which latter demonstration of course
awakes the objects of their care, who start off into the
sea, and instantaneously disappear.
The cause or object of the herring-gull in this often-
observed procedure has never been ascertained. It
cannot be supposed to be instinct, since it can have
little direct reference to the bird's own drcumstanoes,
and that little is adverse. If it is sagacity, it is surely
an instance of its exercise quite unique, that one order
of animal should expose itself to imminent danger in
warning aQother to escape the same ; and. we regret to
say, the self*constituted guardian often falls a Tictim to
his philanthropy ; fbr the sportsman, disappointed of
his prey, generally discharges his spleen and his ready
weapon, so ai fatidly to revenge the unwarranted inter-
flerence of the pragmatical gulls.
On the lowest and most detached rocks — every
pinnacle of stone, indeed, which at high tide peeps above
the water — sit the ehage. Their congeners, the eor-
morants^ afitet a position considerably more elevated.
In Shetland they are all called eoarfit and in our humble
opinion are rery ugly birds. They are of a bluish
shining black, are gaunt and ominous looking, and utter
most discordant cries. The cormorant is the larger
species. When young, its breaftt is white ; but thi^
gradually disappears, leaving on the adult bird only
a snow-flake of a spot on the thigh, invisible except
when the animiU flies. The shag is always and alto-
gether black, similar in shape, but much smaller than
the former. Most sea-fowl eggs are exceedingly palat-
able and wholesome ; but those of this genus are quite
unfit for food, and have a most fbtid odour. Unpro-
mising as these animals would appear, however, they
become easily tsmed, and are then most docile, saga-
cious, and affectionate. We have seen a cormorant
which was kept in a domestic state several yea^ : it went
on the sea, and fished for itself; but instantly returned
if its owner called, following him with a plaintive note, as
if trying to sing, and seeking his caresses with every
possible gesture of fondness. While it was gentle and
courteous to every one who noticed or spoke to it, its
discriminating attachment to its master was conspi-
cuous. In his absence it watched for him from the top
of a gate, and distinguished him at a very considerable
distance. This interesting favourite pined, and died
after many weeks* suffering. When the body was
opened, the lungs were found quite decayed. It had
died of tubercular consumption.
An unpleasing trait of the cormorant is its proverbial
voracity : the quantity of fish it is known to devour is
quite enormous. The spirited proprietor we have al-
luded to, who, with much trouble and expense, made an
artificial pond, and stocked it appropriately, had to
thank this voracious animal for the complete and hope-
less failure of his interesting experiment. Looking out
early one morning on his pond, what was his dismay to
see emerging from a prolonged dive an ominous black
object ! It was succeeded by another and another. A
party of cormorants had discovered his treasure, and
made a comfortable breakfast on his whole valuable
stock of imported fish and spawn I
Strange to say, the young shag is good eating. The
accomplished lady of one of the chief Shetland lairds
used to make excellent soup of this bird, which was not
to be distinguished from Aar«-soup. The fishermen take
these birds whenever they have Opportunity. When
out fishing for sillacks, they bait (with one of these little
«*U ~.-
-»- t.A\ -
^^ t. 1. ^& At.. ....J ^# 4K<> Dm^
184
OaAHBBB8« EDmBUBCtH JOUBNAL.
I
TIm K«f PMBi the ailUdi (•hiob had been m«d«
moye iaiitingly jut b«ne«th the vatsT'i Mir&ee), and
id attaniptinji toavaUovr, is caught bp tbe book ; tbon,
b; niBuu of (he rod, tli« bird ii held down tilt drowned.
, Anuther whimucnl wny in wliicli the langer cormo-
rant ii caught i* tbe ftdlawiog :— ^n a dark night, wben
' the thicUj-peopled cliSi and precipiisi are wmpt in
I (ilence and »iil^and no douhC the inbabitanth in the
' Monritf of- their wiidaoi. think men »to, or onglit to be,
repoiing tJio — a imall beat npproacbea the baae of the
rock*. The men carry a great iron pot filed with peat
firs, which they auddealy UDOover, and it makes quile
a blaze in the gloom. The acarfa. poor fellowa, awake
tnddenly, and cannot imagine what lliie ma; mean. In
, the confiuion or idea* coniequent On tbeii diitwrbaooe.
i or ia their eagernvia to greet tbe dawning day which
haa thu* lurpriatd them, they fly directly at tha light,
I ayea quite into the boat, and of coofae into the clutchea
of their cunning enemieth who are alwaya psrtlcalailf
i aniiiaed aa well aa gratified at the lucoea* of their atra-
I taifem, jindtha aiuiylioity with which the poor Mai&
luah qn their donm.
. . The BboT« imperfect notice* aipire not to cotomuni-
1 luie anything atrangeor uuvul, farleu to be a complete
, account. of the birds of Shetland; but they may ai-rre
tu allow. the dwcUiin iu mote favoured liMnlitiei tlut
ftvea amidst scenea th« most dniaty and nunote, pleai-
'iDg and. imjiroving aulyecta of ob*er*«tkin may be
found ; and that nothinfi ia uuimportaat whieh adda in
any degree to our. acquaintance with tbe wnrki of na-
ture aodr with the viadum and goodneaa of ita Author,
■ TrtE SMITHSONIAN INSTHTUTION.
In the year 1S30 died Mr James Lewis Smithaim, a
" " "SorlhuinbeilaBd, « geotle-
ieutinc ohemiit^ He was
ig ninutaquanUEiesi and
( aa it fall from a Udy'a
[r.Sroithaon waa a Eellow
intended to bequeath liii
it hi* death) but taking
ed alight toward* him oo
1, and left hia property to
id States .of Amerioa, ' to
the oaRie of the Stnlth-
liahment for the inoteaae
and diOiisiDn of koow ledge aniosg nun.'
Under thete circainitancea, we think that the publio
— 11.;.. .:j — r .1.. > .,,_.: ^ loniewluu intereued in
miflcent legacy, and Ute
Board of Regeuti,' pnb-
to the present year.
of the bequest, :iis,i69
I paid into the Unitu)
me year* were suOered
reliminary arrangeniest*
, in 1846, the fund, then
dollnra of aoorued ince-
intixil of tlie 'Board of
the initilutioa. ' The
r» ix-ojficw of the eaUib-
>f the United Stat^ the
^urt,and the Uayor of
TG oUicr member*, three
le Senate from ita own
tepre*entati>ea from it*
. ., ^^inted by a joint reao-
Intion of both House* ;' and to tUi* Iloard the uaual
ppweri are intriuled.
Among the pteliminan' cnuaidorationa, we fiod it
stated tliat ' the bequest ii for the benefit of mankind.
The governmcot of the United State* ia merely a trus-
tee to carry out thedeaignof the testator;' and in order
to realise his otiject for the increiue and difiuaion of
Icn^wlcd^e, unoug pien to the fulleit potaible extent.
■trict economy ia to ba ebaencd iu the admluiatrMiaa
of tbe Bnascea. We tmit thia priocifda will alwayi be I
faithtiiUy adheied to in the future condkct «f the ioati'
talion ; n proper regard for ecoDony being oftea Jilal
ta prqjecta exen when their aim ia to benefit tb* eoB-
mmiity- ' It ahoutd he iwaembered,' *tat«a the lUpaat li
' that mvdund in geiteral are to be beoeAled hy the
bequest, and that, therefore, all nun«ca*w-r cspeadi-
ture on local objecU would be a perverrioD of tbe inaL' '
Knowledge is to be ineneaaed by atimuUto^ag rweanbu, I
and offering rewards for original memoir* on dlbeanebn ',
of knowledge, which are to be paUUlaed ; bat ' oe ««■ j
moin OB lubjecta of phyaioal acienoe will be aoDcpled '
for publication, which doe* not furai*h a poettire addi-
tion to human knowledge reating on <mgiaal teaearcb;
and all unTcrified apectdations to ba xtjeettd.' Aneog
the more apecial object* >^ch the ioititutioa Bsyeo-
courage by pecuniary granta, we ft»d — a * ayaton <f
extended meteornloglcal otaerTHtiatu, particalaHy with
reference to (he phenomana of American •toms.' Hm
we here ei^erationa and reaearches frgan wliidl ta
eonstmc* a Physical Atla* of tbe United SCatea; s^
tbe 'aolutionof experimental proUeaia. aueb aa aaev
detomination of tlie weight of tbe earth, ct tbe Ttla-
city of electricity, and of light; chemical ■na^ya* of
soil* and plants; collection and pnbticatiaa of artletoi |
of scienoe. aocuaiuUted in the oSkta ct goyerafiiMil;'
and we are gUd to obaerre that 'tfae atatialic* of
labour, the productive art* of Ufe, pwblic bKtiiMti(«fc'
&c. are not overlooked.
It i* pretty yrell known (bat tbe pnfalicalian at ae*
and important reaearches In acience or ait ia at tbsca
retarded or loat for want of encouraKemeut. Workacf
this sort are, when published, in neariy all jpataneaaa
pnsitiye pecuniary Jos* to the author. The SiiiitinMnaa
Inatitutioo propose* to remedy thia defeoh by nndeitafc-
ing to print auch works u may be deaerrinp, awd lb«t
increaae knowledge, but alwayaBiidarBanctiDniif aeam-
mitlee of learned and soientiSc meo. srboa* apfivnl
wUt of ooutie stamp a value oa the work.
A first yolume liai appeared in pura>i^u« of flat
arrangement, under tbe general title of ' filmilhsiwisa
Contributiuiia lo Knowledge.' It oontaina detailed ac- ,
Gounta and descripliona of tbe ' ancient meanmeatt t^ |
the Miasiaiippi Valley '-^ I heie exist in ttw form at ■
mound*. earUiworke. fortiDcittionB, and aenlpbtrca; asot '
of them are of great client ', they are miuA more naase-
roui than might be supposed ; and the United Stalei^
which bavB often bceo said to waml tbe cbano of biaiy
antiquity, may now point to tbesc with aa madi pside
aa Uie European feela in hia ruined caitlea and abbeya.
Copiea of this work baye been aent to aeraial acHstiillc ,
and learned inatitutiona In tlii* coontry: ilia a hand-
some quarto, with some hundreds of engraTin^ and
iliiutratians. Its publication will praeire comet ylcwa
and deicriptioni of remains which, in the rtfii. diangm -
made In the States, would aoon be obliterated. Their
origin appeara to be aa much a mystery a* thai of the
Round Tuwera of Ireland ; but the geiwral caadnaaa ia, •
that at a remote period there existed in the Tliliiaiaiifp
Valley a numerous popalation, the progenitora of Ibaie
wito subsequently fuimded the old South Ameriaa
empires. The work will be • valuable aid to tborn
engaged in ethnographical atndie*.
A second volume, va are informed, is pre|>arin(ta
publication: it will contain important connibsniaBia (■ '
astroDomy and pslsontology. We gather also from th*
latest report that the laboun towards a ayatcia <tf ma-
teorology are in active pn>gTts*. Obwryera pronded .
with iiistmmeuts are establiihed in Oregon. CalifiwB^ i
Santa Fe, and other pieces, and in thia pursuit hig* '
use will be made of the magnetic telegraph, ao aa ts in- '
Btitute ainiultaneon* obaerrationi at place* widely ic-
mote. or to announce meteorological pbeooncDa. Ohm- '.
yations iu the SDDthern hemisphere are made by a paitr I
elatiooed at Chili, yibat they are also In 'atair d« '
fact* connected with one of tlie most myateriona aiat in- d
tetetting phenomeDa of temBtrial phjsiea — Dan^y, tka |j
OtIAMB&RS'B BDINBtTEGH JOtJRNAL.
IBS
e«rfhq«Ake .... and for tbe purpose of facilitating the
inqciiriet, a pseiamometer, or instmment for measuring
the inteniity and direction of the tcarAwmoe^ has been
ordered at the expense of the institution, to be plsced
in eharge of the expedition during its absence. Be-
■ides< Xhere are to be magnetic surreys of the mineral
regions on the northern lakes, and a series of observa-
tiona for deducing and determining the la^r of Toriation
of the magnetic needle ; together with periodical reports
on agricultural chemistry, the forest- trees of North
America, on lightning, astronomy, and meteorological
kMtrameMits. Further, a work is in preparation n^ich
is to give ' A Bibliographical Account of the Sources of
£arly American Hivtory ; comprising a description of
booka relating to America, printed prior to the year
1700, and of all books printed in America from 1543 to
17O0» together with notices of many of the more import-
ant unpublished manuscripts.'
The loou9 or bnHding of the institution is in course of
erection at Washington, It is of freestone, and * com-
priKB a museum, 200 fbet by 60 ; a library, 90 feet by
50 ; a gallery of art, 125 feet long ; two lecture-rooms,
of which one is capable of containing an audience of SOO
to 1000 persons ; and the other is connected with the
laboratory, together with sererol smaller rooms. Tlie
atyle selected is the later Norman, or rather Lombard.'
A portion of the edifice is already fitted up for occupa-
tion, and the whole is expected to be completed in 1859,
I atacostof 250,000 dollars. Notwithstanding the out-
t lay as yet incurred, the original capital remains undi-
minished, owing to the manner in which the fund has
been iAvested^
J A Gotleocion of bonks is already made towards a
' library x and it appears that in the act orgunieing the
building, is a clause similar to that which in this coun-
try'requires publishers to present conies of works to
oertaiw public bodies. So far, the whole proceedings
show that the Smithsonian bequest has fkilen into good
kanda : the names of Dallas, Henry, Bache, Pearce,
Rush, and others equally eminent, which compose the
Board uf Hegents, are a guarantee for worth and cha-
racter. We shall look with interest on the future la-
bours of the institution ; and may rery appropriately
eomdnde our notice with a passage from tAie secretary's
report on the library :«^* It will render Washington,'
be obserres, * the centre of American learning. Its in-
flnencses will descend noiselessly upon the community
around; and spreading in ever- widening cir^es orer
the land, softening the asperities of party contentions,
eaUming the strifes of self-interest, elevating the Intel-
k;et aboTe the passions and the senses, cherishing all
the higher and nobler principles of our being, will con-
tribute more than fleets and armies to true national
dignity.'
THE PSISONS OF PARIS AND THEIR
TENANXa
It ia long since it was possible to connect any romantic
sentiment with the prisons of this country : they are
eetentiaily prosaic edifices \ and it is well that they are
ao, for prisons cease to be poetical when they cease to
, be the habitations of the innocent, or tiie deadly iiistm-
nnents of irresponsible power. A prison now is simply
a large house, well lighted and warmed, with stone
afeaira and floors, where every inmate has a wholesome
I and stifficieut diet, and needs notliing but liberty to be
! tolerably comfortable. A prison in former times was a
I horrid fortress, with sombre passages, damp, dark dun-
I gcons, and scanty and iinwholesome fare, whilst the
I walls echoed with the cries of the tortured, the rattling
' of chains, and the nwans of the wretched. Like ours,
j the prisons of Paris have undergone great ameliora-
I iiona; aad the wbtittteM, the iron -cages, the soultr-
j rainM of the Grand Ch&telet, and the starvings and the
I tortorings, are aU tales of other times. The last person
I put to tke rack was Damiens, who attempted the life
I f%f Tiniim XV in 1750: And to Louia XVL is due tha
honoor of abolishing this cruel and fallacious mode of
extorting confesaion. To this unfortunate monarch,
too^ the prisoners of the Conciergerie owed a great
improvement in their condition both as regarded their
diet and habitation. Little did he dream that the
masons and carpenters he emplo3^d in constructing
those cells were preparing a chamber for the queen of
France I
In spite of these amelioratkms, however, the Con-
ciergerie retains much of its originally dismal aspect.
It was the first prison in the ancient city of Paris, then
oaUed Lutetia, and was rather hollowed out of the earth
than erected on its surface. There it has stood through
all the civil wars, the despotisms, the tyrannies, the
jealousies, the revolutions, gaping for the victims each
party alternately fiung into its relentless maw I What
groans, what cries, what curses, what threats, have
tiiose implacable stones not heard! It is to be re-
gretted that the archives of the Ck>nciergerie do not
carry us farther back than the early years of the
seventeenth century. Up to that period the registers
are so torn and defaced as to be illegible. The first
sentence distinctly recorded is that pronounced on
Ravaillao fer the assassination of Henry IV. Ravail-
lac was a Jesuit and a fanatic; and when examined
before the parliament, and questioned as to his occupa-
^n, he answered that he * taught children to read, to
write, and to pray to Qod.' It would make our readers
shudder were we to describe the frightfol details of
his punishment, though it might make some discon-
tented souls, who think the present days the worst
the world has seen, return thanks to Heaven for not
having lived in an age when such horrors could be per-
petrated without calling forth the indignant protest of
all Europe.
It was firom the Conciergerie that the Moriechale
d'Ancre, Eleonora Galigai, the favourite of Mary de
Medicis, was led to execution in 1617 ; and it gives one
a lamentable notion of the morality of those times, that
she was condemned on the plea of Judaism and sorcery,
when, in fiict, private jeaiousy and cupidity were the
real and only motives of her persecutors. She made
several remarkable answers in the course of her exami-
nations : one less known than the others, and quite as
striking. Was given on being interrogated as to the
use she mode of certain bw>ks found in her hoteL
* Those books,' she said, * bad taught her that she knew
nothing.*
It was not till neariy the end of the reign of Louis
XIII. that the police of Paris attained any sort of effi-
ciency; nor was it till tlien that they succeeded in some-
what relieving the city of the pestiferous swarms of
thieves and assassins by whom it was haunted. These
wretches chiefly inhabited a spot called La Cour des
Miracles, out of which they nightly sallied to the mortal
terror of the well-disposed inhabitants. Into this im-
mense den the officers of justice durst not attempt to
penetrate, where, under dark, low roofs, built of earth and
mud, the days were passed in every sort of vice, gluttony
amongst the number: it being a standing rule in the
Oour des Miracles that all gains should be spent imme-
diately, and no reserves made for the following day.
Betwixt this nest of thieves and the prisoners of the
Conciergerie a system of communication was estab-
lished by means of the hunting*horn. Into this science
of sounds the young thieves were regularly initiated
against the evil day, when they should exchange the
outside of those walls for the inside ; whilst the secret
was so carefully kept, that nobody else oould interpret
the signals.
We pass over the Brinvffliers and the Voisins— the
poisoners of tlie seventeenth century — about whom so
much has been written, to take a glance at one of their
successors in the Conciergerie: that fine gentleman
who, at a masquerade where he was elbowing the most
foshionable women of Paris, wi^ his- hat cocked on one
ear, and a sword at his side, befHUed and belaced, was
tanned on the alioiilder hv sin Ai»»nt nf the nnllr*e. whn
■a^^rfwirt^i^rita
— ^^b^B«^^n^-K«i^^>a&4M
186
CHAMBEBS'B EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I
whispered in hit ear Cartouohet What an event for the
city that for ten years had been piUaged and ravaged
by this famous robber, and what a shock to the one
ladies, many of whose hearts had been touched by his
gay and gallant bearing 1 For three months did his
adventures and confessions satisfy the appetite of the
Parisians for news : nothing was talked of but Car-
touche— everybody forgot everything else to think of
him. Poems and plays were got up in all haste to
meet the public taste ( and one dramatist, Monsieur Le
Graoge, waited upon the criminal in the Ccmciergerie
for the purpose of obtaining the most minute particulars
of his life.
* And when will your piece be produced ? ' courteously
iMquired Cartouche) when he had given every informa-
lion desired.
' On the very day of your execution!' replied the
dramatist with enthusiasm. Cartouche politely wished
success to the author; and they took leave of each
other with, the greatest urbanity. We see by this in-
stance that the pernicious and ridiculous custom of
converting criminals into heroes is by no means so
modem an invention as it is sometimes supposed to be.
Robber and assassin as he was. Cartouche had hife
own grain of enthusiasm too. He said to Guignaud,
the Jesuit priest who attended him in his last moments,
that he considered all the crimes he had committed as
mere peccadilloes compared to the frightful treason
with which their ord^r had been sullied by RavaiUac
* For my own part,' said he, * I had so great a respect
for the memory of Henry IV., that had a victim I was
pursuing taken refuge under his statue on the Pont
Neuf, I would have spared his life T
The dungeons of the Condergerie were crammed to
repletion by the marriage of Louis XVI. and Marie-
Antoinette, when the thieves of Paris fbrmed a too suc-
cessful league for piUag'mg the public during the ex-
hibition of firC'^works. In this dreadful struggle perisluMi
2740 persons! and amongst the dead there was but one
of the band found. This was a man called Petit Jean :
be had been iuffooated in the m^l6e, but not before he
bad reaped a harvest of fifty watches and many other
valuables. Four hundred of these vagabonds were
carried to the Conciergcrie to be searched, and the
turn-out of bracelets^ chains, watches, ear-rings, and
purses, is recorded to have been something exceeding
belied How little did the beautiful young queen think,
whilst lamenting the victims of this plot, that where
those wretches lay she should one day rest her head
and sleep her last sleep on earth t
The immediate neighbourhood of the Conciergerie to
^e revolutionary tribunal kept it always full during
that crisis} and for some time the political victims of
every sex, age, and rank, were mingled pell-mell with
the most abandoned criminals, men and women. After
a time, a classification was attempted into what thev
oslled pailkux^ or the lyers on straw, who were well-
nigh devoured by rats and vermin; pistoliertf who,
being able to pay for a bed, shared a miserable mattress
with some eompanion in misfortune; and secrets^ which
last were confined in horrible dungeons beneath the level
of the river. When, to add to its other miseries, a
famine desolated the unhappy city, the captives in the
Conciergerie felt their share of the calamity. The
government ceasing to make any allowance for food,
the rich prisoners were forced to support the poor ; and
a roan's fortune was now estimated by the number of
sans-oulottes he fed, as it had formerly been by the
number of bis horses, grooms, and dogs. Of course,
under. these circumstances, there was a great deal of
aackness; and at length there was a simulation of an
infirmary established, where, according to Mr Ban-
tlielmy Maurice, ten applications at least were necessary
to procure the most trifling medicine ; whilst the doctor,
who for form's sake visited the sick, had one prescrip-
tion, which he never varied, for all his patients. Jest-
ing in their misery, they used to call it ia selle d tout
ckemux (the saddle that fitted every horse). One day
the doctor, feeling the pulse of a patient, observed that
he was better than he had been die day before. * Tea^
citizen,' replied the infirmary nurse, * he is better ; bo:^
by the by, it*s not the same — ^that one is dead* and this
is another that has taken his idaoe.'
Besides human keepers, almost all the prisons of
Paris during the Revoiution made use of canine ooesb
The Conciergerie had a famous dog called RaiMpe, a
zealous and implacable beast, who hated the prisooeci,
and was thought incorruptible. However, one morning
Ravage was found with an assignat of five francs tied
to his tail, on which it was inscribed that this faithfU
guardian liad yielded to the seduction of a pound of
sheep's trotters. The corrupters of Ravage aiieoeeM
in making their escape.
From one of the dungeons of the Conciergerie Gene-
ral Beauhamois wrote his last affecting fSarewell to hii
wife, the future empress of the French, which die—
Josephine — ^read to Napoleon Bonaparte at thtii flnt
interview, and won his heart.
The heroic Chariotte Corday spent the short interval
betwixt her crime and the s<^Lfibld in this prisoo ; and
here also was celebrated that famous last aupper at
the Girondins on the night preceding thor execotJoii^
where, till five o'clock in the morning, when the JMiiatw
summoned them to meet their fiite, those dull waite
echoed to the bons-mots, the songa, and the jeata, aa
well as to the poetry and philosophy, of some o€ ihe
finest wits in Paris. There are olci men now alive wlu»
remember to have heard a young beggar giri, shortly
after this famous banquet, singing in &e streeta a song
improvised by Duces at that supper. Showers of tears
fell from her eye% as she sang ; and it waa said that she
had gone mad for love of the poet, whom she bad
led to execution.
We will only refer, for the purpose of
one anecdote, to Marshal Key, who, in 1815,
through the gates of the Conciergerie to the scafKild.
A few nights alter Ney's death. Monsieur B^lart, who
was public prosecutor at the time, and whoae name was
painfully mixed up with the fate of the marshal, had
assembled at his hotel a brilliant party of fashiooabiea.
In dancing, singing, laughing, talking, the evoiing had
passed gaily away, and it was nearly midnight when
the large folding-doors of the saloon were soddenly
thrown open, and a footman, with a loud and dear
voice, announced 'Monsieur le Mar^chal Ney!' The
music ceased ; the dancers stood still ; the words died
away on the lips of the speakers ; every eye waa turned
to t^e door ; a gentleman approached in deep raoum-
ing. It was Monsieur le Marechal Aine, vhom the
bewildered lackey had understood to anoonaoe Mm-
self as Monsieur le Marechal Ney 1
In spite of all ameliorations, the Condergerte etili
bears the marks of its feudal origin ; and the dungeona
below the level of the Seine, in which the keeper has
authority to confine any of his flock that give him
dissatisfaction, are a disgrace to civilisation.
The prison of St Lazare, so called because it atsnda
on the site of an andent hospital for kpers, contained
within its walls some years ago an intereating iniiMie
commonly known as La Folic des Roses. One mamiB^
shortly after the Restoration, some labourers going to
their work found the body of a soldier who haul
rently been assassinated, and dose at hand a joung
who was well known in the neighbourhood. On
the men approach, she attempted to escape ; bat
stopped her, and as she either could not or woald
account for her being there at that early hoar, 8b«
arrested under suspidon. On bdng interrogated,
said that she had been on the prec^eding evening wt m
fete with some young companions, where she had
and amused herself like the rest. In their oom]^
had returned to her father's house, and when thej
her, she had seated herself on a stone-bench at tlifti
She remembered that the evening breese had bonw to
her a powerful odour from the roses that are
in profusion in that neighbourhood! bat whi^
ii
iaai
J
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
187
subseqaeoUy she could not tell, as she recollected nothing
further, nor could conceire how she came to be found
near the dead soldier. Under these circumstances
Marie M was committed to St Lazare; but her
confloement was short, it being soon ascertained that
the soldier had been killed by one of his comrades in
a drunken fraj. The prisoner was free, but public
curiosity remained unsatisfied t nobody could make
oat how she became mixed up with the affair at all,
and many persons persisted in believing that she was
not altogetiier innocent of the crime that had been
impated to her.
A year had elapsed, and again the gates of St Lazare
opened to receive Marie M ; and this time she was
really convicted of stealing roses. Repeatedly the owners
of the flowers had forborne to prosecute, in consideration
of her youth; but their patience was exhausted, and she
was sent to prison. Sentence was pronounced upon her
as on a common thief; but everything tended to show
that her offence should have been considered from another
point of view. Some peculiar sensibility to the perfhme
of the roee, with which the atmosphere of that neigh-
bourhood is redolent at certain seasons, appears to have
caused a sort of monomaniacal desire to possess the
flowers ; and the flrst invasion of the malady had taken
l^aoe on the night the soldier had been assassinated.
Innocent, simple, and almost a child in years, Marie
was thrust into this den of impurity, where every
vice was rife; but, strange to say, the reAise of God's
creatures that inhabited ^e jail understood the poor
girl better than the ilUc of the wise who had sent
her there. They sumamed her La Rose; and in-
stead of ridiculing her fancies, they pitied and indulged
tbean; they ma& subscriptions amongst themselves,
and Dot only procured her real flowers, as far as they
were able, but the women obtained gauze and wires,
and made artificial ones to please her. Fortunately, one
of the overlookers was sensible and humane enough to
encourage instead of suppressing this singular charity;
and peroeiTing the dexterity the female prisoners, in-
spired by gocd-wlll, were acquiring in mis new art,
faNS established a manufactory of artificial flowers,
and set Marie to work amongst the others. She took
to this employment with ardour, and at the end at
six months she no longer thought that the roses
h«ckoned to her, or that they uprooted themselves from
ihe earth to follow her footsteps ; though she always
retained a tender reverence for the plant which had been
the cause of her misfortune. She became, after her re-
lease, one of the most celebrated makers of artificial
flowers in Paris, and was one of the principal manufac-
turers employed by Monsieur de Bernardiere, by whom
Louis XVII I. commanded samples of all the indigenous
planto in France to be constructed in whalebone.
This poetical lunacy of poor Marie reminds us of
that of a lady — ^young, beautiful, and rich — called Made-
moiselle Jeanne de Montil, who wus surnamed La FoUe
da SoleiL She believed herself the destined bride of
the sua, and declared that the marriage ceremony only
waited for the spring, when her eorbeHle would be
ready. The corbeille of a French marriage is a basket
of the shape of what is used in this country for baby-
linen, containing certain elegancies of the toilet — such
as jewels, artificial flowers, &c. which are presented by
the gentleman. And as the earth began to turn green,
the trees to burst into leaf, and the flowers to bloom, she
declared that her radiant bridegroom had commanded
these exquisite adornments to be ready for the espousals.
The very birds, and butterflies, and friiits, were all for
her : all nature was busy preparing the corbeille of the
Bride of the Sun. Jeanne de Montil was sent to the
Salpetri^re, the bedlam of Paris, in 1777, where she
appears to have been treated with more sense and
humanity than was customary at that period. Whether
she recovered or died is not recorded.
In returning to St Lazare, we must advert to the
case of the Morins, mother and daughter, rendered in-
teresting by the nobis devotion of the latter, a girl
scarcely sixteen years of ajpe. In the early part of the
year 1806, the Hdtel St Fbar was condemned by the
tribunal of the Seine td be sold. Two bidders presented
themselves-^ retired advocate named Bago^eau, and
the Widow Morin. The house was knocked down to
the lady at tiie price of 96,000 flrancs ; bat it is pre-
sumable that she had not the money, as she almost
immediately borrowed 100,000 Ihmcs of M. Ragoirieatt,
at the ruinous interest of 10 per cent. As, added to
this drain, there were several life -annuities secured
upon the honse, which it fell to the purchaser to pay,
it is not surprising that S^^ame Mbrin aeon ibund
herself in difficulties ; whilst Ragonleau, who seems to
have been determined to gain his object one way or the
other, domplieated the imbrt^Hd by pundiasing the
interest of some of the annuitants. It is needless to
say that the old lawyer was too much tot tiie widnw,
who, with her daughter, was soon dlspoSMssed of ^M
Hdtel St Phar, and saw themselves obUged to set up a
small daily, as a means of earning their suMstenoe^
A gloss of external civility, however, appears to have
been maintained ^wlxt the parines ; iMOffiuoh that the
widow invited Ragonleau to breakftMt on a cstiain day,
and afterwards to accompany her and her daughter to
a house in the country that she wished to purohasew
The lawyer accepted the invitation; but when he came,
he declined either eating or drinking, under pretext of
indisposition. A coach was thereftMre cillled from tlie
stand, and they started, desiring the man to drive them
to Glignaneourt; but at the barridre the carriage was
surrounded by agents of police, who acootnpanied them
to their destination. On arriving there, the house was
searched, and it was discovered that the vents and air-
holes of the cellars had been stopped up, so that no
sound should escape to the exterior; and that every
preparation had been made for the strange enterprise
they had planned, which was to force Ragonleau to
sign certain papers, which should restore to the Morin
family the property of which he had so cunningly de*
prived them. The instrumente to efibct this object
were all ready — pistols, powder, and balls, a gallows
and chain, and a table, on which were writing imple-
ments and a couple of lighted candles. It appeared
that the women had been practising pistol-firing in the
cellars, and that Ragonleau had been warned of his
danger.
When brought up fbr examination, Mademoiselld
Morin assumed the whole burthen of the Crime, which
seems to have been rather the childish scheme of two
distressed and inexperienced women, there being no
reason to believe that anything worse thail intimidation
was intended. She spoke of her mother with the most
enthusiastic affection ; declaring also that they had been
wrought upon by a secret agent of the police, a woman,
who first seduced, and then infbrmed against them ; and
although Madame Morin also desired to appropriate
the responsibility of the ofibnce, her daughter boMly
contradicted her, pleading againtrt herself with the ad-
vocate-general, as if she had been prosecutor Instead of
defendant The woman, she said, had persuaded her
to the undertaking ; but nothing bnt her own prayers
and tears, reinforced by the extremity of their distress,
had won her mother to countenance the plot
*I have revealed the whole truth,' said she to the
court; 'I have neither concealed not disguised any-
thing. If an example must be made, let the chastise-
ment fall upon me. I know Kttle of life but ite sorrows;
and for my own part have nothing to lose or regret :
but spare my mother!' Stifled by her sobs and tears,
she ceased speaking, and sat down ; but seeing her mo-
ther advancing to claim her share of the penalty, this
noble young girl arose, and in tones of agony intreated
the judges not to listen to her. * Have mercy, my lords I
have mercy !* she cried, • and do not believe her. She
has a son, a child, that needs her protection, lot her
live for him ! *
Madame Morin and her daughter were condemned to
twenty years of hard labour in the prison of St Larare.
1 -f nl -
rfc-T
aMiM
T •'■^-
lAdB^
188
C^AMBmSS'S IBDINBUROH JOURNAL.
Th« mother sobmitted to her fate with passire resigna-
tion ; bat Madetneiielle Morin did more— the had the
•treagth of mind mot onty to submit to, but to accept,
ber dcMtity ; and in Ihat pestilential atmosphere, sur-
Kranded \r^ Tke and deprarity on every side, did this
young girt disclose virtues that entitle her name to be
placed beside that of EKzabeth Frj. She first engaged
the altentioii and respect of her fellow-prisoners l^ her
devotion to her mother, ou whom she never ceased to
lavish the tonderest cares, and whose imposed labour
she took upon herself to perform whenever permission
could be obtained. They began by rnpecting, and ended
by loving her ; and soeh was the ihfhience she obtained,
that after a few years, young as she sttll was, she was
appointed superintendent of the workshops. Herd her
noble ^uaUttes found a wide field for their e^tercise,
espeolsliy amongst the unfbrtunate young females whom
eavly^ neglect and bsd example had driven to perdition.
It SMNUS to have been long before public gratitude
offered any tesfeifflouy to these virtues, exerdrad under
okcumetanoes so trying. It was not till the term of
their iibpf^oumetvt had nearly expired, that Madame
Metin and' hev daughter ^received a free pardon, and
were r^feored to liberty.
-• ' ■ ' ■ ' : : ■ .
T^E JSAjlTHftUAfeE IN NEW ZEALAND.
Ov the three dshmds which the Dutch discoverer called
after a'pertioh of 'hfai own couutry, because of a fancied
resemblance, t^e middle ope is of a rugged and Alpine
character, having summits which cleave the douds at
a height of U,pOO, feet, and which >re buried for two*
t^iirds of X\\e'v^ elevatipn in permanent snow and gUders.
Nor ia Xh» Dorthem and more level askud bereft of
towering altitudes, especially the southern portions of it.
The whole eountry is mord or less it>l6an1c. Oh the east-
ern and western coasts of the whole of N^w Zeahind, but
more especially in the North Island, active volcanoes
abound, but not sufficiently, U would seem, to give vent
to the igneous forces of the under -eartb» which often
occasion earthquakes. Across the oenire of the North
Island is. ft chain of volcanio disturbance in constant
aotivity* It oonunences at Tongariro, a conical moun-
tain about 10,000 feet high, constantly emitting steam
and smoke« ' From fhie eminence the chain extends
aking a line of lakes, hot -springs, steam -jets, and
fissures, to the Bay of PleiHty, where it is terminated
by another volcano called White Islatid. the crater of
which is near the water*^s edge. The temperature of
some of the hot-springs, even at the surface, is 216 de-
grees, and there are mud jets at boiling point. Under-
ground fioises are continually heard, new openings are
frequently made, and land slips are not uncommon.
With >such flevy acitivity in the lower regions of New
* Zealand, earthquakes are of constant recurrence ; but,
so ftir as can be -judged from native accounts, and from
the experience ^f Sunfh America, they are only de-
struoiive about three times in a century, when they
are extrennely violent Prom what we can learn, no
setiinis terrestrial disturbance took place fh>m the first
settlement of the c6lony tHl the year 1840, and in
tiMt year, we- are infbrtned by an English settler,
tliere occurred one sharp shock, whldh crested more
alarm tlian damage, lor it only razed a few day chim-
neys. * Since I have^beeri here,* ssys the same gentle-
man, * 1 have noted fronv twelve to twenty shucks every
year; but they were too trifling to db damage or to
create alarm. Once x>nly— oti the 4th and 5th Decern- 1 being supported on one side by my. reoni, and ••n .th«
manifestly one of the thme which phyakaal
had promised tliem per century* It lasted duiisig' flan
weeks, and some of the shocks would have mdaeed haM
London to ruins. As it was, it occasioned a loaa of pro-
perty to the amount of L.1 5,000, and the saoriloa nf time
human livesb Although an annaancement of the citse
trophe reached this country a few months niiioep Inl
and satisfactory accounts of it have oi^ reoeotlj been
forthcoming in the official despatchea frona the oolony,
in the newspapers, and from other sonroee. DetnMa of
such phenomena are always interesting, as miioh to the
scientific as to the popular reader. This
the more so, as it is the latest gnolegical
with which this earth has been visited.
A correspondent of the * Westminatw
lishes in its past number his journal— kept nik Kamri a
short distance from Wellington — in whioh m «nphie
account is given of his experiences of the ooiswcncB
ment of the event, which took place on MoosUy* Mlh
October 1848: — 'At twenty minutes befqan twn this
morning,* he writes, * we were awakened by the
of an earthquake, of greater force and duratsea
any we have hitliertofelt in the oolony. It
over, the $rst of a series of shocks s^iiob
each other at short Intervals during the
the day. The house (fortunately of wood)
violently; the bells were set. in motion ;.en(
stopped. For about three-qnartevs of a- m'intii the
shocks were so strong, that it was with difilciil^I Iwpi
my legs. It continued with some force for two -or ttaaa
minutes, and the whole vibration lasted ten mitiats^
For one hour tlie shocks ac^rce\y ceased for A^ioaie;
during the whole morning untH between she and
o'clock, the intervals were not long, and the
motion of the earth was continuoua« and,iiei
sant. We feared for our chinmeya, but tbey did nsl
fall. They were, however^ so much ii^arcd. thai, ts
prevent accidents, I hsd them taken down. Hie whal
was south-east to north-west during the nighty blowing
a fierce gale, with very heavy rain. I went down atain
to look at the barometer immediately alter the flnt
shock : at nine on the previoos night the nMrt3iii7 staoA
at 29 inches [our house is 500 feet abo^e the bafbaw);
it had risen to 29'04. In the morning it bed
to 29*02 — a very significant variation.*
On the day after, our journalist transferred the
of his observations to Wdlington. Under date Tnesds^,
October 17, he savs — * The shocks contiaaed all diqr
at varying intenrds. At twenty minntea befose lisnr n
shock took place of greater force than the first. X wes
at Government House : the house shook, j^rhei^ and
then vibrated so as to shake all loose artioJes to tte
ground. I found it necessary to steady n^yself on my
legs. There was first a short shock of Isnr or Avis
seconds* duration, and of moderate foroei then casee a
loud sound from the northward and eastward* and then
the strong shock. The French windows borat tbsir
fiistenings, and flew outwards — the GhUnneep'<iiieDe was
cleared of its ornaments — the bottles flew fVem the
tabla Its extreme fon>e continued about, e reSiiyle
perhaps rather less. Our carpenter, wha wsa secnTJag
one of our chimneys at Karon* afterwards told use that
the tremulous motion of the earth did not
eighteen minufea Loud exdaipations along the
line of the beach inditwted the wreck tbatws
and the general alarm that this sevece shopk.
I had business at my chambers at four. On
^ the court*hou8e, I found the shorti atout ehimn^
' literally fdlen down of itself : it could not IsH
ber 1846 — there was an unusud number; namely, eight
between five o*dock' in the afternoon and nine the next
morning, and some were of ebnsiderable f6rce.* Up to
this time, use had so familiarised the settlers to these
earthly frembRngs, that- they scarcely heeded them.
At the end of last year, however, the people of New
Zealand had occasion for liior^ serious fOarm than
usual: in October ah earthquake occurred that was
other by that of the Registrar.. I next visited ths
Cdonial HuspiUl— a well->uilt brick bnildinc^ mig
lately finished : it was not down» because the waUs •mai
roof are held up by strong bond timbers « bufe the bcidb>
work was split and rent, and stigned ift aU diieotinoib
so as to make it untenable.'
On Wednesday there was an usHsnaUy )vi^ tide;
and although the tides were at neap, the water flooded
I.
CHAMBEBS'S EPINBUReH JOVBNAIi.
)89
the lower parts of some of the houses. But it was at
7% Av (the bvstntas part of Wellington, at the head of
Lambton Harbbnr) that the grentest force of the earth-
quake seemed to hsve expended itself. All the large
merchants' stores, the ordnance store, the Methodists*
chapel an^ a great number of brick buildings, were
rent to pieces; nor was there a single cluniney left
standing hi the town. The ordnance store buried in its
fall barrackHnaster Lovell and his two children. J^is
little daughter, eight years of age, was taken out dead ;
md hit son, four years old, died the same night The
teher was taken to the military hospital much injured,
■nd expii^d en the Friday foUdwing.
On Tkirwlay, October Id, the journalist, still writing
at Karori, says — • Precisely at five this morning we had
a sharp shock, stronger than either of the two already
noted. The extreme force of the shock lasted rather
leas than a minute ; there was considerable motion for
three and a-half minutes; and the yibration lasted eight
minutes from the commencement of the shock. It has
done ne more damage than all the others together. It
haa aplit the solid bed of brickwork which forms the
\amef part of our OTcn, completed the destruction of the
otlMr cbimneys, torn the plaster of our lower rooms to
pietea (the upper are lined with wood), and broken a
great many looie articles. Our windows (French case-
menta) flew open. After this, shock fbllowed shock in
quicsk succession all day and night.
*■ In the evening, tintil about half-past nine, the sky
to the south and south-west presented a remarkably
Inrid appearance; but I do not think it needs an erup-
tion of a volcano to account for it In very angry ski^s,
during galea of wind at sea, I have seen something of
the kind. If the state of the atmosphere be such as to
iacreaae refraction, the son's light may have some effect
long atfter tmiset (say two and a-half or three hours in
this c;aae), and fklling on very dense clouds, would pro-
duce n very angry appearance.
•Friday, 20th. — The shocks have contlhtied In quick
succession all night. They have, I think, rather dl-
minished both in force and frequency during the day.
* The Te Aro end of the towii is a wreck ; Rhodes's
laige brick store is down to the ground; the front of
the Methodists' chapel is out ; Kidgway'Sj the Ordnance,.
and Filsherherty all extensive brick buildings* are
complete ruins : even the low wall round Fitzherbert's
yard is down* There is considerable loss of property
within; In orte r^pect the last shock has done good :
it haa thrown down' many walls that were in a very
dangsroua condition. There is naturally a good deal of
alarm In the town owing to the continuance of the dis-
turbance. Sonte people are encamping on the hills,
under the impression that they are safer. I do not find
anything In the result of the shocks to justify this. All
woe^n bmldings have hitherto been safe, and much of
the damage to brick buildings is owing to the miserable
manner in which they are built Both lime and bond-
timber have been far too scantily used.'
On Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, the weather was
extremely fine, but the shocks continued. They were
not -violent, lasting only a few seconds, and were rather
heard than felt On Monday they recurred every half
hour. At two o'dock P.M. on Tuesday, 24 th October,
there was a shock which did some damage in Wellington,
deatroying the new plaster of Government House, which
had atood the other shocks. A gentleman standing on a
lawn felt himself * jerked up.* This shock was followed
by aeveral others-^short, but strong — till evening. After
the first and severest, Dr Fendergast counted thirty
sbocka up to four o*c1ock ; and from that time till eight
o'clock the next (Wednesday) oioming, * there must
have been,^ says a statistical gentleman, who appears to
have been kept awake by them, * at least one hundred
and fifty shocks.' In the morning a chasm was opened
on ^om« newly-dog grotind fbur yards long.
0p to the middle of November the earthquake con-
tinued in slight but oft-repeated shocks. Taking the
of sufllcient force and duration to4o damage^ though at
times as many as fifteen were coupted in ait hoar.
Among other curious occucreuces to vrhich the phe*
nomenon gave xise, we may mention, as illustrative of
the nature of , the motion of some of the sheelu, that in a
store- room at Aldorf s Wellington Tavern^ a large pum«
ber of stout short hotUea A anchovies were* ranged
closely together on the door, and occup^-^ig about a
square yar4. At about lour feet >di»tance, and south
from them, iras a cask of beer (twelve or eighteen gal*
ltins> I ibrgei which), half full. This cask was jerked
up, and deposited on the top of the anchovy -bottles,
without knocking down or breakui^ one. The motion
evidently moves along a line, and at the same time un-
dulates so as to produce this upward motion. Any one
who has been in the habit of swimming in tiie sea
during a considerable swell, must have f«lt sonnething
of this : the wave comes on, and moves the swimmer's
body forward, but not so much as it milves upwards
when under the full influence of the wave*
, These upheaving tendencies of the earthquake. aM
corroborated by a curious , note in the New Zealand
'S^t&tor' of October 28, 1348:—-' OvriA0 to UiQCeo^
fusion into which the types of this office weve thrown
by the earthquake of last Thursday, together with the
subsequent excitement which prevailed, it was found
impossible to puhHsh the " Spectator,** kt tisual, on
Saturday last.. By a great effort, however* we have
succeeded in brining out the present number at <>ur.
usual time of publication.* , .
Some persons felt a kind of meeting of shocks pro-
ceeding from opposite directions, acopnipanied, by a sort
of grinding sound. During one of tliese, ii is mentioned
that some milk in pans ac^ii^ed a circular motion so
rapidv that it: made itself mto cteam^ whitsh iwam about
in thexieutseu
Wellington waa ma«iifas|t1y tkO' centre to which thia
earth(|UHke converged, standing aa it does nearly in
the middle o^ the country, at tlie southern extremity of
the northernmost of the islands. Immediately across
Cbolfs Straits at Cloudy 6ay this catastrophe was so
severely felt on Monday 16th hnd Tuesday 17th of
October, that some whalerr brought their iWmilies over
to WeMington in* an open beat, at- coasidemble risk,
during a. strong aeutli-east gale* £artber i away,- at
OtAgo» near to §tewart*a Island, and under the higheat
ridges in this varied territory, the earthquake was
scarcely felt ; and in proportion aa the eboeka reached
towards Horth Cape, tbeir intensity decreased. * Tlie
action of the ear^ltqu^l^e,' # aja the * Government
Gazette*' * appears to have extended fiem about the
latitude of BanWs Peninsula to that. of New Ply-
mouth ; its greatest for^ having .been in Coek*s Strait,
and in a nor^i-west, ^d southeast direction from
thence.'
The alarm occasipued by this phenomenon appears
to have been trifling, aft^r the first ieeliugs of surprise
and dread had subsided. A large vessel sailing at the
very moment wl^en the alarm was greatest ibr a port
which is usually the resort oi? *auy who leave New
Zealand, only about forty souls, including children, were
willing to take advantage of tbe opportunity ) and the
vessel having got ashore in goiqg away,. the passeiigera
re-landed, and returned to their homes. . The governor,
in his despatch of dls^ October, declares -that ' the
danger of a voyage by sea is in faot greater than any
that we have been subjected to; and. pnobably every
one who travels one hundred owlea on a railway, incurs
a greater risk than he would do. by living a life in New
Zealand.', £arthquakef, therefore, are nothing to people
who are used to them. ,
Still, tbeir effects are to be provided;against, although
such a notion as th^ir acting aa a deterrent to intend-
ing emigrants can never be seriously entertained. Sub-
terraqueous volcanic^ action ^^gj^he normal slate of
the country, whatever ia jbui^t upon it should be firmly
planted. , The description 0|f bui^ing recommended .by
tYiP afW0n\r\9 1>nf.Ii aa lu>incr hottnr . oIiIm tni withfttaild.
190
GHAMBERSfS EDINBUBGH JOUBNAIi.
I
future ^ocka, and as more secure from flie, is a stroug
wooden frame upon a brick foundation, filled in with
brick *nogging' laid in mortar, and covered outside
with laths and plaster, and board and plaster inside.
PURE AIR VERSUS CHOLERA.
TiiR following jadioious and Incid observations on the
value of pure air in regard to health, appear in a paper on
the subject in a late number of the 'Times,' by Mr F. Spenser
Wells: — ^* Just as oertahi proportions of sulphur, charcoal,
and saltpetre must be combined to produce gunpowder — of
eoal, gas, and air, to Ibrm an explosiTe mixture — so the
organic germs of some diseases fructify or germinate only
when the air into which tliey are thrown contains other
organic matters with which they can enter into combina-
tion. No two of the constituents of gunpowder will form
an explosive compound, but directly the third is lulded,
and the three are in proper proportion, tlie destructive
agent is produced ; so with gases. It is not until air con-
tains 1-I4th of its volume of coal gas that the mixture is
inflammable. It explodes with extreme force when the
proportions are 1 to 10, but as the proportion exceeds
this, the explosive power again diminishes. Just so the
gases evolved from bodies, whether healthy or diseased,
become dangerous in proportion to their concentration or
mixture with the impure matter in the air. The events
which have lately agitated the public mind show the im-
portance of these considerations. The victims of cholera
are those who are confined in dirty, ill-ventilated dwellings,
who are exposed to the concentrated emanations consti-
tuting both tlie above species of malaria — and who are not
taught to dilute them by ventilation, but rather to concen-
trate them still further by excluding the " epidemic atmo-
sphere,*' however imjiossible it may be to do so in houses
not aii^tight. When one of the upper classes falls, it is
from a similar cause.
* The people of all classes in general do not know, or forget,
or at anyrate do not act upon the fact, that they are con-
stantly throwina off poison from their lungs. They know
that if charcoal DC set on fire in a closed room, people con-
fined in that room will be suffocated or poisoned by car-
bonic acid gas ; but they apoear not to know that this same
ffas is poured forth from tnelr lungs continually, «id in
large quantities ; and that if a room were perfectly air-tight,
a person breathins; in it would as certainly and mevitably
poison himself with his own breath as if charcoal were
burnt in the room. The only difference would be in point
of time. Candles or lamps burning in a room poison the
air hut as a man or animal does by breathing, and one
candle requires about as much pure air to bum ss a man
does to live^ If a candle be placed in a closed vessel — ^nnder
a common tumbler, for instance — it will aoon poison the
air in the glass, and go out. If a healthy person fill a lamp-
glass with the same poison by breathing into it, and put
this glass over a lighted candle, the candle goes out di-
rectly the ^s in the glass surrounds the wick. If the air
in a glass lar be poisoned by burning a candle in it, or by
filling it with the breath ftom the human body, a bird or
mouse placed in that jar almost immediately dies.
' So much fbr the effects of the poison when unmixed ;
but it is very seldom that man is exposed to the undiluted
poiron he himself forms. It is only in such cases as the
Black Hole of Calcutta, or the City of Londonderry
steamer, or accidents in mines, where people are confined
in air-tight chambers, that tlie extremity of evil — sudden
death — is produced. Our rooms, however badly constructed,
are not absolutely air-tight ; and the laws of nature in the
diffusion of gases, and their varying consumption by ani-
mals and vegetables, secure safety and a degree of health
when man's ignorance does not contribute to iiis own ruin.
* But though sudden or absolute poisoning is not often
produced by want of air to dilute or remove the poisonous
gas evolved in respiration, slow poisoning is so to a fearful
extent. A healthy man requires four cubic feet per minute
of pure air to insure the changes which should take place
in his blood during respiration, and to remove and suflS-
oiently dilute the poisonous gas he exhales. The poison of
the breath issues warm from the body, and being warm, is
specifically lighter than ah*, and rises just as a balloon tilled
with light gas does. It rises to the ceiling, but finds no
way of escape, no opening higher than the fireplace ; so
that, unless a current of air pass through the open door, all
the upper part of the room becomes filled with poisonous
gas. Currents of pure air come in through CKvioes of door-
ways, carrying with them only a small pottSsn «l the isi-
pure air to the chimney, and tho air abe^ the level of tbe
opening is very little affected. Just as a bottls ef oil
inverted in a stream of water remains full, hrcanse the oil
is lighter than the water, so the part of the room above tl^
level of the chimney-opening remains full of a poiaonoo* ps,
because it is lighter than the current of pure air which psMci
f^m the door to the fireplace. Kow it is hi this nnper put
of rooms that adults breathe ; their heads are Move tbc
level ot the pure air ; they are breathing a faijlng smooat
of poison. If a bird be suspended ia a eaj;e nwa tbs tff>
of a four-poet bedstead in which two penoM are tlsepisi,
and the cnrtains are drawn rather ek>«elj to|esShsr, tfe
bird will certainly be found dead in the Biomls^ poiioaul
by the breath of the sleepers, who, if they wot» at tlM aaoe
level with the bird, would just as certainly poison then-
selves ! Small rooms are just as dangerous as a large ctu-
tained bedstead. How many families have seen their
children healthy and ruddy, phirop, rosy creAtom, antil
growth carried their heads above the level of the pore air
in the nursery ! Then, at the age of nine or ten, one after
the other has become pallid, sallow, and tbin— tr«e town
exotics. This subject is so important, and so ISttls osda^
stood by the public, that I may impreaa its iaspiiifsawi cs
the put^ mind by a few ezamplesu
* It is not very long since that a new house wm ewsiii
under the direction of an eminent archltgel ta sooobss*
date the monkeys in the Zool^cal Gsrdcns of the Re-
gent's Park ; and this dwelling was to rescaahb as aeaiiy
as possible an English gentleman's drawii^-vooA. Two
ordinary drawing-room grates were put in^ with Vow elum-
ney openings as close to the floor as poasible, vid the via-
dows and other openings above were made perfectly eksc
Some warm air was also admitted through openings in tbe
floor. All the openings for winter ventilation were made
close to the floor, under the erroneous belief that the gas
produced by the respiration of the animals woaM he
heavier than the other air of the room, aad wonld fiB ssd
escape below. The architect forgot that it Moed vara,
and therefore liffht^ from the animaki, and that, whsa sold,
it would become diff^used and mixed wHh the other vl
Sixty healthy monkeys, who had been several yeses m
Englana, were put into this room. In one month fifty d
them were deao, and the other ten dving t The sHBoJa
were all poisoned by their own breath : they were ftisg
in an extinguisher I All the hot breath and imptne e^ohr
tions of the monkeys were collected in the n|!^>er pari of
the room, could not escape, and poiscmed them. As som
as some openings in the upper part of the reoas, whieh
were intended only for snmmer ventilatioa — is if the
monkeys could live withont pure air ia wintu mmm «a-
dosed, the room became perfectly habitable, the tea aiek
monkeys recovered^ and those sinee placed m H have
remained perfectly healthy. It is corions tlut afl the
monkeys who died are said to have died with tnbordea is
the lungs — true consumption — the most ptevaJent disease
of this climate, which is developed, I am per^oadrd, in
numberless instances in onr population ia the same man-
ner, but less stiddenly than among these monkeys. Our
schools and nurseries arc not quite so dose ss this monkey-
house, but there is no very great difference ia many. The
windows are not opened for fear ot draughts of <M air;
there is only one door, and that b seld^ sysard ; aad.
the chimney-opoaing is not more than three oe foor fcct
from the floor. Even that is often dose^ Tbe efccti asa
bad enough in large rooms inhabited by fow peopfe» hsS
when rooms are small or crowded, the magnitude ti As
evil can scarcely be appreciated. U has been asecstaiscd
that nearly 10,000 emigrants have lately been noisooed ^
their own breath in emigrant ships. Tbej diea ftciB ^9
fever produced by want of ventilation.
'This is sufiicient to show the universal defidfflcyof
ventilation, and the evils produced by brcftthing sat Ten-
dered impure by the breath of healthy persons. The eft<*i
are still more evident when these pemons are dioessed, raf»-
cially with diseases which are propagated fh>m one peaas
to another. The breath then » not only a simple psiaaik
but also contains the gorms of a special dkiease — ssssH^
or typhus, for instance — and if these germs are ootteetsA ia
large quantities, and not carried off by a r^arm^ <d ak,9
diluted by mixture with pure air, they pgodnee amsli P^Ti
typhiu, or some other disease, aoeocdii^ to the natan ^
the first person affected. When one such person » fotr
fined in a small room, or several in a larae room, sad gg*
feet ventilation is not practised, the disease inevttsfe^
I
il
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
191
qv«ads ; bat wben * Iree vapply of pure tAt dilutes the
poiconoos emanationa, tbey we innoxioafl. Fever patients
aoattered about weU-Teutilated hospital wards do not
cause the spread of feTer ; but crowd them together, or
negleet ventilation, and they poison every one who ap-
proaches them who is not protected by a previous attack.
* I thinh I have given, as lar as moderate limits would
permit, good reason for my assertion, that a large propor-
tion of the illness of the inhabitants of this country,
whether children or adults, rich or poor, arises from defi-
eient supply of pure ait to their dweUinga, bedrooms,
school-rooms, worhshops, or places of public assembly; and
that the same want not only predisposes them to the attacks
at prevalent contagious disease^ but that such diseases can
only be generally or laigely developed when the miasmata
oontMning their germs are considerably concentrated ; that
dilution with pure air is the safeguard, ventilation is the
remedy, which the people should be taught to adopt It is
better to avoid cholera by procuring pure air, than to at-
tempt to cure it by preacriptioniu If the room have a
chisaney, and the person can afford five shilling for one of
Dr Anaott^ ventilators, let one be put up. If this be too
much to pay for an essential element of life and health,
let a bfiek be knocked out of the chimney near the ceiling,
nine inches from any woodwork, and a pennjrworth of wire-
gauae nailed over it with a piece of cloth or oiled n)k at-
tached inaide to act as a valve. This will allow the kn-
pore warm air to pass into the chimney, and prevent any
smoke from escaprag into the room. There are now not
many rooms without chimney openings, but there are some.
In these some small holes may be bored in the top window-
sash, or a thin slit sawed in it a foot long and an e^hth of
an inch wide ; or a piece of wire-gauze or perforated snnc
may be substituted for one of the upper panes of glass.
If the door fit very tight, a piece should be sawed or pkined
frtMoa the bottom, so as to leave a crevice for the admission
of pore air. Every inhabited room in Great Britain might
he thus effDctually ventilated in one week after the issue
of e notification by the Board of Health ; and no reason-
able man can doubt that, if a proper system of ventilation
wece rendei<ed imperative upon landlords, not only would
the cholera and other epidemic diseases be checked, but
the general standard of health would be raised, and the
returns of the Registiar-Qeneral would speedily show less
difietcnoe in the relative mortaUtv of town and country,
and A universal inoreaaa in the duration of human Hfe.
Not only the dwellings of the poorer classes, bat almost
all our pabUc bnildjngs, even our palaces and the mansions
of the nobiUty in town and country, are so badly oon-
Straoted* that the heaktk of those who inhabit or frequent
thena ia necessarily deteriorated, the spread of epidemic
diseaflea is encouraged, and a large proportion of other
tUal mahMJiea may be lurly attributed to this faulty oon-
stmotkm.'
A NIGHT IN WEXFORIX
Qw aHl riven in Bnrope (snd I have seen msny),
Bura leaal Is kis chance of forgetting the Sbmey,
Who knawa, for Us sins, how ooaranient for export
It mas slongude the ould oity of Wexford 1
Now Wexford's a town, which, though given to riot.
Has of Iste yean, we're told, been remarkably quiet ;
Bot ahonld Pat, even at times, still belabour his brother,
'Cross the street they have but to shake huids with each other :
fio kaBdUjjp narrow's each soolakls alley
OX this towQ,^ whose wide bridges bestride a whole vsUsy.
Kow, kt any mortal who ever his eyes has
CQiameed lo open in Wexford in time of the Assises
( WiU a Mr in tke bargain, the tetter to cram
AbBSts expffssaly constroeted to lavonr a>asi>,
Jost imagine a poor hungry traveller arriving
On the top of the mail, after twelve hours' long driving
it*ast seven by liis watch, by his stomach much later),
ind, to hack the * All full' of the jackanapes waiter.
Seeing, np at WhU^t* windows, while threading th^ lane,
(h*e lawyer al kasl looking out at each pane I
*Whitb6rnsxt?' cries the stranger'a disooasolato roic^-
Wby, Wexford, like Hobaon, has only one choice ;
And half its inhabitants manhal his way
To Sutherland's iUgant inn on the Q^uay.
* Beggars hhould not be choosers '—and ' What must bo, murt,*
So the horror-struck traveller gulps his disgust ;
Is wished Joy of his Inok in Just oatohing, to sleep in,
A hols whifidi for OooBofllor Cassy was keeping ;
* The only tokraUs hotsi in the town, oooi^ied by the judges
unA rimnik.
And assnrsd that not leng heU with hnager be pining,
Thirty oonnoUtora more being then up stain dining !
Thus far well : and so happily altered are matten,
By the sharp orack of corks imd sweet clatter of plattere.
That the bar, whom so lato to Old Nick he was sending.
Are now hailed s« good angels, their blessed aid lending,
As dish upon dish, to the other succeeding.
Proves that liere (as elsewhere) lawyen understand feeding.
' Hold— hold !' cries the trareUer at length ; * in compassion,
Don't cram me alive in this true Turlcey fashion I
Take those six Joints away — keep the cover the lamb on.
And 111 dine lilce a prince upon that and the salmon.'
These washed down with Guinness and genuine potheoi,
What a new mellow light is shed over the scene !
At the window, when seated, he gaaed with deUght
On the beautifni river (as truly he might) ;
While faintly expiring, the sun's latest beam
Died away on the breast of thi full flowing stream.
Whose soft dashing murmur he hoped would compose
Every travel-strained muscle to welcome repose.
* Wlio would smother and swelter this midsummer night
In yon hot town hotel, even though kept by a White,'
Cried the stranger, * when thus I can sit at mine ease.
My glowing cheek fanned by the cooling sea breeze.
Borne across 3 on wide watere, that stretch to the main.
And waft back its dash and its freshness again ? *
But hark ! not the far-away wave of the west
Sighs so loudly, l*m sura, o'er the river's eaim bresst ;
Mo ! hoarser and deeper the sound as it nearSk
And lo ! on its bosom a steanwr appeare 1
Like a creature of life, to the quay see her glide.
Then drop, like a bird, at her mato's well-known side.
' 'Pon my word I ' cries the stranger ; ' a beautiful sight.
How lucky she did not come in till to-night !'
(Though not such the opinion of crew or of master.
Caught at sea in a gale, and scarce 'scaped from disaster.
And now doomed to make up, by a whole night of toiling.
The lee-way they lost by their kettle's slow boiling.)
All was stillness at length on the river and quay.
And the traveller gaaed on the bridge as it lay
In its length and its beauty across the oatan flood.
And thought on the days when that river ran blood ;
When that bridge was the arena, where brother and brother.
In fierce civil conflict, had slaughtered each other i
And asked, * Could it be that the pale, silent stars.
That now looked down so calmly, had witnessed those wars ?
Or the waten where slept now their placid reflection,
Been stained by the carnage of wild insurrection ?'
Lulled and soothed by the scene to a mood most quiescent.
The traveller (dimbed the steep stain' rugged ascent.
And in hopes of soft rest (disrcgardteg erenflaa), he
Sunk down— blest his good^ok, and CoimsHlor Casey i
Scarce an hour had he slumbered In feverleh doss.
When a din from the river invades his repose ;
He looks ont, and perceives in the steamer a U^t,
And pities its weary crew, toiUag all night ;
Then thinks of the peaoe he'll enjoy on his pillow.
When they— wretohed mortals !— are breasting the biUow.
WeUced he fean he must be with the terrible clangor.
When the moment arrives for Uie boat to weigh anchor ;
But that past— hopes to sleep unmolested, I dareHay,
Till the swift-sailing packet has crossed to the Mersey.
He forgets that to get thoe she must be so cruel
As aU the night long to be laying ia fti^;
And groana with diniay, as with dnll heavy roll,
Down, down, still go tumbling the buckets of onal I
Till the wagons wheel off, and the light's out at last.
And he thinks— easy man ! — all his troubles are past.
Vain hope ! soon there wakes, in the yard Just b^w, a
Commotion like that in the days of okl Noah,
When he (though methlnks 'twas not done in the dark)
With lots of Uve lumber was stocking the Ark.
The stranger looked forth, and 'mid rain that resonbkd
The Deluge when Noah hit live-stock assembled.
Sees with dread and dismay that beneath him the stable-
Yard tunes with confusion far greater than BabeL
Slow stalk through the twilight, all worn and footsore, a
Great lot of long-homed gawky oxen from * Gorey ! '
For their native town's honour (like true liiah cattle),
Provoking some sows from fsmed Kerry to battle ;
While, like a fat constable, keeping the potmd,
A huge Irish bull gives them all a punch roimd !
With the lowing and bellowing hereon attending.
Imagine the storm o'er the senses impending |
When, by files and detachments, let in to the meeting,
Ten score of strange pigs Interahanged their first greeting
While dieep swell the chorus with pltlf^ bleating t
Whose treble Is |^^ by dteconsolato lambs.
And the tenor by oalves newly reft of their dams!
Can the traveller doubt that still worse is ensuing—
That the tempest, in fact, is aa yet only brewing—
That harmonious the sounds arc his organs assjUling
To those which await on the period of saUinff 9
Day dawned, and the stranger, consigning to air
■]
192
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
And naolTed, while in Erin, to act as her son.
Gave up with a good grao« hit comfort for—An/
And fun ture it was to the gravwt of mortal*.
To see. as the yard for each pig op'd its pnrUls,
One Pat, unencumbered as wild Indian hunter.
Seise up by the hind l^s an obstinate grunter!
While two by the mn were as cleTerly clinging.
When Piiqry, incensed, out his legs would be flinging.
And laying the hero that stuck by his fud.
To his own rast amusement, flnt down in the mud ;
Till, o'ermastered, at length, amid squeaking untold,
One by one the ten score were safe rtowed in the hold!
While the pigs were ' coercing,' 'twas fun to observe
How the cows stole a march from their due course to swerve.
And kept in full chase, up each lane and each intry.
Whole squadrons of Wexford's long barefooted gintry 1
The poor nheep and lambs (reckoned willy at best)
Had not sense their torme&tors to spite and molest,
Nor cunning enough to give Paddy the slip.
Only, huddling together, made straight/rom the ship.
Till one by one caught round the fat woolly waist,
On the deck, side by side, they were Anally placed—
Which, while horns, hoofs, and snouts thus its preotocta
enrich.
Looked like Smithfield Ueel/set q/foat on Fleet Ditch !
But my story grows longw than stories should be,
80 one sigh for the bipedt^ who thus put to sea !
One hint to the traveller through Ireland progressing,
The Aidses to shun, as he Talnes my blessing !
And whene'er for his sirnt he may lodge on a quay,
To be sure that no eleam-packet sails before day I *
NEWSPAPER REPORTING.
The daily press complains of the loqaacity of parliament
as a serious impediment to business. The stcadj remedy
is, * cease to report the nonsense that is spoken, and the
members will talk less.* The * Spectator,' remarking on the
threat of the * Tiroes,* eays, * Honourable members often
speak less to be heard than to be reported, and bv subsenr-
ins to those talkers against printed space, the daily jour-
nals encourage idle loquacity, until their own columns are
surcharged with a burthen of tedlousness that disgusts all
readers. A concentrated st}de of reporting, apportioned to
ideas rather than words, would please readers, would cause
the speeches of members to be in truth more read, and
woula tend to chasten the flow of eloquence.* Tlie hint is
equally applicable to the provincial press in its treatment
of local orators. The practice of reporting everything that
is said, by fools as well as Solons, may be described as
* reporting run mad.* The highest style of reporting is that
which gives in the briefest possible space the substance of
all things spoken and done. Column after column of *full
reports^ form literally a mass of mbbish, gratifying to no-
body but him whose vanity it flatters. The exceptions to
this rule arc but few. — ShejffieUl Times.
[We see it mentioned that tlie cost of parliamentary
reporting for the * Daily News' is ftrom L.60 to L. 100 per
week ; of course the cost to the * Times ' and otiior mom>
ing papers most be equally great. Our belief is, that
oondensed speeches, embracing only the pith of what is
said, would be greatly preferred by the public]
TRAN8POBHATION8 OF MATTER.
A bountiful Providence has thus provided the means of
maintaining a proper equilibrium between the different
kingdoms of nature-; for even those decaying substances
which are not immediately returned to the soil, but suf-
fered to waste, arc all again reanimated, only after a
longer interval. It mav l>e that the guano, which now,
at much expense, we bring in vessels from the coasts
of America, is partly the component matter of former
oenerationt, which have occupied this island, to which it
is now returned; dead materials, which, discharged by
drainage, or washed by showers into the sea, have there
become converted Into tnarine vegetation, upon which
have fed the animals which have formed the prey of sea-
birds, which produce guano. And this guano next assumes
the shape of^ com. and again is animated in the bodies of
tliose by whom the com is eaten. So, again, ammonia,
rising into the air firom organized substanees deeomposing
on the surface of the earth, is washed down by rain, and
converted by plants into udtritioas vegetable principles.
The oarbonUs acid discharged into the air by animal respi-
ration is the product of a constant decay of the living
body; vegetation remove* this fh>m the air as it is formed,
* Written ' before day, on the spot,' /i% 1835.
and again Axes the earixm in a solid form. CoaibnsiMm
is merely a more rapid decay favoured by an elevated
temperature, and that of ordinary fuel is merely the ooj-
version of solid carbon into gaseous carbonlo acid. The
coal which we bum on our hearths beoomea converted
into this gas. At some bygone period it had before been
mingled with the air in the same gaseous state ; tbn
become fixed by vegetation ; ^en foasilised as coal is
which form it has awaited the time when it should be
excavated by the busy hand of man, once nftore to fleet
through the atmosphere as an invisible vapour, aad again
to go through the whole series of changes to which it has
been before subjected. When we consider all these thngi,
we cannot but perceive that the whole ocooooiy of aatoe
consists in one great series oonstantlv reeurring in reg^sr
and appointed order, and that the labonrs of man, in the
practice of this art of agriculture, have for their objprt
chiefly to favour and expedite some of the ebanges in i\m
great series, producing results, small, indeed, cooaidend ia
reUtion to the large operations of nature throughout oar
globe, but, for his own race, capable of effecting the meit
beneficial consequences. And we cannot bat admire the
sagacity and perseverance with which t*ie boman mind^in
its loftier developments, is endowed, emnbKog it tkos soe-
oeasAilly to investigate the laws of nature^ workin|Dl^ and
to apply the results of these discoveries to purposes d the
highest practical utility.— BnYwA Quarlerfy Utdetr,
A W01|AN*a OPINIONS OF ffOfBANIW.
As a general rule, we know that men kave, Vy natoee, a
superiority in strength which enabJea them to y> timwyh
labours and dangers, mental as well as bodilv, frosn wtM
females should be exempt: and that, by edneatte^, tfciy
are qualified far exennsing the several trades or \mdtmttm
by which they are to m«ntain their fiMnillee. On theeth«
hand, women are endowed (berides all the iCMeea and skis'
bilities of the sex) with a great superiority of quickneta,
tact, and delicate discernment, in all the every-day afidn
of life. In all these, therefore, the hushand o^MC^^^^^
completely guided by his wife. And this shows the wisdaai
of onr ancestors in making the hnaband * endow with sD
his worldly goods* the wife he has chosen. The wife is de-
pendent on the husband, and clings to him for sappoii,
just as a hop plant climbs on its pole, and a sweet jia ca
the sticks to support it, and as the vine in Italy waa,aeeecd-
ing to the language of the poeta^ *• manied to Uw eis.*
But if you ooukl coneeive a bop>po|e, or a pea-atadE, or ta
elm, imagin'mg that those plants were pat there on pnipy
for its adornment, you would tell them that this was c^dts
a mistake— that the cKmbers are enltlvafced for the fliMKn
or fruit— and that the stakes are placed theae n»easif far
their sake, and must not olaun any superior diojly m
worth over the plants they support. Now just su^ is the
office of the husband ; and this state of things ii «1itt
people approach to more in proportion as they advaaee h
civilisation. Among mere savages the wifo is nude t«
yield to brnta force, and is a mere dnidies; fa hai*wrisn
ooimtries women are shut up ; in more oiviKsed they are
left free, and have more control; and in dnr En^and,
tlie glory of all nations, they have a higher ptoe, pro-
verbially, than anywhere else. — A Atatmt Adiees U a
Young Married Lady,
TEMPERANCE LAW AT "WISCONSIN.
A remarkably atrit ,ent bill In relation to the sale of ia-
toxicating drinks has recently passed the leeiiAatiitc rf
Wisconsin. It requires all persons Who vrouM vend «r
retail * sphrituous liquors ' to ghe bond tb tk$ tamm eat&stAia,
wiih three turetiis w 1000 cfo^/ora, * conditioMd to par**
damagea the conmnnity or mdividuala may ananlB^
reason of such tra£Sc ; to support all jMtujgers^^ widdwa, im
orphans ; pay the expenses of all civil and eiimhwJjpeit-
cutions made by, growing out of, or Juatly altiiliutilib ta,
such traflic ;' and it is made the duty of the offioCK baMog
the bond to deliver it to * any peoieo who may dfte ^
be ii\)ured by such traffic' . The bill paaaed the anaals bf
a vote of ten to three, and the assembly by twenty-ai«aj»
twenty-one. We believe no other legislative '
United States has taken ao decided a stand tm-tke
of spirituona Uqnors aa Wiaoonais*—- ATaia York
Publishod b7 W. & R. Chawbsrs, Hig^ Stteei,
sold by D. Chambsks, » Argyle Btreet, Olaspiw;
147 Strand, Ldadon; and J. M^GLaenair, tl "^
Dublin.— Printod by W. d( R. CaAMeana,
I
!
1
AIM
S.OSB,
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP * CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOFLE/ « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL OOITRSE/ tec
No. 300. New Series. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1849.
P91CB Hd.
CONTENT.
The saying of Mirabeau that 'words are things,' an-
DooBoed one of those diicoveries of our fathers which
the present age of appliance is bnsilj employed in work-
ing out. In this spirit of the day, we showed some
time ago. in a discourse on Spring, how words repre-
tenting eren material phenomena may be transferred
from country to country, from language to language,
till tbey entirely lose their adaptation, and yet retain
their original meaning.* Thus the spring of the Eng-
lish is still with sentimentalists the really vernal season
of the so»thern nations; and in spite of the evidence of
the senses, our bare trees, desert gardens, and muddy
fields, when their beautiful mantle of snow is hardly
replaced by a blade of vegetation,
< Live in description, and look green in ■ong.'
If we suffer ourselves to be thus cheated by % word
standing for a portion of the calendar, and open to any-
body's verification, we are of course much more likely
to be deceived in the estimate of those which indicate
pftrticolar states of mind; and, as an instance of this
delusion, we would now invoke the docile reader^s atten-
tion to the word Content.
TtuM is a word supposed to indicate a very enviable
state of mind, implying the union of virtue and wisdom
in the individual. It is used in this sense by all poets,
aod not a few philosophers ; though it occurs only once
in the Bible, and that with a different meaning, to
whidi we shall presently allude.t A state of content,
according to the popular idea, is not a state of hazi-
ness, for that in the present world is not only evanetfeent^
but, in order to be sensibly felt, it must be intermingled
with contrasts. It is less than bliss, and yet greater.
It does not desire the excitement of joy : it will not
take the trouble to be happj. It has no want, and
therefore no wish, but is abundantly satisfied with itself.
It is the Nirwana of the Brahmins, without its uncon-
aciouaness ; but its whole consciousness is that of having
nothing to regret, and nothing to sigh for. A contented
man. therefore, is at least passively virtuous. He has
nothing to grasp at, and therefore no temptation to
transgress, but concentrating his self-satisfaction around
him like a doak, he deflfcs the storm, without enjoying
the sunshine.
If this is content in individuals, let us inquire what
its effect vonld be upon the character of societies.
Would notyfeavage people, satisfied with their savagisni,
remain for over the /era natura of the human kind ?
Would they build themselves houses if tbey were con-
* IMudone and Dlutione, Journal, No. 180.
t A single other inatanoe Is giren in ' Hannay's Oonoordance ;'
b«l wbeo Job says to bis eomforten, * Be ye thercforo content,' he
l« • Hjk ^,^m* » Mm * TI<k.
At\w*M *
tented with huts? Would they trouble themselves
even with huts, if a piece of bark stripped from a
tree (as in Australia) afforded them what tiiey con-
sidered adequate shelter? But this, it may be said,
is beginning too early; for content cannot come into
play till all discomfort ends. But comfort and ^B'
coinfort are merely relative terms. What 4s the one in
one state of society, and in one a^, is the other in
another ; and until we can ascertain the exact point of
civilisation we are destined by Providence to reach, it
is in vain to look for public content. Societies, being
merely aggregations of individuals, what is true of the
nature of the former^ must be true, of the nature of the
latter. There is a principle of movement in the human
species which distinguishes it from the lower animal
kingdom, and the termination of which Is lost in the
future. This principle is still more energetic in the
most refined and aoeomplished indi?Mlual of the. present
day than in the savage ^ a fact which psoves that the
farthest advance we have as yet made is only a stage
on the way. In natural history, a correct description of
the habits of an animal never becomes obsolete, whereas
with human beings a few years frequently suffice to
change the whole character and status. If our Saxoa
ancestors could revisit the earth, they wonM recognise no
resemblance between themselves and their descendants
whirling along from one end of the couatry to another
on iron roads, and bf the agency of fire. But the diffe-
rence here is not greater than, judging by analogy, it
will be, after a similar lapse of time, between us and our
posterity; on tlie contrary, it is probably less great;
for the principle to wbieh it ewes its existence has in*
creased, as we have said, in energy, and raay therefore
be expected to produce still more remarkable restilts in
the coming time.
This extensive way of viewing content .may be said
to be wrong. We may be told that by content we axe
merely to imderstand that equanimity of mind which is
untroubled by unreasonable desires. But the feeling
has existed in all states of society as well as the present;
and at present it exists still more obviously in the lower
than in the higher conditions, whether social or intel-
lectual— more obviously hi the lazzaroni Of Napleff than
in the literati of lA)ndon. Mankind have never moved
in one consentaneous body. The mass has risen, not by
a general inherent power, but by the leaven it contains of
aspiring and energetic minds. Content is simply satis-
faction with existing circumstances— a disinclination
to change of any kind ; and it i^ po more worthy of
respect, we venture to say, in one class of circum-
stances than in another. Is it necessary to show that
in this general and correct sense It Is really a vwy bid
thing? In one part of the British Islands we find hir^e
masses of the people contented to live in turf hoVels,
nn^ fn mirsiiA IhA mi>r(>Rfc Animal existence. Is it that
194
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
we call yirtaous ? Is it that we call philoiophical ? In
all our large cities are obserred hordes of beings con-
tented to liye the lives of beggars, to walk about the
streets in rags, and, satisfied in their idleness, to prey
on their more industrious neighbours. Is that a thing
to be commended hy the poets ? Certainly not : yet, if
words have a meaning, these are mere yarieties of the
same quality of content which is the subject of so
much laudation. We have had too much preaching
about the virtue of content ; for indeed mankind need
no persuasive to indifference. The very opposite qua-
lity we uphold to be the true inspirer of virtue.
Everything great, wise, lovely, or of good report, has
originated in dissatisAu3tion with things as they are.
Discontent has been the parent of civilisation, and is
at this moment impelling society onward to its highest
achievements. It could be wished that preachers and
essayists would qualify their praise of content by a
consideration of the evils whioh spring firom it when
unaccompanied with Effort!
But while we do not care to conceal our dlssatislnc-
tion with content in the ordinary sense of the word, let
it not be imdersfcood that we advocate disquietude, or
hold in any degree of tolerance a repining spirit. When
a poor man implores a blessing upon his humble meal,
and thanks God for the mercy, this by no means im-
plies that he is content with the fare, or that he is not
making the most strenuous efforts to obtain somcthiiig
better. He has no abstract right, however, to anything
better. What he enjoys is in itself a boon and a blessing ;
and even the gratitude he feels and expresses excites him
to new efforts. When Robinson Crusoe amused himself
with his man Friday and his domestic pets, and thanked
God for the comforts and indulgences he enjoyed, he
was all the while employed anxiously in building a ves-
sel, that he might escape from his solitary kingdom.
The two occupations and two feetings were not incon-
sistent ; but, on the contrary, intimately and necessarily
associated. The bounties bestowed upon him in his
forlorn and awful condition not only excited a feeling
of religious gratitude, but, by the confidence they in-
spired in a guardian Providence, gave nerve to his arm
and courage to his heart.
The word content, we have observed, occurs only
once in Scripture ; and there its use by the illustrious
apostle, in his address to the Hebrews, exemplifies in a
remarkable manner the meaning we desire to convey.
While exhorting his brethren to be content with • such
things as they had,' he counsels no idle self-satisfaction,,
no folding of the hands, no standing still ; but, on the
contrary, urges them in the onward path of social and
religious effort. Progress, indeed, is the grand principle,
philosophically speaking, wliich distinguishes Chris-
tianity from other religions. Under other forms of
faith there have no doubt been great and lofty spirits,
which soared above the destinies of their age, and left
monuments of their genius for the admiration of a re-
mote posterity ; but the new Message called in to the
feast the lame and the blind, the lowest as well as the
highest of society, and thus commenced what was more
than chronologically a new era for mankind.
We are ourselves selfishly interested in demolishing
the content of the poets and sentimentalists, since we
have always advocated submission and thankfulness
simultaneously with energy and movement. But we go
farther, and assert that the two are not merely recon-
cilable with, but necessary to each other. The surly re-
pining which it is the fashion of the day to consider as a
requisite ingredient in progress, or rather as the spring
fh)m which progress should take its rise, is an obstacfe
to every movement but that which is downwards.
Grumbling is neither wholesome movement nor its pie-
cursor ; for the very act of grumbling absorbs the eeer-
gies whioh are requisite to carty a oian beyond the
conation of which he complains. Hiere ii noftiung to
easy as grumbling, and nothing more indicative cK t
dull and barren spirit. It is still worse tiian conftsnt;
for while it prevents advancement! it neatralises even
the tame enjoyment of immobility. Show ut a tova
where the people are habitual grumUers, and have the
ingenuity to pick a flaw in everything that Is attempted
to be done in the way of public improvement, and we
will undertake to show you a crowd of do-nothings ; so
invariably is it the case that the growling fkoltftDder
is practically a sluggard — ^a personage who^ reposing in
self-sufficient indolence, can put all the worid ngtilia
theory, without having the sense to manage his own
affairs.
If we descend from generals to particnlan, iiraai so-
cieties to individuals, we find iUnstrationa of this do^
trine in the scenes of everyday life. Liet us suppose s
hard-wrought artificer returning after a day's toii to
his cheerless room, where he looks with disgust npn
his coarse meal, and with a sombre atenmeas iots Urn
faces of his wife and children, in whic^ he aeea eoly As
reflection of the gloom that overdiadowa hia ova. Fsr
this man there is no hope; for fata mind ia oeoi^iel te
brooding over his condition, and has none of its eoetlSes
to spare fbr plans of advancement. He ta neitiier taSd-
ing his Crusoe vessel nor enjoying the sodeljr of his
household pets ; he sees no hopeful sail in tbe distanoe
of ocean;
* And the rotigk btiUowt wadi away
The few Btran^ footetepe on tbo sbon I*
Let US now suppose the same individiial iHombg
to the same desolate scene, but which is fighttd ap hj
his presence as with a gleam of sunshine, for a happil[f-
constituted mind illumines all within its sphere. Ss
wife is poorly dressed ; but what then ? — ookton ii
as good a conductor of sympathy aa aattn* Hie seel
in the rise of his growing children £eqiii their teo
scanty garments only matter fbr In^e, and ndlei
as he thinks that there is progress in all tfaingSL flit
meal would be far from tempting to a dainty app^te;
but he knows that there are some to whom it would
be luxury, just as there are others whose fare would
be luxury to him, and so he blesses God for His bounty.
The room is small, but it holds goodly eompanj i te
that familiar book, or sheet, brings him into
tion with other minds, and seta flowing the thoagUa |j
of his own. He is cheerfnl, happy — ^but not ounteutri i '
Oh no I There are better rooms, richer mesis, mm j'
tastefhl clothing, and a wider circle of intellectual asi^
elation to be had in the world ; and he knows thsl sA
these have been obtained by thousands around him vfai I
had no more vantage ground to atart irem tfaaa hia* \
self. He laughs at the idea of being con tented as ht iit •
but it is a proud and a meny, not a bHIer laugh ; isd
the thought thus conjured up acts aa Uie iMrren of Ui
character, and helps to bring about what it fivetda ,
The author of the book, the dreamer of Che floatiag ;
sheet, obscure in himself, yet perhaps the condaetorcK j
not the producer of that electric thought^ is in prsMlf |
the same position as the mind he has that tasitlHtta >
illumine. One study briaga on anotiier^ one slip kail ;
to a higher, till he ia c«t off tnm Oie living hi the vtty !'
middle of his career. And is tiiere, then, no uuutsM? *'
May we never hope to be At rertP BetoM^AVIm
CHA^f BERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
199
were permitted to return I In this life all is moyement,
bat in the next we reach the goal of knowledge ; and
there Content— no longer an obstacle to progress, no
longer an antagonism straggling against the higher
dettinj of man— dtaoges its nalm^ Mid becomes oni-
rersal and immartaL, L. R.
SQUATTERS AND GOLD-DIGGERS.
AN EMIOBAIfT'S BXPSRIBHCES.*
0!f one of the days immediately fbllowing the Rerola-
tioa of f^broary 1848, 1 took breakfiast for the last time
at the Cal(§ de Paris, and in the erening fbnnd myself
At Harre, where I had engaged my passage hi the Queen
Victoria for New Orleans. I went on board, and ere
long, France presented itself to ray eyes but as a blue
cloud mingled with the haze on the distant horizon.
The impression of sad thoughts still remained, when,
after a royage of thurty-flve days, we approached the
month of the Mississippi. I then began to ask myself
what resources I had brought to the countnr of my
adoption. In the days of my prosperity, to benefit a
friend, I had bought 500 acres of uncleared land in the
state of Virginia ; and now the clearing of this terri-
tory, with a quarter's income, 6000 francs, were the only
resources left me by the Revolution.
On purchasing the land, proper attention had been
paid to ^e necessary legal formalities to secure undis-
pBtcd possession : it was situated on an affluent of the
Ohio, up which river, according to the itinerary traced
out for me. I was to proceed by steamboat as fiir as the
Tillage of Gayandot After landing at New Orleans, I
started on this second voyage by one of the 500 huge
steamers which plough the Mississippi and western
rivers. Among the passengers was one who seemed to
•hare my disposition for nocturnal reveries : he never
left the deck. After a time, I questioned him : he proved
to be a fellow-cottntrvroan, who, like myself, had left
France on account of the Revolution. We gave con-
fidence for confidence, and he commended my expatria-
tion as the only wise course. For his part he had been
a literary aspirant, and landed in New Orleans with
thir^ francs and a romance in manuscript He suc-
ceeded in disposing of the latter to a publisher, and
with part of the proceeds bought ten acres of land some-
where in the interior; and having provided himself
with an axe and a rifle, took a deck passage on board
our vessel I could not help admiring the philosophy
wi^ which he contemplated hit prospects. His whole
capital was twenty-five dollars. * With five of these,'
he Kud, * I can buy enough of potatoes and salt beef to
last me a year ; and I shall be very unfortunate indeed
if this sailor's fare cannot be mended firom time to time
with a quarter of a deer. I shall then have twenty
dollars ; half of them will go for a log-house, and the
rest will suffice for seed for the land to be cleared hy
my axe. One gndn of Indian cotu will produce an
ear ; and with the produce of one acre I will buy ten
others, and so continue adding to the extent of my pos-
sessions, until my pride of ownership being satisfied.
It Shan please me to lay down my axe and say — It is
enough.' In this country such projects are not dreams.
A fbw hours elapsed, when the steamer slackened its
speed : my companion was about to bid adieu for a long
time to dvilised life. The situation was one of the
wildest on the banks of the Ohia A solitary house,
half hidden by trees, stood on the shore $ a skiff put
off rowed by a fisherman; the scanty baggage was
dropped into it, and followed by my adventurous friend.
We again went on, but I had time to see the new emi-
grant step on shore, pass his arms into the straps of his
knapsadc, and then, with axe and rifle on shoulder,
dinppear behind a screefi of gigantic trees.
The next day we reached Guyando^ and it was then
my torn to leave the steamer ; and fiud reeoUection of
« FrMl7 trsnilstad and adapted from tbo « Beviw dss Dtox
the indiflerence with which my compatriot had plunged
into the forest the day before, relieved me of certain
anxious forebodings as to the fatigues and dangers of
an emigrant's lifo ; and I walked at once to the inn to
make inquiries. Half-a-doseen huge men were drinking
in the bc^-room ; and thongh myself not of the shortest
I felt humiliated in comparing my stature with theirs.
They paid no attention to my entrance, but shortly
afterwards, while I was endeavouring, in imnerfect
English, to extract information from the landlord, they
became silent and listened. The innkeeper seemed
embarrassed, and hesitated to Explain. Suddenly I felt
a heavy hand on my shoulder, which almost threw me
off my^ balance ; and I fancied some aggression on the
part of one of the giants ; but a smile idmost of benevo-
lence on the Virginian's large features reassured me.
' I can tell the gentleman,' he said, turning to the
landlord ; ' the name of the section he asks for is Red-
maple.'
* Ah !' answered the host, apparently astonished.
'Are you certain of what you say?' I demanded in
turn.
* To be sure,' replied the Virginian with an ironical
air ; and on my expression of desire for speedy posses-
sion, he continued, ' Don't be impatient ; youll get there
soon enough;' and then, without noticing me farther,
he swallowed a glass of whisky.
Presently another stranger entered the room : he was
tall and strong as the others, and wore a hunting-suit,
with thick leathern gaiters ; one hand held a whip, the
other a rifle. He called for a glass of spirits, and de-
manded the news from Cincinnati The man who had
accosted me replied to the inquiry ; and then pointing
me out, said, * That's the owner of Redmaple.'
The new-comer shivered with excitement. * Ah,' he
growled, measuring me with an eye of concentrated
spite, and stretching out his brawny arms, ' the white
and weak hands of gentlemen make but poor work with
the axe and rifle. Take my advice, and go back where
you came from — New York, I guess ? '
' And why, if you pdease 7* I asked.
'For reasons which it is useless to tell,' was the
answer ; and with American urbanity my interlocutor
began to whistle Yankee-doodle.
I was annoyed and embarrassed at this conversation :
what could it mean t Just then a youth came to the
door and cried, ' Township, somebody wants you.' This
was the name of my incomprehensible adviser, who rose
and went out I again applied to the landlord, but
with no better success than before, except being in-
formed that my section lay some seventy miles from
Guyandot, and could be reached in a two^ys' journey.
I went out in search of a horse, when the youth before-
mentioned came up and said, ' If you want to go to
Redmaple, I can get you a boat to go up the Guyandot,
or a horse to go by land.'
* And who told you that I wish to go to Redmaple ? '
* Township.'
I ehose the horse; and before daybreak the next
morning we were on the route which skirted the course
of the river. As we went deeper into the forest, traces
of cultivation became more and more rare, and the rude
track presented a constantly- varying succession of diffi-
culties. The sun was sinking as we came near to a
farm, and we were about to diverge towards it, when the
noise of a horse's gallop rang through the wood. I turned
my head, and recognised Township. He gave me a
menacing look while he reined up his horse, and spoke a
few words in an undertone to my guide ; after which he
rode on as fast as before. I endeavoured to flnd out Uie
cause of this demeanour by questioning the youth, but
received none but vague replies. We passed the night
at the farm ; and on the following day, after a ride of
some hours, came to the top of a range of hills, where
my guide stopped abruptly.
' You see,' he said, * that brook running past at your
feet — ^that blue hill yonder in front — HmX big pond at
your right^and that line of trees on your left '
I
1^6
OHA^tBEn^'S EDmBUItGH JOtTRNAL.
H— •-
•Well?* . ■ . ^. ,
. * Well 1 * hfi seia|i>«dv ^ yon fee^BeamapIe : t))Q»e trees,
tlteie biUB« that poo^t ^e ^ bpauda q£ yo«r location.*
I wai in r9pti>re9 at the ajght q£ 5o mpgoIQccixt an
«0Ute.^ J^mef^tMi if as tlie, youth's . name— anailed
iaroiuoaU7y«iid to my surprise urged mp to retrace, my
stetM. AcnlO'I Ffta pv^zled ; and all tl^ explanation X
could obUin led me to expert that my c^m to posses-
jiiDB would l3fe disputed. * At all even W said the astute
urcbio, ou taking liii departure, ' i( the sqi^atter asks
to sea your title, say you left it at tba attorney's : tlxat
viU be tbfi aa&at :* a^ setting- 8pux;s to lus horse, he
was aoou ^mt of sight.
lieft aloiiev I deUberated,; t)ien taking ^ut .my tcte-
SQ9PQ, I leant against th« stem of an oak, and surveyed
my domain. The valley oif Hedmapler lighted by the
l^ttiagaup, lay be^rema in all, its splendour: every-
thing was :iu haruo0y« and it might have been taken
fqr, « visiau of Eden. A distant column oC light smoke
cev^led the site of Towoship's habitation ; and turning
mytelescppQ i,Q that direction,,! saw two sturdy bpys
wrestling among the ialleu logn pattered over a portion
papers, .declaring that he flcomed to take advjrritJKe of
mc^ but tliat we must fight for possesion xd tfac'-rsHey;
and tlie only way to settle the questioti ^nld beTiic
to rifle, showing no quarter.
The quarrel was ibout to recomnie<ioe,-wbeii -w« were
interrupted by the arrival of the two boyt whom 1 bad
seen wrestling. They looked at nie witbpi^^, *«• a
doomed man '; and one of them proposed deretnng the
e:cecution to the next day, as the increa^ng dmrkaem
made it difficult to distinguish objects.
The proposition was acceded to, laid Twas'iirtitid
to pass the night in the squatter's hut. But the ddeat
son — he who had seized my papers — replied that I pre-
ferred to camp undier a tree, .and in a -whisper bade me
await Im» return. At the end of an hout he reappeared
with a lantern and basket of provisions; and while I
did honour to the corn-cakes, salt bedl and beerv^e
informed me, under sqme etdtemeni, t)bat a fcrmer,
one of their neighbours, had just been Idling tbem ol a
distant oounti;y where gold. wa^ as plenty as atones.
Whole caravans of emigrants were on thfidr vrny thhlMr,
and my terrible, enemy 't'o>*^nsmp was ao# rt^dlfng tbe
of praifie ground.; wj^ile bayond.them a youn^ and] accounts in f he, papers. ,X paid but little atten trdn; and
graceful girA was slowly valkipg near a. clump oftulip- havhig made up a. bed of <iry moitfl^ stirtcheti tiijaelf
treiab and gathering wild powers, which she interwove "^ * '* -,_.-•- • . - • * ^_ •.-._
wiith her hair. The sun went down as X gazed, and
s^^eediiiy the brightness of the aoep^ was yeued iu one
unift^rm tint.; tie time to,a(;t ha^ come ; ^, commend-
ing my o^u^ 'to Providence,. f hastei^od down the sl^pe
to a. gloon^y ayenue, leadix^g, through th^ wood* Hy
rifle was in excellent order, and 1 advanced with the
oauUou o( a^nuspiciouspoachf r rather than as proprietor
of the aoil, I took every stmnn that rose in the gloom
Cor the squatter : at laat I could ^i^take no longer \ he
stood loaning on h|is rifle at the entranc€J of an opening
in the forest. I was about tlurty paces oft when Jbe
motioned me to hall, ai^ e^cdalmediU a voice of thun-
der--* I have bieen waiting Ibr you ;. what .do you want
withnie?; . ,; . ,• -- v
* If you have been waiting, for ni^' a answered, * you
know who J am* and what I want J am told that you
have pe^ed yourself iu thi« Wid, which belongs to me,
and call u^i you in the name of the law to give me
free possession;* and torgettipg m,y guide's advice, I
drew from my pocket the papers vh^dx certified my ex-
(jluaiva title. • w-
*Jiedmaple shall have but one owner as long a9 I
Uv;?/ Ifep^vd T^vufhip. * I could liaye kiJQe4 you like
■a de«r at any moment durini^ the liist'bour j but I wish
, to avoid bloodshed between ua. Go back : there is vet
tipnoi my right is tl^it of flrst qccupant^ and your title
is nothing ia my eyes.^
Either to frighten me, or with a real intention to
fire, the squatter rais^ his rifle, and aimed. I .stood
motionless.
*.Tho nearest sheriC he contmued, * is seventy miles
9fn^9^ \ the. report ,o( n\y rifle will never reach his ears :
your- corpse will have been devoured by tiie birds, and
yp^r^pt^ers blown away like dead leave?, before any one
thiaka -91 inqv^iring ^bout you. One, two '—
X, hear^ the click of the lock, hut some irresistible
force impelled n}e onwards ; and with my rifle resting
peacefully on my shoulder, I approached my opponent,
preferring any danger to a retreat
* Three r cried Township, It if not eiksy to describe
what folio wed. Scarcely had he pronounced the word,
than a man rushed from , a neighbouring thicket, ano
seizing If e with vigorous arras, snatched my papers. It
was one of thc,$quatter*s sons. Then there was a flash,
A loud report,' and a ball whistled between our two
heads, broudbt i^ear together In the hcAt of the struggle.
. We both fofl, each thinking that the oth^r was wounded.
,^9if n^hip uttered a cry of liorror, and rushed towards
us, his lool^ ojt terror cusappoarinj^ up lie saw that his
son was safe. On my part I rose furious with rage,
i^ud reproached him loudly fot his cowardice.
* Cowardice J* ho retorted with a savage laugh. If lien
upon it, while my con^panion, who batetDM to ke^p
watch, reqomniended me to go to JpAeep; Urii appaarir&t
sympathy was singular; hut tp aVol^usdess dlaetttricqfi,
Z f()igned obedience ; but sleep was far froth T\i^[tiii|; tny
eves. Tlic thougla that ttv^ xnlght be my Iwst tS^t
oflife tortured me. At last a sort of totpor ^UjUt otcr
me, from which 1 was routed by fhe sound dt'TOie^
t started up, and saw afair and slender form tfisft^feir-
ing among the ttecs. ^ Tts o^Tjr ray; sister,* 9aM Ac
young man, * pretending she wanted* to sp^ik ib me,
when it w^ only curiosUv. And, W *ay tll^tli, i&m
looked at you by hmterp li^ afld thiuki yoti are otcr-
young to die* 1
Day had scarcely bfoke, 'when ire tkw TovttK^
accompanied by a strauger ami his two aona, oosiaf
towards us. . The Unknown he^d out his hand to n^
observing tliat he was acquainted with the whole
and that ^ might be easily arranged on cettilii
ditions. Redmaple wotdd be given u^ t6 tii6 If I
sented to retfact a certain offensive expnauto wMch
had escaped me the night. before, and 15a p^f.^ariht
lo^-house and the labour bestowed on &^ laaA. So
unexpected a change of circumstances teeiMd td tne
like escaping from a. troubled dream.- 1 doaed with the
terms, and flowed the party to the dwelling, where the
mystery was explained by the sqtiattct's poiotni^ to
IViMDpied
ready to go forth and encounter new 1jtfisite«, being
further stimulated bv an access of wHift the- Asmarkant
call * the metallic yellow fever.*
Judging from apncarancoi, Townahifi!% 'wfle and
daugliter regarded tnis sud^n removal with Aftisi
misgivings: they sat apart in melatkfttcfy rev^ns,
forming a pleasing group amid fhctr mde LUiwfMWJwi,
who were impatient to depart. A fewhom ktoi,!
was alone in the house so late l^e sceoe of mMffiX}.
Now that I was in possession, I (bit irtHBlartsM ; M I
hardly liked to confess that m^ thoughts had tslrii a
t^um. At the moment of departure the yoving'fbi ~
spoken a fbw words of Ikfew^, which Ihigtt^'
in fnv heart; and as the wagon "on wli^ctt'
seated moved ant^ay, she had phtdkcd aluiBKliiif
flowers, one of which fbll firom het htatH to thfe
Was this an adieu— a*otrti««fe-f Tfail^ mod ^ , ,
agitated me as I walked rettletslr faitfter «ni
for the remaindeir of the day. Iflighf eaoMft I*
myself up in the hut. The itefw$pa]{kSns tbialL r * ^
Townahip^s brain, and dot^^fles* aMefl ttiy HE
lying on the table; I deVQ^t^^iete«ifttila;'<i
i^iU;d to divert my thoughts. Thu»iiev«Ma «•!
.and the solitude at last hetttnf^ thairippoMbk. i
reloading his weapon, he return^ to me my riflie and I membeted that Towtrthip^ neiithWW'MiMi
CmAMBJEJlS'S EDINJ^yi^GH JOURNAL.
19/
•ee him. »id, pffered, ia case of t^y haying to leave
Kedmayle at any time. to. protect ft against & new
Marpef. His larm was some tnile$ distant fhimndne :
I started at once, but conld not help looktng back sadly
at m^^sglitafy habitatlQ|i> as Uibugtl bidding it a ^tial
adieu. ,
A J5^w days* residence with my, tiew friend gave a
n«w direction to my thoughts : Why should I not see a
little of adventure before sitting down <juietly. to my
new vocation ? Two resources were, open before m6 :
one, Ao bWTinen^ apd proceed Immediately t6 cleAr add
cultivate ipjr land j the ,other» to follow^ the squatter to
California. In either, case a jouroey to Guyattdot
would be necessary, ftir there only could labour \^
hired or hi^brmation obtained .or.the gold country. I
took leave of my ho^t, and travelled to thp little town
whene^ I had not lonj^ before di^embatke^, and Where I
sQoa found tiiat hiring labour was out of the qtuestlon.
Tbe rudest labourer, wlured,by t^ie flaming handbills^
• Cautornu and Golp 'Finders,* |)08ted everywhere,
pr^fierred the prospect of distant gain to offers of em^
ploynient. at bome^ I was walking about, listening to
the rariQas groups, when th^ toiicn of a han4 brought
me to a halt, My countryn^an, with Whom t had parted
on thf steamer^ saluted me^ and wltlMUt waiting to be
questioned, 'I, have had nothldg but tlT-luck jn this
roisCiiiUe country,' he said. * Instead often acres of good
land, it soon appeared tnat I had only bought a splen-
did torf-bog on tl^ banks qf the Ohio, and s)iut in hy
an impenetrable forest. I decJiUea pitching fhv ten}: in
so 4uU A place ; and since the l?^ptplns flows decidedly
in California, It is there that t mean to try my fortune
once more with the remains of hiy modest savings.' '
Wy resolution was taken : we went on board a steam*
boat, and In a few days were in St LOuiS, the starting-
poiatfor the£lBofa4o.. Here a inultitudinqus caravan
of emigrants were making their preparations. My
Qompaifiou went to work with. spirit, and idoqn we wbre.
in possession of a covered wjigoh, two mules, two
horses, salted meats, bear-sluns and coverlets, and an
inteUigeut and trustworthy servant Wlnle waiting
the departure, I searched diligently for the squatter'
and hia family. But no one had seen them; all I
could learn was, that two or three wagons h^d started
as pioneera towards Santa Pe about three days pre-'
viooaU*. The thought that Township's daring might
have led him to undertake this dangerous service made^
me tnc more impatient to follow.
At length our turn came ; and Che long file of wi^ns,
aniiuals, men, womjcn, and. children, moved slowly
Dut of St Xouis» a scene of picturesque confusion..
When we halted foe the night, the horizon was bounded
oa evenr side by the broad undulations of tbe prairies.
Difficulties and dangers were to be encountered -. rivars
forded, guUiea to be passed, and arid wastes of sand to
be traversed. In due time we reached the country of the
Camapches Indi^pa, when the precautions taken fbr
lecarity on camping at night were redoubled. Amon^
tlie scouts was a Qauadlan, who went by the name of
Bverquiet ; he was a fine specimen of his class, and
[lad passed iiis life in going and returning between
$a<Ua Fe and St Xaums^ I made his acquaintance, and
joomoKning;. riding by his side, hearfl him remark on
the ^appearance \ii wheel-t^acki In the ground before
Lia, and he -feared fur the safety of the travellers. I at
ince qoocluded that the adventurous party must be
that 'o| Township; and a d;^ or two. afterwards, my
s^oyjfCtioQjs were confirmed^ lUiu bad fallen ; and
&T«rq,iMet pointed out to me, on a deserted camping
(Tooiid, tbe impressions of feet; ^mong wlilch were some
that could only have beein made.by a^ young girl The
Qiimber of the party was nm4e out e;icactly ; and .day
ster day the sCout informed me of their proceedings as
slearly aa thougli he saw it all written in a book.
Hitherto all had gone, weH; .h>it npw the hunter snook
ku« heikd : Io4i(uia an4 Me;'^'^^ robbers i^iad visited the
samp^ but with, wluit re^sMltdid not ^pear. I became
to consent to ride forward with me and my companion
to overtake, and, if need were, succour the adventurers.
They vrere calculated' to be ibrty miles in advance; and
we proposed to rejoin the caravan after ah abseooe of t#o
or three dayjf. We rode off" in the night, and at day-
break reached the bainks of the Arkansas river. Here
our scoufs attention waia diverted' fhom tke main ob-
ject by a fight betwe^ a bea^ and a buflftUo, in wiiioh
his pasalion fdrthe'c^a^ led hkn to InteH^re. • He
gallopped oflTafter the bear, and we aasM do nothing but
follow. 'The animal made its way rapidly along the
banks of the stream, and presently, when <ypp0site a
fioatbg tree, seemed to take great interest in its navi-
jlfation. stretching out one paw and then' th» othet to
gu\de it' The actibnwas inexplicafble: •all atonceBver-
quiet Seized me bytheiinh as he exdaimed,-* There's
a mim on tjie ti*e!' ; - i
There wks indeed a human being %ottnd t<y ^e
trunk, floating and whirling in the'ruriOus rapids^oif the
river : and I beWlldenedmyself in imagining tlie Implac-
able hfttred that eo^d thus renew the frightful punish-
ment of Mazeppa. T9ie bear, hdwever, hadvuceeeded
in seking a branchy and his savage howlit^, «s he dniw
the tree to ^he shore, Warned us that no fkne watto be
lost. We bdth 'fired at once, and' the' inimal, rolling
over, disappeared Ih the fbaming waters. We hasten^ed
to succour the imfbrtunate Wretch to whose' alA we
seemed so providentially to hate arrived ; but althotgh
we could release him f^om His lashings, we could not
Mstore the lost existence. We deposited the body in
a deft of the rocky shore, and hastened onwards to
retrieve the delay. '
After several hours' farther riding, we reached the
only ford of the Arkansas thit qould haVe been crossed
by the squatter's wagons. Here, among, the inter-
mingled tracks of men and horses, Eyerqaiet diiseov^red
those of a corps ifi x^ifiemen, wMch^to all appearance,
had joined the partj^'as efecoH; through th^ dangerous
country ; there' wds therefore' no remiiflW^ ground of
alarm. Much Relieved by this assurance, we tode'bttck
to the caravan, which we reached just as th€y were
encamping for the ni^t " A croWd wa» collected round
a man who sat pale and shivering by one of the -fires.
To our great surprise we recognised the individual
whom i^e had left for dead on the banks of the
Arkansas. His countenance wat the reverse* of pre-
possessing : it displa;^ed that inixture of craf^ and
ferocity which essentially dharacterlses th^ degraded
dfiss of Mexican popnlstion. In reply to our inquiries,
he explained tliat the frightM position from which we
had extricated him was the efibct of )iis having been
seized as a spy by a party of Indians. Although not
very trustworthy, we feigned to believe this report
The next day our weary march was resumed ; and with-
out further incident, we arrived, after tluree months of
travel, on the soil of California.
We were the first to explore the gold country from
the interior, all previous parties having ascended from
the western coast. Tbe tumult occasioned by the halt
and encampment of more than three hundred adven-
turers, who had encountered so much peril and fatigue
in search of fortune; may well be imagined. Everquiet
agreed to join my party ; so, with my countrynran — once
a novel-writer — and my serrant, we set up our tent,
(Uid deliberated on future proceedings. Our first night
was not passed without alarm: a party of mounted
Indians, prowling in the neighbourhood, nad been Seen
by the. sentmet the repOrt of whose rifle, repeated by
tue echoes, sounded like a fusillade *, and some time
was passed in scouting befoi^e we were again tranquil —
as though to give us An immediate tast^ of the contin-
gencies of gold-digging. The next day, according to
agreement, EverquTet and 1 went, out to look fbr the
squatter, leaving the novel-writer and ^ur servant in
Qhargg of the tept. While the hunteif took one direc-
tion; 1 followed another through a rocky |:orge, but
both terminating on the shores of a lake vjsibfe from
mir pnr'flmnmpnf.. T wa« ftp^kitiD' fbr the traCCS of wheds
198
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOUBNAL.
on the stony path, when a morsel of rock fell at my
feet. I looked up : there sat the Mexican yagabond, as
he seemed, his legs hanging over the cliff, and a rifle on
his knees, about fifty feet above my head. He beckoned
me to join him, and I climbed up, hoping to get a better
yiew from the elevation. ' There is d^ger in being
alone,' he said when I was at his side. * Suppose that,
instead of having just come, your belt was Aill of gold
dust, would you not do wrong to expose yourself among
desert rocks?'
I assented, but replied that my poverty protected me,
and my companion was not far off.
*True: the Canadian hunter, a roan moulded to
prairie life. He at least seeks but game ; unlike those
greedy Americans who pour down on our 'beautiful
Califomla as a flock of Tultures ;' and as he spoke, the
Mexican pointed to our camp, which appeared unusu-
ally excited.
*How many delusions there are among them,' he
continued; *and how many perhaps vnll regret what
they have left!'
* What do you mean?' I inquired. 'Is not the gold
so abundant as was said, or is it very difficult to find ? '
*The trade of gold-seeker,' answered the Mexican
with an equivocal smile, * is accompanied by unknown
perils. And, besides, the mental excitement, the fatigue
of the body, the exhalations from the streams turned
out of their course, the vapours from the excavated soil,
hunger and thirst, do you count all that for nothing ?
Take my advice ; let the fools rush over the ground as
though every pebble, every grain of sand, hid a piece of
gold. Before many days, Uiere will be rare carnage here
for the vultures.'
* But at least,' I rejoined, ' what has been said about
the liidden riches of these countries is not a lie?'
' Listen,' answered the Mexican : * I owe some gra-
titude to you^ and your friend, and the hunter ; and to
prove that I am not ungrateful, I am going to reveid
what a true gold-seeker cannot be ignorant of without
disgrace. There are a thousand ways of seeking gold
without speaking of my method ; and, for the moment,
I am not in question. What I tell you was known
perfectly well to every Californian long before the ar-
rival of these foreign gold-seekers. My youth was
passed in searching for gold in this country, and I can
speak from experience. Avoid the courses of streams ;
they have been flowing for ages in the same direction,
and have worn away i^ that they are likely to separate
firom the veins, and the grains rolling in Uie sand are
not worth the fevers and rheumatisms which their
waters will generate. Choose rather the dry bed of a
torrent ; there it is another matter. In the impetuosity
of their capricious course, they drag more gold from
the rocky veins in a single season than a brook in a
hundred ^ears. Explore the channel upwards, for the
largest pieces of gold are the least remote firom the
mother-vein. Examine carefully the pepitas that you
find : the sharper their angles, the less nave they rolled,
and the nearer are they to their native rock. Then, if
you discover grains of gold still adhering to their stony
envelop, dig, search everywhere, break the rocks, do
everything, for you are dose to a yein that will well
repay the fatigue and the risk.'
This reasoning appeared to me incontestable. * Why,
then,' I asked, ' do you renounce a trade whose secrets
you know so well?'
' I have already told you that there are many ways
of gold-seeking ; so enough on that subject. Farewell,
senor ! If you will take my word, you will be careful
not to trust yourself far l^om the camp alone, and with-
out arms. Now that I have given you good counsel
and information, I am quits wiUi you, and shall go
about my own affairs. It is for you to profit by my
experience, unless you prefer, like the greater part of
your companions, to brave rather than to avoid dangers :
you are your own master.'
The Mexican rose while speaking, and with an air of
mockery descended the steep with hasty strides. He
was soon out of sight : I followed the route to the lak^
where two wagons on the shore showed that a partj
had already t^ten possession. They attracted my at*
tention } and on coming nearer, my suspicion was changed
to certainty. Township's three sons were bav digging
and washing the sand. One was screening the ooaaor
particles on a hurdle, and dose by Uy large lieapa finely
sifted. Terxy, the eldest, came forward to greet loe and
conduct me to his father's camp, which was in a little
yalley between the heights bordering the lake. I was
received as an old acquaintance, and the joong girl
acknowledged my salute t^ one of those gracums amfles
of which I had so often thought with emotioQ on our
long pilgrimage.
I need not enter into details on the explanations and
conference that followed. Howeyer, on relating the in-
cident of the rescue of the Mexican on the floating tree,
I could not hdp noticing that all the family teemed
embarrassed, and Township visibly agitated. Soffice it,
that my party was admitted to increase and atreogthen
the encampment, and prepare for additional laboon.
On returning to the camp, I found that our senraat
was absent without leave — gone to seek gold on his own
account ; and the whole colony was in a similar state a(
disorder — ^the first symptoms of the pFevaJeni malady.
No more servitude } all were masters, and had gone in
search of placers (gold-grounds). While I was con-
templating this noyel state of thinga, the novel-vriieff
returned.
* Ah, ah !' he exclaimed on coming up ; ' no bogi hex%
even when you look for them. Nothing bat aaa^j
plains ; that's clear.'
' And is that all you have discoTered ?'
* Is not that already something, for I haye a hofror
of bogs ; and then sand indicates the presence of gold,
as I know, for I have just bought a placer for bard caA
down.*
* What!' I said ; ' buy a placer here in Califbnus?
You are joking.'
Just then Everquiet returned ; and yielding to my
fViend's importunities, we packed our gear in the wagoas
to go, as he said, and encamp upon gold. As we wsat
on lie explained the circumstances of the purchase. lo
his ramUe he had seen two men seated in a sandy pisin,
each provided with a bowl, which they filled with saod,
and washed in an adjoining brook. Their exdaaa-
tions of joy were frequent as they turned up the goUea
grains, and they lamented that pressing bxuineas cdkd
them away from so valuable a spot The nor^wiiter
approached just as one of the two had picked up a lamp
of gold the size of an almond ; and nnable to oootaia
himself, offered to purchase the ground for ten doQara.
Difficulties were started, but eyentoally ovenooiDe ; and
at length the exchange was made of a placer worth a
million for the ten silver coins.
I need hardly state that our utmost exertlona wiUi
pickaxe and shovel, continued during two dmys, fsikd
to bring to light the slightest particle of gold : my oobi*
panion had no better luck here than in his purchase sf
turf-bog on the shores of the Ohio. Nothing, howeye^
could disturb the novel- writer's good-humour» nfAmSkr
standing his having been the dupe of a ctafly leqss.
On the third day we made our wi^ to Townsb^s
encampment, as agreed { but everything was chsiwd
on the borders of the lake. A yillage, built with ststoi
and branches, stood where shortly before all was a dcwii
while a crowd of labourers were moving abost witt
noisy activity, and the restless and enterprising
of America had already invented meana of
more effectual than those heretofore employed,
yisa^e was radiant, for the indefatigabU tofl was le-
ginnmg to produce fruits : boisterous bursts of JBJ
mingled with frantic thanksgivings ; grains of pA
sometimes almost impalpable, were exhibitod wift
triumph, but to obtain which a mountain of sand Jmi
been removed. Here and there adyenturets mora fo»
tunate found little pepitas, which, magnified byiuaiaar,
have become gigantic in Eoropei Yet wish all ^
ii
unAiwiiKmrp isJ^ixMisuKUii JUunnAij.
lifif
apparent prosperity, yague reports were in circulation ;
suspicious characters had been seen larking about by
the hunters and woodcutters, and severe toil and in-
sufficient nutriment were manifesting their effects.
Our own party worked weU; and when assembled
under the tents at night, the presence of females was
found to afford a solace for the fatigues of the day : all
were striring for the common good. But in the camp
at large scarce a night passed without a surprise : tents
and wa^ns were pillaiged; crime and misery b^^
their reign. It was only foreigners who were assassi-
nated ; indiriduals of Californian origin seemed to bear
a charmed life. One day that the noyd-writer and I
bad nuide a satisfactory discovery in a dry gully, we
could not help talking gloomily over a state of things
which had changed the severi^ and robust manliness
of the Anglo-Saxon character into a brutal corruption,
where Mexican vices flourished in unveiled deformity.
The same evening one of the hardiest of the emigrants
was brought in a corpse, shot dead by a bullet from
some unknown hand. But suspicion pointed to the
Mexican prowler whom we had^ jgerhaps to our cost,
saved fVom drowning or worse. Township broke out
in a furious malediction : passion was doing its work.
A month passed ; the miseries of the situation were
complicated ; and one-half of the emigrants were com-
pelled to keep watch with arms in Uieir hands while
the other half worked. I passed most of my time with
rifle on shoulder as sentinel to our encampment, while
E verquiet and the novel-writer went in pursuit of game,
and Township and his family searched lor gold with
steady perseverance. The Indians were becomingdaily
more daring in their attacks, and I hoped that Town-
ship would consent to deput firom a place where no
man could count on an hour's existence. For some
time I had observed that Terry was growing impatient
of his father's severe authority ; I was keeping guard as
usual, when one evening I saw him returning wiSi empty
hands. I spoke to him, but he replied onhr in impatient
monosyllables ; but afterwards declared he was weary
of the frightful occupation, and would soon seek out a
better mode of Ixviog for himself as his lather had done
before him.
I pacifled him as well as the circumstances would
permit, and leaving him to take mv post, walked down
to the village in search of my friend and the hunter. I
entered the tavern, which presented a scene worthy of
Pandemonium, and where a glass of brandy sold for the
price of a barrel. Presently I was summoned away by
Township's youngest son, who, scarcely able to speak
for terror, told me that some misfortune was about to
happen at the tent I rushed out> and when near the
camp^ heard the report of a rifle. ' He has killed him!'
shrieked the boy, rushing forwards in dismay. At that
moment Terry ran hurriedly from the tent, directing
his steps towards the mountains rather than to the
lake. At so late an hour, this was hastening to his
destruction. I called after him in vain ; he continued
his flight. On enteriug the tent, I found Township
leaning on his still smoking rifle, and the whde family
in distress. Oue of the boys acquainted me with what
had happened : — ^Angered by a remonstrance f^om his
eldest son, the squatter, in one of his uncontrollable
bursts of passion, had flred at him. The daughter had
diverted the aim; and the young man, bidding his
parent a solemn farewell, left the tent never to return.
We looked from one to the other in silence, when at
length a noise in the camp aroused Township from his
stupor: his parental feelings had regained the ascen-
dancy. ' Let us go,' he said, addressing me ; ' let us go ;
in a tew minutes it will perhaps be too late ;' and with-
out waiting for a reply, he hastened out I snatched a
rifle, and ran after him. I was uneasy, not only on
Terry's account, but also fbr the novel-writer and Ever-
quiet who had not returned as usual firom the chase.
We hurried over the ground, and in a few minutes
reached the rocky defiles of the Sierra.
Amerinsn hnntAm Mmpmllv surrt»t» an oAvbiin «lflma1fl_
either the note of a bird, or the howl of an animal— to
be employed at night, or when on the scout : ours was
that used by Everquiet — the howl of a wolf. Three
howls, uttered at short and equal intervals, denoted the
presence of one or other of our number. Township
gave the preconcerted signal, once, twice; but no
answer. .The third attempt produced a reply. We
bent our steps in the direction of the sound, and as we
made our way among the wild crags and gaping crevices,
I felt my courage hidf fuling me : each rock might con-
ceal an enemy. To add to our embarrassment, the
signals were repeated in different directions, till at last
we were uncertain which to follow. While we stood
hesitating, a loud explosion was heard, followed by two
plaintive howls ; we listened for the third, but all was
still. Township's breath came short and thick as we
resumed our search : again he tried the signal ; it was
answered, and two men climbed towards us along a
hollow path. They were the novel-writer and Ever-
quiet ; they were returning to the csonp, and had seen
nothing of Terry. We persuaded them to join us ; the
hunter led the way, stopping firequently to inspect the
soil. PresenUy we came to footmarks, which he pro-
nounced to be those of Indian and Meidcan marauders.
His remarks were interrupted by a mournful note, re-
sembling the chant of the whip-poor-will, breaking the
silence of the night It had a strange efiect on Town-
ship, fbr he sank down and buried his face in his hands,
seeming overcome with grief. He replied to the voice
in a broken tone, and listened as though his life or death
depended on what would follow.
* It is some fkmily signal,' whispered Everquiet ; ' the
squatter has recognised the voice of his son :' which
assertion was verified by an answering cry, but so
feeble, as scarcely to be heard above the sweep of the
breeze.
* It is he— it is Terry I* cried Township, rushing to-
wards the spot whence the sound proceeded. We fol-
lowed ; the unhappy young man lay stretched motion-
less and senseless on the ground. The father's heart
was bursting with grief as he knelt by the side of his
boy, and questioned him as to the author of the acci-
dent Life seemed to return for a few seconds as the
young man spoke ; but I heard no more than the words
— * The night on the Arkansas !* It was the expiring
effort ; and Township's arms embraced a corpse.
The squatter was not a man to shed useless tears,
now that he knew the name of the murderer, and could
hope to gratify his vengeance. We made a litter with
our rifles, and bore the body to the camp, while Ever-
quiet, in spite of our dissuasions, persisted in following
a suspick)us trail that led farther into the hills, and
promised to rejom us at the tents. On returning to the
lake, we forbore to intrude on the grief of Township's
family, and pataroUed up and down, lor the camp was stiil
in alarm. The excitement was afterwards heightened
by an unexpected arrivid : Everquiet came in with the
Mexican bound to the back of his own horse by his own
lasso.
* You will not bewilder honest people any more with
your false signals,' said the hunter, addressing his cap-
tive. 'But have a littie patience, gold -seeking is
weary work; you will soon be relieved of your troubles.'
' Do you take me for a common gold-seeker?' retorted
the Mexican haughtily. * Bah I I do not dig in the
sand ; instead of searching a placer, I search the gold-
seekers themselves. It is a trade as well as another ! '
Everquiet made no reply to this sally : he advanced
towards Township's encampment asking me as we
walked abng if I wished to witness for once in my life
a specimen of Ljnioh law.
I declined being a spectator of the squatter's ven-
geance, and, sick at heart, withdrew to my tent I wished
to escape ftom scenes where greed, brutality, and effron-
tery— ^tne vices of civilisation and those of barbarism —
jostied in frightfhl contrast Yet before falling ajileep,
I heard a cry of agony repeated by all the echoes of the
▼aHav I jrnH T knimf; frnm mv nmnnanion. who entered
«00
^<mjmBUii»»^^nti^mitfm^Miii^A%,
*
iio(m>(«fter#^id3^lha«<tti4>MexieMnibtcl>t)eeb1«tfrM Mtx>|^tf«^i^s. %tit$li«r^dM d^'app^ar^lie aoy g^oMeti-
ilU^ldke<«iiifer'th»ejeial'lh4iflaekibI««|^iitilttk lonMi] detic6'fot ^^ assertion ihit he prepiir^ a b^trow far
I
1
„^ hiniseiy. Trt con8<jquenceof his shrank retii*dhAbiU,fhe
J^iS '^£!^'y5!^^*£!Sr!ll^I^!S?* ^ i «^r i^ roreljf aeen (in the ww^tjieni part»x>f ^OaUbMMlX
:^id.i^fl&' indirtriktnff.thbtaiik- Bverqiitet lAon^ W«by aM,w»^oaft;P«rji^ipil»e^ ^TST*!^
.€owt>eebead^!m|r conaifiori. / llie taov^^w^h^d not ^wa^iHitftke «J«m to tte yw0r# banktRt^tt^hflMtof
^'ebkwtftlLfiMtiniii bisvtaMuMltcodld not. irHliotrt aelf- tted^-r liitthimiiy a» hiitt:dAmnrrt5i attttngfTfttilui
wgMfCMtfli^iqnifcirittftaifldfenly n Wnd In wWoH he' tni^ht brt»d, flat tbtad. Mid brHlkwn eel-Ace eyee^' >ftj* p*ep.
J^eoipiiiiidr«:ntilttondfh«;i -Tbwna^ t)9o,^ptoged in tne- ing ant >of the hole* wber« b^ fta^ lAade fa& b€cf; or
inacbeibf ]8adnbn,;b«d tlO'tbmi^lit of :teavln^ ttoe «tK)t dWi^, intewt dii' plfey^ and btiiagltfg nji AgUsteoiif
^wb&te Ibieiretqainb <tf bistitiifi^rtiiDDate.lcw wponedL I figb, which be ^fftti^ -fo Ae ibote, aim then eata,Qrtii-
bade adieu. l)o,a>fiimajr:atti6Hg/«boBi;<I'Of>betli»iifebt toy m^nclhg aif the head'^ a* soon as hajf the bodywdn-
eoiiiifeei>o9rir««M>bei&ced^ iand jpt^ssed tbfl /b«Ml ef my ^tkttiW, Ijavlnfe the I'emainder, as If in' mocki^ tf tb«
Coi»pj^H<Mi< who, in 4htf gleomy; CalifokBimi Taltef i pre- ' enjWged fliJhernltih Who m^y Bhince to pttss ; and Ubm
aecFftd tlift iwneff<»a4nnnoitriaaroii>'tiib'v6tAint< banks' to' ^h6 ^^atet, brit)^ top' another; and ^efc another rfcw
of vthO' OWo, : I id^attb^ i in < eoBipiq)3r> witii ' Eieiifniet, bis app^tlt^ for^ flsh seems almoirt nnlintited. And wfeai
,JTOd,«few,d«>«ialWwatdi^fcft SaaGSVaiidio<>»forNbw his ei^^ e^fetidlbire Tendew fish «!«««,>
York, (tj:- !'/;? ' ^. i( !,f / /jij n.7 . ' ^- . ! .lI ' n^ftfthe^ bff to dofa^^de^ble dUt^noBs, "/or the puTiv^
Mysmri^l hH the fHudiso* rii^er^wBt. nbib opportHne procntlntf ^nlti^jj^, andW^nydfing Iambs or suddt^^AL
fr)t a pQ0^ Adaftliah'fiMjiiiy jiitf tarfaJinVho bad ddniei to - D^Vwin $ay$ that hie Has frB^uentlr seen tiie otter T^e
. Amwici^ tp^pVl«;Q (thiarfdflttiteiand (prtrienttiiikdiBtk'yjat afid catch i flrfh/ihfen let it go, catch it again, Ad po'bn,
, ^it WfMioei of tany lentetpiisijir >rietti«i' II. fitefancned i to fdt sbmC imintit^s, iri tti« inannet of a cat ^jrUksatii^ a
|(e«|tP9{>^..^i(Air ittheae/;in<»lligM» and . laih(#ioufc' dmi- tti6ti^. It has Vet< obsbt^eA that Ae ot^et^, wB« fa Mr-
«n;ai»t^. And wras spon fef)l«'*o«nrapiirt, urithout a ^hadbr = stift oHts pt^/AwHttrt' a^lnkt the strtain^ irhJdi wfliac-
-of f^sret^thQilife. •€< la^onM^atoir toiibUf ofvgoliwskep ; Co^nt itir tne fadt of the opening of tbe>fits being ]^b^
an4.flov'l^beginito,BdUh:[to^sTw4itthip!iiBS88iUideFtaih^ b*«ck^aVds: apectriiafit/nsnalfyonlr trt]ietveaintbbae
, grjM|d/#p»»^>w§U,ftfintiiity.i TiieBtrubi^ with nntmried W»iin^l» wHos^ timid niitifres p^irinT them as itjf^be
n^t^iw, And,l;hek[OliitiirQiQf: a-fldll i^chmB^dibjrtpenevey^ f5i*nted !br*fli^; fcr ihbttffh otter- hunts rank bkh
mg §gorts» will ionff(beJ*»objecfcft^Wtimek> and' unite artort jf th^ Inrew of ihte spolrif, yet ih^y So not (amb
the common labours of those who seek the sdlitadea of ttf^th^ niitUrt bf hunt^ in 'Which ttiere &'to emen tm
, tlj/^/NftWf -Worl^* .^et irtAaterkJa thewairrniaByiifrh acfOiis 'the cbtintry/ ' ' * -
anch a lifciWiU. nPtJiMflfcwfc /Jfewrtjuiet zetfirttid aU my ^ 'The otteMs ft ntbst carefhlpAre'trii andf' titka jHW
intreaf^iwtQrftbide with loiefoni.m^ilEinde^dieficnquiresi |Ain» td j)rddnre a srfe tetteftt for het yantot, sofoe
the tejciwtftmeat of » hJtig aaid pertlons fch«ie,;a;wandet-' V^atS ag^ a bair bf thes^ aniinaj* niade't^neir'i&f fa the
iu^,wi,th9ut .enaandr.witUam; biyeotafcroitt the Wund-' 'Wiihk nf ^ old poUird; 6h t^e banks of ^le ffcamw,
l^^TSTV^m-. Tbe;no?efc.wia4eCiS6ndaniewbid;^hatiie b^«tf"G(»lDfif. 'the^ttep^«rt^o!lo^ thtDngboiit,iofliit
hasenrjdhq* hinwelf.fcDmTifcthwfcy'weiivAnd tbmka of tHeyoWJg wferelaid on tiie ground, while tfvg oidtiMf
x:^tupiMi?g to,,5rftBca..„Th|t istention. isnqvisea land ere^!h and nntthfduglf one of thte hnrfet" roots, WHcb
paioa w^ ; in him I Wio,alH«idi ^hoaf enccgj ?f *«ha- w'as al^ \i06yti bnt,>laj« I the poor mtle 13i2bgi Wre
racter^n^^aie^yiof iph-itiendwKrtidjhutotonMr^tHi I^ dirtJovfered -eyert iti thfs^s^cnre retreat; and t^DOr 'My.
. iear.th(at> ii« tja« temp and tfifllttg pastiqteftbtf *ar cstiej,- ^ Se»mW irety interefitrnr anecdotes are't<^ not rirtflf
;hB,^^<^^qn,Wgj;et;tw4«te4he-eitpansiTteand.qiipatlife' - - «. ... -i .^ ^. t i.j.^ ^^-^.^ ^- i^^.m^.
o>^hicli, 4n^4ca.pavei! i^efnaea itcv th^ enaignuikt Mw baies
|)isil4bpuj^s.4M» a, ABOtill^p^fea^ iWifeh regard to<3bim-
^U;p, on the w,^4t9f ihifiAiesMi ithe ftftber^ he wiU grow
tired , pf: d)ggi qg/ t4ie^»a4kd4^o£ rCslilosniar and be .tempted
tocwi^ and {dear, one. efftbeteYirginiattitroods )«rh4chiwattJr'hkd beeh lit o^i%*^ \^poit&4or'fhe'pQtpat&^d
,po»sff»* in bis ^}^ tire phwrmiDf a. native connitijy* .The cleansing -its' thfe little ones' got intb^ before !rwar,b«lf-
day, p9x^™ , fc? ,»ot..fw off: wbi«ii mil ie& hidu be^n -fllled, a^d wdre uttirtife U> get irtit agihi. Tftfi n«ber.
the,»epoi3^tfp?fift4 ^.« sqjinft^tef'afdestitty* when* iaphce \ after teaWngi^fl^cttt^Attenfpts tb>«sSfil*©^nfttH*f Ae
of adv^i^tuMf ai^A. ill«««A Q^earingst. hewiUi enjoy the bknk, plunged into tbft wat^r, a-ndb^pin tir>^ wWi tie
Jff?enU;or J^giMip^to-WWaiina. the i^hility of denies. ! ef th^m, tod t>tftting her bead doie tb-ftitfcw, a^imedtas
tip|U^» fi^pps^y; efv«n .U)€ilu>nfiuni,Ql<Qotigrsai*
BTClt^'S-ri -WEAfeEIi 'J'AMXLT/ '
TT^npffpals.pif^lua jtrjtbeanie.tli^.naopt^ bJoodibbfadiy of
jf\\ tl^.c^ri^ivorm apd^toij^ 4ceonAt of the^gth of tbeit
, bo4«e9» iEadr4ihAiahokitnB8ai«f ^titeir (JinibejBS'Wftt «# of
. theidT) poi^et lo£t(wiindt«g r^nd^ irtiimnctlng iiheinsdtbs
through the smallest opening*, 'are^filso t^mr^fl ir^rtiti*
>brmV I'h^at^'ttil aWjwf-nhwtigtade, ntn'd lead i's through
the TJkd^ 'to the tl^ue 'jplantigrf^^es 6,t beiir f»inHy; , ,
^ iir|ice the bttei: (^tuira vukarl^^ ^f t, on. ap^o^qVof
iU hme, the only .^'^u^tjc ^^rtW: w tfe!?^ ftinij(yr^w»i to
M«^U WiQTA P9«f!«»ily» .thp,^^^ a«9plHbions ioneT*4i»ra
t)^^«rpai|iaer/o£ wkioh^itiAS ^tipgiiishedby.it»webtad
t^s^^d thorizeatettyrHtlatteDed^tall^ 'it' i^MMSMes' %he
.p©wierofTOniainhi^j*nddrnra«r foratebrti«dehible'tit*ie,
and' of catldhtttt fl^ "Mth thd great ^^ fddlJtV V In orS^r
toiotitAm \**SfcW;=5g'm^k its home' by somo quiet river-
side, in the naturaf cxcaVi^ibns formeOy th^ gni^led
ropt^.df th^ oyerhaJojjirifjf jtrjeep, a^d the 'peaspl^esa.flowi of
the yj:^t,e^9.., Xt ,^,hwWy, pyo^le.,th*t ,tbe oUoTi way
.^larg^ ,9f:,pthwMi'Mfl)ai^I^,tMM boUDiraj^tO* bitt orah
of the affection Of the ftmiale ntier fbr lier >9iitag;%at
^al«o of the' intefKgence' which she'ditbbi^s In ^rahif
torre«{K)hdent of tH<^ *2Sooibgi^ neoltei
them. A'fct
(MewMdi gate birth to t^ Vonng' oA^r 16 ttie gmebi
of %h^ Z6<^)giCsA Soci^t)'. Oh one bcca^ioii, wlMjtt '1/be
if trying toconvejr hev meaning to lt;-*irid1lni
ar 'spthig ofnt'of tlie pond; with the ynttdg-ebe
on to the fhr of h^ tall b^ tttf te^tb. Hsvi
landed ft, lih^ got'thb t>1^ef out ib the attnij
tPMs-she did Mteral titnes dtxrin^ a qtiarfer of ifn bdkff ;
for as'fiii^t as ih^ rescued ohe, tho otbet* lean^ ^mi!kV»
the^waterj ' B^ty one kno^s the impoisibiBlir"^ V
twoehiWrett hito the Kotise. wheh «i^if;iW«i t^
tact, see that ybb arcf not ^shiblined fot^'^'
rotihfp^-^ai ' As 6odn as )^dn, brektbleM nHtlk I
Httete^d in cdt<!liiiig o^c, th^ oth«r biutf eMa^ed'^
lOiMd'iBelt^ty hai^ irnipiectM voiing dtteik^'-
g^aUifboH.' "At'l^gtb,how^-ef,'the Mbdite xso
tlvaitbey 4t«a hM pl^y ^otfgh f ^Md stf, ii^ibbb
was sufficient water for her to reach them from
Hifthe pbni she dnigbt'^ebi by'lSieHiii^' ^r^t*
0u«:-«l»d>tliem round the pond eftfMtb tlie fetK^nM
kejlt^Mtt^ruig totbeni, «^ if iftcrwtatl'tiaib^iMiMt
tdgo^iirtottoopdnd^gidri,'^' ' - f ^J ^ ■ • *''
'■ Af« Bt John lelk' tIMt' be^Mii^'tt^'^Vtdf cm,\A k ftb
and Uv it befbi« her-itwo etflML wfctfy^btrtttKfriCtedii ftlKe
straggle to^«^Maiiil ltron'i|iiih^Vl^%bk9f,'1b^ n
left the waier, ahd sepi^atM^ 'il^'^Hm ft6^
plaaed Iho llt^ be^M^ bdie' df m dlifttatexai^Md^
plttngM scgfldn' k)t^t^M»teMh " towUilUft/ biki idhrifto
J.
aHi(MBB9ana>BD]imiiiiefi joubnaxi.
201
iiHve been weU-traioed, did oot att^n^ to toa^U the
now. prohibit^ ^h» but patient^ waited uaUl the
mother, reappearing, laid a simitar dainty before hioL
Iti fkct the otter fs remarkably dociJe, dnd may be
vmtmtikMf tdicd her^ ftbd Ikfm avay, but tooon fell
down dead by the .bit» of the poifonooi ABiniU.' This
story gives an instance of revtogefDl stnttag^m of
whicHr w«i ioiagfinAfjetm tiie wilyiweosd is iiit:apable ;
I'toi itsinatn*, and m^tk* itself quite a* home
iuiiflsifft itrtaaslfla'siddigs. Oac' which had been ' tamed
by. a. man ugm^ ColHns^ ftad which- ftftnriied atthis
can, wa» one day taleeu out- by h'l^ son» and refttsiag: to
return at the accustomed sound» was lost. After an
Ineffectual search, the old man, passing by chance the
place where it had been liberated, repeated its name
^oud, when, to his inexpressible joy, it came creeping
to his feet, and jhowhag every mark of afiection and
penitence. Another, which was tamed in Scotland,
would ruii to its noaster ior protection when it saw any
strange dogs, and endeavour to ^et into hia arms. It<
would frequently take eight or ten pounds of fish in
the 4ay, and would fish either in river or sea. The
otter win not eat fish or fiesh unlesa it is pdrHaotly
fresh, and when iA confinemeni;, is uaually fed on milk
and hasty-pudding. The young otter is stated by Bewick
to be good for fooo* and to be scarcely distinguishable
Y«rf easily tamed, and rendered usefhl in catchiiig fish, , yet that part which' refers to its feigning itself dead is
Aiw«tt«slnte>restingArtd'fh!th<^lasap^t:itwilianswer jciiriowly ootroborated by an anecdote told by Sir
OswiUdMosley^ of 0116 which 'he caught^ and after re-
peated blaws on: the htad, osoiFried Ibr aoiae time in his
handi beUeldngit to b6 dead 9 but the moment he placed
it on the grass, it rose and ran ofl; as if nothing had
eecwrred, whidh oonki searoely bare taken place at the
idetttaoal- iastant of Hberation, if the preyious stillness
liadbe^ionly caused by its. being stunned.
The aeoct legend of Qiraldns lepreseals the weasel in
a very intonating Iight:--«*A paivon residing in the
oastleof Pembroke found a brood of young weasels con-
eealed witfai» a place within his dweling^house, which
be earefolly semoved aai kidt the moC^, Irritated at
the loss of her young, which she had searched for in
▼ain^ wenita a vessel of asflk nAikAi bad beea set aside
for the use of the unstn^s s^n, ahd rali&ng herself up,
poUoicd it with iherjdeidly poison ;• thus revenging, as
it wete^ jth* loss bf her yeuqg^ by theidestrsotien of the
ohildi Tbeiman oAisenring^ what had passed, carried
from lamb. Tlie skia of tbe otter is'ouich yaluedin* the fleece back to its former' plaee; when the weasel,
many countries, more especially in the north joS Europe, agitated by matenud saUcitnder betwMn hope and Ibar,
It ia covered with two kinds of fur, the shorter bevig ott finding again ker young, began to ttetify her joy
very soft and fipe in its texture,, and the longer coarse by- her cries and aotiens, and returning quidkly to tlie
and shining. An old otter frequently attains a ^reat | vessel oFenlhvew iti Ihasv in gratltMide fbt the recovery
of her'; own efispriag^ saving that of her host fh>m
Bulger*'
In.a veryanoient'Bretan lay, ^ioh is prcfserved in
the • coUeotien of Marsic, and wfaibh is called * ElidUc,'
though oris^aUy known by the name of * GuHdelucc,
ha iQualadan,' we^ find the ibUdwirig wondretis fkble :
^^¥nieiit the: beautifUl Qualadnn 4ar dehd, a weasel,
creepiig> fsomi the altar, vaa several tiaies oyer her fkce ;
ont which the attendant struck at, and kiMed it. Upon
which another (Weawl appeared, and after exhibiting
dvery sign of grid^ rtut suddenly off to the woods, and
returned with a ftow^ of a beautiful vermilion co-
Icntr, wkidi she eaneihUy Inserted In the mouth of her
dompanian: in an instant the Uttle animal rettirned to
hfe, and sprmif upk Another- blow was, howeyer, aimed
I at him; so that he dropped the flower, which, on being
existence, is mysteriously Unke4 with his. The nature appfisd to the Up of the damsel, at onde caused her to
size, and it is probably to such thiM: Scutbey alludea in
his celebristed chapter of Kings* * There are/ he si^s,
* kings among the otters in the Highland waters^ und
also. among Uieir relations the sea otters. The royals
otter is larger than his subjects* and has a white spot
upou his preasi lie shuns observation, which it is
sonietimea provident for kings to do, especially under
such circumstances as his,, for his skin is iu gr^at re-i
quest among soldiers and Ba^ors. It; is supposed to
insure y ictory» to secure the wearer from being wounded,
to be a sure prophylactic iu times of, contagious sick-
ness, and a preservative iu shipwieck. But it ia not
easy to fiod .an otter king, and when founds there is
danger in the act of regicide, for he bears a charmed
life. The moment in which he is kitted provea fatal to
some other creature, either man or beast, whose mortal
of the otter monarchy has not beea described; it Is evi-
dent» however, that his ministers haye no loaves to dis-
pose of; but then they have plenty of fishes.'
The weasel and stoat are perhaps the most charac-
teristic example of the tribe, on account of their blood-
thirsty habits^ and the determined boldness which they
displigr in obtaining their prey* Very singular) and
wefl-aothenticated accounts ace givQu of these little
animals forming tbeuiseWes into packs, and huptij^g
hares or rabbits by scent. When so. eo^loyed* they
'give tongue' ia a feeble^ diminutive manner, and in
every other respect Imitate the ipancsunes of a wqll-
trained pack; ^r has any instance been observed in
which, tbey have failed to run down their game.
Though much pers^uted by iarn^rs, the wepMel ia pro-
bab^ n^re useful t^ them than theyiwre willing to
helieve* as fit destroys . greg^ numbera ef . ratsfmd nue^ ;
far more than any cat ci^u do* as it is, from its form,
enabled to enter their h^diug-pUoeSt and thu« «1«J them
at home; yet we cann9t deny > that it net unfraquently
repays its Qwn services with a tender chicken or apiuMp
pullet. - • ,
Anj^jogst the ifuperstitious- tales which haye hoen
related 01 the weasel* the followiogr which are. givea by
Giraldus Cauibrtfisis,may be ootieedzW A weasel|' he
says, * had brought out her yojUPg into a plain fioff the
enjoyniept of sun and/ nir,, when an iasidioos kite car-
riedToQ' one of theos^ coneeating herself with the re-
mainder behind some, shrubs, grief suggested to her a
stratagem ef exquisite rev;eqg^ She eal^nded hersdf
on a heap of eartq, as if uead. within sighl of the plun-
derer. And/aA JUlnfiMULalw&iui.iiiABMuuM. AviiiilLV^^ytA hinrl
Mvive, * etpaessing her surprise at having dept so long.'
And 'in the eaiiy EngMsii romance of * Sir Guy of
Wanrksk,* when the ftimished Thierry fkUs asleep at
the kaecs of Gkiy, a white weaiel suddenly jumps out
el hit mouth, and takes refVige hi a crevice of a neigli-
bourin^ rack, but 'sooit returns agah), and runs once
more down his throat (not a pleasaiit tenant, we should
think> Upon hie awaking, and rdating that he had a
dream of a * fair bright sword' and a treasure, Quy goes
to the plaee in which the weasel soqght rffiige, and
there finds both the sword and the treasure.
Theophrastus defines the superstitious man to be he
who, in addition to the scrupulousness with which he
obscftea varieds specified ceitmonies, refhses, if a weasel
hasorossed hia.path* to prooeed* until he faaa thrown
tluree atones over the road*
The stoat (^Mnstela ^mina) and tbe weasel (Af. vul-
garis) are so commonly confounded together, so fre-
quently described under one uame» and so similar in
th6ir habits, that many persons are inclined to deny
thehr iodfvidari existences; yet they are clearly dis-
tinct, and thoagli.the weasd frequently bec6mes while
in winter, the assumption of the snowy coat does not,
and cannot: convert at; as :it doea the stoat, into the
ermine of commerce.- Several instances have ooeurred
of piebald* or rather skewbald stoats, but this appears
to be merely tbe transition state from the red ftur ef
summer to the white garb of winter.
The stoat and the weasel prey on the same animals ;
they both form self-constituted packs, and hunt for the
adyaiitage of the community ; and boHi are remarkable
Bell states that he * was one daj sitting in his room on
the grottnd-floor^ with the door open, when a stoat
entered, and ran ra^dly round the poom, snuffing aboot
as if in iearch of prey. It showed not the least symp-
toms of alarm at finding itself in unnsnal quarters, and
after a rainnte or so, quietly went out again.' And the
* Zoologist' gives an instance of a weasel which, after
trying ronnd a window for an entrance, stood np on its
hind-legs, and remained, earnestly gazing through the
pane, undismayed by the furious barking of a little
terrier, which was somewhat disturbed by this appear-
ance, until, we regret to say, tbe window was opened,
and the dog suffered to chase and kill the little animd
which had come so confidingly to the window.
GwilHrn, in the * Display of Heraldrie,' says that the
name of ermine is derired from the following circum-
stance:— * Hee hath his being in tlie woods of the land
of Armenia, whereof hee taketh his name.' The pole-
cat or fitcliew iMtuttela pvtanm) appears always to haye
been held in etil odour, both physically and metapho-
rically, as, perhaps on account of its most off^sive
smell, it is usually associated by the older writers with
things of evil report $ Idius Shakspeare says —
* Tbere are ffurqr things than poIec^vU.'
* Out qI my door you witch, you bag, you polecat 1 *
* 'Ti9 guoh anoUMT fitdiow 1 marrv, a perfumed Que ;
^Vllat do you mean by this haontitig of me ?'
It IS commonly termed foumsort, or lulimatt, a designa^
tion which seems to be a oemiption of the W^sh name
ffwlbarU In wooded districts, where the polecat gene^
rally abomds, it is too fsell known by its darii^ depre-
dations on game^presenres and poidtry^yards to need
any description. It is curious that both this animal
and the stoat have been discovered us the act of catch-
ing eeb at the season when these eels are supposed to
retire into the deep mud for^tkeir wmter sleep.
Much discussion has only left undecided the question,
* Wliether there is any f4al difibrence between tiie pine-
weasel or ydlow-breasted martea {Martu Metumy and
t^ beeck or common marten iMartet/hima) beyond the
variety of their colour?' Both kinds hove been ven*
deved rare in Britain probably by the value, in dden
thne, of tiieir skins; for we find * marten skins' men-
tioned m the * Doomsday^Book ' as among the treasmras
of the dty of Chester; and also that great quantities
of this * royal foar * were imported from Irslandl Again,
in ano^Mr place, it is enacted that all ships that
brought martens' skins to this country were bound to
give the king pre-emptien pi the same, and for that
purpose to show them to an officer before any were dis-
posed of, under a penalty of forty shilling8->-a very con-
siderable sum in the eleventh century. In another part
of the hook, it is recorded that Chester yielded annually
to the crown a revurae of L.46, mvd twenty-three
timbras «f martens' skins. This will recall to the minds
of our readers the cloak of King * Jamie^*
« ' Of crimson velvet piled.
, Trimmed with the fivr of marten wild.
We must not, however, imagine, that because this
pretty little animid is no longer common in our isle,
beosmse there are no longer royal enactments lespecting
its to, that the value criT the skin has oeased ; for pro-
digious quantities of tbem sore still imported from the
pine-forests of North America. Abotve tMrty thousand
am yearly brouglit firom CanadSi and nearly fifteen
tlkmsand tnm Hudeon'b Bay. The food of the marten
is Tery similar to that of the other animals of its kind,
with the addition, however, of the fragrant tops of the
pine bMsebet, a small portion of gtain^ and, when it
can ebtsfin it, honey^ The marten (il#ieir«0« abightm) is
abont sevsenteen or eighteen Inches in l&agth ; the tail
is bmhy, and the body covered with a tiiick fiir of a
dask-sed colour, beeoming gradnaHy paler underneath ;
the breast and throsft are white, or of a fine yellow,
deepening towanjs the cheeks; the foet, which are
biroadt oovemd on the soke with, tbiok Air, and f^
nisfaed with strong daws, seem perfectly adapted for
ascendjjDg trees.
Marten hunts formerly stood high among the sports ef
the field ; and the old books on the subject warn the
huntsman not to safibr the dogs to devour the aninsl
when caught, lest it should poison theuL This nnimsl
is stUl hunted in Italy. Dr Fleming states that the
marten builds its nest in trees. Dr Httian describes
it as 'firequenting the thickest forests, climlnDg the
trees in search of birds and their eggs, attacking smsH
quadrupeds, and bringing forth in -tibe nest of a sqairrd
or in holes of trees / die latter opinion bong, we believe,
the more correct one, though it is a well-nscertsined
fact that it occasionally breeds in h<des in rained vsih,
rocks, or even in the earth. Mr Bell relates that the
marten, as well as the fox, will descend to the sea-shore
at low tide, and cany ofi* numbers of the large nnissdi
{Modwh wilgarit) to feed upon them.
Many persons have succeeded in taming the variooi
species of this family, though they will always be lisUe
to resume their natural habits, and make their esesps
when an opportnnity presente itselt Captain lyen, hi
describing the manners of a captive stoat, mentioof that
though he would take food fixnn the hand, he ssde it i
a rule first to use every exertion to bite the firioi^ I
fingers whidi approached hink BoflTon tsaed several
weasels, and recommends as the best moAs a genUe
stroking of the Air akmg the bade, st 1^ same time
tiureatening it if it attempts to bite. And Dr Biefaard-
son gives an account of an otter, of the minx or Ameri*
can species, which passed the day werj aamg^ ia its
mistreM* podket ; only peeping out oecnsionally when it
heard any unusual noise { showing at least ^at it did
not la<^ its share of the most common wvakneas of its
follow- Amerieans, whether biped or qnadraped.
■ ■ ' . . - . , . , - . _ , _ — -
THE POST-OFFICE.
If a person unconnected with the Pnst-Ofilee dcpsrt-
meat were asked to suggest a plan to enable the io^
habitants of a t^usand towns and cities to cuiiespond
with each other, he would most probably think that te
simplest and best method wosid be to let tbe Fost-
Oflloe of each town make up a letter-hag daily for evesy
other town, despatch its outward conespoodettoe evsy
night, and receive its inward eorrespondcaioe eveiy
morning. Snch a scheme, however, wonld be abend
and impiucticable, because the postmaster of every
place would have to make up 999 letter-bags daiy;
and because letters despatched ftotn %r9ry place si-
multaneouriy would reach difibreat towns at variable
periods^
For postal purposes^ London is eonaldsffed Ae eentie
of the kingdom, and Is tiie only plaoe wime a letter-bag
is made up foir every ol^er town, and where tbe princi-
pal portion of the outward correspondence Is deepetehed
every night, and the principal portion of tbe inwsri
correspondence is rec^ved every morning. Every other
plaee despatohes and reoeives ite London bag at best
varying acoordhsg to ito distance from ^le metitypel^
Again, each provincial town is considered also ierposfed
purposes Uie centre of two circles, called the dietribat-
ittg and district oivoies; Theradius of the fbrmer variis
from 19 to 100 miles in length, and of the batter tarn
1 to 90 miles. The postmaster of tbe central toM
makes up no letter-bag for any pfiwe (London eseepted)
bflTfond the drcumfsrenoe of we distiibuting eiKle, sad
delivers no letters to any one living beyond tbe IfanMs
of the district cirde. A letter; tbeveforei, firom one £»-
tant town to another, if not sent through liondon, li
forwarded on towns situated on the dreemforepeee of fta
distributing (^rcles,untll it reaches ooe within Idhe cMs
of which ite destination is situated.
Every night aboet a doaen mails leave LoBdoa hi sfi
directions, fmd the same number anrtve in liondeo c'luy
morning. These maib OQQne<^ the extreme iMints eif
the coimtry with the metropolis. Bran^ mails meet
the London ones at TarloaB plaeee, to eonrve^ HieLan-
\
:i
J^
CHAICNEBS^ BDWBUBGH JOUBNAIi.
903
don iMgt to town« titiiated »w«y itom the main aoutet.
These mails form the framework, as it were, of that
gigaatio locomotiTe maohiuerjr bj which the whdle oor-
retpoadenoe of the country is conveyed from one place
to another. The London mails euable many towns
•ilnaAed on the main vontes to oorrespond with each
other; but, generally speaking, prorinoial towns oorre*
spoppd with each other by means of separate cross-road
mails. The London and cross-road mails together form
thai elaborate and compUeoted network of postal oom-
munioations with which the whole country is corered.
Now*-«s tb» depactnra of one mail depends on the
arriral of ano^r, and vice oerad — ^the greatest oonfasion
would arise if the utmost punotuality were not observed
in the despatch and receipt of mails. Guards, therefore,
and other persona who have the osnduct of mails, are
fiuniaiMed with time^hiUs and aoourate tim^pieoes. On
the former is entered the pieoise time at whioh mails
amve at every office ; and postmasters are liaUe to
severe punishment^ and maiKcontraotocs to heavy
pftimltieiy for any neglect of pnnctualityt
The general management of the Poai-Office is in^
tniated to Colonel Maberly ai^ Mr Bowland HiUi the
fonoer being called the Secretary to the Posi>Offiee« and
the latter tho Seoretai^r to the Poatmaster^GenemL
Baeh is assisted hy a kuqge staff of oterlok Odonel
Maberly attends to the numerous complaints of the
puldic against the department^ and watchea over the
condact of the auboidinale officials. Mr HiU atitendte
to tbe Mon^y^Ordes department, and to the means for
carrying into effect his celebrated plan of cheap post-
ago, additional public accommodation, and economioal
workhig of the department Hundreds of cemmunioa*
tion» are addressed to the aecnetaries daily from the
depaty-pestmasters and the public. A great portion
of the communications from the former are intended
for the Money-Order, Ship-Letter, Dead-Letter, and Ac-
countants' departments, which are located in or near
St Martins le Qrand. The MlssngnLeftter department
is conducted by a special staff of clerks, under the im-
mediate superintendence of Colonel Maberly.
Wlien a moneiy-letter is lost, the time and place of
posting, and the address of the bttcTi are ascertained
froea the csomplaining parties, and the names of the
officials through whose hands it ought to have passed
from the local postmastsrs. If the offloes A^ B, 0^ B
make up letter-bags fee each others and money-letters
are generally lost in pasiing tiurough the offices A D,
B D, C D, the suspected office is D ; because it is more
likely that there is a dishonest Amottonary in D than
in eaoh of the other three offloes A, B, and C A^^sin,
the same clerks are not allowed always to work together.
It; therefore^ E^ F, G, H an clerks in an office, and
money'lettera are generally lost when EH, P H, G H
are on duty together, H will be the suspected clerk.
A trap is therefore set to detect lum. A letter contain-
ing odn is purposely posted so that it may pass through
his hands $ and if it is found tiiat it has not been &-
giiatohed Arom the office at the proper time, it will most
lurobably be discovered secreted on bis person, or in
some phiee to which he has had access.
Leitters may be delayed by being put into the wrong
l^ter-bag» or by a postmaster not forwarding them by
the first mail As they bear, however, the dated post-
mark of each c^ce through whioh they pass, and as
every postmark has some private mark to &ow at what
hour of the day letters are posted, the cause of delay,
and the official parties to blame, can earily be dis-
covered. A vast number of eomplaints respecting de-
lay in the transmisdon of correspondence are received
daily at the General Post-Ofifee. Some demand com-
pensation for losses to which th^F have been subjected
through the delay of their letters ; others merely detail
the inconvenience or loss they have austained ; numbers
dechire that they complain on^ because they consider it
their duty to the public to expose and check irregu-
laritiea; many demand imperiously the immediate
nrmtllKiniint aC tiia wtnmkmmmimm In f«i«]& > almnai m\} arm
Qonviaoed that the delay is the foult of the Post-Office ;
and some» whose letters of complaint can scarcely be
deoii^ered, are ready to make oath that th^ oor-
respoadanoe waa legiUy addressed. Every person who
complains is treated alike respectfully. Scarce^ the
slightest dlffiurence is made in the form or degree of
attention with whicdi a oomplaint is investigated, no
matter whether it comes from a duke or a mechanic
The first thing done is to obtain the cover of the letter
d^yed, to examine the post-marks on it ; and the next
thing is to call on the local postuLBstera through whose
offioea it has passed for an explanation. Generally
speidung, the fault is found to rest with correspondents
in not posting their letters in proper time, in not ad-
dressing them correctly, or in some neglect of Post-Office
rules* If ai^ wilful or careless neglect is proved against
a postmaster, he would be visited with severe censure
01 dismissal.
Amongst the higher class of Fost-Offioe officials are
those catted * surveyors.' These officers are stationed in
diffeaent parts of the kingdom, with a nomber of assist-
ants. £a^ surveyor superintends an extensive districti
consistiog of several oountiea. The duties of surveyors
are to travel over their districts, to investigate personally
any very serious complaint against an ofSce, and to see
that the pobUc in every part of the kingdom is. as far
as it is practicable, properly accommodated with Pott-
Office facilities ; they have also to assume the superin-
tendanee of all cAoes vacated by the denth or ^y»miasal
of postmasters, to see that all contracts for conveying
mails are rigidly observed^ and to receive reports ci
eveiy error which is like^ to inconvenience the public
or the department which one postmaster can detect in
another.
In England, where the social affections are highly
cultivated, where education is generally difiused, and
where commercial enterprise and fooilitiea for locomo-
tion separate friends and acquaintanoeSr the amount of
oorrespondenoe is enormous, and the loss or delay of
tetters is of great importance, beeause acareely the
slightest procrastination in the delivery of a letter but
yt£ad causes some loss or inconvenienoe ; and ^o more
perfoct the working of the Post-Office department^ the
moso liahle is the riightest tsreguhirity to produce in-
oenvenienoe> because an error in the transmission of
oorrespondenoe is less likdy to be calculated upon.
How many a person has arrired too late to attend the
deathbed of a parent or child— has lost a eharaoter for
honesty, or a reputation for solvency— or has gone on a
voyage in an agony of suspense and afilietion, through
the loss or dehiy of a letter I How maniy cruel estrange-
ments in the affidrs of love and f riendslrip have been
caused through the carelessness of the Post-Office! The
history of the human soul and its progress towards
wisdom and happiness, the records of the human heart
and of its holieat affections, are often written in the
familiar correspondence of absent friends and relatives ;
and the safo and regular transmission of that corre-
spondence compensates for the deprivation of personal
intercourse, and cheers the domestic hearths of tens of
thousands of all classes in thia country. *
It is owing to the urgent necessity for the work-
ing of the Post-Office department to be conducted
with the utmost regularity* and to the difficulty of
persons unconneoted with it understanding its curious
and complicated machinery, that the govemment has
never allowed any but those who have displayed an
extraordinary aptitude for tht task to inteifere with,
or introduce any gveat innovation into its management
Witlnn the last century and a-half only two strangers
to the department have been permitted to materially
change the system by which it baa been conducted—
namdy, Mr Palmer and Mr Rowland fiiU. The former
invented and perfected that scheme for the transmission
of correspondence throughout the kingdom, which has
been described at the commencement of this article (
and the latter introduced a cheap and uniform postage.
kflBiMS>iik*a
mV ■■
fm
cHMMnrnsm vaammsta joubi^aju
the«e 4}8tingttliAisd men «o|r9dsted thdit improirttneBAf
life p^iriiftt periodi : Mr Palmer tvhon the arl jof r^sd-
making in £iigUuid- had ardved.jii e^roiit ^cf^clii^,
which enabled a complete plan of poftid comamiuoiiUon
thh)ttgfMDuti tb« country to be «fbafced*r ftnd JMr Hill
##iM fedttoationUunongtti&UcliMei kidbMD eiilcBUT^Ijr
diffused, which enabled the government to derive almoii
ar Urge % K^venoi by a( cheap poitage ftoaaa. the many
M by Sit 'tixpMni've^MBtage'frem tiie kw.
There have always been imaaof esttnocdtaaryikbiUi^
w1i6 ha^ «riMn fot partiqular .pertoda ta taOce Alvan-
tagc of an ftceompUihmen&oCthe paa*, and link it with
tbmt 1rtlt)rovbment' of the priasent; Mid -who* ^y .not
beiY»|f Tb«l«p^ b;^ ofBcuU dotaiU and. minute ^ifficuUies,
ftT^^natled:^' perceive* institctmly that there oaimot
pottsiMy be li anbftlaMial toljcotion AgaMiat » slmpla and
grahd voh^roeof cArrioosly -va^ciDd.mutveffaalbeAe^t to
thfr cmWmuility; Thetcheihe which Mr HIU haagnt^ted
tth- that of Mr Palmer will« with that: perfect ovgtnimtipn
6f kv^ department of the Pc»t4>fib[i8^ attd the milit^
«tib6rAiimtiGn'(tf iti ao«OOO^oflioiai% go fhr to roakA thje
Ei^glf^h 1P6H-OBk(se oneiofi theiboit intanMtiAg ya»d per-
f^t ^stbbthhnlMita ihi^ l)ie: woald^. and anitable iiwr ! a
^oHimnnitybf as^high a. state of oiviliiiitiiMi aatUi !pn»-
«ctitfeneifaUoik klikdyjtoi^itnes&r - ^ % .
■ ' THB.y^uTw pi 5r,xxj:ETiiAKi). '
'K. i^fe TkLtt:tRikK]»i ^m Ibonv in Bavia m ]754i rAt
thflt period' ft Vs^fhe g^ner^l tf^ikm in hbUeiaiiitties
"to 9pinl put thelf^rifhnV^o bSfrtittr^ in thte'j^ttovhiees.
Hie gay mother, after A brief refiremettt, TesuttJ^ hfer
plaQie ip< ^Ue^brUliiant^ court circle, seldom fipding" leisni'e
; !t^/CMt <|vay, » ,U)Q»g>»t on tiw? poor little boiug; to, whqm
she had given birth, and jwh0i.pQM8Vi<ied to thq pare
^^f 4^ hired irarsei'whc^Uvedperkapf mapy.xnilef d^tant,
' W8 ftflf'to Ve^etsfte'ftM' j*eai«* u • •
' Scf iVCtaf^ #i«h'Ohbrl«iMMau¥ice»ieldnt sooiof the
Count de Talleyrand. Exiled from his father's beotsd
nf^e hbut* bf Oitirbillti, ha ¥nBinoaivi9dite[a.diitaAt vil^
Ug^ by a niirM w!ios6 IMide'lt was^torbiDiiig'iip cMMntn
'weH or 111, to i« happ«M«d,^ aecording t<k< the pshioo's
own etpttiSstOrt. ' ' Thk nlkipsi wnahaiid^omely paid^ and
rpgiilyrriy' gave etxccDenfao^trntsof tlie child. .Her
< daHl^gr lifctfe Chatloi was the ptf de >of the cowiftry
witli m rosy th^A* and' btuidy' limbs. ^ Ha was well
fed, weRdfe^sedt Vhtithi(]flr«<«oukl ababy want?' :
* What mpte indeed ?^ tihoughl hto lac^^nMihar 9 that
i^ whetieV^ 8^ had time to think iibout tM ihatter at
all ; but thiy wa:^ not often \ io/t court ^tioa «nd court
plcfl8urc$ absorbed he^ etety fikculty^ Mid occupied ewry
!tlme rollHl on. . Another sbn wa« httm to the Onmt
de *f alicyrand ; 4md, Ulee h4o elder brotber, lie-oame into
the worid ittopg'tind hiaUhy, (^aat- in the monkL of. a
vigorous race. B^e shared tho lot of Oharica-Manri^
being Bertt to th^ vinag:<o yn^hete the* iMtir tttat growiag
tip ignorant am! 'n»jgfe6«^,' without the f^ of Ghid^r
itiAxi beforfe W* eyes. Orm thW arriva^Of ihe liitle
Archambauldy he had n^vcr seen -the fioo bf « fdative.
Hi^ mothet, occupied with tAtfA^iire, his ibther with
an^ition^ thought nbt of him. It «« skigtilar that while
the latter died yotmilrt ^I<^«t harvi^ ohtelncd thove-
nO>^ti he iought^ and the fornix ^nri^d: a ioogtifean
Comparative poverty, it tva* reserved f^ their neglected
child to make 'Euro^^e 'ring witli his ftuaeyand to annisa
ah enormous foi'tuiie. - * * *
When Chailes.Mflni^ had entered bis eigfatli year,,
i^ happeiied that Ilia iather^ yoiin^st brother^ the oap-
' tain or, a ship-of-wi^,'mid a Knight of Miilla, Mtimted
from p. ^stknt ^^b^thnn. After gn^tin^ tb» elder:
menatx^r^ of hl^ famny-, Wi)i^^r^ fbr^hls Iltlto nephews,
and felt bom shocked und am^^Hsed at thcUr 'patents'
in(liff^ence V)^ards thchi. lb wafl tho dtepth cf winter ;
Hie ground^ cuven^d yith Mtow. the roads vnte diffi-
cult and d^ngeroui; but th^^tm^eart^d aailor bnvted
an obstacles, and sef out oii hbiMfbadkh»i^i«ilrhi^li|tle
Dehitives. It was late in the afternoon when he ap-
proaohed the viUage, and he bethought him of anqiuriog
the w^y to the house at Kurse Kifaut Ix}olunff round,
he aaw on the hilt a mle, tliin chad, with long fair hair
flowing on hit s^ouldera ; he was busy setting a bird-
trap on the snow. The captain called him ; and as tbe
little fellow approa^ed, the kind sailor aaw with pain
that he was lame, and leant for support on a small
crutch.
' HoUo I my boy > ca^ you tell, pe w We JDameBigaot
lives?*
* Certainty,' said the child smiling. . * I wHl show joe
tlie way on one condition.'
• VCome, t(hen, wake iMi&tCf my lad ; Hi pay jon hand-
somely fdc yo^r guidance^^
* Konsense/ re$>lie<i the child reddening : ^ my condi-
tion ill that you will let jog ride on your horse to onrse^s
4pon I don't want your woocy.'
* ]^unt> thei|, my boy,' said the r%j}tmm, reaching
dow|i his haod^and watching with surprise thejgili^
:ffiih, which the child, cripf>le as he wai|p mansgfri .to
climb on the tall saddla
., Holding his little (^de carefutiy before hin, ^ cap-
: tain reached the house of pajne JRigaut* He told the 1
. child tp hold hi/i. horse for a moinent* imd entered the I
door ; DUTfie jcameto meet ^im. What passed between
then f Probably nothing v^ amicable 4 lee the young
listener outside oould distinguish a soo^d of weeidn&—
ibmlvine lamentation. overborne by loud mascuBitt re-
priqiands^ ^Suddenly the sailor rushed out^ seised the
shivering boy, raised hifUt end held him closely emhrafeed
with-eae a,nn( while with the other he made good use of
hit^hjp in keeping off ^urse lUgaut, who i^anted to
regain, possessipn of her 'darling Chariot.* li was the
Mork of. A Koonient to mount his horse* and with the
child before hiop, te retrace his steps, wlthpnt penniSbi^
the perfidious nurse even to say adieu to 1^ ^^^^^^1^
Ast th^y rod^ ^on^; li|fctle ^arles-Mmurtce' learaei &t
his captor was his uncle : an honest sailfs** who^ in. a
transport 0$ indignation egaiost the woman to whose
,negligenc9 his nefihew owed a Uielopg lamexiesa, woold
.not ha^e him a moment longer heneath her r^ot In
his anxiety about the heir of his house»lie totally CoffBit
hir brother's younger son» who accordiogjly romwd
wilita the AKfce.
Proni the^ first town where he stopped,, he .wrote Is
his brother V> announce what he had done; and 00
MTpvmg 4n Paris, h^ learned that the C^ont de XaOey-
tand W9M witJU the army in Fl^dera^ and Ih^ |he
countQss waff in attendance on the queen at Tenai^a.
However, she bad provide a person to take cZuogeof
hes «pn,jain(|l plaoe lum in the college of !toQis-Ie-Graod.
The caplain had intended to take hi|^ )pn iioerd bis
veai^^the St Joseph — ^md bring Iiiipi vi$ to the naTal
piot^ioni but his lameness rendering lim imjprac-
tlcable, the kind sipilor took leave of his poor deserted
litUe nephew, a^d set out for Toulon. A fewnMnOu
ftfterwerds his vessel was shipwreokeclt aii4 be and.aH
his. crew perisiied., liadCharles-^Iamlee >een a Mm
stotit boy^ his kifitfli^ wonld have tefniJMiateji. here » W
Providence reserved the poor lame'chAd iok sa W>*
tneme deatiny*
Ait cotlfge, the boy distinguifhed hloH^^ 'bj hi*
ialeots and i^pUpaitioB, carrying o^ the first fHUKs^spd
rising rapidly towards the. upper classes. XH a^^
was ibut A sad, ope view indulgence^ ain^ no vacatiosv
passed at hoi9e|.f»Il to hi%,lat. His ^motl^f Wtij
visited hirn^and when she dip, she oaipe ^iK.ntiifpiii'i
by. a celebrated surgi^R, who exa^yea^its iMe leg;
bandaged it tightiy» dri^ged it^ cau tensed- the octlrc
and pot the child to so^.iortoKey ^hj|t,iie ,dn9^
Afitiiiiageo^mueh as ei.sumatof^^io v^ parlowr feo Asct
hismother* * ' '4 ^'^i V' .^ ^ "
Years paiasediOnA hia oajther d^eq^.ancl Cta^ '
Jftaunce found himself Oo^^^itda TallerattOr <M^ ^''^
{tf that branch of his fumikh ^Sf» brother ^rchambanM ;
hod left tJ|ieftbod9 of Ji^urMeTtmnt wlUx.heticr fbrtm
thaahimMlfi fiw j^s ^^d m^i^ ao^djeqW aw hit
OHAMBfiAS^ "BifmmmGfStBCfUmiULMA
805
limbs were s'trftight tend well-ibrmed. On the dtey tliat
Cliarles-Maurice had succcssfiiUy completeti his ttudiek
at the college of Lotds^e-Ortod, t, pale, stet'n^oolcing
man, wearing a cassock, sammoned falm from aDoongSt
his comrades, and commanded him to Ibllow liim to
the (^erical semiaan^ of St Solpfce The sentence wais
without appeal He learned from the styperior thM his
fkntay had decided !o deprive Mm of hli binhright,
and transfer it to his younger brother.
• And wherefore?* asked ihe youtlr.
* Because he is not a cripple,* was the cruel reply. '
The words entered like iron iuto the victim's soul ;
they changed his yerj nature, aud made the youtli
what the -Prhice de Tafleyrand afterwards appeared.
In proud and bitter silence he donned the ofl^red cas-
sock j aud none may- know What passed^ 'within, for
never, even' to hb most intimate fHend8,'did h^ allude to
the subject. Now in his youth, as afterwards ih milture
age, his jnesohitidn was taken and t^cted-otl imniedlately.
He expressed neither grief nor a desire for the refusal
of the decree; he knew this would be vain; but, fn
appeax^nce at Ipast^ submitted patiently to' the strict
rules of the Hpus6. 'Notw;Jl!hst«nding his, lameness, he
possessed consldenfble strenigth and activity of bodV ;
but among hfs compauioiur his usuM weapon of de-
fence was his tongue. Young and bid dreiided his
aiustic, biting sentences, while the influence and pow^r
wlilcix his master-mind asserted- and maintained were
quite marvellous. At the seminary he became as dis-
tinguished as at the college. There still survive a few
old clergymen who can recall the eloqueut drationsDf
the young sttident at the M^kly exhibitions at 8t Sul-
pice, ^qtne of these composition? have been preserved ?
they are chiefly remarkaDle for the artftil manner lu
which the passions 6f the auditory are eiMisted againsl
the adverse side, and tiieir sense of' the ItiAci^ous excited
at its expense.
At the age of seventeen, M. de 'IMeyrand quitted Ihe
seminary, in order to complete his theologie«d' studies
ae the Sorbonne. the few days which int^Tened weire
passed by hhn at the family residence. Up to- that
period he had never spent a niaht, beHe&th the phrental
roof. Well might Rousseau fmminate Ms bnrnittg Re-
proofs against the high-born motherh t)r that time»
whom he designates * merciless stepmothers.' M.- de
Talleyrand was so fortunate ^ toh»ve fbr his preeeptor
nu etxcellent man, not many years older tlian himself.
A stirong a^d lastmg affection subHsted tietweeii fhem.
His ' de^flther Langlois' received from him a liberal
ponsibn till the end Of his days \ and up to Hie year
iS28, the period of the good old abb€*s death, hit anti-
quated figure, attired In the costume of ^e preoed-
lug; Crentury, might liave been cotistanU/ seen in the
prince's splendid reception-rooms, h^ huge snfuflP-box
and coloured pocket-handkerchief figuring next rich
uniforms and briUlant orders. When he spoke, his
former pupil listened with respectful deferenoet Indeed
it is not too much to assert, that whatever good vras
mingled with the character of 'the astuto 4ii&miiist,
might fairly be traced ta l^e early iMtaruotlon df Uie
Abb^ Linglols:
Tbe.young Abbe de Talleyrand's first' AppeftrMMe in
the gay society of Paris vras at tlie ti6tel of Madame de
Bii^ol^. who wds hi thi» habit bf reonlvlDg Me very
il'tU of the fashionable world, together with theifamrof
the diy. lli^ young man seated himself itf a remote
corner, sO as to obse^^te the passing scetae without
takhig part In It Soon a modest, reliring^lo6]dng mun
came and placed himself near him. This ^thui PlriUdor,
the celebrated chess « player, who, being a ^qaent
visitor at the house, was able and withng to point out
the different distinguished guest* to his uniaitfiated
Deighjx>^r. P'Alembert, Diderot, and other gteatt men
were there, and PhiRdor was complacently commenting
on them, for the young abb6's editcaikNi, whea Iflleir
quiet comer was suddenly invaded by t«ro young bussar
ufflccrs, a captafi^' and lieutenant in a regiment espe^
\ty§AMi{\\\\ii\ fivUhi^unhatMytr (i<«een Marie«> Antoinette.
aMd><a}#»>ii|o«€di^r tsm^fKm and impetiUiontt^ffNiftn^^rs
of the y«ang intni ivho comik>s^ iL Th^ tPCiiO^eiis
wem lau|^itig)^tfrtily at sonle ex^okittf^ peiit bettweon
-themsebresk . i- *■ i • - . ■'<! ;.,,...', j .. ,.. ^
« Come! into this cbmer;' eai<^t»Oi * ainl dUAmsh ^
Story '^ fhe end'ofiil mosti i)ti'resfirv«ditir<}iOttii private
'ean^ ».-',■ ■ r,-.-! » '., - ,im ' j ■< > c i ; - ^ ., ■ ..
. *Th8 c<inMr is rtQkeifif>tsplied ihe.otf)e«r: *X aee
Philidor there-talking toi tome ytNU^tvaviMiiust flti^e4>
and fiown frOBft'ttoe tetaiiuyry/ . .-i , ;
'rkefk giveupi their! places 1 feoow PliUiOpic's
tempte \ hd'll -. svbniife^ and . tlie . :abl>Q . will fuUpiv. . his
exampW ' 60 saying^ thqy alppfoaebed. tM.^p ahqoo-
piek»s of ther corner; aoid.iriitli theiOookst inpentinen^iB
begMi to annoy tbem \xy their woi4s< %vA fesUirep.
Philidor, wliDee pacific aiMl timid, eharaotep- was we)l
know*, imaiedkiteiy "prepared'liojrcltr^tuhUBeasiif an
impliirfng glafao4'aif &» abb6,complaio«dipf ,thi» h«f|t
of the room; and findiyroas and m glided ia^a>v Tl^
^h^vatter'dd Boufikr^-tone oiWut offioenrrtaok wt^t
possession of ^he Taeiatiduiir, ^od turning to^fifr^a the
younfaUb^; •stared at lnm.«riUi>An inwleat epcprf ssiofi.
Tiielieatenont txsok* iip ^lisipDMlioaiAlfitheinthi^r fiid?,
and ladlBBd «t Salieynaid in: a osanndr ^lot, iesfl p^mw^v^e.
Not the slightest natiee^ikomerferydi^ ^imi^w^ i^^i^
take of either, until the officer, tired of his sang-froid^
inquired /if he.did^otfind tlie heat oppressive?' and
add^d the ^4ide \xi 4ntiUf^ his^iknd,' 4rf<l seeU Cooler
! Air i* the anteebiinifaeiL': TaUeyoand* Y^th t^ ulmpst
' p^UAaftesft^ f thfttike^ tii^ ^S^t for J>is, qpnsi^eratie Idu^-
^QSff 9 hut bqgii^dftaafaur^ him that liis ovn luo^ were
MQ ireicy delicate, that ,ne i^fpuld fear to ^ncountcir the
colviair,' . . , , ' ' , ,
The angry bloo^ 'nidhnt0<f "hi the offii^r^ ^htek i he
was a youth just come frooi fCo^mttnd)^,«nii spolMwM
his nanve accent in all itb^purlty. ) . 1 ^.a 1 < ;! >^
* Veu lo«k 'youngs aiy'^dar. abbd// he said i npf rjiiaps
you have not been at sahool« aiai^me^not i^ware^^at
you hKve yet jmanyrtiUilngfl-iitifr tl^wa :: aiinongst the
• *;A thousaadi pafdonal// iat^i«)upted.,tli# -^bb^, Sjtand-
io^iUlK IpoksDg tinll'at bis>a4fqecsany^ au^jn^ltating \o
pesfactioa the >fdmHHi> aaee»t. *l a^s^re.joii, f. ^ve
been ait sdiool \ I learned ^aH , my: letters, a^ I Vupw
that AB <abbc) is ^ not CP (C64^,^yiel4) 9 an4 fnore-
c*fBrv than your EP i<^f49, sword) will not make me OT
i^^fefyigo ahtayX'' i By -this- time a.»um^ of ^ guesis
had cdlsded^ and Mceived Tallflsurand'a sallj with a
<pnal nf hear^^ ladghitec^ 7ii« Gh«vali«r de JQpwfflers
iiimselfi afplauded v 1 but^ the-«disc(Mn^t^ ]^prjman>, flay-
ing) no mplyineady^todc Ji^QMejK 00^ a#ias^;as, possible,
[itfadameidtt iDefiaod h^ppeiii^, to be in tb^ .room.
She heard the repartee, and expressed a wish to have
iSa author inks^duoed; to-hifr* /^his was done by De
Boufflers Mqis«A^ : Ttteillustrjio^tMy^ who was bUud,
invittd the >x)uDg;^bj& to l]# p^^Med next her^ $|ie
passed her venerable hand, pv€ir^ his face, in order to
cflcamine.theDleaiurQSi whiKfU she. fx^V^d not spe, and then
said, * Qo, young aiani} nature has enoowed you with
her rinhest gfiA«.^-< ^he.han placed .^M your, piower fully
to'redeem the^Fongaotf(4rtup^/ i ; , ..
The.AbbttdeT)«U^rfLn4 s<¥)n became kno^m in )Jio
: highest 'Hteiwry^ and :p6Uti(3al, oirclQs; hia subsequent
casset belttoga t^. the lev^tf^lhis^^y, of tl^^e periuu. .It
is rather singuUir t^% j^ yitta«h^cl lils name to t^e first
popular joum^ < tha4^ ever , appfeared in France* . * "La
FcHiille ViUi^0ise«': pqfiductop by tbe Aobe Oerutti,
exercised much iufluence on the first events in the Ue-
;valutioD>'Of.U88.: lajf^jbapQ^lojU >vith afUcles from
the fiery pen of, JVUrah^n^ |9r bearing the impress^ of
€ecntli'a iit$i^x\f-\voni^ gepins, th^ historian or to-diiy
stttdieft still uridi iuloi^estessay^, ^Iiiblting tbe cahn,
steady reasoning' of TaliiByraae : fur ezamp&, those on
the ♦Reform in KatifW^iBduc^n,'/ Qu £he Abutes
of Power/ * On tha, Unity pf Weighty and Measures,'
5ic<)&ev Siey^sand ^i»beaujprQfessed a nigh esteem
for the lalentA of tb^ y pung> TalleyraQJ. Mirabeau fVc-
'Olleotly declarod that he Wnsidered. hiih tbe on)y jpaan
2M
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUROH JOURNAL.
capable of raooeeding him in the direction of the mode-
rate party of the time.
Tallesrrand died at Paris, in the eightjr-fbnrth year
of his age, on the 17th of May 1838. By his will
he has strictly prohibited his heirs fh)m publish-
ing his memoirs — ^which he wrote himself, and which
are, it is said, deposited in England — until thirty
jrears shall hare expired from the day of his death.
Many a state mystery and many a grand secret in
diplomacy will no doubt be rereal^ to the curious pub-
lic of 1868. Till then, we must content ourselres with
a few rambling records of that grand mover of the wires
of the pc^tical puppet-show — Charles-Maurice Prince
de TiUleyrand.
TRADESMEN'S TOKENS.
' The tokens which evexy tavern and tippling-house (in
the days of late anarchy among us) presumed to stamp
and utter for immediate exchange, as they were pass-
able through the neighbourhood, which, though sddom
reaching further than the next street or two, may
happily, in alter-times, come to exercise and busy the
learned eritic what they Should signify.' Such, in the
words of Evelyn, is the motto prefixed to a recently-
published work,* from which many interesting parti-
culars may be gathered relating to the least valuable
portion of our copper coinage; a currency which,
though of little intrinsic worth, has played no insigni-
ficant part in popular finance. The eoins or tokens in
question represent a period — 1648 to 1672 — in which
transpired some of the most momentous events in our
national history; and the 'effigies' stamped on them
not unfrequently indicate the political opinions of those
by whom they were issued, but mostly a miniature
representation of the sign oi the housa ' Few persons,'
observes Mr Akerman, *will require to be reminded
that every tradesman once had hit particular sign, and
that, when the houses in streets were not numbered,
such a practice was not without its use. A fbw shops
and houses of business may yet be found in London,
especially the old-established ones, that have not entirely
discarded their signs, and they may still be seen occupy-
ing the place of a pane in the window. One or two
bankers, too» do not disdain to exhibit their ancient
cogniaaaoe over the door. Messrs Hoore dis|tey the
Golden Bottie over tlie entrance of their elegant new
home of business. Childs, the bankers, bore the Mari-
gold, which may still be seen within their office.'
Signs, Hke everything else, must submit to change ;
and to quote the wmrds of one whom Captain Smyth
would caU a * brackish poet ' —
* Yemon, the bnt<Aer Cumberl&nd, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdfnand, Granby, Burgoyno, Keppel, Ilowe,
Erll and food, have had their tithe of talk,
And ftUed tbeijr aigB^ports then, like WelWalay now.*
But we are reminded that there are other mutations :
who does not remember Rip van Winkle's astonishment
on noticing that the comfortable visage of George IIL
on a swinging sign had, by a touch of painter's craft,
been made to do duty as General Washington; and,
another instance, where the likeness of that good old
English gentleman. Sir Roger de Covefley, became the
Saracen's Head ? Mr Akerman sajrs, * Everybody knows
that the " Satyr and Bacchanals " became in due time
the " Satyr and Bag o' Nails," and that the Puritan
** God encompasseth Us * was profaned to " The Goat
and Compasses !" that the gallant Sir Cloudesley lives
in the *<Ship and Shovel;" and that the faithful
* Tradesmen's Tokens, Onrreot In London and its Vicinity
between tte Yean 1S48 and 1672. Deseribed ftom the Originals
in the Britiah Muaenm* and in sereral Priirate Colleotiona. By
John Tonge Akerman, Fellow and Secretary of the Society of
Antlquariea of Iiondoa. London : J. R. Smith. 1849.
governor of Calais— ** Caton Fiddle "-—is immortaliaed i
in the ** Cat and Fiddle!"' |
Poets have not disdained to exercise Uieir pens oh '
the subject of signs :' the specimen quoted aboive affiir&
one instance: here is another^ written about the be-
ginning of last century :—
' I'm amazed at the tigna
Ab I pass through the tovn.
To see the odd mixtnr^^
A Magpie and Crown ;
The Wliale and the Crow ;
The Raxor and Hen ;
The L^ and Seven Stars ;
The Axe and the Beetle ;
The Sun and the Lute ;
The Eagle and Child i
The ShoTBl and Boot.'
With these preliminary remarks concerning signs, we
pass to the subject of tokens or coins. The drcnlat-
ing medium is now so much a matter of course^ that
we seldom think of the inconveniences to which a
different state of things would expose ua. In the
Saxon days, the chief coin was a penny, stamped in
silver, and weighing twenty-four grains, with a rcry i
limited supply of hidves and quartos. Hie w^ght oSf
this coin was liable to be varied at the caprice of rulera ; |
and fh)m the reign of Harold downwaids, it was gra-
dually reduced, until the penny became a mere spangle,
something hke Turkish paras^ which fly from a dealer's
hand under a good puff of wind. In Elizabeth's reign,
proposals were made to stamp a penny in bases metal;
but for certain reasons — history does not tell us if they
were good ones — her virgin majesty resolutely opposed
the project But so small was the supply of hal^eocs
and fkrthings, that the common people were greatlj
embarrassed in making small purchases, and subjeded
to loss; for, as is stat^ in a petition to pariiament of
that period, if they bought any article of less value thu
a penny, they lost the difference for want of small
change. The gentry also were as much perjdexed &r
pettp money to give away as alms to the mc^idicajits who
then swarmed over the whole country. Exam^es stiO
exist of pennies cut into halves and quarters as a
remedy for the inconvenience ; besides wmcb, a quantity
of thin light coins called * black money ' found its vay
hither fh)m the continent ; and a coinage iasued by tbt
abbeys filled some of the minor channels of drcuutko.
Leaden dumps, too, passed from hand to hand, and m
some places were still current so lately as 1696. ^^ny
of our old church books contain entries of sums paid
* for moulds to cast tokens in,' and of payments to 'the
plomer for tokens.'
Eventually, a silver coin, value three-ftrfliinga^ was
issued under Elizabeth's authority ; but it was so ex-
ceedlnglv small and light, as to be scarcdy available fat
practical purposes. At the same period ' lead, tin, latten,
and even leather, were stamped by groceriy vintners,
chandlers, and alehouse keepers, in great numbers ; and
as they were only to be repaid to tiie same sh<^ from
whence they were received, the loss to the poor was
most grievous.' The impossibili^ of longer d^yxnf
an improvement led to the stamping of some pattens
in copper. It was not, however, until the reign oC
James (1613) that an attempt was made to supenede
the spurious and heterogeneous currency by royal pro-
clamation, which at the same time announced that
letters-patent had been granted to Lord Harrington * to
make such a competent quantity of farthini^ tokens of
copper as might be conveniently issued amongst his
majesty's subjects within the realms of England and
Ireland, and the dominion of Wales. ... the sail
farthing tokens to be made exactly and futifidaHy sf
copper by engines and instruments, having on the one
side tioo sceptj'cs eromng under one diadem ; and •» &i
other side a harp crowned, with the king*M HtU^ Jaoobvs
Dei Gratia Magna Brttannlb Francxb
NiiE Hex ; such farthing tokens to pass for the value
•(
- I
of farthings within the king's realms and donhiioas,
with the liking and consent of his loving subjects.^
CHAMBERS'S Ea^INBUBGH JOURNAL.
907
Bat it was not easy to break through long-establiahed
custom ; and many parties were interested in the circu-
lation of the illegitimate coinage, which, however, after
the accession of Charles I^ was made a penal offence.
The coiners of farthings then sold twenty-one shillings'
worth for every twenty shillings sterling ; but the fabri-
cators of tokens gave twenty-six shiUings' worth for
the same amount ; much in uie same way as Brumma-
gem halfpence are schemed into circulation in the pre-
sent day. The Star Chamber was sometimes called on
to interfere in defence of the law. A complaint laid
before that court called attention to 'the number of
counterfeit pieces in circulation, and to the practice of
knavish employers, who paid them for wages to their
workmen and labourers in greater quantities than was
ever contemplated by government.' ' Workmen,' it was
alleged, * were often paid a whole week's wages in these
£arthing tokens, by people who bought large quantities
at cheap rates, upon which they thus realised con-
siderable profit.' Two proclamauons followed in con-
sequence, in 1633 and foUowing vear : the first declared
' the counterfeiters of farthing tokens and their abettors,
upon conviction, to be liable to a fine of one hundred
pounds, to be set in the pillory in Cheapslde, and thence
whipped through the streets to Bridewell, where they
were to be kept to hard work.' And the second de-
clared further, 'that no one should pay above two-
pence in fkrthings at one time ; and it was to be un-
lawful to force such farthing tokens, in either great or
small quantities, upon workmen, labourers, and other
persons of humble vocations.'
Subsequently, in 1635, 1636, as the evils complained
of were but little diminished, other proclamations were
issued, one of which announced ' a new coinage of these
farthings of copper toith a piece of breue in the centre* . . .
a device by which they might be distinguished from
all others, and the people protected from fraud.' Mr
Akerman here introduces in a note an instance of the
waggish humour of the day : — * At this period the red
cross on the door of a house was a sign that the
Plague, or, as it was then designated, *' the Sickness,"
had seized on the inmates. The eruptions on the bodies
of the infected persons were termed tokens. The Earl
of ArundeL the patentee of these farthings, having
locked up the mint*house, some wag wrote on the door,
** Lord have mercy upon us, for this house is fhll of
tokens!"'
As may naturally be supposed, the civil commotions
which soon afterwards broke out greatly retarded the
general circulation of the new farthings, and at the
saooe time favoured the traffic in unlawful coins, caus-
ing serious distress ; so that, as we read, in 1644 ' the
doors of the Parliament House were daily besieged by
Croitwomen, fishwomen, and others who obtained a
livelihood by selling small wares. Some of these poor
creatures had, says a pamphlet of the day, as much as
ten or twenty shillings in fkrthing tokens, while manv
tradesmen had even sixty pounds' worth. .... Such
waa the lamentable state of a part of the English coin-
age just previous to the death of Charles on the scaf-
fold. Encouraged by the civil distractions, tavern-
keepers and tradesmen began to issue their tokens,
struck in brass, and bearing their name and calling.
Some of the devices and legends are curious enough :
some blazon their utterers* loyalty when many were
glad to sink politics and save their property from con-
fiscation ; and tokens with the king*8 head jingled in
the citizen's pocket with the shillings and sixpences
of " the Caesars of England," as witty Fuller styled the
Conmionwealth. Some bore promises to pay, in ster-
ling coin, on demand : some circulated with the request,
** 'niough I'm but brass, yet let me pass $" while others
were iMcribed with profane attempts at vrit, as the
tokens of a provincial tallow-chandler — "Tovch not
KmB AKonrreD, and no mt profits no harm." Seve-
ral, issued by keepers of cofl[be-houses, show a half-
length figure of a man, or a hand emerging from a
cloud holding • cofi^pot, and pouring the contents
into a cup. Others exhibit tobaooo-pipes as well as
cofibe-cups, thus showing that the grave citizens of that
day could ap^eciate sootiiiDg luxuries as well as l^e
" fast " men who frequent modem divans. One among
these tokens bears testimony to the cruel character of a
popular recreation then in fovour : it represents a man
about to throw a stick at a cook, with the legend, Wnx.
Brandon at v> have at it on Dowoatb Hill, his
HALF PBNT. Auothcr bears three ermine spots, with
the inscription, Anns Adkins for necessary cranq.
In fact it would be difficult to mention an object which
has not been made use of as a device : thus we find a
man dipping candles, the man in the moon, the pope's
head, vrith beehives, helmets, and gridirons innumer-
able. In this way,' as Mr Akerman writes, * while the
kingdom was divided by faction, every tradesman
issued his haiflpemuf or hie /hrthinp token, till impunity
led some to stamp even pledges fot a penny. This is
the money for which the virtuous Evelyn expresses his
contempt, and which he regarded as the spawn of the
hydra of rebellion.'
The state of things here Indicated has had Its parallel
in later times : in Paris during the First Bevolution ; in
the United States during the short war with England
in 1814 ; and, as the writer well remembers, in New
York in the disastrous year of panic, 1837, * small
change' became so scarce, that hundreds of dealers
issued paper-notes for sums varying from six to fifty
cents. It was next to impossible to convert these into
specie, for most of them, though payable on demand, were
only redeemable in * shoes,' • diy-goods,' or • hardware.*
On some the inscription ran — * Good for graeeriea at
Sampson Moore's ;' or, ' Oood/or a huster and eold slice,
Tom Sweeny.' The annoyance and loss of time, as
well as value, attendant on such perturbations, must,
as show-bills say, * be seen (or felt) to be duly appre-
ciated.'
Mr Akerman gives us, * by way of rider,' a few notes,
which may be said to complete the history of the
farthing: — *In the year 1649 patterns were struck in
copper, bearing on one side a shield, charged with the
cross of England, and the Idgisnd^ Fa&thino Tokens of
Esaj^AXjy— Reverse, a shield charged with the Irish
harp, and the legend, For necessity of change, 1649.'
Another was, For the Relefe of the Pore ; and a
third, England's Farthino ; and some mark the period
of Cromwell's authority, being inscribed Oltvar Pro.
Eno. Sc. lUi.— Charitie and Change ; besides others
with diffierent devices and legendsi * From this period '
(1684), pursues the author, ' the fhrtiiings «f England
have been struck in copper of about the sise of those
now current ; and in tiie reign of Anne, an attempt was
made to render their type classical } but this was not
an age for such a consummation. Several patterns
were struck at this time, which are remarkable for
spiritless design, though the workmanship of some is
superior. One of these patterns is of considerable
rarity. It has the figure of Britannia holding a spear
and an oUve branch, with the legend Bbllo . sr . Pace
in indented letters on a raised border; a most inelegant
fancy, revived in our own times on the pennies of George
III. The ordinary current farthing of Anne (date 1714)
has Britannia seated with the same symbols, and is far
less rare than popular tradition has led many to sup-
pose, a specimen being easily procurable of any dealer m
coins.'
Mr Akerman, who is already well known by his
writing on numismatics, has thus shown how an appa*
rently dreary subject may be made interesting. With-
out going to the full extent of his enthusiasm in such
studies, we agree with him that tokens * are regarded as
memorials of utility and interest to the antiquary, the
topographer, and the genealogist, who discovers in them
many records of customs, persons, and places, all con-
tributing to the sub-current of our history. In these
mementos of troublous times, and ill-construoted laws
relating to the currency, even the statesman may find
matter for serious reflection ; and many a now proud
208
CH
EBB'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
and titled family may tnuse an anoMtor in aome dealer
and chapman, whose name and calling are contained
within the circomscribed area of a tradesman's token.'
CRIME AND GENIUS.
SoMB two years and eight months back, a youth, then
enS^d upon his thirteenth year, was placed at the bar of
, « file justiciary Court at Perth, aocused of stealing, or being
in company with others who stole, some loaves of bread
from a cart on the Perth Road, Dundee. Though young in
years, he was, in l^al phraseolosy, old in crime. ' Previous
conviction* formea the concluding words of the libel on
which he was charged, and the new conviction obtained
scaled his fate, almost for time and eternity. At tliirteen
years of age, for stealing a loaf of bread — such is the mer-
ciful state of our criminal law — this child received sentence
of seven years' transportation ! and no doubt would have
been sent to associate, for the most eventful period of hu-
man existence, with the polluted and abandoned, had
something like a providential occurrence not taken place.
It so happened that, after coming back to the prison, wait-
ing to be shipped oflf to a foreign land, he was attacked
with a disease in the elbow joint. Whether his journey
to a penal settlement was prevented by this cause, we are
not prepared to say ; but certain it is, from the day he
retumea from the Justiciary Court at Perth, he has had
to inhabit one of the cells in the criminal jaU of Dundee.
On visiting his lonely apartment the other day, we found
him seated on a small chest, busily employed in mending
the binding of books belonging to the library, an occupa-
tion, we are given to understand, in which he takes great
delight. Around him lay on the floor of his cell several
works on mathematics and astronomy, while the walls were
covered with a number of maps of various countries in the
world. If there was Miy lack of provision for the stomach,
there was no want of food for the mind. After some inte-
resting conversation with the youth, in order to test his
powers, the indefatigable teacher in the prison, Mr Lind-
say, who accompanied ns, requested him to take up the
slate, and determine the position of the moon on a given
day; which he accompUsned in a few seconds. On ques-
tioning him as to his early habits, he admitted that he had
been from his earliest years a depredator; had attended
tlio Episcopal church luong with his stepfather and mo-
ther, and occasionally the Sabbath-school ; but his mind
at the time led him more frequently to seek the company
of other boys older and more dexterous in thieving than
himself.
Passing to a neighbonring cell along with the teacher,
we were introduced to another youth between sixteen and
seventeen rears of a^ He was seated in his narrow abode
on a low box, pickmg old ropes ; and though there was
wanting the intellectual provision which the other culprit
had at command, we soon felt convinced that here also
the prison walls had attractions. Our attention was first
called to a wooden erection in the comer of the cell ; it
was rough workmanship, for the only tool that had been
engaged in its carving and erection was the fragment of a
shoemaker's knife, stuck into a weaver's pirn, which some-
how or other had come into his possosaion, the blade of
which was scarcely an inch and a-nalf in length. On look-
ing into this piece of rough mechanism, we perceived a
water-cloek in full and regular movement, the whole so
a^usted, that the hands on the dial-plate indicated time
with considerable accuracy. Several other pieces of me-
chanism were shown us by the youth, of his own construc-
tion, with no other tool, as we were assured all along, than
the piece of a shoemaker^s knife. The fate of this youth,
like the other one, was somewhat hard. He had been con-
demned to banishment for life for a crime of which, at
the bar of the court, he declared his innocence, and from
which declaration he has never yet swerved, llie offence
of which he was aeonsed was a verr heinous one indeed-
setting fire to a mill, for the sake of plunder, in the month
of January last. A reward was offered for the guilty per-
son, and two brothers, along with a 9ociis criminit, were the
chief witnesses, on whose testimony the charge was proven,
and sentence of banbhment for lue was recorded against
two youths, both of whom protested that they were inno-
cent of the offence laid to their charge. Chie of the two
has been sent off to the settlements ; but the other, the
one noticed above, who perseveres in the maintenance of
his innocence, being under age, remains in prison. — Nortk-
«m Warder,
'I
GUARDIAN ANGEL&
Wrbn daylight has dqiarted, and earth is hushed to rtsi.
When litUe birds are folded safe within the pamt oat.
When on the dosM flowers the blesiM night-dews weep.
And stars look down in beauty upon the slumbering dee^*
Unseen by mortal eyes, in the stillness of the night.
There are those who wander o'er the earth in robe* of airy tight ;
Sweet messengers at lore and hope, they journey to and fro.
And oonaolation follows in their footsteps as they go.
What are the heart's presentiments of coming Joy or pain.
But gently-whispeied warnings of that guardian angei train?
The signals of their sympathy, the tokens of their eare.
The sighings of their sorrow o'er the woes that flesh most bear.
We hear them in our blumbers, and waking fancy deems
That busy thought was wandering in the fairy land of drwi ;
But the low sweet tones we listed were strains that angeb dag.
For ministering spirits with our souls were oommnning.
And when rooming breaks above us, and wa wake to b9sj day.
These angels ' go before,* to guide and * keep os in oar way;*
When our feeble footsteps falter, all aweary and akme.
In their arms they gently bear us, * lest we dadi against a itooe.*
In onr Joumeyings, in our restings, on the land, or on theses.
In our solitude and sorrow, in our gatherings and glee.
In the day of degradation, in the hour of Joy and prid»,
Thoae pore and watchful ministers are ever bf oar side.
Oh Thou whom angels worriiipped ere Time or wo bcgss.
And whose divine oompasslon gave their guardiaaahtp ta ma.
Throughout this mortal warfare lot them still my cbampkmsbt.
And in the last stem conflict * give them durge concerning acf
Jksst Jovsa.
GROWTH OF NEW YORK.
New York is unoreasing with a rapidity hkhecio «opsnl-
leled, and bids fab soon to be among the first cities b the
world. New York, Brooklyn, Williamsbtirg, Jeney (^ty,aiid
Hoboken, are essentially one city, as moen as Lcmdoa, with
its conglomeration of towns, is one city. These Bsultitad>%
gathered round the magnificent harbour at the montli of
the Hudson, are spreadinsrapidly on both sides of the East
River and of the North River, and within five yean» w3
probably number one million of people. The noarta of mn-
chandise are crowded into the lower paxta of the Msa-
hattan island, extending one or two miles up the niaad,
and from river to river ; while the dwrilings of the mer-
chants are rising like spring vegetation, in long liaes of
princely streets, on the shore of the Jerseys, npeai the
Long- Island shore — where they receive the naaie of Brook-
lyn and Williamsburg — and along the ma^ifieent avomes
of Bloomingdale ana Harlaem. Greenwich and ChelMa,
on the North River side, and YorkviUe upon the EuC
River, formerly thriving towns, four or five mfles tmm the
city, are already swallowed up by the swdlnig imiiMlatisB.
But in addition to this horixontal growth, then is a ver-
tical growth, which is very important, tfaoogfa bvt little
thought of. New York is daily rising into the air, as well
as spreading along the ground. The roofs arc diuly ton
from the nouses and fSrom the stores, and two or thsea
additional storeys added. Thus a new city is b«ii« rapidly
built upon the top of the old one. Decayed bniUumga,twe
or three storeys high, are replaced by massive stn^sici,
rising seven or eight storeys into the air. — Camadti
ranoe Adweate.
LIGHT AND DARKKB8S. •
light, that makes things seen, makes sone thiags ia- |
TisibTe. Were it not for darkness and the riiadow oif ths
earth, the noblest of creation had remained iiiwinrn, aaj
the stars in heaven as invisible as on the fourth day, vdua
they were created above the horixon with the ami, or thos
was not an eye to behold them. The great iiijfslisj of
religion is expressed by adumbration ; and hi the
parts of Jewish types we find the cherubim
the meroy-seat. Life itself is bat the shadow of dmk
and souls departed but the ahadows of tlie iivi^s. II
things fitU under this name. Tkfi son itself ia \Mk tka isik
Simulachrum, and light hot the shadow of God.— ^ ||
Tkomas Broum.
Pnblishod by W. de R Crambbks, High Street, BUnbm^
sold by D. Chambbrs, 90 Anyle Street, Glasgow; W. 8. Osls,
147 Strand, London ; and XBCGuisnAJf , SI DtMier ~
Dublin.— Printed fay W. di 11. CuAMBsaa, Edinbugh.
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAKBEOB, BDITORS OP « C&AMBBRS*8 INFORMATION FOB
THE PBOPLB,* « CUAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ ^^o.
■*-r-
5C
Tr'..i
" ■'■
No. 301. Nbw Series.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1849.
Price 1^.
3C
MURDBR-MANIA
It wm ibrfneriy the costoro, even with profound
thinkers, to look upon the rude simplicity of early
societies as the natural state of qiao, from which eyery
adTance into refinement was an artificial divergence.
SoDne authors have lamented this iitate of nature as a
lost paradise* and Rousseau, more especially, in a f**
mooa paradox, has called upon the world to recognise
the Tanity of the arts and soienees. The mistake was
of the same kind as that which placed the human race
merely in the highest class of animals, and caused
Moohoddo to look sharply out for the remains of those
caudal appendages of which we had heen rohbed by
exotic culture. Since then, however, the fact has met
not only vrith philosophical, but general cecognitipn,
that man has his own peculiar kingdom in nature]
that he is bom a psogressive heingr destined to rise
through Taiioiia stages of improrement to some hitherto
undetermined condition; and that savagbm is no more
hia natural state, than the seed or the sapling is the
oatoral atate of the full-grown tree.
Although the point we are destined to reach is htd-
deo in the future, we know with some degree of cer-
tainty where we now are. We are able to trace the
career of moral and social advancement from its earliest
stages » and tribea and nations, in every degree of pro*
greea hitherto attained, placed under our view by meane
of the comparative perfection of navigation, serve as
liTing illustrations of the theories of the learned and
the traditions of the vulgar. Assisted by such mate*
rialai, we have come to distinguish between the natural
and unnatural — that is, between the law of nature and
the law of circumstances -, and thus the virtues of the
savage are seen to be the vices of the civilised man, and
deeds which were formerly regarded as mere transgres-
sioiia of social rule, are recognised as crimes against
the ordinances of God, now brought out in distinct and
indelible characters in the awakened heart. This com-
paratively advanced position is attended by a corres-
ponding refinement in manners. We are more gentle
and kindly in our bearing than formerly ; the indi-
Tidoal belongs more essentially to the community ; the
rich bear more generously the burthens of the poor, and
the strong those of the weak; and in the intercom-
munion of the sexes there is, throughout almost all
claases of society, an air of courtly delicacy, which is
the homage of chivalry divested of its ostentation and
extnuraganoe.
This ia a v«ry amiaUe-looking picture of the Englbh
of the middle ef the nineteenth century : but to make
it a true one, we must bring out another feature — and
one so repulsive, so terrible, so extraordinary, that the
reason and imagination are both alike bewildered and
aghast Growing up in the very midst of this kind-
;=::
i :'t ■ II'! ' I \ 1.
linesa of spirit^ fasttdiovi delioaoy,- and^ronantio refine-
ment, there is a tendency tb crime mote wild, more
brutal, more abominable, tibafn the darkest ages of the
world ever heard of. In former times, a truly * terrific
murder' was the opprobrium of the^ep6diy and a land-
nsark of history: now, ^me sucbieda another with such
rapidity, that the mind becomes deadened to the sense
of horror. Wivea destroy their l)Uf[baud8 by » means of
the long agoniea of daya* oc weeksr-^watohing, in the
mtantinie, like Ckmls by their bedside, and gloating on
the ttruggies of their despair; ihotfaer» poison their
infimts when sucking at ttieir breasts; and husbands
and*wives» conspiring at their firesides to assassinate,
prepaoe the details of the deed a month befiM», and
receive dally the Intended vietim as a firiend and guest
till the ttomeilt of murder arrives. This horirfble taint
in the nation^ mind occurs in the midst of social,
moral, and religious soundness. It is the attendai^t of
ow oiviltaaiioD, .the ahadowof our rofiafcnt. What
it the emmeetlbn'^hidh ttrtii blba»togMiier hetMi
and disease, life and death? That there is a connection
of one kind or other — that there is something in the
present form of our dviiiaation whieh produces or en*
eouragea this seeonng anomaly'-^ippeara to be certain,
for the one has never exfsted without the other.
It has been surmised before now that the tendency
to.crirae ia a ^ymptoia of mental disease. In oar pre-
sent atote of society, with all ata advanoement^ there
evidently exist great tramlwrs of fndi^iduls wi^ itl-
regulated minds, and whose mental imperfections in-
duce a fatal imitative tendency towards evil ,actions.
Add to this, the vast and oon^Uoated preMiiseof palti^
neoeasities and aocitd leelinga, tmA, we<havo a tolerably
dear reason assigned for the mtfrder^mania which hat
lately afflicted the country. But there is still some-
thing besides: the exciting and abhorrent details of
slaughter offered hy tho public journals must be held
far ft>ora blameless. No doubt 1^ newspaper presa
only obeys a demand in presenting these mhiutiso of
crime to its readers. The details we epeak of, however,
are not the less mischievous. Unquestionably^ the ua-
aomd fmk»foaitim lecetvea a direction and an impulse
from the journals ; and the atrooitieek the horrors, and
the sufferings that flaunt «o wildly and pertinaciously
in the eyes of the public,, serve as so many sparks to
ignite the latent mine. <
That the journals do exeveise this mfioeaoe-— that
they are, so to speak, aceeikories before the fact to
three - fourths of the more eittravagant murders that
occur in £ngland-~we confidently believe. A curious
proof of thia exista in the fsot^ that the orime assumes,
from time to time, the diaraoter of an epidemic. A
murder occurs : the journalist does his work ; and the
poison he gives ibrth floats over the country like a
peatileQC9» IhQ jiUkowil' 9^ shook^ the refined dis-
210
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
gusted, the timid terrified ; bat the Tnlgar drink in the
detail! with a hideona ddight» and aoon • new mur-
der prodaima that theae haTe come in contact with
some predispoaed mind. The aame prooeaa ia now gone
OTer again, and ia followed hy the aame reanlt : again —
again — again ; till at length the excitement paUa— mur-
der haa no longer its zest— horror becomea tame — ^the
journals lose their ghastly influence— and the epidemic
is for the time at an end.
That this influence reallj exists, and worka in the
manner we have described, is proved by the history of
M{f-murder. The predispoaed suicide is not merely
instigated to the deed by the poisonoua details of the
journals, but determined in the choice of a locality.
Certain plaoea become fkshionable haunts for those iHio
have a mind to destroy themselves. Now, for instance,
they are attracted to the top of the Monument in Lon-
don, till the authorities humanely interpoae a grating ;
then they afi'ect a particular comer of Waterloo Bridge*
till a preventive force of policemen is stationed on the
apot. To suppose, aa regarda such cases, that men
previoualy aound in intellect are seduced into self-de-
struction merely by reading the details of a similar
deed, is absurd : a taint of insanity must exist, a pre-
disposition, that is developed and directed by narratives
only too hiteresting to a diseased mind. The usual
mode in which the journals act is by aocuatoming the
fore-doomed wretch to brood over the deed they de-
scribe— ^l^ presenting to his morbid imagination the
air-drawn dagger till it acquires a character of reality.
They sometimes, however, derive collateral aid fh>m
the love even of infamoua notoriety, ninch is a passion
of vulgar minds. At the moment we write, a more than
suspected murderer, of the foulest description, is re-
ported as betraying excessive gratification at the atten-
tion he exdted while commencing in Jersey, in the cus-
tody of the law, that journey which be knew would
conduct him to the gallows. A single word uttered in
the act of suicide not fkr flrom where we write affbrds
another illustration. Everybody knows the Dean Bridge
at Edinburgh, from which is obtained one of the most
remarkable views even in this paradise of the pic-
turesque. The bridge consists of several arches Uirown
boldly over a ravine of great depth, such as elsewhere
forms a fixture only in the wildest Highland scenery.
Perched on the clifik and alopes of the glen, rangea of
aristocratic buUdings and ornamental gardens contrast
with the rudeness of nature ; and at the bottom, at
some two or three hundred yards' distance, a small
temple-like structure rises over St Bernard's Well On
looking down over the dixsy parapet, the floor is seen
of almost naked rocks, forming the bed of the scanty
Water of Leith ; and here, some little while ago, an
unhappy man destroyed himself by leaping firom the
bridge into the abyss. The incident of course exdted
remark both in the newspapera and in conversation,
and the poor wretch became the hero of rumour for
a few days. Soon after, a working-man waa passing
along the bridge in that stage of intoxication which
is a true though temporary insanity, and he was ob-
served suddenly to dimb upon the parapet The by-
standers, rushing to save him, were only in time to hear
him cry, ' For death orghiyl* The previous tragedy,
wiUi all its droumstancea of notoriety, appeared to his
orasy mind to give a certain digmfy to its victim ; and
it was probably with some drunken heroism of feeling
be shouted his last words, and springing over the
bridge, was dashed to pieces upon the rocks bdow I
Thwe is a hamlet wdl known to us^ about midway
betweeo the town of Enfidd in Middlesex and the vil-
lage at Enfidd Highway. It ia called Turinj Steeel;
but notwithstanding this odd name^ it ia ooe at ths
finest spedmena of rurality we know; aad with ils
abundant foliage, its pebbly stream spanned by woodca
bridgea, and its park-like neigfabourliood, it always
used to put us in mind of a village aoene in a tiieatn.
It has no traffic, no view but of wooda and lawns; and
though only a dozen miles from the heart of Loodoo,
might seem to lie a hundred firom any ooogregatioa
whatever of the human kind. We had little though^
after living our tranquil hermitage a few years ago,
that we ahould ever see its name in the new^nposi
but the other day we wete horrified to ftid that dw
Epidemic had be^ there— that one of the motiieeB of
the hamlet had been adzed while hacking wiUi a knifc
at the throats of her childrenl Now, ia it possihls Is
account for the turn thus taken by the poor woaas^
insanity, otherwise than by supposing that her diseased
mind had reodved Its fktal directioo, and been wfnmd
up to a paroxysm, by the bloody images with wbkh it
had been dduged? The hamlet, it is troe; had little
direct communication with the world ef crime or busi-
ness ; but, alas, It had its puUic-hoiise, and the pokfio-
house its Sunday newspaper I
But it is a difficult and thankless taak to make head
against tradition. The murderer has raotires: there-
fore, in the popular idea, he is sane. It ia never ooo-
sidered that suiddes and other monomaniacs have Kke-
wise motives. Even when drcumstanoea of the most
hideous and revdting extravagance occur, they are set
down as aggravating the crime, not aa conveying a s»-
pidon of the sanity, in that particular pc^nt^ of the eri-
minaL Among the recent cases, a man, for tiie sake ef
some trifilng robbery, slew a mother witii her two chl-
dren and a servant-woman ; andln tUa terrific deed, not
satisfied with the blows that dealt dea^ most have spsat
many of the moments so predous to bis safety in hewii^
at the dead bodies of the little girls. His counsel, at the
trial, though not led to theorise fertiier, ventanwl to
suggest that this extravaganoe waa a proof of nnsond
mind; but the judge, surprised and indignant at te
heresy, rebuked him with vehemence. His diaige had
the usual efiisct with the jury : the frantle criminal wss
condemned to the gaUows; and tiie peculate witidn.
and without the court testified their fatiiifriftinn with
yells of applause !
The complidty of the joumala, unlo^ily. Is moral,
not legal. But although we cannot piosemte them as
accessories before the fkct, it would be very easy for
those in authority to deprive tiiem of the materiak cf
which, either from sordid motives or trade competitioo,
they make so bad a use. When it Is intended, far tls
purposes of iustice, that a particular matter ahouM bs
kept secret, there is no difficulty in obtaininir their sisan,
if this can only be done by *winHif^ their rftpcttas
from the place. They are, m hat, in a great dagne at
the mercy of the fhnctionaries, and would compete
each other in observing regulations that werc
mined to be enforced, fiist^ of any sudi re^
however, every facility is afibrded them for «H"g*f
the country with the fktal traah with whidbS^
odumna are now fhll ; and even the wax-modeBer Ta»>
saud is politely permitted to perpetuate in bar «xhibiCiaa
the memory of the horrora of the di^, fer the heacfit
of constitutional monomaniaca and d the rising geasr^
tion. But the authorities wiU not trouble thrmsstrnn
and the government, as usual, will stand still, iisillsi
till external pressure supplies its defldenc^ in intew
life and energy. Thus things will go on aa flisy sn^
till some puhUo-q^irited member gSu up in Ua ~
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
311
in pariiameDt, and bj enlisting on the tide of good
taste, poU(^, and hnmanity, the whole intelligence and
respectability of the ooontry, succeeds in wiping away
this blot apoa the ciTilisation of the age. L, H.
THB LEGACY.
' I usTEB in my life knew any people so lucky as George
Andrews and his wife/ obserred Mrs Henderson one
evening to her husband in a tone which bordered strongly
on complaint.
'What has happened to them now, Sophia t' inquired
he, suspending his pen, and looking up with a stronger
sense of intenst in his wife's feelings, nowerer, than in
his neighbours' fortunes.
' Hare you not heurd, Philip, that a cousin of his has
died in India, and left him six or seven thousand pounds t
Only tliink of receiying such a legacy from a person one
has nerer seen, and sci^cely ever heard of ! '
' I am glad to hear it,' replied Mr Henderson. ' One
may congntulate him on his accession of wealth with-
out fear of giving rise to painful regrets. Six thousand
pounds would not console one for the loss of a rery dear
Iriend.'
' Six thousand pounds would l>e very pleasant to in-
herit, Philip,' replied the ladv in a tone which seemed
to imply that it would console her for a great deaL ' I
wish somebody would leave as much to you : how happy
it would make us 1 '
' I am not so sure of that ; such an addition to our
income might possibly make us neither happier nor rioher
than we are at present.'
'Not richer! Why, Pliilip, you are joking. Would not
three hundred a year — ^and, if properly managed, it would
produce that — make us a great deal richer! What an
advantage it would be ! '
* What do you need, Sophia, that you do not at present
possess, that you are so extremely desirous of a larger
moomei'
' 01i« a dozen things at least : we would put Edward
to a first-rate school, and have a capital governess for
ihe others. What a pleasure that would be ! I should
be no more tied to teaching, as I am now, but should be
as independent of the nursery as Mrs Andrews; and
then, perhaps, you would indulge me with a week in
London ; and I am dying to hear an opera I I am sure
jov could afford that for once in a way.'
'I hope we shall manage to put Edward to a good
school, my dear,' said her husband rather gravely; ' though,
as to the tuition of the girls, I think you must stiil be
contented to act the ptui of a mother toward^ them.
And permit me to say, that I trust your deske of going
to London ia as visionary as your expectation of a lega<!y.
Tour happiness does not depend on either event, I
should imagine ; certainly not nearly so much as on the
cultivation of a cheerful and contented spirit, such as
70U have always hitherto exiiibited.'
No more was said on the subject, and BCr Henderson
trusted that, as the first excitement of this intelligence
subsided, his wife's inclination to discontent would like-
wise die away, and thai she would gradually resume the
use of her rea«on and her habits of active usefulness.
The inheritor of this unexpected legacy, meantime,
did not view the afikir in the bright colours that dazzled
Mrs Henderson. On the contrary, he had many and
serious thoughts on the subject. He was at the first
moment, it is true, much pleased with this sudden acces-
sion of properinr, but when he eame to consider the matter,
ho experienced a great revulsion of fbeling; and he began
to doubt whether he was so lucky a man as his ac-
qnaintanee universally denominated him. It was, after
all, so small a sum— only six thousand pounds — ^it would
hardly add to his income or increase nis credit. Why
had it not been ten thousand! He would, he thought,
have been quite satisfied with that ; that would have
been a handsome legacy, a something worth talking
about, a gift to be grateftil for. Perhaps, had it been
ten thousand, he might have risen a stsp in the world,
and ftom senior cl«nc ef the extensive firm to which he
belonged, he might have been admitted as partner; a
change which he ardently desired. Why could not his
cousin have made the legacy larger t How provoking that,
either from want of interest in his welfare, or irom any
other cause, he had stopped short of a sum which would
certainly have procured him, as he imagined, perfect
happiness.
The gloom which overspread his brow was not un-
marked by his afiectionate wife ; and supposing that he
was over>wearied with his work, and standing in need of
relaxation, she one day proposed that heSiould beg a
short holiday from the office, and spend it with them at
the sea-side.
' I cannot afford any such extravagant pleasures,' was
his reply, somewhat impatiently, to her su^restion.
' I thought this legaejr you have received would have
enabled you 1' replied she rather timidly — then paused.
' Legacy I' repeated he; ' I am sick of the legacy. After
all the con^tulations with which I am pestered, as if
I had inherited half the Indies, to be owner of only six
thousand pounds— it is too bad 1 '
'Nay, dear George, I cannot agree with you; six
thousand pounds is a large sum for us, and will miike
a most comfortable addition to our income. I am sure
I feel grateful for it.'
'Grateful— pooh 1 If Edward Davis wished me to be
nateful, he should have left me something worth naming.
Upon my word I was ashamed to own this legacj, which
has made so much noise, was only six thousand pounds
when the eldest Walker asked me about it to-day. How
contemptible it must appear to him, who makes more than
that clear profit evmy year!'
' But these things are all by comparison, George ; and
a sum which would be nothing to your employers may
be veiy important to you. You would not, I am sure,
like to lom this six thousand again, although you speak
of it now so slightingly I '
He did not answer, and she, after waiting a moment,
ventured to oontinue :— * You are tempted to take this
gloomy view of matters, George, because you fisel more
than usually harassed with business. I am certein
that is the only reason. Pray, for once ti^e my advice,
and tiy if the ohenge of scene and little holiday I pro-
pose would not give you renewed strength and vigour
for your wori:.' She spoke in the genUest and most
persuasive accents, but tliey were lost on a mind which
listened only to the whippets of a newly -awakened
avarice.
Mr Andrews, after pacing the room for some minutes,
seated himself again 07 his wife, and tried to make her
understand the ambitious projecte he had formed, and
the great promotion he believed he had so narrowly
missed. But she was too clear-sighted and weil-prin.
cipled to enooura^ visionary proje<Ss, which tended only
to disquiet his mmd, and prevent his enjoying the bless*
ings which were lawfully his. To his plan oif laying
by the whole of this addition to their income she did
not of course object, if it was to enable her husband at
some future time to retire frmn business; but his wish
to become proprietor of the concern to which he belonged
made her sigh, as she thoueht of tiie increased respon-
sibility he desbed for hims&; and she dreaded lest the
sudden passion for accumulation which had now seized
him, might lead him farther in the road of covetous-
nees than he at all anticipated. But hit project was
fixed, and he resolved at all evente to become possessor
of ten thousand pounds, a preliminary step, as he ima-
gined, to his gTMit advancement; and seeing that she
must submit, she wisely submitted with a good grace,
and resigned her hopes of change of air for herself and
children without a murmur.
Mr Andrews and Mr Henderson were clerks in the
same concern; but the former, both in station and income,
was considerably the senior, and Mrs Henderson had
long been accustomed to eye with something approaching
to envy the superior comforto and even elegancies which
Mrs Andrews enjoyed. Not that there was anything
approaching to ostentation in theb manner of living ;
and in tniuimost of Uie indulgences which Mrs Hender-
If
21^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL,
son commented on op coreted were purchased from the
comfortable portion which Mrs Andrews had inherited of
her father. It was this which enabled them to send
their eldest son to a superior school, and it was from this
fund that the excellent goremess was paid, who shared
with tiie mother the task of educating a numerous and
increasing family. That people already possessed of so
much should ihherit more, seemed an unnecessary addi-
tion, and almost an unfair division of worldly goods, to
the lealous apprehension of Mrs Henderson. But had
she uiown the truth, her envy must have subsided into
pity. From the possession of that fatal legacy was the
wife forced to date a melancholy and most distressing
alteration in her husband : his whole nature seemed
changed, and every honourable, generous, and even affec-
tionate feeling, appeared smothered in a passion for gain.
Quickly to accumulate the desired capital was his
thought by day, his dream by night; and to accelerate this
object, he tried in every possible way to curtail all ex-
penses not strictly unavoidable. Gradually, but surely, Mrs
Andrews found herself deprived of numerous trifles which
her delicto health seemed to require : their household
was diminished) subscriptions to charities withdrawn,
their pleasant and commodious house exchanged for a
cheaper abode in a less healthy situation ; and when it
appeared that it was of too contracted dimensions to re-
ceive them all, she was told thai nhe must therefore give
up the covemets. By degrees the whole expenses of the
household were reduced to the sum which was in truth
her own, and her husband was not to be prevailed on to
extend iti limits or allow her to touch his salary. Had
honour, honesty, or prudence dictated this proceeding,
Mrs Andrews would have submitted without a remon-
stranoe : her zeal in economy would even have exceeded
his ; but to feel herself and her children deprived of those
advantages to which they had been accustomed from birth,
only to gratify a fatally-increasing disease of her hus-
band's mind, was bitter. But bitterer far was the loss of
his affection and confidence — ^the painful coldness which
had insensibly orown up between them. It was after a
few years of sudi a system that a new prospect was sud-
denly opened, in an offer of partnersnin from another
and a nval house. The prospect was alluring in every
respect, the concern was suppoeed to be peculiarly
flourishing, and the terms in which it was made were as
flattering as they were advantageous. Eagerly was the
proposal grasped by Mr Andrews, it being superior to hia
hopes, and much beyond his expectations; and the impor-
tant step was taken which raised him from servitude to a
master's place.
The vacancy this change occasioned was offered to Mr
Henderson, and by him thankfully and gratefully ac-
cepted; but his wife, though now raised to the situation
which she had long coveted, found it by no means replete
with all the advantages she had been accustomed to
ascribe to it, and she sighed as she reflected how little
probable it was that an^ legacy would ever bestow on
them the happiness which she believed Mrs Andrews
to enjoy. Satisfied with his own advanced position, her
husband paid little regard to her murmurs, for he was
now enabled to procure for his children such additional
advantages in education as he considered useful or desir-
able ; and he pursued his daily avocations with increased
attention ^d satisfaction, in spite of the restlessness of his
wife, whom he vainly tried to inspire with a like con-
tented spirit, by reminding her of the superior advantages
they now enjoyed to those with which they commenced
life. A single glance into Mrs Andrews' mind would
have render^ his arguments a work of superero^ion,
and done more to convert his wife to his way of thmking
than half a year's lecturing.
Being a woman of quick perception of character and
great penetration, poor Mrs Andrews could not, from the
first, avoid feeling some degree of mistrust for her hus-
band's partners. Lavish in their own expenditure, indeed
indulging in an unbounded profusion, they yet took every
possible method of flatterine and strengthening the very
opposite foible of George Andrews ; praising his prudence,
envying his strength of mind, and protesting that, if dr-
cumstanoes allowed it, they would ccttainljr imitate hit
foresight. These conmtulations he peocived witii a
triumphant smile, which seemed to speak at once hia
own self-approvi^, and his contempt for hii wwk-minded
companions. • • ^, v •#.
Unwilling as she was to judge any one harshly, the wife
could not think favourably of those who thus fostered a
weakness, or rather a vice, so completely at variance wiA
his best interests and the happiness of all connected with
him. She ftvrtd the flatterers, though unable to divine
their motive ; and being now more than ever deorived of
her husband's society, she occupied herself solely in di-
recting her household, and giving her children the best
education in her power. She imagined that her hasband
must long ago have realised the sum of ten thou«ad
pounds, which he had asserted would be the extent of ku
ambition ; yet she saw no symptom of relaxation in his
avaricious habits, no improvement to herself in her cm
situation. All was grasping, grinding economy, rendered
more bitter by the contrast which her hu^tiand's compa-
nions exhibited.
But a startling and complete termination was at lengtb
put to their trials and sorrows, for it suddenly beenie
known that the two senior partners in tiie bnsiDats were
fled, taking with them every pound on which Uwy ooald
lay their grasp, and leaving the whole ooocem in a ^ate
of complete ruin. Debts to an enormous amount appeared |
due on every side, and it was evident thai th« husiness
had long been on the verge of bankruptcy, which had beoi
only kept off for a brief interval by the capital Andicws
had brought them. Of course, though clear of their railt,
he was involved in their ruin, and at one blow the laboui
of the last six years were destroyed, and the mflacy «■
which he had set his heart swept away for ever. The i
legacy, the source alike of pleasure and of pain, wis new
become as if it had never l«en ; and the vain denres aai
ardent hopes which had been founded on it had ppored
vanity of vanities. But it was a happy Wow for him : kc
awoke as from a dream, and with the deoaolitioa «f ka
ambitious projects there came other and better plans aad
feelings. After honestly giving up every fiarthiaf he
possessed to the creditofv, he looked around for capk^-
ment to provide bread for his £unily; nor did he seskia
vain. A situation was once more oflfeied him ia ifr
Walker's house, and here he began the wodd ag»in as at
the first.
• Well,' sffcid Mr Henderw>n to his wife, « I agiea wiA
you in thinking Andrews a very fortunate m^ It ii
true that he has lost the legacy, but he has gained a
lessotoi which he wiU probably never foi]^ And wfaee I
see him dow so quietly pursuing his business, and hit wife
with a cohtented, or rather a nappy look, I most class
him among thQ most fortunate men of my acqoaintaace.'
THE ATLas WORKS,
As the yisitor bends' his way down Oxford Road in Oiat
great industrial hive, Maodietter, into which are con-
centrated more and more astonishing mechanical iofe-
nuities than are to be found in any oUier place pcobalily
in the whole world, the clatter of a hundred hamoHn
heard afar off will inform him that he is approaduBf
the Atlas Works. An immense huUding, five stoffji
high, situated at the comer of a street, and extrndint
as far as the eye can penetrate in one dinctiea, sad
several hundred feet in the otiier, is dlscoyeied to be
the source of this deafening uproar ; and if the eye is
directed upwards, it wiU catch the title of tbt piseeia
bold letters-^thus, The Atlas Wobks. What is te
cause of this uproarious din, and what the natnre of
these extensive works? The Atlas Works are ooe of
the la]^g[est locomotive -engine mamtfiKtoriei in ^
world; and their hundreds of stmidtiUMo«slj-adi^
hands and hammers keep the whole net^bootliood fer
some distance around in a state of ceaseleas daMff tas
six in the morning often until late in the ereniag. Sa^
pose, reader, while you accompany us, that both year
ears are filled with a concentration of gtioding^ oboh-
ing, clanking, screeching,' and roaring sooads^ to which
OHAMBERS'8 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
218
the low but thrilliDg hum of the blast-furnace forms a
bass, and you may then iu some measure realise the
actual condition of this tumultuous but most interesting
establiahment
The proper permission being obtained,, we were ac-
companied bj a clear-headed workman, to whom the
office of cicerone to the wonders of this temple of Vulcan
was no novelty ; and we are bound to add, a more intel-
ligent and interesting companion, high or humble, we
hare seldom encountered. We were first shown into
ihe * fitting-up ' room, which is on the ground-floor in
one of the wings of the building. It is a lofty room,
fh>m 150 to 200 feet long, illuminated by a great
number of windows. It is divided into three sections
by two rows of strong pillars which support the ceiling.
The work-benches are arranged along the sides, and
the * fitting-up' takes place in the central division of
the room. On entering, we were almost overpowered
by the awful noise of the place ; the intensity of which,
added to the appearance of confusion, of whirling drums,
straps, pulleys, lathes, and other engines of terrible
a[^)earance, oppressed the senses in a manner which it
is not possible to describe. The objects which most
attracted our attention were eleven large locomotives in
all stages of development Here was one of these iron
monsters without its chimney; another without its fire-
place ; another had a man inside it hammering with all
nia might; another was having its pistons put in; to
another the side plates were beuig screwed on ; another
was being set on its legs— wheels, we should say; an-
other was being painted, and receiving its christening,
the * Fire-King/ tne * Blazer,' and such-like ; and finally,
a huge crane lud taken up another in its strong embrace,
lifting it bodily upwards, and depositing it on a strong
carri^ ; the gates were thrown open, the team put up
to the collar, and the wonderful machine sent to do its
civilising, space-annulling work in the busy world out-
side. Yet once more, large packing-cases at the end of
the room were filled with the dismembered bodies of
others, with a foreign address, and sunaounted by the
characteristic, short, and sturdy chimney of these ma-
chines. These were for exportation — the locomotives
for home use being sent out in the complete state. To
those whose avocation or whose pleasure calls them to
study the ftibrication of the locomotive, an hour spent
in this room would do more to their enlightenment than
six times the time consumed in the study or in the
lecture-room. Every portion of the apparently com-
plicated, but really simple and beautify mechanism, is
teen in every stage of completeness ; and a more inte-
resting spectacle can scarcely be witnessed than that of
the coUocation and combination of a number of different
mechanical members, all prepared and finished in other,
and oftentimes far- distant, portions of the building.
Eight or ten of the massive pillars supporting the ceil-
ing are also powerful cranes, and are generally to be
Ken dandling sometimes the trunk, sometimes the un-
wieldy limbs, and sometimes the whole body, of this the
most majestic of the iron offspring of the nineteenth
century.
Having exhausted the wonders of the fitting -up
room, we were led to another of equal size, but less
lofty, over it The noise which continues to assail our
ears, and with which, unfortunately, we cannot part
company untU we depart from the building, here loses
its clanking element, and becomes of a higher pitch,
something between a grind and a screech. It is hence
sufficiently indicative of the turning and filing opera-
tiona carried on here. The finer portions of the loco-
motive are here formed. Here we saw whistles in all
their stages^ up to the perfect instrument, whose un-
earthly yell sttftles our green fields all over the ooun-
try day and nights Here were also different pieces
of valve-work, now ^ng inactive, but soon to take a
part in the active duties of engine-life, for which they
are preparing. Here siso were men busy at work turn-
ing, grinding, and finishing the numerous stop-cocks
reouiaite for the Diachine, the nioety of whose work-
manship necessary to endure the enormous pressure to
which it is subjected may well excite admiration.
The centre of this apartment was not occupied bv
machines, but by different pieces of the mechanism, afi
completed and piled up with great accuracy. Here
were piles of pistons beautifully smoothed and ground,
near them were axles and piston-rods, brass * bushes,'
massive springs, buffers, union-joints, and a variety of
other things *too numerous to mention.' Along the
three sides of the room were arranged such an assem-
blage of small and great lathes, vices, tools, &c. as can
scarcely be conceived. The moving power to all these
was obtained from shafts, on which a multitude of
pulleys were fixed, placed near the ceiling.
After walking round the room, and inspecting the work
in every condition, from tiie raw metal, if we may use the
term, up to the finished mechanism, we were conductcKi
into another apartment still higher in the same wing.
Here a scene somewhat resembling the last presented it-
self; only, if possible, it was a tr&e more busy, and, by
consequence, more uproarious dso. The central portion
of it was filled with a number of singular machines for
drilling, while the sides were, as usual, lined with their full
complement of turning apparatus. Two machines in this
room call for special notice. One dass of them is the
drilling, and the other a most ingenious machine called
the * polygon,' from its office in cutting the heads of
polygon-screws. The drilling-engine is a very different
invention from the ordinary lathe, which is only fit for
drilling small work : circumstances here call for tiie exer-
cise of Car more power and accuracy than can be attained
in that way. It consists of a tall upright iron firame, at
the back and upper part of which are the fast and loose
pulleys by which the moving parts are thrown iu and out
of gear. The fast pulley actuates a set of wheels, which
communicate a revolving motion to a spindle placed in
a perpendicular manner a little distance above an iron
table on which the work to be drilled is placed. At the
bottom of this spindle is a socket, into which the drill
is fixed. Now, suppose the hole is to be made ; by
pulling a handle, the strap flies on to the fast pulley,
and sets all the wheels in motion, and through them
the revolving spindle into which the drill has been
placed ; the piece of metal is laid flat on the iron shelf,
and by a handle or a foot-treadle, the workman causes
the spindle to descend, carrying the drill with it, until it
touches the metsl to be perforated, and continues pull-
ing the huidle, and so more and more depressing the
drill, until ^e hole is made right through. The speed
and accuracy with which this operation is efi^ted are
admirable, and tiie exertion to the workman is very
trifling. The * polygon ' machine is a little more com-
plicated. Its intention is to cut with perfect accuracy
the heads of large screws into a polygonal form, so as to
give them both neatness of appearance and a hold for
the key by which they are screwed or unscrewed. By
an ingenious arrangement, it can be made to cut any
num^ of faces on the screw-head that may be desired,
and it performs its work with the most strict and un-
erring fidelity. The machines are generally double, so
as to cut two screw-heads at one time. The piece of
rough metal being placed in its proper position, is
brought by the gradual movements of the machine
under the teeth of a rotatory cutter revolving on a
horizontal axis, a little conduit drops soft soap and
water to lubricate the parts, both move slowly on until
the entire face or side has been cut smooth, and then,
by an automatic process, the machine throws itself out
of gear, and stops until the attendant turns the head so
as to present another side to the cutter, and the process
is again repeated. There are a variety of ingenious
details connected with the motions of the difibrent parts
of this machine, but we do not consider them of suffi-
cient general interest to count them worthy of a place
here.
We now left this wing of the building, and follow,
ing our patient conductor, were shown into another and
longer part of the establishment A small room, parti-
Mi*k
214
OHAMBERSTS EDINBUBOR JOURNAL.
1
[
tioned off from the larger one, of which it formed a part,
contained another of the heautifol mechanical ingenui-
ties for which this firm has long heen conspicnoos, in-
yenied hj Mr Hoberts. It is a machine for catting out
cog-wheds. It consisted of a rectangular frame of iron,
a central position in which was occupied by a revolring
cutting instrument acting upon a piece of circular iron,
which it cut into teeth of a certain depth and size. By
means of a regulating scale, on which the numbers of
teeth in a whed were provided for up to a very high
pitch, it was easy to cut a cog-wheel of wrought-lron of
any kind the attendant desired. Most of the pattern-
cogs are cut by this machine, from which castings may
be multiplied indefinitely. There were two of tiiese
beautifhl pieces of mechanism in this room ; which, we
may mention, but few persons are permitted to enter.
Be-entering the large room, a more confusing scene
than any presents itself in the apparently-innumerable
shafts and straps which are seen flying with the utmost
swiftness in erery direction. In addition to the manu-
facture of different portions of the locomotiTe machinery
which is carried on here, a large number of power-
looms are made also, and are to be seen in all stages of
progress : many were, at the period of our yisit, ready for
use. We were also shown several machines, somewhat
on the princii>le of the ' polygon,* called ' shaping* ma-
chines, the object of which was a sort of machine-filing
grocess. The tuming-sh(^ is on the floor beneath, and
ere much time might» if we had it to spare, be profit-
ably spent A great number of the most powerful and
beautiful Iftthes we hare ever beheld are here stationed,
and flJl were in full work, some at great speed, others
at the slower rate which is necessary in turning heavy
pieces of metal. Many of these lathes were from 15 to
22 feet in length, and they were almost all self-acting.
The turner placed his work between the two centres,
adjusted his cutting-instrument in the slide apparatus,
set the machine in motion, and all he had furtoer to do
was to dear away the turnings, and to watch the engine
until its allotted task was all faithfully performed. Any
of our readers who have ever made a plaything of a
lathe, and all who are called to labour at one, are aware
of Uie difficulty of turning a rod two feet in length, and
of no great thickness, in consequence of its dastidty
oausing it to jump out of the centres. What, then,
would be their dismay if commanded to turn with per-
fect accuracy a rod 20 feet long and only 1 indi thick?
By manual skill it could not be done. But we may see
here machines doing it without an effort; and out of a
rough bar of iron of that length and diameter, turning
off a polished rod so tnaJiy, that when it revolves, its
motion cannot be seen, and doing ao with the very
smallest attention from a man under whoae care the
atrong automate ia placed. In this room also were a
numtor of screw -cutting lathes, capable of cutting
screws of every size of thiread, from an almost hair-like
finenesa to the coarsest kinds.
We had now done vrith the more deUcate processes
connected with this manufacture, and were led to a
series <tf displays of stupendous power, such as, we sup-
pose, could scarody be witnessed elsewhere. It is but
rardy that lathes of such power as those we left in the
last room are seen ; an idea, then, of the greatness (^
those we now saw may be formed when the comparison
was the giant and the child. At one side, a huge lathe
was d^ding in a slow but awful manner with a rough
but hdpless customer, in the shape of a great douUe
crank, shaving off its sides as easily as if it were cut-
ting bread and batter, and with a horrid crunching
found, which made onr blood ran cddl At another,
a driving-wheel, perhaps 6, or even 8 feet in diameter,
was being turned, the ground trembling as thick shav-
ings of iron were rent df its massive rim. And another
whed was in the ruthless hands of a giant drilling-
machine, which made no sort of difficulty of piercing it
throng and through the rim for riveting. Surdy the
giants of ancient fable and of nursery history, who tore
up men into little bits, and ate them afterwards, were
only infknts compared with Uiese iron giants ; and we
are to see more of the brood before we have parted
company I
The next place we entered was the * grind-shopi'
The scene is curious enough. All down lae room, oa
the ground, is a long line of grindstonea, of anaorts,aDd
of many difibrent kinds, some veir large, and others of
ordinary dimensions ; but all revolving with great rapi-
dity : and when a number of men are at work repairing
tools, what with showers of sparks, and the strangeness
of the sight, it fbrms an exhibition by no means the
least attractive. Many of the stones are for polisfaing
brass work, particularly the heautifol brazen eupobs
whidi adorn the top <a the locomotive, and which it
would be both costly and difficult to poUah in ibt ordi*
nary ways. Altoge&er, the room struck us as a capitd
subject for an illustration, there bdng sufficient mecha-
nism to give life to tiie picture, and the iimpRcity
thereof interpreting itsdf at once to the mind of the
spectator.
The increasing loudness of the hum of the hiast-fiir-
nace tdd us we were now approaching tiie fbondxy, whidi
is a separate building ; by its side is one of the engine-
rooms, whose office it is to drive the fim of the wind-
furnace, and to do other duties connected with this de-
partment Entermg the foundry, the heat emitted by
the furnace, out of whose vent-hdes fitfnea of living Hie
leapt, and now and then molten apurks of iron, and the
rushing currents of air in its proximity, made as |^
to get deeper into its interior. Here we saw a very
interesting process going on — the manufocture of the
massive iron wheels which support and drive the loco-
motive and its tender. We are persuaded thai fow per-
sons are aware of the different steps conc^tied in vhst
may appear a very simple operation, and that the geoe-
rd opinion probably is, that the whed is cast in a mooU,
turned, and fitted with its bearings : and it is true in-
ferior wheels are thus made. But when the heavy sad
continud strainings, and these frequently of a coocos-
sive nature, which the wheels of the locomotive have
to bear, are taken into condderation, it wiU be msai-
fost to those who know the brittleness and non-elM-
tidty of cast-iron, that wheels so formed would be ia
continud danger of fracture. To obviate this» and to
give the whed all the rigidity of cast-iroo, with all the
toughness and acconunodative spirit of wrou^it-iroo,
the wheel, curious to state, is a compound of both. Tbs
boss or oentrd psrt is of cast-iron, the ^lokea and rint
are of wrought-iron. We believe we can easOy mske
this intelligible ; and to do so, ahaU deaciibe the work
as we saw it carried on before our eyea. The proper
mould being made in the sand, it is found to coosist of
a large hoUow space in the middle, from which a num-
ber of radii diverge; and this is all: thereisnoproviaiMi
for a rim. The founder then reodvea from a bystander
a number of pieces of wrought-iron of the exact shape
of a T, only that the iop of the T is a sectioo of a
curve, and not straight and the bottom or tail is triflv-
cated and jagged. He then lays the shank of the T-
pieces in the hollow radii, in such a manner that the
jagged tails project some way into the hoUow centre of
the mould, while the tops of the T*s lying near^ la
mutud appodtion form a sort of broken rim to tbe
wheeL The mdted metd is then conveyed and poanl
into the oentrd hollow: almost as liquid aa walK;B
flows around, and fills it ujp^ covering at the aan
the projecting ends of the T-piecea, which in thia
manner become immovably imbedded in the
boss, rendering the mass of many pieoea quite as solid,
and fur more durable, than if every portion of it had
been cast at once in a oontinuous stream. In coast-
queace of the expansion of the metd during tiiis pe^
cess, by the beat of the cast-iron, the tops of the T-
pieces are notched at each end on both ddea* ao aa Is
resemble two horixontd V*s— thus -^% l^ieae notehM
must next be filled ap» and tbe whed is thefefine eo^
veyed to the smithy, where the pieces aie wdied 1^
and where we shall overtake it presently.
■
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
215
One of the great 'lioDi* of the Atiaf Works was
jet to oome, the sight of which the stranger will find
enough to repay him for the visit if it were the only
Bight to be seen: this is the punching and clipping-
mtcAine rooms. We can never forget the impression
produced on our minds by one of these immensely-
powerM engines— a tremendous iron guillotine, the
descending knife of which dealt as coolly wiUi the
ttii(^eet iron sheets as a lady's scissors with a piece
of cambric There was no flinching of the ponderoos
iron arm which held the knife as it came in contact
with the stubborn metal, no retardation of its motion
while cutting, and no acceleration when liberated: it
mijesticany rose again ready for another slice I At the
time we saw it, it was cutting out the T-pleces for the
wheds. The engine was performing perhaps about
fifteen strokes a nSnute. As we felt, fii imagination at
least, tiie solid ground sink at each descent of that
fearfbl hand and arm, we thought what solidity of con-
struction, what rigidity of material elements, can long
resist sudi a force as that I However, the machine goes
on from year to year, doing daily, vrithout a degree of
over-ezertion, what the unassisted efforts of a thousand
men could scarcely accomplish in a week. There were
two or three such engines In the building, which cut
out the plates for the boilers, the sheets of copper for
the firemace, called technically the * mid-feather,' and
intended to preserve the sides of the furnace from the
osddating effects of the heated air. The punching ma-
chines were similar exhibitions of skill and might, and
were constructed on neariy similar general principles.
A nnmber of thick plates of sheet-iron lay at the side
of the building, marKed at regular intervals with round
white spots in the places proper for the holes. Two or
three men guided these under the descending punch,
fixed hi the huge head of a colossal lever : £e punch
comes down, and with as much facility as we should
poke our fingers through a piece of blotting-paper,
thrusto itself through the strong metallic sheet We
had the curiosity to take one of Uie punched-out pieces
home, and it now lies before us, a memorial of an
amazing exercise of physical power. Although of no
great size, this punched-out piece weighs nearly an
ounce and a-half, from which the thickness of the sheet
may be judged o£
The i^aiSng-room was the next object of our in-
spection. Some magnificent self-acting iron planing-
machines were here at work. One of them was about
dght or ten feet broad, and probably twenty feet long.
A Urge piece of metal is placed on the horizontal b^
of these machines, the cutting tod is then drawn by
the action of machinery across its surfkce, removing
whatever thickness of metal is considered advisable.
When it has cnt down the length of the piece, the
cutting tool is lifted up, and the whole dragged rapidly
back, when the tool falls into its place again, and again
removes, in long ribbons of great thickness and burning
heat, a f^h potion of the metd. When once set in
motion, it continues in action, without requiring more
than occasiond attention, until the whole face exposed
to the energies of the tool is planed. In the same
place also we witnessed the formation of that massive
and prime-moving portion of the locomotive — ^the double
crank. It will surprise many of our readers to learn
that this admirable piece of mechanism is forged in
one solid piece, looking like a great rod, with a couple
of square lumps of iron set on it in diiOTerent relative
positions. This unwiddy mass is taken, centered, and
turned, the square lumps being left untouched. It
is then taken to vet another iron colossus called a
* chisdling engine : it is placed upon a flat bed, and the
square lumps being placed under a powerfhl descending
chisd urged by machinery, and slicing out great lumps
of metal, they at length assume the elbowed appearance
proper to a crank, return again to the lathes, and after-
wainds are finished secundum ctrtem. Also in the same
place tiie cylinders of Uie steam-engines are turned, and
raed perlbctlj true and imooth In the inside. The
mechanism which efibcts this is dso automatic, and it
is a singular dght to see the deliberate but accurate way
in which the machines perform their work.
We now crosied the road to that part of these im-
menie premises where the * tenders' are made, for this
is a distinct branch from the locomotive department ;
and the renewd of the datter which greeted us on our
first entrance into this wonderful place made us dmost
regret our curiosity. They were m a large building, in
a variety of different conditions — some more, and some
less advanced; and numbers of workmen were busy
rivetting, screwing, and fitting thehr parts together, and
in various other ways finishing tiiem off, down to the
last coat of varnish with which the green backs and
ddes of some were being made to shine. — ^To this suc-
ceeded the smithy, and here we found the wheels just
brought over from the foundry. The Qydopes might
have been terrible fellows in their rough way, but
even they would look with the concentrated amaze-
ment of their single orbs at the mighty men of
strength labouring with the dedge- hammer here.
The rim of the wheel having b^n formed out of
a piece of iron, which is beat into a cireular form
around a dreular iron table, is heated red-hot, and is
then fastened on to the wheel Holes are then drilled
through the lim, and by means of red-hot bolts the
loose rim is firmly fixed to the other, so as not to be
disturbed by any future amount of work. — The last
place was the boiler-house ; but as we had had by this
time enough of danking and dfattering, we very gladly
gave up the pun of seeing that part of locomotive
manufacture, being well convinced that it contained no
elements of sufDdent interest to counteract the climax
of noise which is attuned in that building. The last
thing we were shown was the * trying-place,' where, when
the locomotive is completed, the steam is got up ; and
its driving-wheels, resting upon a couple of loose pulleys,
communicate no motion to the machine, so that the
mechanism has free play, and any imperfections can be
properly corrected before it leaves the establishment
A few generd remarks must condude our artide.
Messrs Sluirp, Brothers, are the proprietors of this im-
portant and extendve manufactory. They employ fh>m
1200 to 1500 mechanics, at wages ranging firom L.1 up to
L.5 a week. In 1847, we are informed, they made and
sent out eiphty-teven locomotives ; but the average num-
ber is six m each month, and orders are now on hand
which it will take until 1850 to execute. We were un-
able to obtdn an estimate of the number of tons of iron
and copper consumed annually ; but from the above data,
it will be manifest that it is something very large indeed.
The governing prindples are necessarily stringent, and
are contdned in a code of laws or rules forty-five in
number, with a scde of fines attached to indicate the
pendty of a disregard. At the same time, since these
rules are many of them framed for what is the real
benefit of the men mutually, since the generd treatment
of them is generous, the rate of payment high, a spirit
of universal satisfaction appears to reign, and a finer or
more muscular army of men than these swarthy me-
chanics, with their strong limbs and firm gait, it would
be hard to select One cireumstance must be particu-
larly remarked, since it harmonises much with a wide-
spread feeling in which we share — that is, that no money
is allowed to betaken by the men who are commissioned
to show the wonders of the place. As such money is in-
variably hdd sacred to the beer-shop, it has been rightly
prohibited ; and notices to visitors are placed in different
parts of the works, intreating them, if they feel disposed
to make a present of money, to devote it to the sick-
fhnd, the box of which is kept In the office ; and the
result is, that you are politely and dvilly treated, with-
out any money-hunting servility, by your working com-
panion, and that the sick-fund is largely assisted by
this resource. Altogether, few places of greater interest
can be selected than the Atlas Works, particnlarly in
a railway age; and as far as it is proper for man to
triumph in the wonders his own liands have accom-
CHAHBER3<B EDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
r wlniinible. ooduia n
menC's compari*on vith the leMt of the voik* of Hi
handa that made him — the viiiC will eicite trinmpli and
wMider of no ordioiry Idnd.
MADAME RECAMIER.
AuoHo the celebiitiei whioh bavs been iwegkt awar bj
the recent Tititatioa of cliclcra in Paris, ii ■ lady vbo,
by the happy peculiarity of her poiition and charaater,
bu. doriog the Ia>t lialf Qentury, eluayeil a European
repuUtioQ of no unenviable aoit,
Adelaide-Juliette Befnard, the daughter of M. Ber-
nard, adminlatiator nf poets, waa born at Lyon* the
De<Mmtier,lTT7. Sbe vaa endowed by.aatiKO with i
iWl^kaUa beauty awl tjiletiU, and al: the early age
■ixteen becamQUievif^of M.He«afaie]^a hutker.who,
■ ■ ' ' " ' ^he good fortune
le year of Terror
aot with a more
md a more lolid
and good sense,
4 importance in
■0 teipected his
a h^r from those
flock around the
ch diftinguished
4e<llif«o#e.vere
pa.it. WM diieSy
I «Kicty of.lbat
Xo tin. BOBTeraa-
i^Qlerie*. of fopi
ui. to btu, NiA
' fifMm of thou
I llf mort.MQrtiid
i wUawa,' jjfiiwJ)
„ . . . _ ii|W»a»tojuftifj(
tlie,ob«VTatioB of tlie, w^iHy .CheT»lii«r,4«. BfluQepi,
tliat.! 109 one had-CTer before dadoed w baautiftdlji witli
UKir-MOM/ Tlwf»alidi(uiqftW>medeSfealal>afpaak*
iftrtlie anBiO Wain in one of' her flotw to 'Corinne;
uyio»,i,'-lt !*At Aladaqe Buqa|)iiei> dfiunug wliii:))
gay«.iOifl. (be- idea of thatiait vjii«b I JuT»,bere, atr
t«»lrteii to depict,', . , , ,, ... ■ ..: .,
■ B«tit^*».npt M?dan}e,R»!o«hiBiei'»Briice wi^ beauty
alopt; whiuGh. .wDB.4<W.,]i4T.tb^ fatisu.pf all tJioM.wlio
DWHe.tfitltiu tb^rfioge^ihaE inflMnce. 6h«f>c
^ mjf,mvi^i^ PMjOciji^tucli •howe4 il^f D^t
queot phrases or in cauatic repartees, but in uiC.IW
rarer ftfiity *f .aSPr<oi«tioK't*w-,p«culi»r anddiatine-
tire,eioelWuie«'tif. tlmw vlw were a1x>ui. Iiw.. She
«ev«c leEuned ttosiraua to ahicii l^ertelf, .but had the
l^ppy ajit.uf Btttiug^tlienait ewe with. thcoMelTea, ,1^
VoaliiDgi tb^TQ. appes^. bi t^.be«t adE^tNge,. No, ooa
lujBf^ ww^l hpn-to.*eiae the heflriugof.pQy.MpnlM
topic,, 9(id. to ^caw out tJie.opiniw.i?f Um»» wltp wew
D|o<b'9<ip)ible of epetilcintt ahMit it;. no ;Oiis. 9Q«ieiiKd
Blore.of thnf plulpat^phie'-aod'Cbiittiaa. ciiwity whicb
uuiiftT'tandfl hu* t^ pacdpn, beoaupe' it. tuc ,«*tti|iate
alike the .^tfangt^i of tct^ptatioa arit] ,lUe bitCtiTt^eM, of
repentancB. Slic liad perhaps leoriied tliia fuloeia.*^
oavp^awon .^fCer the days of tltaflarror,. wjien her
aalaa«, beonine tbrpu2e4 witli tlio. tyrant* Miliell m
auSareii.of thelttivotiuioa, who toemed.tci forget a^«
tbeir wronga and, Qkij; erijeltie* >n tlie aoft^ftg atmor-
ipbeie of her preaenco. , Tlxte ooe nuiihtaea«f8Meii
in conversation Joseph Clitnier and Matthieu de Mont-
mqrency,. lioederer and Talleyrand, La Han>e.anxL the
Vicomte de Sugur. ' '
' Tu Vndentand all would be t« vlty and to pardon
all!' Madame Rf<»^nler dftllr''pat in practice tliia
generoiuaxloniof one of bci Mitiaenda. ,'. „
' It wa* during their Jimagogii,' ahe waa wont to isy
of the ci-dtauil Jacobina. And ahe treated tbeao aa
iDTalid* Just recovering from a fever. At a period of
political and paaaionate excitepKot, tbe iDflnoDce ^
auoh women i* perhapa acarcely.iet* Tahiable to a cbb-
munity than are the serrioea of aide and iotelligcBt mm
The Fariaiaa world, joat eacapad liom n
horror*, hwl begun to long for the gentler
of gaiety and pleamre, wtwa Madama ReCMoitf aroac
upon it aa a star of conaolattofi and hope. Even ttuae :
whoae position or prejudicea excladed Uietn from bar |'
magic circkv were ready to azpreaa th^ admiratiaat id ;
one wlw knew so well bo* to realore ita tone to Mcie^
at a moment of such tmiveriat diaorganiaation , and wbo
could contaliata adrerae partka at a time whan haind
and veogeauoe still rai^kd within tha hearts of men. I
The aged Marquiae de.Crequjii wJw had paaand her .,
life among princes, write* ia the dosing Taiwna tf I
tier meioairb-' This houie of Madame Baoamiar'a m '■
the lUtal do Liuenbourg, .or tlie H6td d« Oeqay irf ,
the. present.. timt. 1 1 an trdd.that thi* degant yoaag
woman has .the most .polished and agweaMa aocislr at j
biM hoaaekfiiMl that. this leprossea aa Aaaapatsiblsl&e >
sarusstn wiltioiana o£ tlifwe a>ba ate diafoaari (a ridi- ll
aula fpme AoniwiM jwroMtv f Ik* toaTa-janatl aeecaa to
hercircle.' T|ni nnfj lulTjfrt iiliirili ins aaiiniliiil fanin '
MadHnB.It4Mnuer'apaptie* waa thapatMmaae«(pali- ll
tin. The.Marqu)s«ileCte<tU)>ieUtaS'»n^KDAsleiUa*-
troMve oi tlua pcobibitioD i— T A furtsui ConscMa named i
iiebastiaoi, nboicUiotfd lelfktiaRihip with .BoDsifBite, I
exclaimed »luud me. evenica >Wt Madwne Bcemtf^ j
in A tiinairfet4huuutici)iiQlUa(jaaM".Ti>e First Caoiai
has tlM most, iiupei:bhaadf4hkv««KM IwliaMl"
-:.".Al%,QaBtnian4ant,^«bswned th^.ladyof the banm
tOrlu<n>.wnilwgi'T.4«l>'Ut oat talk poUtiw: yon baaw
whaCKeioiurcoDiveaUanohere,".' , .
.. With nniiti rflin ntriiiitiri|i|| iinii iii iiij iimHaiim.
U tuay retidiiy bei suppo«ed tliat MjiAutm ITIiiimiai
became tlu) objeot of uoLvenal reaped and sidviMtiaa. I
She. fM, Bs.a writer of tliat d«f obaarrea. 'alito aiawi
byU^e.piiucaand UtecuJiaC.theheroasd tbeiliQiUH^
tlia magvitroM aud t^e mii'ifa'iWs'A^ Nowoioa wan«>w
TAiae4,agsiiMt.her*a]>e thatofenvyi Xtvajt^ Itm *mdm
Uf)ri«o9WMlt#rX"*<«'WCre«otifc b» *v«r that ake was
SB.iLlly as she was besntiftiL M>dtp» Sop)ii«<W>*
talented fdeod -''f— n. 'r-'nir 'Hiinl rare i.l's lia|>
oiiijle.toiier quicbnesa.of.obsecvBitioiit.aAd lolbaacMl*
ploffnluesi of lier wit, sopte.efther Binnpaav sUi«^
otters, ipiiM s4rcH»tioallj. ., >L. ,0«aiMnM OnmstanK
RnarobferTiBftwhaC pRUedbe(br«Llumr9Ul-'i 4^ aa
'l plefuuca in i^iiig bv eyetv day, .IhM i» 1^
: once entered iatowyliemltn-IialaDlalMriksawfr-
forwDcd J will tluak aboot it.' From IbM fbv ANiit
IhiaableaadioteiligentmaneultivataliMrtvak^cvlth
the greatest assiduity.
A reputed wit finiling himself seated at Wblc «n 4nV
batweeu Madamq RwoaisitT wid Ifadama de StiH. Mid
in A tone of cooipUcency, u if.b* BNa^t to flaltct Ika«
\)0tti—-Xt ia the firat time n ntj U« that I hMK ^
tliB hoqtiur of being aeatad bftwaen «it,Mst >|in|f '
This p.rutunilijd CQHwliaient w(ii ia.tKt.- ' *— ■
tpigram; for, when closely examiiied, it.p
jlut Iil#4afue Bfcamier wm.,h fntWuL.-
SUi.*l a friglit. The latter .Mttne doubto .
dIsconvarCed the wit by laplyiog ptotap\Xr--* A*A Ii
for tli« fir^ tinio ia my lif% have bad the hiaaaw M
being, called bea^itijjil.' It wu imposaibte t« pflv «
oiDra delicate,. and. at the ta«e time a tnan tetMt
com pUmanf to tlie wit of AUd^oie JUonmies. .
Asli)r,htr domeatiocharaotw, it if tho* Sftolnn «f t^
.utzebiiQ, tbe cauitis German moralittr^'Awtlhft
iceaiaut .^liirl of Faria.abe fnUUi.aU.baf 4Mtia«te IlK
,oat enenipUry manaeri alt* raiir b»eit*4MI**^U
fur wive* i sod wbeu ti>obappiDes«itf Wlnan4*|it«i^
ceiued, ilie dcvot«s Waetf to them with fhdiBMt-Mtt
--'earied aaiiduity- There i* so great BM(itr'h*a«**iaMfc;
in giving money when one is rich, or «nn ia giii^
liberally; buMtiitiie inoibofsiiiDK >hicb.oamtitues
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
217
generotity ; and in this reipect, especially, I hare always
admired Madame R^camier. I shall never forget one
day, when I found her alone with a young girl, who was
d^ and dumb, and who for some time past had been
supported in the country at her expense. She had pro-
cured for her a place in the excellent institution for the
deaf and dumb, and was about to bring her herself to
the Abb6 Sicard. PreTious to her removal to the asylum,
the poor child had been brought to Madame Rccamier*s
house, and dressed in a nice suit of new clothes. She
was at that moment breakfasting on a marble table,
placed before a large mirror, in which she had the plea-
sure of contemplating herself from head to foot in her
new and becoming dress. Was there not a refinement
of goodness in the enjoyment thus afforded to a being
who, having been deprived of two of her senses, only
the more intensely used those which were left to her?
The emotion of the charming benefactress as she
beheld the joy of her proUgie, the tears which glis-
tened in her fine eyes as she kissed her forehead,
the maternal tenderness with which she urged her to
eat what she Uked, and fiUed her pockets with many
little delicacies which had been l^ the inarticulate
thanks of the child, expressed by a sort of cry which
touched my heart->all that has remained, and ever will
renuin, deeply engraven on my memory.'
Mifefortune reached her amid all the ftUness of her
prosperity ; but it could not cast her down, or ruffle the
cataniess of her temper. The immense losses sustained
hjr her husband derived Madame R^amier of her
magoMeent mansion and numerous retinue; but the
crown which had been placed upon her brow by the
united voice of k>ve and respect, lost none of its bril-
Uanev in this hour of trial. She who had heretofore
dstignted in munificence, now devoted herself to deeds of
friendship and kindliness. Madame de StaSl was one
> of the first who at this period received the strongest
pMof of her unselfish' attachment Exiled to Coppet by
die inexefrable' pride of Napoleon, she was dwelling
there ■ in a state of lendineBs and ennui. But let us hear
her apeak tot faenelf t*-— * While I was in this condition,
a letter teaches me from Madame Recamier-^firom that
lovt^ women^ who had received the homage of all Eu*
rope, a&d yet who never has neglected an unfortunate
friend. .... I tremble lest she should suffer the same
&te ma M. ds Montmbrenoy. I sent off a courier to meet
h^-md to intreat that slie might not ceme to Coppet.
. . '« . She woirid not y'lM to my prayer ; . . . and it
was iwith many tears I welcomed the arrival of one
whom' herelofore I hAd received only with joy. She
kit rtie the next day r but tlie fi&tal sentence of exile had
ateewiy gene forth, and she found herself banished from
home and from her friends, and passed many months in
a little eoontry town, condemned to a Hft of scHtude and
monotony. This is what I cost tlie most brilliant per-
son of her day.'
Having been informed of Madame R^camier's inten-
tSoe, IVMehe, the minister of police, warned her not to
carry It into execution. He even told her that it was
vely probaMe she mi|^t not only be exiled, like her
frimd, but seised upon the threshtdd of Madame de
Stall's fesldeec^
* What matters H to the Emperor,' replied this noble
yoeng' woman; *what mattei's It to hi|n, who is ^e
master^ the worid, whe^er I be at Paris or at; Coppet !>
Heiees have often been so weak as to adore my sex :
be would be the ficst who had the weakness to fear it!'
And so she tesolutehr set out, and was, as we have
seen, quickly fdk>wea by a sentence of proscription.
IVyrittne, whldi had recently abandoned her in her
Mtfite lend, cime in quest ii her on a foreign soil
She Who faeirctofore bl^ only been the queeh cl grace
and heftuty, might hav6 won a princelv croWn, if she
wettld iMvfw consented to avail herself of the law of
dlvoree; bat the principle of duty by which her wIk^
lilb had beak guided, sufficed to retam her in her modHt
— ^ A ^ ■ ■ . , — .^.
« Tab Yarn onCxflflu BvMAdmAdftSU^
and untitled position. It is true that on her return to
Paris at the Restoration (in 1814), she found that her
ancient sceptre had lost none of its magic power ; and
although her youth and eariy charms had passed away,
and tl^re was less of animation and brilliancy in her
character, yet her saloon was more crowded than ever
with eminent and remarkable persons. Ambassadors,
princes, heroes, sought for an introduction there as soon
as they had been presented at court, and sometimes
even before.
We might give one or two authentic anecdotes on
this head connected with the mightiest sovereigns of
Europe, but it may be more interesting to EngUshroen
to know that our own * Iron Duke ' was so softened into
gallantry by the gentle influence of Madame R^ca-
mier's society, as to address to her the following note,
at the i)eriod when the Allies were in Paris : —
* Paris, Jamiarp 13.
I confess, madam, that I do not much regret that
business will prevent me calling on you after dinner^
inasmuch as every time I see you I leave you more
penetrated with your charms, and less disposed to give
my attention to politics. I will call on you, however,
to-morrow morning, on my return from the Abbe
Sicard's, and hope to meet you at home, notwithstand-
ing the effect which these oangerous visits produce on
me. Welluwiton.'*
As years rolled on, the cirdes at the Abbaye-anx-
Bois became less numerous, but not less distinguished.
All that was greatest and best among the oM and new
rSgimes of France met together in Madame R^camier's
saloon. There MM. Guizot and Salvandy paid their
respects to M. de Chateaubrilmd ; there the phHosophie
Cousin and the democratic Tocqneville conversed with
the Quixotic cham^on of Rome, M. de Montalembert;
there Mademoiselle Rac^ael received tlie honours due
to her as the greatest' dramatic artist of the day. Kow
and then some w6rk Of dtarity or beneficence would
daim the exercise of Madame R6camier*s influence, and
a musical or literary fdte got up under her auspices
was always so popular, and the tickets of admission
to it were sought for so eageriy, that on the follow,
ing day gold flowed in abundantly to the cheerless
homes of the indigent or the suffering. Another
time it was the debut of a poet or a composer who
submitted his worits to the illustrious tribunal of the
Abbaye. It is now scarcely four or Ave years since
some fragments of an opera, entitled * Cymodoc6e,'
were sung at Madame Rccamier's by Viardot-Crarcia,
Gardoni, &c. ; while the aged Cbdteaubrtand, having
been led in by his faithful valet X/miset, presided at the
entertainment, and applauded by look and gesture this
artistic realisation of his ideal and long-Chetished
heroine.
But the most interesting, if not the mOst briUlant,
soirees it the Abbaye-aux-Bois were those In which tlie
• Menaoires d'Outre-Tombe * (that remarkable piece of
autobiography in which Chateaubriand has noted down
his inmost thoughts, as well* as aU th^ incidents of his
Hfe) were read aloud to k select circle of the most
eminent literary meh and women of the Parisian world.
Among them it suffices us to name Aiigu^tin Thierry,
be who, ih his hours of sMering and blindness, has
itnparted a vivid light to' many a darkened page of
French history, and has iiho traced out the early annals
of our own country.
* The recital 6t these' n6ble misfortunes,' writes one of
the usual listeners on siich occasions, * gave the states-
man food for reflection, made the poet sigh, and drew
many a tear from the ladies who were present. One
seemed to be swiyed, while listening to them, by the
* We are Indebted for this note to M. Laaglais, who. whOe
pleading recently before the civil tribunal at Parte in behalf of the
* Pmwe ' (Kt whose ooIwuBt the editor dedres to publieh the letter*
of Benjamin Constant to Madame R^eamier), read akmd, from an
unpublished vohime of Cbiteaubriand'e Ifemoixe, the duke's note,
aa a ' aneciinan of ItHtfch vttltantrw *
I
last accents of a prophetic Toice, and our deepest emo-
tions were awakened by those confessions of an ex-
piring genius ; while at the same time the gentle coun-
tenance and sweet smile of the lady of the house tran-
sported us to those earlier days of her life when all
hearts were captivated by her grace and beauty. We
seemed to read in the soft and winning look of Madame
B^camier tiie annals of her innocent and charming
coquetry, and in the lofty glance of M. de ChAteau-
briand the secret of that mighty influence which he
had exercised upon the age in which he lived. And
now, at the years when we too often become careless
about the opinions and eigoyments of others, these
remarkable persons, who were united in the closest and
happiest bond of friendship, were not only unceasing in
their endeavours to please each other, but also, by the
amiaUe spirituality of their conversation, shed a charm
around them which rendered their society attractive
even to the youngest and gayest of their acquaintance.'
Many years ago Madame Recamier had lost her
sight, and yet she always kept herself au courant of
what was passing in the literary world of Europe.
Frequently the noblest ladies at court would be found
seated at her feet, and reading aloud to her some popu-
lar work of the day. *I can no longer see, but my
friends see for me,' would she say at such times with
her own inimitable smile.
She had submitted to one unsuccessful operation by
the celebrated oculist M. Bladdln. It was expected
that a second attempt would be more fortunate; but
knowing that it must be attended with some danger,
the friend of Chiteaubriand hesitated about its per-
formance, being unwilling to abridge his days, not
her own : so she resigned herself to the endurance of
prolonged blindness, that she might be able the more
surely to tend his declining days, and to close his eyes
at last No sooner was Chateaubriand dead, than
Madame Becamier placed herself once more in the
hands of the operator. M. Tonnelet of Tours removed
the cataract, and restored to her some rays of light.
Alas 1 it was but to behold the scenes of tumult and
carnage which took place in Paris during the Bevolu-
tlon of February 1848. On the 11th of May, present
year, she expired, after a few hours of intense sulfering,
from an attack of Asiatic cholera. * Ah, my Qod ! this
is a long agony!' were the only words of complaint
that escaped her lips.
Men of all parties gathered around her mortal re-
midns as thev were being borne to their last resting-
place m the church of I^es Petits-Pires in Paris. There
did many a political enemy meet in peace : the Due de
Koailles and M. David (of Angers) ; MM. de Monta-
lembert and de Falloux, with MM. Cousin and Ville-
main; MM. Ampere, de KSratry, de Jussieu, de Lo-
menie. The church was crowded from the portal to
the altar.
Madame Sophie Gay has only been the faithful inter-
preter of this friendly escort, when she wrote ten days
afterwards in the 'Presse:* — 'Now is shut up this last
French saloon, opened under the Directory, continued
in spite of revolutions, misfortunes, and even exile itself I
Now Is silent that voice so sweet and gentle, which has
so often conciliated adverse parties, consoled the afflicted,
and preached indulgence to the prosperous! Now is
closed for ever this asylum, so long open to superior
people of all countries, to the persecuted of all govern-
ments, to the victims of all rivalities, to the heroes of
all nations ! "We may judge, from the utter impossi-
bility there would be of creating a similar edifice to-dav,
of the severe loss which has basn suffered by society in
the death of Madame tlecamier.'
It is somewhat singular that she who all her lifetime
was emmentlv a promoter of peace, has immediately,
after her death, become the object of public disputation.
The civil tribunal of Paris has recently been employed
in hearing the pleading of M. Langlais in behalf of the
*Ft«8se,' in whose columns the editor desii«s to pub-
lish Madame R^camier's correspondence with Beujamln
Constant, which had been oommitfeed to him bj
friend Madame Collet, and to which pnhHcatinn
df her relations are strongly opposed, as they
it a breach of confidence to insert the lettera in
fewUeion of a newspaper. It has not yet been
whether tiiis accomplished lady's letters are to be
joyed in friendly priracy, or whetiier tlwy tkuSl
communicated to Uie world al large. If piibttci^
their fate, they will doubtless iirove a w^deome
to ChAteaubriand's *Mtooires d'Outre Tomlw,'
whose yet unpublished volumes is, we underetaiid,
daily devoted to Madame Recamier.
MEMPHIS AND SAKKABAH.
be
tix
We started one morning from Cairo to Tieit
brated places. I was already familiar witii the gnaad,
but it was quite new to the two friends who aoooa-
panied me. The rendezvous waa for half-pest live ; but
as we had sal up together till after midnight in a sort
of colloquial reverie, no one seriouriy promised to be
punctuaL Besides, where waa the neoeaaity tot hmte
and eagerness? We had ao especial pride m aot beinf
tourists, and in not imitating the laborioos ipdastry of
our countrymen, who are to be seen at certain aiasnna
of the year charging down the narrow ttreeke of Cairo
on donkey-back, in rapid transit from cme tif^t te
another. Tune was befbre us. If we could not reten
that day, we could return the next, or tlie next. Tras^
there were no hotds upon the road, and we miglit have
to burrow in the sand, or creep into a tomb for ahdler i
but having slept out night after night with a atone ftr a
pillow on the summit of desert rangea, thia prospect
was anything but terrific.
A couple of donkeys carried our proriaiona ; three or
four lads formed our suite. We woat by way of Ibra-
him Pacha's grounds, through long ahady avea«%
amidst green phmtations, to that stragglhig but pret^
village that stretches along the banks <tf the Nile, fadef
the island of Bhoda, as far as the Ghiseh Ferry. It is
called Masr el Atikeh, or Old Cairo, and ia sappoaed to
represent the site of ancient Babylon — as the above>
mentioned tourists, by the by. take care occaainnally t»
tell the world. I remember that we here invested two
or three piastres in oranges, and laid In a proTinan for
the whole journey. When we iasued from the viHage —
which perhaps ought rather to be called a anberb or a
borough, and is by no means a coUectian of hnts^ pee*
sessing sue mosques and fine houses, with cottagrt, and
gardens, and kiosques — when we iseued fiictii into the
open country, and began following the banks of ooe
of the branches of the NUe, we became spectators of a
curious scene. A south wind was bbwhig down the
valley, sweeping both the cultivated country and tbe
outlying desert Clouds of sand filled tiie air, so thet
even the Pyramids were sometimes wholl pr conceaird,
sometimes appeared like spectres looming through
charged atmosphere. The ridge of Mokattam, ^'
only a couple of miles at most distant to oar left,
dim and indisthict It seemed as thooi^ that
boundary of desolation that hems in the soil of ^pft ^
had been touched by a magic wand, and waa dSamMag \
into vapour, and rising aloft on eithtf band, first It .'i
canopy, and then to overwhelm, the dtiea and the faHfr»
lets, the palm-groves and the flelda, and to cdioke up 4te !,
beneficent river. The sand-storm waa felt by na wSlli
only mitigated force; but from the parched
of the embankments, flrom the snrfSsoe of the i
from the barren islets of the Nile, dense bat
clouds came sweeping along, and now and then
our ^oats and eyes with dust. When w« cami
place from which we obtained a good view of ttie
of the river, its appearance jneaented a euriaas
The waters, still dull and cold in hue ^eaeatb
morning sun, were crisped with wa^ea ; wliilst heva
there luge banks, or points^ or ialaBde of ~
sand, were coreied, as it were^
OHAMBEBfyS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
219
■moke, that hung heaTily at first to the ground, and
then rose whirling aloft into the air.
We were, I bdieve^ a couple of hours in reaching
Toura, where there is a feriry. A great concourse A
people were crowded on tiie bank, some having already
trsTsrsed, others waiting to go orer. A post of soldiers
dose at hand seemed establiihed for police purposes,
and a tent erected on the other side we knew to be
what we may call the passport office. Poor Egyptians I
they cannot go from one Tillage to another without
goTemment permission. Paternal goremment ! It de-
sires to incucate so deeply the duty of loring one's
natal spot, that it punishes sometimes with death the
agriculturist who quits it, and the citizen who harbours
him,
A scene of fierce wrang^g took place between our
lads and some ferrymen, at least it had the outward
appearance of fierceness ; but this b always the preli-
minarr of a bargain. Meanwhile we sat down and
waited until matters arranged themsdyes. It is the
best method. OiTe finee play to the ecoeotricities of the
people among whom you sojourn or wander; you only
waste time by bringing your own eccentricities in con*
taot with theirs. I do not wonder that Pythafforas
profited so much by his traveli. He understood the
tklessings of silence. Some trarellers think themselves
bound to bully ' the natives* wherever they go, after
quitting their own shores. How they manage some-
times not to leave their dujecia menira on a foreign
land I don't know ; but this I do know, that there is
no more disagreeable concert than half-a-dozen storm-
ing Englishinen and a score of blaspheming Arabs.
Our five donkeys were at lengtti put on board one
boat, and we embarked in another. A couple of
strokes of the oar disentangled us from the little fieet
that lay along shore laden with cotton bags, or bur-
r6m, or camcds, or asses, or men, or women ; and the
tall three -oomered sail was loosened to the breeze.
It is a rare thing to cross the Nile on a windy day
withmit some accident to the tackle, which brings on
a frightful diorus of veils fh>m the crew, a rush of
two or three half^nakea fellows along the gunwale, and
tile ahippiog of some pailfuls of water. Our passage
this time was perfectly tranquil, and we had leisure to
peruse the aspect of the broad reach on the surface of
which we found ourselves. There was little material
for descriptian : the river was sparkling, and broke in
busy billows around us j the sky, by this time nearly
dear of dust, looked bright and serene ; over the bare
levd bank we were quitting rose by degreel a prospect
of the great precipices that border the entrance of the
Valley of the Wanderings, and stretch southward to the
vast cave-quarries of Massara, and northward to Cairo
— 4he dtadd of which, with the stupendous minarets of
its new mosque, could now be distinguished but faintly,
like every other distant olject, on account of the heavy
dun cloud of sand that was still travelling slowly along.
In front, the view was bounded by an interminable
palm- wood ; but a little way up the river, in our rear,
we could see the white walls of some Turkish villas
gleaming along the bank firom beneath the massive
foliage of a sycamore grove.
We landed near the tent I have mentioned, but were
scarody noticed bv the officials to whom It belonged.
Our diaracter as Europeans protected on this occasion
both oursdves and our boys from the inquisition that is
unially exercised. We could see the other passengers
bringing forward greasy-looking pieces of paper ycleped
ieskereht, by authority of whidi they were allowed to
go and dispose of a basket of maize-heads or radishes
at the market
Traversing a stretch of tand left bare bv the de-
dlning waters, and wading through a small swamp,
we reached the bank and the palm-groves. Our way
lay southward along a windmg embankment, ndsed
about ten feet above the low fields. These embank-
mento serve both to regulate the irrigation and as
wad*. The whde of this part of the country is inter-
sected with them, and it is impossible to proceed in any
direction without their aid. They sometimes run along
the sides of canals, sometimes extend like great earthen
walls in a serpentine line across the open fields, some-
times traverse the palm -groves. Sluice-gates and
bridges here and there occur. I remember passing on
a former occasion along this same road, and finding a
large gang of fellah^^Bome five or six hundred—em-
ployed in renovating an old embankment The popula-
tion of several villages had been turned out for tne pur-
pose. It was a case of forced labour, and consequently
was lazily and carelessly done. Men, boys, and some
women, worked listlessly with mattock and basket
under the eyes of their taskmasters — Arabs like them-
selves, but executing the orders of the government —
armed with swords as ensigns of authority, and whips
as encouragements to, industry. I noticed that though
they might have served a double puroose of utility bv
taking the earth from the bottom of a shallow canal,
left d^ by the receding waters, they actually preferred
digging deep useless boles here and there in a field
covered with young com I
Though the wind had in a great measure subsided,
we were often troubled with whirling gusti laden with
sand ; and when the country was open, could see nu-
merous little clouds ci^ried swiftly along the surface
of the embankments. In the distance, the dismal desert
and the pyramids of Abusir, that ocoasfonally showed
themselves to the right, were still partikfiy concealed
with a haze. Presently, however, we phtnged amidst
a vast palm- grove, and had no prospect but of blue
patches of sky, green patches of sward, and negular
rows of column -like trunks, topped with flapping
plume-like branches. We baited to lunch a little after
noon, and spent some time taking our ease oti the grass.
Then remouotingt we continued, untH a reedy pond,
covered with wild -ducks, a stone bridge, antf some
sluice-gates, warned me that we were approaching the
site of Memphis (now Mitraheny). Vast mounds rose
on all hands among the palm-trees, evidently the re-
mains of a continuous wall boflt 6f tinbumt bricks.
The bricks were of a very large size, seeming about
eighteen inches long by seven or dght deep. I believe
no discoveries of importance have been made among
these mounds.
Presently a little lake presented Itself to our tiew,
shining at the bottom of a gentle ^ope of sward, which
was covered ere it sank into the water by huge blocks
of stone, the remains of some andent building. In
some places the groves approach dose to the margin ; in
others there were left clear open spaces of green. Tlie
sun was bright, the sky was pure ; a series of bw undu-
lations, with their outlines for the most part concealed by
trees, formed the horizon. The mind seenved purposely
confined, and Indted to admire the tranquil l^uties of
this spot — ^fit scene for an Egyptian pastoral ; and tio
one of the party cared to suppress an exdamatioti of
pleasure. It Is curious, however, what a change there
was in our filings — how much more tranquil and
matter- of- fiict became our enjoyment — when we re-
membered that this was bat the lake of a season, a
mere remnant of the annual deluge vouchsafed to
Egypt, lingering in a hollow acddentafly scooped out.
There were here no mysterioua depths Into which the
imagination might dive. We could not even feign to
believe that that shining sur&ce concealed any of the
secrets of the past. As it was the last summer, so was
it destined to become the next — a ptirched expanse of
dust and stubble.
We penetrated through a grove, fend skirting the
lake, soon came to an expanse of beautlAilly- green
sward — ^the like of which I never saw in Egypt — ^from
which rose a thinly-planted grove of palms. A large
hollow near Its commencement contains the colossal sta-
tue, called that of Sesostris, which we had come to see.
It lay on its face, its pensive brow buried In mud, and
part of the features concealed by some still lingering
water. We could, however, see the beatttlftilly-diisdled
MBMakMiAi
^IM
•«ki*M*iaM^^^^I0i*a
220
CaiAMBEAS«8 imWBXJBGBL JOURNAL^
mouth, wUh ifai Iwve and final/^QOi^mpesfed lips; and
I oould not help thinlpng to vihaX. manner of word*
those JUpt, a onoe loosened* wopld give utterance. I
climbed upon Iho back of. Ibis aaigbt7^g]aat, and meao
anred him 1^ stepping from h'w b^ad to the place where
the legs are bvf^ea ofi^ I think I rexneniber counting
fourteen paces. The outline of a boy is to be seen bj
the std9 of the grea^ Mgrn^ Vamus, hieroj^jmhic
inscriptions adtotn* ilii bui, X suspect, remain silent*
in spite of the efiuirts of th<e learned to make them
apeoL
An Arab has conatituJted himself the guardian, of the
statoe» and koosring tihe interest felt i^ it hy Europeanf,
pdToteets it from injarjn $om^^f the tquriusta have occa*
sionaUy bestowed a amaU g^tifioation upon him to
enoovrageilum^ so t^haf, unlesa the g(^verAn^nt take it
into their headff to b^m the atatne for lin^e, it will pro-
bably last « considerahW tinrn^ UDinjuied. The Arabs
cali it Aint4'JU99^ and aay it is a^ipant king, turned by
lOodi' * iaanoient days and season? pa»tt' inie stqne for
Mottm gnat cHoku They ilook upon it es quite natural
in a frank to* pay pilgrimages to such 9^99 ; ibr we are
ImivetseUy oensidered aa oesng pa rtplerahly intimate
tortus with, the £i^ Ooe« and therefore, likely te M an
intcteatiw the fate of a petrified sinnerl , . .
. My eompaiuona on i tUis my second visit to, iMeiifiphis
*witt5e li-'nr-t and Art^r^r with t|w fonneiv of whom I had
iatdiy'made an arckious^and perilpiw journey-; tlie latter
wti^ flacnpaimtiirally new iatheilast* and aery^ admir-
-ably Itt keep alire our somewhat blunted powers of oh-
•enniliiMi,.by hta keen remarks and almost uneasy . eu-
vifisity^{ he was a oapitallellerw^traTeUertanid I remexn^
kor oHoe walking througk a street ie Alezapdria ,with
which I was perfectly acquainted, and having my atten-
tioor 4aahvn ! iff ihiln to HMy different peinta of cunosity.
Jn**-^ obsenred fewec things ; but I tseldom knew kim
«ome«wiay fieom-aao^ plUeq without being able, after isil
the nrt «f ius< had had -owr >«(^« >U^ add some, fact whiph
.keionly had ooticed«,and SDine.e:ici4anaition o^suggea-
.tiBii'tkat me ithoug^ wft might hare j mode gurfeiveii,
but ^i^ich^ neirenthelesi, wei h94 ipM)t made* ^
iShall-HbrgetrtemeetioD myi blackguard 4QQkey'»lH^
and squire ? Ah ! never waa^ theie s}M)h . an abomiliable
^hiiiiii^l<K>king wmtaL l«aaeiU)e a thin* nagged, quarter
ailly, I tbree^uartera (mnoingi ngly« baboqnifdi ^^^ng
fellmr,„w(ith long 4>an» lega Thiq you nMQr 4o j but. y^
will meveejbe able te imagine thejV nssooi^ $iioi» the
expNBsioovthe!cbeeRfulneB0,MihicU mademe make quite
a ikvourJAei' diuring tlwee mootluiv of thja. oaricature.
Ue waa^nqar/ twenty years of age» but. looked: at ^at
m«bh jaungen ..They aay be was. addicted to smoking
AMMAMA^.twhioh/^acooiintefll forihos^ wretoked, miserable
appearanee* AU. his eaminga.weo4 either Jn thiaway
etf in treating his imends, aad heneirer Itad a partk an
his possession. On our expeditiona he ^aa alwiaya ten
timea'move useful' than bis r^pectalie4eoking compa-
nions^ UDderstanding the wa^ra and wants of infideks
with numrelloua alacrity; but ho.^aanot nmch liked
by anybody but mysaU; for be waa a.aadly impudent
dog, and pnahed ius audaciity ao. far as to bestow and
fix ivrwooably upon me,.>ltis patron* the myatertotts
nickname «tf * Una 1' What Uo&b mtaal, neither he nor
anybody elaeconhl deflniiely explain. JL^erhapa the
learned may be more suoceasfuK *
Having aatisfled enr euidQsitQr at the site of Mem-
C* > we poshed across the IWlds to the village of Sak-
ah^ Barliet ia the aeason, when tne waters were
eatj it was neeeuary io tsace back the road to the atone
bridge and sluice-gates I have before mentioned, and
fbllew an. immense etabankroentfof niles round, amidst
Ukqs, andawamps* and pondi nestUagin the gn>ves» or
dotting the rkb, moist graea fi^da. . Our principal
aaxSety now waa to find a plaoe to.eetabli^ our head-
qaatteee at whilat we explomd the envitOM* The«gh
ptepared to lie ovl in the desert if neoessary, we of
eonrse preferred tlia. shelter of a root On a former
occasion wc had got the key of thehonse «^ ft dealer in
antiqnitoa named Jfemaades, and expectedC even with*
oi4 the key, to be admitted for a conuderation into m
portion of it by the ancient Arab in charge.
The village of Sakkarah is situated on the confines of
the,cv4tivated land and the desert, amidst a amaU palm-
^ove,.ill-prQtected from the sands by some waDa ndiied
m many places. A y&ry considerable drift had lately
taken pl^ce, and it.had rolled in several plaoea over these
Utile deiences, as X have seen it rdl over the fortifica-
tions of Hosetta. The village is built on m dieter of
moipds sufficiently lofty to save it from being immersed
during the inundation : for the land around ia very low,
much lower than near tiie river itself, and remains marshy
and intersected with water-streaka until late in the sea-
son^ An artist who knows how to choose bla point cf
view might make a good picture of thia irregular jnle
of iiuman dwelling? and pjgeon-honaea. intezaected by
sundry steep lanes, and surronnded wiUi^eaps of rub-
bish and broken pieces of potteiy. A palm-tree here
and there grew up» and drooped Uta penaile brandies
2ver the terraced, rpof of some ambitiona abode; ibr in
bis placet, nnlike mo^ ;^gyptian. vilUgea, tkcre wefe
evident marks of a gradation of ranks exhibited in the
|i^ a,nd| .appearapce of ^ the heutea, Tliia unusoal pros-
perity ;s , attributi^ t^,im yitlta. oilinxopnm and
the trade in antijiinitl^
We,:went straight to the ll0^ae,of Pemandez, bat
foua^ it occupied by a JyeTantioej coine out for the sake
of his health from Cairo. Knowing notlnns of tfaAa* we
penetrat^.in triunrah. into the jte»»,l^i^ng and
talking, calnng cut lu^ old Hohanuned* and pcepanng
to install oursSves. A confused bnzx of voices from aS
aides, both threateping. and expostidatory^ ought; it h
true, to have Sittracted our attention ft.first; bnt we
were so deUghted to teach what we called omhead-
Ituartcri^ ^h^ tji^ truaata^-ot t)ie case was not
stpod «nt^l tli^ qeipr tenant, dressed in European c
tume, made lua a^ppearance^ and. looked at naina
balf*fr;gUtqned, hslt-angty manner. , ^e then madie oar
apologieiuand lieat.aretijeat
•pecideoly, A-*-r-,' #a^ I, wben wc got into the
street kg^m, * we shall have to sileep among tbe tombs/
, A-^rr.^f^ pcirf^tj^^readv to anbmit with a good
pace, to wnat was, inevitable, out obaeryiqg a good maay
hQuses on every side, id^di not aee that we bad Mtbenp
any cause lor. despair, it-"— wa^ of o^Mnitai that a
pave nydght be more com^rtable than nnyiint wej^ow
expect ,to hfve abandoned to ns. AJt aoyrate we ^
termined to apply to the Sheik el Betedi^ jum! aaked ^
be tekef^ te his d^van^ We found hiim boHy and bs^ in
his white turban^ aitting on a mat on the daatjy entrance
of a great tbuilmng furnished wi^U « sMcioos coorl
With hMu were two pffioera of the pac»A*a irr^olar
cavalry, resipeotable Avnaouts, in fact* V the two worda
can be placed in. juxtaposition. I Approached, sainted,
sat down, and stated our case* believing that * to bear ia
to obey ' would iiave been about the equivalent of the
answer. . My :applU!atip(v however* threw the vortlnr
sheik into.pn astonishiw atate of perplexity. Bt
looked at .me^ then ajt eaoh of my companiona, who kf
this time were al^f^ sitting on the groond, then, attlts
Araaoutsi and tl^en pulled, hi^ beard. Aiber moQli kaii-
tation^ the truth came out.. . To harbouring oa tkne
Franks no (Section oould be made. > We bdnnged t» a
privileged dasi^ and were liable to ne interHsrepeft. Sit
ao with our attendanti« They had nc^ paaaperta antSbfr-
rising them to be out at Sakkarah, and lonong tlN»»
therefore, might be some runaway from another vfli^BS.
They nust be ofi! before nightfaU, either on their pt^
back to Cairo, or into the desert, in whaterer directe,
in fact^ they chose ; but to ^top ther% on bq aceoptf
could they be allowed*
Toexclain this luinoviaiEciscunatance.XnuMtiBAHi
the reader that at all tiniee, under the pateraaL gragj^
Mohamnaed Aii, the greateet possible impedi^Mil v^
thrown in the way ,of the movementa joi tbe popnlaito;
but at this particiilar juncture 4^ rednableoient of !»
lance and vexatioua interference had taken place, tm
principle acted, npon waa in. ocdinaqr peaaona to '
1
I
I
!l
CHAMBEBS»S EDINBOlJOH JODKNAL.
221
onany men as possible engaged in agriciiltnral Itibonr,
and at the same time to pay them so little, or Oppress
them so heavily with taxes, as to give them a eoiMtant
tendency to talce refuge in the towns, or emigrate alto^
aether from the country. Egypt hfts for many years
fcnffered firom a deficiency of nefd labour, produced by
the immense number of men taken Viyraf fot the armj^
and for public works, and by the rapid dimlmition of
the people by famine and pestilence, brought abotkt, or
aggravated, by misgoTermnent. In any other country
the supply wotild follow the demand ; atid Vherd there
was want of men, men w6uld go. But no Indn^em^nt
is held out bene. The pric^'of labour is unVaryhig;
the taxes are exacted with Iron infiexibilfty, so much
from a village, even if the population be decreased.
Who win be tempted by the prospect of l>eins' able to
exist for a fbw^ years on tlie meanest possible diet, undef
perpetual fedr of the stick, $M, with tlie knowledge that
every man is responsible fc/t th^ dtebts of th6 Cotnttiu-
nity to gorei^raent? If I c«n*t pay, my uilighbotir
must. This is the system.' It !s no wondter, therefore,
that main force is necessary to keep the fellahs attached
to the soil. As it is, the cities Are Ml of runaways,
whom the potted is constantly employed in tikkinff up,
and sending back chained and shackled to their vilmges.
I have sei^ them in strings of iffy ikt k time thriist on
board a larg^ tptit, and deafp&tdhed ii^ th6 ritet xMtfr
good'guard. ' '
The increase of Virilart^e at the' partWuIar tlm^ df
our vlnt arose partly from the taking of the census, and
partly from the absetice 6t the pacha during the illness
which ended in the loss of his reason. It was ftared
that an insurrection might take place if the repdrt got
abroad of his death, ahd it is certain that something df
the kind was probable. At linyrate the woii^y Bhdk
el Beled, aftor allowing tis to guess at, rathei* tnan tx-
pressing, his reasohs; positit«ly &t ifcrst teftrsed to St1|cw
our fbllbwers to'remahi in his yHhige: The itx>ti!hy
Arnaputs took our part, nepreseirted the fti^ow. tLitd
inde^ impunity, whiiili Frank? enjoyed; and declared
that our presence would explain everything, and pro-
tect everybody. Thd sheik, who had the prospect of
a bastinado before his eyes, or at anyrkte who Wanted
to heigfhten the Value of his concession, held out for a
long time, and explained very forcibly fiis position.
Among other things, he told us that bodies of horse
frequently rode up to a vfBageat ttfght, made a cordon
round it, kept guard until morning, ttirn^d out the
people, counted them, and if a single tmatithotiSed
stranger was found, seiajed th6 shdkv ^^^ "despatched
him to Cairo. ' A tremendotis b^iitin^, and two pt three
years In the galley, wa* often the punisHment' o^ this
oflbnce. The sheik had himseK once iiorked ih Irdns,
he told us, for such a peccadillo, and appealed to the
Amaout officers to confirm his statements. They did
so, but adhered to the opinioti that he ought to harbour
us Franks ; and added, that if we were tu»ed out into
the desert, and came to harm among tbe Bedouins, the
sheinc would oettahoHy suffer for his inhospitality.
This consideratfon, and the prospect of a go6d back'
shish^ at length decided matters in eur favour ; and the
sheik, when once his mind was made ui^; giEiv^ energetic
orders to prepare for tts the best i^oem In his own house,
whi<^ seems to have been cleared out purposely. I
must not forget to notice that during this iivterview we
were treated with coffee, whilst we supplied pipes and
tobacco.
We were taken to a large pile of buildings thai looked
something like a European farm, though it was built of
palm-branches and mud. The court was surrounded with
stables and outhouses, over one set o€ whidi wire two
spacious rooms wHh mud floers-^the imier one l^ished
with windows and shutters, the outer one entirely open
to the east. We chose the hitter, as more airy and con-
venient, and soon established ourselves In one comer,
where some cushions and carpets wer6 seon provided
for us, and a comfortable tiemporary divan prepared.
Our firflt tHktm wiu fkv oaII ftw wji«pp. ttmi wnjih IiIia dtmt
off our hands and fko^s — a luxurious preparation for
dinner, wh9<*h fn sbme of oor travels we had not been
able t^* ihdnlge^ in. Then AH spread tbe doth, and
began' to display,' one after the other, a #36 roast goose,
some fowist a legbf mutton, a piece «f a-ham^ kc^ with
bread and chees^, atid oranges, and 'several bottles of
ale! '
Just at the setibus business df dfainet or supper was
commencing, a stdat native geritletuMv wearing the
pacha's tttifform arri^^d, and'estatdifebedbintaelf in the
inner apartment, which, though we had disdained it,
was in reidfty the most hononrkUe. ^Vfe iMld little
attention to him, though teld ' hb wtut a medical in*-
Bpector, and ^roc^eded with our meal, 'Which weMMa^
soned, if no« with «ttlc, at least with ^pfUh seUti
Emng was scarcely over, and 'Wd were rsUhiing' in a
stiite of repl^ioii iipori ^r divan, la^Hf smokiiig' our
p^, through this "Smokifr of which the laat subsiding
flashes ^ eui^Wit CliAHy JB[lMm^»'' wiieti a giktheriiig
and in commotfiMi in' the 'courtyard hekuwamiCufaaad
thsf^sdme^evetitVai iibmtt tdtake pNiea Frssentfya
nnmbierof Arab heads' begatf to peer «p thnmcpv the
square hole in the floor by which waa the iMeeat/and
at last twamr thr^hida emerged andsatiiearil -^^ey
looked curiously at tn^ and now and* then whtoptted^
btit it Was dvldent^ th«t we were a' kind i4yhon tTtfihre,
atid that whit; wae gbing to take i^abei had bo ofc'igiari
re^n^ndd te iM. At leagtht just ai< we'haiiUghitiedi a
dandle, 'a' Idng file of deoent-Asoklog Arabsj^ hesded by
ilie sh^k^ asoeudddl, erossei o«r room,' aalQied us
gmtely; and divbd into tlie inner apartaient, adi^re iwe
soon heard all! the- founds iedtoative of an' inteririew
belrween two rery great men^^namdy, the inspeotoir
and thesheik.* '' '• '•'•', -'■'' ''• ' *-
W6 how felt' that^ a gteat duty had def«lved u^ ua
^Mlhati namely, of -seeing at least fa d^aitataon te^pa^
our r^peets b^otir-hosf. I w^ <dnBCii>u theanbae-
sadbr r aikl soon the sheikh the doctor, and; I,iw«eT di^
^\A^imf 'fiugeM tiiithedlsh, kvaping uy battsdf' risd,
and pickiffg (Mtbits of-meat Wooden epotoai wne,
it is true, protlded foe the rice .aiid the gftavy. Twelnm
Or'thirtc«if Arsfhs" s«t in lines round) the; walls ledking
on whilst the greet people ate.i > ■ '^^ • i. '
' "Whtfi wie'had washed' eeiii roboths eiiNlfln^en) ike
doctor jmt his hand iato Mspoeltet, ahdrprodaodd^me
small bueambers' and vegetibld-marrQns,'and''g8fve<«s
them as dessert. The* capadty of his ^oAt^ amused
uev for he threw ohe to every mi«i in theiroomf aawdl
as to a crowd df boys ^at oceoplfedthedDorwayi This
proceeding gave rise to a good maiiy native jokea; aAar
wliieK we ware calesbised by theshdlk overiaor pipes.
He was in twseoh of iofor«»atiBn,.andaskediUs/numeMii8
auestidns about Eagiand, espociaily if it wasi true that
lera waea mad^made asidct a oifver as largai ae the
Nile: he had heardrofche Thames Tunnel I- -
Before we went to sleep* thsA aiifht^ we weie besieged
by an Immense nnmbev of people, offerieg f or sale
memaiied cata and ibiSes^ and little statues in day, aad
wdbd, and metal r with: scaralMet^ seids^ ring»i keys,
coins, Bie, • In tlie tombs A**^«*- made.-sopie ouiioos
aequiSitionsi among' other things a huge- oal^ /which be
carried about taring the rest of omr excersion in his
attns, iae if, «aid tbe Arabs, H had beeo hia daughter I
Next morning we began our esploffations :of .this
cerlouS nelglibourboodt e AiU aooount of whkh would
ibr exceed my pMsent limits; We -visited' the tomb ^f
Fsammitiohusv the -pyramids of Dashonr^and the ibis
mummy ^ts*-«all placet of exoeediog interest* For my
own part, however, scareeiy anything I saw in ell this
part of Egypt streck me move than <lhe interior of the
pyramid of Sakkarah. This structure has a Very peott-
liar form } and as it rises on its vast pedeatU of rocky
desert, seems totally distinct in charaoterlrom aU tbe
other pyramids that break the horieoa to the aortb and
south. It has five steps only -^^ five vast steps, that
together rise to the height of nearly SOOs feet It looks
like a citadel with a ^uiotapla wall^flve towers of
222
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
II
At the north-wett corner it is possible to ascend to the
summit, which I did on two snccessire occasions. But
it was, as I have said, the interior that most interested
me. Few travellers take the trouble to penetrate; and
the operation is so difficult, that even the sheik of tiie
place did cTerything he eoold to dissuade us from the
attempt, even asserting that the well and passages
were choked up. We determined, howeveiv to try, imd
were amply rewsrded*
The entrance is at the bottom of a great hole or well,
about thirty or forty paces ftom the northern front
We climbed down one by one, in danger erery moment
of being overwhelmed with sand and rubbish. An Arab
preceded U8» and was of great assistance to me on the
first occasion. Arrived at tbe bottom, I had to stand
with my face from the pyramid, and gimduaUy kneeling
down, toh woik myself backward into a small hole not
a foot in iseight A few large stoots, which I had
loosened in my descent, tmnbled down irhilst I was in
the set, but I luckily escaped from contusions, and was
quit with having my mouth and eyes filled with dust
When I was oompletety in, the Arab took me by the
ankles, and I ftit myself slowlv dragged along a low
passage for some distance. At iength I passed under a
block of stone — the lintel of the doorway— and found
space to sit up : I was left alone to my meditationa for
som« minutes, whilst the man. who had pwUed me in
crawled slowly back to fetch the neact comer; It was a
curioMs posttioci to find one's self in-*Hm the threshold,
as it were, of an' underground palace, with tmknown
halls, and passages, and wells close at hand ; so that If
I ventured to move, I might be dashed to pieces at
once, or be sought for in rain by my affrighted com-
panions. Another idea struck me likewise: I had
noticed the beam or block of stone under which I had
passed, but was not aware how solidly it was placed.
Supposing.it were to give way, and sink like a port-
cuUis across the passage^ what labour would not be
required to remove i^ and open again for me the way
to Ught and Ufo I
I was not bowevei; allowed feng time to indulge in
these thoughts on either of tiw oecasions on which I
entered the pyramid of Sakkarah. I was soon rejoined,
arid lights having been procured, we commenced de-
scending, taper in hand, preceded and foUoived by
mysterious flitting shadows, along a series of steep
winding passages cut in the rock. Other passages
branched off here and there, either ascending or descend-
ing ; but we foUowed that which seemed to lead farthest
down into the bowels of the earth. At length we issued
into an epea spaoe, evidently a vast apartment} hut
four or five ta^Mrs were ^ite insuffideni ai first to give
us the slightest idea «f its dinettsioos. Even when at
length we clearly saw the four walls, and could make
otit at various distances overhead the gloomy motothi of
passages or retreating alooves, we found it impossible
to distinguish the roof. We seemed at the bottom of a
huge steeple-tower thrust down by magic into the earUi.
At length some old fragments of beams and other com-
bustible matter presented itself, and we lighted a fire.
ITie bright red flame, leaping up, sent strong waves of
light alofl' along the walls, and presently we saw, or
thought w« caw, l^e summit. of- this ray sterioos apart-
ment *whlch is no other than the base of the pyramid;
for it is all excavated below the surface of the desert to
the depth of a hundred feet
In the centre of the floor a vast column of granite
stops up a wen, serving the same purpose as the stopper
of a bottle. It was once raised, and a sanctuary with a
sarcophsgua found beneaUi. We tried to find some
access to this place by descending again down, down into
the earth by means of all sorts of passages, some squared,
and exhibiting traces of having been ftuied with ala-
baster, and adorned with paintings. Otrrprogr^ss along
these was diffictilt as they were nearty fiued with huge
loose stones ; but we could come to no end in any direc-
tion, and returned at length breathless to the great
apartment The fire was still casting a flickering flame.
but darkness had again gathered overhead, and we
could see nothing but uncertain shadows. Afta wsnder-
ing about for aome time longer among the intenniiiaUe
labyrinth of passages that met; receded, brancbed oS,
and seemed to lead to nothing, we returned bswUdend
and breathless, but fioll of a sense of myvtenofos awe
and a vague sentiment of the sublime, that iDcreaaed in
intensity as mem<^ began to exert its opentkoa to-
wards the entrance. The getting out was much more
difficult than the getting in ; and as we emerged, stagger-
ing and bathed in perspiration, from those diamal cfaaui-
bers, and were hauled, half fainting, up the well into the
glorious sunshine of Bgypt we must have looked, aawt
certainly felt, as if ve bad returned Drom the iafianal
regions,
A BRITISH MEHCHANT OF THE LAST
GENERATION.
[This place Is taken from, the * Mining ChnmSola * of Ji
1809, and we trust will be reprinted, from time to thne^ for
turiet to oome.}
Thk Ut« David BanOay, who died the 9Hh nit la hto
eigfatnr-Aast y«sr, at Walthanaisw, waa the amiftmniwiug
modmn of Rebcrt Barelay «f Urie, anliiar af iha e^»-
bmted * Apology for the Quaken.* He was brad to bu^
ness in the oiiy of London, and waak>ng *t ibe head of %
most extensive house in ChMpsida, oh£efly sswaged In the
American trade, and the afbirs of whieh he dosed at tfas
oommenoement of the Eerolatica. Ha waa at that Utat
S0 mnch distinguished by his talents, knowledge, faite^riiy,
and power as a merchant, as he hs« ever auuM!, in sethe-
ment, by his patriotism, philanthropy, and nmaifiaeneeL We
eannot form to oareelv«e, even in imagjnatiaii, tha idea af a
oharsctet mor^ perfect thsn that of Imvid Baielay.
by nature with » most noUe fonn, aU the qnaliti— «f
mind and heart eonespanded with the giandsar of his
terior ; the superiority of his undnrstanding oonfimad the
impression which the dignity of his demeanour made oa
all ; and though, bv the tenets of his religioaa foith, be
abstained fiom all the honours ef public trusty to whs^ be
was frequently invited by lus fellow-citizens, yet his infiu-
enoe was Jcntfy great on all the public questions of the day.
His examination at the bar of the Hoose of Comnroin, hm
his advice on the subject of the American diapntr,
clear, so intelligent, and ao wise, that, thon^ not I
Lord North pablioly acknowledged he had derifad
information from him than from all othcn esi the asai of
Temple-Bar. It was the American Revolntion that daSei
min^ him to wind up his extensive oonoama^ and to setiss^
but not as busy men general^ retire— to the indn^^noe of
mere personal luxury. His benevolent heaxi oosttanad
active in his retreat ; he distributed hb ample fortune im
the most sublime ways: instead of niaking all tbsae per-
sons whom he loved dq;»endent on hia futare bomitj, mm
expectants at Us death! he became himself the
of liis own will, and by the most magnificent aid to aU
relatives, he not on]](^ laid the foundation, hot llrcd to
the maturity, of all those establishmenta m\jidk now
Buoh importance to his family. Nor waa it meta^y to
relations that this seasonable friendship waa given, hot
the young men whom ha had bred in hia meceantila
and of whose virtuous dispositions he a^pcovod.
the most eminent merchanta in tha city of I
proud to acknowledge the gratitude they owa to
Barclay for the means of their first introduction Into Mii^
and for the benefits of his counsel and oountcnanco ia
their early stages of it It is a proof of the aagaeiij of hm
patronage, that he had very few oooasiona to xopent o# te
protection he had conferred ; and the unintezmpted *
ness he enjoyed for many years in the midst of the
rous connections he had reared, hold out a Uvely ex
and a lesson to others, of the value of a jnat and
directed bcoefloenoe.
His virtue waa not limited to his relatives, to hia
to his sect, to hia oountcy, or to the c<dour oC hia
He was a man of the wannest affectaoaa, and t
loved hia family and friends; he was a patriot, and
fore preferred his own countzy to all others; bnt h«
Christian, and felt for the human raoe. ^o i
was ever more active than David Barclay
whatever migkt meliorate the condition of
endowed byPtoridence with the means, he Mt it to bo
ta
m
GHAlfBEBS*S SDINBUBGH JOUBNAIk
nt
daty to Mt great ezamplet ^ and when an aigument wai
set up againtt the emancipation of the n^;roet from
tlaTery, ' that they were too ignorant, and too barbaroos
for freedom,* he reeolTed, at ma own ezpenee, to demon-
strate the CUlaoy of the impatation. Baring had an
estate in Jamaica frdl to him, he determined, iX the ex-
pense of L.10,000, to emancipate the whole gug (aa thegr
are termed) of slaves. He did thii with hia nsoal pinidenoe
as well aa Mnerosity: he tent out an agent to Janwoai and
made him nire a vessel, in which they were all transported
to America, where the little oommonity was establianed in
Ysiioos hMidicraft trades. The membors of it prospered
under the blessing of his care, and lived to show that the
bUck akin endoMd hearts aa fall of gratitude, and minds
as datable at improvement, aa that of the prondest white.
Sooh was the conduct of this Engtiah merchant I Daring
an this course of weU-doing his own manners were simple,
his hospitality large, and his charities unhrersaL He
founded a House of Industry near his own residence, on
§a6h solid principles, that though it cost him L.1500 for
several years, he succeeded in his ofcjject of making it a
source of comfort, and even of independence, to all the
well-disposed fitmilies of the poor around. We could fill a
column with the recital of individual acts of his benevo-
lence, which, though indiscriminate, were never degraded
hj the naiTOwness of religious distinction.
Mr David Barolay was ■uurried twice. He had but one
daughter by his first marriage, who was married to Richard
Guney, Esq. of Norwich. She was a most beautifol and
benevolent woman, everyway worthy of sadi a fritfaer.
She died some vears ago, mving issue Hudson Ghimey,
Esq., smd the wife of Sampson Hanbwy, Esq.
We have thongfat it right to give this short ifcetoh of a
most honourable citisen, though he was himself no friend
to poethumous blaaoary; and we learn that the simple
notice of his death, first inserted in the * Momhig Chronicle,*
was directed, if not actuallv dictated, by hhnself before his
departure. Nothing conkt surpass the tranquWIty of his
last moments: he was eompoeed, cheerful, and resigned:
he had not to strqggle with life; he rather ceased to live,
than felt the pang^ death.
ANECDOTE OP OIBCUlfSTANTIAL KVTDESCE,
[The foUowinf aaeodoCe from Majer Forbss's * BIwran Ysars ia
Ceyloo ' has besa amt to as by a oorrespondent, ss iUtutraUva of a
sai)Mt treated io some rtosnt Numbsrs of the Joonisl, la the
psyen sntltled * SxpwleBoss of a Barxialer.']
When wHhin two miles of Nyakoombura, hurrying on to
avoid nightfrJI, and find shelter ftt>m a threatening storm
of Rghtning and rain, we came suddenly on a ponv, which
had been sent on some hours in advance, standing over
the lifeless body of my old horse-keeper, whien lay
stretched at fhll length on the back, aiMl swimming in
blood.
The tempest commenced, and darkness closed on us as
we were examining the locality of the catastrophe. "We
eompeUed the unfiling attendants to convey the body to
the rest-house ; and there, after minutely exandning the
ghastlv corpse, we caused it to be interred. There was a
mortal wound— a stab— entering above and inside the left
eoflar-bcne, and passing (as we found by probing with a
small oaoe) right down through the heart The deceased
was a Tery short man ; and from the nature and position
of the wound, my two friends and myself, In the absence
of an information, formed an opinion that he had been
wilfiny murdered by means of a long and very shorn
instrument. The mouth of the pony nad been rubbea
with blood, and also its foot, and then pressed down upon
the white jaeket worn bv the deceased, fbr the purpose of
making it appear that the horse had oltten or kicked the
unfortunate man. These circumstances, as well as the
direetkm of the wound, showed design, not accident; and I
waa wen aware that the pony was much attachedf to the
deceased, who usually slept in the stall beside him. For
eight days no drourastance transpired that could throw
any Bght on the subject of the supposed murder; but I
then obtained proof that a confidential Lascoreen (court
messenger), who had charge of my bagnge, and also the
gissB cutter, had been seen very near, actually at the spot,
proceeding apparently amicably in company with the de-
ceased, about the very time when his dMth nrast have
ooenrred. I had already taken the statements of this
hMOonea and the otasa-cutter. which now turned out io
be fiUse ; and nnmerons connecting links in the chain ol
circumstantial evidence induced me to commit them both
for trial for the murder. Before they were sent off, the
Lascoreen expressed a wish to make a second statement j
and then detailed what afterwards proved to be the truth,
atthouj^ a* the time it appeared absurd and incredible.
The Laaeoraen^ statement was to this effeot^-That,
esfitrsry to his ordei% he had allowed the deceased to
pniohaee some anaok aa a pisssnt fr»r his aoquaintaaces in
the neighbourhood of Nyakoombuiai in whieb place he
had fdraierlgr lived aa servant to the.post-helder. The
arradi waa carried in a long-necked French bottle, tied in a
handkerchief, and slung from his wrist : in jpasiing a narrow
part of the path, the Dottle strikinff agamst a rook, was
oroken In such a manner, that all that remained was the
bottom, stfll containing a little arrack, and attached to it
a piece of the glass, luce a spike, the whole height of the
bottle. This spike had shup edges, a sharp point, and
altogether resentbled a Malay ortg. The deceased con-
timed to lead theponyvritk the rematoi of the botde still
slung on his left aim« until lit nuifed where there wee s
hole or step in the road of nearly two feet deep, fbrmed by
water in the rainy season fiowinff aloog the path, and flUl-
ing over the root of a tree. On this root the deceased
stumbled, and pitching head foiemost Into the hole, fell on
the spike of the bottle. He instantly pulled himself un
fell back, and expired. The Lascoreen proceeded — * Afraid
and flurried, ana reoolleoting that, conttary to your orders.
I had aDewed hhn to purchase arrack, and that 1 mighi
thus be blamed ftir Me death, I desirad the grass-cutter to
deny all knowledge of the manner of the deceased's death
^-to say that he was some^Ustance before ns, and that, on
earning «p, we fownd hiaa dead* I then took the broken
bottle and handkerchief; and threw them aa-finr aa I could
into the jungle. After this I became aick, and A^ted ;
and it must have been at this time that tbus grass-cutteiq
maiked the pony^ mouth, and placed the animal's hool
ovet the wound, and upon the jaioket of the deceased. ]
had hardly recovered my recollection when the gentle-
men camenpw^
At the time of hearing this statement, t was thirty miles
from the place, but immediately despatched persons to
eooNnine the euitonn^Hng jangle; and these relumed bring-
ing the long slender brittle weapon unbroken, Miough if
hiul been thrown to « considerable distance. Rain had
fltUen in torrents since the event oeeucred, yet tlie blood
could still be traced in ^le curved side of the glasa» which
exactly coDresponded to the out made in the jacket of the
deceased at the time he received his death-wound. In
this case there were so many minor circumstances which
bore strongly against the Lascoreen and grass-cutter, but
which were aU explained by the discovery of the handker-
chief and glass dagger, that, had the latter not been found
unfnjinred (and its preservation may be cctosidered provi-
dential), the Ufs of a valuable and long^ttied servant would
have been io the «taest jeopardy. Oo much impetrtaoee did
I attach to the conveyance of this eartinoidlnary weapon,
that I would not intnist it to any ene, and proeeedea tc
Koudy, where I personally delivered it to tlie judicial com-
missionec After a carenil examination oi the case, the
charge hitherto so strongly supported bv a chain of evi-
dence was abandoned, and the parties released. This ad-
venture had a considerable effect on my after-conduct a«
a judge, and also on my opinion as rcgaras the infliction ol
capita putdshment in particular cases.
TBE M9MBBM lOH BUOKINaHAlliBUl&
His talents finl to win respect. His coxeomber is vrith-
out grace ( hie serionsness without eonvictiott. He has an
active fancy, surprising command of language, no incon-
siderable knowledge, especially of history, powers of mass*
ing facts into a symmeteical appearance of scueralisation,
and a keen sense of the ludicrous and humBuff in others.
He is a shrewd observer of men and things ; out ho has
neither the eye to see, nor the sonl to comprehend, anv-
thlng much below the surface. There is little depth in
him of any kind-^thought or feeling: hence the want oi
vitality in all he doesi He ommot paint, ft>r he cannot
graep, a ehstacter ; Ids sole power in that line consists in
hitting off the obtrasive peonllaiitlee, the jutthsgs out oi
an hidividuality. in his books yen meet with nothing
noble, nothing generous, nothing tender, nothing impas-
sioneo. His paseion Is mere sensualitv, as his eioauence is
mAra dinttnn • th** arklAnff /\*i«> nf ^tnrAm «/** ft** Inaf vm /\I
224
OHAMBEBS'8 EDINBUROH JOURNAL.
thonghto. Imagiiutioii, in the large and noble tense, he
hms none, for hit scniibUitr is sustained by no wannth.
Hnmour he has none, for unmour is deep lyisraeli
conceives himself to be a man of genios ; in tmth he is
only the prapectut of a gemu$. He has magnificent plans,
but he writes prefaces instead of books. All the promise
which allores in a prospectus arrests attention in htm ; but
he does not perform what he promises. He has aspiration,
but no inspiration ; ambition, but no creative power. In
his poems. In his novels, and in his speeches, you see that
he means something great, but has not the force to origi-
nate it. As an author, in spite of a certain notoriety and
undeniable talents, his value is null. He has written books,
and these books have been immensely successful ; but they
have no place in our literature — they are indubitable
failures, or fleeting ephemerides. He has taken many leaps,
but has gained no footing. He has written a quarter epic ;
he has written a tragedy ; he has written novels, pamphlets,
and a political treatise on the constitution ; but all these
works are as dead as the last week^s newspaper. The most
insignificant niche in the temple is denied them. If any-
body looks at them, it is not on their account, but on his
account. The noise they made has passed away like the
vacuous enthusiasm of after-dinner friendships. They have
achieved notorietv for their author, oblivion for themselves.
— British Quarterly Review. [It might have been added,
that Mr D'Israeli's worst fault is his consumption of valu-
able time in harangues which end in nothing. He thus
impedes Wtslation, and stops the business of the country,
without effecting a single useftil object]
MOTTINOHAIX I^ACE TRADE.
The rise of this trade at Nottuigliam was marked by
very extraordinary circumstances. It was about seventy
years a^ that a stocking-weaver tried whether he could
apply his frame or loom to make something which could
imitate lace, and by slow degrees such imitation became
introduced. It was not, however, till thirty years after-
wards that Mr Heathooat, in 1809, obtained a patent for
a new and highly-ingenious lace-making machine, which,
from certain arrangements of its mechanism, obtained the
name of a bobbin frame, and hence the name of bobbin
net Of the envy and strife which drove Mr Heathooat
away fh>m Nottingham, and led him to settle in Devon-
shire, we will say nothing ; it is not a creditable feature ;
but we eanilot pass in silence over the year 1823, when,
Mr Heathcoat's patent having expired, all Nottingham
went mad — everybody wished to make bobbin net Listen
to what Mr M^CuUoch says on this point: — ^'Numerous
individuals, olergvmen, lawyers, doctors, and others, readily
embarked capital in so tempting a speculation. Prices fell
in proportion as production increased, but the demand was
immense; and the Nottingham lace-frame became the
organ of general supply, rivalling and supplanting in plain
nets the most finished productions of France and the
Netherlands.* Hear, too, Dr Ure on the same point : — * It
was no uncommon thing for an ajrtisan to leave his usual
calling and betake himself to a lace f^me, of which he was
part proprietor, and realise by working upon it 20s., 30s.,
nay, even 40s. per day. In consequence of such wonder-
ful gains, Nottingham, the birthplace of this new art, with
Loughborough and the adjoining villages, became the
scene of an epidemic mania. Many, though nearly devoid
of mechanical genius, or the constructive talent, tormented
themselves night and day with projects of bobbins, pushers,
lockers, point, bars, and needles of every various form, till
their minds got permanently bewildered. Several lost
their senses altogether ; and some, after cherishing visions
of wealth, as in the old times of alchemy, findrag their
schemes abortive, sank into despair, and committed suicide.
If the Nottingham lace-makers were now to go mad, it
would not be at the golden dreams before them. Competi-
tion has had its usual leveUiuff effect, and no more fortunes
can be rapidly made in the lace- trade ; the consumption
is immense, but the workers are numerous, and prices,
wages, and profits, have all alike become low.— 7^ Land
We Live In*
A KEW ZEALAND HOUSEHOLD.
The girls in their best mats, or gaudiest calicoes, and the
children * in puris naturalibue^^ assemble to greet and wel-
come us, not altogether uniuflueaoed by the hope of get-
ting a present of a cigar or a pipeful of tobacco. In the
interior of the Pa, the Wahmes, or matrons, are busy
weaving flax-mats, oleaoing potatoes or fish, or engaged in
the superintendence of a Maori oven, or a huge gfpey-look-
ing cauldron, called a 'go-ashore,* and can only afford te
peet a visitor with a whining * tena koe pakeha,* sighing as
if thev were verv much to he pitied. A mammy-looking
roll oi mats ana blankets propped up against the sonny
side of a hut is the outward s^niBcation of m ehief, wbo^
on our appearance, slightly unroUs hUnaelf, aUowimr to
become visible the smaU heads of two or Uuve ddhben,
which the Wahlnes have handed over to hia patenal
care while engaged in other occupations. His hair is a
mass of shark oil and red oohre, whiefa also towexe Us
body and limbs ; but the old fellow is not ashamed of his
dishabille, and lustily calls out to us, ' Haere mai iaiu
pakeha* — ?*Come here, my white man ^: • Omai to rimm
ringa'' — (* Give me your fist *) ; and after a hearty shake, he
asks confidently, *Kahore te tupeha malm?'* — (* Hav« yon gst
no tobacco for me ? *) A decisive * KaAore * (' No *) settles
the question, and destrovs all farther interest in the eos'
versation ; and the old fellow roUs himself and the chlldicn
'once more into the blankets, to dose off again till the din-
ner is ready, or till there is another ehanea id getting sa
' omai no omai,* or gift — Power's New JSeaiamL
HOME.
TuBaa wss a kindly tons that through tbs flow
Of fererith dreams, heart-sicknest sad <lei|iair»
Came like the eoho of an ansel*ii prsarer.
And on my woitd-wom spirit poured the ftow
Of the swset walers of the Loag Agol
Thsrs was a viiioB filled this fon%B air
With peace that only ohUdhood*s haul can
Oh, stranfely linked In heijpfintam or wo
Are all life's ohsnges I Youth's impatient eye
Looks through ttie wrists <rf golden mornipfl
To the bright hills whers rests the gUttexinff sky;
Bat msnhood toros, In sonshlae as in gloom,
Baok from bis telumphs to the q»eUs that lie
In the fond childish words—Mother and Hooae !
llAav CassTmAi
MEN FOB 8ALC.
The fbUowIng is taken firom a New Offiwua ^mtn—
* Seventy-five negroea, just arrived, and fior ■ale at the sli
stand, oomer of Moreau and Esplandale Street^
of house-servants, cooks, washers and ironera, aad
hands. Tlie subscriber wOl continue to receive fnn Ifsrv-
land and Virginia a eonstant supply dazing the whels
season. This being the oldest eetabUahmeot in theeifey«
purchasers would oo well to oaU and examine before Ba»>
chasing— James T. Blaokney, agent for Hi^e H. SUtcK.^
SOUND-PIPES VOB A DBAP COXIOBBOATIOV.
I have applied the gntta-pereha tubing ta ny ebapel
with the greatest advantage to the deaf pmt ef njr soa-
gregatiou, and others have adopted my pIsa with eqval
success. I have a large oval funnel of sheet gaUa peieha
inserted in the book-board in front of the Bible ; attachsd
to this is a piece of inch tubing, nassing down on the In-
side of the pulpit and under the noor, like a main gHs^iipe;
attached to this are branches of snuiUer tubnsg, kattm te
any pew where a deaf person may ait, and at the cm sf
each is an ear>piece. You may thus supply a whole
gregation, and enable all to hear withoat the ~
culty or effort pn the part of the
Troubrid^ ta tie * Patriot.*
PAUPERISM IN EKGLANIX
By the last report to tho House of Commooa, it ajpssw
that the total amount of pauperism of 1846 was I^3l,SI1
souls. The habitual pauperism of Rngjand thnt
an average of numbers equal to the popiihUa«tt ef
and its sobnrbs. The pauperism of the pvwioos
amounted to 1,471,133 persons. The increaae is _
accounted for by the swarms of Irish that have beos dilNi
across the Channel by the destitution of the
distriots.
.. 1
Published by W. A R. CaAMBaas, H1^ Btieei, lUIoWivh.
sold by D. CHAnaaas, SO Argyle Stifeet, Glasgow; W. & Oaa.
147 Stnnd, London; and J. M*Qi.ASHAjr, SI Dt>Iier
I>ublin.~Printed by W. & B. CnAJtaaas, Bdfabnsh.
_
CONDUC^QP »V YHLUMHyAm EOBBBl CBAMBBRS, JH>IT6Ba>«P •CHAMBWBI8 JWwi^SAnO» FQ9i
»
1
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■ ' 1 1 ■*
1 1 11 «ii< 1 1 ( M 1 1 >ii I ^ iiji t
•*TT
t I ^i» lit
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M'l^'M
No. 302. NbwSbbtes. SATURDAY, OCTOBER !9,'1849.
>l (
■ PilWB If^.
TUM STORY OF 3i03ERT WNDSAY. .
ScaT8«sx hreproireilMAlIy'iiielined td toma abtt>«d in
quest of fortune. ^ThU is trtte not h^ of the hirinWe
Uua ^ tb» luglMT nuikf. Tbeie are Uw, ppobably no
families of distinction, w^o, 1\^y^ not members scattered
all over the world in sitaations sought out and pbtained
bj personal eflbrt. Instead of Bt&^id^ at hon^e, to con-
same a limited patrimonyi ^d worry goyer^ment for
places, they asually take tlMOiselTw off with a^inea or
two la one pocket, and A Ittter ef ^nlrediidtioii in an-
other ; and it 1ft baft! If ati uncle, couftitt, or more distant
reUtive In some far-off cornet of the 0lo1>e does not
receive then^, and give them s^ lift forward, helping
thenf^friie^ ibey. of course Sa^ otbera not, unwilling to
help tbepk • Theoa bcio^y ia>fiK!l« a tiaif«mal idemand
for yomigmen ednented and loiMt^portlijr, fV is not in
the least Wonderftfl that fbe^e >Atidetei«\ft^ra the
paternal fi^side.make friends abroad, ahd live to do
something for ' the honour of the family.'
In reading lately the fortunes of a noble house, related
by one of its membeM'^Iiord Litidsay's * Lives of the
Lindaays '*>«*weweffe agreeably rtiundedof thitawtioDal
peculiarity: ' Lighlsome mod gay' m the Lindsayi have
been generally characterised, they have not the less vin-
dicated the prudent carefulnesa of the Scottifh nat;)e,
and shewn to every country what qualities are neei^ssary
tor yeUDf BMB'who wish to elbdw tbeir way in the
world. Th6 hhforr of the Lindfa/ we ate. going to
refer to, from the family memoirs, is that of hundreds
of young Quul—OH. He had to maay brothers and
Msteta-r^vfln pf (he Ibcner, aod tkree oC the JAttev—
khat ik vraa abeobiMy necessary forrhinv to begin eaily
to do something for himself?' in pistn vettmoidarv * he
must go ahd pouse his fortune.' Luckily he had an
ancle, aa every Scotsman has, who was looked to on
the oeeasion* This personage was Mr William Dal*
rymple, a Aerehant in Oadia, who eflfered a sitnatioa
;n the counting-house to one of the boyft. Accordingly,
in the jre/ir 1768, the.hero of our story, the Hon. liobert
Undaay» then at the age of fourteen, proceeded to Spain,
ind made his debut in the world of businest as a e&erk.
Se vraa not very. a9siduaua^it appears, at the desk ; but,
>eing a heartsome lad, he bustled about in the shipping
iepartment, and by and by, when In the service of his
^usln, Mr DuS, exhibited an instance of promptitude
iiid dfkring whidi drew from his employer a aevere re^
srinMad-^tDgether with aoonple of dolUirs to take him
to the Opera in the evening, 'llie better houses of
i^adlzy' says Robert^for we will let him tell the story
limself — * have each a tower, from which ships n^y be
leea at a great distance. One morning, having risen
ly, it then blowing a heavy gale of wind, X looked
^ See JouiaulM No. 9^ ,
through the teleseope, and observed a, «hip fftandinf
iBto>thei bayv< with a sigaal of disttoeta tflfhag^ aoid als(
cai^i^g the difttingrtdshing flag of Mr Buff 'i house. ]
immedjatel;^ i|ah down to' the rh^je," ilria''isrrfh nrucl
d^culty, succeeded in ge^ttinig a boat ^<> vent^ off t(
the ship^ . ' iUpeo hoai4ing her> I (bund that, she hac
\6eM all her cabins and anchors, and in thU< situattoi
wk« drttHttg t<!^w^* thCshbtiB' beft*e t*e wirfd. 1 pui
about," rent pn shbi^e," aruj soon rettirn^d* iJrttl^ Wl i'ht
required, and thus sftved the. T«s«(ey
This brilliant lad remained long enough in Spain U
wind himself rottnfl the JifkH' kit Mr Dtiff ; and we in-
tferHlpt the mttrrrftlt<e to #ay that mtittyytkrk tMt, wHet
his son, another BoWf Lindsay;, then 'a lieutenant 5r
the Guards, wa«,»t,tadiz»,,the pW gentii?map perused
hia fcatures witii emotion* fuid said tohim* while pressi
ing* fair hand, ^ I loved year d^ai^'ftitlier ai mlreeii; 1m
#iis ^ gf^ant'boir— andyou'rtn«l'h(i'm:^'sdtf wfin* hferei
t*b0 friendship of , such' a ^^ was no light tna1ite;r ; ' foi
Mr Du^ wa« one of thonQ; princely chan^^lerp that haY<
gtfen itsi lustre to < the' aame> ofl -British merehnnti H(
was" Adored' by th« naili^ ^ the- o^uniryt whoknew
hhtt a^ *I>>n Dle^d.' ' *l>ariri^ a tesfdertcC 6f fort)
years and , upward^ iii Spain., be hftd poptracted xnu<?}
of. the habiti and chairacter.of the Spaniard, gralte<
•pen a naturally poetic and «ttlhaaiafttie teni|ierameat
he was <$hifkli^s and g^nerous^to ai'fimit,' believed t1f<
Spaniards to be like himself, arid e^urilly .td' be trusted
hated thePrenji?|(i,.aad loyed U»s own countrymen— an^
considered and treated ail woiuea aa ladies>a|id ladies
as piineesset.' ' Mr Duff died at' Oadla w%en upwavdi
of eigh^ years of age. * ' ,*, " ' "\ ' .'
, The time -at length oW©» ^^ 1772;'whefl youni
liadsaj^s rknawledge of the fh^ppiqg department wai
to be applied in cxpoiiiBg hiiriself to India. The fini
stej^ he tdok on board the**l?rlnceOf Walesr^ was om
tha^ would tell either for^ 6r agftfnst a young man, ac
cording to the context of his conduct ^T^ile the othei
pasetngera, who were numerous, were gazing at. thi
appototments of the vessel^ he at oneO'Weat'ttp tO' tfai
captain ahd requested that hU name might'be chalkec
on his berth— thus securing the best quitrteri on board
not a bad exaxnple of ^oui&mf this^ The captain is de
scribed aa a character.^ He was a peppecji» ene-arna
Wela/hman, h!i Other arm having been lost in a due
with on6 of his passengers, respecting a young lad]
with whoQi they had both fallen in loye. Xuckily thert
wen none of thesa fair dia^rbera on board on the pre
sent occasion, and they arrived at Calcutta withoa
anything that could be c^led i^n a4venture. Th
Xandaiiyi^ however, are always meeting with somethini
at least interesting ; and on this voyage the * Prince o
Wales ' ftequently feU in with the ' Rockingham/ bounc
ibr Ohina, ht which Robert's brother, William, was j
midshipmaln ; and «o dosely did the ressels approach
226
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
?
that the lads could see each other through a telescope.
William was afterwards drowned; and bj the time
Robert returned to Europe, only five of his fellow,
passengers were alive. This reminded him of the old
mate's rough good-by on their arrival : — •Farewell, my
lads— you will stow better when homeward-bound I'
At Calcutta Mr Lindsay set to work, after the fashion
of his light-spirited race, to amuse himself. He was in
the civil service of the Company, and the drudgery was
done at that time by native scribes. In 1776 he re-
moved to Dacca, as youngest assistant to the head of
the revenue department ; where he learnt to hunt wild
boars, and astonish his companions by clever and
daring exploits. The only thing he saw at Dacca
* worthy of the attention of a stranger' was a piece of
ordnance 36 feet long, and made of hammered iron.
The natives declared it had fallen from heaven, and
when swallowed up by the encroachments of the river,
they said it had returned thither. After Mr Lindsay's
time, however, it was fished up by Mr Walters, by the
aid of European science, and may now be seen at Dacca
raised on a platform of brick and mortar. It is curious
that our adventurer did not consider the famous muslin
manufacture as worthy the attention of a stranger.
Even now it has not wholly ceased, the gossamer fabric
being still procurable to order, although more as a
curiosity than as an article of regular trade, costing
Ja15 for ten yards.
All Scotsmen abroad look forward to the time when
they may oonje home, buy a property, and finish in a
■tyle equal to anything in the best days of * the family.'
It maybe a foolish thought this; but anything is better
than gravitating downward, and so let us be thankful
Robert Lindsay was as amlutious as any lad who ever
crossed the Border. ' Amidst all our sports in India,'
says he, ' I never lost sight of the prospect of returning
to my native country, aod was anxious to be placed
in some situation wherein I might derive some benefit
fh>m my own industry.' In a letter to his mother, he
mentions what his capabilities were for turning such
situations to account *With regard to my abilities,
you are a judge of them — although, taking the run of
mankind in general, I think, without flattering myself,
I have mv snare, but not more : I never was born to
make a shining figure in the world. I think I ei\joy
a fuU proportion of common sense, which, joined to
the experience I have had of the world, has taught
me to behave in a manner to gain the ftiendship of all
my acquaintances. As to enemies, I have none; at
least I flatter myself so.' His ideas, he added, were
confused } he wanted fluency of speech ; and his me-
pnory was bad; but he understood French, Portu-
guese, Spanish, and Hindostani — and a little more than
that, as we shall see. The district of Sylhet, on the
eastoni side of the Brahmapootra, was under the super-
intendence of the Dacca Council, which had deputed
one of its members, Mr Holland, a man of character and
foKune, to proceed thither to arrange the collection of
the land revenue. On his return, in a conversation
with Lindsay, he regretted that his health had not
permitted him * to complete the work he bad so pros-
perously commenced. ** I am sensible," said he, ** it will
prove an arduous undertaking, and none but a man
possessed of a sound constitution, with great energy
and determination, is fit for it." I thought for some
time, and turning quickly round, I said, ** I know the
man who will suit you exactly." '* And where if lie to
be found ? " said Mr Holland. I answered, *' I am the
man I " Upon which my friend threw himself back in
his chair, and with a loud laugh, replied, ** Lindsay,
vou are the most impudent fellow alive t Our estab-
lishment is more than twenty in number, eighteen of
whom would jump at the appointment ; and here are
you, the youngest of the whole, aspiring to it yoora^f I"
•* And can you Uame me, my friend," said I, "for look-
ing to the top of the tree ? " " By do raeaDs,** taid lie j
**but how can the thing be acoompUshed ? " •*Tht
thing is difficult, I allow ; but with such a friend mm yoa
much may be effected. May I kwk for yow support at
a future day should I be proposed by the other Bitm-
bersinCouncU?" *' Tou shall have it," said he. All I
then asked was, that he should not retire until I aaw a
little daylight in the business, and that, lo tlie ncaa-
while, our conversation should remain a eecret. To this
he willingly consented.'
This was not a bad move for a begioDcr ; bat Lind-
say, while waiting for an opportunity to take asother
step, amused himself with a praotfeal speculatioa, sug-
gested by his conversation about Sylhet working npoa
his Cadiz rec(41ections of mercantile bosinesa. He saw
that the salt trade (a monopoly of the lodiao govern-
ment) was carried on at Sylhet in a way which pro-
mised much advantage to those Europeans who knew
how to buy ; and entering into a confederacy with a na-
tive capitalist, he suddenly made hta appearaooe in the
market, and purchased salt to the amount of L.20,00a
The result put money in his pocket, enabled him to pay-
off the debts he had contracted at CsJcntta, aad teeiJi*
toted his removal from Dacca, by aickening sosae roaou
hers of the Council of his interference in mattara whsdi
they had considered a perquisite of then own. When
Mr Holland at length fully made up hia mind not to
return to Sylhet, our young adventurer began to act
in earnest — but not to agitete. He first went quietly
to the Resident at Dacca, and made known bis wishes.
The reply of course was that, as the yovngesi nisinhts
of the settlement, he had no dianoe. Very little, the
applicant feared ; but if his name tkomid be prapussil in
the Council by somebody else, might be faiope that it
would meet with the Resident's concurrenoe? The
great man consented with a smile — probably oonoealiog
a sneer; and Mr Lindsay had only one more vote to
gain in order to secure g majority. This was as easily
managed as the rest ; and to the extreme surprise of Ibe
junior servante of the settlement, who were aU Us
seniors, he set out for Sylhet as Resident.
His journey, or rather inland voyagew was made dar-
ing the rains, when the river floods the whole ci lbs
lower part of BengaL ' I shall not tberefose be dis-
believed when I say that, in pointing my boat towards
Sylhet, I had recourse to my compass, tbe same as at
sea, and steered a straight course through a lake osft
less than one hundred miles in extent, occasionaBy pass-
ing through villages built on artificisi momds ; b«t aa
scanty was the ground, that each house bad a caooe
attached to it' While performing this voyage, * J ft»-
quently passed through fields of wild rice, forming the
moat beautiful verdure, so thick, as to exclude the skp-
pearance of water : the herbage giving way to tbe boat
as it advanced, and again rising immediately bebiad s^
formed a very novel scene. We were thus encompassed
by a sea of green.' He found the town * an incansader*
able bazaar, or market-place, the houses of the inhty
tants being fantastically built, and scattered upom ths
numerous bills and rising grounds, so buried in woodL se
to be scarcely discemiUe.' Here he oommeneed his
reign (' it not being his business to combat
prejudices') by going in state to make an
five gold mohurs to the tutelar saint of the
medans ; but this expenditure was amply retained iy
the pleasant custom he found in vogue of every sisitar
malung the Resident a present of from one to ftfe
rupees.
It win indicate sufficiently tbe enormous al
prevailed at that time in our system o£ Indian
ment, if we mention that Mr Lindsay, wbile
situation nearly equivalent in power^ and difity
that of a Roman proconsul in Asia, eigof ed a salsry «f
only L.500 a year f With such remuneration, tbe dot-
pany's high officers were of course allowed to aaraatbis
as they might for a anhsistence and a r<fftuie ; and ttm
1
II
!
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
TVr
result to the anhappy ooantry was a career of tyrannj,
renality, and rapacity anevampled in hittorv. Our
•dTentorer, however, who was MmMel/a man of honour,
though ofilciaUj connected with a tpstem of dishonour,
writes with amnting unconsciousness. He borrowed
large sums of money, dashed into extensive speculations,
and then, when his affairs were in ftiU swing, and his
capital all afloat, he received intimation that be was to
be superseded by an older officer, a member of the
Dacca Council I The blow stunned him: it was utter
ruin ; his hopes of returning home were at an end ; he
had no friend to advise with ; there was no human being
near him who could even speak the English language ;
and iu his loneliness and despair he sat down and wept.
But a lightsome Lindsay is never stunned long at one
time. He rose from his prostration with a rebound }
paid up out of his own funds what remained outstanding
of the collection of the revenue } manned and armed a
couple of canoes, and pretending to set out for Dacca,
pushed on night and day till he reached Calcutta, a dis-
tance, by the river, of upwards of 300 miles. * I had pre-
viously prepared a humble remonstrance to the Supreme
Board, stating the nature of my appointment, my in-
defatigable labour and exertions during the last nine
nKmfehs in a turbulent country, and that I had succeeded
in realising every farthing of the revenue with which
the country was taxed ; and, as a reward for my seal,
I complained that I had been unjustly and disgracefully
removed by the Dacca Board from my situation. I now
made use of every private interest I could raise upon
the occasion, and haid to acknowledge the able influence
of a fair lady, wife of Justice Hyde, who warmly inte-
lesled herself in my behalf. The consequence was,
that an express was sent to the Dacca Council to know
(by return of post) the cause of the removal of Mr
Lindsay; in reply, they could assign no cause what-
ever, excepting my being junior in rank to many others.
An order was then issued, appointing me Resident and
Collector of Sylhet: moreover, independent of Dacca,
with instructions to correspond with the presidency
direct. This was a signal victory in my favour, and
an ample reward for my activity. I re-embarked in
my canoe, and returned to Sylhet with so much expe-
ditlon, that the inhabitants hardly knew I had been
absent — travelling 600 miles in an open boat, covered
only by an awning.'
Tbe district teemed with those productions by which
aa Indian fortune could then be made ; and sugar, iron,
timber, lime, elephants, ivory, hooey, gums, and drugs —
all waited only the application of capital to make noble
returns. Mr Lindsay *s ideas expanded. With his
limited nseans he could only crawl as before, and he
DOW longed to run. But the money 1 The money
same ; and it came io a way which is not a little curious.
Tbe only ctrculadon of the province was in cowries ;
and in these small shells 350,000 rupees of revenue was
ooUeoted. Now, as one rupee contains 5120, and one
pound 40,960 cowries, it may be supposed that this
ponderous circulation required many warehouses to
1k^ it, and a numerous fleet of boats to transport it
when collected. The expenses, therefore, and the loss
from depredations, were very great ; and the Supreme
Board at Calcutta listened with much gratification to
a proposal that was made by a speculator to purchase
tbe whole collection at Sylhet at a given price, the
money to be payable in two years after delivery. This
offer WM submitted to the Resident, whose rqnirt was
ikvourable aa to the price, but condemned the time as
unreasonable. Mr Lindsay added a modest tender to
&nn the revenne himself, and pay in six months ; and
the proposal being accepted, he had now the foundation
secure Ibr a large and rapid fortune.
His chief business was in chunam, from a mountain
in the Cossyah ooantry, ' composed of the purest ala-
baster lime, and apparently equal to the supply of the
whole worid.' Here, being ddighted with tiie climate,
be built a villa at a place whidi is now a well-known
ianatariani. ' During the few days of my residence at
Pondua [Pooniee, we presume], I had the uncommon
gratification of witnessing a caravan arrive from the
interior of the mountain, bringing on their shoulders
the produce of their hills, consisting of the coarsest
silks from the confines of China; fruits of various
kinds: but the great staple was iron, of excellent
quality. In descending the mountain, the scene had
much of stage effect, the tribes descending from rock
to rock, as represented in " Oscar and Malvioa."
In the present instance, the only descent was by
steps cut out in the j^recipioe. The burthens were
carried by the women in baskets, supported by a bdt
across the forehead, the men walking by their side,
J>rotecting them with their arms. The elderly women
n general were ugly in the extreme, and of masculine
appearance; their mouths and teetii are as black as
ink, from the inordinate use of the betel-lmf mixed with
lime. On the other hand, the young girls are both fair
and handsome, not being allowed the use of betel-nut
until after their marriage. In appearance they re*
semble very much the Malay. The strength of their
arms and limbs, from constant muscular exercise in
ascending and descending these mountains, loaded with
heavy burthens, far exceeds our idea. I asked one of
the girls to allow me to lift her burthen of iron : from
its weight, I could not acoomi^ish it This, I need not
say, occasioned a laugh in the line of march to my
prejudice.* The lime trade increased to such an extent,
as to keep 500 or 600 men in full employment
The military defence of the station had hitherto been
intrusted to a detachment of Sepoys about 100 strong ;
but the climate disagreed with the men, who died so
fast, that the party was withdrawn. Mr Lindsay now
proposed to farm the army as well as the revenue ; and
with the sanction of government, he organized, under
his own command, a native militia corps, which he kept
up at a much less expense than the former. The whole
of India was at this time deeply and justly disaffected,
and only waited for a signal to rise simultaneously. It
was in the year 1782, when Hastings, by an act of pro-
digious audacity, placed in the utmost jeopardy the new
empire of the English. The rajah of Benares, disputing
or delaying the pajrment of a tribute which had been
imposed upon him, the governor-general, instead of
sending an army, as usual, to collect it proceeded to the
spot in person, and there — in the holy city of the Hin-
doos'—coolly put the reigning prince under arrest Mr
Lindsay tells us that there was a well-constructed plot
for seizing the person of this daring intruder ; but there
was no plot in the case. The citizens rose suddenly
up like one man, massacred at a blow the guards of the
royal prisoner, and Hastings very nanwly escaped
by flight tmder cover of the night The partial insur-
rections caused by this circumstance extended to Syl-
het; and Mr Lindsay had occasion to try the mettle
of his troops in actual conflict.
Besides fighting, and the excitement of some attempts
to assassinate him, he amused himself with doctoring,
including operations with the knife, and with working
in wood, iron, ivory, and silver, and building boats, and
afterwards vessels of burthen. His canoe-makers and
muslin-weavers he turned into ship-builders and canvas-
manufacturers ; and he actually despatched twenty of
his vessels to Madras, at a period of scarcity, with 5000
tons of rice. His next ship was a vessel of 400 tons
burthen, and he got her down to the vicinity of the sea;
but there the water failed him, and with the fortune of
the Vicar of Widcefield's family-piece, the ship was
found too Urge for the river. His expedients, however,
were inexhaustible; and he at length found a narrow
but deeper stream ; and having succeeded in urging her,
with aU sail set over a bar of Mack mud ten leagues in
extent, she reached the ocean.
* I find,' says Bfr Lindsay, * I have still one aquatic
adventure more to mention, in which a friend happened
to have a concern. There chanced, at the dose of the
shipping concern, to be an overgrown lime-boat or
lights, lying in the Sylhet river. A certain Captain
228
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Taylor, CTidently not a little mad, had long petitioned
me for employment without effect At last he urged
me to pat a deck on the lime-hoat, and proposed to run
her down before the wind to Madras. This I agreed to,
upon the condition that the vessel, on her arrival, should
bo sold as fire- wood. Captain Taylor made out his voyage
tuost sucoessfuUy ; but instead of breaking her up, as
proposed, he changed the name of the " Golumpus " to
" Prince Williaai," bestowed abundance of yellow ochre
on her sides, and advertised her in the public papers,
" For Benipsl direct : for freight and passage apply to
Captain Taylor." My friend John Carstairs had just
arrived firom England ; and reading the advertisement,
the tmly question he asked was, " Who is your owner?"
Taylor answered, "The Hon. Robert Lindsay;" and
Carstairs embarked next day with a fair wind.
* It blew a gentle breeze, not more than three knots,
when the ship broached to. All was soon put to rights ;
but this having occurred again more than once, *' What
is the meaning of this, Captain Taylor?" asked my
friend. The captain coolly replied, "How can it be
otherwise, sir? The vessel has no keel, sir ! Her bottom
is as flat as a pancake, and she is no better than a
dung-barge!" Carstairs, after studying the features of
the man, remained sUent, trusting to Providence for the
result. Most fortunately the weather continued fine,
and the wind favourable: the smallest reverse would
have sent them all to the bottom.
* I must conclude the history of my ships by quoting
a paragraph from one of the last letters I received from
my mother in Bengal : — " I understand, my dear Robert,
that you are a great ship-builder. Your talents in this
line I do not dispute ; but I have one favour to ask of
you, which is, that you will not come home in one of
your own building." And I implicitly followed her
advice.'
His various employments he still further diversified
with elephant-catching — ^taking from 150 to 200 of these
animals every year for twelve years. In mentioning
this subject, he warmly defends the often -impeached
honesty of the lower ranks of Hindoos. He sent his
elephants by servants of the lowest description to all
j>art8 of India. On one occasion * his servant Manoo,
after a twelvemonth's absence, returned all covered with
dust, and in appearance most miserable; he unfolded
his girdle, and produced a scrap of paper of small dimen-
sions, which proved to be a banker's bill amounting to
three or four thousand pounds-^his own pay was thirty
shillings sterling per month.'
Mr Lindsay was at length superseded in earnest ;
some of his old enemies of the Dacca Council having
risen to the Supreme Board. On this occasion he took
the misfortune very coolly ; assisted his successor cour-
teously in collecting arrears of revenue, and then pro-
ceeded on a visit to Upper India, in the absolute con-
viction that matters could not go on without him, and
that his recall was certain. At Benares he was over-
taken by an express confirming this anticipation, and
he returned to Sylhet to pass some more time in his
useful, ingenious, and persevering labours. He had now
made a handsome fortune, * not by ruining nabobs, but
by his own industry;' and the time at length came
(although he was only at the age of thirty- three) when
he could gratify his ardent longing to return to his own
country. * The year 1787 had now commenced, and I
began to feel the effects of the laborious and active life
I had led during eighteen years* residence in India.
Upon balancing my accounts for the two preceding
years, I found that my affairs had been more prosperous
than I imagined. I therefore prepared, with a glad
heart, to return home.'
Our hero did return home ; and what is equally satis-
factory, he settled down as a Scotch laird in a manner
perfectly befitting * the honour of the family.' * The
subsequent years of my life,' says he, * have been de-
voted to the education of my children and improvement
of my estate, in both of which I have been most ably
assisted by my best and faithful friend, my wife. It
is now near thirty-five years since we were happily
united, and during this long period I have enjoyed m
her society, and that of our numerous family, as mudi
comfort and happiness as this world can afford.' — Tu ]&
BLOOD-PBODIGIES.
While in attendance on a case of cholera early jd
September 1848, Dr Eckard of Berlin was shown a
phite of potatoes which, after having been boOod in
their skins, had been placed a few daya before m a ■■»
deal cupboard on the second floor, and now exliButed,
besides a thick coat of mouldiness, at places where the
skins had become broken, an hitense red colour, at if
covered with blood. The same colour was also foimd
spotting a piece of bread and some boiled meat that had
been placed in the cupboard. Other poUtoes were now
put into the same cupboard, and with the prodnctioii of
the same efffects, but to a lesser extent; and rvpested
trials exhibited a gradual diminution of the appfeanuioe,
until at last it ceased entirely.
Portions of the reddened potato were forwarded to
the celebrated microscopical observer, Profeoor Ehren-
berg, who has lately read an interesting account to ttie
Berlin Academy of the results of hvs invesUsakMna.
He found in October that be was enaWed to pTopa«afte
the red appearance by inoculating with It belled pcAsp
toes, and other articles of food, hut espedafly bread.
The redness appeared in three days, and ooatiniied
capable of reproduction by inoculatioQ unUl the middle
of February of the present year, when it ceased to be
so. Examining it by the microscope, the proleaaor
found the redness to be due, not, as cox^jeetured by
some, to the presence of a vegetable production, bid to
that of an exceedingly mhiute aniinal, which be has
termed the • purple monad,* or Monas prodtgima. The
body of the monad is but from the ssVv^ ^ ^o i«^5^
of a Une (twelfth of an inch) in length, aiid it has a
proboscis half as long as its body. In a cubic ioA,
46,666,000.000,000 to 884,736,000,000,000 may i
The animals have a quick, irregular motion, and do not
form chains, like the Vibrio, They H^pear, first oT afl,
as small bright-red points, like so many ccdoored mlnaie
dewdrops. Sometimes they much resemble fiabes* roe,
and often quickly unite into large patches. On the
third day, between the red spots mouldiness appears,
the vegetable production Pemcillivm gktmcMm h&ag
rapidly developed. Plants and animals thus strqgsle
for the possession of the substuice, the victor reoiaiB-
ing with the mouldiness. This monad is m^ to be coo-
founded with a red fungus which is sometimes fbond oa
plants, old bread, &c. and of which Ebreaberg describes
several varieties. One of these, the Oideum amramtiacMam,
abounded in Paris in 1843, spoiling large qnantittes of
the bread used in the garrison. A species of algas, tbe
Protococcu*^ gives a very analogous appearance to this
monad ; and its near rdationship to the infdsoria has
caused a greenish-coloured protoooccus to be termed P.
monaa. The red snow is thought to depend upon Ibe
presence of this. Professor Ehrenberg obserres iad-
dentally that the beautiful sli^-blue colour observed ia
sour milk and cream, and the deep orange ccikmr some-
times seen in these substances, are due to the prasoiee
of minute inftisoria— the Vibrio ^ncyosHs and tbe Vtino
aynxanthuM,
History presents us with numerous examples of ttas
bloody appearance suddenly presenting itsdi^ and out
unfrequently leading to crud persecoUons. It ted to
the putting to death, during a plague at Borne a. c 3S2,
of 170 matrons, on an alleged charge of poisnpiag.
According to the Greek and Boman histoiiaDS, the
troops of Alexander were terribly alarmed, while be-
sieging Tyre, at perceiving blood in their food, the_be-
si^ed beuag equally terr^Sed at a bloody rain.
! I,
I
^lJmJ^mm0i^
hi**^^^rfi^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
229
priest Arittander succeeded in rallying the fiiUen spirits
of the MacedoDians by assuring them that, as the blood
was found within the bread, it betokened Uie success of
their siege operations. Appearances of blood flowing
from bread when bitten are recorded as occurring at
Tours in 583, at Spires in n04, at Kamur in 1193, at
Rochelle in 1 163^ and at many other places. At Augs-
burg, in 1 199, a person having kept the consecrated wafir
in his mouth, brought it at a later period' to the priest
changed into ftMh and blood. Pilgrimages were not
onfreqiieDtly made to witness bleeding hosts, as that of
Dobenm iu 1201, and that of Belitz near Berlin, which
had been sacrilegiously sold by a girl to a Jew. In
1296, the Jews at Kotil near Frankfort having been
reported to have caused a host to bleed which they
had bought, a fanatical persecution of th6se people
took place, whereby 10,000 were said to have been
slaughtered. Several Jews were bamed at Giistrow in
MecUeoburg for a similar offenoe. In U92 a priest,
one Petftr I)dne, residing in Mecklenburg, sold two
hosts to » Jew for the purpose of redeeming a pawn ;
and they having pierced them, abundance of blood
flowed out. The priest, now tormented with remorse,
confessed the transactioa, and betrayed the Jews : twenty
of their number were burned on an eminence at Stern-
berg, since called Judenbetig j and at this very Juden-
berg did the MecOclenburg^ deputies recently commence
tlieir sittings. In 1510 thirty •eight Jews were executed,
and then burned, for ' having tormented a consecrated
host until the blood came.' The bleeding of the host, pro-
duced in oonSequence of the scepticism of the officiating
priest, gave rise to the miracle of Bolsena in 12G4, the
priest's garment stained with the blood being preserved
until quite recent times as a relic. This gave rise to
the foundation of the festiv^ of the Ckrpue Ohfisti by
Urbim IV., althoug^h Raphael, painting his celebrated
picture la 1513, substitutes Julius II.
In, mor6 recent tinAe^ this bloody appearance has
been observed and described by Sette of radua in 1819,
who, mistaking it for a fungus, termed it Zoogatactina
imrmirota. Fittarello, a peasant residing at Legnaro
near Padua, observed Several spots resembling blood on
a dish of polenta, which had been kept in a table*draWfcr
in the kitchen. This was thrown away; but another
day simijar red spots iirere found on other polenta, and
after t while oh all articles of food whatever. The
greatest curiosity and constematibo prevailed. The
streets of Padua leading t6 Legnaro were thronged by
anxious crowds hastening to inspect the house; and full
of the calamities it fbreboded. Many regarded it as a
direct judgment of God upon the unhappy peattint for
hirring forestalled corn during the dear years. While
the priest sought to satisfy the dredulous by various
protective ceremonies, Dr Sette having succeeded in
transplanting the colour to the residence Of his reverence,
the opinion that it was emblematical of wickedness was
abandoned. The appearance, which had commenced in
August, ceased in September, and vras reproduced hi
April by means of a dried portion that had been kept
Ave months. Notwithstanding that from the ttme he
published his dissertation in 1818, showing that moul-
dincss is not a spontaneous production, but arises fVom
the presence of certain seeds, Professor Ehrenberg has
paid the minutest attention to this description of inves-
ti^t!on, he has never befbre seen anything reflembling
the Monas prodigiosan
Since the above was prepared fbr the press, another
nnrtber of the Reports of the Berlin Academy has come
to hand, containing some additional remarks by Professor
lahrenberg upon the subject. He says that he continued
to rcprpdnce the appearance by inoculation throughout
the wh61e of the winter until the end of January (1849),
after which time he totaUv foiled doing so, whatever
the StiWtsSnce. of its age, he employed. Prior to this
period, portions Which he distributed amohgst different
observers at Betfin, Dresden. Weirtiar, &c. were eas^
propagated. Doubts having been raised in the minds
of some of these Inuuirers, whether what ttiey tbos pro-
duced was not red mouldiness or a fungous substance,
the professor occupies a considerable portion of the
present paper in showing the differential characters
between these and the Monas prodigiota. The learned
in the minute productions of the vegetable world are
acquainted with several varieties of red mouldiness, a
portion of which attack bread, and others cheese or
other vegetable substances; and an orange-coloured
variety, the Oideum aurantiaeumt as already mentioned,
infested the munition bread of the garrison of Paris in
I 1843, an account of which by members of the French
Academy, with descriptive plates, is to be found in the
*Annales de Cliimie' for that year. Several of the
smaller algsa have, from their red colour, received from
various naturalists the distinctive appellation sanguinea ;
but all are found on examination to vary entirely in
characters from the appearance in question. The
nearest approaching to it is a species of algae termed
the protocoecuSf one of the varieties of which produces
the appearance termed red snow, and which, from its
great resemblance to the infi^oria, has been termed by
Agardh Protococcus monas.
The professor furnishes several additional historical
citations bearing upon the subject, but we will only
refer to one or two of these. We have no doubt that
as the possession of a bleeding-host conferred celebrity
on a church or cloister, and was often the means of
directing pilgrimages to the spot, the priests of the
Middle Ages occasionally counterfeited an appearance
which originally no doubt astonished them as much as
it did their followers. Certain it is that in i^l the refer-
ences to that period, the host is the object that furnished
the locale Ibr the development of the phenomenon. One
of the stories cited by Ehrenberg is too good to be
passed over. A certain castle in Valencia was be-
leaguered by the Saracens in 1239, and some of its de-
fenders were disturbed in the very act of taking the
sacrament. The priest hastily wrapped up the conse-
crated host in its linen envelop, and they all hurried
to the battlements. The foe repulsed, on returning
to i^e chapel the host and dean linen cloth enveloping
it were found sprinkled with blood. Kow came the
question, to what monastery so precious a relic should
bo consigned; and the matter was thought weighty
enough to invoke a supernatural guidance. A Saracen
mule that had been captured, and was an entire stranger
to the country, was laden with the holy burthen, and
turned loose to go where he listed, the priests follow-
ing him with tapers. He went straight to the 'birth-
place of the priest who had consecrated the host, and
having accomplished his task, forthwith died. Of the
other cases mentioned by Ehrenberg, we will only attnde
to one which occurred in modem times (1821) ai a mill
situated on the Moselle at Enkirch. From the 22d of
August to September 24th certain articles of food, espe-
cially meat, oatmeal, and cooked potatoes, after they had
stood from twenty-four to forty- eight hours, becaBM
covered with bloodlike spots, which coalesced and pene-
trated their substance. A moss-covered stone in the
mill-stream exhibiting some of these, the water of the
mill in which the food had been cooked was supposed
to be at fault ; but careful observation showed this was
not the case. Iti every room of the mill, in its cellars,
granaries, and cupboards, even when the keyholes were
stopped up, food became thus infected ; so that every
one left the mill, and nobody would eat bread made m
the flour that came from it A medical inquiry into
the matter threw no light upon it, some observera be-
lieving Uie appearance due to a microscopic insect^
others to a minute fungus.
A great number of the so-called bleedinff hosts gave
rise to cruel persecutions of the Jews, as we have already
stated ; this doubtless serving their oppressors as a very
convenient pretext, appealing, as it did, to some of the
strongest feelings of their instruments. But, according
to a communication made by Dr Eckard, it would seem
that a superstitious belief among the Jews may have
had something to do with exciting this prejudice. He
i
230
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURKAL.
■ayt that the Jews are fkroSliar Vith these bloodlike
appearances on food, and that from the remotest times
they have been declared by them to appear at the
period known in the Jewish calendar as Tekuphak^
which signifies * revolutions of the months.' Landau, in
bis Rabbinical Dictionary of 1824, art Tekuphah^ quotes
Fischer as stating it to be a bcdief among the Jews that
on certain months, four times in the year, drops of blood
fiall on articles of food, whether covered or not ; and
that the only means of preventing this is the placing
a piece of iron on the dish containing it. Aben Esra
treats the belief as a mere superstition, founded on no
authority in the Rabbinical books. If such a supersti-
tion, however, even lingers to the present day, we can
easily imagine how influential its operation may have
been in inviting persecution during the Middle Ages.
Tradition takes us also to the East, and connects this
Uoodlike appearance with that of the bloody rains, and
with the Mohammedan belief that man was produced
firom blood that fell from heaven.
THE IDIOT GIRL.
PnsRiiE LB Rotrx's humble habitation was situated on
the banks of the Meuse, just where it winds its way
through a chasm in the chain of the Ardennes, between
tall cliffs composed chiefly of slate, and crowned with
forests of dark and gloomy pine. It was a lonely spot,
vet had many charms for its inmates, some of whom
had never known any other home.
Pierre had been a soldier of the Empire, and was still
a young man when his military career was unexpectedly
closed by the fall of Napoleon, whom, like most of his
companions in arms, he regarded with unbounded vene-
ration. For a while Pierre led an unsettled roving life ;
but when a few years were past, he married a village
girl of that neighbourhood, and fixed himself, as he
imagined, for life upon a small farm near the pictu-
resque town of Fermay. Ad^le was a guileless, merry-
hearted girl, and withal a thrifty manager, so that
Pierre had no cause to repent his choice; and never
was there a happier countenance than his when, at the
dose of a long day*s toil, he seated himself by the side
of the blszing log which glowed upon his hearth, and
saw his wife and children gathered around him. Dur-
ing these twilight hours Addle's hand was ever busy
with her distaff, while she listened to her goodman's
tales of glory, which he would recite with his snuff-box
in hand, modelled after the Petit CaporaTi cocked-hat,
and upon which he usually bestowed an emphatic tap
at the most striking parts of his story.
For a time all prospered with Pierre and Addle. Their
crops were good ; their children handsome, healthy, and
dutifhl ; and their later years had been blessed with the
gift of a lovely boy, much younger than any of his ten
brothers and sisters, of whom, as well as of his parents,
he was the plaything and the darting. At the evening
fireside the little Andrd used to climb up on his father's
knee, and listen with such glee to his recital of perilous
adventures and daring exploits, that the father would
sometimes clap him on the shoulder, saying, with a
smile, * Ah, petit eoquint my life on it, thou, too, wilt be
a soldier. Yes, thou shalt fight for France— Za htUe
France I Vive la France /'—and the boy's eyes sparkled
with pleasure on hearing his father's words, although
their meaning could be but dimly apprehended by his
infant ears.
On these occasions AdMe was wont to shake her
bead gravely, and say, * No, no, my child ; thou shalt
cultivate the soil like thy father, and sUy at home
and uke care of us in our old days ; * to which her hus-
band would quickly rqoin, * Thou dost forget, ma petUe
femme, that I was a soldier first* And so the discussion
ended.
Pierre and Addle had no near neighbours except a
fisherman's family, whose circumstances were poorer
than their own. and to whom they were sometimes able
to lend a kindly and a helpftil hand. Among Louii
Bochart's children was one named Annette, wboee intdl*
lect had during her early infancy been weakened by a
violent attack of fever, which also affected her fiac^ty
of hearing as well as of speech, so that it waa not with-
out difiSculty that she contrived to maintatn any sort
of communication with her feUow-creaturea. Annette^
countenance was but too plainly marked with the stanBp
of idiocy ; yet it bore a shade of melancholy which left
the beholder doubtful how fiir the inward ttremm of
thought might be flowing on, while its outward maid-
festation had been checked and destroyed. Her large
dark eyes, wandering and restless though tlier were,
bore an expression of gentleness and lore wMcn called
forth the kindly sympathies of those who knew ber;
and through her docile obedience, she contrived to Hghten
her mother's daily burthen by doing many litde olBee*
in the household; for Annette was the only danghter
among a family of many sons. She delighted abo m
soothing those who were in trouble, and seemed to have
an instinctive knowledge of the approach of aorrow or
of evil to those she loved ; so that before any other tj^
could detect a rising cloud upon the brow of ooe who
was dear to her, Annette would be seated on a low stool
at their side, and by a silent kiss imprinted oo tb&r
hand, would give assurance of her sympathy and love.
Annette was a great favourite at Le Roux*s fsmbouie,
and often of an evening would she glide into the kitcSicB
just as they were assembled round the hear^ and take
her seat near the old soldier, or rather near Andr^ by
whom she was so fbndly beloved, that the little Mow,
on observing her entrance, would slide olT his father's
knee, and climbing up to Annette's lap, would gentiy
lay his little head on her bosom. It was an afR^sf
sight at such moments to behold the idiot giri, hcedleas
of the stirring tales which seemed to interest aU others
save herself, while her vacant eyes were lighted up with
affection as they rested upon her little favonrite Andrt.
Thus passed on many days of peacefhl yet busy life
at the farmhouse of La Mettraye; but at length its
tranquil course became troubled by one of those waves
of sorrow which roll over the stillest sorfkoe of faumaB
life.
One evening Pierre came in, looking ruffled, and out
of humour. Adele, unused to see her goodman rvtoni
home in this sort of mood, inquired of him what was
the matter.
' Matter enough to vex all the aainta In heaven,' n-
plied he gloomily. * Some villains have robbed roe, oo
my way home from market, of half the prodooe of ray
harvest; and though there were four of ^em, they were
all so well disguised, that I could not get one look at
their faces; so there is no chance of gettiiig back a
single sou c^ my property. But where Is Aatm ?— 4et
him come and cheer up his old father.'
'Andrd! Andrei' cried out Addle from the door of
her dwelling ; * come in directly. It is too late for yos
to be rooting about the garden : your father w«nts ywu.*
But no bounding footsteps were heard upon the path*
way; no childish voice responded to h^ odL The i
elder brothers hastened to seek for their little dariingt
but nowhere was he to be found.
' He must be gone to neighbour BodiartV ^^ tfa^
father : * vou will be sure to find him on Annette^l lapL*'
* Tes, doubtless,' replied Addle, whose motfaeriy
demess gave wings to her feet, albeit her atep
longer so elastic as it had been at the Ume of ber
riage twenty years before. Quickly had abe erosaei
the strip of vineyard which lay between her borne and
the cottage, and darting through the door, cdnA o«i
* Andrd I — where is Andrd ?'
* We have not seen the child to-day,* replied at te
same moment Bochart and his wife.
*Not seen him I' cried out Addle^ taminf pid^
trembling from head to foot
* No, indeed, neighbour, we have not'
' Has Annette seen him?'
The idiot girl, on hearing thii qnestfoo, and
Addle's emotion, started up from the comer where
OHAHBKRS'B EDINBUBGH JOURNAL
231
hmd been crooching near the fire, and gaxed wildly
around her. She shook her head with a low moan,
mahed to the door, and looked out into the twilight, as
if she would pierce through the gathering shades with
her deep searching glance, and then returned with her
hands dasped togetl^ in mute despair.
All this passed in a moment's time. Ad^le has-
tened home to tell her husband the dreadful truth;
and although for a moment he seemed paralysed
with terror, yet he and his sons quickly dispersed
along the banks of the rirer, and up the neighbouring
heights, in quest of the missing child. Ad^le, too,
passed the night in groping about erery spot where she
thought it possible that her little one might hare fallen
asleep during his play; and the silent yet prayerful
agony of that mothei^s heart, as she wandered along
with a lantern in her hand, who may dare to portray ?
Morning came, with its bright and gladdening influ-
ences ; but sorrowM was the repast around wUch the
inmates of the farmhouse assembled, for no tidings had
been receired of Andr^, and they met but for a few
moments, previous to the renewal of their search.
Evening dosed, without bringing one gleam of hope to
cheer Ad^le's sinking spirit. With that restlessness
which accompanies undefined hope or fear, she turned
her steps towards Booharfs cottage. The first words
that greeted her on entering it were those of sorrow.
* My child! my child! Oh, where can my child be?*
faintly murmured Bochart's wife, as she sat rocking on
her chair with her face buried in her hands.
* What do you mean?' inquired Ad^le, perplexed at
her words.
* Do you not know that Annette is gone ? '
•Gone!*
* Yes, gone ; and her poor father, after a long day's
search, cannot find her anywhere. Oh, what shall we
do without our daughter — our only daughter!'
' And when did you miss her ? '
' This morning, on going to her bedside, I found it
all smooth and tidy, as her own dear hands had left it
yesterday. The poor darling nerer lay down on it at
all ; and where she passed the cold, dark night, hearen
only knows.'
So saying, the poor woman burst out anew into a
torrent of grief. Addle gazed on her in silence. She
was stunned by this unexpected blow. At length,
taking Madame Bochart's hand, and pressing it to her
bosom, she said in a suppressed yoice, * May God have
pity on us both 1 * After a few moments* delay, she re-
turned to her own sorrowful home. The next day was
one of deep and quiet grief both at the farm and at the
cottage. It seemed idle to hope that either of the chil-
dren could have escaped death ; and the conclusion formed
concerning them was, that in a moment of unguarded
play And^ must have fallen into the river, and Annette,
in despair at his loss, have sought death in tlie same
impetuous current which had borne away her little
favourite.
Another day had passed on — a day of fruitless search
and of bitter sorrow. On the third evening after her
loss, poor Addle had seated herself mechanically in her
aocnstomed corner by the fireside : her hands, usually
so busy in blithesome labour, lay folded despairingly on
her lap ; nor did she even venture to look up, from a
dr^ui oi beholding the silent agony of her husband's
countenance. The door opened, but she stirred not,
neither did she lift up her eyea The common interests
of life were dead within her heart — its petty incidents
concerned her not A light step approached her — a
soft, warm kiss was imprinted on her cheek. The little
Andri lay with his infant arms clasped around her
neck, and Annette, who had borne him, like a guardian
angel, to his home, fell prostrate at her feet, overcome
by fatigue, hunger, and emotion. Vainly should we
sttempt to describe the mingled fSeelings of surprise,
joy, and thankfulness which filled the mother's heart
at that moment; but after one long, tender embrace,
AndrA tnmad round, and aeeinff Annette on the floor.
and his sisters gathered around her, he leaped to the
ground, crying out, 'Annette, my darling Annette,
speak to me I — speak to your own little Andrd 1*
The child's voice seemed to revive the poor exhausted
girl more readily than any of the simple restoratives
which had been used for that purpose. She opened her
dark eyes, smiled a moment upon him, and then sank
for a while to repose. After some rest and refresh-
ment, the inmates of the cottage and the farmhouse
gathered around the young wanderers, to make in-
quiri^i oonceming their three days' eventful history.
Where had Andrl been? How did Annette contrive
to trace him out? When did they meet? The poor
girPs head was too weak and wandering to give much
information on the subject. She could only utter a few
simple monosyllables; then weep and snoile, and em-
brace those around her. But Andrd, in his childish way,
talked of looking for nuts ; and spoke about a hollow
tree, and being frightened, and Annette wrapping him
up in her doak, and giving him bread out of her pocket.
And this was all they could learn on the subject ; but
their darling was safe. Annette was almost idolised for
her devotion to the child, and God devoutly thanked
for His great goodness in this deliverance.
Withm two years of this event Annette was an
orphan ; and on the death of her mother, who survived
Bochart but a few months, she was received as an
inmate at the farm, and became unto Pierre and Addle
as a beloved daughter.
About this time, the farmer, owing to some severe
losses, had dedded on joining a party of emigrants who
were going to settle in Texas. Addle was loth to
leave the land of her fathers, and to live and die on a
strange soil, and among strange people. In vain did
Pierre represent to her the advantages accruing from
emigration. * Here we are poor,' said he ; * but in yon
flne country we shall grow rich with our children.*
• But it will not be France — notre beUe France!*
* I thought. Addle, that wherever you had your hus-
band and children*
' Yes, yes,' said she, stopping his mouth with a kiss ;
* wherever my goodman and my children are, there will
be France to me.'
•Now,* rejoined Pierre, 'you are my honne petite
/emme again. Let us only set out with merry, cheerful
hearts, and we shall get on famously.* So saying, he
began to carol one of his old songs, whose burthen was
love and glory ; then dapping Annette on the shoulder,
he added, * And thou, too, shalt coroc with us, my girl,
and thou shalt have the care of Andrd on board ship.'
A tear stood in Annette's eye ; but whether it had
its source in the hidden springs of joy or of sorrow, no
one knew. That evening she was absent for some time
from the farmhouse, and on bdng sought for, was found
weeping on the humble grave beneath which her parents
slept She had shed upon it tears and flowers —the
only offerings which the orphan girl had to bestow.
A month later, and the whole family embarked for
Texas, and after a prosperous voyage, landed at Gal-
veston, together with a body of 115 other emigranU.
It was a motley party * ™o*t of them well clothed, and
all looking cheerful and happy : but among the various
groups which dustered togetlier on the wharf, none
were more remarkable than the family party from the
old farm of La Mettraye. Pierre, in his green old age,
erect and vigorous, was dad in a blouse, with his fur
ctugvette on his hc»d, and a stout knotted stick in one
hand ; while in the other was the wdl-known snufl-box,
out of which be offered a pinch to some strangers stand-
ing by, with that ease and courtesy which are so natu-
ral to a Frenchman. Addle, now a middle-aged woman,
stood by her husband's side, looking bright and healthy;
while thdr sons and daughters were gathered around
them, and the eldest youth carried his father's gun with
evident pride, in the consciousness that he, too, was
grown to be a man. Nor was the least striking one of
this party the gentle Annette, who stood beside Addle
with the hand of the rosv-faced bo7 clasped within her
f—
232
OHAMBSatS*S EDINBURGH JOUB^AL.
own, htB e^e» irbnderlng about 'with nndiigpaited cario-
sity and delight, while hevM reated tonSfy aoid an^ioaaly
upon him* Itwaa' evident thai abe -regarded him aa
her peoaiiiar diarge. At tfaia time ahe waa a tall, alight
girl, -whose appeanmoe indleated an extreme attention
to oleanKeeaa ^and neatdesi of pentm ; and iii aplto of
the wandering Tacotl^ af her glan^, there was some*
what in her aspect nHiieh - rei^ered her an object of
interest enren to the oaanal observer.
The deatinatkm of Pierre and his family was a dis-
trict of TexM' named Bexar; and on landing at Gal-
reston, they -fondly imagined that thefr joumeyings were
OreTj and that they bad reached the site of their in^
tended home. ^ 'la not this Bexar?* inquired one of the
SOBS. Bat although they looked disappoints bn leam^
ing that th6re were some hundreds of miles of difficult
country yet tO'lfraWl before thejr couM arrive at the
pik)ailsiftd' land, yet thedoud aeemed to rest but for a
moment Upon theli' cheerflil coiuntenances. Soon did
the spfril^f lio^e attd Joy refvirC withfn them, aud they
set off for their new hbtrte with tltat earnest and trustful
acthity which ftjrms the best pledge of sucfcesi ^Sd
the <fifflcultie8 6f a settler's li1%^
The emigrants from ^h^ bauks of the Meuse have tiow
been out three' yeaiiwitt Texas, May tre not hope that
ere n6w they haVe formed for themselves there a plea-
samt as well as a happy home, and that Annette's Kind
heart finds' it# full rei^-ard !n ihe American wilderness,
as it did on the favoured soil of fa bdlte Fr^anceT
u-i^
, , LONBbt^ g'oSSIP. . ^
Vp tot I tbei jtune at which I wiite^ there iiavei beeos ,raoie
tliaa («n fJiQumfid dea^hA fxora, Solera ia tha.AetropoUs ;
and so.gfaTe a fy^tvwy well excuse — if excuse be neoes*>
sary^rfuy, taking tbie:apidQmio aa the Joitial topic of my
gossip, i wi8taUi«i|]g io cue .«£ our Wding physioiana
on the subject a few day^ ainoci and hie deoUred that ' wo
^noW'fat^r leas about ^ cUoJera aow. thaa we did when
it was among, ua edghteen yean ago.^ SeaiAg tJiat theory
afu4 practice alikct ffuX to oooArol tiia destroyer, he had
scmjB ah/ow of rea^ion ibr what ihe said} and yH you would
hftrdly beUaVe th4<t ramadifti meMurea are more talked
about tlwx executed* The lUigUtrslp-Qenenil haa some
pointed remarks on the aotiyity. displayed^ the men and
machinery p^t into saotion, to capture a oouple of fugitive
raurderei:!, in.contcast with the indifference, displayed to-
wards a vi^itatdon next akin to the Plague. It would
seemihat in.ourAnglo-aaxon eyea nothing ia valuable
ox precious save * property ' or, * vested intereakai'
As you may suppoa^^A^Qculatlons aa to causes of the
peatil^ncc liave not, been lacking: among others, M.
Boub^e boa rea4 a napar to the Paris Academy of Sciences
• On the Geological Progress ,of> Chol«».' He aUempfcs
to show that the disease exhibits itsieU in greatest inteo.
sity and duration on tertiwy and alluvial formatiwia, on
porous soilfl, lyhidi teadil v imbibe water, or part with it in
hqt and dry weather in tlve form of vapour; while on the
older strata, oi; on rock^ non-abiOTbent Ismds, it makes
no stay, and U comp-ratnely kanal«a. Admitting ibis
theory to be true, it is difficuU , to f^o hfiW the moans
of prevention are to be applied. Tbow who contend for
aerial or meteorological causes are likely to be neaier the '
truths Tft ia well knoTvn that^ our atmo«pl^x« Imm net
been in a sound normal condition lor two or three years
past— the numerous deaths among cattle, and tie 'potato
disease, were referrible to it. And this y^ar uoiin, if you.
will turn to the weekly mctooroTogioal reports ^haOveen-
wicb Ol}ser7atoij, you will be struck by the , deficiency of
electricity. This has also been remarked on the coati-
i^ent. H. Quetelet of Brussels, a most careful observer,
states that the intensity of electric force in the atmo-
sphere has not be^n more than half the usual amount
since January last. At St Petersburg, as well as at Paris,
electric machines have J)ecome inactive: in fact, look
where we will, we find certain mysterious agencies at work
in producing a disease-creating condition of the atmo-
sphere.
Certain U is, that d^rin^ the greater part of August
eur big city was wrapped in dense gloom; we aeaxeely
saw the sun; and the lifelestnesa and oppreaalveneaa if
the atmo^here made existence almost buzthensome.
Perhaps the foolish prejudice whidi makes peeote inaist
on being buried in loathsome house-sarronnded dmrch-
yaids may have something to do with tiiia. Mr WaHcer,
who has devoted much attention to the Mubject of sstia-
mural gratveyairds, desoribes a remarkable pbcAemencn
in connection with a burial-ground at Belftiat ^^* During
several years,' he writes, *I often noticed that a magnet,
capable of sustaining hfty pounds with eaae in other
situations, could not for a moment suspend an iron of tea
pounds in the habitations built on the devastating plaee
of interment.'
Now, according to theory, the leas of electridty, the
less of that atmospheric element discovered bySciigenbciB,
and known as oxotte; the one appears to be dependent on
the other. Oaone possesses greater oxidisiii^ powtts than
any other of the elements mh which we are acqnunted,
and its neutralising propci^es are of the meet potent
character. On this point Mr Robert llunt ofiers tome
aUe Tetnarks:—- * An atmosphere,' he obeerveis ' artifidafly
charged with oMne immediately depHves the most pA^id
aotid or fluid bodies of ^all dtsameable smel!, astfsol^phii*
retted hydrogen is inst^itly deoompoeed by it In ^ict
its action upon orgauie matter la fta n^te enefgetic tkan
that of chlorine.' Thus, on this theory, ih» exhi£Latioika
arising from aAsemblagee <ft human beings, mote noidoos
than caibonio acid, have not been deprived «€ their dele-
terious propertiea for want of the grand neutrftHsur ocooe.
And it will be interesting to note whether the det^iDe of
the pestilence and the restoration of the atmosphere to
its normal condition will be simultatwotiB and propor-
tionate. Ozone is given off largely during comboatioa,
and it is 9, iijuestion whether great fires in -onhealSiy
n^ghbourhoods might not be attended with ^ood efeel
Plinrffidsta inolhie to believe that they are now on tiie
right scent; and in the meteorological observati<ms ntofc
ami recorded daily in so many parts of Britain aiid in
Belgium, they will have -raluahle data for more extensrre
investigations of atmo^beric phenomena. Leaving tins
atmosimeric ourioaity to some future dlsquialtioo« I may
here say with all truth that the suffering in Loedoi
from the miasma of churchyards is really setf-inflleted.
Wluit from a^aUiy, wsted interests, and tfte uawiHisg-
ness'of Londoners to sp«fO time for any public mofvenact,
the buriaUgrounds, ia spite of all that haa heeh told and
written on the subject, have continued, tQl wit&iii ttoe
few days, to be ttaed without limit and without <^iceatj.
Remedy only lies in the pairic now ULnfi>itiinaCifely^ fn-
valent.
liCt me i^ow call your attention to a few tneercaiinf
mutters that hate come befotc the French Ae^eray
of Sciences. One is * a bew system of looomottonk by
means of compressed air,' and a notification that electro-
magnetic docKs are now sucoessiViIly used akaig come
of the lines of railway in the ne&gfabbiii!4H»od <^ Parii.
Then M. Martin de Lignac has deffclribed his neaff^
invented method for pfesetving ttiilk, so that it nay
keep during long voyagos without dc^erioiation, whtftVy
not only will trovellera be benefited, bui grarin^ ^aCrieH^
whose distanoe firom a market prtfvents me m1« &tiMt
raclk-in a * fresh state, mav hope' to create a |uefltalii
trade, for the preaetved acrttcle. lf« aays, deacrihiaf tit
procesB, ' I et&pemtci the milk, first addittg fMir^««McV4f
sugar to the quart, in a laige pan healed en a water^tei^
at a temperature never eore^iug 1<H) disgrsea^ emd aliiiUB
it continually with a spatula. The depth ^ the Jay« m
milk should not esCeed half au inch. When it httmii»
of the oonsistenee 'of honeys or so that a -quartF oC 4k»
original milk ia reducM in weight to half a petoKt^ it ft
to be put'into tin cases and boilod in ^a Imlh fer-%»
miD(utes, and afterwards soldered up. When nqiliii
for use, it ia to be boiied with itmt tnaea 4ta wtighft «f
water/ Thia pEeparatioB, it is almoeC «e«dlcia to- m^
will not suit for tea, boiied milk ia^ that 4^ieA«« httm^
age imparting anunpleaaanf tatte* Am haJliag la^'
however, is best far^ootteov the ffeepatstioa with be •• ftr
useful.. Aaothecidifloovei^ iniTneDcalathaA'ar t«a«Mr
I '
II
r
CHAHNSBS'8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
233
eaeulontt : ihej ure the P^araka e$euhmta and the Apio»
tuJbarotOt both brought from North America. As reports
CO these roots have been sent to the heads of the soTeral
ministerial departments, we shall probably hear further
of them.
The Academy hare also held their annual public meet-
ing, in which it is usual to confer honours in a substantial
fonn. A poem on the * Death of the Archbishop of Paris'
obtained a prize : thirteen others, rarying from 2500
francs to ^00 francs — the Montvon Pnaee — were awarded
to indiriduals of both sexes ior 'acts of yirtue.' The
number of female recipients was double that of males, as
though the practice of virtue were more prevalent among
women than among men. A prize of 300 £rancs was
giained by M. Sudre ios his book, * History of Communism,
or Kefutation of Socialist Utopias.' The Academy is evi-
dently bent on disabusing the public mind of failaeious
doctnnes, A gold medal, value 2000 francs, is offered
for next year for an 4l(Me on Madame de StaSl; and 10,000
francs for the best * oramatic work, in five acts, and in
verse, composed by a Frenchman, printed, represented,
and poblisbed in France — which to literary merit shall
unite the merit, not less great, of being beneficial to
morals and the p^rogress of reason.' There axe several
others — literacy, virtuous, and artistic — ^but those I have
enumerated are the most noteworthy. One more fact,
however, just occurs to me as connected with the Aca-
demy— one that would have gladdened the heart of Lord
Monboddo could he have heard of it* M. du Couret has
communicated an account of an African people with tail$!
They are called Ghilibes, and are said to be at home
somewhere beyond 8ennaar. Their numbers ace about
40,000, and it is perhaps fortunate that they are not more
numerous, for they prefer human flesh to any other kind
of diet. M. du Couret describes the individual which he
saw aa ' very intelligent :' his tail was about four inches
long ! What a cluuico this news will afford to enterpris-
ing showmen !
Many of your readers will be interested to know that
the Ordnance Town Survey on the GO-inch sotla is satis-
factorily progressing. The plans constructed on such
large dimensions will pro?e of great public utility.
Twenty-six sheets are already published of the Liverpool
survey; those of some other northern towns arc complete;
and bcre, in the south, Windsor and Southampton are
ready for the engraver. The great survey of London,
which is now being put on paper, will comprise 900
sheets, 3 feet by 2 feet ; and we are assured that their
completeness and accuracy will bo such as to render them
of great value to all parties engaged in building or oth^
constructive works. There is a fact worth notice in con-
nectioa with these Osdnanoemaps and plans; their cheap-
ness ia due to science — to the electrotype process, by
which the original engraved plates are reproduced in any
number.
The picflldant of the Geographical Society gives us to
understand that the publication of maps, plans, and
charts, is going on in all the civilised countries of the
globe, aa well as England, with groat activity. The spirit
of travel, too, seems to have lost none of its energy. Six
Frenoh gentlemen, aboat to set out for different parts of
Amerioa^ have a|)plied to scientific societies for instruc-
tions 'an * how to observe.' Something nM>re than mere
adventure is required of travellers now-a-days ; philo-
sephj, aeience» aad ari^ are as greedy for fscts from a
foftigp soil as our factories are for cotton, and hitherto
the eupply has pietlgr well kept pace with the demand.
Have yon heanl of Mr Aaron Palmer's project t This
gentlemjin, a corresponding member of the National In-
itituta at WashiMton, addressed a communication to
the Xate president (Mr Polk) on *■ the unknown countries
of the East,' by which he meant those beyond China
bordering on the North Pacific Ocean. He states that
the peat river Amur has a courso of 2280 miles before
diai^axsing its waters into the Gulf of Saghalien, which
those who take the trouble to look at a map will find within
the Qurile Islands on the Sea of Okhotsk. Mr Palmer
baa aa eye to business: he * oonsiders that there are no
inswrmaimtable ebatsAlcs to a dirsct eommameiLtinn bi».
ing opened between the Pacifie and the Baltic, and with
the c!wpian and Black Seas, by the route of this river and
ihiB navigable waters of Siberia.' An introduction by this
means to countries so vast, and populations so numerous,
presents truly a * magnificent prospect' for trade, to say
nothing of higher interests. And it is not amiss to notice,
as a coincident fact, the recent discovery of good and
workable coal in Vancouver's Island, the Straits of
Magellan, in Borneo, Formosa, and several parts of the
coast of India. The future development of trade and
navigation depends perhaps more on coal than canvas.
Besides this, we have intelligence of mountains disco-
vered in Central Africa, vrithin two or three degrees of
the equator, whose summits are covered with perpetual
snow — ^a fact which, under the circumstances, rather s^r-
prises philosophers. Then, again, we hear of a tribe on
the western coast of the same country who make use of a
written language : extraordinary, if true, and may be
turned to good account. And further, Mr Duncan is
going again to Dahomey, to endeavour to push his re-
searches in that quarter; another traveller is to make his
way (if he can) from Natal to the south of Abyssinia.
The East India Company, too, are about to send a partv
to explore * the eastern angle of Africa : ' a region which
onco was the ' spice country' of the rest of the world ; and
there is a rumour of a steamboat exploration of the
White Nile. While on the subject of Africa, I may
mention that letters have been received from the officers
of the ' Reynard ' steamer, cruising on the western coast,
which ' speak in the highest terms of Mr Grant's appa-
ratus for converting salt-water into fresh. Reynard daily
provides 160 gallons more than is wanted of excellent
water, and the difficulties attendant on sickness, frequently
arising on watering in boats from the shore, are by this
invention avoided.' Not only in Africa, but in all other
parts of the world, are explorations and surveys goins on ;
and were I to write a simple catalogue of the whole, it
would more than fill one of your pages.
We are to have a grand national exhibition of art and
manufactures by the Society of Arts in 1851, such as have
long been held annually in cities on the continent and
in New York. Government, it is said, have promised to
lend a suitable building on the occasion; and we may
reasonably hope for the same good results as have attended
similar €Jtp99Uions in other countries. The Society have
just issued their prize list for 1850; among them are gold
and silver medals for the best specimens of woven fabrics,
silks, carpets, &c.; for 'ornamental basket-work;' for
cartoons, models of portions of the human figure, and
drawings; for improved domestic utensils, wood-carvings,
and various other subjects in agriculture, chemistry, and
mechanics. As prospectuses may be hod gratis, no one
who feels any desire to compete need be unacquainted
with the regulations; and the hope of a prize may stimu-
late some to exertion who otherwise would never bestir
themselves. Apropos of art and manufactures, a lady at
Bristol has latelv bequeathed L.4000 to that city towards
forming a School of Arts ; and a new museum is about to
be built at Oxford. Then a means of ventilating rooms
and houses has just been patented, which promises great
results. It is an application of the inverted syphon; the
heated and bad air passes into the short leg, and escapes
from the apartment by the long leg. Change of temnera-
ture, we are assured, does not alter its action ; and if the
instrument be generally available, we shall have obtained
at last the lonf-desiderated possibility of breathing pure
air within habitations. Talking of patents : I find in a
list of those granted in the Uuiteu States, comprising
several hundreds, during a period of four months only,
no less than three for 'door latches,' five for * lamps,'
others ' for putting boots and shoes on the lost,' * for
teaching children arithmetic,' for ' digcing potatoes,' and
for one called ' the wife's protector.' VVhat can this last
mean 1 Is it a newly-invented husband 1
But I am all at once reminded that I must not engross
too much of your space with my gossip, and shall there-
fore throw my remaining items of news into as brief a
miscellaneous paragraph as possible. The submarino
234
CHAMBBRS'B EDIKB0BGH JOtTfiKAL.
Brett hM oootraoted to laj one down from DoTer to
Boulogne and C»lal8, and haTe it complete by September
1850. The Canard line of Atlantic iteamers hare been
prened into the aerrioe of astronomy, to enable the Ame-
ricanfl to determine exactly the latitude of Cambridge
Obaerratoiy, Maeeachusette, at compared with that of
Greenwich. In acoompliBhing this, 116 chronometers
have been carried backwards and forwards thirty-four
times between the two countries. It will gratiff the
friends of cleanliness to learn that a project is on foot
for baths and wash-houses at Chelmsford, and for an
Artesian well at Romford. Sir John Barrow, of whom
you gaTO a biographical notice some time ago, is to hare
a column erected to his memory on the top of a hill in
the ricinity of his birthplace at Ulrerstone: to which
unconnected jottings, I may add that the new ' florin' is
creeping slowly into circulation, and is welcomed by
sensible people as the first more towards a decimal sys-
tem; the birat hitherto devised for public conTenience,
and which, it is greatly to be desired, may be ere long
Implied to weights and measures as well as coins.
Haye you heard of Benihard Cotta's book — '' Letters on
the Kosmos of Humboldt t' It is an attempt to elucidate
and popularise the generalisations of the great master of
philosophy, and will therefore be acceptable to the majo-
rity of readers. The first part has recently come from ihe
press. Of a less immediately useful character is ' Celtic
and Antediluvian Antiquities,* by Monsieur Boucher
de Perthes, a learned Frenchman. This gentleman
has for a long time believed that fossil human remains
would one day be discovered, and insists that wherever
fossils of the great mammijfera are found, there also
minute search will bring to light utensils^ weapons,
symbols, &c. all of stone — relics of human industry ante-
nor to the Delude. Persuaded that these remains are of
that early date, he finds in them the type of the Dolmen,
and other Druidical monuments ; but notwithstanding
the Kkill and earnestness with which the book is written,
I doubt if the author will succeed in converting geolonsts
and antiquaries to his theory. How diflferent to these
before- the- Flood speculations is Mr Buckingham's book,
in which, among other subjects, he treats of ' Model
Towns ! ' He proposes to establish a company to raise the
necessary funds — L.3,000,000 — which sum would be suffi-
cient to build and furnish a town for 10,000 inhabitants;
and suggests that the first should be named Victoria, and
built on the government lands of the New For^, oppo-
site the Isle of Wight. Lastly, the 'reading public'
hereabouts is comforting itself with the hope oi some-
thing good from Macaulay, having heard that he is, or
WAS, lately in Ireland coUecting materials for the Wil-
liaraite campaign. Who amongst us does not remember
Banim's graphic descriptions of that event in the ' Boyne
Water!'
There, whatever you may say of quality, you will hardly
complain of quantity; so, for the present, iarewell*
■ ■ ■ I III I I III I ■ ■ I.I I ..
GERMAK UNIVERSITY-LIFE.
Th£ English umyersity-man, who fanciefl he can form
even a general notion of German university-life from
hit own experieooe of Oxiord or Cambridge, laboura
WKler a delusion. At all erentt we ftnind remarkably
lit^ at Heidelberg td suggest reminiscences of Qranta.
There, to be sure, are professors, stndents, and lectnrest
as with Qs ; but the course and circumstances of Ger-
man instruction differ essentially from what we are
accustomed to.
At Heidelberg,^ and, it is beliered, at ail the German
nnlTeraitiei, ooUege-haUs, with their attociations, are
unknonm. Oxford and Cambridge consist principally of
private foundations. They have but little connection
with the state or the state government — these founda-
I
* The writer of these remerke has no pflCMmal experience of any
other QermMX univewity thiut Ueldelberg. Uie xemeriM an in-
tended to apply to the state of thhigs before February 1848.
tioDf ace lelf-fOTeniiDg, and poweii in IheiiMeNM tlM
means of proriding for meritorious membere tbey pot-
sess and dispose of their fellowships, tutonhipt, clmrcb-
livings, &C. quite independently of state inteHereooe.
The German universities, on the other hand, are crea-
tures of the state ; the authorities are appoitUmt of the
state government, reoeire titles from the gorcmBMOt,
and government situations stand in pliMe of ooOege fel-
lowships. In the English universities, the students nay
be said to constitute part of a monastic syatem : tbey
live as is prescribed for them, dine in the hall, and an
amenable to a peculiar discipline. At German* as st
Scotch universities, the students do pret^ Bracfa ss
they like; live where they like; and tfaair raugt U
duties consists slmost entirdj of attending the Ise-
tures of the professors under whom tbey bard etirnllrd
themselves. The German unlverrfty systeoi, however,
greatly excels the Scotch one. Any lad, no matter how
ill-prepared by previous study, may attend the nalver-
sity of Edinburgh, provided he pays for his matricula-
tion tickets ; on the other hind, the student at Heidel-
berg, and, I believe, othv G^^rman univeisicies, moat,
before matriculating, pass a rather strict examination.
It has been reswved for SootUnd — diieAy friim the ne-
cessities of pooriy-paid professors — to degrade the edo-
cation of a university to that of an elementary sdiool ;
and hence the low state of erudition now so pferalent
among us. In England, things are bad enough, bat
they have not gone this length. The prizet in the form
of rich livings, not to speak of the rigorous examina-
tions for degrees, will always maintain a toleraUy high
scholarship in connection vnth the English umwersitica.
Learning is pursued at the universities of Gcraaay
with a hope of rising by professional distinction, or by
government employment; for before a man is chosen
as a servant by the state, he must show what he has
done in the way of college studies. The hofSB which
are thus inspired, along with the moderate east ti
living, induce a large attendanoe at the German univei-
sities. At Heidelberg, for example, a student any get
o&pUal lodgings for the whole aeme^ter, or half-yetfly
term, for seventy guldens, or about iJs, V6s. Sd. ani
tolerable ones for about forty guldens, or ItS, 6s. M.
He may dine gloriously at a uMe-ffkiu for elgfalaa-
pence, and scurvily fbr sixpence. At <xber unnvrsities
he may, we underetand, live cheaper ; for Heideiberf
is (Veqnented by many strangers and people of Cur
means, and is, moreover, a town of that fimited exisat
where everybody may know what everybody does, sad
where, if one ventures to live very ' cheap and naUy,*
he may hare to * blush to find it fame.* But it wm
usual, if not necessary, fbr the student to study darisf
part of his course at more than one uniTersity. Tie
Vienna student mi§^t go possibly to Munidi. IV
policy of Prince Mettemich rorbade him to visit fMdtl*
berg. The climate of Baden might engender idess IM
liberal for the requirements of the subject of so iliifflHr
a state as Austria.
Supposing the student to have obMned all Us enff*
flcates [to have taken a degree, and got himself dibM
Herr Doctor* 1, he is in a position to ollbr faiiudf to
be examined for a post under the goremment of Us
native state. Suppose him successful, he gets a astti-
nation ; if not, he falls b^ck on professional exertka
Hitherto, the only sort of freedom in Gemuoiy k*
been enjoyed by the students. When grown to be wm^
* The wife of th^ Herr Dootor beoomw Fran
Udtes in Germany take titles in this way from their
and we do not know that a lady, on her hutlMnd beteg
Herr AppeIlatlo0ageH<3htiirtth, or Mr CooacUlar Ot Cbe
of Appeal, woaM mt be catttled to be mMtmA la
AppeaL
1 1
:|
r
>■ I
' L
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
235
tb^ have had to eenibnn to the general deadneea of
politioal and social life ; but so long as they were at a
nniyersity, particularly that of Heidelberg, they might
rant and sing about liberty to their heart's content. It
need hardly be told that German students hare taken
care to mtSie the most of these indulgences ; and this
brings us to the paltriest feature of the whole system. We
allude to the union of students, or Burschen, into smok-
ing, drinking, flghting-elubs---as if to smoke, drink,
and light, fonned any part of a right education, or could
serre any good end wnatsoerer. In Heidelberg, when
we were there, the principal clubs were the Prussian,
the Westphalian, ana the Suabian. The members, how-
erer, do not necessarily belong to the states or districts
designated by tiiese titles. It has happened that the
senior or chief of one of these corps has been a natire
of Great Britain ; and we have been informed that the
individual alluded to had attained this dignity of chief
of a corps in more than one unirersity. Each oorps
has its hieipe, where the members meet every night to
drink beer, and sing, and talk from eight till eleven
o'clock, llie attendance of members a certain number
of times in the week is enforced by fines ; but as time
must be killed, and as beer- drinking and singing are po-
pular among (Germans, no great difficulty is experienced
in bringing the memben together. After leaving the
koeipe — and we rather imagine they are required to
do so at eleven o'clock — the Burschen betake them-
setrea occasionally to the streets: how tbey there
amuse themselves may possibly be inferred from one of
their songs : —
* Fwewell, ye streeta, straight and crooked,
I thall mkiiw the round of ye no more—
Make ye resound no more with song,
No more with nolae and clank of i|>uis I *
Ik sametimes happens on these occasions that tho ' Herr
Bursch' allows himself more freedom than accords
with the views of the gifardians of the public pei^ce.
Upon this he becomes liable to be punished by confine-
ment in the students* prison — a room belonging to the
university, and at the top of the building, lliis con-
finement Is not altogether dose, as he is allowed to go
out in the course of the day, on the understanding that
be rotarafl at tiie appointed time. The members of the
difl¢ corps are distinguished by caps of peculiar
shape and colour) and some of them we have seen
bedizened with ribbons like the hats of Italian ban-
ditti— the whole of suoh nonsense only rendering the
tamed, sleepy character of gtown-up life in Germany
the more inconsistent and ridiculous. But there is
something more preposterous still — the fighting.
The student, after joining the university, provides
himself with a scA/o^or-— his duelUng^sword — and pro-
ceeds to take lessons in aword-exercise. After he has
beoQooe sufiBLciently expert in the use of his weapon*
opportunity is afforded him to exhibit his skill He
will find himself ere long engaged in a duel ; and here
no personal quarrel with, nor even previous personal
knowledge of, his antagonist need be sui^iosed. The
Burscbe fights hy the appointment of the senior of the
oorpa. The members, however, of the corps do not
fight with their own men, nor with the members of
any corps fraternising with their own. From what we
collected^ the following custom would appear to pre-
vail : — On some evening during the semester, two or
three antagonist corps meet by appointment at one of
the kneipes. The evening* commences socially with
beer-drinidng and singing. After some time an inter-
ruption occurs — ^possibly a sort of mock quarrel — and
at the settlement a certain number of the men present
will find themselves in possession of papers, each in-
scribed with the name of a member of an antagonist
oorps; and it is then understood that between these
parties respectively duels are to come off on some
future occasion or occasions not then settled. We heard
lat^y that a personal friend of ours is just recovering
from a * sohr starkea Hieb iiber das Gksicht' received
In a duel • wlietfaer this partfeular encoimler took place
under the above circumstances we cannot say. At
Heidelberg duels take place, or used to take place, in a
room outside the town, appropriated to the purpose,
on the opposite side of the Neckar, at a place called
the Hirschgasse.
The students do not object to admit strangers to
these affairs : we, however, never saw one of them. An
uninitiated Mend of ours was present on one occasion,
and, to tell the truth, seemed but little gratified at the
face - slashing he witnessed. A surgeon is always in
attendance to take care of the wounded : the appoint-
ment to this office, though not sought by men of the
first rank in the profession, is nevertheless enjoyed by
a legitimate member of it. The body of the combatants
is, we believe, tolerably protected, the face being left
exposed; and it is on the face that wounds are most
firequently received, and the scars left by the same most
advantageously observed— that is, when these marks
of heroism are not somewhat too deariy purchased, as
has happened, with the permanent loss of a considerable
portion of the nose. It is believed that the fight must
last a certain fixed time, unless a tolerably severe
wound be received before it is up: in that case the
combat at once ceases ; the surgeon sews up the wound,
and the wounded man retires. He is tended by members
of his corps, some of whom take it in turns to sit up with
him at nights till he becomes convalescent. The duels
are very seldom fatal ; but we heard of one instance
where a student was wounded in the body, and received
some injury in one of his hmgs. He was not a very
favourable subject, being a man of intemperate habits,
and died some time sub^uently, not having recovered,
as was supposed, the effects of his wound.
Sometimes members of the corps die from other
causes: when this is the case, their funeral offers a spec-
tacle which to an Englishman is of no every-day occur-
rence. A Suabian died while we were in Heidelberg ;
and we had then an opportunity of witnessing what we
will now endeavour to describe. The funeral ceremony
commenced about forty-eight hours after his decease.
We stationed ourselves at a point of the Hemptstrasse,
where the procession was to pass on its way to the
cemetery. Presently sounds of music and the flaming
of torches in the distance gave notice of its approach.
It came slowly on ; at the head a band of music, and
men bearing torches ; then what we will call the hearse ;
upon this was a large garland of flowers (these flowers
are not uncommon at ordinary funerals), and we believe
the cap and sword of the deceased ; next, a carriage, or
perhaps two carriages, containing the clergyman and
some other persons; then came the members of the
deceased's corps, walking, dressed in black, and wearing
black hats ; at the end of these some studente, the heads
of the corps possibly, wearing cocked-hats, with orna-
ments which looked like feathers, and in long boots,
and carrying their swords reversed ; then came the
other corps in order, wearing their corps caps, and
bearing flaming torcbea; the heads of these oorps in
uniform, with long boots and swords: and in this
order tiie procession moved forward towards the ceme-
^ry, which is some distance from the town. At a
point of the road beyond where we stood, the band, and
all the corps, exoept the Suabians, stiU bearing their
fliaming torches, turned baek, and proceeded by a difib-
rent street, we think, to a large square in the town—
the Museums Flatz — where we stationed ourselves. The
corps being here assembled with their torches, the band
commenced playing, and the corps singing in chorus a
fiineral song : tiie song flnished, away went torch after
torch whisxlnf through the air, each being aimed to-
wards a point in the square ; and about this point they
fell and lay in a flaring and smoking heap. After wit-
nessing this, and braving the snooke for some time, the
crowd dispersed, and this part of the ceremony was
over; all to be repeated on an occasion of a similar
kind. The Suabians followed to the cemetery, and
several of them returned with a small artificial forget-
me-not with green leaves, presented to them as a me-
236
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOURNAL.
mento of their decenaed comrade. As moumhig for
him, the members of his corps put ft small cockade on
their brimless caps. And here liaring buried oar stu-
dent, we will leave him to rest in peace.
THE RAILWAY S.
Various inquiiiies hare lately been put to us respecting
property in railways, and it seems as if we were expected
to afford counsel in matters of purchase and transfer
which are out of our ordinary coureo of inTSstigation.
Any man, however, who reads, and keeps his eye on the
columns of a newspaper, may be aUe to speak pretty dis-
tinctly on the present aspects of the railway interest. Our
advice, summed up almost in a word, would be to all
and sundiy-<^' Do not yenture a shilling, on shares until
the whole financial a^&Uxs of railways stand revealed to
the country by the expositions of a public auditor/ Not
that all railway managements have been marked by dis-
honourable acts) but the system, aa a, system, has been
80 exceadiaglybad, that the public in the meanwhile
would do wdl to pau3e before giving credit even to
those statements which have the external appearance <^
integrity.
How humUiating to the ohamcter of the EDclish the
whole details •connec^d with the projection and general
mauagement of railways 4unng thia la4t six oc eicht
years r Rascality— a softer word oaanot be employed—
has been exemplified everywhere : in the conduct of the
originM projectors; in that of the purchasers of shares,
who bought only to cheat; in the manoeuvres of engineers
and directors; «nd &ot less^ though more eoyortly, in the
pitiful rapaoity of the landed gentjj, in requiring to
havje their opposition to, the running of lines through
theu: property— oftf^L a mere aham opposition — bought
up. 3tit M^e tricks or ^llioa of directories have been
more con^icuously acttye in ruining public confidence.
We need not allude to the vulgar practice of 'ginger-
ing the lines! — ^^imparting to the stock a, bright upward
tendency b^ soi^e pfaii device in the share -market
The deceptions, or, as it xAay be, the stupidities, which
have brought unmlstakeable damage upon finances other-
wise sound* have been the leaiiiug of bad lines hj good
ones, and the jobberies therewith connected. By this in-
genious process of ruination, it has happened that it is
better to have shares in a bad or non-paying line, than
in one whicli, left tp itseH^ would yield a handsome
profit. The dead hare by this means been yoked to the
living : all the profits of a sound traffic are absorbed in
paying & heavy interest on a lease which yields next tc
nothing. Yet thcfe are things Worse i^n this. A great
company pretends to be on terms of arrangement for
leatsing a small Hnet the agreement is made; up go the
shares of the small line— a vast number of them being
held br the directors of the rreat Ihie — and then, !o and
bchola, pariiament refuse uicir I'anctlon to the agree-
ment—before which catastrophe the knowing ones have
sold out, aaid hundreds of well-meaning people, who
did not ' see behind the scenes, are leh in the tech with
stock which was to have been guaranteed seven or eight
per , cent., but Which is not guaranteed at all, and not
saleable Unless at an enofcinous loss I * A^in/ to adopt
the language of a shar^roker^s circular, * « great com-
pany leases and purchases another line, the act of parlia-
ment is obtained, and all the provisions confirmed by
both parties to the agreement. On an investigation,
howevet, intoihe affairs of the leasing company, it is dis-
covered that the resolution approving of the HII, thou^
promulgailed by the newspapets In the usual way, had
been, l^the carelessiiess of an official, omitted altfogether
from the minute-book of the co^ratien) and as this
mlmite-book is held io be the true ** legal evidence" of
all the eohtpany's aoU a«d deeds, the omission is made
the bafts of a i«oommendation to the shareholders to
postpone for af period of six years the implement of their
eolemn ^ligatiouvand the eequel of tkis head in the
Beport, -rendadibg one of the fable of the fox and the
crane, 'containa » veijr significant warning to the opposite
eonipaojr, tuid fiuUng theix obeerfal acceptaace of this
offer, the validity of the entire contract will be qiMS. <
tioned at law.' Can one read of such things without £ed- '
ingashamed of his country ! i
The end of all this, as a matter of ooorae, has been tW
loss of public confidence in railway management, mod
individual suffering, and a depreciation of stock in niaj ,
instances below what may ultimately prove to be iti tctotl .
worth. Nor is this depreciation due exclusivdj to tke I
deceptions we have noticed. In too many cases, vitk s
view to keep up stock in the market, dividends have bees i
paid out of capital instead of profits ; that is to aj,
annual dividends on shares have been |Maid psrUjoot
of money got by fresh calls or by borrowing. Thiakof j
interest to shareholders being paid out of borroved cuk
—cash procured on debenture to keep the concern sikot I
In regard to one company, we perceive that in cocm-
quence of the cessation of this practice no intereit at sll ii
to be paid for some time, till profits work up the impco-
perly^abstracted money. In nilway jargon, this is cilkd \
* opening a suspense account.' In glancing over aoj Ihi ,
of dividends, it will be observed that, from one cause or
other, they are, generally speaking, very much down. The j
rate par cent, of Great Western atock is doira 6«n 7 to '
4; that of the London and South- Westen fiom 5 to 34;
that of the Midland from 6 to 3; and that iff the York !
and North Midland has sunk from 6 to nothiag 1
Passing over what may be termed the unpardoaahle
vicee of ^e ^glish railway system, we artiye si anothw
Bouroe of error. The country not only attempted to do
too much within a limited space, but did that mo^ oa
a mons^ndy^extravagant scale. All the railvaji kast
been executed in aatyle of splendour, and at a rateof oat-
lay, most inmmde&t in the drcumstooces; and, after sU,
the country is not yet properiy intersected with zail«a;i.
The lines are for the most port hitddUd up in dosUisst
no great distance from each other, while large dbtneU
ore left without any at all. How much more leaseaaiys
and remunerative would it havie been to eictead, in tk
very first instance, at least one railway the whoU loogik
of Great Britain, with certain moan divecging lines iBt»
quarters commanding a oonsiderable thoroagh^uel IN*
manv instances are there of milltons being a|uaadqrf
on oouble lines when single lines wonild hove aosfsel
all the purpose — on making dead lev^s wben laodM*
gradients would not have been objectiom^de ! - Look st^As
palatial grandeur of the Euston Square station i dsok-
less a fine thing, but useless as regards the fnalitatiiirf
transit. Hallways first, and Doric columns aAcnp^
Our friends in America have wisely eschewed thaalft>
discretions. According to late accounts, there w«i ll*
ready lines of railway upwards of twelve hundrsA i^
long In the United States. These lines were sia^ Ae
gradients and curves were less delicate than with ai^te
station-houses were generally plain wooden ereciioa^ Ai
bridges were also of timber; and the rote <tf transit w
Seldom above fifteen or twenty miles on houn. XhoBii
a sort of common sense in this. The doctrine in Abipb
is, first give us a single lihe betidxt placet at ajpij
distance from each other, and then improve upon^V
afterwards, as we are able to afford it. We hopet^
Americans for their discretion. By adoi^ing a lii^y
contrary policy, we have thrown our finandal ey^UitOT
disorder, paralysed trade, and ruined tiie hopfilpvtf
thousands of families. >' •
Surely, out of the stunendous blunderawUHwiiHW
are nationally chai^eable some good win carte l.jfc
may be instructed what errors to avoid — ^vhai ^y
rational course wc should follow. Raiiw«ifs fN ■*
highest achievement of science in the way «f "'
tion; and it is to be deplored that ao graod n
should ha\'e been disgraced and degraded
infirmity. To develop and give fiwr-play po
structure, financial and medMmicalt thete nmrt
tuted at the earliest opportttuify a thorou^
public inspection and check. Tikis will t^
confidence, and render tailwavs' a eubject o^ i ^
unet^ivocal investment. Ro%bed of oil dk||e^e»
certainty, people will purchase shartt in nalsr
OS much delfiherotibn and eeeority oi thsy woeiM
J
CUAMBEBS?S EpiKBUBGB: JOURIf A]k
2^7
piece of property yisible to their bodily eyes. When
such B degree of confidence has como about, and the
money mancet haa been restored to its equilibrium, then
will be the time for carrying out the mechanics of rail-
wftjs to their proper extent. A new course of engineering
vill probably be found ayailable. Single, unexpensire
lines, constructed with light rails, and suitable for light
carriages and small locomotiTes travelling at a moderate
speed, will be laid down as feeders to the great lines.
Few routes, we apprehend, will be without these con-
renient means of traffic. Proprietors of land, usually the
last to move in public improvements, will, in sheer self-
defence, be obliged to take the initiative; they will help
forward where they formerly retarded, because thev wiU
discorer that lanos unvisited by railways are of utr in-
ferior value, aa respects agriculture, to those which possess
these appliances. A tendency downward in the rent of
farms unassisted by railway traffic wiU be a wonderful
quickener to the ' a^cultural mind.*
We can only live in hopes of these happy times. Mean-
while, we have the unpleasant duty of setting our house
in order: without that, all will come to naught.
ST JOHN'S WOOD.
4
The absentee for any length of time from town, who
takes up a map of London io the hope of finding a com-
plete pUm of ita eTer-increasing enborbs, will be greatly
disappointed. So rapidly are estates parcelled out, and
roads run through them, and so quickly do houses line
those roadsr that, for any purpose of diseorerj, the ehart
of one year beoomee umoet useless the next That
which stood upon the oatsldrta last season has ebatnged
in this to the centre of a system, with an active, busy,
rsstleis population, oonstantly eztendiDg its borders in
the direction of the oountry.
This, which is true of every side of England's yaet
metropolis, is particulariy applicable to the notrth^west*
ern frontier. Here the district popaiarly known as St
John's Wood stands conspicuous.
St John's Wood, which, by its name, still shows how
^ the limits extended <k the estate belonging to the
Knights Hospitidlers at Clerkenwell, has a character
exclusively its owd. It is, par excellence^ the region of
villas, which are as diversely tenanted as they are dis-
similar to each other in construction. The mul^arlous
callings which develop the energies of so many hun-
dreds of thousands in the enormous city, have all their
representatives in St John's Wood. It is not inhabited,
like many other suburbs, by a particular class, whose
avooitioQs are special in a given quarter of the town,
hut is cosmopolitan : a residence of choice to many, a
place of refuge to not a few, who in its mysterious
depths enjoy a repose and a respite from intrusion
which are vainly sought for by the dweller in the
crowded street.
At an almost forgotten period — that is to say, some
years before the district was known by the name it now
bears— it furnished an abode for the royal exile who,
fur the second, and probably the last time, has sought
an asylum in this countrv *, and * the oldest inhabitant,'
vho generally possesses in a high degree the faculty of
forgetting the past, can distinctly recall the day wnen
the Duke of Orleans occupied a sort of farm-house on
the spot which is now nearly the centre of St John's
Wood, The rumour also pins ground that royalty
more closely twined with Bntish affections is shortly to
become a denizen of the umbrageous retreat } but this,
if it ever does come to pass, will be only an adventitious
tUstinction. That which really gives character to St
John's Wood arises out of a broader aud more general
principle— the variety it displays.
Thither repair, to grace its sylvan shades, many a
foreign bird of soqg, warblers in muslin skirts and vax-
Qished boots, who, during the heats of the London sum-
iier (when the summer is what it ought to be), fancy
themselves once more amid the leafy groves of their
istivo Italy. St John's Wood is the cynosure of all
Frenchmen, who, fresh from the parched* m^ dus^
alleys of the Cliampa-Elysdes» break out into raptures
such as JE^nglishmen never dream of. when first their
eyes behold this oasis ; and a striking instance of the
hyperbole of praise in which they indulge was given
very recently in the * Constitutionnel,' in a communica-
tion firom M. Fiorentitio, tbe musical correspondent of
that joumaL This gentleman iays« d prapat of St Jehn^s
Wood t * Here noise, sbk^ and fog are unkBown. An
iron railing, artistioaUy manufactured, surrounds these
charming abodes, rather for the sake of ortuunent than
defence You enter by small paths of soft and fine
gravel, bordered by shmbs, and enclosed witdi a quick-
set hedge or a low brick wall. A grass-plot of dark-
green extends before the windows of the drawing-room,
and rejoices the eye with its emerald tints. You can
hardly belidve with what religkNis care the English
cultivate the smallest blade of grass, the most in-
significant plant, and the commonest flower. It is
the love, the worship of property carried to supersti-
tion—nay, to fanatknsm. In St Phil's Woody where tlie
oountry is svddenly transformed into a multitude of the
most enchanting houses, it was discovered, in laying out
the new streets, that a certain tree broke the symmetry
of the arrtogements, and pushed itself arregantly for-
ward hito the very mtdst of the pavement In France,
the tree would have been nprooted befoie ssmset \ here,
howevef, all the hmdlords ^ the district 'dispute its
possession, and it ie iMteted 6^ nbeeriptkm: it is re-
spected and tended with the same veneratioii that the
stncient Druids paid to their sacred grove/
It is a pity to disturb this pleasing little romance; but
with fegard to the iratering bv subscription, we fbar
that applies on}y to the high roAds on which Mr Bark's
water*carts are employed ; nor do we quite believe, we
are sorry to say, in the Druidical vtetjeration which M.
Fiorentino would ascribe to the tree -fanciers in St
John's Wood, There are many of the inhabitauts who
recollect wlien long Avenues of elms were standing in
different parts of the wocd ; and this sftcred tree— we
should like to see it— must, we suspect, be like the last
rose of summer — left standing alone.
In the bosky dells of St J(rtin--whose boskiness is
contained within four walls — reside lawyers, artists,
and bankers, men of pleasure, men of substance, aird
men of stitiw, the aris(ocracy of Regent Street, of Char-
ing-Cross, and the Strand, lords of the ^tock Exchange
and the Docks, Christian and Hebrew, half-pay officers,
professors of languages, government officials, and more
thau one of the anonymous potentates of the press.
There, comfortable divines, comfortably hon^e^, get up
highly - decorated churches, which lack nothing but
steeples to make them perfect models of ecclesiastical
vanity ; there rises many a mansion, now Qotihic, now
Elizabethan, now luxuriantly fiorid in style, now clas-
sically cold and severe, wheire the ingenipus' youth of
both sexes are trained up in ^e way thej^ should— or
should not — go j there, at every fre<iuent intersection,
are seen the ruby and emerald beacons of rival ^n^geons,
gleaming like fire-fiies amongst the leaves — or, liker
still, to humming-birds — even to their dongated bills.
Occasionally, hi^ier walls than are usually met with,
and more elaborately garnislied with broken bottles —
the citizen's chevatut de /rite — together with a denser
foliage, revealing only the roof of some carefully-secluded
abode, indicate that gentlemen of fortuoci who are
haunted by strange fancies, jtuch ^ believing them-
selves to be made of guUa peraha, and capable of beiog
stretched to any extent-^haviug claims ^pon the throne
— being the DiUoe of WeUii^Um and Jeopy Xiiud at the
same time — aud such-like vagaries, are there under the
friendliest surveiUance. In the snugly-haried*«p cages,
with carefully -contrived wickets and close gratings,
dwell sedusionists of anothex kibd, who pay ready
money (rarely are they guilty eC such a weikkness) to
the compilers ef Bed-Books and Court^nides to keep
their names ottd instead of putting them tn, and whose
servants eoswec tttaaieacB only thcMUgh the trap. Her-
238
CHAMBEBS*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
mitf they are, disgusted with the wajs of the world,
and particularly with that way which leads to the
breeches pocket under the guidance of the law. Tet
another class, and the list closes, which might be
swelled to an almost indefinite length: the plausible
and adrenturous, who recognise Pistol's oyster in the
world, but open and eat it rather by persuasion than
force $ smiles and subtilty their favourite weapons. To
this number belong the specious tribe who are myste-
riously familiar with high personages — whose interest is
great at the Treasury, the Horse-Guards, and the India*
House — who earn 'a thousand thanks' from advertis-
ing-victims in the ' Times/ dispose of commissions
* under the rose,' and sell cadetships in a comer — with
a pleasant vista before them, and an edifice not unlike
the Queen's Bench in the distance. And, bolder still in
the practice of victimising, are hidden in nameless tene-
ments, in roads yet unnamed, some who go down to the
great waters of London, and live upon the chances of
the day at the expense of the unwary tradesman, the
credulous hotel -keeper, the too -confiding casual ac-
quaintance ; thdr prospect being even more extensive
than that cf the merely specious, and reaching across
the ocean to the £sr-off shores of Australia.
In a word— from the gentleman of the swell mob, who
wears false curls pinned into his hat, and who. for ob-
vious reasons, lives everywhere but in a eul-de-sac^ to
the man of first-rate position, whose respectability is
guaranteed by his shining bald head and portly figure,
and whose loud-voiced discourse all the day is of how
he lives, and where he lives ; between these extremes,
and compassing within them every grade of society —
for there is a numerous population of the very lowest
occupying a large section — the district of Portland
Town, St John's Wood, is peopled. But besides the
general character of the suburb, there are one or two
features which are special to it : Lords' Cricket- Ground
is one, and Frank Redmond's Swiss Tavern is another.
The fbrmer is known to every cricket-player in the
kingdom ; the latter to every pigeon-fancier, or sports-
man, of whatever denomination.
When the Duchess de Berry was at Dieppe one sum-
mer— now many years since — the English residents
there gave her royal highness ay^/0, the chief attraotion
of which was a cricket-match A CAnghitt, The duchess
enjoyed the refreshments prepared in the principal
marquee, where she was stationed to view tlM game )
but the game it9elf was beyond her oomprehensTon or
that of any of her suite ; and just as it was almost over,
she sent an aide-de-camp to ask * at messieurs' when it
Was their intention to begin. • Car, vous dire la verlt^/
said the envoy ; * son altesse royalo commence horrible-
ment ^ s'ennuyer.' We cannot tell what a foreigner's
notion of the sport may be, even at * Lords' ;' but for
ourselves, there are few sights more exhilarating than a
match on that level swanl — si^ between ' the gentle-
men ' and *ihe players,' «r *the married' and * the single,'
or ^ Kent' against ' all England'— with ^e turf in |^>od
order, tiM sun not too bright, a light breese blowing
ftam the west, and the vast enclosure lined on three
sides by hundreds — sometimes thousands — of eager spec-
tators, watching with intense interest every phase of
the game, and giving expression to the most uproarions
applause at every good hit or fatally -delivered ball.
The advantage which cricket possess^ over the gene-
rality of games is, that it suffices for itself. There are
as nuwy chaaoes attendant upon the result of a orieket-
nMitch aa upon a hone-race or a game at billiards ; but
that which is a necessary adjunct to every other de-
scription of sport is sdmost entirely wanting here. Some
ffew bets there may be amongst the clubmen and a few
others; but no *ring' is formed for the purpose; the
* odds' are not in everybody's mouth ; and the issue is
not watched with the same feverish anxiety that at-
tends a contest where men's opinions are backed by
heavy sums. The quickness, the iotelligence, the acti-
vity of the players, form the principal objects of attrac-
tion ; and we man who makes a good hit, a derer stop,
a bold catch, or who deUrert a fatal ball, ia as lovd^
applauded by the spectators aa were the knights lo tfas
olden tournaments, without any reference to party ooe-
siderationa. Success, then, to cricket every wbeni Md
more especially at Lords', the bead-quarten of tiit
game I
To those who delight in *the pomp and circiimitaiioe'
of mimio war, the barracks in St John's Wood, witfi its
well-appointed battalion of Guards, olfer a perpetosl
source of amusement ; while Uie presence of the troops,
as they defile daily through the principal tiioroo^ihres
on their way to mount guard at St James's, to the sound
of martial music, adds greatly to the Uvelineas of the
locality. Very pleasant also is it when the snraoicr'i
evening draws in, and the roar and tumult of Loodoo
are only indicated by a sound that reaemblei the mur-
muring of the far-off sea, to hear the dear notes of the
military bugles awaking the echoes with tiieir bnf-
drawn melancholy strains, or to listen to the last cadeace
of the loyal air, which, uniting his heavenly and his
earthly ruler in the same wKjet^ reminds the tme sol-
dier of his duty to both. When that sound has ceased,
all is silent for the night ; but as soon as Dooming begins
to dawn, a countless host of birds of song ren^ the
district once more worthy of its name; and the early
riser, firesh with the hope of another day, reoaUs with
pleasure the hour when he first became a denisen of 81
John's Wood,
A PIECS OF LEGAL ADVICE.
RsNNES, the ancient capital of Brittany, is a flmMMB
place for law. People come there from the extremities
of the country to get information and ask advice. Ts
visit Reanes without getting adviee appears inpostiUs
to a Breton. This was true at the latter end of the hit
century, just as it is at present, and especially amoof
the country-people, who are a timid and cautioQa race.
Now it happened one day that a farmer named Ber-
nard^ having come to Rennes on business, bethongfai
himself that as he had a few hours to spare, it woaid
be well to employ them in getting the advice of a cood
lawyer. He had often heard of Monsieur Potier St la
Germondaie. who was in such high repute, that peo(4e
believed a lawsuit gained when he undertook tbdr
cause. The countryman inquired for his address, and
proceeded to his house in Rue St Georges. The ctieots
were numerous, and Bernard had to wut some thne.
At length his turn arrived, and he was introduced. U.
Potier de la Germondaie signed to him to be seated, tbsa
taking ofi* his spectacles, and placing them on his desk,
he requested to know his business.
* Why, Mr Lawyer,' said the farmer, twirling Us
hat, < I have heard so much about you, that, aa I hare
come to Rennes, I wish to take the opportunity of csa-
sultiog you.'
* I thank you for your oonfidence, my tneni : jca
wish to bring an action, perhaps ? '
* An action ! oh, I ho4a that in abhorrenoe ! Jlsfsa
has Pierre Bernard had a word with any one.'
* Then is it a settlement — a division <x proper^?*
' Excuse m^ Mr Lawyer ; my family and I hart
never made a division, seeing that we all draw ftaok the
same well, as they say.'
' Well, is it to negotiate a purchase or a sale ?'
' Oh, no ; I am neither rich enough to purduK, aor
poor enough to selir
* Will you tell me, then, what you do want of ase?'
said the lawyer in surprise.
' Wh V, I have already told yon, Mr Lawyer/ rcpfied
Bernard. * I want your odvios— -for payment fil'coam,
as I am well able to give it to yoo, and I dont wish to
lose this opportunity.'
M. Potier took a pen and paper, and a^ed tihe
countryman his name.
* Pierre Bernard,' replied the htter, quite happy thii
he was at length understood,
•Your age?'
I
I
I
I
I
GHAMBEBSn9 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
23d
* Thirty years, or tery ii«ar it.'
'Tour YOcationF'
* My Tooation t Oh, that tneani what I do? I am a
farmer/
The lawyer wrot^ two lines, folded the paper, and
handed it to his strange client.
* Is it finished already? Well and good. What is the
price of that adrice, Bir Lawyer ? '
* Three fhincs!*
Bernard paid the money, and took his leave, delighted
that he had taken advantage of his opportunity.
When he reached home, it was four o'clock: the
journey had fatigued him, and he determined to rest
himself the remainder of the day. In the meantime the
hay had been two days cut, and was completely saved.
One of the working-men came to 'ask if it should be
drawn in.
'What, this evening?' exclaimed the fkrmer*s wife,
who had come in to meet her husband. * It would be
a pity to commence the work so late, since it can be
done to-morrow without any inconvenience.' The man
objected that the weather might change : that the
horaea were all ready, and the hands iSe. But the
farmer's wife replied that the wind was in a good quarter,
and that night would set in before their work could
be completed. Bernard, who had been listening to the
argument, was uncertain which way to decide, when he
suddenly recollected that he had the lawyer's advice in
his pocket
* Wait a minute,' he exclaimed ; * I have an advice —
and a famous one too — that I paid three francs fbr : it
ought to tell us what to do. Here, Theresa, see what
it says: ^ou can read written hand better than I.'
The woman took the paper, and read this line —
* Nsvaa rvt oww rtvL t»*««mbow wra* tod caw do to^oav I *
* That's it!' exclaimed Bernard, struck with a sudden
ray of light ' Come, be quick } get the carts, and
away ; boys, girls, all to the hajfleld 1'
Hia wife ventured a few more objections, but he de-
clared that he had not bought a three-franc opinion to
make no use of it, and that he would follow the lawyer's
sdvice. He himself set the example by taking the lead
in the work, and not returning till all the haV was
brought in. The event seemed to prove the wisdom of
his conduct, fbr the weather changed during the night ;
an tmexpected stofm burst over the valley; and the
next morning it was found that the river had over-
flowed, and carried away all the hay that had been left
in the fields. The crops of the neighbouring farmers
were completely destroyed: Bernard alone had not
BufRsred.
The auccess of this first experiment gave him stlch
fWith in the advice of the lawyer, that from that day
fbrth he adopted it as the rule of his conduct, and be-
came, by his order and diligence, one of the richest
fanners in the country* He never forgot the service
done him by M. Potier de la Germondaie, to whom he
ever afterwards carried a couple of his finest fowls every
yesr as a token of gratitude.
INDELIBLE WRITING-INK.
[We give the following in the form !n which we T«ce<Ted it from
Bristol ; and the more readily that we bear we were in error in
applying the word * inddible* to the inlc jnepared by Profemor
TralL The tub of that ink haa been abandoned by the National
Bank of Scotland, and rarious ohemioal substances hare been
found to aet eucoenfully against it :}~
In No. 295 of your valuable periodical I noticed a paper
entitled * A Word on Ink,* in which you deplore the want
of a good writing fltdd, capable of resisting the action of
moold or damp^ and that of the reagents usually resorted
to by fraadnlent parsona for the purposes of fmgery. Al^
though the public generally may not be aeqna&tcid With
the fact, still ohsmista have &>r years been in the habit of
employing hi thebr laboratories an ink which not only pos-
■esaas all the requisites you speolfy, hot also many oiaerfi
of not less importance. The one to which I refer is that
invented by my ftiend, Charies Thornton Ooathupe, Esq.
of Wrazall House, near Bristol, who has desoribed its oom«
position and mode of preparation in the sixth number of
the first volume of the ' Chemist' for June 1840. As the
receipt may possibly prove of service to some of your
numerous readers, I have taken the liberty of forwarding
it to you ; it is as follows : —
]Bk * Shell-lac, ..... 2 ounces.
Borax, 1 ounce.
Distilled, or rain water, 18 ounces.
Boil the whole in a closely-covered tin vessel, stirring it
occasionally with a glass rod, or a small stick, until the
mixture has become homogeneous. Filter, when cold,
through a single sheet of blotting-paper. Mix the filterea
solution (which will be about 19 fluid ounces) with I ounce
of mucilage of gum acacia (prepared by dissolving 1 ounce
of ffum in 2 ounces of wati^), and add pulverised indigo
and lampblaok ad libiiunu Boil the whole again in the
covered vessel, and stir the fluid well, to effect the com-
plete solution and admixture of the mucilage of gum
acacia. Stir it occasionally while it is cooling ; and after
it has remained undisturbed for about two or three hours,
that the excels of indigo and lampblack may subside,
bottle it fbr use.*
The fluid thus prepared is admirably adapted fbr writinff
upon parchment, ana, in fact, ought always to be emplovea
for legal and other important documents, as, when dry,
the erasure of the writing by chemical means almost
amounts to an impossibility. It is not only iaoapable of
being acted upon by oxalic aoid, the dilated bydroohlorie
acid, and chlorine — the usual substanoes employed by
forgers — but it is also left untouched after the long-con-
tinued action of water, alcohol, spirits of turpentine, the
diluted sulphuric and nitric acids, and liquor potasste, I
remain, gentlemen, yours very truly,
TuoaNTON J. HiittAPAtff.
P,S. — The cost of preparing one gallon of the above-
described ink, according to Mr Coathupe, does not exceed
four shillings. T. J. H.
TAXES ON RrrOWLEIXlB.
We notice that a society is in pogress of organisation
having for its obiqot the removal of aU taxes on knowledge
— an object next in importance to that of the removal of
taxes on food. The taxes referred to are of course the
direct taxes — such as the duty on foreign books, the duty
on paper, the advertisement duty, the stamp duty, and, in
the case of newspapers, the caution money. All these act
as restrictions on the spread of Intelligence and information
in the country, and would t>e abdish^ at once by a govern-
ment which looked only to the true welfaraof the people.
There Is little hope, however, that anytliingof the kind will
be done without agitation. U seems to have become a
principle with our * governing families * to move only in
obedience to pressure from without. For twenty years or
more no great step has been taken forward except on com-
pulsion. Abolition of slavery, repeal of com laws, emanci-
Sation of Catholics, reform of the House of Commons, re-
nction of the stamp duty — ah have been passed out of
doors. Parliament has 'beoome a mere court of registration :
govcrmnent has almost given up Its legislative function.
This is a new feature in the history of our * gknious con-
stitution.' But since the powers that be will baVe it so—
since thev toill adopt the * watoh-aod'wait * policy — they
must be dealt with on their own conditions. If they ask
for agitation, let them have it. It ia a curious fact tliat
the taxes on knowledge are felt more deeply, resented more
profoundly, by the intelligent part of the working-classes
than by those the next remove aoove them in a social sense.
The reduction of the stamp duty was carried by an associa-
tion of arliMiiB — and many of the earnest men who con-
ducted th)tt agitation to a successful wsue are now banded
and banding together fbr the seitt target and mot« difficult
vrork referred to. To give an idea of the magnlCnde of the
obstacles before them, we may state that ttwy proiwse to
invade the Qiancellor of Exchequer^ strong box, and re-
claim more than a million and a quarter sterling of the
annual black mail which he and his agents levv on know-
ledge! Last year the tax on foreign oooks yielded about
L.7o50— the dutv on paper about L.745,800--that on ad-
vertisements, L. 153,000 — and the stamps on papers and
■ ■ I '
* As maeh of tiie oolouring matter wlU evtn then bs hdd In
•nspcnsion. il wfll b« knudent to stltate tbs bottle that contaiiu
this ink preflons to Its eoployment.
240
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOUBNAL.
jonnudi, L.360,270— altogether, L.1,266,720. In their at-
tempt to get these taxes, or any portion of them, re-
pealed, the asBooiation ought to be able to count upon the
sympathy of every one interested in the education and
gradual elevation of tke people — ^be his political opinions
what thev may. Literature of some kind the masses have,
and will have, in spite of all regulations : and if these im-
pediments do not permit them to get at the higher,
healthier kind, who can blame them for banqueting on
such garbage as they can obtain? Hard-workers need
mental stimulants : the newspaper would satisfy that need.
The defence of Rome and the heroism of the Hungarians
would be found more exciting than the most nrofligate
story. But the halfpenny press cannot publish news:
the government allows it to print only the most grosa and
tawdry licentiousness. — Aihenaum,
THE POTTERS* EMIGRATION SOCIETT.
Tlie Potters* Society is now in possession of three lai^
estates in Western America. Tlie first estatej'comprisiog
1600 acres, is now peopled: it is named Pottcrsville. The
second estate, oomprising 2000 acres, and named Emanci-
pation, is in the coarse of peoplkig. It is on the south
Lank of the Fox Riveiv and is said to compriae a suooession
of ' oak openings,* and to be rich in minerals. The third
estate, comprising the large quantity of 12,000 acres, is
situated on the north bank of the Fox River, and runs
parallel with Emaneipation. Two hundred families are
now looated on the last purchase, and it woal.d appear
that the colonists are well satisfied with their change of
country. The society appears to be in a progressive and
prosperous state. — Manchester Examiner,
TUE INDUSTRIAL SPIRIT*
What is it that profoundly separates ancient from
modem civilisation? Two things— Christianity and the
industrial spirit. Whatever is peculiar to modem times
owes its existence to one of those two agents. Of course
we do net de«y that anolent society also had its industrial
element ; bat the industrial dement plays a port in modem
Europe which has no counterpart in the ancient world.
And liere we do not refer to our mechanical superiority
merely, to the obvious marvels of our industry. We refer to
the riM o/ihe indtittrioA Garnet itUopotcef; to the iran$jfbrmch
tion whicMi they have effected in society, converting it from a
state in which the inilitary spirit was dominant, into a state
in which the industrial spirit is dominant. Some traces of
the ancient feeling still remain, and sneers at trad^. occa-
sionally curl the lips of those who give themselves aristo-
cratic airsb The notion of a gentleman is still essentially
feudal: it is that of a man who does not labour, but for
whom others labour. This feeling will not soon die out.
Meanwhile, the fact of the whole spirit of society having
ceased to be military, is indisputable. Labour of nead or
hand has oome to be the neeessity of gentlemen as of vil-
leins. The warlike si^t has yielded to the pacific spuit.
The much-ridiculed * Peace Congress* is admitted, even by
those who laugh at it, to bo only somewhat premature ; its
object is desirable, though Europe may not be prepared to
carry it out Bot the existence of such a scheme is signifi-
cant. Utopias, even in their extravagance, reveal the ten-
dency of an age. Such a prefect as that of universal peace,
which only exoites a smile at its prematurity, would liave
seemed to our ancestors a buffoonery more extravagant
than anything engendered by the eombmed genius of Pulci,
Rabelais, and SwiiU—Brititk Quartmiy Review,
MELnoURNB (AUSTRALIA) THIEVES* ASSOCIATION.
While attending the supreme court in the capacity of
juror, Mr F. Pittman was pounced upon by a member of
the Melbourne Thieves* Association, who coolly eased him
of his pocket-book, though within Che sacred preelncta of
the temple of justice. Knowing the contents were ntterly
worthless to any one but himself. Mr Pittman thought he
stood a chance of getting the stolen article back through
the medium of an advertisement, and he accordingly m-
serted the foUewing :—« To the Secretary of the Melbourne
Thieves* Association. Perhafw you will requert the mem-
ber who picked my pocket of a green leathern book- whilst
attending the supreme court as a juror on Friday, the 16th
instant, to retum the same to me after the committee
have examined the contents, and find it of no value to
the society. P. Pittman, Whart* Next day Mr Pittman
received by an unknown hand his missing pocket-book,
accompanied by the subjoined note, whidi la rathsv a
cnriosity in its way :— ' Sir, I am directed by the Cob-
mittee of the Thieves' Association to return yon voor
pocket-book, as, on examining its oontenta, we find tiic«
to be of little value to us. We are the more induced to do
so from the handsome manner in which yoa were pteaied
to make our association known to the public, and to pitrts
the trath of the old adage, " there is still honour amesfpt
thieves." I have the honour to be, sb, &c. H S— —,
Hon. See, P. 6L— Please acknowledge thio reeeipt of thii
in the newspapers.*
SONNET.
^ BT CALDSa CAUTBKLU
Not In the sonshlne, not by noisy day
TnTol the magic ooorsen of the nUnd ;
But when kind Sleep hath failed her wreath to bind
Of night-blown poppies round the head, their way
Take they, those steeds whose oommoo name i»— TaoeeBr!
Then do they tiayerse dimes they could wrt find,
Savo when the Earth had donaed her mantle grsy.
And then they visit scenes and haunts remote
Prom visible life ! Oh rare the powers that waken
Into a bold relief rach things as scarce
We ears to think upon save In the night!
The mind creates TkA fields from wastes fonakcn.
Fills with mde health the sickly foaeral heane.
And from snrronnding darkness nahera light !
HOW TO NURSE OLD AGE.
The vital powers have drooped, and the enfeebled fne-
tions have sunk into a state reaembling that of io&acy ;
their imperfect action requires assistance, and, if diUj
afforded, they will go through a nrocess of renewal for s
time m imitation of the early developmefit of the sadw |ie-
cesa in childhood. But the pristine joiees whidi tided
that development are gone ; tne nutriment^ thcnCoie, of
old age must possess those stimulating oualities which ia
the child were needless. An old man's milk must be wine ;
his pap must bo sitoonlent soups; and his diet most be lidi
and tender meats. The firee that austainod a yotag con-
stitution are fled, and their pJaoe muai be iapplisd by
warm clothing ; the soft couch and luxurioos seat whist
would have too early promoted tho physical capactticL ue
now essential to prolong their stay, and prevent them frota
beooming utterly extinct. The braeing eold bath irart be
exoliaoged for one of tepid temMraittre, that it may paae-
trate a system now being closea up, and thoee indnlgrws
which would have weakened powers when immature, mat
likewise be had in subjection in their decay. Air, too, h ai
necessary now as then ; bnt violent exerciae wonld piereu
dangerona as when the powers were iimnatwre : the ams
of tac nurse, or the little riding- chair, should thetefixt be
replaced by an easy carriage ; the body atrengthcaed bj
frequent fnctions of the skin ; and the loss of aataal
moistaie suppHed by soented ointments and sweet mtdlnm
The shooks of the nerves, the sadden inekmCBelss sf
weather, and all the other aceidente which hii
dreaded when he was a child, must now be equally ^
against bv the nurse of his senility ; and the same t
llty and innocent pastimes which alternated the dxjief
his early existenee, must be resorted lo for the nafpMrif
warding off undue excitement from the hoars oi ms k<P'
childhood. With treatment like this, an old man wfflly
to the fhll end of his natural term. His mind, unobsems^ {
will ponr fbrth all the treasures of memory, and whit W i
lacks in wisdom, will be enpplied by the leesoas ef 6i|c-
rienee. — Tke SoieneB i^Li/k
A WtBE UflSVtnCTlOHf,
When the Earl B was brought before Ix>id Li^^
borough to beexamined upon appHoatien fer s statalstf j
lunacy against him, the chancellor asked hiss, * HowiW^
legs has a sheep ? * * Does your lordship mean,* hmsw» i
B , * a live sheep or a dead one? ' * Is It not the mm i
thhig?' said the chancellor. 'No, my kwd,* said Un '
B , 'there is mach diffisrenee: a live aheep fcsri 1^ •
a dead one but two<*4here ace but two legsef ■null«|ite
others are shoulden.*
fiaUhw-iVintsd hjr W, A iU OiAsiasa%
=i
CONDUCTED BY WILUAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OP ' CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &e.
No. 303. New Series.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20, 1849.
Price l^d.
CHEAPNESS.
Cheapness, by univenal confestion, does not consist
merely in lowness of price ; for a thing m^ have a low
price put upon it, but, being of bad or indifferent
qaility, it may not be worth even that sum, or would
be dear at any. Erery one understands this principle,
bat erery one does not act upon it Where desires
tre ever pressing beyond resources, there always will
be a temptation to take inferior articles at low prices,
if they only can be made to hare a plausible appear-
ance. The wise and the liberal alone both know that
a low-priced article is not necessarily cheap, and syste-
matically spend tlieir money on things which stazui at
high or at fair prices.
It is, on the other hand, a great mistake to suppose
that lowness of price necessarily implies inferiority of
quality. There is a cheapness which arises from abun-
dance, from glutted markets, from excessive competition
of labour, and from facilities of production ; this kind
of cheapness is compatible with the highest possible
quality. Let us set aside the undesirable cheapness
which springs from deranged conditions in the fields
of labour and capital, and there remains a kind which
is very opposite in character ; that is, exceedingly de-
timble; namely, the cheapness resulting from either
the bounty of Providence, or from improvements efit^cted
by human ingenuity, or developed in our social relations.
Here the stigma which some unreflectingly attach to
the whole idea of cheapness vanishes, and we see results
of the greatest importance to society.
Tlie eilt^t of an abundant harvest in promoting the
welfare of a community is readily seen and admitted.
There would be no greater diflSculty in seeing similar
effects from everything which tends to enable us to
obtain two yards of cloth or two books for tlie same
money which purchased one before— or, what is the same
thing, enables us to get one of each of superior quality
to what was formerly obtainable — were it not for the
local and personal inconveniences which sometimes arise,
or are complained of as arising, from these changes.
The onu benefit appears as the free gift of Providence;
the other seems to come at the expense of some portion
of our fellow- creatures. It is, however, the law of
nature that the interests of the few must give way to
those of the many. We may deplore the particular
cases, but we cannot resist the operation of the principle.
When we have learned to give a more enlightened sub-
mission to auch laws, the cheapening of an article by
improved modea of nianufaoture will appear to every
one as a precisely kindred fact to the reaping of a good
instead of a medium or bad harvest And we shall
sympathise as heartily in the gaiety produced in the
mind of a country girl when, for the first time, she can,
by its increaaing cheapness, attain the glory of a gown
formerly beyond her means, as we do with the artisan's
children when July suns make their rations a little
more liberal, or allow of milk being added to pottage.
The actual course of things for many years in our
country has been to cheapen numberless articles, and
thus to enlarge to an immense extent the possibilities
of enjoyment to all men. By the employment of ma-
chinery, the dresses of one grade of society in former
days are sent down to those below ; by railways, the
poor man*s journeys are accomplished as easily in all
respects as the rich man*s were Uiirty years since.
That luxury, a book — truly the greatest of all, and
often the most important purchase which a man can
make — is now comparatively within the reach of all.
It were vain, as well as tedious, to attempt to enume-
rate the articles which are now much cheaper than they
were thirty years ago, or the new rajoyments which
have thus been made attainable. But the sum of
results certainly is, that life everywhere is, or may be,
a superior thing to what it ever was before. God has
made his world a fairer and more fertile fidd for his
creatures through the means of those creatures them*
selves.
It may be questioned if, in such circumstances, the
term cheapness is applicable. It is entirely a relative
term : a thing is held to be cheap in comparison with
some former price, or with some other article, or with
the cost employed in the production of the article
itself. When, however, the price of an article is lowered
merely because less naeans are now required lor itd pro*
daotion, and other articles are reduced In proportion,
the relation on which the term depends is destroyed,
aiid however much more attainable than formerly, it
is no longer properly cheap. For example, the lite-
rary matter conveyed in the present sheet is not
strictly cheap, because it can as easily be fhmished
to the public for the sum demanded for it as the
matter of any higher -priced sheet of former times.
The comparative smaUness of its price is owing to
the ingenuity which constructed the paper -making
and printing-machines, the improved social relations
which allow of articles being diffused at little cost over
an extensive country, and the increased national Intel*
ligence which has widened the oirde of readers. We
evidently have not here cheapness in the ordinary
acceptation of the word : we have merely one of the
advantages arising from a highly -civilised and ex-
quisitely well-regulated state of society. For this rea-
son the tertn cheap, as applied to a book or journal, is
becoming a misnomer. Ijf these are sold simply at the
rate which improved means of production render pos-
sible, they may be said to be priced according to the
standard in the case r they are a rale, not an exception.
It only remains possible for other works to be, in com-
parison with this new standard, dear.
2t2
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
The bonn^ of Ood in giviDg good gift* it ilmyi
Men to go befbrs the aptitade of ineD to nuke ■ good
lue of them, or to be seiuible of their Tslae. Hi> pro-
Tidence hu been contimully giring greater and greater
cbeapneai, and thai placing it in the power of hii crea-
tnrea to lead more and more bappjr Urea. They arc
eTerjwhere aeen to take advantage tardily and partiallj
of Hii goodnex. Even in our comparatiTely enlightened
country, the beneflta of cheapened production an □<
nniTereally ackootrlcdged. It appean to many al if
vere laudable policy to put a biadrance on tbe proce«a
by which the Father of alt merciea *eek( to increu
genereJ Joy of bis children. Amongit a vaat multitude
thete henefltc ace bat in a small degree toTDed to
jntt Bod tme use. Vanity and deprared appetite
apply the bounty which, nnder rationalit? and pure
tMtei, might make the humblest hornet bloiaom as the
ro(& Hence the very character of the principle which
we aim at elucidating is rendered additLonally obscure.
It cannot, however, continue so always, BarbBrism
can only hsTe its day, and light most ever succeed
darkneaa. The true character of cheapness, as a dis-
pensation of lieaTeoly generosity in farour of humanity,
will in time be fully seen, and DDireraally admitted.
Eiery arrangement by which this can be advanced will
be hailed with joy and gratitnde by man. With a cor-
rect sense af the principle, his practice will improve;
and when every sating which increased cheapness ad-
mits of ia turned systematically, u it ought to be, to
the attainment of some fresh addition to the beauty
and the sanctity of life, his ccnditioa upon earth will
spectacle which at present can only be fiuQtly
EXFEBIENCES OF A BARRISTER
Ik the woond year of my connection witli the Horthem
Circuit, when even junior briefs were moch leu aume-
roo* than acceptable, I was agreeably surprised, as I sat
mnaing on the evening of my arrival in the ancient city
of York npon the capricious mode in which those power-
Ad personages the athiraeya distributed their Toloable
tavoors, by ths eutrancs of one of the moat eminent
of the race practising in that part of the country, and
the forthwiUi tender of a bnlky brief in the Crown
Court, on which, as my glance instinctively fell on the
interesting figures. I perceived that the large fee, in
criminal caaes, of fifty guineas was marked. The local
newspapers, from which I had occasion«lly seen ex-
tracU, had been for lome time buy with the casei and
I knew it therefore to be, reUUve^ to the condition in
life of the principal penoti imidioated, an important
one. Ramoar bad assigned the conduct of the defenoe
to an eminent leader on the cinmit — eioce, one of oar
ablest jndge* I and on looking more closely at the brief,
I perceived that that gentleman's name had been
crossed ont, and mine aobstitated. The fee also — a
much less agreeable alteration-^had been, I saw, con-
dderably rednced; in accordance, donbtleis. with the
attomej's appreciation of the difference of valne be-
tween a silk and a staff gown.
' Ton are not, sir, I believe, retained for the prosecD-
tion In the crown against Everett?' said Mr Sharpe in
his brief, business manner.
■Iamnot,MrSharpe.'
' In that case, I b^ to tender yon the leading-brief
for the defence. It was intended, as yon perceive, to
place it in the hands of ow great nM priui leader, but
he will be m completely occnpiedin tliatcoiirt, thalte ,
baa been compelled to decline it. He mentkoaed jut: •
and from what I have myself seeo of yon in tevcnl ,
cases, I have no doubt my anfortonate client will bait
ample justice done him. Mr Kingston will be via
yOD." I
1 thanked Mr Sbarpe for his compliment and it- '
cepted his briet A» the commission would be opctcd ,
on the fallowing morning, I at once ^plied myicir (o
a perusal of the bulky paper, aided as I rasd by tkt
verbal explanations and commentariea of iix Shaipe.
Oar conference lasted several boon ; and it was ir. i|
ranged that another shonld be held early the us '
moroing at Mr Sharpe's office, at which Mr Eingstso I
would assist 1
Dark, intricate, compassed with fearfU mystery, m ;|
the case so suddenly submitted to my guidance; sod [
the few faint gteams of light derived from tiie attoliej'i
research, prescience, and sagacity, served bat to reader '
dimly visible a still profounder and blacker alys rf '
crime than that disclosed by tiie evidence liv tbe |
crown. Young as I then wh in tbe |si<iesswi. no i
marvel that I felt oppressed by tbewci^tof tiM re- '
sponiibility cast npon me ) or that, when wearied with ,|
thinking, and dixzy with profltleoa cmjectoie, 1 Onew I
myself into bed, perplexing images and shapes o( putt
and terror pursued me through my tmobled sleep!
Happily the nextday was not thatoftrial; for I awcke
wiUi a throbbing pulse and burning brain, and shndi]
have been bat poc^y prepared tor a atme^ involviif
the issues of life and death. Bxtmndy soiatiTe, a^ ,
under the circunutances, I nmst neeeesvily have bcm.
to the ardoons nature of the grave dnlica so onei-
pectedly devolved upon me, the fbllowing r^tm/ of the
chief incidents of the case, as confided to me bf iti
Sharpe, will, I think, fully account to the rewler tw
the nervooi irritability nnder which I for the Bo^nt
laboured: — i
Mr Frederick Bverett, the prfsoner about to b< a^
raigned before a jury of his conntrymen for the fHght- '.
ful dime of murder, had, with his father, O^toia An-
tony Everett, resided for several years paat at Waiiiilsaito
Manor-Honse, tbe seat of Mrs Gleaaor fitahngh, a tkfa,
elderly maiden lady, annt to tile flnt, and aabt bj
marriage to the last-named gentleman. A generoes, '
pious, high-minded person Mrs Fitzhagh was inn- I
sented to have been, bat extremely sensitive wfthMoa
the score of 'family.' Tbe Fitihnghs of Yorkshin^ dw
was wont to boost, ' came In with the Conqaerw;' sirf i
any bnmch of the glorions tree then firmly pbaMi kt I
the soil of England that degnuJed itsctf bv an sO^sse '
ith wealth, beauty, or worth, dweUiBg'wsltMel Ae .
. ale of her narrow prejudices, was ineumUy cat ef
from her affections, and, as for as she waa aUe, ke* i
her memnry. One — the principal of these ofadM*— '
had t)een Mary Fitzhngh, her young, fair, gentb ead '
only sister. In utter disdain and idight of the di|^T
■^ "icestiy. she had chosen to unite hemdf to a gurte
of the name of Mordannt, who, Ibot^h pssSE^el
of great talents, on unspotted name, and, for kk m«, k
high rank in the civil service •>! tlu Kmm iiaii. (^m- i
pany, had — inexpiable misfii
grandfather! This crime a)
Eleanor Fitxhugh residved m
steadily returoKl, unopened,
dressed to her by her sister, v
Indian home for a renewal
which had watched over and
infancy to womanhood. A h
many years — socceedad g bn
announcement that the nnfoq
found an early grave in a I
which brought the iotelhgenc
fc, and was written by Cs
vaa staled, Mrs ESetmor
widowed, had been united in
CHAMBERS^ EDINBUBGH JOUBKAL.
243
wbom she had borne a 000. Frederick Ererett, now
nearly twenty years of age. The long-pent-up affection
of Mrs Fitzhugh for her once idolised sister burst forth
at this announcement of her death with uncontrollable
Tiolence; and, as some atonement for her past sinful
obduracy, she immediately invited the husband and son
of her kmg-lost Mary to Woodlands Manor-House, to be
henceforth, she said, she hoped their home. Soon after
their arrival^ Mrs Fitzhugh made a will — the family
proper^ was entirely at ber disposal — ^reroking a for-
mer one, which bequeathed the whole of the real and
personal property to a distant relatire whom she had
never seen, and by which all was devised to her nephew,
who was immediately proclaimed sole heir to the Fitz-
hugh estates, yielding a yearly rental of at least L. 12,000.
Nay, so thoroughly was she softened towards the me-
mory of her deceased sister, that the will— of which, as
I have stated, no secret was made — provided, in the
event of Frederick dying childless, that the property
should pass to his father, Mary Fitzhugh's second hus-
band.
No two persons could be more unlike than were the
father and son — ^mentally, morally, physically. Fre-
derick Everett was a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man,
of amiaUe, caressing manners, gentlest disposition, and
ardent poetic temperament. His father, on the con-
trary, was a dark- featured, cold, haughty, repulsive
man, ever apparently wrapped up in selfish and moody
reveries. Between him and his son there appeared to
exist but little of cordial intercourse, although the
highly-sensitive and religious tone of mind of Frederick
Everett caused him to treat his parent with unvarying
deference and respect.
The poetic temperament of Frederick Everett brought
him at last, as poetic temperamente are apt to do, into
trouble. Touth, beauty, innocence, and grace, tmited
in the person of Lucy Carrington— the only child of Mr
Stephen Carrington, a respectable retired merchant of
moderate means, residing within a few miles of Wood-
lands Manor-House— crossed his path ; and spite of his
shield of many quarterings, he was vanquished in an
instant, and almost without resistance. The at least
tacit consent and approval of Mr Carrington and his
fair daughter secured, Mr Everett, junior— hasty, b^ead-
strong lover that he was — immediately disdowd his
matrimonial projecte to his father and aunt Captain
Everett received the announcement with a sarcastic
smil», coldly remarking, that if Mrs Fitzhugh was
satisfied, he had no objection to offer. But, idasi no
sooner did her nephew, with much periphrastic elo-
quence, impart his passion for the daughter of a mere
merchant to his aunt, than a vehement torrent of indig-
nant rebuke broke from her lips. She would die rather
than consent to so degrading a mesalliance ; and should
he persist in yielding to such gross infatuation, she
would not only disinherit, but banish him her house,
and cast him forth a beggar on the world. Language
like Mn%t one can easily understand, provoked language
from the indignant young man which in less heated
moments he would have disdained to utter; and the
aunt and nephew parted in fierce ang%r, and after
mutual denunciation of each other — ^he as a disobedient
iograte, she as an imperious, ungenerous tyrant. The
qnarrel was with some difficulty patched up by Captain
Everett } and with the exception of the change which
took place in the disappointed lover's demeanour — from
light-hearted gaiety to gloom and suUenness^ — things,
after a few days, went on pretty nearly as before.
The sudden rupture of the hopes Mrs Eleanor Fitz-
hugh had reposed in her nephew as the restorer of the
glories of her ancient * house,' tarnished by Mary Fitz-
hugh'* marriage, affected dangerously, it soon appeared,
that lady's already failing health. A fortnight after
the quarrel with her nephew, she became alarmingly
ilL Unusual and baffling symptoms showed themselves;
and after suffering during eight days from alternate
acute pain, and heavy, unconquerable drowsiness, she
expired in her nephew's arms. This sudden and fatal
illness of his relative appeared to reawaken all Frederick
Everett's tenderness and affection for her. He was
incessant in his close attendance in the sick-chamber,
permitting no one else to administer to his aunt either
aliment or medicine. On this latter point, indeed, he
insisted, with strange fierceness, taking the medicine
with his own hand fhmi the man who brought it ; and
after administering the prescribed quantity, carefully
locking up the remainder in a cabinet in his bed-
room.
On the morning of the day that Mrs Fitzhugh died,
her ordinary medical attendant, Mr Smith, terrified and
Eernlexed by the urgency of the symptoms exhibited
y his patient, called in the aid of a locally-eminent
physician, Dr Archer, or Archford — the name is not
very distinctly written in my memoranda of these oc-
currences ; but we will call him Archer — who at once
changed tiie treatment till then pursued, and ordered
powerful emetics to be administered, without, however,
as we have seen, producing any saving or sensible effect
The grief of Frederick Everett, when all hope was over,
was unbounded. He threw himself, in a paroxysm of
remorse or frenzy, upon the bed, accusing himself of
having murdered her, with other strange and incoherent
expressions, upon which an intimation soon afterwards
made by Dr Archer threw startling light. That gentle-
man, conjointly with Mr Smith, requested an immediate
interview with Captain Everett, and Mr Hardyman,
the deceased lady's land-steward and solicitor, who hap-
pened to be in the house at the time. The request was
of course complied with, and Dr Archer at once bluntly
stoted that, in his opinion, poUon had been administered
to the deceased lady, though of what precise kind he
was somewhat at a loss to conjecture — opium essen-
tially, he thought, though certainly not in any of ite
ordinary preparations— one of the alkaloids probably
which chemical science had recently discovered. Be
this as it may, a post-mortem examination of the body
would clear up all doubts, and should take place as
speedily as possible. Captain Everett at once acceded
to Dr Archer's proposal, at the same time observing
that he was quite sure the result would entirely dis*
prove that gentleman's assumption. Mr Hardyman
also fully concurred in the necessity of a rigid investi-
gation ; and the post-mortem examination should, it was
arranged, take place early on the following morning.
* I have another and very painful duty to perform,*
continued Dr Archer, addressing Captain Everett * I
find that your son, Mr Frederick Everett, alone admi-
nistered medicine and aliment to Mrs Fitzhugh during
her illness. Strange, possibly wholly frenzi^ expres-
sions, but which sounded vastly like cries of remorse,
irrepressible by a person unused to crime, escaped bim
in my hearing just after the close of the final scene ;
and But perhaps. Captain Everett, you had better
retire : this is scarcely a subject'
' Go on, sir,' said the captain, over whose countenance
A strange expression — to use Dr Archer's own words —
had Jl(uhed; ' go on : I am better now.'
* We all know,' resumed Dr Archer, * how greatly Mt
Frederick Everett gains in wealth by his aunt's death ;
and that her decease, moreover, will enable him to con-
clude the marriage to which she was so determinedly
opposed. I think, therefore, that, under all the circum-
stances, we shall be fully justified in placing the young
gentleman under such — I will not say custody, but sur-
reiUanee, as will prevent him either from leaving the
house, should he imagine himself suspected, or (rf* de-
stroying any evidence which may possibly exist of his
guilt if indeed he be guilty.*
* I entirely agree with you, Dr Archer,' exclaimed
Mr Hardyman, who had listened with much excite-
ment to the doctor's narrative ; * and will, upon my own
responsibility, take the necessary steps for efibcting the
object you have in view,'
* Gentlemen,' said Captain Everett, rising from his
chair, * you will of course do your duty ; but I can take
no part, nor o£fer any counsel, in such a case : I must
244
CHAMBERsiS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
leaTe you to your own device*.' He then left the
apartment.
He had been gone hut a few minutes, when Frederick
ETerett, still in a state of terrible excitement, entered
the room, strode fiercely up to Dr Archer, and de-
manded how he dared propose, as the butler had just
informed him he had done, a dissection of his aunt's
body.
*■ I will not permit it,* continued the agitated young
roan : ' I am master here, and I say it shall not be
done. What new horror would you evoke ? Is it not
enough that one of the kindest, best of God's creatures,
has perished, but anoiher sacrifice must What do
I say ? Enough that I will not permit it I have seen
similar cases — very similar cases in — in India ! '
The gentlemen so strangely addressed had exchanged
significant glances during the delivery of this inco-
herent speech ; and, quite confirmed in their previous
impression, Mr Hardyman, as their spokesman, inter-
rupted the speaker, to inform him that he was the sus-
pected assassin of his annt ! The accusing sentences
had hardly passed the soficitor's lips, when the fhrious
young man sprang towards him with the bound of a
tiger, and at one blow prostrated him on the floor. He
was immediately seized by the two medical gentlemen,
and help having been summoned, he was with much
difficulty secured, and placed in strict confinement, to
await the result of the next day's inquiry.
The examination of the body disclosed the terrible
feet, that the deceased lady had perished by acetate of
morphine; thus verifying the sagacious guess of Dr
Archer. A minute search was immediately made
throughout Mr Frederick Everett's apartments, and
beliind one of the drawers of a cabinet Sn his bedroom
— at the back of the shelf or partition upon which the
drawer rested, and of course completely hidden by the
drawer itself when in its place — was found a fiat tin
flask, fluted on the outside, and closed with a screw
stopper t it was loosely enveloped in a sheet of brown
Siper, directed * Everett, Esq., Woodlands Manor-
ouse, Yorkshire ;' and upon close examination, a small
quantity of white powder, which proved to be acetate of
morphinCf was found in the flask. Suspicion of young
Everett's guilt now became conviction ; and, as if to
confirm beyond all doubt the soundness of the chain of
circumstantial evidence in which he was imnieshed, the
butler, John Darby, an aged and trusty servant of the
late Mrs Fitzhugh, made on the next day the following
deposition before the magistrates : —
• He had taken in, two days before his late mistress
was seized with her fatal illness, a small brown paper
parcel which had been brought by coach from London,
and for which 2s. lOd. carriage was charged and paid.
The paper found in Mr Frederick Everett's cabinet
was, he could positively swear, from the date and
figures marked on it, and the handwriting, the paper
wrapper of that parcel. He had given it to young Mr
Everett, who happened to be in the library at the time.
About five minutes afterwards, he had occasion to re-
turn to the library, to inform him that some fishing-
tackle he had ordered was sent home. The door wns
ajar; and Mr Frederick did not at first perceive his
entrance, as he was standing with his back to the door.
The paper parcel he, the butler, had just before deli-
vered was lying open on the table, and Mr Everett held
in one hand a flat tin flask — the witness had no doubt
the same found in the cabinet— and in the other a note,
which he was reading. He, the witness, coughed, to
attract Mr Everett's attention, who hurriedly turned
round, clapped down the flask and the note, shuffling
them under the paper wrapper, as if to conceal them,
and then, in a very confhsed manner, lind his face as
red as flame, asked witness what he wanted there?
Witness thought this behaviour very strange at the
time ; but tholncident soon passed trota his mind, and
he had thought no more of it till the finding of the
paper and flask as described by the other witnesses.'
Mr Frederick Everett, who had manifested the strangest
impassibility, a calmness as of despair, thronghont thft
inquiry, which perplexed and disheartened Mr Sharpe,
whose services had been retained by Captain Ererctt,
allowed even this mischievous evidence to pass without
a word of comment or explanation ; and he waa, as s
matter of course, fully committed for the wilful murder
of his relative. The chain of circumstantial erlder^;
motive included, was, it was felt, complete — ^noi a link
was wanting.
These were the chief incidents disclosed to roe by Mr
Sharpe during our long and painful consultation. Of
the precise nature of the terrible suspicion* which
haunted and disturbed me, I shall only in thi» [dioe
say that neither Mr Sharpe, nor, coosequentlr, mysdi;
would in all probability have guessed or glanced at
them, but for the persistent assertions of Miss C«rring-
ton, that her lover was madly sacriflcing himaelf from
some chimerical motive of honour or duty.
* You do not know, Mr Sharpe, as I do,' she would fre-
quently exclaim with tearful vehemence, • the generous,
childlike simplicity, the chivalric enthusiasm, of his dM-
racter, his utter abnegation of self, and readiness on all
occasions to sacrifice his own ease, his own wiahet, to
forward the happiness of others; and, above all, his
fantastic notions of honour — duty, if you will — which
would, I fed assured, prompt him to incur any peril,
death itself, to shield from danger any one who had
claims upon him either of blood or of affection. You
know to whom my suspicions point ; and how dreadfd
to think that one so young, so hrave, so pious, and so
true, should be sacrificed for such a monster as I be-
lieve that man to be!'
To all these passionate expostulation! the attorney
could only reply that vapue suspicions were not judidil
proofs ; and that if Mr Frederick Everett would penlst
in bis obstinate reserve, a fiital result was inevitaWc.
But Mr Sharpe readily consented to gratify the wishes
of Mr Carruigton and his daughter on one point: hs
returned the money, not a very large sum, which Cap-
tain Everett had sent him, and agreed that Mr Caning-
ton should supply the funds necessary for the defence
of the prisoner.
Our consultation tW next day at Mr Sharpens wtt a
sad and hopeless one. Nowhere did a gleam ofcbecffiil
light break in. Tlie case was overwhelmingly e ^
plete against the prisoner. The vague su^ptesoos
entertained pointed to a crime so monstrous, «o to
dible, that we felt it could not be so much aa hinted «t
upon such, legally considered, slight grounds. T^
prisoner was said to be an eloquent speaker, and I
undertook to draw up the outJine of a defence, impeftt-
ing, with all the dialectic skill I was raast<^ ei ftie
conclusiveness of the evidence for the crown. TD* tUs,
and a host of testimony to character which we propontf
to caU, rested our faint hopes of * a good deliveraneer
Business was over, and we were taking a flaM rf
wine with Mr Sharpe, when his chief clerk ent«ed *
say that Sergeant Edwards, an old soldier— who ki4
spoken to them some time before relative to a Iscge
claim which he asserted he had against Captain BtntCt
arising out of a legacy bequeathed to him in IndlSai, sari
the best mode of assuring its payment by an mmmity,
as proposed by the captain — had now called to aay Ifeitt
the terms were at last finally arranged, and that ht
wished to know when Mr Sharpe would be at leS*M
to draw up the bond. * He need not fear for his money!'
exclaimed Sharpe tartly j * the captain will, I Ueaf; be
rich enough before another week has passed org
heads. Tell him to call to-morrow evening; I w^
him after I return from court.' A few minutes
wards, I and Mr Kingston took our leare.
The Crown Court was thronged to soflTocatioe
following morningr» and the excitement of the fci^
appeared to be of the intensest kind. Miss CsrringtaM,
closely veiled, sat beside her fatlier on one of the aide-
benches. A true bill against the prisoner h^ twn
found on the previous afternoon ; ana the trid, it * "
been arranged, to suit the convenience of ooonsdly *
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
215
be tint proceeded with. The court was presided oyer
by Mr Justice Grose ; and Mr Gumey — aGfterwards Mr
Baron Gurney — with another |;eutleman appeared for
the prosecution. As soon as the judge had taken his seat,
the prisoner was ordered to be brought in, and a hush
of expectation pervaded the assembly. In a few minutes
lie made bis appearance in the dock. His aspect — calm,
mournful, and full of patient resignation — spoke strongly
to the feelings of the audience, and a low murmur of
sympathy ran through the court He bowed respect-
fully to the bench, and then his sad, proud eye wandered
round the auditory, till it rested on the form of Lucy
Carrington, who, orercome by sudden emotion, had
hidden ner weeping face in her father*s bosom. Strong
feeling, which he with difficulty mastered, shook his
frame> and blanched to a still deeper pallor his fine
intdlectual countenance. He slowly withdrew his gaze
from the agitating spectacle, and his troubled glance
meeting that oi Mr Sharpe, seemed to ask why proceed-
ings, which couid only hare one termination, were de-
layed. He had not long to wait The jury were sworn,
and Mr Gurney rose to address them for the crown.
Clear, terse, logical, powerful without the slightest pre-
tence to what is called eloquence, his speech produced a
tremendous impression upon all who heard It ; and few
persons mentally withheld their assent to his assertion,
as he conduded what was evidently a painful task,
*that should he produce evidence substantiating the
statement he had made, the man who could then refuse
to believe in the prisoner's guilt, would equally retVise
credence to actions witnessed by his own bodily eyes.'
The different witnesses were then called, and testified
to the various facts I have before related. Vainly did
Mr Kingston and I exert ourselves to invalidate the
irresistible proofs of guilt so dispassionately detailed.
* It is useless,' whispered Mr Sharpe, as I sat down after
the cross-examination of the aged butler. ' You have
done all that could be done ; but he is a doomed roan,
spite of his innocence, of which 1 feel, every moment
that I look at him, the more and more convinced. God
help us, we are poor, fallible creatures, with all our
scientific machinery for getting at truth I '
The case for the crown was over, and the prisoner
was told that now was the time for him to address the
jury in answer to the charge preferred against him.
He bowed courteously to the intimation^ and drawing a
paper from his pocket, spoke, after a few preliminary
words of course, nearly as follows : —
'I hold in my hand a very acute and eloquent address
' prepared for me by one of the able and zealous gentle-
men who appear to-day as my counsel, and which, but
for the iniquitous law which prohibits the advocate of a
! presumed felon, but possibly quite innocent person, fhim
I addressing the jury, upon whose verdict his client's fate
j depends, would no doubt have formed the subject-mat-
ter of an appeal to vou not to yield credence to the
apparently irrefragable testimony arrayed against me.
The substance of this defence you must have gathered
from t^e tenor of the cross-examinations ; but so little
effect did it produce, I saw, in that form, however ably
done, and so satisfied am I that though it were rendered
with an angel's eloquence, it would prove utterly impo-
tent to shake the strong conclusions of my guilt, which
you, short-sighted, fallible mortals — short-sighted and
fallible because mortal! — I mean no disrespect— must
hare drawn from the body of evidence you have heard,
that I will not weary you or myself by reading it I
will only observe that It points especially to the over-
prooC so to speak, arrayed against me — to the folly of
supposing that an intentional murderer would ostenta-
tiously persist in administering the fatal potion to the
Tictim with his own hands, carefully excluding all
others from a chance of incurring suspicion. There are
other points, but this is by far the most powerful one ;
and as I cannot believe that will induce you to return a
verdict rescuing me from what the foolish world, judg-
ing from appearances, will call a shamef\il death, but
which L knowing my own heart, feel to be sanctified by
the highest motives which can influence man — ^it would
be merely waste of time to repeat them. From the first
moment, gentlemen* that this accusation waa preferred
against me, I felt that I had done with this world ; and,
young as I am, but for one beloved being whose pre-
sence lighted up and irradiated this else cold and barren
earth, I should, with little reluctance, have accepted this
gift of an apparently severe, but perhaps merciful fate.
This life, gentlemen,' he continued after a short pause,
* it has been well said, is but a battle and a march. I
have been struck down early in the combat; but of
what moment is that if it be found by Him who wit-
nesses tlie world-unnoticed deeds of all his soldiers, that
I have earned the victor's crown ? Let it be your con-
solation, gentlemen, if hereafter you should discover
that yon have sent me to an undeserved death, that yon
at least will not have hurried a soul spotted with the
awful crime of murder before its Maker. And oh/ be
exclaimed in conclusion, with solemn earnestness, ' may
all who have the guilt of blood upon them hasten, whilst
life is still granted them, to cleanse themselves by re-
pentance of that foul sin, so that not only the sacrifice
of one poor life, but that most holy and tremendous
one offered in the world^s consummate hour, m^ not
for them have been made in vainl My lord and gen-
tlemen, I have no more to say. Tou will doubtless do
your duty : I have done mine/
I was about a few minutes after the conclusion of
this strange and unexpected address, to call our wit-
nesses to character, when, to the surprise of the whole
court and the consternation of the prisoner. Miss Car-
rington started up, threw aside her veiV and addressing
the judge, demanded to be heard.
Queenly, graceful, and of touching loveliness did she
look in her vehemence of sorrow — radiant aji sunlight
in her days of joy she must have been — as she stood
up, affection-prompted, regardless of self, of the world,
to paake one last effort to save her afilanced husband.
* What would you say, young lady ? ' said Mr Justice
Grose kindly. * If you nave anything to testify in
favour of the prisoner, you had better communicate
with his counsel'
* Not that— not that' slie hurriedly replied, as if fear-
ful that her strength would fail before she had enun-
ciated her purpose. * Put mv lord, put Frederick^the
prisoner, I mean — on his oath. Bid him declare, as he
shall answer at the bar of Almighty God, who is the
murderer for whom he is about to madly sacrifice him-
self, and you will then find '
*Your request is an absurd one,' interrupted the
judge with some asperity. * I have no power to ques-
tion a prisoner.*
' Then,' shrieked the unfortunate lady, sinking back
fainting and helpless in her father's arms, * he is lost—
lost I'
She was immediately carried out of court; and as
soon as the sensation caused by so extraordinary and
painful an incident had subsided, the trial proceeded.
A doud of witnesses to character were called; the
judge summed up; the jury deliberated for a few
minutes ; and a verdict of * guuty ' was returned. Sen-
tence to die on the day after the next followed, and all
was over !
Tes ; all was, we deemed, over ; but happily a decree,
reversing that of Mr Justice Grose, had gone forth in
Heaven. I was sitting at home about an hour after the
court had closed, painfully musing on the events of the
day, when the door of the apartment suddenly flew
open, and in rushed Mr Sharpe in a state of great
excitement accompanied hy Sergeant Edwards, whom
the reader will remember had csJled the previous day
at that gentleman's house. In a few minutes I was in
possession of the following important information,
elicited by Mr Sharpe from the half-willing, half-reluc-
tant sergeant, whom he had found waiting lor him at
his oflice :—
In the first place, Captein Everett was noi tlie father
of the prisoner t The vouufl maa xaa the MotLoi Jiarv 1 1
m ir^
246
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Fitzhugh by her first marriage ; and his name, conse-
quently, was Mordaunt, not Everett. His mother had
surrived her second marriage barely six months.
Everett calculating doubtless upon the great pecuniary
advantages which would be likely to result to himself
as the reputed father of the heir to a splendid English
estate, should the quarrel with Mrs Eleanor Fitzhugh —
as he nothing doubted — be ultimately made up, had
brought his deceased wife's infant son up as his own.
This was the secret of Edwards and his wife ; and to
purchase their silence. Captain Everett had agreed to
give the bond for an annuity which Mr Sharpe was to
draw up. The story of the legacy was a mere pretence.
When JBdwards was in Yorkshire before, Everett paci-
fied him for the time with a sum of money, and a pro-
^nise to do more for him as «oon as his reputed son
came into the property. He then hurried the ci-devant
sergeant back to jLondon : and at the last interview he
had with him, gave him a note addressed to a person
living in one of the streets — I forget which — ^leading out
of the Haymarket, together with a five-pound note,
which he was to pay the person to whom the letter was
addressed for some Tery rare and valuable powder,
which the captain wanted for scientific purposes, and
which Edwards was to forward by coach to Woodlands
Manor-House. Edwards obeyed his instructions, and
delivered the message to the queer bushy - bearded
foreigner to whom it was addressed, who told him that,
if he brought him the sum of money mentioned in the
note on the following day, he should have the article
required. He also bade him bring a well-stoppered
bottle to put it in. As the bottle was to be sent by
coach, Edwards purchased a tin flask, as affording a
better security against breakage ; and having obtained
the powder, packed it nicely up, and told his niece, who
was staying with bim at the time, to direct it, as be was
in a hurry to go out to Squire Everett, Woodlands
Manor-House, Yorkshire, and then take it to the book-
ing-office. He thought, of course, though he said Squire
in a jocular way, that she would have directed it Cap-
tain Everett, as she knew him well ; but it seemed she
had not Edwards had returned to Yorkshire only two
days since, to get bis annuity settled, and fortunately
was present in court at the trial of Frederick Mordaunt,
alias Everett and at once recognised the tin flask as
the one he had purchased and forwarded to Woodlands,
where it must in due course have arrived on the day
stated by the butler. Terrified and bewildered at the
consequences of what he had done, or helped to do,
Edwards hastened to Mr Sharpe, who. by dint of exhor-
tations, threate, and promises, judiciously blended, in-
duced him to make a clean breast of it
As much astounded as elated by this unlooked-for
information, it was some minttes before I could suffi-
ciently concentrate my thoughte upon the proper course
to be pursued. I was not however, long in deciding.
Leaving Mr Sharpe to draw up an affidavit of the facts
disclosed by Edwards, and to take especial care of that
worthy, I hastened off to the jail, in order to obtain a
thorough elucidation of all the mysteries connected with
the affair before I waited upon Mr Justice Grose.
The revulsion of feeling in the prisoner*8 mind when
he learned that the man for whom he had so recklessly
sacrificed himself was not onlv not his father, but a
cold-blooded villain, who, according to the testimony of
Sergeant Edwards, had embittered, prhaps shortened,
his mother's last hours, was immediate and excessive.
*I should have taken Lucy's advice!' he bitterly ex-
claimed, as he strode to and fro his cell ; * have told the
truth at all hazards, and have left the rest to Grod.'
His explanation of the incidente that had so puzzled us
all was as simple as satisfactory. He had always, from
his earliest days, stood much in awe of his father, who
in the, to young Mordaunt sacred character of parent
exercised an irresistible control over him ; and when the
butler entered the librarv, he believed for an instant it
was his father who had surprised him in the act of
reading his correspondence $ an act which, however un- |
intentional, would, he knew, excite Captun Everett's
fiercest wrath. Hence arose the dismay and oonfnsiott
which the butler had described. He resealed the parcel,
and placed it in his reputed father's dretsing-room ; and
thought little more of the matter, till, on entering hk
aunt's bedroom on the first evening of her ilineas, be
beheld Everett pour a small portion of white powder
from the tin flask into the bottle containing his aunt's
medicine. The terrible truth at once flashed upon him.
A fierce altercation immediately ensued in the faitber's
dressing-room, whither Frederick followed him. Everett
persisted that the powder was a celebrmted Euten
medicament which would nve, if anything ooold, his
aunt's life. The young man was not of coune deceived
by this shallow falsehood, and from that Daoment ad-
ministered the medicine to the patient with his own
hands, and kept the bottles which contained it locked
up in his cabinet * Fool that I was!' he exdaimed in
conclusion, * to trust to such a paltiy precaatioo to de-
feat that accomplished master of wile and fraod ! On
the very morning of my aunt's deatii, I sorpriaed him
shutting and lodung one of my cabinet drawers. 80
dumbfounded was I with horror and disn^y at the
sight that he left the room by a fide -door withoat
observing me. You have now the key to my conduct.
I loathed to look upon the murderer; but I would hATe
died a thousand deaths rather than attempt to Mve my
own life by the sacrifice of a fother's— how guilty toever
he might be.'
Furnished with this exphmation, and the aAdsvift of
Edwards, I waited upon the judge, and obtained not
only a respite for the prisoner, bat a watrant fx tha
arrest of Captain Everett
It was a busy evening. Edwards was despatched to
London in tlie friendly custody of an intelligent officer,
to secure the person of the foreign-looking vex^or of
subtle poisons ; and Mr Sharpe, with two conatabiea, wet
off in a postehaise for Woodlands Manor-Hooae. It was
late when they arrived there, and the ierranti iulbtiued
them that Captain Everett had already retired. Thtj
of course insisted upon seeing him ; and he presently
appeared, wrapped m a dressing-gown, and haughtily
demanded their business with him at aoch an hooc
The answer smote him at with a thunderbolt and he
staggered backwards, tiU arrested by the wall of ttc
apartment and then sank feebly, nexVde«ly, into a
chair. Eagerly, after a pause, he qneatioiied the fai-
truders upon the nature of the evidence againil hSm.
Mr Sharpe briefly replied that Edwards waa in caatodj*
and had revealed everything.
*Is it indeed so?' rejoined Everett, teeming to derife
resolution and fortitude from the very extremity of
despair. *Then the game is unqnesticmablx lost It
was, however, boldly and skilfully played, and I am not
a man to whimper over a fatal turn of the dice. In a
few minutes, gentlemen,' he added, *I ahaH have
changed my dress, and be ready to accompany yon.'
* We cannot lose sight of you for an inatant,' ie|>KBi
Mr Sharpe. * One of the officers must aooompemy yoa'
* Be it so : I shall not detain either him or yoa toag.'
Captain Everett followed by the officer, paaaed into
his dressing-roouL He pulled off his gown ; and pok^
ing to a coat suspended on a peg ^t the farther extit-
mity of the apartment requested the conatahle to rei^
it for him. The man hastened to comply with hia wif^
Swiftly, Everett opened a dressing-case which atood oa
a table near him : the officer heard the sharp dickiH
of a pistol-lock, and turned swiftly round. Too late! A
loud report rang through the house; the Foom was
filled with smoke; and the wretched asaaadn and mMk
lay extended on the floor a mangled corpe I
It would be useless to minutdy recapitulate the iasl
winding-up of this eventfVd drama. Suffice it to xeoori
that the previously-recited facta were jndidaHy tt^bk-
lished, and that Mr Frederick Mordaant waa, af^ a
slight delay, restored to fireedom and a splendid pontiBB
in society. After the lapse of a decent interval, he
espoused Lupy Carrington. The union proved, I '
CHAMBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
247
a very happy one ; and they were bleated, I know, with
a somewhat namerons progeny. Their eldest son re-
presents in this present parliament one of the English
boroughs, and is by no means an undistinguiahed mem-
ber of the Commons House.
FAMILIAR ENTOMOLOGY.
THE BEETLE FAMILT.
The beetles are a highly-important family. They are
spread all over the globe. Even Greenland and Ice-
bmd, with their inhospitable climates, acknowledge
their existence. Coming into noonday effulgence at
the tropics, the smaller branches of ihe family shine
with a less conspicuous brilliancy in the cooler climate
of the temperate regions. Wherever they are, they are
beautiful creatures ; and were it only for their exquisite
tints, not to mention their extraordinary form, they de-
serve a conspicuous position in our home series. There
is therefore much to be said about the beetles ; more,
probably, than any one who is a stranger to this in-
teresting family will be disposed to admit at first sight
Beetles belong to the natural family of Coleoptera — a
term expressive of a peculiarity by which the order is
distinguished ; the two superior wings being hard, stiff,
and homy in structure, often splendidly burnished, but
altogether unsuited for the purposes of flight, and serv-
ing principally as sheaths and coverings for the delicate
pair of real wings, which are placed beneath. These
are thin membranes, finely veined, yet possessing con-
siderable strength, and shining with a beautiful irides-
cence. When not in use, they are folded up, and
carefully disposed beneath the homy wings, or elytra.
A sort of envelop of a similar corneous character to
that of the wings, and containing the peculiar chemical
principle chitine, covers the entire body of the insect,
acting as a protection against external violence, knd as
A firm attachment to the muscles, thus resembling the
osseous system of animals. If we were to consider the
structure of a beetle anatomically, we should recognise
in it three portions, which are very distinctly defined.
These are the head, thorax, and abdomen. To speak
of each shortly, and in order : — ^The head, somewhat
triangular in shape, is furnished with two eyes, two
antennae, and a mouth, which consists of several parts.
The antennae are frequently of the most curious aspect :
some are long, and threadlike ; some are like a string
of beads; some have strangely-shaped knobs on their
ends ; some are toothed ; and the unhappy cockchafer,
the immemorial victim of juvenile cruelty, is rendered
remarkable by a pair of antennae which are like a
couple of fringed fans. The mouth is a very formidable
part of the beetle anatomy. Without entering into
detail, the following are its essential portions: the
upper -lip, the mandibles, the under -jaws, and the
under-Up and chin. We shall partici^arise only the
jaws, which lend so much that is terrible to the aspect
of this family. The upper -jaws, technically called
' mandibles,' from their function of chewing, are repre-
sented by two very powerful horny instruments placed
on each side of the mouth. They are the masticating
apparatus of the insect A formidable variety of the
mandibles occurs in the ' stag-beetle,' whose larvae some
believe to have- formed one of the most exquisite of the
dishes which loaded the tables of epicurean Rome. The
mandibles in this insect present a lively resemblance to
the horns of a stag; whence the beeUe's name. But
those of a foreign species are still more singular : they
have all the appearance of a pair of curved saws, the
teeth very sharp, strong, and irregular. The use to
which they are applied by the insect in the case in
question is curious. It is an inhabitant of the dense
forests of Brazil, and is called by the inhabitants the
Mouche scieur de hng, in consequence of a very extra-
ordinary act it is said to perform. Closing^ these power-
ful saws upon the projecting twig of a tree, the insect-
sawyer b^ns to work— in what manner will it be
supposed ? By flying round and round until the twig
is cut through, thus performing the work of a very in-
genious kind of circular saw ! Another unusual form
of the mandibles is where they exceed in length the
whole body of the insect In the act of mastication, or
in lacerating their food, the mandibles move in the
contrary diroction to the manducatory motions in car-
nivorous animals, their line of action being in the
horizontal direction — somewhat in fact like a pair of
scissors. The under-jaws, or maxQloi^ also move hori-
zontally, and vary much in size and form. Their prin-
cipal use is subsidiary to the mandibles in the prehen-
sion, laceration, and mastication of food. It has been
supposed that the hairs with which they are provided
act as sieves, so as to permit only the liquid and vei^
fine portions of the food to enter the stomach. It is
considered unnecessary to add further to the anatomy
of these insects, the above being sufficient to indicate
its roost prominent features ; minuter information being
readily acquired in the many excellent text-books on
entomology.
Such is the insect in its perfect state. The larvae of
the beetle family are soft, fleshy creatures, composed of
a number of segments : including the head, generally
about thirteen. They are chiefly interesting as con-
ducting us to the consideration of some of the habits of
this family : soft and fleshy though they are, without
doubt yet they comprise some of the most flerce and
terrible slaughterers of any tribe. Some of these larvae
are truly formidable to the insect community. Those
of the tiger-beetle are to the full as voracious and san-
guinary as their name implies— digging long holes in
the sand, where they lie in ambush with wide-expanded
jaws, resMiy to crush to death any unsuspecting insect-
passenger, and without the smallest compunction snap-
ping up relatives as well as bom enemies. It has
amused some sentimental writers to paint the horrors
of the rooms, caves, and cells in which the Bluebeards
of the earth have deposited their victims ; but these
must all yield to the narrow, dismal, dark den in
which these ferocious larvae pursue their bloodthirsty
propensities; where the crush of the terrible forceps,
the scuffle of the struggling insects, and the tumbling
down of clouds of earth, form a scene of conflict as
horrible as the most rabid horror-painter could desire.
Some, again, pursue their deadly occupation beneath
the peaceful waters of our rivers and pools. Those of
the DytUcus^ or * divers,' may be particularly men-
tioned : hanging head downwards in the water, and
breathing by an appendage at their tails, they seize
their prey by means of a pair of powerful mandibles,
and content themselves with sucking out the juices of
the victims. Some of the larvae of the Calosoma are
murderers by the gross ; getting, unfortunately for the
inhabitants, into the nests of caterpillars, the most
awful havoc ensues. Heaps upon heaps fall down slain,
the destroyer becoming so glutted with his banquet as
to be unable to stir an inch ; in which condition he very
commonly is surprised by some relative, to whom he
immediately falls a victim — the just reward of his ex-
cesses. Where — as in the case of the common cock-
chafer— the larvae are not insectivorous, they commit
terrible devastation upon the roots of the grasses.
These they sometimes so completely eat away, that the
turf can be rolled off just as if it had been cut with a
spade. The larvae of the cockchafer do incredible mis-
chief by this means.
The larvae state draws to its dose : it has to prepare
for its change ; but it has previously undergone several
times the interesting and extraor^naiy process called
' moulting.' Well did Swammerdam declare this process
to be a' specimen of nature*s miracles ;' adding, that not
only, like serpents, do the larvae cast off their outer skin,
but the throat, and a part of the stomach and intestines ;
and even some hundreds of the minute pulmonary pipes
•mm-mgrn
2^
C^J^BmSiB KDilKaUAGH «IQURNiJU
ji^v4f^iQg tho b^dy caa^th«ir» aImk After ibis proQOHi
the lanr» b^cpmq^ very w^)^ ^od uck\y ; it tlken bfooows
•• impit : U>e .1^0^ fwnijiiar juMUnqe is that of the cock-
cha£rr. It ifi S900 . to - b9 on ^e ving. The per&ot
^n«eQ( ill born ajbopt th« b^niuAg of the fourtli year from
the* pacM pf it« d^pot^MAn as sa eggt.genejridly ia Jar
nuary or fVbruary, in a UttW carrity uoderoeath tha turf.
Xet p3; q\xo\» Gi^mith's ^imated detcriptioq of the
farther process :^t About t^e latter end of May these
ipsectsy baTiog.lived for four years wider ground, burst
from Mie earth when the ^rst toiid ayening ioyitas them
abrotd* Xbey, ara at that time seeq rising from their
long ii^prisoament, from Uvipg only upon r^ots^ and
iiii6bi|« only the moisture of the eartii, to visit the
4nildnff^ pf the 4ummer air, to <:hooae the sweetest
yegatables. for their ban^u^ti and to drink the dew of
the evening. Wherever tha attentive observer then
wafks abroad, he will see them bursting up before hint
like gbosta in. a tbeatr&' When tlms emerged, they
dash about in all direotions^ hitting themselves against
every o^ect, as if caally blind, which the common pro-
verb, * blind as a beetle,' would make them to be^ It is
a legitimate part of Everyday Entomology, to plead for
the persecuted. It has lifted up its protest before against
ifUseot cruelties ; therefore let the miserable cockchafer
be pitied now^ X<et the crooked pin and string, its in*
struments of torture^ vanish ft'om schoolbcty Angers (
and if the unhaopy creature naust needs be destroyed,
being done quicKly, it will be well done* One could
abnost wish that the popular jbegend of Sweden^ or at
leaet tba spirit of it, w^re current in our less gentle
island — the belief that a meritorious act is done If one of
these poor iyiay*bugs is aet on its legs.
Now let us cast off th^ restrictions of ^mal entouKH
logy» and wander at our will in aearohof the curious
among the miscellanies of the natural history of this
family* It is hard to Ifnow where to oonuneace when
so much that is aingular is to be described. Certainly^
ofall mm^kably^tped ioaeotSt.the beetle family can
boast of being the moist e^raprcUoary. Of these crea*
tures* let oe first notice the largest siae} the huge
beet^ with the great name C^'cuW magnu^i, a West
African i^)ecie8. This enorqtoiu insect, the very giant
of ei^tomobgy, is aa beautiful as it is huge^ although,
withal, of a yer^- spectral and demoniac aspect. Its
thprax is beautifully ribboned, and its wing-covers are
of a dusky purple. It belomgs to a apecies whicli,
Mr .Macleay says, belts, the ^be. Sbrtunately (ot
the other inhabitante, however, the rest ere not sncb
giants of Oath as tbespecimei^ in question. Another
such is the Herculea. beetle, a terrible personagCt with
an enormously long and proportionably atrong black
hom» while he glitters behind with wieg^eovers of the
most resplendent sea-green. Its body is a shsning bUck :
it is found in the Antilles* Anotheir curiosity of form
is the Aieuclim *acer, interesting also from its n^tholo*
gical aasociationa. This beetle is commonly known aa
^e ^aralt^uA, Xt is a solenmi dingy*coIoiijred< black*
looking creatm;e, gUtteriog with a- highJiy-bumished
metallic lustre. Xt was worshipped by the Egyptians,
consecrated to th^ sun, and, as is well known to the
iearj^d iaKgyptiian sculpture and antiquities, it is fre^
quentlr represented upon their tomba and in their
bierog!(ypbiQ iQ«criptions« It was held in such yenara-
tion aUo> aa to bo enclosed in the coffins of the dead»
and its worship formed an important part of the
idolatry of the people. The best general conception of
these singubritias of form is derived from the follaw<-
iflg account, the veiy charm of tiie style of which
marks it ,to be drawn from Messrs Kirby end Speoce's
delightful work ;^* Some resemble ao many ^igmy
Atlas^ bearing; ou their backs a microcosm, and pre^
sentiog to tbe eye of the beho^er no inapt imiUtion of
the rugged surface of the earth— ^m>w horrid with mis-
shapen rocks, ridges, and precipioea; now ewelling into
hills and mountains} and now sinking into v^leys,
gleitt, artd ceves.'
As to their appendages, (tome bave been already enu*
merated « but as the great stag-beetle is an iohabitiBt of
Great 3ritain« and one of its most curioai ooss, it d^
serve! commemoration for its great horns, ss lo ifnik.
Tins beetle ocoaaltmaUy is said to roeasortihiaiiiicha
in extreme length ; ita body is of a dark-brovn oohw;
while its horns are red* Those who would sesick for it,
must look in the months of Jane or Jaly 00 soooit
oaks or rotting wiUow-trcea. It is a fiens CRstme,
wiU pinch very hard, and b a desperate fi^iter. We
are ignorant with what truth it ia nlated that Qecs>
sionally .several heads of these creatoret sre (band
together, the trunks and abdomens being novbere to be
seen ! What has become of them? The heads tre iQ
alive and active : the remainder of the bodies, thenftR,
must have once existed. It ia supposed tbej hiTc hi
a dreadful mutual conflict, and have destroyed oss as-
other all but their heads 1 Acquainted u we srt vitli
the ferocities of insect warfkre, we oaonot ssf tkwe ii
an3rthing incredible in this atalMM«t» bat sfaeald le
gUkd to see it confirmed. Mr Westwood, in tin < Ento-
mological Magazine^* states that he taaied a stai^beede,
and that it was very fond of amusing itself bf toanif a
ball of cotton about with its horus !
Nothing but the palette ean exprew tiie beaotieiof
the beetle family. Even the dried cabinttf cf eirtaoa.
legists convey only a broken ray or tnoof their loTeU-
nest in the Itviag state. We are altsgether at a Vaa
for a comparison in attemptlog to pictue tt«B tat^
ef es of the reader. Such liquid. Hying. hMtiou eolMti
are poaaessed i>y no eartldy things bestdei. The iplea-
dours of the kaleidoscope, or its kindred invcstlQa tiie
* chromatrope,' are outdone by a tingle beetle^ Bere
are flying mbies, emeralda, sapphtrei, topazcit ^
Biondsy opals, and what more ? Kenpfiir, in hii * Hih
tory of Japan,' speaks of a species of beetle kept V
ladies as a curiosity 00 aoeoant of its extiesM beiirtj.
The fiee^fltes themaelvce are true aoteoptennit hueek
It is related by Mouflbt, t^t when SirT. Catodiil
landed in the West Indies, as evening drew 00. tie
party wtm much alarmed by the sppearanoe of lifbti
Id the woods in all directions. Abirm was imtaifly
takent it was thought to be a party of Spaniardi ai-
vanoing to the attadc by torchlight, and all rapitH; M
to tlieie ehips. The attacking party tamed oat 16 te
only a number of fire-fliee ! Their tedmical nane ii
the £iatm' noctHucuB, They are med as artifielri Bfbti
by the Indians on their fishing and huntiogeievtfBei:
a'aingle insect emits iuHcient light to eniMe prist ti
be read. In the Havana they have been preiiei into
the service of the fair, and form the most briBisBt tm-
ing omamenta of the bead-dress, confined ia fuoe.
We must aelect two members of this familfateao-
ferring eaaential benefits upon man. The £nt of tfacie
is the invaluidile insect t^e Spanish bttalerlng4lf, Ot^
iharisveaioaloria. The appearmnoe of this inect is «cB
known. It abounds in parts of Spain, is fathered ^
beatii^ the bushes^ and ia killed with ytnegar fw%
after which it ia dried and exported. The other ia tic
indefatigable beetle called by the American tbc
•Tumble-ddng* heeUe, technically, the Geotrttpm ^
c<trariM8, It belongs to the fiSsofYvhrt, and was wift w
other member of its family venenrted in Egypt »
Catesby, an intdligeBt traveUer in Cardina. pn >
Qiirious aecount of its habits; It is tenunksMj iM;
it depcsita its egga in any exerementittsus msttgw'P°
the negligence of man aUows to fie on tiie gfWM°iJ|
then rolls np peUcts of this materia}, prepsres s befe^
iU rec€(ptiett, and by indefktigable labour, by »<^
the tip of its abdomen and hind^Iegs, nusheathep^
when sufficiently dry. into the hole. Mr C'"*^^^
it an admirable scavenger; and avert that Aaifw*
insects, not larger than a eookcbaftr, by t**^
sant labours will keep a whol^ vllkge dean ! Aui v
this singular feat is that of the * borying beetlei ^
tionod inan artkle on * Natural Sanitary A|enc^^
previous number of fhla Joumal. The enrtoai artttwT
of tlie Bombardier beetle, and other riBgalaritfes «i-
neeted with thai fiamiiy> have before appeaitd.
oHAMBBm^^ mnmmiG^ MVtcifAh.
249
Let HI say, in codclasion, that the * death- wttteh/ as
our Buperstitioua fHenda call St, is metelf the ta^ of a
beetle ; and that beetles attack our bacon, meat, tiniber,
ofikl, bisoiuts, and farm products. Want of space Ibr-
bids our prooeediog, as it is felt that already the article
n over-loQg for one subject How imperfectly, hovr.
ever^doet it justify the title I But some shelter may
be taken under the fact, that the number of European
species alone is estimated at 3760, and the total number
ia said to approximate to thirty thousand !
- ■ '- ■ ■ ■ -
A NEW EMIGRATION FIELD.
Thb letters receired by the editors of a long-established
periodical, circulating throughout all classes of the
people* form a Tery clear index to the governing ideas
of the time. From sources of information of this kind
we ourselTes can always tell what are ^e great thoughts
stirring at the moment in the public mind^ Indeed it
ia both curious and interesting to notice the sympathy
w^ich arises between a constant literary yisltor and its
ren^rs. The Journal acts as a conductor from mind to
mind ; it establishes a kind of raeamerio rapport be-
tween the parties ; and when droumstanoes of exigence
ariae— >Yvtien men arrive at some turning in the road of
life, where a single step in a new direction mxy deter-
mine their JfSortune for ever — they seek refuge in their
perfdexity where they have been accustomed to :flnd
iivstruction^ and implore advice from one who may be
reaUy an abstraction, but whom their hearts have per-
sonified as a ccransellor and friend.
We are not sure that this hse ever taken place to
such an extent as in the case of these humble pages}
and we are quite sure that no other journal has
ever taken such pains, while discharging a trust, to
avoid a responsibility. This, we know^ i« far from being
agreeable to our readers. Unable to determine Ibr them-
selves, they would fain throw the onma somewhere elsft.
They would impUeitly IoUqw advice if they could only
obtain it from a quarter where they had been aecus*
tomed to repose oonfldenee ; and if disappointment was
the result, they would find coosolatsea In being able to
cast the blame upon another. It is not of the bhune, how*
ev(2r, we are afraid, but we shrink from the moral burthen
which the exercise of such an influence would lay upon
our minds. We prefer enabling our dients to determine
in important matters for themselves ; and this We do by
putting them in possession of the &ets on whidt our own
opioion, if we ventured to give it, would be fbunded<
The subjeet which at this moment has t^e strongest
hold on the spirit of the community Is-^-^migration $ mid
on that subject even be who dares not adviM, must still
feel it to be his duty to warn. Society In this country
has reached a point where some ohaaga muMt take
^aGe» Every trade, every profession, is overcrowded.
That is the true cause of most of the evils, both
moral and physioaK of which the present generation
compkiin.; and eren the purblind patriots and mawkish
sentimentalists whe attribute * starvation wages' to
tliQ tyranny of capita], are beginuiog to shrink from
tha questionings of common sense* Capital buys la-
bear, just as labour buya breadn-as cheaply as it can \
and the price of both artides mutt depend upon the
supply. Labour of all kinds, intelleotaal as well as
mechanical, is superabundant ra England \ and so long
as that continues to be the case, so long wiH endure the
atrong\y-marked diflRerenoe between the position of the
capitalist and that of the worker of every description —
a difi«rence which every now and then excites such a
storm of ignorant indignation. Workerr of more than
ordinary talent, or more tliaa ordinary adapti^on for
their peculiar employment, will still oonamand the
market i but the mulUtude must obey it Of these the
average in usefulaess must be satisfied with a bare sub-
sistenoe, while those under the average witt range ftom
^ starvation wages* down to actual destitution. Such
id the dispensation under whidt we live*-^uoh are> the
economical conditions of our present eodal ^item;
and lill those sehemes of amelioration i»1i^ch db Yidt
direct^y^ apply to (heM are a mere wsste of m!nd^ '
These ideas are not only oM In a eertaih dilss of
books, but they begin to be fWt, lifc* an Instinct, by all
chisses cf lihe people? amd the remedy that comraonlv
presents itself Is simply the removal of supemlimeraiy
hands to a new field. Whether this wH! really stop the
morbid tendency is an open question; btft in point of
fact it is a quesftion which jjcrsons who deHbei-afe on
emigration neither know nor care anything about.
They do not contemplate abandoning their dd home to
make room fbr those who rehiairt, but to sefek a better
one for themselves; and on avowedly sdflsh at»d per-
sonal grounds they put the anxlotls question, 'Whether
to go, and whither?* Government has a dMRrent
duty — namdy, to see that the emigration is hen^fldil
both to the adventurers themsdves and to the Kiountry
they leave. But how often does it perform this duty?
How often does it comprehend it? It is ^aste of time
to reason on the nature of government in the abstract.
Practically, at least in this country, it is a non-inteHF- ^Jf^
gent machine, moving by external agency, and standing
still when that is withdrawn. It entourages or dis*
courages emigration, not from motives of natlonttl, but
of party interest; it plants a colony when drcttm*
stances render the step compulsory ; and it letives thte
pioneers of its empire to their fate till the nation cries
shame \ The governing rule of its colonial policy is
momentary expedience j and the wild contradictions
into which' it is thus betrayed exhibit not onl^ a re^
markable deficiency in stateimatosliip, but infer ah iittcr
want of public virtue.
This, then, is a flt subject for warning. Warning wiH
do no harm either to the people or the govtornment It
will excite inquiry ; it will call reason into play ; and it
will enable intending emigrants to cast themsdves upon
thdr fortune with open eyes. As an illtistratlon of what
we mean, we shall now mention a topic of the day of
great interest and importance — no less than the pro-
posed openlngf of a new emigration field.
On the north-east of the Cape of Good Hope there i$
a territory about the siee of Scotland, matked otit for a
separate eouirtry by well-defined boundaries, Consisting
of mountains, rivers, and the ocean. The climate, we
are tdd, is the most salubrious in the world. * TTni-
fbmdy mild, subject t6 no extremes of temperature,
with all the equaWnty, and none of the atmospherical
moistute, of New Zealand, it is neariy as abundantly
watered, of far richer sdl, and within half tlie distance
of Europe. Its productions, indeed, of cofffee, rice,
cotton, indigo, fiugai', aniseed, indicate a somewhat
warmer temperature than the firmer ; but it is concede^
on all hands that the beat is never excessive, or calcu-
lated to render fidd'labonr very oppressive. Pulmonary
and scrofulous diseases are quickly cured by a residence
in the distriet, and ague is entirely unknown. The soil
is capable of producing' most of the ve;getftb!e treasures
of the tropics, and aH those of the temperate zone in
abundance, and of the finest quality^ particulariy the
cereals which flourish best in Egypt. Grass ia so thick
and loxurtant, that it fattens cattle rabidly, and grows
up to the horse's shoulder. In the rtumerotis clefts of
the mountain streams and gullh^s fine timber iv to be
had. It produces cotton of the best qnality, and its
cultivation is accompanied with unrivalled success. In
short, it seems to combine erety advantage of I?ew
Zealand and Australasia, with much greater proxrmlty
tc England. The gov^nrment surveyor-general becomes
perffectly eloquent In describing its character and ex-
cdiendes. The successive governors of the Cftpe are
equally emp^atfe in their praises; public companies,
both in Enghmd and Gem^any, endorse these favourable
opinions ; and, to sum up ail, merchants have largely
ventured thdr money in establishinjg settlers in itli most
digible looalities, and promoting its culture of cotton.'*
II I I » 11 104 »Mt If*'** *Ti|in iilliilil*
* From a useful and extremely well-written ubiUInf pamphlat
by Mr Sidney Smith, entitled ' >VhetUcr to Go, and Whiter ? or,
tM €spe and tbo Gtcat &cfatti Land.^
t^atm
Bk^HjiaAdlM
m^^m^^mtm
^^
250
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
In this paradise ' a fat ox costs L.2, 10s. ; working
bullocks and milch cows from L.2 to L.4; hones,
L.10; sheep, 68.; and proyisions are at all times re-
markably abundant and cheap/ It is only ten days'
sail from Mauritius, which could readily absorb its
agricultural produce; and the neighbouring sea-banks
afford an extensive and promising field for cod-fishing.
Thus the country is adapted in a very remarkable degree
both for land and marine enterprise ; and, to make all
complete, it is supposed that the bowels of the earth
teem with that material now indispensable to high ciyi-
lisation — coal.
Why, then, is Natal a wilderness, with so much to
attract the capitd and industry of Europe? So far
from being a discovery of the present moment, it has
already been settled by the Dutch boers, those warlike
farmers of the Cape, who, retreating in wrath and indig-
nation before the irresistible newer of the English, car-
ried their famlUes, and fiodcs, and herds across the
frontiers. Here they found themselves in a far superior
location both as regards climate and production, and
their agricultural tastes and knowledge would have led
them to adopt it as their permanent home, but that the
hated supremacy of the English reached them even there.
It was vain to struggle, l^bust and herculean of frame,
ignorant, proud, daring, and high-fed as they were, still
they could not withstand the tactics of Europe : they
were beaten from point to point ; and when the conflict
became hopeless, they once more began their march of
emigration, and once more retreated across the fron-
tiers. Suc^ are the neighbours, then, of Natal ; they
hang upon its boundaries, like a thunder-cloud charged
with the elements of destruction.
But the English were not the only enemies of the
gallant Dutch in Natal This rich territory is sur-
rounded by the tribes of the African wilderness, against
whom, just as against the wild beasts of the country,
they waged a constant and deadly war, and who car-
ried off their property, and burned their dwellings, as
often as opportunity occurred. When the Dutch at
length abandoned the unequal contest, the ground was
taken possession of by a new class of emigrants. The
savages of the interior, flying from the tyranny of their
native chiefB, took refuge within the deserted circle ; and
these Eoolah and Kaffir refugees are now supposed to
amount to 200,000. So much the better, it wiU be said,
for here we have the rudiments of a labouring popula-
tion { and this would be true in the case of a strong
colony, with ample means of military defence against
both external and internal force. But if the mistake
should be committed of throwing a handful of Euro-
peans into the arena, to grapple at once with Dutch,
savages, and wild beasts, what will be the result? * The
Colonial Commissioners report that ** the universal cha-
racter of the natives is at once superstitious and war-
like ; their estimate of the value of human life is very
low ; war and bloodshed are engagements with which
their circumstances have rendered them familiar from
their childhood, and from which they can be restrained
only by the strong arm of power; their passions are
easily inflamed, while, from their servile obedience to
despotic rulers, they show ready obedience to consti-
tuted authority." Sir Peregrine Maitland, indeed, states
that ** they are generally of a docile character ; " but
the significant fact, that Sir Harry Smith has ordered
the removal of the coloured population from intermix-
ture with tiie white occupants of the land, *' so that a
distinct line may be established between the different
races of her majesty's subjects," is a pretty clear indica-
tion of his sense of the danger of employing savage
labour, and of permitting the proximity of the natives
to the settlers.'
Now, from all this it will be perceived that if Natal is
to be settled, it can only be so by means of a cdony on
a respectable scale as to numbers and force ; but at this
moment the whole strength of England in a country as
large as Scotland is two thousand t Mr Smith goes into
■ome oaloolat&ons at to the cheapnetf of sending out our
military pensioners and workhouse drones; bnt witii
that subject we desire to have nothing to do, frirther
than expressing our disapprobation of pauper colonies
in general, and of this one in particular, where thete
are already 200,000 labourers who must be eiUier ser-
vants or outlaws. We do not urge the govennnent to
colonise in any way ; but we demand to know on what
principle of policy or humanity it invites, tedacea, and
entraps its countiymen — b^ore efficient coloniaatioQ hat
taken place — into emigrating to such a field ? Here is
a specimen of the allurements to which we allude, and
which are now fiaunted in every widely-ctrcnlated news-
paper : — * Persons of moderate meant, or tmall farmers,
tradesmen, mechanics, and labourers, if approved of by
her Miyesty's Emigration Commissioners, can obtain a
steerage passage, with provisions and tteenty aert» t^land,
for the sum of Ii.10 ; or an intermediate passage, with
the same quantity of land, for the sum of I«.19 ; cabin
passage, L.35.' Another advertisement, in allusion to
this, assures us that the golden offer is by no meant illa-
sory — nay, that we have nothing to do bat accept it,
and be off in a trice. ' The government forms for patt-
ing emigrants to Natal are very simple, and cause
neither trouble nor delay : these, with d^raiinn con-
taining a map, and extractt from Official and other doca-
ments on the climate, soil, and capabilltia of Natal, and
all other information desired, will be Amuilied to in-
tending emigrants free </ expenac on apphcatioQ ^Iber
personally or by letter.'
This, we submit, is a very pointed Ulustration oC our
strictures on the character of government at a non-
intelligent machine. A fine wilderness falls into its
hands at a time when the spirit of foreign enterprise is
astir among the people; and planting in that wilder-
ness a nominal colony, it opent the sluioet of emigra-
tion. What more could we expect ? A oohmjr fiivt,
then emigration — that is the natural seqo^ioe; and
with almost a free passage, a snug farm for nothing
and black fellows to cultivate it for a mere ton^ what
more could we desire? Government being a mate-
rial automaton, wound up and set going by external
agency, having no moral sense, and no eyet for tiie
future, cannot be supposed to consider anything but
these obvious points. It does not perceive, and does
not care, that the pathfinders of its new domaio, at
poor almost as the savages they employed, after pawfiig
the life of a wild beast, rending and being rended,
would degenerate into a barbaritm at profbond «« that
by which they were lurrounded.
But although we consider it worse than iigndicaoBs
to invite mis^Uaneous emigration, and more especial^
the emigration of the very poor to such a conntTy,
Natal appears to be a good field for conmiercial expe*
riment carried on by united bodies. The Mancho^
Commercial AssociaUon has already brought home
samples of cotton worth from 4^ to 6d. per poond ; and
a paper of that town remarks that the ' capabilitiet of
Port Natal for the ^^rowth of cotton and other agrieiil-
tural produce, without the expenditure of a heavy
amount of capital and labour, mi^ be judged of from
the fact, that Mr Peel had several hundred acrea (we
believe we might say thousands) of virgin land, thnm^
which the plough could be run without remoyin^ the
stump; and the whole is but thinly wooded.' TUs
company relies upon the labour of those Gem^an boers
who have remained within the oolouy, amounting to
4000; but another company announced depend* oMie
upon the Zoolahs. At anyrate, the cottcm aoilt aic
near the sea, the true country of Europeana ; azul there
being little jungle to dear, Uxe experiment can reoetve
a fair trial.
This appliet, however, onlv to wealthy capHaBtftj
who oan take care of themselvet. Our warning it lor
the poor, to whom L.10 and their outfit form a prefi-
giout speculation — for the tmall shopkeeper, and Miviag
hard-working servant, whose L.19 and a little parcel of
merchandite would be their all — and for the redaaed
gentleman, wh(^ould be glad to purchase an estate oa
I
^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBIXRGH JOURNAL.
251
which he could kill his own mutton, together with the
meant of getting out to it in comfort and gentility, for
L.35 — to these persons we would recommend to look for
information from other quarters as well as the adrer-
tisers ; and, above all, thej would do well to shut their
eyes to any prestige that may seem to them to ac-
company the sanction of government. The touch of
government is fatal to emigrants; and when a colony
drives, it is not by the assistance of government, but
in spite of it. Labourers, as we have shown, are not
wanted in Natal; and to convev property thither, in
the present state of our information, would be madness.
Those who are wanted are the pioneers and path-finders,
whose ruined huts and solitary graves serve as land-
marks to guide in after -yean the gradual march of
civilisation !
ERENCH PEDLARS IN ITALY.
Thxrb is in Northern Italy a peculiar branch of trade
carried on almost exclusively through the instrumen-
tality of Frenchmen. These individuals, chiefly from
Languedoc and Provence, repair at a particular season
of the year to Genoa, sometimes with a small capital,
but much oftener without They find, however, no
difficulty in obtaining credit. In the first place, those
who have been long known, and established their cha-
racter for honesty, readily become security for i^e new-
comers ; and if this were not the case, still the incipient
pedlars belong to a class of men so remarkable for
punctuality and uprightness in their dealings, that
even the most suspicious merchants would think they
ran no risk in trusting them. Our prejudices may at
first perhaps rendet us a little incredulous ; but the fact
nevertheless is, that French people engaged in trade are
generally well-principled ; at least they have been for-
tunate enough to achieve an honourable reputation, and
in whatever foreign country they settle, are looked upon
as perfectly safe in all matters of business. The shop-
keepers of Bahia, Buenos Ayres, Bio de Janeiro, Val-
paraiso, and other cities of South America, are nearly
all French, who, through their honesty and good con-
duct, generally realise small fortunes, with which they
in most cases return to spend their latter days in their
own country, their attachment to home being stronger
than that of any other European nation.
Genoa is the principal resort of the French pedlars
who have taken the place of princely merchants, and
help to keep alive the remnant of a commerce which
once accumulated opulence in the city, and extended
its ramifications over half the world. When you walk
through it, melancholy seizes you at every turn. Streets
and palaces without inhabitants, warehouses without
goods, a customhouse where almost no duties are paid,
and a mole which has now too frequently no ships
to shelter from the weather. Such is Genoa! But
wherever men are congregated, they must discover some
means of earning a livelihood. Pomp and grandeur
have no other ba& than industry, as the owners of the
immense fortunes once found in G^oa have proved
to their cost They went on spending, supposing their
revenues would last for ever. But time by degrees
brought them to the end of their treasures, and the
descendants of grandees with pompous titles, and of
merchants, each of whom possessed a little navy of
his own, now in many cases subsist by supplying goods
to French pedlars, who have intelligence, enterprise,
andperseverance.
We have been unable to ascertain the number of per-
sons engaged in carrying on this obscure department
of the trade of Genoa : they must, however, be nume-
rous. When preparing to' start on their toilsome and
not unperilous enterprise, they go to the warehouse of
the merdiant with whom they deal always in pairs,
with canacious knansackfl on their Aacks. Aa miirht
be expected, they bestow much care on the selection of
their goods, which necessarily consist of small articles,
or things that will pack close — such as handkerchiefs,
shawls^ dresses, cheap lace, ribbons, reels of cotton,
needles, &c To these they add a quantitv of Genoese
silver jewellery, remarkable for its tastefumess and ele-
gance.
Did these men possess the art of communicating their
experience to the world, no travels would perhaps be
so interesting as theirs. They pass over, two in com-
pany, from Genoa to the north of Corsica, where they
part company — the one taking the eastern, the other
the western side of the island, agreeing to meet on a
given day at the port whence they embarked for Sar-
dinia. They then traverse together this boisterous
channel, and on reaching the larger island, separate
again, fixing for their rendezvous on another port,
whence they usually sail for the coast of Spain, unless
they have in the meanwhile disposed of the whole of
their goods.
It might at first be supj^osed that the contents of two
knapsacks would not enable men to proceed thus far.
Nor do they always, or even perhaps generally. But
sometimes it happens that our Corsican and Sardinian
villages are not in the humour to buy, or have no
money, or have just made their purchases of other
pedlars. In this case the wandering merchant must
trudge on to tiie next village or hamlet to meet perhaps
the same iU-lnck there. By these means a small stock
goes a great way. Besides, as progress is made in civili'
sation, and villages grow up, through trade or other-
wise, into towns, the shop takes the place of the pedlar's
pack, and people grow ashamed of owing their finery
to the entei^rise of wanderers so humble.
Of course it is, as a rule, desirable that civilisation,
with all its processes, should replace barbarism. But
it may be doubted whether, in many parts of Southern
Europe, society has yet arrived at that stage in wliich
it ought to dispense with pedlars. It is, however, a
mere question m economy. The rent of shops, and the
wages of an establishment greatly, when trade is dull,
augment the price of commodities, because the weight
of such charges falls upon a few customers. When the
demand is brisk, when money changes bands rapidly,
when people throng to shops in crowds, it is possible
to be content with a smaller profit and society becomes
a gainer perhaps for the suppression of nomadic traders.
Frenchmen, even in thur own country, are accus-
tomed, when in poor circumstances, to subsist on a very
homely and economical diet Bread, a few onions, and
a sip of sour wine, they almost regard as luxuries. The
same habit and theory of living follow them into other
countries, especially when, like our pedlars, their sole
object is to save money, to provide for the comforts of
their old age, or, if practicable, to enable them to marry
in middle life, and undertake the respcHisibilities of a
family. Of one luxury tiie pedlar is careful not to
deprive himself— we mean of a little provision of cigars
— ^which he carries about with him, carefully wrapt in
a bit of oU-skin, to protect them from the weather ; and
on the bleak, rocky mountains of Corsica and Sardinia,
smoking is indeed a luxury. In civilised countries, in
large cities, in capacious, comfortable, well -ventilated
apartments, it may be a mere piece of extravagance to
expend money on Havanas. It would seem to be other-
wise in the oases under conaidfiration. 'Xb» pedlar, on
quitting his humble cabaret^ or still more oomforUess
cottage, in the chill damp morning, his teeth chattering,
his whole frame half-shrunk by the night's cold, expe-
riences an agreeable elevation of spirits the moment he
takes out his fiint and steel, and kindles his cigar. It
serves him also as a companion : as he pufiii away, he
fancies himself in friendly society, especiAUy when the
smoke wreathes lovingly around him in some sheltered
nook or hollow in the way. Base and opulence know
nothing of such pleasures: everything with them is
comfort and regularity \ but the wild wajCsrer, with nil
bin pftrthlv noMPMiona on his back, who carries at the
" — * ■^-^^-^- -*^-
U2
OHAMBfiaS'B J^WBUBGR JOUANAL.
fame •tim^liis. pant knd hit life ia bit h8tid»*»wbo hafl
to face the ■torms irf winter and the heats of aojnmer—
vh« ii alim^ hmdjf, often ttk&^ sometiBica.oppreMed,
d^eeted, and miserable •^ deriret gratification from
•mall; aad^ it ^may be, eqoiviDcal pleasuiea, if flmokiog
Incfoed be one ^ tbeie.
S^metiraee the track of the pedlar liu tbrouffh dli«
tviotB flo desolate, that hejoao find at night do faidi^tion,
bOwQ^r batnUe^ ki whieb to take shelter, but must
betake binftelf to come eairem or hoUoar amooft the
rooka Hero his -flUit and steel oome into requisition*
He ^them dry leasee and bita of decayed wood, and
kiodlei Ifimnlf a fire, close to which > he lies down* and
edjoye tke aemfalance at least of a sominer dwelling ; bj
the Uglit of it also be eats his humble supper-'Hi little
b^eod, htpd and dry crust of dieae, or a piece of anti*
^nated ^ausitpe^ witb^ it may be^ an onion or t^o, or a
dove of garlic; Water from the seighbouriog well or
stream (jaeHohee his thirst; and then he betakes himself
to aleen on the hard took, with tlie infinite air breathing
afound hini, and the stars naining thetc iafluenoes upon
Mi bead from the sky.
' It may be ntattdr of wonder that the property these
men carry about ytlth thexH^which, though not great,
mifst stiH be a temptation to dishonesty-^would not
eofiitantly expose them to the assaults ef robbers. The
explanation perbaps it, that the state of ooeiety which
requires pedlars nourishes those prejudices and feelings
that ope^te as their protection^ There is in Corsica
and Sardinia, and indeed in bll other countries similarly
draqmstanoed, a sort of superstition attached to tbie
pedlar** obitfaeter* which prevents even very desperate
persons from attempting his life. He makes his ap-
pearance among them trustingly and fearlessly — for
pedlars never carry arms — and wherever he comes,
excites mirth and gaiety in young and old. He adorns
the persons of their wives and daughters, makes their
children Idok gay, and diifhses an air of eheerftilness
and contentatient tiirough a whole villager £Experienoe
of kindnev from others makes him gentle and kind ia
his turn. He is poUlbed by rubbing against the world,
and learns at tba same tioie resolution and modesty.
Fun of stories and anecdotes of advebturos oC hair*
broadtb escapes, he has a perpetual fund of entertain-
ment ; and the cottage in whidi be passes the night Is
fEcnerally crowded with at many neighboiirs as it will
liold, wlio sit in a cirele around Mmy to listen to his
XBurratives.
Oocasionally* though net often, the pedlar condeecends
to become the messenger of love, and bears from hanslet
to hamlet tender epistles whibhhe himself perhape has
indited at the request of lover or mistress. At tUnes
he assumes the character of umpire and peacemaker,
terminates quarftls, crushes the germs of lawsuits, aad
by a timely present of no great value, nsakes up matohes,
and diffuses happiness through a whole class.
Onoe in Sardinia, at a village high up in the mottttittos,
a pedlar, whom we a£telr«aDds met in Oenoa, arrived about
Chriatmaa during vety aevtare weather. A farmer, whose
daughter was about to be married, kindly invited him
to ivakeaoroe etayat his house. The pedlar accepted
tiie invitation, and remained tight or tea days, kept a
prisoner^ as it wete, by the hospital ity of hia best and
a perpetual sucoesnon of snowf«tkNnns« He was present
at the weddtag, and at tlm roerry*fmaking<giveii hy the
family in theeveaing^ where he iMikied among the
guests a yoimg man. of rather handsome appearaooe,
who attracted mudh attentkNi by the gloomy fierceness
of his manner. ■ Towards most persons he preserved a
siiHeB silteee ; but ke rtlaxedwitk the pedtar^ lav^wd,
and talloed a great deal } inquired' what. roote he nteant
to take, and how k)n9 it waa liktly to be before be ^oM
beadlcHig them agawi
In doe tlOMt the |>e^ar quilted the farmhouse, aod
poDoeeded 'Ofi fak #ayi TbsAceuntry jus* there was
▼ety tldnly inha^ied^ the' woods frequent, and of cofr-
siderafate extent, and there mad there were cavema of
^aiiiotaidiimBsi»i«< in> ont^ of these tiie pedlar .one
snowy night found himself oompettsd to tsks isfsMk
He had had the precaution to take aooie food witk hm;
and the cold being pierdng, he collected a fBSB%«(
wood, kmdled a fire, and sat down to eiuoy hii Mpser
beside it. He had net taken maay noDtlifuii befin
he observed a man enter the eavem €0veie4 iritbiunr,
whinK he shook from him aa he advancei lliaf wu
an immediate noognitioB : it was no other tha tl«
fisrmer*s wedding-guest ! He aooested the peiflar vitii
a strange eonstfained civility— saying he wu eosie k
sap, and apeod the night with him.
' You are welcome,* said the Frenchman vith u mndi
self-command as he could assume.
* Perhaps, however,' relied the Sardioisa, 'I dsll
not continue to be ao when I ahsM have ttplaiDid m;
errand !'
* We shall see : explain yourself.' I
* Listen^ then.' i
* I listen : prooeed. Bat allow me flrit to «fiec yw
a little supper. Here, pcay take a lUoe ^ 6«ratti
aauaage and a little ef this wine, whieh I lisfe Jodkil/
brought along witii me. Taste it : it is ntj fooi'
' No,' aniwered the Sardinian : *I.wiUneitba'6itiiflr
drink with you until I find whether it will beseoeinrf '
to kilt yon or not t'
•KiUme?'
*Yes, yoni unless you accede to thenfseitlam
about to make. Listen : I am in kve with a gidwhni '
father will not give her to me unless I csa pr«f«iBy«lf
to be in possession of one hundred dollart. Kov I wiA
you to lend me that aum, which I wiUfittiM'sDy snr
to you : neit at any stacted time, obserre, for I asyk
unfbrtunate< but X swear to you heie oa (Uidiaw
that I will repay, it, sooner or later.' And be bdd up
the glittering weapon ia the li^t of the flAiiKi,imiy
to presi it to hb 1^ ahould the psdUracoedstiltti
request.
The Ffceuchmau naturally felt eXBeediogij mean-
fortable ; for, from the aavase aspect of bii gaeA, k
did not dottbt'he bad reason to drmd the wont
The Sardkkian eoatinued: * Should voa be Mfooliab
as to reftise me. I shall kill you, take all you ftv^,
many, and make use of it. BtttbeoaaselanisBkBeft
man, I wish you in that case to teU ne who ii jair
nearest of kin in f canoe, since it wiik be my motttmat
endeavour to repay him the mon^ as loai si Bro-
vidence shall have put it in my power.*
Here he paused, to observe what eflfect hit worii m
produced on the pedlar, who for seme tine ^m t»
mudi terrified to reply.
*Weli; resumed the guest, * yen are nadecided? it
is jnst what I expected ; it Is very natmsL H»sfw,
I will stay aU night with you, that you may hsrc tiae
for reflection ; because 1 would rather not kill ]r«>J
oould help it. Still» I have made up vy mio^ ^J^
married next week, and I would kiU fifty padknnatr
than postpone the oeieuiODy.*
* Under these drcumstaBcea,' mplied the FreooM
• I must lend you the money, sinoe I have n»<*Ji* .
* You resolve wisely : you have no chciee. Out »•
servation naorti however, I must make, and tbww
will sit down comfortably to supper. It is this: »■»
yau next come to our viUage. you wfll ef csorse nrj*
and ray wife, and you will take up yeurrwideBfiMBtt
us in preferenoe to any other persoa'a. ^^^'TJ^'J
nothing, however, of the present transaciioDi b^I"
her nor to any dne elae. You wiU not seomsftiM"
me, aa indeed you need «ot be^ but w* be ngiy,«»
reckon eoafldcntly^ being wpaid thefam vi»*"^
you now accommodate :me.'
Att- this the pedlar promised* - '
♦Kow,f eocolAimed the voung «*»«V '«*^ "•J?
hand : we are friends : let us sit do«ro to «H*
After varda you can redflon ni» out the iDon^s*^^^
keepuR a seed fite, and chat l>y it aU Aighti«riJ|
the mortting w« wiU aepaiat8»«Mh to po9M ^ ***
In the momiiig, aa thv were about ta W «•<* <*•
GHAMBfilteQ EDmBURGif JKXmtfALj
8&a
adfoti, the Sardf niaa took out \m dmgget, ftod cuttinf
off one of the buttons f^m hit ceat,'iiaaded it to the
FrendivMii, sAying) *T«ke thatt and ke6p it tiM' I
restore you jour money. Obteire it is of silver^ and
hae been handed down in my family for many gene-
rataoDs. I would not part with it for all 3WI1 possess {
and when I intend to repay yoa the hundred dollars,
this is the course I shall pursue : I wiU say I have lost
my bntton, and will ofibr » hundred dollars to any on*
who shall find and bring it to me. You will prestnt
yourself: you will produce the button j and I« as hi
honour bound, will give you the mm agreed on. Do
we part friends?*
The pedlar, who, notwithstanding his loss, could not
but be amused by tke strange cfaaraetor and ideas of
the Sardinian, gave him his hand, and they parted
friends.
Next year he passed the same way again, «lld sure
enough found hisfriend married to a very pretty woman,
who had already brought him a son. He seemed very
happy; but eoming up to the Frenchman, he said,
* Now I have lost a button t I am n6b yet ric^ eooogh
to buy one to replace it: I may be more lucky next
year/
The pedlar understood ; and after baviog been made
Tery welcome at his house, went his way.
A second and a third year he 'returned^ and every
ttrae found a young son or daughter added to the faanily.
At lengtb-^pleased with his reception, with the eon*
atant hospitality shown him, vrith the pleasant wife and
eheevfbl incMasing family^^-he took the Sardinian aside;
Mid present&ig Um with his button -t *>Atl€rw me ib
restore yoU this artfcle of yours, which I have foand.'
* Nov no^' replied his host ; * keep it another yeairi:
by that time I shall be able t» redeem it, and at tht
•ame time to spend a very noeny evening with yoiL
Come this way next winter, and you shall see.'
The months n>tted i^und t tt» pedlar, regular as the
■eason, came again ( and the Sardinian invited him to
supper. All the children h«d been sent to bed, and be
and his wifle only i^malned with their guesi
' Agitfia,' said he to ber, * do you know that it is to
ytmr friend here that you are indebted for a husband ?'
His wifo looked syrprised.
* I beg your pu^ion, dear Agatha,* said he \ 'that is
not what I ought to hiwe said. I mean I am indebted
to him for a wife, as it was he who supplied me with
the hundred dollars, without which your &tber would
have refused you to tM**
* Oh how heartily I thank you !' exdfedmed the wifo ;
* for he is a good husband and a good father.*
* But I robbed htm,' said the husband. He then re-
lated the whole droumstance, remarking at the cDn>
elusion, * I intrust my secret to you, Agatha, became
iny honour is as dear to you as my life. Here, friend,'
exoUimed bet placing^ a little bag on the table, ' here
are your hundred dollars ; so now restore me my button,
which you have doubtles^ kept carefully.'
* Tea, here it is!' esolaimed the Frenebman, taking
it from his purse ; * and now we are even, except that I
owe you mfuch, vety nrach, for the constant hospitality
you have shown me.'
' Nay,' replied the husbamd 1 'it is to you thai I am
indebted for my wife and children : you have been in
some sbrt a father to us all j and therefore^ so kng as I
have a house over ny head^ pray consider it yours*'
Pedlars are sometimes generofis. Taking up the bag
of d«Uars, and turning to the wife, the Frenobman said,
* Altdw me, madam,' to present this to yo«r youngest
child as a birthday present I am in a condition to
afibrd it. I have made itraoh money in your coontry,
and intend next year to marry, and retire to Provence,
my native land.'
The present was adeepted 1 but the farmer, not to be
Outdone in generosity, forced on htan next niomiog a
handsome horte of eenslderably greater value, 'ilie
same pedlar had been engaged in many other little ad-
Temtuiee, i^ikh he used to relate with that ease and
naSvet& so^ oharaoteristifi of the iFseneb^^'WeMiett in
with him jtisttts he Wdaj about retnrningJtoPiovtfioej
where we daresay he still ei^oj^ tb^ priipeHy ■ whfck .he
amused with so mueh toll, hanesty, and .'perseveraaoe^
The JBngttsb merchants who.eupply tkustlsaaiof kico
are less prudent and economical, and oommoaly* spend
their wholei gakis ia what Is tecbhicaily called ^making
an appearance.' They, snoreoDOv marry Itldiati wornen^
settle at Ocaoeay and soon kso'idlndeare te retoim to
England. Thus depdved of the ohiel sptie^o econdmy*
they contract faideisat habit^^ and d^etd timUselvesto
amusement and pleasiKU } aiad ^wfaiU the men- whoM
knapsacks th^y supply rise to independetaos^iand oftm
even to opnleooe,> contract debts and embonaiKBientst
and termioate' their lives in pdveiity.^ Of otfurae
there are exceptinns to this rule. But it it- the mk^
we feai\ in Northern Itoly^ vhere» through a -superior
agency, a much larger anHNint -of British goods might
be annually disM)uted,eBpeoiaUytfoitfttiainu(actaMrs
could stu<^ tiis taste of the people, and supply them
with the odours ' and patterna Most ^agrtiBable to
them. On the coast of Spain tbfr- operations ef the
French knapsack-men are encountered and checked
by smugglers from Qibraltar. StilV in both cases,itlM
goods are chaedy Boglisb ; ao ihat» as> a pee|^, it is
immaterial to Us tfireugh whidi of these chanftels they
fiad their way inta the flpaniah mariset. '
I ■■>
1 1 I 1 I ih I ■ ' 1
THi: ISLAND OF AUBAN. ,
Arrcti beinir pent up tin whole winter in the greiit
cotton metropolis of Scotland, whei« snniighl aetmi
frequently to suffer an eclipse, and the loaded atmo«>
sphere is inhaled with difficulty, with what buoyancy of
spirit does the citizen make his first trip of the season
liy steamer, and behold, after %h^ lopg interval, his
belovied Glyd« flowing as peacefoUy as ever; its blue
waters sparkliog" in the sun, and all' natum looking
fresh and happy I It is a mental as well as corporeal
recreation, and combines the exoeliendes of both.
The trips down the Clyde fVoos Ofasgow are nxmie*
rous and varied; the whole scenery of the nver and its
contiguousioohs being highly picturesque and striking.
The excufvlon by steaia to Bute is a great £svonrite,
but the trip that may fee made to the island of Arran,
which lies Imnlediately beyond* Bute,' excels^ it in point
of geological and general interest. Arran may be said
to form in itself an epitome cf the Scottish Highlands,
net only in their beautifol and piotaveaque^ but in their
grand and sublime features* A specimen is to be found
here of eveiythteg for which the scenery ef our country
is renowoed, whether in the form of mountain, rocki glen,
or lonely lalce. There are vales, too, of pastoral beauty,
deep* wooded delAi, and- quiet nooks*} said smrrounding
the whole are the waters of 1^ a^agnifioent * firth,
tauMiag upoa shore* of every desoiiptiott; from the
bed ef §ikvay sand to the bahsark ef vecicy cUtL
In approaching In tfae'Stenmer tiie Idue. mountains of
Arran, their rugged peaks softened by distance, or lost
In the douds, an undefined foehng steals over the travel-
ler, who faacies himself leaving the territories subdued
by man, and about to enter the undisputed - domain of
antare A stton grandeur ohamctenses the scene before
him; the asaioiations of the city melt away f^am* his
mlndi and he ■finds himself^ unconsciously of the pro-
oess, in a world of dreams. But the cttot of Anao,
be it said, is owing in some degree ta adventitious cir-
cumstances. The ttoblfr proprietor,! with more- taste
thaa philanthropy, is detdrmuied that it shall neBsafia a
show only to the fofw. He refiisea to-let Us ground on
building leasee, or to construct* or permit to ba con-
structed, a convenient landing-placet and in' the fiody-
situated vilUge of Brodiek there is but little aotomlno-
dation for the ordinary -visitors of the -salt watbr« Sonq-
times, it iatdie^ a rush is raadein despite of dififeul ties,
and a hohday at Oteagow sends its Mwamm totlie stem
and ieaeiy island. But thiahas not tbadraOdedefi^
954
OHAMBERB'B EDmBURGH JOURNAL.
of Ttilgarifhig the place, l^ere is no honte-room, and
no fo<^, and happily no drink, for one* third of the
unbidden goesta; and they locate themselrea, gipay
fashion, in the surronnding woodt and glens, and,
wrapped in their plaids and doaks, pass the night under
the trees.
The passage between Cnmbrae and Brodick is fre-
qnently rongh and unpleasant, a heavy sea running in
the wide channel ; but all inconreniences are forgotten
as yon approach the beantiM bay, with Goatfell for its
gigantic watch-tower. It is probable that at some ante*
historic epoch the sea penetrated to the base of the
monntains} but there is now much ctdtivated land,
which flndy contrasts with the barren grandeur of the
background. A residence of the Hamilton family,
which has recently been enlarged and improyed, is
superbly situated on the rising ground to the right ; and
in trontt and to the left, but concealed from view, is the
little row of cottages forming the village of Brodick, in
most of which a bed is fitted up for the accommoda-
tion of visitors who cannot find room in the inn. On
the other side of the bay, called Inverdoy, there are a
few more comfortable houses for letting to stmimer
visitors.
On a fine dear autumn morning, after enjoying a de-
lightfhl bath in the pleasant waters of the bay, and de*
spatching a breakfast of somewhat alarming magni-
tude, we prepared for the ascent of Goatfell. Striking
up the road which leads behind the inn of Brodiclc,
and passing through a wood, we soon found ourselves,
as it were^ in the presence-chamber of the monarch
of the island. One feels as if he were now alone in
the presence of Goatfell ; for the village is lost to view,
and the wood half encirdes the gradually-ascending
ground which leads to the base of the mountain.
Even the tyro in geology has here an opportunity of
observing phenomena of great interest, and on a scale
of such magnitude as makes observation easy, and the
impression distinct and lasting. The ground we were
now treading might appear to an inexperienced eye as
forming the lower part of the mighty mass of Goatfell ;
but in reality it is not so: it belongs to formations
oltogether different, and which, strange to say, are older
than Goatfell itself.
Nearest the wood the Old Bed Sandstone fbrms the
surface strata ; and higher up, the slate, which underlies
the sandstone, rises above it, and comes into immediate
contact with the mass of granite of which Goatfell is com-
posed. These phenomena may be best observed in the
bed of the torrent which descends the hill, and which we
were led to examine at the recommendation of Mr Ram-
say in his excellent Gnide>Book, which we had in our
hands. Strictly speaking, therefore, we do not begin to
ascend Goatfell till we reach the granite formation, which
is first observed in the neighbourhood of a small mill-
dam at the base of the cone. Several points of contact
between the granite and slate may here be noticed;
and though we should probably never have discovered
them but for Mr Ramsa3r's directions, we cannot de-
scribe the intense delight with which, after diligent
search, we gased on these beautlfid phenomena. One
of them, and the most easy of discovery, occurs on the
west side of the torrent or stream alluded to, and a few
yards below tiie wall of the milldam. A vein of granite,
not unlike a stripe of yellow paint, is seen traversing
the slate, and may be traced more or less distinctly for
several yards. The granite, of course, when it pene-
trated the slate, mtist have been in a state of fusion, and
the intense heat caused those contortions in the strati-
fied rock which are still plainly visiUe. Phenomena of
the same kind appear a little to the lefl of the dam,
near the top of the descent into Glen Rosa ; veins of
granite being there also seen crossing some slate rocks,
which appear at short intervals peeping above the soil.
Considerably farther down the descent into Glen Rosa,
a large rock may be observed, which appears partly
oomp^sed of slate and partly of granite. Geologists
hold, we believe unanimously, that the granitic range,
of which Goatfell is a prominent feature, emerged from
the abyss long subsequent to the deposition of the stra-
tified formations, such as sandstone and slate. These
strata redine against the body of the mountain, jtttt in
the position they would have assumed had it jtretmded
itself through while they were yet lying hcaizontaDy.
Another strong proof of the comparatively recent origia
of Goatfell is to be found in the fact, that while sii llie
present day the sand of the seashore is in great lacaauie
composed of particles of granite, and while the whole
district is impregnated with such partides, no sen*
blance of granite is to be found in those puddingstones
or conglomerates which abound throughout what is
now the granitic region. The irresiatible condiiaion is,
that when these conglomerates were formed^ the gnnHs
still lay in the depths of the globe.
It may be imagined that with such objects of inle*
rest, which, so far as personal observation went, were
absolutely new to us, our progress up the mofoitafai
was none of the most expeditious; sind we obserted
several parties whose single object was to peffora
the feat of making the ascent, keeping te to the
right of our favourite miUdaro, as being tibe mofe
direct road up the mountain. We now b^aa to skirt
its base, in order to gun the ri^t riwidder, and
to follow the usual tnck. The weather was splendid ;
a magnificent view was«to reward our txnl; there
were parties in advance of us, and some in the resar:
we were to be in the midst of a crowd on 13bt top
of Goatfell. The thought disturbed the hannooy and
the repose of our ideas ; but after aD, man is m soeial
animal and we reconciled oursdves to inter com sc irith
our kind. Near the top the ascent becomes steep
and rugged : you leap from one mass of rock to »-
other ; you gasp fbr breath ; and although, perehaace, a
teetotaller on the earth, you suspect the orthodoxy of
the doctrine at the height of 3000 f^et. A gentteuan
whom you have never before seen fortunatdj cmrries a
flask ; he obligingly oflbrs you a sip *, you taste, mod an
invigorated. The efiisct proves evanescent, hot the sum-
mit is near. One effort more : you succeed; hot instead
of standing on the top of Goatfell to enjoy tiie glofiovs
prospect, you lay yourself flat on your back. Bat tte
view from the summit amply compensates fbr anjtriihng
fatigue. On one side stand the neighbouring moimteins,
with their rugged and predpitous sides, inspiring a feel-
ing of awe ; while, by simply turning round, tiiis emo-
tion is dispelled, and a scene of beauty, such as probably
you have never before seen, is spread out hem^th yoa,
Much of course depends on the weather ; bat as we mw
it, the magnificent Firth of Clvde was reposing in gUMy
stillness under a bright and doudless sky, and fte
islands resting on its bosom we could hare fancied tke
abodes of the blessed. Beyond the firt^ the eye may be
carried to the broad Atlantic ; but we could onW' fi»-
tingnish in that direction a range of hills bekni^Bg t»
the Western Islands.
The descent of Goatfdl, though accomplished in •
short time, requires some little dexterity. We saws
gentleman who, in the dread of being left behfaid by the
steamer, descended with such headlong speed, that if he
had missed his footing, he would in all probability haive
been severely injured, if not killed outright. At an
ordioaiy speed there is no danger whatever.
When we regained the base of the mountain, instsii
of returning by the morning's route, we tozned to the
right, and descended into Glen Rosa. We traced witk
much interest the slate and the granite, wad wmM bo
doubt have made many original disooveries, if Mr
Ramsay had not unluckily been before vn. We take
our revenge by stating boldly that we did not al
succeed in discovering the geological pfaenoraeoa
tioned by him. We searched a wood, fbr instance,
upwards of an hour in quest of an old quarry, but
out finding it, though we afterwards disooveied
appearance we were in search of in one of tiie
forming the enclosure of the wood. Glen Rosa is
beautifhl valley, londy and peaoefcd eacpQgh to
J
IL
CHAMBERS'S BDINBUR6H JOUB^AL.
255
you forget^ u 70a pluck its bloomiDg heather, or stretoh
yoarseif on its graMj knolls, the great world you have
left with all iti toils and cares.
We now wended onr way out of the valley, and re-
turning to Brodick, took the steamer for Lamlasb, eyery
nerre of our body tingling with pleasurable excitement,
arising from physical exertion and intellectual enjoy-
ment Lamlash Bay, though affording a secure shelter
for vessels, is inferior in grandeur to that of Brodick ;
for there the Ooatfell range is wanting, and the Holy
Isle scarcely supplies the want. Next day was the
&bba^, and instead of remaining at Lamlash, we chose
rather to take our place among the worshippers at
Brodick, induced partly by the fineness of the weather,
and parUy because we understood that the Communion
was to be celebrated at the latter place. The walk from
Lamlash to Brodick is one of extraordinary beauty, and
we enjoyed it to the fuU. After ascending a hill, you
see, on looking back, the Holy Isle, like a towering ram-
part defending the noble bay that lies at your feet from
the tempests that rage without, against which it often
affords a secure retreat to hundreds of distressed ves-
sals. Bewiming your journey, you pass through a tract
bearing a few patches of very imperfect cultivation.
The sloping ground on the left becomes gradually
covered with shrubbery, and is intersected by a wind-
ing stream ; but the scene receives its character' from
ihe magnificent range of Goatfell, which, in solemn
and lonely grandeur, is now seen shooting its rugged
peaks into the sky. The wonted solitude of the way
was interrupted by man^ 'going up to the feast;* and
from circumstances arising out of the Disruption of the
Scottish church, the Word was preached that day be-
neath the open canopy of heaven, and the festival cele-
brated under a few boards which formed the roof of a
sawpit
On Monday morning we prepared to follow out the
plan of operations which we had previously determined
on. Its fading features were — to make the tour of the
eaat side of the island, keeping along the shore as far
as Loch Banza, and then to proceed down the west
coast by Dugarry and Blackwater Foot, returning
home from the latter place across the island. This
plan we were prevented from carrying wholly into
effect, although the compulsory variation proved as
agreeable as the original design. An unceremoni-
ous steamboat -bell hurried us from breakfast, which
we had scarcely tasted ; and in rather an unsatisfac-
tory humour we proceeded on board. The captain,
with a little coaxing, agreed to land us at Corrie, a
hamlet about four mUes north of Brodick ; and as we
were rowed ashore, we made the acquaintance of a
most intelligent man, the lessee of the limestone quarry
in the immediate neighbourhood. This quarry con-
sists of beds of lime and shale alternately : it abounds
in fossils ; and an inspection of it with an intelligent
guide cannot fail to prove instructive to the young
geologist. We were obligingly presented with some
specimens of the fossils — we believe the Producta
Scotica, After leaving Corrie, we found the walk along
the shore extremely l^utiful : on the one hand there
was a range of picturesque cliffs, richly wooded, and
at one time evidently washed by the sea ; and on the
other several immense granite boulders, which at some
remote period must have been detached from the hills
above. At Sannox, about a mile beyond Corrie, we
diverged into the celebrated glen, where, instead of
the l^auty and softness of Glen Bosa, we gazed on
terrible mountains and precipices, and felt the littleness
of man in the presence of these stupendous works of
Deity. Glen Sannox is a ravine of considerable magni-
tude, rendered stUl more so in appearance by the clouds
that usually rest on the mountain ridges at its further
extremity. The darkness, almost blackness, of its pre-
vailing hue — its great depth, and the uncertainty of its
outline, lost in perpetual mists and shadows — impress
» character of mysterious grandeur upon the picture,
such as is rarely met with even in the wildest scenery
of the north. Here the cry of the eagle is not unfre-
quently heard in a domain which seems peculiarly his
own ) and a glimpse of the red-deer is still sometimes
caught, as he looks down the glen from its Alpine bar-
riers, and snuffing for a moment the breath of approach-
ing civilisation, turns away in terror, and plunges into
the wilds beyond.
Sulphate of barytes is found in Glen Sannox, and is
at present wrought, a mill being erected near the pit for
the manufacture. The manager, whose dwelUog-house
is also here, obligingly explained to us the process, and
showed us some magnificent specimens of the mineral,
which is white in colour, and very heavy, and is exten-
sively used in the composition of paint. But this is a
dreary place to live in; the gusts which sometimes
sweep down the glen are terrific, and the soil hardly
acknowledges the labour of man. Glen Sannox, how-
ever, in imitation of the civilised world, has its railway,
serving as a 'grand junction line' between the pit and
themUL
Leaving the glen, we crossed the Sannox Water, hav-
ing a long journey before us. There is no shore-road
from henoe to Loch Ranza, the highway taking a much
shorter cut across the country ; and we were given to
undentand that our proposed route, though not abso-
lutely perilous, was at least full of difficulty, and seldom
ventured on by strangers. The idea, however, of doing
what casual visitants to Arran rarely do, as well as of
seeing several objects of interest, determined us to per-
severe in threading our way through the intricacies of
a confused and ro(3cy shore. We were not long in dis-
covering what our valued guide had taught us to look
for — ^the ' anticlinal axis:' a term of formidable sound,
but meaning simply the point where the strata, which
had been dipping in a southerly direction, but con-
tinually decreasing the angle, become horizontal. This
horizontal position the strata maintain for some little
distance along the coast, till at length they begin gra-
dually to dip towards the north. The Old Bed Sand-
stone— a formation greatly indebted for its notoriety to
Mr Hugh Miller — here runs along the coast, swelling
gradually into considerable hills. We found the shore
free from stones of any magnitude, and easily traversed,
though a very different scene awaited us as we presently
came in sight of what are oommonly called ' the Fallen
Bocks.' Here prodigious fragments of rock, in all ima-
ginable positions, cover the whole shore, and form a sort
of barrier to nearly the summit of the hilL An im-
mense overhanging portion of the hill appeara at some
unknown period to have given way, and to have been
precipitated in these huge masses on the shore. The
effect is impressive *, and it seems singular that, of the
many strangers who visit Glen Sannox, only a very
few have seen the Fallen Rocks, not more than two
miles distant.
Our familiar friend, the Old Bed Sandstone, now de-
serted us, and we had more difficulty in deciphering the
succeeding formations. The geologist, however, detects
the beds of the carboniferous series, intermingled with
numerous trap dikes. Bain now began to fall heavily,
and we felt tiie less disposition to loit^ by the way, as
we expected soon to reach the veins of the salt-pans
and the old coal-pits. We at length found several of the
latter, filled with water ; but we had no opportunity of
examining the seams oi coal which were at one time
wrought (but very unprofitably) in connection with the
salt-pans in the immediate vicinity. The shore is here
considerably elevated, and the ruins stand on a grassy
plot, the more inviting after the rugged road we had
just been traversing. These ruins, wiUiout either anti-
quity, or architectural beauty, or associations of any
kind to boast of, are nevertheless felt to be interesting.
They remind us that a spot where the genius of solitude
now seems to have taken up his abode, was once the
scene of busy industry, and resounded no doubt with the
sounds of joy and love. On reaching a quarry about a
mile farther north, we found a temporary shed erected
to serve as dweUiogs for the m^i ; the stone they woe
quarrying was the New Ked Sandstone, and the blofsk^
were lying ready for shipment. The appearance of twt>
traveUers in this soKtary place was probably so un-.
usua), thai ote of the men, addressing us, expressed very
civilly his coneern that wt had not kiv>w^ jthat there
was a good road to Loch Ka«za across the country, * by
taking which we should ha¥« avoided all the diffiouUieB
of the shore.* We could hardly persuade him that,
with the knowledge of both routes, we had giyen the
shore a nre&rence* We ap«edUy xeaohed what is called
the Cock of Arran, a large rock on the shore, and
which is seen at a considerable distance at sek. Pass-
ing it, we began to encounter the roughest part of
our journey. We had reached the Scriden, a repeti-
tion of the Fallen Rocks, but on a far more extenshre
scale. The entire side of the hill seems to have been
broken up, and certainly the masses of rock, which strew
the whole shore and the slope of the hill, form a scene
of most admired eonftisfon. We w^re told that, except
at low^waterv we could not pass the Scndeo tmless by
partly asoentog tha hiU. By ftba aid of a little in-
genuity, however, and some friendly sbeeP'traedDt, we
managed to thread our way through the mazes of rock,
till we emerged again on the open shore. The evening
was now drawing on, and being both tired and hungry,
we made the iJst of our way to our journey's end.
At about two miles beyond the Scriden we began to
r<>«nd KewtOB Point, and to oar great satisfaction came
at kngth in sight of the sweet and ^quiet Zjoch Bama.
It aeems probaUs, ia resfiect of Laoh Ranfea, as weM as
of Brodick Bay, tli«;t the sea at some resKxte period
penetrated to the base of tlie mouniaios. It ia now
displaced to a great extent by alluvial soil* the process
of whose formation does not yet seem complete. A
stream from the mountains pursues a serpentine course
through the vale,w1iich is terminated by an old castle
standing on the beach, and overlooking the calm waters
oftb*!^. Besides the iaa, there is a eh«re)i,iawiiich,
howevec^ secvioe ia but a^dam peKformed ; atid a few
cottaMf, the wants of whose inhahitafits are probably
bounded by their native hills, Xlie hill forming tlie
background of Loch Hanza is famous among geologists
as affording an example of the junction of granite and
slate.
Immediately after our arrival, the rain began to
descend in torrents } and we were kept prisoners in the
inn for the graatet part of the foUowing day, and were
at last obliged to farega our intantioci «f proceeding
down the west coast. Wo therefore returaed to Brodiek
by the high road, remarking, in passing, some magni-
ficent specimens of conglomerate before reaching Korth
Sannox.
Next day, the weather having cleared up, we pro-
ceeded to Lamlash, determined to make up for our
disappointment; and taking there the high road lead-
ing 'in a westerly direction, we walked ta Borrioan
Fkorns, nearly six milet distant) and theaoe striking
direct aovosa the c^a oonntry, w4 steaeed for Blaek*
water Poot, oa the aouth-west of the island. Having
arrived without adventure, we set oS for Drummedoou
Point, a promontory about a mile north of the Black-
water. Drummedoon is of basaltic formation, the rocks
imperfectly columnar, and presenting from the sea a
picturesqae appearance; although, from our position
being immadiiBtely nndve the ciifis, the efibot was no
denU lessened. Proceeding aortfewaid along the shore,
we soon seaobed the oekbrated caves^ the largest of
which, caUe4 Kiog*« Cove. ha# a legendary history
reaching back to the time of ITioga), of whom, it seems,
there are still sculptured traces on tiie walls. In later
times, the cave is said to have occasionally sheltered
Bobert Bruce. We had no sooner entered it tlian a
thunder-storm began to rage ; and during the elemental'
cosiiet we remained in this abode of the heroes of
the peati Tkm caves in the neigbkourhoed were no
do>^ formed by the aetiea ef the sea oa tke sandstone
during long ages } but the tide doea not now .reaoh
theox. Xiie pitclutone veins, are a few huudied yards
north d Mini's Obve. The stone is dark-green, snd
dasily fracttfred; and the veins seem to nee ^nxn the
sea, and to lose themselves in the neigh^miiig difb.
A vein of piteUitone, more aoeeptf ble. to iko getoerality
of toutds^, ipay be s/ben froeskig the old road between
Lafnlash and Brodick, ilot-v^y far front iti jnoctiaB
with the new. Having satis^ed our enrioaity, we foaod
ourselves enveloped in a dense Arran mist, which means
fog and thick drizzling rain combined. We now moooted
Kill's Hill, and straok dioect acrpM the aamfHf lor
Shedog, whence we found, onr way back to BrodidL
This is no doubt a meagre account of what was in
reality a very interesting tour ; but it at least catalognei
the chief points o( interest presented by the island, snd
may be the means of directing to tke scene some better-
qualified pilgrims of nature. The peculiarity of the
island, as we have hinted, is, that it combines within a
comparatively trifling oircle, and in an easily-scoessible
quarter, an example of each of the natural features,
from the grandest to the loveHest, for which the scenery
of Scotland is ftmM>n«. Besides this, H pieeeuts, in s
striking and inteUigible ItSrm, an epstOAe of thefdlysi-
cal histoid of Uie ^be, and is tiius «n '
tical school for the student of geekigy*
THE DEADt.
' SiOl th« same -<oo vhmm toTffot>-^
Mothiug iMt that time bad gkmm {*
FoRUKT not the dead who have loved, wbo hare left ua,
>Vho bend o'er us now from their bright homes above ;
Bnt believe. neVAr doabt, that the God Who iKirft us,
Pionaits them a> mtagle wiUi f rienes Ihey Km l0ra.
Bepeat their fond worts, aUti>etoi»Ma^cBiHchertA»
Bpeak pleasantly of them who left ne in tearsf
From otir lips their dear names other Joys should not ptiiih,
"While time bears our feet through the valley of yeaxtt.
Dear friends of our yoaih ! can ve oease to remenU>er
The last look of life and the low- whispered prayer ?
Dh, cold bo our hearts as the ice of December,
Wtien lovers tablets rteortt no rtwtanbnmeef Owve.
Then fmvet not thedead, -who axe evemorwiHiftft wk^
Stax foating eometimee to ewr dgeai tsmnte^ bad ;
In the loneliest hour, in tlie crowd thf^ ace h^ v»i
Forget not the dead— oh, foi^get not ihe doad I
Boston, If. S. A, jAMsa T. Fjrli>s.
In the morning the hanker looks into his' cash -T)OQ»k,*aB2
olwrerves the amount with which li© * locked np ' the pw-
cediDg night. He then looks at tiieMiary,'* wUek em-
tains bis reodpts and payments lor that day ae te as hsls
then advised. He then opens the letters, and noticaa tjk
remittances they contain, and the payments he b W
stmcted to make. He will leam firom these items wheAcr
he ^ wants money/ or has 'meney to spare.* If he waali
money, ha wiU * take in ' any kMsa that may be foJUog Ass
that day ; or he may * call m * any loans he n^y k»i» est
on demand ; or he may go farther, and borrow monej^ fiir a
few days on stock or exchequer bills. Should he hare moAef
to spare, he wiU, persdventure, disoomit brokers' Ulfe« sr
lodge money en demand with the b«U4>rokers, or hmd it iv
fixed periods on stock or exohequer billa. There
bill-brokers who usually msjce their rounds every
first calling on the parties who supply them with bifi%
then calling on the bankers who supply them with
The atock-brokcrs, too, will call after * th« amiwt I
to inform the banker Wmv* th^ge ape ^oing * on iba iimk
Exchange, what operations are taking plaos^ and vlwA*
money is abundant or scarce ' in the notiae ;* alsa vnst
rumours arc afloat that are Dkely to affe4*t the p^tk «f
funds. It is tJms that a bakikee regulates his ~
and finds employment for his snrpioa
Treatise on Uaiiking^
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sold by D. C1IAMHKR&, 20 An;3io Strcrt, Gffaagpw; W. R On*,
147 Strand, lK)ndoii: and J. SPOtASiiaiA « 'O'tflai *
Dnblia.~Jk^iatsd \Kf W. A &..CH4^HMtav£dft>tofS|^
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OOlfDUCTtD BT WILLIAM AND ROBBRT OHAMBffitS, fiDITOIlS OF < CHAKBeRS'S niFORMAt^OV FdH
THE FEOFLB/ *CnAHB£Rfi'S EDUCATIONAL CptJUaE,* «a
3s:
J .1.1 1 ;> ii .1 M .f. '.Ill U'ui ,r;i fiiiii 'i rr .luimi.! ins:
No. 304. Niw Sbues.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1849.
■1 1 1t
PRXCE l|cf.
EXPERIENCE.
LuE IS ofteQ deacribed as an nncertain and weary
pUgximjige — a. dim, bewllderii^ road* whcreoA a laaa
wandoca moie w lets under the guidance of chaoot,
meatiaff oecaaionally with ad^entdrea The similitude
is in many respects appropfiate. At our entrance into
life, its purposes, contingencies, and ulterior results are
imperfectly discerned and apprehended, eren as the
material and social aspects of a country as yet unyi-
sited are but vaguely and inadequately prefigured in
the consciousness by such descriptions and reports as
we may hare read, or gathered in conversation from
prerious adventurers. The existing experience of man-
kind ia of isomparatiTely small advanlaga to any one
who ia as yet without experience of his own, inasmuch
as its uses are unintelligible till the want of it has been
demonstrated, and, under one or another shape, per-
sonally felt, and perceived to be desirable. Thus it is
that so few young persons benefit by the advices of their
leniora, even when those are really sound, and practically
available. Xa£t, indeed, ia a new experiment to every one
who ia bom into the world. No man can beeooM the
fac-siniile of his father or his schoolmaster. The pro-
blem of his existence, as we have elsewhere asserted,
is to a very considerable extent original ; every man is
a new variation of the nature which he individually
personifies.
Thia fact appears to be demonstvated by the inve-
terate propensity of each to deviate more or less from
the forms and methods of procedure which he finds
established. Well contemplated, perhaps this very
tendency might disclose itself as the predetermining
impulse of human progress. Prone as men are to imi-
tatlon« no one ever proposes to reduce himself to an
exact eopy of any of his predecessors or centempo-
rariee. A close examination of his tendencies might
enable us to perceive that, even in imitating, he is dis-
posed to introduce novelties of his own, and inclines
alwaya to reproduce his model in a modified and unex-
ampled shape. The son who succeeds, or enters into
co-operation with, his father in any kind of enterprise,
rarely or never is contented to abide strictly by the
rules and formalities of practice which the father insti-
tuted, and found to be in all rcapeots sati^actory and
efl'ectual ; accidentally, or by deliberate intent, he strikes
out modes of doing business which the other nowise
contemplated. To the senior it will most likely appear
that the junior ia apt to go too fast* or to run iaseeuraly
in questionable directioos *, whiles in the opinion of the
junior, the senior is a lumbering *slow coach,' which
nullifies and overbalances, through tardiness and jolt-
ings, whatever advantages of saf^sty and sure transit it
may gun by means of circumspection and precaution.
In like manner, in aU departments, the apparent in-
compatibility of t)ie old with the new — the untried and
experiment^ with the steadiastly- established -r*-!* a
we^ -known and readily * comprehended ciitmaistanoe)
a oiroumatanee, indeed^ which is sometioies lamentable
in residts, but which, nevertheless, we conceive to be
natnrally esrplained by the notion of jnTogressive origi-
nality previously irtdlcated.
One of the consequences, of this ever-prevailing ten-
dency is, as we have hinted, the aignai insufficieney of
other people's expevieAce to further us with mueh efieet
in our personal eoursa ef life. What avaiia it that
vf neraMe andfkr«exptrieneed penoM ceniimMiny affirm^
wHh gfeafesi emphftsi«,-tfaftt what ia called the * worid,'
for instance, Is idtogether treacherous and unstable,
and not to be depended on?— the multitude of dupes
and disappointed men and women is not a wUlt dimi-
nished. The little boy who remoi^trated .with Itis
mother because she j:efused to allow him to go to tlie
play, under pvetefice that she iMrself bad * seen the kUy
of it,' spoke pMokely the wriweiSal sentimeM^ and rm^
quenehabie propeneity of mankind, when he replied
that he, too, desired, more than anything, * to see the
folly of it.' The young man listens gravely to old
men's counsels, but nevertheless profits little by them
when be comes into actual contact with the difficulties
or temptations against which he bad beea forewarned,
because of his inability, in the irat instaoee, "to con^
c^ve hUnself in the oknmmetanoea predkatad* and fur-
ther* because of a latent, dimIy»felteonvietlbn of the
inapplicability of the sage advices to his own concerns.
As the daylight is of no avail in seeing till the eye has
become accustomed to it, so neither does it appear that
other men's experiences can be turned to much account
before we have attained to soom experience of our own.
Hence, io spite of tho testimony of countless- persons of
aceredtted peaotlcal knowledge teuohlng the vanity of
certain kinds of pleasnre --^le Mty of ambition, the
infelicities of lofty station, and the like— there are never
wanting inexperienced people who pursue these tilings
with as much avidity as though they had been utterly
untried, confidently expecting to realise, by means of
them, tlie highest gratifications. Tiie number of re-
corded iailurea never daunts the new aspitantk He
advaoeea fnll of hope^ and with the utmost assurafieet
of sueoeasi countia^ Kttle of aU obslrtiottent which are
reported to beset the paih of his Endeavours, and ad-
dressing himself comi^acently to the accbmplishmcnt
of the Impossible. It seems necessary that he should
learn * the folly of it* for himself, befove he can be dis-
suaded firom ita further prosecution^ How many of the
best years of human life are wasted in merely aaeerta&a*
lag how we veaHy ought to Uwe 1 Kay, then aro oMny
who never beeome aoqaainted with even thls« persons
on whom experfenoe is entirely thrown nway.
Overlooking these, and restricting the coQVlderatlon
258
CHAMBESRS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I
to such as really draw advantage from their own ex-
periences, it may yet be well to ask, Whence comes it
that so little of tiie experience of the forefathers de-
scends upon the children ? How is it that, in the words
of poet Tennyson—'
* Others' follies teach ua not,
Nor much their wiadom teaches ;
nnt most, of sterling worth, is what
Onr own experienoe prMohee ? *
The present writer will not undertake to say deflnitiTcIy
how it is, but, as a rude suggestion, submits that it may
possibly lie here : All men being, as we say, original, a
new course is incTitable to every man who is to succeed
in adequately unfolding his true character. He cannot
be an incarnate imitation, and therefore is continually
impelled to experiment on his own account, and to try
whatever possibilities may lie within himself, and thus,
through action, speculation, and manifold successive
modes of personal development, produce finally that
realisation of humanity which exists already as an idea
in his specific attributes. Thus it is that the best
exemplars can really aid him little, and are of next to
no avail, except in as far as they may g\iido him to-
wards a more perfect understanding of his own per-
sonality, and by showing him what things have been
hitherto achieved, and what are actually unattainable,
lead him thereby to a dearer apprehension of what is
possible to human nature. Any attempt to transfer the
exact experience of another to his own consciousness
must prove utterly abortive, and even if it were suc-
cessful, would be to the prejudice of his individual
integrity. He must in all cases take himself, as people
entering into wedlock agree to take each other, * for
better for worse,' exactiy as he is, and nowise hope
to change his nature, otherwise than as he may be
enabled to improve it by diligent and wholesome cul-
ture. So only can he attain to the dignity and blessed-
ness of a right activity ; so only successfblly fulfil the
special purpose for which he was called into existence.
Now the tendency we are here considering appears
to foreshadow, for most part in deep unconsdousoessi
some fundamental necessity for relying upon the faculties
and capabilities of the personal nature. A man's in-
herent disposition to slight the hard-bought experiences
and conclusions of his predecessors, alike in action and
in speculation, and to advance with headlong impetuosity
to try whether he cannot really extract, out of a similar
set of circumstanoea or contemplations, results some-
what more satisfactory and significant — such a disposi-
tion seems to indicate a certain natural requirement
which cannot otherwise be answered. It cannot spring
out of any obstinate inclination to close his eyes or his
reason to the truth ; for we find that, in some men at
least, there is a readiness to profit by what is true,
whenever it is sufficiently demonstrated by an actual
experienoe of their own. It must belong to a deeper
law — some inward requisition, some tyrannous demand
of the constitution — for such a cultivation as is promoted
by the act of acquiring experience. Not otherwise, surely,
would men incessantly distrust the realised endeavours
of their fellow-men; not otherwise would they tend
continually to reproduce the very follies and short-
comings which others have already found to be inevit-
able, from such and sudi particular courses and experi-
ments of conduct. It may be said, indeed, that the
authenticated experiences oif men are not theoretically
distrusted by the generality, however much their prac-
tices may seem to overlook them : men will often recog-
nise the perfect truth of the demonstration, and yet
shape their actions in total disregard of the princiidei
whose validity they acknowledge. This, mihiTpfly,
cannot be disputed : but admitting Hiit, we hare yet to
ascertain why any man should manifest mn innate dis-
inclination to accept the just condusiona wtiich others
have discovered, instead of straightway employing than
to the advantage of his own afiTairs. Why should be cot
receive the condusions which have been established ai
a foundation for himself and build higher thereupon?
Why must each man painfhlly construct, on a founda-
tion of his own, some new fabric out of the <dd mate-
rials ? It lies, doubtless, in the necessity which there
is in every man for building. Att his serviceable kmm*
ledge is derived through his own activity; his very M-
ures and his follies are an apprenticeship to tmtb;
he learns by them what no precepts could so effec-
tually teach him — the generic unprofitabileDess aod
destructive tendencies of vice, the beauty and the nut-
jesty of virtue. But is there not, it may be aaked, a
danger of prolonging the apprenticeship ? Uadoablsdiy
there is ; and yet it is comraoiily admitted Umt csp»-
rience is, upon the whole, the most mMseemAii taadter,
though apt to take considerable, sad often eoennou
fees. Men, under most circumstances, do really leani
something by experience, if by nothing else ; or. If tttej
fail to do so, they are not likely to acquire anything
to greatly profit them under any other teaching. Any-
way, it is incontestable that a certain coltvre of the
character is derived through the proceaa of mcqwang
experience. The efibrt * to prove all tliinga/ whkk a
wise man enforced as a bounden and indispsnaabAt
duty, does unquestionably enhance the Tigoor cf ttie
faculties, and qualifies them for the readier and xma%
certain apprehension of the truth. The im^kat ad-
mission of other men's condusiona tends, on the oon-
trary, to foster a passive imbecility, and to detract
from the proper growth and free expanaion d oar
own essential powers. Every man Sa bona to gatkcr
fruits for his own behoof from the tree of tin know-
ledge of good and evil, and by the new diaeeaseat
thus obtained, shape out the poasibslitiet of bis Bfe.
Neither by action nor by thought can any one saper-
sede the need of thought or action in another. AH tise
treasury of renowned experiences is insufiicient to eqmp
the unpractised character with the wisdom and reqvbile
ability for the right accomplishment of his dealiiiy hen
m time. By action and pasMon, by cooqneat and dsieai^
through the range of sufferance and eodeaToor, ha aasi
advance in his own strength — ^valiantly addeva tke
indispensable dominion over his own weakneeaes aai
lusts, and rule the empire of his inclinations In tie
supremacy of his own might. The posaeaaions or at-
tainmenta of another, in whatsoever way ap]
can nowise yield him such rich resnlia aa
accrue from an independent acquisition of his
this sense, more especially than any, a man
the daring architect of his own fortunes. Hia
perience, whatsoever he has learnt, or ia in the
learning, as the outcome of his failnrea and
is the main thing which he has really to rely npoa ftr
the day that is passing over him, or for any day
after.
Of what advantage, then, are the moenmmkJttA
rienoea of the fbregone generaiiona, tiie beraia
and endurances of faithful men, wiio batv
in the conflict with evil and oalamtty ? The
remains first of all with them ; but also in a
and still considerable degree, with ua, and all
and successors. But the benefit is not derivesifaie
la
bs
I
li
i;
CHAMB£BS*S EDIKBUBOH JOURNAL.
25d
w«y of immediAte imUation; not in regarding put
aohieTemmits as actiona whlcb, being once aecompliabed,
can be made to serve ooraelyet, without the need of
further action. The new generation must also learn its
possibilities. The man of to-day has a character of his
own to represent, institutions and modes of liTing to de-
vise, suitable to the altered circumstances of the world,
just as the geological transformations are accompanied
by successive and original developments of sensitive
existence. The past is a noble and beneficent posses-
sion ; In it are planted deeply the roots of the perennial
tree of human life : the flowering and fruitful manifesta-
tions of the hour as they appear in social forms, or the
shape of manly culture, are all substantially sprung
from the accumulated vigour of the past, each season
or particular era yielding ita contribution of new and
expansive influences. The present is united indissolubly
with all the days that went before. The net result of
other men's activity is never really lost. But let us
understand in what way it can truly serve us. Very
evidently the instinct of humanity inclines to try over
again every problem of existence ; eadi inexperienced
novice, in the face of the multiplied experience of fore-
runnera, venturing on the very courses which have
been seen to lead to naught ; gathering thereby, never-
theless, the fixed assurance of the fact, and after mani-
fold disasters and perplexities, finding at length, in
some few instances at least, a true and eflfectual path
whereon to walk, and attain to a measure of well-
beiog. What is the rightful inference for man and for
sodety ? Is it not that each must attain to an indepen-
dent and appropriate experience? — that every man
must learn his limits, every society its peculiar needs ?
There is no progress, individually or socially, until the
progressive agent has attained to some adequate com-
prehension of what is befitting to his nature. He can
learn only by trial, by the visible success of the right
action, by visible failure of the wrong, through progres-
sive elevation and degradation, throughout the entire
circuit of his capabilities. AH things conspire to
prosper the right action : all things are in conspiracy
to fnxatrate and overturn the wrong. Wait only the
result, and the true endeavour will appear uppermost,
* shaped to some perfect end.' It is needless to regret
the loss of years which we have spent in working folly ;
if they are gone, we can never again reconquer them
from the relentless grasp of Time. The folly was pos-
sibly indispensable to the growth of after -wisdom.
Man, as we said, learns little save by action or by
sufiering. In the light of a hard personal experience
many a thing will gradually appear dear. We have
surveyed the land, sustained vexations and weariness
enough in the vain pastime of exploring it in quest of
pl^sant places; let us here begin to work. Uaving
gained a httle experience of our own, we are now per-
haps in a condition to avail ourselves, to some extent,
of the experiences of others, which we could not for-
merly appreciate. Out of that so disregarded store of
wise conclusions we may now, being once aware of
their undoubted genuineness, draw here and there a
matter for one's own occasions. We had to test by
experiment whether they were genuine or not, before
we could become acquainted with their worth. Doubt-
less we lost abundant time in doing so, but we have
thereby at least acquired an exi>erter faculty for using
them. Having attained to a more intimate conception
of the precise conditions under which we were pre-
ordained to live, and to a sounder estimate of the capa-
bilitiea that are in us, we may at lengtii suceeed in
working oat some satisfisctory sort of hfe. Thus man^
after a round of error, oomes homeward to the truth.
Undoubtedly he may lose himself in the confusions of
the journey ; but there is at least a way by which he
can return. Society, too^ has its 'wild oats' to sow —
its vain philosophies and profitless economies, of which
also it will do well to take orood heed, lest thev mrow to
mere thistles and ofiensive jungla The opening days
and years of every successive era is a kmd of social
youthtime, wherein society more or less repeats the
follies which are incident to all incipient developments ;
but here also, after a sufficiency of harsh experiences,
there comes a better understanding of the wants and
possibilities of the time ; and the admirable teachings
of preceding ages are tJien to some extent accept^,
and the new phoenix-bom sodety springs visibly into
bdng. Perilous, not the loss, is the process of reno-
vation, wherein the new reality has to take its shape
out of ashes and decay. It may even chance, as more
than once has happened, that in that wondrous world-
regeneration through the agony of change, instead of
new resplendent life, there may be absolute destructioD.
It all depends upon the uses which we make of our ex-
perience. The life or death of the very soul — whether
of a man or of sodety — is entirely contingent upon the
manner in which it profits, or fails to profit, by ex-
perience.
FIRST QUARRELS.
A SKETCH FROM LIFE.
I AM one of the many from whom Heaven has seen fit to
take awav the indiTioual interests of life, that, perchance,
they mignt become universal. Sometimes I could almost
liken myself to a mirror, which receives on its silent, soli-
taiy breast the fleeting images that pass it by, and so
takes them, for the time being, as companions to its own
void heart, while it makes of ikem life-piotures to be re-
fleeted alnnoad. These passing interests I create for my-
self continually. They seem, too, to meet me voluntarily
on evexy side, not merely in society, but in chance ren-
counters along the waysides of life. I rarely journey five
miles from my home without discovering, or, if you will,
fMtnufaetwrinff, some pleasant and usefal passage in hu-
man life, which makes me feel one with my fellow-crea-
tures, as though the world stretched out lovingly its huid
to the solitary one, and called her * Sister 1 '
The other day I took my way homeward. Reader, I
may as well tdl the truth, that I am a little, old maid,
living in London, and working hard that I may live at
all; also that, in order to add a small mite to my slender
modicum of health, I had abided for a brief space at that
paradise of Cooknevs— Southend. A very respectable
paradise it is too, with its lovelv gieen lanes extending
eloae to the diore of what is all but the sea; its pleasant
clifls feathered with rich underwood, which the tide al-
most kisses at high-water; making the whole neighbour-
hood as pretty a compound of seaside and rural sceneiy
as the lovers of both would wish. When my 'fairie
barque' (the London steamboat Diyad, please, reader)
wafted me firom thence, I felt a slight pain at my heart.
One sofiers many such on quitting earth's pleasant nooks.
* I ought to have got used to ^ goed-hj " hj this time,'
thought I to myself, half patiently, half sadly, and began
to divert my attention by notidng the various groups on
deck. I always do so on prindple, and it is hard if I do
not find some * bit ' of human nature to study, or some
form of outward beauty in man, woman, or child to fall
in love with. Travelling alone ^as I ever do travel —
what should I fear, mm my quiet face and my forty
years t), I had plenty of opportunity to look around, and
soon ray eye fell on two persons* meet subjects to awi^en
interest.
They were a young couple who sat opposite to me— so
close, that I could hear every word above a whisper. But
whispering with them seemed pleasantest, at least for a
long time. I should have taken them for lovers, save for
a certain air of cheerful unreserve which lovers never
have, and an occasional undisgoised * my dear ' falling
firom both their lips. At last, keeping a watdi over the
girl's le& hand, I saw it ungloved, and thereon the wed-
ding-ring 1 It rested with a sort of new importance, as
though the hand were unused to its weight. Uncon-
sciously she played and fidgeted with its shining drclct,
and then recollected herself with a smile and blush. ^ It
was Quite clear mv new nets were a brideffroom and bride.
260
CHAMBERS'S IX^WBQH iK)UJt^Al..
Heie^ then^ wm a p«^ ia koman life open before me :
I tried to read it lino by line, romancing where I could
botx«*d. Full opportunity I had, for they took no notice
of me; they saw nothing in the world but their own two
solves. Happy blindness 1 I believe much in physiog-
taoray, 80 I amused myself with deciphering theirs. The
girPs face was strikingly pretty. There was the high
brow, showing little talent, bob muck stfsse ; the eandid,
lorinff, and yet half- wicked dark eyes ; the straight nose,
aad short curled upper lip; but there the face changed,
AS faces sometimes do, from beauty into positi?e ugliness.
The lower lin was full — pouting — showing that it coM
look both sulky and sensual; and the chin retreated — in
fact, positively * ran away !' I said to myself, * If the
under half of Uie character matches the under half of the
face, the young husband there will find a few more diffi-
culties with the , wife he has married than with the
"lassie" he wooed.' So I turned to his countenance, and
speculated thereon. It was decidedly handsome — Greek
in its outline ; in expression so sweet, as to be almost
feeble: at least so T thought at first when he was smiling,
as he ever did when he looked at her. But in a few minntes
of Hilcncc X saw the mouth settle into firm horizontal
lines, indicating that with its gentleness was united that
resolute will and clear decision without which no man
can be the worthy head of a household — respected, loved,
and obeyed. For in all households one must rule; and
wo be to that family wherein its proper head is either a
petty tyrant, or, through his own weakness, a dethroned
and contemned slave!
Therefore, when 1 noticed the pretty, wllfVil Ways, and
sometimes half-silly remarks of the bride, I felt that this
young, thoughtless creature might yet have cause to thank
Heaven that she had married a man who knew to rale as
Well a^ to cherish her.
Until now, I had not speculated on their station or
calling : it was enough for roe that they belonged to the
wid6 family of humanity. But as my musings wandered
idly on into their future life, I took this also into con-
sideration. Both had a certain grace and ease in mien
and 'spe^h, though, through the wifeV tones, I distin-
guished the vague drawl which infects most classes of
Londoners. But the husband looked and spoke like a
gentleman. ' I fdlt sure he was such, evvn though he
might stand belrind a counter. A third individual broke
their tdte-il-t^e — a middle-aged Cockney, pere th/amiHe,
—evidently some beach acquaintance made at Southend.
His chance question produced an answer to my inward
wondering.
* Oh,* said the bride, * we coiuld only stay at Southend
a few days, because of my' — — She paused a moment^
and then changed the word husband into ' Mr Qoodriohe.
He cannot be longer away from business/
The young bridegreom, then, was ^ in business '«-o&e of
those worthy, labouring bees who famish the «oraihuiiHy
with honey. I thou^t how hard he mu»t have toiled by
counter or in shop to have gained so early In lifi» a home
and a wife. I respeoted him accordingly.
My ' interesting oouple^ began a H^y chat with their
new companion : at lenst th« wifb did. She put forth all
her smiles, all that battery of fatoinatson with which she
had probably before her marriage won her snufs on the field
of conquest, and been dubbed * a most sbockinfl flirt.' And
in the shadow that ga^Mutd over the qoiet htiHwnd's face;,
I saw the reflection of thai which must often have bitterly
troubled the peace of the still more retiring lover. True,
the girl was doing nothing witmg^her new friend iras old
enouiji^ to have ^mk her lather, so no jealousy could be
aroQsed; but still she was taldng her attention and con-
vcTiation from her knsband to give it to a perfect stranger.
She wonld not have done so. had he been enly ker lover
still. Alas V that womeik should takie so macK pains to
win love, and M little to keep it !
Each' minute the young husband spoke les8» and his
eonntflimade grew darker. She only laughed, and
chattered the mere. Foelish-^^iboUsb one I There came
on a heavy shower, and there was a rttsh below. * Come
with us to the farther end; I will find a place for you,'
luttdly aaid the Mithe youne wife, toruDg back to the
little old maid. I thanked her, but declined. For the
worid, I would not have prevented the chance that, In
the solitude of a crowd, some word or look mig^ paa
between husband and wife to take away his gloom. Yet
when I left the cabin, I saw her sitting — bonnetle^, and
laughing with a childish gaietv — between her silent,
grave husband and the disagreeable old man.
I went to n^ quiet place at the stem of the boat, and
turned away so that I could see only the turbid river
and the dull gray sky. It was as complete solitade as
though I had been en Robinson Crusoe's raft in the midst
of the Pacific. I pondered over life and its mysteries
as one does who is used to loneliness — who is accustomed
to dwell, as it were, on a mountain top, seeing the world
and its inhabitants move below like puppets in a tbom.
And herein does fate half atone for ties riven, and ties
never formed — that in such a life one leams to foraet
self; and all individual joys and griefs, lores and hatiMs,
are swallowed up in universal sympathies.
I pondered much on the two young <7eatares I had
left below ; and« womanUike^ X thought chiefly of the
won^n. She seemed to me like a child toying with a
precious jewel, little knowing what a fearful thing^ it is
to throw away love, or to play lightly, mockingly, with
those feelings on which must rest the joy or wo of two
hunoan souls for a lifetime. And passing from this in-
dividual case, I thought solemnlv, slmost ^infully, of
the strange mysteries of human life, which seem often to
bestow the priceless boon of love wh«e \i is unvalued
and cast away. Unconsciously I repeated the w^-
known words, * To him that hath shaU Iw given, and from
him that hath not shall be taken away.' But my muI
an&wered meekly, ' Only on earth, and lue is net leof—
not long!'
And turning once more to the group of my fellow*
voyagers, I saw the two in whom I took such an intsreit
They were standing together a little apart, leaxung en
the vessel's side. lie was talking to her, not angrily, hot
gravel;^ — earnestly. In the expression of his doe I scarce
recognised the man who had borne smilingly aU her idle
josts, sportive contradictions, and caprices an hoor s^o.
She tried them again for a few minutes : but ia vain.
Then she hung her head, and pouted. Soon quick^ wil&l
answers came. I heard them not; but I was sure of the
fact from her flushed cheek and sparklixig eye^ as ahe
disengaged her arm from his. Man's psktience is ncicr
eternal, not even in the honevmoon ; ae spoke te her
firmly, while his face darkened into positive angWg aad
then there was a sullen silence between thezn.
The time passed, and still they remained in the
position together; but oh what a sea of suUen aogsr
between theml Neither saw the other's face; bat I
both. He stood gazing up into the leaden ''}^^^\ his
mouth firmly set, and yet twitching every now and Aa.
with suppressed feeling. Was it, perchance, the hitter
disappointment, almost agony, of the man who has viU
pain and toil built for himself a household hearth, aai
finds it trodden into ruins by the very idol whom hs
hoped to place there for ever! A foolish girl! wiAaig
to try your power, and ke^p the honoured iiosbaai •
tyrannised lover still. Do you think what it is jou ^1
When you suffer your own hands to tear Uewn the im
adornments of idolatry with which his paaston Ims deebd
you, and i^ppear before him, not as an angelic ideal, hat
a seli^hy sullen, or vain woman, little know jou ihit k
may take years of devotion to effiu^ the biUerMSB f»>
duced by that one hour— the first when l»e lees yw m
you are/
The young husband glanced onoe on^ at liia wile; hsit
that was enough. The lower Up— that odious lewvfiR.
which had at first awoke my doubts 1— was the tht ■
of weak, pouting sulfonness. But its weakno^
guard against continued obstinacy ; and I
the hudl)and did not eee^^ihait as efae bast otst ^
tear after tear dropped silently into ^e iiTar.
hope still !
She was leaning ovec the gmgwij doov » pIm*
dangerous sa?o to the watchful anxiety of albniett>
ever, the ^t seemed to strike her hothnsti ior 1»
CHAMBERS^ EDWB0K(JH JOURi^Ari.
'861
deixly drew her away, thoagh fbrmally, and irit^out any
sign of wishing for reconciliation. But this one sli^t
act showed the thoughtfulnesji, the lore— oh, If she had
only answered it by one kind look, one word of atone-
ment I But no ; there she stood — ImmoTable. Neither
would yield. I would have giTen the world could 1 hare
whispered ip the wife's ear, 'For the love of Hearen — ^for
the loTO of him — for the peace of your whole life, be the
first to say, forgive me ! Eight or wrong, never mind.
Whichever have erred, it Is your place — as weakest and
most loving — to yield first. Oh, did you but know the
joy, the blessedness of creeping close to your husband's
wounded, perchance angry heart, and saying — Take me
in there again ; let us not be divided more ! And he
would take you, ay, at once; and love you the more for
the forbearance which never even asked of his pride the
concession that he was also wrong ! '
Perhaps this long speech was partly written in his eyes;
for when, by chance, they met the young wife's, she turned
away, colouring crimson : and at that moment up came
the enemy once more, in the shape of the intrusive elderiy
gentleman; but the husband's lecture, whatever it was,
had its effect in the girl's demeanour. She drew back
with a quiet womanly reserve, strongly contrasted with
her former coquettish forwardness, and left 'Mr Oood-
riche' in possession of the field. And, I liked the hus-
"bajid ten times better for the gentlemanly dignity with
which he shook off all trace of iil-humour, and conversed
with the intruder. The boyish lover seemed changed
into the firm, self-dependent man. And when the wife
timidly crept up, and put her arm through his, he turned
round and smiled upon her. Oh how gladly, yet how
shyly, she answered the slight token of peace ! And I
said to myself, * That man will have a just, and firm, yet
tender sway : he will make a first-rate head of a family !'
I saw little more of them until near the journey's end.
They were then sitting;^ in the half-empty cabin alone
together; for to my delist, and perhaps theirs, the ob-
noxious individual of middle age had landed at Black-
wall. Very quiet they seemed : all the exuberant happi-
ness which at first had fi>und rent in almost childish
frolic was passed away. The girl no longer laughed and
jested with her young husband; but she drew close to
his side, her head bending toward his shoulder, as though,
but for the presence of a stranger, it would fain droop
there, heavy with its weight of penitence and 1ot«. Yet
as I watched the restless look in her eyes, and the ftint
shadow that still lingered on the young man's face, I
thought how much h^ been perilled, and how happy —
ay, ten times happier— would both have fislt had the first
quarrel never be^n t
In the confusion of departure I lost my young firiends,
as I thom^ht, for ever; but on penetrating the mysterious
depths of an omnibus, I heard a pleasant voice address-
ing me — • So you are again our fellow-passenger to— — !'
Bnt I will not say where, lest the young couple should
' fipeer' fbr me, and demand why I dared to ' put them in
print.' And yet they would scarce be wroth did they
Know the many chords they touched, and the warm inte-
rests they awakened in a poor withered heart whldi has
9o few.
It was the dreariest of wet nights in London — Htoven
knows how dreary that is ! — ^but they did not seem to
feel it at all. They were quite happy — quite cay. I
wondered whether for them was prepared the deepest
bliss of earth — the first * coming home;' and I felt almost
sure of it when the husband called out to the conductor.
Set us down at ;' naming a quiet, unobtrusive,
lew'bullt square. He said it with the half-conscious
.mportance of one who gives a new address, thinking the
world must notice what is of so much interest to himself;
tnd then the youzig people looked at one another, and
rmiled.
I said to the wife^drawing the bow at a venture—
What a miserable night! — Is it not pleasant eoming
lome I '
She looked first at her husband, and then turned to
ne, her whole face beaming and glowing irith happiness,
The^ bade me good-ni^t, and dUttppetsttA. I leant
back in my dark comer, my heart very full : it had juftt
strength to give them a silent blessing, and no teore. I
remembered only that I bad been young once, and that
I was now an old maid of forty years.
WEATHEE PROGNOSTICATORS.
BtBt>8.
In most countries the prooedurei of birds and other
animals have been frequently considered us indicatiTe
of changes of weather, or of the character of coming
seasons; and a learned German naturalist. Professor
Brehoi, has recently communicated to Oken's * Isis ' an
interesting paper upon the subject He directs atten-
tion chiefly to the actions of birds — ^these animals, both
from their delicate organisation and migratory habits,
seeming especially susceptible to changes of weather
and of season.
When Inclement weather is impending, many birds,
such as crows, chaffinches, yellow hammers, &c. 8cc
collect in large or small flocks, and deport themselves
contrary to their wont. Tlie crows arc perched with
drooping wings and dull aspect, seeming to have lost all
their habitual vivacity. The smaller birds are, how-
ever, extremely restless, flying here and there, remain-
ing nowhere long, and becoming unusually shy, so that
even those of them that are not generally very circum-
spect in their procedures are now shot with difficulty.
The German bird-catchers at. these times close their
nets in despair, declaring that they can do no good, as
* the weather has got into the birds' heads.' The sea-
birds, on the approach of storms, seek the coasts, espe-
cially holes in the clifis, and sometimes even fall on the
decks of vessels.
It is also just before a storm that (he song-birds send
forth their loudest and most beautiful strains^ the entire
bird-world exhibiting a state of unusual excitement, as
if bent upon expressing the intensity of its enjoyment
of the existing weather prior to the coming change;.
Several birds^ too, utter peculiar cries on the approi^
of rain f and the common cock crows away more vigo-
rously than ever, especially in the nighty It is generuly
said that the hens with cock's plumafio (that is, hens
who luive ceased to lay eggs have featners resembling
the males, and can crow like them) only crow when
fine, weather ia about to change. Certain birds» too,
indicate an approaching thaw in winter. The crows,
jaokdaws, and magpies beoome calmer, and all the
orow-tribes look plumed and pleased. The juniper-
thrushes and Uadtbirds lose much of their shyness, and
are hence much more easily taken.
In assisting to predict the nature of the coming sea-
8on» the exaet observation of the breediog-timo of birds
is very instjrumental. If pairing takes place very early,
we may with certainty predict a fine and ear^y spring.
Several birds, as the starlings, may nreed twice in the
same year^ When this occurs early in April, we may
expect a fine May ; for the nuukarous inseets neoessary
for the noorishiuent of the young ase not met with in
a cold and rainy Hay t in this case the egg* are not
laid until the end of April or begintung of May, so
that the bringing up of the young takes pluoe in June,
when nourislmaent will hardly be wanting. In this last
case there is but one breeding. Sometinifes the pair-
ing of doraestio birds takes place remarkably early.
Thus Dr Br^m <ri}served it in respectto pigeons and
ducks in 1848 as early as Jannary^ and «ven saw young
pigeons in that month. He inimediately concluded a
very raiM winter would result, which proved to be the
case. Again, the late bree^g of bkda announces a
mild autumn. The house*swdlow has been observed
breeding during liarrest-time, and the. quail at the be-
ginning of September ; but so warm was tha season on
these oeeasiom, that the young were not only suffi-
ciently nourished, but strong enough to aecompftny the
parents in their migratory flight. The same Was been
nhMirvMl in «omA ivtkl soMiiefl af.tiiMkin^As tha Ooitaaha
pahmbus and CEnas^ the htter hftying been found breed-
ing In September in a very vearm year. On many occa*
sions partridges have been fonnd breeding in AuguBt,
■o that their yoting were very small in September ; bnt
the weather on such occasions has always proved so
fine, that they were easily bred, while during the very
inclement June and July of 1845 thousands perished.
The spring of the year 1846 is well worthy of attention.
Hares and rabbits bore yoraig remarkably early. The
first MoiaciHa ahha was seen as early as the I6th Feb-
reary, and redstarts on the 2d March ; nay, the white
storks and ttariings wintered even in the northern parts
<rf Germany. They were seen both at Wittenberg and at
Wolkenberg. The crows, magpies, and partridges were
observed pairing in January ; and seeing the beautifUl
weather, every one expected a very early breeding sea-
son. This did not occur, however; for in the middle of
April many crows, magpies, jackdaws, and other early
nest-building birds, had either laid no eggs at all, or very
few of them. They had, therefore, a presentiment of the
bitter cold April which was to ensue, and showed how
mndh more securely they had been directed by this
than many of the inhabitants of the localities, who,
having commenced the culture of their gardens and
fields during the warm winter and early spring, sus-
tained great damage by the subsequent cold.
But not only is it important to note the time of
breeding, but the places wherein the eggs are deposited.
Many of the waterfowl are so limited in thelt choice of
situation, that they can make but little change ; and
the consequence is, that on the occurrence of great in-
undations, as that of June 1845, thousands of their eggs
are destrc^ed. Other birds, howev^, have more choice
in the sdeotion of their nesting-places, and are guided
much by their presentiments of the weather. Among
these, in Uie author^s vicinity at Renthendorf, he has
observed the kingfisher and the plover. The first of
these birds, in the spring-time, when the coming rains
voqM tender the deeper brooks too turbid for it to
discern and catch the little fish for its young, frequents
the dearer ponds much nearer the source. This was
especially the case in 1816, 1817, and 1835, in which
years large quantities of rain fell in May and June.
As respects the plovers, they usually do not form their
nests in the vicinity of Renthendorf, this lying too high
and dry for their purposes. In April 1843, however,
several pair fixed their residence on a farm situated on
a hill ; and the tpting and summer of that year proved
extremely wet. Again, in April 1845, the author was
apprised that the same occurrence had taken place,
and he at once prophesied a wet season ; and so abun-
dant did the floods prove, that, had the plovers' eggs
been deposited in their usual places, they must all have
been destroyed. The hilly places they had chosen
proved, in such a season, sufficiently moist for their
purposes. Similar condusions may be drawn from the
procedures of the landrails (^Orex praUntia). If these
birds, on their arrival, take up their abodes in or near
large fens, t^n may we be certain a dry summer will
follow *, for then will the marshes become so much dried
up, that the birds will be able to find dry and grassy
places suffident fbr thdr support and securi^. if
neither a very wet nor very dry summer is impending,
then they resort to meadows produdng the cartx, which,
growing very high, answers all their purposes. But if,
in the spring, they resort to neither such meadows nor
to marshy districts, but repair to fields in which peas,
dover, buley, &c. are grown, then may Mre be certain
of a wet summer. A great variety of waterfowl fire-
quent the large ooHectlons of water at Ahlsdorf near
Herzberg; and if they remain there to breed, it is
certain that the season \rill not jnrove a very dry one,
so that the marshes will not be dried up. In other
years, however, although these are still full of water,
the whde of the birds quit the vicinity ; and it is then
always found that the summer proves a very dry one,
and that the marshes become dried up. The celebrated
Naumann relates a similar fact :— A gray goose had
bred in a large pond of water, and had •oooeededja
bringing up her young; when one night the wtwie faxtStf
disappeared, and were found in a modi ainaller pood.
The summer proved exceedingly hot, and the large
pond which the goose (here certainly no goose) had j
quitted when full of water, became entirely dried xs^
whereas the one she had migrated to continued to re-
tain its water. In the same manner Dr Brehm has
remarked that when the sandmarten {Hinmdo rifaxki)
quits the banks she has been accustomed to for water
surrounded with steeper banks, floods may be oertaialy
reckoned upon. . ^_-.
The manner of breeding also fiimishea Sta mmcatwni
Thus in the scarce years (expressivdy called in Oermaa
* hunger-years*) 1816 and 1817, many of tlie insectivo-
rous birds laid fax fewer eggs than ordinary. In tiie oest
of a MuKicapa gritola two eggs only were fbond; and the
cold and rainy weather which followed would have pra-
vented the nourishment of a greater number of young.
Dr Brehm, in 1843, observed within a small space sevoj
pair of tower-hawks, whidi kept togeUier, and were
very lively, but, with the exoeptioa of two pair, bred
not The nests of these two p^ were obaerved. In
the one the little ones died of hunger white quite young i
the others were fed by their parents with the greatest
difficulty for a longer period, but were at last found
dead under the nest It proved fortunate tor tbe ottier
five pair that they had not bred also ; for so Ratce ^d
their food become in 1848, that even the old birds could
hardly sustain their own lives. It was difiBvent in the
spring of 1845, for then the whde of these hawks bred ;
for although there were enormous rains, yet aa tfaeteca-
perature of the air was high, an abundance o€ loMCt
food offered itself for the young; and founding his
opinion upon the greater number breeding, Dr Bteha
had foretold that the temperature of 1845 would pruvt
far higher than that of 1843.
Finally, the migration of birds is of importanee In the
point of view we are now considering. It is evidently
not the present want of food that impela them to ffi^t
—for that may exist in abundance when they tere us
— but an instinctive apprehension of condng acard^.
The time of departure, however, undergoee great dnagea,
the observation of which is important in progooatioatiBff
the weather. Is the autumnal flight insignificant? ths<
is, the number of lurda quitting our wboxm leaa than
usual, and these seeming in no haste to quit — ^we in^ be
then certain that ndther an eariy nor severe winter is
in prospect; but if the contrary is tiie case — if the
birds desert us soon, and take with them stawsgets whs
in other years do not accompany them — then caM
weather is surely in store for us. This was seea ts-
markably in Germany in tiie yeiurs 1844 and IM*. U
the autumn of the first of tiiese years idl Ggmany w«
overspread with such numbers of the diflfarent ^
of the nuthatch (Nucijraga\ that the like hnd not
seen for half a century. Other birds, sue* as tiie
parasitica and Thnosa meyai^ had not been seen ft
years. Somewhat later came the wAiured jays,
spedes of the rush and wild-ducks, and other
birds. The attentive ornithologist couM only (
from such a migration that a severe winter
hand ; and so it proved. Next year the case wn ^
The nuthatch and jays appeared not to mlgrste % *•
starlings were still observed at Renthendorf at the end
of November : these, as well as the white 9torta> fte-
quenting the banks of the Elbe and the Mulde durisf
all the winter. Under these circumstances, to iBwe
expected a cold winter woidd have been ridictiteenjsMi
none such came. The appearance of various indivifcrf
birds quite early in 1848 would have led to tte esft- i
elusion that a very early spring was at hand ; j*^^ '
arrest of their arrival in March, and their tardy BBi^ |
building, foretold the uncongenial weather ttiat
in Apru. An unusual duration of the stay of
birds in southern regions is always a very m
sign, as portending a late spring. Thousands of tte
FnnpHa monti/rin^la remained in Centnl
CHAMBEBS*8 EDINBURGH JOUBKAL.
263
late a* April id 1816, in wliioh unfortunate year bad
weather oontiaaed eTen uotil June. Popular credulity
often attributes the production of unfavourable weather
to the presence of unusual varieties of birds ; and the
naturalistk while scouting so foolish an idea, is well able,
when these hare appeared in large numbers, or con-
tinued fbr a long time, to explain its origin.
. A few words may be added on the actions of other
animals. Every housewife knows the restlessness which
cats and young animals frequently betray on the ap-
proAch of wet ; and the shepherd will tell you, when
flies and fleas prove more than usually tormenting to
man and animals in the forenoon, that the afternoon
will not pass without rain. The hunter knows that
when the roe betakes herself early to the wood, she
does so to keep her form dry against approaching rain.
If the marmot buries himself early, so must we expect
an early winter. A dose observation of insect life
would teach us much about the weather. If the bees
kill their drones early, we may count upon a bad
autumn ; while, if they allow them to live longer than
usual, then will fine summer weather long continue.
If great numbers of wasps build on the ground, or in
underwood, a dry summer may be expected ; while, if
they build under roofs, or other |daces affording shelter
&om the rain, there is every probability of a damp, if
even not of a very rainy summer. Worms burrowing
very deeply into the ground in autumn show that a
cold winter and sharp frost will fdilow; while, if they
lie just under the surface, we may be certain of a degree
of cold that will not penetrate deeply.
Dr Brehm conclu^ his paper by requesting the oo-
oporatioa of zoologists, especially those residing near
the ooasts, and possessed of opportunities of wateMng
the procedures or waterfowl. He believes that by col-
lecting and publishing t^e observations of numerous
natundists, resulte may be arrived at of the highest
importance to the gardener, the farmer, and the vine-
grow«.
Many oi the observations contained in the paper we
have now abridged have been also nuide by others in
our own coun^; but their acceptance by so distin-
guiahed a naturalist as Dr Brehm invests them with
a higher authority than we had been accustomed to
attach to them.
COUNTRY LIFE IN RUSSIA.
7R0M THE RUSSIAN OF NICHOLAS GOGOL.
I LOTS the quiet, solitary life passed in their country*
houses by the old-fashioned inhabitants of Lower
HuBfiia. I fancy now that I can see the mansion, sur-
rounded by a gallery, supported on slender columns of
dark wood, thus affording a sheltered promenade on the
outaide. Behind, and at each side of the house, stretehed
long rows of mulberry, cherry, and plum-trees ; in front
was a green, smooth lawn, shadowed by some fine old
beecdi-trees. Two narrow paths led, one to the kitohen,
the other to the sitting-rooms ; and in a clear pool of
water near the gate swam a snowy goose, with her soft,
vellow offspring. Along the hedge were suspended
long strings of dried apples and pears, intermingled
with mats and carpeto put out in tlie air ; and a cart»
loaded with melons, stood at the bam door.
All these objects have a charm for me : they recall the
memory of a Mod old couple, whom it was the delight
of my childhood to visit Athanasius Ivanovitoh
Tovstogoub was the name of the husband, and Pul-
cheria Ivanovna Tovstogoubitska of the wife. The
former was a tall man of sixty years, with a smiling,
benevolent countenance, and he constantly wore a
camlet pelisse lined with sheepskin. Folcheria seldom
laughed, but the expression of her face was soft and
kixid; and ^e took the utmost pleasure in welcoming
ber guests, and pressing them to partake of her good
cheer. They had never had a child, so that their mu-
tual affection was comfdetely centered in each other.
The anartmaita in their house were small and low.
and each was heated by an immense stove } for Atha-
nasius and Pulcheria loved warmth, and kept the fire-
places constantly replenished with straw, whicli in Lower
Russia is used instead of wood. The walls of the prin-
cipal room were deoorated with a variety of old paint-
ings and engravings, and amongst Uiem a portrait of
Peter III., and anotiier representing the Duchess de la
Valliere. The floors were all of baked day, but so
smooth, and kept so scrupulously clean, that I always
preferred them to boards. Pulcheria's own room was
fllled with old odd -looking chests and boxes, while
the walls were covered with bags of flower-seeds, dried
cucumbers, and other vegetatSes. She was a great
manager, and loved to lay up a variety of useless gar-
ments, and superannuated articles of furniture. The
chiurs were of dark massive wood, with high backs
and mmrow seats, neither stuffed nor varnished; the
tables were small and square ; and the carpet woven
in a pattern of birds and flowers, not always easily
distinguishable from each other. The servants* hall
was fllled with women and girls dressed in coarse
striped gowns. Their mistress gave them needle-work
to do, and fruits to pick and prepare for drying ; but
half tiieir time was passed in dozing by the fire.
Athanasius Ivanovitch troubled himsdf yery little
about his aflkirs, save that he used to walk about his
fields, and look idly at the operations of his reapers and
mowers. All the weight of the domestic administra-
tion, therefore, rested on Puloheria Ivanovna ; and her
duties principally consisted in opening and shutting
her store-rooms, curing, drying, or salting all sorts of
meat, fruit, and vegetables. During the summer a large
fire was kept perpetually lighted beneath an apple-
tree in the garden : over it an iron tripod supported a
deep stove-pan, in which were cooked incessantly pre-
serves, jellies, and pastilas — a sweetmeat composed of
sugar and honey. Under another tree a man-servant
was busy distilling brandy from peach and mulberry
leaves and cherry kernels. In short, such a quantity
of good things were annually prepared, that the store-
rooms and cellars would scarcely have sufficed to con-
tain them, had it not lu^pened that the greater portion
of these provisions was secretiy devoured by the domes-
tics. The steward, in league with the atarosta (chief of
the serfs), robbed their mistress without mercy. They
used to cut down the fine old oaks, and dispose of them
at the neighbouring fairs. One day Puloheria Iva-
novna expressed a wish to inspect her woods. Accord-
ingly a drofcAAri, enveloped in enormous leathern aprons,
was brought out; and the <dd coachman moved his lips,
and produced a series of discorduit sounds, in order to
inspirit his old horses. The machine began to move,
ana in so doing, emitted such a screaming noise, that
the whole neighbourhood became cognisant of the fact,
that the lady was leaving her mansion for a drive»
Pulcheria Ivanovna failed not to perceive the extermi-
nation of her ancient oaks.
* How is it, Nitehipor,' slie said to her steward, who
accompanied her, ' tnat the oaks, like your own hairs,
have become so few and scattered ?'
* Few and scattered ? * rephed the steward ; * they have
all disappeared I Lightning has struck down some, the
worms nave eaten others; in short, they are gone,
madam — all gone I '
Pulcheria Ivanovna returned home, quite satisfied
with this reply, and gave orders to her people to look
well after the Spanish cherry-trees and large winter
pear-trees. Her worthy ministers, the steward and
the staroita^ discovered that it was quite useless to
store up all the flour in their master's granary, and
that he must be content with half. Yet despite the
wholesale peculation carried on by every member
of the household — from the lady*s-maid, who fingered
the choice preserves, to the pigs, who swallowed
incredible heaps of apples and plums — despite also
the liberal presente made to friends and visitors —
the grounds were so vast and fertile, and produced
evervthinff in such abundance, that the diminution
9<M
CH AMBOBSB ESmtBUmm JBKTRNAL.
of their lioiei was, nefcr penttited bj Alhmo«tii» <ir
Tiifi <^d eonplo vere tod of good imof . They rote
early, tud b«d their coflbe ( then AthAnams stralkd
out /ahQut hif groondf, and coBYcned with liii tteward,
who* <>ld Akx that he vnm, knew wcU how to flaMer h»
maater into the belief that everything went on right
Whe« AtliBoaBwa went in, he would aay, ' Pnleheria
IvaooTna, dou't you think 'tit Aime to eat something ? '
*X don't kiu>w what you can eat now; Athana»i«a
XvaApviU^, exoept tlie little pork patties, or those
seasoned with poppy seeds, or else a diiii of aalted
mushroom^.*
* Let us have the imuhrooms and the patties too, my
heart*
Am hour before dinner, Atbanasius usually drank a
portion of brandy fiom aii ancient silv«r oup, aeaaomng
it with a few amaU dried fi)b. At noon they dined.
Besides tlie disbos and aauec-boats, the table was usuallv
covered with a number of little jars, IkermetioaUy sealed,
in order that the aroma of their hlghly-seaaoned con-
tents might not escape. The confersation generally
turned on tho business of the hour*
M think this flummery is a little bmmt. Wltat do
you think of it, Fulcheria Ivauovna ? *
* Ko^ Athauaaiua Xvanovitch. Pour some more, melted
butter oyer it^ utxd some mushroom saucei and then you
won't think it burnt'
After dinner, the old man usuaUy slept for an hour ;
afterwards his wife would bring in a cut water-meWu,
sajii^ * Will you taste this beautiful oielou» Athaoa-
aiufi Xvanovitch?'
*Ah, PulcherlA Ivanovaa, don't depend on. its red
colour,' said her husband, helping himself, Ijuowever, to
a huge slice : * there are some fine rosy -looking melons
that are good for nothing.'
The melon, ho wover, soon disappeared. Then Atha-
nasius Ivanovitch ate some pears, and went to take a
turn in the garden with his wife. When tUey returned
to the house, the good lady occupied herself with her
hous^old affaira, while her husband, seated iu an easy-
chair, looked idlv on, watching the constant opening
and shutting of the store-room, and the servants bring-
ing sieves and baskets backwards and forwards. After
a time, he would say, ' What shall we eat, Pulcheria
Ivanoyna ? '
* Would you like some gooseberry puffs ?*
* Very much.'
* Perhaps you'd prefer a little kissel f*
* Let us try both.'
Before supper, Atbanasius Ivanovitch generally ate
a few other trifles. At nine o'clock supper was served.
Theu they retired for the night, and the busy house-
hold became stilL Their room was so hot, that few
persons could have supported its temperature; but
Atbanasius, in order to be warmer still, had his bed
made on the top of a stove, the heat of which, however,
sometimes became so great, that he was foroed to rise
in the middle of the night, and walk about the room,
groaning occasionally.
* Wl^ do you groan ? ' Pulcheria would ask.
* Because I feel my stomach uneasy.'
* Would you like to eat something, Atbanasius
Ivanovitch?'
*■ I daresay it would do me good, Pulcheria Iranovnat
what would you recommend ? '
* Curds and whey, or some dried pears.'
* Well, let us have them ;' and a servant, only half-
awake, was sent to rummage the larder.
Theu Atbanasius, after eating a good phiteful, woukl
say, ' I feel much better now ;" and returning to bed,
he would sleep tranquilly till morning.
These good people appeared to most advantage when
they received guests. Then they seemed but to live for
the comfort of their friends. The best of everything
that their house could produce was oflfured with the
* A sort of frait*JcUy.
,*idinoit oerdialitT; ; and there waanothingaffeclcd is thii
dtsfflay of hospilahty i ymi saw in thor imiiittiwifi
the {jeasune tfaey fcdt when their daindaa vem daity
accepted. He^er was any Tisitor allowed to depttt an
the day of his arrival i he vamat $ivafB remain ia sleep.
'Yen most not tliiak of going.* AtlMuaaiaa wodi
say : * who knows but that rebbtra may attatk jemJ
'Yes,' would add Pulcheria s *aad then tiie niglit is
dark, and the road bad, and yoat coachmaai, besadsi,
being a weak little num, ia half^ideep in the kitofaeo bf
this time.' So the viaitor was Ibroad t» lemaiiyand
apend a pleasant, tranquil evseaing; I fisnoj now that I
can sec the figmre of Athantsina Ivanoyitefa beat lor-
ward in his arm-chaur, liateniag with hit pcrpetasl
p^id smile to his friend's disconraa The vaaitoc, whs
himself seUotti ^ft his oonntry-hoaae, haaavied a naoi-
ber of politkal coDJectnrea*— related in a my aterioiia tsee
haw the Preneh and £BgUsh ha4 secretly efiWhinrd to
send Bonaparte again to Ruaaia ; or -elae he dsscussad
the war which waa thea convulsing £arope.
Then Atbanasius, affiectiag not te see I^oicbcria,
would My, * I intead myself to ip to the wars: why
should not I be a aoUier?'
*Ju8t hear him,' cried Pulcheria; * don't mind a
word he says. How oould he, in bis eU afs^ set oot for
the wara. Why, the first soldier he met would ki&
him.'
' Not at all,' replied Athanaaiua : * / would kiU kim^*
* Listen to him ! ' resumed Pukiheria. * How oo«14 Ac
go to the wars? His pistpls.and his a word ase lysag ia
the lumber-room covered with rust If you ooly mm
them t. They would sorely explode end cut his free:
my poor old man would be disfigured for the leat of
hia d^el*
' WeU,* i^tofted Athanaaius, * V\\ buj new anot: lH
get a sabre and a Cossack lance/
*Wliat fblly you talkl' ciied Pulcheria IvaDevna.
* I know well you are jestiog ; bat aueh jokea always
make me feel uncomfortable.' And Atlianasiiis Ivaao*
vitch, satisfied with haying frightened his wile a little^
smiled, and was silent
It was pleasant to hear Pulcheria preaaing a gveaite
breakfast
' Here,' she would say, taking the stopper out of a
bottle, * ia brandy made with mint an exarflent thisf
for a pain in ttie back. And here is some more laa^
with centery, most efficacious against singing in the
ears or pimples on the face. Here is anotlier bottle
flavoured with peach kernels : just try a email glass-
fuL If you happen, when rising in the marain^ ta
strike your foreliead against the aharp comer of the
bedpost, so that a swelling is produced, yon have oaly
to take a little of this before dmner, and the mark wjfl
soon disappear!'
Then she would conduct her guest to a tabic
with a number of small plates.
* Here are mushrooma stewed with pepper^ and
others done with gillyflower water. Thaae a
walnuts. I learnt a peculUr mode of doing thena
a Turkiah woman, at the time when there w
prisoners in the country. Here is a preaerre vhiehl
learned to make from Father Ivan. You take i
barrel, and put in first a layer of oak-leawea, then
and saltpetre, then mushrooms, and coyer theos
with the flowers of the nitchouineUr.^ Here are
patties, and some others made of cabbage and
com, which Athauasiua Ivanovitcli likea vc
I loved to visit these good people, although I _
rally returned witli a fit of inoigeatioar Certain^ ti^
air of Lower Kuasia aids the functions oi the,
else its hospitable inhabitanta would aooa ilad
selves iu their coffins.
At length a change came over this peaceful
the health of Pulcheria Ivanovna t>egan to
Gradually she grew weaker and thinner; and
she said to her husband, * Athanaaius Ivanoyitch»
I
I
« An odoriferous pUnt whiofa grows (
i
anAMSBRSB SDHNBUBOS JQ^JWLKhh.
965
I ditt/wiH ytm kiuse vim- dreitcd ia my gngr tpottod
robe? Boo't watte my red striped satin one, but bave
it nunie into a drettingvgoim for yomneUi U irill be
▼ery handioroe for yon ta receive Tisiton in.'
*iIoi«r yoa talk, Pnleiwiia Itanoma. God only
knoirs wIihi death will come to any of ua( amA here
you Mf hten me with tacli words !'
* My heirt, I feel that I mutt soon die ; but don*t
grisTo too much. I am old, and yon are old yooiwlf :
l$e shall soon meet again in a better world.'
Atlianasius Ivanoviteh sobbed hke a child.
* Don't cry, my hnsba»d : don't make GM angry by
iMistiog bis will All I regnt in dying U, that I
know not to whom I can intrnst yon. Who will take
eare of von when I am gone? Who will love you as I
do?' And calliag her otm oonfideniiat serranl, she
•aid to her, * Listen, Tardoka : when I am dead, you
must take eare of your master as if he were the apple
of your eye or your own only child* Blind that bis
favourite dishes are prepared in the way be likes, and
that his clothes and linen aire dean and woll-«ired.
Watoh him oototinnally, Tavdoka^ and God will reward
you. You are old yourself, and most soon go to your
account *, don't, then, have the sin on your soul of ne-
glecting your master for a moment*
Poor old woman t notwithstanding faer Inereasing
weakness, she regulated all her domestic affairs, so that
her husband sho^ not sufifer fram her loss. Soon after-
wards she was confined to her bed, and her appetite
totatty failed. Atbanssius Ivwioritch never left her
side.
'Won't 3^0u try to eat something', Pulcheria iran-
OTtta?' he repeated incessantly.
Bat his wife could not reply. At length her Hps
moved, as if she tried in vain to speak, and with one
si^ her spirit departed*
AthanasittS Ivanovitdi was stunned. He wept not,
but stared at the dead with dull, Axed eyes. They
placed Puleheria on arable, dressed her in the robe she
hsHl ehosen, crossed her arms on her breast, and placed
a lighted taper between the stiflteed fingers. He
watdied the whole operation with an air of insensi-
bility. A crowd of people assembled on the day of the
faitermenl In front of the house were ranged long
feablee, covered with kmftia^* baked mests, postiet, and
flasks of brandy. The gnests conversed, wept, looked
mt the dead, spoke of her good qualities, and watched
Athanasins Ivanovitcfa. He walked to and fro among
Ins friends with an air of stupefaction, not noticing any
one. At length the procession was formed} the body
was raised on its open bier \ and the crowd moved afl^
it, following the priests, wearing gold-embroidered robes.
Chi arriving at the cemetery, the corpse was laid down
near the grave prepared for it, and Athanasius Ivano-
vitcfa was tnvitM to approach, and give his wife a last
embrace. He obeyed mechanically : tears flowed ftom
his eyes, but he felt them not Then the cofiln was
lowered ; the priest threw the first shovelful of clay on
it ; the attendant choristers began to chant the tfetch*
naia pttmiai (eternal memory) in a low monotonous
tone. In a fbw moments the grave was filled up, and
•ods placed over it. Then advanced Athanasius Ivano-
rlieh: he first looked round with a bewildered air,
then at the tomb, and said, * Why have you buried her?
— why ' But he did not finish the sentence.
But when he returned to the liouse, when he saw
Polcfaeria Ivanovna'i room empty, and even the arm-
chair she used to occupy removed, he sobbed bitterly,
and the tears flowed like rivers from his darkened eyes.
Five years had elapsed since the death of Pulcheria
Iranovna, when, happening to be in the neighbourhood
of his demesne, I went to visit Athanasius Ivanoyitch.
The old place showed evident marks of neglect and
decay; the ptHng round the court was broken down,
tiie trees and shrubs were overgrown and stragglings
* ▲ swaatHMSt somposed of rfoe, sugar, and raisins, sad espe-
even the^dd- dogs looked starred and miserable. The
master of the house came out to meet me; he was
bent aesrly dsoUe, but the hsbitnal smile wiM en his
drawn Ispe. I fdUowed him within doors, and we sat
down to table ; but the repast, though suflloletitly abun-
dant, was not prepared with the same core as fonneriy.
A servant fsstened a iiapkin beneath his matitei's chin,
to prevent his sailing his dress while eaUng: I tried
to amuse him by reeomntlog different anecdotes; and
aippsrently he listened, but I saw that his thoughts
were fisr away. Once he threw down a deoanter, while
trying to help himself to wild<fowl ; and his attendant
was obliged to guide his hand towards his mouth. A
pUte of little cakes called muhkhi* was brought ItT, and
his lip trembled, and his eyes filled as he said, * These
were the cakes that*— that— my kte '—and bursting
into tears, he let the plate fall firom his hand. A f^w
days after, Athanasius Ivanovftch was walking in his
gardem ; he pao^d the alleys feebly and slowly, his head,
as usnaJ, bent do%m. Suddenly he stopped, and said to
his attendant, * Did you hear that voice? '
* No, sir, I heard nothing.'
* Pulcheria Ivanovna ci^ed me.' And ^sessed by
this idefi, that he had been summoned by his dead wife,
the old man gradually pined away. Faithftil to the
end, his last words were, *Lav me beside Pulcheria
Ivanovna*' His wish was fblfitled, and iiow ^e old
couple sleep peacef^ly side by side.
Their Unds became the property of a young spend-
thrift, who took no pains to jveserve the old mansion ;
and the last time I visited the spot, a few roofless walb
and straggling fhiit-trees were all that reroahied to
mark where had stood the once hospitable dwelling
of Athanasius Ivanbvitch and Pulcheria Ivanovna.
THB LIVERPOOL OBSEBVATOBY.
It was upon a Mav morning in the present vear (1849),
vHien the sun was snedding upon the ground his cheering
rajs, and the dews of ni^hfc were dissolving into an un-
seen, though material existence, that we leit the verdant
fields and riehly-wooded hedgerows of our English home
to pay a visit to modem T^r?—
* Nos pstri* floss St dnlfia UQioImiis aira.'
Our business required that we should spend a week in
that bustling town. The first thing we did, and we re-
commend it to all who risit towns of such gigantic size,
was to acquire the geographical relations of the place,
and the bearing of the leading streets, leaving the minor
ones ImperoepMbly to root themselves in the memory.
We mingled with the rich and t(he gay in f^hlonable
resorts, and we diyed into the squalid abodes of porerty,
wrstchedness, and wickedness. We trod the miles of
docks, and surveyed with no little interest those ships
which, ere long, would be careering on the wares : now
were they gaUiered together, and closely packed ; then
would they be widely seoarated, as they scattered them-
selves over the ocean wond.
It was at the southern ond of a fine parade that we
found the building which we now purpose to describe.
Upon the pier-hesS, between the Waterloo and Prince's
Dooks, occupying a place which commands a ftill view
of the riyer, the Liverpool Observatonr is erected. This
is a noble building, of new red sandstone, worthy the
corporation of tho second seaport in the empire. We
had hea^d of its superb equatorial, recently constructed,
and we panted ibr the enjoyment of beholding it : we
had been told that the observer was * no ordinary man '-^
one of those hard-working men of science rarely met with
— and we longed to make his acquaintance. Provided
with an introduction, with which a member of the council
had kindly presented us, we found ready access, and the
astronomer led us through the building.
The first apartment Into which we were shown was
the chronometer-room ; and there, conveniently arranged,
was a large number of those time-keepers, the regulation
266
CHAMBKftsni BDINBfmOH JOUBNAL.
duties of the difector of the ObMrratorfi tad for whieh
the bailding wm chieiy coDftructed. Siiioe our vUit, we
hftTe leftmt th«t a Bearching exMnmation if now being
made» bj the companton of ehionometen brought ftom
America by the mail Bteamert, with the view of deter-
mining, wiUi Um greatest powibls exactness, the longitude
c^ oertain parts of the United States. In Uiis apartment
thete is a good astronomical dock, and a hot-ur oase, for
exposing chronometers to the various temperatures of
our globe, and ascertaining thereby their corrections on
that account. In this room there are also contained a
remarkably fine standard barometer, and a Rutherford's
register thermometer.
In the adjoining apartment, which is the trsnsit-room,
there is a fine telescope bpr Troughton and Simms, fire feet
foc»l length, and four inches aperture, with the other
means required for making meridian obserrations. When
the last report was printed (a few mouths ago), the direc-
tor of the Observatory mentioned that the astronomical
clock had been checked 965 times in a period of five yean,
or once in about every forty-six hours, by this transit
instrument — no small testimony to the seal of Mr Hart-
nup. In connection with these meridional observations,
Greenwich time is published to the shipping by means of a
ball somewhat similar to that used at the Koyal Observa-
tory^ on the Thames.
The rest of the meteorological instruments are con-
tained in the transit-room, conveniently placed for obser-
vation, and cfurefuUy protected, by their position and lat-
ticework, from those external influences which might tend
to produce erroneous results. The indications of moisture
in the atmosphere are taken by the simple dry and wet-
bulb hygrometer. These, with the amount of rain which
has fallen in a given time, the direction and force of the
wind, the character of clouds floating in the air, and all
other meteorological observations, are recorded daily at
two o*clo<^ Gottingen mean solar time — ^'one of the hours
fixed upon for recording such observations in all public
meteorological and magnetic observatories.' These, afler
reduction, are forwarded to the Registrar-General ; and
the astronomical observations to the Royal Astronomical
Society.
We now arrived at the great room \inder the revolving
dome, where the equatorial telescope is fixed. This
superb instrument is one twelve feet focal length, and
eight and a-half inches aperture. The object-glass is by
Alerz of Munich, a celebrated maker ; and the graduated
circles are four feet in diameter. The micrometers,
graduations, and the more delicate mountings, are by
Troughton and Simms. the famous opticians in London ;
and the heavy parts of the mounting are by Maudesley
and Field, engineers. The clockwork, which communicate
a constant and regular hourly motion to this ponderous
instrument, is moved by hydraulic powei^-one of the most
in teresting features in the mounting of this telescope. The
whole instrument, which cost, we believe, somewhere about
two thousand pounds, was constructed under the direction
of the astronomer-royal ; and bv the happy combination
of the skill of the astronomical instrument-maker and
the engineer, a telescope has been produced which, in the
words of Mr Hartnup, it is ' no exaggeration to say, is
not to be equalled in the whole world for strength and
firmness,' two of the most essential requirements in
cquatorials.
With such a noble instrument, the observer is nn-
weariedly turning it to good account — not as a sky-
sweeper, but for the means of perfecting the measure-
ments of the observed and theoretical positions of the
stars; and we scarcely know a more laborious occupa-
tion, particularly as the observations are all reduced or
iVeed from errors ^nsing from circumstances over which
we have no control. Tht result has hitherto been most
satisfactory, as regards establishing for the instrument
extreme accuracy even in tery obltoue positions; and these
are such as try an equatorial. Delicate observations were
made upon Encke's and Petersen's two comets; and in
viewing two which were recently visible— one in the con-
stellation Bootes, the other in Crater — such was their
exact retembUmce to one another, that it was impossible
t^ distinguish them in the field of the
by their position. The Observatory ooniaiBiy
computing-room, and apartments for the dindor'a
dence.
We left, delifht^i and instnioted. L .
a teleso(^ of which ahe may be prcmd; and aha
most fortunate in securing the soricaa of
able and indefatigable. Commmding ma her porition is
through the extent of her commerce^ ahm ia deatiaed te
occupy no mean place in the world of acicnoe. The oh-
servatory desoriMd is the property of tha eoqMcaiioa;
but it is not the only ona which opana ita windeva in the
dead of night to the contemplation of thoaa gloiioas
bodies which bespangle the azure vault. Separated fioia
it by the breadth of the town is another obaervatcry, tha
private property of William Jiasscell, Esq. Throng the
mechanical ingenuity and scientific knowledge of this
gentleman, he is possessed of a reflector of extiaordinaiy
magnitude; and already has he raised for himarlf impe-
rishable fame in the discovery of a satellite of Nq>CB]M^
and another attendant upon Saturn.
OCCASIONAL NOTES
MORS AJ90UT CHICOSr.
Thb informatioa we publiriicd on Hie nibjeet of the
Boppoaed adolteration of eoffise with cAacatjmmt denvcd
chiefly fh>m one of the moat ezteoai^Pe dealen ia the
kingdom; and it ia with aorpriae, thenfiofe, that we
now receive a oommiinicatiflii firooi another e»UMin
dealer, aaanring na that onr theory ia totally wroo^
Mixing dnoory with oof^, he telle va, fttna the be-
ginning of the practice up to the prcaont tnae, b aB a
trick (Mf the trade, and deterioratee the qaaHty jvat ia
proportion to the qnanti^ of chioory. Then ia ae
BQch thing uaedon the continent with a Tiev to iiywe
the qnali^ of coffee, bt^ aolely to leaeen tiw pnoe. Oar
correspondent, a dealer in coflfee for more than aqanlB
€i a oentary, having paid mnoh attention to the aufcjao^
and hnvii^ had opportnnitiea of eeeing hofir tiie bed
oaOee is made all over the coothient, asssrea as thst
the whole aecret oonaiata in roatimg higlu Hie nla ia
to roast aa high as posaible without bnnuag ; aad the
higher roaatinf? which the bean will atauad, the hetiv
will be the coflTee. When the beans are too vipe, the
fine pale-green ooloor haa vankhed, and tfaej
burnt; ami likewiae, when nneqnal ia
will burn before tiie other ia highly
To make the beremge good, a large qaantity of giaanil
ooflTee must be used, and the pot muat nerar by a^y
meana be allowed to boil. Abandance of aqgar he eaa>
aidera likewiae neocaaary ; and thia ia certaioly eaaas*
tent with the practice on the oostinent, ^Hieva aaay
large pieoea of anowy crystala are pot ioto a aiaiia eap
of coffee, that looka like brainy, and taatea as
To teat hia theory, oar oorreapondeot demands
that an experiment^ be tried with a single ~
g9od beana. Let them, by aome mesas or other, hi
rosated to the Terge— bat act beyond tt^— of botak^
and he pledgee hknaelf that the atreagth and fo^ which
are intended to be conveyed by the chicory wS hi
foond in the coffee itadf. Thua the qaaUtiea af Iht
aromatic berry will be retained in all Uieir
without being deteriorated by the admixture of a
whldi haa conf<QMedly no analogooa Tirtoes. The
ing-machine is of coarse the grand point Those is
common use, to which the sir ia freely adnwtled, '
tiie berry before it ia thoroagfaly done; and ta
thia, the coatom in oar coantiry ia, to leave it hal
Oar oorrerooodent does not deacribe tha appacatai he
recommenda ; bat in fiance we osnnot pass thia«|h a
street without aeehag one or mote at woriu Thaaallii
a small, dose, droalar barrd made of iron, and land-
ing over a fire in the open air. A door, whieh eas he
opened at pleaaare, enablee the operator to valoh Iks
pregroaa of the roaating, and at the aaoM time g^vea tte
whole quarter the beneit of the ridi stoma. Thia if
thebreakfsat amoke of the French: aad pirjassnt fti»
I
1 1
i!
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUR6R JOURNAL.
267
when ttroUing thnnigh a country town, to witneai, with
more senses than one, this preparation for the morn-
ing meal.
Coffiae is roasted in France by those who understand
and can appreciate the luxury, just before the bererage
is to be made ; but at anyrate Uiis is always done on at
least the same day. In England, on the contrary, our
groand- coffee is hawked about the country in tinfoil
packages for months, and, for aught we know, for
years ! This is an absurdity ; for although the powder
may retain its mw// for a long time, its ^mmr is very
eTanescent Our correspondent admits that chicory
makes a harmless beverage for those who like it ; and
as it assuredly brings out both the body and flavour oU
the cofi^ we would not abandon it without due con-
sideration; the only real error consists in imposing
chicory at the price of coffee. Our correspondent at
anyrate cannot deny that where there is no opportunity
for highly roasting, Uie use of chicory may bie a good
substitute ; although, on the other hand, if the de^red
eflfect can really be obtained without the admixture of
a fofeign body, it is a great point guned.
YENO BENO.
There is a substance advertised as adding powerftilly
to the strength and flavour of tea, whidi promises to
come gradua^y into the repute <^ chioory in eoSoe.
This subrtance is called vei» beno, and is desoriboi as
the * leaf of a tree ;' but we are informed (whether cor-
rectly or not» we cannot tell) that it is the leaf of a
climbing-plant well known in the fturther Bast by its
name of paim. We know nothing about the effect t^
the adulteration ourselves ; but with a consumption of
thirty or forty million pounds of tea in the year, the
Teno beoo— supposing it to be pauo — if it comes even
into oompsratively moderate use in this oountry, may
have a sensible e&ct upon the commerce of the Indian
Archipelago.
The pann is one of the pepperworts; and though a
native it the Archipelago, and the ad|jaoent parts of the
continent, has become naturalised in India. There the
better kind of it, called eosiot receives very careful
treatment, being grown under a thin covering of reeds,
sprinkled frequently with water; while iu the Archi-
pelago, tiie slender plant (there named Wree) is allowed
to climb the palms at its own will, rejoioing in the
sea-breeses, and in the moisture of an eternal spring.
It ia described by Lindley as producing intoxioating
eflfects, stimulating powerftilly the salivary glands and
digestive organs, and diminishing the perspiration of
the skin. Tb this we may add, that in India it is pre*
scribed by the native doctors as a tonic, to be taken
iRnnedistely after dinner in cases of weak digestion.
HaTiog a pungent aroma, and being of a warm stimu-
latiag nature, something like our mint, and other herbs
of the kind, it is also given in conjunction vrith pills
and other medkunee. The leaf is 4ikswise placed not
nnfrequently, after being warmed at the fire, on the
head of a newly-born infant, {(Xt the purpose cf giving
it skape, and absorbing ^e superfluous humours of its
brain I
The paun, however, is better known as forming a
part — some think the most important part — of the
Oriental luxury, betd^ so called from the nut which is
the most solid ingredient The betel-nut is the fhiit
of Anea cadivea, and is said to possess a narcotic or
intoxicating power, although the probability is, that
this power resides rather in the paun leaf in which it
is wrapped. The other ingredients are gambler — ex-
tracted m>m the Uncaria gambir, to give sweetness and
sLstriogency— and riaked lime, which brings out a bright
oolouring-matter firom the leaf, and transfers it to the
lips of the consumer. This is an important point in
the ceremony of chewing betel. The lips of both sexes
are constantly daubed with the sanguine juice ; and a
Malay lover compares the mouth of his mistress to a
break in the side of a ripe pomegranate 1 The opulent
add to the ingrediente alieady named iudi spices as I
dnnamon, cloves, aniseed, coriander, &&, and a few a
portion of tobacco, to increase the stimulus. Habit
renders the betel still more a necessary tiian a luxury.
The Asiatic nations would rather forego meat and drink
than this sayoury mouthful, which occasions a gentle
excitement to those accustomed to it, and to novices stu-
pefaction. Blume considers the practice to be favourable
to health in the damp regions where it prevails, and
where the natives live upon a spare, and firequently
miseraUe diet Even the paun they are obliged to eoo^
nomise; a dose two or three times a day, generally after
a meal, being all the poorer classes can obtain, although
a couple of leaves are enough for what may be termed
the quid. The wealthy chew it at all hours and seasons ;
and it is among the artides introduced — such as atter
of roses and other perfumes — as a signal for a guest to
take his leave, after partaking of the hospitality of a
Hindoo gentieman.
Paun being an article of universal consumption, it
may be seen, in great parcels, displayed in the bazaars,
more especially on market-days. It is kept in moist
leaves, and the whole covered with folds of the plantain
leaf; and the purchaser buys it in littie packeta of
fh>m twelve to sixteen leaves, according to sise, and to
the plentithlness or otiierwise of the crop, which is
greatly affected by drought The confectioner having
bought his paun, makes it up, with the other materials
for betel-chewing, in littie cones resembling the paper
in which our grocer vends his pennyworths of sugar.
Hiese are fastened neatly with a thorn, and displayed
on trays.
The betel-box, it may be supposed, is a very impor-
tant article both of ornament and use. It is made cither
of earthenware, stained and painted, or of various
metals, according to the means of the individual ; and a
Hindoo or Malay lady would as soon want her mirror as
her paun-ku-buttah. In the middle of the box a large
compartment holds the leaf, wrapped in a bit of wet
muslin ; and on one side a long division contains an in-
strument resembling our nut-cracker, to cut the betel-
nut. This is highly ornamented, being usually sur-
mounted with eagles, lions, or snakes' heads. Other
portions are devoted to the different ingredients ; and
one has a pot of lime, with a small spatula. It will bo
curious if the paun, in which the belles of the farther
East take such a pride, as well as pleasure, should come
into common use in this country, as a means of adding
strength, flavour, and exhilaration to the beverage, par
excellence^ of our English women !
While treating of Oriental productions, we may men-
tion that we are assured that the ' ervolenta,' or ' revo-
lenta Arabica,' sold in this country for about 3s. a
pound, is nothing more than the meid of a kind of pulse
very common in Bengal, and which might be imported
for as many pence. We mention this, as the article
forms a wholesome, and, when well prepared, a very
savoury article of food. Our informer states that the
Indian name is moong-ke-dal; but we have searclied
the common botanical authorities in vain for any such
plant
8ia WALTER SCOTT.
A gentleman who, in the year 1826 or 1827, travelled
with Sir Walter Soott in the Blucher Coach from Edin-
burgh to Jedburgh, relates the following anecdote illus-
trative of his punctilious regard for his word, and his
willingness to serve all who placed confidence in him,
particularly those engaged in literary pursuits : — * We
had performed half the journey,' writes our informant,
* when Sir Walter started as from a dream, exclaiming,
** Oh, my friend G , I have forgotten you till this
moment ! " A thort mile brought us to a small town,
where Sir Walter ordered a postehaise, in which he
deposited his luggage, consisting of a well-worn short
hazel stick, and a paper-parcel containing a few books ;
then, much to my regret, he changed his route, and re-
turned to the Scottish capital
*The following month I was again called to Edin-
Ni^^taM«hM«^
^haii«iM_>^><_
:.e^
2G8
CHAMBERS*S KDlNBtJBGH JTOXmNAL.
burgh on busines*, and curiosity induced roe to wait
on the friend G apostrophised by Sir Walter, and
whose friendship I liad the honour to possess. The
cause of Sir Walter's return, I was informed, was this: —
He had engaged to furnish an article for a periodical
conducted by my friend, but his promise had slipped
from his memory (a most uncommon occurrence, for
Sir Walter was gifted with the best of memories) until
the moment of his exclamation. His instant return was
the only means of retriering the error. Ketrieved, how-
ever, it was ; and the following morning Mr G re-
ceived several sheets of closely-written manuscript* the
transcribing of which alone must have occupied half
the night'
The kindliness of Sir Walter's nature procured him
friends — his literary genius only adnurers, although
certainly the warmest admirers ever author possess^
Admiration, however, was sometimes in his case not
freely bestowed, and perhaps not consciously felt He
wat fond of relating the following anecdote of what he
called a pure and sincere compliment being not at all
intended as such, but, as the reader will perceive, meant
more as reproach than praise :^^hortly after the dis-
closure of tlie authorship of the Waverley Novels, the
' Migh^ Minstrel' called on the kte Mrs Fair of Lang-
Isa. an eccentric old lady, who had lived through more
than half of the last peatury^and who furniuied Sir
Walter with many a good tale and legend of daya gone
by^ * The old lady opened on me thus,' to jise his own
words<^" Sir Walter, I've been lang wanting to see yo«.
It*s no possible tliat ye hae been writing in novels a' tliae
lees? Oh dear me, dear met I canna believe*6 y«t;
but for a* that, I ken I ha*e seen Dandy Dinmont some-
where} aod Hebecoa* oh she's a bonny, weel-behaved
lassie yon ; but Jeanoie Deans I like the best!"
* Tlieve,* said the pleased haroaet» * call ye that a
eonuaonoempUmeot?' . ,
i>»i
III > II fi
FRENCH POLITICAL ECONOMY.
The ears of the public have lately been so filled with
FrencJi Fourierism, Communism, and Sooialisnit with
the prqjects and plans of Louis Blaoc» Proudhon, and
their associates, each offering, if he is permitted, to
rule the whole world, at a moment's notice, without the
possibility of going wrong, that we begin to forget that
there is in France, as elsewhere, some conuuon-sense
literature oa social economy. It is perhaps pretty well
known that Thiers, Faucher, Bastiat Chevalier, and
others, came manfully forward in defence of freedom,
and against the tyramious interference of Socialism,
even when it was in that high and palmy state to
which ao strange a series of incidents bald for a moment
raised it. These works are strictly controversial, and
are limited to demonstrations of the futility of those
artificial arrangements whidi a presumptuous school
devis^ for superseding the eflfect of the natural im-
pulses, with which men are, to wise purposes, imbued.
But besides these works, necessarily addressed to those
who are in danger of being led astray by tlie artificial
glitter of Communism, tiiere are fortunately other
works dispassionately directed to an investigation of
those social evils, the existence of which has given the
Socialists aad Communists the audience and sympathy
they have hecetolbre obtained, as well as to the practi-
cability of ameliorating them, without incurriag the
awful risk oi taking existing society to pieces, and re-
eonstviieting it on the plan of some one who, like Louis
31anc professes hioiself to be an aickiteet competent
to the task. We have now before us a set of tracts,
issued by tiie Academy of the Mona and Political
Setoocea, ov, as it mav better be termed in our idiom,
ef moval and i)Qlitk)al knowledge. They are neat, wdl-
printed pamphlets; and in their price, which is only
forty centimei, or about fourpenoe each, do credit to
the taste and zeal of the Academy.
A person brought up under the social system of this
country, is apt to see ita total difference from that of
France more in the views of the reasonable and ooa-
scientiotts men of that country, than in the rhapsodiet
of their charlatans, or the projects of their enthosiasU.
It would be unsafe to measure the practical sense of
the two countries by comparing Owen and Lonis Blanc
— indeed we have a lurking suspicion that, were there
such a trial, the little French dictator might turn oat
the more practical man of the two, aa he certainly has
been the more efficaciously mischievous. Bat when wt
see the reasonable, calm-minded men of France, we caa
calculate on more secure data the extent to which our
country differs from theirs in the method of fighting
with social evils.
It is impossible to overlook, in tlie calmest and
gentlest of the reforms proposed to the Frendi, the
predominance of those rapid despotic military opera-
tions to which — whether it be a King, an Bmperor, a I
Committee of Public Safety, a Directory, a Consulate, a
Provisional Government, or a President — they have al- |
ways been accustomed. We have a monarchy and a
central government in this country, and we know the '
value of the arrangement We see the central system
in each department organising and economiong, settling
the differences between local authorities, and checking
abuses, but seldom coming into actual conflict with the
citizen. In France, the central power, if It find him doing |
wrong, immediately seizes him, as it were, by the throat,
and puts him in the right way. We have a sufBdency !
of complex laws connected with the presa, all dixected to
this end, that when an offence is committed — ^whether
it be against the state, or an Individual through naeans '
of the press— the person who commits the ofi^ooe Biay '
be fouiM and punished. , In France they take a shorter
way, and put the press under the control <^ the poUQ&
When there is a probability of disturbance^ we bring
out our constables, special or stipendiary, all carefuDj
sworn in, and our military must act under the direct
instructions of civil magistrates, otherwise, they axe as
punishable for attacking a mob as the mob ia for attack-
ing an inoffensive citizen. In France, the bayonet and
the cannon are at once set in motion, however repnhUeaa
may be the government ; and a general would aa soon
think of consulting a magistrate before a battle, as a
dictator or president of the Bepoblic would tlunk of
taking the advice of such a person when there is a
revolt in Paris.
This kind of prompt, sharp practice is derived finom
the method of military operatk>ns to which it teems
absolutely necessary; but the people of thia coantxj
cannot understand, and probably would not be got to
submit to it in matters for which the more laxy, \m%
more satisfactory, mechanism of our constitution is sitf-
ficient Hence propositions by the most caatiooi oC te
French social reformers, which are simpte enough ts
themselves, seem harsh and despotic to us. We have
just been reading one of the series of French tncte to
which we have referred — * An Essay on the Wockisig-
CUsses,' by M. Blanqui, a eenUeman who most not £t
confounded with another of the same name. He
very sensible and moderate lemarka on Comm
and Socialism. He tells his readers that no
genius will be able, by the organisation of laboo^ to
increase its fruitfulness, or ihe demand for ite prodaai;
and that all the promises of continuoua work aD4 W
through such an instrumentaUty are tallacioas pramiias
to divide a fund that cannot exist He drava a JHl
distinction between the prpjecU based oo an ip*^f^
natiog war against oapitid, for the purpose ofaafasti^s^
big organisation for it, and the vievs of tluMe morelMt
and reasonable speculators who only call ou the viiib^
ing-dasses to unite their efforts, by partoeah^ tmi
otherwise, and show the force of union* .Bat mt tkt
same time he showa that too much is eimoted itf
associations of the working-elasses ; and to tkon
say it will put an end to the erila of coropetsfem W «Ai
people undersell and ruin each other* he showa ilsat
very vitality of such associations will consist im
keenness of their competition, and their succeia ia tliv '
4
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBUBOH JOURNAL.
269
commanding the market. Nor does he seem less sound
when he proclaims that all restrictions anil protections
are inimical to the working-classes as a body ; that their
true and sure dependence is in the market price of their
labour and the value of its produce; and * that the re-
strictive system is one of the most direct causes of the
exaggeration of competition, of the close accumulation
of workmen in the towns, and of the pauperism by which
they are alternately depressed and excited to turbu-
lence;' and yet when he comes to practicable measures
for relief, M. Blanqui shows that he is not one of a
practical race. In this country we look upon the pro-
gress of great cities as an inevitable fact. Instead of
trying to stop the accumulation of human beings, we
set up schoolmasters, clergy, and police, to organise
them; and we are now busily forwarding sanitary im-
provements, which scientific men say will make the
town as healthy as the country. M. Blanqui, on the
other hand, tells us that the only means of checking the
gradual degradation of the French people by their
agglomeration in unhealthy masses in the cities, is to
direct the whole efforts of the state to the perfection of
agriculture, to combine manufacturing and agricultural
labour, and to gradually shift (eeonduire) the chief
manufactures out of the great towns, tliat tfaey may be
established in the country. As a counterpart, he pro-
poses the prohibition of new works within towns of a
certain 8i2e, or in the centre of a certain area of popu-
lation.
M. Blanqui finds the abuse of tobacco a grtfat degene-
rator of the working-people. You may know, he says,
those who use it in excess by their besotted aspect,
and the fixetl stare of their fishy eyes. Wliat is his
remedy? *The Use of tobacco,* he says, 'ought to be
rigorously interdicted to women and young people.* We
presume the authority of the gendarmerie would be the
only one by which this interdict cotdd be accomplished ;
and while they are at it, it is difilcutt to see why their
prohibition should not extend to the whole population.
This was the quick and simple means by which the
Chinese government thought to put down the use of
opiani; but it was not effective. If our working-dasses
sometimes form false notions of the effectiveness with
which government can interpose in their behalf, those
of France, even when they are not Socialists or Com-
munists, have always a disposition to look stlH more
for such exterior aid — to trust still less in themselves.
A working-man of Lyons is tefferred to by M. Blanqui
as remarkable for his discretion and sagacity. He pro-
posed a plan by wliich governments, instead of taking
contracts fbr public works, should incorporate bodies of
workmen for their accomplishment, making the pay the
security for the works being performed. Thus, as we
have already a force of soldiers and sailors, and a cer-
tain number of workmen attached to the government
docks and other public works, at the command of the
government, there would be a vast additional body of
army tailors and shoemakers, of shipwrights for build-
ing* vessels, and of paper-makers for supplying the Sta-
tionery Office. The power which such a system would
throw into the hands of a government — the intriguing,
the injustice, the oppression it would necessarily create
— would be inconceivable. Tlie French must learn to
manage matters for themselves. * Doubtless,* says M.
Chevalier in his pamphlet on tlie labour question, * some
day France will not yield to Scotland, where an honest
workman can obtain, with the guarantee of a friend, a
credit open to his honour, in order that he too may be-
come a master workman in his toni.* Tliis is written
with reference to our 8>'stem of cash-credits, the excel-
lent services of which, however, have not fallen so much
in the way of the working-classes as the French econo-
mist seems to suppose. When be contemplates its
extension to France, be may perhaps be surprised to
find that it owes its existence entirely to the common-
sense ingenuity of individuals, and that it never was
embodied in the projet de lot of any influential states-
man.
Such are specimens of the fallacies into which even
the best of the French political economists have fallen :
they see great evils in the aggregation of people in
towns, in intemperance, and other matters, and their
remedy is— force ! In this respect they are scarcely in
advance of our James I., who, terrified with the in-
crease of London, proposed to stop the entrance into,
and settlement of strangets in, the metropolis. In Great
Britain we have seen the folly of all sudi plans — perhaps
with the single exception of trying to make people sober
by violent attacks on the sellers of spirits, undet- colour of
law. Without disparaging the value of ft good police, it
is undeniable that mankind are not to be Improved in
things moral by act of parliament — ^not t6 be dragooned
or tortured into good behaviour. The humbler classes
— sinking lower and lower, and cherisfhing in their
ignorance and degradation all sorts of pr^udices,
fallacies, and erroneous methods of action — are clearly
improvable o^Iy as the classes above them have been
improved—by education, by a taste fbr reading, and by
the self-nespect and moral and religious impressions
which a sound education can alone properly inspire.
POETICAL REVEAHNG8.*
Tit« worid has rarely any mercy on its new poets.
They spring up like daisies on the highway, only to be
ti^dden under ^t We cannot understand that the
man with whom we walk tii dine, whose hand we dasp,
whose faults and peculiarities we hiugh at, should sud-
denly appear, through the magic transformation of
print, as-^a poet We will not believe that the name
which has b^n to ui such a common fsmiliar sound,
shotdd ever be ranked among those combinfttions of
letters which fkme has exalted into immortality. Tb
us the appellation Is still as ordinnty as the man him-
self $ until' years have perfected the yet -immature
genius, and the common name beo#mM a Wtttohword,
the unnoticed household friend starts up as one of the
great poets of the world. < .
For this reason — remembering that the grandest oak
of the forest was a young acorn once-^we have a great
prc^pensity for hunting out stray poets— new poets —
3ronng seedlings who have only put fbrth a few leaves —
or trees of riper growth, who have lingered year after
year in an obscurity so dense, that possibly one-half the
world Is scarcely conscious of their existence. There are
mAny poets such as these, some of whom, through mis-
fcntuue or imperfect powers, may nefrer Kfl their heads
so high as to be distinguished above the mnlltitude of
petty rhymers. Yet they have the trtie Hfb in them
after all ; and perhaps, if critics and readers would not
so blindly folli)W the general cry, but exercise Inde^
pendence, kindliness, and honest judgment, there wdukl
not be so wide a line of demarcation between the much-
lauded poet-idols of a pest age— many of them mere
wood ami stone — and the living and breathing minstrels
of our day. Good ordinary men, who see your friend's
soul only in its work-aMlay dress, how do you know
that there is not in him a spark of living fire? And
you, sorely-tried critics, who cast from your bur^tened
desk whole heaps of worthless tmsh, taire care that you
do not likewise pass over some new unknown name
which may make the world ring yet
Reader, w9t thou arm thyself with kindly Apprecia-
tion, patience, and diarity, and go with ut' on the
obivikous achievement of seeldngottt poets?
We will not date our search very iair back, but will
choose^ par hatard^ amon^ the many Tohimes of poetry,
or rather rhyme* that have issued from the press during
the past year. * Each mimite turns a new one.' The
two writers on whom we thus Kghl are types of two
orders of poets : one hMg Btmggling against the l^eeble,
imperfbot and unpopular utterance of that which is
* EsvieUlibas of Lils. By Joha fidmiwd ilMds* London :
Parker.
Harebell Chlmoe, D^ A. J. Symington. Londoa : I|ouUt(m and
Stonctaan.
270
CHAMBE&SnS EDINBUBOH JOURNAL.
his Boul — tho other putting forth his powers ooly suffi-
ciently to indicate the uodeTeloped strength which it
evidently postesses.
The author of * Berelations of life* has puUished
several works of poetry and prose ; yet we dare say
that nine out of ten of general readers are unacquainted
with the name of John Echnund Beade. Even we our-
selves know little of his fonner productions ; but his
present one is a little volume full of the truest poetry^
the poetry of thought
The great characteristic of Mr Beade*s style is its
intense earnestness. The motto on the title-page is
tiie key to the whole book — * Vikim impendere veroJ In
every page the author puts forward truths and opinions
which are evidently the workings of a strong, ardent
mind, throughout the various phases of a life. That
this life has neither been short nor unmarked with
change, its * revelations' undeniably show. But there
are in this volume few traces of hunuin passion or emo-
tion ; Mr Beade arrays his muse in the grave, severe
garb of philosophy, and his poems are tl^oughout far
too didactic ever to become popular. Those r^ers
who shake their heads drearily over Wordsworth's
* Excursion,' will probably do the same over Mr Beade's
principal poem, * The Fatalist/ which is conceived in a
similar style. This resembluioe in the mere mecha-
nical outline of his plan can scarcely expose the author
to a charge of plagiarism. The model and imitator
stand oertainly on an equality. Mr Beade's poem is a
reoord and an unfolding of three lives— not of outward,
but inner lives— those of the Enthusiast, the Fatalist,
and the Fanatic Hiese human souls are laid bare, with
all their ten^tations, yearnings, and aspirations. The
poet depicts the stn^ifgle ^trough darkness unto light-
as only a poet caD^^-one who foels, echoed in his own
heart every pulse that throbs in the wide heart of
humanity. The martyred Titan who stole Are from
heaven is but a type of genius* the creator— which
must itself sufifer reneotedly the pangs of aJl mankind.
So much for the idea — the soul of the poem. Its
bodily dress hampers it considerably. Mr Beade's style
is laboured, and frequently marred with obscurities that
degenerate into affectations. Strange words— oertainly
not to be found in Johnson's Dictionary, and manufac-
tured quite contrary to the genius of our English tongue
— sometimes startle the eye. At times the rugged
severity of the blank verse becomes positively iidiar-
monious ; but, on the other hand, it is altogether fiee
from the overladen prettinesses in which common poets
veil their paucity ox ideas. There are some charming
word-pictures scattered throoghoiit, of which here is
one; —
' Abort the Inmliiiferoat other ■presd
On the horizon-line the fw-off wree ■
Qlittering in light, bannered with glorious cloudt.
On oomlnf , like some multitudinoua host,
Foam-creirtcd, rolling on blue, flashing lines-
Broke In rererberatlng thunders I I
Knelt down and heard the mighty oonifaig— filled
With inspiration of the nriesU of old.
The reverential awe of the great deep !
I stretched my hands forth to embrace the powrr
In-mehing on my eouL I stood before
Nature, and felt her heaTlng life : I heard
The innermost pnlaee throbbing at her heart
I beheld
The Spirit of Joy cleave through the rushing waves :
I heard them shouting through their rocky halls
Innumerable laughters, as they oama
From their long wanderings r^ioing home.*
And another: —
* From the govfe'a lowest depths
Ascending midway upwards, pluming woods
In leafiest magnificence arose :
Patrician ranks of poplar, pine, and oak—
A solemn senate! bearded dignities.
Blanched by gray autumn with sear hues of age.
Ajnire mists floated o'er than, veiling depths
Of foliage indistinct : sun-glinting tints
Shed lights thereon, or dimpled shadoMrs, fading
Into fiir distance. From the filmy air
A groan vale slowly opened to the eyo,
Child-like unfdded from its mother's breast,
Whfle a Boto told Ha Ufs and qidetjoy,
The live brook mnimnring tluce a plainttva tois:
Orchestral voices of the Dart-afar
On pilgrimaging to his ocean shrine:
So BtiU the air, each note was aodible.
Making the sOflBoa feit in thai knr soond.*
Here and there a passage comes indicating thetne
poet, who in a fbw lioes or words ctn expnii tint
power, even as the great artist's genhis ihinei oct h
three strokes on the canvas. We tt^ these pamm it
random: —
* Great hewren in Ita mijaatie maidi awed »'«•.
Stars, hidden with their crowns of U^t, bduad
Cloud-congregations solemnly rolled on:
Eternal motion and etamal rest'
— * The form of besotj
She walked in fane4lke, lit with holy fire.*
' In our denial Thou art most rerealcd :
Ideal harmonies and discords ours ;
Unsettled motfona of one life-hymn laiMng
Ocean-like voices, nnlsoned by thee.*
* In whose deep eyes a deqper thought laid boriei'
And here is a very garland of flowers »-«
*TbenthtnK
Langnidly her dew-dripping cheek deiAed;
Her name a Massing, sancttflad by love
And child-reanemhranoes: the marigold
Opened her beauty, aimllke, to tho sun,
O'erveiling when he sets, lo be looked os
By no infCTior eye. There, radiate, ■booe,
Through doudiest gitina, the slar-llk«)nBBUM:
Irises, drooping In the Inznry
Of a fine sorrow, their blue orbs half dosed :
The azalia leaned against the soft grqrvill: '
There paled the delioato anemone,
Tuminig away her silnit head from the vfaid:
And there the humbler wallfloweribedabRstb
That realised raysiom.
..... I have gased on then
With eyes sufftesed— these ohaplets on earth's brov,
God-orownM, when she stood up to be mads
Angel-like, reverent, with folded wtagsl'
Of Mr Beade's minor poems, the two eotiUed 'Una
written on Doulting Sbeepslate,' and < Final lioaoi
Doulting,' are the hest Perhaps the Mcret of thk vi
he found in the saying, * What comet trma tbe heirt
goes to the heart* Here the individual reslityrfte
man raises the poet into an intensity which oontitilB
real power : —
* I might have lived alone In soUtada:
A passionlesB animal— a savage ; mde
As the brutes round me, knowing ill norgood:
And, swine-IIke, thus have perished in ny ^ctL
No! rather action's stormiest life again,
Feeling my heart-pnlaa throbbing aaaoagnn-
FoUed, baffled, overthrown : yet, though in nia,
Contesting ; spuming doth's tngtoriooaebaiii,
For virtue's strife, s^-dipni/i^ potn.
The storm has paased away : tiie hunsn tree,
Shaken, but fixed, again looks tranqnflly
In the unruffled stream of memory.'
These lines comprise the spirit of tiw whole rohne.
It is the chronicle of a soul. Whether its snthw p*
sesses the highest order of genius, so as to attain eiiw
the doubtftil tribute of present fame, or tbe nwjJJ
guerdon of a poet's immortality, Mr Reade'i aftef-ww
alone can decide. But even failing that eminen^"
has put forth the life that is in hira with po^^^^
and beauty. Surely this is a mission ftffflled, an aw-
ence not thrown awav ? %/ tj*
Our next author is the verv opposite of Mr Jew
Edmund Reade; and yet A. J. Symington, to ww
unpretending volume we now pass on, givei P***^
being a poet too. We say ghes promise, becmie t»
•Harebdl Chimes' contahi rather the rndkibm^
genius than its realisation. In the first P*^ *^T
savours of an aflTectation, which at .once ^o*'^
extreme youth of the writer. He has not y^JJJ*^
through that enchanted region of •«**^""*'**iS«
when the outward forms of the beautiftil a» roiww
for the deep truth that Ues beneath them. He Wp
0HAMBHRS9 BDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
271
on poetry at a juvenile cdouriit legardi the brilliant,
graceful fM§ which envelop hia model: ere long, he
will lee that the clearly-defined human form, with its
strong life thrilling in every nerve and muade, is more
lovely than all these meretricious adornments. Dazzled
with a redundance of poetic images, enchanted with the
possession of rhythmical facility, a young writer does
not at first find out that thoughts, not language, make
the poet It is because we have in this volume, through
much feeble-strained commonplace, a current of original
ideas, that we augur the fbture success of Mr Syming-
ton. For instance, a poem within a poem — ' The
Dream' — contains a thought exquisite of its kind,
though worked out so imperfectly, that its beauty is
almost entirely lost.
A lover and his beloved are wandering together : —
'I gue^ on Bonbelle,
Pore and angel fair,
The wind stirred not a ihi^ ireaa
Of her g^oaqr silken hair.
When wicked spirit oame to me
Whispering to my soul—
** Lo, what angel loreliness.
Pore delight, and honied hllss !
Can Hearen itself be more than this ?
Heaven, tell me if it be?"
Thus with glojring plausible
My listening ear the tempter stole,
And o'er my senses hong
BpeU of darkness, while I song,
*• ResabeU»-ilosabene 1
In this shady spot.
By clear, ooeUag crystal well,
Hearing woodland musio float.
Past and future all forgot,
VTith thee I would ever dwell :
Tsou ait HsAVSD, sweet Rosabelle 1 "
Thus I sung, whm, well-a-day 1
The ladye, young and fair to sec,
All trembling waxM wan ;
Copious flood of briny tears
Adown her pale face ran t
Lily, dew-besprent seemed she.
Oh, pifteonriy she looked on me!
Then gaiing on tha skies
With flxM eyes.
She moved her lips, as If to pray,
And swooned away.
* * « 4>
A thickening mlflt, diffusing, spread
0*er rale and mountain high.
With a dreary gloom it hung
In the darkling sky.
The sickening flowers aweary droop.
Pining for the golden sun :
Velvet-soft leaves shrivel up.
Falling every one.
The flowers, all dead, alas!
Boon were burled 'neath a mass
Of forest leaves, that lay
Withering on the grass.
The very brook now flowed
With languid scanty stream,
Nor voice of any bird was heard
Bava the famished Tultuitf'B scream.*
The lover watched in dull despair by the dead form
of Rosabelle throughout the night But when
* Sonrlso seemed to herald in
A tranquO day,
MmtiMnon-l4Mc^ "V ffoNy aettrv,
Tr%»Atd, b^fon to prop.*
The prayer awakens the dead, and the earth's charms
are renewed with the love that first made it beautifnL
But the dream warns the lover that
— * Were any ck»
To love the golden sun,
TwfnkUng star, or lowly flower.
Brook or bower.
Skylark sweetly carolling.
Or AHT KARTRI.T THI2fO
Foa iraxLr alomb.
Its beauty soon would fade away,
Yielding to decay.'
Now here is a charming poetic myth, one that Shelley
would have gloried in, except for the great mystery that
it unfolds — a truth beyond even him — that all love
mutt fiul when the human comes between us and the
divine. And this beantiM idea, which would make a
grand poem, is clothed in language that rarely rises
above smooth prettiness. But the there power of con-
ception implies the undeveloped capability of execu-
tion. The poem in which this 'Dream' is inserted —
'A Summer Ramble' — oositaina some passages where
the thought and the forms of expression are equally
good. Witoess the following : —
' The universe, said Amy, ererywhere
Is full of spirit-meanings ; only we.
Too gross, too worldly, seUlom dream d tbem :
Yet who examines deeply, aye perceives
A perfect harmony— a unity
Pervading all things. .... That the arts
Of muaio, sculpture, palnture, poesy.
Are but exponents of the inner soul.
And various mediiuns to translate cm thought
Here Is a little, clear pellucid pool.
Where water lies upon the mosay grass,
ThincoveriBgit,asglaBBaplotnnk He
%Vho ohoossa propsr Ughl oan gaae ter *nm
Into the deep-blue sky, and plainly ssa
Sun, moon, or stars, with every kesf and spray
Of tall o'er-arching tree that intervenes.
There clearly mirrored. Othen, looking down,
See oti/jf grass. And so with the ideal :
Yet when the worlds are dimmed and passed away.
Then the ideal shall be the only reaL*
Mr Symington has, in common with all young enthu-
siasts in rhyme, a great love for revelling in the visible
forms of nature. Descriptive landscape poelry, wherein
no deeper thought lies brooding, has siways a charm
for those writers who stand at the entrance of life. Tlie
unwinding of all the tortuous liaks of human passion
and human feeling belongs moie to the maturer poet
Some of Mr Symington's pictnits are exquisite tran-
scripts of nature. Here are two twilight seenes, which
show how much of the true poet-artist*s feeling he pos-
sesses:—
• On thymy slope reclining all alone
By murraaring stream amid the golden broom ,
I watched the sun, a globe of crimson flre.
Sink slowly In the west: with glow intense
Shot through each oriflce, the castle seemed
As it were lit up by a thousand lamps.
Trees on the summit of the hUl displayed
Their leathery tops against the amber dcy ;
While silently the gentle roseate eve
In hazy glimmer blushinfff hid hcrttl/
From gaze of$tart.
The moon is hid, and yet U ia not dark;
For, from the horizon in the ruddy west
Beyond Orion, glowing round tho verge,
A wellfng light bums slowly to the north :
The roseate amber blosh snffbsed «n high.
Far as the aenith, fades among the stars.*
In this writer, too, are the same indications of genius
that we remarked in Mr Keade ; namely, the power of
giving expression to a beautiful thought in a few words.
As, for instance —
'Day shows na earth; nights-heaven I *
' The keen stars brightening in the passing wind.'
' Joy wantons In the sun ;
Grief is his constant shadow.'
* Tho sun comes forth in dazzling glorious sheen.
Smiting the stormy ridges of the mist.
Which, mouldering aux^f in golden diui.
Art calmed to rippHng lighV
These extracts are sufficient to show that Mr Sy-
mington's mind contains the materials of a fine poet :
the statue is within the marble, but it is only half
formed. Careless rhymes, and eqniQly careless rhythm,
leaning more to prettiness and melodr than terse purity
of style, and many affectations of language— these
are our young poef s faults. But ho is a poet, never-
theless : there is the right metal in liim, if he will only
work it out. And in all he writes, one can trace tlie
man shining through the author : furnishing indications
of a nature alive not merely to the beautiful but also to
the good. Such qualities are the root^ and the best
nourishment of genius.
272
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUB6H JOUBNAL.
We will take leaTe of Mr Symington with a Ijrio—
one of hii best— which is quite a firnide picture: —
''stanzas on
Rare to find friend tme and faithful.
Whom no paltry gold can buy ;
Sundiine, shadow, nerer changing :
Such a frieiid have L
Gentlo-heartcd, unaaramlnff.
Dowered with mental ykA<m dear ;
Highly ralued is the oounwl
Of a friend lo dear.
After weary hours of buslneas.
You might see him, mug at home,
Poring over new-cut volume.
Or an ancient tome :
Dancing now a little urchin
On his knee— an only boy,
Whose light prattle, quips, and laughter,
Are his parents' joy.
Should I drop in of an evening—
No one thrae but our two setvea—
Commune we with bards uid sages.
Ranged upon the shelves.
Now romances, in black4etter,
Blawmed gold, with armM knights ;
Chaucer, with old qiuiint initials.
Or the ** Arabian Nights."
Many a device and curious volume
Scattered o*er the Uble lies :
Dipping here and there into them,
How an evening flies !
Charles Lamb, we cannot want him ;
Oenial Hunt, he must appear ;
Shelley, Keats, and wondrous Coleridge,
Aye are lying near.
Busts <tf mighty ones gaze on ns,
Here, a statuette of tSeott :
Picture there, of Ben's '* Alchymist,**
Furnace glowing hot.
Round, book-spirits seem to hover
In a ohannM atmo^theie.
Bringing distant dimes and ages
In bright vision near.
Hark ! *' Gong ** calls to mind the present-
Hands are pressed— I homeward wond :
'Neath the starry orbs, in lUenoe,
Thinking of my friend.
Rare to find one tme and faithful.
Whom no paltry gold can buy ;
Sunshine, shadow, never changing t
Such a friend have V
VALUE OF GAME.
We are inclined to believe that the real value of nmo
in this country is not in general fully understood. It is
usually looked npon as kept chiefly for amusement, and
its commeioial importance is little thought of. Yet ita
direct value, aa a marketable commodity, is very oond-
derable ; and its indirect value, as enhancing landed pro-
perty, is so great, that it is not easy to form a just estimate
of itT The prices of ordinary game are pretty well known
in Seotlaod ; in England they are still higher, and there
is always a ready demand. The value of a brace of g^roose
b, on an average, 68. in Elngland ; pheasants, 6a.; partridges,
d«. ; hares, 2s. each ; woodcocks, firom 6s. to lOs. a pair.
The average value of a Highland red deer is not less than
L.5. So much for the dueet value of game ; and when
we consider its importance indirectly, we are first led to
think of the Ulghland moors which it has rendered so
profitable. For the following facts on this portion of the
subject we are indebted to an ablo letter on tlie game-
laws by Lord Malmesbury. A vast number of moors are
now let for L.400 or L.500 a year, which formerly brought
nothing to the proprietor, as they are unfit even for sheep.
Xjsrge tracts, which formerly let as sheep-farms, are now con-
verted into aeer-forests, and pay at least <me-third, and even
one-half, more than they did formerly. Five hundred deer
may be kept on a space of ground that will feed 1200 sheep.
Valuing the sheep at the average pice of 18s. each, these
would be worth L.1080 ; but the deer would realise ne^y
double that sum — ^namely, L.200<^; for the average pricA^f
stags in summer and hinds in winter is fully L.4. From
a long-standing knowledge of the Highland moors. Lord
Malmesbury is of opinion that they are yearly advancing
in price, and becoming a more impcwtant kind of property.
He saw a list last year of 106 moors let for shootinn, the
rent of which could not be averaged at less than L.300,
which makes a total of L.31 ,800. There were twice as naay
more let at an average of L.100, and a third portion unlet,
whose value may be foirly stated at L.17,000, the whole
making together a rental of L.70,000 on the Highland
shootings. He adds tliat this may be looked upon as a
dear gain, as far as respects the grouse-moors, and aa
increase of two-fifths on doer-groimd, called
Journal of AgricuUure.
EFFECTS OF MESMERISM ON ▲ BEAM.
A gentleman residing at Oxford had in his
voung Syrian bear from Mount Lebanus, about a year oldL
This bnr was generally good-humoured, playful, and trset-
able. One morning the bear, from the attentions of sone
visitors, became savage and irritable; and the owner, ia
despair, tied him up in his usual abode, and went avaj to
attend to his guests. In a few minutes he was hastily re-
called to see his bear. He found him rolling aboat on hia
haunches, faintly moving his paws, and gradually sinki^
into a state of quiescence and repose. Aoove him stood a
gentleman, well known in the mesmeric world, making the
usual passes with his hands. The poor bear, though eridieatly
unwilling to yield to thb new influenee, ^jraduallj eank ta
the ground, closed liis eyes, became motionleae snd insea-
sible to an means used to rouse him. He remained in this
state for some minutes, when he awoke, as it were, from a
deep sleep, shook himaelf, and tottered about the court, as
though labouring under the effects of a strong narcotic
He exhibited evident signs of drowsiness for some boms
afterwards. This interesting scene took plaee in the pre-
sence of manv distinguished members of the Britisli iUse-
ciation when last held in the university of Oxford. — F. T,
BucUand.
A HINT FOR AUTHORS.
Willis, who was once a typo, thinks that mil aathaes
should serve a year in a newspaper c^oe. There ia no
such effectual analysis of style as the prooesa of type-
setting. As he takes up letter by letter of a loi^ or com-
plex sentence, the compositor becomes most erit^aUy
aware of where the sentence might have been sfaortsoed to
save his labour. He detects repetitions, beeoaes io^ia-
tient of redundancies, recognises a careless or inspfxo-
priate use of expletives, and soon acquires a habit of pot-
ting an admiring value on clearness and brevity. We have
said nothing of the art of nice punctuation, which Is also
acquired in a printing-office, and by which a style ia saads
as much more tasteful as champagne ia by effiiiii wiaif
Journeymen printers ore necessarily weU instructed and
intelligent men. It is a part of a proof-reader s duty to
mark a ' querv * against any passage in « new book whieh
he does not clearly comprehend. Autiiors who knsfw what
is valuable, profit by these quiet estimates of their mean-
ing; and many a wei^ point that would have mioed a
literary reputation, if left uncorrected for the levies* eis to
handle, has been noiselessly put right by a proof-reado^
unobtrusive *qu?' — American paper,
READING AND THINRINO.
Those who have read of everything, are thoaght to
understand everything too ; but it is not always an. Read-
ing furnishes the mind only with naaterials of knofwk^e:
it IS thinking makes what we read ours. We are of the ra-
minating kind« and it is not enough to cram ourselves with
a great load of collections ; unless we chew them over i
they will not give us strength and nourishment. — /
ANNOUNCEMBNT.
In an early number of tho Journal will swai tbe fital sf •
series of articles descdpCiTe of a tour in Korwaj* SvsAan, ssA
Denmark, by Mr Robert Chambers.
CHAMBERS'S
INSTRUCTIVE AND ENTERTAINING LIBRAET.
To this series of Books fob tbs Psoru has jost keen siM,
GERMAN LITERATURE,
BT josspu oosncB.
Jn Tte9 Porta, price Is. each ; orin One Vcitmne^ cMk fctwud^
price 2$, dd.
Published by >V. & R. Chambbrs. High Strert, Edtebwsjh. Alss
sold by D. Chamrbks, 80 Argyle Street, GLusdw; W. S._OBa,
147 Strand, London; and J. M'Glashax. H OtNier
Dublin.-~Print«d by W. dc R. Chambbbb, Edlnbunih.
I
I
COIfDUCTED BT WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF < CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE FBOniB/ « CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' 4kc
No. 305. New Series.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1849.
Price IJcf.
TBjLCINGS 01* THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
VOYACETO COPENHAGEN.
Etkb since the end of a very .pleasant excursion in
RhioeUnd and Switzerland in 1848, 1 had set apart the
snmroer of the present year for a more extended tonr,
which should emhraoe the principal German cities and
Italy. When the time came, howereri those parts of
the conthient were in such a rolcanic state, that unless
I had had a decided taste for walking over hot cinders
and lava (* incedere per ignes^)^ there was no chance of
getting along with any degree of comfort In these
circumataDoes, I toroed my thoughts to a part of Eu-
rope wliich is not perhaps poMessed of so many attrac-
tions, Irat which at least had the merit of being suffi-
ciently cool for the fbot of the English traveller — namely,
the group of countries which rank under tiie general
appeU&tive of Scandinavia. In England these countries
are generally regarded as only too cool — ^which is not
altogetlier true either — and they are accordingly little
visited. But here, again, lay a reconciling oontidenUion ;
for, if 3ieglected, they were just so nuoh the more re*
cherthi^ to the penon who should make his way into
them. I also reflected on the singnlar social condition
of Norway as a curious study for such a wanderer as
myself: it would, I thought, be deeply interesting to
try and ascertain if a democratic ceostitutlon, and the
absence of a law of primogeniture, really did render
that ooontry the paradise which it appears to be in the
pages of Samoel Laing. Then these were some eorious
geological and arch89(^>gical studiea to he pursued in
BcandinaTia. One large lump of it is supposed to be
[flaying a sort of game of see^saw, to the great inconve-
lience of mariners in the adjacent seas ; while another,
ihon^h now steady, appears to have at some former
>eriod been engaged in the same strange procedure.
%.ccordiDg to some philosophers, there had been a time
rhen a sheet of ice had passed athwart the whole coun-
ry, rubbing away every asperity from its craggy sur-
ace, excepting only the peaks of the highest mountains,
ts wild fiords were still as ourioulf for their natural
•henomena as fbr the lonely grandeur of their aspect.
Lnd the remains of tlie early inhabitants of these rc-
lote regions, whether in the form of literature, or that
f their arms, personal ornaments, and domestic uten-
Is. were, I knew, a treasure of the richest kind to any
ne taking the least interest in the past history of his
secies.
Having, for these reasons, determined on a tour
I rough. Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, I left Bdin-
irgh in the latter part of June. The readiest course for
le proposing such a tour is, in general, either by the
earner* which leave liondon. Bull, and Leith fbr Ham-
ir^, or those which prooeed from the two first of these
to Conenhasen. At the time of my proposed jour-
ney, the Elbe was under blockade by the Danish navy,
in consequence of the Sleswig-Holstehi war. Copen-
hagen was therefore the only access- It is much to be
regretted that there is no steamer direct from England
to any port of Sweden and Norway. There was one to
Gottenburg a few years ago; it was discontinued be-
cause it did not pay. According to Swedish report, an
endeavour to revive it has beca obstructed by a demand
of the English government that only English steamers
shall be employed; apparently a most unreasonable
demand, and one not characteristic of the present po-
licy. It would surely be much to be lamented if any-
thing so advantageous to the two countries as a direct
intercourse be really prevented by such petty diffi-
culties. Let us hope that not another summer shall
elapse without the revival of the Gottenburg: steamer.
A railway train conducted me from Edinburgh to Hull
in the interval between breakfast and supper, allowing
me three hours of pause at York, which I employed in
a visit to the Minster. The consequences of the second
conflagration of this superb building are now repaired,
and the edifice is probably in a sta,te of completeness,
both as to building and decoration, which it never knew
In Catholic times. I was led to reflect how strange it
was that so much zeal had been expended in the recon-
struction of this theatre of an extinct drama — ^for the
Gothic church of the middle ages was strictly a theatre
in which to present daily to mankind, under suitably
impressive circumstances, the spectacle of a divine sacri-
fice which had been made for them. Under modern
Christian^, this object easts no tonger. The ancient
church, accordingly, when too large to be rendered into
an ordinary place of worship — as is the caso with the
English cathedrals^becomes, over and above the eor-
ner devoted to the reading of a Uturgy, a mere anti-
quarian curiosity. It is strange that what was done In
the twelfth century under the impulse of a powerful
religious feeling, can now be done, and done more
promptly and quickly, under a feeling almost purely
romantic. We roust of course rejoice that so beautiful
a building as York Minster has been redeemed from
the ruin into which it was accidentally thrown, and
once more made worthy of the homage of the liighest
taste. Yet we cannot well forget that such worki
amongst us can only be something similative or imi-
tative— what the Eglintoune tournament was to real
chivalry. The paroxysm of public feeling in which
such noble atructurea origiBaled was a true tiling, and
one of the finest true things of its era. It is past— it
can never be reproduced. The fillings and energies
which took that direction are now expended on totally
diflierent objects. It is from a different and secondary
source that Gothic renovations proceed.
At this titno there were in Hull 8000 people out of
employment, in consequence of the interruption to the
274
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Hamburg trade, and it was said that much miiery eziated
in the town. One would hare expected, in fuch. cir-
cumstances, that any little job to one of the hangers-on
of the streets would hare been keenly relished, and the
remuneration, if decent in amount, thankfully received.
Neyertheless, when I handed a shilling to two men who
had, at one turn of three minutes, carried my few pack-
ages from the cab on the quay into the vessel, it was
contemptuously rejected, and only accepted after it
became clear that I would not accede to their demand
of half-a-crown. What would a foreigner, in such cir-
cumstances, have thought of the state of things which
had been described to him as appertaming to Uull ? He
could scarcely have resisted a supposition that bad
tiuies in England are something better than the best
times on the continent
Usually, the passport grievance does not commence
till one has set his foot on a foreign soil. On this occa-
sion it began before I left the harbour. At the earnest
solicitation of the owners of the steamer, I went to the
Danish consul to have my passport visS, for the sake of
establishing that I had come from a district unaffected
by cholera. For this a fee of fire shillings was exacted
from myself and some other passengers. It was hoped,
by such means, that no interruption would occur in the
landing of passengers at Copenhagen, and the subse-
quent proceeding of tlie vessel to St Petersburg. It will
be found that in this object we were disappointed, and
that the exaction was to us virtually an act of spolia-
tion. When will states be above the meanness of im-
posing these petty taxes on travellers, whom one might
suppose they would see it to be for their interest to
encourage, by every possible act of civility and genero-
sity, to visit their lands ?
On rising early next morning, I found the vessel
ploughing its way out of the Humber, with the new
works of Great Grimsby on the right. This is designed
as a new port for the east of England, in connection
with certain lines of railway. It is to enclose a hundred
and thirty-five acres of the sea-beach, and within this
space there will be an entrance basin, accessible at all
times to every Idnd of vessel, besides large docks, piers,
and wharts. The scheme is a magnificent example of
English enterprise, and promises to be attended with
success. In this event, Hull must fall into a secondary
place among British ports. If I am rightly informed —
but I only speak upon report — those privileges which
have hitherto appeared as her strength will have had
no small concern in bringing about the result
A sea- voyage seems as if it could never be a comfort-
able thing. The sickness from the motion of the vessel
is the first and greatest drawback; but the lesser evils
of straitened accommodations, imperfect ventilation, the
odious smell inherent in the vessel, and the monotony
of the daily life, are scarcely less felt Prostrated under
a sense of nausea, afraid to rise, and afraid or unable to
eat, unable to exert the mind in reading or discourse,
one sinks down into a state of mere stupid endurance,
almost the most hapless in which one can well be in
the course of ordinary existence.
After sufiering thus for four-and-twenty hours, I
ventured upon deck, and, finding the weather not un-
pleasant, walked about for an hour or two. Here the
want of objects on which to exert the mind beset me,
and I became surprised at the interest which the slight-
est change of circumstances or sights occasioned. We
eagerly scanned the dim horizon for vessels, and reck-
oned them up with the greatest care. We marked every
variation in the direction of the wind, and in the ship's
course. But all was insufficient to give an agreeable
stimulus to the craving mind, and passiveness always
appeared, after all, as the best resource. Seeing two
vessels at a distance, sailing difTercnt ways under one
wind, I amused myself by comparing them to two specu-
lative philosopliers driving to opposite conclusions from
one set of facts.
On the third morning there were some symptoms d
our coming near the land, though it was stm beyond
the ken of vision. One of these sjrmptoms was a ooopk
of small boats. Finding afterwards thai we saOcd seren
hours, or as much as seventy miles, without approadi-
ing the land, I wondered that two small boats shooU
be met so far out at sea. Supposing they were fi^iof •
boats, it was the more surprising that it was on a
Sunday morning, though this, a passenger explained,
might be tnm an anxiety to make as much as posiilile
of the short season during which fishing can be carried
on in these seas. As we approached the opening <tf tbe
Sound, vessels became more frequent, and at length ooe
happy passenger was able to announce that he saw the
' loom of the land.' It was, as expected, a portkn of
the north of Jutland, a low tract of sandy downs, pie-
senting scarcely an object for many miles besidei a
lighthouse and a solitary country church. We toaa
passed the Skaw Point, amidst a crowd of vessels of a3
sizes, calling for almost as much care in steeriag as is
necessary in conducting a drosky throngh the Stmd.
Then the young moon appeared setting In a dottUesf
summer sky, and it became delightfi^ to walk slsag
the elevated deck, watching her ^ow descent into the
gleaming wave, interchanging a word of remark now
and then with a companion, and mentally speculating
on the new scenes which must meet our eyes under the
next sun. We were idl by this time fully restored to
our usual healthy sensations, and each meal, as it came
upon the board, was heartily done justice to.
I was awakened next ntoming at five with the iatd-
ligence that we were just about to pass throt^ th;
Sound. I ascended to the deck in a provisioQal ^ttt*,
and soon saw that assemblage of objects which has been
made so generally familiar by means of pictoret — a k}w
point fronted with mounds bristling with cannon, and
an old pinnacled palace starting up from within a feir
yards of the water's edge, while the narrow sea in front
bears a crowd of vessels of all sixes. We had cow so
opportunity of examining the ooast on either hand, bvt
found nothing worthy of special obserration, beyond the
smiling character imparted to the landscape by plssasBt
woods, cottages, and gardens, such as one sees on the
coast of England. Behind Elsinore, however, there is a
lofty bank, of which I shall afterwards take some notice.
After passing a few miles of the low coast of Sea-
land — for such is ttie name of this insulated part ot tbe
kingdom of Denmark—we were told tttmt the vesiri
was near Copenhagen, which, however, shows itsetf ic
this direction only by a few traces of steeples and dock-
yards, with a screen of green monnds sciilay as kst-
teries in front. We were quickly brongfat to a psate
in the mouth of the harbour. Every passenger had
prepared for immediate landing. The ^Sst of break-
fast by the steward was treated diadainfaDy, as t>-
sions of the Ildtd JRoyal rose before us. The capCiia
had gone ashore with our passports, and his letari
with permission for our landing was instsotiy ezpedid;
when a rumour began to spread that we w«re to bed^
tained a couple of days in quarantine. It pawed to i*
too true, the government having reoeivad jntrffigmff
of the revival of cholera in London, which had del^
mined it to subject all vessels coming from yj»g*«*J ta
a quarantine which should interpose five full ajs k-
tween their leaving port and their landing psMOfen
and goods in Denmark. Then all was dismay, theagh
at first we could scarcely perceive or briieve ia ft* ex-
tent of our misfortune. The magical flre-efailfiags rift-
davit of the consul at Hull was reverted to. We had
paid our money for being certified clear of
and dear of infection we must be : o
were we to think of that transaction ? Our
of course unavailing. The Danish govemmeat ii
usually tenacious and pedantic about quarantine
lations, to which it sapiently attributes the
fact, that Denmark has never yet had a visit of At
Asiatic scourge. There was no chsunoe that it
relent on the present occasion. Slowly, and wHh m
CHAMraSS*S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
275
grace^ did we address onrselTes to the fonnerly-despised
brealdast Oar friend the steward do doubt yiewed the
case in a light peculiar to himself.
Two days were spent in perfect inaction, and conse-
quently with much tedium and dissatisfaction. For my
I>art there is something which makes me placid under
such troubles. It is perhaps a negative satisfaction in
considering that I cannot be blamed for this evil, as I
most be for most others which befidl me. I grieved to
think that there must be two days of tame, unvaried
life, before I could step into the new city before me ;
but meanwhile the circumstances were not positively
uncomfortable in any great degree ; the company was
not marred by any bad element in itself; there were
books to read and memoranda to arrange : finally, it
could not be helped. I therefore submitted with toler-
able cheerfulness.
Af^ all, we were comparatively well dealt with, for
we heard of many persons who were obliged to lie for
longer periods in quarantine, and to spend their time of
durance at a station arranged for the purpose on a part
of the coast a few miles off, where life was very much
that of a prison. Persons coming fh>m Qermany would
have to stay there five days. If I am not mistaken,
travellers f¥om England by the continental route had at
tiiis time to pass a previous quarantine at Hamburg, so
that a journey to Denmark by that route could not
occupy less than a fortnight. I have since heard of a
Scottish merchant having lost a vessel on the south
coast of Sweden, and going out there, by way of Copen-
hagen, to see after his property. From the exigencies
of business at home, he had only twelve days in all to
give to the excursion. On reaching Copenhagen, he
would not be allowed to land till that time had nearly
expired, and he would consequently be obliged to re-
turn to Scotland without accomplishing his object
By way of a favour, a party of our passengers (in
which I was included) was allowed to go in a boat to
bathe at a place in front of one of the batteries, an
emissary of the quarantine station hovering near us as
a watch, lest we should break rules. Two l^ys, return-
ing from an English school to St Petersburg for the ho-
lidays, were full of frolic We soon had a riotous scene
of ducking and splashing, accompanied by shouts of
(I must say) very foolish merriment, and thus would
probably help in no small degree to confirm our guard
in an impression which is said to be very prevalent in
Denmark regarding the English — ^that they are all a
little mad. A companion remarked to me, that certainly
men will condescend in some circumstances to a sur-
prising degree of puerility, or rather childishness of con-
duct : here, for instance, said he, there is scarcely the
least difference to be observed between the conduct of
the schoolboys and their seniors. Take away the pres-
sure of our ordinary immediate circumstances, and how
all our usual habits are dissolved I But this is a theme
as trite as it is tempting, and I must cut it short A
lunch after the bath was attended by jocularity nearly
as outrageous, and we did not return to the ship till
near t^ dinner hour.
Our company was small, but it was sufficiently
various. There were two specimens of the idle English
gentleman, if such a term may be applied to the cha-
racter. They were men in the prime of life, unmarried,
handsome, moustached, with an air of high society, yet
perfectly affable, and even agreeable, in their intercburse
with their fellow-travellers. I hesitate in applying the
term idle to these men, as they appear to be far from
exemplifying true inactivity. They speak of having
travelled and sported in many parts of the world. One
is as femiUar with the granitic wilds of Finland as with
Donegal and Inverness. He spends whole summers of
wild hardy life in the deserts near the head of the
Gulf of Bothnia, shooting bears and hunting deer, lost
to wheaten bread and every luxury for weeks at a time.
His fhnne is sinewy and firmly knit ; his habits in eat-
ing and drinking are as simple as possible. The other
gentleman has been with his ship through every sea in
the East and West He has left England at the height
of the gay season, to perform a journey of four months,
commencing with Copenhagen, St Petersburg, and
Stockholm, to terminate on the coasts of the Levant
Another of our party is a New Englander, with an air
of quiet confidence as remarkable as that of the Eng-
lishmen, yet of a totally different character. He is a
little of a humorist and not at all offensive. A fourth
is an elderly Lincolnshire farmer, homely, simple, good-
natured, full of quaint remark, and not unwilling to be
smiled at by his companions on account of his little
peculiarities of manners and discourse. We have also a
young English student evidently not of the university
caste, delicate in figure, of gentle manners, and pos-
sessed of considerable intelligence. Of females we have
few, only one being of the genus /odfy, the sister of our
bear-hunting friend; the rest are more practical in their
character. One is a mother with a charge- of young
children, whom she is sadly ill-qualified for regulating
or keeping in order. Incessantly these juveniles are
chattering about something, or else crying and squall-
ing. The mother goes about with a broken-hearted
air, and a voice worn down to its lowest and saddest
tones, either taking her children's querulousness re-
signedly, or chiding them crossly for what is chiefly her
own bUme. To attend even thus imperfectly to the
group of little ones, takes the whole time and energy of
this poor mother, and of an equally broken-spirited
maid ; for never does a minute pass when there is not
something to be done for them, either in the way of
attending to their personal necessities, or preventing
them from clapperclawing each other, and saving them
firom the effects of their own recklessness. The thought
occurred to me twenty times a day — verily the ttorge is
a most marvellous endowment of the mother's heart
enabling her, as it does, to submit placidly to what
every other person would feel to be intolerable misery.
We received a great alarm on the second day of our
enforced leisure. A party had gone off in a boat to row
about and bathe, without the attendance of a quarantine
officer. No harm was meant but it was imprudent
By and by it was whispered that word had come that
owing to this breach of regulations, we should all be
detained a week longer, or else have to pay a heavy
fine — perhaps both. This was dire intelligence to our
good-natured captain, and not less so to a mercantile
Serson, who had sixteen first-dass English horses on
oard, which he was taking out on speculation to
Russia. These animals had to stand in oribs on deck
during the whole voyage from Hull to St Petersburg.
While the vessel was sailing, it was comparatively well
with them, for ^e motion gave them a certain amount
of exercise : but the unexpected stoppage of two days
told sorely upon them : it was already remarked that
their legs were beginning to swell. The owner declared
that a week more of inaction would utterly ruin them.
While we were gloomily speculating on all the evils we
had to dread, the peccant boat-party returned, and re-
lieved us so far, by declaring that they had scrupulously
abstained from approaching the shore or any other
vessel. They immediately despatched an assurance to
this effect to the quarantine station. Notwithstanding
a defying tone on the part of some of the defiaulters, we
passed the evening in a state of serious apprehension,
no one knowing what extent of penalty might be im-
posed by an authority notoriously ruled by any consi-
derations rather than those of rationality. It was
thought on the strength of former instances, not impos-
sible that each of the grown gentlemen of the party
might have to pay twenty or flve-and-twenty pounds.
One more confident than the rest offered four sovereigns
to another as an insurance to cover his own risk, or, as
an alternative, proposed to undertake that gentleman's
risk for three ; and the latter arrangement was actually
entered into. Early next morning, when we were all on
the qui vive to learn our fate, a boat came up, and the
magical term so well understood in England, *A11
right* soon spread a general smile over the company.
276
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
The aathorities, by an MMisuig stretch of genero-
sity and common sente, had agreed to oreriook the
delinquency, on condition that certain expenses should
be paid, amounting to something leas than two pounds.
The passengers for Copenhagen were therefore permitted
to land immediately with their luggage, and the vessel
was allowed to commence discharge of cargo, prepara-
tory to proceeding to St IVtersbnrg. K. C.
THE RETUKN OF THE COMPAGNON.
▲ SWISS TALE.
Ths eariy darkness of a winter twilight bad already
set in, the wind was blowing boisterously, and the
snow rapidly descending, when Herman the carpenter
reached his cottage after a hard day's toil, there to
receive the fond caresses of bis childreo. His wife
exchanged his wet clothes for such aa were warm and
dry, and little Cath«ino drew his arm-chair to the side
of the fire, while the boys^ anxious to do their part,
brought his large pipe.
* Now, father,' said little Frank, when he saw a
column of smoke issuing forth, 'you are happy and
comfortable ; what shall we do while mother gets supper
ready? Tell us a tale.'
' Yes, tell us a story,' repeated the other children
with delight
They were on the point of clustering round, when
something passing caught little Catherine's eye. * Oh,'
said the child, ' here is such a poor man in the street
all covert with snow, and who does not seem to know
where to go ! *
* He is a compagnon* (journeyman), said Frank — * a
whitesmith ; I see his tools in liis bag. Why does he
stop in the street in such weather ? '
* He plainly knows not his way,' Catherine replied.
' Sliall I go and ask him what be wants ?'
* Do so, my child ; and give him this small coin, for
perhaps be is poor, as I have been, and it will serve to
pay for his bed, and something to warm him. Show
liim the Compagnon's Inn at tlie end of the street'
When the child had returned, the clamour was again
raised for the story.
'Wliatsballitbe?'
•Daniel?'
*No.'
* Perhaps the Black Hunter ?'
* Neither of these to-night, Iny diUdrcn. I will tell
you about the ** Return of the Compagnon.'' '
The children gladly drew round their father to bear
his new story, which was as follows : —
It was a beautiful spring morning; the aun had
begun to show his radiant face on the summits of the
mountains ; the little birds cried for their food ; tike
insects of every kind, shaking their wings, began hum-
ming among the foliage; the sheep, penned up, were
bleating ; and the labmirers were preparing to resume
tlieir toil A young roan, laden with a heavy bag,
walked gaily along ^e road leading to one of the little
towns of Swissland, his dusty feet showing that he had
come from afar, and his sunburnt face exhibiting the
effects of more southern dimes. He was a compagnon
carpenter returning to his countiy after years of absence,
and impatient to see his home again. He had widked
all night, and now a brilliant sun embellished each suc-
cessive object that offered itself to his anxious view.
He had sJready seen the steeple of the church of his
beloved town, and his true Swiss heart bounded with
joy. * Ha ! ' exclaimed he, * how beautiftd is the country
where we have lived from childhood to manhood ! How
clear and limpid its waters, how pure its air, how
smiling its meadows ! My feet have trodden the soil
of France, where grows the grape, and Italy, the land
of figs and oranges: I have rested under groves of
roses, and the sweet lemon-tree has bent over my head,
laden with its golden fruits and perfumed flowers: I
have, at tlie sound of the guitar and the castanet
joined at night in the dance with people for whom the
middle of the day is the time for repoie, sod the ab-
sence of the sun the signal for Ubour or pteanie-
people whose life flows on in cheerfal coDtatoeri
because light wotk suflloes for their wiati noder e
warm a sky, and possessed of a toil that natve b»
covered with her choicest gifts, snd doet not denhte
with the north winds, frosts, and soowi. Yei, t^
poor Swiss compagnon has seen sll these thiogi, a&d
has admired them, but never hu be wished to lire ad
die among tliem. He has always sighed for tbe pile
rays of his northern sun, the steep roclu of hit monih
taaos, the uniform colour of his dsrk ptod^ tod ti«
pointed roof of his cottage, where be fUU hopes to
receive his mother's blessing.'
While these thoughts, and many like them, wm
crowding into the mind of the yovog vorkiun, bis
steps became more and more rapid, snd bit tiied to
seemed to recover their swiftoesi. AUaoaiiiddeB,a
turn of the road showed him the roofii of hi< ottiTe Til-
lage, from wliich curled some doods of niokr. Then
was the old church wall, there was the iteeple atretcb-
ing towards lieaven. At the sight of this tiie jmag
traveller stopped short ; the tean tridcled dova Jui
cheek ; he cxdakned in a voice brokea.witii eaiotiao,
' I thank thee, my God, for permittio; 07 eyei occe
more to see these things.' He poiKd hii valk,
devouring with liis eyes all he savr. * Ah, here,' lud
he, ' is the white wall marking the temce of the
public walk where I used to plsy w joyMytah,
there is the arch of the Uttie bridge where »e hate »
often fished: Now I can see the head of the oW
lime-tree which shades the church : oolj tveotjr peeu
firther is the cotta^ in whidi I wai bora, vhg<j
grew up, where I lost my poor father, tod fte 1
hope to see my dear mother. It is not in riin I hn
laboured so long : I have that with roe which via
oomfort her old age.' As be spoke, t mmH flow
attracted his attention : it was a daisy. Be rtooped
down and gathered it, and oomnieDced pladriofW
leaflets away one after the other. 'It wai A* «
said smiling, * the day before my departure, that w^
trude gathered a daisy from the bank of the n^.w
bending her pretty faoe over the flower to conceal w
emotion my departure occasioned, she pulled ost «e
leaflets in silence, and arriving at the laitoociKW
to me in a low voice, " Adieu, Herman, 1 ahaHBertf
marry till you return;" and so saying, fled iwiT?«««
she feared having said too much. Soon shall I "«»'
litUe window with the blue curUin ! Oh thatlflB;
see my Gertrude there as I used, her eyes rfjldaf»
my return I Happy the moment when I w*J
her, " Gertrude, here is Hermsn returned, wj*"!?
his promises, as you have been to yoon. ^^*^
share the little wealth 1 have acquired: ««»*****
me in rendering my aged mother happy.'*'
Under the influence of these thoughts t» J^
workman rapidly approached bis '*»^^®*°]?*^f!
advanced, he interrogated the countensnces 01 twjtK
met, hoping to meet with friendly looks, s rcapws
of the past, or a few words of welcome, bn* *°Tr
AtUst, as he passed the gates, he saw a mtn wi*^
gravely to and fro as he smoked his pijw : »f ''*'r
toll-keeper. Herman, looking at him ckf V» W
recognised Rodolpbe, liis playfellow, bis eartieiUn^
He was on the point of rushing into his arms, ajj^
dainting, * Here I am again ! '—but the ^^J^^
coldly at him as he passed,audHfcadoudof8»«r
smoke behind him. Poor compagnon I the ^"*^
south has shone too long on thy face ; he has in»» ^
a stranger even to those who loved thee: ^T^
IViend knows thee not Hennan's *««^.2i"7^
liini, and he resumed his journey with a "^ Jl^
farther on he saw a new buihliog in coar« * ?*^
An aged man was directing the carpenters »» »^
work, and at the sight of him Herman** he«JgJJ»
rejoiced : it was his dd msster, who* *i^,Ti^!i^
ness had made him an honest man and "°"!!i"\Tw
To him he chiefly owed his success in W^ •»
I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
277
was, moreover, Gertrude's fiither. ' Ha,' said he, * if
liodolphe so soon forgets tlie faces of his flriends, my
old master will recollect me ;* and so saying, he ap*
proached him respectfully, hat in hand, and inquired
whether he could obtain work for him. The old man
looked at him a while before replying ; and Herman's
heart beat so quickly, that he could scarce conceal his
feelings. * Come to me to-morrow,' at last said the
old man ; ' I will then examine your certificates : work
is not scarce for good hands *,' and turning towards his
men, resumed his occupations. * What!' exclaimed the
poor compagnbn to himself as he turned away, * am I
to changed that my features are not recognised by my
old master? What if Gertrude herself But no, that
is impossible I She who could distinguish me in a crowd
a hundred paces off, will surely know her Herman again,
in spite of his sunburnt face : besides, if her eyes &iled
her, her heart would prompt her of my presence ! ' So
thinking, lie rapidly traversed the little town. There
was the old lime-tree, with the rustic seat beneath it ;
there the fountain, where many women were washing ;
and there stood the neat little cottage, upon which the
yoang man's eyes now became rivetted. The blue
curtain and pots of carnations were there, as they ever
had been ; and oh, joy, there sat a young woman spin-
ning ! Herman's heart bounded with joy ; he rushed
forward, and then stopped opposite the window, a few
steps only separating him from (Gertrude. He remained
immovable, so pow^ul were his emotions, and admired
the ripening of her charms which had taken place dur-
ing his absence: no longer the slender girl of fifteen,
bat a young woman in all the fhlness of her beauty ;
her whole appearance denoting strength, health, and
freshness. * How beautiful she is ! ' exclaimed Herman
in a low voice. Gertrude did not catch the words, but
the voice struck her ear; and seeing a traveller but
poorly clad with his eyes fixed on her, said to herself
with a sigh, *Poor fellow, he looks in want;' and throw-
ing him a coin with Heaven's blessing, she shut the
window, and disappeared. Alas! the sun of the south
lias too long shone on the face of the compaguon ; his
be«t friends know him not, and his beloved regards
him as a stranger I Had she remained at the window,
Gertrude must have remarked the expression of the
poignant grief Herman endured ; and her heart would
iiave divined, that under those toilworu clothes and
sunburnt face was concealed him for whose advent she
iLtd so often prayed. After long remaining on the
same spot, as if his feet were rivetted to the ground,
the compagnon tore himself away, and turned towards
his home. But how changed in appearance! That
buoyant step which, a few moments before, had trod the
ground so lightly, was now slow and heavy ; excessive
fatigue overcame liim. The weight of the bag he car-
ried— not felt before — now seemed excessive ; his head
hung down on his chest, his hopes seemed blasted, and
that native land which, a few hours since, he saluted
vr'ith such joy, now seemed indifferent to him. In vain
did the old lime-tree, with its majestic foliage, meet his
eyes ; in vain did the antique fountain, with its gro-
tosque figures, that should hare called to his mind so
many childish recollections, stand before him. He saw
nothing; his wounded heart felt nothing but sorrow.
However, he still advanced towards his home, and a
few steps only separated him from the old churchyard
wall, near which he had passed so many happy days of
boyhood, when he saw an aged woman come tottering
down the steps of the portico of the church, supported
by a stick. It was his mother returning from ofi^ing
her daily prayer for his return. * Oh, how altered is
she ! * he sorrowfully exclaimed : * how can I hope her
feeble eyes should know her child, when mine can
scarcely recognise her timewom frame ! ' But no sooner
Iiad she approaclied him, and raised her head, than she
fell into his arms, sobbing through her tears, * My son,
my beloved soul' Herman pressed her closely to his
breast, and falteringly exclaimed, * My mother, thou
at least hast not forgotten me. Years of absence, the
scorching sun, and toilsome labour, conceal me not
from jrou!'
Yes, if the sun of the south had rendered the face of
the compagnon a stranger to his dearest friends and
his beloved, but one look sufiiced to make his mother
exclaim, * My son— my Herman I God be praised that
he has restored him to me I'
The narrator here seemed to have concluded his
story, and remained lost in the emotion he had depicted.
Such a conclusion, however, did not satisfy his listeners.
' But what became of the compagnon ? ' they de-
manded.
' Oh,' said the father, recollecting himself, * he went
home with his mother, and said to her, ** Here, mother,
take wliat I have earned, and live happily the rest of
your days with your child," and to the last breath the
old woman blessed the return of her only son.' So say-
ing, he sorrowfully cast his eyes towards the comer of
the room where hung a dbtaff, surmounted by a crown
of everlasting flowers. The children followed their
father's eyes, and long maintained a respectful silence.
'80,' Frank at last suddenly exclaimed, 'Gertrude
did not love the beautiAil things he brought for her?'
* Wliy did she shut the window then?' said another
child.
* Perhaps,' added Catherine, ' she opened it again ? '
* Yes, my Catherine,' said the carpenter smiling, * she
did open it again : and it was with the compagnon and
his Gertrude that tlieir old mother passed her days,
blessing them both until she left this world for a better.'
At this moment his wife Gertrude, still in the prime of
life, entered with their homely supper.
THE ALBATBOSS.
Of all the interesting objects which present themselves
to the eye of the voyager in the southern hemisphere,
the albatross is among the most noteworthy. Apart
from its relieving the monotony of the watery expanse,
this bird, by its extraordinary characteristics, seldom
fails of exciting a lively degree of astonishment in the
spectator — for what can be thought of a bird which ap-
parently requires neither rest nor sleep ? It is perhaps
owing to this peculiarity that sailors and others have
regarded the albatross with mingled feelings of awe and
wonder : its presence was an omen, but rather of good
than evil. The weary crew of Bartholomew Diaz doubt-
less looked on the swift air-cleaving creature as an ap-
propriate scout horn the Cape of Storms, while Vasco
de Gama may have hailed it as the herald of his hope
and success. Coleridge has very happily availed him-
self of these different aspects in his * Ancient Mariner,'
where he makes the aged seaman, with * long gray beard
and glittering eye,* relate how, from out the dismal
mists —
' At length did cross an albatross.
Thorough the fog it came ;
Aa if it bad been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in Qod'a name.
It ate tbe food it ne'er had ate.
And roimd and round It flew ;
m * * *
And a good south wind ^rung up behind.
The albatross did follow.
And every day, for food or play.
Came to tbe mariner's hollo ! *
And then the disasters which ensued when
•* With bis cross-bow
He shot the albatross.'
Whatever delight might be experienced in contemplat-
ing the bird under the mysterious point of view sug-
gested by the poet, would be rather heightened than
diminished by a knowledge of its real natural character ;
and this we may obtain from that valuable and highly-
meritorious work, • The Birds of Australia,' by Mr
Gould. According to this enterprising naturalist —
* The Diomedea exuians (wandering albatross) is by far
the largest and most powerful species of its tribe ; and,
278
CHA>(BER8'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
from itt great itrength and ferocious disposition, is held
in terror by every other bird with which it is sur-
ronnded. It is even said that it will fearlessly attack
and tear out the eyes of a drowning man, a feat, from
what I hare observed of it, I can readily imagine it
would attempt It is most abundant between the 30th
and 60th degrees of south latitude, and appears to be
equally numerous in all parts of the ocean bounded by
those degrees ; and I feel assured that it is confined to no
one part, but is constantly engaged in making a cirouit
of the globe in that particular zone allotted by nature
for its habitation. The open sea is in fact its natural
home ; and this it never leaves, except for the purpose
of breeding, when it usually resorts to rocky islands the
most difficult of access.
* The powers of flight of the wandering albatross are
much greater than those of any other bird that has
come under my observation. Although, during calm or
moderate weather, it sometimes rests on the surface of
the water, it is almost constantly on the wing, and is
equally at ease while passing over the glassy surface
during the stillest calm, or sweeping, with arrow-like
swiftness, before the most furious gale ; and the way in
which it just tops the raging billows, and sweeps be-
tween the gulfy waves, has a hundred times called forth
my wonder and admiration. Although a vessel running
before the wind frequently sails more than 200 miles in
the twenty-four hours, and that for days together, still
the albatross has not the slightest difficulty in keeping
up with the ship, but also performs circles of many miles
in extent, returning again to hunt up the wake of the
vessel for any substances thrown overboard.
* Like the other species of the genus, it is nocturnal
as well as diurnal, and no bird with which I am ac-
quainted takes so little repose. It appears to be per-
petually on the wing, scanning the surface of the ocean
fur molluscs and medusro, and the other marine animals
that constitute its food. So frequently docs the bold-
ness of this species cost it its life, that hundreds arc
annually killed, without, however, its numbers being
apparently in any degree lessened. It readily seizes a
hook baited with fat of any kind; and if a boat be
lowered, its attention is immediately attracted, and
while flying round, it is easily shot' It is not surpris-
ing that a poetical imagination should have been excited
by such a subject, and Coleridge is not the only bard
who has shaped it into verse. Another writes —
* Now upon Australian teas,
>Vaf ted by the tropio broexe.
We Halute the southern oro»s,
Watch the wondrous albatross—
Circling round in orbits vast,
Pauidnff DOW above the mast.
Laving now hie snowy breast
Where the billows sloephig rct»t.
Now he skims the surface o'er.
Rising, falling evermore :
Floating high on btillc&t wing,
Now he seems a guardian thing.
Now a messenger of wrath,
Clearing swift his airy path ;
Bearing o'er the liquid plain
Warning of the hurricane.*
Mr Gould's description of the Diomedea mehmophrysy
black-cyebrowed albatross, exhibits other characteris-
tics : — * Of all the species,' he observes, * with which I am
acquainted, this is the most fearless of man, and it often
approaches many yards nearer the vessel than any
other. I have even observed it approach so near, that
the tips of its pinions were not more than two arms'
length from the tafferel. It is very easily captured with
a hook and line ; and as this operation gives not the least
pain to the bird, the point of the hook merdy taking
hold in the homy and insensible tip of the bill, I fre-
quently amused myself in capturing it in this way, and
after detaining it sufficiently long to affin^ me an oppor-
tunity for investigating any particular point respecting
which I wished to satisfy myself, setting it at liberty
•gain. I alto caught numerous ezamplei, marked, and
gave them their liberty, in order to msoertain whetlis
the individuals which were flying roimd the ship st
nightfall were the' same that were similarly oigagedat
daylight in the morning, after a night's run of 120
miles, and whic^ in nearly every instanee, proved lo be
the case.'
Angling for albatrosses is no modem art, ss appeoi
from the narrative of Sir Richard Hawkins' voysge t»
the South Sea in 1593, in which it is pretty certain tint
these birds are spoken of. * Certaine great fowies,' ss^i
the narrator, ' as bigge as swannes, soared about n,
and the winde calming, setled themsdves in tiie sea, sod
fed upon the sweepings of our ship; which I perodving,
and desirous to see of them, beomse they seemed fun
greater than in truth they were, I caused a hookt sad
line to be brought me, and with a piece of pilciiaril
bated the hooke, and a foot from it t»9d a piece of oofke,
that it might not sinke deepe, and threw it into tbe ns,
which, our ship driving with the sea, in a lititetime
was a good space from us, and one of the fbwies beeiof
hungry, presently seized upon it, and the hooke in hit
upper beake. It is like to a fauleon's biH, but that iSut
point is more crooked, in that manner, as by no mesiies
hee could cleere himselfe, except that tbe Hne brake; or
the hooke righted: plucking him towards the ship,
with the waving of his wings he eased the weight of has
body, and being brought to the steme of our sMp, two
of our company went downe by the ladder of Uie poope^
and seized on his neck and wings ; but such were the
blows he gave them with his pinnions, as both left their
hand-fast, beeing beaten blacke and bhie ; we cast a
snare about his necke, and so triced him into the dnp.
By the same manner of fishing we caught so many of
them, as refreshed and recreated all my people for that
day. Their bodies were great, but c^ Uttle flerii and
tender ; in taste answerable to the food whereon tfaer
feed. They were of two colours — some white, some
gray ; they had three joyntes in each wing ; and from
the pointe of one wing to the pointe of the other, bo^
stretched out, was above two fathoms.'
Similar instances are recorded, thongh not in lan-
guage quaint and tedious as the above, in Cook^
Voyages. The great circumnavigator's crew wete ^i
to regale themselves on albatross roast and boiled, after
having been many weeks at sea, and confined to sa2t
food. Sir James Ross, too, after stating that vhen of
the Aguilhas bank, * the gigantic albatsxMS was wbcb. m
great numbers, and many of them taken by m^ms of a
fishing-line,' remarks — * these birds added a degree ef
cheerfulness to our solitary wanderings, wbk^ ooa^
trasted strongly with the dreary and tmvarying^ stS-
ness of the tropical region.'
Most marvellous accounts have been given of fte
spread of wing of the albatross, rivalling the
roc of the < Arabian Nights.' Mr Gould took _
verify the facts. The largest specimen seen by-
measured 10 fret 1 inch from tip to tip of the outs^ntad
wings, and weighed 17 pounds. But Dr ICOoKmirk,
surgeon of the 'Erebus,' in the Antarctic ezplonaf
voyage met with one weighing 20 pounds, and IS fcci
stretch of wing. The Auckland Idands, about to be>
come the head-quarters of our southern
are a much-frequented breeding-place for the
others as yet known to naturalists are the
l8land->some lonely rocks off the southemosoat
mity of Van Diemen's Land— and the islands of
d'Acunha. While at the Aucklands, I>r
made himself acquainted with what may be
bird's domestic habits: — * The albatross,'
* during the period of incubathm, is freqnentlw
asleep with its head under its wings: its
white head and neck appearing above tiie gra
its situation at a consideraUe disteaoe oflC (M
approach of an intruder, it resolutely ddLila i
refrising to quit the nest until forced offl when ^
waddles away in an awkward manner to
tanoe, without attempting to take wing. Ha
enemy is a fierce species cllL$dru^ always
\
\
j^
11
i
C^UyO£R8*8 EDINBURGH JOURNAL*
279
for the olbatroia qoittiiig its nest, when the rapaoione
pirate imtantlj pounoea down and devours the egg.
So well is the poor bird aware of the propensity of its
foe, that it sni^ the mandibles of its beak violently
together whenever it observes the lestris flying over-
bead.'
Mr Earle, whose observations were made on the
almost inaccessible heights of Tristan d'Acunha, re-
marks :— ' The huge albatross here appeared to dread
no interioper or enemy, for their yoong were on the
ground completely uncovered, and the old ones were
stalking around them. They lay but one egg, on the
ground, where they make a kind of nest by scraping
the earth around it : the young is entirely white, and
covered with a woolly down, which is very beautiful.
As we approached, they snapped their beaks with a
very quick motion, makhig a great noise : this, and the
throwing up of the contents of the stomach, are the only
means of offbnoe and defence which they seem to possess.'
It was at one time believed that the head of the female
became of a scarlet colour while she was sitting, and
afterwards resumed its original hue. Be this as it may,
the male is very attentive to her during the time she
keeps the nest, and is constantly on the wing in search
of food, which, as before observed, consists of small
marine animals, mucilaginous zoophytes, and the spawn
of fish. When opportunity offers, however, they attack
more solid fare. Commander Hempthome relates, that
while on a voyage in 1836, in search of the lost crew of
the • Charles Eaton,' he fell in with the half-putrid car-
case of a whale, surrounded by a host of fishes and
birds, albatrosses among the latter; *and so occupied
were they, that even the approach of our boat did not
disturb them, or put them to fiigbt : many albatrosses
allowed us to attack them with our oars and the boat-
hooks, and several were consequently knocked down
and killed.' The egg of the albatross is about 4 inches
long, white, and spotted at the larger end : although
good to eat, the albumen or white does not solidify in
the boiling. The penguin is said to take possession of
tlie nests when vacated. The albatross is a constant
attendant on fishing parties, and if in low condition
from scarcity of food or other causes, soon regains its
flesh and fat, so voraciously does it devour. It is no
uncommon occurrence for one of these birds to take a
fbh of several pounds* weight into its mouth, and hav-
ing swallowed one extremity, to wait, like the boa-con-
strictor, digesting and gulping until the whole is con-
sumed. Towar<U the end of June, in anticipation of
the fishing season, albatrosses arrive in thousands on
the coasts of Kamtchatka, and are captured in great
numbers, for food and other purposes, by the natives.
With the hollow bones of the wing they make pipe-
stems, sheaths, needle-cases, and combs, the latter being
used in the preparation of flax : they also make use of
the infiated intestines as fioats for their nets.
Notwithstanding its large size, the albatross does not
appear to be a quarrelsome bird ; and when attacked by
its enemy the skua gull, it endeavours to save itself by
flight Captain Cook once saw a contest between two
of these gulls and an albatross ; the sole object of the
latter appeared to be to defend its breast and the softer
portions of its body ih>m the fierce assaults of its anta-
goniata : loss of liberty, however, is said to irritate the
bird greatly. Its voice, according to Sourrini, resembles
that of the pelican, with a cry approaching Uie bray of
an aaa. This author further observes with regard to the
flight of the albatross :~~* The manner of these birds'
flying is very astonishing ; the beating of their wings
is perceived only at the moment of taking wing, and
often they make use at the same time of their feet,
which, being webbed, enable them to rise by striking
the water. This impulse once given, they have no
longer need to beat their wings ; they keep them widely
extended, and seek their prey, balancing themselves
alternately from right to left, skimming with rapid
flight the surface c? the sea. This balancing serves
doubtless to ACGAb»rAtA thAir nnnraA. hnt it wniilil moAwn
scarcely sufllcient to support them in the air. Perhaps
an imperceptible fluttering of their feathers is the prin-
cipal cause of this extraordinary movement In tliis
respect they would require to have muscles especially
adapted, and for this reason I consider that the ana-
tomy of these birds merits the greatest attention.'
By the Grermans the albatross is named ' der wandemde
schifisvbgel' (the wandering ship-bird) ; the Dutch term
it 'Jean de Jenten;' Eoglish sailors, looking to its
bulky appearance, call it *the Cape sheep;' and with
them also the sooty albatross is *the Quaker-bird.'
There are seven species particularised by naturalists :
the technical description, however, of the Diomedea
extdans, given by Mr Gould, will apply in general terms
to the whole. * The wandering albatross,' he observes,
' varies much in colour at different ages : very old birds
are entirely white, with the exception of the pinions,
which are black ; and they are to be met with in everv
stage, from pure white, white freckled, and barred with
dark-brown, to dark chocolate-brown approaching to
black, the latter colouring being always accompanied
by a white face, which in some specimens is washed
with buff; beneath the true feathers they are abun-
dantly supplied with a fine white down; the bill is
delicate pinky -white, inclining to yellow at the tip;
irides very dark-brown ; eyelash bare, fieshy, and of a
pale -green; legs, feet, and webs, pinky -white. The
young are at first clothed in a pure white down, which
gives place to the dark-brown colouring.' The ' cautious
albatross,' as its name indicates, is very shy, seldom
approaches the land, and is not easUy captured : the
yellow-billed species, when in pursuit of its prey, will
dive and swim for several yards under water.
Mr Bennet, in his * Wanderings,' has some interest-
ing passages on the subject of the albatross. 'It is
pleasing,' he writes, * to observe this superb bird sailing
in the air in graceful and elegant movements, seemingly
excited by some invisible power, for there is scarcely
any movement of the wings seen after the first and
frequent impulses are given, when the creature elevates
itself in the air ; rising and falling as if some concealed
power guided its various motions, without any muscular
exertion of its own, and then descending, sweeps the
air close to the stem of the ship, with an independence
of manner, as if it were " monarch of all it surveyed."
It is from the very little muscular exertion used by
these birds tliat they are capable of sustaining sudi
long flights without repose. . . . When seizing on an
object floating on the water, they gradually descend
with expanded or upraised wings, or sometimes alight,
and float like a duck on the water, while devouring
their food ; then they again soar in mid-air, and recom-
mence their erratic flights. It is interesting to view
them during boisterous weather, flying with, and even
against the wind, seeming the ''gayest of the gay" in
the midst of the howling and foaming waves.' In an-
other passage, the author makes some fhrther remarks
as to this bird's powers of flight. ' I remarked,* he
says, 'that the albatross would lower 'himself even to
the water's edge, and elevate himself again without any
apparent impiflse ; nor could I observe any percussion
of the wings when the flight was directed against the
wind, but then, of course, its progress was tardy. Many,
however, have differed with me in considering that the
birds never fly " dead against the wind," but in that
manner which sailors term "close to the wind," and
thus make progress, aided by, when seemingly flying
against, the wind. This bird u evidently aided by its
long wings, as well as tail, in directing its flight ; it is
never seen to soar to any great height, and is often
observed to change its course by turning the wings and
body in a lateral direction, and oftentimes, when raising
itself, to bend the last joint of the wings downwards.'
From our extracts it is evident that for those who
possess the ' art of seeing,' a voyage across the wide
ocean is not necessarily a scene of monotonous weari-
ness : there is food for instruction and inspiration every-
wViArAf iinii liAKk. with «nmA fnrthep hnei from the
II ii - T^
^,
280
CHAMBimS^ ia>iNBUBQH JOUftKAL.
poem alreadiy aooted, we may appropriately brisg our
article to a close : —
' Oh thou wild and wondrous bird.
Viewing th«e, my thought is stirred.
Round aad round the world tho« goeat,
Ocean solitudes thou kiiowest-7
Into traokloes wastes hast flown,
Wliich no eye save thine hath known :
Evor tireles»--day or night ;
Calm or tempesl— teasotoss flight
Albatross, 1 envy fhee
Oft thy soaring pinions firee ;
For we deem tlie resims of air
Too ethereal for oare.
Gladness as of endless q;iring8
Seems to me is bom with wings.
Tliou Cflmfr rise and see the sun.
When his coursd to as is dene :
A moral here suor us engross.
Thou the teaoher^albatross I '
THB PALACE OF THE FRENCH PRESIDENT.
The Elys^e National, wluch has been appropriated as
the residence of Louis Napoleon, is an edifice which has
gone trough many <ihange8 of lAa^ters. Sitoaied in the
Rue Fauxbourg St Honor^ with a facade behind to^rards
the far-famed Champs-Elysees, it enjoys one of the most
agreeable localities in Paris. ExteniaUy it makes no
great appearance, being shut in hy a lofty wall in front;
but in internal arrangements the house is elegant, with
suites of grand apartments, common to the palaces of
France, 'Hie builder and first proprietor of the Elysce
was the wealthy Count d'Evreux, in the era of the Re-
gent, Philip of Orleans, at the beginning of the eighteenth
century. After this it became crown property, but for
no long time.
One day, in the year 1748, Madame de Pompadour
entered Louis XV.*s apartments, complaining of a dread-
ful headache. The king had made her a marchioness
and a lady-in-waiting; he had laden her with honours
and wealth. But this did not satisfy her, for unworthy
farouxites aie never eoAteut: they were the itTolutien^st^
of those days.
* Is anything the matter with you, madame ! ' inquired
the king anxiously, observing her downcast loc^s.
' Alas ! 1 hare no hotel !* replied Madame do Pompa-
dour.
* Is that all f exclaimed the sovereign ; and the same
day the H6iel d'Evreux was purchased for her : it need
havdly be added, at the king's cost. A little while after.
Madame de Pompadour was again sereiely incommoded
by a distracting headache. lilLe qiMstioss from the mo-
narch, and new complaints from the favourite.
* My h6tel is but a citizen's dwelling in comparison with
ChoisT and Trianon. Its interior is so antique and formal !
I really ieetn io exist among the ghosts of a past century.
In short, I am dying there of languor and ennui.
* Live, fiftir lady I and let your abode be the temple
of fashion.'
This was quite enoiigh for La Pompadour, who, being a
connoisseur in painting, sent next day for Boudier and
V&nloo, and installed them in the H6tel d'Kvreux. The
ceilihgs and panels were quickly peopled with rosy Cupids
playing amid shepherds and shepherdesses : the eilt cor-
nices were .wreathed in flowers. The talents or the ar-
chitect* L'Asturance, were also put into requisition, and
the building greatly enkiiged. Once more Uu king's
pui^e was obliged to meet aU the consequent demai^
for these improvements. L' Assurance, being his con-
troller, took care to exercise no control whatever over the
whims of the favourite. From thenceforth Madame de
Pompadour held her court at the H^tel d'Evreux. Courtly
cqcupages began io crowd around it : balls and petiUh
«M^«r«ieaiifmed itshaUs.
On one o9casion the queen of the place assumed the
part, of an acti:ess» azul iJier r«;b«ar slag. her part with the
Dukes de Chartres aud I)uras, and Madames de Brancas
and d*Estrade6, in her own saloon, they all set o^in great
style, and perfoimed a liUk piece in the king% cdbinct
of medals. Another day, Cr^iUon,VeItaira»uul*Uf'^'-
beau^-etprUa who sported oo the brink of a ToleaDA,
gathered around the maiqoise, to whom tiiey adA> ^
epignuns and maddgals. Voltaire, whoee paw c£ T^vst
concealed a tearing claw, combined the madrigal attd ike
epigram in ibe following renei :^
Que teus Toa Joan aolent marqn^ par dee fftoe;
i^ana danoareaux iiioete marquwl «eiix de Loola
Vivea tous deux sans ennemie i
£t gardez toua deux tqb conquHea.
Madame de Pompadour felt only the velvei ; but the
king felt the claw ; and Voltaire became an exile, and
lost his office of gentleman of the beddmntber. Ftam
that day forth the eai-like geniiu of VoUaire aemkhed
those whom he had hitlkeEto caressed : so eaagr is the
transition from a flatterer to a ibe !
But who is this other original who appean at the Hatd
d'Evreux t He is young and handsome, or at leMJhe
appears to be so, for his age is a problem. He pretaads
to have existed during the days «f the .PrmmU, which
would make him a centenarian. His friemds dr^ — **-*
he has found the Philosopher's Stone ; that
his youth when he pleasies ; that he can
the present, and the future. The fact is,
is unknown ; and so is his fortune. His wealth seema to
be unbounded and exhaustless : his pro^gality ie earned
to excess : he speaks every language, undentaada ermy
science, cultivates every art ; his wit is so lively, his
eloquence so full of o^ivation, that he is able ta make
falsehood assume the air of truth : bis whole life ia, ia
fact, but a fable in action. Some people regard ham asa
demi-godt some take him for a devil ; one aflirma ibat
he is a sorcerer, another that he is a oiagnctiseE^ It
may easily be conceived that he becomes an idol in the
frivolous and wonder-loving court of Louis XV. ; not ii
it less to be expected that La Pompadour eboald attact
him to her magic circle. There he
sensation as at VersMllefl. One day the king
purposely for the sake of having a private
with him. He interrogates him closely, hoping to
from him his secret: but all in vain. The Pre
escapes through a thousand windings, and chmnnM Loaii
XV. without betraying himself to him. This wondn&W
this inexplicable man, was the famous Count de S4 Ocr>
main.
Another day the favourite expresses her sueptciaD that
the diamonds he wears are all false. Just at that aao-
ment ho enters her saloon, spi^kling firom bead to foot.
His lace ruffles are fastened wiUi rubies ; bit fingcss
I
covered with rings; his shoe-buckles are valaed at adO^M
livres. Madame de Pompadour, quite dazxled bj tbk
sparkling magnifloence, asks if he is not afraid of
so much wealth by wearing it about his person. Si
guesses the suspicion, and answers it by taking oitt ef bii
pocket a box. This box is full of jeweU. Tke oeaat
intreats of Madame du Hauaset (the favoniite's
compagnie) to accept a small diamond crocs. At
she is prevailed on to do so. It is iramodiatdj ai
the court jeweller, who values it at abttndred louia.
afterwards this strange peimmage disappean. His
from the fashionable world is as mysteHoue ae had
his §ntre« into it.
On Madame de Pompadour's death, the Hotel 4'Ei
reverted to Louis XV., and became first the reeidcB
ambassadors extraordinary, and was aderwazda
the wardrobe of the crown, until in 1773, when it aw
purchased by Monsieur de Beai^jon. M. de BesM^iamiHm
the Croesus of that time^ but a Ccoesua who davotod btt
wealth to the encouragem^it of art, and to the smcat
the indigent. The H4tel d'Evreux became in lua 1
a depository of all that was choice and beaatif nl m
fine-arts. The marbles of Tassant, of Guyard, ^
the tM>estrie8 of. the Gobelins; the paintings
of Kubens, Tenieni, Poussin, Outdo, MuiiUo, &e.
innumerable articles of virtu, were to be foiuidl ■» tti
saloons; and in one of ,the alcoves wae pboed * lam^
mirror, so situated as to reflect the Chanf»*£l jaeaa at m
a beautiful landjic%pe.
OHAMBBRS'B BDINBURGH JOURNAL.
281
M. de Bfltujon died in peaM at kit ohwmiD| hotel ;
but he had prtriously sold it to Louia XVI. Thia pnnoe
pacied with it to Madame de Bourbou, the Prinoen de
Lamballe'e friend. Brief, however, was this lady's en-
joyment of her diarmiBg residence. The Revolittion ap-
proaehed, and she fled from France: so it passed into the
hands of a certain Sieur HoTyn, who niade H a place of
public amusement, and all Paris danced, and played, and
sang within its precincts, as they did at a later time at
TiToli.
One day these noisy saietics were disturbed by sounds
of a sadder and yet ruder nature. On the Place Louis
XV., now become the Place de la lUfolution, large
bodies of troops were astemUed ; cries of sarage fViry
•diced on eveiy side; one reice of peace alone uttered its
gentk tones, *Son of St Loais, ascend to Heaven!'
ThMi came shouts of 'Vite la R^pvbliqve 1 ' It wat
Levis XVL, who had been immolated on tho altar of
Tenor. Unhappily, for a time such scenes were but too
common in Paris : every heart was filled with either
cage or terror, and the voice of joy was no longer heojd
among the people. There was neither music nor dancing
at the H6tel d*Evieux.
AAer niermidor, however, it was re -opened to the
public by some speculators^ who had pur<m8ed it of the
nation. In the time of the Directory and Consulate, the
walta and the quadrille flourished withiu its princ^y
walls. Every victory of Bonaparte'ii was celebrated at the
hamlet of Chantilly, for so was the newly-opened gar-
den now called. But the Empire approaches, raising up
some crowns, and oreating others. In 1805, a handsome
hussar becomes the purchaser of L'Elysce. He enters it
on hoiseback, orders it to be repaired and richly deco-
rated; and beneath the influence of his magic wand it
quickly becomes once mora a palace. That waod, unfor-
tunately, 18 a tabre, and it is not swayed by the hand of
taste. Luxury reappears, without elegance : the graceful
fancies of Pompadour and of BeaUjon are replaced b^ the
heavy splendour of the Empire : the grand saloon alone
is spared by the now master. This new master is Joachim
Karat.
Madame Murat — the beautiful Marie Bonaparte — cele-
brated the victories of her husband and her brother by
bnlHaat fdtes at the Elysee. It was there that she re-
ceived the bulletins of Austerlitz and Jena; it was there
she received the tidings of her being the queen of Naples.
She resigned herself to her fate, and without a sigh,
abandoned her Parinian hotel for the Neapolitan throne.
L'Elysee, now restored to the domain of the crown,
soon saw beneath its roof a little spare man, of lively
disposition, and yet brusque and pensive by nature.
With booted spurs, and his hand wrapped within his gray
capoU, he paced up and down its shady walks. This little
man was the Emperor Napoleon. L'Elysee was a favou-
rite residence of his, and he often dwelt there. There
was but one thing he regretted in the garden — a straight
and well -covered avenue, where he could walk on, en-
ffrosaed in his own thoughts, without looking bdbre him.
These were some of his happiest days. He nad still his
guardian angel by his side — his Josephine. L'Elvs^e was
for a long while theb paradise. But a day came m which
Josephine entered it alone bathed in tears. She was no
longer empress, but it was not for this she wept: it was
for the loAt love of her husband, who cost her off* with the
hope of obtaining from another consort the long- desired
heir to his vast dominions. In her retreat at L'Elys^,
Josephine was consoled by the tender affection of her
daughter, the Quoen Hortense, and a few ^ends who
clung to her in the hour of her adverse fortune.
In 1814, Napoleon quitted both L'Elysee and France.
Another emperor, victorious in his turn, entered his cabl-
nety and exclaimed aloud, *How many gigantic enter-
itises have been concoived in this unpretending apart-
luent! And how wonderful was that intellect which
coold at once direct so many plans!* This emperor was
Alexander of Russia. The fbllowing year Napoleon re-
appeared for a moment at L'Elys6e. It was there that, on
the 22d of June 1815, the Eagle, wounded at Waterloo,
the name of all Europe, and, by a stem necessity, cast
upon the far-off rock of St Helena.
Inhabited under the Restoration by the Duke de Berri
until his m\irder by Louvel, then by the Infant Don
Miguel, and by the king of Naples: appropriated during
Louis- Philippe's oeign to the use of divers illustrious
visitors, amongst whom were Ibrahim Pacha, the Bey
of Tunis, and the Infanta of Spain, L'Elys^ Bourbon
was at length reserved as a dowry-palace for the Queen
Marie -Amelia, in the contemplated possibility of her
widowhood; but its future hostess having been obliged,
like some of its former owtteis, to fly from her country,
its portals were opened to a new master in December 1 848,
when, under the name of L'Elysee National, it became
the residence of the President of the Republic — of anephew
of that Emperor who had said on leavmg that veiy palace
thirty-three years before, ' It is only with my name that
France can hope to become free, happy, and indepen-
dent.' Sudi hare been the fortunes of L'Elysee National!
Who can presume to ssy what destiny may yet be in
store for it I
JUV£N1LE CUIME AND DESTITUTION.
TnK intrease of juvenile delinqilency has become alarm-
ing. The criminal statistics of the country show that
one-eightli of the offences which occupy our courts of
justice are committed by mere children, and one-fourth
by transgressors under twenty years of age. Tl^ de-
predations daily and daringly committed, especially in
towns, and the destitution continually exhibited by
crowds of young persons, have, during the current year,
caused the public to manifest a very general anxiety to
inquire into causes of so great and augmenting an evil.
The inquiry cannot proceed far without eliciting the
mourni^it ^ct, that the mode of dealing with crime in
its earlier stages is not only seriously defective, but
tends to foster and increase rather than to diminish it.
Not hundreds, but thousands, of -children are daily seen
in London^ and in every other large town, without the
means of moral or intellectual culture, except that
which has recently been provided by private benevo-
lence. Abandoned by their parents, unrestrained, un-
cared-for by tlie law ; hungry, and without food ; cold,
without clothing; weary, and without whereon to lay
their heads; existuig amidst every kind of suffering, and
consequently influenced by the strongest temptations,
they embrace crime as the eoly means of escape from
want. Then, and not till then, does the law conde-
scend to notice them ; not to succour or reform, but
to punish.
In this respect we are imme^urably behind the legis-
latures of other countries, not only modem» but ancient
The laws of Greece placed children of tender years in
a state of pupilage, and made their teachers and pns.
tars responslltle for their conduct. Orphans who had no
natural protectors were apportioned to * patrons,* who
were charged with, and made accountable for, their
wellbeing. In modem France, and in other continental
countries, children under sixteen years of age are not
held resiHMisible fur the crimes they may commit, but
their parents are; and if they hate no parents, tlie
state provides for them Sn its own fashion. The sixty-
sixth article of tlie French penal code stands in English
thus ;—
* Wlien the accused shall be under sixteen years of
age, if it has been decided that he has acted without
discernment, he shall be acquitted; but he must be,
aooordtng to cirenmstAnces, tetdmed to his parents, or
sent to a H<mfle of Correction, there to be " brought up "
(^/enf), and detained during such a number of years as
282
CHAMBERS'S fiDtNBtTBGH JOtTRKAL.
extend beyond the time when the acciued shall hsre
attained his twentieth year.*
By another article of the same code (the 67th), all chil-
dren found by the authorities who have neither parents
nor homes are taken to the House o^Correction : nor is
this plan confined to Pranoe. The boldly-benerotent
sheriff of Aberdeen, imitating this law, formed hia most
efficient school, by causing all the destitute and Mend-
less children in the bounds of his jurisdiction to be
* taken up' and housed in his miscellaneous but admir-
able academy. The law of France, by this sort of pro-
C(idure» exercises a protective influence over the friend-
less and forlorn. The law of England, on the oontrary,
only condesoenda to notice children when they have
become criminals. Here the ' eye of the law ' is shut
against neglected and wretched outcasts from tainted
homes, or the offspring of vicious parents ; but opens
them wide, and darts its fiery glare, to bring these
young victims to punishment, when they have com-
mitted crimes for which, as we shall presently prove,
they ought scarcely to be held accountable. The
sternest moralist will not deny that in a migority of
cases offenders under, say fourteen years of age, ought
not to be deemed criminals in the ordinary sense of the
term — that is to say, as offenders who, having acquired
A knowledge of the duties of civilised life, have violated
them: the fact being, that the very possibility of acquir-
ing such knowledge the law denies ; whilst, on the other
hand, every incentive and temptation to dishonesty is
working within them. These wretched young creatures
are either homeless orphans, committing petty thefts
to keep life in them, or the offspring of infamous parents,
who urge them to pilfer, as a means of support in their
own profligacy, or are hired and taught by practised
ruffian employers to plunder for their benefit How,
then, can a child of tender years, for whom the legis-
lature haa provided no means of instruction, religious or
moral, who has been sent out by his parents to beg or
steal—caressed when successful, and punished when
unlucky ; or, more frequently, a being who has been cast
loose upon the world, without a friend in it — form any
just notion of his duties to society ? Yet, because he
has not done so, the law, when it detects him in the
consequences of such ignorance, sends him to the tread-
mill or to jaiL And even there our criminal code
affords no means of reformation, nor always of employ-
ment i ♦ while, on the contrary, every sort of instruction
in depravity, and every means of acquiring proficiency
in thieving, are supplied by his prison associates.
* Prisons,' says the chaplain of the Pentonville Prison
in the last report from that establishment, * as they are
throughout the country, generally speaking, are schools
in which everything wicked, deceitful, impious, and
abominable is practised, taught, and propagated at a
great expense of public money and public morals.'
To illustrate vividly the condition of the juvenile
criminal, the bearing the law has upon his career and
ultimate destiny, and, finally, to render intelligible the
best remedies it is in the power of the couatry to apply
to this worst of social diseases, it is only necessary to
trace the private history of at least one-half of the
unfortunate young beings who now infest our streets.
Before us lie two documents, fVom which it is easy to
glean tlie birth and parentage of a vast number of these
wretched young creatures. The first is the Report of
the Parkhurst Prison, and the second that of the Phi-
lanthropic Institution for the Kefornaation of Juvenile
L
♦ No lesa than ftJ per cent, of our priBonere are unemployed,
acoordint to the last Heport of the Inspectors of PriwM.
Ofibnders ; both for the year 1848. AgsiMt tke Utta
of ' admissions ' into the latter establishment are plaeed
short notes of the antecedents of the boys admitted
during the year. The most frequently-recurring entria
against the initials of those inmates who have been con- '
rioted more than once are snch as : — *■ Father dead;
mother remarried ; deserted by his firieoda.' * TttZDed
out ti doors by a atepfather.' * Illegitimato ; Cutfacr ,
unknown.* * Father of dissolute habits ; desCTted Im '
wife.* * An orphan, both parents dead ;' or * Ptoenti
unknown,' occurs frequently. * Mother dead, fisHur
remarried, and turned out of doors,' and * Utteri/
friendless,' are also repeated in several instancw.
* Mother separated from her husband : she is of dnuikeo
habits : the boy led into evil by discomforta of bont:'
* Father of drunken habits,* are oocaaiofwl estrica
Those boys who were admitted into the school opoo ooe ^
conviction only, seem, in a majority of instanoes, to have
been led away by evil companions. We select the fol-
lowing from this category as examples : — * The parents
poor ; father in bad health.' * Father dead ; rootbar re- |
spectable.* * Enticed to theft by bad companioosi,' &c
Imagine the life (^ a young outcast beloagiag to the I
first class of the cases above cited. Hts earliest endea- i
vours may be towards honest employment. This ht
seeks far and near — day after day — till, worn out with
fruitless solicitation, and nearly starved, he takes to
begging. With any charity - money he may obtaia
he abates the pangs of hunger. In the casual wards
of workhouses, to which the young wanderer is often
driven for a night's rest, he haa to associate with
practised depredators ;* but when more succesaffal, bis
sleeping companions in the low lodging-houses we
have previously adverted to in this Journal are cfaiefij
young thieves, whose occasional affluence he envies.
He does not see their more frequent {nivationi, be-
cause at these places of meeting no one can appes
who haa not been able to get money, the pronp:
payment of the admission fee being indispensabk
He has no moral principles to fortify him agaibtt
the jaunty, clever, convincing persuasions of his bew
friends. They seem, so far as he can judge, happy,
and even joyous, which, to his perceptions, speak sot
only of sufficient for subsistence, but of snpetfiaitj.
He contrasts his own condition and hopeless despocd-
ency with their evanescent happiness, and longs to ac-
quire such depraved knowledge as will enable him t?
increase his quantum of food, and put him on a par
with his neighbours. In short, he soon becomes a tkkf
— not an occasional depredator, driven to dishonesty br
the urgent demands of nature, but a regular, practised,
professional pilferer. Fraud is his trade ; ai^ aa ifc b ,
by no means an easy one, he takes very gieat
and runs great risks, to learn it When he has bem |i
* lucky,' his gains are to him great, and he spends
in a way which debauches him still more, but whicfe. |
for the time, afibrds him a sort of enjoyment There sa^
however, long intervals between these saturnalia ; sai I
the want and misery he experiences meantime mrc sks?;
and severe. But they teach hira no lesson, for wife '
liim it is ' either a hunger or a burst ;* and wben pfeefy
comes, past privation is drowned in present enjoymait
But this is a bright view of a juvenile onteasi't
career. A specimen of the miseries he has to codvt
was afibrded by Lord Ashley in his speech on the re-
formation of juvenile offenders in the Hooae of Oat-
mons towards the end of last session. His lordsbip vai
anxious to ascertain from personal inspection vhat
the actual condition of those persons ; and be
in company with two or three others, perambnlal
city of London. He found these persons Ijiq^
* Lord Adbley stated in the Boose of Ooormn— > tkM ^
thicvee he once met, 42 confessed that it wu to <
they traced t:.e •onunenccmcnt of their criincs.
- --t
GHAMBEBS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
283
dry arches^ on the tteps of doors, and in outhonies ; bnt
by (at the mtgority of them lying in the dry arches of
houses in course of erection. Those arches were quite
inaccessible in any ordinary way, being blocked up with
masonry; and the only mode of ascertaining whether
any one was inside, was by thrusting in a lantern.
When lanterns were thrust in, however, a great many
were discovered, of whom he caused 33 to undergo an
examination. Their ages varied from twelve to eighteen.
Of those, 24 had no parents, 6 had one parent, and 3
had stepmothers ; 9 had no shoes ; 12 had boon once in
prison, 3 four times, 1 eight times ; and I, only four-
teen ^ears of age, had been twelve times in prison I The
physical condition of those children was melancholy
beyond belief The whole of them, without exception,
were the prey of vermin, a large proportion were
covered with itch, a few of them were suffering sick-
ness, and in two or three days afterwards died firom
exhaustion. Of these 83 he had himself privately exa-
mined some eight or ten ; and from the way in which
their answers were given, he was certain that they told
the truth. He asked them how often they had slept in
a bed during the last three years. One of them said,
• Perhaps as many as twelve times in the three years ;'
another, three times; and another said that he could
not remember that he had ever slept in a bed. He then
asked them how they passed the time in winter, and
whether th^ did not suffer fVom the cold. They re-
plied that they lay eight or ten together in these cel-
lars, in order to keep themselves warm. They fairly
confessed that they had no other means of subsistence
than begging or stealing, and that the only mode by
which they could * turn a penny,' as they termed it, in
a legitimate way, was by picking up bones, and selling
them to marine-store dealers. Let it be observed that
a large proportion of those young persons were at the
most dangerous age for society ; many of them were
from sixteen to two or three-and-twenty, which was by
far the moat perilous age for every purpose of fraud, and
certainly of violence.
A well-authenticated anecdote gives an even more
powerful illustration of the excessive wretchedness to
which young persons without friends or protectors are,
in thousands and tens of thousands, reduced. The
master of a Ragged School having occasion to lecture a
boy of this class, pointed out to him the consequences
of a perseverance in the career of crime he was pur-
suing; and to enforce his precepts the stronger, painted
in strong colours the punishments he was earning in
this life, and the torments in that to come. *Well,*
said the boy, * I don't think it can be worse than the
torments in this life.'
It is melancholy to know that it is chiefly the no-
vices in crime who have to endure the sharpest priva-
tions and miseries. As youths grow more dexterous in
their illicit calling, they have, as a matter of course,
letter success. In lodging-houses and casual wards
they learn the elements of their illicit vocation ; and it
is not till they have passed a few months in one of our
prisons that their education in crime is complete. De-
spite the • silent-system,' and the palatial accommoda-
tion of our modem prisons, detention in them is still pro-
ductive of the worst results. Although, by a recent
act, the power of summary conviction has been much
extended to police magistrates, so as to obviate the
evil of long detention, other and greater evils, which
need not be specified here, have sprung up. To show
what efficient instruction in infamy those already pre-
pared to receive its lessons is afforded in prisons, we
need only instance a fact, related in the PentonviUe
Prison Report by the chaplain, relative to a child of
decent parentage, and not, as one may suppose, so open
as many to bad impressions : — * A very young boy, seven
years of age, was brought In, charged, in company with
other two boys somewhat older, with stealing some iron-
piping from the street. The little fellow^it was the
first time he had ever been in such a place — cried
bitterly all the aflemoon of the Saturday ; but by the
Monday rooming, the exhortations of his companions,
and their sneers at his softness, had reconciled him to
his situation; and the eldest of the three was teaching
him to pick pockets, practising his skill on almost all
the other prisoners. His mother came to see him in
the forenoon, and tlie boy was again overwhelmed with
grief. Again his oompanions jeered him, calling him
by certain opprobrious epithets in use amongst such
characters, and in a short time the boy was pacified,
and romping merrily with his associates.
In the same report we find the following account
given by a thoroughly-reformed prisoner, who spoke
from what he had himself witnessed : — * In the assize-
yard there was a considerable number of what are
called first-offenders, nine or ten including myself, the
remainder forming an overwhelming majority ; two df
them murderers, ^th of whom were subsequently con-
demned to death. I cannot reflect without pain on the
reckless conduct of these two unhappy men during
the few weeks I was with them. As regarded them-
selves, they appeared indifferent to the probable result
of their coming trial. They even went so far as to have
a mock trial in tbe day-room, when, one of the prisoners
sitting as judge, some others acting as witnesses, and
others as counsel, all the proceedings of the court of
justice were gone through, the sentence pronounced,
and mockingly carried into execution. I shall not soon
forget that day when one of these murderers was placed
in the cell amongst us, beneath the assize*court, a few
moments after the doom of death had been passed upon
him. Prisoners on these occasions eagerly inquire,
" What is the sentence?" Coolly pointing the forefinger
of his right hand to his neck, he said, '* I am to hang."
He then broke into a fit of cursing the judge, and
mimickod the manner in which he had delivered tlie
sentence. The length of his trial was then discussed :
all the circumstances that had been elicited during its
progress were detailed and dwelt upon : the crowded
state of the court, the eagerness of the individuals
present to get a sight of him, the grand speech of his
counsel — all were elements that seemed to have greatly
gratified his vanity, and to have drugged him into a
forgetfulness of the bitterness of his doom. He then
dwelt upon the speech he should make on the scaffold ;
was sure there would be an immense concourse of people
at his execution, as it was a holiday-week ; and from
these and numerous other considerations, drew nourish-
ment to that vanity and love of distinction which had
in no small degree determined perhaps the commission
of his crime. To minds in the depths of ignorance, and
already contaminated by vicious and criminal courses
of life, such a man becomes an object of admiration.
They obtain from him some slight memorial — such as a
lock of his hair, or some small part of his dress — which
they cherish with a sentiment for which veneration is
the most appropriate term ; while the notoriety he has
obtained may incite them to the perpetration of some
act eqimlly atrocious.'
Mr Cloy of the Manchester Jail also reports that
there the prisoners form themselves into regular judge*
and-jury societies, and go through the whole form of a
triil and conviction. They also practise stealing from
one another — less for the misappropriation of the articles
stolen, than for acquiring proficiency in the art of pick-
ing pockets, and other degrading and immoral arts.
A constant supply of masters in the arts of dis-
honesty is kept up by the system of short imprison-
ment The author of * Old-Bailey Experience' says
that thieves regard not imprisonment if it be only for
a short time. Indeed, in the winter-time, they rather
prefer it to liberty ; for in jail they can insure protec-
tion from the inclemencies of that season: but even at
other times, so ductile is nature to circumstances, that
these men think themselves fortunate if, out of twelve,
they can have four months' • ron,* as they call it. * I
have no hesitation in afilrroing,* says the above-quoted
author, ' that they would continue to go the same round
of imprisonment and crime for an unlimited period if
284
CHA3f BERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. '
the duration of life and their sentences afforded them
the opportunity. I knew one man who was allowed a
iuurse of seventeen imprisonments and other punish-
ments before his career of crime was stopped by
transportation.' In each of these imprisonments, tliis
practised ruffian mixed with the youngest prisoners,
and doubtless imparted to them lessons in crime which
made them ten times worse after they had left than
before they entered the prison.
Although numbers of these uuttiendedjMriahs of both
sexes die in their probation, yet some, by dint of depre-
dation and subsistence at the public expense in iail,
grow up to adolescence. Let us hear, in concluding
this miserable history, Lord Ashley's experience of the
grown*up tliief : — * Last year he received a paper signed
by 150 of the most notorious thieves in London, asking
him to meet them at some place in the Minories, and to
give them the best counsel he could as to the mode in
which they should extricate themselves from their diffi-
cult position. Lord Ashley went to their appointment,
and Instead of 150, he found 250 thieves assembled.
They made no secret of tlieir mode of life. A number
of addresses were delivered, and he proceeded to exa-
mine them. Tliey said, ** We are tired to death of the
lif<3 we lead — we are beset by every misery — our lives
are a burthen to us, fbr we never know from sunrise to
sunset whetlier we shall have a full meal or any meal
at all : can you give us any counsel as to how we may
extricate ourselves from our present difficulties?" He
told them that tliat was a most difficult question to
determine under any circumstances in the present day,
when competition was so great, and when no situation
became vacant but there were at least three applicants
for it ; more especially was it difficult to determine
when men whose characters were tainted came in com-
jK'tition with others upon whose character there was no
stain. To that they replied, ** What you say js most
true : we have tried to get honest employment, but we
cannot — we find that our tainted character meets us
everywhere." In their effijrts to escape from their
miserable condition, these poor creatures were con-
stantly foiled, and driven back to their old courses.*
Tlius it is tliat an action and reaction are continually
kept up ; and front this short sketch it may be readily
seen how crime, and especially that of young persons,
increases, and will increase, until some comprehensive
remedy is earnestly applied. We repeat, that in our
present official system no machinery exists for helping
tlie helpless : the iron hand of the law does not hold
out the tip of its little finger to aid the orphan out of
the gulf of ignorance and crime whicli yawns for him
at the very tlireshuld of his existence. Tiiis is tlie root
of the evil — the radical defect in our system ; for it has
been ascertained that not one in fifty ever becomes a
depredator after the age of twenty. Crime, therefore,
can only be checked by removing pollution from its
source.
Before we take a glance at the beneficial efforts
towards this result which have been macle by private
benevolence, by means of Ragged Schoob, and other re-
formatory establishments, we nmst point out one more
trait of tlie infirmity of the law, by showing the enor-
mous expense to wliich the country is put by keeping
the cumbrous and clumsy legal machinery in operation.
A child indicted for a petty theft is often honoured
with as lengthy an indictment, occupies as much of the
time of a grand jury, and when brought into court, has
as great on array of witnesses brought against him — all
involving draughts on the county rates — as a Capital
offender. A petition was presented to parliament last
year by the Liverpool magistrates on. this subject, in
which Mr Kushton gave the criminal biography of four-
teen lads, whose career of wickedness and misery had
Goet, in their innumerable trials and convictions, about
L.100 a-piece. This is only a single instance; but a
more comprehensive calculation shows that the total
amount we pay for punishing, or, more correcily, for
fostering crime, is two millions per annum ; and it luu
be^n computed that from two to three millions moie
are lost in plunder. In the year 1846, the cost of each
prisoner in England and Wales averaged L.26, 17s. 7|d.
Laying aside the higher aspects in which the duties
of the community towards tiieir misgnided and Defected
fellow'beings may be seen, and lawenng oar view to
the merely fiscal expediency of the question, it is easily
shown that prevention — and reformation when preven-
tion is past hope — would be much cheaper than the
mischievous cure which is now attempted. At frotn
one penny to twopence a week, nearly 10,000 cbildi«i
are at this time being taught reading and writini^ in
the Ragged Schools : and although reading and writing
are by no means, of themselves preventives to crime,
yet the moral inst^ruction which is given along with
them to a certain extent is. Then as to reformatioo,
the Philanthropic School reforms juvenile offenders at
L.16 per head; and even if we add this som to tix
L.26 odds which the conviction of each prisoner is said
to cost (for reformation can only be complete after
punishment), there wotild be a great saving to the
country j for the reformed youth would be withdrawn
from the ranks of depredators, and cease to be a borthen
on the country.
In endeavouring, however, to provide fbr destitnte
criminal juvenality, the danger presents itself of pUunng
them in a better position than the offd]^uig of poor but
honest parents, who have no such advantages lor tlieir
children. From tlie absolute necessity of the case we
could get over this: but there is another and mote
peremptory objection. Anything like a who^ale
sweeping-up of juvenile vagrants, and providing fiir
them, no matter hoW^, would most probably tend to a
demoralisation of the lower class of parents, who would
be on))^ too thatikful to get rid of their ofi^priog oq any
terms. Plans of tliis nature must inevitably be accsKn-
panied by an enforcement of parental respoosib3i|y.
The wretch who neglects his child, must be taiigbt;
even if by the whip to his back, that he has no ri^ or
title to turn over his duties to the pfailanthropist or to
the public.
Another difficulty presents itself even after the re-
formation of the more hardened ofienders has bees
effected. How are they to find employment ? The 250
depredators who told Lord Ashley that thej could nol
get honest employment, only mentioned ite case of
every one of their crime-fellows. Some manage to ob-
tain an honest livelihood by concealing their past his-
tory, but even in such a case the ' authorities ' do not
always leave them alone. One young man told Lord
Ashley that he had contrived to get a gpod sitaatiMi,
and after some trial, his employer was as veil pleased
with him as he was with his employer. One day, Imw-
ever, there came a policeman, who said to his mister,
' Are you aware that you are employing a convicted
felon ? ' . The master, upon ascertaining that snch^vsa
the case, turned the young man at once oat of his kt-
vice, and he had no alternative but starvation or a re-
currence to the evil courses from which he had so nearly
extricated himself.
In such cases emigration meets the diflietdty, aal
has hitherto succeeded. Several batches of reforaed
juvenile criminals have already been sent out from
Parkhurst Prison, from the Phihinthropic S^hxiI, aad
other reformatories, and the emigrants have, npoa the
whole, given satisfaction to the employers.
We have laid the evil bare before our readen, sd2
hinted at remedies, not more for the importanee ^ Ae
facts set forth, tiian to prepare them far m
we shall next attempt of the interesting
now being tr^ed bv the Philanthropic Socie^ afe
Farm-School at Red Hill in Surr^. Ha oljest hm
been to see how far a modification of Ite Mettr^ ivt*
tem is likely to answer in this country, ne Tosw
which have arisen up to this time are of the iMll
encouraging nature. What we saw dmiAg oor ik&
has led us to hope that at least a beghmisg has ^
made towards removing much of the tt^poia widdi
1
^
CHAMJ^SBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
285
Xn Great Britain for Buffering the exiatenoe, and
wing the increase, of more crime and destitntion
among persons of tender years than exists in any other
country.
. ,
THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.
Lbttebs of introdaction are like lottery-tickets, turn-
ing out sometimes a blank, and sometimes a prize, just
as accident directs. It has frequently happened, how-
ever, that those presented at the wrong address have
been tiie most fortunate. We know of at least one
instance in which a gentleman came by a wife in con-
sequence of a blunder of this kind ; and another occurred
recently in the place in which we write, ' killing two
birds with one stone' — that is, the letter-bearer making
two acquaintances instead of one — by a series of odd
and perplexing centre- temps.
The missive in question was given to an Englisli
gentleman in London, who was about to indulge his
wife and liimself with a trip to Edinburgh. The writer
was Uie brother-in-law of the individual to whom it was
addressed — Air Archibald ; and the fortunate possessor
wns a certain Mr Smith, of the Smiths of Middlesex.
Soon after Mr Smith reached Edinbiirgh, where he
had not a single acquaintance, he set out to deliver his
letter of iotroduetion. He found his way to Druromond
Place easily enough, and then, inquired for the street
he was in search of— Duncan Street ; but the native he
applied to could not well make out his southron tongue,
and directed him instead to Dublin Street, which all
men know is at the opposite angle of the Place. When
our letter- bearer reached his number, he was surprised
to find, instead of the respectable * main-door' he had
been taught to expeot — a green-grocer's shop. He was
puzzled : but after comparing carefully the number of the
IiQUQQ an^ of the note, he concluded that his London
friend had made a mistake; and in this idea he was
confirmed by the green-grocer, to whom he applied.
• Hopt, iiir,' said the roan of cabbages, * it's nae mis-
take to speak 0* — it's just ae side of the street for the
itber;* and pointing to a house almost immediately
opposite, he informed him that there Mr Archibald re-
sided. Mr Smith crossed over to the number indicated,
and Onding no knocker — for we do not like noise in
Edinburgh — pulled the belL
*Is Mr Archibald at home?' demanded he of the
serving-maiden who came to the door.
• Yes, sir.*
•Can I see him?'
* He's no in. sir.'
* No in ! Will you direct me to hia office ?*
* He has nae Qf&ce.*
• No ! What does he do ? Where does he go? '
* He aye gangs to tlie kirk.'
• To the kirk I What is he ? '
• He's a minister.'
JVIr Smith was puzzled again. He had a strong im-
pression tliat his man was a merchant — nay, he had
even some floating idea that he was a wine-mordiant :
but still — here were the street and the name, and
not a particularly common name — a conjunction which
formed a stubborn fact. He asked if he could see Mrs
Archibald, and was at once shown into that lady's pre-
scoce. Mrs Archibald received him with the case and
p{>litcne8s of one accustomed to the viaits of strangers,
and on. being told that he had a letter of introduction
for her husband, entered freely into conversation.
* I saw Mr Archibald's last communication to my
friend in London,' said Mr Smith, determined to fed
his way : * it was on the subject of schools.'
' That is a subject in whlcli Mr Archibald is much
interested, and so likewise am L*
' He mentioned, more especially, Mrs So-and-ao's
school in George Street'
» Doubtless.*
' Then you are more nearly concerned in that achool
than in anv other.'
' It.is natural that we should be so, for our children
are there.'
* I thought so !•
There was now no longer any doubt that Mr Smith
had hit upon the right Mr Archibald; and taking
the letter of introduction from his pocket, he handed
it to the lady, politely extricating it, before doing so,
from its envelop. Mrs Archibald read the letter
calmly, and then laid it upon the table without re-
mark. This disturbed in some degree the good
opinion the stranger had been rapidly forming of the
lady ; and the odd circumstance of her omitting to in-
quire after her own nearest blood-relations threw him
into a train of philosophical reflections. Mr Smith —
like all the rest of the Smiths — kept a journal ; and a
vision of a * mem.' flitted before him : * Curious Na-
tional Characteristic — Scotch women civil, polite, kindlv
— especially clergymen's wives — ^but calm, cold, reserved;
never by any chance ask strangers about their family,
even when distant hundreds of miles.'
Mr Smith, however, was an agreeable good-humoured
man. Ho spoke both well and fluently, and Mrs Archi-
bald both listened and talked ; and the end of It was,
that they were mutually pleased, and that when Mr
Smith was at length obliged to get up to take his leave,
she invited him, with the simple hospitality of a minis-
ter's wife, to return to tea, to meet her husband. Mr
Smith was much obliged, would be very happy ; but —
the fact was, his wife was in town with him. So much
the better ! Mrs Archibald would be delighted to be in-
troduced to Mrs Smith ; he must do her the favour to
waive ceremony, and bring her in the evening exactly
at seven. And so it was settled.
When the evening came, the weather had changed.
It was bitterly cold ; the wind blew as the wind only
blows in Edinburgh; and it rained — to speak techni-
cally, it rained dogs and cats ! Mr and Mrs Smith
diflered in opinion as to the necessity of keeping the
engagement on such an evening. Mrs Smith was de-
cidedly adverse to the idea of encountering the Scotch
elements on a dark, cold, wet, tempestuous night, and
all for the purpose of drinking an unpremeditated cup
of tea. Mr Smitli, on the other hand, considered that an
engagement was an engagement ; that the Archibalds
were an excellent family to be acquainted with ; and
that, by keeping their word, in spite of difficulties, tliey
would set out by commanding their respect. Mr Smith
had the best of the argument ; and he prevailed. A cab
was ordered ; and shivering and shrinking, they picked
their steps across the trottoir, and commenced their
journey. This time, however, Mr Smith's southron
tongue was understood ; and he was driven, not to
Dublin Street, where he had been in the morning, but
to Duncan Street, where he had desired to go — although
of course he took care to give the coachman the cor-
rected number this time, as it was not his intention to
drink tea with the green-grocer.
When they arrived at the house, the coachman dis-
mounted and rung the bell ; and Mr Smith, seeing the
door open, let down the window of the coacli, although
half-choked with t\\c wind and rain that entered, and
prepared to make a rush with his wife across the
tempest-swept trottoir,
* Nae Mr Archibald at number so-and-so !' bawled
the coachman.
* I say he is there,' cried Mr Smith in a rage : ' the
servant has deceived you — ring again [ '
* It's nae use ringing,' said tlie coachman, speaking
against the storm ; * there's nae Mr Archibald there —
I ken mysel ! *
' Is it possible that I can have made a mistake In
the number ? Hark ye, friend, try somewhere else. I
know of my own knowledge that Mr Archibald is in this
street, and }'ou must And hun 1 ' — and he shut down the
window exhausted.
It was not difficult to find ^^ Aj^ibald, for his
house was almost directly opposite : and the tea-drinkers
at lenorth. to t\m\r irrpat aatianiction. found thpm-
280
GHAHBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
I!
selret on a landing -place* with an open door before
them.
As Mr Smith paused for an instant on t^e threshold,
he threw a strange searching glanoe round the hall, and
then, turning to the senmnt, asked her if she bad
actually said that Mr Archibald Ured there ? The giri
repeated the statement.
* Then come ^ong, mj dear,* said he to his wife ;
' places look so different in the gaslight 1 ' And striding
through the hall, the serrant in surprise walking back-
wards before them, they went into the drawing-room at
the further end. The girl had opened the door of the
room for them by the instinct of habit ; but no sooner
did she see them seated, ^an she ran at full- speed to
her mistress.
' Come ben, mem,* said she ; ' come ben, I tell you,
this moment! There are twa strange folks wha ha*e
marched in out o* the street into the rery drawing-room,
without either with your leaye or by your leare, and
Butten themselres doon on the sophy, as if the house was
their ain I ' Mrs Archibald got up in surprise, and eren
some little trepidation.
' Did they not mention who they were, or what was
their pleasure ? '
' Not a word, mem : they didna even speer if the
maister or you was at hame, but tramped in the mo-
ment they saw the door open.'
Mrs Archibald, who was a newly-married lady, won-
dered who such visitors could be on such a night, and
wished her husband was at home ; but telling the girl
to keep close behind her, she at length set forth to
encounter them.
Mr and Mrs Smith in the meantime were speculating
in a k)w voice, in the fashion of man and wife, on their
adventure.
* This is doubtless the drawing-room, my dear,' said
Mr Smith, looking round : * it must have been the
dining-room I saw in the forenoon.*
* I wish wo saw a fire in the meantime, my dear/
replied Mrs Smith — • that I do I Do these people think
it is not oold enough for one ? And such a night ! —
wind, rain, and utter darkness ! A clergyman forsooth !
and a clergyman's wife I*
* It is a great neglect, I admit — for it is really cold ;
but we roust consider that the natives of a country are
not 80 sensible of the rigoUr of their dim ate as strangers.
Mr nnd Mrs Archibald, you know, are Scotch.*
* Yes, Scotch,' said Mrs Smith with a sardonic smile
— *exet>s8ively Scotch !* And drawing her shawl over her
chin, she sat, looking like an incarnation of Discomfort,
till Mrs Archibald entered the room.
*How do you do, ma'am?* said Mr Smith, getting
up and shaking hands. * You see 1 have brought my
wife to drink tea with you. My dear, let me introduce
you to Mrs Archibald — Mrs Archibald, Mrs Smith.
The two ladies exchanged bows, the one sulkily, the
other stiffly ; and even Mr Smith, though not a parti-
cularly observant roan, thought their hostess did not
look so pleasant as in the forenoon.
* How is Mr Archibald ? * said he after a pause.
* My husband is pretty well, sir.*
* Not at church again, eh?'
* Sir!' Here Mrs Archibald looked anxiously to the
half-open door, where the girl was waiting concealed
in the shadow, in readiness to reinforce her mistress in
case of necessity.
* A very windy, dismal evening — and cold. Don't
you find it cold, ma*am?'
* Yes, sir.'
* Perhaps we have come too soon?'
* Really, sir — I hope jrou will not think it ill-bred —
but I have been expectmg to hear why you have come
at all 1*
* Mrs Archibald ! Is it possible that you have for-
gotten mo already?'
* I must confess you hare the advantage of roe.*
* You do not remember seeing me this forenoon, when
your husband wa« at chiveh?*
^I really have no reeotlection of any inch dien.
stance ; nor am I aware of anytiihig ftiat could hh
my husband to church to-day.'
' And you cannot call to mind that yoa aiked oetB
tea, and intreated me to bring my wife with me?'
* Surely not, since I was ignorant, ^ a fev nusntei
ago, that such individuals were in existence.'
* Mrs Archibald 1 I of course cannot, as a geBtieota,
refose to credit thoee assertions; bat I take leare to tefi
yon that I by no means admire the mewtory of tiie wha
of the Scottish clergy 1 Come^ my dear. Our fu^
will be surprised to hear of the hospitable n«^
obtained for us by hit letter of mtrodiiction; aUfaMfli
perhaps Mrs Archibald' — and here Mr Smith iMii
round as he reached the door, and fixed hiiejeBpao
the culprit — ' although perhaps Mn ArchB)^ is Dot
disposed to admit having received Mr — *i letter it
all!*
*0h, that is my brother-in-law!* cried Un Ardfr
bald : • do you come from him f How it my deir drier?
Pray, ait down l* A few words sufficed to dw t!»
whole imbroglio ; and the true Mr Archibald mikiog hu
appearance immediately after, threw BtiH mare lifbt
upon the subject by explaining that a namente of his,
a clergyman, lived in the street at tbe opposite ss^
of the Place. They learnt afterward! from ftii gentle-
man, that on seeing the letter of introdoetkm, be per-
ceived at once it was not intended Ibr him, ujdventto
call on Mr Smith to exphun the mistalie. Tbe Fstei,
however, were determined that the «wi<w-<«ipi Jhw^
run its course, for Mrs Archibald had takei dots fee
wrong number !
In another room the party fonnd a cheerful fee, fl»i
the nmch-desiderated tea ; and before leparatiBff tbt
night, Mr Archibald placed collateral erideoce rf a
highly -aatisfactory nature upon tbe table tot Mr
Smith's original conjecture was correct, and M be
was indeed no minister — but a Wine-Tnercbant
JOTTINGS ON BOOKS AND LITEBAmE.
• The history of books,* it has often been wi^ *»f
curious and instructive as that of men: i^ i* ™"f,
that we have to seek for the moral life of s pe#-
This remark has very much the character of a tnaa,
and more especially at the present period. '^^
circUng course of time brings phenomena in "w^
ture as well as astronomy : from the »»o*^^^ f?
world passed into the too-many-book era: from m
of reading nothmg but what pleased a few, to tfi^i
in which everybody read what they pkaied; fifl^
that of being punished for reading, to th«tw wtei
the punishment was for not reading. N««' ^ ;
* Printed books have existed but Uttle more mm
hundred years, and yet, in certain co^°^"^^L
already accumulated to such a degree as topeniise
old cquUibrium of the globe, avilisation »»« ^,
the most unexpected of its periods— the Age ^J^*
We have had the Golden Age, and the Age of l^
and of Iron ; but the Age of Paper I-waa inch •J^
der ever dreamt of by philosophy ? What d«a »?^
Is it synonymous with ^iwwy age? I><> t^*^^
degenerate ? According to M. Victor Hop wy ^
not In his reception-speech made to the Ac^";
1840, he declared, * Nothing has degenerated; 1^
always the torch of nations. The epoch is F"*!"^
by its science, its eloquence, its industry, gjcaj ^^
poetry and its art. At the present hour, tUffew
one enlightened and living literature in the vja» Tj
verse—and it is the literature of Franw. « »^
easy to account for diffferences of opinion, bat ooiy
short years earlier-namely, in 1837-Mod^ "^
affirmed, in addressing another learned acaW'^
true and dishiterested worship of science nw
itself out among us; we seek for i^^^f^.'L'Ul
for a prompt satisfaction of self-lore, or fW*"^
advantage.' «*„ hA. fl^
Contrast this with the period when pen, v^
I
OHAMBEBS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
287
fingers did the work now done by type and power-
presses — the no-book era. Not the least noteworthy
among patient snbscribers were the Benedictines. * Their
rule assigned an eminent rank among monastic yirtnes
to the guardianship and mnltiplication of ralnable
manascripts. It taught the copyist of a holy book to
think of himself as at once a pupil and a teacher — as
ft missionary while seated at his desk — using each
fing» at a tongue — inflicting on the Spirit of Evil a
deadly wound at each successive line — and as baffling,
with the pen, the dread enemy who smiles at the im-
potent hostility of every other weapon grasped by the
hand of mortal man. In each Benedictine monastery
a chamber was set apart for the discharge of this sacred
office. In this Scriptorium some of the monks plied
their pens assiduously, and in profound silence, to pro-
duce faultless transcripts of the best originals. To
others was committed the care of revising the text of
such works as were then held in the highest esteem.
Charlemagne himself assigned to the Benedictine Alcnin
the high office of preparing, from the varlouB sources
within his reach, a perfect Codex of the Holy Scriptures.
For what remains to us of Pliny, Sallust, and Macro-
bias, and for the orations against Yerres, we are in-
debted to their literary zeaL'
We read of Claude Estiennot, who was procurator of
the Benedictines at Rome during the papacy of Inno-
cent XI., that * within eleven years he had collected
and transcribed forty-five bulky fulios, at the various
libraries of his society in the several dioceses of France,
adding to them, says Dom le Cerf, ** reflexions tres
senaees et judicieuses " — " very sensible and judicious
refllections." ' Forty-flve volumes in eleven years I Per-
haps this was a commendable result in the eighth cen-
tury, but the old-fashioned hand-press in the village of
Dumdrudge would beat it now-a-iiys, barring probably
the 'judicious reflections.' We have before us a state-
ment of the books and pamphlets printed in France in
fifteen years — 1830-1845 — including reprints, but omit-
ting periodicals, the number was 5862 annually, or a
total of 87,930. Estimating each work as two volumes
and a-half, they amount to 220,000; and reckoning 1200
copies of each work (a moderate calculation), the grand
total is 264,000,000 of volumes.
Nodier might well say the earth's equilibrium is im-
perilled.: and if we add to the above tlie typographical
labours of other countries! In the matter of Bibles
alone, the British Societies have distributed 20,000,000
copies since 1827. A house in Paris published the
Scriptures in three quarto volumes, price seventy-five
francs, in twelve years — 1824-183C : by dint of canvass-
ing:, and offering the work from house to house, they sold
65,000 copies, value 4,875,000 francs. Nor are we with-
out monuments of individual effort : Daniel Kieffer, a
celebrated Protestant and learned Orientalist of Stras-
barg, translated the Old Testament into Turkish ; and
in one year, 1832, distributed at his sole charge 100,000
of the volumes. The best Bohemian dictionary yet pub-
lished is the work of a M. Jungmann, who prepared and
brought it out at his own cost, and sold a vineyard to
defray the expense. According to Mr Kohl, Bibles are
smuggled into Bohemia, Scripture is contraband, and
yet, contradictory as it may seem. Bibles may be sold
in that country, although they may not be printed
there or imported. Tlie copies which do find an en-
trance are sent mostly from Berlin aud England. A
few years since, two wagon -loads fell into the hands
of customhouse officers, wlio have ever since kept the
prize safely under lock and key. In the public library
at Linz, the above-named traveller saw an old edition of
I/Uther's works thickly coated with dust, and was in-
formed by the attendant that the volumes had not once
been disturbed for thirty years.
Even in the days when oligarchs prescribed the po-
pular reading, Pasquin dared to say what he thought of
their proceedings. Father Germain, who accompanied
IVfabillon to Bome in 1685, relates an incident :—* He
found Rome agitated wit^ the affiiir of the Quietists. His
account of the dispute is rather fiicetious than theological.
Just then a Spaniard had been sent to the galleys, and
a priest to the gallows ; the first for talking, the second
for writing scandals ; while the great Quietist Molinos
was in the custody of the Inquisition. Marforio, says
Germain, is asked by Pasquin, why are you leaving
Home? and answers, "He who* speaks is sent to the
g^iUeys ; he who writes is hanged; he who remains quiet
goes to the Holy Office." Marforio had good cause for
his heresy ; for the scandal which (as Germain plea-
santly has it) '* broke the priest's neck " was merely his
having said that the ** mare had knocked tlie snail out
of its shell," in allusion to the fact of the Pope's having
been forced out of his darling seclusion and repose, to
be present at a certain festival, at which a mare or
palfrey was also an indispensable attendant. The rogues
continue to repeat the jest notwithstanding, observes
the reverend looker-on,*
* Many men, many minds;' so runs the adage. About
the year 1889, a work, * Le raariage au point de vue
Chretien' was published by Madame Gasparin. The
French Academy awarded a prize to the authoress for
her book, but at the very same time it was inscribed by
the church in the Index Expurgatorius as a prohibited
treatise: such being one among the innumerable in-
stances of difference of opinion. The disappointment
of writers, too, would fill a long catalogue : there are
extravagant expectations in literature as well as in
mines and railways. In 1836, one M. Cbatcl published
the * Code de Thumanito,' which was to regenerate so-
ciety. He announced himself as Primate of tlie Gauls,
drew around him a few disciples, who remained faithful
during fifteen years, when the del)ision came suddenly
to an end — the primate had become a postmaster.
Some books, like human beings, come into the world
with fortune for their nurse, others encounter difficul-
ties at the very outset, and barely escape strangulation.
According to Pliny, several thousand men were placed
at the service of AristoUe during the time that his great
work was in preparation, to furnbh him with informa-
tion and observations on all sorts of natural objects —
men whose business it was to take care of cattle, fish-
ing-grounds, and apiaries. The monarch under whose
auspices it was composed gave him 800 talents
(L. 7 9,000) towards the e:^penses. Was ever a book
brought out under more favourable circumstances ?
When Amari wrote his history of SicUy, he submitted
it to the censorship at Palermo, and obtained leave to
publish. The permission from sorod cause was, how-
ever, revoked before the work appeared, and tlie author
received orders to send the whole of the copies to the
police. Unwilling to make such a sacrifice, ho pscked
the books in a case, and shipped them on board a French
vessel, aud at the same time sent a similar case to the
authorities filled with vegetables and rubbish. He then,
with a Mm passport, sailed for Marseilles, and even-
tually published his book at Paris with the imprint
* Palermo ' on the title-page. It has since gone through
a second edition.
Some writers have said the inventing of a title, or
composing of a preface, cost them more trouble or
thought than any other part of their work ; it might
not be unfair to stippose that the subject-matter was
very indifferent, or the preface very good. True it is,
however, that many books do exhibit strange freaks of
invention on the part of their authors, as a few speci-
mens will exemplify. In • The Arte of Vulgar Arith-
meticke,' published in 1600 by Thomas Hylles, we find
* the partition of a shilling into his aliquot parts ' thus
exhibited : —
* A fartbing first findes fortie-eight.
An halfepeny hopes for twentie-foiire.
Three farthings seekes out 16 streight,
A peny puis a dozen lower :
DIcke dandiprat drewe 8 out dende,
Two-pence tooke 6 and went his way,
Tom trip and goe with 4 is fled.
But goodman grote on 3 doth stay ;
A testeme only 8 doth take,
Moc rtarta a shillinK oannot make.*
288
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
Schoolboys of the present da/ often cbsnt a quatrain
without a suspicion that young schoUrs vented their
discontent in the same doggerel in the days when the
iuTineible Armada was approaching our shores. Pro-
fessor De Morgan mentions a maaoscript^ date 1570, in
which these lines occur : —
' Multiplication to nle y0zatlon,
And DlTiaion !• quite ai bud.
The Golden Rule is mfe cfcunibUng-ttule,
And Practice drives me mad.*
In 1 «88, a teacher of arithmetic, W. Leyboum, doubt-
less thought he had made a hit by his tiUe-page, which
is thus fancifully arranged : —
Platform
Guide
Mate
{.}
Purchasers.
Builders.
Measurecs.
Another, of the same date, thought he hftd discovered
an origiaal method for obtaining the square and cube
roots, and says —
• NoTf Loffarithras lowre your sail.
And Algebra giro place,
For hero is found, that ne'er doth fail,
A nearer way to your disgrace'
Tliere was a struggle to live even a hundred years
Bgo } we do not find that being a century nearer to the
Golden Age tlian we are made much essential difference
in men's characters : — The author of * Arithmetick in
Epitome,' published in 1740, entertains a professional
jealousy of interlopers, for he observes, • When a man
has tried all Shifts, and still failed, if he can but scratch
out anything like a fair Character^ though never so
stifT and unnatural, and has got but Arithmetick enough
in his Head to compute the Minutes in a Year, or the
Inches in a Mile, he makes his last Recourse to a Garret,
an«l, with the Painter's Help, sets up for a Teacher of
Writing and Arithmetick i where, by tho Bait of low
rriccs, he perhaps gathers a Number of Scholars.'
Another, named Chappell, indulges in a little political
illustration in his book, publisbea in 1798 — was he a
disappointed place-hunter? He tells us in his versi-
fied tables —
* Bo 5 times 8 vrere 40 Soots,
Who oanv) from Abcrdoen,
And 5 times 9 wore 45,
Wliieh gave them all the spleen.*
The latter being an allusion to Wilkes' notorious Ko. 45
of the North Triton.
Some curious facts with respect to old systems of
arithmetic were published at a meeting of the Schle-
si8che Gesellschafx in Brestau in 1846. On that occasion
Herr Loschke gave an account to the learned assembly
of an old arithmetical work, * Rechnen auf der Linic,'
by the * old Reckon-master,' Adam Rise. Adam was
born about 1492 ; of his education nothing is known ;
he lived at Annaberg, and had three sons, Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob. His first * Reckon-book,' in which he
explained his peculiar method, appeared in 1518. It was
somewhat on the principle of the calculating frame of
the Chinese ; a series of lines were drawn across a sheet
of paper, on which, by the position of counters, numbers
could be reckoned up to hundreds of thousands. The
first line of the series was for unit?, the second for tens,
tlte third for hundreds, the fourth for thousands, the
fifth for ten thousands, and so on. It is remarkable that
tlie highest countiog-liaiit at that time was a thousand.
The word * miUion ' was as yet unknown to the great
body of calculators. Every number was counted, speci-
fied, and limited by thousands. The numeration of large
numbers was Uius expressed : the sum was divided into
threes from right to left ; a dot was placed over the firsts
and a second dot over the third of the following three,
a»id so continued along the whole, until at last a dot
stood over every fourth ^re from the right. For ex-
ample, 643^798642102791527462, which were read, six
thouiand thousand thousand thousand thousand thou-
sand tiiq^s thousand, 432 thousand tboosand thoiisand
thousand thousand times thousand, 798 thonaaod than-
sand thousand tliousand times thousand, 642 thousand
thousand thousand times thousand, 102 thousand tiioo-
sand times thousand^ 791 thousand times thousand, 527
thousand and 462. With this curioaity of arithmetic
we dose our Jottings for the pveient.
THE LITTLE WOODLAND GLEANER.
■ Art thou weary. Dove Annette— eay, hast thou been roamh^ tax ?
Seeking flowen fresh and wnd, watching for the erming sUr *
HeavUy thy basket weighs ; 'tis a cmel load for thee ;
Shades of night are stasling o'er; tboa at hone, fUc
shooldst be.*
Dove Annette Uughod merrily as she ope'd her basket lid ;
There no hyacinthine bell or sweet eglantine was bid :
Pine cones, and fallen leaves, and slender twigs were
there;
Far more precIotM these to htr tiiantfae woedlaiid tmasiaca Ikiku
* My oM grandam sbo is eold, for the antomn nights
So I search the golden woods ever dale and over hSl ;
Stieks, leaved, and eones together, Sfiako a warn and
Shame 'twould be if Dove Annette on thia errand e'er
^ill;
£re;
eaaMOw:
* My old graadam she is Mind, but oinr sclMlarBatv a 1
And she tc^ls them how to spell, and the MesMd Bible lase;
At A B C I toll all day— alas, th^ are not qoidktolsaml
Little 'tis that we are paid— poor the living thos we oaxn,
* Forest glades are dnak and drear, save when prrtty deer
Evening stars I cannot sec, trees arch overhead so h^ ;
Safely sleep the birds aronnd : He who mmibers them ettcb
Cares, I know, for Dove Annette in the wild wood aJl atosMu
* So T fill my basket full— sure it is a heavy load ;
But I sing a pleasant song all along my homeward med ;
And within our cabin walls, gleaming with the ruddy btes^
Grandam teaches Dove Amietts bynms t£
praise.*
BMAN BOBOIHMB 0 HA&F.
It is well known that the groat monarali Bvi»a
was killed at the battle of aontarf, A.11. 1014* & M
his son Donagh his harp ; but Donaf^h having murdo^o^kis
brother Teige, and being deposed by hia nephew,
to Rome, and carried with him the crown, hmrp, sfw
regalia of his father. Tliess regalia were kvfit in tte
can till Pope Clement sent the harp to Hewy TIO^ i«t
kept the crown, which was of maasiTe goldk Hei
the harp to the first Earl of Clanricarde, in wbod
it remained until the beginning of the eighteenth
when it came by a lady of the De Burgh fiandly into tkift «r
M^Makon of Glenagli, in ^c county of Glare, after m^mm
dcatli it passed into the possession of Ccranaeilav lfap>
naraara of Limerick. In 1782 it was presented t» ike
Right Hon. William Conyngham, who depomted il k
Trinity College Mnseam, where it now ia. It is S3 iasbtt
high, and of good workmanship— the soonding-bMo^ is d
oak, the arms of red sally— the extreoiity rf tb»
I'
I
i<
I:
most arm in part is capped with silver, well wtoo|M s^
chiselled. It contains a large crystal set in simr, sal
nnder it was another stone, now lost* — Tippertay
PrcKS.
I
i
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APPEARANCES.
It if considered a sound rule not to tacriflce reality for
appearances. To be good is held as better than only to
seem good. Appearances, in as far as they may senre,
and often do serve, as a means of cloaking some evil
reality, are not, upon the whole, in good esteem among
mankind. It is a word seldom mentioned without some
expression of contempt or reprobation. Yet it may be
questioned if we could, in this world, quite dispense with
appearances.
To lead a life free of gross improprieties is un-
doubtedly the first requisite. If, however, while doing
this, we allow much of our conduct to be interpretable
into something opposite, is the result a matter of in-
difference to society ? The thoughtless lady who flirts,
or, as the common phrase is, allows herself latitudes,
and who is yet studious to be substantially correct,
answers. Yes ; or perhaps she goes no farther than to
say. Being in my own mind conscious of perfect recti-
tude, I have nothing to say to society on the subject,
and it has no title to interfere, so long as I commit no
sctoal transgression. This is specious, and seems to
exclude reply. Most people give way to its force, yet
do not act or speak as if they felt it to be quite right
It is wrong in this way : such conduct tends to become
a screen to acUial error ; for if the virtuous appear to
set exactly as the vicious do, how can we know where
vice exists? It is our duty even to appear pure and
irreproachable, because, when all that are pure present
only the symptoms of purity in their external belia-
vieor, it is the more dHBcult for the ening to conceal
their guilt. They are forced into hypocrisy, which is
not merely a homage to virtue, but a means of recruit-
ing her ranks from the bands of vice, seeing that there
is an additional pain and trouble in being wicked. All
hypocrites would be, or have the advantages attendant
on being, what they pretend to be. Can we doubt that,
under a system of perfect freedom, they would be some-
thing worse than they are ?
It thus appears that there is a philosophy in those
little decorums of society which minds of a bold and
sprightly character are so apt to deride, and which
many persons, without the least ill intention, are so
often seen to disregard. Every great cause must have
its banner. Under every banner there will be a few
rogues and cowards. But how much worse would it
be with an army to have no ensign at all ? It might
then have the whole force of the enemy mingling in its
ranks, and unresistedly hewing it in pieces.
When we hear of people keeping up appearances, we
utually either condemn or laugh. Very often the con-
demnation or the ridicule is just, but not always so.
There is much to object to in endeavours to attain or
keep up a style of living different from that which is
suitable to our actual means or our actual place in
society. Let this error be abandoned to the unsparing
satire of those who delight in eicposing human weakness
and frailty. But all keeping up of appearances is not
of this nature. A family is often invested with a rank
which its income will scarcely support in proper style,
yet which it must support, or forfeit thst rank alto-
gether. Even in particular professions there is this
hard necessity. The style is part of the very profession
itself, something without which it cannot be practised.
There is also such a thing as a decline of worldly pros-
perity, where to appear poor would he to become so
even more rapidly tlian is strictly unavoi^ble, In such
cases, if a family does not basely, by incurring debt»
throw the actual suffering upon others — if it only pinehes
itself at one time, thfU it may make a deeent show at
another-^if It only spares in its own grosser neceiiatiesk
that it may appear on a footing of equality with those
of its own nominal social rank, or escape the pity which
it is heavenly to give, but li)itter to receive, there surely
is no offence committed. I must own I never could
exactly see grounds for the mirth which prosperous
citizens will sometimes indulge in regarding the * ap-
pearances ' of the struggling professional man, or the
fallen-off family of rank. Such efforts, seeing that they
involve much self-denial, that they tend to what is ele-
gant rather than to what is gross, to what is elevated
rather than to what is low, seem to me more creditable
than otherwise. In our external life, observances be-
come habits, and habits become principles. We ^l of
us live not merely for and in ourselves, but partly for
and in others. To be threatened with a fall from bur
sphere or special field of life, is to anticipate one of the
greatest of evils, a sort of htdf death. It is not wonder-
ful that men and won^en, should make such a struggle
to avoid it But in fact efforts of this kind are connected
with some of the best properties of our nature. The
father eager to give his family the benefits of his own
rank— the children willing to submit to any sacrifice,
rather than see their parents lowered in the eyes of
their equals: the whole resolvable into that sense of
decency and sensibility to public esteem, without which
this social scene would be a howling wilderness. No,
there is surely no proper subject of merriment or of
reprobation in these things
There ore in this empire two kinds ef dtles md
tawna*-tho8e which are passing throegh a career of
mercantile prosperity, and those which rest at one
point of prosperity, or are perhaps stowly falling off.
It is not uncommon to hear tiie denizens of the parvenu
town indulging in mirth at the expense of the meagre
and ill-supported gentility which they observe in their
ancient neighbour. Perhaps this neighbour baa only a
cathedra^ or the county oourts, to look to as a sonroe
of income : it keeps up a brave spirit, but cannot give
290
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
anything better than tea-drinkingi. Its better cUm
are formal and refined in their manners, and even its
poor have a dean delicate air about them, dressing
much bet^ than they eat or drink. All this is matter
of mirth to the unthinking members of the more
thriving community, who fee! that, if they are less re-
fined, they have at least more of the substantialities of
life at their command. It seems to be a great prize to
them that the genteel town is only a town of ' appear-
ances.' But is there in this any true ground for so
much self-congratulating merriment ? I will admit there
is, when it is established that the material Is superior
to the spiritual— that gross, full-feeding habits are more
laudable than a taste for neat apparel—that a profuse,
and often ostentatious expenditure, unregulated by
taste, is better than a tasteful moderate ejqMnditure, in
which a sacrifice of immediate appetites is made for
the sake of some ultimate gratification in the esteem
of our fellow-creatures. It is a point of ambition with
a Scottish artisan to have a suit of superfine black
clothes in which to go to churqh and attend funerals.
It may be said that this is keeping up an appearance
beyond his station ; but if he only saves for this appear-
ance what a less intellectual operative of some other
country would spend on excesses in meat and drink,
enjoyed out of sight, is he not rather to be admired
than condemned ? I have known something of countiy
towns, where there is considerable poverty within doors
and in reality, while at the same time the bulk of the
popiUation make a principle of appearing as well dressed
as possible ; and my feeling on the subject is, that to
laugh at such things is to laugh at virtue itselfl The
whole moral being of the individual anchors perhaps
in some frail remains of well-saved clothes, or in the
possession of some tolerable house handed down fk'om
some more comfortable ancestor. Take away this poor
fiction ftom them, and their self-respect is diminished.
They feel that tliey are regarded as falling into a lower
category, and into that lower category they fall accord-
ingly. No one, having a just sense of human frailty,
would wantonly remove, or wish removed, even such
slight edifications as these, but, on the contrary, rejoice
to see them carefully maintained.
To sum up — It will always be proper to exercise the
greatest care in discriminating between what is good
and what is bad in appearances. Their being necessary
to the support of morality, will not make them more
amiable in those who lack the reality of goodness.
Their being respectable in persons to whom loss of
external grade or the fidlure to support it is social
death, wiU not justify the ambitious citizen in forfciting
the real comfort of Ids family in an efibrt to live in the
manner of those who poaseM better means. But, after
the possibility of such abuses is admitted, and the fact
itself deprecated, we must still keep in view that one
of the essentials of a good life is a regard to Appear-
ances. R. C.
TAFFY LEWIN'S GREENEBIE
Though nearly threescore years bare intervened, the
remembrance is still firesh on my memory of a certain
spot which excelled all others I have since looked upon
in its bright emerald hue and Terdant freshness. It was
on the outskirts of a village, which was only redeemed
from positive ugliness by most of its tenements being
andent, though stretching away in a long straight line,
and without either water or trees to vary the monotonous
aspect of the turnpike-road. Turning abruptly fhmi
this road into a narrow lane, seemingly never-ending,
and sloping gentiy downwards, a pleasing surprise was
afibrded on emerging into a deep valley, where the inters
minable winding of many sparkling tiny rivulets kept
up a continual murmur, enchanting to listen to on a hot
summer's day. Here vrere many fine old walnut-trees
also, beneath whose thick-spreading boughs te rays of
a burning sun never penetrated. Innnoierable mws sf
osier-wiUowB were planted on the banka^ uaed im ike st
of basket-makingt the osiers being of the finert wmL
whitest kind, while every where end aU sraimd extesM
beds of watercressei. Tet it was not altogetbff fte
streamlets or the beaatifbl trees which mside this ^Qt ss
peculiarly refireshing : nowhere did grass eppear so ntk
and green as in this quiet valley ; it looked alwsjt ss
if it had just rained, the earth tending vp the ddiooes
perAune, and the thrush singing meanwhile, aa it doss
after a shower in summer vreatfaer. Tet vrma tliefe no-
thing indicative of damp or marshland ; eU waa hasMby
and hilarious-lookingy and no plants tiirove here infi-
genous to unhealthy soils. Narrow planks of coo^
wood were thrown across the bright waters, which had
to be crossed many times before reaching the dwefiieg-
place of Tafiy Lewin, the presiding genios of the plaob
This dwelling-place was a thatched cottage^ oonftainiag
three rooms ; and Taffy herself, when I first saw ber, al-
most realised my idea of the superannuated or dow:i^ger-
queen of the fairies : she was then seventy years cfage^
and one of the least spedmens of peifectly^ibrnMiI hn-
manity that I have ever behdd. So a^ and ({aide
was she in all her movements, that a nerveiOB person
would have been frequently startled; wluHe her Utile,
bUck, bead-like eyes sparkled in a most
manner when her ire was aroused. Sie elwaya
a green skirt and a white calico jacket, her
being tucked back beneath her mob-cap: die
short, the prettiest little old fairy it is posrihle to
gine ; and as neat, dean, and bright-kolding im
exterior, as if an enchanter's wand bad jifsl
her up from amid the crystal streama and
beds.
* And so it is from kenee the fine
that I have enjoyed so much each momiog at
fast?' said I to the friend who accompani^ meesil^
first introduction to Springhead, for ao the vall^ t
named.
' Yes,' she answered ; ' and TafiTy Lewin is te
proprietress and gatherer of the creases, fiir whidi
finds a ready sale in the immediate neigh
musical but dear and pierdng cry of "
gathered — fine cress,^ being as wdl
duly attended to, as the chimes of our
dock.'
* And has the dfi dame no other
quoth 1 1 fcNT the glimpse I had obtamed of tfw
of the cottage in the midst of this 'grseoca
tainly hinted that the trade of gathenog ^ift
root was a most lucrative one ; not only order
ness, but comfort apparently rdgning witiiln.
* She disposes of the produce of these fine
trees,' answered my fHend ; * and she has also a
panion residing with her, who manufisclnee tke
beautifhl baskets firom these delioate
ways ffstch a high price. Tufty pays a very
to the gentleman who owns this vallej and the
lands ; and excepting, I believe, a araall
savings' bank, to which she only resorts on
I do not know that she has any oUier means of n|Ml
either for herself or her companion. Her titugy m a
singular one, and I think you would Uke te
i^ter we have made our purdiaaes of baakete
Miss Clari.'
Miss Clari, as riie was called, wma
female of plain appearance i and n^ interest
were exdted on observinA» team, bee Inatielmi
that she was an imbecile. She was, hoWBTV,
with the spirit of industry. Her long and tfain
rapidly and dexterously plied their taak: she taitM
notice of tts, but continued dianting in a lovflsd^ihl
the words of a queiat Itaneh dit^. Wtei Tll^iffc
of snppsei^'
t
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"1
CHAMBERS'S EDINHTBGH JOUBNAL.
291
proached hw, she looked up and imUedi fach a imile
U WM ; I have neTer fbrgotteii it.
* We have only these two baskets left, ladies,' said
Tafiy Lewin; 'for Miss Clari cannot make them fast
enough for the sale thej have ; and jet, poor dear son! 1
she never ceases, save when she sleeps, for bar fingers
go on even when she is eating.*
* And are you not afraid that such dose application
may injure l^r healUi?' said I.
* La, miss, try and take it from her, and see how she
wanders about with the tears silently coursing down
her cheeks, and her fingers at work all the same. Bless
her dear heart! if it ht^ her, Tuffy Lewin wouldn't let
her do it.*
' Is she your daughter, Taffy ? ' inquired L
*Afy daughter!' cried the little dame, her Uack
beads twinkling ominously. *No, she is no daughter
of mine ; there is gentle blood flows in her veins, and
she was not bom what you see h&t now. But take your
baskets, ladies; Miss Clari is no gossip, as ye see, and I
have work to do; for we eat not the bread of idleness
here.'
I paid for the exquisitely-wrought baskets, and we
quickly took our departure. On our homeward route
my friend imparted the following particulars :—
When Tafijr Lewin was a young woman, she had
eiit»ed the service of a family named Drelinoourt as
asaistant nursery-maid ; but the head nurse soon after
giving up her place, Tafiy was promoted to it This
situation was by no means a pleasant one, as Taffy soon
found out, the children being spoilt, and unruly to the
n«atest degree; but the wages were high, and Talfy
wM» a friendleBs orphan, and so she thought it wisest to
petaevere. There were eight children, six giils and two
bojrs. Ib^ Drelincourt was in very delicate health, and
the squire himself devoted to field-sports and boon com-
panioBs. Drelincourt Hall was indeed nearly always
full of company, the lady not being able to exist wiUi-
out ttie excitement of society suited to her taste any
more than her husband could. Extravagance and reck-
lessness weie visible in all the domestic arrangements;
and report said that not f<^ many years longer was it
possible to carry on this game.
A few years witnessed great changes, however, at the
old hflU : Mrs Drelincourt was gathered to her fathers,
and five out of the eight children were carried off, a
boy and two gai» only being left ; these three children
eeeming to concentrate in their own persons all the
UDosanageable propensitfes of their departed brothers
and aisters.
Mr Drelincourt was stunned by the overwhelming
force of the bereavement he had sustained, and he
found his only present consolation and contentment in
laviahing redoubled affection on his remaining children,
and in gratifying their childish whims ; mudh to their
own deteiment, poor things I He was not an ill-mean-
ing, though a weak man, and idly disposed ; avoiding
trouble of all kinds, and determinately blind to anything
that promised to occasion it ; so he spoiled his children,
and lived beyond his income, because it was pleasant to
do ao, and he hated to be b<»ed! After establishing a
gentleman at Drelinoourt in the capacity of tutor to
his aoD, Mr Drelinoourt betook himself to the continent,
vr hither his physician recommended him for change of
scene, and more complete restoration of his shattered
apiiits.
BCr Drdinoonrt returned home, after some months'
abaence, with a second wife, having espoused a widow
lady. This lady had one child by her first marriage, a
little girl of ten or twelve years old, who accompanied
her mother to the new home provided for them. This
second union greatly displeased and surprised Mr Dre-
linooortTs family and connectioBS ; for the lady, though
auitable in point of years, and of a most gentle dispo-
aitioD, was idtogether penniless ; the small stipend she
had enjoyed in right of her deceased husband ceasing
on her marrying again. Thus Mr Drelincourt had not
only a wife added to his already heavy eneumbraaees,
but a wife's child also on his hands ; when, in truth, he
had not wherewithal to make provision for his own
two daughters. The Drelinoourt estates were strictly
entailed in the male line; but should Mr Drelincourt
not leave a son to inherit the burthened landed property,
it passed into stranger hands ; and fearfol was the con-
templation of such a oontingenoy with a helpless fiunily
of females, and nought but debts and disgrace for their
inheritance!
However, the two Misses Drelincourt were brought
up as if they were heiresses ; and with dispositions foil
of i^ide and arroganoe unchecked, it may easily be
supposed that the introduction of a stepmother and a
new sister was highly disagreeable ; they having been
told all the circumstances.
Clari 8t Ende^ Mrs Drelincourf s daught^, was a
plain, timid giri. Having been nurtured in retirement
and comparative poverty, she shrank firom the display
of wealth around her now ; but doubly she shrank from
the cold demeanour of her new associates, who took no
pains to conceal their contempt and aversion for the
interloper. The Misses Drdincourt and their brother
Henry found that open impertinence would not be
tolerated, even by their doting father, when ofibred to
his wife; but in venting all their jealousy and petty
spleen on the poor unoffending Clari, who never resented
and never complained, the case was far different Ah,
it is not in open warfare or unkindness that the heaviest
cross is to be borne : it is hypocrisy and concealment we
need dread.
This young girl, Clari St Eude, had littie outwardly
to prepossess the stranger in her favour : she was of a
nervous temperament, easily alarmed, and chilled by
an unkind word or look ; but she had a clinging affec-
tionate heart, and a forgiving temper. Her raother'a
position was a trying one, and Clari knew this, child
as she was; nor would she for worlds have increased
it by a hint that she had cause of sorrow or repining.
Mrs Drelincourt struggled for peace, preserved and
fostered it by every means in her power; nor was it
probable that, even had she been otherwise disposed,
Mr Drelinoourt would have listened to or credited com-
plaints against his own spoiled ofi^ipring.
Although Tafiy Lewin's services as a nurse had for
some time been dispensed with, she retained her com-
fortable chair in the commodious nursery, where the tiny
woman got through oceans of needlework. Now, though
Taffy certainly did feel a species of regard for Blanch
and Laura Drelincourt, and also for Master Henry —
nurslings spared out of a fine fiock — she was by no
means blind to their many defects and unamiable quali-
ties, though she had long found all remonstrance useless.
To this dieerful, sunny nursery of bygone days, often
crept the pale and sickly stranger, Clari St Eude ; hour
after hour she would sit in silence by Taffy's side, until
the kind-hearted little nurse began to pity, and then to
love her, and finally won the confidence of the nervous,
sensitive girl, who wept on her motherly bosom, and
told her ' she wished manuna had not married the rich
English gentleman, for she loved their Provence home
better for than this.'
Clari inhabited a large sombre apartment all alone,
and quite away from the rest c^ the family. This was
a sore trial to the timid girl, though she never confessed
her nameless fears, and struggled hard to master them ;
and as it was ' convenient ' that she should occupy this
chamber, her mother disliked to offer objections, nor
was she, indeed, folly aware of her daughter's nervous
sufMngs. Clari tried to step sedately and composedly
into that huge dark bed, with its black, hearse-like
plumes, after she had extinguished her candle, and the
darkness and silence were abscdute : she tried to reason
with herself^ and to analyse the cause of her trepida-
tion, for she was not aware that her physical debility
accounted in a great degree for such mental weakness.
Henry Drelincourt, with boyish mischief, had soon
found out that * Miss MHieyface ' was a great coward ;
and it iras one of his favourite amusements to play off
792
CHAMBEBS'S BDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
praetioftl jokM, mnd try to frighten her ; while she,, on
her |»rt, tried hy all meant in her power not to let the
cnm hoy know that he hat too often tnoceeded.
At thia jnnotnre Mr and Mra DraUnooort were
aheent firom home for a lew days, when, one morning,
MIm Norman, the goTemeti, who presided at the break*
fast*table, remark^ how singular it was that Miss St
Bade, usually the first to make her appearance, had not
yet come down. The brother and sisters looked at each
other, and began to titter, and there was eridently a
joke of some kind amongst them, which they exceed-
ingly enjoyed. But as their hilarity and free-masonry
increased, so did Miss Norman's indefinable apprehen-
sions— Clari not coming, and mischief mysterioosly
brewing I
At length Miss Norman sought Clari*s diamber; but
it was fastened, and no answer was returned to her re-
peated summons; but a low, moaning noise proceeded
from within. After consulting TafQr Lewin, the door
was burst open, and poor CUri was found in the agonies
of a brain-feTer. Taffy, from former experience, well
knowing the imminent danger of the hapless sufferer,
medical advice was summoned, and Mrs Drelinoourt
was instantly recalled. The doctors spoke of some sud-
den shock the nerres of their patient had sustained, but
of what kind, or under what physical influence, it was
impossible to say: the room was a dreary one, the
jroung girl was of a highly-nerrons, excitable tempera-
ment, and nerrous disorders often took strange turns
—frightful dreams, or ill-arranged reading, sometimes
produced distressing effiscts. Clari St £ude recovered
rapidly from the fever ; but the brain was irretrievably
injured. The light of reason was never re-illumined:
all effiirte were useless; there was h<^ess darkness
within.
But how oame all this about? — what had happened?
The chamber-door was well secured within, therefore
no trick could have been played off, said Mr Drelin-
oourt, even had any one had the mind to do so. It was
Tery mysterious. Miss Norman had her suspicions, and
she naosed them to Mr Drelinoourt; but he dismissed
her firom his home and service : Taffy Lewin kept hen
within her own bosom, and watched and waited. When
the young Dreliocourts were questioned, they answered
with bravado, * What ! — are we invisible, or fairies, to
fly through the keyhole?' It did indeed appear foolish
to think that any one could have entered the chamber,
it being well known that Miss St Bude always slept
with her door locked; so that it was at length con-
sidered an extraordinary natural visitation, imd poor
Clan's affliction ceased to be the topic of conversation.
The Misses Drelinoourt and their brother became
much subdued after this sad event, and never willingly
approached or saw the unfortunate girL She lived
now entirely with Taffy Lewin in the nursery. Taffy's
compassion and devotion to her charge wero without
limits. Whatever Taffy Lewin's thoughts were on the
subject of Miss St Eude's sudden attack, she never
divulged them, even to Mrs Drelinoourt That exem-
plary lady's patience and resignation were fully shown
forth by her piety and submission under this heavy
and bitter affliction ; for Clari was her only child, and a
most beloved one. It was Taffy who suggested an occu-
pation being found for Miss CUri, seconded by medical
advice. It was indeed a long time before it took a
useful or tangible form; but with perseverance, and
kindness, and judicious treatment, at length there ap-
peared hope that the incessantly-working fingers of the
poor young lady might be moulded so as to benefit
lierself by creating amusement At that time probably
they had little thought of the future blessing this might
prove to the bereaved.
Years passed on, and the old mouldering hall of the
DreHnconrts still reposed amid its dark pine-woods—
unchanged without : witiiio, all was not as it had been.
The hanghty and beautiful Blanch Drelinoourt had
married, without the knowledge of her friends, a person
who supposed her to be the daughter of a wealthy
man, and ^lat a fortune must be Sorthoomiu. ft
was undeceived too late, and found thst htmt
support a Tain and penniless wife with is isoMsi
family. Henry Drelincourfs educatioB had bm a
expensive one, and his ruinous and profligiti Mb
were more expensive stilL It seemed dsir to mj
one that the debts and disgrsce so npidlj wfm-
lating would leave to the heir of DRliocoozt littit
mora than the name. This young man ctme ts pia
a few weeks at his father's, to recruit hii heilA, tki^
had been shattered by a course of disupatMatidK^
lessness. His sitter Laura was now hii flair eon-
panion; and frivolous and nnsmiahlr si Lamwriin-
court was, she possessed one redeeming point, mlnig
her less selfish and domineeriog; and thii ni^ a ^
voted affection for her brother.
She was never wearied of tendUig sod ita^ ^
whims and caprioes, which were not s few; uA^m
an alarming infectious fever made iti sppaanseaklbi
viUage, and from thence spread to the hatt-kr hate
and fiither being simultaneously sttacksd— lua ioi*
lessly devoted herself to the datiei nqoind is kr
brother's sick chamber; Mrs DrelioooflrCi wink tine
and attention being taken up with Ut koAui Ut
Drelinoourt fell the first victim to thaiini|«(if tfae
fearful epidemic, while death amoiiK tk9 R««lBn vai
busy in sevtfal cases. Henry wm osly pamatd est
of danger when his sister Laura wai att>dfcrii»sihg
life despaired of for many days. Mn WBitaii^«»
released from attendance on her hmhasd, o*"*^^
suffering Laura as if she had beso her o^^p**^
with the same feelings of maternal aniiely laiirfg-
tude. Laura's life was spared ; and she MSMfv
penetrated with the unselfith and tender mieiMW
experienced from her stepmother. Then w«-* yea
of shame and deep self-abasement in her nasa^yMg
seemed to say even more forcibly thsn theoinaw^w
demanded-—* I have done you wrong; yooinkHPf
ooals of fire on my head I*
When the brother and sister wew pendttediif
each other again, the fatal truth tatMugmlm]
mind for the first time, that Henrf, >l^Me^«^
from the violence of the fever, had reoeifed *•*■
blow, from which he never would leoorer j hiscwwg-
tion, already prematurely broken, wu liokisj 01^
it was too evident that be had not many «»»'J*
Nor did Mrs Dpelinoourt endeavow to rMtmm^
in the sister's bosom* but rather to itieaiBpt*"
enable her to bear the inevitable doom swiwWC
She supported, she tended and fostered, the vi««"
with Christian love and motheriy <»»pasn»l *JV»
writhed in agony beneath her kiodBS>-t<>**g^
weighing on hia mind being evideat^ ^^STIIIk
while he, too, murmured, • This is indndhe^W**'
of fire on my head.' ^
It was after a long private oonfenm wJJ'J't'
brother smd sister, wherein reoent sgitstiae wdlgw
invalid more weakened than usual, thatfts^liW
requesting his gentle nurse to oonw ^•■^'SSf
mund, • Mother'— it was the first t>«^ J!»JC7J
caUed her ao— * I wish you to bring poorQirtjP*;
wish to see her.' CUri— almost forgoitf
'^sse
late scenes of sorrow enacting in the "w- .— -*^
to Taffy's care, had entir^y esoaped conrsg*ai*^
the quiet distant nursery plied h^ -;— ^ i-^Ji
of weaving osiers, by degrees promisJDg to ggPj^
expert basket- manufacturer. Clari ^""f ^^
afiiicted mother to Henry Drelinootrt's lidsHV^
her pale face, and vacant smil^ and ^'f^j^TZ
eyes, gaaed on the dying man, taking V9^^^
thin wasted hands, and tw^ng the fisgH*'^'^
ooursed down his sunken — ._^-
turned towards Mrs DselinQWgt»aBd.W»
and streaming c^e ejaculated, ' Cmj
She seemed not to u|i4eretaad hip 1
CHAMBERS'S BDINBUROH JOURNAL.
298
ftn inqnirinff and aatonished look, eHdently thinking,
poor lady, that her patient ¥ra8 liglit'headed.
* Do jou not midentand me ? Lotik at her : I did it!*
he added in hollow whlapers, sinking back pale and
ezhantted. The troth now for the first time flashed on
the unhappy niother*s mind ; speech was denied her ;
and she coold only fold her child in her arms, and again
and again embrace her with low, pitying moans. Bat
the poor girl had eanght the sound of Henry's words,
^forgive;* and with smiles disengaging herself from
her mother^ arms, she kn^ down beside hhn ; and
pasting her long slender fingers caressingly orer his
wan &!e, she looked op at her mother, and repeated
gently, * Forgive — mother— forgive !'
Before another day had flown, Henry Drdincoort was
no more : he died in his sister Laura's arms, wit^ one
of hia hands clasped in his stepmother's. He had heard
her words of forgiTeness : and there was another pre-
sent who tremblingly besought pardon too— «nd nn*
folded a tale which Henry had not power to do — and
this was the weeping Lanra, from whom Mrs DreUn-
eoort heard the following sad oonlession of heedless,
unprincipled folly >-
It seemed that when they were children, during in-
demeot weather they had had acoess to a large room,
unused, and filled with lumber of Tarious descriptions —
antique dresses, ancient pictures, &c. &c. They de-
lighted to rummage the huge closets and cabinets, and
one day, in remoring an oak chest, which their united
strength scarcely sufficed to do, they struck against the
panning of the chamber, which gave way, and dis-
eortfred an opening : this opening proTed to be a nar-
row passage between the walls, and termiBated in a
hitherto unknown entrance to the room occupied ly^
Claii St Eude. What a discovery for these raisebief,
trick-loTing imps ! They found the panel in this room
conld easily be pushed aside, closed again, and no sus-
picion, no trace left of intruders. Breathless with ex-
citement and delight, they restored the oak chest to its
place ; and big with their wonderful secret, the young
consfurators frequently met in the * rubbish chamber '
to ofganise their pfama, which were no less than a deter-
minmtion to play off* some * real good trick ' on that
* obstinate minx Clan,' the very first (^portunity that
offered.
Too soon the opportunity presented itself: the fatal
trick was played ofF— some ghastly tableau represented
with the aid of phosphorus lights. Tlie simple, weak-
minded sleeper awakened to this scene of apparent
horror with the perfect remembrance of her well-
secured chamber-door ; and the frightfiU sequel ensued
which has been already narrated. Henry Drelinoourt
hud in^teed powerful reasons for preserving their direful
secret, nor had his cautions been lost on his weaker
and more talkative sisters. Taffy Lewin's suspicions
hjui indeed been powerfully aroused, although tliey of
coarse took no tangible form; but she watched and
waited, nor was she surprised when the repentant and
eorrowing Laura repeated tlie sad tale to her.
8ttt now the heir of Drelincourt was dead, and the
esteates must pass away into stranger hands ; and what
was to become of Mrs Drelincourt, her helpless daughter,
and the equally helpless Laura? There was no provi-
aion whatever for them ; they knew not where to turn,
or where to seek sh^ter or daily bread. The gentleman
who succeeded to the .Drelincourt property was an im-
poverished man, with a large expensive family ; he was
good-natured, and felt for their destitate condition, but
frunkly confessed that it was not in his power to do
mnch fbr them. On visiting the hall, he had several
interviews with Taffy Lewin; and having young chil-
dren, he earnestly desired to retain her in the capacity
of nurse, the commendations he received from Mrs
I>relincourt being of so high a nature.
But Taffy Lewin's decision was already made : she
had related to the new owner the sad history attached
to Clari St Eude, and expressed her firm determination
never to desert this helt^esa b^g : ' For she will soon,
very soon, have only me ; her mother is not long for
this world, sir.' Taffy went on to say that she bad
saved a littie money, and meant to return to her native
village, and establish herself there, where, by needle-
work, and CUri's basket-making, she hoped to earn a
decent livdihood.
'And what is to beoome of Mrs DreUncourt in the
meantime, my good Taffy ?' asked Colonel Howard, the
new proprietor, * and of Miss Laura also ?'
' As to my lady,' answered Taffy Lewin, ' have a little
patience, sir. Poor thing ! let her rest her bones in the
old church at Drelinoourt; it wont be for long she
needs ihi$ shelter, that is awaiting her fbll soon. She has
failed rapidly since master departed and Master Henry ;
the shock altogether was too much for her. As to Miss
Laura, she must go out a-govemessing, or something of
that kind: voung ladies often do — and she can play
music, and draw trees, and work most beautifully all
sorts of fancy kickshaws.'
* Ah, my worthy Taffy,' answered the cokmel smil-
ing, ' I fear much that no one will be inclined to receive
Miss Laura Drelinooart in the capacity yon suggest.
But should your fiears prove true with respect to Mrs
Drelinoourt, which I sincerely trust they may not ' —
Taffy shook her head — ^ why, then, all we can do is this ;
it is the only plan I can suggest or follow out : — My
brother is the proprietor of land in the close vicinage of
your native place, and I know of a little spot that you
can retire to ; at my representattou he will let you have
it cheap^ for he is a kind fellow. 1 must give what I
can towards assisting you to maintain these two hdp-
less girls, though it seems to me Miss Ckui is the most
likely one to hdp herself.'
This, ana a great deal more, said Colonel Howard, to
all of which Taffy Lewin thankfully acceded. Sooner
even than the tiny woman bad anticipated, poor Mrs
Drelincourt sank into her grave i and Ta^, aoeom-
panied by her two charges, bade adieu for ever to the
gray venerable walls whidi had witnessed such chequered
soenea At Springhead Taffy estobUshed herself forth-
with; her quick little eyea saw its wonderfal 'capa-
bilities ; ' and * What a God-send weie the osiers ! ' said
she; and what with needlework, and wateroresses,
and basket-making, Taffy had need to dip but lightly
into her hoard of saTings.
Laura Dreliaoourt did not long oontinne to reside
with her faithful nurse : her sister Blanch was left a
widow, with no means of supporting her family. Taffy
Lewin appealed to Colonel Howaid, intreatiog him to
permit Laura to share with her destitute sister the
stipend he had originally intended for the use of the
former and Clari. Taffy said that Clari and she could
support themselfes well ; Laura was miserable at Spring-
head ; Blanch and her diildren were starving ; and it
was far better and happier for them all that the sisters
liTed together, and managed for themselvea Colonel
Howard immediately agreed to Taffy's request; and
thus poor Clari was left solely dependent on the good
little 80iU» who is indee^her only friend and earthly
stay.
*As to Miss Drelinoouft and hor sister,' continued
my friend, * they set up a boarding-school for young
ladies; but it did not answer; and when Taffy last heard
of them, they were living at a cheap rillage in Wales
on Colonel Howard's bounty — a sad fall for tiiese proud,
arrogant ladies. Taffy's sole anxiety is respecting the
feature fate of her unfortunate charge, should it please
Providence to remove herself first fhmi this transitory
scene. The Misses Howard not long ago paid a visit to
Springhead, and assured the tiny woman that she
might set her heart at rest on that sooret for Miss Clari
should be their care if death deprived her of her present
faithful protectress. They will not prove false to their
promise; they are my most valufd friends; and when I
pay my annual visit to Drelinoourt Hall, I inhabit the
chamber formerly occupied by poor Miss Clari, still
known as ** Miss Clari's Room." Taffy refasea all pecu-
niary aid 'f she is iu want of nothing, she says, bat a
294
CHAMB£BS« EDIKBtJBGfi JOU&NAti.
thankfbl heftrt And it offendi the honest pride (rf the
Fairy Qaeen to offer asaistanoe.'
Thus my fHend concluded her reminiseenoes ; and I
neTer since then see watercresses on the table, or beauti-
ful basket-work, without associating them in mj mind
with the memories I retain of the good Taffy Lewin
and her * greenerie*'
TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
COPENHAGEN.
Hatxno passed with little trouble or difficulty through
ttife customhouse formalities, we entered the city, and
soon found ourselres established in comfortable apart-
ments in the Hotel Royal. This is a house on the usual
large scale of the continental hotels, being a quadrangle
surroiinding a courtyard, and accessible from the street
by ^ port-coeher. It is conducted by a gentleman — ^the
term is in no respect inapplicable — named Leobel, who
speaks English, and seems indefatigable in his friendly
exertions for the benefit of his guests. I belieTe there
are other good hotels in Copenhagen, but I hare heard
Mr Leobers always admitted to be the best
The first plunge into a large city is confusing. In
our perfect ignorance of the relative situations of the
streets and public buildings, we know not which way to
turn without guidance. It is a good plan in such cir-
cumstances to go at the very first to the top of some
height, natural or artificia], from which a Tiew of the
whole may be obtained. In Copenhagen there is a cer-
tain Trinity Church, situated obscurely in the densest
part of the town, but famished with a singular tower of
great altitude, and so spacious, that the ascent is not by
a stair, but by a spiral carriage-way, up which, it is
said, Peter the Great of Russia used to drive a ooach-
and-six. Our little party immediately proceeded thither,
and, ascending to ihe top— where, by the way, there is
an observatory — ^were gratified with a comprehensive
survey of the city and ito environs. We soon ascertained
that Ci^nhagen is built on a flat piece of ground, with
no hills near it ; that towards the sea, on the south and
east, it is a congeries of batteries, docks, stores, and
arsenals ; that its west end, contrary to a flimsy theory
on the subject, is the meaner and more andent part ;
and that it is chiefly confined within a line of fortifica-
tions, but that these are now formed into public walks,
here and there enlivened with windmills. The only
arresting object beyond the bounds of the city is a
slightly-rising ground, about two miles to the west-
wurd, crowned by a palace (Fredericksberg). The chalk
fbrmation, wliich prevails here, as over Denmark gene-
rally, is usually tumescent and tame of surface ; hence
there are few points in the environs of Copenhagen cal-
culated to arrest attention.
A large irregular space in the centre of the town —
called Kongetu Nye Torv; Hiat is, the King's New
Market — gives a key to the whole, because from it
radiate the leading thoroughfares, in which the shops
and best houses are situated — Ostergade to the west,
Gk>thersgade to the north, while to the east proceed Uie
Amidie Gade, the Bred Gade, and others — Abroad modem
streets, containing many fine buildings, and terminating
on the citadel of Frederickshavn, the grand defence of
the dty in that direction. To be a town of only 127,000
inhabitants, and the capital of so small a state as Den-
mark, Copenhagen contains a surprising number of
goodly public bidldings, particularly palaces ; so much,
indeed, is this the case, that the houses for the residence
of the people appear as something subordinate, and put
half out of sight These palaces convey a striking idea
of the wantonness with which fbrmer rulers have used,
or rather abused, the means extorted from the indus-
trious part of the conraaunity. Will it be bdieved that
fbur palaces were set down in the last century, in a
duster, divided only by tiie breadth of so many cross-
ings; and that, after this was done» soother viibsik i
(Christiansborg), which measures upwuds of 600 fat '
in one direction, and is so huge a bniUiai, tiat Sosio^
set House would appear but a fragment of it? IW
statdy edifices are now given up to the Mnioe cf tki i
puUic OS museums, pioture-gaUeries,8DdlibfiiiM,v)iih '
the existing sovereign is contented to live q^jio obi
of his equidly numerous country palaces on to iBmr-
anoe of about sixty tiKmsand a year. The eflcd;h0v.
ever, ii, that Copenhagen is a pliice pontiToly fa^o^
from the multitude ^ its sights. One of tkoM cbb<
scientions travellers who get a list of show-idscfli fim i
a friend, or from Murray's Handbook, snd goftni^
the whole as a duty, would be like to die here of fot
exhaustion of spirits before he had got three^Btli I
way down the paper.
Notwithstanding the muHitnde of iioe edifloo^ th
dty is deficient in si»ightliness. The Kogliih soilii-
sador, Keith, in 1771, spoke patheticslly of tiiedslsM |
of Copenhagen, and the same character jet diflgi toii <
A certain plainness marks even the best of the popib- '
tion on the street The shops, not fitted peenliarijr, m ,
in England, for the show of goods at the viodon u4
often accessible from obscure nds-^uugn, on^ritste \
little gaiety to the street so^iery. Ikpipi^mhw
and homdy. There is a great abundssoeof mateftgoici
in some sort of uniform, fbr the foactkniriBi d \hi «
state, dvil and military, are a legion ; hot these poioBs
are also, in general, of very moderate sppemBoa <te
quickly remarks that nine out of erery ten mn, d
whatever kind, have dgars in thdr nxmihi; mdis-
other drcumstance, perhaps a corollsiy to the hit, it*
tracts observation— namely, the great number cfyosBg
men wearing spectacles. While, howerer, eoe niniiki
an inferiority to England in so msn^ respecti, he ii
forced to confess in one important paracolar i ocnfcrt-
able superiority ; and this is in the aqiectof thehniUff
classes. Here, as in most other continsntsl towsi,tiMn
is scarcely any trace of that horde of shjeot nteikb
whidi is so prominent in every Britiah oi^. Tht
labouring people are generally dad decent^, mmfd
them, particularly the peasant women, p^. Ait
matter of course — as indeed the grand cssiecf tfe
peculiarity -^thore is no drunkenness seen asNSSi^
them. On the whde, the Danes, as seen in their m-
tropolis, appear an innocent, amiable P6<^>1^~*^
stolid, perhaps, but remarkaUy indfensivs aodre^
able.
It is, I bdieve, a general distinction between Eaglai
and continental countries, that in the latter efegnoa
and fineries are first attended to^ and thing! mdnem
to daUy comfort only in the second pUuse, while inMt-
land the comfortable and the omamental go hisda
hand together. Hence it is that with att their te
palaces, which are indeed almost objects of the paii »
peopte of Copenhagen have not even yet lesmedhitte
pave their streets, to introduce water into tiieir hosM*
or to establish gas-lighting. They make a csm^ <
small, round, waterwom stones, like eggs phod ■
end, which tortures the feet ^^ causes every pm
wagon to produce a ndse so great that aaanmbm*
drowned in it They form a side pavement o' *• *■
materials, with a border of hewn granite ritbij^w
whole being ftir too narrow for the passing «•**•
that there being, after all, little more than s ebooBt**
tween the egg pavement on the side snd the egg 9^
ment in the middle, the multitude is diie^y m*s F"*
ding its way along the causeway, *nw»g wheittiWJ
wains, and carriages. The difmsion of wste, t^gf
introduction of gas, are objects advocated by •"•Jjl
ened few ; but m usual, munidpal privij^g'*
dantio government regulations obstruct **• JJJrJ
It was a curious thing for me to tell the pe(^ «^i^
hagen and Stockholm t&at they were, in thisylg
othir matters, behind the small towns rf oW**
which had so many as a thousand or twelfswsfiw
inhabitants. . .^
The first object towfaidi ov ptrty bent Ihor m^i
—
GHAMBBBS'8 EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
295
wtLM the Cattle of Boaenberg, an old palaot ia the
aorthetn MctioQ of the city, luitoaiided b^ some fine
;ardeiia» which are open to the public Boaenberg ia
indentood to be a production of the genius of Inigo
Jones : it reminds one of the order of buildings which
we in Eni^and call EUzabethan, and oertainly was built
t>y Christian IV. of Denmark at the beginning of the
leventeenth century. It is now simply a museum of the
intiquities of the Danish rojtd. fanmy— that is, the fhr-
diture, dresses, ornaments, &c. which haye belonged to
those princes and thehr children, oTen to the toys of
lome of them, in the course of the last three or four cen-
turies. Such a multitude of curious and elegant objects,
recalling the royalty of past ages, perhaps nowhere else
exists. They are so arranged in a suite of ancient state
apartments, that you pass from one age to another in
^oper chronological succession, and find you haTe been
reading the Danish history of several centuries in the
course of an hour's lounge. The most conspicuous so-
rereign of the series is the builder of ^e house, who
was in truth a noted monarch in his day, an active, hard-
headed man, verv warlike, very sensual, yet not devoid
of a kind-hearted regard for the good of his people. He
was the brother-in-law of our James I., whom he once
visited with a dosen ships of war in his train ; on which
oooaskm he kept the English court for some time in
such a whirlwind of conviviality, that Shakspeare is
supposed to have been induced by it to pen &e well-
known passage in Hamlet, bq^inning,
* This hMTy-headad rival, Mst and wast,
Bfakes ua traduced and taxed of other nations;*
and likewise to describe the usurping uncle as a drunk-
ard. You see here King Christian's audience-chamber,
a handsome old panelled room, f\ill of little pictures, and
having a small aperture in the door, through which it
is said the king could, fh>m his sitting-room, observe
the conduct of his courtiers while they were waiting for
him. In glass-cases are ranged a be^dering multitude
of antique gold boxes, cups, baptismal basins, goblets,
and drinking-horns, together with some elegant deco-
rated swords, and other weapons. The object singled
out for special observation is the celebrated silver ^m
of Oldenborg ; not, it seems, that which Dousterswivel
sx>eak8 of as given to Count Otto of Oldenborg by a
mountain spirit, but one which is said to have been
made for Cfhristian L in 1447. The singularly rich
decorations and figurings on the outside are certainly
in the style of that period, if I may judge by the mace
preserved at St Andrews — a rich product of the Pud-
si an workshop of the time of Charles YII. In a small
room Christian lY. slept in a hammock ; the rings by
which it was suspendcKl are still seen in the c^ing.
Portraits of his favourite ladies hang around. In an-
other room there is a great variety of drinklng-glasses {
some of them of the beautifyil Venetian maniJiEU^ure,
said to be exceedingly rare and valuable. One of the
richest articles in the whole collection is a set of horse-
furniture which Christian presented to his son on his
marriage, and which cost a million of firancs. The very
backles are set with diamonds I An upper floor con-
tains the grand hall of the palace, styled the RUUerstU,
yr Knights' Chamber: it has a silver throne at one
Etid, and much historical tapestry along the walls. One
20TDm away with a strong sense of the prodigality in
which the royalty of Denmark indulged during its days
>f absdute authority, when the people were condemned
to slavery, at once the sole workers and the sole tax-
payers in the country. I may remark that a party is
ihown through this palace by a well-bred gentleman-
like man, who speaks in French, if required, for a fee
irooanting to 6s. 9d. steriing. Everything is explained
wiUi precision, and nothing but what is historically
:rue is stated. An enlightened idsitor is thus left wiik
I very different impression from what he would acquire
n any similar show-house in En^and, where probably
m old housekeeper, unfit for anything else, would be
myths, which she would relate as unchallengeable
facts.
Befbre turning to any other Copenhagen sight, I may
take the reader to a place much allied in duuracter to
the Ch&teau Rosenberg— namely, the cathedral of Roes-
kilde, which I did not visit till my return from the
north. A railway of about sixteen English miles—
the only thing of ^e kind as yet introduced into the
country — enabled me to be deposited there in an hour.
We found a huge ungainly brick -church rising in
the midst of a village which has something of the
withered look of Versailles. The inside is as plain as
the outside is coarse, and there is little trace of the
Gothic architecture to be seen. Tet there are here some
exceedingly curious, and even some beautiM objects.
The altar-piece is a complicated exhilntion of ancient
Dutch wood-carving, representing the principal events
in the life of Christ It is said to be at least three
hundred years old. Along the sides of the space en-
closed for the Communion-table are two series of still
more ancient wood-carvings, representing Bible events
— the Old Testament on one side, and the New on the
other. The quaintness of many of the figures, and the
homely ideas embodied by the artist, are exceedingly
amusing — ^for example, Adam writhing in painful sleep,
as the Almighty is pulling Eve bodily out of his side ;
Noah calmly steering something like an omnibus, with
seven faces looking out at as many windows; and Elijah
going up into the air in a four-wheeled vehide marvd-
lously resembling the ill-constructed widns which still
rumble through the streets of Copenhagen. Having
dwdt long on the curious and minute work here dis-
played, we proceeded to view the sarcophagi df the
Danish soverdgns of the last two centuries, all of
which are placed in this church. I found the aisle in
the right transept in the course of being repaired and
adorned with frescoes, for the reception of the coffin of
Christian IV., and a grand statue of the monarch by
Thorvaldsen. As yet, he reposes in the half-lit vault
bdow, witii his queen, \fj his side, and his naked sword
lying rusted and out of order upon his coffin. The
length of the weapon surprises the curious visitor, but
is explained by the uncommon stature of the royal
owner — for Christian, it seems, was a man of six feet
five inches. The coffin is otherwise distinguished only
by a number of plain silver omamehts.
The marble tombs of Christian V. and Frederick IV.,
and their queens — contemporaries of our William III.
and Queen Anne — are placed in a quadrangular arrange-
ment behind the altar, and are certainly magnificent
structures of tiieir kind, being formed of pure marble,
and adorned with many figures, all in the finest style
of art. Medallion portraits of the royal personages, and
sculptures referring to events in their lives, are among
the ornaments of these mausolea, the oostiiness of which
tells tiie same tale as the Copenhagen palaces, of a time
when the king was eveiything, and the people nothing.
In behdding one of them, which seems to rise from the
floor rather like some magical exhalation than a work
of human hands, the idea occurred to me, ' Certainly
this is making the very best of the sad case of death
which it is poMible for human nature to do, as far as its
mere materid elements are concerned.' In the left
transept, a beautifUly fitted -up chamber, as it may
be called, in the Grecian style, are sarcophagi of two
earlier soverdgns, not much less splendid. The series
of monarchs thus liberally treated were all of them bad,
selfish khigs, who had little fieelmg for their people, over
whom they maintained absolute rule. A more virtuous
series, commendng with Frederick V. — ^the contempo-
rary of our George fi. — are disposed of less magnificently,
most of them being placed in simple vdvet-covered cof-
fins on the floor. Amongst these, one dull-looking ark
in black vdvet attracts attention by its plainness. It
contains the ashes of the imbecile Christian VU., whose
queen Matilda passed through so sad a history. In the
vicissitudes of subsequent ages, I should say that the
nlain mnnnmAnta havA thA hMt diance of nreservation.
296
CHAMBBRSn9l KDdMBUmOH JOURNAL.
The cioeioaa here jhowt m pilUr on which ife thcee
marks : one indieatiog the ttatttie of Chriatian L— ^he
firet prinee of the exiating djraaatj, and a oontempocary
of our Edward IV. ; he waa, it seems, six feet ten inohes
IB height, and his Bvord* whioh hangs on the wall, is
long eaoogh to reach up to the chiaof a man of ordinary
sise { a aecotkd denotes the stature of Christian IV. ; a
third» strikinffly lower* betokeha the height of the late
amiable king, Jffrederick VI.
Some other aisles contain the sarcophagi of distin-
guished noble families of Denmark. I was arrested for
a little by one which has a door of iron grated-work,
bearing a figure of the devil as large as Ttfe, with horns,
tail, and c£»rSb The exphination is, that the family
reposing within is named TroUe, a famous one in Danish
histoiy. TroUe is the name of one of the beinga of
Scandinavian superstition } and thia being ia figured in
the armorial'beariogs of the house as a man haviog
his head placed in ^e middle of hia body. Latterly, I
suppose, as these superstUiona became obscure, the
malignant Trelle waa confounded with the devil ; and
hence the figure on the grating as an object bearing
reference to this noble family. The En^sh visitor is
diiiHised to pause under a di^rent feeling over the slab
beneath which Saxo-Grammaticus reposes^ when he
reoQ41eots that SAiakspeare obtained the foundation of
his Hamlet in the pages of that historian. I find it
stated in Feldbovg's * Denmark Delineated,' that when
James VI. of Scotland came to Copenhagen in the
course of hia , matrimonial eiccursion, he met in Koes-
kilde Cathedral the celebrated Dr Hemmingen, and dis-
cussed with him in Latin the substantial presence of
the body and blood of Christ in the euoharist Dr
Hemmingen had been placed here, as in an honourable
banishment, for his Calvinistio notions on this subject.
The Scottish monarch was so much pleased with his
cast of opinion, that he invited him to dinner, and at
parting bestowed upon him a golden beaJker.
The royal collection ef pictures in the Christiansborg
palace is a large ooe* occupying twelve stated rooms ;
but it contains only a few good pictures, and seldom
detains a visitor long. While I was in Copenha^n, a
small cdleotion of ti^ productions of living Norwegian
artists waa open to public inspection for a snuiU fee,
the proceeds being applicable to the relief of the Danish
soldiers wounded in the Sleswig-Hoistein war. SevemU
of Uie landscapes, particularly one by a Mr Gude, repre-
senting the Hardanger Fiord, struck me as works of
merit; and tliere was one conversation -piece, repre-
senting an old peasant reading the Bible to his wife,
which seemed to me not less happy in its way. It is
remarkable that the northern nations have not yet
produced any painter of great reputation, but that in
sculpture they have surpassed all other European
nations besides Italy. The great distinction attained
by Tborvaldsen has thrown a glory over Denmark, of
whioh the Danes are justly proud. He was the son of
a poor Icelandic boat-builder, and was born in Copen-
hagen. On his attiuning to eminence in Bome about
thirty years agp, his country at once awakened to a
sense of his merits ; and when he afterwards viaited it,
he was receiyed with honours such as are usually
reserved for some soldier who has saved his country,
or added stupendously to its Laurels. He ultimately
settled in Denmark, where he died in 1844, leaving to
bis country many of his best works in marble, casts of
all his great works, besides his pictures, curiosities^
fusniture, and the sum of 60,000 Danish doUara. The
consequence has been the erection of the TBoavAU>aB^
MusKUK, beyond all comparison the most iotereating
object in Copenhagen. It is a quadrangular building
in what is called the Pompeii atyle, witli a court in the
middle ; in the centre of whioh, within a simple square
of marble slabs, rest the remains of the great artist. In
the halls and galleries within are ranged the sculptures,
casts, &c under a judicious classification, each ai^axtr-
ment being adornol with frescoes more or less appio-
priate to the objects contained in it. The Wst o^^
in the whole oettecAion is andaubtsdlf ths esit «f t
coloaaal figure of Christ, iHuch ThorrsUieB eiecBtid.
along with the twelve apostlea, and a knsiliDf u^
bearing a font, for the Fraa Kiik in CopenluisB. Ibe
stranger tees the marUe origiaak ef aU the« %ftm
ia the church with admiratkHi ; but it is admitted Ikt
the cast of the Christ has a better efiset tfan tke
original, in consequence of its snporior relstiffssmiii-
ment The Saviour is repaesented in the act of h^
* Come ttntome all ye that labour and an heavjrUea;'
aad there is a mixture of homaa hsaffsltnoi wA
divine mtO^s^ in the attitude and sihumiob, vbieli
perfectly aoawers to the text. ThetendeocjrsNaito
be to an adratsaioa that this is the flaest caiboteBt
of the idea of the Saviour ef the world which tliitvi^
has ever seen i and I shall not be snrpiiied if this
opinion be confirmed. Many of the artitt^i njiho-
logical figuree^partioubudy those reahsinf idesl bm^,
his Psy^es, Veaoaes, Dianas, and ApdUos. the cut «f
his noble frieae of the triumphal msirch of Mmakt,
and some of his subjects embodying the poeti7 of hamm
life-Htfe eminently beautifuL Tbe bmti, vUdttfe
mimerous, are less interesting, and in nmt kakmrn
Inferior as works of art. The lepresentstou d the
artist himself, in sculpture and paiatisg; in OHSf,
sod calculated to give a perfect idss of the bib— a
missive figure, with a massive head, Uoe eyo, t ^
complexion, and a gentle, but thougfatfcl exprawM of
countenaoce. After dwdling to wearinen qd the cnt-
tions of the nian*s genius, it is pleasant to vdk ioto
the rooms which contain his rimple hooiehaM (M-
ture, books, favourite pictures, and other Mnft
memeriala cf hia personal existence. It ii eqirilf
agreeable to pause in the midst of the osotsmfhtidi of
his works, and observe the groups of sdiairiQf obhiIit.
men, from the noble to the peasaati who pM thns|k
the rooms to eigoy the spectacle of an istiUMlBRl
triumph in which they feel that they have t prt
Finally, one pauses with speechless emotioB ofer tte
plain enclosure in the courtyard, which pronoaoosMlf
the words Hebtbjl Thobvaiaskit over one vhooiiiae
countrymen can never cease to revere. Oa the eelsde
of the building there are frescoes represcntiQg-^
the national reception of Thorvaldsen en hit Ind j^
turn to Copenhagen ; and, second^ the poblio jsfostke
introduction of hds works into their eonotry. I h^
some critioite these frescoes severelj; bat I taU.
never get so far as critioiam in their case. Bfa7ttek
attempt is anticipated with mc by a meltiaf rf tti
lieart in sympathy with thia worthy people, mr tk
glory which Thorvaldsen haa conferred upon th« ii
the eyes of theb fellow-nations, and that gsohl ^ij^
relation between them and their immoctaleBafitA^
of whk:h thia iavaluaUe museum is the UMxramot
The Danes are remarkably fond of anmeoiest «m
the meana of affording this gratification at OpvN"
are ample. ; The principal theatre {KmgUft Timtf)*
a handsome house cf moderate size^ where tolh ^
Opera and Ballet are reapectably picssntei I «*|
present one evening, when an operatic piece <f v*
Christian Andersen, named BryUuppti ind Q>wf^
apparently of very aimple construotiiNi, wsi perfcm»
and I thought both the ainging and orchHtii O*
ceedingly good. There are several other pisyhwig
some of which are chiefly frequent^ by the taa**
claases. On the outskirts of the town tbaewf
estahUshment called a Tivoll, lesemUiog ^«2^
and to which, as the admisaioB is only 4^ ^^
immense multibides resort Here is f(msd « ■*
theatre for dancing and riwrt vaudeviOeSi «Ub w
people witness standing in the q>«» '^' '*■'•?:
#•/«•! for nmsic, where the people are under c*^""
without aeata, unless they dioose to adt ^ *^|^
menta. In the open air are merry-go-rottndMj*^ ;
Uting railway, and machines for testing ''^>*"K^
Denmark, a merry-go-round is the enjoyneaiw*" '
well as young. It is composed of a w^^—- — -^
ing cacriagaa like those of a nUinyr M^f"^'"^
CHAMBiaiSni EDINBUmQH JOURNAL.
297
upon w|ie«li, while a bcM* band Mwndf ▼oci&roiialy
in tke coatee. It was most amotiDg to vs English to
QbMri« the grarity with which people of all agea took
their places in this ciraamambient train. One oorride
matnta a decent shopkeeper with his wife, he with the
baby oo his knee, which he is endeavouring to awaken
to a sense of its ^roll situation— the cigar kept firm in
, his month all the time; another exhibits a pair of
I young loTecs in rery amicable union ; a third an aged
I couple, who might be grandfather and grandaother to
I the latter iiarty. An inner circle of boys, whipping and
' spurring imaginary horses, complete the whimsicality
of the machine, as it goes grinding and thundering on
to the soaod of the band. I do not envy the man who
can turn away contemptuously from such a sight as
this. The simplicity uf inteUect betrayed by sndi
tastes one might certainly wish to see improved ; but
yet there is something in being easily pleased which a
benevolent nature cannot easily resist. I quite loved
the people for the innocence of heart shown in their
amusements.
A Sunday evening which I spent in Copenhagen on
my return from the north afforded me an ad(UtioBal
insight into the habits of the Danes in this respect.
Sunday, it must be premised, is held all over Scan-
dinavia much less strictly than in England, and its reli-
gious character is considered as terminating at si^ in
the evening. What I had seen in Norway made me
not quite unprepared for what I found at Copenhagen ;
nevertheless it was somewliat startling. The evening
being fine, the whole of the broad shady walka between
the west gate of the city and the palaoe of Fredericks-
berg, two miles ofl^ were crowded with gronps of people
in their best clothes ; not merely peasants and artisans,
or even shopkeepers, but persons of superior condition,
though perhaps not in such great proportion. The
peasant women, with their gaudy gold-laced caps and
ribbons, gave a striking chant^^fpfto the scene. There
vrere no drunk or disoitterly*fl|M»~Bll perfectly quiet
and wdl-behaved. Along -fflVside of the road are
niuneroui tea-gardens, som^ of them having little
theatres, others merry-go-rounds and nine-pins, and so
forth. These were all in full operation. It was astound-
ing to see old women, identical in aspect with those who
in Scotland sit on pulpit-stairs, and spend the Sunday
erenlng over Bo9ton*s * Fourfold Stete' and * Crook in
the Lot,' here swimming along in the circular railway
to the music of a band. I tell, however, but a simple
fact when I say that such was the case. Scores of
little parties were enjoying themselves in the recesses
along the walks. I observed tliat many of these were
fanuly parties, whose potations consisted only of tea.
As the only variation to a laborious life for a whole
week, it must have been intensely enjoyed. In one
garden connected with a third-rate tavern there was a
dancing saloon, with a clarionet, two fiddles, and a bass,
to which a few lads and lasses were waltzing; and this
seemed no solitary case. There was evidence c^ enjoy-
ment everywhere, but not the slightest symptom of a
sense that there was anything wrong in it. All seemed
to be done openly and in good Udthi I could not help
contrasting the scene with the Sunday evenings of my
own country. There tlie middle-classes spend the time
at least quietly, if not religiously, at home ; and having
the power, use it, to forbid all public or acknowledged
means of amusement to their inferiors. It is well
known, however* that the taverns frequented by the
common people are very busy that ev^ng. It has been
stated that in Glasgow, on the evening of the Sunday
on which the Conununion was administered last winter,
one thousand and eighty public-lKMises were found in
full business. The difference, therefore, between Den-
mark and Britain is mainly this*— that in the one country
amusements of a comparatively innocent nature are
partaken of without a sense of guik, while in the other
ei^oymeuts of a degrading kind are enjoyed olandes-
tinelj, and with the feeling of a rq>robation banging
over them which must add to their aoti-xaoral teadencr.
We mast pause, then, I conceive, before we express
the fc^ags which are most apt to arise in our minds
regarding the Soaadinaviaa mode of spending the Sun-
day evening.
The Museum of Northern Antiquities may perhaps
be admitted to divide the pite of interest wHh the
Thorvaldsen Museum ; but I postpone all reference to
the subject till a proper groundwork shall have been
laid by the description of my journeyiogs in Sweden
and Norway. R. C.
PIANOS FOR THE MILLION.
THsaE seems to be an increasing dtspositien among us
to regard music as an agent of civihaation, and tl^re-
ft>re an increasing anxiety to diffhse a taste for the art
throughout all classes of the people. The simple songs
that are found in countries in an early stage of progress
cannot constitute the music of a refined nation, any
more than their rude ballnds can be the staple, instead
of the mere germ, of their poetry. Both, however,
serve as an exoellent foundation for the superstructures
of taste ; and to both we return occasieoally from amid
the complications of art^ to suakA from them a heaithy
inspiration.
It is not in mere refinement that the operataon of
music is obvious and 'powerful : it humanises, and
* makes the whole world kin.' ' There is no free-
masonry so intimate and immediate, I believe,' says a
recent author when relating a conversation with Mrs
Hemans, *as that which exists among the lovers of
music ; and although, when we parted, I could not tell
the colour of her eyes and hair, I ielt that a confidence
and a good understanding had arisen between un, which
the diM^nssion of no subject less fascinating could have
excited.' It is in this point of view that music shouU
be regarded by philanthropists : the science should be
given to the masses of the people as a bond of sympatliy
between tliem and the upper stratum of society. But
while many efforts are making in this direction, there
is still great shiggishness in one important branch of
the business: the lower classes have no good instru-
ments, and have no great artists ; the inspiration de-
rived from a Jenny Lind or a Sontag never descends
beneath a certain line in the social scale ; and the
pianoforte, the most useful of all musical instruments,
has never served for a ralljing-poiot in the domestic
circles of the poor.
To deal with the former of these two difficulties is
arduous — ^perhaps impossible. Even in this country,
where everything bears a money vahie, including even
the light that enters our houses, there are some galleries
where the works of great painters are patent to the
public But the sister art is a monopoly of the rich,
because the efforts of performers produce no permanent
creations, but merely an evanescent sound, which may
elevate the mind and Knger on the memory, but can
never be reproduced by the listener. A painter lives by
the sale of works which survive even himself perhaps
for hundreds of years ; but a musician retails perform-
ances that are not prolonged even by an echo. The
great singer, however, demands a higher reward than
the great poet ; and t^e great actor grcrws rich while
the great dramatist buely lives. '\^o can help it?
We give willingly what they demand : there is no
compulsion in the case, and the day of sumptuary laws
is gone by.
But this deprivation does not press so much upon the
poor as upon a great portion of the middle-ctasses. We
cannot find faidt with musical artists for demanding
half a guinea or a guinea from every one who chooses to
listen to a few songs ; because such sums are voluntarily
paid, and all dealers, even those who deal in harmonious
sounds, have the same right to sell them in the dearest
market that they have to buy thehr wines and jewels in
the cheapest. But unluckily the deprivation is felt by
the very class which would benefit the most, and confer
the most benaAL bv beinir admitted on reasonable terms
298
C&AMBfiRS'B BDtMBmtGH JOtTBKAL.
to tudi tzhibittoiii of high art. It is neither from
among the poor nor the rich that great artiits usnidlj
spring, but from that large middle-olass in which the
genius of individuals receires an impulie from pecu-
niary neoeasity. In that rank large sums cannot be
paid for a song, and their claims to gentility will not
permit them to dass themselyes even at a concert with
the grade beneath them, permitted to listen for a lower
price in organ lofts and at the back of galleries. We do
not say that there is no remedy even for this erU The
genius of the present age is fertile in expedients, and
perhaps some plan may be hit upon to satisfy the exor-
bitant expectations of musical artists, by proTiding a
larger and more frequent audience at ibices better
adapted to ordinary means. So long as the present
system, however, continues, music cannot be expected
to make any rapid progress among us; for the effbct
of the system is to degrade art to the level of fasliion,
and thus repress the noble and generous aspirations of
genius.
But the difficulty arising from tiie enormous expense
of such" musical instruments as the piano is less com-
Elieated ; and indeed it would appear at first sight to
e very extraordinary that in an age of almost un-
bounded speculation and competition it should exist at
all. There is nothing in the construction of the ma-
chinery of a piano which ought to prevent it from being
found in tens of thousands of houses in Uiis country
from which it is at present entirely excluded. The
existing piano, however, is a traditional instrument —
an heir-loom of the wealthy; and for them alone it
must be manufactured. Its case must be of expensive
foreign woods, and its keys of ivory ; its legs must be
elegantly turned ; its handsome feet must roll on brazen
wheels adapted for the rich carpet; and generally it
must be decorated with carvings in wood, such as of
themselves, entirely superfluous as they are, add several
pounds to the expense. The manufacturers say that
all this is so because the instruments mutt be made
exclusively for the rich, who would not purchase them
if they were not elegant in form, and costly in material
and workmanship. But this, we strongly suspect, is
no longer true. Music has now descend^ lower in the
social scale than it did in the last generation, and thou-
sands of hearts are beating with the feeling of art and
its aspirations, which were formerly cold and silent.
The comparatively poor and the really economical do
not buy pianos, simply because they are far beyond
their means; and in England the cause of musical
science and kindly feeling is deprived of the aid of a
family instrument, which in Gintnany is found even
in the parlour of the village public-houses.
Tables and chairs, bedsteads, and other articles of
frtmiture, are manufactured on purpose to suit the
means of the various classes of purchasers. Bedsteads
may be had in London, and we presume elsewhere
with equal ease, at 188. and at L.50 a piece ; and chairs
which, in one form, cost 1m2 or L.3 each, in another —
of stained wood, with cane seats, extremely pretty and
lasting — sell for 153. the half-dozen. Why should not
the less wealthy families have their own piano as well
as their own chair or bedstead ? And the humbleness
of the materials, it should be remarked, would not
necessarily involve any want of elegance in shape. The
cheap chairs alluded to are sometimes very passable
imitations of rosewood chairs— and they answer the
purpose as well ! Let us add, that the introduction o(
the new process of desiccation applied to timber would
seem to render the present a very favourable juncture
for such speculations as we hint at Formerly, many
years' warehousing would have been required to divest
the wood of those juices which interrupt sound, and the
trade in the material would thus be a monopoly of
wealthy capitalists ; but now, thanks to the science of
the day, timber may be thoroughly dried in hours in-
stead of years, and thus a ruinous interest on invested
money saved.
Should this new manufscture, however, be com-
menced, the speculators must please to besr in nbi
that we do not ask for inferior instramenti, but Ibr
cheap materials and pUin workmanship, gone tee
ago an attempt was made to introdaoe wstohcs viA
imitative gold eases t but the works woe tparioa
imitations likewise; and these out-of-time-pseei,
brought forward, if we recollect rightiy, si I9i, isnk
speedily to Ss., and are now rarelj seen st tlL Thb
should be a lesson to piano-makers for the Btttn.
They should fhrther recollect, however, thit an ioitn.
ment, hitherto the prescriptive property of the ridind
refined, must, however humble its materiali, tetain i
certain elegance of form. A plain desl pisoo^ for is*
stance, even if the wood were suitable, wooU not bi
bought ; but One made of birch, and French MliiM,
with cheap keys, &o. would not disgrsoe s dnvia^'
room. We remember seeing fhmitare of thii tinker
in some of the small country inns in Rmdt; ind it
struck us as having an enormously-eztnniaBt leek;
having all the appearance of satin-wood. TMs, bov.
ever, we give merely as an illustration of oar moaing.
We put forth these paragraphs as nothing Dm thso t
hint to set thinking on the subject personi who poM« '
the mechanical knowledge we cannot pretesd ts; od
having so done. Ire take leave of the smrject L & i
THE PRISONS OP PAR III AUB THEIR
TENANTS.
8£0ONI> ABTICLE.
Thb castie of Vinoennes, wittiin a Ibw miles of Mi,
has always been as terrible a place of Mentloi n
was the Bastille. Even in these days of eooipciifs
liberty and justice, Yinciennes is made sa etgini ef
oppression ; for throiuAU^ all politicsl chaagei, te
Sirench govemmentlj^H^^plM to seize tnd ioev>
cerate tUegaUy any ^^^^Hn vhmn it hat a gndgc-
The prisoners of4^^Hp,%ll of faite fm^ «m
seldom tried, and rarA^CpKr what their olfeooe vii
The question they had to\sk themselves was sot, vM
is my crime? — but who is my enemy? whowmtmy
fortune or my place? who covets my wife or my «*»?
who dreads my influence ? Then tiie waBi were «
thick, the dungeons so deep, ^e guard so strict, tint oe
cry for justice could reach the world outside.
An unhappy person destined to be the inmsteof this
castle was generally sdzed and brought tiiere in tbe
middle of the night ^Ait^|^prosshig a drawbi^
which spans a moat forty »« deep, he fonnd \anm
in the hands of two men, who, by ttie pale ti^rf »
lamp, directed his trembling steps. Hearjdooncr
iron, with enormous bolts, were opened and cfasedw
after another ; narrow, steep, winding stairs, deneaong
and descending; on all sides padlodcs, bara, and p^l^
ings ; and vamts which the sun never saw! Amwj
in his dungeon, the prisoner, who perhaps an Ix* *:
fore had been dancing and feasting at a ooQrt-hil,»J
still wore his suit of vdvet and gold, was seaiehriii"
stripped of everytiiing but the bare clothes thstcsitw
him, and was then left with a m|scrahls p^jV*?
straw chairs, and a broken pitcher--tbe psrtmgi^g'
tion of the jailors being, that he was not to penntti*
self the sUghtest noise. «CeBt icHepahiisdeUflkBor
say they-K* This is the palace of silence I*) T^!!^
were fortunate enough to see the light SLgMn» snd vm
to be restored to the world, were seardied "****•■'?
way on leaving their dungeon, and were obUgedtewP
an oath never to reveal what had passed in ^"Jt
prison, under the penalty of incurring the kingli fit-
pleasure. As the king's dispteasure would hsTi »
mediately carried them back to Vincennei, i« Wf
believe that the vow was seldom violated.
known to be dilated on here : but aldioagk iMllWr
has heard of the UmentiU)le dentil of ihisMntf^
CHAMBEBS'S EDtXBOBGH JOURNAL.
299
and althottgh tbe vniTenal Toiee of muikiod has pro-
nounced his execntion one of the darkest blots that stahi
the name of Napoleon Bonaparte* few peojde are aware
that his arrest, or at least the pretence for it, origi-
nated in a simple police report* which was itself foim^
on a misunderstanding. The duke, who had emigrated
to Germany, had thm secretly married the Princess
Charlotte de Bohan. What funily reasons indnoed
them to make a mystery of the marriage hare nerer
been disclosed ; bat the precautions he took to oonoeal
bis visits first awakened tiie suspicions of tiie polioe»
and Intimately led them to report him as engaged in a
sounter-rerolutionary intrigue. Another of the accu-
sations brought against him originated in the mispro-
nnnoiation of a name. It was reported that he was on
intimate terms with General Dumourier, a man most
oboozious to the lirst Consul It was too late discoTcred
that the name of his associate was General Thumery,
The German pronnneiation had rmdered these two
riftraes identical to the ears of the French agents of
pdioe. It is singular that the mAe &Tour the duke
asked for on arriving at Yinoennes was a day's liberie
on his parole, to shoot in the forest The only tears
shed at the sad ceremony of his execution were by ^e
wife of the commandant, Madame Harel, who, by a
romantic coincidence, happened to be his foster-sister.
One of the most celebrated prisoners of Yincennes in
the eighteenth century was Mas^res de La Tude, who
expiated a folly by twenty years of cruel captivity, spent
partly here and partly in the Bastille. Ingenious, dever,
indefatigable, and patient, the schemes he contrived to
effect an escape, and to communicate with his neigh-
bours in misfortune, would fiU a volume. Nevertheless,
although Madame de Pompadour, the person he had
offended, was dead, he would probably have never re-
Qovered his liberty but for a lucky breeze of wind, which
blew a piece of paper, on which he had described his
sufferings, into the lap of an honest woman called
Legros, who kept a shop in Paris. The good soul was
so touched by the narrative, that, by dint of persever-
snce and money, she obtained the release of her pro-
fceg4 in 1784.
Not far from the chamber inhal^ted by La Tude was
that of the unhappy Pr^vdt de Beaumont, who was
guilty of tiie unpardonable rashness of denouncing the
famous Facte de Pctmine* * I accused De Sartines,' says
he in his memoir published after the Bevolution, ' who
was attorney-general under Louis XY., of occasioning
the fiimines that desolated France fbr three }rears ; and
bo punish me, he inflicted on me, for fifteen years,
sufferings to which the martyrology of the saints can
present no parallel Tom from my family and friends,
tniried alive in a dismal dungeon, chained to the wall,
deprived of light and air, perishing of hunger and cold,
learly naked, I endured horrors so repugnant to nature,
that my surviving to relate them is nothing less than
% mirade ! '
Not only did the dire injustice of arbitrary will in
those days tyrannise thus cruelly over men's bodies,
t)ut it did not scruple to destroy their minds. When
I prisoner of state was considered dangerous from his
x»urage, his patience, or his power of endurance, it was
30 uncommon thing to put him in a strait waistcoat,
iod carry him to Bicdtre. Here he was shut up in a
;age, and bled, under pretext of curing him, till he
iied, or went really as mad as they said he was. Few
lurrived and withstood this treatment; but amongst
those who did was the Prevdt de Beaumont He was
found at BicStre by Mirabeau and his colleagues when
they visited the hospital for the purpose of releasing
thoae who had been uniustly confined there ; on which
occasion the infamies discovered are said to have been
terrific. Many of the prisons in France are distinguished
by tbe names of saints, which arises from the circum-
itance of their having been formerly religious houses.
3t Pelagic is the place to which persons were latterly
sent for political offences : editors of newspapers, cari-
caturists, and people who would not be satisfied with
things as they are^ formed a considerable portion of its
popvdation.
At the period of the First Bevolution, the keeper of
thi< prison was a man named Bouchotte, who, unin-
fected by the rage of oruel^ that seemed to have seiaed
on the population of Paris, distinguished himself by
his courageous humanity. When the massacres of
S^>tember were being perpetrated, and the furious
mob were attacking aJl the jails, and slaughtering the
prisoners, the jaibrs, far from making any resistance,
generally threw wide their gates with a hearty welcome ;
but when the assassins reached St Pelagie, th^ found
the house apparently abandoned ; the gates were dosed,
all was silent within, and none answered to their
summons. At length, having obtained imidements, and
forced an entrance, they found Bouchotte and his wife
fast bound with cords. *Tou are too late, dtiaensl'
said Bouchotte; *the prisoners, hearing of your ap-
proach, became desperate, and revolted. After serving
us as you see, they have all made their escape T Fortu-
natdy the mob was deceived j nor ifas it known till long
afterwards that the whole scene was a scheme of this
worthy man's to save the lives of the intended victims.
An American gentleman of the name of Swan resided
for twenty years in this prison ; for we can scazody say
he was confined there, since he might have been re-
stored to liberty had he desired it. After a long suit
with a Frenchman, in which the American was cast, he
preferred going to jail to paying a demand he con-
sidered unjust Every year his creditor paid him a
visit, in hopes of finding him less obstinate ; and the
tmpioyia of the prison, as Well as his fdlow-captives, by
all of whom he was exceedingly beloved, would intreat
him to give way ; but he only smiled, and bowing to
his disappointed visitor, bade him adieu till that time
next year. Tbe love the prisoners bore him was wdl
earned by innumerable acta of kindness and beneficence.
He not only gave bread to the poorer debtors, but he
restored many to liberty by satisfying the demands of
their creditors. Mr Swan died at St Pelagie in 1630.
Clidiy is also a prison for debtors, where a cdl is
shown which was for two years inhabited by a man of
forty years of age, who had been sent there fbr a very
singular sort of debt — namdy, the money he owed for
the wet nurse's milk which he had imbibed while an
infant, the amount of the debt at the period of his in-
carceration having accumulated to twdve thousand
firancs!
A law formeriy prevailed in France, that if a debtor
escaped, the keeper became responsible for his debt Of
course this arrangement rendered evasion extremdy
difficult ; neverthdess, to revenge some real or fancied
injustice, a singular trick was played by a debtor, which
greatly amus^ the Parisians. A certain Monsieur
L having contrived to escape, presented himself
one evening at the house of his astonished creditor.
' You see,' said he, ' I am free. Ton may sdze me,
certainly, and send me back to jail, but I can never pay
you*, whereas, if you will give me money enough to
escape out of tiie country, you can claim your debt of
the keeper who can.'
The creditor, Who does not seem to have been very
scrupulous, consented to this arrangement, on condition
that he himself saw Monsieur L off by the dili-
gence ; which having done, and feeling himself safe, he
on the following morning knocked at the gate of Clicby,
and asked the keeper if he remembered him.
' Certainly,' said the functionary \ * you are the cre-
ditor of Monsieur L .'
' Exactly,' answered the creditor ; ' and you are
doubtless aware tiiat Monsieur L— — has effected his
escape, and that you are now responsible to me for the
six thousand francs he owes me?'
But instead of the face of dismay he expected, the
officer began to laugh, and assured him that Monsieur
Xj was safe in his room, and should immediatdy
make his appearance, which, on bdng summoned, he
did. The prisoner had his joke and his few hours of
300
0HAMBBIt6*B EDINBUllGH JOURNAL.
Hbertf , And the creditor his dlMppointment, whiefa his
dishonest intentions well merited. 80 many- debton
esc^p^; that it was lately proposed to rerive this law,
now obsolete ; bnt the sngrgestion was ne^^tived, under
the apprehension that this trick of Monsieiir L-— «'s
miffht be repeated in right earnest.
There Is a singular story told of a yonng man called
Pierrot Ddboarg, who was fbr some time a prisoner in
the Lnxemboorg. Pierrot was a yonng former, who in
178$ resided nSont twenty miles from Paris. Hand-
Kmie, gay, and prosperous in his circumstances, he was
one of the happiest of men ; the more so, that he had
won the affections of a beautiful young giri cidled Gre-
neyidve, who ^ad promised to become hia wife. When
the period appointed for the wedding approached, Pier-
rot ^d her that he mnst go to Paris for a short time,
promising to bring her on his return ali sorts of pretty
things for her corbeilfe. Well, Pierrot went, bnt he did
not return. Qenevii^Te waited and waited, week after
week, and month after month ; till at last, overcome by
an anxiety which was rendered more acute from a spice
of jealousy, she determined to seek him in the great city
herself. She knew tlie address of tlie house he lodged
at on his arrival, and thither she directed her steps.
* Monsieur Piecrot Dubourg?' said the womaa <^ the
house $ * certainly he lodged here, bnt that is some
months ago: he has been in prison ever since, and is
not Hkely to get out, I fancy, for he was sent there by
the Comte de Fersen !'
Purther inquiry elicited the following particulars : —
Pierrot, on his arrival in Paris, with plenty of money
in bis pocketf had fallen into the hands of a set of per-
sons who had very soon relieved him of it, and indeed
of everything he possessed besides. These were the
servants of some of the profligate courtiers of those
days, whose morals appear to have been of the same
complezion as their masters'. The person who had
introduced him into tliis nest of phmderera was the
Comte de Fersen's coachman, and when Pierrot foond
himself ruined, it was to him he attributed the mis-
chief Irritated and miserable at the loss, he one day
relieved his vexation by falling foul of the offender just
as he was mounting his box, full dressed, to drive his
master to court 07 course tlie comte, who was in the
carriage, was indignant, and poor Pierrot soon found
himself in prison.
It might have been supposed that Genevieve would
be very muoh grieved when she heard this story, but,
on the contrary, she was very happy : her lover was
not unfaithful, only unfortunate, and with a determined
will she set about getting him free. But although sht
succeeded at last, the success cost her very dear, and
strange to say, it cost the king of France verv dear too.
After addressing herself to the police and the judges,
and after presenting a petition to the king, which re-
mained unansw:ered, and kneeling in the dust as the
^^n passed to Versailles, who drove on without at-
tending to her, Genevieve at length procured an intro-
duction to the Baron de Besenval, the favourite of the
Ck>mfte d'Artois, the king's brother, to whom she made
many prayers and many visits ; and then one morning
Pierrot Dubourg found himself, he knew not why or
wherefore, suddenly at liberty. As be stepped into the
street, an old woman accosted him, and bade him follow
her. After walking some distancet she begged per-
mission to tic a handkerchief over his eyes, to which
— his curiosity being greatly excited — he consented.
When the bandage was removed, Pierrot opened his
e^'ea m a magnificent apartment, where nothing met
his view but satin, velvet, gold, and glass, and before
bim stood a lady attired like a princess, but masked.
Alas I it was the old story of Olaudio and Angelo.
Furious with rage, Pierrot struck her, and then, ashamed
of the unmanly act, he was about to rush from the
room ; but she stopped him, and after telling him that
she gave him back his vows, and renounced hia love,
the handed faim a packet containing her peasant's dress,
ttod all the pnefints he had mode her in their happy
days : and so they pcrted ; and when Plerfot retnined
home, and they asked him what htA become of Gene*
vi^ve, he said she was dead.
This happened in the reign of Lonis XVI., and one
might wonder how the humble Pierrot'c diaapfiotntEd
love could influence the destiny of the king of Fraoee;
and yet it did sa Pierrot had quitted Paris viUi Ins
heart foXL of bittemesa against the arlstocraey ; hot hmmv
espedally against the king, who had rejected Gene-
vieve's petition ; and against the queen, who had ^»-
dained her tears and prayers. After staying a sfcort
time in his formerly happy home, the contrast with the
past, and the cruel recollections constantly snggMfeed,
became too bitter for him, and he wondered away;
living an irreguhu- sort of life, and mmgling more and
more with the violent republicans, to whom his oirfy tie
was, that they, too, hated the eoart and the oomtiem.
The course of his travds having at length hrooght him
to St Menehould, he happened to be one day loongmg
in the streets, when, observing two carriages nppwmcii-
iog, he stopped to see them pass. His surprise mi^ be
conceived when, on the driving-seat of one of them,
dressed as a servant, he recognised the Comte de Fer-
sen ! Such a disguise could not be worn for ootiiiog;
and urged by ha^ed, he drew near the carriage, mad
looked in. There sat the queen of Frtece, whilst tim
king, attired as a valet, was awkwardly endeavanring
to perform the duties of his snppoaed ofiee. It woe
Pierrot Dnbourg who whispered to Droaet tbe pas*-
master who the travellers were* and it was be wlm
accompanied Drouef s son in pursuit of the waAtmppj
fugitives, who were overtaken at Varennes, and bfonght
bock to Paris. Pierrot Dubourg came too, and after
losing sight of him for some time, we find him ogota
filling the office of assistant ezecntioaor, in which at-
tuation he witnessed tlie beheadinir of his once-iored
Genevi^e, who was guillotined on the same daj with
Madame Dubarry.
Monsieur Arago, in his 61oge of Lavoiaiec; reiotet
that this great chemist might possibly have escaped the
death inflicted by his ignorant and ungrateful cowitry-
men, who told him they had no more need of leamed
men, had he not been more anxious tor the safe^ of
others than his own. A poor woman in the neighbaar-
hood of the Luxembourg had received him mto her
house, where slie neglected no precautions for hie aofe^
and conc^meut; but his alarm for the conaeqi
to his benefactress should he be discovered,
him so much more than his own danger, that be
repeated attempts to escape fh>m her friendly roeC
which she, by her vigilance, defeated. One nig^U; how-
ever, he succeeded in eluding her watchfulness, and the
next day saw him in the Luxembourg, whence lie was
removed to the Ckmciergerie, on his rapid way to the
scaflbld.
Condorcet, the great mathematician, is said to bare
lost his life by not knowing how many eggs there abevid
be in an omelette. Aware that he was suspected by Bd-
bespierre — ^for though a republican* he had dared to pity
the royal family— he disfigured his face and banda vicb
mortar, and fled from Paris in the disguise of a maaoa.
After passing twenty -four hours in a wood, hm^er
drove him to a little inn, where he ordered an oaicleltA.
* Of how many eggs ?* asked the servant
* Twelve,' replied the philosopher at randosiL A
mason ordering an omelette of twelve eggs awakxaed
suspicion; he was searched, and a vohime of Hetarr
being found in hts pocket, he was arrested. Una We to
face the scaflUd, Condorcet took poiwn, and dmd tm
the road to Paris.
Everybody knows that the horrors of the Ffcacb
Revolution were redeemed by many noble actioa^ We
have told the story of Bouchotte at St Fela|^
the keeper of the Luxembourg, also distingiiisbed
self by many generous and courageous deeds. Be
the life of the Duchess of Orleans, the mother of ~
Philippe, by reiVising to give her up when
before the Committee of Public 8a&ty« Bm
't
II
CHAMBERS'S 6DINB17B0H JOUANAL.
801
the WM ill-^djing—^aU but dead, and that averted
her fate tUl she had aa opportaoity of ohtaiaing pro-
tection.
A lady called Jeanne Faurie also found a powerful
friend in a jailor of the Luxembourg* 8he was yoopg^
and extremely beautiful, and although Rifaut was
looked upon as one of the most inflexible of function-
aries, her bright eyes melted his rigidity. He procured
her pens, ink, paper, and books. * I know my charac-
ter and my life are at stake,' said he ; ' but speak I
command me I Whatever you desire I will da' When
he heard that she was on the list of persons to be exe-
cuted, he gave her a disguise and all the money he had,
and set her at liberty. For some time be concealed
the lady's flight ; but whea it could be no longer kept
secret, he went to Benoit, confessed his fault, and de-
n>anded the punishment Benoit, however, did not
betray him ; and Jeanne Faurie's e^cape was not known
tiU there was no danger in making it public. The
Luxembourg was called the Beservoir of the Concier-
gerie, and Josephine Beauharnois wae confined here
before being tnmsferred to the latter prison. It is
related that when she afterwards resided in the Luxem-
bourg as wife of the First Consul, she one day intreated
Bonaparte to accompany her to the cell she had for-
merly inhabited. When there, she asked him for his
Bwoid, with which she raised one of the flags, and
there* to her great joy, she found a ring given her by
her mother, on which she set the highest vidue. She told
him that when she was summoned to quit the prison,
supposing she was going to the scafibld, she had conr
trived to conceal the jewel, which she could not bear to
think should fall into the bands of the public execu-*
viomer.
Amongst the names inscribed on the keeper's register
of the Luxembourg^ are those of the ministers of Ciiarles
X. in 1830, and lUso that of Louis-Napoleon, the pre-
sent President of the French Republic, who was con^
lined here after the unsuccessful afikir of Strasburg.
■ ■ ■ . , , .
NEW THEORY OP POPULATION.
Thb idea of Mr Malthns, that population has a ten*
dency to increase faster than the means of subsistence,
unless some powerful and obvious oliecks be interposed
to keep down the race to the level of subsistence, has
been recently met by Mr Doubleday with a denial and
an efibrt at refutation. From an article by Mr Hickson
in the last number of the * Westminster Review,' we learn
that Mr Doubleday endeavours to show grounds for
believing that, while there are powerful tendencies to
increase beyond the limits of subsistence, there are
likewise tendencies to a decrease, which must result in
preserving what may be called a balance between the
quantity of food and the number of people. Mankind,
from Adam downwards to our own day, have gone
forward and backward in numbers by a series of fits
and starts — they have by no means b^n going on as a
constantly- increasing quantity. Look at the countries
in the East mentioned in the Bible — Egypt, Judaea,
Aaia Minor, Persia, Assyria. Once densely peopled,
they are now either desolate, or inhabited by a poor
decaying remnant of the proud races which formerly
inhabit^ them. Egypt would soon expire as a nation
if not constantly recruited by fresh arrivals from abroad.
Neither China nor India is so populous as it was two
thousand years ago. The cultivated aboriginal races
of America, who left monuments of their greatness,
long since disappeared, and were succeeded by tribes
of Indians, who are now rapidly disappearing. The
history of the world presents many other instances of
an entire disappearance of populations.
No doubt war, pestilence, famine, vice, and misery,
have all played an important part in sweeping away
nations, or in reducing the numbers of their people;
hut Mr Doubleday h^ds it to be demonstrable that
redundancy of population is prevented in a less conti-
nuous deforce by these causes, than by one which Mal-
ihns altogether overlooks^-one, in fact, which militates
against his theory. The mention of this check, which
is only of recent discovery, will come upon most per*
sons as a surprise: it is cofflfor/-r-easy circumstances,
allied with cultivated feeling; and, to all appearance,
the easier the circumstances, tlie less the increase. Mr
Doableday thinks it would not perhaps be going too
far to say, that by carrying these influences a certain
length, the race might become extinct As proof, he
refers to the gradual dying out of families among
the aristocracy and baronetage — two orders of persons
who, above aU others, might be expected to be prolific
in descendants :—
* Thus it has been,* proeesda this writer, * that the
peerage of England, instead of being old, is reeent ; aod
the baronetage^ though oomparatively of modem origiii,
equally so* In short, few, if any, of the Nonnaa nobi-
lity, and almost a» low of the onginal baronets^ families
of King James I., exist at this moment ; and hut for
perpetual creations, both orders must have been all but
extinct. • ♦ ♦ Of James I.*8 creation in a. D. Iffll, only
thirteen families now remain ; a decay certainly extraor-
dinary, and not to be accounted fbr npon the ordinary
ideas of mortality and power of increase amongst man-
kind.*
Commenting on these facts, the reviewer observes: — 'Se-
veral instanoes from hanfcbler, but still wealthy^ or at least
comfortable classes ef society, are givea by Mr Doi^eday,
tending to the same ooncdusioi^ that an ample proviaioa
of the means of subsistence does not necessarily act as a
stimulus to population, but often seems to have a directly
contrary tendency ; as if ease and abundance were the real
check of population, and a certain amount of poverty and
privation were essential to anv considerable increase. Thos
he mentions the case of the ^e burgesses of the wealthy
corporation of Newcastle- upon -Tyne, a body, ih 1710, oif
about 1800, possessing estates and , endowments, and ex-
clusive privileges, amply suffiolent to protect every indi-
vidual among them from want} and shows that, although
all the sons of every^ oHizen were free by birth, their ninn-
hers would have diminished had they not been recruited
from without ; and tliat, even with the aid of contested
elections, when freemen by purchase were admitted for
the sake of votes, the entire body of burgesses remained
nearly stationary for upwards of a century. This, too.
while the poorer corporation of Berwick - upon - Tweea
doubled the number of its free citizens during the same
period.
' The examples of the corporation of Doitiam and Ri^
mond in Yorkshire are addaeed to the same effect ; but
we need not go so iar nortli for ccaroborative evidence of
the same class of facts. la tlie corporation of London, aU
the children of a citisen, whether male or female, eqioy
the ri^ht of freedom by inheritance; and as many of the
exclusive privileges of this bodv liavc not yet been done
away, women still exercise in the city various avocations
in tlieir omn name (such, for instance, as the trade of a
town carmaiO, from which the rest of the inliabitants of
the metropolis, non-freemen, are excluded. Until recently,
the fireedom of the corporation of London was essential to
a share in the administration of revennes amoubting to
upwards of a million per annnm, and is still indispensable
to a large portion of them. We may reasonably ooNQOlude
that it was an ol^ject of some importance t» the aneient
citizens of London to keep the patronsge conneeted with
such large funds in their own hands, or to, leave it in the
hands of their own posterity. This object, however, has
been so entirely defeated, that if we now inquire into the
origin of the present holders of the good things in the gift
of the London corporation and the trading companies,
we find they arc nearly all north com)tr3rmen, who have
elbowed their way into the city from ScoUand or the pro-
vinces, and that the deeoeadents of such men as Shf Wil-
Uam Walworth and Sir Thomas Qiesham are nowiieve to
be found.
* During the forty years fh>m 1 794 to 1835^ the admissioM
by patrimony to the fteedom of theeorporatioa of London
were only 7794 out of a total of 40,221 admitted^-a third
of the number having been strangers who purchased their
freedom, and one-lialf sons of strangers obtaining their
freedom by apprenticeship.*
Mr Doubleday*! explanation of those phenomena is
to the efleot. ^^ it is not misei!y» bul eomfort* which
sot
GHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
deadent the principle of increase. It is notorious that
the poorest parents hare, as a general role, the greatest
number of children. Only feed people on potatoes and
salt, oatmeal-porridge, or any other plain fare, and let
them at the same time maintain a struggle to get even
that, and sure enough their firesides, or the places
where the fire should be, will be garnished by as plen-
teous a crop of youngsters as you could wish to behold !
How these chiid^n are fed it is often so difficult to
comprehend, that one is almost driren to the conclusion
that they somehow liye and hare strength to romp
about on the mere element— firesh air. It is Tery clear
that nature abhors all sorts of codling and pampering : —
' It ia a hot J admitted by all gardeners as well as bo-
tanists,* says Mr Doubleday, 'that if a tree, plant, or
flower be placed in a mould either naturally or artificially
made too rich for it, a plethoric state is produced, and
fruitfulness oeases. In trees, the effect of strong manures
and over-rich soils is, that they run to superfluous wood,
blossom irregularly, and chiefly at the extremities of the
outer branches, and almost, or entirely, cease to bearfrait.
With flowering shrubs and flowers the effect is, first, that
the flower becomes double, and loses its power of produc-
ing seed; next, it ceases almost even to flower. If the ap-
plication of the stimulus of manure is carried still further,
flowers and plants become diseased in the extreme, and
speedily die; thus, by this wise provision of Providence,
the transmission of disease (the certain consequence of the
highly- plethoric state, whether in plants, animals, or in
mankina) is guarded against, and the species shielded horn
danger on the side of plenty. In order to remedy this state
when accidentally produced, gardeners and florists are ac-
customed, by various devices, to produce the opposite, or
deplethoric state; this they peculiarly denominate ** giving
a ohedL." In other words, they put the species hi danger
in order to produce a corresponding determined effort of
nature to insure its perpetuation — and the end is invariably
attained. Thus, in order to make fruit-trees bear plentt-
ftJlyt gardeners delay, or impede, the rising of the sap, by
cutting rings in the bark round the tree. Tliis, to the tree,
is the production of a state of depletion, and the abun-
dance of fruit is the effort of nature to counteract the dan-
ger. The fig, when grown in this climate, is particularly
liable to drop its fruit when half-matured. This, gardeners
now find, can be prevented bv pruning the tree so severely
as to give it a cneok ; or, if grown m a pot, by cutting a
few incnes from its roots all round, so as to produce tne
same effect. The result is, that the tree retains, and care-
fallv matures, its fhiit. In like manner, when a gardener
wishes to save seed from a gourd or cucumber, he does not
give the plant an extra quantity of manure or wumth.
He does just the contrary : he subjects it to some hard-
sJiipf and takes the fhiit that is least fine -looking, fore-
knowhig it will be filled with seed whilst the finest fruit
are nearly destitute. Upon the same principle, it is a
known fact, that after severe and long winters, the harvests
are correspondmgly rapid and abundant. Vines bear
most luxuriantly after oeing severelv tried by frost; and
grass springs in the same extraordinary manner. After
the long and trying winter of 1836*S7, when the snow lay
upon the ground in the northern counties until June,
tiie spring of grass was so wonderfUl as to cause several
minute experiments by various persons. The result was,
that hi a single night of twelve hours the blade of grass
was ascertained ft^nently to have advanced fall three-
quarters of an inch ; and wheat and other grain pro-
gressed in a similar manner.*
It is shown by facts, that in the animal economy a
low physical state, of oourse along with air and exercise,
ia equally favourable^ In proportioD, therefore, as ood*
ditiona adverse to thk simple prinoiple are encouraged,
so will th« ratk) of inorowe be limited. Indulgent idle-
ness, wan* of oat*door eseroise, codling with cordials,
dosing with medicines, tight-lacing, late hours, mental
excitement, and fifty other things, induce the physical
weakness attd irritability which renders the production
of offspring an impossibility. Causes of this kind, ope-
rating along with those artificial restraints, the vali-
dity of which lirlalthus is so far right in reoognlsing, are
mainly concerned in keeping population within bounds.
It would then appear, that so long as there is an ab-
ject, struggling poor, ignorant and lll-fbd, there will be
a Tigorons growth, a dMigerons population— dsageium,
because redundant as respeets their capidty snd vill
to work. On the other hand, by an univenal ipresd of
education, by the cultivation of rational tsitei sod
habits, and by the simple mode of livug whicfa lueh
tastes would engender, there will ensne something lOu i
medium between a relatively-redundant and a oonpi.
rative extinction of population.
THK IRISH BABON.
AN AHmCtCTE OF SEAL Ufl.
At the beginning of the present centnry a oertilB
regiment was ordered to Ireland, and was verj looo
dispersed over various districts. One detadiiDcnt vu
sent to Ballybrag, and when the officer in commaod lod
his two subalterns met at the wretched pothouse (for it
was scarcely an inn) where they were to men, tsd be-
gan to discuss their prospects of amusement, tbey veic
quite thrown out There vras no visiting, no hootiof,
no shooting, no billiard -table, no horses to ride, do
milliners to flirt with, not so much as even 'i bridge '
to spit over.* In those days military men had nrel/a ,
literary turn, but books became of so much hnportsnce, |
that they read over the few they possMsed, and Not to '
the nearest town, which was very diitant, for more. |
Active amusement, however, was what ftey dMy de.
sired ; and one evening the coimtenancei of all three
became animated, during a listiess ramble, at the tifht
of a boy in a crownless hat, torn coat, and ne^ io-
teguments held on by a single button ; he was thootiog
forth • The County Tyrone,' as he dangled a brace of
trout in one hand, and switched the dr with a loof
wand he held in the other, his curiy hair biowiDgOTtr
his bright rosy countenance in the fresh breeze, the
picture of health and careless happiness,
• Hollo ! my fine fellow ! where did yon catch ftese
trout?'
• Plase your honour, in the Junnagh, justheyant'
• B^ant ! where's that ? '
• Just behhid them hills there's plenty. If I had
but a fishing-rod, and something more einnUe nor i
crooked pin I'
•What a handsome inteDigent boy! Whafl ywr
name ? *
• Patrick O'Sale, plase your honour.'
•WeU, Paddy, youll show us the trouthig itwm,
and m give you a shilling.'
Paddy O'Sale had heard of a shilling, bnt had new
yet seen one ; so his gratitude was unbounded : he oot
only showed them the stream, but made rosh-haikeU&r
the fish they caught, told them tales, sung them soogi,
and, in short, by his good-humour and inteHigent to,
very much enlivened their stay at Ballybrag. He «i
very proud of the notice of fhese gentlemen, was hirar
to be employed in doiii^ anything for thena, and™
the route came, manifested so much genufaje www,
that they resolved to adopt him, and make him, to W»
kfiUdu rigimerU, He accordingly began hii ndhg
career as a fifer in the — tii regiment, and when ottt
entered the ranks, and became savant to hii fr^
friend. Captain B . Very soon he dirting^
himself by his extraordinary intelligence and ortoy
conduct, which promoted him to the rank of sergertj
twice he headed a forlorn-hope, and upon all oocahsi
showed so much bravery and prudence, that woB w
first vacancy he was unanimously recommended^ »
ensigncy, which he obtained, retaining as an cflcfftk
good opinion he had before possessed of all bis ftff^
comrades. He was a remarkably handsome *"■■» "J
we need scarcely observe, a veiy clever one •^•jf^f
advantage of all .that fell in his way as to «^*J55
&a But alas I no one is perfect ; and I***"^^?*?
was vain and extremely ambitions : ao, not wiwiM
remain where his very humble origin wss i» •*
known, he exchanged into another regiment; ^^
soon became equaBy popular with bit Btv
as he had been witii bis old friends of tbe
I
OHAMBBRS^ BDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
308
The peace reduced him and maay others to half-pay,
and with it and his handsome person he resolved to
take his chance at fortane. He settled himself in a
town on the north coast of France, and looked about
for a wife. Not long had he to wait : his proficiency in
French, which his quick capacity enabled him to pick
up easily, opened many doors which were shut against
his higber-bom but less talented compatriots ; and ere
long, the widow of a hotel -keeper, twenty years his
senior, gave him to understand that he needed but to
propose. Whether this was in all respects the prize
he looked for it is hard to say ; but they married, and
liyed together three years, during which time he be-
hayed to her with affectionate kindness; and when she
died, she left him all that was in her power, which,
although much less than he had hoped for, made up,
together with his half-pay, a reasonably good income.
This, although it would have been a mere pittance to
most men, seemed a fortune to our adventurer; and
with it he started for Paris, where he made so good
a figure, that a young and handsome widow manifested
the same admiration his former less distinguished wife
had done. We need not enter into a description of the
affair further than to say that it terminated as the other
had done — ^in marriage. While arranging the preli-
minaries, the lady objected to bis name.
* 0*Sale ! * cried she (eau sale ! — dirty water !) ; * never
can I follow such a name into a drawing-room T
* I am very sorry, but it is my name.'
* Is there no tide in your family ?*
* No,' stoutly answered the quondam Faddy.
* What, then, is the name of your father's estate ? '
He thought of the cabin in which he had passed his
childhood — ^the pig, his playmate that had paid its rent —
his father, in his long frieze coat, with a hay-band round
his hat — and his mother, attired in the fluttering rags
which so many of the Irish seem to think impart an
airy smartness to their dress ; perhaps, too, he thought
wiUi regret of the warm hearts that had beat beneath
them, 80 fond, so proud of him ; and the 'sunshine' of
his own * breast,' that, in spite of his almost uninter-
rupted good-fortune, had never bounded so lightly since :
but at anyrate he answered with admirably-acted quiet
dignity, * It is, alas I no longer in our family.'
*But,' persisted the lady, * you were bom near some
village — ^in some parish that had a name? '
' The village of Ballybrag was not far from our resi-
dence.'
' A la bonne heure— that will do excellently well I
Call yourself the Baron de Ballybrag.*
* CaU myself? '
' Mais oui, why not ? I shall not object to be named
De Ballybrag.'
She accordingly had her cards printed ' La Bn°o de
Ballybrag,' and her husband, who, after all, had a fond-
ness for his patronymic, left his with his acquaintances
as the Baron O'Sale de Ballybrag. One of these I pre-
serve as a memento of the odd characters and adven-
torea which so firequently make real life resemble a
romance.
CHBHaCAL DCQUIRIEfi.
Experience had long taught the Sooteh that oats, such
18 they grow in their climate, are a most nutritious food ;
^at the habits of the more influential English, and the
-idioule of a prejudiced lexicographer, were beginning to
nake them ashamed of their national diet. Chemistry
las here stepped In, and bv her analysis of both, has
>royed not oiuy that the oat is richer in muscle-forming
natter than the grain of wheat, but that oatmeal is in
ill req>eot8 a better form of nourishment than the finest
vheaten flour. Bat what is more, chemistry has brought
18 ftoauainted with the value of parte of the grain formerly
Knistdered almost as waste. Tbis husk or bran of wlleal,
'or example, though given al times to pigs, to mUkn'
lorsea, and other cattle, was usually thought to possess
>at little nutritive virtue in itself. Analysi^ however, has
thown it to be actually richer in muscular matter than
the white interior of the gndn. Thus the cause of ite
answering so well as food for cattle is explained s and it
is shown that ite use in bread (whole-meal bread) must
be no less nutritive than economical The true value of
other kinds of food is also esteblished by these inquiries.
Cabbage is a crop which, up to the present time, has not
been a general fitvourito hi this country, either in the 'steU
or for the table, except during early spring and summer.
In North Germany and SoaadiaavU, howevei; it appears
to have been kmg esteemed, and variev modes of storing
it for winter use have been vct^ generally pvaotfaed. But
the oabba^ is one of the plante which has been eheml-
oally examined, in consequence of the failure of the potato,
with the view of introducing it into general use, and the
result of the examination is both interesting and unex-
pected. When dried so as to bring it into a state in which
it can be compared with our other kinds of food (wheat,
oate, beans, &c>, it is fbund to be rit^er in mutcular matter
Ham Any o^er crop toe grow. Wheat contains only about
13 per cent, ana beans 95 percent.; but dried cabbage
oontohoB from 30 to 40 per cent, of the so-c^ed protem
compounds. According to our present views, therefore,
it is pre-eminently nourishing. Hence if it can bat be
made generally agreeable to the palate, and easy of diges-
tion, it is likely to prove the beet and easiest cultivated
substitute for the pototo; and no doubt the Irish kol-
cannon (cabbage and potatoes beat together) derives part
of ite reputetion from the great mnscle-sastaining power
of the cabbage — a property in which the pototo is most
deficient. Further, it Is of interest— ^f national import-
ance, we may say — that an acre of ordinary land will,
according to the above resnlt, produce a greater weight
of this special kind of nourishment in the form of cabbage
than in the form of any other crop. Thus twenty tons
' of oabbage^and good land will produce, in good hands,
forty tons of drum-head cabbage on an imperial acre —
contain fifteen hundred ponnds of muscular matter; while
twenty-five bushels of beans contain only fbnr hundred
pounds ; as many of wheat only two hundred, twebre tons
of potetoes only five hundred and fifty, and even thirty
tons of turnips only a thousand pounds. The preference
which some ftirmers have long given to this crop, as food
for theur stock and their milk-cows, is accounted for by
these fSwJte ; while of conrse they powerftilly recommend
ite more general cultivation as food for man. Again: —
In numy parte of our island furze or gorse grows up an
unheeded weed, and luxuriates in favourable spote with-
out being applied to any useftil purpose. In other districts,
however, it is already an object of Valuable though easy
culture, and large breadths of it are grown for the feeding
of stock, and yield, profitable returns. Chemical researclies
show ite nutritive property to be very great. Of muscle-
building materials it contains, when dry, as much as 30 per
cent., and is therefore in this respect snperior to beans,
and inferior only to the cabbage. Under these circum-
stances we can no loneer doubt the conclusions at which
some experimental feeders had previously arrived, nor the
advantage which miffbt be obtained from the more ex-
tensive cultivation of gorse on many poor and hitherto
almost neglected %oWB<—EdinUirifh Revitw.
INDIAN POST-OFnCE.
There has been a great outcry against the post-office
as well as the police in Qangetio India. Newspapers are
charged by weight, so that before they can pass for single
postage they must make use of the smallest-sized sheet
to be found in the meanest provincial town in England;
the paper must be as thin as a bank-note. In our rainy
season, if near ftill weight, it absorbs moiature so rapidly
as to be chaiged double postage at ite journey's end: the
postsge on a daily paper. fh>m moderate (Mstences, ammmts
to L.5 a year. The mails are oatried in leathern bags on
men's heads, and so negligently made up, that they oeca*
sionally reach thehr deethiation in a state of pulp. Thou-
sands of rupees are annually abstraoted frem letten, and
every variety of misconduct prevails. At the presidenoiea,
the salary of the nostmasters is from L.2000 to ^3000—
the heads of the aepartmente are civilians, who have beoa
judges or collectors of revenue, and never saw the inside
of a post-office till they came to preside over it. At out-
stetions, officers in the army get postmasterships as per-
quisites, the duties in every case being performed by
subordinates. The subject has been a standing grievance
time out of mind, but there is not tlie slightest appearance
of ite meeting with attention.— £^m6av TYm^
304
CHAMBERSrS EDIN6UBGH JOUBNAL.
< I
BICE. ^
It Is a«ttb^i of wonder to muiy- wliy thfl articio ' Hee^*
which hu for » long thne been so extremely plentifh!, and
oonteqnenlly oliejtp, does not enter hito more general con-
■omption hi this coontry. K think the true ailswer is this:
— * Because Tory few vnongst us know how to prepare it
for table ;' for not one cook, in ten can ever plain boil it fit
to be seen and eaten, and not one in twenty (strange as it
may appear) can make a * rioe-pndding.* Now the first
may be accomplished by using only so much water as the
rice will absorb tn^ bolUi^, by whiisli each grain vdB be kept
free and separated, and the mass not made into starch ov
paste, as is generally the case ; and the second can be per-
fected by putting one teacnpltil of rice to one quart of
milk, adding sngar to suit the taste, a small ouantity of
chopped su^) butter, or dripping, grating a Uttle mrtneg
on the top, and baking as usual. This will be found one of
the cheapest, lightest, and most delicious puddings that
can be eaten,, and yery supeifor to a ' fiee^puddiog,' as
generally made with eggs# opo* whioh not only add to its
expense, but destroy the character of the dish. In most
parts of Ireland, where, during the summer season, milk
can be had for almost nothing, the above simple recipe
would, I tUnk, be invalnttble, and no doubt generate a
taste for this noet wholeaome gvain, to the especial bentfit
of the poorer part of the population. — Daify Newtm
▲MEUCaif irHTTEViLf H»
The ibllowing secipe is used for prepaiinip th« oelebraled
stucco whitewash used on the east end of the presidents
house at Washington : — ^Take half a bushel of good un-
slacked lime, slack It with boiling water, covering it during
the process to keep in the steam. Strain the liquor through
a fine siere or ■tramc«v and add to it a peek of oleaa mdt,
previously dissolved in warm water, three pounds of good-
rice, ground to a thin paste, and stirred while boiling hot:
half a pound of )x>wdered Spanish whiting, and a pouna
of clean glue, which has been previously dissolved by first
soaking it well, and then hanging it over a ak>w fin in a
small kettle, within a laijre one filled wijth water. Add
five gallons of hot water to the mixture ; stir it well, sad
let it stand a few days, covered from dirt. It should be
put on quite hot ; for this purpose it can be kept in a
kettle on a portable foniace. It is said that about one
pint of tliis mixture will cover a sqnave yard npon the ont>
side of a house, if properly applied. Brushes more or less
may he used according to the neatness of the .iob required.
It retains its brilliancy for many years. There is nothing
of tho kind that will compare with il eitlier for inside or
outside walla. Any required thig* can be g&ven to the
preparatkm by the addition of aolouring maUer^-^Vinni^
Journal,
▲ FBENCHXAN*8 J>E8CBIPTION OF AN KNGLXSH PDBUC
DINNER.
Nothing is more curious than one of these repasts, wliich
recall to mind the feastlngs described by Homer. Enor-
mous pieees of beef, whole sheep, monstrous fishes, load an
imnwnse table bristling with bottlea The guests^ dothed
in black, calm and aerious, seat themselves in sllenoe, and
with the air which one takes at a funeral. Behind the
president is placed a functionary called the toast-master.
It is he who is charged to make the speeches. Tlio presi-
dent wliispert to him the mot d'ordre, and * Gkmtlemen,' says
he with the voice of a Stentor, * I am about to pmpose to
you a toast which cannot fail to be received by you with
great favour — it is the health of the very honourable, very
respectable, and very considerable Sit Robert Peel, &c &c.*
The guests then, shaking off theh^ silent apaithy, rise all at
onoe, as if they weve moved by sptinga, aod respond to IH*
invitation br thundering forth frantio cries. While the
glasses are oeing emptied, three yoimg girls with bare
shoulders slip from behind a screen and play a tune on the
piano. The toasts do not cease until the guests, having
strength neither to rise nor to remmnaeaied^ mil under tba
tahU«-n^. Eugmm (Mmt in tie Siide {Paris p9p9r)^
TSKES Xy 6BIHNBT8.
A Frencfh gentleman, M. Masaiuoh^ has fomid by expe-
riments, if IhBoe frames of wire are pUuied near tho base
of tlio chimney, about one foot apart, whilst no flame wiU
pass through them, the draught will not be impaired. As
most of the soot lodges on the uppermost wire, but Httle
on the second, and none on the tbltd, hs suggcsta that a
brush be applied daily to keep tham clean, and tho QhiB»-
ney wiU never .want sweepip^ ,
ATJTtTMN LEAVE&
SisTBR, hear ye not the rnstlisf
Of the sere leares ss thsy Cdl ?
Teach tbejr not— Ihos 4roppliif , ^ytng —
A lesaoa worth the hMd of sU ?
Nature prsseUng, etsr tas^blng,
A lesson worth the heed of aU.
Once these leaves were fresh sad rcrdut,
Wanned hy sunshine into hirth ;
Now chilled hy nipping hUsts of autnma,
They drop onto their mother esrth.
For wise reason, hat a season !
Th^ drop «ato thefarflMlher sarth.
Some Ihtfer skfll, but yeUow, fbded,
No more with green the hou^adon;
No shdter yield where erst Ui«y ihaded ;
Deft of thetar hindred, loos, fbrisrs.
Lifeless seeming, listless glesming.
Reft of fbetr kindred, lone, foriem.
Bo, fbeagh theu'rt now arrayrf fn aa^,
And pearls ai* flisteninf hi thy faak;
Anon thou'lt need a warmer ganneot-
Gray hairs instead of peaiis thoolt wear :
"Weeds arraying, grief betraying,
Gray hairs inatead of pesris thooltvsar.
Then, slater, let us muse and ponder
On these leaves from naturv^i page ;
And prepare, while yet in sasaoa.
Par a pure aod happy Sgfl t
Undespaixing, he preparing.
For a pure and happy age.
I would iv>t damp thy smile of gMnsiii
Or cast a shadow o'er thy youth ;
But ever ahun the paths of folly.
Cleave to virtue and to trtitti :
Self Hlenytof , fsitk relytng.
Cleave to virtue and to trafh.
For neither youth, nor bealib, acrhesaty,
Can from Tima'a stem clnlohm wrs ;
But all must drop, like leaves of auUsui,
To the cold and silent grave :
Aye weto dropping, never stopping,
TV} the cold and silent grave.
Soa&ir nnssria
THE POISON OF THK VIPKB.
Tlie poison of the viper oonsists of a ysQoiriih Bfiii ,
secreted in a glandular structure (situated imsiediaUi; |
below the skin on either side of the head), wWdi j»^ '
lieved to represent tlie parotid gland of the hightr maa.
If a viper be made to bite sMiieihing aoUd, sosstesriiiti
poison, the following are the appearanees under thta^
scope : — At first nothing is seen out a parcel of alt* nwr
floating in the liquor, but in a very short time (heiaiiM*
particles shoot out into crystals of Incredible ttsoity isd
sharpnesa, with something like knots here and thcw,tm
which these crystals seem to proeeed, so that j*»]Jr
texture in a manner represents a spider^ web, tlaw*
finitely finer and more mmnte. TiJese spied*, or dJJJf
will remain unaltered on the glasa for some nwntha Fw
or «ix grains of thb viperina poiaon, mixed with hw •
ounce of hnman bloody reaeived in awaamglsiM*|**"
no visible effeota, either in colour or aoasiatcMe,a«4Ap^
tions of this poisoned blood, mixed with aicMb {J[***J
exhibit any alterations. When placed on the wagoV°*
taste is sharp and acrid, as If t no tongtie had ^
with aomcithmg scalding or tmmtng; bnt this s«
Off in two or three hours. There are only fiw j .
record of death following th© bite of the Viper; "~J5J
been observed that the effects arc moat viiufeat ^"J^l ?
poison has been received on the extremitfcs, iwlk»?
the fingers and toes, at whieh parU the aoiH^
IrHtated Cm it were by a^ ivoMe lai(kie^»al«»9»«^*
aun.— /*. r. Buckhnd.
PuhUabed hy W. & B. OsAMsaaa, High Stiastr-^
Btild hy D. CRAMDans, SO Aigyla Stteet, G|si|o#
141 BtrasMl, Loiid«n; aad J M«OaA«iiaN, *H
PubUn.— ]?rintM by.W. 4 A. CiiAams>as>
CONDUCTED BT WULTAM AND ROBEIST CHAMBERfi, BOITOR8 OF «CUAMBBBS« niFOItMAlflON POlt
TUB PEOPLB/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &c.
I ;.ii i i.ii- .li 'ii'g
II'
No. 307. New Series. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1849.
PnicK 1^(1
TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
ELSINOBE— GOTTENBURO*
I LEFT Copenhagea for EUinore on the last dxy of June,
with two companioDB, in a char'a'bcine; a rough but
not inconvenient kind of carriage drawn by two borses.
We took the route by Fredericksborg (difierent from the
Fredericksberg ahead/ mentioned), in order to Tisit that
moat distinguished of all the Danish palaces. The king
was Hying in it at the time ; but this was understood
to present no difficulty. The life of Frederick VIL
is remarkably modest and unobtmsive. Allowing his
ministers to govern according to the best of their judg-
ment, he is content to live in the manner almost of a
private gentleman. It was stated that at this time,
when half the sovereigns of Europe were in the agonies
of Si revolutionary crisis, the attention of the Danish
monarch was chiefly engrossed by some ancient sepul-
chral tumuli found in his neighbourhood. So great is
his -disrelish of royal state and parade, that he can only
witli difficulty be induced to come occasionally to town
to ^ve audiences and attend reviews. Tet Denmark
is a year old in a constitution which grants something
ipproaching to universal suflrage. Very probably the
Sleawig-Holsteia war is what has secured this internal
9eace. Uniting in this external object, the people have
escaped as yet the danger of falling together by the ears
ibout progress and reaction. So for once a democratic
novement has not been attended by a crop of fbUy and
outrage.
The country paased over in our drive is composed of
he tame undulations usual in the chalk formation,
'aried only by a few lakes and some fine woods. We
natched an interval required for resting the horses
o see the queen-dowager's palace at Lundby, which we
>ond to be a plain building situated amongst some
leaaant groves, but in no way remarkable, except that
he domain was open at all points to any one who chose
J leave the high road by which it is skirted. We
'alked over the grounds, and penetrated into the gar-*
eo, asking no leave^ and meeting no resistance or
hallenge — a proof not so much, I apprehend, of any
;)ecial liberality in the royal possessor, as of great
armlessness in the people ; for certainly without tfia^
o such indulgence could be extended. . The inferiority
^ the place in point of trimness to similar places in
ng^land, and the meagre show of plants in the garden,
ore remarkable. That fastidious mowing, and paring,
id oleMoing, which is continually going on round a
n&ntry residence in England, U ttnkAown in the north
• ICurope.
JiH along our way to Fredericksborg I observed heaps
^ gpranlte and gneiss boulders, ready to be broken up
r the lepaic o£ the roada They were to me an inte -
(Atlrnr set of obkcts. as beiotf mr first introduction to
the grand Drift Formation of the north. To most
readers it will be enough ibr the present to my that
they are masses of stone belonging to the granitic and
gneissic countries of northern Sweden and fiolind,
which have been carried southward, pcdbaXAy for the
most part by icebergs floating in the sea by which this
region waa once overspread. They are foxind imbedded
in the clayey and gravelly eoveriag of the country, or
enomBbering ite surfaoe *, and now the fkrmers are
allowed something for catting them to the roadsides,
that they may be pounded down by the disciples of
Macadam^ The kiib-stones, which form the only ap-
proach to a pavement in Go^nhagen are from the
same source. I examined many of the wayside heaps,
as well as those presented in gravel- pits, and found a
few with traces of striation, denoting their having
undergone rabbtng in the transport; but these were
rare ohgeofts. The cultivated land seems nrrk pretty
well cleared of them j but they still abotind in forest
ground. The sand of the aforesaid gravel-pits is in
many places stratified, marking the deposition by
water; but i nowhere could detect shells.
At length the pinnacles of Fredericksborg began to
appear over the dull landscape, and we speedily found
ourselves seated in the viUage ina at a very tolerable
dinner. When this was oondluded, we sauntetcd to the
pahiee, which wfe fbtmd to be a huge brick edifice of
the Elizabethan style, forming three sides of a square,
with detached masses and courtyards, the whole closely
surrounded by water. It is one of the many memorials
of the magnificence of the fourth Christian, but was
built on the site of a iormer palace; and amongst the
few traces of the original left, is a small island covered
with shrnbbery. The shrubbery had been planted by
Frederick II., the father of Christian, in commemora-
tion of the son having been born on the spot; and under
a feeling with which we can all sympathise, the reform-
ing king left this shrubbery untouched. It is sMd that
the new palace took flfteep years in building. Here,
again, one wonders tjiat so small a state could at that
time furnish funds for the ereetion^of sudi sumptuous
edifices. The unchecked authority exereis^ by its
prfticesr is the only explanation of the mystery. They
seem to have regarded palace-building aa a legitimate
amusement for their leisure hours, and to have been
under no sort of scruple as to the sufieringa of their
people in fhrnishing the requisite faUds. A Danish
king, in the last century, told his young queen, in a fit
of gaUantry, thftt if she tboold kill adece m t^e t^msa,
he wt^uld hfrild a palaoe on the Upot Such, I am told,
was the actual origin of one of the numerous palaces
which now adorn 5uj country. To find ourselves now
in this gray, old-faih ioned ehiteau, and be told that the
kiag liv«d in it, wmng aa wd did no trkce of any state
or paeeantrv whatever, and scarcely anv mark of ttia
306
CHA3fBEIlS'8 EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
vAmcq being inhabited at all, raised some cnrioiu speca-
uttiooa in onr minds as to the change of the relations of
monarch and subject since the days of Christian TV.
The grand sight of Fredcricksborg is the royal chapel,
forming the lower floor of one side of the square. It is
a superb specimen of that mixture of Grecian and
Gothic whidi prevailed at the end of the sixteenth cen-
tnrj; no grandeur of plan, but infinite ornament of
detail, gilt reliefs (especially on the ceiling), earrings,
and fine inlaid woodwork. The pulpit baa pillars of
silTer, and the altar-piece gbws with golden images
and sculptures. ' The* Swedes,' says Feldborg, ' took
away twelve apostles in silver, leaving the figure of
Chriit, which was formed of the same metal, to preach
the Gospel at home, as they wickedly expressed them-
selves, but declaring that bis apostles should do so
lUvoad.' The screened recess for the royal family still
contains a range of chairs with wrought seats, which
must be coeval with the cliapel, as they contain Chris-
tian's initials. There is even still the same charity-box
at the door. Into which this grand old prince must have
popped his donations as he passed to worship ; for it, too,
bears his initials. The coronations of the Danish kings
take place here, and this has led to an unfortunate
modeniisation being effected at one end of the chapel
for the aooommodation of the throne, with seats for the
knights of the Order of the Klephantb In every other
particular it is preserved exactly as it was in the days
of the founder. I may remark that the shields of the
living Elephantine knights adorn the gallery. When
they die, these symbols of their glory are removed to a
clean, well-kept crypt beneath one of the angles of the
palace, where the whole series for the last two centu-
riM may be seen. This is at once a curious historical
study and a touching lecture on the transitoriness of
all human grandeur.
Over the chapel, and therefore occupying the same
area, is the Banqueting-Hall, certainly a most magni-
ficent apartment, being no less than 150 feet long, and
of proportionate breadth, though generally thought to
be a little deficient in height. This large room is
beautifully paved with diced marble, and is covered all
over with gilt and painted ornaments, particularly in
the ceiling, while each space of wall between two win-
dows contains a portrait of some monarch which had
been presented to the Banish sovereigns. The ceiling
alone, which is said to have been the work of twenty-
six carvers for seven years, might detain a curious
visitor for a day, since there is scarcely a familiar
animal, or a trade, or art, which is not represented in it.
In one compartment you may stud^ tne business of
DiwiiUatht in another that of Jmpresaw Librorunif and so
forth. One sees in this and similar places many valu-
able memorials of the things of a former age, which he
cannot but regret to leave after only a hasty and super-
ficial inspecftion. I am convinced that a painstaking
and leisurely person, who could take accurate drawings
of such objects, would, in the course of a few years*
rambles over Europe, acquire the means of producing
almost a complete resuscitation of our mediaeval ances-
tors in tiielr dresses, habits, and all other external cir-
cumstances.
When we hod satisfied our cariosity with the Frede-
riokeborg palaoe, we returned to the inn, and speedily
resumed our chat' a 'banc, but with fresh horses. I
observed with some surprise that the driver, in passing
out of the town, deemed himself at liberty to take a
short cut through the half-ruinous gateways and rain-
bleached courts of the palace, notwitlistanding the pre-
sence of royalty within the mansion. We found some
fine woods extending from the palaoe in this direction,
and peopled with deer. A short drive brought us to
another palace, called Fredemsberg, more modem than
the last, and with some pretensions to notice. But we
were too much satiated with audi sights to care for an
inspection of Fredensberg, and we therefore passed on
to Elsinore, where we arrived betimes in the evening.
An Englishman usually approaches this town with
his mind fhU of Shakspeare and Hamlet, sod m ma
expectation to see places hallowed by sssodtttos vitfa
the name of him of the inky doaJc: nipply BttsnUj
foUows demand, and hence it is notsvpri^to&d
that a place called * Hamlef s Garden' has Im * gotn'
in the neighbourhood, and estaUnhed as the tarn of
the murder of the royal Dane. Not b^g diipoiei to
have much faith in the reality of a nortbera pnioe of
the fourth century before the Christian en, I estend
Elsinore with comparatively sober fe^ngt . It k t Tcry
ordinary-looking mercantile town of 8000 iohsbitati
(yet the fourth in Denmark), situated on a tovpisn
beside that Sound which has originally given \itmt-
quence. Not much less than a bondred Teudi of ill
flags lay In the calm sea in fitmt, waithig for in^n
till they should pay their dues to the Imig ct Tkuuk
It is admitted that L. 1 50,000 per anmim are tfaoi ei-
torted under favour of the cannon of Croober; Ctotte,
which raises its huge form near by, like the bcfgir
in * Gil Bias,* whom the reader may remember deuribed
as having his gun presented on a pair of cross-stidu
to enforce a demana neither less nor more joitiflabte.
It is certtdnly surprising ^at a system so fillte dif-
ferent ttom the predatory practices sf tiie RIedih
barons of the fourteenth century shook) ilffl ktibaDd
in vigour. I am afridd that my osfy^ tne Saglish
associations with the place referred to thinp si vbich
the Shakspearian entnusiost will scolMo vU, Josei
VI. dating during his honeymoon from Cnoberg,
' quhair we are drinking and driring over in the nM
maner,' and his descendant, Queen B^tllda, here ti^ig
over the lost peace which was never more to te hen*
The mind is sometimes strangely pertene sod tiy •
ward, and I often find mysdf interested ts tkiiii
for reason^ sufQciently trivial For inslanee,v)iaep»
ing through the fosses and walls which mnond thii
hardy fortress, and while my compsaioDi vers prtv
bably lost in admiration of its stately proporto, I
could not help recalling a passage in Spjttisvoo^ the
historian, where, spealdng of James's vinta in tiiii
castle, he mentions with complacency tiierebeiDfoo
such thing as a quarrel between the Seoteh iid tbe
Danes oU the time, a drotimst«nce the more wcoMI,
says he, * since it is hard for men hi drink, atMkit^
w&'e continually kept, long to agree.' Afl» aU, Ooaberi
is only a great quadrangular palace ui the oentRof a
set of ordinary fortifications. The caseroata id tl«
walls are usually, however, a subject of curioiity, to cm-
sequence of a legend thus related by a natire vrilBr^-
* For many ages tbe din of arms was nov and tba
heard in fiie vaults beneath the Castle of Oorterg.
None knew the cause, and there was not in all tte lud
a man bold enough to descend into the vnAta At
last a slave who had forfeited his Hfe wis toldlMlH
crime should be forgiven if he could bring inteffifncf
of what he found in the vaults. He went dovs^ id
came to a large iron door, which opened <rf itself vha
he knocked. He found himself in a deep vaoH la t)i
centre of the ceiling hung a lamp which vas Muij
burnt out; and below st(K>d a hugeslOfie-tri>te,n*^
which some steel-clad warriors sa^ resting tte&lw*
on their arms, which they hod laid erossvaTa HpvIi
sat at the head of the table tiien rose up: il vis AlfS
the Dane [a hero of the fabulous age]. Brt ▼••Jj
raised his head from the arms, the stone-table jbvitriF
in twain, for his beard had grown throoghii "Giw
me thy hand," said he to the slave. The sjaietoj
not give him the hand, but put forth an iron fetfi**
Holger indented with his fingers. At last be kt p ■
hold, muttering, " It is weU ! I am gW Aeie mj^
men in Denmark.*"! What Is curfous, tteeli«»
lar traditionary story in Scofland, refertisf ti> ip"
son called the last of the Pechs ; % and, if I an "
ii
* The md stoiy of Queen MatOda, who
m., is related in fuU detail in an
UAed, *MeiBoln of Mr Robert Miinr«yKflmi,'fval&
t Thielo's Collection of Popular Oanirii TradltiM.
i See Popular Rbymeeof Scotland, third e^itioB,^ A
It
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
307
taken, the Irish hare the tame legend, yaried only as
to ^ penon and the locality.
Behhid the town, at the base of an ancient sea-bank,
lies a ^iain modern house called Marienlyst (Mary's
DeHgfat), which was bnllt for the residence of the late
Fred^ok VI. when orown-prlnce, and which is sur-
rounded by a garden and pleasure-grounds open at all
times to the people of Elsinore. English strangers are
taken hither to see * Hamlef s Garden'— the very scene
of tibat foul murder which the mad -seeming prince
studied to ajenge ; also to muse over a dcerone-roade
HamUi^s grave^ I took a ramble here, to ei\joy the
physical beauties of the place, which are considerable,
and to obtain a Tiew of some celebrity from a plat-
form aboTC the house, where we command a long reach
of the Sound and of the opposite coast of Sweden. A
less hackneyed subject of curiosity is the geological cha-
racter of the bank behind Mariemyst. It is a terrace of
clayey sand extending for miles aJong the coast, at one
un&'orm height in the fore part of about ninety-six feet
aboye the waters of the Sound, the front descending at
the usual angle of a talus of loose matter (38 degrees),
to the low plain on which the town is situated. This
bank has already attracted the attention of native geo-
logists as a marine formation, the top being understood
to haye once been the beach of the sea, which had sub-
sequently rolled on the low plain, cutting and carrying
away matter fh)m the bank rising aboye, so as to leave
the talus which we now see. What struck me, how-
eyer, with the greatest interest, was the perfect resem-
blance of the ground, in all its features and relations, to
ancient sea-banks and terraces in Britain, even to the
elevation of the terrace above the mean level of the sea
— a point from which the Baltic, it will be recollected,
scarcely departs.
On the evening of the Ist July I departed from
Elsinore in the Gyller steamer, which makes regular
weekly voyages between Copenhagen and Christiania,
calling at Elsinore and Gk)ttenburg to receive and set
down passengers. The accommodations in the vessel
are sufficiently comfortable ; but the weather proving
rough, my actual experiences were anything but agree-
aUe, more particularly as I was here, for the first time,
exposed to a near association with one of the most
odious habits of the northern nations. I do not like to
apeak too plainly on such a subject ; but it is remark-
able, even as a physiological fact, how much salivation
goes on amongst some nations as compared with the
generality of mankind y and the fact of a neighbour on
this occasion effecting a vociferous discharge from his
tiiroat about every minute during all the time I was
awako, was scarcely less curious than his carelessness
about what came of the discharge was disgusting.
Early in the morning I came on deck to see the low
rocky coasts of Sweden looming through the thick rain
and haze. On getting into the arm of the sea which
leads up to Gottenburg, I was enabled to observe the
rounding of the surface of the whole of the rocks along
the shore, and gazed with admiration on a phenomenon,
the ex^anation of which has proved so puzzling. Even
here the perfect independence of the effbct on an^ con-
nection with the sea as a cause was apparent, for the
smoothed surfaces eveiywhere descended unbroken be-
low the waves. For a lone time nothing was to be seen
on land but a tract of undulating rocky ground devoid
of all asperities; but at length we began to obtain
glimpses of an extensive swampy plain, where the sea
terminated in the embouchure of a copious river — the
Gotha (pronounced Yutta) Elv. Here we found seated
tlie thriving mercantile town of (xottenburg. We landed
in heavy rain, amidst which we had to make our way
on foot to the GStha Kellare (pronounced Chdlara), the
best inn in the place, but one strikingly beneath the
cliaracter of the town. The whole affair was a most
dismal initiation into Sweden; but it was soon made
np to me by the welcome which I experienced from a
kindhearted schoolfi^low and friend settled in the neigh-
bourhood.
Under more agreeable drcumstancet next day, I be-
came aware that Gottenburg is a regularly-built town
of about 30,000 inhabitants, containing a remark-
able proportion of good private houses — much per-
meated by canals, which are crossed by rather hard-
favoured stone-bridges— exhibiting on the inland side
some beautiful environs, throughout which are scattered
many handsome mansions belonging to the most emi-
nent merchants. Gottenburg contains several British
mercantile houses, and is very much an Bngtish town,
unless that my own countiymen may be said more par-
ticularly to tske the lead in its society. Iron-founding
and machine -making, cotton -spinning, sailcloth -mak-
ing, and sugar-refining, are the chief branches of in-
dustry, all (^ them conducted under the protection of
prohibitory duties, the Swedes being willing to buy
these articles at high prices fVt)m Englishmen who will
consent to make them in Sweden, rather than purchase
them cheaply in England. Accordingly, sevorel of the
Gottenburg firms are understood to be nalising incomes
in striking disproportion to those common among the
natives ; one, for instance, having cleared so much as
L.50,000 in a year; though here, it must be remarked,
the result was helped by a patent. These settiers are
probably compensating in some degree for their mono-
polies by the impulse which they give to the indigenous
population, noted in all Qme for the slowness of their
movements, and their dislike to adopt new fashions and
methods. 'There is a good, moreover, to be gained from
commixtures of the people of two countries, in as far as
it tends, bpr making them acquainted with each other,
to extinguish mutual prejudice. As might be expected,
some of the manufactures thus forced into prominence
in Sweden are conducted under considerable disadvan-
tages as compared vrith those of England. For example,
a cotton manufacturer in Sweden cannot get a supply
of his materials equably over the year, all commtmica-
tions being shut up during the seven months of winter.
The consequent necessity of laying up a stock to serve
through the winter, entailing a greater outlay of capital,
is so much against him. On the other hand, he may
save in the wages of his labourers. These trades are in
the meanwhile prosperous ; but I have a strong sense
of the precariousness of any prosperity dependiDg on
protection, and believe that it would be well for the
prot6gds to consider that the self-sacriik:ing whim of
their Swedish customers may some day give way to an
admission of the rational principle— tiiat the dieapest
market is, in all circumstances, the best
At the time of my visit to Gottenburg, one of the
leading matters of local interest was the erection of an
Exchange upon an unusually handsome scale. I had an
opportunity of inspecting the building, when it was all
but finished, on my return from the north, and I must
say that I have rarely seen any edifice presenting a
more elegant interior. There are, besides the Exchange-
room on the street-fioor, a ball-room and supper-room,
also the apartments required for a restaurant and coffee-
house up stairs ; and the whole are decorated in a style
of taste fkr beyond any similar place in England that I
am acquainted with. The outlay, I was told, would be
L.60,000 sterling; a remarkable sum to be given for
such a purpose in so small a town. Verily, I thought,
if some of my friends, who speak of Sweden as little
better than the Frozen Regions, were to be transported
into the midst of the fkiry palace here erected in one of
its second-rate towns, their ideas about these northern
countries could not fail to undergo a change. They
might turn, it is true, to the hotel, and remark with
some bitterness, derived firom their own experiences, that
Gottenburg, while going a centunr ahead in an Ex-
change, WAS lingering two centuries behind in its accom-
modations for strangers. I had afterwards some pleasure
in looking over the Chalmers School, an institution
founded by a Scoteh gentieman of that name in order
te give young men an education in the mechanical and
Shysical sciences. It is a large establishment, con-
ucted in a most efficient manner, and attended by
308
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
abundance of pupiU. Here, again, Gottenburg is a-
head of many other plact^t of greater preteoaionf. Mr
Keiller'a iron-foundry, wbere 170 people are employed,
and where everything eeemed in tne best order, ooco-
pied an houi; agreeably. Another was well devoted to
Messrs Carnegie and Company's porter brew«ry at
Klippen, a suburb of Gottenburg. The favourite bever-
age of London is here producal of excellent quali^ ;
and I was informed that it is extensively used in Sweden,
though it might 1>e more so but for a liquor more
recently introduced — Bavarian beer — which is much
better adapted to the means of the generality of the
people. I likewise paid a visit to Messrs Gibson and
Son's establishment at J5nsered, a few miles from
town, where, in a charming rural situation, iron^ibund-
ing and sailcloth-making arc conducted on a large scale,
the whole population concerned being about 700. The
entire arrangements seemod admirable, but none more
so than the general fact of the near and constant asso-
ciation of the i)eople with beautiful natural scenes, in
whidi they could, at their leisure hours, rove without
restraint. Wlien a factory can be conducted in such
local circumstances, the noted drawbacks usually attend-
ing huge agglomerations of labour in a great measure
vanish ; andone can only wi^ thai so were they aU.
I had now to consider with some friends by what
means I should prosecute n^ designed tour of Sweden
and Norway, and much was ttie cogitation and discus-
sion on this subject before a plan could be determined
on. Priyiog one's self, with as little baggage as pos-
sible, in a light carriage called a carriole^ peculiar to the
country, was what my friends advised. Clever, plea-
sant Mr Enkstroro, the English consul, wlu> entered
into tlie arrangements as if they had been a duty of his
post, could not imagine anything better. But I could
not see how a middle-aged person, who had never driven
a carriage in his life, was to get along with any comfort
over the rough roads and through the vast spaces of
this northern land, exposed to all weathers, and desti-
tute of all knowledge of the language of the people by
whose aid alone could he stir even a step. I therefore
expressed my willingness to be somewhat obliging to
myself in the way of expense ; and it was finally settled
that I should have a four-wheeled and hooded carriage
for two horses, together with a servant to drive and act
as my interpreter or toUtan. The former was speedily
obtained at a sum equivalent to Is. 8d. Eoglish a day^
a plain, old, barkened, battered machine as ever met
my eyes, yet warranted to be of great strength, aa had
been often shown in Norwegian tours heretofore. As
to a tolkao, the case was more difficult Tlte man whom
all regarded as the facile princepa of his class, by name
Jacob Carlblom, was absent under an engagement. So
were some others. At length a person named Quist
was heard of, and brought under examination. He
proved to be a fine-looking, robust man of about five-
and-thirty, who had been a dragoon in the Swedish
army, but was now usually employed about a wine-
raerchant*s establishment. Little English did the honest
fellow know, and he had never been far into Norway •,
yet, all things considered, he seemed far from ineligible.
An amiable, simple character shone in his face, and
he riveted the favourable opinion which this excited
amongst us all by the interest he expressed about the
welfare of his wife, and the stipulation he seemed resolved
to make that a portion of his wages should be paid to
her weekly during his absence. I tlierefore engaged
Quist ; nor was there ever occasion to regret doing so, for
he justified every favourable anticipation. It was now,
then, determined that I should set out on my travels at
an early hour next morning, taking the road to Chris-
tiania, which is distant 215 English miles from Gotten-
burg. It was thought that I might reach that city in
little more than three days, provided that /are6u^ notices
were sent on before to warn the station-house keepers
to have horses in each instance ready for me. This is
a custom i>eculiar to the north, where tlie rarity of tra-
vellers teaqhct) that it is more economical to force horses
from the fannera when tiiey are wanted, thsa to htre
them kept by innkeepers for regular lerrice. Thm
is, tto^or«i A govemmoii segoktkm ooopeUiog ik
farmers to be ready, when called upon, to foniih boNH
at a oertain rat« of reaimeratioD ; aodeqosUf eafcidnf
that the inakeopets shall, on reeeiptef wsRiog,orwfaei
directly caUed on by traTeUacs, have hones st their
doors within two hoora It is a tynniDial«^itn,to
which I never coiUd raoonoiie myself; bat ns «m ii
beard compkining of it Od the present oocs^ooe
of my friends procured for me a quantity of blaiik
schedules, and, extending a few, sent thsm off bfioa
akmg the road which I was to traverse next dxf.m^
being addressed to a special innkeeper. Tim ve
aooomplislked tht parpote at a oompaistiTely trifling
expense. Had the post not been avtilable, it vnU
hare been neeesiary to send a syctjil nt—igu it &
cost equal to half UmX inconed lor the ham tbcm*
selves. B.a
BECOLLECTiONS OF A POLICE OFFKX&
X, T. z.
The following advertisement appeared is ttvenl (rftbe
London journals in the year 1832 ^-' If Oven Ltord, a
native of Wales, and who, it is bdiifed, resided kt
many years in London as elerk ia a large neicaot^ es-
tablishment, will forward his present sddrey to X.Y.Zh
Post-Offioe, St Martia's-le^Grand, to be kft tai ciUed
for, he will hear of something greatly to hii adnatagt'
My attentioQ bad been attracted to thii notice bjr itt
very frequent appearanee in the joiunsl ulucfalvu
chiefly in the habit of muUng, and, from ptoftniapil
habits of tliinking, I bad set it down in my on tsU
as a trap for some offender against tiie phodplM «i
moim an4 tmum, whose preseooe in a crimiosl oocrtini
very earnestly desired* I was oonfinned ia this coBJet-
ture by observing that, in despair of Oven Uoyd'iToJna-
tary disclosure (2 his retreat, a reward of fifty guioeai.
payable by a respectable solidtor of Lothbuy, vu^
mately offered to any person who would furnish XT.Z.
with the missing man^s addresa VAn old bird,' I HXfl-
tally exclaimed on perusing this parsgrspb, 'aodot^tD
be caught with ohaff; that is evident.' Stil nmb
excite my curiosity, and at the same time briof fiv
matter within the scope of my own particnlsr fuMtiw.
I found, on taking up the • Police Gazette,' swwrfof
thirty guineas offered for the opprthermo^ d 0^
Lloyd, whose person and manners were miiraUlyd&
scribed. * The pursuit grows hot,' thought I, Haom
down the paper, and hastening to attend a gomipoittjatt
brought me from the superintendent; 'sod if 0«s
Lloyd IB still within the four seas, his cksnoe of esope
seems but a poor one.'
On waiting on the laperintondent, I wss directnto
put myself in immediate personal oommtoioitioo viu
a Mr Smith, the head of an eminent wholssstehoucia
the City.
* In the City r ,^
•Ycsi but your husinesa with Mr Smith is Kl*t««
to the extensive robbery at liis West-end wadeoce »
week or two ago. The necessary wairants fcc the spg
hension of the suspected parties have been, Ijpg
stand, obtained, and on your return will, *******??
some necessary memoraxida» be piaoed in yo«r bsw
I at once proceeded to my destiuatioo, sad cam
arrival, was immediately ushered into a dingy »»•
room, where I was desired to wait till Mr SouU'|^
was just then busily engaged, could speak to ^^TTJ
ing my eyes over a taUe, near whicli the ^wK mj
placed roe a clwir, I perceived a newspaper «0(l»
* Police Gazette,* in both of which the ^^^'^'^
for the discovery of Owen Lloyd were strongly «*r
lined. • Oh, ho,* thought I ; * Mr Smith, thcs, « ^
X. Y. Z. who is 80 extremely anxious to reset m
acquaintance wiUi >Ir Owen Lloyd j and J Wi^
honoured individual selected to bring aboot »« <w*^
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
309
intarview. Well, it it in my new voefttion— one which
oiUi 90tfoelj be digpaned vith, it seemi, in this busy,
tchemiag life of oun.'
Mr Smith did not keep me walling long. He teemed
« bardt shrewd, boainen man, whoie atiU wiry fVame,
briak, actiye gait and manner, and dear, decisiye eye,
indicated—thoagh theanowaof more than sixty winters
had passed orer bis head*— a yet vigorous life, of which
tlie morning and the noon had b^n spent in the sue-
oeasfnl pursah of wealth and its aooompaniraent—social
consideration and infiaence.
'Yon have, I suppose, read the advertisements
Buu-kfid on these papers ?*
* I haye, and of course conclude that you, sir, are
X.Y. Z.'
'Of coarse conclusions,' rejoined Mr Smith with a
qaite peneptiblt sneer, * are usually very silly ones : in
this instance especially so. My name, you ought to be
aware, is Smith : X. Y. Z., whoever he may be, I expect
in a few minutes. In just seventeen minutes,' added the
exact man of bmiaess ; * for I, by letter, appointed him
to meet me here at one o'clock precisely. My motive
in seeking an interview with him, it is proper I should
tell yott, is the probability that he, like myself, is a
anflbrer by Owen Lloj^ and may not therefore olivject
to defray a fair share oi the cost likely to be incurred
in ankennelliog the delinquent, and prosecuting him to
conviction; or, which would be far better, he may be in
possession of information that will enable us to obtain
completdy the doe I already almost grasp. But we
niiist be cautions : X. Y. Z. may be a relative or friend
of Lloyd's, and in that case, to possess him of onr plans
would answer no purpose but to afford him an oppor-
tianity of baffling them. Thus nmoh premised, I had
better at once proceed to read over to you a few parti-
colars I have jotted down, which, you will perceive,
throw light and colour over the suspidons I have been
within these few days compdled to entertain. You are
doubtless acquainted with the full particulars of the
robbery at my residence. Brook Street^ last Thursday
fortnight?'
* Yes ; especially the report of the officers, that tiie
crioM nrast have been committed by persons familiar
with the premises and the general habits of the family.'
' Precisdy. Now, have you your memorandum-book
ready?'
%* Qaite 8o«'
'You hod better write with ink,' said Mr Smith,
pushing an inkstand and pens towards me. ' Important
memoranda should never, where there is a possibility
of AToiding it, be written in pencil. Friction, thumbing,
use of any kind, often partially obliterates them, creat-
ing endless confusion and mistakes. Are you ready ? '
* Perfectly.'
' Owen Lloyd, a native of Wales, and, it was imder-
stood, descended from a highly-respectaUe fkmily there.
About five feet eight ; but I need not describe his per-
son over again. Many years with us, first as junior,
then as head derk ; during wliich his conduct, as re-
gards the firm, was exemplary. A man of yielding,
irresolute mind — if indeed a person can be said to really
possess a mind at all who is always changing it for
some other person's — incapable of saying '^No" to em-
barrassing, impoverishing requests^-one, in short, Mr
Waters, of that numerous class of individuals whom
fools say are nobody's enemies but their own, as if that
were possible *
* X understand ; but I really do not see how this bears
upon'
* The mission you are directed to undertake? I think
it does, as you will presently see. Three years ago,
Owen Lloyd having involved hhnself, in consequence of
the serious defect of oharaeter I have indicated, in large
liabilities for pretended friends, left our employment ;
and to avoid a jail, fled, no one could discover whither.
Edward Jones, also a native of the prindpali^, whose
description, as well as that of his wife, you will recdve
from the superintendent, was discharged about seven
years since from our service for misconduct, and went,
we understood, to America. He always appeared to po8>
sess great influence over the mind of his considerably
younger countryman Lloyd. Jones and his wife were
seen three evenings since by one of our clerks near
Temple Bar. I am of opinion, Mr Waters,' continued
Mr Smith, removing his spectacles, and closing the note-
book, from which he had been reading, * that it is only
the first step in crime, or criminal imprudence, which
feeble-minded men especially long hesitate or boggle
at; and I now more than suspect that, pressed by po-
verty, and very possibly yielding to the persuasions and
example of Jones — wlio, by the way, was as well ac-
quainted with the premises in Brook Street as his fellow-
clerk — ^the once honest, ductile Owen lioyd, is now a
common thief and burglar.'
♦Indeed!'
* Yes. A more minute search led to the discovery, the
day before yesterday, of a pocket-book behind some
book-shelves in the library. As no properly had been
taken firom that room — though the lock of a large iron
cliest, containing coins and medals, had been evidently
tampered with — ^the search there was not at first very
rigorous. That pocket-book — here it is — belonged, I
know, to Owen Lloyd when in our service. See, here
are his initials stamped on the cover.^
* Might he not have inadvertently left it there when
with you ? *
* You will scarcely think so after reading the date of
the five-pound note of the Hampshire County Bank,
which you will find within the inner lining/
•The date is 1831.»
* Exactly. I have also strong reason for believing
that Owen Ll<^d is now, or has been lately, residing in
some part of Hampshire.'
' That is important.'
' This letter,' continued Mr Smith ; and then pausing
for a brief space in some embarrassment, he added —
' The commissioner informed me, Mr Waters, that you
were a person upon whose good sense and discretion^ as
well as sagacity and courage, every confidence might be
placed. I therefore fed less difficulty than I otherwise
should in admitting you a little behind the family screen,
and entering with you upon matters one would not
willingly have bruited in the public ear.'
I bowed, and he presently proceeded.
* Owen Lloyd, I should tell you, is married to a very
amiable, superior sort of woman, and has one diild, a
daughter named Caroline, an elegant, gentle-man ncred,
beautlAil girl I admit, to whom my wife was much at-
tached, and she was consequently a frequent visitor in
Brook Street. This I always felt was very imprudent ;
and the result was, that my son Arthur Smith — only
about two years her senior; she was just turned of
seventeen when her father was compelled to fly from
his creditors — formed a silly, boyisli attachment for her.
They have since, I gather from this letter, which I
found yesterdav in Arthur's dressing-room, carried on,
at long intervals, a clandestine correspondence, waiting
for the advent of more propitious times — which, being
interpreted,' added Mr Smith with a sardonic sneer,
* means of course my death and burial.'
' You are in possession, then, if Miss Caroline Lloyd
is living with her father, of his precise place of abode ?'
*Kot exactly. The correspondence is, it seems,
carried on without the knowledge of Owen Lloyd ; and
the girl states in answer, it should seem, to Arthur's
inquiries, that her father would never forgive her if,
under present circiunstances, she disclosed his place of
residence— tre can now very well understand that — and
she intreats Arthur not to persist, at least for the pre-
sent, in his attempts to discover her. My son, you
must understand, is now of age, and so far as fortune is
concerned, is, thanks to a legacy from an aunt on his
mother's side, independent of me.'
* What post-mark does the letter bear ?*
'Charing -Cross. Miss Lloyd states that it will be
posted in London by a friend ; that fHend being, I no-
■*va
310
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
thinff doubt, her father's confederate, Jones. Bat to
us the most important part of the epistle is the follow-
ing line : — ** My father met with a sad accident in the
forest some time ago, bat is now quite recovered." The
words in theforett haye, jou see, been written over, but
not so entirely as to prerent their being, with a little
trouble, traced. Now, coupling this expression with the
Hampshire bank-note, I am of opinion that lioyd is
concealed somewhere in the New Forest.'
*A shrewd guess, at all events.'
•You now perceive what weighty motives I have to
bring this man to justice. The property carried off I
care little comparatively about; but the intercourse
between the girl and my son must at any cost be ter-
minated'
He was interrupted by a clerk, who entered to say
that Mr William Lloyd, the gentleman who had adver-
tised as * X. T. Z.,' desired to speak to him. Mr Smith
directed Mr Ll^d to be shown in ; and then, snatching
up the • Police Gazette,' and thrusting it into one of the
table-drawers, said in a low voice, but marked emphasis,
' A relative, no doubt, by the name : be silent, and be
watchful.*
A minute afterwards Mr Lloyd was ushered Into the
room. He was a thin, emaciated, and apparently sor-
row-stricken man, on the wintry side of middle age,
but of mild, courteous, gentlemanly speech and man-
ners. He was evidently nervous and agitated, and after
a word or two of customary salutation, said hastily,
' I gather fh)m this note, sir, that you can afford me
tidings of my long-lost brother Owen: where is he?*
He looked eagerly round the apartment, gazed with
curious earnestness In my face, and then again turned
with tremulous anxiety to Mr Smith. 'Is he dead?
Pray do not keep me in suspense.'
* Sit down, sir,' said Mr Smith, pointing to a chair.
* Your brother, Owen Lloyd, was for many years a clerk
in this establishment'
* Was— wast* interrupted Mr Lloyd with greatly-in-
creased agitation : * not now, then — he has left you ? *
* For upwards of three years. A few days ago — pray
do not interrupt me — I obtained intelligence of nim,
which, with such assistance as you may possibly be able
to affbrd, will perhaps suffice to enable this gentleman'
— pointing to me — * to discover his present residence.'
I could not stand the look which Mr Lloyd fixed upon
me, and turned hastily away to gaze out of the win-
dow, as if attracted by the noise of a squabble between
two draymen, which fortunately broke out at the mo-
ment in the narrow, choked-up street.
* For what purpose, sir, are you instituting this eager
search after my brother ? It cannot be that No,
no— he has left you, you say, more than three years :
besides, the bare supposition lis as wicked as absm^.'
' The truth is, Mr Lloyd,' rejoined Mr Smith after a
few moments* reflection, ' Uiere is great danger that my
son may disadvantageously connect himself with your
— with your brother's family — may, in fact, marry
his daughter Caroline. Now I cotdd easily convince
Owen '
' Caroline ! * inteijected Mr Lloyd with a tremulous
accent, and bis dim eyes suffUsed with tears — 'Caro-
line!—av, truly fier daughter would be named Caro-
line.' An instant after, he added, drawing himself up
with an air of pride and some sternness: 'Caroline
Lloyd, sir, is a person who, by birth, and, I doubt not,
character and attainments, is a fitting match for the
son of the proudest merchant of this proud city.'
'Very likely,* rejoined Mr Smith dryly; 'but you
most excuse me for saying that, as regards my son, it
is one which I will at any cost prevent'
'How am I to know,' observed Mr Lloyd, whose
glance of pnde had quickly passed away, ' that you are
dealing fairly and candidly with me in the matter ? '
In reply to this home-thrust, Mr Smith placed Uie
letter addressed by Miss Lloyd to his son in the hands
of the questioner, at the same time explaining how he
had obtained it
Mr Lloyd's hands trembled, and hit teart fell fSut
over the letter at he hurriedly permed it It aeened fay
his broken, involuntary ejaculationa, that old thoagfali
and memories were deeply stirred wittiin him. * PMr
girl 1--S0 young, to gentle, and m torely tried 1 Em
mother's very turn of thought and jrfiraae. Oven, too^
artiess, honourable, just as he was ewer, excef^ whes
the dupe of knaves and villains.*
He seemed buried in thought for aooae time whet the
perusal of the letter ; and Mr Smith, whose G«e it was
to avoid exciting suspicion by too grest ea^erocMcf
speech, was growing fidgetty. At length, raddeoly look-
ing up, he said in a dejected tone, ' If this Sc aO yen
have ascertained, we seem as far off aa eiwer. I can
afford you no help.'
'I am not sure of that,' replied Mr SnillL *Lit as
look calmly at the matter. Your hn^her is ewiOmOf
not living in London, and that accounti for your
tisements not being answered.'
'Truly.'
• If you look at the letter atten^vdy, yea
ceive tiiat three important words, ** in the tee^" Ime
been partially erased.'
' Yes, it is indeed so ; but what '
• Now, is there no particular locality fa flie eoaatffjr
to which your brother would be tikdy tebcteke faim-
self in preference to another ? Gentlemea ef luicy and
sentiment,' added Mr Smith, « usually ftJl bade, 1 htewe
heard, upon some favourite haunt of earty dajf
pressed by adversity.'
' It is natural they should,' replied Mr Ueyd,
less of the sneer. 'I have fBlt tiiat kmi^lBg te «H
haunts and old faces in intenaest force, even wica I «■
what the world calls prospering in strange lands i ani
how much more But no ; he would not iiAun ti
Wales— to Caermarthen— to be looked down npoft if
those amongst whom our family for so many
tions stood equal with the highest Besides, I have ;
sonally sought him there — ^In vain.'
*But his wife — she is not a native of ^bt
pality?'
* No. Ah ! I remember. The forest ! It nmst te lat
Caroline Hey worth, whom we first met in the lilt «f
Wight, is a native of Beaulieu, a village in Urn
Forest, Hampshire. A small, very small property '
bequeathed by an unde, belonged to her, said
has not been disponed of. How came I not to
this before? I will set out at once— and yet
business requires my stay here for a daj or tee.'
* This gentleman, Mr Waters, can proceed to
lieu immediately.'
'That must do then. Ton will caD m
Waters — here is my address — before yoe lent town.
Thank you. And God bless you, sir,' he idAe&, wid*
denly seizing Mr Smith's hand, ' for ^e hghit yoa Incse
thrown upon this wearying, and, I feued^ bopihfll
search. You need not be so anxious, sir, to
special messenger to release your son fitmi Ids
of marriage to my niece. None of us, be
be desirous of forcing her upon a rductant
He then bowed, and withdrew.
' Mr Waters,' said Mr Smith with a good aMi if
sternness, as soon as wc were alone, * I expeet
sentimental crotchet will prevent your doing
in this matter?'
* What right,' I answered with some beat> *
sir, to make such an insinuation?'
' Because I perceived, by your manner, ^lat ym
approved my questioning Mr liojd as to tto
mode of securing his brother.'
' My manner hut interpreted my thoosA^ : .
I know what belongs to my duty, fuid shiul peifbMilL*
* Enough : I have nothing more to s*y.*
I drew on my gloves, took im mj batt
leaving the room, when Mr Smifli
one moment, Mr Waters : yon see timt
is to break off the connection beiiifcjiU vy^
Lloyd?'
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAIi.
811
•I do.'
'I am not anxiouii you viU remember, to press the
prosecutioQ \f» by a frunk wriUen confession of his ffuUi,
Owen lioyd places an insuperable bar between his child
and mine. You understand ? '
* Perfeclly. But permit me to observe* that the duty
you just now hinted I might hesitate to perform, wiU
not permit me to be a party to any such transaction.
Good-day.*
I waited on Mr William Lloyd soon afterwards, and
listen^ with paioful interest to the brief history which
he» with childlike simplicity, narrated of his own and
brother's fortunes. It was a sad, oft-told tale. They
had been early left orphans; and deprived of judicious
guidance, had run — William more especially — a wild
career cl dissipation, till all was gone. Just before the
orash came, tbey had both fallen in love with the same
woman, Caroline ^yworth, who had preferred the
meeker, more gentle-hearted Owen, to his elder brother.
They parted in anger. William obtained a situation
as baihff and overseer of an estate in Jamaica, where,
by many years of toil, good fortune, and economy, he
at length ruined his health and restored his fortunes ;
and was now returned to die rich in his native country ;
and, as he had till an hour before feared, unlamented
and untended save by hirelings. I promised to write
immediately I had seen his brother; and with a sor-
rowful heart took leave of the vainly-rejoicing, prema-
turely-aged man.
I arrived at Southampton by the night-coach — ^the
railwi^ was but just begun, I remember — and was in-
fbrmed that the best mode of reaching Beaulieu— -
Bewley, they pronounced it — was by crossing the South-
ampton rlTcr to the village of Hythe, which was but a
few miles distance from Beaulieu. As soon as I had
breakfasted, I hastened to the quay, and was soon
speeding across the tranquil waters in one of the sharp-
stemmed wherries which plied constantly between the
shores. My attention was soon arrested by two figures
in the stern of Uie boat, a man and woman. A sUght
examination of their features sufficed to convince me
that thoy were Jones and his wife. They evidently
entertained no suspicion of pursuit; and as I heard
them tell the boatmen they were going on to Bewley^ I
determised ibr the present not to disturb their fancied
security. It was fortunate I did so. As soon as we had
landed, they passed into a mean-looking dwelling, which,
from some nets, and a boat under repair, in a small
yard in front of it, I concluded to be a fisherman's. As
no vehide could be readily proeured, T determined on
walking on, and easily reached Beaulieu, which is
charmingly situated just within the skirto of the New
forest, about twelve o'clock. After partaking of a slight
repast at the principal inn of the place^I forget ito
name ; but it was, I remember, within a stone's- throw
of the celebrated Beaulieu Abbey ruins — I easily con-
txiied, by a few careless, indirect questions, to elicit all
the infbrmatiou I required of the loquacious waiting-
noaid. Mr lioyd, who seemed to bear an excellent cha-
racter, lived, I was informed, at a cottage about half a
mile distant from the inn, and chiefly supported himself
a^ a measurer of timber— beech and ash ; a small stock
— the oak was reserved for government purposes — be
usually kept on hand. Miss Caroline, the girl said, did
beautlfiil fancy-work ; and a group of flowers painted by
her, as natural as life, was framed and glazed in the bar,
if I would like to see it Upon the right track sure
enough ! Mr Lloyd, there could be no longer a doubt,
had unconsciously betrayed his unfortunate, guilty
brother into the hands of justice, and I, an agent of the
iron law, was already upon the threshold of his hiding-
place ! I felt no pleasure at the success of the scheme.
To have bravely and honestly stood up against an ad-
verse fate for so many years, only to fall into crime just
as /fortune had grown weary of persecuting him, and a
Ioa^..efltrangcd brother had returned to raise him and
tda to their former position in society, was melancholy
indeed I And the young woman too. whose letter
breathed so pure, so gentle, so patient a spirit 1— it
would not bear thinking about — and I resolutely strove
to look upon the affair as one of everyday routine. It
would not, do, however ; and I was about to quit the
room in no very enviable frame of mind, when my boat
companions, Mr and Mrs Jones, entered, and seated
themselves at one of the tobies. The apartment was
rather a large one, and as I was seated in the comer of
a box at some distance from the entrance, they did not
at first observe me ; and several words caught my ear
which awakened a strong desire to hear more. That I
might do so, I instantly adopted a very common, but
not the less often very successful device. As soon as the
new-comers perceived me, their whispered colloquy
stopped abruptly ; and after a minute or so, the man
said, looking hard at me, 'Good-day, sir; you have
had rather a long walk?' and he glanped at my dusty
boote.
* Sir,* I replied, enclosing my left ear with my hand
in the manner of a natural ear - trumpet, * did you
speak?'
* A dusty walk,' he rejoined in a voice that might
have been heard in a hurricane or across Fleet Street.
* One o'clock I ' I replied, pulling out my watch. * No :
it wante a quarter yet'
'Deaf as the Monument,' said Jones to his com-
panion. ' All right'
The suspended dialogue was but partially resumed.
' Do you think,' said the woman, after the lapse of
about five minutes — * do you think Owen and his family
will go with us ? I hope not*
' Not he : I only asked him just fbr the say-so of the
thing. He is too chicken-hearted for that, or for any-
thing else that requires pluck.'
Finishing the spirits and water they had ordered,
they soon afterwards went out I followed.
As soon as we had gone about a hundred paces firom
the house, I said, * Pray can you tell me which is Mr
Lloyd the beech-merchant's house ?'
* Yes,' replied the man, taking hold of my arm, and
hallooing into my ear with a power sufficient to reaUy
deafen one for life : * we are going there to dine.'
I nodded comprehension, and on we journeyed. We
were met at the door by Owen Uoyd himself — a
man in whose countenance guilelessness, even to sim-
plicity, seemed stomped by nature's own true hand.
So much, thought I^ for the reliance to be placed
on physiognomy! *I have brought you a customer,'
said Mr Jones ; ' but he is as deaf as a stone.' I
was courteously invited in by signs ; and with much
hallooing and shouting, it was finally settled that,
after dinner, I should look over Mr Lloyd's stock of
wood. Dinner had just been placed on the table by
Mrs Lloyd and her daughter. A still very comely,
interesting woman was Mrs Lloyd, though time and
sorrow had long since set their unmistakeable seals
upon her. Her daughter was, I thought, one of the
most charming, ^aceful young women I had ever
seen, spite of the tinge of sadness which dwelt upon her
sweet face, deepening its interest if it somewhat dimi-
nished ito beauty. My heart ached to think of tbe
misery the announcement of my errand must presently
bring on such gentle beings — innocent, I felt confident,
even of the knowledge of the crime that had been com-
mitted. I dreaded to begin—not. Heaven knows, from
any fear of the men, who, compared with me, were
poor, feeble creatures, and I could easily have mastered
half-a-dozen such; but the females — that young girl
especially — how encounter their despair? I mutely
dedined dinner, but accepted a glass of ale, and sat
down till I could muster sufficient resolution for the
performance of my task ; for I felt this was an oppor-
tunity of quietly effecting the capture of both the sus-
pected criminals which must not be neglected.
Dinner was just over when Mrs Lloyd said, * Oh, Mr
Jones, have you seen anything of my husband's pocket-
book ? It was on a shelf in the room where you slept —
not the last time, but when you were here about three
8)2
CHAMBEatS'S eMNBUBCm JODBNAL.
weeks «^ We can find it ncmbere; aiml I thought
fon might p<»0H)ly have taken it by mistake.'
* A bla<ik; common4ooking thing?' said Jones.
* Yes/
* I did take it by mistake. I A>und it in oite of my
pareels, and put it in my pocket, intending of confse
to return it when I came back; but I remember, when
wanting* to open a look of which I had lost the key,
taking it out to see if it contained a peneil-case which
I thought might answer the purpose ; and finding none,
toising it away in a pet, I could not afterwards find it.'
* Then it is lost?'
* Yes ; but what of that P There was nothing in it'
*You are mlsti^en,' rejoined Owen; * there was a
flye-ponnd country note in it, and the loss wiU What
is tlie matter, friend ?'
I had sprung upon my fbet with uncontrdlable emo«
tion : Mr Lloyd's observation recalled me to myself,
and I sat down again, muttering something about a
sudden pain in the side.
* Oh, if thaf 8 the case,* said Jones, * I'll make it up
wflHngly. I am pretty rich, you kbow, jnst now.'
* We shall be much obliged to you,' said Mrs Lloyd ;
* its loss would be a sad blow to us.'
*How came you to send those heavy boxes here,
Jones?' said Owen Lloyd. * Would it not have been
better to have sent them direct to Portsmouth, where
the' vessel calls?'
* I had not quite made up my mind to return to
America then ; and I knew they would be safer here
than anywhere else.*
•When do you mean to take them away? We are
so badly off for room, that they terribly hamper us.*
*This evening, about nine o'clock. I have hired a
smack at Hythe to take us, bag and baggage, down
the river to meet the liner which calls off Ports-
mouth to-morrow. I wish we could persuade you to
go with us.'
* Thank you, Jones,* replied Owen in a dejected tone.
* I have very little to hope for here ; still my heart clings
to the old cotmtry.'
I had heard enough ; and hastily rising, intimated a
wish to look at the timber at once. Mr Lloyd imme-
diately rose, and Jones and his wife left the cottage
to return to Hythe at the same time that we did. I
marked a few pieces of timber, and promising to send
for them in the morning, hastened away.
A mountain seemed removed from off my breast : I
felt as if 1 had achieved a great personal deliverance.
Truly a wonderful interposition of Providence, I thought,
that has so signally averted the fatal consequences likely
to have resulted fVom the tlioughtless imprudence of
Owen Lloyd, in allowiog his house to be made, however
innocently, a receptacle for stolen goods, at the solicita-
tions, too, of a man whose character he knew to be none
of tlie purest He had had a narrow escape, and miglit
with perfect truth exclaim —
* Th«rb*fl a Divinity tbat khapM our eods.
Rough-hew them bow we wilL'
The warrants of wldch I was the. bearer the London
police authorities had taken care to get indorsed by a
magistrate of the county of Hampshire, who happened
to be in London, so that I found no difficulty in arrang-
ing effectually for tlic capture and safe custody of Jones
and his assistants when he came to fetch his booty.
I liad just returned to the Beaulieu inn, after
completing my arrangements, when a carriage drove
furiously .up to the door, and who should, to my utter
astonisiiment, alight, but Mr William Lloyd, and Messrs
Smith, father and son. I hastened out and briefly en-
joiniag caution and silence, begged them to step with
me into a private room. The agitation of Mr Lloyd
and of Mr Arthur Smith was extreme, but Mr Smith
appeared acAd and impassive as ever. I soon ascer-
tained that Arthur South, by his mother's assistance, I
suspect^ had early penetrated his father's schemes and
secrets, aud Uadt in consequence, caused Mr Williaai
Lloyd to be watched home, with whom, imnediilelf
after I had left, he had a long oonfiaieoea Lster is
the evening an idairemeiMnt witil the father took
place ; and after a long and stormy discoMioo. it m
resolved that all three should the next moniing poit '
down to Beaulieu, and act as cheaostuMei night i
suggest My story was soon told. It was leeairalor
course with unbounded joy by the brc^iber sod the '
lover ; and even through the fatWs apparent iDdife.
ence I could perceive that his refoul to participtte ia
the general joy would not be of long duration. Tbe
large fbrtune whidi Mr WiHiam Lloyd intiaiated lib
intentioD to bestow upon bis aieos wu a nev isd
softening etement in the affair.
Mr Smith, senior, ordered his dianet ; and Mr U^d
and Arthur Smith— but why need I attempt to idite
what thai did ? I only know that when, a loog tisie
afterwards, I ventured to look in at Mr Oven I%f i
cottage, all the five Inmates — brother, onde, lover,
niece, and wife — were ta&ing, laughing, weepiog, mS*
ing, like distracted creatures, and seemed utterly inca<
pable of reasonable discourse. An boor jfl^tb^af I
stood screened by a belt of forest-trees is wait fir Mr
Jones and company, I noiioed, as they all itniied pait '
me in the clear moonlight, that the tean^ tbeagitatioa
had passed away, leaving only smiles and grateful joy
on the glad faces so lately clouded by anxiety and
sorrow. A mighty change in so brief a apace!
Mr Jones airived with his cart and htipen in doe
time. A man who sometimes assisted m the timber
yard was deputed, wHh an apology for the abMoea «f
Mr Lloyd, to deliver tiie goods. The bam, fill of
plate and other valuables, were soon hoisted in, and the
cart moved off I let it proceed about a miie, and tiieo,
with the help I had placed in readiness, easily teooRd
the astounded burglar and his assistants ; and eariy the
next morning Jones was on his road to Lon^. He
was tried at the ensuing 01d*BaiIey aessioos, coorided,
and transported for life ; and the discretkm I had «»•
dsed in not executing the warrant against Owci IJsyd
was decidedly approved of by the aathoritiea
It was about two months after my first intenisi
with Mr Smith that, on returning home one ereaiaf,
my wife placed before roe a piece of bride^e,anl
two beautifully-engraved cards united with white niia
ribbon, bearing the names of Mr and Mrs Arttor
Smith. I was more gratified by this httle act of ooa^
tesy for Emily's sake, as those who have teopwiriy
fallen from a certain position in society wiB ei4y
understand, than I should have been by the oortlieft
present The service I had rendered wu purely tfci-
dental : it has nevertheless been always kindly reoKO*
bered by all parties whom it so critically serred.
RUINS.
BvKRTTHiNO Is mutable, everything is periakabW amsi
us. The fonus of nature and the works of srt alike
crumble away ; and anud the gigantic forms thai annod
it, the soul of man is alone immoriaL Kno^edjt im
ebbs and flows like the ohanging sea, and art hai bsoo«
extinct in regions where it earliest flourished. KiB{d«ei
that once gave law to the nations, figure no meet is tk
world's hbtoiy, leaving notiiing but a name, and RaiW'
Most of the ruins of the anoient w<»ld are renaibW
as monuments of a political element nov happily «*
tinct. They are emblems of that despotic mis rtkh,*
the early history of mankind, was well-aigh uwi«»;
vriuch delighted in rearing immense stmctvisi, lUi ue
Pyramids, of little utility, but requiring an enonB« a-
penditureof labour; and contrasted with the <:*P^^
ness and violence of which, the most arbitrary <Jf «»*^
govemmeato is Uberty itself. But such niias not «9 ^
teach us to be 9»teful to Heaven for the W«J"NP[*
political fteedom, but reveal to us glimpa* «*P^
which, but for them, would remain veUsd in oWflW
GHAMB£&S*S BSDIKBUBOfiL JOUBNAL*
513
By % right use of them w# diMorer, mora or Ims perfectly^
the hiHtory and the customs of races long dead. Buried
Herculancum, once more given baclc to the sunbeams, re-
veals to us the domestic life of ancient Rome; the hiero-
glyphicaof C^ypt, the paintings and sculptures of Nineveh,
tell ufl stories of their kings, and show us symbols of their
splendour. What geology is to us in relation to the early
earth, sUch are ruins in regard to its human habitants:
they are their history in stone.
There is a peculiar grandeur and impressivenfiss in the
ruins which date from the era of the old untTenal mo-
D archies. So many centuries have ToUed away since then,
conquest and desolation have so often swept over their
territories, and tyranny so decimated their inhabitants,
that among them Decay assumes a grander form than
elsewhere in the world. It is not single edifices dilapi-
dated that meet our view, but whole cities desolate —
whole cities so crumbled into dust, that the very ttites of
aome ^ the greatest of ancient capitals have slipped from
the world's memory. Egypt, Greece, Persia, the AMyrian
realm, are great names, once filling earth with their
glory, now all but obliterated from the roll of nations.
We enter the regions where once sat those old Queens of
the East, and look for some reflection of former greatness
still lingering on the brows of the Inhabitants. We look
ill vain. Cities are mean; poverty is everywhere; man is
degraded^ nature half desolate, and the testimony of our
aensei makes us sceptical as to the truth of history. But
search yet further, and lol silent and inanimate witnesses
for the dead rise around. Amid the solitude and the
desert, pillar and obelisk, palace and temple, cities im-
luense even in their ruins, mark how the barren sands
were once a garden, and the solitude was peopled by busy
myriads. Those shattered colonnades, those fallen capi-
tala and mutilated statues, once rose above the dwellings
of Hundred-gated Thebes; those mounds of rubbish, now
shunned even by the wild Bedouin, cover the wondrous
relics of Nineveh; those silent mountains that look down
on the lone, ruin-covered plain of Merdusht, once echoed
back the shouts of royal Perscpolis. Ruins are the voice
of past ages chiding the present for its degeneracy. They
are like sea- ware on the shore at low water, marking how
high the tide of cavilisation once rose.
When we consider the remote period at which such
edifices were constructed, we are at first surprised by two
qualities which they exhibit, sometimes united, some-
tinies apart — magnitude and beauty. Magnitude always
exerts a great influence on the senses; and without seek-
ing to explain how such an effect is produced, it is evi-
dent from history that an admiration ol the colossal is
especially characteristic of the hunum mind in the early
stages of its development. Aoeordingly, and periiaps also
from a recollection of gigantic works before the Flood,
th« first undertaking of the united race of Postdiluvians
was the vastly-imagined Tower of Babel. The first family
of man in Europe — the Pelasgi — mute and inglorious in
ewrything else, have left samples of an enormous aixihi-
tecture, whose ruins to this day exist under the title of
Cyclopean. This peculiarity is not confined to the shores
of the Mediterranean. In the remote East, and in the
long undiscovered regions of the West, in Ceylon and in
Mexico, the aboriginal races have left their sole memo-
rials in similar masses of masonry. With them size seems
to have been ever3rthing; it was magnitude which then
fascinated the imagination. Even when men aro well
advanced in civilisation, the same spirit is perceptible
among them, and a love of exaggeration, the frequent
use of hyperWe, characterises the early literatufe of all
From the exquisite beauty of much of the architecture,
poetry, and aculpture that have ooeme down to us from
antiquity* the singular feet is apparentt that the fine
arts reached perfection at a time when those conducive
to the material comi<»t8 were stiU in infancy. In those
days the race of man was yet young; and youth in the
species, as in the indiTidual, is the season of the Beauti-
ful. It was a lively love and susceptibility to the charnw
of nature that peopled the woods and watecs, the sunny
skies and the sparkling sea, with deities in sympathy
with nkan— ^that saw in the rainbow a messenger from
heaven to earth, and in the thunder of the tempest the
wrath of the Most High. The vague ever excites inte-
rest; and the i^ysterious phenomena of nature contri-
buted to fix their attention on her aspects, and conse-
quently on her beauties. Coelum and Terra, heaven and
earthen one word. Nature was the great goddess of
paganism. She was the great parent of their Pantheon
—from her all o^her gods drew birth; they were personi-
fications of her powers, and, till the days of the Greeks,
it was under forms of her that they were worshipped.
This susceptibility to beauty in nature was the parent
of the beautiful in art. In stone, in bronze, on the can-
vas, they strove to reproduce the perfection of form that
they beheld in select naturor^-to attaiu the same harmony
of parts — and thus to avmken ii^ the beholder correspond-
ing emotions of pleasure. Thus art» in different countries,
varied with the aspects of nature. The monotonous
vastness and horizontal lines of the scenery of Egypt, find
a counterpart in the heavy and monotonous grandeur
of its temples; and the unhandsome features of its in-
habitants, in the half- Negro faces of its gods. In Greece,
on the other hand, the variety in its architecture corre-
sponds with the varied aspects of the country; and its
exquisite sculpture is but a reflection of the noble linea-
ments of the people. The showy prettiness of Chinese
decoration is typical of the Flowery Realm; and from
the exuberance of animal life in Central Asia, springs
the profusion of animal forms in the sculpture and archi-
tecture of India, Persia, and Assyria.
External circumstances also then fostered genius in
architecture. Splendour was the glory of the kings of
those days — ^partly from tatitc, but not less so from neces-
sity^ The moral faculties of their subjects were too weak
to be alone regarded : their senses had to be appealed to.
As, during the Heroic Age, the king distinguished him-
self from his army by luu valour in il^e field, so, during
peace, he had to distinguish himself from his subjects
by his magnificence. The royal manHion, constructed
of enduring granite or shining marble, represented the
visibility of power; and the people felt that they could as
soon shake the globe as overturn the lord of so much
might : hence the palaces of Persia. Heligion, too,
availed herself of like means of impressing the unspi-
ritual mlud of the people; while superstition imagined
that the gods were pleased by the splendour of the
temples reared for their worship. Hence the stupendous
temples of Luxor and Camac, with their huge orna-
mented propylsa, and far-stretching avenues of pillars
and sphinxes — and the countless other sacred structures
of Egvpt, whose very ruins have all but perished : hence,
too, the rock-temples of Ellora and Elephanta, where the
labour of the worshippers has hollowed out of the moun-
tain rock a mansion for their deity, and has sculptured its
sides with groups frx)m Hindoo mythology. Even in the
New Worid traces of a similar spirit are to be found ; and
doubtless the vast ruins recently discovered in Yucatan
were designed to magnify the worship of the great sun-
god of the ancient Indians.
The noblest source from which architecture can proceed
was pre-eminently exhibited in the republics of Greece.
The exalted race that peopled that favoured land had
passed the stage of intellectual development in which
magnitude is the chief object of admiration ; and among
them the great object of desire was beauty, and their
chief characteristic was the love of the beautiful. Amon?
them Despotism was ndt seen building palaces to exhibit
its own glory; It was a people gratifying an elevating
fMUiftinn. tint\. whiln An\ntf nn. vAlnnturilv KAAinm TnitfMifv
8U
CHAMBERS'S BDIKBtJBOH JOURNAL.
to the state. Simple and unostentatious in their private
dwellings, they lavished genius and splendour in the con-
struction of tneir public buildings ; for the state was but
a concentration of themselres, and in its gloiy they felt
they were all partaken. Nerertheless they desired
beauty more for itself than for its concomitant splen-
dour ; and even in religion they were less worshippen of
hearen than adorers of the beautiful. It is the loftiest
of delights to say to the beautiful — ^ I am thy Maker I' and
when kneeling before the matchless statues of their gods,
the Greeks rather gloried in them as dirine creations of
their genius, than humbled themselves before them as
emblems of their deities. Favoured by blood and climate,
by the character of their countnr, and the advent to its
shores of all the knowledge of the old East — the Greeks
had a noble career before them ; and well did they fulfil
their destiny. Genius and power have long departed
from the descendants of that lordly race ; but mankind
still flock to the Hellenic strand to gate on the divine
relics of the past. The sun of Greece has long set — but
the land is still radiant with her ruins.
Egypt — ^that land of silence and mystery — as if to com-
pensate for its total deficiency of written records, has left
the greatest number of ruins. From the mouth of the
Nile to above the Cataracts, relics of former magnificence
stretch away to the borders of the Desert; and even amid
the now sandy wastes we stumble at times upon a ruin
lordly even in its decay. It tells us the oft-told tale of
the triumph of Time. We gaze on the ruin, and see in it
a broken purpose — and the strain of our meditations is
sad. We think of the mighty monarch its founder — proud
of his power, and eager to use it ; yet conscious of his
evanescence, and resolved to triumph over decay ere it
triumphed over him— dreading the foirgetfulness of hu-
man hearts, and resolving to commit his gloiy to things
less noble, but less perishable than they, and to make the
silent marble eloquent with his praise. Those porphyiy
blocks have come iVom the far-ofi' Nubian mountains, and
earth must have groaned for leagues beneath their weight ;
the carving of those friezes, and the sculpture of those
statues, must have been the labour of years. Alas for
the captive and the slave! Hundreds have toiled and
sunk on the plain around us — till the royal pile became
a cenotaph to slaves. That vase -shaped capital, half
imbedded in the sand, has been soiled with the sweat,
perhaps dabbled with the blood, of poor goaded beings;
and the sound of the lash and the groan of the victim
have echoed in halls where splendour and gaiety were
thenceforth to dwell. But long centuries have passed
since then ; and now indignation does not break the calm
of melancholy with which we gaze on the broken emblems
of departed power. The structure which was to exhibit
the glory and resources of a monarch lies shattered and
crumbling in fragments : and the lotos-leaf, which every-
where appears on the rums, is an emblem of the oblivion
that shrouds the name of the founder.
But many a ruin that still ' enchants the world'
awakens other reflections than on the fall of power. It
may be a concentrated history of its architect-—! t may be
the embodiment of the long dream that made up his life.
From the inspired moment when first its ideal form filled
his mental eye, in fancy we see it haunting his reveries
like the memory of a beautiAil dream. In sorrow it has
come like an angel to gladden his lonely hours ; and
though adversity crush his spirit, he still clings like
a lover to the dream of the soul. At length the object
of his life is accomplished ; and the edifice, awful in its
vastness, yet enchanting in its beauty, stands in the li^ht
of day complete. To behold beauty in mental vision is a
joy— but to place it before the eyes of men, and see them
bow in admiration and love, and to know that it will live
in their memories and hearts, elevating and gladdening,
and begetting fair shapes kindred to its own — this is joy
and triumph. The object which thousands are pnusing,
and which will be the delight and glory of future a^es, is
his child — it is a part of nimself. And yet now it has
perished : the hand of man or of Time has struck it to
earth. It is a broken idol — and we half feel the anguish
at its fall which death has long ago spared its worshipper.
The joy, the inspintion of a lifetiaM-^ octtare ud
yet the idol of goiias — ^lies shattered on the stnd ; i&d tkt
wild palm-tree rises green and gnureful above its n-
mains. In this we behold the moral of zmn>->it is
Nature triumphing over Art.
A GOVERNESS'S RECOLLECTIONS OF IRELIXD.
A NUMBER of yeara a^o, when I was somewhat lea Ui-
tidious in entering mto an engagement than I bre
latterly become, I was induced to go to Ireland, to take
charge of four young ladies in a gentleman's bmil;. U
was going a terribly long way from home, and that ns
an unpleasant dioumftaaee to oontemplite; Vot era;-
body told me that I should be so very kindly treated, thii
I did not long hesitate; and so accordingly behold mt, in
the first place, crossing the sea in a st^er to Dublin,
and afterwards driving southwards innde the mail-coiclt,
my spirits wonderfully up with the noveliy of thesccneiy,
and the beautiful weather, which seemed to wekome me
to * the first gem of the ocean.'
I do not wish to tell the name of the town to whieb J
wag bound, and need only eay that it was a aetpoit, vith
some pretty environs, embelliabed with gentlenM&'k leati
and pleasure-grounds. Id one of these tests, a luft and
handsome mansion, surrounded by a nark, and ^rov^ed
by an * elegant * avenue, I was to tase up m) lendence.
* A very pleasant affair I expect this is ^ing to be,' nid
I to myself, as I was driven up to the door d the hall io
a jaunting-car, which had been in atteada&ce for me at
the coach-office. * Nice, kind people, for having been n
considerate — and what a good-looking estahliihmeDt-u
aristocratic as anybody could wish 1*
The Tolmies, as I shall call the familj— of coatse
using a fictitious appellation — were really a mort agree-
able set of people. The head of the house wis nrod
superior in station and character to a squireen. He poi-
sessed considerable property, had heto. m ^triianait,
and was a man of respectable acquirements, with nceed-
ingly accomplished mannen. His lady had bees a rei^
ing beauty in her youth, and was still a penon of fee
appearance, though she seemed to have retired in a gieit
measure from the world of fashion. She dressed hi^,
and occupied herself a good deal in doing nothin*. TO
regard to her daughters, who were to be my pupih,tbfj
were obliging, light-hearted, and pretty. I liked then st
first sight; nor did subsequent experience makeaByfiB-
sible alteration on this feeling.
The range of my duties was soon arransed. Fitad,
music, and drawing were to be the principal lessons; ud
to work we set in the best possible spirits. I moit »j,
however, that a chill began to creep over me when I W
time to look about me. Inside and outside the imbks
there was a curious mixture of the genteel wi& ^
shabby. There seemed to be no exact pcrceptioo of fb^
was due to comfort, not to speak of respcctalrility. Sm-
ral panes of glass were broken, and not one of thea w
restored during my stay. Sometimes they were opea,M«
holes admitting rain and wind, and sometimes thejv^
stopped with anything that could be readily laid toMa
The glazier was always to be sent for ; but thia pro«d
only a figure of speech. ^
My own room contrasted unpleasantly with, '^^^
this time, I had been in the custom of thinkiafW*
pensable. On the night -after my arrival I wiiW »
fasten the door of my room, but found that it bidl>»
lock, and I was obliged to keep it shut bymeanifii
piece of furniture. This did not more disconcert ff
than the discovery next rooming that the room hAJ^
bell. I wanted a little hot water; but how was I to sap
myself heard ! In vain I called from the top of the ^
case; nobody came. At length I recollected ^^
was a bell at the hall door; so, throwing on a omi^i
descended to the lower regions, and toUed the «^*"2
bell. Great was the commotion at ao unuiwl si*"
at this early hour, and servants were soon on tas J
wondering at the summons. The required hot wit« ••
brought to me in a broken china jug. .
A day or two afterwards, on going into my •I**'*
i
CeAMBEBS^ BDINBUBQH JOUBNAL.
315
I WM not ft little astonithed at obserYing that the Louie*
maid bad been usin^ my toilet-apparatus, and was, at
the Tory moment of mj entrance, wiping her face with
mj only towel.
' Judy/ said I, * that is taking too much liberty, I must
say. Go fetch to me a clean towel at anyrate.*
' A clane towel, did you say, miss 1 Why, this one is not
a bit the worse o' me; for, you see, I washed my iaoe
afore I touched it.'
* I don't care,' I replied ; ^ I must have a fresh one, so
be 80 good as to bring it.'
* Sure ! ' exclaimed Judy, ' how can I do that, when
there is only one for each of us 1 '
< Do you mean to tell me that there is only one towel
for each room in the house 1 *
* Indeed I do, miss, and plenty; for we always washes
them on Saturday night, and dries them too; and in that
way everybody has a cliwe one on Sunday.'
Finding from one of the young ladies that this was
really the case, I could say no more on the subject. The
next three days I dried my face with one of my cambric
handkerchiefs.
If the stock of linen was rather scanty, it was not more
so than the bed furniture and some other articles usually
considered to be essential to comfort. For each bed in the
house but one blanket could be produced, no matter how
cold was the weather; and I certainly should have
periahed, if I had not taken the precaution of heaping
my doak and other articles on my bed every night on
retiring to rest. How my young ladies managed I could
not tell. Though well provided with frocks and other
outside attire, they were desperately ill off for those
articles which form the understratum of female apparel.
Yet they were unconscious of their deficiencies, and as
happy and gay as if they had possessed a draper's whole
establishment.
The family had no lack of servants. There was a
coachman, butler, lady's-maid, and several house and
kitchen-maids. I never clearly understood the number
of these female domestics. On the two or three occa-
sions that I entered the kitchen, there were always some
women sitting round the fire engaged in solemn conclave.
One was pretty sure to be smoking a black stumpy pipe,
while the others were warming their hands, and talking
on some important piece of business. Such, I fancy,
were the hangers-on of the family. They would go an
errand at a pinch, or do any other odd job when required,
for which, of course, they enjoyed the loose hospitality
of the Tolmies — ^'a true Irish family, always kind to
the poor; Qod bless them I'
One morning at breakfast Mr Tolmie kindly suggested
that the young ladies and I should have a holiday. * There
is to be some boat-racing to-day down at the town,' said
he, ' and you will all go and see it. My brother, the
colonel, wUl be there, and pav you all proper attentions.
So just take the car, and make a day of it. But don't
forget the large umbrella ; for you may perhaps have a
shower before you reach home again.'
The offer was thankfully accepted, and we went off in
the car, Keilly the coachman driving us, and not forget-
ting the umbrella. We spent a very pleasant day; and
the colonel, to do him justice, proved a most valuable
c»Talier. However, when the period for our return ar-
rired, there was no Reilly to be found. After a world
of searching, the faithless driver was discovered, not in
the best balanced condition. That, however, is nothing
to an Irishman, who can drive as well drunk as sober;
so we got away in the car, not more than an hour be-
hind our time. When we had proceeded several miles
on our way homewards, we discovered that the large
umbrella was gone.
* Reilly,' said I, * where is the umbrella!' Reilly
answered not a word^ but drove on furiously. I could
not get him to roeak; and as my questions only caused
him to drive with more frantic speed, I was fain to desist.
When we reached the hall, we communicated the loss to
^ir Tolmie, who did not express any aneer on the occa-
sion. *Be quite easy about the umbrella, my dears,'
said he. * for it will be auite safe. Heillv has onlv nledired
it for whisky, and we shall soon recover it,' Next morn-
ing Eeiily received an advance on his wages ; and the
whole day was Q>ent by him in bringing back the um-
brella.
I mention this trifling circumstance only to show the
want of exact mana|^ment both in master and man.
Bvery thing was done.m a loose sort of way, as if it were
a matter of indifference how matters went. Afler a
windy night, we were sure to see the ground around the
house littered with lime and broken slates; but I never
saw the damages repaired. ' Everything would do well
enough, thank Qod I' Such was the consoling philosophy
of these curious people. As long as the house hung to-
gether, and an outward appearance of gentility was main-
tained, there was little regard for siu)stantials. Often
we had very poor fare; but there was a tolerable show
of plate ; and if clean glasses were sometimes wanting,
there were at least not bad wines, for those who liked to
partake of these liquors.
I walked daily in the grounds with my young charges;
and occasionally, to amuse ourselves, we visited the cot-
tages of the humbler class of persons on the property.
Mr Tolmie, who had been in England, where he ad-
mired the houses of the peasantry, was rather anxious to
introduce the practice of keepmg neatly-whitewashed
cottages, and he gave strict orders accordingly. His
injunctions in this respect were pretty generally obeyed;
but unfortunately the whitewashing was all on the out-
side. While the exterior was white and smart, the interior
— all within the doorway — was black, damp, and dirty. One
of the cleanest-looking cottages was the lodge at the ^ate,
inhabited by Larry tl^ forester and his wife. In driving
into the grounds, you would have said, ' There is a com-
fortable little dwelling — it speaks well for the proprietor.'
Had you entered the cottage, how your feelings of grati-
fication would have been dispelled I The truth was, that
the interior possessed scarcely any fbmiture. The bed
was a parcel of straw, hemmed in by a deal on the floor;
the whole cooking apparatus was an iron pot; and a
bottle, one or two pieces of earthenware, threo wooden
stools, and a deal -table, maybe said to make up the
entire list of household articles. Breakfast, dinner, and
supper consisted of a pot of potatoes emptied on the
table. Dishes at meals were out of the question, and
so were knives, forks, or spoons.
Well, this family of husband and wife was one morn-
ing augmented by the arrival of a baby, for which, as I
learned in the course of the day, little or no preparation in
the way of apparel had been made, and the little stranger
was accordingly clothed with such scraps of dress as the
young ladies and I could gather together at a short
notice — all which was declared to do t^autifully, * thnnk
God.' The second or third morning afterwards, dreadful
news was brought respecting baby: it had been attacked
by a rat in the night-time, and very much bitten about
the forehead. But the * ugly thief had been scared
away before he actually killed the infant, which was con-
sidered a * lucky escape, thank God for it.' In spite of
this untoward disaster, the child throve apace; and with
never a shirt to its back, grew up as healthy, and plump,
and happy as any of its unsophisticated ancestors.
The gleam of joy which the arrival of baby had given
to Larry's cottage was destined to be of short duration.
Larry, poor man, had been for sorao time suffering under
what he called a * bad cowld,' but which I apprehended
was a bronchial affection, aggravated by want of medical
care. At all events, from bad to worse, and when nobody
was expecting such a melancholy event, Larry died. His
wife did not discover her misfortune till she found in the
middle of the night that her husband was lifeless, or
in a swoon. Franticly, as we afterwards learned, she
drew the body from the bed, laid it before the expiring
embers of the fire — possibly with the view of catching a
little warmth — and then went to alarm the neighbours.
The first female acquaintance who arrived in the cottage
was Alley Doyle. All was pitch-dark, and as Alley was
hastening through the apartment to the bed where she
supposed the dead or dying man lay, she stumbled, and
fell over tho cornie* And before she eonld recorer henuilf.
nu
CHAIifBEllSB BDINBtTBGH JOUKNAL.
i^ikwcn UirMed in, snd moiSBiedtbe fa<«p«n the fim^i'.
Tho y^Ung and tiruggliDfwfaidi enmied 1 Uwr^ t4 tbtt
imagiWton of iho reader ! N»t till lighit were brooglir
WA4 tthe £uU exitoat of tlie eatastrophe learned hi all its
g^otes^uo horron.
When it, was difcorered tliat Lany waa dead beyond
recall, bis body wa« laid out on tbe top of the toble;
candlee were pltioed aocording to cattom ; and foitrai
being brought in* all iat down, and b^ganra eegularoovim
of waUin& which laeted till the meffning; and eren then
the uproar did no4 mhffide. On looking into the< cottage
in the forenoQn^ I waa eurpcieed 4o eoe, in bread daylight,
four cai¥ile8 huming within, and all the shutters closed^
The air of the houie wae hot aad stifling firom the num^
ber of breaths* Around 6he apartment m^ the mourners^
muffled ,up in blue-oloth cloois; and nothing wae heard
but one monotonous chanty again and again repealed—
* Sure he is not dead ; for if J thought be was dead, I
would go distracted now ! * By ihia time Xiarry waa iu
his coffln; but stiU on the table, ajsd his face uncorered.
This miserable scene, so chaiacteristic of Irish habite
ai^ feeling, continued till next day a^ twelye o'clock,
when, by Mr Tolmie's orders, a hearse and cars were all
the gate to carry the body of the deoeasad to the grare*
Being anxious to witness the departure, but not wishing
to intrude, I stood at a respect£ul distance from the cot^
tage. ■ This was llkelv, boweyer, to prove rather a tire-
some aifair. Ojie o'clock came — two o'clock came — and
yet the funeral did XM>t lift or move off. The Ud of the
coffin stood at the door, as if it were going to be a fixture.
Astonished at the delay, I ventured forward to ask the
reason. Kobody could teU, althougb hundreds of people
were wtuting.
* Where is the undertaker?' T inquired..
* There Is none,* was the reply.
* Then who has charge of the funeral ? * J again im^uired
of a person who seemed to be chief mourner.
* Nobody/ said he.
' In that case,' I observed, * I think it would be proper
for you and the otheit to get the lid put on the coffin,
and go away ae soon as possible; for it is getting late,
and there is a l6ng way to go.*
\ Ah, miss/ said the man, as if clinging to the semblance
of authority, ' I wish vou would give the orders, and we
would all do your bidding, and be thankful.'
Thus encouraged to take the upper hand, I requested
some of the bystanders to follow me into the cottage, to
fix down the lid on the coffin, and bear It to the hearse.
All was done according to my orders; but such a scene I
shall never foreet^the widow dismally wailing when
she saw the coffin borne off; the candles, with their long
unsnulfed wicks, melting in their sockets fVom the heat;
and the haggard faces of the mourners, worn out with
their vigils. At my request all lefl the cottage; and In
five minutes the mournnil procession moved off.
It is customaty in Ireland for women to accompany
funerals to the grave; bttt on this occasion I endeavoured
to dissuade the p^or widow, exhausted by hunger, grief,
and watching, from going in the procession. At this
impiouB proposal I was beset by two viragos, who bran-
diahed their fists in my ftiee, and dared me to prevent a
woman fW>m looking after her husband's corpse. I said
that I had nd ob^tion to her going, f\irther than that
she was evidently un^t for the joumejr, and had not a
farthing to bdy any refreshment by the way. This an-
noumoemont had a wonderfully cooling effect. The vixens
ceased their remonstrances; and when the very discourag-
ing inteUigeace of ' no money — ^no drink ' spread throu^
the noscellaDeeiMr groupa who were now on the move, all
gradually slunk away; aad Larry's corpse was ieffa to
the charge ef the kitchen-maid, tne sti^le-boy, and the
gardener and his aisten
1 waa tbonkfo) thai eten these few members of the
procession, proceeded to do their duty; and baring seen
the Imat of them, weni hotne to the mansion, thinking of
coune.that hsaj wonld enoountev no farther difficulty
in getting hflow tiie gnmid. BoluaiTe hope 1 I did not
know luMttnd. • Neiot nwitking I loamed, that when the
heanw aaif td at ^ bttsying^gmuud, it waa all at once
diaceVered that that very important perticulw, a ai%
had been unaccountably forgotten. The party looked
a^dt'and about, but no grave or apology for a pin
could thef cast eye« on ;^ and, worse and worse, there ns
no eliovel of any description wherewith a restlngpUce |
for the uufortnnate Larry could be dug. So off the nt- '
denef trotted to borrow the necessary implcroeati; ud
t^ieae being fottunately procured at a farmhouse not mon
tlu^ three ttiilea off, a grave was at length prepared; ind
the coffin waa entomb^ juat about midoight, aH right
and comfortably, * thank God ! ' ,
I did not remain long in Ireland afler this event. Jtn
the family were as kind aa they possibly covU be. Btrt
there were deficieinciea in the mhimge which the vtmoit i
stretch of politeneaa could not compensate. The raile
disorder which prevailed waa disheartenhig; sod u aj
health began -to leave me lUong with ny spirits, I longed
for lumtei I atn now in tliat dear home, wMdi no tetop-
tatien, I truat, will e^er agana iaduee me to kvre.
*'■ ■■ ■- •■ -- ^ — *■■■■
*L'ACADIE.'
■ L'AcikDiE, or SeTen Yeara* ExploraHons io Mail
America, by Sir James £. Aloxaoder,'* is ooe of rbe
latest published faooks of travel, and diflin so anch
from otber worka of ita olasa, that it caaia Wbfeoi
with the efi^t of Bovelt^. Sir Janwa ii a aiAdict, vu
on aeti?e aervice in the country be daNribas; snd to
military rneov therefore, hit Toliimee wtU be imre sc-
cep^able thaa to the reading wortd nenendfy. At the
aanae time there ia nadi pleasant, off-haad <jbitrvitni
on mattera of aocial concern; and the author's aobooot
of hit froeeediaga while surveying for a lailitaiy rosd
through > New Brun*widc Is in a high degiei omro;
and inatruohiTe.
We flhonld be glad to think that officenof Sir Jfon
Aiexandet'a atandbig partook of the aestitneati ve
everywhere ae& expresaed in the work napect^ tea-
perance and nttiioiial ecoootiy. Whei«i>ar it caa be
done appvopriately, be irivea a aoMtrt rap to sMkiof,
drinking, and almtUr fblUea. At a pnUic dismr In it-
tended at New York, plates of ciffarawerehaadcd nrnd
during thetoasts« andalBiost all helped tbeasehieitD
one ; whereupon he observes — * One gentlenMn aid he
alwi^a fUJoked twenty -five dgara a day, «nd olia
fort}'. It is really astonisMng that mm ol inMlMgtttt
and ediMMUton wUl cdovd their aentes, and ivia tieir
oonatHutions, with iMa abaiird habit, origioatiBg in
yonth in the desire to sf^eRr msady.'
We buve a U»g disquisition on deaertiooa in Ciiildi,
the doae neighboorhood of the United States oftrisgi
ready refuge to men who are diaposed ta bresk their
allegfiftnce. The monotony of garriaon life and droato^
neaa are deaoribed as the principal causes d difart
witli the service ; and Sir James recommends tmfk^
raent, and the encouragement of temperance secietitth
regiments* as means fo aaattaging the evil Aoosdiif
to his account, deaerters a^e not esteemed, and iettw
do any good within the American territoiy. M«ny»»«»
however, are either drowned in attemp^g to t^
acroas to the States, or are eaptwred. *The ^~
bodies of deserters have been seen circHng abrt< w
weeks in the DeviTs Whirlpool below Niagan.' m
amusing story ia told of the capture of a lesertff ?- »
left Amheratborg to swim across at night to the «g-
aite shore. He managed to give **a wide bertii" to B*
blanc lalandj oo which there waa a gosrd, aad*
breasted the streaiD gnlbtnt^; but getting ai»v|**'
other islands, he got oonfiised ; and instead ^^^J"^
the atream always numing against Ws right *22
he got it on hia left, and aetiadlj reMuadedon ^^^
shore in the umroing, thinking it wihs 5®^2?*'i!Il
A woman coming down for water wsa ntsr^»y
deal anrpriaed at the appearance of a WM i«mfe»
Leaadeiv from the flood close bdited her, sad «*»»•
ing to hen, "Huiralii hero w« ire on thsii»«
- ' •■ ■
♦ London: Colbum. 8 velsi with Platei. »•
CHAMBBItS'S BPINBUJMJHnJOUB/NAU
817
I
liberty ! " •* What do you mean ? " she aaked. " Jo the
States, to be sure,'* he answered^ The woman imme-
diately saw the true state of the case, and sayiog
" Follow me" he found himself in the giiard^roooi.'
In yarious parts of Canada bodies of Scotch are settled
in clusters, or at least at no great distanoo frpm each
other ; and according to ancient habit, they endeavour
to maintain some of their national customs. At one
place Sir James had an opportunity during winter of
engaging in the game of * curling/ Instead of stonesi,
however, which would haye cracked with the frost,
masses of iron of 56 to 80 lbs. weight* of the shape of
curling-stones, were used. On St Andrew's Day he
attended the dinner given by the SootohoAen at Kiagt
ston ; and here he made the aoq,uaintanQe of the chief of
the MacNabs, who some years ago rensoy^ to Caiiada
with 3 la of his clan. The locality they selected was on
the Upper Ottawa, iu a romamtic and agreeable situa-
tion near Lake Chats. StraiMse^ to find a colony of the
ancient Gael perpetuating the language and manners
of their ancestors in the recesses of a Canadian forest !
At the dinner in question, *the MacNab was distin-
guished by a very fine appearance, stout and stidwart,
and be carried himself lilee the head of a clan. His
manners, too, were partioularly courtier-<like, fls he had
seen mneh good society abroad ; and he was^ above all,
a warm-hearted man, and a true friend. He tisaally
dressed in a Uue coat and trousers, witii a whole acre
of MacNab tartan for a waistcoat'^-at gveat dinners he
wore a full swt.of his tartan. On the jacket were largie
silver buttons, whiuh hia ancestors were in the ** rising **
in 1745.'
Another anecdote of a difiereot kind ii^brms m that
the commercial genius of tiie New World lias found in
rattlesnakes an object of regular traffic : — * My respectable
old friend, T. M'Connell the trapper, told me that he
waa in the habit of visiting Niagara for the purpose of
killing the rattlesnakes £oi the sjdce of their fat, and
that he has sometimes killed three hundred in a season,
and thus ;-'He watched beside a ledge of rooks where
tlieir holee were, and stood behind a tiree, club in hand,
and with his legs cased in sheepskins with the wool on,
to guard against bites. The snakes would come out
cautiously to seek on account of fbod or to sun thern^
seWes, fearing to go far for their enonies, the pigs.
The trapper would then rush forward and lay* about
him with his club ; those which escaped to their holes
he eeized by the toil ; and if they turned round and bit
hibi in the hand, he woidd spit some soake-rooi (which
*he kept chewing in his mouth) on the wound: it frothed
up^ aod danger would cease. The dead snakes were then
roaated, hung up by the tail over a slaw fire, and their
fat collected, taking care there was no blood in it The
fat would sell for twelve dollars a bottle, and was con«
sidered of great vidue by the country people in cases of
rheumatism and stiff joints.'
The survey of the great mihtary road through the
interior from Halifax, which was projected by govern*
nient in 1844, formed a suitable opportunity for Sir
James employing his skill in engineering -, and he was
accordingly engaged on a section of the undertaking.
The road was designed to extend upwards of five hun-
dred miles in length. Beginning at HaUCSx, it crossed
Nova Scotia by Truro and Amherst ; having arrived in
New Brunswick^ it pursued a pretty straight line by
Boiesiown and Lake Madawaska to the south bank of
tlie St Lawrence, whence it went onward to Qoebeo.
The main object of the line was to favoor the tranrit of
troops to Canada ; but practically it would open new
and vast regioea lor settlenieot, and greatly advance
the prosperity of the ooloiiies. New Brimswick in par^
ticolar. Already a travelled road existed ton a hundred
miles or more at each end, and there^are the tioly tvovble
lay with the central divisions. The exploration of the
portion from near Frederickton to Boiestowa was as*
signed to Sir blames Alexander ; and his party was to
consist of one officer, one assistant surveyor, one Indian
trtt\tit». mill niaYih at.kr>nl1an^• iviwImAn t\r liimTwkrora
ThedutCf was of a very serious kind. It wM to hew a
track of aix dear £eet through the trees and brush, so
as to permit the use of the measuring chain and oom«
p«BS iWith sights 9 and this being dcnie, axemen were
to follow and blaze the trees, by cutting a slice of bark
off each tree along the proposed Hne. \Vhelfi it is
considered that the line was to perforate woods which
had never been traversed by civilised man ; that for
months the party would not see a town or village, if,
indeed, any luiman habitation ; and that provisions and
all other articles required to be carried on men's backs
— for no beast of burthen oould trayel such entangled
wildernesses*^ the difficulties will seem almost insur-
mountable. Yet even all this was fbuod to be as nothing
in oompatison with that mest fearf\si of all torments —
Uie plague of insects. That a gentleman accustomed
to ordmary refinements shoi^ have volunteered siich
an exi^orationj is only another proof of the sttirdy
heroism of the English soldier, who fears nothing in the
cause of duty, or which can redound to the glory of his
country.
Instead of tents, which would haye been cumbersome,
the party took three sheets of ticking, which, unrolling
at night, they stretched on poles to windward, the poles
being cut on the spot ; and under lee of tl^is shelter,
and wrapped in blankets, they lay down to rest, Tlierc
was no undressing or shaving except on Sunday, when,
no work being done, the aay was spent in religious
e?cercises and general recreation. The fare was simple,
chiefly salt pork, tea, and biscuits, and little cooking
was necessary. The expedition started from the end of
the line next Nova Scotia, so as to explore northwards
to Boiestown ; tlieir departure being on the 28th of
May, wliile yet the snow was not quite thawed and
gone. Starting , from their lairs at five in the morning
after the first bivouac, all were speedily at their as-
signed duties. Sir James went ahead, axe on shoulder,
and with a compass and haversack, exploring with
the Indian Andre, and indicating the line of march.
With intervals for meals, all went merrily on till five
p. M., when the party camped for the night * The
anxious inquirer may ask how many miles we got over
in a day, suggesting *' eight or ten ? " and will doubt-
less be surprised to hear that a mile aiid a-quarter a
day (though sometimes double that was accomplished),
cut through the bush, was considered a fair day*s work,
and yet we were regularly at it from morning till night.'
The heat was usually aoout 60 degrees in the morning ;
at noon 75 degrees; and at sunset 65 degrees. This
range of temperature would liave been very .jpleasant in
an open airy country ', but in the stagna^onof the woods
tlie closeness was sometimes terrible to bear. Then
came the savage accompauiments — ' the n^inute black
fly, the constant summer torment; the raoequito, witli
intolerable singing, the prelude of its sharp probe ; the
sand-fly, with its hot sting; the horse-fly, which seems
to take the bit out of the flosh i and the large moose, or
speckled-winged fly. The party were never/ adds Sir
James, * freeuom niesof some kind or other ; aod I have
seen the ^ye different kinds just enumerated '' doing
their worst '^ at the saine time in our flesli, and the black
pests digging into it, and elevating tUeir hinder end
like ducks searching below the surface of a ponti' To
avert the attacks of these winged pests, all the members
of the expedition wore gauze veihw tucked io carefully
round the face and neck ; but with this and all ether
precautions — ^such as constantly carrying a burning
green sticky 90 as to raiie a smoke-— proved of compa-
ratively smaU account To yary the eatcrtainmentv a
bear or wolf occasionally looked in upon the camp;
but no accident was suffered from their visitationsi
The country through which the line was tracked is
generally level, of a good soil* and requires only to be
cleared to be fit for the settlement of a large population.
Several small rivers were horded by the pasty ; and at
different places picluresque falls nuide their appearance.
One of the largest rivers reached was the Gaspereau on
818
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUIINAL.
loads. Shortly after this, tiiey entertd on the scene of
the |ft«at Mlramichi flte ef 1895» a conflagration of the
pine-forests oyer many hundred sqnare miles of country,
and which is understood to hare burnt to death Are
hundred people. The blackened stumps of the magni-
ficent trees which were destroyed still remain on the
ground, interweared with a new regetation, differing,
as usual, from that which preceded it After chaining
about ninety mUes, and when nearly knocked up with
Iktigue and privations, the party of explorers came in
sight of the limit of their measurements. Here they
got well housed, and their hunger was satisfied with
the wholesome country faro in Mackay*i Inn at Boies-
town, on the MiramlchL
It is much matter f)r regret that the engineering
c:(plorations of Sir James Alexander and others on
this proposed rOad should hare ended in nothing being
done. At an expense of L.60,000, the road, it Is said,
might hare been made ; and made it probably would
have b€«n, but for the freak of making a railway in-
stead. This new project, started during the railway
mania of 1845, and which would hare cost that uni-
versal paymaster, Great Britain, not more than three
or four millions of money (!), did not go on, which
need not to be regretted ; but it turned attention from
the only practicable thing — a good common road ; and
till this day the road remains a desideratum.
After the pains we have taken to draw attention to
the work of Sir James Alexander, it need scarcely be
said that we recommend it for perusal. In conclu-
sion, we may be allowed to express a hope that the
author, the most competent mau for the task perhaps
in the Queen's dominions, will do something towards
rousing public attention to the vast natural capabilities
of New Brunswick — a colony almost at the door, and
that might be readily made to receive the whole over-
plus population of the British islands. To effect such
a grand social move as this would not be unworthy of
the greatest minds of the age.
THE TAXES ON KNOWLEDGE.
An association, as we learn, has sprung up in London
with the view of procuring the abolition of all taxes on
knowledge — meaning by that phrase the Excise duty
on paper, the tax on foreign books, the duty on adver-
tisements, and the penny stamp on newspapers; the
whole 4>f which yMd a return to the Exchequer of
L. 1,868,788 1 but deduoiing certain expenses to which
the government is put, the aggregate dear revenue is
calculated to be about L.1,056,000.
We have been requested to give such aid as may be
in our powar to facilitate the objects of the Anti-tax-on-
Knowledge Association, having, as is pretty correctly
inferred, no small interest in seeing at least one depart-
ment of the exaction — the duty on paper— swept away.
So frequently, however, have we petitioned parliament
on this subject, and with so little practical avail, that
we have made up our minds to petition no more. If the
public desire to get cheap newspapers, cheap literary
journals, and cheap advertisements, tliey must say so,
and take on themselves the trouble of agitating accord-
ingly. This they have never yet done. They seem
to have imagined that the question is one exclusively
between publishers and papermakers and tlie govern-
ment ; whereas, in point of fact, it is as much a public
question as that of the late taxes on food, and should be
dealt with on the same broad considerations. We are,
indeed, not quite sure that publishers, papermakers, and
other trttdesmen intimately oonoerned in the question
are, at a body, favourable to the removal of the stamp,
the Excise, and other taxes on their wares. Generally
speaking, only a few of the more enterprising, and the
least disposed to maintain a monopoly, have ever peti-
tioned for the abolition of these taxes. Thii win na
curious, yet it can be accounted for. A pspermaker,to
pay the duty on the goods he maou&ctwes, maithtve
a large command of capital ; CQmpantivdjr i^ cu
muster this capital ; hence few can enter the tnde.
London wholesale stationers, who, by advsndngctptil
to the papermakers, acquire a species of thnddom orer
them, are, according to all accounts, by no neiin <l^
sirous to see the duties abolished ; for if they were
abolished, their money-lending and thiils^ njvm
would be gone. So is it with the great monopoliitiof
the newspaper press. As things stand, few cin conpete
with them. But remove the existbg impoiti, tad Jet
anybody print a newspaper who likes, snd hnndieibof
competitors in town and country would enter the Add.
There can be no doubt whatever that the itanp isd
advertisement-dnty, particularly the Utter, voaldlooi
since have been removed but tat the want of mI
shown by the London newspaper press. If theie, hov.
ever, be mistaken opinions, let us now lee the metro-
politan stationers and newspaper proprietor! petitioD
vigorously for the removal of the taxes that hire bwo
named.
But on the public the great burthen of ^sgitatjoo
must necessarily falL Never would the kptHitm hare
abolished the taxes on bread from the mere oonpbinti
of the com importers ; nor will the taxaon kncrrtedie
be removed tUl the tax-payers show noMttiiBf Bie
earnestness in pressing their demandi. The modern
practice of statesmanship is, to have no mindof itiovn:
it has substituted agitation for inteOigenoe, and ool;
responds to clamour. The publig surely can hire no
difficulty in making a noise I Let it do battle in this
cause — cry out lustily — and we shall cbeerfoDy help it
If it wont, why, then, we rather bebere toe mitter
must be let alone.
Who will dare to avow that tite price is not vorib;
of the contest ? We do not apprehend that, by taj
process of cheapening, the newspaper press of Gwt
Britain would ever sink to that pitch of fodoea tbt
seems to prevail in America. The tastes and bibitiaf
the people are against it ; the law, stronglj idminb-
tered, is against it The only change we would eipeet
by the removal of the stamp-duty, and the subititBtkB
of, say, a penny postage, would be the rise of new-
sheets in every town in the kingdom. And why not?
Why, in these days of dectric telegraph, sboold sot
every place have its own paper, unburthened «itb i
stamp? Or why should the people of London, who da
not post their newspapers, be obliged to pay (br <inp«
which they never use ? As to the adtertiiemeBt-dily
— an exaction of Is. 6d. on everv bnsinesi anoooDa-
ment— its continuance is a scandal to common wic;
and the removal of that ^one would give an immeBie
impetus to all branches of trade, llie tatti which
Eress on our own peculiar sheet we say nothing itatf.
aving already in many ways pointed out their cSkJ
in lessening the power of the printing-machifl^ «"
limiting the sphere of its public usefhlnets.
DR ARNOTT ON VENTILATION AS A FRBVEKIITK
OF DISEASE.
Da Neil Aanott has addrossed a letter on iimKifR
to the * Hmee ' mtwspKpn, Any exprMiion ef opi"*^
him on tuoh a subject, aad mora pM^cohrlywithiiif^
to the prevailing epidemics, must be deemed of •• •"
iraportanoe, that we are anxious, as far as in oor pof«ito
keep it before the world. He commences by ■*f'*
what will readUy be granted, that fresh air forbieittof ■
one of the essentials to life, and that the i«"P>i*^^
poboned by impure matter ia highly dstriaiettal t* *^
insomueh that it will sometunes pcodnee the !■■««»*
destruction of life. The air acquires hnpnritks ft«» t*'
sonrces in rhief— solid and liquid filth, and the hi""
breath. Persons exposed to these agencies in opffl F"*
as the manufacturers of manure in Parifl, will mSa »*•
I
tm^mmmm
MMWi*l
MWi
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
319
[t is ehlcfly when the poison is canght and retained tmder
rover, as in doso rooms, that it becomes notedly aclite, its
power, however, being always ehlefly shown opon ^ose
whoee tone of health has been redneed by intemperance,
by improper food or drink, by great fiitiffue and aiudety,
and, above all, by a habitual want of teem air.
Dr Amott regards ventilation not only as a ready means
of rendering hannless tbs breath of the innuUes of honses,
u well as those living in hospitals and other crowded
places, but as a good interim-subetitnte for a more perfect
kind of draining than tliat which exists. ' To illustrate,'
Ue says, * the clticacy of ventilation, or dilation with fresh air,
in rendering quite harmless any aerial poison, I mav adduce
the explanation eiven in a report of mine on fevers, furnished
at the request of the Poor-Law Commissioners in 1840, of
tlie fact, that the malaria or infection of marsh fevers, snch
u occur in the Pontine marshes near Rome, and of all the
deadly tropical fevers, affects persons almost only in the
niglit. Yet tho malaria or poison from decomposing or-
ganic matters which causes these fevers is formed during
the daj« under the influmice of the hot sun, still more abon-
dantly than during the colder night ; but in the dav the
direct beams of the sun warm the surface of the earth so
intensely, that any air touching that surfhco is similarly
licated, and rises away like a fire balloon, carrying up with
it of course, and much diluting, all poisonous malaria
Tormcd there. During the night, on the contrary, the sur-
face of the earth, no tongef receiving the sun's rays, soon
radiates away its heat, so that a thermometer lyhig on the
KTonnd is found to be several degrees colder than one
banging in the air a few feet above. The poison formed
near the ground, therefore, at ni^t, instead of being
heated and lifted, and quickly dissipated, as during the
day, is rendered cold, and comparatively dense, and hes on
tho earth a concentrated mass, which it may be death to
inspire. Hence the value in snch situations of sleeping
a-partments near the top of a house, or of apartments
below, which shut ont the night air, and are large enough
to contain a sufficient supply of the purer day air for the
persons using them at night, and of mechanical means of
taking down pure air from above the house to be a supply
during the night. At a certain height above the surfeoo of
the earth, tlie atmosphere being nearly of equal purity fJl
the earth ovei^ a man rising in a baUoon, or obtaining adr
for his house from a certain elevation, might be considered
to have changed his coimtry, any peculiarity of the atmo-
sphere below, owing to the ^at dilution effected before
it reached tho hcignt, becommg absolutely insensible.
*Now, in regard to the dilution of aerial poisons in
houses bv ventilation, I have to explain that every chim-
ney in a house is what Is called a sucking or drawing air-
pamp, of a certain force, and can easily be rendered a
valuable ventilating-pump. A chimney is a pump— first,
by reason of the suction or approach to a vacuum made
%t the open top of any tube across which the wind blows
directly ; and, secondly, because the flue is usnaUy occu-
pied, even when there is no fire, by air somewhat warmer
tlian the external air, and has therefore, even in a calm
(lay, wliat Is called a chimney-draught proportioned to the
JitTerence. In England, therefore, of old, when the chimney
breast was always made higher than the heads of persons
ritting or sleeping in rooms, a room with an open chimney
was tolerably well ventilated in the lower part, where the
hiinates breathed. The modem frMhion, however, of very
low grates and low chimney openings, has changed the case
completehr ; for such openings can draw ahr only from the
bottom of the rooms, where generally the coolest, the last
entered, and therefore the purest air, is found ; while the
hotter air of the breath, of lij[hts, of warm food, and often
of subterranean drains, &c., rises and stagnate near the
ceilings, and gradually corrupts there. Such heated, im-
pure air, no more tends downwards again to escape or
dive under the ohinmeypieee, than oil in an inserted bottle,
immersed in water, will dive down through the water to
escape by the bottle's mouth : and such a bottle, or other
vessel containing oil, and so placed in water with its open
mouth downwards, even if left in a runnmg stream, would
retain the oil for any length of time. If, however, an open-
mf^ be made into a chimney flue throngh the wall near the
ceiling of the room, then will all the hot impure air of the
room as certainly paos away by that opening as oil from
the inverted bottle would instantly all escape upwards
through a small opening made near the elevated bottom
of the bottle. A top window-sash, lowered a little, instead
of serving, as many people believe it docs, like such an
opening into the chimney flue, becomes generally, in obe-
dience -to the ohimn^ draught, merely in hilet of cold
air, which first &Us as a eaaoade to the floori ai|d then
glides towards the chimney, and gradually j^asses away
y this, leaving the hotter impure air of im room nearly
untouched.
* For years past I have reoonunended the adoption of
such ventilating chinmey openings as above described,
and I devised a oalanced metallic valve, to prevent, during
the use of fires, the escape of smoke to the room. The
advantages of these openings and valves were soon so
manifest, that the referees appohated nnd^r the BnSKling
Act added a chmse to theif bUl, allowitag 4Aie introduction
of the valves, and directing bow they w«re to be placed,
and thev are now in very extensive use. A good iUustra^
tion of the subject was afforded in St James's parish, where
oome quarters are dtsnsely inhabited by the ftuniliet of Irish
labourers. These locaUties formerly sent an enormous
number of sick to the neighbouring dispensary. Mr Toyn-
bee, the able medical cmef of that oispensary, came to
consult me respecting the ventilation of such places, and
on my recommendation had openings made into the chim-
ney flues of the rooms near the ceilings, by removing a
single brick, and placing there a piece of wire gauze with
a liffht curtain flap hanging against the inside, to prevent
the issue of smoke ill gusty weather* The deoided effect
produced at onee on the fediagt of the inmates was so
remarkable, that there was an extensive demand for the
new appliance, and, as a consequence of its adoption, Mr
To3rnbee had soon to report, in evidence given before the
Health of Towns Commission, and in other published
documents, both an extraordinary reduction of the uiuu-
ber of sick applyinff for relief, and of the severity of
diseases occurring. Wide experience elsewhere has since
obtained similar results. Most of tho hospitals and poor-
houses in the kingdom now have these chimney-valves ;
and most of the medical men, and others who have pub-
lished of late on sanitary matter*, have strongly com-
mended them. Had the present Board of Health pos-
sessed tho power, and deemed the means expedient, the
chhnney openings might, as a prevention of choleia, almost
in one day, and at the expense of about a shilling for a
poor man's room, have been established over the wholo
kingdom.
' Vis Simpson, the re^strar of deaths for St Giles's parish,
an experienced practitioner, whose judgment I value much,
related to me lately that he had been called to visit a
house in one of the crowded courts, to register the death
of an inmate from cholera. He found five other persons
living in the room, which was most close and oliensive.
He advised the immediate removal of all to other lodg-
ings. A second died before the removal took place, and
soon after, in the poor-house and elsewhere, three others
died who had breathed the foul air of that room. Mr
Simpson expreesed to me his belief that if there had been
the opening described above into the chimney near the
ceilin^if, this horrid history would not have been to tell.
I believe so too, and I believe that there have been in
London lately very many similar cases.
'The ohimncv-valves are part of a set of means devised
by me for ventilation under all circumstances. My report
on tho ventilation of ships, sent at the reoucst of the
Board of Health, has been published in the Board's late
Report on Quarantine, wltn testimony fomished to tho
Admhalty as to its utility in a convict ship with 500
prisoners. My observations on the ventilation of hospitaJs
are also in the hands of the Board, but not yet published.
All the new means have been freely offered to the public,
but persons desiring to use them should be careful to
einploy competent makers.*
Having seen Dr Amott's vcntilatcffs in operation in
London and elsewhere, we can venture to recommend
them as a simple and very inexpensive machinery for ven-
tilating rooms with fires. The process is indeed generally
known, and would be more extensively applied if people
knew where to procure the ventilators. We have had many
letters of inquiry on this sut^ect, and could only refer
parties to 'any respectable ironmongers.' But unfortu-
nately, as it appears, there are hundreds of respectable
ironmongers who never heard of the article in question,
and our recommendation goes pretty much for nothing.
Curious how a little piacueal oifiiculty will mar a great
project! We trust that the worUiy doctor will \sj to let
it be known where his ventilators are to bo had in toi^n
and country.
320
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
AN OLD-FASHIONED DITTY.
r^B trie(| in modi bewUdafxnent to find
Under whlctf phaw of lorelinen in thoe
I lore thee Met ; bti* tih, ifij wandering mind
Boren o'er many swee^, m dotb a t»eei
And all I feel is cimtnuliatoiy.
I love to eee thee gay, becauae thy smile
la sweeter than the sweetest thing I know ;
And then thy limpid eyes are all the while
8p«rklUig' and danetog, and ttiy fair oheeks glow
With such a sunset lostre^ that A'«n so
I lore to see thee gay.
I lore to see tiftoe 8td, for then thy faee
Expresseth an angelic misery ;
Thj teats are shed with suoh a gentle gr^ce.
Thy words faQ soft, yet sweet as words can be.
That though 'tisseLOsh, I oonfess, in me,
I love to see thoe sad.
I loff* io hear Ihee i^eak, beoMsa thy T0io9
TUtan mnsio's sdf is yet more musiol,
Its tones make every living thing rejoice;
And t, when on mine ear those accents flUl,
In 800th I do believe that meet of all
I love to hear thee speak.
Tet no ! I love thee mute ; for oh, thine eyes
Expreae so inuoh, thou hast no need of speech f •
And there's a langnage that in efleaee liee.
When two full heerta look fondness each to eaob«
Love's language that I fain to thee would teach.
And so I love thoo muta
Ibus I haTooone to the conohtsion sweet,
Nothing thou dost can less tlian perfect be ;
AU beauties and all virtues in thee meet ;
Yet one thing more I'd fain behold in the^-
A little love, a little lote forme.
UAnmn*
DECB.
The deer is the mo«t acute animal we possess, and adopts
the most sagacious plans for the preservation of its hfe.
When it lies, satislSea that the wind will convey to it an
Intimation of the approach of Its pamer, it pzea in anothor
direetion. If there are any wild birds^ such as curlewa or
laveni^ in its vicinity, it kccpa its eye intently fixed on
them, convinced that they will give it a timely alarm. It
Belccts its cover with the greatest caution, and invariahly
chooses an eminence fW>m which ft can hare a tIcw aroond.
It TtcofrnktM individuals, and permits the ahepberdfl to
approach iL The stags at Tomapress will suffer the boy
to go within twenty yards of them, but if I attempt to
cnrroach upon them they arc off at once. A poor man
who carries peats in a creel on his back here, may go
* eheek-for-jowl * with them : I put on his pannier the
other day, and attempted to advance, and immediately
thcT q^imng away likeantelo^ws. An cnunent deer-stalker
told me the other day of AjplAn one of his kccper^s adopted
to kill a very wary stag. This animal had been known for
years, and occupied part of a plain from which it could per-
ceive the smallest object at the distance of a mile. The
keeper out a thiek btuU, which he carried before btm as he
crept, and commenced stalking at eight in the morning ;
but BO gradually did he move ron^'ard, that it was five p.m.
before ne stood in triumph with his foot on the breast of
the antlered king. * I never felt so much for an inferior
crMtufe,' said the gentleman, * tm I did §ot this doer.
When I caime np it was panting lU<e away, with its lax|^
blue eyes firmly fixed on its slayer. You would have
thought, sir, that it was accusing itself of simplicity in
having been so easily betrayed.* — Inverness Omrtcr.
IV0B¥.
At the qnavtorly mcetiog of the Geolegieal and Poly-
teehnio Soolety of the West Riding of Yorkshire, held
in the GuildhaU in Doncaster, on Wednesday last, Earl
PitzwifliHm in the chair, Mr Dalton of Sheffield read a
pnpcf oTf * ivory as an article of mannfhcture.* The value of
the annual Consamptieii In Sheffi^d was alnrat L.80,000,
and abont 50ft persons were employed in working it up
for trade. The number of tusks to make up the weight
oonsfuned t^ ^ShefieM^ abont 180 tons, wu 45,00(1 A^
eording to ihi^ the nianber of elq>bants killed evm jev
was 22,500 ; but supposing that some tadu woe osit, lad
somo animals died, It might bo &irly estimated t^t \IM
were killed fb; the purpose.— Voriakre (MxitU,
•9 *'
:C
OKAXBERfl'B
INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE
Thk new and improved edition of this work, whicli bat bera h
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In its entire form it ocmsists of twovohuncs royil 8Ta,|rittlfe
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The following Is the list of sobjects of which the vgdc b «».
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Price of each number I^d. The work is Isifsly mstriw vik
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No.1.
8.
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6-7.
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15.
Id.
ir.
18.
19.
SO.
21.
93.
33.
24.
23.
9R,
27-
28.
99.
30.
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33.
33.
34.
35.
3o.
»7.
aa
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40.
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48.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
4a
49.
50.
AL
52.
Astronomy.
Geology.
Meteorology.
Pbysloal Oeogrsph^
Vegetable Physiology.
Systematic Botany.
Animal I*hy»lology— The
Human Body,
li^ookigy.
Natural I^ilosophy.
Mechanios^Machinery.
Uydrostatica— Uydraiulica
—Pneumatics.
Optics— Acoustics.
EleetrlcHy— Oslvaniflm —
Msgnetfam — fileotro-
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Ohemlefery.
Chemistry applied to tho
Arts.
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Textile Manofactores.
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Metals— Metallurgy.
The Steam-Engine.
Inland Omveyaaee.
Maritime Conveyance.
Architecture.
Heating-Lighting— Ven-
tilation.
Supply of Water— Baths
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AgHculture.
CuUnre of Waste Landa
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The Kitchen Garden.
The Flower Garden.
The Fruit Garden.
Arbo'riculture.
TheHoree.
CaMle — Dairy Uos-
bai>dry.
The Sheep — Goat —
Alpaca.
Pig>i—Rabb5ta— Poultry
— Cage^Binla.
The Honey-Bee.
Tha IXig— 'Ffehl-SportB.
Angling.
Sea-FlBheries.
Preservation of ITeslth.
Food— Boverafwe.
I*reparation of Fcod —
Cookery.
Mediofne'~-Svger3^
Clothing— Cgstinne.
Index, and Glossary of
Terms for VoL 1.
Physical History of Man
-Ethnology.
Language.
Constitution of Soofety—
OovernBBenl.
No.5C niBtoiy and Viint cf
55.
m.
57.
5&
62.
63.
64.
ffS.
6GL
67.
ca
7a
71.
7*.
7a
74.
75.
7G.
77.
7a
79.
aa
81.
8a
8a
«4.
85.
8a
87.
History of Andat >*-
tions.
Hiatoiy «!«<«(«
nUtorycfRomt
Hiatorycf the Hask
Agea
Hiito^ffGcMBrtltli
aadlnlaod.
Coeititatiaii AcRaooRei
oftteUiiiMkllaqte.
Eurofe.
EoflandtDdWalefe.
SeethiBd.
IreUna
Aiia— Ewt Indifi.
Africa— Oecscia.
North AsMffas.
South *nM>riti-Wiit
lodiefi.
The Hnman mai
PhreaeloKr.
Logic.
TfatunJ Thcfllopy-
BChies.
Hislocy of tksBAk-
ChnsUanilj.
Pagan and Mohannnria
Religieni.
SuperstitioBa
Key to tb« Calradtr.
The Private TMiaH
Life.
Public aadfiociiiDitis
of Life.
Political Ecrawsit.
Cororoeros — Ifaojf —
Baoka
Poptilatlon — Pfw-Un
89.
9a
91.
9a
93.
94.
95.
9a
9Ma
99.
19a
Social KtomoKdntl^
lDdnstiJoa*Orde&
Popular Stathtio.
RducatioB.
English Gfaoraur.
Axlthartlc-Algcin.
Geometrj.
Drawing -FelBiig-
Sculptofe.
Oj-ronastics-Orta^-
Duor Recwsusia
In-Poor Awwiw»
Archaology.
Bhetoric snd B^
Lettraa
Printiiw.
Enprarinj^-gaop^
— P%oto?ri|iby«
MnsJe-Mn^fc**
meota
BouaeboM HtoK
Index, sal <Rtmr'
Tarns fvTsLi.
I
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from aU Booksellers.
•■ I I I ■ * ■ J. ■ I I III ■ i I
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Til£ PEOPLE/ * CHAMBERS'S EDUCA'HONAL COURSE,' Ae.
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K
■" '■'
No. 308. New Series. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1840,
Price 1^.
'T ' -' '■'-'■'■ -'■ ^ i"'""'-J ■■"' ■^■ir' f'r ■ M '■' - "■
THE HALF-BOARDER.
t
BT MBS ALARIC A. WATTS.
WuBN a DaturalUt is desirous of desoribiBg any gentw of
peculiar interest in the world of nature, we generally
find him selecting one of the kind as a specimen from
which to draw his description of the whole laoe; satisfied
that, although distinctions may exist in minor details
between it and others of it^ species, the general charac-
teristics will be found alike in all.
In endeaTOuring to sketch the principal incidents in
the history of a class whose trials seem peculiarly inte-
resting, because coming at a period of life usually ex-
empted from them, I hare pursued a similar course; and
though the career of my heroine may present features
peculiar to itself, as must ever be the case with personal
history, her experiences will, I believe, be found to differ
in no essential particular from those of the great body of
her sisterhood. It can hardly be deemed necessary per-
haps to begin the biography of the half-boarder from the
hour of her birth ; it may be sufficient to state that she
is usually the eldest daughter of parents of the middle
class, depressed into comparatiTe porerty either by mis-
fortune or imprudence, but blessed with the inalienable
adrantage of belonging to ' a good family,' and being en-
abled to boast of relatiyes of consideration in tho world.
Her earliest jrears ate too often passed amid all the horrors
of genteel but biting penury; in witnessing, daily, cares
that have become familiarised, though not lightened, to
her by fcequent recurrence; and sharing anxieties which,
though studiously concealed from her, experience has
enabled her to divine, without suggesting any means of
alleriating. Her duties are sufficiently multifarious : she
shares the labours of
* The little maid some four foot higb/
by taking upon herself the lighter portion of the house
work; and adds to this the heavier burthens of unremit-
ting attendance on an ailing mother^ and constant endea-
Yoors to divert the anxieties of a careworn father. She
is the governess of such of her half-dozen brothers and
sisters as are <^d enough to profit by her inskuotion, en-
lightening them with such gleams of knowledge as her
own limited opportunities may have enabled her to ac-
quire; and is at tb« same time the playmate and nurse
of the younger members of her family. Thus matters
usually stand until our heroine is about fourteen years
old, when some pressing emergency induces the wife, not-
withstanding her own repugnance, and the strong dis-
eouragettienft of her husband, to apply to his fanily ibr
pecuniaiy assistance. The welldoing uncles or cousins,
though at first astonished at the assurance of the world
in general, and their own poor relation in particular, are
not mors hardhearted than is usual with peosons who
have all their lives enjoyed an uninterrupted tide of pros-
perity, and a fiunily council is therefore held to con-
sider what should be done in the matter. It is agreed at
once, without a dissentient voice, thai any peeoniaty ad-
vances would be entirely out of the question; that they
would only patch matters for a time, without being of
any permanent service to the family; and, what is not
the least objection, might affiud an inoowentent precedent
for similar applications in future einei|^cies : and it is
finally detemined that the aid which will prove even-
tually of most service to the family, at the least cost to
themselves, may be afibrded by assuming the charge of
the education of the eldest (mild. The matron of the
conclave is therefore deputed to make known to the ap-
plicant that, although they feel themselves precluded
from complying with the specific request contained in her
letter, yet that, being desirous of serving her family in
consideration of the blood relationship subsisting between
her husband and themselves, they have determined on
relieving her from the burthen of Maria's education.
The first feeling of tho anxious circle on the receipt
of this announcement is one of unmixed disappointment.
The father had not been without hopes of the success of
the application, though he professes that the result is just
what he had expected firam the beginning. Maria is but
young, and her education at this precise period is com-
paratively unimportant, while he is convinced that a
compliance with the original request would have relieved
him from all difficulty, and have enabled him satisiacto-
rily to pvovide himself for his children's edueatieo; while
the mother, though by no means so sanguine on this bead,
has nevertheless her own cause of disappointment in the
cold and measured tone of the communication, which she
feels with all the sensitiveness of misfortune. The mat-
ter, however, is talked over in i^ ite bearings, and by
degrees a brighter light seems to break in upon them.
The father begins to consider that, although the aid
ofi^ered is not precisely that which he desired, it is never-
theless an important assa^taace; and the mother soon
loses sight of the affront te hear own «me«r jtropre in the
chilling tone in which the favour is proflTered, when she
thinks of the advantages it promises to her child. Both
parents remember having noticed particularly the young
ladies of Miss Wilson^ estoblkhment at chuteh, their
superior gen^ity both e# appearance and deportment,
and forthwith follows a bright daydres»i on the advan-
tage of Maria's becoming a day-boarder at that estab-
lishment— thus securing the double benefit of the good
education for herself, witlrottt losing the advantage of the
'evening instmctioa for her siitsts, and tha selace of her
society to them all. A letter <it thanks fot the oonsidera-
tion of the uncle or cousin is cheerfully penned, a card
of the terms of Miss Wilson^C school is, procured and
enclosed, and, for one entire crreMaig» the whole family
rejoice together in the midst ef their cares at this stfeke
of good-fortune.
For a whole week no i^ly b Touobaafed (o tho letter,
and tbey bc^n to feel anxious lest some stfagr wocd or
unconsidered sentence should hare given offence to the
persons they are most interested in conciliating. At
length, howcTcr, they are reliered on this head : a brief
note arrifes, in which the writer regrets that they cannot
f^ll into the plan sketched out by the parents; but as
their motive in consenting to undertake the chaige of the
child at all, is to give hev the means of securing her own
livelihood in a respectable manner, they are of opinion
that that object will be best attuned by removing her
altogether from her own family, and placing her as half-
boarder, for a term of years, in some well-known school,
for which they are already on the look-out. The letter
concludes by professing, with extreme humility, that
should this airangement not coincide with the parents'
views, they would by no means desire its adoption; in
which case, however, it is very cleaiiy intimated, they
would of oonise £ttl themselves relieved £mm any further
responsibility in the matter.
The dictatorial tone and startling brevity of this com-
munication fall Hke an ice-bolt on the assembled group.
The first impulse of tho father is to reject the offer alto-
gether; but when he looks on the anxious countenance
of his cdiild, he feels that he has zm> right to sacrifice her
permanent benefit to a mere consideration of feeling on
his own part. He accordingly smothers his resentment
at the manner in which the boon is offered, and tries to
rejoice that the comforts of a respectable homci and free-
dom from home cares and menial drudgery, are by any
means secured to his child.
An anxious consultation next ensues on the sulject of
her outfit : the family wardrobe is produced in the little
parlour; the least mended of the under-^arments are
selected, and a cleaa white tucker b appended to the
w^-wom best frock ; the Sunday bonnet is relined with
an eighteenpenny sarsnet, and retrimmed with a three-
penny ribbon ; the cost of half-a-dozen home-made muslin
collars is calculated; and the propriety of a new merino
frock is finally canvassed and determined on. The father
looks on with an aching heart and a moistened eye as
the last artiele of absolute necessity is provided £>r by a
cheerful surrender, oa the part of the mother, of her own
squirrel boa and scarlet shawl.
A few days elapse, during which our heroine endeavours
to soften the loss her absence will occasion in the house-
hold by redoubled diligence on her own part. The fort-
night's wash is anticipated by a few days; she works
early and late to mend up all the stockings; the ohildren
are doubly tasked on the score of lessons; the sister next
ia age to henelf is enjoined to be very attentive to poor
mamma, and the younger children to render due obedience
to her deputy. On the evening of the Saturday follow-
ing the father brings home a letter from his munificent
relative, announcing that a school having been found
for the child, she is to repair, on tiie Monday following,
by Dawney's VVimbleton Coadi^ where a place for her has
been taken and paid fori to their country-house; and
intimating that it will not be necessary for the father
to be at the treuUe of accompanying bar himself, as her
sal^ty has been secured by an order already issued to the
gardener to be in attendance at the end of the avenue on
the arrival of the vehicle.
The intervening Sunday is a day of restless anxiety to
the whole family. Advice »n the minuteei particular
of her future conduct is afiectioBately beetowed en our
heroine. A faint attempt at cheerfulness is maintained
by the whole circle, till the arrival of night and darkness
permits each individual to gire free vent to the pent-up
feelings by an unrestrained burst of tears. The heart
thus lightened of its load* they sleep csholy, ud tia
in the morning of separation coascioas of § Mar tf
hope and cheerfulness, to which anxiety hti kept then
strangers since the first opening of the Impoitut mco.
tiation.
The middle of Monday sees our heroins, for the fiat
time in her life, surrounded by all the lefinemoii of »
well-appointed English gentleman's houiehoid. On her
arrival she is conducted to the schooUnon of ko jooag
cousms, where she joins the party at dinner, sad ader.
goes a somewhat unceremonious scrutiny on tbe put of
the young ladies. They are good-natured, thoo^htlea
girls, however; and though they do not fsU to tmul
that her hands are rather coarse, and tkat she wiots the
self-possession of a lady, the circonutsDoe i« notai t«
each other in a carefully-subdued tone, lad doci Mfr is
anyway infiuence their kindly disposition! tovudi kt
They exhibit, by way of amining her, their tojt wai
trinkets, aad question her of her own pnwwiioDi ind
attainments ; but meeting with littie leipoBie on tfcii
head, they try another resource, and ooniidentdjpropoR
some merry game. The young norice, alsi, iu nerer
had time to play I but she feels their kiDdDM,ud doa
her best to participate in the gaiety aiesidkir. Tkt
lady-mother returns from her drive bsitlj bi iatm to
drMs for dinner; and thus the awflsl period «f iltnda^
tion to her is deferred until the accnsioiBed bosr of
dessert summons the denizens of the scfaooUroon lad
nursery to the dining-room.
I wish that truth would enable me to cadov d;
heroine with that best letter of introduction— penoeil
beauty; but what giil of her age was ever even pnttjl
Thebeautiful roundness of ihefeatuBss (rfehildkediifHt,
and the skeleton only of womanhood has teoeeeded it:
hence the falling-in chest, the long, Ain anu, the kcj
ankles, the squareness of figure, and, above all, the Ticut
or anxious school-girl face. It is utterly impoMiUe toeoo-
jure up beauty out of such materials; they belon|lai to
the individual than to the age, and nothing short eftiai
itself can remedy the evil. But when, to such diiadnirtiptt
a frightsacd awkwardness of manner is sopflmddtd,«ii
the presebt instance, by the unaceustomed appenace
of everything around, and the consdouanea of a dahioai
position, it is hardly to be expected that the reenb cnU
be of a nature greatly to conciliate the favour of an iodi^
ferent. not to say prejudiced, spectator; and the mk,
therefore, will not be surprised to learn that a ico^dii
perfiBctly civil, though rather cold, is all that avaiti thi
proteg^ in the halls of her benefiacton. The heitMiBi
her plate with fruit, and the host, without aakiiii ker
consent, adds a glass of wine ; and then both tm to
listen to the wit of their own offiqiring, and tilk orwtk
events of the day. In the course of some half-aa^
the gentleman exhibits signs of an inclination to tabUi
siesta, and the rest of the party a4jouni to the dnsia^
room, where a confidential conversation eoseei bitwiK
madam and the resident fovnoMfB, in lefemei, ^
lently, to Ae dependent ckUd, who, with the ^
instinct of inborn propriety, retreats towaidi the lAt
end of the room, where she endeavours to bbbh tte
younger children; in which she is so eminenUyneeii^
that the stately manner of the lady gradoall^rUf'* ^
relax. Previoualy to the wrival of eaS», she if h«id (•
request some trifling service »( the hands of hsridi
relative; and before the ococlnsien ef thssveaiaii'^
henelf even addressing the child as * mj d«rl' ^
rest of the circle take their cue fieni tiie bdj^Mhtf;
and the young stranger, by degrees^ M§ ImJlf * ^
footing of intimacy almost approaohisig to eMs%«
With theearlieftdawnourhfioineiswiisanbr*
\
OHAMBBBfyB BDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
82S
iinacouatomed loxoij of down pillowt h*Ting, iht thinks,
[»rer«nM k^ itom Bimfiug wL S]i6 wcH^en whether
they u» thiniing of her at home, and how her sister ^ei-
formed her new duties; ftnd ponders with some anxiety
3n her own fiiture lot. Her father's relations have been
reiy kind to her* far more kind, indeed, than she had
expected; and she does not despair for the future. She
is, howerer, rather annoyed at being obliged to admit the
assistance of a serrant in dressing her, and rejoices when
khe morning salutation with her cousins is oyer. How-
eyer, a walk round the extfonsire giounds tends somewhat
to brace up her nerres; and she receiyes a personal sum-
mons to attend her benefactress in her dressing-room
without experiencing any serious trepidation. On her
arriyal in this sanctum she is desired to take a sei^, and
has to undergo a rather minute cross-examination as to
her personal attainments, as well as in regard to her late
habits and occupations. Her replies elicit no further
remark than a caution, not harshly giyen, against be-
stowiitf any unneoessaiy eon^encts on these points upon
the la^» her future goyemess, imd the companions of her
future home; whereof the adyautages are forcibly pointed
out to her, and a due appreciation of their benefits ear-
nestly enjoined. Then follows the expression of a confi-
dent hope on the part of her monitor that the great
expense incurred to secure for her all these benefits will
be met by proportionate exertions on her part to profit to
the vary utmost by the adyantagea thus ffssierously placed
within her xeaith. This exordium brou^t to a close^ and
1^ dutiful acknowledgment nstumed thereto, she is next
interrogated ss to the extent and quality oif her wardrobe,
and replies with cheerful alacrity that she is well pro-
yided for on that score; but whether a hint droppea to
the goyemess by the under-housemaid of the result of her
obsenrations at her toilet may haye suggested a doubt on
this head, or whether a (iseling of curiosity is entertained
by the lady as to what is consideved a good prarision by
a poor vdation, is unoertain, but the poor gin is voquirsd
to produce the wardrobe, the extent of which does not
preclude her from fulfilling the mandate in person. The
carpet-bag is brought down, and hastily opened, and, with
an inyoluntaiy gesture of distaste, as hastily closed. The
■enrices of the maid of the young ladies are in instant re-
quisitioB, and an order is giyen to her to make a selection
oi the moft oidiBaffy gannents from the wardrobes of her
young mistresses. The damsel^ though by no means ap-
proTiQg of this wholesale appropiiation of what she has
been aocustomed to regard as her own ultimate propertY,
obeys her instructions, and soon returns with an ample
supply of half-worn gannents, which, with an air of sub-
dued BuUenness, she places before her mistress. The lady,
who fathoms at once the origin of her dissatisfaction,
desires her, in a yoice of some asperiW, instantly to pack
them up ; and secures a more obeerful compliance with
the mandate by an intimation that compensation will
be made to her in another way. These pieliminariea
adjusted, luncheon and the carriage are ordeted to be
in readiness an hour before their usual time; the lady
announces her intention of personally introducing her
protegee to her new home ; and then mtimates that her
presence may for the present be dispensed with.
At the hour appointed the carriage is announced, thf
lady sweepe in, followed by her young relatiye, and an
hoar's driyo brings them to the end of theii jounsey. The
aristocratic pt$l of the footman remains unanswisred for a
pexiod snfiiciently long to admit of a brief inyestigatmn
of our heroine's future home. It is a large^ red brick
house, old fwdiioned, but perfectly respectable in appear-
ance, with a multiplicity of windows, carefully yeiled by
blinds fh>m top to bottom. A small front garden inter-
renes between the house and the public road, and is sur-
rownded by a low brick wall, surmounted by a lofiy hedge
of laurustuias, under iriiioh blooms a perpetual growth of
the blue periwinkle. The box^gst of tho patterns are
more than usually luxuriant, and the ^rayel walkt though
carefully swept, pB»ents yisible signs of the moss of ages.
The brass-plate on the outer gate, and the ample steps
leadine into the house, are scrupulously clean. On either
side of the entrance hall, which is spacious, and eyen
handsome, stand two large professional-looking globes,
appropriate introductions to the worid of knowledge be-
yond; while from the oentre branches off a square fli^t
of broad, well-carpeted oak stairs, which» if any critenon
of the size of the rooms aboye, promise well for the
domestic comfort of the establishment.
In the absence of a footman — a functionaiy not admis-
sible in a seminaiy for young ladies — the party is con-
ducted by a smart pariour-mMd to a well-proportioned,
though somewhat chilly drawing-room, handsomely fur-
nished with ehairs, guarded from use as carefully as * the
throne' of Lady Margaret Bellenden at TilUetndlem,
an4 footstools which, though presaryed by oil-silk coyers,
are yet guiltless of oyer haying been nreased by tbo foot
of )iuman being. The chimneypiece exhibits hand-screens
as imart as gold paper and w%ter-coIours can make them,
in which the connicting styles of the pupil and the
master, though ingeniously blended, are easily to be dis-
tinguished; and on the pruacipal table stands a yaluable
wo»«box, which the lady of uie house will not fail inci-
dentally to vsmark was a present to her &om her afl^M-
tionate pupils. The room, u short, is ledolent of proiea-
sional dec^ations, from the Berlin wool and embcoideiy
of the preient day, to the bygone glories of filigree and
shellwork. The yisitors haye only time to look around
them, and select two chairs upon which they can sit with
a good conscience, before the mistress of the house pre-
sents herself in tiie person of a yery upright, ladylike
woman, attired m black silk of glossy frsshness, and
leading by the hand a beautiful little girl, the pride
of the school. The child (who is exquisitely dressed for
exhibition) has been committed to her chai^ge by its dot-
ing parents the day before they sailed for India, and she
cannot, therefore, persuade herself to lose sight of her for
an instant. This is said by way of apology; and the little
piece of sentimentalism haying produced its derired eflfect,
the child is quietly dismissfi to amuse herself at the
ether end of tha loem.
The tmtMirtaat subjeci of toims and length of engage-
ment haying been adiJusted at a preyi/>us iateryiew, the
patroness has little to do beyono introducing the new
pupil to her new protector; and the identity of the
family name unhappily preyenting her debut as the
orphan child ol^ a deceased schoolfellow, no altematiye
remains but to name her as Miss Maria Armstrong, a
yeung person in whose wetfare she feels a liyely interest,
the yoong lady being, in fact, a distant relatiye of Mr
Armstrong himself^ uie offimring, she is serry to add, of
an imprudent marriage. How far her education may
already haye proceeded, the lady has had no means of
ascertaining, neyer haying seen any member of the family
until the preyious eyening. She, howeyer, without soli-
citude, confides the child to her maternal care, in the
fullest confidence that whateyer talents she may possess
will receiye the highest culture at her hands, and in the
hepe that thesama will be met by a corresponding degree
of diligence on the part of the young person hersen, as on
the exercise of these talents, be they great or small, her
future wellbeing must depend. The lady belieyes that
eyery necessary for the use of one in the position of her
proteff6e has been proyided; but should anything indis-
pensable haye been forgotten, she hen Mrs Sharp will
haye the goodness to procure it. She has only further to
request, uiat no unnecessary intercourse with her own
Csmily may be encouraged on the part of the child; such
oommunications, if of frequent occurrence, haying a yery
obvious tendency to unsettle the mindy and unfit it for
its manifold duties. With these sentiments Mrs Sharp
entirely coincides. The lady rises, bestows a kiss on the
little fairy — a shake of the hand and half-a-guinea on the
young dependent — and a bow expressiye of mingled cor-
diality and condescension on the mistress of the house —
and &eQ, with a measursd step, regains her equipage ;
and, as tha nuxsiry rhyme has it— -
* The carriage drires off with a Inmnd.*
As the new-comer is only a half-boarder, it cannot of
course be expected that the head of an establishment of
pretensions equal to the one of which we are speaking
824
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
•honld henelf introdvoo tbe ttmager to her dormiloty;
and aa the attendance of a housemaid night lead to un-
warrantable ezpectatioiui of future serrice, the little girl
is deputed to conroy Mist Armstrong to the room over
the kitchen, the left-hand closet of which will be found
racant for the reception of her clothes. When this is
accomplished, should any time remain preTiously to the
tea-bell, she had better inform herself of the names and
localities of the TarioQs departments, with which her
little guide will hare pleasure in making her acquainted.
The clothes are unpacked, and put away, and the tour of
the house is hardly accomplished when the expected peal
is rung. A rustling sound, accompanied by the shuffling
of man^ feet^ is heard in the distance ; the little girl
safely pilots her companion to the parlour door, learing
her to make her entree alone, and tnen skips off to join
her companions in the refectory. The young norice waite a
few moments to gather both breath and courage, and then
gently taps at the door ; a voice from within desires her to
enter, and she ntands before half-a-dozen smart ladies at
tea. A pause of a moment succeeds, which is broken
by tilt governess, who thinks (aloud) tha^ it will perhaps
be the best plan for Miss Armstrong at once to enter
upon her duties. She is therefore desired to proceed
along the passage till she arrives at a green baixe door,
on opening which, a second door will introduce her to the
apartments of the yomig ladies. She makes her exit
from the partoir in the beet numner she ia able, and
ezperitnctt but little difficulty in discovering the eating-
room, from which issues a cheerful busx of voices. She
wisely resolves not to give her courage time to cool, and
so enters without observing the preliminary ceremony of
self-announcement. The sound of the opening door pro-
duces an instantaneous hu^h, and at the same tune directs
towards her the glance of fbar-and-twentr pair of eurious
eyes, besides a pioroingly-blaek indiridual pair apper-
taining to the French gorvemese aA the head of the table.
She stands perfectly astonished at her own temerity; then
thankfully sinks into a chair pointed out by that lady on
her left hand; accepts a cup of tea, which a choking sen-
sation in the throat prevents her from swallowing, and is
conscious of an unwilling suffusion of colour from the
crown of her head to her very fingers' ends. Tea and the
tea things at length despatched, the usual half hour
supervwies previously to the period for preparing lessons,
advantage of which ia taken by madame to inquire the
name, age, &c of the new-comer; whilst the little
figurante, whose position renders her a sort of avaHi-
courisr to the school-room of the proceedings in the
drawing-room, is captured by one of the elder girls, who,
on pretence of plaiting her hair, seats her on her knee in
the midst of her own peculiar set, and proceeds to ex.
tract, with very oomanendable ingenuity, all the events
of the day, reserving to herself the liberty of drawing her
own inferences from the detail, copious or meagre, as the
case may be. One circumstance connected with the
arrival of the young stranger does strike the privileged
set with inexpressible astonishment. If, as is asserted,
she came in a private carriage, and that carriage the
rentable property of her friendii, and not a * trumpery
glass-coacn* — how, then, could she be going to sleep in
the room over the kitchen !— thi^t chamber of Hue-Beard
reputation, strongly suspected of harbouring mice, and
convicted, beyond question, of being subject to a Tery
disagreeable odour f The thing is ' pronounced impos-
tible, and unworthy a moment's credit. In vain the
child assures them, upon her word and honour, she helped
to put away her clothe* ; the proposition is not to be be-
lieved fbr an instant. The informant, indignant at hav-
ing her veraeity impeached, calls ak)«d on Miss Arm-
strong to Verify ber assertion. >T%e ikfpeal is, however,
happily overpowered by a fi4inultMMC«s shuffle of the
feet of t^e inquisHcm; she is quietly sltded fh>m the knee
o» wMck she bad been flitting, and the difeeuSRioti pro-
ceeds in tlie abeenos of the witness. There certa^ly is
•otnething very vtuxsual attending the new-comer: no
udto of ptt^paMtion annoUDced hn advebt; no cheerfiil
congratulations had been offered to themselves on the
prospect of a new ooropaaum; no kepes eaqireMed 1^
they would do their bat to make ha home a pkasart
one. And then the ciroamftasioe of h» taJdng hetfim
tea ia the eating-roem, to which ahe wm sot cfen iatie-
dnced; such a mark of eentomely had never before hea
■nffered within the mcmery of the oldeel eckocl-^iii ps»-
sent; and of this fact they were themeelvee eye-witftesML
It was inexplicable: they could not nndarflfcaAd it. A
single hour, nowever, sumoea to eolvo the inysterf : iint
period at length arrivee fur preparing Ifwnws, suDid wi^ it
the housemaid to curl the hair of tke younger chiUfca;
and in this laboor of love Miss Armetrosig ia ns^oesteA to
lend her aMistanoe I A gUmmeriag ligu aa to he real
position flashes across the minda of the bewildered iftc-
tators. But when she is further required to attend the
ohildrsn to their respective rooms, and light the candks
preparatory to the arrival of the elder girla, tfie mattR
IS put beyond a doubt: she i»— die moat be a half'
boarder I
Reader, picture to yourscif^ I beecech yoo, the f mi—
tion ia which a Christian slave is heU by a ibilever of
the true Prophet, a Nacarene br a Jewish rakbt, a P»hah.
by a holy Brahmin of immaculate desoeaty and yoa auy
then have some faint, some very laiat idea^ i/f the depthe
to wluch this fact has sunk our hcroiae a ^e cstimerien
of the major part of her echooUellovn!
The young ladies are at length finriy dtffeeed of fer
the night ; and the half-boarder, having cQ«p\eted ker
duties, descends again to the school-vooai, whick ibe finds
in the possession of the hoasemald and a dead of dart,
^e French teacher having joined the party in the par-
lour. Thither she also repairs, and requests piiaiMsiwi
to retire to her room. The ooncessQon is readily granted
to her, and she gladly seeks her bed^ to elee^ wi& what
soundness of repose she nay. Anzioua to fulfil the duties
of her poet to the spirit as well as to the letter of the
bond, she is dressed even before the school-bell rings, aad
is ready on its summons to assist in the abliitieas ef the
little ones. Ske saves many a heedleoa dut a fine by
herself folding up the forgotten ni^t^lotk«9; an indaf-
geace, however, not to be taken aa a precedent, her daty
being to aid in the refbrmation of evil hakitl^ net to
slur them over. Having had no leseone raaiiDed oot fiar
her on this first morning, she watches the etdcr ef pce-
oeedings, and helps the little favourite to BMiter ike
difficulties of a eolumn of spelling.
After breakfast, the pupils having dispersed Ihiii— lne
in the garden to taste the moitting air (yeoag fedws
have no playground^, the hal£*boarder has a pdvate
audience of tke superior, in order that, her mental stand-
ing baring been duly ascertained, she may be diaAcd
into class second or third, as the case may b^ After m-
dering a true and particular account of her acqmrHacatt
in reading, writing, needlework, &c. &a and admitted
her total ignorance of French, muaie, and daaein^ t&e
order is given for her admission into the third ckua, aad
beginning French forthwith. Dancing and music are
hM out aa stimulants to quicken her diligcnoe in mak-
ing herself 'generally usefal,^ in consideratien ef having
been receired into the establishment at one-half tbe
usual charge. Her datiee cannot very dearly be defined,
but die will soon comprehend them. Soon, indeed, poor
girl 1 they being, in fact, to do all that ia neglectea to
be performed by the ether nen^en of the hioaaekald lo
stand ia tkeaHematerslationsof nurscnuud a«d instinc-
tress of the younger ohildren, and uf btttt and lag ta the
dder ones. ' She must be prepaiad to consider koa^tke
link between the lower teacher and the upper eervaat,
willing to lend her aid to each, and to bear the hkane
due to either ; to laboar witAi nntirinf daliKeaoB te im-
prcte her roind and inorcaae kcr aeoompliSsarnt^ aad
thus eventually supersede the neecittt/ lior an aads
teacher at aHl. • <
These are nnltifai&oM dntie^ it must he admitted; kat,
as Dr Johnson saja, < few thanes are irapsssibls to a- '
geanity and persereiaace.' She has aet been brought np ;
in the lap <Sf refinement, and theorafoee misses net its i
comforts : she is blessed with a stooog eonetitatton aad
a willing mind, loves learning for its own sake^aad nertr
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
326
bigets that erery member of her own familj maj be
iltiraately benefited throogh her means.
li ii true that at first it is painful to stand up with
he little class*— herself a ciant among pigmies ; to be
conscious of a sneering smile on the piurt (Mf the teacher
ks she dntWB a parallel between her bodilj height and
ler dwmrfirii information. It is mortifying to know that
ter dressee have been discoTered, by their misfit, to hare
3eIo&ged to other parties — that the discrepancies between
ler own initials and those on her linen hare not been
>rerlooked — and to feel that the absence of a weekly
allowance, and regular home tibrrespondenoe, are neyer-
'ailing sources of unsjmpathisuig wonder.
All this is mortifyinjg enonn, but it is not all she has
;o undergo. After rising early, and lying down late, and
^ting the bread of carefulness, she finds that eren the
Hgid performance of her own duties, and the neglected
iTork of half-a-dozen people besides, meete at first with
sat little encouragement from the mistress of the house,
irho receiTes it purely as a matter of course, while it does
aot ful to awaken the distrust and jealousy of her sub-
>rdinates. The cook remembers her refusal to conniTe at
;he abctraction of * a dust of tea,* even when the key of
the storeroom was actually in her hand; and ihe house-
maid bears in mind that Miss Johnson weald hare be-
ttowed upon her her hut year's cloak on the aniral of her
new tnsitt, had not the half-boarder suggested the neces-
dty for asking leave. The French teacher does not fbrget
that, on the only occasion in which she indulged in a
Kttle harmless flirtation with a whiskered cousin of her
>wn, the fai^-boarder looked reproof ; the English teaoher
remembers her refusal furtively to procure sundry MttU
ielicaoies not included in the daily bill of fytte; while
ber assbtant notes her strenuous efforts to qualify her-
self to supersede her in her own department.
All these offences are ref^tered and retaliated. The
eook, when reproTed for any omission, stoutly dedared that
orders transmitted throogh Miss Armstrong ne^er reach
her ; t^ housemaid, in waiting at toble^ eontrires that
the least sarouiy plat shall fall to her lei ', the Pariaienn^
ihnigs her shoulders as she comments on Jker air hokf'
7«ptf ; the English teacher frankly declares she nerer
cfM\d like her; whilst her subordinate sister * hopes ' that
MisB Armstrong maj prove as simple as die appearM.
Bat a Sacred Authority has assuicd us that though
»onow may endure for a night, joy <90meth in the mem-
tng ; and the experience eren of a halfibosrder demon-
strates that a patient continuance in welldoing is not
without its reward. By degrees the lot of our heroine is
considerably ameliorated : the prejudice against her be-
gins to wear away ; and ereo the English teacher, who
has held out the longest, having a character for consis-
tency to maintain, is constrained to admit that Miss
Armstrong is an estimable and well-conducted young
person. Her desire to please is at Length appreciated,
and her poverty is even admitted to be rather her misfor-
tune than her fault. The great girls eease to despise her
— the little girls learn to love her. The higher jpowers
readily second the exertions for self-improveinent whiph
promise to relieve them from the drudgery of initiatory
instruction ; and the prize held out for the auccessfiil
fulfilment of her humbler duties is in process of time
secured. Instruction in dancing and music oomsnenoes
with the second half year, toad, glimmerings of still greater
glories are pointed out in the distance*
The governess, though an exacting, is net an unjust
taskmiiitress. If she remiires much during school-hours,
she allows the unusual luxmied <^ fire and lights when
Bchool dutv is over ; and furthermore advances the in-
teiestf of iter pupil by a statement, under her own hand,
to the benefiictrew of the half4K>arder, that she promiset
to do heiiour to that lady's patronage no less than to her
own establishment.
Her successful progress in the road to leaminlTr An<i
in the good graces of those around her, coupkd mth th^
encouragement afforded by a kind word, aiid now and
then a small present bestowed on her hj . the grateful
mamma of some infant prodigy, all combine to quicken
her steps in the race towards the grand object of her
ambition — the qualifying herself for the situation of a
nursery governess. In tiie meantime, in ihe words of
Crabbe» her du^ i»-*
— — ^tofiBei
D«pendent helper alwajnl at Uae vheel ;
Her p)wer minute, ber compensation small,
H6r labours great, ber life laborious sll ;
8et after set tbe lowor tribe to naloB
Fit tot the claw wbich h^ suporiors take.
Tho road of learning for a time to track
In roufhest state, and then again go back,
Just tbe same way on other troops to wait— .
Doorkeeper she at Learning's lower gate.'
This is her lot for some two years; but she has the en-
couragement of knowing that her apprenticeship, though
a hard one, is gradually fitting her for the object of her
ambition; while, as she advances in he^ career, the expe-
rience of the past inspires her with cotifidence for the
future, since it proves to her that right principle and
steady perseverance are invincible, or they could never
have enabled her to overcome the trials and difficitlties
wMch be8€?t the path of a Half-Boarder.
INDIAN POLICE EEVEI.ATION&
We have frequently had occasion to observe that tra-
vellers differ widely from each other, even as to such
mattera of fact as must have come under Uie cognisance
of their senses. The late Mr Bae WUsoo, for inftance,
who observed personally the falls of the Narova, gives
the measurement of the descent of water at something
so comparatively enormous, as to prove that he had
ufeconscioiy^ly l}lended in his imagination the whole of
the rapids into ope cataract; and we ourselves, when
gazhsg^pon those troubled waters from the wooden
bridge that spans them, looked with such surprise upon
the ' Yarrow Visited/ ai mvt»U we fear, have ooloared,
in an opposite way fifom Mr Wibon's, our impressions,
and consciiueiltty our report. If travellers who desire,
both from interest and indination, to be impartial differ
so widely in matters of fact, what shall be said of mat-
ters of opinion ? A, compiler is frequently taunted with
presuming to. write critically o( countries he has never
visited in person 9 but if he will only take the pains to
colleet, end sift, and oompmre the jarring and often
opposite accounts of residents and travellers, We have
a strong suspicion that he will be found better qualified
for his business than any of them !
India has always been tho Debatcable Land of authors,
both as to fact and opinion. The books published upon
that oomtry contain tlie meat outrageous maaa of con-
tradictions extant} and eaoh successive writer giret the
lie, without the smallest ceremony, to those who pre-
ceded him. This cannot be wholly owing to our igno-
rance of the country and the people. The Hon. Hobert
Lindsay was shut up wilh the natives almost exclu-
sively for twelve years ; and he represents them as
being so honest, that he could intrust three or four
thousand pounds' worth of his property to a menial
servant^ wandering to the Ikrthest extremity of the
country, and absent for twelve months at a time.
Colonel Davidson resided for xuauy years, and travelled
nutcli in India ; and he turns the reverse of the medal,
representing the native iuJhabitants as thieves and vaga-
bonds to a man. We must go further* tlierefore» than
tlie mere question of knowledge; for, tliese. two wit-
nesses (wlKmi we take as the, types of two nuuierous
classes) are roea ot both knowledge and honour. We
must seek ior an explanation of th/e 9>yBtery in the
deptha of the human oharaatert
The colour of an object^ aUl^ough really one of its
inherent pr<:^)ertiea, is |d«rays modified by the »eduim
through which it is seen; and nolhinc but <;are and
refieotion> or at least lengthened ecqwrieuoe, will enable
na te conecfclhe error, ftnd traoe the wttual through the
8^
GHAMBEB8*B EDINBUEGH JOURNAli.
ap|)a^nt htie. In the same mij, the qnalitfes of h
p^pXe in one stagfe of eirilisation cannot be judged of
intoitivelj bj a people in another stage, because they
are viewed throtigfa an uncongenial medium. The
Indians can no tnore be cotaprehended at once by Euro-
peans, than Europeans CAn be comprehended at once by
the Indians. Much care will be required to enable the
two to arriTB eren at an approximation to a true
understanding of each other. Virtue and tice are not
the substantive and unbending terms we commonly
imagine them to be. They receive a new meaning, or
a new force, in every new form of civilisation ; the lex
talionis of the tocient Jews, fbr instahce, was abrogated
by the more advanced law of Christianity; and we
meet With a hundred things in hiitoly—
* Thin0i light or lovely in their acted time'—
which, in the present day, would be considered indica-
tions of positive depravity. Few of the heroes of the
middle ages would escape hanging or the hulks In the
nineteenth century, and fewer still of the heroines
would be received in a modern drawing-room I
To form a correct estimate of the In^ans, we must
compare them with other Asiatic nations, and not with
the InhaMtanta of Europe, where the human charac-
ter received a new and extraordinary development
through the ccdlision of different and distant races of
mankind. According to the former atandard, the Indians
are much in advance, which can'only be accounted for by
the Tast extent of their country, and the fluctuating
raovemenU of its population, interrupting in some degree
what is called the ' permanent' form of civilisation pecu-
liar to Asia. To estimate their moral and locial pros'>
pects, however, and the moral and social prospects 6f the
Eastern world In general, we must oompare tiiem with
our own ancestors of a few centuries ago^ among whom
we shall find quite as much grotsness of taste, obtuseness
of feeling, t}rranny, dishonesty, antagonism of classes, and
puerile and debasing superstition. The conflicting views
of the Indian character arise simply flrom the opposite
idiosyncrasies of the observers. Colonel Davidson flods
theft common, and stigmatises the people with the
English name of thicTes ; while M^ Lindsay, marvelling
at the singular fidelity of fals servants, ascribes to
them the English virtue of honesty. Both are deceived;
for these two apparently opposite qualities may^ and do,
meet in the same individuals, and are therefore not of
the nature of the English qualities of the same name.
If we encountered such passages in history, we should
comprehend the seeming anomaly, and at once refer
it to a partieular stage of civilisation; but faJling in
with them in the course of our personal experience, and
suffering from the bad, or deriving advantage from the
good quality, we take no care to discriminate, but give
praise or blame according to the religteus and moral
dispensation we live under in Europe. The tendency
of this want of discrimination is adverse to Indian pro-
gress. The people are at this moment undergoing, but
more slowlv, the change which revolutionised the West ;
althougli this time Mohammed goes to the mountain,
since the mountain does not come to Mohammed. Eu-
roxie flings itself upon Asia, and Western knowledge
ferments in the Inert mass oif Eastern ignorance. We
are numerically few, however, though intellectually
powerful ; and it is of the utmdst consequence that we
should comprehend clearly what we are about, so that
our efforts towards the advancement of those we have
taken forcibly under our tutelage should proceed in the
right direction.
We have been led into these reflections by a very
slight matter— a little book, as coarse, vulgar, and
tasteless as can weU be Imagined ; which professes to
be the revelations of an orderly, or police subordinate,
attached to an Anglo -Indian provincial court.* Ac-
* The Revelations of an Orderly, being an Attempt to Expose
the AbuMs of Administration by the Belation of Everyday
Ocoarrenoee in the Mofossil Ck)Urt8. By Panohkoacee Khan.
London : Madden, 8 t^eadenball Street. 1849.
cording to this authority, an India would avpetr to be
one bloated mass of crime and tumult, and the cshn and
beautifhl pictures of such writers as Sleaaan vonld
therefore require to be set down as impudent ftbtk^
tions. But we do not look for an account of En^irii min.
ners in the Newgate Calendkr; and tbe native scnlw
who ih this little book withdraws the cuitaiii ttm the
mysteries of Indian police may be thanked for his cod-
tribution, partial as it is, to our knowledge df theeotm-
tty. In fact it is impossible to talk with too nndt
reprobation of the police system of India. In TeBi%
and oppression it was nerer surpassed even liv ifae
most corrupt nations either of the East or fht weit,
either in ancient or modem times. The reason ii,t&tt
an effective police must be spread like a network orer
the whole country, and the Europeans are far too fev
for reasonable superintendence. Old abosei flnu n-
main unchecked, and vast multitudes of haeditnj
scoundrels combine to cheat their stiperiofi and op-
press the peopla The police, in f^ sre the ol^ecti
of universal dread ; and numberless crimes eic^ vd-
punished, and even unexposed, because their rjctiai
will rather suffer than invoke such fatal siristaoce,
At present, however, our business li more vfft the
criminal than the policeman ; and the rough pictarei
of our Orderly show that the peculiarity of Mian crime
is its resemblance io the crime of old and modem
Europe at the same time. We see in H, under Indian
characteristics^ the offencea of medieval Europe, extra*
ragantly comMned with those of our own day. Thi
priestly transgressors of the dark ages are reproduced
in the Pundahs and Poojarees of Benares; and te
English swindler who takea a handsome boose, and Tie*
timises the neighbouring tradesmen, hts an Iidbn
brother in the soi-disant rajah, who confers his pttrasafe
as a prodigious farour.
The priests, it seems, perpetrate all sorts of cria»
with perfect impunity. ' Many a dark deed hai teeo
done, and is done, in the extensive houset of ftoe
Pundahs and Poojarees. While tiie goog is IobSj
sounding, and scores of athletic priests are bloviog
sunkhs* in the numerous temples that are dsttri
about and around the houaea, the last expiriDg Ifaiidk
of some victim is perhaps auppressed by ^ mfe
Disobedient dle^,f Tictims of jealousy snd orin^
die by slow torture, or poison, or fkmine. 9b ^
mation is, or can be, given to the ptdice, fbrine
but tiie initiated and privileged may enter tea
houses, sanctified by the numerom tempies. Andriis
but the most devoted and trustwortiiy are erer pe^
mitted to see the dark places where crhne is eoai*
mittedp It is believed generally— but I ipe^ f^
from experience (for being of the faith of Isuni, I «■
not permitted to approach such phMses)— tiwt ii ^
innermost recesses <k several tem^dei is a Bfai^ile'
voted to "Devee,** or * Bhowanee}" ^m*^,™"*
deltlea whose delight is in blood, where tkmmn
tender age are euticed, and ofRnred up oo o«Wh
occasions. FJequent are the reports made to w
police that children are missing *, the infwmanti «►
pect nobody, and no thtce of the inuooenti i ertf
found.*
Another pest Are ttie dtdlah (brokers), whotw«
markets, and levy a handsome per-centageoBiBvety^
thatls boughtand *old. • GofartoUiedU»i*^«BdittW
to purohase the most trivial article t take up s piir «
shoes, or a shawl, and you will ftod a Mdtty^
elbow. The man praises one thing, abuses snotew
down the price of the vender authoritativdy; •'■yj
are surprised that such disinterested offlciousn^iK*"
be shown to a stranger in a crowided chouk. "**•
civilly offers to take you whithersoever yt» P"*
and to assist you in purchasing whatever yw *g
require. You rettnm home, wondering whitw<>»
man's inducement to waste nis own tinae in aiuW|l
foryou. I lift the curtain to show you that tteYOiw
♦ Large shells. f Dlsciplee— scholan. X llytaM"*
GHAIIBBBS*8 HDINBUEGa JOURNAL.
827
and your ehaperone are in league; thai your oom-
plaisant (Hend is a dullal, who takes very good care to
lower the Tender's price only so much as to admit of
his coming in for a handsome dushttes,* The difference
between the bazaar prioe and the amount prioe of the
article sold is the ^f of the dnllal. You will ask
whether the vender may not himself pocket the whole
of the money? I answer that he dare not. The whole
of the doUals would cabal against him; would cry
down his wares ; would thrash him within an inch of
his life ; would by force prevent purchasers from attend-
ing his shop. Can such things be ? you ask. Can the
authoritiefl submit tamely to such outrages ? Why do
not the parties who are cheated or bullied complain to
the magistrate? They hare tried the experiment; and
although in a few instances sucoessf^il, they have gene-
rally fidled in obtaining redress trora want of judicial
proof Moral conriction is one thing, and judicial proof
another. And were a magistrate to punish on moral
conriction alone, his judgment would in all probability
be reversed by the judge in appeal; who, having to
form his judgment by the written evidence, must be
guided by judicial proof alone.'
The Budmashes practise a trick that is not unknown
in England, although known there chiefly under the
modification of bills of Exchange obtained from the
unwaxT by means of advertisements in the newspapers.
* Another common trick of the Budmashes is to entice
people of decent condition into their private houses
with seductive solicitations ; and afber amusing them,
to keep them there until they put their names to
papers, just by way of showing specimens of their auto-
graphs. They have documents ready cut and dry on
stamp papers of different value, duly witnessed by
people who are in their pay, or who participate in their
frauds, to be converted into penal bonds tor value re-
ceived. Months afterwards the unfortunate visitor is
accosted in any public place, in the presence of nume-
rous witnesses, and asked for the amount of his (ex-
torted) bond. Of course the debt is denied, and the
demander is cursed only for his pains. But the Bud-
mash calls people to witness that he did ask his debtor
to pay the amount of his bond, which he reftised to
discharge. An action for debt is Instituted. The Bud-
mash produces the bond before the Mocnsiff, The wit-
nesses are summoned, and are merely asked, ** Bid you
witness this tumassoole t" **1 did, your worship," is the
reply: '*Uiis is my signature.** The witnesses before
whom the Budmash demanded the amount of the bond
also confirm the plaintiff's allegation. The defendant
can only deny the claim, and submit that the bond was
extorted. "Where is ttie proof?** says the Moonsiff
** I have none,** is the reply. And a decree is given in
favour of plaintiff with costs. It is only when ** Greek
meete Greek** that the result is different. Then the
defendant acknowledges the deed, but alleges that he
has paid the amount with interest; and files a receipt
for the amount of the bond, with interest at twelve per
cent, duly attested by three ** credible" witnesses, who
appear before the Auxroor, and swear to their signatures,
as well as to having seen the money repaid to the
plahitiff'
We come now to the swindling r^jah, whose pro-
ceedings are almost amusing in their rascality. *A
common mode of swindling in the city of Kashee, as
practised by the clever Budmashes, is for one of the
party to personate a rajah on a visit of ceremony to the
holy city, while his companions pretend to precede
him, and hire a stetely huvdee in Dal-ka-Munduvee,
which they furnish for the nonce. Bidbhuddur Singh
site in state as Bajah Guchpuch Bae, bedecked in false
gems, and dressed in shawls and kimkhabt.X His
retainers go about the city, and entice shawl-mer-
dianto and jewellers to the rajah's house. They
arrive with costly wares, and eagerly proceed to expose
them; but the rajah turns an indifferent eye upon
* CiuCoinary douceur.
t Right
^Kingcobs.
them, and declares they are not tufiloiently choice for
AtfR. The Soudagurs* promise to return next day. In
the meantime the song and dance proceed with fierce
rivalry. Six sete of the best dancing-women exert their
lungs and limbs, and go through every fascinating
movement to delight and amuse K^jah Guchpuch Kae.
" Where is my treasurer?" exclaims the rajah. "Bid
him bestow a largess of 100 utkwfeea^ on these soul-
enslaving, terrestrial houries." A retamer, after going
through tiie farce of a search, respectfully approaches
his highness, and intimates that the treasurer has not
yet arrived. " The nimukharam ! behaeyah / " ^ exclaims
the rajah. " Here, fellows, see that a proper treasurer
be in attendance on the morrow, to whom we shall de-
liver our treasure and toshehkhcmah.*' § The rajah en-
joys himself until no longer able to sustein excitement ;
and then the Oundn^nt || retire, and the torches are
extinguished.
* Next day there are several candidates for the honour
of the treasurer's (^ce, who eagerly offfer to serve.
** The salary is 200 rupees a month,** says the rajah ;
"and I hate accounts. Constant attendance and im-
Elicit obedience are all I requure." After rejecting some,
is highness fixes upon Lula Umbeka Sahaee, who re-
ceives a well-worn shawl as a khUiia^^ and an immense
key. He ventures to ask where the treasury is? and
is told to wait until the hmrui has leisure to show it to
him. In the meantime the rsjah suddenly recollects that
he has an immediate occasion for 1000 rupees, and he
shoute out, " Here, Bahadoor, take one thousand rupees
from Lalla Umbeka Sahaee, and give it to Bisheshur
Singh, and be sure to take a receipt for the money.
Tell him it is the price of a ring I bought of him for my
favourite Goolbehar.'* Bahadoor asks the treasurer for
the money. The poor man looks aghast, and shows a
huge key as all he nas received of the rigah's treasure.
But Bahadoor tells him that Rajah Guchpuch Rae never
fails to cut off the ears of a disobedient servant. So
the hint is taken, and Lalla gives an order on his shrof
in the city for the amount ; and Bahadoor at once pro-
ceeds to redise the money. As evening approaches,
shawl-merchante and jewellers again appear, and press
their wares on the rsgah. They see Lalla Umbeka
Sahaee figuring as treasurer. They are old acquaint-
ance, and they ask him the amount of Guchpuch Rae's
treasure ; in reply to which he simply shows the key,
about a foot in length. The merchants open out tlieir
wares to entice the rajah, but he says he will wait until
all his things arrive. They offer to leave their bundles
for the ngah and his ladies to choose, which is agreed
to with apparent indifference. The song and dance
proceed, as usual, until midnight, when the torches are
extinguished.
' Next morning, what a change has taken place ! One
old man is seated at the doorway, dozing over a chtllum
of ganjah. No other sign of life is visible in Rajah
Guchpuch Rae*s palace. The treasurer arrives first,
opens and rubs his eyes, and asks the old man where
the rajah and his people have gone ? He replies that
they decamped before dawn. In due course the Muba-
juns, the jewellers, and birds of song arrive, but nothing
of the njah is to be found ; and smoke-stained walls,
and filth, and litter about the rooms, alone betray that
revelry had been there ! The jewellers and Muhajuns
turn in wrath upon Lalla Umbeka Sahaee, and tax him
with having aided to cheat them. They proceed first
to abuse, and then to beat him. In vain the poor man
shows the huge key, and lamente his thousand rupees
lost for ever. They drag him to the hotwal^ and charge
him with having cheated them; and the defrauded
treasurer remains in durance vile for a week at least,
and gete off at last on proving himself to be one of the
victims of this system of swindling, and after feeing the
poUce myrmidons pretty roundly.'
* Tradeipeople. t Gold mohun.
% Unfaithful to Bali— ihamelen. j Plao« for kerning val tiablcs.
I A oastc of nindoo Nautch-girls. t Dress of honour.
328
GHAKBSBfira BDQWUBGffl[ JOOBMAL.
H$ce we dofe, withoat farther remArk, a book ffom
vhich the reader will learn that the crimes of India are
not remarkably diflferent from those of earlier England,
although fostered by the worst police system that eTer
disgraced and demoralised a country.
TRACINGS OF THE NOETH OF EUBOPB.
GOTTRNBURO fTO CHRISTIANIA.
At six o'clock of the morning of the 4fch July, Quiat
duly appeared with the carriage at the door of the
Gotha Kellare. It was a duQ, cool, drizzling morning,
and I mentally rejoiced in having, against many ad-
vices, resolved upon a vehicle which could afford me
protection from the elements. My baggage being ar-
ranged beside me in the carriage, so Uiatl could readily
command anything I wanted — one of the greatett of all
comforts in solitary travelling— I hastily swallowed the
cup of coffee presented to me in my bedroom — the com-
mon custom of the country — and was soon on the road
to Christlania. I observed that two hardy little horses
were yoked to the carriage with rope-tiaces. Beside
Quist, who drove them, sat a man who was to bring
back the cattle, the first of a long series of such persons
whom I was to see in that situation during my journey,
of all varieties of age, from twelve years to threescore,
in all kinds of clothes, from stout wadtnaal down to
bare decency. The robust, bulky frame of honest Quist
generally made these people appear like dwarfs by his
side. As we drove rapidly along the swampy plain
surrounding Gottenburg, we met an immense number
of small market-carts, driven by peasant noen or women,
or both, generally very lightly laden, and going at a
trot, the people being usually seated on a sort of chair,
perched on elastic beams passing back at an'augle firom
the beams of the vehicle, so as to give somewhat the
effect of springs. I felt affected at seeing such a multi-
tude of people engaged in a labour so uneconomical, and
wliich must consequently remunerate them so ill ; for of
course where a man or woman give a day of tl^eir own
time, along with a horse*s labour, to the business of
selling a single pig or lamb, a few chickens and 6ggi»
or some such tri&ng merchandise, the remuneration
must be of the most miserable kind. The poor too often
struggle on in this manner, always busy, as they aUcge,
often working very hard, and wondering that, with all
their exertions, they make so little, when the plain truth
is, that \bsir labour is so ill-directed, or is so uneconomi-
cally conducted, and in the result of their labours they
consequently do so little for their fellow-creatures, that
their little gains are exacttv what is to be expected,
and what is strictly their due. The very best lesson
that we could teach a poor man, with a view to im*
proving his fortunes, would be that which led him, as
far as possible, to extend his usefulness, to substitute
cconomfcal for uneconomical labour, and to concentrate
and divide employments. I beheld, with interest, in
this exhibition of the Swedish peasantrj*, the first as-
pect of an economy out of which it has been the busi-
ness of the last hundred years to reform the farming
population of my own country.
At the first station, which we reached in little more
than an hour, the horses which had been ordered were
in waiting, along with a new loon of some kind to tsdce
CRVt of them. The man in charge of the used horses
was then paid at a rate which appeared nearly equi-
valent to tnreepence-hairpenny per English mile. But
aomethlog more was needed — dricka-pinge, or drinks-
money, as Quist (^led it In England, something like
half-a-crown would have been expected. In Sweden, a
few skillings — about twopence of our money — was given,
and most thankfully received. We then set out with
our new horses. The station, it may be remarked, is a
place Hke a earrier^s inn. Travellers of a humble ckss
may 0(op and refresh at it ; but it expects no gentlemen
customers, and is unprepared for their reception. Qte
or two out of a kmg seriea are tolerable places, and it is
neoeitftry to cakwhrte so as to hMm aajr wmiUiwi^
there, instead of the nauer housss; bat «?« vift
these better-aort of houses it is neccsswy to oBdemirii
^ the forebttd, for a gnest is so care, that theyhmio
standing arrangements for his leeeption. Uj hsHldbt
had been ordered a* the third station. Ik proisd t
deosnt, plain hoyse, with dean-boacdedllooii,tnd tfw
rode prints along the wails ^ and, had there bcaavbutai
bread, the eggs and coffise wonld hare eoaUed ne to
make a toleraUe meaL
The country passed over to-day consisled of lov Mekf
hills of soft outline, with alluvial plains betwees. It k
impossible for any person of commoa povertof (km-
vation to fail to be struck with the appssrsaot tf lie
rocky aorfaoe presented around Gottenlrargsndiloi|tlK
road upon which I was now travelling. Ail ths sli^
nesses and asp^itiea usually seen ipoo rodu sie hm
ground off: all is smooth and rounded. Hese jmi m
great ridges, resembling the hull of a ship torMd k«l
uppermost, both in the general fonn and tk smKHkam
of surface. There you see great slopes, as itisigkt tsi
smooth as an ashlar wall Sometimss akisdsf tne|k
or channel is seen between rising ridges, sad sfthii the
sides are usually quite smooth. In geaeal, tbrn hsi
been a certain weathering of the exterior, thottgh ktviag
the general phine— if I may use sooh sa opreiikNi-
in its original state. Where the aarfsmhsibceBlrM
any cause protected from the elements, the nsttAlttig
is clearly seen to be a true meohanicsl polithi tW k
to say, not a result of some causes oonneotsd with tt»
formation of the rock, but an effect ptooeedipgiras
some external agent which has operated oa the neb
after they had been thrown into their prescot ana^t-
ment as a surface for this part of the earth. Ooftwi
preserved surfaces we find stride or scratches, tViMf
a portion of the general operation, vhateTer it «Mi
and these striae, as well as the chaaneUings asd ate
lie in one direction-^namely, a)»y^}?.E.sad&E
In numberless instances in travellmg t»-d«y I Mtiit
my compass to test this points where mich straA ^tte
appearances, and the result was invarishie. Tbilllv
of the Gotha Elv lies from north to •p)***^^
seems merel v to have exposed it to being irapitsndim
these singular appearances. .Tliere are sevesil 1»
faces which may be considered as an c*"!"^ 55
rough and cliffy, sometimes with a talus rf WW
descending from below the cliffy front, as in SifiiN[
Crags near Edinburgh. In all such iostaocas ih»m
of the cliff is to the touih-wcst ; and where this
in a vaUey, the opposite hill-face is invariably
with rounded surmces, showing as if the si
agent had moved from the north-eaat, failiM ts fm
against faces turned away from that point o(tbflsa»
pass, but bearing hard upon such as '^'^ FJpJ
towards it It was most mopressive and intewwyji
read in these fiicts so strange a tale of grand 1^^
operations of nature. I had seen some of ****•*•■
scattered markings of tlio same kind which «»•
the surface of my own country, but was ^^'■•JJ
unprepared for the all but universal grindiDg MJJJ
Sweden has been subjected. In ScotUnd one 1>***]J*
for the appearances in nooks of the countrf j M^g*
they are met at every step. Very often iJM*^
lishments, and the inns at which the traTaikiWil
are placed on smoothed plateaux of rook, til PWf
thus acquiring from nature all the benefit » ^tSJ
courtyard, as well as of a perfectly fiiA wd^J*
dation. Often you can trace in theae n^^AtfrilQ^T
the primitive channellings and ^^'^ 4HH^^^*'^
and wagon^wheels have clattered Qw^p*^^*^
turies. w'
The matter massed up against the
sides has all the appearance of that of ._ ,._. ^^
the Alps. A moraine, as m^ ^ fa»^^^JK
persons, is the accumulation of looae-iMrtti^ •fl*
glacier brings down in its course
base. The matter seen here, as %\
s
Alpine glaciers, is a coarse, paleiMm^
(MAMsmiam mnxmiimm joubkal.
add
Po«g:h stooM of all dzet up to many toaa — mixed oon-
ruK^jr — with here and thei« little nests of matter,
vbere the clay and sand have been separated and laid
lown by water. Over this matter In some i^aces are
itratifled sand and gravel, coming to flat, terraced
forms, like sea-beacbes. These, howerer, are rare ob-
jects. The tendency of the whole appearances, in an
onprejiidiced mind, is to convey the idea that ice has
been the cause of the main phenomena. That water in
\ny form could have produced them is utterly inadmis-
lible, though this was tlie supposition formed by the
Qrst scientific observer, M. Sefstrom. Persons who
bave only read descriptions of the appearances may
think them explainable upon an aqueous theory ; but
if they visit Sweden, and look at the surfaoe with their
own eyes, they must, if open to conviction at all, see
that no such agent could have produced such effects.
Only some agent applying forcibly, prcssingly, and with
an equable, oontinuous motion — like a phine going over
a deiU, or a plough in a furrow — could have so dressed
the original surface. Such an agent is ice. The iden-
tity of the loose matter with the moraines of existing
glaciers points to the same conclusion. I therefore
believe, 'with M. Agassiz and others, tlint ice has been
the means of smoothing the surface of Sweden — ice oh
a scale of grandeur beyond what we are accustomed to
see ; though how such a glRcial sheet was orij^inated,
and how it could move across the whole irregolar
face of a large country, up hill and down hill, main-
taining over wide provinces one direction, I think it
would be difficult to explain. We perceive clearly the
nature of the agent, and we see this agent still at Work
upon the earth, though in a limited manner: the only
difficulty is as to the different physical circumstances on
which depended th^ magnitude of the plienomcnon and
the manner of its application.' Tl)e superficial arrange-
ments of the loose matter speak of a subsequent dip
under water, a fact of which I shall hav6 occasion to
show other evidences.
The country parsed orer in tirfs day's jonm^ is not
interesting to any but the geologist It presents only
a series of humble-looking farmsteads, and one or two
small and unimportant towns. The farmhouses heat
a general resemblance to tliose of . Switzerlarid, but
want tJie overhanging caves, and are less pictufesque;
though some are painted of a red or ochrey colour,
which giv*s a cleanly effect. Unlike Switzeriand,
too, barns, byres, and all sorts of store-offices occupy
detached buildings, an arrangement by which the risk
of fire is materially reduced. The scenery, though
sufficiently rude, is not romantic; for the hills are
in general only a few hundred feet above the levCl of
the sea, and their outline has been rendered tame by
the glacial polishing above described. Tlie ice, as i
sometimes 8xn*pH8ed my Scandlhaviah friends by re-
marking, has been a great enemy to the pictureeque
in this region of the earth. Tliough ' tliere is no want
of population, the country is dull. One niisses even
the little taverns and huckstry - shops which every-
where give a sort of Kfe to tlie roadsides in ]Ehigland and
Scotland. In the afbemoon we came to a flord, and
found at its upper extremity the town of Uddevalla, con-
tainmg from 3000 to 4000 inhabitants. Uddevalla is a
name of no small interest in science, because of a great
bed of ancient shells found near it. This, too, is a kind
of object very rare, and only seen On a most Umited
scale in the superficial formations of Britain. The
e(fM was novel and startliilg when, on the hill -face
overlooking the fiord, and at the heiglit of two hundred
feet above its waters, I fbund something like a group
of gravel-pits, but containing, instead of gravel, nothing
but shells ! It is a nook among thef lillls, with a surface
whidi has originaHy been flat in the line of the fiord,
though sloping forward towards it. 'We can see that
the whole -space is fined to a great depth with the exu-
viie of marine moUusks, cockles, mussels, whelks, &c.
all of them species existing at this time in the Baltic,
with only« thin covering of vegetable mould on the
■orfaee. That surface has been broken In several places
by the peasantry, who dig and carry away these spoils
of ancient seas to spread them over their lands. I feel
sure that some of their excavations are twenty feet
deep ; yet that is not the whole thickness of the shell-
bed. Of course it is a proof of the sea and land having
formerly been at a difierent relative ievcd; and one more
convincing could not be desired. I was familiar with
this as a geological fact ; but the shell^-hed of Uddevalla
presented it with a freshness and UTeliness of evidence
beyond what I would have expected. Seeing these
shells so entire, so like in all respects to any bed of
shells on the present shore, one looks upon tJie period
antecedent to the assumption of the present relative
level as a thing of yesterday ; the whole series of inter-
mediate eVents, including, what is probably butm small
part of it, the course of the written history of the human
race, seems concentrated into that brief space which,
relatively to the entire history of the unlvefse, it actu-
ally occupies.
My haftinc-place for th« first night was at Quistrom,
^en and a-half Swedish, or about sevienty English miles
from Gottenburg. This reminds me to remark tliat
the mile in Sweden, in consequence of aii arrangement
adopted during the last century, is fixed at the tenth
part of a geographical degree, which, it will be remem-
bered, is about 69^ English miles. For sudi spaces as
we' require the term mile tg desiguatCfthe Swedes speak
of quarter and half- quarter/ miles. The roads exhibit
fbrmidable *fnilestones* fbr each quarter, viuiUy adorned
with the initials of the king under whose reign they
were erected. In the whole of this day's iourney I had
passed only one gentleman's house— a pretty place with
a park, hear Quistrom ; and I was afterwards informed
that it belonged to, ati Etiglishman. Ck)untry-houses,
Of a character approaching that of an English gentle-
man's mansion, are objecU scarcely existing in either
Sweden or Norway, except in the immediate neighbour-
hood of the larger towns. .
At Quistrom I was shpwn into a large room in an
upper floor, uncarpeted, but strewed thickly with small
pieces of pine spray ai>d juniper bush, the scent of which
is abundantly pungent This is a description applicable
to most public rooms in the country iuua of Scandinavia,
the vegetable sprinkling being desigijed for exactly the
same ciTect as a sprinkling of j'cllow sand in British
houses of a humble class. In obedicDce to the forebud
order, a meal was ready to be laid down for me, consist-
ing of two small dishes of animal food, with milk, cheese,
and hard cakes of rye* Everything was clean, though
homely. A married pair with a child had arrived in a
light vehicle about the same time with me; and as soon
as I was done with eating, I retired to my,, bedroom,
that they might sup in privacy at the same table. They
had a bedroom at one side *, I one at the otlier, a plain
small room, altso uncarpeted, and possessing little furni-
ture besides a small couch of plain deals. I mention
these things as characteristic of the roadside ions all
over the country. Here, as everywhere else, there was
snowy bcd-Iineo. I feared the entomology of the houses
but was agreeably disappointed. The stories told of
Sweden and Norway in this resect are surely exag-
gerations. At least I can say, with a aafe conscience^
that of the cimicida: I never saw one example, and of tlte
species pulex irritans only two, during the whole time I
was in the country. It is a ]>oint not unworthy of
notice, for, under diflbrent impressions, I had for many
nights much less steady sleep than is desirable for a
traveller.
An early walk next morning showed me the situation
of the inn in a pleasant valley, where a river terminates
in a flord. The river, I was told, contains abundance
of flne fish, and I bethought me that for an angler such
an opportunity of sport, with so cleanly an km to live
in, might be very attractive. Quist having cootcived
the night before to get several forebud notices sent on
by a private hand nree of expense, I started at eight
o clock, with some uncertainty as to the conclusion of
330
CfiAMBfiE8*8 EDINBtfRGH JOtmKAL.
mj day's joornej. The country passed over to-dty
consisted A low rocky hills, all smoothed, with spaces
hetween, filled up to rariotis heights with detrital
matter. This matter nsnally composes flats, and the
ground therefore joins the rocky hUIs almost as moun-
tain lakes join the sides of the hasins containintf them
—a feature spanking significantly of the operaUons of
the sea upon the stuff left at the conclusion of the
glacial action. Contrary to my expectation, Tery few
houlders appeared upon the hills. Sometimes a rill
cuts down the aUurial flat, and then we see a series of
cultitated fields on the bisected level spaces, frontiered
by steep pastoral banks, all in a flush of wild-flowers,
llie rounded gray rocky hills ; the alluviai flats, some-
times cultiyated, sometimes in moorland ; low, gray,
stone enclosures ; red wooden houses scattered at wide
intenrals ; now and then a whitened church, with a red
wooden spire, topping a low height — such were the pre-
dominant f\eatures of the landscape during this morn-
ing's drive. The people are remarkably civil and inof-
fbusire : not a man or boy do I pass or meet who does
not take off his hat. I feel this as courtesy, not as ser-
Tility, and am careful to return each greeting duly, in
order that so amiable a custom may not sufier by me.
There is one singular impediment in trarelUng : almost
every few hundred yards — though often at very much
wider intervals-Hi gate crosses the road, being part of
the system of farm enclosures, and having a regard to
the exclusion oi cattle from the com-flelds. Generally
some cottage child or group of children is ready to run
and open mo gate fbr the approaching vehicle ; and for
thb service a minute coin, such as the third or sixth
of a skiUing, is regarded as a rich reward. Where
no such aid is at hand, tiie charge-taker of the horses
has to descend and throw up the bar. Another novel
feature of the roads is the fi^ttent appearance by the
wayside of little poste bearing small boards, which con-
tain an inscription — as * Hede, 200 alnar,' * Hogdal, 134
alnar,' &c. The explanation is, that the roads in Swe-
den and ICorwmy are kept up by the bonder or peasants,
eadi taking charge of some small section near his farm.
The bourds show for what piece each is answerable, the
space being indicated in dls. A public oflicer makes
periodical rounds, to see that each person executes his
portion in a satisfiictory manner, and to impose fines
where the duty is neglected. This ^rstem partakes of
the character of the compulsory f^irnishing of horses,
and imparts a curious idea of the stete of public opinion
in these countries as to personal liberty. It appears
that, let there be never such liberal or democratic forms
established on the continent, the stete of individual
liberty remains the same: the central government is
stiU permitted to bandy about the simple subject at
ite pleasure. And the oddest consideration is, that,
amidst all the democratic struggles and revolutionary
writhings which occasionally take place, no one thinks
of complaining of these trammelmente, or getting them
corrected.
In the evening I approached a fiord called Swine-
sund, which forms the northern limit of Sweden in this
direction. At the last stetion on the Swedish side an
elderly officer-like man came up with great politeness,
and addressed me, first in Swedish, and afterwards in
German. It was his duty to search the baggage of
travellers before they should pass into Norway, thou^
I cannot imagine for what reason, unless the exaction
of a rigs dollar, or some such trifle, which I paid to
save mysdf from detention, furnish one. At a house
on the Norwegian margin of the fiord something more
was paid, my passport inspected, and my name entered
in a book. The tendency on the continent to petty
impositions of this kind is so great, that here^ even be-
tween two countries under one sovereign rule, they are
kept up. At this point a bag of Swedish money, with
which I had been fUmished at Gottenburg, and with
which I was just beginning to become familiar, ceased
to be usefiol, and a new kind became necessary. Laying
down rigs-gelt dollars and skilUngs, I had to take up
with specie dollars and marks. A nga-gdt doflair, I
mav remark, is equivalent to IS^d. of Eng^h money,
and the skilUng is Ito for^-«ighth part Calculations are,
however, made in an aU but Imaginary denomiDatioo
called dollars and skUlings banco, which are aa S to S ef
the actual rigs-gelt The prevalent monies are, is
reality, notes of 1, 3, 5 rigs-gelt dollars, and for 8, 13,
16 skiilings banco, the smaller of this paper-mooev
being for S^d. Bnglish. As may readilj be imaf^ned,
the threepence -halfpenny note is genmllx Unaad. in
no v^ neat or cleanly state ; yet though it may be a
mere dot of dirty paper, not much difibreot in ^pear-
ance firom a hnddled-up spider^s web, it will be pte-
ferred by the natives to coin, provided it only retain iha
signature of the government banker. In Norway, they
have notes for 1 specie dollar (about 4a.. ed. Engli^),
2, 5, and 10 ddlars, with silver marks and half-marks
(9d. and 4fi), knd copper skiilings. I need msuedf
remark that the plunge into a new money in the course
of continental travd is always a painfhl thin^ and that
it is a vexation which occurs the more frequentij the
more rapidly you travd. On this occasion I had bad to
make acquaintance with three kinds of mone^ in about
a week.
I spent the night at Westgaard, the first statum
within Norway, and one somewhat superior to tiie last
I here observed the fhrst examples of a piece oC tubstan-
tial furniture very common in the north — namely, large
cheste or arks, usually bearing the name of a pmo^ aad
an old date in quaint lettering, such as * Agnes Oben,
1733.' During the two previous days the weatho- had
been dull and ungeniaL The third moming proved
bright and dear, and I started at an early how for
Fr^erickshald with elevated spirite. This place was a
few miles out of the way ; but I was anxious to ne the
scene of the death of that extraordinary prince who, as
Johnson says —
II
-* left a name, at which the waM gl«w py«.
To point a moral, and adorn » tale.*
It was j^t scarcely past seven o'dock when we drort
into the inn-yard at tnis little town. The Uodkid Boaa
came, and being able to speak well in French, and a
little in English, he proved a most servioefthfe ally. I
was quickly on my way, under proper oondnct» to the
scene of the assassination of poor Carl Tolv. Fie-
derickshald is a neat, deanly town, at the head of oae ef
the smaller fiords, and tiie fort lies dose by, parched
upon a rocky eminence of considerable extent, at the
foot of which runs a river, noted for several fiae water-
falls. A painful ascent of two or tiiree hundred &el,
along zig-xagging causeways and fbr^fled waDs, fariag*
us to the fortress, which seems to be now chiefly a
post fbr soldiers, like Edinlnffgh and Stirling
Behind the main buildings is a apace of irregnls
ground, endoaed within the exterior defenoeai Heie an
enclosure of trees and shrubs, and a little tamolos of
stones, one of them bearing a half-obliterated inscrip-
tion, marks the spot where Gharies XIL was slain. Be
had invaded Norway in his usual madcap style ; one «C
his armies, consisting of 7000 men, had there been lite-
rally buried in a snow-storm $ he was now directing la
person the siege of this fortress, when an unknown hand
despatched him by a shot which peneteated his temple
(December 11, 1718). He was found dead, but with
his sword half-drawn, as if to defend himself froin soaie
enemy, or to punish an assassin, and it ia aooordioiiy
believed that the wound was inflicted by one of his own
people. A survey of the ground supporte this view of
the matter, as at such a place one does not readily s»
how the fatal shot could nave oome from the foitnss.
I had afterwards an opportunity of eramining the dms
worn at this time by the king, in the Biddsnbilm
Churdi at Stockhohn. The phun cocked-hai shows the
hde by which the bullet entered, and the tight gkvc
is stained with blood, as if the unfortunate mooAich,
under the flrst impulse of the moment^ had dapped his
hand upon the wound.
I.
CHAMB^RS^B EDmsimGH JOURNAt.
331
After breakfast, I took a walk aroand the town, and
very much enjoyed the tiews almost everywhere pre-
sented, bat particularly one from a noted place within
a gentleman B pleasure-grounds. Frederlckshald ap-
pears to me a more pleasing and interesting place than
the guide-books allow. In the little park alluded to I
found a private cemetery, containing the graves of eight
adults and three infknts. Each grave is a well-defined
heap, with tntf sides and ends, but a top of bare earth,
on which is laid a single wreath ; all the rest of the
ground bare earth. Such it a prevalent style of sepul-
ture in the north ; it has a neat and pretty effect One
likes to see a grave well-defined. That smoothing of
the ground, !ntn)duced in some of the improved modem
cemeteries of England, is not, I tiiink, an approvable
step. We desire the ' mouldering heap,' so afibctinglv
significant of what is below, and so associated with all
our old literaiy ideas upon the subject. '
After receiving a lesson in Norwegian money fh)m
my intelligent landlord, Mr Stein, and so many civilities
of various kinds, that I felt ashamed of the small bill
which I had to pay, I set out on the way to Christiania,
returning for some miles along the way by which I had
come from Westgaard. As we drove out of the town,
I was, as a stranger, honoured with a sufficient quantity
of observation by the people. To add to the fracas pro-
duced by the carriage, a foal came clattering along by our
side, apparently under a filial mistake as to one of our
horses. Presently a cart was heard making a furious
rattle along the stones behind us, as if still ft^ther to
make my poor equipage an object of puUic attention.
It was the mamma of the foal, who, having missed her
progeny in the market-place, was now anxious to
recover the lost one t there she came, with motttii dis-
tended, and eyes glaring, the whole aspect expressing
the utmost excitement, and saying as plainly as Words
could have spoken it, * Whafs all this 1 — taking away
my child r The whole was so vividly like human
affairs, that I felt inclined to stop and apologise for our
unintentional concern in the elopement; but Quist
settled the matter more summarily by a smart appli-
cation of his whip to the haunches of our undesired
attach^. It may be remarked that in Norway the foal
is often aUowed to accompany its parent, even in coach-
travelling. I have seen it come the whole stage, never
missing any opportunity afforded by a pause of our
machine to oome up and indulge in tiie mode of nutri-
tion appropriate to its age. Horses are altogether less
under strict rule in the north than with us, and it
appears to me as if they consequently were more natural
in their conduct For one thing, they are eminently
social witii one another. In the course of a long stage
over a thinly-peopled country^ if we oome at length to
a park where a hone is feeding, even I could almost say
though out of sight, our own pachyderms are sure to
get up a great sldrl of recognition, just as much as to
say, • How are you ? — ^how are you ? * My predecessor,
Mr Laing, alleges that they have a rational way of
eating not observed in the horses of less democratic
countries — taking first a quantity of their hay or corn,
and then a drink ; but I cannot say I ever could ob-
serve them acting in this bite - and • sup manner. Of
their amadng st^iness, sureness of foot, and hardi-
ness, abundant evidence is presented to every traveller.
In the middle of the day we arrived at the brink of
the river Qlommen, a copious stream, which contains
the drainage of a large distoict in the centre of Norwayi
and which is here remarkable for a cascade of great
grandeur. The fall is at a place about an English mile
above the ferry: the flood pours in one mass through
a narrow channel, and makes a descent of about seventy
feet It would be an unexceptionably fine sight but for
the details ctf an enormous fimber-sawing and export-
ing establishment which press in upon its beauties,
and usurp not a few of its most romantic points. The
river runs fourteen English miles below die waterfall,
but so gently, that ships come up for the timber $ and
the river is there accordingly an active commercial
scene. I observed at the falls specitnens of the smoothed
and dressed rocks, over which the water streamed in
an oblique dh^ction — a fhct than which nothing could
be more convincing as to the incompetency of water to
produce the effects attributed to the ice. The country
is here low, and not marked by any features of grandeur.
There is an alluvial plain of the most absolute flatness
for fully a mile in every direction around tiie ferry ;
and from the measurements which I made (starting
ftom the sttrfiu» of the rivef at that point), I suspect
this to be identical in elevation above the sea with the
terrace at Blsinore. This is, however, a point which
must be left for determination to the native inquirers.
We stopped for the night at Moss, a town on the
Christiania Fiord, where my servant and I had each an
evening and morning meal, with lodging, at a charge of
one specie dollar. Yet this was a good large house,
very tolerably Airnished. A small silver coin (value
about 5d.) laid in the hardened palm of the blithesome
lass who served as an attendant in all capacities made
her the happiest of the happy. As a serving-girl in
Denmark, Sweden, or Norway, onl;^ gets about 30s. a
year of wages, it may readily be imagined that even
so small a gratuity as this is a great prize to her. It
is nec^essary, however, to be carefhl to give such a
gratuity directiy to the person for whom it is designed,
as it will not otherwise reach its destination. At this
place there are alluvial terraces atvariom elevations
above the sea, and predsdy resembling the ancient sea-
margins of the British coasts. A circumstance worthy
of note occuned in the business of measuring their
elevations, which I did with a regular levelling appa-
ratus. The sea is here presented in two detadi^ bays,
embracing a peninsula of several miles in extent, yet
approachhig within two hundred yards of each other,
with only &e division of a low isthmus. One of these
bays appeared by my survey as 0'9 foot above the level
of the other. Tlie cause was in the wind, which blew
up the one bay, and down the other.
There remained only a forenoon's journey to Chris-
tiania. As we approached this capital, there was no
observaUe improvement in the appearance of the coun-
try ; no better houses, no trimmer or larger fields, no
smarter-looking people; the same rough and homely
character over all things. The roads are made of the
sand and gravel found everywhere near their borders ;
no cuttings anywhere for improved gradients. A rise
of 1 in 5 is not uncommon when any of the rocky
ridges between the plains has to be crossed. Two miles
fh>m Christiania we come to the brow of a hill, whence
we see the bright white city with its blue and red-tiled
roofs lying below at the head of its fiord, backed by
green slopes ascending to the pine-dad hills. The
descent of this hUl is terrible, from the extreme steep-
ness of the road, especially at its somewhat sharp turn-
ings. Having a geologist's climometer in my pocket, I
measured the slope in some places with all possible
care, and found it actually on an angle of 16 degrees,
impljring a rise of 1 in 34 feet I deemed this a strange
sight so near one of the capitals of Europe; but I must
do the Norwegians the justice to say that a better road
is in the course of being made.
On the two last days' journeys we met many parties
of Norwegian infiEmtry on their march or exercising.
They are a good-looking soldiery, neaUy dressed in
white duck-trousers and green fhick-coats, with bur-
nished-leather hats rising to a metal peak, each bearing
the arms of Norway — a ramping lion holding a battle-
axe. As to this ensign, by the way, though gratifying
to the national vanity, and poetically conveying the
idea which its originators intended, it belongs to a class
which cannot be scientificidly contemplated without a
shock. The philosophical zoologist reflects on the
adaptations of the natural organs, and knowing the
very peculiar formation of the anterior extremities of
the feline family — so well contrived for dutobing and
tearing a prey, so useless for every other kind of pre-
hension— he cannot enduie the idea of one of these
i
332
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
auimals being supposed to hold a weapon only adapted
to ike hand of man. Heralds, if thef could ^ink of
any tiling iMside their own professioa, should study these
ihingsl E. C.
PLAN FOR MAINTAINING THE INDEPENDENCE
OF THE LABOURING-CLASS.
It has often oeanroed to us, and we hare onoe or twice
hinted at the idea in ths Journal* that the woricing-
olassas might make a protition for tbemsilTes in times
of want, whether oocasioAed by failure of employment
or natural disability through disease or old age, if they
could be induced to agree to a system of stoppages like
that which has existed for ages in the mercantile navy
for the support df Greenwioh H\ipitaL We find that,
ia 1^43, probal^ before the date of any reference of
CMirs to the subject, though unknown to us, Mr David
Milne, a patriotic country gentleman of Scotland, and
waember oi the Scottish bar, made a suggestion to this
effect to tki^ commissionerB who oonduobed the Poor-
Iaw inquiry in Scotland. His idea was this :^Let some
SBiaU sum, B£^. sixpence a month, be deducted from the
amount pf wages under a law to that efibct, and thrown
into a fund upon which every contributor would have
a claim, lie copceired that, in five years, so much
would be accumulated, that the managers might begin
to giTe support to any number under a twentietii part
of the original contributors. Some one had suggested
to Mr Milne that it might be well if the law taxed the
masters to an equal extent for the benefit of the fhnd ;
bil^lie rejected tliis idea, on the ground of its mjnstice,
ana because it would induce employers to be less
anxious to carry on their works in unfavourable times
for the jake of giving bread to their people. * It is also
to be eonsidered,* says Mr Milne, * that the duty of
BLXpenee a month for each workman would, in ordinaigr
times, wlien trade is prosperous, and labourers in de-
mand, aet^oally fall upon the employers, because the
natural competition of trade would make up for Uie
deduction of dUty by a cerrespondrog rise of wages.'
Mr Milne was, however, not unwilling that appeals to,
and even^a general. assessment upon, tiie rich should be
resorted to when the f\md failed under the pressure of
any unusual calamity.
There cannot, we think, be a doubt that if this plan
were practicable, it ^ould be a great improvement In
our social -economy. At present, the bulk of the work-
ing-peqple of this country have scarcely anything to
save them from a state of dependence whenever they
fail in getting work, or are no longer fit for it. In Scot-
land, the able-bodied man who cannot obtain work and
wages, has no legal reaburse to the poors' funds. In
England he has, but accbmpanied by conditions calcu-
lated to lower the man in his own eyes ; and therefore
the privilege is no true advantage. Even though the
poors' funds were more available than they are, the
honest workman who wishes to maintain hb self-respect
can i^ver complacently place his trust in them; for
though it is not uncommon to hear individuals in
humble life proclkiming that they have a right to them,
the fact really is, that th^se funds are only a product of
the humanity and economy of the country, designed
^to insure that there shall be no class left to misery
and the barbarism attending it, but not to interpose
between any one and his obligation to gain his own
subsistence if possible. In plain truth, he who accepts
parochial reTief sells away some of his very best rights
as a citizen, as w«ll as his dignitr as a man ; and any
one who wish^ to exalt either the social or political
position of tlie labouring-class, should desire notliing so
much as to see them in the first place superior to all
but A remote chafice of o6ming to this wretched expe-
dient If Any feasible and easy-working plan could be
devised for enabling them, mainly by sacrifices on their
own part, to defy the prospect of becoming paupers, or
ieaving their children to pauperism, they >roukl cer-
tainly have received the greatest boon that toy philu-
thropist could confer upon them.
We fear that no sudi plan is at present practicable.
There is too much prejudice among the labcmrmg-dau
against theur employers to admit of its being Koared
with general favour. While an hooourable mioority
would be glad to see their independence secured, tbe
^^eat mass would imdonbtodly prefer goug on opoa
their present footing, careless how soon the faihire of
business or the occurrence of sickness ihould depri?e
t^em of an independent subsistence. Some stioh pka,
however, may oe expected to be reslised whes the
labouring-class shall have acquired a joat feeliof fat
their own character, and a jt^ sense of their lebtioo
to the rest of society. It wf^uld only be s fair and pro-
per part of a social system in which the higlieit briieiti
of a true dvUisation were worked out. , H'oir torn it
may come about will depend on the rapidify witlivliidi
the education of the mass^ of the people ihall proceei
If, from any narrow views' o( whatever kiod, a Biembe
of the middle or upper classes in this couotry fiodi Im-
self thwarting the movements towards oiuTenal asd
improved education, l^t him understand vbat 1^ pajrr
for the grati^cation he thus obtains. lie pa^^it io
large poor-rates and prison-rated, and in the dli^fsn
which his humanity must be co'ntiiiui^yieoKtingnoin ,
the spectacle of a multitude of his fenoT.<»ahuei kit
to the sense of self-respect^ and cpQseqtMnt^ia^^^fited
to a vast load of ipisery. ' • .
THE LATE DR ZUMPT.
At an early stage' of our labours, msny yean igo,
we to<^ occasion to ofier, for the cooiideri^ d Ae
young, a memoir of Professor Hejme.of Ge<|iif9i^\is^
of thfe greatest scholars of the age, and who, hjM^d
perseverance, rose from a very'liubibie to sB«biti4
station in life. Heyne presefated not a^ 'sQanlpBS
insbmc^ of German enthusiasm. in gchoUu^iip- ' htm
own country; erudition seems to be pursued ck^f*
the sake of professional adyancen^eut, and ooDaqsc^
it seldom attains to any very lofty pitch. Hwferrf
our scholars, it may be asked, know any thing critipi^r
of the ancient classics ? How few write or apedt Istio
with elegance or purity ? How few ever saw any bbr
recondite exemplars of Homan literature thanekm-
tary school-books — the copy of a copy? lu Gmmf,
where rio sort of painstaking seems to be gwdged,
scholarship has gone, and still goes on, immensii^
farther. As in tlie case of Heync, WoU; Bxsam,
Boeckh, Vater, Gesenius, and others, menarette*
found devoting themselves to a whole lifetime rfw*
nest study in complete forgetfulucss of lel/. Umf
perhaps on the merest trifle, they bury thenwbwiBt
library surrounded by old vellum-bound cls»cs;«i4
there, poring over dingy yeUow pages, they om^
words with words, examine into tii merita oif pusdOr
tion and orthography, and detect new mMsing^ 19
they transfuse into themselves, as it were, t& vayiw
of their author. In this way, by colhtiiig old w
priceless versions of the classics — some of them mni»
script, and unique — tiiey are able to produce BwderM*
tions, which arc greedily accepted throughout ^^'■'^J
imiversities, and which have ttsnally formed the wu
of elementary works for British compilcra We itwj
know of few works in Latin common in oar «■*
whidi have not been copied in a reduced fcni w"
the painsfully-constmcted editions of Germsn «wj
We have been led into these observations from t «■•
to do honour to the memory of one'^idbye P*!*jy
gone to swell the already long lisfclrf^OiBM" F"^
legists. ' \ft • j^^
Carl Gottlob Zumpt, the individqlHi^fMB ^**
was born at Berlin in 1792. H|t^wiwi *y "r
wealthy : but in tiie circamstsDcei|^ wA »•*
CUAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
333
was placed at the beginning of the present centttry^ this
waa a matter of little importance. The oppreaaionB of
France pretty neariy brought down all ranks into one
common mass of distress and poverty. To meet the cruel
exactions of Napoleon, fiimlUea gare up every artide of
value to the state. For their gold they i«ceived tokens
In iron ; and these acknowledgments are still treasnred
by families, as lasting memoriids of an adversity which
took away almost everything but life. Amidst these
national sufierings and humiliations, Carl GotUob Znropt
received such an education as could then Be procured.
Fortunately he required no incitement to learn : from
childhood he bad been a diligent porer over books (
and the acquisition of languages cost him no trouble
Nature made him a scholar. After passing through a
lertes of sdiools and gymnasia in Berlin, be was sent,
by the advice of Buttman, the well-known grammarian,
to the university of Heidelberg, which at that time
enjoyed a high reputation. Kreuzer, Yoss, Boedch,
belonged to it, all of them men of talent, and celebrated
for their philological learning. During Zumpt's residcnoe
at Heidelberg, the university of Berlin was founded ;
and returning home, he finished his education in his
native city.
Though still a young man, Zumpt was already noted
for his remarkable attainments in the Greek and
Roman languages. Thrown upon his own resources, he
soon distinguished himself, and was appointed a teacher
in one of the principal seminaries. From this position
he subsequently rose to be Professor of History in the
Royal Military Academy, and 'finally to be Professor
of Roman Literature in the university of Berlin.
The life of a scholar is usually barren of inci-
dent. There is little to tell about Zumpt. Amidst the
cares of public teaching, he found time to occupy him-
self in writing various^orks, critical and historical, all
connected with hl^avourite branch of study. To
improve his knowledge of antiquities, he made a tour
through Italy, and^reece, which, while of considerable
service to him as a man of letters, unfortunately tended
to injure his health. This tour was made in 1835, and
after that year Zumpt laboured still more assiduously
at his critical editions of the classics, unmindful of
aught but that love of digging among ancient words
and thoughts which seems a fanaticism in the German
mind. His 'great aim was to be a Latinist worthy of
the Augustine age itself. Nor was he unsuccessfnil ;
for he wrote Latin with great elegance. He was sel-
dom required to speak the language ; but when called
on to do so, he delivered himself with correctness and
fluency. In this respect he is supposed to have had no
superior among his learned countrymen.
Holding this man in respect, not alone for his intel-
lectual, but his moral and social qualities, we shall
always consider it as something to say that we have
enjoyed his personal acquaintance. In the course of a
tour in Gvermany, and short residence in Berlin in 1847,
we had the pleasure of visiting him at his house in the
Burgher Strasse — a terrace-like street on a branch of the
Spree. We found Zumpt entombed amidst his books.
Tall in person, emaciated from study, and wrapped in a
dressing-gown, he rose and afiectiouately welcomed us
to Berlin in tolerable English — a language which, in
compliment, he insisted all his family should speak on
every occasion of our visit At this time he was en-
gaged on his edition of * Quintus Cnrtius ' — a work
which win long be regarded as a monument of his
industry and learning.
One of the objects of our visit to Zumpt was to con-
sult with him on the subject of an enterprise in which
he had recently engaged— the joint editorship, with Dr
Schmitx of Edinburgli, of a series of Latin classics for
use in schools. The projectors of this undertaking were
the publishers of the present sheet. Having in our own
early days experienced the dreary heaviness of ordinary
school classics, unrelieved by the slightest explanations
in English touching the subject or the authors, we were
glad to be instrumental in puttipg into the hands of youth
a series which th^ could peruse with some degree of
pleasure, or at all events not with absohite weariness and
disgust As Dr Zumpt entered heartily into the design,
the arrangement promised to have the advantage of
nattirallslog in Britain a set of editions drawn freshly
from com^arativ^y original sources, in place of tbe
bald reprints of antiquated copies. The task occupied
the amiable schdar during the nemainder of his too short
life» aft tlie close of which he had prepared the whoie
series excepting a portion of Horaoe, which has eon*
sequently (alien iato the hands of his nepbdw and son-
in-law, A. W. Zumpt A victim tq his study of auotent
literature, his failing ejresight first and afterwavds dis*
ordered viscera, admonished him to take some species
of relaxation. This counsel he took when to6 late. la
ibe hope of relief from his sufferings, he repai(ed to
Oaiiabad, a watering-'plaoa in Bohemia; and there, to
the greets grief of his family and friends, he died on tbe
S5tii of June last in the fifty-eighth year of iiis ag«.
The decease of the Illustrious Zumpt together with
the k)8s of Orelli, and the veteran HeUenist GottfHM
Hermann, both of whom £fed within the laat eig^hteeti
montlis, leaves a blank among European scholars which
will not soon be filled up. W. GL
COLA MQNTL /:
The conceptions of fismale beauty which menlbrm for
themselves are frequently, if not always, overturned by
some plain face, in which they find the mystic iui.
fluence they had suppooed to bdoag only to features of
a particular and more perfect mould. In Hke- mannar
our theories touefaSng certain departments of literatiire
are liable to be damaged now and then by the ap.
pearance of a work which fulfils not one of the con-
ditions we had laid down as absolute necessities. Now
here, for instance, is a ttdumft of fiction witiiout even
an attempt at a plot, and yet with a perfect enchain-
ment of interest^a iiero without adventures and with-
out a heroine, 3ret whose fortunes we follow with a true
excitement 1 How does this come about ? Why do we
love plain women, and admire ill-constructed books?
Be<^use there is an innate power in the irregular fea-
tures to exctte-our S3miipathie8, and a quality in authora,
called Genius, to command them. No man, we wiH
venture to say, possessing tommon sensibility, can read
* Cola Monti,'* although it is of the class of books for
young people, without a thoughtful brow and a glisten-
ing eye; and we have heard a family circle declare
that *they had found it impossible to lay down the
volume till they had finilhed it.'
Cola Monti is an Italian boy educated economically at
a boarding-school in England. His talent for drawing
exhibited itself first in caricatures of his companions,
and he then ventured to try his hand upon the master
himself. ' This was irresisdblo ; and when the Doctor
stood out in relief from the slate in all his pecullsrities —
his stiff collar, his upright hair, and his spectacles — the
likeness was sueh, that the boys gave a general hurra.
So much noise did ftliey n»ake, and so intent were they,
that no one hoard the door open, until the original of
the portrait looked ov«r Cola's shoulder and l^lield —
himself! It was a terrible moment in schoolboy annals.
The Doctor looked, frowned, gUnoed round at the young
rebels, then again at the slate. Whetlier it was that
natural vant^ made him icel rather pleased to see the
only likeness of himself which had ever been tidcen, or
whether Cola's sketch had less of caricature than na-
ture, it is impossible to say ; bat Doctor Birch smiled —
absolutely smiled ! He was a good-tempered man, and
the boys knew it i they took advantage of it sometimes,
the naughty fellows 1 So the smile gradually went
round, until it beCame a laugh« and the schoolmaster
could not help laughing toa' The boy-artist then, at
■ ■ ■ ■' ■ ■ ■ ■ ...
* Cola Montr ; or the Story of s Oenftw. Hy the Author of
« How to Win Tx>v«,' • Mfohoel tbo Mibsr,' &o. Loudan : Arthur
Hall and Ck>. 1849.
I
zu
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
the instigation of hit oompaniont, reiolTed to try hia
cluTalrous friend and patron Archibald M*Kaye: —
' Archibald looked surprised, and rather vexed ; for one
of his weaknesses was, that he could not bear being
laughed at j however, he took his station. Cola finished
the sketch, but it was no caricature : it was a capital
likeneu of Archibald's thoughtful head, with the soft
curling hair, and the calm, serious eyes, ** Why, Cola,
you ought to be an artist,*' cried the boys when thev
saw it Cola smiled, and his eyes kindled. "I will
try I" he said in his own heart, and from that day he
drew no more caricatures.*
Cola Monti's national and personal sympathies wero
now strongly excited in farour of a poor little Italian
organ-boy, who was found dying of starration by the
roadside. He had no other means of permanently
assisting him than by supplying him with drawings to
sell, in the hope of thus enabling him to collect a fund
sufficient for tlio purchase of a new organ, his own
having been destroyed. This fund at length amounted,
by slow accumulations, to L. 10 in silver ) but the organ-
boy, who had become devotedly attached to his patron,
could not consent to be thus paid off. Poor Cola was
now in destitution himself. His mother had died ; his
stepfather refused to contribute longer to his support ;
and in fact he was thrown adrift upon the world. The
generous debate between him and his protege was ter-
minated by both proceeding to London upon the fortune
of L. 10— Cola to pursue bis career of an artist, and
Seppi in the quality of his servant.
Arrived in lA)ndon, 'Cola woke the next morning,
dreaming that he was at school again, and that, some-
how or other, his class was all composed of great stout
farmers, who would persist in repeating their Italian
verbs with a strong Staffordshire accent. The dream
vanished mider the influence of a bright sunbeam that
crept through the small uncurtained window, and just
reached his nose. In London, the good-natured sun is
more partial to attic windows than to any other, and it
made Cola's tiny room quite cheerful. From thence he
looked, not at the street, which lay many feet below,
but skywards, where, above the tops of the houses, he
could see the great dome of St Paul's lifting itself up,
^rand and giant-like, with its ball and cross glistening
m the clear light of early morning. This was the first
sight that struck CoU in London. His artist-mind felt
it to the uttermost The numberless streets below
seemed so solemn and quiet, lying in the shadow of the
scarcely-risen sun -, and though even now the sounds of
life were beginning to stir, they were but faint as yet,
while over the dark and half-awakened city watched
its great temple, already illumined with the sunbeams.
It was a scene that Cola never forgot, and never will
while he lives.' He finds his way as soon as possible to
the National Gallery. ' I shall not enlarge upon the
feelings of the boy-artist when he beheld for the first
time this grand collection of paintings. He bad seen
many in his childhood ; but the memory of them was
grown dim. He looked on these with the sensations of
one blind, who re-enters a long-forgotten world with his
eyes opened. He began to understand and to feel what
Art really was. Tliis new sense dazzled and over-
whelmed him ; his heart beat wildly ; he trembled ; and
fairly subdued with emotion, he sat down iu the darkest
comer he could find, turned his face awi^ into the
shadow, while the tears rose, large and silently, to the
long lashes, and dropped on the arm which he raited to
hide them.'
Cola worked, played, and starved by turns, like other
friendless adventurers in London ) and then came the
grand event of his life — his first Academy picture —
which was very near being too late. ' Night and day
Cola worked, allowing himself only an hour or two for
sleep, and scarcely taking any food. His wild and des-
perate energy sustained him to a degree almost mira-
culous. Under the influence of this terrible excitement
his powers seemed redoubled; he painted as he had
never painted before. Archibald, evening after e?ening,
walked up from Islington, not to talk or
dared not do that in Cola's present stftte — bul to sit
quietly in the painting-room, watching his hihonn, aad
at times encouraging them with a few robdned vcfde
of praise, which Cola sometimea aoarcely heard. Stcb
M'Kaye was astounded by the almost mirAcukNis way
in which, day after day, the pietuie adTanoed to eam-
1)letion beneath the young artist's hand; and m he
ooked, he could not but acknowledge thai there is no-
thing in this world so strong, so daring, ao all-poweiful
as genius.
*Tbe first Monday in April came — ^there vere Iml
four-and-twenty hours left; Tuesday — there wen bat
twelve I Seppi stood by with the untasted dinner, bis
bright black eycB continually filling with teon. He
dared not even speak to his young msater, who» with
wild and haggard looks, was Minting stilL
' The clod( struck six as CoU's now tremhiing hand
put the last stroke to his picture, ai^ tank on a chair.
** It will do now, I think } it will not disgrace me at
least"
" No, mdeed it will not, dear Cola ! It is a beantifvl
picture," whispered the gentle, enooaragiag voioe of
Archy, who had come direct from Bread Street hither.
** And now, do have some dinner, or, what wid be better
for you, some tea."
** No, no { I can't eat : we shall lose the tine ; the
Academy will be shut Seppi> I rauat have a cah, mmA
go there at once."
* Archibald saw resistance would ha^o been t^b aad
cruel, so he quietly suflfered his fMend to step bito the
cab, and followed him. All the long ride to Tra&lgw
Square Cola did not utter a single word, hot mt mo^aa-
less, with his picture in his arms, M*Kaye oflcred to
hold it ; but the other rejected his aid with a aUgi^
motion of the head. At last Cola rdinquished this
darling first-fruits of his genius with a hxdL acHoethinf
like that of a mother parting from a beloved child, and
then sank fainting into his friend's arms. That
Cola Monti was in a brain fever.' The pacton
successful, and the boy-oaricaturist grew at the
time to be an artist and a man.
Although Cola Monti, artistioaily speaking, is aa
perfect story, it possesses both power and ^mmam of
no ordinary kind. The power is evident in the book
itoelf : the promise reste upon the hct, that the author
is a young lady now struggling* by her own unaided
genius, through the stony and ttioniy psths of the
literary profession. But we would not have her *e^
upon genius alone, or consider 'Cola Monti' as ai^
tiling more than a promise or a pledge. It is hke a
gleam of light disclosing partially, and £pr a ummkoI;
a scene which in some measure owea its bemty aad
value to the mind of the beholder. It ia svggestivtf
of high thoughts, fine aspirations, sad osemories^ It
throws the intellectual man back into his experienees,
and impels the daring and generous youth forwaid in
the path of his hopes and resolves. But in all thu it
relies upon those it addresses, pointing raytteriooriy
before and behind, and accomplishing nothing oi itseIC
But this is obviously owing to want of efSart, not want
of power. The author must fbUow the e%mnpie of her
heroy and give her days and her nif^ta to tiie lafaour
of her calling. She must look upon her hesttofwrs
attempts as so many separate stndiea, and oaaskraet
with t<nl and determination a work of art net afy
harmonious in colouring, not onlj aooarate in drawiogi
but skilful in Design.
LADY SETTLERS IN AUSTRALIA.
Dr Lang, in his description of the Port-Philip (fistnci, I
alludes to tlie success which may there attend frssale i
settlers who carry on the business of sheep-fumii^ cm |
their own account ; and mentions the following f^cts cm ,
the subject : —
* On the raomhig after our arrival at Gcekog, Dr Tfwm-
•on aooompanied me on a visit to Miss Drysdale, sn eldety
BUMden laay from Seetiand, whose aequahitaaee and ftMod-
:-
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
835
ship I had had the* honour of making on my first Tisit to
Geelong in the year 1843, when I had the pleasure of
roending a day or two under her hospitable roof^ Miss
Drysdale is a Udy of a highly -respectable family, and of
superior intelliffenoe, her brother liaving been the late Sir
William Drysdale, treasurer of the oity of Edinburgh.
Having a oonsldeiable patrimony of her own, and being of
an active disposition, and fond of rufal pursuits, she had
rented a large turn in fiootland, of whioh Mie superintended
the management in person; but being a martyr, as she told
me, to the coughs and oolds, and other ills that flesh is
heir to in our hyperborean Scottish climate, she resolved
to emigrate to a milder region, where she might hope to
cDJoy better health, while she continued to indulge in her
favourite pursuits, and endeavour to exert a salutary in-
fluence on some at least of her fellow-creatures, wherever
Divine Providence might fix her lot And, I am happy to
add. Miss Drysdale sees no reason to regret the step she
took, in pursuance of this resolution, in emigrating to
Philipsland. She has uniformly enjoyed excellent health ;
she is in the midst of sueh seenes, and soenery, and oeou-
pations aa she delighted in at home; the property she
invested in stock on her arrival in the colony must have
increased greatly during the interval tlmt has since elapsed ;
and she luis not only exhibited the g^dly and influential
example of a highly-respectable family living in the fear
of Qod, and in the zealous observance of ail the ordinances
of religion, in a country in which, I am sorry to say, such
examples are rare, but she has had it in ncr power to
render the most valuable services to some who really re-
qnired what she has proved to them— a Mend indeed. At
the period of my first visit to GKielong Miss Drysdale had
two of the younger daughters of the late Mr Batman resid-
ing with her, to whom she was benevolently discharging
the duty of a parent; and her charaoter aa a doer of good
was generally known, and gratefully acknowledged, in the
vicinity.
* On her arrival in the colony, Miss Drysdale determined
to " squat,*^ as it is styled in the phraseology of the country ;
that is, to settle on a tract of unoccupied crown land, of
sufficient extent for the pasturage of considerable flocks
and herds, with their increase for several years — a tract, in
an likelihood, from twenty-five to fifty square miles hi ex-
tent. For this land the occupant pays a yearly lioense-fee
to the government of L.10, which insures to him for the
time being the fUU possession of the entue tract ; and it
ia nnif ersaUy understood that while this fee is paid, and
DO oflfenoB eommitted against the laws and the oustoma of
squatting, the occupant shall not be disturbed, unlees the
land is sold in the meantime to* a &o;ia-/(^ purchaser, at
not less than L.1 an acre, or required for government pur-
poses—^neither of whioh events is, in ordinary circum-
stances, at all likely to happen. It has not been allowed,
for a good many years past, to give a squatting license of
this kind to any person within a considerable distance of
a township or village: but Miss Drysdale was allowed, as
a special exception from this general rule, to ooeupy a
station within four wiles of the town of Gkelong. On that
station she aocordingly ereeted a neat tbateked cottage,
with glased mstio lattice-windows, which she had carried
out with her from home, formed a garden, and fenced la
a sufficient extent of superior land for cultivation. The
oottage had been greativ improved, both externally and
internally, at the period of my visit in 1846. and three
years hsid made a wonderful change for the better upon
the garden, which had gravelled walks dividing the diflerent
parterres — the only instance of the kind I had seen in the
country, aod strongly reminding me of home.
*The situation of Miss Drysdale's oottage, to whioh she
has judiciously given the native name of the locality, Bar-
rangoop, which rignifies a turf, is on a gentle grassy elope
towards the Barwon River, with the garden in front. The
cottages of her farm-overseer and servants are close at
hand, and remind one of a respectable farming establish-
ment in tie old eouniry. On my first visit to Ckelong, I
found a respectable young man, who had been three ses-
mons at the tmiversity of Glasgow, as an intending candi-
date for the Christian mhiist^, out who had subsequently
abandoned his studies, and gone out as a bounty emigrant
to Port Philip, acting in the humble capacity of tutor to
the children of Miss Drysdale's overseer, a respectable
Scotch farmer, with a large family. Upon the whole, there
was something of a domestic character about Miss Drys-
dale'k establisnment generally which is but rarely seen at
the squatting statictfM of the interiors and I ooold not help
thinking that the very hones and cattle seemed to eoo-
sider themselvee more at home than elsewhere.
< After passmg Qeelong to the left, the Barwon River,
whioh in this psrt of its course is a beautiful stream, pur-
sues a south-easterly course, nearly parallel to that of the
western arm of Port Philip, to the great Southern Ocean.
About nine or ten miles below Barnmgoop it spreads out
into a series of lakes, as picturesque as any sheets of water
of that kind I have ever beheld. On my first visit to this
part of the country in 1843, I rode down to these lakes
along with Miss Newoome, another maiden lady, whom
Miss Drysdale had some time before taken into partnership
with herself— partly, I presume, that she might have some
kindred 6pirit---whioh, I am luippy to say. Miss Newoome
unquestionably is — to whom she might be able to whisper
that ** solitude was sweet.^ Miss Newcome was quite at
home on her high-spirited steed, and we gallopped along
through scenery of the richest description, beautiful grassy
plats alternating with clumps of trees of the most graceful
and ornamental foliage, tUl we reached the lakes. These
extensive sheets of glassy water, variegated with headUnds
and ialands, were absolutely alive with black swans, and
other waterfowl, sailing quietly along on their silent sur-
face. There must have been at least five hundred swans
in view at one time on one of the lakes. They were no
'*rar8B aves'* there. Their deep solitudes, however, are
effectually invaded now; for the white man will soon thin
their ranks in all probability, and force them to retreat
before the progress of civilisation.*
BOOTTISH BANKING.
Thirk is now reason to think that in pursuit of this object
our Scottish neighbours have got eonsiderably ahead of us
here in Engluid. The subject, indeed, seems congenial to
the shrewd fiaoulties of our northern fbllow-oonntrymen.
The founder of the Bank of England was a Scotchman : a
native of the same oountry originated the idea of the
Savings' Bank: and for a long period of time tiie facilities
and accommodations of bankmg liave been known and
practised beyond the Tweed to an extent very much above
what has been attained in this country. Here banks mi^
be said to exist solely or chiefly for the wealthier classes
of society; in Scotland the advantages which they aflbrd
are widely diffbsed among the middle rauks, and are shared
in a large measure bv the petty capitalists and retail traders
of the towns and villages. As a proof of the great exten-
don of the system, we find that throughout Scotland there
is a bank for every 7500 of the population — in some dis-
tricts for every 5000. In London, the proportion is stated
to be only 1 for every 32,894 ; in some parts of England
1 for every 16,000. The rapid progress in wealth and
civilisation whioh has been made by a oountry naturaUy
so poor and sterile, ho been attributed by many sagacious
obwrvers to the multiplication of its banks, and to the
fkcilities afforded by tnem. Capital has been made be
stimulate industry in a double ratio, by the increased acti-
vity and quickened speed with which |t circulates through
the ehannels of commerce. Above all, this great deside-
ratum has been attained without any sacrifice of the other
prime requisite of sound banking — stability. Within the
last century and a-half it is computed that the lose to the
community in Scotland by the tailure of the four or five
pubUo banks whioh have stopped payment has not exceeded
L.26,000. In England, during a much shorter period, the
loss occasioned by those fearful catastrophes, both in liOn-
don and in the country, with which experience has made
us familiar, has certainly exceeded as many millionf . It is
also a fact of much significance, that in 1793, in 1825, and
in the late crisis of 1847, the Scottish banks rode out the
ftorm which proved (ktal to so many English establish-
ments. It seems, therefore, no undue elaim whioh is set
up on the part of our northern neighbours, to a better
knowledge and more mature development of the principles
of banking than have been attained in this country. —
Mommg CkronitU* — [There is no move than justice done, as
we believe, to Scotch banking in this paragraph. During
the last twenty years and upwarda, there lu»ve been maov
banks set up in England on tie Scotch principle, as it is called ;
but there nave been many noted failures among them*
The fkct is, that In England they introduce cverv feature
of Scottish banking acospt the Scotch hrains In/ tchum Ininkins
has bem «o muoeetfiuly oondueted. It is true Scotchmen have
been get to aet m maDSgers, secretaries, and cashiers : but
what were all these in the hands of a set of English airec«
336
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
ton, who neccraarily hold the chief sway? In an English
joint-stock bank, the balk of the funds of the coi^ipany
will be found Tentnred oat in the hands of a few grand
speculators, on whose good or bad fortune the fate of the
establishment depends. No such thing was erer done in
a Scotch bank, tnm the beginning down to this day. On
the contrary, the life of the institution lies in a qniok cir-
culation and frequent turning over of a moderate capital
amongst a multitude oflroders of good credit. The capital of
an English joint-stock bank too often is an African river los-
ing itself in sands : that of a Scotch bank is a river dis-
persed in a thousand channels of irrigation, to reappear in
its entire form, and with increased volume, after it has done
its work. We do not believe, after all, that there is any
great witchcraft about banking in Scotland. The prudence
shown there is no more than what might be expected of
rational men. Tlie failures in England are to be accounted
for not by their want of some extraordinary gift which
chances to have been vouchsafed to their northern neigh-
bours, but by the fact, that England is full of people hasten-
ing over-much to be rich, and in whose circumstances there
are of course great vicissitudes. If ever England shall cool
a little in Mammon-worship, and pursue business objects
with the moderation of the Scottish mind, it may succeed
in joint-stock banking to as great an extent as Scotland has
done.]
PROFESSIONAL LIFE.
I cannot give yon, my young friends, a better description
of a suoccsnuL professional struggle, and the weirr and tear
of life, than that which the commentary of Dr Johnson
upon the life of Cheyne affords. It is drawn by the graphic
pen of the late editor of the * Medico-Chimrgical Review,'
an eloquent Irishman, himself a successful straggler. He
adds — * We have followed Cheyne in his march up-hill — we
see him at its snnnnit — we are to see him going down.
Such are the objects of human denres — songht with avi-
dity— obtained with difficulty — ei^yed with disappoint-
ment— and often, in themselves, the source of irreparable
evils. Success in a profession now-a-days has entailed, and
entails, such labour on its possessor, that few who know its
real natare can envy it. Saoeess means wealth and emi-
Benoe bought with the sacrilioe of all healthy recreation
both of body and mind. The daily toil is relieved only by
the nightly anxiety ; and, worn by almost uninterrupted
exertion, the/brtunafe man is deprived of most of tlie social
pleasures of life, and debarred from hidulgenee in its most
cherished affections* He acquires property, Josea hk
health, and often leaves the wealth of hia indostiy to be
squandered by children whom it demoralises.' Besides
all this, remember that it has been truly said, in the most
elevated position there is the least liberty, because that
very elevation invites observation, ntid excites ^st^. That
merit and that ability which would liaye earned a man
Micoessfully through the crowd, will bo found insufficient
for him who is the olyect of general scrutiny. You should
recollect, gentlemen, that even the position won by merit
and ability may be lost by a want of that contimied energy
and persevering struggle which overcame all the obstacles
opposed to your pioneering ascent. Tlie champion in our
profession, like in that of Christianity, must be ever pro-
gressing. A fall from an eminence is always perilous— in
the m^ical sphere, y&fo/ to fame. The world, in respect to
our calling, may be esteemed as a school ; the boy who has
obtatoed head place must labour assidnonsly to retain that
position against his less fortunate competitors. Homcmber
that sympathy is enlisted for the swimmer to the shore,
against the buffeting billows, rather than for the individual
w-iio had encountered the same obstacles, the same dmn-
gers, and the same difficnlties, but who haa aow appatently
Burmoanted and esoaptd §Xi-^JL0ctur» b^ Dr Uapden, ,
MRS FKT^S RULES.
1. Never lose any time: I do not think that lost which
is spent in amusement or recreation some time every day ;
but always be in the habit of being employed. 2. Never
cnr the least in truth, di. Never say an ill thing of a person
when thou canst say a good thing of him ; not onlv speak
charitably, but feel so. 4. Never oe irritable or unkind to
anybody. 5. Never indulge thyself in luxuries that are not
necessary. 6. Do all things with consideration, and when
thy path to act right is most dHfieult, feel coBfidenoe in
that Power alone which is able to assist thee, and enert Iky
own powers as fisr as they ga — Memoir of Elizabeth Fry.
SONNET.
BY CALDKS CAMPBSI.L.
Too mncb— too mnoh w» make Esrth't dutdows fitt
AerosB onr tho«ghts, neglecting, ta tlte dsrk.
The sonshlns we might woo in laae or psik.
By llstanhig to the hopeful skylark's oaU !
We fear too mudi, and hope too Utile : sU
That's threatened is not lost : csch one sa trk
Of ssfety wcU might bidld, If he a waU
Would raise 'twixtrasloiesssnddespslr! TbeUrk
Soars bravely towards the son— hot not too high ;
And we, like it, should dare and do; bat dsre
Aa soldiers, urged by courage, not deipslr,
To win a wise and bloodless viotovy }
Though Life shrinlcs back before its ▼ansl— DesUi;
We know it springs again, undimmed by aiorUl bnttb!
ROUGES DE l'ISLE AND TftB * XARSEILLAISI.'
Tliere appeared recently in this Joansl i\t JMkat
account of the origin of the * MarseiBaise:* t^ isllowiBg
is said to be the^^ ; — In April 1792, at the openiitf of tlie
campaign against Austria and Prussia, Roofcs de J7ite
was a captain of engineers stationed at Stnsbtn^ir' TU
day before the volmiteers from that eity were sbont to
join tlie main army of the Rhine, M. Dtelriek, fltttor of
the city, gave an entertainment, at which Roajies de tlik
and several other officers were present. A qnntion aro«c
as to what air should be played on the departure of tbe
new levies ; and it was thought dei^irable tfait Mime ifpt>-
priate and spirited national song should he dosen. Variosi
pieces having been tried and rejeeted as nasoitsble to tke
occasion, Rouges de risle left the company, retired to bs
own rooms, and in the course of the evening wrote the
words and mnaic of * Le Chant de TArm^ da Rhia' B^
foM the party at the mairis broke m, he returned wKk Ui
composition. Mademoiseile Dietrich aceoMpsaiod Ua n
the piano, and he sang the inspiriting song to tlie delfk
of all present. It was immediately put in rebesrMl,|ibf(ed
at parade the next day, and its popularity at once eM^
lished. Gradually it spread through Praios, tlie MuvB-
laise sang it on entering Parisi, and the nsMe it nov km
was inrevocably substituted for the original title. It sm
produced on the stage of the Opera at Paris is Oet«t«
1792, much In the style hi which Karhel gave it li tftS,
and was received by the andieiiee as ealhiisiaitiedyifft
had been by the populace.
PICKING ur TBOrCHTS.
Boys, yon have heard of blacksmiths who became wKjtn
and magistrates of towns and eities, and mn of ptn
wealth and inflnence. What was the seofet at tlwir «»
cess? Why, they picked up nails add pids in the stMft,
and carried them home in the pockets of their vairteisa
Kow, you must pick up thoughts in the ssme wa}r,aod SI
your mind with them ; and they will grow Into ott«
thonghts almost while you arc Msleep. Tlie woridiifci
of theof hta, and yoo will find tlicm sCrsired emyv^
in your path« — Elthu limrriiL
CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL C0UI8K
CLASSICAL SERIES,
WITH IHTaODUCTIOaS AKO NOTB8 IN KSSLtSI.
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JUctor (if the High Schdot, Etkt^bttr^
Kow Published^
lAlia Grammar, . . . . •
C. JulU Cseearis Oonunentarii de Bello OaUlee,
F. Ylrgilll Manmis Oarmlna,
a SalloftU Crispi CatiUni^ et JngwCha.
Q. Curtins Rufus, de Qestis Alezandri Uagai, .
M. TulUi Ciceconis Orationes aeleotae XIL .
*t* Other works in pcsparalloa.
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Dublin.— Printed by W. & R. Cham anna.
Irtf
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THE PEOPLE,* • CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ &o.
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Price 1^.
TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
CHRISTIANIA.
It wm Tery agreeAbfe, after more thftn three days of in-
cessant coaching tbroogb a rude country, to drire into
a good large town, enter a respectable hotel, and sit
down to a ciTiliied dinner. I was somewhat surprised
by the regular cleanly streets of Christiania, the stately
public baildings, and the goodly aspect of the people;
for somehow we alwa3rs form mean anticipations of what
is north of our own ordinary locality, and Norway has
no reputation for the fine or the ek^ot. The fact is,
that Ofaristiaiya is, comt»ni|iTely speaking, a modem
town, an expression of the contentment and prosperity
which this country has been enjoying for between thirty
and forty years; it has therefore quite properly a thriv-
ing and respectable appearance. Ita best streets, as
the Dronningen*s Gade {Queen Street)^ Prindsen's Gade
(^Prinoea Street), contain many really handsome houses.
Its enTiroos present the usual array of those pretty
Tillaa in which wealthy oitixens delight to live. There
if a harbour, aH in a bustle with little vessels loading
and unloading. Then the city has its fine objects
strongly relieved from the general mass — a large, white
palace, newly built on an eminence overlooking Uie
town, for the reception of royalty daring its yearly
visits — a suite of superb buildings in the course of
erection for the university — and a grand old fortress
by Uie side of the fiord, styled the CasUe of Agers-
huus. Eor a town of 33,000 inhabitaots, the public
buildings may be said generally to bt above the aver-
age. One of tlic most conspicuous is a jail, finely
situated on a neighbouring rising- ground. Unluckily
the Norwegians are just about to try the Penton-
▼ille plan with their criminals, when that plan is
beginning in England to be found a disappointment
The natural situation of the place at the head of a fiord,
with pine-dad hills all round, is very fine. There are
many good shops ; and f was glad to find that the
Bog og Musik Handels iBooh and Afusio Shops) were
not few, and of the first class in point of appearance.
Having settled myself comfortably in the Hdtel du
Nord, which is reputed as the best hotel, though it is
not incapable of improvement, and having despatched
acme letters of introduction to their destinations, I took
a ramble about the town and its environs. The gneissic
aeries of rocks here gives plaoe to the slate and the Old
Bed Sandstone, of which last rook the neighbouring
hills are composed, but without any fish fossils. The
rocks, where presented above the soil, are rounded and
poliahed like those already described farther to the
south ; indeed it is stated that the whole of the surface
along the borders of the Christiania fiord has been
dressed by the ice. Near the fortress of Agershuus I
fOfoaA some of the pdished and striated BvaSaota de-
scending into the sea, and to a considerable depth
below kt, without being in the least afiected by that
element, exactly as is the case with the similar surfaces
on the Gare Loch in the Firth of Clyde, first described
by Mr Maclaren.
Next morning, being Sunday, it was delightful, on
waking, to remember that there was no long journey
before me calling for an early start, and to feel that
consequently an extra dose of sleep could be indulged
in without self-reproach. In a life of activity and self-
taxation, one needs such little dilassemenU now and
then : I believe the machine could not go en well with-
out them. I was nererthelesB up and breaklasted in
time to attend the church at ten o*dock. A fine sun-
shiny morning; the streets quiet, empty, and bright.
Being anxious to witness the reUgious service of the
country under the most distinguished drcumstanoes, I
proceeded to the Dom Kirk, which I found to be no
andent Gothic structure, as is generally the case, but
a plain brick building, of perhaps, a century old, with
scarcely any medioBval featuoe but that of being in the
form of a cross. It may here be remarked that Chris-
tiania is wholly a modem town, having been commenced
early in the seventeenth century, near the site of an
dder dty called Oslo, which was burnt down. The
interwr of the Dom Kirk presents only plain white
walls; tall, narrow, round -topped windows; a semi-
cylindrical roof of short planks, painted a dull white ;
and pews along the side of a broad central walk, per-
vading both body and wings of the building. At the
west end, over the prindpal entranqev is an organ, a
fine large instrument, with a gallery tor the chdr ; at
the east end is a Communion-table, exhibiting two
gigantic candles, over which is a glaring carved altar-
piece, presenting the Crucifixion and Last Supper in
coloured figures as large as life. At a ihw minutes past
ten, when I entered, the bulk of the congregation was
assembled ; the men sitting on one side, the women (a
minority) on the other ; a large proportion of them a
humble class of peo^ile, many evidently strangers from
the country : others were of the class of ladies and
gentlemen, but much leas handsomely attired than the
corresponding portion of a metropolitan congregation in
En^and. Though aware that the established rdigion
of Norway is Lutheran, and less reformed than ours, I
was unprepared for the efibct produced by seeing, in the
east end of the church, all the more conspicuous objects
usually presented in the same part of a Catholic plaoe
of worship, even to the robed priest with the figure of
the cross upon his back. The organ was sounding and
the choir sinj^ng. Presently, on a pause taking place,
the priest turned tound — showing some other device^
on the front of his robe, underneath which was a white
gewn« He chanted a few woods fl:om the book in his
head, and t^ien the choir teoeannenoed singing. This
338
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
went on for some time, while the people continued to
come in and take their seats. At twenty minutes to
eleyen, a person adranced to the clergyman, and took
off the crimson robe and white gown, when he appeared
in a black gown and white quilled ruff, exactly like the
stiff pictures of the English bishops of the seyenteenth
century : a pale, dark-complexioned man of about forty-
five, with a well-elevated head. He advanced to the
pulpit, which is a superb structure of gilt scroll-work,
projecting from the angle between the choir and north
transept I had now time to observe that along the
walls, for a considerable height, are galleries Vith glazed
windows and curtains, like Ihe boxes at the Opera-
house, probably for special families of superior import-
ance ; but on this occasion they appeared to be empty.
It is an arrangement common throughout the better
order of churches in Scandinavia. The minister preached
thirty-five minutes — a read sermon, delivered with a
very moderate amount of gesticulation. I was of course
unable to understand any part of it, and only remarked
that at the name of Yeaous Chreeslous, as it is sounded,
all the females made an inclination. At the condusion
there was a prayer, and thereafter a benediction, at
which the people for the first time rose to their feet A
second more elderly clergyman in black gown and ruff
then appeared at the Communion-table, and chanted
a prayer or collect When the singing had concluded,
there was a second benediction, at which the people
rose again. Many now began to retire, but a con-
siderable number remained. A man like a teacher,
and I have no doubt actually one, stood up in front of
the Communion -railing, and, with the points of his
fingers placed together, addressed a few sentences to
the audience. He then proceeded to marshal a midti-
tude of boys and girls along the central walk, the boys
facing the girls as far down as their inferior numbers
extended, and the elderly clergyman then began to
catechise them, mingling much discourse of his own
with his questions and their answers. In the midst of
this tedious procedure I left the church.
The effect of the whole was novel and striking. To
find a church which has undoubtedly cleared itself of
all those features of Bomanism most exclaimed against
by Protestants, nevertheless maintaining many of those
externals of dress and ritual which give the Church of
Borne such a hold upon the imagination and sesthetic
feelings of its adherents, was peculiariy interesting to
an observer from the north of^the Tweed. The cate-
chising is an important part of clerical duty in Nor-
way, being connected with a system of confirmation
which forms one of the strongest anchorages of the
church. The being confirmed is established by law as
a previous step to all mingling in actual society. No
priest is allowed to marry a couple, one member of
which is UDconflrmed. No unconfirmed person can be
a student at the university, or attain any office. The
girl of humble rank would not be received as a ser-
vant, nor the boy as an apprentice, without being con-
firmed. It is a diploma essential to the gaining of
daily bread in all classes. A fee given on the occasion
is likewise important to the clergy, as a part of their
income. I heard that the common people are beginning
to express a sense of oppression under this system, com-
plaining, however, only of the hardship of the fee ; but
so rooted a custom could not easily be reformed.
Christiania is evidently a rising place ; and though
this is mainly to be attributed to its only having re-
cently assumed the character of a capital and seat of
government, I became convinced that no small portion
of it is owing to that general progress of the country of
which the growth of a metropolis is always a sure
exponent Ever since 1814, when Norway settled down,
with its democratic constitution, under the Bemadotte
dynasty of Sweden, it has enjoyed internal peace and
security ; and the resources fk the country have been
undergoing perhaps as rapid a process of development
as coi:dd be expected in a region so peculiarly formed
and carcumatanoed, physically and morally. I took
every opportunity, in Christiania and diewbere, of ia.
quiring into the political fortunes of the coQntrr, ni
on the whole, I tUnk they are good. The mtddDeii
certainly not without its jarrings and jammingi lar
more than others, and there is no reason, fhmtluioM^
to believe that democracy involves that ooosimimitin
of political good which its admirm didm far it Tet
Norway is, in the main, happy in its govenunat^ the
national will being fireely and folly expressed timngli
its Storthing, while it seems to derive a oettain rteidi-
ness from monarchy, without being exposed to 107 o(
the corrupting influencei of a court In comequeoee d
Sweden being under an aristocratic syitcsn, there ii in
Norway a sleepless jealousy regardbg it; ad thb I
always f^lt to be the most unptoaMnt featote of peUie
feeling which came under my attention h tiie north.
It has, however, the effect of binding the people lerj
much together, as far as themselves are oonooDed, ud
rendering internal faction and party hik knovn I
amongst them. It is also to be remarked that the JdJAf I
is completely exempt fh>m Norwegian jealm nd
ill-will ; hia uncommon personal virtoes, ud ha fibcnl
tendencies, render him, on the contrary, higUy popilir,
as was lately demonstrated in a remaikable uaiier,
when, a certain aum being aaked by him to eoopkls the
f\imishmg of the palace, the Storthing iutaotty voted
one much larger — a very uncommon (kct, Ib^Te,
in parliamentary history. Owing to the generiliatis.
faction of the country with its constitntioo, the jeir
1848 passed over Norway without mfBing its pofittod
plumage in any appreciable degree. The Korvegin
people would be above human nature if there vert aol
among them a set whose predominant Mmg k tomrii
concentration of power, and another whose main uniety
it is to make the voice of the masses as real sad ti
influential as possible ; but these parties have it tbe
same time so much unity of feding, that tiiey onnot
be said to be in collision. There Is a movement pntf,
feeble in the Storthing, but strong hi the pres. hi
demands are of a nature apt to exdte stmige iden ii
an Englishman. With us, as Is well known, the eliBMr
of such politicians is for the aristocracy of taknt tad
education — the aristocracj of nature— as a|aiDit tbit
of mere human appointment or the creation of hiv. b
Norway, the men of Uie movement, fhidiDg sa tririD-
cracy of this kind actually exerdring role, ai te u
there is any rule in the case, loudly demand ^ H
should be put under check. • AwHy,* they cry, 'liA
clever lawyers and astute offldala, and let the kaot
rustic repreaentattves bear the bell r WeneedKtfntj
aak what their cry would be if tilings wen letmij
put under a committee of bonder?
During my few days in Christiania I f^ aDfimiOf
pleasure in wandering about the neighbovhood, and
enjoying the fine views almost every where pceteoted, in
which the fiord and its numerous Islets alwaTi fccned
a distinguished part. The day was geoeraly t«^
warm ; but the evenings were delidoafly cool, sai te
might be said to last till within an ho« of mUniiljt
Again I felt how surprised many of my ffindi vw
have been to see what I now saw— the glaify «it«
and dear blue atmosphere of Leman Lake rinlkdkis
apot adjacent to the sixtieth parallel of Istitode. I
remarked that though there might be particTilar phaa
wanting, the general effect of the ornamental gmi9
and pleasure-grounds at Chiiatiania was much the iffx
as with us. The winter is of course severe is <»
parison with ours ; yet even here we most boC bi ta
ready to give the disadvantafe to Norway; for tbsiii.
if colder^ is drier, and therefore bitee less thaa !!»■■'
temperature would do under oar humid Jove. A atidK-
aged man, accustomed in his youth to Uve la be-
laud, told me that, for walking in winter about On*;
tiania, he never thinks of adding moire to hie ^tSm
ck)thing than a light paletot, exactly as he wwMdia
London, thou^ ki driving in an open omiage wV
dress is necessary.
The UBiveral^ haa abotti thirty^thise
i
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUBGH JOUBNAL.
889
and is usuAlly attended by between 400 and 600 atu*
dents. It ii said that the young men obtain here a
good education, but that, after it is completed, they
experience a difficulty in getting suitable appointments
and situations in life. The only professor with whose
name I was preyiously familiar is M. Keilhau, the
author of an immense number of treatises, chiefly geo-
logical, of which a distinguished series refers to the
proofs which exist in Scandinaria of comparatiyely
recent changes in the relative lerel of sea and land.
Although a yictim to bad health, this amiable man
ofi^red to conduct me to a spot near Christiania where
the remains of terpulct still adhere to the face of the
rocks at a considerable elevation above the sea. It was
some time since he had been at the spot, and quarryiog
operations are going on at it ; but he still hoped to be
able to show me some examples of this singular curio-
sity. I was conducted by him to a small hill called
Mserre-hougen, little more than a mUe from the streets
of the city. It is composed of beds of soft slate, mingled
with strata of noduled limestone, which seem like strings
of black beads crossing the roclc Under the cliffy side
of Uie hill excavations are actively going on : I much
feared that they might have led to the destruction of all
Bodi memorials as we were in search of; but after a few
minutes of diligent research, the professor announoed
that he had found some of the serpulsB still remaining.
He attracted my attention to the base of a low vertical
cliff, parts of which exhibit lateral polithiogs and
Bcratc^ngs } and there undoubtedly I saw, with a feel-
ing approaching to surprise, a few small calcareous
masses projecting from the face of the rock, which, on
near examinaticm, proved to be remains of the marine
animals in question. The spot is 170 Norwegian, or
about 186 English feet above the level of the sea. It
must have b^ lying high and dry for an enormous
I)eriod of time, during w^ch vast changes have been
going on in the world ; nevertheless there are the frail
domiciles of these sea-worms still clinging to the rock
on which they had been originally fixed, surviving the
palaces of Assur and Pul, the tomb of Alexander, and
nearly all the pomps of that antiquity which, in all
probability, is so much younger than they ! What is
perhaps the most interesting consideration connected
with the case, is the rigid nature of the evidence. The
serpula is an invertebrate animal, which forms a crusty
house for itself on rocks which are daily bathed and
exposed by the tide ; it can live and work nowhere else.
Nature, in such things, is absolutely invariable. Here,
then, when we see a rock a mile inland, and 186 feet
above the sea, bearing the remains of serpulse, we know,
with the utmost possible certainty, that that rock was
once a sea-cliff on which the tide daily rose and fell.
I^fessor Keilhau was afterwards so obliging as to
conduct me through that part of the university museum
which contains what he calls objects illustrative of the
styulivement of Scandinavia. Amongst others, there were
examples of shells and shell gravel, found in beds at
various elevations; specimens of the Mterre-hougen
rock-surface, with the serpulss adhering; numerous
examples of other rocks found in various districts of
the country, and exhibiting remains of sea-animals.
There was one remarkable piece from a spot at Sarps-
borg, near the borders of Norway and Sweden, stated
to be twenty miles inland, and 450 Bhenish feet above
the sea. In this case the evidence was unusually strong,
for day and sand are deposited at the place, covered
with a peat-moss containing remains of marine plants.
The whole of this curious and unique collection is in
the rexy nicest order.
Christiania is less remarkable for the cheapness of
articles of necessity than the country generally, which
again ranks in tiiis respect below Sweden. Elegant life
in Christiania may be described as expensive ; yet in
winter much gaiety is indulged in. The inquiries
which I made satisfied me that the numbers d poor
people, and the expense which they occasion to the other
fifMiactiC uo not mooh below what they ace in our own
country ; wealth and luxury being here apparently, as
elsewhere, in direct polarity with misery. Hence I was
not surprised to find mean and filthy suburbs in very
near neighbourhood to the palace recently erected at the
expense of a quarter of a million. Here is a theatre
with a Danish company, well attended in ite season. I
made carefUl inquiry after the business of literature,
and learned that there are twelve printing-offices in
Christiania, four of them having machine -presses
driven by human labour, and that about a hundred
books of one kind and another, including, however,
only a few new works, are published in a year.*
There are about eighty English people, of different
ranks, resident in Christiania. Mr Crowe, the English
consul-general for Norway, collecte such of them as
feel indined, in his house every Sunday, and reads the
liturgy and a sermon. He informed me that about a
hundred and thirty of our countrymen usually come
to Christiania in a year ; and to all of these persons,
I understand, when they possess proper credentials,
he shows civilities, rendering their stay in the city
as agreeable to them as possible, and furnishing all
the information that may be required to facilitate
their movements through the country. Most of these
strangers are gentlemen in quest of sport It is
sddom that an English lady makes her appearance
so far north. Though a matter in which I had not
the slightest personal concern, I made inquiries here
and in various other parts of Norway as to rural sporty
and became convinced that, excepting for salmon-
fishing in ihe northern rivers, it is not a good field
for that kind of amusement The museums in the
large cities afford evidence of there being an abundance
of species of wild birds in the country ; but abundance
of spedes is a different thing from abundance of indi-
viduals. Game birds, excepting ptarmigan, may be
described as rare. A man may walk a whde day and
acarcely aee a feather. How comes it, then, that the
markets are well supplied with game in winter? It is,
I understand, because the birds are then driven nearer
to the haunts of man for food, and so are snared by the
common people. Things are better than they were a
few years ago, in consequence of a game-law — one, how-
ever, having for its object merdy a good regulation, for
the general benefit, as to the time when shooting may
be commenced. As this law is not a defence of the inte-
reste or pleasures of one part of the community against
anoUier, it obtiuns the support of public opinion, and
offenders are informed against without mercy. Still,
Norway presente but a limited amount of sport for the
gun. In passing over ite immense wildernesses, I won-
dered that birds were not more plentiful. I marked
with some surprise that few living creatures of any
kind met my eyes, rooks and magpies bdng the only
birds at all common. I soon found an explanation in
the paudty of food presented in a country so thinly
peopled, and so little cultivated, and which, for so large
a portion of the year, is covered with deep snow. Eng-
land, with ite dense population, seems at first sight a
less fevourable fidd for animal life; and yet animal
life is there abundant in comparison with what it is in
Norway. The reason is, that food is more important
for animals than space or exemption fh)m molestetion.
England, full as it is of people, many of whom are said
to gain their bread with some difficulty, has yet more
to spare for the wildings of creation than a country
which has only a few inhabitanto of any idnd, and is
but little way advanced in dvilisation. Nor is food alone
concerned. In England the great wealth of the upper
classes is used in fostering all animals which can afford
1^ The enterprise of the boolceellen, and the sdranoed state of
Uthofraphy, ere evidenced by a work recently completed under
the UUe of Norge FrmutUlA i Teffninger^ being a eeriee of riews
of Norwegiui loenery, aocompenied by letterpress. Cbrietiania :
Wilhelm C. Fabrlcius's Bogtrykkerie. 1846-8. This work, which
costs about L.2 of English money, I would recommend to such as
desii« to obtain at home a good idea of the physical features of
MorwagTf and ths aspeoC of its principal towns.
340
CHAMBBBS'8 EDmBUBGH JOUBICALu
any unufement The coontry, in Addition to ito other
duties, is obliged to serre as a kind of nursery for these
creatures. Tliey are themselves fed, and their enemies
are destroyed. Nowhere else in the world is this the
case. Britain, tiierefore, in addition to all its other
high qualities, is the country whese game is most plen-
tiful The Highlands of Sootfatod nuy bo said to be a
preatrve in comparison with Norway.
At Christiania I had for the first time an opportunity
of eaamining the lavourite tiwrdllngt-carriage of the
country, yd^ a cmrridle. It is a Tehkie of spider-like
Ughtneis, witii a pair of large wboels, and long springy
b^uns, and a seat for one person, so extremeljr low, that
the traveller Ss obliged to sit with his legs straight out
befbre hhn. Boom for baggage there is none t or, at the
most, a carpet-bag may be strapped on. The person
required to bring back the horse to its own station
assnmee an anooiAlous position in the rear. I cannot
imagine it an agreeable meana of travelling, although I
am told that young Bngiishmen soon come to manage
it well, and to like it ; and I mot with one gentleman of
that country who htid trarelled by one, with his wiib
occupjring another. I saw a gentleman purchase a
smart new carriole on the street in Christiania for a
sum equal to four pounds ten shillings ; but I beliere
they generally cott a little more. It Is a matter of con-
siderable difficulty for an English traveller to arrange
at Christiania for the means of passing through the
country. There are no stage-Coaches. Thef mail is a
gig for carrying letters alone. He must eii^ier hire a
carriage, under the burthen of having perhaps to send
it back at a considerable expense, or purchase one,
which he may sell at the end of his journey. Then he
liears strange stories of the difllculties of his route, and
generally is advised to trust to nothing but a carriole,
and to take scarcely any luggage. The necessity of
having a vehicle to himself must be admitted to be a
great impediment ; and in the choice between a hired
and purchased vehicle it certainly is difllcult to decide,
though I believe hiring is, on the whole, the better plan.
But as to the alleged difficulties of travelling in a
carriage, I humbly think them exaggerated. I travelled
many hundreds of miles in a four-wheeled hooded
vehicle, which gave accommodation for a sufficiency of
luggage, and never once was in any serious embarrass
much less danger, although I had neifhcr a patent drag,
nor, what is common, a trailing pike behind, to serve as
an arrestment in the event of the horses failing in an
ascent. I would therefore recommend any future tra-
veller not to be deterred by what he hears from taking
a carriage above the character of a carriole, if he feS
so inclined, providing only that he makes sure of its
strength, and has a trusty servant to act as driver.
I made on excursion from Christiania to Dram men.
a town of 12,000 inhabitants, situated at the head
of another branch of the fiord about twenty -eiglit
miles distant Here, it is said, 40,000 tons of ship-
ping are employed annually in exporting timber, and
it is accordingly a place of considerable consequence.
The road passes along sufficiently near the sea to allow
occasional glimpses of it with its pretty islands, while
the hills rise to tlie right in greater elevation and
roughness than anv I had yet seen in Norway, exhibit-
ing smoothings only in the lower grounds. After a five-
hours* drive, we passed over the brow of a hiU into a
valley, and beheld Drammen beautifully situated at the
embouchure of two rivers whicli almost join before
reachmg the sea. On one of these rivers Uiere is a lake
only a few miles up ; and on the banks of this a^«ftm
at Dramman we see scarcely any alluvial fotmations.
The other, in the lower part of Its course^ ia skirted with
terraces of day, rising one above another to the height
of several hundred lieet. The eause <^ this difierenoe I
would explain thus :— At the thna when the Uod was
submerged to a consaderaUe depth, the latter river
brought down detritus, which it deposited in the valley
in a thick bed, and this detritus was formed into ter^
races during the subsequent ohanga id the rektiTe level
of tea and land* each terraoe maridiig • pastte im tkot i
pro|[resaive changa, In ttie origiiMi drcmmstance^ the- |
detritus brought down by the Ather river
cepted by the hollow which aAe^wards
so that there was nonetofbrm temoeaata
A careful levelling showed that the prinGiiwl
and that which was best defined ikod wmi p
ingly marked ma both ^es of the river, vaa just
the aauM elevation aboivo thasea aa tiiat at Flsimni.
To the south of the town I found a still raoc« retDBUft-
able phenomenoii^--naaiely, an exposed face of rock aM
smoothed in theumal nuumer, bat with a doohle set
of dressings at one limited place, 4iiia being la a aertfe
and south direction up the hill, whllo the Mber w««
from east to west Soch a drcuBStaaoe wduld seua
to imply aa ooeasional ehange in the diredaoa sf
the smoothing^ agent, probably under the inflveaoe of
local causes. B. C
THE THIAL BT CAIMAN.
3Y PKBCY B, Stl JOHK.
CenYAiN philosophers of the last century diieovered V^tA
savage lift was prefnaUe to civiKaatton, and i^syettcil
in pathetic tones the unhappy condition of those ns*
tioBB whieh h«re made any progress in the arte ^ liiie.
These admirers of what is vety absurdly called a slate
of nature could never have visited Madagascar, or even
have wandered thither in ima^nation, wskfted oc tbe j
magic chariot of the pen. Had they done so, I doubt 7
they would have de|>l0red the demorallsixig tSb^M of
civilisation upon a prmiitive people. The Madagaacantea i
— whether Malgaches, or Antancars, or Brlsimsataca, or 'I
of the other numerous tribes — are in truth prinaitiTe. >
They go neariy naked, they allow a plurality of wirca^
they believe in charms, thev delight In war. they^ adore j!
birds and animals, they kill children bom in an unlw^v
hour, they buiy a large quantity of ready meacy with .
every ridi roan, and never dig it up, suflVsnar severe ia-
convenience in a short eurren<^ thereby; wliiTe, wont of
all, their criminal justioe consists in giving the r "
The tanghin (Tanghmia venertjlua) is a subtle n _
poison, which h administered to persons accused of i
ceiT. Any individual can accuse anotiier of this ai__
and demand the application of the tanghin, or the <ie2a-4t'>
tongue and iron. The accuser goes before a jud^ and
states his case; the judge sends him to the oetpem *i
who is half priest hSif executioner. Having
the motives of the accusation, this person fii^
ments on young fowls. He gives them tanelifai in
and says, < If tnou art come forth from a buU, £e ! * If it
dies, the presumption against the accused is streaj;. He
then tries again, 'If thou earnest from the liK^efaa
egg, die; if thou hast for father a bull, lire!* If tbe
fowl dies, the evidence is startling. |
This trial takes place seven times, and if there be thiee |
results in favour of the prosecution, the ampaa gives tihe ,
heads and claws of the fowls to the infomer, wlie geea ,
before the judge and gets an order for a saAa£, or t&sl.
A irmm-fadi, or hut of repentance, is built, in whkh t^
judge, witnesses, accused, ampan, and all to be pcesesit at
the trial, t>ass the night. Next morning, the
stript of all clothing, is placed on the gieea •«
surrounded by the crowd. The judge m^ea a
and the ampan gives the tanghin mixed with water ea a
ravimala leaf, after which the victim swallows a eetpef
rice water. Frightful convulsions soon eaeue, and At
wretched being dies in ninety eases out of a huadie^
confessing all he is asked to eonfoss. The fefa-M eesaiils
in passing a hot iron over the victim's tongoe thise
times, when, if a blister rises, the q>eai8 of tte bystaa-
ders immediately terminate his life. This barbarous aad
savage legishition is observably effectual in
increase of population. Scarcely a day paaosa €tft
head of a family perishes^ But the meet m
foature in the affidr is, that the goods* of the
divided into three parts — oUe for the dilef^
offioeri, and the thiid for the infomer. ITrtsMia, the
CHAMBERS'S BDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
341
celebraNd IcMg of MwimgmoMy wken shown the abturditjr
aad widcedBeM of th* practice, i«pli«d, ^ Find me an-
other tAz which wiU to easily fill my treasuij/ •
. But these primitiTe hahits ars no4 alL The people of
this goeai islajid'hft^e etheiii whioh will he explained by
my MvmliTCL
JntheTlHa^of iCatatano^ on theziver .af< the same
nskttyit lived Aakar, a young -giiil of axteen^ of gentle
mien and modeil eotu^naace^ belonging to thetaristo^'
oratieeaft of .th6 Zanak*-andia. < The til^e is situated
on, a» iflandr *l some distanoe from the banks of the
river, and, eontainiog 18OO houses^ is ueA of small im<>'
perianos in the land, being, moreorrer, fortified. Rakav
waa a be(Miiyi and xioh, her father hiwriiig left her mUoh
propjsrty at his death; and i^e owned niMnecons slares*
She had nany suitors as- a nutttee of course ; but she was
more fastidious than the generality of her people^ and
none sfiemed to touch her heart until young IWn^ a
natiTO bom, but whose father was a Frenchman, ap-
peared in the Tillage on a trading expedition. Rakar
saw and lored. The semi-whi(^ was 'handAome, tall,
and striking in mien, and, it was said, generous and frank
in character. But Ren^ scarcely saw Rakar, or, if he did,
he distinguished her not from the multitude of dark
women who flitted around him in a costume which was
not very iar removed from that of Ere in Paradise. He
was present at the dances of the villa^ ; he admired the
supple and elegant forms of the girls who demonstrated
their talent before him: but his .^e seemed to favour no
one in particular. Rakar was stricken with despair, and
went to an old woman, learned in the science of futurity,
for oounsel. The old woman took her fee, ordered inoan-
tations without number^ and promised to turn the heart
of the cold vouth towards her; but more piaatres in pure
gold went than results were produced^ and Rakar almost
regretted having used any other charms than those she
had been endowed with by nature. .
Still, love is a passion which, in this primitive, state of
society, is not easily to be conquered b^ reflection, or
even its apparent futility. In civilisation the ieeling
would have been concealed by the female for ever, unless
called forth by the addresses of the man. Ri^r at-
tempted not to convey to Rene the least sn^icion of her
emotions, the more that she had heard him declaim
against the idea of settling in a wild, oi|t-of-the-world
place like Matatana. But she put faith in DerafiJ^ the
protective genius of the Malgaches, and one morning
early she crossed over to the mainlajid in a piroque to
pray for his intercession. The vegetable productions of
^ladagascar are varied and rich« and the wooded shore
was composed of a vast tangled mass of trees and para-
sites, whose appearance, despite their hard appellations,
was gorgeous in the extreme, each vying with the other
in the beauty of leaf and flower. Amid a dense thicket
of this verdure Rakar concealed herself, neither listening
to the songs of the strange choristers of the woods, nor
dreadiof Uie snakes, nor scorpions, nor wild boars and
cats, which people the virgin forests of this prolific isle«
She knew a shady spot, yet open to the light, where the
ravmUara sent mrth its delicious perfume from nut and
leaf, and where also grew the plants ^e made use for
her incantation.
The place selected was a hollow where the grass grew
to a prodigious height, rank and strong, and here Riakac
halted, after coUectmg a quantity of the herbs she needed.
These were piled in a heap in an open space, which she
cleared with her hands, and several odorous leaves and
nuts of the ravintsara being added, the young girl set
fire to the whole, and sitting down, began to ,chant a
monotonous ballad, beginning,
* He ! h^ 1 he ! ndt li^, the moon looks down,
The moon In the blae^, hs 1 he I hel'
such as is uniyersally sung throughout the land.
The dry grass and twigs crackled, flamed, and smoked,
while the young Zanak gazed eagerly on, as if expecting
an instant manifestation of the wifl of Derafif. But as
nothing greeted her eager eyes, she still hoped that the
guardian ^idt of her race would act invisibly, and waa
about to rise and return, when a step was heard, and
Ratsimi, one of her Buitora, stood before her.
' Rakar it burning incense to the Angatch ' (evil spirit),
said the young, man coldly.
' And why not to .Zanaar V asked the gbl shuddering,
and quoting 4die good Angel of her iaitlu '
. * ¥oK da not ansaicr 3 ' cbnttnusd-Batsimi*
'I own no right int.youtoiadL -■w,^iaaid the Zasak,
moraogiaaif to go« . / . < , :
'Rsikarknews. well tfaab Ratsimi ^cvesfaec^ thathehaa
told her so- t«o nsoons lago; -and^ thai, like Rnafou'^wko
dared the enemy of man in 4ha .Mount Tangowry for love
of FihaUr^-fiateimi woald haure any danger for Rakar.'
* I have spoken once,^ ceplied the yomng ZaoAky^ohUy;
* the daughter of the gntA chief of tbe moontaina will no<i
be eve^ the first v«i£eef Ratsimi«.m^«h>lea9'0nei of his
wives.* ..,...., ., ,
* Rakv !' «rled the lover impetiixMiily, 'do not anger
m^ Roeoillect I haiyet caught y«u «XMcieing toreei^.'
' Give me up to the ampan liken ! ' said the girl indig-
nantly. * your threats have lees valne than your protes-
tations; and Rakar ran lightly thoo^gh the wood, leaving
Ratsimi in a violenitpass^n* thinking over vengeance —
a passion which is tampered only by religion and civi*
lisation.
lUkar WAS not without .alf^rm. She knew Ratsimi to
be a voung xnan of violent passions, aometimes uncon*
troUable ; • but she still , doubted his descending to de-
nounce her because she could not return his love. She
paddled quickly across tne river to the village, and met
Rend smoking his pipe before breakfast on the strai^d.
Ren^ complimented the ^irl, without looking at her, on
her addiess and activity m paddling.
* A Makache girl is not always flying from a lover,'
replied Rakar* as she was about. to pass.
^ What mean you ! Flying from a lover ! That's not
like your a|;e and race,' said Ren^ curiously.
* Rakar is diflerent from her race, and runs to avoid
the auger of Ratsimi, who is heated with pa^on because
I said 1 loved him not.'
* And who, pretty one, is the favoured l^rave ? ' asked
Ren^, gazing on her with admiration.
' Rakar never accepted love firom any one,' she cried,
and darted away,
Ren^ filled his pipe, and pufled away for some time
in silence, thinking the Zanak a strange girl, And then
he went to breakfast, and forgot the subject.
That evening there was solemn council held in the camp
of Matatana. It chanced to be the night of full moon,
but the pale and cold luminary had not yet risen over
the lofty trees, though its light already pervaded the sky.
A marshy space near the river's bank was the spot chosen
for the deliberation, which never took place but on the
night of the full moon. The chief of the village sat on
a raised pile of boughs — around were the men and
women of the place in a vast circle. Ren^ leant against
a tree behind Ova the old head of Matatana. The river
lay dark and gloomy bende them, its swift current glanc-
ing by in the gloom, and pouring at a great distance into
the vast ocean. Beyond was the great island of Mada-
gascar, and about two hundred yards distant a low bank
covered with reeds, often infested by caTmans of the most
ferocious and ravenous character, as are most of the rivers
in those parts. Suddenly the moon rose in the sky,
the water danced pellucid and sparkling in the light, the
trees waved clearly their dark outlines, and the whole
tribe could be distinguished. It was ten o'doek, and the
s^idr of the night commenced.
Rakar stood before the chief, accused by Ratsimi of
sorcery.
As soon as the moon had risen. Ova stood up, and, like
most of his countrymen, fond of speech, addressed the
assembly bt length on the atrocious criti^e of sorcery, lie
pointed out its fsttal consequences, Tisible in the ailments
which it prodaosd, and the mai^ deaths yearly in the
tillage, all to be attributed to the wickedness of male
and female conjurers. He was sorry that a dri so excel-
lent and worthy shouM be there on so temble a charge,
but he must tee juitice done.
342
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBtJItGfi JOUKKAti.
11
Ratiimi then declared hii belief that she was a witeh,
and related what he had seen that morning, tearing out
hif declaration of loye and his threat. He expressed
profound grief at haying to accuse one so loyelj and
charming, and hoped she mifht clear herself.
A judge then rose and implored Rakar to tell the
truths and confess her crime — an act that would hare
been giving herself to certain death on the instant, and
which the Zanak declined performing, it may be pre-
sumed, for that reiy reason.
' I am innocent,* she cried aloud. ' Ratsimi is a false
coward : the caUnans will deeide between us !'
' As you will; so be it/ said the judge.
' What are th^ about to do I' wh&p«ed Ren^ to a
Maleache near him.
' Rakar will swim out to yonder island. If guilty, the
CMmans will derour her : if innocent, she will come back
in safety.'
* But the riyer swarms with these savage monsters.
The eirl is innocent: I swear it — I know it I '
' l^e must bear the trial/ said the superstitious Mai-
gache : * if innocent, there is no danger.'
* This is mere savage stupidity: I will speak !'
* And die,* said his friend solenmly. ' The people will
spear you if you dare to interfere.'
Ren^ ground his teeth with rage, and moved nearer
the young girl.
* Rakar,' said Ova, * confess : once more I conjure you.'
* The caimans shall decide,' replied the Zanak, who,
conscious of her innocence of anything beyond trying a
harmless charm for a harmless end, under the advice of
a urie-woman, felt safe; for she believed in the efficacy
of the trial.
' Ombiadi,' cried the chief, addressing the half-priest
half-executioner, ' she is yours.'
The ombiach took her by the hand, and led her to-
wards the river, on the banks of which he addressed a
conjuration to the savage crocodiles, calling on them to
rise and devour her if guilty, and left her to a few young
attached female friends, who braved contagion, and stood
by her to the last. Rakar thanked them gently.
' Rafara,' said she, turning to one, * give me that
ribbon to tie my long hair : it may prevent my swim-
mina; freely.'
The girl, much moved, gave the silken tie, and aided
her herself to apply it.
Then Rakar took off her aimbou and aeidck — garments
equivalent to European petticoats— and plunged into the
river.
Ren4 shuddered, and, with the whole tribe, rushed to
the banks of the stream. The bright moon illumined the
picture in every detalL There was the bold swimmer,
her head and arms only visible, while her long hair
floated behind, as driven back by the wind : every splash
was seen clearly. She swam with astonishinff rapidity.
Ren6 felt sick : he knew the fatal character of the river,
and had himself shot caimans on the little island. The
whole village eazed on coldly, but some anxiously. Rat-
simi stood siulen and silent on one side. Every time
there was the least stir in the water, all expected to hear
a shriek and a struggle. The reptiles to which Rakar
was exposed could have killed her at one bite. From
twelve to twenty feet long, their voracity is frightful,
and many is the victim which falls under their jaws,
especially in these trials, which at Matatana replaced the
tanghin.
A low murmur of applause arose as Rakar stood up-
right on the island, and then sat down to gain breath.
Ren6 thought the trial was now over ; but the worst was
to come. The unfortunate girl was in a very nest of
crocodiles : but, nothing terrified, she rose after five
minutes, and plunged headlong into the stream, and dis-
appeared. Ren6 held his breath for half a minute, at
the expiration of which she reappeared not, and then felt
inexpressible delight as she rose and landed. Again,
after taking breath, she plunged a second and a third
time, and, rare instance of g^-fortune, reappeared as
often. After some time she entered the river onoe more,
and swam towards home.
* The worst is now to come,' thought Rend; * the Hkva|c
animals must be alarmed by all uat noise. God bdfp
her ! ' he added, as he caught sight of a oommotioD in the
water near the island, and next minute saw a buge
caiman with his scales flashing in the moon's rmya.
The young man dosed his eyes, and when he opened
them again, Rakar was within fifty yards of the shore;
With a wild shout of joy Ren# fired the two burels of
his fowlingpiece, as if by way of triumph, but in reality
in the desperate hope of cheekine the progress of any
pursuing alligator. The people shouted : they felt the
lovely Zanak was innocent. Ratsimi stood transfixed
with terror : still, another death-like silence ensued. 1^
girl was weary, and swam slowly, but presently wss
within ten yards of the shore. Her female friends were
ready with a large cloak given by Rend for tlie palpos^
a white African bumoore which he wore at night; and
as this fell around her, so did the arms of the yoong
man.
' People of Matatana, I daim this heroic and innoeeot
girl as my wife !' he cried wild with entkusiaam and joy.
* I knew her innocent and beautiful; I now know her nr
something more. As for that boae wretch, I claim £at
him the law of retaliation.'
*As for claiming the girl as a vrife,' said the dtie^
' that rests with her; but Ratsimi will par onto her a
thousand piastres, and thus, in poverty and misery, will
repent his folly.'
' Worse than folly!' cried Rend : * the g|d refosed Ids
love, and this is his revenge I ' •
* Is this true, Rakar!' asked Ova.
Rakar, far more troubled at the sudden explonon of
the young man's feelings than at her trial, waa silent a
moment, and then made an open confeesion, not witheot
blushes — ^many, yet unseen — ^before the whole tribe. Now
that Rend had spoken, her love was Intimate and jest;
and according to her native customs, ahe felt a pride in
her public avowals.
'Ratsimi,' said Ova, when she had concluded, 'yn
are a false and lying slave, Rakar has the choice.^ Tea
will swim to Caiman Island as did she, or yoli will pay
her all the value of your flocks and cattle, and then ht
bound as a slave to her for life. Choose, girl.'
'1 forgive him alll' cried Rakar warmly; 'Ibr am 1
not happy! I have gained the husi>and that I love:
that was worth the race.'
Rend's admiration knew no bounds; and then on tke
spot he denounced the wickedness and folly of Uiis mode
of trial, showed how easily malevdenoe could get us
false accusations, and offered, if the tribe would aboGak
all such practices, to settle amongst them; otherwise, he
would retire to Mauritius, where he was educated, and
visit them no more. His eloquence was persuasfre; the
people were in a moment of enthusiasm: the autom was
abolished, the ombiach dismissed, and that very eTeninf
the simple marriage ceremony of Matatana was celebrated.
Rene settled in the place, was very happy, and lives thtte,
for aught I know to the contrary, up to this day. He
made RiJ^ar a happy woman, and found a deep satisfae-
tion in having been the instrument of abolishing iriai if
caiman!*
MADAME CATALANLf
It were superfluous to inform our readers that the
appearing at the head of this article belonged to
the most celebrated singers of the present century;
who has not heard of the wondrous syren by whose
thousands, nay, millions, have been enchanted, and
career was mingled up with some of the great events
contemporaneous history !
Familiar, however, as the name of Madanks
may be to us all, yet many amongst us ara pohase
little acquainted with her history, and we hope it i
not prove an ungrateful task if we conununi<»ta
Isr
It
* The above scene is no flotloB: II
deLaoombe.
t Abridged fh)m the *BeviMdiS Dens Mdndes.'
i
CHAMBKyt'B EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
84S
ftathentic detaili of a life which forms so memorable an
^K)ch in the annalf of art.
Angelica Catalan! wae bom in October 1779, at Sini-
gaglia, a small town in the Roman states. Her &Uier, a
rery estimable man, was a magistrate, a sort of judge of
the peace, who had mach difficultj in providing for his
numerous family, consisting of four firls and ^o bojs.
In order to supply the deficiencies of his small income,
the father of the future prima donna traded in diamonds;
nor was this plurality of occupations altogeUier un-
profitable in a place which boasts of its annual £ur as
one of the largest and most brilliant in Italy. Signer
Catalan!, noTortheless, found himself so straitened in his
circumstances, that he decided on proriding for his daugh-
ter Angelica bj placing heif in a convent, where in due
season she should pronounce the solemn and irreyocable
TOWS of monastic life, Aceordingly^ Angelica entered
at an early age the conrent of Sta. Luda di Chibbio,
which is not very far distant from Sinigaglia ; and this
establishment bemg ezdusiTcdy devoted to the education
of noble young ladies of the province, Signer Catalan!
only secured the admission of his daughtw by proving
her distant parentage with the House of Mastae, a family
which has recently obtained celebrity of a very different
sort by the elevation of Pius IX. to the papal chair.
It was in the convent of Sta. Lucia di Gubbio tiiat the
youthful Angelica received her eariiest knowledge of the
art of music There, as in all the monastic establish-
ments of Italy, music constituted a large portion of their
religious serrices. On Sundays more especially, and on
hi^ festivals, the nuns and the novices made the vaulted
roof of their chapel resound with the melody of their
hymns. Amonf those sweet voices was soon distin-
guished that of Angelica Catalan!, on account of its
nexibility, its compass, and the rich brilliancy of its
tones. The nuns, wishing to profit by so rare a talent,
made her sing short solos, whidi attracted a great con?
course of worshippers to the shrine of their patroness
Sia. Lucia. ' Let us go and hear la nunviglioaa Angeliea,*
was wont to be said upon the days of great solemnity;
and the doors of the chapel were so thronged, that many
were obliged to withdraw without gaining admittance.
Some devout people^ being scandaUsed by the some-
what profane success of ^gelica, complained of it to
the bishop, who commanded the superior to put an end
to the solos of the young novice. The lady-abbess was
^uflly loth to disobey the bishop, and to give up a prac-
tice which was so uaeful to the poor pensioners of her
convent: accordingly, she sought to satisfy her conscience
and silcHDce the murmurs of the scrupulous by placing
Angelica behind a group of novices, who concealed their
oomnanion from the crowd, and tempered the brilliancy
of tnat voioe which, at a later period, was destined to
fill all Europe with its triumphs. The throng of wor-
shippers would not suffer themselves, however, to be
thus robbed of their idol, and risinff upon tiptoe, head
above head, peered into the galleiy, noping to obtain a
glimpse of the young girl by whose voice they were so
entranced. On one &y of festival more especially, when
the charming Angelica, dad in white, sang an 'Ave
Maria stella' in such sweet and touching tones, that the
whole congregation melted into tears, the enthusiasm was
■o great, that every one pressed towards the spot where
ehe stood, desiring if it were only to kiss the hand or the
garment of la ^irgineUa whom God had so richly endowed
with the gift of song.
Signorina Catalan! remained in the convent of Gubbio
antil she had attained the a^ of fourteen years. Her
father, in spite of the earnest mtreaties addreissed to him
from sJl parts, could not dedde on allowing his daughter's
talents to be devoted to secular purposes. His own strict
piety, as well as the nature of his office, made him regard
with extreme repucnanoe every profession which was con-
nected with the Uieatre. At length, overcome "bj the
tears of Angelica, and the ursent solidtations of his
family, Signor Catalan! consented to send his daughter to
Florence, to take lessons from Marchesi, who was at that
iima one of the most celebrated sopranos in Italy.
Angelica Catalani ftodied for two years under the
direction of this master, who taught her to moderate the
extreme facility of her voice, wluch was as extended in
its compass as it was brilliant in its tone. Unfortu-
natdv she also imbibed from him too exdnsive a taste
for the pomp and tinsel of the Italian vocal school.
While the youthful Angelica was thus preparing to
achieve the brilliant destiny which awaited her, she
chanced to hear at Florence a very celebrated oaniatno$
— ^it is supposed to have been Gabrielli:--wfaoee perform-
ance filled her with the deepest emotion. Overwhelmed
with admiration and astonishment at the talent of this
sineer, Angelica burst into tears, and naively exdaimed,
' Alu, alas ! I shall never attain to such perfection 1 *
The fashionable cantatrice expressed her desire to see the
young girl who had paid her so flattering a compliment,
and afWr having maae her sing in her presence, she em-
braced her tenderiy, saying, * Reassure yourself, my child;
in a few jears henoe you will have surpassed me, and
then it will be my turn to weep at your success.'
Mademoiselle Catalan! made her d6bnt at the Th^Atre
la Fenice at Venice in 1795, in an opera of Nicolini's.
She was then just nxteen. A tall and finely-proportioned
figure, a skin of dauling whiteness, a swan-like throat,
lovely, and yet noble-looking features, all combined to
render the young cantatrice a veiy chanoing person. As
for her voice, it was a soprano of the most exquisite
quality, and embracing a compass of nearly three octaves.
There was a perfect equality, as well as an incomparable
flexibility, in all her tones. With such advantages, it
may readily be supposed that she found no difficulty in
conquering the sympathies of an Italian public, and her
success at Venice was as instantaneous as it was brilliant.
Surrounded by her family, and in presence of her master,
Marchesi, who wished to encourage her first steps in the
profession, Angelica was reodved with the utmost enthu-
siasm, and her mudcal fame quickly spread abroad
throughout Europe.
The fair songstress was destined, however, soon to leave
these scenes of her earliest triumphs ; f»r her father,
wishing, if posuble, to withdraw her from the perilous
glory of a dramatic career, accepted the ofiers of the
prince -regent of Portugal, a great Mnateur of music,
who earnestly desired to secure her services as the first
singer in the Chapel-Royal at Lisbon. Accordingly, she
quitted her native land m 1796, and, accompanied by her
umily, became domesticated in PortugaL
After having for a while devoted her talents exclusively
to the religious services of the Chapel-Royal, Angelica
ibund that the emoluments of this utuation but iU suf-
ficed for the wants of the numerous family, of whom she
now formed the chief support; and whether influenced
solely by this cause, or whether swayed by a longing for
dramatic fame, she soon made her appearance on the
Lisbon theatre, where she was greeted with the most
overwhelming enthusiasm. Here also, under the direc-
tion of the odebrated Crescentini, she learned to correct
some of those defects of style whidi she had acquired
frt>m the clever yet too florid Marchesi. Mademoiselle
Cataluri quickly became as great a fitvourite in private
as in public life. During six years, she was the idol of
the court as well as of the city of Lisbon. The reserve of
her manners, her gentle piety, and the goodness of her
heart, procured for her the esteem, as well as the love, of
those who formed her ac<^uaintance. The regent treated
her like one of his own children.
When General Lannes was sent as French ambassador
to Lisbon, he brought with him a young French officer,
who was destined to exerdse a great influence on the
fate of the celebrated cantatrice. M. de Valabr^gne,
captain in the 8th regiment of hussars, was an agreeable
man, of very distin^iahed address and appearance. He
had many opportunities of meeting Mademoiselle Cata-
lan! in the circle of the French ambasndor, and she
appeared pleased with his lively conversation, his noble
aspect, and perhaps a little attracted too by his elegant
and becoming uniform. M. de Valabr&gue was no less
struck by the beauty and naSve yet earnest simplicity of
the fair singer, nor was he altogether unmindful of the
ridi promite of fortune ooBtain«d in her splendid Toice.
■■^1
344
CHAMBEBS'S KDINBUBGH 4OUEKAL.
10 he «e«clii fa«r band. Tlie fkmily and friends of Ange.
iid^ CalalSBi feli tan extrane reptignance to the propowd
ixaeH; but t« all the lepreMfBtationfl which were made to
tier : on the gufa^ect ehe only replied with a sigh, * Ma che
t>ei uffiziale ( ' and before loog, the handsome (officer car-
ried eM the pnae, and the tnaniage was celebrated at the
)Ourt ohapcd^ in ptesetioe of the prince -regent and of
9ejai#rai Laioiet. Madame de Valabr^gne, who continued
;o bear her own family name, quitted Lisbon early in
[3Q^Q. She had.jmt formed a most adrantageous engage-
[neni for the Italian Opera in London. She went fint to
Madrid^ where she csTe ecTeral ooncerts, whidi brought
tier in a eonsiderable snm of money. Then passmg
through < Franoei, the arrived iiv Paris early in Jime ISOC,
Uer fajne had already preceded her in that great capital,
»nd the pnblie curiosity was so strongly stimulated^ that,
m her giving threa concerts at the Opera-House, eyery
[>art of tha building wot crowded to excess, although the
tickets were raised to threefold their ordinary price.
With. the exception of Paganini, nd musical artist since
Lhat tiae. has kindled the same glowing enthusiasm at
Paris ai was awakened by this oelebmted singer.
Among the hearers of Madame Catalani at the French
Opera-Uouse waa the Bmperor Napoleon, who, although
iestitute ef any taste for music, wished to fix the a^-
aiired cantatrice In his capital, partly from an ambitious
lesire to ««e himself surrounded by great artists, and
parlly with the view of direrting the thoughts of the
Parisians from grwrer and more dangerous topics. Ac-
zordingly^he commanded her attendance at the Tuileries.
The poor woman had ncTer been brought before into
zontact with this terrible virtuoso of war, who at that
time fi^ed aU Europe with the ftime of hiil floriture:
she trembled from head to foet on enftering his presence.
Whetre are you gcnng, madamet' inquired the master
ivith his abrupt tone and imperial voice. * To London,
}iro.* * You must remain in Paris, Where you shall be
ivell pfiiid« and where year talenta will be better appre-
ciated. You diall have a hundred thousand francs a year,
lud two months' vacation — that is settled. Adieu,
madame I * And the cantatrice retired more dead than
ilive, without having dared to inform her brusque inter-
rogator that it was impossible for her to break an engage-
ment which she ha^l formed with the English ambasaador
in Portugal. If Napoleon had been acquainted with
this circumstance, he would undoubtedly have laid an
embargo on the fair singer, whom he would hai^e con-
udcred a rich capture Ax>m hit enemies. Madame Cata-
iaui was not the less obliged to make her escape from
France without a passport. She embarked secretly at
Morlaix, on board a vessel which had been seat for the
axchange of prisoners^ and to whose captain she paid
L.loO iSr hia services. This interview with the Empsror
Napoleon made so deep an impression on Madame Cata-
lani, that she was wont to sipeak of it aa the most agitat-
ing moment of her life.
Afadame Catalani arrived in* London in December
I80G. The partiality of the SngUsh for Italian nnsie
uid musicians dates from an early period of our national
history. In the sixtjeeoth century, we hear of Italian lute-
players, as well as singers of madrigals and canzonets,
performing at the splendid entertainments which were
|iren to Queen Elizabeth by her nobles and couriers.
The Italian Opera waa opened, in .London early in the
eighteenth century, and within its wa^s^ which were ever
frequented by the higher classes of London society, shone
furUi successively the most celebrated Italian singers
nurtured in the schocls of Naples^ Rome* Bologna, and
Venice, for the amusement of the 'barbarians.*
Never, however, had i^iy cantatrice obtained in Lon-
ion the same success as Madame Catalani, whose appeals
ince seemed to be regarded as a public event in which
multitudes were interested. The wonderful compass of
ber voice ; the equability and fulness of her tones ; the
magnificence, the bris of her vocalisation, which seemed
to expand itself in its sparkling rapidity, like some foun-
bain playing in the sunshine ; the distinguished ekganoe
3f her person, her noble bearing and fine diaracter — all
contributed to ejiclte a univereal enthusiasm in her favour.
Madame Catalani was, during eight year% the iAA M
England. Admitted into the most aristocratic wdLm^
who were gratified by her having resisted the fedaciie0e
of Napoleon, courted by the Tories, admired by the WJu^^
she held the whole nation under the charm of her ckre-
matic gamuts and her enchanting gorgheffpL Wbem^
ever the season was over in London, Madame Catalau
visited the provinces, giving concerts wherever aha
and no sooner did her name appear upoon a WU, '^^
acted as an irresistible talisman, drawing
crowds even in the smallest market-towna of ibe
r '
i\
II
empire.
The efiTect which Madame Catalani prodnoed npeo the I
English public was not solely thai at a great artiit cr
even of a charming woman. By her sympatliy in their
national feelings of loyalty to their sovereigii, and ef a»>
tipathy to Napoleon, she won many a heart wki^ w^t
have been insensible to her beauty as well aa to the ^
chantment of her voice. Perhaps this influence
so perceptible aa at those moments of public
when Napoleon had gained some unexpected victtfrjy
Madame Catalani would step forth ufoa the bM:dse€
Drury-Lane, and sing confiochi, * God aave the Kn^' or
* Rule Britannia.' When her magnificent voice latimrlifJ
upon the thrillinr multitude these woxde so foil cf na-
tional pride, ' Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the w»vee,'.
or when she gave utterance in the voice of aong ta ih« f
prayer of the country, ' Send him victorious) ^^afPy and
glorious,* then would the excited atidience rise ca mfftsc
and applaud with passionate enthuaiaam the nebleieofc-
ing cantatrice, who was compared by many to Juno o^
litting the waves with one glance of her qaaanly ^e.
Thus was our fair Italian virtually enrolled in the gfand
coalition formed by England against Jier impiacwhki
enemy,
Madame Catalani came to Paris in 1614, with the
Allies, to enjoy her share of the common trinnnjili. Oa
the 4th of February 1815 the gave a grand coBoesi at the
Opera-House for the benefit of the poor, when her aooceM
was as brilliant as it had been in 180G. .Daring the
Hundred Days she disappeared from the iceiM^ hvnag
followed Louis XVIII. to Ghent, where her henae beoHne
the resort of the most illustrious emigrants. After an
excursion into Holland and Belgium, Madami* Catalms
returned to Paris on the second restoration of the Bonf-
bons. It was at this period that Louis XVIII.,
to reward the attachment that Madame Catalani
ever evinced for his person, as well as for the canae ef
legitimacy, bestowed -on her the privflege of the Italian
Theatre, together with a grant of 160,000 fraaea 1^
enterprise became to her uie. source of endleae ooainvM^ I
ties and vexations; for M. de Valabregue, being a can* el |
restless mind, and jealous of any one who seemed like^ 1
to compete with his wife in the popular favour, aes^ht le j
dismiss from the Th^atre-Italien the most talented artisla. 1
At length Madame Catalani found herself ebUged ta j
abandon this unfortunate direction, after having loat tha ^
good graces of the Parisian public, together witk 3M,00t
francs of her fortune. In order to repair this
misfortune, the celebrated cantatrice underto^
journey in the north of Europe. She visited
Sweden, and Germany, being greeted everywhcm
triumphant applause, and amassing a vast auaa of
by the exercise of her splendid talent. «
In 1817 Madame Catalani visited Venice, wiiera^
thirty years before, her youth and her fsne had huit
into such early and such glorious bloom. Here the mbs
laurels awaited her as had been laid at her ^sei when
she made her first appearance at the Fenice. 2Vi% wsi
she breathing the poetic atmosi^iere of hope, with all ita
joyous dreams and bright illusions; new idl lier jqetthAd
fancies had been more than realised ; but had her esi^
cessflil and triumphant life been prodnotive of ail the
happiness predicted by a fond and glowing imacinnlivl
This was a question to which perhaps she
to answer even within the recesses oif her own
We shall not attempt to follow the atefn of
fiUigable traveller, who visited the moet lemate cam«»ef
Europe. Sufiice it here to meutioa her jeoia^ t« 9i
n long
CHAMBEftS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
345
PeWnborg in 1823, where she met with the moat cordial
nod gmdouB reception from the Emperor Alexander. The
laet time of her appearance in public was, we understand,
at a concert which she gare in Dublin in the year 1828.
After hating thos, during so long a period, enchanted
the world bj her musical talents, Madame Catalani re-
tired to a noble property in the nei^bourhood of Florence,
where the later years of her life were passed in the midst
of a refined ana opulent ease, and in the enjoyment of
that public esteem which had been won for her by the
dignity of her character, the serenity of her mind, and the
unfailing charity of her heart. In the charming solitude
that she had formed for herself, she continued to cultivate
the art to which she was so passionately attached. She
sang to please herself, as well as for the enjoyment of her
friends; nor was she ever deaf to the solicitations of the
miserable or necessitous when they came to invoke the
nngic of her name and talent in their behalf.
The tumalts and intestine broils by which Florence was
diaturbed towards the close of 1848 excited her alarm,
and caused her precipitately to leave the pleasant villa
whidi had been her home for so many years. She came
to seek a reAige in Paris among her children who are
settled there, and who, by the right transmitted to them
by their father, are citizens of France. The cholera, dur-
ing its recent visitations in that capital, carried off this
" celebratad woman, after a few hours' illness, on the 12th
June of this present year (1849) at the age of sixty-nine.
A few days before her death, Madame Catalani, who
was sitting in her saloon without any presentiment of her
i^»pfoaohing end, received a visit from an unknown lady,
w1k> declined giving her name to the servant. On being
ushered into her presence, the stranger bowed before her
with a graceful yet lowly reverfflace, saying, * I am come
to offer my homage to the most celebrated cantatrice of
OUT time, as well as to the most noble of women : bless
noft, madame, I am Jenny Lind!' Madame Catalani,
naoved even to tears, pressed the Swedish Nightingale to
her heaH. After a prolonged interview, they parted,
each to pursue her own appointed path : the one, to close
her eyes, with unexpected haste, upon earth, with all its
shifting hopes and fears — the other, to enjoy fresh
triamims, the more pure and happy, as they are the fruit
not only of her bewitching talent, but also of that excel-
lence which wins for her in every place the heartfelt
homage of esteem and love.
ANGLERS' FANCIES.
Walton has given a Teiy seductive description of angling,
and has connected with the art scenes of meditation,
innocence, and rural enjoyment. An angler, in his view,
mutt be a good man. Now, without detracting from the
general merits of the character, it has occurred to me,
after mixing for a time with the lovers of this gentle
craft, that uiere are some peculiar tendencies in these
gentlemen which call for a certain degree of animodver-
aion. Isaac, I think, goes a little too far. A fisher has
his £uicieaand foibles like other men; and without mean-
ing to decry the general respectability of the craft, I
would just hint at a few points in which he suffers his
imagination to run away with him.
One of these is a tendency to look at things through
the water — to magnify, as it were; a kind of uncere-
mottioosness in dealing with facts, as if these were
small matters, which fishers were entitled by their calling
to overlook. For instance, with r^ard to the number,
size, and species of the fish token, the sportsman,
whs^erer his age, rank, or general character, exhibits an
elasticity of conscience which is not observable in his
common life. Dozens count for hundreds, an ounce for
a pound, and a par or minnow for a trout. On the sub-
ject of salmon-fishing, this largeness of vision is the most
remarkable; for a grilse of three pounds thinks nothing
of weighing eight or ten in the angler's scales, and those
of larger sUe leap at once into a gigantic salmon. As to
the quality of the fish, it suffers a sea-change too; and a
jellow kipper blazes like the brightest silver.
It may be said that it would be easy for a well-mean-
ing friend .to brii:i^ these matters to the test of expe-
rience, and convince the deluded sportsman that he la-
boured under some degree of glamour; but I have often
tried this, and have always found very considerable
difficulty in the way. I ha>ve accompanied fishers of
high repute to the bum; have stood snivering at their
elbow from mom till dewy eve; and, after all, have
seen only a few par conunitted to the roomy basket.
Nevertheless, when I left them in despair, I have been
told, to my utter confusion the next day, that ever so
many dozens were caught in the twilight just after my
departure. I would walk twenty miles to see a salmon
taken with the rod, but my curiosity was aerer vet grati-
fied. What exploit, however, is more common thaa this !
I have been living for some time in a country town on
the banks of the Tweed; and in the evening you see,
sauntering at the door of the inn, joUy'looking fellows
redolent of ci^rs, with fly-hooks twisted round their
hats, and their breast-pockets swollen out with hook-
books, their tall rods leaning aristocratically against the
wall, as if reposing, like their masters, after Hm fatigues
of the day. The whole has a grand look; and one cannot
help thinking of what the results mast be of all this
preparation. In the evening you hear the story from
their own lips, as they converse over their toddv — how
nicely a monster of a salmon was hooked ; bow he
plunged ; how he twisted ; how he sulked ; how the
angler stumbled into a pool; how he swam with the rod
in his teeth; how at length, with the merest gossamer of
gut. he hauled the leviathan on his side to the bank;
and with what precision he then stmck him |rith his
gaff— although not without spraining his wrist in the
conflict, which he incontinent exhibits to the company,
still blackened, if not swollen. The sprain clenches the
anecdote; and he would be an infidel mdeed who, as the
company warms into emulation of the narrative, and
similar heroic details circulate round the table with the
glass, would parody between his teeth the lines of the
poet — ■
* Thus, when the dnfliag giam wsnns yonr vain betrtt,
You talk of nibbles that you neT«r felt.
And fancy salmon that you never knew ! *
In such meetings of the brotherhood there is often a
mutual inspection of hooks and lines, which leads to a
great display of niscatory lore. Each hook has its his-
tory. One is taken out with becoming reverence; and
the fortunate proprietor, after drawing the gut carefully
between his lips, and stroking its somewhat scanty plu-
mage, will tell who was its dresser — what were its adven-
tures— the number of its victims — and all * its moving
accidents bv flood : * how it was found in the mouth of a
fish which had been lost and rehooked; and how it hod
succeeded in some desperate day, when younger and
better -appointed hooks had failed. This distinguished
instrament is then handed round and commented on;
and the young fisher — ^whose hook-book is a series of
illumined pages, each gleaming with flies of Oriental
lustre— gazes with envy and awe on the Httle gray
veteran as it passes. Now comes a trial of the strength
of snoods, and a discourse on the plaiting of lines.
Haply one has a line wrought by the well-known captain,
from the fair hair of one of Edina*s loveliest daugntera;
and a murmur of applause is heard through the room
as ite elasticity and strength are displayed by its proud
possessor.
This competition in wonders mar perhaps be con-
sidered a fiaher'a foible; but I would rather give that
name to the mutual depreciation to which it leads. The
angler demands belief, but will give none in retum. In
sudi scenes as I have alluded to there is much whisper-
ing and eye-dilating among the company; and I have
observed that even when a fish is drawn triumphantly
from the basket in evidence, it is by no means considered
to be conclusive of the fiict. It may be that a noted
poacher was on the river that day — but what then t The
fellow himself makes his appearance in the e\'ening in
a state of dreamy drankennees; but you may see by his
air of resolute denial, and the dull, ox-like stare he fixee
1 upon the successful angler, that there is nothing to be
got out of him. It maj be remarked tliat fidien leldom
lee each other*! fiih caught, and that they thui one
another on the riTer. They are Tecy fidgetty when people
look into their baskets, as if they eame to spy the naked-
ness of the land. A noted fisher of my own acquaint-
ance, on seeing a tyro undoubtedly hook and draw ashore
a fish, remarked with some spleen that the creature had
Tery had teeth. Eren the gift of a salmon from a fishing
friend to another of the emft, though in itself acceptable,
appears to occasion some sort of uneasiness; and often
there is a minute inspection, to discoTer if the fish be
not a regular capture of the net, with a mouth unconscious
of the hook. This I hold to be ungenoous. We should
not look a gift-fish any more than a gift-horse in the
mouth.
It cannot be denied, howoTor, that many thinss occur
to sour the temper of an angler. The weawer, for
instance, is a fertile subject for theory ; and it is to be
obserred that a true firiier, althou^ contradicted every
day of his life b^ the eroit, never ^ves in, but lives
and dies in his faith. Indeed I have never been able to
hear two opinions on the weather alike, even from the
indigenous fishers of the place. One would guess that
' there was ower muckle fire in the air;' another believed
'the wind was in the east;' a third that 'it was too
warm;' and a fourth that ' it was too cold.' The water
was at one time too hi^ at another too low; now too
dark, now too clear; in snort, there seemed to be neces-
sary to successful fishing such a combination of circum-
stances as must occur but rarely. Then I could never
ascertain what colour of fly was suitable for the day.
Some advised me to consult the hedges on the sulject,
and observe what fiy was in vogue at the time. But
even If all was right at last, the chances were, that I
returned unsuccessful, and profanely voted fishing a
drudffery, a delusion, and a bore. I have been assured,
notwithstanding, that there are some philosophers who
go to work scientifically, and fill their iMLskets with cer-
tainty, and with little fuss. I believe it; but these men
I have never yet happened to meet There was a report
one morning in the village where I lived that a sal-
mon had been caught, ana I immedlatelv went through
the place in quest of the captor — ^to look at him as a
curiosity. But he multiplied himself ae fkst as the men
in buckram, and took as many forms as Proteus. He
was a weaver lad at first, then a ploughman, then an
exciseman, then an old pensioner. A suspicbn is abroad
here that the trout which occasionally appear at the inn-
table are the victims, not of the rod, but of the poacher's
nets, which silently, but surely, sweep the pools at night.
I have already remariced, as one of the peculiarities of
this sport, the tendency of an angler to multiply his
fish, magnify their size, and improve their species; but it
is no less strange that all the trouts which are lost are
greatly larger than those caught. Perhaps it may be
accounted S>t by the knowingness of the elder trouts.
Fishers are accused by the uninitiated of conceit and
incivility, inasmuch as it is the custom of the craft, when
they fall in with any inexperienced sportsman, to exa-
mine his tackle with undisguised contempt. Thev try his
rod by shaking it, and then dismiss it from their hands
with a look of pity, handling his hooks, meanwhile, with
such a look as they would bestow upon curiosities
from Central Afirica. They mske no scruple of peering
into the basket of the benighted individual; and this
perhaps emboldens him to a retsliatorv inspection — when
he is probably rejoiced by the sisht oi some small fry as
innocent and imponderable as his own. This fancy of
fishers is shared by the whole fraternity, ^ntle and
semple. I have observed the contemptuous air of mere
hinds when conversing with gentlemen beginners. If
they are asked, in a courteous manner, if such a kind of
fiy will suit the day, their dry assent leads ^u to believe
that it is the respondent's opinion that it is a matter of
absolute indifference what sort of fly p<m employ, and
that, in fact, you are beneath the serious attention of a
real fisher.
Selfishness is •nother foible charged to fishers. Angling,
indesdy it the uoftiiBfocial of all amusements. A man
may be excellent oompany on the road to the stream ;
but the moment his line is in the water, he cuts his friend
dead, and minds his own business. So far from lendiag
his aid in any dilemma, the fisher exemplifies in hS
covert smile the dogma, * th^ men find something agree-
aMe in the misfortunes even of their dearest friei^s.' A
curious instance of the anti-social eflTect of the sport oc-
curred in my own family. One of my boys» who usually
came to fish with me, was very useful at £ni^ in emer-
gencies ; several times a day he has stripped, and waded
to clear away my hooks ; but such is the natural ten-
dency of the pastime, that he soon seized erery oppor-
tunity of deserting me, that he might fish independently
of his father. This, however, was an instinct in the young
vagabond; but if we listen to the conversation of fisheis
in the great crises of the harvest, we shall be surprised
at an enthusiasm which considers a bad day's tpcai as
something far worse than a national famine. The £ulnie
of this year's crop would have been a feaifnl calami^;
and every good man's first movement, on awaking in tbe
morning, was to rush to the windowj^ and scan the a|q»ear-
ance of the sky. For myself, I was so stupid aa to re^
joice in the prospect when the east was sown with orient
pearl, even although aware that the day's fishing would
be indifierent; but in the inn, when I <»lled one morn-
ing, there was unbounded congratulation amoi^ the
angling guests on a discharge of rain, pros&ating, at tbe
moment, the standing com, and deluging the potatoes.
Nay, a wish was openlf expressed that tike torrent would
continue to fall for days; and a hum of deep dcli|^
buEzed among a number of them as they k^ tapping
on the barometer, and saw the mercury go alowly y^
resolutely down. I confess I could not txitet into this
feeling, but rather enjoyed the mortification whidi fal-
lowed the subsiding of the river, when the only fiah taken
was a single grilse. This was caught by a medianie,
who, afler the gentlemen amateurs Iiad returned to the
inn, weary and savage, went down to the river after his
day's work, with a simple knot of worma at kia ho4^ He
sold the much-prized fish at the iim-door to one of the
brethren, who immediately packed it up, and directed it
to a friend in Edinburgh.
I am little inclined to speak of the cruelty of fishii^
as the subject is so hackneyed, and as I have been aavued
by certain philosophers that fish are not suaeeptible of
mudi pain; but the impalement of worms on the hook is,
I must say, a most harrowing business to the inexpe-
rienced. The catching of eels is also peculiarly palnfal to
more than the fish; for in most cases the hook ia swal-
lowed some inches down the creature's body. It is no
doubt a weakness ; but on such occasions I hare found
myself quite unfit for the task of extricating the barbed
steel, and, with the habitual selfishness which fishing p^^
have ordered one of my boys to lay open the eel wz^ his
penknife. While this process went on, I was ohHgod to
avert my eyes; and cruel as many boys are, it was not
without pain that mine succeeded, in emboweHing the
living and struggling creature. It was no doubt sooBe
compunctious visitings of eonscience for my barbarity both
to tne fish and the boy which that night haunted my
dreams, in the shape of a thousand eeu twining rou^
my limbs and body, and hissing like serpents in my ear.
Such various oiscouragements had cooled eoonder-
ably my angling propensities; but the caltfula^ona of a
great statistician of my acquiJntance made me finally
resolve on abandoning the sport, at least aa the bvsrinca
of my vacations. He set down with much, exactness the
price of my wading-boots, rod, reel, lines, hooks, gA
kc with the various repairs consequent on breakage.
and I was a little confused to find that the aouatic ouot
of myself and boys amounted to nearly L.10 striliBg
The per-contra to meet this was six pounds' we^^ cf
trout, which, averaging at the rate of 4a. per pousd,
duoed the congratulatory tots! of 2s., leaving a ba]
against me of L.9, 18s. This does not include the
pense of a doctor who attended me for a foitnjg^ §tr a
sore throat, which was the only thin^ I caught dnzlBg my
first week's fishing. I must add, smoe I am at eeafca-
rion at anyratey &a,i I have been macfa discos^Mted by
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
847
the inmtitude of my familj as regards the fruits of
mj fishing. At first it gare me excessire delight to
see my vife and daughters pick a par or two of m j catch-
ing for breakfast; but I soon perceived that their appro-
bation was hollow, and that at last their gorge rose at
the dainties. I orerheard the servants say that they
teunnered at them ; and, in fact, the only indiridual in
the house who patronised me was the cat, who, by some
unaccountable accident or other, always came in for the
lion*s share. For myself, I did not half like the notion
of eating what I had killed; and on one occasion the
fishiness of my hands, caused by taking a few par ofiT the
hook, had so entered my soul, that unien I saw the tIc-
tims on the table, I had merely strength to order their
remoral.
In addition to all this, I hare Just receiyed a hint
that reports of my poor success as a filter had reached
the world in whlcLl lire, and that I may expect some
roasting in the winter circles. This has brought my dis-
content to a climax; and feeling myself to be pretty con-
siderably fished up, I am now resolved to take my rod to
pieces for the last time, wind up my pirn, return to town,
strike out for amusement in a different line, conrinced
that, with all my endowments, I fall lamentably short in
that poetical imagination, which is the life and soul of a
TwBBD Fly Fisheb.
THE RED HILL REFORMATORY FARM.
When oonntiy gentlemen tisited London some years ago,
one of the most interesting sights to them — especially if
they were magistrates — was the Philanthropic School
in St George's Fields. This establishment was formed
about sixty years ago for the reception of juvenile orirai-
nals, and of the destitute ofi%pring of oonvicted ielons.
'When in the school, the pupils were subjected to two
processes of education — the first combining religion with
the rudiments of commerce and literature, and the next
such practical instruction in some useful branch of in-
dustry as should enable them to maintain themselves in
after-life by their own skill. This being the earliest in-
stitution whose system combined the prevention of crime
with the reformation of young criminals, it was, for many
years during the commencement of its history, watched
with interest by the comparatively few who then were ac-
tively desirous of the welfare of the poor and the debased.
To such, an inspection of the establishment produced
much gratification. The visitor entered at a lodge in the
London Road, and found himself in a large irr^mar area,
surrounded on one side by shops for tailors, shoemakers,
brushmakers, basketmakers, carpenters, cabinetmakers,
printers, &c. There was also a rope-walk, and a manu-
factory for mats. Opposite were the superintendents'
residences. The girls' school — in which they learned to
knit, sew, and were trained to become domestic servants —
was walled off from the boys' department. It was, how-
ever, found necessanr in 1817 to discontinue the admis-
sion of criminal girls, and more recently, the change of
plan in the institution has necessitated the exclusion of
that sex altogether. At Uie end of the enclosure there
was a chapel, which still faces St Oeor^'s Road. The
space occupied by the entire range of buildings was there-
fore great — so great, that, since the removal of the estab-
lishment to Red Hill, near Reigate in Surrey, a not in-
considerable * neighbourhood' of houses has been built
upon only a part of it.
It was here that the old prejudices against the irre-
claimability of criminals first received a check. The old-
school gentleman or magistrate saw convicted felons of
tender years, whom he had dismissed in Quarter-Session
sentences as * hardened young rascals,' working at their
various avocations with diligence and cheerfulness. On
inquiring into their general character or conduct, he
found they were pretty much, or, if anything, a shade
better, than those of other lads; and — if he were not one
already — the chances were very much in favour of his
becoming a subscriber to the institution.
More than fifty years' experience showed that, upon
the whole, thii reformatory plan worked well; Imt the
society became rich, and followed out the seldom-failing
law of afiiuence by falling also into a slothful routine.
Although everything went on with rigid propriety — abat-
ing now and then the eseape over the walls of an im-
patient and untameable pupu — ^the sphere of the society's
usefulness was not extended. Ths energy of its managers
got consolidated into an undeviating regularity; so many
children were apprenticed out during each year, and so
many were eleeted in to fill their plaees. This sort of
slumber was not, however, of long duration; for fortu-
nately, about eight years since, the control of the institu-
tion devolved upon an energetic philanthrq>ist, who saw
by what means the society might be rendered more ex-
tensively efficacious, and how many of its disadvantsges
might be removed. It will be useful to enumerate a few
of these: —
When first formed, the establishment was literally * in
the fields,' but gradually these were built over, and in-
habited; consequently the inmates were obliged to be
kept almost prisoners. It was found impossible to give
the boys occasional holidays, or even to afford them little
offices of trust — such as executing errands, or carryine
letters — without exposing them to the temptations and
associates it was tiie object of the school to rescue them
firom. Again, when placed out as apprentices, once free
of restnunt, they frequently relapsed into evU. Some-
times, despite the v^ilance of the directors, they got into
bad hands, and boys of apparently the steadiest charac-
ter and most promising disposition fell into crime from
the ill-treatment or neglect of their masters. It is ad-
mitted in one of the more recent reports of the institu-
tion that only two-thirds of those who had passed under
its influence permanently benefited by it. Since, also,
the eariier yean of the society's operations, competition
among members of the diffi^nt trades to which the
pupils were bred has become more severe, and when out
of the hands of even the best masters, they have gone
back into dishonesty from sheer want of employment.
Indeed the use^l articles manufactured in the school,
which at one time found a ready sale> would, more re-
cently, have remained on hand but for the exertions and
purchases of the subscribers.
In this state of things, there is no knowing how the
value of the Philanthropic Society might have languished
but for a vigorous eflbrt to resuscitate it. Instead of a
benefit, it might possibly become almost a cruelty to pen
up young people in a comparatively confined space, and
train them to trades, by the after-exercise of which they
would have small chance of obtaining a livelihood. When
sent into the world, they would only swell the multi-
tudes of artisans, whose greatest sood-fortttne is barely
to keep themselves in life by their labour.
It was this basis upon which Mr Sydney Turner, the
resident chaplun and manager of the Phihmthropic in-
stitution, seems to have built the beneficial improve-
ments he has prevailed on the committee to introduce
into the plans of the society. With the example of the
government reformatory at Parkhurst, Isle of Wight, and
of Mettray, the eoUmie aprioole, near Tours (frequently
alluded to in this Journal), before him, as affording ex-
amples for avoidance or guides to success, he, seconded
espeoiaily by the present humane and enlightened trea-
surer (Mr William Gladstone), set about altering the
system then in force. In company with Mr Paynter, the
police magistrate, who takes a warm interest )ii the re-
form of young criminals, he visited the Mettray colony;
made himself acquainted with its details; and in taking
it as a model, rejected what appeared unsuitable to an
English reformatory, and only retained such as seemed
excellencies. He saw at once the truth of the principle
laid down by the originators of this noble p^iientiary : —
that farm labour should be tiie basis of every system of
industrial reform, and that trades and handicrafts should
be deemed secondary.
It was therefore decided, on the return of these gentle-
men, that the operations of the Philanthropic School
should be removed into the country — a change present-
ing many advantages in England over even the refor-
matoij syitcm by means of agricoHura and hudlcraft
!■■ rii
848
CHAMBERSB BDINBUB6H JOURNAL^
pdnaeA i« FnuMe. There, when TefanDed« ih* pvpil has
to take hie cha»ce with the ttti of ^e oTetrtocked
oenmunkj; which is as htA m eiuuioe there ai ia this
tounti^* France has no foMicn eoloniee to whieh his
■kill and labotiv am. be tranafened ; Oreai Britain hat.
Wlkile our home iaboor market oveijftowa almeet to the
point of starvation, oar colonitta are ttietching forth
their hands to us, imploring help to gather in their har«
retta; and, despite the distreis which prerails here, the
eall ia bat spftringlr answered. This, therefore, is the
geand opening for the aheovption of reformed eriminais :
they are nmoTed from evil influenees, nnd their em-
plojen «re pat in postesnon of skilled labour. Besides),
thia iaa calling in which no competttion exists: aa Tetv
so far aa we know, it has nowhcse beoeme a branch of
education to train op a n em^^mow^—to deal, in shoii, with
practical ooleniiation aa a profession to be taaght.
A&tt ionw difficttlties, the fiedxHill iVmn was obtained,
and thia interesting axperimeut oomiBeneed by the ad»
mission of sorenteea lads, mostly above fonrteen yean of
age, and from oountvy dietricto. Farm labour, althosgh
t£e basis of the pUn^ did not ezdode the handierans
already taught and praotiaed in fit George^ Fields. 2f^
in addition to a knowledge of ordiuajty agricultural ope-
rations, the candidate for miqtloyment in the eok»nies
could make acart, a spade, a gate, or a coat; a pair olf
shoes, a bedstead, or a table and chairs-^ if he could
mend a plough, shoe a horse, make bricks aiMl draining-*
tiies, huild a wall, or thatch a roo£— his vakie to his
master .and to himself would be increased in proportion.
Nor would emigration be hb only resource. He would
be much prised by the home farmer ; foiv despite all we
hear about the diatress of the agricultural populatsen in
England (and it is indeed in winter truly soYcre), skilful
labourers are scares, and not iU^paid.
The ezoeUettce of thrsee plans, and a smsjl printed
hLstory of the Phiianthropic iutitntion, occupied my
thoughts, and formed the subject ef oonrersation with
my companion, while tra/Felling on the Brighton KaiLwaj
some weeks since, on our way to the Red-Hill Farm-
School, to which the major part of the Philanthropic
pupits had been by that time remored.
On alighting at the Red Hill station, we wexe reeeired
by a neat young groom, who drove us in a small vehicle,
very carefully and welU over a raile and i^half of rou^ush
road to the chaplain's residence, into which we were po*
litely ushered ogr another yonth^ who annaunoed us to
ear hosti,
' Surely,' I aaid when that gentleman arrived, ' neither
of those Jade were ever convicts 1 '
' Yes,' was the reply; *one wa« oooricted once— the
other, who is from Parkhurst, twice ; but ^y are both so
thoroughlpr reformed, that we trust them as fully as we
do any of our other senrants^^-sometimes with money to
pay small hills.'
On advancing to a sort of balcony to look around, we
found ouiselves on the top ef one of that low nsnge of
emineooes known as the Surrey Hilla,. with, if not an
extensivey a .cheerful and picturesque landscape to look
upon. Immediat^y to the left stood a pretty group of
buildings, compristag the chapel, a sohool^room^ and two
houses, each to contain aixiy boys; the fottndation-stone
of the first having been laid by Prince Albert no longer
ago than the 30th of ApriL These unpretending but
tasteful Oethic edifiecs, relieredf as they, were, by a back-
ground of thick foliage, which stretched Asvay at intemds
to the boundaries of the estate, ^e a sylvan, old-finglish
character to the scene, whioh will doubUess be endesured
to the memory of many an emigrabt when labouring oat
his tnission in the Antipodes. In fronts in a dell, bey4>nd
a cutting through which the Seath- Eastern B*ilway
passes, and half-hidden by tall trees, the farm-house in
which the beys, now on the farm, are acoeounodatod,
partially revealed itself; while beyond, a cottage, in
which the bailiff of the estate lives, was more plainly
seen.. The view stretching westward is bounded by what
geologists used to call a *orag and tatl^' of no great
elevatiotu but bearing a miniatujae resemblance to the
feundatiebs of Old Kdinbuigh, and this aaoctatknt is
strengthened when one kanis that it iicsUsd *Laitk
HUt* Under it stands the town of Rei^.
Dotted about the hnor-^of which our tmtosd ptiatof
view afforded a perfsot supervision~-were groopt of jn^
nile labourers steadily plying their taaJn. Ons nail
party were grabbing m hedge, their captain er nmutti
constructing a fire-heap of the refuse; a detsduBcst of
two was setting up a gate, under the direction of scupiB.
ter; a third group was digging a field of what wt lAw.
wards found to be extremely hard day ; and a fbaith
was wheeling manure. We could also see flittinf to tad
fro, immediately about the fium-honse and ofioei, am.
ral small figures, employed in those little odd jobilliit
the * minding * of poultry, the £eeding of pigs, iht grw«.
ing of horses, stnd the stalling of oxen, ei^ spoa tfe
denizens of a fSuna-stea^ng.
The systematic activity which pervaded tiw irMi
estate, and the good order in whidi eveiytkiBg sppausd,
bespoke imthev an old-established tiuin a recenth^stand
farm. Indeed, were it not for the noise of a bwkiik.
layers' trowels at work upon the chapel, snd Inr ind
there a dilapidated hedge in process of repair, or a idd
of rough fanning thai looked like n^lected had in
process of being reclaimed, we should bare inaiimd
ourselves upon £at exception (uahappilj) to tk h^
^stem — a farm held upon » long lease wUekkdsMdy
run out.
Having been gratified with this coup tFail, wt dtMnd«d,
under the guidanoe of our reverend host, te tske » mm
view of the operaAions. On our way, he infeniMd u Ikk
the extent of the farm is so more tiisn 140 sera ;tek
that, siimll as it is, he hoped, with some addttions lesdily
obtainable, that as jnasiy as 5e0 beys wouU be evntesHj
trained upon it. It appears to have beca sdninh^
chosen for the purpose. These acres indade tmj ts.
riety of soil, from light sand to the stiAst cUy, tbe gm-
rali^ ef it consisting of feirugisKms marl, iheeokw «(
which doubtless gnre the name to the hill eitr vkiok
it is chiefly spread. The more stubborn part of tbteitel*
will not only supply what ia chiefly required-Wioi-
but wiU also be the means of instructing tbe psptbiB
the proper metiiod of oultivatinf consolidatsd wili; riale
the modes of dealing with lifter land vill be mm.
plified in the more fimble sandy eartha
While approaching ihe neareet knot of yoeng kkssa,
it happened that the recollection of a visit 1 bed fsil
some years ago to the townhonse of tiie sooiit? ime
vividly in my mind. I remembered weU, that allboi^
getierally healthy, some of the beys seemed pale, aul
when you addressed them, answered furtivelj, and did
not look stn^ght into your fiaoe. But the rodd;, ii&Bii«
oonntenance which was now turned i^ te letun ^f*"*
tor'i greetings formed a striking contrast to vba( I kid
noticed on the previous occasion. It beamed wjtkb«ltt
and pdeasnre: the first d<ae to a free life in tbeoosafa?;
changed from n pent-up existenoe in town; and tbtlsMe
to the afiahle kindness of his treatment. Tbe be]r m
< puddMng' (ramming euth round the fonndstien of) i
S^te-post, and replied to certam suggestioasreipectins
s mod# of doing his task in a fran^ ^'B^'^^'^fT
fectly respectful manner. We paased en to tbe hti^
grubbing. This is hard wotk» and the bejs wot p^
away raanfuUy. Will lent force to every strekeef JJt
pick« and every inoirion ^ the axe. The moMst tlR
director came in tfight, a smile rose to every tsoL A
laig% spreading, obetinAte voe4 was giving a ejupii «
the young gruMieES a vast deal of trouble, snd tkei)9^
rior, supposmg the boys were not going •^pt AarwJ
in the best manner, suggested an alteration in twPg;
It was pleasing to see, instead of a^ servile or a doQP
acquiescenoe in this hint, that the elder lad at <»«*^
his reasons for the mode he had chosen for v'*^
ing the root. A short argument ensued ketwsia m
master and pupil, which ended in a dedsio* thst^*^
latter was ri^. This show«i- the tettBSCBiiArt»"
two individuals— who might be d«^»'»^*"^*3k!I2
station, in morals, and in intellect— stood ta^mij"
other. The law of kindness (the only cods |igw»
here) had bnwght both into perfoofc ^aammt m w
^
J
CBAASBEBS'B ■ BDINBUBOH J0I7BNAL.
348
itnittt tsitied, except that iiftpoMd by pwpnety and
reipect. The aiomior or oaptaiii of tkaa gvoop was also
'dnufii out' bjr tmt eig^rmw to eaplain the meani by
whichhek«ptiipTeiitilatkHi in thebumkig^haapwkicliM
waf lepdeniahing with refnae. Thia he did moit BUknaAe
Teiy aeientificaUj, but in a maimer which showed he
thoroughir understood the principles of oombnrtion,
and that mi mind, as well aa his httods^ west engaged in
the task.
In wandering £rom this groap to another part of the
iWrm» I oooH not help renubrkhig on the wide diflbvenoe
•xMbited between these boys and those at Metttay, whom
myself mad my companion had ohaocad to see, daring
the November of latt year, drawn up« rank and ftle^ in
the noble square of the colony* The latter teemed, one
and all, the Tictims of excessire disoipliMe. Fear sat npon
their faoea. They are not encooraced to speak; and nsi-
tors are Teqnetted not toi address them. At Bed Hill, oa
the contrary, free imterconcse is oultb'ated and ooorltd*
No discipline is enforced which iarolres pudishmeat
ao severe as to be mudi dreafledf and not the sli|^itest
restraint, upon personal liberty ia imposed. Any boy is
fiee to leare the &rm if he diooess to make his escape;
there is neither wall^ nor bolt, nor bar* to hinder him*
Fire instances only of dMcrtion have ooCnrred since the
school has been in actual operation. > Of these misg^nided
youths, who were all of the youngest class of inmates*
threehave returned of their own accord, bwging to be
again admitted; two others were sent \mS by thetr
maada» the destre of seeing whom waa the motive of the&r
ebpemeot. Although the labour is severe, the clerical
chief has managed to instil ^nto those under hia «haige
a patieni endoranoe^ if net a lore cf it^ and atoleraaoe of
ike restrainta it impoisesy far. superiot to the temptations
of the miserable lawless liberty of their previotts career
of crime. It shoald, however, be remarked, that the
lads in the Fann School have all sufiegred for their
Q&aieee, by impriaonmenty or some other penlJty, hetere
their admission to it, and come mostly aa volunteers un-
der the impulse of repentanoe, and a desire to do better
for themselT«8. The * colons^ of Mettray, on the contraryt
are all * dtf beniis '~4»e literally convicto atiU umler Uie
sentence and restraint o€ law. '
* Those bovs whom w^ have left,' I remarked, *are
possibly the Dest<.'disposed in the school, and never were
deeply dved in crime t ' .
*0n the contrary,' waa Uie reply, ^ among them are
E'^ who have net only been frequeatly conrioted and
iaoned fdr felonies, but were, before coming here,
dually addicted to iaalts which the laws do not
puniflh. They s^dom spoke without an imprecation, were
ire^uently intoxicated, and were guilty of other vicea*
which one would imagine their youth precluded them
from indulging in. Yet you now find them expveesing
thena^ea with propriety, and conducting thMnsehres
quite aa well aa most of the farm-boys in thia pari^' '
At the extremity of the estate, b^ond the bailiff's
houae. Was a party of younger boya digging a field of
obstinate clay nearly aa Jucd as unbaked brick. The
superintendent, who directed their operatioae, gave
them a good clianicter for perseverance, and added, thai
he waa aomettroes aarprised at the aptitude dispUgred by
the boye when farm^teols were iirat put into their-handa.
Although their previous mode of life proved they coold
never before Itavo been need to delving, draining, trim*
ming hedgerows, ice. yet the intelligence many of tbemdis*
played when set about such work for the first time caused
thesrinstructot*— whose former exponemce had lain among
oountiy parish apprentices -*^to. marvel greatly. The
truth is, the schemes and oentnvaBdea-M^rtminal though
they were-^4n which these lada.were forced to engage to
relieve the miseries of their old mode of .life (and to
which we adrerted in a former artio&e), have a. ten*
deacy to sharpen their wits and bri^ten their intelleots.
Aa the most hanlened metal tafaea the higheat poliah^ so
these youths, when thoroughly reformed wid tnuned, are
most often the brii^test workmen.
To each their benignant pastor gave a Und word, even
if it were one expressive of dis^;>probatbn for some ftoilt;
of which ha pointed out the evil ob&sequenoeb witk'snch
plain and eonvincing reaaoning, that the delinquent ex^
pressed contrition either in #ordtor byamere expressinwi
because more speataneous* look. He had manifestly tried
to atudy each character, and adapted hie aittumenta to
suit its peouliaritsee, using such means of core as were
most efficadoin for the qiMial tneial diseaaes under which
the patient happened to liUiOuvi
In thb lies the true secret of all reformatoiy eff<xts
undertaken forthe yiottng. As in? medicine^ eo in mohds
much dependaupmi adapting the vemediea ta the character
and kind of diseaae. To bnng eTtty sdrt of Bsental oUa«
quity under ene mode of trentaaaBt,- or one aet ef rales, is
aa kzatiooal as if ~a ^bystciaii were to treat Jiia patients
in dasses, and adainister to each daaa the same physio.
Notiiiag can be more plain, than that, to cure immora^
lity, the moral sentiments must be addresaed; and this is
ilnpoatfble,) or at most ineflbctual^ where the peoaliacities
of each moral ailaMui is not' studied* * and where aaj
^stem of general routine is followed. Thedlsappomt*
meat ooeaaioned by the expensrvegovcinraent elpscunent
at'Piarkhufst must be i» agreat measMre refesred to too
gueat a desree of gensralisatien and aystematising.
Cotkversing on this topic, we andved at the fiinnhouse,
where we saw the esholan engaged in* a variety of heme
duties; from bakinff and storing bread Ut meiunag 4todc^
inga* in which aae&l avecatioo we detected two juniora
in an outlionae< . n • - ,
In the. evening, at six, the boys were aasembled inthe
Bohool^^room ibr inatroetion and prayers^ > An additional
interest was occasioned \rr the enroumstanoe of the resi-
dent chaplain having only the day before- retaijied from
a seoend visit te ifisurey^ After a grayer, and the read-
ing and exposition of an appvepriale ckapter from the
Testament, he gave the assembly an acoooat of what he
had seen;' and read the answer to an addkeas-he had
taken ever to the Mettiay boys from theaseeltes. This
document. is interesting, and we were fk^Mued with a
eopy of it, which we translate as folUw»«-r^
* , * f > ' 1 >
* The Boys of the Agricultuiul CoLp^v at Mbttiut
TO THE Youths op the Philanihkopic Fabsi-Scuool.
< Bbar FMKims AMD BuorBKHS IN T«s LoniH-Mr QIad-
stone and Mr Turner, your respected directors, have come
to visit our colony, and we can hasdly teilyou how much
pleasoMy we felt when Mr Gladstone, after speaking to us
about thr frffm>4cbool, read to us your address.
* Thanks, dear friends, for this generous impulse of
year hearts^ You^ have well undentood our foelitigs.
Yes, we are, we shall always be, your brothers. The
same love of what is good animates us both.
^ Tears of joy and thankfainess glistened in our eyes
aawe beard your kind wdabes for us; and omr.honouied
and excellent directors^ the VisoonatdetCourteilles and
M. Demetz, have been equally moved bythem* Yeuv
sentiments are indeed neble and Christian^
* Dear brothers, we all owe imaok te Ood, who has di«
lected the honoured friends by whom both we^ and yeu
are superintended. Do you pray, let us piayy for the
fouudera of both our sdiools^ Let us pray -for their hap »
pineas^ and for the welfore^ the aayhsmswhieh they have
opened* When yen kneddown each night before €tod,
thhsk of us in France, whe, on our part, will add to our
petitions' a "pa^r for you in England.
* Like U8,*7eu say you have erred^^you have known
trouble. But like to, tee, you have resolved te have
dene with your past Itfo of disarder^ You will succeed
in this, dear fri«ids,for the providence of God has sent
veu enliffhteaed eiod Christian friendsi^ You have found
in Mr QladBtene and- Mr Tum^r what we have found in
Qur wokthy fonndeia and dJMctora. Let us follow Ubeir
lessons^'. Soehail we march: among the foremost in the
path of Jioneuc and virtue in which they le#d ua
* Dear friends, we form this<day an affectionate alliance
with y ou^^^'CSietfaat. ^aH last. The ring wihich our direo-
tors send will be the substantial vraibel of this union' of
eur Jiearts wttih yobra You will see these words en-
giaved on it, *^ Ood, honour, union, reoellection ^'^^
words which - are our imottow I^ them be also yours.
850
OBAMBEBS^ HDIKBUBGH JOimtfAL.
IM tmh9 an/kiM, Ltt ui join togetliar in itTifii tgaiiiii
what it tnL Lei 110 support one Mnothev in wliat if g»od.
Let 110 lore eaok other to the end.
"^ Dett liriends and hrotheis, health and hAppineis to
jott alL
(Signed hj the elder hrothere and monitore)
* LiMOfly B«u.oifR, An«kt, Maucbtn, QVYt JOMR,
MabT| CoLLor, SouTiGNE, HflBBfti, Cbbvalibb.'
This WM5 ^e beai«ti of it were Msared, the yerilable
eomposition of the svbsisibSiiff boTi. It was read on this
oecMion amidst the most prefoond attention. When the
assemblage broke up, tiie lads separated to their plaj-
ground in an orderlj manner. The yoong groom, now-
erer, departed for the stable to prepare the v&iolo for o«r
departure; tat our most interesting- visit was nearly over.
In a parting eon?ersation with the resident diaplain,
he told tts ^at thirtT^six reformed boys had already been
sent to Algea Bay; and that, despite the storm of disaf-
fection raised in Cape Colony agamst the introduction of
conricts, the lads were well reeeired. They had searoely
stepped on shore, before erery one ef them was engaged,
and the aeeounts sinoe leoelred of them were highly
faTourable.
Although the Important reeolts which will sasuredly
flow from this expenment can only be carried out bpr the
extension of its plans, yet large numbers of pupils in
such est^liflhments would, for the reasons we have giren,
be an eril. CentnUisation and generalisation would be
as inevitable as they are much to oe dreaded. To do any
good, ihd mind of each boy must be influenced separately;
and in a large sehooli tms would be impossible for one
superintendent to accomplish. The Philantikropic School
is now within manageable booFuds, and the chaplain knows
each lad almost as intimately as he does hisown children;
but when the establishment is extended to 300 pupils, as
is contemplated, much of his influence over indiriduals
will <9ease. To obviate this, it is intended to make
each ' family ' consist of sixty individuals, guided by a
master (with an assistant) and his wi/ii — a '^st stride of
improvement upon the mattre and aona'maUte system
of Mettrar. The softening restraint instinctively im-
posed by the mere presence of a woman — setting aside her
higher influ^ces— will be most benefidaL Much — ol^ ws
may venture to say-^wUl, however^ depend upon the tact,
temper, demeanour, and patience of these most impor-
tant functionaries. It is here, indeed, that the pomt of
dhflculty in eflfeeting the reformation of vicious habits
and impulses in the young presents itself. Nearly all
reformatory tfstemt have &iled from the unskiUiilness,
from the want of long-suflbring foibeannce, and of
prompt but kindly firmness, on the part of those to
whom the taric of reformation has been confided. It is
the possession of these qualities by the reverend prin-
cipal in an eminent degree which has brought about the
pleasing state of things we have described at the Red*
Hill Form, and we look with some anxiety to the time
when, notwithstanding his general supervision, the small-
est of his ftinctions wui have to be delegated.
As we arrived at the Red- Hill railway station for our
return journey some time before the train started, we em-
ployed the interval in making inquiries as to the charac-
ter the Philanthropic boys bore among their neighbours,
who, we were previously infbrmed, had at first looked
upon the new colony with dread.* Every account we
received was, we were happy to find, favourable t the
ox-criminals had not occasioned a single complaint.
In less than an hour we were again amidst the murk
of London, almost envying the young criminals of Red
Hill the puro air they breathed; at the same time fbr*
vently ho^g that the example and objects of this farm
may gradually be extended to every county in Oreat
Britain ; and that its founders — ^to borrow a quaint trope
* JL taargain had ntarly been oanduded at oae tlma for a fann
to the north of the metropoUai but to great waa iha bonror of the
contiguous irentr/, that one of them actually presented the society
with a donation of L.1000, on condition that the scene of re-
f ormatonr operations should be remored ; and acoordinglY it was
-"-^to-
from Bisliop Latimer— 4nay have aoi only 'lig^itad a
candle in tais ooontry whioh, 1^ God's grace, shall sat
be put out again,' but that many others m^ be kindlad
from it*
TOIL AND TRIAL.*
Tms is the somewhat oommonidaee and
title of a book whidi, aspiring to little, will pvobaUy
eiftct much. It is a story of the people, written fiw thie
people^ and publishad & a form which, is within ths
people's reach. Its text is the eariy-olosoag
and thereon the author bases that iMst td '
sterling truth which lies hidden under iho
of fie&n. * Toil and Trial' will do more tbasi half a
dosen prosy public meetings to aid the oaoaa fot whaA
it is written. Of the wortii and ]asef«lne« of ^at caoss
there can now be but one opinion ; and iharefoce ths
critic, in dealing with Mrs Crosland's book, haw bn^ te
consider how far she has attained her end.
This has been done by extreme nmplicitj^almost
homeliness — in narration, pkot^ and nlisisstfiis. It is a
chanter in London life, such as any ona might read ahsa
walking into some of the great linendcapen* akopa,
each of which seems a little worid in ilselfl Fnm aaeh
an one the hero and heroine, Jaspar and Lioie Rivasa,
axe taken. They are assistants in tlia same sbep— httva
been married some time, but ooneeal then unian, fat
fear lest that stiingent and most evil custom of LoBdea
marcers— the exdusion of married man-^sbould taika
from both ihp poor pittance which is thair only
Most'iduching is the account of the privatieas, n
oontrivanoes^-even imputed shame — 4o whidi botk, and
especially poor lizrae, are exposed by the
of this gallmg seeret.
* It was the beginning of a bright and glowing
day. As usual, Jasper Rivers and his wife left hooM
between seven and ei^ht o'clock, Lisne preriously giving
the most exaot directions to the maid-ofodl-work reject-
ing the caro of the eliild — how die was to ba takaa into
the Park before the heat of noon caaae on, and again at
five or six o'dock — apportioning the hours for deep aad
food with the most precise attention. With their minds
full of the coming disclosuro .(of their marriaga), &ey
naturally talked about it — wondering what tE« laaolt
would actually be, and scarcely realising that this migiht
be the last time they should thus walk togat^wr, thread-
ing the same streets, as they had done, till every aloiia and
post had become an acquaintance; usually patting at ^e
piece of dead wall, whence sometimes one, aiid sometimes
the other, made a longer drouit to their dcstinatioa; tlMss
arranging not to arrive together. This was only one oat
of twenty petty degrading plans that had baooma a habtt,
and called not for either thou|^t or comment.
' They pass through London streets, seeing sisijahaia
the pale dmpers' assistants drowsily oommeneing thaif
daily toil by << dressing'' shop-windows.
** Street after street it is die same story," said Jasper
with a sigh ; and he added, ** well^ I snppoae we oi^ht
to find consolation in knowing thero are tnouaands who
suffer as much as ouiselves."
** My dear Jasper," exclanned his wifii; ** think a mo-
ment, and I am surs you will never say that again. Is
it not extraordinary that such an aigument can evar be
put forth 1 Surely the very fact that thousaada do tmSm
ought to rouse us to the heartier exertions, and make u
the more willing martyrs in the cause, if need be."
** Liszie,'' he replied, turning towards her, and slmsst
stopping in the street as he spoke, ^ I alwmya tiioaght
you the most sensiUe woman I ever knew ; bat latletfy
^ou have often surprised me. You seem to havw sa man j
just opinions, whieh strike me as mudi by their freshncaa
as thdr tnith."
^ I am afraid," said Una smiling, «* that m j ophueoa
are not very profound; but latteriy, as I told you
I
!
* ToU and Trial. A Story of London Lifia. By Mn K
Crodand (late Camilla Toolmfn). London : Arfhor HalL ~
aadOow IMA
J
GHAHBEBS'S BDmBUBGH JOITBNAL.
851
daj, I haT« h»d * little time to tkinki and m I h»d
previouily tuffsred manj sorts of boitow , therefore my
thoughts may be the better worth remembering. But
here we are at Street: we had better separate. Yet
wait a moment : I declare I had forgotten m j ring. Hold
my glore, dear; I will be quick."
* And Jasper held her gloye, while Lizzie drew off her
wedding-ring, and suspended it to a black ribbon which
^e const^tly wore round her neck, and to which alone
was yisiUy attached a locket containinf the hair of her
dead mother. With the adroitness of long habit, the
■lender golden iMulge was carefully hidden nearer her
heart. Now this necessary operatMn was a perpetual
annoyance to Jasper Rirers ; but one of whidi his wife
was so uneonsoious, that it was a mere aoddent whether
it was performed in his presence or not. There is a petty^
frantic jealousy about most men, with which women,
calm in the haren of confid^ce, find it hard to ^rmpa-
thise; and perhaps it was a dim su^icion of this lact
which made him half-ashamed to betray the irritation
this trifline circnmstanoe occasioned; but it galled him
none the less. He felt as i^ bj the withdrawal of her
ring, ^e ceased to belong to him ; as if she fell away
from his care and protection into the shadow of a doubtful
position; and just in proportion as it ought to hare been
cheeied by the light of his confidence, unfortunately a
host of £retfiil fiu&cies inraded his peaoa. Lizrie often
wondered that, in the hours of business, he should show
an irritation of temper she but seldom witnessed at home;
yet little suspected that the stray look or careless word
of another might haye occasioned the ebullition.'
One of these * ebullitions' — ^which, tocether with, other
qualities,' make Jasper not half so wor&y a personage as
his patienty self-denying, much-enduring wife — cause the
impromptu disclosure of the secret, and the consequent
dinnission of both. Troubles threaten to gather round
the young pair, but are eyaded by an incident which^ we
cannot but obserye, diminishes greatly the lifelike and
simple force of the narratiye. Liuie^ seeking for work,
finds, in the usuid sudden unforeseen way of romance,
an old firiend, Mr Matthew Warder^ who helps Ja^r to
a situation, and in fact proyes the * good angel ' to eyenr-
body in the story. Thu is a fault in the moral of the
book. Not chance, but their own exertions and worthy
endurance, should haye brought success to the young
couple. Eyery struggling draper's assistant cannot hope
to find a rich eariy<<Iosing friend to help him out of his
difficulties, but eyery one can be tauf ht that, by truth,
honesty, and a little patience, the right will conquer at
last. There is another mistake in the literaiy construc-
tion of the stoiy. Mrs Crosland makes her characters
speak chiefly on early-closing in Ions moral homilies of a
page or a page and a-half, which, uiough excellent and
true — eyen eloquent at times — are in no cases appropriate
either to the station, education* or feelings of the indi-
viduals in whose mouths they are put. The mattw on
which they debate might easily haye been brought for-
ward by suggMtions richer than lecturings; b^ acts, not
words. The simple facts of the narration furnish its best
nioraL
There are a few good sketches of character rather hinted
at than deyeloped, which indeed the space of the small
yolume would seem to forbid. Among these are Mrs
Denison, the stepmother of Lizzie, * a Uttle, dark-eyed,
fussy, had-been-pretty woman, of fiye-and-thirty, with a
disagreeable yoioe and will of her own. She wore rich
silks and expensiye jewellery the first thing in the morn-
ing, though, to be sure, her ** first thing" was not yery
early. But to make amends for her own indulgences, the
•eryants, inclusiye of Miriam Lowe, the young goyemess,
were up betimes.' This Miriam Lowe is another half-
defined sketch, pleasing enough to make one wish for
more of it. A third is indicated by poor little £llen,
Lizzie's first child| blighted into premature decay for
want of that care whi^ the unacknowledged wife and
mother dared not giye; and eyen in the coming shadow
of prosperity, dying at last. This drcumstance^ we may
mention by the way, furnishes the authoress with an
excellent half page on intra-mural interment"-«a oppor-
tunity which, together with others in the course of the
book, she neyer Mts slip. Indeed there are &w women
who wield so fearless and at the same time so cleyer a
pen against the crying eyiLi of society. An extract to
show ike occasional power which the book exhibits will
conclude our notice. It deeoribes a fire on the adjoining
premises of Messrs Lerimert the early-dosing firm, and
their opponentt, Jasper's late masters, Messrs Frong : —
'Long he sat (that is, Frank Warder, shopman of
MessKs Lorimer, and loyer of Miriam Lowe); and a slight
shiyer through his frame, tocether with the dick of the
coding cinders, had reminded him that it must be grow-
ing yerr late, when a sudden noi«e still more completdy
aionsed him from his dream. It was a dull, hammering
sound, and eyidently prooeeded from the direo^n of the
(bong's premises, the back of which immediately adjoined
those occupied by the Messrs Leiimer; the two together
cutting on— iiolatinff — the comer houses, whose conye-
nience had probably neen entirdy sacrificed for the com-
mercial puipeeet of the two laiger buildings. The noise
inoressed— » a minute or two was followed by screams^—
and at the instant that a sudden suffocating smell burst
on the senses of Frank Warder, the terrible word ** FireT'
was shrieked by a score of yoices.
' It awoke the whde household} but Frank had a great
adyantage oyer those thus fioarfully aroused from heayy
slumber. Already the bright fiames darted from the back
windows of Messrs Frong's, their pointed tongues, directed
by the dry wintry wind, sloped towards the riyal shop,
till thsy Mmest seemed to hek its walls. Frank saw in
an instant the imminence <^ the peril; but his strength
of mind did not desert him. He leaped rather than
stepped up stairs to the deeping-chambers, taking care to
dose the door of eyery room in his way. On the first
landing he met Mr Lorimnp flying to the nursery, and
his half-iasnting wife refusing to stir until the duldren
were safe. MeanwhUe came the din of ydces, and the
terror of fifty human bdnga drawn from their beds by
the alarm of fire; neyerthdess there was something in
Frank's appearance, entirely dressed as he was, and in
his collected manner, that gaye confidence to the rest,
and his words were listened to by all.
*' I>ear sirl" he exdaimed to Mr Lorimer, ** be calm,
and there is no danger. You haye not only good time to
leaye the house, but to saye whateyer yalus^bles may be
at hand. Let me take Mrs Lorimer safdy to some house
opposite — there I see the dear children haye each a pro-
tector—and then we must see what can be done in the
shop and wardiouse. PU be leader I Who'll fdlow me I "
« I — I — ^l ! » was shouted by so many, that it seemed
as if eyery one not personally engaged in assisting the
women and children was eager to be of serrice. * * *
<* Listen to me a moinen V' exclaimed Frank, ae he re-
entered the house, where a stifling sensation warned him
of the approadung catastrophe. ** Who'll follow me to
the inner warehouse, and snatch up the bales from Paris
that came yesterday 1 Who'll saye the firm fiye thousand
pounds, for which they are not insured, and show that
we are of different metal from the Frong's people, who
are running away like frightened rats ! "
** Ay — ay," they shoutod as with one voice : '* who^s
afraid; we don't mind a singeing. Ke^ Mr Lorimer
back : make him go over the way to his wife : tell him
we'll save his shaios and the Lyons silks, and that, too,
before the smoke ruins them. Now for it--httrra I" and
with a rush they made their way up staircase* and along
passages, every step leading nearer to the lapping flames,
the bght of whi^ almost blinded them. The inner
warehouse was a room where the most valuable property
was usually kept: it abutted on the Frong's premises;
and now the iron-bars which protected the back-windows
were hotter than the hand could bear, every pane of glass
was broken, and the paint on the window-shutters was
blistered. Dried in tms manner by the heat — ^prepared,
as it were, for the coming flames — ^it was a service of great
danger to enter this part of the building. Had the fire
cau^t it while Warder and his companions were there,
as it did three minutes after they left, bearing on their
shoulders the bales of predou« merohandisei it would
^"■^p— ^^i«»»«"4>»»
^62
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
hare been » itroffgle of life and death to teicfa a place of
safety ai^ain, withfuch wonderful rapiditT did the flamei
leap Irom ip^ to ipot, truly meriting the name of the
" derouring eleivent." The brare band were reoeiTed
with shoate of applause bj the erowd on the street, who
made way for them to croM OTor. The English mob is
pretty sure to recognise an act of heroism when they find
it, and the daring exploit of ** Lorimer's young men **
had reached their ears.'
Frank Warder is not the only hero : as soon as Jaj^ter
Rivers, now his fellow-assistant, roused from sleep by
the distant glare of a * great fire,' reaches the spot — ^ a
scene far more terrible than any which had preceded
it was about to appal the spectators. A rumour aitwe
that a man was stUl on the Prong's premises, er rather
in the upper storey of one of the houses forming the
comer already mentioned. Erery one wondered that
he eouM not eseape as the other oeoupantt of the house
had dent, except those who knew that the floor in
which he was confined was out off from the rest of the
house by a walled^up door, hanng been let to the Messrs
Ficng, and a communication opened with their premises.
Jasper, who well remembered the arrangements of the
house, comprehended the whole tragedy in a moment.
He knew that the ** shop-walker " — he who had been for
three years a tyrant to Jasper, and to whom at last he
chiefly owed his dismissal slept on that floor; and he
was able to rseegndso the miserable erestore as he stood
at the window, wrinnng his hands, hie oottatenaoee dis-
torted by the anguish of hia almost hopeless oonditbu,
and loolung down on the sea of upturned anxious fiu^es,
gUrbg in the red light of the flames, and all alike ex-
pressive of terrible commiseration. Tlie height from the
street was tremendous, and many feet above the tallest
of the fire-escapes. Jasper saw that the one faint chance
of this man's escape rested in the door of oommunieation
with the now-deserted house being buiat open, sftd this
could only be done by main force* The bravo men of the
fire brigade were ready, in the fulfilment of their noble
duty to run all risks; but tlu^ir ignorance of the localities
of the different premises was a great hindrance to their
usefulness. Hi vers knew this; and helping to wrench an
iron bar from an area-grating, to use as a weapon, he
made his way up ^e staircase of the now-deserted comer-
house, which was already to his senses like a heated oven.
The flames were ready to olasp it every moment; for the
experienced firesien dared not bring the fall Ssree of
their engines to play while life had yet to be saved,
knowing that the sufllocating flames of smoke that would
instanthr arise might be yet more fiitaL What a mo-
ment of breathless suspense ensued ! It lasted till, in
the hush that prevailed, Jasper's ponderous blows on the
fastened door could be distinctly heard above the roaring
of the fire. Then the figure from the window turned
away, raised its arms with a gesture of thanksgiving, and
was seen no more ^ill, amidst deafening shoot^ the two,
wounded and bleeding, emei;^ from the house : thev
hud leaped more than one flight of stairs, round which
fire and smoke were already writhing.'
INFLUENCE OF BANKIMO ON MOSALITT.
Banking exercises a powerful influence upon the morals
of society : it tends to produce honesty and punctuality
in pecuniary engagements. Bankers, for their own interest,
always have a regard to the moral oharaoter of the party
with whom they deal: they inquire whether he be honest
or tricky, industrious or idle, prudent or speculative, thrifty
or prodigal ; and they will more readily make advances
to a man of moderate property and good morals, than to
a man of hm property, but of inferior reputation. Thus
the cstahMshwent of a bank hi any plaee immediately
advonees the pecuniary value of a good moral ohsraeter.
There are numerous instances of persons having arisen
from obseuritv to wealth only by means of their moral
character, and the confidence which tlxat character pro-
duced in the mind of their banker. It is not merely by
way of knm or discount, that a baaksr serves such a per-
son. He also ^eaks well of hin to those persons who
may make inquiries respecting him: and the Danker*s good
opinion will be the means of procuring him a higher degree
4f oredit wtth the parties vrith whom he trades,
etfeets are essUy p^ceivable in oonntry toi
in London, If a house be known to havs eogsged In gambl-
ing or smuggting transaotions, or in any other way to hare
acted discreditjblT, their hills will be taken by iht bMkcn
lees readily than those of |m hcnourabis hooae of isferisr
property. It is thus that bankers perform the ftmetaost
of i>ubho conservators of the commercial virtae^ From
motives of private interest, they encourage the Industrious,
the pmdent, the punctual, and the honest — while they
disoountenanoe the spendthrift and the gambler, the Usr
and the knave. They hold out inducements to nprightnesi,
which are not disregarded by even the moot iJisiodoMd.
There is many a man who would be deterred tnm tfis-
hooesty by the ftown of a banker, though be nught
but Utile for the admonitioiis of a bishep^r--€9As»r«
tical TrtatiM on Banhmg.
JAQUES BALMAT,
THE PIONEER OF MONT BLANC,
BY THB LATE MRS JAMBS OBAT.
Trb mountain reared a lofty brow
Where footsteps never troA ;
It stosd sapnms o'er an below.
And ewmeil akms with Ood.
The lightnings played around its '
Nor touched its stainles
The glacien bound its mighty
Seas where no enrrents flow.
And ever and anon the blast
Blew slendy round its head,
And doods aevsas ils bosom
A ehaageful oactain spieaiL
But changelees in its malesty.
The mountain was alone.
No vofoe might teH what thefo m^t
Its sssrels wen Hs own.
He 4ioo1d havs worshipped poetry
Who Crude Hs suuhuIC firat,
X#sliouhl have had a paintef^ egps
On whom the visSon burrt :
The vision of the lower world
Seen from that mountain's crown,
'Mid storms, where humUe rodoi
To nM>ls<4iiUs dwindled down*
Yet *twas a lowly peaaaatrs lot
To iad ths upward road,
Ue earliest trod that lofty spot
Where solitude abode.
Thus Truth sits in her wasted power
For ages long and lone,
TiU opened in some happy hour
A pathway to her throne.
Then Let this thought the humble
And hope their bosoms fiH—
The lowly oft hare led the way
TTp to the saored hlU.
|l
IMFLUBNCS OP MU6IC.
An excellent clergyman, possfssing nsoeh ^
hnman nature, instructed his large ftunily of fjanghteis
the theory and practice of music. They were all -'
to bo exceedingly amiable and happy. A Inend ii _
there was any secret in his moae of eduiisdhws. 'He
pUed,* When anythkig disturbs their temper^ I 8»yt» ti
** Sing ;^sndifl hear thsmsnsak against nay paaaa»I
faq^mcAff
them to sing to me ; and so tney have sung away aH
of discontent, and every disposition to soaswlal,'
Sigoumey.
CHAMBERS'S
INSTRUCTIVE AND ENTERTAINIKO I^IBMA
To this series of Books roa thb Pboplk has Just
STOmES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY.
BY MRS 8. C. HALL.
Part /., One Shilling.
I
•
Published by W. & R. Chambbss, High Street, _^
sold by D. CaAMsams, SO Azgyle Street, Cnasgifis W. I
U7 Strand, London; and J. M*OiJkaaAir» SI irOllBr
BubUn.— Printed by W. & R. CBAMsaas, BUnVori^
i.-.i ''i ' ' .•
f/ /
GONfiUOTBD BY WILLIAM AlfD ROHBRT CHAMBKIS, fitntolts OV * C^AMBBltS'S INFOIllIATrON FOU
TIlfiPEOPLB/«CHAMBKaS'8BpUCAXIOIUI*C0UJWB;*c. . < i ,
=1:
' I *■'""■' i "I'' ' ' i'' "" Mill'. I n lit IMlMll ii-< 'II !»
No. 310. New Srbies.
SATURDAY, DECEMHER 8^, 1849.
;; Pbicb l^f/.
KirOWLEDG-E.
It was for a long time the custom to recommend know*
ledge to the attention of tlie people by dopicting the
material adyantages and pleasures incident to its pur-
suit. Glowing and attaraotive piolures won exhibited of
the career and progress of meritorious ated successful
persons, who had been derate by their intelligence to
positions of consideration and distinction. Uniyersal
history and biography were ransacked to furnish in-
stances of a perseveriiig and well-rewarded prosecution
of knowledge ' under diiS^ulUes ;' aad the general mind
was invited to oontempilata aad reflect on these, as
worthy exemplars for its imitation. The inference,
moreover, that was almost uniformly intended to be
drawn, was such a one as was naturally acceptable to
the crude and undisciplined UDderstaiMliDg*~the obvious
purpose of all such representatioaa boiog to stimulate
the energies and enterprise of the ambitious, by the
offer or indication of material rewards, and to make in-
telligence respected and desirable for the sake of its
sensible compensations.
There might perhaps be reasons adduoible to justify
the employment of such ineitemeuts, ai there may
doubtless be circumstaacea under which the cultivation
of knowledge might, for a thme, be more effectually ad-
vanced by means of interested considerations, than by
an appeal to motives more strictly rational, and ac-
cordant with a disinterested reverence for its spiritual
worth and dignity. There are evidently stages of
human progress when a regard for their personal in-
terests has a more powerful efficacy in urging men into
improvement, than any of the finer influences of which
they are susceptible, or which an advanced culture
would probably awaken. Thus, as an exoteric or in-
troductory intimation of the value and desirableness of
knowledge, it may not beaoiiss to attract a people,
otherwise indisposed to its acqairement, by an exhibi-
tion of the conventional advantages and distinctions
which it may contribute* more or less successfully, to
realise. And though it cannot be allowed that the cul^
ture of the intellect is to be subordinated to the acqui-
sition of any of the temporal benefits of life, yet inas-
much as an increase of intelligence and sagacity may
be reasonably apfdied to the promotion of such comforts
and conveuiencies as. tend to enhance the rational satis-
factions of ezisteDee» it is not to be questioned that
the latter may be innocently, and even serviceably,
urged upon the attention, as reasons and motives for
stimulating the slothful or indifferent mind to an appro-
priate activity, whensoever higher and worthier con-
siderations may have been found to be ineffectual, or
are in any likelihood of being imperfectly apprehended.
The sole condition needful to be observed by those who
thus endeavour to promote the education and enlighten-
■"-r-
ment of thf^ people, ia a dear and firm persuMion in
tliemselret that suoli ,a methodof interesting men in
tine pursuits of litcmture tar adenoe, can only be oon-
sidend ai inil^atory, and prepsrratory io something
higher, an^tftaftat hist knowledge must stand recom-
mended to the raitid by it^ oWn intrinsic charms, and
by its grand and native tendency to further a man's
spiritual advancement.
It ia scarcely to be doubted that the oversight of this
has greatly ooBtributed to oooas^n the iailura of many
of those popular scheoies and insdtutioBS which have
bad fbr their objieot the ioteHectual improvement of the
people. Starting with the fth^rltt^ aisuntptton that
literary and scientific Information possessed the power
of raising men to social consequence, it was presently
perceived that the result, was not answerable to tlie
expectations which- bad been exjoited* and that the
more generally iotelUgence was spread, '.the grea'^r
was the oompetitisii for the adfantagM in vierw, and
the less the cfaince of altainittj^ them. By being
taught to regard their education as a means or pro-
cess whereby they might be more readily and securely
inducted into positions of emolument and honour, not
00^ were the i>eople misdirected with respect to tlie
real and authentic sagoifioation of man^ cuHoiCt but
even the inducements held out as the encouragements
of th«ir efforts were found to end awhily in disap-
pointment. The generality were not, arid oould not
be enriched, nor Tery sensibly elevated in the estima^
tion of the world; they did not usually attain to what
they had b^eu taught to aim after, which was, in most
cases, antecedence of their fellow-men, distinction and
exalted notice in the eyes of accredited respectability.
The conditions of k>ciety to which they were lobjected
limited most of them to their old employments and
pursuits, and it only occasionalfy happened that a man's
personal fortunes were very materiaily promoted by the
intelligence he had gained through studious exertion.
If, by some favourable concurrence of circumstances,
one might chance to attatn eminence, oir realise any con-
siderable share of the substantial possessions of life, for
every individual thus fortunate, there has probably been
a thousand whose efforts were utterly unproductiveof
any such sncoest. Upon the whole, it is evident that
the more universally the benefits of instruction are ex-
tended among a people^ the casual prizes wlilch were
formerly accessible to rare examples of ability and intel-
ligenee become less and less easy of attainment, and
haw an eventual tendency to becotne distributed alto-
gether without reference to that intellectual superiority
which, when education was less general, more invariably
commanded theuk The peouiiar distinctions whieh
knowledge is ooBpstont to cen^r must be lolled for in
other dhrections than those which are supposed to lead
to the acquisition of wealth or mere conventional re-
854
CHAMBERS'S BDINBURGH JOUBNAL.
11
EutabiHty— mutt be fought, indeed, among the inner
iws and neooMities of the human mind. The power
which we ascribe to intelligence muft be exerdsed for
ends and objects which hare hitherto been too com-
monly overlooked, and the purpotei and aims of educa-
tion wlU need to be more intimately a4justed to the
essentiid demands of character.
A notorious consoquoMie of the popular Instruction
most prevalent within the last twenty years, has been
the elioitation: of a certain superficial olevemess» valu-
able principally for marketable or ostentatious purposes,
and no more indicative of intellectual elevation ihm the
frivok)us accomplishment of rope-dancing. It is for the
most part an affiUr of memory, a mere mechanical agi*
lity, ezportness in acts of routine ; and in its superior
developments takes most commonly the shape of a keen
vulpine perspicacity, which may very readilv be culti-
vated independently of any coincident development of
the reflective reason or the moral attributes. The prac-
tical understanding, being trained into separate activity,
and exercised apart from its constitutional connection,
may obviously be used like an implement, in subordina*
tion to the propensities or the will, and for the acoom«
plishment of purely selfish, or even discreditable ends.
Thus, while it is perfectly true that a Liberal and com-
plete education — using the word in its largest and strictly
philosophical significance — ^is the sole and certain means
of human elevation, it is not to be denied that very con-
siderable acquisitions of information, and much intel-
lectual ability and shrewdness, may subsist together
with a manifest unscrnpulousness or depravity of dis-
position. And hence it is evident that the power of
knowledge is good or evil according as it is used ; and
so long as its cultivation is enjoined out of motives in-
volving a primary regard to worldly advantages and
promotions, there will never be wanting persons to pur-
sue it out of mercenary, and in other respects question-
able considerations. The entire grounds of the common
advocacy of education must be abandoned; we must
ascend from the low places of expediency and selfish
benefit to the nobler platform of that universal and in-
born necessity in man, which demands a circular and
simultaneous culture of his whole nature — that essen-
tial and inward law of being whose perfect and success-
ful development shall be answerable to the destination
contemplated in the origin and intention of the human
constitution.
The true reason for individual cultivation is un-
doubtedly to be sought for in the native requirements
of the souL The essential worth of knowledge lies not
BO much in its adaptations to our temporal conveniencies
or ambition, as in the service it performs in promoting
spiritual enlargement. What we more especially un-
derstand by education is a progressive process whereby
the intellectual and moral powers are expanded and de-
veloped to the extent of their capabilities, and directed
towards objects of action and speculation which have a
tendency to advance the effectual wellbeing of the in-
dividual— a wellbeing whose character is not to be
determined arbitrarily by opinion, or considered as con-
sisting in conditions accordant with mere conventional
preconceptions of mortal happiness, but one which pre-
exists as an ideal prefigurement in human nature. That
only is a right and sufficient education which aims at
the perfect culture of the man — which, as far as is pos-
sible with objective limitations, educes and invigorates
his latent aptitudes and gifts, to the end that he may
employ them in a manner which is consistent with the
pure idea of his own being. The consideration to be
kept continually in view is, what is a man by natural
capacity destined to become? — what heights of intellec-
tual and moral worth is he capable of attaining to? —
and, on the whole, what courses of discipline and per-
sonal exertion are most suitable, as the means of raising
him to that condition wherein he will most admirably
fulfil the design of his creation ? To instruct and edu-
cate him with respect to this design is the highest and
ultimate purpote (» all knowledge. It bat thus a grander
aim than the mere promotion of tiie convenieDoiea oC ov
material life. Froseouted with reference to this loftier
end, it is exalted into the appropriate guide of m man's
endeavours — acquainting him with the laws and rela-
tions of his existenc6| and shaping for him tiie Antbeotic
course of his sublunary conduct
It ia accordingly obvious, that in order to obtain its
lasting and most prizable advantages, the porsoit gf
knowledge must be entered on and followed as a du^
A man must esteem his personal culture aa the noblest
end of his existence, and accept his respoosilnli^ in
regard to it as the most paramount of obHgatiaos. To
this one pre-eminent aim all other aims said a^nriags
must be held, as inconsiderable and snbordioatc Let
him know, and lay earnestly to heart, that sdl his effiortl
at cultivation are to be everlasting in their results —
fruitful for ever in blessed consequences to himwelf and
to the world, or otherwise miserably and perpetually
abortive, according to the character and spirit of his
activity. All learning and experience have an intimate
and natural respect to the progressive perfectioB of the
human souL The original idea of a man — ^whst be in*
dividuallv ought to 6s and do — that is the basis whereon
he is to found and build up his entire being. He niut
therefore prosecute knowledge with a rerennt and re-
ligious earnestness, strive diligently to comprehend the
relations in which he stands to God and lus fdlow-men,
and sedulously endeavour to fulfil his true and peculiar
destination, which is, to make his temporal eaditcnce
correspondent with the inner laws of his own aoul, and
to leave behind it in the spiritual world an impszish*
able and eternal consequence.
This view of the intrinsic worth and aignificaaoe
of knowledge must be admitted to be far more ex-
alting and salutary to the mind than any which has
reference exclusively or priDcipoUy to its agency in
simply secular affairs. It leads a man inevitably to
respect the integrity and rightful, exercise of his capa-
cities, by discountenancing all employment of them
which might tend in anyway to invalidate or impair
the natural supremacy of the moral sentiment. Con-
sidered as the power whereby he may caltivsta and
enlarge his being, knowledge is invested with a laitj
and perennial momentousness, which cannot, and bu/
not, be disregarded without derogation to our highest
interests as human and spiritual intelligences. It k
indeed a revelation, in all its manifold departments, of
that vital and sustaining element of things which is
designated Truth, and whereon every effort that oui
reasonably be expected to be lastingly sucoesslnl is
most intimately dependent As man liveth not by bread
alone, but by every gracious word that prooeedeth from
the mouth of Gk)d, by eveiy just and eTerlasting Uw
which He has established for the guidance and e^flca-
tion of mankind, so assuredly is it of primary concera to
men to be qualified to interpret those subUme utteranecs,
and to apprehend their import and signiflcancr, in re-
lation to the aims and hopes of life. This is the givtt
and inestimable excellency of knowledge, that it ac-
quaints us with something of the reality smd natnze of
the mysterious frame of things wherdn we live, and
are necessitated constantly to work, and unfolds for as
the laws and reasons of that obedience which we st«
constrained to yield to tiie established economy when-
with our existence and essential welfare ace connected.
The highest and most binding obligation for us to knor
anything at all, is our natur^ need of intellectual es-
lightenment— the soul's unquestionable neoes^ty for sa
intimacy with Truth, and the joy and aatislactioQ whk^
it finds in its contemplation. And thus it is that si
knowledge is eminently sacred, as bein^ the stieaia
through which a human mind draws insight from tbe
central source of all intelligence ; as bein^: that which
informs us of self-subsistent Law and Power, w^ cgn^
sciously connects us with their reality and operatioas.
That baneful divorce between intelligence and boKMss
which a sceptical and frivolous age has so disastrously
effected, will need to be aet aside as altogether
I
I
OHAJ^BfiBS'S EDINB0RaH JOURNAL.
856
on * 8eH<nis miitake; and indeed men elie ilready ht*
ginning to apprehend that no ptttfe fkith can be b\i§*
lained, no annnd or abiding virtue incnldated and estab-
lialied, nrhictk is not deeply grounded in that mental
certainty and assurance which clear» indisputable know-
ledge alone can furnish.
Let Imowledge, then, be recognised as a primary
indispensability fbr the mind, the natural and appro-
priate inheritance of every human soul; and let us
esteem it as a sufficient and authentic plea for its uni«
rersal dissemination, that it is ever needM for the
soul's health and welfare; and condescend not to de-
mand it on any inferior pretext If there is one right
of man more essentially sacred than another, it is his
right to as complete and perfect an education as his
own capadty, and the attainments and adaptations of
the age he lives in, are adequate to supply him with ;
and again, if there is one human duty more para-
mount and obligatory than the rest, it is that which
enjoins upon a man the use of his best energies and
efforts to advance himself in intellectual and moral
Tigour, and to turn every talent and capability most
honestly to account ; since upon the depth and extent
of his own inward fbrce will depend the essential worth
of his subsequent performances. The rational enlarge-
ment of the individual is indeed the one great end of
life. Kothing has so high a claim on us as the culti-
ration of ourselves. * It is most true,' as a vigorous and
thoughtful modem writer has remarked — * it is most true,
and most fitting to be said to many in our day, that a
man has no business to cut himself off from communion
with so ridi and manifold a world as ours, or arbitrarily
to harden and narrow his life on any of the sides on
which it is open and sensitive. But it is also no less
necessary, and perhaps in this time more required to
urge, that a man's first vocation is to be a man — a
practical, personal being, with a reasonable and moral
existence, which must be kept strong, and in working
order, at all expense of pleasure, talent, brilliancy, and
success. It is easy to lose one's self, or, as the Scripture
has it, one's own soul, in the midst of the many and
glittering forms of good which the world offers, and
whic^ our life apprehends: but to know any of these
tLM realities, it is necessary to begin by being real in our
own human ground of w^ conscienoe, personal energy.
Then will the world alK> begin to be real for us i and
we may go on through eternity mining deeper and
deeper, and in endless diversities of direction, in a
region of inejdiansUble realities.' *
WORLDLY WISDOM.
A 1AL&
Ma and Mad DavenaMT especially prided themselves on
their worldly wisdom and on their strong eood sense —
excellent qiialities undoubtedly, but susceptible of being
carried to an injurious excess. If it be true that in our
faults lie the germ of virtues, no less irue is it that
almost every virtue is capable of being exaggerated into
rice. Thus was it with the Davenantsi m their code
everything was made subservient to worldly toisdom: all
their own and their friends' actions were measured by
that standard; consequently every generous aspiration
was checked, every noble, self-denying action decried, if
it could not be reconciled to their ideas of wisdom. In
course of time Mr and Mrs Davenant grew cold-hearted,
calculating, and selfish; and as their fortunes flourished,
more and more did they exult in their own wisdom, and
condemn as foolish and Quixotic everything charitable
and disinterested. To the best of their power they
brought up their children in the same principles, and
they succeeded to admiration with theb eldest daughter,
who was as shrewd and prudent as they could wish.
Mre Davenant would often express her maternal delight
in her Selina : there never was a girl possessing such
ettong good sense — su^ wisdom. Some people might
4> Sterliog's SaylxigB and Easayings.
have thought that in Miss Selina*s wisdom the line
was somewhat fidnt that divided it fh>m mere cun-
ning; but mothers are rarely very quidt-sighted with
regard to their chQ^ben's fiMilts^ and Mrs Davenant never
saw the difi^rence.
With their other daughter th^ were not so successful.
When Lucv Davenant was but five years old, a relation
of her mother^s, a midden lady residing in Wales, had, at
her own earnest request, adopted the younger daughter.
Miss Moore was verv rich, and her fortune was entirely
at her own disposal, so Mr and Mm Davenant at once
acceded to her request, never doubting that she would
make Lucy her heiress. Lucy remained with Miss Moore
till that lady ^ied; but although she left her nothing in
her will but a few comparatively valueless mementos,
she owed more to her care and teaching than thousands
could repay. Under the influence of her precepts, and
the admirable example she afibrded, Lucy b«;ame gene-
rous, unselfish, open-hearted, and truthnil as the day.
But her parents, Unhappily, were blind to these virtues,
or rather they deemed that, in possessing them, their
child was rather unfortunate than otherwise, hxicy was
utterly astonished when she came home from Wales
after her kind friend's death, at the strange manner and
stranger conversation of her parents and her sister. Her
father had accompanied her from Pembrokeshire, and he
had scarcely spoken a word to her during Uie whole of
the journey; but, in the innocence of her heart, she attri-
buted this to his grief at the loss of his relation. But
when she arrived at her father's house in the city of
B , where he was the principal banker, she could not
avoid perceiving tiie cause. Her mother embraced her,
but did not pause to gaze on her five-years-absent child;
and as she turned to her sister Selina, she heard her
father say, * Lucy hasn't a farthing in the will.'
* You don't mean itt' cried Mrs Davenant. ' Why,
how in the world, child, have you managed !' turning to
Lucy. * Did you ofiend Miss Moore in anyway before
she died ! '
* Oh no, mamma,' murmured Lu<nr, weeping at the
thought of her aunt's illness and death thus rudely con-
jured up.
* Then what is the reason t' began her mother again;
but Mr Davenant raised a warning finger, and checked
her eager inquiries. He saw that Lucy had no spirit at
present to reply to their questions, so he sufiered the
grieved girl to retire to rest, accompanied by her sister;
but with Selina, Lucy was more bewildered tnan ever.
< My dear Lu,' said that young lady, as she brushed
her hfUr, * what is the meaning of this mysterious will !
We all thought you would be Miss Moore's heiress.'
* So I should have been,' sobbed Lucy; * but '— *
* But what ! Dou*t cir so, Lucy : what's past can
never be recalled,' said Senna oracularly; ' and as you're
not an heiress '
' Oh, don't think I am vexed about that^ said Lucy,
indignant at the idea, and drying her eyes with a deter-
mination to weep no more. * I have no wish to be an
heiress: I am venr glad, indeed, I am not; and I would
rather, much rather, not be enriched by the death of
any one I love.'
* Very romantic sentiments, my dear Lu, but strangely
wanting in common sense. All those hleh-flown ideas
were vastly interesting and becoming, I daresay, among
your wild Welsh mountains; but when you come into
the busy world again, it is necessanr to cast aside all
sentiment and romance, as you would your old garden-
bonnet. But, seriously, tell me about this will : how did
you miss your good-fortune 1*
* Miss Moore had a nephew, a barrister, who is striving
veiT hard to fight his way at the bar : he has a mother
and two sisters entirely depending on him, and they are
all very poor. All my aunt's property is left to him.'
* Well, but why at least not shared with you ! >
* I did not want it, you know, Selina, so much as they
do. I have a home, and papa is rich, and so ' ^
* And so, I suppose, you very generously besought
Miss Moore not to leave her fortune to you, but to her
nephew r said SeUna with a soomfUl laugh.
U9
cHAMBWws Mmammaa joubkau
* Ho, no; J •hofUd not b»T« pretamud %o t^mk ^n ih«
soljtct to qij kind* good i^nt. But oim daj befof« «be
kiMl tbU l«flt ftttAok ^ illa«M ah* i9>oke to m^ dUmt mv
profi>ectf. And asked roe if papa iraa getiiAf ta T«rj w«U>
aad. if h« would be aA>U to pcofide for itt§ wImh I grew
up*
' And I're lu) doubt in tbe ivorld** interrnpted Seiina,
•tatiug with. AK/ooMiYe wQodenn«nt in her siater'i flw»,
' that you. inaooeut\y replied that he wouid V
* Of ^ourte, luitec/ replied Lucy oalxaly t * I oould a*y
nothing eUe, you know; for when I came to tee you fire
yeara a^, papa told me that ho juoaut to gira u$ both
fortuaet when we married,'
* And you told Mim Moore this t '
' Certainly. She kie«0d me when I told he^' oontinued
Luoy, begimuBg to weep again as all theee reminieoeaeet
were summoned to her uiiud, * and said that I had eaeed
her mind rery much. Her nephew was Teiy pooc» ajid
her money wtould do him and bis family great senrifoe;
and it is never a good thing for a young girl to hare
much money independent of her parents, my aunt said ;
and I think she was quite right.'
* WcLU' said belina, drawing a long breath, *for a
girl of nineteen years and three months of age I cer-
tain^ do think you are the rcry greatest sii^eton I
ever saw.'
* Why so ! ' inquired L*uoy in some surprise.
' Why, for telluig your aunt about the fortune you
would have ; you might hare known that she would not
make you her Jlieir«ss if you were rich already.'
' But she asked me the question, Selina,'
* That was no reason why you ehould hare amwiced
as you did.'
* How oould I hare aaawered otherwiee after what
pwa had told me \ '
Lucy was imperturbable in her simplicity and guUe>
lessaess. Selina turned from her impatiently, deepaii^
ing of erer making her oomprehend how &>olishiy she had
braved.
The next xaoming Mr and Mrs Darenant were in-
formed by their eldest daughter of Lucy's oommunica-
tlons to ner respecting Miss Moore's property. Selina
was surprised to find that they exhibited no signs of
great anger or disappointment, but contented theniaelves
with inveighing against Lucy's absurd simplicity, and her
fatal deficiency in worldly wisdom.
* Not that it matters so very much this time,' said Mrs
Davenant philosophically; *for it appears that the amount
of Miss Moore's fortune was very much exaggerated. Still,
Lucy might as well have had her three thousand pounds
as Arthur Meredith ; and it grieres roe — the entire afi^air
— because it shows how very stlly Lucy is in theee matters.
She sadly wants common sense I fear.'
Similar verdicts were pronounced with resard to poor
Lucy almost every hour in the day, until she would
plaintively and earnestly inquire, * VNThat couid mamma
mean by worldly wisdom 1 ' Certainly it was a branch of
knowledge which poor Miss Moore, with most unpardon-
able negligence, had utterly neglected to instil into her
young relative's mind. But though it was greatly to be
feared that Luqy would tuver possess wisdom, according
to her mother's definition of the word, she could not
avoid, as in course of time she became better acquainted
with the principles and practices of her family, perceiv-
ing u^iai it was that her parents dignified by so high-
sounding a name. It made her very miserable to
perceive the system of manoeuvring that daily went on
with regard to the roost trivial as well as the more im«
portant affairs of life. She oould not help seeing that
truth was often sacrificed for the mere convenience of an
hour, and was never respected when it formed an obstacle
to the execution of any plan or arrangement.
She felt keenly how wrong all this was, but she dared
not interfere. ^ On two or three occasions, when she had
ventured, timidly and respectfuUjr, to remonstrate on the
subject, she had been chidden with undue violence, and
sent sad and tearful to her own room. With Selina ^e
was equally unsuccessful ; only, instead of scolding, her
Uvely, thoughtless sister contented herself with lai^hing |
k>iidl^,aiid etmAmptMudyeAMrtingtot^fW'pciBi.
tive. ainipBc^y and ^ocaaee,*
' It's a theusand pUies« Lu, that your kit «ii totoet
in the Arcadian ages. You are erideatlj fonud \ij
nature to sit on a green bank in shflyhscdw cMtaae,
twining fioweie rouiul your crook, aad sin^g mm to
your lambs. Exeuse m% my dear, bat fMitivelj tWi
all yeu are fit for. I wonder where I sho«ld beif I ftt.
sessed your vei^* 9€ry socupuloos eonscieao^ sod jw
infinitestroally nice notions of right aad wrong ! 1 din.
say you'd be ki^hly indignant—exeessively ikodMd-if
you knew the little ras« I wis forced to resKi U in
order to induce cross old Mrs Aylmer to kb ae («
London with her last year. Don't look aUnnei; Va
not goii^ to tell you the wiu>le stoiy; ooly itmtkt
there wos a ruae.'
'Surely, Selina, you don't exult in it!' nid Lsej,
▼exed at her sister'e air of triumph.
* Wait a minute. See the consequences olmjmiifi
London, which, had I been over-scrupukiii, would una
have tiJien place. Had I been Uo psrticelar,l iboald
not hare gone with Mrs Aylmer— ^ould sot lun bets
introduced to her wealthy and fsshiossUe fri«d»-
should not hare met Mr Alfred Fo(d»--<ryt^slMaid od
hare been nigaged to be married to kim, ai X ^vi st
present the happinets of being.'
* My dear SeUna,' said Lucy timidly, kiifsctuBstelj,
laying her hand upon her arm, and lookiB| op into kt
face, * are you sure that it is a happineHl Aiejm quite
sure that you ^ve Mr Forde V
Selina newned— perhaps in order tokidetbebloiLtbt
she could not repress — and then peeriftUyaUoktf Jkt
sister's sentle touch.
* No lectures, if you please,' she ssid, toning ss^.
* Whaterer my feelings may be with regard to nj fttft«
husband, they concern no one but him sad mjmL Be
assured I shaU do my duty as a wife far beUertkukilf
the silly girls who indulge in hourly rha|i«odi« alwl
their lore, derotion, and so forth.'
Lucy sighed, but dared not say noie oo the nlJMt.
She wae aware that Selina olasswl her with th» 'sUj
girls' she spoke of. Some time before, wbeo ber kvt
was burstinff with its own weight of joy snd l«v^ U^
had been fam to yield to the natural y«snun|4^ w
for some one to whom she could impart her ^<?*^''l^f*~
had told her sister of her own love— love which ntud
just discorered was returned. What aa icy w*^**
experienced when, in reply to her timid wd Uoim;
confession, Selina snesred undisgaisedly st ^f^
ingenuousness, and ' begged to kuqw the hsf^J wi^
dual's name !' And when she mormored the bvmoi
* Arthur Meredith,' with all the sweet, bloihiag huhfo^;
ness of a young girl half afraid of the new hsppisaj »
has arisen in her heart — and almost fearing ^J^
tke belored name eren to her own ean— how o^f*jj^
how cruel was the light laugh of the other(»pn»»5J
yet how ungirlishl), as she exclaimed half in "^J^
in triumph, * I thought sol No wonder Min U^
legacy was so easily resigned. I did not give J*" *J2j
Lu, for so much skill in manoeurring.' l^o^T*™?^
and indignantly disclaimed the insinuation; bat be^
only bade her be proud of her talents, »*~^,/?J
ashamed of them; and she could only o«^^^^^
the conriction that, in her inmost heart, Selin* d»»*
•give her credit' for the paltriness she affected U) uapw
to her. ^j
A short time afterwards, Arthur Meredith ?«•»»
himself at B , and formally asked Mr D»w»tf^
consent to his union Nrith Lucy. The consent wMgf»»f^
conditionally. Arthur was to pursue hit pww*"*^
two years, at the end of which time, J^l*« *'*"'V^S
tion to support Lucy in the comfort and ■^^ff^rfju
hitherto enjoyed, no further obstacle »bouldhe pttw
the way of their marriage. Arthur and pfJ.'^Z^
reasonable not to perceive the justice o^*^^*^--i.
the young barrister UU B inspirited bj »« ^
sciousness that on himself now depended hu oin»»»*
T^e time passed peacefully and U^ff^J ^^ ^
r.J»J
eHABfBBR8»&PEmKB0RG& JOUI^AL.
m
and his letters were alirayi h^peftil^ sometittee exvUhig,
with regMd to the piroftpeot whieh wat epening before
hiA. ^lina tifed te laugh at her when the raoerred one
of those pMciooB letters^ and ran away to read it nn-
diskoriied in her own room. Little eared she fer the
langh'-^she wh» too hi^py; and if riie thought at all
about her sister's sneers or sareftsms, it was to pHj her,
lincereK and nniisignedlj) that she could not oempMfaend
the holiness of the feeling she mocked and derided.
Se]ina*s destined husband meanwhile was absent on the
continent. He had an estate in Normandj, and was com-
pelled to be present during the progress of some imMore-
mentA On hie return thej would be married, and Selina
waited till Uien. with oonsiderablj less patience and
philosophy than Lucy eyinced. Fifty times a ds^ did
she peensbly lament the delay; but not, alas I ttWA any
exoens of affection to the man she was about to marry :
it was always apropoa of some small inoonvenienoe or
priTation that she murmured. If she bad to walk into
the town, she would sigh fbr the time 'when, as Mrs
Fordcj she would hare » carriage at her own exclusive
command;* or if she coreted some costly bauble^ the
name of Alfred was breathed impatiently, and a reference
to * pin-money ' was sure to follow. The mutiage might
have taken place by proxy with singular advantage: if
Mr Forde had sent a cheque on his banker fbr ha& the
amount of his income, Miss Belina would htfre muried
it with all the complacency in the world !
Mr Davenant's worldly aflkirs at thb juncture were not
in such a prosperous state as a man of hi» wisdom had a
right to expect. In fact he was involved in considet^ble
difficulties, from which he scarcely saw a way of extri-
cating himself, when most fortunately, as he averred, an
old uncle of his, from whom he had What is called ' ex-
pectations,' voluntarily proposed visiting him at B — ^.
The night before his arrival, the toite portion of the Da-
venant fsmily sat in solemn conclave, discussing the
proper method of turning this visit to account. Lucy
sat in a comer, silent and unnoticed, quietly sewing,
while the family council went on.
Of course Mr'Davenant never thought for an instant
of pursuing the truthful and straightforward course of
stating his difficulties to his relation, and honestly asking
him for assistance.
' If old Atkinson suspected my afikirs were in the dis-
order in which they unfortunately are,' said Mr I>avenant
gravely, * he would instantly alter his will, and leave the
considerable sum, which I know he intends for me, to
some one who is not so impmdentj as I suppose he would
call it, as I have been. I shall not easily forget his
anger when my Ck>u8in John ran into debt, and applied to
him for the money to save him from prison. He gave him
the money; but you'll see John wont have a sixpence
more : so much for being candid and sincere, as the silly
fellow said to me.'
At length it was arranged that Mr Davenant should
ask his uncle to lend him L.6000, in order to make a
nngularly-profitable investment which was then open.
* I shall tell him,' said Mr Davenant, * that I could
easily command the money without troubling him, by
calling in part of my capital, but that I scarcely think
that a prudent course at the present juncture, because I
expect soon to be called upon to pay the girls' marriage
portions. He will be pleased at my prudence^ and the
last thing he will suspect will be that I really need the
money: so that will do excellently.'
* Dear papa,' ventured Lucy, bent on making one
attempt to induce him to adopt the simpler course of
conduct — ^* dear papa, are you sure this is really your
most politic plan I Would it not be safer to tell Mr
Atkinson your position, and ask him to assist you I In-
deed— ^indeed — ^the truth is the best and surest policy.'
* Doubtless,' said her father contemptuously, * my
eandid Cousin John found it so, and will find it so when
Mr Atkinson's will is read, and he sees his name is struck
out. Leave me alone, child; you understand nothing of
such thinga— you haven't the least idea of worldly wis-
dom.*
• Thus WM poor lAoy always repulsed 'when she at-
tempted to Advise. 8he eould only comfort herself with
the nope that one day perhaps her parebti would think
and act d^RsMntly.
Mr At4kiBM came the next day: ho wai a cheerfiil,
pleasant-looking, silver-haired old man, and was cordial
and affeetinnate to the whole ftunlly. Sincere and truth-
Ail hims^, he was peifbc«ly unsuspioious of deceit or
design in otben. Thus everything promised wril for Mr
Daveikani's plan,- more especi^ly as the old man had
rapidly become mudh attached to the twO girls t Selina,
wUh her UvoKneesand Spirit, amused; and Lucy, gentle,
and ever anxious for the comfort of idi about her, in-
terested him.
On the iburth daY, therefore, Mr Davenant commenced
rations. He alluded to a particular foreign railway,
shares Of which were then much below p«r,bnt which
were certain, at a feature and no vety distant period, to
arrive at a considerable premium. He said that he would
willingly invest L.5000 in the^ shares, certain that in a
short time be rihoutd quadruple the sum, if it were not
for the payment of his glrhP maniage portions, for which
he should soon be called on; And (mer a' great deal of
preparatorr ' beating about the bush,' he candidly, as he
said, aeked his uncle if he would lend him this L.5000
for twelve months.
Mr Atkinson looked grave, wliicfa his nephew observing,
hi looked grave also.
* Ton see, Samuel,' BiAd the old mto, * if it were really
to do you a service, you should have the money. If your
hutineBs required it~-if you were in temporary embarrass-
ment, and needed these thousands to help you out of it
— they ^ould be youra; but '
He paused, and ^xid his eyes on the ground in deep
thought. Mr Davenant 8tai*ted, and coloured ae he
listened; and involuntai^y he thought of poor Lucy's
slighted advice. Her earnest words, * Indeed— -indeed^
the truth is the best and surest policy,' rung clearly in
his ears, and he felt now that she was right : but it was
too late now (or at least he thought so) to repair his
error, and return to the straight path. He had mode a
Eoint, ever since his uncle's arrival, of boasting to him of
is improved prospects, of the solid basts on which his
fortune stood, and of the flourishing state of his business.
He could not now retract all he had said, and lay bare his
difficulties — his necessities. Besides, even now perhaps
that would not be prttdent : old Atkinson might be but
trying him after all. Mr Davenant's little moment of
right feelinff soon passed away, and he was, alas ! ' him-
self again ' by the time his undo again began to speak.
* I don't like these speculations, Samuel,' said he;
* they are dangerous things : if once you get involved in
them, you never know when to leave off: besides, they
distract your attention from more legitimate objects:
your business might suffer. The business of a man prone
to speculate in matters he is unused to deal with rarely
flourishes.'
Mr Davenant inwardly acknowledged the truth of
these remarks. It was by spectUatian tiiat he was brought
to his present embarrassments; but he said nothing.
' Take my adTice, Sam.' contim^ed Mr Atkinson, plac-
ing his hand impressively on his nephew's arm, * and
have nothing to do with these railways. Whether you
gain or lose by them, they distract your attention, you
see, fVom your business, and so you lose one way at all
events. Don*t meddle with them.'
Mr Davenant felt it imperative to make one grand
efibrt more.
* Nay, my dear uncle,' he said smiling, * whether you
can accommodate me with this sum or not, it's of no use
tiyin^ to persuade me out of my scheme. I am deter-
mined to invest the money, but shall not afterwards
trouble myself more about it. I shall purchase the
shares; ana whether I eventually make or lose money by
them, I shall not wony myself respecting them. At a
fitting opportunity 1 shall turn them into money again,
and whatever they produce is 0>ut this is entrt notM, you
Understand) to be divided equally between my two girls.'
Mr Atkinson's face brightened. * Oh, I begin to see.
858
CHAMBERS^ BDINBUBOH JOUBNAI..
ke exolaim#4; ' I p«rotiT»— it is for jour two dc«r chil-
dren. You U9 a good follow, DaToiuuii; forgiTO mo
that I miainteiprotod your object Cortaialy, if evwr
speculation is justifiable, it would be in such a case,'
continued the old man in a ruminatiye tone; * and you
shall not lose your object, Sam ; your girls shall have
the chanoe; the L.5000 shall be invested, and they shall
have whatever it may produce. Don't you trouble your-
self; don't in the least embarrass or inconvenience your-
self in order to raise this sum; leave it to me— leave it
to me : I'll arrange it for the dear girls' sake.'
Mr Davenant, never doubting that a cheque for h,B0O0
would soon be forthcoming, was profuse in his acknow-
ledgments, and the uncle and nephew parted mutually
satisfied— the one to e^jey his matitutinal walk, the other
to exchan|e oongratulations with his wife, and rsoeive
proper praise for his successful diplomacy.
Still, he eould not but wonder, and ieel somewhat un-
comfortable, as the day appointed for Mr Atkinson's
departure drew niffh, and he had yet heard nothing of the
Ii.5000. At lengUi he grew so veiy apiurehensive, that it
had been forgotten, or that something would interfeie with
his possession of it, that as the money was becoming eveiy
day of more vital importance to his interests, he ventured
again to speiU^ to his uncle on the sul^ect. His first
words were checked; and the old man, by rapidly speak-
ing himself, prevented his saymg more.
* Rest easy — ^rest easy,' said he; < it is all right : I
haven't forgotten anything about the afiair, I can assure
Tou. Tou shall hear from me on the sul^ect aHer I ^
home; meanwhile make your mind quite easy. The girls
shall have their railway shares, Sam; don't wony your-
self.'
With this Mr Davenant was flun to be content; yet it
was not without sundry uncomfortable feelings of doubt
and perplexity that he watohed his undo enter his tra-
velUng-carriage, and waved his hand to him, as two post-
horses rapidly whirled him away from B ' . A fort-
night passed, and excepting a hasty letter, announoing
his safe arrival in Gloucestershire, nothing was heard
from Mr Atkinson. Mr Davenant's creditors were da-
raorous, and would no longer be put ofi"; a complete
exposure of his afiairs appeared inevitable; and in this
extremity he wrote to his uncle, saying that he wished to
purchase the shares in the *^-^ RaUway immediately,
as it was a desirable opportunity, and every day might
render it less advantageous. Thei«fore he intreated £m
to enclose a draft for the amount, that he might forward
it to his broker, and obtain the shares.
By return of post an answer arrived ^—
* Mr Dear Sam,' ran the letter, * yon need not be so
very impatient. I was only waiting till the whole afikir
was concluded to write to you. I have heard this morn-
ing from the broker I have employed. The purdiase of
the shares is concluded, and very advantageously I
think. Your dear girls may expect, I think, pretty for-
tunes in time; but don't soy a word about it to thewt^ in
case of disappointment. I've transacted the whole busi-
ness without you, because I dont want you to turn your
thoughts firom your own affurs, and, more or less, your
attention would have been distracted from them bv dab-
bling in these railway matters, I've managed it ail very
well. The broker I employ is, I am told, an honest,
trustworthy fellow, and I have given him orders to mii
out when the shares are at what he considers a fiur pre*
mium. So vou will have nothing to do with the matter,
you tee, which is what I wish, for I fear you are rather
disposed to speculate; and if once you get into the way
of these railways, perhaps you may be led on further
than you originally intended. And you needn't be dis-
appointed) for instead of Undima you the money, I givo
it to the two dear girls, and all that may accrue to it
when these shares are sold. I hope it will be a good
sum : they have my blessing with it; but, as I said
before, don't $af a word to Ami till you give them the
money. Enclosed are the documents connected with the
shares. — Yours faithfully, SAMura. Atkimbon.'
Poor Mr Davenant ! This letter, with the enclosed
documents (which he had fondly hop(Bd were cheques for
the L.6000)— doenxBents utterly nseless of oonm to lun
to aid him in his present diffieolties— thii letter diwi
him to despair. Mrs Davensnt and Selina w«n likevin
confounded: Lu<nr, by her fathei's exprev Nqiuit,«M
not informed of their defeated plans.
But matteis new ^w worse with Mr DaveMst, iid
bankruptcy was loonung in the distance. Hiii&imwe
now more involved than ever; and even tbs LiOHlMi
he obtained it, would not now have aviUsd to iMton kii
sinking credit. In this dilemma he piopoMd isiMSf
money on the security of the lailwi^ ihsra, but bm
Selina showed the result of her eduostion in «ir%
* Nonsense, papa,' was her dutiful lemaik ii nplj to
this suggestion; < it will do you no good, yta knov, id^
only render me and Luqy pooier. I sm of sn; uid y
the shares are mine, you can't sell thtsu, vou knov,' ik
added in some confusion; for even her lufiikDiM cM
not quite supply her with a proper amouat of mdm-
kmco in thus speakin|^ to her mther.
* I can sell them with your permissiflQ, of soanil' ttii
Mr Davenant, hardly comprehending the fall «it«t cf
her meaning.
* Yes, I know. But you see, papa, it's bed mtioA Iw
me as it is 1 I shall not have the fortons I wii Jwtje
taught to expect; and really, as it wont do joa ssj ml
good, I think I should be reiy unwise to lityoaiiU tb«n.'
* You refuse your permission thsaV udiiiMd the
father. Selina bowed her head, and 1^ ike loom. Mr
Davenant clasped his hands in anipiish,noi st tki fsUut !
of this last hope, but at the agonisiag ingietitodo of kii
fiivourite child, and wept ; and while m yet groasod iloo4 >
in his misery, Lucy entemi the room. It is alwsjn a mi !
thine to behold a man weep; but to Lucy, wko Bov,fa
the first time in her life, beheld her father ondor tki ii' I
fluenoe of feeling, it was a great and painful iboek. Bot
it is one of the first instincts of woman to ooaiolo, lad in '
a moment she was kneeling b^ his side, hor arm vossd
about his neck, her tears mmgliog with hia All kit
harshness to hci^the little a£^tion he had over ibosn
her — the many times her love had been repoM—all
was forgotten ; she only remembered that bo vio b«
father, and in trouble, and either of thoie im ««
sufilcient to insure her afifbctionate sympatky. Mr Dm»
nant felt deeply the ingratitude of Selina; bat jot moa
intensely did the tenderness of his youngest cbUd ait
him to the souL It was a lesson whi^ he never foifoi;
and fipom that day he was a better, if not, aooordaf tt
his former ereed, a apitsr man. He told Luoj tke ikk
story of the railway shares, and his imnwding nia
Lucy intreated him to use her portion of toe ikam »-
mediately; and though hia recent grief had humbled kin,
and rendered him less selfish— «nd he wu unwilliox to
take advantage of her generosity— yet as she unnd kirn
that she would never accept the money whiok vu cn-
ginally intended for his use, he at length consented. Bit
the ISde of ruin was not to be so easilv stsniaod, lod
the stricken man and his bewildered wile now patkvtlj
listened to their only remaining daughter; for Selisa kii
gone wi^ some ftiends, and with her * ikam' in btr
pocket, to Normandy, there to join Mr Fordo, and bi
married to him before he became aware that Ui brido'i
father was a ruined man. Lu^y advised hor Mm to
go to Mr Atkinson, tell him the wioU truOh sad intrnt
his assistance. * He is so kind-hearted, dsar p«F^^
he wiU do what yon want : he will lend yea mficmt
money to relieve you from, these eroberrasiisato, m
then you will do very welL'
Mr Davenant clung to this hope like a drowning mn
to a frail plank. He set off instantly for QkMieoitonkiR.
With what intense anxiety Mm Davenant end U?
awaited hia return may be maagined. Thoiv rooaiod m
letter from him; but three days after his dspaitan M
returned, looking pale, weary, and hopeleea
Mr Atkinson bad died a f «w digps befim he had anifoi
at his house. He had been present at the readii« of tk
will, which was dated only a month back, lu it ^ ts>
queathed the bulk of his property to that sams *o>^
Cousin John' whose wisdom Mr Davenant had so dooisl
OHAMBERS*B EDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
859
* Because,' said ihe will» ' I haT« reafoa to know that h»
is in diffioalties; and as he has a wife and family depend-
ing on him, he most need the money more than my other
nephew, Sa[muel Davenant, whom I yisited a short time
since for the express purpose of seeing if his affairs were
prosperous. I hare reason to suppose that they are so, and
that anpr increase to his means, so far from adding to his
prospenty, would induce him to speculate, and perhi^
so lose aU he has acquired by years of industry. There-
fore I reyoke a former bequest to him of L.20,000, and
bequeath it instead to my third nephew, George Charles
Atkinson/ &c. kc
*You were right, Lucy!' exclaimed Mr Dayenant
penitently; ' the truth is the safest, surest policy.'
Fortitude and perseverance were among the ^rtues of
both Mr Dayenant and his wife. They met their diffi-
culties steadily and firmly, and got ultimately through
them with credit. But they were now too old to com-
mence life anew, and gladly ayailed themselyes of the
affectionate intreaty of Lucy and her husband — for
Arthur Meredith was now a flourishing barrister — ^to take
up their house with them.
Selina was not happy in her marriage. Her husband's
large psoperty was all imaginary; he was, in fact, a
ruined spendthrift; and all they had to subsiit on after
they were married was the money arising from those oft-
named railway shares. Selina eould not reproach her
husband for deceiving her, for she had deoeiyed him. Not
till they had been three weeks wedded did Mr Forde
know that his bride's father was ruined, and that he
need expect no marriage portion fbrther than that she
already had. * Had you told me the truth,' he said to
her, when one day she reproached him with his poyerty,
' I would haye told you tne truth. But I thought you
would be a rich woman, and that your fortune would be
sufficient to support us both.' Selina could not reply.
Mr and Mrs Dayenant, when they contrast the melan-
choly accounts of the end of Selina's scheming with the
happy married life of their younger daughter, cannot
but own how superior was the wi»<u»H of the latter; and
they now cordially acknowledge the yeracity of that
golden sentiment of one of our modem sages — * One who
is always true in the great duties of life is nearly always
wise.'
THE TAMARIND-TRBE.
EyEKTBODT knows the agreeable tamarind prefer?e we
receiye from the West Indies; eyerybody has occasion-
ally produced by its aid a cooling and welcome bever-
age; and everybody (at least in Scotland) has con-
ferred, by its means, upon the insipid gruel recommended
for a oold a finely-addulated taste. Eveiybody likewise
knows that the tamarind is pretty largely employed in
our Materia Medica, and that its effect, when eaten un-
eompounded, is gently aperient : but for all that, yery
few persons are acquainted with certain curious parti-
culars connected with the tree which produces this popu-
lar fruit.
The tamarind-tree is one of the fabacecg, or order of
leguminous plants; 'an order,' says Lindley, 'not only
among the most extensive that are known, but also one
of the most important to man, whether we consider the
beauty of the numerous species, which are among the
gayest-colouied and most graceful plants of every region,
or their applicability to a thousand useful purposes.' To
give an idea of the wide extension of this order, we may
say that it includes the acacia, the logwood and rosewood
of commerce; the laburnum, the furae, and the broom;
the bean, pea, vetch, doyer, trefoil, indigo, gum-wrabic,
and other gums and drugs. There are two species of
tamarinds— the East and the West Indian—exhibiting
■ome considerable dbffinence, more especially in the pods,
which are much shorter in the latter species, and the
pulp less rich and plentiful. In the West Indies, the
shell is remoyed, and the legume preserved, by being
placed in jars intermixed with layers of sugar; or else the
yeaael is filled up with boiling sugar, which penetrates to
the Wttom. The Turks and Arabs use this firuit, pre-
pared either with sugar or honey, as an artide of food;
and for its cooling properties it is a fayourite in journey
in the desert. In Nubia it is formed into cakes, baked in
the sun; and these are afterwards used in producing a
cooling drink. In India, likewise, it ia used Doth as food
and drink; but there it is neyer treated with sngur,
but merely dried in the sun. When eaten as food, it is
toasted, soaked in water, and then boiled, till the taste,
it is said, resembles that of the common bean.
In India the tamarind-tree is a yery beautiful object,
its spreading bianchea flinging even with their tiny leaves
an extensive shade. In one season its pretty straw-
coloured flowers refresh the eye; and in another its long
brown pods, which are shed plentifully, aflfbrd a more
snbetantial refreshment to the trayeller. The Hindoos,
however, prise it chiefly as a material for cleaning their
brass yessels, althoup^ they likewise use it as a condi-
ment for thdr curries ana other dishes, and likewise
make it into pickles and preserves. For the last-menp
tioned purpose a red yariety is the most esteemed, both
the timber and the frait being of a sanguipe hue. The
tamarind, however, is chiefly planted by the roadside,
or on the rising banks of a tank; and in the lower parts
of Bengal, where it srows in the natural forests of the
Sundei^unds, it is the most common kind of firewood,
bdng never used for any more dignified purpose. The
native never chooses this beautiful tree, as he does the
palm, the neem, or the mourungosh, to overshadow his
hut; and it is neyer admitted into the mango groves
sacred to the gods, although the silk-cotton and the
mou^a are not forbidden thjtt consecrated ground.
But the pnrjudice goes further stilL No ikUmutgar,
or cook, will hang a piece of meat on a tamarind-tree :
he believes that meat thus exposed does not keep well,
and that it becomes unfit for salting. A traveller, though
yeiy willing to eat of the fruit, wiU not unload his pack
or rest under its branches; and a soldier, tired as he may
be with a long march, will rather wander farther on than
pile his aims in its shade. There is an idea, in fact, at
least in Bengal, that there It somethmg unlucky or un-
healthy, some antique spell or some noxious yapour,
surrounding this b^tifiol tree; although we are net
aware that science has yet disooyered that there is any^
thing really hurtful in its exhalations.
Another strange notion connected with the tamarind-
tree is thus mentioned by a coirespondent >-' Often have
I stood as a youngstw ^asdng with astonishment at a
couple of bearers belabounng a large knotty root, of some
eight feet in girth, with their axes, making the diips fly
off in every direction; which, upon pickinr up, I used to
find covered over with unintelligible scribbles, which the
bearers gravdy told me was the writinp[ of the |[ods.'
Here we have our tree in a new light: this outcast
from the sacred groyes is inscribed with holy characters !
Who shall inteiTOct tiieir meaning t Are they like the
mark set upon tne forehead of Cam 1 Or is the legend
intended as a perpetual consolation under the prejudices
and indignities of men 1 All we know is, that the white
fir-like grains of the tamarind wood are written over in
an unknown tongue by means of a small thread4ike yein
of a black colour.
There is a similar superstition connected with another
Indian tree, the kulpa briksha, or silver-tree, 00 called
from the colour of the bark. The original kulpa, which
now stands in the garden of the god Indra in the first
heaven, is said to have been one of the fourteen remark-
able things turned up by the churning of the ocean by the
gods and demons. But however this may be, the name of
Ram and his consort Seeta is written upon the sihreiy
trenks of all its earthly descendants I Colonel Sleeman,
when trayelling in l^per India, had the curiosity to
examine many of these trees on both sides of the road;
and sure enough the name of the incarnation of Vishnu
mentioned was plainly enough discernible, written in
Sanscrit characters, and apparently b^ some supernatural
hand — ' that is, there was a softness in the impression, as
if the finger of some supernatural being had traced the
diaracters.' The traveller endeayour^ to argue his
attenduits out of their senses; but unluckily he could
860
caxMBEHg^ EoiNfitmGir jotmi^Ali.
find tto tr^, howerer nesr or disbtnt, withont the names;
il&e'6nl7 difference being in the size of the letters, which
in some cases were lar;^, and in others small. At length
he obserf«d a knlpa m a hollow b^ow the road, and
one 6n a" precipice above, both in situations accessible
with such difficulty, that he was sure no mortal scribe
would take the trouble to get al'them. He declared
oonfidently his opinion that the names would not be
found on these trees, and it was prored that he was
right. But this was &r from affecting the derout fkith
of his Hindoo fbllowers. ' Doubtless,' said one, * they
have in some way or other got rubbed off; but God will
renew them in His own time.' ' Perhaps/ remarked an-
other, * he may not have thought it necessary to write at
all upon places where no trareller could dedpher them.'
* But do you not see,' said the traveller, losing patience,
' that these names are all on the trunk within reach of a
man^ hand 1 ' * Of course they are,' replied they, * since
the mirade could not be distinguished by the eyes of
men if they were written higher up ! '
A shrub oalied the trolsM is a repKsentation of the
tame goddess Seeta, and is every year mafrkd with great
oeiemoDy to a sacred stone called Saligram, a rounded
pebble supposed to represent the good Vishnu, of whom
Bam was an incamaiion. On one occasion described, the
procession attending this august ceremony consisted of
8 elephants, 1200 camels, and 4000 horses, all moanted
and elegantly caparisoned. Above 100,000 persons were
present at this pageant, at which the little pebble was
mounted <on the leading elephant, and thvs carried in
state to his trse goddess. All the ceremonies of a Hin-
doo narrisg» were gone through, and then the god and
goddess wove lefl to repose together till the next season
in the temple of Sudora*
Indian trees, however, it must be said, aM, from all
aoeoonts, much more worthy of the honours of super-
stitioQ than those of less fervid oliraes. A traveUer men-
tions AD iastanoe of the 'sentient principle* ocoiirriiig
among, the denixens of an Indian foseet. Two trees, hi
tells usi of difisrent kinds, although only three feet apart,
had grown to the height of fifty or sixty feet, when one
of them. took, the liberty of throwing out a lew branch in
such a way as to touch the trunk of his nei^beur, and
thus occasion much pun and irritatieBb *0n tfaie the
afflicted tree in torn threw out a huge excnsoence, which
not only enveloped the offending branchy but stcangled it
so completely as .to destroy it utterly; the ends of the
deadened boughs projecting three or four feet beyond the
exeresosnce, while the latter was carried on a distanos of
three feet across toihe shaft of the tree, so as to render
all chaoees of its future movement wholly impossible 1 '
This appears to our traveUer to display as much fore-
thought and sagacity as taking up an artery for aneu-
rism, or tying splints round a broken bone.
But in a country where trees are the objects of such
veneration, and where those that are neither holy nor
sagacious are admitted without scruple to the best arbo-
rimU society, how comes it that the beautiful, the um-
brageous, and the beneficent tamarind is looked upon as
the outlaw of the plantation, the pariah of the forest ?
This is a very puzzling circumstance, and one that, in the
present state of our knowledge, we can only set down to
the caprice and ingratitude cS" man.
TKACIKGS 01' THE NORTH OF EUBOPE.
CHBISI^IANIA TO XJ^UBOAARD.
A LAND journey of 334 English miles, which usually
occupies five or six days, was now before me. l^e
road passes along one or the finest as well as most
extansivQ valleys in Norway, and is further distin-
guished by crossing the celebrated range of mountains
called the Dovre Field [Dovre pronounced DQvra]^
which may be called the backbone of the cotmtry, as
the Grampian range is that of the Scottish Highlands.
Along tliis load, as usual, tiiere is aaeries of stations,
but none of them is of so high a character as to present
the luxury of wheaten bread. One of my duties, there-
fore, on the last day of my stfty in Christiania, vas to
obtain a bag of biscuits for use on the way. Being
anxious to secure a passage in a steamer which wan to
leave Trondlieim oa the 18th July, I allowed aevea
days for the journey, and started at one o'clocdc cm tke
llUi, thus allowing an extra day for tmy accs<loBlai
delay upon the road.
The first two or three stages being across certabi in-
termediate valleys, we have much up-hin and down-hill
work along roads by no means good. It was pitiable to
see the little heavy-laden carts of the peasantry toiling
up the steep ascents, each with its forked pike trailing
behind it, on which to rest the vehicle, while the hone
should stop a few minutes at a tine to recover breath
and stitngth. Many were conducted by women ; and I
could not but admire the hardy, independent air of these
females, as they sat, whip in hand, urging their steeds
along, though, as might be expected from such a rough
out-of-door life, their figures exhibit little of the attrac-
tions of their sex. At many places I found rock-sur-
faoes with dresonga generally in a north and aoath
direction, being that of the valleys. It is not unworthy
of remark that two of the rivers are crossed by modern
wooden bridges, where a pontage is paid; and these
were the only charges approaching to the character of
a toll to which I was subjected throughout the wh(^ of
my travels in Scandinavia. Of the valleys, one is full
of sandy, a seoond of day tenraces, uMU-kiog aoiDe de-
cided differenoe in the finmer subnierged oan^tion of
the two dlstriots. On passing into a third at l^ygatad,
we find a vast plateau composed of day bdow and pme
sand above, bearing magnificent pine-forests, and whh^
extends, without any intermission, to the foot of the
Mibsen Lake. It would be a curious study to any native
geologist to examine this formation, and to trace its
source, and the drcumstances under which it was de-
posited. There are remarkable generalities about such
things. Instructed by what I had seen in Scotland, as
soon as I observed the valley filled with sand up to a
certain height a few miles below where I knew a lake
to be, I mentally predicted that this formation would
terminate at the foot of the lake, and that there would
be no terraces on the hill -sides above that sheet of
water. Such proved to be the case.
A short stage before reaching the foot of the ^fi5sen
Lake, we pass one of those objects so extraordinarj in
Norway — a country mansion ; that is to say, a hand-
some house adapted for the residence of a family in
affluent circumstances. It is called Eidsvold, and was
once the property of a family named Anker, but now
belongs to the public, in consequence of the interesting
distinction centred on it in 18 14, when a national assem- .
bly sat here and framed the constitution under which the
country is now so happily placed. The purchase of this
house by a national subscription is an agreeable drenm-
stance, as it marks that deep and undivided feeling
which the Norwegian people entertain regarding thek
constitution — a feeling perhaps more important thaa
the character of the constitution itself, as it is what
mainly secures its peaceful working. This constitution
has now stood for thirty-five years, with a lesa amount
of dissent and dissatisfaction on the part of the people
than has happened in the case of any other experiment
of the same kind in modem Europe. It is entitled to be
regarded as a successful experiment ; and, as au^di, of
course may well be viewed with some interest bj the rest
of Europe, especially at a time when so many political
theories are on their trial, and so few seem likeiy to stand
good. The main fact is the election, every three Teus,
of a body called the Storthing, which separates its^into
an Upper and Lower House, enacts and repeal* laws,
and regulates all matters connected with the reflrenoa
The royal sanction is required for these Isiwt; bat if
,1
CQAMBBBSrS BDIKBUBGH JOUBNiJ*
861
the pec^le are bent upon rnqy mature ditapproTed of Yijy
the king, they h«Te only to re-introdoce and pasa it in
two more Buocessive Storthings, when it would become
law without the royal assent Thus the Norwegians
may be said, in Benthamian language, to minimUe the
monarchical principle. But how is the Storthing eon-
stttuted? The right of TOting depends on a low pro*
perty qualification. The qualified voters in small dis-
tricts elect persons called election-men, who again meet
by themselves, and elect* usually, but not necessarily,
out of their own number, representatives of larger dis-
tricts, who in turn form the Storthing, the whole numbers
of which are somewhat under a hundred. It is a sys-
tem of universal suflPirage, exclusive only of the humblest
labouring-dass. It may be said to be a government of
what we call the middle-classes, and all but a pure de-
mocracy; but it is essential to observe lluit the bulk of
the people of Norway are of the kind which we recog-
nise as a middle-class, for of hereditary nobility they
hare none, and Uie non-electors are a body too humble
in circumstances, and too well matched in numbers by
the rest, to have any power for good or evil in the case.
There are other important considerations : land is held
in Norway, not upon the feudal, but the udai principle,
which harmonises much better with democratic forms ;
there being no right of primogeniture, estates are kept
down at a certain moderate extent ; in the general cir-
cumstances of the country, there can be no massing of
wealth in a few hands, and therefore little of that spe-
cies of influence. The apparently ultra-liberal system of
Norway being thus adapted to many things more or less
peculiar to the country, it may have attained a success
here which it would not obtain elsewhere, or at least
not till a proper groundwork had been laid in social
arrangemeots. This is a proposition which seems to
derive much support from recent political failures in
Germauy, Italy, and, shall we add, France ? The abrupt
decreeing of a democratic constitution, in supersession
of a government which has been absolute for centuries,
is seen to be an absurdity, though one, perhaps, which
nothing but experiment could have demonstrated.
It was still far from night when I arrived at Minde,
at the foot of the Miosen Lake. This sheet of water,
sixty -three English miles in length, terminates here in
a curve formed in the sandy plateau, through which its
waters have made for themselves a deep trench. The
little inn nestles under the steep bank on the west side
of the outlet, commanding from its back-windows a
view along the lake. As the point where the river
must be ferried, and whence the steamers start on their
course along the lake, it is a place of some importance.
It has even been proposed to have a railway from Chris-
tiania to Minde, and the ground has been surveyed by Mr
Robert Stephenson ; but this is not likely to be revised
for some years to come. I found the porch of the inn
filled with guests enjoying their pipes ; two or three of
them were officers, and one of these, I was told, had the
duty of superintending the post stations of a certain
district Amongst others was one of those dirty young
men of the student genus who are so prevalent on the
continent; travelling with only a little satchel slung
from their shoulders, and thus evidently unprovided
with so much as a change of linen or a set of night-
clothes, yet always sure to be found lugging along a
tobacco-pipe half as big as themselves, together with a
formidable pouch of tobacco depending from a button-
hole. The inn consisted of two floors, in the lower of
which was a good-sized public room, gay with prints of
the royal family and such-like ; from tnis on one side
went off two bedrooms ; on the other adjoined a kitchen,
and other family apartments. Stables, sheds, and store-
houses of various denominations stood near by, so as
to form what Allan Ramsay calls a rural square. It
was a comfortable establishment, and the females who
conducted it were respectable-looking people. There
was aUo a landlord, who was always coming in, appa-
rently under an anxiety to do something, but never did
it I had a good meal served up in the public room,
and enjoyed the evening scene on the lake very greatly,
but found the occasional society of the other guests in
this apartment disagreeable, in consequence ^ their
incessant smoking, and their habit of frequent spitting
upon the floor. It is seldom that I find associates in
inns who come up to my ideas of what is right and
proper in personal habits. The most of them indulge,
more or less, in devil's tattooing, in slapping of fingers,
in puffing and blowing, and other noises anomalous and
indescribable, often apparently merely to kt the other
people in the room know that they are there, and not
thinking of anything in particular. Few seem to be
under any sense of the propriety of subduing aa much
as possible all sounds conneoted with the animal func*
tions, though even breathing might and ought to be
managed in perfect silence. In Norway the case is
particularly bad, as the gentlemen, in addition to every-
thing else, assume the privilege of smoking and spHting
in every room of every house, and even in the presence
of ladies.* To a sensible and wellbred person all such
things are as odious as they are unnecessary* It is
remarkable throughout the continent hew noisily men
oonduct themselves. They have not our sense of quiet-
ness being the perieotioo of refined life. At Minde a
gentleman over my head made an amount of noise with
his luggage and his personal movements which asto^
nisbed me, for it created the idea of a vast exertion
being undergone in order to produce it, as if it had been
thought that there was some important ol^ect te be
served by noise, and the more noise the better.
I had intended to proceed next morning by the
steamer along the lake, but I had been misinformed as
to the days c^ sailing, and found it necessary to spend
my reserve day at Minde. It was less of a hardship to
me than it might have been to others, as I found more
than enough ^ occupation in examining the physical
geography of the district The sandy pUin runs up
to the hills on both sides at an exoeedingly small angle
of inoUnation, and perfectly smooth. On the east side,
near a place called Gijvre, there is, dose to the hills,
a stripe of plain of higher indination, and composed
of gravel, so that the whole is exceedingly like that
kind of sea-beach which consists partly of an almost
dead flat of sand, and partly of a comparativdy steep
though short slope of gravel, adjoining to the dry
land. That the sea did once cover this plain, and rise
against the gravel slope, I could have no doubt : the
whole aspect of the objects spoke of It There were
also terraces in the valley below, indicating pauses in
the subsidence (so to speak) of the sea. It was of some
importance, since the point formerly reached by the sea
could here be so dearly marked, to ascertain how high
that point was above the present sea4evd. My mea-
suretnents, which were conducted with the levd and
staff*, using the lake as a basis, set it down as just about
656 feet above the sea, being, as it chances, the height
of an andent sea-terrace at Bardstadvig, on the west
coast of Norway, and also that of certain similar ter-
races in Scotland.! This coincidence may be accidental,
but it is worthy of note, as possiUy a result of causes
acting to a general effeci more especially as it is not in
this respect quite solitary.
The dinner presented to me on the day of my stay
at Minde might be considered as the type of such a
meal bespoken at a tolerable country inn in Norway.
It consisted of a dish of fried trout from the lake, with
mdted butter - sauce, and something like Yorkshire
pudding to take with it : no more animal food, but
a dish of cream prepared in a manner resembling
trifle, and accompanied by a copious supply of an over-
luscious warm jelly ; finally, a salad. It is common in
small Norwegian inns to put down, with one dinner-like
« I sm told that thsM habits do not exist ta good loetoty at
CbrtttiaaU.
t The gr«at«st •ummer height of the MiOsen Lake I^ 430 feet : the
winter height, 410. I'inding the level at this time ten feet below
the naik oouiidtrid aethat of highest water, I oomidtred the lake
as being now 480 foot above the see.
M2
GHAMBBRSnS ISDINBimaR JOUBH Ati.
diib, a large bowl of what we call in Scotiand lappettd \
milkt but beannf a creamy surfaoe, along with sngar :
it Mems to be a favourite fegale with the natlTet; but
I never oould get into a liking for it. In the dear
warm day which I apent in the Minde inn, the lake
presented a beautiful placid scene ; a boat was now and
then seen rowing lasily across its mirror-like surface;
but more generailj nothing studded the silver sheet but
the image of a passing summer doud.
In my rambles to-day I saw many of the peasantry,
and the interiors of a few of their houses. The women
are poor-looking creatures, dressed in the most wretched
manner. They want the smart taste seen even among
the poorest young femaJea farther south, as is parti-
cularly evidenced in their head-dress, which consists
merely of a coarse handkerchief tied under the chin
— a sort of apology fbr a hood rather than a head*
dress. There are great difTerences in the interiors of
the peasants* houses ; but certainly many of them are
miserable little cabins. As yet, I see hw symptoms
of a prosperous hfe for the labouring -class in Nor-
way. It is different with the peasant proprietors or
yeomen, called bomder in their own country. The house
of a bonde is a long, double -storeyed, wooden house,
painted a dull red or ydlow, with gauze window-cur-
tains, and very neatly fhmished within. The life of
this class — the leading class of Norwegian society —
seems generalfy comfortable, though not to the degree
which is alleged in the glowing pages of Mr Laing ,* for
they are very often embarrassed by debt, mostly in-
curred in order to pay off the daims of brothers and
sisters to their inheritance. At present, the labouring-
class are leaving Norway in considerable numbers to
settle in America. There is bne particular district in
Wisconsin which they flock to, and which, I am told,
contains art least 6000 of these poor people. A govern-
ment officer, whom I conversed with at Clu^tiania,
says it is owing to the superabundant numbers of the
people. The land, he alleges, has been brought to the
utmost stretch of its {Hroductive power. Meanwhile, to
use his expression, there is tr^p du mariage : the food
being insuffldent for the constantly-increasing numbers,
they must needs swarm off. There is a like emigra-
tion of the humbler dass of peasantry from Sweden.
Thus we see that equally in the simple state of things
which prevails in Scandinavia, and in the high-wrought
system of wealthy England, there is but a poor life for
the hireling unskilled labourer. Nowhere does it afford
more than a bare subsistence ; often scarcely giresthis.
The weather was now becoming very warqai, while,
with the increasing latitude, the day was sensibly
lengthening. On the evening of the 12th of July I
went to bed at ten o'clock under a single sheet, with
the window fudly up, and read fer an hour by the
natural light. Next morning at six I went on Doard
the Jembarden steamer, and was speedily on my way
along the Miosen Lake. A raft behind contained my
own and another carriage. It proved a pleasant day's
sailing, though there is nothing very striking in the
scenery of the lake. The gentlemen sauntered about, or
sat upon deck) constantly smoking from their long
pipes. There were a few ladies, who seemed not at all
discomposed by the smoke, or any of its consequences.
A tall old general of infantry, in a dark doak, exhausted
I know not how many pipes, and his servant seemed to
have little to do but to flU the tube afresh frt>m a pake of
chopped tobacco not much less than a nose-bag. Not-
withstanding these barbarian practices, there is a vast
amount of rormal politeness among the native gentle-
men and ladies } there is an incessant bowing and tak-
ing off of hats ; and whenever one is to leave the vessel,
he bids adieu to the company, though he perhaps never
met one of them before. The captain could converse in
English, as is the common case in steamers throughout
Norway and Sweden, this gift being indeed held as an
iodispensable qualification for the appointment. I had
also some conversation with the engineer, an intelligent
German, who had been some years in England. Abng
with these dreomftanoes, the idea- that tiis
had been made in Glasgow caused xne to feel moie at
home on the Miosen Lake tiian I eenld have capeetod.
We had, however, a more tedious voyage than nraal, ia
consequence of the drag upon the veuel'a movements
which we carried behind us, and we consequently did
not reach the laading<plaoe beneatii the town of LSDe-
hammer till four o'dock.
This being the only town between Chriatiania and
Troadheim, I was desirous of stopping at it ; bat we
had left eursdves hardy enough of time to readi ike
station of a steamer at tiie foot of a leoond and smaller
lake a few miles onward, by which I hoped to make out
a hundred miles of travelling before we should slsep^
and thus leave myself oomparativdy at eaee about the
remainder of the journey. I therefore relnetaatiy
drove through this pleasant-looking little place. Soon
after leaving Lillehammer, the hiUi, which aa yet Ind
been low and raUier tame, became steep and rovgb.
We pass along the left bank of the Lmtg, a large, ilene^
and rapid stream, of that green odour whidi indicates
an origin among snow-di^ mountains. My journey
might now have been described by a line fironi a Scot-
tish poet — * By Logan's streams that run me deep * —
fer, by the usual affix of the article em, the name of
this river is sounded Logan, and thus is identical with
a name attached to more than one stream in Sootiand.^
Nor is this, by the way, a solitary case. Tlie river
which enters the sea at Trondhdm is tiie NId, ideoHeel
with the Nith of Dumfriesshire fame. Even the ge-
neric name for a river in Norway, dw, or, with the
article, ^ven, appears In our numerous tribe of Elvana,
Alwynes, Allans, Evans, and Avons.
About a couple of miles before reaching Moidms,
the first station ftt>m IdUehammer, we meet a fCeep
rough barrier, which crosses the valley, curving ovt-
wa]^ frx>m the hill-face towards the river, and leatiag
only a narrow space between itself and the opposite
hiUs fer the stream to pass. On mounting to the lop,
we find that it has a flat surfaoe of considerable extent
It is composed of blocks of stone of all sixet, up to tiiat
of a cottage, mixed with a pale day. Preseatiy an-
other such mass appears, in a terrace-like ibrm, ea tiie
opposite bank of the river. A very little refleetton,
aided by the recollection of some Swiss obeervatioos of
the preceding summer, enabled me to detect in these
strange objects the fragments of an ancient wtorauu, A
glacier had once pouied down the valley, terminatiiif
at this place, and here depositing the loose materials
which it had carried along with it from the higher
grounds. Such loose materials come to form what is
called the terminal moraine of the glader. Norway
must have then had a much odder dimate tiian now,
for there is not permanent snow in this district except
upon the tops of the mountains— though in Westere
Norway there are still glaciers which descend ahnost
to the levd of the sea. On an improved temperature
becoming prevalent, the glader of the Logan vaBey
had shrunk back, leaving its moraine as a meoKniai of
the point it had once reached. In oonnectioQ with tfaii
object, it is important to remark that tiie exposed ro^*
surfaces in the bottom, and a little way up the sides cf
the valley, are smoothed ; but the higher parte of the
hill-sides are extremdy rough and angular, and have
evidently never been sulijected to the action o€ ioe.
So far tiiere is a difference between this glen and ^
south«m parts of the country. In tiie latter, whtete fiie
eminences are low, the ice has passed over hiU and y»k
in its own proper direction. Any ioe that has been
here has, on the contrary, fdlowed the dhectioa of the
valley, ferming in it one local and Umited stream.
While Quist waited for flresh horses at Moeshuus, I
walked on before to examine the country. I found the
rocks to be of a schistous character, generaOy having
their sharp angular sides presented to the road. The
* Lang In NorwegUa signlfios wUer» It Is a generic tens han
■pedsUy applied.
li
1 1
'I
CHAMBRRS'B EDIKBUBGR JOURKAL.
8«3
odBtml vliioh they pretenled to tiM meothed ■iirfiM3et
lowev down, and to the general surfaoe of Sweden and
Sonthem Norwagr, was etiikiag, and inoh at to leave no
doubt that the one tct of olijecti had been exempted from
a mechanical agency which had powerftilly affected the
other. Amidtl the thin woods ol pine and birch whioh
dothed the hiU-tidea I ftmnd abundance of the wild
strawberry, and made my acquaintance with this plea*
sant fruit fbr the first time. Here and there were piles
of cut wood, and the woodman's stM^e sounded thrmigh
the glades. The declining son threw the one side of
the Talley into deep shade, and brought out the other
into equally strong light Nov and then a wain was
heard moving up the steep parts of the road, cheered
by the voices of a ruetic cortege, whose red cowls would
have been keeidy appreciated by the eye of a painter.
It was a beautifrd scene, and a beautiful seasoiv—one of
those opportunities which the heart sometimes finds to
fall in upon itself in perfect satisfaction and repose. I
was glad, however, when, after what I thought a too
long delay, ray carriage made its appearance. We
pushed rai^ly on towards the bottom of the lake, and
were fortunate enough to reach it just as the steamer
was about to move oi!^ about nine o'clock.
It was a small and plainly -famished vessel, which
seemed to have exceedingly little custom, for there
were not more than three other passengers ; and as I
only paid about Is. 8d. fDf myself, servant, and car-
riage, the general receipts must be very small. The
vessel is, however, conducted on so economical a prin-
ciple, that comparatively few passengers must suffice
to make it pay. A chatty old gentleman, who seemed to
be the sole or chief owner, took me down to the engine-
room, and showed me the pile of wood required for one
of its voyages (sixteen English miles) ; it measured a
&thom each way, and cost 4s. 6d. English I A good-
looking, middle-aged woman, attended by a daughter,
was there to furnish refreshments, and I supped at an
expense ludicrously trifling. While light served, the
view from the deck was fine, the immediate banks of
the lake presenting slopes of intense green, divided into
small fkrms, each provided with its snug little suite of
wooden buildings; while over these spaces rose the
dark, steep mountains, shaggy with rock and scrub.
A little before midnight we arrived at the landing-
place under Elstad station, which is situated prett^y far
up the hill-side, and to which it was necessary to send
for horses to take up the carriage. Walking on before, I
soon found myself at the house, but had some difficultv
in attracting attention, as the inmates were all in bed.
After a little trouble, a stout lass came and bustled
about for the preparation of a couch in a very plain
upper chamber, and X consign^ myself to Morpheus
with all possible despatch, as it was necessary that I
should be on the road at an early hour on the morrow.
Rising between six and seven, I found Elstad pic-
turesqndy situated on a prominenoe commanding ex-
tensive views of the valley. The house is black with
age : the date 1670 appears hy the door-cheek, showing
that these wooden edifices are more durable than might
be supposed. There is, however, no observable differ-
ence between this and more modem houses as regards
the internal arrangements or the siae of the apart-
ments. All such things are stereotyped in Norway,
We started at seven, and had a fine morning drive along
the valley, which is enlivened by some cataracts oi the
river, and by the inpouring of two fierce side streams —
the Yola and Fyre, At Oden, while they were pro-
curing fresh horses, I obtained breakfast with some
difilculty, usis^r Mme tea of my own, but indebted to
the house for sugar, eggs, and butter. The charge for
all, besides Qoist's hreakiast, was a mark (9id.) ; and
it probably would have been less if I had not been
regarded as an Eo^ishman. In the space between this
station and tiie next, at a place oidled Toostamona
(spelt as pronounced), I found a detrital barrier across
the valley, very much like that at Mosshuus, but so
Uttle charged with large blocks, that I felt doubtful
whether it was a second moraine, the mu*k of a second
position of the skirt of the glacier, or the spoils of some
side stream, the product of a later though still ancient
time. Things are now becoming very simple. The
internal economy of the stations is manifestly getting
more rudew When, after a stage is done, I give, at
Qnisf s dictation, four or five skillings to the man who
has come to take back the horses— -and four or five
skillings are only about three-half^ce — ^the poor fellow
takes off his cowl, tiirusts a huge coarse hand into
the carriage to shake mine, and utters his * Tak, tak'
(thanks, thanks) with an etnpressesMnt beaming in his
honest visage which affects while it amuses me, it
being impossiUe to see a fellow-creature so profoundly
gratified by anything so trifling, without at once seeing
that his share of the comforts of life must be small
indeed, and feeling contrite at ^e recollection of the
very slight impression which blessings incomparably
greater make upon myself.
At Sletsvig occurs an undoubted ancient moraine,
exactly like that at Mosshuus, being composed of huge
angular blocks mixed with clayey matter. As it lies
opposite a side valley, which here comes in firom the
yresty it may have been a product of that valley; though
I am inclined to regard it rather as the accumulation
left by the glacier of the Logan vale alter it had shrunk
up to Uiis point On the inner side, looking up the
main viJley, there is a bed of sand, evidently UXd down
by water, and which it seems allowable to regard as the
memorial of a time when this moraine served as a
barrier, confining the waters of the river in the form of
a lake. In this part of the valley there is a system of
irrigation extensively practised by means of wooden
troughs laid down along the hill-sides. The cheapness
of the material makes it of course highlv available.
On my journey to-day I met few persons of any kind :
amongst these were children offering little platefuls
of the wild strawberir for sale. A couple of skillings
fbr a plateful was evidently received as a great prize.
Owing apparently to a change in the stratification, the
valley midces a rectangular bend at F%— a word, by
the way, expressive of a btnd^ being identical with Wick,
which so often occurs in Britain in names of places
signifying a bay. The Viig station, which is a superior
one, is said to contain in its walls some of the timbers
of the house in which St Olaf was born — a fact strange
if true, seeing that this saint, who was a king of Norway,
lived in the tenth century.
Having sent on no forebud to-day, I experienced some
delay at each station while fresh horses were procuring
from the neighbouring farmers. Leaying Quist to bring
on the carriage from Sdheim, I walked forward to
examine at leisure the scene of a remarkable historical
event in which some countrymen of mine were con-
cerned. Above the junction of a tributary fh)m the
west, the valley of the Logan becomes still more con-
tracted than formerly. The hill-side, steep to an unusual
degree, and rough with large blocks fallen ftom above,
descends to the left bank of the river, leaving no level
stripe to form a road. The public road is, in &ct, by a
prderenoe of circumstances, conducted along the hill-
raoe fully a hundred feet above the stream. In the year
1613, when the king of Denmark and Norway was at
war with the king of Sweden, a Colonel M&nnichhofen
was despatched to Scotland to hhre troops for the assist-
ance of the Utter sovereign. He, with 1400 men, landed
near Trondheim, and after an inefibctual attempt to
surprise that ci^, made his way through Norway by
Stordalen into Sweden. A second part^ of 900 men,
under Colonel George Sinclair, landed a fortnight later
at Bomsdalen, and endeavoured to pass into Sweden
by a different path. As all regular troops had been
draughted away fVom Norway to fight the king of
Denmark's battles, there seemed little likelihood of any
difficulty being encountered on the march. The pea-
santry, however, became exasperated by the extortion
of free provisions, and those of three parishes in this
district assembled for the purpose w opposing tho
$6i
CeAaUBBRSfB flItfKBUBGfi JOUBNAIi.
Sddtcb. AfiOordif^E (o n NorwegUn balltd, wfateh hat
besn ^kitedly ferAiitUted by Dayid Vedder-—
— — * tta« iMwt flew east, tbe newt flew weit,
And ttonh and aoiitli it flew ;
Soon Norwaij^ pnaaant oldvalry
Their /aibera' swoida Uuy draw.
Tba liMinai biased on erevy UU,
The fi«ry orow flew laat;
Aod the mountain warriore aerriad atood,
Fleroe as the northern blast. . . .
The boors of Lemie, Vaage, and Froen,
Seized axe, and scythe, and brand—
" Foredoomed is erery felon Boot
Who staina o«r native land r '*
A guide in tbe interest of the peasants conducted the
Scottish imrty towards the narrow defile which has
1>een described. The peasants themselves were gathered
In force on tbe mountains above. As it was impossible
for them to see what iras going on in the pass, they
caused a man mounted on a white horse to pass to the
ptlier side of the river, and move a little way in front of
the advancing enemy, that they might know when he
was near at hand. At tlie same time a girl was placed
on the other aide of the Ix>gan, to attract the attention
of tlie Scots by sounding her rustic horn. When tbe
unfortunate strangers had thus been led to the most
suitable place, Um boors tumbled down huge stones
upon them from the mountain* top, destroying theoi, to
|tse their own expression, like potsherds. Then descend-
ing with sword and gun, tliey completed the destruction
pf the Scots. There is a roniantio story, which seems
far from likely, that Sinolaif had been accompanied on
this occasioa by his wUa It is added that a youBg
lady of the neighbourhood, hearing of this» aod anxious
to save an innocent individual of her own sex« sent her
lover to protect the lady in tlie impending assault Mn
Sinclair, seeing him approach, and mistaking his objeet,
shot him dead. Some accounts represent tbe immediate
destruotiofi of the Seot^sh pftrty as complete, excepting
only that two men escaped. One more probable states
that sixty were takea prisoners, and kept by tbe pea-
sants till next spring, when, provisioDS failing, and the
government mi&ng no movenent in the matter, the
poor captives were put into * bam and murdered in
cold bloody only two escaping, of whom one survived
to be the progenitor of a family still dwelliog in these
wilds. Such were the circumstances of the bloody
afikir of Kringelen, to commemorate which a little
wooden monument has been erected on tbe wayside,
at tbe precise spot where the Scottish party was sor*
prised. The grave of Sinclair is also pointed out in the
neighboaring churchyard of Qnharo. An iospeotion
of the soene of tiie massacre gives a thrilling sense of
the utterly desperate ciroumstanoes of the Scottish
troops when beset by tbe Norwegian boors. One looks
round with horror on the blocks scattered along the
hill-side, every one of which had destro3red a life.
* Now all is peaeefol, all is still,* on the spot where this
piece of savage warfare was acted, save that which
only marks the general silence — the ronrmur of the
river. Resting here for a while, I couM not but enter a
mental protest against the triumphant spirit with which
the aflTair ie still referred to by the Norwegians, seeing
that the assailants fought at such advantage, not to
•peak of the safety in which they fought, that nothing
but tbe grossest miseonduot could have failed to give
them a victory. The grace of a generous mercy would
have been worth twice their boast. I walked on
Itbout a mile to a hamlet where there is a sort of
nistie museum, devoted to keeping certain rdics of
the Scottishmen. In the inner chamber of a little
oottage a woman showed me, ranged along a wall, Hve
matcAilocks, two of them very long, two Highland
dirks, a broadsword, a spur, two powder flasks, the
wooden tube of a drum, and a small iron-booped box.
The sfght of these ot^ts so near the scene of the
^ «aa Talt'a ftdlabuntli aia««»ia6» Bepunrtier 1837, Wbsve th»
oiigtsal baUad ia aUo giffwk
•buigliter btlpa;WOfidefiDilf to TOaliae it; sod H iai»»
possible for a SootMnas et least to look oa tbeoi widf
out emotiea. I tkoaght» bewerer, of the mercy of
PsoTidenoe, wfaioh causes the waves of time to dose
over the roost terrible and the asost distreosinf tfalogs^
sweeping away aU the soffering^ — exhaling caUaoity,
as it were, into air-^and iesving only perltsps a fsw
tangible objects te reosind w by associs(tfc)n thai * such
^ngs were.'
In tbe evening I srrhred at Lsurgasrd, where it
neoesssry to spend the night & C
LONDON GOSSIP.
Thb long vacation is ovsr«~diolera has flown away, «r
gone into winter quarter^-<-th« imianig of blinds aod ub-
ckMing of shutters in stylish streets indicate tbe retvife
of families whose abssnoe lias been prolonged by ^eers of
contagion -^busiaess, long sta^ant, is reviving — stwaci-
traiffio is reseming its wontsd density — the new Lord
Mayor has 'skowMl' himself, as of old — the Nevembsr
fogs are entoasbii^ us in thev faliginous darknos — all of
wkioh, whether fact, figure, or fancy, is an intimntiss
that we are in the advent of another London season.
Botokers and bakers are of oourse busy under tbe in-
flux of mouths, and not they alons, for booksellcte aie
* looking up,* and making proclamation of literacy sap-
plies. Some famous names are already aniMNuiccd —
Gaiaot, Qrote, and Lord Campbell in matters of history;
Washington Irving in a trio of biographies of individu^
so opposite in character — ^Waahington, Mohammed, Gold-
smith~*«s to make one imagine that Kniekerbecker roost
have written all three at once, on the prineiple that
ehanoe of work is as good as play. Reprints are in force;
travels and adventures are not lacking ; while fiction »
as copious as ever^ or more so, for we are promised a re-
publication of the works of two well-known wtiieiB of
romanos in ahilliog and eighteenpenny vohimes. Quite
e boon this for travellinff readers who love the exeiiuig,
and patronise railway libraries. Besides these, there m
the usual inundation of pocket-books, almanacs, ei id
genut omNS, which for a time uiges printing-presses into
preternatural activity. ' Cooking up an almanac,' as the
old song has it, must be a profitable business: the * throw-
ins ofif' of that delightful periodical roached for hj
* Francis Moore, physician,* to the extent of hundreds ef
thousands, is divided amon^ three of our * cHy ' printcit
—no small item in the Christmas bill. The wide sale ef
a work reljring on credulity for its success is no compli-
ment to the intelligeaoe of the age; yet, as I mysrif
know, there are hundreds of people, especially in reral
districts, who would rather give up fifty pages of their
Bible, than forego the almanac with its annual progfte^.
tications. Power-presses are kept constantly at won far
weeks to supply the multiiarious demand.
Among other literary gossip is Predrika Bremer's visit
to the United States. Periiaps the contrast to Seaatfi-
navian manners which she will there perceive, mey havs
the effect of giving her a new inspiration, whi^ by sihI by
will awaken the sympathies of thousands on both sides eif
the Atlantic and in Northern Europe. Talking of tbe
United States, reminds me that Mr Baneroft has tekee sp
his residence in New York, and intends to devote liisasiif
to the completion of his histoiy, in whieh, like got own
Macaolay, he may possibly win higher bonoars, aod
effect more lasting good, thim in active p^tical life.
You have heard of the sultan's generosity tosrards a
celebrated French writer. A large tract of Isttd ^
the vicinity of Smyrna has been grsmted \ify bis h%^
ness to M. de Lamartine, aad it Is
of a * Voyage en Orient* will go oet to take
A fact highly hsneuraUe to M. de Lam
lately come to my knowledge, and as it ill
point of character, I may eommunioale it. Too ass
aware that the extemporised minister ef fom&^ sAfas
baa been compelled to sell his fiMsily eskkte of Mane
to satisfy his credstsis. Some of sier menbsn ef At
Peace Oongress ^tsopossd, en their rstom liwHe» te get
II
GHAHBimS^ BDIKBITBGnE JJOKNALb
8«S
up It siriworipiion on this dde the OuMmel, wfaith thMild
•naUe them to povehAte the patenubl aetoa, mad restore
them to their late owner. M. de Lsmutine vm written to
on the subject, but deolkied to accept the profiered gene-
rof itj, being *■ determined to lelj solely on his own
lifcerarj exertions for the re-establishment of his afiairs.'
Such a resolution is worthy of all respect.
Some very cnrioue and instruoti?e facts hare come to
light in the eridenoe taken before the late parliamentary
committee en publie libraries; and the *blue book' in
which that is reproduced is one of the most yaluable that
have of late been published ' by authority.' Certain re-
sults come out which are said to make unfavourably
against our country. For instance, the proportion of
books iA public libraries to every hundred of the popula-
tion is, in Great Britain and Ireland, 6S; while Russia
and Portugal show from 76 to 80; Belgium, Spain, and
Sardinia, 100; Franoe, 129; Italy, 160; Austria and
Hungftfy, 167; Prussia, 200; Sweden and Norway, 809;
Denmarii) 412; some of the smaller German stat^ 4S0.
There has been a good deal of talk about this; but those
who point to British deficienciet omit to inquke whether
the books in oouatries so liberally furnished are really
read by the people. The presence of hook9 does not
necessarily imply much res4ing; and if it wem Dossible
to poll real readers, there is reason to bclieTe that the
balance would be on the other side. We Britons are a
domestic race; we like to see books on our own shelves,
and to read them at home. It does not follow that a
oomparatirely small number of pubUc books betokens a
deficient number of readers.
With the return of short days and long nights come
the season's pursuits, pleasures, and lecreations. Our
twenty-two theatres are doing somewhat in the way of
amusement: casinos, saloons, bewUng-alleya (an impor-
tation from the United States), and ezhibitieos, are get-
tiog into full swing. Music— ooncerts and oratorios — is
liberally furnished, of good quality, and at little cost.
The improvement of public taste in the matter of sweet
sounds within the past two or three years is not less
striking than gratifying. But with the decline of ooarse-
, ness, care must be taken to avoid the oreatimi of a censo-
rious fsstidiousness : a willingness to be amused is by no
means an unfavourable trait of character.
Mechanics' Institutes are publishing their programmes,
and in several of these there are also signs of improvement.
A course of fifteen or twenty lectures on as many difier-
ent subjects is no lonser considered as the most improv-
ing or desirable. Read instruction is not to be conveyed
by such means; and now two or three suitable topics
are to be chosen, and each disouseed in a series of four,
five, or six lectures. In this way we may hope that
hearers will be able to cany home with them dear wad
definite ideas, instead of the meagre outline hitherto
furnished.
Apropos of lectures: a striking oharaoteristie of the
time must not be overlooked. The attempts reoently
made towards a just acknowledgment and recognition of
the worth and slatui of the werkinff^claeses in society
have aroused similar efforts here in the metropolis. To
mention only one instance : a course of lectures to work-
ing-men is to be delivered during the month of Novem-
ber, by gentlemen whose name and character are a
guarantee for the value of their teachings. The subjects
are — On the advantages possessed br tlM working-classes
(or their social advancen»ent— *0n the impoitanoe of thiis
advancement to the nation at laige~^n the franchise as
a public trust — and On the favourable influence of religion
on the intelligence, liberty, virtue, and prosperity of
states. Each lecture, after having been given at the
London Mechanics^ Institute, Chancery - Lane, will be
repeated the same week at Finsbury. The topics are
gCM»d ones; and if the woikinjg*rlassns do really feel an
upwaxd tendency, now is the time to prove it.
Another fact which I must not forbear to aotiee ia the
* Evening Glasses tot Young Men in London,' fint ssion
ibot last winter by several public-spirited cle»ymen and
others. A few passages from the prsopeotus wiU not only
expUin the oltiects^ but serve as a guide to those who
may wish to bestir themt^vts In lAnil^efMis ifl^th«r
places. * The nmge of eubjectto,' 4hw H p^otisMts * will
be nearly the same as that adopted at King's College,
London; but, generally speaking, of a more elementary
character, so as to suit the requii«meots e€ young men
whose time is otherwise mudi engaged.^ Al! young men
of the metropolis and suburbs are admissible on produc-
ing a note of introduction fh>m a det^^yman, a subscriber,
or a respectable householder, and paying 28. 6d. per term
for each class. . . . The year of study will be divided into
three terms — 'Michaelmas, Lent, and Trinity; that is,
from October to July, with short vacations at Christmas
and Easter. A record of the attendance of pupils will be
kept in each class : certificates of regular attendance can
be obtained; and these may be found very useful In
after-lifb, as indicative of steadiness of conduct, and of a
wise application of leisure time.' There is a liberal spirit
in this programme, which is no unimportant essential
towards a realisation of the promoters' aim. As soon as
twenty young men in any part of the metropolis unite to
form a class, a teacher is appointed for them. For the
present (Michaehnas) term there are more than forty
such classes, Uie subjects of study bein? Hebrew, Greek,
Latin, French, English; history, general, Scriptural, and
ecdesiastical; natural philosophy, chemistiy, mathema-
ticB, drawing, writing, and smging. When I tell you
that Dr M^aul conducts the Hebrew, and the Rev. C.
Mackenzie the Greek dass, you will be able to fbrm a fair
id^ of the value of the instruction imparted. Besides
the weekly dass-lesson, a lecture, free to all the members,
is given on two evenings of the week. Those who have
long laboured io prote the kvctifyf ng and derating influ-
ence of education, will take courage fh>m the fhcts which
I have here set down.
AfWr this long discourse about learning and literature,
I may turn io a -few minor subjects of gossip. One i^ the
Westminster improvements: the new line of street by
which ft is proposed to connect the royal palace at Pira-
lioo and Belgmvia with the grand centre ef law and
le^^lation, ie now laid open limlyin Hswhole length. It
is to be 89 fSeei wide; aftd with a view doubtless to its
becoiaing the royal route, a good braadKh of building-
latid ha» been Deserved «• eaeh side. Hie making of this
avenue has remofved a mass of s^valid dwdlkigs, nests ef
filth and fbver, which is of course a public benefit; but it
is hard to imagine what becomes of the late squalid ecou^
pants; one can only suppose that theyfofce themselvei
into dismal districts alrsady too thickfy peopled. Sovthey
dlsoovesed the * lost tribes,' and a few others, in London;
and it would not be difficult to find a Dismal Swaa^
here as well as in Vitgiaia,.
Besides this, there is again talk of a new bridge at
Westminster, to be built a little lower down the stream
than the present uuif^tly structure, b^ which means a
better view thui at mseai will be «btaified of the mn»-
aere leffidatorial palaoeu We shall periuups learn soma-
thing definite on Idrit pontine business when Sir John
Bttreoyoe's report comes out. Meantime a ^lioii' is not
lacking; for sight-seers go to look at Mr ttope'e nsw roa»-
sion at the comer of Kown Street, Pioesdilly. It is a
magnifioent Imilding, in the Reoai«ano6 style, and makes
one long to eee whole streets of such architcvtural imao-
vatioas on the dreary uniformity of West-smd thooraui^-
fares. With slight axceptionSythe whole of the works
have been eseouted h^ fordgn workmen. Some silver-
plate for the dining-rooms was * on tiew' at the last ex-
hibition by the Society of Aits, and wns greatly admired
by those who love rev&vals of ancient art<^
Of co^r8e you have heard of the dismissal of the fimt
Sewers' Comnussion* and the appointwewt.of *»ew o»a,
with I^nd Ebringjton a» diainuMl we must hope not
without an intention of real work. %h^ /call ibr oompet'
ing diains^plans was answered by not less than 149
pr<^ects bei^g sent in, among which no aingleonois found
effident; the sc^roes, in fact, comprise aU soE^ of possi-
bilities and impossibiUtie». A good msfiy are mere mo-
difications or reproductions of the plan proposed by Mr
J. Martin many ^ears ago* whkih indnded a ooatiMious
sewer on each side of the Thamea finMn V«ttahaU to
9W
OHAMBERSV flDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
RoiherikiUtey to be ianiioiuiied hf m teitaee lo
M a paUic ihoroughfkre. Could thii noble eeheme be
realieed, Londonen would bare wbat bas long been a
deHdeealum — a lirer promenade. Cleaning of itreeii
and waler-enpplj come in ae pari of the lame subject :
in aome pariinet baade of * street orderliee,' ae they are
oalledi bare been eet to work. They wear a broad-
brinunedy blaek*^ laaed hat| and a blue blouse, and in
appearance remind one of the * cantonnien ' who work on
the roads in France. The orderlies are prorided wi^ a
broom and shoTel, and remore all Utter ae fast ae it
aeoumulatei. So well do the/ do their work, that noes-
ing<«weepcn are not needed in their districts. As regards
wateiv it ia a prime subject of discussion at preeent, and
it is to be hoped that something will come of it. Sereral
schemes are adirocated: to brine water ftom the Thames
at Henlej^ some thirty miles distant) to tap BAla Lake,
and so introduce the pure element from North Wales;
to here AHesian wells* If Bala vrill gire UB all we want,
in name of the Naiads let us hare it ! for thoee who are
learned in subterrane matten declare the Artesian supply
to be an impossibiitty, and we don't witet to drink the
oat-poured refuse of Reading or Henley. At all events,
the Duke of Wellington has authwised the sinking of an
Artesian well within the precincts of the Tower, that the
garrisoB may, for once in their lires, know the taste of
good water. It will be a proud day for Cockneydom
when it oeases to drink the superfluz of sewers and cess-
pools I
Touehing misoellaaeous matters, there Is the machine
for nuking envelopes lately invented at Birmingham,
where it was exhibited to several members of the mitish
Assoeiation. It is constructed on the pneumatic prin-
ciple, is beautifully simple and effective, and can be pro-
dueed at a oast of L.25. You are to imagine the pre-
pared sheets of which the envelopes are to be formed
plaoed Ia a small chamber or reoeptade, upon which a
bellow8*box descends, lifts off the upper sheet, transfors
It to a mould, which gives tha sise, and pinches the cor-
ners; then, instead of metallic thumbs to nib down each
angular flap, a blast of air enters and effects the purpose;
away goes the envelop to be gummed, and drops finished
into the reeeiver, at a rate, it is said) exceeding anything
yet aeoomplished. Then there are Profossor Schioeter^
experiments en phosphonis, produoinff what he calls the
* allotr^o ooftditien.' In fsw words, when exposed to
light and heat of different temperatures, phosphorus
undecgoes ivmarkaUe ehanges; no real chemical altera-
tion tues place, yet there seems to be ah entire conversion
into other substaacss. One effbct of the modifications is
to render the manipulation of phosphorus harmless with-
out destroying its properties; and the professor, more for>
tnnate than seicntmc men generally, has received a libe-
ral sum from a Birmin^am manuueturer as the price of
his discovery. And lastt what think you of a me<manical
leech, to supersede the little blade snake which so often
makes patients shudder ! A scientific instrument with
such a name has been invented by M. Alexander, a civil
engineer in Paris. It has been tried in some of the hos*
pitalS) and according to the reportSi is a more effectual
leech than the natural one.
In a former * gossip ' I mentioned Dr Mantell and his
iguanodon : he (the doctor, not the reptile) has a batch
of new * Wonders of Geology.* An arm-bone of a canrScm,
neariy five feet in length, the original possessor of which
must have been as much larger than the iguanodon as
the latter is than a modem crocodile : the monster is to
be called the Ceimso-^mmmt, In addition there is a * con-
signment* of dinomit bones fh>m New Zealand, still
further exemplifjring the figantio scale of pre- Adamite
creation. They wul doubtless be brought before the
public in some of the doctor's popular lectures.
The return of Sir James Ross and Sir John Richardson
from the Arctao regions without any intelligence of
Franklin and his adventurous band of explorers has
created both surprise and pain. Sir James, it appears,
was driven home by ice-drifts against his will and against
his instruetieoS, and the consequence will be another
expedition next sprhig^ should nothing in the meantime
b« heard of Sir John Franklin by way of Behring'k Strain
or Russia. Notwithstanding the sums already lavishad
on these next to useless expeditions, a search must still
be made for the party who have noW been four yean
exposed to polar frosts.
A CHEAP CLASS OF RAILWAYS.
AsBOKtime ago (October 18) we took oocasioti, in speak-
ing of the present railway system, to hint at the posa-
Ulity of constructing A class of useful railways, auxiliary
to the great lines, at a very moderate expense. Our
observations have drawn the attention of the oondncteo
of * Herapath's Railway Journal* to the sut^eet, whisk b
discussed by them in two able artides (Nor. 3 and If),
of whidi we take the liberty <^oAffitig an aoAlysii, aloag
with some general remarks.
The first thing noticed by Herapath is the unnecessarily
large oost at which most of the existing railways have
been constructed. While the railway mimia lasted, coet
was of inforior consideration. In the inordinate hurry of
the moment, engineers gave only a rapid glanee at the
proposed route; they thought nothing of tunnelling hills
and crossing deep valleys, rather than go a mile or two oixt
of their way; and then, to avoid lo«d opposition, or to
promote local jobbing in land, enormous sums were reck-
lessly promised or expended. ' To show how lines are
projected,* says Herapath, * we remember that there was
one for which a bill was actively and zeiUouslT prose-
cuted in parliament in the eventful year 1845, which
tunnelled and cut nearly all the way fh)m Liverpool to
Leeds. From the eitent of its works, this line, thooch
not a very long one, would have taken ^fteen or twenty
years to make. At the head of this hopeful project wis
an engineer ranking high amongst the talents of the day,
a genUeman who had made one of our longest railways,
and in support of it as a feasible project it nombened
amongst its directors or committeemen eentlemen of ^
first respectability. It narrowly escapra the sanction <ii
the legislature, which would no doubt have been gxmnted
had not a strong opposition been raised to it by parties
interested in a competing line. Bbt even where there is
opposition to expose ments and demerits, it is not always
that parliament can be depended upon to sanction the
better of two lines proposed; the best line remains most
likelv undiscovered by en^eer*. In the case of the
Brighton line, of three proposed, parliament actually
selected the worst, the most expendve, and the shortest
onlv by a trifling distance. There was a route ptupused,
which, passing wrough a natural sap in the kills, avoided
the necessity of tunnelling, and the enormous outlay and
permanent inconvenience consequent upon it. This supe-
rior route parliament discountenanced, and favoured tha
present long-tunnelled and costly line.* The parliamen-
tary expenses, caused by the opposition of rival companies
and landowners, told also most seriously on the initiatory
cost of the lines. * There probably never was a bill psseed
frithout having to encounter great opposition, because
there probably never was a bill for a railway prosecuted
in quiet ordinary times. There must be, it w^ild seem^
a mania to bring forth railways, and then all the world
Comes out with railway schemes. It is oppodtion whi^
engenders expense; and a mania is the hotbed for the
raising of opposition. One of our imihray companies kad
to fight so hard for their bill, that they found, when at
length they reached the last sta^e— namely, tlkat of re-
cdving the royal assent — that their parliamentary ex-
penses had mounted up to half a million of money. Half
a million of money spent in barely acquiring from narUa-
ment the right of making a line of railway whicA 5s to
confer a benefit on the nation ! Sudi Is the fact. Wllk-
out opposition, the same bill would have been paased Into
an act at a cost not worth naming by the dde of tka<
enormous sum.*
The result of all this was, that the coet of constniethig
rtdlways went far beyond what was W4rranted by pros-
pects of traffic; and in point of fact, had Ike traJlc net
turned out to bo greater than wM oontempUt«l by At
I
OfAMRRltfyS BDINfiUBGH JOUBNAL.
m
Eroj«etoc8» kmmIj ft lailwftj in tlM country would trer
are paid a ihUling of profit. The uiual ezpenie of con-
struction and putting in working order — ail outlajn in-
cluded— was L.30,000 to L.40,000 per mile; some lines
were executed at L.20,000 per mile; but in seyeral in-
stances the cost was as high as L.300,000 per mile. The
mere parliamentary expenses of some lines were L.5000
per mue; and a railway got well off at L.1000 per mile for
expenses of Uiis nature. But the primary cost of railways
is only one element of calculation as respects the chances
of profit : another large item is the expense of working.
It is now discovered that a railway cannot be worked, to
be at all efficient, under the present heavy locomotiye
sjrstem, at a less cost than L.700 per mile per annum.
* Sereral brMieh lines owned by wealthy oompanies,' says
Heiapath, ' do not reoeire more than L*500 per mile per
annum, while the expense of working them cannot be
less than L.700 per mile per annum. Here the loss is
L.200 per mile per annum w addition to the loss of the
capital expended ' for construction. * The [present] loco-
motive railway system is of too costly a character to admit
of every town having ite railway. It is too costly in
working as well as in eonatruction, A vast number of
places have not traffic sufficient to support railways,
though the capital cost of them should be nothing. The
workmg of trains is too expensive to aUow of any profit
being derived from the traffic conveyed.'
The announcement of these truths brings us to the
consideration of a new and cheaper kind of railway
system. It will naturally occur to evenr one that there
are towns and districts which might fina a paying traffic
for some q>ecies of thoroughfare superior to what is
afforded by a common rood. A road is a general pathway
on which so many cart-loads of stones are laid down to
be ground to mud annually, at' great labour to horses,
and no small pain and loss of time and money to pas-
sengers. The way they are supported by toll-bar ex-
actions is in itself a pure barbarism. It is not an
advance beyond the rudest sta^e of social economy.
We pity towns that are cut off trom the general inter-
course of the world by so miserable a class of thorough-
£ures| and the question we propound is — whether some-
thing better, yet not so stupendous as ordinary railways,
could be brought into operation ! We think there could;
yet only provided certain concessions were made. The
following IS what we propose : —
Railways to be constructed with only one line. The
rails to be of a somewhat lighter make than those ordi-
narily employed. The routes to be accommodated, as
far as possible, to the nature of the country. Tunnels,
deep cuttings, lugh embankments, and expensive via-
ducts, to be avoided. The best levels to be chosen, even
althoush the route should be some miles divergent.
Ko si(uug8 of any kind, so that local superintendence
to shifl points would be altogether avoided. Small
locomotives, of not more than ten-horse power, to be
employed. Light omnibuses for passengers, and light
wagons for goods^ only to be used. On uie supposition
that the lines of this nature shall be made only of from
ten to twenty miles in length (larger lines not being
immediately contemplated), there ought on no account
to be more than one locomotive in use : if there were a
second, it should only be as a reserve in case of accidents.
This rule for locomotives to form a main feature in the
whole plan. The locomotive, with its one or two omni-
buses for passcDgers, or its short train of wagons, or with
omnibusM and wagons mixed, to be kept almost con-
stantly going. Instead of standing during long intervals
doing nothing, with its steam ineconomically escaping,
and its driver idle, let it be on the move, if necessary,
the whole twenty-four hours. As soon as it comes in at
one terminus, let it return to the other. Let it, in short,
do all the work that is to be done; and as by this means
there can be only one train at a time in operation, so
there can never be any collisions, and sidings would be
useless. Hie speed to be regulated according to circum-
stances. Trains with coal, Ume, or other heavy articles,
may go at the rate of six or eight miles an hour; those
with passenger! may proceed at an accelerated rate of
twelve to fifteen miles^ whieh we astidpaie to be a suf-
ficient maximum speed for railways of this kind, and
more would not be expected. The width er gauge might
be that commonly employed^ and the lines mi^« be in
connection with the txistung railways. Bat we would
not consider it indispensable for the light trains here
q>oken of to run into the main linesn It micfat be proper
to run the same wagons on both; bwt the shuting df pas-
sengers would be of less importanoe^ At present, people
shift into stage-coaches at certain statiensi, and thej
would have no greater trouble in shifting into the omni-
buses on the tmgl* branch lines. To leave nething un-
tried as regards saving 'Uk the workbg expenses^ it might
be preferable to have no Itation elerkSk Stations need
only be covered shedsi to taSotd sheltet from the weather;
and instead of a dass of dedos and potters fixed to a
spot, a conductor to sell tioket«» and a porter as an assist-
ant, might travel with every train.
Such are the leading feaiuret of a plan for estaUishing
chei^ raUwi^s. If no £[dlacy lurk ondetf our calcula-
tions, the expense of working such liacs would be com-
paratively small. The number of attendants would be
on the most moderate scale, and so likewise would be the
amount of the engines and carriages in active operation.
Possibly, in some instances^ hotse-power would be pre-
ferable to that of steam) but on this point it is need-
less to say much, for Ihe question would be determined
by dreumstances* Herapath seems to indicate that
horse-power might be deemed sufficient in the first in-
stance. He observes, * It is probable that on railways of
the character recomm^ided for local pui^Mses the aver-
age traction would be about one -tenth of the commcm
road traction. One horse cm a local railway would
therefore draw as much as tea on a common road, per-
haps more. But even this gives a great advantage over
the common road. Horses, in the room of the heavy
locomotives now in use, would efiect great saving, in
carrying a limited amount of traffic^ in working, as weU
as in tne repairs of the permanent way. Should the
traffic of these local lines increase rnuoh^ it may then be-
come advisable to put on light locomotives equal to the
duty. Improvements are every day being made in the
locomotive; and it is highly probable 'that in course of
time we shall have light looocnotives fi* for the working
of branch lines, where there is but a meagre supply d[
traffic, and where the expense of the giant locemotire
now in use cannot be borne.'
The only matters remaining to be diaoased are the
mode and cost of oonstruction» it may be as well to
sa^ at once, that unless the landovmers and general in-
hfU>itants of a district cordially concur in establishing
such lines, they cannot be made, and the whole pro-
ject falls to the ground. It must be regarded iu every
instance as assumed, that the parties legally mt^inted
wish for the lines, and will earnestly^ and without selfish-
ness, promote their execution. It will, we believe, be
very generally found that on a line of ten io twenty
miles in length there are not more than six to eight
principal landowners. We could mention instances in
which lines would go six miles over one person's pro-
perty. In a variety of cases the lines might run for cer-
tain distances alongside the public roads, so as to cause
the least possible damage to property or general amenity.
In any case, supposing that notning more than the fair
price of the land taken is to be paid for-^ne contest
m parliament, and no great works to be attempted— -it
is reasonable to conclude that the first eoet of the lines
would be little more than a tenth of what is ordinarily
charged. According to Herapath— > instead of L.30,000,
L.40,000, or Ia50^00 a mile, the cost of a town's or land-
owner's branch line, constructed on the above principle,
would only be a few thousands — probably as low as
L.2000, L.dOOO, or L.4000 a mile. The expense, however,
would vary according to the nature of the country to be
traversed. Where the ground is flat and sound (not
boggy) the expense would be lightest. But in each case
an estimate could ascertain — ^not to a nioety, but nearly
— what a line would cost. We should advase that, priot
to entering upon the copatrmtiiott of a liii«» the patties
968
CHAMBERS'S EDIKBUBGH JOURNAL.
should carefuUr estimate the cost of conttiiictlViifB, Iha
charges ferti^rkuif — saT bj horses-*-and thufi see^ hofoffb
theyfOomrpeijicediylLat there was uo chance of their being-
on the wxy>ag »jAe» ^« tma^ne that lines condtructed
and vorked so tAeapIj as the^ woild |i>e; wo|d^ paj Well;
in diTidesd far ouimul iheir mfte \w^lj connections,
the great locomotlir« Ha^ A.«ude-£etd is here opened
for legitimate and aafe speculation; for benefiting all
parties, if it be only properl j carried out. To raise funds
forthift puipoMt the ioj^AspeppI^ m^,U»^wuff^,^9M,
form themselves into partnerships or companies. We
hare no doubt thej would amply b^efit the&'podrefcb ni '
a direct manner, by the profitable return such a railway
would make upon its capital, as well as obtain nnlway
oommunicik^blons which would enhance $he valfie of jbheU'
estates and xhe importance of their towns.*
With these explanations, the subject may be left in
the bMidB of «he |>uMlei Ooly ofie oMadle ^seems te'
Sroient'ilielfi—limd ihafe Is the'presenl^disheafflebed^n^
itioa of tjl^e pomitiT^respectti^^U nailw^jsoheiue^wh^t^
ever. On this account projects Auch as.we^peak of would
have a difficulty in obtaining a hearing. At the same
time, the penalties of neglecting opportunities must be
borne in mind. To conclude in the words of Herapath ; —
* The lotal parties kiteresled in lines of l&i^ descrhttfon
shtmldnot -delay directing iheir- aM«Btioii to the SQfbjedt;
for while ths^ «ret waiting and diesmingi'the trade «f
their towns may pennaneutly past.Awaf'fron then^and
centre in places ]|»roTided with railway aocommodation.
Trade remains with a place for a long time after an-
other place has possessed itself of superior advantages
fer oarryifig'it' bn; btit when it has passed away,'ownig
tp Mglict -to x«iaiiii it;, it is altnest knposslMe 4o vegaiil
it. (^dainly, itmtgF' be aud« the soeaer ^rfaihahitsm^
of isolated pUees ia wfif^^ raUwa3r«omiitai»fal|o» h69tvt
themselves in this matter^ the better for theif. own iute*
rests. In self-defence . they will be called upon in the
course of yean to do so; when they find their trade slip-
ping through their fingers they must have railways ; and
as mtlway oompanies will never be allowed to do it lor
them, they mvs^ nsads make Idle hum ihems^fVes. Is
it Dst better to- seft «bout thntwork beiDreitis amatter
of ne<;e8S)tyg^ befovs tbinrlose thev busftoess, .aad. I>e^<«e
others take it awa^ ! Xo our mind there is not a doubt
oT the propriety of lo^al parties attending to this notice
at once ; li(jt in haste, but with deliberate judgment,
r^iewfng the local position in whidk they stand, the
oapatnlity of fbming a ehea^ -line, and the advantages
of it both <licseti7 and indirectly te themselves**
W,C*
CURIOUS rBCtJLlABlTY IN Mffi EtEPHANt.
*
The Bombay Times notices a paper by Dr Impey in the
• Transactions of the Bombay Medical and Physical Society/
•oAtalniftg an aoMiMl of the rise of a mallMiant pustule
from coutaofe with this flesh of a tead jctoptaitl II fiuv
uishes a curious aew fact m .the natufal histoEy of the
auliual, * Jt Is so seldpm,^ says the Bombay Times, ' that
tame elephants amongst us die from natural causes, or
under sueli eircumtttaneetf as pertnit of dissection, tltat this
peoulisilty of the eareaaa has not, we believe, till now betoi
described* thouf^ perfectly well kuown to tlie natives. A
ba^age elephant accompanying the third troop of horse
artillery having died on the march betwixt Mhow and
PooAa at the' eonnn^eement of the hot season of 1846l
the elephant was cut up by some of tha arttthnytwi aad
attendaats,- wider tho sii^ewi4au ot Dr Xtapejii^^eQ, if
poflsible, to determine the cause of its deeih. The
mocJiee was ordered to woi^ amongst the rest, but could
not be induced to toueh the carcase imtil he had smeared
his hands and anas wititstil, assifnAlog as the rsiso» of his
ftversioa ths cortaiiiiy of diseiMe sufArveaiiag, and Hs Ua-
biiity periodically to attack those who had odubSj suffered
from it. This at the time was heartily ridiculed; but the
laugh was on the mochec's side when every man employed
in the dissection but himself was two days afterwards
attacked with aent« dlsesit. Vlie rtwintotci of tMs was at
ftnt purely kical: thepaia tslt like^tliat asMafrfroti tivs
kite of a venonMUs toseet 9 it was aeeoiaipflQted bf sUglit
ieeal tnfl— miatkmi' Ikts aoesK<xtotide4y and bcsa»e asose.
Thsse ^pknd^ to jths bone, and extended on all ^des,
SiamifNUng d xfimazkalnie degree of sluggishaesavni inao-
yity. Fever accoq»paaied the earlier syQlp$om^;exliS>it-
ing a remitteat ^yt)e, and being. oQat Spvi^ toirSrds the
evening. ^^ After )a forjnigh^ sec^d^iry fe^er appeared, aad
three w0eks bla^agd vefore t^ sores oo«dd be haaled up^
The patient haa i>y this time li^oome emadated, sallow,
and enCfvatedt so that active dietetic meaaores rec^iixed to
be taken for his restoration.*
' ' DIG XiEEI^ TO PiNb THE GOLD.
' Dost fhou seek tfie treaattres hidden
Within earth's rooky bed,
Tlia dtamoad Pat Aeaiily*ii fMoaes,
• ' , Qpauiot ^e queenly h^ad? ^
'Tis not bn the dewy surface
^lat they ^eir lays unfold,
But far in M)«r4i^taat beUews^ ,
Dig deep to ^d the gdd.
Doet thou lotagthy Adds ehot^ brighten
WUH goUea hiscves* flSffs^
<A.ad thy paAtutes yield In verdure
Riohes for coming years ?
Then dream not'that while you linger '
-- BartU^bSiAtyyouVbtaield;
3iut <iH»K and: wla hey tasswiMt
.,. JC%4ssp.to.findU^gol4. ,, .
, J>sfttho«sighldrii!eSltliofaHwnile4tt*
. . The riQbes of ages past, .
And o'er the brif^t vorld of science
Thy hmghi^ ^lanc^ cast ?
HTMh lova^ad assi Uadauated,
0eek f or the weaHh natoU.
. ^ lhfi,soul-Ut mines of gealna ,
, Dig deep to find the gold.
C.T.
a <i.
SCOTLAND Ttf fcKdLA»m.
The great amtoal Catedetiian Ban U' so<m to ^atat aff
with Its aoMUtortad.spisndanrt tin Soottish 'Mafiaaal
paatimes and fetes are to be celebrated, nndfr the voat
influential auspices ; and the [late] Scotch Ix»rd Mayor
continncs to keep up the national character for hospltaJity
<«ipHh unwonted liberality and icM. A SeoSiAr ueMenan
has wen the Derby,- an aehietemenl sBrp— ina^in tlm saUr
matlom o€ the Cookn«(ya, all thoen>loUs of LotBd Gojbi^.
Another Scotch nobleman haa added tlie aplendid t^rritoty
of the Five Rivers to the British empire in Tndia ; aiKl a
third is wisely, and ably, and approvingly, siippniihg
rebeUion ia CanadsL • Two aeoteh nobkenMa nuale tb^iMsS
q^eec^es. fro and coa. on the Itfawigati^O'laws^ . Tba- tesfe*
Dorary apscnce from illness of one Scotch member (Home)
from the Commons Is generally lamented. Scotch mnidc m
heard and applauded m the streets de^ite of the diUUamH
and tramontano attractlona of Alboni and lishianlisy aaid
Scatdi sUamers are uuiveiwl^.aJiowed to bo iba gnest,
models of marine architecture in the river. From the tftooo
bridges over the Thames — nearly all built [of Sootehstooo]
by Bdotohmeu— ^ou are perpettullV remiivAeS of tliw ge>
Bkia of: Jamte Watt. Seotohbaakfibgls fsSCiB|rjnnrointo
vogusy.and is tceaching on the ongioally iteoteh oiasiisfa^
Bank of JSiu^Iand.. Scotch cakes, Seotch 8bortbraad3<9>isb
gfn^crbreao, Edinburgh buns, and Selkirk bannoeks^Sc^Mdl
whisky, ale, salmon, herrings, haddOoks, and' oafts^ wtHth
t<i»1aieiv aocnatomed sapveanioy. SooMtv f>lakls saad tar«
tafis sre in the windows of every ok>thier, 4raMr, «*d
tailor's shop; and yod scarcely meet a smart female In t^
streets without some part at Icaet of her persoh betii|r daeo-
rated in tartan array. In the priotihop wittdtfws yoo see
the depcstore of the * HigMnd Drwvo *— the Ittiolt 9lili OS
the moanl^ «d»-^4iie 3tag at Bay— the I,aaoie limlM
Sheep, in juxtaposition with her Ms^esty the Qpoca sjm
her Court at the Coronation. — London Contifomtlkiit tf
litrtmua Gmrier.
[Miglit we be pMiilM«d to»dd^tl» fliosi Juliula mmf
ooasibto. .that litti^ 4s ipow iea4 but.aaDtok yinis^liilst
The onlv thing which seems to ko^ patriotlpaJJy at homm
is Scotch sectarianism.] .
Published by^ W. & It. CBAHBras, Hfi^ Btreet,
■qU by P. CaAMBaas. W Aigyle Strssi^ Glasnewt W^-«
147 Strand, London; and J. M'OukaRAir, SI D^ner
Dublin.— Printed by W. & R. CbawSsbs, B^sAmtgt.
i
CONPUCTEO BY WILLIAM AND ROQEET CHAMBEBS, KDITOllS OF ' CffABIBERS'S INFORMATION FOR
THE PEOPLE/ < CHAMBERS'S BDUCATXONAX* COURSE/ du).
Try
sx:
■I ^ 'F
.' r ;} ,
No. 311. New Series.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1849.
Price 1^.
TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OP EUROPE.
TVS DOTEB FIELD.
Mr Laino, who spent MHiie days at Lanrgaard, gives
such a favoarable acconnt of it as a sort of Norwegian
Arcadia, replenished with milk, strawberries, trouts, and
so forth, that I was carioos to ezperieiioe its hospita-
lities. I quickly foiwd my way to a detached chamber,
which he describes with great minuteness as a neat
and comfortable place, and within an hour a meal was
spread on the board before me. When I looked round
the plain little room, furnished with two deal curtain-
less beds, and observed the homely old landlady coolly
tasting with her fingers one ef the dishes which she was
about to remove, quietly conversing with me all the
time, I felt inclined to speak more moderately of tra-
velling in Norway than Mr Laing has done. This was
not the only instance in which I found things painted
somewhat too attractively in the *Besideooe in Norway/
The Norwegians themselves acknowledge that Mr Laing
has been partial with respect to them and their country.
The Laurgaard station seems, on the whole, a poor one :
yet there wat good coffee, along with superb cream, at
bmdL&st next momHig. The femer artide is used to
an immense amount In Norway, and is generally good.
Tlie latter may be described as the one redeeming gas-
trononuc feature of the country. It is an article, by the
bye, which civilisation does not, perhaps cannot improve.
Bear witness, London, where no mortal livhig has a true
personal acquaintance with the genuine products of the
daily I This is one point in which barbarism must be
admitted to have the advantage. CivilisatioQ, it may be
said sententiously, sophisticates butter, and annihilates
cream.
Something set me a -thinking this morning on the
ralne of Norway to the antiquarian traveller, as pre-
senting an unchanged picture of an ancient state of
things and of ancient life — the country no more culti-
vated than ever it was, the houses of the same form
Mui material as they ever have been, the people dresa-
ing moch as they have done for ages, and thinkhig as
men thought in the days of old. It is affecting to re-
flect on the eternal sameness of the human condition
in this country. One generation simply supersedes
another — ^is merely a link in the chain of our specific
immortality — does not advance upon it— or become in
anyway distinguished from others. The life of the in-
dividual is Hkwrn mora toodiiDg^ presented than in other
cinmmstances. It appears more as the one waking day
between the two long sleeps.
At Laurgaard the mountains begin to be more lofty;
some to the westward are 6000 (eet above the sea. The
road, after passing the station, enters a deep, narrow,
rocky passage called Gulbrandsdalen, beyond which
we advance into a comparatively open district of hill
and valley, lying very high, being in fact the sommit
of the Dovre Field. Now at Laurgaard, it is seventy
roilea from Mosshuus, where the first andent moraine
of the Logan valley occurs.* A second we have seen
at Sletavig. All along the valley between Mosshuus
and Laurgaard lai^ blocks are seen lying about. One
isolated cnhioal mass I measured, and found to be 45
feet by 84, and about 15 feet hig^. These have pro-
bably been left by the glader in retirinif t tor it is
evident from their position that they cannot have
fallen from tlie neighbouring hill -faces. At Laur-
gaard, a third ancient moraine, and one much larger
than any of the two former, appeals. It is, in reality*
a kind of monntaia ■ a pile oC huge stones, standing
qnite ont fraoi the aider of the valley, and pesftctly
distiaol ftom the trins of comparatively small Mocks
which restt thereon, the modem product of the cliff
above. Presently, as we enter the pass, we see that
this tremendous pile is connected with certain long
sloping terraces oomposed of detached blocks, whioh
mark the left side of the vaUey at two different de-
vations. All the way through the pass w« see such
pHes laid in terraee ftnhion alonif the hill-sides. At
one place caUed Rooskalen they are three in number,
and the road descends fh>m one to another after pass-
ing a little way along each. Altogether, it is a mar-
vellous exhibitiim of the work of aooient ice. At the
same time, the reoka far op the moontain-sidaB are
roimded or mamillated in the usual fashion, insomuch
that the trees with difficulty get a footing amongst
them. This, it appears, has been a grand though con-
fined passage for the outlet of the mass of permanent
snow now shrunk up to the tops of the highest moun-
tains. At one period the glacial stream haa gone aa far
down as Ikdbsshnua ; at another and subseqaent time it
has stopped short kt Sletsvig; at a third, it has only
been able to disgorge its charge of stones at Laurgaard ;
and so on. I trust it is not superfluous, even to the
most nnscientiflo traveller, to describe these objects so
minutdy. I fbnttd that the treeing of !3iem served ex-
ceedingly well to beguile the tedium of a road generally
defident in objects of interest, and which would have
otherwise been dull
It was not later than six e'dock when I started from
Laurgaard, designing to have a long day's travel, and
to surmount the Dovxe field. Although the sun was
three hours up, the inn and neighbouriBg fields stitt lay
beneath the deep shade of the moontain to the east-
ward. It was exhilarating, half an hour after, to dash
into the bright sunshine at the entrance to Gulbrands-
* Ihe MtfSM «# Um ■toraiaa at MoMhuasii^tefc w^aw Um
na. Um I«utMr4 pot^^Utltim ia H&B» sbov* tin mmm potet
Hen, a»fli(M«h(MiSta»«Bninapa8iB,BiiflMiinMniniiiMBd,
tkm iiitlMii^ fcUooraA bda« IliaS «# Mt BriaM^ in his
rious work snttttsd Oaea Norvtgktu
370
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
lalen, which I found to be a piece of ralley toeiieiy
-irallhig the Fait of Killiecrankie. Bat here we were
inicldy hrooght to a moderate pace. From the steep-
aesB of tiie raHey- tides neitr the rhrer, it has been
fonnd necessary tb cany the road hi|h up the hHl-fkce,
ind at a considerable hidination. While walking, in
tenderness to the horses, I measured the ascent at
[nany places, and fbund it equal to the serere indina-
tion of the road at Christiania already described, being
16 degrees, or a rise of 1 in 84. At home I would have
believed such gradients impracticable, but the bold
engineering, or rather the no-engineering of Norway,
showed me the contrary. The scenery was superb, and
its solitude unbroken save by one small cottage, near
which I met a poor old woman, its only tenant, gather-
ing a breakftist of herbs. The air filling the profound
h(&ow was palpable in its intense brightness, like some
fine liquor; yet it was not perfectly pure, for insects
floated along, and there was also a refined dust now
and then visible, posslbfy the sporules of cryptogamic
vegetation.
I learned at the second station onward that my fore-
bud, a young map, had Widked all the winr (134 miles)
during the night, in order to give notice or horses being
want^, looking for nothing beyond the usual remune-
ration, which was about Is. 7d.
Early in the forenoon I left the valley of the Logan, in
order to pass over the Dovre Field. The upper part of
the valley has some remarkable features. It ends in a
lake called LEssdverks-Vand which reposes in the
summit -level of the country between Qulbrandsdalen
and Romsdiden. This li^e has an issue at each end,
one stream being the Logan ; the other passes through
Romsdalen, and fldls into the Northern Ocean at Mdde.
Thus Norway may be said to be divided into two parts
by a continuous tract of natural water. For many miles
of the upper part of the Logan Vale there are loily
terraces and isolated mounds composed of a fine sand,
and very much resembling fbrmations which I have
traced near the summit-level of various similar vatttys
€f passage in Scotland, this term being one which I have
ventured to apply to hollows not forming an ascent
to high grounds, as river valleys usually dO| but pene-
tratinff higli grounds firom side to side. Such valleys
were the Inisins of sounds when the sea was at a higher
relative level, and the deposits are the siltings pro-
duced by the sea in that situation. The tract we are
now speaking of is eminently a sandy one. So abundant
is this material, that there is a positive difllculty in
carrying the road over it, and at one place, where it
assumes the character of a quicksand, the mail cart has
occasionally, in rainy weather, been detained a day for
want of firm footing. On one of the isolated mounts of
sand, Dovre parish church rears its picturesque form,
clothed all over with slates bound together with iron.
Though Dovre kirk is 1543 feet above the sea, the
neighbouring hill-sides are studded with little farms,
and the whole district is evidently very populous.
In the British islands, I may remark, there is no
such abundant population at above half the elevation.
It is the warm, though brief summer, which enables
man to find a subsistence in Norway on so high a
platform of country, In addition to the many sandy
terraces at difibrent and indeterminate heights, I dis-
covered one of a much more remarkable character,
passing along both sides of the valley for fully twenty
miles, always at one elevation, and specifli^y identical
as a terrace with the celebrated roadi of Glenroy in In-
verness-shire. It first became visible at a place called
Oue (pronounced Ou|fo), on the west side of the valley,
where it truncates the andent delta of a side stream fkr
up the mountain-side. It is seen thence passing along
through the scraggy woods without any interruption,
till, on our turning out of the valley, we lose sight of it
among the high grounds near Lasso Lake. On the east
side of the vfdley, perhaps 150 feet above tlie level of
the road at Lie Station, I could dbtinctly trace this ter-
race by its hummocks of water-laid sand, and the farm-
ho«xses perched on iti favouraUe points. A loof ferin
of hamlets on the road to Molde is placed upon it. As
an object in physioU seography, in its form, its uidfonn
level on both sides or the rale, a&d fti rdatiofi to tiie
lakes at the summit*levd, thia terrace pfeeisdy teeem-
blet the lowest of the Glenroy terraces as it mmtmtht§
Loch Ijaggan. It must, however, be more txuai twice
1^ elevation above the level of the sea.
We now passed over a high open valley, preKoGng
that sort of dismal mooxiaad scene which ia ao oommoQ
in the upper grounds in the Scottish Highlands. Trees
were now reduced to scrub ; but near the waytide we
saw great peat kagSf containing large trunks wfafeh be-
tokened a heartier vegetation in past timet — a pheno-
menon also common in our Highlands. It teenied as i(
after the period of extended gladers, there hsd been
a time of genial climate for these high grounds, perhaps
arising from their being temporarily at a lower rdative
level Here, too, even ttras high, tlM exposed surfiMses of
rock exhibited polishing and scratching. For the pre-
sent^ the temperature ofthe district was as mild as could
be wished. At Fogstuen Station, which is 3241 Engfish
fi&et above the level of the sea, I was ftdn, whUe taking
advantage of the pause for horses, to rctreet fbf shade
to the nde of a bridge to scribble a fow notes. Tet
patches of snow yren lying in nooks not tar tram the
road. I much question if worthy Mr Macphenon* the
innkeeper at Dalwhinnie, ever in his life knew so hot a
day at that most elevated of Scottish inns, although it
is considerably less than half the height of Fogstuen.
This station being a quarter of a mile ftt>m the road,
I did not go up to it; but I was amused, when tbt
horses were getting harnessed, to obserre the group
which had come from the house to gaxe upoo the Bag-
lish stranger. It consisted of five women, four men,
two boys, and an infant in arms, doubtlesa the entire
strength of the station. It was a treat to obaenre the
look of awe -struck gratitude of the poor horse-boy
when Quist put three skilUngs (rigidly the eighth part
of 94d.) into his hand by way of drkka-mnge. Such a
look one might have expected from a faitnmi dd butler
in England on his master informiuff him that be had
settled a retiring pension upon him ror lifo. I mentlDo
these things b^use they strudt me as significant of
the very limited acquaintance, which Uie Norwegiaa
peasantry have with money. They remind one of the
stories told of the Highlanders iu Prince Charles^ army
in 1745, who, in their march through the Lowlands,
would hold out their guns threateningly, and being
asked what they wanted, answered, 'A penny !' which
being given them, they recovered arms, and went
away content My own indination alwi^ was to give
sums more conformable to English usages ; bo^ being
reminded by Quist that it was entirely a piece of gratoi-
tous benevolence, as the true remuneration of ti^ maa
was involved in that for the horses, and finding Quist,
moreover, under an impression that tiie ordinary pay-
ments were rather more than they ought to be (raings
being generally cheaper in Sweden than in KorwayX
I compelled myself to leave the matter mnc^ in his
hands. Perhaps, too, it would scarcely be Jnstfoe to
future travellers to change the ideas of Uie people as to
this class of gratuities. Their simplicity is at pressBt
beautiful to contemplate, and ' why shcMild I undo it?'
The honesty of the peasantry on this verr road is iBas-
trated by a circumstance which was related to me by
an English traveller not above a month after it hu»-
pened. Having tied up thirty sovereigns inaecmetj ta
his carpet-bag, and imprudently arranged tlie bfl|^ with
its mouth downwards on a carriole, he found, on arriv-
ing at a particular station, that twenty-fianr of the esAaa
had made their escape. Before it was possiUe to maloB
any announcement on the sutjeot, a peaaanti tbs eon of
a small farmer, came to the inn, and gave up eighteen cf
the sovereigns, which he had found at interrals akog
the road. The bearing of the man, and the act fts^
left no room to doubt that he had surrendered every
coin which he had found; and indeed the wonder ii^ tbst
MP*
CHAMBSBS'0 EDINBUEGH JOUBNAL.
871
he had ibund so Unre a proportion M the thr«e-£ourtha
of those misalDg. OQie worthy fellow looked only to the
reward customary in such cases in Norway, amounting
to ahout two pounds, which the gentleman gave in
specie dollars, as the coin most convenient for the re-
ceiver. He seemed, however, to have an inadequate
idea of the value of the money, and immediate^ after,
with a simplicity which there was no resisting, he came
and asked for one of the sovereigns, which he said he
would much like to keep as a memorial of the event I
The Lie and Fogatuen Stations, and three farther on,
were established so long ago as 1120, with some pecu-
liitf privileges, to make the keeping of them worth while,
as otherwise there could be no su^ jdaces of entertain*
ment for travellers in so desolate a region. Being con-
nected with good farms, they are in the hands of per-
sons far above humble circumstances. Near Fogstuen I
observed some houses at a still higher elevation, and a
few others not less elevated were within sight in Gul-
brandsdalen ; but these, I was told, are only inhabited
in summer. They are examples of a kind of establish-
ment called a Sidett common all over Norwf^, and
whidi either had or has a parallel in the Scottish. High-
lands, being connected with grazing-grounds where the
cattle are kept in summer, in order to save as much as
possible of the fodder raised in the bw g^unds for use
during the winter. Tidemand, the Wilkie of Norway,
has a pleasant picture descriptive of the march of a
family to the Soeter. ' It is a delightful moment,' we
are tdd, * when, at the end of the long winter, the joyous
cry, '* Till Soeters P is heard from every mouth. . . .
It is quite a fete when they go to these summer sta-
tions. There the days pass smooth^ along, one like
another, while the people tend the herds, mi^ butter
and cheese, and gat&er berries and vrild-flowers. From
time to time they receive visits of the inhabitants of the
valleys, and from travelling strangers. But the grand
fetes of the Soeters do not commence till near the end
of summer, when, the labours of the low country being
over« the men and boys come there to feed their horses,
and flsh in the mountain lakes. They then indulge in
national dances, seen at no other time, and which, one
would think, it requires sinews of iron to go through
with. Meanwhile no one is left to take care of the
house at home, but some old person who has ceased to
be able to climb the mountains.'* One can imagine
ample scope for the pastoral poet in these charming
scenes ai natural primitive life.
The next stage continues to pass along the high
moorish grounds already described; and now we have
the mountain of Snaehatte and others, covered with
eternal snow, at the distance of a fow miles to the left
Though Snaehatte is 7614 feet high» much of its efi^ct
is lost, because, as a detached hill starting from the
table-land over which we are passing, it does not tell as
above half that height It is, nevertheless, a fine object
the sides being in some places so steep, that the snow
cannot lie upon them* Once considered as the first
mountain in Norway, it now ranks only second, there
being one called Skagstols Tind on the west coast one
point of which is stated at 8087. After passing many
miles over a dreary wUdemess, where not a human habi-
tation Ib to be seen, nor any vegetation superior to brush-
wood, it is with a feeling of relief that one drives through
an arch into a group of buildings forming the station of
Jerkind, which hangs on the slurt of the ridge forming
the summit of the country at this point One naturally
expects great rudeness at a solitary habitation placed
in so wintry a region, and so far from the haunts of
men ; somewhat unexpectedly he finds several neatly-
appointed chambers, in one of which a comfortable meal
is served up to him. He sees all the symptoms of a
thriving mountain-farm, and sensible, happy-looking
people engaged in their various duties. I was indulged
with a sight of the kleid kammert a room devoted, as is
customary in Norway, to the keeping of Uie clothes of
* lANcnr^rUtonsqiiSb Ghiirtiaaia. 18«i
tha family* A wonderful varied of male and fSunale
attire hung round the walls i but what chiefly interested
me was an assortment of voluminous cloaks and pelisses
of bear and wdves' skins for winter travelling*-an ap-
paratus conveying a striking idea of the exigencies of
the climate in this northern latitude. As at some other
lonely stations, I hare found that the landlord amuses
himself in winter with carving in wood, and some of his
productions oC this kind were not devoid of a certain
olevemess, though very much inferior to the pretty
carvings which are executed at so muay places in
Switzerland. He rears horses upon a considerable scale,
and the groups of nags seen here and there about the
fields are of some avail in dispelling the sense of melan-
choly arising from the soene. Sportsmen haunt Jerkind
in summer for the sake of the game, which is here
rather more abundant and reachable than is usual in
Norway. Trouts, deer, and even occasionally elk,
add to the attractions of the plaoe as a scene of amuse-
ment A man named Per, who nmst be a person of
extraordinary character, acts as a guide and assistant
to the Jerkind sportsmen; his house, the only one in the
district besides the stations, is perched on the skirts of
Snaehatte, and there he lives with his wife and chil-
dren throughout the whole year, the nearest approach
to the perfect romance of hunting-lifb which is now
perhi^ attainable.
It was late in the afternoon when I set out from
Jerkind on foot it being out of the question to think of
being driven over a hill of such steepness. I was now
about 4000 feet above the sea-level; yet the upturned
edges of the schistous rocks were everywhere seen cut
sharp through, and the surfaces polished and striated
in t^e down-hul direction, or from north-east tp south-
west Upon these surfaces travelled blocks of gneiss
reposed. It would be worth while to inquire after
their original seat, as upon that some curious conclu-
sions might depend. The summit-level of the road is
said to be 4105 feet above the sea, being nearly as
high as the loftiest mountain in the British islands.
Nevertheless I passed it sitting in an open carriage,
without a coat d any kind but a thin linen blouse, and
foeling my face all the time half-blistered with heat.
Snaehatte looked well here, presenting an open, broken
part like the ruins of some Titanic structure half-
shrouded in snow.
We now descended through a great basin of naked
uplands, beside dashing streams and hcq>eless morasses,
towards Kongsvold. £i passing alon^ , I overtook two
youths who had been fishing in the mfant river Driv.
I found the fish-basket of one of them formed of very
simi^ materials, yet tolerably neat It consisted mainly
of a piece of birch bark,a section of the entire girth of a
small tree, about nine inches long. This had been cut
open, and fitted upon two elliptical pieces of wood serv-
ing as ends, and from which there was a strap to carry
it by over the shoulder. A little carved wooden box,
having a slidhig shutter, held the bait of the young
angler ; for, I may remark, fly-fishing is unknown in
Norway, except where introduced by the £nglish. In
' Murray's Hand-Book ' there is a story of a simple
Norwegian, who, being asked if there were many trout
in the Etnedal's Elv, * replied that the people about
here never caught any ; but that an Bnglishman had
been there, and had put some queer-looking things like
files upon his line, and with tl^ he took great num-
bers of trout'
Kongsvold lies at the entrance to a narrow cliffy
v^y, forming an outlet for the Driv from the basin-
like upland alroadv spoken o^ and is 2i>84 feet above the
sea. On the rough hUl-foce, from 400 to 600 feet above
the bottom of the valley at the station, there is a sloping
terrace of loose nuterials, about half a mile long, and at
one i^oe above thirtpr paces broad. It is unequivocally
the moraine of a glacier which has at one time descended
through the Driv Vsllcy. The station is fully as oom-
fortaUe as that at Jerkind. Having an hour of day-
light remaining, while it was unadvisable to proceed any
37a
CHAMBFiW'ft XOilWAa^H JOUBINAIL
farlh^» I exAmin^ the vhol« plane cwefoU^ nB^crr t!h9>
guid»n<« of one of the people, Tba baildm^t form a
sort of p(^uare, wUh tiie road pasaiog through it* Then
il oae prmcipal houae. contatniog m Uig» Xitc&^en. and
a guodrsUcd jparlour with a be4 wli«re I aca to ueep ;
oyer thU, a 9uit« of apartmenti, Th^n tbflre u a ^ecoiujl
hoii9e, the grouad:0oor of which coatalM a dairy full of
dishes of milk and creapo* and an apartmwt occupied
by a female who seems to attend. ta thia part of tha
establishment H^re also there U an upper ^oor coa<^
taining a Kt of hedroomB. Another neat houae
detached from these it occupied by the niother of the
innkeeper, » reapectahle old person like a Scotch ffranM^
and approprialeUr occupied at the time of vpy visit ia
reading m book of devotions. I remarked of this housa
that though it wat only n cottage, it contained a great
number of aubstantial artidea of furniture* There
seemed to be wHhing wanting for oomfort» though aU
in a plain wi^y. $t^uea, cow-houaea, and aheds thera
were in plenty, likewise atorehouses for fodder, and pro^
Tisions. the place being, In its ioutentemhU^TAihet like a
little village than a farm or an inn. The interior of one
of the family proViikm-«toret' preient^ huge bonkers
aad glfnala Ihll of twdmmU' k&da of braad, prepaeed
agataat frialer. Anothoc was atuffitd IkU of aaoka af
BBKoal, and ofthar artidea oeedfiil tbr fluitanaaoa. Tha
whole reminded oae of a city prepared for m mega^-a
coadilion from wbioh thai of a inewitain atatiQa duifcag
aeveu lUoaIha of doep snow ia not greatly diilbreat. It
ako coBvayod the idea of an mfflaani aufflaieoay of tha
neoeasarsaa of U& being enjoyed by the praptietor and
hie depeBdanti,«a well as by^tha oaltla a«d the atimngec
that was witfaiQ hU ^taa, tboUffh wHh parbapa an al^
moat total tfnorance of tlie Mlaaolat that aM withtn
the reach of poorer people In tlie town* and eitlee of
England. FlpaMy, i imiMted the eoni<4Tdll of the eataN
lishment--a small timber-bouae striding <yv«r a preci-
pitate moontaki atreamlet It eoataitis apace for little
more than the mill^tottea, the upper of which movee on
the k>wer by viHee of a vei^oa! beam descendlog itfto a
socket in the bed of the stream. The lower tiart of ih!i
beam it f^imiahed with hoHzontal fkot, against which,
on one aide or the other, theirater pours down a sloping
trough, 90 as to wheel it rotind. It ia the very first
mechanical eflbrt after the uae of the hand*mill of prt-
mitive timev ; and the name given to that hand-mill in
tlie Scottish Highlands^^ttrm—is ttStt retained for the
simple establiahment now described. I beheld it with
the fbeUng of an antit^ttary, as the living reality of what
is elsewhere to be soosht for as an obsolete curiosity, or
onhr sorvitet itt detcnptfon and literary allusion. IVfr
Lalng ffnda a pbtUibla excuse for the rudeness of the
enginery of these Norwegian mills, on the plea that it
is less apt to be interrupted by fVost than lui overshot
whee! would be. But I hare no doubt It is adhered to,
as many other rude and ungndnlr systems are in Kor-
way, merely on tlie prihciple that so oor fbrcfatliers
ground their com, and ap will we.
In the courae or the evening the post firom Trondlieim
to ChristianU arrived at the station, consisting of a
single-horse gig driven ^one man. It passes on this
journey twice a week. The man I found to he a l^nd-
some, young, active fellow, clothed in a long green frodcl
coat, adorned with bugles, and wearing at his broad
leathern belt a short, light ftword, having two pistolf
connected with the hUt. From the bustte it created,
especially among the woroenkind, I could see tlvit the
arrival of the postman was an Important event at
Koagsvold.
The first stage which I liad to encounter next morning
is the most difficult and the most teri^hle of the wUoU
road. Having taken breakfast; and paid a specie dollar
(48. 6d.) for the whole evening, night, and morning's
entertainment of mvaelf and servant, I atar^ at Bis
o'clock on my way down this frightfid valley, drawn by
three horses, and having two extra attendants. Ik was
a splendid morning, and the magni^cent acenery of the
vali^' appfaared to the ))eat advantage^ A deep, niahing
riven ftaap hiUnaidaa so«lpad^ top, ecfsps of dvnU
hireh and pine to, half-way up, side stceams tonifabg
down through deep-oit chanads and OTtr ioftj ledseii
such were the prgn^lnant features of tbetceae. MMt
readers will be familiac with the aaooth drcular jn^
which oaacadea ganacally make on a piedpioei 1^
whirling loose stones round and roand within tbeo:
the CaUron Xiaa io Clackmaaoaoshire is a good ex-
ample. Among the clifia above the road, quite oot o^
tha reach of any aide streama, and foDj (dtf feetsbon
the preaeot ooorae of the Driv, I observed wesriogf d
thti nature on the. rock, indicating that cuesdes hid
onca b^a there. Ciroular pots of this kind iie sot
uDoommon objects in Norway io connwtiqB vith
drt seed aur&oes of rook. The comoioQ people cill
them H^imnu^f or Giants* Tubs, and probi^ at>
sign them a mythical origin. The modem ^oologiit
Mievea them to have been pcoduoedbjcaicadfiicoa-
nected with glaoiers in the age of the dreftisgs, Fu>
ther ^own the valley I found another example of the
Reiaentopfesv fullv ISO feet above the rirec
The great difficulty of the stage is to gttoTttik
ehouldar of « hill, which, deagending st a itoep iodi-
naAioa right down to the river, leaves no nom fat the
passage of the road belaw^ We risei I tbiak, Mym
feet^ and descend rather more on tiie other nde; It
was hard vork to the three horses to dnc the enpty
carriage up thia alope, and hard work to toe mea to
ebaer the poor MiniaU, help theai with ^hor dnogh^
aad keep (he eairii«e from dragging tiien badL vkn
thf^ paused for a Buiiiata to draw breatlu To troid the
vagueaaaa of general description. I messared them-
dienla at aef and plaee% and Iboadaa aogkof IS deirai
the gentWsl anywheae. esiating, heiag ^ tfd»^
inclination of the steepeat closes in the HigbStieaa
SdiAbmrgh*' Anangleof l«degreetifia«4^a«*<*'>^
nianMonad««riaeof 1 footin3^wasco9KHQo< h^MW
piaoea iharmoo. ftf^rmi /) there waa sa ineliastifla «
90 degteea* or a rise af 1 in $|, Imi intkteanitf
when it waa aftenraida going down dedirilies it tha
angla, Bot mvoh «alike the alopa of tha roof ef a hMt
There waa 9m paitlcuUr turn of the road paDdodsr
a aharp curve, and in the inner part of this cawJ
traced a wheelptmck^ on a piecp of gro«id(kiimlt
who liit) at ^6 degoeea ! The aapeol «f Ibetafiiia
aaoBtiding (hfise elopes waa that of s^niiiaUttiAbiB^a^
walkiagt Midi aeqairada foroiUeidea ef tbepowiM
Nonregiaa naga. Tha road, iaolasiveef a drnedMe
ti» the biU-aiae„ wna rigidly t«^v«feei ln*^J^
Wi maaiy plaeM uoprovided with any ytnpM^f^
fenot» though for a hnman bamg or vehide^faMr^
there oonU be ao atoppage tiU tbcj aboaH tffAm
bed of Iftie atrwin» aevarnl huadifid feet Mow. ilw>^
wheelHtracka exacally «n «mAm fhiai the oakidiatpH
thaprfiCftpioal .
Ala fxaiofiuv •r^ of tlie valley* oeir ih«elhe
road attaioa its mtmoat height, I fotad Ibtkmtfi^
tbe upper part of tkevattey, and thearlsOtefBF
acffoaa^ ametfthed* with abrift fitam soath <a~Bsitb,ir a
the diMlion of the vaUey, while the A«fjj^
down ward^ veaa rsoogb* It was tha claattiMjrt" «|*
^aaiar^vii« odoa Qame d9Wtk this valley, flhof^
im a height of luUdr 600 laet, anoelliing the 9t»m
agalnal wtiich it pressed In ils daseen^ ^Jf*?*
iiatoMiched thoMOver whlehitwoeld P<^^*f
paeainff throagh the atralt A little «i4r<)a,«;^
aaaomed « direotwn fram aoitth^a^t la iww-ga
Aitetor ourioua featnca of itevalk^ywas ai tfjf
deltaof aside alraam^tliM ia. the aeBMios of ftQW
Dfdetdtuawhtoh hadbeen bn>aghthytheiift»^
Into thie valkQ^, ii^ben itvtfaalfiHediaptoaotttitaMa
arith water^bnt- ^h«h bad besn cat throi^;g"^
•IreaBB sifter the reotniant watff had
fiticbi a fee* I boftd aam tiiaof «f the* fonaw |ia^
theteeaintdbU iBlMidTaUty^itptDahei0httfi<»^
afiOOfeet above tla pnaeaftdevafiMH^eoa^^
•e^aent to tiuit smder wbioh' the rock«Door
Itroduoedf**^ vaiga bl witter aoocildiagibal '
.^(•^^••■•4^^AMi«(iad>m^6n*lM^WKpi-Ai^«s^
a "Hi
* I 1 1
t*-
C«tAMB£tfB1& SX>IKBtni6H a^fjte^At.
379
WbHe myntind waa wrapt In cotitem^Iatloii^t>rthfr
gnmdettr of the talley, «nd its many indicAtiotis «f'a
iM state of thinffs, Qtxiflt wai taldiisr an e<son^iiiH»ii
Tiew of the procBgibtta water-p01lre^ which w^ flowing:
wiikat^y along hr Mow onr fbet. * If we had English^
men here, vif « w6 could init hhn np aome nieefiibrigtie.*
Kot 8 doQht of it.
It war a pleasant ttlief fiDm tb0 wildn^ss of the etag^
when, after a hmg descent, we cam^ to a wide apaoe
fbrmbg a green lem meadow, dtbib to which wiaa' the
stadon of Dritstnen, 2S49 Jeet abore fhe lerel of file
sea. Hie DoTrePield Is considered atf ending here. The
Talley, netertheless, continues td {Present &e scenety
as fiir as the next station^ thvt of Bne, whet^ popular
tion at length recommences, after being intermitted ^r
M\y sixty miles: The remainder of this day's jonW
ney was net remarkable. It crossed from one valley to
another orer high and rather iminterestlng gvonnds. At
Stnen Station, as part of a rery poor dinner set beibre
me, I met fof the first time a di^ of lappered milk:
designed to be eaten with sugar. The place ihtisiiettea
me, as absohitdy identical in name with Btdwei in Edin-
bnrghihire, not to speak of a wen-known teataaion in
Bockinghamshire, and the termination of nmny nameii
of places in England, of irhidi Wi^tlilamstOwe is an^ex*
ample. Stowe, in Norwegian, slgniflefe A room or cottdge«
and the terminal m is merely die article. K bocUra ai
pari of many names of places f for instanoe, two of the
¥eiy last spoken <]f, Fogstuen and IMvlrtudn. It wtta
not less interestihg, at the end df my day's jburaey^ to
rest en the banks of the Quia, a name idenUoal with
Gafai, the Soottish stream on whioh* Stowe* is situated;
as weU as with the Owala to FembrokMhife. -Such
traits of afllni^ hare a peculittr iraloe at* diatanoe
from home. ' ^ ^ . . -,
In the latter part of tiris day's jouniey, neartt|lao«
ealled Vangbro^ I* passed a country tnanston; flnaly
placed in a well* wooded park^ like ^an English s^NTt
house, being almost the first olfeot of th« kind which
I had seen in Korwny. I was t^d that itii call^
SKeper, and is the r^denoe of ih» iMtdtmitn of the dis)>
tHct It was towBirds the dlOM o# evvning when, after
a journey otf eighty^three miles, I lirrired at Soknaes.
The sense of lasilttide suid eorenesswhich i eK[ierienoed
on alighting made me aware thait I had eteeeded the
amount of travelling which is prudent by at least Afteea
miles. The error was the greater, as tt Had thnwn me
upon a itatien of a poor tmobleudotwn eharaeter, wher^
ther* was neither food nor kidging -of a tolerable klod.
It was coitsolaitory» howoTer, to reflect that I had now
only half a day*s journey remaining, atfid having il
whole day remaining for it, w«i toleraMy sure of my
Toya^ to the north. I was somewhat surprised to ftnd
at ibis station, whidi it about AOOfwt^abo^ ithe sea,
hops growing in the garden. The hop is thus eultlvatM
in littto patches connected with ordhiary famthroiigh-
out a great sMute in Norway and SwcdMi* About the 64th
paralld of totitude* Are ws to suppose that it Is hurdier
in Scandinavia Ulan in England, Or is 1^ het owing to
the greater heat uf the summer ? W^ hear nothing hera
of ^tf dehcfecy of the plant aiid the pracaviousuesr of its
culturov which Are so uOtaUe in Bogland. In this ^art of
Norway, m Aivouitte «nd coUsplcuoue pieoe Of fumltut^
is a oolossul comer cupboard or «niry« on which' them
is UBuaily (ui inscriptien, eUoh as * CHRmtAir OuBttM^-s
Dattbr,' or * MARtKt ItcREi^ DATTfiR,* with the addi-
tioo of a date. The like inscriptions are'se^n upon
bedsu These are pieces «f fInmitsKic wl^ch- the Ihtber or
moUier of a bride has given at her iDarriafl^aa<S«f this
the inscription is meant to be oonnn^monuive« My old
deaf landlady at Solcnaes had a forssidable amry dated
in her matrimonial year^ ITfS. In vailoua idlstricts of
SoandiAanrift there ans petty things not seen ^Isewheiu;
Throughout the Dovre Field I remarked^ that all tfas
toeii vrotfe knivesf in u little coarse tmse suspended from
a IflSLthem girdle. Hie dhiel legitiuate use of the lU-
atsmsesit is to cut their' ntoal i but Su times not long
-**S Mwiw— nilaw! «WMh«HntM
who Ymd qu^rrdfed tb get themselves bdtnid 'toj^lier
withr^'ono girdle, andf thettifight each other with their
knives. In a particiiUnr district of Sweden, near p'psala;
I foufid tne peasants hniversally bearing leathern Sprohi.
I ihodgM; St fihit that I hfadf ebt Ibto a country orahoe<>
mtikets t but^they were of alTkhida ^f traded, and only
wore leathern aprons as being peculisrly economical
' The greater pirf of the remainbg journey was along
the valley of the Gula^ which is more.rich sa a scene &t
a^ricuKure than nictfurefs^ue or beautiful. Symptoms
of papulation and ot prosperous )ke incre&se" as we go
along; and it would become d^tf to one ij^orant of t^e
fket that #e flr^ apirroaching tt hkirge town: f^assibg out
of the GuM vsUev-, over ipmehigh rroi;md$, wie at length
come within sight of the sea— always a'strlkhiir ^ight
flftet* long land travel. ' 1% is k bsy, irith loffy h9b oc
yond, Aiohg its near shcire^ is ilSetk t d^nse duiiter at
white Houses With blue 'vkif»^h\i is TkostfnltiM ^ and,
t«stinflrth^ at thi^lldtel'BeUevue/I have finked one
itciportsnt section of toy jouhiey. - R. C.
.'"e&t?iUju'k''S^z.<^an,gb. ; / .. ,
PnuFTu AstXANU^ a Paris'' nsitury, -and prsbably the
ysui^^ maa«f theuacfsnt and' hoaouraue fratsnii^
to' whick'lHr bCilongsdH^fbnr hsi had' but lately iuoeeeded
to his father^ busixiess^^atered hitaeuft SPTsning^ dtinbg
UBS'Sf iha insst ternfiephaastfof rthe.fiist FitUDeh. Esvo-
hltionv A baibk iaitting^MDm aai.tfae* houses of. iMadane
Gslaideau, a Oourt a»flia^9t^wheB there was. a^ conxt*^
estabUalMd ; Ibr many years in . to Palais^Boyadi - - The
year was waniM iCfifarthi itsckve^ and lihe wSatto was
c4ld|. weti ami gWwiy^tibisi ilws itself ■ waa *ont s£ jidaA ;
but spit9'Of/iiirdsprMti«K9«liettor infiuflQses;j)Cansssur
PMUppe A^nnandmrra handsomi^* hut aonewhat pa&f and
deUcajte-lsoluBg, y wng awmn ' apf tared/ fsiy tonfanigr to
hiis W9i\t, in epculHerfmt qpd|»tiw - •
' Aai Madadsi^ Co^ardOBan, I am jdc^bM to 'tee you*
You look Qhamui>gly; s^^^ JvMtwoissUeiEstfll«>t.'-^T^
, < Is ^tti^w^ Monsieur ,Armajpdi i#d yen. tea^ietm
to haTo,w<>uderfaUT:reco?erad. fesp^ to detpairi ,wi*h
w^di you. pxetendeu to be ov^^heiinsd. but^aiem ireelM
sJJDuce. I expected ^yexy day t^ heart you k*d been fisb«id
out of to Seine; and bare ^oi^ ftfe^not-oivhr.rery weU
alive^bufc appwentv(yas mscryas a 3aT0(yari lOh^you
men— youmeur ; '
\ < times are chaogej^ madame. £ye»ts ripeu quickly
in tha wondrousi days ,ia wJb^ch, we U^iet^*
' OWpv oj^esQ^lfii* r^oiueid Madame Colardesiu; * tofe
is nothing surer than. toti. tt te<]^u(fd .twenty years
under the old regime to^stabH^h this buain^as; b^t ysui;
charming HepuViio hts thoix>ugoly d^n^oUs^ied it ia leas
than as many mouths,* ., ^
, * Courage. Madame Colaideau— courage! Better times
tlxau you nave ever known are coming, rely upou >t. A
tempest is unpleasant, dangfxous even irhiXstit lasts, but
it clears and purifijea! to 'wr, I, have neijrs for J0^
*Kewsforme!' , . ,.
* For yop and MadembiseUe St Ange, Eug^e Duver-
ns^, soil of c!-defant Count Duvernaj* !■» Uianka to my
assistiince, safe actoM the frontier.*
* Cbmment I' Screamed Madame Colardeau* turning
pale as death. *» Eugene X>uveinay lefij Fiance, and
without us V
* Certamhf^ he has leh ^r$nce, 4od evidently witout
ybu jbut 1 dp not Umjeraiantf * , ,
* Oh, Monsieur AJC^^iand, you do not know— you were
not told. JIfon 2>iei^ ean it be possible I Bu^ I hare had
my suspicmus. The count^s son gonej^ What will be-
come of us — of . Estelle ^specially!* — and. the excited
modSlte paced tip and down the apa,i;tmjent in an agony
of grief and terifor. * ^
. The countenance of MdUb je Armand loft In an inttant
its joyoui expreisionj and his white lips auivered with
ni-denned a]:^rehension as he demanded the meaning of
so strasige an outburst. • *
* We are undone, ruined. lottt* sobtled Madl^ne Colar-
deaii. 'tJiihtopy, deceived Est6lle*--T
^hH^^^^ka
rimaM*it«-
lA-*^
374
CHAMBERS'S EDtKBtmOH JOtmKAL.
thry fidrcelj. * Yoa must hare lost your lenses. In
what maimer can the enforced departure of so light, so
worthless a coxcomb as Eugene Duyemaj, permanentlr
affect the peace of Mademoiselle St Ange, or your wel-
fare!»
Madame Colardean continued to wring her hands, and
utter broken exclamations of grief and passion, but
vouchsafed no other answer.
' Hark jou, madame;' cried M. Armand, msping her
rudel)r by the arm, and forcine her into a ^air, ' by all
the saints in hearen but you shaU answer me ! What, I
insist upon being told, is the meaning of these frantic
outcries t'
' Oh, Monsieur Philijppe/ whimpered the startled mo-
diste, 'Estelle should nave told you— should have ex-
plained— I cannot, must not. If what you say is true,
there is no fiidth, no honesty in man.'
* I think I comprehend you,' rejoined the notaiy in a
calmed yoioe. * I trust at least that I do; and if so, you
must permit me to riew the erent which has to much
discomposed you in a yery different li^t and aspect.
Now, listen as patiently as you can whilst I relate to prou
what Estelle aid confide to me, and then tell me if I
haye anything yet more sad and terrible to learn.*
* Go on, monsieur; go on — I listen.'
* It is now about six weeks
since I sought a decisiye
interriew with your niece. Mademoiselle St Ange; not
for the mere purpose of reyealing to her, in coloured
phrase and words of passion, the deep, heart-seated dero-
tion which for long, patient years, I had cherished fbr
her — ^with woman's ready (^^uickness she had long since
dftined that secrete-but to ofl^ her, then for the first
time in my power, an honourable home, a position in the
world, to be rendered daily brighter, more enriable, by
the exertions of a braye, honest, respected man. Bstelle
listened to me with sympathy, with tears, with almost
tenderness; but at the same time confessed a preference
for the son of Count Duyemay, to whom she said her
fkith was plighted. I was stunned, bewildered, almost
mad I I knew the man upon whom she had lavished the
priceless treasure of 'her love; and after passionately
waming her— vainly, I coiild see — against trusting in the
Promises or oe^hs <k one of the basMt, the most specious
ypo«rites that ever brought contempt and scorn upon
high station, left her presence, as you know, in a frenzy
of despair. Now tell me, madame,' added the notary,
after lightly pausing, and in a voice which, spite of his
efforts to speak calmly, quivered with emotion, * can you
have a revelation more terrible than that to make f '
* Go on, monsieur,' sobbed Madame Colardean; *you
said he waa gono'^-^iad passed the fVontier f '
< After parting firom Estelle I endured an age of grief,
anxiety, uid despur, until last Thursday evening, when
Eugene Duvemay suddenly presented himself in my
apaitmani*'
* Meaeieur Duvemay visited you !*
' Yes; he was punued, and ih imminent danger of the
guillotine, or he might not perhaps have so greatly con-
descended. You are aware that he and his father, like
many othen of their class, have all along afieoted acqui-
escence in the new order of thlnn, and were in some sort
pets of the *' Gironde." Their mends themselves being
just now in imminent peril of Samson's terrible axe,
could of course no longer afford them protection: an order
for their arrest had been issued, and Eopne Duvemay,
and his equally estimable sire, had been for several days
lurking in obscure hidingplaces fiom the agents of the
< That aooounts^ then, fbr his Btrange absence,' inter-
jeetad Madame Cohkrdeau, somewhat leassured.
* He threw himself for protection upon my honour and
generosity; at the same time declaring that he had for
some weeke withdrawn all pretension to the hand of
MademoiMllt SI Ange, who, moreover, knew of his ap-
plication to me, and had expressed a confidence that I
would, for her sake, aid him to escape the bloody doom
which awaited him.'
* Ciel!* exclaimed Bfiadame Colardeau with much
emotion. * Can it be possible I '
' It is true as Heaven ! I consented, eo adjured, te
assure his safety at the nA of my own. I imoMdiately
procured passports in a feigned name for him of ooune;
and to miUce all sure, saw him on Us road till danger ef
pursuit or recognition was over. At parting, ho pi^
sented me witii thiiring, as a token to Estelle that I had
vindicated the confidence she had reposed in mydeve-
tion to her wishes, and that he therrtry resigned in ray
fkvour all claim or pretension to her band.'
* Cl^m !— pretension ! But> mon Dieu, Mxmmma Ar.
mand, they are matried ! '
' Married 1 ' echoed the astonished notary with firendod
vehemence. ' Married 1 But no, no; you are jesting : he
could not be so utterly a villain t'
* I repeat to you, Maltre I^dllppo Armand, thi4
Eugene Duvemay and Estelle St Ange wtfre nmoried a
month ago at the H^l Duvemay, in the Fanbenrg St
Germain, by the Abbtf Sionjeau : he who waa arrested
and executed but last week.'
' Whilst Madame Colardeau waa apeaking, ^e door
leading to the interior of the house waa gently openod,
and Mademoiselle St Ange, deatii-white, aleetedly caha,
but evidently straggling with frightful emotion, glided
into the apartment.
< Estelle I' exclaimed Philippe Armand fai a raiee
broken by grief and indignation, and approadiing aa if io
take her hand.
* The ring'-ihe ring V gaaped Mademoiselle 8% Ange,
waving him from her with an expression of paaslowate
di^ust. * I have heard all : the ring--wfaere is it V
The notary placed it on the table'; she aeised it
eagerly, and after minutely examining it, mnmrared,
' It is indeed my father's ring—the troth-plight which
Eugene vowed never but with Hfe to part. And aa,
monsieur,' continued the unfortunate gm, tandng her
beaming, teariess glance upon Philippe AmaBd,
are come to claim as a oride the woman yoa
widowed ! This rine is part of the spoils of the
soifibld where my husband has, I doubt not, by your
contrivance, perished.'
* What is it you say V inteirupted the notary, aghaat
with surprise and indignation. < I swear to you, EiMiek
bv all tnat men hold sacred, that Eugene Dnwna^
placed that ring voluntarily in my hands, with ^
message'
* Peace I' broke in Estelle; ' peace, aadadom ilaB.
derer of the illustrious dead, with whom, in life, yon
could no more compare than mi^t the wraide weed
with the stately monarchs of iba Ibreelb My hnabcMMl
was the very soul of faith and honour. Bui nark yon,
PhUipiM Armand,' she added with pasnonate bitlerMS,
* even if it were as you assert, were the lying &ble you
have concocted as true as it is false, I would not, in the
veriest extremity of want, of despair, having been enoe
BO honoured, stoop to a churl like you 1 '
The notaiy reeled and sta^ered beneath her wotde aa
if they had been blows, or raSer burning arrows piecing
through his brain. ' Estelle,' he at last moumfall^ ex-
claimed after a brief pause, during which Mademoieelle
St Ange, with sudden revulsion of feeling, had thrown
herself in an ecstasy of tean, into the anna of her aant —
* Estelle, unhappy girl, the time will come when yoa will
recognise, and, I trust, repent the falsdhood of the hideons
charge you have, in your unreasoning frenzy, brov^t
against me. And now, Estelle, hear from me in thib
extreme hour, which sunders the sole link which beond
me to earth, to life, one solemn word of truth, and, it
may be yet, of helpflil waming : but fbr your mad am-
bition, stimulated and flattered by her who now holds
you in her embrace, to ally yourself far above yeme
sphere and honest state, the anguish, the despair iMtk
now wring vour heart would nave been spared ye«.
Farewell! Never more will my presence irtit*te or
disgust you.'
It must be remembered, in extenuation of the mhiBt
violence displayed bv Estelle, ^al the young wil^ had
idolised her husband, and with womani fireouest blind-
ness in such oases, believed him, aa Ae Bm, to be the
very soul of truth and honour. So IttpfMMdt it
I
CHAMBfiaiS« BIHKBURGH JOUBNAIa
875
murel that ihe should saipeot Philippe Arman<i of har-
iog inT«nt«d the ftory he had related, in order to profit
bj the death of a riral he had hlmielf denounced to the
rerolutimMoy tribunal— a deed, by the way, of no unfre-
qaent ocourreoce in the palmy days of Terroriim. Spite
of the ioltmn denial of the notary, ehe continued firm in
this belief, and mourning her huiband as dead, resolTod
to cheri^ his memory, as that of one whom, when tlus
transitory existence was pa«t, she was destined to rejoin
in that better world where life and lore are both eternal.
When Philippe Armand again left his apartment, where
he had been confined for several days after his last in-
terriew with Mademoiselle St Ange, or, more properly,
Madame Duremay, he was a changed man. The fire of
sanguine youth, strong hope, high courage, had passed
away: his step was feeUe, his eye dull, and but for the
calm, fltntle smile which accustomed greetings of familiar
Toioes nad still at times power to call forth, it mifht hare
been thought that his spirit had utterly died within him,
so purposMess, so sad, so utterly desolate did he i^pear.
EstoUe St Angp had been the earliest, the only being that
bad caught his boyhood's fancy ; and each succMding
yeer had only the more deeply stamped her peculiar and
subduing b^uity — a mild appealing loveliness, tinted
with rainbow smiles, and tremulous with changeful light
and tears — ^upon his heart. A rash, inexperienced player
at the game of life, he had staked his all upon one cmance,
and lo«t it. He did not feel the slightest resentment
towards Estelle after the first angry emotions excited by
her cruel injustice had subsided. She, too, he felt, had
built her house upon the sand; and a profound pity for
the desolate lot which must await the worse-than-widowed
wi£B of Eugene Duvemay mingled with, and heightened
and pvrifi^, the sentiment he still cherished for Estelle
St A^e. To baffle the heartless husband at the iniquitous
game he had been playing, would, he felt, almost repay
him for his own withered hopes and blighted life; but
how, in an afiair so adroitly managed, to e&ti that obiect!
Time, the unthanked and patient solver of all difficulties,
was speedy with his answer.
The last day of the devoted Girondists, or at least of
all that had remained to brave their fSkte in Paris, had
arrived, and the notaiy found himself suddenly and in-
extricably entangled and borne along by the etger crowds
who were hastening to witness the closing scene in the
lives of the young, the eloquent, the bmve, who had
sought to ffovem France by rounded periods and choice
mond maxims ; and to hear them, in imitation of the
Indian of the American praines, sing their defiant
death -song in half -real, half- simulated scorn of their
merciless fees, so soon themselves to tread the same
dark path to a vet darker eternity I Philij^ Armand,
though heart-sick at the sad spedbade, remained q>ell-
boond to the spot till the last head of that day's batch of
victims had been shorn away bv Samson's drippin^g knife;
and then, dissy and fsint with honor and excitement,
moved hastily away. His sudden movement, as he
turned, displaced the hat and wig of a man standing dose
behind, and, like himself, u>parently absorbed, fascinated,
bv the terrible drama which had just been enacted. As
the man quickly withdrew his attention from the reeking
scafibld to iMdjust his hat and wig^ their eyes met, and
a glance of mutual recognition was instantaneously ex-
changed. The countenance of the stranger changed in a
moment to a chalky whiteness, and it seemed that he
would have iallen, had not the notary, with ready pre-
sence of mind, passed his arm through hii^ and said,
* Come, let us walk heme toflether.'
Not another word passed between Armand and the
stranger till they had gained the former's domicile, and
theon, having oarefuilj uiut the door, the notary abruptly
addressed his trembhng companion.
* That displacement of your wig. Count Duvemay, was
awkward, and might have been fatal.'
* True^ Mensleor Armand. I wae involved in the crowd,
and feraed, much agMnst my will, to witness that scene of
naatlsgable horror, fearing, as 1 did, to attract attentioD
hj very stienuoot eflbrts to sieape. Bot wlij* have you
< Listen, Count Duvemay : I can save your life, and
tot//, on one condition.'
* Name — ^name it I' gasped the count.
'I am about to do so. I4»t Tuesday evening five
weeks the Abbe Bonjeau married, at your residence,
Eug^e Duvemay to Estelle St Ange of the Falais-
RoyaL'
* But Eugene is a minor : the marriage was an illegal
one'
* I am quite aware. Count Duvemajr,' interropted the
notary in a peremptory tone, ' that chicanenr may here-
after avail to annul the marriage; and that result I
am determined, for reasons of my own, to prevent if
possible.'
' Oh, my son informed me that you and Mademoiselle
St Ange were'—
* Never mind what your son informed you. Here are,
in a word, mv terms : I will procure you a passport^ fur-
nish you witn a supply of money — in short, enable ^ou
to leave France, on condition that you immediately sign
a formal declaration, which I will draw up, reciting the
date, names of the priest and witnesses, and that the
marriage was celebrated with your full Knowledge and
consent,'
* But, Monrieur Armand'
* It is useless to waste words. Either your attested
signature to such a patper^^ or the guillotine : take your
choice. I know you connived at your son's baseness;
and either I will foil you both, or you touch on your last
hour. You consent 1 It is well.'
The notaiy seated himself at his desk, and for the
next Quarter of an hour was occupied in drawing up a
format document to the efiect he had indicated.
* At what hour did the marriage take place 1'
' About seven in the evening'
The notary rang a bell which stood on the table, and
a clerk appeared at the door. ' Call Henri i I wish you
both to witness this gentleman's signature.'
In a few minutes the neoessaiy fomkalities were oom-
pleted, and the dexks retired.
' Which rout<t«do you propose to take I '
' That of Rouen : I have ftiende in the n^ghbourhood,
who would favour my embarkation lor England.'
' You shall have a paaq[H>rt for that pilaoe. In the
meantime take this rouleau of gold*'
* How shall I express my thMiks—my gratitude I '
* You owe me none. Be careful not to stir out of this
i4>artment till I return : I shall not be long.'
The necessanr papert were, by ikt notary's influence at
the Hdtel de Yille, speedily procured: Count Duvemay
reached Rouen in safety, ai^ after some deli^, embarked
in the night for EnglaiMl, where^ however* he wae destined
never to arrive. A few weeks aftocwaids, it was aeoer-
tained that he had perilled at Mk
Madame Colardeau, whose utterly mined buiiniess left
her indeed no choice, gathered together the scanty wrecks
of her property, and, with EsteUe, engaged lod^gs at a
respectable fannhouse distant about seven miles from
Paris; and there her niece was in due time confined
of a daughter. Of her husbaDd Estelle heard nothing
directly; hut just previeue to leaving Paris, a sum of
eight hundred francs in gold was left at MadiMne Colar-
deau's, directed to het as Madame Duvemay, accom-
panied by a written intimation that the saaae sum would
be supplied quaiterly, provided no attempt was made to
ascertain the name of the sendcE, whom, it was stated, a
disoovery might seriously compromise.
Estelle and her aunt — ^who had by this time ascertained
that Eugene Duvemi^ had not, m his abandoned wife
at first suspected, pendied on the revolutMNiary soafifold
— beheld in this anxious provision for their needs a eon-
dusive proof that the chaige of repadiatiB^ er ignoring
the marriage brought againiA him by Philippe Armand
was thoroughly fake; aad with a spirit fortified by the
sweet coasdeusness of being still hedgsd in and sheltered
by the tutdary care of him to whom she had given her
heart, Estelle awaited with patient resignatien the coming
on of the happy time which shouU rettoce her husband
A«. \.Sm /u...:!... .»J
zje
OQAIiB0R8t8 RMKWiUGfi-^iOUlffAL;'
Iock« were white with tse, Aiid ibe litU« E#UUe luul
grown up into a graceful mtfUigeot fid, whau » notf
arrlred b^ pott at Sam Soud farmhouse, iafomung -Ma-
dame« now Countess Duyaroaj, thai her huiband» Count
Duver&Ajr — the father, it was stated, had been long tioot
dead — had accented the Emperor's permiisioo to retum
to Fr&QC«; and had, in fact, arrived and retaken posses*
sion of the n6tel Dureniay. The handwriting of the
note was eTidently. that of the person who transmitted
their quarterly stipend; and the writer suggested the
necessit^r of the Countess Duremay presenting herself*
accompanied by her aunt, to her huspand on that very
eTcning.
Flurried, bewildered, terrified, hoping, yet dreading,
to Verify the announcement so suddenly wade* Estelle,
arrayed in her richest attire, and accompanied by her
daughter and Madanie Colardeau, eet off about erening
in a hired.^><T^ towards Paris. ■
Count Buverninr was seated in a magnlfieent drawing-
room of the n^iel Duyerua^, laughing and chatting wiu
some military friends on the subject of his return, of the
restoration of his property— whidi, luckily for hW, had
escaped being 'nationalised' — the apparent fayoar of
the Kinperor, and the rich and handsome wife already
selected for him, when the door of the apartment flew
open, and * Madame La Comteese Duveraay ' woe loudly
announced.
' Comment ! ' exclaimed the count, jumping up. ^ WhaA
is the meaning of this ! *
'It is I — it is Estelle — dear Eof^ne,' said kis wile,
staggering forwards, and scaroely abu taatand; * and tkif
is our daughter I'
The coifnt started back in difmay and confusion*
' You — X — wife 1 The woman must be mad,' ke added,
regaining by a powerful effort his sel£>ooiitfol» * Who
aamitted this person ) ' he sternly demanded of the be-
wildered serrants.
Estelle stood for an instant at if unoonscieoe oi, or
rather as if unable to comjprehend, the meaning of his
words; and then, as if the full sense of the count's per-
fidy had suddenly struck, aji with, a dagger^ to ker heart,
uttered a piercing scream, and would naye fallen pros-
trate on the floor but for the supporting arme of a gentle^
man who hod followed her into tne room,
' Take her, good madanae,' said the gentleman, address-
ing Madame Colardeau ; * I cannot now sustain eryea ker
slight burthen. Place her on the sola.' . .
* And who, in the devil's name, are you !' demanded
the count fiercely.
* Philippe Armand, public jiotaiy, at your seryios,'
quietly replied the gentleman, as he turned and con-
fronted the enraged nobleman.
The count*e eye quailed before the steady gaze of the
notary, and he muttered soiaetbing about remembering
that a silly, iUe^ ceremony had in kis boyhood paeecd
between the lady and himself.
* You mistake. Count Duyemay,' coolly replied Philippe
Armand ; * it wu a perfectly leg^l marriage, aa this copy
of a fonnaJl de(;laration ^ade by your estimable lather,
and supported by t^Q eyideuoe of Madame Colardeau,
win amply iestifv.'
The rage of the count, after perusing the paper pre-
sented to him, wag terrific; and a yjolent altercation, io
which Estelle, who had. speedil;^.recoT«red consoiousiiess»
listened with breathless atteptionf ensued between him
and the notaiy. The film by whi<^ she had been so lofeig
blinded fell gradually from her eyes, and Eug^ue I>uyer<>
nay and PhiUppe Arinand »tood atJvt plainly revealed
in their tttie cplours.
' Let us leaye this house,* she exclaimed, rising from
the couch, and ,^ugk pale aa mai;blVt m4 tremblag
conruI3lV€i^y, speaking in a firm yqioa. * Come I God
bless and reward yoUf Philippe,' ske ^added, leiaing his
hand, and wringing It w^h passional energy; *«Ad If
you pan, p;ty arui,for^iye nwu^ ,.
The |;o3«ij)s o( P.ans {uid fuU emplo^mcBit for eeyerai
succeeding days with the numerous versions of the sudden
discovery of a Coui^eia 4>m:eA#y« vkiek flew firom mouth
to nontk. The ceunt coMe>ltod«ssBjf Uw,sid4tb
infinite ckagna was inlbmad that the ssniap oosldae
be iropu0Ded. Tkfi affiUr, fisoroaraUy, mcsbss traiy r.
preeentea» reaehed the «ar of tke EBpesM Jos^^nsc^ud
tkro«^h ker influence Napoleeai issaed a ooamsBi is ik
guiee of oouAeel, that Ike mattocshoald heat«ice«^
ably aninged. &tidW of . couiae deeBasd Uriif vitk i
kusband whe bad eadaayoiiied to wspuriiete hii^asdi
difition of (he coont'a peeperty vaanede, by eledisfc*
en^waa eecuied to heseelA And a splendid socmbbm a
ker daugkter, wkoee guardtanskip she was ^maami is
retain. Tke oouat eerred eevetal yean in tht fnsd
amies, and roee te kigk sank. HewasktlkdsftMasi»>
reau; and ^teUe took pnisession of tke HAtd Pif^
where she loog resided wiik ker eariynndeired dssgtev
and aadable gBMidektldne»*
About a fortnight after the letora of Oouat Dmn^
to Paris^ and coneequent . legal eonfiwnatiBP of ^ nr>
ria^ witk Betelle St Amg% Pkilippt Anuad Isy sm
hisbed.a^yiBgiMO. Tke last rites «l the dbewb kd
been admhusteged, tke priest had letirBd, aid the iif
fiM^ pulse of li£B« r^ndly beoeming iieehkr sad mm
mdistinet^ fa^teongfy annouBeed that a nrit thMdmU
by aflUction wae about ta rcimm to Ood who gsveii
*It if growing k4e and dark,* he IudU/ ■otawd,
<Md etiU she doeenot oeMe.'
Tke darknees wms in kie own eyci,ibrlheiafcsBiiii
wae atill kigk above tke korieoB.
* It is but tkree o'clock,' aoewered the alt«Bdiitk»
low mA To&oe; ' and there kas been scvodyibe ifisw
your message reaoked ker.'
The eound of eaarriage ndieela anested the midiW Ai
speaker; preeenily ligkt, kMty steps eseandsd the Mini
aAd Setelle, ker dai^ktec, wnd Madame CaUrdess, »
tered tha daath«chsunbeiv
* Philippe, best, kindest* troeet friend,* enUlBedltc
Coonteee I>ity«niey, daspinf kis wkitc, tUa bsad,ud
baAkiwg it intk iean, *woaid I might bid jtm \ntk
mei'
< Beloyed Estelle,' ronmliited tke dying wa^tfj^
snile^ aa of parting ea&lSgkt, irradiated hiB|el»faM">
* I hme Uved for yom; and ikat lile-tssk aei«a|tt*4
am aow well content to die. Pacewell; hAwtd, tillvi
meet in keaven 1 ' He wae goae.
STAR-FISHEa
AiiOifo tke treasunes and oarioaitiee of ear mmrnt*,^
shellees' animals attract more attentkm than d>i^>
fiwhea; yet hew many beitow upon them bat a o"**^
paeetng glance— a glaiiee 'pwthayt of ednriitii<B|^»>^
matkematieal regaTacity of ikeir pentagoeal ii^' •J
memaatajry ourioeit^ ae totkeir office ia am^:*'^
yet, unkeeded by .nmn» tkeee iaeignificant cmtam v*
hourly, nay, momcntanly, Iblillfa^ in siledce <^«ri^
pointed dutiea; acting ae saarengere in the ^*^l~
and littoral lenes, and defvunag fiani tide t»<»t^*
ever-accumulating matter which, if left aadirtat*
would ultimately deetroy botk wm aad *m^_^
stroag, indeed,' lays Rhymer Jonei^ * i» ^IT*
lection lor such ga^iage, that we have M^>^;^
fishing, wished heartily tkai they would «ii|M«r?
vigilance; for scare^y eould o«r baited hoeb «b\*^£
bottom, ere we fdt a ♦• bite/^ and haidiif tn> tM »•
cofttinuaUy, «augkt ster-fiakee wntil «or paUeiM fiMNO.
Wkcn the animal liee motionlcBi and buT^^ Z
sandy beach, it eecsna quite anfilted 1«^<>«*^?
if we deposit it ia a veeec^ of sea-water, or, t^^J"
one of the fairywUke peola 1^ amongst the loettjr^'
i^oedinr t ida> omr wwconcei^ad notion is saoft d«w^
W# wiU suppeee it pkmed upon its baek, the ^^Tj^
nlfieation of helplMBneeB, 4m the •e»w^"*"!'**^J^
Which tkelittla pool ialined^inafewmeiMDtiipH^^
minnte tnberolee, with wki<^ the undtr ■^e*«V^'^
are leogitadinally atudded, gmHatMf l«N[i^^fTZ
into aucker Jike ^t, wiiiek Issue ttke ihoft ^^
tkeir kolei; tken tbese fitet orlegt Witt Me W»**^
and forwards, aa if reeeanoitrinet and fin^* «!?S
do wn in the direction neaiaet tt *»««««<»• '^ •"
CBAMVEBem BDUffiCniGH MDRKAL;
«77
ntckcrt of tW fiert wiuch itadi it; mud so^ by eontmolioii,
wUl poll down » poxiion of the body: thiv oiiAblet other
foet to tOQcb ike bottom^ mud thus tko animal piooeeds
until, bj iha united action of the suokortt tbe «rbole body
it rertoiedy with, gnat dignity and equanimity, to tu
rights position : and now the ttatt-fith raerci, with a
gentle^ yet rapid motioB, on towaorda the morsel of fish
whidi we have plaeed for ite refection, and its rayt are
daiped locoind the tefnptiug feaat, which is in a fbw
minntee abaorbed into its stomachs More laborious are
its eaeiiioBS wlicn an oyster or a huge mussel is to be
attacked la its shelly fortress; iot the atar^fish does not,
as was £itbled by the ancients, wait in patience until the
besieged opens its portal, and then, b^ thrusting iu one of
its raya as a detainer, gradually lasinQate its whole
body, and thus devour the incaatioua castellan; but the
mode in which, it proceeda ia to turn ita baglike and
many-folded atomach ituide out ; it then apparently in^
atila between the ahells of the molluaca aome * ternlfyiDg*
fluid,' whaeh compela the quarry to open ita ahell, upon
which the pouting atomach, dii^ndea like a Madder, ia
thiuat in, and aiwrappiag the prey, ^gesta it in ita own
ahelL We are in poasowJen of a dried specimen of a
star-fish which expired in the aet of devouring a small
muasd, the sheila of which atiU remain oleaely fixed in
the embrace of the atomach-amuth of their captor; the
two fifat feet^or auckcrs, which are placed at the junction
of each ray, are bent inwaarda, so that, by preaaing on the
impriaoued ^eUa, th^ retain them immovable even in
death. Hr Ball found one clinging round a Mmdra
MiuUorum which was pierced with a hole, tfan>ugh which
the Itar^fish had hianrted a sudker; and this hole was at-
tributed to the stac^fiah: but Profeaaor Fbrbea, with every
Mpeanmce of probability, auppoaea the hole to have been
the work of some other creature-*-moat likely an anneU
Ud-*and that the atar-fiah waa merely ^ aounding with
ita auoker the proapeet of a acaL' Be tfaia aa it may,
these animals contrive, iu addition to carriiiB, to comuim
ao laige a number of oyaters, that there exist in several
ylaeee local eaaotmenta fi>ibidding fishers to threw them
oveKboard without first killing thorn an order of which
we shall ^presiate the value whea we Deflect that, on
casting down a dredge^ thousands are constantly brought
up at a haul, as if, in the words of Harvey, ' the bottom
were formed of a living bank of them, or we had dis-
turbed a submarine hive in the process of swarming;'
and, moreover, that eaeh individual 'of these constellations
produces aofloe tboosanda ef egga ia each aeMaon. Suefa,
in fi^tyia their multipUcatioD, that thealanghter com^
mitted» and the enactmenta auide by man, would be but
aa a drop from the ocean, had not Qod given to eveiy
apeciea ita own limit, beyond which it can go * no fiuv
ther;* and aa the star<fish ia the aeavenser of the aea, ao
ia it the prey of fiahea innumerable, wlo In their turn
are deatined for the food of larger anhnala, and of man.
Thia prolific nature lendera the ataT'^fish valuable as
mftnuie in Fnaoe^aad ako, we believe, in eeme parts ef
oar own iale.
From the earliest ti»e star^fishea have attracted awttcfa
notice^ and have, by their aingulacr form, giren birth to
man/ beautiful thoughta. Aristotle and Pliny^^wbo
named them Stelim'marmas^ * firom their resesablahce to the
piotujced form of the stars of heaven* sffiiiiied, probably
from some train of leaaoniAg bj ani^ogy, that they were
ao hot, that they could oarMiiait ali Sey touched ; b«t
time, with hie icy fingers^ ooola- the greatest ardour^and
Aldrovandua and Albettus deacrihed them aa «f ao het a
uatursj that they ooeM all theiyeame in contact with;
theai came Llwyd, who^- being ao cii<-dbor natuialiat,
denied the * notion' altogether Some lingering and
popular form of the same fancy atilU however, remaina;-
and the lower daaa of hooka en natural history ^t
wbiapec mysteriously of the stanging and dtin4dittermg
prouerties of the family, respcSting winch that great
pUloeapherf Sir Thomaa Biowne^ g^ea us tha loUffwing
curioaa note;-** SeaotarSk, Whether thay be bred out of
tha lo-lipiia, a^wo/iars^ or ata-j«2Aieay aa many seport, we
eaamet confirm; but the aoualden in the middle seem to
have some lines or first draughts not unlike ! ' Truly
has it been said by a modem writer that ' a chttd in our
days may possess more substantive knowledge than New-
ton !' Though this veiy state of things demands the greater
watchfulness ou our parts, lest the ooasted knowledge of
facts should neither enlarge our minds nor fill our hearts.
Professor E. Forbes rema^ that he has handled thou-
sanda of star-fishes without ever having experienced the
Slightest irritation of the skin ; and to this we may add
our own humble testimony. Doubtless tlus alleged pro-
perty has given rise to the name which they bear in some
districts of 'Devil's Fingers.' Dr Drummond mentions
that on one occasion, when he was drying some in his
garden at Bangor [county Down], he heard the children
on the other side of the hedge exclaiming, ' What is the
tentleman going to do with the bad man^s hands ! I^
he ganging to eat the bad man's hands, do ye think ? '
It is just within the limits of possibility that the above-
mentioned ^torpifying fluid' may have caused the first
rumour of the burning quality of the fish: this, however
^-^ven if rt possess the power of affecting the human
iesh — Is contained in the stomach, and not in the skin.
The list of superstitions connected with this animal would
scarcely be complete did we not add that they were re-
commended by Hippocrates — and by others after hira,
ere medicine beeame a science — ^as a remedy in hyste-
rical complaints and epilepsy: they were to be taken
internally, ia a decoction of bnuwica and sweet wine.
The Jirst work which treated exclusively of the star-
fiiSi was the splendid folio volume published by Link,
a Leipsic a|^thecary, in the year 1783. This work, which
is greatly m advance of its age, commences with this
pleasant sentence^— ^ As there are stars in the skv, so are
there stars in the sea.^ And the last is that of Professor
E. Forbes, who, not inaptly, heads his valuable mono-
graph with a representation of a graceful spirit moving
over the dark waters, in which the rays of glory which
surround her brow form, by reflection, the beautiiul * star
of the sea :* in the words of Montgomery,
— — * the heavens
Were throaged with eonstellations, and the seas
Btrown with thtir tmasM.'
In the early geological ages, the order of Eehinodcrmata,
to which our star-fishes belong, was chiefly represented
by a fiunily (CHnoided) whose peculiarity it was to have
a sfcfUk by whidi they were fixed for life to the bottom of
the ocean. Whole strata of limestone are composed in
^reat part of the stony fragments of these animals, called
m this fossil state mtcrinites. We now, however, possess
but one species analogous to the crinoid family : this is
the CoHMida^ or Rosy Feather Star of the British seas, of
which some curious particulars are related.
In the year 1838, Mr Thompson discovered in the Cove
of Cork— or, as it is now, we believe, called, the Harbour
of QueentowU' — a staged crinoid animal, which, unlike
its more vigorous forefathers, measured but three-fourths
of an inch in height. This was the first animal of the
crinoid oharaeter which had been oBserved in the £uro-
Cseas, and tile * first* recent encrinite which had ever
examined by a competent observer in a living state.'
The capture led to further observation, and to much
discission, the resiilt of Whidi appears to be a general
acknowledgment that the * feather-star commences life
as an encrinite; and thus, as it Were, changes its nature
from a psettde-pdype to a star-fiA,' with rays detached,
and power uid liberty to range at will through the wide
sea* Whether the ancient crinoids also pamed through
this tTWisfi>tiiiation, is a question which can probably
never be set at rest — one on which men can only spe-
culate.
Britain boasts -fourteto species of true star-fishes, of
which the largest is the llngthom (Luuiia /raaiRssima),
a fish which frequently attiiins a diameter of two feet.
All Um star-tshes possess, in a greater or less degree,
the power of casting away their limbs of rays when con-
venient) but the l>ikom in thit respect approaches
I * ti
■Am*>
i^*arfiAAA*i.*M
nearer to the brittle-ttan than any other spedet : for it not
only casts them awaj, but it breaks them tip into small
pieces with the greatest ftkcility. Professor Forbes gires
so animated an account of these creatures, that we cannot
refl'aln from once more quoting his words : — * Nerer baring
seen one before, and quite unconscious of Its suicidal
powers, I spread it out on a rowing bench, the better to
admire its form and colours. On attempting to remore it
for preserration, to mr horror and disappointment I found
only an assemblage of rejected members. My conserratire
endearDun were all neutralised bj its destructire exer-
tions; and it is now badl^ represented in my cabinet bj
an armless disk and a diskless arm. Next time I went
to dredge on the same spot, determined not to be cheated
out of a specimen in such a way a second time, I brought
with me a bucket of cold fresh water, to which star-fishes
have a ffreat antipathy : ' in other words, fresh water in-
stantly kills them. *As I expected, a luidia came up
in the dredge, a most gorgeous specimen. As it does not
generally break up before it is raised abore the surface
of the sea, cautiously and anxiously I sunk my bucket
to a level with the dredge's mouth, and proceeded in the
roost gentle manner to introduce luidia to the purer
element. Whether the cold air was too much for him,
or the sight of the bucket too terrific, I know not, but in
a moment he proceeded to dissolve his corporation, and
at every mesh of the dredge his /Pigments were seen
escaping. In despair I grasped at the largest, and
brought up the extremity of an arm with its terminating
eye, the spinous eyelid of which opened and closed with
something exceedingly like a wink of derision.* We must
here remark that this terminating eye is by no means an
orthodox visual organ, but merely a something greatly re-
sembling such an appendage, to which, by general consent,
the name of * eye ' has been given, until its use shall have
been better ascertained, or until a true eye is discovered.
The whole of the star-fishes have the power of gradually
renewing the lost rays or processes, and wo have a speci-
men of the common cross-fish (Urtuter ruhens) whose
five rays are all of difiTerent lengths, and consequently of
different ages, two of them being but small horns of half
an inch and one-fourth of an inch in length : he is evi-
dently a veteran, who has been in 'manie and greate
warres.*
* Why,» saith Sir Thomas Browne—* why, among sea-
stars, delighteth nature chiefly in five points t* And
a^ain — ^ By the same number {S) doth nature divide the
circle of the sea-star, and in tnat number and order dis-
poseth those elegant semicircles or dental sockets and
eggs in the sea-hedgehog;' and so, in* effect, in the normal
types it is — every part, * even the cartilaginous framework
of the disk of every sucker, is regulated by this mystic
number;' and, as a general rule^ such star-fishes as we
find quadrate, or otherwise varying ttom the prescribed
number of points, are accidental monsters, and of no
material importance. This rule is, however, by no means
unexceptional, as some of the sun-stars (JSolattcriasS have
from nine to fifteen of their beautiflilly-coloured rays,
rays of which perhaps the disk Is red, and the points
cither plain white, or white tipped with red; or the whole
surface is of a brilliant red or purple; and in another
specimen the body is red, while tne spiniferous tubercles
with which it is studded are bright green.
The Echinodermata, including star-fishes, sea-urchins,
sea - cucumbers, and a few other species, are thread-
nerved, and possess no brain or nervous centre, but
merely a nervous cord, which encircles the mouth,* and
thence radiates into the five points, acting, as it were, as
an electric telegraph; yet their structure is most exqui-
sitely complex even in its simplicity. The skeleton, which
is ox a calcareous nature, is composed of hundreds of
minute portions, exactly fitted to each other in a sym-
metrical pattern, resembllnff, as Harvey suggests, a piece
of elaborate crochet- work. These skeletons may be easily
obtained by placing a fresh fish in an ant-hill for a few
days without taking any f\irther trouble about their pre-
paration* The stomach-mouth is placed underneath the
tDrCirpentcr.
anifflal, and the stomach, as before hinted, ii a tQerntn-
nous baff-like cavity, doable of extension to an afanoti
incredible amount : the feet of the star-M are tobei
which, when extended, are filled with a fiuid; and liia
the animal wishes to retract them, this floid iBwitkdnirs
into the Teslcles of the body, so that, by these altenuk
actions, motion is aocompli^ed. Each fish poMents i
curious organ, of which the use has not jet Den sner-
tained. This body, which b tedmically known y tie
wtadreparifbrm tuberdef h a calcareous oohmm, vidd,
on the exterior of the animal^ appears like a imaS ipct
between two of the rays : it is most mintrtelj and m-
cately formed of * wee * hexagonal plates dispoied m tk
manner of the gill of a mushroom, and is bj maorooo-
sdered as the analogue to the stalk of the ori^I diaoid
star-fishes. It has ny some been proposed ai a ipecfie
character for determining the names of imfiridaah.
It is highly probable that atten^on woold add mnj
more most interesting particulars to the hMorj of As
fish, and many additional instances of itiuseg and adsp-
tation to the mode of life for which it is dsifined; nd
such attention might be easily given : for it does sot, Hh
many of its congeners, creep away into de^ dark, and
inaccessible places, but is to be almost iiniremlff met
with on our shores, whether they be coopoied of /fffty
rocks, of smooth and shining sand, of nmi ihln^e, or
of heavy mud. It is cast up hj almost eTaytid«,«nd is
seen crawling about quite laimliarlyinneiujeTaynIt
pool,
PATB0N8 OF THS POOl.
It is fortunate for the best intererii of honanitjdsK
partly from an advance of intelligence fa social and paS-
tical science, and partly from Uie imperiooi dictate! «f
fashion— the wants, the miseries the vices, the Tiitui,
in shMt, the gtiMiml ooAditi«n of the hamhlsa&daw^i
eagag« muoh of 4ht Utcntiffli ci the ipper snd wiiK^
ol asses of thi» eenntiy. Not afewescdpTioghighpteHi
are working suooeMfUly te the cavse ef the poei,^
spirit that is prodndng large benefits. Not coefcali*
merely dipping their fingers into thdr purses, to dnt
forth an annual and widely -advertised subwiptiate
some gigantic but miscalled ' charity,* the better ordai
the &ie&ds of ths poor l«ok with painstaking indsiti7«*^
aeomsn into ihooMisesof distisss, aDddffo*is<t«v
iBoney, brt, whst Is mors smiiissMs, tins, «• «W
on* eompfebenslyo remediss. Thsss resUy««** ■■
effldent benefactors repudiate alms, except in «••«
helplessness, and seek simpW to owiif— to ^^^''^
struggler, without impairing his self-dependenct-to b^i
without loading him with obligationi^ which up ||>'
energies, and destroy thai indspeodenM ^^^^^
thehmmUMtohaiaoterisoflittlswoith. ^*^J!°?
philanthropists are by no means few, thiy t» ^
known. We do not hear of Ihem In ne^pip«?*f
good deeds are not paraded before an adrnWag FjJ^
Even * society,' as it Is called, is sflent «»«™^^
worthiest actions, because society is ignorant a »^
Th^ do good so stealthUy that they i»«^^^*^
to blush to < find U fame.' Henositisthstth^n^f
Bo draoMiyo stcnss of startling gsnsnsi^; m P^
talMof geirteslpoyerty; if sBatddBgaaiaMed^t«^
the fhags of ruthless creditoit, or hAeni^ vT*^
tnm the grasp of the police. These, who '** JT?
the highest order of humanists, do not «**\5{^
any such instances; for they deal not witt ^f^
distress, but with masses of it ; they do not wW/^
one, but partly relieve thousands ; and i* i« V|"
enlightsnod eflforts of sash pUlanthi^ th^i*^
poverty aaad erimo irill bo efcntaslly pAjgsi*^ ^
These firisbds of tlM poor havo hsppitf •^^ ^TJ
in greater or lesser numbers; but it is ^ i^ ^
oppoiito dasi^ whom we ilttU dsiigMtef ty ••'"^ i
t
1=:
isssx
SiB
ooAMsm&Q mymBtmBU ;roimKAt<.
879
patnmt of the poor, Ih^t wt Are fint detiroas of dniwing
attention. Thitj mostly belong to the order of thoee who
hftTO more time on tbeir hAncu than they can employ to
their own latisfaction. The fiotitions dif^reesee portrayed
in tragie noveli hare oeaeed to excite them; tne lima*
lated mifery depicted on the itage has lost its attrac-
tioni; they haTe been palled with mere ftiotttret of life,
and nothmg ihort of originali will serre them. They
therefore yifit the dwellings of the very poor, and the
hauntf of the ricioai* leei with a riew of reliering and
admoaighing, than of obtaining thoee excitementa of
which they are no longer tuiceptible fiom hooka and
playa. Most of them l^long to philanthropic locietiefl,
for the purpose of getting upon the visiting committees.
In the abodes of struggling poverty they ask the inmates
such questions as the poorest person cannot be consi-
dered as under any obligation to answer; not with the
legitimate view of shaping, from correct information, the
best course of relief, but of satbfying a morbid curiosity.
Consequently they do not extend their bounty in propor-
tion to the depthi but in proportion to the romance, of
Ihe distress. The silent, shamed, and uncomplaining,
obtain less of their assistance tlum the glib and tear-
sheddinf, who have the art of darkening their wretched-
ness with the sable tints of exaggeration. The patched
garments and tidy room of abject penury win their morbid
sympathy less than what they conceive to be the natural
< trippings and suits of wo' — rags and filth. Without
these, the mite la scene of the drunas of real life they
love to witness is deemed not complete. If they visit
the abodes of degradation, their conventional notions of
degraded poverty are disappointed when they see a sign
of elevation : the harmony of the picture is destroy^.
Should they, again, go prepared to draw the curtain
from a scene of 'gent^l' distress, and perceive any sign
of vulgarity — should ffirls be sewing sackcloth instead
of fSucy-work, or men be seen in shirt-sleeves instead of
shabby-genteel coats — they depart without an emotion
or a gift. But, on the other hand, when they can bikig
away a 'telling' anecdote, a tale of privation, or one
even of crime — ^when they can pick up points for ani-
mated description and harrowins after-dinner converse
^-then Uiey are liberal with alms, for they get their
money's worth. They give as cheerfully as tn^ pay for
a thrilling novel, or for admission to Madame Tossaadli
* Chamber of Horrors.'
The diarity, therefore, of these patrons of the poor is
nearly always directed into the least-deserving channels.
Blatant, open-mouthed beggary, with the power of de-
ceit and the gift of sjpeech, shares their favours lareely
and frequently; whilst shrinking, timid poverty (and
that which is most to be oommiserated and helped, is
ashamed to beg) does not interest, and is not therefore
relieved. These people are the persevering visiton of
pauper establishments and prisons. On entering the
former, they invariably inquire out some case of reverse
of fortune, and seldom visit the latter without asking
the jailor to introduce them to his greatest criminal.
The excellent directors of the Agricultural Colony at
Mettray were once so pestered with questions of this sort
from a party of English visitors, that one of them deter-
mined to stop the catechism he had been for an hour
subjected to by a little wholesome mystification. The
most persevering of the questioners, a lady, looking
througn her lorgnette at a diminutive colonist of about
eight years of age, intreated the patient cicerone to
divulge the crime for iHiieh he had been imprisoned:
' it was 9o horrible to see one so young imbued in the
oolours of delinquency,' Ice The director looked serious^
and owned that this child's history was indeed a terrible
revelation : he had stopped and robbed a diligence I
The lady dropped her class in astonishment. * A dili-
gence J' she repeated. *Why, he is scarcely taller than
' Very true, madame; bat he had preidously provided
against that serious disadvantage to a highwayman : in
order to reach the hridlet of the loMleit he stood ^pon a
r
aV-x xl.1- V-,.
.1^..
.mf
for a reproof, asked no farther questions, and contented
herself with listlessly going round the establishment with
the rest of the party. But to her it had lost all attrac-
tion. In the details of the great experiment being
worked out at Mettray she took no interest : the saving
of some thousands of lads from crime and misery was
not so much to her as one dreadful historiette, or the
revolting details of a single crime: the place in its
philanthronic aspect was to her a blank : and as no such
prises as sne sought turned up, her account of Mettray
to her friends in England was, that * for the sort of thing
it was ridiculously unexciting.'
Better intentioned, because not quite so selfish, is that
section of poverty's patrons whose members oppress the
needy with tedious and impossible advice; who believe
that the occasional assistance they afford purchases the
right not only to adrise upon, but to interfere in, the
domestic and other arrangements of those whom they
patronise. They are generally ladies possessine small
fortunes, much leisure, untiring energy, some nenevo-
lence, and uncompromising opmious upon all subjects
great and small. In most instances, however, their
power is in inverse ratio to their ability to render sound
advice gratis to the poor.^ It is impossible to persuade
them that, as a rule (which we must meantime admit
has a wide range of exceptions), everybody knows his own
business best: for they persist in the opinion that they are
better acquamted with the wants of the poor than the
poor are themselves. Having been blessed all their lives
with every comfort and some luxuries, and having conse-
quently no practical knowledge either of the exigencies or
contrivances of poverty, they persist in erroneously lec-
turing their clients on what food they ouffht to eat. bow
they should cook it, what price they ought to pay for it,
where they must buy it, and how little per diem they
are bound to eat of it. They have cut-and-dry instruc*
tions respecting clothing, washing, and every possible
household necessity and employment. Being, peradveu-
ture, maiden ladies, thev give copious counsel regarding
infant management and youthful education — have been
known, in fact, to prescribe the exact number that a
family, in consideration of the worldly circumstances of
the parents, ought properly to consist of. It is wonder-
ful with what arithmetical exactitude they set down the
sum to a fraction upon how much each poor family is
bound to live, and how much they must deposit in the
savings' bank. But, alas, they do not content themselres
with merely giving adrice; they are so unchangeably
convinced of its superlative excellence and practiciibUity,
that they resent its being rejected or not followed as a
personal affront : their laws arc the laws of the Medes
and Persians, and wo be to those who alter or neglect
them ! Either ofience is summarily punished with with-
drawal of patronage and assistance thencsforth and for
ever.
We must not permit these too-well-intentioned, al-
though mistaken Dorcases, to be coufounded with the
truly useful visitants of the abodes of poverty and igno-
rance, who, by gentle means and juoicious assistance,
extend the resources of the poor by ^ving useful infor-
mation on domestic economy, which, it must be owned, is
the least understood by those to whom it is of the most
importance. We know instances, especially in rural dis-
tricts, where it is not too much to say lives have been
saved by the perseverance of ladies in first conquering
pr^'udices respecting food — prejudices stronger perhaps
thim those relating to any other branch oi economy —
and then cautiously introducing new kinds of edibles,
or new methods of preparing old ones. In this line much
may yet be done; and we would throw out the hint
to those efficient patrons of the poor, the societies for
Improving the Condition of the Labouring-Classes, that
they would be doing a vast service by introducing into
their publications instructions for selecting and preparing
different articles of food, and receipts for various dishes.
The best means of making such instructions practically
available is not to derive them from the experience of
eminent cooks or affluent households, as has been already
f^A fxf^on AitvtnAAiiolv <1nnA Ttiif. kj% lAlinil InAIIl imATl A.
S86
GBAMBEKB^
>-»jiii:i".'»
tH JOraEKAL.
■MiyhHig toqriby into ^r aMMoical ttunifloet of tW
wHfWMfci>n>^ md tlM cQcp»di«iito>aiid onhttknkitm kUo
HihiflbilbexAre.dnVeD; not, in iiMi, Uks tb« ophrtmatod
patronelNi m >«Te •lr«Ml^meiiti>iied*'-to ■■■luD Ike
poor 4o JM i^in^jr igtiosint of tfaiir own. affiiiitr^bvi to
OAdiMIt iwhfti lb|iyJ&«^ <^ pAolttB, uid, if jpoMiUfi4o
ii»l»rQir« upoii,Moen4tfc,.md dMMnuaaAo ii« Suoh inlSM-
ipMioft iml>t IciMfc bo praotMUl. Jiet at noror foigii *1m
loiiDi).iiM)ght by tho U«i Mid most ditMiKoiio Nigw •««
ikodMionj Mkd wbich. is i« ^int kerti One. of iU ol^ioeif
Win^ boon.W t^aob agruniUuie lo the e^lUTatoro of
Ki^riUih iUo pAtKonji of the poor bluckt Mitt out ScoUb
fiMTBioii ai^4 Ml abundance of impleneDti, An tfl*t« wm
la due tune mitfked out^ and ouUuro began i but U wao
•oon found tbM the British sjrstem of tillage was totally
in^pUcable to the soU, dunate. and regetimon of those
latitude^ and befoce the negroes could oe taught bj the
model Armenf, the model fiumers had to take lessons of
ihe negroes. This is near^ the case with maigr of the
beat of the poor's patrons. They think thev hare all to
teach* and nothing to learn ; whereas, bemre Uie^ can
be of real «er?ice,lhej must take the practical inmrma-
tion derired from those whom they wish to bene6t as a
basif on which to engraft their own theoretical know-
letlcc*
we return from this digression to point out the most
mischievous patronage of the poor which can be prac-
tised: namely, indiscriminate alms •giving. Assistance
of this sort U too temporaiy to be l^neficial to the re.
ceirer, and is in most instances too trifling to be real
charity In the donor. It is the rerene of the double
blessing: blessing him who glreth and him who receireth.
To Ae latter it is more fr^uentlr a curse; for all irre-
gular,' intermittent* unexp^ted moome diuts out the
Exercise of fbrethought — which is prudence — and pro-
duces defuorslisation. Who riiall renture to blame too
banh^ the cold and hungry wretch who, Ifrlng upon
chance sustenance, takes the ihortest but worst cure for
his pangs; and after satlsf)pine the first gnawings of
hanger, spends the aim* just collected In the spltit-uiop !
Who riiall pnniiAi the wretehed shirt or slop-dothes
maker, who» ptrtling her tnist in chame eharit^, and
inding mendiottncy less laborious, beoomes a pubhc beg-
gar, and finally a thief! to which the step is sliort and
easy* Suppose^ instead of a penny or a sixpence, the
alms-girer #era to deroee a little tInM in tei|airy, in
mdeavoart to extend fermattsfa relief— to proooring
•mployment for one sueh individual aa we peini tw, and
better pay for the dthert Instead of fostering tk^ he
would the» be aiding and reitving distress. Thai would
be trae beaefioeaoe; wiieRW promisouooa abna is, we
are bold to wy, meetly a piiee lie payi to teiieTe Aim-
M4(f fro» the pain eaoaed to him by tlM suppiicatioat er
tfa^ trnpartunities of raisesy-^^BOst freqa«ntlT, wa admit,
the formeiw The eentimeiit awaked by the eight or
knowledge of snfiering in aa^tem is AmoBg the most
w*»w**—**»
1 1 1 I ■« ■ I
•ii***-***.*— »■••-
vin the matter of eeaDtm j !■ food, we inqr aMatiOB a pnnlioat
Itfton we w«re lateljr Sm^t by the Aiperinleadeni of a ihntpmar
model lodging -liouM. We saw him with his comely wife, and a
remarkably fine child ; one of four who wtre, be declared, equally
rtibMl. HimMlf ti a epecimcM of bigfi feeding niUier tbfe<k of sttnt ;
ye* he atortlsd iMbyttMSManmoe that he nersryiKSaptoii^Brjr
rare eortrions, allowed more thaa eUpence a di^ lor dinnsr* or
a penny a bead We desired to See aome of his receipts ; and he
pn)nq;>tiy gave mm two, whieh we think It will sot be unifutructlve
totrantnrliere.
trish SUtt/or S AdutU and 4
Childrtn,
\ lb. of •ettoMngs,' - • ' S^d.
^Ib^ofpetatoee^ - - iU,
Jifeat'P%utdiM/ar fi Jdtttti and
AChildtfn.
tl%.' of flour, - - M.
|llKof*«tlolrlQfi*<othar>^ ..
wiee pieosa ooi Ifera \ UnioeM, -
Joint« by butdiers in }2\d.
trimming fhem for the i 5^tf.
table). - - - J
tlb.itfpoiaiosa,^ ' • I4v
Aatv, • • - ^A
fid
In the first reooipt one potato is left ovwi and in the second
there Is ^ to spare. From this abundance pepper and salt are
provided. It most he noted that the above are Loudon, and con-
pafalbUy amt* of wtf asusalioBs, but the eiMfi to
sinolixsr ^ to beat Tie gaant a|)|iaiitiOD ti fimiibiig
mfdinai ry poweiftdly awakens it; but hew isiMj
aad Imw eiunly is it ntstkad, if «et etadiaM* k; tk
gift of <L wnari dsaatio l-^nftcisat, pedwps*^^^
sotananoe, but only tufficiflDt to leave tks isopisii a
the iMxt a prqr to faBuiM» ioadered the less mimik
br the fsmer day's comfiaiaiiTe plenty. Bj Ust tiu
all synpathy 1m» Tanishoi Iram the bnast of tU |nv,
and the auppUant ia left lo etaxre, bscanse beiino^fn-
sent( Cor tks oommiaemtion of ohanoe^ias daitabtttoi
raquirea oonstamt axercitation. iieaawhiU, the pauM «^
pity h»fe been bought eff «t a meanly trifliAg oort. h
this ohari^ I
In noticing the cheering characteristio «f U» pe*
sent time --that tha aAusnt public an not osl; loik-
inf pauperism fully and kindly in the isc^ bat taiisj
It also beoavolently by the hasm— we hare noi fnM to
exhibit the small vices which are Xsond to sccompuj
this j^eat TirtuOb Our wiah has been, bj pointing oat a
series of small eriU, to present a humble cootnbatios «r
means towards increasing the number of the letl frindi,
and thinning the ranks of the mere patrons, of ihe ?ws.
THE MONEY TRAD&
' Thk Monied Interest,' we we told, in w anmnng md
vifacious volume of the diiy, * was unknown till M^V*
But this dry aDooaiicenient ia not enough for tbegve-
ral reader. The taaion^OMld have ezpliioedtbipii-
eion of the cemtry on tbe completion eT the BerfllilMB
settlement, and «h» clremnetnooei which leA t9 i»
rise of the great riral of' the slow and coosemtite W
party. Many thing* had by that time concnrred to p^
an impetus to trade and ma&afacttues, which ii fdtto
this day, A few years before (in 1685) the reroctto
of the law in Franoe, known as the Edict of Iftata.
which guaranteed the safety of the Peotestsati. arf
abroad over Europe many hundred tboossadi of tbe
«ite of French indostry and tegeouity; and of thw
the wedthieit established themselres in Enghsd wA
HoHand. We are t^ppoeed to have had tbottl 70,000 to
our own share, settled chiefly in London; sndto than
we owe the improveroeut of many old, and Ibe inbfr
duction of many new, branches of manafactoref. Tifl
thrt time^ for inatance^ we prodooed hii% sot tat
coane faroww paper, and dl tbe better V^^^
gfaMi, hats, and other rtaplet wem imported tm w
continent Undef the teadiing of the iwaiin^jfj
became skflful in the manuflwitttre of theftoettjvms
of these articles, b$ well as in that of tbe lijjhteriWnw
of wooUen ttuffs, Jiinen, silks (especially i 1* njodei
•nd lustrings now gone by), dncapes, hrocadci,ttm
velreti. Ac ti«»tber witK docks, watdiei. v^jOr
fer^wareoftarioaideaQriptioaa. la 168» tte uOd
Kighti cflfeted a eolemn gunrsatee fbr the lib«W»«»
property of the poople,^iiow flwwo|Wy ••^Jfh.
the advantages of hidnitfy; and thii was "^J^T:
stantaneously followed, as might natuftJIx be '^'P^
by » vast increase in our commerce^ shipping, mm w-
tures, and colenlAl trade. «^
This waa the epoch of the estabUshment of tt«^
ef England and Bank of Sootlandi rf pfqjecti«2i
other batilutefiimiwouieciieBieeiprishingjy;^
treastiret ftom the deep; of lotteries; of *^^
whale, cod, ^nd pcaris*, of innumeniMe «"JP*5f ^
rock-salt, fbr curing protislons, fbr ^^f^^,^^!^
•nil frtT ¥nnf%\ntr awav fmm ^he Bet and »^'*'«7
* Chronicles and Characters of the Stock 5S2£j*^*«'
Fnmcte.aatherofthe«H!»tonrOftheBink«fto|W* ""T^
■Ml
L I »
■pwweM jif u.
CHAMiamB'Si a3MBI»U«96H^WniBHA2i.
set
J
iffiowottder that th&dow«ii4 UmiMd proflte «f .flgffi-
caltneoAmftto behxtked upon widi cciiteia^vt by cpe^
latora wtM> were no longer at the raeioy of the greafe tmd
ipamettdi, or that a chM of advaBtiiro«» oitisns ilwild
oriie, st^ng enoagh t» beoid the eld lira of «riitocnoy»
and make tfaemteWet heard and felt as a ieparate eatato
in the realm. In a flottrMuaf and penmvi eovntry
like England, however, there ia alwaj^ a tendency' to^
wardtaneq!ialiiation«f kitereeta. Attfa»preaeiitthiie«
it is more oommon than ever for eoeceMfnl tradera to
inrest theb property in land ; and one dwf we may
see the merchant plodding in his oonnttng-hoowi and
the next lording It over a goodly nnmber of acres of
' brown heath and shaggy wood,* in the charadet of a
Highland laird.
Before the comrnenoement of the dghfeenth centory,
the persons who dealt in money congregated at the
Royal Exchange. *At this period,' says Mr Francis
(about 1695), * the broker had a walk npon the Boy^l
Exchange devoted to tile foods of the East India and
other great corporations ; and many of the terms now
in vogne among the initiated arose fhnn their dealings
with the stock of the East India Ck>mpany. Jobbing in
the great chartered corporations was thoroughly imder-
stood. Reports and rumoori were n plenttfhl then as
now. No sooner was it known that one of the fine
vessels of the luifia Company, laden with gold and
jewels fjrom the East, was on its way, than every
method was had recoorse to. Men were employed to
whisper of hurricanes wbieh had sttik the wtii-ttored
ship^-<if' qnioksanda whieb had swaUewed her np-Hof
war whidi had tomineQeed when peace was nahrokea
— or of peaoe being concluded when the factories were iu
the utmost danger. Nor were the brains of the specula-
tors less capable than now. If at the present day a banker
condescends to raise a railwiyr bubble 50 per cent^ the
broker of that day widerstood his craft sufficiently to
cause a variation in the price of East India stoelr of
269 per cent) and complaints became frequent that the
Boyal EKefasmge waa perverted from ita legilifluitepvr*
poae^ and that the jobberB*-**the term was applied igno-
roinioualy^ — ought to be driven from a spot poUuted
by their presence. Mines of gold, silver, and copperi
were so temptingly promised^ that the entire town pur-
sued the deception. Tricks and stratagems were plen-
tiful; the wary made fortunes, and the unwary were
ruined.*
The outcry against the broken bedame ao greait, tbsit
in 1698 tbey determined to remove to the ^&eti nnoo^
cnpied area of 'Change Alley ; bat by and by- th# Bkore
reapeotahle among them acquired the habit of aeeking
the shelter of Jonathan's Cofieehouse* and this became
the grand centre of all the important operations in the
money market. Among the jobbers of this time was Sir
Henry Fumese, who kept expresses running all over
the continent, and was me first to inlbrm the king of
the fortune of his arms. ' But the tsaiptation to deceive
was too great even for this gentleraaa. He fatarieated
newa— he insinuated ftdoe tntelUgeiloe— he was the ori*
ginator of some of thooe plans which at a later period
were managed with so much effect by Rothschild. If
Sir Henry wished to buy, his brokers were ordered to
look gloomy and mysterious, hint at important news,
and after a time, sell. His movements were closely
watched -, the contagion would spread ; the speculators
grew alarmed ; pricee be lowered 4 or 5 per cent.-*-«for
in thoae days the low of a battle mighEl be tbekas of •
cmrD'— and Sit Heary Fumese would reap the benefit
by cmplaying di^Bwent brokers to pupehase as much as
passible at the reduced price. Large profits were thus
made i but a demoralising spirit was spread throughout
the Stock Exchaqge. Bankrupts and beggars sought
the same pleasure in which tiie millionaire indulged*
and often with similar success.* Anotlier celebrity was
the wealthy Hebrew, Medina, who * accompanied Marl-
borough in all his campaigns; administered to the
avarioe of the great captain by au annuity of I4.6OOO
per annum; repaid himself by expresMt containing
iMtlBgeiioe 4>f tkoit gaea* batllsi wlKhiflreith&fiiii^lMh
bliMd to liear^ tkem oauied^ wtd* Rsmilieii Oudeaasdet
and Bleahstm, Jidministered as nuisk io the iteslejof
the Hebrew ai tbey dul to ti»» gleiy><yf CngUud/ ;
King William did not rob, like his psvdeceiSons he
bORowed, and waa often fleeeed by the jdbttevlK 'Both6
borrowed in every way he' could, eontitve^^vgii oftliye^
deemable annuities, a&d lAius oreafted a perpetual 4ebti
Money, hoiverver, was neoeaasry, sinee the nall6n liad
resolved to keep out the Stuarts, and acny pHo& mt»t
be paid for ft. When I«t5,000,€eo werd granted as wp*
pte for the war, only LJi»5#o,06a retteh^ the tr^asiuy 1
The grantees themsdves innst be paid. ^ Mr Httoger^
ibrd was expeOed from the Lower House for ftcc^|>&ng
a bribe of L.2! ; and the Duke of Leeds1mpe$d^ for
taking one of 5500 guhieas. The price of ii spescker^
Sir J6hB Trevor-^was L.1005 ; and the secretaty^to the
treasury was sent to the Tower on suspicioti of siiiiili^
practices. Honey receivers lodged great sums of phbHc
money with the goldsmiths at the current Interest.
Others lent the excheqtier Its own cash in other per-
sons* names ; and out of L.46,000,000 rais^ in fifteen
years, L.25,ooo,QOO were unaccounted for.'
In 1696^Mr Halifkx invented exchequer bills which
repruented money. An admirable resQUCCQ they must
have been, and still are ; for wjben it was inconvenient
for government to redeem its securities, the consent
of parliament was obtained, and this fioatiog or un-
funded debt was added to the fixed debt of the couqtry.
Ten years after, the first foreign loan <Xt.500»0<)0) was
negotiated in 'Change Alley. It waa given at &e in*
stance of the Duke of Harloonough to tl^e Emperor for
eight years at 8 per cent., on the security of itis SMe*
sian revenues. The pride of the jobbers was now at its
height. A speculaUve Quaker called Quaccv ^ watchr>
maker to trsidewcaUed to the marriage of hii daughter
the Pxinoess of Wales, the Duchess ofMarlborou^ and
three hundred other- guests of distiaotion-^aod tne in<'
vited oame * when he did call on them.' , The founder
of Gay's Hospital waa *one of the mauy remarkable
men who, tempted from their legitimate pursuit* en*
tared into competition with the jobbets of the Stook
Exchange, and one of the few who devoted their pro-
fits to the benefit of a future generation.' His prin*
cipal dealinga were in the ioaenvertible -tickets with
whioh, our seamen were then paid-**tiakets which the
poor and ioippoivideiit fellows were giad to turn into
oaah at anysaorifioe* 'In tfaeee tidcets did Thomas
Guy deal; and on the wrongs of these mem was the
vast aupentmctura of his fbrtane reared. But jobbing
ia then was as Irecpient in the high places of Eugland
as in 'Chauge Alley. The seaanus waa poor -aAd untn-
fiuential}- and the ordere whidi were reChsed payment
to him were ps&d ta the wealthy jobber, who parted
witk aome^ his plunder |» a premium to the treasury
to disgorge the remainder. By these meaasi and by for-
tnnale speculations duriag the Seuth Sea bubble, Mr
Guy realised a fortuue of L.50O,00Q^— at that time an
almost fabulous sum.
The influence and the odium of the stodgobben
kept equal pace. * It was very natunl that men'a minds
should be turned to that portion of the town which,
ever and anon, gave signal symptoms of great ihiuds,
great gains, and great gambling ; and Sir John
Barnard endeavoured, ii^ 1732, to draw the attention
of the House of Commons to the dealings and the
doings of the Stock Exchange^ It had, even at this
early period, a complete and organited ^tem. The
expresses of its rich membera came fh>m every oourt in
Europe, and beat, as the expresses of jobbers always
have done, the messengere of the government Sir
Robert Walpole not only declared thl^ buMk with great
naivete added, ** It is because they are better paid and
better appointed." The very fkct that brokers did beat
the government despatches was regarded as a crime;
and the public continue year bv year to pour its male<*
dictions on the frequenters of 'Cnange Alley/ This was
the epoch of ' time- bargains *>-» Mifef»B» of gambling
s*
3i3
KDOfBUBOH JOUBNAL.
=1
irhidi hM CDDtiBDed to be the lifb and ioiil of ttodc-
jobUng. The Bank books were doeed for tiz weeks iti
erery qiisrter« to piepare for the peyment of the diH-
deiid( and as no transfer oould be made daring this
period* it became a practioe to boy and sell * for the
opening.' This means, we beliere (bat Mr Frandt
ongfat to hare described the transaotion for the beneit
of the nniaitiatedX that jroa may hay without money
an imaginary amouaty to be paid for at the expintion
of the tiaae in an equally imaginary manner. If the
prioe of the stock has risen, yon reoetve, and if it has
fSidleB, yon pay the diilevenoe ; and this is all the trans-
fer of cash tiiat takes place in a transaction whoUv
tmraaL The broker, we need not say, receives his
commission whether the speculator gains or loses. This
was of coarse para gambling ; and Sir John Barnard,
who flnt exposed it^ snoceeded in obtaining an enact-
ment placing time-bargains without the pale of the law
in sack a manner that losses on them oould not be
legally reoovered. Bat Sit John and the legislature
stroTe in Tshi. The act exists to this hoor, bat only as
a dead letter ; for speeolatiTe bargains fbrm the chief
business of the Stock Bxehange. The only difibrenoe
it made was to make the brdcer responsible instead of
the eiMwt purchaser.
Till the rdgn of Oeorge II., the interest on loans
varied aooording to the state of the money market ( but
it was then fixed at from 8 to 6 per cent, this being the
first pnbKo annonncement that the debt was perpetuaL
The effbct, it is said, has been to increase the present
principal by two-fifbhs of the siim origlnatty adranoed.
The ibvt reduotien of interest) flrom 4 to a per cent,
was eflboled in 176a It was a project of the same
Sir John Bernard who made war upon time-bargains.
' His prids,' says Mr Frands, * was indomitable ; the
members of the Stock Sxohang% who were always
spoken of with great contempt by Sir John, thoroughly
detested him, and greatly hdped to fan the unpopultti^
which fell npon him -when he opposed public feeling,
as^ witii a most mibendfaig integrity, he invariably did
if his ceoecienoe prompted. ** He gnw," said Horace
Wripole on one oocasioo, ** almost as unpopular as
Byng." On oamoMrcial subjecte his opinion was greatly
regarded: wlien any remarkablo feature in financial
politics ocomrred, the town echoed with^** What does
Sir John say to this ?-^ what U Sir John's ophiion?"
—and he had the hommr of ref^ing ^ post of Chan-
oeltor of the Exchequer in 1746. It is somewhat at
variance with the proud character of the man, that
firom the tame fata stetue was erected in the Royd
Exchange, he never entered the building, but trans*
acted his badness in the front. The blood of Sir John
Barnard yet flows in the veins of some of the best
houses in the commercial world, his son having married
tlie daughter of a gentteman known in contemporary
history u ** the great banker, Sir Thomas Hankey." '
Sir John's great enemr was Sampson Gideon, a Jew
brolmr^ * worth more tnan afi the land of Canaan/
* The greatest hit Gideon ever made was when the rebel
army approached London ; when the king was trembl-
ing ; when the prime minister was undetermined, and
stocks were sold at any price. Unhesitatingly he went
to Jonathan's, bought all In the market, advanced every
guinea he possessed, pledged his name and reputation
for more, and held as much as the remainder of the
members held together. When the Pretender retreated,
and stocks rose, the Jew experienced the advantege of
his foresight.'
The Oareer of Mr Bordyce, an Aberdeen hosier, who
became a London banker and stockjobber, is very re-
markable, but its history would occupy too much space.
When this person failed, the panic in London, * equal
to anything of a later date, but of shorter duration,
spread with the velodty of wildfire, and part of the
press attribute to the Bank the merit of supporting
the credit of the city, while part assert that it caused
the panic. The first frimilies were in tears ; nor is the
consternation surprising, when it is known that bOls to
-^ ,^
tlie amount of L.4,000,000 were in dreulstioD, vilb&e'
name of Fordyce attadied to tiiem.' Thee^rfthei
constant anxiety in whidi the money-tnden Hte hnid i
to operate disadvantageonsly on &t dundion of lik
* It is probable, although the fact is diflicnlt of ittih- 1
ment, that the lives of the members of the Stod^L ;
change are at the present day less vsliudbte ftin tlie i
ordinary average <tfnuman life. TheooastuitthoDiH
tiie change ttom hope to Ibar, the nights broka bf
expresses, the days exdted by dianges, most oeeet-
sarily produce an unfevourable eflbct upon fiie butt>
Instances, however, of great longevity are mi vast-
lug ; and one John Blva, who, after an sctbe fifi io
HJhange Alley, had retired to Yenioe^ died tlMR tt
the patriardial age of 118.' This was the goldio ige
of lotteries. In 177S there were * tottecy migixbe
proprieton, lottery talbra, lottery stsjmiken, \oKktj
stovers, lottery hatmakera, lottery tea-tnerdttti,
lottery snuff and tobaooo merdiants, lottery birte»-
where a toan, fbr being shaved, and paviDj^ ftnepoxr.
stood a chance of recdving L. 10— tottery dioe-bh^
lottery eating-houses-^'Arhm fer sixpeoce, s ptatt of
meat and the chance of 60 guineas was fim^lrttsj
oyster-stalls, where threepence gave a supp^ of (71(01
and a remote chanoe of 8 guineas, were piatfal; ind,
to oomi^to a catidcgue whidi speaks VDhmei, it s
sausage-stall in a narrow alley was the imparttnt in*
timation written up, that ibr one ferthing^i vorili <i
sausages the fortunate purdtaser might realiR 1 ofitil
of five shillings. Quack doetors^-a dan vhich fixated
so peculiar a feature in village life of old— loM ttcMe |
at a high prioe, ghring those who purchased it tiekettiD
a lotted purporting to contain silver and oflierTtfauife
prises.' The discovery of hakgnmUmheam^V^
fession, and the worslnp of Mammon introdoced iHa
of supentition which might seem to bare ooat don
from the middle ages. The smaller lotteries wen it
length put down, in order that ruin might be t^co^
only to those who oould afford it t but this intndiaid
the system of * insurance,' which was epa to alMim
being paid for the right to demand a oeitshi ftfflosDi ifi
the event of a particular number turning up 1 priie.
To graUfy this propensify wives robbed tbeii hoiM
children their parenta, servants their BMSteia *9*
great were the charms of Insurfaig, while tiie ehfficei
were so small, that respectable tradesmen, in delhiice ef
the law, met for this illegal purpose on the Mbv*
faig day to that on which some of their bodf hid bsQ
taken handoofifed before a magistrate' lottefMvm
not finally abolished till 16S««
AnothercuHeus kind of insuranee WM mortal i»^
the gamblers t— * Directly it was known tiist ^P^
man was seriously m, Insuraoces on Ids U^ s< J*^
In proportion to his chance <rf reoeveryj v«« ijwfc
These bargains wore reported in the pwenj wd w
effect on an invalid who knew his heaim ^^J*^
rious may be Imagined when he saw to the *• Who*
hall Evening Post" that -Lord migfatbecw;
sidered in great danger, as Ms life could enly be nakfen
in the Alley at 90 per cent." The <»«Wm^e*«
rapidly, and the evil was so serious, ^i**^ P^
merehanto and underwriters refiised to trsMietbiRB^
with hroken who engaged in such praetifles. « w
customary to eflbct insurances upon the firts «•*■
sieged city— a pnmrium being paid to receite a e«ij^
sum in the event of the capture of ^ city, wr^
the Seven Yean^ War, the SpanirfJ amhssisdor « •"
to have hisured L.80,000 on Mhiorca it the ««»•
when the despatches announcing its csi^nrtWP
his po<*ei In 1787 the BIsck Bosrd ws« WW^
to keep the broken in awe. •* There weien^lj""
twenty.flve lame ducks," said the •• 'WWtehjDje^f
Post,**^ - who waddled out of the ABey." ^^^^
dency was estimated at LJ50,000j m^^JIJS iS
this occasion the above phm was first P<[^^frZ^
a very foil meeting of ^ members '?»^~^
those who did not either pay their drilcien«es,<»rM»j
their prtndpids, shoidd be puhHcly ei^oeed ss • w
as;
OHAMBHBOT BDIN9UB(ffl JOUHNAK
0Oo
board to be ordered for the oooation. Thus the aboTe
defieiencles — ^larger than had been previoualy known —
alarmed tiie gentiemen of 'Change Alley^ and produoed
that syitem which ii jet regarded with wfiolesome
awe/
Befbre long, the mightiest of the aristocracy trembled
at the threat of the Black Board. A broker complained
to the public-spirited Mark Sprot that a noble earl,
whom he had trusted to a large extent^ refused to pay
his losses. Mr Sprot UAd his friend not to be afraid,
and offered to call with him upon the noble repudiator.
' Together they went, and were reoeiyed with patrician
digxiity. Mr Sprot deliberately detailed his business,
and received the cool rep\y that it was not oonrenlent
to pay. But the energetic jobber was not a man to bow
before rank, unless accompanied by worth ; and Mr
Sprot unhesitatingly declared that 11 the account were
not settled by a certain hour next day, he would post
his lordship as a defaulter. The latter grew alarmed,
and attempted to conciliate ; but the oooferenee dosed
with the repeated determination of Mr Sprot to post
him. Long befbre the hour appointed, howeyer, his
lordship's solicitor waited on the broker to arrange the
payment; and thus the honour of the earl was pre-
serred, and the credit of the broker saved in the money
market, through the acuteness and determination of
Mark Sprot'
In 1801 'Change Alley was found to be too small an
area for the Stodc Exchange ; and at anyrate tiie prin-
cipal dealers in the money market desired to have a
more exclusive place of meeting. The present building,
therefore, was erected by subscoription, the members %o
pav ten guineas annually, and to vote by ballot The
following inscription, engraved on copper, was placed
under the first stone of tl^ building :*-
* On the 18ih of Mur, In the year 1801, and forty-oae of Oeoive
UL, the flrat stone of ule buildkw, erected by private eataorlptlon,
for the tranBaotion of buainoB In the publio funds, wee laid in
the presence of the proprietors, and under the direction of William
Bammoud, William Steer, Thomas Roherts, GrifBth Jones, Wa-
Uam Qny,JuMa Headegr, Jo. Braokshanr, John Oapel, and John
Bamee, managers; James Peaoock, anhiteot; At this era, the
first of the Union between Great Britain and Ireland, the public
fimded debt had accumulated in five successive reigns to
L.5SS,7S0,as4. The iuTiolate faith of the British nation, and the
principles of the constitution, sanctlea and secure the preperty
embarked in this undertaking. May the blesabig of that oonstitii-
tion be aepored to the latest posterityr .,
Among the anecdotes in this portion of the vdlume
we may mention that of the Honse of Baring, connected
with the subject in their capacity of loan-contraetors.
Their career is * an evidence oif the power of a few active
young men to advance themselves to iomiense fortune,
and to distinguished marks of favour fVom the sove*
reigo. Vwious origins are attributed to the members
of the firm, and the Herald's College has been employed
to give the dignity of aneestral honours to the family.
In 1793 the first baronet of the name was created, and
the signal services of Sir Francis to the East India
Company, of which he was a direcfton were greatiy
ai^eoiated. It has been stated—but as tiie writer is
uncertain of his aut^iority, he gives it with caution*^
that they were originally German weavers, who came
over to London; and being suecessfol in business, were,
through the interest of William Bingham of Fhiladel-
phia, appointed agents to the American government.
Considering, therefore, the large resources at their com-
mand, it is not surprising that, during the loyalty loan
in 1797, the head of the house made L.100,oeo for three
consecutive days — or that, in 1806, it was sarcastically
said, ** Sir Francis Baring is extending his purchases
so largely in Han^pshiie, that he soon expects to bo
able to enclose the country with his own park*paling."
In 1805 this gentleman, the first algebraist of the
day, retired finom business with a princily fortune, and
shortly afterwards died, fhll of years and honours. A
green old age, a career closed at the pinnacle of pros-
perity, and a deathbed surrounded by sons and daugh-
ters, whom the descendant of the O^man weaver lud
lived to place in splendid independence^ was his enviable
h»t The gnait oommerdal house which he had ndMd
to so proud a position waa continued by his sons, and
may be considered the most important mercamttte estab-
lishment in Hie empire. Fiediold estates to the arnoont
of L.SOD,000, besides enormous personal property, re-
warded his great capacity, and his yet greater integrity.
The House of Baring, notwithstandinjg some periods
when doubt, and aUnost dismay, hung over it, 3ret retains
the power and position bequeathed by Sir Fnmeis i and
aa an instaace of the fortune and capacity of its mem-
bers, it may be mentiooed that the late Lord A^bur-
ten, when bearing, as Sir Bobert Fed foeUngly eKptesaed
it, the honoured name of Alexander Baring, realised
L.1 70,000 in two years by his combinations in French
Bentes,*
But the most remarkable stockbroker on Mcord was
Francis Baily the astronomer^ who retired firom the
Stock Exchange in 1895. Baily ' havfa^r left school at
fourteen* remained in a mercantile situation until be
was twenty-two i when, for the mere love ef adventure,
he embarked for the New World, travelled through
a great part of the **fiir westi'' and passed eleven
months among the aboriginee without once meeting t^
shelter of a civilised roof. In 1800 he w«nt on the
money-market, where he soon became conspicuous,
publishing within a few years many works, which were
justly regarded with great favour; and in 1806 defended,
though unsuccessfully, the rights of the brokers. In
1814 he drew up the report of the committee on the
great fraud of that yeaiv arranged the evidence against
the perpetrators completely and conckuive^, and was
one of those men of whom the Stock Bn^iange— fhmi
which he retired with a fortune won by uprightness
and intdU^ence^-^was not worthy.'
The resder wiU see that tiiere is a great variety of
interesting and amusing matter in the volume of ' md-
moires pour servir' we have thus hastily skimmed;
but we have now. done enough not only to give some
idea of the book, bat of the nature and career of the
Stock Exchange. The publio debt, which it is the busi-
ness of the brokers to buy and sett, has ineveased to
Zi.800,000/>00, entailing upon the eountryaa eoEpendi-
ture for interest of IiJ8,OO0v0OO per asmum. The debt
is praoticaUy considered perpehml f and at every ezeess
of revenue the mhiister is expected to reduce taxation.
To this object, likewise, the plans of financial reformers
are limited ; and when some schemer gets up with a pro-
lal that the nation, instead of mmly bghtening its
burthens, shall try to make some progress in
^ , ig wiiat it owes, eitaer by converting interminable
mlo terminable annuities, or by submitting to a general
aasessmenti he is looked upon as an i& visionary.
This may be all very correct} but the heir of a bur-
thened estate, preserved to him in ttsentirety by expen-
sive lawsuits (and we» as a nation, are exactly in this
position), would be couneelled by judicious friends to
i^ply whatever savings he could make, or assessments
he could bear, to the extlBcttmt of his eneumbranoes.
BECBEATION.
I have seen it quoted from Aristotle that the end of
labour is to gain leisure. It is a great saybg. We have in
modem times a totallv wrong view of the matter. Noblo
worlc is a noble thing, but not an work. Most people seem
to think that any bnsiness b in itself something grand ;
that to be intensely employed, for instance, about some-
thing which has no trath, beauty, or usefulness in it, which
makes no man happier or wiser, is still the perffeetion of
human endeavoor, so that the Work be intense. It is the
intenaty, not tlie natnre of the worlc, tiiat men praise.
You see the extent of this feeling in little thhKS. People
are so ashamed of being cauffht for a moment Idle, that if
you come upon the most industrious servants or workmen
whilst they are standing looking at something which inte-
rests them, or fairly resting, they move off in a fright, as if
they were proved, oy a momenta relaxation, to be neglect-
fel of their worlc Yet it is the result that they should
mainly be judged hy, and to wMeh they should appeal
But amongst att elassss the workiiig itsetl^ imbessant work-
884
CHAMBEBarS EDINBUBOH JOUBNAL.
ing, is the thing deified. Now what it the e«d *nd etjeei
of mo»t work ? To proTide for aoimal wantc Not a con^
temptibte thiqg hj eny meant, but ttill it it not all in el
with man. M^eover, m ihoee oaaee where the pteMuie of
bread^^tting ie h,\t\j past, we do not ofte* find men^
exertions lessened oq that aooobnt There en^t into tlieir
minds as motiTos, ambition, a loye of hoarding, or a fear of
leisure, things which, in moderaiioo, nay be defended or
eren josttfled, bnt whieh are not so peremptorilj, and npon
the fitee of them, ezoellent, that they at once dignify exoes-
siTe labour. Ttie truth is, that to work insatiably requires
mueh less mind than to woiIl judiciously, and less courage,
than to reftise work that cannot be dons honestly. For a
hundred men whose appetite for work can be driven on by
Tanity, avarice, ambition, or a mistaken notion of advancing
tlieir &milies. there is about one who is desirous of ex-
panding hie awn nature and the nsAtre of othen in all
directions, of cultivating naany pursuits, of bringing himself
and those around him in contact with the universe in
many points-— of being a man, and not a machine. It may
seem as if the preceding arguments were directed rather
agatosi excessive work tfuMi m tkvcim of rscreatleii. Bat
the first objse* in an essay of this kted shonld be to farii^
down the absurd estimate that is often formed of mere
work. \VIiat ritual is to tlie formalist, or OQutenwlation to
the devotee, business is to the man of the world. He thinks
he eaonot be diring wrong as long as he Is defog tfhai. No
donbt hard work is a great poHoe agent If evsrvbody ntere
worked from ssoming till night, and tlien oareniUy looked
UD, the register of crimes mignt bo greatly diminished. But
what would become of human nature ? Where would be
the room for growth in such a system of tUngs? It Is
thveiigh sarfew attd mlfUi, |rienty and need, a variety of
psfSrions^ lUsHMaiwinss. and teaiptslioiiSy«ven thmngh sin
and miaerj, that ven a natores ara developed. Again,
there are people who would say, * tisbour is not all ; we do
not object to the cessation of labour — a mere provision for
bodily ends ; bnt we fear the Kghtness and vanity of what
yen call reoraatkn.* Do thaae people take heed of the
swift«eas of theught^^-of the imp«tienoe of thought ? What
will the great mass of men be thinking of u they are
taught to shun amusements and the thoughts of amuse-
ment f If any sensnaVty is left open to them, they will
think of thati If not sensnaUty, then avaitet* or feiooHy
for ' the oanse eC Oodi* as they would eall it* People who
have had nothing else to amuee them, have been very apt
to indulge themselves in the excitement of persecuting
their fellow-oreatures. Our nation, the northern part of it
espenianyt Is given to believe In the soveraign eAeaey of
didneeSh To be sore duhiess and solid vice are apt to go
hand in hand. But then, according to our notions, dul-
ness Is in itself so good a thing — almost a religion. Now.
if ever a p<?ople required to be amused, It is we sad-hearted
AngtO'Saxons. Heavy eaters, hard thHikera, often given
op to a peculkur mehmeholy of onr own, with aolinuite that
for meolhs teceihev wenld Drown away wirth if it eonld^
many of ns with very gloomy thoughts abont our hereafter
— if ever there were a people who should avoid increasing
their dnloess by all woni and no plsy, we are that people.
'They todc thehr pleasnre sadly/ saya Friissart, * after
thtit fashion.' We Mtedaet askof what iiatsiMaFiDlsaart
waa spfaking*~^y*ca</» in t^asoA
)f1tAXtlfCl Atf icfeMtno.
T think we were on the larboard tack when we first got
sight of the berg. It appeared at a distance of nine or ten
milea on the hortaon, a beantbiil « two^^lbiiied hill * of eeys-
taHiae^ its daaalhig peaks hrmdlated by the early moming
beams. We very nmch feared at the time that a fog would
close in and shut it from our view. Towards the latter
part of the day, however, the haze cleared ; and by about
three or (bov o^loeh f. m. we liad beat up to H, and were
dose nader its lea on the siarboaord slde» and only tmm a
quarter of a mile to half a mUe. distant from it ; the sea
being against it on the windward side, and dying into a
little bay formed by its precipitous crags, and a lower and
more extended part unauUttng into two or three distinct
raansa of ehiqgated hlUoeka or hnn— pcks, which sssmsd
to hava haena pottianof field*ioa sAtaohed to the loftier
part. The whole might have been firom 300 to 500 feet at
the base, by about 250 of extreme elevation ; and on one
side of the more abrupt portion, near the summit, was a
slognlariy-ehaped mass, whtoh re()uiied sesreely anyeffsrt
of jiBBsginatie* to fonD into a gigantii) wy*e beaiv cn«'ii«g
down the side of ii, The» was something extraoMly
oai^iwtfo and iolenm hi iUaspeet,astbeeliillinBdit«pt
flom it, and |h« deep, dsik-green waves roUed simI fcaed
beneath and around. The thought of strikiqgigHBit nek
amasain the darkneos and tempest, and bcoig test bjUe
shock toihe deaths beneath, seemed enodg)i to aadhtk
very lif^-blood In out veins, and aobrded. a tirid '4H«f
the perils nndernma by ^ ^olar vojtgen sad vUa
Whilst we gasea upon It, waenoouateied a moit Mj
and agreeable snri»ise. The sky daved brigMy Ihe
overbold, and the magnifioent mass hnaedistdy tok tbe
thit f^om the heavens, aaannring the softest eenilen lae
that the imaglnatkm could eonoeive. The exqniate ip-
MBii— HDnthnesa of H wan also another festore for vUd
I was not at all prepared. I had prefigoredtonpHft
large, rough, white mass; but the alshester poliahaftk.
^neral surface, and the general hue wfaieli wu tiied ws
it, to which the finest tdtramarine nmit fidlof deiog j«-
tioe, presented an efieot at onoe delis^tlol SBdoBC^Ntei :
Gradually, as evening sdvanced, ana we drew svit fnm
it on the watery pathway, the paler tints maned tha
sway, the mists and shadowa closed sroimd it, asd ve left
it to its silent mareh— the cold, gray, eten wisdem ef
the oeeaa stone with OsaniMteBfie amidtt the vi^if
MOTHER DEAR^ WHERE AtTTSOfJf
MoTiiBa dear, where art fbou? Dost Ihoa fawn ciBlBf
la the early anoml^, or when eve is MKnff,
Bines I eloisi ttOos syeUdi onlhal Blifat of ansv r
■Mettw dear, where arttken » JDsalthoo!
le the drsary mMBlght, whsm H^ hesrts sre dsiykw?
Doth thy ^irlt hover nesr me whea I alomtter,
Or when, threnfh the dsrknear, SleepleM hosn Isarisr?
Mother dssr, where art fhou? WesryhoanofiedonB,
In onr lonely ehamher, once a boms of flsdoiM,
Weigking down say splrtt, ftm nwtiseiled e^ ae.
WhUe thy ohair, dsesrtirtyever rtaads brfus ml
Mother asar,wlMte art ikon} Bprtoy hath eon ssdiaH
Bat It broi^l no gladnssB to thy taaely hesrted;
Through the bleised eommer sU was dsik around om,
For Its frsp'snoe breathed not through the gnre that bou4 tba.
Mother dear, where art thou ? Autumn wiodi ue Uowiii^
And wtlhln our dwellhig bright the hearth is flovlDf,
By our pleaiant flreride yoethfid tonee sie riactsf ,
But thkM anelsot bsUsia as Bwest veiot li iliiiinf.
Mbiheedssr, Where art Chottf IkereliBoeaeMirflB.
In my hour ef aagaiA* who wfll esre Is she« ise.
Who wiU smooth mf pillow when my heed iisdusf,
Or a prayer will whisper when my heart is brasking.
Mother desr, where srt thou? I have noM Is chariik
With the love that cannot In death's darkneaa vaiA,
At my step approaching no ft>nd brow will Ugbtea,
And aay Mfie of gtadnsae no kind eye wfll hrigMas.
Mother dear, Where art Chont Bast Ibou left 06 tbtaa
That the tie wtaleh bosnd us sUll ahMas eateokaa,
Bat the vseant pilbow where I watebed ihesdjrisf,
And the silent gaveyard whssa thy dost ia ly^l
Mother dear, I know that our Bedeaaner KvaUi,
And that life unfading to hie own He gireth;
Though thy place is empty, He wHI atitl be near me,
And thy parUng counsel, * Trust in Ood,* ibaU diaer na
Mother dear, In heaven, wheie thy voioe la aedling.
Angela hymns adoring, bleased is thy dwetMsgr
Bate from f^ofeWI,fresfh»n ton and sadsws,
WsitingliarthyleoecaM.tittvemeslJnflsdoSMl '''
■'■ i I ikuj !i j'.ii ;.jnwi.i.i' .u IB.JS:
OIFT BOOK FOR OHRI»tIfA&
Om
PassE Oax fexMnie ur Faxcv i)s«sii%
FIRESIDE AMUSEMENTS
Danaiig ens ef ths velaiass ef OBMBisers laaiar MS 1^0^
I
Published by W. & R. Cs a Msmaa. High Stitset, Btofcm^ ^
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ART OF BIO&BAPHY.
We hiTO already indolgcd b) •otna ipeculUioni od the
(Ute of criticiam in thii conotrj, and ve take tbe'pre-
•ent oiip<irtaBtt]r to rMome the labject. -
In the eariier itigM qf Mcietj, UwifrvcticeoTiut/i-
ciiw ii rullowcd emjpj cicely, each laaa dealing u well M'
he can with the facta bethie him, aai sUiTios U> lean
from aatual eaim the trns made o[ tnatmanl. But al
education and MBaement admnce, an interchange cf
knowledgs takes place ; compaTiaons are made; errors
are corrected ; princlplci are eitablished on the hnse of
experience J ,tlisoiy> like a conatitatiotial k'gisliLturc. ,
goTemi the piaotice from w liich it einanated -, and me:
dicine becomes in proceta of time at once ao art and a
icience. Thi* ahoold likanaci be. the hutory uf Criti-
ciam, and the £iet tktii It ii lo h obTtoUi aVen In onr
own literatim i bnt anr ootsidalDt la, that we are in fk»
too early a itage of tbe procen. contiderlng the compa-
ratiTely rapid advancement which' liaa taken place In,
other aciences. Htirc and there, indeed, some aolitary
tbiaker does fanuy t'at tliere may be eternal principlea
of tails applicable to tlie diflcivnt braoctiea of literature,
add now and then a voiiM ia baud, aa if fnHn aCar, an-'
nouncing joroatUiig that teenn. Like a nnr*el aflda-
diacoTery { but ia general we Temain in afaaalute Doeon-
■oioujneM tbat there are any higher and nobler laws
than the empirical judgment of indlviduala.
In illustcstlon of the want of pure criticism betrayed
in our literature, wa have already made soiuc mentipo
of romaotic flotioa and history i but^ieibapa thwe ia oa
department in whidi the. defloLeiiRy js more obTiisuf.
than biograpliy. Biography with ua ia rarely* work'
of art, and tiever of hi^h art. It ii a mere coHeetion
of materials, or at best a ra'de and ihapdeii fbrm. Tf
the facta are true and ttbnnitant, tbe moral reAectlons
just, and the likeness recognjaablp, vc are aatlsDed;
for we are unconscious tbat tbeae are the mere atones of
a temple which it is the province of genius to raise ovei.
the aabes of tbe sreal and guod. biography ia tlia
history of an individual, and ii only diSiraniiJrDW that-
of a nation in Ita baing of raon Itmltad tange. A
natioD, aa one of tba gnat commnuitiei of mankind,
muet be conaidwcd.with rafenmcd to Che geoeial pro-
gress of society ; and its historian, if his views be pro-
portionably large, tDoitiMiC only dive into the put, but
loar into tbe fntare. Ha muat know iidhnatcly tbe
contemporatieaut wotidi ha luusi ba acquailled with
all acta and all adenoaai and. abatraotiag lumsalf troea
bis own day and its conventlanalisnia and prejudices,
be most look at the graupa of mankind in their onward
match, from age to age, trata development bi dcvelup-
ment, till they are loat in tliat abysm of futurity whctc
even genioa can only gaesa at thdr destinies.
Biography, as the Biatory o( an indfvidaal, l( of ttoM
limited rapge i it ijeala vilh.onq. eoiiQtr}', t^no flK)9l)>
(Hie lifetinui and wkea tli» tomb aloaea J0r«c its hero,
ita task is' done, - Bart hoar manr eonditiont dosK'Hits
re<]uire 1« be fulfilled t Hj^w grand, a aecrpe ^OeK it
prsaentfur the true' artist! , In' Iho aiatcr "prgfeniooj a
portrait dc'twed.tQ.iUQmoiand tliO:adi«irstiaa. of the
world ia a watkj of. e«n)e*l l^booE aed reflnrd akU ;-
nothing la rediiiiflBnt,'TiotlilDt:'nieAgi'(<t 'tM'Kfter titit,
shade efl£r alude, are thruRn in with n nwcaiied, dili-
gence; end «ll we^ade.tqteU.in;^e|»Dducti(in.Qf qlia-
ractcr. TbeohtaiaMura ia>aD,m«iiagE)d .tbaticreaitlift
nM*t'M«enli*d ineldent>,,'wtieh 'they diatarb'tka-jBatn
efltct, are toned do;Tn <p M'to,pr6dnee wli^t i*fitert on
ait call a cury^hiSLa, or the- b^futy ttrislng fcooi order
nod lincnuwy- XheACMBtpns|iiil'k«wue,'area4.in bn-.
raoDywith the figure, dcteonJniBgL ita prqnrlion«k and
eten the nioat trivial of Ihettt petfDnding toAie allotted
function in the dsiign, A lilograpKy 19 ia literature
what apcrttubiii^act; and, tlie peitmay dxaif many
Jnstraet[ve.aaalagie«'f.ront Ibe.penoil-i .Wi« cannot 'acotfit
frota the author, any more' ttian- frem' (be -painter, a
heap of feature), draperies, incMehta, to be amnged at
our own pleiuure,(ind owe their effiict to our (jwa uucon-
sEioH*. skill. Jioolu of. thia kind are Dwr^ ntatenalai—
snail aa lioawieU's: * JohaalHit' tfaeffiin of them alii— bM am
□at eatilled to the name Of biography, "tbe biographer
mu«tb!3an artist, andfeel.tbat heteso. Jlemu^t attend
to the keeping of his portrait^u ve^sa the mereJikeiien
of tbe featare*. He,DniBhjiDt.DBly,Beai)ehrwiUi iu^ustryf
bat select with KTertt]'; exctading'evHythtaf sot ab-
solntcly necesanry, and taWng'cSro that ever^tiilng he
admits hulda the pkcc due to. its laipQ>taiiie, .or cooi^a-
rative intignifleanoit, andmioisteEslo the cQneral effitot).
A lltbtMBBlly'aatends bey«aid 'halF ii ceototy, and
in tbat apace the social ebangea tinut W eSpecM to
benumerous) ancL all^^s^ ha, iA^if^ted in the bio-
graphy., The aiaij ii}i»«t be, exliiljitcd as ^ piirt of 0^6
time in. which lia lircf,.orhe will sot be vndenttood,
ThiM, In n hIstotliMl iHOgM^y, tl)B p>blia hiatorji must
betraoed, or tlisactitinivf tho Individual irill tMonin-
telligible. An ordSnary biographer, t^tre&re; Kas more
to do than la follow his,heJoi;i llieeyentsof hia.,(lfi;:
ha miut dCKTibe tho spirit .of Uie aga in it«r niannen,
Morsle, tnd iMelleoti snd tto piogiua of aoakty, «a
the itttaio ft *hich his snbjecl' floats. He miraii in
abort, identify the (nan witu the epoch, in order to
ascertain his \tXw> and. cjiaiacter. Thirty yaaca. agc^
a acieDtifla daDoVenr:ma7 have.befM ^.^MaCriaaM—
perhaps the greateM man of ttta tlRei wUM In the
present day he would be regarded na a uteri tyro.
In writing his life, thererore, it would be aeceasaiy
to describe exactly tbe state of aoience in hi* timet and.
even so ve AioiJd denl with Kteravy itafttifhy, and
even wilhthe'merBbiogmphy of-.
886
OHAMBEBgra SDINBUBQH JOURNAL.
It niAy be Mid that tbe kind of deteUs that aUuded
to are te be ibnnd in Botwell ; and 90 thej are. Bat
they aie thrown in with tbe thoyel, not built up in an
artiftfoal oonttrttotien. We riae from the TOlemeB with
A fteity clear idea of the nan and the aocial time j but
the ide« is coUected bf oarselres horn a mast of thape-
lesa material, amid a greater mass of useless rubbish.
Boswell, therefore, is not a biographer, and his work
is not a work of art We have cited this exquisite
gossip as an extreme case i but the fault of criticism is,
that in general it rarely makes anj distinction. There
is hardly such a thing as real biography in the lan-
guage ; and the reason is, that the nature and fanctioni
of the aft are either not comprehended, or not insisted
upon, by those who assume the direction of the public
taste.
It may seem hardly fair to cite the Life of Southey*
in illustration of these remarks, since the author dis-
claims any intention to write 'a regular biography;*
but there is every reason to beUere, from the internal
eridenoe of the book, that he eonoeires his perfbrraanoe
to faU short of a regular biography only in as much as
it permits the narrative to be carried on occasionally by
contributions and correspondence. This notion is dearly
enough indicated by the word narrative, which is all
that is commonly supposed to be required to constitute
a biography. Our chief reason, however, for fixing
upon the book before us is, that It is necessary to make
a stand eomewhere; and the vohmie before ua is so
flagrant an instance of the art of biography as practised
in this country, that we think we cannot have a better
opportunity of calling attention to the subject. We
shall now proceed to give some account of the work.
One half of the volume is composed of KecoUections
of Southey, written by himself at forty-six years of
age; and then the son, perfectly satlsfled with the
manner in which hh father has entered into the his-
tory of his fkmily, and the details of his eariy lifb,
takes up the thread of the narrative where he laid it
down. The Recollections, however, with a good deal of
amusing matter interspersed, are prosy and weak ; and
a 'regular biographer,' while extracting their spirit for
his own use, would have thrown them into an appendix
as a literary curiosity.
Before coadHg to the amiable ietf^cooscioiisness of
Sonthey, we cannot help remonstrating with his son
fbr allowing his reverence for his fkther's memory to
betray him into an extravagance as oflensive to good
taste as to true religion. * I may say,* says he, in con-
cluding the preface, ' that whatever defects these volumes
may possess, I have the satisfaction of feeling that they
will verify my father's own words — words not uttered
boastingly, but simply as the answer of a oo$uoienoe void
of offence both towardt Ood and man^^** 1 have this con-
viction that, die when I may, my memory is one of
those which will smell sweet, and blossom in the dust*"
The * conviction * here is nothing more than the self-
satisfaction of a man conscious of good intentions and
kindly feelings ; but the reverend biographer ought to
know better than we, that a conscience void of offence
towards Ood is an absurdly-impossible attainment, and
one at which even St Paul only ' exercised * himself.
Southey traces his family back by the church registers
to the very reasonable date of 1696, when bis grand-
father Thomas was baptised at Wellington in Somerset-
shire. Thomas, however, it seems, had a father called
«— — ^»— ^— — I 1 1 I ■ I I II
♦ TiM Life and ObrrMpondenos of Roboit Southey: Bdited by
hie 80a, tbe nev. Chsiles Cuthbert Soothej, BLA. 6ix Yoluinei.
VoLL LoBdottt IiQagiiiau. 1649.
Bobertk fometimei designaled aa a yeosMB, sod tm-
times as a farmer, and married either to a iiieix cr
second cousiii of the philosophy Lockei ' niio is ai
held in more estimatioa than he destrvss.* Tbenii
even a tradition of a grandfother ol this Bobert,ignit
clothier } and his grandchildren having vied anoariiLl
bearinga, Southey rejoices in the idea that bii ssoaittfi
perhaps served in the Croaades, or madea pilgnsugek)
Jerusalem. His father* however, was notluBg nan
than a grocer in London, and afterwards a Ufleodnper
at Bristol His mother he introduces by this nms^
singular anecdote : — ' While she was a mere ^U^ ibe
had a paralytic affection, which deadened one lide&cQ
the hip downward, and crippled her fbr sb<7attvdTe
months. Some person advised that she sboold be pM
out of doors in the sunshine as much as potsiUe; ssl
one day, when she had been carried oat, as ozoti, axa
the fore-court, in her littie arm-chair, and left tknto
see her brothers at pUy, she rose from her lett, to tte
astonJahment of the familjr, and walked into the hM!p.
The recovery from that time was complete Tbeficta
worthy of notice, because eome persons msy derfr* hope
fVom it in simOar cases, and because Ithhjao me&ni
improbable that the sunshine really effect^ the core.*
This lady had an excellent understsn&ig and oach
readiness of apprehension, but no edaa^ bejwd
dancing and needlework. So much the Mer. 'Tvo
sisters, who had been mistresses of the moit fi^naaliie
school in Herefordshire, fifty years ago, tued to Mf,
when they spoke of a former pupil, "i?ef went to lAcoJ
to ire ; ** and the mistress of what, some ten yranhter,
was thought the best school near Bristol (when Ha
Siddons sent her daughter), spoke, to my perfect recol-
lection, much such English as this.* His mother, iur-
ever, acquired another aocomplishment : htrhigifaoii
ear for music, she * was taught by her father to vhif&:
and be succeeded in makibg her such a pretiefest ni
this nnosual accomplishment, that it wa# bis defigMto
place her upon his knee, and make her entertain hiJ
visitors with a display. This art she nerer lost, »3
she could whistle a song-tune as sweetly 11 s BkHfal
player could have performed it upon the flats.' Of
these parents Bobert Southey was bom on tbe li& of
August 1774.
His early childhood was passed with hli tint Min
Tyler j and this description of her drsirtef -iww *lfl
convey an accurate idea both of tlw meritf sad*ftcts
of the autobiographical department of the vofk>-"nie
walls Of that drawing-room were covered vith a pl«Di
green paper, the floor with a Turkey carpet: there
hung her own portrait by Gainsboroogfa, with 1 cur-
tain to preserve the frame from flies and thecdoon
from the sun ; and there stood one of the meet tentifil
pieces of old furniture I ever saw— a cahbwt rf »wry,
ebony, and tortoise-shell, in an ebony frirae. it N
been left her by a lady of the Spenser fi»milr, ind ««
said to have belonged to the great Mariboroagh. I nuj
mention as part of the parlour fumitnre a Kinare 8Ci«a
with a foot-board and a little shelf, because I Ba«
always had one of the same fashion royselA /^r it* '*'*
venience ; a French writing-table, beeaase of iti pecu-
liar shape, which was that of a Cajon-netorski^^
the writer sat in the concave, and had a drawer en e«k
side ; an arm-chair made of fine cherry-wood, which
had been Mr Bradfbrd's, and hi which she shnyi i«t- '
mentionaWe because if any visitor, who wai »ot to her
especial favour, sat therem, tte leathern cushion iij
always sent into the garden to be aired and puriflM
before she would use it again ; a me«otiiito p^t «
F<^*s Eloisa in an oval, black tmo, faeoeoBV^*
\"
CHAMBBRim SDIKBUBGH JOUHNALu
ser
•upposed likeness to herself; two pfhits in the same
khid of engraTing from pictures b/ Angelica Kauffhian
—one of Hector and Andromache, the other of Tele-
machvs at the court of Menelans: these I notice be-
cause the/ were in frames of Brazflian-wood; and the
great print of Pombal, 0 graruU Marquez^ in a similar
frame, because this was the first portrait of a&y illus*
triotts man with which I became familiar.* In this
house he slept with his aunt, and was compelled to lie
tiU nine or ten o'clock. In the wearisome waking hours
he passed in bed, perhaps the intellectual education of
the future author commenced. 'My poor little wits
were upon the alert at those tedious houra of oompul-
soiy idleness, fancying figures and combinations of form
in the curtains, wondering at the motes in the slant
sunbeam, and watching the light from the crevices of
the window-shutters, till it served me at last, by its
progressive motion, to measure the lapse of time.' A
present which he received, however, of a set of Mr
Newberry's juvenile books, appears to have had a
decided effect in determining him to literature, wliicb
was the passion of his whole life. A little later, but
still before he was seven years of age, the habit of fre-
quenting the theatre at Bath with his aunt made him
dream of being a dramatist His favourite play upon
the stage was * Cymbeline,' and next to that, * As You
Like It.* In the closet * it is curious that " Titus An.
drouicus" was at first my favourite play ; partly, I sup-
pose, because there was nothing in the characters above
my comprehension } but the chief reason must have
been, that tales of horror make a deep impression upon
children, as they do upon the vulgar, for whom, as their
ballads prove, no tragedy can be too bloody: they
excite astonishment rather than pity. I went through
Beaumont and Fletcher also before I was eight years
old; circumstances enable me to recollect the time accu-
rately. Beaumont and Fletcher were great theatrical
names, and therefore there was no scruple about letting
me peruse their works. What harm, indeed, could they
do me at that age? I read them merely for the interest
which the stories afforded, and understood the worse
parts as little as I did the better. But I acquired
imperceptibly firom such reading familiarity with the
diction, and ear for the blank verse, of our great
masters.'
After the Newberry series, the first book Southey per-
used with delight was Hoole's translation of the * Gem-
salemme Liberata,' and the next the ' Faery Queen,'
printed in old English. ' No young lady of the present
generation falls to a new novel of Sir Walter Scott's
with keener relish than I did that morning to the ** Faery
Queen." If I had then been asked wherefore it gave me
io much more pleasure than ever Ariosto had done, I
could not have answered the questioiu I now know that
it was very much owing to the magic of its verse; the
contrast between the flat couplets of a rhymester like
Hoole, and the fullest and finest of all stanzas written
by one who was perfect master of his art. But this was
not alL Ariosto too often plays with his suliti^t;
Spenser is always in earnest The delicious landscapes
vhich he luxuriates in describing brought everything
l>efore my eyes. I could fancy such scenes as his lakes
and forests, gardens and fountains, presented ; and I felt,
though I did not understand, the truth and purity of his
feelings, and that love of the beautiful and the good
which pervades his poetry.'
Uncle William was a character: — *For one or two
years he walked into the heart of the city every Wed-
nesday and Saturday to be shaved, and to purchase his
tobacco ; he went also sometimes to the theatre, which
he enjoyed highly. On no other occasion did he ever
leave the house ; and as inaction, aided no doubt by the
inordinate use of tobacco, and the quantity of small-
beer with which he swilled his inside, brought on a
premature old age, even this exercise was left off. As
8oon as he rosei and had taken his first pint of beer,
which was his only bcetd^fiMt, to the summer-house he
went, and took his statloti in the bow-window as regu*-
larly as a sentinel in a watch-box. Here it was his
whole and sole employment to look at the ibw people
who passed, and to watch the neighbotirs* wi^ aM
whose ooneems at last he became perfectly intimate^
by what he could thus oversee and overbear. He had
a nickname for every one of them.' We have no room
for the obscure schools in which Southey passed his
boyhood, but the whim of a cross pedagogue in cor*
recting a more than usually stupid boy is worth men-
tioning:— ' There was a hulking fellow (a Creole, with
negro features, and a shade of AMcan colour in him),
and WilUams, after flogging him one dSy^ made him
pay a halfpenny for the use of the rod, beoatMo he re*
quired it so much oftener than any other boy in the
schooL Whether Q was most sensible of the mulct
or the mockery, I know not, but he felt it as the
severest part of the punishment.* This is very good ;
but then follow scores of pointless anecdotes of unknown
persons, which make one entirely forget the subject of
the memoir. One of these individuals, however. Is above
the commonplace, for he furnished an image in the
' Curse of Kehama,' drawn from the poet's reooUectlons
of his flendish malignity, ' When he was shooting one
day, his dog committed some fault. He would have
shot him for this upon the spot, if his companion had
not turned the gun aside, and, as he supposed, suc-
ceeded in appeasing him : but when the sport was over,
to the horror of that companion (who related the story
to me), he took up a large stone and knocked out the
dog's brains. .... He ran a short career of knavery,
profligacy, and crimes, whidl led him Into a prison, and
there he died by his own hand.'
In his twelfth and thirteenth years Southey wrote a
good deal of juvenile poetry, chiefly translations from
the classics, but including a piece, which he very cor-
rectly pronounces to be whoUv original in its design —
• an attempt to exhibit the story of the Trojan war in
a dramatic form, la3ing the scene in Elysium, where
the events which had happened on earth were related
by the souls of the respective heroes as they succes*
sively descended. .... There was one point,' he says,
* in which these premature attempts afforded a hopeful
omen, and that was in the diligence and industry with
which I endeavoured to acquire all the historical infor-
mation within my reach relating to the subject in
hand It was perhaps fortunate that these pur-
suits were unassisted and solitary. By thus working
a way for myself, I acquired a habit and a love for in-
vestigation, and nothing appeared uninteresting which
gave me any of the information I wanted. The plea«
sure which I took in such researches, and in composi-
tion, rendered me in a great degree independent of
other amusements ; and no systematic education could
have fitted me for my present course of life so well
as the circumstances which allowed me thus to feel
and follow my own impulses.'
Miss Tyler's temper and habits grew more and more
peculiar as he advances in his boyish years. Her pas-
sion for cleanliness is equal to any oddity we meet with
in romance :•*-* That the better rooms might be kept
dean, she took possession of the kitchen, sending the
servants to one which was underground ; and in this
little, dark, confined place, with a rough stone floor,
and a skylight (for it must not be supposed that it was
a best kitchen, which was always, as it was intended to
be, a comfortable sitting-room; this was more like a
scullery), we always took our meals, and generally lived.
The best room was never opened but for company ; ex-
cept now and then on a fboe day to be aired and dusted,
if dust could be detected there. In the other parlour I
was allowed sometimes to read, and she wrote her
letters, for she had many correspondents ; and we sat
there sometimes in summer, when a fire was not needed,
for fire produced ashes, and ashes occasioned dust, and
dust, visible or inviaiblev was the plague of her life. I
have seen her order the tea-kettle to be emptied and
refilled because some one had passed aoxosa the hearth
388
CHAM^^S'S ^CUN^yHQB JQU^^Al*.
while it was on the fire preparing (<x ber breakfast.
She had indulged these humours tlfi alie had formed for
herself notions of unc^eanness almost as irrational and
iBcoQvenient as those of the Hindoos, She had a cup
once buri^ for six weeks, to puri/y it from the lips of
one whom 9be accounted unclean : all who were not her
favourites were included in that class. A chair in
which an unclean person had sat was put out in the
garden to be aired •, and I jiever saw her more annoyed
than on one occaiiion when a man, who called upon
business, seated himself in her own chair i how tbe
cushion was ever again to be rendered fit for her use
she knew not! On such occasions her fine features
assumed a character either fierce or tragio ; her expres-
sions were yehement, even to IrreTeronce ; and her ges-
ticulations those of the deepest and wildest distress —
hands and eyes uplifted, as if she was in hopeless misery,
or In a paroxysm of mental auguish.'
Our poet is at length fairly placed in Westminster
school, where the best story is of James Beresford, the
author of the * Miseries of j^uman Life/ When he was
at the Charter-House, he was a remarkably gay and
noisy fellow ; and one day, having played truant to at-
tend a concert, the school was so silent without him,
that Ills absence was at once detected, and brought upon
him a flogging. Witli such little anecdotes, though few
so good, this epoch of Southey's life concludes, having
given the reader little or no idea of his studies or man-
ner of thinking. Then commence the labours of tbe
son with his entrance into Balliol College, Oxford, in
1793, where he was condemned ' to pay respect to men
with great wigs and little wisdom.' Southey began liis
career by heroically refusing to have his long and curl-
ing hair dressed and powdered; and in spite of tbe
astonishment and touching remonstrances of the bar-
ber, he actually took his seat in the diuing-hall in tliat
state of indecent simplicity. At this time he rose every
morning at five to study, eat bread and cheese, and
drink uegus ; and he exclaims, * Let me have L.200 a
year, and the comforts of domestic life, and my ambi-
tion aspires no further.* * Never shall cliild of mine,*
says he, * enter a public school or a university. Perhaps
I may not be able so well to Instruct him in logic or
language, but I caii at least preserve him from vice.*
In his nineteenth year he completed * Joan of Arc*
His admiration at this time of Glover's ' I^eonidas,' and
his classing Voltaire with Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser,
show the juvenility of his taste ; but the biographer
quotes largely from his letters without any remark.
In 1794 his acquaintance with Coleridge began. The
latter had by that time obtained his discharge from
the 15th Light Dragoons, in which he had suddenly en-
listed as a private ; and now, on visiting Oxford, an
intimacy sprang up between him and Southey, hastened
by the heterodox views of both on the subjects of
religion and politics. They formed a plan of emigra-
tion to the New World called * Pantisocracy,' where
they meant to establish a sort of Socialist commiinity.
Southey's mother appears to have joined in the scheme ;
but with his aunt its disclosure caused a coniplete and
lasting estrangement, and turned the young philoso-
pher adrift. Coleridge and he tried to keep the wolf
from the door by delivering lectures; but Southey
was more successful in falling in with a publisher for
• Joan of Arc* — Mr Cottle — who gave him one hundred
guineas; and soon after with an unde, who carried
him with him to Lisbon. Southey prepared for this
journey by marrying Edith Pricker in 1795. •Imme-
diately after the ceremony, they parted. My mother
wore her wedding-ring hung round her neck, and pre-
served her maiden name until the report of the mar-
riage had spread abroad.*
At Lisbon be learned Spanish and Portuguese ; and
on returning to England, passed the time tUl the close
of 1796 in writing for the magazines, and workmg up
the contents of nis foreign note-books into * Letters
from Spain and Portugal* On the completion of the
task, he sat fairly down in London to the study of the
law, enabled to do so by tl^egeneroof friendship of a
coljege associate, Mr C. W, W. Wynn, from whom he
received for some years an annuity of L.I60. A few
more unimportant letters bring the narrative down to
the end of 1798, by wbich time •Madoc* wm In pre-
paration.
This closes a votome of amusing and interesting
materials, mixed with a good deal of rubbish, and the
whole roughly and carelessly thrown together, in a form
which the compiler has the modesty to tell us is not
' regular biography/ bi^t whicb» for ^ill that, win past
as such with a great majority of the English critkf.
L.B.
THE TWO EMPRESSES AND THE ARTIST.
Xt was the middle of the year 1812, that year the Utter
months of which witnessed the anaihilatioo of the French
army on the plains of Russia. Such s catastrophe
was fiir from the thong btft of s aioile inhibitunt of
Paris, when one morning in the month of June the crie-
brated artist Redouts yfu» on Ms way to Malcaaieea to
present to the Empress Josephine some paintings of
hlies. He was a great favourite with her, from hie
having devoted his pencil to flowers, of which she was
passionately fond. In full eajoyment of the k>Telj
moroingk he was gsily crossang the garden of tbe Toile*
ries. to get to the Place de la Oooeorde, wbece he in-
tended taking a coach, when he saw a crowd eegerij
hurr>^h)g in the direction of the 'walk by the wnter-tide.
The general cry, 'Tbe king of Rome! — the Erapresa!'
soon told him the object of attraction ; and the artist
quickened his steps, glad of the opportunity, thus by
chance afforded himt of seeing tbe aon of tbe £n-
petor, tbe yet cradled child of fifteen, mooth^ whom
so proud a destiny seemed to awatl.
Tt was indeed the king of Rome, So a liitle ctfriage
drawn by four snow-whtte goafs, and the Empiess
Maria-Louisa walking by its side. She was wra^pped
in a blue shawl, of a peculiar shade, known to he her
favourite colour. The crowd had gathered ontaide the
grating, around which th^y prease4 doaely ; and aa Re-
dottte stopped to gaae with the rest, he en
near him a yono^ wonaa with a child an
The garb of both bespoke extreme poTerty ; hut the
child's face was glowing with health, whilat the c^iecks
of the mother were pale and emaciated, and from ber
sunken eyes fell tears, which she cared not either to
wipe away or conceal
' My poor little onel^my darling!* ahe whisperod aa
she pressed the child still doeer to her homrn^ * joa
have no carriage, my angel $ no playttiingv— -no teya of
any kind. For him, abnndanoe, pleaaore, «v«ry jejp of
his age; fhr thee, desolation, suffering, po^rerty, hunger I
What Is he that he should be happier than ytm, dar-
ling? Both of you born the same day, the same hov!
I, as young as bia mother, and loving you aa Condlj as
she lovea him. But you have now no father, my poor
babe; you hare no father!*
The artist overheard these words of wo, and stood
with his eyes fixed Upon the poor yomg motiier, oi
utter forgetfulness of the king of Rome.
* Madame,* said he, after a momcnt^a hesitatxoii, aad
in a low voice, ' why do you not make known yonr aitsa*
tion to the Empress? *
*To what purpose, air?* cried the yountf
somewhat Utterly. « Small oompaassoa hmve lli«
ones of this world.*
* But why not make the attempt? *
* I have done so, sir, aheady. I wrote to thelBmpren,
and told her that my soti was bom the aiane di^, ^
I
chamber4*s iBMNBunaH jouhnal.
369
same Lout, with the kln^ of Borne. I told her, aUs !
that he has no father, that ray strength is failla^, that
we are utterly deatitate. Bat the Empress has not
deigned to answec*
< You will haYe an answer, rest assured. Perhaps the
niemorial has not been yet placed before her niajefity.
Give me your address, I beg of you.' And after taking
a memorandum of it, and slipping into her hand all the
money he had about him, Jtedout^ was soon rapidly
making his w<iy to the Place de la Concorde, where,
just as he was stepping iuto a carriage, he cUscorered
that his purse was empty.
' It is of no consequence,' he said *, ' I have only to
walkaHttiefast'
Josephine, mean whiles had h96n'eAgerb''ezpQafcing
the promised visit of the usually punctual artist, and
was beginning to feel uneasy lest some accident had
occurred to occasion the prolongted delay, when he was
announdfid.
^I eogflrt to soold you,* riieaaid^as she icoeived wHh
her wonted gentle gnfie the artiat^a nfieriog, *£»r de-
laykg the ploasuie I feel iA tmog this admicaUe
dmviBg,*
* I must throw myself upon your mtgesty's goodness
to excuse me,* answered Kedoute rather inconsiderately.
* I had never seen the king of Rome, and to-day I hare
been fortunate enough to catch a glhnpse o( hinb.'
Josephine started, and Redoift^, iaalaDtly awaiie of tlie
awkwardness of mentieniog the mealing, sti^ped aud-
denly in-oonfusimi.
*Iam veiy gl«d»'.<aid JoaephiAe» making a atroisg
effort to repress her emotion, * tlut you have seen the
son of the Emperor. Pray tell me where you saw him,
and who was with him ?* liedoute hesitated.
*Pray, pray go on,' said she gently, but earMstly*
He obeyed *, and told her every particular he had ob-
served, as weU a« what had delayed his arrival 'by
obliging him to walk to Maknaison.
^ I see the great artiil; aa always happens, has a feel«
ing hearty* aa^ Josephine, her sympatlurarouaedfor tlie
poor woman. *If Napoleon did but know tlie desti-
tution of this child, born the same day, the same hour
with his son ! Be with me to-morrow morning at nine
o'clock } we will together visit this poor creature.* And
tlie next morning at nine O'clock uedont^ was at Mai-
meison; and an hour affeei\ Josephine, undeterred by
tl» dark, narrow, muddy passage^ and the equally dark,
daoip stairs, increasing in steepnew every step, had
entered the wretched apartment, utterly bare of furni-
ture, in the fifth storey, inhabited by the widow of
Cliarles Blanger.
' Madame,' said Redouts, to whom Josephine had made
signs to introduce her and the object of their visit,
' you may rest assured that if the Emperor knew your
situation, he would give you relief; but there is new
no neeessify to trouble hinw This lady> whom I have
the honour to acoompaoy, is good enough to say she
will take you under her protection, and her protection
is all-su£ELcieiit.'
* What a lovely boy ! * cried Josephine, as , tlie little
orphan sat up in his cradle, and smUingly stretched
out his little arms to his mother. * Redouti^,* she said,
aa she took the child and kissed it| * did you not tell
me that he was bom the same day with the kiog of
lionie?*
* The same day and bour> madame^' answered the
young mother.
* Was it mentioned to the Emperor at the time ?*
' Ko, madame } we were happy then, and my poor
Charles had too independent a spirit to ask anything
from any one while he could work. He was an engi-
neer; and though employment ftuotMted, yet still we
wore never rtdnaed. to waul At his leisuie tisie he
used to construct model-machines, itmm, one of whioh,
novel and ingenioua in the invention, he expected both
fume and pecuniary advantage ; but he haa been sud-
denly taken from me, and I am left alone to struggle
With misery and wretdiedness. I am sinldng lower
afid lower, and gradually every resource tuis )Deeii ex-
hausted. Alas, I need not tell you !^— and she glanced
sorrowfully around the miserable little apartment.
* To-morrow you shall quit this wretched, unwhole-
some abode/ said the Empress, as she gave the child to
his mother, after fondly careasing him, and putting her
purse into his little hand. ' I will send you my own
physician; his skill, and the comforts with which I
hope to surround you, will restore your health. I rely
od you, tny good fHend,' added she, turning to the
artist, * to arrange all this for me.'
She was rising to quit the room, amid the tears and
blessings of the widow, whose heart she had ' made to
sing for joy,* when the door opened, and a young la^
entered, at sight of whom Redout^ stood motionless
with astonishment. It was Maria-Louisa, accompanied
by a newly-appointed chamberlain. As Maria-LouJsa
was never known to visit the poor man in his abode of
poverty, Redoutc had some excuse for (he uncharitable
judgment he formed on tlie instant — that this unusual
proceeding on her part was intended either as an
attempt to rival Josephine in the popularity gained by
her active and unwearied benevolence, or to please the
Emperor, as proving the lively interest she took in a
child born the same day and hour with the king of
Rome. But whatever might have been her motive,
certain it is that she was now standing in the widow's
humble abode without deigning a salutation to any one
in it.
Josephine was sweetness and gentleness itself; but
there was something in this want of common courtesy
that grated upon the pride of caste which, as a Creole
of an illustrious race, the wife of the greatest captain of
the age, and as one still feeling herself the Empress, she
retained amid desertion and the disgrace of her repu-
diation. It may be, too, that she recognised Maria-
Louisa, though she had only seen the portraits of her
who now filled her place; and she therefore resumed
her seat, as if fearful that her standing might have
been construed into homage. Maria -I/)ui8a, on her
part, was far from suspecting that the female so simply
dressed, so quietly seated iu the miserable garret, was
her still envied rival
As the artist glanced from Maria -Louisa to the
beautiful face of Josephine — for it was still beautiful,
though bearing the impress of grief even more than of
yeari — he observed that an unwonted expression of
haughty disdain now clouded that brow, usually so ra-
diant with benevolent kindness, and lie half dreaded
the result of this unexpected encounter. And now
Maria-Ltouisa, without one caress to the child, or notic-
ing it in anyway, explained in a few words the object
of her visit.
* Tour intention is most laudable doubtless, madame,'
said Josephine, still keeping her seat ; * but you are
rather late : the young mother and the cliild are under
my protection.' Maria-Louisa, with a haughty glance
at her who thus presumed to address the Empresi, said
coldly, • I have some reason to believe that my patron-
age will be a little more advantageous.' Ilere the
chamberlain quickly interposed, * It is quite certain
that you, madame, have the power of elevating the boy
to any position you may choose for him, however high.'
With a momentary bitterness of fueling, excited by
the involuntary retrospect of what she once had been,
Josephlne^s disdainful eye seemed to measure the
speaker from head to foot, as she said, ^ And pray, sir,
what leads you to conclude that I am not able to raise
whom 1 will still higher?'
* The lady duubUess intends,* said Maria-Louisa in
a tone of irony, ' to place her pro(eg<^ on the steps of the
throne.'
* Higher still, madame, if such were my pleasure,'
warmly retorted Josephine, now rising to withdraw.
* For aught you can teU, I may have given kings to the
world.'
' Beware, madame,' hastily whispered Kedouto ; ' your
majesty wUl betray yourself, and the Emi)cror wiU be
t
S9e
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
diipleftsed.* Josephine wm silent ; and the artist, who
was upoti thorns, hastily added, * I do not see why
either of these ladies need give np her share in the hap-
piness of doing good. I shall feel honoured in accept-
ing fbr my happy prot6ges whatever Idndness it may
please either to hestow npon them/ Josephine made
no answer, bat with head erect, left the room; and
Redonte, respectfally bowing to Maria-Louisa, was fol-
lowing, glad to have prevented an ontbreak which
might have had serious consequences, when a hand laid
upon his arm made him turn round : it was the cham-
berlain.
* Sir,* said he in a low whisper, * do you know that
the lady whom I have had the honour of attending
here is her majesty, the Empress Maria-Louisa?'
* Sir,' answered Redouts in an equally low voice, * the
Indy that I have had the honour of attending here is
the Empress Josephine.'
In less than two years after this meeting Josephine
had sunk under the never-healed wound that Napoleon's
desertion had inflicted, and died at Malraaison ; and
Maria-Louisa had, it may be joyiVilIy, quitted a country
which she had never loved, and in which she never suc-
ceeded in making herself beloved. During these two
years the widow had lived upon the daily bounty of her
royal patronesses, and was consequently now as desti-
tute as when they first entered her abode of poverty.
In vain had Redout^ often placed before Josephine his
view of what patronage, to be really useful, ought to be
— the helping others to help themselves. In vain had he
urged her to establish the widow in some way of earn-
ing her independence. * Time enough for this when the
boy is grown up.* But death came, and reverse of for-
tune, and no friend now remained to the widow and the
orphan but the artist, and nought remained to him
from the vast wreck but his talent and his reputation.
Circumstances might indeed render the productions of
his pencil less a source of emolument, but these circum-
stances were but temporary: the artist would again
rise to fame and fortune, while Napoleon and Maria-
Louisa had fallen irretrievably.
Redoute acted on the principle he would have had
the widow's royal patronesses to act : he procured
employment for the widow; and, thanks to his influence,
she was enabled to earn sufficient to place her above
want, while he took upon himself the education of her
child. But the mother's health was failing ; and when
Redouts, previous to a short absence from Paris, went
to take leave of her, she expressed her belief that he
would not find her alive at his return, and with tears
she solemnly commended her boy to his care. Though
he had not attached much weight to her presentiments,
yet it was with a somewhat uneasy feeling that, imme-
diately on his return, he went to the house. The door
was open ; and as he ran up stairs, a sound reached him
which struck upon his heart : they were fastening down
the coffin of the widow, and in a corner of the room
was the little Charles weeping bitterly. Some distant
relations stood by the coffin in cold and audible debate
as to what was to be done with the child.
* I see nothing for him bat the Orphan Asylum,' said
one.
* Oh no, no I pray do not send me there,* cried the
child. * My own dear mamma worked for her bread,
and so can I. You do not know how much I can do if
you will but try me.' At this instant he caught a
glimpse of Redout!, and throwing himself into his
arms, he exclaimed, * You are come back, dear, good
friend, and you will not send me to the asylum I » The
artist pressed the poor boy to his bosom.
* Have you no hearts?^ he said, indignantly turning
to the relations. * This boy shall be my care.' And
what the most powerful among the powerful had not
done, he did — he, the comparatively obscure and humble
artist. He secured to his protcgd present comfort and
future respectability, by teachmg him, as soon as pos-
sible, to help himself. Charles Blanger became not only
his best pupil, bat a celebrated painter, making tihe
same ose as fals noUe-roinded master of ttiat knowle^
which is power, and of that talent which is one of thoiw
possessions described by Aristides in his celebrated
maxim, ' Heap up no treasures save those which, ihoold
shipwreck come, will float with the owner.'
TRACINGS OE THE NORTH OE EUROPE.
TBONDHIEM — TOY AQE TO TKB MOBTO.
As Trondhiem (or, in the English heterograpby, Drem-
ihiem) is placed somewhere in the 63d parafld, and
therefore about the same latitude with the sevth of
Iceland, an Englishman naturally expects to find It a
place of cold and harsh appearance, possibly ooeapied
exclusively by people wearing skin-dreaaes with tbt
wool innennost He is somewhat surprised wliea
Trondhiem turns out to be a neat and rather bright-
lookmg town of rectangular streets, composed of nice
wooden and brick houses, ail of them coloured red at
yellow, and as clean as possible, and the grcflter bwb*
her showing white gauze curtains, with pretty floweriDf^
plants* in the windows; while the pavis present a
display of ladies and gentlemen as well dressed n those
of any town of its size (about 14,000 inhabitants) in
England. The fact is, Trondhiem is a port of consider-
.able trade, as well as the centre of iobnd bmnnesa for
the large provinces towards the north ; and it has Owre-
fore no occasion to be otherwise than a thriving and
smart place. With regard to cKmate, I can testify tlial;
OR the 17th of July, it was hardy possible to walk the
streets during the day on account <rf the intense heal
The harbour is formed by the emboochure of the river
Nid, formerly spoken of.
I had but a single afternoon at this tinoe to derote to
an examination of the town. I remarked, howrres,
the number of handsome country mansions surroniidiBf
it — the residences of the most considerable merehanta
The inspection of the cathedral 1 left fbr my return.
The central office of the Bank of Norway is here in a
plain, modest building at the comer of one of the streeli.
I remembered that the branch of a Scottish hank at
the small town of Stirling is a more imposhig strortofs,
but without drawing any inference therefrom against
either the resources or the wisdom of the Norwegiaa
directors. As Trondhiem is a place of so much im-
portance, and lies exposed to invasion by sea, it has a
large garrison, and is finrther protected by a small, low
fortifled island in fh>nt called Monksholm. On aceoost
of its being the ancient capital, and its possessing — wbst
Christiania wants — a fine old cathedral, the kings of
Sweden are here crowned as kings of Norway. So
lately as 1834, when Mr Laing visited the pisoe, there
were no hotels — only a private lodging, into whidi
strangers could be received. Now there are ^ireehotds,
two of which at least are comfortaMe houses.
Having an introduction to Mr Knadtzen,the Bngliah
consul, I was invited to go to that gentleman's ooontry-
house in the evening. It is a small villa, on the face ti
a fine slope rising to the east, and scarcely half a
mile from town. Such places, I found, are only toed
during the brief period of summer ; for winter Kfe, Mr
Knudtzen has an elegant mansion on the quay. This
gentleman, and his brother Mr Jorgen Knndt^i, whom
I met at my visit, are interesting eximiples of mereantds
men, of studious habits, refined tastes, and high acoom*
plishments. They have a large library, and many fine
works of art Their cbnversation — and they can ooo-
verse in a variety of languages — is elegant and instnic-
tive. Mr Jorgen Knudtzen has lived much at Rotna,
where the numlser of his resident countrymen is nevally
very small. On his first being there, he soon attracted
the regard of the great sculptor, merdy becaose of tihe
connectbn between Denmark and Norway and the
s I remarlied the Qu<mm» to be In great tK94mm/t
aad wM amaeeit at the odd iciB«e ol mse i^Moipiet
the windows One ia a Utile tnamfBtd to ^ada Stmt^^
pUnt abundant in Norway, albeit in ita moat laIUpttti«i
CHAMBBHfiW m>1XWWtB. JO0BK AL.
$»l
mnoity of their Ungoagd. Th«y were yr&y friendly to-
gether for a number of yean. When the iculptor was
above fifty, an attachment iprung up between him and a
Scottish lady, Misa M. of S. ; but the lady*a friends, from
readily-appreciable motives, interposed so many veica-
tious delays, that Thorvaldsen at last grew disgusted ;
and with the advice of his friend, he rescued himself
from the un]^easant predicament into which he had been
thrown. It was certainly well that this happened, for
the Danish Phidias had not acquired the refined habits
whidi would have been demanded in polite English
life. It also left his property free to be bestowed upon
his country. Here Mr Knudtxen was of a degree of
service which should endear his niune for ever to Den-
mark. Thorvaldsen designed to leave such of his works
as he possessed, and the bulk of hii fortune, to his
country } but he was not a man of business habits, and
had long put off this duty from time to time, so that it
seemed in danger of never being performed at all ; in
which case, if the sculptor should die at Borne, the
authorities tiiere were sure to appropriate nearly every-
thing to themselves. By urging him at proper oppor-
tunities, Mr Knudtaen at length induced Thorvaldsen
to dictate to his secretary instructions which served
for making a proper will ; and thus the object so im-
portant to Denmark was secured.
Mr Broder Knudtzen posseasea at his town*house
several beautiful small alH relievi by Thorvaldsen } and
it certainly is a thing highly relishable to find such
objects in so remote a part of the civilised world.
These kind-hearted gentlemen were eager to introduce
me to an enjoyment of a different kind in a grove near
thair villa, sil the trees of which had been brought from
Scottish nurseries. The evening was a more beautiful
one than it if at all common to see in England. The
gentlemen sat in the open air in front of the house,
most of them in very light dresses. By and by we took
a walk to the summit of the slope on which the house
is situated ; and there, at about nine o'clock, enjoyed a
beautiful and extensive view of the land and sea scenery
around Trondbiem, as well as a magnificent sunset,
bathing the. opposite hills in a crimson glory. It was
difficult to imagine all this as appertaining to Norway.
About an hour thereafter I walked into tlie town: it
was now a pale but beautiAil twilight Ten o'clock
having struck in the cathedral tower, I heard a strange
wild voice suddenly burst forth, with abrupt risings
and fallings, and brief intervals of silence, lasting in all
about a minute. Such a sound one might have expected
to proceed from some prophet warning a sinAil people
of future wa It proved to be the cry of the watchman
in the church tower, uttering, according to an ancient
custom, some Scriptural texts, not exactly to let the
pe(^e know that all was right about the town, as far
as fire and other external dangers were concerned, but
to give assuranoe to the authorities that he was awake,
and on the watch lest any such dangers should occur.
It is deemed necessary to be thus careful about fire in
Trondbiem and other Scandinavian towns, as, being
chiefly built of wood, the burning of one house is prett^y
sure to lead to the conflagration of many. The watchers
Are enjoined to look out, and proclaim their vigilance
at the stroke of every hour and quarter of an hour on
the clock during the whole night. To the apprehension
of a stranger it is an eerie sound; and even after its
commonpl^ explanation, I could never hear it moan-
ing through the calm night -air without a sensation
approaching to superstitious awe.
I had this day taken a berth in the Prinds Oustaf^ a
X)ost steamer, which sails once in three weeks during
summer from Trondbiem to Hammerfest, calling at
many intermediate stations, an invaluable engine of
civiUsation for the noorthem provinces of Norway. Mv
design was to visit a district in Norwegian Lapland,
not far from the North Cape, where I was aware there
were some geological objects of an interesting character,
and where it was to be presumed the state of society
«*>mmI«I
i«ptfk a«« 4m4A«i*a#J*t<* a^tiflvf
ItAwiMtafttiS
returning hy the next course of the steamer, five
weeks henoe, and then proceeding on my land jour-
ney. Meanwhile my drosky was to be left behind in
Trondbiem, as it could be of no use in a country where
there are no roads. I was also recommended to leave my
servant, as it would be necessary to obtain assistance of
a totally difierent kind in the &r north. It was with
reluctance that I consented to the latter step, as I f^
it to be dangerous for a man to be left idle for so long a
time amongst strangers. It seemed, however, unavoid*
able. For his own advantage, I urged him to use every
endeavour to obtain some employment durmg my ab-
sence, assuring him that I should pay his wages and
board for the interval with all the more pleasure if he
had gained something more from other people. I
thought it not impossible that he might obtain a brief
engagement from some travelling Englishman, and yet
return in time for me; and I therefore left a strong
recommendation in his hands, to be shown in case of
such a person casting up. Unfortunately he did not
obtain any employment whatever during my absence ;
but he nevertheless spent the time in a manner with
which I had no occasion to find fault
Our voyage commenced next morning (July 18th) at
seven o'clock. The first day's sail, after clearing the
Trondbiem fiord, was through a succession of straits,
bordered on the one hand by little islands, generally
little above the sea, and on the otiier by the mainland,
here composed of bare rocky hills, of no great elevation,
and generally too much softened by rounding to be yery
picturesque. The most striking object was a Une of
erosion seen at intervals running along the face of the
hills at the height of several hundred feet ' This is
simply a rough horizontal cut in the rocks, considered
by geologists as having been made by the sea at an
ancient period, when the land was relatively to the sea
several hundred feet lower than at present. M. Keil-
hau of Christiania has described such objects as being
traceable in various parts of the Norwegian coast ; and
I had marked one, on the hills overlooking Trondbiem
to the westward, of which I hoped to be able to measure
the elevation on my return.
The steamer is one of moderate dimensions, but con-
ducted in a creditable manner. There is a cabin of the
size of a good parlour, where three meals are served up
each day : frocost, or breakfast, at nine, consisting of
fish, eggs, bread and butter, wiUi coffee or beer ; mid-
dag, or dinner, about three, comprising several good
dishes, and always followed by a cup of coffee ; aftengmcU,
or supper, at eight, consisting of little dishes of raw
salmon and herrings, slices of tongue and ham, bread,
cheese, and butter, with which can be had coffee or tea,
as well as beer. With each of these meals there is pre-
sented a hottle of corn brandy — a liquor nearly as sweet
and tempting as the cordial called /riimme/— and of tliis
every native gentleman takes a glass before his meal.
But I observe that these persons very seldom order
even a single glass of wine, though very good sherry
and Madeira, as well as French wines, are to be had.
There are two active waiters, besides a stewardess who
attends without The captain presides, a perfectly
gentlemanlike man, bearing rank in the Norwegian
navy, able to speak English, and of unfaiRng good-
humour and civility. His lieutenant is a younger man,
also bearing a commission, speaking still better English,
and altogether very much like an English naval officer,
which indeed is the less surprising, as he actually did
serve for some time in the English navy. Then there
is another officer, whose duty it is to attend to the
posts, but unluckily he s^aks only his own language.
Behind the sitting-cabin is one lighted from the stern,
containing ten beds for passengers. There is also a
ladies' cabin, but of smaller dimensions* The passengers
are mostly Norwegians — very well-dressed ladies and
gentlemen in the cabin, and yerv plain-looking poor
people in the fore-part of the vessel, who seem to depend
for their meals chiefly upon certain light boxes of their
■ lll.l l^lfcfc^M
S»2
CHAMBERS'S &DlTidtmGff JOUHKAL.
the Mtet ttre two Quamst ancl in tbem I see fbr Iftie firtt
timeeKMDples of what may be called the aatage people
of Eun^. They are dressed in skin tunica, with caps,
lm1og«, and shoes of tbe eame material Simple, hi-
ommsire people they appear to he ; but I am told that
they have been at Trondhiem undergoing punishment
fb^ some oflRsnce against the laws. The term Quaem^ it
may be remariced, is one applied in the north of Nor-
way to certain ^igtcs, who have come within the last
few years in considerable numbers from Finland, since
it beOame % province of Russia. They are not very
readily to be distinguished from the Laplanders amongst
whom they have settled.
During the first day's sail, after clearing the fiord,
there were hardly any appearances of population on ihe
coast. Only here and there is a softer and greener spot,
or a sheltered nook, where man has obtained a footing.
Tliere are, nevertheless, a few landing-places, implying a
populat^n in the interior, and, wlmt indicates the same
thing, one or two htmddmMn's establishments. These
are shops for retail business in the necessaries of Ufe:
they are conducted by licensed traders, wlio have each
a certain district assigned to him, within which no other
person is etttHled to sell certain articles. The arrange-
ment is of the nateffe of a monopoly, and is perhaps
attended with some of the usual eflSeets ; but it was
tAiiought to be unavoidable in Norway, in order to in.
daoe respeetahte men to plant themselves in such wil.
dernesses. Whatever be the character of the handele-
man*s trade, it was pleasant^ on tuming^ some corner of
the IflfUd, to come upon his oleaiii yellow or red house,
with its wooden wharf stopping out fWmi the rock into
the calm sea, and its cheerful flag dying from some pro-
miaent crag near by^-^ven though it mig^t be impos-
sible to discern a single paU^ of cultivable ground, or
so much as grass for a goose or a kid within miles
around. Tliere was always a stir about the place when
the steamer approached, and generally a boat put off* to
bring or reoeive passengers. One can of course imagine
the passing of tAie Prinda €kt$taf to be the grand event
of tbe three weeks for those who live near its course. I
observed once or twice, wheee no bouse was visible, a
group of ohildren, with one or two grown females, seated
on tms top of a bank of fo^k overlooking the sea, ap-
parently waiting merely to behold the transit of this
trt-weekly wonder, as, after we had passed, they were
seen rising and taming slowiy away towards tlieir
homes.
A pause of several hours took pkice On the second
morning at Gutvig, on account of the post ; and a young
Knglish tottrist, who landed to see the country, brought
baok to me a report that he had seen shells a good way
from the shorsi and at some height above the sea. As
we went oil to-day, the scenery of the mainland im-
proved in gnmdeur, and patches of snow annong the
mountains becsme more idmsdant The sea, protected
by Islands on the left, continued perfectly calm. Of its
geneval tranqniHIty we have an infallible token in the
arrangement of the wooden wharves at the merchants*
establishments. These stnaotnrea advance into the sea,
resting on piles, with no bulwark to protect them from
the dash of lAie waves-^thus imj^yiog that there is at
no time here any iMb violent action ou the ooast as
we are accustomed to see in the British islands. Many
sman vessels passed us, stuffed fiiU and piled high with
dried fish, of the odour of which we were sensible at a
great distance* These wars emissaries of the important
fisheries of the Lofoden Isles, and were proceeding to
Bergen, the grand entrepM whence this articfe is ex*
ported to tho Catholie oomronnities along the Medi-
terranean. Between ten and eleven we passed the
rocky Island of Tovge<^ remarkaUe for a perforation
which passes ftom one side to the other. It is a hill
above 1000 feet in lieight. and this aperture is about
halfway up. Probably a eoft stratum has been worn on
both sidee by the sea wiMn at this lev«l, till a oemplete
peifdratl6n was eflbcted*
At three in the aflemoon the steamer stopped at
TUttto, to land a young* gentleman, tiie eldest tton <3l ^
proprietor of that and some neigfabourin^ ifiafids. He
had been two years from home on his travels, and nov
he was to return to the paternal dome. The ship twsng a
little in advance of its proper time, the captain agreed to
make a brief pause ; and tiie kind-hearted yovng maa
invited the cabin passengers to land with him, and spend
an hour at his father's house : an offer whiefi I for ooe
gladly embraced, as it was important fer me to aee as
much as possible of domestic life in Norway. Imagiae
us, then, proceeding in boats towards a low island of
rock alternating with green sward, ami<M & panecmna
of the stem gray mountains of the district. Toong
Brodtkorb goes by faimsdf in the first, eag^r to get to
famd, where a middle-aged gentleman, and one or two
other persons, are seen waiting to receive htm. "nie
youth jumps ashore, and rushes into the arms of his
father. All is a charming excitement in the Uttle group.
As we successively come ashore, we are introduced to
the elder Mr Brodtkorb, a fine, amiable-loolring persoo,
in externals very much like a Bcotoh laird, being dressed
in a black frock-coat and a white hat, bearing also, how.
ever, in bis hand the ordinary inseparable oompanloa of
a Norwegian gentleman of his years-^a long pipe of horn
and ebony. We then advanced to the house, which
stood at no great distance, and proved to be a very i;ood
woodeU mansion, with tlie grass growing up to the Tery
door. The day had been cool at sea, but We felt it
warm here. Within the porch was a good -tookiog,
middle-aged lady, the stepmother of our young fi?llow-
passenger, freshly dressed for the occasion in a brown
silk gown and gay cap, and surrounded by the yoanger
branches of the family. From her we all received a most
polite greeting. We were then ushered, twenty strong,
into two uncarpefed rooms ; for so are the rooms of t^
best houses In Norway during summer, carpets beiBg
only used in winter. In one, besides other femitnrc.
was an oh! Clemen ti pianoforte ; in the other a good
historical picture by a native artist, representing the
murder of King Haco by a monk : a pioture, by the
way, of fine rich effect. Oofiee was served, pipes were
smoked, and conversation indulged In, the hoet speakxag
a little English to myself and two other Bnglishmen
present. I afterwards learned that he had reoe^^ port
of his education at the unirersity of Bdinbnrgh. We
were told that he is an affluent proprietor, and I felt
interested in getting a peep of the dcmtestie atate of
such a femily in this dutrict of Norway. The sim-
plicity, united with education and good manners, recalled
the pleasant pictures which Johnson and BosweO give
of the life and state of the Hebridean gentiy — the
Macleans and Macleods of seventy years ago ; pictares
which, I may remark, are rapidly attaining a Jbbtorieal
▼alue. Una£fected kindness beamed in the fsces of all
towards tiie strangers, and when we came away, they
accompanied us to our boats, and stood in a irrowp wpoa
the grassy shore, even till our figures oo the TeaaeTs
deck must have ceased to be discernible. I felt the
pleasing effect of social good -will, even without the
charm of conversation, and parted witli the shores of
Tiotto with regret, half - melancholy to think that I
should see these worthy people no more.
In the course of the afternoon we passed Uie Seven
Sisters, a mountain with seven peaks or devoted tnasaet,
very sterile and grand, and telling with the effect of
their whole height, as they rise direct fVom tfie waitat's
edge. We passed also a great crowd of fish-ak>opa feon
the Lofoden Isles, laden full and high, aad with the
national flag flying merrily from each stern. They give
the idea of a great traffic. Tiie weather was now so
temperate, that we could sit on deck for hours, obeerv-
ing these and other objecto, and indulging in the medi-
tations which they were fitted to excite. Straogily-
various thoughte will arise in sucAi drcumstanoea. I
reflected on the enterprise of man, whieh nakaa these
desolate shores a scene of iadnstry, and coaacqnenti^ a
seat of civilised and respectable oxiatencec And thea
an idea came into my mind to legttd th«
I
L
OHAMBBBfim EDQIBUBCm JOUENAL.
393
planeU a» ftbips wliDg in the a«ft of hearen, ever along
and along on their appointed Toyagoi* freighted with
Enjoying and Sofiering, hearts dancing and hearts
breaking, but knowing little of the beginning or end
of their course.
At a particular place, after passing the island of
Vogten, I observed a long line uf sinall nninhabited
isles outside of our course, all of them so low upon the
water as to form merely one thin line. Here is, I should
suppose, a proof of the power of the sea to wear down
to its own kvel rocks which may have previously been
a little ajbove it — for we cannot well imagine that
Uirongh any other cause so lengthened a series of rocks
was originally of this uniform height.
About ten in the evening we passed the Arctic Circle.
The sun was setting in splendour; tlie air was so mild
as not to deiiiand gloves on our liands as we paced
the deck ; I could even trace the glimmer of the land-
tide between us and the sunset sky. How different all
these particulars from our ordinary aasociationa with
the frigid zone 1 We English remarked it with surprise,
and one added, pointing to a well-dressed old gentleman
who sat on deck eternally smoking his pipe, ' There is
a clergyman — I am told his cure is at Bodo, a little
farther on — ^you conld not have supposed, from his ap-
pearance, that he lives in a place where, for a portion
of the year, the sun does not rise ! His remote situation
seems to vSect him very little.' We were all of opinion,
for the five-hundredth time, that really things of the
most unpleasant report are apt to appear not qiiite so
bad upon actual acquaintance.
Nearly about the same time we passed a remarkably-
shaped mountain called tlie Hestmao, situated on an
island close on our left. The name of this mountain,
signifying the Horseman, refers to the shape, which is
that of a man on horseback, with his cloak falling to
the crupper behind him. Seen as it was b^y us in t^e
twilight, and in so lonely and desolate a region* we <
lu>w apt it would be to inspire superstitious ideas ia a
primitive people: it was not therefore surprising to
learn that there is a popular tale referriog to tlie Hest-
man. He was, it is said, a magician, who bved a
maiden far to the south at Lekoe. Being informed that
she rejected him, he, in his wrath, launched a javelin
at her, which, after perforating TOTget, and producing
the hole still seen in that mountain, stew the girl as she
sat spinning at her door. A ro<^ sonoething like a
human figure, is pointed out on Xiekoe as the body of the
slain ma^n. As for the Hestman, he was changed with
his horse into stone, and condemned to remain a monu-
ment of his own wickedness to all time. I was curious
to ascertain the actual character of the ot^ect, and soon
perceived that it was produced by a very ordinary geo*
logical arrangement — namely, a mass of strata thrown
up on an inoUnation, with the broken edgea fiarmin^ a
bold irregular escarpment. A knob-hke maas accident-
ally left at top reipresented the horseman's head } the
straight dip of the strata awsor from below this point
gave the appearance of the falling cloak ; while some
irregularities in the escarpment passed very well fur
the horse's head and ears. The feUcity of aU these par-
ticulars in making up so familiar a figure was never-
theless curious, and this was stiU further increased by a
certain angular mass below, not unlike the hind-Umb of
a horse. As a curiosity, the Hestman may be classed
witii those sections of marblea and agates in which,
aided by the strong imaginations of lapidariofs, we are
taught to trace landscapes and profiles of the Duke of
WeUiugton.
At six next morning (July 90) we came to a pause
in front of Bodo, a mere handfal of houses situated on a
rooky shore« yet a place of some local consequence^ on
account of its being- the only thing like a town on the
coast of itoway throughout a space as great as finun
X^ondon to Aberdeen. We all rose under the excite-
ment of the event, and gazed with interest on the UtUe
village, with its huge wooden wharf advancing into the
aq^honties of the district and one or two noerohants, and
its cluster of meaner abodes^ all of them backed by a
range of stem* but partially - wooded mountains. Some
passengers were to land here, including the fine-looking
old dergymaiir and also a young and baudsome widow,
who, we were told, was about to contract a second mar-
riage in tliis remote comer of tlie earth.' The post,
too, was to be attended to, and woukl oauie .a deli^ of
several hours» during which we were all at liberty to
go ashore; I agreed with two SngHsh £^ow-passengers
— gentlemen in quest of salmon-fishing and shooting
— to have a ramble in the neighbouHiQod of Bodi>.
I found a considerable tract of flat ground^ covered
with tiiin peat, and having boidders scattered about.
About a nolle and a-half inlAnd was the parish church,
with a oomfortable prettegaard or parsonage close by,
affording additional proof that there might be toler-
able hi9 within the Arctic Circle. Tlie end of the
church a^aoent to the road contained a sculptured
gravestone, which had originally had a place on the
ground, as the monument of a pastor of Bodo of
the era of our Commonwealth. His figure, carved at
full length in the centre of the stone, was curious as
a memorial of the costume of that time. Behind
the church, the plain is confined between ranges
of rock, and here we found that the ground to a con-
sideral^e depth is composed of a mass of shells. Two
pits are opened, from which supplies are taken to
form and mend the roads. There is in these pits
nothing but shells — cockles, mnss^s, wlielks. limpits
of a minute size, &c^— ^nerally entire and fresh, as
if they had ooly been deposited in the sea at some
recent date. Many of the bivalves continue to have
their two pieoes lying against each other, indicating the
calm state of the sea in which they were laid down. As
in all simiUr cases throughout Scandinavia, these shells
are identical as species with the rooUusca now living in
the neighbouring sea* I knew this to be the general
fact, and afterwords obtained special proof of its being
true in this instance, when I had an opportunity of
submitting specimena to a distinguished naturalist at
Upsala. JSinding among the shells certain minute cal-
careous ohjects like the spines of seanirohins («cAtrM),
I searched on the sliore for the recent ah^ of such
animals^ and found, by the use of a good glass, that the
spines which they bear are precisely the same as those
of the shell-pits. There is also Tery common on the
present shores a class of calcareous objects called nuJU-
pora{ once thought to be remains of corallines, but
now regarded as inorganic concretions. Of these the
raised beds of Bod5 contained numerous examples.
Over the shell •* deposits was a thin layer of sand, and
the higliost sur&ce of the ground sppeared, on a rough
measurement, very neari^ 100 feet above the sea.
Coming to a hamlet composed of poor people's cot-
tages, we entered one in quest of a draught of milk. The
interior was dirty, and the aspect of the women by no
means interesting. An old sickly woman, sf appear-
ance superior to the rest^ sst at a little teble partaking
of coffee^ which surprised us, as it was just one o clock.
She took the beverage, in a peculiar way, which I
believe was ottco practised in S(x>tland ; tliat is to say,
first putting a piece of augar-can^y into her mouth, and
tben taking a sip of the eoflGse.
Bod/S hM some priTileges as a commercial station,
and has been looked to as a place likely to rise to im-
poiianoe in connection with the Lofoden fishings, for
which it is a convenient entvepdfc. Somehow it has not
as yet fulfilled the expectations formed of it, or answered
the views of the government hy wltieh it was patro-
nised. Some years ego, an English company settled
here under favour of the government, and great things
were expected. After a short tinw, it was. accused of
smuggling to an astounding extent, and a vast quan-
tity of contraband goods was seized and put into the
customhouse^ firom which they were afterwards ex-
tracted in a mysterious manner. X am afraid thsit the
894
0fiAMBBB8« BDIKBtJBGtt JOUBKAL
I
colculftied lo mdvAOM the C9e4ii of the EngUih baim
amonf the people of Nonri^.
During the afkernoon eiul eTening*! lall the eeenery
Mtumed a wild yrtndeur beyond what it had hitherto
diapbi^ed. The distant range of Lofoden lales, on vhioh
the aim was descending in splendour, was eicoeedingly
grand ; not so mach ih>ni their loftiness — for they are
seldom above 3000 feet high — as from the troinendoys
nigged or serrated outline. On the land side are maay
remarkable peaks, ipringing up, bare and stem, from
the general mass of the monntain-groond : one slope I
observed to be at an angle of not less than 66 degrees,
and therefore, I preeome, inaccessible to hnroan foot
Palobci of snow rest on these Alps, generally a good
way down, giving a wintry air to the scenery, and
therifora much at issue wilh the sensations we expe-
rienced under a temperature that would hate done
honour to Italy.
Next day was one of ineessant sailing. In the fore-
noon we approached the straits between the Lofoden
I»Ies and the mainland. I remarked here that the rocks
appear lets rounded than they are farther south, and
examples of debris resting against them began to be
seen. The upper portions of the hills hare evidently
not been subjected to the wearing influence of the ice of
ancient times, for they stand up in all their primitive
roughness. On the island of Hindde, which we pass
on the left, I observed, for the first time since leav-
ing the neighbourhood of Trondhiem, traces of those
markings on the coatt which indicate a former rela-
tive level of sea and land different from the present.
We here see two faint lines along the face of the
Ipland, one of them apparently about 50 foet high,
the other nearly 100 feet higher. The same objects
are more faintly traceable on the mainland. I had
afterwards, in returning, an opportunity of observing
these objects in a more distinct form at Trondenaes,
the northern extremity of the island. There is here a
pleasant mixture of hill and valley, amidst which ap-
pears a mercantile station called Rastabhavn, together
with a church, while the picturesqueness of the scene
is increased by a little rough isle in fh)nt called
llaagtfe. The two lines here cross both the rough and
the soft slopes, leaving in the former a section of rock,
on the latter an indented bank. On Maagtfe the upper-
most of the two appears in the form of a deep horizontal
cut in the rough summit of the island — a cut which has
shorn through the inclined strata generally, but left a
few hard pieces standing up in columnar fashion, ex-
actly as we see in the case of the harder strata pre-
sented on a rocky beach of our own era. On the neigh-
bouring coasts of the mainland the same two lines
appear more or less clearly marked. I subsequently
ascertained that they are also visible in Raft Sund, on
the south-west aide of Hindde, in latitude 68 degrees 20
minutes, being the most southerly point to which I
have traced them.
From HindiJe northward, the shores appear to be
more populous, for we now begin to take in a consider-
able number of passengers, who leave us again, perhaps,
a station onward. My untravelled fellow-countrymen
will be curious to learn what sort of people these were,
who jive and move in the first circle of the frigid zone.
The answer is — men with good superfine black clothes,
respectable blue doaks, and tolerable hats \ women
in coloured prints or black silks, with gauze bonnets
and parasols : such people as one would take for clergy-
men and mercantile men, and clergymen's and mercan-
tile men's wives, if met in a steamer in our own country.
While pausing at a place called Ibbestad, I observed,
for the first time, the movements of the medusae, which
haunt these northern seas in great numbers. The
graceful march of the animal in its proper element is
in striking contrast with its aspect, as it lies a mass of,
to all appearance, scarcely-organized blubber on the
beach. We also observed in the dear water numerous
specimens of an animal of still greater beautv, the beroe,
which, though little more than an organized lack, casts,
as it mores along, an Mdeseeot glitter akeg iti ko^,
like a flash of the light of gams mizedvith goU. 1
should think, were it possible to keep this ereitare in
ponds or crystal globes, it would sooo pot goldfitli oat
of fashion. Towards the dose of this, the foorth cto*
ing of our voyage, I observed three terraces exteodiog
for a oonsideraUe way on Andeijd Island, lU tppi.
rently under 100 foet, and therefore sseningly t dHlnit
system flpom the othett. We went to bed betioMi,
expecting to be roused aft an early hour oezt bmr*
ing opposite the town of Tromsfle, our itoppip il
which for a da/ was expected to be of sn ealiwuiv
tendency. E C
OUT OF WORK.
BT ▲ WORKUro HAH.
Whit a dieaiy phrase I How suggsiths of ksigiyasT'
Ings and empty cupboards— of rostless waadeiiigi iond
fro — -of gloomy certainties and glosBusr sstiapstiflBi!
How it disturbs a man's relations witk toattjl Toq
have lost a vantage-ground. That whidi s week ip m
possible is now impossible. You are beeome s pariah
without intending it; and yen eye squalid people with a I
eort of shudder, half-peisuaded that ere long 70a vill bi
of them. How grudging and envious tlieveddieeMte
have grown I You fancy that every one is ai wcU aiaieef
your feelings as you are yourself, and whatorer dimvne
may be addressed to you sounds as if pointed with u
embittered sting.
Nothing to do is bad enough; birt sot of woikl— b^
stifling words — takes us far beyond, sftn aoMi tke Bn-
hicon of despsratien. And yet il is asaietkiB|teki«t
what the phrase really does mean. ItisaUrtttvUd
you look back with liseUngs similar to thoes wUck p»
sess the survivor of a shipwreck or other fearful cslsaitj. '
You would avoid the trial if posaiblo; bet barisg fvei
through it^ are rather glad than otherwiie at liaraig^'
dured it. 8uch retrospections, it may be said, sie vf
congenial, yet it appears to me that humaa eipenesei, if
reviewed in a right q>irit, can hardly fsil to mnjt
usefhl lesson to those who read its histoiy. Ujtm^
are prompted by what has happened to mjtt^ vd ^
on that account, if on no other, present soaie il^ cIbm
to notice.
Out of work!— how the grim reaUty hanati yw, «»i
how vain the efforts to shake it off"! Then yon end«|
stand fully why Keata speaks of sleep as *ctaM^'
and join heartUy with Sandio Fanaain *bli«ns><»^
man who invented sleep.' The appioadiof beitiBivi«
as welcome to me then as to a tiavel-worB peMtta,
and I shall never forget the soothmg chana aitkeoD-
consdousness of sleep gradually stole over me. hi *
fluence would remain for a few brief moneDti oa iiiM
awaking the next morning; but presently s Tsgae «??►
hension of some impending ill would creep orer IM, n*
then, when fully awake, n^ heart swelled wiib ooe kip
choking throb, and the leaden gloom setM ^^ **
my mind for the rest of the day.
How the moral reacts on the physicalt I ■•«»
walk briskly; now I went about with a kentatiag ^
and with a bearing that throateaed to degeaciate loM
slouch. I once believed my principles firm, and Bjw'
in essential points sound— that my mind was made opjj
to sodal rights and moral duties— but the ancha -WJ
had suddenly given wsj, and I was •^^^ *rij[
uncertainties, I began tofan«grnv»«l^>^***"^*J**Tl
he was the wisest who, in the general "'»™^?!^
most. What had I done to be thns »«™^^,"^
prived of ways and means, whUe men whom I **^*°7
half 10 deserving were hi fiiU work! It was a hard qw
OHAMBERS'B milNBUBGH JOURNAL.
895
tion to annrvr under ihe eifcumfta&cec, tad harder Ml
to aeknowledge that I had no right to complain. Again,
how many there were who could live in ease and com-
fort without laborious toil, while I, at the best of times,
had nothing but mj manual skill and a week's wages
between roj little household and destitution. Turn it
which way I would, the idea wia a harassing one. The
new spirit that possessed me seemed endowed with a
reeistlesB power of graTitalion.
Soeietj, in mj view, had become inordinately selfish :
how clererlj it had intrenched itself within laws and
statutes, so that if I — bodingly anxious without the pale
— ventured to help myself to the superabundance of
others, it would be under peril of liberty. What right
had society to make a law which seemed expressly in.
tended to aggravate my necessitous condition! Was 1
not the victim of a wanton injustice t Such thoughts as
these make the work of temptation very easy for the
tempter* Whatever might be society's notions on the
matter, mine were, Uiat retaliatory measures would be
perfectly justifiable.
I walked about — it seemed to me that I sneaked —
seeking for work. The masters surely had leagued against
me; how, otherwise, could be explained their malicious
negative to my inquiries! There waj the roar and bustle
of life and traffic in the thoroughfares, which made me
loathe my forced idleness. I had no business there; I
was one too many in the world. How the aspect of afikirs
had altered ! When in full work, I had not unfreqnently
considered it a hardship to work so many hours every
week for so comparatively small a remuneration. Now,
in retrospect, the wage appeared an enviable fortune.
Unconsciously to myself I was learning a significant les-
son, fraught with profound instruction. Could I have
appreciated it then as I do now, what a load of heartache
it would have spared me 1
Staying at home became irksome to me : home appears
somewhat strange to a workman on a working-day, and
although my perambulations might be fruitless, it seemed
that I was less idle when so occupied than when loitering
within doors. Some mornings a faint revival of hope
would make me feel certain of getting work in the course
of the day, and I started forth animated by all my for-
mer confidence. Unsubstantial trust! The first disap-
pointment brought back all my irresolution, all my bitter
forebodings. I had made up my mind to brave it out,
but the effort was too much for me. By a strange con-
tradiction, too, notwithstanding my eager desire to be
again employed, there were times that I shrunk from the
thought of work as an owl shuns the sunlight.
How ofUn the few remaining dollars were counted I —
this was in New York. I despised myself for calculating
on how little my family could be made to exist for' a
given time. My heart grew hard, and I often shuddered
lest it should never soften again. How slowly time passed!
the days had grown longer on purpose to torment me,
and the thousand bewildering thoughts that preyed upon
me had ample leisure for their work.
FaoUit deacennu wtemi : the phrase is as true now as
when originally penned two thousand years ago. When
first cast loose, I had felt sure of readily obtaining em-
ployment in my regular trade; the idea of condescending
to inferior occupation was not to be for a moment enter-
tained; it would damage my respectability, and disturb
my self-esteem. But as the weary time wore on, the im-
perative necessity of providing food for a certain number
of mouths every day lefl no alternative, no possibility of
over-scrupulousness in conventionalities. Respectability
soon ceased to be a bugibear; if cabinet-making was not to
be had, I would take carpentry or jobbing-work. These
fldling, I next called on the shipwrights, but with no
better success ; and then I bethought myself ef trying
other resources. It had always been one of my purposes
and pleasures to see as much of other trades as possible, te
visit and inspect all sorts of wwkshops, by which means
tiieir most obvious details had become familiar to me. I
knew enough ef shoemakinff, bookbinding, printing, and
seme other trades, to be able to earn txcaXi wages at any
one ef them. Should these also fail, it was all but certain
that some sort of rude labour could be hunted up, which
would furnish at least a pittance till more prosperous
days came round again. My heart often failed me while
following out this new quest, yet I did at last get through
my task of seeking any kind of work. In some respects
it was a r^ulsive task, for in tiie lower grade of shops
and places ef work I found a lower class of workmen;
men on whom vice had set its mark, in whom depravity
of mind and heart had become habitual, whose talk was
as coarse as their looks. * Misery,' says Shakspeare, * ao-
qoaints a man with strange bedfellows,' and the dread
of being compelled to mingle with debased associates
increased my apprehensions. Necessity, however, has no
law; a needv man must work, if not where he would,
then where he can. It is a critical time; for there is
more or less danger that contact and custom may lead a
man to ' put up ' with his altered position, and gradually
assimilate himself to it. Many a man in such circum-
stances is apt to say, * What's the use of trying to keep a
fair front to the world! Who cares whether I sink oi
swim! Let things take their course.' However, on the
occasion here more particularly referred to, my asking
for work proved fruitless; whether it was that I looked
too dejected or too unpractised, no one would employ
me.
Who shall describe the prostration of heart and soul
with which a man who has been wandering the whole
day in a vain seeking for occupation returns at night-
fall to his home ! The dispiriting is occasionally so
extreme, that for a time the solaces which there await
him fail of their effect. It is in such circumstances that
a man learns to appreciate rightly the value of a good
wife : one to whom he can say with truth —
< When pain and anguUi wring the brow,
A xninitteriag angel thou.'
If she be kind and considerate, she will know that now
is the time to display that affection which includes nc
thought of self in its warm desire for another's happiness.
True it is that she has her own share of the general
trouble to bear; but she has not been worn out by a de<
spending walk; the rebuffs which solicitation seldom failt
to evoke have not fallen on her personally; besides which,
women are less irritated by adverse fortune than men,
If, on sudi occasions, the wife will strive in sincerity tc
become a ^ ministering angel,' how soon will her gentlt
words soothe the chafed spirit of her husband! Witt
what blessedness her sympathy reanimates his hope and
subdues his impatience 1 How his bitter thoughts take t(
flight as she suggests some comforting anticipation, and
a brightening faith takes the place of despair ! Ere long
the sustaining influences overmaster him, his childret
again claim his notice, and share his smile, and the de
jected man finds in the light of home a solace for all hi<
disquietude : so true is it that there Is no condition o:
life without its bright side, no adverse circumstance
without its compensating quality. Herein the married
man is more favourably situated than the unmarried—
the one has a sustaining resource which the other know*
nothing of. But, on^the other hand, no fkte can be raor<
deplorable than that* of a man out of work with a com-
fortless home, a careless wife, and contumacious children
It must be confessed that the general aspect of such t
season of trial as above indicated is sufficiently discourag
ing: the downward tendency appears to be inevitable
Bat there is a remedy; and this remedy is to be found ii;
the spirit of self-reliance-— in firm moral principle. And
it will be a lasting satisfietction to me that I was enabled
to apply this remedy, as a fragment of my experience
may serve to exemplify. The mentiU and physical con-
bA»
CSAMBBB9S CDOfBUBGH WUSNALb.
' I
( I
1 1
t* fotttmjm tke fan-
c«0e( vkkk tile maxmnX
Ut Oc
4Ttk« vUdk I HftTe
itJy
Om «v«B»r, ftftfr * Uof tpeU •f ■iTn>1««*Mf idle-
I «»• 9em*M Ifciakin^ •▼«• thj fMMpeeu, ■Jta aU
at Kmf^ Mw tlb9«*irt •truck hk, * U do ooe will tmi^Uj
7«a, ie« inMTielf t* «p«rk.' No wmtt mm tbe tkevgkl
fwnied, ifaaa I fUfted up to act upoa H : om nJe etf •«
kkdben waa «ecapi«4 by mj beacfc ; I ^ it iat# wkng
irmv ifcarpinai ny toeli, toi saved a pair iC cada fir a
diaiMJar Mt of a laifci^Mj dab whvek i had by aa.
Tkaae wena |ilaaed «p a«d praperi/aqaartd-befon i
U bad tlUI aight ; aaA waaii—t waa ti» tStct
maaoal labour pn>daced. * Fliof^ bat a ileae^ tbe
dfi«0,'9aff tba poal, sod moat tndf; immmf inaba fell
iaio ihrnx aecnatamed mavanenta, aad tlie ahavings
whlittod from my plaae, tibe anxiaaa oana faiaook mfr--
mA bope T—med bar airajr, iUoog tti tba vi^Mir oC lalf-
iMlfu it U tcHB tba proqiact of pnAt waa b«t riradtr
Tbat, hmwmmt vta not tba prina adnvoascv vbkk laj
im the urtwit'nn of mj m'md bo ita beali^jr toaa; ttill,
in ft latf e dtj -pawbaacrt aft alvift to be fooad for
Cibciratad wartt, and a maU gaia is better tbaa eom-
pfeta iiiMtioa. JBetakt wkicb, a maa wbo beept bimaeif
f played it mOie itadj W improfe auob opponH&itiaa a«
itdk in bJa wtj* tiuvn ont ab#ie worluBg babita ai« veak-
aoad bj difOte.
Idlaaeat i# by aU maaaa to be esobeved, aod I would
vrgfi tbSf poiai atMNiglj an tba attanuoo of wotkixij-men
*--<ii7 lata aaaipaniooa. Tba xetouroe wbicb 1 adopted is
•aeb an abfio«#Ij natunJ oaei aa to bare aiiioe cauaed
«ne roaeb furpffiie tbat it did not oocof to me witii dia-
linotoata belore tba aacond week of mj wafiderinfi. Aad
AADt U DO exceptieftai ^ate; wbat I did aiajr ba dooa bj
otberf. Tbare are Sew tradea at wbiob a man cannot
vork at hia bon«^tbat it^ if be baa tbe will to do so. if
be wiU oahr arcticise a proper tbrift wbile in work, be
will not Wk.>he means of purcbasing materials on wbicb
to emplo/ bimself when necessity compels. Let ibose
wbo maj feel disp<]aed to undenralue sucb appareatlj in-
^gnlfioBJBt means remember tbat it ia easier to obej a
fixed habit, tban to recorer it if broken or lost; and no
purpoae, however alight, is to be despised which m^
serre to keep a man out of tbe war of evil associates or
temptation. It would be well, also, if every artificer
would learn tomethii^ of other trades as well as hit own,
as be would thereby not onW multiply his resources, but
be better able to judge of fitting occupation! for his
chij'lren.
There is no reason either, as I afienrards had occasion
to prove, why the days spent in looking for work should
he altogether wasted. ' For, without losing sight of the
main chance, 1 took occasion to visit the noteworthy parts
of the city, public buildings, wharfs, docks, and, when- 1
over practicable, f^torlet and workshops. Nor did 1
confine myself to the town, hut walked a few miles in
Various 4Irections into the country, where, If nothing else
was to be seen, there was always natural scenery, whose
influence on the mind is ever (quieting and elevating.
Lastly, in integrity of character consists the most po*
tential )*emcdy; it is the spring of all the rest. It is that
which gives and maintains the energising impulse. A
wise writer has observed that *b straight line is the
shortest In mcrrals as well as in geometry.' And so it is,
even in a calculatlre point of view. The steady, honest
workman is less exposed to lots of work or dismissal than
he who has no settled contiction at to what is right or
wrong; he is bettter Ahle to keep m6ney in his pocket,
and to provWe fbr his childreti. Here is so muA clear
gam; bu6 whe* we com* to higher Viewt, how immea-
•urably sdperi6r ^oes moral rectitude appear— that which
springs from the swul, and a^ms at something beyond
mere pe<nin]flfry advtbtage! And such a condition of
mirtd and heart is |)<Js8lWe U tevery man. 1 would en-
doaroar to impress it on all who shall read what I have
h«t« wtHten; As an anfixilin^ resource throughout the
ohangeAU cirenniitaatet of Ufe. Possessed of that spirit
Of tlomft) jttitlee wkiA doet u II woald h»4obe unto, a
win «Bd tfcat « oat of work* it dfreatedof iialf ita -!
wbBe a doaUe Ueaing attendt tbe fweeta of < I
FUBNITUBE.
Lrr 'ttf tittsr a wond respeeting the history of those
artSdei of furmlnre moit coomioDlj teen in oar dweD-
ingi.
First of aH, we address oorsdres to th£ sabject
of the ta&^ Of all famitnre. tbe tal^ is noqnea-
tiooably an article of tbe oldert and most univenal
oae; the earliest prorision for conrenfence, and the
first aerrant of sociability, its name has long been
tffioaymaiu wifli good-feUowiMp and festire society.
Most readers ^Ye at least heard of the legends of
the Koaad TUile, and fbej are ^HfuseJ tbrongfiont the
ButtuMy lUeiature' of Barope. The bfod, or board, of
oar Saxoo aoceaton eonliuiiefl to be a sytKWiTiiie fbr
oftiM aatlioRty Tested in a smidl nmnber, doabtless
fipos the aooeat and conrenlent haUt of assembCng
roand a table for ttie transaction of business -as we
stdl say tbe Board of Trade or the Board of Excise.
Tbe table — Hbt there was bot one in the hall of a Saxon
tbane in tbe ninth ceatiiry — was a rode fixture, formed
by means of posfs sank in the floor, tnd supporting
eroas beams, on wliicfa were laid thick planks, sawn
from the fbrest oak, beftrifliR fittle resemblance to tbe
dark, polisbed mahogany m our own dar, thoofh em-
ployed for simSar purposes. It bad so covering, but
was wefl soppBed with wooden dishes, trencfaers, and
drinkkif-bonis ; and tbe drcumstance was regarded
not only as disgraceful, but ominous to tbe bouseSiold,
if a stranger ever saw tiiem emp^. The Asiatics, with
tbe exoq^iOQ of the QiiDese and Japanese, make cfnn-
paratiTely little use of tables — their perpetual costom
of siding on meve cusbious or carftets renders soch
artioles geneiiiHy saperftuous. When at all employed,
tbey are small, and wtry portable, rather for ornament
than ase. Among tbe Algetlaes, before their code of
mAnners was altmd by the French ioTasion, it was
etiquette fbr every individnal at a social party to have
a little table <br bit own special service, and always lo
turn his back on tbe rest of tbe company when estinf.
' It is worthy of note, in the study of popular rmpres*
sioas, that idens of commanding state hare idwaya been
associated with a sltthig posture. Dignity, as wefl as
rest, has been attached to it in tiie eyes of every
nation; and a natural desire for both has contributed to
asukiply and improTo rarieties of the seat kind, from
the luhown block of granite to the canopied and gilded
tfaronec Tbe kiad made use of in our domestic eco-
nomy generaAy occupy a happy medium between those
great extremes ; bat tiie ekair, of one sort or other, has
long been^ a oommott article of fomiture. Itistbemma-
stay of the household, and has done duty on aH oceamona,
among srrery class, for centuries, rarylng, indeed, saoeh
in its deooratioM and ooveriug materials^ as antii|uatrd
specimens will avouch. Yet, strange to say, the haod-
somest chairs of a modern drawing-room are exactly re-
presented in the bas-reliefs of the <^d Etrurians, a people
who flourisiiod in Italy before tbe building of Rome,
and are bellered to have been ttie inventors of this
useAU sappsrt to both business and leisure. Indispens-
able as it now appears to British sitters, the use of the
chair is of comparatively late, revival in Euxopo. For
the ordinary purposes oif life, it was almost unknown
till about the close of the seventeenth century. With
maoy other appliances of private life, with which tbe
Etrurians are said to have been acquainted, it passed
awsy^ with that ancient and ingenious peojde. In the
classic times, princes, or great ofQciius, alone used
chairs on solemn occasions, oft which ccoouilt Choir ex-
pression of 'the chair,* to denote a place of sqlliorlty;
was transmitted to modem natiohs. ynHh tbeoe ei-
eeptions, sltthig was but IHtie practised in die dasak
world, reclining on mats or couches being tbeestahllsbei
custom even at mesls ; aud stfidbt lubUi -ttfll pnetail
I
I
CHAMRMtflW SSJSHBUatGB. JQUMf AZ.
m
thnmghout the varmec clJoiaU*. Th« inert mburt
fuhion of railed Kati wiu introduced by Uioae buif
northern tribei who oTerthrew the Rom&n empire, and
from whom the greater port of Earope'i prcaent inhabi-
tants ore descended : bat the chuc wu e eCep bejond
their ciTiliution ; Roi for nreral a^t, ■ three-legged
atool, tlie upper part being fomieil of & circular block,
cut from the round of aome great tree, vM their higheat
effort ia Uutt dcpartmeut. Cowper, in a poem on the
moet proaaic (ulgeat erer eelecled br the MiueT— for it
hnppeiis to be tlie lofa— telU u^ with hiatoricol warrant,
Aadivsj-ed (he gccpln of hU Inrul itaim ;'
and trace* the progreia of that [urimitiTe Brtkilo, ue
after age, eTsn ai the geaerations of litteci progreaKd;
till, about tlie beginning of the fifteenth MoCuty, it ap-
peared in the hannta uf ruik and faahion, iqiuas, with
fbuc carred lupporten and a Uathem cuaiiioii.
In much earlier times, for (be behoof of king* and
other dignitaries, attempt* were made at the ohair,
which would create more lurprise tlian admiratioa in a
furniture- warehoiiae of the preient day.
The chsir of King Dogabert, who reigned in France
aboQt the middle of the aeventh century, iva* pmentcd
to bim by a rich jewetler of hi* domiiUDni (wba, bo it
obieiTed, wu also it* fabricator), and celebnUed by all
i the chronider* aa a miracle of art. It ooasi*ltid of a
large aeat fixed between the flgarei of two grat«>t(ie
BQimo!*, evidently copied from diatoited mytholoiff,
and oreclaid with gold, of which precioua u>etal .the chair
waa laid to contain more tliaa the king's treaaury could
boait ; but no back waa thought of: Iheocoupanta being
expected to lit in digoifled erectnets, under a nartov
canopy of gilt icri^-wurk, which the flgnre* on euh
aide lupported.
The chair of Bede, tbe Saxoa biahop and hiiborian,
iiluitrate* the atate of Uie domaitic art* ammg our
Engliih anceitoi* of the asm* age. It waa aiaiply a
long narrow bos without a lid, formed of rough boards,
nailed tt^ethei, and aet upright, with a ahelf near tlie
lower end, on which the good bishop «at ; while at the
upper extremity the sides were sloped off, ^obahly for
the free admission of liglit and air. The royal aeat
ocoupied on gala day* by Edmund Ironalda — who ao
brarely defended hia kingdom, but waa at Isngtli ubliged
to diiide it with the invading Uanea — was farmed of
(wamusive anddaborately-carTed beaniaot oak, crosa-
lag each other in the fbrm of the ktCer X ; two of the
end* formed the supports, and where the beams croned,
a cushion was fastened for the king. It must be remem-
bered that those described were the ancient repreeenta-
tioos of royal and episcopal thrones ; but older and ruder
specimen* existed in almoeteTerylind, more profoundly
re*pectcd by chronicle and tradition, donbtlcM becau*e
conoecled with the earlie*t memories of natioaa. The
boaat and pride of the O'Neila of Ulster, in the twelfth
century, was a aolid block of wbinslone, hewn into a
rough resembUoce of one of our common chair*. The
catuDation*eatDf the Scottish king*, which Edward III.
carried off in triumph from Scone, tiad coat iesa trouble
in it* farmttlon ; but soon after Jamu VL's suoceauon
to the SngUsli crown, a writer on Soottish history
adroitly reminded the public of the traditioanl prophet
tcgarding it —
Snt beesme general at. the period rtfine^ to, and
from, it those of the French Aoadeoiy we a«id to have
been niadelled. Peihap* the most aAiuiing .tribute to
the utility of the chair was paid by a kiag oi orw of the
Pulflc wlaiMl* Thited hy I' PeeouMc being «b friendly
termewith that greet, though luidcloM iMvigMK, he had
inipeeted the cabin of iii* vettetand Received tlie ex-
pelled present* ; but, with extnordinaTy uWality, his
roaJMty ofiteed to return Ibem aB, khetchelitodloak-
ing-glas* incblitej, to bi* bratiier tlM oaptaiiv on cmdi-
liooijbeing pcetented wtth*ctaair;,whicb«lieMud,was
the one thing lequisitn to oemplets hia aplenaoul, as the
■tone on vhioh he sat when dispenfins justice or axUt-
bitiDg hit regal liatei bad do BU|ipiirt tat the bade, aiwi
•The 8
n Ihst
ound,
rslhiaolu^rnj
Chair* came ialo ordinary use among the nobility of
France and Italy about the days of Francis I. ; and the
old ideas of dignity continued to tnino so firmly round
tile article, that the posieiaion of one in a public as-
•embly was conaidered a* evinciug a rauk superior to
that of the merely *tool-*eated, and was therefore a
mark of distinction for which gentlemen, ay, and ladies,
contended a< earneatly as they did iu later times for
'• = "^ "Afonnllmt
Ca\felt are of aadoabtedly Bastem. oiigin, though the
only oDuntiies in which (beir use. is now ganacal are
two of the most weatci4y — namely, Britain and tiie
United States ef America. Tt> no other people do diey
^ipear to indispesHable. Our con Cineatul neighbours
content tbemselTO* with coaering a portiom of then'
apartments when tile thing i* at all atlenpted; and
the OrlenCala. to wttom their carfiete anpply the plaae
of aeats, confine tbem to *tiU more Ihnlted dlfoen.
aions. There ie oee tnoat popabu Mtide of this de'
BcriptiOD In Mohammedan couolrle* o«Ued a *ptuj*r-
carpet,'«Hhant which no Huaanimaii oonld getonconi'
fortably. It ia about Ibe aize and shape of a moderate
UngUah liearth-Tng, and alwayi spread for ile owner's
devotions, whether in the qniet of hia own dwelling, or
by the wayside on a jonmey ; tor tbe atvted ptaycr
must be said, no matter whera iti bou may Sad tlie
disciple of the Koran, The fkoioat mee^e pavementa
of tbe Gredcs and Romans far exceeded our utrpeta In
durability, but would ill correspond with modern no-
tions of comfort, especiidJy in a Brttlih winter i still
less would their floors of gloaa, blocks of which, aboltt
the thickncM of a common brick, andof vailona colours,
hnie been fbund as the flooring of aporlmenti in their
ruined cities. Fur insecurity of foottpg, thew floora
must hnve rivalled those of highly -polished mahogany
and rosewood, the cldef boast of notiibte hoUBckecper*
in the snulhem state* of the American Union. Carpets
were firat introduced Into Spnin by the Uoora, and some
ages aabsequeatly into Italy by the Venetiana, when
tlicy were Uie masters of tlie conimercE of the East.
Their progress towards England waa slow i but in
the tnansiuna of runic and royalty rushes fbrmcd nu
early substitute. So late aa the rdgn of Queen Mary,
historically termed ' '
duly appointed to p.
queen's apartments i I
the dresiing-room wl
with duit of poU, by
of time. It IS Strang
but c
1 the u
! of
Ye gret 1
loDi was imported f^
of the fourteenth cen
lowing is an inventoi
feudal castle :— A aj
wo* generally import*
the occupants of tlie
bl*»t, which entered
floors were rough and
atooli, there waa a j
wooden eettle, on whii;
light vegetable matt*
cloth 1 thia was the
sofas. There tlie k
spinning with the dii
state-bed of tbe man*
court of Henry Via. _. . . . . . ,.
spread for invalids ta recline on, in tbe Eastern fsaliion,
as Queen Elizabeth's last day* are taid to have been
passed i or for card companies, a* the stake* were liable
ti) be IiwtammiE the rushes: vat the walla waia then
898
GHAMBERSV MDIKBUBGR JOtTRNAL.
oorered finm floor to ceiUng vi^ tiie oelebmted tapefttty
of whieh oHT wiodow^hangingf are now the only repre-
•eniatiYe*.
I\MpMhy wat ihe earliest effort of domeitic deco-
ration, beliered to hare been a Babykmith invention,
and handed down through the Ticissitudes of arts and
empires, t^ll l^e manufacture was established at Arras
in the Netherlands, and the article was called after that
town. It was In turn eclipsed in the trade by CoHentx,
in the reign of Louis XIY. } and it was the ezpensire
ambition of his courtiers to have the cartoons of
Raphael copied la their tapestry. Some of these costly
hangings were entirely woven in a manner similar to our
carj^ts. A manufacture of the kind, esti^lished under
the patronage of James I., was the parent of carpet-
weaving in ]Bngland. The needlework tapestry was
still more prized ; and some early specimens, generally
wrought on linen — such as that renowned piece on
wliich William the Norman's queen embroidered his
conquests — still exist on the continent. An English
dame, at the close of the sixteenth century, obtained
the hard -won praise of surpassing industry for hav-
ing, in the course of a life extended to ninety years,
copied out the entire Bible on the walls of her best par-
lour. The latter tapestry was wrought on canvas with
coloured worsted: some remnants of it are still pre-
served in old country mansions. But there is a far more
primitive description yet in use among the natives of
the far Nuriles ; they cover the walls of their apart-
ments with a species of straw matting, and having
carpets and cushions of the same, defy the cold of their
long winter ; at the termination of which, their furni-
ture being sufBeiently dried, and pretty well worn, is
burned piecemeal for culinary purposes, and another
supply is prepared before the return of the snow.
Cromwell said he never liked the arras, for it could con-
ceal eaves-droppers ; and after his reign it slowly gave
place to the more solid wainscot, or small mirrors set
in the wall. The latter was a Chinese decoration, im-
ported by the Dutch, together with those porcelain and
coloured tiles which have ever since given scope to the
scouring propensities of Holland in her floors and fire-
places.
Down to the close of the seventeenth century, Eng-
lish beaus and belles were allowed but little space for
the reflection of their graces. One of Addison's con-
temporaries describes a dressing-room, formerly oc-
cupied by Nell Gwynn, the walls of which were com-
pletely inlaid with looking ' glasses not more than a
foot square. Larger glasses were In her times to be
found only in France and Italy, and even there at such
prices as made them accessible to none but princes.
The earliest description of a household clock was an
instrument which measured time by the dropping of
water, constantly poured in by an attendant, who sounded
a trumpet to announce the hour. It descended fh>m
the Romans; but there was a later variety in Eng-
land, which had tlie merit of requiring less attendance.
It consisted of brazen balls, suspended over a copper
basin by cords, with lights so placed as to consume the
cords in a given time, the elapse of which was pro-
claimed by the descent of the bisdls into the basin. A
dock somewhat aimilar to those now in common use
was regarded as a most splendid present fVom Saladin
the Gi%at to the emperor of Germany ; and the oldest
clock now extant in Britain is said to have been con-
structed at the dose of the fifteenth century for the
palace of Hampton Court
That variety of flirnitare comprehended under the
dassic term candelabra, has been used in different
stages of improvement from the earliest dawn of art,
or since the insuffidency of the househdd fire was per-
ceived. The American Indian, on gala nights, forms
sockets of plastic clay, in which torches are fixed,
against the walls of his wooden wigwam, and a more
extensive illumination than the oMrner intends is the
obcasional consequence. Our Bngll»h ancients lighted
up their fbstid faatta in A limtiar fashion by means of
pend^t sockets of brass, sometimes of ttflrer, and long
used by the peasantry, often with the designation of
* sconces.' The nrimitive candelabrum of Europe's rustic
days was a solid block of wood, with a piUar rising
from the centre to the height of five or six fret, the top
df Which was fhmlshed with brazen sockets, frw or
many, according to the style of the family.
The Greek candelabra were originally made of cane,
with one plate fixed above, and another beneath, by
way of support, which was occasionally supplied by feet
The Grecian artists produced, in ornamenting these
lamp-stands, the richest forms, which always, howeveiv
had reference to the original cane, and were endrded
with an infinite variety of beautifhl ornaments. Some-
times they were shafts, in the shape of columns, whidk
oould be shortened or drawn otit ; sometimes the luxn*
riant acanthus, with its leaves tnn»d over; soosetimet
^y repretentisd trunlcs of trees, entwined with ivy
and flowers, and terminated by vases or bdl-flowera at
the top for the receptton of the lamps. Examplee of
these forms may be found in the British Moseom and
the Louvre, but particularly at the Vatican, where a
gallery is filled with marble candelabra. With all the
ornamental skill expended on them, those old lUnmfna-
tors have been found wretchedly nnservioeable, com-
pared with the niodem Argand lamp, as they supply
but a murky light, and an offensive smoke, wlAck
poisons the atmosphere, and soils the whole apartment
An ordinary gaselier would have delighted all tiie
Csesars ; for their palaces, decorated though they were
with marble, and ivory, and gold, could boast no snch
luminary. The bronze lamps which they so miuji
admired were cast, and, Of necessity, heavy and cum-
brous ; but the same efifbct is now produced by striking
up the metid, and a still richer bronze imparted by an
acid in a few hours. A beautiful, but extremdy cheap
method of ornamenting candelabra was lately discovered
in America, by making a thin skdeton c^ wire, and
immersing it in a solution of alum coloured by metaUic
oxides.
Much diffbrenee exists in the sleeping aeoommoda-
tions of mankind. Among the low-gitting natlona, ti»e
daylight seat has long served fbr nightly teat alsoi A
corresponding arrangement was practised in Angfo-
Norman castles, and still remains among the Icrianders,
where every one's seat is his bed. The repose of the
Russian peasant's family is enjoyed on the top c^ tiidr
immense stove, which they cover with coarse Uanketi
and mattresses fbr that purpose. The rush-purveyor to
our last Henry had, besides, a commission to |miviile
straw fbr the slumbers of the king's servants, which,
it seems, were enjoyed in the kitdien ; and a writer
of the period, in reference to the stmpUcify of the
former age, tells us that most people were content if
they could get plenty of straw to sleep on, with a good
log fbr thdr hewls. Singular as the latter comfrrt may
appear, it has a resemblance in the oldest remnant of
Egypt's household goods. The pillows of the pyramid
people were nothing but small blocks of wood, with a
hollow cut out for the head to rest in. Bedsteads came
into general use among the highest classes in the course
of the sixteenth century ; but the specimens yet re-
maining are wonderfully small compared with those of
the succeeding age. Sk) highly were they esteemed,
' that ane stately bedstead' is enumerated among the
valuables which Queen Anne of Denmark brongfat with
her to Scotland. This antiquated conch is now the
property of the Earl of Elffin. It is of walnut-trees, of
curious workmanship, and ornamented with severs!
antique figures neatly carved.
The intrinsic worth of the queen's * statdy bedstead*
would be estimated by a modern auctioneer at some-
thing vastly less than it was by her contemporaries*, but
this is an example of the French proverb, that raritv
raises the price. Another case in point occura, thon^
regarding a far inferior, but not less usefi^ appliance.
Martin, in his narrative of a visit to St KUdain 1696,
mentions that there was not a metti poi in tiiat or tiie
ODOAMBERSra SDIKBUBGH JOUBNiJ*
8P9
adjacent islands but one, which the owner was in the
habit of hiring out at the rate of a fowl per boil ; and
this rent, paid in the current coin of the Hebrides, was
called the pot penny : with which notable instance of
the rise whidi occurs in the ralue of domestic comforts
through their scarcity, we conclude our notice of fur-
niture.
Column tor f^ouiig Vto$U«
THE DRAGON AND THE HEROIIfE.
Neab a retired Tillage stands a small neat bouse in the
midst of a garden not so neat, but filled with a yariety of
plants. The walks, bounded by irregular borders, are
OToiywhere invaded by wUd herbs and flowers, and the
unpruned trees fling abroad in every direction their great
knotted branches, offering a secure asylum to the birds
who build their nests there, and sing so pleasantly. The
gates and paling are in a reiy dilapidated condition, so
that the tame fowls stray in, and even the wild rabbits
come and browse on the fragrant herbs, without regard-
ing, or being regarded by, the old spaniel, who lies on
a soft sunny grass-plot, and whose only occupation is to
raise his head and wag his tail whoiever he sees his
in|«ter approach.
'^his master is a noble-looking man, whose gray silken
locks -make him appear older than he is, and whose
ruling passion is a love for the study of natural history.
Some time since he received a visit from a favourite
young friend, who had been his pupil, and who, not find-
ing him in the house, walked without ceremony into the
garden. There he found the naturalist kneeling on the
ground before some object which he seemed to watch
intently.
* Welcome, Henry,' he said, extending his hand; * but,
like a dear boy, don't disturb me; I am engaged in a
most interesting investigation.' Silently pressing the
kind hand of his former instructor, the young man seated
himself by his side, in order to see the object of his ob-
servation. It was a flower-pot filled with clay and com-
post, in which grew a common4ooking pink, and on which
a large earwig was orawUng. This harmless insect, whoee
scientific name is forficula, is frequently the cause of
terror and aversion to ignorant people, on account pro-
bably of the pair of pincers with which its tail is fur-
nished, but which, in reality, have no power to injure.
It is not at all more likely to enter the human ear than
any other slender creeping insect; but should one do so,
instead of, according to the vulgar notion, causing cer-
tain death, it may readily be expelled, without pain or
injury to the patient, by one or two drops of sweet oiL
The earwig in the flower-pot, sheltered between two
little moundjB of clay, remained for a time immovable.
When the young man, however, approached his face
closely to the insect^ it began to move its antennse.
'Hush, Henry; don't stir; but watch what the forficula
will do.»
The young man obeyed ; and after a few minutes, the
insect, apparently reassured by the quietness around,
threw, with its mandibles and fore-feet, a little clay over
a heap of minute grayish-looking grains clustered to-
gether, and crawled towards the pink. It borrowed into
the middle of the flower, and detaching the most tender
of the petals, carried them towards the nest it had just
left.
This provision made, it gently removed the clay which
it had thrown on the little gray cluster; and covering the
latter, of which each grain was an egg, with its body, the
earwig began to hatch them precisely after the manner of
a careful hen. It was curious to see this vigilant mother
at the slightest noise vibrate her antenme, and place her-
self in a posture of defence. A spider, who was spinning
his web suspended from a branch which overhung the
flower-pot, whether by accident, or really with fell intent,
let himself glide along his slender cable, and descended
close to the breeding inseck Immediately sIm rushed on
the piraie, overthrew hita^ and piereed his entrails with
her strong scissors-shaped mandibles. The victory gafaied,
die hastened to ntum to her egn, and sat en them again
with the utmost oare. After we lap« of an houiv the
frienda saw her gently turn the eg^ and move them so
that each should experience the same degree of heat.
Night approached, and the observers were obliged to re-
sign their post and go in to dinner. During i& evening
they conversed chiefly on the wonderful instinct dis^
played by those creatures which we are accustomed to
consider so lew in the scale of creation, but which, to the
observant eye and thoughtful mind, show forth roost
clearly the goodness and wisdom of their Almighty
Maker.
Early next morning they returned to the flower-pot,
and perceived that the little cues had just come forth.
Semi-transparent, and exceedingly minute, they crept
around their mother, and took shelter beneath her, just
as so many little chickens would have done with the heu.
The earwig watched them, guided back to the nest with
her antennse those that wandered too far, and when a
new one came out, placed him with his brethren. Ere
long, she found herself surrounded by an interesting
family of thirty-eight little ones. Then the naturalist
and his friend perceived the reason of her having on the
previous evening collected the tender leaves of toe pink.
She took them between her mandibles, cut them into
very small bits, and made them into a sort of paste,
which she then gave as food to her newly-born offspring.
It was pleasant to see the mother in the midst of h^r
brood, feeding each in turn, and watching that all had
an equal share. At the slightest appearance of danger
she collected her little ones beneath ner; and with her
corslet raised, her mandibles half-opened, her antenn®
in the air, she waited, ready to die m their defence. A
grain of sand falling by accident, a eentle touch given
to the flower-pot by Henry, were sufficient to cause these
Alarms.
As to the objects of her tenderness, like so many
spoiled children, they became petulant and indocile.
The little rebels wandered continually beyond their
mother's ken, and failed to return at her anxious signal.
One of them completed his escapades by tumbling into a
lake of water nearly as large in circumference as a half-
crown piece, which lay near the centre of their domain.
The more he struggled to regain the shore, the more he
receded from it. Suddenly his mother perceived his
danger, and darting bravelv into the water, brought him
back in safety, and dried him tenderly with her antennce.
Alas I her maternal love was destined to undergo a
sharper trial. On the ibllowing day, as she was parading
her children in the sun, a frightral beast — a staphylin
beetle-^by some sad Kccident descried the inhabitants of
the flower-pot. Slowly, but surely, he advanced along
its edge; black, gigantic, covered with scales, and his
mouth, which was formed of two sickle-shaped mandibles,
exhaling a dreadful odour, thus realising in the poor
earwig's apprehension all the fabulous horrors related of
the dragon of antiquity. She lay motionless, her an-
tennsB pretmded in front, and without power to give her
little ones the usual signal of recall^-that is to say, a
slight beating of her fore-feet on the clay. But soon
maternal love conquered (ebr. She roused herself, struck
the ground boldly, collected her children beneath her,
and intrenched herself behind her little mound of clay.
The frightful staphylin — who bore aloft his tail, sur-
mounted by a double black tuft — advanced fiercely, and
seizing, under the mother's eyes, one of the little ones,
which had not rejoined her, cut it in two with his man-
dibles, and devoured it* Then the ferfieula threw henelf
on the monster, and commenced » fight of desperation.,
She grasped him ti^^tly, aad with the aid of her pincera
tried to seize his neck, very lender in that species of
beetle* For a moment the staphylin was stopped, but
with a violent effort he shook off his enemy, who fell
exhausted. Again she rose, and hastened to her nest;
already five of her children had perished. A fresh attack
on the destroyer — but its issue could not be doubted; and
400
CHAMBEBS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
the poor mother, in spite of her heroism, was on the
point of being sacrificed, when the naturalist seized the
staphylin, and threw him out of the flower-pot. Then
turning to his young friend, he said, as if to excuse this
compassionate action, * What would hare become of our
investigation if she had been killed!' Henry smiled,
and pressed his hand.
Thus ended the perils of the forficula and her youne
ones. From that time nothing occurred to interfere with
their complete derelopment. We are coufinned in this
belief by the fact, that the naturalist's garden speedily
became infested with swarms of earwigs, which increased
and multiplied to such an extent that he could not pre*
serve a single peach or pink. The last visit that Henry
paid his friend, he found him busily employe-d in collect-
wg staphylins to destroy his rapacious guests.
ADULTERATION OF FLOUR.
The fraud I allude to has been practised in the flour
trade in the city and county of Cork and Limerick alone
for the last forty years, and is done as foUows by tho mil>
lers: — ^Two stone weight of alum dissolved in hot water, two
pounds of pearl-ash, eight pounds of rock-salt, two pounds
of spirits of salts, one pound of magnesia, and one quart of
the strongest oil of vitriol, are all dissolved separately, and
then mixed together, and put into twenty gallons of lime-
water ; and after letting the whole stand for a short time,
it is put into the wheat, when it is prepared for grindincr in
the following manner : — ^The miller keeps a large sprinkling
can, like that used in gardens, out of which he pours the
above liquid on the wheat, whilst two men turn it back-
ward and forward until the wheat gets quite dry, which is
soon effected, in consequence of the great quantity of vitriol
used as a dryer. Tlie quantity of tne above liquid is used
in proportion of five pints to every twenty stoucff of wheat,
and when it is put into it, it is ground off as soon as pos-
sible, to prevent the stuffs from evaporating. Flour made
by the above treatment obtains 58. per bag more than flour
made from the best quality of wneat, in the plain and
natural way, and on that account the county Cork and
Limerick millers adopted the use of the liquid dracribcd
above. Besides, they have the advantage of the weight of
twenty gallons of water put into about thirty-five barrels
of wlieat, for which reason the Cork flour, of all other Irish
flour, will not endure a sea voyage. Millers (and millers
only) are so well aware of the very bad effects wliioh the bran
made from some of those receipts has on cattle, that they
don^t use the flour in bread themselves, nor give the bran
of it to their own cattle. — Qjrk Ejraminer,
NEVER GET ANGRT.
It does no good. Some sins have a aecmiiuj compensa-
tion or apology, a present gratification of some sort ; but
anger has none. A man fheU no better for it. It is really
a torment ; and when the storm of passion has cleared
away, it leaves one to see that he hais been a fool. And
he has made himself a fool in the e^es of others too. Who
thinks well of an ill-natured, churlish man, who has to bo
approached in tho most guarded and cautious way? Who
wishes him for a neighbour, or a partner in business ? He
keeps all about him in nearly the same state of mind as
if they were living next door to a homet*s nest or a rabid
animal And as to prosperity in business, one gets along
no better for getting angry. "NVTiat if business is perplex-
ing, and everything goes * by contraries,' will a fit of passion
make the winds more propitious, the ground productive, the
markets more favourable? Will a bad temper draw cus-
tomers, pay notes, and make creditors better natured? If
men, animals, or senseless matter cause trouble, will getting
* mad ' help matters, make men more subservient, brutes
more docile, wood and stone more tractable? Asx angry
man adds nothing to the welfare of society. He may do
some good, but more hurt. Heated passion makes him a
firebrand, and it is a wonder if he does not kindle flames
of discord on every hand. Without much sensibility, and
often bereft of reason, he speakcth like the piercing of a
sword, and his tongue is an arrow shot out He is a bad
element in any community, and his removal would Aimish
occasion for a day of tlianksgiving. Since, then, anger is
useless, needless, disgraceful, without the least apology,
and found only • in the bosom of fools,' why should it be
indulged at all ?— Boston Reporter,
WHAT
IS
To
BEAUTY?
What is Beauty ? Form and fsators.
Impress of the hand of Nature ;
Line and \v9» together blending,
Impoloe still to sweetness lendiiag;
Look npon lanthe's graces ■
There her lines young Beauty traces ;
There her lineaments behold.
Cast in nature's chastest mould :
Look into her heavenly eye~
There the azure's piu«st dye;
There the light of lii^ and mind.
With love and modesty combined:
Look upon lanthe's cheek-
There is all that's mild and medc ;
And coral red uid ivory white
Kiss each other, and unite
On lips that love dare scarcely press.
Sacred in their loveliness.
If there's Beauty— it is tbto !
What is Beauty ? Come with mo
In my skiff along the sea ;
Look into its crystal waters.
And behold its algine daughters.
Where the painted fishes play.
And the wave sings roundelay :
Or let us, roaming hand in hand,
Wander o'er the golden strand.
Where the sea-shells gleam like peaiis.
On the neck of Orient girls:
Or, seated by the pebbled shore.
List the music of the oar.
Or the sea-birds' plaintive cry.
As on labouring wing they hie.
While the ever-murmuring tide
Saluteth earth as its own bride :
Come with me, and there onnless
If there's Beauty— it is this!
What is Beauty? Come with me
Into nature's sanctuary ;
To the mead or to the wild wood.
Where the flowers in Mooming childhood
From the emerald sod looked up.
Each a diamond in its cup;
A silver or a golden cell
Where a fairy queen might dwell :
Come where the yellow broom is waving.
Or tho stream the lily laving ;
Where the rills glide on in pleasure.
To a low, sweet, murmuring measure ;
Where the hawthorn scents the gale.
And xephyr, wandering through the vale.
Boars on its aerial wing
The breath of each sweet odorous thing ;
While the birds in choral glee.
Trill their sylvan minstr^y ;
Or, wandering o'er the flowery holm.
Where the wUd bee loves to roam-
Where tho light-winged butterfly.
Beauty's favourite child, flits by:
Como with me to yonder glade.
At noon beside the oool cascade.
Where plumy fern of brightest green.
And moss of every hue is soen ;
And the rose and Jessamlno
With the honeysuckles twine :
There shall Nature's self control
Each emotion of thy soul ;
Make thy heart with Joy confess
If there's Beauty— it is this!
What is Beauty ?— What is Beauty *
Truth, and love, and filial duty.
Breathed from lips by sin unstained.
Told by looks that never feigned —
Beaming as I see them now
On yon little maiden's brow—
Ix)vely *midst its golden
Gladdened by her sire's
Or, kneeling with her little brother.
Beside their tender loving moUier,
Offering to the God above
The inoense of her pure heart's love.
Then parting with the good-night kiss—
If there's Beauty— it is this !
1 1
J. r.
Published by W. & R. Chambrrs, High Street, Bdiaboi;^ Also ,'
sold yxj D. Cmambkrs, SO Aiigyle Street, Glasgow ; IV. 8. Or«. ,
Amen Comer, London ; and J. M'Glashan, t\ D'OUer SCnct,
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CONDUCTED BY >V1LLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, BDITORS OP •CHAMBBRSS INFORMATION FOR
TUB PEOPLE,* • CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE/ iio.
No. 313. New Sbbibs.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 1849.
Price IJrf.
MORAL PERIODICITY.
Again the earth has performed its annual journey
round the sun, and without pausing even for an in-
stant to take breath, has started anew upon another
circuit Not so with the human passengers it carries.
Unconscious of the whirling ball on which they tra-
vel, they seize the opportunity of looking back upon
what they have accomplished during the journey,
and forward with interest and curiosity into the dim
rista before them. Not, however, that the great majo-
rity know or care anything about the nature of the
cycle that has been completed. They are 'observers
of times ' without knowing why. Being finite beings,
they cling instinctively to earthly periodicity; and they
accept the year, quarter, month, day, hour, set down
for them, without caring on what principle, or by whom
the calculation has been made. When Noah*s dove
could find no restingplace for its feet, it flew back to
the Ark ; and at this day, if a bird is set free from a
balloon at a great altitude, it will return to its prison
rather than trust itself in the awful deserts of air. Even
so is it with mankind. They dread immensity. They
divide their journey into imaginary stages, and please
themselves at every new period with the idea that they
have accomplished a fact, and reached a restingplace.
How sweet is the night which terminates a labo-
rious day! How blessed the Sunday that follows a
restless week! Who does not look upon the new moon
with a thrill of antique superstition ? But of all the
periods into which our lives are divided, there is none
so interesting as that which is marked by the termina-
tion of one year and the commencement of another.
Years are the measure of age ; and the old physicians
attached a mystical importance to the epochs they
form, by supposing that at such periods of life the human
constitution reached a critical point. In a day we
merely complete a whirl on our own axis ; in a month,
our little satellite the moon has performed her circular
obeisance to us ; but in a year we have put a girdle
round the mighty sun, and travelled several hundred
million of miles through the realms of space. This
is the extreme verge of periodicity. Science, indeed,
dreams of a Central Sun, round which the other suns
and systems circulate ; but even if the fact were estab-
lished, it could afford us no measure of so comparatively
minute a speck as human time.
We are told from the pulpit at this season that it is
an awful thing to reflect that we are a year nearer the
grave. And so it is in a religious point of view, but in
no other. We do not think, on resigning ourselves to
repose at night, that we hare a day less to live ; and the
holy tranquillity of Sunday is undisturbed by the idea
that we are a week nearer eternity. At such times we
merely thank Ood for the past, beseech his blessing on
the present, and turn a hopeftil eye towards the future.
This hopefulness is inherent in the moral constitution
of man, and distinguishes him frooi the lower animals.
It is this which makes him ding to periodicity. It is
this which makes him celebrate times and seasons. It
is this which makes him draw imaginary lines across
his path of life, separating the evil that is past from tlie
good his fancy sees iu the distanca Uow often do we
cry, * Thank God, this dreadful year is over!'— as if
supposing that there is some necessary connection be-
tween the year and its misfortunes, and fancying that
a new cycle of time will bring better things! But
althougli to the practical astronomer this may be a su-
perstition, the moralist sees in it a boon of Providence
which elevates the character and conduces to the ad-
vancement of the species.
This hopefulness, being instinctive, is found every-
where throughout the world. Everywhere men trample
joyfully on the grave of the old year, and hail with ac-
clamations the advent of the ne^. How can it be other-
wise ? What old year would any being endowed with
human reason wish to live over again ? Alas for the
perished hopes, the lost loves, the broken friendships,
the death-bereavements of a single journey round the
sun ! All these — and all the bitter moments of humbled
pride, disappointed ambition, chilled affection, wounded
self-love — we place to the account of the old year ; and
it is no wonder that we feel a savage joy in contem-
plating his end. The New Year, on the other hand, is a
blank, which we fill up with hopes and visions as thick-
as motes in the sunbeam, and we therefore welcome its
approach, like that of some fabled deity, with songs and
libations. This is everywhere the case. Even in that
land of mystery which, till recent times, was shut up
like a sealed book from the rest of the world, the cus-
toms of the season were found to be strictly analogous
with those of Europe of the nineteenth century. * On
the occasion of the New Year,' says this humble pen in
a graver page than the present, * all the world exchange
bows, visits, compliments, presents of eatables, and ar-
ticles of dress. It is also the season for the settling of
accounts, even if money should have to be borrowed for
the emergency ; for the dirtiest to sweep their floors
and wash their persons ; for the very atheist to present
himself at the temple ; and for all to clothe their faces
with smiles, and their limbs with new garments. China
sits up to see the New Year come in ; she resolves to be
kind and happy during its continuance; she forgives
God Almighty for the past.**
In England, the season is not devoted merely to con-
viviality and family reunions, but likewise to works of
* This k the wtol of John Wod^, wbo^ on mooCiaK a friend
looking stni wo-bofone khdo ttme after a fkmHy bercavionent, said
to him, * What, have you not forgiria Ood Almighty yet?'
402
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
charity. We risit oar poor neighbours in kindness and
mercy ; we present gifts to our dependents ; we feast
the yery felons in onr jails. But it is in its character
of a period, a line, a boundary, a restingplace, that the
New Tear is the most interesting. The earth whirls on
at the rate of 1133 miles in the minute, but its deni-
zens stand still to remember and to dream. Our senses
receive no special impression when the annual rerolu-
tion is completed, any more than the mariner knows by
his sensations that his yessel is crossing the equinoctial
line. But our spirit is awake ; we feel as if we were
reaching a point ; we fancy that in our progressive his-
tory we have come to the bottom of the page, and pre-
pare to turn over the leaf. The fact of this periodicity
is interesting ; but the character of our thoughts at the
time is still more so. On one side is gloom, on the other
light Man, like the earth which carries him, has
always the sun in his face, and darkness behind.
It may be said that this idea is more fancifhl than
real : that we are so constituted as to be always looking
backward and forward ; and that every transaction we
complete brings us to a resting-point Tes, to a resting-
point from which we see the individual transaction, and
look on to another. But at the New Tear the whole
cycle passes under review, and the next opens to our
mind's eye in the distance. The petty demarcations by
which we divided our path of life, while creeping on,
disappear, and we see, ' as from a tower,' the whole
region we have traversed. The view is seldom very
satisfactory, but always suggestive of hope; and therein
lies the benefit of the mental exercise. It is a mistake
to say that man descends to the grave : he climbs to it
Even when his outward circumstances are imdergoing
a decline, his mind, if it have the true manly leaven,
rises. Hope grows out of disappointment, and a proud
eye and gallant heart are turned towards a new year.
We are not to measure the spirit by the purse. Tlie
poor scholar who flings over the world — maybe from
his garret — the thoughts that are destined to quicken
the minds of others, and the hard-working mechanic
whose soul opens to receive the gift, have each a feeling
that soars above his worldly position. From year to
year they continue to climb, not to sink ; and their in-
tellectual part may have reached its highest altitude
at the same moment when their body seeks the rest of a
pauperis grave. The fortunes of the mind and body
rarely run in parallel lines; and our constant forget-
fulness of this simple and obvious fact is the cause of a
thousand mistakes and anomalies.
In a yearly retrospect our judgment is not troubled by
the small details which vexed and harassed us during
the event Objects appear in large and perfect masses.
We are able to interpret the text by the context It is
like reading history instead of daily politics, and our
minds open proportionably to grasp the subject During
the present expiring cycle, for instance, we were tormented
by a thousand hopes and fears relative to the destinies
of our country ; our hearts were full of anger and bitter-
ness; and we launched accusations right and left of
incapacity, supineness, or profligacy. But looking from
this vantage-ground, all these little eddies disappear,
and we see only the flow of a calm mugestic stream.
The British Ptdlas still stands proud, tranquil, and
alone amid the convulsions of nations, the tide of the
world's commerce rippling at her feet, her shield rest-
ing against her knee, and her hand clasping gently
her dread but idle spear. The change in the view
does not occur because the causes of discontent were
unreal, but because, seen firom a distance, they bear
no proportion to the majestic whole; and for this
reason we have often thought that there is aoniething
unconsciously philosophical in the New Tear^s reflec-
tions; that they conduce to loftiness as weil mm kindli-
ness of character ; and that they minister to that divine
flame of Hope which bums the brightest In the boeoois
of the great and brave.
Hope, we have said, is the parent of this moral
periodicity. When the season of zetroapect eotnea,
whether it be daily, monthly, or yearly, we make liaate
to draw the line of demarcation between the past and
the fhture; and after a survey — in most cases a sad
one — of the things that were, we turn our clouded brow
and tearfhl eyes to the rising sun. Were it not for
these petty spaces into which human life is divided,
how dreary would be the track I An endless day would
be almost as bad as an endless night It ii good, then,
to hail the New Tear : it is good at this season to ponder
and to dream : it is good to look steadily back upon
the whirl we have had round the sun ; and then to gird
np our loins and begin a new journey in hope and
joy. X. B-
THE PRISONS OF :PARIS AND THl^lR
TENANTS.
CONCLUDIMO ARTICLE.
In surveying the prisons of Paris, one it stmck with
the fact, that some of the most horrible dungeons are
found in those buildings which were forroeriy rdigiioos
houses. The robe of the abbot, and the doth that
covered his luxurious table, too often hid a fisarfiil TanU
where some wretched captive starved with oold and
hunger. These dreadful places of confln^nent west by
the name of Vade in Pace — (* Go in Peace') ; bacaaie it
was in that form that sentence was pronounced oo tboae
who were doomed to die by this slow torture. Bicetre
and the Abbaye are of this description. The foruKr,
which was originally a monastery of Carthiisiana, and
is now used wholly as a lunatic asylum, was fbrmer^
used as a prison also; and many who were not mad
when they went there, became so in oonaequeoce of the
miseries they endured. There were both ceBs and
dungeons in this place of confinement ; and in both the
system appears to have been the * solitary one,' the merits
of which have been so much disputed in the present
day. The cells were bad enough, and the dnogeoi»
worse. The prisoners were allowed neither light nor
flre, nor suflident food, nor clothes enough to cover
them ; water streamed down the walla \ and the barred
aperture that let in air admitted the rain, snow, and
wind> and with them such disgusting odours froA the
sewers, that the poor captives were not only afflicted
with the most agonizing rheumatisms from tiie cold
and damp, but with other frightful maladies oocasioDed
by these mephitic gases.
One of the victims of this cruel system was Salomon
de Cans, a num of genius of tiie seventeoith oentnry.
At the age of twenty, De Gaus had already diatiD-
guished himself as an architect, painter, and engineer;
and after serving the Prince of Wales and the Elector of
Bavaria in these capacities, he returned to France with
the avowed desire of giving his country the benefit of
a discovery he had made — ^namely, that the ateam of
boiling water might be used as a powerful motive fbcok
At tliat time there resided in Paris an Italian
called Michel Partioelli, who was in love wiUi a
tiful woman called Marion de L'Orme; and oaa dsf^
Michel Particelli took Salomon de Cans to the
of Marion de L'Orme, and bade him krish on tiM
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
403
ratione of the bnilding all the resources of his genias.
' Spare nothing/ said he } * neither gold, nor silver, nor
jeireU, nor marble, nor precious stnffb of the East or
the West: inrent, derise: I giye you earte hlancke;
and when tdl is done, draw on me for the amoant of
yam demands.' Salomon de Catu accepted the com-
mission; bat alas! whilst he folfilled it, he had so many
opportunities of contemplating the beauty for whom ul
these luxuries were designed, that he lost his heart to
her. Flattered by the admiration of so brilliant a genius,
Marion appears at first to have encouraged his suit;
but soon wearying of his earnest and passionate lore,
she got rid of him by recommending him to the notice
(Mt the Cardinal de Richelieu.
* He is yery derer,' said she in her letter to his emi-
nence, * and has, according to his own account, disco-
Tered a world of strange and surprising things ; but I
am sorry to say he^has also discorer^ the secret of
wearying me to death, and I shall be really obliged if
you will reliere me of so troublesome an acquaintance.'
On the following day Salomon de Cans was sum-
moned into the presence of the cardinal minister, to
whom he gare an account of his discoyeries, especially
of the motiye powers of steam. The interyiew was
long, and at its termination Salomon de Cans was de-
clared mad, and sent to the Bicdtre. Mademoiselle de
L'Orme was told that he had been despatched out of
the countiT on a scientific mission, and as she heard
no more of him, she belieyed it; but two years after-
wards, having been requested to show an English tra-
yeller, the Marquis of Worcester, the sights of Paris,
she took him, amongst other public institutions, to the
Bicdtre; and there, as, laughing and talking, they
passed a grated cell, a chained and haggard captiye
darted suddenly to the bars, and cried aloud, * Marion !
BCarion 1 dsliyer me, deliver me I I have made a dis-
covery that will enrich my country. Deliver me 1 I am
Salomon de CausI* The letter in which Mademoiselle
de L'Orme relates this event has descended to poste-
rity ; and she adds that his appearance was so frightful,
and her own horror so greai that she left the i^ace
' more dead than alive.'
On the following day the Marquis of Worcester ob-
tained an interview with De Caus; and when he left
him, he said, * In my country, instead of being shut up
in a madhouse, that man would have risen to honours,
wealth, and station. Despair and captivity have made
him really road now; but when yon chained Salomon
de Caus in a dungeon not fit for a wild beast, you de-
stroyed the finest genius of the age I* These were
times, in short, in which the very word Bioitre was
an instrument of the most diabdictd oppression. False
and cruel confessions and accusations were extracted
by the threat of Bic^tre. Bic^tre was bandied from
parent to child, and from child to parent; from husband
to wife, and from wife to husband ; and it needed but
a little interest at court, or with some man in power,
to be able to fulfil the menace.
Amongst the portraits lately published as illustra-
tions of *Lamartine's History of the Girondins,' we
see that of a beautifhl but fantAstically-dressed woman
called Th^noigne de Merioourt Th^noigne was a
country girl, handsome and ambitious, violent and
vicious. When the French Revolution broke out, she
came to Paris to play a part in it. They made a heroine
of her at first ; but at length, disgusted with her depra-
vity, the women laid hands on her, and she was publicly
flogged. Strange to say, this profiigate creature, who
had appeared to be without shame, was so ashamed of
this chastisement that she lost her senses. She spent
ten years in confinement at Bicdtre, and ten more at
the Salpetridre; and whenever she could escape the
vigilance of the keepers, her practice was to take off her
dothes, and inflict on herself the same chastisement she
had received from others in the streets of Paris.
Louis XVI. diminished many of the horrors of this
prison, and ameliorated the condition of the miserable
captives ; but three thousand persons of one sort or an-
other were found conflned within its walls when Mira-
beau and his colleagues, in spite of the resistance of the
governor, insisted oh making their way into its deepest
recesses.
Up to the year 1836, it was customary for the public
of Paris to resort in great numbers to Bicdtre at certain
periods to witness the departure of the criminals con-
demned to tibe galleys, and also the preliminary pro-
cess of chaining them to one another. In 1818 there
was an unusual concourse to behold this spectacle ; for
amongst the galley-slaves was to be seen the famous
Comte de Salnte-H^l^ne, from whose adventures Alex-
andre Dumas appears to have borrowed some ideas for
his celebrated novel of the ' Comte de Monte Christo.'
Through the instrumentality of a woman, Coignard
(the teal name of this personage) had obtained posses-
sion of certain papers belonging to a French emigrant
of distinction who had died in Spain. By the aid of
these documents he succeeded in deceiving the world in
the first instance ; whilst by his real bravery and con-
duct he earned for himself genuine honours and titles ;
first in the War of Independence in Spain, and after-
wards under Napoleon. At the Restoration, he was
received at the Tuileries, and Louis XVni. gave him a
command and the cross of the Legion of Honour. But
one day at a review, in the year 1818, a man called
Darius olainied acquaintance with him as an old com-
rade at the galleys. The Comte de Sainte-H^Idne had
the impolicy not to acknowledge his friend, and there-
upon Darius denounced him ; and after this brilliant
career, Coignard was again chained to the oar.
It is said to have been the monks themselves who dug
out the frightful dungeons of the Abbaye, where the
vaults were so low, that no prisoner could hold his head
erect in them. Fort L*Ey^ue (The Bishop^s Fort), an
ancient seat of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, was also pro-
vided with horrible subterranean dungeons, where the
prisoners were chained to the walls, whilst their wretched
repasts were let down to them through apertures not
allowed, to be more than five inches wide. In later
years the character and inmates of this prison changed,
and it became the House of Correction for actors and
actresses who quarrelled too loudly, or who inconve-
nienced the public and the court l^* refusing to play
the parts assigned to them.
It was firom the Abbaye that Charlotte Corday wrote
that gay letter describing her journey to Paris for the
purpose of assassinating Marat, and also her situation
in the prison, in which she says, * For the last two
days I ^ve enjoyed perfect peace : my country's hap-
piness is mine. 1 am extremely well off, and the jailors
I find excellent people. To be sure, to preserve me from
ennui, they have favoured me with the company of
some soldiers, which is mpre agreeable by day than by
night I complained of this indecency; but nobody
cares for my representations.'
Gratef^ to the advocate that defended her for having
said nothing derogatory to the noble motives that had
urged her to the crime, she told him that, as a proof of
her esteem, she left him to discharge her small account
due at the prison, her own property being confiscated.
Adam de Lux, deputy from if ayence, proposed to raise
a statue to this heroine, inscribed with the motto,
'Greater than Brutus;' for which proposition he lost
his head. He said he was proud of dying for Charlotte
Corday ; ato a capital breakfast on the morning of his
execution ; and as he quitted the Abbaye, handed his
cloak to another prisoner, saying, ' Happier than you, I
shall need it no more to defend me from the cold.'
Some of the most horrible prisons of Paris were en-
tirely demolished at the latter end of the last century,
and amongst these are happily to be reckoned the Grand
and the Petit Ch&telets, two fortresses built at an early
period of French history for the defence of the city.
We read in the history of these buildings that the
Grand ChAtelet was divided into eight different com-
partments, each of which was distinguished by a name
either lltmlly or sarcastically denoting its honours:
for example, one was called The Cradle, another Fara-
diBe, and another The Butchery. Then there were Les
Puits (The Wells) and Les Oubliettes (The Forgot-
ten) ; and there was one called La Fosse (The Grave),
into which the miserable tenant was let down through
a hole in the vault, and which, being in the form of an
inverted cone, allowed him neither to stand nor to lie.
It was also known by the naipe of La Chausse d^Hypo-
eras (The Stockings of Hypocras), because the prisoner
stood in water up to his knees. Fifteen days was gene-
rally the longest term of imprisonment in this frightful
receptacle, as, by the end of that period. Death took the
afikir into his own hands, and set the captive free. There
was another dungeon called La Fin d'Aise (The End of
£ase), which was f\ill of filth and reptiles, and e(^ually
fotal to human Tife. Not long before the destruction of
these buildings, a young advocate called Yamier made
a singular escape from tne Grand Ch^telet The offence
that brought him there was as follows :— During Vol-
taire's last visit to Paris, as he was driving one evening
along the Pont-Koyal, pursued by a mob, crying ' Vive
Voltaire ! ' this young man, Varnier, opened the door
of the carriage, and kissing the hand of the patriarch,
cried, ' A has les rois ! Vivent les philosophes ! *
Marais, the inspector of policei being at hand, Varnier
was seized, and in spite of the resistance of the people,
who handled the inspector very roughly, was carriea to
the Gh&telet Now it happened that Marais, a man of a
brutal and insolent character, was specially attached to
this prison, and having Varnier in his power, he took
the opportunity of revenging on his unfortunate captive
the blows he had himself received. Driven to despe-
ration by this ill treatment, Varnier resolved to fly, or
perish in the attempt; and one night that a violent
storm of thunder and lightning had momentarily di-
rerted the attention of the keepers from their duty, he
effected his object The neighbouring parish clock
struck ten as he found himself in the streets, through
which he began to run as fast as his legs could carry
him; but he had not gone &r when he heard the clash-
ing of arms and the sound of horses' feet behind him —
a moment more, and his hopes of life and liberty were
for ever frustrated. He cast his eyes about in despair^
and as he did so, they fell upon an old woman who was
unlocking the door of a small house at a corner. Just
as she was about to entet a person spoke to her, to-
wards whom she turned to answer ; Varnier seized the
opportunity, pushed open the door, and entered the
house. All was dark within, and he groped his way
along a passage and up some stairs, guided only by the
sound of an instrument and a sweet female voice, which
was singing an air out of a favourite Italian opera of
that day. He had no time to lose, for he expected every
moment that the old woman would overtake him ; so, on
reaching the door of the apartment whence tl^e sounds
proceeded, he opened it, and found himself in the pre-
sence of a beautiful young female, whose protection and
assistance he implored. Moved by his distress, and the
wretchedness of his appearance, she promised to conceal
him, and he then told who he was; related the story of
his horrible captivity and miraculous escape, terminat-
ing his narration by calling down curses on the head of
the monster Marais. At uie name of the inspector the
lady started and changed colour ; but before any expla-
nation could follow, a loud knock at the outer door, and
an angry voice upon the stairs, announced the approach
of danger. Pale and trembling, she rose, and pointing
to the door of a small inner chamber, she bade him en-
ter there, and be still He was no sooner shut in, than
he heard a man's foot in the room he bad just quitted.
* Doubtless her husband or father,' thought Varnier.
' What is the matter with your hands ? ' asked the
young girl : * they are stained with blood !'
* Give me some water to wash them,' replied the man.
' One of our most important prisoners has escaped this
evening,* he added with an oath, • aDd I have been re-
venging myself on the rest of them.'
It \ras Marais the inspector I He then called for
wine ; and after drinking for some tinoe, he went o«t,
telling his daughter he should see her bo moFe that
flight * I must go and divert myself' he said« * in order
to put this vexatious affUr out of my head.'
Through the assistance of this young girl, Varnier
finally escaped out of France, accompaniei by his fkro-
teotress; and Marion, the daughter of the inspector,
became the wife of the delivered captive.
The Bastile, as everybody knows, was destroyed dur-
ing the first French Revolution. Here, too, were the most
horrible dungeons, vaults hollowed out of the earth
nineteen feet belqw the surface, awarmiBg with rats,
toads, and spiders, where the walls were nerer dry, and
the floor was mud and filth. In those inatanoet whece
the captive was not intended to be starred, or nearly
so — for the ordinary rations in all these prisoas ven so
bad and so scanty, that they hardly kept body and aool
together — he was permitted ta (^taia food c^T a better
description if he could afford to pay for it at an extor-
tionate rate; but the abuses were so enonnoas, that
whilst the governors drew handsome revenues from this
source, the poor prisoner got very little for hia money.
The Man with the Iron Mask, as be is called, lived
some time in the Bastile, having been transferred thither
from St Margaret's ; but the treatment he received in
both prisons was quite an exception to the general raVe.
He was both sumptuously fed and sumptooosly dotbed;
and the governor, St Mars, who was the only peraoa
allowed to address him, ^waya did so standing and on-
covered ; but these were poor compensatioDa for ^le
extreme rigour with which he was watched, and the
utter solitude to which he was condemned. The made
was not made of iron, but of velvet with steel spring
and no one ever saw his face except St Mbxa, An
impenetrable veil of myat^ry covers hia eariy jeara
Where and how they were passed nobody knowa ; but
he must have been young when taken to St Margaret^
and had probably been a prisoner from liia birth. LifiUe
doubt exists that he was an elder bat illegitiiBate
brother of Louis XIV., whose hardened conacience and
selfish nature permitted this barbarous and lifelong tn-
carceration. It is a singular fact, and one that would
almost induce the belief that his mother had contrived
to conceal him during his childhood, that he had been
taught to write — an accomplishment which one migbf
suppose would have been carefully withheld from Uin
whust in the hands of those who feared him. We en^
know of two instances in which he atten&pted to avaH
himself of this acquirement ; the firat was at the for-
tress of St Margaret's, where an unfortunate barber one
day observed something white floating on the water
under the prisoner's winidow. Having obtained it^ and
diccovered it to be an exceedingly fine linen shirs, on
which some lines were inscribed, he carried it to the go-
vernor, Vho asked him if he had read what was written
on it: the man protested he had not; but two daya
afterwards he was found dead in his bed. The second
attempt of this poor yictim to communicate his fate to
somebody able or willing to aid him, waa by writing hie
name on the bottom of a silver dish with the point of a
knife. The governor always waited on him at table,
and handed the dishes out to a valet; thia last per-
ceived the writing, and thinking to recommend fainiaelC
showed it to St Mara. Of course the possewor eC aaoh
a secret was not permitted to live. On the joonegr
from St Margaret's to the Bastile in lesa, the paity
halted at the house of a gentleman named P^tean. It
was observed here that St Mara ate with the pciacsMw,
and that he sat with a pistol on each side of htia plats;
but whether the mask waa worn at table thegr ooirid not
ascertain, aa no one waa allowed to enter the rooas. The
diary of the Bastile for the 19th Nov^aber 1708 easK
tains an entry to the effect that * The unloMwn, who
always wore a black mask, had been taken ill qfltr at-
tmding nuut^ and waa dead so suddenly, tiimA tfaaw va»
no time for the servicea of the church;' perhiH^ pcnsoprf
with the wafer. He was boxied on the 20lh in the
churchyard of St Pmil'a, under the name of
I
Mf_
-^•^" '-
.rSTMm
I* ■ ■ > Ti ■ I
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
405
Hit foTteral cost forty llrreB. After the removal of the
body, everything in the chamber he occupied was
burnt ; the walls were strictly examined, scraped, and
whitewashed ; and the very window-panes were taken
out, lest he should have made some mark on them that
should furnish a due to this perilous secret. A person
in the neighbourhood, more curious than wise, bribed
the gravedigger to open the grave and let him see the
corpse: the trunk and the limbs were there, but no
heiid^ luckily for this inquisitive gentleman — who
would otherwise have probably lost his own.
Some of the offences for which people were shut up
in the Bastile, as they appear in the registers, make one
wonder how anybody was fortunate enough to keep
out of it It was a common thing, for example, to be
thrown into this horrible jail * fbr speaking insolently
of the king* or * of the state ;* or * for quarrelling,' if
the quarrel happened to inconvenience somebody in
power ; * for libelling the Jesuits ; * * for selling or pos-
sessing prohibited t^ks / for * being suspected ;' * for
religion;' *for treasure- seeking;' * for wishing to sell
yourself to the deril ; ' * for interrupting the performance
at the Italian Opera ;' * for having spoken insolently to
a lady who was a friend of the Comte de Charolais.'
A child of seven years of age was imprisoned on account
of his name, which was Saint-Pcre, it being pronounced
an insult to religion to bear such a name ; and a pro-
fessor of physic is registered as having been ' transferred
to the prison of Charenton, after being thirty years in
the Bastile. for administering an improper remedy!'
And these incarcerations were not for a month or a
year, but for an indefinite time, frequently for liffe ; for,
once there, unless some very powerftil interest was
exerted in your favour, nobody thought it worth while
to take you out again. Of the corruption of the court,
and the unjustifiable use of power, the following is a
remarkable instance t^Louis XVT., in 1787, beginning
to perceive that he was deceived by the people about
him with regard to puUic opinion, privately desired a
bookseller called Blaizot to place dnily in a recess indi-
cated all the political pamphlets that appeared. This
was done for some time, till the ministers finding the
king better infbrmed than they wished him to be, set
spies to discover the source of his knowledge ; which,
having ascertained, they immediately teiz^ Blaisot,
and shut him up in the Bastile ; and most assuredly he
would never have got out with their consent ; but for-
tunately the king, missing his pamphlets, found out the
cause of their non-appearance, and set him free. There
is every reason to believe that secret executions — in
plain terms, mitrdera — ^were committed by authority
in these prisons. Amongst the papers found in the
Bastile, certain letters, such as the following, seem to
juatify this persuasion : —
• To MoNs. De Launay, Governor op the Bastile.
'Dear De Launay — I send you F— ^; he it a
troublesome subject ; keep him for eight days, and then
get rid of him. (Signed) Dh Sabtinbs,
Lieut^Oen. qfPoUceJ
Memorandum attached to the bottom of the above. —
'June — . Arrived F . After the period named,
sent to Mons. De Sartines to inquire under what name
he would have him buried.' What strange times the
worid has lived through !
The original purpose of the Madelonnettes is indi-
cated by its name ; but it has often been converted to
other uses. Under the monarchy, for example, in 1759,
all the flower-girls of Paris — women who went about
tlie city selling bouquets — were shut up in this prison
at the request of the maitresses-bouqueti^res, because
these itinerant merchants injured the trade of the sta-
tionmry ones. And during the first Revolution, the
whole company of the principal theatre in Paris were
seized and oonflned here for performing a piece founded
on Richardson's novel of * Pamela;* which, the Jaco-
bins alleged, tended to make the public regret the order
of nobility. Although they never expected to pass
those gates except on their way to tlie scaffold, they
appear to have conducted themselves in their confine-
ment with wonderful good sense and cheerfulness. The
first thing they did was to set about cleaning the Augean
stable they were put into, providing themselves, as
they had plenty of money, with brooms and brushes ;
turning carpenters and upholsterers too, iu order to
maintain some semblance of decency; but nails and
hammers were soon denied them. They jested and
laughed^ and said all manner of witty things about Aga-
memnon and Caesar, and Antigone and Clytemnestra,
being reduced to such strange shifts: and, what is better,
they performed a number of kind and generous actions ;
assisting their fellow -prisoners who were poor, and
actually procuring the liberation of some by paying
their bail ; for frequently those who were acquitted by
the revolutionary tribunals, were sent back unless they
c»uld deposit a considerable sum ; and once in prison
again, they were as likely to lose their heads as not.
Although the fatal red O was attached to noost of their
names when sent up to the committee, La Comedie
Franyaise, as they called themselves, ultimately escaped
the scafibld by the generous aid of the courageous
Labassiere.
The Temple was erected as a habitation for them-
selves by the Knights* 'Templars in the year 1279. As
this order, which was partly religious and partly mili-
tary, was then a great power in Europe, their residence
was in accordance with their position. It covered a
great deal of ground, which was given to them by
Philip III. in return for their having drained some hor-
rible marshes which infected the air of the city, and for
having converted the water-weeds and bulrushes into
healthy plantations ; whilst the interior of the building
was more sumptuous than the king*s palaces. The
chamber of the grand-master was supported by twenty-
four pillars of massive silver, wrought with such admir-
able art into representations of vines, with birds, squir-
rels, and reptiles amongst the leaves, that ' many people
were afraid to touch them.' The chapter-room was
paved in mosaic ; the beams were of cedar of Lebanon,
carved to imitate Mechlin lace ; and the decorations
were so magnificent, that they dazzled the eyes of the
beholders. Amongst these were sixty large vases of
solid gold. In the year 1242, Henry III. of England
was splendidly entertained here, when there sat at the
same table three kinvs, twelve bishops, twenty -two
dukes and barons, and eighteen countesses. In spite
of the immense size of the building, the train of the
English monarch was so large, that many persons were
obliged to pass the night in the street. But the Tem-
plars were too rich and powerful : their wealth was
coveted, and their power was feared ; and fifty-eight
years after this grand fete, the knights were arrested,
their treasure confiscated, and the walls of the Temple
echoed to the groans of Jacques de Molay, the last
grand-master, who, constrained by torture to calum-
nious and absurd accusations against liimself and his
order, died nobly vindicating both with his latest
breath.
Toussaint L'Ouverture, that noble and patriotic
negro of St Domingo, who, after liberating his country-
men, and refusing a crown, was basely betrayed into a
French prison, lived some time at the Temple before
he was conveyed to the fortress of Joux, where grief,
indignation, and ill-treatment, broke his great heart.
We cannot quit the precincts of the Temple without
recalling the miserable hours spent there by the un-
fortunate royal family of France ; and the bloodstained
figure of Simon the cobbler, and the mournful image
of the persecuted child, flit sadly before us — that young
dauphin of France, who is said to have died of the ill-
usage he received, and to have been buried witliin the
walls of the prison. The mystery that hangs over the
last act of this tragedy has encouraged three pre-
tenders to assume his name, all of whom are now dead.
A fourth claimant, however, survives in the person of
the Baron de Ridiemont, whose name and existence
406
CHAlf BERS'S EDINBUBGH JOURNAL.
are scarcely, known in thia ooimtiy, and oyer whoae
birth and history there hangi a veil that the French
themselves do not seem to have wholly penetrated. He
is said to be an u]tra-republican> though very rich ; and
•o greatly beloved by the lower orders in Paris, that he
has been indicated as the originid of the German prince,
Bodolphe, who is painted as a sort of terrestrial provi-
denoe in Eugene Sue*t notorious novel. It appears
certain that he has passed several years of his life in
the Austrian prison of Spielberg, which would be suffi-
cient to make any man a republican ; and it has been
lately confidently asserted that the Duchess D'Angou-
leme was satisfied of his identity, although, on account
of his republicanism, or for some reason unknown,
•he refused to acknowledge him publicly. One of the
facts advanced to give weight to his pretensions is, that
when the grave supposed to contain the body of the
young dauphin was opened, the remains of a lad of
fifteen were discovered, whereas the prince was only
ten at the time his death is alleged to have taken
place.
RETROSPECT OF MORTALITY.
Ths publication of the Registrar-Qeneral's Report for
the quarter ending the 30th of September last puts us
in possession of many interesting facts and particulars,
which, while embodying a history of the past, may well
serve as guides and warnings for the future. It is not
easy to forget the calamity whose cessation has been
recently acknowledged by a day of thanksgiving ; and
whatever tends to assist the inquiry as to its pheno-
mena, its causes, and remedies, can hardly fail at the
present time to be productive of good.
It appears from the returns, which comprise all the
divisions and districts of England, that the deaths in
the three months referred to were 135,364, being 60,492
more than in the corresponding quarter of 1845 — an
increase of 71 per cent The number of births was
135,200, thus showing an excess of deaths by 164 ; and
the Report states: — ^^ As the emigrants in the quarter
from London, Liverpool, and Plymouth alone amounted,
according to the Emigration Commissioners, to 46,558,
the population of England has suffered, died, and de-
creased during the quarter to a degree of which there
is no example in the present century.'
*The mortality,* continues the Registrar, 'will be
found to have been very unequally distributed over the
country, and to have generally been greatest in the
dense town population. The average annual rate of
mortality in the town districts is 26, in the country dis-
tricts 18, in 1000; during the last quarter these num*
bers became 41 and 23 respectively.
* While the mortality has been excessive in nine
divisions, it has been below or little above the average
in two divisions — the North Midland and the South
Midland; or in the counties of Buckingham, Oxford,
Northampton, Huntingdon, Bedford, Cambridge, Here-
ford, Worcester, Leicester, Rutland, Lincoln, Notting-
ham, Derby ; also in the Nortii Riding of Yorkshire,
Cumberland, Westmoreland, and North Wales.* And
here we observe some of the anomalies in the progress
of the epidemic, for we read further — * The difierence
will be more apparent upon examining the several dis-
tricts : in some the people have died by hundreds or by
thousands ; in others not far distant, few have died —
the inhabitants have been unusually healthy. "The
medical men,** says a Registrar, " say that Uiey have
had nothing to do.'**
In London the deaths were 27,109, being double the
average, and 9885 more than the births, which num-
bered 17,224. It appears that not a ringle case of
deaUi from hydrophobia has been regiatered in the
metropolis during the last five summers. * Tet,' pur-
sues the Report, ' hydrophobia is inevitably fatal, and
medicine is of no more avail when its fymptooia are
revealed than it is in cholera ; but the wise oonrae of
removing its causes has been tried, and bide lair to
create a permanent blank in the London noadlogy.
* The cause of typhus, of influenza, of chidera, and of
the like diseases, will not long, we may hope, remain in
undisturbed possession of the earth and air of this city.
Hydrophobia disappears when the dogs which are liable
to become mad or to be bitten every summer are re-
moved by police regulations ; so will tlie other zymotic
diseases give way when that putrid, decaying, Bononie
atmosph^e exhaled by churchyards, slaughter-bouaes,
the tanks of dirty-water companies, cesspools, sewert,
crowded dwellings, is purified and dissipated. The
sewers and cesspools now under our bouses will inflict
more pain, and destroy more living, than tea tboaaand
mad dogs let loose in the streets : they may aa certainly
be removed ; and yet it is to be feared that many yean
will elapse before anything effectual is done, or any
such satisfisctory result can be recorded aa the eztino-
tion of another disease in this great city.'
Cholera has been, if the term may be permittod, ex-
tremely eaprioiouM in its visitations, making inroada
here and ^ere without any apparent adequate omnm ;
yet its general charaoteristio is to a|^>ear, aa the car-
rion vulture, wherever garbage or rank impurity inTitea.
The different Reports from the sub-registrars are unani-
mous on Uiis point In Salisbury, the average deatiis
for the summer quarter of five years is 48, but daring
the past quarter the number was 263; and we aie
informed that ' the cholera visited Salisbury with fear-
ful violence. .... Salisbury is always an unhealthy
phu^ : it is on a low, damp valley, in the midat of water-
meadows ; the courts and alleys where the lower-dasaes
reside are in a filthy state, and derive no benefit from
the general system of cleansing carried on in the main
streets. There is a mill-dam ; **and any attempt^** aays
Captain Denison, "to improve the general drainage
would be impracticable : it would interfere with loo many
interests.'" There Is a pregnant significaticm in tbeae
concluding words ; it contains more Uian ia apparent on
a first reading. We might comment on it at lengtii,
but shall content ourselves for the present with the
remark, that in these days of enlightenment, pounds,
shillings, and pence ought not to be held as more pre-
cious than the interests of human life and social morals.
Newcaatle-under-Lyne affords a somewhat similar case.
The deaths were If per cent during the three montha.
The town is situated on high ground, 400 feet above
the sea-level, but * the Lyne, made the open sewer run-
ning through the town, is dammed up by a miO, and
sends up from its polluted, black, puddly bed exhala-
tions which poison the inhabitants.' Here, again, imU-
rests versus lifel We are by no means unfrien^y to
commercial interests, but we would not elevate them to
the chief rank in right and privilege.
Again: in Gainsborough, with a population of 26,000,
the deaths were three times the average of the aeasoo,
while in the county of Lincoln generally the mortality
was below the average : the cause of the extraordinary
difference is manifest — the want of proper drainage^
sewage, and sanitary regulations in the town above-
named. A comparison, too, between Hull and lian*
Chester is not less striking : — The population of Hull te
1841 numbered 77,367 ; the deaths in the summer
ter of the present year were 2754 ; In Manchester
were 2742, with a population of neariy 2OO,O00l
in^ to other parts of the country, we are again
by inexplicable results : still taking the census of IMI,
the Isle of Wight contains 42,550 inhabitant the ~
ftom all causes in the period under notice were 998 { Ik
Anglesey, among a population of 38,106, the
were 191. Is there not something in th^
demonstrative of peculiar local causes f
Without attempting to decide the questioii
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
407
tlie caase of cholera be atmospheric or not, we give a
sommary of the * Remarki on the Weather,' drawn up
by Mr Glaisher of the Greenwich ObserTatory, and
regularly printed in the Begiitrar's Reports. During the
first half of July the temperature of the air was abore
the ayerage, and below it for the second half; after
which, with short exceptions, it was above the average
to the end of the quarter. From August 20 to Septem-
ber 15 * was distinguished by a thi(£ and stagnant at-
mosphere, and the air was for the most part very close
and oppressive.' The summer is further described as
having been warm and dry, without great heat ; tiiun-
der-storms frequent ; the air unusually dry. *■ The mag-
nets have been seldom disturbed during the quarter,
and the amount of electricity, though less than usual,
seems to have been so in consequence of the less amount
of humidity of the air.'
Under the head of rain we find some interesting par-
ticulars : — The quantity of rain which fell at Greenwich
in July was 2*9 inches; in August> 0*45 inches; in
September, 3*3 inches; about an inch less than the
average of the same quarter for the preceding eight
Tears, while * the fall A rain in August was less than
has fallen in any August since the year 1819. The
average fall of rain at Greenwich from thirty-three
years' observations in July is 2*5 ; in August, 2*4 ; in
September, 2*4 inches. The fall was less than its aver-
age at places south of latitude 53 degrees (a line drawn
from the Wash to Caernarvon Bay), ezdusive of Corn-
wall and Devonshire: it was about its average fall be-
tween 53 degrees ana 54 degrees of latitude, and north
of 54 degrees the fall was greater than usual'
The prevalent winds were north-west and south-west,
with occasional shifts to north and north-east: when
blowing briskly, the direction was the same all over the
country, but variable at other times. * The daily hori-
zontal movement of the air in July was 120 miles;
from August 1 to 11, 50 miles ; August 12 to 16, 170
miles; and from August 17 to the end of the quarter
was about 55 miles, except in September 11 and 12,
when it amounted to 190 miles daily. The average
daily horizontal movement of the air during the quarter
is about 120 miles. Therefore, during the months of
August and September, the movement of the air was
about one-half the usual amount .... This remark ap-
plies to Greenwich, where the anemometer is fixed 200
feet above the sea-level On many days when a strong
breeze was blowing on the top of the observatory, and
over Blackheath, fiiere was not the slightest motion in
the air near the banks of the Thames ; and this remark-
able calm continued for some days together, particularly
from August 19 to 24, on the 29th, from September 1 to
10, and after the 15th. On September 11 and 12, the
whole mass of air at all places was in motion ; and for
the first time for nearly tnree weeks the hills at Hamp-
stead and Highgate were seen clearly fVom Greenwich.
After the 15t£ of September to the end of the quarter
the air was in very Uttle motion.' We give one more
extract from the Registrar's statements, which will en-
able those who are interested in the subject to compare
the progress of the epidemic with the fluctuations of the
weather : — ' The water of the Thames rose to the tem-
perature of 60 degrees at the end of May ; and the
weekly deaths in July and August were 1 52, 339, 678,
783, 926, 823, 1230, 1272, 1663; in the first week of
September 2026 deaths from cholera were registered ;
and the epidemic then rapidly subsiding, the deaths
fell to 1682, 839, 434, in the last three weeks of the
month. The temperature of the Thames fell below 60
degrees in September 16-22. The deaths fh>m all causes
were 3183, or about three times the average number in
the first week of September The mortality from
cholera varied in different districts of the metropcdis
from 8 to 239 in 10,000, and was greatest in the low,
the worst-drained, the poorest districts — the districts
supplied with water from the Thames between Water-
loo Bridge and Battersea New Town.'
We may just note, by way of conclusion, that the
decrease in the weekly rate of mortality in London
within the current quarter Is extraordinary, falling
in some instances to 300 below the average, proving
that the sickly, weakly, and intemperate, whose deaths
would have made up tiie usual average, had been pre-
viously carried off by the recelit epidemic.
TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.
TKOM85E — ^KAAFIORD.
It was early on Sunday morning that the steamer came
to a pause at Tromsde. On looking forth, I found that
we were in a narrow sea, skirted by gently-sloping green
mountains on one side, and an island of no great deva-
tion, but varied by thin plantations, on the other. On
the shore of the island appeared the town of Tromstfe,
a place of only about 1500 inhabitants, but important
from its privilege of trading with foreign ports ; it is
for this reason composed of better houses than towns of
that size usually boast of, while its crowd of vessels, of
many various dags and styles of construction, impart to
it an air of activity and liveliness which the traveller
feels as very refreshing after for a week seeing nothing
but lonely shores and snow-capt mountains. The steamer
pauses here for thirty hours, to enable the merchants
of Tromstfe to read their lettera from the south, and
prepare othen to be sent on to Hammerfest — a business
for which, in England, the tenth part of the time would
probably suffice. As advantage was to be taken of this
pause to get the cabins cleaned, we were desired to go
ashore, and remain there, if possible, till next day.
The three Englishmen lost no time in obeying the re-
quest, each taking a light bag containing a few neces-
saries, and never doubting that they would find a toler-
able hotel in which to lodge. What was our surprise
to be told on landing that there is no hotel in Troms5e!
It has the flags of half-a-dozen nations flying in its
harbour, and yet has no regular place of public enter-
tainment bevond a few taverns. But then there was a
possibility of our obtaining private lodgings. Attended
by a boy to act as^ spokesman, we went about from one
likely house to another in search of accommodation, but
in vain. No citizen of TromsSe moved to take us in
on any terms. We were therefore obliged to return to
the vessel and intreat a breakfast from the steward. It
is but justice to Tromsbe to state, that we had come too
eariy to give its gentlefolks an opportunity of showing
us hospitality. There had been a great party the night
before, which had broken up at such an hour as made
it most unlikely that any of them should see or hear of
three English gentlemen seeking lodgings in their town
at eight in the morning.
After breakfast we again left the vessel, and our only
resource was a walk over the island. I observed on
landing that the east end of the town is seated on a
bank of shells rising to fully 25 feet above the sea.
One of our little party had broken his watch-glass on
the voyage, and he was anxious to learn if it could be
replaced in Tromsde, as, if it could not, his means of
ascertaining time throughout his residence in the north
was at an end. To his great joy we found an uhrmager
(watchmaker) who was able to furnish him with the
important litUe article required ; the cost, too, was not
extravagant in the circumstances, being only twenty-
four skillings, or about eightpence of English money.
Our friend the uhrmager we found living in a neatly-
furnished house, surrounded by a respectable-looking
family. He had come from Copenhagen to practise his
trade in this remote place. I was curious to know how
near to him was his nearest competitor in business.
He told us there was none at Hammerfest, nor any
other, place to the northward. There was none to the
southward till you come to Trondhiem, 400 miles off.
At Tornea, on the Gulf of Bothnia, there was none, nor
at any place thereabouts to the north or west of Sunds-
vall. Finally, his nearest neighbour to the westward
must be in Aberdeen or Peterhead. It appeared that
his professional range was between latitude 63^ and
408
CHAMBERS'S EDINBUKOH JOURNAL.
the pole, and from west bogitude 3" to 36** — a moao-
poly of geographical space perfectly enormous.
The weather was to-day exceedingly mild ; neverthe-
less we found several patches of the snow of last winter
in hollows on the top of the island. The wood is here
interspersed with small timber houses, some of which
are used as summer residences by the merchants of
Tromsoe, while others are only lyst-houses, A Nor-
wegian lyst-house is a small tabernacle placed a little
way out of town, if possible in a wood, or on the bank
of a lake, or at least in a pleasant scene of some kind,
always provided with a gallery in front, and sometimes
surrounded by a garden. Here the man in easy circum-
stances loves to spend the evening of the first day of
tlie week, surrounded by his friends. If the weather
be pleasant, the party sits in the gallery, or lounges
about the garden and other grounds i if not, they re-
tire to the interior. In the evening of our arrival
in Tromsoe there was an entertainment of this kind
given in a lyst-house on the hill. A gentleman who
was present described it as attended by about twenty
of the most considerable persons in the place, among
whom was the pastor of a neighbouring parish. There
was a fire in the open air to prepare hot water. An
immense variety of wines — French, Portuguese, and
German — was presented, and brandy and water was
copiously indulged io. The gentlemen sauntered about,
smoking, in the open air, tiU eleven o*cIock, feeUng no
inconvenience, notwithstanding that there was a slight
drizzle all the time. The sunlight was at that time only
sobered, not departed. The affair was described as what
in our country would be called dull ; much indulgence of
the animal appetites, but little conversation, and do sort
of spirit or pleasantry. I found that it is the custom over
all Norway to devote the Sunday evening to social plea-
sures. Taking literally the text, ' the evening and the
morning was the first day,* they consider the Sabbath
as commencing at six o'clock on Saturday, and termi-
nating at the same liour on Sunday — a doctrine in
which, I believe, they are countenanced by the pilgrim
fathers of America. Accordingly, in Norway, there is
no public entertainment, such as theatricals or dancing,
permitted by law on Saturday evening ; and the more
strict class of people will not see their friends even pri-
vately at that time. Believing, however, the day of rest
and of devotion to be at a dose on the Sunday at six
o'clock, they feel themselves then at liberty to enter
upon any amusement or enjoyment for which they may
have an Inclination. Even in the houses of the clergy
there will be found both card-playing and dancing on
this evening, and this without the slightest scand^ to
their flocks. It is a mistake into which an Englishman
is very apt to fall, to regard this custom of the Nor-
wegians as indicative of a disregard for the Christian
Sabbath. The error rests primarily in the conception as
to what constitutes a natural day. Such, nevertheless,
is the influence of habit, that Idtliough far from setting
myself up in judgment in the case, not only could I
never reconcile myself to the Norwegian manner of
spending the Sunday evening, bu( I never could quite
free myself of the notion that the people were manifest-
ing an indifibrence to sacred things.
Tromsde must be regarded as a remarkable creation
of commercial industry in a part of the earth which is
properly the seat of a primitive people. It has sprung
up within the last forty years purely in consequence of
the fishing trade of these seas. There was exported
from it in 1848, of stock fish (sent to the Mediterra-
nean), 80,000 voga fa vog is equal to forty pounds Eng-
lish); of split fish (to Russia), 17,000 vogs j of Sei fish,
20,000 vogs. This last kind, which is held in least esti-
mation, and is really a poor article, is sent exclusively to
Sweden, for whose humble peasantry it constitutes a re-
lish to still simpler fkre. There was also in the same year
exported fVom Tromsbe 6160 barrels of oil (chiefly cod-
liver oil), 8370 pieces of fox-skin, 2000 other sjcins, and
23,000 pounds of bones. There are in this town several
afllueot mercantile families living in a handsome style.
The ladies are noted for good looks and smart
I visited the Stift Amptman, or provincial govemoc; at
his house, and found there every symptom of elegant
life — himself a handsomei dignified-losing nmn, and
his lady an exceedingly wdl-bred person, surroiiaded
by musical instruments and other civilised objects. YH
cross the Sound, and walk tliree miles along a lonely
valley, and you find a camp of Laplanders, excmplify-
iog %YeTy usage which has been peculiar U> that sim^
people from tl^ earliest ages. Tlie whole prorioee seems
to have come into the hands of the Norwegians only
in comparatively modern times, and it is even nov
thought an extraordinary thing for any one to haw
visited it I found on my return to the south that my
voyage to Hammerfest was spoken of by Swedes and
Norwegians in exactly the same terms as it afterwards
was by my own friends at home ; nor must this appear
too surprising, when we remember the sosaU proportion
of the British people who have sqjoumed in Orkney or
SbeUand, or made the tour of Connemars.
An amusing trait of democratic ambition was men-
tioned with regard to Tromsde. Any person in Norway
bearing a government office of a certain dignity, or Hit
consulship of some foreign state, is held as standing in
a superior rank, and his wife is addressed as Fnte (equi-
valent to My Lady), and his daughters as Prmke^ while
other ladies are only called Madame. I had fzeqnent
warnings given me as to the propriety of csU'mhs a*^
and such a lady FruB, instead of Madame. It is a dis-
tinction as roach insisted on as the essential equality ef
all the citisens in this non-aristocratic country. Con-
nected with it is the fact that there is a surprising
number of foreign consuls in Troms&e. The mercbanta,
it seems, are eager to obtain such appointments, albeit
implying some trouble and little profit ; or, if they are
not anxious, their wives are anxions instead, vaa^j
that they may possess a certain external distinction
above common citizenship, and that their ladies may
command the magical appellative which sets them over
the heads of all madames.
The next mornmg was drizzly and ungenial, so tluU
it was with some difficulty I executed a geodetic mea-
surement, in order to ascertain the elevation of the
two terraces which belt the shores of the mainland.
They proved to be respectively 57 and 143 fieet. After-
wards, when we were about to depart, an officer of tbe
law came on board, attended by a butcher, wiUi orders
to execute justice upon a dog belonging to one of the
English party for having bitten a gentleman in TnxnsSe.
The incident was said to have occurred at the party on
the hill the night before, and the authorities bad given
an order for the death of the animal as a matter oC
course. Tbe English traveller was at first disposed to
treat the charge with ridicule, but found it so serions a
matter, that he had to give up his passage, and wait to
defend his favourite. Two gentlemen of the Ennls-
killen Dragoons, who had come to the harboor in a
yacht, offered to remain and see justice done to liim,
and afterwards to bring him on to Alien in their veaseL
Indeed the whole of the English took up the matter
keenly. I could not help being amused at the opposite
and contrasted lights in which the act of the dog was
regarded by the plaintiff and defendant. To tbe latter
it looked such a trifle to make a pother about — tbe ^in
was merely grazed — the dog was only sportive, and
meant no harm. To the former it was an affair of gra-
vity. He had been hurt, and his wife was in terror abovt
him. Though the wound were quickly ta baal, tbe d^g
might afterwards grow mad, and then the gentleman
would take ill in the same way. Such, it teema, is a
common belief in Norway ; and it was Mldoced bj tiie
sufferer on this occasion as an all-sufilcieBt leaaon te
putting poor Glendalough to immediate death. I do net
know how the matter ended ; but it caused tbe dnUi)
tion of the dog during all the time I was in tbe coHBkyr
and wherever I afterwards went, I found that the
had made its way, and was talked about.
In our onward voyage, we passed the openings
J
i
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
409
fiotds, far up which we oould see glaciers descending
fropi the lofty fields almost to the water's edge. Pass-
ing close under the island of Ringvatsde, which is chiefly
composed of lofty mountains, I observed a savage valley,
dosed up towards the sea by a vast rampart of blocks,
like the moraine of a glacier. Over the centre of the
rampart poured a considerable stream. I was told that
within this rampart was a circular lake, from which the
name ojf the island (meaning the island of the circular
hke) had been taken. Along the valley-side was a
ridge of blocks, the lateral portion of the moraine. The
mountain of Skalgamtinderne was within sight, covered
with eternal snow, of which one downward stream ex-
hibited l^e usual ar(^ at the bottom for the emission of
the water. It was evident that the rampart of blocks
formed the dam by which the lake was retained. The
course of events was evidently this: a glacier had
descended from the great mountain of Skalgamtinderne
into the valley, depositing the usual charge of stones at
its extremity and along its sides. It had afterwards
shrunk up to where we now see it, high in the bosom
of the mountain. On its retirement, the moraine acted
as a dam, and a lake was the consequence.
Still on and on through a labyrinth of fiords and
islands, touching now and then at a kiopman*s estab-
lishment, where the dag flies merrily in honour of the
passing of the steamer. Night, such as it was, set in
upon us when we were just about to pass through a
portion of the open sea. The small island of Loppen is
here the only defence from the roll of the ocean. The
mention of tiiis place recalls to me the remark that the
borie is an animal as yet little in use in the far north,
boats and reindeer superseding it for travelling, while
cattle are employed fur tillage. There was onccy how-
ever, a horse on Loppen! It had been brought up
amongst the cattle there, and had never seen a single
creature of its own kind. Being at length transferred
to a place on the mainland where tbere were other
horses, it was startled and evidently much annoyed by
the sight of its new companions. It could not be in-
duced to associate with them in any labour, and their
approach disturbed it in its pasture. The device was
at length hit upon to allow this poor beast to go
amongst its old friends, the cows and oxen, and it was
then once more at perfect ease ; nor did it ever after-
wards manifest any desire to enter the society of its
own species.
At an early hour next morning we found the vessel
steering into the Altenfiord, the district which I was to
regard as my head-quarters in the north. At Talvig,
Quaenvig, and other recesses in the rocky coast, I be-
held with curiosity those remarkable curtain-like ram-
parts of alluvial matter, faced with terraces, which hare
helped so much to give this district celebrity with geolo-
gists. By and by we entered a narrow branch of the
Altenfiord, called Kaafiord, where an English company
has for twenty years past carried on an extensive copper-
mining concern. Mr Thomas, the intelligent manager
of these works, was on board with us as a passenger,
on his return fiom business at Tromsde ; and a previous
correspondence having prepared him for my visit, he
insisted on my landing at his house, and staying there
till I should shape out plans for a future course.
Here, then, in a narrow fiord close upon the 70th
parallel, terminated for the present this for me singular
expedition. I found myself, however, in the midst of a
little colony of my countrymen, for almost necessarily
the copper-works are conducted solely by Englishmen.
We first see the hill-side partially covered by debris,
and huge timber fabrics connected with the works,
while large smelting-houses line the shore below. We
pass a promontory on which a pretty modem church is
situated, and then come in sight of an inner vale, where
one of the roost prominent ejects is a long, low house,
with attendant buildings, all smart and fresh, and some-
what like the establishment of a respectable yeoman in
England. This may be described as the residentiary
house for the works. Along the hill-side, in the rear.
are scattered maby small timber-houses, being the resi-
dences of the working-people, who number in all about
700. On the shore is a quay, with storehouses, in one
of which every conceivable necessary of life is sold.
Such is the Kaafiord establishment — a most interesting
example of English enterprise and perseverance, by
which, for twenty years past, civilised usages and large
sums of money have been introduced into what would
otherwise be a desert abandoned to bears and wolves.
I beheld the whole place not merely with interest, but
with respect, because there are heroisms in commerce
as well as in war, and these be of them. I could not
behold but with a touched spirit the spectacle of a set
of educated Englishmen, and Englishwomen too, settling
even temporarily in this remote comer of the earth,
where for three months they see not the sun, in prose-
cution of that noble object — the doing of i^ appointed
work, by which to benefit the community, and attain
for themselves the just requital of an independent sub-
sistence.
The residentiary house, as I have quaintly but not
inaptly called it, is a plain, roomy, and comfortable
habitation, where Mr Thomas and his wife, a beautiful
young Norwegian lady, are master and mistress, while
the other officers of the works are also entertained in
it at a general table. I was particularly gratified to
find in this extensive family circle a young married
daughter of Consul-Greneral Crowe, whose kind atten-
tions to me at Christiania had given me an interest
in all that belonged to him. Being so large a group
in themselves, they roust be the less likely to pine
for the want of external society. They receive, how-
ever, English visitors like myself every summer, by
which their native feelings and usages are ever kept
in a certain freshness. As for the winter, it is specially
the season of gaiety in Norway. Much interchange of
visiting then takes place ; not only because it is a time
when country business is unavoidably suspended, but
because of the facilitation to movement which is afforded
by the frozen snowy surface. Every one here speaks
with delight of the merry winter season, when all set
themselves to be as happy, and to make others as
happy, as possible. At Kaafiord the gentlemen have a
billiard. table and philosophical instruments. Their
scientific, observations are regularly reported to the
British Association. The ladies have that unfailing
attendant on English polite life everywhere — the piano-
forte. English books, periodicals, and newspapers come
at regular intervals. And so, with active duties light-
ening the hours, life passes on. I thought I could hear
an occasional sigh for distant England, which nothing
can ever fully replace to one of its children ; but such
feelings do not necessarily embitter existence; they
only throw a tender haze over its sunshine. I may
remark that the Norwegian usages prevail to a great
degree in this house, at least so far as concerns hours
for meals, and tlie kinds of food presented at each. Tlie
English colony has yery wisely endeavoured to adapt
itself to the habits of the people among whom they live.
Native visitors, therefore, feel nothing strange here ;
and the inmates must in their turn find matters the
more agreeable when they visit the natives.
Like every other sheltered recess in the district, the
opening of two valleys which meet at the head of Kaa-
fiord is filled up with a curtain of alluvium, excepting
only the ravines through which the rivers descend.
This alluvial formation, rising like a wall, with a per-
fectly flat top, and horizontal terraces seaming its front,
has a striking appearance from tlie house. Its singular
aspect naturally leads one to surmise for it a peculiar
geological history ; and doubtless it has undergone some
extraordinary transitions. Manifestly it is composed of
the spoils of the two rivers which here flow into the sea.
At the mouth of the greater river Alton, not far oflT,
there is a precisely similar formation, but of much
greater extent. About ten years ago, when the French
Scientific Expedition of the North stopped for some
time at Kaafiord, one of the officers, M. Bravais, was
mtttmammmti^^
Mii^
410
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
atntok by tb« eztraordinary mppeanmoe of these great
■and-cnrtaint OTerhanging the beach. He found, along
the line of loiindt towardi Hammerfeat, a portion of the
rocky coaat marked with two linet of erotion or cat ter-
races at certain heights above the sea, and eridently
the work of that element at some remote period when
the sea an4 land stood at difierent relatire levels.
Sfcrange to say, it appeared from his barometric mea-
surements that these two lines underwent a gradual
rise from Hammerfest southward, until they disap-
peared at Komagflord, after an uninterrupted course of
twenty-five miles. He nevertheless connected them,
after almost as great an interval, with the sandy ter-
races now described, which are ci still higher level, and
thus arrived at a hypothesis that the land between
Hammerfest and Kaafiord, in rising from the sea, had
made a pause, during which the upper line was made *,
then an angular movement had taken place, causing the
southern dbtrict to rise farther than the north ; then a
second pause, during which the lower Hue was made ;
after which there had been another unequal sotUivement,
I now proposed to review this investigation careAilly,
and wiUi superior means of ascertaining levels — not, I
must confess, without a strong suspicion that there was
some fallacy in the case, since all similar marks which
I had seen in other countries observed an exact level,
as do apparently the two terraces extending so great a
way on the coast of Norway to the southward.
Mr Faddison, a young English civil engineer and
student of geology, had come in the Prinds Chuiqf in
search of sport; but hearing of my purpose, he offered
to accompany me, and give his professional assistance in
taking the levels. He was now, therefore, like myself,
a guest of Mr Thomas. We quickly addressed our-
selves to the measurement of the Kaaflord terrace,
which we found to be at the front about 220 feet high ;
but the pUdn at top rose a little towards the hills, and
we had ultimately to set down the entire elevation at
239 feet above high water in the bay. Two terraces on
the face were 52 and 123 feet, jind there was a fkint
intermediate one at between 80 and 90. We spent a
whole day in examining the neighbouring grounds. In
many parts free of alluvial facing, or elevated above it,
we found the rocks admirably dressed and polished by
the ice of ancient times, the line of the dressing being
from south to north, or coincident with the direction of
the valley. At one place, upwards of 250 feet above
the sea, there was a ridge of native rock extending a
considerable way, much like the inverted hull of a ship.
It had been all nicely smoothed like some artificial
object, as had also been the longitudinal hollow space
between it and the hills. Still higher, there rested on
the mountain -face a horizontal range of blocks and
detritus, evidently the remains of an ancient lateral
moraine. Of course these dressings must have taken
place in an age anterior to that in which the alluvial
terraces had been formed, fur otherwise the material
of the terraces must have been swept awsy by the de-
scending ice.
A second day was spent in these investigations.
What alone lessened our eivjoyment of them was the
weather becoming now exceedingly warm, and the con-
sequent and exoeMive annoyance we sustained from mos-
quitoes. One of our ladies was kind enough to furnish
us with veils of green gause, wherewith we enshrouded
our heads as we went about Still, the pestilent insects
got in about our necks and ears, and made us smart so
sorely as greatly to discompose our levelling operations.
I could scarcely have believed beforehand that so small
and weak a fly had the power of penetrating through a
thick woollen stocking in order to exerdse its suctorial
powers ; yet we had ample demonstration that it can do
BO. In such overgood weather the calm and coolness
of the long evening are much emoyed. I shall not soon
forget the impression produced upon roe, as we sat
quietly in the parlour between ten and deven o*clock
of the second evening, looking along the calm fiord to-
wards the insular mountains, behind which the sun was
still glowing, though dimly, when a gallant war
with all its sails set to oat^ the indolent breeze, moved
into the confined space, aiid proceeded to cast anchor.
So startling an appari^n of artificial life in the midst
of such a scene, and at such an hour, might have been
at an ordinary time of difficult explanation ; but Mr and
Mrs Thomas had heard of a French corvette having
been at Hammerfest a week or two ago, and of a baU
which the officers had given the ladies of Uiat hyper-
borean town — ^for what dime is too ungenial for French
gallantry ? — so it was quickly understood tiiat this was
the same vessel. On this ooodnsion, it became oertaiD
that we should presently have some fresh additioDS to
the sodal cirde at Kaafiord.
Next morning we were to have proceeded at an eariy
hour with Mr Thomas on an excursion to Raipas, a
subordinate establishment of the Copper Company on
the Alten River, where I expected to see some reiMrk-
able objects. We were delayed, however, by the arrival
of the PrindM Oustaf on her return voyage from Ham-
merfest, with a few ladies of that town on a virit to Mrs
Thomas, and also a number of gentlemen, who were per-
mitted to land and spend an hour before the steamer
should proceed southward. Sauntering about tiie shore
during this interval, I was introduced by one at the
English gentlemen to a person whom he was pleased
to entitle the Minister of the North Cape. I bdield a
tall, fair-complexioned, somewhat pensive-looking man,
of about forty-five, dressed in dothes only partially
black, as is the custom of clergymen in Norway. On
inquiring strictly who it was I had the honour now to
know for the first time, I learned that it was Mr Zetlits,
the pastor of the extreme north parish of Norway, in
which the North Cape of course is situated. Being a
votary of the Waltonian art, he had come to have a lew
days' fishing at Kaafiord. I looked with interest on the
man whose lot in life it is to keep up the light of Chris-
tianity in a region so remote from dvilisation, and from
all that educated man usually sighs after. Finding him
well acquainted with English, I entered into cooversa.
tion with him regarding his cure. His parish, named
Kistrand and Kautokdno, extends over a traet of
ground measuring as great a distance from the NorUi
Cape southward as there is from Newcastle to Brighton,
or from John o* Croat's House to Edinburgh — namdy,
forty-five Norwegian miles. It contains only 2000 in-
habitants, mostly Laplanders ; but the Laplanders^ as I
afterwards learned, are in great part Christianised, and
even in many instances excd the Norwegians in their
respect for the services of l«ligion. Mr Zetlits has two
stations for residence — a Lap town called Kar^jok lor
winter, and one near the sea, at the other end of the
parish, for summer. He has to travd much about at all
times. I asked if he used horses for this purpose ; he
said no — ^there was but one horse in the whole parish.
He travelled by reindeer, which the people, under oertaia
regulations, were bound to furnish to him gratuitously.
Meeting with such a man was at first attended with a
curious feeling j but this was soon effiused by his gentle
and amiable manners : and when I discovered that the
North-Cape parson is a lover of the poetry of Byron,
which he reads in the original, I ceased to think of him
but as one of the people I am accustomed to meet dafly.
He inherits the poetical temperament, it would appear,
from his father, who, likewise a dergyman, wras a distin-
guished writer of verse about the era of the Freoeli
Revolution, being particularly successful in ooorivial
songs, many of which are still popular in Norway,
though this is a style on the decay in that country, as It
is with ourselves.
After the steamer had taken its departure, we onea
more prepared to set out; but presently another impedi-
ment appeared. A boat was seen graoefUIly movii^ m^
the calm fiord, rowed by ten men, who lifted their oars
in a peculiar manner high above the water, while osw
gentleman sat in the stem. It was quickly understood to
be the long-boat of the French corvette, probably
ing the captain ashore to call lor Mr Thomaa. A
OHAMBBES^S SDINBimGH JOVMHAt..
411
of Of went down to tho quay to wait his landing. Tlie
boat approached, and a handsomely -dresaed naval
officer stepped ashore. I felt the striking contrast be-
tween bis perfect toilet and our mountain garbs. We
went back with him to the house, where he was intro-
duced to Mrs Thomas, and renewed his acquaintance
with her Hammerfest Tisitors. It appeared that his
▼essel was the Pourvoyanie, of sixteen guns, engaged on
a cruise for the protection of the French fisheries. She
had been four months from home, and was now return-
ing from Iceland to the south. I should hare litUe ex-
pected beforehand that there was any common ground
of social life on which I could have met this foreign
naval officer ; but the contrary soon appeared, for I re-
collected the name of his vessel as one which had been
in the Firth of Forth two or three years ago, when she
had unfbrtunately run down a smaller French vessel, and
thus came in a painful manner under public attention
in Edinburgh. The captain told me that he had been
so unfortunate as to be concerned in the affiiir, hav^
ing been commander of the lost vessel Do not such
recognisances in extraordinary circumstances seem to
happen rather more frequently than we would naturally
expect? Another curious circumstance was, that he
had come to this lonely bay at the command of the
French Admiralty, to take up some bulkv instruments
left ten years ago by the Scientific Expedition, landing
for this purpose the dav after I had come to test for
the first time some of the scientific observations made
by a member of that expedition. Moreover, he was
now to sail to the Firth of Forth ; and the next city
in which he would set his foot was that in which I
snend my life. We indulged in a penny-a-lining mood
of mind regarding these * curious coincidences' for a few
minutes ; and then, finding the Frenchman ignorant of
the history of his country for the past two months,
I informed him of the destruction or the party of the
Mountain, and the flight of M. Ledru Rollin, in conse-
quence of the insurrection of the 13th of June. After
some further conversation, he politely took his leave of
the ladies, and we all proceeded along the fiord together,
be to his vessel, and we on our way to Baipas.
R. C.
REPRODUCTION OF FERNS,
Ferms constitute a numerous and highly -interesting
family of plants, found in all narts of the world where
there is sufficient moisture and not too rigorous a cli-
mate ; and although every one must be familiar with
their appearance, from the example fumbhed by our
common braken, yet he would form a very imperfect
idea of the tribe from such a specimen. Instead of
creeping along with an underground stem, pushing up
and unfolding its curiously- wrapped-up leaves as it goes,
in St Helena, the Philippines, and other places, it arises
with a majestic trunk from ten to fifty or sixty feet high,
surmounted with an immense tuft of graceful foliage,
and even emulates the palm in grandeur and beauty.
Several of the order thus command attention by their
lofty stature and imposing appearance ; some astonish
by their curious forms, as the hares'-foot of the Canary
Islands ; while all please by the delicacy and grace of
their lively green leaves.
It is not our intention, however, to make a tour
through the family, and take a glance individually at its
most remarkable members, but to lav before the leader
the reoent discoveries in their fructification, hitherto so
much a mystery.
Every tyro in botany knows that fertilisation is effected
in flowering plants by the shedding of the pollen over
the stigma; but in ferns the so-called seed appears on
the baclc of their leaves, without being preceded by pol-
len or anthers, or any of the usuid fertilising apparatus;
henoe they are ranged under the class Cryptogamia, or
hidden fructification. Many attempts were mdeed made
to detect, and Hedwig, as well as others, imagined they
had discovered, anthers, or bodies anidogous to them, in-
termingled with the seed, or adjacent thereto; but no-
thing certain was known on the subjeot till lately, when
Count Suminski* brought forward observations demon-
strating the process of fructification, and its entire har-
mony with that of other plants.
Let us take a spore, or seed, as it is popularly termed,
fW>m the back of the leaf of a fern, where thepr are found
in such profusion, place it in the soil, follow its progress,
and, with the count as our guide, we shall soon arrive at
a just conception of its development and mode of repro-
duction. The spore having germinated, first produces a
leiuf-like expansion, clinging dose to the soil, and deriv-
ing nourishment from rootlets emerging from its under
surface. This first leaf, or * primaiy frond,' bears no re-
semblance to the true leaf of the fern, is very much alike
in all species of the tribe, and is usuallv temporary. It
is a most important part of the plant, however, for it is
on this that anthers and pistils are produced, and fer-
tilisation effected throu^ their union. In order to be
satisfied of this, let the primary frond be examined assi-
duously with a microscope of SOO or 400 lineal powers,
and there will be found to arise amongst the common
cells others of a peculiar character : instead of colouring
matter, these contain granules, which speedily also be-
come oeUs, packed up and pressing against each other
within the parent cell, like the seeds of a pomegranate
within the rind. These compound cells have been termed
antheridiat and aro analogues of the anthers of flowering
plants, as we shall speediTir see.
Besides these antheridia, which are usually pretty
numerous, a few other bodies become apparont, consist-
ing each of a cell with a tubular neck, somewhat resem-
blmg a Florance flask; at its bottom it contains a single
germ-cell or embryo. These bodies have received the
appellation of pittUHdia, and represent the germs or
rudimentarv fruit of the moro perfect orders of plants.
Having thus made out the parts necessary for fructifi-
cation, let us pursue the process to its completion, and
we have no doubt the contemplation of it will yield both
instruction and astonishment. Following the progress of
the antheridia, these are found to burst and liberate the
secondary cells : each of these is seen to include a longish
body, folded up on itself, which is set at liberty bv the
rupturo of its prison walls, and is then shown to be in
shi^ somewhat like a tadpole, with a slight enlargement
at the tip of the taiL These have been designated * spiral
filaments,' and had been noticed by Nfegeli and others
on the primary frond several years ere Suminski demon-
strated their nature and use. As soon as the spiral fila-
ments have been let forth by the bursting of the antheridia
and secondary cells, they move about with a livelv and
independent motion through the mucilaginous fluid on
the surface of the frond; and entering the open mouths
of the bottle-like pistillidia, come in contact with the
embryo at its bottom, and eflfect its fertilisation. Usually
several spiral filaments enter one pistillidium, and the
dilated extremities of their tails aro applied to the em-
bryo or germ-cell, just as we find many particles of pollen
shed over the stigma of the higher order of plants in order
to insure the ' setting of the fruit.'
The germ-cell or embryo being thus fertilised, instead
of passing into the state of perfect seed, as in flowering
plants, commences forthwith to grow: and by the ordi-
nary process of cell-growth, pushing forth roots and Icares,
gets gradually developed into the full-grown plant.
In flowering plants it is well known that the cotyledon
furnishes the embrvo with nourishment in the early
stages of its growth, till, by the development of the
necessary organs, it is able to support itself. In the fern,
the primary frond acts the part of a cotyledon, bv sup-
plying nourishment to the fertilised embryo, until, hav-
ing put forth leaves and roots, it is able to exist on its
own resources.
From what has been here stated of this wonderAil pro-
cess, it is evident that the germ-celb of the pistillidia are
the true seeds of the fern; out it is also plain that one of
the purposes which seeds serve — ^namely, the multiplica- ',
* On the History of the Dertlopment of Ferns. By Connt !<.
SuxninskL
I , ^^.^fc„,aiii^— ^^^^^— ^1
^ttmmm^im^amumm^a^t
412
CHAMBERS^ EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
3
tion of the spocies — oaimot well be effected by them;
henoe the production of gemmee or spores on the back of
the leikf.
In many plants do we find the prodaotion of detach-
able buds or bulbels, by which propagation or increose
may take place : the familiar tumcap lily carries a bulbel
in erery axil of its stem; the begonia and achimenes
frequently produce nothing else instead of flowers; yet
although the parent plants mav be reproduced and in-
creased by these, one never thinks of calling them seeds;
no more are the gemmaa of ferns entitled to be ranked as
such. The inflorescence of ihe fern, in fact, seems to stop
short in tha middle of its course; and instead ef * show-
ing flower,' unfolding the parts of fructification, and per-
fecting its seeds, as other plants usually do, it contents
itself with forming flower-buds merely, which, separating
from the parent, furnish the means of increase and disse-
mination. One of these finding a suitable restingplace,
expands into the primary frond, bearing anthers and
germs, asnl in this respect is quite analogous to the flower
of flowering plants.
The supporters of the alternate-generation theory of
Sars and Steenstrup,* would put forth the fern as an in-
stance of this in regetable life. Starting with the gemma
from the back of the leaf, we have the phase A; arising
from this we have the primacy frond, or phase B; suc-
ceeding this are the antheridia and pistillidia, or phase
C; the union of these originates the young fern, which,
arrived at maturity, is phase D, giving birUi to A again,
and completing the circle. All these changes, however,
are instances of morphological development merely, since
true reproduction occurs only once in the series; and the
same remark holds good in the pseudo-altemate-genera-
tioa theory of animal life, as has been recently brought
out by the discoveries of Sir J. O. Dalyell, Professor
Owen, and others.
The interest of Suminski's discovery of the fructifica-
tion of ferns, hwe briefly detailed, is not confined to the
elucidation of a curious process in nature : it is a great
step gained in the consolidation of our ideas respecting
the reproductive process generally, and eo far a confir-
mation of the great physiological axiom— ^OmiMa ex ovo
cum ovo.
Column £or #outi0 People.
PHOEBE GRANT.
* Mamma,* said Phoebe Grant, looking up from a frill
which she had been dreaming over for halif an hour, * do
you know Kate Collins was at the theatre on Wednesday
night i'
* Well, Phoebe, and what thenT said her mother
quietly.
'Why — why, mamma, only that I should like so
dreadfully to go too.'
' Dreadfully, VhotheV
* No, no — not exactly that, but very much; you know
what I mean t '
* I know well what you mean, my dear child; but I re-
member having often told you how much I dislike those
strong expressions which you constantly make use of for
the most trivial things. You will find out the disadvan-
tage of it yourself some day; for when you really wish
and require a strong word, you will not be able to find
one which will express your feelings.'
Phoebe was silent, and the frill advanced a little. At
last she could contain herself no longer. ' Mamma, may
/ go to the theatre I '
* Which theatre, Phoebe; there are so many in Lon-
don?'
* I mean the prettiest of all, mamma; the one that
Kate was at, where *' Beauty and the Beast" is acted
exactly as it is written in the fairy-tale book. It is not
like a silly Christmas pantomime, mamma, which I never
understand, but it is the dear old tale that you used to
tell me so oAen; and Kate says the last scene, whej:e
* Seo No. l&f, new series.
Beauty consents to marry the Beast, and when he dtaiBfOT
all at once into a handsome young prince, is the mo^
beautiful thing she ever saw. Oh, may I go I'
Mrs Grant thought for a little, and then SMd, * Yoa
know 1 have not been qv^ite pleased with you l^tolj,
Phoebe. You have been Tcty idile indeed for two or Ibm
days, lliat piece of work in your hands ought te have
been finishea long ago, yet here it is not nearly done^
You allowed the least thing to dbtract Toor attention.'
' Oh, mamma, I will finish this honid frill te-day^ snd
be so good that you wont know me.*
Her mother smiled, and replied, 'That is not Tety
flattering to yourself, my dear child; howerer, aa » little
idleness has been your only fiuiH lat^y, you shall go and
see ** Beauty and the Beast," and this rerv night too; bat
upon three conditions.' Phoebe gave a little ecieam of
delight, and her mother continued — 'Your aunt and
dousms are going this evening, and I will join them, and
take you too, if you do as 1 wish.*
* Yes, yes, dear, kind, good mamma : tell me whai it w
I must dot'
* It is now twelre o'clock, Phoebe: well, one of mj
conditions is, that by two this frill shall be finished, and
neatly too.'
* Oh, mamma, there is so much of it to do !'
* Not more than tou can easily manage if you are busy,
Phoebe. Another u, that during these two hours you do
not go into the garden, but stay in this room : I know if
you leave it, the firill will never be done. The third is,
that you do not have a word to say to Luna during that
time. Do not interrupt me. I know she will come and
scratch at the window, and wag her tail, and intreat yew
to come and play with her; but keep your «yes upon
your work, and she will soon go away. After two o'clock
you may play or do what you choose. I am now going to
towti upon some business which will occupy me till t&ee
o'clock ; but remember the firill must be finished by
two.'
Phoebe joyfully promised; and a short time afler, her
mamma left her, and went out. At first all went «m
brilliantly: Phoebe worked busily — so busQy, that she
became very warm, and accordingly opened the window
and placed her stool beside it. The air was pleaMnt and
refreshing, and the mignionette and swcet-peM which
were under the window smelt delioiously, and cooled
Phoebe's hot brow. Her work fell from lier hands, and
she began to think how charming it would- bo to tee her
favourite fairy tale acted. One thought leads to another.
Thinking of Beauty suggested the rose whieh teft ca^
her father so much pain to procure. ' How.vaidi I
should like a rose just now ! My own little gtr<tetf»
where the best roses grow, is not rexy far from thii ; I
might run to it, and come back again in an instsBt.
But mamma said I was not to play in the garden. True
— but then she said it was bcM^use the knew I eboold
not work if I were there. Now I am so hot here, and it
looks so cool in ray honeysudtle-bower, that I am sure I
should work a great deal better there. I am quite cer-
tain if mamma had known I could work better in the
garden, she would havq told me to go. I can teli her
Y^ien she returns that i was rery hot, and if I Imd ilajcJ
in the house, could not have ftaished my firiU. 1 T
she will not be displeased.'
All these thoughts passed through Phoebe's bnaa
rapidly; and acting upon the imnulse of the mommt,
she ran down the steps which led from the wia4fl#
upon the lawn. She first plucked the rose she
and then proceeded to the bower of
which was her favourite retreat when, slie
of everything else. 'How pleasant it is here!*
thought. *How much nicer than bemg in Hie
The sun is so bright, and seems to kiss die little
that nod and say how glad they are to see* hkrt.
happy the bees are to feed upon this delicioai
suckhs : I should almost like to be a bee ! ' an^
of this, the work fell firom Phoebe's idle hM^
what a beautiful butterfly!* she >»Giaimed, m W 0 k
delicate blue colour settled upon a caraatM 1
near the bower. It is just the ^kiad that Whm
SSSSBsJ
CHAMJ3JSRS9 BDKBrBUBQH JCHTBNAL.
413
bo nmeh, andhov delighted he would be if I were to get
it for him.' With noiaeless steps Phoebe went on tiptoe
to the carnation: her apron raised in both hands, she
Bto<^>ed to entrap the bMUtiful creature whieh. was flat-
tering on the flower. Her heart heating, her eyes glist-
ening, she was lust going to encircle it, when something
behind pulled her droMk The movement startled the
butterfly, whieh flew cff immediately, and Phoebe, disap-
pointed of her prey, turned round to see what had touched
ner. To her dismay she saw Luna scampering off with
the frill, which she had left lying in the boiner. * Oh
Luna, Luna ! gi?e me my frilL Oh you naughty do^,
lav it down instantly!' But laiua eridently thought his
mistress was playing with him as usual, and ran round
and round the beds with the frill in his mouth, enjoy-
ing the fun of being chased amusingly. * Oh nau^ty,
naughty dog, you shall be beaten if you do not give me
my frilL' But off flew Luna, regardless of the threaten-
ing words, which doubtless he Iwew well would never be
iiilfilled.
The gate leading to the road at the end of the gar-
den was open, and the dog darted out, followed by the
distracted Phoebe. When she got upon the road, she
saw Luna at a little distance roUing over and over with
the frill in the mud, and barking with all his might.
Phoebe rushed up, and this time succeeded in seizing
it. Alas ! it was scarcely fit to be touched, being
ooveied with mud. * What shall I do ! — what shall I do I
thought Phoebe.. * Oh this comes of going into the gar-
den when I was forbidden I How disobedient I ^ve
been ! Oh what shall I do ! * Phoebe walked slowly into
the house, resolving in her mind what she could do to
mend matters. * The frill is not ton. Ah, I know what
will mi^e it all right,* she cried joyfully, as a happy
thought struck her mind : ' I will wash it — not very
clean Uioygh, for it was dirty before — and iron it, and then
no one will be any the wiser. There is ahrajrs a fire in
mamma's dressing-room, where I can heat the iron
nicely.' Phoebe flew into the bedroom, where she care-
fully washed the frill, although it took longer than she
had expected: she then rushed down to the doset in the
laundry, where she knew the irons were kept, and suc^
ceeded in finding a small one. The fire in the dressing-
room was exeell^t, so that the iron did not take very
long to heat, although it seemed hours to the impatient
Phoebe, who trembled lest any of the servants should
come in. The clock struck two as she finished ironing
the frilL Phoebe was in despair. * How unfortunate I
am,' she said; * there is two o'clock, and the frill not
nearly done I ' Then die began again to reason within
herself, forgetting into how much trouble her reasoning
powers had brought her before. • ' Mamma said I was to
finish the frill in two hours; now I have only worked at
it one hour : ^ince one o'clock 1 have not put a stitch
in. Mamma does not come in till three; if I am bu^,
I shall be able to finbh it by that time, ftnd perhaps
she will not ask me when it was done. Thus it will be
only two hours after all.'
Phoebe accordingly set to work in right-down earnest,
never looking up once till she had come to the end. As
the last stitch was put in, the hands of the timepiece
pointed to five minutes past three.
' Good gracious ! ' said Phoebe to herself, * mamma
will be home immediately, and there is the iron still on
the grate. I must take it into the garden to get cold
before I put it away.' Hastily she seized the iron, for-
getting that it must be very hot, although it had not
been exactly on the fire. But she threw it down in a
moment, and drew back with a scream. * Oh my hand —
my poor hand, how it is burnt ! Oh, oh, what shall I
do I How dreadfully painful it is ! '
Phoebe knew that cotton-wool was an excellent thing
for a bum, but she did not remember where to get any.
Looking round the room vaguelv, as if she expected to
see some of the wished-for article lying near, she espied
her mamma's jewel-box upon the toilet-table. * Ah, I
know there will be some there, and the key is always in
that U(tle drawer.' To the little drawer she went,
took out the key, opened the jewel-box^ touched a
spring which she knew of, and to her gveat joy saw a
quantity of ootton-wool, which her mamma generally
kept there. She pulled out a large piece, but in
domg so did net perceive that she also pulled with it an
earring which was> lying there, and which fell unheard
on the floor. Phoebe koked the box, put the key back
again in the drawer, wrapt her hand in the wool, which
she found soothed the pain very much, and carefully took
the iron into the garden, where it soon got cold. She had
just placed it in ue cloMjt, when the earriage drew up to
the door, and her mamma stepped, out.
Phoebe flew up stairs, and was met in the hall by her
mamma, who kissed her affectionately, and asked if the
frill was done. .
* Yes, mamma, quite done,' said Phoebe.
' I am glad of that, darling,' said her kind mamma.
< And did you finish it in two hours I'
* In two houra and five minutes exactly.^
' Ah, well, five minutes don't matter,' said her mother
smiling: * it will make no differeaoe. Jane and Laura
are quite delighted at the prospect of h«ving you with
them tonight. They are to be here at five o'clock
Precisely; and see— here, Phoebe; I have been to your
kvourite Piver** iniBegent Street, and brought you two
pairs of gloves, one of whidi you must wear this evening.
I have Mse got some of that ** Rose-th6" soent for you,
which you like so much.' ^
* Oh, thank you, dear mamma,' said Phoebe in a low
voioe, stretching out her left hand to take the gloves and
soeot. The ri^ hand was employed in searching for a
refractory handkerchief, which was supposed to be at the
bottom of her pocket, but somehow never made its ap-
pearance. Her mamma'a kindness quite staggered Phoebe,
and as she followed her up stairs, her eyes were full of
tears. The frill, the sight gI which made her quite sick,
was lying upon the dressing-room table. Mrs Grant took
it up, and admired the work.
* It is very nicely done indeed, my dear child,' she said :
* you see what can be done if you set your mind to it.
You have worked this very well indeed. Did you fulfil
my other conditions % '
At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and one
of the servants entered to speak to Mrs Grant on some
household matters. Phoebe^ rejoicing at the opportunity,
was just goingto leave the room, when her mother called
out to her, * Do not go away, dear; I msh to speak to
you.*
Phoebe was obliged to remain, and wondered what her
mamma could have to say. When young people's con-
scienoes are not very clear, there is always something
indefinitely awful in being desired to speak with mamma
upon fmything not specified ; and as Phoebe's conscience
was far from being calm, she felt rather uneasy. She
wandered about the room, sometimes ready to scream
with tiie pain of her hand, which now beoame almost
intolerable. * How shall I get on my gloves to-night?*
she thought : ' my hand is all in blisters ! I cannot
deceive mamma any more. I might say that my foot
slipped, and that 1 fell forward with my hand on the
ribs of the grate ; but I could not say that — ^it is wrong
even to thmk it. But how shall I tell mamma? Oh
dear, oh dear, how wicked I have been I '
The servant at last left the room, and Phoebe stood
with her eyes cast down, her lips compressed, waiting to
hear what her mamma had to say. At this moment Mrs
Grant, who was crossing the room, trampled upon souic-
thbg, and stooped to see what it was.
'How extraordinary!' she said aloud. *Why, how
can this be 1 — ^my earring on the ground, when I distinctly
recollect putting it this morning in the secret drawer of
my jewel-box ! No one knows the spring—except indeed
Phoebe. My dear child,' she said, looking round; but
the * dear child' had sunk upon a couch, exhausted with
pain and shame. ' My darling 1 ' she eried, rushing to-
wards her, ' how pale you are — how ill you look !
Tell your mother what is the matter I ' Phoebe silently
raised her poor hand, still enveloped in the ootton-wool.
'Phoebe! how is thisf Ah, I see — my poor child has
burnt her hand, and has oonoealed it fh>m her mother
414
0HAHBEB8n9 EDINBURaH JOURNAL.
for fear of tgitsting her. My dear, ^ood diild, how
Doblj jou have borne t]N pain ! Ah, it is frixhtfitl V
•he oontinaed with a ihad<^r, as the unbound the wool,
part of which stuck to the unfortunate hand.
Phoebe oould bear it no longer. Bursting into tears,
she threw herself into her mother's arms, and sobbed as
if her heart would break. * Oh no, marama--no, dear,
darling mamma 1 ' she said as soon as she could speak,
* I hare not borne it nobly ! — I do not deserre your kind-
ness, my own belo?ed mamma I I hare been naughtier
to-day than I eter was before. I hare disobeyed you in
ereiything : I have been in the garden ; I did not finish
the frill tul three o'clock. You do not know how wicked
I have been ; but I have been punished, for my hand is
dreadful. I may say that word now, mamma. But my
shame at having deceived such a good mamma is worse.'
Mrs Grant kindly soothed the poor child, and begged
her not to say any more till she was composed. A Mort
time afterwards, when Phoebe was lying cushioned on
the soft ooudi in the dressing-room, with her mamma
beside her — that dear mamma, one touch of whose gentle
hand seemed to soothe the padn which she suffered, and
almost to chase it away — she eased her heart by confess-
ing everything. The tears were in the mother's eyes
when Phoebe had finished.
''You are sufficiently punished already, my child, and
I will not say anything more about it. We will put
away the unfortunate frill.'
' Oh no, mamma, the poor frill shall not be put away.
It was intended for you, mamma; but if you will allow
me, I shall have it sewn on to my cap, so that when I
put it on at night, I may remember why it is there. I
do not think, mamma,' she continued, smiling, * that I
shall ever be disobedient again. No, I am sure I shall
not. Do you know, mamma, I am so very glad I burnt
my hand!'
* Glad, Phoebe ! Whyl'
' Because, mamma, I am afnud that if it had not been
for that, I should not have told you about going into the
garden, and not finishing the frill; and then how miser-
able I should have been at the theatre after having
deceived you so much 1 '
' That is very true, my dear child,' said her mamma,
affectionately lossing her. *And I am glad too, for I
feel confident that the miserr and pain you have endured
to-day is a lesson which will be remembered hj you all
your life.' J. O. C.
OCCASIONAL NOTE.
DR BUCKLAKD ON ARTESIAN WELLS.
London thirsts for water. She is at present the victim
of seren monopolist water-companies, who only supply
the element to 200,000 out of the 270,000 houses of
which she is said to consist. Nor is the fluid so supplied
either of the best or the cheapest. After it is drawn from
the filthy Thames, it is so infiltered and * purified ' that
it becomes flat and exhausted, which witn temperance
communities — who are as critical about their water as
gourmets are respecting wines — is a serious evil. Even
for an ordinary supply of this, a small house of L.50 a
year rent has to pay about four guineas per annum. The
New River is the only other source of supply; and it is
not every London parish that can boast of a single
pump.
In this truly tantalising condition, the Londoners are
at last opening their parched throats to emit cries for
*more water 1' Plans are propounded, companies are
started, and controversies are fluently engaged in, for the
purpose of answering the desperate demand. One party
is for exhausting the Thames a little more by robbing the
hoary father of nvers of the purest of his waters at Henly ;
another is for draining the Wardle or the Lea ; and a
third set of advocates are strongly in favour of Artesian
wells.
About these last much misapprehension exists; and the
opinion of so eminent a geologist and hydr<»rapher as
Dean Buckland is of value not mily to those who take a
side in the dispute, but to tiioee who are interested in ihm
general sul»jeet of Artesian wells. At a recent meeting of
the Institute of British Arduteots, the doctor denied a
statement which had been put forth, that suffident w&ter
might be obtained in the metropolis by Artesian wella
to afford an ample supply to ten such cities as London.
He would venture to affirm, that thou^ there were from
250 to 300 so-called Artedan wells in the metropolis,
there was not one real Artesian well within three mdm
of St Paul's. An Artesian well was a well that waa
always overflowing, either fitmi its natural sooroe^ or
from an artificial tube; and when the overflowing ceaiaed,
it was no longer ui Artesian well. Twenty or tiiirty jattrs
ago there were many Artesian wells in the neigfaboaniood
of the metropolis — ^namely, in the gardens of the HortI*
cultural Society, in the gardens of &e Bidiop of V>ndon
at Fulham, and in Brentford and its vicinity; bat the
wells which were now made by boring through the Ijoa-
don clay were merely common wells. He had heard it
said that Artesian wells might be made in any part of
London, because there was a supply of water which would
rise of its own aoeord; but he oould state with regard to
the water obtained io supply the fountains in Trafalgar
Square, that it did not rise within fortr feet of the sar*
laoe — it was pumped up br means of a staam-«igiB«.
No less than L.18,000 had been roeni upon mi ArteaiaB
well which had been made on Southampton comman» but
the water never had risen within eighty feet of tlie enr-
face, and nerer would rise any higher. The supply of
water formerly obtained from the so-called Artesian wells
in London had been greatly diminished by the sinking of
new wells. Many of the large brewers in the metropotia
who obtained water from these wells had been sreatly
inconvenienced by the failure of the supply; and he had
received a letter from a gentleman connected with a
brewer's establishment, stating that ike water in their
well was now 188 feet below the surface, while a ahort
time ago it used to rise to within 95 feet. Indeed the
lam Inewers were actually on the point of bankruptcy
with regard to a supply of water.
A gentleman present corroborated the Ber. Dean by
stating that certain London brewers, who obtained their
supplies of water from what are called Artesian wella, had
been forced into a mutual agreement not to brew on the
same days, in order that eiMBh might have a snlficieat
supply of water.
The sinffle example cited by Dr Buckland as to the
expense of these wells can be extensively supported.
One lately sunk opponte the fashionable chnrch of St
James has cost, first and last, not far short of L.20,000 ;
and Mother, in which the Hampstead Water-Company
have already, it may be said, literally tunk L.14«000 at
Highgate, has as yet made no sign, not a drop of water
having been yet (Stained. These facts may serve to mo-
derate the exhortations of the more Mdent adroeates of
Artesian wells.
THE LIFE OP NAPOLEON IN A QUARTER OF
AN HOUR
[About ten years ago the following barlMqiie Barrailw wa. ^
/<frmed u an interlude in a Parisian tbeatre, by a elev«r •et«r ia
the character of m old soldier of the BmplnL It anfro* of eonn*
by translation, and still more by being only read, wfail* tb* br^A«
ness, abruptness, and slang style of the vetwan are onexhiWtc^
It is, neverthelefls, worthy of appearing even nad^ the diand>
vantage of an English dress:—]
SiLBNCE ! and yon shall hear all abont Napo]<
individual, bom in Corsica, a little tail of a country,
two doors from the sea, where the natives have a laUgrotQ|(
habit of assassinatinff each other, from father to wtm. Hte
parents put him to the military school—fhll of talenta—
with a little three-cornered hat, and his hands behind hia
back— imitating ah-eady his portrait He worked ao hard
that his eyes were hollow, and his fhce—aaviag your pre^
senee— the colour of nankeen breeches. When the mast«r«
of the school saw this, they said, ' There's a yonth who baa
a real taste for the artilhnry.' Presontly, hsvfaw posbect
Us way to a n/ry yomg age, beiioid him genenl r-Tcry
CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.
415
thin— Always verr thin, bat with long hair— ah, tach long
hair, to be sure f The goTernment of that epoch, wMoh
waa oompoaed of five individuals, adorned with feathers,
sent for hiro, and said, * Now, then, my good little man,
you see the thing is this — tou must start for Italy, where
the Austrians are playing the deuce at forty sous a head,
and give them such a shove that the devil would take arms
for it.* When he heard all that, says he, with that funny
hair and yellow face, * Agreed — say no more! * and away to
Italy — the country of vermicelli and fiddle-strings. He
crossed St Bernard — a great mountain, very high — three
times Montmutre, where there is a famous hospice kept
by the monks. Here are poodle- dogs, charged by the
government to go and scrape for individuals under the
snow. It is a great philanthropy, that same, on the part
of these poodles. For my part I have no talent in that
way: I was not bred to the business small enough ; one
must be caught young for that 'ere profession. Once in
Italy, he did serve out to the Austrians such a pounding !
and returned to Paris with millions of thousands of colours
and glories — ^to fill the Invalides. Stop a bit — our little
friend"^ off tor E^t. Ah I ye gods, big and little, my
good friends — a nasty territory that Egypt (so said my
Cousin Baptiste, a drummer in the 37th, now getting on
with a wooden leg)— a country of 160 degrees of heat in
the middle of winter, and nothing to drink but fine sand
—fine, fine, fine sand — and crocodiles walking about like
good citizens, and swallowing up Christians with their
arms and baggage — according to the botanists! Oh dear-
a-me, there are neither inns nor straw in nature I and th^
the old broken ]^il]ars past service, and huge vagabonds of
sugar-loaves all in stone, where them there folks keep their
kings fresh, which is a great satisfaction in that country,
enamelled all over with camels and dromedaries. It was
then that the Mamelukes had the pleasure — ^that is, all
that were not so unlucky as to catch a cannon-ball — to be
drowned provisionally in the Nile. Napoleon, who was
then Bonaparte only, when he saw that grand infusion of
Mamelukes, said, ' Is it not delicious? * Back he comes to
France, leaving behind him one General KW ^r, who found
himself assassinated one day by a vlv.a thereaboats,
who was requested to be seated on a bayonet, which is
the way they guillotine individuals among the Moham-
medans. Then Napoleon married his wife, a beautifiil
woman — ^very beautiful — full of ffood qualities, and much
sweetness — all along of having been bom in Martinique,
the country, you know, of sugar-canes. Next you have
him again at the enemv, banging away at Eylau, Fried-
land, Austerlitz. The devil's in the little man— what a
country dance ! and what rascals the vanquished ! all
foreigners ! and all speaking (German ! For my part I
cannot comprehend how they man^e to nnderstana each
other. Says Napoleon one day, all to himself, says he,
* Let me think now a little moment — if I should happen
to die, who's to take the reins of government ? I am
very sorry, because as how, you see, Josephine is my wife,
ana I have the highest consideration for her ; but mon
Dieu ! mon Dieu ! the Empress is so well on that she never
can make me the least In the world a present of a small
KineofRome. My position is of extreme triviality.* Well,
off he goes to the emperor of Austria, who had a long
queue, and said to him, *The public demands that I have
one of your daughters, with whom I am much taken — ^no
matter which.' The emperor of Austria, thinking him a
ffood - looking chap, with a good place, gave nim his
daughter entirely. In a quarter of an hour Napoleon
went to take a walk in Russia with eight hundred thou-
sand clever lads ; but he met such a thief-like cold— cold
that froze the verv fire, and which was only a little warmed
by the burning of Moscow. After burning their town from
top to bottom, the enemy somehow or other contrived to
come to Paris, and had the andacity to say — the gaseous ! —
that they had conquered us ! Just then our little usurper,
finding all the world in a passion with him, uttered these
ever-memorable words, * I'm off I ' and so took a trip to
Elba, and then came back to pay us a little friendly visit ;
but our unfortunate hero was passed by the English from
brigade to brigade all the way to St Helena ; and at this
hour— would you believe it ?— in that England so renowned
for its generosity and brilliant shoe-blMking, they have
come actually to say that Napoleon is dead ! and even here
there are people weak enough to give feith to such an in-
decency. He dead ! Never! He knows better: he is in-
capable of it : he feigns to be dead— that's aU. Bot he is
digging, digging, dig^ng, and one fine morning he will jcunp
out of his hole, with his little three-cornered hat, his
hands behind his back, and three millions of Niggers for
the good of his country ! There you have got the history
of mpoleon !
MANUFACTURE OF GLASS BEADS.
Besides the invention of mirror and reticulated glasses,
for which we have to thank the Venetians, the art of mak-
ing glass beads was also first discovered in the g^Uss-houses
of Murano, and is practised there at the present day on a
very extensive scale. The small glass beads are fragments
cut from pieces of glass tubing, the sharp edges of which
are rounoed by fhsion. Glass tubes of the proper size are
first drawn from 100 to 200 feet in length, and of all pos-
sible colours (in Venice they prepare 200 different shades),
and are broken into lengths of two feet. These are then cut
by the aid of a knife into fragments of the same length as
their diameters ; they now present the form of beads, the
edges of which, however, are so sharp, that they would cut
the thread on which they have to be strung. The edges
have consequently. to be rounded by fusion; and as this
operation must be performed upon a great number at once,
and they must not be allowed to stick together, they are
mixed with coal-dust and powdered clay previous to their
being placed in the revolving cylinder in which they are
heated. The finished beads are then passed through
sieves sorted to their size, and strung upon threads by
women. Besides the ordinary knittmg beads, another
kind is manufaotured, called perlet d la luney which are
firmer and more expensive. These are prepared by twist-
ing a small rod of glass softened by a glass-blower's lamp
round an iron wire. Tlie glass beads made in imitation of
natural pearls for toilet ornaments, the invention of which
dates from the year 1656, are very different fr^m the pre-
ceding both as regards their application, mode of proauo-
tion, and origin. These are small solid glass beads of the
same size as native pearls, which they are made to resemble
by a coating of varnish, and which gives them a peculiar
pearly lustre and colour. A maker of rosaries, by name
Jaquin, was the first to dlsoover that the scales of a species
of fish {C^prinus aihumus), or blcfJc, communicate a pearly
hue to water. Based upon this observation, glass globules
were first covered on the outside, but at a later period on the
inside, with this aqueous essence. The costly emence, how-
ever, of wjiich only a quarter of a pound could be obtained
ttota. the seales of 4000, was subject to one great evil, that
of decay. After trying alcohol without success, in conse-
quenoe of its destroying the lustre of the substance, sal-
ammoniac was at length found to be the best medium in
which to apply the essence ; a little isinglass is also mixed
with it, which causes it to adhere better. The pearls are
blown singly at the lamp ; a drop of the essence is then
blown into them through a thin tube, spread out by rolling,
and the dried varnish is then covered m a similar manner
by 'a layer of wax. — Knapp^a Chemistry applied to Arts and
ManufadMres,
TURKISH DINNER.
A Turkish dinner usually consist! of only two dishes ;
but each dish is composed ot a variety of innedients, such
as meat, poultry, fish, &c From these dishes the guests
are helped with spoons of black horn: the handles of the
spoons used at our dinner were set with diamonds. The
demert, which was served on dishes of silver beautifully
wrought, consisted of peaches, oranges, fresh figs, almonds,
and a variety of exquisite sweetmeats. Coffee was served
in cups of costly porcelain, and cruets of wrought gold con-
tained liqueurs. Those placed before the princess were set
with diamonds and fine pearls. The napkins were of a
fabric resembling cambric, extremely fine, and so silky,
that its surface, reflected by the radiant light of the lamps,
presented the effect of silver -tissue. There was one
Turkish custom which was calculated to create an un-
pleasing impression, in spite of all the delicate courtesy
with which we were treated. Every vessel out of which
Christians, or, as we are called, infidels, have eaten or
drunk, is condemned as impure, and is set aside, never
again to be used by Mohammedans. Accordingly, we were
requested to carry away with us the plates, cups, &c.
which we had used at dinner. We could not take umbrage
at this little affront, concealed as it was under a grace^l
veil of generosity. We accepted the offerings, which, in-
dependently of their intrinsic value, were objects of curio-
sity ; and we promlMd to preserve them as memorials of
oar delig^itfal UttL — AdveHtures of a Greek Lady,
,vi
416
CfiAMBERSnS EDINBURGH JOURNAL, l
THERE'S LIGHT BEHIND THE CLOUD!
In the lone and weary nights, my child.
When all around is drear;
When the moon is hidden by the <doud0,
And grief and pain are near—
Oh norer think, my gentle boy.
In that gloomy, trying hnvir,
That thou art not protected BtUl
By a kind Almighty Power 1
Soon wIU those dark clouds roll away.
And the glorious stars appear ;
And the pensive moon, with her calm, polo light,
AVill ihine in beauty clear.
There Is an Eye abore, my child.
That olumlMni not, nor sleeps :
There is a Friend in heaven, lore,
Who still Hto vigil keeps.
And though in trouble's darkest hour
His face He seems to shroud.
Believe— remember— oh, my child.
There's light behind the doud !
K. M.
IMPORTANT INVENTION.
Mr M. Smith Salter of this city has just obtaioed a
Katent for aa invention which it is believed is destined to
arc a most important influence upon the useful arts of
life, and the industry of the country and the world. It is a
new method of making iron direct from the ore, with an-
thracite or bituminous coal, by a single process. By means
of this remarkable invention Mr Smith proposes to make
wrought-iron at a cost of 25 to 30 dollars per ton— at least
half the usual cost. His furnace has three combined
chambers, one above the other, and all actuated by the
same fire. The upper chamber is used for deoxiaising
the ore — impurities, such as sulphur, &c. being carried
off at a low temperature; the middle chamber for fluxing
and working; and the lower chamber for reducing and
finishing, llie metal is taken from the last-named to the
hammer or squeezers. The whole time occupied in this
process, from the time the ore is put int« tho furnace ontil
finished by the hammer, is only two hours ! We under-
stand that one of his furnaces is now in operation at Bo(m-
ton, in Morris County. We have a specimen of iron from
it, which is pronounced to be of the very best deseriptioo.
Perhaps a more important invention — if fuller experiroenta
shoula verify present anticipations — ^has not been intrc^
duced in many years. Its effect upon the production and
consumption of iron must be immense. — Netcark {Xew
Jersey) Advertiser,
A FAITHFCL SLAVE LIBERATEB.
Tlie following is aa extract from the will of Judge Up-
sher, late secretary of state of the United States, killed bj
the explosion on board the steamer Princeton : — ' I emanci-
pate and sot free my servant David Rich, and direct mjr
executors to give him one hundred dollars. I recommend
Iilm in the strongest manner to the respect, esteem, and
confidence of any community in which he may happen to
live. He has been my slave for twenty-four years, dnrio^
all which time he has been trusted to every extent, and
in every respect. My confidence in him has been un-
bounded; Ills relation to myself and family has always
been such as to afford him daily opportunities to deceive
and injure us, and yet he has never been detected in any
serious fault, nor even in an unintentional breach of ilie
decorums of his station. His intelligence is of a lii^h ordei;
his integrity above all suspicion, and his sense of nght and
propriety correct, and even refined. I feel that he is justly
entitled to carry this certificate from me in the new rela-
tions which he must now form : it is due to his long and
most faithful services, and to the sincere and steady
friendship which I bear him. In the uninterrupted and
confidential intercourse of twenty-four yec^s, I have never
given, nor had occasion to give, him an unpleasant word. I
know no man who has fewer faults or more excellencies
than he.*
The present number of the Journal completes the twelfUi vohmu
(new Buiee), for which a title-page and Index have been prepared,
and may be had of the puUIshers and their agents.
NEW SERIES OF TRACTS.
Eat'ly in t/te approctching year will be tamed the First of a New Seiial^ to he entitled
CHAMBERS'S
PAPERS FOR THE PEOPLE.
The remarkable snccest which attended the publication of Chahber8*8 Miscellany of Useful and
Entertaining TaACTS—a work which left oflf with a weekly sale of 80,000 copies— has in some measure induced
the Editors to project the present Serial, which, however, will difiTer considerably in scope and appearance from
its predecessor, and be in various respects a Dorelty in Literature.
The work will be published in l^eekly Numbers, at Three-halfpence each ; and a Volume, conatsting of Eight
Numbers, wiU be issued every Two Months, done up in Fancy Boards, Price One Shilling and Sixpence.
EviNBimoH, December 1849.
END OF TWELFTH VOLUME.
I
^
Printed and PubUahed by W. and R. CHAMaaas, Edlnbiui^h.
Sold by W. 8. Oaa, Amen Comer, London.
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