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Full text of "The family instructor; or, Digest of general knowledge; comprising a complete circle of useful and entertaining information, designed for family reading ... Ed. by Robert Sears"

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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

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Savannah, Georgia 

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Out needful knowledge, like our needful food. 

Unhedged, lies open in life's common field, 

And bids us -welcome to the vital feast !-—Touno. 





UTICA N. Y.: liEN'SETT, UACKUS, &. H A WLEY.— PlTT.SnO RG, PA.: U. /.. ? AH X r;.^TOCK.— HALTI.MUUE : PAU.SO'^3 
ft PRESTON.— RICH.MOND, VA. : L. M. HARROLD: I'ERKISS & 15 ALL— CH ARi.ESTOS. S. C: £11. AS HOWE.— F?-!:* if- 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, 


in tlie Corks Office of the District Court of tlie United States for the Southern District of New York. 

STEUt>>TYrED BY r'edfield k eiVk^M, 

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■*5 68 



There are no pleasures so unalloyed and so ennobling, as those derived from 
mental cultivation. By the acquisition of Knowledge, the mind not only becomes 
disabused of the debasing influences of prejudice and ignorance; but it is also en- 
riched in its stores of individual happiness and enjoyment, and at the same time ac- 
quires the capacity of imparting the like benefits to those around. Trite as may be 
deemed the remark, it is no less true, that ignorance is the prolific parent of misery 
and vice ; and one of the great characteristics of the present age being its universal 
diffusion of intelligence, the neglect of the pursuits of Knowledge can no longer be 
regarded as simply inexpedient, but it becomes inexcusably culpable. The incen- 
tives to these, are in unison with those which concern our common well-being : the 
fruits of Knowledge being the intellectual aliment, from which we imbibe the faculty 
of their ever-increasing indulgence. Thus the moral nature becomes matured, the 
taste refined, and all that constitutes the distinctive attribute of the human over the 
brute, proportionately augmented. The great utility of the acquisition of Knowledge, 
consists in the true dignity and independence it confers : empowering the mind to 
retire within herself, and expatiate in the quiet walks of contemplation ; to explore 
the subtle mysteries of Science, or to muse over the vast expanse of Creation's Won- 
ders. The Divine Author of nature has wisely and beneficently annexed a pleasure 
to the exercise of our active powers, and particularly to the pursuit of truth ; Avhich, 
if it be in some instances less intense, is far more durable, than the gratifications of 
sense, and is, not to refer to its other advantages, on that account incomparably more 
valuable. It may be repeated without satiety, and pleases afresh in every reflection 
of it. Such enjoyments as these are self-created satisfactions, always within our 
grasp : not requiring a peculiar combination of circumstances to produce or maintain 
them : they spring up spontaneously. They are a rich intellectual spring, ever wel- 
ling up with their refreshing influences, and inciting to the pursuit of the highest 
good, to noble deeds, and to the purest and most elevating aspirations. 

Important, however, as are the immunities conferred by literary pursuits, it is yet 
to be recollected that unassociated with habits of reflection and study, as well as a 
just regard to appropriateness and discrimination in the choice of books, they not only 
often prove unavaihng to any practical purposes, but even sometimes, indeed, become 

— ^ ' 


absolutely injurious. This consideration has been regarded with a less sedulous care 
than its importance claimed ; especially in a day when the productions of the Press, 
from their vast numerical extent, no less than their heterogeneous character, would 
seem to demand redoubled caution. 

To know what to read, is equally essential with the art of its right application ; it 
is therefore with the view of supplying, in a compendious form, a judicious and varied 
selection of valuable reading-mattei garnered from the ample stores of Literature and 
Science, that the present work has been prepared. Stimulated by the urgent and in- 
creasing demand for books devoted to the purposes of sound and sterling Knowledge, 
the Editor has devoted whatever could be rendered available in the improved resources 
of the literature of the age, together with the attractions of Pictorial Embellishments, 
to a lavish extent, in order to supply the acknowledged chasm. How far he may 
have succeeded in the accomplishment of his object, the reader must decide ; his aim 
has been to impart important instruction with amusement, in the earnest hope that his 
humble efforts may contribute to the promotion of an improved taste among that class 
of readers, whose restricted means or opportunities of leisure forbid the indulgence of 
more extended excursions over the wide domain of human Knowledge and inquiry. 

R. S. 

New York, 1846. 



Affection of Animals 445 

American Antiquarian Soc, Worcester, Mass. 153 

■^Amherst College - 234 

Amoy . 259 

Ancient Tower at Newport, R. I. - - - 33 

Attractions of Home . . . . • 133 

Barcelona, View of 464 

Bats ........ 118 

Bell of St. Regis ...-.■• 276 

Betel-nut Tree ...... 306 

Bible, the .-.-.-. 416 

Blossoms ....... 232 

Book-titles ....... 68 

Bridgetown, Barbadoes - - - • 192 
British Trade with N. A. Indians . • =298 

Buenos Ayres ...... 110 

Bull-hunting 359 

Bunker Hill Monument - • • - 201 

Butterflies 228 

Canterbury, City of 520 

Caoutchouc-tree, the ..... 366 

Capabilities 522 

Castalia, Greece ...... 369 

Castes and Tribes of India 73, 162, 210, 251, 314 

Castle of Chillon ...... 404 

Castle, Ehrenbreitsteln ..... 372 

Castor-oil Plant ...... 385 

t-€avern Wells of Yucatan - - - - 387 

Circassia and the Circassians ... 492 

City of Stockholm ...... 439 

Civility . 496 

Changes of the Year ..... 24 

Charities that sweeten Life .... 368 

Chymistry — Air and Water .... 285 

Chymistry — Sulphur ..... 470 

Chymistry — Carbon- ..... 236 

Climates 188 

Column of July, Paris ..... 47 

Commerce ....... 484 

Conversation ....... 153 

Cuckoo, the - 490 

Cultivation of Flowers ..... 305 

Curiosities of Natural History 
Dangers of Life ..... 
Dartmouth College .... 
Death of Friends ..... 
Demosthenes ..... 
Discoveries made by Accident • • 
Diving-bell, the ..... 
Domestic Entertainments of the Ancients 
Dover Castle ..... 



Dreams ........76 


Education ..... 
Education, Errors in . . . 
Earl of Ross's Mammoth Telescope 
Eastern Harems .... 
Elizabeth Castle, Jersey 
Empire of Japan .... 
Exaggeration .... 
False Positions .... 
Fishing in North America 
First Books • . . 
Foo-Choo-Foo .... 
-Fossil Remains in North America • 
Fountain of Paul, at Rome . 
Guadaloupe ..... 


Hints for preserving Health • - - - 187 

Hoopoe, the 31S 

Honied Pheasants of India .... 443 

Houses in Turkey and Egypt ... 503 

Howard, Memoir of ..... 472 

Human Will, the - . . . . . 238 

Humble-Bee, the ...... 26 

Ice Palace of St. Petersburg - . - 396 

Improvement of Memory .... 499 

Influence of Rural Scenes .... 165 

Influence of Imagination - .... 529 

Indian Fishing in North America . . 428 

Innocent Gayety - 271 

Illustrious Mechanics 513 

Institution of Deaf and Dumb, Philadelphia - 166 

Intemperance ...... 479 

Jaca-tree, the ..--.-. 524 

Jenna, Dr. Edward, Life of - . - - 336 

Jerboa, the 400 

Junction of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans 39, 64, 131 

Knowledge of the World .... 259 

Language of Animals ..... 43 

Last Arrow, the ...... 53 

Last Hours of Washington ... - 72 

Legends respecting Trees . . . .3, 328 

Lingering Good-byes . - - . - 141 

Lisbon ........ 423 

Living in a Hurry • . . . - . ]48 

Love of Nature ...... 334 

Lyre-bird, the --...-. 345 

Madrid, City of -.-.-- 169 

Mammoth Cave of Kentucky .... 287 . 

March of Mind 495 

Measurement of Time ..... 262 

Medicine, taking -.-... 59 

Melrose Abbey ...... 204 

Men of the World 87 

Mental Courage ...... go 

Mental Dissipation ..... 353 

Mental Exercise, its EflTects .... 441 

Migration of Fishes 234 

Minute Wonders of Nature .... 109 

Modern Innovations ..... 280 

Modern Charity 174 

Moles 91 

Monticello, Virginia ..... 285. 

Moore's House, Yorktown, Va. ... 327 

Movable Types ...... 374 

Mystery ..... . 263 

Natural Appearances on the Water - • 196 

Natural Appearances in the Heavens • - 218 
Natural Phenomena - - . - .113 

New Brunswick 337 

New South Wales 340 

Niagara District, Upper Canada - - - 57, 134 

Notes on the Nose 13 

Objects, &c., of Chymical Science . • 22 

Ocean, the . - .... <^2 

Opinions ....... ^5 

Passenger- Pigeon, the 514 

Pass of the Gemmi ..... 497 

Patronisers ....... 508 

Peak Cavern, England 527 

Persecution of New Ideas .... 372 

Phenomena of the Atmosphere ... 244 
Philosophy of Sound - - . . .147 

I Philosophy of Vegetation .... 254 


Physiognomy - • • • • - -155 

Pilgrims in the Desert . . • - • 391 

Pleasures and Pains of Memory ... 316 

Pompeii ....-•• 27b 

Preternatural Rains ....•- 96 

Profanity 458 

Profession ...-.•• 462 

Providence .--..•• 203 

"Pulaski Monument, Georgia ... - 3 

Relationship ..-..• 393 

Religion of China 223 

Republic of San Marino, .... 532 

■River St. Clair and Indians, &c. ... 350 

Rockfort, Illinois 419 

Romance of Insect Life .... - 526 

St. Lawrence, Quebec 409 

Save me from my Friends .... 347 

Scene on the Hudson, &c. .... 186 

Secret of Happiness ..... 497 

Secret of Success 419 

Science and Religion ..... 413 

Self-deniers 407 

Self-discipline -.31 

Seven wise Men of Greece .... 384 

Shang-hae 214 

Silent Academy of Ispahan .... 365 

Sir Walter Raleigh 123 

Skill of the ancient Egyptians • • - 220 

Smiles 212 

Snakes 354 


Sound under Water 487 

Stepping-stones of the Dudden ... 272 

Stockholm, City of 439 

Streets of Constantinople .... 434 
Strength of Character ... .121 

Superstitions respecting Animals ... 71 

Serf and Bore of India - - • - - 179 

Temple Church 83, 105, 175 

Temple of Somnauth .... - 7 

Theological Seminary, Princeton • • 151" 

Theories of Light 437 

Tiger-Hunting in India, .... 517 

Time, Essay on • • • • • - 320 

Titles of Honor 136 

Tomb of Washington 482 

Tombs of the Chinese 322 

Too late 309 

Trogon, the . 477 

Turkish Coffee-Houses 480 

Unfortunate Men of Genius . - • 289 

Villages of the North American Indians . 18 

Washington. ... . . 269 

Washington at Eighteen 432- 

Washington, Headquarters of, at Morristown 101 

Water Newt, the 182 

Weather Prognostications . . • .101 

What is Honest Dealing • . . 302 

Wild-Cat, the 430 

Yorktown, Virginia 243 

Youth 166 



Adder and Ringed Snake . 355 

Amherst College 


Ancient Tower, Newport, 
Rhode Island 

Barcelona, View of • 


Betel-nut Tree ... 

Bheels, the 

Birthplace of Sir Walter Ra- 
leigh- .... 

Brahmin expounding the Ve- 

Bridgetown, Barbadoes 

Buenos Ayres - - . 

Bunker Hill Monument 

Butterflies ... 

Canterbury, View of • 


Cape Diamond, Quebec 

Castalian Fountain, Greece 

Castes of India 

Castle of Chillon - 
Castor-oil Tree - 
Cells of Humble-Bees • 
Chippeway Indians Fishing 
Column of July, Paris 
Cuckoo, the - . . - 
Dartmouth College - 
Demosthenes . . . 
Diagram of an Eclipse 
Distribution of Presents to 
Indians . . . - 
Dover Castle ... 
Ehrenbreitstein, View of 
Elizabeth Castle, Jersey . 
Egyptian Pacha in his Divan 
Exchange at Antwerp - 










. 405 


- 27 




Foo-Choo-Foo • 

Fort Chippeway ... 

Fort Erie .... 

Fountain at Rome 

Hall of Antiquarian Society, 

Worcester, Mass. 
Hedgehogs ... 
Hell-Gate, View of • • 
Hoopoe, the ... 
Horned Pheasants 
Howard, John, Portrait of 
Hulme Hall, Lancashire 
Ice Palace at St. Petersburg 
Ice Elephant at do. 
Institution of Deaf and Dumb, 

Philadelphia - - . 
Interior of Temple of Som. 

nauth .... 
Interior of a Cafe at Con- 
stantinople - . . 
Jaca, or Bread-Fruit-Tree 
Jerboa, the .... 
Last Arrow, the 
Lyre-bird, the ... 
Madrid .... 
Mahrattas . . . . 
Melrose Abbey 
Military Costumes of the 

Circassians . . . 
Modern Egyptian House . 
Modern Egyptian House, Ex. 

terior View of - 
Modern Turkish House . 
Moore's House, Yorktown, 

Virginia . - . . 
Moles .... 

Open Court and House at 

Grand Cairo . . . 













Pass of the Gemmi • 


Peak-Cavern, England 

Pilgrims in the Desert . 

Ponte-a-Pieire ... 

Port of Shang-hae 

Portrait of Sir W. Raleigh 

Portrait of Dr. Jenner . 

Praga do Commercio, Lisbon 

Public Road, Naples 

Pulaski Monument ■ . 

Rajpoots, the - . . 

Residence of Jefferson . 

Rockfort, Illinois . • 

St. Clair River, View on 

St. Johns, View of - 

San Marino .... 

Simonoseki, Japan . 

Stepping-stones of the Dudden 274 

Stockholm, View of - - 440 

Street in Constantinople - 435 

Temple Church,View of 48,106,176 

Temple of Somnauth . . 8 

Temple of Somnauth, Inte- 
rior of ... - 8 

Theolog'l Seminary, Prince- 
ton ..... 

Trogons .... 

Turkish Harem ... 

View of Panama 

View of Puerto Bello . 

View of Yorktown, Virginia 

Village of N. A. Indians 

Washington's Headquarters, 
Morristown, N. J. 

Water Newt ... 

Wild- Bull Hunting . 

Wildcat .... 











The city of Savannah is built on a 
sandy plain, about seventeen miles from 
the ocean, by the course of the river. It 
is laid off in a regular manner, the streets 
intersecting each other at right angles. 
In each ward of the city a vacant space 
in left, the houses being built around in 
such a manner as to form a square. This 
space is enclosed with a circular railing, 
and in the enclosure a number of trees are 
planted, which in the spring and summer 
seasons present a beautiful appearance, 
forming a shady bower, under which the 
children may be seen sporting upon the 
green grass. Among the most beautiful 
of these squares is that known as John- 
son's, and more recently Monument square, 
which is situated a few yards from Bay 
street and the Exchange. In the centre 
of this square stands a Doric obelisk, 
erected by the citizens of Savannah to the 
memories of Greene and Pulaski, the cor- 
ner stone of which was laid by General 
Lafayette, during his visit in 1825. It is 
a marble monument, fifty-three feet in 
height. The base of the pedestal is ten 
feet four inches by six feet eight inches, 
and its height about twelve feet. The nee- 
dle which surmounts the pedestal is thirty- 
seven feet in height. The monument is 
built upon a platform of granite, three feet 
above the ground, and the whole is enclo- 
sed by a cast-iron railing. 

To the east of the monument may be 
seen Christ church, a newly erected edi- 
fice. The order of architecture adopted 
in this building is the Grecian Ionic, of 
the age of Pericles. Throughout the ex- 

terior, the example followed is, so far as 
the material used would permit, that of the 
double temple of Minerva Polias and Erec- 
theus, in the Acropolis of Athens. In the 
interior, the proportions of the temple of 
the Ilissus have been adopted. The first 
temple stands unrivalled for the lightness 
and grace of its columns, and the delicate 
elegance of its ornaments, and the latter 
is much celebrated for its chaste simplicity. 
The three are confessedly among the most 
beautiful Ionic specimens that have come 
down to us of the exquisitely refined taste 
of the Athenians. 

Qn the same side of the square is the 
Bank of the state of Georgia, a building 
which both externally and internally adds 
to the beauty and comfort of the city and 
its inhabitants. 

The plan of the city of Savannah has 
been greatly admired by the many stran- 
gers who have visited it ; and there is no 
doubt that the squares are productive of 
health, and contribute greatly to the ap- 
pearance of the city. 


Like other natural objects of signal im- 
portance to man, whether yielding food, 
affording shelter, or simply conferring 
loveliness on the landscape, trees, in the 
earlier stages of society, have uniformly 
been the fertile subjects of poetical and 
mythological allusion. Many of the pret- 
tiest legends of heathen antiquity, as well 
as of our Christian progenitors, relate to 
trees ; while poets, in all countries and 
ages, have borrowed from them their most 


brilliant imagery and comparisons. With- 
out inquiring into the causes of these varied 
allusions, we intend to present the reader 
with a few of the more remarkable legends. 

The White Poplar, according to ancient 
mythology, was consecrated to Hercules, 
because he destroyed Cacus in a cavern 
of Mount Aventine, which was covered 
with these trees ; and in the moment of 
his triumph, bound his brow with a branch 
of one as a token of his victory. When 
he descended into the infernal regions, he 
also returned with a wreath of white pop- 
lar round his head. It was this, says the 
fable, that made the leaves of the color 
they are now. The perspiration from the 
hero's brow made the inner part of the 
leaf white ; while the smoke of the lower 
regions turned the upper surface of the 
leaves almost black. Persons sacrificing 
to Hercules were always crowned with 
branches of this tree ; and all who had 
gloriously conquered their enemies in bat- 
tle wore garlands of it, in imitation of 
Hercules. It is said that the ancients 
consecrated the white poplar to Time, be- 
cause the leaves are in continual agitation ; 
and being of a blackish green on one side, 
with a thick white cotton on the other, 
these were supposed to indicate the alter- 
nation of day and night. 

The Black Poplar is no less celebrated 
in fable than its congener above-mentioned. 
According to Ovid, when Phaethon bor- 
rowed the chariot and horses of the sun, 
and, by his heedless driving, set half the 
world on fire, he was hurled from the 
chariot by Jupiter into the Po, where he 
was drowned ; and his sisters, the Heli- 
ades, wandering on the banks of the river, 
were changed into trees — supposed by 
most commentators to be poplars. The 
evidence in favor of the poplar consists in 
there being abundance of black poplars 
on the banks of the Po ; in the poplar, in 
common with many other aquatic trees, be- 
ing so surcharged with moisture, as to have 
it exuding through the pores of the leaves, 
which may thus literally be said to weep ; 
and in there being no tree on which the 
sun shines more brightly than on the black 
poplar, thus still showing gleams of paren- 
tal affection to the only memorial left of 
the unhappy son whom his own fondness 
had contributed to destroy. 

The Apple-Tree, so singularly connected 
with the first transgression and fall of 
man, is distinguished alike in the mythol- 
ogies of the Greeks, Scandinavians, and 
Druids. The golden fruits of the Hes- 
perides, which it was one of the labors of 
Hercules to procure, in spite of the sleep- 
less dragon which guarded them, were be- 
lieved by the pagans to be apples. Her- 
cules was worshipped by the Thebans 
under the name of Melius ; and apples 
were offered at his altars. The origin of 
this custom was the circumstance of the 
river Asopus having on one occasion over- 
flowed its banks to such an extent, as to 
render it impossible to bring a sheep 
across it which was to be sacrificed to 
Hercules, when some youths, recollecting 
that an apple bore the same name as a 
sheep in Greek (melon), offe) ed an apple, 
with four little sticks stuck in it, to resem- 
ble legs, as a substitute for sheep ; and af- 
ter that period, the pagans always consid- 
ered the apple as especially devoted to 
Hercules. In the Scandinavian Edda, we 
are told that the goddess Iduna had the 
care of apples which had the power of 
conferring immortality, and which were 
consequently reserved for the gods, who 
ate of them when they began to feel them- 
selves growing old. The evil spirit, Loke, 
took away Iduna and her apple-tree, and 
hid them in a forest, where they could not 
be found by the gods. In consequence 
of this malicious theft, everything went 
wrong in the world. The gods became 
old and infirm ; and, enfeebled both in 
body and in mind, no longer paid the same 
attention to the afi*airs of the earth, and 
men having no one to look after them, fell 
into evil courses, and became the prey of 
the evil spirit. At length the gods, find- 
ing matters get worse and worse every 
day, roused their last remains of vigor, 
and combining together, forced Loke to 
restore the tree. 

The Druids paid particular reverence to 
the apple-tree, because the mistletoe was 
supposed to grow only on it and the oak, 
and also on account of the usefulness of 
its fruit. In consequence of this feeling, 
the apple was cultivated in Britain from 
the earliest ages of which we have any 
record ; and Glastonbury was called the 
apple orchard, from the quantity of apples 


grown there previous to the time of the 
Romans. Many old rites and ceremonies 
are therefore connected with this tree, 
some of which are practised in the orchard 
districts even at the present day. " On 
Christmas eve," says Mrs. Bray, " the far- 
mers and their men in Devonshire take a 
large bowl of cider, with a toast in it, and 
carrying it in state to the orchard, they 
salute the apple-trees with much ceremony, 
in order to make them bear well next sea- 
son. This salutation consists in throwing 
some of the cider about the roots of the 
tree, placing bits of the toast on the 
branches, and then forming themselves in- 
to a ring, they, like the bards of old, set 
up their voices and sing a song, which 
may be found in Brand's Popular Antiqui- 
ties. In Hone's Every-Day Book, this 
custom is mentioned, but with some slight 

The wassail bowl, drunk on All Hallow 
E'en, Twelfth Day Eve, Christmas Eve, 
and on other festivals of the church, was 
compounded of ale, sugar, nutmeg, and 
roasted apples, which every person par- 
took of, each taking out an apple with the 
spoon, and then drinking out of the bowl. 
Sometimes the roasted apples were bruised 
and mixed with milk or white wine in- 
stead of ale ; and in some parts of the 
country apples were roasted on a string, 
till they dropped off into a bowl of spiced 
ale beneath, which was called LarnVs 
Wool. The reason of this name, which 
is common to all the compounds of apples 
and ale, is attributed by Vallancey to its 
being drunk on the 31st of October, All 
Hallow E'en ; the first day of November 
being dedicated to the angel presiding 
over fruit, seeds, &c., and therefore named 
La Mas TJbhal, that is, the day of the ap- 
ple-fruit, and this being pronounced lamo- 
sool, soon became corrupted by the Eng- 
lish into lamb's wool. Apples were blessed 
by the priests on the 25th of July, and an 
especial form for this purpose is preserved 
in the manual of the church of Sarum. 

The custom of bobbing for apples on 
All Hallow E'en, and on All Saints Day, 
which was formerly common over all 
England, and is still practised in some 
parts of Ireland, has lately been rendered 
familiar by M'Clise's masterly painting of 
the Sports of All Hallow E'en. A kind 

of hanging-beam, which was continually 
turning, was suspended from the roof of 
the room, and an apple placed at one end, 
and a lighted candle at the other. The 
parties having their hands tied behind 
them, and being to catch the apple with 
their mouths, frequently caught the candle 
instead. In Warwickshire, apples are tied 
to a string, and caught at in the same man- 
ner, but the lighted candle is omitted ; and 
in the same county children roast apples on 
a string on Christmas Eve ; the first who 
can catch an apple, when it drops from 
the string, getting it. In Scotland, apples 
are put into a tub of water, and then bob- 
bed for with the mouth. 

The Ash, according to heathen mythol- 
ogy, furnished the wood of which Cupid 
made his arrows, before he had learned to 
adopt the more fatal cypress. In the 
Scandinavian Edda, it is stated that the 
court of the gods is held under a mighty 
ash, the summit of which reaches the 
heavens, the branches overshadow the 
whole earth, and the roots penetrate to the 
infernal regions. An eagle rests on its 
summit, to observe everything that passes, 
to whom a squirrel constantly ascends to 
report those things which the exalted bird 
may have neglected to notice. Serpents 
are twined round the trunk, and from the 
roots there spring two limpid fountains, in 
one of which wisdom lies concealed, and 
in the other a knowledge of the things to 
come. Three virgins constantly attend 
on this tree, to sprinkle its leaves with 
water from the magic fountains, and this 
water, falling on the earth in the shape of 
dew, produces honey. Man, according to 
the Edda, was formed from the wood of 
this tree. Ancient writers of all nations 
state that the serpent entertains an extra- 
ordinary respect for the ash. Pliny says 
that if a serpent be placed near a fire, and 
both surrounded by ashen twigs, the ser- 
pent will sooner run into the fire than pass 
over the pieces of ash ; and Dioscorides 
asserts that the juice of ash leaves, mixed 
with wine, is a cure for the bite of that 

The Oak appears early to have been an 
object of worship among the Celts and an- 
cient Britons. Under the form of this 
tree the Celts worshipped their god Tuet, 
and the Britons Tarnawa, their god of 


thunder. Baal, the Cehic god *f fire, 
whose festival (that of Yule) was kept at 
Christmas, was also worshipped under the 
semblance of an oak. The Druids pro- 
fessed to maintain perpetual fire ; and 
once every year all the fires belonging to 
the people were extinguished, and re- 
lighted from the sacred fire of their priests. 
This was the origin of the Yule log, with 
which, even so lately as the middle of 
last century, the Christmas fire, in some 
parts of the country, was always kindled ; 
a fresh log being thrown on and lighted, 
but taken off before it was consumed, and 
reserved to kindle the Christmas fire of 
the following year. The Yule log was 
always of oak, and as the ancient Britons 
believed that it was essential for their 
hearth-fires to be renewed every year 
from the sacred fire of the Druids, so their 
descendants thought that some misfortune 
would befall them if any accident hap- 
pened to the Yule log. 

The worship of the Druids was gen- 
erally performed under an oak, and a heap 
of stones or cairn was erected on which 
the sacred fire was kindled. Before the 
ceremony of gathering the mistletoe, the 
Druids fasted for several days, and offered 
sacrifices in wicker baskets or frames, 
which, however, were not of willow, but 
of oak twigs curiously interwoven, and 
were similar to that still carried by Jack- 
in-the-green on May-day, which, accord- 
ing to some, is a relic of Druidism. The 
well-known chorus of " Hey, derry down," 
accordmg to Professor Burnet, was a 
Druidic chant, signifying literally, " In a 
circle the oak move around." Criminals 
were tried under an oak-tree ; the judge, 
with the jury, being seated under its 
shade, and the culprit placed in a circle 
made by the chief Druid's wand. The 
Saxons also held their national meetings 
imder an oak, and the celebrated confer- 
ence between the Saxons and the Britons, 
after the invasion of the former, was held 
under the oaks of Dartmoor. 

The Mistletoe, particularly that which 
grows on the oak, was held in great ven- 
eration by the Britons. At the beginning 
of their year, the Druids went in solemn 
procession into the forests, and raised a 
grass altar at the foot of the finest oak, on 
which they inscribed the names of those 

crods which were considered as the most 
powerful. After this the chief Druid, 
clad in a white garment, ascended the tree, 
and cropped the mistletoe with a conse- 
crated golden pruning-hook, the other 
Druids receiving it in a pure white cloth, 
which they held beneath the tree. The 
mistletoe was then dipped in water by the 
principal Druid, and distributed among the 
people, as a preservative against witch- 
craft and diseases. If any part of the 
plant touched the ground, it was consid- 
ered to be the omen of some dreadful mis- 
fortune which was about to fall upon the 
land. The ceremony was always per- 
formed when the moon was six days old, 
and two Avhite bulls were sacrificed at the 
conclusion. In Scadinavian mythology, 
Loke, the evil spirit, is said to have made 
the arrow with which he wounded Balder 
(Apollo), the son of Friga (Venus), of 
mistletoe branches. Balder was charmed 
against injury from everything which 
sprang from fire, earth, air, and water ; 
but the mistletoe, springing from neither, 
was found to be fatal, and Balder was not 
restored to the world till by a general ef- 
fort of the other gods. The magical prop- 
erties of the mistletoe are mentioned 
both by Virgil and Ovid. In the dark 
ages a similar belief prevailed ; and even 
to the present day the peasants of Hol- 
stein, and some other countries, call the 
mistletoe the " spectre's wand," from the 
supposition, that holding a branch of mis- 
tletoe will not only enable a man to see 
ghosts, but to force them to speak to him. 
I The custom of kissing under the mistletoe 
at Christmas has been handed down to us 
by our Saxon ancestors, who, on the res- 
toration of Balder, dedicated the plant to 
their Venus (Friga), to place it entirely 
under her control, and to prevent it from 
being again used against her as an instru- 
ment of mischief. In the feudal ages, it 
was gathered with great solemnity on 
Christmas Eve, and hung up in the great 
hall with loud shouts and rejoicing : — 

" On Christmas eve the belJs were rwa^ ; 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung ; 
That only n'srh' in all ihe year 
Saw the stoltd priest th "• chalice near. 
The damsel donned her Kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green : 
Forth to me woods did merry men go, 
To gather in the mistletoe. 


Then opened wide the baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all." 

The Holly, like some other evergreens, 
has long been used at Christmas for orna- 
menting churches and dwelling-houses. 
It appears to have been first made use of 
for this purpose by the early Christians at 
Rome, and was probably adopted for dec- 
orating the churches at Christmas, be- 
cause holly was used in the great festival 
of the Saturnalia, which occurred about 
that period. It was customary among the 
Romans to send boughs of holly, during 
the Saturnalia, as emblematical of good 
wishes, with the gifts they presented to 
their friends at that season ; and the holly 
came thus to be considered as an emblem 
of peace and good-will. Whatever may 
have been the origin of the practice of 
decorating churches and houses with holly, 
it is of great antiquity. In England, per- 
haps, the earliest record of the custom is 
in a carol in praise of holly, written in 
the time of Henry VI., beginning with the 
stanza — 

" Nay, ivy, nay. it shall not be. I wys ; 
Let holly hafe the maystry [mastery,] as the 

manner is. 
Holy stonde in the halle, fayre to behold ; 
Ivy stonde without the dore ; she is ful sore a-cold." 

In illustration of which it must be observed 
that the ivy, being dedicated to Bacchus, 
was used as a vintner's sign in winter, and 
hung outside the door. The disciples of 
Zoroaster, the author of fire-worship, be- 
lieved that the sun never shadows the 
holly-tree ; and the followers of that phi- 
losopher, who still remain in Persia and 
India, are said to throw water impregnated 
with holly bark in the face of a new-barn 
child. In the language of flowers, the 
holly is the symbol of foresight and cau- 


Every boy should have his head, his 
heart, and his hand educated : let this 
truth never be forgotten. 

By the proper education of his head, he 
will be taught what is good, and what is 
evil — what is wise, and what is foolish — 
what is right, and what is wrong. By the 

proper education of his heart he will be 
taught to love what is good, wise, and 
right ; and to hate what is evil, foolish, 
and wrong ; and by the proper education 
of his hand, he will be enabled to supply 
his wants, to add to his comforts, and to 
assi&t those that are around him. 

The highest objects of a good education 
are to reverence and obey God, and to 
love and serve mankind : everything that 
helps us in attaining these objects is of 
great value, and everything that hinders us 
is comparatively worthless. When wis- 
dom reigns in the head, and love in the 
heart, the hand is ever ready to do good ; 
order and peace smile around, and sin and 
sorrow are almost unknown. 


Place me on Somnauth's* marbled steep, 
Where nothing save the waves and 1 

May hear our mutual murmurs weep, 
There swan-like let me sing and die. — Byron. 

Religion and learning have always se- 
lected for their seats the most romantic 
positions in every country in the world ; 
and their professors seem to have been 
possessed of every acquirement that could 
render the combination of art and nature 
beautiful and impressive. There is not a 
conspicuous or picturesque hill, or rock, or 
cape, of ancient Greece, that is not still 
adorned with the classic remnants either 
of a temple to the gods or a school of 
philosophy ; and the extraordinary resem- 
blance between the temple and promontory 
of Sunium and those of Somnauth, sug- 
gested our adaptation of Byron's memo- 
rable apostrophe to fallen and neglected 
Greece. It can not, however, escape the 
observation of any one, the least acquaint- 
ed with the history of the kingdoms of 
Europe, how presumptuously forward the 
pagan temple and the hall of a false phi- 
losopher invariably stand — Juno, Diana, 
and Minerva, generally fixing their thrones 
upon the rocky capitol that overhangs the 
city, while the noblest temples of Chris- 

• Called also Someswar and Somanatha, from 
Soma Natha, Lord of the Moon, one of the twelve 
images of Siva, which, lil<e the Palladium of Troy, 
or Ancile of the Romans, was said to have fiiUen 
from heaven. 

Temple of Somnauth. 

Interior of the Temple. 

tianity are modestly placed in the most se- 
questered and secluded glens, remote from 
every idle gaze, and imposing a species 
of penance and pilgrimage on their vota- 
ries, from the difficulty of discovering and 
approaching them. How different the 
haughty height at which the temple of 
Capitoline Jove is elevated, from those 
abodes of reflection, and solitude, and sad- 
ness, where the lone aisles of Valle-Cru- 
cis, and of Tintern, and of Furness, hide 
their mouldering friezes ! Are not these 
temples of worship in some degree em- 
blematical of their respective faiths 1 Is 
not ignorance always presumptuous — truth 
and intelligence always modest ? 

In the vicinity of the ancient city of 
Pattan or Puttun, on a bold headland pro- 
jecting into the Indian ocean, are the 
stately ruins of the famous temple and 
shrine of Somnauth.* The city having 
been rebuilt after the Mahommedan con- 
quest, partakes of the architectural style 
of the spoilers ; but the Hindoo columns 
and sculptures, and tablets, that every- 
where appear incorporated with the walls 
of Moorish mosques, proclaim how much 
of their magnificence is traceable to the 
primitive founders. The venerable shrine 
of Somnauth, the noblest remains in the 
peninsula of Saraustra, occupies the sum- 
mit of the promontory at the southwest 
angle of the city, looking down upon the 
waters and upon the embattled walls. Al- 
though much dilapidated, enough survives 
to indicate the original design, as well as 
the gorgeous style that pervaded it. The 
principal front, which is of black marble, 
and originally adorned with magnificent 
sculptures, has a grand porch, or Subha, 
on each side of which rise tapering min- 
arets of Moorish origin, terminating in 

• " Nothing can surpass the beauty of the site 
chosen for the temple, which stands on a projecting 
rock, whose base is washed by the ocean. Here, 
resting on the slvirt of the mighty waters, the vision 
is lost in their boundless expanse ; the votary would 
be lulled to a blissful state of repose by the monot- 
onous roar of the waves. Before him is the bay ex- 
tending to Billawul, its golden sands kept in per- 
petual agitation by the surf, in a bold and graceful 
curvature. It is unrivalled in India, and although I 
have since seen many noble bays from that of Pen- 
zance to Salemum, perhaps the finest in the world, 
with all its accessories of back-ground, and in all 
the glory of a closing day, none ever struck my im- 
agination more forcibly than that of Puttun." — 
Travels in Western India. 

pine-shaped capitals, called Kullus, in 
Hindoo architecture. From their dispro- 
portioned height and excessive delicacy, 
they have been compared not inaptly to 
the horns of a beetle ; and, owing to a 
lapse in the foundation, or some sudden 
shock, one of them is now so much bent 
as to threaten a speedy fall. Two rich 
side-duors were approached by flights of 
steps, the remains of which may still be 
distinctly traced. The famous entrance, 
the valves or gates of which are said to 
have been carried away eight centuries 
ago, by the victorious Mahmoud of Ghuz- 
nee, and recently recovered by an Anglo- 
Indian army, is perfectly Egyptian, nar- 
row at the top and widening toward the 
base ; and the broad lintels, richly carved 
with leaves and flowers, that constitute 
the principal ornaments around it, are ob- 
viously of the same date, design, and ori- 
gin, as the re-edification. Five domes 
once rose majestically above these sculp- 
tured walls, only two of which now re- 
main ; and the roof is supposed to have 
sustained considerable injury from the con- 
duct of a Nuwaub, who converted it into a 
battery of heavy ordnance, for the protec- 
tion of the harbor of Verawul against pi- 
ratical intrusion. All approach to the 
smaller subhas is completely interrupted 
by fragments of pillars, broken cornices, 
mutilated sculptures, and rude blocks of 
stone, whose former positions it would be 
now impossible to point out ; but the em- 
blems graven on them obviously belong to 
the worship of Siva, which succeeded 
that of the sun, the earliest object of ado- 
ration at this long-known scene of sanc- 
tity. " I found the temple," says a Euro- 
pean traveller, " deserted, desecrated, a 
receptacle for kine, the pinnacle to its 
spring from the cella demolished, and the 
fragments strewing the ground." The ex- 
terior circumference of the whole building 
is 336 feet, its extreme length 117, and its 
greatest breadth 74. 

The interior consists of an entrance 
vestibule, a hall or munduff, a second ves- 
tibule, and a sanctuary — the whole sur- 
rounded by a colonnade, beneath which 
was a spacious ambulatory. The great 
hall extends ninety-six feet in length, hav>- 
ing a width of seventy, and includfes an 
octagon, formed of pillars and architraves, 




collected from the fragments of the more 
ancient edifice, and above this area rises 
a splendid dome thirty-two feet in diame- 
ter, and having a height of thirty feet from 
the floor to the spring of the concave. 
The sustaining pillars, which are all rich- 
ly sculptured, and formerly adorned the 
lesser suhhas and encircling colonnade, 
proving unequal to the weight of the in- 
cumbent dome and roof, would have sunk 
under the load, had not vousoirs been in- 
troduced to strengthen them. The stylo- 
bate is divided into compartments, filled 
with sculptured heads of horses, elephants, 
griffins, bacchantes, belonging to the wor- 
ship of Siva, and groups of nymphs en- 
gaged in the mystic dance, typical of the 
movements of the spheres. The floor 
was pr-ved with black marble, but the flags 
are much broken and injured, not by the 
action of human feet in so many centuries 
of time, but from the falling of large frag- 
ments from the roof and dome. The sec- 
ond vestibule, which was an interruption 
of the grand colonnade, is now choked up 
with rubbish and large masses of masonry 
that have fallen into it, so that the cella, 
or sanctum, a square chamber, twenty- 
three feet in length by twenty in breadth, 
is entered with much inconvenience. This 
vestibule was formerly vaulted, and on 
one of the supporting columns is an in- 
scription recording the visit of a Hindoo 
architect, some few centuries ago. The 
recess appropriated to the idol, or image, 
a symbolic lingam, or Phallus, is not now 
distinguished ; but a niche in the western 
wall, looking toward Mecca, indicates the 
site of the Moslem rostrum which Mah- 
moud " The Destroyer" had set up. The 
remaining parts of the ponderous roof are 
supported by rows of pilasters of various 
shapes, fiat with brackets, and plain arch- 
itraves ; some of them are sculptured, 
others plain ; and the latter are believed 
to have been xiased with gilded copper, 
and adorned with precious stones, in the 
age of Mdhmoud Ghuznavi. 

From the admijcture of Moorish with 
Hindoo architecture observable here, the 
transmutation which the fabric has under- 
gone is clearly indicated — the "faithful" 
not having taken much pains to obliterate 
the former features of idolatrous worship. 
The first appropriation of this very ancient 

temple was most probably in honor of the 
great luminary of our system — " Som- 
nauth," signifying " Lord of the Moon ;" 
it was afterward a Buddhist temple ; but 
a close examination of its ground plan, or 
ichnographic section, clearly identifies it 
with the worship of Siva, being precisely 
similar to those of Lakhna Rana at Chee- 
tore, and many other temples of that sect. 
There is no doubt that the space now oc- 
cupied by the Moorish dome, rising from 
an octagonal pedestal, was once the mult- 
angular base of a gigantic conical tower, 
like those of Kamaruc, Juggemauth, Bho- 
baneswur, and elsewhere on the Indian 
continent, a shape common to all Brah- 
minical temples in the present day. Upon 
the conquest of India the famous temple 
of Somnauth was converted into a Mus- 
jid ; the faithful were in their turn expel- 
led, and the idolatry of the natives, with 
British sanction, may be again revived, on 
a spot that has been consecrated to divine 
worship since the first records of history — 
perhaps of time. 

It was soon after the year 1000, that 
Mahmoud, sultan of Ghuzni, or Ghazni, 
after the manner of Hercules, commenced 
his twelve expeditions into Hindostan, and 
it was in 1024 that he made that memora- 
ble attack on Somnauth, which oriental 
writers have commemorated in such glow- 
ing language. His public pretext was the 
acceptance of a challenge contained in an 
ancient prediction, " that if ever a Mos- 
lem, however powerful, should profane 
the shrine of Somnauth with his presence, 
he would instantly become the victim of 
his presumption" — his private and real in- 
ducement was, probably, the report of 
boundless treasure which was to be foimd 
there. Setting out with a native army 
50,000 strong, with 30,000 Turkestan vol- 
unteers, and 1,900 elephants, he soon ap- 
peared before the walls of Puttun, and 
summoned its inhabitants to surrender. 
The city herald, however, quickly an- 
swered that " their idol had brought the 
Moslems there for the purpose of con- \ 
founding and delivering them into the 
hands of their enemies." Perceiving that 
surrender was not probable, Mahmoud 
caused a general assault to be made, 
which had the effect of thinning the walls 
of their defenders, and producing much 



consternation among the inhabitants. The 
latter liad recourse to their idol, and, dur- 
ing the time of their prostration before it, 
the enemy made a second attack, more 
vigorous than the first, and attempted to 
scale the walls. Disturbed and dismayed 
by loud shouts of Allah ! Allah ! Allah ! 
they hastened from the temple to the ram- 
parts, and by the most determined efforts 
succeeded in repelling the besiegers. In 
all momentous events the number three 
appears to be associated with the success 
of one party or ruin of the other ; and it 
was on the third day, and when Mahmoud 
was about to make a third assault, that an 
army coming to relieve the city appeared 
in sight. The sultan boldly advanced and 
gave them battle ; but perceiving a crisis, 
when victory seemed for an instant doubt- 
ful, he sprang from his horse, prostrated 
himself on the earth, and implored the fa- 
vor of his prophet. The effect of this im- 
posing spectacle upon his troops was im- 
mediate, and such as he anticipated : re- 
turning to the fight with loud shouts and 
renewed courage, they fell with fury on 
the Hindoos, nor desisted before they laid 
10,000 dead upon the field, and put the 
remainder to shameful flight. A defeat so 
complete destroyed the hopes of the be- 
sieged, who now abandoned their homes, 
and sought safety by retreat, some escaping 
overland, others taking to their boats ; both 
parties, however, being pursued, and un- 
sparingly butchered by the victors. 

The conqueror entered the city in tri- 
umph, and advancing to the object rather 
of his cupidity than his glory, beheld a 
superb structure, sustained by fifty-six pil- 
lars, each the pious offering of a rajah. 
Approaching the great stone idol, he aim- 
ed a blow with his iron mace at its head, 
but, missing the precise spot, struck off a 
piece of the nose. The fragment, by his 
order, was separated into two parts, and 
carried to Ghuzni, where one of them was 
placed in the threshold of the great mosque, 
and the other at the entrance to his own 
palace. Two more fragments, subsequent- 
ly knocked off, were forwarded to Me- 
dina and to Mecca. Hindoo writers deny 
these statements, and assert that the idol, 
aware of the violent disposition of Mah- 
moud and his mercenary motives, on the 
fall of Puttun, retired into the ocean. The 

trembling Brahmins are said to have of- 
fered ten millions sterling if the conqueror 
would spare the idol, urging that the de- 
struction of an image of stone would not 
convert the hearts of the Gentoos, and 
that the sum they promised might be ded- 
icated to the relief of the faithful. " Your 
arguments," replied the sultan, " are spe- 
cious and strong; but I am desirous of 
being looked on by the eyes of posterity 
as a destroyer of idols, not as a dealer in 
them." Repeating his blows, one of them 
broke open the belly of the image, which 
was hollow, and disclosed a quantity of 
diamonds and rubies and pearls, of far 
greater value than the ransom offered by 
the Brahmins — explaining very sufficient- 
ly their devout prodigality. Some esti- 
mate of the treasures of Somnauth may 
be formed from the extent of its posses 
sions, and multitude of attendants. It was 
endowed with a revenue of two thousand 
villages ; two thousand Brahmins were 
consecrated to the service of the deity, 
whom they washed each morning and 
evening in water brought from the distant 
Ganges ; the subordinate ministers con- 
sisted of three hundred musicians, three 
hundred barbers, and five hundred dancing- 
girls, conspicuous for their birth and beau-> 
ty. Among the spoils carried to Ghuzni 
was a chain of gold, 400lbs. in weight, 
which hung by a ring from the roof of the 
building, and supported a great bell used 
for summoning the people to prayer ; be- 
side some thousands of images, of various 
shapes and sizes, all made of gold and 
silver.* Having annihilated, as he sup- 
posed, the whole fraternity of Somnauth 
priests, Mahmoud turned his steps toward 
his native land ; but being led by his 
guide through a desert of burning sands, 
his troops began to fall around him, vic- 
tims to thirst and phrensy. Suspecting the 
fidelity of his conductor, he caused him to 
be put to the torture, and, by these cruel 
means, extorted a confession, that, being 
the only survivor of the sacrilegious mas- 
sacre at Somnauth, and having nothing 

• Oriental my thologists attribute to the idol Som- 
nauth the privilege of adjudging to departed souls 
the bodies appointed for their future residence, ac- 
cording to the doctrine of transmigration. The 
same writers consider the ebb and flow of the ocean 
as nothing more than a mark of its adoration toward 
their favorite idol. 



more that was valuable in life, he resolved 
if possible, to avenge the fall of his coun- 
trymen, and die, if detected, in that glori- 
ous effort. 

Mahmoud left, as his viceroy at Som- 
nauth, a prince named Dabishleen, who 
restored the temple promptly, in consider- 
ation of the vast revenue derivable from 
its pilgrim-tax; and the poet Sadi, who 
visited the shrine at least two centuries 
after the sultan's death, gives the following 
account of his adventure, in a poem com- 
mencing with the words — " I saw an idol 
at Somnauth, jewelled like the idol Munat 
in the days of superstition and ignorance." 
Wondering at the folly of live people pay- 
ing adoration to a senseless and motion- 
less mass of matter, Sadi ventured to ex- 
press his sentiments to an attendant priest. 
Enraged at the effrontery and impiety of 
the poet, the reverend man summoned his 
fraternity, and threatened immediate pun- 
ishment if he did not retract his expres- 
sions and acknowledge his crime. Sadi 
very artfully extricated himself by aver- 
ring that he only uttered such doubts for 
the purpose of giving the priests an op- 
portunity of more fully confirming his be- 
lief in their idol. This was readily prom- 
ised ; but, in order to enjoy the great pre- 
rogative, it was necessary that Sadi should 
continue in the act of worship during the 
whole night, and at morning he would 
perceive the idol raise one of its arms in 
the act of supplication. Just before sun- 
rise, at the sound of a deep-toned bell, 
the idol raised its monstrous arm to 
the inexpressible delight of worshipping 
thousands, while Sadi, creeping behind 
the image, discovered a servitor concealed, 
and tugging manfully at the rope which 
regula,ted the miraculous movement. The 
convicted servitor fled, but was pursued by 
Sadi, M*iio now felt that his life would in- 
evitably be forfeited should the priesthood 
lay hold of him ; so, coming up with his 
victim, he pitched him head foremost into 
a well, and threw in after him several 
ponderous stones. Escaping from Som- 
nauth and from Hindu, Sadi returned to 
Persia, and published the disgrace of the 
" Lord of the Moon." 

The situation of Somnauth has occa- 
sioned its comparison with the temple of 
the Sun at Kotah, called the Black Pago- 

da, which also stands upon a promontory 
washed by the waves of the eastern sea, 
in the bay of Bengal ; and Asoka^s selec- 
tion of rocks on the high road to each, for 
the promulgation of his edicts, would 
seem to indicate that both enjoyed in his 
day a corresponding celebrity ; and that, 
from the great resort of pilgrims, the ap- 
proaches to them afforded the surest means 
of causing his doctrines and injunctions to 
be universally known. 

Tradition alone asserts that the gates of 
sandal-wood which hung at the principal 
entrance of the temple, were carried away, 
among the spoils or trophies of Mahmoud's 
twelve expeditions, to Ghuznee, and ulti- 
mately placed in the entrance to his grand 
mausoleum, three miles distant from that 
city. It can easily be understood, from 
the least reflection upon the character of 
the hero, why he would have plundered 
the hoarded treasures of the temples, but 
it does not so clearly appear, in the ab- 
sence of all written record of the fact, 
why a prince of such insatiable avarice 
would have felt desirous of possessing 
two wooden valves, and for no other pur- 
pose than to adorn a tomb. The calcula- 
tions and passions of the avaricious are 
seldom extended to prospects beyond the 
grave. That such was his real character 
the concuiTent testimony of oriental wri- 
ters establishes beyond all doubt. Gib- 
bon, one of the most accurate as well as 
eloquent historians, writes : " Avarice was 
the only defect that tarnished the illustri- 
ous character of Mahmoud the Ghuznevide, 
and never has that passion been more 
richly satiated. The orientals exceed the 
measure of credibility in the amount of 
millions of gold and silver, such as the 
avidity of man has never accumulated — 
in the magnitude of pearls, diamonds, and 
rubies, such as have^never been produced 
by the workn mship of nature. Yet the 
soil of Hindostan is impregnated with 
precious mir.erals : her trade, in every 
age, has attracted the gold and silver of 
the world ; and her virgin spoils were 
rifled by the first Mahometan conquer- 
ors. His behavior, in the last days of his 
life, evinces the vanity of these posses- 
sions, so laboriously won, so dangerously 
held, and so inevitably lost. He surveyed 
the vast and various chambers of Ghuz- 



nee — burst into tears- — and again closed 
llie doors, without bestowing any portion 
of the Avealth which he could no longer 
hope to preserve. The following day he 
reviewed the state of his military force : 
one hundred thousand foot, fifty-hve thou- 
sand horse, and thirteen hundred elephants 
of battle. He again wept at the instabil- 
ity of human greatness ; and his grief was 
embittered by the hostile progress of the 
Turkmans, whom h-e had introduced into 
the heart of his Persian kingdom." 

If this great man of a little mind ever 
carried away the worthless wooden gates 
of Somnauth, they are believed to have 
been set up in his grand muusoleum, 
where the ii'on mace was deposited with 
which he smote the Hindoo idol, aad 
which " few men, such as mortals now 
are, could wield, yet he wielded easily 
and alone." It is no particular proof that 
these famous doors wei'e originally at 
Somnauth, and taken thence as military 
spoils, that Runjeet Sing desired to pur- 
chase them for Shah Soojah, for the bare 
existence of a tradition, although unsup- 
ported by history ,wouldhave been reason 
sufficient for such idolaters to act upon;* 
When the British got possession of Mah- 
moud's tomb no iron mace could be found, 
nor did Major Hough ever see it, though 
he speaks of it as having certainly ex- 
isted ; and as to the gates, the people of 
Somnauth retain no legend of any soit 
about them. Can it be possible, therefore, 
that the governor-general of India has 
congratulated the Hindoo people upon 
recovering sacred relics ofwhich they had 
never been possessed, and has risked his 
high renown and learned reputation with 
his counti-ymen upon a disputed point in 
the ancient history of Asia ] But gates, 
from immemorial time, appear to have 
occasioned sorrow and disappointment to 
some of the most illustrious characters in 
the history of mankind, who had the for- 
tune to make spoils or prizes of them. 
The Philistines never forgave Samson 
the abstraction of the gates of Gaza — a 
name marvellously resembling Gazni ; the 
Romans exiled Camillus for secreting the 

* The gates are twelve feet high, consist of four 
leaves, on each of which has been discovered a Cu- 
phic inscription, supposed to relate to their capture 
by Mahmoud. 

gates of Veil : the gates which Napoleon 
saw cast and fashioned for his tomb now 
lie neglected in the crypt of St. Denis, a 
memorial of the early ruin of his power. 
May the capture of the gates of Som- 
nauth prove less luckless in its effects 
than those celebrated historic parallels to 
which we have here alluded ! 

A modern Somnauth, raised by the pious 
mvmificence of Ahila Byhe, widow of a 
prince of the Holkar family, occupies the 
site of the more ancient temple here, de- 
stroyed in the year 877, in which an im- 
age of Siva is erected. This idol is wor- 
shipped continually by the gentler sex, 
and pilgrims pay a small tribute to the 
Mussulman nabob for the permission ; so 
that although the splendor of Somnauth is 
extinguished, its reputation lives. Through 
the interposition of the Bombay presiden- 
cy, in the Junaghur state, greater liberty 
was extended to Hindoo pilgrims ; and all 
castes and classes of that people have 
long exhibited a desire to extricate this 
ancient and favorite shrine from Moham- 
medan control. 


Undoubtedly the most neglected and 
ill-used part of the human face is the nose. 
The poetical literature of all nations ex- 
tols the other features : the eyes, for in- 
stance, have furnished a theme for the 
most sublime poetry ; cheeks, with their 
witching dimples and captivating teints, 
have drawn forth some of the finest sim- 
iles that were ever invented ; and the rap- 
tures which have been indited concerning 
lips, it would take an age to enumerate. 
The hair, also, has from time immemorial 
been intensified into " silken tresses" in 
printed, as well as manuscript verses ; 
and " sonnets to a mistress's eyebrow" 
are of continual occurrence ; but it may 
be safely averred, that in the universal an- 
thology of civilized or uncivilized man, 
there is not to be found a truly sentimen- 
tal effusion to a nose ! Indeed, so far 
from exciting any of the graver emotions 
of the mind, it would appear that there is 
a hidden something in that feature to dead- 




en, rather than to excite sentiment. The 
cheeks, whether pale with care, or red 
with blushing, strongly excite the sympa- 
thies ; a glance of the eye is all-powerful 
in calling up the most vivid emotions ; 
but who ever remembers any very intense 
feeling being awakened by a twitch of the 
nose 1 On the contrary, that unfortunate 
feature seems to have been especially ap- 
propriated by humorists to cut their jibes 
upon. It has, from the earliest ages, been 
made the subject of disparaging and spor- 
tive remarks. It has been set up as a 
mark to be hit by ridicule — as a butt for 
the arrows of satire — as if it were an or- 
gan proper to be played upon by nothing 
but wit. We may grow eloquent con- 
cerning eyes, speak raptures of lips, and 
even sentimentalize upon chins, but the 
bare mention of the nasal promontory is 
certain to excite a smile. What the latent 
quality may be which is so productive of 
risibility in this instance, it seems diiBcult 
to discover, for, in point of utility, the 
physiologist will tell you that the nose is 
quite on a par with the rest of the face. 
To it the respiratory system owes the in- 
gress and egress of a great portion of the 
food of life — air. To it we are indebted 
for the sense of smell. Moreover, it acts 
as the emunctuary of the brain. In an 
ornamental point of view, the physiogno- 
mist declares that the nose is a main ele- 
ment of facial beauty ; and without stop- 
ping to inquire how very much this de- 
pends upon its shape, we may just corrob- 
orate the fact, by hinting the unpicturesque 
effect which is produced by a countenance 
that happens to be bereft of the nasal ap- 

The authority of physiognomists may, 
indeed, be almost taken without examina- 
tion ; for they are undoubtedly, of all con- 
noisseurs, the greatest in noses. Their 
prototypes, the augurs, went so far as to 
judge of a man's character by the shape 
of his nose ; and this has been in some 
■degree justified by a French writer, who 
appears to be deeply versed in the sub- 
ject. " Though," he asserts, " the organ 
is only susceptible of a moderate degree 
of action while the passions are agitating 
the rest of the countenance, yet these lim- 
ited motions are performed with great 
ease." In addition to this, we find, Sir 

Charles Bell remarking in his Anatomy 
and Physiology of Expression, " that the 
nostrils are features which have a power- 
ful effect in expression. The breath be- 
ing drawn through them, and their struc- 
ture formed for alternate expansion and 
contraction in correspondence with the 
motions of the chest, they are an index 
of the condition of respiration when af- 
fected by emotion." The nose may there- 
fore be regarded as somewhat indicative 
of, and in harmony with, the character of 
the individual. 

It is probably by reason of this connex- 
ion of the external nose with the internal 
characteristics, that so many proverbs and 
axioms have taken rise in reference to 
both. Thus, the French say of a clever 
rnan, that he has a " fine nose ;" of a pru- 
dent one, that his is a " good nose ;" of a 
proud man, that " he carries his nose in 
the air." An inquisitive person is said to 
" poke his nose everywhere." A gour- 
mand is described as always having his 
nose in his plate : that of the scholar is 
declared to be always in his books. When 
an individual is growing angry under prov- 
ocation, the French also say, " the mus- 
tard rises in his nose." Neither are we 
in this country deficient of similar sayings. 
A man, for instance, who does not form 
very decisive opinions — who is swayed 
more by the persuasions of others than by 
his own judgment — is described as being 
"led by the nose." The same is said 
when any strong inducement turns a per- 
son aside from a previously-formed inten- 
tion ; thus Shakspere : — 

" Though authority be a stubborn bear, 
Yet he is often led by the nose with gold." 

Individuals who are not blessed with much 
acuteness or forethought, are said, " not 
to see beyond their noses." Others who, 
to do some injury to an enemy, injure 
themselves, are declared " to cut ofi' the 
nose to spite the face." The condition of 
a supplanted rival is described as that of 
a person who " has had his nose put out 
of joint ;" with a hundred other proverbs 
in which the nose takes a most prominent 
part. All of these, it will be observed, 
are of a comic cast ; while every simile 
and allusion made to the eyes, the brow, 
and the other features, is of the most se- 
rious and poetical character. If, there- 



fore, tlie ordinary organ considered and 
alluded to in the abstract be provocative 
of jocularity, in how much higher a de- 
gree must it provoke the smiles of the 
comically inclined when it happens to be 
an oddly shaped or out-of-the-way nose 1 
— when any of those very uncomplimen- 
tary epithets, which have been invented to 
designate different noses of all sorts and 
sizes, can be emphatically applied to it ; 
such as hook-nose, hatchet-nose, club- 
nose, snub-nose, pug-nose, potato-nose, 
peaked-nose, parrot's-nose, turned-up-nose, 
or when it is figuratively termed a conq, a 
snout, a proboscis — or, like the nose of 
Slawkenbergius, a promontory. This, by 
the way, brings to mind the etymology of 
the word, which is in Saxon " ness," 
meaning also a point of land, as Strom- 
ness. Blackness, and a hundred other 
nesses or noses which mother earth pokes 
out into the sea. 

Of jests concerning eccentric noses, an 
immense collection might be made ; but a 
few of them will suffice, chiefly to show 
to what a remote antiquity facetiae on 
noses may be traced. One of the best is 
attributed to the emperor Trajan, on a man 
who had, besides a long nose, very large 
teeth. It has been thus versified : — 

" Let Dick one summer's day expose 
Before the sun his monstrous nose, 
And stretch his giant mouth, to cause 
Its shade to fall upon his jaws, 
With nose so long, and mouth so wide, 
And those twelve grinders side by side, 
Dick, with very little trial, 
Would make an excellent sun-dial." 

The literal translation of this epigram- 
matic extravaganza is — " Placing your 
nose opposite to the sun, and opening 
your mouth, you will show the hour to all 
passengers." Another Greek poet de- 
scribes a friend's nose as " being so im- 
mense, that its distance from his ears pre- 
vents him from hearing himself sneeze." 
Castor's nose was said to be in itself all 
the useful instruments of life — a spade, a 
trumpet, an anchor, a pot-hook, &c. 

Certain noses have, however, been cel- 
ebrated in history, not as matters for jest, 
but as distinguishable features belonging 
to great men. The Romans had a proverb 
which signifies, " it is not given to every 
one to have a nose," meaning that it was 

not the good fortune of all to exhibit a 
marked and precise nasal individuality ; 
to have, in fact, an expressive nose. The 
individuals Avhose noses have lived in his- 
tory were, it would seem, favored in this 
particular. The great Cyrus had a long 
sharp nose ; hence it is said that the noses 
of all Persian princes are pinched by 
bandages, that they may grow like their 
great prototype in at least one particular. 
Cicero was called the " orator with the 
equivocal nose." Julius Csesar's was an 
aquiline nose ; as was that of Aspasia, of 
Paris, and of Achilles. The nose of Soc- 
rates was a decided pug. 

As a matter of taste and ornament, the 
nose has engaged the attention and re- 
searches of authors and artists in a promi- 
nent degree. It has been truly remarked, 
that the nose is a centre around which 
the other portions of the face are arranged 
and harmonized. It is, in a degree, the 
regulator of the other features. Many cel- 
ebrated artists estimate that its length 
shoidd be a third of the length of the face, 
from the tip of the chin to the roots of the 
hair. If there be any deviation from this 
rule, it must, it would appear, be in excess, 
for all unite in preferring large to diminu- 
tive noses. Plato called the aquiline the 
royal nose ; and it is evident, from their 
works, that none of the ancient masters of 
sculpture and painting considered a liberal 
allowance of nose as a deformity. Even 
in a physical point of view, this excess 
appears to be far from detrimental. " Give 
me," said Napoleon, " a man with a good 
allowance of nose. Strange as it may 
appear, when I want any good head-work 
done, I choose a man — provided his edu- 
cation has been suitable — with a long 
nose. His breathing is bold and free, and 
his brain, as weU as his lungs and heart, 
cool and clear. In. my observation of 
men, I have almost invariably found a 
long nose and a long head together." 
Like this great general, the ancients enter- 
tained a marked preference for an ample 
nose ; but all beauty is relative, and taste 
as capricious and varying as the winds. 
Among the Kalmucks, a short dumpy 
club-nose is considered the perfection of 
beauty. The Hottentots press the noses 
of their infants so as to flatten them ; and 
the Chinese require a nose to be short and 

thick, ere it can accord with their notions 
of good form. 

Among Europeans, the preference has 
always been given to the straight, or Gre- 
cian nose, as exhibited by the Venus de 
Mcdicis. Sir Joshua Reynolds observes, 
in his Essay on Beauty, that " the line 
that forms the ridge of the nose is beauti- 
ful when it is straight ; this, then, is the 
central fonn which is oftener found than 
either the concave, convex, or any other 
irregular form that shall be proposed." 
Opinions are, however, occasionally divi- 
ded between this and the aquiline, or Ro- 
man form of nose, especially for men. 
Yet how much soever tastes may differ, 
one fact is certain, that — with the excep- 
tion of the Crim-''"artars, who formerly 
broke their children's noses, because they 
stood in the way of their eyes — all nations 
consider this prominent feature a great or- 

It appears, then, that the nose differs 
from all the other features in as far as it 
is regarded by mankind in two entirely 
different points of view, namely, as a thing 
essentially ridiculous, and as a thing in- 
dispensable to the beauty of the face, and 
in itself ber utiful. Does not this curiously 
show how near the whimsical and the se- 
rious are to each other? We gaze with 
pleasure on a female face which is set off 
with a fine nose, and acknowledge the ef- 
fect which that elegant object has in the 
toute ensemble ; yet, if wishing to apos- 
trophize this lady's beauty in the language 
of the poet, we would allude to everything 
except the nose. On that point, not a 
word ! It would at once mar the effect 
of the whole. Why is this 1 Because, 
in general, we associate only ridiculous 
ideas with the nose. And what, again, is 
the cause of this ridicule ? Alas ! good 
reader, I fear it must be traced to some 
of the useful functions, served by the or- 
gan. Man strains after the fine, which 
flies from him ; the useful is his willing 
drudge, and he laughs at it. If the nose 
were of as little service to us as the 
cheeks, it would doubtless be as much, 
and as undividedly, admired. 

A good education is a better safeguard 
for liberty than a standing army or severe 



The paintings on the Egyptian tombs, 
referring to a period some four thousand 
years bypast, give us a curious and per- 
fect idea of the nature of domestic enter- 
tainments in that interesting country, the 
nurse of human civilization. The Egyp- 
tian houses of the better class were usually 
built in the form of a square, having a 
large court in the centre, with a well and 
rows of trees. The rooms opened into 
the main court, or into a small court be- 
tween the buildings along the sides, and 
were lavishly decorated with paintings, 
while the furniture, chairs, tables, and the 
like, were of fine wood, inlaid with ivory, 
and covered with leather or rich stuffs, 
and were not to be excelled in beauty and 
convenience by the most luxuriously form- 
ed articles of the kind in modern times. 
" In their entertainments," says Mr. Wil- 
kinson, " they aopear to have omitted 
nothing which could promote festivity and 
the amusement of the guests. Music, 
songs, dancing, buffoonery, feats of agility, 
or games of chance, were generally intro- 
duced, and they welcomed them with all 
the luxuries which the cellar and the table 
could afiord. The party, when invited to 
dinner, met about mid-day, and they ar- 
rived successively in their chariots, in 
palanquins borne by their servants, or on 
foot." Many pasages in the sacred wri- 
tings show how closely the manners of 
the Jews had concurred with those of the 
Egyptians. We hear of the " harp and 
the viol, the tabret and the pipe," at the 
feasts of the Jews, and are also told that 
they " dined at noon." An Egyptian 
painting shows us the arrival of a chariot 
at a house of feasting, with a footman 
knocking at the door, just as might be 
done now-a-days at the west-end of Lon- 
don. As was the case with the Jews, 
water was brought to the guests to wash 
their feet, if they desired it ; their hands 
were always washed before dinner. The 
head of each guest was also anointed 
with a sweet-scented oil or ointment, 
necklaces and garlands of lotus-flowers, 
sacred in the eyes of the Egyptians, were 
thrown around the brows and neck, and 
every guest received a flower to hold in 



his left hand during the feast. The 
Greeks, who derived most of their cus- 
toms from Egypt, also presented water to 
their guests, and decked them with flow- 
ers, as appears from many passages in 
Homer, and other authorities ; and the 
Romans took the same customs from the 
Greeks. Like the Greeks, the Egyptians 
considered it a want of good breeding to 
sit down immediately to dinner, but the 
" melancholy interval," felt sorely to this 
day, was enlivened by wine, which the 
servants poured from vases into cups for 
the use of the guests. The Chinese, at 
the present time, offer wine to all guests 
as they arrive. The Egyptians, at the 
same interval, kept up a continuous flow 
of music. " In the meantime," says Mr. 
Wilkinson, drawing his statements from 
actual representations in the paintings, 
" the kitchen presented an animated scene ; 
and the cook, with many assistants, was 
engaged in m.aking ready for dinner ; an 
ox, kid, wild goat, gazelle, or ozyx, and a 
quantity of geese, ducks, widgeons, quails, 
or other birds, were obtained for the occa- 
sion." Mutton, it is supposed, was un- 
lawful food to the inhabitants of the The- 
bais. Beef and goose constituted the 
staple animal food ; and vegetables of all 
kinds, with fish, were largely used. At 
the party, men and women mixed together 
at the same table, a privilege not conceded 
to females among the Greeks, except with 
near relations ; and this argues a higher 
degree of advancement in Egyptian civil- 
ization. With the Romans, it was cus- 
tomary for women to sit with the men, 
and Cornelius Nepos ridicules the Greeks 
on this point. " Which of us, Romans," 
says he, " is ashamed to bring his wife to 
an entertainment?" The Egyptians sat 
either on chairs or stools at meals, or on 
the ground, resting on one limb bent im- 
der them, with the other raised angularly. 
The Greeks and Romans did not take 
from Egypt the custom of reclining on 
couches at table. The Egyptians ate with 
their fingers, the meat being carved to 
them upon platters resting on small round 
tables. From the statement that Joseph 
ate apart while his brethren were present, 
and arranged them, " the firstborn accord- 
ing to his birthright, and the youngest ac- 
cording to his youth," we may conclude 

that an etiquette relative to rank and age 
was preserved in Egypt. After the solid 
repast, fruits, and especially figs, grap"'^^ 
and dates, were served ; and, at the close 
of all, the guests again washed their hands 
— an operation, indeed, almost indispen- 
sable previously to the use of knives and 
forks, or even of chopping-sticks like 
those of China. 

While the paintings show the whole 
modes of preparing for an Egyptian en- 
tertainment, from the killing of the animal 
to its production on the table, they also 
show very curiously that excesses in wine 
occasionally followed. One painting ex- 
hibits individuals — ladies, we fear — in, a 
state of unquestionable ebriety ; and an- 
other pictures a person in the act of being 
carried home in a similar condition. But 
it would be wrong to charge them with 
habitual over-indulgence ; and, mdeed, a 
strange custom mentioned by Plutarch 
militates strongly against such a supposi- 
tion. They were in the habit, at the end 
of feasts, of introducing a figure of Osiris, 
in the form of a mummy, on a bier, and 
showing it to each guest, while an attend- 
ant took care to lecture upon it as a me- 
mento of mortality, and the transitory na- 
ture of human pleasures. The Greeks 
perverted similar exhibitions to a purpose 
not dreamed of by the Egyptians. Pe- 
tronius tells us, that at an entertainment 
where he was present, a finely-jointed 
silver model of a man was displayed, on 
which Trimalchio cried out, " Alas, un- 
happy lot ! Such as this we shall by-and- 
by be ; therefore, while we are allowed 
to live, let us live." 

In the very early ages of Greece, a 
breakfast, and a meal after labor formed 
the diet of the day ; but four meals were 
takeiWn later times, the principal one be- 
ing three or four hours after noon. The 
bath was almost universally used before 
meals ; and the anointing which followed, 
was most probably to close the pores, or 
preserve the skin from roughness. The 
guests were ofl"ered all these conveniences 
by the host previous to an entertainment. 
At table, they sat occasionally upon chairs 
with inclined backs, but much more fre- 
quently upon couches, as did also the Ro- 
mans. It was at first an honor to be al- 
lowed to enjoy the luxury of the couch. 



In Macedonia, no man was allowed so to 
sit until he had killed a boar by the prow- 
ess of his arms. The manner of lying at 
meat was this : the table was placed in the 
centre, and around it the couches covered 
with tapestry, upon which the guests lay, 
leaning upon their left arras, with their 
limbs stretched out at length. In Greece, 
three, four, and five persons lay on one 
couch, the legs of the first being stretched 
out behind the second, and the head of the 
latter in front of the former's breast, and 
so on. This custom was decidedly of east- 
ern origin. That it prevailed among the 
Jews, may be inferred from the position of 
the beloved disciple resting on the bosom of 
our Savior at the celebration of thepassover. 
In Persia, and other eastern countries, a 
similar mode of sitting at table prevailed 
from the earliest times. The place of 
honor at these entertainments wag not 
everywhere the same. In Persia and 
Rome, the middle was the place of honor ; 
in Greece, the first or nearest the table. 
Men were careful of precedency in 
Greece ; and at Timon's famous dinner, 
we find a haughty noble retiring because 
no place was fit for him. Couches, made 
for individuals, were a refinement of the 
Romans. Both in Greece and Rome, ta- 
bles were usually made either round or 
oval, and the couches curved to suit them. 
The table was accounted a very sacred 
thing, and the statues of the gods were 
placed upon it. Before any portion of the 
food was tasted, it was universally the 
custom to ofler a part to the gods as the 
first fruits ; and even in the heroic ages, 
Achilles, when roused suddenly, would 
not eat till the oblation was made. In 
Greece, all the guests at a paity were 
appareled in white ; in Rome, the same 
custom was prevalent; and Cicero charges 
it as a sin against Verres that he appeared 
at supper in black. Three courses, the 
first consisting of light herbs, eggs, oys- 
ters, and such-like whets ; the second of 
the solid meats ; and the third of the des- 
sert, formed the repast, which being done, 
the gods were thanked, and the great af- 
ter-business of a set entertainment was 
drinking ; for any food taken afterward 
was scarcely to be called a meal. That 
the Greeks drank deeply, many historians 
prove ; and, above all, is the fact estab- 

lished in the annals of Alexander the 
Great. That conqueror himself pledged 
his friend Proteas in a cup containing two 
congii (somewhat less than a gallon), and 
Proteas did the same. It was in attempt- 
ing to repeat the pledge, that Alexander, 
it is said caught his fatal illness. 



The accompanying cut is from an ori- 
ginal drawing by Mr. Catlin, who has 
probably seen more of the native tribes 
of North America than any other white 
man. His very interesting North Ameri- 
can museum, formerly of this city, and 
which was recently exhibited in London, 
was collected during an intercourse of up- 
ward of seven years with nearly fiifty dif- 
ferent tribes. A more complete view of 
the life and habits of a people was never 
before presented to the eye. Nothing ap- 
parently can arrest the destruction of im- 
civilized races of men when their territory 
is invaded by the civilized. The plough- 
man and the hunter have interests so dif- 
ferent, that either the one or the other 
must prevail ; and all experience has 
shown that when the cultivator has once 
taken his stand, there he will maintain his 
conquest over the soil. Mr. Catlin in- 
forms us, that out of the 400,000 red men 
in North America, three fourths are de- 
pendant for food on the herds of buffalo on 
the western side of the Alleganies, and 
he expresses an opinion than in eight or 
ten years these animals will have become 
so scarce that it will be difficult for the 
tribes to find the means of subsistence. 
Indeed, so various are the uses of the buf- 
falo to the Indians, that any great diminu- 
tion in the number of these animals must 
have considerable effect upon their habits, 
and render it necessary for them to devise 
new means of supplying many of their 
wants. Mr. Catlin says : " The robes 
of the animals are worn by the Indians 
instead of blankets ; their skins, when 
tanned, are used as coverings for their 
lodges and for their beds ; undressed, they 
are used for constructing canoes, for sad- 





dies, bridles, halters, lassos, and thongs. 
The horns are shaped into ladles and 
spoons ; the brains are used for dressing 
the skins ; their bones are used for saddle- 
trees, for war-clubs, and scrapers for grain- 
ing the robes. The sinews are used for 
strings and backs to their bows, for thread 
to string their beads and sew their dresses. 
The feet of the animals are boiled, with 
their hoofs, for glue, with which they fast- 
en their arrow-points and use for various 
purposes. The hair from the head and 
shoulders, which is long, is twisted and 
braided into halters, and the tail is used 
for a fly-brush." 

The Oneidas, Iroquois, Senecas, and 
Onondagas, who inhabited that portion of 
the continent which is now covered with 
cities and thriving settlements, are now 
little more than historical names, as these 
powerful tribes have disappeared. Civil- 
ization swept them away, because it com- 
mimicated to them only its vices and dis- 
eases. Even within the last six years, a 
very interesting tribe, the Ma.ndans, has 
become extinct throug-h the ravages of the 
small-pox. When Mr. Catlin visited them 
they had two villages, about two miles 
from each other, containing about one 
thousand souls each. When the disease 
was first introduced among them, the Man- 
dans were surrounded by several war-par- 
ties of the Sioux, and they were therefore 
confined closely to their villages. The 
disorder was so malignant that many died 
a few hours after being attacked. The 
accounts given to Mr. Catlin state, that so 
slight were the hopes of the poor people 
when once attacked, that " nearly half of 
them destroyed themselves with their 
knives or guns, or by leaping head-fore- 
most from a thirty-foot ledge of rocks in 
front of their village." The chief, a man 
who possessed in an eminent degree all 
the virtues of the savage, recovered from 
the attack. " He sat in his wigwam and 
watched every one of his family die about 
him; his wives and his little children : 
when he walked round the village and 
wept over the final destruction of his tribe 
— his warriors all laid low : returning to 
his lodge, he laid his family in a pile 
and covered them with several robes ; 
and, wrapping one round himself, went 
out upon a hill at a little distance, where 

he remained several days, determined to 
starve himself to death. Here he re- 
mained till the sixth day, when he had 
just strength enough to creep back to his 
village and enter into his own wigwam. 
Then lying down by the side of his family, 
he perished of hunger, on the ninth day 
after he had first left it." 

To return, however, to the subject of 
the cut. " The Crows," Mr. -Catlin says, 
" make the most beautiful lodges of any 
of the North American tribes." The ex- 
terior consists of buffalo hides sewed to- 
gether, and sometimes dressed as white 
as linen. They are picturesquely orna- 
mented with porcupine quills, fringed with 
scalp-locks, and gayly painted. Perhaps 
there is on one side a picture of the Great 
Spirit, and on the opposite side one of the 
Evil Spirit. In some as many as forty 
men can dine, and the height of those of 
the better sort is twenty-five feet. It is 
supported by about thirty poles of pine- 
wood. The Sioux construct their lodges 
in a similar manner. The manner in 
which the wigwams of a whole village, 
consisting perhaps of six hundred habita- 
tions, are simultaneously struck, is a very 
singidar scene. The chief sends his run- 
ners or criers through the village to give a 
notice of his intention to march in a few 
hours, and the hour fixed upon. In the 
meantime preparations are making, and as 
soon as the lodge of the chief is seen 
flapping in the wind, from some of the 
poles having been taken down, the exam- 
ple is followed instantly. In a few mo- 
ments the chief's lodge is levelled with 
the ground, and immediately all the other 
wigwams are struck. The horses and 
dogs are then loaded in the following 
manner : " The poles of a lodge are di- 
vided into two bundles, and the small 
ends of each are fastened upon the shoul- 
ders of a horse, leaving the butt ends to 
drag on the ground on either side. Just 
behind the horse a brace or pole is tied 
across, which keeps the poles in their 
proper places. The lodge or tent, which 
is rolled up, and also numerous other arti- 
cles of household and domestic furniture, 
are placed on the poles behind the horse 
and upon his back, and ou the top of all 
two, three, and even sometimes four 
women and cliildren. Each one of these 




horses has a conductress, who sometimes 
walks before and leads him with a tre- 
mendous pack upon her back. In this 
way five or six hundred wigwams, with 
all their furniture, may be seen drawn out 
for miles, creeping over the grass-covered 
plain ; and three times that number of 
men, on good horses, strolling in front or 
on the flank, and in some tribes in the 
rear. At least five times that number of 
dogs fall into the rank, and follow in the 
train and company of the women ; and 
every cur of them who is large enough, 
and not too cunning to be enslaved, is en- 
cumbered with a sort of sledge on which 
he drags his load — a part of the house- 
hold goods and furniture of the lodge to 
which he belonjrs." 

One of -the Mandan villages which Mr. 
Catlin visited, was admirably selected on 
an angle of land forty or fifty feet above 
the bed of a river, so that the base of the 
angle toward the town was the only part 
requiring protection, the two sides being 
flanked by the river, with its banks of 
nearly solid rock. The base was defend- 
ed by a stockade of timbers of a foot or 
more in diameter, and eighteen feet high, 
at sufficient distances to admit of the de- 
fenders discharging their weapons be- 
tween them. The ditch, of three or four 
feet in depth, was on the inward side of 
the village. The lodges were closely 
grouped together, with just room enough 
to walk or ride between them. They 
were all of a circular form, and from forty 
to sixty feet in diameter, and within were 
neat and comfortable. The walls were 
firmly constructed with timbers of eight 
or nine inches in diameter, and six feet 
high, standing closely together, and sup- 
ported on the outside- by an embankment 
of mud. Then resting on these timbers 
v/ere as many more, each about twenty- 
five feet in height, which were inclined at 
an angle of forty-five degrees, leaving an 
aperture at the apex of three or four feet 
wide for a chimney and a skylight. The 
roof is supported by timbers in the interior 
of the lodge. Outside, the roof is covered 
with a mat of willow boughs of half a foot 
or more in thickness, on which the earth 
is spread to the depth of two or three feet, 
which is covered with a clay that soon 
nardens and becomes impervious to water 

The top of the lodge is the grand lounge 
of the whole family in pleasant weather. 
But only an eyewitness can describe the 
scenes which an Indian village prescmfs. 
Mr. Catlin, speaking of this Mandan vil- 
lage, says : — " The groups of lodges 
around me present a very curious appear- 
ance. On the tops are to be seen groups 
standing and reclining ; stern warriors, 
like statues, standing in dignified groups, 
wrapped in their painted robes, with their 
heads decked and plumed with quills of 
the war-eagle, extending their long arms 
to the east or the west, to the scenes of 
their battles, which they are recounting 
over to each other. In another direction 
are wooing lovers, the swain playing on 
his simple lute. On other lodges, and be- 
yond them, groups are engaged in games 
of the " mocassin" or the " platter." Some 
are to be seen manufacturing robes and 
dresses, and others, fatigued with amuse- 
ments or occupations, have stretched their 
limbs to enjoy the luxury of sleep while 
basking in the sun. Besides the groups 
of the living, there are on the roofs of 
the lodges bufl"aloes' sculls, skin canoes, 
pots and pottery, sledges ; and, suspended 
on poles, erected some twenty feet above 
the doors of their wigwams, are displayed 
in a pleasant day the scalps of warriors 
preserved as trophies. In other parts are 
raised on poles the warriors' pure and 
whitened shield and quivers, with medi- 
cine-bags attached ; and here and there a 
sacrifice of red cloth, or other costly stuff" 
off'ered up to the Great Spirit over the 
door of some benignant chief." Contig- 
uous to the village are a hundred scaffolds, 
each consisting of four upright posts, on 
which their dead are placed in their best 

The Comanchees make their wigwams 
of long prairie-grass thatched over poles, 
which are fastened in the ground and bent 
in at the top, giving them from a distance 
the appearance of bee-hives. Where the 
buffuloes are numerous, skins are the ma- 
terials employed ; and in all cases the dif- 
ference of style or material is the result 
of natural causes, just as formerly in the 
woodland parts of England timber dwel- 
lings prevailed, while in the champaign 
other materials were used ; and as the 
traveller in a long day's journey will pass 

through districts where the cottages (the 
truest criterion) are in one tract thatched, 
in the next perhaps covered with tiles, in 
another with bkie slate, and in a fourth 
with a slate of quite another kind. 



The present state of chemistry, and its 
acknowledged importance in the arts, ren- 
der it necessary to make the study of it 
a branch of the education of every youth. 
The French have been long satisfied of 
the importance of chemical knowledge ; 
they, and the Germans, in their public 
schools, have made it an essential part of 
the education of members destined for the 
liberal professions, and also for those in- 
tended for mercantile pursuits : we hope 
ere long to see this much-neglected sci- 
ence attended to in our own schools, in 
order to prepare the rising generation of 
our important agricultural and manufactu- 
ring country for their future destination. 
It is hardly possible to say what profes- 
sion would not be benefited by the appli- 
cation of chemical knowledge. We pro- 
fess, therefore, in this short essay, to point 
out some of the advantages of such knowl- 

Archimedes, two thousand years ago, 
was ridiculed for the cultivation of the 
mechanical and abstruse sciences : yet so 
great an eff"ect had his knowlege and war 
engines upon the Roman army, that when 
a rope only was let dovvn the walls of 
Syracuse, the Romans fled in fear and 
confusion. When Dr. Black, in his chem- 
ical lectures, was explaining the theory 
of heat and expansion of steam, Mr. Watt 
was one of his hearers, and he has ac- 
knowledged that by hearing these lectures 
he was led to his ideas upon the construc- 
tion of the steam-engine. Here are two 
instances out of a large number that might 
be quoted, to prove the utility of the dis- 
semination of useful and scientific knowl- 

We shall, in the first place, endeavor to 
prove that agriculture may be improved 

by the application of chemical principles ; 
and how important is it to improve a de- 
fective system upon which depends the 
sustenance and comfort of the human race ! 

When we know what kind of food 
plants require for their sustenance, we are 
able to supply it to them in the shape of 
manure, if the land upon which they are 
destined to grow has not the necessary 
constituents ; but, to possess this knowl- 
edge, at least three analyses are necessa- 
ry : the analysis of a perfect plant ; the 
analysis of the soil ; and the analysis of 
the substance to be added. 

With respect to the first analysis, if 
potash, or soda, or magnesia, be found, it 
is evident these substances are used by 
the plant as nutriment ; and hav^jng analy- 
zed the soil, if these substances are not 
found, we have to supply them, to produce 
a good crop the next season. Before we 
apply the manure, it is necessary to as- 
certain what are its constituents, otherwise 
we may apply a substance which contains 
only those ingredients which are present 
in the soil in a sufficient quantity : we 
shall show hereafter what shifts a plant 
can make in the absence of an important 
part of its nutriment. We will now sup- 
pose the crop gathered in : it is necessary 
to analyze the soil upon which it grew to 
ascertain what qualities and in what quan- 
tity the crop has extracted from the soil, 
to know what plant to grow the next year 
to the greatest advantage ; and this is 
especially necessary, as the previous crop 
may have exhausted the soil of one or 
more constituents required by the one we 
wish to succeed : and not only this, the 
excrements of the previous crops may be 
very injurious to the next ; it is advan- 
tageous to know how to vary our crops, 
so that the excrements of one may be 
food for its successor ; and this may be 
done with but a very small application of 
manure to a naturally good soil. We read 
in Lalande's Life of Lavoisier, a distin- 
guished French chemist, that he perceived 
the advantage of cultivating land upon 
chemical principles ; he hired 240 acres 
of land in La Vendee, which he cultiva- 
ted with great success, producing a crop 
in value one third more than his agricul- 
tural neighbors : in nine years he doubled 
it : the farmers, perceiving the advantage 



of his system, in some degree imitated his 
example, and with success. Thus we 
have shown, by incontrovertible proof, 
that chemistry may be applied with advan- 
tage to agriculture : how important, then, 
that the landlord and farmer should under- 
stand the principles of it ! the first, that 
he may let his land to advantage (this 
word we do not use as applied to money 
matters only) ; and the other, that he may 
produce the largest crops of grain at the 
smallest expense, with the least impover- 
ishment of the soil. If, by analysis, the 
landlord finds that, at no reasonable ex- 
pense, he could make the soil of an estate 
productive, he ascertains to what order of 
geological deposites the strata belongs, and 
hence infers whether there is a probability 
of the interior being rich in mineral pro- 

We can easily understand why agricul- 
tural chemistry has made so little progress 
among practical men : those who have 
been the most enthusiastic cultivators of 
this branch of the science, have met with 
so cold a reception at the hands of farmers 
generally, that they have turned away in 
disgust, and applied themselves to another 
branch of it. If the farmer is not con- 
vinced that the application of chemical 
principles to agriculture will be of advan- 
tage, ho has reason to reject their aid, as 
upon the success of his produce depends 
the sustenance and comforts of his family, 
and the failure of which would bring them 
into ruin. If he can not be convinced, 
let us hope that he will, with the assist- 
ance of a zealous chemist, first experi- 
ment on a small scale, and we believe 
that actual proof of its advantage will shovi^ 
itself so forcibly, that he will henceforth 
call in chemical principles largely .to his 

We now turn to our manufactures, to 
ascertam whether they can be improved 
by the application of chemical science. 
Of all these, perhaps the most important 
are the woollen and calico manufactures 
and prints, which are among the greatest 
sources of national wealth ; to preserve 
which, it is necessary to attend to the 
beauty, variety, and durability of the col- 
ors ; it is from these that England enjoys 
her present monopoly of calico manufac- 
tures. In the printing of calico' every 

process is chemical, as not a color can be 
imparted but in consequence of the affin- 
ity which exists between the cloth and the 
coloring matter, or between^ this and the 
mordant which is used as a chemical 
bond between them. The original prac- 
tice of printing calicoes was effected as 
follows : the mordant was first applied to 
all those parts which were intended to be 
brown or black, and then it was necessary 
to remain for some days before it could be 
died — then exposed some time in the 
bleaching-ground to clear the places from 
the coloring matter of the die to which the 
mordant had not been applied : a mordant 
of a diflerent kind was then applied by 
means of a pencil, then the cloth was a 
second time passed through the dying 
copper, in order to give the desired color 
to those parts, and to finish the patterns : 
to eflfect tliis, many weeks were required ; 
but by the assistance it has received from 
chemistry, the same results, in a manner 
the older manufacturers had no idea of, 
are produced in a few days. At the pres- 
ent time the cloth is first died of a unilbrm 
color, and afterward printed with a chemi- 
cal preparation, which, having discharged 
the original color, remains in its place. 
We believe we are not beyond the truth 
when we state that five chintz patterns for- 
merly took two years to prepare ; these, 
by the assistance of chemistry, are now 
effected in as many weeks. 

It is to chemistry that manufacturers 
are indebted for their most valuable mor- 
dants, and their most brilliant and most 
beautiful colors. By a knowledge of chem- 
istry they are able to examine the purity 
of the substances used in their dies, with- 
out which they would be liable to be im- 
posed upon in the most cruel and injurious 
manner, as many of the expensive articles 
they use are particularly liable to be adul- 
terated, from their difficulty of being man- 

Bleaching was formerly carried on by 
exposure to air and light : several weeks 
were consumed in this operation ; by 
chemical application, the same thing, but 
more eff'ectually, is effected in a few hours. 
Thus can manufacturers receive great ad- 
vantages from the application of chemistry, 
and, wisely, they have not rejected its aid. 

Another branch of staple manufactures 

is iron ; and the whole process for prepa- 
rincf it from the ore is chemical : if chem- 
ical re-agents were not added, for which 
the gross part has a greater affinity than 
it has for the iron, it would not be possible 
to obtain it in a metallic state. Again, 
malleable iron is converted into steel, by 
a purely chemical process, by which car- 
bon is united with the iron ; the scientific 
part of this process was until the last few 
years, little understood, and consequently 
the preparation of steel depended upon 
the result of a certain routine of experi- 
ments, Avhich, without knowing in what 
manner, brought about the desired end. 
The preparation of malleable iron from 
cast is also a chemical process. 

The utility of chemical knowledge to 
members of the medical profession re- 
quires f^w words to demonstrate. By 
the chemical union of two or more sub- 
stances they lose their original effect, and 
acquire another and different one : in what 
proportion these substances should be 
compounded is of the utmost importance 
to a medical man. The quacks in ancient 
days supposed that the more substances 
were united the greater and more beneficial 
the effect upon the human body : not 
knowing the chemical characters of the 
ingredients they u.'ied, they were conse- 
quently ignorant of ,heir action upon each 
other, and often co.npounded those which 
became poisonous or neutral, and thus the 
patient suffered from their ignorance. The 
human stomach is the physician's labora- 
tory ; and if he understand the chemical 
acti>.n of his preparations, he will antici- 
pate their effect on his patient Avith as 
much accuracy as if he performed an ex- 
periment at home. 

We think we have clearly shown that 
chemical knowledge is an important ad- 
vantage to the agriculturist, the manufac- 
turer, the iron-smelter, and the physician. 
To the members of the legal profession, 
the botanist, the refiner of sugar, the pre- 
parer of sugar from beet-root or potato, 
the manufacturer of soap, candles, and 
glass, we could show that it is of as great 

In observing the operations of nature, 
chemistry is an important acquisition ; 
and in the walks of life the chemist pos- 
sesses a decided advantage over a man 


A YEAR of changes has brought us to 
that epoch, which, as we mark it down 
in our tablets, emphatically reminds us, 
" What shadows we are, and what shad- 
ows we pursue." The " happy new year," 
season as it is of pleasure and felicitation, 
celebrated with festival and song, is yet a 
striking and solemn memento ; and he 
must be dull, indeed, who can write, for 
the first time, the number that designates 
it without a passing touch, at, of se- 
rious emotion. It reminds him how far 
he is gone up, on the scale of the dread 
century's progress ; wi^zi a floating atom 
he is upon the tide of passing ages ; and 
how soon the frail records of time, which 
he strews like leaves upon the dark wave, 
will be swallowed up for ever. It is a 
memento of change, of instability, of un- 
certainty, of weary labors, of unsatisfying 
pursuits, of social bereavements, of a 
world whose fashion passeth away. Let 

xmskilled in action of different substances. 
Were parents convinced of this truth they 
would eagerly seek for their sons chemi- 
cal education, that they might have the 
means for qualifying them to conduct with 
advantage the concerns with which they 
are to be intrusted. An old maxim is 
" knowledge is power," and the love of ! 
knowledge is the means to lead to opu- 
lence, to respectability, and to national en- 
joyment. The necessary result of an at- 
tention to chemical science, is a love of 
investigation, and the foundation of an in- 
quiring and ardent mind. The insidious 
a^ts of sophistry are the most likely to 
lead away a young man — skepticism and 
superstition to bewilder his mind. The 
best means to avoid these results is to 
instil into him while young a principle 
of receiving nothing as true but what is 
the result of experiment ; and thus by 
teaching him to esteem the knowledge of 
facts, no reasoning, however specious, 
will induce him to credit Avhat appears in- 
congruous, or to receive as truth that 
which can not be demonstrated or recom- 
mended by analogy. 


it be true that it is a memento of other 
things ; our present design and mood lead 
us to say, that it is a memento of these. 

As we gather up the confused impres- 
sions of the past, as the great scene of 
worldly toil, and turmoil, and vicissitude, 
passes in review before us ; as we medi- 
tate upon the many things, the many 
events, which seem as if they revolved in 
eternal circles, tending to nothing and pro- 
ducing nothing, we are ready to exclaim 
with the ancient preacher, " All things 
are full of labor ; men can not utter it. 
The sun ariseth, and the sun goeth down, 
and hasteth to his place where he rose. 
The wind goeth toward the south, and 
turneth about unto the north ; it whirleth 
about continually ; and the wind returneth 
again according to his circuits. All the 
rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not 
full ; into the place from whence the rivers 
come, thither they return again." 

Thus is revolution, change, instability, 
written upon all things. The law is im- 
pressed on every varying form of nature. 
It is taught in the revolving skies. It 
comes up from the heaving depths of 
ocean. It is proclaimed in the convul- 
sions of the earth : it is whispered in the 
stirring of the elements. The seasons 
change. The secret powers of nature 
are ever at work, and every instant are 
producing new forms, new combinations, 
new appearances. If ijye repose and rest, 
everything is in motion about us ; and the 
world in which we wake is no longer the 
world in which we slept. If thought 
passes in its busy career, or recreates 
itself with idle and airy visions, yet na- 
ture's mighty work goes on ; the circula- 
ting air, the roiling ocean, the springing 
or the decaying plant, the waving forest, 
the flowing river, the bursting fountains, 
are all undergoing momentary changes. 

The elements, too — what a visitation 
of mystery and change, of mingled vio- 
lence and gentleness is theirs ! Fair 
visions of beauty and life, sweet and si- 
lent influences distilling, as the dew, soft 
breathings of balmy odors and heavenly 
melodies, spread themselves through all 
our senses, like the invisible wind sway- 
ing the cords of an iEolian harp. But 
rougher touches proclaim other and stern- 
er uses. The elements minister dis- 

cipline with pleasure. They often in- 
commode ; they sometimes alarm us. 
We are during a considerable portion 
of our lives suffering from the inconveni- 
ences of climate, and the incessant chan- 
ges of nature ; panting in the heats of 
summer, or shivering amid the chills of 
winter ; drenched with the rain, or parched 
with the drought ; our footsteps weary in 
the daytime, or stumbling in the darkness 
of the night. And often, too, the earthly 
pilgrim's path lies through storm and tem- 
pest, through dangers by flood and fire, 
through whirlwinds and tornadoes, throush 
regions ploughed by the thunder of heaven, 
and the volcano on earth ; where the light- 
ning flashes, and the earthquake rends ; 
where those tokens are, of almighty pow- 
er, at which " the dwellers in the utter- 
most parts of the earth are afraid." 

And thus it is, that in the very processes 
of nature, powers are at work, and results 
are produced, which in some form and at 
some time or other, proclaim to all men 
their insecurity, and from which all hu- 
man safeguards are vain. There are vi- 
cissitudes, from which riches, if we had 
them, can purchase no immunity, and frorn 
which sagacity, though we were ever so 
wise, can invent no escape ; vicissitudes 
which alike confound knowledge and ig- 
norance, and baffle strength and imbecility. 

Man's task, too, in the toiling world, 
when he makes himself but a part of that 
Avorld ; man's task, what is it but motion, 
action, change, for ever returning upon it- 
self; a ceaseless revolution which never 
carries him beyond the circle of his abso- 
lute or artificial necessities ? And from 
these necessities, moreover, there is no 
exemption. Every human hand is stretch- 
ed out to procure something that is wanted, 
or to Avard oft' something that is feared. 
The case even of boundless wealth fur- 
nishes no exception to this law, for it 
brings, in equal proportion, the care of 
preserving, and the fear of losing it. And 
then, for the mass of mankind, behold the 
scene of their labors, and behold the Je- 
suit. Behold factories multiply, establish- 
ments increase, engines, inventions lend 
their assistance ; behold the earth and 
ocean vexed with human toil, and the ten 
thousand wheels of commerce busy .; and 
for what 1 To obtain for ii;an repose ? 



No ; but to procure relief, to meet the de- 
mands, no matter whether real or fictitious, 
barely to meet the demands of necessity. 
All the energies of life are wasted, and to 
what end ? barely to live. All the pos- 
sessions of life are accumulated, and to 
what purpose ? to be cared for, to be 
borne about with us for a little season, then 
to be laid aside, like the habiliments of a 
weary day. The entire physical ener- 
gies of life are put in requisition to sup- 
port life ; and at last they fail even of 
that ; so that there is not only perpetual 
toil, but toil which in the end is fruitless 
and unavailing. 

Is the condition of the world within, of 
the mental world, any better? We are 
speaking, indeed, of the Avorld as it is, 
and not as it should be ; of the world of 
the many, and not of the few ; is it any 
better governed or brought to any better 
account, than the world of man's fortunes 
and toils ? The inward world is, as truly 
as the outward, a world of changes. It 
is, indeed, more variable and restless, 
more fluctuating than the sea, more way- 
ward than the wind that bloweth where it 
listeth. Its worldngs are more unwearied 
than the toiling hands, or all the swift 
and untiring engines of industry. Every 
feeling is desire, or satiety. Every pas- 
sion is inflamed with pursuit, or pained 
with excess. Every mind, in the worldly 
crowd, is either hurrying in the swift ca- 
reer of exertion, or is pausing, weary, un- 
quiet, unsatisfied at the goal of attainment. 
Success is a stimulus to greater efforts ; 
disappointment an apology for complaints 
and lamentations. The condition of plea- 
sure is never to have enough ; of pain, 
alas ! ever to have too much. Ambi- 
tion sees more than it can gain ; dis- 
couragement sees nothing that it can gain. 
Wealth has cares, poverty has necessities ; 
and it is sometimes difficult to tell whether 
the cares or the necessities are the greater 
burden, and occasion the greater disquie- 
tude ; and whether the pride of wealth, or 
the murmuring of poverty, is the less easy 
and comfortable disposition. 

What state of mind or of the aflfections 
then is there, whether desired or depreca- 
ted, that may not minister to our annoy- 
ance, if that holy principle which brings 
satisfaction, and strength, and harmony, to 

the soul, be wanting? Knowledge may 
perplex our curiosity, and ignorance dis- 
turb our fear. Mediocrity of talent, fail- 
ure in a profession, is commonly consid- 
ered as an occasion of intolerable disqui- 
etude ; but inferiority itself is not more 
agitating than the situation of a proud 
man, exalted in the public opinion, and 
obliged to satisfy the demands made upon 
an idolized reputation. Or will you look 
at the affections, and at the tenure and 
condition upon which they hold all the 
treasures of this imperfect state. What 
we value and highly prize, at some time 
or other distresses us ; and what we dis- 
like of course disturbs us. If we, have 
friends, we are anxious ; if we have them 
not, we are forlorn. If we have hopes, 
we are agitated ; if we have them not, we 
are depressed. 


The development of instinct, as mani- 
fested by the operations and in the econ- 
omy of animated beings, affords much 
matter for reflection and observation. By 
instinct we mean that innate power or 
principle impelling to the performance of 
works necessary either to the well-being 
of the individual or the species, and which 
rules, irrespective of experience, in the 
mode adopted, in the materials selected, in 
the site, and arrangement ; which directs 
in the observation of time, in attention to 
size, figure, and numbers, and wriich 
bears alike upon the present and a future 
day, leading to results which appear to be 
those of reason, reflection, and forethought, 
involving also a knowledge of the past. 
No living animal, not even man, is desti- 
tute of instinct : we see its manifestations 
in the infant, but as reason dawns it be- 
comes weaker and weaker ; and, indeed, 
in such of the lower animals as are sus- 
ceptible of education we find it shaken by 
what we may well term artificial educa- 
tion, which, as in the dog, calls forth 
limited and imperfect trains of reasoning, 
simple deductions of effects from causes, 
the result of experience and discipline ; 
and, more than this, we see the civiliza- 



tion thus effected, and kept up, influence 
the character and propensities of a whole 
race — we see it aifect their physical struc- 

The results of pure instinct are in no ani- 
mals so wonderful, so interesting, as in in- 
sects. Birds, indeed, can not but attract 
our notice : who can examine their nests, 
so various in form and materials, so art- 
fully constructed, without feelings of plea- 
sure ? Look at the nest of the tailor- 
bird, a soft couch in a leafy cradle sus- 
pended at the end of a slender twig ; look 
at the hanging nests of the pensile weaver- 
bird (and how many could we not enume- 
rate ?) ; and acknowledge, reader, v/ith me, 
that they are admirable examples of the 
operations of instinct. 

Still, however, as we have said, even 
more wonderful exemplifications of the 
governing principle of instinct are to be 
found in the works of insects. • The wax- 
en architecture of the hive-bee (apis mel- 
lifica), its habits and economy, have been 
the admiration of intelligent minds in all 
ages, and the greatest philosophers have 
applied themselves to the elucidation of 
its history, and of the principles on which 
it proceeds, to build its hexagonal ceUs 
with such accurate precision. 

It is not, however, to the hive-bee that 
we are about to invite attention, but to a 
relative of less pretensions, whose works 
are comparatively simple, yet far from be- 
ing without interest. We allude to the 
common humble-bee, which all the sum- 
mer long we see wandering over clover- 
fields, and through gardens, busy with 
every flower, and assiduously trying nec- 
tary after nectary with its proboscis. If 
one of these bees be watched with a little 
patience and some tact, it may be traced 
to its retreat, where it has labored in con- 
structing cells and laying up a store of 
honey. The domicil of the humble-bee 
is a simple excavation in some bank, a 
litllf: chamber of about six or eight inches 
in diameter, to which leads a long winding 
passage, capable of admitting of the in- 
gress and egress respectively of two bees 
at the same time. Some species, as the 
bombus uuiscorum, select a shallow exca- 
vation which they dome over with a felt 
of moss or withered grass, lined with a 
coat of wax to render it waterproof ; but 

the bombus terrestris makes or enlarges a 
subterranean vault, a foot beneath the sur- 
face of the ground, and in this is the col- 
ony established. The population, how- 
ever, is not numerous, seldom exceeding 
one or two hundred, and may be divided 
into females, males, and workers. The fe- 
males are of two sorts, very large and 
small. The large females, or queens, 
look like giants compared to the smaller 
females and workers ; they produce males, 
females, and workers, but the small fe- 
males produce only male eggs. The 
large females, then, we may regard as the 
founders of every colony ; and by follow- 
ing up the details we shall be able to ren- 
der the plan clearly intelligible. 

These large females, in an established 
colony, emerge from their pupa state in 
the autumn, and pair in that season with 
males, the produce of the small females 
which have previously acquired their due 
development. Now on the approach of 
winter these large females, the pairing 
time over, retire each to a little snug 
apartment, lined with moss or grass, and 
separate from the general vault, passing 
the cold season in a state of torpidity. 
Early in the spring they awake, issue 
forth, and take diff'erent directions, seek- 
ing for some convenient spot in which to 
begin their labors. At this time of the 
year large females may be often observed 
exploring every cavity, hole, or crevice, 
in banks or on the ground ; they are seek- 
ing a fit site for their operations. We 
will now suppose one of these queens to 
have formed and established herself in her 
chamber ; she begins to collect honey and 
pollen, and constructs cells in which her 
eggs are to be deposited. So rapidly are 
the latter built, that to make a cell, fill it 
with honey and pollen (the food of the 
young), commit one or two eggs to it, and 
cover them in, requires little more than 
half an hour. Her first and most numer- 
ous brood consists only of workers, which, 
as soon as excluded from the pupa, assist 
their parent in all her labors. Her next 
consists of large and small females and 
males ; these appear in August or Sep- 
tember ; but, if Huber be correct, the male 
eggs, or some of them at least, are laid 
in the spring with those that have to pro- 
duce workers. We have now, then, small 



and large females, males, and workers, 
the produce of the original queen who sin- 
gly began to found this estalalishment. It 
will be interesting to look a little closer 
into their transactions ; and, first, those of 
the Avorkers. These are by far the most 
numerous tenants of the colony, and to 
them is intrusted the reparation of any 
part by the deposition of wax, and the 
spreading of it in patches over the roof. 
When in any of the cells one of the larvae 
has spun its cocoon and assumed the pupa 
state, it is their department to remove all 
the wax away from it ; and after the pupa 
has attained its perfect state, which takes 
place in about five days, to cut open the 
cocoon, in order that the perfect insect 
may emerge from its imprisonment : it is 
theirs, moreover, to supply the young 
grubs with food after they have consumed 
the stock deposited with each egg in the 
cell, and regularly feed them either with 
honey or pollen introduced in their probos- 
cis through a small hole in the cover of 
each cell, opened as occasion may re- 
quire, and carefully covered up again. As 
the grubs increase in size, the cells which 
contained them respectively become too 
small, and b}'' their struggles the thin sides 
split : the breaches thus produced they 
repair with wax as fast as they occur, at- 
tentive to see where their services are re- 
quired : and it is in this manner that the 
cells gradually acquire an increase of size 
to accommodate the increasing larvje. 
Besides these duties, in chilly weather 
and at night the workers brood over the 
pupae shrouded in their cocoons, in order 
to impart the necessary warmth and main- 
tain a due degree of temperature. They 
relieve the mother-queen, in fact, of half 
her cares and nearly all her labor. In 
some nests there are from forty to sixty 
honey-pots, the cocoons of the bees re- 
cently emerged from their pupa condition, 
and more than half of these are often filled 
in a single day. It must not be supposed 
that the interior of the nest presents the 
same appearance as that of the hive-bee. 
Instead of numerous vertical combs of 
I wax, we see either a single cluster of 
cells or a few irregular horizontal combs 
placed one above another, and supported 
by pillars of wax. Each layer consists 
of several groups of yellowish oval bodies 

of three different sizes, those in the mid- 
dle being the largest, the whole slightly 
joined together by a cement of wax. 
These oval bodies are the silken cocoons 
spun by the young larvae : some are closed 
at the upper extremity, some are open ; 
the former are those which yet include 
their immature tenants ; the latter are the 
empty cases from which the young bees 
have escaped. Besides these are the 
cells of wax, in which are eggs and a 
store of pollen and honey, but from which 
in due time the workers will remove the 
wax, the larvae having completed their 
silken shroud. These larvae, their food 
being exhausted, are, as we have said, 
regularly supplied by the workers. There 
are, moreover, the honey-pots, that is, the 
relinquished cocoons patched up, and 
strengthened with wax, and filled with 
nectar, and sometimes vessels of pure 
wax containing the same luscious store. 

The workers have indeed plenty of 
business on their hands, and are busy all 
the summer long. But the winter comes, 
and they all perish ; they have fulfilled 
their allotted part, and their services are 
no more needed. From the workers let- 
us pass to the mother-queen, and inquire 
into her duties and fictions. We have 
said that the workers are her first progeny, 
and we must suppose her surrounded by 
them. They are watching all her move- 
ments, for she is about to deposite in the 
cells the eggs from which the second 
brood is to spring ; and, by a strange in- 
stinct, they endeavor to seize the eggs as 
soon as laid, and devour them. It is not 
easy to understand the object to be ac- 
complished by this procedure on the part' 
of the workers, unless it be to keep the 
population within due bounds. Be this as 
it may, the female has to exert herself to 
the utmost to prevent her eggs from being 
all devoured ; and it is only after she has 
driven them back several times and utterly 
routed their forces, that she succeeds in \ 
accomplishing her purpose. When she 
has deposited her eggs in the cells (each 
supplied with a store of pollen moistened 
with honey) and closed them up with 
wax, she has still to keep vigilant watch 
over them for six or eight hours, otherwise 
the workers would immediately open the 
cells and devour their contents. After 

this period, strange to say, the nature of 1 
the workers seems changed : they no Ion- ; 
ger evince anv appetite for devouring the j 
eggs or destroying the cells ; the female 
gives up her charge, committing all to \ 
their care, and they faithfully and assidu- '. 
ously perform the duties we have previ- 
ously detailed. From these eggs proceed 
a few larcre females, to be at a future day ; 
the founders of colonies : a few males, 
and small females, closely resembling the | 
workers, but attended by the males, which j 
form their court. And now, as Huber as- | 
sures us, the whole establishment is a ! 
scene of confusion ; for these small fe- j 
males begin to prepare cells for their 
egffs, and this proceeding rouses the an- 1 
ger and jealousy of the queen-mother to 
the highest pitch. She assaults them with 
fur\-, driving them away ; puts her head j 
into the cells, and devours their eggs, and ! 
is in turn herself assaulted and forced to , 
retreat. They then contend among them- j 
selves for various cells, several females , 
often endeavoring to lay their eggs at the | 
same time in the same cell, but after a 
short period tranquillity seems restored. 
•These small females all perish on the I 
commencement of winter. Their produce \ 
consists only of males, which pair with [ 
the large females in the autumn, the latter ' 
retiring to their hybemaculum and sleep- : 
inu till spring. The males are rather j 
larger than the small females whence they ; 
sprung, and their antennae are longer and 
more slender. They are not an idle race, 
for Reaumur asserts that they work in 
concert with the rest to repair any dam- 
age that may befall their common habita- 
tion. They act in some sort as scaven- 
gers of the settlement, remo^-ing every 
sort of rubbish, and the dead bodies of 
such individuals as may chance to die, but 
do not forage for building materials and 
provisions, nor do they take any share in 
rearing and attending to the young. 

Such, then, is an outline of the pro- 
ceedings which occur in ever\- colony of 
humble-bees, all of which, with the ex- 
ception of a few large females destined to 
continue the race, perish at the close of 
It is the opinion of Huber that the 
workers of the humble-bee are really fe- 
males in an imperfect condition, and inca- 

pable of reproduction, and that the devel- 
opment of the large and small females is 
dependant upon the nature of the food 
with which they are supplied during their 
ian^a condition. Kirby says : " As in the 
case of the hive-bee, the food of these 
several individuals differs, for the grubs 
that will turn to workers are fed with pollen 
and honey mixed, while those that are. des- 
tined to be males and females are fed with 
pure honey." It is, however, still a ques- 
tion to what specific cause Ave are to at- 
tribute the difference between the large 
and the small females, which are as dis- 
tinct in appearance as in habits and ope- 
rations. Humble-bees may be more easily 
.studied than either hive-bees or wasps ; 
the two latter, and especially the wasps, 
being ver\^ irritable, and displaying great 
resentment against any intruder ; while 
the humble-bee is indifferent to the pres- 
ence of a spectator, and while collecting 
honey will permit itself to be touched 
or stroked Avithout attempting to use its 

Mr. Huber relates a very amusing an- 
ecdote respecting some hive-bees papng 
a A'isit to a nest of humble-bees placed 
under a box not far from the hive of the 
former, in order to beg or steal their 
honey. The narration places in a strong 
light the good temper and generosity of 
the latter. The circmnstance happened 
in a time of scarcity. " The hive-bees, 
after pillaging, had almost taken entire 
possession of the nest; some humble- 
bees Avhich remained, in spite of this dis- 
aster, went out to collect provisions, and 
bringing home the surplus after they had 
supplied their own immediate wants, the 
hive-bees followed them, and did not quit 
them till they had obtained the fruit of 
their labors. They licked them, present- 
[ ed to them their proboscis, surrounded 
I them, and at last persuaded them to part 
j Avith the contents of their honey-bags. 
i The humble-bees fleAV away after this to 
1 collect a fresh supply. The hiA'e-bees 
I did them no harm, and never once shoAved 
their stings, so that it seems to have been 
, persuasion rather than force that produced 
j this singular instance of self-denial. This 
remarkable mancEUATe Avas practised for 
■ more than three Aveeks, Avhen the wasps 
, being attracted by the same cause, the 



humble-bees entirely forsook the nest." 
The care and attention displayed by the 
"workers toward the larvae or young is 
proved by an interesting experiment con- 
ducted by M. P. Huber, and which is re- 
corded in the " Linnean Transactions," 
vol. vi., p. 247. This observer put under 
a bell-glass about a dozen humble-bees, 
without any store of wax, along with a 
comb of about ten silken cocoons, .^o une- 
qual in height that it was impossiole the 
mass should stand firmly. Its unsteadi- 
ness disquieted the humble-bees extreme- 
ly. Their affection for the young led 
them to mount upon the cocoons for the 
sake of imparting warmth to the enclosed 
little ones, but in attempting this the comb 
tottered so violently, that the scheme was 
almost impracticable. To remedy this in- 
convenience, and to make the comb steady, 
they had recourse to a most ingenious ex- 
pedient. Two or three bees got upon the 
comb, stretched themselves over its edge, 
and, with their heads downward, fijsed 
their fore-feet on the table upon which it 
stood, while with their hind-feet they 
kept it from falling. In this constrained 
and painful posture, fresh bees relieving 
their comrades when weary, did these af- 
fectionate little insects support the comb 
for nearly three days. At the end of this 
period they had prepared a sufficiency of 
wax with which they built pillars, that 
kept it in a firm position, but by some 
accident afterward, these got displaced, 
when they had again recourse to their 
former manoeuvre for supplying their 
place, and this operation they perseve- 
ringly continued, till Mr. Huber, pitpng 
their hard case, relieved them by fixing 
the object of their attention fijrmly on the 

Must we from these facts infer that the 
bees in question were guided in their op- 
erations by a process of reasoning 1 If 
so, we must admit that all the extraordi- 
nary manceuvres and labors of bees, wasps, 
and ants, are under the governance of the 
same principle ; for all exhibit an appear- 
ance of forethought, and pursue the best 
means to produce a given result. " If," 
says Mr. Kirby, •' in this instance these 
little animals were not guided by a pro- 
cess of reasoning, what is the distinction 
between reason and instinct ? How could 

the most profound architect have better 
adapted the means to the end ? how more 
dexterously shored up a tottering edifice, 
until his beams and props were in readi- 
ness ?" The architect could not, perhaps, 
have acted better ; but he would hare 
been influenced by experience, and rea- 
soned upon the affair. In the case of the 
bees they were impelled to a given labor 
(and perhaps in that particular instance 
a very useless one) by an instinctive im- 
pulse, similar to that which urges the 
beaver to construct his dam, and the same 
instinct also directed them in the mode of 
its accomplishment. Surely the leaf-roll- 
ing caterpillar displays quite as much ap- 
parent reason in the means it employs to 
shroud itself in its dormitory, or the ant- 
lion when he makes his pitfall. Man in 
his operations is guided by experience and 
reason ; and ha-vdng no natural instrmnents, 
he fabricates them, and becomes a builder, 
a spinner, a miner, a worker in wood and 
metal ; he varies his plans and operations 
as experience may dictate, as reason may 
suggest : he alters, he improves. Not so 
the instinct-guided insect or bird : it never 
deviates beyond a certain point from the 
plan which its species time immemorial 
has followed ; the bird that builds a pen- 
dant nest never forms one in a hollow 
tree : the bee never attempts to become a 
paper-maker, hke the wasp : and here be 
it remembered that to whatever opera- 
tions instinct urges, the animal is by na- 
ture furnished with the proper implements 
for accomplishing them, and that it never 
impels to works which the animal has not 
the natm-al means of perfonning or carry- 


There is always some danger of self- 
discipline leading to a state of self-confi- 
dence ; and the more so, when the mo- 
tives of it are of a poor and worldly 
character, or the results of it outward 
only, and superficial. But siurely when a 
man has got the better of any bad habit 
or evil disposition, his sensations should 
not be those of exultation only: ought 

they not rather to be akin to the shudder- 
ing faintness with which he would survey 
a chasm that he had been guided to avoid, 
or with which he would recall to mind a 
dubious, deadly struggle which had ter- 
minated in his favor ? The sense of dan- 
ger is never, perhaps, so fully apprehend- 
ed as when the danger has been overcome. 
Self-discipline is grounded on self- 
knowledge. A man may be led to resolve 
upon some general course of self-disci- 
pline by a faint glimpse of his moral deg- 
radation : let him not be contented with 
chat small insight. His first step in self-dis- 
cipline should be to attempt to have some- 
thing like an adequate idea of the extent of 
the disorder. The deeper he goes in this 
matter the better : he must try to probe 
his own nature thoroughly. Men often 
make use of what self-knowledge they 
may possess to frame for themselves skil- 
ful flattery, or to amuse themselves in 
fancying what such persons as they would 
do under various imaginary circumstances. 
For flatteries and for fancies of this kind, 
not much depth of self-knowledge was 
required : but he who wants to understand 
his own nature for the purposes of self- 
discipline, must strive to learn the whole 
truth about himself, and not shrink from 
telling it to his own soul. 

" To thine own self be true, 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man." 

The old courtier, Polonius, meant this for 
worldly wisdom ; but it may be construed 
much more deeply. 

Imagine the soul then, thoroughly awake 
to its state of danger, and the whole en- 
ergies of the man devoted to self-improve- 
ment. At this point, there often arises a 
habit of introspection which is too limited 
in its nature : we scutinize each action 
as if it were a thing by itself, independent 
and self-originating ; and so our scrutiny 
does less good, perhaps, than might be 
expected from the pain it gives and the 
resolution it requires. Any truthful ex- 
amination into our actions must be good ; 
but we ought not to be satisfied with it, 
until it becomes both searching and pro- 
gressive. Its aim should be not only to 
investigate instances, but to discover prin- 
ciples. Thus : suppose that our conscience 
upbraids us for any particularly bad habit ; 

we then regard each instance of it with 
intense self-reproach, and long for an op- 
portunity of proving the amendment which 
seems certain to arise from our pangs of 
regret. The trial comes — and sometimes 
our former remorse is remembered, and 
saves us ; and sometimes it is forgotten, 
and our conduct is as bad as it was before 
our conscience was awakened. Now, in 
such a case, we should begin at the be- 
ginning, and strive to discover where' it is 
that we are wrong in the heart. This is 
not to be done by weighing each particular 
instance, and observing after what inter- 
val it occurred, and whether with a little 
more, or a little less temptation than 
usual : instead of dwelling chiefly on 
mere circumstances of this kind, we 
should try and get at the substance of the 
thing, so as to ascertain what fundamental 
precept of God is violated by the habit in 
question. That precept we should make 
our study ; and then there is more hope 
of a permanent amendment. 

Infinite toil would not enable you to 
sweep away a mist ; but, by ascending a 
little, you may often look over it altogether. 
So it is with our moral improvement : we 
wrestle fiercely with a vicious habit, which 
would have no hold upon us if we as- 
cended into a higher moral atmosphere. 

As I have heard suggested, it is by add- 
ing to our good purposes, and nourishing 
the affections which are rightly placed, 
that we shall best be able to combat the 
bad ones. By adopting such a course 
you will not have yielded to your enemy, 
but will have gone in all humility, to form 
new alliances : you will then resist an 
evil habit with the strength which you 
have gained in carrying out a good one. 
You will find, too, that when you set your 
heart upon the things that are worthy of 
it, the small selfish ends, which used to 
be so dear to it, will appear almost dis- 
gusting ; you will wonder that they could 
have had such hold upon you. 

In the same way, if you extend and 
deepen your sympathies, the prejudices 
which have hitherto clung obstinately to 
you will fall away ; your former unchari- 
tableness will seem absolutely distasteful ; 
you will have brought home to it feelings 
and opinions with which it can not live. 

Man, a creature of twofold nature, body 

and soul, should have both parts of that 
nature engaged in any matter in which he 
is concerned : spirit and form must both 
enter into it. It is idol-worship to substi- 
tute the form for the spirit : but it is a vain 
philosophy which seeks to dispense with 
the form. All this applies to self-disci- 

See how most persons love to connect 
some outward circumstance with their 
good resolutions : they resolve on com- 
mencing the new year with a surrender 
of this bad habit: they will alter their 
conduct as soon as they are at such a 
place. The mind thus shows its feeble- 
ness ; but we must not conclude that the 
support it naturally seeks is useless. At 
the same time that we are to turn our 
chief attention to the attainment of right 
principles, we can not safely neglect any 
assistance which may strengthen us in 
contending against bad habits ; far is it 
from the spirit of true humility to look 
down upon such assistance-. Who would 
not be glad to have the ring of eastern 
story, which should remind the wearer by 
its change of color of his want of shame ? 
Still, these auxiliaries partake of a me- 
chanical nature : we must not expect 
more from them than they can give : they 
may serve as aids to memory ; they may 
form landmarks, as it were, of our prog- 
ress ; but they can not of themselves 
maintain that progress. 

It is in a similar spirit that we should 
treat what may be called prudential con- 
siderations. We may listen to the sug- 
gestions A. prudence, and find them an aid 
to self-discipline ; but we should never 
rest upon them. While we do not fail to 
make due use of them, we must never for- 
get that they do not go to the root of the 
matter. Prudence may enable a man to 
conquer the world, but not to rule his own 
heart : it may change one evil passion for 
another ; but it is not a thing of potency 
enough to make a man change his nature. 

Prayer is a constant source of invigora- 
tion to self-discipline : not the thoughtless 
praying which is a thing of custom, but 
that which is sincere, intense, watchful. 
Let a man ask himself whether he would 
have the thing he prays for : let him 
think, while he is praying for a spirit of 
forgiveness, whether even at that mo- 

ment he is disposed to give up the luxury 
of anger. If not, what a horrible mock- 
ery it is ! To think that a man can find 
nothing better to do, in the presence of 
his Creator, than telling off so many 
words, alone with his God, and repeating 
his task like a child, longing to get rid of 
it, and indifferent to its meaning ! 



The readers of Cooper's novels will 
without doubt remember a scene, near the 
beginning of his " Red Rover," which is 
represented as occurring at Newport, in 
Rhode Island, in a small ruined tower or 
circular building, standing on rude pillars 
connected by arches, which he says 
might have been constructed in the in- 
fancy of the colony as a place of defence, 
but which the townspeople were of opinion 
had been formerly a mill. The Royal 
Society of Northern Antiquarians estab- 
lished at Copenhagen have recently pub- 
lished some views of this ancient struc- 
ture, from one of which, somewhat en- 
larged, our engraving is taken ; together 
with a description by Dr. Webb, of Bos- 
ton, who is inclined to think it a genuine 
relic of the ancient Scandinavians, the 
ante-Columbian discoverers of America. 
Proofs of the early occupation of the 
western shores of that continent by those 
intrepid mariners have been zealously ac- 
cumulated by the society, and much of the 
documentary evidence of their discoveries 
at the close of the tenth century carefully 
edited and published. The building in 
question is placed upon the most likely 
spot in Vinland for the settlement of a 
maritime people. 

Dr. Webb describes the building as sit- 
uated near the summit of the hill upon 
which the upper part or rear of the town 
of Newport stands ; he states that it is 
built of rough pieces of greywacke stone, 
laid in courses, strongly cemented by a 
mortar of sand and gravel of excellent 
quality, which nearly equals the stone it' 
self in hardness ; and that it appears to 
have been at some former period covered 

^s^^-^jr^ -=^ 

Ancient Tower at Newport, R. I. 



with a stucco of similar character to the 
cement with which the stone is held to- 
gether. It is nearly twenty-five feet in 
height ; its diameter outside is twenty- 
three feet, and inside eighteen feet nine 
inches. It is circular, and is supported 
upon eight arches resting on thick col- 
umns about ten feet high ; the height of 
the centres of the arches from the ground 
is twelve feet six inches. The foundation 
extends to the depth of four or five feet. 

The columns are peculiar, having only 
half capitals, which seem to have been 
simply rounded slabs of stone, of which 
the part projecting on the inside had been 
cut away ; hollows are formed in the in- 
terior of the walls at some little height 
above the arches, as though intended to 
receive the ends of beams and rafters to 
support a floor which formerly was there, 
according to the testimony of some of the 
older inhabitants of Newport, and Avhich 
is supposed in the scene described by 
Cooper. The building is pierced by two 
windows, one of which is seen in the en- 
graving. The tradition of the town is, 
that it had once a circular roof, and .that it 
had been used successively as a Avindmill, 
a place for stowing hay, and a powder- 

Professor Rafn, the secretary of the 
Society of Northern Antiquarians, in a no- 
tice of this building, argues, from the 
complete absence in America of aay work 
of similar nature to that under considera- 
tion, and from the resemblance which it 
bears to some other buildings of the Scan- 
dinavians in Europe, that this must be a 
genuine relic of the ante-Columbian colo- 
nists ; and he reasonably enough accounts 
for the absence of many such remains by 
the circumstance that the country abound- 
ed in wood, a material which was in 
those ages, and is even now, preferred for 
building throughout the extensive regions 
inhabited by the Scandinavians, Avhose 
wooden houses and churches are men- 
tioned by all travellers in Norway and 
Lapland ; while the many remains of 
stone buildings by the same people found 
in Greenland, which must have been nearly 
contemporary with the ante-Columbian oc- 
cupation of America, only show that stone 
was the only available material for build- 
ing in that arctic country, where the little 

wood used is stated in the ancient chroni- 
cles of Iceland to have been imported 
from America (Vinland), or found on the 
opposite shore of Bafiin's bay, where 
drift-wood is said to acciunulate much 
more than on the coast occupied by the 
colonists from Denmark. 

Professor Rafn remarks, on the archi- 
tecture of the building, that it is in the ante- 
Gothic style, which was common in the 
north and west of Europe from the eighth 
to the twelfth centuries ; the circvdar form, 
the low columns, their thickness in pro- 
portion to their distance from each other, 
and the entire want of ornament, all point 
out this epoch. He gives plates of three 
churches in Denmark, in corroboration of 
his opinion : the first is that of Vestervig, 
in Jutland, founded in 1110, in honor of 
St. Theodgar ; the second is that of the 
crypt under the cathedral of Viborg, of 
near the same date ; the third is the 
church of Biernede, near Sorci, in Sice- 
land, built in the middle of the same cen- 
tury. In all these, the low columns and 
arches, with the circular arrangement, are 
quite in the style of the American edifice, 
although the latter has less ornament of 
any kind. He cites, moreover, four 
churches in Biornholm, and one at Thor- 
sager, in Jutland, all of the circular form ; 
as well as some ruins of circular buildings 
in Greenland, near the churches of Igalik- 
ko, Kakortok, and Iglorsoi't, which are 
conjectured to have been baptisteries ; 
and this Professor Rafn supposes might 
have been the destination of the New- 
port structure, for he considers the win- 
dows and holes in the body of the build- 
ing to have been additions, made in it by 
the recent colonists, when they converted 
it to a mill, a magazine, and a hayloft. 

The first certain mention of this curious 
relic is in the will of Governor Arnold, 
dated in 1678, in which he bequeaths his 
" stone-built windmill" with other proper- 
ty. This was just forty years after the 
island had been settled. In a journal 
kept by Peter Easton, one of the first in- 
habitants, who appears to have minutely 
recorded all the occurrences of the settle- 
ment, the building of the first mill in the 
colony is noted, under the year 1663, in 
half-a-dozen words ; but Dr. Webb is of 
opinion that if this building were the one 

intended, it would hardly have been so 
summarily dismissed ; doubtless conclu- 
ding that a stone edifice of so much more 
imposing structure than any other of the 
colony would have demanded a more spe- 
cific mention. 

After what has been stated on this mat- 
ter, it must appear doubtful whether or not 
this is a genuine relic of the ancient 
Scandinavian colony ; there is assuredly 
not evidence enough of its authenticity to 
produce a conviction of the existence of 
such a colony in those who do not receive 
the evidence of the Icelandic sagas before 
alluded to ; but if these sagas be admitted 
as conclusive of its existence, which we 
feel their circumstantiality fully deserves, 
then the building we have described may 
be added to the other evidences found in 
America, such as arrow-heads, bracelets, 
fibulas, bronze ornaments, and even a Ru- 
nic inscription, unfortunately undecipher- 
able, as corroborative of the events de- 
tailed in those curious historical docu- 


" Impress 
Indelible, Death's image on his heart, 
Bleeding for others, trembling for himself." 


There are certain periods in the life 
of man, which sometimes appear like un- 
bidden guests, and leave an impression on 
the memory which after events can never 
wholly eff'ace — periods which stand so 
prominent in the path we have trod, that 
on looking back we discern them stand- 
ing as we met. Some of these periods 
afford us matter for much joy, both at the 
time they happen and in after years ; oth- 
ers seem to start like spectres in our way, 
only to afford sorrow and pain ; and others 
have so much of joy and sorrow mingled, 
as to produce both extremes according to 
the light in which they are viewed. The 
death of friends sometimes partakes of 
each description. Rarely, indeed, can we 
view their death with unmixed joy, but 
sometimes we can. When, for instance, 
some dear friend, after suff'ering the great- 
est pain for a length of time, with no pros- 

pect of relief on this side the grave, having 
tears and sorrows for his meat, is at last 
released by death, with the glorious hope 
of immortality, we can sometimes look up- 
on his death with joy. When, if our own 
wishes for his life were granted, they would 
only be accompanied with suff'ering and 
distress, we are sometimes able to sacri- 
fice joyfully our own feeling and desires, 
in the assurance that our friend's sufferings 
are o'er — his pains and griefs for ever gone 
— his tears for ever wiped away. What 
joy could we experience, though he were 
still spared, when our souls are continually 
rent with anguish as we behold his suff^er- 
ings — when every moment which adds to 
his suff'ering here, also keeps him from the 
enjoyment of heaven ? Far be it from any 
one to desire the death of friends in such 
circumstances — let God's will be done ; 
but need they sorrow when it is his will to 
release them from their pain ? Our grief 
is thus dried up in the joy we experience ; 
and, every time memory carries us back 
to their deathbed, our enfeebled faith is 
strengthened, and we strive, in the words 
of Scripture, " to live the life of the righ- 
teous, that our latter end may be like his." 
When we are ourselves in suff'ering and 
distress, we are often rejoiced amid our 
tears when we think of the faith and pa- 
tience of the departed, and their dying ex- 
amples speak in words of comfort and of 
power. When our journey in life is em- 
bittered with painful trials, when our hearts 
are deeply pierced with many sorrows, we 
are encouraged to bear up against them 
when we think of those 

" Not lost, but gone before." 

As Avhen a man, journeying on a dreary 
road under great privations, is encouraged 
to persevere when he remembers he is go- 
ing to his father's home, where he will 
meet those friends who have travelled the 
same r«ad before ; so, the death of friends 
in these circumstances often may commu- 
nicate joy to our breasts, and chase our 
sighing and sorrow away. 

But the death of friends may sometimes 
be the cause of the greatest sorrow. A 
friend may die when he is most needed- 
such as a dear parent ; father and mother 
may both become the prey of the " insa- 
tiate archer," and we, mayhap left in the 



days of youth, surrounded with many tempt- 
ations, yet no one from whom we can re- 
ceive advice, or to whom we can with con- 
fidence embosom our souls. Or it may be 
that the husband is deprived of the wife 
of his bosom — the partner of his cares and 
of his joys — when he most required her 
sweet advice and her many tender endear- 
ments to sooth him amid his cares, or 
when her love and watchful care were re- 
quired for the objects of her afTections in 
their helpless days. Or it may be that the 
wife is deprived of her husband, her stay 
and comfort, and left, perhaps, to toil and 
suffering and tears ; or it may be that, as a 
widow, she is deprived of her " only son," 
on whom she centred her affections, to 
whom she looked forward for support in 
her declining years, whose hand she fond- 
ly hoped should smooth her dying pillow, 
and lay her honored head with reverence 
in the tomb. In these and many other 
like- cases is the death of friends sorrow- 
ful—the heart throbs with convulsive emo- 
tion, and almost chokes the utterance with 
its sighs and sobs. Oh ! how these occa- 
sions furrow the brow and make the head 
hoary before the time ! No smile lights up 
the countenance ; we go along the streets 
with our heads hanging down ; strength 
seems departed from us ; former pleasures 
can give us no relief; they make our grief 
still more grievous. Every object which 
belonged to the departed reminds us of 
them, and opens anew the fountain of our 
tears. How we then think of them ! how 
many graces we see in their characters 
wlijch we formerly overlooked ! We think 
that if we had them again with us, we 
would treat them with more kindness and 
love : no unkind word would ever pass 
our lips, nor would we harbor an unkind 
thought regarding them. 

o o o 

Sorrow, deep sorrow, may follow the 
death of friends in such cases, but with 
how much greater sorrow are we afflicted, 
should there be " no hope in their death" 
— if their lives have been stained with 
crime, and they have gone to the grave 
without repentance or peace ! We can ea- 
sily imagine the not unfrequent occurrence 
(alas ! that it should be so) of a " prodigal 
son," drawn away by the solicitations of 
evil companions, enticed by the glowing 
scenes which imagination has pictured, but 

experience proves to be false. We can 
imagine him casting off parental restraint, 
deaf alike to the commands and entreaties 
of his loving parents, treating their tears 
with mockery and their admonitions with 
disdain. Can we conceive the grief which 
eats away the peace of his parents' hearts, 
as they find all the anxiety with which 
they watched him in infancy abused, and 
the fond hopes they cherished of him en- 
tirely blasted ? Who can paint the grief 
of the mother on whose breast he hung in 
infancy, and for whom so many prayers 
were breathed to Heaven 1 Who can paint 
the father's grief ? His brow is marked 
with it : his sleepless nights, his secret 
moments, should tell, with too convincing 
power, the sorrow of his heart. What 
consolation, then, can these parents have 
in the death of their son, when no repent- 
ance marks his last moments — when they 
are only embittered with disappointed hope 
and unavailing remorse ? — 

" Prayers then extorted may be vain, 
The hour of mercy past."' 

Ah ! surely such a death must strike a 
heavier blow- than even his sinful life. 
Such was che case with " the sweet sing- 
er of Israel," when he mourned over his 
lost son • " Oh ! Absalom, ray son, my son ; 
would God that I had died for thee !" We 
can think of the old man wringing his hands 
and rending his garments with grief when 
he heard of the death of his unfortunate 
son ; how touchingly do his words express 
the love he felt for his ungrateful and re- 
bellious son ! 

The death of friends, however, may 
sometimes take place imder a different as- 
pect, and produce somewhat different feel- 
ings in the breast. Let me transport you 
to a house of mourning, because a house 
of death : see, the windows are darkened, 
and we can discern the dim shadow — the 
indescribable gloom, which death has cast 
around ; the girl who opens the door is 
filled with sorrow, ami her eyes are red 
with weeping. Hark ! these voices trem- 
ulous with emotion, interrupted with sti- 
fled sobs, are feebly attempting to raise 
the well-known hymn in which they have 
often joined, but never with such over- 
whelming feelings. Tread softly, for they 
have now finished. Let us stay here a 
moment. Hear you not that low, feeble 



voice in prayer ? we can not discern the 
words, but it gets louder, while heart-rend- 
ing sobs are heard ; it is entreating for 
some life to be spared, and as from the 
heart seems that prayer to come : but it 
concludes, " Thy will be done." Let us 
enter. Why do all these weep ? That 
young man, so pale and weak, and yet so 
young, that we are apt to think death might 
well spare him, is now addressing these 
weeping friends, bidding them farewell. 
He tells them that shortly he will " die 
and appear before God." See how they 
weep ! But he adds, " I die with joy ; ?)vj 
heart feels no fear ; I know in whom I 
have trusted ; but I charge you to meet me 
there" as he raises his trembling hand and 
points it upward. He takes his mother's 
hand, and with a heart-rending shriek she 
falls upon his neck and weeps over him — 
" Oh, my son, my child ! must you, then, 
leave your poor mother ?" and again she 
hugs him to her bosom, as if that could 
shield him from the grim king. He tries 
to comfort her, thoug-h himself nigh over- 
come : he speaks to her of his hope, and 
how joyfully they will meet again, where 
death will part no more. He now takes 
his father's and his sister's hands, while 
he gives them his blessing. Oh! who can 
describe that scene, as they each " fell up- 
on his neck and kissed him," while their 
hearts are too much filled with sorrow to 
utter even one farewell 1 Other friends 
now shake his withered hand, and to each 
he speaks a word of comfort ; but exhaust- 
ed he falls back upon his pillow, and his 
spirit seems to have fled ; but he revives, 
and the man of God — the ambassador of 
Heaven — approaches and whispers those 
words of comfort which are fitted to his 
case. He then takes that good man's hand 
and thanks him for all his kindness — his 
admonitions and his prayers ; every word 
he utters seems as a breath from heaven, 
and they all hearken to them as the words 
of one who will shortly enter upon its bliss. 
Exhausted he has again fallen back, and 
scarcely a sob is heard from his surround- 
ing friends as they eagerly watch him in 
his last moments ; he looks around them ; 
that look whispers peace ; and, with the 
softness of the zephyr in the summer noon, 
he has breathed his spirit away. He is 
dead ! but why do these friends still look 

so intensely ? They can not believe that 
this is death, till the man of God breaks 
the silence, with a whispered prayer for 
" those still left behind." Oh ! see how 
the mother again grasps that youthful form 
to her breast, and kisses its pale lips, while 
her tears drop scalding on those insensible 
cheeks ! But she is borne away in a 
swoon ; and let us hasten away. 

Who was he, you ask, whose calm and 
peaceful death we now witnessed ? He 
was a dutiful son ; he was a loving broth- 
er, a dear friend, " the child of many pray- 
ers." Early was he brought to know the 
truth, and early was his life conformed to 
its commands. He had consecrated his 
life to the service of God ; his great wish 
was to preach unto others what he so dear- 
ly prized himself. His days and nights 
were spent in study, and in doing good ; 
often might his lamp be seen flickering 
through the gloom of night, while he pored 
over the sacred page. He died young, 
who, had it been the will of Heaven to 
spare him, would have been a blessing to 
the world. And surely, then, his friends 
had cause for sorrow ; but they had also 
cause for joy : they did not " sorrow as 
those who have no hope." 

" Why should they weep for him who, having ■won 

Tlie bound of his appointed years, at last. 

Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, 

Serenely to his final rest hath past, 
While the soft memory of his virtues yet 
Lingers, like twilight hues, when the bright sun 
hath set ?" 

In cases such as this the heart is often 
disturbed with conflicting emotions — with 
the extremes of sorrow and of joy ; we 
knovv not w'hether to weep or smile. 
When we think of the many hallowed as- 
sociations and endearing remembrances 
connected with our friendship, the tears 
oft come unbidden, and sighs loaded with 
sorrow escape from the breast ; yet, on the 
other hand, when we reflect upon his vir- 
tues, the hopes he breathed in death, the 
calm serenity of his deathbed — that he is 
taken " from the evil to come" to the fo- 
licity of heaven — these thoughts 

" May charm the bosom of a weeping friend, 
Beguile with magic power the tear of grief. 

And pensive pleasure with devotion blend : 
While oft he fancies music sweetly faint, 
The airy lay of some departed saint." 

It is one of the amiable traits in the 
character of man, that the remembrance 



of departed friends never entirely fades 
from the mind ; and to us it appears an ad- 
ditional proof of the immortality of the soul. 
And, in many cases, had we not the hope 
— riBij, the assurance — that when this scene 
of things is over, there is another and a 
better world, where " death-divided friends 
shall meet," the death of friends would be 
insupportable ; we would be unable to bear 
the sorrow attendant thereon. This assu- 
rance revelation gives ; and would we wish 
to die happy, and have a happy reunion 
with our friends, we must have our hearts 
and conduct ruled according to its dictates, 
contained in the standard of truth. It has 
become fashionable with certain parties to 
despise, or at least neglect, that standard : 
they will have anything but it. Let us, 
however, remind them, that there are few 
fashions at a deathbed ; that at the death- 
bed of friends, or their own, this question 
will either be forced upon their minds, or 
become a subject of delight. Better, far 
better, then, it must be to prepare for it 
now, as the Bible directs, than, by waiting 
" till a more convenient season," we find 
ourselves involved in confusion, misery, 
and despair. 

Were we inclined, we might profitably 
contrast authenticated " death-scenes" of 
the two parties, and show of which it 
might be truly said, " The death of that 
man is peace." We think, however, 
enough has at present been said to show 
how paramount the influence of religion 
is at the death of friends — how paramount 
it is to the peace and consolation of the 
mourner ; and we may, therefore, easily 
deduce the necessity of religion in prepar- 
ing us for that solemn period when we 
must struggle with the last foe. If, at 
that time, as during our lives, the benign 
influence of religion be exhibited, we will 
leave an impression on the memory of our 
friends never to be effaced, which will 
whisper with a " still small voice" amid 
the noise and tumult of the world — " Go 
ye and do likewise." 

Light. — At the depth of seven hundred 
and twenty feet through sea-water, accord- 
ing to Bougour, light ceases to be trans- 
mitted ; and probably at three times that 
depth there is perpetual darkness. 



The extreme importance to all com- 
mercial countries of obtaining a ready ac- 
cess to the rich and productive countries ! 
of the east, has from the earliest dawn of 
European civilization \ed to efforts for its 
accomplishment. To the difficulties ex- 
perienced in their oriental trade by the 
Venetians and Genoese we owe the dis- 
covery of America by Columbus ; but 
though a continent was found, the object 
sought was not attained. Since that time 
repeated and even yet continued endeav- 
ors have been made to discover a north- 
west passage, Avhich for England would 
be the most advantageous, giving her a 
direct entrance by the North Pacific at 
once to her colonial possessions in North 
America, and her establishments in India, 
China, and Australasia. Of any such 
passage, practically useful for commercial 
purposes, there now seems but^ little prob- 
ability. Failing in this point, modern en- 
terprise has turned its attention to effect- 
ing by art what appears to have been de- 
nied by nature. The narrow strip of 
land, uniting what may be called the two 
continents, north and south, of America, 
extends from 77° W., the east end of the 
gulf of Darien, to 83° V/., St. Juan de 
Nicaragua, a length, measuring along the 
curve, of above five hundred miles, and 
lies between the parallels of 7° 20' and 
go 45/ ]\j_ if^t., Avith a breadth varying from 
thirty miles in Panama proper, to about 
one hundred miles in the province of Ve- 
ragua, which forms the western part of the 
neck. Any transit across this narrow 
strip, available for commercial purposes, 
would be of much benefit, and a navigable 
passage through it would enable European 
vessels to avoid the long and dangerous 
course round Cape Horn to all the coun- 
tries bordering on the Pacific ; and facili- 
tate their route to China and the East In- 
dies by availing themselves of the trade- 
winds, and escaping the doubling of the 
Cape of Good Hope ; while to the United 
States which border on the Atlantic the 
advantage would be still greater. The 
passage sought for by Columbus would be 
in fact accomplished. 



J||il| |i 

**^ JvlAvJil 

wmkW'^ 'Sriil! 



The first attempt of this nature dates 
as far back as 1695, when the Scottish 
parUament passed an act incorporating a 
company with extensive privileges, at the 
solicitation of one Paterson to form a set- 
tlement on the isthmus of Darien, into 
which scheme the Scottish nation entered 
with more than their usual enthusiasm. 
Paterson " considered that isthmus as a 
place where a good settlement might be 
made, or rather two settlements, for he 
proposed establishing a town and block- 
house on the side of the Atlantic, and an- 
other over against it in Panama bay, on 
the shores of the Pacific, from which con- 
jointly a trade might be opened both with 
the West Indies and the east." In 1698, 
1,200 men sailed from Leith roads to form 
this settlement, and in October they land- 
ed at Acta, in a convenient harbor, one 
of the sides of which was formed by a 
long narrow neck of land. This neck of 
land they cut through, and, having thus 
formed a sort of island, they erected upon 
it their little fort, which they christened 
New St. Andrew's, or, according to other 
accounts, New Edinburgh. Some forty or 
fifty guns were landed from the ships and 
planted round the fort. On the opposite 
side of the commodious harbor there was 
a mountain commanding a very extensive 
view both seaward and landward, and here 
they erected a signal-house, and placed in 
it a corps of quick-sighted Highlanders to 
give notice of the approach of any hostile 
force. The first public act of the infant 
colony was a declaration of freedom of 
trade and of religion to all nations. This 
great and ennobling idea, which as yet 
had not been acted upon by any of the 
English colonies in the new world, with 
the curious exception of that of Maryland, 
planted by the catholic Lord Baltimore, 
seems to have originated with Paterson, 
who, whatever were his birth and educa- 
tion, possessed an enlightenment and lib- 
erality really extraordinary, and notions 
about commerce and conscience which 
had hitherto been confined to a few spec- 
ulative and inoperative philosophers. Acta, 
or New St. Andrew's, was admirably sit- 
uated on the northern coast of the isthmus 
of Darien or Panama, about midway be- 
tween Puerto Bello and Carthagena, being 
about fifty leagues distant from either 

natural harbor 
receiving the greatest 

town. The magnificent 
was capable of 

fleets, and was defended from storms by 
numerous islands and islets. On the 
other side of the isthmus, the little-fre- 
quented and unoccupied shores of the 
Pacific were indented with bays and har- 
bors equally commodious : but the land 
communication from sea to sea lay over 
rough and lofty mountains, and through 
wild forests ; the river Santa Maria, which 
ran across a great part of the isthmus into 
the South sea, was scarcely navigable by 
canoes, except at certain seasons of the 
year, and for short distances : there was 
almost every variety of natural difficulty 
to overcome ; the whole line was,d 
for ambuscades and hostile surprises, and 
if the Spaniards at any time chose to 
move from the town of Santa Maria or 
Panama, there were passes and places 
where five hundred men might have ar- 
rested the march of five thousand. Sup- 
ported by the power of England, the set- 
tlement might probably have succeeded, 
and ultimately have become important. 
But the English government on the con- 
trary, in reply to the remonstrances of 
Spain, declared that the expedition had 
been undertaken without their sanction, 
and forbade any assistance from or inter- 
course with our West India islands. The 
Spaniards commenced a series of hostile 
attacks, and though the colonists made a 
gallant and protracted resistance, bad food 
soon produced disease ; the climate as- 
sisted in those ravages ; the hardy moun- 
taineers of Scotland perished by dozens 
a day ; and, at last, when the sad residue, 
despairing of succor from their native 
country, took to their ships, there were 
scarcely a hundred men with health and 
strength enough to work them. 

The colony was at length abandoned, 
though not till another detachment, con- 
sisting of thirteen hundred persons had 
been despatched, who, after experiencing 
numerous misfortunes, arrived only in 
time to find the abandoned fortresses, in 
which they ultimately surrendered them- 
selves as prisoners to the Spaniards. In- 
dependently of the hostility naturally to 
be expected from the Spanish settlers, 
Paterson's error was in supposing that a 
transit trade could be profitably carried on 


JUNCTION OF THE ATLANTIC AND PACIFIC OCEANS. rugged roads, in a most unhealthy 
climate, in a comitry almost uninhabited, 
and by adventurers with a limited capital. 
He had concluded that cargoes of goods 
landed at Acta, or New St. Andrew's, 
could easily be transported by land and 
river carriage from sea to sea, and then 
reshipped in the gulf of Panama for all 
the great countries of the east. But the 
streams were found in this part to be 
shallow and unnavigable ; labor, except 
European, not to be procured ; and no 
roads adapted for any burdens, except by 
mules. A village nam.ed Puerto Escoces, 
on the Atlantic side, seems the only ex- 
isting monument of this melancholy un- 

The more modern idea has been that of 
constructing a navigable canal, either by 
cutting through the narrowest part, or, 
taking a longer course, by making the 
streams and lakes subservient to the pur- 
pose. To both these plans there are al- 
most insuperable difficulties, as will be 
evident from a consideration of the nature 
of the country. Though the comparatively 
small width of the isthmus was soon dis- 
covered, and the means v/hich it offered 
to a speedy and easy communication be- 
tween the Atlantic and the Pacific were 
apparent, yet for three hundred years after 
this discovery the natural features of this 
region were entirely unknown. Robert- 
son, in his " History of America," states 
that the isthmus is traversed in all its 
length by a range of high mountains ; and 
it is only of late years that Mr. Lloyd, an 
Englishman, employed in 1827, by Boli- 
var, then president of Columbia, has sur- 
veyed the most eastern and narrowest part 
of it. 

The place where the Andes of South 
America terminate has not been quite as- 
certained. On our maps a mountain is 
laid down, near 8° N. lat., which is called 
the peak of Candelaria, but it is not 
known whether it is connected with the 
Andes or is an isolated summit. There 
are some reasons for supposing that it is 
not connected with that mountain-range. 
But it is certain that west of this moun- 
tain (77° 30' W. long.) no range of hills or 
mountains, not even an isolated elevation 
of moderate height, occurs, and that the 
whole isthmus between the two seas is a 

flat country, only a few feet above high- 
water mark. This low country extends 
westward for more than a hundred miles 
to the western extremity of Mandingo 
bay. The average width of this part of 
the isthmus does not exceed forty miles, 
and opposite Mandingo bay, called also 
the gulf of San Bias, it contracts to less 
than thirty miles. The shores on both 
oceans are rocky, and the whole region 
appears to consist of an immense mass of 
rock. The rocks, however, are covered 
by a thick layer of vegetable mould, and 
are covered with high forest-trees. The 
shores of the Caribbean sea are difficult 
of access for large vessels, being lined 
with numerous small rocky islands called 
keys. Two rivers drain the isthmus. 
They are called respectively Chucunaque 
and Chepo, and rise near 78° 30' W. 
long. The Chucunaque runs east-south- 
east about eighty miles, and, turning west 
by an abrupt bend, falls into the bay of 
San Miguel ': the Chepo or Ballano runs 
west-northwest, and empties itself into 
the gulf of Panama, about twenty-four 
miles east of the town, making a similar 
turn to the south. Both rivers are navi- 
gable for large river-barges as far as the 
places where the great bend occurs. 
With all the advantages which this region 
possesses from its great fertility and the 
vicinity of two great oceans and navigable 
rivers, it is thinly inhabited, and chiefly 
by a tribe of Indians, the Mandingoes, or 
San Bias Indians, who are at constant en- 
mity with the white settlers, though they 
receive in a friendly manner the vessels 
which annually visit the country from 
Jamaica. The whites have only a few 
settlements on the Chepo river, and even 
these are chiefly occupied by negroes. 
The small town of Chepo, above the bend 
of the river of that name, is the most con- 
siderable settlement of the whites, but the 
inhabitants have little communication with 
their neighbors the Mandingoes. The 
scantiness of the population of this region 
is mainly, if not entirely, to be attributed 
to the unhealthiness of the climate. Be- 
ing open on all sides to a vast expanse of 
ocean, every wind brings rain, and thus 
hardly a day passes in which the country 
is not drenched by heavy showers, which 
sometimes last for several days together. 

The surface of the couBtry, not having 
sufficient slope to carry off such an abun- 
dance of moisture, is converted into an im- 
mense swamp. This moisture of the air, 
indeed, maintains a most luxurious vege- 
tation, but the great quantity of vegetable 
matter, which is annually reproduced and 
decomposed, increases the miasma which 
exhales from a swampy soil under the in- 
fluence of a vertical sun. 

At the western extremity of Mandingo 
bay some hills commence, which grad- 
ually attain the elevation of mountains, 
and extend in a continuous chain as far 
west as a line drawn across the isthmus 
from Port Limones to the town of Pana- 
ma, a distance of about sixty miles. These 
hills advance close to the shores of the 
Caribbean sea, where they surround the 
town of Puerto Bello, but they remain a 
few miles distant from the Pacific, and 
are separated from it by a level prairie 
destitute of trees. These hills occupy 
nearly the v/hole width of the isthmus, 
but they are divided longitudinally into 
two ridges, between which lies the valley 
of the river Chagres. The southern ridge 
does not exceed one thousand or eleven 
hundred feet in height, but the northern 
rises much higher, especially east of Pu- 
erto Bello. These hills are generally 
covered with thick and almost impene- 
trable forests. The valley of the river 
Chagres is rather narrow, but the river it- 
self is navigable to a considerable extent. 
The climate in this portion of the isthmus 
differs considerably in the north and in 
the south. At Puerto Bello, on the north- 
ern coast, the rains are almost continual, 
and generally descend in torrents, a cir- 
cumstance which renders that place very 
unhealthy. At Panama, on the shores of 
the Pacific, the seasons are regular. In 
April the weather becomes cloudy about 
noon, but after drizzling for half an hour it 
clears up. In May, from nine to eleven 
o'clock, it is dull, with slight rains, but the 
afternoon is fine. In June there is rain 
every morning and evening, but the mid- 
dle of the day is fair. As the season ad- 
vances the rains gradually increase, and 
are incessant during July, August, Sep- 
tember, and October. In November the 
nights are always rainy and cloudy, but 
during the days the sky begins to break. 

In December the weather improves, and 
in January, February, and March, a show- 
er of rain is as uncommon as a beam of 
sunshine in the other season of the year 
The valley of the Chagres seems to par- 
take rather of the climate of Panama than 
of that of Puerto Bello. At Panama the 
thermometer, in the rainy season, is 82° 
during the night, and 87° during the day ; 
but the winds being at that season varia- 
ble and cool, there is no stagnation in the 
atmosphere, though the rain is incessant. 
In the dry season the temperature rises to 
90° and even 93° in the daytime, and the 
days are very sultry, inasmuch as calms 
prevail at that season ; but the land-winds 
at night are cool, coming chiefly from the 
adjacent mountains ; and the climate may 
be called generally healthy, though a con- 
siderable mortality sometimes occurs. 

[To be continued.] 


One thing strikes an observer of nature 
above all others, that whatever animals re- 
quire for the economy of their situation 
upon earth, that they, by the bounty of 
Providence, possess. And there seems to 
be no other limit to the faculties bestowed 
upon the various tribes ; whatever any par- 
ticular species imperatively needed, in or- 
der that it might fulfil its destiny here, is 
enjoyed by that species. It is very obvi- 
ous, considering the way in which many 
animals live, and particularly their social 
habits, that a means of communicating ideas 
from one individual to others was among 
the requisites of their situation : according- 
ly, all such animals have a means of com- 
municating ideas ; have, in short, what we 
comprehensively call language. Perhaps 
there is no species altogether deficient in 
this power ; but of this we can not speak 
with any degree of certainty ; we only can 
say that there is a considerable number of 
the families of the inferior animals which 
can be proved to possess and use a means 
of communicating their ideas. Some of 
these means we can distinguish and under- 
stand ; others are as yet beyond our obser- 
vation, and are of so mysterious a charac- 



ter, that even conjecture as to what they 
consist of is set at defiance. 

The insects are the lowest tribes in 
which a communication of ideas has as 
yet been detected. Rather unexpectedly, 
this does not seem to be connected with 
any of the numerous kinds of sound stated- 
ly emitted by insects, but to consist chiefly, 
at least, of silent signs made through the 
medium of the sense of touch. In ants and 
bees, it has bee;i observed to consist sim- 
ply in a mutual rubbing of the antennae, or 
feelers, an organ of wonderful delicacy of 
organization, and which may comprehend 
a far greater variety of sensation than we 
have any idea of from what we feel in our 
own frames. These remarks, however, are 
not exclusive of the fact, that, on some par- 
ticular occasions, a special sound is em- 
ployed by insects to convey a certain kind 
of intelligence. One striking instance of 
a communication of intelligence by ants 
was observed by Franklin. He had a pot 
of treacle in a cupboard, to which the ants 
found access, and on which they regaled 
themselves very heartily, till he discovered 
them and drove them away. He then, to 
insure the preservation of his treacle, hung 
the pot by a string from the ceiling. It 
chanced that one ant had been left in the 
pot, and this animal he soon after observed 
leave it by the string, and pass along the 
ceiling toward its nest. In less than half 
an hour a great company of ants sallied 
out of their hole, climbed along the ceiling, 
and descending by the string, resumed 
their banquet at the treacle. As one set 
was satisfied, it left the rich repast to give 
place to another, and there was a constant 
passing up and down the string till the 
whole was eaten up. In this case there 
could not be the least doubt that the single 
ant had given information of a means hav- 
ing been left by which they could again 
approach the pot, and this information led 
to the new attack which the colony made 
upon it. 

The possession of language by ants is 
pretty fully*tilustrated by Kirby and Spence 
in their elegant " Introduction to Entomol- 
ogy." — " If you scatter," say they, " the 
ruins of an ant's nest in your apartment, 
you virill be furnished with a proof of their 
language. The ants will take a thousand 
diflerent paths, each going by itself, to in- 

crease the chance of discovery ; they will 
meet and cross each other in all "directions, 
and perhaps will wander long before they 
can find a spot convenient for their reun- 
ion. No sooner does any one discover a 
little chink in the floor, through which it 
can pass below, than it returns to its com- 
panions, and, by means of certain motions 
of its antennee, makes some of them com- 
prehend what route they are to pursue to 
find it, sometimes even accompanying them 
to the spot ; these in their turn become the 
guides of others, till all know which way 
to direct their steps." 

It has been observed of ants, while work- 
ing, that the superintendent will occasion- 
ally make a particular noise by striking his 
antennae against the wall of the nest, when 
the workers emit a sort of hiss, and im- 
mediately begin to exert themselves more 
strenuously. This seems to be a sort of 
call to make the laborers work harder, and 
an answer on their part expressing obedi- 
ence. The same thing has been observed 
in what is called a march of ants : the sol- 
diers standing by make the particular sound 
with the antennae, when the ordinary ants 
answer with a hiss, and immediately in- 
crease their pace. When a military ex- 
pedition is contemplated, spies are previ- 
ously sent out, as if to reconnoitre, and 
bring intelligence. After their return, the 
army assembles, and begins its march tow^ 
ard the place where the spies had been 
reconnoitritig. Upon the march, commu- 
nications are perpetually making between 
the van and rear ; and, when arrived at the 
camp of the enemy, and the battle begins, 
if necessary, couriers are despatched to 
the formicary for reinforcements. It has 
been also observed, that ants can commu- 
nicate an alarm of approaching danger, by 
which the community is put upon its guard ; 
and this signal at once excites the defen- 
sive courage of the neuters, and awakens 
a sense of fear in the males and females, 
who are seen, consequently, retreating to 
the nest as to an asylum. i 

Kirby and Spence thus describe the 
language of ants : " In communicating 
their fear, or expressing their anger, they 
run from one to another in a semicircle, 
and strike with their head cr jaws the 
trunk or abdomen of the ant to which they 
mean to give information of any subject of 



alarm. But those remarkable organs, their 
antennae, are the principal instruments of 
their speech, if it may be so called, sup- 
plying the place both of voice and words. 
When the military ants go upon their ex- 
Deditions, and are out of the formicary, 
previously to setting off, they touch each 
other on the trunk with their antennae and 
forehead : this is the signal for marching ; 
for, as soon as any one has received it, he 
is immediately in motion. When they have 
any discovery to communicate, they strike 
with the antennae and forehead those they 
meet in a particularly impressive manner. 
If a hungry ant wants to be fed, it touches 
with its two antennae, moving them very 
rapidly, those of the individual from which 
it expects its meal ; and not only ants un- 
derstand this language, but even aphides 
and cocci, which are the milch kine of our 
little pismires, do the same, and will yield 
them their saccharine fluid at the touch of 
these imperative organs. The helpless 
larvae, also, of the ants are informed by the 
same means when they may open their 
mouths to receive their food." 

The comnmnications among bees are 
much of the same character as those 
among ants, and the means seem to be 
nearly the same, namely, a particular use 
of the feelers. When a swarm is about 
to go off, scouts are sent out to choose a 
situation , these are observed to hover 
about a particular place for a little while, 
as if considering its eligibility, then re- 
turn, as to communicate the intelligence ; 
after which the swarm goes off, and set- 
tles on the place fixed upon. A wasp has, 
in like manner, been observed to go and 
give information in his nest of any depos- 
ite of honey or food which he had met 
with, when the whole fraternity would 
sally forth, go direct to the place, and par- 
take of the treat. 

It must be remarked, that ants and bees 
are so far peculiar creatures, that they live 
in societies forming a species of common- 
wealth. This mutual relation, and the va- 
rious duties which they have by reason of 
it to perform in concert, make language 
necessary to them ; and language, accord- 
ingly, as we see, they have. It is proba- 
ble that all other animals of their humble 
kind, which form more or less perfect so- 
cieties, also possess some power of im- 

parting their ideas to each other by means 
of regular signs instinctively suggested 
and instinctively understood, and which, 
like other matters of instinct, know no va- 
riation from one generation to another. 
This is probable, because there seems to 
be no other rule on the subject than that, 
where such a power of communicating 
ideas is required in the economy of the 
species, it is given ; but we are not aware 
that there are any ascertained facts which 
entitle us to speak of this as more than 
merely probable. We must ascend out of 
the articulated sub-kingdom, before we find 
any other ascertained instances of the pos- 
session of language by the inferior ani- 

And the first examples that we encoun- 
ter can not, it must be acknowledged, be 
reckoned as a langi.age nearly so perfect 
as that of the above insects. The frogs 
croak at certain periods as a call to the fe- 
male ; but this only expresses a certain 
feeling : the modulations do not represent 
a variety of ideas. We may say nearly 
the same thing of the hiss of the serpent, 
the singing of birds, the lowing of kine, 
the roar of the fiercer animals, and so forth. 
These sounds express a particular feeling, 
but in no other respect can they be con- 
sidered as language. One is the note of 
anger, another of hunger, another of de- 
structiveness. There is <^ne, however, 
which naturalists have remarked as uni- 
versally understood, and this is the signal 
of danger. " The instant that it is uttered, 
we hear the whole flock [of birds], though 
composed of various species, repeat a sep- 
arate moan, and away they all scuttle into 
the bushes for safety ; the reiterated 'twink, 
twink' of the chaffinch is known by every 
little bird as information of some prowling 
cat or weasel. Some give the maternal 
hush to their young, and mount to inquire 
into the jeopardy announced. The wren, 
that tells of perils from the hedge, soon 
collects about her all the various inquisi- 
tive species within hearing, to survey and 
ascertain the object, and add their separate 
fears. The swallow, that shriekirg darts 
in devious flight through the air when a 
hawk appears, not only calls up all the hi- 
rundines of the village, but is instantly 
understood by every finch and sparrow, 
and its warning attended to." The no- 



tice of food, which we so often hear from 
the domestic hen addressed to her strag- 
gling young, and the invitation to gather 
when dispersed, are other parts of speech 
among birds, but which appear to be dif- 
ferent in different species. Buffon thought 
the singing of birds an act of gallant atten- 
tion on the part of the male to his mate, to 
cheer her during the business of hatching ; 
but this is a mere poetical fancy. It certain- 
ly, however, is connected with certain con- 
stitutional changes in the animal, appro- 
priate to the season ; and the melodies of 
the grove, and the flowers of the field — 
two of the most beautiful things in nature, 
everywhere enjoyed in reality and in lit- 
erary allusion — may be considered as 
bound in an exquisite analogy, not less in- 
teresting to the philosopher than the poet, 
being alike glorifications of the passion of 
love. There is, it is well known, great 
variety of song among the feathered tribes, 
but this seems to be simply owing to the 
variety of organization, and not designed 
to express any particular ideas or feelings 
in particular birds. Each gives voice to 
the feelings of the season in its own way, 
as its organs for the time enable it ; and 
the lich notes of the blackbird, and deli- 
cious trills of the nightingale, convey but 
one meaning with the twitter of the spar- 
row, and the monotonous falling third of 
the cuckoo. 

There is, however, even so low as this 
class of animals, a means of communica- 
ting ideas altogether independent of the 
stated and familiar cries and notes. Such 
a conclusion we must needs come to, when 
we know that many anecdotes like the fol- 
lowing could be produced : " An old goose, 
that had been for a fortnight hatching in a 
farmer's kitchen, was perceived on a sud- 
den to be taken violently ill. She soon 
after left the nest, and repaired to an out- 
house, where there was a young goose of 
the first year, which she brought with her 
into the kitchen. The young one imme- 
diately scrambled into the old one's nest, 
sat, hatched, and afterward brought up the 
brood. The old goose, as soon as the 
young one had taken her place, sat down 
by the side of the nest, and soon after died. 
As the young goose had never been in the 
habit of entering the kitchen before, I know 
of no way of accounting for this fact, than 

by supposing that the old one had some 
way of communicating her thoughts and 
anxieties, which the other was perfectly 
able to understand." This is reported to 
Mr. Loudon's Magazine by a gentleman 
named Brew, residing at Ennis, who adds, 
" A sister of mine, who witnessed the 
transaction, gave me the information in 
the evening of the day it happened." 

In the mammalia, the existence of such 
a language is borne out by almost daily 
observation. A bull, seeing a cow stray- 
ing behind the rest of the herd, will go 
toward it, and call something, which caus- 
es the cow to rejoin her companions. We 
have been assured of the truth of the fol- 
lowing incident by a gentleman who wit- 
nessed it, and who says that it agrees with 
many other anecdotes of cattle which he 
has heard : A number of cattle were 
placed together in a field, for the purpose 
of feeding on turnips. Two of the num- 
ber became extremely troublesome to the 
rest, butting at and leaping upon them, and 
seeming to take a malicious pleasure in 
disturbing them in eating — in short, play- 
ing the tyrant over their more peaceable 
companions. This was patiently endured 
for some time ; bnt at length a sort of con- 
ference was held by the peaceable cattle ; 
they literally laid their heads together, and 
seemed to converse on the subject of the 
annoyance to which they were exposed, 
and, we may be allowed to add, on the 
proper means to be adopted for putting a 
stop to it. These cattle were then ob- 
served to make a simultaneous rush at the 
two offensive ones, whom they attacked 
in such spirited style as to drive them 
out of the field. 

Unquestionably there was here some 
species of language employed ; otherwise, 
how could the common sentiment have 
been ascertained, or the uniform movement 
concerted 1 A curious question now arises : 
Has each species or genus its own lan- 
guage, or is there a language common to 
several species or genera ? It would ap- 
pear from the following anecdote, that the 
latter supposition is the true one : " Last 
spring," says Mr. Barker of Bedale, York- 
shire, writing in 1834, "an old mare (she 
has, I believe, completed her twentieth 
year, and has lost an eye) being relieved, 
in consideration of age and infirmity, from 



heavy labor, was turned out in company 
with a cow and four or five heifers into a 
small field at a distance from their former 
companions. The grass in this enclosure 
was not ver}' plentiful, and the adjoining 
pasture being adorned with luxuriant vege- 
tation, and divided by an indifferent fence, 
they frequently took the liberty of trespas- 
sing upon the neighboring property. This, 
indeed, occurred so often, that a watch was 
obliged to be set upon their actions ; and 
one day a singular instance of animal in- 
stinct [intelligence ?] was observed. The 
mare, doubtless tired of staying so long at 
home, made the circuit of the field, with 
a view to escape from her confinement ; 
and having discovered a place suited for 
her exit, she returned to her horned com- 
panions, who were ruminating at a little 
distance, and having approached the cow, 
she gently struck her on the shoulder, first 
with her hoof, and then with her head. 
The cow being roused from her revery, 
the loving friends advanced together to the 
gap, and having jointly reconnoitred it, re- 
turned to the rest, and then, the old mare 
leading the way, the whole company leaped 
over in succession after her." 

The Ettrick Shepherd's anecdote of the 
small dog which, being ill used by a large 
one at an inn, went home and brought a 
friend of superior strength to avenge its 
wrongs, completes our list of illustrations 
for the meantime. To multiply such an- 
ecdotes might become tedious, as a few 
are sufficient to establish the fact that a 
means of communicating ideas and senti- 
ments does exist among the animals infe- 
rior to man. That this language among 
the insect tribes chiefly consists of signs 
by touch, we have seen. Of what nature 
is the language of the mammalia 1 These 
can convey expressions of hunger, impa- 
tience, and some other feelings, by their 
looks and attitudes ; but this is only such 
natural language as we ourselves possess, 
and often employ. They have evidently 
another mode of communicating their ideas, 
in which, as far as can be observed, nei- 
ther sounds nor signs are used. Of what 
nature is this silent speech 1 Who can 
give an answer 1 

In water, sound passes 4,708 feet in a 
second ; in air, from 1,130 to 1,142. 


The space, on which the column given 
in the cut is erected, was once the site 
of a great state-prison, in which through 
four long centuries, any man might be im- 
mured for life at the will of the sovereign, 
or at the instigation of some powerful 
personage. When a prisoner was remo- 
ved to the Bastille, no one could tell how 
long he might remain there. The period 
of his incarceration depended on chances, 
the smiles of a mistress or the frown of a 
court favorite. Many passed thirty years 
of their lives within its walls ; and it is 
recorded of one prisoner that he was re- 
moved to Charenton, a lunatic asylum and 
a prison, after a confinement of fifty-five 
years and five months. Such an abuse 
of power as this has long ceased in Eng- 
land, and can not now be exercised in 
France. It is not uninstructive to mark 
the means by which, in the two countries, 
the liberty of the subject has been secured 
from illegal imprisonment. In England 
this is efiected by the Habeas Corpus 
act, one of the great safeguards of the 
rights and freedom of Englishmen. The 
purport of the great writ of Habeas Cor- 
pus is a command by the courts of com- 
mon law at Westminster to the person 
who detains another to produce the body 
of such a prisoner, and to state the day 
and the cause of his caption, and further 
to submit to and receive whatsoever the 
judge or court awarding the writ shall di- 
rect. At a time when even villeinage 
was not extinct in England, the old writ 
de hotnine replegiando could be resorted to 
in order to deliver a man out of custody, 
by giving security to the sheriff that the 
person detained should be forthcoming to 
answer any charge against him. The 
great mass of the cases arising out of the 
issuing of these writs in the old law books 
relate to the seizure and detention of per- 
sons whom the parties seizing claimed as 
their villeins or serfs. But the writ was 
liable to be made use of as a means of 
evading justice, and hence the privileges 
which it conferred were not easily to be 
obtained, as the legal proceedings were 
naturally surrounded with many diflScul- 
ties. In cases where the crown was con- 
cerned, this writ was also an insufficient 



remedy. In the reign of Charles I., the 
judges of the king's bench decided that 
they could not bail or deliver a prisoner 
committed without any cause assigned in 
cases where he was committed by the 
special command of the king or by the 
lords of the privy council. Not without 
a struggle with the court and the judges 
did the parliament extort an act, in 1641, 
which enacted that by whomsoever a per- 
son might be committed, the courts of 
king's bench or common pleas should, 
within three days after a writ of habeas 
corpus, examine and determine the legal- 
ity of a committal. Still attempts were 
made to fetter the right, when, in 1680, 
another act was passed, which is more 
particularly known as the habeas corpus 
act, and is frequently spoken of as an- 
other magna charta. This act points out 
plainly the method in which the writ is 
obtained. There have been periods of 
alleged danger when the habeas corpus 
act has been suspended ; but these are in 
fact the very times when the statute is 
most necessary. The habeas corpus is 
the protection only of the innocent, not 
the defence of the guilty. It has been 
customary to pass an act of indemnity 
after such suspensions of the act, for the 
protection of those who have acted during 
the suspension. 

The capture of the Bastille by the Pa- 
risians, on the 14th of July, 1789, from 
which day the revolution may truly be 
said to have commenced, led to the speedy 
abolition of the despotism which had filled 
the building with so many victims ; and 
finally, after years of blood and terror, of 
anarchy and the supremacy of tke sword, 
the liberties of the French people appear- 
ed to be established on a firm basis. But 
the last Bourbon kings, like the Stuarts, 
were an infatuated race ; and on Sunday, 
July 25, 1830, the " Moniteur Universel," 
the official journal of all the French gov- 
ernments for the last half-century, publish- 
ed six ordinances, which, if they had not 
been successfully resisted, would have de- 
servedly abased the French people in the 
«5'es of every free nation. The first de- 
clared that no journal or work of less than 
twenty sheets of letter-press shotild ap- 
pear without the royal permission granted 
both to the writers and printers ; and this 

permission was to be renewed every three 
months, and might be revoked at pleasure. 
The second ordinance annulled the elec- 
tions of members of the chamber of dep- 
uties which had just taken place, and 
which had not yet met. The third abro- 
gated the rights of the electoral body, dis- 
franchising three fourths of the former 
constituency, and reducing the number of 
members of the chamber from 430 to 258 ; 
besides making other innovations, all of 
which had a despotic tendency. The 
fourth ordinance merely convoked the 
electoral colleges ; and the remaining two 
nominated to the dignity of councillors of 
state a number of the most unpopular men 
in France, men who had been inimical to, 
and were incapable of comprehending, 
the spirit of a constitutional government. 

In the three days of July the people 
of Paris fought with a spirit which proved 
that they were not unworthy of the liber- 
ties of which so audacious an attempt had 
been made to deprive them. The events 
of these days are so well known, that it is 
not necessary to enter into any details 
concerning them. The number of citi- 
zens killed was 788, and the number of 
wounded 4,500, according to an official 
report of the committee of national re- 
wards. Eighty-five persons were interred 
in front of the Louvre, and seventy in the 
Marche des Innocens ; and others, though 
not in so large a number together, in sev- 
eral other parts of the capital. The ashes 
of 504 of these patriots, removed from 
other places, now repose beneath the Col- 
umn of July, which serves at once as a 
mausoleum and a monument of their de- 

The Place de la Bastille, which wit- 
nessed the first combats of the first revo- 
lution, is in every respect an appropriate 
site for a memorial of the triumph of the 
second. The basement is of white mar- 
ble, supported by blocks of granite ; and 
on one side of the pedestal is a figure 
of a lion passant in very bold relief, and 
underneath is an inscription, of which the 
following is a translation : — 

27, Se, AND 29, 1830. 

At each angle of the pedestal is a figure 

of the Gallic eagle, bearing a wreath of 
oak in its claws. The shaft of the pillar 
consists of metallic cylinders, partly fluted 
and partly enriched with bands bearing 
lions' heads, and their mouths form aper- 
tures for the admission of light and air to 
the staircase in the interior of the column. 
The spaces into which these bands divide 
the column are filled with the names of 
504 combatants who were killed during 
the three days. It is said that the Co- 
rinthian capital, over which is a railed 
gallery, is the largest piece of bronze 
ever cast, being sixteen feet and a half 
wide. It is ornamented with lions' heads, 
and figures of children bearing garlands. 
A gilt globe surmounts the capital, on 
which stands a colossal figure, also gilt, 
representing the genius of liberty, on tip- 
toe, as if in the act of taking flight, with a 
torch in his right hand, and in his left a 
broken chain. The Parisians tell us that 
the attitude of the figure is significant of 
the propagandism of French political 
ideas ; but it might also mean that liberty 
was on the point of deserting the fort-en- 
cinctured capital of France. The column 
is of the composite order, and is about 
163 feet high (being 39 feet less than the 
London monument), with a diameter of 12 
feet. The cost of the whole work was 
48,000/., or about $240,000, and the 
weight of metal used was above 725 tons. 
The staircase in the interior, by which 
an ascent may be made to the top, is sus- 
pended on a new principle, and vibrates 
with every blast of wind. The view from 
the top is very interesting. Within the 
marble pedestal there is a circular corri- 
dor, paved with white marble, relieved 
with stars and crosses of black marble, 
and lighted by windows of stained glass ; 
and the descent of a few steps leads to 
the funereal vaults, which are closed by 
four cast iron doors, richly ornamented 
with tracery. Each vault contains a sar- 
cophagus, fourteen yards in length, one in 
width, and one deep, in which the re- 
mains of the bodies have been deposited. 
The enclosure around the pedestal is flag- 
ged with white marble. The column was 
"inaugurated" in July, 1840. 

The bulk of the sun is 1,300,000 times 
greater than that of the earth. 


Moral and physical courage are gen- 
erally understood and appreciated, but 
there is a kindred attribute which may be 
denominated mental courage ; and the for- 
mer are not more indispensable in the 
common relations of life, than is the latter 
to the successful pursuit of knowledge and 
discipline of the mind. It implies a hearty 
readiness and alacrity to all kinds of in- 
tellectual work, with the power and the 
will to apply the forces of the mind with 
steady and persevering vigor, in mastering 
difficulties. Much may doubtless be done 
to promote this habit of mind, by a judi- 
cious method of instruction, — the true ob- 
ject of which is, not to relieve the student 
of the necessity of labor, but to direct and 
stimulate him to the use of his own pow- 
ers. Carsten Niebuhr, the celebrated 
traveller, and father of the history of 
Rome, made the following remark to his 
son on the subject : " No man deserves to 
learn anything which he does not princi- 
pally work out for himself ; and the busi- 
ness of the instructer is to help the scholar 
out of otherwise inexplicable difficul- 

The formation of this habit must, how- 
ever, depend principally on the student 
himself. And in order to acquire it, the 
mind should grapple vigorously with such 
difficulties as occur, before extraneous aid 
of any kind is. called in. The student 
must expect to climb the hill, and swim 
the flood, and thread the forest, in his in- 
tellectual progress, as well as to walk 
over the smooth and level plain. And 
when he comes upon such difficulties, he 
should not too readily take the arm of an- 
other, but boldly and patiently try his own 
strength upon it first. If he succeed in 
mastering it, the acquisition will be much 
more secure and valuable to him. It is 
these very difficulties, with the patient la- 
bor they require which principally educate 
the mind, that ia, which call out and teach 
it to master and apply its forces : it is these 
difficulties, whether of language or of sci- 
ence, which the mind combats in the course 
of education, which produce the acuteness 
and the ready command of his resources 
that distinguish the scholar and the think- 
er from the uneducated man. 





" And who be ye who rashly dare, 
To chase in woods the forest child? 
To hunt the panther to his lair — 
The Indian in his native wild !" 

Old Ballad. 

The American reader, if at all curious 
about the early history of his country, has 
probably he-ard of that famous expedition, 
undertaken by the vicegerent of Louis 
XI v., the governor-general of New France, 
against the confederated Five Nations of 
New York j an expedition which, though 
it carried with it all the pomp and cir- 
cumstance of European warfare into their 
wild-wood haunts, was attended with no 
adequate results, and had but a momentary 
effect in quelling the spirit of the tameless 

It was on the fourth of July, 1696, that 
the commander-in-chief, the veteran Count 
de Frontenac, marshalled the forces at La 
Chine, with which he intended to crush 
for ever the powers of the Aganuschion 
confederacy. His regulars were divided 
into four battalions of two hundred men 
each, commanded respectively by three 
veteran leaders, and the young Chevalier 
de Grais. He formed also four battalions 
of Canadian volunteers, efficiently officer- 
ed, and organized as regular troops. The 
Indian allies were divided into three 
bands, each of which was placed under 
the command of a nobleman of rank, who 
had gained distinction in the European 
warfare of France. One was c'^'^^posed 
of the Sault and St. Louis bands, and of 
friendly Abenaquis ; another consisted of 
the Hurons of Loretle and the mountain- 
eers of the north ; the third band was 
smaller, and composed indiscriminately of 
warriors of different tribes, whom a spirit 
of adventure led to embark upon the ex- 
pedition. They were chiefly Ottawas, 
Saukies, and Algonquins, and these the 
Baron de Bekancourt charged himself to 
conduct. This formidable armament was 
amply provisioned, and provided with all 
the munitions of war. Besides pikes, ar- 
quebusses, and other small-arms then in 
use, thsy were furnished with grenades, a 
mortar to throw them, and a couple of 
field-pieces ; which, with the tents and 
other camp equipage, were« transported in 
large batteaux built for the purpose. Nor 

was the energy of their movements un- 
worthy of this brilliant preparation. As- 
cending the St. Lawrence, and coasting 
the shores of Lake Ontario, they entered 
the Oswego river, cut a military road 
around the falls, and carrying their trans- 
ports over the portage, launched them 
anew, and finally debouched with their 
whole flotilla upon the waters of Ononda- 
ga lake. 

It must have been a gallant sight to be- 
hold the warlike pageant floating beneath 
the primitive forest which then crowned 
the hills around that lovely water. To 
see the veterans who had served under 
Turenne, Vauban, and the great Conde, 
marshalled with pike and cuiras beside 
the half-naked Huron and Abenaquis ; 
while young cavaliers, in the less warlike 
garb of the court of the magnificent Louis, 
moved with plume and mantle amid the 
dusky files of wampum-decked Ottawas 
and Algonquins. Banners were there 
which had flown at Steenkirk and Lan- 
den, or rustled above the troopers that 
Luxemburgh's trumpets had guided to 
glory when Prince Waldeck's battalions 
were borne down beneath his furious 
charge. Nor was the enemy that this 
gallant host were seeking unworthy of 
those whose swords had been tried in 
some of the most celebrated fields of Eu- 
rope. " The Romans of America," as the 
Five Nations have been called by more 
than one writer, had proved themselves 
soldiers, not only by carrying their arms 
among the native tribes a thousand miles 
away, and striking their enemies alike 
upon the lakes of Maine, the mountains 
of Carolma, and the prairies of the Mis- 
souri ; but they had already bearded one 
European army beneath the walls of Que- 
bec, and shut up another for weeks within 
the defences of Montreal, with the same 
courage that, a half a century later, van- 
quished the battalions of Dieskau upon the 
banks of Lake George. 

Our business, however, is not with the 
main movements of this army, which, we 
have already mentioned, were wholly un- 
important in their results. The aged 
Chevalier de Frontenac was said to have 
other objects in view besides the political 
motives for the expedition, which he set 
forth to his master the Grand Monarque. 



Many years previous, when the Five 
Nations had invested the capital of New 
France and threatened the extermination 
of that thriving colony, a beautiful half- 
blood girl, whose education had been 
commenced under the immediate auspices 
of the governor-general, and in whom, 
indeed, M. de Frontenac was said to have 
a parental interest, was carried off, with 
other prisoners, by the retiring foe. Every 
effort had been made in vain during the 
occasional cessations of hostilities between 
the French and the Iroquois, to recover 
this child ; and though, in the years that 
intervened, some wandering Jesuit from 
time to time averred that he had seen the 
Christian captive living as the contented 
wife of a young Mohawk warrior, yet the 
old nobleman seems never to have de- 
spaired of reclaiming his " nut-brown 
daughter." Indeed, the chevalier must 
have been impelled by some such hope 
when, at the age of seventy, and so feeble 
that he was half the time carried in a lit- 
ter, he ventured to encounter the perils of 
an American wilderness, and place him- 
self at the head of the heterogeneous 
bands which now invaded the country of 
the Five Nations under his conduct. 

Among the half-breed spies, border 
scouts, and mongrel adventurers, that fol- 
lowed in the train of the invading army, 
was a renegade Fleming of the name of 
Hanyost. This man, in early youth, had 
been made a sergeant-major, when he de- 
serted to the French ranks in Flanders. 
He had subsequently taken up a military 
grant in Canada, sold it after emigrating, 
and then, making his way down to the 
Dutch settlements on the Hudson, had be- 
come domiciled, as it were, among their 
their allies, the Moha'-^ks, and adopted 
the life of a hunter. Hanyost, hearing 
that his old friends, the French, were 
making such a formidable descent, did 
not now hesitate to desert his more recent 
acquaintances, and offered his services 
as a guide to Count de Frontenac the mo- 
ment he entered the hostile country. It 
was not, however, mere cupidity, or the 
habitual love of treachery, which actuated 
the base Fleming in this instance. Han- 
yost, in a difficulty with an Indian trap- 
per, which had been referred for arbitra- 
ment to the young Mohawk chief, Kiodago 

(a settler of disputes), whose cool courage 
and firmness fully entitled him to so dis- 
tinguished a name, conceived himself ag- 
grieved by the award which had been 
given against him. The scorn with which , 
the arbitrator met his charge of unfairness 
stung him to the soul, and fearing the arm 
of the powerful savage, he had nursed the 
revenge in secret, whose accomplishment 
seemed now at hand. Kiodago, ignorant 
of the hostile force which had entered his 
country, was off with his band at a fishing 
station, or summer-camp, among the wild 
hills about Konnedieyu ;* and, when Han- 
yost informed the commander of the 
French forces that by surprising this par- 
ty, his long-lost daughter, the wife of Kio- 
dago, might be once more given to his 
arms, a small, but efficient force was in- 
stantly detached from the main body of 
the army to strike the blow. A dozen 
musketeers, with twenty-five pikemen, led 
severally by the Baron de Bekancourt and 
the Chevalier de Grais, the former hav- 
ing the chief command of the expedition, 
were sent upon this duty, with Hanyost 
to guide them to the village of Kiodago. 
Many hours were consumed upon the 
march, as the soldiers were not yet habit- 
uated to the wilderness ; but just before 
dawn on the second day, the party found 
themselves in the neighborhood of the In- 
dian village. 

The place was wrapped in repose, and 
the two cavaliers trusted that the surprise 
would be so complete, that their comman- 
der's daughter must certainly be taken. 
The baron, after a careful examination of 
the hilly passes, determined to head the 
onslaught, while his companion in arms, 
with Hanyost to mark out his prey, should 
pounce upon the chieftain's wife. This 
being arranged, their followers were warn- 
ed not to injure the female captives while 
cutting their defenders to pieces, and then 
a moment being allowed for each man to 
take a last look at the condition of his 
arms, they were led to the attack. 

The inhabitants of the fated village se- 
cure in their isolated situation, aloof from 
the war-parties of that wild district, had 
neglected all precaution against surprise, 

• Since corrupted into " Canada ;" Beautiful Wa- 
ter : probably so called from its amber color — now 
Trenton Falls. . 



and were buried in sleep when the whiz- 
zing of a grenade, that terrible, but now 
superseded engine of destruction, roused 
them from their slumbers. The missil«, 
to which a direction had been given that 
carried it in a direct line through the main 
row of wigwams which formed the little 
street, went crashing among their frail 
frames of basket-work, and kindled the 
dry mats stretched over them into instant 
flames. And then, as the startled warriors 
leaped all naked and unarmed from their 
blazing lodges, the French pikemen, wait- 
ing only for a volley from the musketeers, 
followed it up with a charge still more fa- 
tal. The wretched savages were slaugh- 
tered like sheep in the shambles. Some 
overwhelmed with dismay sank unresist- 
ing upon the ground, and covering up 
their heads after the Indian fashion when 
resigned to death, awaited the fatal stroke 
without a murmur ; others, seized with a 
less benumbing panic, sought safety in 
flight, and rushed upon the pikes that 
lined the forest's paths around them. 
Many there were, however, who, schooled 
to scenes as dreadful, acquitted themselves 
like warriors. Snatching their weapons 
from the greedy flames, they sprang with 
irresistible fury upon the bristling files o^ 
pikemen. Their heavy war-clubs beat 
down and splintered the fragile spears of 
the Europeans, whose corslets, ruddy 
with the reflected fires mid which they 
they fought, glinted back still brighter 
sparks from the hatchets of flint which 
crashed against them. The fierce veter- 
ans pealed the charging cry of many a 
well-fought field in other climes ; but wild 
and high the Indian whoop rose shrill 
above the din of conflict, until the hover- 
ing raven in mid air caught up and an- 
swered that discordant shriek. 

De Grais, in the meantime, surveyed 
the scene of action with eager intentness, 
expecting each moment to see the paler 
features of the Christian captive among 
the dusky females who ever and anon 
sprang shrieking from the blazing lodges, 
and were instantly hurled backward into 
the flames by fathers and brothers, who 
even thus would save them from the hands 
that vainly essayed to grasp their distracted 
forms. The Mohawks began now to wage 
a more successful resistance, and just 

when the fight was raging hottest, and 
the high-spirited Frenchman, beginning to 
despair of his prey, was about laun^ihing 
into the midst of it, he saw a tall warrior 
who had hitherto been forward in the con- 
flict, disengage himself from the melee, and 
wheeling suddenly upon a soldier, who 
had likewise separated from his party, 
brain him with a tomahawk, before he 
could make a movement in his defence. 
The quick eye of the young chevalier, too, 
caught a glance of another figure, in pur- 
suit of whom as she emerged with an in- 
fant in her arms, from a lodge on the fur- 
ther side of the village, the luckless 
Frenchman had met his doom. It was 
the Christian captive, the wife of Kioda- 
go, beneath whose hand he had fallen. 
That chieftain now stood over the body 
of his victim, brandishing a war-club 
which he had snatched from a dying In- 
dian near. Quick as thought, De Grais 
levelled a pistol at his head, when the 
track of the flying girl brought her di- 
rectly in his line of sight, and he with 
held his fire. Kiodago, in the meantime, 
had been cut off" from the rest of his peo- 
ple by the soldiers, who closed in upon 
the space which his terrible arm had a 
moment before kept open. A cry of ag- 
ony escaped the high-souled savage, as 
he saw how thus the last hope was lost. 
He made a gesture, as if about to rush 
again- into the fray, and sacrifice his life 
with his tribesmen ; and then perceiving 
how futile must be the act, he turned on 
his heel, and bounded after his retreating 
wife, with arms outstretched, to shield her 
from the dropping shots of the enemy. 

The uprising sun had now lighted up 
the scene, but all this passed so instanta- 
neously that it was impossible for De 
Grais to keep his eye upon the fugitives 
amid the shifting forms that glanced con- 
tinually before him ; and when, accom- 
panied by Hanyost and seven others, he 
had got fairly in pursuit, Kiodago, who 
still kept behind his wife, was far in ad- 
vance of the chevalier and his party. 
Her forest training had made the Christian 
captive as fleet of foot as an Indian maid- 
en. She heard, too, the cheering voice 
of her loved warrior behind her, and 
pressing her infant in her arms she urged 
her flight over crag and fell, and soon 



reached the head of a rocky pass, which 
it would take some moments for any 
but an American forester to scale. But 
the indefatigable Frenchmen are urg- 
ing their way up the steep ; the cry of 
pursuit grows nearer as they catch a 
sight of her husband through the thickets, 
and the agonized wife finds her onward 
progress prevented by a ledge of rock 
that impends above her. But now again 
Kiodago is by her side ; he has lifted his 
wife to the cliff above, and placed her in- 
fant in her arms ; and already, with re- 
newed activity, the Indian mother is 
speeding on to a cavern among the hills, 
well known as a fastness of safety. 

Kiodago looked a moment after her re- 
treating figure, and then coolly swung 
himself to the ledge which commanded 
the pass. He might now easily have 
escaped his pursuers ; but as he stepped 
back from the edge of the cliff, and look- 
ed down the narrow ravine, the vengeful 
spirit of the red man was too strong with- 
in him to allow such an opportunity of 
striking a blow to escape. His tomahawk 
and war-club had both been lost in the 
strife, but he still carried at his back a 
more efiicient weapon in the hands of so 
keen a hunter. There were but three ar- 
rows in his quiver, and the Mohawk was 
determined to have the life of an enemy in 
exchange for each of them. His bow 
was strung quickly, but with as much 
coolness as if there were no exigency to 
require haste. Yet he had scarcely time 
to throw himself upon his breast, a few 
yards from the brink of the declivity, be- 
fore one of his pursuers, more active than 
the rest, exposed himself to the unerring 
archer. He came leaping from rock to 
rock, and had nearly reached the head of 
the glen, when, pierced through and 
through by one of Kiodago's arrows, he 
toppled from the crags, and rolled, clutch- 
ing the leaves in his death-agony, among 
the tangled furze below. A second met a 
similar fate, and third victim would proba- 
bly have been added, if a shot from the 
fusil of Hanyost, who sprang forward and 
caught sight of the Indian just as the first 
man fell, had not disabled the thumb- 
joint of the bold archer, even as he fixed 
his last arrow in the string. Resistance 
seemed now at an end, and Kiodago again 

betook himself to flight. Yet anxious to 
divert the pursuit from his wife, the young 
chieftain pealed a yell of defiance, as he 
retreated in a different direction from that 
which she had taken. The whoop was 
answered by a simultaneous shout and 
rush on the part of the whites ; but the 
Indian had not advanced far before he 
perceived that the pursuing party, now re- 
duced to six, had divided, and that three 
only followed him. He had recognised 
the scout, Hanyost, among his enemies, 
and it was now apparent that that wily 
traitor, instead of being misled by his 
ruse, had guided the other three upon the 
direct trail to the cavern which the Chris- 
tian captive had taken. Quick as thought, 
the Mohawk acted upon the impression. 
Making a few steps within a thicket, still 
to mislead his present pursuers, he bound- 
ed across a mountain torrent, and then 
leaving his foot-marks, dashed in the 
yielding bank, he turned shortly on a rock 
beyond, recrossed the stream, and con- 
cealed himself behind a falling tree, while 
his pursuers passed within a few paces of 
his covert. 

A broken hillock now only divided the 
chief from the point to which he had di- 
rected his wife by another route, and to 
which the remaining party, consisting of 
De Grais, Hanyost, and a French musket- 
eer, were hotly urging their way. The 
hunted warrior ground his teeth with rage 
when he heard the voice of the treacher- 
ous Fleming in the glen below him ; and 
springing from crag to crag, he circled the 
rocky knoll, and planted his foot by the 
roots of a blasted oak, that shot its limbs 
above the cavern, just as his wife had 
reached the spot, and pressing her babe to 
her bosom, sank exhausted among the 
flowers that waved in the moist breath of 
the cave. It chanced that at that very 
instant, De Grais and his followers had 
paused beneath the opposite side of the 
knoll, from whose broken surface the foot 
of the flying Indian had disengaged a 
stone, which crackling among the branch- 
es, found its way through a slight ravine 
into the glen below. The two French- 
men stood in doubt for a moment. The 
musketeer, pointing in the direction whence 
the stone had rolled, turned to receive the 
order of his officer. The chevalier, who 



had made one step in advance of a broad 
rock between thera, leaned upon it, pistol 
in hand, half turning toward his follower ; 
while the scout, who stood furthest out 
from the feteep bank, bending forward to 
discover the mouth of the cave, must 
have caught a glimpse of the sinking fe- 
male, just as the shadowy form of her 
husband was displayed above her. God 
help thee now, bold archer ! thy quiver is 
empty ; thy game of life is nearly up ; 
the sleuth-hound is upon thee ; and thy 
scalp-lock, whose plumes now flutter in 
the bi'eeze, will soon be twined in the 
fingers of the vengeful renegade. Thy 

wife But hold ! the noble savage has 

still one arrow left ! 

Disabled", as he thought himself, the 
Mohawk had not dropped his bow in his 
flight. His last arrow was still griped in 
his bleeding fingers ; and though his stif- 
fening thumb forbore the use of it to the 
best advantage, the hand of Kiodago had 
not lost its power.* The crisis which it 
takes so long to describe, had been real- 
ized by him in an instant. He saw how 
the Frenchmen, inexperienced in wood- 
craft, were at fault ; he saw, too, that the 
keen eye of Hanyost had caught sight of 
the object of their pursuit, and that further 
flight was hopeless ; while the scene of 
his burning village in the distance, in- 
flamed him with hate and fury toward the 
instrument of his misfortunes. Bracing 
one knee upon the flinty rock, while the 
muscles of the other swelled as if the 
whole energies of his body were collected 
in that single effort, Kiodago aims at the 
treacherous scout, and the twanging bow- 
string dismisses his last arrow upon its er- 
rand. The hand of the spirit could 
alone have guided that shaft ! But Wa- 
ne yo smiles upon the brave warrior, and 
the arrow, while it rattles harmless against 
the cuiras of the French officer, glances 
toward the victim for whom it was intend- 
ed, and quivers in the heart of Hanyost ! 
The dying wretch grasped the sword- 
chain of the chevalier, whose corslet 
clanged among the rocks, as the two went 
rolling down the glen together ; and De 
Grais was not unwilling to abandon the 

* The English mode of holding the arrow, as 
represented in the plate, is not common among our 
aborigines, who use the thumb for a purchase. 

pursuit when the musketeer, coming to 
his assistance, had disengaged him, bruis- 
ed and bloody, from the embrace of the 
stifl^'ening corpse. 

What more is there to add. • The be- 
wildered Europeans rejoined their com- 
rades, who were soon after on their march 
from the scene they had desolated ; while 
Kiodago descended from his eyry to col- 
lect the fugitive survivors of his band, 
and, after burying the slain, to wreak a 
terrible vengeance upon their murderers ; 
the most of whom were cut off by him 
before they joined the main body of the 
French army. The Count de Frontenac, 
returning to Canada, died soon afterward, 
and the existence of his half-blood daugh- 
ter was soon forgotten. And — though 
among the dozen old families in the stale 
of New York who have Indian blood in 
their veins, many trace their descent from 
the offspring of the noble Kiodago and his 
Christian wife — yet the hand of genius, 
as displayed in the admirable picture of 
Chapman, has alone rescued from oblivion 
the thrilling scene of the Mohawk's last 




The district situated between Lake On- 
tario and Lake Erie, as it has been long- 
est settled, so also is it the best cultivated 
part of western Canada. ■ The vicinity to 
the two great lakes renders the climate 
more agreeable, by diminishing the sever- 
ity of the winter, and tempering the sum- 
mer heats. Fruits of various kinds arrive 
at great perfection, cargoes of which are 
exported to Montreal, Quebec, and other 
places situated in the less genial parts 
of the eastern province. Mrs. Jameson 
speaks of this district as " superlatively 
beautiful." The only place approaching 
a town in size and the number of inhab- 
itants, from the Falls all along the shores 
of Lake Erie for a great distance, beyond 
even Grand river, is Chippewa, situated 
on the river Welland, or Chippewa, which 
empties itself in the Niagara strait, just 
where the rapids commence and the navi- 


5 "^ 

„ >. 


gation terminates. One of more steam- 
boats run between Cbippewa and Buffalo. 
Chippewa is still but a small village, but 
as it lies immediately on tlie great route 
from the western states of the American 
Union to the Falls of Niag-ara and the 
eastern states, it will probably rise into 

In no country on the face of the globe 
has nature traced out lines of internal 
navigation on so grand a scale as upon 
our American continent. Entering the 
mouth of the St. Lawrence, in its north- 
eastern part, we are carried by that river 
through the great lakes to the head of 
Lake Superior, a distance of nearly nine- 
teen hundred miles. On the south we 
find the Mississippi pouring its waters into 
the gulf of Mexico, within a few degrees 
of the tropics, after a course of three 
thousand two hundred miles. The " Great 
Water," as the name signifies, and its nu- 
merous branches, drain a surface of about 
one million one hundred thousand square 
miles, or an area of about twenty times 
greater than England and Wales. The 
tributaries of the Mississippi equal the 
largest rivers of Europe. The course of 
the Missouri is probably not less than three 
thousand miles. The Ohio winds above 
a thousand miles through fertile countries. 
The tributaries of these tributaries are 
great rivers. The Wabash, a feeder of 
the Ohio, has a course of above five hun- 
dred miles, four hundred of which are 
na-\igable. TVTien the canal is completed 
which will unite Lake Michigan with the 
head of navigation on the Illinois river, it 
will be possible to proceed by lines of in- 
land na'^dgation from Quebec to New Or- 
leans. There is space within the regions 
enjoying these advantages of water com- 
munication, acid already peopled by the An- 
glo-Saxon race, for five hundred millions 
of the human race, or more than double 
the population of Europe at the present 
time. Imagination can not conceive the 
new influences which will be exercised on 
the affairs of the world when the great 
valley of the ^Mississippi, and the conti- 
nent from Lake Superior to New Orleans, 
is thronged with population. In the val- 
ley of the Mississippi alone there is abun- 
dant room for a population of a hundred 

The line of navigation by the St. Law- 
rence did not extend beyond Lake Onta- 
rio until the Welland canal was construct- 
ed. This important work is fortv-two 
miles long, and admits ships of one hun- 
dred and twenty five tons, which is about 
the average tonnage of the trading vessels 
on the lakes. The Niagara strait is near- 
ly parallel to the Welland canal, and more 
than one third of it is not navigable. 
The canal, by opening the communication 
between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, has 
conferred an immense benefit on all the 
districts west of Ontario. The great Erie 
canal has been still more beneficial, by 
connecting the lakes with New York and 
the Atlantic by the Hudson river, which 
the canal joins after a course of three 
hundred and sixty-three miles. The ef- 
fect of these two canals was quickly per- 
ceptible in the greater activity of com- 
merce on Lake Erie, and the Erie canal 
has rendered this lake the srreat line of 
transit from New York to the western 


Medical practice is generally debased 
by the less worthy of its professors, but 
the pubKc are also to blame for much of 
its errors. "VVTiether as a natural result 
of eagerness to see something done for the 
relief of their sick friends, or as a conse- 
quence of habits handed down from igno- 
rant times, there is a very general preju- 
dice against all practice which does not 
involve a liberal exhibition of medicine. 
It must of course often be that only a 
careful study of the case, directions for 
the proper care of the patient, and a su- 
pervision of the treatment which he re- 
ceives, is all that is properly required of 
a medical man. Medicines mav not be 
required, or may be calculated to produce 
injurious effects, even in the smallest 
quantities. But when the medical man. 
finds that procedure such as he believes to 
be necessary is unfavorably required by 
those who caU him in, and that, if he per- 
sists in it, they will discharge him and 
call another, he is very apt to give way, 



and order a few medicines such as he be- 
lieves may do the least possible harm. 
He ought not to take this course ; but the 
temptation is strong, and a regard to his 
own interest probably carries the day. 
Thus the practice of medicine is vitiated, 
the minds of practitioners are depraved, 
and the character of the whole profession 
is lowered. 

The evil of much medicine-giving is 
greatly more prevalent in England than in 
our own country, a consequence apparent- 
ly of the custom of the former country 
with regard to the practice of paying for 
medicine furnished, and not for attendance. 
The practitioners, finding they can only 
be paid for a visit if they order a draught, 
or box of pills, or set of powders, pre- 
scribe such articles accordingly, whether 
needed or not ; the medicines are taken 
as a matter of course. Thus a prejudice 
is formed, to the effect that from illness 
of any kind medicine is inseparable, and 
an Englishman is very apt to take pow- 
ders and pills on the slightest experience 
of an unpleasant sensation, or perhaps 
for no sensation of the kind, but only to 
prevent illness. Accordingly, an enor- 
mous amount of medicine is consumed 
needlessly in England. In London there 
are pill-warehouses like castles. Large 
fortunes are realized by patent medicines 
of the most doubtful character, and the 
public health is by these means undoubt- 
edly much injured. The Scotch, how- 
ever, have never had any mode of medi- 
cal practice of this kind among them. 
Their medical men are generally paid for 
attendance. They therefore are not so 
apt as the English to think a practitioner 
inattentive or inactive when he orders no 
medicine ; and they are a people not at all 
disposed to take doses at any time except 
for strong and compelling causes. 

Of a great many anecdotes told to us 
by one well acquainted with English 
medical practice, we shall select one as 
an illustration of the extent of prejudice 
existing upon this subject, and its effects 
in corrupting practitioners. An elderly 
lady had received a hurt in her arm, which 
required the attendance of a medical prac- 
titioner residing at two or three miles' 
distance. He dressed it about twenty 
times, and saw it completely healed. Now 

was his time to consider how he should 
be paid. " My only chance," said he to 
himself, " is to begin ordering medicine." 
He therefore affected to think unfavorably 
of the appearance of the skin of her arm : 
it betokened a bad state of the blood. " I 
shall send you something for it," said he. 
He now began a course of medicine, to 
which the old lady very willingly submit- 
ted ; and at length when it amounted to 
nine pounds, he admitted she was well, 
and sent in his bill. When he next call- 
ed, she told him she had got the bill, and 
was wishing to pay it ; " but I think," 
said she, " you must have surely commit- 
ted a mistake in drawing it out." " What 
seems wrong, ma'am ?" inquired he. "If 
there be any error, of course we can eas- 
ily rectify it." " Oh, why, you have nine 
pounds here for medicine — that is all very 
well — I have had that. But here you 
have three pounds ten for dressing my arm. 
Now, you know, I had nothing there. 
You were only put to a little trouble, 
which was the same as nothing. I can 
not understand this part of your bill at all." 
" Oh, very well," said he ; " if you think 
so, we'll deduct the charge for dressing." 
It is needless to add that the balance was 
ample remuneration for his services as 
well as his medicines. 

A judicious law has lately been passed 
to enable practitioners under certain regu- 
lations to charge for attendance as well as 
for medicine. Let us endeavor to con- 
vince all who need such knowledge, that 
in a vast number of cases of illness, the 
only thing required is right disposal and 
treatment of the patient, for the direction 
of which medical skill is as necessary as 
for the dispensation of therapeutics. This 
skill has cost its possessor much time and 
money ; it is therefore as well entitled to 
its reward when only employed in giving 
needful directions, as when prescribing 
medicines. Let no one suppose that a 
medical attendant is doing nothing when 
he does not dose, or give a great many or- 
ders. He often does his duty best by 
doing nothing ; and even for this, sup- 
posing him to act with judgment and 
conscientiousness, he is fully entitled to 
his remuneration. 

A good man is just even in little things. 





Before the characters of animals were 
rigidly investigated, as they have latterly 
been by men of science, it is not wonderful 
that they should have been misunderstood 
in many instances, and thus become the 
subject of superstitious notions. Even 
now, when the supernatural is generally 
abandoned, s'ome of these superstitious 
notions may be said to have a sort of twi- 
light existence in the form of antipathies 
and suspicions, the result of which to the 
animals themselves is far from favorable, 
while it is, to say the least of it, discred- 
itable to mankind. We propose here to 
review the superstitions of this class gen- 
erally, as a curious chapter in the natural 
history of the human mind, and in doing 
so, to lay particular stress on such notions 
as tend in any degree to encourage cru- 
elty or unreasonable fears. 

There are several animals, perfectly in- 
nocent toward man, which have obtained 
an evil reputation, from apparently no 
other cause than that which formerly ren- 
dered the aged of the female sex of our 
own race the objects of superstitious dread 
— namely, their unlovely aspect and soli- 
tary mode of life. . Such are the owl and 
the raven, both of them, time out of mind, 
proclaimed by man to be unlucky birds — 
birds of evil omen — and so forth. The 
owl was so reckoned among the Ro- 
mans : — 
" Ignavus bubo, dirum mortalibus omen." — Ovid. 

[Ill-omened in his form, the unlucky fowl 
Abhorred by men, and called a screeching owL] 

Virgil speaks in like manner of the fatal 
prognostications of the crow : — 

" Saspe sinistra cava praedixit ab ilice comix." 

[And the hoarse raven, on the blasted bough, 
By croaking from the left presaged the coming 

This great nation even had officers — of- 
ficers, too, selected from the patrician or 
aristocratic class — one of whose duties it 
was to study the omens of the owl, crow, 
and other birds, and interpret them to the 
people — man thus placing himself, it may 
fairly be said, into a position meaner than 
that of the humble animals which were 
the subjects of their observations. But- 

ler, the poet, has touched off this " insti- 
tution" of the masters of the ancient 
world : — 

" The Roman senate, when within 
The city walls an owl was seen, 
Did cause their clergy with lustrations 
(Our synod calls humiliations) 
The round-faced prodigy t'avert, 
From doing town or country hurt." 

The prevalence of this superstition re- 
specting the owl in England is shown 
by the frequent allusions to it in the 
works of our poets — as where Shakspere 
says : — 
" The owl shrieked at thy birth, an evil sign," 

and applies it metaphorically to an inau- 
spicious person : — 

" Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge." 

It can scarcely be necessary to quote the 
equally significant exclamation of Lady 
Macbeth : — 

" The raven himself is hoarse 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under our battlements." 

These notions respecting the owl and ra- 
ven still have a considerable hold of the 
English rustic mind, and cause many most 
superfluous cruelties ; for these creatures 
are doomed to destruction wherever they 
can be found. 

It is the barn owl (^Strix flammea) Avhich 
is thus ill regarded. A solitary mode of 
life, generally among old secluded build- 
ings, a habit of seeking its food at night, 
and its screeching voice, seem to be the 
causes of its bad reputation. A peculiarly 
soft noiseless flight, bringing the bird un- 
der observation without any warning, may 
have also helped to fix its terrible charac- 
ter. The eccentric but benevolent Wa- 
terton gives a whimsical account of an 
effort which he made to counteract the 
common notion in his own place of resi- 
dence. "Up to 1813," he says, "the 
barn owl had a sad time of it at Walton 
Hall. Its supposed mournful notes alarm- 
ed the ancient housekeeper. She knew 
full Avell what sorrow it had brought into 
other houses when she was a young wo- 
man ; and there was enough of mischief 
in the midnight wintry blast, without hav- 
ing it increased by the dismal screams of 
something which people knew very little 



aboi?c, and which everybody said was far 
too busy in the churchyard at night-time. 
Nay, it was a well-known fact, that, if 
anybody were sick in the neighborhood, 
it would be for ever looking in at the win- 
dow, and holding a conversation outside 
with somebody, they did not know whom. 
The gamekeeper agreed with her in every- 
thing that Avas said on this important sub- 
ject ; and he always stood better in her 
books when he had managed to shoot a 
bird of this bad and mischievous family. 
However, in 1813, on my return from the 
wilds of Guiana, having suffered myself, 
and learned mercy, I broke in pieces the 
code of penal laws which the knavery of 
the gamekeeper and the lamentable igno- 
rance of the other servants had hitherto 
put in force, far too successfully, to thin 
the mnnbers of this poor, harmless, un- 
suspecting tribe. On the ruin of the old 
gateway I made a place with stone and 
mortar, about four feet square, and fixed a 
thick oaken stick firmly into it. Huge 
masses of ivy now quite cover it. In a 
month or so after it was finished, a pair 
of barn owls came and took up their 
abode in it. I threatened to strangle the 
keeper if ever, after this, he molested 
either the old birds or their yo-ung ones ; 
and I assured the housekeeper that I 
would take upon myself the whole re- 
sponsibility of all the sickness, wo, and 
sorrow, that the new tenants might bring 
into the hall. She made a low courtesy, 
as much as to say, " Sir, I fall into your 
will and pleasure ;" but I saw in her eye 
that she had made up her mind to have to 
do with things of fearful and portentous 
shape, and to hear many a midnight wail- 
ing in the surrounding woods. I do not 
think that, up to the day of this old lady's 
death, which took place in her eighty- 
fourth year, she ever looked with pleasure 
or contentment on the barn owl, as it flew 
round the large sycamore trees which 
grow near the old ruined gateway." Mr. 
Waterton adds, that the bam owl, so far 
from being in any Avay a noxious, is a 
highly useful bird, on account of the vast 
quantity of mice which it destroys. When 
it has young, it will bring a mouse to its 
nest every twelve or fifteen minutes. 
Some country people think it attacks 
pigeons in their houses, but it only goes 

there for repose, and concealment, when 
its perfectly harmless conduct is fully evi- 
denced by the tranquillity with which the 
pigeons regard it. 

There is the same error respecting the 
crow. The portentous character of this 
bird is probably owing, in the first place, 
to its uncommonly ha^rsh voice, and, sec- 
ondly to its carnivorous habits. Shak- 
spere says of an army : — 

'• Their executors, the knavish crows, 
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour." 

" It has often occurred to me," says an 
observer of nature, " when exploring the 
more inaccessible parts of the British 
mountains (though without any feeling of 
superstitious dread on the occasion), that 
the ravens, whose ' ancient solitary reign' 
I had invaded, uttered their harsh croak, 
as they soared over my head, in expecta- 
tion, as it Avere, of my falling down the 
ravines and precipices, and of their chance 
of becoming my ' executors,' and having 
to feed on my lifeless carcass." Now, 
granting that several of the crow tribe 
gluttonize over dead bodies, whether of 
human beings or of the inferior animals, 
whether of men killed in battle, or men 
accidentally killed in solitary places, what 
harm is there in it 1 Are not these ani- 
mals, on the contrary, performing a useful 
service to the living, in removing what is 
so offensive to sense, and often so inju- 
rious to health ? Justly regarded, the 
crow is an emissary of Providence, which 
ought to call forth feelings of admiration 
toward that great Power, instead of exci- 
ting sentiments of disgust or antipathy 
toward itself. 

We shall vary our theme by adverting 
next to a set of superstitions respecting 
bees, which have an element of beauty in 
them. It is a custom still pretty prevalent 
in the more rural districts of England, to 
inform bees of any death that takes place 
in the family ; and this is done in a for- 
mal manner, a person going with the 
house-key and tapping three times every 
hive, and then whispering the communi- 
cation. It is thought that, if this not 
done, the bees will desert the place, and 
seek out other quarters. For the same 
reason, when the funeral is to take place, 
the bees are put into mourning, by the 
hanging of a piece of black cloth from 



their hives ; and a service of wine and 
cake is, in families of good condition, set 
down for them on 'that occasion. They 
are also made to participate in the family 
rejoicings ; for, when a marriage takes 
place, a triumphant piece of scarlet cloth 
is in like manner hung upon the hives. 
It appears that this custom, if not the oth- 
ers, obtains in Brittany as well as in Eng- 
land. As indications of kind social feel- 
ings toward a class of creatures time out 
of mind the emblems of industry, fore- 
sight, and good regulation, these practices, 
it is submitted, are highly poetical and re- 
deeming. It is only unfortunate that, 
while superstition is sometimes tuus beau- 
tiful, it is most frequently gross and bar- 
barous ; so that it can never form a prin- 
ciple to be depended upon. There is an- 
other notion very prevalent respecting 
bees, that the death of a hive in the pos- 
session of a farmer foretells his speedy 
removal from the place. Perhaps there 
is a natural basis for this svipposition. 
Bees usually die only in very wet unfa- 
vorable seasons : such seasons are inju- 
rious to the farmer, and very apt (at least 
in a country of yearly leases) to lead to 
his removal. 

Several other superstitions about ani- 
mals are probably founded, in like man- 
ner, on natural circumstances. This has 
been remarked by Sir Humphry Davy in 
his Salmonia. To see one magpie, as is 
well known, is held to betoken misfortune. 
Now, there is a natural reason why, to 
the angler at least, it is not well to see a 
single magpie. The fact is, that in cold 
and stormy weather, one magpie alone 
leaves the nest in search of food, the 
other rem.aining sitting upon the eggs or 
young ones, and such weather is unfavor- 
able for the piscatory sport ; whereas in 
fine mild weather, which is the reverse, 
both magpies are at liberty to leave the 
nest together. The notion about the mag- 
pie is thus expressed : — 

" One's sorrow, two's mirth." 
To this is added another line : — 

" Three's a wedding, four's death." 
which, however, is probably no more 
than a postscriptive coinage of the pop- 
ular mind to make out a rhyme. The no- 
tion that rooks always leave their haunt 

near an old house when a death takes 
place in it, may have its origin in fact, 
and the cause may be some sense of an 
unpleasant odor, of which human organs 
are insensible. A naturalist, speaking of 
this superstition, states that a medical 
gentleman of his acquaintance, being in 
attendance upon a lady during her last ill- 
ness, some one observing that she had not 
long to live, said to him, " I wonder 
whether the rooks will leave the rookery 
on this occasion ? they did so on the de- 
cease of the late (the former posses- 
sor), and likewise on that of his brother 
who preceded him." The birds, in the 
present instance, did quit the house, but 
thirty-six hours before the death. 

A few of this class of superstitions 
seem at first sight rather amiable. The 
smallness of the wren, and the repose m 
human generosity shown by the redbreast, 
have disarmed even boys, and established 
an immunity of their nests from plunder. 
The innocence of the dove has also made 
a powerful appeal to the rustic bosom, but 
only to this unexpected effect, that it is 
not good to use its feathers in a bed, as 
they prolong the sufferings of those who 
die upon it. The raven, too, notwith- 
standing its unluckiness, is safe from rus- 
tic fowling-pieces — it is held to be ex- 
tremely unlucky to kill this bird. The 
reason is said to be a consideration of the 
services of the raven to the prophet Elijah, 
when he fled from the rage of Ahab. A 
humane spirit would be thankful for the 
feeling shown in these popular notions, if 
they were consistently supported ; but 
who ev.r heard of any one- sparing a 
blow to the unfortunate ass, from a con- 
sideration of the several remarkable ap- 
pearances which that animal makes in 
Scripture 1 Not even the cross marked 
on its back — as they think, in consequence 
of our Savior having ridden upon an ass 
into Jerusalem — seems to have the least 
effect in obtaining a decent show of hu- 
manity toward this modest though buffeted 
quadruped. The inconsistency of super- 
stition is further shown in the antipathies 
contracted against birds equally harmless 
as any of the above ; for example, the 
yellow-hammer, which is persecuted in 
consequence of an idea that it receives 
three drops of the devil's blood on May 



morning ; the fact being that it is a pretty, 
and also a tame bird, with no harm about 
it whatever. So strong is the prejudice 
against this innocent warbler of our fields, 
that many persons who would not injure 
the nest or young of any other birds, will 
invariably take, and even ill-use, that of 
the poor yellow-hammer. Sailors are 
equally unreasonable with respect to the 
well-known storm petrel. This bird is 
often seen before severe storms, whose 
Htmost rage never seems to disturb it as 
it breasts the waves and faces the blast, 
uttering its low cry of weet, wcet. The 
mariner absurdly considers it as raising 
the storm, which its habits only bring it 
into connexion with, and he execrates it 
accordingly. " As well," says Wilson, 
the American ornithologist, " might they 
curse the midnight lighthouse that star- 
like guides them on their watery way, or 
the buoy that warns them of the sunken 
rocks below." The petrel is in reality a 
monitor of the approach of stormy weath- 
er, perhaps designed to be so by an all- 
wise Providence. 



West of a line drawn from the vicinity 
of Panama to the bay of Limones begins 
the third region of the isthmus, which ex- 
tends westward on the Caribbean sea to 
the rocky island called Escudo de Vera- 
gua, and on the Pacific to the innermost 
corner of the gulf of Parita, a distance of 
about eighty miles. This country exhibits 
different natural features. It is, properly 
speaking, a plain which rises from both 
oceans with a very gentle ascent toward 
the middle of the isthmus. Numerous 
isolated hills, however, rising from three 
hundred to five hundred feet above their 
base, are dispersed over the surface of 
this plain. These hills occur much more 
frequently toward the extremities of the 
region near the mountains of Puerto Bello 
and the table-land of Veragua ; in the 
middle of the region are plains of con- 

siderable extent, especially between the 
towns of Chagres and Chorrera ; on these 
plains some isolated ridges of hills of in- 
considerable height occur. The hills are 
generally covered with trees, but the plains 
and low grounds which surround them are 
savannahs or prairies, destitute of trees, 
but covered with grass, which supplies 
pastvire to numerous herds of cattle and 
horses. Though the vegetation of this 
region is generally much less vigorous 
than in the country further east, there are 
several cultivated tracts, and others which 
may be cultivated. The climate also is 
much more healthy, especially on the 
slope toward the Pacific, which in climate 
and season exactly resembles the country 
surrounding the town of Panama. The 
country along the shores of the Caribbean 
sea is far less healthy, and the season 
much more irregular. Accordingly we 
find that the southern districts are compar- 
atively thickly settled, while the northern 
are nearly uninhabited. The principal 
rivers of this region are the Trinidad and 
the Caymito or Chorrera. The Trinidad 
enters the Chagres about twenty-four 
miles from its mouth, after a course of 
about sixty miles. It rises near the south 
coast, not far from the town of Chorrera, 
and is navigable for a considerable dis- 
tance. Traversing the isthmus in a diag- 
onal line from southwest to northeast, the 
agricultural produce of the more inhabited 
districts is conveyed by this river to Cha- 
gres. The Caymito or Chorrera is formed 
by several petty streams which descend 
from the eastern declivity of the table- 
land of Veragua, and though its course is 
short, it is navigable to the town of Chor- 
rera. There is a harbor at its mouth, but 
the anchorage is bad and exposed. 

West of this region is the table-land 
(mesa) of Veragua. Its eastern ascent is 
formed by projecting mountains of great 
elevation, rising abruptly, and frequently 
exhibiting an almost perpendicular face 
of bare rock. The surface of the table- 
land itself is very imeven, and several 
summits on it rise to a great height. The 
Peak de Veragua is stated to attain nearly 
nine thousand feet above the sea-level. In 
some places, however, there are plains of 
considerable extent. The general eleva- 
tion of this table-land above the sea-level 





■.4^p£4>-' ^/ 


1 1 1 







is supposed to be between three and four 
thousand feet. It approaches the Carib- 
bean sea within a few miles, and is sepa- 
rated from it by a narrow and slightly hilly 
tract. But on the side of the Pacific the 
mountains approach close to the sea, and 
between the gulf of Parita and the bay of 
Montijo project in a wide and mountainous 
peninsula into the Pacific. This penin- 
sula terminates in the capes called Punta 
Mala and Punta Mariata. We are very little 
acquainted with the climate and soil of 
this region, but as it undoubtedly is much 
more populous than the lower part of the 
isthmus, it must be presianed that it is fa- 
vorable to agriculture and to the health of 
the inhabitants. This last circumstance 
is due to the great elevation of the surface 
above the sea-level. The rivers which 
descend from this table-land are interrupt- 
ed by rapids and cataracts, and bring 
down great quantities of earthy matter, 
which they deposite at their mouths. All 
these rivers accordingly have a bar, with 
a very few feet of water on it, which ren- 
ders them incapable of receiving vessels 
of above one hundred tons burden. 

The most western portion of the isth- 
mus of Panama begins at the western de- 
clivity of the table-land of Veragua, and 
extends to the boundary-line of central 
America. This line begins on the shores 
of the Caribbean sea at Chica or Monkey 
Point, and terminates on the Pacific at 
Punta Boruca. This region is more than one 
hundred miles from east to west, and 
about seventy miles from north to south. 
The northern part is occupied by the 
Chiriqui Lagoon, a sheet of water ninety 
or one hundred miles in length from east 
to west, and on an average twenty miles 
wide. It is separated from the Caribbean 
sea by a series of low, swampy, and 
wooded islands, between which there are 
three deep passages for vessels. The 
most commodious of these passages is the 
most eastern, near a tongue of land pro- 
jecting from the continent. It is called 
Chiriqui Mouth, and may be navigated by 
the largest vessels. Farther west is the 
entrance, called Boca del Toro (Bull's 
Mouth), which is only eighteen feet deep, 
and narrow, but of easy access. The 
most western, called Boca del Dragon 
(Dragon's Mouth) is also narrow, but 

very deep. The middle portion of the 
lagoon is occupied by low woody islands, 
but at each extremity a considerable space 
is free from islands, and aflx)rds excellent 
anchorage, as the lagoon is deep, and the 
swell of the Caribbean sea is broken by 
the intervening islands. The country 
contiguous to the southern shores of the 
lagoon, for a distance of about twenty 
miles, is low and swampy, the soil being 
covered with a thick layer of alluvium 
produced by the annual inundations during 
the rainy season. At the back of this 
low tract, which is generally wooded, the 
country rises, and though it contains 
plains of some extent, it continues to rise 
gradually for forty or fifty miles from the 
lagoon, where it is bordered by a con- 
tinuous ridge of high ground. This chain, 
which is called the Cabecares mountains, 
may be between four and five thousand 
feet above the sea-level, but it is of very 
inconsiderable width, being only about five 
hundred yards across in its upper part, 
which extends in nearly a straight line 
without any peaked summits. The south- 
ern slope of this ridge is much more rapid, 
occupying only about ten miles in width, 
and terminating on the Pacific in toler- 
ably level tracts, which are many feet 
above the level of the sea. The Avhole 
country north of the Cabecares mountains 
is one continuous forest of lofty trees, but 
along the Pacific there are several wood- 
less tracts. It is only in the last-men- 
tioned districts that the whites have formed 
a few establishments, the extensive coun- 
try north of the Cabecares mountains be- 
ing in possession of the native tribes, 
especially the Valientes. This may be 
attributed to the climate, which, on the 
coast of the Pacific, resembles that of 
Panama, being subject to regular changes 
of the seasons, and therefore healthy. 
But the low country about the lagoon of 
Chiriqui is drenched with rain nearly all 
the year round : the more elevated tract, 
however, between it, and the Cabecares 
mountains has more regular weather, and 
is considered tolerably healthy. The nu- 
merous rivers which run from the northern 
slope of the mountains into the Chiriqui 
Lagoon are impeded by many rapids and 
cataracts until they reach the low country, 
where their course is gentle, and where 

they may be navigated by large boats ; 
but they have bars across their mouths, 
with little water on them. 

The coast along the Caribbean sea, 
from the bay of Candelaria, into which 
the river Atrato falls, to the bay of Man- 
dingo, does not present a single harbor for 
large vessels. It is lined by a continuous 
series of small keys, or rocky islands, ly- 
ing from half a mile to a mile from the 
continent. The inner passage thus formed 
is full of coral rocks and reefs, but the 
water is so clear that they are easily seen 
and avoided in the daytime. Otherwise a 
vessel finds safe anchorage there, except 
during the prevalence of the northwestern 
winds (from December to April), as the 
swell of the sea is broken by the islands. 
The first harbor which occurs on this 
coast is that of Puerto Bello, or Velo, 
which is about two miles long, and, on an 
average, one thousand yards wide. It is 
of considerable depth, and, being sur- 
rounded by high hills and mountains, af- 
fords excellent and safe anchorage for ves- 
sels. Though it was once a place of 
great trade, it is now rarely visited, on ac- 
count of its excessive unhealthiness. The 
town, which is built on the southern shores 
of the harbor, consists of one long street, 
with a few short streets branching off 
where the ground will admit of ihem. It 
is surrounded by mountains covered with 
dense forests : it contained, by a late cen- 
sus, not more than 1,122 inhabitants, ne- 
groes and mulattoes. About twenty miles 
further west is the bay of Limones, or 
Puerto de Naos, which has an entrance 
five miles wide, free from danger. It is 
several miles deep, and several projecting 
points on its western side aflbrd secure 
and commodious anchorage within them, 
especially the innermost, which is at 
present considered as the harbor. The 
climate is comparatively healthy, but it is 
not visited, the surrounding country being 
uninhabited. A few miles further west is 
the harbor of Chagres, a little sandy bay, 
which is only open to westerly winds, and 
is formed by the mouth of the river of the 
same name. A ledge of rocks runs across 
its mouth, with not more than fifteen feet 
of water in the ' deepest place, and in 
many rising even to the surface. Under 
the most favorable circumstances no ves- 

sel drawing more than twelve feet can 
enter the harbor. Further westward there 
is no harbor, except those afforded by the 
Chiriqui Lagoon. 

The harbors on the shores of the Pa- 
cific are all within the gulf of Panama. 
There appears to be no port west of Pun- 
ta Mala. The opening of the gulf of 
Panama is between Punta Francisco Sa- 
lano on the continent of South America 
and Punta Mala, Avhere it is about one 
hundred and fifty miles wide, which 
breadth it preserves for about ten miles 
northward, when it begins to contract. 
In the northern and narrower portion of 
the bay there is a group of islands, called 
Archipelago de las Perlas, on account of 
the pearls which were formerly procured 
in the adjacent sea in great abundance, 
and still are taken to a considerable 
amount. The largest of these islands, 
called Isla del Rey, rises to a consider- 
able elevation. Most of the rivers which 
fall into this bay admit vessels of consid- 
erable burden. They have, indeed, bars 
across their mouths, on which there is 
rarely more than two feet of water at IoviT 
tides ; but as the tides in this bay rise 
eighteen feet, the bars may be passed at 
high-water, and inside of them the har- 
bors are deep. The rivers which are 
sometimes visited by vessels are the river 
Pacora, about eighteen miles east of the 
town of Panama, and the Rio Grande, 
which enters the sea about two miles west 
of that town. 

Panama, the principal trading-place on 
this bay, stands on a tongue of land shaped 
nearly like a spear-head, extending a con- 
siderable distance out to sea, and gradual- 
ly swelling toward the middle. The prin- 
cipal streets extends across the peninsula 
from sea to sea. The houses are of stone, 
generally two or three stories high, sub- 
stantially built, and the larger houses have 
courts or patios. The public edifices are 
a beautiful cathedral, four convents, a 
nunnery of Santa Clara, and a college. 
As the sloping shores contiguous to the 
ground on which the town stands are dry 
at low-water to a considerable distance, 
the anchorage is about six or seven miles 
distant, where it is protected by a number 
of islands, the largest of which is called 
Perico, a name which is also applied to 



the harbor. These islands are high and 
well cultivated, and supplies of ordinary- 
kind, including excellent water, may be 
obtained from most of them. A few years 
since it was computed the town had nearly 
eleven thousand inhabitants. The harbor 
of Panama is usually visited by about 
thirty vessels, mostly from Guayaquil, 
Lambayeque, and Callao. They import 
sugar for the consumption of the country, 
and bullion and cacao for re-exportation. 
These goods are transported either on 
mules or by the natives on their shoulders 
from Panama to Cruces, on the Chagres 
river, where they are embarked in boats, 
and go down the river to Chagres. 

The plans of communication proposed 
have been numerous, and, as may be sup- 
posed, as often prompted by the interest 
of particular parties as by any well-con- 
sidered judgment of its being altogether 
the best or the easiest effected. As an 
instance last-mentioned, the Mexican pa- 
pers contained a long article show^ing the 
advantage of effecting the communication 
by the way of Tehuantepec, rather than 
by that of Panama or Nicaragua. It then 
expatiates on the difficulties attendant on 
a passage across the isthmus, and con- 
cludes that the way by Tehuantepec 
seems never to have been thought of be- 
fore 1842, when it was suggested by D. 
Jose Garay. The country has been sur- 
veyed at great expense, and the result is 
a belief that Tehuantepec will offer facili- 
ties beyond those of either of the other 
two places. Both on the north and on 
the south side are two ports which are 
formed by the mouths of two rivers, ca- 
pable of being connected, and will admit 
of large vessels, while the waters flowing 
from a height will easily supply the ca- 

The scheme is no doubt a very good 
scheme for Mexican interests. From the 
gulf of Tehuantepec, in the north Pacific, 
the Chimilipa would be ascended as high 
as practicable, which would be connected 
by a canal with the Rio del Passo, a trib- 
utary to the Huasacualco, which falls into 
the bay of Campeachy, in the province, 
and about one hundred miles northeast of 
the town of Vera Cruz. The Hon. P. C. 
Scarlett, notwithstanding the flourish of 
the Mexican paper as to the originality of 

the scheme, notices it in his " Travels in 
South America in 1838," and observes: 
" It is utterly out of the question to make 
it, under any circumstances, navigable for 
large vessels. A boat canal of communi- 
cation, aided by rivers, would undoubtedly 
render the internal prosperity of a coun- 
try where the distance from sea to sea is 
one hundred and fifteen geographical miles, 
infinitely greater than it is at present ; but 
the realization of this project is more im- 
portant to the state of Mexico than to the 
general interests of the commercial world." 
The canal would be required to be twenty 
miles long ; the streams are winding, with 
occasional rapids ; the harbor of the Hu- 
asacualco will at no time admit of vessels 
drawing ten feet of water, and Ventosa, 
the harbor of Tehuantepec, is only an 
open roadstead. 


In Butler's Remains it is remarked, that 
" there is a kind of physiognomy in the 
titles of books, no less than in the faces 
of men, by which a skilful observer will 
as well know what to expect from the one 
as the other." 

Generally speaking, this is correct. 
But the optician who should happen to 
purchase a book entitled A New Inven- 
tion, or a Paire of Cristall Spectacles, by 
lielpe whereof may be read so small a print, 
that what twenty sheets of paper will hardly 
containe shall be discovered in one (1644)., 
would find, to his surprise, that it has 
nothino" to do with his business, but relates 
to the civil war. So also might mistakes 
very readily occur with regard to Home 
Tooke's celebrated Diversions of Purley, 
which a village book-club actually ordered 
at the time of its publication, under the 
impression that it vi^as a book of amusing 
games, very likely to be serviceable in 
putting over the long winter nights, when 
in reality it is one of the most abstruse 
treatises which exist on a subject alto- 
gether beyond clownish wits — etymology 
There is a scarce and curious tratfi enii- 
titled Merryland Described, containing a 



Topographical, Geographical, and Natural 
History of that Country. (1741): a per- 
son with a taste for geography might sup- 
pose that it related to our well-known state 
of that name ; but in reality it consists 
entirely of facetious matter. A mistake 
of this kind actually did occur at the time 
of the first publication of the Essay on 
Irish Bulls, when, we have been assured — 
though no Irishman can ever be induced 
to admit the fact — no fewer than a dozen 
copies Avere ordered forthwith by the 
Farming Society of Dublin ! In like man- 
ner, we can imagine a juvenile naturalist 
being disappointed in finding nothing rel- 
ative to botany in A Treatise of Hebrew 
Roots. It is said that a French writer, 
mistaking the meaning of the title of 
Winter''s Tale, translated it by the words 
Conte de Monsieur Winter, or Mr. Win- 
ter's Tale — a mistake extremely natural, 
we must admit, to one unacquainted with 
our national idiom. It may be added, 
that a medical man's curiosity might per- 
haps be gratified by Oberndorff 's Anatomy 
of the True Physician and Counterfeit 
MountebanJte, disclosing certain Strata- 
gems whereby London Empirics oppugns, 
and ofttimes expunge, their poor Patients' 
Purses (1602) ; but he would find himself 
stepping somewhat out of his course to 
peruse Hutton's Anatomy of Folly (1619), 
Nash's Anatomy of Absurdity (1589), 
The Hosjnlall of Incurable Fools (1600), 

A love of quaint titles has been shown 
by our literary men from the earliest 
times of pubhshing, but generally in a 
more conspicuous manner two centuries 
ago than at present. Not even royal wits 
could then dispense with this attraction ; 
witness King James' Counterblast to To- 
bacco, which, by the way, is a far more 
sensible production than is generally sup- 
posed, or than its whimsical title would 
imply. Shakspere himself was not su- 
perior to this whimsicality, and we ac- 
cordingly find it shining in the titles of 
most of his comedies, as Measure for Mea- 
sure, AWsWcll that Ends Well, and AsYou 
Like it. Apropos of King James' pamphlet, 
we may advert to a poem by his contempo- 
rary, Sylvester, entitled. Tobacco Battered, 
and the Pipes Shattered about their Ears, who 
Idly Use so Base and Barbarous a Weed. 

It would seem that some of these odd old 
titles have suggested the writing of cer- 
tain remarkable modern works. Thus 
Barnaby Rich's Souldier's Wish for Brit- 
ain's Welfare, a Dialogue between Captain 
Skill and Captain Pill (1604), may have 
suggested Leigh Hunt's Captain Sioord 
and Captain Pen. A little work published 
in 1679, entitled Ihifortunate Heroes, or 
Adventures of Ovid, Horace, Virgil, Agrip- 
pa, Capion, SfC, reminds us of the chap- 
ter on literary men in Thomas Carlyle's 
recent work. Hero Worship. 

Some titles are agreeably short, and 
others wonderfully long. A few years 
since, a work was issued with the laconic 
title of It, and for days previous to its pub- 
lication, the walls of London were placard- 
ed with the wxrds, " Order //," " Buy //:," 
" Read//." The old naturalist Lovell pub- 
lished a book at Oxford in 1661, entitled 
Panzoologicomineralogia, which is nearly 
as long a word as Rabelais' proposed title 
for a book, namely Antipericatametapar- 

Titles are occasionally remarkable for 
their modest pretensions ; for example. 
Did You ever see such Stuff? or, So-much- 
the-better, being a Story 'without Head or 
Tail, Wit or Humour (1760) ; A Satire 
for the King's Birthday, by no Poet-Lau- 
reate (1779) ; Barnady Rich's Faults, and 
Nothing but Faults. On the other hand, 
the titles of some books implore us to 
read them, and crave indulgent criticism, 
while others taunt and threaten us if we 
will not read them. In illustration, we 
may cite. Oh ! Read over Dr John Bridge's 
Martin Mar-Prelate, for it is a Worthy 
Work, Printed over-sea in Europe, within 
two Furlongs of a bounsi?ig Priest, a rare 
Work against the Puritans (1588) ; Roy's 
Read me, and Be not Wrath ; Tourneur's 
Laugh and Lie Down, or the World's Fol- 
ly (1605) ; If you know not Me, you know 
Nobody ; and Rowland's Look to it, or Til 
Stab ye. 

According to Stowe's Chronicle, the 
title of Domesday Book arose from the 
circumstance of the original having been 
carefully preserved in a sacred place at 
Westminster, called Domus Dei, or House 
of God. 

Books have been frequently likened to 
store-rooms and other buildings ; hence 



the titles of Magazine of Zoology ; Repos- 
itory of Arts ; Treasury of Knowledge ; 
The Jewd-house of Art and Nature ; Pain- 
ter's Palace of Pleasure (1565); Priraan- 
day's Academy of fanners (1586) ; Par- 
kinson's Theatre of Plants {1640) ; Boys- 
teau Theatre of the World (1574). The 
comparison of a book to a looking-glass or 
mirror is also very common and natural. 
Thus we have a black-letter book called, 
A Chrystal Glass for Christian Women, 
Exhibiting the Gcdlie Life and Death of 
Kathnine Stubs of Burton-upon-Trent, in 
Staffordshire ; SnawssU's Looking-Glass 
for Married Folks, wherein they may plain- 
ly see their Deformities (1631) ; Spooner's 
Looking-Glass for Tobacco Smoakers 
(1703) ; The Mirror of the Worlde (1481) ; 
The Mirror for Magistrates (1559) ; and 
several periodicals have lived and died 
vs^ith the name of Mirror. 

Some titles are remarkable for their 
satirical character. Thus, a work rela- 
tive to a large class of the literary world 
was entitled The Downfall of temporising 
Poet?, inilicensed Printers, upstart Book- 
sellers, trotting Mercuries, and bawling 
Hawkers (1641). Printers are brought 
into strange company in another book, en- 
titled A History of Filchum Cantum, or 
a Merry Dialogue between Apollo, Foolish 
Harry, Silly Billy, a Griffin, a Printer, a 
Spider Killer, a Jack-Ass, and the Sono- 
rous Guns of Ludgate (1749). The Latin 
poetasters seem to have their merits called 
somewhat in question by the title of John 
Peter's curious and very scarce work, A 
New Way to make Latin Verses, whereby 
any one of ordinary capacity that only 
knows the A, B, C, and can count nine, 
though he understands not one word of 
Latin, or lohat a verse means, may he 
plainely taught to make thousands of Hex- 
ameter and Pentameter Verses, which shall 
he true Latin, true Verse, and Good Sense 

The ancient and still frequently mooted 
question about the mental equality of men 
and women, has elicited many works with 
quizzical titles. Thus, in 1620, appeared 
Hie Mulier, or the Man- Woman, or a Med- 
icine to cure the Staggers in the Masculine- 
Feminines of our Times. This was an- 
swered by another work with as curious 
a title, H(£,c Vir, or the Womanish-Man to 

Hie Mulier, the Man-Woman. Some sixty 
years later, in 1683, a rare little book 
came forth, entitled Hac et Hie, or the 
Feminine Gender more worthy than the 
Masculine, being a Vindication of that in- 
genious and innocent Sex from the biting 
Sarcasms wherewith they are daily aspersed 
by the virulent Tongues and Pens of ma- 
levolent Men. 

Whether married or single, it is impos- 
sible not to feel interested in such titles as 
the following : A Caution to Married 
Couples, about a Man in Nightingale 
Lane, who beat and abused his Wife, 
and Murthered a Tub-man (1677) ; The 
Art of Governing a Wife, with Rules 
for Bachelors (1746) ; Braithwait's Boul- 
ster Lecture, or Art thee Asleep, Hus- 
band? (1640) ; A Certain Relation of the 
Hog-Faced Gentlewoman, Mrs Tannakin 
Skinker, who can never recover her shape 
till she be married (1640) ; A Discourse 
concerning having many children (1695) ; 
A Relation of several Children and others 
that prophecy and preach in their Sleep 
(1689) ; Chickens Feeding Capons, or a 
Dissertation on the Pertness of our Youth 
in General, especially such as are trained 
vp at Tea-tables (1731) ; Pap with a 
flatchet, or a Fig for my God-Son. 

The ancient costume of men and wo- 
men called forth various singular literary 
attacks, as we learn from Bulwer's Man 
Transformed, or the Ridiculous Beauty, 
Filthy Finesse, and Loathsome Loveliness 
of most Nations in altering their Bodies 
from the Mould intended by Nature (1650); 
Quippes for Upstart Newfangled Gentle- 
ivomen, or a Glass to view the Pride of 
vain-gloriousWomen, containing a Pleasant 
Invective against the Fantastical Foreign 
Toys daylie used in Women^s Apparell 
(1595); England's Vanity, or the Mon- 
strous Sin of Pride in Dress, Naked 
Shoulders, and a Hundred other Fooleries 

The titles of religious works are fre- 
quently somewhat droll. A little book of 
consolation, published in 1630, is entitled 
A Handkerchief for Parents'' Wet Eyes 
upon the Death of Children. Dr. Sibbs 
published a religious work called The 
Bruised Reed and Smoaking Flax (1627), 
which led to the conversion of the cele- 
brated Baxter. As humorous titles of the 

same class, we may instance — The Coal- 
heavbr's Cousin rescued from the Bats, and 
a Reviving Cordial for a Sin-Despairing 
Soul (Manchester, 1741) ; the Rev. James 
Murray's Sermons to Asses (1768), m 
three volumes , Os Ossorianmn. or a Bone 
for a Bishop to Pick (1643) Primatt's 
Cursing no Argument of Sincerity (1746) ; 
A Relation of the DeviVs appearing to 
Thomas Cox, a Hackney Coacliman, toho 
lives in Cradle Alley, in Baldwin's Gar- 
dens (1684) ; Ka me, and Til Ka thee 
(1649), a dialogue against the impious ar- 
rogance of persecuting people who hap- 
pen to differ from us in matters of faith. 

Some titles amuse by being alliterative, 
as in A Delicate Diet for Daintie Droonk- 
ards (1576) ; Henry Butt's Diet's Dry 
Dinner (1599) ; St. Austin's Christian 
Catholic Catechised, Penned for the Pri- 
vate Benefit of the Parish of Little Kim- 
bell, in Buckinghamshire (1624). Some 
are agreeably tautological, as in A Most 
Learned Speech, in a Most Learned House 
of Commons, by a Most Learned Lawyer, 
on a Most Learned Subject {1722) ; The 
Most Wonderful Wonder that ever appeared 
to the Wonder of the British Nation, being 
an Account of the Capture of the Mon- 
strous She-Bear that Nursed the Wild Boy 
in the Woods of Germany (1726), a rai'e 
and curious poem ; The Egg, or Memoirs 
of a Right Honorable Puppi/, with Anec- 
dotes of a Right Honorable Scoundrel. 
Some play upon the same termination of 
different words, as in John Taylor's Verry 
Merry Wherry Ferry Voyage (1622) ; and 
in A Chemical Collection to Ex-press the 
In-gress, Pro-gress, and E-gress of the 
Hermetic Science (1650). Some try to 
please by antithesis, as in Sir J. Harring- 
ton's New Discourse of a Stale Subject 
(1596) ; Green's Groat'' s-worth of Wit, 
bought with a Million of Repentance. 

Rhyming titles are occasionally met 

with, as in Thomas Heywood's — 

Reader, fiere you'll plainly see 
Judgment perverted by these three — 
A Priest, a Judge, a Patentee (1641). 

A little black letter volume, without any 

date, has the four following lines for its 

title : — 

I playne Pierse, which can not flatter, 
A Plow-man men me call : 
My speeche is foul, yet mark the matter , 
How things mayhap to fall. 

In 1559 appeared a book entitled. The 
Key to Unknown Knowledge, or a Shop of 
Five Windows, 

Which if you do open, 

To cheapen and copen, 

You will he unidlUng, 

For 7nany a shilling. 

To part with the profit 

Tliat you shall liave of it. 

Thomas Lupton, in 1587, published 

Too Good to be True 
Tliought so at a view ; 
Yet all that I told you 
Is true, I uphold you : 
So cease to as!c why, 
For I can not lie. 

Later still, in 1730, we find this rhyming 

title : — 

The Rival Lap-Bog, and the Tale 
(As ladies' fancies never fail) , 
That lUtle rival to the great. 
So odd, indeed, we scarce dare say't. 

In cases where it was thought prudent to 
conceal the names of the printer and pub- 
lisher, and the date of certain books, the 
title-page often exhibited some odd ficti- 
tious reference. A scarce little book en- 
titled The Earl of Essex's Amours with 
Queen Elizabeth, was printed "at Cologne, 
for Will-vi'ith-the-wisp, at the sign of the 
Moon in the Ecliptic." William Goddard 
published some satires, " Imprinted at the 
Antipodes, and are to be bought where 
they are to be sold." This sort of con- 
cealment is burlesqued by Brathwait in 
his Solemn Jovial Disputation on the Laws 
of Drinking (1617), which is published at 
" Oenozthopolis, at the sign of the Red 
Eyes ;" and also in his Smoakmg Age, 
with the Life and Death of Tobacco, dedi- 
cated to Captain Wkiffe, Captain Pipe, 
and Captain Snuffe (1617), printed "at 
the sign of Tear-nose." A little old French 
work, Le Moyen de Parveiiir, purports to 
be " Imprime cette Annee" (printed this 

The mottoes on title-pages are often 
very curious. The following is from a 
book called Gentlemen, look about you : — 

Read this over if you're wise. 
If you're not, then read it twise j 
If a fool, and in the gall 
Of bitlerness, read not at all. 

Another from that very delightful old book, 
Geffrey Whitney's Emblems (1586) : — 

Peruse with heede, then friendly judge, and blaming 

rash refraine ; 
So maist thou reade unto thy good, and shalte requite 

my paine. 



The famous and learned Robert Becord 
was Tery fon4 of mottoes on his works. 
His Pathway to Knowledge (1551), a trea- 
tise on geometry, displays these four 
lines : — 

All fresh fine icits by me are filled, 

All gi'oss dull wits uith me exiled ; 

Though no man's u-it reject idll I, 

Yet as they be, I mill them try. 

The title-page of his Castle of Knowledge 

(1556) displays a device of several figures 

and a castle, on which we read — 

To knowledge is this trophy set. 
All learned friends will it support. 
So shall their name gi-eat honour get. 
And gain great fame with good report. 

A good motto, well chosen, and thoroughly 
applicable, acts as a bright lamp to show 
the contents within. Ere now, the titles 
of booiiS licive lurnisheJ materials for the 
punster. Thus, in a newspaper announce- 
ment of the death of Oliver Goldsmith, 
April 4, 1774, we read, '^Deserted is the 
Village ; the Traveller has laid him down 
to rest ; the Good Natured Man is no 
more ; he Sloops but to Conquer ; the 
Vicar has performed his sad office ; it is 
a mournful office from which the Hermit 
may essay to meet the dread tyrant with 
more than Grecian or Roman fortitude." 
Better still was the reply of the young 
lady, when asked if she was at all literary. 
" Yes," said she, " I am a Spectator at 
church, an Idler at school, a Rambler at 
Vauxhall, a Connoisseur at the milliner's, 
an Adventurer at the lottery, a Tattler at 
the tea-table, and a Guardian to my lap- 


Little over half a centuiy has passed 
away since an interesting group was as- 
sembled in the death-room, and witnessed 
the last hours of Washington. So keen 
and unsparing has been the sythe of 
time, that of all those who watched over 
the patriarch's couch, on the 13th and 
14th of December, 1799, not a single 
personage survives. 

On the morning of the 13th, the general 
was making some improvements in front 
of Mount Vernon. As was usual with 

him, he carried his own compass, noted 
his observations, and marked out the 
ground. The day became rainy with 
sleet ; and the general remained so long 
exposed to the inclemency of the weather, 
that his clothes were completely wet be- 
fore his return to the house. About one 
o'clock, he was seized with illness and 
nausea ; but, having changed his clothes, 
he sat down to his in-door occupations, 
there being no moment of his time for 
which he had not provided an appropriate 

At night, on joining his family circle, 
the general complained of slight indispo- 
sition, and, after a single cup of tea, re- 
paired to his library, where he remained 
writing until between eleven and twelve 
o'clock. Mrs. Washington retired about 
the usual family hour ; but, becoming 
alarmed at not hearing the sound of the 
library-door, as it closed for the night, 
and gave signal for rest in the well-regu- 
lated mansion, she arose again, and con- 
tinued sitting up in much anxiety and sus- 
pense. At length the well-known step 
was heard upon the stair, and upon the 
general's entering his chamber, the lady 
kindly chided him for remaining so late, 
knowing himself to be unwell ; to which 
Washington made his memorable reply : 
" I came as soon as my business was ac- 
complished. You know well, that through 
a long life it has been my unvaried rule, 
never to put off till to-morrow the duties 
which should be performed to day." 

Having first covered up the fire with 
care, the mighty man of labors at last 
sought repose ; but it came not, as it had 
long been wont to do, to comfort and re- 
store, after the many and earnest occupa- 
tions of the well-spent day. The night 
was passed in feverish restlessness and 
pain. " Tired nature's sweet restorer, 
balmy sleep," was destined no more to 
visit his couch ; yet the manly sufferer ut- 
tered no complaint — would permit no one 
to be disturbed in their rest on his ac- 
count ; and it was only at daybreak that 
he would consent that the surgeon might 
be called in, and bleeding resorted to. A 
vein was opened, but without affording 
relief. Couriers were despatched to sum- 
mon Dr. Craik, the family physician, and 
Drs. Tick and Brown, as consulting 



physicians, all of whom came with speed. 
The proper remedies were administered, 
but without producing their healing ef- 
fects ; while the patient, yielding to the 
anxious looks of all around him, waived 
his usual objections to medicines, and took 
those which were prescribed, without hes- 
itation or remark. The medical gentle- 
men spared not their skill, and the resour- 
ces of their art were exhausted in un- 
wearied endeavors to preserve this " no- 
blest work of nature." Night approached 
— the last night of Washington ! The 
weather became severely cold, while the 
group gathered nearer the couch of the 
sufferer, watching with intense anxiety 
for the slightest dawning of hope. He 
spoke but little. To the respectful and 
affectionate inquiries of an old family ser- 
vant, as she smoothed down his pillow, 
how he felt himself, he answered, " I am 
very ill." To Dr. Craik, his earliest com- 
panion in arms, his longest-tried and bo- 
som friend, he observed, " I am dying, 
sir, but am not afraid to die." To Mrs. 
Washington he said, " Go to my escritoire, 
and in the private drawer you will find 
two papers ; bring them to me." They 
were brought. He continued : " These 
are my wills ; preserve this one, and burn 
the other." This was immediately done. 
Calling to Col. Lear, he directed : " Let 
my remains be kept for the usual period 
of three days." 

Here we would beg leave to remind 
our readers, that Washington was old- 
fashioned in many of his habits and man- 
ners, and in some of his opinions ; nor 
was he the less to be admired on these 
accounts. The custom of keeping the 
dead for the scriptural period of three 
days is derived from remote antiquity, and 
arose, not from fear of premature inter- 
ment, as in more modem times, but from 
motives of veneration toward the deceased ; 
for the better enabling the relatives and 
friends to assemble from a distance to per- 
form the funeral rites ; for the wpious 
watchings of the corpse ; and for the 
many sad, yet endearing ceremonials by 
which we delight to pay our last duties to 
the remains of those we loved. 

The patient bore his acute sufferings 
with manly fortitude, and perfect resigna- 
tion to the divine will ; while, as the night 


The institution of castes in India is 
one of the most curious chapters in the 
social history of mankind. The distinc- 
tion of ranks and the separation of profes- 
sions appear to have been established 
before the remotest era which Hindoo tra- 
dition reaches. According to their sa- 
cred books the Brahmen proceeded from 
the mouth of the Creator, which h the 

advanced, it became evident that he was 
sinking, and he seemed fylly aware that 
his " hour was come." With surprising 
self-possession he prepared to die. Com- 
posing his form at length, and folding his 
hands upon his bosom — without a sigh — i^ 
without a groan — the Father of his coun- 
try expired gently as though an infant 
died. No pang or struggh; told when the 
noble spirit took its noiseless flight ; 
while, so tranquil appeared the manly fea- 
tures in the repose of death, that some 
moments passed, ere those around could 
believe the patriarch was no more. 

It may be asked, why the ministry of 
religion was wanting to shed its peaceful 
and benign lustre upon the last hour of 
Washington 1 Why was he, to whom the 
observances of sacred things were ever 
primary duties through life, without their 
consolations in his last moments 1 We 
answer that circumstances did not permit 
it. It was for a little while that the dis- 
ease assumed so threatening a character 
as to forbid the encouragement of hope. 
Yet, to stay that bummons which none 
may refuse, to give still further length of 
days to him whose " time-honored life" 
was so dear to mankind, prayer was not 
wanting at the Throne of grace. Close 
to the couch of the sufferer, resting her 
head upon that ancient book, with which 
she had been wont to hold pious commu- 
nion, a portion of every day, for more than 
half a century, was his venerable consort 
absorbed in silent prayer, and from which 
she only arose when the mourning group 
prepared to bear her from the chamber of 
the dead. Such were the last hours of 

Castes of India — Sudras. 



seat of wisdom ; the Cshatriya from his 
arm ; the Vaisya from his thigh ; and the 
Sudra from his foot. These castes com- 
piise the four orders of a primitive state 
of society. The Brahmen were priests, 
the Cshatriyas soldiers, the Vaisyas hus- 
bandmen, and the Sudras servants and la- 
borers. The Hindoo religion teaches its 
followers that it would be impious to con- 
found these different orders. This dis- 
tinction of caste is the framework of Hin- 
doo society, and all its inconveniences and 
palpable injustice have been submitted to 
for ages from a sense of religious duty. 
The punishment for crime varies in se- 
verity with the caste to which the offend- 
er belongs, and while the law is merciless 
toward the Sudra, its force is mitigated 
when persons of the three highest castes 
are brought within its reach. In other 
matters the abuse of natural rights is 
equally outrageous. For the interest of 
money on loan the Brahmen only pays 
two per cent., while three per cent, is 
exacted from the Cshatriya, four per cent, 
from the Vaisya, and five per cent, from 
the Sudra. Mill says, " As much as the 
Brahmen is an object of veneration, so 
much is the Sudra an object of contempt 
to the other classes of his countrymen." 
The condition of a Sudra, in the Hin- 
doo system was, however, preferable to 
that of the helot, the slave, or the serfs 
of the Greek, the Roman, and the feudal 
systems. He was independent ; his ser- 
vices were optional ; they were not agri- 
cultural, but domestic and personal, and 
claimed adequate compensation. He had 
the power of accumulating wealth, or in- 
junctions against his so doing would have 
been superfluous. He had the opportunity 
of rising to rank, for the Puranas record 
dynasties of Sudra kings, and even Manu 
notices their existence. He "might study 
and teach religious knowledge, and he 
might perform religious acts. No doubt 
the Sudra was considered in some degree 
the property of the Brahmen, but he had 
rights, and privileges, and freedom, much 
beyond any other of the servile classes 
of antiquity. Mr. Mill himself, in a note 
elsewhere, observes that " so inconsistent 
with the laws of human welfare are the 
institutions described in the ancient Hin- 
doo books, that they never could have been 

observed with any accuracy ; and when 
we consider the powerful causes which 
have operated so long to di-aw, or rather 
to force the Hindoos from their inconve- 
nient institutions and customs, the only 
source of wonder is, that the state of so- 
ciety which they now exhibit should hold 
so great a resemblance to that which is 
depicted in their books." In certain 
cases of necessity the three higher castes 
were permitted to have recourse for sub- 
sistence *o the employments of the class 
or classes below them ; but the Sudra, be- 
ing the lowest, was confined to the species 
of labor assigned to him, and in seasons 
of public distress the competition of the 
Vaisya, or third class, might come to ag- 
gravate his previous misery. But, he had 
a resort which the other castes were de- 
nied — emigration ; and subsequently the 
institution of mixed or impure castes 
threw open their avocations to him. Of 
these lower castes we must here give a 
brief notion. 

The origin of mixed or impure castes 
is to be ascribed to the force of circum- 
stances which laws could not prevent. 
Children were born whose parents be- 
longed to different castes, and they in 
consequence belonged to no caste, and 
could not fall into any of the established 
employments. The infringement of the 
sacred laws to which they owed their 
birth rendered them inferior to the de- 
graded Sudra. Charity or plunder could 
alone furnish them with the means of sub- 
sistence. When the number of these 
outcasts became so great as to render 
them dangerous to society, the Brahmen, 
by supernatural means, as the sacred 
books allege, created a sovereign endowed 
with the power of arresting the evils of 
this disordered state. He classified these 
outcasts, and assigned to each its partic- 
ular occupation. Instead of plunderers, 
they became artisans, practised handi- 
crafts, worked in metals, the subdivision 
of classes being equal to the number of 
additional occupations which the exigen- 
cies of society at the time demanded. 
This process, whenever it took place, 
marks the commencement of a new social 
era. The division of the older society 
into four classes, comprehending priests, 
soldiers, husbandmen, and servants, was 



too simple for a more advanced period. 
Thirty-six branches of the impure class 
are mentioned in the sacred books, but the 
number, as well as the avocations of each, 
is variously stated by different Avriters. 
The lowest caste of all is the offspring 
of a Sudra with a woman of the sacred 
caste. This tribe are called Chandalas. 
Carrying out the corpses of the dead, the 
execution of criminals, and other degra- 
ding employments, are performed by this 
caste. They are prohibited fiom "living 
in towns, their very presence being re- 
garded as a pollution ; and on meeting a 
person of a higher caste they are com- 
pelled to turn aside lest he should consider 
himself contaminated by their approach ; 
and yet, while this and other castes are 
submitting to these indignities and degra- 
dations, they are alive to the " pride" ra- 
ther than to the " shame" of caste. Pro- 
fessor Wilson says : •' The lowest native 
is no outcast; he has an acknowledged 
place in society ; he is the member of a 
class ; and he is invariably more retentive 
of the distinction than those above him." 


The primary effect of sleep upon the 
mental powers seems to be to place them 
in a state of entire suspense. When 
sleep, therefore, is perfect, it is attended by 
a state of total unconsciousness. When, 
on the contrary, it is imperfect — when we 
are either, after a sufficiency of rest, ver- 
ging toward waking, as generally happens 
in the morning, or our sleep is broken and 
disturbed by uneasy bodily sensations, or 
by the effects of an uneasy state of the mind 
itself — then unconsciousness is not com- 
plete. Mental action takes place, though 
in what must in the main be described as 
an irregular and imperfect way, and we 
become conscious of — dreaming. Dream- 
ing, then, may be defined as the result of 
the imperfect operation of the mind in a 
state of partial sleep. It is a form of in- 
tellectation, very peculiar, and attended 
by very remarkable phenomena, which 
have in all ages attracted much attention 
both from the simple and the learned. 

The speculations of philosophers on 
the subject have not as yet been satisfac- 
tory, as indeed might be expected, con- 
sidering that so little is known of the 
laws which regulate the operations of the 
waking mind. Dismissing in a great 
measure the definitions of former writers, 
I shall probably carry the sense of the or- 
dinary reader along with me, when I say 
that the operations of the mind in sleep 
bear a general resemblance to that invol- 
untary streaming of ideas through it in 
our waking moments, which we are all 
conscious of ; but with this difference, 
that, in sleep, there is an absence of that 
faculty or power, whatever it is, w];iich 
enables us, awake, to see pretty clearly 
the actual character of things as they, ex- 
ist, and to understand their actual rela- 
tions ; which prevents us, in short, from 
falling into absurdities. Hence dreams 
are full of exaggeration and inconsistency, 
and suppose things in relations which we 
never see realized. But, while waking 
thought and dreaming thought are marked 
by this strong general distinction, it would 
be too much to say that they are condi- 
tions altogether unconnected. The mind 
in its waking moments often makes a near 
approach to the dreaming condition. In 
what are called reveries, the sanest man 
will occasionally have wild, absurd, and 
even horrible ideas presented to him, not 
widely different from dreams in their 
character. There is, however, this dif- 
ference, that, while in the waking state 
the least exertion of his will is sufficient 
to banish such ideas, he is scarcely ever 
able to exercise any control over them in 
sleep, the will being then, as it were, in 

It may also be remarked, that the sim- 
plest kind of dreaming, that which occurs 
in our soundest state of body, and in the 
most ordinary circumstances, is exactly 
such a series of familiar ideas as our 
minds are usually filled by when our at- 
tention is not engaged by special subjects. 
The persons we have conversed with the 
day before, the occupations or amuse- 
ments v/hich engaged us, and the subjects 
of our reigning hopes, form the matter of 
our simplest dreams, as they do that of 
our waking thoughts. And often these 
are presented in a state as free from 



any absurdity as if we were awake. 
Generally, however, dreaming thought 
is remarkable for its exemption from the 
control of that faculty — judgment, reflec- 
tion, common sense, or causality — which 
usually gives us clear apprehensions of 
the nature and arrangements of things. 
Thus we will feel ourselves in the society 
of persons long dead, and whom we re- 
member at the time to be dead, and yet 
we never think there is anything extraor- 
dinary in their now going about among 
the living. We find the house we inhabit 
to have more or less rooms than is actually 
the case, or to be in some other way un- 
like our actual dwelling, and yet we never 
doubt that this is the house in which we 
usually live. We are in our ordinary 
place of worship, and the clergyman per- 
forming the service is an old acquaintance 
dead many years, who, in life, was among 
the last persons we could have expected 
to see engaged in such duties. If we 
have a library, we shall find the books in 
great disorder ; and, if looked into, the 
authors are such as we have no knowl- 
edge of, and the subjects are incompre- 
hensible. A tradesman, dreaming of his 
shop, v/ill find his stock in bad condition, 
and a dulness as well as confusion 
throughout the place. Money is an awk- 
ward thing to reckon ; if bank-notes, we 
are sure to meet with such as we never 
heard of before. In travelling, we com- 
monly get on very quickly, and sometimes 
continue to move through the air without 
any action of our limbs. 

Seeing and conversing with people long 
since deceased is an ordinary occurrence, 
and, what is very distressing, after the 
death of a near relation or intimate friend, 
we are apt to dream night after night that 
he has been seriously ill, but is recovering, 
or at least is still alive. I have myself 
several times had a dream of this kind. 
Some person nearly connected with me, 
who has been dead some years, appeared 
not only alive, but looking well for his 
years, which I ascertained by calculating 
his age when he died, and adding the years 
that had passed since ; thus making the 
strange jumble of considering him dead 
and alive at the same time. 

Feverishness, whether arising from un- 
easmess in the digestive organs or other- 

wise, tends to produce painful or horrible 
dreams.^ Sleeping on the back, with an 
overloaded stomach, usually engenders 
the distressing dream called nightmare, 
where we feel as if some great load had 
been placed upon our chest, or some un- 
sightly figure of the fancy had sat down 
upon it. In milder cases of distress in 
the stomach, we see a similar figure come 
into the room, and go about as for our an- 
noyance, or to inflict horrors upon us. 
Feverish ailments also make us encounter 
strange wild impossibilities, which we yet 
feel it to be an unavoidable duty to ac- 
complish, such as the passing over vast 
gulfs, the climbing of wall-like steeps, or 
perhaps the reconciling of tremendous 
moral inconsistencies. 

It has been remarked, that everything 
in dreams, however wild or absurd, seems 
to come as a matter of course, and excites 
no surprise. This does not always ex- 
actly happen. An elderly person known 
to me dreamed of being at school, yet 
had an awkward feeling that he was be- 
yond the proper age. There is also a pe- 
culiar dreaming condition in which, struck 
as it were by the extreme improbability or 
absurdity of our thoughts, we reflect that 
it is only a dream. Dr. Beattie mentions 
a dream in which he found himself stand- 
ing on the parapet of a bridge, when, re- 
flecting that this was a situation not very 
likely for him to be in, he supposed that it 
might be a dream ; and, to put this to the 
the proof, threw himself headlong, when 
he of course awoke. 

Though the most ordinary kind of dream- 
ing comprises the things which chiefly 
engross our attention while awake, yet it 
happens not unfrequently that the subject 
of our dreams is hardly connected at all 
with the present state of things, or the 
present state of our thoughts ; for it is to 
be noticed, that, though no absolutely new 
ideas can be presented to our mind while 
in that state, yet vve may sometimes ob- 
serve such an arrangement of them as has 
never occurred in our waking moments. 
Cases will occur where what we see is 
not confused ; it is a distinct representa- 
tion of something which it is quite possible 
might happen in reality ; but still the idea 
of such a thing appears never to have 
been in our mind at any previous time. 



For instance, a person dreamed that an 
elderly widow lady of his acquaintance 
informed him that she was married a sec- 
ond time, and described her husband by 
comparing him to a person then deceased, 
whom the dreamer remembered. Now, 
the person who had this dream never en- 
tertained the most distant idea of the lady 
marrying again, both from her age and 
other circumstances ; neither was it a 
subject he took the smallest interest in 
when awake. 

It is a well-known ■ fact, that dreams 
may be suggested by external causes. 
Put, for instance, bottles of hot water to 
the feet of a sleeping person, he will im- 
mediately dream of walking over burning 
lava, or the hot sands of Africa, with all 
the associated circumstances proper in the 
case. Play upon his face with a bellows, 
and he will have a dream of sitting in a 
draught of air, or walking in a high wind. 
There have even been mstances of sleep- 
ers whose dreams could be suggested at 
will by the conversation of the waking 
bystanders. These facts show that the 
mind works in sleep much in the same 
manner as in our waking moments, but, in 
the absence of the power of correct per- 
ception, is obliged to employ the imagina- 
tion to account for the things presented to 
it. When, in the midst of an ordinary 
dream, some powerful disturbance takes 
place, as that produced by a violent knock- 
ing at the door, the mind sometimes weaves 
the incident into the tissue of the dream ; 
in which case the sleeper is the less likely 
to awake ; but in other cases the mind 
fails to reconcile the disturbing incident 
with its former thoughts, and then a diffi- 
culty arises, in which sleep is likely to be 
broken. There are examples on record 
of dreams being entirely suggested by 
casual disturbances. A gun, for instance, 
is fired under our bedroom window ; we 
immediately have a dream representing a 
long chain of events which naturally lead 
on to the firing of a gun ; we awake from 
the noise, and find that only an instant has 
elapsed since the report which suggested 
the dream. This has caused some wri- 
ters to form a theory that dreams are in- 
variably momentary, occurring only at the 
instant of awaking; and to support this 
idea, several actual occurrences of a very 

remarkable nature have been adduced. 
For example, when Lavalette was under 
condemnation, in 1815, he had a dream 
representing a processi(m of skinless hor- 
ses and their riders, which seemed to him 
to last for several hours ; and yet it was 
ascertained that the whole pageantry nad 
passed through his mind in the little in- 
terval between the striking of the hour 
and the consequent change of the prison 
sentries. But dreams of this kind ate in 
reality exceptions from the general rule. 
There is a sense of time in sleep as \Vell 
as when we ate awake, though generally 
somewhat less correct. In the dreams 
of healthy sleep, this sense operates with 
considerable distinctness ; and it is only 
when the mind is in a harassed and exci- 
ted state that dreams of the kind described 
take place. 

The incoherence, inconsistency, and 
essential absurdity of many of our thoughts 
in dreaming bring that state into a resem- 
blance to insanity, which has been re- 
marked by more than one medical writer. 
Dr. Davey of the Hanwell Lunatic Asy- 
lum, England, says : " If we watch a lu- 
natic "patient, we shall perceive very much 
of what I would regard as a state of ac- 
tive dreaming ; that is to say, a condition 
which would seem to realize action with 
nnconscious thought. * * An insane per- 
son often reminds me of one asleep and 
dreaming with his eyes open, and in the 
exercise of his motive powers. * * I will 
add, the dreamer with one or two organs 
alone active, I should be disposed to con- 
sider a sleeping monomaniac." This is 
very striking, and appears to be true ; and 
yet the mind often shows wonderful pow- 
ers in sleep. A distinguished divine of 
the present day, who in his college days 
was devoted to mathematical studies, was 
once baffled for several days by a difficult 
problem, which he finally solved in his 
sleep. Condorcet often overcame similar 
difficulties in his dreams. Dr. Gregory 
conceived thoughts in sleep, many of 
which he afterward employed in his lec- 
tures. An eminent Scottish lawyer of the 
last age had studied an important case for 
several days : one night his wife observed 
him rise and go to his desk, where he 
wrote a long paper, after which he re- 
turned to bed. In the morning he told 



her that he had had a dream, in which he 
conceived himself to have delivered an 
opinion on a case which had exceedingly 
perplexed him, and he would give any- 
thing to recover the train of thought which 
had then passed through his mind. She 
directed him to look in his desk, where 
he found the whole train of thought clearly 
written out. This paper proved efficacious 
in the subsequent 'conduct of the case. 
We must all remember, too, the fine ro- 
mantic poem of Kubia Khan, composed 
by Coleridge in a dream. " The greatest 
singularity observable in dreams," says 
Hazlitt, " is the faculty of holding a dia- 
logue with ourselves, as if we Avere 
really and effectually two persons. We 
make a remark, and then expect an an- 
swer, v/hich we are to give to ourselves, 
with the same gravity of attention, and 
hear it with the same- surprise, as if it 
were really spoken by another person. 
We are played upon by the puppets of our 
own moving. We are staggered in an ar- 
gument by an unforeseen objection, or 
alarmed at a sudden piece of information 
of which we have no apprehension till it 
seems to proceed from the mouth of some 
one with whom we fancy ourselves con- 
versing. We have, in fact, no idea of 
what the question will be that we put to 
ourselves till the moment of its birth." 
There are instances of very smart and 
adroit thing's thus occurring to the mind in 
sleep. " Mr. S. dreamed that he was in 
his parlor with a friend, and that a piece 
of black cloth was lying upon the table, 
but which his friend happened to remark 
was flesh color. Hereupon arose a dis- 
cussion as to the color of the cloth, Mr. S. 
maintaining that it was black, and his 
friend as strenuously insisting that it was 
flesh-color. The dispute became warm, 
and Mr. S. offered to bet that it was 
black ; his friend also offering to bet that it 
was flesh-color. Mr. S. concluded the bet, 
when his friend immediately exclaimed, 
' And is not black the color of more than 
half the human race V thus completely 
stealing a march upon Mr. S., and win- 
ning the bet. Mr. S. declares that the 
idea of black being entitled to the name 
of flesh color had never before occurred 
to him." An explanation on this subject, 
suggested by Mr, Carmichael, of Dublin, 

accords with the views here taken respect- 
ing dreaming generally : " Whatever we 
are capable of thinking without an effort, 
we are susceptible of dreaming ; and du- 
ring our waking reflections we frequently 
imagine what kind of reply an adversary 
might make to an observation we had 
dropped ; we immediately enter into the 
warmth of argument by coining an an- 
swer of our own in return, and when we 
have said all that occurs on that side of 
the question, a reply naturally suggests 
itself on the other, all the merit of which 
we ascribe to our antagonist ; and thus 
the disputation goes on as if two different 
minds were engaged in the contest — the 
words, by a strange illusion, tingling in 
our ears, and the ardent looks and forci- 
ble gestures flitting before our eyes, till 
some real object, breaking on our atten- 
tion, recalls us to the perception of the 
external world, and the nature of the rev- 
ery, which, till now, we thought real. In 
sleep there is no such intrusion, but the 
dream and the revery do not differ from 
each other as long as they last." 

With reference to the occasional acute- 
ness of the mind in sleep, it seems not 
unsuitable here to remark, that there are 
some persons who acknowledge to an im- 
usual felicity of conception at the moment 
when they are waking. Sir Walter Scott 
experienced this singular lucidity, which 
seems half allied to that of a certain class 
of dreams. The present writer has also 
been often conscious of useful ideas and 
happ)^ projects occurring to him for the 
first time at this peculiar moment. The 
state is certainly not that of full conscious- 
ness ; it occurs just as sleep is breaking 
up. A young man whom I believed to be 
totally unknown to me called one day, and 
sent in his card requesting to see me. 
He was admitted, and addressed me eas- 
ily and fluently about a situation he was 
in quest of, asking in conclusion for any 
information I conld give that was likely 
to be useful. Setting down what was odd 
in this visit to non-acquaintance with the 
ways of the world, I gave the youth all 
the information I possessed, and by'-and- 
by he took his leave, but not till he had 
asked if I should like to know how he 
prospered in his canvass. An impression 
was thus left upon my mind that there was 



some misunderstanding between me and 
my visiter, and that he was treating me 
all along as an acquaintance, while I con- 
ceived him (perhaps erroneously) to be a 
stranger. I thought little more about the 
incident ; but during the ensuing few 
days it would now and then come into my 
mind as a somewhat odd one. Three morn- 
ings after, when I was awaking, but not 
fully awake, the idea occurred to me that 
the young man was probably the son of a 
widow lady with whom I was slightly ac- 
quainted, and whom I now remembered 
he resembled a little. And on inquiry, 
this proved to be the case. The wonder 
here is, that the idea should have occurred 
to me at such a moment, as it had failed 
to present itself when the mind was in a 
clearer state during two preceding days. 
I had never, to my Icnowledge, seen the 
young man since he grew up ; but he 
may have come under my notice at the 
recent funeral of one of his relations, 
which I attended, though I have no recol- 
lection of seeing him there, and certainly 
if I did, never formed the faintest surmise 
of who he was. 

This anecdote seems suitable as a 
preparation for that class of dreams which 
Dr. Abercrombie calls " the revival of old 
associations respecting things which had 
entirely passed out of the mind, and 
Avhich seemed to have been forgotten ;" 
about which he at the same time acknowl- 
edged that " some of the facts connected 
with ihem scarcely appear referrible to 
any principle with which we are at present 
acquainted." The learned writer gives 
the following, as having occurred to a 
particular friend of his, and to be relied 
on in its most minute particulars : " The 
gentleman was at the time connected with 
one of the principal banks in Glasgow, 
and was at his place at the tellers' table, 
where money is paid, when a person en- 
tered demanding payment of a sum of six 
pounds. There were several people wait- 
ing, who were, in turn, entitled to be at- 
tended to before him, but he was extremely 
impatient, and rather noisy ; and being, 
besides, a remarkable stammerer, he be- 
came so annoying, that another gentleman 
lequestcd my friend to pay him his money 
and get rid of him. He did so, accord- 
ingly, but with an expression of impatience 

at being obliged to attend to him before 
his turn, and thought no more of the 
transaction. At the end of the year, 
which was eight or nine months after, the 
books of the bank could not be made to 
balance, the deficiency being exactly six 
pounds. Several days and nights had 
been spent in endeavoring to discover the 
error, but without success ; Avhen, at last, 
my friend returned home, much fatigued, 
and went to bed. He dreamed of being at 
his place in the bank, and the whole 
transaction with the stammerer, as now 
detailed, passed before him in all its par- 
ticulars. He awoke under a full impres- 
sion that the dream was to lead him to 
the discovery of what he was so anxiously 
in search of; and, on examination, soon 
discovered that the sum paid to this per- 
son in the manner now mentioned, had 
been neglected to be inserted in the book 
of interests, and that it exactly accounted 
for the error in the balance." 

The most remarkable anecdote connect- 
ed with this part of our subject is one 
which has been presented under fictitious 
circumstances in the tale of " The Anti- 
quary," and which the distinguished au- 
thor has since related in the notes to that 
novel : " Mr. R. of Bowland, a gentleman 
of landed property in the vale of Gala, 
was prosecuted for a very considerable 
sum, the accumulated arrears of teind (or 
tithe), for which he was said to be indebted 
to a noble family, the titulars (lay impro- 
priators of the tithes). Mr. R. was strong- 
ly impressed with the belief that his fa- 
ther had, by a form of process peculiar to 
the law of Scotland, purchased these 
teinds from the titular, and therefore that 
the present prosecution was groundless. 
But, after an industrious search among his 
father's papers, an investigation of the 
public records, and a careful inquiry 
among all persons who had transactsd 
law-business for his father, no evidence 
could be recovered to support his defence. 
The period was now near at hand when 
he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to be 
inevitable, and he had formed his determi- 
nation to ride to Edinburgh next day, and 
make the best bargain he could in the 
the way of compromise. He went to bed 
Avith this resolution, and with all the cir- 
cumstances of the case floating upon his 



mind, had a dream to the following pur- 
pose. His father, who had been many 
years dead, appeared to him, he thought, 
and asked him why he was disturbed in 
his mind. In dreams men are not sur- 
prised at such apparitions. Mr. R. thought 
that he informed his father of the cause 
of his distress, adding that the payment 
of a considerable sum of money was the 
more unpleasant to him, because he had a 
strong consciousness that it was not due, 
though he was unable to recover any evi- 
dence in support of his belief. ' You are 
right, my son,' replied the paternal shade ; 
' I did acquire right to these teinds, for 
payment of which you are now prosecuted. 
The papers relating to the transaction are 
in the hands of Mr. , a writer (or at- 
torney) who is now retired from profes- 
sional business, and resides at Inveresk, 
near Edinburgh. He was a person whom 
I employed on that occasion for a particu- 
lar reason, but who never, on any other 
occasion, transacted business on my ac- 
count. It is very possible,' pursued the 

vision, ' that Mr. may have forgotten 

a matter which is now of a very old date ; 
but you may call it to his recollection by 
this token, that, when I came to pay his 
account, there was difficulty in getting 
change for a Portugal piece of gold, and 
that we were forced to drink out the bal- 
ance at a tavern.' 

" Mr. R. awaked in the morning, with 
all the words of the vision imprinted on 
his mind, and thought it worth while to 
ride across the country to Inveresk, in- 
stead of going straight to Edinburgh. 
When he came there, he waited on the 
gentleman mentioned in the dream, a very 
old man. Without saying anything of the 
vision, he inquired whether he remember- 
ed having conducted such a matter for his 
deceased father. The old gentleman 
could not at first bring the circumstance 
to his recollection, but, on mention of the 
Portugal piece of gold, the whole returned 
upon his memory ; he made an immediate 
search for the papers, and recovered them, 
so that Mr. R. carried to Edinburgh the 
documents necessary to gain the cause 
which he was on the verge of losing." 

" There is every reason," says Dr. Ab- 
ercrombie, " to believe that this very in- 
teresting case is referable to the principle 

lately mentioned ; that the gentleman had 
heard the circumstances from his father, 
but had entirely forgotten them, imtil the 
frequent and intense application of his 
mind to the subject with which they were 
connected at length gave rise to a train of 
association which recalled them ir the 
dream. To the same principle are refer- 
rible the two following anecdotes, which I 
have received as entirely authentic ; the 
first of them from the individual to whom 
it occurred. A gentleman of the law in 
Edinburgh had mislaid an important paper 
connected with the conveyance of a prop- 
erty which was to be settled on a partic- 
ular day. Most anxious search had been 
made for it for many days, but the evening 
of the day previous to that on which the 
parties were to meet for the final settle- 
ment had arrived, without the paper being 
discovered. The son of the gentleman 
then went to bed under much anxiety and 
disappointment, and dreamed that at the 
time when the missing paper was deliver- 
ed to his father, his table was covered with 
papers connected with the affairs of a par- 
ticular client. He awoke under the impres- 
sion, went immediately to a box appropria- 
ted to the papers of that client, and there 
found the paper they had been in search of, 
which had been tied up by mistake in a 
parcel to which it was in no way related. 
Another individual connected with a pub- 
lic office had mislaid a paper of such im- 
portance, that he was threatened with the 
loss of his situation if he did not produce 
it. After a long but unsuccessful search, 
under intense anxiety, he also dreamed of 
discovering the paper in a particular place, 
and found it there accordingly." In seek- 
ing to account for these instances, we 
must bear in mind that often occurrences 
fail to make any impression upon us, and 
do not become objects of conscious mem- 
ory, although the memory of persons who 
were in our company at the time proves 
that we had full opportunities of observing 
and receiving impressions from them. 
When an effort is made to remind us of 
such circumstances, we are apt to deny 
their occurrence, having not the slightest 
recollection of them. But in such cases 
it -would appear that an impression has 
been made, although no record of it has 
been kept ; and accordingly some particu- 



lar association, may recall it. We have 
only to suppose conditions particularly fa- 
vorable for the revival of such lost impres- 
sions as occurring at certain times during 
sleep, to account for the class of dreams 
under consideration. They seem, how- 
ever, to prove that the mind sometimes 
enjoys an unusual clearness in sleep — 
that there is, in short, a peculiar lucidity 
occasionally experienced while we are in 
that state, which generally appears as a 
suspension of the mental powers. 

We now approach the class of dreams 
which the superstitious are apt to set 
down as supernatiiral, but of which, of 
course, we can only conclude that wo are 
ignorant of the natural principle concern- 
ed. Some dreams of this kind are men- 
tioned by old writers. For example, Mar- 
cus Antoninus learned in his dreams sev- 
eral remedies for spitting of blood. Ga- 
len, having an inflammation of the dia- 
phragm, was_ directed by a dream to open 
a vein between the fourth finger and 
thumb — an operation which restored him 
to health. " It is related of Sir Christo- 
pher Wren, that, when at Paris in 1671, 
being disordered with 'a pain in his 
reins,' he sent for a physician, who pre- 
scribed blood-letting ; but he deferred sub- 
mitting to it, and dreamed that very night 
that he was in a place where palm-trees 
grew, and that a woman in a romantic 
habit offered dates to him. The next day 
he sent for dates, which cured him." It 
is possible that in these instances the 
remedies suggested may have been mere 
revivals of knowledge formerly acquired, 
but forgotten in the interval. JBut such a 
surmise is inapplicable to the following 
case related by Dr. Abercrombie : " A 
gentleman in Edinburgh was affected with 
aneurism of the popliteal artery, for which 
he was under the cai'e of two eminent 
surgeons, and the day was fixed for the 
operation. About two days before the 
time appointed for it, the wife of the pa- 
tient dreamed that a change had taken place 
in the disease, in consequence of which 
the operation would not be required. On 
examining the tumor in the morning, the 
gentleman was astonished to find that the 
pulsation had entirely ceased ; and, in 
short, this turned out to be a spontaneous 
cure. To persons, not professional, it 

may be right to mention, that the cure of 
popliteal aneurism without an operation is 
a very uncommon occurrence, not happen- 
ing in one out of numerous instances, and 
never to be looked upon as probable in 
any individual case." One can not but 
be struck with the resemblance of tlis 
case to the alleged instances of clairvoy- 
ance among the practisers of animal mag- 
netism. It is but proper, however, to ad- 
vert to the explanation suggested by Dr. 
Abercrombie, unsatisfactory as it is. " It 
is likely," says he, " that the lady had 
heard of the possibility of such a termina- 
tion [to her husband's illness], and that 
her anxiety had very naturally embodied 
it in a dream : the fulfilment of it at the 
very time when the event took place i» 
certainly," he admits, " a very remarkable 

The following are from another source 
no less accredited : " A young lady on 
the eve of marriage, dreamed one night 
that she and her lover were walking along 
a pleasant path side by side. Wide- 
spreading trees waved their lofty branches 
above their heads ; her lover turned to 
her with a smile, and asked if he should 
show her the home which he had provided. 
She longed to see it, and they pursued 
their way ; they came to a tangled thicket, 
through which they found a difficulty in 
passing. At last they suddenly came to 
an opening ; a grave lay open before 
them ; the yew, the cypress, and other 
dark evergreens, were seen on every side ; 
her lover pointed to the grave, and said, 
' There is our home.' She woke in vio- 
lent agitation. The dream made a dread- 
ful impression on her, and in a few days 
after, her lover's death was announced to 
her. She fell into a state of deep dejec- 
tion, from which her sisters made every 
effort to rouse her ; she attended them in 
their walks, but was ever pensive and sad. 
One day, while they were making some 
purchases in a shop, she loitered listlessly 
at the door. A woman carrying a basket 
filled with bunches of sprigs tied up to- 
gether, advanced toward her, and asked 
her to purchase some. ' I do not want 
them,' she replied, without raising her 
heavy melancholy eyes from the ground. 
' Ah ! miss, if you don't want them to 
dress out your rooms, you might like to 



have them to strew over the grave of some 
one that you love.' These Avords touched 
the right cord, and she raised her sad 
eyes to the basket ; there she saw bunches 
of the very same evergreens which her 
dream had exhibited round* the grave of 
her lover. ' Let me have the whole 
basket,' she said, ' at any price you please.' 
Her sisters (from whom I had these par- 
ticulars) found her pale and faint, with 
the basket which she had just purchased 
by her side. She planted the branches 
round the grave of her lover ; some took 
root, and are now waving their green 
boughs over the faithful heart that lies 
buried there. 

" Not less remarkable was the dream 

of Captain F , a man of exemplary 

piety, and the strictest veracity. He was 
in the East India company's service, and 
having served one-and-twenty years, was 
about to return to his native country on leave 
of absence for three years. »Some nights 
before his departure from Calcutta he had 
a dream that his father died. It was so 
vivid, and so minutely circumstantial, that 
it made a very deep impression on him, 
and he entered all the particulars and the 
date into his pocket-book. In about six 
months after, on his arrival in London, he 
found letters from Ireland, where his fam- 
ily resided, waiting for him. They an- 
nounced the death of his father, which 
had occurred on the very night of his 
dream. This was so singular, that when 
he joined his sister a few days after, he 
desired her to enter into no particulars 
relative to his father's death till she should 
hear him. ' Sarah,' said he, ' I believe 
that ray father did not die in his own 
room — his bed was in the parlor.' ' It 
was, it was, indeed,' replied she ; ' he had 
it brought down a short time after he was 
taken ill, to save him the fatigue of going 
up and down stairs.' ' I will show you 
the spot where it was placed,' said Cap- 
tain F ; he immediately pointed out 

the situation of the bed, exactly where it 
had been. He showed where the coffin 
had been laid ; there was nothing con- 
nected with the melancholy event which 
he could not detail as minutely as those 
who had actually been present. Strange 
as all this may appear, it is nevertheless 
perfectly true. I have frequently heard it 

from Captain F himself, and from his 

wife and sister." 

The first question which occurs respect- 
ing such dreams is, can the recital be de- 
pended upon ? On this point we should 
think universal doubt were preposterous, 
considering that so many such circum- j 
stances have been detailed by respectable 
persons. The next question with many 
minds will be, are they natural events ? 
Here we should suppose no enlightened 
person could hesitate for a moment to an- 
swer in the affirmative. As natural events, 
then, how are they to be accounted for ? 
The only reply is, that the principle, if it 
be one, is unknown to us. 

The subject of dreaming is unfortunate 
in its being so much a matter of vulgar 
wonderment, for intelligent inquirers are 
thereby repelled from it. When regarded 
apart from all absurd marvelling, it is evi- 
dently a very curious department of 
psychology, and one which deserves care- 
ful investigation. By a proper collection 
of facts on this subject, I have no doubt 
that an important advance might be made 
in the science of mind. 


If one had never heqjrd of the exist- 
ence of such a society as the Templars — 
a band of men who sought to be as con- 
spicuous for their piety as for their mili- 
tary skill and courage, and who made it 
the business of their lives to reconcile the 
two pursuits — it would be still difficult to 
look on the exterior of the structure, 
which has been recently restored, without 
some such idea occurring to the mind. In 
the massive Round, with its buttresses and 
narrow windows, we are inevitably re- 
minded of the strong circular keep or 
stronghold of the castles of the middje 
ages ; while the junction of the oblong 
portion, built in the purest and most beau- 
tiful of the early English ecclesiastical 
styles, at the same time tells plainly enough 
that no mere warriors erected the whole. 
And the interest likely to be aroused by 
such associations is only the more deep- 
ened when we inquire into the history of 



the order ; when we read of Hugh de 
Payens with only eight companions de- 
voting themselves as "poor fellow-soldiers 
of Jesus Christ," to the defence of the 
pilgrims on the high road to Jerusalem, 
recently forced from the Saracens by the 
early Crusaders, and learn that from this 
humble origin sprung the mighty fellow- 
ship, which extended its ramifications 
through every country of Christian Eu- 
rope, which comprised a large portion of 
the noblest in blood, and most influential 
in wealth and power, of European chiv- 
alry ; when we read also of the poverty — 
Hugh de Payens and another knight ri- 
ding on one horse for instance — the hu- 
mility and self-sacrifices to which they at 
first voluntarily submitted themselves, of 
their heroism in active warfare as well as 
in passive endurance, of their decline and 
fall as they grew prosperous and corrupt, 
and then of the sudden restoration of the 
old spirit in the purifying flames of the 
horrible death to which many of the most 
illustrious members were sut)jected at the 
period of the extinction of the order, by 
the rapacious monarchs of Europe thirst- 
ing for their enormous wealth ; when we 
read of these things, we might naturally 
suppose that it would be diflacult to find 
any other circumstances that could mate- 
rially enhance in our eyes the chief of the 
structures built by these men in that coun- 
try. And had the Temple church been 
in the state the Templars had left it, no 
doubt the feeling would have been a cor- 
rect one ; but we know that, with the ex- 
ception of the bare outline of the walls, 
pillars, and windows, no building could be 
less like the church of the Knights Tem- 
plars than the Temple church ; and the 
great charm and value of the recent works 
in this now most beautiful of English 
buildings, is that they are all strictly 
works of restoration. In looking at the 
decorations, so novel to the eye, and in 
such a place so opposed to our ordinary 
ideas of fitness, this fact must be constantly 
borne in mind. That it is a fact we shall 
have various opportunities of noticing in 
the progress of our paper. 

To the lovers of Gothic architecture, 
the Temple off'ers an additional feature of 
interest and instruction, being looked upon 
by architects as the most interesting exam- 

ple extant of the transition from the plain 
massive Norman to the light and elegant 
early English. Thus we have before us tie 
Round with its semicircular bended win- 
dows, Norman, but Norman in the last 
stage of the change to something else — 
already grown slender and elongated ; 
and we have the oblong with its pointed 
windows, the very perfection of what is 
called the lancet style. But to return to 
matters of more general interest : the pe- 
riod of the erection of the edifice is from 
some little time prior to 1185, when the 
Round was dedicated, in honor of the 
Virgin Mary, by Heraclius, patriarch of 
Jerusalem, up to 1240, when the oblong 
was consecrated on Ascension-day. He- 
raclius was in England on business of a 
very critical nature at the time of the ded- 
ication. In a battle on the banks of the 
Jordan, in 1 179, the great body of Knights 
Templars had been nearly cut to pieces 
by Saladin, and the grand-master taken 
prisoner, to perish in prison by his own 
firmness or obstinacy, in resisting all over- 
tures for exchange or ransom. The Chris- 
tian armies, however, so far redeemed 
themselves from the temporary disgrace 
of this defeat, as to be able to obtain a 
truce for four years, while they sent He- 
raclius and the masters of the Temple, 
and the kindred society of the Hospital- 
lers, through Europe to seek fresh aid. 
They in particular hoped much from Hen- 
ry II. of England ; so much, indeed, that 
when the king and his chief nobility of- 
fered to raise fifty thousand marks for the 
purpose of paying the expenses of a levy 
of troops, and to agree that all persons 
who pleased might engage in the cause, 
the patriarch seems to have been at once 
deeply disappointed and indignant. " We 
seek a man, and not money," was his re- 
ply ; " well near every Christian region 
sendeth unto us money, but no land send- 
eth to us a prince :" and departing in this 
state of dissatisfaction, Henry, who had 
reason to dread the power of the church, 
remembering the affair of Beckett, follow- 
ed him to the seaside, in order to appease 
his anger. " But," continues Fabyan, 
" the more the king thought to satisfy him 
with his fair speech, the more the patri- 
arch was discontented, insomuch that, at 
the last, he said unto him, ' Hitherto thou 



hast reigned gloriously, but hereafter thou 
shalt be forsaken of Him whom thou at 
this time forsakest. Think on Him, what 
he hath given to thee, and what thou hast 
yielded to Him again ; how first thou 
wert false unto the king of France, and 
after slew that holy man Thomas of Can- 
terbury, and, lastly, thou forsakest the 
protection of Christian faith.' The king 
was moved with these Avords, and said 
unto the patriarch, ' Though all the men 
of my land were one body, and spake 
with one mouth, they durst not speak to 
me such words.' ' No wonder,' said the 
patriarch, 'for they love thine, and not 
thee : that is to mean, they love thy goods 
temporal, and fear thee for loss of promo- 
tion, but they love not thy soul.' And 
when he had so said, he offered his hand 
to the king, saying, ' Do by me right as 
thou didst by that blessed man Thomas of 
Canterbury, for I had liever to be slain of 
thee than of the Saracens, for thou art 
worse than any Saracen.' But Henry, 
however inly exasperated, was determined 
not to edify his subjects by another kingly 
scourging, so answered patiently, ' I may 
not wend out of my land, for my own 
sons will arise against me when I am ab- 
sent.' Somewlrat irreverently the patri- 
arch closed the conference by remarking, 
' No wonder, for of the devil they come, 
and to the devil they shall go ;' and so 
hurried away." Such were the circum- 
stances connected with the dedication of 
the Temple in 1185. 

In the exterior we are reminded of an 
interesting chapel formerly attached to its 
south side ; the chapel of St. Anne, where 
the solemn ceremony of introducing new 
members into the order took place. The 
rules of the Templars, which w-^re very 
strict, were from the hand of St. Bernard, 
who at an early period of their career 
treated them with marked consideration. 
The new member having satisfactorily 
answered in private to the questions put 
to him, affirming that he was free from all 
obligations, such as betrothal, marriage 
vows, or consecration in connexion with 
any other order, debt, disease, or weakly 
constitution, was ushered into the chapel, 
where he found present the entire body 
of knights. With folded hands and bend- 
ed knees, he then said to the master: 

" Sir, I am come, before God and be- 
fore you and the brethren, and pray 
and beseech you, for the sake of God 
and our dear Lady, to admit me into 
your society, and the good deeds of the 
order, as one who will be all his life 
long the servant and slave of the order." 
In answer he was warned, that he was 
desirous of a great matter ; that he saw 
nothing but the shell, the fine horses and 
rich caparisons, the luxurious fare, and 
splendid clothing ; but that he knew not the 
rigor which lay within. He was told it 
was a hard matter for him, his own mas- 
ter, to become another's servant ; to watch 
when he wished to sleep, and find his 
most ordinary actions similarly controlled. 
The candidate, however, answering firmly 
to all the questions that followed, and 
binding himself to be obedient to the 
master of the house, as well as to the 
master of the order generally, to observe 
the usual customs, to live chastely, and 
help with all the powers God had given 
him to conquer the Holy Land, and to be- 
friend all oppressed Christians, was re- 
ceived into the coveted brotherhood, and 
while he was assured of bread and water, 
clothing, and " labor and toil enow," the 
Templar's habit was put on his limbs, and 
he too was a Knight Templar. The 
building in which these interesting scenes 
occurred appears to have consisted of two 
stories, each with a separate entrance 
from the church, each with a groined and 
vaulted roof, and each divided near the 
centre by a massive and no doubt very 
elegant archway. A portion of the build- 
ing fell in 1825, and during the repairs, 
commenced about that time, of the Round, 
the whole was swept away. Such, we 
are glad to say, is not the spirit in which 
the late extensive reparations have been 
carried on. With a few words on this 
subject, by way of preliminary to the 
splendid scene that awaits us in the inte- 
rior, we conclude the present paper. 
From the time of the puritans down to 
the very act we have last alluded to, the 
removal of the chapel of St. Anne, the 
Temple church seems to have been under- 
going one steady process of degradation 
or mutilation in all that respects its origi- 
nal beauty or completeness ; and it would 
, be difficult to say which have done the 



rnost injury, the early church reformers 
who damaged it on principle, or the kind 
benefactors of the seventeenth aid eigh- 
teenth centuriesf who repaired and beauti- 
fied it, making a very labor of love of the 
display of their bad taste. It were not 
without interest to follow the successive 
steps of the restoration to see how the re- 
covery of one beauty led to that of an- 
other, and the subsequent discovery of the 
remains of the original decoration, led to 
the revival of such decorations in the 
sumptuous roof, and windows, and pave- 
ment, that now meet the eye. 


There is a great difference between 
the power of giving good advice and the 
ability to act upon it. Tlieoretical wis- 
dom is perhaps rarely associated with 
practical wisdom ; and we often find that 
men of no talent whatever contrive to pass 
through life with credit and propriety, un- 
der the guidance of a kind of instinct. 
These are the persons who seem to stum- 
ble by mere good luck upon the philoso- 
pher's stone. In the commerce of life, 
everything they touch seems to turn into 

We are apt to place the greatest confi- 
dence in the advice of the successful, and 
none at all in that of the unprosperous, 
as if fortune never faA^ored fools nor neg- 
lected the wise. A man may have more 
intellect than does him good, for it tempts 
him to meditate and to compare, when he 
should act with rapidity and decision ; 
and by trusting too much to his own sa- 
gacity, and too little to fortune, he often 
loses many a golden opportunity, that is 
like a prize in the lottery to his less bril- 
liant competitors. It is not the men of 
thought, but the men of action, who are 
best fitted to push their way upward in 
the world. The Hamlets or philosophical 
speculators are out of their element in the 
crowd. They are wise enough as reflect- 
ing observers, but the moment they de- 
scend from their solitary elevation, and 
mingle with the thick throng of their fel- 
low-creatures, there is a sad discrepancy 

between their dignity as teachers and their 
conduct as actors ; their wisdom in busy 
life evaporates in words ; they talk like 
sages, but they act like fools. There is 
an essential difference between those 
qualities that are necessary for success in 
the world, and those, that are required in 
the closet. Bacon was the wisest of hu- 
man beings in his quiet study, but when 
he entered the wide and noisy theatre of 
life, he sometimes conducted himself in a 
way of which he could have admirably 
pointed out the impropriety in a moral es- 
say. He knew as well as any man that 
honesty is the best policy, but he did not 
always act as if he thought so. The fine 
intellect of Addison could trace with sub- 
tlety and truth all the proprieties of social 
and of public life, but he was himself de- 
plorably inefiicient both as a companion 
and as a statesman. A more delicate 
and accurate observer of human life than 
the poet Cowper is not often met with, 
though he was absolutely incapable of 
turning his knowledge and good sense to 
a practical account, and when he came to 
act for himself, was as helpless and de- 
pendant as a child. The excellent author 
of the Wealth of Nations could .not man- 
age the economy of his own house. 

People who have sought the advice of 
successful men of the world, have often 
experienced a feeling of surprise and dis- 
appointment when listening to their com- 
monplace maxims and weak and barren 
observations. There is very frequently 
the same discrepancy, though in the op- 
posite extreme, between the words and 
the actions of prosperous men of the 
world that I have noticed in the case of 
unsuccessful men of wisdom. The for- 
mer talk like fools, but they act like men 
of sense ; the reverse is the case with the 
latter. The thinkers may safely direct 
the movements of other men, but they do 
not seem peculiarly fitted to direct their 

They who bask in the sunshine of pros- 
perity are generally inclined to be so un- 
grateful to fortune as to attribute all their 
success to their own exertions, and to sea- 
son their pity for their less successful 
friends with some degree of contempt. 
In the great majority of cases, nothing 
can be more ridiculous and unjust. In 

the list of the prosperous, there are very 
few indeed who owe their advancement 
to talent and sagacity alone. The ma- 
jority must attribute their rise to a com- 
bination of industry, prudence, and good 
fortune ; and there are many who are still 
more indebted to the lucky accidents of 
life than to their own character or con- 

Perhaps not only the higher intellectual 
gifts, but even the finer moral emotions, 
are an encumbrance to the fortune-hunter. 
A gentle disposition and extreme frank- 
ness and generosity have been the ruin, 
in a worldly sense, of many a noble spirit. 
There is a degree of cautiousness and 
mistrust, and a certain insensibility and 
sternness, that seem essential to the man 
who has to bustle through the world and 
secure his own interests. He can not 
turn aside and indulge in generous sympa- 
thies, without neglecting in some measure 
his own affairs. It is like a pedestrian's 
progress through a crowded street ; he 
can not pause for a moment, or look to the 
right or left, without increasing his own 
obstructions. When time and business 
press hard upon him, the cry of affliction 
on the roadside is unheeded and forgotten. 
He acquires a habit of indifl'erence to all 
but the one thing needful — his own suc- 

I shall not here speak of those by-ways 
to success in life which require only a 
large share of hypocrisy and meanness ; 
nor of those insinuating manners and friv- 
olous accomplishments which are so often 
better rewarded than worth or genius ; 
nor of the arts by which a brazen-faced 
adventurer sometimes throws a modest 
and meritorious rival into the shade. Nor 
shall I proceed to show how great a draw- 
back is a noble sincerity in the commerce 
of the world. The memorable scene be- 
tween Gil Bias and the archbishop of To- 
ledo is daily and nightly re-acted on the 
great stage of life. I can not enter upon 
minute particulars, or touch upon all the 
numerous branches of my subject, without 
exceeding the limits I have proposed to 
myself in the present essay. 

Perhaps a knowledge of the world, in 
the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, 
may mean nothing more than a knowledge 
of conventionalisms, or a familiarity with 

the forms and ceremonials of society. 
This, of course, is of easy acquisition 
when the mind is once bent upon the task. 
The practice of the smalj proprieties of 
life to a congenial spirit soon ceases to be 
a study ; it rapidly becomes a mere habit, 
or an untroubled and unerring instinct. 
This is always the case when there is no 
sedentary labor by the midnight lamp to 
produce an ungainly stoop in the shoul- 
ders, and a conscious defect of grace and 
pliancy in the limbs ; and where there is 
no abstract thought or poetic vision to dis- 
sipate the attention, and blind us to the 
trivial realities that are passing immedi- 
ately around us. Some degree of vanity 
and a perfect self-possession are absolutely 
essential ; but high intellect is only an 
obstruction. There are some Avho seem 
born for the boudoir and the ball-room, 
while others are as little fitted for fashion- 
able society as a fish is for the open air 
and the dry land. They who are more 
familiar with books than with men, can- 
not look calm and pleased when their 
souls are inwardly perplexed. The almost 
venial hypocrisy of politeness is the more 
criminal and disgusting in their judgment, 
on account of its difficulty to themselves, 
and the provoking ease with which it ap- 
pears to be adopted by others. The lo- 
quacity of the forward, the effeminate af- 
fectation of the foppish, and the senten- 
tiousness of shallow gravity, excite a feel- 
ing of contempt and weariness that they 
have neither the skill nor the inclination 
to conceal. 

A recluse philosopher is unable to re- 
turn a simple salutation without betraying 
his awkwardness and uneasiness to the 
quick eye of the man of the world. He 
exhibits a ludicrous mixture of humility 
and pride. He is indignant at the assu- 
rance of others, and is mortified at his 
his own timidity. He is vexed that he 
should suffer those whom he feels to be 
his inferiors to enjoy a temporary superior- 
ity. He is troubled that they should be 
able to trouble him, and ashamed that they 
should make him ashamed. Such a man, 
when he enters into society, brings all his 
pride, but leaves his vanity behind him. 
Pride allows our wounds to remain ex- 
posed, and makes them doubly irritable ; 
but vanity, as Sancho says of sleep, 



seems to cover a man all over as with a 
cloak. A contemplative spirit can not 
concentrate its attention on minute and 
uninteresting ceremonials, and a sense of 
unfitness for society makes the most ordi- 
nary of its duties a painful task. There 
are some authors who would rather write 
a quarto volume ir praise of woman, than 
hand a fashionable lady to her chair. 

The foolish and formal conversation of 
polite life is naturally uninteresting to the 
retired scholar ; but it would, perhaps be 
less objectionable if he thought he could 
take a share in it with any degree of 
credit. He can not despise his fellow- 
creatures, nor be wholly indifferent to their 
good opinion. Whatever he may think 
of their manners and conversation, his un- 
easiness evinces that he does not feel al- 
together above or independent of them. 
No man likes to seem unfit for the com- 
pany he is in. At Rome, every man 
would be a Roman. * * * 

The axioms most familiar to men of the 
world are passed from one tongue to an- 
other without much reflection. They are 
merely parroted. Some critics have thought 
that the advice which Polonius, in the 
tragedy of Hamlet, gives his son on his 
going abroad, exhibits a degree of wis- 
dom wholly inconsistent with the general 
character of that weak and foolish old 
man. But in this case, as in most others 
of a similar nature, we find, on closer 
consideration, that what may seem at the 
first glance an error or oversight of Shak- 
spere's, is only another illustration of his 
accurate knowledge of human life. The 
precepts which the old man desires to fix 
in the mind of Laertes are just such as he 
might have heard a hundred thousand 
times in his long passage through the 
world. They are not brought out from 
the depths of his own soul ; they have 
only fastened themselves on his memory, 
and are much nearer to his tongue than to 
his heart. No one is surprised at the 
innumerable wise saws and proverbial 
phrases that issue from the lips of the 
most silly and ignorant old women in all 
ranks of life, in town and country, in cot- 
tages and in courts. In the conversation 
of the weakest-minded persons we often 
find, as in that of Polonius, both *' matter 
and impertinency mixed." His advice is 

not that of a philosopher, but of a courtier 
and man of the world. He echoes the 
common wisdom of his associates : — 

" Give every man thine ear, but few thy voicj ■ 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judg- 

He is indebted to his court education for 
this mean and heartless maxim. To lis- 
ten eagerly to the communications of oth- 
ers, and to conceal his own thoughts, is 
the first lesson that a courtier learns. Let 
us quote another specimen of his paternal 
admonitions — 

" Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing duUs the edge of husbandry." 

Polonius might have picked up this mar- 
vellous scrap of prudence in some petty 
tradesman's shop ; not, however, in a 
pawnbroker's, for the sign of which it 
would form a very forbidding motto. 
There are a few precepts in the parting 
advice of Polonius of a somewhat higher 
character ; but they are only such as float 
about the world, and are repeated on oc- 
casion by all well-intentioned people. 
They are not of that high and original 
cast which Shakspere would have put in- 
to the mouth of Hamlet, or any other 
thoughtful and noble-hearted personage. 

It seems paradoxical to aflirm that men 
who are out of the world know more of 
the philosophy of its movements than 
those who are in it ; but it is nevertheless 
perfectly true, and easily accounted for. 
The busy man is so rapidly whirled about 
in the vast machine, that he has not lei- 
sure to observe its motion. An observer 
stationed on a hill that overlooks a battle 
can see more distinctly the operations of 
either army than the combatants them- 
selves. They who have attained success 
by mere good fortune, are particularly ill- 
fitted to direct and counsel others who 
are struggling through the labyrinths of 
life. A shrewd observer who has touch- 
ed the rocks, is a better pilot than he who 
has passed through a difficult channel in 
ignorance of its dangers. 

The extent of a person's knowledge of 
mankind is not to be calculated by the 
number of his years. The old, indeed, 
are always wise in their own estimation, 
and eagerly volunteer advice, which is not 
in all cases as eagerly received. The 


Men op the world. 

stale preparatory sentence of " When you 
have come to my years," &c., is occa- 
sionally a prologue to the wearisome farce 
of second childhood. A Latin proverb 
says that " experience teacheth." It some- 
times does so, but not always. Experi- 
ence can not confer natural sagacity, and 
without that, it is nearly useless. It is 
said to be an axiom in natural history, 
that a cat will never tread again the road 
on which it has been beaten ; but this has 
been disproved in a thousand experiments 
It is the same with mankind. A weak- 
minded man, let his years be few or nu- 
merous, will no sooner be extricated from 
a silly scrape, than he will fall again into 
the same difficulty in the very same way. 
Nothing is moi'e common than for old 
women (of either sex) to shake with a 
solemn gravity their thin gray hairs, as if 
they covered a repository of gathered 
wisdom, when perchance some clear and 
lively head upon younger shoulders has 
fifty times the knowledge with less than 
half the pretension. We are not always 
wise in proportion to our opportunities of 
acquiring wisdom, but according to the 
shrewdness and activity of our observa- 
tion. Nor is a man's fortune in all cases 
an unequivocal criterion of the character 
of his intellect or his knowledge in the 
world. Men in business acquire a habit 
of guarding themselves very carefully 
against the arts of those with whom they 
are brought in contact in their commercial 
transactions ; but they are, perhaps, better 
versed in goods and securities than in the 
human heart. They wisely trust a great 
deal more to law papers than to " the hu- 
man face divine," or any of those indica- 
tions of character which are so unerringly 
perused by a profound observer. A great 
dramatic poet can lift the curtain of the 
human heart ; but mere men of business 
must act always in the dark, and, taking 
it for granted that every individual, what- 
ever his ostensible character, may be a 
secret villain, they will have no transac- 
tions with their fellow-creatures until they 
have made " assurance doubly sure," and 
secured themselves from the possibility 
of loguery and imposition. They carry 
this habit of caution and mistrustfulness 
to such a melancholy extreme, that they 
'Cvill hardly lend a guinea to a father or a 

brother without a regular receipt. They 
judge of all mankind by a few wretched 
exceptions. Lawyers have a similar ten- 
dency to form partial and unfavorable 
opinions of their fellow-creatures, because 
they come in contact with the worst spe- 
cimens of humanity, and see more of the 
dark side of life than other men. Of all 
classes of men, perhaps the members of 
the medical profession have the best op- 
portunity of forming a fair and accurate 
judgment of mankind in general, and it is 
gratifying to know that none have a higher 
opinion of human nature. 

It is observable that men are very much 
disposed to " make themselves the meas- 
ure of mankind ;" or in other words, when 
they paint their fellow-creatures, to dip 
their brush in the colors of their own 

•' All seems infected that the infected spy. 
As all seems yellow to the jaundiced eye.'' 

On the other hand, a frank and noble 
spirit observes the world by the light of 
its own nature ; and indeed all who have 
studied mankind without prejudice or par- 
tiality, and with a wide and liberal obser- 
vation, have felt that man is not altogether 
unworthy of being formed after the image 
of his Maker. 

Though I have alluded to the tendency 
of some particular professions to indurate 
the heart and limit or warp the judgment, 
I should be sorry, indeed, if the remarks 
that I have ventured upon this subject 
should be regarded as an avowal of hos- 
tility toward any class whatever of my 
fellow-creatures. I should be guilty of a 
gross absurdity and injustice, if I did not 
readily admit that intellect and virtue are 
not confined to one class or excluded from 
another. Men are, generally speaking, 
very much the creature of circumstance ; 
but there is no condition of life in which 
the soul has not sometimes asserted her 
independence of all adventitious distinc- 
tions ; and there is no trade or profession 
in which we do not meet with men who 
are an honor to human nature. 

The worthiest people are the most in- 
jured by slander ; as we usually find that 
to be the best fruit which the birds have 
been pecking at. 





The mole, like the rook, has its advo- 
cates and its opponents — one party re- 
garding it as benefiting the agriculturist 
by its mining operations, another party 
accusing it as the author of extensive 
mischief. The benefits and the injuries 
produced by this little animal may be at 
once appreciated when we come to inves- 
tigate its habits, instincts, and general 
economy. We need not say that the mole 
is a miner, living an almost exclusively 
subterranean life, ever pursuing its prey 
through the soil, and working out long 
galleries in the chase. In accordance 
with its destined habits is the whole of 
its structural development. No one ex- 
amining the external conformation and in- 
ternal structure of the mole could err in 
his inferences. We may observe that the 
body is cylindrical and compact ; the 
snout prolonged and pointed ; the limbs 
very short ; the anterior pair present a 
thick, contracted arm, terminating in broad 
solid paws, with five fingers scarcely di- 
vided, and armed with strong flat nails. 
The tournure of these scrapers, for such 
they are, gives them an obliquely outward 
position, and facilitates their use as scoop- 
ing instruments, by which the soil is not 
only dug up, but thrown backward at each 
stroke, and that with great energy. The 
hinder limbs are small, and the feet feeble 
in comparison with the anterior scrapers ; 
while the body tapers to them from the 
chest and shoulders, so the hinder quar- 
ters offer no impediment to the animal's 
progress through its narrow galleries. 
The fur, moreover, is such as best befits 
a subterranean dweller — it is extremely 
close, fine, short, and smooth, and resem- 
bles the nap of black velvet. There is 
no external couch to the organs of hear- 
ing, the sense of which is acute in the 
extreme ; a simple auditory opening, ca- 
pable of being closed or dilated at pleas- 
ure, leads to the internal apparatus, which 
is effectually defended from the intrusion 
of particles of earth and sand. At a cur- 
sory glance the mole appears to be desti- 
tute of eyes ; they are, however, not 
wanting, though very small, and buried in 
the fur. A limited power of vision is suf- 
ficient for this dweller in the dark ; the 

mole, hov/ever, can see better than might" 
be imagined. By a peculiar and muscular 
contrivance it is capable of bringing for- 
ward, or of drawing in, the eye — and 
this, when withdrawn, is enveloped in 
and defended by the close fur ; so that, as 
is the case with the ear, no particles of 
earth can injure it. We have said that the 
sense of hearing is exquisite ; and to it 
the mole trusts for warning on the 'ap- 
proach of danger : — 

" Pray you tread softly, that the blind mole may 
Not hear a ioot fall." — Shakspekk. 

But the sense of smell is equally delicate ; 
and by this it is guided in its search for 
food. It bores its long sharp nose in the 
earth as it traverses its galleries, and im- 
mediately detects worms and the larvs of 
insects, which constitute its chief food. 
Nor is the feeling of this part at a low ra- 
tio : it is, on the contrary, very acute and 
susceptible, and aids the sense of smell in 
the procuring of food. The pointed snout 
is, indeed, a finger-like organ of prehen- 
sion, as well as a boring instrument. The 
general skin of the body is strong and 
tough, and not easily torn or lacerated. 

When we examine the osseous and 
muscular development of the mole, we 
find a perfect correspondence with its ex- 
ternal characters and the perfection of its 
senses. Let us proceed to an investiga- 
tion of its habits and modes of life. 

" Well said, old mole ; — canst work in the earth 
So fast? — A worthy pioneer."^ — Shakspere. 

It is to M. Henri le Court, who, when 
the French revolution broke forth with all 
the excesses an infuriated populace can 
be imagined to commit, retired into the 
country, and there, remote from scenes of 
devastation and bloodshed, devoted him- 
self to the study of this animal, that we 
are indebted for the most interesting facts 
in its history. 

The discoveries which were made by 
this observer were published in 1803, by 
M. Cadel de Vaux, and in a compressed 
form by St. Hiliare, in his " Cours d'His- 
toire Naturelle." 

It would appear that the subterranean 
labors of the mole are exerted in the ac- 
complishment of very different objects. 
Each mole may be said to have its own 
district or manor, its hunting-ground, and 



its lodges ; and this ground is traversed by- 
high-road tunnels, through which it travels 
from one part to another, all branching off 
from a central fortress — its ordinary resi- 
dence, which is, however, not only dis- 
tinct, but often remote from the chamber 
in which the nest is made and the young 
reared. We will begin by describing the 
fortress, or ordinary domicil : This for- 
tress is constructed under a hillock of 
considerable size (not one of those which 
we ordinarily see, and which, thrown up 
every night, indicate its hunting excur- 
sions). This hillock is raised in some 
secure place, where a high bank, the roots 
of a tree, or the base of a wall, afford pro- 
tection. The earth forming this mound 
is well compacted together, and made 
solid by the labors of the architect ; and 
within this firm-set mound is a complex 
arrangement of galleries and passages of 
communication. First, a circular gallery 
occupies the upper portion of the mound, 
and this communicates by means of five 
descending passages with another, and 
with a gallery at the base of the mound, 
and enclosing a larger area. These pas- 
sages are nearly at equal distances. With- 
in the area of this lower gallery is a 
chamber, not immediately communicating 
with it, but with the upper gallery, by 
three abruptly descending tunnels, so that 
to get into the basal gallery the mole has 
first to ascend to the top gallery, and from 
that descend into the lower gallery. This 
chamber is the dormitory of the mole. 
From the basal gallery opens a high-road 
tunnel, which is carried out in a direct 
line to the extent of the manor over which 
the individual presides, and from the bot- 
tom of the central chamber a passage de- 
scends, and then sweeping upward joins 
this main road at a little distance from the 
hillock ; so that the mole can enter the 
high-road either from its dormitory or 
from the basal gallery. Besides the high- 
road eight or nine other tunnels are car- 
ried out from the basal gallery ; they are 
of greater or less extent, and wind round 
more or less irregularly, opening into the 
high-road at various distances from the 
hillock : these irregular tunnels the mole 
is continually extending in quest of prey ; 
throwing up the soil above the turf, through 
holes which it makes for the purpose, and 

which form the ordinary mole-hills which 
we often see crowded thickly together. 
The high or main road exceeds in diam- 
eter the body of the mole, and is solid 
•and well trodden, with smooth sides ; its 
depth varies, according to the quality of 
the soil, instinct directing the little exca- 
vator in his work. Ordinarily it is five or 
six inches below the surface, but when 
carried under a streamlet or pathway it is 
often a foot and a half beneath. It some- 
times happens that the mole will drive two 
or more additional high-roads in order to 
the extension of its operations. They 
often meet in these roads, which will not 
admit of two passing at the same time ; 
one therefore must retreat, but when two 
males thus come into collision they fre- 
quently attack each other, the weaker 
falling a victim in the combat. The alleys 
opening from the sides of the high-road 
are generally inclined downward with a 
gradual slope, and then at the termination 
of these the mole excavates branch alleys, 
upheaving mole-hills as it works onward 
in pursuit of prey. This, however, is not 
invariably the case, but rather where prey 
is abundant in rich soils : where the soil 
is barren the mole is constantly driving 
fresh alleys ; these in winter are carried 
deep down to where the worms have 
pierced their way beyond the line to which 
the frost penetrates ; for, be it observed, 
the mole does not hybernate, but is as ac- 
tive during winter as in spring or sum- 
mer, though the results of his operations 
are less manifest. In soft rich soils, 
where the worms are among the roots of 
the turf, the mole, as may be often noticed, 
drives very superficial runs in the pursuit 
of them ; these runs are to be seen where 
a thin layer of richly manured soil over- 
lays a stratum of gravel : in fact the 
depth of these alleys is always determined 
by the quality of the soil and consequent 
situation of the worms. With respect to 
the nest of the female, it is generally con- 
structed at a distance from the fortress, 
where, at some convenient part, three or 
four passages intersect each other: this 
point of convergence is enlarged and ren- 
dered commodious, and fitted to receive a 
bed made of dry herbage, fibrous roots, 
&c. The chamber is generally beneath 
a large hillock, but not always j and the 




surrounding soil is usually such as to af- 
ford abundant food to the female with lit- 
tle trouble on her part. The mole breeds 
in the spring, mostly in April, and brings 
forth four or five young at a birth. These 
are supposed to remain imder the mother's 
care till about half grown, when they 
commence an independent existence. 

Of all animals the mole is one that en- 
dures fasting the least ; a short fast proves 
fatal to it, hence it is necessarily ever la- 
boring in quest of food. It, would appear 
that all its animal appetites are in excess ; 
its hunger is voracity amounting to rage, 
under the influence of which it fastens on 
its prey with intense eagerness. Earth- 
worms are its favorite food, and these it 
skins with great address, squeezing out 
the earthy contents of the body before 
swallowing it. It is not, however, exclu- 
sively upon earthworms and the larvae of 
insects that the mole feeds ; during the 
months of June and July it is in the habit 
of leaving its runs under the turf, and of 
wandering during the night (and occasion- 
ally even during the day) on the surface 
in quest of prey, such as birds, mice, 
frogs, lizards, snails, &c. ; but it refuses 
to touch the toad, in consequence no 
doubt of the acrid exudation from that 
reptile's skin. During these nocturnal 
excursions it often falls a prey to the owl ; 
and we have seen it in the daytime 
caught and killed by dogs. It might be 
supposed from the figure of the mole that 
its motions were very slow and deliberate ; 
it trips along, however, at a fair pace, and 
traverses its underground runs and galle- 
ries with great rapidity. Of this the ex- 
periments made by Le Court afford deci- 
sive proof. Watching the opportunity 
while a mole was feeding, at the extreme 
limits of its territory, he placed along the 
course of the high-road to its fortress a 
number of little flag-staffs, each being a 
straw, and the flag a bit of paper ; the ends 
of the straws were pushed down into the 
tunnel. When all was ready he blew a 
horn inserted into one of the openings of 
the feeding alleys, frightening with the 
horrid blast the animal then busily en- 
gaged in the important task of satisfying 
its hunger. Off started the mole for its 
fortress, and down went flag after flag in 
rapid succession, as the frightened crea- 

ture impelled by terror rushed along the 
tunnel to its asylum. So swift was its 
pace, that the spectators compared it to 
that of a horse at a moderate trot. 

The voracity of the mole and its per- 
petually recurring repasts upon animal 
food, render water not only a welcome re- 
freshment, but necessary to its existence. 
A run, sometimes used by many individu- 
als, always leads to a ditch, stream, or 
pond, if such be within a moderate dis- 
tance. If these natural supplies be not 
at hand, the mole sinks little wells, in the 
shape of perpendicular shafts, which be- 
come filled with the rain, and retain the 
water ; and they have sometimes been 
found brirafull. Scarcity of water, or a 
drought, as well as a scarcity of worms, 
often obliges the mole to shift its quarters, 
and locate upon other grounds. In its mi- 
gration it will cross brooks or rivers, swim- 
ming admirably ; and when spring or aii- 
tumn floods inundate the fields, it easily 
saves itself by these means. It is more- 
over affirmed that in this peril the male 
and female brave the waters together, and 
expose themselves to the utmost danger in 
order to save their young, in which office 
of parental devotion they mutually assist 
and protect each other. 

It is a remarkable circumstance that the 
males of this animal aie far more numer- 
ous than the females, and in the early 
part of the spring the former often engage 
in most desperate conflicts, the victor not 
unfrequently leaving the vanquished dead 
upon the spot. The attachment of the 
male to his mate is very powerful ; and 
instances are not uncommon of the male 
lying dead beside the female, the latter 
having been killed in a trap. It must be 
recollected that a short fast proves fatal to 
these animals — and it is not improbable 
that, impelled by the force of instinctive 
attachment, which overcame that of hun- 
ger, the male rejected or forbore to seek 
food, and thus pined to death. 

With the voracity of the mole is joined 
a fierce and combative disposition. If 
several moles be kept in a box of earth, 
and not supplied with an abundance of 
food, they attack each other, and the 
weaker falls a prey to the stronger : when 
the mole seizes, it holds like a bulldog, 
with a tenacious gripe, and is not easily 



disengaged. Mr. Jackson says that, " when 
a boy, his hand was so severely and firmly 
laid hold of by one, that he was obliged 
to use his teeth in order to loosen its hold." 
M. St. Hilaire describes the manner in 
which the mole approaches and seizes a 
bird : it exerts several stratagems to get 
within reach of its victim, employing the 
utmost address and caution ; but when 
this is accomplished, it suddenly changes 
its plan, and makes an instantaneous and 
impetuous attack, fastens on the hapless 
bird, tears open the abdomen, thrusts its 
snout among the viscera, and revels in its 
sanguinary repast. After satiating its rav- 
enous appetite, the mole sinks into a pro- 
found repose : in the winter it slumbers in 
its fortress ; but in the summer, beneath 
some ordinary mole-hill in one of its al- 
leys. This sleep endures for about four 
hours, or perhaps longer in the middle of 
the day, when it awakes with a renovated 
appetite. Its busiest time is in the even- 
ing, during the night, and early in the 
morning. We have, however, ourselves 
seen it busy above-ground in the earlier 
part of the day ; on one occasion we saw 
several in a damp meadow near the canal 
running from Calais to St. Omer, and a 
dog belonging to one of the passengers 
on board the boat killed two or three. 

From what we have said of the habits 
of the mole, some idea may be formed as 
to whether it injures or benefits the agri- 
culturist and horticulturist. It is certainly 
not herbiverous ; for though fibrous roots 
and other vegetables have been occasion- 
ally found in its stomach, it is evident 
that they were only accidentally swallow- 
ed with the worms it had dislodged from 
among the roots of the grass, or with the 
larvae which it had extricated by gnawing 
the vegetable matters into which they had 
bored. As regards it nest, which is made 
of dried grasses, fibrous roots, moss, and 
the like, little injury can result from the 
animal constructing it of these materials. 
It is true that St. Hilaire and Le Court 
counted two hundred and four young 
wheat-blades in one nest, but this is evi- 
dently not an ordinary occurrence. It is 
alleged that the fortresses which the mole 
constructs for its autumn and winter resi- 
dence, when left in the summer (the mole 
usually forming a new one for its next 

winter retreat), afford protection to the 
field-mouse, of which the ravages are of- 
ten so severe ; but the field-mouse would 
make a burrow for itself, did it not find 
one constructed for its purpose, and would 
neither leave the spot nor become dimin- 
ished in numbers if not a mole-hill Avere 
in the country ; besides, the field-mouse 
frequently falls a prey to the mole. This 
objection, therefore, against the mole is 
destitute of solidity, though it has often 
been urged. The injury, therefore, which 
the mole produces must be, first, from 
thinning the soil of earthworms ; and sec- 
ondly, from making galleries, and thus in- 
terfering with the roots of vegetables, 
thereby causing their destruction. The 
first argument has perhaps some weight. 
The utility of the earthworm is xmques- 
tionable. It loosens the soil by its boring 
operations, thereby rendering it more po- 
rous and susceptible of the infiltration of 
water, so essential to the nutriment of 
plants. It moreover raises as well as 
lightens the surface of the soil, insomuch 
that stones and other objects which cum- 
ber the ground are even in a few months 
buried beneath an accumulation of mould, 
the rejectaraentum of the nutritive materi- 
als of myriads of these creatures, the ef- 
fect of whose agency is to level and 
smooth the surface of the soil and fit it 
for herbage. Thus may they be called 
pasture-makers, or top-dressers of pasture 
land. Still, granting all this, it is ques- 
tionable whether in rich soils the quantity 
of worms destroyed, however great, would 
materially reduce their countless numbers. 
With respect to the second point, moles 
certainly do mischief in some cases to the 
farmer, by excavating their runs and gal- 
leries, and that especially in fields of 
grain, after the seed is sown, and when 
the blades are rising ; they do more mis- 
chief, however, in gardens ; but there they 
occur very rarely. There are, however, 
cases in which the mining operations of 
the mole appear to be decidedly beneficial. 
In extensive sheep-walks, the subsoil 
which they throw up forms a good top- 
dressing to the short grass, the roots of 
which they do not appear to injure, and it 
has been asserted that sheep-walks from 
which these animals have been extirpated 
have become materially altered in the 



character of their "feed," and that the pro- 
prietors of the sheep have been obliged 
to introduce them again. It may be con- 
cluded, then, that the evils which the mole 
occasions by its works have been greatly 
magnified ; while, perhaps, on the other 
hand, too much benefit has been attributed, 
by its advocates, to the results of its hab- 
its and economy. 

The mole does not exist in the extreme, 
north of Scotland, in Zetland, or the Ork- 
ney islands, nor has it been seen in any 
part of Ireland. 

Varieties of this animal often occur : 
we have examined specimens of a mouse- 
color, of a white, cream white, and pale 
yellowish orange. 

The name by which the mole is known 
in England are Mouldwarp, Mouldiwarp, 
and, in Dorsetshire and Devonshire, IFa«/. 
" Wand" is its old Danish name ; and 
" Vond" its present name in Norway. 
The Welsh term it Gwadd, and Twrch 
daear. It is the Maulwerf of the Ger- 
mans ; La Taupe of the French ; Topo 
of the Spanish ; Toupeiro of the Portu- 
guese ; and Talpa of the Italians. 


Though the world talks of the skies 
" raining cats and dogs," yet this is evi- 
dently regarded merely as a pleasantry, 
not likely to be disturbed by the fulfilment 
of the phenomenon. Bnt if we were told 
that the skies had " rained fishes," and 
were to regard that as equally a joke, it 
might be found that incredulity proceeded 
in this case a little too far. The recorded 
instances bearing on this point are too nu- 
merous, and too well authenticated to be 
disbelieved or slighted. 

The phrase " raining fishes" is merely 
indicative of the popular notion entertained 
respecting the phenomenon in India, 
where it occurs very frequently ; the facts 
themselves may be recorded without the 
necessity for assent to so startling an idea 
as the precipitation of fishes from the 
clouds. All that is meant to be conveyed 
by the expression is, that fishes are found 

to fall on dry land, under peculiar states 
of the weather. 

Newspapers and periodicals published 
in India frequently contain notices of 
these falls of fish ; and one gentleman, 
writing on the subject, says : " I was as in- 
credulous as my neighbors, until I once 
found a small fish, which had apparently 
been alive when it fell in the brass fimnel 
of my pluviometer at Benares, which 
stood on an insulated stone pillar, raised 
five feet above the ground in my garden." 
Another gentleman, writing in September, 
1839, and in relation to a spot about 
twenty miles south of Calcutta, states : 
" About two o'clock, P.M., of the 20th 
inst. we had a very smart shower of rain, 
and with it descended a quantity of Jim fish, 
about three inches in length, and all of one 
kind only. They fell in a straight line on 
the road from my house to the tank, which 
is about forty or fifty yards distant. Those 
which fell on the hard ground were as a 
matter of course killed from the fall ; but 
those which fell where there was grass 
sustained no injury ; and I picked up a 
large quantity of them 'alive and kicking,' 
and let them go into my tank. . . . The 
most strange thing that ever struck me, in 
connexion with this event, was, that the 
fish did not fall helter-skelter, everywhere, 
or ' here and there :' but they fell in a 
straight line, not more than a cubit in 
breadth." The explanation which this 
last gentleman deems most probable, is 
one to which we shall allude further on. 

Another example is said to have taken 
place near Allahabad. About noon, on a 
particular day in the month of May, the 
wind being from the west, and a few dis- 
tant clouds visible, a blast of high wmd 
came on, accompanied with so much dust 
as to change the teint of the atmosphere 
to a reddish hue. The blast appeared to 
extend in breadth four hundred yards, and 
was so violent that many large trees were 
blown down. When the storm had passed 
over, the ground south of the village 
where the observation was made, was 
found to be covered with fish, not less 
than three or four thousand in number. 
The fish were all about a span in length, 
and of a species well known in India. 
When found they were all dead and dry. 

A lady residing at Moradabad, in a let- 



ter to a friend in England, in 1829, gives 
an account of a numljer of fish that had 
fallen in a shower at that place ; many of 
these were observed springing about upon 
the grass in front of the house, immedi- 
ately after the storm. The letter (which 
was read before the Linnaean societ}') was 
accompanied by a drawing of one of the 
fish, taken from life at the moment : it was a 
small species of cyprinus, two inches and 
a quarter long, green above, silvery white 
below, with broad, lateral, bright red lines. 

In our own land, as well as in England, 
there are not wanting instances hearing 
on this point ; and it is probable that these 
accounts have been extensively disbeliev- 
ed, as much on account of their rarity as 
of their apparent marvellousness. The 
following narration, while it indicates 
what was in all probability a fact, includes 
an hypothesis which does not necessarily 
belong to it, and which may have inter- 
fered with the reception of the narration ; 
it is from " Hasted's History of Kent." 
" About Easter, 1666, in the parish of 
Stanstead, which is a considerable dis- 
tance from the sea, or any branch of it, 
and a place where there are no fish-ponds, 
and rather a scarcity of water, a pasture- 
field was scattered all over with small 
fish, in quantity about a bushel, supposed 
to have been rained down from a cloud, 
there having been at the time a great tem- 
pest of thunder, rain, and wind. The 
fish were about the size of a man's little 
finger. Some were like small whitings, 
others like sprats ; and some smaller, like 
smelts. Several of these fish were sold 
publicly at Maidstone and Dartford." The 
hypothesis here is evidently that the fish 
had been " rained down from a cloud ;" 
one which certainly taxes the powers of 

In the year 1830 the following appeared 
in a local Scotch newspaper: "On the 9th of 
March, 1830, the inhabitants of the island 
of Ula, in Argyleshire, after a day of very 
hard rain,, were surprised to find numbers 
of small herrings strewed over the fields, 
perfectly fresh, and some of them exhibit- 
ing signs of life." 

Now all these accounts become in ex- 
plicable if we presuppose the occurrence 
of a violent storm of wind ; and it is ob- 
servable that nearly all the accounts agree 

in stating that high and strong wind ac- 
companied or preceded the phenomenon 
noticed. A very violent wind, driving 
obliquely over the surface of a river, may 
be able to carry along with it the smaller 
fish swimming near the surface (and they 
are all small which are said to fall " with 
rain"), leaving the heavier ones behind, 
and depositing the lighter ones on dry 
land, as soon as the force of the blast be- 
comes proportionably less than the weight 
of the fish. A writer on this subject 
says : " The raining of fishes has been a 
prodigy much talked of in France, where 
the streets of a town at some distance 
from Paris, after a terrible hurricane in 
the night, which tore up trees, blew down 
houses, &c., were found in a manner cov- 
ered with fishes of various sizes. No- 
body here made any doubt of these hav- 
ing fallen from the clouds ; nor did the ab- 
surdity of fish of five or six inches long 
being generated in the air at all startle the 
people, or shake their belief in the mira- 
cle, till they found upon inquiry, that a 
very well-stocked fish-pond, which stood 
on an eminence in the neighborhood, had 
been blown dry by the hurricane, and 
only the great fish left at the bottom of it, 
all the smaller fry having been tossed in- 
to the streets." 

It is probable that this last example 
would be found illustrative of a large pro- 
portion of the cases recorded ; since it is 
not necessary to the truth of the accounts 
that the fish should have fallen near a 
pond or stream. A high wind may at the 
same time be so fierce and so long con- 
tinued as to carry the fish or any other 
bodies wafted with it to a great distance. 
A curious circumstance has been record- 
ed by Mr. Fairholme, who wrote on this 
subject, which, though not relating imme- 
diately to fish, will show how articles may 
be suspended for a time in the air by the 
action of the wind : " I remember on one 
occasion, in the midst of the most perfect 
tranquillity, and in a very sheltered gar- 
den in the south of Scotland, seeing a 
quantity of clothes, which had been 
spread to dry on a smooth bowling-green,, 
suddenly thrown into the utmost confusion, 
and some of the articles carried up into 
the a:ir so high as to be nearly lost to 
view. They were watched by myself 



and others for upward of half an hour, 
and were found next day at a distance of 
three miles." 

This example will serve to illustrate 
not so much the effect of a direct and 
rushing wind, as another wind to which 
these results have also been referred, viz. 
a whirlwind. These extraordinary phe- 
nomena, occasioned probably by sudden 
irregularities in the temperature and elec- 
trical condition of the air, manifest them- 
selves in a violent spiral aerial current, 
whirling upward with great rapidity, and 
carrying up within their A'^ortex any small 
or light bodies which may be within their 
circuit. If this should occur at sea, an 
immense volume of water is carried up 
at the same time, forming what is called 
a water-spout ; and it is unquestionable 
that if water can be thus drawn up, small 
fishes may be similarly affected. If ^Lte 
spiral current of air, whether including 
water within it or not, remain stationary 
above the spot where it was formed, 
then whatever was drawn up with it will 
after a time be precipitated nearly to the 
same point as that from which it was 
taken ; but if the whirlwind or water-spout 
itself moves onward, then the contained 
matters will be carried with it, until the 
force of the blast dies away, and the sub- 
stances are precipitated to the ground 
simply by their own gravity. Whirlwinds 
of this kind are very common in India ; 
and it seems consistent with all the details 
hitherto recorded, that when fishes, either 
alive or dead, are seen to fall to the 
ground, they have been wafted from some 
sea, lake, river, or pond, by one of these 
two agencies — either a powerful wind, 
which by sheer force drove the fish out of 
their watery element ; or by a whirlwind, 
which drew the water and the fish up- 
ward in its vortex by a species of suction, 
and then wafted them to a considerable 
distance before precipitation. 

The lovers of the marvellous are wont 
to talk of the raining of frogs, the raining 
of stones, the raining of blood, and many 
other astounding matters of a similar 
kind ; but, as may be well supposed, the 
details admit of interpretation very differ- 
ent from the popular one. Swammerdam 
relates the following circumstance as hav- 
ing occurred at the Hague in 1670: 

One morning the Avhole town was in an 
uproar on finding their lakes and ditches 
full of a red liquid, which was with the 
common consent of the vulgar believed to 
be blood. The lakes were known to be 
full of water the night before ; and it was 
therefore deemed a logical inference that 
there must have been a shower of blood 
during the night. A physician, however, 
went down to one of the ditches, and 
took home thence a quantity of this blood- 
colored liquid : he examined it by the mi- 
croscepe, and found that the water was 
water still, and had not at all changed its 
color ; but that it swarmed with a prodi- 
gious number of small red animals, all 
alive, and very nimble in their motions, 
whose color and number gave a red tinge 
to the whole body of the Avater they lived 
in, when viewed from a distance. The 
certainty, however, that this was the case 
did not persuade the Hollanders to re- 
nounce the marvel : they came to the con- 
clusion that the sudden appearance of 
such a number of animals was as great a 
prodigy as the raining of blood would 
have been ; and for generations afterward 
it was regarded as a portent and foretel- 
ling of the scene of war and devastation 
brought about in Holland by Louis XIV." 

The appearance of the insects in such 
numbers is accounted for thus (for as no 
one appears to have asserted that he saw 
blood-colored liquid fall from the clouds, 
we are spared the necessity of any further 
explanation) : these little animals are the 
pulices arborescentes of Swammerdam, 
or the water-fleas with branched horns. 
These creatures are of a reddish-yellow 
or flame color. They live about the sides 
of ditches, under weeds, and among the 
mud, and are therefore not generally very 
visible. At about the end of May and the 
beginning of June, however, these little 
animals leave their recesses, to float loose 
about the water, and by that means be- 
come visible by the color they impart to 
the water. 

High winds, little red insects, and me- 
teorolites, will probably exhaust the list, 
and explain the causes, of what are term- 
ed " preternatural rains." 

Experience is the mother of science. 
Learning refines and elevates the mind. 





Our frontispiece is a representation of 
the mansion of the Hon. Judge Ford, 
of Morristown, New Jersey, which was 
occupied by General Washington during 
the winter of 1777, as his headquarters, 
whither he had retired after the memo- 
rable battle of Princeton. The events 
which had transpired immediately pre- 
ceding the period when Washington chose 
Morristown for his winter quarters, were 
as extraordinary as they were vitally im- 
portant to the cause of America. By 
great exertions and imminent peril he had 
succeeded in crossing the Delaware just 
at the commencement of a severe winter, 
with an army poorly clad, greatly inferior 
in numbers and discipline to the enemy, 
and their term of service just expired. 
The hardships of war, the despondency 
of hope deferred, and other depressing 
causes, wrought in a great majority of 
them a determination to quit the army and 
retire to their homes. The commander- 
in-chief saw that the fate of the country 
depended on them, and with persuasions 
and largesses he prevailed on them to re- 
main in service six weeks longer. 

Sir William Howe, observing this bold 
movement of the little army of Amer- 
icans, resolved to punish them for their 
audacity, and sent Cornwallis, who Avas 
about embarking for England, to drive 
them from New Jersey. Washington 
made immediate preparations for his re- 
ception, for he well knew that this strug- 
gle would be a decisive one. He knew 
that fearful odds were against him, but he 
trusted to the superior strength of that 
principle which actuates men when fight- 
ing for their families and firesides. He 
was then stationed at Trenton, and learn- 
ing that the enemy's battalions were 
marching toward that place, he prepared 
for an attack. Detachments harassed 
them on the road, and they did not arrive 
till four o'clock in the afternoon, when a 
conflict ensued which lasted till dusk. 
Cornwallis determined to renew the attack 
in the morning, but when the day dawned, 
the Americans had disappeared. By a 
circuitous route, Washington had marched 

to Princeton, where three regiments were 
stationed, with orders to reinforce Corn- 
wallis, and before sunrise on the morning 
of the 3d of January, 1777, he commenced 
an attack upon them, which led to a de- 
cisive victory. The British had more 
than 100 killed, and 300 taken prisoners. 
The American loss was small in numbers, 
but great in the death of the brave Gene- 
ral Mercer and Colonels Haslett and Pot- 

After this battle, Washington marched 
to Pluckemin, where his troops, who had 
not slept for thirty-six hours, found rest. 
After a halt of a day or two, he marched 
to Morristown, where he took up his win- 
ter quarters. 


Both ancients and moderns have been 
much addicted to looking into futurity as 
to the weather. Providence, however, 
seems to confine our knowledge of this 
kind within narrow bounds. An author 
(Dr. Johnson) who makes no pretensions 
to meteorological science, has boldly af- 
firmed, that on the morning of one day we 
can not tell for certain what will be the 
weather of next morning. One may 
guess, and guess rightly at times ; still it 
is but bad guesswork. 

Many years' diligent observation, and 
iliO perusal of all the treatises he could 
find on the subject, have led the writer to 
be of opinion, that the appearance of the 
heavens is the only thing to be depended 
upon as prognosticating change of weather; 
and the utmost certain observation to be 
obtained in this way extends but to a few 
hours previous. It often happens, indeed, 
that the transition from one state of the at- 
mosphere to another is so sudden, that no 
notice whatever is given beforehand. 

The phases of the moon are a favorite 
subject for the weather-wise. Our alma- 
nacs contain regular tables, inferring to 
every quadration a diflferent kind of wea- 
ther ; whereas the truth is, a whole luna- 
tion may pass without any change of the 
least importance. From close examina- 
tion, these tables may be pronounced to be 



useless for any practical purpose. That 
they are always wrong, is indeed impos- 
sible ; for even the most random conjec- 
ture will often prove right. This is the 
great source of delusion to the common 
people, and even to those who should know 
better, that if they now and then see a 
very distinct change with a new or full 
moon, they conclude such may always be 
depended upon. 

It has been proved, indeed, that the po- 
sition or phases of the moon have some 
influence on the weather ; and Toaldo, an 
eminent Italian astronomer, has given a 
table of this kind, deduced from about 
forty years' observations ; but his calcula- 
tions amount to mere probabilities, and of- 
ten remote ones, so that the information he 
presents is not of any great value. An- 
other difficulty occurs in speaking of a 
change — that the weather is sometimes in 
such an anomalous state, that we can 
hardly say whether a change has taken 
place or not. 

The aspect of the heavens is, however, 
worthy of our most careful observation, as 
here we have something like certainty in 
the warning it gives us. The clouds have 
been accurately classified in three great 
divisions : 1 . The cumulus, having a swel- 
ling roundish appearance, somewhat like 
wool; 2. The stratus, which is quite flat, 
and sometimes divided into oblong divis- 
ions with sharp edges ; 3. The nimbus, 
or rain cloud. There are also diminutives 
of the first two. The cirrho-cumulus, 
which appears like a chain of small wool- 
ly-looking clouds, and the cirrho-stratus, 
w^hich extends like long streaks. 

Every one knows that a gradual accu- 
mulation of dark clouds is commonly a 
pretty sure indication of rain. But though 
one would think the nimbus is more like 
the cumulus than the stratus, the latter 
more certainly denotes the approach of 
rain, though at some hours' distance. For 
instance in the evening, stratus of a dark 
color extending lengthwise, somewhat 
like fishes with very little motion, are 
pretty sure harbingers of rain. On the 
other hand, cumuli, though rather dense 
and opaque, if sailing along quickly with 
the wind, have very little moisture, and, 
at the most, emit now and then a trifling 
shower. The case is different, however, 

if they move against the wind, for then 
they very soon assume the appearance and 
properties of the nimbus. 

A haziness in which the sun, if in the 
daytime, or the moon and stars at night, 
get gradually dimmer, and at length dis- 
appear, in summer and harvest denotes 
rain ; the air is then usually calm, and the 
rain lasts about five or six hours. The 
heaviest rains of the whole year probably 
fall in the latter part of summer and har- 
vest. The wind is then commonly east- 
erly, and the clouds, as far as we can ob- 
serve, are low and misty, flying with the 
wind ; but the real nimbus is probably in 
a 'higher region of the air, and moving 
slowly from the south. Mists in the spring 
seldom lead to much moisture ; but in the 
autumn, and latter part of the season, 
they are often followed by a tract of very 
wet weather. Country people, too, dis- 
tinguish between white and black mists, 
the former being indications of dry, and 
the latter of wet weather. This may be 
easily explained by the former having no 
clouds above them, and the latter being 
shaded by dense masses of vapor. The 
barometer assists in pointing out a differ- 
ence between clouds which otherwise is 
not readily discernible. Thus, with a 
high barometer, the heavens may be cov- 
ered with dark clouds of the cumulus spe- 
cies, yet not threatening rain ; but with a 
low barometer, the smallest cloud, in pas- 
sing, has its sprinkling of wet. 

Of thunder-storms, however violent, we 
have often but very short previous knowl- 
edge. The air is commonly still ; the 
clouds move slowly from the south, and 
are exceedingly dense and dark. Some- 
times their motion is confused, as if run- 
ning against one another. Thunder is 
usually, though not always, accompanied 
with very heavy rain ; and the weather, 
if hot before, becomes much cooler. In 
the autumn evenings we have sometimes 
a great deal of lightning, without thunder. 
In this case it appears under a great many 
fantastic shapes, but seems to have little 
effect on the weather. * 

The aurora horealis prevails chiefly in 
the latter part of the season. When its 
coruscations are very bright, it indicates a 
stormy, moist, and unsettled state of the 
atmosphere. Lunar halos, if distinct, 

seem to announce a strong wind rising. 
Prognostics of change of weather from 
plants and animals are not of great vakie, 
though they fill up pages in treating of this 
subject. It is true enough that both plants 
and animals are sensitive to these changes ; 
but the notice they give is very short, 
while the appearances of the heavens are 
still more accurate, and within every- 
body's observation. For instance, the 
low flying of the swallow is supposed to 
announce rain ; but it is not easy to define 
their low flying, they take so many alti- 
tudes. Ducks and other aquatic birds are 
usually noisy and active in wet weather ; 
but to take warning from their quacking 
is unnecessary, as we have more certain 
notice otherwise. 

There have been calculations, also, how 
often dryness or wetness in one season 
affects those following ; but the experi- 
ence of many successive years only shows 
an uncertain degree of probability that 
such may be the case. The prevalence 
of particular winds certainly leads more 
or less to similar tracts of weather. 
Westerly winds prevail almost two thirds 
of the year, and easterly one third. From 
March to the end of June, east winds oc- 
cur oftenest, and west winds during the 
rest of the year. The direct west wind 
is usually dry, with rather a cold temper- 
ature ; but, veering to the south, it inclines 
more or less to moisture. The north 
wind is always cold, and usually, but not 
always, dry. Coming after a tract of very 
wet weather, it generally clears the air. 

A great deal has been said about prog- 
nostication from the barometer. Import- 
ant as this instrument is in many respects, 
the experience acquired by long observa- 
tion leads to the conclusion, that its indi- 
cations are rather of the present than of 
the future state of the weather. No 
doubt, if we look over a well-kept regis- 
ter, we find tracts of fair and wet weather 
corresponding with a high and low state 
of the barsmeter. Still, when the mer- 
cury is low in the tube, can we foresee 
when it is to rise, or if high, when it is to 
fall ? The barometer, indeed, in all kinds 
of weather, is continually, rising and fall- 
ing ; but it is a decisive rise or fall that 
announces a real change, and even then 
we can not foresee how long that change 

is to continue. The most certain sign of 
a complete change from wet to dry wea- 
ther is when the rise is quick, and to a 
great height ; but even then the wind and 
the appearance of the atmosphere give 
this notice also. The mercury rising du- 
ring heavy rain is also strongly indicative 
of a return of fair weather. It is well 
known, too, it does not fall so much with 
heavy rain as with high winds. When 
high, its motions g,re slow and gradual ; 
and when low, rapid, and its fluctuations 
more remarkable. In winter, its ranges 
are both higher and lower than in sum- 
mer, and in tropical regions it keeps still 
nearer to the medium. At sea, the ba- 
rometer has been found useful ; for its 
sinking quickly gives notice, though but a 
short time before, of a coming gale, and 
in that case even half an hour is of value 
to the mariner. 

An instance of the absurdities to be 
found in treatises on this subject, may be 
given by a quotation from a tolerably re- 
spectable work. " Persons who have oc- 
casion to travel, are recommended to look 
at the mercury in the tube some hours be- 
fore they set out ; if rain threatens, it will 
be concave ; if otherwise, convex or pro- 
tuberant !" This no douBt shows the pres- 
ent state of the weather, but as to the fu- 
ture, the writer will give his own experi- 
ence. One fine clear evening he observed 
the barometer rising quickly, and so late 
as eleven o'clock the convexity was most 
distinct. About seven next morning, how- 
ever, upon looking out, he found it had 
been raining heavy for some time ; still 
the barometer was correct, at least as to 
the present, for the mercury had fallen 
sensibly, and the surface was quite con- 
cave. This state of matters, too, is not 
unusual. In a late precarious harvest, 
therefore, a farmer would be to blame if, 
upon the authority of a rising barometer 
and bright sky, he should leave off" clear- 
ing his fields at seven or eight in the 
evening, depending upon next morning be- 
ing favorable ; whereas the weather may 
change by three or four in the morning, 
and here would be a loss of seven or 
eight valuable hours, to the great detri- 
ment of his crop. 

If we err at times in the anticipation of 
good, the same thing happens occasionally 



as to the threatening of bad weather. 
The season of 1816 had been cold, wet, 
and unproductive in England. The har- 
vest was only getting general about the 
end of September. About the beginning 
of October, the weather previously being 
very moist, the crop already cut, was ly- 
ing out in the worst condition. On the 
10th of October everything had a most 
dismal appearance. It had rained till 
mid-day ; the afternoon and evening, though 
fair, were still and dark, and the air 
seemed loaded with moisture ; the weath- 
ercocks, too, were occupied by numbers of 
crows ; in short, everything indicated a 
continuance of bad weather. That very 
afternoon, however was the commence- 
ment of a fine seasonable tract, by means 
of which a large part of the crop, indif- 
ferent indeed, as to produce, v as secured 
in good order. 

If the barometer gives us but short in- 
sight into the future, its indications at the 
exact time as to storms or earthquakes at 
a distance, are sometimes very remark- 
able. The effects of these, as far off as 
two thousand miles, have been distinctly 
observed. The great earthquake at Lis- 
bon, November, 1755, affected the barom- 
eter in a striking* manner. On the 13th 
of January, 1843, there was a storm in 
the English and Irish channel, denoted at 
Edinburgh by a fall of the barometer to 
27^ inches, lower than it had been for 
some years before. That afternoon, at 
Edinburgh, hardly a breath of wind was 
perceptible, while at this very time such 
a storm raged in the English and Irish 
channel, that 180 vessels were wrecked, 
and nearly 500 lives lost. 

An illustration of the nature of the ba- 
rometer may be given by a case of very 
frequent occurrence. One morning the 
mercury was observed to sink very much, 
toward mid-day the clouds appeared heavy, 
and the general talk was, that all this de- 
noted much rain. This threatening end- 
ed, however, in a slight shower or two. 
But the whole affair was very soon ex- 
plained. That morning it had rained 
heavily thirty or forty miles to the west- 
ward, and the clouds we saw coming from 
that quarter. had nearly exhausted their 
moisture before they reached us. 

That there is such a thing as the cycle 

of the seasons — that is, a return of years 
at regular periods with the same kind of 
weather — is an opinion which has been 
broached by writers on the subject, but is 
really very little authorized by any ac- 
counts we have on record. The nearest 
approach to an illustration of this theory, 
was the circumstance of three very bad 
seasons recurring at nearly the same in- 
tervals. The cold and wet season, in 
England, in 1766, was followed by those 
of 1782, 1799, and 1816, the di-stance of 
each being 16 or 17 years. But, allow- 
ing these years to have resembled each 
other pretty closely, the order of the inter- 
vening ones, more or less favorable in the 
above periods, was not at all similar. 
Thus 1799, very wet and cold, was fol- 
lowed by 1800, remarkably dry ; but 1816, 
very like 1799, was followed by 1817, 
also wet and cold, though much less so 
than 1816. It is to be kept in view, also, 
that we have no accounts of such a cycle 
before 1766, thought no doubt meteo- 
rological registers before that period are 
quite defective. The year 1740 is known 
to have been very cold, but hardly one be- 
tween it and 1766. Since 1816, it is 
certain we have had nothing of the kind. 
In the spring of 1833, the talk was, that 
17 years had elapsed since 1816, and that 
we must look for a bad season ; but it so 
happened that 1833-34-35-36 were all 
good seasons. There was a falling of 
in 1837, and 1838-39-40-41 certainly 
proved more or less unfavorable ; still, 
reckoning by the price of grain, 1838, the 
worst of them, was not nearly so bad as 
1799 or 1816. 

In short, though all seasons have neces- 
sarily a general resemblance, each has its 
own peculiar features, like the human 
countenance in individuals. For instance, 
in the course of the last fifty years, no 
winter has been, it may be remembered, 
so severe as that at the commencement of 
1795. For more than two months, from 
Christmas, 1794, to March, 1 795, ^^^ snow 
lay many feet deep round Edinburgh. 
There was no coach travelling for some 
weeks, and it required the labor of a great 
number of men to cut a road to the near- 
est collieries. There has been there oc- 
casionally deep snow in different years 
since ; but on the occasion of January, 



1814, which was next in severity to 1795, 
the snow, about one foot deep, hardly lay 
one month. 

On the other hand, the summer of 
1826, was warm beyond example in any 
person's remembrance. The harvest, too, 
was unprecedentedly early. Near Dudling- 
stone, a large field was completely reaped 
by the 16th July, that is, about a fortnight 
sooner than what is reckoned an early 
harvest. The Decembers of 1842 and 
1843 seem to have had no precedent as to 
mildness for more than forty years. The 
mean temperature of both these months, 
taken at nine A.M., Avas very nearly 48 
degrees, which is quite equal to that of a 
very mild April. The mean heat of Sep- 
tember, 1843, too, was about 60 degrees, 
of equally rare occurrence ; but the differ- 
ence between that and the ordinary mean 
is not so striking as that of the two De- 

From the observation of many years, 
we can ascertain the average temperature, 
moisture, and also the prevailing winds, 
of each month ; and this is of importance, 
as giving us the general character of the 
climate, and its peculiarities. But this 
calculation gives little information as to the 
winds or weather of any particular month. 

In the business of life, we must be on 
our guard against dependance upon prob- 
abilities. And the farmer and the mari- 
ner, whose avocations are so much con- 
nected with the winds and weather, re- 
quire to keep this in view, and not to al- 
low their vigilance to be relaxed by flat- 
tering appearances. In the words of Pa- 
ley, " The seasons are a mixture of regu- 
larity and chance. They are regular 
enough to authorize expectation, while 
their irregularity induces, on the part of 
the cidtivator of the soil, a necessity for 
activity, vigilance, and precaution." 


A VERY deeply recessed and sumptu- 
ously enriched Norman gateway leads 
from the low sunken porch at the termi- 
nation of the western extremity of the 

building into the Round, and at once 
places before us the view represented in 
the annexed plate. Among the variety 
of objects that press upon the attention it 
is difficult to fix upon any one. There 
are the painted windows at the farthest 
end, appearing like some sudden discov- 
ery of one of the richest works of the 
olden time that we have so often read of; 
and the painted roof, scarcely less splen- 
did, and from its novelty still more inter- 
esting : nearer still are three beautiful 
arches, which rather connect than divide 
the two portions of the structure — the 
very arches so mercilessly closed up and 
disfigured ; while around us is the beauti- 
ful aisle with its groined roof, supported 
at intervals by stately dark marble pillars, 
that rise conspicuously from the arcade of 
pointed arches decorating the lower part 
of the wall ; and, lastly, in the centre, 
divided from the aisle by the circle of tall 
clustered marble columns that support its 
lofty roof, is the tower, or central portion 
of the Round, with its series of archways 
opening into the gallery, or triforium ; its 
clerestory, or range of windows, one of 
them painted ; and above, the roof, where 
the compartments formed by the bold 
groining are studded over with delicate 
blue ornaments on a kind of drab-like 
ground ; the centre standing out from all 
the rest by its richer and more varied dis- 
play of colors, surrounding a massive 
gilded boss. The painted window men- 
tioned, with its deep rubies, and purples, 
and bronzes, represents Christ enthroned ; 
and the general design of the decoration 
of the dome is borrowed from an existing 
ancient Sicilian church. Among the fea- 
tures of interest in this part of the struc- 
ture are the heads which decorate the ar- 
cade in the aisle, sixty-four in number, 
and which were probably intended to rep- 
resent on one half-circle — that to the left — 
a state of purgatory, and on the other of re- 
lief from it, by the mediation of the church. 
But as none of the heads are original, and 
some of them not even copies of the origi- 
nal designs, it is not easy to prove the 
truth of this hypothesis. But we per- 
ceive, first, that in other parts of the struc- 
ture — the entrance archways to he aisles 
of the oblong — the opposing character of 
the two corbel faces in each arch bears 

The Temple Church, from the entrance door way. 



evident reference to an idea of this kind ; 
and, secondly, the half-circle that was 
most carefully restored — the left or north- 
ern — presents but comparatively few ex- 
ceptions to the painful character expressed 
by all the heads on that side, and which 
has been marked throughout by the nicest 
discrimination of the different kinds of 
manifestation of pain applicable to so 
many different classes of individuals. 
The philosopher looks as though he would 
pluck out the heart of even this mystery : 
the satirist or misanthrope as though he 
had as much contempt for purgatory as all 
other things, even while he felt its power ; 
on the other hand, where the individuals 
represented are less intellectual, and more 
sensual, the appropriate expressions are 
no less strikingly developed : here, beauty 
is distorted into a thing it would tremble 
but to see ; here one can hardly avoid 
feeling the claws and teeth of the animal 
tearing the ear : Avhile there is one head, 
combining a mingled sensation of phys- 
ical and mental horror which surpasses 
description — it is ghastly — fearful ! — it is 
as if all the worst passions of man's na- 
ture had been gathered together in one 
point and then smitten with some intolera- 
ble agony. But perhaps the most inter- 
esting of the whole is the last of this cir- 
cle, a female's face — probably a mother, 
who forgets even the anguish of her own 
sufferings in the passionate, yet quiet, be- 
cause hopeless misery of reflecting on 
those she has left behind. Mixed Avith 
the heads we have referred to are a great 
variety of grotesques, and the whole are 
highly deserving of attention. According 
to Mr. Addison, the author of the recent 
" History of the Knights Templars," an 
arcade and cornice similarly decorated 
with heads have been found in the ruins 
of the Temple churches at Nice, and in 
their famous fortress near Mount Carmel, 
known as the " Pilgrim's Castle." We 
must not omit to add that the original 
heads, after being carelessly, because in- 
artistically copied, were used in the buil- 
der's yard td slip beneath cart-wheels oc- 
casionally ! And that is but about eigh- 
teen years ago. 

The pavement of the Temple church 
has attracted much attention, and deser- 
vedly. On removing the rubbish beneath 

the late pavement, patches of the former 
decorated one were found ; and, accord- 
ingly, the Benchers, in pursuance of the 
rule that has constantly guided them, de- 
termined to restore the old encaustic tile. 
And as they had the old quarry at Pur- 
beck reopened purposely for the supply 
of the right material for the new pillars 
which it was found necessary to have in 
the Round, so did they seek and obtain 
permission to have the flooring of the 
chapter-house at Westminster abbey taken 
up, to learn the exact nature of the deco- 
rations used at the period in question, and 
then made arrangements to have the tiles 
manufactured accordingly in Staffordshire. 
The prevailing color is yellow or amber, 
forming the decorative parts, upon a dark 
red ground. The decorations combine a 
great variety of heraldic and pictorial 
subject^, as animals with their tails linked 
together, cocks and foxes, figures playing 
upon musical instruments ; but the chief 
ornaments are the symbols of the two so- 
cieties of the Temple, the Lamb and the 
Pegasus ; the former founded on the de- 
vice of St. John, and the latter, it is sup- 
posed, from the interesting circumstance 
before mentioned concerning the founder 
of the order, and the poverty which for a 
time prevailed among the Templars. 

But, of all the objects of interest in the 
Round, the recumbent figures of the Cru- 
saders, on the floor, most eminently de- 
serve and justify examination. These but 
two years ago looked generally more like 
rude masses of worthless stone, than any- 
thing else, the surface being extensive- 
ly decayed — noses, fingers, swords, legs, 
and feet, every here and there missing — 
all delicacy of workmanship, such as ex- 
pression in the faces, or minute points of 
costume in the garb, apparently lost. It 
was found, indeed, that they were too far 
gone for restoration. A trial, however, 
was permitted to be made on one of them 
— the exceedingly graceful figure that is 
nearest to the central walk of the second 
pair on the right hand — and the sculptor, 
Mr. Richardson, set to work. The paint 
and whitewash, in places a quarter of an 
inch thick, were first removed by means 
of a finely-pointed tool (washes of a suffi- 
ciently powerful kind it was feared would 
be injurious to so decayed a surface), and 



the surface made clean ; a chymical liquid 
was then forced into the stone to harden 
it, and, next, the restoring process begun. 
This consisted of two parts — filling up all 
the hollows (which were so numerous as 
to make the effigy appear like a honey- 
comb) with a composition exactly imita- 
ting the stone, and becoming immediately 
almost as hard ; and seconclly, of supply- 
ing the missing limbs and members by the 
authority of those which remained, work- 
ed in the same material, and joined by the 
composition. Except in very urgent cases, 
the original surface, however decayed, 
was left untouched, and no restorations 
were made without absolute evidence that 
they were restorations ; and yet the result 
is the very beautiful and noble effigies 
which once more grace the floor of the 
Temple church in their pristine state ; 
one only exception being made as to the 
colored decorations in painting and gild- 
ing, which it was discovered by Mr. 
Richardson, in cleaning them, they had 
formerly borne, particularly those which 
had not been wrought in Purbeck mar- 
ble. The effigy of William Marshal, 
the younger, seems to have been most 
rich in this respect; traces were found on 
it of a crimson surcoat, gilded armor, and 
of glass enamelling about the cushion. 

While upon this subject we may ob- 
serve that other interesting discoveries of 
a similar kind were made during the recent 
restoration. Some of the corbel heads 
before referred to in the intervening arch- 
ways of the aisles had glass beads for 
eyes ; and only a week before the re- 
opening of the church, a beautiful little 
seraph-like head was discovered at the 
corner of one of these archways (be- 
tween the Round and the southern aisle), 
which had been most delicately colored : 
from the traces remaining, it could be dis- 
cerned that the eyes had been blue, the 
lips tinged with vermilion, and the cheek 
with a flesh-color, and that the graceful 
flowing hair had been gilt. How all this 
reminds one of the custom of the Greeks, 
even ui the purest eras of art among 
them ; and of the extraordinary length to 
which they carried this species of deco- 
ration in works which to our eyes seem 
so beautiful in their naked simplicity, that 
they could only be impaired by such ad- 

ditions. With them we find metal, pre- 
cious stones, or imitations of precious 
stones, used for the eyes of their busts and 
statues, as well as glass ; we rind them 
also inlaying the lips. Different-colored 
marbles were used in the same work, and 
compositions of metal formed to harmo- 
nize in hue with the feeling intended to 
be expressed by the sculptor. One of the 
most interesting examples of the latter is 
that mentioned by Plutarch, a statue of 
Jocasta, wife of Laius, king of Thebes, 
by the sculptor Silanion, in which the 
queen was represented dying. By an in- 
genious mixture of the metals of which it 
was formed, and, it is said, chiefly by the 
addition of silver, a pallid tone was pro- 
duced, which greatly increased the inten- 
sity of the expression in the features. By 
similar means, no doubt, was produced the 
bronze statue of Cupid by Praxiteles, so 
much admired by Callistratus.for its ele- 
gance of position, the arrangement of the 
hair, its smile, the fire in the eyes, and 
the vivid blush in the countenance ; and 
the iron statue of Alhamas, at Delphi, 
mentioned by Pliny, which represented 
the king, sitting, after the murder of his 
son : this work it appears, was not entire- 
ly of iron, for the artist Aristonidas, wish- 
ing to express the eflfect of confusion and 
remorse in the countenance of the king, 
used a mixture of iron and bronze, which 
should imitate in some measure the blush 
of shame. 

Seeing then that we have such high 
authorities for the colored decoration of 
statues, and that these heads in the Tem- 
ple church colored, it may almost be 
doubted whether the restoring process 
should have stopped short of this point : 
that is, supposing there were sufficient 
materials to have restored it rightly. To 
return : the effigies, nine in number, lie 
four on each side of the central walk, in 
a double line, the ninth being farther off 
on the right against the wall, in the aisle, 
and corresponding in position with the 
simply but elegantly carved stone coffin- 
lid in the opposite aisle. As far as it has 
been found possible to identify the effigies, 
five out of the nine are assigned as fol- 
lows : Of the first pair on the right, the 
farthest figure is that of the great protec- 
tor Pembroke, whose statesman-like pol- 



icy freed England from the foreigners 
whom the revolted barons had introduced 
in self-defence against John, and restored 
at the same time to the throne of the 
young Henry the allegiance of hearts that 
had been long alienated from it ; the other 
and nearer figure by his side is one of 
Pembroke's sons, William Marshal, the 
younger, who overthrew Llewellyn of 
Wales, and was one of John's hated oppo- 
nents, a supporter of the great charter, 
although John's own son-in-law, having 
married his daughter. Henry HI. follow- 
ed his funeral to the grave here, and was 
so affected that he could not restrain his 
grief from being visible to all the bystand- 
ers. Of the second pair, the foremost is 
unknown, the other is the effigy of Gil- 
bert Marshal, another of the protector's 
sons, v/ho died at a tournament which he 
had instituted, through a fall from a runa- 
way horse. The figure still farther to the 
right, De Roos's, an exquisitely beautiful 
piece of sculpture, refers also to one of 
the great men of the charter. On the 
left, one only of the figures has been rec- 
ognised, the foremost of the two nearest 
the western door, which is Geoff"rey de 
Magnaville's, a grandson of the Norman 
follower of William, who so distinguish- 
ed himself at the battle of Hastings, 
and whose history was of no ordinary 
kind. During the civil war in the reign 
of Stephen, Magnaville, having deserted 
the cause of the latter, held the Tower 
for Maud, and was attacked there by the 
citizens, without success ; but being taken 
prisoner at St. Albans, in 1443, was com- 
pelled to give it up with his other posses- 
sions. From that time De Magnaville 
seems to have grown tired of rapine and 
plunder on another's account (for much of 
the civil war ^t that time seems to have 
been but little else than rapine and plun- 
der), and to have determined to act en- 
tirely upon his own, respecting no party — 
treating the church no better than the 
laity. One of his exploits w^as robbing 
Romsey abbey of its consecrated vessels, 
among other valuables. He was killed 
by an arrow, vrhich pierced his brain, as 
he was besieging the royal castle at Bur- 
well, the archer's aim having been proba- 
bly invited by his removing his helmet on 
I account of the heat of the day. Of course 

he had been excommunicated for such 
deeds as that before mentioned, and in 
consequence no one dared to bury him in 
consecrated ground. The Templars, how- 
ever, with whom no doubt he was con- 
nected as a kind of lay-brother and bene- 
factor, wrapped his dead body in their 
habit, placed it in a leaden coffin, and then 
suspended it from one of the trees in their 
garden here. Some years after, absolu- 
tion was obtained, and the body buried in 
the porch before the entrance doorway, 
and there two bodies were recently found, 
one of them no doubt his. Of the un- 
known figures, one very probably is the 
effigy of William Plantagenet, fifth son of 
Henry HI., who was buried in the Tem- 
ple church. Those of the nine figures 
which have the legs crossed are, we need 
hardly mention, persons who had joined 
in the Crusades, or were under vows to 
do so. The whole form the most valuable 
series of examples of military costume 
that we possess, from the days of Stephen 
to those of Henry HI. 



Lewenhoeck, the great microscopic 
observer, calculates that a thousand mil- 
lions of animalculse, w'hich are discovered 
in common water, are not altogether so 
large as a grain of sand. In the milt of 
a single codfish there are more animals 
than there are upon the whole earth ; for 
a grain of sand is bigger than four millions 
of them. The white matter that sticks to 
the teeth also abounds with animalculae of. 
various figures, to wdiich vinegar is fatal, 
and it is known that vinegar contains ani- 
malculfE in the shape of eels. A mite 
was anciently thought the limit of little- 
ness ; but we are not now surprised to be 
told of animals twenty-seven millions of 
times smaller than a mite. Monsisa de 
risle has given the computation of the ve- 
locity of a little creature scarce visible by 
its smallness, v/hich he found to run three 
inches in half a second : supposing now 
its feet to be the fifteenth part of a line, it 
must make five hundred steps in the space 



of three inches, that is, it must shift its 
legs five hundred times in a second, or in 
the ordinary pulsation of an artery. 

The proboscis of a butterfly, which 
winds round in a spiral form, like the 
spring of a watch, serves both for mouth 
and tongue, by entering into the hollows 
of flowers, and extracting their dews and 
juices. The seeds of strawberries rise 
out of the pulp of the fruit, and appear 
themselves like strawberries when view- 
ed by the microscope. The farina of the 
sun-flower seems composed of flat, circu- 
lar, minute bodies, sharp-pointed round the 
edges ; the middle of them appears trans- 
parent, and exhibits some resemblance to 
the flower it proceeds from. The powder 
of the tulip is exactly shaped like the 
seeds of cucumbers and melons. The 
farina of the poppy appears like pearl- 
barley. That of the lily is a great deal 
like the tulip. The hairs of the head are 
long tubular fibres through which the blood 
circulates. The sting of a bee is a horny 
sheath or scabbard, that includes two 
bearded darts : the sting of a wasp has 
eight beards on the side of each dart, 
somewhat like the beards of fish-hooks. 
The eyes of gnats are pearled, or com- 
posed of many rows of little semicircu- 
lar protuberances ranged with the utmost 
exactness. The wandering or hunting 
spider, who spins no web, has two tufts 
of feathers fixed to its fore paws of exquis- 
ite beauty and coloring. A grain of sand 
will cover two hundred scales of the 
skin, and also cover twenty thousand 
places where perspiration may issue forth. 
Mr. Baker has justly observed with re- 
spect to the Deity, that with Him " an 
atom is a world, and a world but as an 

Mr. Power says he saw a golden chain 
at Tradescant's museum, of three hundred 
links, not more than an inch in length, 
fastened to and pulled away by a flea. 
And I myself (says Baker, in his Essay 
on the Miscroscope) have seen very late- 
ly, and have examined with my micro- 
scope, a chaise (made by one Mr. Bover- 
skk, a watchmaker) having four wheels, 
swith all the proper apparatus belonging to 
them, turning readily on their axles ; to- 
gether with a man sitting in the chaise, 
alliformed of ivory, and drawn abng by 

a flea without any seeming difficulty. I 
weighed it with the greatest care I was 
able, and found the chaise, man, -and flea, 
were barely equal to a single grain. I 
weighed also, at the same time and place, 
a brass chain made by the same hand, 
about two inches long, containing two 
hundred links, with a hook at one end, 
and a padlock and key at the other, and 
found it less than the third part of a grain. 
I likewise have seen a quadrille table, 
with a drawer in it, an eating table, a side- 
board table, a looking-glass, twelve chairs 
with skeleton backs, two dozen plates, six 
dishes, a dozen knives, and as many forks, 
twelve spoons, two salts, a frame and cas- 
tors, together with a gentleman, lady, and 
footman, all contained in a cherry stone, 
and not filling much more than half of it. 
At the present day are to be purchased 
cherry stones highly polished, with ivory 
screws, which contain each one hundred 
and twenty perfect silver spoons, an inge- 
nious bauble worthy the patronage of the 
juvenile part of the community. We are 
told that one Oswald Merlinger made a 
cup of a pepper-corn, which held twelve 
hundred other little cups, all turned in 
ivory, each of them being gill on the 
edges, and standing upon a foot ; and that 
so far from being crowded, or wanting 
room, the pepper-corn would have held 
four hundred more. One pennyworth of 
crude iron can by art be manufactured in- 
to watch-springs, so as to produce some 
thousand pounds. 


The distracted state of Buenos Ayres, 
the capital of the republic of La Plata, 
and the peculiar position in which com- 
mercial interests there are consequently 
placed, render the condition of that city a 
subject of peculiar interest. The city lies 
on the south bank of the upper part of the 
Avide estuary of the La Plata river, about 
100 miles from the place where it enters 
the sea. Though the estuary is deep in 
the middle, the beach is so shallow, that 
persons, as well as goods, are landed in 
rudely constructed carts, drawn by oxen. 


iil ilYlIi-l!! 




The city stands on a high bank, about two 
mihjs along the river, and between it and 
the water's edsfe is a space planted with 
some trees. Eastward of the pier stands 
the fort, or. castle, the walls of which are 
mounted with cannon : here are public 
offices, and the residence of the president 
of the republic. No other town in South 
America has so many institutions for the 
promotion of science, and several news- 
papers are published here. The climate 
is healthy, as its name (Buenos Ayres — 
good air) implies ; an appellation which 
was bestowed on it by its founder, Men- 
doza. The commerce of the place has 
greatly declined since the blockade by 
Don Pedro. 

The governor, D. Juan Manual de Ro- 
sas, was elected first in 1829; he then 
retired for some time, and was recalled to 
office in 1835 ; at the end of the same 
year, Oribe was also constitutionally raised 
by his fellow-citizens to the post of presi- 
dent of the republic of Uruguay. In 1 836, 
Rivera, the former president, attempted a 
revolution, the results of which left him 
little more than the captain of a band of 
marauders in the open country, compelled 
sometimes to take refvige in the contigu- 
ous Brazilian province of Rio Grande, 
until 1838. Then came the famous quar- 
rel between France and Rosas, Avith the 
blockade of the river Plata. On the per- 
emptorj' refusal of Oribe to join in active 
warfare against Rosas, and his perseve- 
rance in preserving a strict and equitable 
neutrality, the French commanders con- 
tracted alliance and made common cause, 
by sea and land, with Rivera. Against 
such overpowering odds, Oribe abdicated 
in 1838; Rivera then took possession 
of the vacated throne, was duly installed 
president, and as such saluted v/ith salvos 
of broadsides from the fleet of France, 
his patron and protector. He embarked 
at once in open hostilities against Rosas 
and Buenos Ayres. Thus was the vrar 
the seeking of Rivera, not Rosas. Iss 
memorable events prove the latter to be a 
man of extraordinary courage. With his 
own troops far away in the interior, dis- 
couraged by reverses, dispirited by the 
overwhelming number of foes, and wearied 
with the difficulties ever increasing to be 
encountered and surmounted in ths midst 

of commercial stagnation and fiscal penu- 
ry from the blockade ; yet, with all this 
wreck and ruin surrounded, stood this re- 
markable man — in a city beleaguered, 
without land defences, and un garnished 
with troops, with not even, personally, the 
cortege of a guard — in fierce and fearless 
defiance, unconquered and unyielding still. 
One by one his foes disappeared ; and at 
this juncture — Avhile the victorious army 
of Rosas and Oribe was preparing to close 
the campaign and the contest with the 
passage of the Uruguay and the capture 
of Monte Video, and immediately follow- 
ing on the conjoint indiscretion of the 
notes of the British and French ministers 
to Rosas, dated the 16th December, 1842, 
intimating the decision of their respective 
governments, that the " sanguinary war- 
fare at present earned on between the 
governments of Buenos Ayres and Monte 
Video must cease" — -Commodore Purvis 
made his first appearance on the scene of 
action, an event pregnant with various cha- 
meleon changes in the character of British 

Few public men have been more tradu- 
ced than the governor ; and one of the 
atrocities extended to a diabolical attempt 
to murder the general and his daughter, 
by means of an infernal machine, at the 
very moment when Rivera was soliciting 
the mediation of the British minister, and 
he was endeavoring to promote negotia- 
tions for peace. 

The trade of Buenos Ayres is at pres- 
ent confined to the people of her own 
provinces, whose number does not exceed 
700,000. The provinces are thirteen in 
number, and comprise an area of 726,000 
square miles. Each state is separated 
from its neighbor, by extensive tracts of 
desert, or at least of uncultivated land. 
On the north, the republic is bounded by 
the state of Bolivia ; on the west; by 
Chili ; on the east, by Paraguay, the Ban- 
da Oriental, snd theiVtlantic ocean ; and on 
the south, by the Indians of Patagonia. 
Each of the thirteen provinces is to a cer- 
tain extent independent, but the provincial 
government of Buenos Ayres is invested 
with powers for national purposes and for 
carrying on the business of the Union 
with foreign states. The legislative as- 
sembly of this province consists of forty- 


four deputies, one half of whom are re- 
newed annually by popular election. 

The first thing which strikes the eye of 
a stranger in Buenos x\yres is the regu- 
larity of the streets, which are laid out on 
a plan prescribed for all the cities of 
Spanish America by the council of the In- 
dies. The streets intersect each other at 
right angles every 150 yards, and rise 
with rather a steep ascent from the river. 
The white stuccoed houses look cheerful, 
and the people have an independent con- 
tented air, which contrasts very fa.vorably 
with the beggary and slave population of 
Rio de Janeiro. The Spaniards built a 
fort on the site of Buenos Ayres in 1535, 
but the warlike natives drove out the small 
garrison, and remained in undisturbed pos- 
session of that part of the country for 
nearly half a century ; when, in 1580, the 
present city was founded, which for two 
centuries languished under the demorali- 
zing colonial system of the mother-coun- 
try. In 1778, the prohibitory and re- 
strictive system of trade was relaxed, and 
the declaration of independence, although 
followed by many struggles, has laid the 
foundation of future prosperity. In 1778, 
the population of Buenos Ayres was 
24,205, and that of the country jurisdic- 
tion immediately surrounding it, 12,925. 
At the close of 1825, the population 
of the two was estimated at 165,000, hav- 
ing doubled in the preceding twenty 
years ; and in 1837, Sir Woodbine Parish 
was of opinion that it was not less than 
200,000. The colored population, in 
1825, amounted to nearly a fourth part of 
the population ; but they have ceased to 
increase. The slave-trade was prohibited 
in 1813, and all traces of the negro race 
having existed will in a little time scarce- 
ly be apparent. The number of emigrants 
every year from Europe is very consider- 
able ; and in ] 832, the number of foreign- 
ers -who had fixed themselves in the city 
and province amounted to from 15,000 to 
20,000 ; of whom two thirds were British 
and French, in almost equal proportions ; 
and the remainder consisted of Italians, 
Germans, and natives of the United States, 
especially from New York. 

The churches of Buenos Ayres were 
nearly all erected by the Jesuits, and some 
of them are large buildings, but several 

are unfinished externally. There is an 
English church capable of containing a 
thousand persons, the ground for which 
was given by the government. There is 
also a Scotch presbyterian chapel; and 
an Irish priest is allowed to do duty for 
the Irish portion of the community in one 
of the national churches. The public 
buildings are not deserving of particular 
notice. The piazza, or grand square, is 
behind the castle, and is ,of considerable 
extent. It is divided into two parts by a 
long low edifice, which serves as a kind 
of bazar, and has a corridor along the 
whole length of each side, which serves 
as a shelter to the market-people. The 
space between this bazar and the fort 
serves as a market for provisions and 
fruits, which are spread on the ground, no 
stalls being used. The cabildo, or town- 
house, an edifice of considerable size, 
occupies one side of the square, and is 
used as a court of justice, as well as by 
the municipal authorities. Near the cen- 
tre of the great square a pyramid has 
been erected in commemoration of the 
revolution which terminated in the inde- 
pendence of the country. 


NO. I. 

We are surrounded by and constantly 
see a succession of important and striking 
changes which seem to demand our atten- 
tion ; but, from the influence of habit, we 
are accustomed to consider them as merely 
necessary phenomena, and neglect to in- 
quire into the nature and operation of the 
causes by which they are produced. A 
few moments' reflection, however, must 
remove all the indifference and self-suffi- 
ciency that may be, without consideration, 
indulged, and excite a deep interest in the 
discovery of the causes by which they 
are produced, and the effects which result 
from them. At one period there was a 
class of persons who could always give a 
reason for their ignorance and want of in- 
terest in physical phenomena, by the as- 
sertion that all things were wisely arran- 
ged, and their attention was not required. 



An excess of religious zeal, or rather, a 
misapprehension of divine truth, thus led 
them into error ; for they appear to have 
had no conception that God had created 
them intelligent creatures, that they might 
exercise the reason he had given, and glo- 
rify him by the exhibition and application 
of their intellectual powers. That day has 
happily passed, and men, feeling the re- 
sponsibility of exercising their intellectual 
as well as moral qualities, no longer neg- 
lect to strengthen their judgments and 
improve their minds by a study of God's 

It is not necessary that we should at- 
tempt to convince the reader, now that the 
value of scientific knowledge is so gener- 
ally admitted, that it is really advantageous 
to the possessor, but we may recall to his 
memory in what some of those advantages 

A knowledge of the origin of natural 
appearances, is in itself a high gratifica- 
tion. What can be more pleasing to a per- 
son of well-constituted mind, thai an abili- 
ty to understand and explain the various 
physical appearances by which he is sur- 
rounded ? The interest of all he beholds 
in nature is advanced a thousand-fold by 
an acquaintance with the cause. Without 
this information, he must judge of every 
result of nature's machinery by the con- 
tracted and distorted image produced in 
his mind by the unassisted senses, and be 
influenced by all the unworthy feelings, 
whether of pleasure or fear, by which ev- 
ery man is, in an uneducated state, distin- 
guished. The rainbow is to him a splen- 
did arch of light, remarkable for the bril- 
liancy of its colors, and he is astonished 
that an appearance so vividly painted on 
the sky, should be in a few moments de- 
faced. When the lightnings play in the 
heavens, and the deep-toned thunder rolls 
aloft as if it would crack the mighty vault, 
he recalls to his mind the disastrous effects 
which have resulted from thunder-storms, 
and trembles under the apprehension that 
a similar fate may attend him, or that he 
may be the unwilling witness of a confla- 
gration similar to that of which he has 
read or of which he has heard by report. 
Thus, the uneducated man deprives him- 
self of all the pleasures which are to be 
derived from a knowledge of the origin of 

natural appearances, and is influenced by 
his senses, which are to all men frequent 
causes of deception, and always need the 
correction we are able to apply by the 
proper and diligent use of the inductive 

The study of natural appearances indu- 
ces a habit of thought and investigation 
peculiarly advantageous to the student. 
The advantages gained are numerous, but 
we can refer to only a few of them : an in- 
dependence of thought is not the least of 
these, for a man who is accustomed to 
think for himself, and draw his opinions 
from facts, whether they are the results of 
his own investigations, or have been dis- 
covered by others, can not so far err as to 
fall into great or gross misconceptions of 
things or appearances. He is at the same 
time saved the disgrace and slavery of 
bending to authorities, and insists upon his 
right of individual judgment. 

Another, but inferior advantage, is a sat- 
isfactory and pleasing occupation of time 
with a prospect of usefulness. We are far 
from associating ourselves with that class 
of persons who maintain that all our en- 
deavors should be confined to the promo- 
tion of our personal happiness, and yet we 
believe it should be a strong motive to ac- 
tivity. But a rightly-constituted mind will 
not find happiness in that which is not in 
itself strictly virtuous, and calculated to in- 
crease the pleasure or advantage of others. 

An acquaintance with natural appear- 
ances is also calculated to improve our 
conceptions of the Divine Being, and to 
impress strongly upon our minds the ex- 
tent of his wisdom, mercy, and love. 
When we examine the conditions of phys- 
ical existence, we are not only convinced 
that all the arrangements in nature are ad- 
mirably adapted to accomplish the desired 
eff'ect, but also that they are better suited 
for that purpose than any other could have 
been. Not only are all the operations of 
nature perfect, and so constituted as to give 
evidence of Divine skill, but they are also 
strongly illustrative of the qualities of the 
Divine mind, wisdom, and love. The cer- 
tainty of this gives confidence to man, even 
when he becomes the witness of the most 
appalling phenomena ; and though he may 
mourn over the results which are occasion- 
ally produced, yet he is conscious that the 



most terrible exhibitions of power and of 
apparent anger, are, in fact, merciful dis- 
pensations calculated to produce the great- 
er amount of good. 

In attempting to place before our read- 
ers a general description of natural appear- 
ances, we shall first direct their attention 
to those on the earth ; secondly, to those 
on the sea ; then to those in the heavens ; 
and, lastly, to those which are observed in, 
or are connected with, the atmosphere. 


In an examination of the earth, one of 
the first of the things that strike our atten- 
tion is the inequality of its surface. It is 
not a level, but is diversified with hills 
and valleys, mountains and plains. The 
importance of this arrangement is imme- 
diately determined, for were the surface 
otherwise formed, it would be quite un- 
suited for the residence of man. The wa- 
ters need some basins for their accumula- 
tion, the low lands require some rivers for 
their irrigation, and to supply the rivers 
there must be a constant accumulation of 
the atmospheric waters, which is done by 
mountains. Thus it is easy to perceive 
that the present arrangement of the earth's 
surface is well adapted to promote the com- 
fort of man, and is indeed necessary for 
his condition as an intelligent and indus- 
trious creature. 

The parts of the earth's surface which 
are raised above the general level are 
distinguished by the names of mountains, 
hills, and upland plains, the two former 
being merely comparative, and not admit- 
ting a very accurate definition. A moun- 
tain is an elevation of the surface of the 
earth greater than a hill ; but that which 
in one situation would be called a moun- 
tain, would, when brought into comparison 
with other elevations, only deserve the 
name of a hill ; yet the distinction is suin- 
cient for the purposes of conversation, and 
in the communication of ideas by writing. 
An upland plain is a plain at a great ele- 
vation above the sea, which may be either 
approached suddenly by ascending a steep, 
or from a distance by a gradual and almost 
insensible inclination. When a series of 
mountains or hills are connected together, 
they are called a chain : thus we speak of 

the chain of the Andes. But when a num- 
ber of these chains are united, the entire 
group is called a system : as, for instance, 
the system of the Alps. Mountains which 
rise from the plains, at an angle not ex- 
ceeding 45°, are said to have a gradual 
slope, and above that to be steep. We do 
not, however, commonly find that moun- 
tains have the same slope on every side, 
but are steeper in one direction than in 

We come now to the inquiry, from what 
causes have the inequalities of the earth's 
surface arisen 1 To which we reply, 
from diluvian action and from subterranean 

The surface of the earth has, at various 
times, received great changes from the ac- 
tion of water. It is, indeed, always a pow- 
erful agent ; and even in our day we may 
trace its effects upon the banks of existing 
rivers and the shores of the ocean. But 
there have been periods when large accu- 
mulations of water have swept over the 
surface, and by the momentum scooped out 
channels and formed paths, which, modi- 
fied by quiet agencies, existing for a long 
period of years, are the depressions now 
called diluvian valleys. These valleys 
may be generally distinguished by the 
careful investigator, not only by their 
smoothly-turned sides, but also by the 
rocks on either hand, for they are not dis- 
turbed and broken, but lie in their horizon- 
tal position, and are so presented in sec- 
tion on the two sides, that lines drawn 
from the one to the other would be the 
continuation of the strata. The existence 
of these depressions have, of course, pro- 
duced apparently corresponding elevations. 
Many of the extensive and fertile valleys 
of this country have been produced by di- 
luvian action, and by tracing them we are 
able to determine the direction in which 
the vast floods by which they were formed 
were then flowing. By the majority of 
persons it is imagined that the universal 
catastrophe spoken of in the first book of 
Moses, and called " the deluge," was the 
cause of these valleys, and it may have 
been so ; but we have abundant evidence 
in the crust of the earth to convince us 
that in the early ages of the planet we in- 
habit, water was frequently acting upon it 
with great violence ; so that we are led 



to believe, that, although it is extremely 
probable that the deluge formed our dilu- 
vian valleys, we have no positive means 
of identifying them with that period. 

But we now come to a consideration of 
the effects produced by subterran-ean forces, 
which have been agents in the formation 
of all the most lofty mountains and eleva- 
tions on the surface of the globe. It is 
the general opinion among geologists that 
the interior of the earth has a much higher 
temperature than the surface ; and, in fact, 
that at a comparatively small depth the 
rocks are in a liquid state. This opinion 
might have been suggested by the exist- 
ence of volcanoes, and the violence of vol- 
canic action in our own day, but is espe- 
cially proved by *he grea*^^ iTirrea°e o.f" the 
temperaiure, as determined by experiment, 
with the increase of depth to which our 
thermometers sunk. If this supposition be 
trr.8, it will be easy to account for all the 
violent volcanic effects produced at the 
present time, and for the disturbed state 
of the ancient rocks. 

From a casual examination of the sur- 
face of the earth, no one would for a mo- 
ment imagine that it was a broken and dis- 
jointed mass of rock, varying in constitu- 
tion and arrangement, and presenting an 
appearance of strange disorder. An exam- 
ination of the mountain-chains has, howev- 
er, convinced scientific men that they have 
been raised by the activity of subterranean 
forces, that the even and horizontal surface 
has been broken through, and that by the 
ejection of volcanic masses, or the irresist- 
ible force of confined vapors, rocks have 
been tilted, and mountain-chains have been 
formed. Nor is this a mere matter of con- 
jecture : it is founded upon the most cer- 
tam principles ; and so accurately can the 
effects be traced to their causes, that it is 
even possible to fix a comparative age to 
every mountain on the surface of the globe, 
and distinguish the age of every chain in 
each system. When, therefore, we look 
upon a mountain and its attendant valleys, 
we have before us the result of a catastro- 
phe which occurred thousands of years 
ago, and the evidence of a force which 
has now ceased to exist, except in the 
puny efforts which now produce volcanoes 
and earthquakes, of which we must pro- 
ceed to speak. 


There are, in various parts of the earth, 
mountains which either constantly or occa- 
sionally throw from their summits or sides 
melted rocks, with flame, and these are 
called volcanoes. The phenomena which 
attend these eruptions are various, and yet 
have a general similarity. Instances are 
on record in which they have overwhelmeu 
large and populous districts, and involved 
in one general ruin both animals and inani- 
mate existence. 

Much interesting information has been 
collected concerning volcanoes, but we can 
not more than allude to some important 
and distinctive features. The greater num- 
ber of volcanic mountains have a conical 
form, ^.nd *h.e. vacu^h. o^ crater has a cup or 
funnel-shape. "When the internal fires 
were kindled — by what sort of fuel they 
are still maintained — at what depths below 
the surface of the earth they are placed — . 
whether they have a mutual connexion — 
and how long they may continue to burn 
— are questions which do not admit an 
easy decision." Some volcanic mountains 
are very lofty, and these seldom eject lava 
from their summits, but from some lateral 
crater. The reason of this is evident, for 
the volcanic fire can mere readily force its 
way through the solid rocks than raise the 
column of liquid minerals to the summit 
of the mountain. 

One of the first questions that would be 
proposed by a person who was made ac- 
quainted with the existence of volcanoes, 
their eftects, and situations, would proba- 
bly be, " Is there any means of determin- 
ing when an eruption will happen 1" This 
leads us to remark that volcanoes may be 
divided into three classes : first, those 
which are in a state of constant activity, 
and never produce any extensive or de- 
structive effects ; secondly, those which 
are in a condition of occasional eruption, 
and although attended with phenomena 
calculated to produce the most terrific im- 
pression upon the spectator, seldom extend 
their influence over more than the imme- 
diate locality in which they occur ; and 
thirdly, those which have periods of long 
quietude, but when active, produce effects 
of the most destructive character, destroy- 
ing all traces of animal and vegetable life, . 
overwhelming cities and villages, and en- 



tirely changing the appearance of districts 
for miles around the centre of activity. 

To describe the appearances which pre- 
cede, attend, and follow, a volcanic erup- 
tion, is no ordinary task, and one which 
neither imagination nor actual observation 
can enable a writer adequately to perform. 
We may imagine an observer to express 
himself thus : — ■ 

" The day has passed — a hot, sultry, 
and oppressive day, in which exertion has 
been a toil, not a pleasure. The most 
moderate employment, even that of read- 
ing, has been almost insupportable. Ev- 
ery one has felt an unconquerable desire 
to rid himself of the exhaustion and op- 
pression of spirit by indulging in sleep — 
that kind but partial reliever of sU ills. 
Evening is approaching, and the air is 
still as oppressive as at midday, and the 
feeling of sufTocation is painful beyond de- 
scription. The people are now aroused 
to a conviction that one of nature's parox- 
ysms is at hand. A slight shock of an 
earthquake has been felt, attended with a 
loud rumbling sound under ground, like 
the noise of artillery. Men, women, and 
children, are all flying from the city, to es- 
cape being buried under the Juins of fal- 
ling houses, scarcely daring to look back ' 
upon their forsaken and lost homes. Bright \ 
flashes of light are now rising from the 
crater of the volcano, and with a sudden 
burst huge masses of rock are thrown up 
in the air. But the lava has found vent, 
and the fear of the repeated shocks of 
earthquake are in some measure allayed. 
The appearance of nature is awful enough, 
but the human suff'ering by which we are 
surrounded is still more so. In a few mo- 
ments cities have been depopulated and 
destroyed, and a rich country made a bar- 
i»en waste — many thousand acres having 
sunk — the site of rich vineyards and corn- 
fields being converted into a putrid lake. 
The horrors of a volcanic eruption, with 
its attendant earthquakes, can not be con- 

There are various places in which wa- 
ter issues from beneath the surface of the 
earth, or, to use another method of expres- 
sion, in which there are springs. These 
are of various classes. There are those 

which flow perpetually, and are called pe- 
rennial ; others which flow only at partic- 
ular periods, and these are denominated 
periodical. There is also a third class, 
called intermitting springs, because they 
flow and stop without any apparent cause. 

The perpetual springs are perhaps most 
numerous, and they are chiefly produced 
by the flow of water to a lower level, and 
may be traced to atmospheric causes : thus, 
for instance, rain falling upon the surface 
of a mountain, percolates through a cer- 
tain number of beds, but arrives at one 
which resists its passage, such as clay. 
The direction of the water is then changed, 
and the stream following the dip of the 
strata, finds a passage to the surface again 
at the bottom of the mountain, or at some 
elevation less than that on which it fell. 
Many of the periodical springs may be ac- 
counted for on this supposition, flowing 
chiefly at the time of the rainy seasons, 
while others are occasioned by the over- 
flowing of the natural cisterns or reser- 
voirs in the interior of the mountain where 
the atmospheric waters are accumulated. 
There are many springs of this kind in 
Switzerland. Intermitting springs .are 
chiefly confined to volcanic countries, such i 
as Iceland, and are probably influenced by 
the confined vapors in the interior of the 

" There are also reciprocating springs, 
whose waters rise and fall, or flow and 
ebb, at regular intervals. The spring of 
Fonsanche, in Languedoc, flows every day 
for above seven hours, and then stops for 
nearly five : rising each day fifty minutes 
later than on the preceding day. The Bul- 
lerborn, a fresh-water sprmg in Westpha- 
lia, rises with a great noise. There is 
another at Colmars, in Provence, which 
stops every five minutes ; this spring was 
affected by the great earthquake whin.h 
destroyed Lisbon in 1755, and changed 
into a perennial fountain, but in 1763 it 
began again to stop at intervals. One of 
the most remarkable fountains of ancient 
times was one of which Herodotus and 
Diodorus Siculus have transmitted an ac- 
count. It was called the fountain of the 
Sun, and was situated near the temple of 
Jupiter Ammon. At the dawn of day this 
fountain was warm ; as the day advanced, 
it became progressively cool ; at noon, it 



was at the extremity of cold, at wliicli times 
the Ammonians made use of it to water 
their gardens and shrubberies. At the 
setting of the sun it became again warm, 
and continued to increase as the evening 
proceeded until midnight, when it reached 
the extremity of heat ; as the morning ad- 
vanced it became progressively cold. 
There was also a fountain equally curious 
in the forest of Dodona. It is said to 
have had the power of lighting a torch : 
at noon it was dry ; at midnight full ; from 
which time it decreased till the succeed- 
ing noon." 

The water of springs is seldom quite 
pure, and many are largely impregnated 
with mineral matters, such as lime and 
saline particles. So abundant is this in 
many instances, that the water may be 
used for taking casts, as at Buxton, in 
Derbyshire, and the celebrated baths of St. 
Filippo. But there are some springs 
whose waters contain a large amovmt of 
gas, such as the carbonic acid and sul- 
phuretted hydrogen, the latter being al- 
ways distinguished by its extremely fetid 

Springs also vary greatly in their tem- 
perature, some of them having their wa- 
ters nearly at the boiling point, and others 
almost at tKat of freezing. In Iceland, 
many of the springs have a temperature 
much too high to be borne by the hand. 
The hot springs of La Trinchera, a few 
miles from Valencia, have a temperature 
of 195° Fahrenheit, and eggs may be 
boiled in them in about four minutes. 
The springs of Urijino, in Japan, have a 
temperature of 212°. The cause of this 
high temperature, as observed in some 
springs, may arise from a chymical action, 
such as the decomposition of a mineral 
substance, or from proximity to the focus 
of an active volcano. But this is a sub- 
ject still open to investigation. 

We might here proceed to speak of 
rivers and lakes which, intersecting the 
dry land, or studding the surface of the 
earth, might be considered among the ap- 
pearances and phenomena ah'eady men- 
tioned ; but it will, perhaps, be better to 
consider them in connexion with the sea, 
with which they may be more intimately 

[To be continued.] 


It may surprise some of our readers 
to be informed that sixteen or seventeen 
distinct species of bats are natives of the 
British islands. Of these, however, sev- 
eral are extremely rare, and restricted to 
certain localities ; but some, as the pipis- 
trelle, or common bat, and the long-eared 
bat ( Vespertilio auritus), are everywhere 
abundant ; nor is the great bat (F. noctula) 
of unfrequent occurrence. 

Of all the mammalia the bats alone em- 
ulate in their aerial endowments the feath- 
ered tenants of the sky ; they are es- 
sentially flying insectivora. In the air 
they pass the active periods of their exist- 
ence, and revel in the exercise of their 
faculties. Their organs of flight, admira- 
bly adapted for their destined purpose, do 
not consist, as in the bird, of stiff" feathers 
based upon the bones of the fore-arm, but 
of a membranous expansion stretched 
over and between the limbs, and to which 
the bones of the limbs, especially those 
of the elongated fingers, serve the same 
purpose as the. strips of whalebone in an 
umbrella. This apparatus can be folded 
up, andthe^imbs employed in progression 
on the ground ; on a level surface, how- 
ever, the bat shuffles awkwardly but 
quickly along. In the hollows of decayed 
trees, in the crevices of moifldering ma- 
sonry, or in rough chinks and fissures, it 
can crawl and climb about with tolerable 
rapidity, as also about the wire work of a 
cage. It is a smooth and level surface 
that most embarrasses the bat, but even 
then it can easily take wind. In the ait 
the bat is all alertness — it is here that 
these singular creatures pursue their prey 
— uttering their short sharp cry as they 
wheel in circling flights, or perform their 
abrupt and zigzag evolutions. " Bats," 
says White, " drink on the wing like 
swallows, by sipping the surface as they 
play over pools and streams. They love 
to frequent waters, not only for the sake 
of drinking, but also on account of the in- 
sects, which are found over them in the 
greatest plenty." Often during a warm 
summer evening have we seen numbers, 
perhaps several scores, of the common 
bat ( V. pipistrellus) flitting over pools, in 
chase of gnats and similar insects, or 



gambolling with each other in a mazy- 
dance, ever an.d anon uttering sharp shrill 
cries of exultation and delight ; an inter- 
esting spectacle to such as love to " trace 
the woods, and lawns, and living stream 
at eve." 

The bat is a twilight and nocturnal 
rambler : it passes the day in its retreat 
suspended head downward, clinging to 
any roughness or projection by the claws 
of its hinder feet. In this position it hy-' 
bernates in a state of lethargy, numbers con- 
gregating together. Church-steeples, hol- 
low trees, old barns, caverns, and similar re- 
treats, are its lurking-places ; and vast num- 
bers are often found crowded together and 
forming a compact mass . Pennant states that 
on oi'e orcas^op 1 85 wer^, taken from imder 
the eaves of Queen's college, Cambridge, 
and on the next night 63 more, all in a 
torpid condition. ' They were all of one 
species, viz., the noctule, or great bat {V. 
noctula), measuring fourteen or fifteen 
inches in the extent of the wings. The 
great horseshoe bat haunts the deepest 
recesses of caverns, where no rays of 
light can enter. It is found in the cav- 
erns at Clifton, and in Kent's hole, near 
Torquay, a dark and gloomy cavern, 
where the lesser horseshoe bat also takes 
up its abode. 

It has been suspected that some British 
bats may possibly migrate, and p^ss the 
winter, like the swallow, in some genial 
region where their insect prey is abun- 
dant. For this supposition there is not 
the slightest foundation : all bats hyber- 
nate ; but the period at which they be- 
come torpid in their retreats, and revive to 
visit again " the glimpses of the moon," 
differs in the different species. The pip- 
istrelle, or common British bat, is the 
soonest roused from its lethargic trance. 
It usually appears in March, and does 
not retire until the winter has decidedly 
set in, and its insect food has disappeared. 
Yet during the winter it will often rouse 
up and flit about, and that too during the 
middle of the day. 

The various species differ more or less 
distinctly from each other in the style and 
character of their flight. The pipistrelle 
flits quickly, making abrupt and zigzag 
turns, and oftens skims near the groimd ; 
the noctule, which was first noticed as an 

English bat by White, sweeps high in the 
air on powerful wings, whence he termed 
it antivulans. The flight of the long-eared 
bat is rapid, and. it makes large circles, or 
courses to and fro like the swallow. In 
the aerial evolutions of the bats, the tail 
and membrane extending between the two 
hind limbs act as a rudder, enabling the 
animals to turn more or less abruptly : it 
would seem moreover that the tail is to a 
certain extent a prehensile organ. Mr. 
Bell, who first noticed the circumstance, 
observes, that a small portion of the tail in 
most bats is exserted beyond the margin 
of the interfemoral membrane, and in as- 
cending or descending any rough perpen- 
dicular surface this little caudal finger 
hooks upon such projections as occur, so 
as to add to the creature's security. When 
a bat traverses the wires of a cage, this 
action of the tail is particularly conspicu- 

White observes that it is a common no- 
tion that bats will descend chimneys " and 
gnaw men's bacon," and adds that the 
story is by no means improbable, as a 
tame bat did not refuse raw flesh, though 
insects seemed to be most acceptable. 
The common bat often enters larders, and 
has been seen clinging to a joint of meat 
in the act of making a hearty meal upon 
it. Of this circumstance we are assured 
by Mr. Bell. 

That bats can be tamed is a remarkable 
fact ; but various species differ in the de- 
grees of their docility. Mr. White's bat, 
a pipistrelle, was so tame, that it would 
take flies out of a person's hand. " If 
you gave it anything to eat, it brought its 
wings round before the mouth, hovering, 
and hiding its head in the manner of birds 
of prey when they feed. The adroitness 
it showed in shearing off the wings of the 
flies, which were always rejected, was 
worthy of observation and pleased me 

With regard to the senses possessed by 
these interesting animals, those of smell 
and hearing are, as might be expected 
from the development of their respective 
organs, wonderfully acute. Connected 
with the refinement of these senses, we 
often find, as in the horseshoe bat, the- 
nose furnished with a membranous folia- 
tion of most delicate structure and com- 

plex in its arrangement ; or, as in the long- 
eared bat, the external membranous ears 
largely expanded, having furrows and an 
inner reduplication, and capable of being 
folded down. The sight also is quick, 
and the position of the eyes, which are 
small, but bright, is favorable for the chase 
and accurate seizure of insects during 
rapid flight. 

There is a singular property with which 
the. bat is endowed, too remarkable and cu- 
rious to be passed altogether unnoticed. 
The wings of these creatures consist, as 
we have seen, of a delicate and nearly 
naked membrane of vast amplitude consid- 
ering the size of the body; but besides 
this, the nose is in some furnished with a 
membranous foliation, and in others the 
external membranous ears are enormously 
developed. Now these membranous tis- 
sues have their sensibility so high, that 
something like a new sense thereby ac- 
crues, as if in aid of that of sight. The 
modified impressions which the air in qui- 
escence, or in motion, however slight, 
communicates ; the tremulous jar of its 
currents, its temperature, the indescribable 
condition of such portions of air as are in 
contact with different bodies, are all appa- 
rently appreciated by the bat. If the eyes 
of a bat be covered up, nay, if it be even 
cruelly deprived of sight, it will pursue its 
course about a room with a thousand ob- 
stacles in its way, avoiding them all, nei- 
ther dashing against a wall, nor flying foul 
of the smallest thing, but threading its 
way with the utmost precision and quick- 
ness, and passing adroitly through aper- 
tures, or the interspaces of threads placed 
purposely across the apartment. This 
endowment, which almost exceeds belief, 
has been abundantly demonstrated by the 
experiments of Spallanzani and others : it 
is the sense of touch refined to the high- 
est and most exquisite degree of perfec- 
tion. Thus are the bats aerial in feeling 
as in habits. 


If I can speak experimentally to any 
moral benefit in growing older, says Dr. 

Aikin, it is, that increasing years augment 
the strength and firmness of the character 
This is a part of the natural progress of 
the human system, and is probably a? 
much owing to physical as to moral 
causes. The diminution of mobility and 
irritability in the animal frame, must for 
tify it against external impressions, and 
give it a greater stability in its action and 
reaction. So far, however, as this is a 
corporeal process, it can not be anticipa- 
ted ; and the young must be exhorted te 
wait patiently for this advantage, till it 
comes to them by due course of time, to 
compensate for the many privations they 
must undergo. But if an inquiry into the 
purely moral causes of the opposite de 
fects can suggest moral means of obvia 
ting them in some measure at any period, 
it will certainly be worth the pains ; for a 
due degree of firmness and consistency is 
absolutely essential in forming a respecta- 
ble character. Let us, then, enter upon 
such an investigation. 

On retracing my own feelings, I find 
that the first and principal cause of juve- 
nile weakness is false shame. The shame 
of being singular — the shame of lying 
under restraints from which others are 
free — the shame of appearing ungenteel 
— are all acutely felt by young persons 
in general, and require strong principle or 
much "native firmness of temper to sur- 
mount. Most of the defections from par- 
ties and sects in which persons have been 
educated, originate from this sensation, 
which is perhaps more seductive to the 
young, than even interest to the old. It 
first makes them hesitate to avow them- 
selves, and desirous of passing undistin- 
guished in mixed companies ; it next leads 
them to petty deceptions and compliances ; 
and finishes with making entire converts 
of them, frequently with an affectation of 
extraordinary contempt of those whom 
they have forsaken, in order to prevent all 
suspicion of their having been of the 
number. The best guard against this 
conduct is a strong impression of its 
meanness. If young men were brought 
to discern that cowardice and servility 
were the chief agents in this progress, 
their native generosity of spirit v/ould 
powerfully oppose such a degradation of 
character. Still more might be gained by 



accustoming them to set a value upon the 
circumstances of standing apart from the 
mass of mankind, and to esteem as hon- 
orable erery distinction produced by the 
exercise of freedom in thinking and act- 
ing. I am aware that there is a danger 
to be avoided on this side, too, and that 
the pride of singularity is equally ridicu- 
lous and disgustful in a young man. But 
this, I believe, is not the leading error of 
the times ; which is rather a propensity 
to submit implicitly to the decisions of 
fashion, and to value oneself more upon 
folio ving, than opposing, the manners and 
opinions of the majority. 

The fear of offendinir is another snare 
to young minds, which, though commonly 
originating in an amiable delicacy of 
character, must in some degree be over- 
come before a manly steadiness of conduct 
can be supported. Many instances have 
I known, in which the species of adula- 
tion called by the Latins assentalio, has 
been occasioned by a mere dread of giv- 
ing oifence by contradiction. But such a 
habit of assenting to everything that may 
be advanced, is in danger of subverting 
all our principles ; and we may come to 
practise from artifice that complaisance 
which we perceive to be so agreeable, 
when only the consequence of modest 
deference. This is an evil attending the 
practice, otherwise so instructive, of fre- 
quenting the company of seniors and su- 
periors ; and it is only to be counteracted 
by a mixture of free society with equals. 

Akin to this is the fear of giving pain. 
It inspires an insuperable repugnance to 
the delivery of disagreeable truths, or the 
undertaking of unpleasant offices ; things 
which in the commerce of life are often 
necessary to the discharge of our duty. 
In particular, one whose office it is to ap- 
ply medicine to the mind, must, as well as 
the physician of the body, conquer his re- 
luctance to give temporary pain, for the 
sake of affording lasting benefit. Excess 
of politeness deviates in this weakness. 
It makes no distinction between saying an 
unpleasant thing, and saying a rude one. 
A course of sentimental reading is like- 
wise apt to foster such an extreme deli- 
cacy of feeling, as makes the painful du- 
ties of the heart insupportable. The 
most effectual remedy in this state of mor- 

bid sensibility, is an unavoidable necessity 
of mixing in the business of the world, 
and encountering all its roughness. To 
persons of a retired condition, the best 
substitute is strengthening the mind with 
the dictates of a masculine and high-toned 

The desire of pleasing all mankind, 
which is the counterpart of the two for- 
mer principles, is a fertile source of weak- 
ness and mutability in some of the best 
dispositions. It is the quality commonly 
termed good-nature. Young persons are 
not only themselves prone to fall into ex- 
cess of easy good-nature, but it is the 
quality that most readily captivates them 
in the choice of an early friend. It is 
impossible here to blame the disposition, 
although it be highly important to guard 
against the indulgence of it ; for it leads 
to the very same imbecility of conduct 
that false shame and cowardice do. In 
the course of our duties we are almost as 
frequently called upon to undergo the cen- 
sure and enmity of mankind, as to culti- 
vate the-ir friendship and good opinion. 
Cicero, in enumerating the causes which 
induce men to desert their duty, very 
properly mentions an unwillingness " sus- 
cipere inimicitias," to take up enmities. 
This is, indeed, one of the severest trials 
of our attachment to principle ; but it is 
what we must be ready to sustain when 
occasion requires, or renounce every 
claim to a strong and elevated character. 

When young in life, I derived much 
satisfaction from thinking that I had not 
an enemy in the world. A too great fa- 
cility in giving up my own interest, when 
it involved a point of contention, and a 
habit of assenting to, or at least not oppo- 
sing, the various opinions I heard, had, in 
fact, preserved me from direct hostilities 
with any mortal, and, I had reason to be- 
lieve, had conciliated for me the passive 
regard of most of those with whom I was 
acquainted. But no sooner did different 
views of things, and a greater firmness of 
temper, incite me to an open declaration 
respecting points which I thought highly 
interesting to mankind, that I was made 
sensible, that my former source of satis- 
faction must be exchanged for self-appro- 
bation and the esteem of a few. The event 
gave me at first some surprise and more 

concern ; for I can truly say, that in my 
own breast, I found no obstacle to the 
point of agreeing to differ. It was even 
some time before I could construe the 
estranged looks of those who meant to in- 
timate that they had renounced private 
friendship with me, upon mere public 
grounds. But enough ! At present, I 
ca^i sincerely assure you, that I feel more 
compunction for early compliances, than 
regret for the consequences of latter as- 
sertions of principle. And it is my de- 
cided advice to you, who are beginning 
the world, not to be intimidated from 
espousing the cause you think a right one, 
by the apprehension of incurring any 
man's displeasure. I suppose this to be 
done within the limits of candor, modesty, 
and real good temper. These being ob- 
served, you can have no enemies but those 
who are not worthy to be your friends. 


A NAME dear to Americans, for to him 
is due the honor of projecting and keep- 
ing up, by his persevering efforts and ex- 
pensive expeditions, the idea of perma- 
nent British settlements in America. His 
name is thus associated with the origin 
of the independent states of North Amer- 
ica, and must be reverenced by all Avho, 
from liberal curiosity or pious affection, 
study the early history of their country. 

Walter Raleigh was born in 1552, at 
Hayes, on the coast of Devonshire : when 
young, he was sent to Oriel college, Ox- 
ford, where he exhibited a restless ambition, 
which prompted him to seek distinction 
rather in the stirring scenes of the world, 
than the cloistered solitude of a college ; 
and this natural inclination to adventure 
was fostered by the study of books rela- 
ting to the conquests of the Spaniards in 
the new world, a species of reading which 
was the delight of his early years, and 
undoubtedly gave a color to the whole 
tenor of his life. 

His stay at Oxford therefore was short ; 
and in 1559, he seized the opportunity 
of the civil wars in France, between the 
Huguenots and catholics, to visit that 

kingdom and commence his military edu- 
cation ; but although engaged in war, he 
found leisure to study the histories of the 
discoveries of Columbus, the c nquests of 
Cortes, and the sanguinary triumphs of 
Pizarro, which books were his especial 
favorites. Nor were there wanting, in 
the army in which he served, many oth- 
ers whose society encouraged his early 
devotion to such pursuits. It is not sur- 
prising, therefore, that the ardent mind of 
Raleigh should have eagerly embraced an 
opportunity of embarking in an adventure 
of this nature, which offered itself while 
he was in Holland. 

His stepbrother. Sir Humphrey Gilbert, 
had published, in 1576, a treatise con- 
cerning a northwest passage to the East 
Indies, which appears to have made no 
inconsiderable impression upon the gov- 
ernment ; and Sir Humphrey, having ob- 
tained a patent from the queen to colonize 
such parts of North America as were not 
possessed by any of her allies, prevailed 
with Raleigh to abandon his military pur- 
suits, and try his fortune in the voyage. 

The project, however, failed. Many 
who had eagerly embarked in it became 
discontented ; all desired an equal share 
of power ; discord bred coldness and de- 
sertion ; and Sir Humphrey and Raleigh 
at last found themselves obliged to put to 
sea with a few friends who disdained to 
leave them under such adverse circum- 
stances. " When the shipping was in a 
manner prepared," says Edmund Haies, 
who was a principal actor in the enter- 
prise, " and men ready upon the coast to 
go abroad, some brake consort, and follow- 
ed courses degenerating from ill? voyage 
before pretended ; others failed of their 
promises contracted, and the greater num- 
ber were dispersed, leaving the general 
with a few of his assured friends, with 
whom he adventured to sea, where, hav- 
ing tasted of no less misfortune, he was 
shortly driven to retire home with the loss 
of a tall ship." On its homeward pas- 
sage, the small squadron of Gilbert was 
dispersed and disabled by a Spanish fleet, 
and many of the company were slain. 
Although unsuccessful in his first voyage, 
the instructions of Gilbert could not fail 
to be of service to Raleigh, who at this 
time was not much above twenty-five, 


^.!#:i^, .^W 




while the admiral must have been in the 
maturity of his years and abilities. For 
some time after this, the life of Raleigh 
was that of a soldier : until Gilbert's pat- 
ent being nearly expired, his attention 
was again called to his scheme for prose- 
cuting discoveries in the new world. A 
second squadron was now fitted out, and 
the largest ship in it, which bore Raleigh's 
own name, was built under his own eye, 
and equipped at his expense. This expe- 
dition was commanded by Gilbert, and, 
although starting under favorable auspices, 
was unfortunate in its commencement, 
and ultimately fatal to its leader. In a 
short time, the Raleigh returned into the 
harbor, a contagious distemper having 
broken out onboard. Gilbert pursued his 
voyaf^e, and having reached the Bacca- 
laos. ongmally discovered by John Cabot, 
and since called Newlbundland, took pos- 
session of it and the adjoining coast in 
tne name of the reigning English queen, 
Elizabeth. After a partial survey of the 
island, and an interview with the natives, 
whose disposition was pacific and gentle, 
they steered south. But discontent, mu- 
tiny, and sickness, broke out in the fleet. 
The Swallow was sent home with the 
sick, and the Delight was soon after com- 
pletely wrecked. The admiral now hoist- 
ed his flag in the Squirrel, of ten tons 
burden. The weather soon after became 
dark and lowering, and on the 9th of Sep- 
tember, at midnight, this little vessel was 
swallowed up with all on board, and not a 
plank of her was ever seen again. 

The melancholy fate of his brother did 
not deter Raleigh from the prosecution of 
his schemes. By the study of the Span- 
ish voyages, and his conversations with 
some skilful mariners of that nation, whom 
he met in Holland and Flanders, he had 
learned that the Spanish ships always 
went into the gulf of Mexico by St. Do- 
mingo and Hispaniola, and directed their 
homeward course by the Havana and the 
gulf of Florida, where they found a con- 
tinued coast on the west side, tending 
away north, which, however, they soon 
lost sight of by standing to the east, to 
make the coast of Spain. Upon these 
grounds, and for reasons deduced from 
analogy and a knowledge of the sphere, 
he concluded there must be a vast extent 

of land north of the gulf of Florida, of 
which he resolved to attempt the discov- 

Probably, also, during his residence in 
France he might have become acquainted 
with the particulars of the voyage of Ve- 
razzano, or have seen the charts construct- 
ed by that navigator, who had explored the 
same coast nearly as far south as the lati- 
tude of Virginia. Having fully weighed 
this project, he laid a memoir before the 
queen and council, who approved of the 
undertaking ; and in the beginning of 
1584, her majesty granted, by letters- 
patent, all such countries as he should dis- 
cover in property to himself and his heirs, 
reserving to the crown the fifth part of the 
gold or silver ore which might be found. 
The patent contained ample authority for 
the defence of the new countries, the 
transport of settlers, and the exportation 
of provisions and commodities for their 

Sir Walter selected for the command of 
his projected voyage two experienced offi- 
cers — Captain Philip Amadas and Arthur 
Barlow — to whom he gave minute written 
instructions, and who sailed with two 
ships, well manned and provisioned, on 
the 27th of April, 1584. On the 10th of 
May they arrived at the Canaries ; after, 
which, keeping a southwesterly course, 
they made the West Indies ; and depart- 
ing thence on the 10th of July, found 
themselves in shoal water, discerning 
their approach to the lands by the deli- 
cious fragrance with which the air was 
loaded, " as if," to use the words of their 
letter to Raleigh, " we had been in the 
midst of some delicate garden, abounding 
with all kinds of odoriferous flowers." 

The name of the country where the 
English landed was called Wingandaeoa, 
and of the sovereign Wingina ; but his 
kingdom was of moderate extent, and sur- 
rounded by states under independent I 
princes, some of them in alliance and 
others at war with him. Having exam- 
ined as much of the interior as their time 
would permit, they sailed homeward, ac- 
companied by two of the natives, named 
Wanchese and Manteo, and arrived in 
England in the middle of September. 

Raleigh was highly delighted with this 
new discovery, establishing, in so satis- 



factory a manner, the results of his pre- 
vious reasoning, and undertaken at his 
sole suggestion and expense. His royal 
mistress, too, was scarcely less gratified ; 
she gave her countenance and support to 
the schemes for colonization, which he 
begun to urge at court, and issued her 
command, that the new country, so full 
of amenity and beauty, should, in allusion 
to her state of life, be called Virginia. 

Not long after this, Raleigh received 
the honor of knighthood, a dignity be- 
stowed by Elizabeth with singular frugal- 
ity and discrimination, and, about the 
same period, the grant of a patent to li- 
cense the vending of wines throughout 
the kingdom ; a monopoly extremely lucra- 
tive in its returns, and which was prob- 
ably bestowed by Elizabeth to enable 
him to carry on his great schemes for the 
improvement of navigation, and the settle- 
ment of a colony in Virginia. 

Sir Walter now fitted out a new fleet 
for America, the command of which he 
gave to Sir Richard Grenville ; the fleet 
consisted of seven vessels ; part of these 
were fitted out at Sir Walter's expense, 
the remainder by his companions in the 
adventure ; one of whom was Thomas 
Candish or Cavendish, afterward so emi- 
nent as a navigator, who now served un- 
der Grenville. 

On the ] 9th of April, the mariners 
reached the Canaries, from which they 
steered to Dominica in the West Indies, 
and landed at Puerto Rico, where they 
constructed a temporary fort. On the 
26th of June, after some delays at His- 
paniola and Florida, they proceeded to 
Wohoken, in Virginia ; and having sent 
notice of their arrival by Manteo, one of 
the two natives who had visited England, 
they were soon welcomed by their old 
friend Granganimeo, who displayed much 
satisfaction at their return. Mr. Ralph 
Lane, who had been invested with the 
dignity of chief-governor, now disem- 
barked with 108 men, having for his dep- 
uty Philip Amadas, one of the original 
discoverers. Grenville does not appear 
to have been sufficiently impressed with 
the difficulties attending an infant colony 
in a new country, and, accordingly, after a 
short stay, during which was collected a 
valuable cargo of skins, furs, and pearls, 

he returned to England, carrying into 
Plymouth a Spanish prize, which he had 
captured on the homeward voyage, of 
three hundred tons, and richly laden. 

The first survey of their new territory 
delighted the English ; and the governor, 
in a letter to Hakluyt, who appears to 
have been his intimate friend, informs 
him that " they had discovered the main- 
land to be the goodliest soil under the 
cope of heaven ; abounding with sweet 
trees, that bring sundry rich and pleasant 
gums ; * * and, moreover, of huge and 
unknown greatness : well peopled and 
towned, though savagely, and the climate 
so wholesome, that they had not one per- 
son sick since their arrival." 

Lane fixed his abode on the island of 
Roanoke, and thence extended his re- 
searches 80 miles southward to the city of 
Secotan. He also pushed 130 miles north, 
to the country of the Chesepians, a tem- 
perate and fertile region ; and northwest 
to Chawanook, a large province, under a 
monarch named Menatonon. These pro- 
ceedings, however, were soon interrupted 
by the threatening aspect of affairs at 
headquarters. Even before the departure 
of Grenville for England, an accident oc- 
curred in which the conduct of the set- 
tlers appeared rash and impolitic. A sil- 
ver cup had been stolen, and a boat was 
despatched to Aquascogok to reclaim it. 
Alarmed at this visit, the savages fled into 
the woods, and the enraged crew demol- 
ished the city and destroyed the corn- 
fields. A revenge so deep for so slight 
an injury incensed the natives ; and al- 
though they artfully concealed their re- 
sentment, from that moment all cordiality 
between them and the strangers was at an 

Not long after, Menatonon and his son 
Skyco were seized and thrown into irons ; 
but the monarch was soon liberated, while 
the youth was retained as a hostage for 
his fidelity. To all appearance, this pre- 
caution had the desired eflfect. But the 
king, although an untaught savage, proved 
himself an adept in dissimulation. Work- 
ing upon the avarice and credulity of the 
English, he enticed them into the interior 
of the country by a flattering report of its 
extraordinary richness and amenity. He 
asserted that they would arrive at a region 



where the robes of the sovereign and his 
courtiers were embroidered with pearl, 
and the beds and houses studded with the 
same precious material. Menatonon de- 
scribed also a remarkably rich mine, called 
by the natives chaumis temoatan, which 
was situated in the country of the Man- 
gaoaks, and produced a mineral similar to 
copper, although softer and paler. 

By these artful representations, Lane 
was persuaded to undertake an expedition 
by water, with two wherries and forty 
men. Instead, however, of the promised 
relays of provisions, they found the towns 
deserted, and the whole country laid waste. 
Their boats glided along silent and soli- 
tary banks ; and after three days, during 
which they had not seen a human being, 
their last morsel of food was exhausted, 
and the governor, now aware of the 
treachery of Menatonon, proposed to re- 
turn. His men, however, entreated him 
to proceed, still haunted by dreams of the 
inexhaustible riches of the Mangaoaks' 
country, and declaring that they could not 
starve as long as they had two mastiffs, 
which they might kill, and make into 
soup. Overcome by such arguments, Lane 
continued the voyage ; but for two days 
longer no living thing appeared. At 
night, indeed, lights were seen moving on 
the banks, demonstrating that their prog- 
ress was not unknown, though the ob- 
servers were invisible. At last, on the 
third day, a loud voice from the woods 
suddenly called out the name of Manteo, 
who was now with the expedition. As the 
voice was followed by a song, Lane im- 
agined it a pacific salutation ; but the In- 
dian seized his gun, and had scarcely 
time to warn them that they were about 
to be attacked, when a volley of arrows 
was discharged into the boats. The trav- 
ellers now landed, and assaulted the sava- 
ges, who fell back into the depths of the 
wood, and escaped with little injury, upon 
which it was resolved to return to the set- 
tlement. On their homeward-bound voy- 
age, which, owing to their descending 
with the current, was performed with great 
rapidity, they had recourse to the mastiff 
broth, or, as the govei-nor terms it, 
" dog's porridge," and arrived at Roanoke 
in time to defeat a formidable conspiracy. 

The author of this plot was Wingina, 

who, since the death of his brother Gran- 
ganimeo, had taken the name of Pemisa- 
pan. His associates were Skyco and Me- 
natonon ; and these two chiefs, pretend- 
ing friendship, but concealing under its 
mask the most deadly enmity, had organ- 
ized the plan of a general massacre of the 
colony. The design, however, was be- 
trayed to Lane by Skyco, who had be- 
come attached to the English ; and, aware 
of the necessity of taking immediate 
measures before Pemisapan could muster 
his forces, the governor gave instructions 
to seize any canoes which might offer to 
depart from the island. In executing this 
order two natives were slain, and their 
enraged countrymen rose in a bodv, and 
attempted to overpower the colonists, but 
were instantly dispersed. Not aware, 
however, that his secret was discoA^ered, 
and affecting to consider it as an accident, 
Pemisapan admitted Lane and his officers 
to an interview, which proved fatal to him. 
The Virginian monarch was seated in 
state, surrounded by seven or eight of 
his principal weroanees, or high chiefs ; 
and after a brief debate, upon a signal 
given, the Europeans attacked the royal 
circle, and put them all to death. 

This alarming conspiracy had scarcely 
been put down, when the natives made a 
second attempt to get rid of the strangers, 
by neglecting to sow the adjacent lands, 
hoping, in this manner, to compel them to 
leave the country. At this decisive mo- 
ment a fleet of twenty-three vessels came 
in sight, which turned out to be the squad- 
ron of Sir Francis Drake, who had fortu- 
nately determined to visit the colony of 
his friend Sir Walter, and carry home 
news of their condition, on his return from 
an expedition against the settlements in 
the Spanish main. It was now long past 
the time when supplies had been expect- 
ed from England, and Drake generously 
offered every sort of provisions. Lane, 
however, only requested a vessel and 
some smaller craft to carry them home, 
which was immediately granted ; but 
before they could get on board, a dreadful 
tempest, which continued for four days, 
dashed the barks intended for the colonists 
to pieces, and might have driven on shore 
the whole fleet, unless, to use the lan- 
guage of the old despatch, " the Lord had 



held his holy hand over them." Deprived 
in this way of all other prospect of return, 
they embarked in Sir Francis' fleet, and 
arrived in England on the 27th of July, 

Scarcely, however, had they sailed, 
when the folly of their precipitate conclu- 
sion, that Raleigh had forgotten or neg- 
lected them, was manifested by the arrival 
at Roanoke of a vessel of one hundred 
tons, amply stored with every supply. 
Deepl}'- disappointed at finding no appear- 
ance of the colony, they sailed along the 
coast, and explored the interior. But all 
their search was in vain, and they were 
compelled to take their departure for Eu- 
rope. This, however, was not all. With- 
in a fortnight after they weighed anchor. 
Sir Richard Grenville, with three v/ell- 
appointed vessels, fitted out principally by 
Raleigh, appeared off Virginia, where, on 
landing, he found, to his astonishment, 
everything deserted and in ruins. Hav- 
ing made an unsuccessful effort to procure 
intelligence of his countrymen, it became 
necessarj'- to return home. But, unwilling 
to abandon so promising a discovery, he 
left behind him fifteen men, with provis- 
ions for two years, and, after some ex- 
ploits against the Spaniards and the 
Azores, arrived in England. 

Raleigh, however, was by no means 
discouraged by the unfortunate results of 
these expeditions, but again turned his at- 
tention to his Virginian colony, the failure 
of which was rather owing to the precipi- 
tate desertion of Lane than to any fault in 
the original plan ; and he determined to 
make a new attempt for the settlement of 
a country which held out so many en- 
couragements from its salubrious climate 
and fertile soil. Hariot, who accompanied 
Lane, had by this time published his 
" True Report of the New found Land 
of Virginia," which created much specu- 
lation, so that he experienced little diffi- 
culty in procuring 150 settlers. He ap- 
pointed as governor Mr. John White, with 
twelve assistants, to whom he gave a 
charter, incorporating them by the name 
of the " Governor and Assistants of the 
City of Raleigh, in Virginia." These, in 
three vessels furnished principally at his 
own expense, sailed from Portsmouth on 
the 26th of April, 1587, and on the 22d of 

July, anchored in Hatorask harbor. White, 
with forty men, proceeded in the pinnace 
to Roanoke to confer with the fifteen col- 
onists left by Sir Richard Grenville ; but 
to his dismay found the place deserted, 
and human bones scattered on the beach ; 
the remains, as was afterward discovered 
of their countrymen, all of whom the sav- 
ages had slain. A party then hastened to 
the fort on the north side of the island. 
But here the prospect was equally dis- 
couraging. No trace of a human being 
was to be seen ; the building was razed 
to the ground, and the wild-deer were 
couching in the ruined houses, and feed- 
ing on the herbage and melons which had 
overgrown the floor and crept up the 

Our limits do not allow us to follow Sir 
Walter in his discovery of Guiana and 
voyage up the Oronoko, and in his brave 
exploits against the fleets of Philip H" 
Spain, nor in the vicissitudes which he 
experienced at the court of Elizabeth ; at 
one time we find him enjoying her utmost 
confidence, exerting his influence in the 
cause of benevolence ; and it is reported, 
that Elizabeth, somewhat irritated by his 
applications for thg unfortunate, on his 
tefling her one day he had a favor to ask, 
impatiently exclaimed, " When, Sir Wal- 
ter, will you cease to be a beggar V To 
which he made the noted answer, " When 
your gracious majesty ceases to be a ben- 

Soon after, he was committed to the 
Tower for presuming to marry without the 
queen's consent : he, however, was again 
restored to favor, and continued to aid the 
state by his services and counsel, till the 
death of Elizabeth, in 1602. 

On the accession of James to the throne, 
Sir Walter was not only treated with 
coolness and neglect, but became the vic- 
tim of a conspiracy, was tried for treason 
against the crown, found guilty, and con- 
demned to death. Having been warned 
to prepare for execution, he sent a manly 
and affecting letter to his wife, from which 
the following is an extract : — 

" When I am gone, no doubt you shall 
be sought to by many, for the world thinks 
that I was very rich. But take heed of 
the pretences of men, and their affections ; 
for they last not but in honest and worthy 



men, and no greater misery can befall you 
in this life than to become a prey, and af- 
terward to be despised. I speak not 
this, God knows, to dissuade you from 
marriage ; for it will be best for you, both 
in respect of the world and of God. As 
for me, I am no more yours, nor you 
mine. Death has cut us asunder, and 
God hath divided me from the world, and 
you from me. Remember your poor child 
for his father's sake, who chose you and 
loved you in his happiest time. Get those 
letters, if it be possible, which I writ to 
the lords, wherein I sued for my life. 
God is my witness it was for you and 
yours that I desired life. But it is true 
that I disdain myself for begging it ; for 
know it, dear wife, that your son is the 
son of a true man, and one who, in his 
own respect, despiseth death in all his 
mishapen and ugly forms. I can not 
\v#[te much. God he knoweth how hard- 
ly I steal this time while others sleep ; 
and it is also high time that I should sep- 
arate my thoughts from the world. Beg 
my dead body, which, living, was denied 
thee, and either leave it at Sherborne, if 
the land continue, or in Exeter church, 
by my father and mother. I can say no 
more, time and death call me away. 

" The everlasting, powerful, infinite, 
and omnipotent God, who is goodness 
itself, the true life and true light, keep 
thee and thine, have mercy on me, and 
teach me to forgive my persecutors and 
accusers, and send us to meet in his glo- 
rious kingdom. My dear wife, farewell ! 
Bless my poor boy ; pray for me, and let 
my good God hold you both in his arms ! 
Written with the dying hand of some time 
thy husband, but now, alas ! overthrown. 
Yours that was, but now not my own, 

Sir Walter, however, was reprieved at 
this time, but was confined in the Tower 
for many years after, during which his 
History of the World was composed. On 
regaining his liberty, in 1615, a new ex- 
pedition to Guiana was projected, of which 
Raleigh took command, but it was unsuc- 
cessful ; and on his return to England, he 
was again arrested, imprisoned, and, final- 
ly, executed in 1618. His conduct while 
on the scaffold was extremely firm. The 
morning being sharp, the sheriff offered 

to bring him down off the scaffold to warm 
himself by the fire before he should say 
his prayers ; " No, good Mr. Sheriff," 
said he, " let us despatch, for within this 
quarter of an hour my ague will come 
upon me, and if I be not dead before 
that, mine enemies will say I quake for 
fear." He then, to use the words of a 
contemporary and eyewitness, made a 
most divine and admirable prayer ; after 
which, rising up, and clasping his hands 
together, he exclaimed, " Now I am going 
to God !" The scaffold was soon cleared ; 
and having thrown off his gown and doub- 
let, he bid the executioner show him the 
axe, which not being done immediately, 
he was urgent in his request. " I prithee," 
said he, " let me see it. Dost thou think 
I am afraid of it?" Taking it in his 
hand, he kissed the blade, and passing his 
finger slightly along thg edge, observed 
to the sheriff, " 'Tis a sharp medicine, 
but a sound cure for all diseases." He 
then walked to the corner of the scaffold, 
and kneeling down, requested the people 
to pray for him, and for a considerable 
time remained on his knees engaged in 
silent devotion ; after which he rose, 
and carefully examined the block, laying 
himself down to fit it to his neck, and to 
choose the easiest and most decent atti- 
tude. In all this he would receive no as- 
sistance ; and having satisfied himself, he 
rose and declared he was ready. The 
executioner now came forward, and kneel- 
ing, asked his forgiveness, upon which 
Raleigh laid his hand smilingly on his 
shoulder, and bade him be satisfied, for 
he most cheerfully forgave him, only en- 
treating him not to strike, till he, himself, 
gave the signal, and then to fear nothing, 
and strike home. Saying this, he lay 
down on the block, and on being directed 
to place himself so that his face should 
look to the east, he answered, " It matter- 
ed little how the head lay, provided the 
heart was right." After a little while, 
during which it was observed, by the 
motion of his lips and hands, that he 
was occupied in prayer, he gave the sig- 
nal ; but whether from awkwardness or 
agitation, the executioner delayed ; upon 
which, after waiting for a short time, he 
partially raised his head, and said aloud, 
"What dost thou fear? strike, man!" 



The axe then descended, and at two 
strokes the head was severed from the 
body, which never shrunk or altered its 
position, while the extraordinary eftusion 
of blood evinced an unusual strength and 
vigor of constitution, though when he suf- 
fered. Sir Walter was in his sixty-sixth 
year. The head, after being, as usual, 
held up to the view of the people on 
either side of the scaffold, was put into a 
red bag," over which-his velvet night-gown 
was thrown, and the whole immediately 
carried to a mourning-coach which was 
in waiting, and conveyed to Lady Raleigh. 
This faithful and affectionate woman, who 
never married again, though she survived 
him twenty-nine years, had it embalmed 
and preserved in a case, which she kept 
with pious solicitude till her death. 

The body was buried privately near the 
high altar of St. ^largaret's church in 
Westminster, but no stone marks the spot. 



The remaining plans are all connected 
with the isthmus, and having dismissed 
the most northerly one of Mexico, we 
will proceed to notice them in succession 
as they occur. 

The first is to form a junction navigable 
for ships from the harbor of San Juan on 
the Caribbean sea, through the lakes of 
Nicaragua and Leon (or Managua) with 
the port of Realejo in the Pacific. The 
river San Juan is the only channel by 
which the lake of Nicaragua discharges 
its waters into the Atlantic. The lake of 
Nicaragua is an inland sea, of a lengthen- 
ed form, being about 120 miles long, and 
40 broad where widest, without narrowing 
much at either end. Its circuit is near 
400 miles. It is deep enough to be navi- 
gated by vessels of considerable size, 
having at some distance from the shores 
from 6 to 20 fathoms of water along the 
southern and western banks, but is shal- 
low along the northeast shore for a mile 
and upward into the lake. The river is- 

sues from the southeastern extremity, and 
near the fortress of San Carlos it is 600 
feet broad, and from 6 to 7 deep. About 
the middle of its course the San Juan re- 
ceives from the south the Rio San Carlos, 
and lower down the Serapiqui. About 24 
or 28 miles from its mouth the river di- 
vides into two arms, of which the south- 
ern and wider is called Rio Colorado ; 
the other enters the sea near the harbor 
of San Juan de Nicaragua. The depth 
of water in the upper part of the course 
of the San Juan varies from 9 to 20 feet, 
but in some places it is so shallow that 
rapids are produced. The greatest of 
these rapids is about 28 miles from the 
lake. The 'lower portion of the river, be- 
low its bifurcation, is very shallow : at 
many places, during the dry season, there 
are not more than 2 feet of water. The 
port of San Juan is not conside^ad very 
unhealthy, and the harbor is deep enough 
for merchant vessels, and safe ; but up to 
the present time it is nearly uninhabited. 
The northwestern mouth of the river, 
which is the only one that can be used, 
has a bar with only two or three, and sel- 
dom 4 feet of water upon it. Haefkins is 
of opinion that the cutting of a canal 
through the plain from the port of San 
Juan to the lake of Nicaragua would be 
less expensive than to make the river nav- 
igable. He estimates the distance in a 
straight line at less than 60 miles. The 
winding course of the river amounts to 
120 miles. The difference of level be- 
tween the lake and the Atlantic is 134 
feet and therefore locks would be neces- 
sary. The narrowest portion of the isth- 
mus which separates the lakes from the 
Pacific is between the town of Nicaragua 
and the port San Juan del Sul, where 
it is only 15 or 16 miles across; but 
the hills upon it rise to between 400 
and 500 feet. The hills might perhaps be 
avoided, but the canal would of course be 
longer. Some persons think that it would 
be more advantageous to unite the lake of 
Managua (or Leon) by a canal with the 
harbor of Realejo. The country between 
them is nearly level, and of a firm soil, 
without being rocky. Besides this, the 
canal could terminate in the port of Real- 
ejo, one of the best harbors on the west 
coast of America, while that near Nicara- 



gua would end in the harbor of San Juan 
del Sul, which is small and unsafe. But 
this canal would be mora than twice as 
long as the other, and, in addition to this, 
the Tepitapa, which unites the lake of 
Nicaragua with that of Managua, must be 
rendered navigable. The lake Managua 
is 150 miles in circumference, 35 miles 
long, and 15 broad in its widest part. It 
is deep enough for vessels of considerable 
size ; but the Rio Tepitapa, which brings 
down the water from the lake of Nicara- 
gua, and is about 25 miles long, has falls, 
which in the dry season are from 6 to 8 
feet high, and also several shoals. These 
obstacles seem to have been produced by 
the lava which, in 1722, ran from the 
neighboring volcano of Managua into the 
river, and it is supposed that they could 
be avoided by a canal cut through the 
level ground on the southern side of the 
Rio Tepitapa. There is even now a nav- 
igation between the town of Granada, on 
the banks of the lake of Nicaragua, and 
the port of San Juan de Nicaragua, on the 
Atlantic. Flat-bottomed river-barges are 
used for the transport of goods, and ac- 
complish their voyages in eight or ten 

Another variation of this plan is to cut a 
canal of about 15 miles from the south- 
western corner of the lake of Nicaragua 
to the gulf of Papagayo. The Hon. P. 
Campbell Scarlett wrote, in 1838, that the 
goverment of Central America were about 
to commence this work. It has, however, 
not been yet begun. Indeed-the removing 
of the impediments to tlie navigation of 
the San Juan are far. more serious labors 
than even the canal to the Pacific, whether 
formed from the lake of Nicaragua or from 
that of Managua. 

The next project is to form a communi- 
cation from Chagres on the Atlantic, by 
the river of that name, joined by a short 
canal to the Rio Grande, which falls in- 
to the sea at Panama. Mr. Lloyd, in 
what he has written on the subject, does 
not speak of a canal, probably because in 
the then circumstances of the republic of 
Colombia it was an enterprise quite out of 
the question. His description of the 
country, however, shows that it may be 
considered next to impossible to make 
such a canal across the narrowest part of 

the isthmus, opposite the bay of Mandin- 
go. It appears that though there are no 
obstacles to the execution of such a work 
in the surface and soil which could not be 
overcome, the climate is so unhealthy, 
that the lives of many thousands would be 
sacrificed, and probably the mortality 
among the workmen would soon stop the 
progress of the work. Mr. Lloyd's plan 
for improving the communication was to 
begin at Limones, or Navy Bay, about 5 
miles east of Chagres, which, though un- 
inhabited, is an excellent harbor, and 
might easily be much improved. From 
this place he proposes a canal to be made 
to the banks of the river Chagres, which 
is only two miles and a half from the har- 
bor ; and as the intervening tract is a lev- 
el, the canal could probably be made with- 
out locks. That river would then be as- 
cended to its junction with the Trinidad 
river, and the latter ^o a place where its 
shores on the south bank are well suited 
for being converted into wharfs and land- 
ing-places, and thence finally to Panama 
or Chorrera by a railroad. It is possible, 
however, that a river and canal navigation 
sufficiently deep for steamboats would not 
be so difficult to accomplish as Mr. Lloyd 
supposed, at least not from the physical 
character of the country, though the ex- 
cessive unhealthiness of the climate, 
especially on the Atlantic side, and the 
total absence of a laboring population, 
would render an enterprise, which in Eng- 
land could be completed with the greatest 
facility, utterly impracticable in Panama. 
By the use of weirs or locks on the Cha- 
gres, and by deepening the Obispo and 
Mandingo, which fall into it in the upper 
part of its course, access could be obtained 
by a canal through a flat country of not 
more than from 5 to 7 miles in length to 
the navigable part of the Rio Grande. 
The whole isthmus, a surface larger than 
Ireland, does not contain much above 
100,000 inhabitants. We can hardly be- 
lieve that in such a population a thousand 
laborers could be procured for a new, la- 
borious, low-priced, and unhealthy em- 
ployment. Another variation of this plan 
proposes a canal of 25 miles to connect 
the Chagres and the Trinidada with the 
Farfan, which falls into the head of the 
gulf of Panama. 



Another plan is to connect Cnpica bay, 
in the Pacific, with a river flowing into 
the Atlantic, by forming a canal across the 
interval, which is ascertained to be a per- 
fect level. It is to ascend the river Atra- 
to, which falls into the head of the gulf 
of Darien in the bay of Candelaria, or 
Choco, to its ji;nction with the Naipi, 
which is then to be connected by a canal 
of from ] 2 to 1 5 miles to the bay of Cu- 
pica, through a country perfectly level, 
rising but 150 feet to the point of junc- 
tion, running through a valley or gap of 
the Andes, the rivers themselves being un- 
interrupted by rapids or falls. The Atrato 
is stated to be 5 leagues wide at its mouth, 
and brings down a large body of water; 
its total length is about 150 miles, but the 
Naipi joins it at about 40 miles up its 
course. The Naipi is stated to be also a 
considerable stream, having 12 feet of wa- 
ter. The bays of Cupica and Choco are 
both also said to be deep and well shelter- 
ed. The Atrato is also remarkable for 
having been already made the means of a 
communication between the two seas. 
The curate of Novita, in 1770, taking ad- 
vantage of a natural ravine called the 
Quebreda de Raspadura, caused the In- 
dians to dig a small canal, navigable by 
canoes during the rainy season, connect- 
ing the Atrato, by means of one of its 
most southern affluents, the Quito, with 
the San Juan, which falls into the Atlan- 
tic at a distance of 260 miles from the 
mouth of the Atrato. This has been used 
for the conveyance of cocoa, and other 
agricultural products of the country, but 
is of no other use, and probably could not 
be made so. This project, also, would no 
doubt be found extremely difficult from the 
excessive wetness and unhealthiness of 
the climate. Another and most serious 
im]iediment, to which we have not yet al- 
luded, exists to the execution of any of 
these undertakings ; it is — the unsettled 
state of all the old Spanish American 
states, and the consequent insecurity of 
all property, particularly that of foreigners. 
If skilful engineers are employed to sur- 
vey the country, a better knowledge of it 
may be obtained, and the best and the 
most practicable line ascertained, but the 
obstacles arising from scarcity of laborers, 
unhealthiness of climate, and insecurity 

of property, will still remain unreraoved, 
till the country itself has advanced greatly 
in population and civilization, and then it 
would most probably undertake the task 
itself, or at most with some pecuniary as- 
sistance in the shape of shares. 


These are sweet words. Who is not 
charmed with their music ? Who hath 
not felt the potent magic of their spell ? 

By home, I do not mean the house, the 
parlor, the fireside, the carpet, or the 
chairs. They are inert, m.aterial things, 
which derive all their interest from the 
idea of the home which is their locality. 
Home is something more ethereal, less 
tangible, not easily described, 5ret strongly 
conceived — the source of some of the 
deepest emotions of the soul, grasping the 
heart-strings with such a sweet and ten- 
der force, as subdues all within the range 
of its influence. 

Home is the palace of the husband and 
the father. He is the monarch of that 
little empire, v/earing a crown that is the 
gift of Heaven, swaying the sceptre put in- 
to his hands by the Father of all, ac- 
knowledging no superior, fearing no rival, 
and dreading no usurper. In him dwells 
love, the ruling spirit of home. She that 
was the fond bride of his youthful heart, 
is the affectionate wife of his maturer 

The star that smiled on their eve has 
never set. Its rays still shed a serene 
lustre on the horizon of home. There, 
too, is the additional ornament of home — 
the circle of children — beautifully repre- 
sented by the spirit of inspiration as 
" olive plants round about the table." We 
have been such. There was our cradle. 
That cradle was rocked by a hand ever 
open to supply our wants — watched by an 
eye ever awake to the an»^roacli of danger. 
Many a livelong night has that eye re- 
fused to be closed for thy sake, reader, 
when thou, a helpless child was indebted 
to a mother's love, sanctified by Heaven's 
blessing, for a prolonged existence through 
a sickly infancy. Hast thou ever grieved 



that fond heart? No tears can be too 
freely, too sincerely shed, for such an of- 
fence against the sweet charities of home. 
If there was joy in the place at thy birth, 
oh, never let it be turned into sorrow by 
any violation of the sacred laws of home. 

We had our happy birth, like most of 
the human race, in the country, and can 
recall many tender and pleasant associa- 
tions of home. There is earnest poetry 
in this part of our life. We remember 
with delight the freshness of the early 
morn ; the tuneful and sprightly walk 
among the dewy fields ; the cool repose 
amid the sequestered shades of the grove, 
vocal with the music of nature's inimita- 
ble warblers ; the tinkling spring, where 
we slaked our thirst with the pellucid wa- 
ters as they came from the hand of the 
Mighty One ; the bleating of the flocks, 
the lowing of the herds, the humming of 
the bees, the cry of the whip-poor-will, 
the melancholy monotonous song of the 
night bird, relieved only by the deep base 
of that single note, which he uttered as he 
plunged from his lofty height into a lower 
region of atmosphere — these are among 
our recollections of home. And they 
come softened and sobered through the 
medium of the past, but without losing 
their power to touch the heart, and still 
endear that word, home. 

There, too, perhaps, we saw a father 
die ; having attained to a patriarchal age, 
he bovv^ed himself on his bed, saying, 
" Behold I die, but God shall be with 
you," and was gathered to his people. 
Nor can the memory ever forget that 
mother in her meek and quiet old age, 
walking through many a peaceful year on 
the verge of heaven, breathing its atmo- 
sphere, reflecting its light and holy beau- 
ty, till at length t>he left the sweet home 
of earth for her Father's home in heaven. 

" So gently dies the wave upon the shore." 

Home, too, is the scene of the gay and 
joyous bridal. When the lovely daughter, 
aifianced to the youth of her heart, stands 
up to take the irrevocable pledge — what 
an interesting moment ! I saw not long 
since such a one. She stood uncon- 
scious of the loveliness which innocence 
and beauty threw around her face and 
person : her soft, smooth polished fore- 

head was circled with a wreath of flow- 
ers, her robe was of purest white, and in 
her hand was held a bouquet of variegated 
roses. Beside her stood the happy man 
for whom she was to be 

" A guardian angel o'er his life presiding. 
Double his pleasures, and his care dividing." 

As I pronounced the words that made 
them one, adding the nuptial benediction, 
a tear fell from the eye of the bride on the 
wreath in her hand ! It was a tribute to 
home, sweet home. Not that she loved 
father and mother less, but husband more. 
That piece of music, " The Bride's Fare- 
well," plunges deeper into the fountain of 
emotion in the soul, than any other combi- 
nation of thought and song to which I 
ever listened. Was the bride ever found 
who was equal to its performance on the 
day of her espousals, or rather in the hour 
of her departure from her long-loved 
home, when the time had arrived to bid 
farewell to father, mother, brother, and 
sister 1 Perhaps in looking at the picture 
of domestic life, as exhibited in such cir- 
cumstances, we should not omit to notice 
some of the least prominent traits and 
coloring, for they never escape the keen 
and practised eye of the true poet. Thus 
Rogers, in his graphic and natural poem 
of Human Life, in which he snatches so 
many graces, " beyond the reach of art," 
does not in describing the wedding scene, 
forget the younger portion of the family, 
even the little daughter, so often the gem 
and joy of home : — 

" Then are they blest indeed, and swift the hours. 
Till her young sisters wreathe her hair in flowers, 
Kindling her beauty — while, unseen the least, 
Twitches her robes, then runs behind the rest. 
Known by her laugh, that will not be suppressed." 


NO. II. 

The Niagara district, being already 
settled, does not offer any inducement to 
the usual description of emigrants who 
proceed to Canada for the purpose of pur- 
chasing land, and by their industry bring- 
ing the wild forest into a state of cultiva- 



tion ; but persons with capital may do 
well to settle in this part of the province. 
They can purchase farms already cleared, 
and the vicinity of good markets at once 
compensates them for the higher price 
which they must pay. To those who are 
incapable of " roughing" it in "the bush," 
such a plan is undoubtedly the best. Both 
in the British provinces and in the United 
States there are a class of men who em- 
ploy themselves in clearing land, and after 
bringing it into a rude state of cultivation 
they sell their " clearings," and these use- 
ful pioneers are again off into the woods. 
This is a very beneficial distribution of 
labor, and renders the task of the more 
refined emigrant comparatively light. 

The beauties of nature, and the grand 
and novel features which she here pre- 
sents, would surely to a rightly constituted 
mind be more attractive than the lounging 
habits of a second-rate town in France. 
There is no lack of field-sports, and of 
other amusements, which agreeably di- 
versify the life of a man who is not pur- 
suing some settled plan of existence, but 
merely resting for a time for some speci- 
fied object. In summer the tour of the, 
lakes might be made, the adjacent parts 
of the States visited, and the cities of 
Montreal, Quebec, Albany, Boston, and 
New York, are each within two or three 
days' journey. In a short time new and 
more correct A^ews would be obtained of 
a state of things differing greatly in many 
points from that which the emigrant had 
quitted. It is said that those who have 
once resided in new settlements where the 
forms of society are comparatively free 
and unconstrained, seldom relish, on their 
return to an old community, the hollow 
formalities by which they are circum- 
scribed, and look back with regret to their 
former freedom, so that a temporary so- 
journ might, in the case we have supposed, 
become a permanent settlement. 

Eastern and western Canada, under a 
united constitutional government, such as 
they have now obtained, and aided by the 
stream of navigation from the mother- 
country, which is pouring in at the rate 
of above thirty thousand persons yearly, 
is likely to increase rapidly in population. 
In the speech with which the late Lord 
Sydenham opened the first session of the 

united legislature of Canada, he pointed 
out the importance of measures for devel- 
oping the resources of the country by ex- 
tensive public works, observing that " the 
rapid settlement of the country, the value 
of every man's property within it, the ad- 
vancement of his future fortunes, are 
deeply affected by this question." The 
objects which he pointed out as promising 
commensurate returns for a great outlay, 
were the improvement of the navigation 
from the shores of Lake Erie and Lake 
Huron to the ocean, and the establish- 
ment of new internal communications in 
the inland districts. 


Among barbarous nations there are no 
family names. Men are known by titles 
of honor, by titles of disgrace, or by titles 
given to them on account of some indi- 
vidual quality. A brave man will be called 
the lion, a ferocious one the tiger. Oth- 
ers are named after a signal act of their 
lives. Of from some peculiarity of personal 
appearance, such as the slayer-of-three 
bears, the taker-of-so-many-scalps, or 
straight limbs, long nose, and so on. 
Some of these — especially such as ex- 
press approbation or esteem — are worn as 
proudly by their savage owners, as that 
of duke or marquis is by European nobles. 
They confer a distinction which begets re- 
spect and deference among the tribes, and 
individuals so distinguished obtain the 
places of honor at feasts ; they are the 
leaders in battle. It is nearly the same 
in modern civilized life : titled personages 
are much sought after by the tribes of un- 
titled, and are, moreover, the leaders of 
fashion. The only diff'erence between 
the savage and civilized titles of honor is, 
that in the former case they can only be 
obtained by deeds ; they must be earned ; 
which is not always the case with modern 

The Romans had no titles of honor. 
Scipio and Caesar were simply so called. 
Titles began in the court of Constantine. 
The emperor of Germany first took the 
title of majesty. Kings, till the fifteenth 



or sixteenth century, were called high- 

In the social and political systems of 
modern nations, all titles of honor origin- 
ally took their rise from official employ- 
ments ; but in many cases the duties have 
been abandoned, while the titles, which 
they at first conferred, are retained. This 
is the case with the five orders of British 
peerage, and with the baronetcy, and 
knightage. In England, a duke, marquis, 
earl, viscount, baron, baronet, knight, have 
at the present time no official duties to 
discharge in consequence of their titles. 
It is not so, however, in some parts of 
Germany, and among the nations of the 
east. The highest of all titles — that of 
king or ruler — on the contrary, has never 
been merely honorary, the responsible 
duties of government having always been 
coupled with it. As might be expected, 
the most extravagant superlatives which 
language could supply have been added 
to the honorary designation of the su- 
preme ruler ; especially in oriental coun- 
tries, where the poetical figure of hyper- 
bole flourishes in the greatest excess. 
The most powerful of all monarchs is the 
emperor of China ; his subjects believe 
him to be Heaven's sole vicegerent upon 
earth. Hence his titles are the " Son of 
Heaven," and "Ten Thousand Years." 
This is somewhat akin to the legal axiom 
— that the king n^ver dies ; which is true 
of the mere dignity. In an official docu- 
ment received from the governor of Ben- 
gal from the general of the Chinese for- 
ces, the emperor is styled " the flower of 
the imperial race, the sun of the firma- 
ment of honor, the resplendent gem in the 
crown and throne of the Chinese territo- 
ries." His imperial highness is not sup- 
posed to possess these distinctions upon 
groimdless pretensions ; for he claims to 
be brother of the sun, cousin-german to 
the moon, and professes to be connected 
by ties of relationship to every one of the 
stars. In short, the emperor is considered 
the concentrated wssence of all worldly 
distinction ; in other words, " the sun of 
the firmament of honor ;" for, besides him, 
there is no aristocracy in China — no 
strictly honorary titles but those he mo- 
nopolizes. Every dignity must be gained ! 
by learning and merit ; and there are no | 

titles whatever, except his own, which 
have not their official duties. There is 
no hereditary nobility in China. 

The titles claimed by the shah of Per- 
sia are not less extravagant than those of 
the Chinese monarch. In a treaty con- 
cluded Avith Sir John Malcolm in behalf 
of the British government, he calls him- 
self " the high king, the king of the uni- 
verse, the phenix of good fortune, the em- 
inence of never-fading prosperity, the king 
powerful as Alexander, who has no equal 
among the princes exalted to majesty by 
the heavens in this globe, a shade from the 
shade of the Most High, a prince before 
whom the sun is concealed ;" and a variety 
of other outrageous similitudes, which it 
would be tedious to recite. His subordi- 
nate officers imitate him in this respect. 
The governor of Shiraz, for instance, adds 
to his official designations the following 
savory similitudes : the flower of courtesy, 
the nutmeg of consolation, and the rose 
of delight. Some of the titles assumed 
by the sultan of Turkey consist of high- 
flown comparisons with the Dei+y, which 
are carried to the point of bbsphemy. 
He, as well as the Chinese emperor, 
claims a near relationship to the sun and 
moon. He declares himself to be, more- 
over, " the disposer of crowns," although 
during the present century he has had 
enough to do to keep his own on his head. 

Russia unites Asia with Europe, and 
we -naturally pass to a consideration of the 
autocrat who styles himself " emperor of 
all the Russias." This, however, is a 
modern appellation, that of czar (kaiser) — 
the Slavonic for " king" — having been al- 
ways given to him from the earliest times.* 
Most European rulers are kings (from the 
Teutonic Avord cuning, signifying either 
knowledge — from which we get " ken" — 
or potentiality, giving us the auxiliary 
verb " can") : some, however, assume to 
be emperors, from the Roman imperator. 
The kings of Spain were formerly so en- 
cumbered with titles, that in 1586, Philip 
III. ordained that he should be termed 

* Some etymologists trace the word czar to 
'[ Caesar," of which they affirm it to be a corrup- 
tion , but the reverse is the fact : Cjusar is the Lat- 
inized form of Ifaiser or czar. Richardson, quoting 
Ihre, a native etymologist, says that kaiser, impe- 
rator, or more strictly " watcher," is a word ac- 
knowledged and used by all ancient dialects. 



simply el rey, nuestro senor — " the king, 
our lord." Indeed Spain may be consid- 
ered the hot-bed of unmeaning and igno- 
ble titles, though there are some persons 
of good and ancient family who have ti- 
tles of real honor. The king of Spain is 
called his catholic majesty ; the higher 
nobility are counts, marquises, and dukes. 
The precedence of persons holding these 
distinctions, as to who shall rank next 
after the princes of the blood, is settled 
by the king. This select few have the 
privilege of being covered in the royal 
presence, and are styled illustrious, and 
addressed, like the pope, with " your em- 
inence." The inferior nobility of Spain 
call themselves cavalleros (knights) and 
hidalgos (gentlemen). Most of the no- 
bles are on grand occasions covered with 
orders and other insignia. These are so 
cheap in many parts of the continent, that 
persons of very indiiTerent reputation often 
obtain them ; hence the Spanish proverb, 
that " formerly rogues were hung on 
crosses ; now crosses are hung on rogues." 
It frequently happened in former times, 
that, from the peculiar Spanish law of 
tenure, many small estates descended to 
the same individuals, the names of which 
the owner added to his own. Illustrative 
of this, there is a story in the Spanish 
jest-books of a benighted grandee who 
knocked at a lonely inn, and when asked, 
as usual, quien es 1 — " who is there V re- 
plied, " Don Diego de Mendosa, Siloa-Ri- 
bera, Guzman Pimentel, Osorio Ponce de 
Leon Zuniga, Acuna Tellez y Giron, 
Sandoval y Roxas, Velasco Man." " In 
that case." interrupted the landlord, shut- 
ting his window, " go your way ; I have 
not room for half of you." A great many 
titular distinctions in Spain have been 
levelled by the succession of revolutionary 
shocks Avhich that unfortunate country has 
sustained within the last forty years. 

The Germans cling to all sorts of titles 
with the most tenacious fondness, and of- 
ten assume them without any right to do 
so. Many of the genuine titles are pur- 
chased, some persons buying land to 
which a title is annexed. This venality 
even exceeds what it did in France under 
her most corrupt regime. The most com- 
mon honorary appellation is geheimrath, 
or privy councillor ; but few are really en- 

titled to assume it; insomuchthat those who 
are put true after the designation. Every per- 
son is very sensitive about being properly ad- 
dressed; to accost a gentlemen with sir (mein 
herr), is almost an insult ; it is necessary to 
find out his office or profession. The com- 
monest title is " rath," there being a rath 
for every profession. An architect is a 
banrath ; an advocate justizrath ; and a 
person with no profession at all contrives 
to be made a hofrath (court councillor), an 
unmeaning designation, mostly given to 
those who are never in a situation to give 
advice at court. The title of professor is 
also much abused. It is far safer in Ger- 
many to attribute a rank greater than the 
person addressed is entitled to, than to 
fall beneath the mark. Hence an ordi- 
nary stranger is often surprised by hear- 
ing himself called Mr. count (herr grafF), 
or eur graden (your grace). " Every 
man who holds any public office," says 
Russell in his Tour in Germany, " should 
it be merely that of an under clerk with 
a paltry salary of je40 a year, must be 
gratified by hearing his title, not his 
name." Neither are the ladies behind in 
asserting their claims to honorary appella- 
tions. " A wife insists upon taking the 
title of her husband, with a feminine ter- 
mination. There are madarae generaless, 
raadame privy councilloress, madame day- 
book-keeperess, and a hundred others." 
These titles, as may be readily imagined, 
sometimes extend to an unpronounceable 
length. Conceive, for instance, a foreign- 
er's powers of utterance taxed to the ex- 
tent of addressing a lady as " frau ober-. 
consistorialdirectorin ;" in other words, 
Mrs. directress of the upper consistory 
court. In France, titles of honor were 
abolished at the revolution ; in the present 
day, however, counts, and other members 
of the old aristocracy, retain their titles 
among their own private friends by cour- 
tesy. The legislative function of peer 
gives no personal title. Badges of honor 
are exceedingly prevalent : the cross of 
the legion of honor, with its gay riband, 
" decorates" the button-holes of almost 
half the grown male population of France. 
On the European continent, the ex- 
treme abundance of titles causes their 
owners to obtain but little respect ; but in 
England, the case is different.- The royal 



prerogative of creating knights and no- 
bles is — except on rare occasions — exer- 
cised with much greater circumspection 
than it is, and used to be, by neighboring 
potentates ; the honor, therefore, to the 
distinguished few, is highly prized. The 
feeling of loyalty is nowhere so fervent 
and sincere as in Great Britain ; not only 
the " fountain of honor itself," but the 
honors that flow from it, are held in great 
esteem. The ruler of the country is said 
to be " by the grace of God, queen (or 
king) of Great Britain and Ireland ;" with, 
however, the irrational addition of " de- 
fender of the faith" — a faith which has 
ceased to be that of the state. The title 
of prince only belongs in that country to 
the sons and nephews of kings. The 
ducal was originally a Roman dignity, de- 
rived from ductores exercituum, or com- 
manders of armies ; but under the later 
emperors, the governor of a province was 
entitled dux, or leader, whence our word 
is derived. The first duke — as we now 
apply the title — was Edward the Black 
Prince, created duke of Cornwall ; a titu- 
lary honor, which ever since has belonged 
to the king's eldest son during the life of 
his parent ; so that he is called in heraldic 
parlance dux natus, or a born duke. Af- 
ter him there were many duces creati, or 
dukes who were created in such manner 
that their titles should descend to poster- 
ity. But in 1572, during the reign of 
Elizabeth, the dignity became extinct. 
Half a century afterward, it was renewed 
by James, who created his favorite, George 
yilliers, duke of Buckingham. The sons 
of peers in Great Britain and Ireland have 
not formally any noble rank ; but by cour- 
tesy the eldest son always bears the sec- 
ond title of the family, if there be one, 
while the younger sons receive the appel- 
lation of lords, if the paternal rank be not 
under that of an earl. The second order 
is that of marquis, connected with which 
was once the duty of guarding the fron- 
tiers or limits of the kingdom, called, from 
the Teutonic word marche. The persons 
who had this command were called " lords 
marches," or marquesses. The office was 
legally abolished by Henry VIII., after it 
had long fallen into disuetude ; but the ti- 
tle remained. A marquis is addressed as 
" most noble," but more in conformity 

with herald's authority, as " most honora- 
ble." Of all honorary distinctions, none 
is so ancient as that of earl. We derive 
it from the Saxon word eorl, which means 
elder, and it is a little startling to find that 
two such dissimilar dignities as earl and 
alderman have a common origin ; but so it 
appears ; for the Saxon earls were called 
ealdormen, otherwise seniors or senators ; 
and it would appear that, besides assisting 
in the general government, as is implied 
by this designation, they Avere also schire- 
men, or custodiers of divisions or shires. 
After the Norman conquest, these func- 
tionaries took the French name of counts, 
but which they did not long retain ; though 
to this day their shires are called counties, 
and their wives countesses. The earl 
ceased to trouble himself Avith county 
business at an early period, deputing it to 
a subordinate officer, called -vice-comes (in 
Saxon, scyre, a shire, and reve, a steward 
or sheriff), whence sprung the fourth de- 
gree of peerage — viscounts ; " which," 
saith Cowel, " is not an old name of of- 
fice, but a new one of dignity, never heard 
of among us till Henry VI., his days." 
With this uprise the viscounts or sheriffs 
got, like their official predecessors the 
earls, above their business, and the local 
affairs of the county are now superintend- 
ed by the lord-lieutenant and his deputy, 
and by sheriffs. The history and etymol- 
ogy of the barons are involved in great ob- 

The wives and daughters of all peers 
partake more or less in the titulary honors 
of their relatives, except the female rela- 
tions of the prelacy, who are plain Mrs. 
and Miss. All peers, except "their 
graces," the dukes, are addressed as " my 
lord," so that when we include the lords 
by courtesy not in the peerage, " my 
lords" of the treasury and admiralty, lords- 
lieutenant, the Scottish lords of session 
(facetiously denominated " paper lords"), 
lords provost, and the three lords mayor 
(of London, York, and Dublin), it will be 
seen that the lords of this empire are in 
great variety. 

The next downward step in the ladder 
of dignity takes us out of the peerage into 
the baronetage. The title of baronet is 
compounded of baron and the diminutive 
termination et, which makes it to signify 



a baron of lesser degree. The order was 
instituted by James I., at the suggestion of 
Sir Robert Cotton, in 1611. It is the 
lowest honorary title which is hered- 
itary. Next come the knights, whose 
history goes back to that of ancient 
Rome, for in that empire it was the sec- 
ond degree of nobility. It was conferred 
in the chivalric times upon every person 
of good birth, to qualify him to give chal- 
lenges, and to perform feats of arms. 
The honor has, however, gradually ex- 
tended itself to persons whose habits are 
the reverse of military ; who are dubbed, 
in Shakspere's phrase, solely upon " carpet 

The title of esquire, the next in order, 
! has become as unmeaning in England as 
that of privy counsellor in Germany. 
What the designation originally meant, is 
ascertained by the origin of the word, 
which is traced to the Liatin scutifer, or 
shield-bearer. They were men-at-arms, 
and attended knights "to the wars." Cam- 
den enumerates five orders of the rank, 
the last being " such as hold any superior 
rank, public office, or serve the prince in 
any worshipful calling." This is suffi- 
ciently vague to take in a very large class 
of persons ; hence it has been a subject 
of great dispute and much doubt, among 
our wisest lawyers, to whom the title of 
esquire properly belongs. Blackstone and 
Coke have written on the subject, and the 
question has been recently agitated with 
great vigor by the Avorshipful petty ses- 
sions of Kensington. In such high esti- 
mation are titles held, that even to be as- 
sociated even so indirectly with one is con- 
sidered an honor. Hence the middle ranks 
of English society have been described, 
not without justice, as a body of tuft-hun- 
ters. These persons have a kind of rev- 
erence, an awe — not so much for the no- 
bility in their proper persons, as for their 
titles. They know the peerage, baronet- 
age, and knightage, by heart. They deem 
the smallest omission on the superscrip- 
tion of a letter, or in verbally addressing a 
noble, as an unpardonable sin. We have 
heard of a military poet — himself owning 
the title of lieutenant in a foot regiment — 
who, in writing some verses on Waterloo, 
conveyed one of his reminiscences of the 
battle in the following heraldic couplet : — 

" ' Step forth, Lieutenant Cobden, of her majesty's 
hundred and second foot — step forth unto the front,' 
Cried Major-General Sir Hussey Vivian, K.G.B. — 
' and bear the battle's brunt !' " 

Titles are in that country a part of their 
political system, and as such, receive the 
sanction of many who otherwise care lit- 
tle about them. The example of our own 
land, however, shows that they may be 
formally excluded from a country, Avhile a 
strong inclination to use them, however 
obliquely, still remains. Mere honorary 
distinctions are not by our constitution al- 
lowed ; yet in no country in the world are 
titles more worshipped. 

The " Society of Friends" abandon 
every vestige of titular distinction, be it 
ever so simple ; and in this respect are at 
least consistent, for they scrupulously 
practise what they preach. Excepting 
this upright class of men, we know of no 
portion of mankind, civilized or otherwise, 
who disdain to seek for or to use titles. 
In this, indeed, there seems remarkably 
little distinction. To the high, titles ap- 
pear almost a necessary pa:rt of their ex- 
istence, although we have heard them 
complained of as a load which would 
be very willingly resigned. To the most 
humble in station they are perhaps still 
more fondly clung to. Every workman is 
desirous of being spoken to as Mr. ; and 
his respectable wife, who requires no such 
adjunct, is addressed as Mistress. In 
short, from high to low, throughout all 
grades, is this craving manifest. Viewed 
in the abstract, titles are not things worthy 
of desire, and they must be considered as 
failing in their object when applied with- 
out distinction as to merit or any other 
qualification. Absurd or insignificant, 
however, as they too frequently are, they 
may be considered as not altogether use- 
less. Classing them with many other 
things which philosophy would disown, 
they are to be viewed as in some respects 
essential to the present tastes and habits 
of society, and therefore worthy of all the 
toleration usually accorded to social ar- 
rangements, in themselves indifferent or 

Those days are lost in which we do no 
good ; those worse than lost in which we 
do evil. 




There are some persons in the world 
who, either from a desire to kill time, or 
an unbecoming irresolution of purpose, 
are so lingering and tedious in their good- 
byes, as greatly to detract from the pleas- 
ure of their visits, and prove a source of 
considerable annoyance and irritation to 
the more busy and energetic of their fel- 
low-men. The annoyance is also aggra- 
vated by its untangible nature, and often 
by the good temper of the offending party. 
If your lingering trifler were a rough un- 
ceremonious fellow, there would be little 
difficulty as to the best mode of dealing 
with him ; but he is generally so gentle- 
manly and polite a person, that one would 
not willingly offend his sensibility by 
treating him rudely ; although it is often 
difficult to endure with anything like grace 
and equanimity so sore a trial of temper 
and patience. Protesting that he can not 
stay a moment, he will frivolize away a 
couple of hours, without having any busi- 
ness to transact, or any information to 
communicate, and linger with a tedious 
pertinacity that betrays a weakness of 
purpose truly silly and contemptible. He 
can not stay, yet he will not go. He has 
nothing of importance to say, yet he still 
talks on. He shakes you by the hand, 
and bids you good-by again and again, and 
still he is not gone. He can not stay and 
dine with you, neither will he let you dine 
yourself. He can not sit down, and there- 
fore keeps you standing ; or he rises with 
well-dissembled earnestness, protesting he 
must go, but it is only to move a foot, and 
this step accomplished, he doggedly re- 
mains in that spot for another half-hour be- 
fore he again moves. " Parting is such 
sweet sorrow," that he could bid good-by 
•' till it be morrow." No limpet ever ad- 
hered more pertinaciously to the rock 
than does he to your side. The trifling 
conversation stops, the usual common- 
places are exhausted, and you now believe 
he is really going ; but no, it is only to 
move half-way to the door, where, as if to 
recompense himself for his desperate ef- 
fort, he plants himself more immovably 
than ever. At last he again relinquishes 
his position, retrogrades " unwillingly and 
slow," and having arrived at the door, 

halts, holds by the handle, or plays with 
his hat, disputing every step with you as 
determinedly as though retreat were ruin ; 
and there is no speculating with any cer- 
tainty, although he has so long risen up to 
go, whether or not he may depart for the 
next hour. Wo to you if any stairs inter- 
vene between him and the street, for if so, 
he will yet make half a dozen resolute 
halts before he departs. Till he has pos- 
itively bidden you good-by at the street- 
door, and moved away from the threshold, 
you are uncertain how much longer he in- 
tends to draw upon your patience ; and at 
his departure, you find that two or three 
hours have been frittered away in dull un- 
meaning good-byes, and are left with vex- 
ed temper and irritated thought, to vainly 
endeavor, by increased exertion, to re- 
deem the time which has been irrecovera- 
bly lost. 

To those who are economists of time, 
and whose time is their estate, and their 
only one, the visits of such persons are 
positive inflictions and social nuisances. 
The busiest and most valuable hours are 
often sacrificed, and the arrangements of an 
entire day, put out of joint, by such tedious 
triflers. It is one of the chief principles 
upon which society is based, that every 
one should respect his neighbor's property 
as well as his own ; and if these linger- 
ers persist in vexatiously trying our pa- 
tience, and tediously wasting our time, 
they must expect to be met with a frown 
instead of a smile, and their visits shun- 
ned instead of sought. That two fond 
lovers who live but for each other should 
be loath to separate; that friends whose next 
meeting will probably be distant, and 
doubtless uncertain, should protract their 
good-byes, is natural and pleasing ; but it 
is contemptible, and argues a want of due 
appreciation of the value of time, and an 
indecision of purpose unbecoming any 
one who aspires to the name of man, to 
waste the time of a friend seen continually, 
and whose engagements and occupations 
ought to be a protection from such thought- 
less trifling. If the irresolute lingerer 
stay, let it be in earnest ; let it be under- 
stood that he intends to stay a while ; and 
if he have any business at all, introduce it 
at once, remembering that if he deems his 
own time of little value, his friend may 




not hold his so cheaply. If he is going, 
let him be decided ; let one good-by, one 
shake of the hand, suffice, and let him de- 
part promptly, and such decision will not 
only have a beneficial effect on his own 
arrangements, but render his future visits 
more welcome. If every one were thus 
to protract his call, all punctuality must be 
sacrificed, the fulfilment of every engage- 
ment jeoparded, and the most important 
arrangements set aside ; or the busy must 
shut themselves up from the annoyance 
of such lingerers. Many a valuable friend 
has been lost, many a pleasant companion- 
ship broken, by such trifling ; for even the 
kindest eyes can not be entirely blind to 
the absurdity of such weakness and irres- 
lution, nor ihe most equable ten~pers al- 
ways brook the vexatious hinderance of 
such tedious good-byes. 


GuADALOUPE is One of the largest of 
the Lesser Antilles, extending in length 
from east to west about forty miles, the 
greatest breadth being about twenty-five 
miles. It is about fifty-five miles south 
of Antigua, thirty-five north of St. Do- 
mingo, and eighty northwest of Marti- 
nique. The island was discovered and 
named by Columbus, in November, 1493, 
and it is stated that the women, armed 
with bows and arrows, opposed the land- 
ing of the Spaniards, but fled immediately 
on hearing a discharge of firearms. It 
remained unappropriated until ] 635, when 
a body of five hundred Frenchmen land- 
ed, and forthwith began a war of exter- 
mination upon the natives, which contin- 
ued until 1640. I, remained in posses- 
sion of France until 1759, when it was 
taken by the English, but was restored to 
France in 1763. It was again taken by 
the English in 1794, and retaken in the 
following year. In 1810, it once more 
fell into the hands of the English, and 
was restored in 1814, at the general peace, 
since which time it has remained in the 
possession of France. 

The island (correctly speaking there 
are two islands) is bisected by a navigable 

channel railed La Riviere SaUe, or Salt 
river, running from north to south, with a 
large bay at each end. Between these 
bays the channel varies in breadth from 
thirty to seventy yards, and is full of islets 
and sandbanks. Its depth is so unequal 
that only vessels of small burden can pass 
through it. 

Guadaloupe proper is traversed from 
south to north by a chain of volcanic 
mountains of an average height of three 
thousand feet, the most remarkable of 
which is La Soufricre, or the Sulphur 
hill, five thousand five hundred feet above 
the level of the sea, and from which are 
continually vomited thick black smoke, 
with occasional flashes of flame. The 
sides of this mountain display, among the 
huge fragments of rock, the openings of 
several caverns, which are supposed to 
communicate with the interior of the vol- 
cano. The sides of the whole chain are 
well-wooded, and several rivers find their 
sources therein, turning a number of su- 
gar-mills in their descent, and bearing- 
fertility to the soil of the plains which 
they water, but becoming in the rainy sea- 
son furious torrents. Guadaloupe proper 
is the best wooded of the Antilles, with 
the exception perhaps of St. Lucia ; there 
is abundance of water, and the air is mild 
and salubrious. On the tops of the moun- 
tains the cold is severe and vegetation 
scanty ; but on descending, a climate is 
reached which is soft and temperate, 
where foreigners may find refuge from the 
attacks of the yellow fever, particularly 
on the eastern slopes, which are the most 
elevated, and the most exposed to the 
beneficial influence of the trade-winds, 
but the country at the western base, where 
I he mountains intercept the eastern winds, 
IS in general unhealthy and thinly popula- 

La Grande Terre presents a country in 
general flat, Avatered by a few streams, 
scarcely sufficient for the purposes of 
agriculture and the consumption of the 
inhabitants ; they make use, therefore, 
of pits of brackish water, and construct 
reservoirs and cisterns for the preserva- 
tion of the rain : but the unfortunate slaves 
have frequently nothing to quench their 
thirst but the water of the ponds, which, 
exposed to the sun, is muddy and putrid, 








and engenders many diseases. La Grande 
Terra having na mountains, and being 
more thinly wooded, the rains are much 
less frequent than in the other division of 
the island, and it is also subject to great- 
er heats and seasons of long-continued 

The soil, rich and fertile, and full of 
shells and madrepores, attests that at some 
period it has been covered by the sea ; 
but the almost total want of streams com- 
pels the inhabitants to use windmills for 
the manufacture of their sugar. The 
plough has been introduced into some of 
the cantons, but with no great success, the 
prejudices of the cultivators preventing its 
adoption. The introduction of European 
horses and cows has been entirely suc- 

The capital of the island, St. Louis, or 
Pointe-a-Pitre, stands on La Grande Terre, 
at the south entrance of the Riviere Salee. 
The harbor is sheltered and the anchor- 
age good. The town of Basse Terre, 
which is in the other division of Guada- 
loupe, stand near its southwest point. It 
is an unsheltered roadstead with indiffer- 
ent anchorage, and is unsafe during the 
hurricane season : but from its greater 
proximity to the most productive part of 
the island, it is more frequented by ship- 
ping than Pointe-a-Pitre, and is the chief 
commercial station of the colony. 

Like all the other Antilles, Guadaloupe 
is exposed to the most frightful storms, ir- 
ruptions of the sea, and earthquakes. 
The last irruption of the sea was in 1825, 
which ravaged nearly all the island, the 
quarter of Basse Terre suffering the most, 
the town itself being almost entirely de- 
stroyed. The last earthquake was that 
of February 8, 1844, which almost totally 
destroyed Pointe-a-Pitre, with a most 
frightful loss of life, besides damaging 
many other parts of the island. This 
earthquake extended to Antigua, and some 
other places, but nowhere with the dread- 
ful consequences it inflicted on Guada- 
loupe. A letter from that place, dated 
February 9, says : — 

" All was overturned, except the wood- 
en houses. Immediately after the shock, 
fires broke out in two or three hundred 
places together, and totally consumed the 
houses. At present the flames are play- 

ing over the remains ; and in the whole 
of the town, which contained sixteen 
thousand souls, there are not ten houses 
inhabitable. . . . The number of wound- 
ed is exceedingly great. Women and 
young girls may be seen with two or three 
limbs fractured. The scene is a hundred 
times more horrible than a field of battle." 

On the same day the governor reports : 
" Pointe-a-Pitre is entirely destroyed. 
What was spared by the earthquake has 
since perished by fire, which burst out 
a few minutes after the houses fell. I am 
writing in the midst of the ruins of this 
unfortunate city, in the presence of a pop- 
ulation without food and without asylum, 
in the midst of the wounded, of whom 
the number is considerable — it is said, 
from fifteen hundred to eighteen hundred. 
The dead are still under the ruins, and 
their number calculated at several thou- 

Many were burned alive in the hospital. 
After all was over, the number of dead 
made the town pestilential, and the survi- 
vors fled. Basse Terre was also much 
injured. Several buildings fell, and oth- 
ers were so damaged as to be uninhabita- 
ble. Subscriptions were raised with great 
promptitude for the relief of the sufferers 
both in Martinique and France, and every- 
thing possible was done to relieve their 
destitution. It does not appear that the 
volcano. La Soufriere, displayed any re- 
markable activity either before or during 
the fatal catastrophe. 


I PRESUME it has rarely happened to 
the same person to have been at the bot- 
tom of the sea, and on the top of one of 
the highest mountains in the earth, within 
the same fortnight ; and yet this was (says 
Captain Hall) within a few hours of hap- 
pening in my case. On the 2d of Au- 
gust, 1820, being then in command of 
H.M. ship Conway, and ordered for South 
America, I took advantage of a slant of 
wind from the northwest, and left Spit- 
head ; but the breeze having proved treach- 
erous, by backing round to the southwest 



against the sun, and the weather looking 
very dirty, 1 was fain to put into Plymouth 
sound. We readily accomplished this, 
although the night was very dark, by first 
getting hold of the Eddystone lighthouse, 
and then steering with it upon a given 
bearing — I think southwest — till we came 
in sight of the light on the west end of the 
breakwater. On rounding the end of this 
wonderful artificial barrier against the 
ocean, we found ourselves in perfect se- 
curity, with the water as smooth as a mill- 
pond, though on the outside there was a 
heavy swell rolling from the south. I was 
accompanied upon this voyage by Capt. 
Robert Elliott of the navy. As he had 
been unable to procure professional em- 
ployment strictly so called, he resolved to 
profit by this moment of leisure to make a 
cruise with me, and eventually, by circum- 
navigating the globe, saw all the coasts 
of South America, visited many of the 
islands of the Pacific, remained some 
time in China and in Hindostan, and, fi- 
nally, passed through Egypt in his way 

The wind continuing unpropitious for 
our voyage, we were, as it may be sup- 
posed, thrown for recreation on such 
amusements as Plymouth and its neigh- 
borhood afforded, including the good offices 
of various worthy friends. 

At last, on Thursday morning, the 10th 
of August, we were gladdened with what 
sailors call half a fair wind — namely, a 
dead calm — and every eye was turned anx- 
iously up to the masthead vane, to see 
from what direction the first puff* of the 
new breeze was to blow. Presently a little 
fluttering air began to breathe from ofl^ the 
land, " uncertain, coy, and hard to please," 
as it seemed, for we wooed it, and whis- 
tled to it, and sighed to it to come to us, 
for some time in vain. Never, probably, 
were voyage-worn mariners more glad to 
reach the land, than we now were to 
break away from it, and to find ourselves 
once more bounding over the great ocean, 
free to think and act for ourselves, inde- 
pendent of the endless worry of a seaport. 

The sails of the jolly old Conway were 
at the masthead, all sheeted home — the 
anchor at " short-stay peak," and all ready 
for a start, by the time we got on board, 
not lono- after the earliest dawn. " Heave 

round !" was now the word, and the heavy 
anchor rattled up to the bows, as if it had 
been made of cork — for the " Johnnies" 
were as anxious to be off" as their officers 
were. It was catted and fished with equal 
smartness, and the fore and main tacks 
darted down to the bumpkin and chestree, 
like eagles pouncing on their prey ; for 
everything at this joyous moment seemed 
to fly ! Just at this moment the harbor- 
master came alongside, and called out to 
me, " You and Captain Elliott expressed a 
wish to go down in the diving-bell, I un- 
derstand. We have got it all ready for 
you ; here is the vessel within a quarter 
of a cable's length , and as your boats are 
hoisted up, I shall be glad to carry you in 
mine, and to put you on board again." 

As it is always a dangerous thing to de- 
fer chances to another opportunity, which 
may probably never arise, I requested the 
first lieutenant to shorten sail, and merely 
to let the ship draw slowly out to sea, 
while my friend and I set off" upon our 
submarine voyage. 

The diving-bell, as every one knows, 
is an iron cube about six feet in each di- 
rection. Ours was not strictly a cube, 
being perhaps a couple of feet wider 
across the bottom than it is at the top — in 
fact a very steep-sided pyramid with the 
top cut off". It was suspended by a strong 
chain, attached to a purchase of two or 
three-fold blocks, through which was rove 
a five-inch hawser. This was brought to 
a windlass, worked, not by handspikes, 
but by wheels, in the manner of a winch, 
so that the movements were smooth and 
not in jerks. On the surface of the wa- 
ter there lay coiled up a long leather hose, 
like the pipe of a fire-engine. One end 
of this was connected with a forcing- 
pump on board of the vessel belonging to 
the diving establishment, which, I need 
not say, was securely moored over the 
spot it was required to examine. The 
other end of this pipe or hose entered the 
top of the bell, where the air was forced 
in at a valve opening inward. The pipe 
was several fathoms longer than the per- 
pendicular depth of the water, so that 
when the bell reached the bottom, there 
were still several coils of air-pipe floating 
on the surface. 

When we reached the vessel, the diving- 



bell was hanging over the stern, and just 
so high, that when the boat passed under 
it, we easily stepped from the stern sheets 
to the foot-boards lying across the lower 
part of the bell, and thence gained the 
seats fastened inside it about half-way up. 
We sat on one bench, and the workman 
on the other. In the middle, between us, 
was suspended a large hammer, a very 
important appendage. When seated, our 
feet, resting on the cross piece, were 
about six inches from the bottom of the 
bell, while our backs rested against the 
side of this mysterious looking apartment. 

I confess I felt not a little queerish 
when the man called out " Lower away !" 
and the bell gradually descending on the 
water, like a huge extinguisher, shut us 
completely out from the world above. 
The instant the lips of the bell touched 
the water, the people in the vessel began 
working the force-pump, and we could 
hear the air, at each stroke of the piston, 
entering the valve with a sharp, quick, 
hissing noise. The object of this process 
is not only to supply the divers with fresh 
air, but also, and chiefly, to exclude the 
water, which, if the quantity of air in the 
bell were not augmented, so as to main- 
tain its volume, and the bell kept always 
full, would enter it and occupy an incon- 
venient portion of the space. If any ves- 
sel, filled with air at the surface of the 
sea, be sunk under its surface to the depth 
say of thirty feet, and an opening be left 
by which the water may enter, the air 
within the vessel will be condensed into 
one half its volume, the other half of the 
vessel being occupied by water. To pre- 
vent this happening in the case of the di- 
ving-bell, the forcing-pump is put in ac- 
tion, the effect of which is to keep the 
bell, during the whole of its descent, and 
to whatever depth it may reach, constantly 
full of air. But as the condensation be- 
comes greater as the depth is increased, it 
is more and more difficult to work the 
pump, as the bell goes down, or, in other 
words, the actual quantity of air held by 
the bell is increased, though its volume be 
always the same. 

This condensation produces an extreme- 
ly disagreeable effect on most persons who 
go down for the first time, though the 
workmen soon get accustomed to bear it 

without inconvenience. The lower edge 
of the bell was not above a couple of 
inches below the surface before we began 
to feel an unpleasant pressure on the ears. 
At first, however, the pain was not con- 
siderable, and we had leisure to contem- 
plate the oddness of our situation, as we 
saw the waves rippling over us, through 
the strong glass windows placed in the 
top. But in a short while, when our depth 
was a fathom or two beneath the surface 
of the sea, the pain became so excessive 
as to be scarcely bearable. I can not 
better describe it, than by saying that it 
was as if a violent toothache were trans- 
ferred to the ears. It was not like an or- 
dinary earache, acute and piercing, but 
dead, burning, and fierce. I confess that 
it quite outmastered my fortitude, and in 
the apprehension of the pressure bursting 
in the drum of the ear, I suggested the fit- 
ness of making the signal to be pulled up 
again. But my companion's nerves were 
stronger, and he called out, though in equal 
distress, " Let us bear it out, now we have 
begun." So down we went. 

In spite of this annoyance, it was not 
possible to be insensible to the singularity 
of our situation — at the bottom of the sea, 
and cut off from all the rest of the world 
by no less an interposition than the great 
ocean rolling over our heads ! It was 
quite light, however, and we could dis- 
tinctly see the fish swimming about below 
us, close to the bell. As the water was 
not very clear, it was not imtil we came 
within eight or ten feet of the bottom, that 
we discovered the pavement on which the 
sea rested. This partial muddiness prob- 
ably made the sweeping past of the tide 
more conspicuous ; and I rather think this 
was the most striking circumstance of the 
whole scene. 

At length the bell actually touched the 
ground, which consisted of a bed of shin- 
gle, composed of pieces of slate about as 
big as my hand, being the remainder of a 
small shoal which, having been found very 
dangerous and inconvenient to the anchor- 
age, had been gradually removed by means 
of the diving-bell. This troublesome shoal, 
the name of which I forget, was only thir- 
ty feet square, and had twenty-two feet of 
water over it. As it lay directly opposite 
to the entrance of the breakwater anchorage, 



and was of a depth which would have been 
reached by many ships, especially when 
a swell was rolling into the sound, it was 
a point of some consequence to remove it. 
This was accordingly effected by the 
agency of the diving-bell, the workmen in 
which, having filled bags with the loose 
fragments, made signals for pulling them 
up by ropes let down for the purpose. 
When this work was going on, the bell, 
instead of being made to rest on the 
ground, as it did when we were in it, was 
kept a foot or so from the bottom, in order 
to leave room for the bags being pushed 
out when full. In this way the whole 
area of the magnificent anchorage within 
the breakwater had been cleared of innu- 
merable anchors, left by ships which had 
parted their cables — and of guns dropped 
overboard accidentally, or cast out by ships 
in distress, or belonging to vessels that 
had foundered, and were long since gone 
to pieces, perhaps hundreds of years ago. 
Besides these things, many large stones 
were found scattered about, to the great 
injury of cables. Some of these may 
have been there from all time, but many 
of them, it was ascertained, had accident- 
ally fallen from the vessels employed to 
transport them from the quarries to the 
breakwater ; and we can easily understand 
why the persons to whose carelessness the 
accidents were due should be in no hurry 
to report their loss. 

We had some expectation of catching 
a fish that played about under the bell till 
we were just upon him, when he darted 
off, laughing perhaps at our folly in quit- 
ting our own element for his — an example 
he had no mind to follow. We were now 
twenty-seven feet below the surface, and 
having satisfied ourselves of having 
reached the bottom by picking up a stone, 
we desired the man to make the signal to 
be pulled up again. This he did by stri- 
king the side of the bell very gently with 
the hammer. These blows, it appears, 
are distinctly heard above ; and even 
sounds much fainter are heard, such as 
those caused by the workmen striking the 
ground with their pickaxes. The wishes 
of those who are below, are conveyed by 
means of a previously-concerted series of 
blows. A certain number is to pull up, 
another to lower down the bell ; one set 

directs it to be moved east, another west, 
and so on. 

The moment we began to ascend, the 
forcing-pump was stopped, as no more air 
was required to exclude the water, and we 
had an ample store for breathing during 
the return to the upper world. Indeed, it 
was curious to observe how the air ex- 
panded as we rose again, and the pressure 
became less. This was made manifest by 
its bubbling out under the bottom of the 
bell. I don't exactly know the cause, but 
when we had been drawn up about a 
couple of feet, the bell was filled with 
mist. The violent pressure on the ears 
was also, of course, relieved, but the pain 
continued with considerable severity till 
we reached the surface. When we were 
about half way up, I found the blood run- 
ning from my nose, and Capt. Elliott spat 
blood for some hours afterward. He con- 
tinued very unwell all that day, and was 
not quite re-established for some time. I 
was not actually sick, as he was, but the 
pain, or rather an extreme delicacy in my 
ears, continued for nearly a week. From 
all we could learn from the workmen, it 
seems that we suffered more severely than 
most people do. A general sense of in- 
convenient pressure on the ears is felt, but 
seldom violent pain. They even told us of 
a lady who had suffered so little that she 
wrote a letter when down, and dated 
" from the bottom of the sea !" — a feat 
which very fairly earned for her the cog- 
nomen of the divins-belle. 


A BELL rung under water returns atone 
as distinct as if rung in the air. 

Stop one ear with the finger, then press 
the other to one end of a long stick, or 
piece of deal-wood, and if a watch be held 
at the other end of the wood, the ticking 
will be heard, be the wood or stick ever 
so long. 

Tie a poker on the middle of a strip of 
flannel two or three feet long, and press 
with the thumbs or fingers the ends of the 
flannel into your ears, while you swing 
the poker against an iron fender, and you 



will hear a sound like that of a very heavy 
church-bell. These experiments prove 
that water, wood, and flannel, are good 
conductors of sound — for the sound from 
the bell, the watch, and along the deal and 
flannel — to the ear. 

It must be observed that a body, while 
in the act of sounding, is in a state of vi- 
bration, which it communicates to the sur- 
rounding air ; the undulations of the air 
affect the ear, and excite in us the sense of 
sound. Sound, of all kinds, it is ascer- 
tained, travels at the rate of thirteen miles 
in a minute ; the softest whisper travels as 
fast as the most tremendous thunder. The 
knowledge of the fact has been applied to 
the measurement of distances. 

Suppose a ship in distress fires a gun, 
the light of which is seen on shore, or by 
another vessel, twenty seconds before the 
report is heard : it is known to be at the 
distance of twenty times 1,142 feet, or 
little more than four miles and a half. 

Again, if I see a vivid flash of lightning, 
and in two seconds hear a tremendous 
clap of thunder, I know that the thunder- 
cloud is not more than seven hundred and 
sixty yards from the place where I am, 
and should instantly retire from an exposed 

The pulse of a healthy person beats 
about seventy-six times in a minute ; if, 
therefore, between a flash of lightning and 
the thunder, I can feel 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., beats 
of my pulse, I know that the cloud is 900, 
1,800, 2,700, &c., feet from me. 

Speaking-trumpets, and those intended 
to assist the hearing of deaf persons, de- 
pend on the reflection of sound from the 
sides of the trumpet, and also upon its be- 
ing confined and prevented from spreading 
in every direction. A speaking-trumpet, 
to have its full effect, must be directed in 
a line toward the hearer. The report of 
a gun is much louder when toward a per- 
son than in a contrary direction. 

The human ear is so extremely sensible, 
that it can hear a sound that lasts only the 
twenty-four thousandth part of a second. 

Deaf persons may converse together 
throuo-h rods of wood held between the 
teeth, or held to the throat or breast. 

In the arctic regions, persons can con- 
verse at more than a mile distant, when 
the thermometer is below zero. 


Perhaps the most characteristic pecu- 
liarity of our social condition at present is 
the unhealthy want of repose. Travelling 
by railroad is merely typical of the head- 
long hurry with which all the aff'airs of 
life are transacted. In business, men are 
in a hurry to get rich : they can not sub- 
mit to the tedious process of adding one 
year's patient and legitimate gains to those 
of its predecessors, but seek by bold spec- 
ulative combinations, by anticipations of 
intelligence received through the ordi- 
nary channels, to make or mar themselves 
by one bold stroke. The mechanical 
wheels revolve with accumulated speed 
to correspond to the hot haste of those 
who impel them. The long hours of fac- 
tory and millinery drudges, the gangs of 
night and day laborers relieving each oth- 
er in printing-offices and coal-pits — all the 
unintermitting, eager, " go-ahead" pres- 
sure of society — are but so many symp- 
toms of the excitement which impels men 
to live in a hurry. It is a paradox only 
in form to say that we are in such a hurry 
to live that we do not live at all. Life slips 
through our fingers unfelt, unenjoyed, in 
the bustle of preparing to live. A day of 
business is a day of breathless haste. The 
duties of the toilet are hurried through ; 
the breakfast is gulped down without be- 
ing tasted ; the newspaper is skimmed 
with a dim idea of its contents ; the day 
is spent in straining to overtake compli- 
cated details of business too extensive for 
the mind's grasp ; it costs a race to be in 
time for dinner, and dinner is curtailed of 
its fair proportion of time for the debate, 
or the committee, or the theatre, or the 
evening party, or all of them. Even sleep 
is got through impatiently, with frequent 
startings and consultations of the watch, 
lest the morning hours be lost. We snore 
in quicker time than our ancestors snored. 
And the worst of it is, that men can not 
help this railroad fashion of galloping out 
of life. When all are running at this head- 
long speed, you must run with them, or be 
borne down and run over, and trampled 
to death by the mass. Even the morali- 
sers on this universal race for the sake of 
running, hurry along with the rest, and pant 
out their reflections as they run. 





The accompanying plate presents a 
view of the edifice and grounds of the 
Theological Seminary under the direction 
of the General Assembly of the Old 
School division of the Presbyterian church, 
instituted at Princeton in the year 1812. 

This seminary is strictly theological in 
its design, having been founded for the 
purpose of extending to the candidates for 
the ministry in the Presbyterian church 
those facilities in their theological educa- 
tion which may best be secured by a pub- 
lic institution. Having, with this design, 
been founded by the General Assembly it 
remains under its immediate control, being 
governed by a board of directors, the va- 
cancies in which are filled by the appoint- 
ment of the Assembly. The seminary, 
consequently, has no connexion with the 
college of New Jersey, also established in 
Princeton. The directors of the semi- 
nary, however, at the time of its institu- 
tion in 1812, were indebted to the trustees 
of the college for certain privileges which 
were granted by the latter in virtue of 
which, for about four years, the lectures 
and recitations of the seminary were con- 
ducted in the public rooms of the college. 
The proposal for founding a theolagical in- 
stitution originated with an overture to the 
General Assembly, in May, 1809, from the 
presbytery of Philadelphia. Aftef mature 
consideration of the subject, and a cordial 
approbation of the project expressed by 
a majority of the presbyteries, the As- 
sembly appointed the Rev. Drs. Green, 
Woodhull, Romejm, and Miller, and the 
Rev. Messrs. Archibald Alexander, Rich- 
ards, and Armstrong, a committee to di- 
gest and prepare a plan or constit'-.tioa for 
a theological seminary, to be ".eported to 
the next Assembly. In 1811 they made 
their report, which, after some amend- 
ments, was adopted. The General As- 
sembly then took measures for collecting 
funds for the proposed institution, by ap- 
pointing a number of agents in all the 
synods, who were instructed to report the 
following year. 

The Assembly of 1812 fixed upon 
Princeton as the location of the institution, 

elected a board of directors, and appointed 
the Rev. Archibald Alexander, D.D., for 
some time president of Hampden Sidney 
college, and then pastor of the Third 
Presbyterian church in Philadelphia, to 
be their professor of didactic and polemic 
theology. On the last Tuesday in June 
following, the board of directors held their 
first meeting at Princeton, and on the 12th 
of August, of the same year, met again, 
when Dr. Alexander was solemnly inau- 
gurated, and entered on the duties of his 
office. The number of students at the 
opening of the institution was three. 

When the Assembly met in May, 1813, 
the number had increased to eight. By 
this Assembly, the Rev. Samuel Miller, 
D.D., at the time of his election pastor of 
the First Presbyterian church in the city 
of New York, was elected professor of 
ecclesiastical history and church govern- 
ment. He was inaugurated on the 29th 
of September following. By this Assem- 
bly, also, the location of the seminary in 
Princeton, before temporary, was made 

In 1815, the General Assembly deter- 
mined, in consideration of the great in- 
convenience arising from the want of suit- 
able apartments for the recitation and oth- 
er exercises of the institution, and the ac- 
commodation of the students, to erect an 
edifice to contain all the public apartments 
then indispensal"'_, necessary, and lodging 
rooms for th^ pupils. This edifice (which 
occupies the centre of the engraving) is 
of stone, one hundred and fifty feet in 
length, fifty in breadth, and four stories 
high. It has been admired by all who 
have seen it, as a model of neat and taste- 
ful, and at the same time of plain and 
solid workmanship. 

The Assembly of 1820 appointed Mr. 
Charles Hodge, now the Rev. Dr. Hodge, 
then a licentiate under the care of the 
presbytery of Philadelphia, as an assistant 
teacher of the original languages of Scrip- 
ture. By the Assembly of 1822, he was 
elected professor of Oriental and Biblical 
literature, and was inaugurated in Septem- 
ber of that year. In 1834, Mr. Joseph 
Addison Alexander, at that time adjunct 
professor of ancient languages and litera- 
ture in the college of New Jersey, accept- 
ed an appointment as assistant instructor 

in Oriental and Biblical literature. In the 
spring of 1838, he accepted an appoint- 
ment as " associate professor of Oriental 
and Biblical literature." 

The A-ssembly of 1835 appointed the 
late Rev. John Breckinridge, D.D., for 
several preceding years corresponding sec- 
retary of the board of education of the 
Presbyterian church, professor of pastoral 
theology. He accepted the appointment, 
and was inaugurated on the 26th of the 
following September ; but resigned his 
office in 1838. 

Since that time. Dr. Alexander has 
been appointed professor of polemic and 
pastoral theology ; Dr. Hodge professor of 
exegetical and didactic theology, and the 
Rev. Mr. Alexander, sole professor of 
Oriental and Biblical literature. 

The library of the seminary was an ob- 
ject of early attention. One of the first 
and most liberal contributors to it, was the 
Rev. Ashbel Green, D.D., first president 
of the board of directors, and one of the 
most prominent and active of the original 
fo mders of the institution. In 1838, Mr. 
H. C. Turnbull, of Baltimore, with the 
concurrence of Bishop M'Crosky, pre- 
sented to the seminary the remaining 
library of the Rev. Dr. Charles Nesbit, of 
Carlisle, numbering about one thousand, which, together with a handsome 
dona ion of twelve hundred volumes, pre- 
sent d by the Rev. Dr. Sprague, of Al- 
bany , and augmented from other sources, 
make the whole number of volumes in the 
seminary library, about nine thousand. 
The increase of the theological library has 
always been, and still is, as every well-in- 
formed person must perceive, of the most 
urgent necessity. Books can not indeed be 
read by thousands ; but that scholar can 
make little advantageous progress v/ho has 
not thousands at hand for consultation. A 
suitable and safe place of deposits for such 
a collection of books was also most ur- 
gently needed, until this want was sup- 
plied by Mr. Lenox's munificent dona- 

In the spring of 1843, James Lenox, 
Esq., of New York city, a member of the 
board of trustees of the seminary, present- 
ed to that board, for the use of the 
institution, two valuable lots, near the 
seminary grounds, and the buildings upon 

them. The one is occupied by a dwelling- 
house, intended as a residence for a pro- 
fessor ; upon the other Mr. Lenox has 
erected a large and elegant building for 
the library. 

This new edifice is v. beautiful Gothic 
structure, seventy-five feet long, and sixty 
wide. The front facade is fashioned in 
its proportions and ornaments, after Mag- 
dalen College Chapel, Oxford, The in- 
terior is finished with a groined ceiling, 
supported by vaulting shafts ; the floor is 
of marble, tesselated. A gallery passes 
round three sides of the hall, under which 
are ample alcoves, and above, cases 
against the wall for books. The gallery, 
alcoves, and cases, are of wood richly 
carved in the Gothic style, and stained to 
resemble oak. But it is difficult to give 
an adequate idea of the exquisite propor- 
tions, and general effect of this beautiful 
and impressive structure. It is a pure, 
and, for its dimensions, a very effective 
specimen of the Gothic style. To the 
taste no less than to the liberality of Mr, 
Lenox is this elegant structure due. 

This donation has been carefully guard- 
ed against abuse. It is to revert to the 
donor, or his representatives, if, at any 
time, the trustees pass from under the su- 
pervision and control of the General As- 
sembly of the Presbyterian church, now 
commonly known and distinguished as the 
Old School General Assembly, and its 
successors ; or if, at any time, the leading 
doctrines declared in the Confession of 
Faith, and the Catechisms of the Presby- 
terian church, such as the doctrines of 
universal and total depravity, of election, 
of the atonement, of the imputation of 
Adam's sin to all his posterity, and of the 
imputation of Christ's righteousness to all 
his people for their justification, of human 
inability, and of the necessity of the influ- 
ence of the Holy Spirit, in the regenera- 
tion, conversion, and sanciification of sin- 
ners, as these doctrines are now under- 
stood and explained by the Old School 
General Assembly, shall cease to be 
taught and inculcated in the seminary. 

We have seen that the institution went 
into operation in 1812, with three students 
in attendance. From that time the num- 
ber gradually and steadily increased till 
within a few years since, when it reached 



one hundred and thirty, at which it still 
continues. The whole number of stu- 
dents who have attended the seminary 
since its origin is about fourteen hundred. 

Provision for the maintenance and edu- 
cation of indigent divinity students was the 
among the earliest and most favorite ob- 
jects of the founders of the institution. 
For this purpose twenty-eight scholar- 
ships have been formed by private dona- 
tions ; most of them are called after their 
founders. Several of these, however, 
have suffered greatly in the embarrass- 
ments and depreciations of recent times. 
And the permanent funds designed for the 
payment of the professors' salaries, but 
never at all adequate to that purpose, have 
been still more seriously impaired. 

The institution has always depended for 
much of its support upon the charities of 
its friends and benefactors. Of late years 
that dependance has become more unlim- 
ited. In consequence of this, a conven- 
tion was called, in last October, of the di- 
rectors, alumni, and other friends of the 
seminary, to take this matter into consid- 
eration. This convention, after due con- 
sultation, appointed the Rev. Cortland Van 
Rensselaer, of Burlington, N. J., its agent, 
to present the cause of the seminary be- 
fore the Presbyterian churches, and to 
make a general collection of funds to meet 
the existing wants of the institution, and, 
if possible, to secure its full and per- 
manent endowment. Mr. Van Rensselaer 
has just commenced his agency, and it is 
gratifying to learn that he has thus far, un- 
der the blessing of God, met with unanti- 
cipated favor, and success in the prosecu- 
tion of his object. 


T T is highly necessary to avoid too much 
familiarity in conversation. It is an old 
adage, " too much familiarity breeds con- 
tempt ;" so he that familiarizes himself, 
presently loses the superiority which his 
serious air and good deportment gave him, 
and consequently his credit. The more 
common human things are, the less they 
are esteemed; for communication discov- 

ers imperfections that prudent reserve 
concealed. We must not be too familiar 
with superiors, because of dangers ; nor 
with inferiors by reason of indecency ; 
and far less with mean people, whom ig- 
norance renders insolent — for being in- 
sensible of the honors done them, they 
presume it is their due. 

In your discourse be cautious what you 
speak, and to whom you speak ; how you 
speak, and when you speak ; and what 
you speak, speak wisely, speak truly. A 
fool's heart is in his tongue, but a wise 
man's tongue is m his heart. 

Plutarch advises to moderate and cor- 
rect all base, unworthy, and hurtful pas- 
sions, that in all our conversations we 
may be open-hearted, and sincere, and not 
seek to overreach or deceive others in 
anj^ of our dealings. 

Let all your conversation with men be 
sober and sincere ; your deA'otion to God 
dutiful and decent ; let the one be hearty, 
and not haughty ; let the other be humble, 
but not homely. So live with men as 
if God saw you ; so pray to God as if men 
heard you. 

Nothing more engages the alTections of 
men, than a handsome address, and grace- 
ful conversation. 

Our conversation should be such, that 
youth may therein find improvement, wo- 
men modesty, the aged respect, and all 
men civility. 

Talkativeness is usually called a femi- 
nine vice, but it is possible to go into mas- 
culine company, where it will be as hard 
to wedge in a word as at a female gossip- 

Controversies, for the most part, leave 
truth in the middle, and are factious at 
both ends. 

Speak always according to your con- 
science ; but let it be done in terms of 
good nature, civility, and good manners. 

Discretion of soeech is better than 
mere eloquence. 


This building is pleasantly situated in 
the village of Worcester, Massachusetts. 



The central part was erected in 1819 and 
'20, and dedicated on the 24th of August, 
of the latter year. The wings were add- 
ed in 1831. The whole building is of 
brick, and is the liberal donation of the 
late Isaiah Thomas, LL.D., to the society. 

The society was organized in 1812, and 
held its first meeting at the Exchange 
coffee-house, in Boston, on the 19th of 
November of that year. Its officers are 
annually elected on the 23d of October, 
that being the day on which Columbus 
discovered America. The first anniver- 
sary meeting of the society was held at 
Boston, October 23, 1813, when an ad- 
dress was delivered, in King's chapel, by 
the Rev. William Jenks, D.D. There 
are now two meetings of the society in 
each year ; the first on the 23d of Octo- 
ber, and the second on the last Wednes- 
day of May. 

The objects of the institution are the 
collection and preservation of American 

It was the intention of its founder and 
munificent patron, Mr. Thomas, that its 
library should embrace as perfect a collec- 
tion of American literature as possible. 
No institution had proposed the accom- 
plishment of a similar object, and the gen- 
eral preference given in our libraries to 
European over American books, had pre- 
vented in a great measure the collection 
of them, only to a very limited extent. It 
seemed very desirable that a remedy for 
an evil of this description should be 
provided. So little care had been taken 
for the preservation of the productions of 
our early American authors, that many of 
them were found with extreme difficulty, 
while others were irrecoverably lost. By 
the establishment of an institution of this 
character, a convenient receptacle would 
be provided for the early as well as mod- 
ern literature of the country, and when its 
objects should be generally known, indi- 
viduals possessing books, pamphlets, maps, 
or manuscripts, might have a convenient 
place to deposite them, where they might 
be useful to the public. 

Interesting materials of the history of 
the country are profusely scattered in 
every town, which have never yet found 
a place in any of our public libraries. It 
is among the principal objects of this in- 

' stitution to collect and preserve these, as 
well as all the productions ol American 

Beside providing the society with a spa- 
cious building for the accommodation of 
its library and cabinet, Mr. Thomas also 
gave it between four and five thousand 
volumes of books, among which are many 
valuable works illustrating the history of 
the country, as well as many rare and in- 
teresting specimens of early printing. He 
also provided the society with a fund for 
the permanent support of a librarian, and 
otherwise richly endowed the institution 
with the means of making annual pur- 
chases of books and for meeting inciden- 
tal expenses. 

Visiters can have easy access to the li- 
brary of the society, and it is always open 
to such as have occasion to use the books. 
As it is not local in its objects, but gen- 
eral or national, and from the means it 
possesses of making itself useful to the 
public, it must, eventually, rank among the 
largest as well as the most interesting 
public libraries of the country. 


There are perhaps few subjects in the 
whole circle of the sciences more univer- 
sally and readily admitted, yet at the same 
time apparently less reducible to princi- 
ples of scientific demonstration, than that 
of pliysiognomy. The phrenologists, in- 
deed, seem to have the advantage ; for 
whatever may be said of the correctness 
of their delineations, and their ailapta,tion 
to positive principles, they eertainly pre- 
sent to us more palpable and tangible eA'i- 
dence in the multiplicity and variety of 
their protuberant and characteristic bumps. 
We can not but believe that there is much 
truth in each of these sciences, notwith- 
standing it has been contended that such 
a designation is by far too dignified an af- 
pellation for them. Undoubtedly both, 
being in such juxtaposition, may be sup- 
posed to possess a common affinity, al- 
though the validity of the one in no degree 
involves that of the other. The advocates 
of phrenology have been by far the more 



numerous ; it has consequently received a 
larger share of the popular consideration. 
We shall endeavor to present some of the 
leading principles of the science, with oc- 
casional illustrations, simply " premising," 
by a few commonplaces touching the more 
prominent features of the countenance, by 
way of prima faci<B evidence. 

And first, to begin with noses. Every 
one knows he has a nose, and he knows 
that it is the leading feature, since all fol- 
low it. Noses are of divers kinds. There 
is the Roman, the Grecian, the Aquiline, 
the Snub, the Bottle, &c. In attempting 
an analytical description of these varieties 
of the organ, one is not a little embar- 
rassed for terms by which to delineate 
their respective characteristics. With the 
first-named, the Roman, we are all famil- 
iarly acquainted. The excess of its con- 
formation, however, strikingly resembles 
the bill of the parrot ; hence this nose is 
sometimes facetiously termed the " beak." 
For an illustrious specimen of this variety, 
we may refer to that world-renowned son 
of Mars, the duke of Wellington, vulgarly 
known by the cognomen of " Nosey" — 
" Old Nosey !" There are doubtless many 
similar instances to be met with, but let 
this suffice. The classic honor bestowed 
on this species of the nasal organ is from 
the well-known circumstance of its having 
been so generally in vogue with the people 
of that name. The same, as its title im- 
ports, is also the case with the second 
class, called Grecian. This may be said 
to possess by far the greatest pretensions 
of any to beauty of figure. It is more 
perpendicular from the forehead, and with- 
out any of the projection of the bridge, 
comes straight down, with rather an acute 
angular termination. 'Y^\ie Aquiline some- 
what approaches the latter, with the ex- 
ception of a slight indentation from the 
frontal bone, with rather an inclination up- 
ward at the extremity. We come next to 
the Snub. This has been sometimes vul- 
garly, but expressively, termed " the Pug." 
It has great expansiveness of the nostrils, 
is rather short and wide, and uncommonly 
fleshy withal. The Bottle-nose belongs 
almost exclusively to the victim of intem- 
perance, of which it may be considered 
■the sure concomitant. It is a kind of bul- 
bous plant, or absorbent, concentrating in 

itself the fiery essences of the " potations 
deep" of the devotee of Bacchus. Its 
appearance is the physical embodiment of 
the rosy juice. The Turn-up is a carica- 
ture of the " snub," possessing all its pe- 
culiarities in more startling relief, and is 
commonly supposed, although perhaps un- 
justly, to characterize the more vulgar of 
the species. We have an illustration of 
this variety in the case of the great 
" schoolmaster," Lord Brougham, who 
sports a nose of this description, which, 
in an eloquent harangue, possesses the 
most extraordinary nervous action. This, 
however, should be regarded rather as an 
anomaly than as an illustration of the 
class. There is also the Mulberry. This 
is a most abominable specimen of the bot- 
tle-nose in all its worst features. Nothing 
indeed can outvie its hideous characteris- 
tics. We have yet another to describe in 
our catagraph of the genus— the Snout. 
This is a nose concerning which there 
can be no mistake. It seems to project 
almost horizontally from the face, a little 
inclined to turn up, and appears to be 
made solely to accommodate a pair of elon- 
gated nostrils, of outrageous proportion ; 
while from its very peculiarly projecting 
conformation, it seems to induce in the 
beholder an irresistible desire to have a 
pull at it, for which office indeed it is sin- 
gularly adapted. Little need be said about 
the Pi?nple. It is the smallest apology 
for a nose extant, being " small by degrees, 
and beautifully less ;" hence it will be only 
proportionably just to the others, to say as 
little about this variety as possible. We 
may remark, however, that it is sometimes 
observable in the young boarding-school 
miss. It is a curious fact, although com- 
mon to the observation of all, that there is 
scarcely a straight nose to be met with. 
None may be said to be entirely without 
irregularity. Almost all noses incline ei- 
ther to the right or left of the direct line, 
in a slight degree, caused most probably 
by the frequent and indispensable applica- 
tion of manual service to that worthy 
member. It is also equally curious, that 
no two faces are to be found precisely 
alike in expression. 

The next feature we shall glance at 
will be the eyes, " those windows of the 
soul." We are not acquainted with a very 



extensive variety in this delicate and in- 
sinuating member. The dark eye, al- 
*hough proper to no particular class of 
character, may yet be said to possess some 
peculiarities. It is not only a token of 
beauty, and capable of imparting to fea- 
tures of even defective outline a highly 
pleasing effec, but it is of itself always 
powerfully expressive. Of the gray, there 
are some minor varieties, such as the dark 
gray, which is also expressive, and seems 
to be a medium between the black and 

The cat''s eye is another variety of the 
gray, caused apparently by a slight infu- 
sion of yellow. It is extremely disagree- 
ble to look upon, and its possessor is sup- 
posed to share some affinity in character 
and disposition with the feline race. The 
blue eye is always beautiful ; it is one of 
nature's own sweet teints, and consequent- 
ly ever delightful to contemplate. It beto- 
kens mildness and amiability of disposi- 
tion, and is most generally monopolized, 
as indeed it should be, by the fair sex. 
The gimlet, otherwise called the swivel- 
eye, is a kind of anomaly in the world of 
eyes. It being an exception to all rule, 
no direct application can be made of it to 
any distinct individual class. The swivel, 
however, is of a very penetrating nature, 
since it at once insinuates itself into your 
affections. Some prominent individuals 
have possessed this peculiarity, among 
them the late Rev, Edward Irving. 

There are three or four varieties of the 
mouth. It will not, however, be required 
that these should be very minutely partic- 
ularized. A small mouth being justly con- 
sidered the test of beauty, it would be un- 
gallant to mar its fair proportions by at- 
tempting to enlarge upon it ; while the 
large one, being already an outrage upon 
the true standard, any extended remarks 
upon it would be uncharitable. 

The science of physiognomy, as already 
stated, although frequently condemned as 
being fallacious, and liable to mislead us 
in our estimate of character, is yet every- 
where practically admitted among us. 
And although it may seem to be difficult to 
reduce it to positive principles, yet to re- 
ject it altogether on this account, is in- 
deed a very unphilosophical method of 
solving the problem. Nothing is more 


common than exclamations like the follow- 
ing, on first seeing an individual : " What 
an honest-looking face he has !" " How 
forbidding an expression this one has !" 
" How the rogue is depicted in the other !" 
&c. Have we not our likings and our 
aversions 1 Do we not involuntarily shrink 
from one person whose face does not 
comport with our ideas of honesty, and 
rush with open arms to another, whose 
countenance m.ore nearly approaches our 
imaginary standard ? This proves that 
we are all physiognomists. Then there 
are equally broad national characteristics, 
distinctions which have even become a 
proverb among us. We say, for instance, 
of the Englishman, from his habitually 
grave deportment, that he is never happy 
but when he is miserable : of the Irish- 
man, also, from his strongly-marked and 
well known belligerant qualities, that he 
is never quiet but when he is kicking up a 
row : of the Scotchman, from his enter- 
prising activity, that he is never at home 
but when he is abroad. These are not 
antithetical jokes, but palpable and admit- 
ted facts. There are also similar traits 
observable among other nations. The 
French, for example, from their vivacious- 
ness, are said never to be at rest but when 
they are dancing : Avhile we say of the 
phlegmatic sons of Yarmany, from their 
seeming obtuseness and indolence, that 
they can never see anything clearly but 
when they are enveloped in clouds of 
smoke. And there can be no doubt that 
other inhabitants of the civilized and un- 
civilized world exhibit in their frontispieces.- 
equally distinctive characteristic attributes-. 
And were we to look at home, who could 
not detect at a glance, by his "eute" fea- 
tures, the purveyor of wooden nutmegs V 

Does not all this speak, volumes for the 
truth of our science ? Again, the profes- 
sions and trades have also a decided influ- 
ence in determining the character of the 
countenance, so that even where nature 
has originally impressed the features with 
a marked dissimilarity, they nevertheless 
acquire, from this cause, a peculiar re- 
semblance in expression. This is owing, 
of course, to the particular pursuit calling 
into exercise a corresponding condition of 
the mind, and which, being habitual, ex- 
erts a direct and powerful influence over 



the features. The well-known and admi- 
rably drawn portrait by Boz, of " Squeers," 
the Yorkshire schoolmaster, is a case in 
point. What a mysterious compound does 
he represent ! — exhibiting the broad grin 
of Jesuitical politeness, coupled with the 
ill-disguised, because too legible lines, 
which none can mistake as indicative of 
tyrannical severity. These opposite emo- 
tions, so constantly alternating in his face, 
cause his features finally to assume the 
permanent expression already described. 
We find likewise in the physician the two- 
fold expression of profound and inscruta- 
ble sagacity, united with that blandness 
and affability of deportment so essential 
to the disciple of Esculapius. Who can 
fail to discover in the lawyer, the charac- 
teristics of a stern cold-heartedness and 
cunning, which may be supposed to stop 
at nothing, where the interest of his client, 
and consequently his own, is concerned, 
provided only he is certain of legal in- 
demnity 1 In him, too, we find the mani- 
fest expression of supercilious courtesy, 
and specious affability, even when he is 
deeply engaged in threading out the mazy 
sinuosities of his occult and never-to-be- 
by-common-people-understood profession. 
Again, in the clergyman : how can we 
fail to observe — in some instances more 
than others — the curious compound of an 
ill-disguised love of worldly enjoyments, 
united with an appearance of great sanc- 
timoniousness, and a portion of the ascet- 
icism of the cloister, as well as contempt 
of all sublunary good 1 Should it be ob- 
jected here that these sketches are not 
average portraits, it must be remembered 
that those selected have been preferred 
for their points of illustration simply, with- 
out the design of disparaging any class, 
by an attempt at caricature. 

But we should not omit, in enumerating 
the evidences of the validity of our theory, 
that we possess, in addition to this mass 
of incontestable demonstration, the records 
in its favor which are of divine origin : 
" The countenance of the wise," saith 
Solomon, " showeth wisdom ; but the eyes 
of a fool are in the ends of the earth." 
And Ecclesiastes the Preacher: " A man 
may be known by his look, and one that 
hath understanding by his countenance, 
when thou meetest him." Indeed, is it 

not a common maxim with us, that " the 
face is the index to the mind ?" Where 
Ave find so much apparent truth, it is 
scarcely just to insinuate all to be founded 
in error. 

But let us now glance at the probable 
advantages to be derived from the study 
and application of this science. To ac- 
quaint himself with the principles which 
have been educed from the profound in- 
vestigation applied to this interesting and 
important subject, is assuredly the duty, 
as it is the interest, of every diligent in- 
quirer after truth. Man, composed as he 
is of- a complex nature, is phj'sically and 
morally a very mysterious being ; and if 
we regard either his actions or his words, 
we shall find ourselves equally at a loss 
fully to ascertain the reality of his motives 
and intentions. But to enter into a de- 
tailed enumeration of the several advan- 
tages which result from the right applica- 
tion of this science, Avould require more 
space than can be allotted to it in the 
present essay ; a single remark must suf- 
fice. Nothing is more important to man 
and to society than mutual intercourse. 
Any rational method, therefore, by which 
we may readily, as well as accurately, 
judge between the virtuous and the vi- 
cious, in forming our associations, must be 
of paramount value. Physiognomy then 
comes to our aid ; it directs us when to 
choose, when to reject ; when to speak, 
as well as when to be silent ; when to 
console and when to reprove. Thus a 
more accurate acquaintance is ascertaina- 
ble of the prevailing internal emotions and 
sentiments which determine the character, 
from the conformation of the external fea- 
tures of the countenance, than it is possi- 
ble to attain by any other means. La- 
vater, the great father of this science, 
says : " We know that nothing passes in 
the soul, which does not produce some 
change in the body ; and particularly, that 
no desire, no act of willing, is exerted by 
the mind, virithout some corresponding 
motion at the same time taking place in 
the body. All changes of the mind origi- 
nate in the soul's essence, and all changes 
in the body, in the body's essence. The 
body's essence consists in the conforma- 
tion of its members ; therefore the con- 
formation of the body, according to its 




form, and the form of its constituent mem- 
bers, must correspond with the essence 
of the soul. In like manner must the va- 
rieties of the mind be displayed in the va- 
rieties of the body. Hence the body 
must contain something in itself, and in its 
form, as well as in the form of its parts, 
by which an opinion may be deduced con- 
cerning the native qualities of the mind. 
The question here does not indeed con- 
cern those qualities derived from educa- 
tion or observation ; therefore, thus con- 
sidered, physiognomy, or the art of judg- 
ing a man by the form of his features, is 
well-founded." The lines of the coun- 
tenance constitute its expression, which 
expression is always true, when the mind 
is in a state of repose, and free from con- 
straint ; therefore, it is by them we are to 
discover, when in their native position, 
what are the natural bent and inclination 
of certain properties of the mind. 

Thus it is the province of this science 
to usurp the place of those crude and un- 
certain opinions, so commonly adopted, 
by which we imbibe at first sight either 
the feeling of preference or aversion 
toward an individual, and to aid us, by 
the ascertained principles of true philoso- 
phy, to arrive at correctness in our con- 
clusions. This principle, however, has 
been applied by many of the advocates of 
physiognomy to the entire human form. 
The most recent writer on the subject. 
Dr. A. Walker, whose anthropological 
works have met with so wide and deserved 
a popularity both in England and in this 
country, argues for this hypothesis, from 
the three great systems of which the ani- 
mal economy is composed, viz., the loco- 
motive, by means of the bones, ligaments, 
and muscles ; the vital, or vascular, being 
the nutritive and secretive organs and ab- 
sorbents, including also the blood-vessels ; 
and the nervous, or mental, comprising the 
organs of sense, which possess the mys- 
terious faculty of transmitting impressions 
from external objects. It is also ingeni- 
ously remarked of the location of these 
several systems, that there is a striking 
and curious analogy between them and the 
inferior orders of nature. We find the 
mechanical or locomotive organs, abstract- 
ly considered, are placed in the lowest 
situation, the extremities ; while the bones, 

being essentially mineral, correspond with 
the lowest order of creation, the mineral 
kingdom. Those, again, which consist 
chiefly of the vital system, also appear to 
correspond v/ith the second order, in the 
vessels which constitute vegetable life, be- 
ing placed in a higher situation in the hu- 
man body ; while the nervous or mental 
system (proper to all animal existences, 
for all organized bodies are believed to 
possess both brain and certain nervous 
fibres) is placed in the head, correspond- 
ing with the highest order of creation. 
The science of anthropology, or anatomi- 
cal development, has, however, but a col- 
lateral bearing upon our subject ; yet it 
may not be amiss to take a passing notice 
of it, for the sake of illustration. This 
theory, as we have already intimated, is 
that of adapting the rules of physiognom- 
ical science to the developments of the 
entire human system, which is seen by 
the relative proportions of the bones, mus- 
cles, &c. Thus, for an instance of pre- 
eminent physical strength, the author re- 
fers to the muscular developments, as de- 
picted in the statues of Hercules and the 
gladiator, as constituting the beauty, and 
expressive of the power, of the locomo- 
tive system. Again, as in the ancient 
Saxons, where the body is found to be 
disproportionably large, and the limbs 
slender and small, an excess of the vas- 
cular system is portrayed. While again, 
as in the busts of Homer, and most speci- 
mens of Grecian sculpture, where the 
head is large, and the countenance expres- 
sive and indicative of thought, the beauty 
and power of the mental system is conse- 
quently denoted. 

But to return to the " head and front" 
of our subject. Phrenologists divide the 
cranium into two great divisions ; the cer- 
ebellum, or hinder portion, comprising the 
organs of sense, common to all animals, 
and the cerehrum, consisting of the organs 
of the mind ; as these organs, therefore, 
respectively exhibit greater or less devel- 
opment, we discover the indications of the 
preponderance of the mental or animal 
qualities ; as in all superior animals, the 
organs of sense are found precisely oppo- 
site where the face terminates, that is, 
opposite the articulation of the lower jaw, 
extending to the spine, and projecting 



from the occiput, or back of the head. 
Again, where the cerebrum is longest an- 
teriorly, observation and intellect excel, 
and the reverse is seen where the animal 
qualities predominate. Thus physiogno- 
my is in part allied both to phrenology and 
physiology, as seen in the comparative 
view of the three great organs of sensa- 
tion, mental operation, and volition. This 
last faculty is situated at the back of the 
head, or cerebellum, while those of sense, 
being placed in the face, present every fa- 
cility for physiognomical examination. 
These faculties, or organs, are, it is well 
known, five in number, viz., touch, taste, 
smell, hearing, and sight. The intellec- 
tual parts of the countenance are at once 
self-evident — the forehead, the eye, and 
the ear. Where these are found amply 
developed, the head will be generally 
found of a pyriform shape, indicative of a 
predominance of intellectuality. We find 
this peculiarity displayed in a striking 
manner in the head of Daniel Webster. 
The expansion of the other parts of the 
head being adapted to animal and vital 
purposes are less distinctly marked : wher- 
ever these, however, are found in excess, 
there will also be observable a general 
roundness of the countenance, indicating 
a preponderating influence of the animal 
system. But it must be borne in mind, 
that the face not only presents organs of 
sense, but also those of impression, its 
muscular parts being under the control of 
the will. Had this been otherwise, we 
should not have been able to ascertain so 
accurately the extent of mental action. 
This, then, appears to be the first and 
most important rule of physiognomy, that 
of examining the preponderance of these 
organs respectively. How commonly do 
we hear it observed, that a face is beauti- 
ful though utterly destitute of intellectual 
expression ; and the reverse is equally 
true. This partial deficiency in expres- 
sion is more generally observable in the 
countenances of the softer sex, although 
there are some lamentable instances, in a 
stronger degree, of this peculiarity in the 
other. Indeed, we might take occasion 
to enlarge upon the subject of the diver- 
sity of expression in faces to as great a 
length, and much greater than the reader^s 
pAtience wcmld permit, beginnir^gy perhaps. 

with that which most nearly accords with 
the correct standard of beauty, through an 
almost infinite variety, down to that cu- 
rious nondescript familiarly called a " wry 
face," and which is, remarkably enough for 
our argument, often indicative of a corres- 
ponding disposition. We should like to 
ask, by the way, what portrait painter 
would disavow his belief in physiognomy ; 
for it seems to us the life and soul of his 
profession, since character, otherwise call- 
ed expression, is everything to the success 
of a picture. 

But to resume. The observing faculties 
then appear to depend on the anterior part 
of the brain, corresponding to the fore- 
head, the comparing on the middle, and 
the determining faculties on the posterior 
part of the brain. From the peculiar or- 
gan of touch, we chiefiy derive ideas ; from 
sight, emotions ; and from hearing and 
tasting, desire or aversion. No illustration 
is required in confirmation of these appa- 
rent truths. The two intellectual organs, 
the eye and ear, resemble each other in 
being both duplex, and also in being situ- 
ated separately on each hemisphere of the 
cranium ; while the nose and mouth, be- 
ing adapted for more animal purposes, are 
situated near to each other, and in the 
centre of the face. So necessary, indeed, 
is this approximation of smell and taste 
to animal purposes, that wherever we find 
the greatest preponderance of these, we 
inijariably discover the increase and near- 
er approach of these organs : on the other 
hand, so far as the eye and ear are organs 
of impression and not of expression, and 
as such connected with the brain by pe- 
culiar nerves, it is obvious that they are 
not animal, but purely intellectual. Thus 
much for general principles. We shall 
particularize very briefly these organs re- 

And first, touching foiich. This sense, 
as is well known, is diffused over all the 
himian system, but is more intense both at 
the lips and fingers' ends. The lips there- 
fore may be said to represent this organ, 
and the degree of their linear or full de- 
velopment to indicate accordingly the pos- 
session of the faculty. The rtose and 
mouth, in a sabordinate sense, possess in- 
tellectual sympathies and associations. It 
is a c«riou!S fact, that alt the parts comsect- 



ed with the lower jaw are acting parts. 
The under teeth act on the upper, the 
tongue on the palate, and most generally 
also the under lip on the upper. Accord- 
ingly, where we find the under lip protru- 
ded, there is sure to be the active exercise 
of passion, either of desire or aversion : 
in the former case, it is said to be everted, 
and in the other inverted ; while we inva- 
riably find the upper lip expands on re- 
ceiving pleasurable impressions. Thus 
we may generally decide, that an equally, 
yet moderately, prominent development of 
both is characteristic of a well-balanced 
mind. Of the nose, that called Roman, 
possessing large capacity, and more di- 
rectly constructed to admit odors, to im- 
press the olfactory nerve, is considered 
usually as a favorable development ; and 
that which is flat, defective in this. Again : 
the short up-turned nose is evidently cal- 
culated to receive more rapid impressions, 
while that of a long overhanging shape 
receives them more slowly. Width of 
the nose is said to denote the greater per- 
manency of its functions, and its height, 
their intensity. In the total absence of 
elevation and delicate outline of the nose, 
as usually observable in the commoner 
Irish, will be found absence of sentiment, 
while the contrary is equally true. Bul- 
wer, the novelist, is an instance in point. 
Of the eye, that which is large, being ca- 
pable of more powerful impression, espe- 
cially of projecting from its orbit, betokens 
large capability, while that of lesser mag- 
nitude and more receding, denotes, on the 
contrary, a deficiency of power. An iris 
of a dark color is said to possess more 
accuracy, and to be of a firmer character, 
while one that is blue, is the reverse. In 
the former, the rays of light are more con- 
centrated and absorbed, while in the lat- 
ter, these are rendered more indefinite and 

The eyelids, like the mouth and nose, 
are active or passive ; those beneath rise 
or fall, with sensations of pleasure or pain, 
Avhile the upper lids receive or exclude 
impressions at will. Those, therefore, 
which are widely expanded, exemplify in- 
tensity and keenness of inspection, but 
little sensibility, while the contrary indi- 
cate greater sensibility, but less keen per- 
ception. This is observable when a per- 

son is reflecting ; the brow becomes de- 
pressed and contracted ; so it is in cases 
of anger, because the object that excites 
it is the subject of severe and scrutinizing 
inspection. On the contrary, an eyebrow 
greatly elevated denotes absence of thought. 
Again : the degree of susceptibility of the 
auditory nerve is in proportion to its thin- 
ness and delicacy of form. Those that 
project and incline forward, are less cal- 
culated to collect sound. An ear that is 
long between its upper margin and lobe, 
will be best adapted to receive the nice- 
ties of elevation and depression of sound, 
as well as its intensity. One of great 
breadth will, on the contrary, be best suit- 
ed to its diffusion and permanence. It is 
said also that there is a striking analogy 
between the conformation of the ear and 
the organ of the voice. The great length 
and narrowness of the space between the 
nose and chin always indicates acuteness 
and shrillness of voice. This is caused 
by the palate being elevated and the ellip- 
sis of the jaws being consequently more 
narrow ; while in proportion to the ex- 
pansiveness of the forehead over and be- 
tween the eyes, containing the maxillary 
cavities, and the cheek prominencies, con- 
taining tlie frontal sinuses, is the reso- 
nance, or echo, imparted to the voice. 
The elevation of these is supposed also to 
denote force and activity of character. 

Lastly, of the chin and teeth : these, 
however, forming an important instrument 
in the voice, may evidently be taken as 
representatives of those parts with which 
they are associated. It is remarkable 
that the projection of the occiput, on 
which depends the exercise of passion, 
corresponds with the teeth, and particu- 
larly the lips, so that the prominency of 
the postf^^ior parts of the brain may gen- 
erally be safely predicted by that part of 
the face. A similar coincidence subsists 
between the cerebellum and the jaws ; the 
breadth of the former is said to corres- 
pond with the breadth of the face over the 
cheek-bones, while its length answers to 
that of the lower jaw, measured from the 
tip of the chin to the angle. 

Such is a brief outline of the leading 
principles of this very interesting science. 
We shall conclude by a resume of the 
principal points, which may serve as hints 



in the practical application of the subject. 
It will be remembered then, that a large 
head with a small triangular forehead de- 
notes absence of intellect. A gently- 
aiched and prominent forehead indicates, 
on the contrary, great genius. Shakspere 
is a striking CAddence of this. A fore- 
head full of irregular protuberances is 
characteristic of an uneven and choleric 
temper. Deep perpendicular lines between 
the eyebrows generally bespeak strength 
of mind, but when counterbalanced by 
others in an opposite direction, the reverse. 
Small eyebrows generally betoken a phleg- 
matic temperament, and if strongly mark- 
ed and horizontal, vigor of character ; but 
if very elevated, absence of intellect. 
Black eyes portend ' energy, while gray 
often mark a choleric disposition, and blue, 
mildness and vivacity. The Roman nose 
is especially characteristic of valor and 
strength, like the beak of the eagle : the 
possessors of this kind of nose seem in 
many instances to have exhibited in their 
characters the peculiar properties of this 
king of birds. Such was Cyrus, it is 
said ; Artaxerxes, Mahomet, the prince of 
Conde, duke of Wellington, and General 
Jackson, all possessed the eagle or Ro- 
man nose. 

Thus we see that the diversified and 
often conflicting passions and emotions of 
the human mind are in a pre-eminent man- 
ner susceptible of spontaneous expression, 
or that indicated by the features of the 
countenance ; and so intimate is their 
correspondence and affinity, that speech, 
however honest, can hardly be said to be 
more faithful in its testimony. The prac- 
tical uses of this science are twofold ; 
first, in aiding us in forming a just esti- 
mate of character ; and secondly, in the 
matter of education ; for since it is its pe- 
culiar province to demonstrate the pos- 
session of constitutional power, as well as 
its defects, it is manifest that it may be 
rendered available, by directing us to suit- 
able care in the cultivation of faculties 
not adequately developed. Let no one, 
therefore, suffer himself to become exas- 
perated with his ugly looks, but seek to 
acquire, by mental cultivation, beauties 
more ornate, conspicuous, and imperisha- 
ble. Who would not award the meed of 
praise to such a one, rather than to him 

who, how lavish soever may be the blan- 
dishments of outer man, yet discovers all , 
the vapidness of an empty pate, being 
destitute of those great moral attributes 
which confer the true dignity of man? 
There is indeed a double merit due to vir- 
tue, when it is thus seen, by almost super- 
human power, to gain the mastery over a 
natural predisposition to vice. 


NO. II. 

The Hindoo account of the institution 
of castes has already been given, and it 
will be recollected that only four pure 
castes are recognised, the Bramin or 
priests, the Cshatriyas, who are soldiers, 
the Vaisyas as husbandmen, and the Su- 
dras as servants or laborers. Heeren 
supposed that the first three were a for- 
eign race, who subdued the aborigines of 
the country, and reduced them to an infe- 
rior caste. These four classes constitute 
the elements of every society in an early 
period of civilization. In England, du- 
ring the Anglo-Saxon period, the people 
would be found divided into the same 
number of classes, but then the distinction 
was not hereditary. Plato ascribed the 
origin of political association and laws to 
the division- of labor. From this cause, 
he says, men are obliged to associate, one 
man affording one accommodation, another 
another, and all exchanging the accommo- 
dations which each can provide, for the 
different accommodations. provided by the 
rest. Herodotus and Strabo state that the 
Colchians and Iberians were divided into 
four classes whose rank and office were 
hereditary and unchangeable. The Le- 
vites were an hereditary priesthood. Mr. 
Mill, in his " History of British India," 
proves that among the Persians, the Medes, 
the Athenians, and other people in very 
early periods of history, the distinction of 
castes or classes existed. The institution 
of castes marks a more advanced stage of 
society than that which is constituted of 
families only ; and it is a step not yet 
reached by the Arabs of the desert, or the 

A Bramiii expounding tlie Veda. 



roaming Tartars of the great plains of j 
Asia. We may here remark that we have 
borrowed the word " caste" from the Por- I 
tnguese word " casta," which signifies a 
lineage or race. 

Professor Wilson says, that everything 
in the Hindoo institutes indicates that the 
Bramins originated not from political but 
religious principles. " Apparently," he 
says, the system " was contrived by a re- 
ligious confederation, as the scheme best 
adapted to introduce order among semi- 
civilized tribes, and with no view to their 
own advantage, or aggrandizement, or en- 
joyment of indolent ease. The authority 
of influence, of advice, the Bramins ne- 
cessarily retained, and they were the only 
competent expounders of the laws which 
they promulgated. They had no other 
means of protection than the character of 
sanctity with which they invested them- 
selves, and which was equally necessary 
to insure attention to their instructions. 
They labored to deserve the opinion of 
sanctity by imposing burdensome duties on 
themselves of a domestic and religious 

In the very rudest constitution of society 
the priest is to be found. In addition to 
the influence which he professes to have 
with good and evil spirits, he sometimes 
practises the medical art, and in various 
ways sustains his importance by superior 
cunning, working upon the superstition, 
ignorance, and fears of man in his most 
abject condition. Nowhere has the influ- 
ence of a priesthood been so paramount 
and extensive as in Plindostan. It is re- 
markable that the Bramins never invested 
themselves with royal authority ; but Pro- 
fessor Wilson observes that this probably 
proceeded from motives of prudence and 
policy, as well as from a feeling of true 
contemplative devotion, by which especial- 
ly they retained their hold on the people. 
But then, as Mr. Mill shows, their power 
Avas really greater than that of the sov- 
ereign. The laws of Menu direct that 
" To one learned Bramin, distinguished 
among the rest, let the king impart his 
momentous counsel." As the sole inter- 
preter of the laws, they in reality pos- 
sessed the judicial powers of government 
as well as those of a legislative character. 
The code was already perfect and com- 

plete, as coming from the Divine Being, 
and in no case could it be interpreted ex- 
cept in the sense the Bramins were 
pleased to impose. The king was little 
more than a servant of the Bramins. In 
order to have an adequate idea of the su- 
periority of the ancient Bramin, we must 
refer to the laws of Menu, which were 
probably promulgated three thousand years 
ago. While the Sudra, the lowest of 
the four castes, are represented as pro- 
ceeding from the foot of the Creator, tne 
Bramin came forth from his mouth. He 
is declared to be the lord of all the 
classes, and from his high birth alone is 
an object of veneration even to deities, 
and it is through him, and at his interces- 
sion, that blessings are bestowed upon 
mankind. " When a Bramin springs to 
light, he is born above the world, the 
chief of all creatures." The first duty 
of civil magistrates is to honor the Bra- 
mins. " Whatever exists in the universe is 
all in effect, though not in form, the wealth 
of the Bramin, since the Bramin is enti- 
tled to it all by his primogeniture and emi- 
nence of birth." The sacred books are 
exclusively his ; and while the other class- 
es are scarcely permitted to read them, he 
is appointed their sole expounder. For 
offering to give instruction to Bramins, 
hot oil must be poured into the offender's 
mouth and ears, and for contumelious lan- 
guage the punishment is almost as severe. 
Mysterious powers were assigned to them. 
" A priest who well knows the law, need 
not complain to the king of any grievous 
injury, since, even by his own power, he 
may chastise those who injure him : his 
own power is mightier than the royal 
power." Again, it is said, " Let not the 
king provoke Bramins to anger, for they, 
once enraged, could immediately destroy 
him ;" and it is asked, " What man, desi- 
rous of life, would injure those by the aid 
of whom worlds and gods perpetually sub- 
sist, those who are rich in the knowledge 
of the Veda ?" Extraordinary respect 
must be paid to the most humble Bramin : 
" A Bramin, whether learned or ignorant, 
is a powerful divinity." " Thus, though 
Bramins employ themselves in all sorts of 
mean occupations, they must invariably be 
honored, for they are something transcen- 
dently divine." The meanest Bramin 



would be polluted by eating with the 
king, and death itself would be preferred 
to the degradation of allowing his daugh- 
ter to be married to him. The worst 
crimes scarcely subjected them to punish- 
ment, though in other classes they were 
visited with cruel severity. " Neither 
shall the king," says one of the admirers 
of Menu, " slay a Bramin, though con- 
victed of all possible crimes." To con- 
fer gifts upon Brarains was an essential 
religious duty. These gifts Avere a neces- 
sary part of expiation and sacrifice. The 
noviciates to the priestly office derived 
their subsistence from begging. Posses- 
sing all the realities of supreme power in 
the state, the Bramins were, if possible, to 
a still greater extent the masters of private 
life. The Hindoo ritual, as Mr. Mill re- 
marks, extended to almost every hour of 
the day, and every function of nature and 
society ; and consequently, those who 
were the sole judges and directors of its 
complicated and endless duties could not 
but be possessed of an enormous influence 
on the mental character of the people. 

To the above extracts from authentic 
texts we must append the following im- 
portant note from Professor Wilson's new 
edition of Mill's " History of British In- 
dia," in which he observes that these 
texts are nevertheless calculated to give 
" wrong impressions." He says : " The 
Bramins are not priests in the ordinary 
acceptation of the term, nor have they, as 
Bramins only, such influence in society as 
is here ascribed to them. The Bramins, 
in the early stages of Hindoo society, were 
an order of men who followed a course of 
religious study and practice during the 
first half of their lives, and spent the other 
in a condition of self-denial and mendicity. 
They conducted for themselves, and oth- 
ers of the two next castes, sacrifices, and 
occasionally great public ceremonials ; 
but they never, like the priests of other 
pagan nations, or those of the Jews, con- 
ducted public worship, worship for individ- 
\ uals indiscriminately, worship in temples, 
or offerings to idols. * * * The whole 
tenor of the rules for the conduct of a 
Bramin is to exclude him from everything 
like worldly enjoyment, from riches, and 
from temporal power. Neither did the 
Bramins, like the priests of the Egyptians, 

keep to themselves a monopoly of spiritual 
knowledge. The Bramin alone, it is true, 
is to teach the Vodas ; but the two next 
orders are equaly to study them, and 
were, therefore, equally well acquainted 
with the law and the religion. Even the 
Sudra, was, under some circumstances, 
permitted to read and teach. In modern 
times the Bramins, collectively, have lost 
all claim to the characters of a priesthood. 
They form a nation, following all kinds of 
secular avocations. And when they are 
met with in a religious capacity, it is not 
as Bramins merely, but as being the min- 
isters of temples, or the family ' gurus,' 
or priests of the lower classes of the peo- 
ple, offices by no means restricted, though 
not unfrequently extended to the Bramin- 
ical caste, and, agreeably to the primitive 
system, virtually destructive of Bramin- 


If ever you detect yourself indulging in 
the reflections of a misanthrope, and de- 
spondingly thinking there is nothing in 
the world worth living for — nothing bright, 
nothing good, nothing pure — penetrate in- 
to the noble forest, or the trackless woods ; 
let your mind contemplate the gigantic and 
majestic works of God ; study the page 
of the poet, teeming with charity and 
Christian love ; let a prattling, artless 
child be your companion ; think of affec- 
tion, of innocence, and then ask yourself 
is the world such a dreary waste as, in 
the bitterness of some trifling disappoint- 
ment, you had thought it? If you still 
retain the same gloomy conviction, your 
temper must have been soured beyond the 
power of the most benign influences to 
recover it ; but no — you will not, you can 
not steel your heart against their appeal. 
He who lives pent up in cities, with 
nothing to contemplate but the snares set 
by man to catch his fellow-men — with no 
prospect but the frail works of human 
hands — hath little to remind of a higher 
power : it is the contemplation of nature 
which leads his thoughts to nature's God. 
Man serves man for pay, and one member 


of the community assists the other only to 
the extent to wjaich his services will be 
requited. The great spring which sets 
the vast body of a city into action — which 
governs all its movements — is but busi- 
ness. The very air is tainted with the 
scent of business ; the ear is deafened by 
the sounds of business ; the eye bewilder- 
ed by the signs of business ; and profit is 
the prize for which the inhabitants of cities 
struggle through their life, trample on their 
fellows in the busy race, and beat down 
those who are running to the same win- 
ning-post. But he who gave to man the 
trees of the forest and the grass of the 
fields, who provided streams of water for 
his use, and made the soil fertile and pro- 
ductive, asks no remuneration for his 
mighty labors — demands no reward ; and 
the contemplator of rural scenes feels that 
he is communing, through their agency, 
with a higher, a more generous, a more 
disinterested Being than man. 

The superior morality of the agricultu- 
ral over the manufacturing portion of our 
population, is principally attributable to 
the influences of the scenes with Avhich 
the pursuits of the former classes bring 
them into contact. The laborer who tills 
the soil, who watches the beneficial effect 
of the dew of heaven on his seed, and is 
grateful for a ray of sunshine, learns to 
think of the Master-hand which regulates 
their succession ; but the mechanic, toil- 
ing monotonously on a spot where high 
walls close his prospects, whose opera- 
tions depend not for success upon the sea- 
sons, and who is surrounded by the works 
of man, which he is taught to think inge- 
nious, or useful, or valuable, forgets those 
nobler and more stupendous works which 
are beyond his prospect ; and thus is 
brought too often to forget, also, their 
maker — God. How frequently do we 
exclaim, " What a wonderful power is 
steam, and how clever must man have 
been to discover it !" Yet how seldom 
do the vital functions inculcated by our 
Maker — the primitive and original motive 
power of which our application of steam 
is but a feeble imitation — how seldom 
does the great principle of animation and 
vitality, formed and arranged by God, en- 
gage our admiring wonder ! The com- 
paratively miserable efforts of the crea- 

ture are placed in competition with the 
works of the great Creator, and surround- 
ed by machinery and their own produc- 
tions, as man is in cities. Nature, her 
beauties and her wonders, are forgotten. 



This institution was established in 
1820, and the building erected in 1824. 
It is constructed of granite ; the front is 
ninety-six feet, and the width is sixty- 
three feet. The legislature of Pennsyl- 
vania granted eight thousand dollars to 
the funds of the institution, and to which 
were added donations from some liberal 
individuals. The state made provision 
also for the maintenance of fifty indigent 
pupils, for several years. Maryland and 
New Jersey gave support to the institu- 
tion ; the former by an appropriation of 
thirt3^-five hundred dollars for a number 
of years, to support indigent deaf and 
dumb children of that state ; and the lat- 
ter, by maintaining twelve pupils, for an 
indefinite period. The children are taught 
industrious habits, and their minds so cul- 
tivated by their skilful teachers, that they 
acquire much useful information. The 
pupils continue in the asylum from four to 
six years. The system pursued in the 
institution is agreeable to the theory of 
the Abbe Sicard, and substantially con- 
formable to that adopted in the American 
asylum at Hartford. 


Who has forgotten the days of youth ? 
Has that gray-haired sire, almost blind to 
to time, but A^ewing eternity with burning 
desire — whose feet are tottering on the 
verge of the grave — whose ear is deaf to 
most earthly reminiscences ! Mark! his 
dim eye brightens at the remembrance of 
youth, and his furrowed cheeks relax into 
a smile, — 

" Like sunshine on a tomb." 



Memory in youth, as when the wax is hot, 
retained every impression, but now in age 
it has become cold ;, so that when the seal 
is lifted from it, scarce a trace is left be- 
hind. These numerous impressions were 
then thrown aside when every new im- 
pression was made ; and at different pe- 
riods, when " the soul was led to solemn 
thought," they were careftdly collected 
and laid past in the chambers of the 
mind. Fancy, now heavy-heeled to most 
things, at the mention of youth shakes her 
wings, flies into the bygone years and 
leads forth the ghosts of youth, and from 
memory's secret chambers brings materials 
to deck the stage. She paints in a mo- 
ment the scenes which then took place — 
adorns the stage with flowers such as then 
decked the golden curls on some fair 
brow, and youth is lived once more. For- 
gotten in these " airy castles" are the 
frailties of age, till the curtain drops — 
hides the scene from the view, and leaves 
the mind to contemplate the sad havoc of 

Who does not remember youth ! when 
the brow was like polished marble, ere 
care had chiselled his letters — when the 
heart was light as the bubble on the wa- 
ters, dancing like it, forgetful of the dan- 
gers around, till it lost its short-lived buoy- 
ancy — sunk down into the sober realities 
of life — driven hither and thither with 
every passing wave — when the feet ran 
with the wind, or danced to the music of 
the heart — when the voice made the wel- 
kin ring, and rivalled the songsters of the 
grove ? Ah ! who can forget these things, 
nor forbear wishing himself again amid 
their joys ? Who can forget the days 
when we roamed through the woods, and 
listened to the birds among the trees ; or 
scattered o'er the meadow, gathering the 
wild flowers from which the bee drank 
nectar ; or when, overcome with our 
pleasing toil, lay on the green sward, 
clasped in each other's arms 1 Time 
would fail to tell the pleasures we en- 
joyed — a dream can only paint them ; 
and, too, like a dream they were — we en- 
joyed them but a moment, when we found 
them gone. 

Youth is the starting-point of the trav- 
eller — time is the path — eternity the goal ; 
some take longer, others shorter, in reach- 

ing their journey's end. How many were 
the light-hearted ones who accompanied 
us, when first we took the pilgrim's staff 
and began the journey of life ! We can 
remember, when we first set out, all was 
sunshine, gayety, joy ; or if, perchance, a 
cloud was seen, or a shower fell, we paused 
under the trees by the roadside, and only 
thought how much more beautiful the 
flowers should look after the rain. No 
care did we take of " what we should eat, 
or what we should drink, or wherewithal 
we should be clothed :" we plucked the 
fruits as we passed, and decked ourselves 
with the flowers, painted with richer col- 
ors than ever art possessed. Oh ! were 
we not joyful ? Did we not think and tell 
one another that we should never part — 
that our youth should never fade ; but 
that, as years rolled on, we should be 
more joyful still ? How we chased the 
butterfly, and whistled o'er our disappoint- 
ment, with " Ne'er mind, we'll catch you 
again ;" and chased again as heartily, 
though again disappointed, as before ! 
Yes ! Ave were then free from eare ; his 
wrinkled face was never seen among our 
counsellors ; his thoughtful voice was 
never heard in our ear. We would then 
have made care himself to hold his sides 
for glee, had he seen our gambols as we 
beguiled the way, and scarcely saw the 
sand-glass turn. 

Yet, look now around ! Where are all 
the gay travellers who began their jour- 
ney with us — how few can we now gather 
around us to talk of " lang syne !" Yes ! 
we remember, one of the merriest of our 
companions, the very life of our band, 
soon parted from us — he took another 
road ; we bade him farewell ; and the tears 
for once trickled on our cheeks, like dew 
upon the rose j but as soon were they dried 
up, and again were we happy. But one 
by one separated from us ; some of our 
fairest companions, some of our choicest 
bosom friends, shook hands with death as 
" the messenger to call them home," though 
early ; and often do we yet recall their 
features, and think of the cup of joy 
of which we partook ! Some are now 
separated by many a weary mile, and 
many a weary hour have many of them 
spent. And though, as we have since 
pursued our journey, we have associated 



with many fellow-travellers, among whom 
often we have spent a happy hour, yet 
none do we remember with such pleasure 
as those of youth. They are engraved on 
our hearts with pens of steel ; and though 
time has constantly rubbed the letters as 
he passed, memory has as often deepened 
them again. Oft, when tired climbing 
some " hill of difficulty," have we sat 
down, with fancy's telescope, to view the 
joys of happy youth ; and when the glass 
brought to view some favored spots, how 
have we lingered o'er them ! After leav- 
ing them have we returned to them again, 
our lips involuntarily muttering the songs 
with which they were associated, while 
the tear moistened the eye, and the breast 
heaved with emotion, as we laid aside the 
glass, and betook again ourselves to the 

Youth, like everything connected with 
time, passeth quickly away ; 'tis like the 
" morning cloud and the early dew." How 
happy they who have not lived in it in 
vain — who " in the morning sowed their 
seed," and now look forward to the har- 
vest, with its waving crops of yellow 
grain, and branches loaded with mellow 
fruit ! " They shall renew their youth as 
the eagles, run and not be weary, walk and 
not faint ; they shall sing as in the days 
of their youth." Though crowned Avith 
the snows of age — the closing of their 
year — yet they are but young — they have 
been " born again ;" and when translated 
from the cold regions which mortals in- 
habit to the regions of unmingled bliss, 
they shall be clothed with immortal youth 
— crowned with the gifts of eternal love. 

Let youth beware ! We have spoken 
of the joys they experience — of the roses 
scattered around and along their path ; but 
beside these roses lurks many a thorn, and 
true wisdom will be shown in plucking the 
rose without touching the thorn. If the 
straight path is kept, while the orb of truth 
shines, then you are safe ; but if, to gain 
every flower and view every scene, you 
diverge to the right hand and to the left, 
you will be lost in the mazes of error, 
without a mark to regain your former path. 
Let your ysuth be spent to profit ; keep 
the end of life in view, and studiously 
hold by every principle and practice which 
will render this life happy, while it pre- 

pares you for a life to come. In youth 
life is like the stream silently dancing o'er 
the pebble, and scattering its spray as it 
trickles down the glade, glittering as with 
joy when the sunbeams dance upon its 
path, and murmuring applause to the mel- 
ody of the grove. But as it goes onward 
it gets stronger — takes a wider course ; 
its sound is louder, and its influence great- 
er : much depends upon the course it 
takes, whether it waters and fertilizes the 
vale, or overflows with destruction some 
less happy spot. Alas ! many, too many, 
spend their lives to no purpose, but allow 
them to run waste, and injure everything 
they meet. Like the schoolboy, they fol- 
low every gaudy butterfly, which, with 
" wings of silver, and feathers of yellow 
gold," sails upon the air, and flutters in 
the sunbeam. They follow o'er every ob- 
stacle, till they either fall exhausted in the 
fruitless attempt, or find the glittering 
feathers fade at their touch, and fall to the 
ground with the expiring hopes of their de- 
luded souls. 

Hear, then, the voice of inspiration, 
and attend its sacred command — " Re- 
deem the time ;" or, in the words of a poet 
who has re-echoed its sacred truth : — • 

" Youth is not rich in time ; it may be poor ; 
Pan with it as with money, sparing ; pay 
No moment but in purchase of its wortii ; 
And what its worth ask death-beds — they can tell. 
Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big 
Witli holy hope of nobler time to come ; 
Time higher aimed, stiU nearer the great mark 
Of men and angels, virtue more divine." — Young. 


Madrid, the capital of New Castile 
and of Spain, and now also of the prov- 
ince of Madrid, stands on a range of small 
hills rising in the middle of the extensive 
plain of New Castile, which is bounded 
on the north by the mountains of Guadar- 
rama, and on tlie south by those of Toledo, 
in 403 24' 18" N. lat. and 3° 42' W. long, 
of Greenwich. Madrid is supposed to 
occupy the site of the Mantua Carpetano- 
ruin of the Romans, which was called 
Majoritum by the Goths, whence its pres- 
ent name Madrid is derived. Some anti- 
quarians contend that it was so called by 





the Spanish Arabs, in whose language the 
word Magerit meant " a well-aired house." 

During the occupation of the peninsula 
by the Arabs, the place served as a fron- 
tier town, and its castle was often taken 
from the Arabs, and retaken by them, un- 
til 1086, when it was finally taken by Al- 
phonso VI., the conqueror of Toledo, who 
annexed it to the bishopric of Toledo, to 
which it now belongs. It continued to be 
a mere village until the reign of Henry III. 
of Castile, who, being passionately fond 
of hunting the wild looar and the bear, 
both which animals were thjen abundant 
in the mountains near Madrid, made the 
place his residence during the hunting- 
season. Charles V. occasionally lived in 
it, and it was at last made the capital of 
the Spanish dominions by his son Philip 
II., in opposition to the opinion of his 
ministers, who strongly advised him to fix 
his court at Lisbon. 

Madrid is more than two thousand feet 
above the level of the sea, a circumstance 
which accounts for the coldness of its win- 
ters. In summer the heat is excessive, 
in some measure owing to the want of 
trees in the neighborhood. The ther- 
mometer in 1837 rose to 117° of Fahren- 
heit in the open air. In winter the same 
thermometer sometimes descends as low 
as 18°. 

Madrid is on the left bank of the Man- 
zanares, a small rivulet which has rise in 
the mountains of Guadarrama, about thir- 
ty-six miles from the capital, and which, 
after flowing under the walls of Madrid, 
joins the Xarama, a considerable stream, 
at some distance from the capital. Two 
majestic bridges, called Puente de Toledo 
and Puente de Segovia, are thrown over 
the Manzanares ; but such is the contrast 
between the imposing grandeur of these 
bridges, and the scanty stream which 
flows beneath them, that it has given rise 
to the witty saying that " the kings of 
Spain ought to sell the bridges, and pur- 
chase water with the money." In winter, 
however, the heavy rains, and in spring 
the sudden melting of the snow on the 
neighboring mountains, sometimes swell 
the Manzanares into an impetuous torrent. 

Madrid is surrounded by a brick wall, 
twenty feet high, which contains fifteex. 
gates, mostly built of coarse gray granite. 

Among these the gate of Alcala and that 
of San Vicente, built in the reign of 
Charles III., and that of Toledo, erected 
in the reign of Ferdinand VII., are char- 
acterized by beauty of design and solidity 
of structure. During the present civil 
War, some slight fortifications have been 
erected on the principal points leading to 
the city. 

The general aspect of Madrid from all 
the approaches is anything but inviting. 
The numerous fantastic spires of churches 
and convents, the tiled roofs of the houses, 
the sterility of the neighborhood, and the 
total absence of good houses, pleasure-, 
gardens, or other buildings v/hich indicate 
the approach to a great city, give to the 
capital of Spain the most gloomy and for- 
bidding appearance. 

The interior, however, is not devoid of 
beauty. The Avide and well-paA^ed streets, 
the extensive and well-planted public 
promenades in and near the city, with the 
fountains in many of the squares, the gor- 
geous churches, and handsome public 
buildings, remind the traveller that he is 
in the capital of Philip II. The houses 
are well constructed ; the foundations and 
some of the ornamental parts are of gran- 
ite, and the rest of red brick, stuccoed and 
generally painted. Each house is four or 
five, and frequently six stories high, and 
contains several families. The principal 
streets, with few exceptions, are moder- 
ately wide and handsome : that of Alcala, 
for instance, is wider than Portland-place 
in London, and contains many splendid 
buildings. The Calle Mayor, Carrera de 
San Geronimo, Calle de Atocha, &c., 
would be ornaments to any capital ; the 
rest of the streets are generally narrow 
and crooked ; there are forty-two squares, 
of which the principal are — that of the 
Royal palace ; that of Santa Catalina, 
where a beautiful bronze statue of Cervan- 
tes has been lately placed ; the Puertadel 
Sol, where the five principal streets of 
Madrid meet, and which is a place of re- 
sort both for the idle and the busy, being 
the spot where, owing to the proximity of 
the Exchange, or Bolsa, all commercial 
transactions are conducted in the open air ; 
the Plaza de la Cevada, where criminals 
were formerly executed ; and lastly, the 
Plaza Mayor, which is the finest of all. 



This square is noAv used as the rallying- 
point for the garrison of Madrid in case, 
of alarm, on account of the strength and 
solidity of the buildings and the difficulty 
of approaching it through the narrow 
crooked streets. Its form is quadrilateral, 
four hundred and thirty-four feet by three 
hundred and thirty-four, and it is surround- 
ed with stone buildings, six stories high, 
ornamented with pillars of gray granite, 
which form a fine piazza all round. 

The population of Madrid, as to Avhich 
no oflicial returns have been published 
since 1807, was stated by Miiiano, to be 
201,344 in 1826, but this number is gen- 
erally supposed to be too great for that 
time, although it may at present be nearly 
correct. The circumference of Madrid is 
not above five miles ; and there are no 

The royal palace of Madrid, though un- 
finished is one of the finest royal resi- 
dences in Europe. The interior is deco- 
ated in a style of costly magnificence. It 
stands on the site of the old Alcazar, or 
palace, inhabited by Philip II., which was 
burnt to the ground in 1734. Philip V. 
began the building, which was continued 
by his successors. It has four fronts, 
four hundred and seventy feet in length, 
and one hundred feet high. The custom- 
house, a noble building, erected by Charles 
III., to whom Madrid is chiefly indebted 
for its embellishments ; the Casa de Cor- 
reos (post-office) in the Puerta del Sol ; 
the palace called Buena Vista, formerly 
belonging to the dukes of Alba, now con- 
verted into an artillery museum ; the royal 
printing-ofl^ce, in the street of Carretas, 
and the palace of the duke of Berwick, 
are among the public and private buildings 
which adorn the capital. Among the nu- 
merous churches and convents which fill 
t-he streets of Madrid, scarcely one can 
be mentioned as a specimen of a pure 
style of architecture. That of San Isidro, 
formerly belonging to the Jesuits, has a 
very fine portal ; the convent of the Sale- 
ras, founded by Ferdinand Vl. and his 
wife Barbara, is likewise a fine building, 
and the interior of the church is orna- 
mented with the richest marbles. The 
convent of San Francesco ' el Grande, 
built in 1777, is justly admired for the se- 
verity and correctness of the design, its 

beautiful proportions, and a dome built in 
imitation of that of St. Peter's at Rome 

There are sixty-seven churches in Ma- 
drid, exclusive of private chapels. Be- 
fore the year 1834 there Avere sixty-six 
convents, thirty-four for men, and thirty- 
two for women. Some of them have 
been recently pulled down, either to widen 
the streets, or to form squares ; others 
have been converted into barracks, hos- 
pitals, magazines, and government offices. 

Public promenades abound in Madrid. 
That which is the most resorted to is the 
Prado, which consists of various alleys 
lined with double rows of trees, and or- 
namented with beautiful marble fountains. 
Adjoining to it is the Retiro, an extensive 
and beautiful garden. The garden suf- 
fered greatly, both from friends and foes, 
during the peninsular war, but was re- 
stored by the late king, who added to it an 
extensive menagerie. Another favorite 
promenade is a vast plantation outside the 
gate of Atocha, called Las Delicias, lead- 
ing to a canal known by the name of Canal 
de Manzanares. This canal, which ex- 
tends only six miles from Madrid, was in- 
tended to unite the capital with the river 
Tajo, at Toledo, by means of the Xararaa. 

The literary and scientific establish- 
ments a,re generally of old dates, and in- 
sufficient to meet the wants of the pres- 
ent day. Miiiano mentions one hundred 
and sixty-six primary schools as existing in 
1826, besides two colleges, both conduct- 
ed by ecclesiastics. This number, how- 
ever, has recently diminished. There 
are two extensive libraries open to the 
public ; one founded by Philip V. in 1712, 
which contains one hundred and fifty 
thousand volumes, besides a very large 
collection of manuscripts, chiefly Greek, 
which have been described by J. Iriarte, 
and a museum of medals and antiquities. 
The library of San Isidro belonged for- 
merly to the Jesuits. Both have been 
considerably increased of late by the ad- \ 
dition of the libraries of the suppressed ! 
convents within the capital. There are 
also four academies: 1. "La Academia 
de la Lengua," founded in 1724, in imita- 
tion of the Academie Fran9aise, confines 
its labors , to the publication of works in 
the Spanish language, such as grammars 
and dictionaries, and to editions of the 



best Spanish writers. 2. The academy 
of history originated in a society of indi- 
viduals whose first object was the preser- 
vation of historical records. It was con- 
firmed by Philip V., who, in 1738, granted 
the prtjsent statutes. The labors of this 
body have been far more useful than those 
of its sister institution : and the nine vol- 
umes in quarto already published by them 
form a valuable addition to the history of 
Spain. 3. The academy of the fine arts, 
instituted in 1738, holds weekly meetings 
at its rooms in the street of Alcala, but it 
has hitherto done little or nothing : lastly, 
the academy of medicine. A fine botani- 
cal garden, well stocked with exotic plants, 
forms a delightful spot in the spring, when 
it is much frequented : attached to the es- 
tablishment are various professors, who 
lecture upon botany, agriculture, and geol- 
ogy. The museum of natural history, in 
the Calle de Alcala, is not worthy of the 
praise bestowed upon it by travellers : it 
certainly contains a splendid collection of 
minerals from the Spanish dominions in 
America, but they are badly arranged and 
worse kept. It contains, however, the in- 
teresting skeleton of the Megatherium de- 
scribed by Cuvier. 

Along the east side of the Prado is the 
national gallery, a noble building of co- 
lossal dimensions, with a beautiful Tus- 
can portico and Doric colonnades. The 
collection of paintings which it contains 
has been lately pronounced by competent 
judges to possess a greater number of 
good pictures, with fewer bad ones, than 
any other gallery in Europe. The armory, 
a fine building of the time of Philip II., 
contains some of the most beautiful speci- 
mens of armor in Europe, especially of 
the Cinque Cento, or the fine times of 
Benvenuto Cellini. There are several 
complete suits of armor, which formerly 
belonged to Ferdinand V., Charles V., the 
Great Captain, John of Austria, Garcia de 
Paredes, and other illustrious Spaniards. 
The most interesting of all, perhaps, is a 
coat of mail with the name and the arms 
of Isabella upon it, which she is said to 
have worn in her campaigns against the 
Moors. An account of this collection, 
with drawings of the best pieces of armoi, 
is now in course of publication. 

Madrid has two small theatres, " La 


Cruz" and " Principe," both managed by 
the Ayuntamiento, or municipal corpora- 
tion, where Italian operas and Spanish 
plays are alternately acted. Another of 
much larger dimensions, called the "Tea- 
tro de Oriente," has been lately built in 
the centre of the square opposite to ihe 
royal palace, but is still unfinished for 
want of funds. 

The inhabitants of Madrid repair, every 
Monday during the season, to a vast am- 
phitheatre outside of the gate of Alcala, 
where the favorite spectacle of bull-fights 
is exhibited. 

The police of Madrid is not good. The 
streets are generally dirty, and the ap- 
proaches to the city sometimes blocked 
up by heaps of rubbish. The city has 
no common sewers Notwithstanding the 
great number of fountains, the wani of 
good Water is severely felt in summer. 
The city itself is considered to be ex- 
tremely unhealthy ; and if Philip II. chose 
it for his residence on account of the pu- 
rity of the air a^ d the quality of its wa- 
ters, as we are told, Madrid must have un- 
dergone a complete change since that 
time. The sharp winds which blow from 
the Guadarrama mountains in winter pro- 
duce the endemic pulmonia or pneumonia, 
which often proves fatal in a few hours. 
A sort of colic, caused by the dryness of 
the atmosphere, is likewise a prevalent 
complaint in summer. 

Charitable and benevolent institutions 
are numerous, and some are amply provi- 
ded with funds ; but the management hav- 
ing always been in the hands of the cler- 
gy, the funds have been spent in building 
monasteries and cViurches, rather than ap- 
plied to the charitable purposes intended 
by the donors. An institution, supported 
by voluntary contributions and patronised 
by the government, has recently been es- 
tablished outside of the city, for the re- 
ception of beggars, who were formerly 
objects of horror and disgust in the streets 
of Madrid. 

Madrid has little manufacturing indus- 
try. A manufacture of porcelain and an- 
other of tapestry are both the property of 
the crown 

Faith, hope, charity, and vigilance, are 

inconsistent witli idleness. 




" The world is still deceived with ornaments." 

It is certainly a natural and a reasona- 
ble supposition, that if aught possesses a 
foundation sufficiently deep and an adapta- 
tion to the wants and capacities of man- 
kind of sufficiently extensive application 
to insure its exemption from perversion, it 
must be that system of moral truths recog- 
nised by reason, attested by conscience, 
and demonstrated, in innumerable mani- 
festations, by human history and individ- 
ual experience — that system, in short, 
which, when practically evinced, we call 
virtue. And yet it is a subject we appre- 
hend, concerning which very vague im- 
pressions prevail. Few, indeed, can err 
in determining whether an action or mo- 
tive is morally right or wrong ; but the er- 
roneous conceptions to which we refer, 
are chiefly manifested in the dispropor- 
tionate moral worth frequently attached to 
human conduct. Perhaps this, tending, 
as it does, to obscure the true glory of 
virtue, has done more than is generally 
supposed to lessen its attractiveness. 
Surely, whatever transforms virtue from a 
principle innate in man, and capable of 
endless development, into an abstract sys- 
tem, and whatever deprives it of its ac- 
tive character, as consisting in moral ef- 
fort and not in passive subservience, robs 
its of its birth-right, and thus Aveakens its 
hold on human regards. It is eminently 
an independent principle — the product, 
alone, of self-exertion ; and yet means 
have been adopted, for the avowed pur- 
pose of securing men's allegiance to duty, 
which presuppose, in their very nature, an 
agent in the formation of individual virtue 
more powerful than moral energy and 
more efficient than virtuous example. But 
our concern is, to speak of these perver- 
sions with reference to that beautiful vir- 
tue, charity. 

Bacon has significantly compared in- 
novations to births of living creatures 
which at first are ill-shapen ; but the par- 
allel must rest here, when applied to many 
of the modern methods of exercising 
charity : for it can iiardly be anticipated 
that these will ever assume more symmet- 
rical or consistent forms than they exhib- 

ited at their origin. It is beneath the dig- 
nity of its office to be ranked with mere 
amusement ; it is too holy to pioneer those 
whose natural delicacy should interpret 
its true character, into " the rank beams 
of vulgar fame ;" it is too closely allied 
with what is truly excellent, to serve as a 
bright surface beneath which the turbid 
waters of contending passions may flow 
unseen. But even in self-defence, char- 
ity will iise no other than the weapons of 
love : it is more meet, therefore, that her 
advocates should, as far as in them lies, 
exhibit her true featiires, than to inveigh 
against the perversions that bear her 

It is charity, then, that effaces the bad 
impression, ere it strengthens into a prac- 
tice ; that respects conscientious opinions 
too much for difference to be riveted by 
bigotry ; that overlooks error in consider- 
ation for the motive ; that checks the pas- 
sionate or thoughtless exclamation, lest 
the tender cords of feeling should be too 
widely struck ; that exercises its moral 
and mental functions in a pure and invig- 
orating atmosphere. 

And in all this, it is plain that the actu- 
ating motive is a respect for, and a con- 
sequent sympathy with human nature. 
Thence, " its field is the world." Chari- 
ty, then, far from being dependant on mo- 
mentary sensibility, is essentially founded 
on principle, and calls into action some of 
the noblest powers — self-denial, active 
and widely-diflfused love, liberality, and 
self-government. It is in its office of re- 
lieving outward distress, as in every other 
manifestation, that charity, like a sister 
virtue, "blesses him that gives and him 
that takes ;" and witlrout this double influ- 
ence, it is evidently miscalled charity.* 

Its chief good is within. It is its chief 
purpose to raise to a common level every 
member of the human family. And it is 
with strict reference to this end, that it 
produces its effects, the cause, like the 
source of a mighty river, being concealed 
from the view. It is objected, that the in- 
citing influence of example is thus lost. 

* " He that relieves another upon the bare surges- 
tion with bowels of pity, doth not this so much for 
his sake as his own ; for by compassion we make 
others' misery our own, and so by relieving them, 
we relieve ourselves also.'' 



There are those, however, who are unaf- 
fected by the flaming meteor, but whose 
moral sense is permanently awakened, 
when attracted to some little star that 
beams serenely and " meekly through the 
kindling air." 

Charitv, like every other virtue, is chief- 
ly to be sought for itself; not only as be- 
ing its own reward, but because it strips 
self-love of the perversions which have 
debased it from the guardian and guide of 
virtue to its deadliest foe. Who can 
doubt that charity directs the principle of 
selfishness to its legitimate end, bv teach- 
ing that the true field for its exercise, and 
the gratification of its desires, can only be 
found in disinterestedness ? 

Virtuous sensibility, however wounded 
by the view of moral evil, never suffers 
more acutely than when contemplating 
the low and unworthy standards which are 
so often made the ordeals of human con- 
duct. Not only is the sublime form of 
virtue in a measure shrouded, but there is 
afforded a sad, yet striking proof, that to 
many is still unrevealed the glory and 
power of their nature. 

" How is it so forgotten ? Will it live 
When the great firmament hath rolled away ? 
Hath it a voice for ever audible, 
' I am Eternal P Can it overcome 
This mocking-passion find, and even here 
Live like a seraph upon truth and light ?" 


It has been said that the Round is de- 
ficient in color, and there can be no 
doubt than in comparison with the chan- 
cel, or oblong part beyond, it is so ; wheth- 
er that be a defect or the reverse depends 
on which of two principles of art we fa- 
vor ; for it does not seem certain what the 
original arrangement of this matter was. 
The benchers had, therefore, the alterna- 
tives of raising the whole of the decora- 
tions up to such a point that, the moment 
the spectator entered, he should be sur- 
rounded by all the splendor that the 
church had to exhibit, thereby producing 
an instantaneous and powerful, but not in- 

creasing effect — or to conduct him from 
the sober realities of the outer world up 
to the gorgeous magnificence of the altar, 
through a succession of transitive stages ; 
first, a doorway sculptured only ; then a 
magnificent vestibule (the Round), where 
rich colors begin to appear, but still sub- 
ordinate to the architecture ; and finally, 
of the chief portion of the chancel itself, 
revelling in the most intimate and happy 
union of painting and architecture, and 
only less rich and glorious than the last 
compartment of the columnar vista. The 
second of these methods is the one which 
has been adopted by the benchers; and 
if a little more color could be added to 
the Round — the large spaces of blank 
wall rendered a little less conspicuously 
blank — we think that method the best one. 
The period of the erection of the Tem- 
ple church Avas precisely that which of- 
fered the best opportunities for rich deco- 
ration. The crusaders, however little they 
liked the Saracens, were much smitten 
with their magnificence ; and every ship 
that returned brought no doubt fresh im- 
portations of eastern taste, with probably 
materials of various kinds — as designs — 
to diffuse such taste in England, and pos- 
sibly even oriental artists themselves. 
The spectator, therefore, who has just ad- 
vanced into the church, and stands bewil- 
dered with the magical scene before him 
— all the old tales of childhood, with its 
fairy palaces and gardens of enchanted 
fruit, such as the " Arabian Nights" open- 
ed into his heart once and for ever, crowd- 
ing upon him — need not be surprised at 
the eastern character of the arabesques, 
which in many a flowery maze play over 
all the compartments of the roof, and en- 
twine about its groinings down to the very 
capitals of the pillars which support them. 
These last, four in number on each side, 
are, like the pillars of the Round, cluster- 
ed, exceedingly elegant and stately-look- 
ing, and of a finely-veined dark (Purbeck) 
marble. A series of smaller clustered 
columns against the wall, and resting on 
the stone seat which extends along the 
base of the latter thrc^ugh the entire 
church, supports in a similar manner the 
roof of each aisle. The more conspicu- 
ous ornaments in the roof of the nave dif- 
fer from those in the aisles : in the first 

Intsrier of the Temple Gtareh— -The Ghaaee^ 



we see in alternate compartments tlie so- 
cieties' emblems in small circles, the lamb 
i on a red ground, and the horse on a blue ; 
and in the second the two banners used 
by the Templars — one a flag, half white 
for their friends, and half black for their 
enemies, with the dreaded war-cry " Beau- 
seant'' — the other the Maltese-like cross : 
with these is interspersed a device used 
by them, copied from a seal belonging to 
the Temple now in the museum, repre- 
senting the Christian cross triumphing 
OA'er the Saracenic crescent. 

These remarks apply with equal force 
to the painted windows, those at the east 
end, over and at each side of the altar, be- 
ing one blaze of gorgeous hues, and the 
window in the centre of the south side be- 
ing equally conspicuous f®r the general 
chasteness of its design and the intense 
richness of their few masses of color, 
which are confined to the figures of the 
angels playing ancient musical instru- 
ments, three in the central light, and one 
in each of the others. As to the chief of 
the eastern windows, the eye at first feels 
lost amidst what appear at some distance 
only a marvellous combination of the mi- 
nutest possible pieces of glass of different 
hues ; and, delighted with the harmony 
evolved from the combination, is content 
to be lost : but as we approach nearer, the 
whole resolves itself into a thousand beau- 
tiful designs ; and at last we perceive 
standincr out from the rest a long series of 
pictures illustrating all the more important 
acts and events in the life of Christ. Im- 
mediately beneath this window is the al- 
tar, where the arcade of small trefoil 
bended arches, and the fretted and cano- 
pied panels in the centre, the capitals of 
the pillars, and the elegantly sculptured 
heads, are all richly, gilded, yet without 
producing any sense of gaudiness or taste- 
less profusion. In the centre panel is a 
large cross, with the letters I.H.C., and 
surrounded by small golden stars on a 
ground of the heavenly tincture. The al- 
tar-table is covered with a crimson-velvet 
cloth, sumptuously embroidered in gold. 
Everywhere, indeed, we meet with evi- 
dence of the untiring zeal and liberality 
which have directed all the recent opera- 
tions. The very seats could furnish em- 
ployment for an hour or two in the mere 


examination of the oak carving so thickly 
strewed over them in the shape of heads, 
which are as remarkable for their variety 
as admirable for their expression, animals, 
flowers, fruit, and foliage. The designs 
are chiefly, if not entirely, from the casts 
in Mr. Cottenham's collection, taken by 
him from the original works in the chief 
cathedrals by means of what is technically 
called squeezes, that is, pressing with the 
hand a suitable plastic material — a kind 
of prepared clay — on the carving or sculp- 
ture to be copied, and which as it hardens 
becomes a mould for the cast. 

On removing the organ from the central 
archway, it was found a difficult matter to 
decide upon a new and suitable position. 
At last a happy thought occurred to some 
one, which, after long discussion and con- 
sultation between the benchers, aided by 
the advice of some of the most eminent 
architects, led to its being placed imme- 
diately behind the central windovv of the 
north side, in a chamber erected for it ; 
the window itself stripped of its glass, 
and having an additional slender marble 
shaft added in the place of each division 
wall between the three lights, forming a 
very handsome open screen to the bril- 
liantly painted and gilded pipes behind, 
with their noble Gothic canopy. The or- 
gan has lately been reconstructed, in or- 
der to receive the best modern improve- 
ments : when we add that it Avas previ- 
ously distinguished as dne of the best in- 
struments in England, our readers may 
judge of its quality now. It Avas built by 
the Avell-known Schmidt, Avho, when the 
societies, in the reign of Charles II. , de- 
termined to erect one of the best organs 
that could be obtained, offered himself in 
rivalry with Harris to undertake the Avork. 
The makers were both so good and so 
popular, that the benchers, in despair of 
deciding satisfactorily to all parties, in 
that preliminary stage of the affair, made 
a very ingenious proposal that each should 
erect an organ in the Temple, and they 
would keep the best. This was done, 
and Avith such good success by both, that 
the benchers, unable to determine in favor 
of either, Avere at last obliged, in order to 
put an end to the contest, which excited 
.the Avhole musical Avorld in a most extra- 
ordinary degree, to confide the final judg- 



ment to chief-justice Jefferies, who chose 
Schmidt's organ. The other was subse- 
quently diA'ided, and part erected at St. 
Andrew's, Holborn ; the remainder found 
its way to Christ church cathedral, Dub- 
lin. The Temple choir consists of four- 
teen A^oices — six men and eight boys ; full 
cathedral service is performed. 

Beneath the organ-chamber is a low 
vestry-room, where, among other memo- 
rials, is the bust of Lord Thurlow, buried 
in the vaults of the church, and the tablet 
erected by the benchers to Goldsmith, 
who lies in the paved court adjoining to 
that part of the building which was till re- 
cently the burying-ground. These are to 
be removed to the triforium, or gallery 
surronnding the rotunda, where are all the 
monuments formerly in the different parts 
of the church, chiefly of the period of 
Elizabeth and James. Among them is 
that of Plowden, the eminent lawyer, who 
was buried here, as was also Selden. 

On the side of the circular stairs, in the 
wall of the northern aisle, which leads to 
the triforium, is a small space hollowed 
out, not large enough for a man to lie down 
in at full length, with two slit holes as 
windows, overlooking respectively the 
two different portions of the church. This 
was the penitential hell of the Templars, 
and terrible have been the penances in- 
flicted here, if we may judge of the record 
of one fact : " Walter le Bachelor, grand 
preceptor of Ireland, was placed here in 
irons by the master, till he died ; the 
corpse was then taken 'Out at daybreak, 
and buried between the church and the 
adjoining hall." Descending again into 
the church, and throwing one last linger- 
ing look around, we notice the painted fig- 
ures over the three archways, which rep- 
resent respectively, beginning on the left, 
Henry I., contemporary with the tbunda- 
tion of the order, with the black and white 
banner ; Stephen with the cross, for which 
in his reign they exchanged the said de- 
vice ; Henry H., in whose reign the 
Round was built, as you see by the model 
in his hand; Richard I., with a sword, al- 
lusive to his exploits as the first of English 
monarchs who joined personally in the 
crusades; John; and lastly, Henry HI., 
holding a model of the entire church, the 
chancel having been added in his reign — 

an interesting series of historical portraits 
in connexion with the Knights Templars, 
but which, like the procession where 
Brutus's statue was not, suggests most by 
its necessary incompleteness. All are 
here that the Templars would have placed 
here : but not the less are we reminded 
of Edward I., and his pious visit to his 
mother's jewels in the Temple, which, by 
some peculiar mental process, ended in 
his carrying away ten thousand pounds 
from the Templar's coffers ; or of Edward 
H., who, after long dallying between the 
(iesire to break up the order for the sake 
of its possessions, and the consciousness 
the monstrous wrong that desire involved, 
yielded to the temptations held out by the 
example of the king of France, and on 
the 8th of January, 1308, caused the 
Templars throughout England suddenly to 
be arrested and imprisoned ; and though 
the excessive barbarities of the French 
government, Avhere actually thirty-six out 
of one batch of one hundred and forty 
perished under the torture, were not imita- 
ted here — no bonfires lighted for such 
wholesale destruction, as the burning of 
fifties at a time — yet it appears torture 
was resorted to in England to make the 
unhappy Templars confess the odious, ab- 
surd, and all but impossible crimes which 
Philip of France, the guiding spirit of the 
movement throughout Europe, had deter- 
mined should be fastened upon them. 
With the exception of a chaplain and two 
serving-men, the English members re- 
mained firm ; and as Edward was not pre- 
pared to go the entire length of Philip, of 
killing them one way or another unless 
they did confess, a lucky discovery v/as 
made, which, to a certain extent, relieved 
all parties. The Templars had believed 
their master had the pov/er of absolution : 
this it was now most carefully and dispas- 
sionately pointed out was a grievous her- 
esy, as the master was a layman : did they 
wish to persevere in heresies 1 Oh, cer- 
tainly not : the Templars were quite wil- 
ling to abjure that as well as every other 
heresy. Great was the apparent joy ot' 
the church ministers who had the direc- 
tion of the affair ; one body after another 
publicly affirmed this declaration ; and lo ! 
the whole were reconciled to the Chris- 
tian community. As to the charges on 



which they had been arrested and tortured, 
and their possessions seized, it was mar- 
vellous to see the utter forgetfulness on 
all sides : not so, however, as to the 
goodly possessions themselves. The or- 
der was finally abolished in 1312, and the 
property in England directed to be trans- 
ferred to the Hospitallers of St. John, to 
whom Edward did ultimately hand over 
some portion thereof, possibly about a 
twentieth. The site and building soon 
after fell into the hands of the students of 
law, whose successors have now, after a 
lapse of five centuries, shown so nobly 
their sense of the value of the building 
and the memories committed to their 


Among the geographical, or rather hy- 
drographical features which distinguish 
the great continent of India, there are two 
of a very remarkable kind — the surf and 
the bore : the former presenting a formida- 
ble obstacle to the approach of ships tow- 
ard the port of Madras, and the latter oc- 
curring near the mouths of the great Indian 
rivers, such as the Indus and the Ganges. 

Madras is one of the most unfavorably 
situated cities which have ever risen to 
eminence ; for such is the state of the sea 
near it, that no ships can approach the 
shore, and all communications between 
them and the city are maintained by boats 
and rafts, the crews of which go through 
no small amount of danger in the transit. 
The site of the city appears to have been 
determined on more by accident than de- 
sign, or such a formidable obstacle to free- 
dom of communication would not have es- 
caped notice. In front of the city the stirf 
rages in three distinct foamy ridges, which 
can only be passed safely by small vessels 
built expressly for the duty. These ves- 
sels are called massoolahs. 

The massoolah is a light, large, and 
flat-bottomed boat, without ribs, keel, or 
other timber ; the broad planks being 
sewed at the edges with " kyar," or line 
made from the outer fibres of the cocoa- 
nut, and are filled in between the seams 

with the same material. Iron is utterly 
excluded from the whole fabric. By this 
construction the massoolah is rendered 
lithe and buoyant enough to meet the vio- 
lent shocks which it will have to encoun- 
ter from the roaring surges ; it yields to 
the percussion of the waters, so as, by di- 
minishing the resistance, to be thrown up 
safely on the beach without breaking by 
the concussion. The management of these 
boats requires great dexterity and experi- 
ence, the crews being bred from their in- 
fancy to the hazardous enterprise. The 
massoolahs are impelled by broad ellipti- 
cal paddles ; and the " tindal," or master, 
chants a wild kind of song, to the cadence 
of which his " clashees," or rowers, keep 
time, quickening or retarding the motion 
of the boat as may be necessary to evade 
or encounter the stroke of the surf. Thus 
they approach the European vessels, which 
are obliged to anchor at the back of the 
surf at a prescribed distance ; and the pas- 
sengers and ladies are then transferred 
from the larger vessel to the massoolah. 
They then return ; and on entering the 
outer line of surf, which is said to appal 
every one who encounters it for the first 
time, the rowers simultaneously pause, and 
the song is suppressed ; but the instant 
the surf has tumbled over, a loud shout 
bursts forth, and the most skilful and stren- 
uous efforts are made to meet the next 
ridge of surf, toward which the massoolah 
is whirled with awful rapidity ; and so on, 
till they reach the shore. 

The massoolah is always attended by 
little rafts, called catamarans, to aid in res- 
cuing the passengers and bearing them to 
the shore in the event of the massoolah 
being upset. In very rough weather the 
whole line of coast becomes terrific ; the 
massoolahs can not venture out ; and all 
intercourse with the shipping would then 
be stopped, except for the means afforded 
by the catamarans. This simple and sin- 
gular contrivance consists of two or three \ 
logs of light wood lashed together, the out- i 
er ones being seven or eight feet long, by 
six or eight inches diameter, and the cen- 
tre one rather longer. It is rounded off" 
at one end, for the convenience of progres- 
sion through the water, and is paddled by 
one or two men, who squat on their knees, 
in a position which appears to an English- 



man a most uneasy one. The surface is 
flat, and is level with the water when the 
men are properly seated in the centre. 
The water is continually washing over 
them, and yet these men will remain thus 
("or hours together. It is very common for 
I them to be washed oflf the catamaran ; but 
I if they escape the sharks, which are look- 
I ing out for prey, they regain their position 
by expert swimming. Drenched as they 
are with water, these men yet contrive to 
convey letters and despatches between the 
ships and the shore without getting them 
wetted : the papers are usually placed in 
their scull-caps, enveloped with a kind of 
turban, which, with a cloth round their 
middle, are the only articles of dress they 

The catamaran-men often receive med- 
als of distinction from the Indian govern- 
ment for having saved the lives of persons 
who have been upset from the massoolahs. 
The singularity in the nature of the surf 
which these men have to encounter is, that 
it is often most violent in calm weather ; 
hence there frequently occurs sad destruc- 
tion of shipping in the Madras roads. A 
recent writer, describing the Madras surf 
from personal observation, gives the fol- 
lowing as one among many instances of 
the dangerous character of the spot for 
shipping : " On the 2d of May, 1811, Ma- 
dras was visited by a storm of such fury 
as to create both destruction and sorrow. 
Before the commotion of the elements be- 
gan, one hundred and twenty ships and 
vessels proudly rode at their anchors : in 
the morning all these either billed or foun- 
dered, and were strewed in fragments along 
the shore. Fewer lives were sacrificed 
than could have been expected, consider- 
ing the extent of the calamity, and that 
numbers of the vessels sunk at their an- 
chors ; but neither of the men-of-war lost 
a single man. It is, however, quite fright- 
ful to ponder on the extent to which our 
naval means would probably have been de- 
stroyed had this storm come on sooner. 
But ten days before, the expedition had 
sailed fcr Java, with a strong squadron of 
men-of-war, twelve Company's cruisers, 
and sixty transports, with twelve thousand 
soldiers on board, all of which must have 
been wrecked." 

It is not yet clearly proved how this 

formidable surf may be correctly account- 
ed for. The probabilities are, that the 
formation of the coast near Madras, the 
narrowing of the bay of Bengal as it re- 
cedes tov/ard the noith, the flowing of the 
equatorial current against the coast, and 
the nature of the bottom, as to depth, shoals, 
etc., all exert their influence in the produc- 
tion of the surf ; but, to what extent, future 
hydrographical researches must show. 

Let ns next pass on to notice the " bore," 
or rushing tide, at the mouths of some of 
the Indian rivers. This is a remarkable 
periodic phenomenon, depending in some 
way on the flow of the tide into an estua- 
ry not calculated to give sufficient space 
for the due reception of the waters. The 
Ganges, the Indus, and the bay of Cam- 
bay, are the parts of India where this re- 
markable rush of waters takes place. We 
Avill take the accounts of these bores from 
travellers who have visited the respective 

The Rev. Hobart Caunter, in one of the 
volumes of the " Oriental Annual," gives 
an account of the bore of the Ganges. It 
may be proper to premise that the Ganges 
enters the bay of Bengal by innumerable 
mouths, none of which are navigable for 
large ships except that branch called the 
Hooghly, on the banks of which the city 
of Calcutta is built. The Hooghly passes 
by Calcutta with a broad, deep, and tran- 
quil current ; but between the city and the 
sea there are numerous shoals and sand- 
banks. On this branch of the river occurs 
the bore, a violent flux of the water, which 
rushes up the stream at certain intervals 
with such extreme violence as to swamp 
everything within its influence. Its power 
is chiefly confined to the sides of the river, 
being scarcely felt in mid-channel, where 
the Indiamen generally lie at anchor. 

This sudden influx of the tide commen- 
ces at Hooghly Point, where the river first 
contracts its width, and is perceptible above 
Hooghly Town. So quick is its motion, 
that it hardly employs four hours in travel- 
ling from one to the other, although the 
distance is nearly seventy miles. It does 
not run on the Calcutta side, but along the 
opposite bank, whence it crosses at Chit- 
poor, about four miles above Fort William, 
and proceeds with great violence in its up- 
ward course. At Calcutta, it sometimes 

occasions an instantaneous rise of five 
feet. So impetuous is the rush of the wa- 
ter, that if small vessels at anchor are not 
prepared to receive it, they must be infal- 
libly upset. Ships at anchor, being gen- 
erally in mid-channel, where its influence 
is little felt, escape with a few uneasy 
rolls. If, however, larger vessels are over- 
taken by it, the shock is prodigious, and at 
times serious mischief ensues, especially 
if they are struck on the broadside. By 
turning their prows toward the current, lit- 
tle or no injury is sustained. The bore 
rises commonly to the height of eighteen 
feet, and invariably produces a sensation 
of great terror near the shore, where small 
boats are always moored in considerable 
numbers ; and much alarm is excited when 
one of the visits of this formidable enemy 
is expected, for the frequency of its occur- 
rence has not by ^ "'^ means had the effect 
of calming apprehension. 

In the river Brahmapootra, which enters 
the bay of Bengal not far from the eastern 
mouth of the Ganges, the bore is witnessed, 
of a similar character to the above. In the 
channels between the islands near the 
mouth of the river, the height of the bore 
is said to exceed twelve feet ; and it is so 
terrific in its appearance, and so dangerous 
in its consequences, that no boat will ven- 
ture to navigate there at spring-tide. It 
does not, however, ascend to so great a 
distance up the Brahmapootra as up the 
Ganges, probably on account of some pe- 
culiar conformation of the shores. 

The late Sir Alexander Burnes, when 
speaking of the Indus, in the following 
terms described the bore often observed at 
that river : " The tides rise in the mouths 
of the Indus about nine feet, at full moon ; 
and flow and ebb with great violence, par- 
ticularly near the sea, where they flood and 
abandon the banks with equal and incredi- 
ble velocity. It is dangerous to drop the 
anchor unless at low-water, as the channel 
is frequently obscured, and the vessel may 
be bft dry." The description of the pas- 
sage of x\lexander's boats down the Indus, 
as given by Arrian, was the first intimation 
given of this rushing tide, and serves to 
corroborate other portions of the testimony. 

In the gulf of Cambay there is a very 
remarkable bore, arising from the peculiar 
formation of the coast. It will be seen by 

inspedting a rnap, that this gulf nms up 
between Bombay and the peninsula of 
Guzerat in the western coast of India ; 
that it is very irregular in shape, that it 
runs deeply into the land, and that several 
rivers flow into it. Many shoals occur in 
different parts of the gulf, by which the 
flood of waters occasioned by the tides are 
divided into various channels or distinct 
currents ; and up two of the principal of 
these currents the phenomenon of the bore 
is observed. Lieutenant Ethersey, of the 
Indian navy, communicated to the Geo- 
graphical Society, a few years ago, an ac- 
count of these two bores, and of an obser- 
vation which he made in person on one of 
them. In February, 1835, in order to try 
the effect of the bore on a large-sized 
" bander-boat," and at- the same time to 
ascertain the strength of the stream after 
the wave had passed. Lieutenant Ethersey 
anchored the boat at spring-tide half a mile 
to the northward of what was then the last 
cape on the western side of the gulf. Al- 
though the anchorage was in five fathoms, 
the boat grounded at low-water, and was 
left high and dry. A few hours afterward 
the noise of the bore was heard, when ev- 
ery precaution was immediately taken for 
the safety of the boat. The night was 
still and calm, and the roar of the rushing 
tide, as it approached, echoing among the 
neighboring hills, is described as having 
been truly awful. The bore struck the 
boat, lifted her, and threw her violently 
round on her bilge ; in which position she 
was forced before it, broadside on, for the 
space of five minutes, the grapnel being 
of no use, for it was carried faster than 
the boat. So violently was the boat sha- 
ken, that her commander thought she 
would go to pieces. However, no acci- 
dent happened ; for, on getting to a hollow 
in the sand-bank, which was quickly filled, 
the boat righted. By subsequent experi- 
ments made with the log-line, it was found 
that the bore rushed up with a velocity of 
about ten •' knots" an hour. 

This phenomenon of the bore has been 
thus accounted for ; From a comparison 
of those rivers of India which exhibit the 
bore, with those which do not, it seems 
necessary for the production of this effect 
that the rivers should fall into an estuary ; 
that this estuary be subject to high tides, 



and that it contract gradually ; andjlastly, 
that the river also narrow by degrees. 
The rise of the sea at spring-tides drives 
a great volume of water into the wide es- 
tuary, where it accumulates, not being able 
to flow off quick enough into the narrower 
part. The tide therefore enters with the 
greater force the narrower the estuary be- 
comes ; and when it reaches the mouth of 
the river, the swell has already obtained a 
considerable height above the descending 
stream, and rushes in like a torrent. It is 
as if water were entering into a funnel- 
shaped mouth which becomes too small to 
give it adequate room ; and hence the same 
phenomenon may be exhibited in the gulf 
of Cambay as in the Indian rivers, if the 
form of the coasts be alike. 

The bore is exhibited, to a greater or less 
extent, on the shores of Brazil, in the riv- 
ers Araquari and Meary ; and in England, 
on a small scale, in the Severn, the Trent, 
the Wye, and the Sol way frith. 


In some minds the creeping things of 
land or water produce feelings of disgust 
— or rather, many persons assume feelings 
of disgust at the sight of such creatures. 
Others (we hope they are but few) look 
with indifference upon all natural objects, 
unless such as immediately minister to 
their comfort, convenience, or vanity ; 
they wonder at, perhaps despise, the man 
who stops on his walk to examine the 
web of the spider, the nest of the bird, or 
the underground galleries of the mole. 
The rapid actions of the full-eyed squir- 
rel as he darts up the tall stem of the 
beech, the turmoil and bustle of the rook- 
ery, the cloudy flight of congregated star- 
lings — all sight and sounds which to the 
lover of nature are of interest, they do 
not regard — they have no pleasure therein : 
much less, then, would such creatures as 
the water-newt attract their notice ; crea- 
tures to which popular ignorance has at- 
tributed the most noxious properties, and 
which have nothing in their aspect or in 
the brilliancy of their coloring to recom- 
mend them. Yet, in truth, the history of 

the water-newt is far from being uninter- 
esting : it has indeed engaged the atten- 
tion of some of the most philosophic in- 
vestigators of nature, and involves some 
points of physiological importance. Of 
the water-newts {Triton, Laurenti, Sal- 
amandra, Ray), four species inhabit the 
ponds, ditches, and clear sluggish or 
standing waters of our island ; of these 
the largest is the great water-newt [Triton 
cristatus), Avhich is common in the neigh- 
borhood of London, and may be readily 
obtained or observed in months of spring 
and summer. The water-newts, lizard- 
like as they are in appearance, must not 
be confounded with the Lacertine group, 
with which Linnaeus, overlooking their 
true characteristics, associated them, un- 
der the common generic title of Lacerta. 
All the true lizards have the skin covered 
with scales, and undergo no transforma- 
tion after exclusion from the egg. The 
water-newts are, in fact, like the frog, 
amphibia, and belong to that section [Ca- 
ducibranchiate) in which the gills, or 
branchiae, with which the animals are at 
first furnished for aquatic respiration, be- 
come ultimately lost, and are replaced by 
true lungs adapted for a different medium. 
On its first exclusion from the egg, the 
minute tadpole of the newt has much the 
appearance of the tadpole of the frog ; on 
the sid( s of the neck are to be seen the 
lobes of the branchise in a simple state, 
the anterior pair serving the purpose of 
holders, by which the animal attaches it- 
self to objects in the water. In about 
three weeks on the average the anterior 
limbs have gained terminal and distinct 
feet, the branchial tufts have acquired a 
fringed character, the eyes have assumed 
a definite outline, and the holders have 
disappeared. The little creature now 
moves rapidly about, propelling itself 
through the water by the undulatory 
movements of its laterally-flattened tail. 
In a short time after this, the anterior 
limbs become more perfect, and the toes, 
four in number, are fully developed, the 
hind limbs begin to sprout, and the bran- 
chial tufts, three on each side, are much 
enlarged and finely plumed. In a short 
time the hind limbs, and feet with five 
toes, are completely formed, the body has 
attained its nearly perfect figure, and the 














^ I 









■>mu'i ^ii ir\ 1-ji^ 

branchiae have assumed a deeper color 
and firmer texture. The lungs are now 
rapidl}'' developing, a change in the rou- 
tine ol' the circulation is gradually taking 
place, tlie branchifE are becoming absorbed ; 
toward the middle or close of autumn 
they disappear, and air, instead of water, 
becomes the medium of respiration. In 
the branchiae of the tadpole of the newt, 
when the fore limbs are beginning to 
sprout, or hav^e made some progress, the 
circulation of the blood, when viewed 
through a good microscope, is calculated 
to excite the greatest admiration. Their 
transparency is such as to permit the cur- 
rents of globules rapidly coursing each 
other to be distinctly seen as they ascend 
the arteries and return by the veins to the 
aorta. A similar transformation takes 
place in the tadpole of the frog, with this 
addition, that the compressed tail shrinks 
as the branchiae are in progress of oblit- 
eration, and is at last absorbed. In the 
tadpole condition of these animals the cir- 
culation of the blood resembles that of 
fishes. The heart consists of one auricle 
and one ventricle. The auricle receives 
the blood of the^'general system, and im- 
mediately transmits it to the ventricle, 
which is muscular ; from this ventricle it 
is propelled through a system of branchial 
arteries, where it becomes decarbonized 
by the action of oxygen ; from these arte- 
ries it passes into the branchial veins, 
which ultimately unite to form an aorta, 
without the intervention of a second ven- 
tricle. When the branchiae are lost, the 
heart and circulation have assumed new 
characters ; the heart then consists of a 
ventrice and two auricles, and by wonder- 
ful modifications the branchial becomes 
transformed into a pulmonic circulation. 
The right auricle receives the blood re- 
turned from the system, the left auricle 
the fr-'-Lxy oxygenated blood returned 
from the lungs ; both these auricles trans- 
mit tLeir contents into the ventricle, which 
thus receives exhausted and also rearte- 
rialized blood, the two fluids becoming 
more or less mixed together. Part of tliis 
mixed fluid is sent through the aorta to 
the system, part through the pulmonary ar- 
teries to undergo a still further degree of 
oxygenation in the lungs. 

The great water-newt [Triton cristatus) 

attains to the length of more than six 
inches, and is one of the most aquatic of 
its genus, residing almost constantly in 
the water : we have, however, several 
times captured it in meadows, especially 
in Cheshire (where it is termed asker), at 
the latter part of the summer : its bright 
orange-colored abdomen with distinct 
round spots of black, together with its 
size, prevent the possibility of confound- 
ing it with any other species, except per- 
haps the Triton palmipes, of which the 
under-surface is saffron-yellow, or, as La- 
treille states, white without spots. The 
great water-newt is active and voracious : 
it feeds during the spring and summer on 
the tadpole of the frog, and also upon the 
smaller species of newt, which it attacks 
and seizes with the utmost determination ; 
it will also prey upon worms and insects, 
and may be taken by means of a hook 
baited with a small worm. It swims vig- 
orously, lashing its compressed tail from 
side to side, the limbs being so disposed 
as to offer no resistance to the water : we 
have seen it, hovt'ever, crawl slowly at 
lYiP bottom of the water, as well as on 
land, where its movements are inert ; its 
small feeble limbs are indeed ineff'ectual 
organs of locomotion. In this respect it 
diff'ers very greatly from the common liz- 
ard [Znoloca vivipara^, the actions of 
which are exceedingly prompt and rapid ; 
but the scale-clad lizard uses not only its 
limbs, but its whole body and tail in a ser- 
pent-like manner in progression, and ap- 
pears to glide through the tangled herbage. 
The newt, like the frog, hybernates ; gen- 
erally it lies in a torpid state during the 
winter in the mud at the bottom of ponds 
and ditches. Mr. Bell, however, states 
that he has found it hybernating under 
stones, and we ourselves on one occasion, 
early in the spring, saw several creeping 
out from under some large flags placed to 
support a bank by a roadside not far from 
the river Bollen in Cheshire. On taking 
up one by the tail, as we well remember, 
the tail, to our dismay, broke short ofl', and 
continued for some time to be rapidly agi- 
tated. The same we have seen take 
place when the common lizard has been 
seized in a similar manner. In the newt 
the tail is reproduced after such an acci- 
dent, and, we believe, also in the lizard ; 



tliis is certainly the case in the geeros. 
On awaking from its lethargy in the spring, 
the male begins to assume a membranous 
dorsal and caudal crest, by which he is at 
once distinguished from the female. The 
dorsal crest, which extends along the 
whole length of the back down the spine, 
has its edge indented ; but that along the 
tail has the edge even : with the comple- 
tion of this crest the colors become 
brighter and more decided, and the animal 
is more lively and vigorous. At the lat- 
ter end of April, and during the months 
of May and June, the female deposites her 
eggs, not, as in the case of the frog, in 
multitudes all agglutinated together in a 
gelatinous medium, but one by one, each 
in a distinct spot from the other. Resting 
on the leaf of some aquatic plant, she 
folds it by means of her two hinder feet, 
and in the duplication of the leaf thus 
made she deposites a single egg, gluing at 
the same time the folded parts together, 
thus concealing and protecting the en- 
closed deposite. This process was first 
described by Rusconi, and has since been 
minutely detailed by Mr. Bell, who has 
often observed the process. It is in this 
manner that egg after egg, at various in- 
tervals, is secured each in a separate leaf. 
Soon after their deposition, changes in the 
eggs begin to show themselves with an 
according development of the embryo, till 
its exclusion, when it passes gradually 
through the transmutations already de- 
tailed, till it acquires its permanent condi- 

The membranous dorsal crest of the 
male continues till the autumn, when it is 
gradually absorbed, and quite lost during 
the period of hybernation ; that of the tail 
is also greatly reduced, but not entirely, a 
trace of it still remaining. 

In this species the upper hp is slightly 
pendulous ; the teeth are numerous and 
minute ; the head flattened, the body 
round, corrugated, and covered with mi- 
nute tubercles. There are two patches 
of simple pores on each side of the head, 
and a line of similar pores running at dis- 
tant intervals down each side. The upper 
parts of the body are dusky-black or yel- 
lowish-brown with darker round spots, the 
under parts orange with round spots of 
black ; the sides are dotted with white ; 

the sides of the tail are lO a greater or 
lesser extent of a silvery-white. 

The common smooth newt (Lissotriton 
punctatus. Bell) differs considerably from 
the great water-newt in its habits. It is 
much more terrestrial, frequenting damp 
places, and is often found in cellars and 
underground vaults. Shaw indeed, in his 
" General Zoology," asserts that the com- 
mon newt is altogether a terrestrial spe- 
cies, and contradicts the statement of 
Linnaeus, that during its larva or tadpole 
condition it inhabits the water. 

The common or smooth water-newt is 
found in all clear ponds and ditches or 
drainages ; in the spring the males appear 
ornamented with a continuous membra- 
nous crest from the head down the back 
to the end of the tail. This crest they 
lose in the month of June or July, when 
both adults and young quit the water for 
the land, where they creep about, lodging 
in damp places, among the roots of trees, 
under stones, in crevices of the ground, 
&c. Early in the winter the crest of the 
male reappears, and is complete in the 
beginning of the spring, at which period 
he assumes a richer coloring. Aquatic 
insects and their larvee, worms, and the 
tadpoles of the frog, constitute the food of 
this species, which in turn falls a prey to 
fishss, and to the great water-newt. The 
female deposites her eggs much in the same 
manner as already described, generally 
within a folded leaf, but not unfrequently 
at the junction of the leaf with the stalk. 
Mr. Bell states he has sometimes seen the 
females in the act of placing eggs not only 
singly, but by two, three, and four together. 

The growth of the young is rapid, and 
they arrive nearly at their full size during 
the course of the first summer and au- 
tumn ; but it would appear that the trans- 
formations are not concluded in the same 
space of time by all ; for specimens are 
sometimes found which have not lost the 
branchiae, and yet are far larger than oilier 
individuals in which the transformation is 
completed. Temperature, food, locality, 
and other circumstances may influence the 
slowness or rapidity of the change. 

In this species, as proved b}^ Spallan- 
zani, not only the tail, but also portions of 
the limbs may be removed, the lost parts 
being in due time reproduced, bones, mus- 



cles, nerves, blood-vessels, and all : nor 
this only once, but several times in suc- 
cession. So tenacious, in fact, is the 
newt, that it has been frozen in a solid 
mass of ice, and survived the ordeal if 
the thawing process was slow. Yet tena- 
cious of life as this and the other species 
certainly are, they die in the most violent 
convulsions when sprinkled with salt, and 
evidently suffer extreme agony. No one, 
we trust, will be so inhuman as to try the 

In the common newt the skin is smooth ; 
on the head there are two rows of pores ; 
the crest of the male is not only much de- 
veloped in the spring, but its margin is 
crenate, the lips of the crenations being 
often tinged with fine red, sometimes 
violet. The general color is yellowish or 
brownish gray above, bright orange be- 
low, and everywhere marked with dark 
spots, some rounded, some of an irregular 
figure. The female is yellowish-brown, 
with scattered spots, and without the rich 
orange of the under surface. The upper 
lip is quite straight. This species is 
three and a half or nearly four inches in 
total length. 

Of the two other British species, one 
is the straight-lipped warty newt {Triton 
Blbronii, Bell), and the palmated newt 
{Lissotriton palmipes, Bell). The former 
( T. Bibroiiii) differs from the great water- 
newt (T. cristatus), in having the upper 
lip perfectly straight, and not overhanging 
the lower at its sides. The skin is also 
more rugose and strongly tuberculated, 
and the general color is darker. M. Bi- 
bron first detected the existence of this 
species in England, and pointed out the 
difference between it and the great water- 
newt, with which it had always been con- 
founded ; at the same time he regarded it 
as the T. marmoratus of Latreille, com- 
mon on the continent. Mr. Bell, however, 
thinks it distinct, and consequently new to 
science. His opinion is founded on a 
close comparison of several individuals 
with specimens of Latreille's T. marmo- 
ratus, sent from Paris by M. Bibron for 
his examination. Its manners and habits 
are precisely those of the great water- 
newt, and it is perhaps equally abundant. 

The palmated water-newt is also a com- 
mon species, but has been by most natu- 

ralists confounded wilt the common spe- 
cies, from which it differs in having the 
upper lip pendulous at the sides and the 
five toes of the hind feet fringed perma- 
nently with a short membrane.' It is also 
of larger size; and the spots which cover 
the body both above and below are more 
numerous and smaller, and their outline is 
more distinctly defined ; the head also is 
elegantly marked with brown longitudinal 
lines. Like the common species, how- 
ever, it is liable to some variation of mark- 



WiLDNESS and savage majesty reigned 
on the borders of this mighty river. The 
hand of cultivation had not as yet laid low 
the dark forests, and tamed the features 
of the landscape ; nor had the frequent 
sail of commerce yet broken in upon the 
profound and awful solitude of ages. 
Here and there might be seen a rude wig- 
wam perched among the cliffs of the 
mountains, with its curling column of 
smoke mounting in the transparent atmo- 
sphere ; but so loftily situated, that the 
whoopings of the savage children, gam- 
boling on the margin of the dizzy heights, 
fell almost as faintly on the ear, as do the 
notes of the lark, when lost in the azure 
vault of heaven. Now and then, from the 
beetling brow of some rocky precipice, 
the wild deer would look timidly down 
upon the splendid pageant as it passed 
below ; and then, tossing his branching 
antlers into the air, would bound away 
into the thickest of the forest. 

Through such scenes did the stately 
vessel of Peter Stuyvesant pass. Now 
did they skirt the bases of the rocky 
heights of Jersey, which spring up like 
everlasting walls, reaching from the 
waves unto the heavens, and were fash- 
ioned, if tradition may be believed, in 
times long past, by the mighty spirit Ma- 
netho, to protect his favorite abodes from 
the unhallowed eyes of mortals. Now 
did they career it gayly across the vast ex- 



panse of Tappan bay, whose wide extend- 
ed shores present a vast variety of delec- 
table scenery — here the bold promontory, 
crowned with embowering trees, advan- 
cing into the bay — there the long wood- 
land slope, sweeping up from the shore in 
rich luxuriance, and terminating in the up- 
land precipice — while at a distance a long 
line of rocky heights threw gigantic shades 
across the water. Now would they pass 
where some modest little interval, opening 
among these stupendoius scenes, yet re- 
treating as it were for protection into the 
embraces of the neighboring mountains, 
displayed a rural paradise, fraught with 
sweet and pastoral beauties ; the velvet- 
tufted lawn, the bushy copse, the tinkling 
rivulet, stealing through the fresh and 
vind verdure, on whose banks were situ- 
ated some little Indian village, or perad- 
venture, the rude cabin of some solitary 

The different periods of the revolving 
day seemed each with cunning magic to 
diffuse a different charm over the scene. 
Now would the jovial sun break gloriously 
from the east, blazing from the summits of 
the eastern hills, and sparkling the land- 
scape with a thousand dewy gems ; while 
along the borders of the river were seen 
heavy masses of mist, which, like caitiffs 
disturbed at his approach, made a sluggish 
retreat, rolling in sullen reluctance up the 
mountains. At such times all was bright- 
ness, and life, and gayety ; the atmosphere 
seemed of an indescribable pureness and 
transparency — the birds broke forth in 
wanton madrigals, and the freshening 
breezes wafted the vessel merrily on her 
course. But when the sun sunk amid a 
flood of glory in the west, mantling the 
heavens and the earfh with a thousand 
gorgeous dies, then all was calm, and si- 
lent, and magnificent. The late swelling 
sail hung lifeless against the mast — the 
simple seamen with folded arms leaned 
against the shrouds, lost in that involun- 
tary musing which the sober grandeur of 
nature commands in the rudest of her 
children. The vast bosom of the Hudson 
was like an unrufiled mirror, reflecting the 
golden splendor of the heavens, excepting 
that now and then a bark canoe would 
steal across its surface, filled with painted 
savages, whose gay feathers glared bright- I 

ly, as perchance a lingering ray of the 
setting sun gleamed on them from the 
western mountains. 

But Avhen the hour of twilight spread 
its magic mists around, then did the face 
of nature assume a thousand fugitive 
charms, whiich, to the worthy reart that 
seeks enjoyment in the glorious ■"orks of 
its Maker, are inexpressibly captivating. 
The mellow, dubious light that prevailed, 
just serve to tinge with illusive colors the 
softened features of the scenery. The 
deceived but delighted eve sought vainly 
to discern in the broad masses of shade 
the separating line between land and wa- 
ter, or to distinguish the fading objects 
that seemed sinking into chaos. Now did 
the busy fancy supply the feebleness of 
vision, producing with insidious craft a 
fairy creation of her own. Under her 
plastic wand the barren rocks frowned up- 
on the watery waste, in the semblance of 
lofty towers and high-embattled castles — 
trees assumed the direful forms of mighty 
giants, and the inaccessible summits of 
the mountains seemed peopled with a 
thousand shadowy beings. 

Now broke forth from the shores the 
notes of an innumerable variety of insects, 
who filled the air with a strange but not 
inharmonious concert ; while ever and 
anon was heard the melancholy plaint of 
the whip-poor-will, who, perched on some 
lone tree, wearied the ear of night with 
its incessant meanings. The mind, sooth- 
ed into a hallowed melancholy by the sol- 
emn mystery of the scene, listened with 
pensive stillness to catch and distinguish 
each sound that vaguely echoed from the 
shore — now and then startled perchance 
by the whoop of some straggling savage, 
or the dreary howl of some caitiff wolf 
stealing forth upon his nightly prowlings. 


1. Habitual cheerfulness and compo- 
sure of mind, arising from peace of con- 
science, constant reliance on the goodness 
of God, and the exercise of kindly feel- 
ings toward men. Peace of mind is as 
essential to health as it is to happiness. 



2. Strict control over the appetites and 
passions, with a fixed abhorrence of all 
excess, and all unlawful gratifications 
whatsoever. He that would enjoy good 
health must be " temperate in all things," 
and habitually exercise the most rigid 
self-government ; for every sort of vicious 
indulgence is highly injurious to health j 
first, directly, in its imarediate effects on 
the body ; and, next, inJirectly, in the per- 
petual dissatisfaction and anxiety of mind 
which it invariably occasions. 

3. Early rising ; and in order to this, 
take no supper, or if any, a very slight 
one, and go early to bed. The hour be- 
fore bed-time should be spent in agreeable 
relaxation, or in such exercises only as 
tend to compose the mind and promote in- 
ward peace and cheerfulness. 

4. Simphcity, moderation, and regular- 
ity, with respect to diet. A judicious se- 
lection of the articles of food, the careful 
avoiding of unwholesome dainties, and 
whatever has proved hurtful to the consti- 
tution; The quantity of food should be 
proportioned to the amount of exercise 
a person undergoes. Sedenlrary people 
should be rather ahstemious ; their food 
should be nutritious, easy of digestion, and 
moderate in quantity. Seldoai eat any- 
thing between meals. 

5. To abstain from the use of wine and 
other stimulants. They may sometimes 
be employed to advantage in cases of ex- 
treme debility or extraordinary labor ; but, 
under any circumstances, if too freely or 
too frequently indulged in, they will most 
certainly impair your health and shorten 
your life. 

6. Eat very slowly, with a view to the 
thorough mastication of your food : rather 
forego a meal, or take but half the needful 
quantity, than eat too fast. 

7. Refrain from both mental and bodily 
exertion for a short time after the princi- 
pal meal. If immediate exertion be re- 
quired, only a slight repast should be ta- 
ken instead of the usual meal. Never 
eat a full meal when the body is heated or 
much fatigued with exercise. Wait till 
you are somewhat refreshed by a short in- 
terval of repose. 

8. Occasional abstinence. Whenever 
the system is feeble or disordered, dimin- 
ish the quantity of your food, and allow 

yourself more time for exercise. In cases 
of slight indisposition, a partial or a total 
fast will often be found the best restora- 

9. Take no physic unless it be absolutely 
necessary. Learn, if possible, hov/ to 
keep well without it. In case of real in- 
disposition, consult a competent medical 
adviser without delay, and implicitly at- 
tend to his directions, so far as you think 
he is fully acquainted with your constitu- y, 
tion, and with the best means of treating 
your disorder. Never risk your health 
and life either by neglecting serious illness 
or by tampering with quack remedies. 

10. Gentle exercise should be taken 
regularly two hosirs a day at least ; and it 
must never be forgotten that cheerfulness 
is an essential ingredient in all beneficial 
exercise. Mental relaxation in agreeable 
society, too, should be sought as often as 
due attention to business and other impor- 
tant aff"airs will permit. 


Every one knows that the temperature 
in different places on the surface of the 
globe is not only not the same, but also 
that there is a most remarkable contrast 
between those which are situated at vari- 
ous distances from the equator. For the 
convenience of general observation and 
discourse, the superficies of the earth has 
been divided into five zones. That part 
which lies between the tropics, and re- 
ceives the almost direct rays of the sun, is 
called the. torrid zone : those parts which 
surround the north and south poles of the 
earth, and are confined by the polar circle, 
are denominated the frigid zones ; and 
those spaces between the tropics and polar 
circles are called the temperate zones. 
This division gives to the reader a general 
idea of the temperature of the earth's 
surface, and yet places, situated within the 
same zone, are known to have almost 
every variety of climate. The first thing 
to be considered, in reference to climate, 
is the situation of the place in regard to 
the solar rays, the length of the day, and 
the amount of heat it receives ; but this is 



not the only subject of inquiry, for there 
are many local causes which regulate the 
temperature ; such as its elevation aboA^e, 
and position in regard to the sea, the pre- 
vailing winds, the proximity to forests, 
the nature of the soil, and many other cir- 
cumstances. All these must be carefully 
taken into consideration, when we attempt 
to account for the climate of any place. 

The climate is greatly influenced by the 
elevation of a place above the level of the 
sea. On the summits of mountains the 
cold is intense, although, on the plains be- 
low them, the heat may be oppressive. 
The highest mountains on the surface of 
the globe are perpetually covered with ice 
and snow ; and, as we ascend, so the cold 
increases. It must therefore follow, that 
the temperature of any place on the earth's 
surface varies with the height above the 
surface. To give the 'reader some idea 
of the influence of elevation upon the 
temperature of a place, we will present 
him with an extract from an account, writ- 
ten by a friend, of a visit to the glaciers 
of Mont Blanc, and of that especially 
which is denominated the Mer de Glace : — 

" At the sight of so many delicious 
spots, which we thus looked upon by 
turns, as the clouds came upward in frag- 
ments, the sense of numbness, which we 
felt from the thorough drenching we had 
received, and the increasing chilliness of 
the air, on an unusually cold day, and all 
the other many inconveniences of the 
journey, took their leave ; and, wretchedly 
uncomlortable as we were, I believe that 
neither of us would have objected to have 
remained till night-fall fixed to the spot in 
perfect ravishment of the enchanting vis- 

" Two pathways branch from the neigh- 
borhood of this ravine to the summit of 
the mountain. The one is very steep 
and rough, the other much longer, but 
easier to climb ; but, in pursuing this, you 
have to descend a little down the edge of 
the escarpment, which much retards your 
arrival. However, the magnificent pros- 
pects, unfolded at every step of the deep 
valley below, amply compensate any extra 

" The end of our journey was at hand 
when we left the shade of the trees that 
had hitherto, in some manner, sheltered 


us, and came upon the bleak and dismal 
wilderness at the foot of the Aiguilles de 

" But, desolate as is this spot, it is one 
of the most interesting in Europe. Hith- 
erto we had a continual view of the lovely 
paradise beneath : but now all was chan- 
ged. Instead of looking down upon ' the 
valley smiling far below,' in all the pride 
of a luxurious vegetation, we had to con- 
template a prospect as astonishing as 

" The Mer de Glace, in all its wonder- 
ful and chilling grandeur, was before us. 
Behind arose the Aiguille de Chamouny, 
black and awful ; while, in front, looking 
over a sea of solid ice, which seemed to 
have been just frozen in the storms, at a 
distance, the eye rested on the superb red 
obelisk of granite, called Aiguille de Dru, 
the most extraordinary and singular of 
mountains. The clouds for a few seconds 
cleared away, and left us to enjoy the m.a- 
jestic spectacle which that lordly pinnacle 
affords. Six thousand three hundred and 
sixty-two feet above the level of the spot 
on which we stood, is its computed 
height. The massive blocks of which it 
is composed, when viewed through a good 
telescope, have all the apparent regularity 
of a gigantic masonry, while their sides 
appear as if they had been polished by 
the friction of the hands which piled them 

" There is no single mountain through- 
out Switzerland or Savoie, or perhaps in 
Europe, which can at all compare with 
this vast mountain ot the creative power. 

" At its feet are seen green pastures, 
which the shepherds use in the four 
months of summer, called * le place de 
I'Aiguille de Dru,' where Saussure tells us 
that he visited a miserable being who had 
taken up his lodging in that homeless and 
voiceless solitude. The Aiguille de Dru 
is perfectly inaccessible : it defies the 
presumptuous foot of man 

" Standing on the edge of the descent, 
the eye wanders over an extensive field 
of ice and snow, covered with husfe blocks 
of stone, Avhich have been brought down 
by avalanches from the mountains above. 
But it is not a plain surface which meets 
the vision. Very justly is the glacier 
called ' le Mer de Glace,' for, instead of 

the level smoothness of a frozen lake re- 
flecting the hills around and the heavens 
above, in its crystalline face, you are sur- 
prised by the appearance of a scene vsrhich 
represents the billows of a stormy sea, 
frozen, as it were almost instantaneously, 
in all the variety of their forms, into a 
solid mass. Still it seems more like the 
sea, just when the wind has ceased, than 
when it is raging in its violence. 

" The Mer de Glace is here about half 
a league in width, but the eye does not, 
apparently, embrace a quarter of this dis- 
tance, in consequence of the proportion 
being much diminished by the stupendous 
height of the surrounding mountains. We 
rested a few minutes by the side of a 
large granite boulder called ' La Pierre 
des Anglois,' which stands by the edge 
of the glacier. It was the stone which 
served for a dining-table to Messrs. Po- 
cock and Windham, the discoverers of the 
valley of Chamouny, when they paid their 
first visit to the glaciers. From this stone 
we surveyed, with much astonishment, 
the extraordinary appearance of the ice 
before our first essay upon it, and from 
what I then observed, I am convinced that 
no one can form an accurate idea of what 
the glaciers are, without examining them 
by a walk across them. No sooner had 
we left the edge than we became doubly 
assured of this fact ; for instead of what 
from the height above appeared merely 
waves of ice, we found was the whole 
glacier broken into enormous masses, 
which rose so far above the surface as ac- 
tually to have the appearance of moun- 
tains. These waves chiefly turn longitu- 
dinally along the glacier, while they are 
intercepted by deep cracks called ' les 
crevasses,' which sometimes are more 
than one hundred feet in depth, the eleva- 
tions varying between that and sixty feet. 

" The cause of these elevations and 
cracks is the increase and progress of the 
glaciers ; nothing seems now better es- 
tablished than the gradual progress of the 
ice of the glaciers from the height to the 
valleys. Experiments made at Chamou- 
ny, and elsewhere in the Alps, show this. 
The glacier of which I am speaking, has 
an annual progress of about fourteen feet, 
while in the Grindelwald, the ice advances 
about twenty-five feet per annum. 

" By this means, the masses of rock 
which are cast down from the mountains 
are gradually advanced to the plains be- 
low ; and thus, a heap of stones, amount- 
ing in many cases to a perfect mountain 
in size, is always forming at the end of 
the glacier, which heap is also called 
Moiame in Savoie ; in the Swiss Alps, 
Granda and Grandechen ; and in the 
Tyrol, Trochne Merven. These Moiames 
are highly valuable to the geologist, they 
afford him specimens from, heights which 
are wholly inaccessible, and they are of 
such magnitude as to afford him every fa- 
cility of inquiring as to the stratification 
and character. 

" This progress of the ice accounts for 
the mountainous character of its surface ; 
for, in consequence of its passing along 
the bottom of the valley in which it lies, 
the nature of the bottom of the valley 
causes it to crack and to be forced upward 
in places where it could not otherwise 
proceed. When the inclination of the de- 
scent is little and the bottom level, the 
surface of the glacier is also level, and 
has few elevations or cracks ; but when 
the descent has more than thirty or forty 
feet of inclination, the blocks of ice press 
each other, force themselves out of their 
former position, and become gradually 
piled up into the most fantastic forms, 
sometimes resembling pillars, sometimes 
castellated rocks, now a church steeple, 
then an isolated mountain — but viewed in 
the mass, presenting a scene whose simil- 
itude is that of a storm-disturbed ocean. 

" The contraction of the passage be- 
tween the bounding heights has much to 
do with the increase of these elevations, 
and also it is to be observed that the mid- 
dle of the glacier generally presents the 
greatest inequalities, showing the truth of 
this suggestion." 

This account of the glaciers of Mont 
Blanc will be interesting to the reader, 
not only as giving a proof of the decrease 
of temperature with the increase of the 
elevation, but also as a description of a 
most important natural appearance. But 
we must proceed to mention A'^ery briefly, 
some other causes which may influence 
the temperature of a place. 

It has been commonly observed that the 
temperature is higher and more equable 



on the seacoast than in inland districts. 
This accounts for the fact, that Bergen, 
with a latitude of 60°, has a higher tem- 
perature than the centre of Germany with 
a latitude of 50°. The presence of for- 
ests increases the amount of humidity, a 
fact which has been proved in the Cape 
Verd islands ; for since the destruction of 
the woods, the springs and streams have 
been dried up. The quality of the soil 
has also an influence upon the climate ; a 
sandy soil gives aridity to the atmosphere, 
as Ave may observe in Arabia, and clay in- 
creases its humidity. " Mountains strength- 
en or mipede according to relative situa- 
tion, the effect of the sunbeams and winds. 
The severe cold of Siberia is in a great 
measure attributable to the position of 
mountains, which, lying southward, ex- 
pose it to the north winds, while they 
check the southern breezes." 

There is another circumstance to be 
considered with reference to the tempera- 
ture of a place, altogether distinct from 
climate, for not only have different places 
different temperatures, but also the same 
place. These changes in temperature are 
called the seasons, distinguished as spring, 
summer, autumn, and winter. The tem- 
perature must at all times, as already 
stated, depend mainly on the length of the 
day, for during the time that the sun is 
above the horizon of any place, it must be 
receiving heat ; and during the period it 
is beneath the horizon, it must be radia- 
ting the heat it has received. Hence, it 
follows, that, as the days are at but few- 
places equal, there must be a difference 
of temperature at the several periods or 
seasons of the year. When the day% are 
longest it is summer, when shortest it is 
winter, and the intermediate periods are 
i spring and autumn ; all therefore that it is 
necessary for us to do for the purpose of 
explaining the seasons, is to show why 
the days are longer at one period of the 
year than at another, which may be ac- 
complished by reference to the following 

The earth on which we dwell has been 
proved by astronomers to be a spherical 
body, a member of a system of bodies 
which revolve round the sun as a centre. 

The orbit in which it moves is an ellipse, 
but still deviates but liy;le from a circle. 
The period which the earth takes to per- 
form its revolution round the sun we call 
a year. But it has also a revolution on 
the axis, which is completed in about 
twenty-four hours, and is called a day. 

Let the curve path represent the or- 
bit of the earth, in which the figure of the 
earth is placed in four different places ; n 
and s being respectively the north and 
south poles, and the line connecting these 
points an imaginary axis upon which it 
revolves ; e ^ is the equator. Now it will 
be observed that although the earth is rep- 
resented in four different positions, the di- 
rection of the axis does not cliange, for it 
is always parallel to itself in whatever 
part of the orbit it may be. Let us then 
consider the relation of any part of the 
earth's surface, say for instance the north 
pole, to the central body c, which repre- 
sents the sun. When the earth is at w, 
the north pole represented as the point n, 
is evidently deprived entirely of the rays 
of the sun, and consequently there must 
be a continued darkness without a single 
glimmer of a ray from the great source of 
light and heat. Can we therefore wonder 
that when the earth is in this position, 
and the radiation of heat from the surface 
is going on continually without the slight- 
est addition, that the cold should be in- 
tense, and that frost and ice should have 
an uncontrolled dominion, closing up all 
the avenues of life and activity ? Con- 
sider the earth now in the position x, and 
it will be at once perceived that a slight 
glimmering of light may be observed as it 
revolves on its axis, but the day short, as 
it must be, will relieve slightly the rigor 
of the season, and the sun will be seen 

for a short period above the horizon, al- 
though never reaching the summit of the 
heavens. From this point, however, which 
represents spring, the day will be increa- 
sing in length, and the sun will continue 
to rise higher and higher in the celestial 
arch. But now we may imagine it to 
have reached the point y, and here it is in 
opposition to the place which represents 
the depth of winter, and the north pole 
has consequently an unintermilted sum- 
mer — the sun never sets, but still its rays 
are feeble — vegetation, if it can survive 
the rigor of the winter, shoots forth with 
an extraordinary vigor, and arrives at a 
premature perfection — animal life, if such 
can bear the excessive torpor induced by 
the cold, revives, and feels a more than 
wonted energy ; but the hour of existence 
is soon past, and the autumn, with increa- 
sing coif], approaches. When the earth 
has arrived at the point z, the days and 
the nights are again equal, although the 
cold will then be intense and painful, and 
from the moment that the sun has passed 
the equinox, the temperature will fall rap- 
idly, and all nature will be again wrapt in 
the deep sleep or apparent death of a ray- 
less winter. 

Such are the successions of the sea- 
sons in an extreme point of the earth's 
surface ; and it would be easy to trace the 
effects of the same causes upon the equa- 
torial regions, or upon any intermediate 
places ; but the facts which have been 
stated will enable the reader to do this 
without our assistance. 


Barb A DOES is the most considerable of 
the Caribbee islands, and was one of the 
earliest occupied by emigrants from Eng- 
land. It is twenty-one miles in length, 
and fourteen in breadth, nearly every acre 
being in a state of cultivation, though the 
soil is by no means rich, nor of a uniform 
character, in some places being scanty and 
slight, in others wet and swampy, dry, 
coarse, or clayey. There are many wells 
of good water in the island, besides two 
rivers and several reservoirs for rain ; the 

latter, however, are not so well supplied 
as the inhabitants would wish ; and this 
is supposed to be owing in a great measure 
to the absence of trees — those which for- 
merly covered the island having been cut 
down by the planters and superseded by 
the sugar-cane. The climate, though 
warm, is as temperate as that of any other 
place within the tropics, the thermometer 
ranging from 72° to 88° Fahrenheit, and 
is deemed healthy for those accustomed to 
it, as well as for those Europeans who are 
cautious and regular in their habits on 
their first arrival. Owing to the deficien- 
cy in tall trees and thickly-wooded up- 
lands, the country being fiat, Barbadoes 
does not present so attractive an appearance 
from the sea as others of the Caribbees ; 
but the coast is sufl^ciently picturesque to 
appear delightful to voyagers who have 
been thirty or forty days at sea. The ap- 
proach to land after a sea voyage, during 
which nothing but the monotony of sky 
and water has claimed the wanderer's at- 
tention, is one of the most pleasing of sen- 
sations ; every little indication of the ex- 
pected haven — the visits of native birds, 
the floating plants and weeds, the fra- 
grance of the air (perceived long before 
the land) — is hailed with delight ; and 
when at last the dark line on the horizon 
denoting its proximity is beheld, it is wel- 
comed as one of the dearest objects in ex- 

As vessels near the harbor of Bridge- 
town, the capital of Barbadoes, they are 
visited by canoes and boats laden with 
milk, yams, plantains, pomegranates, pine- 
apples, and other island luxuries, which 
may be purchased at a low price, three 
cents being the charge for a juicy pineap- 
ple.. The harbor is generally very lively, 
full of vessels, and echoing to the voices 
of the native watermen, conducting boats 
liden with sugar to the ships. These 
ships receive the produce of the whole 
country at Bridgetown, small sloops or 
schooners, called droghers, being em- 
ployed to carry the sugar from the diff"er- 
ent parts of the coast to this harbor. 

The town, as seen from the bay, ap- 
pears of con,siderable extent, as it stretches 
along the shore for a distance of more 
than two miles, but the houses do not ex- 
tend backward further than half a mile. 



Even these limits show it to be what we 
should call a large town ; and the clusters 
of palm and cocoa-niirt trees, which are 
seen here and there rising among the 
houses, give it a very pretty and interest- 
ing appearance. The surrounding coun- 
try, however, though agreeable, is defi- 
cient in those gently sloping hills or 
mountainons elevations which form so de- 
sirable a background to a scene viewed 
from the sea. 

The general rendezvous for all the 
stores of the island, Bridgetown maintains 
the first rank among the towns of Barba- 
does. The streets are clean and neat ; 
the roads are good, and covered with a 
soft white sand ; and the houses pretty 
and comfortable, though they pretend no* 
to any elegance or architectural beauties. 
Most of the houses consist of but one 
floor, and that on the ground ; but some 
have rooms above these, and a few are 
two stories in height. Generally speak- 
ing they are built of wood, supported by 
pillars of brick or stone, and have, com- 
monly, covered balconies in front. The 
houses principally consist of shops or 
stores, where, as in most West Indian 
towns, the merchants do not confine them- 
selves to the sale of one particular article, 
but trade in everything, so that they may 
be said to be in opposition to one another. 

There is a lower class of stores occu- 
pied by hucksters ; persons for the most 
part black or mulatto, who gain their live- 
lihood by purchasing goods in small quan- 
tities from the merchants, and retailing 
them to the negroes in still smaller por- 
tions, for which they charge in a high- 
er degree, though the sums are not so 
large ; and by this means they make pro- 
portionately a greater profit, or a greater 
per-centage than the higher class of store- 

Business is suspended at an early hour 
in Bridegtown, the stores being generally 
closed by four or five in the evening, after 
which time the Barbadians indulge in fes- 
tive entertainments, or in a quiet walk by 

The blacks, however, and indeed many 
of the white inhabitants, have some curi- 
ous ideas respecting the unhealthy or mis- 
chievous effects of the moon's rays, and 
while they promenade in the open air car- 

ry umbrellas and parasols to shield them 
from its light. If a moonlight walk has 
any pernicious influence on the health or 
spirits, it is probably owing to the very 
heavy dews which fall at night in this cli- 

In the daytime, the Barbadians drive 
about in a horse and gig, one of which al- 
most every one possesses, though four- 
wheeled carriages are uncommon : in 
these the ladies go shopping or paying 
visits, the vehicle being generally driven 
by a black servant, but sometimes it is 
conducted by the owner, when the ser- 
vant hangs on behind in an inconvenient 
manner. No one thinks of going out 
either in his gig or on horseback without 
being attended by a boy, who, when the 
latter method is chosen, has to run by the 
side of the horse, occasionally assisting 
himself, when the pace is swift, by hold- 
ing by the tail. 

The government offices, and other pub- 
lic buildings, as well as the residences of 
the principal inhabitants or official person- 
ages, are much superior in taste and ele- 
gance to the generality of the buildings, 
and the interiors are commodious and 
well furnished. There is a public library, 
well stocked, but not with many useful 
books ; commercial rooms, well conduct- 
ed, and several good hotels for the recep- 
tion of new-comers, where, however, 
good prices must be given for good ac- 
commodation, which, by such means, may 
be easily procured. There are several 
places of public worship in the town, 
some of which are of considerable archi- 
tectural elegance. 

Education is not in a very flourishing 
condition in Barbadoes ; but Bridgetown 
contains several schools for the gratuitous 
instruction of the poorer classes, the ex- 
penses of which are defrayed by the gov- 
ernment, and the arrangements superin- 
tended by the bishop. There is also, 
about twelve miles from the town, a col- 
lege, founded at the commencement of the 
last century by General Codrington, for 
general education in the liberal arts, and 
for the propagation of moral and religious 
instruction among the slaves. 

Honor yourself and you will be honor- 
ed by others. 




Among the Greeks the earliest books 
were in verse, which has everywhere 
been prior to prose. The oldest book 
extant in prose is Herodotus's history. 
The most ancient printed book loith a 
date is a psalter — the truly beautiful Psal- 
torum Codex — printed in 1547, at Mentz 
(that is, Mayence, on the Rhi-ne) — not at 
Metz, as sometimes stated, which is situ- 
ated in the ancient province of Lorraine. 
Caxton printed Raoul le Fevre's Recueil 
des Histoires de Troyes (without printer's 
name, place, or date), which, there is 
every reason to conclude, was the first 
book ever printed in the F'renrh language. 
Mr. Hallam states that the earliest works 
printed in France bear the date 1470 and 
1471, while there is little doubt that Cax- 
ton's impression of the Recueil was print- 
ed during the life of the duke of Burgun- 
dy, to whom its author was chaplain, and, 
therefore, in or before 1467. Caxton 
commenced a translation at Bruges in 
1468, and finished it at Cologne in 1471 ; 
this was the first book printed in English. 
In a little book entitled Francis Adams's 
Writing Tables with Sundry Necessarye 
Rule.f (1594), we read that " Printing was 
found out at Mentz in 1459, and was first 
brought to London by William Caxton, 

The first book printed in England is 
said to have emanated from Oxford in 
1468, under the title of Exposicio Sancti 
Jeronimi in Simholo Apostoloritm. Its 
claims to be regarded in this light have, 
however, been much discussed ; others 
are of opinion that the first work printed 
in England was The Game and Playe of 
Chesse, translated out of the French, and 
imprinted by William Caxton. Fyn- 
ysshed the last day of Marche, A.D. 1474. 
It is certainly the first book to which 
Caxton has affixed a date, and is conse- 
quently highly prized by book collectors. 
Trevisa's translation of Glanville treatise 
De Proprietatihus Rerum, printed by 
Wynkin de Worde in 1507, is the first 
book printed on paper made in England. 
The first book containing English wood- 
cuts is Caxton's Mirrour of the World 
(1481), a folio volume exceedingly rare 
and valuable. Sir John Harrington's trans- 

lation of Orlando Furioso (1590) is the 
first English work containing copper-plates. 
The first collection of English maps is 
Saxton's folio volume consisting of thirty- 
five maps and an illuminated portrait of 
Queen Elizabeth, published in London 
1579. Hearne says he " often consulted 
Saxton's maps, and found them of great 
advantage." The first county history pub- 
lished in England is Lambarde's Peram- 
bulation of Kent (1576). The first printed 
volume containing English verses is John 
Watton, or Wotton's Speculum Chrisfiani, 
printed at London by William Machlinia, 
and now exceedingly rare, a copy of it 
being valued at from fifteen to thirty 
guineas. Surrey's translations of the sec- 
ond and fourth books of the jEneid are 
universally allowed to be the earliest En- 
glish specimens of that noblest of all me- 
tres, blank verse. The first book publish- 
ed on the subject of genealogy was Kel- 
ton's Chronycle, printed in 1547, with a 
genealogy of Edward VI. Ferrex and 
Porrex, written by Sackville, who died in 
1608, is the first regular English tragedy. 
The first English Bible was published by 
Miles Coverdale, who died in 1568. The 
Almanac for Twenty-five Years, printed in 
1577, is the first almanac ever published. 
The first London bookseller's catalogue is 
that of Andrew Maunsell, who published 
in folio The First Part of the Catalogue 
of English Printed Bookes (London, 1595) ; 
though we have seen the priority ascribed 
to Robert Scott's Catalogus Librorum ex 
Variis Europe partibus advectorum (1674). 
The first printed notice of Shakspere by 
name occurs in a work entitled 
teia, or the Means to Judge of the Fall of 
a Commonwealth, whereunto is annexed 
a letter from England to her three Daugh- 
ters, Cambridge, Oxford, Inns of Court, 
by W. C. (Cambridge, 1594). Mr. Clerk, 
a landsman, was the first who reduced na- 
val tactics to a systematic form, and his 
excellent treatise was a great favorite 
with Nelson. The first English book 
upon navigation was published in 1626, 
and entitled An Accidence, or Pathway to 
Experience, Necessary for all Young Sea- 
men, or those that are desirous of going to 
Sea : by Captain John Smith, sometime 
Governor of Virginia, and Admiral of 
New England, The author says in his 



dedication, " I have been persuaded to 
print this discourse, being a subject I 
never see vv^rit before." 

One Roberts was the first systematic 
writer upon trade in the English language, 
and in his treatise upon the subject, enti- 
tled The Merchant's Mapp of Commerce 
(1638), to virhich his portrait is attached, 
gained him great reputation. The first 
book on surveyino;, published in England, 
is Sir Richard de Benese's Boke of Meas- 
uring of Lande, as well of Woodland as 
Plowland, and Pasture in the Field ; to 
Compt the true Nom,bre of Acres of the same 
(1560). To be sure there is a Boke of 
Sanieyivg printed earlier — about 1540 — 
but it relates only to agriculture. Robert 
Record, who died in 1558 in the King's 
Bench prison, where he was confined for 
debt, was the first person who wrote on 
arithmetic in English (that is, anything of 
a higher caste than the works mentioned 
by Tonstall) ; also the first who wrote on 
geometry in English ; the first who intro- 
duced algebra into England ; the first who 
wrote on astronomy and the doctrine of 
the sphere in English ; and finally, the 
first Englishman (in all probability) who 
adopted the system of Copernicus. The 
very rare and valuable work by Apicius 
Coelius, entitled De Arte Coquinaria, Libri 
X, published at Mediolani in 1498, is the 
first printed treatise on cookery, and is an 
exceedingly curious book, throwing much 
light on the feasts of the ancients. But 
in beauty it is surpassed by the great 
Italian receipt book, entitled Ricettario 
Fiorentino (1574), a folio volume, wherein 
the culinary art is handed to posterity in 
splendid print, enriched with woodcuts 
and an engraved title-page. Bernard Brey- 
denbach's Sanctorum Pcregrinationum in 
Montem Syon (Mayence, 1486) is perhaps 
the first book of travels ever published, 
and contains very remarkable illustrations; 
among others, a view of Venice more 
than five feet in length, and a map of the 
Holy Land more than three. 


The total superficies of the earth is es- 
timated at about two hundred millions 

British miles, of which about seven tenths 
is occupied by water. A person who was 
informed of this for the first time would 
probably ask — for what purpose is so large 
a space appropriated to that which in our 
estimation merely serves to separate dis- 
tant countries and render the communica- 
tion between distant places more difficult ? 
To this question we reply that a less sur- 
face of water would not be sufficient for 
the refreshing of nature, and that from all 
the calculations that have been made, it 
appears to be a most wise and beneficent 
provision for the sustenance of the present 
condition of existence. It is true that the 
ocean is to man, considered without refer- 
ence to the earth on which he dwells, of 
small importance, but as he is dependant 
on the productions of the earth for his sub- 
sistence, it is to him a conservative prin- 
ciple, for without the moisture it yields, 
the most productive soil would become a 
wild and arid waste. 

It is not unworthy of remark that the 
bed of the ocean is but a continuation of 
the surface of the land. Many persons, 
we believe, consider it a uniform basin 
in which the mass of waters are con- 
tained, but a slight reflection will be suffi- 
cient to convince any one that it must have 
its mountains and valleys like the earth 
itself. There are spots where a bottom 
can not be obtained with the longest avail- 
able line ; these are, probably, the val- 
leys : there are others where the land 
rises above the surface, and frequently to 
great elevations ; these are its mountains. 
Captain Scoresby sunk a heavy line in the 
Greenland sea, to the depth of four thou- 
sand seven hundred feet, without finding a 
. Upon the sea there are many phenome- 
na worthy of observation, one or two of 
which we will mention, beginning with 
that of its phosphorescence. This most 
singular appearance has been observed 
and described by many voyagers, and as 
it not only exhibits different characters, 
but is seen under different circumstances, 
it is supposed to be produced by distinct 
causes. Sometimes it is observed in the 
wake of a vessel when the wind is blow- 
ing fresh, or covering the surface of the 
ocean when the storm is raging, and is 
then supposed to be produced by the elec- 



trie fluid. It is also observed in hot 
weather, during a calm, and is not con- 
fined to the surface, but the water appears 
to be luminous for some depth : this va- 
riety of phosphorescence is imagined to 
arise from the presence of putrid animal 
matter. Under nearly the same circum- 
stances a phosphorescent appearance is 
produced by animalculse, as some natural- 
ists suppose, but this is doubted and denied 
by others. 

The presence of ice and icebergs in the 
ocean is another curious fact worthy of 
notice. " To congeal sea-water of the 
ordinary saltness," says the late Professor 
Leslie, " or containing nearly one thirtieth 
part of its weight of saline matter, re- 
quires not an extreme cold ; this process 
taking effect upon the 27th degree of Fah- 
renheit's scale, or only five degrees belovv 
the freezing point of fresh water, within 
the arctic circle : therefore, the surface 
of the ocean being never much warmer, is, 
in the decline of the summer, soon cooled 
down to the limit at which congelation 
commences. About the end of July, or 
the beginning of August, a sheet of ice, 
in the space of a single night, is formed, 
perhaps an inch thick. The frost now 
maintains ascendency, and shoots its in- 
creasing energy in all directions, till it 
has covered the whole extent of these 
seas with a solid vault to the depth of sev- 
eral feet. But on the return of spring, 
the penetrating rays of the sun gradually 
melt or soften down the icy floor, and ren- 
der its substance friable and easily dis- 
rupted. The first strong wind creating a 
swell in the ocean, thus breaks up the 
continent into large fields, which are af- 
terward shivered into fragments by their 
mutual collision. This generally happens 
early in the month of June, and a few 
weeks are commonly sufficient to disperse 
and dissolve the floating ice. The sea is 
at last open for a short and dubious inter- 
val to the pursuits of the adventurous 

The floating masses of ice to which 
the term, iceberg, has been applied, are 
of various sizes, and some of them are of 
enormous magnitude. They are formed 
on shore, but are separated by heat, and 
float over the ocean, to the danger and fre- 
quent destruction of vessels. " Frost," 

says Pennant, " sports with these icebergs, 
and gives them a majestic as well as other 
singular forms. Masses have been seen 
assuming the shape of a Gothic church, 
with arched windows and doors, with all 
the rich drapery of that style, composed, 
of what an Arabian tale would scarcely 
dare to relate, of crystal of the richest 
sapphirine blue ; tables with one or more 
feet, and often flat-roofed temples, like 
those of Luxor on the Nile, supported by 
transparent columns of cerulean hue, float 
by the astonished spectator. I have not 
unfrequenlly seen floating masses of ice 
which had evidently been formed of drift- 
ed snow, since they wanted the compact- 
ness and solidity of those formed by the 
melting of the snow. Many of these 
contained trees, and, as there are no trees 
in Spitzbergen, must have been originally 
formed in the northern parts of Russia or 
America, and being carried by the rapid 
rivers of these countries into the ocean, 
had drifted into these latitudes. These 
trees have often .the appearance of being 
burnt at the ends ; and Olafsen mentions, 
that the violent friction which they fre- 
quently experience, occasionally sets them 
on fire, and exhibits the extraordinary 
phenomenon of flame and smoke issuing 
from this frozen ocean." 

Rivers are accumulations of water flow- 
ing through the dry land, and usually dis- 
charging themselves into the ocean. They 
take their rise either from springs or from 
streams flowing from mountainous coun- 
tries. Those rivers which are fed by 
mountain streams have an increase of wa- 
ter during the rainy seasons, and frequently 
overflow their banks. This is the case 
with the Nile, the Ganges, and other rivers. 

Some rivers are of small breadth, while 
others are exceedingly wide ; some flow 
over a small extent of country, and others 
pursue their course toward the ocean for 
hundreds of miles ; some flow with a gen- 
tle and almost imperceptible current, while 
others move with such a momentum that 
they bear before them every obstacle, as 
though they disdained the control of all 
things. The velocity of a river depends 
upon the amount or body of its water, and 
the inclination of its bed ; nor must we 
consider the influence of one without the 
other. The bed of the Rhine has a much 



greater inclination than that of the Dan- 
ube, but it is not so rapid. The Inu and 
the Rhone are the raos* rapid rivers in 
Europe ; the Piatt and the Missouri in 
North America. 

Rivers have a great effect upon the 
countries through which they flow, not 
only by the destruction of their banks, but 
also by the distribution of detritus over 
their beds, and over the ocean into Avhich 
they are discharged. Their effects are in 
many cases very remarkable, but may be 
best observed during floods. 

Lakes are collections of water almost 
entirely surrounded by land, and having 
no visible connexion with the sea, but of 
these there are several kinds, some of 
which we may notice. 

There are some lakes which are, with- 
out doubt, supplied by springs, since they 
do not receive water from any river, but, 
on the other hand, frequently form them 
of considerable magnitude. This may be 
easily imagined, for if the lacustrine basin 
be continually supplied with water from 
springs, the level must continue to rise, 
until an outlet is presented, and the whole 
amount that is then added flows off, form- 
ing a river, the magnitude of which will 
be according to the quantity of water sup- 
plied by the springs. 

A second class of lakes includes all 
those which neither receive nor form a 
stream of water. With these we must in- 
clude the marshes and fens, as well as ponds. 

The third class of lakes consists of all 
those which both receive and form streams. 
Lakes of this kind are by far the most nu- 
merous, and some of them are of immense 
extent; as, for instance, those of North 
America. We may, possibly, be able to 
account for their formation as the result 
of the rivers which flow into them. Let 
us, for instance, imagine two or m.ore riv- 
ers to meet, in their progress to the ocean, 
with a deep depression or valley ; beyond 
this they can not flow, for it will receive 
all the water they bring, and must continue 
to do so until filled. Some opening will 
then be found or made for the discharge 
of all the water above a certain level ; 
and a lake will be produced which both 
receives and discharges streams. 

But there is still a fourth class of lakes, 
comprehending all those which receive 

streams, but discharge none of the water 
they receive by any perceptible channel. 
The largest and most remarkable of these 
is the Caspian sea. This extensive lake 
is supposed to receive, from the river 
Volga alone, five hundred and eighteen 
millions four hundred thousand cubic feet 
of water every hour, and yet it has no 
perceptible means of discharging it, nor 
rises, in any degree, above a fixed level. 
Several attempts have been made to ac- 
count for this most curious phenomenon, 
but there is no certainty in any of the theo- 
ries with which we are acquainted. Some 
persons state that there must be a commu- 
nication between the lake and the ocean, 
so that the waters which are received 
from the streams that flow into it are car- 
ried away by some subterranean channels ; 
but we have no proof that any such chan- 
nels are in existence. Other writers 
maintain that the bed of the lake is po- 
rous, and that the water is constantly car- 
ried off by filtration. Another theory is, 
that evaporation being very great, is suffi- 
cient to account for the phenomenon. It 
is possible that all these causes are ope- 
rating in some degree, but no certainty 
can be, at present, attached to any one 
theory. The Lake Asphaltum, frequently 
called the Dead sea, belongs to this class 
of lakes ; but is not only curious, from the 
circumstance that it receives no water 
and parts with none, and does not receive 
any apparent increase of volume, but, 
also, from the most remarkable quality of 
its waters, and the frequent rise of bitu- 
minous matter to its surface. 

These are some of the most remarkable 
phenomena connected with the sea and 
lai-ge bodies of water. There are appear- 
ances which, although chiefly observed 
on the water, are, in their origin, connected 
with the atmosphere. Of this character 
are the influence of the wind, which is 
the main cause in producing waves and 
storms : and some electrical phenomena. 
There are many interesting and important 
inquiries to which we have not, in any 
way, referred ; but we have endeavored 
to select those appearances which are 
most calculated to attract the attention of 
young persons, and to introduce the reader 
into a course of careful thought and inves- 

, X';^.-^^ 

^ . - ■ ".- 

L _-^J.^ 


'^'^ !»*' ^. 





This monument, an accurate view of 
which is represented by the annexed en- 
graving, was erected in commemoration of 
the battle fought upon the ground upon 
which it is located. It is an obelisk, two 
hundred and twenty-one feet in height, 
thirty feet square at the base, and fifteen 
feet at the top, having a spiral staircase 
within of two hundred and ninety-four 
steps, and at the top an elliptical chamber, 
eleven feet in diameter, lighted by four 
windows, whence is a glorious prospect 
of earth and sea. Visiters, however, that 
prefer it, can be conveyed to the top of 
the monument by means of a car inside, 
connected by machinery with a steam-en- 
gine placed near its base. 

Its material is of beautiful granite from 
the quarry at Quincy ; its construction is 
simple and imposing, wholly divested of 
ornament, being rather modelled upon the 
plan of the renowned obelisk of Luxor, 
and, like it, seemingly destined to bid de- 
fiance to the ravages of time. Near the 
site of the monument still remains some 
fragments of an ancient breastwork. The 
foundation stone was laid by General La- 
fayette, the 17th of June, 1825, on the 
fiftieth anniversary of the important battle 
it commemorates, in the presence of some 
of those who took active part in that mem- 
orable struggle : pecuniary difficulties pre- 
vented its final completion till the 23d of 
July, 1842, when the last stone was reared; 
and on the 17th of June, of the following 
year, the sixty-seventh anniversary of the 
battle, was made the occasion of another 
public celebration of deep national inter- 
est, a recital of which it is needless here 
to present to the reader, as it must be fresh 
in the memory of all. 


Man is never an isolated or independent 
being ; he is in every case connected by 
unseen, but powerful and tenacious ties, 
with thousands of surrounding things, 
with Avhich it is necessary for him to be 
be in harmony, in order that he may have 
a fair chance of being happy. He may 

in this respect be likened to a plant, which 
must be in certain circumstances of soil, 
climate, and exposure, in order that it 
may thrive : alter but one of these, and 
the plant at once finds itself in a false po- 
sition, and soon shows symptoms that all 
is not well with it. Should the unharmo- 
ny or falsity of position be of sufficient 
moment the poor plant perishes. And so, 
also, in certain extreme cases, false social 
position will nip human existence. One 
law presides over all these matters, how- 
ever diverse they may appear, namely, 
that every phenomenon of animated na- 
ture depends on certain appropriate condi- 
tions, without which its perfect develop- 
ment and healthy being are not to be ex- 
pected. A northern exposure for a tender 
shrub, a low temperature in the nursery 
of an infant, and a biting sorrow in the 
heart, are all strictly analogous things, not 
more to the fancy of the poet, than to the 
reason of the philosopher. 

Such being the case, it becomes evi- 
dent that a true position forms an import- 
ant consideration in the economy of hu- 
man life, and that to attain or to retain this 
advantage, is an object entitled to our ut- 
most care. This is a fact of which few 
are cognizant : indeed, the idea of truth 
or falsity of social position is a novelty to 
a vast majority of even the reflecting part 
of mankind. But however unperceived, 
the principle operates not the less power- 
fully ; and it is the fate of many who seem 
to have all the grosser elements of well- 
being, to pine from this cause, like chil- 
dren who know not their ail. Let us-, en^ 
deavor, as far as our limited space and 
abilities permit, to give an indication: of 
the subject, adding a lew hints which may 
be serviceable for practical guidance. 

A false position in society may be de- 
fined as consisting in a discrepancy be- 
tween some of the chief conditions of the 
social being. The position, for example, 
may be one which, according to the cus- 
toms of the world, demands the keeping 
up of good appearances, while there are 
no adequate means of doing so. Wheth- 
er it is the native rank of the party, or his 
official character, or the style in which he 
has originally pitched himself, which calls 
for these appearances ; and whether the in- 
adequacy of means may be owing to mis-- 

fortune, or an undue pressure of tempta- 
tion, or a want of care and prudence, it is 
all one as far as the effect is concerned, 
which is invariably a dire struggle between 
wants and wishes, a forfeiture of all the 
true comforts of life for the sake of the 
show only, a reduction of existence to the 
character of a shabby drama, tending, of 
course, to a fifth act of ruin and misery. 
Acts of economy, which persons of well- 
assured circumstances readily adopt when 
they think proper, are beheld with dread 
by the " poor gentleman ;" to him the idea 
of a saving is as alarming as a compulsory 
expense would be to most other men. 
Everything is considered by him with ref- 
erence to the besetting evil of his life, the 
disparity between his pretensions and his 
powers ; at one moment he is devising 
plans for skulking from positions where 
his professed equals are to appear ; at an- 
other he is frantically overdoing what he 
does not enter into, in order to avoid the 
suspicion that he has the least thought of 
economy ; see him afterward, and he is 
groaning in spirit over a recollection of 
the unenjoyed expenditure. What vexa- 
tions will men incur, rather than confess 
an honest truth ! How true, that many 
of our evils arise less from what we are, 
than what we wish to appear to be ! 

A sudden reverse of fortune, which 
there is no concealing or denying, and 
which it is impossible immediately to 
remedy, is usually productive of very de- 
cided falsity of position. It may be said 
to set the whole social man ajar. A week 
ago, he was the pleasantly-received equal 
of many resembling himself in worldly 
circumstances ; was esteemed and respect- 
ed ; had frank greetings in the market- 
place, and more invitations than he could 
well accept. Now, he is rather shunned 
than sought, and the best feeling which 
his old friends entertain for him is pity for 
his misfortunes, Avhich neither relieves 
nor soothes, perhaps is only offensive. 
The circumstantial man being entirely 
changed, he is no longer what he was, 
but a new being, appropriate to some to- 
tally different grade of social life. The 
falsity of position hence arising makes it 
almost impossible for the unfortunate per- 
son to live any longer agreeably in the 
same place. He is not perhaps unwilling 

to move in a lower social sphere, but it is 
painful to do so Avithin view of that from 
which he has declined. He is not per- 
haps unwilling to make some humbler ven- 
tures in industrial life, conformably to his 
reduced means ; but it is painful to do 
this under the immediate observation of 
those who have known him in his better 
days. If he make the attempt, constant 
distraction and uneasiness of mind is the 
almost certain consequence. But in a 
different place, and amid new associates, 
he may be as humble as is necessary with- 
out any such discomfort. This is well 
exemplified in the British colonies, where 
men and women, accustomed to elegance 
and delicacy of living at home, find they 
can readily adapt themselves — there being 
no onlookers — to drudgeries which they 
would have shrunk from at home. They 
are in a true position, and are consequently 
happy. Change of scene may therefore 
be prescribed as a specific for the whole 
of this class of false positions. In a new 
field, among new associates appropriate to 
the new circumstances, let renewed exer- 
tions be made, without one moment's re- 
flection on the past prosperity, except to 
indulge in the hope of renewing it — this 
is the conduct of a wise and virtuous man 
of the world, and the only course which 
is likely to save him from complete ruin. 

The same remedy may be prescribed 
for a large class of false positions in 
Avhich natural qualities are concerned. It 
often happens that a very good intellect is 
dwarfed and stinted by its too near neigh- 
borhood to others which are superior. 
There are even instances of highly en- 
dowed minds which are prevented from 
taking their proper course of action, by 
being placed in connexion with certain 
others of narrower scope, which exercise 
an undue influence over them, " freezing 
the genial current of the soul." From 
the troubles hence arising there is no cure 
but flight. Such persons may be counsel- 
led to emigrate to Australia — New Zea- 
land — anywhere — rather than dwindle 
out a Avretched life of restraint, with a de- 
nial of all the happiness arising from a 
harmony with circumstances. 

The evils of false position are also seen 
to beset the man who takes an upward 
course in life. In this case, the newly 



affluent and dignified circumstances are 
perhaps irreconcilable with homely man- 
ners too long practised to be readily 
changed. He is in a false position, be- 
cause often expected to make a show of 
refinement and taste which it is not in his 
nature to exemplify. There is always, 
too, an uncertainty about his conduct tow- 
ard his new associates ; every act and 
manifestation being liable to be estimated 
with a regard at once to his present posi- 
tion, and that out of which he has emerged. 
He is expected at once to be now what he 
actually is, and yet to have a large infu- 
sion of his original self; a requirement 
which vmusually-constituted men may be 
able to fulfil, but which must be quite be- 
yond the reach of most of the children of 
Adam. Supposing him a person of aver- 
age sensibility, he is liable to still greater 
perplexity from the old associations. 
Here, too, he must be tv.'o men in one — 
at once the man he now is, and the same 
man which he once was ; that is to say, 
with the improved tastes of affluent cir- 
cumstances and an extended intellectual 
nature, and with the habits which change 
of position in a manner forces upon him, 
he must also preserve all the sympathies, 
and retain all the tastes and feelings, 
proper to the state in which he no longer 
lives, in order to be all that his old friends 
expect of him, and which his own benev- 
olence would prompt him to be. The 
fact is, no man can be two things so differ- 
ent ; and one or other of them must, there- 
fore, be in a large measure fictitious — a 
part sustained with difficulty and a con- 
stant sense of uneasiness. This can not 
but be productive of a considerable sub- 
traction from the advantages supposed to 
attend the smiles of fortune. 

False positions, it will be seen, are 
sometimes voluntarily incurred ; in other 
instances, they arise in the course of prov- 
idence. In the former class of cases, 
there is generally good intention, but an 
absence of foresight and knowledge of the 
world. It would be well if the possibility 
of falling into a false position, and the ex- 
tent of misery to be thereby incurred, 
were more generally seen and understood, 
and if the unbending nature of the laws 
which govern our social economy were at 
the same time fully appreciated. Thus 

relations or predicaments calculated to 
embitter a whole life might sometimes be 
avoided, at the expense of a submission 
to slighter existing evils. "Where fortune 
forces poor mortals into false positions, it 
must of course be left to the good sense 
and good feelinos of individuals — their 
eyes being opened to the nature of their 
trouble — to make their way out of it as 
well as they can. 


A FIRM persuasion of the superinten- 
dence of Providence over all our con- 
cerns is absolutely necessary to our hap- 
piness. Without it, we can not be said to 
believe in the Scripture, or practise any- 
thing like resignation to his will. If I am 
convinced that no affliction can befall me 
without the permission of God, I am con- 
vinced likewise that he sees and knows 
that I am afflicted ; believing this, I must 
in the same degree believe that, if I pray 
to him for deliverance, he hears me ; I 
must needs know likewise with equal as- 
surance, that if he hears, he will also de- 
liver me, if that will upon the whole be 
most conducive to my happiness ; and if 
he does not deliver me, I may be well as- 
sured that he has none but the most be- 
nevolent intention in declining it. He 
made us, not because we could add to his 
happiness, which was alwa}"!? perfect, but 
that we might be happy ourselves ; and will 
he not in all his dispensations toward us, 
even in the minutest, consult that end for 
which he made us ? To suppose the con- 
trary, is (which v/e are not always aware 
of) affronting every one of his attributes ; 
and at the same time the certain conse- 
quence of disbelieving his care for us is, 
that we renounce utterly our dependance 
upon him. In this view it will appear 
plainly that the line of duty is not stretch- 
ed too tight, when we are told that we 
ought to accept everything at his hands as 
a blessing, and to be thankful even while 
we smart under the rod of iron with which 
he rules us. Without this per- 
suasion, every blessing, however we may 
think ourselves happy in it, loses its great 



est recommendation, and every affliction is 
intolerable. Death itself must be wel- 
come to him who has this faith, and he 
who has it not must aim. at it, if he is not 
a madman. 


The establishment of Melrose origi- 
nated, in the seventh century, in a Saxon 
monastery, placed on a peninsula, formed 
by a bend of the Tweed, about two miles 
below the present village. In 1136, Da- 
vid I. founded the present abbey. It was 
burnt, in the reign of Bruce, by the En- 
glish, but soon after repaired, the king 
granting two thousand pounds toward that 
object. In 1385, the army of Richard II. 
destroyed it ; and it was again rebuilt at 
a great expense. The present beautiful 
building proves by its style, that it chiefly 
attained its present shape at a period sub- 
sequent to its last catastrophe. The ab- 
bey and church underwent another repair 
in the reign of James IV., whose arms 
containing his name and the date 1505, are 
still to be seen in one of the buttresses. 

The abbey church, which now alone re- 
mains, is entire, excepting in the nave and 
central tower. The nave, which lies due 
east and west, is, in length, two hundred 
and fifty-eight feet, and in breadth, seven- 
ty-nine feet ; the transepts are, in length, 
one hundred and thirty feet, and in breadth, 
forty-four. The attention of strangers is 
chiefly directed to the east window, the 
window and doorway of the south tran- 
sept ; the beautiful ornamental work con- 
nected with the niches in the buttresses ; 
and the shapeliness and highly decorated 
capitals of the pillars within. At the 
place where the high altar formerly stood, 
are shown some flat monumental stones, 
beneath one of which, Alexander II. is 
said to have been buried. In the same 
place was interred the heart of Bruce, af- 
ter the unsuccessful attempt of his friend. 
Sir James Douglas to convey it, accord- 
ing to the monarch's dying bequest, to Je- 
rusalem. There are other monuments 
and inscriptions, of less note and more re- 
cent date. 


It has been a favorite theory of some 
naturalists, and among others of Buffon, 
the contemporary of the still greater 
Swede, that the climate or soil of America 
was unpropitious to the existence of the 
larger and more ponderous of terrestrial 
animals ; and they pointed to Asia with 
its elephants, rhinoceroses, and tapirs ; 
and to Africa with its elephants, rhinoce- 
roses, and hippopotami. They urged that, 
whatever the cause or causes might be, 
the fact was palpable, namely, that those 
gigantic quadrupeds which tenant the hot- 
ter region of the old world, do not exist, 
and have no representatives in the paral- 
lel latitudes of the new. 

It must indeed be confessed, that the 
absence of large living quadrupeds in 
America is calculated to surprise us : two 
species of tapir, are the only existing rep- 
resentatives of the colossal pachydermata, 
or thick-skinned animals of Asia and 
Africa, and two species of peccary, of the 
formidable wild boars of the forests of the 
old world, throughout the greater portion 
of its extent. 

Yet, even while this feeling of surprise 
is felt, the philosophical zoologist can not 
help entertaining a lurking suspicion, that 
though the facts be as stated, yet the de- 
duction that, with the existence of such 
animals, the soil, air, temperature, vege- 
table productions, or similar influences, 
are uncongenial, is altogether fallacious. 
And this suspicion becomes the stronger 
when he reflects for a few minutes on the 
balance of power — if we may so express 
ourselves — between the new and the old 
world, as respects the other classes of the 
animal creation. Let him look at the 
feathered tribes — high on the summit of 
the frowning precipice, where the Cordil- 
lera of the Andes towers above the clouds, 
the condor rears her brood ; on some dead 
branch of a tree, in the steaming forest, 
slumbers the king of the vultures ; quick 
through the glades of the same forest 
dashes the tremendous harpy eagle, "ready 
to strike, never to spare." Turn we 
northward : high over the lakes soars the 
white-headed eagle, ferocious and over- 
bearing, of powerful flight, and of deter- 
mined courage. There, too, soars in 

Melrose Abbey. 




" pride of place," the golden eagle, the 
range of which extends throughout Eu- 
rope, Asia, and America. In the plains 
of Patagonia, the rhea emulates the os- 
trich, the cassiowary, and the emu. We 
might allude to many more, thereby prov- 
ing, that, as it respects the feathered 
tribes, the balance of power between the 
old and the new world is at least equal. 

If we turn to reptiles, the same obser- 
vations equally apply. The savage mata- 
mata and fierce trionyx haimt the lakes 
and marshes ; the shores of the sea are 
visited by enormous turtles ; huge alliga- 
tors and crocodiles make the deep river 
hoary as they lash its waters. The terri- 
ble boa lurks in the dark recesses of the 
primeval forest, or rears aloft his glisten- 
ing length. We might extend our com- 
parison to fishes, insects, and other tribes 
of living creatures, but it is needless. The 
qU'SStion then reverts — How is it that the 
American continent affords no gigantic 
quadrupeds parallel with those of the 
old world 1 In answer to this subject, 
we would say, that the assertion is not 
quite correct ; the regions of the north 
produce the huge bison, and the dreaded 
grizzly bear ,' and m South America there 
are two species of tepir. But, setting all 
this aside, and .oonsidering the subject in 
a general sense — though the assertion 
may be partially true — we shall find, by 
taking a more expanded vieAV of creation, 
that there is reason to regard it as founded 
upon a narrow basis, in surveying the 
forms of life at present extant on the sur- 
face of our globe, true philosophy will lead 
us, not to limit our attention to such as 
are now extant, but to take into the ac- 
count such forms as are known only from 
their relics, and which are more or less 
immediately related to. beings still exist- 
ing — often indeed presenting us with inter- 
mediate links in the chain of organic life, 
which, but for their discovery, would have 
remained abruptly separated. 

Of some of the most colossal creatures 
that ever trod the land, America presents 
us with abundant relics ; and that these 
huge animals existed up to a comparatively 
recent period, in the regions where their 
bones are now found, various circumstan- 
ces sufficiently attest. They occur in the 
most superficial strata, and are often little 

changed in their character, being replete 
with animal matter. Among those to 
which we may more particularly allude 
are the mammoth and the mastodon, both 
belonging to the pachydermatous order of 

With respect to the mammoth, or huge 
extinct elephant (of which there are four 
or five distinct species), its bones occur in 
Europe and Asia, as well as in America, 
and are indeed very widely distributed. 
In America, they are found in its northern 
division very extensively spread and often 
mixed with those of the mastodon. 

Of the mastodon there are also several 
species, of which abundant remains may 
be seen in tlie British museum. One 
species, however, the great mastodon or 
animal of the Ohio (mastodon giganteus), 
appears to be peculiar to America. It is 
indeed calculated to strike the beholder 
with awe and astonishment, yet gigantic 
33 it is, there are to be seen the bones of 
a much larger specimen, proving that the 
animal to which the skeleton belonged 
was by no means one of the mightiest of 
its own race. 

Like the elephant, the mastodon had 
tusks j those in the skeleton are enor- 
mous ; the form of the head, the shortness 
of the neck, the position of the tusks, and 
the structure of the jaws, are indisputable 
proofs that it had also a proboscis. In 
the structure of the molar teeth, however, 
the mastodon differs both from the living 
and fossil elephants ; instead of the sur- 
face being flat and marked by parallel 
ribands or transverse lamina?, the crown 
presents a series of bold conical elevations, 
with deep chasms between them, and as 
these broad-based conical elevations be- 
come worn down by the oft-repeated ac- 
tion of masticating twigs, branches, leaves, 
and coarse herbage, the crown presents a 
series of lozenge-shaped marks of thick 
and hard enamel. Of these molars, there 
are generally two on each side, above and 
below, in both jaws ; and it would appear 
that, as in the elephant, they were suc- 
cessively renewed when worn quite down, 
fresh teeth pushing up behind, and grad- 
ually advancing forward as they develop- 
ed ; hence, though the teeth differ in form 
from those of the elephant, they were sub- 
ject to the same laws and mode of renewal. 



In certain localities, the bones of this 
gigantic quadruped are very abundant, but 
nowhere more so than in a saline morass, 
well known as the Big-bone Lick ; Jiere 
they are found buried in the saline mud, 
to the depth of four feet and upward, min- 
gled with the bones of deer, oxen, &c. 
They have no appearance of having been 
rolled, nor indeed is this the case with those 
found on the great Osage river, though, in 
some places, they may appear to have 
been carried away by torrents. 

Nor is it only the bones of this animal 
that have been discovered ; portions of the 
flesh, and also of the proboscis, have oc- 
casionally been seen. Barton states that 
in 1762, five skeletons were noticed by 
the natives, and that the scull of one was 
still furnished with what they described as 
a long nose, under which the mouth was 
situated. Kalm speaks of one found in 
Illinois, which had the form of the trunk 
or proboscis very apparent, though half 
decomposed. The Indians are reported 
to have vague traditions respecting these 
animals ; or rather, perhaps, they have in- 
vented rude theories, in accordance with 
their ideas, relative to their powers and 
formidable nature, and their ultimate de- 
struction. According to some of the 
tribes, at a remote period, a troop of these 
animals ravaged the country, destroying 
bisons, deer, and other animals of the 
chase ; the Great Spirit, to stop their dev- 
astations, hurled lightning against them, 
and so destroyed them all, except the 
" big bull," who undauntedly received the 
bolts upon his enormous forehead, and 
shook them off, till at length he received 
a wound in the side, whereon he turned 
and fled to the great lakes, where he, still 
remains, lurking in the depths of some re- 
treat impenetrable by man. 

Besides the great nfastodon, two other 
species, if not more, are also American, 
namely, Mastodon Andium (Andes), and 
M. Humboldtii (Chili). The relics of 
several other species are found in Europe 
and Asia. 

But let us leave these extinct colossal 
representatives of living giants, and turn 
to a group of quadrupeds, termed by nat- 
uralists Edentata, and which includes two 
distinct sections, the leaf-caters, of which 
the arboreal sloth is an example — and in- 

sect-eaters, of which the armadilloes, the 
manis, the ant-eaters, the aardvaik, and 
others, are existing examples. 

After alluding to the living animals, of 
which the edentate order is composed, it 
need scarcelj'' be added that none are of 
large stature, none of ponderous bulk. 
America is the special abode of the eden- 
tata ; the aardvark is African ; and the 
genus manis is divided between Africa 
and India, including the islands, but the 
rest are all natives of South America ; and 
it is in America that we find the colossal 
relics of extinct animals of the same or- 

Of these, first in magnitude is the stu- 
pendous megatherium. Who, when for 
the first time he contemplates the massive 
bones of this animal, would dream of its 
affinity to the puny sloth ! yet such is the 
case : this animal, compared with the 
bones of which those of the elephant 
seem of trifling bulk, was of the same or- 
der as the sloth, and, in the more essen- 
tial parts of organization, closely allied to 
that arboreal leaf-eater. " The inspec- 
tion," says Cuvier, " of a skeleton (of me- 
gatherium), fortunately so complete and 
well preserved, enables us to form plausi- 
ble conjectures as to the nature of the an- 
imal to which it belonged. Its teeth 
proved that it lived on vegetables, and its 
forefeet robust, and armed with trenchant 
claws, lead us to believe that it was prin- 
cipally their roots that it attacked. Its 
magnitude and its talons must have given 
it sufficient means of defence. It was not 
rapid in its course ; nor was this requisite, 
for it needed neither to pursue nor to es- 
cape by flight." It may be here observed, 
that, till recently, the megatherium was 
supposed to be covered with a tesselated 
cuiras, the remains of which have been, 
at various times, discovered in the same 
beds as the bones of the megatherium. 
To this opinion, M. de Blainville gave his 
authority, affirming that the megatherium 
had the habits and manners of the arma- 
dilloes, and consequently fed on flesh, and 
perhaps on roots, and that it dug up the 
earth with its enormous claws, if not for 
concealment, at least in order to obtain ants. 

Professor Weiss also attributed the os- 
seous armor in question, to the megathe- 
rium, regardless of the caution expressed 



by the editor of the posthumous edition 
of the " ossemen fossiles" of Cuvier, 
against too hastily attributing to the me- 
gatheriura the fragments of the gigantic 
bony armor found in the same formations 
of South America, for that among the fos- 
sils transmitted to England by Sir Wood- 
bine Parish, were the remains of the foot 
of a great armadillo, to which the armor 
might have belonged. It is indeed to this 
great armadillo [Ghjptodon clavipes), and 
not to the megatherium, that it is now 
proved to belong. Relics of the glypto- 
don, and its bony armor, complete from 
the banks of the Ped.ernal, near Monte 
Video, are to be seen in the museum of 
the royal college of surgeons, and also 
bones of the mighty megatherium. 

Dr. Lund, after a close examination of 
the bones of this quadruped, came to the 
conclusion that, like the sloth, it climbed 
treeSj^in order to feed upon the leaves ; 
but as no trees in the Brazilian forests of 
the present day could support the weight 
of such massive beasts, he supposes that 
the trees, when the megatherium existed, 
bore the same proportion to those now 
clothing the hills of South America, as 
the megatherium does to the sloth ; that is, 
they were of giant growth, and adapted 
for their gigantic climbers. Now, the 
megatherium measured at "least eighteen 
feet in length, from the fore part of the 
scull to the end of the tail ; the fore limbs 
are ten feet long, and the expanse of the 
hip-bones is five feet one inch ; that of the 
hip-bones of the largest elephant being 
only three feet eight inches. One would 
think that such colossal proportions (the 
bones being surprisingly thick and mas- 
sive for t^eir length), to which those of 
the elephant are not even comparable, 
would make any observer pause before he 
pronounced the animal to have been a 
climber, even if the trees had been a 
thousand feet high and a hundred feet in 
circumference. No ; the megatherium re- 
sorted to far different means of obtaining 
its leafy food • with its huge trenchant 
claws it dug around the roots of the trees, 
loosening the earth, and undermining the 
trunk, then rearing itself, somewhat bear- 
like, on a tripod formed by its hinder 
limbs and tail, it grappled the tree, and, 
exerting its mighty energies, rocked it to 

and fro, till at last the tree came crashing 
down and lay prostrate before its destroy- 
er. In this view of the subject the pro- 
portions and organic peculiarities of the 
megatherium and its allies, the mylodon, 
the megalonyx, &c., became beautifully 
harmonious. The enormous expanse of 
the haunch-bones proclaim themselves as 
the centre whence muscular masses, of 
unwonted force, diverged to act upon the 
trunk, the tail, and hind legs ; these mus- 
cles, indeed, have left the most marked ev- 
idence of their size and energy, in long 
crests and rugosities on the bones, beto- 
kening enormous contractile force. Nor 
are the fore limbs less adapted for their 
work ; the forces concentrated upon them 
from the broad posterior basis of the 
body, are manifestly adequate, and are 
precisely such as might be expected to 
have co-operated in the act of uprooting 
the tree, or wrenching off the branch so 
seized. We might here follow Professor 
Owen through a most elaborate analysis 
of the osseous structure of these animals, 
replete with proofs of their habits, dedu- 
ced from the most rigid anatomical scru- 
tiny, but we forbear. 

Of the liability of the mylodon, mega- 
therium, and their allies, to accidents from 
the fall of the trees prostrated by their ef- 
forts, no reasonable doubt can be enter- 
tained, and that the blows received by the 
individual in question were not fatal, was 
owing to a special provision in the struc- 
ture of the bones of the scull ; and this 
very provision against destruction from 
such accidents, is confirmatory of the hab- 
its of the animal, to be observed from the 
general organization. 

If the blows which this mylodon re- 
ceived, and which must have rendered it 
senseless for a time, had been inflicted in 
contest with any gigantic beast, the vic- 
tor would have followed up his advantage, 
and destroyed his adversary ; and the 
scull, if by chance preserved, would have 
shown the fracture as it was when first 
produced, and not healed, and thereby at- 
testing the existence of the individual af- 
ter such a stroke. Every circumstance, 
in fact, and even the form and characters 
of the fractures, seem to indicate that the 
blow was from a torn-ofF limb, or falling 
trunk of a tree ; from some inanimate 



force, and not from the claw of an en- 
raged combatant. 

The mylodon, from the fore part of the 
scull to the end of the tail, measures 
eleven feet ; the length of the anterior ex- 
tremity is four feet six inches, and the 
breadth of the haunch bones is three feet 
five inches. This admeasurement refers 
to the M. robustus ; the relics of two other 
species are known, namely, M. Harlani, 
from North America, and M. Darwinii, 
from Patagonia. 

To another allied gigantic form of this 
order, the name of megalonyx has been 
applied. The fossil relics of these ex- 
tinct animals occur both in North and 
South America, but no perfect skeleton 
has yet been obtained. A genus distinct 
both from megatherium and megalonyx 
has been established by Professor Owen, 
for an extinct animal of this order, of 
which a great proportion of the skeleton 
was discovered by Mr. Darwin in the bay 
called Bahia Blanca, in Patagonia. The 
bones were embedded in the cliff, so near- 
ly in their proper relative positions, as to 
lead to the belief that the carcass had 
been drifted into the spot in an entire 

Here, then, we have positive proofs of 
the existence in America, at a former pe- 
riod, of gigantic quadrupeds of the pachy- 
dermatous and edentate orders ; but if we 
push our scrutiny into other orders, we 
shall find parallel instances. Mr. Darwin 
discovered, in Patagonia, the relics of a 
species of llama, as Professor Owen has 
proved, but which must have equalled a 
large camel in size. The animal, says 
Mr. Darwin, to which the bones belonged, 
must have lived at a period long subse- 
quent to the existence of the shells now 
inhabiting the coast. We may feel sure 
of this, because the formation of the low- 
er terrace or plain must necessarily be 
posterior to those above it, and on the sur- 
face of the two higher ones, sea-shells of 
recent species are scattered. From the 
small physical change, which the last one 
hundred feet elevation of the continent 
could have produced, the climate as well 
as the general condition of Patagonia 
probably was nearly the same at the time 
when the animal was imbedded as it now 
is ; this conclusion is, moreover, support- 

ed by the identity of the shells belonging 
to the two ages. 

The scull of another huge animal 
brought by Mr. Darwin from the banks of 
the Sarandis, about one hundred and 
twenty miles northwest of Monte Video, 
proves the existence of huge aquatic pa- 
chydermata. The animal, to which the 
scull in question belonged, has received 
from Professor Owen the title of toxodon 
platensis, and we can not doubt but that 
it, in some respects, resembled the hippo- 
potamus in habits, or perhaps was a link 
between the latter form and the Laman- 
tins or Dugongs. Unfortunately we have 
no evidence respecting the structure and 
number of the limbs, and therefore we 
can not say how far they were modelled 
for aquatic progression. Perhaps they 
were exclusively so ; yet it is far from im- 
probable, that as in the case of the seal, 
walrus, &c., they might have been modi- 
fied for frequent visits to land. So fresh, 
however, were the remains, that, as Mr. 
Darwin says, it is difficult to believe that 
they have lain ages underground. The 
bone contains so much animal matter, that 
when heated in the flame of a spirit-lamp, 
it not only exhales a very strong animal 
odor, but likewise burns with a slight 

There is, moreover, we may add, rea- 
son to believe that, although the present 
race of horses is of modern introduction, 
species of that genus, at a former period, 
were contemporary with the toxodon, and 
fed perhaps on the banks of the river, in 
the waters of which the toxodon revelled 
at his ease. Fossil relics of horses, ap- 
parently of more than one species, and 
varying in size, are found throughout the 
whole of Europe and Asia, nor do we 
know that any of our domestic breeds are 
their descendants. One thing is certain, 
there is no aboriginal wild horse on the 
surface of the globe ; the troops so called, 
are the offspring of the domestic breed, 
which circumstances have enabled to as- 
sert and maintain a state of liberty. 

But we must close our discursive obser- 
vations. We "have sufficiently demon- 
strated that, till a recent period, races of 
gigantic quadrupeds have existed in the 
vast regions of the American continent, 
that its plains were trodden by their hoofs, 



its forests devastated by their prodigious 
strength, nay, that, like the athlete — " he 
who of old would rend the oak" and 
" dreamed not of the rebound"— they were 
sometimes smitten prostrate by the falling 
trunk, or wrenched-ofF limbs — and that, 
as a provision against such accidents, the 
brain was doubly protected. What, it 
maybe asked, has caused their total anni- 
hilation — and why do not similar giants 
of creation still tread our mighty forests ? 
Such questions are more easily asked than 
answered. A combination of causes qui- 
etly operating through a series of years, 
connected with the elevation of the land 
by volcanic agency, according changes in 
vegetation, long and great droughts, peri- 
odically recurring, and other influences 
yet to be appreciated, may have gradually 
thinned their numbers, and at length ter- 
minated the line of their race. To ask 
why gigantic animals do not now exist 
there, is idle — they do not ; and that, we 
believe, not because soil, atmosphere, or 
vegetable productions, militate against their 
well-being, but because for purposes, be- 
yond our limited comprehension, the Great 
Creator, in whose hands are " the issues 
of life" and death, has appointed it other- 


The Bheels are the original inhabitants 
of the western parts of India : at some 
remote period, beyond the reach of histor- 
ical records, they were driven from the 
plains, and now inhabit the wild tract of 
country which separates Malwa from Ne- 
maur and Guzerat. According to the tra- 
ditions of their conquerors, the Bheels 
were the founders of many of the cities 
and towns of central India. The his- 
tory of such a people is always impres- 
sive, often mournful, and almost every 
part of the world has presented instances 
of similar vicissitudes of the human race 
produced by brute force and the power of 
numbers over right and justice. Some- 
times the extermination of races has been 

a just punishment for their vices and 
wickedness ; but when they have nobly 
struggled for independence, it is impossi- 
ble to regard their fate without sympathy. 
Generally a remnant of the vanquished 
has found refuge in the fastnesses of the 
mountains, where for ages afterward may 
be traced a language, manners, and usages, 
long since obliterated in the more accessi- 
ble parts of the country. These charac- 
teristics of national life are preserved 
amid the seclusion of mountain districts, 
and are often found after the plains have 
been the scene of many successive chan- 
ges. The Bheels are quite a distinct 
race from any other in India, though their 
manners are described as resembling the 
Puharrees, another or perhaps the same 
aboriginal race, inhabiting the eastern 
parts of India, and whose fate has been 
similar. Bishop Heber describes them 
as " less broad-shouldered, and with faces 
less Keltic than the Puharrees," who, he 
says, very much resemble the Welsh. 
While the history of the Bheels naturally 
excites curiosity, their dispersion over rug- 
ged tracts of country, and their ignorance 
and prejudices, are obstacles to inter- 
course ; and little is known concerning 
their habits, customs, and forms of wor- 
ship, except that they are different from 
those of other races of India. The word 
" Bheel," which signifies a robber or plun- 
derer, is applied generally to the people 
who dwell in the mountains of central In- 
dia, and amid the thickets on the banks of 
rivers ; but used comprehensively in this 
manner, it includes many who are not real 
Bheels, though they have adopted their 
predatory habits. 

Sir John Malcolm divides the Bheels 
into three classes — those who live in vil- 
lages, the agricultural Bheels, and the wild 
Bheels of the hills. " The first," he says, 
" consist of a few who, from ancient resi- 
dence or chance, have become inhabitants 
of villages on the plain (though neaj the 
hills), of which they are the watchmen, 
and are incorporated as a portion of the 
community. The cultivating Bheels are 
those who have continued in their peace- 
able occupations, after their leaders were 
destroyed or driven by invaders to become 
desperate freebooters ; and the wild or 
mountain Bheel comprises all that part of 




the tribe, who, preferring savage freedom 
or indolence to submission and indus- 
try, have continued to subsist by plun- 

It is interesting to remark, that in propor- 
tion as surrounding governments were 
well ordered and strong enough to protect 
the country, numbers of the mountain 
Bheels were accustomed to abandon their 
predatory habits and join their more 
peaceful brethren ; but the weakness and 
disorganization of the supreme power was 
again the signal for them to resume their 
wild Kfe, and once more the terror which 
they inspired added to the confusion and 
disorder of society. 

The wild Bheels, according to Sir John 
Malcolm, are a diminutive, ill-fed, and 
wretched-looking people, though, he says, 
they are active and capable of great fa- 
tigue. They are much addicted to ex- 
cesses in spirituous liquors, and frequently 
assemble for drinking bouts, which gen- 
erally end in quarrels. The village Bheels 
are faithful and honest, and those who 
live by cultivation are industrious, but 
rude in their manners, easily assimilating 
to their wilder brethren. Heber, who 
writes several years later, speaking of the 
Bheels, says, " Thieves and savages as 
they are, the officers which whom I con- 
versed thought them on the whole a better 
race than their conquerors. Their word 
is to be more depended on ; they are of a 
franker and livelier character ; their wo- 
men are far better treatea and enjoy more 
influence ; and though the Bheels shed 
blood without scruple in cases of deadly 
feud or in the regular way in a foray, they 
are not vindictive or inhospitable under 
other circumstances." When Sir John 
Malcolm exerted himself to reform the 
habits of the Bheels, he found his efforts 
heartily seconded by the women, whose 
interests indeed are everywhere improved 
by whatever diminishes crime, and substi- 
tutes industry and steady habits for a life 
of violence and disorder. The rude re- 
ligion of the Bheels bears some resem- 
blance to that of the Hindoos, but they ex- 
cite the horror of the latter by eating the 
flesh of the cow. Their ceremonies are 
chiefly propitiatory, consisting of offerings 
to the minor infernal deities of the Hindoo 


Nature is smiling around — pleasant 
emotions are gathering in the heart : leL, 
smiles be the subject of our thoughts. 

There are times when we look on the 
dark side of humanity ; when the mind 
led on by moodiness, passes through in- 
creasing shadows to midnight blackness : 
there are others, when, in the joyousness 
of our spirits, we see the heavens and the 
earth lit up with sunshine. 

Different as mankind may be, one to an- 
other, in form, feature, disposition, and de- 
sires, there are many things in which they 
all agree. We all like health better than 
sickness, sunshine better than shade, 
riches better than poverty, sweet things 
better than sour, praise better than blame, 
and smiles better than frowns. 

Pleasant as a smile is, it does not fol- 
low, as a matter of necessity, that he who 
wears a smile is either happy himself, or 
desires to communicate happiness to oth- 
ers. A smile may be sweet or bitter, 
agreeable or ghastly, as the case may be : 
a man may smile in derision, or when 
" the iron is entering into his soul ;" and 
he may also 

" Smile, and smile, and be a villain." 

None but pleasant and true-hearted smiles 
will suit our purpose. 

There is the smile of the author as he 
pens down happy thoughts ; the smile of 
the reader interested in the book that en- 
gages his attention ; the smile of the 
kind-hearted are as he gazes on children at 
play ; and the smile with which friends 
and acquaintance meet and greet each 
other. We love to see them all, and 
never can see them on the faces of others 
without their calling up a smile into our 

You have seen the sunny smile of the 
school-boy as he leaps with joy and holy- 
day in his heart. It is no languid expres- 
sion of commonplace pleasure, but a glow- 
ing, irrepressible manifestation of delight. 
With a sister in his embraces, a father 
hastening to meet him, a fond mother, 
with tearful eye, awaiting his approach ; 
old Jonas carrying his trunk in at the 
door ; Pompey barking and jumping around 
him in the wildness of his delight ; and 

with a midsummer month of happiness be- 
fore him, no common smile would suit his 
dancing- spirit. Truly this is a sunny, 
glowing smile. 

There is the maiden smile of her who 
is walking, in the gayety of her heart, 
with that worthy young friend who has 
gained her affections ; he who is more to 
her than father or mother, ay ! than all the 
world, is at her side ; and she is all to 
him, as he is all to her. Well may she 
smile ! there is a thankfulness in her spirit 
to the Father of mercies that heightens 
hier other charms. 

There is the approving smile of a fa- 
ther when he looks exultingly on the child 
walking in the way in which he should 
go ; when he sees in his son a generous 
spirit, an eagle-eyed soaring in quest of 
knowledge, a yearning after all that is 
really great and truly good, and a love of 
holy things : or when he gazes on a 
daughter that is dear to him, whose obe- 
dience and ardent affection and piety bind 
her to his heart. 

There is the smile of a mother as she 
fondly looks on the baby features of her 
first-born ; nor is there anything like it in 
the world. How unbounded is a mother's 
love ! what matchless affection ! what a 
thrilling sensation of delight gathers round 
her heart as she gently presses her dar- 
ling to her bosom ! With maternal ten- 
derness her eyes are bent upon his brow : 
and now she is toying with her infant 
treasure : — 

" With cheerful voice, and playful wiles, 
How smiles she when her baby smiles !" 

This is but a poor copy of a beautiful 
original ; but there are some things in cre- 
ation that neither poets nor painters can 
fully depict, and this is one among them 
— a mother's smile. 

How fleeting, how fickle, how changea- 
ble, are our emotions ! We said there 
were other smiles besides those that yield- 
ed us pleasure. 

There is the silly smile of self-conceit ; 
it is hardly worth mentioning, and we 
might as well, perhaps, have passed it by 
as a thing unworthy of regard. There is 
the haughty smile of the proud, and the 
insulting smile of successful knavery — 
unlovely smiles are they both. A time is 

coming when the proud will cease to 
smile, and when the knave will see with 
dismay how much he has outwitted himself. 

There is the smile of the fawner, and 
a hateful one it is, as he panders to the 
folly of the great, and writhes himself in- 
to the faA'or of those who are above him ; 
and there is the smile of the deceiver, who 
smiles only to betray. This is even worse 
than the former, and far more deadly than 
the darkest frown. How many are there 
who eat the bitter bread of destitution and 
remorse, who may date their downfall to a 
deceitful smile ! 

There is the bitter smile of him who 
has been supplanted by a wealthier wooer, 
and forsaken by her for Avhose welfare he 
would have yielded up his life. The 
world is a desert to him now, his heart is 
desolate. And there is the bitter smile, 
too, of him who has sinned and sorrowed, 
and been visited with merciless severity — 

" Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
And found no jiity when it erred no more." 

Such a smile has much in it of agony ; 
pity that it should ever be seen on a hu- 
man face ! 

We have not yet spoken of the sarcas- 
tic, scornful smile of the proud skeptic, 
as in the supremacy of his fancied wis- 
dom he pours derision on the supposed 
ignorance of the meek-minded follower of 
the Redeemer. Nor on his ghastly smile, 
when his philosophy fails him in the hour 
of dissolution — but do we rightly call that 
a smile, which is only an outward sign of 
inward " weeping, and wailing, and gnash- 
ing of teeth." Such a smile is terrible ; 
let us hurry back again from its withering 
influence to smiles that gladden the spirit 
of man. 

There is the smile of hope ; and oh ! 
what a burden it takes from the oppressed 
heart ! A dark night of fear is dawning 
into brightness — clouds of despair are 
scattered by beams of expectation — a long 
absent one is about to return — a beloved 
invalid, whose sickness was thought to be 
unto death, is reviving — or the heavy ears 
that have been drinking in dolorous sounds, 
have caught the delightful accents. As 
mid-day brightness after midnight gloom, 
so is hope after despondency. The smile 
of hope is beautiful ! 



The smile of sympathy is sweet; it 
comes from the heart, and goes to the 
heart, and blends with the very being. 
The smile of pity and compassion makes 
its wearer look as we fancy angels do ; 
and we hardly know whether the smile of 
forgiveness or of commendation is the 
lovelier of the two. Certain it is, that all 
these smiles do much to raise and endear 
humanity in our estimation. What sun- 
beams would be taken from the world 
were smiles to be abolished ! 

Though we have said so much already 
about smiles, there is yet to be described 
the crowning smile of all ; the last on 
this side the grave. We have seen it, 
gazed upon it with joy, and felt its grate- 
ful influence on the heart. It is not the 
smile of pity, sympathy, kindness, friend- 
ship, or affection ; but the glowing exulta- 
tion of an almost enfranchised spirit, linger- 
ing for a momenton the confines of eternity. 
We will not call it the smile of a saint 
about to die, but rather the smile of one 
that is lit up by the glory of heaven. 
Fears have been felt, conflicts have been 
sustained, but they are over now ; and 
fa.ith in Him who died for sinners on the 
cross is triumphant — " Death is swallowed 
up in victory." Sickness and sorrow are 
banished by that smile ; fear has fled be- 
fore it ; pain is overcome by it ; and the 
very presence of death is disregarded. 
The languid face lighted up with that 
smile is more than beautiful ; and hark ! 
while the closing orbs are lifted upward, 
the lips, the tongue, and the heart, give ut- 
terance to the joyous exclamation — " Lord, 
now lettest thou thy servant depart in 
peace, according to thy word ; for mine 
eyes have seen thy salvation." 


Shang-hae, in the province of Kiang- 
su (which, with Anhoi, or Ngan-hoei, 
forms what was, and still is often consid- 
ered as the one province of Kiang-nan), is 
the most northerly of the five ports of 
China opened by the late treaty to foreign 
commerce. It is situated in about 31° N. 
lat. and 121° E. long., and is built on the 

left bank of the river Woo-sung, which is 
properly only the channel by which the 
waters of the Lake Tahoo or Tai (the 
great lake) are discharged into the sea. 
Though the course of the river probably 
does not exceed fifty miles, it brings down 
a great volume of water, and is very deep. 
Opposite the town of Shang-hae, which 
is sixteen miles from its mouth, the depth 
in the middle of the stream varies from six 
to eight fathoms, so that the largest ves- 
sels can come up to the harbor, and unload 
alongside of the commodious wharfs and 
warehouses which occupy the banks of 
the river. At this place the river is near- 
ly half a mile wide. 

The town is very large. The streets 
are narrow, and many of them- are paved 
with small tiles, similar to Dutch clinkers, 
which make a more agreeable footing than 
the slippery granite with which other 
towns in China are paved. The shops in 
the city are generally small, but wares of 
all descriptions are exhibited for sale ; 
many of them contain foreign goods, 
especially woollens. Du Halde, in his 
" Description of China," says, that in this 
town and its neighborhood two hundred 
thousand weavers are occupied in making 
plain cottons and muslins ; and Lindsay 
adds, that the nankeen cloth from Shang- 
hae is said to be the best in the empire. 
Sir Hugh Gough, in his despatches after 
the capture of the town, says, " as a com- 
mercial city nothing can exceed it ;" add- 
ing that ships of large burden can ascend 
the river for several miles above the town : 
but though he says it appears a rich city, 
with " good walls in perfect repair," he 
states the population to be only from sixty 
to seventy thousand, the circumference of 
the walls being about three miles and a 
half. One of the officers of the expedi- 
tion here observed some pretty public tea- 
gardens, with grottoes and labyrinths, con- 
structed of real and artificial rocks piled 
Guriously one above the other. 

Previous to the late expedition little 
was known of a place which appears to 
be the principal emporium of eastern 
Asia, and whose commerce is as active as 
that of any other place on the globe, not 
even London excepted. It is certainly a 
very remarkable circumstance that such a 
commercial town had only once been vis- 



ited by a European vessel, and that' not 
before 1832, when the Amherst, under the 
command of Captain Lindsay, entered the 
Woo-sung river. Capt. Lindsay states— 
" On our arrival at V/oo-sung (a small 
town only a mile above the mouth of the 
river of that name), [ was so struck with 
the vast quantity of junks entering the 
river, that I caused them to be counted 
for several successive days. The result 
was, that in seven days upward of four 
hundred junks, varying in size from one 
hundred to four hundred tons, passed Woo- 
sung, and proceeded to Shang-hae. Du- 
ring the first part of our stay most of these 
vessels were the north-country junks with 
four masts, from Teen-tsin (Thian-tsin on 
the Peiho) and various parts of Manchow 
Tartary ; flour and peas formed a great 
portion of their cargo. But during the 
latter part of our stay, the Fokien (Fukian) 
junks began to pour in to the number of 
thirty or forty per day. Many of these 
were from Formosa, Canton, the eastern 
Archipelago, Cochin-China, and Siam." 
Now if we suppose that the commerce of 
Shang-hae is as active the whole year 
round as Capt. Lindsay found it to be in 
the month of July, we come to the conclu- 
sion that this port is annually visited by 
shipping to the amount of five miUion tons. 
It certainly excites some surprise to 
find that so active a coinmerce is carried 
on in a place which has hardly any com- 
mercial relation with foreign countries. 
But our surprise will cease if we consider 
that there is no other harbor on the Chi- 
nese coast between 30'^ and 37'^ N. lat., 
or between the bay of Ningpo on the 
south, and the peninsula of Shantung on 
the north. On this tract of coast the tAvo 
largest rivers of China, the Yellow river 
and the Yang-tse-kiang, enter the sea, and 
they bring great quantities of earthy mat- 
ter, which they deposite along the coast, 
and thus render the whole tract inaccessi- 
ble to boats beyond the size of a fishing- 
barge. The Yang-tse-kiang discharges 
itself into the Yellow sea by a broad estu- 
ary, in the centre of which is the island 
of Tsong-ming ; the Woo-sung falls into 
the Yang-tse-kiang near its embouchure, 
on its southern side, and being the first 
river which is deep enough for the pur- 
poses of navigation, the whole maritime 

commerce of this tract is concentrated at 
Shang-hae. The country which lies at 
the back of the coast is the most populous 
part of China, and contains very many 
large towns, among which those of Soo- 
choo-foo and Hang-choo-foo probably con- 
tain a million of inhabitants each, and 
there are others which may vary between 
one hundred thousand and five hundred 
thousand, among which is the ancient cap- 
ital of China, Nankin, to all of which they 
have ready access by the Yang-tse-kiang, 
which the tide ascends for more than two 
hundred miles, and the great canal. 

Nankin is the capital of the province, 
seated on the south bank of the river, 
near 32° N. lat., and 117° E. long., and one 
hundred and twenty miles from its mouth. 
This town was the capital of the empire 
to the end of the thirteenth century, and 
at that time the largest town on the globe. 
To give an idea of its then extent, the 
Chinese historical records say, that if two 
horsemen were to go out in the morning 
at the same gate, and were to gallop round 
by opposite ways, they would not meet be- 
fore night. This is certainly an exaggera- 
tion. The Jesuits, when surveying the 
town for the purpose of making a plan of 
it, found that the circuit of the exterior 
walls was thirty-seven lies, or nearly 
twenty miles. This agrees pretty well 
with the description given by Ellis, who 
estimates the distance between the gate 
near the river and the porcelain tower at 
about six miles, and says that an area of 
not less than thirty miles was diversified 
with groves, houses, cultivation, and hills, 
and enclosed within the exterior wall, 
which forms an irregular polygon ; and is 
confirmed by Sir Hugh Gough in his 
despatches, who says, " It would not be 
easy to give a clear description of this 
vast city, or rather of the vast space en- 
compassed within its walls. I shall there- 
fore only observe that the northern angle 
reaches to within about seven hundred 
paces of the river, and that the western 
face runs for some miles along the base 
of wooded heights rising immediately be- 
hind it, and is then continued for a great 
distance upon low ground, having before 
it a deep canal, which also extends along 
its southern face, serving as a wet ditch 
to both. There is a very large suburb on 



the low ground, in front of the west and 
south faces, and at the southeast angle is 
the Tartar city, which is a separate for- 
tress, divided from the Chinese town by 
high walls. The eastern face extends in 
an irregular line for many miles, running 
toward the south over a spur of Chung- 
san, a precipitous mountain overlooking 
the whole country, the base of which com- 
mands the rampart. In this face are 
three gates ; the most northerly (the Te- 
shing) is approachable by a paved road, 
running between wooded hills to within 
five hundred paces of the walls, whence 
it is carried along a cultivated flat ; the 
next (the Taiping) is within a few hun- 
dred yards of the base of Chung-san ; 
and to the south (the Chanyang) enters 
the Tartar city. There is a long line of 
unbroken wall between the Teshing gate 
and the river, hardly approachable from 
swamps and low paddy (rice) land, and 
the space between the Teshing and Tai- 
ping gates is occupied by rather an exten- 
sive lake. The extent of the walls is 
about twenty miles in circumference, and 
their height varies from seventy to twenty- 
eight feet." 

The present town consists of four prin- 
cipal streets running parallel to one an- 
other, and intersected at right angles by 
smaller ones. Through one of the larger 
streets a narrow channel flows, which is 
crossed at intervals by bridges of a single 
arch. The streets are not spacious, but 
have the appearance of unusual cleanli- 
ness. The part within the walls which 
is now only occupied by gardens and 
bamboo-groves is still crossed by paved 
roads, a fact vv^hich tends to confirm the 
statement that the whole area was once 
built upon. 

None of the buildings of Nankin are 
distinguished by their architecture, ex- 
cept some of the gates, and the famous 
Porcelain tower, which is attached to one 
of the pagodas or temples. This build- 
ing is octagonal, and of a considerable 
height in proportion to its base — the 
height being more than two hundred feet, 
while each side of the base measures only 
forty feet. It consists of nine stories, all 
of equal height, except the ground floor, 
which is somewhat higher than the rest. 
Each story consists of one saloon, with 

painted ceilings ; inside, along the walls, 
statues are placed. Nearly the whole of 
the interior is gilt. It is porcelain in 
nothing but the tiles with which it is 
faced. At the termination of every story, 
a roof built in the Chinese fashion projects 
some feet on the outside, and under it is a 
passage round the tower. At the project- 
ing corners of these roofs small bells are 
fastened, which sound with the slightest 
breeze. On the summit of the tower is 
an ornament in the form of the cone of a 
fir-tree : it is said to be of gold, but prob- 
ably is only gilt : it rests immediately up- 
on a pinnacle, with several rings round it. 
This tower is said to have been nineteen 
years in building, and to have cost four 
hundred thousand taels. 

According to the Chinese census, the 
country between 30° and 35° N. lat., ex- 
tending from the sea about two hundred 
miles inland, and comprehending the an- 
cient province of Kiang-nan, on a surface 
not exceeding seventy thousand square 
miles, has a population of more than forty 
millions, or about six hundred inhabitants 
to each square mile. Such a population 
can not subsist on the produce of the soil, 
even in the high state of agriculture by 
which this region is distinguished above 
all other parts of China. A considerable 
supply of provisions must be required 
every year. Such an inference must also 
be drawn from what is stated by Capt. 
Lindsay, namely, that the northern coun- 
try vessels bring chiefly corn and peas ; 
and though he does not mention the car- 
goes of the Fokien vessels, which come 
from the eastern Archipelago, Cochin- 
China, and Siam, it is a known fact that 
the principal article of export from these 
countries to China is rice. The immense 
quantity of grain which is carried into 
the port of Shang-hae is probably not con- 
sumed in that town and the neighborhood, 
but a part of it reaches the centre and 
even the western districts of China proper, 
by being conveyed on the numerous ca- 
nals which are connected with the Impe- 
rial canal, or Yoon-ho, and the great riv- 
ers above mentioned. The exports prob- 
ably consist of manufactured goods, and 
the inhabitants pay for the food which they 
obtain from other countries by supplying 
their inhabitants with cotton, silk, and 



linen fabrics. The importance of the port 
of Shang-hae to foreign commerce can 
hardly be overrated as giving access to the 
northern provinces of China, whose wants 
are of a kin'd which that commerce is pe- 
culiarly able to supply, and a great part of 
which has been hitherto obtained through 
Russia, at, of course, most exorbitant 
i prices, consequent on a land-carriage of 
two or three thousand miles. 



The natural appearances presented to 
our notice in the heavens are too numer- 
ous to be fully considered in the few col- 
umns we are about to devote to the sub- 
ject, but we shall endeavor to describe 
some of the most striking. 

The heavenly bodies may be divided 
into four classes : the fixed stars, planets, 
nebulse, and comets — all of which will be, 
at least, casually noticed. 

The Fixed Stars may be always distin- 
guished by the scintillating or twinkling 
appearance they present, and by their ap- 
parent immovable position in relation to 
each other. To the human eye they are 
but specks of light, and, the majority of 
them, of inconceivable minuteness ; but, 
when we come to a consideration of their 
distances from us, we are convinced that 
they must be worlds of immense diameter ; 
many of them, perhaps, hundreds of times 
larger than the sun of our own system. 
To the unassisted eye they also appear 
few in number, but when the heavens are 
examined v/ith a powerful telescope, they 
are found to be far too numerous to be cal- 
culated — passing over the field of vision 
too rapidly to be numbered. Another fact 
worthy of notice, is, that they appear to 
us of different sizes, or magnitudes, and 
hav^e, consequently, been so arranged by 
astronomers. The cause of this we do 
not pretend to determine — it may be from 
their relative magnitudes or distances, 
but, in all probability, sometimes from the 
one, and sometimes from the other. 

Astronomers have thought it advisable, 

for the purpose of distinguishing the sev- 
eral parts of the heavens, to divide the 
fixed stars into groups, which have been 
called constellations, twelve of which 
form the zodiac. These constellations 
consist of stars, some visible, some invis- 
ible to the naked eye. When the tele- 
scope is applied to many parts of the 
heavens, an immense number of stars, be- 
fore unseen, are brought to view ; and 
many of these present most curious ap- 
pearances. No celestial phenomenon, 
however, is perhaps more interesting than 
the resolving of an apparently single star 
into two or three distinct bodies, as is often 
done by the telescope ; and no discovery 
more wonderful, than that these double 
stars compose a system, and revolve 
round each other, or, rather, some com- 
mon centre of gravity. 

Instances have been recorded of very 
remarkable and sudden changes among 
the fixed stars. Accounts have been de- 
livered by astronomers of the sudden dis- 
appearance of stars long known, as though 
their lights had been in a moment extin- 
guished; and we are also informed that 
new stars have sometimes appeared shi- 
ning with great brilliancy, but have after 
a few days or months been lost sight of. 
The fixed stars are supposed to shine by 
their own light in the same manner as the 
sim which illuminates the system to which 
the earth belongs. 

NebulcB. — In examining the heavens 
with powerful telescopes the astronomer 
has discovered in many places distinct 
masses of cloudy or nebulous matter in 
different shades of condensation. From 
a very careful examination of these, and a 
comparison of one with another, a theory 
has been suggested which may possibly 
be found true at some future period. It is 
supposed, by many astronomers, that these 
nebulae are in the process of condensation, 
and, as it were, being fitted by a change 
of state for all the purposes of fixed stars 
or planets. It is only by a long-continued 
series of observations that the truth of 
this hypothesis can be accurately decided ; 
but the nebulae are, independent of this, 
most interesting celestial phenomena. 

Planets. — The planets, or wandering 
stars, are those which do not maintain the 
same relative position to each other, and 



to other classes of the heavenly bodies. 
Though we observe fixed stars, in one 
sense, constantly changing their positions 
by rising in the east, and after performing 
the circuit of the heavens, setting in the 
west, this is only an apparent motion oc- 
casioned by the diurnal revolution of the 
earth upon its axis. But the planets, with 
a similar apparent motion have one alto- 
gether different, and one which is real, 
for they have a progressive motion in the 
zodiac, performing their revolutions in their 
appointed curves, and with their regulated 
velocities in fixed periods. These planets 
have received different names from the 
heathen gods, whose qualities they were 
said to represent. 

The Moon. — Of all celestial bodies none 
are more interesting to us than the moon, 
on account of her proximity, and her be- 
ing, as is usually supposed, an attendant 
on the earth during her annual progress 
round the sun. From her nearness she 
comes within the range of our telescopes, 
and we are able to discover upon her sur- 
face mountains and valleys, and many 
traces of a physical character not aho- 
gether distinct from that of the earth we 
inhabit. The earth is also remarkable as 
a celestial body from its presentation of 
phases ; not that it is the only body which 
is observed to change the appearance of 
its disk, for Venus has a similar alteration 
in figure, but being larger, it is better and 
more commonly observed. 

The moon has a great influence upon the 
earth, and we may also remark a very sin- 
gular one. In the first place it has some 
control over the weather, a fact now ac- 
knowledged by all meteorologists : its 
chymical effects in hastening putrefactive 
fermentation has long been acknowledged, 
and also its power in producing the tides. 
The moon is not less interesting to us as 
being the lesser light that rules the night, 
but it is a singular fact now well estab- 
lished, that although the moon has a pow- 
erful light, she does not communicate any 
sensible heat. 

Comets are not frequently visible to us, 
but we must not therefore suppose that 
they are few in number. The probability 
is that those within the range, and be- 
longing to our own system, are exceedingly 
numerous. They appear under a variety 

of forms : sometimes as a mere brush of 
luminous matter, sometimes with scarcely 
any radiation around an apparently con- 
densed head. They move in curves of 
great eccentricity, are but a few weeks 
visible to us, and for years absent on their 
long and far wandering journey. The ef- 
fect they produce in the system, and the 
objects for which they were created are 
quite unknown, but there is sufficient evi- 
dence to convince us that they much dis- 
turb the physical conditions of the planets 
when they approach their places. 

Eclipses. — An eclipse is the temporary 
obscuration, or partial obscuration, of one 
of the great luminaries ; and there may 
therefore be an eclipse of the sun, or 
moon. When the sun is to us eclipsed, 
the moon intervenes between that lumi- 
nary and the earth ; when the moon is 
eclipsed, the earth passing between it and 
the sun intercepts the light by which it is 
rendered luminous, and casts its own 
shadovv upon her disk. When, therefore, 
we have an eclipse of the moon, the in- 
habitants of the moon, if there be any, 
must observe an eclipse of the sun ; and 
when we see an eclipse of the sun, they 
must observe an eclipse of the earth. 
This curious celestial appearance may be 
easily demonstrated by a single diagram ; 
for when the nature of an eclipse is once 
understood, there will be no difficulty in 
changing the places of the bodies, or even 
in supposing one's self to be observing 
celestial appearances from the surface of 
the moon, instead of from the surface of 
the earth. 

Let us now imagine s to represent the 
sun, and the circle path the orbit of the 
earth ; o r t may be considered as the or- 
bit of the moon, in which she is distin- 



guished by the figure m. Now we have 
represented the earth and its satelUte the 
moon, in two different parts of the earth's 
orbit, for the sake of exhibiting the two 
bodies in a different position with regard 
to the sun, the only real source of light. 

Let us first consider the appearance 
that would be presented on the surface of 
the earth when the bodies are in the posi- 
tion shown at a. The moon here is pla- 
ced immediately between the sun and the 
earth, and being a dense body, must inter- 
cept the rays of the great luminary. 
The moon having no light of her own, 
but merely reflecting that which she re- 
ceives from the sun, is of course invisible, 
for her light side is turned from the earth. 
Hence, then, it follows, that when the 
moon is in the position here shown, the 
inhabitants upon a large portion of that 
part of the earth turned toward the sun, 
and having daylight, must observe an 
eclipse of that body. 

If we suppose the earth and moon to 
be in the position shown at h, an entirely 
different appearance will be observed from 
the earth, situated between the two lumi- 
naries. In the first place, it must be re- 
marked that whereas in the former in- 
stance the phenomenon was seen from the 
enlightened, it is now seen from the dark- 
ened hemisphere. The moon, as before 
stated, is a body illuminated by the sun, 
and therefore, as in all other cases, if a 
dense body comes between the source of 
light and the illuminated surface, the latter 
must be darkened. Hence it is, that an 
eclipse of the moon is produced, which 
may be partial, or total, according to cir- 

Many other interesting particulars con- 
cerning eclipses and the other astronomi- 
cal appearances might be mentioned, but 
our only object is to explain in the most 
general manner phenomena which are 
commonly observed, and are likely to at- 
tract the attention of the student. 


If the Thebans, eighteen hundred 
years before Christ, knew less in some of 

the departments of useful knowledge than 
ourselves, they also, in others, knew 
more. One great proof of the genius of 
that splendid line of potentates, entitled 
the eighteenth Theban dynasty, and the 
extent of civilization under their rule, was 
that the practical, chymical, astronomical, 
and mechanical knowledge which they 
shared with the priestly (scientific) col- 
leges, was in some respects equal to, in 
some respects greater than our own. They 
made glass in great profusion, and burning- 
glasses. They must have cut their deli- 
cate cameos by the aid of microscopes. 
Ptolemy describes an astrolabe ; they cal- 
culated eclipses ; they then said that the 
moon was diversified by sea and land ; 
that one lunar day was equal to fifteen of 
the earth ; that the earth's diameter was 
a third of the moon's ; and that 'the moon's 
mass was to that of the earth as 1 to 72. 
All these things show good instruments. 
They made gold potable. Moses did so, 
who was a scribe brought up by the sov- 
ereign pontiff, and nursed in the " wisdom 
of the Egyptians ;" an " art lost," till re- 
cently recovered by a French chymist. 
Their workmanship in gold, as recorded 
by Homer, their golden clockwork, by 
which thrones moved, must be exquisitely 
ingenious. They possessed the art of 
tempering copper tools, so as to cut the 
hardest granite with the most minute and 
brilliant precision. This art we have 
lost. We see the sculptors in the act of 
cutting the inscriptions on the granite ob- 
elisks and tablets. We see a pictorial 
copy of the chisels and tools with which 
the operation was performed. We see 
the tools themselves. There are sculp- 
tors' chisels in the British museum, the 
cutting end of which preserves its edge 
unimpaired, while the blunt extremity is 
flattened by the blows of the mallet. But 
our tools would not cut such stone with 
the precision of outline which the inscrip- 
tions retain to the present day. Again, 
what mechanical means had they to raise 
and fix the enormous imposts on the lin- 
tels of their temples at Kamac ? Archi- 
tects now confess that they could not 
raise them by the usual mechanical power. 
Those means, must, therefore, be put to 
the account of the " lost arts." That they 
have been familiar with the principle of 



Artesian wells, has been lately proved by 
the eno-ineering investigations, carried on 
while boring for water in the Great Oasis. 
That they were acquainted with the prin- 
ciple of the railroad is obvious — that is to 
say, they had artificial causeways, level, 
direct, and grooved — the grooves being 
anointed with oil — for the conveyance 
from great distances of enormous blocks 
of stone, entire stone temples, and colos- 
sal statues of half the height of the mon- 
ument. R.emnants of iron, it is said, have 
lately been found in these grooves. Fi- 
nall}^, M. Arago has argued, that they not 
only possessed a knowledge of steam 
power, v/hifch they employed in the cavern 
mysteries of their pagan freemasonry, but 
that the modern steam-engine is derived 
through Solomon de Caus, the predeces- 
sor of Worcester, from the invention of 
Hero, the Egyptian engineer. The con- 
duct of tl^e Egyptian sophos with Moses, 
before PI. iraoh, pays singular tribute to 
their union of " knowledge and power." No 
supernatural aid is intimated. Three of 
the miracles of their natural magic, the 
jugglers of the east can and do now per- 
form. From the whole statement, one in- 
ference is safe, that the daring ambition 
of the priestly chymists had been led from 
the triumphs of embalming and chicken 
hatching (imitating and assisting the pro- 
duction of life), to a Frankenstien experi- 
ment on the vital fluid, and on the princi- 
ple of life itself, perhaps to experiments 
like those {correctly or incorrectly) as- 
cribed to Mr. Crosse, in the hope of cre- 
ating, not reviving the lowest form of ani- 
mal existence. 


This institution is located about half of 
a mile from the Connecticut river, in 
Hanover, Grafton county. New Hamp- 
shire. Its immediate site is the easterly 
side of a large and beautiful plain, around 
which stands the village — elevated, and 
commanding an extensive and agreeable 
prospect of the highly picturesque scenery 
of the adjacent country. 

Its history is singular and curious. It 


owes its existence to the philanthropic ex- 
ertions of the Rev. Eleazar Wheelock, 
D.D., of Lebanon, in Connecticut, for the 
improvement and education of the Indians. 
This gentleman, observing the distrust and 
dislike with which the English were re- 
ceived among them, formed the design of 
establishing a seminary for the preparation 
of teachers from among the natives them- 
selves, who might, therefore, return to 
them qualified for all the duties of instruct- 
ing, while they would be free from the dif- 
ficulties, which their prejudices and en- 
mities threw in the way of the English 
missionary. His representations were 
favorably received by the community, and 
his efforts assisted by donations from 
many individuals who regarded with pity 
the unhappy condition of the unfortunate 
aboriginals. The school was first opened 
in Lebanon, and from the name of the 
most liberal of its patrons, called Moor's 
school. After an experiment of some 
years, however, during which that part of 
the country had become thickly settled, its 
founder took the resolution of changing 
its location for one nearer the frontiers, 
where its immediate object might be more 
successfully prosecuted, and the natives 
more easily induced to avail themselves 
of its privileges. When his purpose be- 
came generally known, very liberal propo- 
sals were made by several of the then col- 
onies to induce him to locate it within their 
limits. That of Governor Wentworth, 
however, appeared to combine most of the 
advantages which he sought, and accord- 
ingly its present site was selected in the 
province of New Hampshire. Together 
with about twenty students he set off 
for Hanover, then an entire wilderness. 
For the purpose of enabling him to re- 
ceive donations, as well as of rendering it 
more permanent and more extensively use- 
ful, he solicited, and, through the influence 
of the governor, obtained a charter for the 
establishment of a college with all the 
usual privileges and immunities — thus pre- 
senting the singularly curious and anoma- 
lous spectacle of an incorporated literary 
institution, in the midst of the forest, re- 
mote from civilized society, where instruc- 
tion was to be given in the polished com- 
positions of the Greek and Roman lan- 
guages, in log-huts, and amid the lairs 

"ill 'I'll IIP'N'i! 




of wild beasts — and affording a striking 
though an extremely interesting contrast 
between the condition of its earlier stu- 
dents and that of those who resort to that 
pleasant village and throng its spacious 
and convenient halls of the present day. 
Perhaps, indeed, no institution now com- 
bines more conveniences for the student 
and means of acquiring an education, with 
fewer of the causes which discommode 
and interrupt its pursuit. The seclusion 
and retirement of its situation, its remote- 
ness from large cities and towns, and con- 
sequent freedom from many of the temp- 
tations to the neglect of study, and the al- 
lurements to dissipation and vice, render 
it one of the safest and most advantageous 
— while the salubrity and beauty of its lo- 
cation — 

" olim sylvestribus horrida dumis" — 

the variety of the surrounding scenery 
render it one of the most agreeable resi- 
dences for the young in New England. 
As its establishment and its object were 
entirely novel, it attracted much of the at- 
tention of the community, and received 
many donations from philanthropic indi- 
viduals both in this country and in Eng- 
land, the most liberal of whom was the 
Right Hon. William Leggee, earl of Dart- 
mouth, from whom the embryo institution 
derived its name. Instruction was given 
for many years in the buildings which 
were erected by the first president and his 
students. In 1796, nearly twenty years 
after the incorporation of the college, 
Dartmouth hall was erected, a large and 
convenient edifice in which, besides rooms 
for students, are a beautiful chapel, the li- 
braries, lecture rooms, &c. In l829-'30, 
by the liberality of its friends, two new 
buildings were erected solely for the use 
of the students — the whole presenting a 
pleasing and elegant appearance. 


There are instances of nations where 
uncultivated nature has been left to itself, 
without the help of letters, and discipline, 
and the improvements of arts and sciences. 
But there are others to be found, who have 

enjoyed these in a very great measure, 
and yet, for want of due application of 
their thoughts this way, want the idea and 
knowledge of God. This is strictly ap- 
plicable to the state of religion in the Chi- 
nese empire. 

Without retreating into the mists of an- 
tiquity, and laboring to discover a clue to 
the labyrinth of fable where true history 
is now inevitably imprisoned, we must 
still assign a high antiquity, and pay some 
respect to the early records and even tra- 
ditions of the Chinese. They are unable 
to give any distinct or probable account 
of their original country ; but the pre- 
sumption is that they were a colony from 
Egypt, that separated, at an early period, 
from the first family of mankind. That 
they do not observe a sabbath-day has 
been explained by the supposition, that 
they migrated before its institution on 
Mount Sinai, in the wilderness ; or, if this 
point be itself doubtful, that its observance 
became neglected in the journeyings of 
the separatists themselves through so 
many lands — besides that human nature is 
unhappily most prone to forget those prac- 
tices and duties which impose upon it the 
wisest restraints. Let it, therefore, be al- 
lowed, as a goal in Chinese antiquities, 
that they were originally Egyptian colo- 
nists or emigrants — a statement that has 
never been contradicted — and a multitude 
of seemingly inexplicable difficulties in 
their history, customs, and manners, will 
be at once resolved, and themselves at the 
same time reduced from their childish ce- 
lestial origin to the common parents and 
great family of the universe. It was a 
problem to discover the source of the 
Nile, and from the mysteries of its rise 
and fall, a miraculous character was read- 
ily ascribed to its fountain ; it was another 
problem to detect the mouth of the Niger, 
and evaporation, subsidence, and more 
mystic modes of its waters escaping, were 
gravely spoken of. Investigation, perse- 
veringly and philosophically conducted, 
has shown that the one collects and the 
other discharges its waters according to 
the well-known and invariable laws of na- 
ture. As soon as historic witnesses can 
be assembled, the Chinese will be found 
to be derived from the same parent tree as 
all the otker offshoots that are planted in 



the various habitable regions of our 

Before any regular form of worship was 
established in China, that is, any of which 
we have record, it is supposed that poly- 
theism prevailed, and was the primitive, 
indigenous religion. Idolatry — a disease 
that had infected the Israelites, Egyptians, 
Grecians, and Romans — was widely and 
deeply sown and implanted, and gross 
and palpable objects alone received the 
homage of the people. It was when this 
debasement had closed its reign, 550 B.C., 
that Confucius appeared ; and an extraor- 
dinry concentration of means and advan- 
tages in his individual person rendered 
him a well-qualified minister of knowl- 
edge and amelioration. A native of Loo, 
or Keo-few-Hien, in the province of Shan- 
Tung, of royal descent, and possessed of 
shining abilities, he united every qualifi- 
cation for the founder of a sect or leader 
of a great section. Having shown a re- 
pugnance to the amusements of boyhood, 
Koon-foo-tse devoted himself from his 
earliest years to study and contemplation, 
the result of which was a disgust for the 
whole scheme of religion and morals then 
existing. The king having declined to 
encourage his predilection, the philosopher 
at once withdrew from court, retired to the 
principality of Sum, and there became a 
teacher of morals. Resigning the dignity 
that belonged to his high birth, he trav- 
ersed the northern provinces, and by his 
self-denial and enthusiasm evinced a sin- 
cerity of character that soon drew the 
well-disposed and intelligent around him. 
At length he had the happiness of seeing 
three thousand disciples hearkening with 
attention to his discourses, and filled with 
an attachment and devotion that no terrors 
of punishment could influence. The vir- 
tuous tendency of the precepts he incul- 
cated becoming known to the many petty 
potentates, who then ruled the countries 
now incorporated into the vast empire of 
China, he was solicited to visit their re- 
spective courts, and accept of honor and 
preferment ; all these invitations he re- 
spectfully but resolutely declined. Con- 
vinced that the glories of this world are 
but glittering, and that the acceptance of 
political authority would militate much 
against his ministry, he determined upon 

pursuing closely and strictly the objects of 
his early ambition-7-the introduction and 
foundation of a system of morals that 
should long be cherished by his grateful 

If he abstained from political interfe- 
rence, he was not less scrupulous in 
avoiding anything that could offend the re- 
ligious prejudices of the multitude ; and 
the subjects of sacrifice, and the nature of 
the gods, he enjoined his disciples to ab- 
stain from touching on. Having publish- 
ed his moral code, and instructed his cho- 
sen disciples in the mysteries of his phil- 
osophy, he retired from public life, and, 
during his closing years, devoted himself 
to the amendment and completion of those 
celebrated works which have rendered 
his name immortal in China, and his char- 
acter respected by many civilized nations. 

It is a common mistake to consider 
Confucius as the founder of a religion : so 
far from introducing any new system of 
faith in matters of this sort, he cautiously 
respected popular prejudices, confining 
himself to the propagation of a moral 
philosophy : and when compared in his- 
tory to Mahomet and Zoroaster, it is not 
in unity of pursuit, but in similarity of 
success ; Mahomet being the founder of a 
religion, Zoroaster a lawgiver, and Con- 
fucius a moralist — so that although we 
commence our sketch of the religion of 
China, with an account of the labors of 
Koon-foo-tse, or Confucius, it is in ac- 
cordance with vulgar error, and not with 
the accuracy of history. Confucius laid 
laid down first principles of philosophy, 
which he expected no one would be able 
to refute, or unable to comprehend : "That 
out of nothing there can not possibly 
be produced anything — that material bod- 
ies must have existed from all eternity — 
that the cause of things must have had a 
co-existence with the things themselves — 
that therefore the Cause is also eternal, 
infinite, indestructible, unlimited, omnipo- 
tent, omnipresent — that the central point 
whence the cause (or strength) principally 
acts is the firmament (heaven), whence its 
influence spreads over the universe — that 
it is therefore the duty of the supreme 
prince, in the name of his subjects, to 
present offerings to Heaven (Tien), par- 
ticularly at the equinoxes, the one for ©b- 



taining a propitious seed-time, the other a 
plentiful harvest." From this first cause, 
Heaven, tvi^o principles were evolved, 
designated existence and decay, or good 
and evil, or light and darkness, so that at 
the first beginning of the system, we have 
a species of sacred Triad, a circumstance 
that will hereafter, i. e., in speaking of 
Bhuddism, be particularly alluded to. 

Without, therefore, any reference to 
dominant creeds, or any attention to the 
political feeling of the people, Confucius 
proceeded to the institution of mysteries 
to be observed by his followers, in which 
the prejudices of his high birth exerted 
an insensible influence over him, for he 
selects the highest places for his altars, 
and the highest personages for his priests. 
Confucian sacrifices were offered to Hea- 
ven (Tien) on a rude cairn of stones, or 
on a large tabular one erected on the sum- 
mit of some conspicuous mountain. This 
early and universal practice appears per- 
fectly natural among all unenlightened 
people, especially those who look to heav- 
en, the sun, moon, and stars, as the origin 
or dwelling of creative power. The Per- 
sians, according to Herodotus, considered 
the circle of the heavens as the great ru- 
ling power of the universe, the fountain 
of heat, and light, and life, and which was 
represented in their books by a circle en- 
closing a waving line, and the mountain 
pinnacle was the altar of their sacrifices. 
Tacitus writes " that the nearer worship- 
pers can approach to heaven, the more dis- 
tinctly can their prayers be heard ;" and 
certainly in the Roman temples the people 
always strove for the nearest seat to the 
tutelar deity, with precisely a similar ob- 
ject. So also, when Noah quitted the 
ark, he built an altar on the mountain 
where it rested, and made a burnt-offering, 
whose smoke ascending to heaven was 
pleasing to the Lord. The sacrifice of 
Isaac was appointed to be made on a high 
mountain in the land of Moriah. Balak 
carried Balaam to the top of Mount Pis- 
gah to sacrifice there, and curse Israel ; 
and the Redeemer used to retire to a 
mountain to offer the sacrifice of prayer. 
It appears, therefore, that this custom has 
prevailed, not only in the infancy of all 
nations, but at later periods, and under ex- 
amples worthy of all honor. — What is the 

origin of the sect called Jumpers in our 
own age ? 

It was the custom of such nations to 
mark with a great stone the burial-places 
of their kings or warriors, particularly of 
those who fell in battle, or subdued a rival 
power ; superstition having generally pla- 
ced those heroes in the catalogue of the 
gods, these tombs became the altars at 
which offerings were made to their manes, 
or the aid of their spirits invoked. Some- 
times a heap of loose stones served the 
purpose ; and for this custom, one that pre- 
vailed also among the ancient Britons, the 
tombs of the great, and the cairn of stones, 
and the mountain's summit became the 
scene of supplication to the Power of 
heaven. Taking advantage of this an- 
cient prejudice, Confucius improved the 
cairn and the pillar-stone into an area 
enclosed by four upright stones (Tau), and 
every altar in China at the present day is 
ornamented with four loose stones placed 
at the four corners, like the horns of the 
Jewish altar. He extended the principle 
of spirit-adoration, by requiring the most 
constant offering of prayer and sacrifice at 
tombs of relations and parents ; and, al- 
though the mountain has been deserted 
for the shelter of the vale, his injunction 
and the eternal invocation of departed 
spirits still prevails. We must not here 
omit to notice that our term altar is de- 
rived from the Latin alius, signifying high, 
and when applied to a Christian church, 
is synonymous with high-place, although 
the Romans applied the term altare to a 
structure dedicated to the high or superior 
gods. The city of Pekin, the metropolis 
of China, stands on a sandy plain, but its 
three altars, of heaven, earth, and agricul- 
ture, are elevated on artificial mounts 
within the precints of the imperial palace. 

Gentle habits and the space over which 
the increased number of votaries is spread, 
rendering the mountain-altar no longer 
convenient, this article of the Confucian 
doctrine is partially abandoned, but the 
aristocratic maxim of excluding all save 
princes, or rather the king alone, from the 
office of pontifex maximus, is still ob- 
served : " So great is the distance," says 
the philosopher, " between the Creator and 
the creature, that the king, or ruler of the 
people, is alone worthy to offer sacrifice 



on the altar of heaven. This creative 
power also is best satisfied when man 
performs all the moral duties of life-r-the 
principal of which consists m filial piety, 
and the most entire submission to the 
i reigning prince." 

The metaphysical sentiments and moral 
precepts of Confucius are contained in 
nine volumes, known as " The Four 
Books," and "The Five Canonical Books:" 
our readers may remember, that nine was 
also the number of the Sibylline books 
offered for sale to Tarquin, king of Rome. 
These miscellaneous writings treat of self- 
government, of social intercourse, of oeco- 
nomics, of public instruction, of politics — 
generally. The style is terse and sen- 
tentious, if not dictatorial ; their moral 
and religious precepts are honorable to 
their author, but his metaphysics, like 
some of Aristrotle's, so obscure and often 
unintelligible, that he has been suspected 
of employing ambiguous language and 
introducing studied difficulties into this 
part of his labors. These difficulties have 
given employment to commentators ; and 
the explanations of his meaning, which 
possibly the philosopher himself did not 
perfectly comprehend, while it has multi- 
plied literary occupation .infinitely, has 
impressed the Chinese people with an ar- 
dent admiration of the splendid genius of 
that man, whose doctrines were so difficult 
to be understood even by the most learned 
of his followers. But the immortality of 
Confucius should be limited to his coun- 
try, of which he has certainly deserved 
well, for among the cold climates of the 
west he will meet with but few proselytes. 
A modern traveller, acquainted with the 
Chinese written and spoken languages, 
and in other respects eminently qualified 
to pass sentence on the philosophic labors 
of Confucius, says, " The compass of his 
intellectual researches was narrow : the 
stock of his theology and his philosophy 
scanty ; and for this reason he was easily 
tempted to lay an embargo on every kind 
of inquiry. All questions touching the 
existence and creation of celestial beings, 
and the share they take in the economy 
of the universe, were excluded. To hold 
father and mother in everlasting veneration 
was the sum of religion. Sages, and the 
instructors of mankind, however, rank 

with father and mother, and are worship- 
ped by such as choose to admire their 
character ;" and such is the extraordinary 
mixture, the olla podrida, which forms the 
guide of the wealthy, and learned, and 
high-born in China. 

Although his praises are celebrated 
vv'ithout the accompaniment of altar, or 
priest, or temple ; yet those whose wealth 
enables them have temples, or halls of an- 
cestors, in which they sometimes address 
the spirit of the national philosopher. In 
every city, however, there is a great pub- 
lic building, or college, called the hall of 
Koon-foo-tse, wherein literary examina- 
tions are held, and degrees of office grant- 
ed ; there men of letters meet together, on 
appointed days, to discuss philosophic 
questions, like the ancient Stoics and 
Peripatetics, and pay public respect to 
the memory of the founder of Chinese 
ethics. On a large tablet affixed in the 
most conspicuous place in each hall, and 
in letters of gold, is inscribed, " O Koon- 
foo-tse, our revered master, let thy spir- 
itual part descend, and be pleased with 
this our respect which we now humbly of- 
fer to thee!" Perfumes, flowers, fruits, 
and wine, are laid before the dedicatory 
tablet, while various kinds of scented 
gum, frankincense, tapers of sandal-wood, 
and gilt paper, are kept burning. This 
ceremony is analogous to the offerings 
made in all public cemeteries in China to 
the spirits of departed relations ; it has 
prevailed from immemorial time in Persia ; 
was practised by the Romans, who pre- 
sented gifts to the genii of the dead ; and 
the decking of graves at certain seasons, 
a custom of catholic countries, is an ob- 
vious relic of this ancient ceremony. No 
divine honors are paid to Confucius, no 
effigy or statue, or palpable emblem of ad- 
oration is erected to his memory, oi in 
his halls ; his followers, the Stoics of the 
country, consider the universe as one ani- 
mated system, composed of one material 
substance and one spirit, of which every 
living thing is an emanation, and to which, 
when separated by death from the material 
part, every living thing again returns : — 

" All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul." 

The most contemptible part of the philos- 
ophy of Confucius is, that which relates 



to predestination, or to prophecy, or astrol- 
ogy, according to the means employed to 
attain the simulated end. The Chaldeans, 
Arabians, and Egyptians, as well as the 
Chinese have always been addicted to the 
study of the stars, and the decision of 7iu- 
merical fates ; and Confucius, yielding to 
this weakness, adopted the mystical lines 
of Foo-shee. By the help of these lines, 
and the prevailing element at the com- 
mencement of a reign, he pretended to 
foretell coming events, but so ambiguously 
were his oracles worded, that they might 
admit of many and different interpretations. 
The mystic lines of Foo-shee^ and the bi- 
nary arithmetic of Leibnitz, are the mate- 
rials of imposition now worked up by the 
fortune-tellers, or astronomers, as they are 
generally called, of China,whose cheats are 
practised under the sanction of a govern- 
ment license. The Chinese almanac, reg- 
ulated by these impostors, undertakes to 
predict events, changes of weather, lucky 
and unlucky days. To some of these 
prognostics, however, more enlightened 
people have laid claim ; and, in the alma- 
nacs of Moore, Vincent, Wing, Partridge, 
and Murphy, weather-wisdom is most un- 
blushingly professed. 

The Greeks used pebbles, the Romans 
dice, the Franks cards, the Germans and 
Chinese little pieces of wood, " sticks of 
fate," v/hich they are permitted to throw 
three times if the first be not satisfactory, 
when seeking their destiny. The learned 
in many countries, even those who de- 
spised the sticks of fate, have lent them- 
selves to the various objects of their adop- 
tion — only employing books instead of 
cards, or dice, or sticks, or pebbles. Lord 
Napier, the inventor of logarithms, pre- 
dicted the day of judgment from a passage 
in the Apocalypse of St. John, but had the 
mortification to survive the appointed day, 
and be compelled to blush at his own 
weakness and credulity. Kung-Ming, a 
person of distinction in the civil wars of the 
three kingdoms, was a believer in astrolo- 
gy, and foretold his own death. Desirous, 
however, of still serving his royal master, 
when the predicted hour drew near, he 
lighted a certain number of lamps within 
his tent, corresponding with the appear- 
ance of the stars in the sky, and, placing 
them in order, addressed a supplication to 

Heaven to arrest his approaching fate. 
As he was then in the last stage of a was- 
ting malady, and as he prostrated himself 
upon the cold earth, resolving to await in 
that situation the answer from above, it is 
not to be wondered at that he expired 
about the time he had himself foretold. 

The expectation of Confucius to found 
a system of moral government, not con- 
nected immediately with any religious 
theory, was illusory and contrary to his- 
toric experience. The fallacy of such an 
attempt is proved by a reference to the 
history of any nation upon earth. 'Tis 
true, he did not command idolatry, but he 
did not prohibit that practice, although he 
did not attach any idfea of a personal be- 
ing to the great First Cause ; and he pur- 
sued the same wary policy with respect 
to temples of worship and an attendant 
priesthood ; but such views were too sub- 
lime, abstract, and metaphysicaj, to pre- 
serve their purity for any length of time, 
among a people unprepared by education 
for their reception ; and, scarcely had the 
philosopher himself paid the debt of na- 
ture, when the multitude relapsed, like the 
Lsraelites of old upon the absence of Mo- 
ses, into the gross idolatry which now 
prevails among the disciples of Buddha 
and Laoutsze. 

It has been before observed, that the 
doctrine of Confucius being purely a code 
of moral philosophy, requires neither tem- 
ple, nor priest, nor altar ; that the rich, 
and educated, and elevated, alone pay 
ceremonial respect to his memory, either 
in halls erected at their private expense, 
or in a public literary theatre ; and, that 
there is but one high priest, the emperor, 
authorized to offer sacrifices to the spirit 
of the sage. Yet his disciples assemble 
in upward of 1600 public buildings, and 
in those, as well as in the halls of ances- 
tors, where the shadows of great men are 
appeased, it is said, that 30,000 pigs, 
30,000 rabbits, 60,000 sheep, and many 
bullocks, are annually slain as sacrificial 
offerings to the spirits of Confucius and 
his seventy faithful disciples. 

To cure our prejudices, every man 
should let alone those that he complains 
of in others, and scrupulously examine his 




If, having never seen or heard of a but- 
terfly, one were to meet our gaze, as on 
winnowing wings it danced through the 
summer air from flower to flower, should 
we conceive it possible that it had ever 
beei. a crawling and voracious worm, and 
then a torpid being enveloped like a mum- 
my in a case — whence it sprung forth in 
newness of life, light-winged and grace- 
ful in every movement, and arrayed with 
beauty 1 And though we know this to be 
the fact, when we look at the sluggish 
leaf-eating caterpillar, and contrast it with 
what it will be, when on broad wings it 
traverses garden and meadow, extracting 
from the flowers their nectar for food, we 
feel involuntary emotions of wonder, so 
striking is the contrast. Well might the 
Greeks, elegant even in their mythology, 
apply the term Psyche to the soul — and to 
the butterfly, the latter being the mystical 
emblem of the former. 

All know what a caterpillar is ; there 
are few who are not familiar with the cat- 
pillars of many of the more comxmon but- 
terflies, so destructive to the esculent 
vegetables of the kitchen-garden ; but 
still some points in their structure and 
economy may not be so generally under- 

The caterpillars of the butterfly tribe 
have hard horny jaws ; a body consisting 
of segments, to the number of twelve, ex- 
clusive of the head. They are furnished 
with legs of two kinds : of these, the first 
three pairs, attached to the first three seg- 
ments of the body respectively, are t7-ue, 
or persistent, being the rudiments of th# 
legs of the perfect insect ; these are hor- 
ny. The other legs, termed pro-legs, are 
soft, short, and conical ; they vary in num- 
ber in different species ; the larva or cat- 
erpillar of the common cabbage butterfly 
has five pairs : these feet are furnished 
with a set of minute, slender, horny hooks, 
alternately longer and shorter, by means 
of which the animal is enabled to lay a 
very firm hold on the leaves of plants or 
other objects, and also to move along with 
tolerable despatch. It is to be observed, 
that when five pairs of these limbs are 
present, none are found on the fourth, fifth, 
tenth, or eleventh segments, but a pair re- 

spectively on the sixth, seventh, eighth, 
ninth, and twelfth segments. In some 
caterpillars there are only two pairs of 
these limbs — one pair on the last segment, 
one on the ninth ; such are the geometri- 
cal larvge. 

Many caterpillars are covered with long 
stiff hairs, others with short harsh fur or 
bristles ; some are furnished with tufts : 
others are naked. 

A very important organ possessed by 
the larvae of butterflies and moths is the 
spinneret for the production of silken 
threads, by means of which some merely 
suspend themselves during the pupa stage, 
while others envelop themselves as in a 
shroud. Many caterpillars, moreover, 
weave tents of network or houses for 
themselves in hawthorn, apple, and pear- 
trees, in which, on returning from their 
foraging excursions, they cluster by hun- 
dreds. The spinneret is seated beneath 
the horny lower lip, or labium, as entomol- 
ogists term it, and the first Uvo legs ; and 
appears in the form of a conical protuber- 
ance, whence two long tortuous tubes ex- 
tend down the body of the larva : these 
tubes separate the silk from the juices of 
the body in the form of a gummy fluid, 
which, as it is drawn through the aperture 
of the spinneret, hardens into a thread : 
such is the silk of the silkworm. 

On its exclusion from the egg the cat- 
erpillar is of very small size ; its growth, 
however, soon commences, and is as rapid 
as its appetite is voracious. As, how- 
ever, it is clothed in an outer skin which 
is not extensible ; this investment, like the 
armor of the lobster, must be repeatedly 
changed. Beneath the old outer skin, or 
epidermis, which soons begins to be loos- 
ened, a new one is formed ; a rent takes 
place, from the swelling out of the animal, 
down the back of the old skin, and this 
rent gradually increases, till the animal, 
with a brighter epidermis, frees itself 
from its discarded weeds, and appears of 
larger dimensions. During this process, 
which is often repeated, the caterpillar is 
sluggish and inactive, and refuses food ; 
but when the process is over, it recovers 
its former voracity. During all this time 
the caterpillar is laying up an accumula- 
tion of fat to serve the wants of the sys- 
tem during the time of its torpid pupa 



state, which it is now preparing for. Be- 
neath the last cuticle assumed, the vital 
energies of the system have developed 
wings, antennse, a slender proboscis, and 
all the parts of the perfect butterfly, or 
moth that is to be. This last cuticle, or 
epidermis, is, however, yet to be cast off, 
and another is formed to clothe the pupa 
(or chrysalis, as the pupa of the butterfly 
is often termed), which in its turn is to be 
broken open for the exit of the perfect in- 
sect. Previously, however, to the pupa 
stage being assumed, it secures itself by 
means of its silk in a position varying Ac- 
cording to the species. Suppose it merely 
suspends itself by the tail : in this case 
the first care of the caterpillar is to cover 
the spot to which it is about to suspend 
itself with successive layers of silken 
threads, which readily adhere, till at last 
a little silken cone is produced, into which 
the caterpillar pushes its hinder pair of 
pro-legs (those on the last segment), which 
become entangled, and so fixed, amid the 
threads ; it then permits itself to hang 
down with the head lowest. In a short 
time it begins to bend its back, bringing 
the head near the attached feet ; and, after 
contiiming for some time in this attitude, 
it straightens itself, and repeats the same 
action. In about twenty-four hours the 
outer skin begins to split down the back, 
and the fissure is enlarged by the swelling 
and pressure of the chr}rsalis, till at length 
the head and lower portion of the sus- 
pended being become disengaged, the skin 
shrivelling up into a bundle surrounding 
the tail. This, however, has to be thrown 
off, and at the same time the chrysalis has 
to avoid disengaging itself from its moor- 
ing of silken threads from which it hangs ; 
for, be it remembered, it was by its hind 
legs that it attached itself. To effect this, 
instinct-guided, it seizes on a portion of 
this shrivelled skin between two segments 
of its body holding it as with a pair of 
pincers, and thus, destitute of limbs, sup- 
ports itself, till it withdraws the tail from 
the old useless skin which sheathed it : it 
then, still clinging, elongates the rings of 
its tail as much as possible, and seizes a 
higher portion of the skin, and in this 
manner, climbing backward as it were up- 
on its exuviae, it repeats the manoeuvre till 
the extremity of the tail presses the silk, 

to which it immediately adheres by means 
of a number of hooks provided for the 
purpose. Still these exuviee encumber it, 
and hang in contact with it ; curving its 
tail in such a manner as partly to embrace 
the shrivelled skin, it whirls rapidly round, 
jerking violently, and at length succeeds 
in disengaging it from its fastenings and 
throwing it to the ground. Other caterpil- 
lars attach themselves closely to the wall 
or other objects by bands of silk round 
the body, as well as by a little cone of silk 
at their extremity ; and some envelop 
themselves completely. In a short time 
the chrysalis hardens (for at first it is very 
soft), and shows through the outer case 
the wings, antennae, eyes, and legs of the 
perfect insect. It now passes into a sort 
of torpid state, till the time arrives for the 
exit of the perfect butterfly from its case. 

The duration of the pupa or chrysalis 
stage of existence varies in different spe- 
cies, and even in the same, being retarded 
by cold and abbreviated by warmth — a 
wise provision, as it respects the safety of 
the matured insect. The butterfly, when 
ready for exclusion, bursts the skin of the 
chrysalis, now to be thrown off, which 
covers the thorax, and emerges, feeble 
and languid, with wings crumpled up into 
small bundles. Soon, hov'ever, the body 
acquires strength ; the fluids circulate 
through the nervures of the wings : these 
gradually unfold, and the creature quivers 
them, as it feels its growing powers ; 
at length, in the perfection of strength 
and beauty, it leaves its sordid mummy- 
case behind — soars aloft, seeks the flow- 
ers of the garden, and commences a new 

Such is the sketch of the progress of 
the caterpillar from the egg to the butter- 
fly ; from 

" The worm, a thing that crept 
On the bare eartti — then wrought a tomb and slept," 

to the hovering " Psyche." 

The rest of the story is soon told ; 
bright things must fade : the butterfly en- 
joys a brief summer, deposites its eggs 
on the plants which instinct teaches it are 
the appropriate nourishment of the future 
caterpillar, and passes out of existence. 

Of these interesting creatures, children 
of summer, a beautiful group is on the 

opposite page : we shall give a brief 
description of them seriatim. 

1. The Silver-washed Fritillary (Ar- 
gynnis Paphia). This beautiful butterfly, 
sometimes called the great fritillary, is 
generally spread over our country, appear- 
ing in June about the sides of woods, and 
flitting on rapid wings. The upper sur- 
face of the wings is of a bright orange- 
brown, with three rows of black marginal 
spots, and with several black marks near 
the centre. The anterior wings are paler 
beneath, and the hinder wings beneath are 
brassy green, with four transverse fascias 
of silvery white. The wings are ample. 

2 The Pearl-bordered Likeness (Meli- 
toea Athalia). This species, also termed 
the heath fritillary, is not uncommon in 
more southern parts. It appears in June, 
and is found in the open glades of woods, 
and about heathy commons. It is subject 
to several variations of coloring, a circum- 
stance which has led to some confusion 
of names. One variety is the papilio py- 
ronia of Hiibner. The ordinary coloring 
is orange above, with undulatory lines of 
black. The fore wings beneath are pale 
yellowish, with a few transverse lines of 
black at the anterior margin. The hinder 
wings below, with several black-edged 
spots near the base, and a curved band of 
whitish across the centre, and edged with 
narrow lines of black ; the fringed margin 
of the wing is yellowish. 

3. The small Heath butterfly (Hippar- 
chia Pamphilus), Golden Heath-eye. 
This species is common throughout short- 
grassed hills, upland pastures, and dry 
heathy grounds, and appearing in June ; a 
second flight occurs in September. The 
wings above are of a pale orange or ochre 
yellow, with a fringe of long white hairs ; 
underneath, the fore wings are clouded 
with ash color, and have near the tip an 
ocellated spot of black with a white cen- 
tre. ■ The hinder wings below are clouded 
with greenish brown and gray, with two 
or three indistinct ocellated spots. 

4. The Glanville Fritillary (Melitaea 
Cinxia). Its color above is orange-red, 
marbled and spotted above with black and 
yellowish ; a row of black points runs 
parallel with the posterior margin of the 
hinder wings. The color of the wings is 
paler below than above. 

5. The Small Fritillary (Nemeobius 
Lucina). This species is somewhat rare. 
Its wings are dark brown, the anterior 
pair having three transverse bars of irreg- 
ular pale yellow spots, the marginal series 
being dotted in the centre with black. 
The hinder wings are almost similarly va- 
riegated. Underneath the wings are pale 
brownish yellow, the anterior pair having 
light spots interspersed with black in the 
centre, and a row of light spots, with a 
dusky mark in the centre of each, along 
the margin ; the hinder wings are similar- 
ly ornamented, but have two bands of oval 
spots of a whitish teint, those forming the 
outer row being edged with black. 

6. The Common C(?{)per butterfly (Ly- 
caena Phloeas). In every part of our land, 
and on the European continent, this pretty 
butterfly is tolerably abundant. It is light, 
quick, and active in its movements ; and 
makes its appearance in June, July, and 
August. The anterior wings, which are 
not indented at the edge, are of a rich 
copper color, spotted with black, and 
broadly margined with the same. The 
hinder wings are brownish black, with a 
copper band posteriorly, spotted along the 
margin with black. Under surface of the 
wings paler. This species is subject to 
considerable variations of color. 

We need scarcely observe that the va- 
ried colors of the wings of butterflies are 
produced by the minute plumes or scales 
with which they are covered, and which, 
beneath a microscope, present very beau- 
tiful objects. These scales are of differ- 
ent forms, and variously arranged, but 
mostly in an imbricated style, with more 
or less regularity. They are inserted into 
the membrane by a short footstalk or root, 
but their attachment is comparatively 
slight, whence they are brushed off" by a 
touch. Not only are they often richly 
colored, but they are marked with striae, 
and often crossed by finer lines, and these 
striae by the reflexion of the light a dif- 
ferent angles produce varying teints of 
brilliant or metallic effiilgence. Some 
idea of the almost endless variety of form 
and markings which the scales of butter- 
flies and moths assume, maybe conceived 
when we state that Lyonnet nearly fills 
six quarto plates with crowded delinea- 
tions of the scales of one species of moth, 



viz., the bombyx cossus. Such is their 
minuteness, that they appear to the na- 
ked eye hke a fine powder, and their num- 
bers on the wings of a large butterfly 
almost defy calculation. Leeuwenhoek 
counted upward of 400,000 on the wings 
of a silk-moth, and it is calculated that 
in one square inch of surface of a butter- 
fly's wing the number of scales will 
amount to about 100,740. When these 
scales are rubbed off", the wings are 
found to consist of an elastic, transparent, 
and very thin membrane ; and when ex- 
amined by means of a microscope, it will 
be found marked with indented lines, ex- 
hibiting the arrangement of the scaly cov- 
ering. * 

It is scarcely necessary to add that our 
accompanying plate affords but a few spe- 
cimens of the numerous classes which 
might be cited. 


The uncertainty of life, so frail is the 
tenure it is held by, is a theme seldom 
duly considered. The Christian and the 
philosopher are the only ones who take 
such under their consideration, and who 
strive, by their faith, actions, and princi- 
ples, to prepare themselves for that world 
" eye hath not seen." This earth is truly 
a scene of probation and trial : we are 
placed here for high and holy purposes, 
and well is it for him who, as far as he 
can, does follow them out. To aid him 
in this endeavor, man needs that wisdom 
which Solomon declares is " better than 
rubies ;" by this precious boon he can 
bravely stem every difficiflty — he can re- 
sist opposition and temptation — he can 
bend meekly to affliction and sorrow — 
and he can, by its blessing, calmly and 
willingly yield into his hands who gave it, 
his never-dying soul. Many instances of 
persons in the possession of this wisdom, 
early snatched to their " last home" could 
be given ; but such is not the purport of 
fchis paper exclusively ; however, we will 
consider a few. That the wise and 
young are the first taken from our em- 
brace is verified by many an early remo- 

val : than this there is no subject more 
worthy the contemplation of the sensitive 
and feeling. The heart that is keenly 
alive to sympathy, is agonized, as far as its 
earthly tendency has sway, when it learns 
that the old and gray-haired man — the 
wearied peasant or the aged statesman — 
is snatched from the circle of friends : but 
neither by the death-bed of beauty, age, 
or friendship, is the heart so powerfully 
affected, as by that of the young and wise. 
The universality of this is acknowledged 
by many ; but by none more warmly than 
the poor, whose fondness for their chil- 
dren is so strong and lasting. How many 
"a village church-yard displays upon its 
monuments the epitaph ending — 

" God takes them first whom he loves best," 

reminding us of " whom the gods love, 
die young." Though the parent mourns 
her dead child, and sadly preserves in the 
heart " recollections fond ;" yet a pleasure 
reigns within, assuring that one more an- 
gel has entered heaven. In Transylvania, 
the people mourn not over those who die 
young, inasmuch as they will not have 
so many crimes to answer for ; they re- 
joice and feast — they scatter garlands 
of flowers, and offer to Heaven praises 
for the act of mercy, in so early removing 
from earth the child of their love. How 
beautiful are such things — having connex- 
ion with others more lofty and pure — de- 
riving charms from a better and more en- 
during world ! 

Among the young, talented, and wise, 
endeared for their knowledge and man- 
ners, for being alive to every sentiment of 
beauty and sublimity at an early age, none 
are more worthy to be registered than 
Porson, Keats, and Shelley : they were 
in life's best time torn from revelling amid 
the riches of nature ; from learning les- 
sons from the earth, " whose poetry is 
never dead ;" and upon shedding upon the 
pathway of others a joy and a benefit, 
making them more closely held in the 
memories of the heart. I would not omit 
the names of Kirke White, and Wood, or 
that of Mrs. Maclean (L. E. L.), who 
early died upon a foreign shore. 

" She died — so young — so beautiful — 

Her fleeting life was sped ; 
She died . and not a friend was nigh 

To soothe her dying bed. 



Alone — within a foreign clime, 

Around no weeping throng ; 
That gentle spirit drooped and died 

Alone — that child of song." 

These Avere all young inheritors of genius^ 
richly blessed with a keen perception of 
love for everything bearing the impress of 
the Godhead. The tender and beautiful 
productions that have emanated from their 
youthful pens will prove the means of 
handing their names to posterity, bound 
with the wreath of fame, as examples for 
the youth of future ages to admire and im- 
itate. On a recurrence to the past, we 
find no character more interesting, or 
fraught with utility, than that of Edward 
VI. Called at a very early age to be the 
crowned one of a land, at that period not 
the most easy to rule ; called to mingle 
amid the splendors and the allurements of 
a court, where all were to do him homage, 
and pay respect ; called to exercise a 
power that required tact and judgment to 
direct and employ, he looked on all with 
an eye and with a heart steeled against 
every blandishment and enticement of roy- 
alty, pomp, or wealth. He loved retire- 
ment rather than publicity ; and healthful 
study rather than sharing the pleasures of 
the gay and giddy. An old historian, 
writing at the time of the restoration, says : 
" Though the tree was not yet come to the 
maturity of bearing fruit, yet it was come 
to the forwardness to bear plenty of buds 
and promise. The hour before his death, 
he was overheard to pray thus by himself, 
' Oh ! Lord God, deliver me out of this 
miserable and wretched life. Oh! Lord, 
thou knowest how happy it were for me to 
be with thee ; yet for thy chosen's sake, 
if it be thy will, send me life and health, 
that I may truly serve thee. O ! Lord 
God, save thy chosen people of England, 
and defend this realm from papistry ; and 
maintain thy true religion, that I and my peo- 
ple may praise thy holy name, for thy son 
Jesus Christ's sake.' So turning his face, 
and seeing some by him, he said, ' I 
thought you had not been so nigh.' ' Yes,' 
said Dr. Owen, ' we heard you speak to 
yourself.' ' Then,' said the king, ' I was 
praying to God — oh! I am faint — Lord 
have mercy upon me, and receive my 
spirit !' and in so saying, he died." Car- 
dan saith of him, that " he was extraordi- 
narily skilful in languages and politics ; 

well seen in philosophy and in divinity, 
and generally indeed a very miracle of 
art and nature. He would answer em- 
bassadors sometimes upon the sudden 
either in French or Latin :" and the for- 
mer, from whom I quote, says further, 
" He knew the state of foreign princes 
perfectly, and his own more. He could 
call all gentlemen of account through his 
kingdom by their names ; and all this 
when he had scarcely yet attained to the 
age of fifteen, and died before sixteen ; 
that from hence we may gather, it is a sign 
of no long life when the faculties of the 
mind are ripe so early." A journal kept 
by Edward VL is preserved in the British 
museum, containing a faithful register of 
all the important transactions of his reign. 
Returning to more recent times, we may 
not perhaps err in selecting from among 
royalty, the princess Amelia, as a bright 
example of early genius, struggling against 
the strong and ruinous attacks of prolonged 
disease, which removed her from the 
world, November, 2, 1810. An inter- 
view of a most peculiar and pathetic ten- 
dency, took place between the dying 
princess and her venerable father, George 
HL, which was so sad in its results, as to 
cause a return of that mental indisposi- 
tion, under which the monarch had previ- 
ously suffered. Prevailing circumstances 
suiting not the tenor and inclination of the 
princess's heart ; and her viewing things 
in a far different light than the unthinking, 
amid whom she moved, produced her 
many a sorrow and pang ; and, to find 
comfort, she indulged in the gentler and 
more welcome beauties of poesy. The 
subjoined is from her pen : — 


" Unthinking, idle, wild, and young — 
I laughed and talked, and danced and sung j 
And proud of health, of freedom vain, 
Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain: 
Concluding in those hours of glee. 
That all the world was made for me. 
But when the days of trial came. 
When sickness shook this trembling frame, 
When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, 
And I could dance and sing no more ; 
It then occurred, how sad 'twould be, 
Were this world only made for me !'' 

Were the annals of human life deeply 
and accuratetly searched, we should find 
many who have early perished like sum- 
mer buds, their spring being remarkable 



for some expressive talent, gradually devel- 
oping itself; and not for precocity, since 
that, as one remarks, " seldom implies a 
high order of intellect." The early mani- 
festation of genius and ability — rich in its 
appreciation of surrounding beauty, and 
inspired with a love of healthful study, 
heightened by a rational retirement, 
must ever be a source of joy to the 
reflective man ; for he traces in the utter- 
ed sentiments of these young and highly- 
gifted* ones — in their thoughts so beauti- 
fully and pathetically expressed — in the 
yearnings of their well-toned hearts, a 
glimpse of that heavenly wisdom which 
the child Jesus exhibited when he con- 
fronted the Jewish Sanhedrim. 


The following is an interesting descrip- 
tion of the periodical passage of fish from 
the Black sea through the Bosphorus, or 
channel, above Constantinople. 

The wind continuing for two or three 
days from the north, we were surprised at 
beholding a singular rippling appearance 
in the midst of the waters of the Bospho- 
rus, form^ing a dark serpentine line about 
a mile and a half in length. Over and all 
around this rippling were assembled a 
prodigious concourse of aquatic fowls, 
swans, cormorants, pelicans, penguins, 
solan geese, ducks, quails, divers, &c., 
which shrieked in hoarse concert as they 
dived upon the myriads of pelamydes (for 
such they were) which floated down in 
mid-channel. While we were beholding 
this singular phenomenon from the win- 
dows of the palace, the boats from Con- 
stantinople and the adjoining villages be- 
gan to arrive, and then commenced that 
ancient fishery which has been so much 
celebrated in the golden verses of Appian. 

But this shoal proved only the advanced 
guard of the grand army of pelamydes, 
which were coming down from the Palus 
Mceotis, terrified by the first approach of 
the bleak northern blasts and equinoctial 

Before mid-day, some hundred boats 
having arrived, the numbers of fish cap- 

tured were prodigious. The boats were 
navigated by Turks, Albanians, and 
Greeks, habited in the diversified and 
richly-colored costume of their respective 
nations, throwing their seines, and pulling 
against the rapid current, bawling, shout- 
ing, and wrangling for the prize, which 
they were even forced to contest with the 
fowls of the air, who intrepidly descended 
to seize the fish when struggling amid the 
meshes of their nets. They gave a life 
and animation to the picture, which, sur- 
rounded by the sublime scenery of the 
Bosphorus, constituted, as a whole, one 
of the most superb and impressive spec- 
tacles I had ever beheld. This occupa- 
tion continued without ceasing, day and 
night, till the fourth morning, when the 
last of the shoal passed Terapia. 

Pelamys is the term given by the an- 
cients to the young tunny when under a 
year old. The tunny is the same with 
the Spanish mackerel, a large fish of the 
scomber kind — the scomber thynnue of 
Linna?us, the arcynus limosa and pelamys 
of others writers. It has eight or nine 
fins in the hinder part of the back, which, 
as well as the abdominal fins, rise from a 
deep furrow. The tail is of a semi-lunar 

The tunny was a fish well-known and 
highly prized by the ancients, having con- 
stituted, from the earliest ages, a great 
source of riches and commerce to the na- 
tions inhabiting the shores of the Medi- 
terranean, and in fact being the principal 
food of the people of Bithynia. The pe- 
riods of its arrival in the Mediterranean 
sea were observed, and stations for taking 
the fish were established on the capes and 
inlets most favorable to that occupation. 


This institution is situated in the tOAvn 
of Amherst, Hampshire county, Mass., and 
was established in 1821. Its resources 
were comparatively limited at first, and its 
success by some considered doubtful. 
But it is now in a highly prosperous state. 
It has a fund of fifty thousand dollars, 
made up from the contributions of Individ- 



uals. This fund is invested under the di- 
rection of five trustees, chosen by the sub- 
scribers, and the interest is annually ap- 
propriated toward the support of the col- 
lege. There are seven or eight profes- 
sors, including the president, besides tu- 
tors and other officers, and about tv/o hun- 
dred students. There are three vacations 
per annum ; the first for four V4^eeks from 
commencement, which takes place from 
the fourth Wednesday in August ; the sec- 
ond, for six weeks, from the fourth Wed- 
nesday in December ; the third, for three 
weeks, from the third Wednesday in May. 
The libraries connected with the college 
contain about ten thousand volumes. 


Carbon acts an important part in the 
mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdom. 
In the mineral kingdom it is found in a 
pure state in that valuable gem the dia- 
mond ; in an impure state, that is, united 
to other substances, it is found in anthra- 
cite, graphite, and charcoal. It is, also, 
the most considerable element of the solid 
parts of both animal and vegetable sub- 
stances. It exists in a small proportion 
in the atmosphere, in the shape of carbonic 

Charcoal possesses the remarkable 
property of absorbing the odoriferous 
and coloring substances of animals and 
vegetables ; hence foul water may be pu- 
rified by filtration through it, and tainted 
flesh may be restored by the application 
of charcoal in a small powder, with the 
addition of dilute sulphuric acid. Char- 
coal (and especially that made from the 
cocoa-nut, or sugar, by the addition of sul- 
phuric acid, and afterward several wash- 
ings) and pure chalk, kino or rhatony root, 
form the best tooth-powder for spongy 
gums or fo3tid breath. 

Carbon unites in three proportions with 
oxygen : viz., carbonic oxide (C O.) one 
equivalent of each; carbonic acid (C Og) 
one equivalent of carbon and two of oxy- 
gen ; oxalic acid (Cg O3) two equivalents 
of carbon and three of oxygen. During 
the process of fermentation, carbonic acid 
is produced in large quantities. It was 

discovered by Dr. Black, in 1757, and 
called by him fixed air. At common tem- 
peratures carbonic acid is gaseous, yet it 
may be reduced to a liquid and even to a 
solid state, as Mr. Faraday and M. Thi- 
lorier have shown, by means of a proper 
apparatus ; water is often impregnated 
with this gas to imitate the mineral wa- 
ters. In a natural state water will absorb 
its own volume of carbonic acid gas : un- 
der the pressure of two atmospheres it 
will absorb twice its volume, and so on in 
proportion to the pressure. Water thus 
impregnated will lose all the carbonic acid 
by boiling. In spring water this gas is in 
solution, and in mineral waters to a con- 
siderable extent ; in solid combination it 
is found in the greatest abundance in lime- 
stones, marbles, and in other earths and 
metallic oxides. An atmosphere contain- 
ing much of this gas would be very in- 
jurious ; and were there not some means 
to purify it, it would become poisonous, 
large quantities being generated by the 
respiration of animals, by combustion, and 
by the decomposition of animal and vege- 
table substances. By the decomposition 
of those substances soils are rendered fer- 
tile, as plants take up carbonic acid by 
means of their roots, as well as absorb it 
from the atmosphere ; during the action 
of light plants possess the power of de- 
composing this acid, the carbon of which 
they appropriate to their own use, and 
evolve that part of the oxygen which is 
not required for their sustenance. Thus 
the air is purified by vegetation. During 
the absence of light, in the night-time, a 
wholly different, but true chymical pro- 
cess is carried on ; the leaves, flowers, 
and fruit, undergo oxidation by means of 
the action of the oxygen of the atmosphere 
upon them ; and this oxidizing process 
differs in degree according to the compo- 
sition of the organic parts ; this composi- 
tion being known, it is a matter of ease to 
ascertain what kind of plants absorb the 
most oxygen. 

A volatile oil, exposed to the action of 
the air, absorbs oxygen and changes into 
resin ; hence, the leaves which contain 
that substance, as the pine, will absorb a 
considerable portion of oxygen ; those 
which contain tannic acid, as the common 
oak, absorb it also. The leaves thus acid 



by oxidation, are deprived of that property 
by the actio'n of the sun and light, as may 
be proved by tasting " the leaves of the 
cotyledon calycinium, and the cacalia fi- 
corides, which are sour, like sorrel, in the 
morning, tasteless at noon, and bitter," 
from the excess of hydrogen, " in the 
evening." (Liebig.) The common cur- 
rant has also a grearter acid property in the 
morning than it has at noon. 

It has been already remarked, that in 
the absence of light the process of the de- 
composition of the carbonic acid is arrest- 
ed ; it follows, that this gas, then, derived 
from the atmosphere and soil, is not as- 
similated by the plant, but escapes through 
the pores of the leaves and flowers : 
hence, the unhealthiness of sleeping in a 
room in which plants are growing. In 
spring-water an oxide of iron is often held 
in solution by carbonic acid, which being 
evolved by the application of heat, the ox- 
ide of iron will fall. 

The specific gravity of carbonic acid 
gas is to common air as 1-5 to 1 ; hence it 
will not readily escape from the receiver. 
Introduce into this gas a lighted candle, it 
will be immediately extinguished. A small 
animal being introduced, respiration is 

This gas, in consequence of its weight, 
may be poured from one vessel to another, 
as may be proved by the introduction of a 
burning substance ; or it may be poured 
upon a burning candle, which it will ex- 

Upon these results depend the usual 
practice of introducing a candle into a 
beer cask, or other place where the air is 
suspected to be impure ; but according to 
Christison (on poisons), it may be in a 
quantity sufficiently small not to extinguish 
a candle, yet sufficiently large to act as a 
narcotic poison on the system. Should 
any person inspire this gas, as quickly as 
possible remove him into the pure air : 
pour cold water upon his face ; rub his 
chest ; bleed him ; and, if conveniences 
are at hand, infuse into his nostrils oxygen 

Although to inspire carbonic acid gas is 
dangerous (causing a contraction of the 
glottis, and hence suffijcation), yet, being 
mixed with atmospheric air and other sub- j 
stances, it is applied medicinally, both in- | 

ternally and externally ; in cases of phos- 
phatic diathesis, water charged to a con- 
siderable extent with carbonic acid is of 
considerable utility, as its dissolves and 
holds suspended the phosphate of lime, 
and thus prevents it being deposited in the 

Limestones burned in a kiln lose all 
their carbonic acid, and become quick- 

Carbonic Oxide. — This gas was discov- 
ered by Priestley, who supposed it to be 
hydrogen mixed with carbonic acid gas : 
its true nature was pointed out by Cruick- 
shank. It will not, like carbonic acid gas, 
make lime-water turbid, nor is it dissolved 
to so great an extent in water as that gas. 

A mixture of carbonic oxide 100 parts, 
and oxygen 50 parts, may be made to ex- 
plode by means of a flame, a red hot iron, 
or an electric spark ; the result will be 
carbonic acid gas, if they be inflamed in 
a proper apparatus. From this it is evi- 
dent that carbonic oxide contains as much 
carbon and half as much oxygen as car- 
bonic acid. 

Chlorine. — This gas was discovered by 
Scheele, in 1774, who considered it a 
compound body. In 1809, Gay-Lussac 
and Thenard showed that it might be con- 
sidered a simple substance ; but the estab- 
lishment of its elementary character is 
owing to the investigations and powerful 
advocacy of Davy. He named it chlorine, 
from its green appearance. For all sub- 
stances, excepting those of its own class, 
as bromine, iodine, fluorine, &c., it pos- 
sesses great affinity; and so powerful is 
this that to it is given the character of ex- 
traordinary chymical activity : the com- 
pounds of the chlorine class (except fluo- 
rine) are remarkable for their extraordinary 
solubility ; uncompounded, it is of rare oc- 
currence, and seldom found in the mineral 
kingdom ; it is found in the saline constit- 
uents of sea-water as chloride of sodium. 

Chlorine possesses little affinity for ox- 
ygen, in no circumstance uniting with it 
directly ; nor does it combine directly with 
carbon or hydrogen ; a mixture of chlorine 
and hydrogen may, without uniting, be 
preserved in the dark ; but the electric 
spark, or exposure to the direct rays of the 
sun, determines combination with explo- 
sion ; under the diff'use light of day, com- 




bination gradually takes place, but without 
explosion ; so great is the affinity of chlo- 
rine for hydrogen, that it decomposes most 
bodies containing that element, and unites 
with the hydrogen, and forms hydro- 
chloric acid gas. 

Upon this decomposing effect of chlo- 
rine depends its bleaching qualities ; if 
dry chlorine gas be passed over dry color- 
ed calico, the colors are not affected ; but 
if the calico be steeped in water, and, ac- 
cording to the general bleaching process, 
boiled in lime-water, then in a caustic al- 
kali, to remove all resinous substances, af- 
terward put into in a solution of chlorine, 
the chlorine decomposes the water, unites 
with the hydrogen, and the oxygen is set 
free to act upon the coloring matters. 

Chlorine may be recognised by its green 
color, and by its very irritating effect on 
the glottis ; and if a little be conducted 
into a solution of nitrate of silver, a pre- 
cipitate of chloride of silver will be de- 
posited, which first appears white, after- 
ward, by exposure to the light, it becomes 

Into a jar containing chlorine throw 
some powdered antimony, arsenic, or phos- 
phorus ; spontaneous combustion will en- 
sue, in consequence of the affinity of the 
gas for these substances. 

Having corked the bottle containing the 
gas at the tepid water trough, introduce 
the neck into cold water, and having 
withdrawn the cork, the gas will be ab- 
sorbed by the water ; move the bottle 
about, taking care to keep the mouth un- 
der the water ; the whole of the gas will 
be absorbed, and the bottle filled with wa- 

Chlorine gas is poisonous, causing se- 
vere constriction of the glottis, and a sen- 
sation of sufibcation ; afterv/ard, if death 
do not ensue, inflammation of the larynx, 
and pneumonic inflammation. The treat- 
ment usually resorted to after an injurious 
inhalation of this gas, is to inhale the va- 
por of hot water containing carbonate of 
ammonia, bleeding, and the usual means 
to reduce inflammation. 

This gas is advantageously used to dis- 
infect the wards of hospitals ; for this pur- 
pose It may be readily evolved from chlo- 
ride of lime by the addition of muriatic 


In treating of the economy of the hu- 
man voice, there is one fact which has 
been very much neglected. It is this — 
that the exercise of the organs produce 
weariness, hoarseness, and pain,' much 
sooner in delivering a discourse from man- 
uscript, than in talking or even in extem- 
poraneous discourses. 

In this case it is evidently not the loud- 
ness of the voice which produces the un- 
pleasant effect, because, in general, every 
man reads with less force of utterance than 
he speaks ; and extemporaneous speakers 
are always more apt than others to vocif- 
erate. The phenomenon demands an ex- 
planation upon some principle, and, in our 
opinion, admits of- an easy reference to 
laws of our animal economy, which are 
already settled. 

Every organ of the human body has a 
certain natural mode of action, and in this 
performs its functions with the greatest 
ease. When pressed beyond definite lim- 
its, or exercised in an unaccustomed way, 
it lapses into weariness or pain. By in- 
stinctive impidse we are led to give relief 
to any member or organ, when it is thus 
overworked, and whenever such remission 
is rendered impracticable the consequence 
is suffering, if not permanent injury. Thus, 
when the limbs are wearied with walking, 
we naturally slacken the pace ; and the 
perpetual winking of the eyes is precisely 
analogous. Let either of these means of 
relief be precluded, and the result is great 
lassitude and pain. The voice likewise 
demands its occasional remission, and this 
in three particulars. First, as it is ex- 
ceedingly laborious to speak long on the 
musical key, the voice demands frequent 
change of pitch, and in natural conversa- 
tion we are sliding continually through all 
the varieties of the concrete scale, so that 
nothing of this straining is experienced. 
Secondly, the voice can not be kept for 
any length of time at the same degree of 
loudness without some organic inconveni- 
ence. Here also we give ourselves the 
necessary remission at suitable periods. 
Thirdly, the play of the lungs demands a 
constant re-supply of air, by frequent in- 
spirations ; and when this is prevented 
the evil consequences are obvious. More- 



over, this recruiting of the breath must 
take place just at the nick of time, when 
the lungs are to a certain degree exhaust- 
ed, and if this relief be denied, even for 
an instant, the breathing and the utterance 
begin to labor. Let it be observed that in 
our ordinary discourse nature takes care 
of all this. Without our care or attention 
we instinctively lower or raise the pitch 
of the voice, partly in obedience to the 
sentiment uttered, and partly from a sim- 
ple animal demand for the relief of change. 
Precisely the same thing takes place, and 
in precisely these two ways, in regulating 
the volume and intensity of the vocal 
stream. So, also, and in a more remark- 
able manner, we supply the lungs with air 
just at the moment when it is needed. 
The relief is not adequate if the inspira- 
tion occurs at stated periods, as any one 
may discover by speaking for some time, 
while he regulates his breathing by the os- 
cillation of a pendulum, or the click of a 
metronome ; and still less, when he takes 
breath according to the pause of a written 
discourse. But the latter is imperatively 
demanded whenever one reads aloud. 
Whether his lungs are full or empty, he 
feels it to be necessary to defer his inspi- 
ration until the close of some period or 
clause. Consequently there are parts of 
every sentence which are delivered while 
the lungs are laboring, and with a greatly 
increased action of the intercostal muscles. 

If we could perfectly foresee at what 
moments these several remissions would 
be required, and could so construct our 
sentences as to make the pauses exactly 
synchronous with all the requisition of the 
organs, we might avoid all difficulty ; 
but this is plainly impossible. In natural 
extemporaneous discourses on the other 
hand, whether public or private, there is no 
such inconvenience. The voice instinct- 
ively provides for itself. We then adapt 
our sentences to our vocal powers, the 
exact reverse of what takes place in read- 
ing. When the voice labors we relieve 
it ; when the breath is nearly expended 
we suspend the sense or close the sen- 
tence. And when from any cause this is 
neglected, even in animated extempora- 
neous speaking, some difficulty is experi- 

The mere muscular action in speaking 

tends to a certain degree of weariness. 
Hence the utterance which is in any meas- 
ure unnatural is in the same proportion 
injurious. The use (jf the same set of 
muscles for a long time together is more 
fatiguing than a far greater exercise of 
other muscles. We are constantly acting 
upon this principle, and relieving ourselves 
by change even v/here we can not enjoy 
repose. Thus the equestrian has learned 
to mitigate the cramping influence of his 
posture, in long journeys, by alternately 
lengthening and shortening his stirrups. 
Thus, also, horses are found to be less fa- 
tigued in a hilly than a plain road because 
different muscles are called into play in 
the ascents and descents. Now there 
are, perhaps, no muscles in the human 
frame which admit of so many diversified 
combinations as those of the larynx and 
parts adjacent ; ranging as they do in theii 
confirmation with the slightest modifica- 
tions of pitch and volume in the sound. 
These organs, therefore, to be used to the 
greatest advantage, should be allowed the 
greatest possible change. 

A perfect reader should be one who 
should deliver every word and sentence 
with just that degree and quality of voice 
which is strictly natural. The best mas- 
ters of elocution only approximate to this ; 
and the common herd of readers are im- 
measurably far from it. Most of the read- 
ing which we hear is so obviously unnat- 
ural, that if the speaker lapses for a single 
moment into a remark in the tone of con- 
versation, we feel as if we had been let 
down from a height ; and the casual call of 
a preacher upon the sexton is commonly 
a signal for the sleepers to waka up. 
We all acknowledge the unpleasant effect 
of this measured and unnatural elocution, 
but few have perceived what we think un- 
deniable, that in proportion as it contra- 
venes organic laws, it wears upon and in- 
jures the vocal machinery. 
_ But the most perfect reading would pro- 
vide only for the last-mentioned case. 
Reading would be still more laborious 
than speaking, unless by the violent sup- 
position that the '--omposition were per- 
fectly adapted to the rests of the voice. 
We must therefore seek relief in some ad- 
ditional provisions. One of these is the 
structure of our sentences, and it is suffi- 




cient here to say that they should be short, 
and should fall into natural and easy mem- 
bers ; for no train of long periods can be 
reciteil, without undue labor. But there 
is anc(;l er preventive which is available, 
and which escapes the notice of most pub- 
lic speakers. Any one who has witness- 
ed the performance of a finished flute- 
player, has observed that he goes through 
the longest passages without seeming to 
take breath. He does indeed take breath, 
but he has learned to do so without any 
perceptible hiatus in the flow of melody. 
The same thing may be done in speaking 
alid reading. Without waiting for pauses 
in the sense, let the speaker make every 
inspiration precisely where he needs it, 
but without any sinking of the voice. 
That the lungs admit of education in this 
respect, will be admitted by all who have 
ever acquired the use of the blow-pipe. 
In this case, the passage at the back of 
the mouth being closed, and the mouth 
filled with air, the operator breathes through 
his nostrils, admitting a little air to the 
mouth in expiration. There is this pecu- 
liarity, however, that the distension and 
elasticity of the cheek afford a pressure 
into the blow-pipe, with the occasional aid 
of the buccinator muscle. In this way the 
outward stream is absolutely uninterrupted. 

If there is any justice in our remarks, 
we may expect to find that they apply in 
a good degree to the delivery of discourses 
from memory. We have found this to be 
the case, in every particular, except, per- 
haps, that from more careful rehearsal, the 
speaker is able, in a great measure, to suit 
his utterance to the tenor of the composi- 

Diseases of the vocal organs have pre- 
vailed in America to so alarming an ex- 
tent among ministers, that nothing which 
throws light on the economy of the voice 
can be without its value. It is a great 
mistake to suppose that these diseases are 
to be prevented by a timid suppression of 
sound. The lungs are best preserved 
when they are kept in full and active play. 
Every one who is familiar with the Latin 
writers, as well on medicine as on oratory, 
knows that they constantly enumerate 
reading and declamation among exercises 
conducive to health. Seneca, in his sev- 
enty-eighth epistle, in advising his friend 

Lucilius, who was of a consumptive hab- 
it, distinctly urges on him the practice of 
reading aloud. Pulmonary disease in 
ministers is attributed by Dr. John Ware 
to infrequency and inequality in the exer- 
cise of the lungs. " It should," says he, 
*' be a first object with one who engages 
in the clerical profession, especially if he 
has any of the marks of weak lungs, if 
he is constitutionally liable to pulmonary 
complaints, if he is subject to disorders 
of the digestive organs, or has a tendency 
to it, to accustom himself gradually to that 
kind of exertion, which will be required 
by the duties of his future profession. 
This is to be attempted by the constant, 
daily practice of loud speaking or reading. ^^ 


Many of the most important discov- 
eries in the field of science have been the 
result of accident. Two little boys, sons 
of a spectacle-maker in Holland, while 
their father was at dinner, chanced to look 
at a distant steeple through two eye- 
glasses placed one before the other. They 
found the steeple brought much nearer the 
shop windows. They told their father on 
his return ; and the circumstance led to a 
course of experiments which ended in the 

Some shipwrecked sailors once collect- 
ed some sea-weeds on the sand, and made 
a fire to warm their shivering fingers and 
cook their scanty meal. When the fire 
went out, they found that the alkali of the 
sea-weed had combined with the sand, 
and formed glass— the basis of all our dis- 
coveries in astronomy, and absolutely ne- 
cessary to our enjoyment. 

Sir Isaac Newton's most important dis- 
coveries, concerning light and gravitation, 
were the result of accident. His theory 
and experiments on light were suggested 
by the soap-bubbles of a child ; and on 
gravitation by the fall of an apple as he 
sat in the orchard. And it was hastily 
scratching on a stone a memorandum of 
some articles brought him by a washerwo- 
man, that the idea of lithography first 
presented itself to the mind of Stenefelder. 




Our frontispiece presents a view of 
Yorktown, Virginia, as seen from the Wii- 
liamsburgh road. It is situated in York 
county, upon a river of the same name, 
and is noted in history as the scene .of an 
important victory to the American troops, 
during the war of independence. Situa- 
ted only five miles from the mouth of the 
river, and accessible by vessels of heavy 
burden, it is a place of considerable trade. 
But we introduce it here more for its in- 
terest as consecrated ground, than to pre- 
sent a portraiture of its present growth, 
and commercial and trading character. 

During the American revolution, York- 
town was made the theatre of one of the 
most important events which character- 
ized that struggle for independence. In 
1781, Lord Cornwallis, w^ith a large por- 
tion of the British army, had taken pos- 
session of several places at the south, and 
among them Yorktown and Gloucester : 
the latter is situated upon the banks of the 
York river, opposite to Yorktown. La- 
fayette, with an inferior number of troops, 
was at this time at Wiiiiamsburgh, but 
v^^as unable to make successful engage- 
ments with the superior force of the 
British. Seeing the importance of check- 
ing the progress of Cornwallis at the 
south, Washington determined to unite the 
American and French forces, then in the 
neighborhood of New York, and join La- 
fayette at Williamsburgh. This junction 
was effected on the 14th of September — 
Washington at the head of the American 
troops, and the Count de Rochambeau at 
the head of the French forces. At the 
same time the Count de Grasse with his 
fleet entered the Chesapeake after a slight 
engagement with Admiral Graves off the 
capes, and was joined by the squadron of 
the Count de B arras from Newport. At 
the same time three thousand men under 
the Marquis St. Simon joined Lafayette. 
These combined forces then moved tow- 
ard Yorktown and Gloucester, where 
Cornwallis was stationed. 

The British general had been expecting 
aid from Sir Henry Clinton at the north, 
but so adroitly had Washington withdrawn 
his troops, that Sir Henry scarcely sus 
pected his design till it was too late to 

frustrate it. Cornwallis at once began to 
fortify the town by throwing up redoubts, 
and, on the 30th of September, the siege 
commenced. Yorktown was completely 
invested — the American army occupying 
the right, and the French the left, forming 
a semi-circle, with each wing resting up- 
on the river. Gloucester was at the same 
time invested by Lauzun's legion, marines 
from the fleet, and Virginia militia. 

The siege commenced with the usual 
manoeuvres of throwing bombs, hot shot, 
&c., and the besieged sustained them- 
selves bravely. Two redoubts were storm- 
ed and carried at the same time — one by 
the American light infantry under Lafay- 
ette, the other by French grenadiers un- 
der Baron de Viomenil. 

The conflict continued for seventeen 
days, when, no longer able to abide the 
vigorous attacks of the combined armies, 
Cornwallis sent a note to Washington pro-. 
posing a cessation of hostilities and a ca- 
pitulation for surrender. To this Wash- 
ington acceded ; and Cornwallis surren- 
dered upon the the following terms : — 

1 . All troops in the garrison to be pris- 

2. Artillery, arms, military chest, and 
stores, with shipping, boats, and all their 
furniture and apparel, to be given up. 

3. The officers to retain their side-arms, 
and the soldiers to retain their private 

4. Surrendering army to receive the 
same honors as were awarded to the 
Americans at Charleston — with a few 
other requisitions of less importance. 

This treaty was signed on the 19th of 
October, 1781, and in the afternoon of 
that day, the garrisons of Yorktown and 
Gloucester marched out and surrendered 
their arms. The whole number of pris- 
oners exclusive of seamen, was over seven 
thousand : the British loss was between 
five and six hundred. The combined 
army consisted of about seven thousand 
American regulars, five th'SUsand French, 
and four thousand militia. Their loss 
was about three hundred. The land forces 
surrendered to Washington, the naval to 
the French admiral. 

This event was hailed throughout the 
country with the greatest demonstrations 
of joy. It had completely destroyed Brit- 



ish power at the south, and a speedy con- 
clusion of the war was looked for. Con- 
gress passed special thanks to each com- 
mander engaged in the siege, and pre- 
sented to Washington two stands of col- 
ors taken from the enemy, and to Counts 
Rochambeau and De Grasse two pieces 
of field ordnance. Congress also resolved 
to commemorate the event by rearing a 
marble column, to be adorned with devices 
emblematical of the alliance between 
France and the United States, and to in- 
scribe on it the record of incidents per- 
taining to the siege and the surrender. 


The phenomena observed in or con- 
nected with the atmosphere are exceeding- 
ly numerous, and must appear to the un- 
educated man most complicated as to 
their cause of action. They may all, 
however, be traced to the influence of 
electricity, light, or heat ; these agents, if 
indeed they be separate agents, sometimes 
aiding each other in the production of the 
effect. In the remarks we are about to 
make, it may be desirable to bear this fact 
in remembrance, and we shall endeavor to 
follow the classification as nearly as pos- 

Lightning. — Among all the wonderful 
and striking appearances in the atmo- 
sphere, none are more brilliant or so aw- 
fully grand as lightning. This is a phe- 
nomenon familiar to every one. Light- 
ning is produced by the accumulation and 
discharge of electricity in the clouds. 
But the reader will probably ask how is it 
accumulated there, and how discharged 1 
To this question we will endeavor to give 
a brief reply. All bodies contain elec- 
tricity, but this fluid, agent, state, or by 
whatever other name it may be called, is 
changed, or, in other words, " set free" by 
friction, chymical action, heat, and other 
means. By the activity of these causes 
electricity may be communicated from the 
earth to the clouds, or the clouds may be 
charged -per se, for this subject is one of 
great difficulty, although philosophers are 
for the most part satisfied that they know 

all that can be ascertained. From this 
statement, however, it must follow that 
any body may be in either a negative or 
positive condition, having more or less 
than its natural electricity. But when 
two bodies, one being positive, the other 
negative, meet, there will be a discharge, 
the accumulation of the one passing to 
make up the deficiency of the other. It 
is just thus in the atmosphere : one cloud 
having positive electricity meets one in a 
negative state — a discharge is made, and 
bright flashes of light, called lightning, 
are the result ; or the clouds may be in 
one state and the earth in another, and 
then the fluid will pass between them. 

Electricity is a powerful and dangerous 
agent, when employed in large quantities, 
and with a strong intensity. This is a 
truth easily proved on our laboratory ta- 
bles by the use of the common electrical 
machines, but what must be its energy 
when developed and collected in the lab- 
oratory of nature, with the apparatus that 
the great Author of all has established ? 
Some of these effects we see in the de- 
struction of animal life and the burning of 
buildings, but we only know a part of 
what it is able to do ; there are effects 
which are in the present day only sub- 
jects of conjecture, and others which are 
not even imagined. 

Thunder is an attendant of lightning, 
and is but the sound produced at the time 
of the electric discharge reverberated from 
cloud to cloud, thus having that rolling 
sound by which it is so commonly distin- 
guished from all others. 

Sinnmrr-Evening Lightning, so denom- 
inated, from its appearance at the verge of 
the horizon on summer evenings, is the 
reflection of lightning which is occurring 
at some place beneath the horizon. Its 
appearance is that of a faint light, flashing 
upward, and is best observed when the 
ocean forms the horizon of the spectator. 

The Aurora Borealis is a most splendid 
natural appearance. It is presented to us 
in the form of brilliant but soft corusca- 
tions and streamers of light. In northern 
regions it is so bright during the long win- 
ters under which the inhabitants sufler, 
that it in some measure supplies the defi- 
ciency of solar light. It has been long 
supposed that electricity was the cause of 



its production, but is now proved without 
doubt, for by passing electricity from a 
point into an exhausted flask, a precisely 
similar appearance is produced. Hence 
we are led to believe, that the aurora is 
but a circulation of electricity in a state 
of small intensity, through an attenuated 

The Shooting Star is another phenom- 
enon which may be traced to the action 
of electricity, and also that curious ap- 
pearance observed on the topmast of ves- 
sels, and called by the sailors St. Elma's 

These are the most remarkable phe- 
nomena resulting from the action of elec- 
tricity, or at least those which most at- 
tract the attention of persons in general. 
But this mighty and universal agent plays 
a much more important part in the es- 
tablishment of physical conditions than 
we generally imagine, or perhaps can 
even conceive of. In the process of evap- 
oration and condensation it is present, in 
all chymical changes, and in the subtle 
operations of caloric. By electricity mag- 
netic polarity is given to the earth, and 
the same property is, as it were, condensed 
in the magnet. It is not for us to say 
where it is, but we may ask, where is it 
not ? All material existence is supported 
by its agency, and it is probable that all 
changes in physical condition are more or 
less dependant on it. But we must now 
proceed to explain the next class of phe- 
nomena connected with the atmosphere, 
those which result from the action of, or 
change produced by light. 

Rffr action. — As to the origin of solar 
light, men entertain different opinions, and 
it is not necessary for us to inquire which 
is right, and which wrong. All are agreed, 
that when uninfluenced by the presence 
of any other substance it moves in rig-ht 
lines. But the solar light in passing from 
the sun to the earth has to pass through the 
atmosphere, and its rays are consequently 
bent out of their course, in the same man- 
ner as when passing through water. If, 
however, the medium through which it 
has to pass had the same density through- 
out, the ray would merely change its di- 
rection, and in that direction continue to 
move in a right line, but at an angle to that 
which it pursued before it reached the at- 

mosphere. But the atmosphere increases 
in density the nearer it is to the earth, and 
the light is therefore more and more bent, 
and assumes the line of a curve. Let a t 

be a plain, and the concentric circles A.y rT 
the various strata of the atmosphere in- 
creasing in density from the highest to the 
lowest : s is a fixed star, and the line s s, 
a ray of light proceeding from the lumi- 
nary toward the plain A T. Now as soon 
as it reaches the verge of the atmosphere 
s, it begins to be refracted, or in other 
words turned out of its course, and this 
happens more and more, so that instead 
of reaching the point/, as it would have 
done if there had been no atmosphere, it 
impinges on the point p. 

An interesting question arises here, 
which is, in what direction would a per- 
son standing at p observe the sun ? It 
has been discovered that we always see 
a body in the direction in which the rays 
of light impinge upon the eye. The di- 
rection which the light has when it falls 
on p is represented by the line p r p, and 
hence it follows that the sun will appear 
to be situated at r. This fact leads us to 
the conviction that we do not see any of 
the stars in their proper places, they have 
a greater apparent than real elevation. 
It is this eff'ect upon the rays of light that 
causes us to see the sun before it has ac- 
tually risen, and after it has set, and is the 
proximate cause of twilight. 

Twilight is that period which is inter- 
mediate between day and night. If there 
were no atmosphere this period could 
have no existence, but in consequence of 
refraction the rays are brought to the sur- 
face of the earth before the sun has risen. 
But not only so, for the solar rays are first 
thrown upon the atmosphere itself; and 
although these are not brought to the 

earth by refraciion, they are by reflexion, 
so that before any place receives the di- 
rect and more powerfully luminous rays of 
the sun, it has the reflected rays produ- 
cing twilight. 

Miraire.- — Before we leave the subject 
of atmospheric refraction we must men- 
ion a curious appearance called mirage, 
seldom seen, and usually connected in the 
mind of an observer with superstitious 
feelings. All that class of phenomena 
which appear to be supernatural, as ships 
sailing in the air, are of this class. There 
are upon record many instances of the ap- 
pearance of ships in the air, none being 
seen on the water. The cause of this is 
evidently that the atmosphere is in some 
peculiar state of refraction, and the image 
of some ships below the horizon is cast 
upon the clouds. 

Tlie Rainbow is another phenomenon 
resulting from refraction, but differing 
from all other appearances in the splen- 
dor of its colors, which are produced by 
the decomposition of light when passing 
through drops of water. 

It may be here desirable to mention 
that the atmosphere is also a conductor of 
sound, and that to great heights. If there 
were no atmosphere there would be no 
sensation of sound. Three things are re- 
quired for the production of sound, a 
sounding body, an organ of hearing, and 
a good conductor — one without the others 
is useless. That it is the air which con- 
ducts sound may be proved by a great va- 
riety of experiments, and by none better 
than an attempt to make a bell ring in a 
receiver exhausted of its atmosphere, for 
no sound will be heard. 

The power of the atmosphere in con- 
ducting sound varies with the condition of 
the medium. It is a common remark that 
sounds are heard better over the water 
than on land, and still better over ice. 
Sounds are also more distinct during the 
night than the day — in fact, when the at- 
mosphere is least burdened with vapors^ 
and is most pure, sounds are best heard. 
On a dark, cloudy day, sounds familiar to 
the ear appear to be stifled in their pas- 
sage through the atmosphere ; whereas on 
a clear, cold, frosty morning they have a 
peculiar sharpness, which renders them 
remarkably distinct 

It has already been observed that the 
atmosphere is able to conduct sounds at an 
elevation much greater than might be 
imagined. This is known from the loud 
noises which have been frequently heard 
at the moment of the explosion of meteor- 
ites. The large meteor of 1719 is sup- 
posed to have been sixty-nine miles above 
the earth, and yet a noise was heard like 
that produced by firing a large cannon. 

Meteorites. — Of that remarkable class 
of phenomena called meteorites, but little 
can be said. All that we knovv of them 
is that they fall from the clouds, but how 
they came there we can not determine. 
Sometimes showers of stones have fallen, 
sometimes masses hundreds of pounds in 
weight. Men have, as in all cases, spec- 
ulated on their origin and the means of 
their accumulation. We have met with 
theories in which it has been maintained 
that they are lunarites, and having been 
thrown beyond the attraction of the moon, 
and within the sphere of the earth's attrac- 
tion, are brought to a new planet. But 
where no statement can be in any way 
proved, we prefer pleading our own igno- 

The influence of heat upon the atmo- 
sphere is the next subject for our investi- 
gation, and we must first allude to its ac- 
tion in the production of winds. 

Winds. — Wind is air in motion, and 
the only question for the philosopher to 
determine was, how by natural causes 
it was put into motion. Heat is found to 
be th^ great agent, and without entering 
fully into the inquiry how all the several 
kinds or classes of winds are occasioned, 
we shall refer to the principle of the com- 
munication of heat, for when this is thor- 
oughly understood the reader will easily 
trace the origin of all the varieties. 

The sun, by the heat of its rays, raises 
the temperature of that part of the earth's 
surface exposed to its action : what chan- 
ges are produced in the atmosphere which 
surrounds it? The air immediately in 
contact with the earth is first heated, and 
being then lighter, bulk for bulk, than it 
was before, rises ; its place is then occu- 
pied by another stratum of air, which in 
its turn also rises, and another rushes in. 
It must^ therefore, be evident that wind is 
produced by the continued motion of cold 



air to occupy that spot whicli is vacated 
by the hot. 

If this principle be understood, it will 
be a physical reason sufficient to explain 
all the changes of the atmosphere, whether 
in regard to the peculiar periods of certain 
winds, or the violence of their action. 
Thus with a knowledge of climate the 
student may satisfy himself, as to the 
cause of the trade-winds, and the preva- 
lence of particular winds at certain sea- 

The power of the wind upon the earth 
is very great, and frequently awful. By 
its motion it acts for the most part as a 
conservative force, carrying away noxious 
Vapors, and causing their condensation 
over the mighty waters to which it gives 
motion. Were the atmosphere stationary 
its heat would be not only oppressive but 
also most insupportable. But when the 
air is put into rapid motion its effects are 
most horrific, producing storms and hurri- 
canes. When these happen, which are 
fortunately . but seldom, much injury is 
done both on sea and on land. 

Clouds are the combinations of vapor 
which rise from the earth into the heavens, 
and assume different forms and states ac- 
cording to their condition. They have 
received from meteorologists different 
names, and are found to be attended with 
different phenomena, so that from the 
presence of one or the other we are able 
to foretell the weather. 

The cirrus is an attenuated net-formed 
cloud, beautifully pencilled as it were on 
the sky, and is generally formed at great 

The cumulus is. a dense heavy cloud, 
sometimes appearing as a large hemispher- 
ical mass, like mountains indistinctly 
seen, and sometimes as small irregular 
clouds. This modification of cloud is pe- 
culiar to fine weather. 

The stratus includes all those clouds 
which hang over the- surface of the earth 
or water, and are seen in the evening, af- 
ter a fine day, creeping over the valleys 
and the surface of lakes and rivers. It is 
universally considered as the harbinger to 
jfine weather. 

The nimbus is the storm cloud, dark 
and threatening, the sure forerunner of 
storms and tempests. It is generally 

charged with electricity, and from its dis- 
charge thunder and lightning proceed. 

The changes in the forms of clouds are 
frequently very rapid and surprising, a 
iew moments causing an altogether dif- 
ferent appearance, whereas at other times 
the same cloud may be seen for hours and 
even days together. The philosophy of 
clouds is but little understood by scientific 
men, nor is it probable that our informa- 
tion will be much increased until the elec- 
trical condition of the atmosphere be bet- 
ter understood. 

But few of the most common appearan- 
ces of nature are more than partially under- 
stood by the generality of persons, and yet 
with this unsatisfactory amount of infor- 
mation they are so well pleased, that it 
seems to them quite unnecessary to make 
further inquiries. When we become sat- 
isfied with our knowledge upon any sub- 
ject, curiosity ceases, and every motive 
for thought and investigation is lost. The 
most illiterate man, he who thinks least 
of the phenomena of nature, believes him- 
self to be thoroughly acquainted with the 
origin of rain, snow, dew, and many other 
common appearances ; but if he were 
questioned by one who had devoted him- 
self to the study of natural appearances, 
he would be found to have a very inaccu- 
rate notion of the subject which he be- 
lieves hiiTi^self to understand. 

Rain, we are told, is produced by the 
condensation of vapor in the atmosphere. 
The heat of the sun's rays causes the wa- 
ter on the surface of the earth to take the 
vaporous form, and as it is lighter than the 
atmospheric air, it rises. In this state it 
remains, forming clouds, until condensed 
by cold, when it falls in drops of water to 
the earth again. This is the only expla- 
nation of the phenomenon of rain that can 
be given by the majority of persons, who 
are satisfied that they are thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the subject. But we might 
askthem — " why does it not always rain ?" 
for there is always vapor in the air, audit 
is always colder at a great height above 
the surface of the earth than on the sur- 
face itself. " Why does it sometimes 
rain on one field and not on any other 
round about it ?" or, in other words, " Why 



does rain fall from one cloud and not from 
any other t" These, and many other 
questions, can not be answered by an in- 
diA'idual whose information is limited to 
the facts we have just stated. It is, in- 
deed, a subject of great difficulty, and one 
upon which philosophers themselves are 
by no means unanimous. 

Dr. Button's theory of the formation of 
rain is that most commonly adopted. Ac- 
cording to this eminent philosopher, rain 
is occasioned by the mingling of distinct 
masses or strata of air, containing vapor, 
and having different temperatures. How 
this can cause the condensation of vapor, 
and the fall of rain, is not self-evident, 
but will require some illustrations. 

Atmospheric air may be charged with 
humidity, but there is a limit to its capa- 
city, it can not be made to contain more 
than a certain quantity, it may, in fact be 
saturated. In a similar manner water 
may be made to take up a considerable 
quantit}'- of salt, but it will not do so with- 
out limit. It has, however, been discov- 
ered that the point of saturation depends 
on the temperature of the air. All per- 
sons are aware that in cooling, air will 
frequently part with some of its humidity, 
from which circumstance it may be sup- 
posed that cold air can not retain so much 
humidity as hot air. In connexion with 
these facts the reader must bear in mind 
that the capacity for humidity does not in- 
crease in the same proportion, thus, for 
instance, if two masses of air, having dif- 
ferent temperatures, should mingle, they 
will necessarily have a mean temperature ; 
the temperature of one will be raised, of 
the other diminished. Now, if the capa- 
city for humidity changed in the same 
proportion as the temperature, all the wa- 
ter would be retained ; but this is not the 
case, there will be some excess, and that 
must fall in the liquid state. Rain, then, 
is caused by the mingling of currents of 
atmospheric air charged with humidity, 
and the reader will be surprised at the 
easy explanation the theory gives to 
every variety of appearance attending this 
common but curious phenomena. 

The clouds often look dark and threat- 
ening, and we expect an immediate show- 
er, but they float over the heavens and no 
rain falls. They are perhaps nearly sat- 

urated with humidity, and yet at such a 
temperature as enable them to retain it. 
Presently, however, they meet with a 
cloud also saturated, but having a much 
lower temperature ; they instantly inter- 
mix, a mean temperature is the result, and 
a portion of the humidity instantly falls to 
the earth as rain. 

Another case may be supposed. Two 
clouds, having different temperatures, may 
mingle, but neither of them being highly 
charged with vapor, saturation is not pro- 
duced even when the temperatures are 
made equal, and consequently no rain falls. 

When we come to consider the pecu- 
liar condition of the atmosphere, at differ- 
ent parts of the earth's surface, we are 
struck with the capability of this theory 
in accounting for the regularity of the fall 
of rain in one place, its irregularity in an- 
other, and its entire absence in a third. 
In some countries rain falls at all times of 
the year, though more commonly at some 
periods than at others. The atmosphere 
is in a constant state of change from the 
rapid alteration of temperature, and^at the 
same time always more or less humid, so 
that rain is of very common occurrence. In 
those regions where the state of the at- 
mosphere is more uniform, and its changes 
periodical, rain falls only at certain sea- 
sons of the year. The heavy rains of In- 
dia always occur at the shifting of the 
monsoons, when the atmosphere is con- 
stantly varying. Rain seldom if ever falls 
during the trade winds, in those places 
over which they pass. These winds are 
occasioned by the constant motion of 
heated air from the equator to the poles, 
and there is no internrixture with other 
currents having a different temperature, 
but beyond the limits of the trades the air 
is rapidly cooled, and mingling with other 
masses, rain is common and very heavy. 


Who has not seen and admired the 
beautiful drops of condensed vapor, like 
well-formed globules of crystal, with which 
vegetation is covered, in early morning 
before the sun fully exerts its vaporizing 
influence 1 How refreshed and invigor- 
ated the delicate flowers appear to be by 
the drops under the weight of which they 
modestly bow their heads ! How brightly 



the dew-drops sliine, reflecting the slant- 
ing ravs of the rising sun ! Of all the 
hours of nature's beauty and enchantment, 
none are more pleasing to her admirers 
than that of the dewy morn. It is not, 
however, our province to describe the ap- 
pearance of the country when the dew 
hangs heavily upon waking vegetation, or 
to express the feelings with which the 
sio-ht is observed by a mind alive to the 
varied beauties and deep interest of exter- 
nal existence, but to give a philosophical 
account of the origin of the phenomenon. 
For many years, philosophers were \m- 
decided as' to the origin of dew ; some 
maintained that it rose from the earth, and 
some that it descended from the clouds. 
To support these opposite opinions the ad- 
vocates on each side labored strenuously, 
and introduced arguments and experiments 
almost without end, to prove themselves 
right and their opponents wrong. A feel- 
ing of partisanship thus took the place of 
philosophical inquiry, and never are dis- 
putants so far from truth as then. Dr. 
Well*, a man of science and acute percep- 
tion, commenced the investigation in a 
different spirit, and proved that both the 
contending parties were wrong and totally 
ignorant of the cause. It would be inter- 
esting to follow the course of investigation 
he adopted, and to urge the importance of 
inductive reasoning, the value of which 
was so clearly proved in this instance ; 
but all that our space will allow us to do, 
is to explain the result of his experiments 
with as much simplicity as possible. 

The drops of water formed upon plants, 
trees, and some other things exposed to 
the atmosphere, 'are neither thrown down 
from the clouds, nor are they produced by 
the condensation of vapor rising from the 
earth, but the vapor contained in the at- 
mosphere is condensed upon bodies cooler 
than the air itself. Still it must have been 
observed that dew is not formed upon all 
substances, nor upon similar things in 
different situations. The explanation of 
these circumstances will illustrate the ori- 
gin of dew under all its conditions. 

There are two ways in which a sub- 
stance may be cooled, or, in other words, 
lose a portion of its sensible heat, by con- 
duction, and by radiation. The conduc- 
tion of heat is a phenomenon so common- 

ly observed, that it will not be necessary 
to make any remarks concerning it. When 
a poker is put into the fire, that part which 
is exposed to the immediate action of 
heat, will in a short time become red hot. 
But this is not the only part which re- 
ceives an increase of temperature, for the 
portion most distant from the source of 
heat will also be hotter than it was pre- 
vious to its being placed in the fire. The 
result is occasioned by the property of 
conduction, which all substances do not 
alike possess. Hence we are accustomed 
to say of one body that it is a conductor 
of heat, and of another that it is a non- 

Another method of commimicating heat 
is by radiation. By radiation is meant 
the throwing off in rays. Thus, the sun 
radiates both heat and light ; and the same 
is true of a common coal-fire. If we 
stand at a distance from a fire we feel 
warmed ; but this is not occasioned by the 
heating of the air by conduction ; for, if 
this were the case, we should feel equally 
hot on every side ; but, as is well known, 
we may be scorched on the side nearest 
to the fire, and frozen on the other. 

The principles of radiation enables us 
at once to explain the phenomenon of 
dew, connecting, with what has been al- 
ready said, the fact, that all bodies, what- 
ever may be their temperatures, radiate 
heat. The clouds radiate heat to the earth, 
and the earth and every substance on it to 
the atmosphere. During the day, that is, 
during the hours when the sun is above 
the horizon, the earth receives more heat 
from the sun than it radiates ; and, conse- 
quently, the temperature rises ; but, at 
night, the radiation goes on, without an 
addition of heat from any source, and, 
consequently, the temperature falls. Thus 
it is, that the temperature of things upon 
the surface of the earth becomes lower 
than that of the atmosphere surrounding 
them ; and the vapor, combined with the 
air, is condensed upon them, and forms 

There are now two questions which 
an intelligent reader would propose, and 
which we must answer. Why is not dew 
formed every night 1 and why is not dew 
formed on all substances ? 

The dew is not produced when the 



night is dourly: it is only under an open 
and clear atmosphere that it can be form- 
ed. When clouds are hanging over the 
heavens, there is a mutual radiation be- 
tween them and the earth — a receiving 
and giving of heat; so that the tempera- 
ture does not fall sufficiently low to occa- 
sion the condensation of vapor. For the 
same reason, dew is not formed under the 
shelter of a tree, under an open shed, or up- 
on those plants over which a mat, or even 
a cambric handkerchief, has been thrown. 

All substances are not dewed, because 
they are not all good radiators Good 
conductors are bad radiators, and, conse- 
quently, lose their temperatures slowly, and 
receive no dew. This is especially the 
case when they are also reflectors. A 
polished piece of metal will not have on 
its surface one particle of dew, although 
exposed in a field completely covered with 

The formation of dew, therefore, de- 
pends on the diminution of temperature by 
radiation ; and there is scarcely an in- 
stance which may not be readily explained 
by a knowledge of the facts we have 
stated. The importance of dew in the 
vegetable economy is well known, but 
there are some countries where no rain 
falls, and the only uu)isture received by 
plants is from this source. 


On account of the extreme coldness of 
the atnu)sphere, at certain times, the aque- 
ous vapor with which it is loaded, is not 
only condensed into a liquid, but is con- 
solidated, and falls to the earth as snow or 
hail. It is exceedingly difficult to deter- 
mine why, on one occasion, snow is 
formed, and on another hail ; but we may 
risk the conjecture, that the electrical con- 
dition of tlie atmosphere, with which we 
are so imperfectly acquainted, has much 
to do with the produ'' ..on of the effect. 


DxRiNO the winter months, when the 
earth is cooU-id by radiation, the tempera- 
ture of all things upon it is reduced, and 
even of the atmosphere which surrounds 
it. Hence we have cold and frosty weath- 
er, and water is converted into ice. We 
have already explained the circumstances 

which always attend a change of form— 
the necessity of heat being acquired, in a 
latent state, before a liquid can take the 
vaporous condition, and the giving off of 
latent heat before a liquid can be fiozen. 
It is not, therefore, sufficient that the tem- 
perature should be reduced to a certain 
point for the freezing of water, but the 
liquid must give out its constituent heat. 
This leads us to mention a curious fact 
connected with a thaw. It must have 
been often observed that the atmosphere is 
colder during a thaw than a frost, which 
can only be explained upon the principle 
of latent heat. When ice is assuming a 
liquid state it must obtain a certain amount 
of latent heat ; and during a thaw, the sen- 
sible heat of the air is, as it were, stolen 
for this purpose, and its temperature is, 
consequently, lowered. Hence it is that 
the atmosphere is frequently colder during 
a thaw than when the ice is forming. 


Mr. Hall stated before the British as- 
sociation, in 1836, •' that long and c;i*eful- 
ly continued observation of the weather at 
Bristol, in England, had led him to the 
following theoryj which was strikingly 
correspondent with facts : — 

1. That the barometer, very generally, 
indeed, almost invariably, undulates at 
times, corresponding to the changes of the 
moon ; and, at these times, it more fre- 
quently falls than rises. 

2. That the weather is ordinarily un- 
settled at these periods, continuing so for 
about two or three days ; and, for the 
most part, the wind continues high at these 

3. That, as the weather settles (if it be- 
come settled at all — since it not unfre- 
quently remains in an unsettled state), so 
will it continue until next change of the 
moon, or, ratherj to the recurrence of its 
disturbing influences 

4. That these variations occur as regu- 
larly at the quarters of the moon as at the 
new and full, and are then as fully marked. 

5. That the period, about five days, 
which determines the state of the weather, 
is derived from the spring and neap tides, 
or the full influence of the sun and moon 
upon them. 

" The only origin of these rules," he 



stated, " was actual observation, residing 
on the banks of the river, and taldng much 
interest in the operations of Professor Whe- 
vvell respecting the tides, and his descrip- 
tion of these. Mr. Hall stated that he had 
been led closely to compai'e them with the 
weather, but difficulties, to him insur- 
mountable, had occurred, when consider- 
ing the variations of the weather in dif- 
ferent places at the same time ; yet, re- 
garding those in the neighborhood of 
Bristol, his conviction was unwavering. 
Perhaps, the varying time at which the 
tide reaches various places, so fully de- 
scribed by Professor Whewell, in his lec- 
ture, might assist in solving this difficulty ; 
and, if the attention of others were di- 
rected toward it, his end would be at- 

Mr. Rootsey stated, that his observa- 
tions fully confirmed the observations of 
Mr. Hall. In variable weather, the crisis 
of the day was always to be looked for at 
the change of the tide. The tide-wave, 
when of the enormous magnitude with 
which it reached Bristol (fifty feet), must 
alternately lift up and let down the at- 
mospheric column which stood upon it, 
and thus give rise to chauijes in the baro- 
metric state of that column, which every 
person knew caused the other changes, or, 
at least, preceded them. Professor Stev- 
elly stated, that if he understood Mr. 
Rootsey aright, the influence of the moon 
on the atmospheric column to which he 
referred, was not that direct one exercised 
in causing an atmospheric tide, but the 
indirect one of first causing a tide in the 
watery ocean, which, in its turn, lifted up 
and let down the atmospheric colunm, so 
as to cause condensations and rarefactions, 
very much removed from its mean state. 
Rarefactions and condensations, we well 
know, have much influence on many me- 
teorological phenomena, and, therefore, he 
thought this a valuable hint. The great 
rapidity with which the tide-wave was 
propagated, and the direction in which it 
moved, would thus become a subject of 
interest to the meteorologist, when com- 
paring changes of weather at distant pla- 
ces. That the moon and sun had an in- 
fluence on the weather was so well knowii, 
that rules for anticipating the consequent 
changes had been given to the public, by 

some person, in the name of the elder 

Mr. Harris stated, that, of the influence 
of the moon upon the weather he had no 
doubt, though rules for judging of its in- 
fluence were still wanting. 

The same gentleman has again had 
occasion to observe the correspondence 
between the changes of the ir.oon and the 
height of the barometer. 

This is a question upon which much 
careful and extensive observation is re- 
quired. Men of science, have hitherto, 
we fear, been deterred from investigation, 
under the apprehei.sion that they should 
be associating their names with a low 
class of persons. This, however, is not 
the course to be pursued by those who are 
seeking truth, and the question is one 
which ought long since to have been 
determined by modern science. 



The Rajpoots are a warlike race, who, 
from pride of birth and superiority in arms, 
claim to be of a higher caste than any 
other Hindus. Rajpootana, the country 
which they inhabit, is so called because 
the principal part of it belongs to the Rap- 
joot princes. Rajast'han, or " the abode 
or country of princes," is another name 
for the same territory, which is for the 
most part a mountainous country, bounded 
on the north by Lahore, on the northwest 
by Mooltan, on the west by Sciude, on 
the south by Guzerat and Malwa, and on 
the east by Agra and Delhi ; but the 
boundaries are very irregular and not dis- 
tinctly defined. The area of Rajpootana 
is rather larger than that of Great Britain, 
and the number of inhabitants is thought 
not to exceed three millions, the greater 
part ot whom are Hindus, though there is 
a considerable number of Mohammedans. 
The Rajpoots, including their various 
tribes and branches, form a large propor- 
tion of the population of Central India. 
Before the Mohammedan irivasion, the 



armies of the monarchs of Canoje and 
Delhi, which were chiefly composed of 
tlie Rajpoot tribe, had made partial con- 
quests in this part of the country. They 
were employed to keep the turbulent in 
check; and to conquer the southern regions 
of India. On the appearance of the Mo- 
hammedan invaders, the warlike Rajpoots 
moved onward to the south, overwhelming 
the populations and taking the business 
of government into their own hands. . Be- 
ing of superior caste, the lower classes of 
Hindus regarded them with feelings which 
facilitated their usurpations. 

The Rajpoot states enjoyed a sort of 
half independence under the Mohamme- 
dan emperors. They were compelled to 
pay a tribute and to furnish a miltJary con- 
tingent, but their continual revolts led to 
the destruction of their principal cities. 
In 1748 they assumed independence, but 
the ruin with which they were threatened 
by the Mahrattas led them to seek the 
protection of Great Britain. An English 
garrison is now placed at Ajmeer, one of 
the principal Rajpoot towns ; and although 
the Rajpoot chiefs are called independent 
princes, the military force of their country 
is commanded by an English officer. 
They have ceased to exist as a nation ; 
their character also appears to have dete- 
riorated, and indolence and sensuality 
have gained an ascendency over them. 
They are too proud for industrious occu- 
pations, while their bards and chroniclers 
rouse their passion for war and plunder — 
a passion which happily can no longer be 
gratified. The Rajpoots are excessively 
addicted to the use of opium. Sir John 
Malcolm mentions a practice common at 
the '• durbars," or councils, of some of 
the Rajpoot princes. The minister washes 
his hands, after which liquid opium is 
poured into the palm of his right hand, 
and the first in rank who is present ap- 
proaches and drinks it up. Again the 
minister washes his hands and pours out 
another dose, which is drunk by the 
second in rank ; and so until all have par- 
taken. To drink opium from each other's 
hands is regarded , as the most sacred 
pledge of friendship. 

Four or five Rajpoot tribes, who, from 
their antiquity and their power, are con- 
sidered the highest in rank, will not con- 

descend to intermarry with those who are 
less distinguished, but they always marry 
out of the tribe. The Puar Rajpoots are 
celebrated in the ancient history of Cen- 
tral India, but their power was completely 
crushed by the Mohammedans, and they 
had long ceased to rule, when a chief of 
this race was restored in rank and power 
to the seat of his ancestors. The Puars 
came as the retainers of a Mahratta 
prince ; and, what was worse, they had, 
while in the Decan, eaten and intermar- 
ried with Mahratta Sudras, in consequence 
of which the poorest of the Rajpoot chiefs 
among their dependants would have con- 
sidered it a disgrace to eat with them or 
to give them a daughter in marriage. In 
cases of supposed illegitimacy, or where 
there exists any doubt respecting the rank 
of a person or family, the question can 
only be settled by some chief of high 
birth and character eating out of the same 
dish wiih those on whom the doubt rests. 
The pride of family among the Rajpoots 
is nourished by the Bhats, or Rows, who 
are the chroniclers or bards of the tribe. 
The Rajpoots of Central India, although 
they pay respect to Bramins, do not 
make them their priests, this office being 
held by the Charuns. Both they and the 
Bhats boast of a celestial origin. The 
Charuns are divided into two tribes ; the 
Kachilee, who are merchants, and the 
Maroo, who are bards ; but they do not 
intermarry. These two classes again are 
subdivided into one hundred and twenty 
other tribes. The Charuns derive their 
power from the superstitious belief that 
any family who causes their blood to be 
shed is destined to certain ruin. The 
highest Rajpoot rises when a Ch^run en- 
ters or leaves an assembly. The term 
" Chandie" is given to their self-sacrifices. 
The Charun, for example, accompanies 
travellers as a protection from Rajpoot 
robbers, and warns them off by holding a 
dagger in his hand. If they pay no at- 
tention to him, he stabs himself, and casts 
the blood from the wound upon the assail- 
ants, threatening them with future ruin. 
If this be still ineff'ectual, he again wounds 
himself; and if this has not the desired 
effect, one of the Charun's relations, a fe- 
male child or an old woman, is sacrificed. 
In extreme cases the Charun kills himself, 


and this catastrophe is often followed by 
the voluntary death of his wives and chil- 
dren. Sir John Malcolm, in his work on 
Central India, says that "the aged and 
the young among Charuns are taught not 
merely to desire to part with existence 
whenever the honor of the family or the 
class to which they belong calls for the 
sacrifice, but, from the feeble female of 
fourscore to the child of five years of age, 
they are eager to be the first to die." 
The evil consequences of a Chirun being 
driven to sacrifice himself are only to be 
averted by grants of land and gifts to his 
surviving relatives. The power of the 
Bhats, protected as they are by the super- 
stitious veneration of the people, is very 
great, as they are the dispensers of fame, 
and those who neglect or injure them are 
gibbeted in satires, and other means used 
to degrade them. The community of 
Charuns and Bhats is said to be governed 
by rules so as to constitute a regular hier- 
archy. They are the conservators of the 
purity of the different Rajpoot families, 
and are employed to arrange nearly all 
marriages. By their means only, with 
the assistance of bribes, can a Rajpoot of 
low caste make an alliance with & family 
of greater rank. Besides the military 
Rajpoots, there are Rajpoots cultivators of 
the soil, among whom are to be found in- 
dividuals connected with the higher Raj- 
poot families. They are all armed, and 
the spirit of their race is kept alive by 
the recitations of their bards. In the 
towns also there are Rajpoots who are en- 
gaged in trade or employed as servants. 

The Rajpoots are a fine-looking race, 
and Heber states that their complexions 
are the fairest which he saw in India. 
They have fine horses, but are scarcely 
such showy riders aS the Mussulmans. 
The characteristic part of th'eir costume is 
the turban, which is worn of extraordinary 
size. A mythological emblem in gold or 
silver, being an embossed figure of a horse 
and the sun, is worn round their necks, 
and Sir John Malcolm says that daily ad- 
oration is paid to it. This indispensable 
figure is the first present which a Rajpoot 
makes to his male oflfspring. They also 
wear a figure of a distinguished ancestor or 
relative, engraved in gold or silver, as a 
charm agains" evil spirits. 


How wonderful is Nature ! In the earth, 

The tiny seed is sown, and from it springs 

A tender plant that bends before the breeze, 

And shivers in the blast. But mark it now 

When years have passed, a mighty trunk has risen, 

And giant limbs that stand unmoved, and dare 

The lurid lightnings and the storms of Heaven. 

Could we but put aside the veil which 
is thrown over our senses, and could the 
untrammeled soul look forth upon the 
operations of nature, as they take place 
around us, how glorious would be the 
privilege, how ecstatic the enjoyment ! 
But on j^ie contrary, we can view the 
wonders around us only as through a glass 
darkly, and the senses are continually 
imposing upon the judgment. The chym- 
ical workshops, or laboratories of nature, 
are almost entirely closed upon our sen- 
ses, and we are compelled to gain our 
knowledge from the smoke which arises 
from her chimneys, and the occasional 
glimpses we can obtain through her win- 
dows. Yet the great Author of nature has 
given us insight enough to make us won- 
der at and adore his mighty power with- 
out our becoming vain and proud of our 
own acquisitions of knowledge. 

Men generally are unaware of the fact 
that there are many things around us of 
which we know very little, though they 
are undergoing their changes, and working 
strange phenomena every day in our sight. 
Some of the loftiest sciences, and most 
abstract operations of nature, are often 
better understood than those which are 
immediately around us, and continually 
operating before our eyes. As an ex- 
emplification of this we will mention the 
phenomena which takes place in sow- 
ing the seed, and in the growth of the 
vegetable kingdom. There are very few, 
comparatively speaking, who know how 
the seed germinates, and the plant is 
nourished and grows, though they con- 
verse learnedly on the erratic disposition 
of comets, the attraction and gravitation 
of bodies, and the movement of the plan- 
ets. Though they every day see them 
springing and growing around them, yet 
they are not aware that they are so abso- 
lutely necessary to human life, that the 
animal and vegetable kingdoms are re- 
ciprocally dependant upon each other, and 

that the purity of the atmosphere is ac- 
tually kept up by the oxygen which is 
wasted in the vegetable kingdom. 

Nature is very simple in all her works. 
She requires but few ingredients, oxygen, 
hydrogen, and carbon, being the principal, 
out of which she manufactures so many 
varieties of forms. The earth it appears 
serves very little other purpose than as a 
matrix for the seed and plant, as very 
small portions of earth has ever been 
found in vegetable compounds. The earth 
is the channel or medium through which 
the plant receives its nourishment, and it 
also serves as a support to the roots of 
trees. All manures are good or bad in 
proportion as they contain the vegetable 
principle or food of plants, which is pre- 
pared by the decomposition of vegetable 
matter. Water is absolutely necessary to 
vegetable life, inasmuch as it takes up the 
saline and unctuous particles in the ma- 
nure, and conveys them to the roots of the 
vegetable. If the soil is sandy it will not 
hold a sufficiency of water ; if too solid 
with clay, the water will collect in too 
great a quantity, and produce decompo- 
sition of the roots. Calcareous soils, or 
those containing the carbonate of lime, 
are best adapted to the growth of plants, 
though it is often necessary to vary, as 
potatoes do best in a sandy soil, wheat in 
a rich, and rice in a moist soil. A ferru- 
ginous soil for fruit-trees, and a moderately 
rich sandy bottom for forest-trees. 

In cuhivating the Italian mulberry, and 
the moras multicaulis, we have experi- 
mented on the relative properties of ani- 
mal and vegetable manures, and find that 
the former is the best, inasmuch as it con- 
tains more nitrogen, which renders it more 
complicated, and consequently more fa- 
vourable to decomposition. Animal sub- 
stances cause vegetable matter to ferment 
with greater facility. 

But let us examine a seed of the mul- 
berry, for example, and trace its progress 
from the earth. The external covering 
contains, beside the germ of the future 
plant, a substance, which is to serve it for 
nourishment in the early stage of its ex- 
istence. This substance is called the 
parenchyma, and consists of fecula oil and 
mucilage. The seed is generally divided 
into two parts called lobes or cotyledons, 

as may be observed in different kinds of 
beans. There is a dark-colored cord or 
string which divides the lobes, and is 
termed the radicle, from the Latin word 
radix, the root, as this string becomes the 
root of the future plant. Enclosed within 
the lobes is another part termed plumiila, 
from which the trunk of the tree proceeds. 
All seeds have not the same number of 
cotyledons ; barley, wheat, and oats, and 
the grasses, have but one. Some are 
found to have two, three, and others as 
many as six. When the seed is deposited 
in the earth, and the heat of the atmo- 
sphere is any degree above 40, the first 
operation it performs is to imbibe water. 
The seed softens, and the lobes swell. 
An absorption of oxygen then takes place, 
which unites with the carbon of the seed, 
and is returned in the form of carbonic 
acid. The loss of carbon consequently 
increases the proportion of oxygen and 
hydrogen comparatively in the seed, and 
as a natural consequence the saccharine 
fermentation takes place. By this pro- 
cess the substance of the parenchyma is 
changed to a soft sweet pulp. The ac- 
tion of heat on the seed swells it to such 
a degree that it can not contain itself, and 
the root darts forth, and strikes into the 
earth. The stem also pierces its cover- 
ing, and passes up into the air, carrying 
with it two leaves, which are called the 
seminal leaves, and serve to elaborate the 
sap destined to support the steji^. Thus 
the cotyledons now becomes '"the seed 
leaves, or lungs of the tree. 

There is a very strong resemblance be- 
tween the seed and an egg. Heat is ne- 
cessary to develop the living energies of 
both, and there is a substance in each 
destined to supply nourishment to both in 
the early stage of their existence. So 
soon as the chick can provide for itself, 
the egg breaks, and so soon as the roots 
of the tree can imbibe ample nourishment 
from the soil, the seed-leaves drop off. 
Indeed there is a striking analogy between 
the whole vegetable and animal kingdoms. 

So soon as the root branches off, and 
commences feeding from the soil, leaves 
become necessary to elaborate the sap 
and render it fit to nourish and form the 
growth of the tree. Here we also see a 
striking resemblance between the func- 



tions of the leaves of plants, and the 
lungs of animals. There are vessels 
vs^hich serve in the animal system to suck 
up and convey from the stomach and bow- 
els a fluid called chyle, which is conveyed 
to the lungs, and there is brought in con- 
tact with atmospheric air, and is oxydized 
or fitted to nourish every part of the frame. 
In like manner the roots suck up water, 
from the roots it is conveyed by certain 
vessels to the leaves where it undergoes a 
change, and becomes the sap or blood of 
the plant, which is conveyed to and nour- 
ishes every part of the tree. The upper 
surface of the leaves, it is said, throws off 
by transpiration the superabundance, while 
the lower surface on the contrary, which 
is rough and downy, absorbs moisture 
from the atmosphere, thereby obtaining 
those ingredients in the air necessary to 
its health. Thus the greater the quantity 
of the foliage, the greater is the quantity 
of water taken up by the roots, and tran- 
spired from the upper surface of the leaves. 
Air and light appear to be essentially ne- 
cessary to the existence of the vegetable 
creation. Light is necessary to the for- 
mation of colors. If you plant a potato 
in a dark cellar it will be perfectly color- 
less, and if a hole be made through which 
light may enter, the vine will turn toward 
it, and endeavor to reach it. 

How beautifully does nature dispose the 
leaves on the stem of the plant. The 
under sideQ)f the leaf being intended to 
absorb moisture from the air, and the dews 
of night as they arise from the ground, 
the leaves are so arranged that one shall 
not be immediately over another. By this 
arrangement the under surface of each 
leaf is exposed to the ascending moisture 
of the earth. You will occasionally see 
the leaves placed alternately on two par- 
allel and opposite lines ; again they are 
arranged in pairs crossing at right angles ; 
and again they are placed on the angles 
of polygons, circumscribed on the branch- 
es, and arranged in such a manner that 
the angles of the inferior polygon corre- 
sponds with the sides of the superior. On 
some plants they ascend the stalk in par- 
allel spiral lines. 

It may be proven to actual demoiistra- 
tion, that the under side of the leaf is in- 
tended to absorb moisture from the earth 

and atmosphere. If leaves be plucked, 
and the under sides be placed on a basin 
of water, they will remain green for days, 
and even weeks, but if they be placed 
with the upper surface in the water, they 
perish in a very short time. Herbs that 
grow more rapidly than trees have both 
surfaces of the leaves rough, nearly alike, 
and absorb moisture more rapidly from the 
atmosphere. The fact of the upper sides 
of leaves being smoother, more glossy, and 
of a deeper color, indicates a different 
use. If you incline the stalk of a tree it 
will turn and grow upward. If you bend 
the branch of a tree so that its leaves are 
reversed in regard to natural position, the 
leaves will continually endeavor to turn 
back again, and will finally succeed. 
Plant a seed upside down, so that the root 
shall start upward and the stem downward, 
and in a short time the root will turn and 
dive into the earth, while the stem will 
also turn and start upward into the air. 

We have said that water is the chief 
nourishment of plants. It not only forms 
the sap, but is the basis of all vegetable 
fluids. Through the medium of water all 
the ingredients, such as salts, &c., are 
carried into plants. The organs of the 
plant have the power of decomposing 
water, and thus the hydrogen of the water 
serves as a constituent of oil, of coloring 
matter, &c., and the oxygen aids in the 
formation of mucilage, of fecula, of ve- 
getable acids, sugar, &c. The greater 
portion of the oxygen of the water, how- 
ever, is changed by caloric into a gaseous 
state, the caloric proceeding from the hy- 
drogen during the condensation it under- 
goes, in forming the materials of the ve- 
getable. This gaseous oxygen is thrown 
off into the atmosphere by the leaves of 
plants. Thus the atmosphere is contin- 
ually rendered pure, and the loss repaired, 
which is necessary, inasmuch as the con- 
stant oxygenation and combustion of sub- 
stances, and the respiration of animals, 
are continually exhausting it. Thus, too, is 
there a mutual dependance between the an- 
imal and vegetable kingdoms, as the plant 
is sustained by the substances thrown off 
by the lungs of animals, and the animal 
by the oxygen thrown off by plants. 
How wisely formed, how harmonious, are 
the works of nature ! How strange is the 



fact that we could not possibly exist any 
length of time without the vegetable cre- 
ation, for the carbonic acid which is 
thrown off by animals in breathing would 
collect to such a degree in the atmosphere, 
as to render it entirely unfit for respiration, 
and death to the animal creation would be 
the consequence. But here how wise is 
the dispensation of Providence ! The 
vegetable kingdom attracts and decom- 
poses this carbonic acid, and after making 
use of the carbon for its own purposes 
returns the oxygen to the atmosphere, for 
the use of ourselves, and the rest of the 
animal creation. 

But let us return to the formation of the 
tree. Having traced it from the seed to 
the putting forth of the roots and stem, 
we will speak of the bark. The bark is 
composed of three parts, the epidermis, 
the parenchyma, and the cortical layers. 

The epidermis is a thin external skin 
particularly observable on cherry-trees, as 
it may be easily peeled off. Upon ex- 
amination it is found to be a thin mem- 
brane, through which the light is trans- 
mitted, and consists of five slender fibres, 
which cross each other in the manner of 
a net. In some trees, and in corn, this 
membrane has a thin coat of siliceous 
earth, which gives it great strength. In 
some plants this membrane is composed 
of wax, and in others it is resinous. 

The parenchyma lies next to, and is 
immediately under the epidermis. When 
the epidermis is stripped off it appears 
like a green rind, and is found not only on 
the trunk and branches, but extends to 
every part, even to the leaves. It is full 
of tubes, which contain a kind of fluid. 

The cortical layers are immediately 
between the parenchyma and the wood. 
They are full of small vessels, which 
convey the sap downward after it has 
been elaborated in the leaves. They con- 
tain a quantity of gallic acid and tannin. 
Every year the old cortical layers are 
formed into wood, and new ones are 

The woody part of the tree, which is 
composed of woody fibre, mucilage, and 
resin, is called the alburnum. The fibres 
of the alburnum run two ways ; some of 
them longitudinally, and is called the sil- 
ver grain, while others called the spurious 

grain, are disposed in a concentric man- 
ner. From the layers of the spurious 
grain the age of the tree may be com- 
puted, one being formed every year by the 
conversions of the cortical layers into 
wood. The roots of the tree suck in the 
water from the earth, and the tubes in the 
alburnum, or wood, convey it upward to 
the leaves, where the tubes unite with the 
extremities of the arteries of the cortical 
layers: Here then is a resemblance to 
the circulation in the animal system. The 
water pumped up by the roots is the chyle 
which the absorbent vessels suck up from 
the stomach and intestines, and convey to 
the lungs to be oxydized. So the water 
of the roots is conveyed by the vessels of 
the alburnum to the leaves or lungs, and 
from them is distributed to the parts of 
the plant. But here the simile fails, as 
the plant has nothing answering to the 
human heart, whence the blood is dis- 
tributed after receiving it from the lungs. 
In the plant the sap is distributed from the 
lungs, but not by the way of a heart. 

By the heat of the spring the small 
vessels of the plant expand, and partly 
perhaps by forming a vacuum, and partly 
by capillary attraction, the sap is carried 
up from the roots by the vessels of the 
alburnum into the leaves, where it under- 
goes a chymical change, and becomes fit- 
ted for the nourishment of the plant. The 
vessels of the cortical layers, now take it, 
and convey it to all parts of the plant. 
The tubes in the parenchyma are much 
larger than those which carry the sap, and 
serve perhaps to secrete some peculiar 
fluid necessary to the health of the plant, 
as the liver does in the human system. 
The juices of plants diff'er, and often in 
the same plant. In the centre of the al- 
burnum is the heart-wood which appears 
to have no life, and the longevity of trees 
is owing to the want of this heart-wood. 
The long life of the oak is no doubt owing 
to the small portion of heart it contains. 
In the hickory this heart-wood gains upon 
the sap-wood in a double ratio, and when 
grown old gradually spreads toward tJie 
bark, till the living and active portion is 
not sufficient to nourish the tree, and it 

How the several juices are made, and 
how certain changes are affected in the 



formation of the fruit, and the parts of the 
tree, is a mystery which has never been 
solved. The organs, by which those 
changes are effected are so small as to es- 
cape all observation, and hence Ave are 
left in the dark on one of the most inter- 
esting points of vegetable economy. It 
appears that trees possess an internal heat, 
in which respect they also resemble the 
animal. A small portion of carbonic acid 
is carried with the sap from the roots 
which the internal heat of the plant serves 
to disengage. Indeed, the whole plant is 
a chymical laboratory, in which the vari- 
ous changes are effected, and new com- 
binations produced. 

At the first appearance of a plant it is 
almost of a gelatinous consistence, but by 
a chymical change, which takes place in 
the juices which flow to it, the stock be- 
comes harder and harder by degrees, till 
it assumes the nature of wood. The part 
of the stalk nearest to the root hardens 
first, and grows in a double ratio com- 
pared with parts above. After a while 
this part ceases to harden and to grow, 
and the same effect takes place in a part 
immediately above. Thus it progresses 
upward till the whole stalk assumes the 
nature and consistence of wood. After 
this a succession of concentric layers 
take place, which are produced by the 
hardening into wood every year of corti- 
cal layers. 

In the propagation of vegetables there 
is no resemblance to the animal kingdom. 
Vegetables may be propagated by seed 
layers and cuttings. The pistil and stam- 
ina in plants answer the same purposes, 
as the organs of generation in animals. 
The seed are enclosed in the former, and 
the pollen or fine powder of the latter fe- 
cundates it. Both sexes are often united 
in one plant, while in other species the 
male is on one stalk and the fenrale on 
another. Other species are distinct like 
animals in the sexes. 

It appears that buds and even leaves 
have within them the elements of the fu- 
ture tree, and hence a small stick cut from 
a tree having two buds on it, may, by be- 
ing placed in the earth produce a tree. 
The lower bud will swell, and throw out 
roots while a tiny stem will start up into 
the air from the upper bud. It is thus 

that the most of the morus multicaulis 
trees are now produced by the cultivators 
of silk in this country. It appears as- 
tonishing that a single leaf or piece of 
stick should be placed in the earth and 
there bud and produce a tree in the same 
manner as the seed. The organs esseE- 
tial to life seem to be placed in every part 
of the plant, and consequently the means 
of propagating are multiplied. 

There is yet another mode of multiply- 
ing, called grafting. Theophrasus informs 
us that a bird which had swallowed a 
fruit dropped it in the cleft of a tree 
where it grew, and became completely 
united to the original, though it proved to 
be a different kind. Hence sprung the 
art of grafting, and hence we see that it 
is of very remote origin. The graft 
which is fixed to another may be said to 
be one tree taking root, and growing in 
another, for it preserves its original char- 
acter. There appears to be a necessary 
congeniality to succeed in grafting. A 
plum-tree will not graft and grow upon an 
apple, but an apple will succeed upon the 
pear, as the seed of their fruit are alike. 
It is something very astonishing that ap- 
ple-seed will not produce their kind, but 
that the seed of one apple may produce a 
half dozen different trees, among which 
there may not be one bearing fruit like the 
original. Hence the use of grafting to 
produce and continue choice fruits, and 
also of propagating trees by cuttings, as 
they invariably produce their kind. 

Vegetable life is the link which unites 
the animal and mineral kingdoms, inas- 
much as mineral substances are introduced 
into the animal system. " All flesh is 
but grass," and it is by the consumption 
of vegetable matter by the animal, that 
the simple elements are conveyed into, 
and become a part of the animal frame. 
Vegetation is simply the vehicle in which 
nature prepares the nourishing elements 
destined for the support of the animal 

Manner. — Of all the modifications of 
manner which are to be met with in soci- 
ety, perhaps the most generally pleasing 
is simplicity, even as that water is the 
purest which has no taste — that air the 
freshest which has no odor. 




Perhaps a knowledge of the world, in 
the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, 
may mean nothing more than a knowledge 
of conventionalisms, or a familiarity with 
the forms and ceremonies of society. 
This, of course, is of easy acquisition, 
when the mind is once bent upon the task. 
The practice of the small proprieties of 
life to a congenial spirit, soon ceases to be 
a study ; it rapidly becomes a mere habit, 
or an untroubled and unerring instinct. 
This is always the case, when there is no 
sedentary labor by the midnight lamp to 
produce an ungainly stoop in the shoul- 
ders, and a conscious defect of grace and 
pliancy in the limbs ; and when there is 
no abstract thought or poetic vision to dis- 
sipate the attention, and blind us to the 
trivial realities that are passing immedi- 
ately around us. Some degree of vanity 
and a perfect self-possession are absolutely 
essential ; but high intellect is only an ob 
struction. Men whose heads are little 
better than a pin's, have rendered them- 
selves extremely acceptable in well- 
dressed circles. There are some who 
seem born for the boudoir and the ball- 
room, while others are as little fitted for 
fashionable society, as the fish is for the 
open air and the dry land. They who 
are more familiar with books than with 
men, can not look calm and pleased when 
their souls are inwardly perplexed. The 
almost venal hypocrisy of politeness is 
the more criminal and disgusting in their 
judgment, on account of its difficulty to 
themselves, and the provoking ease with 
which it appears to be adopted by others. 
The loquacity of the forward, the eff"emi- 
nate affectation of the foppish, and the 
sententiousness of shallow gravity, ex- 
cite a feeling of contempt and weariness 
that they have neither the skill nor the in- 
clination to conceal. 

A recluse philosopher is unable to re- 
turn a simple salutation without betraying 
his awkwardness and uneasiness to the 
quick eye of a man of the world. He 
exhibits a ludicrous mixture of humanity 
and pride. He is indignant at the as- 
surance of others, and is mortified at his 
own timidity. He is vexed that he should 
suffer those whom he feels to be his in- 

feriors to enjoy a temporary superiority. 
He is troubled that they should be able to 
trouble him, and ashamed that they should 
make him ashamed. Such a man, when 
he enters into society, brings all his pride, 
but leaves his vanity behind him. Pride 
allows our wounds to remain exposed, but 
makes them doubly irritable ; but vanity, 
as Sancho says of sleep, seems to cover 
a man all over as with a cloak. A con- 
templative spirit can not concentrate his 
attention on minute and uninteresting cer- 
emonials, and a sense of unfitness for so- 
ciety makes the most ordinary of its du- 
ties a painful task. Ther'" are some au- 
thors who would rather wrte a quarto 
volume in the praise of women, 'han hand 
a fashionable woman to her chair. 

The foolish and formal conversation of 
polite life, is naturally uninteresting to the 
retired scholar, but it would, perhaps be 
less objectionable if he thought he could 
take a share in it with any degree of 
credit. He has not the feeling of calm 
and unmixed contempt ; there is envy and 
irritation in his heart. He can not despise 
his fellow-creatures, nor be wholly indif- 
ferent to their good opinion. Whatever 
he may think of their manners and con- 
versation, his uneasiness evinces that he 
does not feel altogether above, or inde- 
pendent of them. No man likes to seem 
unfit for the company he is in. At Rome 
every man would be a Roman. 


Amoy is a small island near the coast 
of China, with a town of the same name, 
lying toward the southeastern extremity 
of the province of Foo-Kien. It is in 
20^ 45' N. lat., and 118° E. long. In 
Mandarin dialect the name of the place is 
Hea-mun, which is pronounced by the 
natives Ha-moy. 

The district directly adjacent to this 
flourishing town, the emporium of the 
commerce of the province, is one of the 
most barren in all China ; but this charac- 
ter does not seem to extend very widely. 
The country in the immediate vicinity of 



Amoy is miserably barren ; hence the 
means of subsistence are scanty and ex- 
pensive. A few miles distant, however, 
the soil is rich and affords abundant sup- 
plies. Notwithstanding this serious dis- 
advantage, the merchants of Amoy are 
among the most wealthy and enterprising 
in the Chinese empire ; they have formed 
connexions all along tho coast, and have 
established commercial houses in many 
parts of the Eastern Archipelago. Most 
of the colonists in Formosa emigrated 
from the district of Amoy, with capital 
supplied by its merchants ; and in propor- 
tion as that island has flourished, so has 
Amoy increased in wealth and importance. 

During the southwest monsoon, the 
merchants of Amoy freight their vessels 
at Formosa with sugar, which they sell at 
various ports to the northward, returning 
home with cargoes of drugs. They main- 
tain commercial relations with Manilla, as 
well as with Tonquin and Cochin-China : 
they annually employ forty large junks in 
trading with Bankok, the capital of Siam. 
Junks of the largest class — some of them 
eight hundred tons burden — go to Borneo, 
Macassar, Java, and the Soo-loo islands ; 
and many of them annually visit Sinca- 
pore, in order to procure goods of British 
or American manufacture. 

This port has not always been closed 
against foreign vessels. According to the 
records of the East India Company, the 
king of Tywan, on taking Amoy in 1675, 
issued a proclamation inviting both Chi- 
nese and foreign merchants to trade thith- 
er, exempting them from the payment of 
all duties for three years. Many vessels 
in consequence resorted to the port, but 
the exemption was speedily revoked. In 
1681 the town was taken by the Tartars, 
but Europeans were still allowed to trade 
thither, and continued to do so until 1734, 
when the exactions of the Mandarins de- 
terred them from continuing so unprofita- 
ble an intercourse ; and when an English 
ship went there ten years after, many vain 
endeavors and much fruitless discussion 
were employed to induce the Chinese to 
trade, so that the vessel was obliged to 
proceed to Bengal for a cargo. 

The ship Amherst visited Amoy in 
1832, with no better success : it appears, 
however, that the obstacles to her trading 

all proceeded from the authorities and not 
from the people, by whom the English 
were received in the most friendly man- 

The late expedition has extended oi;r 
knowledge of Amoy, having been cap- 
tured by the British troops. Dr. Mac- 
pherson says of it : Amoy is a principal 
third-class city of China ; it has an ex- 
cellent harbor, and from its central situa- 
tion is well adapted for commerce. It is 
a great emporium of trade, and has con- 
stant communication, not only with the 
neighboring states, but also with Singa- 
pore and other settlements in the straits. 
The city is about eight miles in circum- 
ference ; it is surrounded in part by a wall, 
and nearly its whole length by the inner 
harbor. Its population is fluctuating, 
from the major portion being so frequently 
absent on mercantile pursuits. It is at all 
times much infested by native robbers, 
who come in boats and attack the inhab- 
itants at night. The citadel is about a 
mile in circumference. It entirely com- 
mands the suburbs and inner town, and is 
surrounded by a wall which is occasionally 
turreted, and varies in height from twenty 
to thi$ty-six feet. In this citadel were 
several extensive granaries well filled, 
arsenals containing enormous quantities of 
jingalls, wall-pieces, matchlocks, military 
clothing, shields, bows and arrows, spears 
and swords of all descriptions, besides 
extensive magazines of powder and ma- 
terial for constructing it. There was also 
a foundry, with moulds for casting guns. 
But few war-junks were seen, the Chi- 
nese admiral having shortly before our 
visit proceeded on a cruise with the fleet. 
Large quantities of timber and naval 
stores were found, and several war-junks 
were on the stocks ; one two-decker, 
moulded after the fashion of ours, and 
carrying thirty guns, was ready for sea. 
.... From the point of entrance into 
the inner harbor, the great sea-line of de- 
fence extended in one continued battery 
of granite upward of a mile. This bat- 
tery was faced with turf and mud several 
feet in thickness, so that at a distance no 
appearance of a fortification could be 
traced. The embrasures were roofed, and 
the slabs thickly covered with turf, so as 
to protect the men while working their 

guns. This work mounted about one 
hundred guns, and it terminated in a high 
wall, which was connected with a range 
of rocky heights which run parallel to the 
beach. The entrance into the harbor is 
by a channel six hundred yards across, 
between the island of Koolangsoo and 
Amoy. On each side of this passage 
there were also strong fortifications. 

The outer town is divided from the city 
by a chain of rocks, over which a paved 
road leads through a pass that has a cov- 
ered gateway at its summit. The outer 
harbor skirts the outer town, while the 
city is bounded in nearly its whole length 
by the inner harbor and an estuary which 
deeply indent the island. 


The returns of the sun to the meridian 
and to the same equinox, or to the same 
solstice, form the days and the years. 
The astronomical day is the time com- 
prised between two consecutive middays 
or midnights. The sidereal day is the 
duration of an entire revolution of the 
heavens. The astronomical day surpasses 
the sidereal day ; for if the sun and a star 
pass the meridian at the same instant, the 
sun will return there later than the star 
the next day, and in the space of a year 
it will pass the meridian one time less 
than the star will pass the meridian. The 
astronomical days are not equal ; their 
diflerences are produced by the inequality 
of the proper movement of the sun, and 
by the obliquity of the ecliptic ; at the 
solstice of summer, the movement of the 
sun being lower than at the solstice of 
winter. The inequaUty of the proper 
movement of the sun is made to disappear 
by imagining a second sun moved uni- 
formly on the ecliptic, and always traver- 
sing the great axis of the solar orbit, at 
the same instant as the true sun. The 
second sun, which we thus imagine, de- 
termines, by its return to the equator and 
to the tropics, the mean equinoxes and sol- 
stices. The duration of its returns to the 
same equinox or to the same solstice, 

form the tropical year, of which the actual 
length is 365 days and a quarter nearly. 
(365.242264). Observation has taught 
us that the sun takes more time to return 
to the same stars. ^ The sidereal year is 
the time comprised between two of these 
consecutive returns ; it surpasses the tro- 
pical year by one seventieth of a day 
nearly, (0.014110). Thus the equinoxes 
have a retrograde movement on the eclip- 
tic, or a movement contrary to the proper 
movement of the sun. 

This movement is not exactly the same 
in all ages, which renders the length of 
the tropical year a little unequal ; it is 
now about 13 seconds shorter than in the 
time of Hipparchus. It is natural to 
make this year begin at the solstice of 
winter, which antiquity celebrated as the 
epoch of the regeneration of the sun, and 
which, under the pole, is the middle of 
the great night of the year. If the civil 
year were constantly 365 days, its begin- 
ning would incessantly anticipate that of 
the true tropical year, and it would run 
through the different sessions in a period 
of about 1,508 years. This year was 
once in use in Egypt ; but it deprives the 
calendar of the advantage of attaching the 
months and festivals to the same seasons, 
and of making them remarkable epochs 
for agriculture. The most simple method 
of correcting the civil year is that which 
Julius Cfesar introduced into the Roman 
calendar, by making a bissextile or leap 
year every fourth year ; but a small num- 
ber of ages would suffice to displace the 
beginning of these Julian years. 

In the eleventh century the Persians 
adopted a method remarkable for its ex- 
actness ; they introduced a leap year every 
fourth year, seven times consecutively, 
and deferred the bissextile, the eighth 
time, until the fifth year. It would take a 
great number of centuries sensibly to dis- 
place the beginning of this Persian year. 
The mode of intercalation by the Grego- 
rian calendar is a little less exact, but if 
it be considered that this calendar is now 
that of almost all the nations of Europe 
and America, and that it has taken two 
great ages and all the influence of religion 
to procure for it this universality, it will 
be felt that it is important to preserve so 
precious an advantage, even at the ex- 

pense of a perfection which does not bear 
on essentials ; for the principal object of 
a calendar is to offer a simple mode of 
attaching events to the series of days, and 
by an easy method of intercalation to fix 
the beginning of the year in the same 
season — conditions which are well ful- 
filled by the Gregorian calendar. The 
union of 100 years, or century, forms the 
age, the longest period employed hitherto 
in the measure of time, for the interval 
which separates us from the most ancient 
known events does not yet demand a 
longer. The division of the year into 12 
months is very ancient, and almost uni- 
versal. The system of months of 30 
days conducts naturally to their division 
into three decades ; but at the end of the 
year the complementary days trouble the 
order of things attached to the days of the 
decade, which causes a necessity for em- 
barrassing administrative measures. This 
inconvenience is obviated by the use of a 
little period independent of the months 
and of the years ; such is the week, which 
since the most remote antiquity in which 
it loses its origin, circulates through the 
midst of ages, mixing itself in the suc- 
cessive calendars of different nations. 
It is perhaps the most ancient and most 
incontestable monument of human knowl- 
edge ; it appears to indicate a common 
source whence that knowledge has been 
spread forth ; but the astronomical system 
which serves as its base proves the im- 
perfection of human knowledge at that 

Note — The seven days in the Mosaic 
account of the creation being the first 
week of man's recorded existence, the 
Mosaic books being the most ancient 
known writings, and no traces of such a 
being as man occurring contemporary with 
remoter periods than the Mosaic account, 
all point to the cause of the week thus 
circulating through the most remote ages 
of antiquity. 


In every age of the world mystery has 
been the efficient magic wand by which 

the cupidity of man has predominated 
over his fellows when physical force fell 
short of accomplishing his purpose. The 
human mind, ever active and untiring, can 
not find sufficient employment in the dull 
routine of ordinary life, and therefore it 
must seek new channels by which its en- 
ergies may be exhausted. The great ar- 
cana of Nature presents an ample arena 
in which it may act to the full extent of 
its powers ; and it is herein that extra- 
ordinary genius becomes developed, and 
the mind which possesses more than or- 
dinary strength, discovers the truths which 
lie hidden in these unexplored recesses. 
Such an acquirement elevates the man 
above the mass, and those operations of 
the elements, and facts relative to science 
which his researches have rendered per- 
fectly comprehensible to him, still exhil)it 
to the great bulk of mankind a complica- 
tion of undeveloped mysteries, and hence 
arises his power over the mental world. 
In the early ages of the world, before so- 
ciety became perfectly organized so as to 
render the social system vitally important 
to the general good, no corresponding ob- 
servations upon the phenomena of the 
physical world were made, and conse- 
quently the discoveries of individuals 
were neglected, even by themselves, for 
the want of corresponding facts to prove 
the correctness of their positions ; and 
hence, general information was rendered 

But as men advanced by the natural im- 
pulse of their inherent principles of in- 
quiry and research, a new state of things 
ensued, and man lifted his thoughts from 
earth to inquire into the mysteries of the 
heavens, and a corresponding elevation of 
soul was the result. This new field called 
forth the most energetic action of his im- 
agination, and the perfect harmony there 
exhibited, enabled him to reduce his ob- 
servations to a system. This system en- 
abled him to foretell events connected 
with the phenomena of the heavens, and 
the mass looked upon him as a superior 
portion of intelligent creation. His cu- 
pidity readily discovered the immense 
power he had acquired over the multitude, 
and his natural desire to predominate 
pointed out the means for retaining his el- 
evated position, and he immediately threw 



a dark veil over his luminous discoveries, 
which hid them entirely from his fellows. 
The knowledge thus acquired was re- 
duced to a mysterious system of theolo- 
gy ; every scientific fact was enveloped in 
the robes of profound mystery, and at the 
feet of the fortunate possessor did the ig- 
norant mass bow with awful and blind 
reverence. Such superiority could not 
be circmoiscribed within the limits of a 
single individual's capacities, nor could 
the physical operations connected with 
this theology be performed by one alone, 
and hence a compact and established 
priesthood was formed, who swayed the 
destinies of powerful nations and claimed 
the homage of the princes of the earth. 
To render their rites more solemn and im- 
pressive, and to attach to their order a 
greater degree of awful reverence, their 
sanctuaries were erected in the bowels of 
the earth, and their mysterious functions 
celebrated w^hen the pall of night over- 
spread the nations. 

India, whence it is supposed that the 
Egyptians derived their learning and civ- 
ilization, was the seat of the most power- 
ful hierarchy of this kind, whose power 
was mystery, that the world ever pro- 
duced. The islands contiguous to that 
great peninsula still exhibit monuments of 
the vast physical labor to which a people, 
in an age so remote that history can not 
conjecture the period, were subjected, to 
subserve the interest of this philosophical 
priesthood. The island of Elephanta was 
the most celebrated for its numerous sub- 
terranean temples consecrated solely to 
the celebration of mysterious rites. These 
temples are excavated in solid granite, 
many hundred yards in length and as 
many in breadth. Columns of the various 
orders for which Grecian architecture is 
so celebrated, are here carved out of the 
solid rock, some of them to the height of 
more than sixty feet, and were probably 
models for the temple of the sun at Heli- 
opolis, of Memnon at Thebes, and the 
various structures of the ancient Greeks. 

The entrance to these temple caves of 
Elephenta were guarded by colossal stat- 
ues of such terrific appearance, that none 
but the initiated ever had the temerity to 
enter, and hence their secrecies were nev- 
er disclosed to the world, for the awful 

manner in which aspirants were initiated 
into these secrecies placed the seal of si- 
lence on this subject upon their lips for 
ever. The doctrine of metempsychosis 
was the leading principia taught in these 
temples, and nothing can be conceived 
more solemn than the initiation into the 
greater Eleusinian mysteries. An ancient 
writer who had gone through the awful 
ceremony, thus describes it : — 

" After entering the grand vestibule of 
the mystic shrine, I was led by the hiero- 
phant, amid surrounding darkness and in- 
cumbent horrors, through all the extended 
aisles, winding avenues, and gloomy 
adyta. It was a rude and fearful march 
through night and darkness. Presently 
the ground began to rock beneath my feet, 
the whole temple trembled, and strange 
and awful voices were heard through the 
midnight silence. To these succeeded 
other louder and more terrific noises, re- 
sembling thunder ; while quick and vivid 
flashes of lightning darted through the 
cavern, displaying to my view many 
ghastly sights and hideous spectres, em- 
blematical of the various vices, diseases, 
infirmities, and calamities, incident to that 
state of terrestrial bondage from which 
my struggling soul was now going to 
emerge, as well as of the horrors and pe- 
nal torments of the guilty in a future state. 
At this period, all the pageants of vulgar 
idolatry, all the train of gods, supernal and 
infernal, passed in awful succession be- 
fore me, and a hymn, called the Theology 
of Idols, recounting the genealogy and 
functions of each, was sung : afterward 
the whole fabulous detail was solemnly 
recounted by the mystagogue ; a divine 
hymn in honor of Etermal and Immu- 
table Truth was chanted, and the pro- 
founder mysteries commenced. And now, 
arrived at the verge of death and initiation, 
everything wore a dreadful aspect ; it was 
all horror, trembling, and astonishment. 
Au icy chillness seized my limbs ; a co- 
pious dew, like the damp of real death, 
bathed my temples ; I staggered, and my 
faculties began to fail ; when the scene 
was of a sudden changed, and the doors 
of the interior splendidly-illuminated tem- 
ple were thrown wide open. A miracu- 
lous and divine light disclosed itself ; and 
shining plains and flowery meadows 



opened on all hands before me. Arrived 
at the bourne of mortality, after having 

! trod the gloomy threshold of Proserpine, 
I passed rapidly through all the surround- 
ing elements ; and, at deep midnight, be- 

I held the sun shining in meridian splen- 
dor. The clouds of mental error and the 
shades of real darkness being now alike 
dissipated, both my soul and body ex- 
perienced a delightful vicissitude ; and 
while the latter, purified with lustrations, 
bounded in a blaze of glory, the former 
dissolved in a tide of overwhelming trans- 

These mysteries were conveyed to 
Egypt, and incorporated with their wor- 
ship, thence they found their way into 
Greece and subsequently to Rome, where 
the mysteries of Dea were a remarkable 
imitation of the rites of the ancient In- 
dian mythology. When the bright star 
of Bethlehem arose upon the land of Pal- 
estine, the dark veil was removed from 
these mysterious rites, and the temples of 
Isis, of Jupiter, and of Diana, were de- 
serted, but the ambitious passions of men 
could not long slumber, and the bright es- 
cutcheon of Christianity became tarnished 
with the foul blot of mysticism, to enable 
a few who thirsted for power to tread 
upon the necks of the multitude ; and that 
system, so simple in its original, became 
the most complex of all. Mystery after 
mystery was introduced into the system, 
and darker and darker grew the night that 
gathered over the world, until at length 
the veil was rent by the hands of a Lu- 
ther, a Melancthon, and a Calvin, and 
Religion, throwing off its mystic garb, 
stepped forth arrayed in the simple and 
beautiful attire of Truth. The lamp of 
Learning, that for centuries had burnt as 
a deep mystery within the recesses of the 
cloister, and was carefully hidden from 
the mass, was brought out from its dark 
tomb and placed as a beacon light upon 
the pinnacle of the temple of Reason. 
The nations of the earth beheld its efful- 
gence and rejoiced — the darkness that had 
so long covered them with its pall was 
dissipated by its beams — and those twin- 
sisters of Heaven, Christianity and Learn- 
ing, walked hand in hand through every 
labyrinth of humanity, scattering beauty 
and brightness, peace and happiness, in 

their train. The dark veil of Ignorance 
was removed from the hill of Science, 
and Philosophy, untrammelled in its ac- 
tions, led the thirsting votary to the foun- 
tain of Truth upon its summit. Nature, 
instead of presenting a sealed volume of 
inexplicable mysteries, opened to the view 
of man a sublime yet simple Bible, 
whereby he was taught to acknowledge 
that mystery of all mysteries, the exist- 
ence of oNe immutable and omnipresent 


THE HEDGEHOG [Erinaceus EiiropcPMs). 

Among the smaller mammalia the 
Hedgehog is by no means one of the 
least interesting, whether we consider its 
structure or its habits. In almost every 
part of the country this little animal is 
common, frequenting woods, copses, or- 
chards, and dense hedge-rows, where it 
lies concealed from morning till dusk, 
evening being its " opening day," when it 
rouses up from slumber and begins its 
prowl for food, when it is all alertness and 
alive to every sound. It pads along, 
more quickly than might be supposed, in 
a vacillating manner ; yet when sur- 
prised, it makes no attempt to escape by 
flight, but rolling up itself into the form 
of a ball, trusts to its panoply of thorns, 
and awaits the residt. While in this po- 
sition, the head, legs, and tail, are com- 
pletely hidden and protected, and the ani- 
mal may be rolled about, or even roughly 
treated, without being made to unfold it- 
self; nay, the more severely it is attacked, 
the more pertinaciously does it maintain 
its defensive form, and the more firmly 
does it contract. Thus does it offer a 
passive resistance, and often a successful 
one, to its enemies