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itiont and lignf* » 

•uu. death of. 186 : oa iMming; 

115; remarkt by, 3^ as 
, lines on, 88 
renuuk on, hf CktcMg&t 106 

li Heron. 149 
rBmhmin. 38 
we breatho. 238 
tambra, 113 
for Ifae beat, » 
spice. 133 

ihabct, ekaagea ol^ 96 
fhabetical Accoaut, 13( 
telia. Princeai. lines by, 99 
rrica. Travelling is. 81? 
cient English Minstrels* 194 
eieut Water- Conduits <rf I<ooHna»l4ft 
dent weaving. 323 
scdotes of animals, 56 
ger. 144 
inml food* losa of weight la aooUHb 

ibian ho^itality. 17^ 
thitectoie. (iMniUar, % 107 

t sagacity of, 98 ^ 

rbury, lines on a gooa»*qiiiir 63 
Kustin. remarh by, 40 
)rity, Paley, 131 ^ 

J dtTagricnltora. 914 ; on ttwad, 
'il§ ; on the ftreight of cotton, 916; 
on the manuftuiUire of bom, 160 ; 
on British looms. 191 

eon. on death. 9M ; on the ends of 
kaowlcdee. 112 ; on nahual philo* 
sophy, 111 ; observation by, 939 

O-pIay of the Indians. 78 

mboroiigh Castle, 215 

nk notes. 96 

bks of the Dove. 823 

Dbab tree. 156 

^cs, Dame Julia, 155 

rrow on Incredulity, 193 

Ecr, 181 
les* Seven Ages, Si25 
. the church. 20 
U-shaped Sea NetUe, 243 
Uhazzar's fcost, 105 
beftt Societies, abuses of, 59; win- 
ctples of, 134 ; remarks on, 4o 
tie. lines on, by Sir W. Scott. 75 
lie and Prayer, the language of, 171 
lie. the. remarks on. bv Baatato, 
139 ; by eminent men, 195 
Is of mortality, origin, 118 
ds* nests, illuminated, 131 
tck lead mine, 24 
ick cloud, 227 

ck pestilence of 14th century, SI 
ling springs of Iceland, 85 
icobel coitoge. 96 
anical diary, extract, 39 
anical diversions, 9. 49 
rriaff. lines by. 233 
)&d, McCulloch, IS; adnlteratlonof, 

[ 157 

Id^es of London. 81 

itish humanity, 931 

ook. Lines on, 2? 

Dwu. Sir Thomas, on happinesa, 48 

hgmansia Zippelii, 99 

ichanan. Dr.. on birds* netta, 131 

ickstone, 31 

irder. on a text of Scriptnze, 99 

irke. on confidence, 184 ; on taste and 

elegance. 106 
ums, Grace before dinner, 160 
uton. on the pleasure of amusement 

and industry, 64 ; on the rose tree, 

lUer, Bishop, liberty and licentioas- 
Bess, 214; remarks bv. 112, 240 
itterfly's Funeral, 238 
itter, use of. in England, 71 

lendar. Popular, 246 
ipbell. the Rainbow, 63 
nages. 72 ^- 

irocts. WaterfkUs. Scc^ 949 

mse and effect. Montagu's reflM- 

leil. on gnrae, 199; xemaikby, 9M 

kalraers on edoeatfon. 111; «n 
cmtion. 83 

luunois honlers, 19 

liapel oak of AUonTille, 109 

^pone, Mrs., observation by, 171 

lierokee Indians. 189 

Mldien's. the, Cholee, 19? 

hild's. a, evening thonglkts, 
morafaig Ihongilt^ 200 

hin^Muixe. 17t 

hina. Great Wall oC 169 

lunem maxim. 188 ; vneepig, Vt§ 

hoiceofa king, 114 

Itolera, 11dm on, 69 

I Christianity in lodia, 87; IntneiiM-ot 

Christian mysteries, 197 
Christmas, 286 
Churlish man. 996 
Civilization, test of, 114 
Climate, remarks on. 96 
Cockfl^biter's Garland, Cowpar, 176 
Cocoa-nut. naefblnesa ot 96 
Coflbe and coffBe^hooaesr 166 
Coin. 158 

Coke. Sir JSdwMd, on old aoa, 9i 
Coteridgei oa advice, 106 ; Aide to Re- 

fleetioh. extracts fkom, 56; aehild's 

evening pmyer, 91 
ColU^t, HwU, nwminr twiH^it, 66 
CoUingwood. Lord, on kaoirledge^ 79 
Collins. WilUanw 196 
Comets, 145 
Commerce, 156 
Conscience, Quarles, 46 
C«nasi«nlio«a mimic. 
Content. Johnson. 69 

Walfbo, 231 

CratentkMB disfositfonSr Bftshop Hall, 

Convoiv^ns, 76 
Cook. CaptaiBr 156 
Cormorant, 41 
Cottage, the, 98 
Cottagers' aOotoiifBts, IB 
Cottager's sabbath, 187 
Cotton. 176 
Cotton-tree. 298 
Cowley, oa time, 199 
Cowper. the Cockflghter's Oailaiid, 170 
Craigmillar Castle, 190 
Creation, Chalmers. 83 
Crops in England, 69 
Crosby Hall. 89 
Cruelty to animals, 916 
Cultivation of the United Kingdom, 38 
Cumberland, Bishop, 188 
Curious case of deception. 
Cuttle Ash, 939 

Daisy, lines on, by Dr. Good, 117 
Davy, Sir H.. remarks by, 189; on 

religious belief, 166: on a rfver» 

Death l^ boiling, 96 
Death. Scott, 88 
Death's-head Moth, 69 
Decline of manners. Jeremv Tayloor, 96 
Diazoma Mediterraaea, 136 
Diderot French wit and En^iah 

sense. 42 
Dies Irss, translation of, HI 
Discoveries, 120 
Doddridge, lines by. 86 
Dogs and mts. 231 
Doubter's question — BeUerer's answer, 

Dove. Banks of the, 223 
Drexelius. To-morrow. 135 
Druids, superstitiona oC 73 
Dryden. remark by, 43 
Duns Sootus, 97 
Duties and adwaatage» of aoe!efar» 89^ 


Early training of chUdien, 110 

Economy, Ciceio, 224 

Edmeston's Cottager's Sabba&» '107; 
lines bv. 98 ; remark by, 171 

Education in Scotland, Chalmexa, 111 

Eggs, McCulloch, 24 

Egypt, in connexion with sacsed hia- 
tory. &c. 196 

ElUah at Horeb, Bishop HaD, 115 

England. 190 

its salubrity, 169 

Ephemera, or day-flies, 59 

Epictetus. a wise man, 119 

Epitaph on an infidel. 183 

Equality. Bishop Watson, HI 

Eternity of the Deity, 135 

Evening hymn, 106 

luies on, 169 

prayer, a child's, G. S. Colo- 
ridge, 91 

Eyam Chureh, 199 

Ftfth, Hooper, 199 
I Fashionable dreawa, 91 

Father's advice tnhls son, Sidntfy, 175 

FbaroftheLord, 800 

Feltloun. Owen, on hopa, 48 ; on idl- 
gion, 34; on timers speed« 71 

Fignre nine, properties oC 6 
' Fue in the human body. 60 

Flshea. 199 

Flkvel, on two tam», 136 

Flowers. 196 

Fbod of tha anefenta, 196 

Foftifii eonveaion o^ 179 

Fotm of I 

Fossil Elephant, .-w — w , . ^^^^-.^ ^ 
Franklin, remark by, 99 ^*^^ 

Ftend, conseqoencea oC Babbi^, 918 
Frederick the Great, anwrdotea oS, 47* 

French wit and Engiiak team, DUarat, 

Fulgora Lantemaria. 945 
Fuller on a broken f^aas. 147 ; on Jaat- 

ing. 108 ; on the Lord's day, 31 ; 
. on the pap Bskm s, 88 
Funeral custom, ancient. 86 
in Otaheite, 156 

Genfoi, Jasifo Montgooofyr 11 
George II.. anoedote oC 66 
Gipsies, 245 
Ghisse. G. H., answor t» Ytam on ooU- 

tode. 3 
Glendower'aoak, 941 
Golden rules, Henshaw, ^9 
■ words. 63 

Gokismilik, lunui k by, 86 

Good for evil. 216 

, Dr.. the Daisy, 117 

Goosequill. lineo on a. Atteibmy, 66 
Government, Bishop Homo^ 119 
Grace befbce dinner, Bnma, 166 
Grasses. Paley, 176 
Gratitude and ingralttaiok Dr. Sontb, 

Greensted church, 37 
Griffon Vultuvt, 289 


Hale, Jiklge, on Sondsty, 146 
on t^ goidanee of CJod, 


Hales' Scripture difficulties. 914 

Hall. Biskop, on affectation, 215; on 
contentious £spoeifions. 110 ; the 
lark and the hawk. 31 ; music by 
night. 221 ; on pasaion. 184 ; on a 
redbreast, 231 ; on a tree in fhll 
blossom, 196 ; extract flrom sermon, 
83; on Elijah, 115; remarks by, 
115, 154. 176. 219 

Hall, Captain, extract fh>m, 146 

Hall. Robert, modern infidelity, ^ 

Hand-mills for com. 65 

Happiness, Sir Thomas Brown, 48 

Paley, 211 

on the term, 147 

Happy Man, the, 152 

Haytey, the swallows, 151 

Heavenly bodies, 157 

Heber, Bishop, aneodote of, 171.: hymn 
for Christmas-day, 233; lines on 
morning. 168 ; a prayer written in 
sickness. 188 

Hemans. the Homes of England, 984 

Henrv III., remark by. 80 

Hensnaw. Golden ruka, 919 

Herbert. George. 219 

Hermit and the vision, 238 

Hindoo festivals. 244 

Hoodly. Bishop, on spiteg, 173 

Hodnet church, 213 

Homes of England, Hemans, 994 

Honesty, St Pierre, 115 

Hooker on the Book of Psalnu, 154 ; 
on faith, 135 ; remark by, Sij 

Hope, Feltham, 46 

Home, Bishop, on oovemment, 119; 
lines on the leaf, 104 ; on Scrip- 
ture, 239; to-day and to-monow, 

Horn of the Alps, 998 

Hom, manufkotora of, Babbage, 160 

Hospitals of London, origin ca, 1^ 

Hough. Bishop. 191 

Hour-^ass, lines on an, 69 ; aaawer to. 

House of God, lines on, 115 
How to ioce an eitemy. 74 
How to pass the day. 156 
Human anatomy, ISO 
Hnman happiness, 155 
Humility, importanoe of, 994 
Humming birds, 11 
Hunter, remark by. 986' 
Hunters of the Alps, ^ 
Hymn of tiie Lancashire ootCcB spin* 

tnuddattoff oTDieo Ir». HI 

— >- ftff Chriatmaa-day, Hebor, 936 

Incredulity, Banow, 199 

Infknt edncalSon, 16, 66 

Ingratitude, 919 

Iiutinet of animals, 146 

Intemperance, 916 

Introduction, 1 

Iron mines at Pw ab e rg , 179 

IrTing,^W^ibiwgt8P» tncfelBnffn ^pataiU 

Israeliteo, departwo of tho» 36 
Infianatlm. tho ladta nporatltkm 

-, ChewonAj^ot 51 
Jebb. Bishop, on rel^ttrlSB 
Jersey, 177 
Jesting. Fuller, 108 
Johnson, Dr. flamodl, on oontant^ 66 
on great works. 96 

memoir id, 96; on 

history, 39 ; remarks bv, 106, 184 

remark on tino. 

Jones, of Nayland, remadcs by, 119, 171 

Rev. William, on Sotttade, 3 

aiyWiWaos, anoont oC 70{ on 

the Scriptures, 89 

beedo. fi9 
Kaplblani. 97 ^ 
Kenilworth Castle, 101 
Kenn. Biahepr remark on, 96 
Knowledge, the ilrt*naao( S 


p- the onto o(. Booon, Itt 

Lace made by caterpfUbh, 190 

Lancashire cotton-spinner's hymn, 80 

Lander's expedition to Africa, 198, 219 915 

Lantern, origin of, 983 

Lark, the, and the hawk, Bbhop HaD* 

Lavater, remark c€, 84 
Lavenham church bells, 166 
Leaf, the. Bishop Home, 104 
Learning, Addison. 115 
Leighton oa rellgton. 111 
Liberia, 142. 173 
Liberty and licentionsness. Bishop 

BuUAr. 214 
LinnsBus on the-study of natore, 230 
Llama. 84 
Locke, birth-place of^ 64 ; remark by. 

192 ' 

Locust and Ichneumon, 88 
London before the Fire, 169 
Longevity. 188 
Lord's-day. the. Fuller, 31 

^ lines on. 56 
Lucas. Dr.. the Black Cloud, 227 
Lunatics, treatment of, 150 

Malthns. remark by, 76 

Mammoth of the north. 79 

Man of Ross. 164 

Maimers of tiie fifleenti|> century, Ma»* 

tyn. 71 
McCulloch on bread. 15 ; on eggs, 94 
McNeill, The waes of war, 51 
Martin. Belshazzar's Feast, 109 
Medusa Campanulata, 844 
Method. 7 

MidcUesex lunatic asylum, 103 
Mignonette, 53 

Milton's retreat duringthe Plagne, 28 ' 
Modem Infidelity, R. Hall. 887 
Modem Sculpture, 886 
Money, 147 

counting. 96 

Montague, Lady Mm remaxko by, 136 

on reading. 71 
Montague's dedication, extract. 3 
Montgomery, James, on Genioa* 11| 

remark bv, 96 
Morning. Bisnop Heber, 168 
Morning Twilight, Blaria CoUing. 55 
Mother teaching her Child to pray. 136 
Monntains, account of the principaL 

122 r I— f 

Mountain shower, 117 

Mountain traveling, 817 

Mount Horeb, 184 

Munday, Capt, extract from, 18 

Music by Night, Bishop Hall, 881 

Musings on Waterloo Bridge, 119 

My Birth-day, 39 

Mysteries, the, of Creaticm, 83 


Nareissns, 116 

Notional idBiottoni md bleseliifa, 
NoMtonal eduentien^ 181 
Natnnl Motocy, Johnaon. 38 

■ slttdy of, 6 

Ifatoninmgie, 61 
Natmal pFhuosoBhy, Bacon, 111 
Narigatfton, corhma mode of. 131 
Now River. Sir Hngh Mrddelton, 
fVowapapen, origin ot, 66 
Newton, Sir loaae, 13 
New Tear's-Dayr 948 
Noctnmal fight witha Bon, 161 

Old age. Sir Edward Coke, 91 
Oldya, addre ss to a fly, 51 
OnutlioihjuciUt 11|B 




Otter. 64 
Owhyhae, 97 

Pftin* on. Paley. 141 

Pal0T. on anthority, 101; on gimHM. 

176 ; on happlneM, 811 ; lellgloiu 

melancholy. 243 ; remiuk by. 119 
Paper, ancient marks in. 83^ 
Paper nantUus. 235 
Paradoxical animals, 115 
Parish registers, 8i 
Parke. lonngo. in the desert, 56 
Pascal on the Christian ReUgion. 989 ; 

remarks on, 26 
Passions, Fuller. 88 
Peak Cavern, 153 
Penrhyn slate-qnarry, 93 
Pestilence at Athens. 117 
Plague, the. at Eyam, Derbyshire, 199 
Planting. 140 
Pleasure of amusement and industry. 

Burton. 64 
Plymouth breakwater, 167 
Polar regions. 57 
Popular calendaur, 946 
Population of England and Wales, 6 ; 

and Scotland, 38 
Post Office, General, account of, 910 
Practical Christianity, an anecdote, 141 
Prayer, remark on, by Henry in.. 80 

. Jeremy Taylor*!, 118 

Lines on, 176 

remarks on, by Taylor, 111, 915 

Pride, against. Jeremy Taylor, 187 

Providence, dependence on. Cecil. 940 

Psalms, book Of, Hooker, 154 

Puma. 93 

Puri Indians, 193 

Pyramids of Egypt, 138 

Quarles, on conscience, 48 ; on know* 

ledge. 61 ; lines by, 44 
QuicksilTer ndnes, 36 

Rainbow, lines on the, Campbell. 63 

Raiu. lines on, 911 

Raleigh, remark by, 95 

Reason. Warbnrton, 113 

Ueflectious on tbo itudy of Nature, 830 

Agami heron, 149 
Air Rrahmhi. 98 
Allspice, 139 
Arches, 78, 79 

Bamborongh Castle, 916 
Baobab tree, 157 * blossom, 156 
Beaver, 181 
Belshaszar's feast, 105 
Bemerton church, 990 
Black-backed guU, 41 
Black-lead mine, 94 
Boscobel cottage, 96 

Cathedral, plan of a. 107 

Chamois Hunters. 45 

Chapel Oak of AllonTiUe. 109 

Chimpans^. 179 

China, Wall oC 169 

Coaches of Queen Elifabtth, 79 

Collins, William, monamentoC 196 

Comeu. 145 

Convolvulus, 76. 77 

Cook. C^itain. 160 

Cotton-tree. 998 

Craigmillar Castle, 190 

Crosby HaU.89 

Cross in Eyam ehnrch-yard. 181 

Crypt of Norman churcn, 108 

Cuttle.ftsh, 939 

I>avid. King. 90 
Death's-head moth, 69 
DevU's Bridge. 954 
Diaxoma meuiterranea. 136 
Dmidical idol. 73 
Duns Scotus, 97 

Effyptian priests. 197 
Etephant and lion, IS 

Rein Deer. 141 

Religion. Bishop Jebb. 183 

Leighton. Ill 

not selfish, Feltham, 34 

Religious belief. Sir Humphrey Davy, 

Religions man, Sonth. 156 

Religious melancholy. Paley. 949 

Remarkable fects. 96 

Remembrance, lines on, by Soothey, 67 

Remora, the, S37 

Rhinoceros. 994 

Rider not always wiser than his horse, 

Riven, the principal. SN)9 
Roberts. Departure of the Israelites, 33 
Rock samphire. 5 • 

Roses, two. Flavcl. 136 
Rose-tree, the. Burton. 40 
Rules for employing time, 200 
Rushes, use ot 239 
Russian, lines from the, 149 

Sadler, M. T. Esq.. lines by, 923 

Sailor's fbnenO, 146 

Salt, 151 

Salt-mine. 94 

Sandwich Islands, Sunday at, 933 

Saturday evening. Bowring, 8^ 

Savoy Palace. 80 

Scott on Death. 88 

Scott. Sir Walter,, on the Bible. 75 

Scripture difficulties. Hales, 914 

Scripture. Sir W. Jones, 89 

Sea-Nettle. 943 

Secret of living olwavs easy, 96 

Selden's will. 214 

Seneca, remark by. 6 

Shaftesbury on truth. 118 

Sheriock. on intemperance, 918 

Shooting swallows, crueltv of, 154 

Sidney's, father's advice, 175 

Sidney. Sir PhUip. 148 

Sin not weakened by age. South, 187 

Sister's love. 70 

Skinner's Excunions, 87 

Sleeper, the. 119 

Snow, preservation of life under, 839 

Social Wonhip, 179 

Solitude, linos on. by the Rev. W. 
Jones, 3 ; answer to by G. H. 
Gkuse. 3 

South, extract from. 55 

South. Dr.. on gratitude and ingrati- 
tude. 120; Lngntitode, 913; in- 
vestigation of truth, 171 ; religions 
man. 156; on sin, 187; remark 
by, 188 

Sottthey, extract from, 3 ; observations 
by. 71 : lines W Remembrance, 67 

Spanish robben, 131 

Spring. Bishop Hoadly. 173 

Stage coaches In England, 96 

St«am coach, 133 

Steam endues in 1543, 80 

St. Mary-le-Bow chnrch, 140 

Stonehenge. 185 

Stork, white. 291 

St Paul's cross and church, 834 

St. Pierre, anecdote by. 115 

Success firom small bc^nnings, 935 

Sucking-fish. 937 

Sunday at Sea. Bishop Tnmer, 46; 
hymn, by G. Wither. 119; remarks 
on Judge Hale, 146; thought, 
Townsend, 919 

Swallows, lines on, by Hayley, 151 

Sweet Pea, 173 

Swithin's, St., day, 14 

Table of Shew-breod, 91ft 

TaUorbird. 172 

Taylor, Rev. Isaac. .«D00unt <^ Qnkk> 
silver ndne, 37 

acalnst pride, 187 

Jeremy, on. the decline of 

mannen, 96; lines by, 136; 
nightly prayer. 118 ; on prayer, 14 

Temper, command oC 919 

Thorp-le* token church, 991 

Tigers, 189 

Time's speed, Feltham, 79 

Tobacco, 85 

To-morrow. Drezelins, 135 ' 

Townsend. C. II.. lines by. 70 

Travelling in Spain. Washington Ir- 
ving. 10 

Trials of guUt, 55 

True knowledge^ II 
True Story. 43 
Trumpeter-bird. 77 
Truth. Shaftesbury. 118 
Tucker, on strong passions, 199 
Turner. Bishop. Sunday at Sea. 46j 
Tyrol, summers ramble in. extrsctit 


Elisabeth Woodcock, 940 
Ephemera. 60 

Falls of Foyers, 955 

Nuumra. 956 

' — the Montmorenci, 951 

the Tees. 256 

FossU elephant, skeleton ot 107 

Geyser, the great, 95 

section of, 96 

Glendower's Oak, 941 

Greensted church, plan ot 87; view 

of, 37 
Griffon vnltura, 999 

HaU of the Lions, 113 
Hand-mills for com in the east, 6S 
Herbert, George, 990 
Hodnet Church, 913 
Hough. Bishop, bas-nlief on his mooii- 

Ibis Jar, 197 

sacred. 197 

Invlsp>le ^rl, 61 
Iron mines. 186 
Israelites, depaitnro d, 33 
Jagganatha. car, 53 

idoU. 59 

procession, 17 

-^ temple, 4 

Kandel Steig. lake. 949 
Kanraroo beetle. 919 
Kenuworth castle, 101 
Kyrie's. John, house, 165 

T.antem-fly. 945 
Llama, 84 

Locke, birth-place of. 64 

Locust and icnneumon, 88 

London bridge. 81 

London, view at, before the Firs, 161 

Marks In f^per, 83, 84 
Middlesex Lunatic Asylum, 104 
Milton's residence, 99 
Mont Orgueii Castle, Jersev, 177 
Mountains, general view, 191 
Mountain shower. 117 
Mountain travelling. 917 
Myddelton, Sir Hngh, 184 

Nannanoak, 49 

Narcissus, 116 

Neon's, Sir laaae, hoQMi, 18 

Oak, Great Salcey, 9 

Nannao, 49 

Ostrich, 100 
Otter. 64 

Paper nautilus, 896 
Passaick felU. 958 
Parr. Old. 188 
Peak cavern, interior. 153 

view, 153 

Plymouth breakwater, section, 167 

— view, 168 

Post-office, General, 209 
Puma. 93 

Puri Indians, resting place, 198 
Pyramids of Egypt, 137 

Rafilesia Amoldi, 98 

Patma, 92 

Rein deer. 141 
Rhinoceros. 294 
1 Riven, principal, 901 

Value, on. Parts I. and II., 186 
Vampire bat, 133 
Van Diemen's land, 35 
Vegetable fly-ttaps, 199 
VegeUble Titan, 91 
VUlBge church, 230 
Virtuous habits. 111 


Waes of war. Me NeQl, 61 

Wager of battle, 68 

Wages. 292 

Wi^ of China, 169 

Walrus. 175 

Warburton, on reason, 119; Align 

WaterboMles of the Bast, 44 
Watorioo-bridge. musinn on, IIS 
Watari of three riven, 1^ 
Water Spider. 283 
Watson, Bishop, on eqoality. 111 
Weeds, lines on. 143 I 

What is Time ? Rev. J. Marsden. 91 
Wheat and other grain, oonsamptl 

of. 38 
Whicheote, Dr., on opinfons. 83S 
Which was the greater fool ? BUb 

Hall. 23 
White's Selbome, extract, S6 
Who i^one ? 91 
WickUK»'Si$hAin 16 
Widow tcthcx(hild..Sa^ i 

Wild Sports, of the East, CapU 

Muncty^ extract, 12 
Williams. ArchUfhop, on co n vt : ^ 

197 ^ > 

Wisdom, remark oit 7 
Woman in White. 166 
Wotton. Sir II.. lines by. 152 
Wr>-neck. the. 67 

Yew-trees, in church-yards. 7* 

Rocking stone. 32 
Roes, village of, 164 
Rock samphire, 5 

Salt mine. 152 

Savoy palace, ruins of, SO 

Sea nettle, 244 

Seven ages, 225 

Sidney. Sir Philip, 149 

Slate quarry, 93 

Source of the Rhone, 254 

Steam coach, 133 

8t Mary-le-bow church. 140 

Stonehenge. 185 

Stori^ wMte, 281 

St. Paul's cross and chiueli, 833 

Sucldng fish, 837 

Sweet pea, 173 

Tailor •bird, nest of, 179 
Tequedama cataract, 853 
Tiger, tortoise-shell, 189 

. white, 189 

Tobacco. 85 
Torture in India, 945 
Trumpeter bird. 7T 

Vampire bat. 133 
Vegetable fly-trap. 199 

Wager of battle, 68 
Walrus. 176 

Water-bottles of the east, 44 
Water spider. 223 
Wliite Conduit. 149 
Wickliffo's choir. 16 
Wllberforre t;i\\n. 5? 
Wrvncck, G8 

Pago 3, /br Sir Wm. Jones, read the Rev. Wm. Jones. 

l*age 81. To our statement in the account of New 
London Bridge, that its smallest arches exceed 
the largest of any other stone bridge in the 
world, the words "of the same form." should 
have been added. The now bridge recently 
erectetl over the Dee, at Chester, and one or two 
more, exceed the span of the largest areh of Lon • 
don Bridge, but are of a different form. To cor- 
respondents who have questioned the accuracy 
of some dales in this article, we have to reply, 
that the date assigned in it to the opening^ of 
Westminster Bridge is perfectly correct ; that 
given to the laying the ftnt stope of the South- 
wark BnAfK is a typogranhical error, as the 
context of tne phrase wiu snow. 


PngelOA. Iniheaccoantofthc Middlesex Luna* 
tic Asylum, after the statement that it was 
built under the direction of Mr. Sibley, add, 
"principally ttom the plans of Mr. WHUam 
Alderson. whose designs, were selected ttom 
fifty-three othen. by the Committee of Magis- 
trates, and rewarded with the fint premium of 

Page 117, for Bishop Home, read altered by Bishop 
Home from George Herbert. 

Pnge 169, coL 9, twelve lines from the bottom,y&r 
famed, read Jbvoured. 

Pago 170. The " Cockflghter's Garland." We are 
requested to state, on the authority of a 
highly respectable gentleman now living, that 
the ciroumstanco on which Cowper founded 

this poem, is not onlyexaggereted.bnt m sev« 
respects falsified. The cock was thrown u] 
Che fire, but immediately flew off unhurt ; i 
so far fhmi Mr. Ardesoif dying in the ^ 
described, ho lived for a consMerable time af 
wards, and frequently expressed to our info 
ant and othera. his bitter regret for the ci 
deed. The article was, as stated, eopied i 
the StUmrdai/ Magazine from the Voice 
Humanity, and the conducton of that work t 
no doubt gladly avail themselves of the op] 
tunity afforded by this contradiction of putt 
the truth upon record. 
Pago 931. Last line of second column. /br Bui 
Hall, read Bishop Homo. 

Jbactnrtia^lf M^f^^^int^ 


JULY 7, 

It ma n fkvonrite saying with a crabbed old Greek, 
that — a Great Book is a Great Evil. He said this 
befon the grand invention of printing, when the 
"making and reading of books, if not a great evil, was 
certainly a great trouble. The only mode in which a 
book could then be pubUahed, was by hiring persons 
to write out copy after copy, upon long rolls of parch- 
ment, or tiie coarse sort of paper which they called 
papyrus : uid those who wished to read them, had to 
tiarvA the volume till they came to the place which 
Ihey wanted. No wonder then that in those days 
books were but few, and knowledge was scarce. 
Tlkere were not many who coold afford to buy books, 
«nd fewer still, perhaps, who could read them. Even 
*he mighty and the noble were ignorant and unlet- 
tered, and the mass of the people were sunk in dark- 
ness and superstition. Nor did it seem possible, till 
the discovery of printing letters by means of moveable 
metal types, to bring the learning of the learned, and 
the wisdom of the wise, within reach and possession 
of all classea of the commutdty. 

After this most important discovery, which we owe 
to John Gutenberg, of Mayence, the reading as well 
ns the making of books became so much more pleasant, 
that readers and authors increa§ed to ad^ree unknown 
in former ages. A vast number of books, upon all 
snbjecta, were written by men of masterly genius and 
profound learning. There was no branch of knowledge 
which they did not cultivate and adorn ; and their 
works, full of immense learning and deep research, — 
upon the knowledge and practice of our holy religion, 
upon history and philosophy, upon medicine and 
chemistry, upon geography and astronomy ; in short, 
npon every thing connected with the advancement 
and refinement of mankind, — have come down to us 
for our improvement and instruction. 

Now all these great books are very coricnis, many 
of th% very nseAil, and some of them invaluable ; yet 
they are very seldom opened by any man now-a-days, 
except to be dusted, although their names are from 
time to time to be found presiding over a modem 
woi^, to the spirit of which ibey may perhaps be 
altt^ther opposed. This ne^ect is pvtly owing to 
the circumstance that these books can rarely be met 
with out of public libraries, where a man cannot sit 
down comfortably to read them ; partly to their oc- 
casional perplexity of thought and uncouth manner 
of speech ( and partly also to their size — to their 
being sach very great books — which makes it a work 
of months^ sometimes of years, to get quite through 
some of them. Nevertheless, they were not without 
their effect on the world: many of the important 
truths which they contain, have been preserved and 
illustrated in later writings, more portable in furm 
and easy of digestion. — And this improvement of 
their labours we hope to extend to' a greater d^ree 
than has ever yet been done. 

But this by the way— lest in offering to our readers 
a very little book indeed, we should be taken to join 
ia thu abuse of the authors of sundry great bool^ in 
Vol. I. 

U C T I O N. 

past times, so common in the motiths of men who set 
up their own age as the only one deserving of any 
regard, and their particular selves as the only persons 
worthy of being consulted in it. We are not of those 
who despise the wisdom of their forefathers ; but »* 
shall also show that we ore alive to all the improve- 
ments of modem times, and ready to take every 
advantage of them. ' To every thing there ia a season," 
says the Preacher, ' and a time to every purpose under 
the heaven ; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up 
that which is planted.' Time was to plant : and 
tiiere never was a people whose forefathers planted 
more deeply and judiciously in Church and in State — 
for Literature and for Arms — than ours have done. 
It is now time to pludc up, not the stately tree of 
their wisdom — long may it flourish, the glory of all 
true Englishmen ! — but the thousands of suckers and 
saplings around it ; not to destroy, but to transplant, 
to graft, to disperse and to multiply the virtues of the 
ancient stock. Many a skilful hand is already em- 
ployed in this good work. We come to help all those 
who may like our manner of helping. Our recom- 
mendation is the name of that venerable Society from 
the bosom of which we proceed, and our little Maga- 
zine will go forth every Saturday moming, like a 
skilfiil gardener, to plant in every comer of the land, 
within sight of every man's door, and within reach 
of every man's arm, a tree of true knowledge, which 
growing out of the fear of God, will, under God's 
blessing, we doubt not, bring forth in due season the 
fruits of honour and of power to the nation, and of 
plenty and peace and truth to all our loving country- 

An old Latin poet, a very fashionable man in his 
day, said that the most popular book would be that 
wbich nuxed up the useful with the agreeable. We 
shall make such a mixture in this Magazine. By the 
side of the truly osefol we shall place that which 
ought alone to be truly agreeable, and we will do 
OUT best to make one reflect light upon the other. 
Whether the information which we convey to our read- 
ers be given in the form of an essay or a tale, we shall 
keep in mind our great object of combining innocent 
amusement with sound instruction. We shall not 
relate ghost- stories, except to explain the delusions 
from which impressions of the re^ty of such things 
have proceeded, and will often proceed ; we shall tell 
no Newgate legends of murder and robbery, except 
sometimes to point outthe horrible excesses and dismal 
end to which a man may come, step by step, down- 
wards, from the first dwa he drank, the first oath he 
swore, and the first Lord's day he profaned. But 
then, on the other hand, we shall show forth some cf 
the wonderful things of Natural History ; we shall 
recount the origin and progress of some of the great- 
est of human inventions, such as Navigation, Printing, 
the Telescope, Steam -Engines, and so on ; we shall 
remind our readers of remarkable events in the annals 
of our own dear country, and of other great kingdoms 
on the continent { and we shall sometimes, as o^casioii 



[July 7, 

may serve, indulge ourselves with proving how 
swiietly the poets of England used to sing, and how 
sweetly some of them yet live to sing. One way or 
another we hope to be popular in this Magazine, 
which comes out on the Saturday, when most men 
have a pause from labor. We are not for interfering 
with the family talk, or the friendly walk, much kss 
with the duties of the Sabbath, or the study of the 
Tjible — ^and we trust every one of our readers has 
one. All these good things may be done and served, 
and yet there will be plenty of time for perusing 
these few pages ; the reader shall never find in any 
one of them a line which shall be contrary in its ten- 
dency to the improvement and the h^piness of any 
member of his family. 

Ihus much to explain the character and ol]ject of 
this Magazine ! We hope to give good proofs that 
our intentions are as honest as our meajos of perform- 
ance are great, and we trust that after d fair trial our 
readers will not think our wood-cuts or qur engrav- 
ings the best part of our work. For the preset we 
81^ Farewell ! — and pi^t «n end to this somewhat 
lengthy introduction. 



Knowlvi>6K is power. This sayiAg, which has been 
so strikingly iUijstrated by the history of the last fifty 
years, will no doubt he exemplified, jxk a still more 
remarkable manner, by the chan^ which the next 
ten or twenty years will produce m the gtate of so- 
ciety. Whether these changes will be for goo4 or 
evil, must obviously depend upon the kmd of know- 
ledge whiqh will be dil^^d through the mass of the 
conamiHUty, a^d the direction which shall be given to 
it, in its ^pUcatioa to the great purposes of life. 
If it be true that knowledge l| power, this neqessa- 
rily Allows : for that power, whatever it is, may be 
for good (HT evU. It is a giant's strength, which it is 
tixcellent to have, if it be use4 fo^ ^^ ^nds of virtue 
and happiness -, but which may be employed to the 
purposes of a tyrannous malice. 

It is impossible that the cultivation o( our natural 
flaeulties, even to the utmost pitch of advancement, 
can be in itself wrong : for it is plain, from the very 
constitution of our nature, that they are given us to 
be improved) and their improvemoit, when it is 
really improvement, may be made e<|iiaUy conducive 
to our comfort and happiness, as inhabitanla of this 
material world, and to our pr^>aration for a spiritual 
state of being. If we are to enter hereafter into such 
a state, it is so plain that no reas<Htung can make it 
plainer, that to prepare for it is the main business of 
our existence here) and therefore, tueh .a cultivation 
or employment of onr faculties as thwarts and im* 
pedes, instead of seeanding and advancing the work 
of preparation, does itot deserve the name of improve-^ 
ment. Whereas nothing can be more worthy of man, 
as a thinking and moral ereatnre, destined to advance 
through successive steps to a higher and purer order 
of being, than the diligent ULercise and quickening of 
his mind, and the enlargement of his knowledge, 
with reference and in subordination to the chief pur- 
pose of his existence. 

We hold therefore, tiiat knowledge is really valuable, 
when it is made directly or indirectly serviceable to 
the ends of virtue; when it is sanctified in its posses- 
sion, and guided in its application, by religious prin- 
ciple and foeling. *' Seeing,*' says Lord Bacon, ** that 
knowledge is of the number of those things which 
are to be accepted of with caution and distinction, 
being now to open a fountain, such as it is not easy 
to discern where the issues and streams thereof wiU 

take and feU ; I thooght it good and necessary, in 
the first place, to make a strong and sound head, or 
bank, to rule and guide the course of the waters ; by 
setting down this position, or firmament, namely, 
not all knowledge is to be limited by Religion, and to be 
re/erred to use <md action.'* This is a very ni^tural and 
striking similitude. Religion is the strong mound 
and embankment, which confines the stream of hu- 
man knowledge within its proper channel, and guides 
it along its intended course } so as to fertilize and 
beautify the country which it would otherwise inun- 
date and lay waste. 

With this guard, or firmament, as Baccm terms it, 
we may admit, that knowledge is not only power, but 
also virtue and hi^ppiness \ a help, that is to say, to 
virtue, and an instrument of happiness, as far as hap- 
piness is to be found in any of the pursuits or acquire- 
ments of our preseut imperfect state. Knowledge, 
for instance, was a source of h<^pin^ss to Newton and 
to Locke, far more abundant than pleasure or ambi- 
tiou j and it was a^uxiliary to virtue, because it with- 
drew their attention from objects of sensual enjoy- 
ment. But then Newton and Locke were Christians, 
and refer^ their extraordinary powers of mind, as 
well as the results of those powers, to tiie first 
Source of light and Truth, uu4^r a deep sense of 
their own im^ilSciieacy» and of the limits which are 
set to the researches c^ the human mind. Newton, 
the most origiual and patieot and sagacious of in- 
quirers into natu^ a^d mathematical truth, spoke 
of hi)nselfi with refer^ce to the secrets of God*8 
^atiure and de^igoa^ as a c^d playing with pebbles 
on the sea-shore. 

We have said, that ta the cfise of ^ese eminent 
philosophers, Unowled^e wns not only power, but 
virtue and happiness, because they were Christians. 
With Voltaire, aad Humej and Gibbon, it was 
power ( but it was not hf^pfiness, nor virtue; because 
it was not sanctified Bor directed by Christian behef 
and principle. For surely that is not happiheas, nor 
the source of happineas, which is no preservative 
against the most miseral^ ambition, the most rest- 
less uneafiinesw imder the world's q^inion, and the 
most disquieting views of futurity. Consider the fol- 
lowing argument; it is of a very plain and practical 
kind. If our relijgkm be tvue, no kind of knowkdge 
can be really beneficial which causes us to neglect 
the study of God's word, or to midervahie and disre- 
gard his laws. On the other hand, there is no kind 
of knowledga, deserving of the name, with which 
religion interferes, either in its acquisition or right 
employment. On the contrary, religion tends to pre- 
serve the mind in that tranquil and contented state 
^diieh is necessary to the successfhl pursuit of every 
branch of useAil knowledge | it teaches us to set a 
right value upon it when acquired, and to employ it 
to the benefit of mankind. Moreover, it has an ob- 
vious tendency te secure to us even the present and 
temporal rewards of knowledge : for who, that is 
looking out for an able instructor for his children, a 
trusty steward for his estate, or a ^Iful workman to 
be employed about his premises, would not rather 
have a religious man, upon whose prmdples he could 
rely, than an unbeliever, a scoffer, and a drunkard ? 
So that religion, which cannot in any case impede 
the acquirement d[ knowledge, nor interfere with its 
right application, enhances the value of it to its 
possessor, with respect both to the Inward compla-" 
cency which it affords him, and the present recom- 
pense to which it leads. 

While laying up in the storehouse of his memory 
the materials of useful knowledge, which it will be 
our object to provide for him, let our reader bear iu 

1832. J 


mind, that there is something to he known ahove and 
beyond the scope of unassisted hmnan inquiry — some- 
thing which transcends the highest flight of hmnan 
mtcUect, and is of greater importance than its most 
suhlime discoveriefl ; and that is, the knowledge of 
God, of His attrihuteS; His purposes, and His laws ; 
a knowledge, for which man must he indehted to God 
himself, ^ho has revealed it to him in His written 
Word. To this source and treasury of truth let him 
continually recur, for the purpose of humbling intel- 
lectual pride by the view of his own sinfulness and 
weakness ; and of withdrawing his mind from too 
fixed and exclusive a contemplation of secondary 
causes, to the First Great Cause of all things. Let 
him accustom himself to trace the Creator in His 
creatures, to rise through Nature up to Nature's God, 
and to find, in the daily accumtdating stores of know- 
ledge, not only the means of worldly advancement, 
nor merely a resource for his hours of leisure or re- 
tirement, but fresh materials of humility and thank- 
fulness. To a mind' so disciplined, the pursuit of 
information will be at once delightful and profitable 5 
and knowledge will be power, in the highest and no- 
blest sense of the words, — ^e power of t>eing an4 
doing good. 


It is rather a subject <^ suiprise that^ in our g^eral 
associations, and mixed societies, in times so highly 
enlightened as the present, when many ancient pre- 
judices are graduaUy flitting away, as reason ao4 
science dawn on maiikind, we should meet with so 
few, comparatively speaking, who have any know- 
ledge of, or take the least interest in. Natural His- 
tory ; or if the subject obtain a moment's considera- 
tion, it has no abiding-place in the mind, being dis- 
missed as the fitting employ of children and inferior 
capacities. But the natund htstoriiui is required to 
attend to something more than the vagaries of butter- 
flies, and the spinnings of caterpillars. His study, 
considered apart from the various branches of science 
which it embraces, is one of the most delightful occu- 
pations that can employ the attention of reasoning 
beings. And perhaps none of the amusements of 
human life are more satisfactory and dignified than 
the investigation and survey of the workings and ways 
of Providence in this created world of wonders, filled 
with his never- absent power. It occupies and elevates 
the mind, is inexhaustible in supply, and, while it 
furnishes meditation for the closet of the studious, 
gives to the reflections of the moralizing rambler, ad- 
miration and delight, and is an engaging companion 
that will communicate an interest to every rural walk. 
We need not live with the humble denizens of the 
air, the tenants of the woods and hedges, or the 
grasses of the field j but to pass them by in utter dis- 
regard, is to neglect a large portion of rational plea- 
sure open to our view, which may edify and employ 
many a passing hour, and, by easy steps, will often 
become the source whence flow contemplations of 
the highest order. Young minds cannot, I should 
conceive, be too strongly impressed with the simple 
wonders of creation by which they are surrounded : 
in the race of hfe they may be passed by, tiie busi- 
ness of life may not admit attention to them, or the 
unceasing cares of the worid may smother early 
attainments 5 but they can never be injurious. Hiey 
wiU give a bias to a rensonhig mind, and tend i!i some 
after thoughHul, sobered hour, to comfort and to 
soothe. The litlle msi^ts that we have obtained into 
Nature's works, are many of Iheni the offspring of 
scientific research ; and partia} and uncertain as our 

labours are, yet a brief gleam will occasionally lighten 
the darksome path of the humble inquirer, and give 
him a momentary glimpse of hidden truths. Let not, 
then, the idle and the ignorant scoff at him who de- 
votes an unemployed hour — 

No calling left, no duty hn>ke, 

to investigate a moss, a fungus, a beetle, or a shell, in 
*' ways of pleasantness and in paths of peace.*' They 
are al the formation of Supr^ne Int^ligence, for a 
wise and worthy end, and may lead us by gentle steps 
and degrees to a faint notion of the powers of infinite 
wisdom. They have calmed and amused some of us 
worms and reptiles, and possibly bettered us for our 
change to a new and more perfect order of being.— 
Journal of a Naturalist. 



Thou worid, tumultuous and rud^. 

Farewell; and- welcome solitude I 

Here straight the path to Heaven lies ; 

Farewell, uou wond of vanities I 
it nations and let [nrinces rage, 
[^re lofty themes my thoughts engage ; 
skies with hymns angdie ring; 

With angels let me learo to sing I 

Oh, here for ever may I dwell, 

Far from the woiid's tumultuous sveQ* 

Till Angels lift me to the skies, 

And beur my soul to Paradise. 

Oh, let me here, a hermit blest* 

Eiyoy a life of peecious rest ! 



Away with wishes fond and wea^L t 
Why faint thy heart, and pale thy cheek ? 
Wilt thou the noble contest shun> 
Where virtue is by labour won ? 
Wilt thou, Christ's soldier, dare to please 
Thyself, in idle, monkish ease ! 
Is this a time to fold tiie hands 
And shut the eyea> when hostile bands 
Rush to the fignt : their banners wave* 
And challenge, impiously brave, 
With bitter taunts and haughty boasts. 
The armies of the Lord of Hosts ? 
Through camps thy journey lo the skies. 
And not through groves and grottoes, lies. 
Lo ! where thy 1^1, his garments dyed 
With blood, imites thee to his side I 
Clothes thee with armour from above. 
And tells thee, with a look of love, 
One sbort but desperate conflict o'er. 
The prize is bliss for evermore I 

I HAVE B&t upon the shore, and waited (or the gra- 
doil aj^roadh of tiie aea> and kave teen k$ daaciiig 
waves and white surf, and admired that He who mea- 
sured it with His hand bad given to it sudb lile and 
motion J and I have lingered till ita gentle wiaters 
grew into mi^ty billows, and bad vdl i2^ swept me 
from my firmest looting. So have I seen » heedless 
youth gazing with a too cuious spirit upon the sweet 
motions and gentle apprqadies of an inviting i^eavure, 
till it hac detained his eye and imprisoned his feet, 
and sw^led upon his soul, and swept him to a swift 
destractton. — ^Montagu's DedkatioM. 

He whose heart is not exeited upon the spot which 
a mart3rr has sanctified by his sufferings, or at the 
grave of one who has largely benefited maidcind, must 
be more inferior to the multitude in his moral, than 
he can possiWy be raised above them iu his mtellec-i 

tual nature, — Southey. 

I— « 


Vieu) of the Temple of Jaggandtha at OrUsa. 

The celebrated temple of Jaggandtha is situated in 
the district of Cnttack, on the sea-coest of Orissa, a 
province under the Britisli Government of Bengal, 
in Lat. 1 9" 49' N., and Lon. 85" 54' E. The nominal 
chiefship of the country in which the temple is aitn- 
ated, is in the Rajah of Khoorda, a small principa- 
lity, the capital of which stands about 20 miles S.W, 
of Cuttack. The aspect of the country on the aea- 
coast is low, covered with wood, and totally flooded 
by the sea at spring-tides ; and into this stoneless ex- 
panse of swamp and forest the nmnerous rivers from 
the interior discfaai^ their waters through many 
cbanneb, as in the coasts of Bengal and Egypt, The 
district has only tliree towns, deserving to be so 
called, one of which, ac^oining the tranple, is called 
Pooree, or " The Town." 

Under the ancient Hindoo governments, the terri- 
tory of Cuttack appears to have been divided among 
petty chiefs, having no regular head ; one among 
them was Uie Khoorda Rajati, the hereditary higb- 
prieat of Jaggan&tha and keeper of his wardrobe, who 
probably possessed considerable influence over the 

The country was invaded at an early period by the 
Mahomedans, and was conquered by tlte Mahrattaa 
in 1738, with whom it remained until conquered by 
the English in 1803. Afterwards, on the expulsion 
of the Mahrattas, a settlement was made with the tri- 
butary Rajahs, some of whom, however, though pro- 
fessing submission, tendered no tribute; among these 
was the Khoorda Rajah, then a boy of 1 S, who laid 
waste the adjoining country with fire and sword. A 
British army was in consequence collected, which had 
to conduct its operations in an almost impassable 
country, and amidst difficulties a^;ravated by the 
sanctity of the Rajah's priestly character. At length 
the Rajah voluntarily surrendered his sacred person, 
which was brought into camp, while the inhabitants 
of the adjacent districts came forth and fell down be- 
fore him in bumble adoration. On his snnrender, be 

was allowed an ample pension, and was contiiMud 
chief in authority over the temple of Jaggm&tha. 

Every Hindoo temple or place of pilgrinoge has its 
marvellous legend or history, describing the circum- 
stances to which it owes its supposed holiness, — events 
generally dated in a former age of the world. The 
legend further pretends to contain an account of the 
foundation of die first temple or shrine, the different 
visits paid to it by their idol-gods and heroes, its dis- 
covery and renewal in the present age, the marvels 
which have resulted from its worship, and the bene- 
factions made to it by modem sovereigns. The last 
part of the story is generally the only portion of theses 
lying legends which contaiiis any real history. 

The legend of Jaggan^tha states that an ancient, 
king of Ootkala, the Hindoo name of Orissa, pressed. 
down by the weight of his sins, addressed himself tO' 
Brabnia, the idol-god whom he had chosen for bts 
peculiar divinity, for instruction as to what he could 
do that would obtain for him happiness in a future 
state of existence. Brahma, says the story, per- 
ceiving the uncerity of his sorrow and his piety,, 
directed him to make inquiry after a certain shrine 
buUt by his ancestors, which formeriy stood by tlie 
side of a hill, and was made of ntassy gold, and was- 
the abode of Vishnu. It had been buried by the 
sands thrown up by the sea. The worshipper waa- 
further informed that, if be would restore the worship 
of the temple, and renew the offerings which were for- 
merly made there, he would ensure to himself a dwell- 
ing of happiness after his death, and, by inducing thi» 
pretended god again to take up his abode on earth, 
would procure the same happiness to the human race. 
For more particular information of the spot where the 
temple stood, the king was referred to a tortoise, as old 
as the world, which he would find near the hill Ntla. 

Delighted with the wonderful intelligence, the king 
set out to find his informant ; and, on approaching a 
lake under the hill, a prodigious tortoise approached 
him, and asked him what he sought in that desert 



' spot. The king having informed bim of his atate and 
' the object of his visit, was answered by the tortoise, 
that he well remembered the splendour of the ancient 
temple, but that age having impaired his memory, he 
could not distinctly point out the spot where it had 
stood; that Vishnu had long dwelt there, and that 
other gods often visited the spot for recreation and 
amusement; but that, owing to the neglect tA the 
wonted sacrifices and offerings, he had returned to 
his own paiadise. The tortoise, however, informed 
the anxious monarch, that on the borders of another 
lake he would find an immortal raven, with feathers 
white hy age, and that A^m him he would attain 
complete satisfaction on the subject of his inquiry. 
The king lost no time in proceeding on his Journey ; 
and having found the immortal bird, be inquired of 
him every particular regarding the holy shrine, and 
its founders. The raven, deeply versed in ancient 
history, related to the delighted sovereign the deeds 
of his great ancestors, and especially the piety of him 
who obtained the favour of Vishnu's residence in tbe 
temple, which he had constructed for him of gold 
lined with precious stones : he added, " that time, 
which destroyed all things, had respected this magni- 
ficent edifice, which was only buried about ten miles 
below the surface of the earth ; that after the disap- 
pearance of the temple, Vishnu, unwilling to quit the 
mountain, his favourite abode, had changed himself 
into a margosa tree (Malia Azadirachta, Lin.) ; but 
the holy hermit, Markandia, percdviug that tbe tree 
gave no shade, breathed upon it, and reduced part of 
it to ashes ; but as the tree whs necessarily immortal, 
part of it still remained." Having communicated 
these important facts, the raven set out with the king 
to the spot where the temple was buried, and, remov- 
ing the sand with his beak, exhibited to his royal com 
panion the golden shrine, and then re-covered it as 

The king now returned to Brahma to consult on 
bis future proceedings, in order to awaken in the 
minds of the people tbe devotion which he thought 
this place ought ever to inspire. The god advised 
bim ta build a new temple on the same spot ; but as 
the present age was so bad, it would not be safe that 
the material employed should be gold, as it would be 
stolen piecemeal by the visiters ; he might therefore 
construct it of brick. The name by which tbe god to 
be worshipped was to be known, was that of Sri Jeo, 
or the Sacred Spirit; he was also to build a town near 
the temple: and Brahma further informed his wor- 
shipper, that when these works should be accom- 
plished, Vishnu himself, in the form of the trunk of 
the partially-blasted tree, would ^pear on the sea- 
shore. " This trunk," s^d the god, " thou wilt con- 
vey with pomp to the new temple. The carpenter of 
the gods, Vishvakarma, shall himself come and ^hion 
it into tbe image of Vishnu. And thou wilt place by 
his side his sbter Snbaddra, and his brother Balarama; 
and thou wilt cause daily sacrifices to be offered to him, 
and thus ensure to thyself, and to all who shall follow 
thy example, entrance into tbe paradise, Vaikoonta. 
Since Vishnu will not be able to consume all the food 
which will be prepared for him, tbe remnants may be 
eaten by men for their puriiication, and the remission 
of their sins. Happy they who may attain the small- 
est particle ! To give thee an idea of the value of 
these remnants, if by accident any fragments should 
fall on the earth, the gods would scramble for them, 
even though dogs had already devoured a part ; or 
should an outcast draw from the mouth of a dog rice 
then devoted to Vishnu, and put it in the mouth of a 
Bramin, so great is the efficacy of that rice, that it 
'would instantly porify him from sin. Tbe very sight 

of the temple will procure to those who visit it benefits 
incalculable. To receive stripes from the Bramins ^- 
pointed to distribute the rice, is a work singularly me- 
ritorious. Indra, and all the gods, will visit the city; 
and Vishnu, who will reside there ; the sand which 
tbe sea shall deposit on tbe side focing the temple, 
shall be called gold dnat; whoever shaU die on that 
sand, shall assuredly go to tbe paradise of Vishnu." 

The monarch without delay set about the work ; 
lie built the city, and erected the temple ; and, in due 
time, he saw tiie promised tree arrive on the shore. 
Having paid due adoration to the divine block, the 
king, with a hundred thousand men, bore the fiittire 
idol in triumph to the city. The heavenly carpenter 
delayed not to arrive, and undertook the task of 
sculpture, promising to compltte the work in one 
night, on condition that he was not interrupted, and 
that no one should inspect him ; a sin^e glance of the 
eye, it was announced, would catise him immediately 
to disappear never to return. 

The sculptor of wood working in perfect silence, 
the king suspected tiiat he had broken his engage- 
ment; and, to assure himself on tbe point, softly 
peeped through a crevice in the door, and saw with 
delight that the workman was diligently performing 
his task, and quickly withdrew. But Vishvakaram 
had perceived him, and instantly vanished, leaving 
the block with scarcely the rudest approach to the 
intended form. The lung, Nevertheless, considering 
the imperfect image to be divine, paid homage, and 
gave to it his daughter in marriage. This absurd story 
is still beheved, and this monstrous image continues 
in the same form to this day, receiving adoration 
under the title of Jaggandtha, or lord of the world. 
[To be continued.] 

Botanical topography, which treats of tbe station3 
as well as of the habitations of vegetables, is a subi 
ject not wholly without interest and value. It js well 
known that very different plants abound ip different 
soils; that some grow on land, and some in water; 
that some like one, and some another situation. For 
example, to take plants which are very closely alliedj 
the lichens are dry plants, and never grow under water j 
the /uci are watery plants, and never grow out of water ; 
and the same may be said of many other plants, some 
of which are, as it were, the Uving boundaries of land 

[Tit Sod SamrltH. 

and sea: thns, the Samphire fCrithnuim Marititmim^) 
never grows but on the sea-shore, and yet it never 


[July 7 

§rows within reach of the waves,— that is to say, it is 
never so near as to be wholly covered by the waters. 
It happened not long since, that a knowledge of this 
> fact was useful in a way and at a time when botanic 
knowledge might, beforehand, have been expected to 
be of little practical importance. 

During a violent storm in November, 1821, a ves- 
sel, passing through the English Channel, was driven 
on shore near Beachy Head ; and the whole of the 
crew being washed overboard, four escaped from the 
wreck, only to be delivered as they thought to a more 
lingermg and fearful, from its being a more gradual 
and equally inevitable death -, for, having in the dark- 
ness of the night been cast upon the breakers, they 
fonnd, when they had climbed up the highest of these 
low rocks, that the waves were rapidly encroaching on 
their asylum ; and they doubted not, that when the 
tide should be at its height, the whole range would 
be entirely covered with water. The darkness of the 
night prevented any thing being seen beyond the spot 
upon which they stood, and this was continually 
decreasing by the successive encroachments of each 
advancing wave. The violence of the gtorm left no 
hope that their feeble voices, even if raised to the 
uttermost, could be heard on shore ; and they knew 
that amidst the howling of the blast their cries could 
reach no other ear than that of God. What human 
arm could give assistance in such a situation ? even if 
their distresses were known, how vain were the help 
of man! The circle of their existence here seemed 
gradually lessening before their eyes j their little span 
of earth gradually contracting to their destruction : 
already they had climbed to the highest points, and 
already the furious waters followed them, flinging 
over their devoted heads the foremost waves, as 
heralds of their speedily approaching dissolution. At 
this moment oBe of these wretched men, while they 
were debating whether they should not, in this extre- 
mity of ill, throw themselves upon the mercy of the 
waves, hoping to be cast upon some higher ground, 
as, even if they failed to reach it, a sudden would be 
better than a lingering death — in this dire extremity, 
one of these despairing creatures, to hold himself 
more firmly to the rock, grasped a weed, which, even 
wet as it was, he well knew, as the lightning's sudden 
flash afforded a momentary glare, was not a fucus, 
but a root of Samphire j and he recollected that this 
plant never grows under water. This then became 
more than an olive branch of peace, a messenger of 
mercy; by it they knew that He who alone can calm 
the raging of the seas, at whose voice alone the winds 
and the waves are still, had placed his landmark, had 

planted his standard l^re, and by this sign they were 
assured that He had said to the wild waste of waters, 
" Hitherto shait thou come, and no further." Trust- 
ing, tfeen, to the promise of this Angel of the Earth, 
they remained stationary during the remainder of 
that dreadful, but then comparatively happy night j 
and in the morning they were seen firom the cliffs 
above, and conveyed Jn safi^ty to the shore. — ^Bur- 
nett's Introductory f^ectur^. 

Samphire, or 8t Peter^t Wort, vwy probably derives its 
English name, as atymologiste oontcsia, horn the French 
name * Herbe d9 SL Pierrot and hence, if such be the 
cas«, it would be more correcthr written, according to Smith, 
Sampire, or, as degen9rated from St. Pierre, san-pire. 

The botanical name Crithmum has been given to this 
plant from the resemblance its seeds bear to grains of bar- 
ley, the crithe of the Greeks. 



Multiply 9 by itself, >r by any other single figure, and 
the two figures forming the product will, in each case, if 
added together, amoimt to 9 : for example, 9 multiplied by 
9 is 81, and 8 and 1 added together make 9; so on with 
the other figures. 

The figures Ibnning the amount of 12345678 9, 
added together, (viz. 45,) will also, if added together 
make 9. 

The amount of the several products or multiples of 9, (9, 
18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, 72, 81,) namely 405, when divided 
by 9, gives a quotient of 45, and the figures forming either 
tne dividend or the quotient, added together, make 9. 

Multiply any row of figures either 1^ 9, or by any one of 
the products ci 9 muUipl&d by a single figure, as by 18, 27, 
36, 45, 54, 63, 72, or 81, and the spm of the figures of the 
product added together will be divisible by 9. 

Miiltiplv the 9 digits in the following order, 12 3 4 5 
6 7 8 9, by 9, or by any one of the products of 9 mentioned 
in the last paragraph, and the product will come out all in 
one figure, except the place of tens, which will be a 0, and 
that figure will be the one which, midtiplied into 9, sup- 
plies me multiplier; that is, if you select 9 as the multi- 
plier, the product will be (except the place of tens) all ones ; 
if you select 18, all twos; if 27, all threes, and so on. Omit 
the 8 in the multiplicand, and the will also vanish from 
the product, leaving it all ones, twos, threes, &c. as the cas* 
may be. 

There is not any benefit so glorious in itself, but it 
may yet be exceedingly sweetened and improved by 
the manner of conferring it. The virtue, I know, 
rests in the intent ; the profit, in the judicious appli- 
cation of the matter; but the beauty and ornament of 
an obligation Ues in the manner of it. — Seneca. 


FROM THE YEAR 1700 TO 1831. 

Year. No. of Persona. 

J 700.. 5,475,000 
10 . . 5,210,000 
20 . . 5,565,000 
30 . . 5,796,000 

Tear. No. of Personi. 

1740.. 6,064,000 
50 . . 6,467,000 
60 . . 6,736,000 
70 . . 7,428,000 

Year. No. of Penong. 

1780 . . 7,953,000 

90 . . 8,675,000 

1801 . . 9,168,000 

Year. No. ofPUBOiu. 

1811.. 10,502,500 
21 ..12,218,500 
31 . . 14,594,500 


Enrfand 13,089,336 

W^es 805,236 

Scotland 2,365,807 

Army and Navy .... 277,017 

Total . . . 16,537,396 

Years 1801 1811 . 

Number of Persons . . . 1,652,400 1,865,900 



. 1821 

2,135,300 2,365,807 


1700 . . 1750 . . 1801 . . . 1811 . • . 1821 . . . 1831 

II Edinbuigh, City o( in 1831 . . 162,403 

City of ? Within the Walls ........ 

London S Without the Walls 

City and Liberties of Westminster .... 
Parishes within the Bills of Mortality . . 
Parishes not witliin the Bills of Mortality 




[ 57,700 



































Method is the very Unge of bnunees ; and tliere is 
'■■ no method without punctuality. Punctuality pro- 
motes the peace and good temper of a family. The 
colmiiess of mind which It produces i» another ad- 
vantage of punctuality. A man without punctuality 
ia always in a hurry g he has no time to epeak to you, 
becauBe he is going elsewhere ) aud when he gets there, 
he is too late for his boalnesB i or he must hurry away 
to Buother before he can finish it. Punctuality gives 
weight to character. " Such a man has made an ap- 
pointment : then I know be will keep it." And this 
begeta punctuality in those with whom he lives ; for, 
like other virtues, it propagates itself. Servants and 
children must be punctual, where the master of the 
family is so. Appointments become debts. If I have 
made an appointment with you, I owe you punc- 
tuality, and I have no right to throw away your time, 
even though I might my own. To be punctual ia to 
do as we would be done by j for who likes to be kept 
waiting i Punctuality is the best of economy j for 
what have we that is so precious as time 1 PunctuaUty 
is part of piety towards God ; for of what gift shall 
we be called to give so strict account as of those hours 
without which no other gift can be eiercised at all. 

Wisdom doth balance in her scales those true and 
false pleasures which do equally invite fbe senses ; 
and rejecting all such as have no solid value or lastit^ 
rcfreshmeut, doth select and talie to her bosom those 
delights that, proving immortal, do seeiq to smell and 
taste of that paradise from which they epripg. Like 
the wise husbandman, who taking die rough grain 
which carries in its heart the br^d to sustain life, 
dt>th trample under foot the gay and idle flowers 
which many times destroy it, — ^A. M. 

considered to be very inferior to the productions of 
Greece and Rome. A more correct name for them, how- 
ever, though one not so frequently employed, ia the 
English style, because buildings of this Icind were first 
introduced in England, and no other country can 
boast finer specimens than are still remaining here. 

Before the introduction of the English or pointed 
arch, the circular or rounded arch was in use ; and a 
few very beautiful examples of Uiis kind of building 
still remain in different parts of the country. It i.s 
called Saxon or Norman, from its having prevailed 
during the reign of the Saxon and Norman kings in 
England. It commenced at the establishment of 
Christianity among the Saxons, in the 6th century, 
and continued to about the year I J 35, ia the reign of 
king Stephen. The entrance to the Temple Church, 
London; the Abbey Gate, Bristol; and the Church 
of Romsey, in Hampshire, are in this stylo of architec- 
ture. The doors in this style are sometimes quite 
plain, and sometimes very richly carved. 



Almost every body occasinnally tn^vels froqt oq^ 
part of the country to another, and aqiongrt tbs ntwy 
picturesque objects which attract the attention, none 
fire more ctmspicuous than the cburcbes and cathe- 
drals in the villages gr cities through which the tra- 
veller passes in his route. Even those who are pre- 
' vented by circumstances &om making these excursions, 
whose lot is cast in London, or in a cotpitry town, or 
in a remote village, bftve generally in t^e fteighboor- 
hood of their residence one or more of those venerable 
structures, whicb, whether eoneideicd in a religious or 
scientific point of view, call upon us for atten^oa and 
I admiration, When looking at aqy particular build- 
' ing, it naturally occurs to ns to inquire how long it 
bas been standii^ on the spot where we now see it. 
If any one be at hand we ask the question, and pcr- 
baps receive a satisfactory answer, though it is more 
j probable that the answer will tw one expressing a 
total ignorance of the subject. Most persons would, 
no doubt, be glad to possess a few rules, by the know- 
ledge of which they might themselves be able to guess, 
within a few years, ^e qge of the building they were 
surveying j and to supply these is the intention of the 
following remarks. 

The doors and windows of old English churches, 
generally, have pointed arches j and from the shfqw 
of these arches, principally, though there are other 
lesser distinctions, the age (tf the building may ha 
■ mcst accurately learned, as they have varied in height 
and width from age to age. Buildings constTucted 
with ar<hcs of this desc^ptioQ are usually called 
CotMc, a name given to them originally as a term of 
reproach, because they irere supposed formerlj' to be 
the temaioaof the ar^tectitnd taste of the |SfifA<,ui4 

IFiUma Id IIu Temyle CSUraL] 

Between the reign of Stephen and that of Henry 
III., the circular arch began to disappear ; and before 
the death of the latter monarch, gave way to the 
pointed arch. At first the two arches were intermixed ; 
and the style was then called, *nni — or half-Nonmn, 
Some suppose that the pointed arch was mtrodnced 
from the Saracens, by the Crusaders to the Holy 
liand, and from this circumstance, they call it the 
Saracenic arch ; but the greater number of persons 
imagine it to have arisen from the accidental crossing 
of several rounded arches with each other. That this 
wiU produce pointed arches of different widths and 
heights, according to the points where they cross each 
other, may easUy be shown by placing two hoops or 
rings across each other, allowing one point of the 
hoops or rings to rest upon a floor or table. The 
crossings of the boughs of tiees in an avenue, also 
afford a familiar illustration of the same (act. In the 
Temple Church, the two arches may be found united, 
and other specimens may be seen in the church of St. 
Cross, near Winchester; the ruins of Buildwas Abbey, 
Shropshire ; Fountains Abbey, Rlevaulx Abbey, and 
Roche Abbey, In Yorkshire. 

When the circular arch totally disappeared, in 1 220, 
the Sarlji Eagliah SUfU commenced. The windows ot 
this style were at firat very narrow in comparison with 
their faeighti they were c^edlaneet-shaped, and were 
{mistdered very elegantt twoor tliree were frequently 
peoa together, connected by dripstones. In a short 
tintB, however, the windows became wider, and divi- 
sions aud omamuits were introduced. Sometimes the 
same window was divided into several lights, and fre- 
quently finished at die top by a light in the form of a 
Itsei^, circle, trefoil, or other omameat. A specimen 
of tiiia style may be seen in the beautiful church of 
IK, Saviour's, Sonthwark, which has lately been thrown 


rJntr 7. 1832. 

bpea to view by the improvemeata connected witii the 
erection <tf the New Loodoii Bridge. The door of St. 
Mary's, Lincoln, is also in this style. 

at Westminster; St, George's Chapel at Windsor; 
Wrexham Church, Denbighshire ; and the Chapel on 
the hri(^ at Wakefield, Yorkshire, are all of this 
character. Many small country churches are bnilt 
in this style ; and, their size not admitting of much 
ornament, they are distinguished from buildings of a. 
later date, by mouldings running round their arches, 
and generally by a square bead over the blunt pointed 
arch of the door. A peculiar ornament of this style 
is a flower of fonr leaves, called, from the family 
reigning at that period, the Tudor flower. Below is 
the entrance to St. Erasmus' Chapel, in Wesminster 

About the year 1300, the architecture became more 
ornamental, and from this circumstance received the 
name of the Decorated Engliah style, which is consi- 
dered the most beautiful for ecclesiastical buildings. 
The windows of this style are very easily distinguished . 
they are large and wide, and are divided into several 
tights by mulliona, which are upright or perpendi- 
cular narmw columns, branching out at the top into 
tracery of various forms, such as trefoils, circles, and 
other figures. York Cathedral affords a fine specimen 
of this sort of architecture, and there ia a beautiful 
window of the same style in the south transept of 
Chichester Cathedral. The west front of that of Ex- 
eter ia another specimen, and the door-way of Lincoln 
Cathedral is in this style. 

CDMT-iMy tfLlMCil* t^uMm/.} 

The change from the Decorated to the Florid or 
Perpendicular Style wa« very gradual. Ornament after 
ornament was added, till simplicity disappeared beneath 
the extravagant additions; and about the year 1380, 
the architecture became so overloaded and flowery, 
that it obtained the title of Florid. This, by some 
persons, is called the Perpendicular Style, because the 
lines of division run in upright or perpendicular lines 
from top to bottom, which is not the case in any other 
Style. King's Collie Chapel, Cambridge, begun in 
the reign of Henry VI., though not finished till some 
time after ; Gloucester Cathedral ; Henry VII. 's Chapel 

IRVnact ta SI. SruiHI' OhipiTl. ^nhHUIir.] 

From 1380, and during the reign of Henry VIII., 
architecture became less pure in style, though, in some 
cases very elaborate in its ornaments. An intermix- 
ture of B^les was introduced, and hence the appella- 
tion of the Debased style, the character of the archi- 
tecture being inferior to that of former ages, and 
yearly becoming less worthy of admiration. Italian 
architecture was mingled with the different orders of 
English, and the latter were almost entirely lost sight 
of before the reign of Charles I. Of what is called tbe 
Debased style there are many specimens in the Col- 
leges both of Oxford and Cambridge, as well as in 
many country Churches, built about the same period. 

There are many other characteristics by which a 
building of one period may be distinguished from that 
of another, even by a very casual observer ; but in a 
hasty glance, the traveller will hardly, perhaps, have 
time to cast his eye upon more than one particular 
part of the structure. The arches of doors and win- 
dows are prominent objects, and are readily seized 
upon by the eye. 


PuiLltHiD IH WiTKLT Nn uiiia. Pim: Om Pimrr. AifT> IM UomiLV PAtoT*. 

Sold by >J1 BookHllen .nd Nnn-fDden in Ihc Kligdom. 
*byMR. P«S™"t«-n^; BERtiEBTHolywlflliwI; DOVGLAS, 

.,. «*.ik«rJA-01'>"* 

Birmiigllam. Luubridge, Sieter.Vraay «t Co, Itullnghm. 
ilri«pl7 Wmlloj ft Co.; D. Glmgiiw, Griftn Ic Co. <i'f«''i ^<^' 

rmftrf. rldld. 


KaaHajiili. g,wliin«Hoii, 
IfmoaUlt-Bm-Tsiit, Fill. 

'/LftTf^am. LoTTVT- 

IIMin. Cony Jib. & Co 

<^atttrtia^ | (Magaf in^. 


JULY 14, 



To the lutnial historian no subject is more interesting 
tlian the stiU life memoirs of Che vegetable world. He 
finds no retrospects more pleasing than those which 
rdate to woodland scenes; no task more grateful 
than a contemplation of those vast ' inheritors of the 
earth,' which adorn and beautify our groves and lawns. 
Among forest annals, no tree affords so many fond, 
so many grand memorials as the oak ; no object 
is more sublime than this stately plant j and yet, as 
Fontey truly says, ' even our mushrooms are tended 
with a nurse's care, while the oak, the pride of our 
"woods, the chief material of our navy, and conse- 
quently the bulwark of our country, is (too often) 
left to thrive or rot by ehaace unheeded, if not for- 
gotten.' So great, indeed, has been this apathy, so 
extraordinary the perverseness, which has prevailed 
on this subject, tbat the destruction of our forests hsa 
actually been regarded as a matter for exultation. 
In one of the returns from Suffolk to the Commis- 
sioners of Land Revenue, it is stated, that ' timber is 
decreased in the woods and hedge-rows, as it ought 
to be ;' and in some of our agricultural reports, oak 
is disparagingly mentioned as 'the wmrf of the country.' 
Happy is it for us who love to roam in woodland 
scenery, that ' on thousands of acres' the oak has been 
looked upon as the mere weed of the country : for it 
is owing principally to this, that many fragments of 
' oar aucient woods have been suffered to escape the 
ravages of improvement. The reckless system of ex- 
termination ' which has been pursued from age to 
age has indeed so grievously thinned our forest lands, 
that of many celebrated woods scarcely any thing but 
the name exists. And so great has been the havoc 
committed among our larger and noblest trees, that 
Voi„ I 

the wood-wards now consider oaks of three feet in 
diameter aa first rates, and regard those that exceed 
four feet as monsters in size. Yet, notwithstanding 
all this rage for destruction ; notwithstand ing the 
fearful devastations which the last two centuries have 
witnessed, few civilized countries possess so many 
chieftsiu wonder trees' as our own. Perhaps no 
landscape feature is more missed by En{[^8hmeD 
abroad, especially when travelling through France, than 
those noble livii^ monuments of past time, which 
like the woody patriarch here engraved, have given 
beauty to the land, and shelter to its inhabitants (ot 
many generations. This may probably be owing to 
the prejudice against the use of coal aa tael, which 
prevails so extensively abroad, and which leads to the 
condemnation of trees for firewood, when their ca- 
vemed trunlcs no longer fear the axe nor dread being 
converted into timber. 

But Time hastens to destroy even what man would 
spare ; and within oar own recollection, and the life- 
time of our fathers, many of the most aged and vene- 
rable trees, such as the Nannau, the Magdalen, the 
Fairlop, and others, have fallen beneath his scythe ; 
and more wait but the 'little sickle of a moment' to 
cut them from the roll of things that are. Of some 
already gone we have preserved memorial sketches f 
and of ottiers that are going, we propose transferring 
their figures to our pages : and we likewise design to 
accompany this series of our most celebrated trees 
with short historical accounts, such as can be collected 
either from written documents or oral traditions. 

This is a point, however, on which there is in gene- 
ral much obscurity attendant. Seldom until eztaraor- 
dinarr for age or size, do forest trees exdte particular 



[July U, 

attentiou ; aqi} )pw p^°n^ ewvfr tfny be the tjotiQe 
of tbeir decline, 4^cay, ^pd deodi, no chroiucfci aee 
found of their early life. Of some, however, ^teiir 
sive memorials can be framed, but of these hereafter, 
Little is ki}own of the Grsat Salcey Oajc, wJiasp 
portrait we give above. 

Major Rooke observes, it was p^rbaps- the i^and 
situatioa of tlie littk forest of Salcey, ten mijes from 
Northampton, that cansed some of its majestic oaks 
to escape the Bxe, until age had secured theni froi 
the claims of the dock- yard ; and of these the Great 
Salcey Oak is the most remarkable. Its circumference 
at bottom, where there are no projecting spurs, ia 
forty-six feet ten inches ; at one yard from the ground, 
thirty-nine feet ten inches ; at two yards hi^, thirty- 
five feet nine inches ; and at three yards, thirty-fiy^ 
feet : its circumference within the boUow of th£ truojf, 
near the ground, is twenty nine feet j §t one y^4 
from the bottom, twenty-four feet eeveu istphes i gf 
two yards high, eighteen feet si?( in/^hcs ; juid 9t thf^ 
yards from the ground, the circy^^efpff^ is j^xfWq 
feet two inches. Major tlaol^ ^gurps t^ijS jjvin) 
cavern with an arched entrance oi} p}ti)ev siijc, clpe^ 
with gates, thus forming an encVsui%, if} whid) c^Kl^ 
might be penned : and ^ds, ' From Q]isff\-^tif)fiB 
that have been made by naturalists on tUfi Wg^fy 
of the oak, there is reason to si^pjitjee tliat t))js fP^ H 
at least one thousand five bunj^^ yeajra old.' 

Other oaks of this kiod, though ^ss ronarkable tur 
their size, are common in many parts of fce coui^ry, 
and known as ' ^ull Oaks' from thesie yii mnlB taking 
Rhclter within them, which when they ^xe pf spi^Jler 
dimensions, they ' effect oQt by ffaog in and turping 
round, but by retreating ba^ltwands iqta t)ic cavity ii% 
the head alone projects at the apertu^.' Mr. Soutji 
describes one standing in the middle of a pasture and 
bearing the most venerable marks of antiquity, which 
gives a name compounded of itself and its situation to 
the farra on which it grows, viz. Oak-ley Farm; tfie 
hollow of this tree was Jong the favourite retreat of a 
bull. Twenty people, old and young, have crowded 
into it at the same time. A calf being shut up diew 
for convenience, its dam, a two-year-old heifer con- 
stantly went in to suckle it, and left sufficient room 
within the trunk for milking her. It is supposed, adds 
he, to be near a thousand years old; the body is 
nothing but a shdl, covered with burly protuberances } 
the upper part of the shaft is faoHow like a chimBey. 
It has been mutilated of all its limbs ; but from their 
stumps arise a number of smal] branches, forming a 
bushy head, so remaijcable for fertility, tfaat iq years 
of plenty it has produced two sacks of aeorqs in a 
season. It measures in the middle round the buii^ 
twenty-nine feet three inches, and is tberefoM iitde 
more than half the size of the noble Salcey Patriarch. 
Circumference round the stumps of the old arms 
thirty-one feet six inches, aad in the smallest part 
between two and three feet from ftte ground, it is 
twenty-six feet in girth. 

In the Bath Society's papers we find given the 
dimensions of another very graod Ball-oak, In Wedge- 
nock paric, Warwickshire ; which measures at iiaee 
feet from the ground, eleven yards one foot in cir- 
cumference ; at one foot sixtve the ground, thirteen, 
yards one foot ; six feet fn^ the ground, twelve yards 
one foot j broadest side, seven yards five inches; close 
to the ground, eighteen yards, one foot, seven inches ; 
height of the trunk, only about fotu* yards one foot. 
The inside quite decayed ; uid whai tiic writer saw 
It, a cow and a sheep had ididtered diemselves within 
it. The head was very round and fionrishing. 

Martyu mentions Fisher's oak, about sev»itf«n 
miles from X^ondon, as a tree of enormous bulk, the 

tniflk eiqpe ja^fu^irtg of ^bofp fyfff floras jd com- 
pos. Wb^i* M^8 Jyrasf n]j4s 9 pnigresa tb# way, 
a s^pi^^iaster of ttie neighbourhood and all his 
ScJic^SfP (iressed in oaken garlands, came out of thii. 
t^-ee ip great ifuinbefrs, and entertained the Ifiog yitb 
t^ ptption. They have a tradition at Tnnbridge that 
fhirte^men on horseback were once sheltered withinit, 
Th»v «. tfee, a grander child ^Tth bears not. 
Wbat are the boiisted monumeiita of man, 
Imperiid column, or tiiunipbal arch. 
To forests of immeasureable eilent, 
\yiiich Time oonfirms, wlich centuries wasle notT 
Oaks gather strength for ages, and when U. last 
Tluf H^ne, so heaute^s in flecrepilude. 
So iTi)ii4 i^ wealoiess. E'en ia their decay 
' ' ' ! Mcrilege t'ewape 

ich of Time. 'I'lme saw 

ptfBiit ^u$h. Time nalcli'd 

in ibie Hiraf . Time pass'd 

ft its Kwajl^liogr ^ell, yon Oak, 

lOFi^n^h of Ota w^Mxis, by ihoias 

f^ fu!fp'f bill, ilie tooth 

p ^iipfi-iuif't kaifc, and sprang 

I BI)(M't afln». 

h »fl4 TfB)* gaye it jears, 

wMffiej grudjr4 Pflt : 

Tig y/hefi gay summer's breath 

£ iafiu)L 0^, vliich after 

Ti^i^ hollowed in iu troak 
; j^d buii.e4 thpr^ 
«e ta4 fall of aUti», 
uu of the world, 

TB4VP(?I-JNG nj -SPApj. 

[Fnm Tht Alkamirt. Iv ll'(jai|iaT<»' huso.] 

Havv aiv ^t to picture Spain to their imagination 
pa a soft siwf|>em rwoq, dcdted out with all the 
luxuiiapt charms of voluptuous Italy. On the con- 
trary, though there are exceptions in some of the 
maritime provinces, yet, for the greater part, it is a 
^icm mdanchrdy coui«try, w$ii rugge^ tnOHntajos, 
and long sweeping {Jaias, destitute of t¥^ea, an4 inde- 
scribably siJent and loneaiwie, par(«lung of ti^e savage 
and solitary diaracter of Africa. What adds to this 
siience and londiness is tkut whyftT of sitting birds, 
a natucal consequence of tlie want of groves aud 
hedges. Tlie vulture uid tjie ^igle 4k Sfsei) wheeling 
ahout the mountain clitfs, ftndHSoaringoy^ the pl^iu^, 
and groups of ^y bustards sC4^ ahout the hei^bs ; but 
the otyriads of smaller birds, which nnjrnAfp the whole 
&Qe of other countries, are m^ with in hut few provitkces 
in ^MUH, and ki thsee chiefly vmong the orchards 
tod gardens which suround tite habitations of mau. 
In the interior pnwiaqes the travelltv occasionally 
txavuses peat toots, enitvigte^ with graio as for as 
the eye asu. reach, waving at times y^ verdure, at 
other tinuB naked and aun-buntt, hijt he took^ rowid 
ain £9r the faond tiiat hfls tiJle4 U>e soil. At 
lengdi he perceives ttnne village p» a steep hill, or 
iigged crag with mouldering hattlefn^j^ and rujned 
'gffh-tuwer ; a stcgng hol4, ia oldea times, a^jajust 
civil vai or nuwnsb iitrowd ( for the cvstjooi amoug 
the peasantry of gongregatiog together for mutual 
pnitectiaD, is stiU kept !up in nost parts of Spain, in 
consequence of the nMrsu4ii>gs of roving freebooters. 
But though a great part of Spi^ is i}t^ficient in tlui 
garniture of groves and forests, and the softer chj^ms 
oi omamental etdtivatiofi, yet ^ts scenery h;^ some- 
thing of a high 8£id lof^ chars^^ Xa coinpensaI,a the 
want. It partakes something of the attributes of its 
people ; aad I thin]c thai I better undeFst^uA tiu: 
proud, hardy, frug^ wad t^stewuot^ Span^d, bis 
manly drfftoce of hardships, sad contempt of cffentinate 
indulgences, siiuK I have seen the co^^^try he iuhabiAs. 
There is something, too, in the sternly simple fua- 




tures of the Spanish landscape, that impresses on the 
soul a feeUng of sublimity. The immense plains of 
the Castiles and of La Mancha, extending as far as 
the eye can reach^ derive an interest from their very 
nakedness aud immensity^ and have sortething of the 
solemn grandeur of the ocean. In ran^ng cfver these 
boundless wastes the eye catches sight here and there 
of a stragghng herd of cattle attended by a lonely 
herdsman, motionless as a statue^ with his Icmg slen- 
der pike tapering up like a lariCe into the air : or 
beholds a long train of mutes slowly mc^Ing along 
the waste like a train of camels iii the desert ) Or a 
single herdsman, firmed with a bluiiderMss fttld sti- 
letto, and prowling over the piaiti, Thtis the cotintry, 
the habits, the very looks of tiie fiieople, have sdme- 
thing of the Arabiaii charater. Thfe geii^rril insecmrity 
of the country is evinced in the tiiilt^fersftl use of wea- 
pons. The herdsm^ iii the fidd^ the slifepHerd itl the 
plain, has his musket and knife. The wealthy village*' 
rarely vetitU^S td the titarltet ibi^ withmit his tra- 
buco, (Spanish gun) and perhaps ^ BetfAtii On foot with 
a blunderbuss oil his sheMdei* j Wid thfe most petty 
ioumey is undertaken with the fM^paratiod df a war- 
like enterprise. 

The dangers of ihe road prodttcfe' iflso ft mode ot 
travelling resembling, bn ti diminutive scale, the cara- 
vans of the east. The arrieros, bf ciliTiers, Congre- 
gate in convoys, and set off in large and well armed 
trains on appointed days ; while additional travellers 
swell their numbers and contribute to tbeir sti^^iigth. 
In this primitive way is the tom&erce of the country 
carried on. The mtdeteer is th6 general medium of 
trafRc^ and the legithnate traverser of th€j land, cross- 
ing the peninstda from the P^fenees add ttie Asturias 
to the Alpuxarras, the Sdrfania de Rdnda^ and even to 
the gates of Gibraltiff ; He lives fragafiy and hetf^ly : 
his dfbrjas^ of eoiirse ckrih, hold bid aeanty aiock of 
provisions ; a lea^em bottlfe, haeg^ at his saddle- 
bow^ contains wine and irater^ for a sttpply across 
barren moimtains and thirsty plains. A mule-cloth^ 
spread upon the grotmd, is his bed at nigbt^ and his 
pack-saddle is his pillow: His law bnt dfean-hmbed 
and sinewy foftn betoken strength ; his contplexion is 
dark and sun-biurnt ; his eye resohtte, but quiet in its 
etpreSdion^ except when kindkNl b^ sudden emotion ; 
his demeanonr is frvbk, manly, and cburteous; and he 
never pass^ yon tHthout a grave saldtation : " Dios 
guarde d usted!" "Va tutted cwl DiOS; Caballero !" 
*' Gbd guard you !" " God be with you, Cavalier 1" 

As these men have often theit #hdle fortune at 
stake upon the bilithen of th^it mules, they have their 
\reapoils at hand, slung tb their saddles^ and ready to 
be snatched out fbr desperate defence. But their 
united numbel^ render them secure against petty 
bands of marauders, and the sohtaly bandolero, aimed 
to the teeth, and mounted on his Andalttsian steed, 
bovers ahout thenl, like k pirate about a merchant 
couFoy, without daHng to make an assault. 

The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock of 
songs and balMds, ^th which to beguile his incessant- 
-wayfaring. Thfe ahs are rude arid simple, consisting 
of but few infleetloUs; These he ehaunts forth with a 
loud voice, ahd lUng, drawling cadeneej sotted side- 
vrays on his tnUle^ l^ho seems to listen with kidnite 

fravitjr, kud to kfeep titue, -trith hlS JAees, to the time, 
he coui)lets thtis chdhuted, are ofteM old traditioUkl 
romances abottt the Moots, tit liottie legeUd df ft saint, 
or some love ditty 5 dr. What Is still mdre frecjuent, 
samie baUad abdUt a Ddld ekmtrabftUdlsta, dr hardy 
bandolero, for the smuggler arid the robber are poeti- 
c€ll heroes among the commoti people of Spain. Often 
tbe song of the muleteer is composed at the itistant, 
ani relites tb sdine lo^ftl seeiiej or ddi&e iueident of 

the journey. This talent of singing and improvising is 
fi-equent in Spain, and it is said to have been inherited 
from the Moors. There is something wildly pleasing 
in listening to these ditties, among the rude and lonely 
scenes that they illustrate j accompanied, as they are, 
by the occasional jingle of the mule-bell. 

It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a train 
of muleteers in some mountain pass. First you hear 
the bells of the leading mules, breaking with tfheir 
Sirtlple melody the stillness of the airy height j or, 
j>erhaps, the voice of the muleteer admonishing some 
tardy or wandering animal, or chaunting, at the full 
Stretch of his lungs, some traditionary ballad. At 
length you see the inules slbwly winding along the 
eragged defile, sometimes descending precipitous cliffs, 
so as to preseUt themselves iri full relief against the 
sky J sometinies toiling Up the deep arid chasms bdow 
you. As they approach ftm descry their gay decora- 
tions of worsted tufts, tasseb, aUd saddle-cloths, 
while, as thejr pass by^ the ever-reridy trabuco slung 
behind the packs and saddles^ gives ft hint of the in- 
security of the road. 

What is true knotttedqep — Is it with keen eye 

Of lucre*8 sons td thread the mazy way ? 

Is it of civic rights, atid royal sway, 
And wealth political, the depths to try ? 
Is it to delve the earth, or soar the sky; 

To mai-shai nature's tribes in just array; 

To mix, and analyse, and mete, and weigh 
Ret elements, and all her powers descry ? 
These thin^f t^rho will may know them, if to know 

Breed not vain-glory : but o*er all to scan 
GoD< in his works ancf word stewh forth below ; 

Creation's woJiderS ; and Redemption's plan ; 
Wfrence catlie we ; i»hat to dd ; fctid whither go : 

This is ^hie kiwkUfd^i and '* the nbole of man." 

It is tte preragath^e of Qbnibs to confer a measure of 
itself upon inferior intelhgences. In reading the works 
of Milton, Bacon, and Newton^ thoughts greater than 
the growth of our own minds are transplanted into 
them ; and feehngs more profound, sublime, or com- 
prehensive, are insinuated amidst our ordinary tredn ^ 
while in the eloquence with which they are clothed^ 
we learn a new language, worthy of the new ideas 
created in us. Of how much pure and exalted enjoy- 
ment is he ignorant, who never entertained, as angels, 
the bright emanations of loftier intellects than his 
own ? By habitual communion with superior spirits, 
we not only are enabled to think their thoughts, speak 
their dialect, feel theit eifiotions, but our own thoughts 
are refined, our scanty language is enriched, our coni- 
mon feelings are elevated ^ and though we may never 
attain their fitandard, j^, by keeping company with 
them, we shall rise above our own ; as trees, growing 
in the society of a forest, are said to draw each other 
ilp into shapely and sti^^ proportion, while field 
and hedge-row stragglers, exposed to all weathers> 
never reach their full stature, luxuriance or beauty. — 

jAtt£S MoFTTOdBrifeRT. 

HtJMMiNG BIRDS. — Some idea may be formed of the 
advances which have been made in zoological pursuits 
of late yearSj (especiidly since the inunense continent 
of the New World has been opened to European re- 
search) by the following fact. Groldsmith, in his Ani- 
mated Nature, speaking of the humming bird, says : 
" Of this charming htde animal thete are six or seven 
varieties, from the size of a small wren, down to that 
of an htmible bee." There are at this moment in the 
possession of the eminent nurseryman, Mr; Loddiges 
of Hackney, no less than one hundred and seventy 
distmct species of thia " charming Httle animal." 



IJvLt 7, 

Wi are indebted for the mfttenals of this ardcle, and 
for the engraving by which it is iUnstrated, to Cap- 
tain Hundy's work jnat published bj Mr. Murray, 
entitled Pot and PateU Sketehei of India.— The gal- 
lant author opens his prebce with a quotation from 
a Britisli sage, who has prononnced, that "eretr 
man who will take the trouble of describing in simple 
langtu^ the scenes of which he has been a Bpectator, 
can aSbrd an inrtmcting and ainusing narrative." 
Ciq>tain Mondy has most completely verified this ob- 
servation } for, by reciting, in the simple terms of a 
travelling' journal, merely what he saw and what he 
did, in the coune of his journey, he has produced two 
delightftil volumes : nor must we omit to speak, in 
terms of admiration, of the spirited etchings by Lond- 
seer, fix>m the autiior's own sketches, with which 
these volumes arc liberally illustrated. 

TVom the very commencement, it is evident that 
Csfit. Mnady has, in at least an average degree, an 
- Englishman's attachment to field-sports, to scenes of 
which the plates are principaUy devoted ; and his des- 
criptions of the gigantic hnnthigs of the East, where 
the elephant is the courser, and the tiger or lion the 
prey, are given with a vivid pen, and idl the raciness 
of a real amateur. 

From amongst nnmenms descriptions of Tiger 
HoNTS, we sdect the following, as giving the most 
detailed account of that dangerous and adventurous 

"At four, P.M. (so late an hour that few of us ex- 
pected any sport) Lord Combermere and nine others 
of our party, mounted elephants, and taking twenty 
pad elephants to beat the covert, and aary the guides 
and the game, proceeded towards the swamp pointed 
out as the luritii^-place of the bufiulo -devouring mon- 

"The jungle was in no places veryhigh, there being 
but few trees, and a fine thick covert of grass and 
rushes. Every tlung was fovonrable for the sport. 
Few of us, however, expecting to find a tiger, another 
man and myself dismounted from our elephants, to 
get a shot at a florikan, a bird of the bustard tribe, 
which wc killed. It aJWwards proved that then; were ; 


two tigers within an hundred paces of the tpai where 
we were walking. We beat for half an hour steadily 
in line, and I was just beginning to yawn in despair, 
when my elephant suddenly raised his trunk, and 
trumpeted several times, which my Mahout (elephant 
driver) informed me was a sure sign that there was a 
tiger somewhere ' between the wind and our nobility.' 
T^ formidable line of thirty elephants, therefore, 
brought up their left shoulders, and beat slowly on to 

"We had gone about three hundred yards in this di- 
rection, and had entered a swampy part of the jungle, 
when suddenly the long wished for ' Tallybo ! ' saluted 
our ears, and a shot from Capt. M. coufrmed the 
sporting eurtica ! The tiger answered the shot with a 
loud roar, and boldly charged the line of elephants. 
Then occurred the most ridiculous but most provok- 
ing scene possible. Every elephant except Lotd Com- 
bermerc's, (which was a known staunch one) turned 
tail, in spite of all the blows and imprecations heartily 
bestowed upon them by the mahouts. One, less ex- 
peditious in his retreat than the others, was overtaken 
by the tiger, and severely torn in the hind leg ; while 
another, even more alarmed, we could distinguish fly- 
ing over the plain, till he quite sunk below die hori- 
zon. The tiger, in the meanwhile, advanced to attack 
his lordship's elephant, but, being wounded in the 
loins by Capt. M.'s shot, failed in his spring, and 
shrunk back among the rushes. My elephant was one 
of the first of the run-aways to return to action ; and 
when I ran up alongside of Lord Combermere, (whose 
heroic animal had stood like a rock) he was quite 
hori dv combat, having fired all his broadside. I 
handed him a gun, and we poured a volley of four 
barrels upon the tiger, who attempting again to charge, 
fell from weakness. Several shots more were expendetl 
upon him before he dropped dead j upon which we 
gave a good hearty ' whoo ! whoop !*' and stowed him 
upon a pad elephant. As Lord Combermere had fbr 
some minutes alone sustained the attack of the tiger, 
a three-quarters grown male, the tpolta opitna wero 
duly awarded to him 

" Having loaded and re-formed line, we ^ain ad* 




Tanced, and after beating for balf-an-honr, I sav 
grass gently moved about one hundred yards in front 
of me ; and soon after, a large tiger reared his head 
and shoulders above the jungle, as if to reconnoitre 
us. I tally-hg'd, and the whole line rushed forward. 
On arriving at the spot, two tigers broke covert, and 
cantered quietly across an open space of ground. Seve- 
ral shots were fired, one of which slightly touched the 
largest of then., who immediately turned round, and 
roaring furiously and lashing his tail, came bounding 
towards us ; but, apparently alarmed by the formid- 
able line of elephants, he suddenly stopped short, and 
turned into the jungle i^in, followed by us at full 
speed. Those who had the fastest elephants had 
the best of the sport, and when he turned to fight, 
(which he soon did) only three ctf us were up. As 
soon as he faced about, he attempted to spring on 
Capt. M.'s elephant, but was stopped by a shot in the 
chest. Two or three more shots brought him on his 
knees, and the noble beast fell dead in a last attempt 
to charge. He was a full-grown mole, and a very fine 
animal. Near the spot where we found him, i 
discovered the well-picked remains of a buSalo. 

" One of the sportsmen had, in the meantime, kept 
the smaller tiger in view, and we soon followed to the 
spot to which he had been marked. It was a thick 
marshy covert of broad flag leaves, and we had to 
beat through it. twice, and vrere beginning to think of 
giving it up as the light was waning, when Capt. F.'s 
elephant, which was lagging in the rear, suddenly ut- 
tered a shrill cry, and came rushing out of the swamp, 
with the tiger baogiiig by his teeth to the upper part 
of its tail ! Capt. F.'s situation was perplexing enough, 
his elephant making the most violent efforts to shake 
olT his back-biting foe, and himself unable to use his 
gun, for fear of shooting the unfortunate Coolie, who, 
frightened out of his wits, was standing behind the 
howdah, vrith his feet in the crupper, within six inches 
of the tiger's head. We soon flew to his aid, and 
quickly shot the tiger, who, however, did not quit his 
gripe tmtil he had received eight balls ; when be 
dropped off the poor elephant's mangled tail quite 
dead. The elephant only survived ten days, but it 
was shrewdly suspected that his more mortal wounds 
were inflicted by some of the sportsmen who were 
over-zealous to rid him of his troublesome hanger-on. 

" Thus in about two hours, and withiu sight of 
camp, we found and slew three tigers, a piece of good 
fortune rarely to be met with in these modem times, 
when the spread of cultivation, and the zeal of English 
sportsmen, have almost exterminated the breed of these 
animals. Four other sportsmen of our party returned 
to camp this evening, having been out for four days 
in a different direction, they only killed one tiger, but 
he was an immense beast, and was shot on the head 
of Colonel F.'s elephant, which he wounded severely. 
This is considered the acme of tiger shooting." 

Capt. Mimdy had not the fortune to fall in with a 
Lion ) his account however of ui adventure which befcl 
one of his friends, illustrated by the print which ac- 
companies &ua article, will be read with great interest. 

" By crack sportsmen the lion is reputed to afford 
better sport than the tiger : his attack is more open 
and certain ; a peculiarity arising either from the noble 
nature of the Jungle King, or from the country he 
haunts being less favourable far a retreat than the 
thick swampy morasses frequented by the tiger. Col. 
Skinner relates many interesting anecdotes of lioa- 
hunts, with the exploits and narrow escapes of the 
horsemen of his corps, who always accompanied tiie 
line of elephants into Uie jnngle on these occasions. 

"A gentleman of oar party had, perhaps, as perilous 
an adventure with one <ji these animals as any one, he 

having enjoyed the singular distinction of lying for 
some moments in the very clutches of the royal qua- 
druped. "Hiough I have heard him recount the incident 
more than once, and have myself sketched the 
scene, yet I am not sure that I relate it correctly. The 
main featnre, however, of the anecdote, affording so 
striking an iUnstration of the sagacity of the elephant, 
may be strictly depended upon. 

" A lion charged my hero's elephant, and be, having 
wounded him, was in the act of leaning forward in 
order to fire another shot, when the front of the 
howdah suddenly gave way, and he was precipitated 
over the head of the elephant into the very jaws of 
the furious beast. Hie lion though severely hurt, 
immediately sei7.ed him, and would doubtless shortly 
have put a fatal termination to tht conflict, had not 
the elephant, urged by his mahout, stepped forward, 
though greatly alarmed, and grasping in her trunk 
the top of a young tree, bent it down across the loins 
of the lion, and thus forced the tortured animal to 
quit his hold ! My Mend's Ufe was thus saved, but 
his arm was broken in two places, and he was severely 
clawed on the breast and shoulders." 

The most distinguished philosopher of modem times, 
was bom in the manor-house of Woolsthorpc, a ham- 
let of Coltersworth, in Lincolnshire, situated six miles 
south of Grantham, and about a mile west of the great 
road from London to the North. The house stands 

pretty little hollow, on the west side of the valley 
of the river Witham, which rises at a short distance. 
This was the paternal estate of Newton, and here he 

brought up and educated by his widowed mo- 

C fin ^ tt> tout SI MU(t Wi*<n HI t»ni.] 

Every memorial of so great a man," says Dr. 
Brewster, in hit Life of Newton, " has been presen'ed 
and cherished with peculiar veneration. His house at 
Woolstfaorpe has been religiously protected by Mr. 
Tumor of Stoke Rocheford, the proprietor. Dr. 
Stukeley, who visited it in Sir Isaac's lifetime on the 
13th October 1721, gives the following description of 
it in his letter to Dr. Mead, written in 1727 : ' 'Tis 
built of stone, as is the way of the country hereabouts, 
and a reasonable good one. They led me up stairs 
and showed me Sir Isaac's study, where I suppose he 
studied when in the country in his younger days, or 
perhaps when he visited his mother from the univer- 
ity. I observed the shelves were of his own making, 
being pieces of deal boxes which probably he sent his 
books and clothes down in on those occasions. There 
were some years ago two or three hundred books in 
it of his fother-in-law, Mr. Smith, which Sir Isaac 
gave to Dr. Newton of our town. 

" When the house was repaired in 1 798, a tablet of 
white marble wis put up by Mr. Tumor in the room 
where Sir Isaac was bom, with the following mscrip 




rJuf.t 11 

" ' Sir Isaac Newtoti, son of John Newtott, Lord of 
the Manor of Woolsthorpe, was bom in this room titL 
the 25th December, 1642/ 

Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night, 
trod said " Let Newton be, and all was Light. 

" Thfc following lines have befen written upon the 
house : — / 

Here Newton davtn'd, here lovely wisdom woke, 
And to at wondering Wgrld divinely spoke. 
If Tully glowed, Phiedrus's steps he irode. 
Or fancy formed Philosophy a God ; 
If sages still for Homer's birth contend 
The sons of Science at this dome must bend. 
All hail tlie shrine ! All hail the natal day, 
Cam boasts his noon, — ^This Cot his riiorning ray. 

" The honse is now occupied by a person of the 
name of John Wollerton. It still contains the two 
dials made by Newton, but the styles of both are 
wanting. The celebrated apple tree, the faD of one of 
the apples of which is said to have turned the atten- 
tion of Newton to the subject of gravity, was destroyed 
by wind about foiur years ago j but Mr. Tumor has 
preserved it in the form of a chair. 

'* The modesty of Sir Isaac Newton, in reference to 
his great discoveries, was not foimdcd on any indif- 
ference to the fame which they conferred, or upon 
any erroneous judgment of their importtoce to science. 
The whole of his hfe pttives, that he knew his place 
as a philosopher, and was determined to assert and 
vindicate his rights. His modesty ftrose frdm the 
depth and extent of his khowled^, which shdwed hirti 
what a small portion of nilturfc he had been able to 
examine, and how much remained io be explored in 
the same field in which he had hitftsclf laboured. In 
the magnitude of the comparison he recognized his 
own httleness ; and a short time before his death he 
uttered this memorable sentiment : ' I do not know 
what I may appear to the world 5 but td myself I 
seem to have been only Hke a boy pliiying on the sea- 
shore, and diverting myself in flow and then iindirtg 
a smoother pebble of a prettier shell than ordinary, 
whilst the great ocean of truth Jajr all undiscovered 
before m^.' What a lessoil to ihfe vanity and pre- 
sumption of philosophetfl, — ^tb those especialljr ^ho 
have never even foimd the smoother pebble or the 
prettier shell ! tVhat a preparation fbr the latest 
iiiqtdries, and the litst views of th«* decajrlrfg §pif it^ — 
for those hispired ddcifili^ ilrfaieh dd«e ^ti tfct-ow 
a light over the dark ocean of undiscovered truth ! 

" The native simplicity of Sir Isaac Newton's mind 
is finely pourtrayed in the affecting letter in which he 
acknowledges to Locke, that he had thought and 
spbken of him uncharitably ; and the humility and 
candour in which he asks forgiveness, could have 
emanated only from a mind as noble as it was pure. 

" In the rehgious and moral character of our au- 
thor there is much to admire and imitate; While he 
exhibited in his life and writings an ardent regard for 
the general interests of religion, he was at the same 
time a firm behever in Revelation. He was too deeply 
versed in the Scriptures, and too much imbued with 
their spirit, to judge harshly of other men who took 
different views of them firom himself. He cherished 
the great principles of rehgious toleration, and never 
scrupled to express his abhorrence of persecution, 
even in its mildest fortn. Imm<»tdity and impiety he 
never permitted to pass nnreprovedj and when Dt. 
Halley ventured to say any thing disrespectfid to re- 
ligion, he invariably checked him, and said, " I have 
studied these things, — ^yom have not'* 


[Jtily 15th.] 

The circumstance of St. Swithun's name occurring in 
the Calendar of our Church, has given much satisfac- 
tion to PiNius, who wrote the commentary upon his 
life in the Acta Sanctorum; and if what has been re- 
corded of the character of St. Swithun be true, we 
have good reason to be proud of his havini; lived 
among us, and for retaining his name in the remem- 
brance of oiur countrymen. 

The chroniclers of the church of Rome tell us that 
St. Swithun was of noble parentage, passed his youth 
in innocent simplicity, in the study of grammar, phi- 
losophy, and the Holy Scriptures ; and that when he 
was promoted to holy orders, he was an accom^)lished 
model of all virtues. His learning, piety, and pru- 
dence, induced Egbert, king of the West Saxons, to 
make him his priest, and to appoint him tutor to his 
son Ethelwolf. When Ethelwolf succeeded to the 
throne, he governed his kingdom in ecclesiastical 
matters by the prudent advice of his former tutor, 
whom he caused to be elected bishop of Winchester.* 

William of Malmesbury says, *' Though this good 
bishop was a rich treasure of all virtues, those in 
which he took most dehght were humility aud charity 
to the poor; and that in the discharge of his episcopal 
functions he omitted notliing belonging to the true 
pastor. He built divers churches and repaired othei-s ; 
his mouth was always open to invite sinners to re- 
pentance, and to admonisli those who stood to be 
aware of falling. He was most severe to himself, and 
abstemious in his mode of hving. He deUghted in 
spiritual exercises, and in conversation would bear 
no discourse that did not tend to edification." 

Of the man who thus adorned and blessed the 
church in his generation she may be truly proud, and 
if gratitude would suffer his name to be omitted in her 
calendar, the interest of religion would retain it. The 
name of St. Swithun therefore still adorns it, — a 
monument of virtue, piety, and wisdom. 

He died on the 2nd day of July, 864, his body 
being buried by his ovti order in the church-yard, 
in order that his grave might be trodden by passers-by. 
Had the history of this virtuous and pious prelate here 
been closed, justice would have been done to his 
memory, and his name been retained in the remem- 
brance of his countrymen with those feelings of re- 
spect to which he was so eminently entitled. But aii 
over-strained anxiety to do honour to his memory, 
has, by the imputation of incredible wonders to the 
virtue of his relics, cast a shade of ridicule upon him ; 
and he is now only known among us as a weather- 
gage, which is still preserved for its antiquity and our 

Upon the removal of his body from the church- 
yard to the church, or, in the language of the monk 
of Malmesbiuy, " upon the translation of his relics," 
on the 15 th of July, 964, '^such a nimaber of miracu- 
lous cures of all kinds were wronght as was never in 
the memory of man known to have been in any other 
place." Doubtless he speaks the truth; for not 
only does the catalogue exceed the powers of memory 
but even the stretch of imagination. 

The narrators of the traditions relative to St. Swithun, 
disagree in their accounts of the miracles they im- 
pute to the virtue of his relics ; though they vie with 
each other in a desire to magnify the importance and 

• "This chnf-cli tra* first de<licat«l to the Holy Trinity under the 
patronage of St. Peter, aflerwards by St. ElshelwoW, in the presence 
of kinif Etheldred, St. Dunstan, and ei^ht other bishops, to St. 
Swithun, 04 Rudburn rohiteS in 9I*K). King Henry VHl. in 154C 
commanded this cathedral to be callci no longer St. Swithun's but 
of the Holy Trinity,*' 

' y 















' to increase the number of the micaouloiis pttrfbrmaiifiiQfi 
fabulously imputed to him. We have, howsver, the 
following imperfect summary in ^ke commnntary on 
his life. '' Upon the day of the translation of his 
' relics, a boy, whose limbs had bewi contracted from 
j liis youth, was made whole. A woman who was im- 
prisoned and bound in fittera was Sftt 6see. A P9IVI- 
lytic person was healed ^ a noble matvy>a j^d tl^reie 
other women who were biind, wene restored to sight. 
Twenty-five men aflAicted with various disisj^ses, yf^r% 
I perfeedy restored in one day ^ six and flirty «ick 
I persons coming from different places were cured within 
I three days j and one hundred ^d t>venty four within 
I fourteen.'* 

The virtue ascribed to his relics was even claimed 
for his statue ; and further, the fojlowing legend was 
put forth to shew that the mijraculous power of the 
saint was not confined to those places wherein his 
relics were deposited and his form exhibited. 

" A certain womjai^," says the veracious historian, 
" sleeping in a hoi^e in the city of Winchester, with 
her door open, awQlf took her o]at of bed and carried 
her into a wood, where with dr^dful howling he 
called other wolves to him. The woman weak from 
fasting and age knew not what to do, but turned 
herself to her prayers^ inydied divine assistance and 
called loudly on St. Swithun. No sopnejr did the wolf 
hear this same name than he fell asleep -, the woman 
immediately withdrew herself from him, and the 
animal awaking pursued her with his companions, but 
was incapable of hurting her whom the mercy of God 
and the holy bishop had undertaken to set free." 

How the vidgar notion that St. Swithun exercised 
an influence over the weather originated it is difficult 
to say, for the writers who professed to give his authen- 
tic history, make no mention of the circimistance. The 
legend, however, ^^diatever be its origin, is as follows : 

The clergy considering it to be disgraceful that the 
body of the saint whose miracles were as innumerable 
as the sand upon the sea shore, or as the drops in 
the ocean, should lie in the open diurch-yard, resolved 
to remove it into the choir. This was to have been 
done with a procession of great solemnity upon liie 
15 th of July. The saint, however, by no means 
approved of this ofiicious interference, — and in order 
to prevent such a violation of the orders given in his 
life-time, miraculously caused it to rain so heavily on 
that day, and for the following forty days, as to 
render the attempt impossible, and it was conse- 
quently abandoned as heretical and blasphemous. 

The circumstances attending this reputed miracu- 
lous interference of St. Swithun, shews the d^ree of 
credit and authority to which monkish tramion is 
entitled. Legend contradicts legend j and the popular 
influence of the more necent one swallows i^) wit^io^t 
reserve a whole host of predecessors. To believe both 
is impossible : to believe eitiier unwairantable : and if 
the cause of truth did not compel us to reject a guide 
so fallacious as tradition here appears^ we must do so 
as the friends of virtue and religion. The history of 
a wise and exemplary prelate has been defaced, its salu- 
tary influence upon society destroyed) and a reccuyi 
which was designed to be an example of life and in- 
struction in manners is converted into a worse than 
profitless superstition. 


[Abridged firom M^Cullocm's Dictionary of C9mmerce.'\ 

Bread, the principal article in the food of most 
civilised nations, consists of a paste or dough formed 
of the flour or meal of different sorts of grain mixed 
with water, and baked. When stale dough or yeast 

i^ ^de4 to ^ fte^ 4PHg^' ^ mal^ ijb swell, \i is ^^d 
tt) his lef^&^pd', when Wthipg pf tjjis ^f>v% is a44^(l, it 

i^ s^4 to ^ mi9<^^f^4' 

The Prp#i()eft|t ^ Gc^g»pt ^ endef|yopjned, y^^h his 

usual sag^jlty ^ Ipafpiftg, pj tr^ce ^hp sj^pcessive 
^ps ky Whicb i$ }8 pjfpl?^ im^ were 1^4 to di^cQv cr 
tb^ ^ of W^tiM b?^ 5 b»f »OfWpg ppsitive 'm 
kiipwB m t^ mim^ ft i^ per^^ ?}0>yever, frqip, 
t^ »^ton#n<» ig tfefi fqpre4 W?!4pg?/ thaf ^e jisc of 
unl^j^y/eupd bffi^ w§f^ PfV^mm Ml wp days of Abra- 
ham ; and th^t leayme^ hf^^ Wj^ }|sed m ^ tin^e 
of Moses, for he prohibits eating the Pa^c)^ l^u^ 
with such hp^Ld. T^ Q^reejcs aS^ij^f^ that Pan had 
instructed them in the art of making )^^read ^ but they 
no doubt were indebted for this art^ ^s well as for 
their knowledge of agriculture, to ^ Egyptians and 
Phoenicians^ w^o k^ ^e^^^y s^t]^4 i^ their country. 
The method of grinding Qpjm hy l^andr^fiils wj^ prac- 
tised in Sgypt aj^ Qreencp frpfi^ a very nemote epopji -, 
but for a lengthened period the S^omans had no other 
method of making flour, than hy J^^Pg roasted corn 
m mortturs. The Macjedpniaj;! war helped to n^e the 
Romans acquaii^ted with tb^ ^rts am} refinefp^ents of 
GreecQ , anji Pliny inention^, t^ public bialqsrs were 
then> for the first tipie^ established u» gxime. Jk^ 
conquests of the Bx^ans diffuse4^ aiji^j^ngst many 
other useful discoveries, a kngwledge of d^ art of 
preparing bread, as px^ictised in ^f)u^, thrx^i^ the 
whole emtb of Eim^. 

The use of yeast in the raishig of bread, seen^i, 
however, to have heen pr^ictised by the Gje^mans and 
Gauls before it was practise4 by the Rpm^ns -, the 
latter> like the /Greeks, haying le^yeped their l^read by 
intermixing the itesk doi|gh wit^ ^h^ ^hich ^lad hc- 
cpme stele. The Bx)n9Aii pr^tipe i^iems to havje super- 
seded that which WW pfieyipffsly if^ |^ in ^r^ce and 
Spain i for the art of r^siog ij^^ )biy jan ad^iytnre 
of yeast was not pr»ctiae4 ^ Frai^e ^ modcrp tix^^cs 
till towards the ml of th^ fjBy^nlc^n^ cfmt^ry. It 
deserves to be mentioned, that tbpN|^ 4^ bread i^afle 
in this way was decidedly puperi/^r t^ th^t previoi^ly 
in use, it was declared, by tjie f^cijlty of medicino in 
Paris, to be prejudicial to health 5 and the use of yca^t 
was prohibited Mndev Ave ^eve^ pe^alj^es ! Luck- 
ily, however, the teste pf tbp public concurring ynfh 
the interest of the bakjEF^, pirpv/ed too powerful ifo^ 
these absnxul regulations, which ^ gi^d^ally ix^ 
disuse ; and yeast has lojag be^, §lpiost /&yeryw^^c^, 
used in prele^ence to M>y thipg else in the ma^;^- 
ture of bread, to the wholcsomeness and excellence of 
which it has not a lit^ coatfihutc^. 

The spe£^ q£ hrtsA in conamo]!^ ^se in a country 
dqiends pardy on ihe tesl^ of the inhabitants, but 
mone on the sort c^ grain Stable for its ^oiL Bu^ 
the superioriiy of wheat to atl oitor farinaceous plants 
in the maauEuctujne of breod i3 «0 very great, t)^ 
wherever it is easily and j$iiccfss^ully cultivated, 
lidieatsn bcead as used l» the iiearly totel exclu«(m qt 
most olhers. Whcue, fapiyieyer, the soil or climate is 
less favourable to its ffpQfWth, rye, oats, &,c. are used 
in its stead. A v»ry great chiegie ftw the better has, 
in this respefit, taken place i» Great Brijtain within 
l^e last century. In ti»e »^g^ of Henry VIII, the 
gently had wheat sufficient fpr their own tahles, but 
their houaekqld^ wad pcy^r n^i^boi^ were usually 
obliged to content Ihem^yes with rye, barjey, ofx^ 
oats. In I5d6, ryebsead and oai^i^M formed a coi^- 
siderable part of the diet of ftery^ts even in great 
fian^iiies, in the soiKdiem coujoita^. Paxiey bre^ is 
steted in the grant of a moi^opoily by Chiles I. '}i^ 
1626, to be the usual food of the ofifea^y sort of 
I peo^. At the cevotoiion, Jte wheat poducc4 iu 
[England and Wales was estimated to amount to 



[Jdlt 14. 18S2. 

1.750,000 qnartere. Mr. Charies Smith, the very 
well informed aatbor of the Tracts on the Com Trade, 
originally published in 175S, states, that in his time 
wheat had become much more generally the food of 
the common people than it had been in 1G89; but 
he adds, that notwithstanding this inc^ase, a 
intelligent inquirers were of opinion, that even then 
not more than half the people of England fed on wheat 
Mr. Smith's own estimate, which is very carefully 
drawn up, is a little higher ; for taking the popnlati< 
of Enghmd and Wales, in 1760, at 6,000,000, he 
stqipoaed that 

3,750,000 were conmmers of wheat. 
739,000 barley. 

888,000 ' rye. 

623,000 oats. 

Mr. Smith further suppoeed that they individually 
consumed, the first class, 1 quarter of wheat ; the se- 
cond, 1 quarter and 3 bushels of barley ; the third, 
1 quartet and 1 bushel of rye ; and the fourth, 2 
quarters and 7 bushels of oats. 

About the middle of last century, hardly any wheat 
was used in the northern counties of England, la 
Cumberland, the principal families used only a small 
quantity about Christmas. The crust of the goose- 
pie, witii which almost every table in the county if 
then suppUed, was, at the period referred to, almost 
uniformly made of barley meal. , 

Every one knows how inapplicable these statements 
are to the condition of the people of England at the 
present time. Loaf-bread is now universally made 
use of in towns and villages, and almost universally 
in the country. Barley is no longer used, except ii 
the distilleries and in brewing ) oats are employed only 
in the feeding of hones ; and the consumption of rye 
bread is comparatively inconsiderable. The prodi 
of the wheat crops has been, at the very least, irtbled 
since 1760. And if to this immense increase in the 
supply of wheat, we add the still more extraordinary 
increase in the supply of butchers' meat, the fact of a 
very signal improvement having taken plac 
- condition of the peculation, in respect of food, will 
be obvious. 

But great as has been the improvement in the con- 
dition ^the people of England since 1760, it is but 
trifling compared to the improvement that has taken 
place, since the same period, in the condilaon of the 
people of Scotland. At the middle of last century, 
Scotdi agriculture was in the most depressed state; 
the tenants were destitute alike of capital and skill ) 
green crops were almost wholly unknown ; and the 
quantity of wheat that was raised was quite incon- 
siderable. A field of eight acres sown with this grain. 
In the vicinity of Edinburgh, in 1727, was reckoned 
so great a curiosity that it excited the attention of the 
whole neighbourhood ! But even so late as the Ame- 
rican war, the wheat r^sed in the Lothians and Ber- 
wickshire did not exceed a third part of what is now 
grown in them ; and taking the whole country at an 
average, it will be a moderate estimate, to say that the 
cultivation of wheat has increased in a tenfold propor- 
portion since 1 780. At that pwriod no loaf -bread was 
to be met with in the co<mtry places and villages of 
Scotland ; oat caku and barley barmoeki being univer- 
sally made use of. But at present the case is widely 
different. The upper and also the middle and lower 
classes in towns and villages use only wheaten bread, 
and even in farm-houses it is very extensively con- 
sumed. There is, at this moment, hardly a village to 
be met with, however limited its extent, that has not 
B public baker. 
Id many parti of Ene^laiul it is the cutom for pri- 

vate families to bake their own bread. This is parti- 
colarly the case in Kent, and in some parts of Lan- 
cashire. In 1804, there was not a single public baker 
in Manchester; and their number is still very limited. 

Tbi chair here represented is that in which Wickliffe, 
the great precursor of the Reformation, expired.* It 
is still preserved in Lutterworth Chnreh, together 
with the pulpit from which he was accustomed to 
preach, a piece of his cloak, and an oak table which 
belonged to him. 

Had Lutterworth nothing else to distinguish it, its 

ime would be indelibly recorded in history as having 
had for its rector this eminent man — eminent not only 

the great forenmner of the Reformation, but as a 
devout and sincere Christian. " The imperfect jus- 
tice," says Mr. Le Bas, in his splendid life of this 
great man, " hitherto rendered to the memory of 
Wickliffe, as a man of deep religious affections, may, 
in part, be the effect of that peculiar interest which 
attaches to his character as the antagonist of a corrupt 
hierarchy. We have been accustomed to regard him 
chiefiy as the scourge of imposture — the pondcroos 

hammer that smote the brazen idolatry of his age 

The Reformer of Christian morals has been forgotten 
in the Reformer of papal abuse : and thus his memory 
has been left open to the suggestion that he is to be 
honored as the antagonist of popery, not as the advo- 
cate of Christ, — fitted to join with politicians, and with 
princes in their resistance to encroachment, rather than 

band (as he ought to be Joined) with saints and 
confessors in bearing testimony to the truth as it is in 

Ihat ■ hare >o onen faunled wilh 

m tbc IlKunS, /ar (Til. 4&1 ri 


In compliance nith the recommeodstion coDlained in the 
Report resd at the Special GGoeral Meeting of the Sociiirr 
roB FaoMoriNa CKHisrijiN Knowledge, held on tlie 21st 
of May, hsTe made armngenients fur the publicition of a 
Serieg of Wotlci on Education, History, Biography, Natural 
History, the Elemenu of the Sciences, &c. paniculan of 
whicli will Epeedily be a ' 



BbM bf 111 Bv^Klln ud NmrniStn Id Uit KIii|««d. 

Hvrttn ud Dt^sm Is Pslodinl PobUcattou npj>1ied on irliDleHle urn) 

S. ORR, PUsBaMFT-Rav 1 O. BEROEa.H<il|rwril-(l.,LiiBdaBi 

PnbUilier-i Agrnu In tl] tbt prlndpil pluH 

& RieaasDa, Frlato', UB, St Mtutla^ U 

^atnrtia^ iWaga^ ittr. 


JULY 21. 




w, frtm M OtiyWal D r t m iitf, ty ■ HiM— Jf 


TuE sketch of Uie legend of Jaggan&tha in our first 
number, ia curious as ftflbrding a specimen of the 
sort of fable which the credulous Hindoos receive 
as religious truth, and as shewing the origin and 
early progress of this monstrous and revolting idol- 
atry, bat it is worth little with r^ard to real history. 
In the temple of Jaggan&tha there is, however, a 
work preserved, claiming the title of a history of the 
Kings, stated to have been commenced more than six 
centtiries back, and to have been regularly kept np. 
This work is noticed by Mr. Stirling in his valuable 
essay on the GeogTiq>hy, Statistics, and History of 
Orissa, in Vol. 15 of the Atiatk Reiearvhet, which is 
the source ^m which our account is chiefly taken. 

In the ancient chronicles mention is made of the 
worship of Jaggan&tha at a very early period: for on 
the invasion of the kingdom of Orissa by a foreign 
power, in the fourth century of the Christian era, the 
Rajah, seized with a panic, took the image of Sri Jeo 
out of his temple, lo^;cd it in a covered cart, with all 
its jewels and utensita, and fled to the most remote 
town on his western frontier. The strangers not find- 
ing the prince, plundered the town and temple, and 
committed great excesses every where. The Rajah's 
alarms increased on receiving inteUigence of the pro- 
ceedings ot the invaders, and he buned the image un- 
der the ground, planted a tree over it, and fled to the 
irildfl. In the mcceeding century tlie invaders were 

driven out by the founder of a new dynasty, who dis- 
covered the place where Sri Jeo was buried, cut dowc 
the tree that overshadowed the spot, and found the 
image incased in a stone vault, much decayed and 
disfigured. His next care was to find out the ofiiciat- 
iug priests, descended from tho«e who formerly fled 
from Pooiee, and having discovered some of them, he 
consulted with them how the worship of Jaggan&tha 
might be revived in all its ancient splendour. The 
formation of a new image being considered an indis- 
pensable preliminary, the priests sought out in the 
woods a tree with all the requisite marks indicated by 
their books, as fltting it for the honour of being made 
into a god. They brought it to the Rajah, who, with 
pious zeal, clothed both it and the old image in rich 
robes, and conducted them to Fooree in great state. A 
new temple was erected on the site of the old one, which 
was found to be much dilapidated, and overwhelmed 
with sand. At the same time, the necessary officers 
were appointed, feasts and festivals establisbed, and 
the whole country around Pooree assigned as endow- 
ments for the maintenance of the temple. 

"ITie history above referred to, which becomes mor« 
credible, as it advances to more modem dates, states 
the erection of the present edifices to have taken place 
in the reign of Rajah Anang Bhira Deo, who ascended 
the throne a.d. 1174. That monarch having incurred 
ibe guilt of killmg a Brahmin, resolved, in expiation 



fJuLY 21, 

of bis oSmce, to omfitniciAWi/erQpiB temples^ and he 
likewise expend^ lar^ sums on works of public utility, 
as tanks, wells, and bridges. He filled the whole oJF 
the sacred land of Jaggandtha with temples, the prin- 
cipal edifice being erected by his orders at an expense 
of from three to four hundred thousand pounds ; the 
date of its completion is stated to be a.d. 1 1 96. He 
enlarged the establishment, added fifteen Brahmins 
and fifteen Sudra priests, and gave firesh splendour to 
the worship by the institution of numerous feasts. In 
reward for the munificence of the monarch, the reign- 
ing prince has always held the honourable office of 
sweeper to the idol. This service is still paformed by 
the hereditary Rajah of Khoordah, with a splendid 
broom, on the occasion of the principal annual feast, 
called the ^chariot festival.* An engraving of the 
grand procession of the cars in which the idols are 
carried on this occasion, is given on the preceding page. 
The glories of the royal house of Orissa ended about 
the middle of the 16th century. An irruption of 
Mahomedans took place about 1558, headed by Kala- 
pahar, the general of the Afgl^m king of Bengal, a 
relentless destroyer of Hindoo temples and images, 
who finally overthrew the independent sovereignty of 
Orissa. On this occasion the god of Pooree was again 
saved from destruction by ha^ removal in a covered 
cart to a pit on the borders pf the Chilka lake, where 
he was buried. Kalapahar was not, however, to be 
defrauded of sq rich a prize ^ and having traced out 
the place of concealment, he dug up Sri Jeo and car- 
ried him off on an elephant ipis far as the Ganges. He 
there collected a ^ai^ pile oif wood, and setting fire 
to it, threw the idol on the burning heap. A by- 
stander, however, sunt^^ing the image nrom tiie flames, 
threw it into the river, whence it was rescued by a 
faithful votary, who kept it in secret till the Em- 
peror Akbar visited Orissa. That prince is said to have 
been impressed with so much reverence and admiration 
for this holy country, its temples, and Bramius, that he 
determined to interfere little in its affairs, and to leave 
a large share of authority in the hands of its native 
princes. The Rajah, thus reinstated in authority, be- 
stowed his first care on the recovery of the relics of 
Jaggandtha, which having accomphshed, a new image 
was made according to the rules in the holy 
book, and again set up in the temple on a propitious 
day with much pomp and ceremony. About the end 
of the 1 6tli century the kingdom was divided into two 
portions, of which that assigned to the Rajahship of 
Khoorda was esteemed the most important, as it in- 
duded Pooree 5 and the king retained the hereditary 
office of sweeper in the temple of Jaggandtha. Down 
to th/e present moment, though all political power of 
the Rajah of Khoorda is at an end, all deeds drawn out 
in ^e language of the country bear the date of the 
succession of the nominally reigning prince of that 
house, and are prefaced with a recital of his titles, 
which are in the pompous style adopted many centuries 
1^ : " The illustrious hero, the lord of elephants, sove- 
reign of Bengal, supreme monarch over the rulers of 
the tribes of Ootkala, a divinity terrible to the wicked, 
the protector of the grants enjoyed by the pious, 
king of kings, like the lord of a thousand arms in 
" the field of battle — a comet to the martial race !" 

Under the Mogul government, Orissa was torn by 
constant wars, insurrections, and internal commotions. 
The Moguls were actuated by peculiar zeal against the 
idolatrous worship of Jaggandtha, and lost no oppor- 
tunity of annoying the Hindoos in the performance 
of their devotions at his temple, and many bloody 
encounters were the consequence between the two 
nations, in which success was often doubts. On 





the whole, howevejr, tl^ ni^t^e prin^ S))ffeped the 
most severely, and gradually san)c before the superior 
energy of the Moguls. The Rajahs retired to the 
part of Khoorda best protected by natural difficulties 
of access, where they built a fort and palace, and 
where they were fovn<| settled in 1803. During these 
contests in or about Pooree, the images so much ve- 
nerated by the one party, and abhorred by the other, 
were twice or tlirice carried away and concealed, until 
the times appeared favourable for again setting them 
upon their thrones in the temples. This rdigioua 
warfare was at last set at rest by the Mogul govern- 
ment establishing the tax on pilgrims, which is said 
at one time to have yielded to them a revenue of 
90,000/. Under these circumstances the zeal of the 
Mahomedan rulere 3aelded gradually to considerations 
of interest. 

Such was the origin of the tax A pilgrims at Jag- 
gandtha. In a future number we intend to give an 
account of the present state of this chief seat of Hin- 
doo superstition, and to notice the shocking abomi- 
nations to which it has given rise. In the mean time 
we wish to state fairly, the way in which the control 
both of the pilgrims and the revenues arising from 
them has come into tjie ^lands of the British Govern- 
ment in India. 

Under the Mahomed^ and Mahratta rule, which 
preceded our*s, it was customary for the supreme 
authority of the state to receive the revenues of 
lai^ge districts from the chiefs or great proprietors, 
who contracted for the payment of all the dues and 
taxes payable, on whatever account, by the inhabit- 
ants of their districts, not only for land rents but for 
all the various imposts of their system oi finances. 

In the collection of many ill-defined and arbitrary 
taxes, tiic greatest oppression was exercised over the 
helpless inhabitants, who had, moreover, no courts 
of justice to which they could appeal for redress. The 
British Government resolved, when the right of re- 
ceiving the revenues devolved on them, to remove so 
fertile a cause of injustice and oppression, and leaving 
to the fi[uperior landlords and chiefs the ccHlection only 
of their land rents, they forbad them' to collect the 
other various imposts, and granted to the chiefs a 
compensation for what they had so resumed. On a 
revision of the nature of these imposts, some that 
were unobjectionable and necessary, such as customs 
on merchandize, &c. they continued to collect under 
definite rules and laws enacted for the purpose, and 
o^ers which were burthensome to the people they 
altogether abolished. It was under the operation of 
this system that the pilgrim tax came to be collected 
by the British Government of the East India Com- 
pany. It could not have been left in the hands of a 
native chief, consistently with the principles of the 
system generally adopted; a S3rstem which afforded 
the greatest relief to the native population from the 
unlimited exactions of their chiefs. Whether the 
pilgrim tax should have been among those altogether 
abolished or not, is a question well deserving the best 
consideration of a christian nation. It is however but 
bare justice to say, that whatever may be the guilt of 
continuing such a system, it does not rest upon the 
East India Company cdone. The nation at large must 
bear the responsibihtyof having sanctioned it The 
laws which regulate the collection of the pilgrim tax 
were passed in 1806 and 1809, and were, like other 
laws passed by our Indian Governments, regularly laid 
before Parliament, and published ; and, not having 
been set aside or objected to, they obtained the autho- 
rity of established law, under the sanction of Parlia- 
ment, and are thus adopted as, the acts of the British 






The writer of this notice had occasion lately to visit 
the Infant Scnool which has for some time been es- 
tablished at Exeter; and the beautiful display of 
moral and intellectual cultivation, exhibited* by a set 
of httle creature, whose average age did not seem to 
exceed four or five years, directed his attention to 
Mr. Wilderspin's work on the subject.* Its perusal 
affords the most ample information respecting the 
nature and progress of a system which appears des- 
tined to be of immeasurable benefit to society -, and 
the author s views are illustrated by such a variety of 
pleasing, interesting, and amusing anecdotes, that his 
book is rieally one of the most entertaining, as well as 
instructive, of its kind, we hav^ ever met with. 

It is generally known, that the system of Infant 
Schools originated chiefly with Mr. Wilderspin. The sys- 
tems of Bell and Lancaster were, indeed, in operation ; 
but, in them, the lowest age was seven ; and Mr. 
Wilderspin's attention was attracted to the neglect 
and improper treatment of children under that age. 
His first essay, accordingly, to form an infant school, 
was linn ted to children between the i^es of two wad 
seven. His account of his first attempt is very 

" As soon as the mothers had 1^ the premises, •! 
attempted to engage the attention of iheit offspring. 
I shall never forget the effect. A few, who had been 
previously at a dame-school^ sat quietly 3 but the rest, 
missing t^eir parents, crowded about the door. One 
little fellow, finding he could not open it, set up a 
loud cry of " Mammy ! Mammy !" and in raising this 
delight^ sound all the rest simultaneously joined. 
My wife, who, though reluctant at first, had deter- 
mined, on my accepting the situation, to give me her 
utmost aid, tried with myself to calm the tumult ; 
but our efforts were utterly in vain. The paroxysm 
of sorrow increased instead of subsiding ) and so in- 
tolerable did it become, that she could endure it no 
longer, and left the room ; and at length, exhausted 
by effort, anxiety, and noise, I was compelled to follow 
her example, leaving my unfortunate pupils in one 
dense mass, crying, yelling, and kicking against the 
door ! I will not attempt to describe my feelings 5 
but, ruminating on what I then considered ^regions 
folly, ' in supposing that any two persons could manage 
60 hurge a numbor of infants, I was struck by the 
sight of a cap of my wife*s> adorned with a coloured 
ribbon, lying on the table } and observing from the 
window a clothes-prop, it occurred that I might put 
the cap upon it, return to the school, and try the 
effect. The conf\ision when I entered was tremendous ; 
but on raising the pole, surmounted by the cap, all 
the children, to my great satisfaction, were instantly 
silent ; and when any hi^less wight seemed disposed 
to renew the noise, a few shakes of the prop restored 
tranquillity, and perhaps produced a laugh. The same 
thing, however, will not do long ; the charms of this 
wonderful instrument, therefore, soon vanished, and 
there would have been a sad relapse, but for the 
marchings, gambols, and antics, I found it necessary 
to adopt, and which at last brought the hour <^ 
twelve, to my greater joy than can easily be conceived. 
Revolving these circumstances, I felt that this memo- 
rable morning had not passed in vain. I had, in fact, 
found the clew. It was now evident that the senses 
of the children must be engaged ; that the great secret 
of training them was to descend to their level, and 
become a child 5 and that the error had been to ex- 
pect in infancy what is only the product of after 

• Early Discipline Illustrated • by Samuel WMdcrspin. Westley 
mad Davis, 1 toL small 8vo 

The cap suspended on a pole was, to Wilderspin, 
what ttie falling leaves were to Newton. The prin- 
ciple which he deduced from that incident, became the 
foundation of his whole system. For the history of 
his experiments, and their successful results^, — and of 
the gfadual introduction of infant schools, not only 
over England, Scotland, and Ireland, but in different 
parts of our colonies, ve must refer to the work itself. 
The narrative will be found equally striking and gra- 
tifying. The system early received the patronage of 
his late Majesty, by whose munificence the children 
belonging to the school established at Brighton con- 
tinued to be annually clothed to the time of his death. 
In her present Majesty, as might be expected from her 
kind and amiable disposition, it finds a supporter. The 
author has been invited by many enlightened clergy- 
men to form schools in their parishes. The Bishop 
of London was an early supporter of the system, and 
established one of the best schools now existing, in the 
parish of Bishopsgate. Several other bishops have 
warmly recommended them to the attention of the 
clergy of their dioceses j they are, consequently, ra- 
pidly extending in every direction, and their conse- 
quences to the character of the next and succeeding 
generations will, in all probability, be such as the pre- 
sent have not even a conception of. 

Did the bulk of the population consist of persons 
whose minds, from their most tender years, were thus 
powerfully impressed with the principles of religion 
and morals, how different would be their state, both 
in respect to character and happiness, from that in 
which we now find them ! The connexion between 
ignorance and crime is strikingly exhibited by the fol- 
lowing statement. *' In Berkshire, of one hundred and 
thirty prisoners committed to Reading gaol, and tried 
at the Special commission in 1831, twenty-five only 
could write J thirty-seven could read onlyj and 
seventy-six could neither write nor readj and yet one 
hundred and twenty were under forty years of age — 
varying from eighteen to thirty-five. Of the thhiy 
prisoners tried at Abingdon, six could read and write 5 
eleven could read a httle ; the remainder were wholly 
uneducated. In Buckinghamshire, of the seventy-nine 
prisoners convicted at Aylesbury, only thirty could 
read and write. In Hampshire, of three hundred and 
thirty-two committed for trial at Winchester, one hun- 
dred and five coiUd neither read nor write ; and nearly 
the whole number were destitute of the rudiments of 
knowledge. In Kent, about half the prisoners com- 
mitted to Maidstone gaol were imable to read or write j 
and nearly the whole were totally ignorant of the na- 
ture and obhgations of rehgion. In Sussex, of fifty 
prisoners put on trial at Lewes, thirteen only could 
read and write 5 twelve could read a little 5 only one 
could read well!*' 

The prejudice, that education unfits the working 
classes for the duties which belong to their rank in 
life, once so prevalent, is rapidly passing away. The 
most ample experience is daily shewing its utter fal- 
lacy. " We are ourselves," says Mr. Wood of Edin- 
burgh, (whose inestimable labours are well known to 
all who take any interest in the course of education) 
" yearly sending out from the Sessional School mul- 
titudes of persons who become shoemakers and 
tailors, and are daily receiving from their masters 
the most gratifying assurances of the manner in 
which they conduct themselves. Their industry and 
skill in their various occupations seem to be in direct 
proportion to their success in school j and those who 
have been fortunate enough to get our best scholars, 
have been known to inquire whether we have any of 
the like description to give them. Our greatest pro- 
ficients are still content to ' dwell among their own 



[Jdit 21, 

people,' and to follow the occopation* of flieir fathers." 
Thon^ the infant schools are calculated to produce 
the greatest amount of good in their appUcation to the 
working classes, in whose character, indeed, they pro- 
mise to effect a total revolution, yet nobody who baa 
witnessed their admirable effect in an early but not 
ptematore unfolding of the youthful mind, and in 
accustoming it to submit to discipline and authority, 
can fail to wish tiie same system practised in the 
education of every class. Its advantages awakened 
the attention of the higher ranks in Edinburgh, many 
of whom were anxious that their children ^ould 
share in the benefits conferred on the children of the 
poor. Accordin^y, a school for the children of the 
hi^er classes was established by Mr. Wilderapin in 
that city ; and we have means of knowing, that it has 
gone on very succesafiilly. It does not appear, how- 
ever, that schools of this kind have as yet become 
numerous. Parents, in the higher ranks, are still not 
sufficiently aware of the inestimable benefits of which, 
by their negligence in this respect, they are depriving 
their offspring. 


Whsl rarjing sounda from voa grey piimaeles 

Sneep o'et the ear, and claim the hearl't replj ! 

Now the blithe peal of home festiTiiy, 
Natal or nuptial, in full concert iwells : 
Now the brisk chime, or voice of alter'd bella. 

Speaks the due hour of social nonhip nigli : 

And now the last alage of mortalitj 
The deep dnll toll with lingering waroing tells. 
How much ofhuniAn life tbose sounds comprise; 

Birth, nedded lore, God's service, and Ihs tomb ! 
Heard uol in tiud, if thence kind feeling! rise, 

Sueh M befit oui being, free from gloom 
Monasticb, — piaj'r that communes with the skiea( 

And musioRS mindful of the flnil doom. 

D. C. JtJg, 1832. 

rAbridgra Sun Fivleiiis'i BiiUrt^Kauiiiflim.'i 

The origin of church bells, is an interesting subject 
of enquiry. The ancients, as we leam from the direct 
and incidental mention of them, by the old historians 
and other writers, had bells for both sacred and pro- 
fane purposes. Sy Strabo we are told that market- 
time was announced by their sound j and by Fliny, 
that the tomb of an ancient king of Tuscany was 
hung round with bells. The hour of bathing was made 
known in ancient Rome by the sound of a bell ; 
the night watchman carried one, and it served to call 
up the servants in great houses. Sheep had them 
tied about their necks to frighten away wolves, or 
rather by way of amulet In our own day this 
custom, like many others, serves to remind as of for- 

Paulinus, Bisfacyp of Nola, is generally considered 
as the first person who introduced bells into eccle- 
siastical service, aboat the year 400. And we are 
told by ancient historians, that in the year 610, the 
Bishop of Orleans, being at Sens, then in a state of 
siege, frightened away the besieging army by ringing 
the bells of St. Stephen's church ; which is a clear 
proof that they were not at that time generally known 
in France. 

The first large bells are mentioned by Bede in the 
year 680. Before that period the early British 
Christians made use of wooden rattles to call the con- 
gregation of the faithAil together. 

Handbells probably first appeared at religious pro- 
cessions, and were afterwards used by the secular 
musicians. The small bells were not always held in 
the hand -, they were sometimes suspended upon a 

The arrival of kings, and great personages, was 
anciently greeted by ringing the church bells. 

Ingnlphns, Abbot of Croyland, who died about 
1109, speaks of them as being well Imown in his 
time, and says that " the first Abbot of Croyland 
gave six bells to that monastery, that is to say, two 
great ones, which he named Bartholomew end Bc- 
ladine ; two of a middling size, called Turkctnllum 
and Beterinej two small ones, denominated Pega 
and Bega ; he also caused the great bell to be made 
called Gndla, which was tuned to the other bells, and 
produced an admirable harmony not to be equalled 
in England." 

Hie bells used in the monasteries were sometiines 
rung with ropes having brass or silver rings at the ends 
for the hand ; they were anciently mug by the priests 
themselves, afterwards by the servants, and some- 
times by those incapable of other duties, as persons 
who were blind. 

In the flourishing days of Popery, bells were ac- 
tually baptited, and anointed with the Chrism, or holy 
oil ! They were also exorcised and blessed by the 
bishop, front a belief, that when these ceremonies had 
been performed, they hod power to drive the devil out 
of the air, to calm temprats, and to keep away the 
plague. The ritual for these ceremonies is contained 
in the Roman Pontifical, and is still naed m Roman 
CathoUc countries, where it is usual to give the bells 
the name of some saint, as was formerly done in 

The exploded doctrine of the church of Rome con- 
cerning hells is, that they have merit, and pray God 
for the hving and the dead ; secondly, that they pro- 
duce devotion in the hearts of the faithful. 

The dislike of evil spirits to bells is extremely well 
expressed by Wynken de Wordeintbc Goltkn LrgieML 

The passing bell was anciently rung for two pur- 
poses, one to beq>eak the prayers of all good Chris- 




tian people for a soul just dcpartmg, the other to drive 
away the evil spirits who stood at the bed*8 foot, or 
about the house. Hence, perhaps, exclusive of the 
additional labour, was occasioned tiie high price de- 
manded for tolling the greatest bell of the church, for 
that being loudest, the evil spirits might go farther <SS 
to be clear of the sound. 

Such was the general opinion respecting the efficacy 
of bells before the Reformation; but since that period 
'' it has been the usual course in the Church of Eng- 
land, and it is a very laudable one, that when any 
sick person lay drawing on, a bell should toll to give 
notice to the neighbours, that they might pray for the 
dying party, which was commonly called a passing 
bell, because the sick person was passing hence to 
another worid 3 and when his breath was expired, the 
bell rung out. that the neighbours might cease their 
prayers, for that the party was dead.** It is now only 
tolled after death. 

The saint's bell was not so called from the name of 
the saint that was inscribed on it, or of the church to 
which it belonged, but because it was always rung out 
when the priest came to that part of the service, 
" Sancte, Sancie, Sonde, Domine Deus Sabaoth ;** pur- 
posely that those persons who could not come to 
church, might know in what a solemn office the con- 
gregation were, at that instant, engaged, and so, even 
in Uieir absence, be once, at least, moved, " to lift up 
their hearts to Him that made them.** 
: ." Bells,** sa3rs Dr. Fuller, "are no effectual charm 
against lightning. The frequent firing of abbey 
churches, by lightning, confuteth the proud motto 
commonly written on the bells in their steeples, 
wherein each intitled itself to a six-fold efficacy, viz. 

Men*s death I tell, by dollfull knell, 
Lightning and thunder, I break asunder, 
On Sabbath all, to church I call, 
The sleepy head, 1 raise from bed, 
The \vinas so fierce, I do disperse, 
Men*s cruel rage, I do assuage. 

Whereas it appears that abbey steeples, though 
quilted with bells almost cap-k-pi^, were ngt proof 
against the sword of 6od*s lightning. Yea, genmdly, 
when the heavens in tempests did strike fire, the 
steeples of abbeys proved often their timber, whose 
frequent burnings portended their final destruction.** 

" It has anciendy been reported,** observes Lord 
Bacon, " and is still received, that extreme applauses 
and shouting of people assembled in multitudes, have 
so rarified and broken the air, that birds flying over 
have fallen down, the air not being able to support 
them ; and it is believed by some, that great ringing 
of bells, in populous cities, hath chased away thunder, 
and also dissipated pestilent air. All which may be 
also from the concussion of the air, and not from the 

Ever since the introduction of bells, the English 
have been distinguished for their proficiency in the art 
of ringing, and for their partiality to this amusement 

The following are the weights of the principal bells 
in Europe : — 

Empress Anne's, Moscow lbs. 432,000 

Boris Godinuf 's, ditto '. 288,000 

Kovogorod Great Bell 70,000 

Amboise Bell, Rouen 40,000 

Vienna Bell, cast from Turkish cannon . . . 40,200 

Erfurt, Prussian Saxony 30,000 

Great Tom of Oxford 18,000 

St. Paul's, London 11,400 

Ghent, Flanders 11,000 

Great Tom of Lincoln '. . 10,400 

Worcester Great Bell 6,600 

York ditto 6,600 

Gloucester ditto , 6,000 



[The following simple and beautiful lines were comnosed bj 
the great poet above-named, for the use of his daughter 
when a child. A very little ingenuity will be sufficient to 
make such alterations as may be necessary to suit the 
prayer to the circumstances of every fireside.] 

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, 

God grant me grace my prayers to say ; — 

God ! preserve mv mother dear 

In strength and health for many a year ; 

And, 0! preserve my father too, 

And may I pay.him reverence due, — 

And may I my best thoughts employ 

To be my parents' hone and joy ; 

And O ! preserve my brothers both 

From evu doings and from sloth. 

And may we always love each other, 

Our friends, our father, and our mother • — 

And still, O Lord, to me impart 

An innocent and gprateful heart. 

That after my last sleep I may 

Awake to thy eternal day ! Amen. 


Op all the great diseases, the remcinhrance of which 
has been preserved to us hy history, the black pesti- 
lence of the fourteenth century is ^at which caused 
the greatest ravages. In some respects there exists an 
analogy hetween the disease of which we are speak- 
ing, and the Asiatic Cholera. The name of 'black 
pestilence' seems to point out to us, in the scourge to 
which it was applied, something similar to the disco-* 
loration of those who have died of the Cholera. Indeed 
many persons are of opinion, that the scourge, which 
in the present day has already swept off many 
millions, is only a new appearance of that which 
prevailed in the fourteenth century. It is of import- 
ance to ascertain whether this supposition is well 
founded. At all events, it is well to know the nature of that 
terrible instrument of death, which Divine Providence 
permitted to rage from the extremity of the east, to the 
western limits of the then known world. Professor 
Hecker, of Berlin, has just published a volume on this 
subject, in which he attempts, not only to answer the 
question as to the sameness of the two diseases, but also 
to solve many others, relative to the influence produced 
by the great scourge of the middle age. We therefore 
select a few of the details collected by M. Hecker, ibr 
the information of our readers. 

In the first place, the documents which he has brought 
together, prove that the black pestilence was in fact the 
plague of the east, but with some additional features. 
Besides the swellings under the arm-pits, and in the 
groin, and the gangrenous tumours which characterize 
the plague, numerous black spots were observed over 
the whole surface of the body; the palate and tongue 
were black, and, as it were, filled with blood ; and the 
patients were tormented with insatiable thirst But 
the most distinguishing and aggravated feature of the 
black pestilence, was the thorough alteration experi- 
enced by the lungst These organs were struck with 
a gangrenous inflammation, which was indicated by 
acute pains in the chest, spitting of blood, and such an 
infection of the breath, ^at parents even fled from 
their children. The disorder was communicated, not 
only by contact with the infected patients, but also by 
touching any thing which had belonged to them. It 
was even imagined that the disorder was imparted by 
a glance or look — an error which may be ascribed 
either to the extraordinary lustre of the eyes, or to the 
belief in fascination which anciently prevailed. 

The black pestilence did not advance westward by 



fJuLY 2J^ 

the same route as the Cholera. Originating in Upper 
Asia — as the Cholera also originated, (and it is also 
said, in China) the black pestilence descended towards 
the Caucasus and the Mediterranean Sea ; and instead 
of entering Europe through Russia, it first spread over 
the south, and after devastating the rest of Europe, it 
entered that country. It followed the caravans, which 
came from China across Central Asia, imtil it reached 
the shores pf the Black Sea : thence it was conveyed 
by ships to Constantinople, the centre of commercial 
intercourse between Asia, Europe, and Africa. That 
capital was certainly the focus whence the pestilence 
darted its poisonous rays in every direction, except 
towards Muscovy. In the year 1347 it reached Sicily, 
some of the maritime cities of Italy,, and Marseilles. 
In the following year, it spread from the European 
shores of the Mediterranean into the interior of the 
continent. The northern part of Italy^ France, Ger- 
many, and England, were invaded by it in the same 
year; the northern kingdoms of Europe in 1349 j 
and finally, Russia, in 1351, — ^that is to say, four 
years after it reached Constantinople. 

In France, the pestilence advanced by Avignon, at 
that time the seat of the papacy. It broke out there 
in a frightful manner : many persons fell down sud- 
denly, as if they had been struck by a thunderbolt. 
The patients rarely reached the third day : as soon as 
any one found himself afifected with tumours, either in 
the groin, or beneath the arms, he bade adieu to the 
world, and sought consolation only in the absolution 
granted to all the dying by Pope Clement VI, who ar- 
rogantly declared in a Bull, that God had given him 
the empire of heaven and earth. 

In England, t^e disorder was characterized, as it had 
been at Avignon, by an almost sudden mort^ty, con- 
sequent on the spitting of blood. The patients who 
exhibited this symptom sunk under the pestilence in 
twelve hours, and rarely survived to the second day. 
The malady spread rapidly throughout the country, 
and covered it with the dead. (Ireland, however, at 
that time, suffered very little.) On the north seas — 
as previously on the Mediterranean, vessels were seen 
floating at the pleasure of the winds, deprived of their 
whole crews, and carrjring only corpses. 

The following estimates, which may be relied on as 
pretty correct, will gh^e an idea of the losses sustained 
by the population of Europe at that time. 


Florence lost 60,000 | Strasburg 

Venice i... 100,000 

Marseilles (in 1 montb) 56,000 

Paris 60,000 

Avignon 60,000 

. 16,000 

Basle.*... 14,000 

Erfurtli* fat least)... 16,000 

London (at least)... 100,000 
Norwich 50,000 

About 200,000 country towns or villages were com- 
pletely depopulated. At Paris, 500 patients died every 
day at the H6tel-Dieu. Italy, we are informed, lost 
at least one half of her inhabitants. At Cairo, during 
the height of the pestilence, ten or twelve thousand 
died daily. In Mohammedan countries, on the great 
roads, and in the caravanserais, nothing was seen but 
deserted corpses. 

If, notwithstanding cdl the progress made in the na- 
tural sciences, the doctors of the nineteenth century 
have failed in ascertaining what are the causes of the 
Cholera, how much more reason have we to acknow- 
ledge our ignorance of the causes of the black pesti- 
lence. M. Hecker, however, has found in the history 
of the fourteenth century some facts which he thinks 
may be applied to explain the causes of its appear- 
ance. He considers that it was principally caused 
by great conmiotions in the interior parts of the 

* Thb city, which at that time was one of the raott commercial places in Gcr- 
maajr, noTer xeooTcred this blow. 

globe. The following are some or the remarkable 
curcumstances which he has collected from the his- 
tory of that time. 

About the year 1333, numerous earthquakes and 
volcanic eruptions did much mischief in Upper Asia, 
which in the year after successively appeared in Greece, 
Italy, France, and Germany. To these convulsions of 
the earth were added extraordinary inundations, which 
drowned the harvests, and loaded the atmosphere 
with moisture. These were succeeded by barren years, 
scarcity, famine, and great mortality. Clouds of lo- 
custs invaded the plains of Eiurope, and covered them 
with their dead bodies, which poisoned the air with 
putrid exhalations. And lastly, dense mists, emitting 
a disagreeable smell, spread over whole countries, in 
consequence of which the inhabitants were exposed to 
various accidents. 

It will be readily admitted that facts like these must 
produce an injurious effect upon the health of the ge- 
nerations that were contemporary with them ; but are 
they sufficient to accotmt for the deadly malady which 
shortly after manifested itself? In order to answer 
this question, we ought to know, at least, whether there 
is any constant proportion between the supposed 
causes of the black pestilence, and the intensity of this 
scourge in the different countries which it devastated. 
M. Hecker's opinion, however, does not differ from 
that entertained by many physicians who lived in 
those times. The faculty of Paris, which was con- 
sulted on that occasion, assigned a mist or fog as the 
cause of the evil, and recommended the lighting of 
fires with aromatic plants. A learned man of Padua, 
attributed the pest to an occult quality of the atmo- 
sphere. A physician of Avignon, ascribed it (as 
some medical men in France in our day have done) 
to influences arising from the earth. In short, they 
knew at that time nearly as much as we do now, 
concerning the real causes of this great pestilence; 
and many doctors endeavoured to account for them 
by having recourse to astrology. 

Nothing is more afflicting than the details which 
have been transmitted to us of the moral effects pro- 
duced by the black pestilence upon the generation 
who witnesse4 it. There doubtless were some happy 
exceptions ; but, among the majority, this scourge 
called forth only a manifestation of selfishness, fre- 
quently the most revolting, together with superstitious 
practices and fanatical excesses. Then, as we have re^ 
cently witnessed in France, the people began by 
ascribing to poison the almost sudden deaths which 
they witnessed. The fonaticism of that age directed* 
their suspicions against the Jews, who were the 
objects of general hatred, and whose riches more- 
over excited the cupidity of their enemies. Europe 
then presented one of the most frightful spectacles 
that can be conceived. The hapless Jews were seized, 
tortured, condemned, and burnt ; in most cases the 
people did not wait for a judicial sentence, but them- 
selves massacred the Israehtes. They were heaped 
up by thousands in vast fimeral piles. At Mayence, 
after a vain attempt at resistance, they shut them- 
selves up in their quarters, to which they set fire, aim 
twelve thousand perished ! Pmrsued by the people — ^by 
the magistrates, who ought to have protected them, 
and by the feudal lords, these miserable strangers 
found no asylum but in Lithuania, where Casimir the- 
Great granted them his protection. This circTim- 
stance accounts for the great numbers of Jews who 
are still found in Poland. 

While professing Christians thus avenged upon the 
ancient people of God that chastisement with which 
the same God had punished them, they, on the other 
hand, endeavoured to appease the divine displeasxire^ 




not by smcere repentance^ whereby they forsook sia, 
but by practices which cost the heart no sacrifice^ 
and which have no other effect but that of lulling the 
conscience to sleep. Numerous companies of peni- 
tents spread over Europe, and among the processions 
which they made, those of the flagellants were par- 
ticularly remarkable. Their name is celebrated in 
the history of those times for the disorders and crimes 
which they committed. 

In a sermon, preached by Bishop Hall, upon his 
eightieth birthday, he relates the following story. 

" There was a certain lord who kept a fool in bis 
house ', as many a great man did in those days for 
their pleasure : to whom this lord gave a staff, and 
charged him to keep it, till he should meet with one 
who was a greater fool than himself ; and if he met 
with such a one, to deliver it over to him. 

" Not many years after, his lord fell sick j and in- 
deed was sick unto death. His fool came to see him j 
and was told by his sick lord, that he must now 
shortly leave him. ' And whither wilt thou go?* said 
the fool. ' Into another world,* said the lord. ' And 
when wilt thou come again ? within a month ?* — ' No.' 
' Within a year?*— 'No.*— ' When then?'—' Never.*— 
'Never ! and what provision hast thou, made for thy 
entertainment there whither thou goest?* — 'None at 
all.*—' No ?' said the fool, ' none at all ? Here, take 
my staff then. Art thou going away for ever, and 
hast taken no order, whence thou shalt never return ? 
take my staff, for I am not guilty of any such folly as 
this.* ** 


The designs of supreme intelligence in the creation 
and preservation of the insect world, and the regula- 
tions and appointments whereby their increase or de- 
crease is maintained, and periodical appearance pre- 
scribed, are among the most perplexing considerations 
of natural history. That insects are kept in reserve 
for stated seasons of action, we know, being com- 
monly made the ^igents of Providence in his visitations 
of mankind. The locust, the caterpillar, the palmer 
worm, the various family of blights, that poison in the 
spring all the promise of the year, are insects. Mildew, 
indeed, is a vegetable 5 but the wire worm destroys 
the root, and strips the germs of the wheat, and 
himger and famine ensue. Many of the coleopterae 
remove nuisances, others again incumbrances, and 
i^orms manure the soil -, but these are trite and isolated 
cases in the profusion of the animal world ; and left 
alone as we are in the desert of mere reason and con- 
jecture, there is no probability that much satisfactory 
elucidation will be obtained. They are not perhaps 
important objects of enquiry ; but when we see the 
extraordinary care and attention, that has been bes- 
towed upon this part of creation, our astonishment is 
excited, and forces into action that inherent desire in 
our minds to seek into hidden things. In some calm 
sixmmer s evening ramble, we see fiie air filled with 
sportive animated beings 5 the leaf, the branch, the 
bark of the tree, every mossy bank, the pool, the ditch, 
all teeming with animated life, with a profusion, an 
endless variety o£ existence 5 each creature pursuing 
its own separate purpose in a setded course of action, 
admitting of no deviation or substitution, to accomplish 
or promote some ordained object. Some appear oc- 
cupied in seeking for the most appropriate stations 
for their own necessities, and exerting stratagems and 
iwiles to secure the Uves of themselves or their offspring 
against natural or possible injuries, with a forethought 
eqriivaknt or superi<»r to reason; others in some aim 

we can little perceive, or, should some flash of light 
spring up, and give us a momentary glimpse of na- 
ture's hidden ways, immediate darkness closes round, 
and renders our ignorance more manifest. We see a 
wonderfully fabricated creature struggling from the 
cradle of its being, just perfected by the elaboration 
of months or years, and decorated with a vest of glo- 
rious splendour j it spreads its wings to the light of 
heaven, and becomes the next moment, perhaps, with 
all its marvellous constructicm, induct and splendour, 
the prey of some wandering bird ! and human wisdom 
and conjecture are humbled to the dust. That these 
events are ordinations of supreme intelligence, for wise 
and good purposes, we are convinced. But we are blind 
beyond thought, as to secondary causes ; and admira- 
tion, that pure source of intellectual pleasure, is almost 
alone permitted to us. If we attempt to proceed be- 
yond this, we are generally lost in the mystery with 
which the divine Architect has thought fit to surround 
his works -, and perhaps our very aspirations after 
knowledge increase in us a sense of our ignorance : 
every deep investigator into the works of nature can 
scarcely possess other than an humble mind. — Journal 
of a Naturalist, 

When the connection of events with each other is 
unknown, ignorance refers them to what is called 
"Chance 5'* and superstition, which is ignorance in 
another form, to the immediate agency of some supe- 
rior malevolent or benevolent being : but philosophy 
endeavours to discover the foregoing Unk in the chain 
of events. 

Near to the Hartz mountains in Germany, a gigan- 
tic figure has, from time immemorial, occasionally ap- 
peared in the Heavens. It is indistinct, but always 
resembles the form of a human being. Its appearance 
has ever been considered a certain indication of ap- 
proaching misfortune. It is called the Spectre of the 
drocken (the name of the hill). It has been seen by 
many travellers. In speaking of it, M. Jordan says, 
" In the course of my repeated tours through the Hartz 
mountains, I often, but in vain, ascended &e Brocken, 
that I mi^t see the spectre. At length, on a serene 
morning, as the sun was just appearing above the hori- 
zon, it stood before me, at a great distance, towards the 
opposite mountam. It seemed to be the gigantic figure 
of aman. Itvanishedin amoment.'* In September 1 796, 
the celebrated Abbe Haiiy visited this country. He 
says, ''After having ascended the mountain for thirty 
times, I at last saw the spectre. It was just at sunrise 
in the middle of the month of May, about fomr o'clock 
in the morning. I saw distinctly a human figure of a 
monstrous size. The atmosphere was quite serene to- 
wards the east. In the south west a high wind carried 
before it some light vapours which were scarcely con- 
densed into clouds, and hung round the mountains 
upon which the figure stood. I bowed : the colossal 
figure repeated it I paid my reqiects a second time, 
which was returned with the same civihty. I 'then 
called the landlord of the inn, and having taken the 
same position which I had occupied before, we looked 
towards the moimtain, when we clearly saw two such 
colossal figures, which, after having repeated our com- 
phment, by bending their bodies, vanished.*' 

Now for an explanation of this appearance. ''When 
the rising sun throws his rays over the Brocken upon 
the body of a man standing opposite to fleecy clouds, 
let the beholder ^x his eye steadily upon them, and in 
all probability he will see his own shadow extending 
the length of five or six hundred feet, at ^e distance 
of about two mUes from him.*' 

Dr. Amot, in his work on Physics, says, '^It hap« 



fJoLY 21, 1882. 

pened once od board a. ship sailing along the coast of 
BrBzQ, 100 miles from land, that the persons walking 
on deck, when passing a particular spot, heard most 
distinctly the sound of bdls, varying as in human re- 
joicings. AU on hoard listened and were convinced ^ 
hut the phenomenon was mysterious and inexplicable. 
The different ideas which this would excite in the 
minds of ignorance and intelligence, may be easily con- 
ceived. Some months afterwards it was ascertained 
that at the time of observation the bells of St. Salvador, 
on the Brazilian coast, had been ringing on the occa- 
sion of a festival. The sound, therefore, favoured hy 
B gentle wind, had travelled over 1 00 miles of smooth 
water; andstrikiogtbe wide spread sail of a ship, ren- 
dered concave by a gentle breeze, had been brought to 
a focus, and rendered perceptible." 

B. MoNTAOn's Sekclums^ 

Few persons are, perhaps, aware, that there is only 
one mine of this kind in England. It is sittiated on the 
side of Seatallor Fell, a lofly mountain in Cumberland, 
about eight miles south of Keswick. The view repre- 
sents the house erected at the entrance for the resi- 

masses are usually found in the form of a tree, the 
tnmk being of the finest quality, and the branches 
inferior to it. When taken out of the mine, the wad 
is sorted according to its various quaUties, and the 
best sent to London, where it is sold to the dealers 
once a month. The pencil-mskers of Keswick receive 
their supply from the metropolis, as the proprietors of 
the article will not allow any to be sold till it has been 
deposited in their own warehouse. 

In order to make pencils, the black lead is sawed 
into square slips, which are fitted into a groove made 
in a piece of wood, and another slip of wood glued 
over them. A soft wood, such as cedar, is usnally 
employed for the purpose, that the pencil may be more 
easily cut. In the ever-pointed pencils, the lead 
is formed in the abape of small cylinders instead of 
square slips. 

Theiiiieriorpencils,hawkedaboutat a che^ rate, are 
made of the refuse of the mineral, stirred into melted 
Bulphmr. They may be detected by holding them to 
a candle, or to a red hot iron, when they yield a 
bluish flame, with a strong smell, resembUng that of 
burning brimston'\ Pure black lead produces neither 
smell nor fume, and suffers no apparent alteration in 

moderate heat. 

Viim*/llu BItit LvU Sfti 

The period when this mine was discovered is 
known, but it was certainly worked previous to the 
seventeenth century, and has been occasionally open 
ever since. The mineral has also been found in Ayr- 
shire, Inverness-shire, and in foreign countries, but of 
a very inferior quality. 

Various names have been given to the mineral found 
here, but as many of them denote other substances, 
they do not appear very appropriate. It is called on 
the spot, wad, and in other places plumbago, or hlack 
lead, though lead, properly so called, forms no part 
of its composition. The terms black cmoke and gra- 
pkite have hkewise been appUed to it, though it is ac- 
tually carbonate of iron, consisting of 90 parts of 
charcoal and 10 of iron. It is principally used for 
the manufacture of pencils, great quantities of which 
are made at Keswick ; but is also employed in mak- 
ing crucibles, polishing iron, diminishing the friction 
of machinery, &c. 

The mine was formerly worked only at intervals, a 
suflicient quantity being procured in a short tdme to 
last for several years j hut the market being consider- 
ably extended, and the difficulty of finding the mine- 
ral increased, the woricing has lately been carried on 
more constantly. 

The wad is not found in veins, but in irregular 
masses, some of which weigh as much as four or five 
pounds. Many of these pieces are of little value, being 
hard and gritty ; but those which are soft and of fine 
textnie are worth several goineaa a pound, Ihese 

Thk eggs of hens are those most commonly used as 
food i and form an article of very considerable im- 
portance in a coiqmercial point of view. Vast quanti- 
ties are brongbt from the country to London and other 
great towns'. Since the peace they have also been 
very largely imported from the Continent. At this 
moment, indeed, the trade in t^gs forms a consider- 
able branch of our commerce with France, and affords 
constant employment for a number of sEoall vessels ! 
It appears from official statements, that the eggs 
imported from France amount to about 60,000,000 a 
year ; and supposing them to cost, at an average. Ad. a 
doz. it follows that the people of the metropolis and 
Brighton (*br it is into them that they are ^most all 
imported) pay the French above 83,000'. a year for 
^^ ; and supposing that the freight, impor^rs' and 
retailers' profit, duty. Sic', raise their price to the con- 
sumer to 10d.adozen,theirtotal cost will be 213,000/1 
—The duty, in 1629, amounted to 22,169/. 

M'Coi.i.och's Commercial Dictionary, 


In compliance wiih the recommendaiioii coDtained. in the 
Report reail at llie Special Geueial Meeling of ihe Society 
FOR Promoting Christian Knowledge, held on the 21st. 
of Maj, have made arrangemenb fut the publication of a 
Series of Works on Education, Histor;, Bing;Taphy, Natural 
History, tbe Elements of the Sciences, 6:c. particulars of 
which will speedily be announced. 

Ht, ae. (nm U 


wlUberadrGirAtUfHiwltbNa.IV., indon IheSOUi liut wl11hBpiiMiidw4 


pTi« Siipnuv, HWcd Id k NhI Wnppcr, 

BrfngtbeFIBST of Oi» MONTHLY PARTS, which w 

Umicdim thaluldny of c*(h lucKcedinf MDnth, to Vt 
puO of Uh ConnBj du; nttln thm with tlic Utitiiiii) 
iytlrtmtbeDtriiHTTonlMtiUhdimp-^-"— ^- 



BoM hr 111 BookHlhn tai KcnrnAn la Ihc UafAou. 

a*wltn ud Daaloi In Pcriolkal PnUlnlloH ondlnd on wholtHlt tan 

W. B.attlt,PitHiiiHUr-ltai>i G.BEBOER.HolTinD-^itdBdaai 

And hr Uh PobUnIwi ApMi In tU Um ptioalpiil pkua 

C> BIVKAIB*, PliBSr, Vn, St. MHtial Um, Chadaf Cnm, 

^aturtia^ iMasa^inr. 


JULY 28. 




TCKtAND, whether naturally or morally considered, 
ia an island eqoally striking and interesting. Situated 
in the re^on of perpetual cold, its whole surface shovs 
most etroDgly the bemendons operatjonof those fires 
which burn for ever beneath oar feet ; and, lying remote 
and soUtary in the polar sea, its population exhibits the 
bappy effects of earij civilization. The blessed influ- 
ence of Christianity is no where more beautifiilly dis- 
played. The inhabitants of countries in which the 
works of nature appear in their utmost grandeur, are 
ia general contemplative, serious, and predisposed to 
religions impressions ; and if such is the case generally, 
how remarkably must it be so with a people whose foot- 
steps tread on nothing but extingnished lava, who 
daily look upon the flaming volcano, and see the hea- 
vens darkened by clouds of vaponr and torrents of 
boiling water, cast into the aur from the bowels of the 

The boiling springs of Iceland are among the most 
sublime as well as beautiM objects of nature. 
They have been well described by several travellers ; 
by the help of whose accounts we propose now to give 
a general idea of these magnificent objects. 

The principal of these springs are situated in the 
sooth-wcstem division of the island, about thirty-six 
miles from the celebrated volcano. Mount Hecia, and 
about twelve miles from the village of Shalholt. The 
Btcam arising from them, during their eruptions, has 
been seen at the distance of sixteen miles. The springs 
mostly rise in a plain, near the base of a low range of 
hills. Manyhreak out from the sidesofthe hillsj and 
some very near ttieir summits. Above an hundred of 
them are contained withia a circle of two miles. 

Three or four of the principal of these springs are 
distinguished by the name of Geyser, which is said to 
\)C the old Scandinavian name for a fountain. The two 
Tofc. I. 

K 0ml Siftr. 

which are most remarkable hsTe been called Ae Gnat 
Geyter, and the Neie Geyter, 

On approaching the Great Gtyter, when in a' quiet 
state, it presents the appearance of a large ciivu- 
lar mound, from the middle of which a quantity of' 
steam is seen to rise. On ascending the side of this 
mound, there appeara a spacious basin, partly filled 
with hot water, as clear as crystal, and moved by a 
gentle bubbling. In the centre of the basin there is 
a round pipe or fnnnel about eighty feet deep, and 
eight or tea feet in diameter, but widening near the 
top, and opening very gradually into the basin, 
which is about 150 feet round.; and, when full, 
the water it contains is about four feet deep. The 
inside of it exhibits a whitish surface, consisting of a 
flinty crust, which has been rendered smooth 
by Uie constant action of the boiling water. The mound 
consists entirely of matter deposited from the water, 
which is always flowing over die edges of it. On leav- 
ing the mound, the hot water passes through a turfy 
BoU ; and by acting on the peat, mosses, and other 
vegetable matters, converts them into stone, and af- 
fords beautiful specimens of petrifaction. 

The eruptions take place at very irregular intervals. 
They are announced by loud explosions in the bowels 
of the earth, like reports of cannon, which shake the 
ground, and warn the visitor to remove from the spot. 
The water, at the same time, begins to boil more and 
more violently ; and at last, the contents of the basin 
are suddenly projected into the air; successive jets 
follow irregularly, till a magnificent column of water 
ascends to a great height, surrounded by immense 
volumes of steam, which, in a great measure, hide tha 
column of water from the view. The scene, at this 
period of the eruption, is indescribably grand. The 
whole surrounding atmosphere is filled with volume 



LJULY 28, 

of steam rolling over each other m ttey ascend, and 
through which, poliunnspfwRter, ^Vfpug into foam, 
are seen spreading in ft}l direptipM. Itfacii pf the wa- 
ter is lost in vapour i but the greatest part fiiUs to the 
gronnd in heavT ehow^ni of spray. Aa the jets rise 
out of the basin, the. water reflects the most beautiful 
colours; — sometimea the purest and most britliant 
blue J at others, a. bright sea-green : but in the further 
ascent, all distinction of colour is lost -, and the jeta, 
broken into a thousand parts, qipcar as white as snow. 
Some of them are forced upwards perpendicularly ; 
but many are thrown out in beautiful curves. The 
eruption thus continues, chan^ng its form at every 
instant, tiD the force which drives it from beneath is ex- 
hausted. The water then subsides through the pipe, 
and disappears, but immediately rises again, and fills 
the basin to the extent already ipentioncd ; and in this 
state it remains till ihp next eruption. 

Such are the general features of these emptio)is, ^ 
described by rU vriterij. Some spectators appear in 
have seen theni ill differput states of activity and mag- 
nitnde from others ; and aU of ihem strain their powers 
of langu^ to give W idea of tl(e grand? ur and beauty 
of the scen^ , a^^ ftlP iinpressions of religious awe 
which itpEodnPfS- — "While fbe jeta," it is doqueptly 
said by Dr. Hp^idcrson, "we>* rushing up towards 
heaven vfit^ V(^f velocity pf an arrow, my mind was 
forcibly bonfC ^Qdg with them to the contemplation 
of the great aif4 PlffAipptent Jehovah, iq comparison 
with whom, fifese, ^d all the wodders scattered over 
the immffisity of existence, dwindle into absolute in- 
significance j whose Ahuigbty command spake the 
universe into being : ^nd at whose sovereign fiat the 
whole fabric might pe ^duce^ in an instant to its ori- 
ginal nothing." 

At a short distance from the Great Geyser, is situ- 
. ated thp Nao Geyser, also called, from its continual 
noise, the Eoarintf Geyser. By the natives it is called 
Strockn, a word which lite^ly means 'a chum.' 
The autward appearance of this spring is different from 
that of the Great Geyser. The pipe, which is about 
forty-four feet in depth, and nine in diameter, is not 
entirely circular, nor ia it so perpendicular as the other. 
Instead of opening into a basin, it ia defended on one 
side by a low incrusted wall, while, on the other, it 
is level with the surface of the ground. The erupti 
of this spring differ little from those of the Great 
Geyser, except in their lesser size. Dr. Hender- 
son gives the following pictnre-like description of s. 
joint eruption of both these fountains : — "About ten 
minutes past five in the morning we were aroused by 
tlie roaring of Slrockn, which blew up a great quan- 
tity of steam i and when my watch stood at the full 
quarter, a crash took place as if the earth had burst, 
which was instantaneously succeeded by jeta of water 
and spray rising in a perpendicular column to the 
height of sixty feet. Aa the sun happened to be be- 
hind a cloud, we had no expectation of witnessing any 
thing more sublime than we had already seen. But 
Stroeka had not been in action above twenty minutes, 
when the Great Geyser, apparently jealous of her re- 
putation, and indignant at our bestowing so much of 
our time and applause on her rival, began to thunder 
tremendously, and emitted such quantities of water 
and steam, that we could not be satisfied with a dis- 
tant view, but hastened to the mound with as much 
curiosity as if it had been the first eruption we had 
beheld. However, if she was more interesting in point 
of magnitude, she gave the less satisfaction in point of 
duration, having again become tranquil in the course 
of five minutes ; whereas her less gaudy but more 
steady companion continued to play till within four 
minutes of six o'clock." Dr. Henderson adds the 

gular circumstance, that, by Growing a qnaudty of 
large stones into the pipe of Stroctn, he could, at any 
time, bring on an eruption in ft few minutes ; and that 
the fragments of stone, as well as the boiling water, 
were tluvwn in that case to a much greater height than 

It remains to uotict the simple and ingenious way 
by which Mr.LvELL, inhis'Princt/i/fsq/' Geology,' ac- 
counts for these grand operations of nature. He 
explains it by the following figure. 

Mr. J,yell a^ppts the gei^ecal, ^4 highly probable 
supposition of a ftollow cave at a great depth beneath 
the earth ^here wat^ and stean^ collect, and where 
the free escape of the steam is prevented till it 
acquires sufficient force to dischai^ the water. — 
Suppose water from the surface of the earth to pene- 
trate into this cavity beneath, represented at the 
letters A D, by the cracks or rpnts, F F ; while, eX 
the same time, steam, at an extremely Ugh tem- 
perature, rises uppards through the cracks C C j — 
when this steam reaches the cold water in the cavity, 
a portion of it ia at first condensed into water, 
while it gradually raises the temperature of tlie 
water already in the cavity ; till at last the lower 
part of the cavity is filled with boiling water, 
and the upper part wilh steam under high pres- 
sure. As the pressure of the steam iocreases, its 
expansive force becomes greater and greater, and at 
length it forces the boiling water up the fissure or 
pipe E B, and a considerable quantity runs over the 
rim of the basin. When the pressure on the steam 
in the upper part of the cavity A, is thus diminishod, 
it expands tiU all the water D, is driven to E, the 
bottom of the pipe. When this happens, the steam 
rushes up with great velocity, as on the opening of 
the valve of a steam boiler. If the pipe be choked up 
artificially with stones, (as was done by Dr. Hender- 
son) a great increase of heat must take place, for it 
is prevented from escaping in steam; so that the 
water is made to boil up in a few minutes, and this 
brings on an eruption. 

Mr. Lyell applies the same principle, — the agency of 
steam upon melted lava accumulated in canities in 
the bowels of the earth — to account for the cruptious 
of volcanoes, and, though not absolutely demonstrated. 
there is every presumption in favour of its probability 


The life of Pascal is memorable, as exhibiting the 
singular fame, various ability, and extensive know- 
ledge, which may be acquired at an age sciu-ifly 
beyon^i boyhood. Bom in 1623, at Cicrniotit in Au- 
vergne, his father a lawyer of rank in the proi incf. 






perceived 8\ic\i Vt^^cations of genius in the child, that 
he gave up hva ptofessiou, for the purpose of educating 
him in Paris. A. man. of literature and intelligence, 
he wished to fix his son*s attention on the classics. 
But the boy had already chosen a study for himself, 
and had unconsciously mastered the rudiments of 
geometry. This science was so strongly opposed to 
his father's objects, that he was forbidden ever to speak 
of it. But the ruling passion prevailed. In solitude 
his mind teemed with questions and problems j and, 
in a short period, with only a piece of charcoal and 
the wall of his chamber for his apparatus, he had 
formed diagrams of a set of propositions up to the 
thirty-second of the first book of Euclid : at twelve, 
he had been as it were the discoverer of a science ! 

The celebrated Descartes was then at the head of 
scientific fame. The boy, at the age of sixteen, pre- 
sented him with a " Treatise on the Section of the 
Cone." It won the philosopher's highest applause. 

His father's reluctance was now overcome ; and 
this extraordinary boy was suffered to pursue his tri- 
umphs at his will. 

The discoveries of Torricelli had attracted general at- 
tention. The invention of the air-pump and of the ba- 
rometer, which is now become our weather-glass, had 
just awoke the whole scientific world. The power 
of grasping the impalpable air, of reducing the 
whirlwind to weight and measure, of expelling it 
at pleasure from space, of guaging the heights and 
depths of the valley and the mountain, of foretelling 
the capricious changes of the elements, all formed 
a magnificent addition to the command of man 
over Nature. Pascal applied himself to the study 
with his characteristic vigomr ; and, in a series of ad- 
mirable experiments, showed an equal skill in practical 
science and in its abstract studies. He was now twenty- 
four, and had established his rank among the most 
eminent names. Five years earlier, he had invented 
a calculating machine, which proved his mechanical 
dexterity, and to which even the skill of our later 
day has ventured to add but little. It was the custom 
at this period to circulate* problems or questions to be 
answered by the leading mathematicians. Father Mer- 
senne had circulated a problem, demanding to find out 
the laws and properties of a curve formed by the move- 
ment of a point in a coach- wheel. That such a problem 
should have puzzled men of science may raise a smile ; 
but difficulties are to be judged of in reference to their 
time. Pascal fixed his mind on the problem j and to 
the surprise, and perhaps the chagrin, of the proposer, 
answered him by a complete solution. 

But a painful and melancholy change was soon to 
show the uncertainty of human genius, vigour, and 
wisdom. The quarrels of the Jansenists and Jesuits 
convulsed France. The retired habits and metaphy- 
sical mind of Pascal found a kindred spirit in the 
reveries of Jansenism. He became a member of the 
celebrated Society of Port Royal, and rapidly distin- 
guished himself by his zeal in their defence, his ardent 
adoption of their principles, and his submission to 
their austerities. Of an infirm constitution, and even 
that constitution exhausted by labour, he put himself 
under the most rigid and exhausting discipline. He 
is said to have worn an iron chain next his skin : he 
fasted, practised various mortifications to wean him- 
self from what he termed the evils of the world, and, 
at length, by one of those extravagances which form 
the clmracter and the punishment of religious enthu- 
siasm, he broke off all intercourse with his relations 
and friends. He was now but thhty, but mentally 
and bodily he was in advanced age. His frame, 
withering away under discomfort, solitude, and cheer- 
less study^ and his mind wandering in airy speculations. 

An accident, in the year 1654, added earthly ter- 
ror to the gloom and fears of the invisible world. 
His decaying health had rendered exercise necessary, 
which he was in the habit of taking in a carriage. 
One day the horses took fright, and ran into the Seine. 
The carriage was fortunately checked on the edge of 
the bank, and Pascal was saved : but from this mo- 
ment the remembrance of his danger never left his 
mind. A precipice seemed perpetually to open before 
him} and, even when in his chamber, he dreaded to 
look over the side of his chair, lest he should see the 
gulph yawning for him below. He now saw visions, 
and dreamed dreams, lay in trances, and held con- 
verse with things not of earth, Pascal was mad. 

Yet in the midst of this life of severity, by one 
of those splendid efforts by which genius vindicates 
itself in its lowest hiuniliation, Pascal produced the 
*' Provincial Letters," a satu*e on Jesuitism, one of the 
most powerful and popular achievements in the history 
of literature. It was the first resolute blow given to 
the Jesuits in Europe, and it was effectual : it laid 
the axe to the root of the tree. But its author was 
soon to be insensible to the applause which showered 
on him from every part of Europe. He was a broken 
old man, a recluse, and sunk into hopeless melancholy. 
During his latter years he was Accustomed to think 
and talk much of religion, and to record his thoughts 
on fragments of paper. His object was one which 
might have well and worthily occupied the highest 
mind, — a defence and illustration of Christianity j 
but his powers were now worn away. In this occu- 
pation he lingered down to the grave, dying, in 1662, 
at the age of thirty-nine j a period at which the hu- 
man intellect has scarcely more than reached its 
vigour, and is little more than beginning to acquire 
the experience which alone can render the spring and 
elasticity of genius, safe, dignified, and wise. 

His works were collected sbon after his death, and 
received by the learned world with the honours due 
to his name. His death was universally regretted, 
as the premature extinction of bne Of the lights of his 
country. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen short 
of the years of man, who has accomplished in few, 
more dian thousands and tens of thousands accom- 
plish in many. Atid Pascal, at thirty-nine, loaded 
with the palms of science, Uteratinre, ^d religion, had 
justly earned bis title to immortality. 


Look at tliis brook, so blithe, so free ! 

Thus hath it been, fair boy ! for ever, 
A shiniiif^, dancing, babblhig rirer ; 
And thus 'twill ever be ; — 
'Twill run, from mountain to the main, 

Witli just the same sweet babbling Toice 

That now sings but, " Rejoice, rc^oicfe !" 

Perhaps 'twill be a chain 

That will a thousand years remain : 

Ay, through all times and changes last, 

And link the present to the past : 

Perhaps upon this self-same spot, 

Hereafter may a merry knot 

(My children's children !) meet and play, 

And think on me, some summer's day ; 

And smile (perhaps through youth's brief tears, 

While thinking back through wastes of years,) 

And softly say — 

" *Twas here the old man used to stray, 

And gaze upon the sky ; and dream, 

(Long, long ago !) by this same stream. 

He's in his grave ! Ungentle Time 

Hath dealt but harshly with his rhyme ; 

But we will ne'er forget, that he 

Taught us to love diis river free." P 


[July 28, 

Most of our readers will recollect the celebrated In- 
dian Jugglers, who a few years ago visited England, 
and performed some very extmordioary feats at public 
exhibitions. One of them had acquired the astonish- 
ing and dangerous power of passing a naked metal 
blade into his stonuch, or, as he himself termed it, 
of "swallowing a sword." He fell a sacrifice to his 
temerity : in one of his performances, the blade taking 
a wrong directioo, wounded bim internally, and he 
expired in violent convulsions. 

Another person of this description, bnt of a higher 
native caste, has lately appeared in India. Hu per- 
formance, though of a no less astonishing, is altoge- 
ther of a harmless, nature. By the kiudness of a 
friend we are enabled to present our readers with 
engraving, ^m the original drawing of an Indian artist, 
together with an account, which may be relied upon, 
of this singular person, as he appears when exhibiting 
this strange feat. 

The drawing was taken at the Government House 
at Madras, and represents the Cuddapah Brahmin, 
named Sbeshal, in the act of sitting in the air, ap- 
parently without any support, an exploit which he 
performs with great addi^. When he is about to 
exhibit, his attendants surround him with a blanket 
so as to screen him from the view of the spectators 
dll he is mounted ; a signal is then given, the blanket 
is removed and he is beheld sitting in the posture 
represented in the sketch. 

The only part of bis body which appears to have 
any support whatever is the wrist of his right arm, 
vbich rests upon a deer skin rolled up and fixed 

horizontally before him to a perpendicular brass bar. 
This brass bar Is fitted into the top of a small four 
legged stool, near one end of it. While in this attitude 
he t^)pcais engaged in prayer, holding in his hand a 
number of beads, and having his eyes half-closed. 
As soon as the exhibition, which usually continues 
only a few minutes, has ended, he is again screened 
by his attendants till he has dismounted and taken 
the whole of his apparatus to pieces, when he pro- 
duces only the stool, the brass bar, and the deer skia 
for the inspection of the spectators. 

In person he is a slender, middle sized man, and 
has attained a considerable age. He wears a long 
chintz gown, a yellow dyed turban, and a high waist- 
band. Around his neck is suspended a row of large 
Pundaram beads. 

Sheshal is frequently invited to the gardens of 
gentlemen residing at Madras, for the purpose of 
exhibiting his singnlar skill, Bythis means he obtains 
a considerable sum of money. A friend who has 
witnessed his performance, writes us the following 
account of it from Tanjorc. 

" He exhibited before me in the following manner : 
he first allowed me to examine a stool about 1 8 inches 
in height, on the seat of which were two brass stars 
inlaid, a little larger than a dollar; he then displayed 
a hollow bamboo 2 feet in length and 2} inches ia 
diameter. The next article was a roll of antelope 
skin, pcrh^s 4 inches in drcumference, and 2 feet 
in length. The man then concealed himself in a 
large shawl, with these three articles and a large bag ; 
after a delay of five minutes, during which he ap- 
peared very busy under the shawl, he ordered the 
covering to be t^ten off him, and he was discovered 
actually sitting eroes-legged on the air ; but leaning 
his right arm on the end of the antelope skin, which 
communicated horizontally with the hollow bamboo, 
which again was connected perpendicularly with the 
stool immediately over one of the brass stars. He 
sat for more than half an hour, counting his beads in 
his right hand, and without once changing the ex- 
pression of his countenance which was quite calm, 
and as if this new mode of sitting was no exertion 
to him. 

" I saw him exhibit four times, and each time 
tried my utmost to discover the secret but without 
success. A large bribe was offered to induce him to 
reveal his mode of performance, but be declined the 

" I account for it thus. The brass stars conceal a 
receptacle for a steel bar passing thraugli the hollow 
bamboo ) the antelope skin conceals another steel rod 
which is screwed into the one in the bamboo; other 
machinery of the same kind passes through the man's 
sleeves and down his body, and supports a ring on 
which he sita." 

Whkn the Great league was ravaging the metropolis, 
Milton removed to the small house which is here re- 
presented, and which is situated at Chalfont St. Giles, 
Buckinghamshire. It had been hired for him by 
his friend Elwood,the Quaker, who was then residing 
in the vicinity, having been driven from London by 
the persecutions he experienced on account of his 
peculiar tenets. " Here," says Dr. Symmons, in his 
Life of Milton, "the young qnaker called upon bis 
friend and received from him a manuscript, which tfaa 
author desired him to carry home and to read at his 
leisure. This manuscript was that of ParadUe Lost. 
' After I had with the best attention read it through.* 
says the respectable Elwood, " I made him another 

1 832. J 


visit, and returned him his book, with due aknowledg- 
ment of the favour he had done me in communicating 
it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what I 
thought of it : wliich I modestly and freely told him . 
and, after some further discourse, I pleasantly aaid to 
him. Thou haat said much here of Paradise lost; but 
what hast thou to say of Paradise found ? He made 
me no answer, but sat some time in a muse : then 
broke off that discourse, and fell upon another sub- 
ject. After the sickness was over, and the city well 
cleansed and become "safely habitable ag^n, he re- 
turned thither ; and when afterwards I went to wait, 
upon him, which I seldom failed of doing whenever 
my occasiona led me to London) he showed me his 
second poem, called Paradise Regaitted, and in a pli 
sant tone said to me, this is owing to you, for you put 
into my bead by the question you put to me at Chal- 
font, what before I had not thought of.' 

" The term nf Milton's residence at Chalfont has 
no-t been precisely specified j but from the cij-cum- 
staJices to which it was accommodated, the prevalence 
and the extirpation of the plague in the capital, we 
may infer that it extended irom the June or the July 
of 1665 to the March or the April of the following 
year. In this period, as 1 folly concnr in opinion 
with its editor, Mr. Dunster, was the poem of Paradite 
Regained not only begun, hut brought to its conclu- 
sion. It was shown, aa we have just been informed, 
to Elwood on hb first visit to London after the author' 
return irom Chalfont; and there is nothing in th 
poem, whether we respect its length or the style of 
its composition, evidently mariced with the characters 
of haste, which can induce as to reject as improbabli 
tiie fact of its production, by a mind like Milton's, it 
the space of ten months. 




Iv people always knew and kept in mind the obliga- 
tions they are under to sodety, they would be much 
better members of it, and much happier in every 
respect. Robinson Crusoe, on the desert island, be- 
fore he got his man " Friday," is a picture of solitude 
which every body knows. Bnt the picture of solitude 
there given, though it be pleasantly painted, is far 
from being true. All the arts, stratagems, and con- 
trivances which Crusoe pnta in execution, are derived 
from society. Crusoe is not a solitary, nor even a 
savage ; and though his means of gratification are dif- 
fcrent, his desires are just the same aa if be had been 
all the time in England. 

We who have lived all our time in sodety, can 
form no notion of what a wretched and destitute 
creature man would be if he were alone, and had 
never profited by the aid, the instruction, or the ex- 
ample of others. But it is certain, that the very hum- 

blest individual in the country— he who knows the 
least and fores the worst— owes far more to society 
than he does to himself. The good institutions, and 
all that is excellent in society, are the result of the 
labours of the wise and the good through many 
ages, — from the very beginning of civilizadon indeed; 
for nations are the scholars and imitators of nations, 
just aa men are the scholars and imitators of men. 

Thus, when we reflect duly, we discover that every 
man who earns his bread in society, is indebted to 
society for it. Take a man who digs the ground ; — 
how did he find out that digging tiie ground would 
make it more fertile ! Where did he obtain a spade ? 
Who taught him how to use it? Who instructed him 
as to the roots which it is best to plant, and the seeds 
which it is best to sow ; or who told him the times at 
which the planting and the sowing could be done to 
the greatest advantage? Certainly not himself; for 
before any man could have found out the way and the 
time of doing the very simplest thing that the humblest 
labourer has occasion to do, the term of his Ufc would 
have been out, and he would have been in his grave. 
Indeed his term would have been but short, for he 
would have died of hunger before he had been long 
in existence. 

This debt to society is not confined to those in 
bumble life ; for the higher the station, the debt ia 
the greater ; because all civilization, all knowledge, 
and all enjoyment, except those which man haa in 
common with the beasts, had their origin in society, 
and were by society brought to the condition in which 
we find them. We are, in fact, debtors to society for 
the wisdom and the improvements of more ages than 
have years to spend in it. That wisdom and those 
improvements are talents committed to our care, and 
if we do not hand them down to the generation which 
is to come after ua, in a more valuable condition than 
we ourselves received them in, we are shamefully un- 
grateful to our fathers, and cruelly unjust to our 

The common boost of a rich man that, " he can 
pay his way, and is obliged to nobody," is a very silly 
boast ; for the man is a debtor to o^ers for all that 
he possesses ; and of course the larger his possessions 
are, the more he is in debt. That debt is, however, 
dne only to society generally ; and therefore no indi- 
vidual member of society is entitled to ask payment 
of it. It is not a debt which can be paid with 
money. It must be paid in conduct ; and in doing 
those particular duties which belong to his station. 

In hke manner, the man who is destitute, who 
possesses nothing, and has nothing to do, is not in- 
dependent of society, for to society be Is indebted for 
his very powers of doing ; and if he has had oppor- 
tunities of turning those powers to account, and has 
le^ectcd them, he is more deeply and more erimi- 
nally a debtor. However wretched he may fed, or 
may be in reality, be is still much better than if he 
in society ; for then he would be without 
the abilities of doing ; whereas, the very worst that 
an happen in society, is being without the opportn- 
ity or the will of turning those abilities to account. 
It is not always very easy to distinguish between the 
want of opportunity and the want of will, because 
there is a will to find opportunity, as well as a will 
improve it, when it is known ; and in both cases, 
the proverb, "where there is a will there is a way," 
ho)(b true. 

There are only two classes of persons who can be 
strictly said to have claims upon society; those 
to whom Providence has demed, or has taken 
away, those abilities which, called forth as they are 
by society, may be considered as " the stock in trade' 



[Jui.Y 28, 

of social man; and those who have done Society I 
more than the average good, according to their means, 
and opportunities. The first is not so much a claim 
of right as a claim of pity, and should be volimtary on 
the part of the giver. The other is more a claim of right; 
but it is one which is very difficult to adjtist and set- 
tle equitably. When the matter is left to be decided 
by the public generally, we but too often find that 
they award the prize to him who claims it in the 
most noisy and forward manner^ and every day 
shews that the floating opinion of the public, which, 
after all, is nobody's opinion, because nobody is re- 
sponsible for it, changes from praise to censure, or 
from censure to pnuse^ without any reasonable cause 
for either. 

Nothing, however, is plainer, than that all who can 
support ^emselves, are boimd to do it; and that 
those who claim support from others, without being 
able to shew in the most clear and satisfactory man- 
ner, that they cannot support themselves, are not 
only guilty of an injustice to society, for which soci- 
ety may punish them, but that they are degraded in 
their own estimation, and thereby rendered incapable 
of the good which they otherwise might do, and the 
pleasure which they otherwise might feel. Even if 
the support obtained in this manner be of the most 
temporary nature, it destroys our confidence in our 
own exertions, and breaks down the manly tone of 
the character to a far greater extent than they who 
have not studied it, and watched its effects, would 
suppose. A man who readily finds charitable main- 
tenance when out of work, will be less zealous in search 
of employment, than if starvation appeared in his view 
as the necessary associate of idleness. There may be 
cases, and numerous cases, especially in sickness, 
where those means of relief must be resorted to ; but 
the experience of all ages has shewn them to be bad 
as a general system, and even worse to the relieved 
than to the relievers. 

The cases of individuals and of nati is mutually 
throw light upon each other. Nations have their times 
of distress and of stagnation of business, just as indivi- 
duals have theirs of sickness and want of employ- 
ment. Though the cases are not quite parallel, a 
nation is a member of the world, just as one man is 
a member of society. Now, it has always been found 
that attempts to support a nation with any thing like 
character and independence, at the cost of other 
nations, has uniformly failed — ended in the degrad- 
ing of that nation, and the blotting out of its name 
from the map. If England had td beg of France, or 
France of England, at every time of temporary dis- 
tress, the begging country would ftoon come to an 
end. In like manner it has been found that all 
attempts to support classes of society upon the 
bounty of other classes, have failed — plunged the sup- 
ported class into deeper and deeper misery^ and, if 
long continued, worked its final ruin. 

One nation may help Another, and so may one 
class of society; but then, in order that the help 
may do good — in order that it may not actually do 
evil, it must be mutual. " Help us now in our 
need, and when your time of trouble comes, ap- 
ply to us, and we shall not be backward,*' are the 
words which, spoken or implied, turn that which 
otherwise would be evil, into good. 

Among individuals, the most noble and valuable 
of all help is helping one's self; and if that were in 
all cases possible, none other woidd be necessary. 
But thew are cases, and those too of the most urgent 
nature, in which there can be no self help ; and it is 
for these that society is peculiarly called upon to pro- 
vide. On a future occasion we shall point out one 

of the least exceptionable means of making that provi- 
sion. We may anticipate so far as to say that Benefit 
Societies are the means to which ^e more particular- 
ly allude. But, as the subject is very important, and as 
the examination of it will require some extent, we 
shall bring it before our readers from time to time, in 
small portions ; . and we most earnestly solicit their 
candid and patient attention. 


Oh, God ! my God ! from mom to night 

I see thy guiding hand ! 
Through every hour I feel thy might, 

I hear thy dread oommaud ! 

How wild, unto the strangers' eye 

These busy scenes appear ! 
What sights uncouth around theth lie ; 

What jarring sounds they hear ! 

Yet I, who know each whizzing wheel, 

Each dancing spindle know, 
See skill, where they confusion feel 

And Art from Discord grow. 

I know their object, use, and end ; 

They act from hour to hour, 
And to a glorious issue tend — 

Impeird by one great Power ! 

And, if with such a skilful eyfe 

I could my being scan, 
No doubt my spirit woul4 descry 

That such machine is Man ^ 

Confusion seems his steps to guide. 

And discord haunts hmi stijl ; 
Yet one Great Being rules his pHde, 

And bends him to his wilL 

Then let me leahi, from what I see. 

To credit what I hear, 
And know my Sariour works for me, 

While I am working here ! 

Teach me to feel my thread of life 

By hands Divine is ^un, 
An still in sorrow, want, and strife. 

To say — ^** Goo's will be done !" 
St. Abhs. 



It appears from a late valuable publication^ Navar- 
rete's Collection of Spanish Voyages and Discoveries, 
that the first known experiment of propelling a ves- 
sel by the agency of steam^ was mside at Barcelona 
more than eighty-five years before the idea of pro- 
curing motion by means of it was first started by 
Brancas in Italy ; more than a century before this 
power was applied to any useful purpose by the mar- 
quis of Worcester in England j and near three cen- 
turies before Ftilton, adapting and combining the 
inventions of a host of contemporary mechanics^ suc- 
cessfully solved the same wonderftJ problem in tiie 
United States. Singular, however, as the fact may- 
be, it is fully established by various documents lately 
found in the archives of Simancas, and is so circum- 
stantially stated as to be incontrovertiole. 

In the year 1543, a certain sea-officer, called Blas- 
co de Gavay, offered to exhibit before the emperor 
Charles V. a machine by means of which a vessel 
should be made to move, without the assistance of 
either sails or oars. Though the proposal appeared 
ridiculous, the man was so much in earnest, that the 
emperor appointed a commission to witness and. re- 
port upon the experiment. The experiment was made 
the 17th of June, 1543, on board a vessel called, the 
Trinidad, of two hundred barrels' burden, which had 
lately arrived with wheat from Colibre. The v^essel 
was teen at a given moment to move forward, and 




tarn about at pleasure, ^thout sail or oar, or human 
agency, and without any visible mechanism, except a 
huge boiler of hot water, and a compUcated combina- 
tion of wheels and paddles. 

The assembled multitude were filled with astonish- 
ment and admiration. The harbour of Barcelona re- 
sounded with plaudits ; and the commissioners, who 
shared in the general enthusiasm, all piade favorable 
reports to the emperor, except only the treasurer 
Ravago. This man, from some unknown cause, was 
prejudiced against the inventor and his machine. He 
took great pains to undervalue it, stating, among other 
things, that it could be of Uttle use, since it only pro- 
pelled the vessel two leagues in three hours ; that it 
was very expensive and complicated, and that there 
was great danger of the boiler's bursting frequently. 
The experiment over, Gavay collected his machinery, 
and having deposited the wooden part in the royal 
arsenal, carried the rest to his own house. 

Notwithstanding the invidious representations of 
Ravago, Gavay was applauded for his invention, and 
taken into favour by the emperor, who promoted him 
one grade, gave him two hundred thousand marave- 
dises, and ordered the jealous treasurer to pay all the 
expenses of the experiment. But Charles was then 
taken up with some military expedition, and the oc- 
casion of conferring an inestimable benefit on man- 
kind was neglected for the business of bloodshed and 
devastation ; while the honour which Barcelona might 
have received from perfecting this noble discovery was 
reserved for a city which had not yet started in the 
career of existence. 

The fact that a vessel was propelled by steam as 
early as the sixteenth century thus rendered certain, 
the question next occurs, whether it in any way de- 
tracts from the honour due to Fulton, not for having 
made the first successful application of steam to pur- 
poses of navigation, (for he was even anticipated by 
Fitch, in the United States) but for having brought 
it into use over the whole civilized world. By no 
means. This experiment at Barcelona, owing to the 
absence of journals and newspapers, those modem 
vehicles and wings of intelligence, was unknown to 
the world generaUy, at the time of making it, as it 
ever was to Fulton. And, besides, who can tell but 
that in hke manner many inventions, which constitute 
at once the pride and profit of the present age, may 
have existed centuries ago, in countries of forgotten 
vivilisation. — A Year in Spain, 


How nimbly doth that Uttle lark mount up singing 
towards heaven in a right line 5 whereas the hawk, 
which is stronger of body, and swifter of wing, towers 
up by many gradual compasses to his highest pitch. 
That bulk of body and length of wing hinder a direct 
ascent, and require the help both of air and scope to 
advance his flight; whilst that small bird cuts the air 
without resistance, and needs no outward furtherance 
of her motion. It is no otherwise with the souls of 
men in flying up to their heaven. Some are hindered 
by those powers, which would seem helps to their 
soaring up thither j great wit, deep judgment, quick 
apprehension, send men about with no small labour 
for the recovery of their own incumbrance ; whilst 
the good affections of plain and simple souls raise 
them up immediately to the fruition of God. Why 
should we be proud of that which may slacken our 
way to glory ? why should we be disheartened with 
the smaU measure of that, the very want whereof may 
(as the heart may be affected) facihtate our way to 
happineii. — ^Bishop Hall. 



Avoid all servile work, and expend it only in such 
actions, as tend to the sanctifying thereof. God, 
the great Landlord of all time, hath let out six days 
in the week to pian to farm them j the seventh day 
he reserves as a demesne in his own hand : if, there- 
fore, we would have quiet possession, anti comfortable 
use of what God bath leased out to us, let us not en- 
croach on his demesne. Some popish* people make 
^ superstitious almanach of the Sunday, by the fair- 
ness or foulness thereof, guessing at the weather all 
the week after. But I dare boldly say, that from our 
veil or ill spending of the Lord's Day, a probable 
coiyecture may be made, how the following week will 
be employed. Yea, I conceive, we are bound (as 
ms^tters now stand in England) to a stricter obser\^- 
nance of the Lord's day, than ever before. That a 
time was due to God's service, no Christian in our 
kingdom ever did deny : that the same was weekly 
dispersed in the Lord's day, holy days, Wednesday, 
Fridays, Saturdays, some have earnestly maintained : 
seeing, therefore, all the last are generally neglected, 
the former must be more strictly observed ; it being 
otherwise impious, that our devotion having a nar- 
rower channel, should also carry a shallower stream. 
— Fuller's Wounded Conscience. 

♦ If it rains on the Sunday before Mess, 
It will rain all the week more or less. — Popish Rhyme. 


Among the many natural curiosities of oiur coimtry, the 
admiration of the scientific, as well as of the ordinary 
observer, has long been excited by those huge single 
masses of rock, which, resting on a comparatively 
small pivot, and exactly balanced there, still stand as 
steadily as though the narrow part were upper- 
most, and the whole body were firmly lodged on 
its base. Such are the celebrated Boulder Stone 
of the North, and the Logan Rock of Cornwall. 
The woodcut on the next page represents with great 
accuracy the character of another called Buckstone, 
on the borders of Gloucestershire and Monmouth- 

Buckstone is by no means the largest of its kind ; 
though in some respects, perhaps, it repays more than 
any other the visit of a tourist. Independently of its 
extraordinary form and position, the situation in which 
it is placed, gives it a very strong additional interest. 
Removed only a few yards from the summit of a high 
sugar-loaf hill, commanding one of the most varied and 
l>eautilul landscapes of which this country can boast, 
it is itself seen in some directions at a Very great dis- 
tance, conspicuous above the copsewood, which em- 
bosoms it on every side; and inviting us to examine 
only its own extraordinary character, it presents to us 
a view which would otherwise probably have escaped 
our notice altogether. This view would of itself amply 
repay us for the time required to make the excur- 
sion from any of the neighbouring places. 

This rock is about three miles from Monmouth, 
near the village of Stanton. The tourist may reach it 
either by a footpath through beautiful woods and 
fields, or by a more round-about road in a carriage. 
The scene opening at this spot is very extensive and 
greatly diversified. It is bounded to the west and 
north by the mountains of Monmouthshure and Bre- 
conshire; towards the north-east and east, by the 
Clay Hills in Shropshire, and the Malvern Hills m 
Worcestershire; to the south-east, and south, by 
the long Gloucestershire range beyond the Snrent 




r 28, 1832. 

Besides tliese counties, it is said, the experienced ejre 
majr discover points in GIamoi^;an, Radnor, and So- 
merset. The home views comprehend the Forest of 
Dean, some of the richest districts of Herefordshire, 
with one of the sweetest vallies of the Wye, whose 
silver thread is seen winding its way between the 
jvoods and rocks of the north-east, whilst immediately 
round the rock, and at the feet of the spectator, waves 
a noble ocean at oak woods, spread over a wide and 
undulating surface of hill and dale. 

Tbe rock itself is composed of a substance called 
millstone-grit,— 'B plum-pudding stone, consisting 
chiefly of sand and quartz pebbles, familiarly known 
in the neighbourhood by the name of Jackstones. 
Its circumference at the top is above fifty-three feet, 
whilst its base is less than eleven feet in girth. Its 
perpendicular height from the extremity of the pro- 
jecting point to the level of the centre of the base 
is nearly foarteeo feet. The whole mess rests on the 
middle of a square even table of stone, corresponding 
in extent very nearly with the extremity of the rock 
itself, and composed of the same material. But what 
makes the balance in this rock still more wonderful 
is, thut this large square smooth insulated stone, 
which serves for its bed, far from being horizontal, 
is an inclined plane, sloping at an angle of almost 
twenty-five degrees ; consequently, many bodies that 
might be balanced, on a level ground must of necessity 
roll down this leaning stone, yet this huge rock has 
kept its place for ages. 

Geologists probably will almost unanimously agree, 
that the hand of man never interfered in either plac- 
ing this rock on its present site, or iu hewing it into 
its present form, — that it is the work of nature only. 
The imagination of the tourist indeed has ofrcn re- 
garded it as the work of art, and pronounced it to 
be nothing less than a Dmidical altarj and fancymay 
discern in an adjoining stone, the solid basin to re- 
ceive the blood of the victim, or to cleanse the hands 
of the sBcrificer. Certainly uo place can be imagined 
more fitted for those priests of the oak and the moun- 
tain, who raised tbeir altars "upon every high hill, 
and under evciy green tree,' than Buckstone. And 
perhaps there is nothing absurd in conceiving 
that they employed this natural altar, like many 
others which tradition assigns to the same purpose, 
in the performance of their cruel rites. All such 
inquiries, howet'er, must at last end only in specula- 
tion ; harmless it may be and amusing, but leading 
to no satisfactory result. Be this as it may, one can 
scarcely visit this spot, and have the mere question 
suggested to us, by the recollection that so gross a 
superstition for ages prevailed in our own island, 
without feeling a glow of gratitude to that Father of 
ui all, who rescued us from its thick daricitess, and' 

in its stead, gave ns the light of eternal truth. And 
thus to the Christian this is still a sacred spot, k 
temple, where the sacrifice of thanksgiving may be 
acceptably ofiered. 

" The place where man his Ood shall meet, 
Be sure is holy giuuDd." 

« « • « How often as a child I have played with 
the catkins of the hazel, (putty-eali, as we used to call 
them) without dreaming that within were the embryos 
of the future nuts ; and that in picking to pieces the 
blossoms of the hazel, I was idly destroying the pro- 
mise of fiiture fruit Yet such is the fact ! An ex- 
amination of this plant shews tbe careful contrivance 
by which an Almighty Creator has preserved these 
seeds from the accidents of weather. The stamens, 
which contain the fruit-bearing principle, are disposed 
iu clusters, from one end to the other of the catkin ; 
and each duster is sheltered by a little pent-house, 
which overshadows and protects them, tier above tier, 
in their snug retreats. While thus hanging upon 
the bough, not a drop of rain has the power f^ pene- 
trating to the precious deposit within ; although when 
the same catkin is surveyed in the hand, all the stamens 
are exposed to view. Had they been thus placed 
within a calyx or cup which grew, or which was liable 
to be turned into any other position, wftat frequent 
accidents might have happened to them. But the 
upright position of the catkin protects them from rain 
which falls steadily and downright ; while its pliancy 
and suppleness enable it to bend from the wind, and 
thus secure its cbntents from the accidents of a side 
breeze, .or the drifting shower. Thus deals the All 
Good Creator with all the objects of his care. And 
thus full of wisdom and contrivance is the structure 
of every plant we see! — E.T. 

Natural History is no woric for one that loves his 
chair or his bed. Speculation may be pursued on a 
soft couch, but Nature must be observed in the open 
air. I have collected materials with indefatigable per- 
tinacity. I have gathered glow-worms in the evening, 
and snails in the morning ; I have seen the daisy close 
and open ; I have heard the owl shriek at midnight, 
and hunted insects in the heat of noon. — Johksom. 


Iq compliance wilh the recommGn^alian contained ia Llie 

of iiaj, bare made anaagemenu for (be pubUcaticin of a 
Series of Works on Educatiou, History, Biography, Natural 
History, tbe Elements of tbe Sciences, &:c. particulars of 
which will speedily be aunounced. 


U R*^ lot Mlnr witb tbt prenl nambn , ud on lbs SOUi liut wlB b* 


nMONTHl.T TARTS, _irliieh_w)ll_^taiTi.l«1j«m. 



Sold bjr all BocikiFlIni anil Nrnmndtn In tbe Kingdom. 

W. S. ORR, P>IrrT>i>Mer-Raw< O. BEROER, Italimll-U, 1.0D<|oa| 
And Iq tba I^bliibffi Afnti In nil tbt ptlncip*! piKt* 

IL MuUa'i Lnnt, Clmniii Cim. 

No-S. SI 


8, 1832. 




It is with gnat plessore aod some pride Umt we sub- 
mit to our readers this week » woodcut, which, al- 
thongh it appears in onr own pages, we may with good 
right caU a miracle in that particular line of the art. 
It is a copy of Mr. Roberta's ftiagnifi rent ptctnreof the 
departure of the Israelites out of Egypt, under thi 
guidance of Moses aod Aaron ; and is reduced, trom 
the original size of six feet by four feet eight inches, 
to tlie little gem which our readers now see. It is 
worth while to reflect for a moment how greatly the 
power of painting, in giving pleasure and instruction 
to mankind, has been extended by the m&rvellous ad- 
vances which we have of late years made in the kin- 
dred, although subordinate, art of engraving. In 
general, a picture can be seen but by few, and pos- 
sessed as private property but by one ; a large steel 
engraving, although expensive, is yet to l>e found in the 
shop-window of almost every principal stationer or 
priutseller in every town in England ; and lastly, our 
readers may here for one penny get to them and their 
heirs for ever an engraving on wood, which, although 
of course it cannot convey a complete conception of 
the detaDa and splendour of the original work, will, 
nevertheless, give a very competent impression of its 
general design, and of its tot«d effect. 

The subject of this picture is one of the most me- 
morable events recorded in the history of the Israel- 
ites. In the space of 430 years, the single family of 
Jacob had increased to abont six hundred thousand 
men, besides the correspondent women and children. 
If, in nnmd nnmbere, we allow an equal nnmber of 
Tomen, and aasotne, as was generally the case with 

the Jews, marriage at the earliest manhood, and gjv« 
four children to a marriage, we shall find that the total 
number of the Israelites at the time of their departure 
from the land of Egypt, must have amounted to not 
leas than three millions and a half ; — that it mugt have 
exceeded two miUions is quite certain/even upon a very 
low calculation ; that is supposing the population noic 
actually at that time on the decrease. For a considerable 
period after the first settlement of Jacob's family in 
Egypt, it is clear that they were a favoured race ; but 
we are told, that in the course of time, their numbers, 
and wealth, and power became so remarkable, that 
the jealousy of the reigning princes was excited; — " the 
children of Israel," says Moses, in the i)ook of Exodus, 
" were fruitful, and increased abundantly, and multi- 
plied, and waxed exceeding mighty ; and the land 
was filled with them. Now there arose up a new king 
over Egypt, which knew not Joseph, (that is, who 
neither bore in mind the benefits conferred on Egypt 
by the wise administration of Joseph, nor regarded the 
members of his kindred with that distinguished pro- 
tection and favour which we read of as being lavished 
upon them on their first settlement in the land of Go- 
shen.) " And he said unto his people, Sehold, the 
children of Israel are more and mightier than we : 
e on, let us deal wisely with them, lest they mul- 
tiply, and it come to pass, that, when there falleth 'nt 
any war, they join also, unto our enemies, and fight 
against ns, and so get them up out of tlie land." 
Therefore tiiey did set over them taskmasters to afllict 
them with their burdens, but the more they afHicted 
them, the more they multiplied and grew, " Making 




bricks and bmlding are tbe works specified by Moses as 
those in which the Israelites were principally employed 5 
and hence it is, in defaidt of any certain knowledge 
upon the subject, that many persons have conjectured, 
that some of the great Pyramids which still exist — 
the wonders of Egypt — ^were erected by their labour. 
This, howerer, must apply to theur labour in erection 
alone ; for, if we remember rightly, the pyramids are 
all, or for the most part, built of stone. 

Now when the measure of the appointed time was 
full, it pleased God to raise up Moses, an Israelite of 
high birth and of surpassing wisdom, to be the 
leader of his oppressed brethren out of the bondage 
of Egypt into the borders of that district of Syria — 
called Palestme, — ^which God had long before pro- 
mised to Abraham as an inheritance for his descend- 
ants. For a long time Pharaoh— which was the com- 
mon name of the Egyptian kings — ^refused to let the 
Israelites go 5 his unwillingness was indeed natural, as 
the loss of so considerable a part of the population 
and wealth of the kingdom must necessarily have 
threatened to shake his temporal power to the bot- 
tom ; and hence it was that although he could not 
but recognize the hand of God against him in the 
fearful wonders of loathsome reptiles and insects, 
diseases, blood, lightning, and darkness which visited 
the land in rapid succession, as he still, after the re- 
moval of each particular plague, hardened his heart 
anew, and recalled the permission to depart, which in 
his terror had been wrung from him. But the will 
of God must ever have its due course, and Pharaoh's 
abuse of ^e long-suffering and merciful patience of 
the Almighty, served only to draw down upon him- 
self and nia people a more destructive punishment in 
the end. For it came to pass, as it is written in the book 
of Exodus, " that at midnight the Lord smote all the 
first-bom in the land of Egypt, from the first-bom of 
Pharaoh that sat on his throne, unto the first-bom of 
the captive that was in the dungeon ; and all the first- 
bom of cattle. And Pharaoh rose up in the night, 
he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians 5 and 
there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was not a 
house where there was not one dead. Then the king 
called for Moses and Aaron by night, and bade them 
and the children of Israel depart, with their flocks and 
their herds, and all their possessions.** 

Mr. Roberts*s picture represents the act of de- 
parture. He supposes the dawn breaking, and first 
lighting up the summits of the gigantic pyramids in 
the distance, and then falling in slant lines across the 
stately obelisks and pinnacles which adorn the pro- 
digious exhibition of palaces and temples which he 
has very richly imagined and very exquisitely drawn. 
Of course the Painter has here used his hcence largely; 
in strictness such a heaping up of colonnades piled 
story above story to the skies, is so improbable, 
perhaps impossible, that a severe criticism might con- 
demn the design altc^thcr ; but for our parts, we 
are rather disposed to consider this picture, and some 
of Mr. Martin's, which are liable to the same judg- 
ment, as belonging to a particular class of design, in 
which the striking effects of light and shade and of 
an endless profusion of faery architecture, are prin- 
cipally studied, to the partial neglect of the higher and 
more truly imaginative objects of the art. We should 
be sorry to see this style of painting more generally 
pursued than it is at present, because we much fear 
its ultimate tendency to lower the character of the art 
as an exponent of Beauty and Moral Power -, never- 
theless we willingly acknowledge the pleasure we 
have received, and the admiration we have felt in 
musing upon this wondrous scene, and letting the eye 
•wim, as it were^ over sculptured temple and tower. 

such as sometimes appear in smpassing splendour 
in the dreams of the night. 

In the left comer of the pictnre is th« royal p«rt)r> 
witnessing the departure waich no heart nj kmg«r 
dared to oppose. Opposite, in front of a liuge £g3rptian 
statue, are the two leaders, Moses and Aaron, in slmde : 
and the space between the buildings is matirefy filM 
with the continuous mass of Israelites marching out 
in ord^ with their banners and ensigns, their <>amalg, 
and flocks, and elephants. How these last animals got 
there, we confess we cannot explain. The outward 
passage must be supposed to lie between the platform 
on which Pharaoh stands, and that on which Moses is 
seen extending his rod. Perhaps it is to be regretted 
that Mr. Roberts did not work the figure of Pharaoh 
more powerfully, and dispose the royal attendants in 
a way more clearly shewing their interest in the 
astonishing event which is taking place before their 
eyes'. We cannot help thinking that the harpers and 
the ladies are agood deal out of place upon such an 
occasion as this. 

But as we have intimated before, this pictore must 
be looked upon as a whole; its total effect is the 
standard by which its merit must be tried, — and so re- 
garded, its merit must be acknowledged by every one. 
The lights and shades are particularly beautiful^ and 
mana^d with accuracy and taste, and we need not 
add that the drawing and perspective are faoltless. 
We wonder Mr. Roberts did not let in a view of the 
river, which we must presume was very near the 
palace of Pharaoh $ it might with care have been 
made eminently conducive to a variety of effect. 

The splendid engraving from which our woodcut 
was taken is by Mr. Quilley ; the pictture itself was 
pamted for, and is now in the poMeasfam of. Lord 


Ths first act God requires of a convert b '^Be 
fruitful." The good man's goodness lies not hid in 
himself alone: he is still strengthening his weaker 
brother. I am persuaded to bo a means of bringing more 
to Heaven is an insq)arable desire of a soul when in 
a right state. Good men wish all they converse with 
in goodness to be like themselves. How ungrateful he 
slinks away who dies and does nothing to reflect a 
glory to Heaven ! How barren a tree he is that lives, 
and spreads, and cumbers the ground, yet leaves not 
one seed, not one good work to generate after him ! 
I know all cannot leave alike ; yet all may leave 
something answering their proportion, and kind. 
Withered and dead are those grains of com out of 
which there will not spring one ear. The {diysician 
who has a sovereign receipt, and dieth unrevealing it» 
robs the world of many blessings which might multiply 
after his death ; leaving this conclusion to all sur- 
vivors, that he did good to others only to do himself 
greater. Which how contrary it is to the Gospel, and 
the nature of Christian love, I appeal to those minds 
where grace hath sown more charity. I doubt whether 
he will ever find the way to Heaven that desires to go 
thither alone. They are envious favourites who wish 
their king to have no loyal subjects but themselves. 
All heav^y hearts are charitable. Enlightened souls 
cannot but disperse their rays. I will, if I can, do 
something for others and for heaven — not to deser\'e 
by it ) but to express myself and my thanks. Though 
I cannot do what I would : I will labour to do what 
I can. — Owen Feltham*b Resolves, 1636. 

Trus^ him Uttle who praises all, him less who censures 
all, and him least who is indifferentaboatalL-LAVATJSiu 




Much vahiable infonnation respectiiig this important 
cokmy, is to be found in the "Foil IHemen'a Lland Ai- 
numack/op tks Year 1832,'^ — a publication which does 
great credit to the infiant literature of that remote re- 
gion. Besides the annual and local matter which 
belongs to an Almanack, it contains a very able ac- 
count of the history and present state of the colony, 
from which we shiJl extract, in an abridged form, a 
few of the most interesting particulars. 

Van Diemen*s Land, formerly considered a part of 
New Holland, is now known to be an island, separated 
from New Holland by a narrow strait, called, ^om its 
discoverer, Bas8*s Strait. The island is about 210 
miles in length, and 150 in breadth, comprising about 
fifteen millions of acres, and having a population of 
about 24,000 whites, and probably from 1000 to 1500 
aborigines. It is not subject to any extremes of 
heat or of cold, but possesses one of the finest and 
most healthy climates in the world. The face of the 
country is much diversified; but, on the whole, it 
may be called mountainous. Towards the southern 
coast, nothing can be more rude or bold than the ge- 
neral appearance of the landscape; hiUs rising upon 
hills, idl thickly covered with trees, save here and 
there a majestic and towering rocky eminence. It 
■eems like one impenetrable forest, crowned by the hea- 
irens. Proceeding, however, more inward, the country 
loses much of its stem and forbidding aspect. Beau- 
ti^il plains come in view, divided by streams, and 
bounded only by the horizon ; and, in proceeding 
towards the northern coast, every variety of hill and 
dale, woodland and plain, forest and tillage, that can 
contribute to the beauty of rural scenery, enlivens the 
scene. The western parts of the island have as yet 
been imperfectly explored; but they are represented 
as bold and mountainous, with many weU-watered 
and fertile spots. The soil, in general, is fertile, and 
of a nature amply to reward the industry of the cul- 
tivatcnr. It yields* excellent herbage for sheep and 
cattle, and has been found to answer well for neariy 
all the productions of the mother country. Around 
the coast are numerous bays and harbours that afford 
secure anchorage. Sullivan's cove, where Hobait 
Town stands, is one of the noblest harbours in the 
world. There are many fine rivers : the most im- 
portant are the Derwent, the Huon, and the Tkmar, 
all of which are navigabk. Several of the mountains 
are of great elevation : Mount Wellington rises 4000 
feet above the level of the sea, immediately to the west- 
ward of Hobart Town. During ei^t <^ the twelve 
months, its summit is covered with snow ; but so clear 
is the atmosphere of Van Diemen's Land, that the 
clouds very seldom obscure even its highest points. 
The mountains to the southward are even higher than 
Mount Wellington ; they form a chain, which reaches 
inwards for several miles, and, in some places, rise 
5000 feet above the level of the sea. 

In the summer months, (December, January, and 
February) the average height oi the thermometer is 
about 70. In spring it is horn 50 to 60, when the 
weather is generally bright and clear, with occasional 
rain and high winds. March, April, and May are the 
automn, which is by far the pleasantest season. The 
air is then clear and bright,— -the sky free from clouds 
or vapours, — ^the heat moderate, — and tonights cool 
and refreshing. June, J uly, and August, are the win- 
ter months ; but this season is rather looked for as 
a period of moderate and kindly Tahi> sufficient to re- 
plenish the storehouses of the earth against the ensu- 
ing spring, than as the cold and dismal time with 
which we associate the idea of winter. 

The country is rich in minerals. Iron ore abounds 
every where j and specimens of copper, lead, and even 
silver and gold, (it is said) have been discovered. 
There are also coal and limestone. The ani nft lg of 
this r^ion have 1>een often described. 

Van Diemen*s Land was discovered by Tasman, a 
Dutch navigator, in 1642; but no settlement took 
place i^>on it till 1803, when it was formed into a 
station for convicts transportedyrom Botany Bay. For 
some years the colony suffered great hardships ; such 
being sometimes the scarcity, that eighteen-pence per 
pound was given for kangaroo flesh ; and even sea- 
weed, or any other vegetable substance that could 
possibly be eaten, was eagerly sought after. Soon 
afterwards sheep and catUe began to be imported, and 
the colony continued gradually to increase, though 
still preserving its original character of a place of 
punishment for the convicted felons of New South 
Wales. During this period, all communication be- 
tween Van Dieman's Land and other places, excepting 
England and New South Wales, was interdicted ; but 
in 1813, the prohibitory penalties on such commxmi- 
cation were removed, and the colony was placed on 
precisely the same commercial footing as New South 
Wales. From that time the increase of the colony 
became more rapid ; though it was not till 1818, that 
Van Diemen's Land began to be spoken of in England 
as a place to which emigrants might advantageously 
direct their attention. In the course of the next two 
years, the tide of emigration from England decidedly 
set in ; and the natural consequence of the capital thus 
introduced, was an enlargement of the colony in every 
shape. Trade began to assume regularity ; distilleries 
and breweries were erected 5 the Van Diemen's Land 
Bank was established 5 and the growing importance 
of Hobart Town was heightened by the finishing and 
opening of St. David's church. In 1821, when a 
general census wais taken, the inhabitants proved to 
be 7, 1 85 J acres in cultivation, 1 4,940 5 sheep, 1 70,000 j 
cattle, 35,000 5 horses, 350. 

In December, 1825, Van Diemen's Land, which 
had hitherto becni a dependency of New South Wales, 
was formally declared an independent colony, with a 
L^islature and Executive Council of its own ; the 
members of both these Ck)uncils being named by the 
Crown. At that time, during the commercial excite- 
ment ^hat prevailed in England, the Van Diemen's 
Company was formed, under the sanction of govern- 
ment, ykih a capital of £250,000 to be embarked in 
agricultural operations. This company has not shared 
the fate of many of the speculations of that disastrous 
period. It carries on its operations, and has succeeded 
in becoming possessed of upwards of 300,000 acres of 
land. It appears, however, that this company is far 
from being popular in the colony. It is admitted 
that the colony may have derived some advantages 
from the importation of men, money, stock, &c. caused 
by the company ; but it is said that the terms on 
which this establishment has received its grants are 
unfavoiurable to the competition of private settlers. 
If such is really the case, (as it is strongly asser'^ed) 
it is an evil which ought to attract the notice o^ go- 
vernment; for nothing can be more hurtful than 
such exclusive privileges as check and hinder the 
enterprise of private individuals. 

The progress of the colony was for some time kept 
under by the terror of the Bush Rangers — ^bodies 
of robbers, consisting of runaway convicts, wno 
harboured in the woods, plundering, and sometimes 
murdering the settlers. By the energy of the govern- 
ment, however, these wretches have been extermi- 
nated; and it is not likely that they will have sue- 
But a more recent alarm has been caused 





by the origmal savage inhabitants; who, though small 
in number, have within the last few years, rendered 
themselves formidable to the whites. During 1829 
they set fire to the houses and com of the settlers 
wherever an opportunity offered. In September 1830 
matters had reached such a pitch, that some decisive 
step became necessary. A plan was accordingly 
formed, the object of which was to force the whole of 
the black population into one comer of the island, 
which is joined to the rest by a very narrow neck, 
and which, it was thought, might be rendered impass- 
able by the natives when once enclosed within it. 
This plan, however, failed; and, down to the time 
of this account, the aggressions of the natives still 
continued, though the system of defence which had 
been adopted rendered them less dangerous than before. 
We greatly fear that, in every case of settlements 
made by Europeans in savage countries, they have 
themselves to blame for the fierce hostihty of the< 
native inhabitants. The original trespass upon 
their soil is aggravated by oppression and cruelty ; and 
the natural resentment of the persecuted race is made 
a pretext for waging against tiiem an exterminating 

The rapid increase of this colony within the last tai 
years may be perceived from the facts, that, in 
that period, the white population has increased from 
7000 to 24,000 J and that Hobart Town alone con- 
tains more inhabitants than the whole colony in 1821. 
In 1 830 the revenue exhibited an excess of income 
over expenditure of £20,000 -, and the exportatation of 
the staple commodities of the island, wool, oil, bark, 
&c. has become steady and profitable. Society is 
making rapid advances. Literature may be said to 
flourish in a remarkable manner, considering the 
youth of the colony. There are five weekly news- 
papers, very respectably conducted ; and the publica- 
tion which has given occasion to this article would 
have been creditable to any country. There are 
some schools of great respectability; and, on the 
all-important subject of religion, the information is 
most satisfactory. Places of worship are erected 
throughout the colony, conveniently situated for the 
population; and the officiating tninisters, who are 
paid by government, are zealous and exemplary in 
their conduct. In short it is evident that the colony 
of Van Piemen's Land is rapidly becoming a great 
and prosperous conmiunity ; and that, notwithstand- 
ing its remoteness, it will soon be one of the most 
valuable dependencies of the British Crown. 


Quicksilver, or as the chemists call it. Mercury, is 
a substance of very great importance in the arts. By 
it our mirron are silvered ; it is the basis of several 
colours for painting; it is used in various shapes for 
medicine j and its importance in the working of me- 
tals is very great. 

The principal mines of quicksilver are in Hungary, 
Friuli, in the Venetian part of Italy, and in Spain. 
But it happens conveniently for the gold mines of 
South America, that there is a considerable store of 
it in Peru. 

The entrance to the quicksilver mines of Friuli, is 
on a level with the streets of the town, from which 
the descent is by ladders into pits ninety fathoms (or 
180 yards) deep. Being so low, they are often liable to 
be flooded by water : and powerful engines are con- 
stantly at work to keep them fit for the miners. But 
the chief evil endured by the wretched people 
employed in them, arises from the mercury itself, 
which insinuates itself into the very substance of 

their bodies, especially by its fu^net } and prodnoeB 
di<f^«?pif of a dreadful nature, which are often fetaL 

Some of the people employed in these mines, are 
condemned to work there for their crimes, and others 
are hix«d by the lureof high wages. When the mer- 
cury first gains power over their constitution, they are 
affected .with nervous tremblings; then their teeth 
drop out, for mercury loosens every thing it touches ; 
violent pains, especially in the bones, succeed, for 
the quicksilver penetrates their very substance, and 
then they soon die. As it is chiefly from the vapours 
and fumes of the quicksilver that these effects pro- 
ceed, the workmen take the precaution of holding in 
their mouths a piece of gold, which attracts the 
metal and prevents the poisonous matter from pass- 
ing into the stomach; yet cases have occurred, in 
which the metal had so completely soaked the 
body, that a piece of brass rubbed with the finger 
only, would become white from the quicksilver oozing 
out of the man's flesh. 

One considerable mine of quicksilver v& at Idria, a 
town of Camiola, a province of Austria, not far from 
the upper part of the Adriatic, or gulf of Venice. 
This mine was not known till 1497> when the mode 
of its discovery was rather curious. A few coopers 
inhabited that part of the country, for the convenience 
of being near the woods. One day having made a 
new tub, and being desirous to prove its soundness, 
one of them placed it where the water dripping from 
the rock might fiedl into it. In the morning it seemed 
to stick to the ground, and at first, he in his super- 
stition thought it was bewitched ; however, examining 
it more closely, he found something fluid, but shining 
and very heavy, at the bottom of the water in his tub. 
Not knowing what it was, he took some of it to a 
neighbouring apothecary, who shrewdly gave the man 
a trifle, and bade him bring all he could find of ''that 
odd stuff.*' The story, however, soon became public ; 
and a company was fbrmed for searching the moun- 
tain, and working the mine. 

We will conclude this account with an interesting 
description by a traveller, of a descent into this mine 
of Idria : — " I thought I would visit those dreadful 
subterraneous caverns where thousands are condemned 
to reside, shut out from all hopes of ever seeing the 
light of the sun, and obliged to toil out a miserable 
life under the whips of imperious taskmasters. Ima- 
gine a hole in the side of a mountain, about five 
yards over : down this you. are lowered in a kind of 
bucket, to more than a hundred fathoms, the pros- 
pect growing more gloomy, yet still widening as you 
descend. At length after swinging in terrible .«ns- 
pense for some time in this precarious situation, you 
reach the bottom and tread on the ground, which I y 
its hoUow sound imUer your feet, and the reverbera- 
tions of the echo, seeiiis thundering at every step you 

** In this gloomy and frightful solitude you are en- 
lightened by the feeble gleam of lamps, here and there 
dispersed, so ttiat the wretched inhabitants can go 
from one place to another without a guide ; yet I could 
scarcely discern for some time any thing, not even 
the person who came to shew me these scries of 
horror. Nothing can be more deplorable than t^e 
state of the wretdied miners. The blackness of their 
visages, only serves to cover a horrid paleness, caused 
by ti^e poiscmous qualities of the mineral they are em- 
ployed in procuring. As they consist in general of 
malefactors, condemned for life to this task, they are 
fed at the public expense ; but they seldom consume 
much provision, as they lose their appetite in a short 
time, and commonly in about two years expire, 
through a total contraction of the jointst 


" I walked after my guide for some time, pundering 
on the miserable end these unhappy creatnrea had 
brought themselves ♦« by their crimes, when, had they 
lived vi'tuous Uvea they might have been atill enjoy- 
ing the blessings of light, health, and freedom. At 
this moment I was accosted by a voice behind me, 
culling me by my name. I turned, and saw a creatoie 
black and hideous, who approached, and with a piteous 
accent said, ' do you not know me }' What was my 
surprise to discover the features of a dear friend ! — 
He had fought a dnel with an officer against the Em- 
peror's command, and left htm for dead j and he had 
been punished by banishment for life, to labour in 
these mines. His wile was the daughter of a high 
family in Germany. Being nnable to procure her 
husband's pardon, she affectionately shared his bond- 
age with him. It is prc^>er to add, that the officer 
did not die : when be recovered from his woonds, he 
generously solicited pardon for his antagonist, and 
obt^ned it. So that in a few months the duellist was 
restored to the happiness he had jmstly forfeited by 
wilfully transgressing the commands of God and his 
sovereign,"— Tuz Rkv. Isaac Taylok. 

Perhaps &e cotmtry in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of London, and even London itself, is less known 
to the inhabitants of the metropolis, strange as the 
assertion may appear, than towns and districts much 
more remote. We can (and we will, in the course of 
our weekly visitations) point out spots which must 
be esteemed parts of a "land unknown" to many, and 
objects well worthy of atteution which are equally 
unknown. Probably these gem» both of nature and 
of art, like objects brought very near the eye, are only 
unseen because of their proximity. 

Our first example shall be the very curious old oaken 
church at Greensted, near Ongar, tiie ancient Aongre, 
in Essex. This church, as the above engraving repre- 
sents it, was figured by the Society of Antiquaries, in 
their woric called Vetutta Momtmenta, nearly one hon- 
dred years ago ; and such as it then was, it continues to 
the present day. So long a time having passed since 
the sketch was made, we had much feared that, dur- 
ing the last century of improvements, some modem 
uninteresting thing might have supplanted this vene- 
rable structure j and not meeting with any one who 
knew aught aboat it, we made a pilgrimage thither in 
1829, and found it apparently uninjured by the lost 
Ijtpse of time. 

Fortunately for this old relu^ Greeostedj although 


within five-and-twenty mOea of London, is little 
affected by its nearness. The village, if a few strag- 
gling houses scattered over this secluded spot, can 
be so called, is one of primitive simplicity : as, in 
the whole parish there is not an inn, nor even a pab- 
Lc house. The mhabitants of Greoisted have a tra- 
dition that the body of a dead king once rested in 
this church ; and it is believed to have been btnlt a> 
a temporary resting place for the body of St. Edmund, 
the king, (who was slain a.'d. 946,) and afterwards 
converted into a parish church. 

In a manuscript entitled " 7%e Lift and Powum of 
St. Edmund," preserved in the library at Lambeth 
Palace, it is recorded, that in the year 1010, and the 
thirtieth year of the reign of Ethddred, the body of 
St. Edmund was removed from Ailm» to London, on 
account of an invasion of the Danes ; but that at the 
end of three years it was returned to Bedricevorth ; 
and that it was received, on its return from Londoti, 
in a hospital near Stapleford. And in another ma- 
nuscript, cited by Dugdale in the Momulicnn, and 
entitled " The Register of St. Sdmmid'i Abbey," it is 
Airther added, " he was also sheltered near Aungre, 
where a moodeit cA^el remains as a memorial unto 
this day." Now the parish of Aungre or Ongar ad- 
joins to that of Greensted, where this chnrch is si- 
tuated, and that the ancient rodd 'from London into 
Suffolk, lay through Oldford, Abridge, SUpleford, 
GreaiBted, Donmow, and Clare, we leam not only 
from tradition, but likewise from several remains 
of it, which are still visible. It seems therefore not 
improbable that this rough and onpolished fabric was 
first erected as a sort of slirine for the reception of 
the corpse of St. Edmund, wluch, in its return from 
London to Bedriceworth or Bury St. Edmund's, as 
Lydgate says, was carried in a chest," Indeed, that 
the old oaken structure now called Greensted Church, 
is this "wooden chapel near Atingre," no doubt has 
beeb ever entertained ; and the very style and cha- 
racter of tile building would claim for it a high anti- 

The nave or body of the church, which renders it 
so remarkable, is composed of the half trunks of oaks, 
about a foot and half in diameter, split through the 
centre and roughly hewn at each end, to let them 
into a ull at the bottom and into a plank at the top, 
where they are fastened by means of wooden p^s. 
The north wall is formed of these half oaks set side 
by side as closely as their irregular edges will permit : 
in the south wall there is an interval left for the 
entrance-, the ends were formerly similar, but the 
one has been removed, and the diurch enlarged by 
the addition of a brick chancel ; and although the 
other remains, it is bidden by having a wooden belfty 
attached. The original building is twenty-nine feet 
nine inches long, by fourteen feet mde, and five feet 
and a half high at tiie sides which supported the pri- 
mitive roof. The oaks to the northern, have suffered 
more from the action of the weather, than those to 
the southern aspect i but both are still so strong, and 
internally so hard and sound, that although some- 
what "corroded and worn by time," liaving been 
beaten by the storms of neariy a thousand winters, 
they promise to endure a thousand more. 

/>!«■ ^ WrNHM Clmrt». 




(./•Vmi ^t^mtrrutitM to PtirHtmmt m 1831.] 




laoveaae of ^p. per cent 


Bedford 14 

Berks 10 

Buckingban) • , • . 9 

Cambridge . • • . 18 

Chester 24 

Cornwall 17 

Cambeiland .... 10 

Derby 11 

Devon 13 

Dorset ...... 10 

Durham 22 

Essex 10 

Olouceiter 16 

Hereford 7 

Hertford 10 

Huntingdon .... 9 

Kent 12 

Lancaster ..... 27 

Leicester 13 

Lincoln ..... 12 

Middlesex .... 19 

Monmouth • . « • 36 

Norfolk 13 

Northampton .... 10 

Northumberland . . 12 

Nottingham .... 20 

Oxford 11 

Rutland 5 

Salop 8 

Somerset 13 

Southampton .... 11 

Stafford 19 

Suffolk 9 

Surrey 22 

Sussex 17 

Warwick 23 

Westmoreland . • 
Wilts ...... 

Worcester . . - 
York, City & Ainstey 

East Biding . 

North Riding . 

West Riding . 

























6,695 537 



































Total jD49,742,895 13,089,336 


Anglesey . 


Cardigan . 



Denbigh . 

Flint . . 






lacreMe of Pop. per cent 
since 1R)1. 


. 10 

. 10 

. 12 

, 16 

. 8 

. 11 

. 24 

. 3 

. 9 

. 9 

. 9 

AnMMd Vftliw 
in 1815. 



Total £2,131,596 


Aberdeen 14 

ArgyU 4 

Ayr 14 

Banff 12 

Berwick 2 

Bute 3 

Caithness 14 

Clackmannan ... 11 

Dumbarton .... 22 

Dumfries 4 

Edinburgh 16 

Elgin 10 

Fife 12 

Forfar 23 

Haddingron .... 3 

Inverness 6 

Kincardine .... 8 

Kinross 17 

Kirkoudbright ... 4 

Lanark 30 

Linlithgow .... 3 

Nairn 4 

Orkney & Shetland . 10 

Peebles 6- 

Perth 3 

Renfrew 19 

Ross & Cromarty . . 9 

Roxburgh .... 7 

Selkirk 2 

SUrling 11 

Sutherland .... 7 

Wigtown 9 




































































Total £6,662,651 2,365307 



iFfwn M*Cdlloch*s C(mmeni$l PUtionary.'} 


other Grain, 



Other Offtin, 






A Year 

. 12,000,000 



One monih .... 



Six months . . . 

. a,ooo,ooo 



Two weeks . . , . 



Three months . . 

. 3,000,000 



One week 



Six weeks .... 

. 1,600,000 



One day 









The following statement will he found interesting, as exhibiting the number of acres in cultivation in the United Kin^* 
dom, and the different purposes specified, for which they are employed in England and Wales ; at well as the number of 
farms, and the annual amount of property derived from agriculture. 

In England S( Wales it is calculated that there 

England . 
Wales . . 
Scotland . 
British Isles 

Cnltivated ' 





capable of 







and Total, 


3,266,400 32,342,400 







Total 46,922,970 14,600,000 16,871,463 77,394,433 

The number of Farms in the United Kingdom is estimated 

at 2,000,000, and the property annusuly derived from 

agriculture in Great Britain and Ireland, 

at £216,817,624. 

1^ >j ^ Wheat 

i^l /galley and Rye. 

I 1 / Oats, Beans, and Peas. 

2,100,000Acres of Fallows. 

S bS / ^^^i iJeans, and reas. 
i"l i^^®^®'» ^J^ Grass, &c. 
I 8 /Roots & Cabbages, by 

the Plouglu 







Hop Grounds. 

Pleasure Grounds, 
depastured by Cattle, 
of Hedge Rows, Copses, and Woods, 
of Ways and Water-fcourses. 
Common and Waste Lands. 

37,094,000 AcresH- Total of England and Walet. 




Among the Funeral Customs more hastily noticed 
by Mr. Brandy m his Popular Antiquities, is that of a 
corpse being carried to burial upon the shoulders of 

Quoting Durand upon the subject of the pall, he 
says : " The same writer informs us, in many quota- 
tions from the ancient Christian writers, that those of 
the highest orders of clergy thought it no reproach to 
their dignity, in ancient times, to carry the bier ; and 
that at the funeral of Paula, bishops were what in mo- 
dem language we call under-bearers.'* 

He then adds a short extract from Izaak Walton's 
Life of Mr. George Herbert. Walton, noticing Her- 
bert's ordination, says, " at which time the reverend 
Dr. Humphrey Henchman, now Lord Bishop of Lon- 
don, tells me, he laid his hand on Mr. Herbert's head, 
and (alas !) within less than three years, lent his shoul- 
der to carry his dear friend to his grave."* 

The practice is directed by one of the Canons of 
the Toletan Council. Deacons were to carry deacons : 
and priests to carry priests. Women, however, were 
never allowed to act as imder-bearers. 

It has been suggested that this practice had its 
origin in what is said in the Acts of the Apostles : 
that " devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and 
made great lamentation over him :" but Dr. Zouch 
says the custom was derived from the Jews. 

An old English historian, Grervase of Canterbury, 
assures us, that in Normandy, Stephen, Earl of Blois, 
afterwards king of England, assisted as a bearer to 
the body of King Henry the Fu^ : and William of 
Malmesbury, noticing the bringing of that king's corpse 
to Rouen, sa]^, that nobles of the highest rai^c carried 
it by turns. 

Golding, in his Treatise of the burning of Bucer 
and Phagius, speaking of Edmund Grindnl, Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, says, " He was so zealous a 
reformer and admirer of the German divines, who 
swarmed under Cranmer's auspices, that, on the death 
of Bttcer, at Cambridge, he actually was one of his 
bearers who personally carried him on their shoulders 
to the grave." 

Dr. Zouch quotes another instance ftx)m Fell's Life 
of Hammond, p. 276. He says, **' When the good Dr. 
Hammond was buried without ostentation or pomp, 
several of the gentry and clergy of the country, ajid 
affectionate multitudes of less quality, attending on his 
obsequies, the clergy with ambition offering them- 
selves to bear him on their shojilders, which accordingly 
they did, and laid that sacred burden hi the burial- 
place of the generous family, which with such friend- 
ship had entertained him when alive." 

Sir Jonah Barrington mentions in his memoirs, 
that his father was carried to the grave on the shoul- 
ders of his four sons, as a last mark of their affection. 

Other examples of this custom may doubtless be 
found by a diligent inquirer. The instances here cited, 
are at aU events, sufficient to show the practice of it, 
both in England and elsewhere, at different and dis- 
tant periods. It seems to have beoi most used by 
the clergy 5 and occasionally only by laymen. In 
very late times, bearing the pall appears to have been 
its substitute. 



Unthinking, idle, wild and young, 
I laughed and danced, I talked and sang , 
And proud of bealth, of freedom vain, 
Dreamed not of sorrow, care or pain : 
Ob ! then in those light hours of glee, 
I thought the world was made for me. 

But when the hour of trial came. 
And sickness shook my feeble frame, 
And folly's gay pursuits were o'er. 
And I could sing and dance no more, 
Oh ! then I thought how sad 'twould be 
Were only this world made for me. 


Not if a thought, a breath, a word. 

Thy wheels, swift orb of light, could stay, 
(As ooce, when Israel's thirsty sword 
Drank slaughter through the lengthened day) 
If but a wish thy car might rein, 
Till bidden to roll on again; 

Oh! not from heart nor lip of mine 

That wish should spring, that word be spoken ; 
Shine on, as thou art wont to shine, 
Thy ^eed unslack'd, thy course unbroken ; 
And rule, as thou hast rul'd, the skies, 
From the first hour which saw thee rise! 

Enough for me the bound assign'd. 
For being, bv its Lord's decree; 
The ^n which measures human-kind, 
However brief, enough for me. 
The blush of Mom, Noon's fervid houcSi 
And Evening's sober smile are ours. 

But what succeeds P Night, darksome Night, 

Cold, silent, solitary gloom; 
Unrisited by mortal sight, 
Unjoyous with thy beams, the tomb! 
Why shrink from diisr when day descends. 
To sleep the toil-wom pilgrim bends. 

And when we rise, as rise we shall. 

Enfranchised fiom this coil of clay, 
And gathering at the trumpet's call, 
Revive to Heaven's eternal day; 
Circled by all that once were men — 
Father! Oh, may I shrink not then! 

Grant me to waken newly bora, 

To heirdom of the proniaed sky I 
Heaven's offspring, oa Uiat natal tMn 
Cradled in immortality t 
Visions of bliss! — On, lagging snn! 
We Ut« not till that coal be won. 


The bours of a wise man are lengthened by his ideas^ 
as those of a fool are by his passions. The time of the 
one is long^ because he does not know what to do with 
it ; so is that of the other, because he distinguishes 
every moment of it with useful or amusing thoughts ; 
or^ in other words, because the one is alwajrs wishing 
it away, and the other always enjoying it. — ^Addison* 


An interesting little Ibook ^as lately appeared, called 
'' The Pti€9trian;' ov'^J Summer's Ramble in the Tyrol 
umd seam ^ the wi^4Ceai Prwmess^* ia 1830, by Mr. 
LAtnose. This geDtieman p^uUki^d a few years 
ago a wot^ ck\kAiixt''Alpeiat^,ifr8k9tek&9of8wtn 
Scenery and Manners," to which he thinks his present 
volume may appropriately be considered as a compa- 
nion. It itbotrnds witii tnany vai«iab)e rtjAectkNis, and 
gives throughout proofs trf ft teK^ous, benevolent, 
contented, grateful mind. A few extracts cannot be 
otherwise than welcome to our readers. The following 
sentences breathe the spirit of genuine piety, end in- 
dicate a mind most valuable to its possessor^ inesti- 
mable in its vesoiirces of innocent gratification, and Id 
its habit <^ self improvemeait. 

"*I am a gveat and udetil nAftiiret of liie works ef Ood^ 
in all of which, from the stars ef heaven to the nidge 8port<^ 
ing iii the sunbeam, I find abttfidimt ^kkI for thongM, when- 
evtt I raise mt mind to the earnest e on t c ntpiation of them. 

** Thus, while eidker seeking to Hvwi my tfaoaghts fvMi 
passuig Milijects of annoyance^ incidental to my tnodft «f tva* 
yelling, or sitting down for the sake of repose, I court the 



aiBtraction &nd entertaiiunent derivable fiom the fixed con- 
templation of any object that presents itself most readilj to 
my notice. Percnance, while resting by the road-side, I take 
into my hand the first fiower or insect that comes iif my way, 
examine the structore of the one, or the form and habits of 
the other, with earnest and fixed attention. And how many 
tiroes have I risen from that silent contemplation witli a mind 
utterly weaned from the heaviness occasioned by ruminating 
over the existence of some petty sorrow,— -entirely engrossed 
with the wonders thus unveiled to me, and a heart filled with 
adoration of tiie greatness and goodness of that God, who is 
the maker and sustainer of all things. Examined in this 
temper of mind, I have seldom held a flower in my hand 
which I did not think curious and beautiful enough to have 
bloomed in paradise ; and never returned the insect or rep- 
tile to its bed qf leaves, without a feeling that the link that 
binds me to every living thing had become strengthened, and 
my sympathy towards Uie subjects of my investigation ex- 
cited and increased." 


** Mental trouble and exertion are not always to be avoided, 
let our position be what it may. Circumstances may produce 
and ada physical to moral sunering, and the weight of both 
may seem capable of weighing you to the ground. But take 
heart : you may believe my testimony, that the sum and 
quidity and order of your enioyments [a cheerful Christian 
pedestrian he is speaking ofj will, when put into the balance 
against your troubles, far outweigh them. Moreover, the 
mercy and goodness of our Creator has so moulded our minds, 
that past pleasures and enjoyments can always be vividly re- 
called to our recollection ; — ^past suffering with difficulty, and 
seldom in detail. I own that, surrounded by flies, flea.<c, and 
musquitoes, it may be some time before you can get your 
philosophy and good humour uppermost However, pray 
attempt it, and having once succeeded, do not let them again 
be overcome. Sometimes a very slight and trivial circum- 
stance will nve you considerable assistance. I recollect at 
St. Quirioo, uter having been repeatedly bitten by my winged 
assailants, when I would have sunk into transient repose, I 
first lost my assumed temper of patience and endurance, and 
then suddenly took the fancy into my head to see how, in all 
the world, they effected their entry into my skin. I need not 
say that the very amusement produced by the experiment 
irppaid me for the smart : for it was curious to see the little 
))lood-thirsty marauder address himself to his work In quite 
f^ wprlnnanlike manner, — ^poise himself upon four of his deli- 
pate legs, while ti^e otiier two were extended laterally to keep 
\i\m ii^ balance. He then forced in his litUe transparent 
proboscis deeper and deeper, till I felt him in the quick, 
whent holding my hand between my eye and the light, I 
oould see that it acted just as well as that of an elephant, 
and drew up a minute stream of blood into his litUe thirsty 
stonukch. The effort at once turned the tide of my refiections ; 
and the circumstance, trivial as it was, led to thoughts which 
restored to my mind both equanimity and patience. 

In the same manner I would advise you to attempt by all 
means to divert your attention from your own person to other 
objects. The Frovidence of God nas surrounded us with 
objects of improving distraction, by oonsidering which we 
may be led to tlunk of him. If you are attentive you will 
find that the same hand which, in rocky, heated and thirsty 
lands, has strewed ti^e seeds of the finest aromatic shrubs and 
plants, preferably to those of any other species, for the com- 
fort ana solace of the pasMnger ; has left no situation how- 
ever painM or disagreeable where an antidote to your distress 
has not been placed within yonr reach. But you must rouse 
youxself to seek for it." 


^ I do not envy the man who can breathe the perfumed 
air of a May morning, and paze upon the bright fkce of 
renewed nature without emotion. 1 am no longer a boy, 
but at such moments seldom fail to find my spirit imbued 
wiUi the feelings of one : and firesh, cheering, and delicious 
they are.*' 


^ At ILelsass I came to a halt ; night having begun to 
darken around me, and the start to twinUe over the moun- 
tains. I retain a delightful remembrance of the calm which, 
threading over the face of nature during the last hours of my 
eYening's walk, shed some portion of its peace and quiet 
upon mj soul and spirits. There is a tranquillity in the 
mood 01 that hour, in the hues of natural objects, and the 
iMmnds and scones of closing day which I never can resist. It 

as soothed many a fit of mental impatience and disquiet, and 
I hojM I shidl never cease to be alive to, and observant of it. 
*' There are few habits more essentially necessary to the 
enjoyment and comfort of a pedestrian traveller than that of 
early rising, and there are few which under all circumstancea 
bring so certain a return of advantage. I will not here di- 
late upon the peculiar beauty of external nature at that hour 
when the eariy rrey gradually wakes into warmth and colour ; 
or speak cS the iresh feeling of enjoyment both in body and 
soul which he experiences whose feet brush away the heavy 
dews from the meadows." 


^ The sun went down to the horizon, and our second day 
of trial was drawing to an end. I may truly say that what- 
ever may have been my feeling of disappointment at seeing 
my hopes of soon gaining the destined port so strangely frus- 
trated — ^yet sunset, that glorious, inexpressibly glorious, spec- 
tacle to the eyes of those who float upon the bosom of the 
wide waters— never failed to bring a season of peace, an hour 
of calm enjoyment, a feeling of resignation, and a disposi- 
tion to humble myself before God, and weigh his infinite 
mercies against his mild chastisements. If indeed the ob- 
jects comprised within the mariner's range of vision are few 
in number and admit of comparatively litue variety ; though a 
species of sameness may be said to dwell upon the scene 
around him for a greater proportion of his hours ; yet there are 
seasons when the small number of those objects is materially 
favourable to their combining together scenes of, I would 
almost say, greater sublimity than the variegated face of the 
laud, with its endless diversity of objects and forms, ever pro- 
duces. The sun, moon and stars, and the clouds above and 
the ocean with its changeful surface below, are perhaps all 
— ^but tiiey are as an open book to him, the pages of which 
alternately instil delight into his mind, or give warning 
of danger and peril. It is indeed an awful and delight- 
ful volume." 

Whoever wishes, says Angustin, to be with God, 
ought always to pray and of^ to read : for when we 
pray we speak to God, and when we read he speaks 
to us. The study of the Holy Scriptures works in n» 
two effects of grace given. It enlightens and instructs 
the understanding, and then withdrawing the man 
from the vanities of the worlds it carries him to th^ 
love of God. 

But then (adds Basil) if we speak to God in prayer 
we must speak from the hearty for when he speaks to 
us by his word, it is to our heart that he spe^cs. 

As the rose-tree is composed of the sweetest flowers, 
and the sharpest thorns ; as the heavens are some- 
times fair and sometimes overcast, alternately tem- 
pestuous and serene ; so is the life of man intermin- 
gled with hopes and fears, with joys and sorrows, 
with pleasures and with pains. — ^Burton. 


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There are few things more worthy of obBervation, or 

and the other beiteath it ; that one, also, ahonld feed 

while f>n land as well as on water, bnt the other in the 

water exclnsively. Now the gull cannot dive, how- 

» ■ eyer well it can swim ; and, in conseqnence, it can 

mwe pleasing and inrtmrtive, ^ the way m which ^^j obtain rach prey, or eatable substances, as are to 

diRierent ammalg are fitted for their anDOinted mooes I 


species of gulls, many of the duck tribe, the auks, the 
guillemots, the petreU, the divers, the cormorants, the 
goosanders, and varioos others, people the rocks and 
precipices, obtain their food in the ever restless waves, 
and many may in tmth be said to have " their home 
upon the deep." 

Now the foot of a bird is always adiq>ted to its mode 
of life. If any of these sea birds had a foot like that of 
a common fowl, a crow, a magpie, or a pigeon, it 
would not have served well for swimming ; and hence 
we see that they are web-footed, like the dock or 
the goose. T^eir mode of living, however, is not in all 
cases the same, and in order to meet their different 
circumstances in this respect, there an corresponding 
variations in the foot ; relating to its form, the degree 
in which it is webbed, the comparative length of the 
leg, or some other particular ; for example, we have 
here n^resented the black-backed gull, and the com- 
mon cormorant. Both swim, and both have webbed 
feet, yet there are several points of difference between 
th em. 

Wliy are the feet placed so much further back in 
the cormortuit ? they are so far behind, that die bird, 
as you see, stands nearly erect. The reason is this : 
the Creator has determined, in his wisdom, that the on€ 
tnrd rshonld sedc it« food en the stuface of the water, , 
Vol. I 

be found floating on or near the surface; bntthecor* 
morant feeds on fishes, which it pursues under 
water; and the backward position of the legs, it 
will be evident, must assist it most materially in 
diving after them. You will observe a difference, too, 
in the manner in which the foot is webbed in the two 
species ; in the gull, the back-toe is very small, and 
not connected with the others ; while in the cormo- 
rant it is not only of considerable length, bat is united 
by a membrane to the otha three, (as you may ob- 
serve in the off foot of the figure) so that, in this bird, 
the whole four toes are webbed and connected to- 
gether, — a circumstance which tends to give it great 
velocity, when dicing in pursuit of prey. Montagu, 
speaking of a tame cormorant, observes, that, " it is 
almost incredible, to see with what dexterity this bird 
dives and seizes its prey ; knowing its own powers 
under water, if a fish is thrown in at a great distance, 
it frequently dives immediately, and pursues its course 
under water, in a line to the spot : it is observed to 
fall with vast celerity ; and, if the water is clear, takes 
the fish with certainty, and frequently before it falls 
to the bottom." But, in the natural state, how does 
the cormorant know where the prey is } If yon were 
in a boat, even on the calmest day, you could not see 
a fifih &om a distance of twenty or thirty feet, at teq 



[August 4, 

or twdve b^low the surface^ and 8tiU less if there were 
any breeze or ripple. Now how does the bird manage ? 
The suthor just quoted states, that, when fishings it 
always keeps its head under water^ In order that it 
may the more clearly and certainly discover ^e prey. 

There is still something more in the foot of the cor- 
morant : but I must first explain to you what I mean 
by the foot of a bird y for, anatomically speaking, it 
66asisia of more than the part merely on which the 
bird rests. Observe a common fowl walking about, — 
which is its leg ? You point to the pillar covered by 
B sealy skin, which stands between the toes and the 
foathars. Now suppose that this fowl submits to the 
usual fata of its mce ; that it is killed and dressed, 
imd that I request you to help me to a 1^. Do you 
Itod Any difference in the part you send me, from what 
yoa eoosidered as the leg in the living fowl ? In fact, 
you help im not to the leg only, but also to the thigh ; 
whilo the naked part, which you considered as the 1^ 
in the living bircC la wanting altogether. From this 
you will see, that what you had considered as the knee 
is in reality the ankle orhdel ; that what is commonly 
c^Xhd the drumstick is the leg, and the portion above 
it, which is attached to the side bone by the round 
ball, or hisad of the thigh bone, is the thi^ 

If you examine, then, the leg of a duck or goose, 
you will find, that t^ugh it is comioessed at the sides, 
still it has considerable thickness in front These 
birds, however, do not require to swim with great ve- 
locity } and, in fact, a slow and deliberate examina^ 
Hon and search witti tbehr bills Is the most usual way 
of obtaining th^ subristence. But we may readily 
conceive that in a Urd, which, lik« the cormorant, 
depends cbiefiy for its success hi capturing its prev 
on the rapidity with whidi the tetter can be followed, 
such a leg would be less prq)erly fitted, since it would 
offer considerabk reststanet^ snd retard the velocity. 
Now here again we have an ititample of that wisdom 
which penviden every thing, t^ether the revolutions 
of worlds, the motions of a fly, or the structure of a 
bird, The cormorant*s les is so flattened on the sides, 
that th^ front edge, which cuts the water, is not 
thicker thui the blade of a carving-knife.— Zrefrers to 


TniB President Montesquieu and Lord Chesterfield 
became acquainted as they were travelling to Italy. 
On the road they began to dispute about the merits 
of their two nations. My lord allowed that the French 
had more wit than the English, but said they had no 
common sense. The president agreed to ^lis j but 
they could not settle tiie difference between wit and 
common sense. Before the dispute was ended, they 
arrived at Venice. Here the preside! went about 
every where — saw every thing — asked questions*-4uid 
talked to every body -, and at night noted down his 

An hour or two after, a Frenchman, shabbily dress- 
ed, came into his room, and addressed him thus : 
" Shr, I am a countryman of yours. I have lived here 
thesetwenty years, but I have alw&3rskeptupmy friend- 
ship towards my countrymen *, and I alwa3ni think 
myself too happy when I have an opportunity of 
serving them, as I have 3rou to day. You may do 
any thing in this country, except meddle with affiedrs 
of state. One thoughtless word costs a person his 
head; and 3rou have already spoken a thousand. The 
State Inquisitors have their eyes upon you ; thefar spies 
are following you every where • tlvey note down your 
plans, and they know that you are going to write a 
book. To my certain kitowledpe they intend to pay 

you a visit to-day or to-morrow. Considei; Qlat^ if 
you have actually written any thing; that an inno- 
cent line, if misinterpreted., may cost you your lUe. 
That is idl I haye to say, and I now tdce my leave. 
The only recompense which I ask for a service which 
I think of some importance, is, that if you meet me 
in the streets you urill not recognize me ; . and that in 
case it is too late to save you ^m being taken, you 
will not inform against me.** — So saying he disap- 
peared, leaviug the poor President In great alarm. 
His first movement was to run to his secretary, snatch 
the papers, and throw them into the fire. 

Scarcely was that done, when in came Lord Ches- 
terfield. He soon saw that his friend was in trouble, 
and asked him what could have happened. The pre- 
sident related what had happened ; said, that he had 
burnt his papers, and ordered a post-chaise to be nady 
at three o'clock in the morning, that he might quiddy 
leave a place where a few moments longer stay might 
be fataL Lord Chesterfield listened calmly to all this^ 
and then said : '* this is all very well, my dear prea- 
dent, but let us sit down and examine your adventure 
with our heads cool and calm.*' — ^^You are joking,*' 
said the President, *' it is impossible for one's head to 
be at ease when it hangs only by a thread."— " But, 
pray," said the earl, '* who is this man who has so 
generously exposed himself to danger to save joa from 
it? This seems not very natural: he may be a 
Frenchman ; but the love of one*s country does not 
lead men to travel into dangers which lie out of 
their way, especially for the sake of a person who is 
unknown to them. This man was not a friend of 
yoars r—" No ! "—"Was he badly di«ssed?**— " Yes; 
very badly.'* — " Did he ask you for money ?*' — "Vx^ 
a fiarthing,**— '' Why that is still more extraordinary: 
but whence did he learn all that he told you ?" — ^''Oh! 
I don't know at all; perhaps from the inquisitors 
themselves.** — '' Absurd," said the earl, " that coun- 
cil is the mo9t secret in the world, and he is not the 
man to get near them." — " Perhaps he is one of their 
spies," said the President — " Perhaps not," mi the 
earl s *' can one suppose a foreigner to be a spy, and 
that spy dad like a beggar while he is employed in a 
calling for which he must be well paid ; and, agsin, 
that spy betrays his masters to you at the hazard of 
being strangled If you Inform against him, or if he is 
suspected of having assisted you to escape ! It's all 
a joka, depend upon it, my firienA **— " What pm ft 
be, then r* said the President."-^^ I am tloiiUng 
about it," said the earL 

Having puzzled themselves to no purpose, the 
president still persisted in leaving the place imme* 
diately : when Lord Chesterfield, after walking about 
the rooim apparently in a deep study, stoi^ied 
shorty and putting his hand to his foinehead, as 
if a sudden thou^t had struok him, said, very 
gravely: ** Presid^t, listen to me : an idea has just 
come into my head. Yes ! thatmust be the man : I 
have not the least doubt of it !"—'' What man?** said 
the President; '' if you know who be is, prmy teU me 
quickly."— '' Oh ! yes," was the answer) '^I know 
him well enough : he was sent by one Lord Chester- 
field, who wishied to prove to you by experience^ that 
a» &ime0 cf eommom seme U worth a kunAred wHfH 
of i0{f."— -The president never forgave him tot the 
joke. — ^Didb&ot's Memain. 



Yss! I remember him well, though more than twenty 
years have elapsed. Ihad many opport n nitiea of oh* 
serving his short, neat figure; his small r^olstr fea- 
tues) Ui dark oom^eidaii, uA thidc hmoik bib* 

. His Appearance was on tne whole prepossessing ; hvA 
there vras somethmg in the eye that marked conscious- 
ness of guilt : he could not look me in the fkce# I 
know not whether he be now living, but you shall 
hear his story, as I received it from himself. 

His mother was of good family. ShewaSs^«c^lat 
a boarding school, when she be^une an objeci cv aiten* 
tion to a man of property, who cruelly deceived 
abda deserted her; The iiban, he told me, was a noble* 
man^ but 1 have ^idie ddubis oii tiie sttb|ect : for, 
though often pressed, he wtuld never coliiihuid^sie 
to me thename. And, indeed, I confess that I am 
not one of those who consider vice to be more pre« 
Valdili among our p^M than our peasants; northough 
I do not reg^ a coronet as a test of moral etcelknce, 
do I attribute every kind of profligacy and immorality 
to its possessor. But I heartily wish that religious 
principles were mofe de^plf impif^^ieA upoii all Doys 
and girls by their tutors and governesses : were tlwt 
done, we should at least find fewer men so wicked as 
to seduce, and the voice of seduction would more fre- 
quently fail of success. Be the man, however, peer or 
commoner, the poor girl was disowned by her friends, 
liv^ itiisi^rabie until her child was bofn, mid soon 
after died in despair, not knowing, or not finding 
the way of repentance ; nor having the courage to 
seek consolation where alone it is to be found. 

The father took charge of the child, or rather he 
entrusted his son to nurses and teachers, who 
paid as much attention as could reasonably be ex« 
pecteA, Where no parental eye watched the progress 
of the infant, or the deficiencies of the faistraction 
given. In time the boy had received what was called 
an education, and qualified with a oertain quantity of 
ikiedical knowledge, was sent as a surgeon to join a 
regiment serving in India. 

I khow httle of his conduct in India, nor do I re- 
coUect the reason whidi he gave for quitting his 
regiment; but, whatever it was, he came to Ixmdon 
with letters of recommendation, and some money in 
his pocket Here, wholly unprepared to resist tempt- 
ation, he became dissipated, neglected all who 
might have been of service to him, keeping back 
the letters which he brought with him, until he was 
ashamed to produce them at all ! he eidiausted every 
farthing, incurred great debts, and was as miser* 
able as man could 1^ who saw no hope of recovering 
the ground which he had lost, and Mt himsdf com- 
pletely ruined in character as weU as fortune. 

A violent illness at length seized him, and he was 
conveyed in almost a hopeless state to a hospital. 
The surgeon who attended him, moved with compas- 
sion, invited him to become his assistant, as soon as 
his health permitted him to exert himself. Here was 
a providential opportunity of repentance^ and had 
there been in him any seed of religion, doubtless would 
it have sprung up. And, indeed, so painful had been 
his existence, even when it was most joyous, during 
his profligate career, that he rejoiced in the tranquil- 
lity of a regular family, and for a time derived a 
degree of happiness from Uving again an honest and 
a useful life. But this calm lasted not long, for there 
was no religious principle in his heart; he could not 
resist temptation. A connection with fraudulent 
money-lenders induced him to quit his benefactor, and 
to set up an establishment of his own. Pressed by 
his new friends for money, which he could not pro- 
cure for them, he again became bankrupt, in charac- 
ter and fortune. But he was now more daring, and 
scrupled not to forge a recommendation, which intro- 
duced him to the house of wiother surgeon. He soon 
began to purloin the property of his new master ; he 
was suspected, and the suspicions were exp^ressed: 



'tte next day poison was found in the cup of the 
master, ti^ always endeavoured to throw the ^>xxMr 
of this act on alidtikfif) but circumstances, whiA be 
admitted to be true, led iti€ decidedly to infer that h§ 
had meditated jnnrder. Besidar> ibert were otharf 
cases m which he was strongly stwpected to have 
avafled hhnself of his medical knowle<i^ to do serious 
tojwy to those who had oflFended him. Whenaman 
has once ^veti 1^ to his passions, how hard is it for 
him to r^(ain th^ tluitfery t When he has neglected 
God once, how soon does he set aU God's laws at 
d^flitilee i 

How truly has it been Sldd by the Apostle, that 
he who '^offends in otie point is guilty of all." He 
fled immediately on the discovcrjT of the attempt to 
poison, but was soon overtaken bjT the officers of 
justice. The evidaace, however, adduced before 
the magistrates, being too slight to establish a con- 
viction, ti£tet two or three examinations he was 
set at liberty. But irhal could he now do ? A sus- 
pected thief— a suspected murderer — he had not the 
courage to apply again to the members of his own 
profession. Sometimes he procured support by honest 
means, writing for law-si&tionCTS ; but more fire- 
qtlently were his neoe^ties supplied by fraud. 

At length he answered an advertisemei:^t for a foot- 
man I recommended himself by his address; x^^^peived 
in person a letter sent by the post to solicit informa>' 
tion respecting hun 3 answered the enquiries in his 
own hand» and was accepted. He was now in a new 
situation ; but he was dever, and soon learned hour 
to please. He never stirred out: in hct, he was 
afraid to iqppear} because of the frauds of which he 
had been guilty. But this was not known to his 
master ; and so regular a servant was considered a 
moet unexceptftcmabl^ t^erson to be left in charge of 
his master's house, .whe^^jt^tie family removed for the 
season into the covaatvy^i But the moment that the 
coast was dear, k^ys were, procured of all the 
dosete, cellars, and drawers ; another marriage was 
oontraoted with a female servant, and a scheme had 
been formed for a general and extensive robbeiy of 
all that was in the house. The master, however, 
had now returned, and a key was accidentally ham- 
pered in a look, too prominently in sight to esci^ 

Intent was too visibly displayed to admit of pallia- 
tion by the most artful lie : he knew it, and left the 
house : none but the basest of the base, forgers and 
swindlers, could now receive him. Wilkin a few 
weeks he committed a fcnrgsry, which was detected 
and proved against him at the Old Bailey. Sentence 
of death followed, but was commuted for transporta- 

I visited him several times in Newgate, and stitt fied 
an involuntary shudder whenever I reflect on the hor- 
rors which I witnessed in that prison under the old 
system. I believe much has been done of late years 
to improve the moral condition of its inmates ; but 
I never pass its walls without thanking God that I was 
blessed with honest and religious parents, who took 
care of ine in my childhood, and taught me something 
more than mere professional knowledge ; nor without 
a hearty prayer that my own children may be enabled 
by the grace of God, to resist temptation, to grow up 
useful members of sodety, and finally may recdve 
the blessings whidi God has promised to those who 
obey his commandments. R. 

Let grace and goodness be the prindpal loadstone 
of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have 
an end; whereas that which is founded on true virtue, 
will always continue. — ^Dbyden. 



[Atfom* V 


In the BooU bf Joshoa &ax is a Toy intereatuig ac- 
count of the wily artifice by which the Gibetnutes 
prevailed upon Joshua to make a covenant of peace 
with them, when be was drawing near to their coun- 
try in the conrae of subduing the lands in which the 
people of Israd were to be settled. A party of 
Gibeonitea were sent to nieet Joshua, pretending 
tbat they had come from a &r distant land as 
ambassadors, on behalf of their countrymeu. They 
took old sacka upon their oases, and wine bottles old 
and rent and bonnd up. Tixif bad also old shoes 
and gannents, and a few ntnains of stale and dry 
proviaioos, to ^ve the appearance of having just 
finished a long journey. When they came b^bic 
Joshua, they informed him tliat then* home was ftr 
distant, and that having heard of his great victories, 
they had been sent to entreat that he would make a 
league with them. " Wherefore our eldera and all the 
bihabitonts of our country spake onto ns saying, take 
victuals with you for your journey, and go to meet 
them, and say unto them. We are your servants, 
wherefore now make a league with ns. This our 
bread we took hot for our provisions out of our bousea 
on the day we came forth to go unto yon, but now 
behold it is dry and it is mouldy— and these bottles 
of wine which were filled were new and behold they 
be rent — and these our garments and our shoes are 
become old by reason of the very long journey." 

The bottles here spoken of were not like those now 
used in European countries, but were bags made of 
the skin uf animab. The same kind of bottle is fre- 
quently referred to in Scripture, both literally and 
figuratively, but the mention of it occurs with pecu- 
liar interest in the three following instances. A bottle 
filled with water was f^iven by Abraham to H^;ar, 
when he sent her away from his house, fGeiusu xxi.J 
When " Sisera took shelter in the tent of Jael, she 
opened a bottle of milk and gave him drink. (Jvdgn 
IV.)" And in I Samuel xvi, we are told that "Jesse 
took an ass laden with bread and a bottle of wine and 
a kid, and sent them by David his son unto Saul. 

In the East, water and other liquors are to this day 
carried and kept in akin bags, of which the con- 
struction is exceedingly simple, and thus we are en 
abled to illustrate, by the present practices of a peopl* 
in our own day, one of the customs so frequently 
referred to in the clear and familiar language of Holy 

In making the bottles here described, the hide is 
stripped off entire, except at the openings where the 
bead and feet of Uke animal have been cut off : these 
openings are sewed up, except one which is left for a 
spout and secured by a string removable at pleasure. 
While the skin is bebig prepwvd, it is filled with hot 
sand to stretch it to its premier size, and the hides 
of different animals being used, as the kid, the sheep 

goat, and the ox, the bottles or bags are of various 

Ees, some scarcely larger than our ordinary bottles. 

Our plate represents the water carrier of India who 
loads bU bullock with a large skinful at the well, ^tber 
to accompany travellet^, or to sell the water to those 
who live at a distance. Whenever troops or other large 
bodies of people proceed upon a march into the interior 
of the country, a number of water carriers of this des- 
cription accompany them. 

Bags of skin are also used in Spain to carry wine 
from the vineyards to the places where it is eold, and 
aherry wine is very often observed to retain the fla- 
vour of the bides in which it has been transported. 

Such bottles as those which have now been des* 
cribed were of course strongest when they were new. 
Our Saviour says to his disciples, " no man putteth 
new wine into old bottles, else the new wine vrill 
bunt the bottles and be spilled, and the bottles perish j 
but new wine must be put into new bottles and both 
are preserved." He meant leathern bottles. 

liere is a passage in the hundred and ninetecufli 
Psalm, which becomes peculiarly and powerfully beau- 
tiful to the reader who clearly understands what s<m* 
of " bottles" were used in the East. The Psalmist ia 
describing the depth of his tribulation and grief — and 
tbe comfort hi; derives from reflecting on the certainty 
of God's promisca. He likens his outward appear- 
ance to that of a skin bottle or bag, which, when not 
in use, is hung up near the fire, and becomes with- 
ered and blackened by the smoke. " I am become 
like a bottle in the smoke, yet do I not foif^ thy 

The inast«i-piece of knowledge, is to know 
But what ii good, from what is good in show. 

-: F.QoiBL 

Knowledge dsscries alone ; wisdom appliei. — Id. 

Brare minds, opprest, should in despigbt of fate. 


Am excellent acconnt of the perilous employment of 
Chamois Houtang among the Glacien of the Alps is 
givea in M. Simdnd's Smtterland, from which we 
extract the foUoving particulars. 

The htmter most have on excellent constitution, to 
enable him to bear the extreme of cold after being 
heated by exercise, sleeping on the damp groood, 
hanger and thirst, jmd every other hardship and pri- 
vation. He must have great muscular strength, to 
climb all day with a heavy gun, ammanition, and pro- 
visions, and the game he kills; he must have a keen 
sight, a steady foot and head, and patience eqoal to 
his courage. 

Chamois goats are very fearful, and their sense of 
smell and sight being moBt acute, it is frequently diffi- 
cult to approach them. "ITiey are sometimes hunted 
with dogs, but oflener without, as dogs drive them to 
places where jt is difRcuH to follow. When a dog is 
iised he b led silently to the track, which he never 
will afterwards lose, the scent being very strong. The 
hunter either lies in wait in some narrow pass through 
which the game will most probably take its flight, or 
follows his dog, with which he keeps pace by taking a 
Etraighter direction, but calls him back when he judges 
the chamois to be inclined to he down to rest. An 
old male will frequently turn against the d(^, when 
panned, and while keeping him at bay, allows the 
hunter to approach near him. 

Hunters, twp or three in company, generally proceed 
without dogs. They carry a slutrp hoe to cut steps in 
the Ice, each his rifle, hooka to be fastened to his 
shoes, a mountaip stick with a point of iron, a short 
spy glass, barley-cakes, cheese, and brandy made of 
gentian or cherries. Sleeping the flret night at some 
of those hnts, which are left open at all times, and 
always provided with a little dry wood for a Are, they 
reach ^eir hunting grounds at day-ligbt. 

The atraost watcbfolness and patience are reqoi- 
site on the part of the hunter, when approaching his 
game ; a windward ntuation would infaUibly betray 
him by the scent. He creeps on Irom one hiding rock 
to another, with his shirt over his clothes, and lies 
motionless in the snow, often for half an hour tt^- 
ther, when the herd appears alarmed and near taking 
flight. Whenever he is near enough to distingoish 
the bendintj of the horns, that is,'bbout the distance of 


tWQ hundred or two hondred and fifty steps, he takes 
aim } but if at the moment of raising his piece tiie 
chainoia should look towards him, he must remnn 
perfectly stiU, the least motion would put them to 
flight, before he could fire, and he is too far to risk ft 
shot otherwise than at rest. In taking aim he endea- 
vours to pick out the darkest coat, which is always 
the fattest animal. Accustomed as the chamoit are 
to Sequent and loud n<Hsee among the glaciers, 
they do not mind the report of the arms so much as 
the smell of gunpowder, or the sight of a man. There 
are instances of the hunter having time to load again, 
and fire a second time after misaihg the first, if not 
seen. No one but such a sportsman can understand the 
joy of him, who, after so much toil, sees his prey fall. 
With shouts of savage triumph he springs to seize it, 
up to his knees in snow, despatches the victim if he 
finds it not quite dead, and often swallows a draught 
of warm blood, deemed a specific against giddiness ! 
He then gnta (he beast, to lessen its weight, ties the 
feet together, in such a manner as to pass his arms 
throu^ on each side, and proceeds down the mountain, 
much lighter for the additional load he carries ! 

At home the chamois is cut up, and the pieces salted 
or smoked; the akin is sold to moke gloves and 
leathern breeches, and the horns are hung up as a tro- 
phy in the family, A middle-sized chamois weighs 
trom fifty to seventy pounds, and when in good case 
yields as much as seven pounds of fat. 

Our engraving represents the perilous situation of 
John Fellmann and Gabriel Schitts, two chamois 
himters on the Finsteraarhom in Switaerland, on the 
14th Oct. 1822. In the eager pursuit of their prey, 
they bad both slipped down to a narrow shelf of the 
mountain, overhanging a precipice of fearful depth. 
Behind them was on ^most perpendicular rock, up 
which it appeared impossibls^or any human being to 
climb. Af^r remaining in this alarming situaticHi for 
B time, one of tbem bent down with his foot over- 
hanging the precipice, so that the other might step on 
his shoulder and thus reach a small projection of the 
rock, by means of wliich he contrived to arrive at the 
top, and then let down a rope to his companion. 

Not unArequently the best marksman is selected to 
lie in wait for the game, while his associates, leaving 
their rifles loaded by him, and acting the part of 
hooDds, drive it towards the spot. Sometimes when 



(AvQVWi 4* 

\lka\f, ttesbtirce to ttVoid IhA etibbiimiNr, wkch on tho 

bxitiic of brcipipibeft ibtist be fatal, is to lie down, 

imd )ei w frightened animal pan over him. It ia 

^bnderfVd to see them eUmb abnipt and naked rocka, 

andlei^ from one narrow cliff to another, liie smaUeet 

projection eerving them for a point of r<Ml> tltMltl 

which thef ali^t; tmt Otlli^ tO mL% another sprhigi 

Tbe leActe^ W m hevd is ^Ways an old ftimal^, 

ttUvth^au^^ She stands watcihiiig, when ihie others 

Ue down, and rests, when they are up at fred, listening 

to every sound, fmd anxiously lobkin^ rtfniid; SUe 

often ascends k IrdgnieUt df rbck, dr b^t^ o^ drifted 

ftiib^, ffir i HfiAe ^elA bf observation, makhig a sort of 

gentle htssiiil iiolse when she suspects any danger. 

Bdl llirnen the sound rises to a shaiper note the whole 

iroop flies at (mce, like the wind, to some more remote 

and higher part of the mountain : the death of this 

old leader is genertfly fktal to theheiHl. Theirfond" 

ness ht salt misk^ them f!Pei}Uetit salt-springs and 

iaitiilaiMliM, where hunters lie in wait fdrthtfm. Th^ 

hunters sometimes practise a very odd seheme^ The 

ehmnoif being apt to appitwich cattle in the pastures, 

and graze neir tkiW, a hunter will crawl on all fours. 

With [^ tlpread on his back, to attract the cattle, and 

is immediately surrounded and hidden by them so 

completely, that he flnds no difficulty in advancing 

very near ^e chamois and taking a sure aim. At 

other times, when discovered, he will drive his stick 

into the snow, and placing his hat on the top of it, 

creep away, and whUe the game remains intent on 

the strange object, he wHl return by another way. 

In May the young are broueht forth, which walk 
fh>m the moment of their birtn, and are very pretty 
and tame. When caught, they are easily reared, but 
cannot live hi a warm srable in winter. The age of 
each individual is known by the number of rings 
marked on its horns, each year adding a new one. la 
winter, they suMst on mosses, which are not unlike 
Iceland moss, and on die young shoots, and the 
bark of pines. By scratching away the snow, they 
also come at the grass and moss on the ground, and 
it frequently happens that a whole bed of snow, sliding 
off a steep declivity, lays bare a great extent of 
pasture. Those that firequent forests are generally 
larger and better fed than those which live mostly on 
the high and naked parts of the mountain, but none 
of them are lean in winter. In spring, on the con- 
trary, wboi they feed on new grass, they become 
sickly and poor. 

Who would suppose that the French Revolution 
and invasion of Switzerland could have affected cha- 
mois among the glaciers of the Alps? Yetsoit was) 
all restrictions on hunting having been set aside, they 
were in a few years almost annihilated. Where herds 
of fifty chamois used often to be seen together, scarcely 
more than ten were afterwards met, and the n>ecie8 
would by this time have been extinct, if the former 
rcstriotioos on hunting had not been re-established. 

It is not uncommon in tiie npring, to see on the 
gladers the bodies of chamois, killed during the winter 
by avalanches, by stones rolling down upon them, 
and occaskmaUy by unsttccessftil leaps. Sometimea 
they are attadked by the Iftmmcrgeyer, and a stroke 
of its powerfrd wing is sufficient to dash them down 
predpioes, where the ravenous bird follows them, and 
feeds at leisure on their flesh. Those who htmt the 
cham<ris also meet with dreadfU accidents | in 1799, 
on the Wettsrtiomi a fUlintf stone carried off the head 
of one of them, and threw his body down a predpioe, 
while the companion of the unfortunate hunter, three 
steps off, escaped unhurt. This continual exposure to 




Bottnditig &l»ii^ &i% di>Mi^nt ^iixgd^ 

Cbeeily on her onwatd way, 
tter course the gallant vessel urM 

AertMs thy fttormy gulpb, Biscay! 
in the ftuii thb bright waves glisten; 

BisiAg slow with mtesttted iwttl, 
fiarkTwhil foiindi iniwohtMS-:Tlisten| 

Listen ! 'tis ike Sabbath btll: 

Hushed the tempest's wild oommotiott. 

Winds and waves hare ceased thrir war» 
0*er the wide and sullen ocean 

That shrill sound is heard afar. 
And comes it as a note of gladness. 

To thy tried spiritf wanderer tell t 
Or rather dees thy heart's deep sadaessi 

Wake at thai simple Babbath belir 

It spefiks of ties which dnties setter 

Of heafts so fondly knit td thest 
Kind hands, kind looks, which. WIUldMi', Mref 

Thine hand shall gra^ thine eye shall tibL 
It speaks of home and all its pleasures, 

Of scenes where memory lofes to dwell \ 
And bids thee count thy heart's best treasures: 

Far, far away, that Sabbath belL 

Listen again ; thy wounded spirit 

Shidl soar from earth, and seek above 
That kingdom which the olest iidierit. 

The mansbns of eternal lore* 
Sarth and its lowly cares foraaUngf 

(Puisned too keenly, lored too well) 
To faith and hope thy soul awakintf, 

Thou hearest with joy the Sabbath b^ 




In a former paper, (page 30) we introduced the sub- 
ject of BKNKrif Societies, and we now proceed to 
a more particular discussion of the principles ai^li- 
cable to sudi associations, previously to entering into 
the details of their management 

It has been said that where practicable, sdf-refief is 
always the best; but in some cases it is not possible, 
and in others it is not perhaps, even desirable. Doubt- 
less it is true that every man should provide against 
the evil day, — ^that he should not-^-as we are all too 
apt to do— take the sunny hours of life for the average 
of it Hie hour of fame is but too often the rock 
upon which the lovers of glory spHt| the smilea of 
fortune delude the merchant ; and ^e labourer but 
too often buys poverty and misery, while his sinews 
arestrongandhislabour in great demand. Thereis, 
hideed, so much of self-ilattery in our composition, 
that our own anticipation of life is seldom a safle guide 
to us, tmless we take with it our experience of the fate 
of others. 

But there are dangers on both sides. A rock as 
well as a quicksand. We must mtyvide against the 
evil dayi but we must provide honestly against it 
Not merely honestly in tlM common sense of the word ; 
but honestly, so that we may keep the heart pure and 
the affections warm i and thus m^op lift as well as 
acquire the means of supporting it The man whose 
thoni^ts are wholly occupied about getting money, 
end who through fear of want some day, lives in want 
every day, is fu* more to be pitied than the more ge- 
nerous man who has not a penny. He is also in some 
danger of defeating his own object, because he is not 

I ao free to apply his mind to the doing of that which 
danger and hardships, and the solitary life they lead, he is called upon to do. That cold love of money 


tfifi SAttrtdJAY MAQAZINB. 


wUch sQcli a diftpoftitioii iotiten, withers all oor good 
feelings. In a country so mercantile as England^ 
there may be some danger of the increase of such a 
spirit: one of tiie best means of counteracting it^ is by 
shoving men that they may have other attachments to 
their ^ow men than tiiose \vfaich spring merely from 
money; and it is one of the advantages of Bsmbfit 
Societies^ that they tend to produce such a feeling. 

It is needless to plead the tendency that workfaig 
people have to spend what they earn as fkst as they 
earn it, in a country where there are so many enjoy* 
ments to be bought as there are in England ; for we 
have the feet iteelf to prove the tendency, and we 
have it in other classes besides the mere labourers. 

But wherever those temptations to spend are most 
numerous, the tendency must be greatest,-— greater in 
cities and in towns than in country places; andgreater 
where the population is continually shifting than 
where it remains generation after generation in the 
same place. But let us state some of the direct be- 
nefits of the societies under consideration. 

In the first place, some of the vices, and much of 
the misery of the married working people of this 
country, and of their children, arise from the fact of 
the parents having got into a habit of spending more 
upon themselves b^ore marriage than they can afford 
to spend after. Marriage brings neither new skill to 
the head nor dexterity to the hands, — ^tends in no way 
whatever to increase either the quantity or the quality 
of work; and therefore, though some are in the habit 
of giving more wages to married men than to single, 
su(£ a practice is rather to be set down to the score of 
eiq;)ediency, than justified upon principle. When the 
parties find their enjo3anents lessened after marriage, 
they often blame each other ; and the peace of the fami- 
ly is broken, never again to be wholly made up. Each, 
too, win resort to some of their old gratifications when- 
ever they can, even though it be at the expense of the 
children. But if young men (and women) were to 
pay into a Benefit Society a part of their eaminffs, 
they would avoid some of their unnecessary expendi- 
ture before marriage ; the funds of the Society would 
be increased ; and provision might thus be made for 
furnishing the house at the time of marriage. 

Secondly, the members of such Society being of the 
same class, the benefit is mutual; therefore none 
need feel degraded when getting support. They 
are, in fact, o^y reaping that which they themselves 
have sown; and reaping it with the feeling that it has 
been a benefit to others during the time that they 
themselves did not need it. 

Thirdly, from the favourable view which idl people 
take of their own fortunes and success, more especi- 
ally when th^ are young, those who join such a Be- 
nefit Society, have a feeling, that in so doing they are 
Erforming a good and generous action; and thus they 
ve an immediate share of the blessedness <^ * those 
who give.* The young man who pays his sixpence 
a week, or a month, or whatever it may be, into the 
Society's funds, has a nobler feeling than if he put it 
into his box. If being a member of the Society had 
no other advantage than the producing, or perhaps it 
is more correct to say, the keeping alive of this gene- 
rous feeling, still that would be well worth all the rest. 

Fourthly, the Benefit Society is a bond of union 
among the members, because they have a conmion in* 
terest in it, and a common care over it. In the man* 
agement of it, they are each 'helping his t^eighbour,* 
and saying to his orother, 'Be of good courage.* !£ 
they do that habitually on one subject, they wHH do it 
cm other subjects. Each will thus find friends in the 
very class of society in which it is most desirable to 
havelfaem} and the intdligsitt and acti?« will inform 

and spur on those of duller powers. When society 
is properly c<mstituted, there aie bonds of union among 
all the dasaes ; but then there may be, is, and should be, 
esteem and kindly dispositions in the members of every 
rank towards each other. But there can be no very inti* 
mate and profitable friendship, except among those 
who in point of station are nearly equal. Friendship 
requires like habits, and modes of thinking; and to 
give it its fuU usefulness, something at least approax^- 
ing to a likeness of pursuits. No doubt this may be 
carried to too great an extent, and render those among 
whom it subsists, a knot, or combination, apart from 
the rest of society ; ignorant of its duties, and therefore 
less capable oi performing their parts in it. But 
within due bounds, and these are by no means nar- 
row, its effects are highly beneficial. 

fifthly, those who are members of Benefit Socie 
ties, are exempted from many anxieties and fears, to 
which those who have no such dependance are sub- 
ject ; and the better that the man is in himself, the 
more are those apprehensions likely to prey on his 
mind, and bring about the very evils which he dreads. 
Many workmen are much exposed to accidents in the 
course of their business ; all are liable to disease, 
and certain of death; and any of these may come at 
very short warning. 

Now, if a man has much feeling, every time that 
he is placed in danger, and every time that he feels 
pain, the danger must be increased, and the pain ren- 
dered more dmrp, by the thoughts (^ his family. When 
he is laid upon a sick-bed, his affliction must be deep- 
ened, and his recovery hhidered, by the thought that 
his family are in absolute want, or dependent on the 
charity dt others. And when the hour of death ar- 
rives, that sad and solemn parting hour will be em» 
bittered by the thou^t that those whom he loved, 
and had reason to loviSi are left destitute ; and that 
his own body can only bfu^ed fr^m burial at the ex- 
pense of the parish, by their sacrificing the necessa* 
ries of life. He who has a provision, however small, 
in the ftmds of the Benefit Society, and who feels that 
that provision is his own, has a reason fbr calmness of 
mind in those hours of trial, to which the others are 
utter strangers. Some may set lightly by these things, 
and can them matters (A mere feeling ; but they who 
do so are themselves little worthy of attention, except 
as mistaken people, whom we charitably hope to win 
from the error of their way. . 

Sixthly, there are advantages and securities hi re- 
gard to frmds placed in a Benefit l^k>ciety, which are 
not attainable by any other means. The money is 
more secure than in the hands of the party; for if it 
were in his own hands he might be tempted to use 
it at every little reverse. A needy man's money 
cannot be in worse hands than his own. Some may 
be disposed to put these considerations forward as 
more important than the matters of feeling ; but, in 
reality, they are not so important. Money U the mea- 
sure of its own value ; but no sum can measure the 
value of that good conduct, which is the necessary 
frriit of right feelings. 


The following interesting anecdote of Frederick the 
Second, King of Prussia, better known as Fredcrkk. 
the Great, is given by Lord Dover in his life of that 

During one of Frederick's jo ur neys through Silesia, 
the wife of a peasant, near Breslau, had presented to 
him a basket of fruit; and had been so touched by 
the kindness with which he received it, that she da* 
termiaed to send Urn another the next year to FMk 



LAvoTJST 4, 1832. 

dam. She accompanied the offering with the follow- 
ing note. 

^MoBt dear,, and most dement, our lofd the king, 

^ As our fruit hUs not succeeded better this* year 
than the last, you must condescend to receive it, such as it is. 
I and my husband ha?e picked out the best we could find, 
and we have packed it up as well as we were able with straw 
and hay. We hope you will eat it in good healUi. Pray God 
gif e you a long life, in order that you may be able to come 
and see us for many years to come. I will always keep the 
best I have for you. I and my husband entreat you, there- 
fiire, to leffard us with favour ; especially, be<^iuse our little 
bit of land produces less than it did, and that we have a debt 
upon it of 120 crowns, ten groschen, and six fenins. More- 
over, we commend you to Uie protection of Almighty God ; 
and we shall be, till death, and for ever, of your miyesty, 

** the faithful and devoted subjects, 

*' I AND MY Husband." 

To this commnnication Frederick replied thns : — 

'** Good mother, 

^ I am much obliged to you for your fine firnit 
If God grants health and life to me, I will return and see 
you a year hence. Keep something for me, in order that 
I may find it when I come to vou. With resntid to what 
you tell me of your little bit of land being charged with 
a debt of 120 crowns, ten ffrpschen, and six fenms, that 
is really a bad business. You shoidd be very economical, 
otherwise your afiiurs will go back instead of advancing. 
I send you herewith 200 crowns, which I have also packed 
up as well as I was able. Pay your debts with them, and 
free your bit of land. Take care to economise as much as 
you are able : this is a counsel which I give you seriously, 
as your attached king, «< I'rederic." 


Human life has not a snrer friend, nor many times 
a greater enemy, than Hope. Hope is the miserable 
man's God, which in the hardest gripe of calamity 
never fails to yield him beams of comfort. It is to 
the presumptuous man a Devil, which leads him awhile 
in a smooth way, and then on tt sudden makes him 
break his neck. Hope }a to man as a bladder to one 
learning to swim ; it keeps him from sinking in the 
bosom of the waves, and by that help he may attain 
the exercise; but yet it many times makes hhn ven- 
ture beyond his height; and then if that breaks^ or a 
storm rises, he drowns without recovery. How many 
would die, did not Hope sustain them ! How many 
have died by hoping too much ! This wonder we 
may find in Hope ; that she is both a flatterer and a 
true friend* Like a valiant obtain in a losing battle, 
it is ever encouraging man^ and never leaves him, till 
they both expire together. While breath pants in the 
dying body, there is Hope fleeting in the wavering 
soul. It is almost as the air on which the mind doth 

There is one thing which may add to our value of 
it; that it is appropriate unto man alone. For surely 
b^ists have not Hope at all ; they are only capable of 
the present ; whereas man apprehending future things, 
hath this given him for the sustentation of his droop- 
ing soul. Who could live surrounded by calamities, 
did not smiling Hope cheer him with expectation of 
deliverance ? There is no estate so miserable as to 
exclude her comfort. Imprison, vex, fright, torture, 
shew death with his horridest brow, yet Hope will dash 
in her reviving rays^ that shall illumine and exhilarate 
in the swell of these. 

Nor does Hope more friend us with her gentle shine, 
than she often fools us with her sweet delusions. She 
cozens the thief of the c6in he steals ; and cheats the 
gamester more than even the falsest ^e. It abuseth 
universal man, from him that stoops to the loam wall 
(a cot of clay) upon the naked common, to the 
monarch on {lis purple throne. Whatsoever good we 

see, it tells us we may obtam it, and in alittle time 
tumble ourselves in the down-bed of our wishes } but 
it often performs like Domitian, prqmutng all with 
nothing. It is indeed the rattle whidi Nature did 
provide, to still the froward crying of the fond child, 
man. Certainly it requires a great deal of judgment 
to balance our hopes even. He that hopes for noUiing 
will never attain to any thing. This good comes of over- 
hoping, that it sweetens our passage through the world, 
and sometimes so sets us to work as to produce great 
actions. But then again he that hopes too much shall 
deceive himself at the last; especially if his industry 
goes not along to fertilize it. For Hope without action 
is a barren undoer. The best is to hope for things 
possible and probable. If we can take her comforts 
without transferring to her our confidence, we shall 
siuely find her a sweet companion. I will be content 
my hope shall travail beyond reason ; but I would not 
have her build there. So I shall thus rei^ the benefit 
of her present service, yet prevent the treason she 
might b^;uile me with. — Owen Feltham, 1636. 

The swelling of an outward fortnne can 
Create a proro'rous, not a happy man ; 
A peacefiill Conscience is the true Content^ 
And Wealth is but her golden ornament 

QUARL£S. 1630. 

Happiness. — ^That wherein God hmself is happy, and 
the holy Angels happy, and in the defect of which the 
devils are unhappy, — that dare I call happiness. What- 
soever conduceth unto this may with an easy metaphor 
deserve that name ; whatsoever else the world terms 
happiness is to me a story out of Pliny — an apparition, 
or real delusion, wherein there is no more of happiness 
than the name. Bless me in this life with but peace 
of my conscience, command of my affections, the love 
of thy self, and my dearest friends ; and I shaU be 
happy enough to pity Csesar. These are O Lord the 
humble desires of my most reasonable ambition, and 
all I dare call happiness on earth,; wherein I set no 
rule or limit to thy hand or providence ; dispose of 
me according to the wisdom of thy pleasure. Thy 
will be done thou^ in my own undoing. — SirThos. 

Wb hare reoeiyed a letter from a correspondent who seems to be 
afraid that a sentence in our introductory article bulj lead to the 
belief that we intend to make our Magazme a Sundaj Paper. We 
can only say, that nothing can be further from our intentions: aod 
we are quite certain that the passage referred to cannot, by any fair 
means, be made to bear such a constmctioii* The ' pause from 
labour' was referried to the end of the week, and we surely need 
not remind our correspondent that Stxturday is the end of the week, 
and Sunday the beginning. To prevent any such apprehension, 
we beg to state, that in London our Magazine is published on Fri- 
day afternoon, so that there cannot be &e slightest reason for asy 
iear that it will interfere with the due observation of that day, 
which we most anxiously desire to be kept holy throughout the land. 



Sold by all Booksdlen and Newavenden io the Kingdom. 

Hawken and Dealers In Periodical Pabllcatioas rapplied on wbdesale tenu bj 

W. S. ORR, Patemoater-Row i O. BBROER, Hdywdl-at, LoadoB, 

And hf the Publiiher't Agents in the foUowing places :» 

HuU WilaoB. 

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Jba^turlid^ M^fi^^int^ 






The Nannau Oak, which is here represented, had [ 
been for ages an object of superstitious dread to the ; 
peasantry of Merionethshire. On the 13th July, 1813,! 
it fell suddenly to the ground, completely worn out 
with age. A drawing of this remarkable tree had for- 
tunately been made by Sir Richard Colt Hoare, only 
a few hours before it fell, which has perpetuated its 
resemblance, and will long preserve the recollections 
connected with its history. It represents it aa it then 
stood, pierced and hollowed by time, and blasted by 
the stroke of lightning ; and with its blanched end 
withered branches forming a strong contrast to the 
freshness and beauty of the surrounding scene. 

In the neighbourh(K>d it was known as the Haunted 
Oak— the Spirits Blasted Tree, — or, in Welch, " Ceu- 


bren yr Ellyll," the Hobgoblin's Hollow Tree. It owed 
its fearful names to a circumstance well known in 
the history of that country. Howel Sele, a Welsh 
chieftain, and Lord of Nannau, was privately slain, 
during a hunting quarrel, by his cousin, Owen Glyn- 
dwr, or Glendower, and hidden for a long time within 
its hollow trunk. The remembrance of this tragical 
event was afterwards preserved by tradition in the fami- 
ly of the Vaughana of Hengwyrl ; nor was it wholly lost 
among the peasants, who would point out to the 
traveller the " Hannted Oak ;'" and as they passed it 
in the frlcjm of night, would quicken their pace, and 
perh^ips murmur a prayer for personal protection, 
against the crafts and assaults of the demon of the 



[AuGtJST 11, 

'' The irrogular and wild Glyndwr, (^.t least so tra- 
dition says) being enrao^ witli Howel, who had 
refused to pspouse his kinsman* and his country's 
cause, determined, during a cessation of arms, like 
Earl Percy of old, " to force the red deer from the 
forest brake," in the domains of the imbending lord 
of Nannau. Thither he repaired ; and encountering 
Howell alone, but armed, they fought. Gl)mdwr 
conquered — his cousin fell. Owen returned in haste 
to his stronghold, Glyndwrdiy. Howel was sought 
for, but nowhere found. The vassals of Nannau were 
filled with consternation and alarm; Sele's sorrowing 
lady shut herself up from the world in the sohtude of 
her now gloomy castle. Year succeeded year, and 
yet no tidings were received of the absent Howel. His 
fate remained long unknown to all save GlyndwT, and 
his companion Madog. At length, one tempestuous 
evening in November, an armed horseman was descried 
urging his flawing steed up the hill that leads to 
Nannau, from the 4eighbouring town of Dolgellau : 
It was Madog — ^whp, after the deatl^ of the fiery, 
yet generous Glyndwr, hastened to fulfil his last com- 
mand, and unravel the horrid mystery. He told his 
melancholy tale, and preferred to the blasted oak in 
confirmation of its painful truth. HoweVs unhallowed 
sepulchre was opened, and his skeleton discovered, 
grasping with his right band his rusty sword. The 
remains were removed to the neighhonring monastery 
of Cymmer, for burial, and m^isses were peirformed 
for the repose of the troubled spirit of the Lancastrian 
Sele [Cambro-Briton], 

The above tradition forms the subject of a very fine 
ballad by Mr. Warrington, printed in the notes to 
Marmion, by Sir Walter Scott. Let Madog, in the 
poet's words, complete the tale. 

Led by the ardor of the chace, 

Far distant from his own doipain, 
From \%here Gailhmaelen spreads ber shade, 

Tbe Glyndwr sought the opening plain. 

With bead aloft and antlers wide, 

A red-buck routed, then cross'd bis view ; 

Stun^ with tbe sight, and wild with rage, 
Swift from tbe wood fierce Howel flew. 

* ♦ ♦ « « 

Tbey fought, and doubtful long tbe fray, 
The Glyndwr gave tbe fatal wound. 

Still mournful must my tale proceed, 
And its last act all oreadful sound. 

I marked a broad and blasted oak, 
Scorcb'd by tbe lightning's livid glare, 

Hollow its stem from branch to root. 
And all its sbriveird arms were bare. 

Be this, I cried, bis proper grave * 
(Tbe tbouebt in me was deadly sin) 

Aloft we rai^d tbe hapless chief, 
And dropped bis bleeding corpse within. 

« « « « « 

He led them near tbe blasted oak^ 

Then conscious, from tbe scene withdrew ; 

Tbe peasants work with trembhng baste, 
And lay tbe whitened bones to view. 

Back they recoil'd : tbe right band stilt 

Contracted, grasp'd a rusty sword. 
Which erst in many a batde gleamed. 

And proudly deck'd their slaughtered lord. 

Pale lights on Gaday's rocks were seen. 
And midnight voices beard to moan ; 

'Twas even said tbe blasted oak 
Convulsive beav'd a hollow groan. 

And to this day tbe peasant still 

With cautious fear avoids the ground ; 

In each wild branch a spectre sees. 
And trembles at each rising sound. 

This celebrated oak measured 27 feet 6 inches in 
drcumference, and stood on the estate of Sir Robert 

Williams Vaughan, Naiman Park, Morionethibire 5 
who, after its fal), had a varifrty pf utensils manufac- 
tured from its wood, which is of a beautiful dark colour 
approaching to ebony 5 and there is scarcely a house 
in Dolgelle that does not contain an engraving of this 
venerable tree, framed with the wood. At Nannau 
there are severfd relics ^ amongst others, a frame 
containing an engraved portrait of Pitt, and under 
it the following motto : " Y Gwr fal y dderwu a 
w}mebodd y djnnestl/' " This man^ like the oak^ faced 
the tempest.' 

A sepulchral tree somewhat similar has lately been 
discovered in France, in the hollow trunk of which 
was found the skeleton of a man, with his head dowm- 
wards. No traditions, however, are extant, which 
either throw, or pretend to throw, any light upon tliis 
curious occurrence : neither were there any attendant 
circumstances which could prove whether the indivi- 
dual had been murdered, or whether *' some fantasti- 
cal suicide bad chosen this extraordinary mode of 


Unpb^ the ti^le of Natural Magie Sia David Brew- 
ster has just add^ a (ielightful little volume to 
Mb, Mubray'9 Family Library, from which we ex- 
tract an account of several extraordinary cases of the 
destruction of huma^ bodie« without flame. 

That animal bodies are liable to internal burning 
is a feet which wa« well kqpwn to the ancients. Many 
cases which have been adduced as examples are 
merely cases of iiM)ivi4ua)i who were highly suscep- 
tible of strong electrical excitation. In one of these 
it i« asserted, that the spaii^i of fire thus produced 
reduced to aahea the l^dr qf a young man ; and in 
another^ that the mifp of a physician to the Arch- 
bishop of Toledo, en^tted by perspiration an in- 
flammable matti:r pf auch a nature, that when the 
ribbon, which she wore over her shift was taken 
from her, .ai>d exposed tQ ^e cold air, it instantly took 
fire, and shot forth like grains of gunpowder. Peter 
Borelli has recorded a ftlct of the very same kind re- 
specting a pedant whose )inen took fire, whether it 
was laid up in a box when wet, or hung up in the 
open air. The same author speaks of a woman who, 
when at the point of death, vomited flames; and 
Bartholin mentions this as having often happened to 
persons who were great drinkers of wine or brandy. 
De Castro mentions the singular case of a physician, 
from whose backbone there issued a fire which 
scorched the eyes of the beholders j and Krantras 
relates, that certain people of the territory of Nivers 
were burning with invisible fire, and that some of 
them cut 0$ a foot or a hand where the burning 
began, in order to arrest the calamity. Nor have 
these effects been confined to man. In the time of 
the Roman consuls, a flame is said to have issued 
from the mouth of a bull without doing any injury to 
the animal. 

The reader will judge of the degree of credit which 
may belong to these narrations when he examines the 
effects of a similar kind which have taken place in less 
fabulous ages, and nearer our own times. A Polish 
gentleman in the time of the Queen Bona Sforza, hav- 
ing drunk two dishes of a liquor called brandy -wine, 
vomitedflame8,andwa8bum^bythem; andBartholin 
thus describes a similar accident : " A poor woman at 
Paris used to drink spirit of wme plentifrdly for the 
space of three years, so as to take nothhag else. Her 
body contracted such a combustible disposition, that 
one night, when she lay down on a straw couch, she 
was all burned to ashes except her skuU and the ex<« 




tremities of her fingers." Christopher Sturmius in- 
forms us that in the northern countries of Europe 
flames often evaporate from the stomachs of those who 
are addicted to the drinking of strong liquors : and he 
adds^ ''that seventeen years hefore^ three nohlemen of 
Coiirland drank by emulation strong hquors^ and two 
of them died scorched and suffocated by a flame which 
issued from their stomach." 

One of the most remarkable^ is that of the Countess 
Zangari^ which has been minutely described. This lady^ 
who was in the sixty-second year of her age, retired to 
bed in her usual health. Here she spent above three 
hours in conversation with her maid, and in saying her 
prayers -, and having at last fallen asleep, the door of 
her chamber was shut* As her maid was not sum- 
moned at the usual hour^ she went into the bed-room 
to wake her mistress ; but^ receiving no answer, she 
opened the window, and saw her corpse on the floor, 
in the most dreadful condition. At the distance of 
four feet from the bed there was a heap of ashes. 
Her legs, with the stockings on, remained untouched, 
and the head, half*bumed> lay between them. Nearly 
all the rest of the body was reduced to ashes. The 
air in the room was charged with floating soot. A 
small oil lamp on the floor was covered with ashes, 
but had no oil in it; and in two candlesticks, which 
stood upright upon a table, the cotton wick of both 
the candles was left, mad the tallow of both had dis- 
appeared. The bed was not iiijured, and the blankets 
and sheets were raised on one sid^, as if a person had 
risen up from it. From an examination of all the cir- 
cumstances of this cas6, it has been generally sup- 
posed, that an internal combustion had taken place; 
that the lady had risen from her bed to cool herself, 
and that, in her way to open the window, the com- 
bustion had overpowered heri and consumed her body 
by a process in which no flame was produced which 
could set fire to the furniture or the floor. The Mar- 
quis Scipio Maffei was informed by an Italian noble- 
man who passed through Cosena a few days after this 
event, that he heard it stated in that town, that the 
Countess was in the habit, when she felt herself indis- 
posed, of washing all her body with camphorated 
spirit of wme. 

So recently as 1744, a similar example of spontane- 
ous combustion occurred in our own country, at Ips- 
wich. A fisherman's wife, of the name of Grace Pett, 
of the parish of St. Clements, had been in the habit, 
for several years, of going down stairs every night 
after she was half-undressed, to smoke a pipe. She 
did this on the evening of the 9th of April, 1 744. Her 
daughter, who lay in the same bed with her, had fallen 
asleep, and did not miss her mother till she waked 
early in the morning. Upon dressing herself, and go- 
ing down stairs, she found her mother's body lying 
on the right side, with her head against the grate, and 
extended over the hearth, with her legs on the deal 
floor, and appearing like a block of wood burning* 
with a glowing fire without flame. Upon quenching 
the fire with two bowls of water, the neighbours, 
whom the cries of the daughter had brought in, were 
almost stifled with the smell. The trunk of the un- 
fortunate woman was almost burned to ashes, and 
appeared like a heap of charcoal covered with white 
ashes. The head, arms, legs, and thighs, were also 
much burned. There was no fire whatever in the 
grate, and the candle was burnt out in the socket of 
the candlestick, which stood by her. The clothes of 
a child, on one side of her, and a paper screen on the 
other, were untouched -, and the deal floor was neither 
singed nor discoloured, It was said that the woman 
had drunk plentifully of gin over-night, in welcoTning 
a daughter who had recently returned ftom Gibraltar. 

By Hector M*Neill. 

Oh that folk would well considet 

What it is to lose a name, 
What this world is altogether. 

If bereft of honest fame ! 

Poverty ne'er brings dishonour, 
Haidships ne'er breed sorrow's smart. 

If bright Conscience takes upon her 
To shed sunshine round the heart : 

But, with all that wealth can borrow, 
Quilty Shame will aye look down ; 

What must then, Shame, Want, and Sorrow, 
Wandering sad from town to town ! 


Busy, curious, thirsty fly ! 
Drink with me, and drink as I ! 
Freely welcome to my cup, 
Couldst thou sip and sip it tip : 
Make the most of life you majr ; 
Life is short and wears away. 

Both alike are mine and thine 
Hastening quick to their decline ! 
Thine's a summer, mine no more, 
Though repeated to threescore ! 
Threescore summers, when they^ f^otitf 
Will appear as short M end I 

JAGGANATHA, Cor Juggernaut J 

The temple of Jaggandtha at Porte ia syrroililded by 
a number of other idolatrous temples and )^hrine&, 
forming altogether a large and very singular taass of 
buildings. By the kindbness of the Royid Asidtic So- 
ciety, we have been enabled, in a former Number, to 
give to our readers accurate representations of these 
abodes of superstition. 

They stand within a square enclosure, each side 
of which measures about 600 feet, and the whole is 
surrounded by a stone wall about twenty feet high. 
Within the great enclosure is a smaller one, also siu*- 
rounded by a wall ) the ground is raised about twenty 
feet, and upon that terrace stand the temples of Jag- 
gandtha which are represented in our first plate. The 
space between the two enclosures is occupied by about 
fifty other temples dedicated to the various idols to the 
Hindoo superstition. The great tower is the residence 
of Sri Jeo and his brother and sister. Its execution 
is rude and inelegant^ and the form and proportions 
by no means pleasing to the eye. It is overlaid with 
a coating of plaster, of which only patches remain, 
and the effect of the whole is made worse by parts of 
the fabric, and the sculptures upon them, being 
daubed with red paint. The height of the tower is 
about 1 80 feet from the terrace, the ground plan is a 
square, measuring thirty feet on a side. 

The next building to the tower is the great anti- 
chamber of the temple into which it opens. It is her.* 
that the image is exposed to view at the feast called 
the bathing festival. 

Next stands a low building or portico, intended as 
an awning to shelter the entrance from the rays of the 
sun — the other building with a pyramidical roof is 
the place to which the food, prepared for the pilgrims, 
is daily brought, previous to its distribution. The 
walls of the temple which are visible beyond the 
enclosure, are covered with statues of the grossest 
obscenity, thus openly exhibiting the degrading al- 
liance which has always been found to exist between 
idolatry and the lowest and most disgusting vices. 
There are a vast number of priests and servants, in- 
cludinfiT a number of wretched women, devoted to the 
* 7^2 



[August II, 

impure and unhallowed rites of these temples. Colonel 
Fbipps makes the whole nimiber amount to 3000 
families. These are supported partly by the pilgrim 
tax, ajid partly by revenues arising from lands. The 
whole place is full of beggars, and objects of the most 
liaiiiful and disgusting kind, all produced by this de- 
' gnuling sujtcrstition. 

There are two prineipal fowts which attract multi- 
tudes of pilgrims to these temples, from all parts of 
India. The first is called the bathing feast, the other 
and greatest of all, the chariot feast. At the former 
Sri Jeo and his brother after undergoing certain wash- 
ings, are supposed to take the form of the elephant- 
headed god i to represent which the images are dressed 
up with an appropriate mask. Thus arrayed, they 
are exposed to view on the terrace overlooking the 
wall, surrounded by crowds of priests, who fan them 
to drive away the flies, whilst the multitude below 
gaze in stupid admiration. The scene is thus described 
by Capt. Muady in his very entertaining Pen and Pencil 
Stetciet of India. 

"On hearing that the idols had been brought out of 
the temple, and that they were now exhibited to the 
admiring gaze of the multitude who had travelled so 
far to pay tlieir reajiccts, I mounted an elephant, and 
with two or three others of our party repaired to the open 
market place, opposite f« the platform of the temple. 
Winding our way carefully through the assembled 
crowds, we took post in ji convenient spot; our ex- 
alted situation enabling us to see over the heads of 
the pedestrian gazers. Their godships were formed 
up in line, on an elevated terrace within the enclosure, 
and protected from the night dews by an extensive 
and gaudy canopy of many coloured cloths. The 
evening was dark, and at intervals blue lights were 
thrown up to enable the spectators to view the cere- 
mony i but the idols being almost constantly hidden 
by a forest of fans of various forms, diligently agitated 
by the attendant Brahmins, to prevent the flies and 
musqoitos from invading their sacred noses, we sent 
a polite note to the chief priest, requesting that he 
would cause the officials to open out for an instant 
to the right and left, in order to aSbrd us the satisfac- 
tion of cor.templating the expressive countenances of 
the vorshipful trio. Oar embassy succeeded, the 

crowd fell back from before them ; two bnlliant lights 
weiB iltnmined ; and we saw distinctly three frightful 
woodenfaces,ofthe respective colours of black, brown, 
and yellow ; the lower portions of the figures being 
closely swathed in cloth wrappers." 

The great festival of the Chariot is held for the per- 
formance of an annual excursion with which the idols 
are treated, to a temple about a mile and a half from 
Pooree. The following account of it is given by Mr- 
Sterling, whose long residence in the district in which 
temples are built, and intimate acquaintance with every 
part of the subject, give a value to his evidence far 
superior to that of any occasional visitor, 

" On the day appointed, after various prayers and 
ceremonies have been gone through within the tea^ie, 
the images are brought from their throne to the out- 
side of 0te Lion gate — ^not with decency and reverence, 
seated on a Utter or vehicle adapted to such an occa- 
sion — but a common cord being fastened roand thar 
necks, certain priests to whom the duty belongs, 
drag them down the steps and through the mud, 
whilst ntbcrs keep the figures erect, and help their 
movements by shoving them front behind, in the 
most indifferent and unceremonious manner, as if they 
thought the whole business a good joke. In lids way 
the monstrous idols -go rocking and pibdiii^ along 
through the crowd, until they reach the cars, which 
they are made to ascend by a similar process, up an 
inclined platform, reaching from the stage of the ma- 
chine to the ground. On the other band, a powerful 
feeling of superstitious enthusiasm pervades the ad< 
miring multitude. When the beloved images first 
make their appearance through the gate, they wel- 
come them with the loudest shouts of joy, and stunning 
cries of "victory to Jaggan&tha," and when the 
monster Jaggan&tha himself, the most hideous of all 
the figures, is dragged forth, the last in order, the air 
is rent with plaudits and acclamations. These cele- 
brated idols are nothing more than wooden busts 
about six feet in height, fashioned into a rude resem- 
blance of the human head restiiig on a sort of pedestal 
as represented in our engravmg. They are painted, 
white, yellow, and black, respectively, with frightfidly 
grinb and distorted countenances, and are decorated 
with a head-dress of different coloured cloths, sh^ied 
something hke a helmet. The two brothers have arms 
projecting horizontally fmward from the ears ; but 
the sister is entirely devoid of that member of 
the human form. Their r&tbs, or cars, (one of which 
is represented in the engraving) have an imposing air 
from their size and loftiness, being about forty feet 
high, with BoUd wheels of six feet diameter, but every 
part of the ornament is of the most mean and paltry 
description, save only the covering of striped and 
spangled broad cloth, famished from the export ware- 
home of the Britiih Government, the splendour and 
.gorgeous effect of which make np in a great measure 
for other deficiencies. After the images have been 
safely lodged in their vehicles, a box is brought forth 
containing the golden or g^ded feet, hands, and ears 
of the great idol, which are fixed on the proper parts 
with due ceremony, and a scarlet scarf is carefully 
arranged round the lower part of the body or pedestal. 
Thus equipped and deconted, it is worshipped in 
much pomp and state by the Rajah of Khoorda, who 
performs before it the ceremony of sweeping with a 
richly ornamented broom. As soon as the proper 
signal has been given to the multitudes assembled, 
they seize on the cables which are fastened to the car, 
when all advance forwards a few yards, hauUng along 
generally two of the raths at a time. The joy and 
shouts of the crowd, on their first movement, the 
creaking sound of the wheels as these jmqdermis 




machines roll along, the clatter of hundreds of harsh- 
sounding instruments, and the general appearance of 
so immense a moving mass of human beings, produce, 
it must be acknowledged, an impressive, astounding, 
and somewhat picturesque effect, whilst the novelty of 
the scene lasts, though the contemplation of it cannot 
fail of exciting the strongest sensations of pain and 
disgust in the mind of every christian spectator. 

The most shocking circumstance immedjately con- 
nected with this procession of the idol Juggemant, 
is the self-sacrifice of worshippers, by throwing them- 
selves under the ponderous wheels of his car. This 
dreadful sight was witnessed by Dr. Buchanan hi 
1806. He thus describes the scene.— '■" After the 
tower had proceeded some way, a pilgrim announced 
that he was ready to offer himself a sacrifice to the 
ido]. He laid himself down in the road before the 

tower as it was moving along, lying on his face with 
his arms stretched forwards. The multitude passed 
round him, leaving the space clear, and as he was 
crushed to death by the wheels of the tower, loud 
sbouts of joy were raised to the god. The people 
threw cowries, or small money, on the body of the vic- 
tim, in approbation of the deed. He was left to view a 
considerable time, and was then carried by the Hurries 
to the Golgotha, where I have just been viewing his 
remaiufl." — " Yesterday," says Dr. Buchanan after- 
wards, " a woman devoted herself to the idol. She 
laid herself down on the road in a slanting direction, 
so that the wheel did not kill her instantaneously, as 
is generally the case , but she died in a few hours. 
This morning, as I passed the place of skulls, nothing 
Kmaincd of her but her bones, the dogs and vultures 
bad destroyed the rest." 

It is gratifying to add that the excess of fanaticism 
which formerly led the pilgrims to throw themselves 
in numbeni imder the wheels of the ears, has happily 
lost nearly all its influence. In four years Mr. Stirling 
says only three instances occurred, one of which it 
was thought was accidental, and the otiier victims 
were persons who having long suffered under excru' 
elating complaints, chose this mode of self-murder 
in preference to any other, which the despair of a 
mind not upheld by chiistian hope might resort to. 
The waste of life however, caused by the pilgrimage 
trom the most distant parts of India, to visit a spot 
of land deemed so holy, is frightfidly great j it is 
occasioned by excessive fatigue, want of means to 
procure food, and disease caused by the immense 
multitude assembled t<^ther in a hot climate, at an 
unhealthy season, and communicating infection tu each 
other. Of late years the cholera has made 
great havoc among them. 

The abominations of this monstrous and 
disgraceful idolatry, seem to be fast drawing 
to a close. Nothing can long pm'ent the 
light <tf Divine Truth from penetrating into 
these " dark places of the earth," whith are 
indeed " full of the habitations of cruelty." 
And unless it be upheld by the agents of a 
Christian Government, the whole system is 
likely to fall into ruin. Mr. Stirling's testi- 
mony on this point is decitiive. He says "even 
tiie god's own servants will not labom- zea- 
lously and effectually without the interposi- 
tion of authority, and I imagine the ceremony 
would soon cease to be conducted on its pre- 
sent scale and footing, if the institution were 
left entirely to its fate and to its own resources 
hy the officers of ttie British Government." 
The Society for PromotingChristian Know- 
ledge has very lately presented a memorial 
to the government, praying that this subject 
may be taken into consideration. And we 
cannot doubt that it will receive their serious 

The duty of tliis nation vrith regard to 
Indian idolatry is quite clear. The great 
Ruler of the world, in furtherance of the 
high purposes of his all controlling Provi- 
dence, has committed India to our superin- 
tendence. And though we are not at liberty 
to resort to violence and persecution as the 
Mahomedans did, wc are not guiltless before 
God, if we add one jot to the influence, or 
move one step to preserve from ruin, a wor- 
ship that insults the majesty of the God, and 
that debases, corrupts, and blinds the crea- 
ttures of hb hand. 

MIGNONETTE. fRMcda Odorala.J 

[Abridged from PniLLiri' Flora Hitlorica.] 

It is not yet an age since this sweet smelling weed of 
Egypt first perfumed the European gardens, yet it has 
so far naturalized itself to our climate, as to springfrom 
seeds of its own scattering, and thus convey its de- 
lightful odour from the palace of the prince to the 
most humble garden of the cottager. 

In less than another age, we foretell (without the 
aid of Egyptian ait) that the children of our peasants 
will gather this luxurious little plant amongst the wild 
flowers of our hedge-rows. 

The Reseda Odorata first found its way to the South 
of France, where it was welcomed by the name of 
Mignonette, Little- darling, which was found too appro- 
priate for this sweet littie flower to be exchanged for 



[August 11, 

any dther. By a mantiscript note in the library of 
the late Sir Joseph Banks^ it appears that the seed of 
the Mignonette was sent in 1 742, by Lord Bateman^ 
from the Royal Garden at Paris, to Mr. Richard Bate- 
man, at Old Windsor -, but we should presume that 
this seed was not dispersed, and perhcq)8 not culti- 
vated, beyond Mr. Bateman's garden, as we find that 
Mr. Miller received the seed from Dr. Adrian van 
Royen, of Leyden, and cultivated it in the Botanic 
Garden at Chelsea, in the year 1752. From Chelsea 
it soon got into the gardens of the London florists, so 
as to enable them to supply the metropohs with plsuits 
to furnish out the balconies ; which is noticed by 
Cowper, who attained tlie age of twenty-one in the 
year that this flower first perfumed the English atmos- 
phere by its fragrance. The author of the Task soon 
afterwards celebrates it as a frtvourite plant in Lon- 
don :— 

^The sa^es fronted with a range 

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed. 

The odour which this little flower exhales is thought 
by some, whose sense of smell is delicate, to be too 
powerful for the house j but even those persons, we 
should think, must be delighted with the fragrance 
which it throws ffom the balconies into the streets of 
London, giving something like a bteath of garden air 
to the " close pent man." We have frequently found 
the perfume of the Mignonette so powerful in some 
of the better streets of London, that we have consi- 
dered it sufficient to protect the inhabitants from those 
effluvias which bring disorders with them in the air. 
The perfume of Mignonette in the streets of our me- 
tropolis, reminds us oddly enough of the fragrance from 
the roasting of coffee in many parts of Paris, without 
which some of the streets 6f business in that city would 
scarcely be endurable in the rainy season. 

The Sweet Reseda, or Mignonette, is now said to 
grow naturally in some parts of Barbary, as well as 
in Egypt. Monsieur Desfontaines observed it grow- 
ing in the sands near Mascar, in the former country, 
but it might have been accidentally scattered there, 
or have escaped from the gardens of the Moors. 

This tribe of plants, of which we have twelve kinds, 
was named Reseda by the ancients, from the word rese- 
dare, to assuage, because some of the species were es- 
teemed good for assuaging pains 3 and we learn from 
Pliny, that the Reseda was considered to possess even 
the power of charming away many disorders. He tells 
us that it grew near Qie city of Ariminum, now Ri- 
mini, in Italy ; and that when it was used to resolve 
swellings, or to assuage inflammations, it was the cus- 
tom to repeat a form of words, thrice, spitting on the 
ground at each repetition. 

We notice these absurd superstitions of the ancients, 
which are scarcely yet forgotten in many villages of this 
and other countries, to show how much the minds of 
the ignorant have always been prone towards the mar- 
vellous, and not that we 

Hold each strange tale devoutly true. 

The Mignonette is one of the plants whose unas- 
suming little flowers never weary our sight : it is 
therefore made an image of those interesting persons 
whom time cannot change, and who, although deficient 
in dazzling beauty, attach us for life, when once they 
have succeeded in pleasing without its aid. Hence it 
is but a natural desire that we should wish to give a 
yearly plant a continual existence. This has, in a 
great measure, been accomplished, for the scented 
Tree Mignonette is now frequently to be met with. 

The Mignonette is changed into a lasting shrub, 
which dispenses its sweet odours at all se&sons of 
the year, by the following simple treatment : a healthy 

young plant should be placed in a garden-pot, with 
a stick of about two feet in height by its side 
to tie up its branches to, as it advances in height, tht 
leaves and young branches being kept stripped off 
from the lower part, so as to form a stem to the 
height required. This stem will become sufiicKutly 
hard and woody to endure the winter, by being placed 
in a green-house, or the window of a comtnon sit- 
ting-room, and may be preserved for several years, ii 
air is given to it whenever the weather will allow, so 
that the young branches do not become too delicate. 
As soon as the seed-vessels begin to form, they should 
be cut off, which will cause the plant to throw out a 
fresh supply of blossoms: but these plants should 
never be suffered to perfect their seed, as it would 
greatly weaken them, and generally cause their entire 
decay j for the sweet Reseda grows yearly in Its pro- 
per chmate, and therefore naturally decays when it 
has ripened its seed. 

We have made the same experiment on other 
annual plants, which have smrvived through the win- 
ter, and produced blossom on the following year, 
when their flower-stalks have been cut off before the 
formatioh of seed has taken place. By this means, 
also. Stocks and Wall-flowars, which blossom in the 
spring, will be found to flower a second time in the 
simimer, if their branches are cut off. We have fre- 
quently made the experiment on early-flowering 
Honeysuckles, and obtained a fine display of corollas 
in the autumn j for it appears almost like instinct m 
plants to endeavour to perform their office to nature 
in rendering up their various seeds. The reason of 
this is, that the roots hav^e drawn up and furnished 
the trunk with the due proportion of nourishment 
required to perfect the seed-vessels and the seeds, and 
the vital principle of the germ also rests in the trunk 
and branches until it be drawn forth by the various 
seed-bearing parts, which is prevented by separa- 
ting these parts from the branches ^ consequently, 
the juices are forced into other directions, and form a 
second attempt to expand themselves agreeably to 
their various natures. 

Some florists, who considered the Tree Mignonette 
a5 a distinct species of the Reseda, obtained seeds of 
the Tree Mignonette from their seedsmen, who, con- 
sidering it was the tall-growing Reseda Lutea, sent 
such, which, after having been nursed up with care 
and potted with attention, proved to be only the com- 
mon Reseda, or Dyer's Weed of our fields. 

It is frequently observed that the seeds of the Sweet 
Reseda, which scatter themselves in the autumn, pro- 
duce finer plants than those that are sown in the 
spring, which should teach us to sow a part of our 
seed at that season of the year^ when, if not success- 
ful, it may be repeated in the spring j and We have 
generally found those self-sown plants most produc- 
tive of seed. 

To procure early-flowering plants of Mignonette, 
the seeds should be sown in pots or boxes in the 
autumn, and kept in frames through the winter ; but 
when this is omitted, the plants may be forwarded by 
sowing the seed on a gentle hot-bed in the spring. A 
small border of Sweet Reseda will produce seed suffi- 
cient to scatter over a lai^ portion of hedgerow- 
banks, and if one seed out of ten spring up amongst 
the bushes, it will be sufiicient to fill whole vales wHh 
fragrance, *' like a stream of rich-distilled perfiunes.' 


In England a taste for splendid dress existed in the 
reign of Henry VII, as is observable by the follow- 
ing description of Nicholas, Lord Vaux. '' In the 




1 7th of that reiga, says Lord Orford^ at the mcgrriage 
of Priiice Arthur, the brave young Vaux fippeared 
in a gown of purple velvet, adorned with pieces of 
gold so thick and massive, that exclusive of the silk 
and furs it was valued at a thqusand pounds.*' 

In those days it not only required great bodily 
strength to support the weight of their cumbersome 
armour, but their very luxury of apparel for the draw- 
ing room would be oppressive to modem limbs. 

In the following reign their dress was perhaps more 
generally sumptuous. Shirts were embroidered with 
gold. Gloves were lined with white velvet, and splen- 
didly worked with embroidery and gold buttons, and 
were perfumed. 

In the time of Queen Mary the people were so 
partial to square toes that they were obliged to issue 
a proclamation that no person should wear shoes 
above six inches square at the toes. Was this custom 
one jot more absurd than the hoops of the last 
century, or the enormous bonnets of the present? 
The wearing of great breeches in the reign of Queen 
Elizabeth was carried to a most ridiculous excess. 
They used to stuflF them out with wadding till they 
resembled woolsacks; and it is said that scaffolds 
were erected in places of pubhc resort on purpose for 
these beaus. 


It is melancholy to reflect on the strange trials to 
which, in remoter ages, those suspected of gmlt were 
put. The Ordeal consisted of various kinds : yralk- 
iiig blindfold amidst red-hot ploughshares, placed at 
unequal distances ; passing through two fires ; hold- 
ing in the hand a red-hot bar ; plunging the hand 
into boiling water -, challenging the accuser to single 
combat; the swallowing a morsel of consecrated 
bread ; the sinking or swimming in a river in the case 
of witchcraft, and various others : 

" One cannot (says the learned and excellent Black- 
stone) but be astonished and surprised at the folly 
and impiety of pronouncing a man guilty unless he 
was cleared by a miracle : and of expecting that all 
the powers of nature should be suspended by an im- 
mediate interposition of providence to save the inno- 
cent whenever it was presumptuously required. And 
yet in England, so late as King John's time, we find 
grants to the bishops and clergy to use the '' trial by 
iron, fire, and water." But though they used to pre- 
side at these trials, which were performed only in 
churches, or in other consecrated ground ; yet the 
Canon Law very early declared against trial by ordeal, 
as the fabric of Satan : and it was abolished in Eng- 
land by Act of Parliament, or rather by an order of 
the King in Council, in the reign of Henry the Third. 

Fire ordeal was performed either by tdcing up in 
the hand unhurt, a piece of red-hot iron, of one, two, 
or three pounds weight } or else by walking blindfold 
and barefoot over nine red-hot ploughshares, laid 
lengthwise, at unequal distances j and if the party 
escaped unhurt, he was adjudged innocent -, but if it 
happened otherwise, as without collusion it usually 
did, he was then condemned guilty. Queen Emma, 
the mother of Edward the Confessor, when suspected^ 
.8 mentioned to have cleared her character by this 
latter method. 

Water Ordeal was performed either by plunging the 
bare arm up to the elbow in boiling water, and es- 
caping xmhurt ; or by casting the person suspected 
into a river or pond -, and if he floated therein, with- 
out any action of swimming, it was deemed an evi- 
dence of his guilt ; but if he sunk, he was acquitted. 
It is said that secrets were known in those times^ by 

which these trials might be passed imhurt ; particu- 
larly with regard to the ordeal of boiling water we are 
told, they used to rub their arm a long time with the 
spirit of vitriol and alum, together with the juice of 
an onion. We cannot vouch for the truth of this 

The trial by Bread was thus conducted. A piece 
of bread, or of cheese, was consecrated (how shock* 
ingly degprading was such superstition !) with a prayer, 
desiring the Almighty that it might cause convulsions 
and paleness, and find no passage, if the man was 
guilty 3 but nught turn to health and nourishment if 
he wa4 innocent. This piece of bread, called the 
corsned, or morsel of cursing, was then given to the 
suspected person. Our historians assure us, that 
Godwin, Earl of Kent, in the reign of Edward the 
Confessor> alluring the death of Uie king^s brother, 
appealed to his corsned, which stuck in his throat, 
and killed him. Though this custom has been long 
ahuliiahed, we are too often reminded of it by the very 
unwarrantable language of inconsiderate people, in 
such phrases as '' May this morsel be my last!" — 
" May this piece of bread choke me!" Tlie super- 
stitious people who practised this mode of trial, were 
very particular in the making of this bread and cheese. 
The bread was to be of unleavened barley -, and the 
cheese made of ewe's milk in the month of May -, no 
other of the twelvemonths having any power to detect 
a criminal. Another most extraor<Unary trial, was 
that of '^ the bleeding of a corpse." If a person was 
murdered, it was said, that at the touch, or at the 
approach of the murderer, the blood would gush out 
of the body at various parts. This was once allowed 
in England, and is still looked on, in some uncivilized 
parts, as a detection of the criminal. We trust such 
remains of credulity and superstition are rapidly pass- 
ing away, never to return. 

Tliese trials of ordeal were mostly of Saxon origin : 
the trial by battel, or single combat, was derived from 
the Normans. Of that we will add a few words in a 
future number. 



Through the rales the breezes dgh ; 
Twilight opes her bashful eve ; 
PeepiDg from the east, she brings 
Dew-drops on her dusky wings : 
And the lark, with wak*ning lay, 
Upsprings, the harbinger of day. 

Now behold! the blushing skv 
Tells the bridegroom sun is nigh ; 
Nature tunes her joyful lyre, 
And the trembling stars retire. 
Him the east, in crimson drest, 
Ushers, nature's welcome guest. 
And the mountains of the west 
Seem to lift their azure heads. 
Jealous of the smile he sheds. 

Glory, beaming from on high, 
Charms devotion's lifted eye; 
Bliss, to which sluggards ne'er were bom, 
Waits the attendant of the mom. 

The fountain of content must spring up in the mind i 
and he who has so little knowledge of human nature, 
as to seek happiness by changing any thing but his 
own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless efforts^ 
and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove. 
— ^Johnson. 

When once infidelity can persuade men that they 
shall die like beasts, they will soon be brought to live 
like beasts also. — South, 



fAuGUST 11, 1832. 


We know a doe, still alive, that was brought up from 
a little fa\\'n with a dairy of cows ; with them it goes 
a-field, and with them it returns to the yard. The 
dogs of the house take no notice of this deer, being 
used to her j but if strange dogs come by, a chase 
ensues, while the master smiles to see his favourite 
securely leading her pmrsuers over hedge, or gate, or 
stile, till she retiuns to the cows, who, with fierce 
lowings and menacing horns, drive the assailants 
quite out of the pasture. Even great disparity of 
kind and size does not always prevent social advances 
and mutual fellowship. For a very intelligent and 
observant person had assured me, that in the former 
part of his life, keeping but one horse, he happened 
also on a time to have but one solitary hen. These 
two incongruous animals spent much of their time 
together in a lonely orchard, where they saw no crea- 
ture but each other. By degrees an apparent regard 
began to talce place between these two sequestered 
individuals. The fowl would approach the quadru- 
ped with notes of complacency, rubbing herself gently 
against his legs, while the horse would look down 
with satisfaction, and move with the greatest caution 
and circumspection, lest he should trample on his 
diminutive companion. 


The evening proceedings and manoeuvres of the rooks 
are curious and amusing in the autumn. Just before 
dusk they return in long strings from the foraging 
of the day, and rendezvous by thousands over Sel- 
bome-down, where they wheel roimd in the air, and 
sport and dive in a pla3rfiil manner, all the while ex- 
erting their voices and making a loud cawing, which, 
being blended and sofiw^d by the distance that we 
at the village are below mem, makes a confused noise 
or chiding, or rather a pleasing murmur, very engag- 
ing to the imagination, and not unlike, the cry of a 
pack of hounds in hollow echoing woods, or the 
rushing of wind in tall trees, or the trembhng of the 
tide on a pebbly shore. When this ceremony is over, 
with the last gleam of day -they retire for the night to 
the deep beechen woods of Tisted and Ropley. We 
remember a little girl, who, as she was goiiig to bed, 
used to remark on such an occurrence, in the true 
spirit of physico -theology, that the rooks were saying 
their prayers ; arid yet this child was much too young 
to be aware that the Scriptures have said of the Deity, 
that '' he feedeth the ravens who call upon him.*' — 
White's Nat, Hist, of Selborne. 


MuNGO Park, during his travels in the interior of 
Africa, was stripped and plimdered by banditti, on 
leaving a village called Kooma. When the robbers 
had left him, almost naked and destitute, he tells us, 
" I sat for some time looking around me with amaze- 
ment and terror. Whichever way I turned, nothing 
appeared but danger and difficulty. I saw myself in 
the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the 
rainy season, naked and alone ; surrounded by savage 
animals, and men still more savage. I was five hun- 
dred miles from the nearest European settlement. All 
these circumstances crowded at once upon my recol- 
lection ; and I confess that my spirits began to fail 
me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had 
no alternative, but to lie down and perish. The in- 
fluence of religion, however, aided and supported me. 
I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could 
possibly have averted my present sufferings. I was 
indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still 

under the protecting eye of that Providence, wbo has 
condescended to call himself tl^e'stranger*s fjriebd. 

At this moment, painful as my reflexions were, the 
extraordinary beauty of a small moss, in flower, irre- 
sistibly caught my eye. I mention this to shew from 
what trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes 
derive consolation ^ for though the whole plant was 
not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I couJd 
not contemplate the dehcate conformation of the 
roots, leaves, &c., without admiration. Can that Being 
(thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to 
perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing 
which appears of so small importance, look with on- 
concern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures 
formed after his own image? Surely not! Reflexions 
like these could not allow me to despair : I started 
up, and disregarding both hunger and fatigue, tra- 
velled forwards, assured that relief was at hand ; and 
I was not disappointed — ^in a short time I came to a 
small village.'* 


■ • « 

Hail to the day, >vhich He, who made the heaven, 

Earth, and their araiies, sanctified and blest. 

Perpetual memory of the Maker's rest! 
Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given 
New life to man, the tomb asunder riven. 

Arose ! That day his Church hath still confest. 

At once Creation's and Redemption's feast, 
Sign of a world call'd forth, a world forgiven. 
Welcome that day, the day of holy gcace. 

The Lord's own day ! to man's Creator owed. 
And man's Redeemer ; for the soul's' increase 

In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed ; 
Type of the rest when sin and care shall cease, 

The rest remaining for the lov'd of God ! D. C. 

An hour of soHtude passed in sincere and earned 
prayer, or the conflict with, and conquest over, a 
single passion or '' subtle hoaom sin,** wiU teach us 
more of thought, will more effectually awaken the 
faculty, and form the habii, of i^ection, than a year's 
study in the schools without them. 

A reflecting mind is. not a flower that grovs 
wild, or comes up of its - own accord. The dif- 
ficulty is indeed greater than many, who mistake 
quick recollection for thought, are di^osed to admit ; 
but how much less than it would be, had we not been 
bom and bred in a Christian and Protestant land, 
very few of us are sufficiently aware. Truly may we, 
€md thankfully ought we to, exclaim with the psahn- 
ist : " The entrance of thy words giveth light j it 
giveth imderstanding even to the simple."— Cole- 
ridge's Aids to Reflection, 

It is a secret known to few, yet of no small use in the 
conduct of life, that when you fall into a man's con- 
versation, the first thing you should consider is, 
whether he has a greater inclination to hear you, or 
that you should hear him. — ^Addison. 



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And by the Publisher's Agents in the following places : — 

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Though die great geogiaphica] question, the existence 
of a north-west passage to India, has hitherto baffled 
every attempt at its discovery, yet the enterprises to 
which it has given birth have not been undertaken in 
vwn. The recent expeditious, undertaken by order of 
the government of tiiia country, have been attended 
with very important benefits. They ha»c thrown 
great light on the geography of the Northern regions ; 
and no great enlargement of the hounds of science 
has ev» taken place widioat being productive of 
snhstantial advantages to mankind. Our whale fish- 
eries have abvady profited by our extended knowledge 
of the Arctic seas ; — Captain Parry's plans for 
securing the health and comforts of his sUp's com- 
pames will afford the most valuable lessons to every 
succeeding commander who shall be engaged in ez- 
idoiing remote parts of the globe ; and the Tolnmes 
YoL. I. 

in which he and others have embodied the results of 
their labours, are among the most delightful and va- 
luable contributions which in our times have been 
made to the literature of England. 

Among these, none is entitled to a higher place 
than Captain Fiwikhn's Narrative of his land journey 
to the shores of the Polar Sea. This expedition took 
place at the same time with the first voyage of Captain 
Parry j and it was fitted out by government in order 
that it might co-operate with that navigator in ex- 
ploring the northern coast of America. Captain 
Franklin, accompanied by Dr. Richardson^ and Messrs. 
Back and Hood, two ofEcers of the navy, left Eng- 
land in 1619 ; and, after arriving at York Factory, 
a station on the eastern side of Hudson's Bay, set 
out on a land journey through the deserts and frozen 
lakes of the northern continent, which they crossed 



[August 18, 

in jr weg^^ly diflBctjfff^ tiH tjiey ^apl^e^ th^ mouth of 
the Coppor ^V^^ riypf, op ih§ ^i^stem coast. They 
then embarked ip two c^pps^ and made the{r way 
eastward, along the northern shores of the continent 
for nearly 600 miles, till they found it impossible to 
proceed further j and, their canoes being destroyed, 
they returned by land to the Copper Mine river, from 
whence they made their way home after an absence 
of three years. Captain Parry, meanwhile, having 
entered Baffin*s Bay, sailed westward along the nor- 
thern coast till his progress was stopped at Melville 
Island, a point at no great distance from that which 
Franklin reached from the opposite direction. But, 
though Parry afterwards made attempts, the barrier 
between these two points remains impassable. The 
last attempt is that of Captain Ross, whose long ab- 
sence gives rise to the most senqus apprehensions for 
his safety. 

Captain Franklin s wo|:k is not surpassed (if indeed, 
it is equalled) by any book of voyages or travels 
whatever. The hardships and dangers which he and 
his companions imderwent excite the deepest interest j 
while the energy with which they surmounted every 
obstacle, and tie undaunted cpurage with which they 
braved every ^augcf^ raise the warmest admiration. 
A great lesson uf vlftue is al^o coutained in the pa- 
tience, and piou4 ^iym^tion, with which they bore 
the most frightj^ Cfdmities. Th^ habitual in^uence 
of religion, an4 i|4 fi^^cU po the {nind^ are exhibited 
with a beautifi4 fiii^p^city. We cannot resist the 
pleasure of tr^[|^Knri()i^g the following passage, from 
Dr. Richardsoff'i fi^|rrfi$ive, if^ which he describes the 
feelings of his iuwl PW^y* ip ^^ Vf\09t dreadful cir- 
cumstances tha^ p^ De conceived : — 

" Through t^e pxti^me kinduesi au4 forethqught 
of a lady, the party, previou9 to leavi^ Lpuflon^ had 
been fumisheq li^i^t^ a small collection of religious 
books, of which we still retained two ov thre^ of the 
most portable j ai^d they proved pf incalculable bene- 
fit to us. We fead pprtioos of them to pach other as 
we lay in bed, in ^dclitiou tP t^p morning and evening 
service, and foupd that they inspired us on each pe- 
rusal with so 9ti*ong a sense of tbe omuip)^^«ence of 
a beneficent Qod, that our situation, even in these 
wilds, appeared no longer destitute; and we con- 
versed, not only with calmness, but with cheerfulness, 
detailing with unrestrained confidence the past events 
of our lives, and dweUiug with hope on our future 
prospects." iWiPg the whole of their perils, they 
were animate^ by the same spirit j and their example 
strikingly illustrates the observation, that the most 
heroic courage is that which is founded on true piety. 
The Arctic regions aboimd in grand and sublime 
scenery. Few objects in nature can be more magni- 
ficent than the Falls of Wilberforce, in the Hood 
River j of which we subjoin a copy of the engraving 
from Ci^PTAiN jack's spirited drawing. They are 
thus described by Captain Franklin. 

'^We pursued our voyage up the river, but the 
shoals and rapids in this part were so frequent, that 
we walked along the banks the whole day, and the 
crews laboured hard in carrying the canoes thus 
lightened over the shoals or drawing them up the 
rapids, yet our journey in a directune was only about 
seven miles. In the evening we encamped at the 
lower end of a narrow chasm or rent in the rocks, 
through which the river flows for upwards of a mile. 
The walls of this chasm are upwards of two hundred 
feet high, quite perpendicular, and in some places only 
a few yards apart. The river throws itself into it 
over a rock, forming two magnificent and picturesque 
falls close to each other. The upper fedl is about 
sixty feet high^ and the lower one at least one 

hundred, bat perhaps considembly more, for the 
narrowness of the chasm iutq which it fell preveuted 
us from seeing its bottom, and we could merely discern 
the top of the spray far beneath our feet. The lo-wer 
fall is divided into two, by an insulated columu of 
rock which rises about forty feet above it. The wHole 
descent of the river at this place probably exceeds two 
hundred and fifty feet. The rock is very fine sand- 
stone. It has a smooth siu-face and a light red colour. 
I have named these magnificent cascades * Wilberforce 
Falls,' as a tribute of my respect to that distinguished 
philanthropist and christian. Messrs. Back and Hood 
took beautiful sketches of this majestic scene, 
which are combined in the annexed plate.** 



No. III. — Abuses of Benefit Societies. 

Benefit Societies confer power upon their members, 
and as any abuse of power is an evil, the society may 
prove to the members an injury instead of an advan- 
tage. Let us sec how this evil may arise -, becau^ 
that will be the most certain way of arriving at the 
means of prevention. 

A Benefit Society being a mutual association for 
raisipg money to be applied to certain purposes, which 
purposes are commonly very praise- worthy, there arc 
only the following ways in which it can, generally 
speaking, be injurious to the members. 

First, the Society may hold its meetings in an im- 
proper place. 

Secondly, it may admit improper members j or may 
be in the hands, or under the control, of improper 

Thirdly, the funds may be insecure, improperly ap- 
pUed, or not sufficient for the purposes set fortli 
to induce members to join the Society 

Fourthly, the meetings of the Society may be con- 
verted to other and mischievous purposes. 

I. As to the place of meeting. Attendance there 
should consume as Uttle time a^ possible -, it should hold 
out no encouragement to spend money ; and shoiild 
have no enticements to dissipation. At the same time, 
it should admit of that freedom of meeting, and free 
and friendly intercourse, promote sociality and im- 
provement, and dispose men to help each other as 
well with deeds as with counsel. It is qtilte dear 
that an alehouse is about the WQrst place at which 
such a society .can hold its meetings, although, in 
cities and great towns, it is usua} to meet at such 
houses. Even if there were nothing suspicious in 
the connexion with the landlord, there are objec^ns 
enough to the place itself. To the young, who are 
not encumbered with families, the ale-house is a place 
of peculiar danger, and there should be no motive 
to justify their going there. Their experience is less, 
their passions warmer, and they have not the same 
home feelings to draw them away as married men 
have. But yoimg men are the best members of 
Benefit Societies, and therefore care should be taken 
that bad habits are not given them in return for thdr 

But the society is often a scheme of the landlord's, 
got up, not for the sake of the 'Benefit,* but of the 
custom which the meetings bring to the hotUM ^ and 
in these cases, whatever it may be in name> it is in 
reality a nuisance. 

In towns there may bq some difficulty in awuding 
the evil of the public-house meetings, from the want 
of other places ; but the hiring of an apartment in a 
private house, though seemin^y more costly, would 
be cheaper in reaUty. At such a place^ vefEtehxneati 




could be had as easily as at a pnblic-house, and for 
less money, while there woiild be no temptation to sit 
beyond that rational enjoyment of each other's soci- 
ety which is praiseworthy rather than blameable. 
Dissipation is a very degrading and destructive vice ; 
bnt cold-hearted sdfishness is not the contrary vuixie j 
it is the opposite vice. 

II. As to improper members and managers. There 
are two kmds of the former — ^those who enter the 
society merely for the personal benefit that they 
expect to derive from it, and those who are minily in 
their conduct. In as far as the age and bodily state 
of the parties are concerned, the rules of the society 
may, to a considerable extent, meet the case 5 but it 
is not so easy to make regulations with respect to 
chai'acter. Age is no objection ; for the payment 
and the allowance may be equally settled for any 
age J though it should always be borne in mind 
that the younger the member enters, the better, both 
for the society and for himself. The proper feeling 
at the time of entry, is that the member is doing so 
for the benefit of others ; and the feeling to be kept 
up while he is in health is, that he is a steward for the 
needy and the diseased -, and that if he comes upon 
the i\ind through idleness or misconduct, he falls into 
the lowest of aU conditions — ^that of ' a beggar of beg- 
gara.' If that be made the general feeling of the so- 
ciety, there is little danger of greedy and lazy mem- 
bers ) and calm neglect is by far ^e best means of 
curing the turbtiient. 

Improper managers are more dangerous^ as they 
hav« niore power. It is generally unwise to have a 
lawyer as secretary: it is never necessary; and as the 
society ca^mot, wiUiovt paymg more thaii it can afford, 
hove a lawyer of character, it is better not to have 
one at all ^ for after the rules of the society have been 
approved by the proper officer, there is no law wonted. 
There are some lawyers who promote such societies 
for the sake of ib&r fees as secretaries ; and others, 
who do the common duty gratis, but Contrive to pay 
thamselves, by encouraging law-suits about trifles. 
These should be avoided. It is a good rule never to 
employ a man in the profession by which he Hves^ 
without paying him for bis services. 

Managers who are fond of spouting in public are 
generally bad managers. Where there is a great deal 
of speech, there is usually as great a lack, both 
of reflection and of action. Such parties convert the 
aociety into an engine of their own false glory, and 
scheme for dinners and other assemblings, at which 
that glory may be shown off. 

III. The misapplication of the funds by the mana- 
gers may be guarded against by the vigilance of the 
society and the enactments of the law. The sufliciency 
of the funds, unless in very ordinary cases, may be 
calculated from the common probabilities of life and 
health, and from what may ariise out of the business 
of the members. 

IV. The society may be turned to improper purposes. 
Every purpose, however praiseworthy it may be in it- 
self, is improper, if it be different from those expifessly 
stated in the rules -, because, if necessary and con-* 
sistent, it should be brought in by the lawful means. 
But there are supposable cases, where the fimds may 
be applied to purposes absolutely bad — and yet the 
letter of the law not be absolutely broken. 

Tendencies of that kind may arise upon different 
occasions,— ^ose which more immediately strike na, 
are, the party feeling among a society, who are all, 
or nearly all, of the same rank and business 3 and 
floating opinions during times of public excitement. 

To guard against the first of these, it should be 
iKnme in mind that the different ranks^ professions. 

and trades, in a well regulated society, should be like 
the colours into which the rain-drop separates the 
beam55 of the sun, when ' the bow of heaven is set in 
the cloud.' The middle of the tints should be clear 
and bright, but they should so blend vritji each other, 
that no observation can say where the one begins and 
the other end^^ and the whole should be so tempered 
as to form, by their union, that pure white light which 
is the true glory of nature. It is the perfect unioti 
of all those variously tinted rays which produces that 
light by means of which we are enabled to see natu- 
ral objects in their ttiie cdlours 3 and it is even so with 
the varied classes of which a nation is composed. 

Every man must feel for himSelf, and for the class 
to which he belongs -, and, within due limits, nothing 
can be more proper and praiseworthy 3 but it is not 
merely by his love of himself, nor even by his attach- 
ment to his class or his craft, that the value of a man 
must be tried. The real standard ot social man is 
his feeling toward the whole of the society in which he 
lives, and to which he is indebted fbr civilization — ^for 
the means of supporting himself. 

The very objectof a Benefit Society is to ensure the 
independence of the members ; but they must not 
mistake the kind of independence. It is not inde- 
pendence of the rest of society which is the object, but 
it is independence of the accidents and changes of 
life ; and the very fact that a man is more sectire 
against these by being a member of the Benefit Soci- 
ety, should teach him that he has a more general se- 
curity in behig a member of a civilized country, for it 
is that which enables him to be a member of the other. 
Qreat care should therefore be taken, that the Bene- 
fit Society does not, iu any way, degenerate into a 
eombinaticn ; and tlrough by means of it workmen 
may mutually benefit each other, they must be care- 
ful that they do not make it a means of separation 
between themselves and their employers. The con- 
nexion between workman and employer is far more 
important than any that can exist between one work- 
man and another, becatise the bread of the workman 
depends upon it 3 and therefore, when workriien make 
use of any association as a means of combining 
against their employers, they turn it from its natural 
and useful purpose, and make it an engine i^ainst 
their own best interests. 

To make the fxmds, or even the meetings of a Be- 
nefit Society serve for purposes of general excitement, 
is still more unwise ; as that is mtddng it a combina- 
tion against society generally — a direct warfeure upon 
that to which they owe everything they possess. 

Such are some of the abuses to which Benefit So- 
cieties may be subject ; they may be avoided by good 
sense and honesty of intention, and by the judicious 
countenance and help of tiiose members who do not 
personally need the assistance of ^e funds. We shaD, 
on a future occasion, consider how these may pro- 
mote the benevolent object of the Societies under con- 
sideration, so as to make them blessings to the ne- 
cessitous, and bonds of union to society generally. 


<*The WfiteM brouglit forth abandsntly.**— GiRBfit. 

It is in the sttudl things of nature that we most strik- 
ingly see the wonderfol po^er of nature's God, and 
how superior in kind hie woiks are. to the most inge- 
nious works of man. We estimate by weight and 
measure ; and hence we associate strength with size, 
and perfection with time q^eiit in labour. We can 
{uroduce nothing but by the change of something that 
exists I and we can obtnin no motion, but by the ap«* 




[August 18, 

plication of a motion^ or moving force^ which is still 
greater. The man who carries a hundred weight, car- 
ries his own body at the same time. The horse that 
is yoked, and the arms that bend and draw the bow, 
are fatigued to a far greater extent than the swiftness 
given to the coach or the arrow. Gunpowder can 
send a bullet unseen through the sky, or rend the 
hardest rock in pieces 5 but in order that it may do 
so, we must bum it 3 and then, great as is the effect 
produced by the burning, to collect all the parts, 
and obtain powder again, is beyond the power of 
man. He must wait till nature works for him, in the 
formation of nitre and sulphur, and the growth of 
wood for charcoal -, and nature makes all Uiese sub- 
stances out of the common air, or of matters dissolved 
in it, so as to be insensible to the touch and invisible 
to the eye. 

The powers of nature are, on the other hand, inde- 
pendent of both weight and measure. One life pro- 
duces millions of lives, each of which is as productive 
as the first one ; and they are productive without end. 
There are few more striking instances of this fact, than 
the Ephemera, or Day-Flies, which are, in the heat of 
summer, ever sporting over rivers, pools and streams, 
so thick, that they, in some instances, absolutely 
darken the sun, or make its light fall red upon the 
ground, as during an eclipse. The cut represents the 
female of the common day-fly, (ephemera vulgata,) 

There are many spe- 
cies of these insects, 
some larger and some 
smaller, some longer- 
lived and some shorter, 
but as few of them live 
to behold the rising and 
the setting sun, they are 
all called ephemera, or 
'^ things of a day," their 
name is used to express 
all things that are very 

The cut will shew the form of the insect 3 and at 
the present time, (August) any one who walks by the 
water-side when the air is still, especially towards 
morning or evening, may catch them by thousands. 
They have four wings, of a beautiful transparent mem- 
brane or film, spread out upon a fine net- work, of a 
substance very similar to horn. These fibres in the 
wings are called nerves, and the insects which have 
such wings are by naturalists called neuroptcra, which 
is the Greek for " nerve- winged j" but these are not 
nerves. Nerves are understood to be organs of feel- 
ing or sensation 3 whereas, the fibres in the wings of 
those insects, merely support the membrane, just as 
the arm-frames of a windmill, or the masts and yards 
of a ship, support the canvas. 

The eggs of the day-flies are all laid in the 
water, and hatched there; so that they so far partake 
of the nature of the eggs, or race of fishes, that they 
" come into active life" in less heat than land eggs, 
and do not need any incubation, or sitting, of the mo- 
ther. Each female lays from 700 to 800, and she 
does it in less time than it takes to speak the words. 
The eggs are expelled in two portions, one of each at 
a time ; but so fast, that ^e e^s seem two little 
knotted rods ; but they 8q)arate and sink to ^e bot- 
tom undiscovered by the keen eyes of the fish. The 
female instantly dies, exhausted by the effort, which 
appears to be the only labour of her winged state of 
existence ; if, indeed, she is not captured in the midst 
of her maternal duty by some darting fish, or skim- 
ming swallow ; both of which prey upon countless 
thousands of the day-flies. When the fly lights to 

Tie CmnrnoH Drnff-Ffy. 

deposit her eggs, she raises her wings over her back, 
till they are nearly touching ; and, at liie same time, 
she elevates the hinder' part of her body, and erecta 
the three seta, or bristles, in which it terminates. The 
wings and these bristles support her so that she barely 
touches the water^ and so rises and falls with the 

The moment that the females are in a condition to 
lay their eggs, they hasten to the waters, so that they 
are not so often seen as the males, whose only occu- 
pation is to sport in the air, in the neighbourhood of 
the cradle of their future offspring. Of these the little 
day-fly, which is bom after dawn, produces her eight 
hundred, and is dead and gone, before the first gleam, 
of the sun breaks over the eastern hill ! 

The following cut shows the natural position of the 
female fly on the water, and also the artificial fly made 
in imitation of it, for catching trout. That fly is most 
successful when it just touches the water, and when 
the line does not touch the water at all. The hook 
keeps it in the proper position, and, being under the 
fly, is not seen by the fish. 




The ISaturat Fly. Artyiaai fig. 

How long the eggs remain in the water before they- 
are hatched, is not known; but possibly it varies 
with the season and the weather. The larva or young,, 
in their first state, not only burrow, or make holes ia 
the mud, but live on it -, they are consequently not 
so numerous in sand and gravel as in places that are 
fat and oozy. They are of the following form : — 

In summer the ponds, brooks, and 
ditches, are full of these larvae, and 
so are water tanks, cisterns, and 
butts, if they are not kept cleam 
They (with the larvae of other spe- 
Larva nftke Dt^-fty. ^j^g ^j„^ among the chief summer 

impurities in the water at London and other places. 
If the water is not settled, they may come firom the 
river ; but the mud and sediment will enable them, 
to breed in vessels, and the parent flies are every- 
where. In themselves they are not unwholesomev 
— and, as they are alive, they cannot render the- 
water putrid. The mud that breeds them, is putrid-, 
however, as it contains dead animal and vegetable- 
matter J and thus, though the young flies are not in 
themselves unwholesome, they are accompanied by 
substances that are so. 

The larvse remain in the mud two or three years ^ 
but in that they probably vary. The banks of rivers;, 
in some parts of the continent, are so full of them^ 
that to the depth of some inches, they actually con- 
tain more living matter than dead. They are all^ 
however, lower than the surface of the water, andl 
they breathe water, like fishes, by means of httle gQls. 
on their sides. At length they attain their full size;, 
and change into nympha, which are not unlike the lar- 
vae, only they have wings folded up under their coats>. 
of which they still have two, and must get out ©f 
both before l^ey appear as flies. 

The time that they remain nymphs is unceKteiir,, 
and must vary, as the weather is one element in Vniig«> 
ing about theur last change. When that is to* take 
place, they come out of the water, in vast numbers, 
and leave their old coats so abundant as to cov^r the 
water like a scimi. After a little while they castliieir 
inner coat; their wings stretch and become firm> an4 



they monnt into the air, to spend the hour, or the 
day, which is to them the whole period of air-breath- 
ing life. 

That period is short; but that is necessary : for, in 
some places, if they were to hvc long, there would 
absolutely not be room for them. They eat nothing, 
and BO destroy nothing i but there are places in France 
and Germany where, if they bved but for a month on 
the wing, they would build up the air solid to the 
tops of the trees. As it is, they sometimes fall on the 
ground near the rivers in showers like snow, and the 
people collect them in heaps as manure to the fields. 
Altogether, they are curious and interesting little crea- 
tures ; and those who wish to know more about them, 
will find a collection of the best accounts in the 
thirty-second part of Cuvier's Animal Kingdom, by 

Knowledge, when visdom h too nealc to guide lii 
Is like a head-ettODE; borsc, that dirowB the rider. 


These letters, which, as we have before said, form 
the newly published number of the Family Library, 
contain a comprehensive and highly interesting ac- 
count of the circumstances, in nature and art, which 
are calculated to raise impressions of supernatural 
agency. Accustomed to derive our knowledge of the 
matenal world, chiefly fifom our faculties of sight and 
hearing, we are little aware of the extent to which 
these faculties deceive us. The eye gives to objects 
forms and colours different from those they usually 
wear; and the cheats of the fancy are so vivid as 
not to be distinguishable from the real views of 
sight. We are, too, constantly liable to be deceived 
by the imagination into the belief that we hear sounds 
which either do not exist at all, or are of a totally dif- 
ferent nature from what we suppose them to be. 
Human ingenuity has availed itself of these illusions, 
and heightened their effect by a thousand contriv- 
ances, which, though used in farmer times to work 
on the superstitious belief of the world, now con- 
tribute only to the harmless amusement of a mare 
enlightened age. Dr. Jobnsun has often been igno- 
rantly sneered at, for his tendency to a belief in ap- 
paritions ; but it is impossible to read this book with- 
out beii^ convinced that that great man reasoned as 
soundly on this as on other subjects. lie maintained 
that there were cases of apparitions, which were 
proved, according to the strictest laws of evidence. 
This opinion is fully confirmed by Dr. Brewster; 
who, however, explains away, upon scientific princi- 
ples, unknown in the days of Dr. Johnson, many cases 
of the supposed appearances of ghosts which were 
well authenticated at the time. His belief therefore, 
under the circumstances, was in truth more philoso- 
phical than the general unbelief of other men in his 

One of the most valtiable parts of this work is, the 
clear descriptions it contains of many mechanical 
contrivances for deceiving the senses, and for imitating 
the actions of living beings. 

Of these, the celebrated exhibition of the Invisible 
Girl was one of the most remarkable. " As the me- 
chanism employed," says Dr. Brewster, "was ex- 
tremely ingenious, and is well fitted to convey an idea 
of this class of deceptions j" we shall give a de'ailed 
description of it. 

* Letters oa Natural Magic, addressed to Sir Walter Scalt, b; 
Sir Daiid Brenler. Family lArary, Vol. XXX IV. Londoo: 
Joba Uurraj 

lachinery, as conetrncled b; M. Charles, is shown 
in Fig. 1 ia perspective, and a plan of it ia Fig. 2. The 
four upright posts A, A, A, 
A, are united at lop hjr n 
crass rail, B, B, and by 
two similaT mils at bot- 
tom. Four bent wires, a, 

a, a, a, proceeded from 
the top of tbese posts, and 
terminated at c. A hol- 
low boll, M, about a foot 
in diameler, wassuspead. 

\ ed from these wires by 
four slender ribands, h, b, 

b, h, and into the copper 
ball uere fixed the extre- 
mities of four trumpets, 

T,T, T,T, nith their mouths outwards. 

" The apparatus now described was all that was visible to 
the spectator; and though fixed in one spot, yet it hadthe 
appearance of s pieee of separikte macliineir, which might 
m have occupied an; other pait 
of the room. When one of the 
spectators was requested by 
the exhibitor to propose some 
question, he did it by speaJfing 
into one of the trumpets at T. 
An appropriate answer was 
then returned from all the 
trumpets, and the sound issued 
Hith sufficient intensity to be 
. heard by an ear applied to any 
" of them, and yet it was so weaK 
j,],.s tiiat it appeared to come frum 

a person of very diminutive size. Hence the sound was sup- 
p<ffied to come from an invisible girl, though the real speaker 
was a full-grown woman. The invisible lady conversed in 
different languages, sang beautifully, and made the most 
livelyand appropriate remarks on the persona iu the mom. 

" The ball M and its trumpets communicated with nolliing 
thiough which sound could be conveyed. The spectator 
satisfied himself by examination that the ribands b, b, wero 
teal ribands, whiuh concealed nothing, and which could 
convey no sound ; and as he never conceived that the ordi- 
nary piece of framework A B, could be of any other use than 
its apparent one of supportbg the sphere M, and defending 
't from the spectators, he was left; in utter amazement respect- 
ng the origin of the sound, and bis surprise was increased 
by the difference between the sounds which were uttered 
and those of ordinary speech, 

" Though the spectators were thus deceived by their own 
reasoning, yet the process of deception was a very simple one. 
In two of the honzontol railings. A, A, Fig. 2, oppoute the 
trumpet mouths T, there was an opening communicaling 
with a pipe or lube wliicli went to the upright post B, and 
descending it, as shown at T A A, Fig. 3, went beneath the 
floor // in the direction y, p, and entered the apartment N, 
where the invisible lady sat. On the side of the partition 
about h, there was a small hole, through which the lady saw 
what was going on In the exhibition room, end communicD.- 
tions were no doubt made to her by ^gnals frum the person 
who attended the machine. Wh&o one of the spectators 
asked a question by speaking into one of the trumpets T, the 
sound was reflectea from the mouth of the trumpet back to 
the opening at A, in the horizontal rail, Fig. 2, and was 

dislinctlv conveyed along the closed tube into the apartment 
N. In like mauDet the answer issued from the aperture A, 
and being reflected hack to the ear of the spcclalor by the 

then reflected to the ear. 



[Atjovst 18, 

" The surprise of the auditors was greaUj increased by the 
circumstance, that an answer was returned to questions put 
in a whisper, and also by the conviction that nobody but a 
person in the middle of the audience could observe the cir- 
cumstances to which the invisible figure frequently adverted. 

This ingenious contrivance suggests to Dr. Brewster 
the following reinairldl on the subject, the deceits of 
the sense of nearing, 

'^ Althoug:h the perfhrmances of speaking heads were gene- 
rally effected by tne methods now described, yet there is 
reason to think that the ventriloquist sometimes presided at 
the exhibition, and deceived the audience by his extraordi- 
narr powers. There is no kind of decepUon more irre- 
sistible in its effects than tliat which arises fromthe uncer- 
tainty with which We judge of the direction and distance 
of sounds. Every person Ttiust have noticed how a sound 
in their own ears is often mistaken for some loud noise mode- 
rated by the distance from which it is supposed to come; 
and the sportsman must have frequently been surprised at 
iht existence of musical sounds humming distantly in the 
wide heath, when it was only the wind sounding in tlie 
barrel of his gun. The great proportion of apparitions that 
haunt old castles and apartments associated with death, 
exist only in the sounds which accompany them. The ima- 
gination even of the boldest inmate of a place hallowed by 
superstition, will transfer some trifling sound near his own 
person to a direction and to a distance very different from 
the truth ; and the sound which othen^ise might have 
nothing peculiar, will derive another character from its 
new situation. Spuming the idea of a supernatural origin, 
he determines to unmask the spectre, and erapple with it in 
its den. All the inmates of the house are K)und to be asleep 
-^even the beasts are in their lair — there is not a breatn 
of wind to ruffle the lake that reflects through the casement, 
the waning crescent of the night ; and the massive walls in 
which he is inclosed, forbid the idea that he has been disturbed 
by the warping of panneling or the bendifig of partitions. 
His search is vain ; and he remains master cf his own secret, 
till he has another opportunity of investigation. The same 
sound again disturbs him, and, modified probably by his 
own position at the time, it may perhaps appear to come in 
a direction slightly different from the last His searches are 
resumed, and he is again disappointed. If this incident 
shbuld occur night after night with the same result; — ^if the 
sound should appear to depend upon his own motions, or be 
any how associated with himself, with his present feelings, or 
with his past history, his personal courage will give way, a 
superstitious dread, at which he himself perhaps laughs, will 
seize his mind, and he ^^ill rather believe that the sounds 
have a supernatural origin, than that they could continue to 
issue from a spot where he knows there is no natural cause 
for their production. 

** I have had occasion to have personal knowledge of a case 
much stronger than that which nas now been put. A een- 
Ueman, devoid of all superstitious feelings, and living in a 
house free from any gloomy associations, heard night afler 
night in his bed-room a singular noise, unlike any ordinary 
sound to which he was accustomed. He had slept in the 
same room for years without hearing it, and he attributed it 
at first to some change of circumstances in the roof or in the 
walls of the room ; but after the strictest examination no 
cause could be found for it. It occurred only once in the 
night ; it was heard almost every night, with few interrup- 
tions. It was over in an instant, and it never took place till 
after the gentleman had gone to bed. It was always dis- 
tinctly heard by his companion, to whose time of going to 
bed it had no relation. It depended on the gentleman 
alone, and it followed him into another apartment with ano- 
ther bed, on the opposite side of the house. Accustomed to 
such investigations, he made the most diligent but fruitless 
search into its cause. The consideration that the sound had 
a special reference to him alone, operated upon his imagina- 
tion, and he did not scruple td acknowledge that the 
mysterious soimd always produced a superstitious feeling 
at the moment. Many months afterwajrds it was found 
that the sound arose from the partial opening of the door of 
a wardrobe which was within a few feet of Uie gentleman's 
head, and which had been taken into the other apartment 
This wardrobe was almost always opened before ne retired 
to bed, and the door being a little too tight, it gradually 
forced itself open with a sort of dull sound, resembling the 
note of a drum. As the door had only started half an inch 
out of its place, its change never attracted attention. The 

sound, indeed, seemed to come in a different direcUon, and 
from a greater distance. 

" When sounds so mysterious in their origin are heard by 
persons disposed before-hand to a belief in the marvellous, 
their influence over the mind must be very powerful. An 
inquiry into their origin, if it is made at all, will be made more 
in the hope of confirming than of removing the original im- 
pression, and the unfortunate victim of his own fears will also 
be the willing dupe of his own judgment 

We shall^ in a subsequent Number, continue our 
extracts from this interesting work. 

Thk quantity of com raised per acre varies of cour% 
according to the soil. The produce of wheat at some 
spots amounts to 6 quarters, but in others to only 1| 
quarter per acre ; but 2 J quarters for wheat, 4 for 
barley, and 4} for oats may be considered a fair aver- 
age. The average weight of a bushel of good English 
wheat is about 581bs -, in bad seasons it does not ex- 
ceed bS or 57, but in good years it sometimes weighs 
from 60 to 62, and in some places 641bs. The bushel 
yields 431bs. of flour, for standard wheaten bread -, or 
461bs. for household bread. The culture of rye and 
buck wheat in England has of late years been much 
diminished. The quantity of bops raised is very fluc- 
tuating, but may be computed at an annual hvemge of 


The wrath of God rides on the rushing gales, 
The glutton quakes, the cowering drankard quails ; 
A deadly vapour lurks unseen in air, 
Bv day and night the winds its poison bear, 
Blasting the breath of all the human race, 
Changing man's dwelling to a burial place. 

Not all the medicines the druggists keep 

Can shield us from the gravels long dismal sleep ; 

Not all the sapient Faculty protect 

One life one day ; — ah ! never then neglect 

To watch and pray, and buckle for the fight, 

For Azrael comelh like a thief by night ; 

And man's cold corse is crush'd beneath the sod, — 

His spiiit in the presence of its God : 

Ere he hath time to breathe a fervent pray'r, 

He perishes — ^the victim of the air. 

By the Author of Tbb Natural Son. 


It has been supposed that Infant Schools have a ten- 
dency to produce a too early separation of children 
from their parents — weakening, on the one side, the 
due sense of parental care, and hindering, on the 
other, the growth of natural affection. 

It will be useful to examine practically the weight 
of this objection. For this purpose, let us place before 
us the case of a mother who puts her child to an In- 
fant School, and see what occurs. 

The motlier has to bring the child to the school, 
neat and clean, by nine in the morning. There she 
leaves it till twelve, when she takes it home to dinner. 
At two the child is brought back to the school, where 
it remains, in simuner, till five, in winter, till four, 
when it again returns to the mother*s care. Parents 
who cannot conveniently take their children home to 
dinner, are permitted to leave their food with them 
in the morning, and the children are allowed to re- 
main in the schooL 

It will be seen, therefore, that the actual amount 
of separation varies, according to the respective cases^ 
from five to eight hours per day. 

Under what circumstanced does this separation 
take place ? The mother has her daily labour of one 
kind or other to perform. During those hours she is 




glad to be rebeved from the charge of her child. She 
knows she has left it in a safe place 5 she perceives 
that the child likes the school, because it always goes 
willingly;* she sees an improvement in the habits 
and temper of her child ; she finda it easier to ma- 
nage ; fewer conflicts arise between them ; she parts 
with it in the morning with satisfaction ; she sees it 
come home with pleasure. Is there any thing in this 
to weaken the bonds of natural affection ? ' 

Now let us see what happens where Infant Schools 
are not found The mother has her daily task to en- 
counter* sometimes at home, sometimes abroad. The 
child is in her way ; she does what she can to amuse 
it 5 but she flnds it a hard matter to attend to her 
work and her child too : she lets it run out into the 
alley or street in which she lives j the child gets into 
some trouble or difficulty, which vexes and irritates 
the mother ; or, at best, it comes home covered with 
dirt, and any thing but the better for the manner in 
which it has been passing its time. When the mo- 
ther does not follow this plan, she joins with a few 
neighbours (and this particularly occurs in the case 
of those who have out-door work) in hiring a girl, 
who, for six-pence a- week, takes charge of as many 
children as can be crowded together ;nto a small 
room, her duty being to keep the door shut and the 
children out of harm. In this, however, she is not 
always successful. An eminent medical practitioner 
stated, when infant schools were first established, that 
he would support them, if for no other reason, to 
prevent the dreadful accidents that are continually 
happenmg from fire to the children of the working 

Who that duly considers the subject can remain 
under the impression, that such a limited separation 
as that which is effected by Infant Schools between 
parent and child, can be injurious to either one party 
or the other ? In what condition of life is it expected 
that parents are to spend every hour of the day in the 
society of their children ? And with respect to the 
great mass of the population in crowded cities, how 
is it possible for them to do it ? We may regret that 
the state of things is not otherwise 5 we may earnestly 
desire that less of labour might suffice to satisfy, 
earthly wants j but, until that time shall arrive, our 
business is to deal with things as they are, and to seek, 
by every wise and good method, to mend them. 

An objection has b^en taken to some Infant Schpols, 
and with reason j — ^that the system followed in them 
is not sufficiently simple. This is a mistake which 
ought to be avoided. It gives a fanciful character to 
that which is in reality soBd and substantial. There 
is room enough for disciphne and instruction (the 
first being by far the most important of the two in 
these institutions) without teaching trigonometry, or 
the signs of the Zodiac. At the largest school in 
London, the " City of London Infant School," in 
Liveipool Buildings, nothing is attempted that can 
not be made intelhgible to the opacities of the 

• In caset of sickness, the mothers state that the children's 
greatest grief it, that they cannot $vt to the school 


Live well, and die never ; 
Die well, and live ever. 

Oeoiios II having ordered his gardens at Kew and 
Richmond to be opened, for the admission of the pub- 
lic, during part of the summer, his gardener finding 
it troublesome to him, complained to the king that 
the people gathered the flowers. " What,** said the 
monarch, " are my people fond of flowers ? then plant 
some more," 



Triamphal arch, that HlVst the sky. 

When stomis prepare to part, 
I ask not proud philosophy 

To teach me what thou art- 
Still seem, as to mj childhood's sight, 

A midway station given, 
For happy spirits to alight 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

Can all that optics teach unfold 

Thy fonn to please me so, 
Ai uhen I dreamt of eems ^nd gold 

Hid in thy radiant bow ? 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws. 

And yet, fair bow, no fablinj^ dreams. 
But words of the Most High, 

Have told why first thv rol^e of beams 
Was woven in the ^ky. 

When o'er the greep undeluged earth, 
Heaven's covenant, thou oidst shine, 

How came the world's grey fathers forth 
To watch thy sacred sign I 

And when iU yellow lustre smiled 

O'er mountains yet untrod, 
Each mother held aloft her child 

To bless the bow of God. ' 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 
The first-made antheip rang. 

On parth deliver'd from the oeep, 
And the first poet sang. 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 
Unrdptur^d greet tjiy beam j 

Theme of primeval prophecy, 
Be still the poet's theme. 

The earth to thee its ipoense yields, 
The lark thy welcome sings, 

When glittering in the frcehen'd fields 
The snowy mushrooia springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 
O'er mountain, tower, and town, 

Or mlrror'd in the ocean vast 
A thousand fathoms down. 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 
As young thy beauties seem, 

As when the eagle from the ark 
First sported in thy beam. 

For faithful to its sacred page, 
Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 

Nor lets the type grow pale with age, 
That first spoke peace to man. 



The fcords of the wlte man thus preach to as all, 
DeapUe not the VforXh of those things that vrt small. 

The quill of the goose is a very slight thing, 

Yet it feathers the arrow that flies uom tlie string ; 

Makes the bird it belongs to rise high in its flight. 

And the jack it has oilca against dinner go right 

It brightens the floor, when turned to a broom. 

And brushes down cobwebs at the top of the room i 

Its plumage by age into figures is wrought ; 

Its soft as the hand and as auick as the thought ; 

It warms in a muff, and cools in a screen. 

It is good to be felt, it is good to be seen. 

When, wantonly waving, it makes a fine show 

On the crest of the warrior, or hat of the beau. 

The quill of the goose (I shall never have done, 

If thro' ^1 its perfections and praises I run) 

Makes the harpsicord vocal, wnich else would be mute, 

And enlivens tne sound, the sweet sound of the flute ; 

Records what is written, in verse or in prose. 

By Ramsay, by Cambray, by Boyle, or Despreaux. 

Therefore well did the wise man thus preach to us all, 

^ Deipi«e ^oi the worth of those things that are sm«ill ** 


[August 18, 1832. 

John Locke wm bom at Wrington, in Somerset- 
shire, in a house adjoining the churchyard, of which 
we give the following sketch. It is now divided 

Viat tfa, Mut « MKjb Itcit >«. kra. 

into two tenements, one of which is oceupitfd by the 
sexton of the parish. Under the same roof, although 
in a separate part, is the Girls' National School. The 
house is in a ruinous condition, but such is the reve- 
rence manifested for the memory of this great man, 
that it is kept in as diligent repair as is consistent with 
any preservation of the sameness of tlie buildings. 
We trust it will never be removed, but, when unin- 
habitable, permitted to firAow the stream of time. 
"In their own quiet glade should sleep 

The reliclu deer to thought. 
And wUd flower wreaths frum side to Kide 
Their waving tracery hang, to hide 
What mthless time has wrought" 

The entry of Locke's baptism still remains in the 
Parish Register of Wrington. It is as follows : 
Anno Dfii 1637, 

Julie 16. John the sonne of Jeremy Locke St Elizabeth 
his wife. 

He died in the year 1704, ^d 73. 

Locke was to the philosophy of mind what Newton 
was to the philosophy of matter. His opinions at the 
time were mistaken, and it was thought that they led 
to the overthrow of Christianity. Later times have 
shewn that they confirm the truth of religion ; and, 
iodced, Locke was himself a convinced Christian, and 
author of a commentary on St. Paul's Epistles, and a 
Common-Place Book to the Bible. The last years of 
his life were spent in the study of the Holy Scriptures. 

The Pleasure or Amusement 
THE Pleasure from Industry in our Calt.ings. 
— How is that man deceived, who thinks to main- 
tain a constant tenure of pleasure by a continued 
pursuit of sports and recreations. The most volup- 
tuous and loose person breathing, were he but tied to 
follow his hawks and his hounds, his dice and his 
courtships, every day, would find it the greatest torment 
and calamity that could befall him ; he would fly to 
the mines and gallies for his recreation, and to the 
spade and the mattock for a diversion from the misery 
of a continual unremitted pleasure. But on the con- 
trary, the providence of God has so ordered the course 
of things, that tliere is no acljon the iis«falneu of 

which has made it the matter of duty and of a pro- 
fessioa, but a man may lead the continual pursuit of 
it without loathing and satiety. The same shop and 
trade that employs a man in his youth, employs bim 
also in his age. Every morning he rises fresh to his 
hammer and anvil j he passes 3»e day singing ; trus- 
torn has naturalized his labour to him ; his shop is 
his element, and he cannot ■with any cnjoymeat of 
himself live out of it. 

Johnson thought the happiest life was that of a man 
of business, with some, literary pursuits for amuse- 
ment i and that in general no one could be virtuous 
or happy, tliat was not completely employed. " Be 
not solitary, be not idle," is the conclusion of Burton's 
Anatomy of Melancholy. 


We passed to my snrprise a row of no less then nine 
or ten large and very beautiful otters, tethered with 
straw collars, and long strings, to bamboo stakes on 
the bank. Some were swimming about at the full ex- 
tent of their strings, or lying half in and half oat of 
the water ; others were rolling themselves in the sun 
on the sand-banks, uttering a shrill whisthng noise as 
If in play. I was told that most of the fishermen in 
this neighbom'hood kept one or more of these animals, 
who were almost as tame as Ao^, and of great use 
in fishing, Bomctimes driving the shoals into the nets, 
sometimes bringing out the larger fish with their 
teeth. I was much pleased and interested with the 

It has alwajni been a fancy of mine, that the poor 
creatures whom we waste and persecute to death for 
no cause, but the gratification of our cruelty, might, 
by reasonable treatment, be made the sources of abun- 
dant amusement and advantage to ua. The simpfa 
Hindoo shows here a bett«r taste and judgment thsn 
half the otter-hunting and badger-baiting gentry of 
England. — Heber'g Journal. 



Sold by all BooUsllHt isd Nemrgndin in the KingioD. 

■nrkenud Dttitn in Perlodlciil PnbHcatiau luppUed an wholnile Inmi 

W.S. ORR,P>lKniKlFr-Rin>i O.BEHOEn.Ho]T«e11-ll.i A. DOt'GLAS, 


D^illH .... 


tlnemilH-tn-Tfiic,Flvl»y ft Chul. 
ton, Emma. 

T/ellintlaM Wrirhl 

Urfinf Slaltcr. 

>, FilBttr, UO, 81. Mullnl Uiw, ChuiBg Cm 

^dtur^^H M^u^^mt^ 






It u the custom in the East for families to grind the 
com and prepare the flour which they use at home. 
The accompanying plate Tepresents a Hindoo family 
engaged ia this employment. The woman on the 
outside is cleansing the com by pouring it on the 
floor against the wind, which carries away the dust 
and light particles that have become mixed with it. 
The com thus cleaned ia poured, a few handfulls at a 
time, into the hollow at the top of the hand-mill, 
which consist of two stones, about two feet and a half 
in diameter, and six inches thick. A stout wooden 
pivot connects the upper with the lower stone. The 
com that is poured in at tbe top falls in between the 
two stones, and the turning round of the upper stone 
reduces it to flour, in which state it works out at the 
rim, and falls on a cloth spread to receive it. The 
flour ia winnowed and sifted on the floor. 

The sort of corn-mill here represented is common 
in all parts of the East, and has been in use from 
the earliest ages. We find frequent mention of it in 
Scripture. The family mill was so eaaeotial to the 
preparation of the daily food, that it was forbidden 
by the law of Moses to take in pledge " the upper or 
the nether mill-stone ;" and the reason stated (brtbis 
prohibition is, that he who should do so, "taketli a 
man's life to pledge ."-^When Abimelech, after the 
defeat of the Shechemites, attacked the town of Thebez, 
and was about to set fire to the tower in which the 
inhabitants had taken refuge, a brave woman de- 
stroyed the oppressor by throwing on his head frxim 
the wall a stone of the honeehold mill. — The fall and 
degradation of Babylon is thus foretold in the beau- 
tiful imagery of the inspired prophet Isaiah : " Come 
down and ait in the dust, O vir^n daughter of Ba- 
bylon — sit on the ground. There is no throne, O 
daughter of the Chaldeans ; for thou shalt no more 

be called tender and delicite ; take Ike mill-ttott»* mi 
grind meal," 

The occupation of grinding the corn is generally 
performed by women, though it is not unfrequently 
committed to men, as will be seen by our print, which 
is copied from a drawing made on the spot, and pub- 
lished as one of a series of engravings by an ingeni- 
ous native artist at Madras. 

There is a remarkable passage in St. Matthew, 
where our Saviour is pressing upon his disciples the 
necessity of being always in a state of preparation, aa 
well for the signal calamities of this life — such as the 
destruction which was to fall on Jerusalem — as for 
the sudden coming of the Day of Judgment. He 
warns them to reflect on the certainty that what is 
announced by God would come to pass ; and not to 
look for warnings which should give them lime for 
individual preparation, for the world will be found 
engaged in its ordinary pursuits when such mighty 
events occur — " For, as in the days that were before 
the flood, they were eating and drinking, marrying 
and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah en- 
tered the ark, and knew not till the flood came, and 
took them all away ; so shall also the coming of the 
Son of man be. Then shall two be in the field ; the 
one shall be taken and the other left ; — two leomen 
tkall be grinding at the mill, — the one shall be takeo 
and the other left." 

It ia very remarkable that mills of a similar con- 
struction are mentioned by Pennant as in use in the 
highlands of Scotland and in the Hebrides, and are 
called Querns. The description of their form, and 
the manner of using them, differ in no material point 
from what we have shown to be customary in tlie 
East. The introduction of a more expeditious and 
effectual machine, seems to have been opposed by the 



[August 25, 

prejtidic€8 of the pec^le for a long time, and Pennant 
aaw the hahd-mlll in use in the lele of Rum in 1769. 
• " The QUem ot Bra," he says, " id made in some 
of the neighbouring counties on the mainland, and 
costs about fourteen shillings. This method of grind- 
ing is veky tbdious, for it employs two pair of hands 
foilr hoturs to grind only a single bushel of com. 
Instead of a hair-sieve to sift the meal, the inhabitants 
have here an ingenious substitute — a sheep-skin 
stretched round a hoop and bored with small holes 
made with a hot iron." 

During the work the women used to sing songs, 
sometimes of love, sometimes of praise of their ancient 
heroes, whose deeds they rehearsed to slow and me- 
lancholy tunes. But Pennant observes that " singing 
at the Quern was almost out of date since the intro^- 
duction of water-mills. The laird can oblige his 
tenants, as in England, to make use of this more ex- 
peditious kind of grincUng, and empowers his miller 
to search out and break any Querns he can find, as 
machines that defraud him of the toll.' 



What a wide field of wondet and reflection does the 
present advanced state of the press Open to an observ- 
ing mind ! In all its departments wonderful, in none 
is it more astonishing than in the circulation of its 
Newspapers. Vehicles they are of all that can interest 
man as a moral and social being. In the lawful use of 
their mighty powef, capable of behig ranked among 
the great benefkctors of mankind — the friends of reli- 
gion, liberty and order — ^the patrons of every improve- 
ment which can add to the substantial benefits, the 
comforts, the ornaments of civilized life, — sources of 
daily information and innocent amuseibent, to every 
rank of society. In the wanton, profligate, and corrupt 
abuse of the same power, instruments of t^rranny, op- 
pression, moral, political, and religious degradation^ 
confusion, and every evil work. 

Such being thehr power for good and for ill, their 
history, their origin, their past and present circum- 
stances, can never be devoid of interest. We lay 
before our readers some acknowledged facts connected 
with these points. 

For an Englishman not intimately acquainted with 
the former history of his country, but who was now 
approaching " the age of man," it would be very na- 
tu^ to suppose, that, although he has observed news- 
papers to have increased prodigiously in siee and 
numbers within the last fifty years, yet that their pro- 
gress was like that of our roads. He might reason- 
ably suppose, tiiat though fewer, less frequent, ttnd 
smallet, — ^in every point unlike those of tiie present 
day, — still that they Vere in existence flrom time imme- 
morial. The invoition of printing, indeed, mi^t have 
made the multiplication of copies infinitely more easy> 
still there is nothing of itself absurd, in supposing that 
newspapers) like our historical records, might have 
circulated in England fh>m the time of Alfred* and 

The diet, however^ is strikingly the reverse. Nothing 
of the kind had any name or any being in our coun- 
try for more than five hundred years after the Norman 
conquest. The origin of the first Gazette is y&y cu- 
rious, and intbtesting to every Englishman : and it 
is this. 

When the Spanish Armada was in the English 
Channel, during the year 1588, many false reports 

* Vnniue is entitled to the honour of having produced the first 
Oazetta i and yet its jealous government, long ifter the invention 
of printibg allowed it to be distributed only in manoscript. 

were naturaHy spreadi cedouktad ^' alarm anfl di- 
spirit the people of this island. To |)revettt these mis- 
chiefs, throuffh a season of intense anxiety, the Go- 
vernment had recourse to the expedient of publishing 
real information. And (as Chalmers expresses it in 
his Life of Ruddiman) it may gratify our pride to be 
told that mankind are indebted to the wisdom of our 
Elizabeth, and the prudence of her minister, Burleigh, 
for the first Newspaper. The earliest gazette of this 
kind was entitled The English Mercurie, which, by 
authority, was " imprinted at London, by Christopher 
Barker, her Highnesse's Printer, 1588.** 

In the first of these newspapers, preserved in the 
British Museum, under the date of July 26, 1588, is 
the following notice : " Yesterday the Scots ambassa- 
dor, being introduced by Sir Francis Walsingham, 
had a private audience of her Majesty, to whom he 
delivered a letter from the king his master, [James 
VI of Scotland, her successor on the throne of Eng- 
land] containing the most cordial assurances of his 
resolution to adhere to her Majesty *s interests, and to 
those of the Protestant religion.*' And it may not be 
here improper to take notice of a trise and spirited 
saying of this yotmg prince, [he was twenty-two] to 
the queen*s minister at his cotnrt, viz. ' That all the 
favout* he did expect from the Spaniards, was the 
coturtesy of Polypneme to Ulysses, to be the last de- 
voured,* '* I defy (observes Chalmers) the gazetteer 
of the present day to give a more decorous account of 
the introduction of a foreign ministel". 

Burieigh*s newspapers were all Extraordinary Ga- 
zettes, published from time to time, as that profound 
statesman wished to inform or terrify the people. The 
Mercuries were probably fu^t printed in April, 1588, 
when the Armada approached the shores of England. 
After the Spanish ships had been dispersed, these 
Extraordinary Gazettes seldom appeared. On Nov. 
24, 1586, the Mercuric informed the pec^le that '' the 
solemn thanksgiving for the successes against the 
Spanish Armada was this day strictly observed.'* 

It has been confidently but ignorantly asserted, 
that newspapers were invented by the French, in the 
time of Richelieu, who gave Th^phrast Redaunot a 
patent for the Paris Gazette. But this was first pub- 
lished in 1 63 1 . The dates demonstrate that the plea* 
sures and benefits of a newspaper were enjoyed in 
England more than forty years before the French 
possessed any thing of the kind. 

A newspaper had now gratified the curiosity of the 
people, and the people would no longer be gratified 
without a newspaper, though the English Mercurie 
ceased when the occasion which gave it birth had 
passed away. They were at first occasional, and af- 
terwards weekly. The title of the first was T^ 
News ^ the Present Week, 

Dtuing the civil wars the country was inundated 
with those occasional " News." Still they were mcn-e 
of the character of pamphlets than newspapers. In 
1665| the London Gazette was published, under the 
title of the Oxford Gasette, it having been printed at 
that University during a session of Parliament held 
there on account of the plague then raging in London. 
This Was reprinted in London, in two small folio pages, 
** for the use of some merchants and gentlemen who 
desire the same." From 1661 to 1688 no less than 
seventy p^)ers were published under different titlea. 
From an advertisement in the ^^^eatoii Gazette, 16ilo, 
it i^pears that the coffee-houses in London, were 
then Supplied with nine newspapers. In 1696, there 
seems not to have been any daily paper, though it has 
been said that the London Onirant was published 
daily. As early as the reign of Queen Anne, London 
enjoyed the luxury of a newspaper every day, though. 




even in 1709, the Daify Ccfurant was the only paper 
published every day, Sundays of courge excepted. 
The rest were pubfisbed three times a week, or less 
frequently. In 1 724 the number was three daily, six 
weddy, seven three times a week, three Halfpenny 
Posts, pubUshed three times a weekj and the London 
Gazette twice a week. 

In 1 8 1 5, the number of newspapers in Great Britain 
bad risen to 252. Of these 55 were published in 
London, 15 daily, and 40 periodically; 122 in the 
country parts of England, 26 in Scotland, and 49 in 

The total number of these papers printed during 
three months, ending April 1, 1815, wa3 5,890,621, 
making the annual average 22,762,764. 

In the year 1829, the number of the newspapers 
published in the Metropolis alone amounted to about 
18,000,000 3 in 1830 to nearly 20,000,00(Jj and in 
1831, it was upwards of 22,000,000. 


The rememteance of youth is a ngh. — ^Ali 

Man bath a wea^y pilgrimage 
As through the world he wends ; 
On every stage from youth to age 
Still discontent atteuos : 
With heaviness he casts his eye 
Upon the road before, 
And still remembers with a sigh 
The days that are no more. 

To school the litde exile goes, 
Tora £rom his mother's arms, — 
What then shall soothe his earliest woes. 
When novelty hath lost its charms? 
Condemn'd to suffer through the day 
Rertraints which no rewards repay, 
And cares where love has no concern, 
Hope lengthens as she counts the hoars, 
Bemre his wish'd return. 
From hard control and tyrant rules, 
The unfeeling discipline of schools, 
In thought he loves to roam ; 
And tears will struggle in his eye 
While he remembers with a sigh 
The comforts of his home. 

Youth comes ; the toils and cares of life 

Torment the restless mind ; 

Where shall the tired and harass'd heart 

1 ts consolation find ? 

Then is not youth, as fancy tells, 

Life's summer prime of joy P 

Ah no ! for hopes too long delay'd, 

And feelings blasted or t^tray'd, 

The fabled bliss destroy ; 

And youth remembers with a sigh 

The careless days of infancy. 

Maturer manhood now arrives. 
And other thoughts come on ; 
But with the baseless hopes of youth 
Its generous warmth is gone ; 
Cold calculating cares succeed, 
The timid thought, the wary deed, 
The dull realities of truth ; . 
Back on the past he turns his eye, 
Remembering with an envious sigh 
The happy dreams of youth. 

So reaches he the latter stage 
Of this our mortal pilgrimage, 
With feeble step and dk)'w ; 
New ills that lattei stage await, 
And old experience learns too late 
That all is vanity below. 
Life's vain delusions are gone by, 
Its idle hopes are o*er. 
Yet age remembers with a sigh 
The <&yB that are no more. 



The Wryneck derives its name from its peculiar hahtt 
of lengthening the neck, which at the some time it 
writhes from side to side with serpent-like bendinga, 
now pressing down the feathers so as to resemble 
the head of a snake, and again half-closing the eyeif, 
swelling out the throat, and erecting its crest, when 
it presents an £^pearance at onoe singular and ludi- 

Among our most interesting and attractive birds, 
this little harbinger of spring delights us, not by the 
splendour of its hues, but oy the chasteness of its 
colouring, and the delicate and singular way of its 
markings, which, from their intricacy and irregularity 
almost defy the imitations of the pencil. 

Among our migratory or wandering birds the Wry- 
neck is one of the earliest visitors j arriving at the 
beginning of April, generally a few days before the 
cuckoo, (whose mate, from this circumstance, it has 
been cdled) when his shrill unchanging note, pee pee 
pee, rapidly reiterated, may be heard in our woods 
and gsurdens. The places where this bird is found, 
appear to be very liinited ; the midland counties being 
those to which it usually resorts in England. M. Tem- 
minck informs us that it is seldom found beyond 
Sweden, and is rare in Holland, occupying in pre- 
ference the central portions of Europe. We are able 
to add to this information, by stating that it is abund- 
ant in the Himalaya mountains in India, whence we 
have ftrequently received it as a common specimen of 
the birds of that range of hills, with others bearing 
equally a British character. 

In manners, the Wryneck is shy and Lonesome ; 
and were it not for its loud and well-known call, we 
should not often be aware of its presence ; its quiet 
habits leading it to close retirement, and its sober 
colour, which agrees with the brown bark of the trees, 
tending also to its concealment. 

In coniinement, however, or when wounded, tlijs 
little bird manifests much boldness -, hissing like a 
snake, erecting its crest, and defending itself with 
great spirit.^ 

It breeds with us soon after its arrival, the female 
selecting the hole of a tree, in which she lays her 
eggs, to the number of eight or nine, of an ivory 
white. The young take after the plumage of the parent 
birds, which shows scarcely any difference between 
the two sexes. 

The food of the Wryneck, like that of the weaker- 
billed Woodpeckers, consists of caterpillars and other 
insects, especially ants and their larvae, to which it is 
very partiaL In the manner of taking its food this 
little bird makes but little use of the bill itself; its 
long hoUow tongue, capable of bein^ thrust out to ^ 
considerable distance, and made sticky by a proper 
gland, being the chief instrument. This it inserts 
between the crevices of the bark, or among the loose 
sandy earth of the ant-hil), thrusting it out and. 
withdrawing it so rapidly, with the insect sticking to 
it, as almost to deceive the eye. 

licaving England in the early part of the autumn, 
the Wryneck passes over to the southern districts of 
Europe, and probably extends its journey to Asia, 
where it finds a kindly climate, and food still abundant 

The prevailing colour of this elegant little bu-d 
consists of different shades of brown, inclining to ^y 
on the head, the rump, and the tail, but of a bright 
cbesnut on the larger wing-coyert? and the first fea- 
thers; the whole beautifully varied with delicately 
8hfl|)ed markings of a deep hrowp- which &y^ it .a 
mottkd awearanceu Breast wooa-browft^ poociled 
with slender cross tracings i belly dirty white, speck-> 



[ArGVST 25' 

led with small dark ti-iangular spots; bill yellowish- 
brown ; eye'riags chesaut j feet a»d legs flcsh-co- 

Tlie annexed plate represents tlie male and female 
of their natural size ; the latter in the act of leaving 
the hole in the tree, in which wc may suppose her to 
have formed a nest. 

The above account of this curious little creature iis 
extracted from the first part of a work on the birds of 
Europe, lately published by Mr. John Gould, from 
drawings made on stone, by himself and Mrs. Gould ; 
the figures of the birds are also reduced from their 
original designs. This work is decidedly the most 
splendid illustration of Ornithology, or the Science of 
Birds, that has yet made its appearance, and is pecu- 
liarly deserving of praise for the correctness of the 
colouring, and the natural positions in which the 
objects it represents arc drawn. 

Judge Blackbtone, after enumerating the other spe- 
cies of trial by ordeal, says : "The next which remains in 
force, though very rarely in use, owes its introduction 
among us to the princes of the Norman 
line ; and that is the trial by battel, duel, or 
single combat." It will be in the recollection 
of most of our readers, that in the year 1818 
B very lively interest was excited tlirough the 
whole of England, in consequence of an ap' 
peal being made to the Court of King's Bench 
to award this trial, — Mary Asbford was found 
drowned in a pit in a field, and Thornton was 
committed to take hie trial for the murder. 
The Grand Jury found a true bill ; but after ^ 
a long and patient trial, the Petty Jury re- 
turned a verdict of ' Not guilty.' "The country 
were very much divided on the subject ; much /.„.^„ 
contradictory evidence was given on the trial, »/«" 
especially as to time and distance. Itissaidthat *"*"" 
Mr. Justice Holroyd, who tried the case, was satisfied 
with the verdict, llie poor murdered girl's relation 
preferred on appeal which involved a solemn tender 
of trial by a battle. It would be useless to dwell on 
the arguments used by the counsel on either side ; 
the court decided in favour of the prisoner's claim to 
trial by wager of battle, and the challenge was for- 
mally given, by throwing down a glove upon the floor 
of the court J but the combat did not take place, and 
the prisoner escaped. In consequence of the revival 
of this barbaroua practice on this occasion, a bill was 
brought into the House of Lorda by Iiord Tenterden, 
and was passed into a law, by which all proceedings 
of this kind were aboliahed altogether. The preamble 

of the bill is Vdry short and pithy : — " Whereas 
appeals of murder, treason, felony, or other offcnceB, 
and the manner of proceeding therein, have twen 
fouud oppressive j and the Trial by Battel in any 
suit, is a mode of trial unfit to be used j and it is ex- 
pedient that the same should be wholly abolished.*' 

Fcfiding this trial Mr. Kendall wrote a little work, 
the result of much research, on the subject. 

This mode of trial was brought into England, 
among other Norman customs, by William the Con- 
queror. It was, like the rest, a presumptuous aiq>e&l 
to Providence, under an expectation that heaven 
would unquestionably give the victory tu the innocent 
or injured party, llie last trial by battel that was 
waged in the Court of Common Picas, in Westmin- 
ster, was in the 13th year of Queen Elizabeth, a.d. 
1571, and was held in Tothill- Fields, Westminster. 
Tliis trial by wager of battel was fought by not the 
liartics themselves, in case of appeals of murder ; but 
by champions chosen by them, in a writ of rifht. 
Nearly the same ceremonies were observed in each 
case. We must confine ourselves to the case oi an 

The person accused (of murder, for example) pleads 
' Not guilty,' and throws down his glove, and dedaica 
he will defend the same by his body. The accnaer 
(called the appellant, as the other was tlic (qipellee) 
takes up the gluvc, and replies, that he is r^y to 
make good the appeal, body for body. Thereupon 
the accused, taking the book in his right hand, and 
in his left the right hand of his antagonist, swears 
thus : " Hear this, O man, whom I hold by the hand, 
who callest thyself John by the name of baptism, tltat 
1, who call myself Thomas by the name of baptism, 
did not feloniously murder thy father, William by 
name, nur ani any way guilty of the saiiL^ony. So 
help me God and the Saints : and this Twill defend 
against thee by my body, as this Court shall award." 
The appellant, observing the same form in act and 
deed, makes a similar oath, that his antagonist did 
murder his father, &c. 



A piece of ground is then set out, of sixty feet 
square, enclosed with lists, and on one side, a Court 
erected for the Judges, and also a bar for the ser- 
jeants-at-law. When the court sits, which ought to 
be at sun-rising, proclamation is made for the parties, 
who are introduced by two knights, and are dressed 
in a coat of armour, with red sandals, barele^ed 
from the knee downwards, bareheaded, and with bare 
arms to the elbows. The weapons allowed them are 
only batons, or staves of an ell long, and a four-cor- 
nered leathern target. Next, an oath against soroory 
and enchantment, is to be taken by both parties, in 
some such form as this : — " Hear this, ye justices, 
that I have this day neither eat, drank, nor have 



upon me anther bene, stone, ne graes, nor any en- 
chantment, sorcery, or witchcraft, whereby the Uw 
of God may be abased, or the law of the devil ex- 
alted. So help me God." The battle ia thus begun, 
and the combatants are bound to fight till the stars 
appear in the evening. If the accused be so 
vanquished that he cannot or will not fight any 
longer, he shall be adjudged to be banged imme- 
diately ; and then, as well as if he be killed fighting. 
Providence ia deemed to have determined in favour 
of the truth, and his blood shall be attainted. But if 
he kills the appellant, or can maintain the fight till 
the stars appear in the evening, he shall be acquitted. 
If the appellant becomes reereant, that is, yields, and 
pronounces the horrible word craven, he shall lose his 
station and rights as a free and lawfid man, and be- 
come infamous, and never admitted on a jury, or as a 
witness in a cause. 

Women, priests, infants, all above the age of sixty, 
the blind, tiie lame, peers of the realm ; and by 
special charter, because fighting seems to be foreign 
to their education and cmploynient, all citizens of 
Xondon, were exempt from the trial by Wager of bat- 

By an act of Parliament we have seen that this 
superstitious, iniquitous, and impious procedure, has 
been wholly abolished in England. Would that the 
no less iniquitous and impious mode of deciding 
quarrels by duel, which the president Montesquieu 
has with much ingenuity deduced from this ordeal, 
were banished from our country, and fix>m the whole 
civilized world for ever 1 The time will probably 
come when duelhng will be regarded as an act only 
of refined barbarism — as decidedly contrary to the 
law of God, to the law of man, to our reason and our 
best feelings, y murder itself. T. 

MtaKl tlie golden ipaios that oass 
Brigbtlj through this cbannel'd gloss, 
Afeasuring by their ceaseless fall. 
Heaven's moat precious gift to all! 
Pauselets, — till its sand be duae 
Sec the shinine current run. 
Till, its inwudf treasure sbcd, 

iLo! another hour has fled!) 
U talk performed, its travail past, 
like mortal man, it rests at lost. 
Yet let some liand invert its frame, 
Aad all itit powera return the some — 
For all the golden grains remain 
To work their little hour affain. 
But who shall turn the glass for innn. 
From nbicb the golden current ran. 
Collect again the precious sand 
Which iTme has scattered with bis hand. 
Brine hack life's stream wiib vital power. 
And Did it run another hour ? 
A thousand jears of toil were vain 
To gather up a single grain! t.k 

OoR extensive cultivation of the potato, furnishes us 
umuaUy with several specimens of that fine animal, 
the I>eath'8-head Moth C^clterontia atropoi) .- and in 
some years I have had as many as eight brought me 
in the larva, or cbrytalis state. Their changes are 
very nncertain. 1 have had the larva change to a 
chrysalia in Joly, and produce the moth in October j 
but generally the chrysalis remains unchanged till the 
ensuing summer. The Inrvie, or caterpillars, " strange 
tmgninly beasts," as some of our peasantry call them, 
ex<ute constant attention when seen, by their extraor- 
dinary size and uncommon mien, with horns and tail, 
being not onusuallv five inches in length, and u thick 

as a finger. This creature was formerly considered aa 
one of our rarest insects, and it was doubtful whether 
it were truly a natii'e ; but for the last twenty years, 
from the profuse cultivation of the potato, it has be- 
come not very uncommon. Many insects are now 
certainly found in England, which former collectors, 
indefatigable as they were, did not know that we pos- 
sessed ; while others again have been lost to us mo- 
dems. Some probably might be introduced with the 
numerous foreign plants recently imported, or this 
particular food may have tended to favour the increase 
of those already existing; but how such a creature as 
this could have been brought with any plant, is quite 
beyond comprehension. We may import contuiental 
varieties of potatoes, but the Death's-head Moth we 
have never observed to have any connexion with the 
potato itself, or incUimtion for it. Aa certain soils will 
produce plants by exposure to the sun's rays, or by 
aid of peculiar manners, when no pre-existent root or 
germ could reasonably be supposed to exist ; so will 
peculiar and long intervening seasons give birth to 
insects from causes not to be divined. We may, how- 
ever, conclude, that we are indebted to some unusual 
circumstance for the introduction of this sphynx, — 
and that its favourite food, the potato-plant, nou- 
rished it to the increase of its species. 

Superstition has been particularly active in sng- 
geating causes of alarm iVom the insect world ; and, 
where man should have seen only beauty and wisdom, 
he has often found terror and dismay. The yellow 
and brown tailed moths, the death-watch, our snails, 
and many others, have all been the subjects of his 
fears ; but the dread excited in England by the ap- 
pearance, noises, or increase of insects, are petty 
apprehensions when compared with the horror that 
the presence of this aeherontia occasions to Eome of 
the more fanciful and superstitious natives of northern 
Europe, who are full of the wildest notions. A 
letter is now before me from a correspondent, in Ger- 
man Poland, where this insect is a common creature, 
and so abounded in 1 824, that my informer collected 
fifty of them in the potato-fields of his village, where 
they call them the " Death's-head Phantom," the 
" Wandering Death-bird," &c. The markings on its 
back represent to these fertile imaginations the bend 
of a perfect skeleton, with the hmb-boncs crossed 
beneath ; its cry becomes the voice of tmguish — the 
moaning of a citaild — the signal of grief; it is regarded 
not as the creation of a benevolent Being, but the 
device of evil spirits — spirits, enemies to man — con- 
ceived and fabricated in the dark; and the very 
shining of its eyes is thought to represent the fiery 
element whence it is supposed to have proceeded. 
Flying into their apartments in the evening, it at 
times extinguishes the hght, foretelling war, pestilence, 
hunger, death, to man and beast. We pity, rather 
than ridicule, these fears ; their consequences being 
painful anxiety of mind and suffering of body. How- 
ever, it seems these vain imaginations are flitting away 
I>«for« the light of reason and experience In Ger- 



[August 25, 

many, as in England, they were first observed on the 
Jasmme, but now exclusively on the potato, though 
they wiU enter the beehives, to feed on the honey 
found in them. This insect has been thought to be 
peculiarly gifted in having a voice, and squeaking like 
a mouse, when handled or disturbed -, but, in truth, 
no insect, that we know of, has the requisite organs 
to produce a genuine voice. They emit sounds by 
other means, probably all external. The grasshopper 
and the cricket race effect their well-known and often 
wearisome churpings, by grating their spiny thighs 
against their rigid wings -, and this acherontia atropos 
appears to produce the noise it at times makes, which 
reminds us of the spring call of the rail or corn-crake, 
by scratching its mandible, or the instrument that it 
perforates with, against its homy chest. — Journal of a 


When o'er my dark and wayward soul 
The clouds of nameless Sorrow roll ; 
When Hope no more her wreath will twine 
And Memory sits at Sorrow's shrine 
Nor aught to joy my soul can move, 
I muse upon a Sister's Love. 

When, tir'd witli study's paver toil, 
I pant for sweet affevtion^ smile, 
And, sick with restless hopes of fame, 
Would half forego the panting aim ; 
I drop the hook, — and thought will rove, 
To greet a Sister's priceless Love. 

When all the world seems cold and stem 
And bids the hosom vainly yearn ; 
When Woman's heart is lightly chang'd, 
And Friendship weeps o^er looks estrang'd; 
I tura from all the pangs I prove, 
To hail a Sister's changeless Love. 

And, oh, at shadowy close of even, 
When quiet wings the soul to Heaven ; 
When the long toils of lingering day. 
And all its cares are swept away ; 
Then — while my thoughts are rapt ahore- 
Then, most I prize my Sister's Love. 

Chauncey Hare Townsend 



The Life of Sir William Jones, by the enlightened 
Lord Teignmouth, is an intelligent, affectionate, and 
just piece of composition, producing a pleasing im- 
pression on the mind. It is the production of an inti- 
mate friend, a man of superior mind, and of kindred 
spirit. Sir William Jones must be the object of re- 
spectful veneration ; at his numerous attainments all 
must wonder j with his amiable and fine spirit, all, 
who can valufe what is lovely and excellent, must be 
delighted : and his diligence ought to induce unceas- 
ing emulation. 

The portrait he has sketched of his mother, exhibits 
his own affectionate and filial disposition in a beautiful 
manner, and is quaintly, though strikingly, embodied. 
" She was virtuous, without blemish j generous, with- 
out extravagance ; frugal, but not a niggard -, cheerful, 
but not giddy j close, but not sullen ; ingenious, but 
not conceited ; spirited, but not passionate -, of her 
company, cautious -, in her friendship, trusty j to her 
parents dutiful j to her husband, ever faithfiil, loving, 
and obedient." 

In his twelfth year, William, the son of this esti- 
mable woman, wrote out from recollection, the Tem- 
pest of Shakspeare — ^translated into verse several of 
the Epistles of Ovid, all the Pastorals of Virgil — and 
composed a dramatic piece. His knowledge was not 
omy acute and extensive, but most extraordinary. 
He learned the Arabic characters^ and studied Hie 

Hebrew language with so much vigour and assiduity, 
that entire nights were often employed in close appli- 
cation. His preceptor. Dr. Sumner, acknowledged, 
that his pupil knew more Greek than himself. His 
sight was so impaired by study, that he was prohibited 
from applying, for some period, to severe intellectual 
efforts. His name was long remembered at Harrow, 
where he received his early education, with that pro- 
found veneration, which his superior intellect ,aiid 
unrivalled learning commanded. 

Sir William Jones was distinguished not only for 
his classical attainments, and for the beauty of his 
poetic compositions, but for the eloquence and power 
of his declamations, and the masterly manner io 
which he delivered his orations. At Osdford, his col- 
lege tutors dispensed with his attendance on their 
lectures, alleging, that he could employ his time to 
greater advantage. He went through the Greek 
poets and historians with a pen in his hand, making 
remarks, and composing in imitation of his most ad- 
mired authors. 

His studies and researches as a lawyer were not con- 
fined to any one branch of jurisprudence, but em- 
braced the whole iu its widest extent. He compared 
the doctrines and principles of ancient lawgivers, 
with the later improvements effected in the science of 
law ; collated the various codes of the different states 
of Europe -, and collected professional knowledge 
wherever it could be acquired. While his multipUed 
and important engagements required his daily attend- 
ance in Calcutta, his usual residence was situated on 
the banks of the Ganges, at the distance of five miles 
from the court. To this spot he returned every even- 
ing after sunset, and in the morning rose so early, as 
to reach his apartments in the city by walking, at the 
first appearance of the dawn. 

This eminent man had studied eight languages cri- 
tically, eight others less accurately j and had examined 
twelv© more, less perfectly. His poetic taste was 
refined and elevated, and many of his translations 
and imitative pieces reflect on him great lustre. His 
veneration of Christianity was early and profound, 
and his admiration of the language and sentiments of 
the Holy Scriptures was ardent and unquahfied. 

He saw the light that beam'd around, and owu*d 
It came from neaTen. 

His last hours were pectiliarly touching. His dis- 
order was an inflammation of the liver. On the morn- 
ing of his decease, his medical attendants called on 
Lord Teignmouth, and all repaired to the house of 
this distinguished scholar. He was lying on his bed, 
in a posture of meditation, and the only symptom of 
remaining life, was a slight motion at the heart, 
which, after a few moments, ceased, and he expired 
without a pang or a groan. The monumental honours 
paid to his memory, at Oxford and St. Paid*s, ^were 
distinguished -, but, as has been well remarked, '' the 
whole earth is the sepulchre of illustrious men," and 
the contemplation of acquirements so extensive and 
splendid, of talent so imcommon, and of worth so 
exalted, will induce the esteem and admiration of 
every generation, even the most remote. 

Sir WiUiam Jones was cut down early by the stroke 
of mortality, but his character and genius are em- 
balmed in our hearts, and many a noble minded, 
richly endowed youth, will derive vigour and encou- 
ragement from bis splendid excellences. 


The formation and steady pursuit of some particidar plan of 
life, has justly been considered as one of the most permanent 
sources of happiness. — Malthus. 

Nature has sown in man the seeds of knowledge} but they 
must be cultivated to produce fruit. — ^Lord Collinowood, 





The following extract from the Journal of Elizabeth 
Woodville, before het marriage with Sir John Grey, is 
copied from an ancient manuscript in Dmmmond 
Castle ; it gives a curious picture of the habits of the 
great in former times. After the death of Sir John 
Grey, she became. In 1465, the queen of Edward IV. 
On the accession of Henry VII, who had married her 
daughter, she was confined in the nimnery of •Ber* 
mondsey, and died there, but was buried at Windsor. 

*' Monday, March 9. Rose at 4 o'clock, and helped 
Catherine to milk the cows j Rachel, the other dairy- 
maid, having scalded her hand in so bad a manner 
the night before. Made a poultice for Rachel, and 
gave Robin a penny to get her something comfortable 
from the apothecary's. 

" Six o'clock. The buttock of beef too much boiled, 
and the beer a little of the stalest. Memorandum : 
To talk to £ook about the first fault, and to mend the 
second myself by tapping a fresh barrel directly. 

*' Seven o'clock. Went to walk with the lady, my 
mother, into the court-yard. Fed twenty-five men 
and women; chided Roger , severely for expressing 
some ill will at attending us with broken meat. 

" Eight o'clock. Went into the paddock behind 
the house with my maid Dorothy, caught Thump, the 
little pony, myself, and rode a matter of six miles 
without saddle or bridle. 

''Ten o'clock. Went to dinner. John Grey, a 
comely youth, but what is that to me ? a virtuous maiden 
should be entirely under the direction of her parents. 
John ate but little ; stole a great many tender looks 
at me, and said, " Women never could be handsome 
in his opinion, who were not good tempered." I hope 
my temper is not intolerable -, nobody nnds fault with 
it but Roger, and he is the most disorderly serving- 
man in our family. John Grey likes white teeth j 
my teeth are of a pretty good colour I think ; and 
my hair is as black as Jet, though I say it ; and John, 
if I mistake not, is of the same opinion. 

" Eleven o'clock. Rose from table, the company 
all desirous of walking in the fields i John Grey would 
lifl me over every stile, and twice he squeezed my 
hand with great vehemence. I cannot say I should 
have any objection to John Grey ; he plays at prison- 
bars as well as any country gentleman, and he never 
misses church on Sundays. 

" Three o'clock. Poor Farmer Robinson*s house 
burnt down by an accidental fire. John Grey pro- 
posed a subscription fot the benefit of the farmer, and 
gave no less than four pounds himself with this bene- 
volent intent. Memorandum : Never saw hun look 
so handsome as at that moment. 

" Four o'clock. Went to prayers. 

" Six o'clock. Fed the hogs and poultry. 

'* Seven o'clobk. Supper on the table : delayed in 
consequence of Farmer Robinson's misfortune. Me- 
morandum : The goose-pie too much baked, and the 
pork roasted to rags. 

" Nine o'clock. The company fast asleep j these 
late hours very disagreeable. Said my prayers a 
second time, John Grey distracting my thoughts too 
much the first time. Fell asleep, and dreuned of 
John Grey" 


Butter, as every one knows, is a fat substance, ob- 
tained from milk, or rather from cream, by the pro- 
cei5S of ch\u*Diwg. 

Butter is very extensively used in this and most 
other northern countries : ttiat of England and Hol- 
land is reckoned the best. In London, the butter of 
Epping and Cambridge is in the highest repute : the I 

cows which produce the former, feed during summer 
in the shrubby pastures of Epping Forest ^ and the 
leaves of the trees, and numerous wild plants which 
there abound, are supposed to improve the flavour of 
the butter. It is brought to market in rolls from one 
to two feet long, weighing a pound each. The Cam- 
bridgeshure butter is produced from cows that feed 
one part of the year on chalky uplands, and the other 
on rich meadows or fens : it is made up into long 
rolls like Epping butter, and generally salted or cured 
before being brought to market ; the London dealers, 
having washed it, and wrought the salt out of it, fre- 
quently sell it for Epping butter. , 

The butter of Suffolk and Yorkshire is often sold 
for that of Cambridgeshire, to which it is httle. infe- 
rior. Somersetshire butter is thought to equal that 
of Epping : it is brought to market in dishes con- 
taining half a pound each ; out of which it is taken, 
washed, and put into diffex^nt forms, by the Healers of 
Bath and Bristol. Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire 
butter is very good -, it is made up in half poimd 
packs or prints, packed up in square baskets, and 
sent to the London market by waggon. The butter 
of the mountains of Wales and Scotland, and the 
moors, commons, and heaths of England, is of excel- 
lent quahty when it is properly mani^d -, and though 
not equal in quantity, is superior to that produced by 
the richest meadows. 

Considerable quantities of butter are made in Ire- 
land, and it forms a prominent article in the exports 
of that country : it is inferior to that of England. 
Some of the best Irish butter brought to London, 
after being washed and repacked, is sold as Dorset- 
shire and Cambridge butter. 

The salt butter of Holland is superior to that of 
every other country -, large quantities of it are an- 
nually exported. It forms about three-fourths of all 
the foreign butter we import. 

The production and consumption of butter in Great 
Britain is very great. The consumption in London 
may be averaged at about one^ half pound per week 
for each individual, being at the rate of 26 lbs. a year; 
and supposing the population to amount to 1,450,000, 
the total anntud consumption would be d7,700,0001b8., 
or 16,830 tons : but to this may be added 4,000 tons, 
for the butter required for the victualling of ships and 
other purposes, making the total consumption, in 
round numbers, 21,000 tons, or47,040,0001b8.,whi6h 
at lOd. per lb. would be worth 1,960,0001. 

The average produce per cow of the butter dairies is 
estimated by Mr. Marshall at I681bs. a year -, so that, 
supposing we are nearly right in the above estimated, 
about 280,000 cows will h^ required to produce an 
adequate supply of butter for the London market. 

But the consumption of butter in London has some- 
times been estimated at 50,000 ton ; which would re- 
quire for its supply upwards of 666,000 cows ! 

Reugion will always make the bitter waters of Marah 
wholesome and palateable, but we must not think it conti- 
nually will turn water into wine, because it once did.— 

No entertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure 
so lasting. — ^Lady M. W. Montagu. 

Animals go rightly, according to the ends of their creation, 
when they are left to themselves; they follow their instinct 
and are safe : but it is otherwise with man ; the ways of life 
are a labyrinth for him ; his infancy does not stand more in 
need of a mother's care, than his moral and intellectual fa- 
culties require to be nursed and fostered : and when these 
are left to starve for want of nutriment, how infinitely more 
deplorable is his condition than that of the beasts who perish t 

-— ^OOTHJtr. 


rAtJGcsT 25,J83a 

Wheki. carriages forpleasiw* are generally supposed 
to have first come into x,?'. in England in the reigfn of 
Queen Elizabeth. But long before that time, car- 
riages of some kiud were used on state occasions, or 
for the conveyance of sick persons. Even in the time 
of the Saxons, a clumsy kind of car, upon four wheeb, 
was employed to carry great personages : and Stow 
tells us, that during Wdt Tyler's insurrection in 1380, 
Richard the Second " being threatened by the rebels 
of Kent, rode from the Tower of London to the Miles 
End ; and with him his mother, because she was sick 
and weak, in a tohirlicole," which is supposed to have 
beena^ort of covered carriage. "Chariots coi'ered, with 
Ladies therein," followed the litter in which Queen 
Catharine was carried to her coronation with Henry 
the Eighth. But Queen Elizabeth's is the first that 
is called a coach. In 15fi4, William Boonen, a Dutch- 
man, became the Queen's coachman, and about this 
time coaches were brought into general use in Eng. 
land. In 1568 Queen Elizabeth went from Somerset 
House to Paul's Cross to hear return thanks on the de- 
struction of the Spanish Armada, in a coach presented 
to her by Henry Earl of Arundel 

The cuts here given, copied from an old print, re- 
present her Majesty in her coach, followed by another 
with her attendants. In the second carriage may be 
noticed two odd-looking seats, which were called boots, 
where two of the oflicers sat, as the Lord Mayor's do 
now, back to back. 

CMC* VA( e«m'( illlaiikiih. 

These coaches must have been clumsy imcomfort- 
able machines. They had no springs ; and the state 
of the streets and roads must have made travelling in 
them any thing but easy. But fashion soon brought 
them into auch general use, that in 1 007, Dekker com- 
plains that " the wife of every citizen must be jolted 
now." And in 1636, there were 6,000 of them kept 
in London and the neighbourhood. 

At firtt they had only two horses, but afterwards 
the number was inci-eased. In the reign of James 
the First, "the stout old Earl of Northumberland, when 
he was got loose, hearing that the great favourite 
Buckingham was drawn about with a coach and six 
horses, thought he might very well have eight in his 
coach, with which he rode tlirough the City of London, 
to the vulgar talk and admiration." 

In general, howe^'Cr, it was thought disgraceful in 
those timeH for the male sex to ride in coaches. " In 

Sir Philip Sidney's days, so famous for men at armcs, 
it was then," says Aubrey, " held as great a disgrace 
for a young gentleman to be seen riding in the streets 
in a coach, as it would now for such a one to be seen 
in the streets in a petticoat and waistcoat! so much 
is the fashion of the times altered," 

Sir Walter Scott says, that it is a tradition in Scot- 
land, that chaises or chariots were first introduced 
into J.hat country in 1 745. Before that time, the no- 
bility were accustomed to travel in vehicles «oinewhat 
resembling Noah's Ark, and the gentry on horseback^ 
but in that memorable year, the Prince of Hesse ap- 
peared in a carriage of this description, " to the admi- 
ration of all Scotchmen, who regarded it as a coach cat 
in half." 

When we compare the clumsy things in which even 
our kings formerly rode, with the convenient and 
elegant carriages of the present day, we cannot help 
admiring the progress which our workmen have made 
in this and every other branch of art, and hoping that 
their skill may always find that encouragement which 
it so well deserves. 

[From a. [>nper in the Archfvbigia, bj J. H. Uurkland, En].] 

Of TiNt's CONTINUAL Speco.— Id all the actions which ■ 
ma.n peiforniB, Eume part of bis life passes. We die while 
doing thai for uhich alone our didiag life wis granled. Kai, 
lhoii(;li ne do nolliing, time keeps his conslantpace, and die* 
as tost in idleness as in employment. Wliether wc pUr «t 
labour, OT sleep, or dnnce, or study, the son posts on, ana the 
saud runs. An hour of vice is as long as au liour of virtue. 
But the diOerence between ^ood and bad actioos is infinite. 
Good actions, though they diminish oui time here as well u 
bad actions, yet tliey lay up for us a happiness in eternity; 
and will recompense what tbey lake nway, by a plentiful re- 
turn at lost. When ne trade with virtue, we do but bnj 
pleasure with the expense of time. So il is not to mucb ■ 
consuming of lime as an exchange. As a man sows his oaio, 
lie is content to want it awhile, toat he may, at the banest, 
receive it with advantage. But the bad deeds that we do 
here, not only rob us of much time, but also bespeak a ioi- 
mcnt for hereafter ; and that, in such a life, tbat the erealot 
pleasure we could there be crowned with, would be the very 
act of dying. The one treasures up pleasure in everlasIinE 
life, the other protides torture in a deaUi eternal. WhyshooM 
I wish to pass away this life ill, which, la those that are ill, 
is the best ? It I must daily lessen it, it shall be by that, 
which shall joy roe with a future income. Time is like a 
ship which never anchors : while I am on board, 1 had better 

WLatsoever I do, I would think what will become of it who 
it is done. If good, t will go on to finish it ; if bad, I niil 
either leave off where I am, or not undertake it at all. Vice, 
like an unthrift, sells nway ilic inheritance, while it is hntin 
revei^on : but virtue, husbanding oil things well, is a par- 
chuer. — Fe ltha m . 


Sold bi (JL Boolurllcri and Nnmenden In Uk Kinfdom. 
1»lun uid Dalcn In Ftrlodiul Publfciliaiu lajiiillsl OB wboltBiB taHi % 
W.S. ORR, rilmuHtiT-Riivi^ O. nEROER,Holrw<:U-n.i A. DOUGUS, 

S7, Prulnmn jt. Porlmui-tii. (.oBdiHi, 
Aidbjthe PnblUlitr'iAKFsl 




LmeiUrt at 1 BiKki ud Ct. 












The Druids, or Priests of the Ancient Britons, are 
Baid to have retained the belief of one enpreme 
God, all-wise, all mighty, and all merciAiI, from 
whom all things which have life proceed ; thoi^h 
they feigned that there were other gods beside Him 
in whom we live and move and have our heing ; 
Teutates, whom they ualled the father, and Taranis 
the thunderer, and Hesnsthe god of battles, and An- 
draste the goddess of victory : Hu the mighty, by 
whom it is believed that Noah, the second parent of 
the human race, was intended j Ceridwen, a goddess 
in whose rites the preservation of mankind in the ark 
was figured ; and Beal or Belinua, — for the Fhenicians 
bad introduced the worship of their Baal. 

By favoor of these false gods, the Druids pretended 
lo foreteE future events, and as their servants and 
■ TOL. I. 

favourites they demanded gifls and offerings firom the 
deluded multitude. The better to secure this revenue, 
they made the people, at the beginning of winter, ex- 
tinguish all their fires on one day, and kindle them 
again &om the sacred fire of the Druida, which would 
make the house fortunate for the ensuing year ; and 
if any man came who had not paid his yearly dues, 
they refused to give him a spark, neither durst any 
of his neighbours relieve him : nor might he himself 
procure fire by any other means, so that he and his 
family were deprived of it till he had discharged the 
uttermost of his debt. Ihey erected also great atones, 
HO cunningly fitted one upon another, that if the upper 
one were touched in a certain place, though only with 
a finger, it would rock ; whereas no strength of man 
might avail to move it if applied to any other part ; 


hither they led those who were accused of any crime, 
and, under pretence that the gods would, hy this form 
of trial, show the guilt or iimocence of the party, 
directed him where to touch and make the proof : 
and thus, at their discretion, they either absolved the 
accused, or made them appear guilty. 

The misletoe, the seed whereof is eaten and voided 
hy the birds, and thus conveyed fi*om one tree to an- 
other, they affected to hold in veneration. When it 
was discovered growing upon an oak, upon which 
tree it is rarely to be found, the Druids went thither 
with great solemnity, and all things were made ready 
for sacrifice and for feasting. Two white bulls were 
fastened by their horns to the tree; the officiating 
priest ascended, and cut the mistletoe with a golden 
knife ; others stood below to receive it in a white 
woollen cloth, and it was carefully preserved, that 
water wherein it had been steeped might be adminis- 
tered to men, as an antidote against poison, and to 
cattle, for the sake of making them fruitM. The sa- 
crifice was then performed. The best and most beau- 
tiful of the flocks and herds were selected for this 
purpose. The \ictim was divided into three parts : 
one was consumed as a bmmt offering | he who made 
the offering feasted upon another, with his Mends j 
and the th|rd was the portion of the Druids. In this 
wise did they delude the people. But they had worse 
rites than these and were guilty of greater abomina- 
tions. They were notorious, above the priests of every 
other idolatry, for the practice of pretended magic. 
They made the people pass through fire, in honour of 
Beal ', and they offered up the life of man In sacrifice, 
saying that when the victim was sinitten with a sword, 
they could discover events which were to come, by the 
manner in which he fell^ and the flowing of his blood, 
and the quivering of his body in the act of death. 
When a chief was afflicted with sickness, th^^y sacri- 
ficed a human victim, because, they said^ tiif conti- 
nuance of his life might be purchased, if anoUier life 
were offered up as its price ; and in hke manner, men 
were offered up when any calamity befel the people, 
and when they were about to engage in war* Naked 
women, stained with the dark blue dye of woad, as- 
sisted at these bloody rites. On greater occatlcms, a 
huge figure, in the rude likeness of man, was made 
of wicker-work, and filled with men : as many as were 
condemned to death for their offences were put into 
it ', but if these did not suffice to fill the image, the 
innocent were thrust in, and they surrounded it with 
straw and wood, and set fire to it, and consumed it, 
with all whom it contained. 

Their domestic institutions were not less pernicious 
than their idolatry. A wife was common to all the 
kinsmen of her husband, a custom which prevented 
all connubial love, and destroyed the natural affection 
between child and father 5 for every man had as many 
wives as he had kinsmen, and no man knew his child, 
nor did any child know its father. These were the 
abominations of our British fathers after the hght of 
the Patriarchs was lost among them, and before they 
received the hght of the gospel. 

[Abridged from Southet.] 


TflOMAS P- , at the age of eighteen, was, by the 

death of his master, left alone in the world to gain a 
liveUhood as a shoemaker. He shouldered his kit, 
and went from house to house, mnlcmg up the farmer's 
leather, or mending the children's shoes. At length a 
good old man, pleased with Tom*s industry and steady 
habits, offered him a small building as a shop. Here 
Tom appUed himself to work, with persevering indus- 
try and untiring' ardour. Early in the morning he was 

whistling over his work, and his hammer was often 
heard till the ''noon of night." He thus obtained a good 
reputation, and some of this worid's goods. He soon, 
married a virtuous female, one whose kind disposition 
added new joys to his existence, and whose busy neat- 
4 ness rendered pleasant and comfortable their little 
I tenement. Time passed smoothly on, they were blessed 
j with the smiling pledges of their affection, and in a few 
I years Tom was the possessor of a neat little cottage 
and a piece of land. This they improved -, and it soon 
! became the abode of plenty and joy. 

But Tom began to relax in his conduct, and would 
occasionally walk down to an ale-house in the neigh- 
J bo\u*hood. This soon became a habit, and the habit 
imperceptibly grew upon him, until, to thegrief of all 
who knew him, he became a constant lounger about 
the ale-house and skitde-groimd, and going on from 
bad to worse, became an habitual drunkard. The 
inevitable consequences soon followed. He got into 
debt, and his creditors soon took possession of all he 
had. His poor wife used all the aits of persuasion to 
reclaim him ; and she could not think of using him 
harshly ^ she loved him even in his d^radation, for 
he had always been kind to her. Many an earnest 
petition did she prefer to Heaven for his reformation, 
and often did she endeavour to work upon his paternal 
feelings. Over and over again he promised to reform, 
and at last wds as good as his word, for he was in- 
duced to stay from the ale-house for three days to- 

His anxious wife began to cherish hope of returning 
hiqppiness. But a sudden cloud one day for a moment 
damped her joy. ^' Betsey," said he, as he arose from 
his work, " give me that bottle/* These words pierced 
her very heart, and aeemed to soxmd the kneU of all 
her* cherished hopes | but she coidd not disobey him. 
He went out with his bottle, had it filled at the ale- 
house, and on returning home, placed it in the win- 
dow immediately before him. " Now,*' said he, " I 
can face my enemy." With a resolution fixed upon 
overcoming his pernicious habits, he went earnestly 
to work, edway« having the Ibottle before him, but 
never again touched it. Again he began to thrive, 
and in a few 3rears he was once more the owner of 
his former delightful residence. 

His children grew up, and are now respectable 
members of society* Old age came upon Tom, and 
he always kept the bottle in the window, where he 
had first put it ; and often, when his head was sil- 
vered over with age, he would refer to his bottle, and 
thank God that he had been able to overcome the vice 
of drunkenness. He never permitted it to be removed 
from that window while he lived ; and there it remained 
until after he had been consigned to his narrow home. 



[From Fir LKKBR^s Hittoiiei •/Fulkom and Kentingtrnt."} 

The original design of planting these trees in church- 
yards, has given rise to much antiquarian discussion. 
They are said to have been originally planted either 
to protect the church from storms, or to furnish the 
parishioners with bows. The statute of 35 Edw. I, 
which settles the property of trees in chinrchyards^ 
recites, that they were often planted to defend the 
church from high winds, and the clergy were re- 
quested to cut them down for the repairs of the chancel 
of the church whenever required." Several ancient 
laws were enacted for the encouragement of archery, 
which regulate many particulars relative to bows, but 
it does not appear that any statute directed the culti* 
vation of the yew. Although the scarcity of hoyif 



staves is a frequent subject of complaint in our an- 
cient laws^ yet, instead of ordering the yew tree to be 
cultivated at home, foreign merchants were obliged, 
under heavy penalties, to import the material from 

In the 12th of Edw. IV. it was enacted, that every 
merchant stranger should bring four bow staves for 
every ton of merchandise, imported from Venice or 
other places, from whence they had heretofore been 
procured. In the reign of EHzabeth, the complaint 
of the deamess and scarcity of bow staves was re- 
newed, and the statute 6 Edw. lY was put in force. 

From the above particulars it clearly appears, that 
we depended upon foreign wood for our bows, which 
would not have occurred if our churchyards could 
have furnished a sufficient quantity for the public 

The truth is, that though our archers were the 
glory of the nation, and the terror of its enemies, yet 
the English yew was of inferior quality, and our 
brave countrymen were obliged to have recourse to 
foreign materials. This accounts for the silence of 
our ancient legislators with respect to the culture of 
the English yew, which appears never to have been 
an object of national concern. 

Sir Thomas Brown, in his " Urn-burial," thinks it 
may admit of conjecture whether the planting of yews 
in churchyards, had not its origin from ancient fune- 
ral rites, or as an emblem of fiie resurrection, from 
its perpetual verdure. 

The yew tree has been considered as an emblem of 
mourning from the earliest times. The Greeks 
adopted the idea from the Egyptians, the Romans 
from the Greeks, and the Britons from the Romans. 
From long habits of association, the yew acquired a 
sacred character, and therefore was considered as the 
best and most appropriate ornament of consecrated 
ground. The custom of placing them singly is equally 
ancient. Statins, in his Thebaid, calls it the solitary 
yew. And it was at one time, as common in the 
churchyards of Italy, as it is now in North and South 
Wales. In many villages of those two provinces, the 
yew tree and the church are coeval with each other. 



Within this awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries; 
Happiest they of human race 
To whom their Qod has given grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, 
To lift the latoh, to force the way; 
And better had they ne*er been bora 
Than read to doubt, or mA to scorn. 


When Captain Becchey returned to England after 
his voyage to the Pacific Ocean, he brought home a 
large quantity of the petrified or stone remains of 
elephants and other animals, which were fotmd im- 
bedded in the clifiFs of frozen mud within Behring*s 
Strait and in various parts of the Northern Seas. 
The most perfect specimens of these remarkable 
fossils as they are called, are preserved in the British 
Museum^ and will amply repay the inspection of any 
one who takes an interest in such subjects. 

That these remains formed parts of animals once 
living on this earth, would be just as reasonable to 
question, as it would be, on entering a butcher's 
shambles, to doubt whether the hide and hair and 
bones of an ox just killed, once belonged to a real 
animal. But ou examining these bones, various dif- 


ficulties present themselves, requiring much patience 
and extensive knowledge satisfactorily to remove. 
There is one circumstance connected with them which 
has especially engaged the thoughts of the learned : 
the animals of which many of these bones were the 
remains, are never found in our days alive in those 
cold regions of the North, but are natives of the South 
or Tropical parts of the globe ; and many, as in the 
case of the fossil elephant, belonged to a species not 
at present met with in any part of the known world. 
The Professor of Geology at Oxford, Dr. Buckland, 
was requested to examine the^collection brought home 
by Captain Beechy, and to prepare a description of 
them. This he did, and the result is a most interest- 
ing work, pubhshed as an appendix to the Captain's 
celebrated narrative of his voyage. 

Professor Buckland compares the accounts brought * 
home by these voyagers (especially that of Mr. Collie, 
surgeon to the expedition) with the description of 
similar discoveries by other writers, and with the 
result of his own researches and observations. He 
thus endeavours to throw " some light upon the cu- 
rious and perplexing question, as to what was the 
climate of this portion of the world at the time when 
it was inhabited by animals now so foreign to it as 
the elephant and rhinoceros j and as to die manner 
in which not only their teeth and tusks, and other 
portions of their skeletons, but, in some remark- 
able instances, the entire carcasses of these beasts, 
with their flesh and skin still perfect, became entombed 
in ice, or in frozen mud and gpravel, over such exten- 
sive and distant regions of the north." It is stated 
by the celebrated naturalist, Pallas, that throughout 
the whole of northern Asia, from the river Don to 
the extreme point nearest America, there is scarcely 
any great river in whose banks they do not find the 
bones of elephants and other large animals, which 
cannot now endure the climate of that district ; and 
that all the fossil ivory collected for sale throughout 
Siberia, is found in the lofty, steep, and sandy banks 
of the rivers of that coimtry ; and that the bones of 
large and small animals lie in some places piled toge- 
ther in great heaps ; but in general iJiey are scattered 
separately, as if they had been agitated by waters, 
and buried in mud and gravel. 

The term " Mammoth" has been applied indiscri- 
minately to all the largest species of fossil animals. 
It is a word from the Tartar language, and means 
simply " Animal of the Earth/* It is now used only 
to signify the fossil elephant. Of all the remains that 
have ever been discovered, the most remarkable is the 
entire carcass of a Mammoth, not petrified, but merely 
frozen, with its flesh, skin, and hair, fresh and well 
preserved. How many thousand years it might have 
been so kept from corruption in its icy coflin, it is im- 
possible to say. In the year 1803 it fell from a frozen 
cli£f in Siberia, near the mouth of the- river Lena. 
Nearly five years elapsed between the period when 
the carcass was first observed by a Tungusian in the 
thawing cliff, in 1799, and the moment when it be- 
came entirely loosened and fell down upon the 
strand between the shore and the base of the cliff. 
Here it lay two more years, till the greater part of 
the flesh was devomrei by wolves and bears. The 
skeleton was then collected by Mr. Adams, and sent 
to Petersburgh. Some idea may be formed of the sire 
of this enormous animal, from the fact that the head, 
without the tusks, weighed four hundred and foxur- 
teen pounds j the tusks together weighed three htm- 
dred and sixty pounds. Great part of the skin of 
the body was preserved, and was covered with reddish 
wool and black hairs j about tldrty-six poimds weight 
of hair was collected from the sfuid^ into which it had 
been trampled by the bears. 



Dr. Buckland is said to be at present engaged on 
S most important work upon the evidence borne by 
the science of geology to the truth of repealed reli- 
gion. For his fuUer and more matured opinion on 
these animal remains of the northern world, we look 
forward with expectations of great pleasure and profit. 
The christian haq never any thing to fear from the 
discovery of truth ; he should encourage its cultiva- 
tion on all subjccta. Half-knowledge, partial and 
hasty views upon difficult subjects, may often he made 
to perplex and distress the believer; the full truth 
will always bring him satisfaction and comfort. 

Cuvier, whose opinions upon these aubjectfl have 
been the most generally followed, concludes " that 
those animals, the bones and carcases of which are 
found imbedded in the ice of the northern seas, once 
lived in that region in a climate totally different from 
its present intense cold ; that some great change some 
time or other took place in the temperature, which 
destroyed the existing animals, or prevented them 
irom continuing their species. This change must have 
been sudden ; for if the cold had come on slowly 
and by degrees, the softer parts, by which the bones 
arc found still covered, must have had time to decay, 
as we find in hotter chmates. It would have been 
utterly impossible for an entire carcass like the vast 
monster discovered by Mr. Adams, to have preserved 
its hair and its flesh without corruption, had it not 
immediatelif been encased in the ice which preserved 
it to our times," 

What was the nature and character of this sudden i 
change — what means the Omnipotent and Eternal I 
One employed to effect it — science probably never will I 
be able to discover ; but, like all other subjects above | 
the range of man's mind to reach, a knowledge of it, j 
we may rest asanred, is not necessary either for 
present or our future good. — J, E, T. 

of this flower with delight, and tells us, "it is of a mosl 
excellent fair skie-coloured blew, so pleasant to behold, 
that often it amnzeth the spectator." It is now ascer- 
tnined to be a native of Barbary, from whence it 
travelled first to Spain, and has since been scattered 
over the whole of Europe. It is now so common in 
Spain, Portugal, and Sicily, as to be considered one 
of tieir native weeds. It is called Tricolor, from the 
three colours of its beautiful leaves, which are ycUow 
at the base, with rays of white that divide the yellow 
from the fine ultramarine blue of the edge : as the leaves 
expand to the sun, they form a most gracefully- 
shaped cup or chalice, like the end of a Frciich-hom, 
and, in the reversed state, resemble the elegant 
roofs of the Chinese pagodas. Tlie com olvulus opens 
and closes its flower with folds similar to those of a. 
parasol ; they are never expanded at night, or in 
wet weather, in order that the inner parts may be 
guarded from damp air; on this account it is 
named by the French Betle-de-Jour, (Day Beauty.) 
This is not a climbing plant, but carries its branches 
in such a direction that a few seeds are enough to form 
a clump of snflicient size to give effect in the garden, 
from the month of June to the end of August ; and 
as, during this season, the chief colours of flowers 
are reds and yellows, the fine blue of this is particu- 
larly desirable to form a contrast. 

The seeds are generally sown in the spring, but it 
is desirable to sow some in the autumn also, as they 
will flower a month earlier than those sown in the 
other season, which prolongs the enjoyment of their 
flowers. The seed should not be coverwl with more 
than about half an inch of earth, and from three to 
five seeds are sufiicient for each clump. 

Convolvulus Major. — (Purpitrevi.) 

The plants of this beautiful race are sufficiently nume- 
rous to fill a volume with their description. Martyn 
described no less than 110 kinds, in 1807, since which 
time several species have been added, as the Hortut 
Krwensis then contained only 33 species, which are 
now increased to 49. Europe claims only fourteen 
species, three of which are natives of the British 
Islands, the remainder coming from the Indies and 

The species moat fomiliar to our gardens, arc the 
Trailing, Convolvulus Minor, or Tricolor, and the 
Convolvulus Major, Pttrpuretu. Both of Uiese were 
known in our gEudens as long back as the time of 
Charles I : Parkinson tells us, in 1629, that he re- 
i-tived the seeds of the Convolvulus Minor " out of 
Spain and Portogal, from Gqillanme BoeL" He speaks 

Cnmtnliu la^T 

This elegant climbing plant is a native Bindweed of 
America, from whence the seeds were first received in 
Italy, and from thence by us prior to 1 629, as thev 
are recorded amongst the flowers which embellished 
our gardens in that age. This is a delicate species, 
and requires the aid of a hotbed to bring the young 
plants forward, which may be planted out in warm 
sitnations about the end of May. It is usually em- 
ployed to cover the trellis-work of arbonra, porticoea, 
and verandas, for which it is well adapted, on account 
of its climbing and bindmg natnre, whilst its grace- 
ful-shaped corollas display the most beautiful shade* 
of violet, reddish purple, and lilac, which aro some- 
times delicately shaded, and at others striped, ao a* 



to form a star ; others are of a pore white, or slightly 
tinged with purple. 

These plauts will frequently climb to the height of 
tru or twelve feet ; and when planted so as to rcceivt 
the support of young trees, they have a more agree- 
able effect than when upheld by a stake. la Jamaica 
tliis species of Convolvulus climbs the highest trees, 
euspendiug its china-looking cups from the branches 
■n a most delightful manner, sometimes danghng in 
the air, and at others forming graceful festoons. 

It is from this twining nature of the plant that the 
name of Convolvulus has been bestowed on it ; and 
perhaps we have not a native weed that displays a 
more beautiful Sower than the Great Bindweed, 
which entwines itself amongst the shrubs of our 
hedgergws until it reaches the top, where it expands 
its Sowers in a dress that challenges the spotless snow 
for purity, and would demand more general admira- 
tion were it less common. 

However we may admire this species of Bindweed 
in hedgerows, we must be cautions to keep it out of 
shrubberies, in which, if it once enter, it cannot be 
easily destroyed, as the smallest piece of its rambling 
roots Is sufficient to spread over a garden, where it 
frequently entwines its roots amongst those of roses 
or other shrubs, so as to make it exceedingly difhcnlt 
4o prevent its overpowering the plants which support 
it, and next to impossible to destroy it altogeUier. 
We are told that swine are excessively fond of this 
root, and we have frequently observed them grubbing 
for and devanring it with great eagerness ; but as 
these animals are bad gardeners, we cannot avail our- 
selves of their assistance in the rooting out of the 
Convolvulus Sep'aim, without incurring a greater evil. 
The Small Bindweed. — (Convolvulus Arvensh.) 

This plant, although more humble in its growth, is 
more formidable to the husbandman than the Great 
Bindweed, which principally confines itself to the 
hedgerow, whereas the Arvensis, or field Bindweed, 
travels over the whole field, entwining itself around 
the stalks of com for support, or upholding itself by 
the blades of grass, or whatever comes in its way, not 
even refusing to embrace the nettle for tlic sake of 
a prop to display its beauties on, wliich are but little 
inferior, in point of colouring, to the beautifiil cups 
of the Convolvulus Major, whilst it possesses on 
agreeable fragrance which the other cannot boast of. 

Nature has endowed this native flower of our fields 
with the means of protecting its seed parts from the night 
air by the folds in the cup, which open with the rising 
sun, and close as the day decreases, or at the approach 
of rain. The nectary of this little flower also displays 
the wise provision which Nature has made to secure 
this sweet juice, so essential to the formation of 
the seed. The stigma is supported on arches over 
the bottom of the cup, leaving only such small open- 
ings between the piers that form ike arches as to bid 
defiance tq the plunder of the bee or insects of any 
considerable size : yet it seems to support an animal 
peculiar to this plant, for we seldom look into the 
blossom of this field Convolvulus without seeing 
several minute insects busily employed in this cavern 
of rveets. This species of Bindweed has a perennial 

root, of a white milky substance, which penetrates in 
serpentine direction so deeply into the earth, aqd is 
I firm in its hold, as to render it next to impos- 
sible to destroy it : for every atom of it left in the 
ground, at whatever depth, will reach the surface as 
perfect plant. In trenching of lands we have fre- 
quently seen it at the depth of tliree feet, being the 
pest of the garden and arable lands where it abounds. 
Miller says it is generally a sign of gravel lying under 
the surface ; and he adds that, from the depth it pe- 
netrates into the ground, it is by some country people 
named Devil's-guts. It also bears the name of Corn- 
bind, Withbind, Bindweed, Barebind, and Hedge-bells. 
Jalap is obtained from the Convolvulua Jalapa of 
South America, which takes its name from Xalapa, a 
province lying between Mexico and La Vera Cruz. 

Tliis race of plants also affords the inhabitants of 
tropical climates a valuable species of food, as it is 
the Convolvulus Batatas which produces the tuberous 
roots called Batatas, or Spanish potatoes. — Phillips's 
Flora Hislorica. 


This bird is a native of South America. Its length 
about twenty-two inches, and its legs are five indies 
high, and completely covered with small scales, which 
h two inches above the knee. Its general plu- 
mage is black, and the feathers of the head and neck 
are very short and downy ; those of the fore part of 
the neck, and upper part of the breast, of a very 
glossy gilded green, with a reflection of blue in some 
hghts. The feathers between the shoulders are rust- 
coloured, changing into a pale ash colour as they pass 
downwards. They are loose and silky. Those of the 
shoulders are long, and hang over the tail, which is 
very short, and consists of twelve blackish feathers. 
The legs are greenish, and the bill is yellowish green, 
having the nostrils open. 

The most characteristic and remarkable property 
of these birds consists in the wonderful noise which 
they often make, either of their accord, or when 
urged by their keepers. To induce them to this, it 
is sometimes necessary to entice the bird with a hit 
of bread to come near, and then making the same 
kind of sound, which the keepers can well imitate, 
the bird will frequently be disposed to repeat it. This 
strange noise, which somewhat resembles the moan 
of pigeons, is at times preceded by a savage cry, in- 
terrupted by a sound approaching ^at of sherch. 



8herch, In this way the bird utters five, six, or seven 
times, very quickly, a hollow noise from within its 
body, neariy as if one pronounced ion, tou, tou, iou, 
tou, tou, with the mouth shut, resting upon the last 
iou a very long time, and terminating by sinking gra- 
dually with the same note 

When tamed, the Trumpeter distinguishes its master 
and benefactor with marks of affection. " Having," 
(says Vosmafir) " reared one myself, I had an oppor- 
tunity of experiencing this. When I opened its cage 
in the morning, the kind animal hopped roimd me, 
expanding its wings, and trumpeting, as if to wish me 
good morning. He showed equal attention when I 
went out and retimied. No sooner did he perceive 
me at a distance, than he ran to meet me j and even 
when I happened to be in a boat, and set my foot on 
^hore, he welcomed me with the same compliments, 
•^hich he reserved for me alone, and never bestowed 
•ipon others." 

The Trumpeter is easily tamed, and always becomes 
Attached to its benefactor. When bred up in the 
house, it loads its master with caresses, and follows 
his motions j and if it conceives a dislike to persons 
on account of their forbidding figure, or of some 
injury received, it will pursue them sometimes to a 
considerable distance, biting their legs, and showing 
every mark of displeasure. It obeys the voice of its 
master, and even answers the call of others to whom 
it bears no ill-will. It is fond of caresses, and offers 
its head and neck to be stroked ; and if 6nce accus- 
tomed to these familiarities, it becomes troublesome, 
and will not be satisfied without continual fondling. 
It makes its appearance as often as its master sits 
down to table, and begins with driving out the dogs 
and cats from the room ; for it is so obstinate and 
bold, that it never yields> but oftentimes, after a 
tough battle, will put a middle-sized dog to flight. 
It avoids the bites of its antagonist by rising in the 
air ; and retaliates with violent blows of its bill 
and claws, aimed chiefly at the eyes. After it gains 
the superiority, it pursues the victory with the utmost 
rancour, and if not taken off, will destroy its antago- 
nist. By its intercoxu^e with man, its instincts be- 
come moulded like those of a dog^ and we are 
assured it can be trained to attend a flock of sheep. 
It even shows a degree of jealousy of its human 
rivals j for when at table, it bites fiercely the naked 
legs of the negroes and other domestics who approach 
its master. 

Almost all these birds have also a habit of follow- 
ing people through the streets, and out of town, even 
those whom they have never seen before. It is diffi- 
cult to get rid of them. If a person enters a house, 
they will wait his return, and again join him, though 
after an interval of three hours. " I have sometimes," 
(says M. de la Borde) " betaken myself to my heels j 
but they ran faster, and always got before me j and 
when I stopped, they stopped also. I know one that 
invariably follows all the strangers who enter its 
master's house, accompanies them into the garden, 
takes as many turns there as they do, and attends 
them back again." 

In a state of nature the Trumpeter inhabits the bar- 
ren mountains and upland forests of South America, 
never visiting the cleared grounds nor the settlements. 
It associates in numerous flocks. It walks and inins, 
rather than flies, since it never rises more than a few 
feet from the ground, and then only to reach some 
short distance, or to gain some low branch. It feeds 
on wild fruits j and when surprised in its haunts, 
makes its escape by the swiftness of its feet, at the 
same time uttering a shrill cry, not unlike that of a 
turkey. — ^Bingley*s Animal Biography, 


We set out for the scene of this famous Indian game ; 
and, after wandering about for some time, we found 
the spot in the bosom of the forest, at the distanoe of 
a mile or two from the road. It consisted of an open 
space about 200 yards in length by 20 yards wide, 
from which the trees had been cleared away, though 
the grass was left untouched, nor was the surface even 
levelled. At each end of this area two green boughs 
were thrust into the ground, six feet apart from each 
other, as a sort of wicket. The object of the game, 
it afterwards appeared^ was to drive the ball between 
these boughs 3 and whichever party succeeded in ac- 
complishing this, counted one. 

By one o'clock the surrounding space was thickly 
speckled over with Creek women, accompanied by 
numerous squads of copper-coloured little Creekks j 
but still the real parties in the contest were nowhere 
to be seen. 

From time to time, indeed, we had sufficient indi 
cations of their being somewhere in the neighbour- 
hood, ftt)m the loud shrieks or yells raised by a great 
number of voices in chorus, which issued from Ae 
forest, but not a soul was yet visible. We Walked 
in the direction of these cries, and came up to forty 
or fifty naked savages lying flat on the grass -, further 
on, we came to various parties at their toilet. Some 
of these dandies of the woods were employed in paint- 
ing one eye black, the other yellow. Several youths, 
thrusting long black feathers into their turbans, or 
cloths which they had wound round their heads. 
Others were fitting their naked bodies with tadls, to 
resemble tigers and lions, having already daubed and 
streaked themselves all over from head to foot with a 
variety of coloiurs, intended to set off the coppery tinge 
of their own red skins — anxious that art might aj- 
operate as far as possible with nature^ in making them 
look as much like wild beasts as possible. 

At last, a far louder cry than we had yet heard 
burst from the woods in the opposite direction. Upou 
looking up, we saw the Indians of the otlier party 
advancing to the ball play-ground in a most tumultuous 
manner, shrieking, yeUing, hallooing, brandishing 
their sticks, performing somersets, and exhibiting all 
conceivable antics. At this stage of the game, I was 
forcibly reminded of the pictures in Cook's Voyages. 
where multitudes of the South Sea Islanders are re- 
presented as rushing forward to attack the boats. 

There were fifty of the inhabitants of one village 
pitted against fifty of another j and the players, being 
selected from the strongest, nimblest, and most spi- 
rited of the whole tribe, the party offered some of the 
finest specimens of the human form I ever beheld. 

The first party, on rushing out of the woods in the 
manner I have described, danced in the same noisy 
and tumultuous fashion, roimd the two green boughs 
at their end of the ground. After this first explosion, 
they advanced more leisurely to the middle of the 
cleared space, where they squatted down in a thick 
cluster till their adversaries made their appearance. 
The same ceremonies w^ere obsened by the second 
party, after which they settled do>\Ti likewise on the 
grass in a body. The t^\'0 groups remained eyeing 
one another for a long time, occasionally uttering 
yells of defiance. 

At a signal from one of the chiefs, the tv o parties 
suddenly sprung to their feet, and stood brandishing 
their sticks over their heads. Every player held one 
of these implements in each hand. Tliey were fornu d 
of light, tough wood, I think willow, about two fttt 
long, and as thick as my thimib. At the end farthest 
from the hand, the sticks were spUt and formed into 



an oval> three inches long by two wide^ across which 
opening, or loop, were stretched two thongs made of 
hide. By means of these bats, the ball was struck to 
a great distance whenever any of the players succeeded 
in hitting it fairly. This, however, was not very often 
the case, for reasons which will be stated inmiediately. 
Generally speaking, the ball was grasped or held be- 
tween the ends of the two sticks, and carried along 
over the head by the fortunate player who had got 
hold of it. The ball was pretty much like that used 
in Tennis-courts, only not so hard, being formed out 
of raw hide stuffed with deer's hair. 

After the parties had stood for some minutes in 
silence, in two rows facing one another, they stepped 
forward till they came within the distance of a few 
feet. Upon some word of command being given by 
one of the chiefs^ every one laid down his sticks be- 
fore him on the ground. A deputation of the chiefs 
highest in rank now proceeded to examine and count 
the parties, in order to make sure of their being an 
equal number on both sides. All these ceremonies, 
and various others which I forget, being ended, an 
old man stood forward and made a speech, or talk, as 
it is called, which, being interpreted to us, appeared 
to be formed of injunctions to the combatants to ob- 
serve fair play, and to do honour to their country upon 
this important occasion. As soon as he ceased, the 
Indians scattered themselves over the ground, accord 
ing to some rules not unlike those of cricket, by which 
the players might intercept the ball, and send it back 
again in the right direction. I observed that each of ^ 
the goals, or wickets, formed by the two boughs at 
the ends, was guarded by a couple of the most expert 
players, whose duty it was to prevent the ball passing 
through the opening — the especial object of the 
opposite party. 

When these long ceremonials and preparations 
were over, one of the chiefs, having advanced to 
the centre of the area, cast the ball high in the air. 
As it fell, between twenty and thirty of the players 
rushed forward, and, leaping several feet off the 
ground, try to strike it. The multiplicity of blows, 
acting in different directions, had the effect of bring- 
ing the ball to the ground, where a fine scramble 
took place, and a glorious clatter of sticks mingled 
with the cries of the savages. At length an Indian, 
more expert than the others, contrived to nip the ball 
between the ends of his two sticks, and having ma- 
naged to fork it out, ran off with it like a deer, with 
his arms raised over his head, pursued by the whole 
party engaged in the first struggle. The fortunate 
youth was, of course, intercepted in his progress twenty 
different times by his antagonists, who shot like hawks 
across his flight from all parts of the field, to knock 
tlie prize out of his grasp, or to trip him up — in short, 
by any means to prevent his throwing it through the 
opening between the boughs at the end of the play- 
ground. Whenever this grand purpose of the game was 
accomplished, the successful party announced their 
right to count one by a fierce yell of triiunph, which 
seemed to pierce the very depths of the wilderness. 
It was sometimes highly amusing to see the way in 
which the Indian who had got hold of the ball con- 
trived to elude his pursuers. It is not to be supposed 
he was always allowed to proceed straight to the 
goal, or wicket, or even to get near it j but, on the 
contrary, he was obliged, in most cases, to make a 
circuit of many hundred yards amongst the trees, 
with thirty or forty swift-footed fellows stretching 
after or athwart him, with their fantastic tigers' tails 
streaming behind them ; and he, in like manner, at 
full speed, holding his sticks as high over his head as 
possible, sometimes ducking to avoid a blow, or 

leaping to escape a trip, sometimes doubling like a 
hare, and sometimes full length, or break- 
ing his shins on a fallen tree, but seldom losing hold 
of his treasure without a severe struggle. It really 
seemed as if the possessor of the ball upon these oc- 
casions had a dozen pair of eyes, and was gifted for 
the time with double speed j for, in general, he had 
not only to evade the attacks of those who were close 
to him, but to avoid being cut off, as it is called in 
seamen's language, by the others farther ahead. These 
parts of the game were exciting in the highest degree, 
and it almost made the spectators breathless to look 
at them. 

Sometimes the ball, when thrown up in the first 
instance by the chief, was reached' and struck by one 
of the party before it fell to the ground. On these 
occasions, it was driven far amongst the pine-trees, 
quite out of sight to our eyes, but not to those of the 
Indians, who darted towards the spot, and drove it 
back again. In general, however, they contrived to 
catch the ball befbre it fell, and either to drive it 
back, or to grasp it and run along, as I hove described, 
towards the end of the g^*ouna. Sometimes they 
were too eager to make much noise $ but whenever a 
successful blow was made, the people on the winning 
side uttered a short yell, so harsh and wild, that it 
made my blood run cold every time I heard it, from 
being associated with tortures, human sacrifices, 
scalpings, and all the horrors of Indian warfare. 

The way of reckoning was most primitive. Two 
of the oldest and most trustworthy of the chiefs were 
jseated on one side, each with ten small sticks in his 
hand, one of which was thrust into the groimd every 
time the ball happened to be driven through the 
wicket. Twenty was game y but I observed these 
learned sages never counted higher than ten, so that 
when it became necessary to mark eleven, the whole 
ten sticks were pulled out, and one of them replaced. 

Sometimes the ball fell amongst the groups of 
lookers-on, the women and children of the different 
Indian villages. It did not signify a straw, however, 
who was in their way ; all respect of persons, age, 
and sex was disregarded, in the furious rush of the 
players, whose whole faculties seemed fixed on the 
game alone. 

A person had previously taught me the art of 
avoiding the mischief of these whirlwind rushes of the 
Indians ; and it was fortunate for me that he did so. 
I was standing on one side of the ground, admiring a 
gnuid chase, which was going on at some considerable 
distance, when one of the players, who was watching 
his opportunity, intercepted the fugitive, and struck 
the ball out of the other's grasp, though he was 
bounding along with it at a prodigious rate. The 
ball pitched wiSiin a yard or two of the^spot were I 
was standing. In the next instant a dozen or twenty 
Indians whizzed past me, as if they had been 
shot out of cannons. I sprung to the nearest tree, 
as I had been instructed, and putting my hands and 
legs round, embraced it with dl my might. A poor 
boy, however, close to me, had not time to imitate my 
example, and being overwhelmed by the multitude, 
was rolled over and over half a dozen times, in spite of 
his screams, which were lost in the clatter of sticks, and 
the yells and shouts of the combatants, who by this 
time had become animated by the exercise, and were 
letting out the secret of their savage nature very fast. 

It frequently occurred to me, whea looking at this 
animated game, that it might be introduced with great 
effect at the public schools in England, and I hope 
my description may suffice for the purpose of ex- 
plafaung tbt details. There is no reason, indeed, why 
the young men of Eton or Harrow should paint ouq 



eye green and the other yellow, or daub their legs 
arms with lamp black. Neither ia there any thing 
essential in having a tiger's tail behind, or that their 
dress should be reduced to the small compass con- 
sidered fashionable by these worthy Indians. Nor, 
I think, need they consider it right to scariTy their 
limbs with a comb made of fishes' teeth, or to dance 
all the preceding night round a blazing wood lire 
the open air ; still less to get dmnk on whisky after 
the game is over — indispensable conditions amongst 
the Creek Indians in the forests of Alabama. 

[k\ali^ [mm CirtilK HiLI.] . 


Tbk annexed sketch is that of a Gothic window of 
the ancient palace of the Savoy, in the Strand, as it 
appeared at the time it was puUed down, about the 
year 1816, to form an opening for the new street, 
now called Wellington Street, leading to Waterloo 
Bridge. The sketch is from the pencil of Mr. T. W. 
Kelly, author of "Myrtle Leaves," and other poems, 
and was taken a short time before the demolition of 
the structure. The drawing represents the north face, 
— the most remarkable part of tlie building — as it is 
that in which John, King of France, is said to have 
been confined, when a prisoner in ttiis country. 
' That monarch was defeated and taken prisoner by 
Edward the Black Prince at the memorable battle of 
Poictiers, in 1356. He fought with desperate valour ; 
but spent with fatigue, and seeing that all was 
lost, he determined to yield himself prisoner, and fre- 
quently cried out that he was willing to deliver him- 
self to his cousin, the Prince of Wales. Tlie honoar 
of taking him, however, was reserved for an ignoble 
hand — that of Dennis de Morbec, a Frenchman, who 
had fled his country for murder. The prince con- 
ducted his royal prisoner through London, attended 
by an immense concourse of people. His modesty 
on this occasion was remaricable. The French king 
was dressed in royal apparel, and mounted on 8 beau- 
tiful white charger, while Edward rode by his side, 
on an ordinary little horse, and plainly attired. 

The unhappy monarch was liberated on an agree- 
ment for a ransom ; but finding himself unable to pay 
it, in thfi tlien distracted state of his kingdom, he 
returned to prison, declaring that, " though good 
faith should be banished from the rest of the earth, 
yet she ought still to retain her habitation in the 
breast of kings." He Uved in the palace of the Savoy 
till his death, which happened in 1364. 
t This remain stood almost immediately behind the 
present office of the Globe evening newspaper, and 
until the row of houses of which that office is one was 
built, no doubt faced the Strand. The brick-work 
which appeals between the mulliona of the window, 

was the remains of some old tenements ezisth^ 
before the erection of the palace. 

This beautiful ^agment belongs to the Decorated 
English Sti/le of Architecture ; which is distinpiisbed 
by large and wide windows, divided by mulliona, and 
of which, among other varieties of Old English Ajchi- 
tecture, we gave a description and specimen in out 
first number. 



I aslt'd au aged man, a man of cares, 

Wrioliled, and curved, and white with hoaiy hairs; 

"Time is the »aip of life," lie said, "Oh lell 

The joung, ihe fair, the gJiT, to weave it well'" 

I asked the ancient, veuerable dead. 

Sages nho UTOIe, and warrion who bled j 

From the cold grae a Jjollow murmur flow'd, 

"Time low'd the seed, \vc reap in tliis abode!" 

I ask'd a dying Einner, ere the tide 

Of life had left his reics. — " Time!" he replied; 

"I've lost it! All, tlie treasure!" — ^and lie oicd. 

I asked the golden sun aiid silver Bphercs, 

Those bright clirononielers of days and jenn; 

They answered, "Time is but a meteor glare," 

And bade ui for Eternity prepare. 

I aali'd the Seasons, in their aouual round 

Wbicb beautify or desulate ihc ground; 

And they replied, (no oracle more «ise) 

"Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's higfiesl prize'" 

I ask'd a spirit lost, but oli, the shriek 

That pieicd my soul!- 1 shudder while I speab' 

It cried, "a particle! ■ speck! a niite 

Of endless years, duraUon iu6aite !" 

Of things inanimate, my dial I 

Consulted, and it made nie this reply — 

" Time is the teasm fair of living well. 

The path of glory, or the path of hell." 

I ask d my Bible, and methinks it eaid. 

His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behiud. 

I ask'd the mighty angel, who iball stand 

One foot ou sea, and one on solid land; 

" Bjr Heaven," he cried, " I swear the mystery's o*ei ; 

"Time was," he cried, "bnt Time shall be no mure '." 

Hendv III of England used to say, that he would rathrt 
converse one hour xetlh God in pmyer, lUon hear olhen speak 
o/kim for ten. — EcHAno. 



S«M lif all DgokKllai mi NamrBidvi in Oh Xlngdam. 

I>eri«dial PDUIodouiuppUrd on wkoloale tcnul 
l.BEROBR, BolTwdl-ati A. TtOvaiA! 
I BURSLBM, Ottu Sumr-rt., LAdH i 

ItrtfTd CUM 

faff WllBB. 

C*((*uf<r Bwinbam & Co, 

DatTin ".'.'.V.'.'.'.'.'.CurfJ Jun. & Co, 

LrfJt ............ Robfuoq. 

IJBerpooi... Huthn. 

JVnv«C(-*>-T>«, FidBT & Cluri- 
utnt Empioii. 

ritUMiim Wrijiht 

Otfiri SlUter. 

StifJiM RMb. 

Sibiurf nndirfeDov^ 


J, price Siipnuc, 

I, Vnntti, lOO, St Mtrdnl Ltat, Cbulp| C»ia. 

^a^iur^^lf M^U^^int* 

N**. 11. SEPTEMBER 1, 



Tbmkm is no feature in the architecture of this immeose 
metropolis calculated to excite bo enlarged an idea of 
the wealth and enterprise of its population, as the five 
magnificent Bridges, which within a space of little 
more than two miles are thrown across the Thames. 
This admiration is almost increased to wonder, when 
we consider that they have all been erected within nine- 
ty years, and three of them within twenty years. 

Until the middle of the last century, the long nar- 
row defile of old London Bridge formed the sole land 
communication hetween the City of London and the 
suburbs on the Surrey side of the river. A Londoner 
of the present day, who, according as husiness directs, 
or his fancy leads him, can select at pleasure West- 
minster, Waterloo, Blackfriars, the Southwark, or 
London Bridge, for his passage across the lliames, must 
feel some surprise that his forefathers contented them- 
selves for so long a period with such seemingly in- 
sufficient accommodation ; but inconveniences to 
which we arc " in a manner bom," are habitually en- 
dured, though, when we summon resolution to remove 
them, we wonder the effort has been so long delayed. 
The Act of Parliament for the erection of Westmin- 
ster Bridge was applied for in 1735, and the first 
stone laid 29th January, 1739. This bridge was 
nearly twelve years in building, and was opened as 
a pnbUc thoroughfare at midnight of the 1 7th No- 
vember, 1750, amidst the sounding of trumpets and 
the discharge* of cannoo. A writer of that day Bays 

of it, "now this bridge is finished, there is not per- 
h^)s another in the world that can be compared to 
it:" and the praise was then jost, although -ita 
subject has since been so immeasurably surpassed. 
Company came from far and near to adimre the beau- 
ties of its architecture — and assembled in boats with 
French horns and other wind instruments, under its 
semicircular arches, to enjoy the novel effect of the 
strong echo produced by Uiem. 

Its glories however were not of lung duration. The 
citizens of London soon followed the example of their 
brethren of Westminster, and determined to build 
another new bridge at Blackfriars. The first pile was 
driven on the 7th of June, 1760, the first stone laid 
on the 31st Oct. following; a footpath was opened 
across it in 1765, one for hordes in 176S, and the 
bridge was finally opened for carriages, 19th Novem- 
ber, 1769. The light airy design of this new bridge 
formed a strong contrast with the unpretending plain- 
ness of its predecessor, and the superior width of its 
arches, the smallest of which were only five feet nar- 
rower in span than the centre arch of Westminster 
Bridge, gave it an appearance of grandeur for superior ' 
to anything which had been yet seen in England or 
elsewhere. Unfortunately the work was much better 
than the materials, which have turned out to be of so 
perishable a nature, tliat it was at one time expected 
that the architect, Mr. Milne, who lived to a very 
advanced age, would have survived his work. 





An interv^ of more than forty years now passed 
over, during which, although new bridges were repeat- 
edly talked of, and many places for their erection 
suggested, nothing was actually undertaken j but in 
1811, two were commenced — ^the Waterloo Bridge, 
and that at Vauxhall. If Blackfriars Bridge sur- 
passed in boldness of design its predecessor at West- 
minster, it was determined that Waterloo should 
throw both of them far into the background. West- 
minster Bridge consisted of fourteen arches, the widest 
seventy-five feet in span ; Blackfriars of nine arches, 
the widest one hundred feet span. The width of the 
river where the new bridge was to be erected, was 
much greater than at BlackMars ; yet it was resolved 
to cross it by the same number of arches, all of an 
equal span, and that span exceeding the centre arch of 
Blackfriars by twenty feet. The Middlesex shore in 
this spot being raised considerably above that on the 
Surrey side, suggested the idea of making the bridge 
itself perfectly straight, and carrying the road on the 
Surrey side by a gradual slope down to the level of 
St. George*s Fields. On this plan a bridge was erected, 
which, by the common consent of all, whether fo- 
reigners or natives, is allowed to be without a rival in 
the world. The rapidity with which it was built was 
no less wonderful. Westminster and Blackfriars 
Bridges had taken — ^the one nearly twelve, and the 
other nine, years in constructing 3 that of Waterloo, 
a much more stupendous imdertaking than either, 
was finished in less than six j the first stone beinff 
laid on the 1 1th October, 181 1, and the bridge opened 
on the 18th June, 1817, the anniversary of the glo- 
rious victory trom whioh it derived its name. The 
ceremony of caning it was conducted with the utmost 
splendour, the Prince Regent and the Duke of Wel- 
lington being present 

While Waterioo Bridga was in progress, that at 
Southwaric was undertaken, the first stone being laid 
on the 2drd of May, 1819; and thus tberemwic- 
abla. spectacle was aSbrded of two bridges, over a 
tide river more than (me third of a mile broad, being 
in process of building at the same time, within sight 
of each other. The substitution of iron for stone in 
the construction of the arches, admitted of their hav- 
ing a much wider span, so that there were sufficient 
to embrace the whole breadth. The work was com- 
pleted in less than four years, and opened without 
any procession or ceremony at midnight of the 24th 
March, 1819. 

In the mean time the veteran London Bridge, which 
had endured the wear and tear of more than six cen- 
turies, was sharing the fate of other old establish- 
ments, — ^its former services were forgotten — its incon- 
veniences, which had been quietly submitted to for ages, 
were industriously magnified, and its destruction 
loudly called for. There were many, however, and 
important interests to reconcUe, and numerous diffi- 
culties to overcome, before such a plan could be car- 
ried into effect 5 and it was not until the year 1824, 
that the present bridge was commenced. The first 
pile was driven on the 15th March, in that year; the 
first stone laid on the 27th April, 1825 ; and the first 
arch keyed in, on the 4th August, 1827. We have 
seen Blackfriars Bridge surpassing that of Westminster 
in the span of its arche^, and the arches of Black- 
friars again considerably exceeded by those of Waterloo 
Bridge : yet those of Uie new London Bridge go far 
beyond either of them, the centre arch bemg 152 feet 
span, the next on each side of the centre are 140, 
and the two shore arches 130 : the narrowest arches 
thus exceeding those of Waterloo Bridge five feet, 
the centre arch of Blackfriars thirty, and the centre 
arch of Westminster Bridge fifty-five feet; indeed. 

the smallest arches of this bridge exQced the largest 
of any other stone bridge in the world. X#oiidoo 
Bridge took about seven years and a half in buUding. 
and was opened to the public on the 1st of August, 
1831, the King himself assisting at the ceremony. 

We are indebted for the cut with which thk 
article is adorned to Mr. E. W. Cooke, who has per- 
mitted us to c.opy it from one of his plates. It is 
published in the first number of his beautifid FEmm rf 
the Old and New London Bridges, a work equally va- 
luable to the antiquarian and the \ov&c of the fine 
arts, and which must long perpetuate the remembrance 
of the old structure, which has now almost entirdf 


These very useful chronicles of private life are by do 
means of such high antiquity as the generality of per- 
sons suppose. In a letter written by Mr. Brokesby 
to Mr. Heame, (both learned antiquarians, dated 
Dec. 12, 1708, the" writer, speaking of long-lived per- 
sons, tells us there was a woman whom he had con- 
versed with in Yorkshire, who gave out that she was 
six score, and afterwards seven score, and hence had 
many visitants, from whom she got money. He then 
adds, " She was bom before Registers were kept in 
country parishes. Hence I could have no light for 
the time of her baptism.** 

Probably many of our readers would be surprised 
on reading this. The fact, however, seems to be that 
the introduction of Parochial Reglsinrs in Engkod 
was in oonseouence of the ii^unctions of Thomas, 
Lord Cromwell, whieh were set forth in 15d8> the 
thirtieth year of Henry VIU i but they were not mucb 
attended to till the reign of Queen Elisabeth, who is- 
sued if\]unctkms concerning them in tibe Ist, 7th, and 
39th years of her reign. It appears that in Spain 
thev had been In use several years before, and are 
said to have been Instituted by Cardinal Ximenea, in 
the year 1497, in order to remedy the disorders aris- 
ing from the firequency of divorces in that country. 
Till late years, they were kept very negligently in 
many parts of England ; and beipg in the custody of 
Churchwardens who changed from year to year, old 
registers were frequently lost or destroyed. In Nfwrth- 
amptonshire, a piece of an old parish register, 00 
parchment, was found on the pillow of a lace-nudcer, 
with the pattern of her work pricked upH>n it. 

It was formerly the practice in many places to re- 
cord in the registers any extraordinary event which 
took place in the neighbourhood. This might still be 
done on the cover or the margin, and be the meam 
of preserving much interesting matter, which would 
otherwise be forgotten. Since the year 1813, the 
registers are uniform throughout the kingdom, and 
are kept, with perhaps few exceptions, with very great 
care. T, 

Ths following words were written by Sir William Jones oa 
the blank leaf of hi3 Bible :-— " I Lave carefully and refi^- 
larly perused the Holy Scriptures, and am of opinion, tntt 
the volume, independently of its divine origin^ contains more 
sublimity, purer morality, mors important history, and finer 
strains of eloquenoe, than can be colleeted from all other 
books, in whatever language they may have been written." 

The taxes are indeed heavy \ and if those laid on by govern- 
ment, were the only ones we had to pay, we might mure 
easily discharp^e them; — but we have many others, and 
much more g^evous to some of us. We are taxed twice ts 
much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and 
four times as much by our folly ; and fh>m these taxes the 
commissioners cannot ease or deliver uf by allowing any 
abatement — Fran klin. 



iD«ntwa<foniied,»hicli liUdoji«iiaEcene no1e8snoDderru1,Biid 
lenudfd the inquisiliTe spirit of man. This woa (he Mivros- 
cope. Tlie one led me to lee a ■jstem in ereiy star; (he other 
leadsmcloBeeanoildiDeTeiratom. The one taught me that 
tiii) mighty gtobe, with ihe nrholo burden of lu people and its 
couDtriet, is but a Erain of tmad on the high field of immen- 
litf ; the oUtet teaches me, tfaa{ erer; grain of sand mty hu- 
boui within it the tribes and the families of a busj popula- 
tion. The one told me of the insignificance of the world I 
tread upon ; the other redeems it from all its insig:nificance ; 
for it tells me, that in the leaTes of cTery forest, and in the 
6oweis of every garden, and in toe waters of every rivulet, 
there are worlds teeming with life, and numberlesB as are 
the glories of the finnamenL The one has tuggnted to me, 
that beyoud and above all that is visible to man, (here may 
be fieltb of creation which sweep immen^ly klong, and carry 
the impress of the Almighty's hand (o tha remotest scenes of 
the UDirerse ; the other suggests to me, that Within and he- 
Death all that minutann* which the aided eye of man has 
been able to explore, thera lUt be a Te|tlon of invisibles ; 
and that could we dl*w aside Uia mysterioul curtain which 
ebrouds it from our hoNiIi we might ive a thaatre of as many 
wonders as astronomy has unlblded, a unlvatM within the 
compass of a point so tmalt u to eluda all the powen of the 
microscope ; but where iba won dat- working Ood finds room 
for (be exercise of all hit altrihuiea, when ha can raise an- 
other mechanism ofwottdi, and Dll and anlfflate them, all with 
the evidence of his glory— Citjti.)i KM. 

Tuoss who place their affection at flrtt on trifles for amuse- 
ment, will find the«e trifles becoma at latt their most serious 
concern a.— G oldnm ith. 

Every one kntrin how often we aire obliged to refer 
to ancient titnea to explain common terms of art, 
and words wkich arc in every one's moutb. We have 
K curious inatanceof this in the namca which are given 
to the different sorts and sizes of paper. We oil talk 
oi foolscap foper, poit paper, and note paper, and paper 
makers and stationere nave other terms of the same 
kind, as kand-papert pot-paper, &c. Now, the term 
note paper is clew enough, as it evidently means paper 
of the sise fit for notes ; while pott paper, we may 
suppose, means the larger size which lb used for lettera 
sent by the poat. But when we come to fooUeap 
paper we 01*6 altogether at a loss for an exphmation ; 
and here we find we must look to something else than 
the size of the paper as the origin of the name. 

Now, if we go back to the early history of paper- 
making, we find that terms which now puzzle us so 
much, may easily be explained by the various p(^>er- 
marks which have been in use at different times. In 
ancient times, we know, when very few people could 
read, pictures of every kind Were very mucu in use, 
where writing would now be employed ; every shop 
had a sign, as well as every pubhc-house j and these 
signs were not then, as they very often are now, only 
printed upon a board : they were always either painted 
picture^ as many inn-signs still arc, or else models 
of U'.e thing which the sign expressed, as we still 
sometimes see ft bee-hive, a tea-canister, tx a doll. 
For the same reason, printers always had some device 
which they put upon the tjtle-pages and at the end of 
their books ; and paper-makers used marks to distin- 
guish the paper of their manufacture from that of 
others. Some of these marks becoming common, 
naturally gave thor name to different sorts of paper; 
and as namea, we aQ know, remain very often long 
after the ori^n of them is forgotten and the circum- 
stances changed, we shall not be surprised to find the 
old names still in nee ; though, perhaps, in some 
cases, tbey ore not q)plied to the same things they 
originally denoted. 

It will be the best way, perhaps, to mention briefly 

the chief pq>er-marks which have been used, as they 
occur in the order of time. 

The first paper-maker in England b supposed to 
have been John Tate, who is said to have had a mill 
at Hertford : his device was a star of five points, within 
a double circle. The first book printed on paper manu- 
factured in England was a Latin one entitled Barthoio- 
meug d« Proprielalilmi Rervm ; it was printed in 1495 or 
1496 : the paper seems to have been made by John Tate 
the younger, and had tbe mark of a wheel. The paper 
used by Coxton, and other early printers, had a great 
variety of marks, of which the chief are the ox-head 
and star, the letter ^, the shears, the hand and star, 
a collared dog's head, with a trefod over it, a crown, 
a shield with something like a bend upon it, &c. &c. 
The ox-head, sometimes with a star or a flower over 
it, is the mark of the paper on which Faust printed 
some nf his early books : but the opSn hand, which 
was likewise a very ancient mark, remidued longer in 
fashion, and probably gave the name to what is Still 
called hand paper. We have given a representation of 
two which were copied (as were the rest which we 
shall give) from loose pages of old written or printed 

The first of these two figures was taken from a 
loose page at the beginning of a Bible printed in 1539. 

Another vary favourite paper-mark, at a somewhat 
later period, was the jug, or pot, which seems to have 
been the origin of the term pot paper. It is sometimes 
found plain, bat oftcner bears the initials or first let- 
ters of the maker's name : hence there is a very great 
variety of figures, every paper-maker having a some- - 
what different mark. We have given figures of both 
kinds : the jngs or flagons are often of a very elegant 
sh^M, and are curious as showing the workmanship 
of the times in which they were made. 


[Seiti^moer 1, 

Two of the specimena which we have given of the 
former kind are taken from books printed in 1539 ; 
the other two are of nearly the same date : the latter 
specimens are vory nearly a century later. 

The fool's cap was a later device, and does not s^^ 
to have been nearly of such long eontinnance as the 
former. It has ^ven place to the figure of Britannia, 
or that of a lion rampant, supporting the cap of liber- 
ty on a pole : the name, however, has continued, and 
we still denominate paper of a particular size by the 
title of foohcap paper. The subjoined figures have the 
cap and bells which we so often read of in old playa 
and histories as the particular dress of the fool, who 
fimnerty formed part of every great man's establish- 

The papers from which these were copied are dated 
1670 and 16/9. 

The mark is still sometimes used ; but the same 
change which has so much diminished the number of 
painted signs in the streets of our towns and cities, 
has nearly made paper-marks a matter of antiquariaa 
curiosity ; the maker's name being now generalk 
used, and the mark, in the few instances where it stiil 
remains, serving the purpose of mere ornament rathtr 
than of distinction. 


Post paper seems to have derived ito name from the 
post-hom which at one time was its distinguishing 
mark, nns « of later date, and does not seem to 
have been used before the establishment of the Gene- 
ral fost-office, when it became the custom to blow a 

Thk Llama is a native of the lofty and mountainous 
regions of Peru, Chili, and other districts of South* 
America. It is about four feet and a half in height, 
and in length, from the neck to the tail, nearly sii 
feet It bears a strong resemblance to the camel, and 
performs many of the services allotted to that animal, 
in the countries where it is found. The Llama is of 
greater importance than even the camel, on account 
of the length and fineness of its wool. 

In the Spanbh settlements of Sooth America 
before the introduction of mules, the Llama was em- 
ployed in the ploughing of land, and in many parts of 
those countries it is still used for the conveyance of 
goods. Like the camel, it lies down to be loaded 
but it is self-willed ; when Ured with Ubour, no severity 
will make it proceed, but kindness and caresses will 
mdoce it to rise. There is, however, one peculiarity 
in the Llama, namely, that it will not travel by nigbt. 
Llamas kk: generally employed in carrying the rich 
ores from the mines of Potosi. In these jouraies, 
they will sometimes travel four or five days tt^ether 
without repose, and they then rest of their own accord 
twenty or thirty hours. In travelling during the day- 
time, they browse wherever they find herbage, and ge- 
nerally spend the night in chewing the cud. The 
weight, however, which a Lama can cany is not greater 
than what is carried by an European ass. Its gait is 
neither a trot nor a gallop, but so exceedingly gentle 
that the women prefer the Llama to every other 
ammal for riding. They are pastured in the open 
fields, and never make any attempt to escape. The 
wool of the LUma is as soft as silk, and as fine as the 
wool of our sheep. The animal is generaUy shorn 
abont the end of June. 

The Llama chews thecud, like oxen, sheep, deer, &c. 
but It differs from other animals of the same kind in 
the number of its teeth. The nostrils of the Llama 
consist of a mere slit in the skin, which is opened and 
shut at pleasure ; the lips arc thick, the upper one 



divided, and the lower hanging down r little } Hxy 
are capable of being opened to a great extent, and 
possess a considerable degree of separate motion. 
The ears are about four inches long, are sharp and 
pointed, and move with great quiclmess. It is of a 
greyiah mouse colour. Its neck is long and covered 
vritii wool, and as its head is always held upright, the 
fliiiTHfl< has an air of nobleness and lightness which 
nature baa refused to the camel. The feet are divided 
into two toes ; the bom of each toe is about an inch 
and a half long, black and smooth, rounded on the 
outside, but flat underneath. 

Although the Llama is not to be compared to the 
camel in point of size, strength, or perseverance, yet 
the Americans find a substitute in it, for which . they 
have good cause to be grateful. It is one of thoae 
animaJs on which the change of climate appears to 
have no visible effect, prospering and breeding equally 
in a hat as in a cold climate : for being natnndly 
provided with a warm covering, it does not require to 
be housed ; and being satisfied with vegetables and 
grass, it requires for its subsistence neither com nor 
hay. It exceeds the camel in temperance, particularly 
in drink, it having been known to live a very long 
time without water ; in fact, of all animals, it spears 
to require water the least, being supplied by nature 
with spittle in so large a quantity, that it spits it out 
at every occasion, and particularly when it is offended ; 
this spittle seems to be the only means which this 
harmless creatvure possesses of showing its resentment. 
"When it is overloaded, or fatigoed, or impelled by all 
the torturii^ arts of its keeper, it falls on its belly, 
and pours out against him a quantity of this fluid, of 
which the Indians in general are very much aftaid, as 
they assert that it is of a poisonous nature, either 
burning the skin, or causing dangerous eruptions. 

When the Llamas are amongst their native moun- 
tains, they associate in immense herds on the highest 
and steepest parts. Here they ^quently cUmb 
rocks, along which no man has the boldness to follow 
them, and while the remainder are quietly feeding, 
one of them is always stationed as a sentinel, on the 
point of a rock. When this animal observes any one 
approaching, he gives a kind of neigh, and the herd, 
taking the alarm, nm off with amazing speed. They 
gallop to a considerable distance, then stop, turn 
round, and gaze at their pursuers tUl they come near, 
and immediately set off again. They outrun all the 
dogs, so that the natives have no other mode of 
killing them than with guns. 


[Abridged from TaoMtOM's Lift ^Ratcgh.'] 
Tobacco is the dried leaf of a plant called, by bo- 
tanists, Nicotiana tabaeiiM ; but it is not generally 
known that the tobacco, brought to this country in 
the form of dried leaves, cigars, and snuff, is the pro- 
duction of not one only, but of several species of the 
plant. Most of them are yearly plants, natives of 
South America ; but two, at least, continue all the 
year round, namely the shrub Nicotiatut fruticoia, a 
native of the Cape of Good Hope and of China ; and 
Nicotiatut vreiu, a native of South America. Many of 
the species are cultivated in Europe ; but, it is re- 
markable that Himkboldt, the celebrated traveller, 
found only two of them growing wild in the Oroonoko. 
He found two new species on the mountains of the 
Andes, at the height of nearly twelve thousand feet 
above the level of the sea. 

The plant which was first known, and which still 
furnishes the greatest supply of tobacco, is the Nieo- 
tiana tabacttm, a yearly plant, a native of South Ame- 

rica, but natiwalised to our climate. It is a tall and 
not inelegant plant, rising to Hm height of six feet. 

with a strong round stem. The leaves are in the shape 
of a spear, and clasp the stem ; tiiey are of a fuQ 
green on the upper surface, and pale on the under. 
In a healthy plutt, the lower leaves are about twenty 
inches long, and from three to five broad, decreasing 
in size as they ascend. Ihe flowers blow in July and 
August ; they are of a pale pink or ruse colour, and 
the calyx, or flower-cup, is bell-shaped. The seeds 
are ripe in September and October ; and, if not col- 
lected, are shed by the cs^unile, or seed-vessel, open- 
ing at the top. 

TotMo PImil n Fltwa 

The cultivation of tobacco varies in different places : 
the following is the manner of preparing the plant in 
the United States of America. 

The seed is sown in February and March, when the 
ground is soft and rendered light by repeated work- 
ings ; in April, after the first spring rains, the young 
plants are drawn, and placed in beds, at tiie distance 
of three feet from one another. The plantations must 
be kept well weeded ; and in another month, the top 
of each plant is pruned off, the shoots or suckers at 
the Hides are taken away, and the weeds carefully kept 
down. At this period the plants are attacked by se- 
veral insects, from which they are cleared' by turkeys, 
flocks of which are driven into the grounds for this 
purpose. When the plant has reached its full height 




the leaves begin to have a brownish colour^ and a 
clamminess which shows that they are full-grown. 
They are now cut clpse to the ground^ and laid in 
heaps^ exposed to the sun, for one day ; then carried 
to the sheds, where each plant ii hung up separately, 
and remams until the leaves are perfectly diy ; after 
which they are itripped from the stalks, and tied in 
small bundles, a twitted leaf serving to tie them to- 
gether. These bundles are noM> laid in heaps, and 
sometimes covered with blankets or straw, to favour 
a fermentation which takes place in them ; but, to 
prevent too great heat> they are occasionally opened, 
and spread out in the air. 

, Tobaeco> as it arrives in this country, has under- 
gone a second fermentation^ or 9ea^9weat, as it is 
termed -, acquiring a dark brown hue^ and a soft tex- 
ture. Its smell is strong, and to many not very agree- 
able: it tastes bitter and very sharp, and, when 
burned, throws out Sparks^ continuing to bum after 
it has been lighted, reaembltng the burning of paper 
that has been soaked in nitre. When distilled, it yields 
a green essential oil, which is a strong poison. 

Sir Walter Ralegh found tobacco cultivated in 
Trinidad on his first visit to it in 1593 ; but it was 
not introduced into Virginia until 1616, when its 
growth there was commenced under the government 
of Sir Thomas Dale. It is now raised also in the 
Brazils, Demerara, Cuba, St. Domingo, the Cape of 
Good Hope, and in India. Sir Walter Ralegh intro- 
duced its culture into Ireland, on his estate at You- 
ghal, in the county of Cork ; and it is still produced 
to a small extent in Carlow, Waterford, and Kilkenny, 
although it has ceased to be raised in England and 
Scotland since 1782. Before that period, it was grown 
extensively in the North Riding of Yorkshire | and in 
the neighbourhood of Kelso, in Scotland, not less than 
one thousand acres were covered with it. 

The history of tobacco as a luxury is very curious. 
When Columbus discovered America, he found that, 
iu the religious ceremonies of the Indians, a plant was 
thrown into the fire, the smoke of which produced 
the same effects upon the officiating Piache,^ as in the 
heathen superstitions of old, the strong vapoiurs of 
Delphos did upon the Pythian priestess : answers 
v:ere given, and pretended oracles delivered, under 
the influence of a peculiar intoxication. This plant 
was tobacco ; Which was probably used, also, as a 
luxury by the natives, for it was smoked over the 
whole of America at the period of the Spanish con- 
quest. Its introduction into the old world soon fol- 
lowed j and although opposed by . every power both 
civil and religious, yet its use has become so general, 
that it is not only regarded as an enjoyment by 
many, in every rank of life, in civilised Europe, but 
has been introduced wherever Europeans have found 
their wayj — even into the islands of the Pacific 
Ocean, by their adventurous discoverers. In the 
Sandwich islands, says Kotzebue, tobacco is now 
so generally used, that young children learn to smoke 
before they walk, and grown-up people canry the prac« 
tice to such an extent, that they have fallen down 
senseless, and often die in consequence. 

There is reason for believing, that the first time the 
Spaniards saw tobacco smok^, as a luxury, was at a 
friendly interview between Gryalva, a Spaniard, and 
the cacique or chief of Tabasco, in 1518. It was from 
the place of this interview, which is called either Ta- 

• The Pia«he8 are pri«tte» phy8icians» and eoi^urort. Among 
the South American Indians, when the priests are consnUed by the 
caciques, they throw tobacco upon the fire, receive the smoke in 
their months, and being thus intoxicated, fall down ; and on re- 
covering, deliver the antwen which tbcy prtteid to have received 
from the world of spirits. 

basco, or T&bftco,t . that the plant received its name. 
In the fbllowing year, 1519, the Spanish G^ieral, 
Cortes, sent a present to his king, Charles, as a 
specimen of the wealth and productions of the terri- 
tory he had conquered for hitn : and it was as a part 
of this present that tobacco first found its way into 
Europe *, when, through the Venetian and Genoese 
traders to the Levant, it was introduced into Turitey, 
Arabia, and Persia, and the whole of Asia. It t^as 
not, however, nntil many years afterwards that it at- 
tracted considerable notice. 

In 1561 some seeds of tobacco were given by a 
Dutch planter to Jean Nicot, Lord of vlllemain, a 
French nobleman, who was then the ambassador ttom 
Francis II. to the court of Portugal Nicot sent them 
to his queen, Catherine de Metuds, who afterwards 
patronised tobacco as a medicine ; and thence it ob- 
tained the name of Herhe h InR^in^, (Queen^s Herb) 
until her death. The generic name, Nicotitma, was 
given to it by Linnsus, the great Swedish naturalist 

About this period, the monarchs of the worid com- 
bined, as it were, to avert the evils which they dreaded 
would result from the introduction of Tobacco into 
their respective dominions. In England, Queen Eliza- 
beth published an edict against its use, giving as a 
reason, that her subjects, by indulging in the same 
luxuries as barbarians, were likely to degenerate into 
barbarism. In the fbllowing reign. King James wrote 
his celebrated book called Vounterbla»te to Dobncco, in 
which he says that the custom of smoking " is loath- 
some to the eye, hatefVdl to the nose, harmful] to the 
braine, dangerous to the lungs ; and, in the black 
stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible 
Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless." At the 
same time, this monarch imposed a duty, intended to 
be a prohibitory one, of six shillings and eight pence 
per pound on the importation of tobacco ; and enacted, 
that no planter in Virginia should raise more than one 
hundred pounds of it in one year. Charles I. conti- 
nued this impost, and made tobacco a royal mono- 
poly, as it is at the present time in the Netherlands 
and in France. An amusing fact, connected with the 
opposition to its general use, is related of Fagon, a 
physician to Louis XIV. ; in the midst of a violent 
speech on the pernicious effects of tobacco, the orator 
made a pause; and taking his snuff-box from his 
pocket, ref^^eshed himself \rith a pinch^ to enable him 
to renew the argument. 

In 1590, Shah Abbas forbade the use of tobacco in 
Persia, by a penal law : but so firmly had the luxury 
rooted itself among liis subjects, that many inhabitants 
of cities fled to the mountains^ where they hid them- 
selves, rather than forego the pleasure of smoldng. 
In 1624, the Pope anathematised all snuff-takers, who 
indulged in the habit of snuff-taking in any church : 
and so lately as 16d0, ^e then Pope excommunicated 
all who indulged in that vice in the church of St. 
Peter at Rome. In 1625» the Grand Sultan, Amu- 
rath rv., prohibited smoking, as an unnatural and ir- 
religious custom, under pain of death : ftew, indeed^ 
suffered the penalty, 3^t, in Constantinople, where the 
custom is now universal, smoking was thought to be 
so ridictdous and hurtfol, that any Turk, who was 
caught in the act, was conducted in ridicule through 
thd streets, with a pipe passed through his nose. In. 
Russia, where the peasantry now smoke all day long, 
the Grand Duke of Moscow prohibited the entrance 
of tobacco into his dominions, under the penalty of 
personal chastisement for the first offence, and death 
for the second -, and the Muscovite who was found 
snufHng was condemned to have his nostrils ^lit. So 

f Tabasco ic an island in the Gnlf of Mexico, at the bottom of 
the Bay of Campeachy. 




great, indeed, was the hostility of the government 
against tobacco, in every form, that a particular conrt 
of law, for punishing smokers, was instituted in 1 634, 
and not abolished until the middle of the eighteenth 
century. Even in Switzerland war was waged against 
the American herb : to smoke, in Berne, ranked as a 
crime next to adultery j and in 1053, all smokers 
were cited befoi^ the Council nt Appcnzel> and severely 
punished. But, like many persecuted customs, good 
or bad, tobacco triumphed over all opposition | it is 
now cultivated in both hemispheres of ^e globe ; and 
the importation of tobacco and snuff into Great Bri- 
tain alone, during a recent year, amounted to 1 6,880 

It has been stated that tobacco was discovered by 
the Spaniards in Yucatan, in 1518) bi;it Humboldt 
asserts that it was cultivated, fW)m time immemorial, 
by the natives of Oroonoko, where it is called Petnn, 
Pote-ma, and Piciel, It was, soon after its discovery, 
transported to the West Ind[ies, particularly to Cuba, 
the tobacco of which is still the most highly prized 3 
and to North America, where it has been most exten- 
sively cultivated. One curious circumstance con- 
nected with its cultivation in Virginia, is worth no- 
ticing. The planters, in the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century, being all bachelors, regarded them- 
selves merely as temporary sojourners in the colony ; 
the London Company, which was established in 1 606, 
for the colonization of Virginia, with a view to their 
steadiness, sent out a number of respectable young 
women to supply the settlers with wives. These 
ladies were ac^udly sold for one hundred and twenty 
pounds of tobacco each, being the amount of the ex- 
penses of the voyage. 



This agreeable work, though written in a light and 
familiar style, shews considerable powers both of 
observation and thought. Among the lively and en- 
tertaining descriptions of the scenery of upper India, 
and the manners of the mountaineers of the Hima- 
layah, there are many things calculated to produce 
serious reflection. We find, in partioular, some 
very interesting details relative to the progress of 
Christianity among iht natives of India. On this 
subject we shall make a few extracts. 

" We hear very Utile of Hindoo coDTersioQ ; and many 
who have not had the opportunity of witnessing the zeal and 
perseverance of our roissiontries, may imagine that the/ 
slumber on their posts. But theirs is a silent way, and their 
endeavours, though little seen or heard, have, under the 
Divine assistance, produced some effect. It would be en* 
larging on a well-known tale to dwell upon the sorrows that 
a Hindoo must bear, and the struggles he must make, before 
he can renounce his religioi^ The severest sacrifices, how- 
ever, have been made ; and as it has been often gravely 
asserted that such examples of sincerity have never occurred, 
I cannot resist relating the following instancei which fell 
under my own ohservauon. 

** A soldier belonging to one of the native regiments had 
hcen baptized by the cnaplaia of the station where it was 
quartered. He was a great favounte with his comrades, and 
such a circumstance made no inconsiderable stir among them. 
The government, on hearing of the matter, ordered an inves- 
tigation into it ; the soldier^ story was simple, and his sub- 
sequent conduct proved it to be true. 

" * From the first year I entered the service,' he said, * I 
was struck with the difference of the conduct of the British 
oflioers and the higher men of mv own country : the former, 
I noticed, never told an untruth, and were never guilty of 
a dishonest action : among the latter, truth was litde con- 
sideredt and knavish tricKs were far too common. On the 

* Excurtions in India, By Capt. Thomas Skinner, of the 3ltt 
Kegime^t Colbum and Bentley. 

expedition to Java, while on shipboard, I had aa opportunitv 
of observing the manners of the English more minutely, ana 
was confirmed in my ideas regarding them. I was struck 
with their mode of praying every Sunday, and be^uno 
anxious to be better informed in Uieir religious belief. I 
conversed, whenever I could, with Europeans on ^e sub- 
ject, and never ceased to think of all they told me, till, on 
my return to Calcutta, I obtained a translated copy of the 
Bible. I studied it constantly, and determined to become a 
Christian, I knew it was necessary, before I oould make 
this declaration, to take leave of every member of my family, 
and I got a furlough for that purpose. I had much to 
struggle with. I put off the disclosure to the last moment, 
and at length made it All the opposition I expeeted was 
offered. When I combated their arguments, they assailed 
me with reproaches and tears. I remained firm, however, 
and parted with them as if I had been going to execution. 
I can never hope to meet them again. Judee if I am not 
sincere. And now, gentlemen,' continued he,' addressing 
the military court of enquiry, * are you not Cliristians ana 
soldiers toof How then ean my becoming a Christian 
unfit me for a soldier ? Or why, beeause I believe in your 
God, am I not capable of serving your king ?' 

'* It was considered proper to remove this man from his 
regiment. (!) A pension, the amount of his pay, was settled 
upon him, and he is now free to attend the Christian wor- 
ship, and a roan of more exemplary manner, or more respect- 
able appearance, cannot be fonnd in any church in Europe." 

It wiU not be ea«y to find an instance of conversion 
to Christianity founded on purer motives and higher 
principles than this, or any thing more affecting Uian 
the simple narrative of this poor sepoy. We confess that 
we are not able to discover why it was fotmd necessary, 
first, to institute a court of inquiry on his conduct, as 
if he had committed a crime, and afterwards to re- 
move him from his regiment, in opposition to his own 
earnest appeal. How (we repeat his words) could 
his becoming a christian imfit him for a soldier ? Or 
why, because he believed in our God, was he not 
capable of seizing our king ? His removal could not 
have been intended for his own protection against any 
apprehended ill usage from hb unconverted com- 
rades 3 and that there was no reason for any such ap- 
prehensloi is evident from his strong desire to remain 
in the service. If, as the above passage woidd indi- 
cate, it is the policy, in our Indian service, to discou- 
rage conversion to Christianity among our native 
troops, and to prevent them from attending the Chris- 
tian worship, It is a most wicked and unchristian 
policy, and should be instantly abandoned. It cannot 
be justified by any such reason of expediency as that 
it would prevent dissension among the natives. If such 
a reason were to be so acted upon, it would keep the 
native soldiery of India in a state of perpetual heathen- 
ism. It is the duty of a Christian government, to leave 
the minds of the natives open to the only consideration 
which should weigh with them — ^the conviction of 
religious truth 3 and to bias their minds neither by the 
hope of temporal good nor the fear of evil. Had this 
soldier been anxious to leave the service, to avoid 
maltreatment from his fellows, it would have been 
cruel to force him to remain ; but his wish was to 
remain a soldier 5 and it is no compensation for dis- 
missing a man fi*om the service against his will, and 
without a crime, to give him a private's pension. In 
regard to the general good, it is plain that the con- 
tinuance in the regiment of a man of such a character, 
would have been a benefit, nay, a blessing to bis 

Captain Skinner bears testimony, in different parts 
of his book, to the increasing attention bestowed on 
the teachers of Christianity :•*- 

« In noticing the distribution of the Scriptures by a mi^ 
sionary who had posted himself near the Ghaut, I forgot to 
mention the avidity with which many, particularlv of the 
sikhs, crowded round him to obtain copies. I stood for somd* 
time near the spot where he was sitting, without, I btUcvi^ 


[September 1, 1832. 

being petceiTed bj him, and nas utonished at 
the; all paid to die few words be was able to aildresa lo them. 
A middle-aged man, with several of bis familv about bim, 
came up to me witb his book, and repealed Uie words the 
' Padre Sahib ' had spolien to bim ot> presenting it ; and, as 
if reallj anxious lo have them coiioboiated, asked, with 
much eoruestncss, if it were true. I assured bim it all was. 
< Then,' said he, * I will read the book to m; lamilf when- 
ever I get home.' " 

From the information contained in thb, as well as 
other recent accounts of India, it appears that the 
great work of conversion in the East is proceeding 
with daily increasing success and certainty. The for- 
midable difficulties arising from the tenets and pre- 
judices of the natives, are yielding to the influence of 
christian precept, strengthened by christian example ; 
and the late wise, humane, and most salutary aboli- 
tion, by our government, of the custom of widows 
burning themselves with the bodies of their husband.?, 
has been generally received in a manner which shews 
how glad the people are to be released from a fright- 
ful superstition, which, in spite of edncatioa and 
habit, must, at all times, have been revolting to the 
natural feelings of every human being. 

Almost every body has heard speak of the " Book of 
Nature," by which people usually mean ^e informa- 
tion and amusement to be always found in the patient 
observation of the natural world around us. But 
this "Book of Nature," if we rightly study it, will 
teach us more than the mere knowledge of what fella 
under the observation of our natural senses ; it may 
enable us to think and judge in some degree correctly 
of the Great Creator of them all. For, as the Scrip- 
ture says, "The invisible things of God from the 
creation of the world are clearly seen, being under- 
stood by the things that are mode, even his eternal 
power and Godhead." 

How wonderful it is, that in a world where almost 
every creature preys upon, or is itself the prey of, 
some other, all should be so nicely balanced, that the 
whole great system still goes on ! If the suffering, 
which, owing to the mutual destruction of each other 
by the different creatures, runs throughout our world, 
has branded it with marks of divine wrath, still the 
wondrous fact — that all goei on well in the main, is proof 
of an all- wise and ever -watchful Keeper in and OV' 
who, in the midst of wrath, continually remembers 
mercy ; and who, opposing different evils by each other, 
in the end brings out of them whatever good He will. 

I was led to these reflections by reading in " Vi' 
GTer'b Traveb through the Crimea and Turkey," 
following fact in the Natural History of 


"In the neighbourhood of Odessa, myriads of a pecu- 
liar fly, of that kind called Ichneumon, may be met 
employed in killing and burying the Locusts. The 
manner in which this is done is very singular. These 
flies steal upon the locusts una- 
res, mount upon their back, 
and strongly apply their own 
powerful legs around the body of 
the locust, so that it cannot spread 
y its wings and mount into the 
whereby it might escape. When 
the locust is wearied witii exertions 
to get free from the gripe of his enemy, the fly applies 
the strwig nippers, with which its mouth is furnished, 
to the neck of the locust, then pushes its sharp dart 
between the victim's head and body, and in a few se- 
conds the locust is dead. This dart is 'found, upon 
examioation, to consist of two sharp bodies, and in' 

them there is a small hollow tube. The fly remains 
ome time attached to the body of the locust i 
but whether this is for the purpose of lodging its ^;g« 
in the body, is not yet known. 

" Before the fly goes in search of a locust for de- 
struction, it prepares a small hole in the ground, 
which it does very quickly, by means of its nippers 
and legs. Into this hole it drags the body, and after- 
ward scrapes the earth over it ; and to render the 
surface smooth, it seems to take great pains in re- 
placing the earth, by running backward and forward 
over the spiot, whilst patting it with its l^;s. 

" The destruction of the locusts by this means hu 
not hitherto been noticed. But there can be no doubt 
it is carried on upon a very extensive scale in the 
Steppe all over the south." 

A note to the above informs us, that " these insects 
were observed by Dr. Lee, in the autumn of 1825, 
around Odessa, and several beautiful specimens of 
them will be found in the collection of insects of the 
Crimea and Caucasus, which he presented to the Mu- 
seum of the Royal Institution ' after his letum from 
Russia, in 1826." F.F.C. 

Determined before hand, we gravely pretend 
To ask the opinion and thougbts of a friend ; 
Should his differ from ours, on any pretence. 
We f ilv his want of gi>od judgment and sense ; 
But if he falls into, and flatters our plan, 
We teall; do think him a sensible man. Anon. 

The motto of the family arms ot Dr. DoDnRiDGE was i>uni 
cin'mui mBomiu — (Live while you live.) Under this mollo 
be wrote the following lines, which, in the opinion of Dr. 
Johnson, constitute one of tike finest epigrams in the Eng- 
lish language :- 

" Live while you live," Iho sacred preacher cries, 
" And give to God each moment as it flies :" 
Lord! m my view let both united be, — 
I live \tipUatur* when I live to Thee. 

When we think of death, a thousand sins we have trode u 
worms beneath our feet, rise up against us like flaming ser- 

The passions, like heavy bodies down steep hills, once in 
motion, move themselves, and know no ground but the bol- 


Sold hr (11 BookvltFTi and Ncwirewltn is Ihc Kinidon. 

tUwJitnuilDalenin FeriadlulPuMlciliiiiiiiupplMaiiKliolaalelnii \/j 

W.S.OIlR,PlltniuiWr-Riiw^G.BER0ER,HiiIywr]]-M.;A. DOUGL.AS, 

tl, PgOniM-tl. Portmui-tii. Lcndnn, 

And 1i; the Flibllabcr-i Kgn'a in Ibi lUlnrint pturi ;— 

HM . 


.SinBkinK.& Co. 


.Prim J ud Co. 




Lw(. ..Bobi^un. 


Urn; Empwa. 



■3flW*nl. ..:... 


■ ci,prjnlcr, 100,81 

Mueni Lw, Chirisf Cn». 

^^tnttfd^^ I Md^U^^int4 

N^ 12. 


8™, 1832. 



" Id* Ion Hkh udnl mint- 

Ve WTB tawd Dpon tbcB, bat IT* Hi 

If this sentunent of an old writer had prevailed more 
genendly, how maay relics of noble bnildioge, now 
levelled with the duet, would have been spared to as ! 
The rage for modem improvemeUt, or the blind fury 
of B mob has, in a few hours, frequently destroyed 
the work of centuries ; all that skill, and labour, and 
wealth were able to effect ; — and what to sacceasive 
generations would hare furnished invaluable models 
for the instruction nf architects and workmen. The 
keen regret that follows these acts of wanton violence 
must be deep, as the mischief is not to be repaired ; 
but let OS hope that better feelings have taken root 
amongst us, and that henceforward every lofty spire 
and venerable tower will be cherished with care and 
reverence, as legacies of patient and costly labour, 
bequeathed to ue by oor ancestors, as well for our use 
as our delight. 

The accompanying print represents tne exterior as 
it now appears, of a very curious building ; the oldest 
Hall, (originally belonging to Kprivale regidenet), and 
the most perfect specimen of the domestic architecture 
of the fifteenth century, existing in London. 

Crosby Hall or Place, on the east side of Bishopa- 
gate-street, was built ia the reign of Henry VI, by 
Sir John Crosby, orCrosbie, Knight, a wealthy grocer 
and woolmaa. Aiter his death in 1475, we learn, that 
amougat its possessors or inmates, were Richard Duke 
of Oloster, (afterwards Richard III), some distin- 
guished merchants of Italy and London, and ambas- 
sadors from Denmark and France. 
Vol. I. 

In the early part of the last century, the Hall wia 
converted into a Dissenting Meeting House, and on 
the dispersion of the congregation, about 1775 (» 
1780, it became a packer's warehouse. 

itri/CtuttMttt, m Ufin—m nyfr*- 



[Septembbr 8 

The Hall CKtcnds about 69 feet in lengtb by 27 in 
brea^ ; the bdghth, to the apex of the roof, is 
abon| 40 feet i but whoi ocmverted into a warehouse, 
it was intersected by a floor, which prevents any judg- 
ment being formed of the general effect The Hall 
has the usual accompaniment of a large bay-window, 
or recess. Both this, and the windows on the oppo- 
site side, are of great beauty, and bear some resem- 
blance to the windows in the hall at Eltham. A little 
above the recess is a door, communicating with a 
smaller apartment (42 feet by 22). The roof of the 
Hall, which is of admirable design and workmanship, 
and in some places has been gilt, will be better under- 
stood from our view of the interior, than by any verbal 
description that we can give of it. 

The aeSing of the amaller room is in form a four- 
centered Mcb divided into rows of square pannels, 
each pannd origmally filled with very rich tracery. 

The Hall is so completely hidden, that hundreds 
of our readers must have passed it unknowingly, and 
their first knowledge that such a building ever existed 
might have been the news of its destruction. 

In a statement lately circulated, we are told '^ there 
is reason to believe, that in a very few years every 
vestige of this interesting fabric would have bee^ 
swept away, and the ground occupied by modem 
houses, had it not been for the zealous interference of 
two or three neighbouring families. Desirous to 
avert such a loss to the arts, and such a discredit to 
the age, a few gentlemen met together, fund resolved 
to make an appeal to such individuals of taste and 
influence as they thought likely to co-operate with 
them in the wcnk of preservation. That primary 
appeal has been answered in the most encouraging 
maivner. A committee has been fbimed, and sub- 
scriptians have been opened with f^ spirit tbot pro- 
mises a satisfactory result.*' 

From this gratifying statement, we trust that this 
tailding will be preserved to distant agea. We would 
urge our readers to visit it, (as it is open toot inspec- 
tion) and also the Church of St. Helen's, in the im- 
mediate neighbourhood, as thai is also a building of 
great beauty, and is preserved with a degree of neat- 
p^.8s that confers the highest credit upon its guar- 
dians. In that church rest the builder of Crosby 
HaU, and also the funous Sir Thomas Gresham, and 
Sir Andrew Judd, the founder of Tunbridge School, 
l^ese *' Traffickers" were indeed amongst " tbe ho- 
noumUe of the earthj" and gave a lustre to the name 
of the liONDON Mkrchant. " They were honoured 
in tiiefar fenerafeionj and were the glory of theirtimes; 
and they have left a name behind them that their 
praises might be reporled,** 


Dn. Samub^ JoQifsoNj one of the best, as well 
as most iUustrioua^i men of whom England can 
boast, was born on the 7tbof September, 1709, at 
Litehflel4 where bis father was a bookseUer, in very 
low circumtftaaoea. He contrivedj however, to main- 
tain his son for some time at Oxford. On his death, 
the young student was compelled by necessity to en- 
gage himself as usher in a grammar-school* In this 
situation he was treatecl in a manner which so wounded 
his feelinge, that it was a aul\)ect of painful remem- 
brance to hha for the rest of his life. On quitting it 
he made some unsuccessful attempts to maintain him- 
self by his pen ; and soon afterwards married Mrs. 
Forter> the widow of a mercer of Birmingham, with 
whom he received a small sum of money, which ena- 
bled him to open a boarding-school. In this, too, he 
was unsuccessful ^ he abandoned his plan and resolved 

to try his fortune in London. His first work of any 
note was his cdelnnted peon of L^ndm. It was 
published without his name, but soon attracted tbe 
notice of the most distinguished individuals <>f tbe 
day. For a considerable time after this, his chief 
employment was writing in the Gentleman' $ Magaiint, 
to which work he gave great interest by Fq>orting the 
debates in the Houses of Parliament under the 
fiction of ** Debates in the Senate of Lilliput." In 
those days the machinery of the daOy press, by means 
of which the debates of a whole night are laid cm 
our breakfEist tables in the morning, was not in 
existence 5 and the public was delighted with dis- 
cussions fiill of vigour and eloquence, much of which 
was given to them by the reporter. In 1747, he 
published his idan of an English Dictionary, for which 
he endeavoured to obtain the patronage of the £&rl 
of Chesterfield, so well known for his writings on the 
subject of politeness. But the intercourse between 
the polished courtier and the rough scholar, was 
equally unsatisfactory to both; and Johnson in- 
formed the world in bis preface, that ** the English 
Dictionary was written with little assistance from 
the leaned, and without any patronage of the 
great] not hi the soft obscurities of retirement, or 
under the shelter of academic bowers, but amidst in- 
convenience and distraction, in sickness and in sor- 
row.'* Chesterfield, on the oth«r hand, ridiculed 
Johnson's deportment and manners, ^ which he gave 
a satirical description fai one of his Letters to his Son. 

In 1 749, J<dmson produced another admirable satire, 
The Vanity rfHwmtm Wishes, and his tragedy of Irene. 
He now began 1^ Mamhier, a woric which was not at 
first reoeiv^ in a manner worthy of its great excel- 
lence. Written entirelyby himself, and in ayerysaious 
tone^ it wanted the variety and gaiety necessary to at- 
tract the readers of periodical publioationa. But, after 
it was collected into volumes, its merit was fiiUy per- 
ceived j and the author lived to see it reach a tenth 

Soon after the dose of the Ramhler, he lost his wife, 
who had been his fnithfbl and afi^ctionate partner in 
all his difficulties and distresses, and whose death he 
deqily deplored. His Dictionary, the labour of many 
years, was now brought out, and hailed by the public 
as a valuable addition to English literature. The 
profit he derived from it did not, however, remove 
bis difficulties $ he had, in fftct, been Uving upon 
it beforehand during nearly the whole time of its 
preparation. He then be^ the Idler, a series of 
delightful Essays, which were published in a weddj 
newspaper^ So severe did his struggles with povcitf 
still continue to be, that, on the death of his mother, 
in 1759, he wrote the b^utiful moral iaXtoiJimsneki, 
for the purpose of raising a sufficient sum of money 
to defray the expenses of her f^ineral and disi^iarge 
her Uttle debts. 

In 1762, he received a pension fixnn king Geoarge 
the third ; by which, and the profits of his Ihenry 
labours, he was placed in easy circumstances. T)» 
only great work which he produced after this period 
was Us Lives of the English Poets, which was com- 
pleted in 1781. He died on the 13th of December, 
1785, in the 75^ year of his age ; his remains weit 
interred in Westminster Abbey, and, a monument is 
erected to his memory in St. FJehiI^s Cathedral 

Dr. Johnson, as a writer, has never been surpassed 
in the gpreatness of his conceptions, and the devatton 
of his religious and moral sentiments. Living much 
in the worid, and undergoing many of the trials and 
changes of life, his philosophy was built on expe* 
rience and obseorvation of human nature ; and, if his 
pencil, on the whole, is a dark one, yet there are bean 




Hfdl lights, as well as deep shades, in his pietnres. 
His views c^ religion have most mijustly been blamed 
as gloomy. That he laboured, at times, mider a 
greater fear of death than might have been expected 
from his Christian principles and general strength of 
mind, is true ; but this, with some imperfections of 
character (of no great moment, indeed) is to be ascribed 
to the diseased state of his bodily finame during the 
whole of his long life. In his trials and calamities, 
we find him always resorting to heaven for support 
and consolation j and, in his writings, while the 
duties of religion are represented as utterly inconsist- 
ent with the slightest degree of vicious indulgence, 
they are never placed as bars to innocent enjoyment. 
His style has been made the subject of much criticism, 
and fluently exposed to petulant ridicule. But it 
seems peculiaitly suited to his turn of thought », and, 
in his pages, a grand and solemn train of reflexions 
becomes still more impressive firom the magnificent 
flow of the language in which it is clothed. 

In private life, Dr. Jbhnson was not less beloved 
than revered. He was rough in his exterior, but his 
heart was full of the milk of human kindness. He 
has been represented as rude and overbearing in so- 
ciety ; but his rudeness will be found to have been 
generally Worthy of a better name, and to have exhi- 
bited itself in stem reproof of presumptuous igno- 
rance or unbecoming levity 5 while his life was spent 
m offices of kindness and charity, to the utmost ex- 
tent of his means. Even his Ordinary conversation 
was full of instruction; and Boswell, who wrote 
his life, has by merely preserving what fell from his 
lips, produced one oF the most valuable books in 
our language. 


How heaTily the path of life 

Is trod by bim wbo walks alone ; 
Wbo bears not, on bis dreary way, 

Affection's sweet and cbeering tone. 
Alone, althongb his bear! should bound 

With lore to all things great and fair, 
Tbey love not bim, — there is not one 

His sorrow or bis joy to sbare. 

The aneient stars look coldhr down 

On man, the creature of a day ; 
Tbey lired before bim, and live on 

Till bis remembrance pass away. 
The mountain lifts its hoary bead, 

Nor to bis bomage deigns reply ) 
The stormy billows bear him forth, 

Regardless which — to \vfe or die. 

The flow*ret blooms unseen by bim, 

Unmindful of bis warmest praise ; 
And if it fades, seeks not bis band 

Its drooping loveliness to raise. 
The brute creation own bis power, 

And grateful serve bim, tbougb in fear ; 
Yet cannot sympathise with man, 

For if be weeps, tbey shed no tear. 

Alone, tbougb in the busy town, 

Wbere hundreds hurry to and fro, 
If there is none who for bis sake 

A selfish pleasure woald forego ; 
And oh ! bow lonely, among those 

Who have not skill to read Lis heart, 
When first be learns bow summer friends 

At sight of wintry storms depart 

My Saviour ! and didst thou too feel 

How sad it is to be alone, 
Deserted in the adverse hour 

By those who most thy love had known? 
The gloomy path, though distant still, 

Was ever present to thy view ; 
Oh ! bow couldst thou, foreseeing it. 

Fox us that painfid course pursue* 

Forsaken by thy nearest friends, 

Surrounded by malicious foes ; 
No kindly voice encouraged thee, 

When the loud shout of scom arose. 
Yet there was calm within thy soul, 

Nor Stoic pride that calmness kept, 
Nor Godhead, unapproacbed by woe, — 

like man thou nadst both lov'd and wept 

Thou wert not then alone, for Ood 

Sustained thee by bis mighty power ; 
His arm most felt, ms care most seen, 

When needed most in saddest hour ; 
None else could comfort, none else knew 

How dreadful was the curse of sin | — 
He wbo controul'd the storm without, 

Could gently whisper peace within. 

Wbo is alone, if God be nigh ? 

Who shall repine at loss 1^ friends^ 
While he has One of boundless power. 

Whose constant kindness never ends } 
Whose presence felt, enhances jov. 

Whose love can stop the flowing tear, 
And cause upon the darkest cloud 

The pledge of mercy to appear. 

Sir Edward Coke beinff now rery infirm in hodv, a frlead 
of bis sent bim two or Uiree doctors to regulate iiis heidth, 
whom he told, that be had never taken phrsie since he ^as 
bom, and would not now begin ; and that he had now upon 
bim a disease which all the druffs of Asia, the gold of Afirica,the 
silvef of America, nor all the doctors of Europe could cure— 
Old Age ; be therefore thanked them and bis friend that sent 
them, and dismissed them nobly with a reward. — Ellis's 


(Rajicsia Amoldi, or KrUbHh) 

Tbis gigantic flower was discovered in Sumatra, in 
1818, when Sir Stamford RArrLES^ then governor 
of that island, made his first journey from Beneooleii 
into the interior. In that journey he was aceom- 
panied hy a naturalist of great zeal and acquirements, 
the late Dr. Joseph AaNOLO, a member of the Lin* 
nsean Society, from whose researches, aided by the 
friendship and influence of the governor in an island 
so favourably situated and so imperfectly known aa 
Smnatra, the greatest expectations had been formed. 
But these expectations were never to be realiied, iat 
tiie same letter which gave the account of the gigantie 
flower, brought also the intelligence of Dr. Arnold's 
death. This letter was one from Sir Stamford Raffles 
to Sir Joseph Banks, and in it he inclosed the follow- 
ing extract written by the lamented Arnold to some 
unknown friend, (for the epistle was left imfinished,) 
in which he gives an accoimt of the discovery of this, 
which Sir Stamford Raflies well denominated-—" most 
magnificent flower." 

After describing the previous route, Arnold says : 
" At Pulo Lebban, on the Manna River, I rejoice to 
tell you, I met with what I consider the greatest pro- 
digy of the vegetable world. I had ventured some 
way before the party, when one of the Malay servants 
came running to me, with wonder in his eyes, i£nd 
said, ' Come with me, sir, come ! a flower very large, 
beautiful, wonderful!' I went with the man about 
a hundred yards into the jungle, and he poiiited to 
a flower growing ck>se to the ground, under the 
bushes, which was truly astonishing. My first im- 
pulse was to cut it up and carry it to the hut : I 
therefore seized the Malay's parang, (a sort of instru- 
ment like a woodman's chopping-hook,) and finding 
that it sprang from a small root, which ran horizon- 
tally, (about as large as two fingers,) I soon detached 
it, and removed it to our hut. To tell you the truth, 
had I been alone, and had there been no witnesses, I 
should, I think, have been feufal of mentioniiig the 





dimeiuiona of this flower, so mnch does it exceed 
erery flower I have ever seen or heard of ; but I had Sir 
Stamford and Lady Raffles with me, and Mr. Pala- 
giave, who, though equally astonished with myself, 
yet ere able to testify as to the truth. 

" The whole flower waa of a very thick substance ; 
the petals and nectary being in few pUcea less than 
a quarter of an inch thick, and in some places three 
qnartera of an inch : the substance of it was rery 
tacculent. When I first saw it, a swarm of flies were 
hovering over the mouth of the nectary, and appa- 
rently laying their eggs in the substance of it. It 
had precisely the smell of tainted beef. 

Patma (see Fig. 2). Andtber of ttiese vegetal^ 
paradoxes, figured also by Blame, is a native of di 

"Now for the dimensions, which are the most 
astonishing part of the flower. It measured a fuU 
yard acron ; the petals being twelve inches high, and 
a foot apart from each other. The neclarnoB, in the 
opinion of us all, would hold tuelve pints ; and the 
weight of this prodigy we calculated to be fijteen 

A guide from the interior of the country said that 
•ach flowers were rare, but that he had seen several, 
and that the natives call them KrUbSl. Later infor- 
mation, however, has shown that the Kriiii, or Qreat 
nower, is mnch more generally known than its first 
European discoverers suspected. In some districts it 
is called Kribtlt, and in others simply Ambm Ambun. 
It is said to take three months, fiota the first ap- 
pearance of the bud, to the full expansion of tike 
flower, and it appears but once a-year, at the conclu- 
sion 0{ the rainy season. It has no stem of its own, 
but grows on the roots and stems of a woody species 
of eitiiu, (Ciinu anffutli/olia.) Upon this plant the 
KrObtll seems to take its origin in some crack or hollow 
of the stem, and soon shews itself in the form of a 
round knob, which, when cut through, exhibits tbe 
infant flower enveloped in numerous sheaths ; these 
open and wither away as the flower enlarges, until 
at the time of its fulness, but very few remain. The 
blossoms rot away not long after their expansion, and 
the seeds (tporx) tat raised with the pulpy mass. 

This giant flower may well be esteemed the won- 
der of the vegetable world ; and although several 
others, similar to it in form and habits, have been 
found, none have as yet been discovered that equal 
it In size. A small species has been mentioned by 
Dr. Horsfleld ; but his flower, instead of measuring 
three feet aerou, only measwed three inches. A 
second very magnificent species, measuring two feet 
across, has heui discoTered in a small island near 
Java, called Ntua Kwmhangait, which has been de- 
scribed and figured by Blame, in his Flora Jaox, 
and from this work our second and third figures 
have been taken. By the natives it is called Patma, 
and hence the botanical name proposed is Rafflena 

province of Buiteniorg, in the western parts of Javi. 
and grows at the height of from IZOO to 1500 fed 
above the level of the sea. It has been called Brtg- 
Mauris Zi^lii (Vide Fig. 3) 

AH these curious plants agree in Beversl dmun- 
stances. In the first place, they have no proper rooti 
of their own, and derive their nourishment from the 
vegetables on which they grow. In the second pUa, 
they have no stems, the flowers being seated on tbc 
vines that support them. Thirdly, they are destitate 
of leaves, the flowers being enclosed only by scala, 
which are purplish, or brownish, and resemble tbt 
outer coverings of buds, or rather the chaBy scales 
of other clinging plants ; for, deriving their nouiiiih- 
ment through the leaves of another vegetable, fliey 
do not require leaves of their own. So that here vt 
have plants consisting of flower only, neither root, 
stem, nor leaves bekig present. And what is itill 
more curious is, that, although the largest and mcsl 
magnificent flowers in the world, they have very little 
in common with other flowering plaiits. They have 
no proper seeds, but arc multiplied by tporet, similar 
to die spawn of mushrooms, to which, indeed, thor 
general form bears very great resemblance. The flower- 
leaves are of a mushroom -like substance, and smell like 
tmnted beef; they contain no hollow vessels, like 
most other flowering plants, hut consist of cells altnUi 
like the mushroom -tribe, and they arise from bencaUi 
the bark of the cissus, which becomes enlarged by 
their growth, and very mnch resembles that fidw 
covering which some cS that tribe have which grov 
upon living plants j raising the outer sur&ce into tu- 
mors, and bursting it as they become more fully grown, 
such as the blights aiifl blasts of com, and so forth. 
Hence these stupendous flowers, which are six to 
nine feet in circumference, shew their likenww to the 
most lowly of tbe mushroom tribes, some of which aie 
so minute as scarcely to be visible to the naked eye. 


Is considered one of the great- 
eat curiositjea in Wales. It 
is eitu&ted at Dolawen, in 
Caernarvonshire, about six 
miles from Bangor, at the 
entrance of the romantic val' 
ley named Nant Frangoo, 
and belongs to G. H. D. Pen- 
nant, Esq. of Penrhyn Castle. 
The summit .of the slate 
mountain is termed Y Bron, 
a name which signifies bnoMt 
or^op, and is frequently giren 
to the tops of hUIs whidi do i 
not rise abruptly. The per- ; 
pendicular height is not more <■ 
than 600 or 700 yards. 

The solid masses of slate 
which are taken from this 
quarry are from 80 to 100 
feet in height; and when 
the sua shines they exhibit 
with great brillisncy all the 
colours of the rainbow. The business of separating 
the layers from the main body appears a dangerous 
employment, particularly when it is necessary to spUt 
the rock from the summit. This is effected by fasten- 
ing a small beam to the top, with ropes at each end, 
as represented in the sketch. 

Upon this beam, four, five, or six men, frequently 
stand, and with their iron crows and sledge hammers, 
flake off the slat« from the sides in masses, six or seven 
feet in length, from two to eight in breadth. 

The various pieces of slate are shaped upon the spot, 
according to the purposes for which they are intended, 
such as gravestones, chimney-pieces, covering of 
houses, dstema, rails, &c. The rude slates are first 
reduced to shape and size by a small edged tool, the 
slate being first laid upon the edge of an iron plate, 
fixed in an upright position ; they are then taken to 
the scraper, who, with a small piece of thin steel takes 
off the rough parts and reduces the surface to a level j 
and are afterwards piled up in grosses for exportation. 
Formerly they were conveyed to the port at a very 
heavy expense, by means of carts, drawn along the 
ordinary road, but afterwards an iron rail-road was 
formed, which reaches front the quarry to Port Pea- 
rhyn, a distance of six miles. Upon this line are se- 
veral inclined or sloping planes, Ihe waggons are now 
made of iron, and each holds about half a ton ; seve- 
ral of them can be drawn by one horse, so that six or 
eight horses now perform the work which formerly 
required sixty or eighty. At Port Penrhyn the slates 
are shipped, not only for all parts of Great Britain, 
but even for the United States of America. 

The expense of the inclined planes, and rail roads, 
connected with this quarry, and incurred by the late 
liOrd Penrhyn, in diminishing the labour of conveying 
the slates, is said to have been upwards of £170,000. 

THE PUMA (Feli, Coneolar.J 
This animal, which is found in America, from Pata- 
gonia to California, is frequently called the American 
It is large, and uniformly of a yellow, colour. 

and so farbears some similarity to the lion of the Old 
World, but it is without mane or tufl to the tail. Its 
length, from the nose to the root of the tail, is about 
five feet ; and its height, from the bottom of the foot 
to the slwalder, twenty-six inches and a half. 

Hie Puma lies concealed in the underwood, and 
does not have recourse to caverns for shelter. I( 
ascends and descends the highest trees with swiftness 
and ease, though it may be considered rather as an 
inhabitant of the plains than of the forests. Its de- 
predations are generally confined to quadrupeds of a 
middUng size, as calves, sheep, &c.; but against these 
its ferocity is more insatiable than its appetite, des- 
troying many at an attack, but carrying away perhaps 
only one. If it have more than sufficient for a meal, 
it will cover and conceal the residue for a second re- 

D'Azara possessed a tame puma, which was as 
gentle as a dog, but very inactive. It would play with 
any one ; and if an orange were presented to it, would 
strike it with the paw, push it away, and seize it again, 
')e manner of a cat playing wiUt a mouse. It had 
all the manners of a cat, when engaged in surprising 
bird, not excepting the agitation of the tail j and 
when caressed purred like that axumaL 

An incident occurred a few years back, not far from 
New York, which disproves the assertion that the 
pwaa will not attack a man. Two hunters went out 
in quest of game on the Katskill mountains, in New 
York, each armed with a gun, and accompanied by 
his dog. They agreed to go in contrary directions 
round the base of a hill, and that, if either discharged 
bis piece, the other should cross the hill as expedi- 
tiously as possible, to join his companion. Sliortly 
after separating, one beard the other lire, and hastened 
to his comrade. After searching for him for some 
time without effect, he found his dog dead and dread- 
fully torn. Knowing from Ibis circumstance that the 



[Sept£mbbr 6^ 

ammal shot at was large and ferocious^ he became 
more anxious, and assiduously continued his search 
for his friend ; when his attention was suddenly di- 
rected, by a deep growl, to a large branch of a tree, 
where he saw a puma couching on the body of the man, 
and directing his eyes toward him, apparently hesi- 
tating whether to descend and make an attack on 
the survivor, or to relinquish its prey and take to 
flight. Conscious that much depended on celerity, 
the hunter discharged his piece, and the puma> mor- 
tally woimded, and the body of the man, fell together 
from the tree. The surviving dog then flew at the 
fallen beast, but a single blow front its paw laid the 
dog dead by its side. 

Finding that his comrade was dead, and that there 
was still danger in approaching the wounded animal, 
the man prudently retired, and brought several per- 
sons to the spot, where the unfortunate hunter, the 
puma, and both the dogs, were all lying dead to- 

Major Smith witnessed an extraordinary instande 
of the great ferocity of this animal, when engaged 
with its food. A pimna, which had been taken and 
was confined, was ordered to be shot, which was 
done immediately after the animal had received its 
food : the first ball went through his body, and the 
only notice he took of it was by a shrill growl, doub- 
ling his efforts to devour his food, which he actually 
continued to swallow with quantities of his own bloody 
till he feU. 

Notwithstanding such instances of the violence of 
disposition of this animal, it is very easy to be tamed. 
The same gentleman saw another individual that was 
led about with a chain, carried in a waggon, lying 
under the seat upon which his keeper sat, and fed by 
fiinging a piece of meat into a tree, when his chain 
was coiled round his neck, and he was desired to fetch 
it down ; an act which he performed in two or three 
bounds, with surprising ease and docility. 

A tame pimia, which died recently, was some time 
in the possession of Mr. Kean the actor. It was quite 
docile and gentle. After the death of this animal, it 
was discovered that a musket-ball, in all probability, 
had injured its skull, which was not known in its life- 
time. — Cuvier's Animal Kingdom, 


The following account of a visit to the Salt Mine at 
Ischl is extracted from a lively and agreeable Uttle 
volume* just published by Dr. Tobin, who accom- 
panied the late Sir Hiimphry Davy on his visit to the 
Continent, from which that great philosopher did not 
live to return. 

** I went with a very large party, consisting of almost 
all the strangers in Ischl, to visit the Sahberg, the salt 
motmtain or rather mine, which was to be illuminated 
for the visitors. We set out at about one o'clock, a 
long string of carriages, and after an hour's drive 
through a very pleasant valley, we arrived at the foot 
of the mountain which contains the mine. Here 
a ntmiber of miners were waiting with sedan chairs 
for the ladies, many of whom however preferred 
walking up the mountain, and in about three quar- 
ters of an hour we arrived at the chief entrance 
of the mine. We were now to be attired, as is 
usual on entering the mines, in a long white mantle 
or frock, and a large wide broad brim, the latter to 
hinder us from knocking our brains out, and the former 
to keep otir clothes clean. Here was confusion dire ^ 

• Journal of a tour in the years 1828-29, through Styria, Car- 
niola, and Italy, whilst acoompaDying the lale Sia Uumphst 
Davy, by J. J. Tobin, M.D, London, Orr, Paternoster Row. 

this frodk was too small, this too long ; this lady had 
no brimmer, this gentleman could find no stick. I 
laid hold of the first frock and hat I met with, but 
up came a lady and begged I would exchange vnih 
her, as her frock was so long she could not -walk in 
it, and mine so short that it did not reach to my 
knees. Dressing at length finished, the ladies were 

g laced in their carriages, that is two in each i^rheel- 
arrow, fiice to face, with a miner before to pull, who 
carried a lamp in his hand, and another to push be- 
hind, and between every two barrows went another 
miner bearing a paper lanthom. The gentlemen wert 
of coiurse on foot, with the exception of one or two 
gouty invalids. 

" In this guise, with half-a-dozen miners going befoie 
carrying hrnips, the whole train entered uie passage, 
and in a few seconds lost sight of daylight. After a 
long, wet, and (in spite of our many lamps) dark 
journey through this narrow and low passage, where 
my head was continually coming in contact with the 
roof, we came to the Rutsch, or slide, which leads 
down into the salt-chamber. The Rutsch is fcnmed i^ 
the trunks of two large fir-trees laid close togedier, 
rounded and polished, and placed in an oblique direc- 
tion, in an angle of about forty degrees. A miner, 
with a lamp in one hand, places himself astride these 
trees, and holds with his other hand a cord which is 
fixed to the rock on the sides. The person who wishes 
to descend seats himself behind the miner, and holds 
him by the shoulders. The miner then lets the cord 
slip through his hands, and down they go like light- 
ning into what seems an abyss of darkness : safe at 
the bottom, he gives a shout that the next couple may 
follow. When the slide is very long, as in the 
mines at Hallein, near Salzberg, the miner always 
sits upon a thick leather apron, and when alone makes 
no use of the cord, but rushes down with fearful 
speed into the salt-cave below. When we arrived 
at the slide, and the ladies had all got out of their 
barrows, after much discussion and many fears and 
doubts, they consented thus to descend, as the miners 
assured them it was more dangerous to do so by the 
steps cut in the rock, at the side, which were ex- 
ceedingly steep and very wet. Having reached 
the bottom of the slide, which ends in a slight 
curve, to break the impetus of the descent, we found 
ourselves in an immense cavern or room, excavated 
in the rock, about twelve feet high, and from ten 
to twelve thousand in circumference, supported in 
the middle by a massive pillar of rock, and lighted up 
by some hundred lamps, which, however, only served 
to give the scene a more awful and gloomy appear- 
ance. The visitors, whose number was considerable, 
in their long white mantles and hats, looked like 
spectres wandering in the shades of the nether world. 
The roof and walls of this cavern were covered with 
minute crystals of salt, not, however, sufficiently large 
to give to it the glittering appearance which I had 
expected. The moimtain contains a great many 
of these salt-chambers, which at different periods 
are filled with fresh water, conducted into them 
by wooden pipes. When this has dissolved a suffi- 
cient quantity of salt, which operation occupies some 
months, it is drained off through a deep perpendicular 
shaft, near the middle of the cave, and is tiien con- 
ducted through wooden pipes, often for a very great 
distance, to the boiling-houses, where it undergoes 
the process of evaporation. 

" Having wandered through these gloomy abodes of 
silence and night for some time, we ascended the 
stairs, the ladies resumed their seats in the barrows, 
and the procession returned as it had entered. To 
save my head from additional thumps to the many it 




had received on entoriog, I todc tho place of one of 
the pushers, and after a merry drive of about twenty 
minutes we again saw daylight, like a distant star, 
increasing in size till we reached the entrance of the 
mine. We here took ofif our spectre-clothes, and re- 
turned home in our usual appearance^ and a merry 
party we were.'* 


No one can have lived long in the world without having ob- 
served how iVequently it happens that events which, at the 
time they happened, were the source of bitter disappoint- 
inent, have, eventually proved very blessings to us ; and that 
many of those things which have been most anxiously de- 
sired, but which it has pleased God to withhold from us, 
would have proved, if granted, the origin of endless evils. 

The recollection of sncn circumstanoee in our own indivi- 
dual oase, while it renders us deeply gratefUl to Divine Pro- 
vidence for the pasty should make us trust with perfeot con- 
fidence to the same Infinite Wisdom for ihefnhire. 

It would be difficult perhaps to find an anecdote bearing 
more strongly on what we have just observed, than one which 
is mention^ in the life of Bernard Gilmn, that great and 

£>od man, whose pious labours in the counties of Westmore- 
nd, Cumberland, Northumberland and York, at the period 
of the Reformation, procured for him the title by which he 
18 still remembered in those parts, as ** The Apostle of the 
North.*' — It appears that it was a frequent saying of his, 
when exposed to losses or troubles—** Ah, well ! God's will 
be done: nothing happens which is not intended for our 
good I it is alifor ihehe§if' 

Towards the close of Queen Mary's reirn, BsRNAaD GiLnn 
was accused of heresy before the merciless Bishop Bonner i 
he was speedily apprehended, and he left his quiet home, 
" nothing doubting,'' as he said, * but that it was mil for tkt 
besty^ though he was well aware of the fate that might await 
him ; for we find him giving directions lo his steward ** to 
provide him a long garment, that he might go the more 
Qomely to the stake," at whioh he would be bumC. 

While on his way to London, by some aeoideni he 
had a (all and broke his leg, which put a stop for some 
time to his journey. The persons in whose custody he 
was, took oc^ision thenoe malicionsly to retort upon htm his 
habitual remaric. ** What," said tbiey, ^ is this all for the 
best ) — ^you say, Master, that nothing happens which is not 
for our good ; think you jour broken leg Is so intended f" 
— ** Sirs, I make no question but it is," was the meek reply : 
and so in very truth it proved ] tot before he was able to 
travel, Queen Mary died, the perseeuiion oeasedi and he 
was restmd to his liberty and mends. 


Abbreviations and Signs, are genenJly used to 
express in small, that wldch is in itself large, or in 
short, that which is in itself long. In uiis way 
we have London on a pocket handkerchief, England 
on a bit of paper, oar the whok surAu^ of the earth 
and all tl^ stars in the heavens, on the siir£M» of two 
little globes, a fbot or eighteen inches in diameter. So 
also we have the whole history of the world in a small 
book, which we can carry in our pocket; or the prin- 
cipal events in a table, whidi we can examine at a 

The words of langna^, to which we owe so much 
of our knowledge and enjoyment, are nothing but 
signs and abbre^tions^ It would take years to know 
and months to tell, h& detail, all that we mean by the 
short word "man;'* and yet we understand it when- 
ever we bear it i^oken or see it written. 

The abbreviations and signs of speech are common 
to us all, learned and unlearned. But there are par- 
ticular abhreviatioi&s and signs, bekoiging to particular 
branches of knowledge, or science ; and these, though 
they are of very great advantage to those who do know 
them, are puzzlmg to those who do not, just in the 
same manner as a man who knows no language but 
French is puzzled with English. 

Those signs are the Alphabets of the sciences. 

just as letters are the alphabets of languages ; and it is 
just as impossible for any one to know the science 
without first knowing its alphabet, as it is for any one 
to be able to read a book without knowing the A, B, C, 
Learning the A, B, C, is knowing the sound of the let- 
ters, — ^that is, the connexion or relation between words 
that are heard and words that are only seen. There 
is no natural relation between seeing and hearing ; 
and therefore the A, B, C, is arbitrary, or just wlmt 
they who use it choose to make it, — consequently 
every body must be taught it. 

It is nearly the same with what may be called the 
"alphabets'* of all the sciences ; and in science, as well 
as in language, we very soon learn to read and under- 
stand, when we once know our A, B, C, or letters. The 
learning of their letters being the first and humblest 
lesson of children at school, persons who are farther 
advanced in life think it beneath them to learn alpha- 
bets j and, from that silly prejudice, they remain igno- 
rant of the sciences to which those alphabets are the 

Yet those alphabets are the most wonderM of 
human contrivances. The steam engine and gas light 
are mere trifles compared with the A, B, C. 

The figures 1^ 2, 3, &c. which are the alphabet of 
numbers, are very curiotis ; and enable us to do that 
in so many seconds, which, if we had no such con- 
trivance, we could not do hi as many centuries. The 
distance of the sun from the earth is about 190 mil- 
lions of half miles, and half a mile is about a thousand 
paces; five miles an hour is (hat walking, and the 
paces then are as fast as one can count distinctly. At 
that rate, ^ough the first man had begun the journey, 
or the counting, at the moment of his creation, and 
he and his posterity continued at it twelve hours 
every day, it would have been more than 200 years 
after the birth of Christ before they had finished the 
task. By means of the alphabet of numbers, any 
body can do it as fast as three O's can be written. The 
half miles are 190,000,000 ; the paces ux half a mUe 
1000 : we have only to add three O's to the first of 
theae, and we have the whole number of paces,*- 

Tlie alphabet of numbers does not, however, ex- 
press the relations of numbers, and so we must have 
other signs for theae ; and, as the figures which stand 
for the nmnes of nmnbers are different from the words, 
or wnus, which are the tuimes of things, there are also 
different signs for the principal relations of numbers. 
But as the value of every thing that can be valued is 
reckoned in numbers, the relations of numbers are of 
very general use ; and as the signs of those relations 
are the shortest means of expressing them, every body 
should be acquainted with them. 

These signs are sometimes called " AlgebraicaV* 
signs, and the name is far f^xun being an improper 
one. "Ar means "the" and "jabr' means "to con- 
solidate," or bring togetiier hito little space, so that 
the whole may be seen at once ; and thus " Algebra" 
means "the expressing of the greatest meaning by 
the fewest signs.'* Those signs are not explained, 
except in the books of science, which ordinary readers 
are not in the habit of consulting ; but they are some- 
times used in othor books; and as, when so used they 
are puzzles to many people, simple explana^ns of 
them may be useful, and th^se we shaJl give on fu- 
ture occasions. 

Great works are performed not by strength but by per- 
severance. — JoMnson. 

SvRB am I that the diseover^ of a truth formerly unknown 
doth rather convince man of ignorance than nature of igno- 
rance. — KALEieH. 



[Skptbubbr 8, 1832. 


BoBCaaxL Cottage ia celebrated in En^iah history 
U having been the first place af refuge in which king 
Charles II took shelter after his defeat at the bat- 
tle of Wortwster, 3rd. Sept. !65I. It is situated 
near the little town of Modeley, on the cnniiiies of 
Worceatershire and Shropshire, and was, at the time 
referred to, the residence of Wilham Penderell, a fo- 
rester or servant in husbandry to Mr. Gifford the 
owner of the surrounding domain. To the fidelity of 
this man, his wife, his mother and his four brothers, 
Richard, Humphry, John, and George Penderell, was 
the fugitive king indebted for some days of conceal- 
ment and safety, when even the noble and gentle who 
parted firom liim chose to remain in voluntary igno- 
rance of the exact place of hia retreat " as they knew 
not what they might be forced to confess." 

Few palaces awake more pleasing recollections of 
homan nature in otlr minds than does this lowly cot- 
tage. Its inhabitants were of the poorest among the 
poor, the humbleat among the bumble ; death, on the 
one hand, waa the certain punishment which attended 
their fidelity if discovered ; while, on the other band, 
richea, beyond any thing they could have contem- 
plated, conrted their acceptance, and might have been 
secured by one single treacherous word : yet did this 
virtnous band of brothera retain their fidelity nn- 
tempted and their loyalty unshaken. In the imme- 
diate vicinity of this house stood the " Royat. Oak," 
among the branches of which the king remained con- 
ceoled while his pursuers actually passed round and 
under it : the original tree waa, after the Restoration, 
speedily destroyed by the zeal of the royalists to pos- 
sess relics of their sovereign's hiding place, but an- 
other, raised from one of its acorns, is still flourishing. 

In the Nicobar Isluida th« natives build th^r vessel*, make 
the ta.i\» and coid&ge, tupplj them wilh provisioni and ne- 
cessarira, and proride a cargo of omick, Tinegar, oil, cause 
tafflx, cucoa-nuts, cordage, black paiut, and serenl inferiar 
articlea, for forei^ markets, entirely from Ihe cocoa-nnt 
tree. — Fobbes's Onental Memoirt. 


A MILLION of Bank Notes placed one above anolher would 
forni a pile 416 feet in height, which is much higher than 
St Paul's, and more than double the height of the Uonu- 
menL Supposing them to be spread out, Uiey would extend 
OTCT 290,000 square feet, a space equal to the area of Gros- 
venoT Square, London. 

The Torions combinationt into which the twentj-fout letters 
of the alphabet may b« arranged, amount to 620,448,401, 

If a peisoa were employed telling money, reckoning a 
hundred pieces a minute, and contiDuing at work ten hours 
each dav, he would take nearly seTenteen days to tell a mil- 
lion. A thousand men would take forty-fiTe years to reckon 
a quadrillion. 

The number of miles run by Stage Coaches in England is 
annually about 40,530,000. I^e expense of drawing coaches 
by horses is about two shillings per mile, so that the annual 
expenditure foi hone-keep is about 4,000,0001 


It is not generally known that malefoctors were for- 
merly boiled to death. Two instances of this terrible 
punishment occur in the reign of Henry Vllf . and 
are thus recorded in Stowe's Chronicle ;^ 

1532. The fifth of April one lUchard Rose, a Coak, wai 
boiled in Smitbfield for poisoning of divert persons to tb« 
number of uxteen, or more, at Uie Bishop of Rocbester't 
Place ; amongst the which Benet Cnmine was one, and ha 
intended to hare poisoned the Bishop himself, — but he eat 
no pottage that day, whereby he escaped : marry, the poor 
people that eat of them many of them djed. 

1543. The seventeenth of March, Margaret Darr, a Uaid, 
was boiled in Smithfield for poisoning three households thai 
she had dwelled in. 

SscaET or UTina always zasv.— An IlaUan bishop baTing 
struggled through great difficultiea without complaining, and 
met with much opposition in the discharge of bis episcopal 
functions, without erer betiaving the least impatience, an m- 
timate friend of his, who higlily admired those viitaes which 
he cDucMved it impossible to imitate, one day asked the pre- 
late if he could tell him the secret of bemg ^nays easy. 
'' Yn," replied the old man, " 1 can teach you my secret, 
and will do so very readily. It consists in uolhlug more than 
in making great use of my eyes," His fiiend ben^ him 
to expliin. " Most willingly," said Ihe bishop. "Tn wbat- 
erer stale I am , I first of all look up to heaTen, and remem- 
ber that my p^cipal business here is lo get there ; I then 
look down upon the earth, and call lo mind the ^ace I shall 
shortly occupy in it ; I then look abroad into Ihe wodd, and 
observe what mutiiiudes there are who in all req)ects have 
more cause to be unhappy than myselt Thus I learn when 
true happiness is placed, where all our earfs must end, and 
how rery little reason I hare to repine or complain." , 

vhrnn all bltuingi JUnt)," Sec. is a masieipiece at once o: 
plification and compression, — amnliiicatioa on the bnrdea, 
"Praise God," repeated in each line; compression, by ex- 
hibiting God as ihe obiecl of praise in every view in which 
we can imagine praise aue lo hmi : — prsise for all kit bless- 
ings, yea, for all blessings, none coming from any other 
source ; praise by every creature^ specifically invoked " here 
below," and in " heaven above }" pnise to Him in each of 
the characters wherein he hsaieTealed himself in bis won) — 
Father, Sou, and Holy Ghost." Yet this comptebensive 
erse is sufficiently ^mple, that by it " Out of Ihe months of 
.abes and sucklings praise might be perfected:" and it w- 
pears so easy, that one is tempted to think hundreds of lb« 
sort might be made without trouble. The reader has only 
to try, and he will be quickly undeceived, thou^ Ihe longer 
he tries, Ihe more dilEcult he will find the task to be— 

The Declihb or UAMHCas. — These latter ages of the world 
have declined into a softness above the effeminacy of Asian 
princes, and have contracted ciutoms which those innocent 
and healthful days of our ancestors knew not, whose pieqr 
was natural, whose charity was uperatire, whose policy was 
just and valiant, and whose economy was sincere and pm- 

irtionable lo the dispositions and le^uisiles of nature. - 

IREHY Tavlob. 



Bsll bT ill BookwllBi uit N*w»nS« in tti* KtawlcB. 

lUvktnuiSDalatIn FalgiUn]PBUIaitkiunp*lM«waiilMtatBBa br 

W.S.URR,PitanoilH-RinriO.BEfieBa,Balrwdl4L,a. OODOLAS, 

And by the PabUdia^ ApDli In tb« Mlmriaf p)UM i— 

Bmltri ChlU. 

His ... — 

rmiulm Lui^rldst 

■ittal Valitjmaia 


'SwAibanw fc Co. 



EdKthiTfk OUTrr Mia Bari- 

'■— — .Vwaij ud Co. 

DtUbi . 


KtiKiiilt-tm ■ lyt, HoluT Sc Cbait* 

WtWW j a— .WrliM 

Oxftrd BUaia. 




Wirmfn- Dalftloa. 


I, TriDtH, loo, Sb Hirtln'i Lui, Chutof Cram. 


N«. 13. 




The above is a portrait of that extraordiuary person, 
Dons Scotub, who ie taid to have engaged lo trans- 
late the whole of the Scriptures without tasting food, 
and to have expired in finishing the last chapter of the 

The tradition of Scotus's wonderful fasting is amtis- 
ing ftoia its absurdity ; but a short sketch of his real 
history may not be unintereating. 

John Dvns was bom towards the end of the thir- 
teenth century, at Dunatance, in the parish of Emble- 
ton near AJnwick, Northumberland. Both Scotland 
and Ireland, however, daimed the hononr of having 
given birth to this learned doctJir : from the former 
he received the name of Scores, or Scot. When' a 
boy, be is said to have been edocated in a convent of 
Franciscans, at Newcastle j and it is certain that he 
afterwards became a Mar at that order. 

In the year 1301, after becoming a fellow of Merton 
College, Oxford, he was elected professor of theology 
in the UniverBity; his great fame caoaing incredible 
numbcra to attend his lectures. 

He afterwards resided at Paris, and died at Cologne 
of apoplexy, on the 8th November, 1308. One writer 
of his life asserts, that he was boned alive, because, 
on the removal of his bones, he appeared to have 
turned himself in his cpflin. 

In his day he was considered a prodigy of learning, 
and obtained the title of the Subtle Doctor. But his 
learning was only in what is called the Divinity of the 
Schoolmen, far removed from that sound and useful 
learning which enables the scholar to discover the 
truth, and to impart the knowledge of it to others. 

Among other extravagant praises heaped upon him 
by his a£nirers, it was said, " He was sp consnromate 

a philosopher, that he could have been the inventor ot 
philosophy if it had not before existed. His knowledge 
of all the mysteries <^ religion was so profound, that 
it was rather intuitive certainty than b^ef. He wrote 
so many books, that one man is hardly able to read 
tbem ; and no one nurn U able to understand them. He 
would have written more had he composed with less 
accuracy. Such was our immortal Scotus, the most 
ingenioua, acute, and subtile, of the sons of men." 

The writings of this once eminent disputant are now 
forgotten ; but his memory has been preserved by his 
extraordinary portrait, and the absurd story connected 
with his name. 

TBEoameof Owhyhee (or Hawaii as it is now written) 
b probably familiar to most of our readers, as the 
scene of Capt, Cook's tragical end. It ia the largest 
of a group of seven islands (known by the name of 
the Sandwich Islands) situated in the great Pacific 
Ocean, and which have probably, at some remote 
period of time, been raised from the bottom of the 
sea, by the force of fires eon£aed under the surface of 
the earth j and stru^ling to make a vent iow them- 
selves. These fires are still so vigorously at work, 
that the island has been compared to a. hollow cone, 
rtused over a vast furnace : and some five and twenty 
or thirty yean ago, there burst forth from the sum- 
mit of ^e mountain Mouna Hnararai a torrent of 
melted matter, (lava) which overwhelmed in its 
coarse several villages, destroyed numerous planta- 
tions and fish-ponds, and filled up the bay of Kirauea 
to the extent (^ twenty miles in length, fbrming an 
entirely new line of coast. 

The inhabitants of the island, at t^t lime idolatera, 
attributed this calamity to the anger of their deities, 
and especially of the goddess Peli, whom they be- 
lieved to preside over the burning mountain, and 
whom, when she burst forth from her abode in streams 
of red-hot lava, they strived to appease by throwing 
hogs, and even living infants, into the hquid flame. 

Kiranea, which is the name of this huming moun- 
tain, and the supposed residence of Peli, is the largest 
and most extraordinary volcanic crater* on the face 
of the globe. It is situated in the midst of a plain, 
fifteen or sixteen miles round, the whole surface of 
which, sunk &om two to four hundred feet below its . 
original level, appears rent into deep cracks, out of 
which vast quantities of flame, smoke, and vapour, 
are continually ascending ; here and there a few beds 
of sulphur, and black pools of ftesh water serve to 
increase the horrors of this dismal scene. 

"After walking some distance," we quote the words 
of a person who visited it not long since, "After 
walking some distance over the sonken plain, which 
in several places sounded hollow under our feet, we 
came at length to the edge of the great crater. A«- 

■ A "enter," or cup, ii tbe opeoiDK through wbieh tlie Bn 
iuaei from & " toImoi^' er bnrnuiK mounUin. 




[September 15, 

tonishment aad awe for some moipeat^ rendered lis 
silttfil, «^ w^ 8toe4 4xed to tl^e spot likfi 9^atues, 
{mn^dilMdy fee^r© ug. y^woed fm immense gulf in 
the form of a cn^cent, ^out two miles in length, 
rly a mile in widths and apparently eight himdred 

near J 

feet d^e]^. The bottom was covered with lav^, and 
tl^ «pu^-*lir^t and northern parts of it were one vast 
flood of burning matter, rolling to and fro its waves 
of fire, and boiling up with terrific violence. 

*' Afeove fifty hmocks, from* twenty to seventy feet 
high, and in shape resembling the chimneys of a glass 
house, rose either round the edge, or from the surface 
pf tb« burning lake. iPvQva the summits of many of 
t^ese hiUockSj were copstantly shooting forth clouds 
of grey smokjBi or fountains of brilliant flame, and 
veyeral of them« were at the same time vomiting firom 
their mouths, streams of lava> which rolled in biasing 
torrents down their black and rugged side8> into the 
boiling mass below. The flood of melted metal was 
therefore kept in a ecmstant state of agitation, whQe 
the lively flame which danced over its troubled surface, 
now tinged with sulphurous blue, now glowing with 
mineral red, ca^t a broad glare of daziding lig^t on 
the hillockSj whose soaring mouths shot up, at fre- 
quent intervals, with the report of cannon, huge masses 
of melting lava, or red hot stones." 

No one can wondw: that these enormous volcanoes, 
firom which they have sq frequently suffered, should 
have inspired the natives of Owhyhee with terror and 
superstition ; or that ihe worship of Peli, should have 
been continued even after Christianity had been adopted 
|)y many of the natives. That idolatrous worship is 
now no more : it was the last and most powerful that 
remained 3 and its abolition was at length efifiected by 
one of the greatest acts of moral courage, which has 
perhaps eve^ been performed. The king, with the 
assistance of all his chiefs, and ail the endeavours of 
the missionipries strove, and strove in vain, to put down 
the worship pf Peli : nothing it seemed, was ever to be 
able to expel the behef that the goddess, when offended, 
visited the children of men with thunder and lightning, 
imd earthquakes, and streams of liquid fbce, the 'm- 
stiiiments of her migh^ power and vengeance. 

What l^e united eflorts, hewever> <^ kings and 
chiefis and missionaries failed to accomplish^ has been 
brought about by the heroic act of one woman / 

Kapiolani, ft remale chief of the highest rank, had 
recently embrace4 Christianity : and, desirot;s of pro- 
pagating it, {md of undeceiving ^^ natives as to tneir 
felse gods, she resolved to climb the mountain, des- 
cend into liie crater, and^ by thus braving the gods of 
Are in their very home, convince the inhabitants of 
the island that Jehovah is the one true God, and that 
Peli existed only in the fiemcy of her weiJc adorers. 
Thus determined^ and accompanied by a missionary, 
she, with part of her fieunily fmd a crowd of followers, 
ascended the moxmtain. At the edge of the first pre- 
cipice which bounds the sunken plain, many of her 
companions lost courage and tum^sd back : at the 
second^ the rest earnestly entreated her to desist from 
her dangerous enterprize^ apd to forbear to tempt the 
gods of the fires. But she proceeded : and on the 
very brink of Ae crater caused a hut to be built ft)r 
herself and her followers. Here she was assailed anew 
by their entreaties tq retinm home, and their assurance 
that if she persisted in violating the houses of the 
goddess, she would df*aw on herself, and those with 
her, certain destruction. Her answer was noble : — 
'^ I wjil descend into the crater/* said she, " and if I 
do not return safe^ then continue to worship Peli -, but 
if I come back unhurt, you must learn to adore tiie 
God who oveated and ^o can control these fires !*^ 

She accordingly went down ^e steep ttnd difficult 

side of the crater, accQin^panied by some few, vbom 
love or duty induced to foUqw hpr» Arrived at the 
bottom, she pushed a stick into the liquid lavn, and 
stirred the ashes of the burning lake ! 

The charm of superstition was at once broken. 
Hiose who had expected to see the goddess, armed 
with flame and sulphurous smoke, burst fortii and 
destroy the daring being who had liius braved her in 
her osJy sanctuary, were awe-struck when they saw 
the fire remain harmless, and the flames roll harmle^, 
as though none were present. They acknowledged 
the greatness of the God of Kapiolani ^ and from that 
time few indeed have been the o^erings, and little the 
reverence which has been paid to the fires of Peli ! 


Wherb is there a lovelier light to he seep, 
Than a cottage ^mbo8om'd ip oovert of green ? 
Where the- rose and the woodbine embower the gate, 
And health and contentment and loveliness wait ! 

And if in this home of the poor there be found 
That goodness and lore wh)ch sheds blessing around, 
The beauty without, though so lovelv, has been 
I^ss fair than the beauty of spirit within. 

If sio)uie8s or pover^ enter, the peape 

Which Jesus oeaueath*d> will in sorrow increase ; 

And new strength to the faith, and new grace to the heart, 

The sweet trqm the hitter, will sorrow impart 

More than halls of high splendour, a cottage like this 
Is endow'd with a portion of heavenly bliss ; 
Though the low humble dwelling in secrecy lies, 
There spirits of Christifins grow npe for the ^est 
ffomerion. James Edmbstoit. 


Thb burthen oi tbe poor-rates has forced the condi- 
tion of the poor upon the attention even of the selfish 
and indolent ; and, among a mnltitade of schemes, 
suggested or revived, for improving their lot, tiiere 
is none which at present meets with more favour than 
that of garden idlotments to the industrious poor. 
This will not surprise any one who has seen its cheer- 
ful and cheering operation. I am not now about to 
enter into a disquisition on its merits, and will only 
add, that its admirers must not eneot too much from 
its adoption ; neither must they look to it as alotie 
sufficient for the renovation of our peasantry ; still 
less can the rate payer wisely hope that even ui pmriy 
agricultural parishes it can efibct any thing af^roadi- 
ing to an extinction of die poor-rate. The sooner 
such extravagant notions can be dissipated, the better.: 
they can only lead to disappointment ; but in judi- 
oidus hands it may be safely looked to as one among 
other means of raising the spirit, increasing the com- 
fbrts, employing the leisure, and rewarding ti^ m- 
dustry of the well-conducted and diligent poor, and 
so indirecdy but certainly diminishing the anunuit of 
the poor-rate. 

My object however now is to draw attention — and 
I hope not too Ifite — ^to a statute recently passed on 
this subject, with the provisions of which it is desir- 
able ft>r parish authorities and the poor to be made 
acquainted— I mean the 42d of 2d of Will. 4, intituled, 
" An Act to authorize (in parishes inclosed under any 
Act of Parliament) the letting pf the Poor Allotments 
in small portions to industrious Cottagers.*' This 
statute professes to ^ntemplate the case where, an 
enclosure having takea place, an allotment has been 
set apart for the poor« chiefly with a view to tlieir 
winter supply of f^l 3 and some of its provisions are 
applicable oidy to such a case ; but by the last sectitm 
its general enactments are extended to every case iu 
which land shall in any parish '^ be found appropn- 





ated ((JT the general benefit of the poor thereof/' I 
win therefore give a short and jylain accotint of its 

In the first week hi S^itember^ a vestry, with ten 
dajrs* notice, may be holden, at which tiie trustees of 
such allotments may attend and rote, if they think 
proper : at this Vestry anf^ industrious cottager of good 
character, being a day-labonrer or journeyman, legally 
settled in the parish, and dwelling within or near its 
boxmds, may apply to take not less than a quarter, 
nor more than the whole of an acre of such land, as 
a tenant from year to year, from the Michaelmas fol- 
lowing. The vestry must take into consideration his 
character and circumstances, and either reject the ap- 
plication, or make an order in his favour, which will 
be to all intents and purposes a sufficient authority 
for him to enter and occupy at the time fixed. The 
rent must be such as lands of the same quahty are 
usually let for in the parish, and payable in one gross 
sum at the end of the year, to the churchwardens and 
overseers of the poor in behalf of the vestry ; and 
the occupier is held bound to cultivate the land in 
such a manner " as shall preserve it in a due state of 

There are very proper provisions, t6 be embodied 
as I understand, in the order of vestry, for no lease 
or agreement of any kind seems necessary t but by 
sections 5 and 6, means are provided for turning the 
tenant out of j)ossessioii at a week's notice, if at the 
end of atly one year the rent shall be four weeks hi 
arrear, or the land ill the opinion of the vestiy, shall 
not have been duly cultivated 5 and, by sect. 7, the 
arrears of rent in such case may be recovered by a 
summary application to two justices of the peace, who 
may levy the same by distress upon the party's goods. 

Where the land So let has been a ftiel allotment, 
the rent is to be applied by the vestry in the purchase 
of fuel, to be distributed in the winter to the settled 
poor of the parish, resident in or near it ; and by 
analogy I conceive that in other cases the rent must 
be applied for the general benefit of those for whom 
the land itself was originally destined. 

No habitations are to be erected on any portion of 
the land so demised | and if the land lies at an in- 
convenient distance from <be residences of the cottagers 
of the parish, the vestry may let it, and lure other 
land more favourably situated for the purposes of the 
act in lieu thereof. 

These are the provisions of the statute, conceived, 
I think, in a wise and benevolent spirit, though they 
will admit of amendments in another session of par- 
liament, to which at a fitting time I .may perhaps 
direct the attenfion of the readers of the Magazine. 

No room is left for them now, and I regret that I 
myself was not sooner aware of the existence of the 
statute ; my remarks, however, may, even now, be 
important to those who have prepared tiiemselves to 
act upon it immediately ) and where that is not the 
case, may suggest useftd hints to individuals or pa- 
rishes in which the allotment system is already in 
operation without the aid of the legislature. 

Weymouth. J. T. C. 


We all talk of the ass as the stupidest of the browsers of the 
field ; yet if any one shuts up a donkey in the same inclosure 
vith half a dozen horses of the fiuest blood, and the party 
escape, it is infallibly the poor donkey that has led the way. 
It is he alone diat penetrates the secret of the bolt and latch. 
Often hare we stood at the other nde of a hedge, eontomplat- 
ing a whole troop of blood-mares and their offspring, patiently 
waitinflT, while the donkey was snuffing oyer a piece of work 
to which all but he felt themseWes incompetent"— Quor^ 

TSE discontented frequently complain of our uheeh' 
tain climate, (and it is doubtless trying ijo some con* 
stitutions) but let them read the accounts of other 
coxmtries, and say which is to be preferred. 

" The rains in the West Indies are by no meaua the 
things they are with us. Our heaviest rains are but 
dews comparatively. They are floods of water poured 
from the clouds, with a prodigious impetuosi^ j the 
rivers rise in a moment 5 new rivers and lakes are 
formed ; and in a short time all the low cduniry is 
under water.*' The rains make the only distinction 
of seasons in the West Indies -, the trees are green 
the whole year round ; they have no cold, no frosts, 
no snows — and but rarely some haU j the stormi of 
hail, however, when they do happen, are very violent 
— and the haUstones very greM and heavy.'* It is in 
the rainy seasons (principfuly ill August, more rarely 
in July and September) that they are Iwsaulted by 
hurricanes j the nlost terrible calamity to which they 
are subjected from the climate. This destroys at a 
stroke the labours of many years^ and prostrates the 
most exalted hopes ot the pianter, and often just at 
the moment tyhen he thinks hihiself out of the reach 
of fortune. It is a hidden and violent storm of wind, 
rain, thunder and lightning, attended with a furious 
swelling of the seas, and somethnes an earthquake 5 
in short, every circumstance whieh the elements can 
assemble, that is terrible and destructive. First — 
they see, as a prelude to the ensuing havock, whole 
fields of sugar-canes whirled into the air, and scattered 
over the face of the coimtry. The strongest trees of 
the forest tste torn Up by the roots> and driven abtrut 
like stubble. Their windmills are swept away in a 
moment j their works, fixtures, coppers, &c. wrenched 
up and battered to pieces ; their houses are no pro-* 
tection, the roofs are t6m off at one blast ; whilst the 
river, which in an hour rises five feet, rushes in upon 
them with irresistible force." — Murov^n Settlements, 

He thai cameth after me is mightier than I, whote thoet I am 
not worthy to hear, — Matt. ill. 19. The custom of loosing 
the sandals from off the feet of an Eastern worshipper, was 
ancient and indispensable. It is also commonly observed in 
visits to great men. The sandals or slippers ai^e pulled off 
at the door, and either left there, or gtreu to k servant to 
bear. The person to hear them, mean* an inferior domestic, 
or attendant upon a man of high tank, to take care of, aifd 
to retara them to him again. This tras the ivork (>f scfrvants 
among the Jews ; and it was reckoned so serrile, that it was 
thought too mean for a scholar or disciple to do. The Jews 
say, ^ An services which a servant does for a rfiaster, a disci- 
ple does for his master, except unloosing his shoes.'* John 
thought it was too great an honour for him to do that for 
Christ, which was thought too mean for a disdple to do for a 
wise man. — Bubdeb. 


This species of Ostrich stands so very high as to 
measure from seven to nine feet from the top Of the 
head to the ground : from the back, however, it is 
seldom more than tbree or four feet, the rest of itiA 
height being made up by its extremely long neck; 
The head is small, and, as well as the greater part of 
the neck, is covered only with a few scattered hairs. 
The feathers of the body are black and loose ^ those 
of the wings and tail are of a snowy white. Waved and 
long, having here and there a tip of black. The wing0 
are furnished with spmrs : the tiiighs are naked ; ana 
the feet strong, and of a gray-brown Colour. 

The sandy and burning deserts of Africa and AM 
are the only native residences €^ the Black Os^ches. 
Here they are seen in flocks so large as aoiAetimes to 
have been mistaken for distant cavalry. 

There are many circumstances in the for m and In^M 
' 13—2 



[Septkhbbb. 15, 

of this animal which show it to be peculiarly different 
firom the rest of the feathered race. It seems to form 
one of the liuks of union in the great chain of nature, 
connecting the winged with the fonr-fbot«d tribes. 

Its strong jointed legs, and (if I may venture so to 
call them) cloven hoofs, are well adapted both for 
speed and defence. The wings and all its feathers 
are insufficient to raise it from the gromid. Its camel- 
shaped neck is covered with hair ; its voice is a kind 
of hollow, mournful lowing, and it grazes on the 
plain with the gua-cha and the zebra. 

The ostriches frequently do great damage to the 
farmers in the interior of Southern Africa, by coming 
in flocks into their fields, and destroying the ears of 
wheat so completely, that in a large tract of land it 
often happens that nothing but the hare straw is left 
behind. The body of the bird is not higher than the 
com i and when it devours the ears, it bends down 
its long neck, so that at a little distance it cannot be 
seen > hut on the least noise it rears its head, and 
generally contrives to escape before the farmer gets 
within gunshot of it. 

When the ostrich runs, it has a proud and haughty 
look ; and even when in extreme distress, never ap- 
pears in great haste, especially if the wind is with it. 
Its wings are frequently of material use in aiding its 
escape, for when the wind blows in the direction 
that it is pursuing, it always flaps them : in this case 
the swiftest horse cannot overtake it [ but if the wea- 
ther is hot, and there la no wind, or if it has by any 
accident lost a wing, the difficulty of ont-runiiing it 
is not so great. 

The ostrich itself is chiefly valuable for its plumage, 
and the Arabians have reduced the chase of it to a 
kind of science. They hunt it, we are told, on horse- 
back, and begin their pursuit by a gentle gallop ; for, 
should they, at the outset, use the least rashness, the 
matchless speed of the gamp would immediately carry 
it out of their sight, and in a very short time beyond 
their reach ; hut when they proceed gradually, it 
makes no particular effort to escape. It docs not go 
in a direct line, but runs first to one side, then to the 

other ; this its pursuers take advantage of, and, by 
rushing directly onward, aave much ground. la a 
few days, at most, the strength of the animal is much 
'exhausted, and it then either turns on the hunters, 
and fights with the fiuy of despair, or hides its head 
and tamely receives its fate. 

Frequently the natives conceal themselves in. the 
skin of one of these birds, and by that means are able 
to approach near enongh .to surprise them. 

Some persons breed up ostriches in flocks, for they 
are tamed with very little trouble, and in their 
domestic state few animals may be rendered more 
useful. Besides the valuable feathers they cast, the 
eggs which they lay, their skins, which are used by 
the Arabians as a substitute for leather, and their 
flesh, which many esteem as excellent food, they are 
sometimes made to serve the purposes of horses^ 

In a tame state it is very pleasant to obsen-e with 
what dexterity they play and frisk about Iq the 
heat of the day, particularly, they will sfrut along 
the sunny side of a house with great majesty, perpe- 
tually fanning themselves with their expanded wings, 
and seeming at every turn to admire and be ena- 
moured of their own shadows. During most parts of 
the day, in hot cUmates, their wings are in a kind of 
vibrating or quivering motion, as if designed princi- 
pally to assuage the heat 

"ITiey will swallow, with the utmost eagerness, rags, 
leather, wood, or stone, indiscriminately. " I saw 
one at Oran," says Dr. Shaw, " that swallowed, with- 
out an^ seeming uneasiness or inconvenience, several 
leaden bullets, as they were thrown upon the Stxx 
tcorehing hot from the vumtdP' 

During Mr. Adamson's residence at Podor, a French 
factory on the southern bank of the river Niger, he 
says that two ostriches, which had been about two 
years in the factory, afforded him a sight of a very 
extraordinary nature. These gigantic birds, though 
young, were of nearly the full size. " They were," 
(he continues) " so tame, that two little blacks 
mounted both together on the back of the largest 
No sooner did he feel their weight than he began 'to 
run as fast as possible, and carried them several times 
round the village, as it was impossible to stop him 
otherwise than by obstructing the passage. This 
sight pleased me so much that I wished it to be 
repeated i and, to try their strength, directed a full- 
grown n^ro to mount the smallest, and two others 
the largest. This burden did not seem at all dispro- 
portioned to their strength. At first they went at a 
toleriible sharp trot } but when they became heated 
a little, they expanded their wings, as though to 
catch the wind, and moved with such fleetness, that 
they scarcely seemed to touch the ground. Most 
people have, at one lime or other, seen a partridge 
run, and consequently must know that there is no 
man whatever able to keep up with it ; and it is easy 
to imagine, that if this bird had a longer step, its 
speed would be considerably increased. The ostrich 
moves like the partridge, with this advantage : and I 
am satisfied that those I am speaking of would have 
distanced the fleetest race-horses that were ever bred 
in England. It is true they would not hold out so 
long as a horse, but they would undoubtedly be able 
to go over the space in less time, I have frequently 
beheld this sight, which is capable of giving one an 
idea of the prodigious strength of an ostrich, and of 
showing what use it might be of, had we but the me- 
thod of breaking and managing it as we do a horse. 

He ulio is calching nppiirl unities liecause tbey seldom occurs 
would suffer lliose lo pass hy unregiU'ded which he expects 
hourly 10 retuni. — Johnson. 



Triloiu.tnd wt-iiTBiplii.iu 
UeUln'd. Nnfestaofpnx 
Oriijnica'd knl^to, not r 


The magnificeat Castle of Kenilworth, of whose 
ruins we here preseot an engraving, was founded by 
Geoffrey de Clinton, in die reign of Henry I. On the 
death of Geoffrey, it descended to his son, from whom 
it was tnmsferreid to the crown, and was garrisoned 
by Henry II during the rebellion of bis son. In the 
reign of Henry III it was used as a prison, and in 
1 254, the king, by letters patent, gave to Simon Mont- 
ford, who had married Eleanor die king's sister, the 
castle in trust for life. Simon soon after joined .the' 
rebellion against the king, and, together with his eldest 
son, was killed at the battle of Evesham, in 1265. His 
youngest son, Simon, escaped, and with other fugitives 
took shelter in the Casde, wt^re they became regular 

The king, determined to pnt an end to their ex- 
cesses, marched an army against them. Simon fled, 
and escaped to France, but his companions held out 
against a six months' siege. At length their provisions 
failed, a pestilence, broke out, and the governor sur- 
rendered the castle to the king, who bestowed it upcn 
his youngest son, Edmund, Earl of Leicester, after- 
wards created Earl of Lancaster. 

In ] 286, a grand chivalric meeting of one hundred 
knights of high distinction, English and foreign, and 
the same number of ladies, was held at Kenilworth j 
and at this festival, it is said, that silks were worn for 
the first time in England. 

In the reign of Edward II the castle again came 
into the hands of the crown, and the king intended to 
make it a place of retirement for himself ; but in the 
rebellion which soon followed, he was taken prisoner 
in Wales, and brought to Kenilworth : here he was 
compelled to sign his abdication ) and soon after was 
privately removed to Berkeley Castle, where he was 
inhumanly murdered in 1327. 

Edward III restored the Casde to the Earl of Lan- 
caster, whose grand -daughter brought it in marriage 
to the celebrated John of Gaunt, af^rwards duke 
of Lancaster, who made many additions to the 


castle, winch still retain the name 
of Lancaster's buildings. On his 
death it descended to his son, 
afterwards Henry IV. 

During the civil wars between 
the houses of York and Lancas- 
ter, it was alternately taken by 
the paitizans of the white and 
the red roses : and very long 
after their termination, Queen 
Elizabeth bestowed it upon her 
. heartless and ambitious favour- 
^ ite, Dudley, Earl of Leicester. 
That wealthy nobleman spared 
no expense in beautifying the 
casde, and in making many 

Iqilendid additions, called after 
him Leicester's Buildings. But 
the most memorable incident in 
the history of Kenilworth Casde, 
is the royal entertainment given 
by the aspiring earl to his 

Elizabeth visited him in state, attended by thirty- 
one barons, besides her ladies of the court, who, with 
fonr hundred servants, were all lodged in the casde. 
Hie festival continued for seventeen days, at an ex- 
pense estimated at one thousand pounds a day (a very 
large sum in those dmes). The waiters upon the 
court, as well as die gendemen of the barons, were all 
clothed in velvet : ten oxen were slaughtered every 
morning; and the consumption of wine is said to have 
been sixteen hogsheads, and of beer, forty hogsheads, 

An account of this singular and romantic enter- 
tainment published at the time, by an eye-witness, 
presents a curious picture of the luxuriance, plenty, 
and gallantry^ of Elizabeth's reign. 

After her journey from London, which the queen 
performed entirely on horseback, she stopped at 
Long Itchington, where she dined j and hunting on 
the way, arrived at the casde, on Saturday, July 9, 
1575. "Here," says the writer of the curious little 
book to which we have referred, and whose descriptions 
wc borrow in his own words, " she was received by a 
person representing one of the ten sybills, cumly clad 
in a pall of white eylk, who pronounced a proper poezie 
in English rime and meteer," on the h^piness her pre- 
sence produced, wherever it appeared; concluding with 
a prediction of her future eminence and success. 

" On her entrance into the tilt-yard," continues 
the writer, " a porter, tall of person and stem 
of countenance, wr^t also in sylk, with a club and 
keiz of quantitee according, in a rough speech, full of 
passions, in meter apdy made to the purpose," de- 
manded the cause of all this " din and noise, and 
riding about within the charge of bis office," but upon 
seeing the queen, as if he had been instantaneously 
stricken, he falls down upon his knees, humbly b^s 
pardon for his ignorance, jields up his club and keys, 
and proclaims open gates and free passage to all. 

After this pretty device, six trumpeters, " clad in 
long garments of sylk, who stood upon the wall of 
the gate, with their silvery trumpets of five foot long, 
sounded a tune of welcome." These " harmonious 
blasters, walking upon the walls, maintained their de- 
lectable music, while her highness, all along the tilt- 
yard, rode into the inner-gate," where she was sur- 
prised " with the sight of afloating island, on the large 
pool, on which was a beautiAil female figure, repre- 
senting the Lady of the Lake, supported by two 



[September 15, 

nymphs surrounded by blazing torches, and many 
ladies clad in rich siUcs as attendants ^ whilst the 
genii of the lake greeted hear Majesty with '* a well- 
penned meeter^** on " the auncientee of the castle," 
and the hereditary dignity of the Earls of Leicester. 
This pageant was closed with a burst of comets and 
other music, and a new scene was presented to view, 
Within the base court, and over a dry valley leading 
to the castle gates, " waz thear framed a. fa3rr bridge, 
twenty feet wide, and seventy feet long, with seven 
posts that stood twelve feet asunder 5 and thickened 
between with well-proportioned turned pillars j" over 
which, as her Majesty passed, she was presented, by 
persons representing several of the heathen gods and 
goddesses, with various appropriate offerings, which 
were piled up, or hung in excellent order, oU both 
sides the entrance, and upon dififerent posts ; from 
Sylvanus, god of the woods, " live bitters, curlews, god- 
witz, and such-like dainty byrdsj*' from Pomona, 
''applez, pearz, lemmons, &c. ; from Ceres, "sheaves 
of various kinds of com (all in earz greeti and gold) ^ 
from Bacchus, grapes, " in clusters, whjrte and red 5" 
various specimens of fish from Neptune j arms froni 
Mars ; and musical instruments from Apollo. 

A Latin. inscription over the castle, explained the 
whole ; this was read to her by a p6et, " in a long 
ceruleous garment, with a bay garland on his head, 
and a skroll in his hand. So passing into the inner 
court, her Majesty (that never rides but alone) thear 
set down from her palfrey, was conveyed up to a 
chamber, when after did folio a great peal of gunz and 
lightning by f3rr- works.*' Besides these, every diver- 
sion the romantic and gallant imagination of that 
period could devise, was presented for the amusement 
of her Majesty and the court — ^tilts, toutnaments, 
deer-hunting in the park, savage men, sat3nps, bear 
and bull baitings, Italian tumblers and rope-dancers, 
a country bridal ceremony, prize fighting, running at 
the quintin, morris dancing, and brilliant fu^works in 
the grandest style and perfection ; during all this time 
the tables were loaded with the most siimpttious cheer. 
On the pool Was a Triton riding on a mermaid, eigh- 
teen feet long, and an Arion on a dolphin, who enter- 
tained the royal visitor with an excellent piece of music. 

The old Coventry play of Hock Tuesday, foimded 
on the massacre of the Danes in 1002, was also per- 
formed here, " by certain good-hearted men of Coven- 
try." In this was represented, ''the outrage and 
importable insolency of the Danes, the grievous Com- 
plaint of Hunna, KJng Ethelred's chieftain in wars, 
his counselling and contriving the plot to dispatch 
them J the violent encounters of the Dahish and En- 
glish knights on horseback, armed with spear and 
shield^ and afterwards between hosts of footmen, 
which at length ended in the Danes being beaten down. 
Overcome, and led captive by our English women ; 
whereat her Majesty laught, and rewawled the per- 
formers with two bucks, and five marks in money." 
For the greater honoiur of this splendid entertainment, 
Sir Thomas Cecil, son and heir to Lord Burleigh, and 
four other gentlemen of note, were knighted j and in 
compliment to the queen, and to evince the Earl's hos- 
pitable disposition, the historian observes, " that the 
Clok bell sang not a note all the while her highness 
waz thear: the clok stood also withal, the hands 
of both the tablz stood fltm and fast, always pointing 
at two o'clock, the hour of banquet." 

Such is a slight but accurate account of this far- 
famed entertainment. Of the castle at this period. Sir 
W. Scott has given us the following animated aecountj 

" The outer wad of this splendid and gigantic stroc- 
ture, upon improving which, and the domains around, 
the Earl of Leicester hftd^ it is said^ expended 60^000 

powids sterling, a sum equal to half a million of our 
present money, including seven acres, a part of virliieh 
was occupied by extensive stables, and by a pleasure 
garden, with its fine arbours and parterres, and the 
rest formed the large base-court, or outer yard, ci 
the noble castle. The lordly structure itself, ^jvbich 
rose near the centre of this spacious enclosement^ was 
composed of a huge pile of magnificent casteliated 
buildings, evidently of different ageSi surrounding the 
inner court, and bearing in the names attached to 
each portion of the magnificent toass^ and in the 
armorial bearings which were there emblatoned^ tiie 
emblems of mighty chiefs whd had long passed away, 
and whose history, could ambition have mti ear to \ig 
mitfht have read a lesson to the hiitighty fkvourite, who 
had now acquired and was att^enting the fai^ do< 
main. A large and mlussire keep, whieh formed the 
eitadel of the castle, was of tmcertain though great 
antiquity. It bore the naine of Csedar^ perhaps from 
its resemblance to that in the Tower of London so 
called. Some antiquaries a^eribed ltd foundation to 
the time of Kenelph, from whom the castle had its 
name, a Saxon king of Menia, and others to an early 
sera after the Nofman eonqnesi On the exterior walls 
frowned the scutcheon of the Clintons, by whom they 
were founded in the rdgn of Henry I, and the yet 
more redoubted Simon de Montford, by whom, during 
the Barons' Wars, KenilMrorth was long held out 
against Henry III. Here Mortimer, Earl of March, 
famous alike for his rise and fall, had once gaily 
revelled, while his dethroned sovereign, Edward II, 
languished in its dungeons. Old John of Gaunt, 
" time honoured Lancaster," had widely extended the 
castle^ erecting that noble and massive pile, which 
yet bears the name of Lancaster buildings; and 
Leicester himself had out- done the former possessors, 
princely and powerful as they were, by erecting another 
immense structure, which now lies crushed under its 
own ruins, the monument of its owner's ambition. 
The external wall of this royal castle was, on the 
south and west sides, adorned and defended by a lake 
partly artificial, across which Leicester had constructed 
a stately bridge, that Elizabeth might enter the castk 
by a path hitherto untrodden, instead of the usual 

" Beyond the lake lay an extensive chase, fuU of 
red deer^ fallow deer, roes, and every species of game, 
and aboxmding with lofty trees, from amongst which 
the extended front and massive towers of the castk 
were seen to rise in majesty and beauty. Of this 
lordly palace, where princes feasted, and heroes fou^t, 
now in the bloody earnest of storm and siege, and 
now in the games of chivalry, where beauty dealt the 
prize which valour won, all is now desolate. The 
bed of the lake is but a rushy swamp ) and the mas- 
sive ruins of the castle only show what their splendour 
once was, and impress on the musing visitor the 
transitory value of human possessions, and the hap- 
piness of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous 

On the departure of Elizabeth, the Earl of Lei- 
cester made Kcnilwclrth his occasional residence, 
till his death m 1538, when be bequeathed it to his 
brother, Ambrose, Earl of Warwick, and after his 
death to ^is own son^ Sir Robert Dudley ^ but, his lef^ 
timacy being questicmed. Sir Robert quitted the king- 
dom in disgust i his castles and estates were seized 
by a decree of the court of Star-Chamber^ and i^vea 
to Henry, son of James. I. 

The castk on Henry's death went uito the possesion 
of his brother, Charles I, who granted it to Oary« Eari 
of Monmouth; bat the downfall of this gigantic 
siructare was fast approaching* During the wars it 





was seized by Crott^'^^^W, and by bim given to some 
of his officers. Tbese rapacious plunderers, who had no 
sort of feeling for the beauteous and majestic, soon re- 
duced it to what it now is, a pile of ruins. They 
drained the lake which once flowed over so many 
hundred acres^ ravaged the woods, beat down the 
walls, dismounted the towers, choked up its fair walks, 
and rooted out its pleasant gardens ; destroyed the 
park, and divided and appropriated the lands. | 

On the restoration of Charles II, the estate and 
ruins of the castle were granted to Lawrence, Viscount 
Hyde, of Kenilworth, second son of the celebrated 
Lord High Chancellor^ created Baron of Kenilworth, 
and Earl of Rochester ; and by the marriage of a 
female heiress descended firom him, passed in 1752, 
into the possession pf Tl^oipas ViUiers, Baron Hyde, 
son of the Earl of Jersey, who was advanced in 1776, 
to the dignity of the Earl of Clarendon ; in the pos- 
session of whose son 1% still remains. 


Say not, so long a toil were vain, 
To gather up a single grain, 
When time has acatterd with his hand 
The life compared to precious sand : 
Save that you only mean to teach 
Such power lies not within the reach 
Of man. — His highest thought and art 
Could not one spark of life impart 

There is a hand that needs not yean, 
Nor months, nor days, — ^nor toils, nor cacet , 
To turn the glass for lifeless man, 
From which the golden current ran. 
Still quicker than you turn the glass 
Through which the golden grains must pass. 
To measure by their ceaseless fall, 
Heaven's most precious ffift, to all ; 
Can He ! who spake ana it was done, 
When the wide earth its race beg^n, 
Bring back life's stream with vital power. 
And bid it run an endless hour. 

Thus it will be ! His hand will raise 
To life, and strength, and boundless days, 
The wreck from which sweet life has fled, 
When graves deliver up their dead. 

Speak not of toil ! the trumpet's sound. 

In one short moment, will be found 

Sufiicient to awake the dead, 

And place them with their Living Head. 

Yea, in the twinkling of an eye. 

The power that rules both earth and sky. 

Shall into ceaseless motion bring 

The long stopp'd wheels— of life the spring. 

• Sec page 69. 

J. P. 


Qe you to ptbers kind and true, 
A* you^) hare others be to you, 
And neither do or say to men, 
Whatever you would not take again. 

This was one of the earliest maxims impressed upon 
our mind in the nursery^ ^ad taught us by the 
inonaFch of our village school. First impressions ttre 
always the strongest and most lastii^, and whether 
conveyed in prose or in rbyme^ wey will often 
recur to the mind, when more rsc^&t acquirements 
have become lost and forgotten. But what, oiur kind 
reader may ask, have these moral maxims to do with 
the magnificent asylum of which we have here given 
a view? A good deal, my friend; for here we have a 
splendid instance of the kindness of man to his unfor- 
timate and destitute fellow creatures. A place of rest 
and comfort for the hitherto too much neglected 
sufferers of our species. An asylum that does honour 
to human nature, and cannot fail to prove a blessing 
to the country. 

It is a curious circumstance, that in all countries, 
the feelings of mankind seem to have been alike in 
all that regarded the care and treatment of their insane 
brethren. We every where find that the lunatic and 
the criminal have been classed together ; and, too 
often, the murderer and the furious maniac have been 
chained to the walls of the same dungeon. 

Previously to the suppression of Catholic monas- 
teries and religious houses in this country, the poor, 
as well as others who were deranged in mind, were 
taken care of, and supported in these establishments, 
sometimes with great humanity, and at others with 
great neglect j but at the Reformation, a multitude of 
these wretched beings were cast upon society, as help- 
less as they were often dangerous to the community. 
Their numbers in and about the Mebtipolis, very soon 
madie it necessary to take some measures for their 
protection and seclusion ) and the government of the 
day, or as it is generally stated, the Idng, (Henry YIII) 
gave the Priory of Bethlem,* one of the suppressed 
religious communities, to the magistrates of London, 
to be converted into an asylum for the lunatics then 
wandering about the city. This priory stood to the 
east of London, nearly surrounded by what was called 
the Moor-fields, a large tract of uncultivated swampy 
land. Here, for nearly two centuries, the lunatics 
were shut up like wild beasts, and very little better 
attended to, imtil at last the ruinous state of the old 
buildings obliged the city to think of providing a more 
seciure and comfortable abode for their increasing 
number of lunatics. In April 1675, the first stone, of 
the first building, ever raised in England, expressly for 
the accommodation of lunatics,was laid by the president 
and governors of the Bridewell and Bethlem hospitals ; 
and in about fifteen months from that date, a very 
foolish and extravagantly gaudy building, was com- 
pleted, which continued to be used for the confine- 
ment (we can scarcely say for the care) of lunatics, 
till 1815, when the present more suitable and conve- 
nieift hospital was erected, on the Surrey side of the 
Thames, near Westminster bridge. 

Very early in the present century there seems to 
have been a kind of general movement all over Europe 
in favour of the poor forsaken lunatic. In France, 
Pinel ; in Grermany, Drs, Horn, Frank, and others, not 
only succeeded in calling public attention to the subject, 
but in effecting the most beneficial changes in their 
condition and treatment; and in this country the first 
warning voice proceeded from a poor, and then 
powerless medical studentf at the University of 
Edinburgh, in the form of an anonymous pamphlet 
addressed to Lord Henry Petty, (the present Marquis 
of Lansdown) then Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
ThiiB pamphlet described in very simple language, 
some of the scenes which the author had witnessed 
in what were called public and private mad-houses, 
and made a very strong impression upon the minds 
of several very eminent individuals in England. The 
subject was mooted in the House of Commons, and a 
select committee appointed to inquire into the truth 
of the various statements which were now* of daily 
occurrence, The inquiry led to an Acit for providing 
coxmty asylums for the insane peculation in England, 
which first passed in 1808, and since the passing of 
that Act, various county hospitals huve been provided 
for the treatment of insanity, upon sound and rational 
principles, and with a success that has scarcely been 
equalled in the treatment of any other disease. 

Amidst the congregated multitudes of this great 
and overflowing metropolis, it was found that insanity 

• This was the cause of Bethlem or Bedlam being a general tern 
for a mad-house, 
f The present Sir Andrew Halliday, M.D. of Hamptbn Court. 


[SEPTXHBza 15, 1832. 

prevailed to a veiy great extent /and that the pnrishea 
faad long been in the custom of providing for their 
security by contracting with what was called a pri- 
vate mad-h'ous^ keeper for their confinement. Fur- 
ther influiry- detesting' the most disgusting cruelties 
and abuses in these dens of human . suffering, the 
tnajpstrates c^ the'couhty of Middlesex commenced 
the erection of a county 4sylum, and in about three 
yeara the present magnificent cstabliehment was 
completed, and opened about two years ago, for the 
rec^tkni of patients. ■ - 

- To the indeAttigable zeal and humane feelings of 
the 1at« Lord Rdbert Seymour, and the unwearied 
attention and - exertions of Colonel James Clithero, 
among -many other worthy and zealous members of 
the raagistra^/this great metropolitan county is in 
an'especial mwiner indebted for this splendid cstab- 
Ushincnt, which is perhaps the largest and best arranged 
of any. in Europe, or in the world. It was built under 
the direction- and suponntendence of Robert Sibley, 
Esq., then couu^ surveyor, and does the greatest 
credit to his prof^sional skill. The site chosen was 
perh^ the best in point of economy, healthiness, and 
conveniebce, that could have been fbimd: and the 
arclutect' ha^i; made the utmost of its advantages, in 
securing for the inmates of every room and cell the 
boiefits of warmth and- light and air. The arrange- 
ment of tbc Whole building, with its offices, wards, 
and places for exercises, is perfect in its'kind. 

The whole expense has been about £ 1 20,000, and it 
will contain 500 patients ; who are placed under the 
care of Dr. Ellis, so well known for his skill in the 
treatment of insanity. The females are under the 
management of Mrs. Ellis. 

The Middlesex Lunatic Asylum at Hanwell, is 
highly deserving of a visit from every friend of 
humanity. Here are no secrets to be hid from 
the eyes of man. No dungeons where only the 
rattle of chains and manacles, or the moans of the 
oppressed, are to be heard. But a regular and well 
ordered community, many of them cheerfully enjoying 
the labours of the field, or busy at their usual trade, 
and all occupied and industrious, and evidently happy. 

We cannot conclude these remarks without earn- 
estly, nuut eameatfy, exhorting all those counties in 
England, and there ate still many, who have not 
availed themselves of the provisions of the law to 
follow the example of the magistrates of Middlesex, 
and to lose no time in providing County Asylams for 
their Insane Poor, 

I HATB to see a thing done b^ halves ; if it he right, dn it 
boUly: if it he wrong, leave it undone. — Gilpin. 

THE LEAF, bt Bimo^ Hobnb. 

See the leares arouad lu falling. 

Dry and wither'd to the ground ; 
-Thua to thoughUeu mortalB calling, 

In a sad and Kjlcmn loaud 
Sods of Adam, once in Eden, 

Dlighled when like ut he fell. 
Hear the lecture we aie leading, 

'Tis, alas ! the truth we tell. 
Virgins, mnoli, too much presuming 

Oft your boasted white and red; 
View us, late in beauty blooming, ' 

Nuqiber'd ngw amQDg die;d^id. : ■ 
Grwi% misen, nightly waling, 

Seetheendofallyaurtawi ■'.:.:■ 
Fledon wings of-our. own making, '■ 

We hate left our owners "Yiilrt!-. 
Sons of honour, fed on praises, . 

Flutt'ring high in fancied wdrUi, 
Lo! the fickle air, tlini raises. 

Brings us down to jwreiit earffa.' 
Leamcil snphe, in s^stcvns jaded. 

Who for new ones daily call. 
Cease, at leDf(Ui, by us persuaded, 

Ev'ry leaf must have its tall. 
Yoliths, though yet no losses grieve you, 

Gay in hcallh and manly grace, 
Let not cloudless skies deceive you, 

Suninicr gives to Autumn place. 
Venerable sires, grown hoary, 

Hither ttwn tn' unwilling eye. 
Think, amidst vour falling ^lory 

Autumn tells a wialer nigh. 
Yearly in our course returning. 

Messengers of ehotteat stay, 
Thus we preach, this truth concerning, 

" Heaven and earth shall pass away." 
On the Tree of Life eternal, 

Man, let all thy hope be staid. 
Which alone, for ever vernal, 

Bean a leaf that shall not &de. 



Sold br 111 BooLtelltn ud NiTOiTinidni Id tb( Kintdm. 

HlwkHiuidDHikn in PMadiul PnbUontkiuiiipplM db wkoltMla loa ^ 


VT. PortmBn^I. PorlnAB-iq. Tjmdiin, 

And br (h« PubUiha'a Agmli In the fotlowios plus ;— 

llmtuur Irw. 

Icni/M CkiU. 

lull Wil»n. 



V.'ciint jBB.IiCg, 

■ ftCo. 

i>T juiil Co. 


K(MuU<-M-7V»r, Flnl^ »Cluri . 

Sliifild* "Hw. 

SiAitiiiv rMfeliOowdiiii 


N". 14. 




TnK above woodcut ii copied, by Mr. Martin's 
kind permisaion, from hie weH-known picture of Bel- 
Mhazzar's Feeut. All the works of this artist are dis- 
tinguished by a very peculiar quality and diapositiaQ of 
the lights, which, though very pleasing and impressive 
in oil pdnting and in steel engraving, cannot be repre- 
sented with adequate softness on wood. In Mr. Mar- 
tin's magnificent mezzotint print,'there is a beaming 
lustre, which diminishes in ite intensity till it is at 
last shadowed off into the deepest obscurity, which, 
in wood engraving is unavoidably, though very 
imperfectly, rqiresented by white. We have said 
these few words in justice to Mr. Martin; the 
uncommon beauty of the rest of this cut needs 
not to be pointed out in detail. Yet we cannot help 
calling the particular attention of our readers to 
the figures of the wise men or soothsayers in the tm- 
mcihate foreground, and to the enormous towers of 
the temple of Belus in the distabce, rising sublimely 
into a troubled sky, and rendered visible only by 
lightning and a waning moan. 

The subject of this picture is to be found in the 
fifth chapter of the book of Daniel. There has been 
much dispute, and there is unquestionably no small 
difficulty, in endeavouring to reconcile the names and 
dates of the account given in this hook with the Greek 
histories. This is not a fit place for entering into any 
>iiich discussion. It is enough to say that Belshazzar, 
rhe last prince of the Babylonish or Chaldean empire. 
Vol. I. 

seems to be the same who is called Labynetus by Hero- 
dotus, and that Darius the Mede, mentioaed in v. 31, 
is very probably Cyaxares, the son of Astyi^s, the 
Median, and consequently the uncle of Cyrus. He 
was, it may be conjectured, left m the government of 
Babylon by Cyrus, and his age, sixty-two, favours 
the supposition of his relationship as uncle to the un- 
doubted destroyer of the Chaldean monarchy. The 
best date of the capture of this mighty city is about 
538 years before Christ. 

The measure of the appointed time was now 
nearly full, when it pleased God to put an end 
to the government of the Chaldean princes, to sub- 
atitute for it the Medcs and Persians, and thereby 
to effect the restoration of a cert«n part of the cap- 
tive Israelites, to the land of their fathers, and to 
a free use of all their religious rites. 

Belshazzar had been defeated in the field, and shut up 
in the city, the strength and resources of which were so 
great, that they treated the seemingly fruitless efforts of 
the besi^ers under Cyrus with contempt. The si^e or 
blockade, probably a very imperfect one, continued in 
this way for a long time, and the insolence and re- 
gardlessneas of Belshazzar increased in proportion. 
But his hour was come, and it came upon him at the 
moment of his last act of profuneness ai.d defiance of 
God. The presence of a hostile army before his walls, 
made no good impression on his mind ; he still 
went on in his usual course of wanton lusury, 



[SsPTEMBSa 22j 

and th iiight more of inflicting an insult on the people 
whom his gtandfather Nebuchadae^feor bad brought 
into bondage in Babylonia^ than of humbling himself 
before ihc Lord, or o^performmg the ordinary duties 
of a king and leader under such serious drcum* 

'' Belshazzar, the king/* as it is written in the 
book of Daniel, ^'made a great feast, to a thou- 
sand of his lords, and drank wine before the thou- 
sand/* The reader must observe that this was a 
sacrificial feast> and in fact a great solemnity, in 
honour of the Babylonish god, Bel or Belus^ whose 
symbol was a huge serpent. *' Belshazzar, whilst he 
tasted the wine, commanded to bring the golden and 
silver vessds whidi his fitthar, (^rat^H^ker) Ndl)U- 
chadnezzar had tekai dut of ^ temple whidi was in 
Jerusalem ; that the king, ahd his princes, his wives> 
and his concubines, might drink lii them, llien fbef 
brought the golden rebels that were taken out dFliie 
temple at the house of God which was in Jerusalem } 
and the king» and lu8 princes, his wives, and his ooncu* 
bines, drank in them, f^ dtemk «PMe, mMipni$9itki 
gods ^jjfoH, lad ^ sSvm', <^ hrm$9,^ irem^ ilf m^itJ^mtt 
of stoned 

God is too snort % t&gpeOber of tiiinp tliia 6f per* 
sons. Inoetute hk an eardien Tassel, offend wiUi It 
devout spirit, would hare been as acceptable m fiooi 
the golden oauen of Sok>moa*aJhmpl6k lliia^tttdily 
of the gift is as the heart <ir th^ver. It ^9ras not ibr 
the siM^ vessels* sake^ but to note l^at Um; wanton 
profkni^g of wy known iiis<T«uaaeat or oixBttance of 
divine worship, is really impious, thai €ik)d now thM^t 
fit to mark the near approach of his vengeance by a 
stap<»idoa6 RiiitKk, For ** in the same boar came 
for^ fingers xaS a iiian> band, and wrote over ttainst 
the candlestick vpon the plaister of tbe wail dT tlw 
king's pabuK $ and tbe king saw the part of tbe httud 
that wrote,^* 

BelshaKzar, Mbdued "mfSk tetror, and consdenoe- 
strick^ fiuttuttons Us wSm men «nd astrokgeni 
th^ ai% <K)nfbu]ided at Ibe apparitbi^ and caoaot 
iaterpret its meanii^; and at leogtb, woa ^ 
queea'^ suggeg^oii) I>anid, called by Aoe tiuMetns 
Belteshazzar, is brought into the banquet-hall, and 
commiinded, with promise of great honors and rewards, 
to declare the words of the mystic writing. 

The answer of the prophet of Israel is uncom- 
monly grand and impressive : — " Let thy gifts be to 
thyself, and give thy rewards to another -, yet I will 
read the writing to the king, and make known to him 
the interpretation. 

'^ O thou king, the most high God gave Nebu- 
chadnezzar thy father a kingdom and majesty a|id 
glory and lionour : and for the majesty that he gave 
him, all people, nations, and languages, trembled and 
feared before him; whom he would he slew; and 
whom he would he kept alive ; and whom he would 
he set up ; and whom he would he put down. But 
when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened 
in pride, he was deposed from his kingly throne, and 
they took his glory from him : And he was driven 
from the sons of men 3 and his heart was made like 
the beasts, ancThis dwelling- was with the wild asses 5 
they fed him with grass like oxen, and his body was 
wet with the dew of heaven ; till he knew that the 
most high God ruled in the kingdom of men, and that 
he appointeth over it whomsoever he will. 

" And thou his son, O Belshazzar, hast not humbled 
thine heart, though thou knewest all this ; But hast 
lifted up thyself against the Lord of Heaven j and they 
have brought the vessels of his house before thee, and 
thou, and thy lords, thy wives, and thy concubines, have 
drunk wine in them 5 and thou hast praised the gods 

of silver, and gold, of brass, iron, -wood, and stone, 
which see not, nor h^, hpr.know; and j^ GMl in 
whose hand thy breath is, and iAtbtk are Wthf ^ys, 
hast thou not gloriHed. Then yr^B Ibe pari^of tbe 
band sent frofli him ; and this writing was^written. 
And this is the writing that was written, — ^MEi<f%, 
Mbnib, Tsksl, Uphahsin* This is the inteipietalioti 
of the thing : Mbnb — God hath numbered my king, 
dom, and finished it. Teksl — ^thou art weighed in 
the balances, and art found wanting.. Pkiuss— ^thy 
kingdom is divided^ and given to the Med^ iand Per- 


These ominous words are (as indeed is the whole 
text from the fourth verse of the second chapter, to 
tbe end <^ tbe sevt^tb chapter) Cbaldee, and it dtoes 
Aot vary deariy Bfipesx whether the circumstances of 
tbeir appearance were sudi, tiiat the Chaldeans conld 
not even rewi then ,* or whether, ^diich is sufiident, and 
seems more probaUe, it is only meant tiiat they could 
give no tonnected interpretation of them. 3fene sig- 
nifies to reckon, or take an account; and tiie word is 
repeated, iKSCording to aA Eastern idiom, for tbe pur- 
pose of maridng tbe certainty and solemi^ of tbe 
&ct ntv^^ me«uifi to weig^ I and L^^m, literally, 
Ibe^ divide It tt is obsmnable Ibat in the twenty- 
e^di Terse Daoid inteiprets l^fhanm as Peres; the 
fikct bs, tb^ are the same wotfi, and Peres is periiaps 
used to teiM^ aaotber i3u)ij|ect of ttie prf^hetic 
dire4M)ening,--iVre» being tbe Cbaldee none fat the 
iPenians, irtio are more particokriy tKited on account 
of (Tyru^ 1^ leader of tbe bes k ^ riq g ibroes, tad tiie 
founder of the great Medtsb»lPennui empiire* 

tt only remains to remaxk, thift Herodu C u a , Hie 
Gretk historian, who wroto about sevcftftjr or eighty 
yeaTB dPter the date of Ibis oylnre of Balnrkiii, aajrs 
that Cfrm entered ibe city Sjr&e bed or tbs liver 
Euphmtss, tbe coorst of whkb be bad tnmedt tad 
innprised tbe inbabitail% ^»bo were latent oft tte oe- 
kiKraUfonofmflreatibeilivaL Tbebookof pai^dlrftn- 
ply says : In &at ni|^ was fleiwhiirran ^ biag of 
the OuOdeaiis, daia. AimI Darius^ liieMtednHE^{Sif>. 
bably Cracares, as bdfore wentiobedj took tiie nig- 
dom, haug wbwA thr ee « » c o t ^ and two ytears oidL 


Watch of Israel, we shall rest 
Calmly, if thy voice hath hlesl ; 
If thou sayest « All ift weU," 
Ever wakefid lentinel. 

tf in sleep onr spirits dieam, 
Still, ohi stffl be thou the theme; 
Heavenly let oarq>irits be — 
Even in dreamiag, dream 0^ thee. 

But if sleep be fsv avtay. 
And ^e watoh t3l dawah^ day, 
Let thy ipiatstill hnpart 
Calmness to each aching heart 


An incorrect fignre of the Ibssii elephant or maaaaiotb 
was by a singular inadvertence admitted into a lor- 
mer papcar on this subject. In order to explain tbe 
cause of this error, and induced by the interesting 
nature of the subject, we add some partaculais not 
given in that article. 

The annexed figure, is that which should prc^ierly 
have been given at page 7^$ it is copied from 
M. Cuvier*s great work op fossO remains, and repre- 
sents the mammoth found frozen in Siberia, as already 
related. Parts of the flesh and ridn still ranain on it, 
as on the i^rall j and tiie feet stiU retaoi oart of the 


biM^ whidi ceaceda the BUTnenme bone^, of which, in 
the elepbut, m in all qudnipeds, the extraBitiniMi 

The fosul btMtes of the elephant have been fonnd in 
every part of the earth which hat been aearched for 
the purposes of such discoveries. Not only in the old 
world, but in America, where no living ele^^anta are 
now found ) and in proportion as more attention was 
paid to these remalna, the difference between the fossil 
or extinct, and tlie aTJatifig species, became more and 
more apparent ) bqt atill it was obvioaB that the two 
belonged to what naturalists call the same-gcnns, and 
ctMuequmHy that do caaontJal part of their respective 
fiwms could so &r vary as to indicate any great 
differoaet in their habita and food. 

In 1601, Mr. W. Peak, an American, was BDCcessful 
In obtahtiug parts of the skeleton of an animal which 
had been found in the neighbourhood of Newburg on 
the HTtdflcn ; and by copying to wood the deficient 
bones from other qwcimeos of the same animal, and 
by mtpidying oo the cne side those bones which were 
only fmind belonging to the other, he completed two 
■kdetona, pne of which was deposited in the Mneeum 
of ^uladelphia, and the other was brought over to 
England by hia son, Ur. R. Peale, for public ezfaibitjoo. 

Mr. Peale [lobl^faed on account of this skeleton, 
and in it stated his reasons for believing that the tusks, 
instead trf tumtog upwards, as in the elephant, were 
reversed j for this point was donbtfol, from the cir- 
Gonutance of the cranium or upper part of the sknil 
not having been found complete. Accordingly, he had 
given the tasks this inverted position ip his dceleton 
which he exhibited ; and from a print published at 
that time the figure in our former article was, by a 
misconception, copied by our artist.* 

Baron Covier, who examined the bones of this 
newly discovered*aniikial, has, howevo*, shewn that, 
by all analogy, it was to be concluded that the tnsks 
had a similar position to tiiose of the mammoth, and 
that the animal had a trunk or proboscis, and princi- 
paDy diSered frvm the ekphant in the formation of 
the teeth; its height being neariy that of a well-grown 
elqdiant, but its body was longer and slenderer in 
proportion, while the limbs weie thicker : it subsisted 
on vegetables, which was almost proved by the dis- 
covery, in 1805, of a collection of bones in Tii^inia, 
belonging to the same extinct speoes, in the midst of 
which was a mass of small branches, seeds and leaves, 
in a half chewed state, among which was recognised 
a species of reed still common in that country, and 
the whole was enveloped in a sort o£ sack, which was 
considered to have been the stomach of the individual. 
It bos been called the great Mastodon or animal of 
the Ohio. 

* There is no reason for b«liiiTing that Mr. P«a1c bad uij 
tcreitcd or improper motive Tar Ihit alteration b( position of the 
tuiks, aa a correspODdent mggati M ui, in a letter signed Rurti- 
cna : his error an»e rron an iniufficieni knowleilge of comparative 
(Datoin;, bnX which might 'haTs been committcil at that period bf 
uj nuui who wu acta Cavier. 


NO. II. 

In ft former number we have given some familiar re- 
marks upon architecture, in order to assist travellers, 
and casual observers of Cathedrals and Churches, in 
det«inining their age and the style in which they are 
bnih. We wilt now lead them from the general des- 
cription to the detail of these buildings, and describe 
the several parts and divisions of which each structure 

A church or a cathedral admits g;enerally of four 
great divisions ; namely, a tower, or sitrple ; a nave, 
which is the body of the church ; a cAoacvJ, or choir ; 

south, which are between the piers and the outer walls. 
From them there Is an entrance to the pewi, which 
have been introduced since the Reformation. The 
following figure represents the general form in which 
a cathe(&al is built. 



The eastern space near the altar is, in coll^iate and 
cathedral churches, called the cioir, because in it were 
formeriy chanted or sung the services of the church, 
by a choir of sings* appointed for the purpose. This 
cBstom is still preserved in many cathedrals, and in 
the chqiels of colleges. In moat churches, however, 
this part is called the chancel ; aname given to it from 
the skreen or lattice-work faaieeUiJ by which it was 
separated from the outer part of the church. This 
sbeen is frequently very beautifully carved, as are 
also the stalls or seats with desks before them, which 
still remain in the choirs of many ancient churches. 

The steeple of a church is that part which is higher 
than the nmf, and in which the bells are hung. Some- 
times it is headed by a spire, and sometimea consists 
of a simple tower or turret. In either case it forms 
a very picturesque object in our scenery, while the 
association of ideas which it awakens, opens a pleasing 
source of reflection to every serious mind. 

The towers of churches were formerly used as fbr- 
tresses, to which the inhabitants of the parish fled in 
times of danger and alarm. The church at Rugby, 
Warwickshire, was evidently erected with a regud to 
Uiis circumstance. It is lofty, and of a square form : 
the lower windows are at a great distance fix>m the 
ground, and very narrow. The only entrance to the 
tower is through the church ) and it is fitted up with 
a fire-place for the accommodation of a party of be- 
si^ed paeons, during the continnan<%of danger. 

The spires of chnrches have frequently been useful 
as guides to travellers over barren moors, and as land- 
maiks to ships at sea. From this fact, the spire of 
AsUey Church, Warwickshire, rfas called the lantern 
of Arden ; and that of Boston, Lincolnshire, has fre- 



[SxPTXUBKa 22, 

qlitintly b^M the beftcon by which the pilot has diiccted 
the distressed ship into a eecnre harbour. 

There are many other parts of a church besides 
those above-mentioned, which may be briefly noticed. 
One of the principal of these is the Crypt, which is a 
vaulted apHrtmeut, sometimes found beneath ancient 
churches, and frcqiiently as well finished as any other 
part of the buildij^. The annexed engraving exhibits 
a Norman specimen of this part of a church. 

Crn* oft ff*~B Ottnii. 

The crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral contains the ashes 
of our great naval hero. Nelson ; and in many of our 
modem churdics crypts are depositories for the dead, 
though they are now more generally called vaults or 

Many old churches, and most of those in vjllages, 
have porches ; which are small arches, covering the 
approach to the doors. Formeriy, parts of the ser- 
vices of baptism and marriage were performed in these 
porches ; but their chief, and in most cases their only 
use now, is to aiford a resting-place and retreat from 
the weather to the villagers who assembl&in the coun- 
try churchyard, awaiting the time of divine service. 

Au interesting part of the inside fitting-up of a 
church is the font, Which is the vase or basin at which 
chUdren are baptised. Formerly these fonts were 
large enough to admit of an infant being completely 
diiqied, according to nncient usage, where it was cer- 
tified that the child might " well endure it." 

In improving our knowledge, however, of the exter- 
nal structure and interior arrangement of cathedrals 
and" churches, we should be careful to remember that 
such an acquirement ia of no importance compared 
with the benefit we derive from the spiritual purposes 
for which these buildings were erected. We must ve- 
nerate them as places especially dedicated to God ; and 
not deceive ourselves by supposing that the most curious 
acquaintance with the style and detail of the building 
is any part of devotion. The great and important in- 
terest connected with sacred edifices of every descrip- 
tion.wfaether the magnificent cathedral or the simple vil- 
lage church, arises from reflection on the uses to which 
they are applied. It is there we meet together in 
Christian fellowship, and present the incense of prayer 
and praise to our Father and Redeemer : there, in in- 
fancy, at the font of bi^tism, we are dedicated to the 
service of God : there, at the sacred altar, we after- 
wards take upon ourselves the promises made for us 
by others in our baptism, and receive at the hands 
of the Bishop the Apostolic rite of confirmation, 
and there partake in those holy mysteries which are 
tiie pledges and memorials of our Saviour's dying love 
to man. There we are taught to seek s better inheritance 
than this world can afford : there we enter into the 
most sacred of social obligations, and pledge those 

vows of fidelity which are the greatest sweetea- 
era of earthly woe — the brightest promisers of worldly 
bliss : there, in the crypt which lies below, or in tke 
consecrated ground around us, when the angel of death 
shall have received a command to strike, we deposit 
the ashes of those we love ; and there, at last, will rest 
our own, in humble but trusting hope that they shall 
one day be recalled to life and light ! 

AU these considerations give a sacred intciest to Ifae 
hallowed pile ; and thus associated with some of onr 
best, our least earthly, feelings, the stady of church 
architecture will tend to improve onr hearts \dule 
it forms our tastes and adds to onr knowledge. 

Tastx (wd elegance, though the; are reckoued only among 
the smaller and secondair tooralE, yet are of no mean impor- 
tunce in ibe regulation of life. A moral taste is not of force 
to lum vice iiito virtue ; but it recommends virtue nith waw- 
tliing like the blandisUmeDla of pleasuie. — Bubke. 

Harmless mirth is the best cordial against the con- 
sumption of the spirits ; wherefore jesting is not un- 
lawful if it trespasseth not in quantity, quality, oi 

/( u good to make a jest, biU not tQ tKake a trade ^ 
jesting. — The Earl of Leicester, knowing that Queen 
Elizabeth was much delighted to see a gentlemB 
dance well, brought the masterof adandng-scho^lo 
dance before her : " It is," said the Queen, "his pra- 
fession, I will not see him." She Hked not where it 
was a master quaUty, but where it attended on other 
perfections. The same we say of jesting. 

Jett not mth the two-edged sword of GotTt word.— 
Know the whole art is leamt at the firat admisnoo, 
and profane jests will come without calling. If wifh- 
out thy intention and against thy will, by chance- 
medly thou hittest scripture in ordinary discoane, 
yet fly to the city of refuge, and pray God to fbigin 

Wanton jettt makefooU latigh, and wiie van frown. — 
Seeing we are civiUzed Englishmen, let us not be 
naked savages in our talk ; such rotten speeches etc 
worst in withered age. 

- Let not thy jests like nammy be made'o/ dead men'i 
flesh. — Abuse not any that are departed ; for to wroi^ 
their memories is to rob their ghosts of their winding 

Scof n^l at the natural defects of any which an noli* 
their power to amend. — Oh 'tis cruel to beat a cripple 
with his own crutches j neither flout any for his pro- 
fession, if honest, though poor and painful : mock not 
a cobler for his black thumbs. 

He that relates another man's wicked jesi with deHgU, 
adopts it as his own. — Purge them therefore from their 
poison. If the profaneness may be severed from the 
wit, it is like a lamprey, take out the sting in the 
back, it may make good meat. But if the staple con- 
ceit consiata in profaneness, tixta it is a viper, all 
poison, and meddle not with it. . 

He thai will lose his friend /or a jest, deserves le £t 
a beggar by the bargain. — Yet some think their conceits, 
like mustard, not good except tiiey bite. We read 
that all those who were bom in England, in the year 
afterthebeginningof the great mortality, 1349, wanted 
their four cheek teeth. Such let thy jests be, that they 
may not grind the credit of thy friend, and make not 
jests so long till thou becomest one. — Abridged from 

Advicb, like snow, the sofler it falls, the lung«T it dwell* 
upou, Qud the deeper it «iuk« into the mind.— ^^oLEBiboai 

1832.] ' 


Man loves to contemplate and to ponder on the wreclu 
of past agea which have escaped the deetmctive power 
of time. The amallest remains of human art, the least 
fragmentsof those fossil stones which are records of the 
aacieat revolutions of the earth, rivet our attention, 
and excite our lively curiosity. An interest still 
mure natural and more affecting, seems to belong to 
the living memorials of distant ages. But although it 
may nut appear impossible, if wc may trust to the 
calculations of Adanson, that the enormons Baobabs 
of Africa, may be as old as the pyramids of Egypt,* 
still life in general is so short, that living monuments 
will alwa]rs seem as if only of yesterday, when con- 
trasted with those that are lifeless. 

Among ancient trees, there are few, I believe, 
at least in France, so worthy of attention as an oak 
which may be seen in the 'Pay* ie Cattx,' about a 
league from Yvelot, close to the church, and in the 
btu-ial ground of AUonvilh. I had often heard it men- 
tioned, but in a slight manner ; and I am astonished, 
after having examined it, .that so remarkable a tree 
should so long have remained so little known. 

This oak has sessile leaves and acorns, on foot- 
stalks, and is therefore of the true naval species. Above 
the roots, it measures upwards of thirty-five English 
feet round, and at the height of a man, twenty<six 
feet. A little higher np it extends to a greater size , 
and at eight feet from the ground, enormous branches 
spring from the sides, and spread outwards, so that 
they cover with their shade a vast extent. The height 
of the tree does not answer to its ^rth ; the trunk, 
Avm the roots to the summit, forms a complete cone ; 
and the inside of this cone is hollow throughout the 
whole of its height. Several openings, the largest of 
which b below, afford access to this cavity. 

^Jl the central ports having been long destroyed, 
it is only by the outer layers of the alburnum, and 
by the bark, . that this venerable tree is supported ; 
yet it is still full of vigour, adorned with abundance 
of leaves, and laden with aconu. 

* W« shiil veiy (bgitif giTe papen oa UlcM mturnliDg lulqecla. 

Soch is the Oak of AQoaville, considered in its state 
of nature, lite hand of man, however, has endea- 
voured to impress upon it a character still more in- 
teresting, by adding a religious feeling to the respect 
which its age naturally inspires. 

The lower part of its hollow trunk has been 
tnnrformed into a chapel, of six or seven feet in dia- 
meter, carefully wainscoted and paved, and an open 
iron gate guards the humble sanctuary. Above, and 
close to the chapel, is a small chamber, containing a 
bed ; and leading to it there is a staircase, which 
twists round the body of the tree. At certain seasons 
of the year divine service is performed in this chapeL 

The summit has been broken off many years, 
but there is a surface, at the top of the trunk, 
of the diameter of a very lai^ tree, and from it ' 
rises a pointed roof, covered with slates, in the form 
of a steeple, which is surmounted with an iron cross, 
that raises itself, in a truly picturesque manner, fiom 
the middle of the leaves, like an antique hermitage, 
above the surrounding wood. 

The cracks which occur in various parts of the 
tree, are, like the fracture whence the steeple springs, 
closely covered with slates, which, by replacing the 
bark, doubtless contribute to its preservation. Over 
the entrance to the chapel an inscription appeara, 
which informs us that it was erected by the Abbd du 
Dftroit, curate of Allonville, in the year I69B ; and 
over the door of the upper room is another, dedicating 
it " To our Lady of Peace," 

The oak is a tree which grows but slowly : in its 
youth, and to about forty years of age, it increases the 
most. After this period it becomes less rapid in its 
growth, Bud abates prt^ressively. According to M. Bosc, 
an oak of a hundred years old, is not commonly more 
than a foot in diameter. It is well-known, however, 
from the spreading forth of the boughs, how much 
the growth depends upon the soil. It tne calculation 
given by M. Bosc eeems too small for the first cen- 
tury of the life of an oak, it becomes, on the contrary, 
too great, if applied to tiie centuries which follow, on 


TUX a^Timn^T magazink. 

[Skptemqsb si 

account of tlie gradiul weakening v«gefa^ve I»verp> 
the natural effect of age. 

Following this clue, the Oak of Allonville, giving 
in the middle porticm of its trunk a diameter of more 
than eight feet, must, according to this computation, 
be above eight hundred yean of age j even supposing, 
(which ia by no means allowable,) that it hu alwaya 
continued inorauing a foot in a ceatory. Certain^, 
this tree, the nimtuit ot which «aa m^^cally reared 

towB and which hu been shortened 

and f side, caimot for ages have 

grow n. One cannot bat think, that 

its ir aircely perceived for the hun- 

dred us since it has been converted 

into tppy thought of M. VAbbj du 

Detr iktn give to (he treeof AUon- 

vilte 00 summers. Perhaps, in its 

yout to the companions of William 

the Conqueror, when they assembled to invade the 
British shore. Perht^M the Norman troubadour, on 
the return from the first crusade, there often sang 
to his admiring lellaw countrymen the exploits of 
Godfirey and of Raymond. 

In England, th^re ore many oaks lai^cr and loftier 
than this of AllonviUe, but none that are more inter- 
esting. In general there remain but very imperfect 
accounts as to the progress of growth and possible du- 
ration of trees. It is certain, that they are peater than 
is commonly supposed. The axe prevents almost 
alwaya their natural death : and the situation alone 
of the Oak of Allonville, near the cbnrch, and in the 
burial ground, has probably rescued it from the com- 
nun fate. In Ibe present day cspedaUy, the sUgktest 
whim of the owner fella an aiicient tree, reverenced 
by his forehtbera daring many oentniies } an inatant 
destroys tiiat which pitiless time bad quied for 
ages ; Uiat which so long a lapse tif time can alone 

It is lUt 80 in the east. In those countries where 
■hade is at the same time more wanted and leas fre- 
Quen^ « large tree becomes to the Inhabitants, espe- 
dally if it grows near their dwellings, a precious 
. object ; and Zi equally respected with the far leas ad- 
mkable woriu of art with which the ancients covered 
those classic lands. Even amuig the Turks, says a 
tnrdler> " it la an enormous crime to cnt down old 
trees, and all the neighbourhood would be ready to 
make any sacrifice to preserve the ho^itable shade. 
J have often seen shops built beneath a great plane 
tree, which ^ipeared to come out at the roof, and to 
cover them with leaves j and the walls were tmrersed 
by the branches which the owner feared to lop. Old 
trees are generally surrounded by a fence or bank, 
which serves to cover and defend tbem, and this in 
the common fields where they do not belong to any 
one in particular." 

How far are we ^m such a conservative spirit !1! 
Happily the situation ot the oak of AllonviUe, its cm- 
tecmtlon, and the reverence of the villagers, appear to 
ensure its peaceable existence, until it naturally yields 
to the destiny which is common to all things that 

At the deplorable period when every thing be- 
longiiig to re^on was condemned, the revolutionists, 
having come to Allonville to bom the oak, were vigo- 
rously opposed by the country people, and the sanc- 
tuary was preserved. 

As a monument at once of nature, of ait, and of 
piety, the chapel-oak merita on all hands ^m natn- 
ralists that kind of pilgrimage which I have lately 
made, and which baa given rise to this short memoir. 

LTmuUled tod. abridged fram Uie oriKinul memoir bjr Frofcsfor 
Huiacii, af Ike JlcUuiia Garden, Houen.] 


Fkw persons are aware or consider,how very early in 
life the tempera of children begin to be fonned, ud 
ctmaequently how soon that important part of the 
business of edocatJoo, which consists in the training 
tbe mind to habits of discipline and submission, nu; 
be commoiced. 

" { wish," sud a lady, some years ainc«, to tie 
writer of a work on education, " | widi very mnch to 
ccwsull yon about tlie education of my little girl, ilio 
is now just three T^ra bid." — "Madam," tilled die 
author, " you are at least two yean too late in apply- 
ing to me on that snbject" 

The first principle a£ education to instil into tin 
mind of a child, is that of t»ietitali»ff obe^iemee. Tin 
time for dcJng this, b tbe nuMnent at which it can bt 
perceived that the child distinctly appr^ends tin 
nature of any command, no matter what, that it laid 
upon it To ascertain this requires a tittle careAil 
watching ; bat when it is ascertained, there should be 
no hesitation aa to the course to be pursued. As yooD 
as the infant clearly understand that the woid 
" No !" signifies that it is not to do something which 
it desires to do, obedience to that command ought at 
all hazards, and under whatever inconvenience, to be 
enforced. In doing this, one or two collisions viD 
generally occur between parent and child before the 
tod ot tfte flivt twelve or fourteen months, in which 
the patience Aid perseverance of t^ parent will be 

Sut to tbe test ; these past, the isM of obediena ii 
xed in tbe child'a ndnd, fiv the vest of Ha Ufe. Sa- 
in^ that nothing is to be gained by rc^stance, it sinii 
down into submission as a matter of course. 

While the foundation of parental authority is thiu 
laid, how many other great lessons is the mind of the 
child Imbibing! Every time that it refrains hm 
doing some Forbidden thing which it desires, it is prac- 
tising self-control, and self-denial, and is advaacin^ 
a step towards the mastery of its passions. 

Some people talk about the management of chil- 
dren as if it were a science, and read all the bocis 
tliey can find to instruct tbem in it Nothing is. 
however, in reality, more simple. Kindness, patienK 
undeviating firmness of pnrpose, and a strict regaiJ 
to principle in all onr dealings with them, (meuj 
which are within the reach of all) will, under GqS% 
blessing, accomplish all that can be done by etri; 
education towanls regulating the heart and under* 
standing. And thus Uiey will be prepared to rccdn 
the see^ of those higher morol and religions prisii- 
plca, by which, aa heiis of immortality, they are to 
be educated for a better and an endless lile. 

The entire submission which we are entitled to «■ 
quire at the hands of onr children, is a type of tlm 
obedience which we, on our part, owe to the Grei 
Father of tbe universe. In terms sufficiently pha 
He has made known to us his will. Does it becom 
ns to ask Him why his will is such as we find it to 
be ? why he has not done this thing or that tiii<t 
differenUy from the manner in which it is done ?— 
Just as reasonable Is it in na to do this as it wouldk 
in our infant children to refuse obedience to our con- 
mands, until their imderstandings should be adt 
ciently matured to enable them to comprehend tk 
reasons for which they were given. 

I NSTEH lored those lalamaaden, that are never well bc 
wboD tbey are in (he fire at oontantion. I will rather sui> 
a thouiand wrongi than oQer one : 1 will saScr an ImndM 
Tsther than return one : I «UI suffer many, en I will co« 
plain of one, and endeaTour (o riglit it bv contendiug. 1 !>•'< 
ever found, that to striTe with mv superlour Is furious; "id 
my equal, doubtful ; with my Inferionr, Kordld and b«< 
with apjr, full of un^wetnest. — Bunor iUM- 






O Di^T of wtith t ttM iittOM dkj, 
Vrhcv eaTth in diM l6all !^ %-ncf I 
WbM amid sbnll Mrikfe Ae rionn dunts 
Wheil ihe Almigbtjr Judn AaB CMBe, 
Brcry hiddcu Etn iQ-wiml 
Wbert the imriilroiM trompets' ton», 
Rineinff tbtough each carerti lobe, 
Calls the dead Itefore die Throne— 
When cvnel Deaffi himSelt ahsll die, 
And, freed from dark morlalltt. 
The creamre to his Jixige reply : 
what shall tStn thai creature layP 
What poivcT sl«m be the noner^ stay, 
When the just are id dismay? 

Lord of all p 

rr and maJESC]', 

E roiirifain of all piety, 

Save us wlicn *c ctj to thee ! 

tbu whose reugeaaoo wiiti on tid, 

.Cleanse oui wuli from guilt wilhiti, 

Eie the da^ of wrath beRinl 

With sivpiiliaiit hcftit and bended tnec, 

IjOw slooplijg in llie dual to Thee, 

Tjoid '. save us in cxtretnity ! 
" Thai da; of wrath, that dreadful day, 
AVheii man to jadguieirt wakes frorii clay- 
Be thou the Ireiubling stnnet's stay. 
When beareb and eaHh shall pus away 


As to Equality, if by tt be meant an Equality of pro- 
perty or condition, there ia no snch ttuog ; nor was 
there ever such a thing in any country since the world 
began. The Scripture apeaka of Pharaoh and hia 
Princes in the time of Abraham, when he wu foroad 
by n famine to go down to Egypt, about 430 years 
after the flood. Abraham himself had, at that perii>d, 
men servants, and m^d servants, and waa very rich 
in cattle, in silver and ia gold. He and Lot had 
herdsmen and servants of various kinds i and they 
every where met with kltigs who had subjecte and 
soldien. The inequality of property and condition, 
which some silly or bad people ar« so food of de- 
claiiaing against, existed in the very Iniancy of the 
world, and mnst, tcoax the nature ol tiunge, exist to 
the end of it. 

Suppose a ship to be wrecked on aa nninhalHted 
island, and that all the officen perished, bnl that the 
common men and their wives were saved j there, if 
any where, we may meet with Ait^rty, equality, and 
the rights of man — what think you would be the con- 
sequence ? — A state of Equality, and wiUi it, of anar- 
chy might, perfa8t)B, esbeist for a day; but wisdom, 
courage, industry, economy, wOTdd presently intro- 
duce a Huperiority of some over others ; and in order 
that each man might preserve for himself the cabin 
he had buil^ the groimd he had tilled, or the fiah be 
had taken, all would agree in the propriety of appoint- 
ing some one amongst the number, of mom than ose, 
to direct, govern, and jirotect the whole, by the com- 
mon strcDgtli. Thoa liie restricticMi of litjertyand the 
dcEtruction of Eqtiality, and all the circumstances 
which shallow reasoners represent as grievances in 
society, and subversive of the rif^ta of man, would 
of necessity be introduced. No one would be left at 
lil>erty to invade his neigfabonr'sproperty; some would 
by skill and activity become ridi, and they would be 
allowed to bequeath, at tbeir death, their wealth to 
their children ; others would by idleness and de> 
baochery remain poor, and having nothing to leave 
to their children, these, when grown up, would Ije 
under Uie necessity of maintaining tiiemselvea by 
working for their neighbours, till, by prudenoe and 
thrift, they acquired enough to pnrchaee property of 

their own, on which they might employ their labour. 
It is a general law which Ood has established through- 
out the worid, that Hchea and rti^bect should ntti^ad 
prudence and diligence ; and as ui men are not equal 
in the faculties of either body w mind, by wliich 
riches or reelect ai« acquired, a neceaaty of aupe- 
rionty and subordination springs btna the vfery na^iTc 
which God has given tts: — BtBbOp W^tsoi). 

Most sure U is, and a bae noanlasion of saipetiaBee, ihu a 
little natural philovphy iadinath ilia suad to atliekai i but 
a further jtoceeiiag tnlBgWh tha miod back to religioo.- 
LoBD Bacon. 

Ir should be remembered, that the fonnatioa oX virtuous 
habits, and the acquironeiit of a virtuous temper of mind, is 
the work of God** holy spirit, Uesiiiig our eudearoun^ an- 
sweriug our pcayers, and gnuluallj ciiaJagiug us into the Uke- 
Dess of QUI Halier. 

caieti, and the calm of our tempest : prayer is the issue 
of a quiet miiid, of nntroubled thou^ts ; ft Is the daughter 
of charily, and the sbter of meelnese. — Jekemt TArLoa. 

Relioion deters not from the lawful ddighta which are taken 
in natuial things, but teaches the moderate and regular use 
of them, which ia far the sweeter ; fw thinigi LawfuTio them- 
selves, are in Iheir excess liaful, and so prore bitterness in 
the end. And if in come cases it requires the forsaking of 
lawful enjoyment,u of pleanue, or profit, or hoaoar, for God, 
and for his glory, it is generous bbJ nore truly delightful to 
deuy Ihings for this reason, than to eqoy theia. Men hare 
done much this wajr for the lore of their country, and by a 
principle of moml virtue : but to lose aay ddJKht,or tosulTsr 
any hardship, -'■•■■■ •■ • ■*-. 
the strength o 
nleasanL ,Th 
nanishea; but 
beyond thcin. 
to those liiat 
" Drink ye ni 
streams of a li 
despising of si 
the other dese 
shall end iu e 
choose ihisjo] 

It is not scholarship alone, but scholarsfaip Irapr^- 
nated with religion, tbat teUa on the great mass of 
society. We have no faith in the efficacy of mechanic 
institutes, or even ot primary and elementary schools, 
for buil(£ng up a virtnooa and wdl coodltianed pea- 
santry, so long as they stand dissevered from the 
lessons of chrrstian piety. There ia a charm ascribed 
to the scholastic system of Scotland ; and the san- 
guine itnagidatibn is, that by importing its machinery 
into England and Ireland, it will work the same 
mtHveflrOTis transfbraiBtioD there, on tlie cbarftcter of 
their people, that was experienced unongst onedvea. 
But it is forgotten, that a warm and earnest Christi- 
anity, was Ihe animating spirit of all our peculiar in- 
stitutions, for generations after they were framed; 
and that wanting tiiis, they can no more perform the 
Function of moralizing the people, than skeletans can 
perform the functions, or put forth the facnltiea of 
Uving men. The scholastic Is incorporated with the . 
ecclesiastical system of Scotland ; and that, hot for 
the purposes of intolerance and exclusion, but for the 
porpoae of aanctifyiiig education, and plying the boy- 
hocpd of our land with &e lessons of the Bible. The 
scholarship of mere letters, might, to a certain extent, 
have diffused intelligence amongst the people ; but it 
is mainly to the presence of the religions ingredients, 
that the moral greatness of our peasantry is owing. 


[Septshbxr 22. 1632 

T« 1 'twas t, fflufol deed ; the suu'i Aark flood, 
Thftt rose inteu-dfOM, wwad hi* uoing bMsi, 
B«d with Bobiitikl niMidour, blood lor blood, 
A5 weepiiiK Beaten iikd blushed to tiew the stresm 
That stained euth's boMm ; — jet e'en thou, proad iheme. 
Thou Waterloo, to joun^r names shall yield ; 
Soon ihall ihj fame a distant meteoi seem, 
Koown bnt u Aginvovrt or Creny's Geld, 
While future heraldi deck tome newer, baser shield. 

e s decay ! 
18 mort^ ooi 

And then, when e*erj glory melts awuy 

An icT palace, vain yon granite pile 

To tetl to distant age the wildatTnky ' 
That ctampl its name ah distant a^c thall smile 
Po Ihiok man s feeble art oblivion would beguile ! 

t, ' where -featfted loie, ~— — 
pentaiy gleam 
'\g wliere, .of yore, 
^cred trophies bore 
Pliere a tyrant's band 
Bali )¥''T'"'y" ]»' Wli J,-1A h'&d'nrunlt befurei 
T^ I ^MjMtjtjfnfwW leA to diMuil land,- 
T ntw{^i\\u iHelen's-ilosert strand. 
V«( then, Ivben faithless lo man's deArtst pride, 
elds its af^wora trust ; 
It spurns the crotiohing lidd, 
tfianument of dflst ; 
memory of the just ; 
jTeiven's fair page enrolled, 
WEftrior's tropnied bust, 
M ne'er mny waxen old, 
vise, how impotent the bold ! 
me (hat cannot die '. 
ells of worlds unknown ! 
lifls her tranquil eve 
; and calls tbero all hfer own! 
at wafts my parting groan . 
the pas^ng gale, 
It one frail ainenil stone, 
be plaintive moss-woru tale, 
1 bold wifig, and swell'd Hope'i 

And heaven be mine, ood heaven's etemul yeti ; 

And glories bright, and extn^les divine ; 

And mine the Almighty Father's voice to hear — 

" Servant, well donel thy Saviour's joys be thine; 

I wouhl not 'scQtchoned psll, or gorgeous shrine; 

Tbe plausive tablet, or the chanty's pride, 

Tbe sculptor's emblem, or the minstrel's line ; — 
Be mine the merits of tre Crdcifibd ; 
or Him who for me lived, of Him who for me died. 

Ths Governor may be deceived : or be may do wrong with- 
out being deceived: he bearelh (he sword, a^ may strike 

is sort, you dissolve government, what will be 
tbe eouequence f More mischief will be done by the peo- 
ple, thus let loose, in a month, than would be done by the 
n half a century.— Bishop HoaNE. 

It is not (he pleasure of cniiotity, dot the qniet of resolution, 
nor the raising of the spirit, nor victory of wit, nor faculty of 
speech, nor lucre of nrofession, nor ambition of honour oi 
hme, or inablcment lor business, that are the tnie ends of 
knowledge. — Loan Bacon. 

How man? insUnces there are, in which persons manifestly 
go through more pain and self-denial to gratify a vicious pas- 
sion, than woum have been necessary to the conquest of iL 
To thisit is tobe added, that when nrtoc is become habitual, 
when the temper of it is acquired, what was before confine- 
ment, ceases to be so, by beeoming ohoioe and delight — 
Bishop Botlbb. 

A TOVTHroi undentanding, a vigonms body, and sesaes ii 
thcdr perfection, are worth offering to that graciotia God wbi 
is die anUior of them all ; and if they are dedicated to hi 
service, they will be bleined and accepted. But let do hmu 
flatter himself that Ood will be served by him who huh loo 
his capaci^, and can serve nothing else ; that be >»ill accept 
of faculties worn out in (he drudgery of nn and Tanity, n 
that he will think himself honoured when the dress of life 
are poured out upon his altar. Happy are they, vHio undet 
the decay of nature and the approaches of death, on loi4 
back upon tbe piety of their youth, and remember tbe em- 
ployment of those years which were spent in the remembiaace 
of their Creator! To such the infirmities of age will biiitf 
no bitterness, and death itself will have no tenorB 1 for ihei 
who have remembered God in their best days, shall be tt- 
racmbered by him in theii wont; and be approred and ac- 
cepted by him in that great day, when "he shall bring ever; 
noil into judgment"— -JoN as of NagUitd. 

West Stkawd, Skpt. 183J. 


AppbiKTeo Mt titB ioeiMTt FOR faoMoTim cnsfcriM 


1. The BiBLB SpBLUNG Book. 

2. Tlic fiiBLB Lesson Book. 

3. Abbidohent or Bible Histobt. 

4. ExEncises in Grammar. 



7. Exercises in Modern Historv. ' 

8. 'Exercises- IN Ancient Historv 
9; Exercises in Oeography. 

. 10. Exercises in AsTRaNoiiy.. 

11. Exercises in Mechanics^ 

12. ExERciSHs in Natural Histort ' ■ ' . 
■ 13. ExERcisife m BoTANy. ■ 

14. Rbadinos in Histobt. ; . 

15. Readikcs inBioora'pht.' 

.16. Readings in PoEtry. . ' , . 

. 17. R^DjNGs IN Science- 
is. Views op NaTurb and Socibtv.^-I. A 4f on^ oi 
the Mountjdns. ' . v - ■ . " 

19. ScBt<ES AhD SKftcHES froit) British Hi9TO*y,VaLl 

20. Sadoc and Miriam, a Jewish Tale. 
31. A SvsTEM OF Geookapbv. 

24. Ancient History. , . - 
23. A Histort of MoHAMHSnAMSM. ' 
34. A SrsTEM OF Natubal Philosoprt. 

25. A Histort of England. . . ' 

36. BlooBApqr of Sacrbd Poets. ; 

37. The Zooloov of the Bible. 
36. The Botanv of the Bible. 
39. The Oeograprv of tbe Bible. 

30. Oribinal Sermons, by the most distikouissbv uvin 
Bishops and Pastors of tbe Gbdbcb, fitted lo k 
read in Families. 
• Several of these Works form parti of Series, whi«h aOI Ir 


, B . BEHQBR, Haly ifl j L t A 

A?, r«1mui.«t Poitfnks-Hi. Londoa, 
> PsbUtbcrHAfntitn 

^dctutliacs M^U^^im^ 

N^ 15. 


29T?, 1832. 



TKi Hmll ff Ou Lmu. 

The Albambra is mi ancient fortrees, or castellated 
palace of the Moorish kings o£ Granada, where they 
once held dominion in the romantic land of Spain, 
and made their last stand for empire in that port of 
the conntry. The palace occnpiea but a portion of 
the fortress, the walls of which, studded with towers, 
stretch insularly round the whole crest of a lofty 
hill that overlooks the city, and forms a spur of the 
Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Mountain. 

In the time of the Moors, the fortress was capable 
of contuning an army of 40,000 men within its pre- 
cincts, and served occasionally as a stronghold of the 
sovereigns against their rebellious subjects. The court 
by which yoa are first admitted into this splendid 
castle, called the Common Baths, is an oblong square, 
with a deep basin of clear water in the middle, into 
which is a descent by marble steps, and on each side 
a row of orange trees. A marble pavement runs 
down the court, and the arches surrounding the court 
are supported by pillars, in a style difierent from all 
the regular orders of architecture ; and the ceiling and 
walls are incrusted with fret-work. In every division 
are written Arabic sentences, denoting " there is no 
conqneror but God ;" and " obedience and honour to 
our sovereign," The ceilings are gilt or painted, and 
the cdoors still letaia their freshness : the lower part 
Vol. I. 

of the walls is mosaic, ^sposed in fantastic knots Mid 
festoons. The porches resemble grotto-woA; and 
one of them forms a whiq>ering gallery. 

Opposite to the door by which yoa enter is another, 
leading into the Hall of the Lions; an oblong coort, 
one hundred feet long, and fifty broad, encompassed 
by a colonnade, paved with white marble. The walls 
are covered, to the height of five feet, with blue and 
yellow tiles, and above and below is a border of small 
escutcluons, enamelled blue and gold, with Arabic 
mottoes signifying, " No conqueror but God." The 
columns that support the roof and gallery, are of 
white marble, very slender, fantastically adorned, and 
irregularly disposed. The capitals, also, are of various 
designs. Amidst the varieties of fohage, grotesques, 
and strange ornaments, there does not occur the . 
slightest representation of animal life. In Moorish 
times the buildings were covered with large painted 
and glazed tiles, some of which still remain. 

' In the centre of the court are twelve lions, bearing 
upon their backs on enormous basin, out of which 
rises another of smaller size. A volume of water is 
thrown up, falls into the basin, and, passing through 
these lions, is discharged out of their mouths into a 
reservoir, conununicatiug by channels with the foun* 
taiaa in the apartments. This fomitain is of white 







marble, adorned with festoons, and Arabic sentences, 
signifying : — " Seest thou not the watar flows copiously 
like the Nile ?*' *^ This reseinbles a sea washing over its 
shores, threatening shipwreck to t)ie mariner/' '' This 
water runs abundantly to give drink to the Jions." 
Terrible as the hon is working in the day of battle.** 

The Nile gives glory to the king, and th^ lofty 
mountains proclaim it.*' *' This garden is 'fertile in 
dehght ; God takes care that no noxious animal shall 
approach it.** '' The fair princess that walks in this 
garden, covered with pearls, ornaments its beauty so 
much, that thou mayest doubt whether it be a foun- 
tain that flows, or the tears of her admirers !" 

Beyond the colonnade is a circular room, with a 
fountain, used by the men as a place for drinking 
coffee, &c. The form of this hall, the elegance of its 
cupola, the cheerful distribution of light from above, 
and the manner in which its beautiful ornaments are 
designed, painted, and finished, exceed all powers of 
description. In this delightful scene, it is said, Aboub- 
doulah assembled the Abencerages, and caused their 
heads to be struck off into tne fountain. 

Opposite to this hall, called the Hall of the Aben- 
cerages, is the Tower of the Two Sisters, so called 
nrom two very beauti^ pieces of marble, laid as flags 
in the pavement ; measuring flfteen feet by seven and 
a half, and without flaw or stain. The gate exceeds 
all the rest Vfx profusion of ornaments, and in beauty 
of prospect, which it affords through a range of apart- 
ments, where a multitude of arches terminate in a 
large window, open into the country. In a gleam of 
sunshine, the variety of tints ^d lights thrown upon 
this range is uncommonly rich, llie outward walls 
of the towers are raised above the dome, and support 
another roof, so that no injury can be occasioned by 
wet weftther, or excessive he^t and cold. 

From this hall you pass round a little myrtle g^- 
den into an additional building, constructed by tJie 
Emperor Charles V, whicli lea4s to a sm^ tower, 
calle4 the Sultana*s Dressing Room : in this is a large 
marble flftg^ penetrated with boles, through which the 
smoke pf perfumes ascended from furnaces below. 
*T1)ere arp many other magnificent apartments, as 
the Ambass^or's Hall, the Hall of Council, the Hall 
of Audfttiicej &c. the whole of which are most beauti- 
fully and daborfitely decorated, and in various places 
are written Arabic sentences, from the Koran. 
I On the lower floor were the bed-chambers and sum- 
|ner rooms ) fountains ; the royal and other baths, 
with vaults for perfumes, and stoves and boilers for 
producing vapour 5 a whispering gallery ; a labyrinth, 
^e king's study, and the burial vaults of the royal 

In the retrospective view of this sumptuous palace, 
we need not wonder that the Moors thought of Gra- 
nada with regret 5 and that they should still offer up 
prayers for the recovery of it, which they regard as a 
terrestrial paradise. 

Washington Irving, who visited this romantic place 
a few years ago, says '* there is no part of the edifice 
that gives us a more complete idea of its original 
beauty and magnificence, than the Hall of the Lions, 
for none has suffered so little from the ravages of 
time. In the centre stands the fountain famous in 
song and story. The alabaster basins still shed their 
diamond drops j and the twelve lions, which support 
them, cast forth their crystal streams as in the days 
of Boabdil. The court is laid out in flower-beds, and 
surrounded by light Arabian arcades pf open fiUagree- 
work, supported by slender pillars of white marble. 
The architecture, like that of all the other parts 
of the palace, is characterised by elegance rather 
than grandeur j bespeaking a delicate and graceM 

taste, and a disposition to indolent enjoyment. Whei 
one looks upon the fair tracery of th^ peristylo^^ an( 
the apparently fragile Aretwork of t^e walls, i^ in cjiffi- 
cult to believe that so much Ihi« f urvive4 tbe weai 
and tear of omturies, the shocks of earthquakes, ^ 
violence of war, and the quiet, though not less bane- 
ful, pilfjerings of the tasteful traveller 

" There is a Moorish tradition, that the king who 
built this mighty pile was skilled in the occult sciences, 
and furnished himself with gold and silver for the 
purpose by means of alchyiny. Certainly never was 
there an edifice accomplished in a superior style of 
barbaric magnificence ^ and the stranger who, even 
at the present day, wanders among its silent and de- 
serted courts and ruined halls, gazes with astonish- 
ment at its gilded and fretted domes and luxurioos 
decorations, still retaining their briUiancy and beauty, 
in spite of the ravages of time." 

When the Sidoaiaos were once going to choose a king, thej 
determined that their election should fall upon the man wbo 
should first see the sua on the following morning. All the 
candidates, towards the hour of sun-rise, eagerly looked to- 
wards the East, but one, who, to the astonishment of his 
counti^meu, filled his eyes pertinaciously on the opposite 
side of the horison, where he s»w the reflection of the son's 
rays before the orb itself was seen by Uiose lookine^ towaids 
the east. The choice instantly fell upon him who had seea 
the reflection of the sun ; and by the same reasoning, the in- 
fluence of religion on the heart is frequently perceptible in 
the conduct, even before a nerson has made direct professioQ 
of the principle by which lie is actuated. " By tneir fruits 
ye shall know them." 

Thb si^periority of sex was nerer more rigidly enforced thjui 
among the barbarians of the Chain Islands ; nor were tLe 
male part of the human species ever more despicable.— 
Beecbey*8 Voyage, Reverence for woman is the test of 


JRapecHng the Mind. — Let not corrupt thoughts arise. Be 
i^ot ov#r anxious and grieved. Envy not those who have, uc>f 
despise those who have not. Complain not of heaven, and 
blame not men. Think not of old evils, speculate nut on dis- 
tant things. 

The Body. — Love not beauty without boupds. Be not 
greatly intoxicated. Stand not in dangerous places. Do not 
give way to anger. Do not associate with worthless charac- 
ters. Do not enrage men who love to strike. 

Happinets. Do not abuse the good things of ProTideoce. 
Do not love extravagance. Be nU over-aniious about being 
completely provided for. Think not of things which are 
above your station. Do not deteriorate the grain. Do not 
destroy life. 

Things in general. — Do not neglect the relations and duties 
of life. Do not practice corrupt things. Do not oppose the 
commands of your parents or teachers. Do not speajc mudi 
Provoke not a guest to anger. Between two parties do not 
sneak swords here and flatteries there. Do not stir up tmo- 
bles. Do not cut and carve the poor. Do not deceive and 
oppress the orphan and widow. Do not wrongfully <^ccuse 
auy one. Do not learn unprofitable things. 

Wealth. — Be not ashamed of bad food and coarse clothing- 
Do not buy useless things. Be not over fond of feasts. I>» 
not learn to imitate the rich and great 

Words. — Do not talk of men's domestic affaiis. Do not 
tell secrets. Do not conceal the errors of worthless men. Do 
not injure a person's parents. Do not put a stop to any gwxl 
affair. Do not bring up other men's concerns, (in conversa- 
tion). Do not laugh at men's appearance. Do not blame a 
man for the faults of his relatives. Be not fond of ridiculing 
any one. Do not make up stories to injure men. Be ntft 
proud of your wealth. Do not complain of your poverty. Do 
not speak with a fierce aspect. Do not despise men's poverty. 
Do not interrupt men in conversation Do not lie. Do not 
help and abet others to do iuiouity. Do not recite corrupt 
composition. Do not speak of gambling or licentiousucsr 
Do not say anything that has a beginning but no end. 




In the veiy same mount in which Moses first saw 
God, shall Elijah see Him : one and the same cave (it 
is very probable) was the receptacle to both. 

It could not but fee a great confirmation to Elijah 
to renew the sight of those sensible monuments of 
God*s favour and protection to his faithful prede- 

Moses came to see God in the bush of Horeb : 
God came to find Elijah in the cave of Horeb : What 
doest thou here, Elijah ? The place was directed by 
a providence, not by a command -, he is hid sure 
enough from Jezebel, he caunot be hid from the all- 
seeing eye of Grod. Twice hath God propounded the 
same question to Elijah, once in the heart, once in the 
mouth of the cave -, twice doth the trophet answer in 
the same words, itad the first answer satisfied, the 
question had not been re- demanded. Now, that sul- 
len answer which EUjah gave in the darkness of the 
cave, is challenged into the light, not without an awful 
preface. The Lord first passeth by him with the ter- 
rible demonstrations of His power. A great and 
strong wind rent the mountains, and brake the rocks 
in pieces. That tearing blast was from Gfttd -, God 
was not in it. So was He in it as in his other extra- 
ordinary works ; not so in it, as by it to impart him- 
self to Elijah : it was the usher, not the carriage of 
God. After the wind came an earthquake, more 
fearful than it : that did but move the abr, this the 
earth ; that beat upon some prominences of earth, 
this shook it from the centre. After the earthquake 
came a fire more fearful than either : the other aflfected 
the ear, the feeling j but this lets in horror into the 
soul by the eye. Elijah shall see God's mighty power 
in the earth, air, fire, before he hear him in the soft 
' voice : all these are but boisterous harbingers of a 
meek and still word. In that God Was : behold in 
that gentle and mild breath, there was omnipotency. 
There is not always the greatest efficacy, where is the 
greatest noise. 

God loves to make way for himself by terror 5 but 
He conveys himself to us in s1<?eetness. It is happy 
for us, if after the gusts and flashes of the law, we 
have heard the soft voice of evangelical mercy. 

Bishop Hall. 


It is the Sabbath bell, which calls to pray'r, 

Ev*n to the House of God, the hallowed dome, 
Where Ho who claims it bids liis people come 

To bow before His throne, and scKe nim there 

Withprat'rs, and thanks, and praises. Some there lire 
Wno hold it meet to lineer nbw at home, 
And soine o*er fields and the wide hills to roam^ 

And worship in the temple of the air ! 

For me, not heedless of the lone address, 

Nor slack to greet my Maker on the height, 

By wood, or living stream ; yet not the less 
Seek I his presence in each social rite. 

Of his own temple : that he deigns to bless, 

There still he dwells, and there is his delight. D. C. 

The ear and the eye are the mind^s receivers : hut the tongue 
is only busied in expending the treasure received. If there- 
fore the revenues of the mind be uttered as fast or faster tlian 
they are received ; it cannot be, but that the mind must needs 
be bare, and can never lay up for purchase. But, if the re- 
ceivers take in still with no utterance, the mind may soon 
grow a burden to itself, and unprofitable to others. I will 
not lay up too much, and utter nothing, lest I be covetous : 
nor spend much, and store-up little, lest I be prodigal and 
poor. — Bishop Hall. 

In Germany, during the war, a captain of cavalry was or- 
dered out upon a foraging expedition. He put himself at the 
head of his troop, and marched to the quarter assigned him. 
It was a solitary valley, in which hardly anything but woods 
was to be perceived. Finding in the midst of it a small cot- 
tage, he approached, and knocked at the door, which was 
opened by an old and venerable man, with a beard silvered 
by age. " Father," said the officer, " stow me a field where 
I may set my troop to foraging." The old man complied, 
and conducting them out of the valley, after a quarter of an 
hour's march, came to a fine field of barley. ** Here is what 
we are in search of :" exclaimed the captain, " Father, you 
are a true and faithful guide." — " Wait yet a few minutes,'* 
replied the old man, " follow me patiently a little further.'* 
The march was accordingly resumed, and at the distance of 
a mile they arrived at another field of barley. The troop im- 
mediately alighted, cut down the grain, trussed it, and re- 
mounted. The officer thereupon said to his conductor, 
" Father, you have given yourself and us ubnecessary 
trouble; the first field was far better than this;*' — "Very 
true, sir," replied the good old man, **but it was not 
mine."— -Sx.PiEaRE. 

NoTHiNo is more easy than to represent as impertinences 
any part of learning that has no immediate reference to the 
happiness or convenience of mankind.— Addison. 


Two very ctitious animals exist, which though 
neither pit)perly quadruped, bird, nor t^ptile, respect- 
ively coittbiiie, td a certain degree, some portion of the 
nature df till. 

Dr. Shaw was the first naturalist who introduced 
these singukUr cretitures to notice, and Sir Everard 
Home was the first comparative anatomist who de- 
scribed the internal structure. The zoologists were 
much puzzled in allotting them a place in their re- 
spective systems, and they have been variously classed 
and named by the English and French naturalists. 

One of them, with reference to its combination of 
the porcupiiie and the bird, was named by Sir 
Everard Home the Porcupine Omithorynchus, but the 
French naturalists did not agree on this point with 
Sir Everard, and the Baron Ouvier established a 
distinct genus, which he named Echidna, with 
reference to its spiny covering, and in which he 
placed it. 

" This animal," says Dr. Shaw, '' so fSsur as may be 
judged from the specimens hitherto imported, is about 
a foot in length ^ the whole upper parts of the body and 
tail are thickly coated with s^ng and very sharp spines, 
of a considerable length, and perfectly resembling 
those of a Porcupine, except that they are thicker in 
proportion to their length ^ and that instead of being 
encircled with rings of black and white, they are 
mostly of a yellowish white, with black tips. The 
head, le^, and whole under J>art of the body, are of 
a deep browii or sable, and are thickly coated with 
strong close-set bristly hair. The tail is extremely 
short, slightly flattened at the tiji, and coated at the 
upper j[)art of the base with spines equal in length to 
those of the back, and pointing upwards. The snout 
is long, and perfectly reserabflng that of the Great 
Ant-eater, having only a vefy small opening at the tip, 
from whence is protruded a long tongue. The nostrfls 
are small, and seated at the extremity of the snout. 
The eyes are very email and black, with a pale blue 
iris. The legs are short and thick, and are each fur- 
nished with five-rounded broad toes 5 on the fore-feet 
are five very long and blunt claws. 

" The Echidna has been found principally in Van 
Dieman's Land, and some of the neighbouring islands 5 
it lives on insects, which, like the Ant-eater, it secures 
by means of its long and sticky tongue. It burrows 
in the earth, and appears, like the Hedgehog, to have 
the faculty of assuming a spherical shape, and thus 
opposing its spines to any hostile attack. We are, 
however, as yet, but little informed on the subject of 
its habits^ number of young, &c/' 


The Dunfl of the second, of wbicta we give an ea- 
BraTing, has also been matter of difference. 

" Dr. Shaw was also the first describer of this ani- 
mal ; he named it the Duck-billed Platypus ; but Sir 
Joseph Banks having shortly after sent a specimen to 
Blumenbach, that eminent physiologist preierred the 
name OmUhort/ncus for the newly- discovered crea- 
ture ; the merited celebrity of the Germaa writer 
prevailed, and the genus has retained the name of his 
choosing almost universally. 

' "Of all the mammalia yet known," says Dr: Shaw 
^'Ihis seems the most extraordinary in its conforma- 
ticMi, exhibiting the perfect resemblance of the beak 
of a duck engrafted on the head of a quadruped. So 
accurate is the similitude, that, at first view, it na- 
turally excites the idea of some deceptive preparation 
by artificial means, the very manner of opening, and 
other particulars of the beak of a duck, presenting 
themselves to the view ; nor is it without the most 
inhiute. and rigid examination that we can persuade 
ourselves of its being the real beak or snout of a qua- 

;" The body is depressed, and has some resemblance 
to that;of an Otter in miniature. It is covered with 
a very thick, soft, and beaver-like fur, and is of a 
(lark brown above, and of a white beneath ; the head 
is liattiah, and rather small than large ; the mouth, 
or snont, as before observed, so exactly resembles 
that of some broad-billed species of duck, that it 
might l>c mistaken for such ; round the base is a flat, 
circular membrane, somewhat deeper or wider below 
than above. I^e tail is flat, furry like the body, gra- 
dually lessens to the tip, and is about three inch^ in 

" The length of the animal, from the tip of the beak 
to that of the tail, is thirteen inches ; of the beak, an 
inch and an half. The legs are very short, terminating 
in a broad web, which on the fore feet extends td a 
considerable distance beyond the claws. On the fore 
feet are five claws, straight, strong, and sharp-pointed. 
On^ the hind-feet are six claws, longer and more in- 
clining to a curve than those on the fore feet. The 
nostrils are small and round, and situated atwut 
a quarter of an inch from the tip of the bill. The ears 
are placed about an inch beyond the eyes, they appear 
like a pair of oval holes of the eighth of an inch in 
diameter. On the upper part of the head, on each 
aide, a. little beyond the be^, are situated two smallish 
oval white spots ; in the lower part of each are imbed- 
ded the eyes, or at least the parts allotted to the ani- 
mal for some kind of vision ; for from the thickness 
of the fur, and the smallness of the oi^ns, they seem 
to have been but obscurely calculated for distinct 
vision, and are probably like those of moles, and some 
Other Miimals of that tribe. 


" In the place of teeth, the edges of Qie beak are fin 
nished with fibres, simply attached to the gum ; lb 
tongue is short, and furnished with two homy pointa 

" The Omithorynci have hitherto been fouud onlj 
in the rivers in the vicinity of Port Jackson, espedalj] 
the river Nepean, on the eastenx coast of New Hof. 
land. Those fouud in 1815, in Campbell River, «a& 
the river Macquarie, beyond the Blue Mountains, sn 
larger than those before known, though they do not 
appear to differ specifically. 

" These animals are expert swimmers, and seldnni 
quit the water ; on shore they crawl rather than walk, 
occasioned by the shortness of the limbs and coinpa. 
rative length of the body. Nothing certain is knon 
as to their food ; but the singular resemblance of thdr 
beak to that of ducks, induces a strong probabili^ 
that, like these bvds, they Uve on worms and aqosoc 

The odour of the Narcissus, remarked in its aame,ii 
to some persons very agreeable, whilst to others it ii 
rather offensive ; and possibly, in improper confioi- 
mcnt, is prejudicial to all. 

It is not sufGciently observed by all the admireK n' 
flowers, that the agreeable perfume nf plants, in hB 
bloom, when diffused through close apartments, be- 
comes decidedly deleterious, by producing headaclK, 
giddiness, and other affections of the brain. Bntiti: 
in confinement alone that such effects become evident 
In the garden, when mingled with a wholesome asd 
exhilarating atmosphere, amidst objects that amkoi 
the most delightful sensations of our nature, tb(K 
Eweets are a part of our gratificatjons, and health is 
promoted as a consequence of enjoyment so pure. 

Who has not felt the excitement of sprii^? li 
natore, in that delightful season, rising from lethargj 
into beauty and vivacity ; and spreading the sweets o\ 
the thorn and the violet, auxiliarly to our gratifi cations' 
Amidst the beauties of the flower garden, these plw- 
surcs are condensed and refined ; and the fragi^c< 
there, hovering on the wings of the breeze, cannot be 
imagined Ices -wholesome than pleasant. 

Whatever increases our gratifications, so peculiarij 
unmixed with the bad passions of human nntutf. 
must surely tend to the improvement of mankind; 
and to the excitement of grateful feelings toM'ards thai 
Beneficent Creator, who has so bount^ully supplied 
these luxuries, which none are denied. 

The Polyanthus Narcissus may be planted in the 
open borders, at any time from September to Febm- 




aiy, in k ligbt boH, dfher separately or in groaps ; 
where they will flower iu great beauty. When the 
leayes are decayed, the bulbs should be taken up, and 
replanted in September, in preference to letting them 
remain to flower again in the same Bitnatioi). 

In water glasses, made for the pnrpose, the Poly- 
anthus Narcissus will flower in equal perfection with 
the hyacinth. The principal points requiring atten 
tion in this mode of cultivation, are these. Prefer soi^ 
water. Let it touch the bottom only of the bulb ; and 
by daily additiooa, keep it to this height. Change it 
entirely once a fortnight, or oftener. At each change 
add nitre, about the size of a small pea. 

When the flowers fade, the bulbs wiD be strength- 
ened by bdng planted in the borders, carefully eX' 
tending the roots in the soiL Obtain fresh bulbs for 
glasses in the next season. — Maund's Botanic Garden. 

Sweet dag, ta cool, so calm, so bright, 

Bridal of eanh uid Ay, 
Tbe dew shall veep thy f&Il to-aight, 

For thou, alas ! must die ! 
Sweet nue, in ait whose odours ware, 

And colour charms the eye, 
Tb; root is erer is iti graTe, 

And thou, aiaa ! must die •' 

Be wise, then. Christian, while joa maj 

For swiftly dmo is flying; 
The ihoughlless man may laugh to-day, 

To-moTTov! may be dying ! 

Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, 

"Need we to prove a. God is here ; 
Tbe daisy, fresh from Nature's sleep, 

Tells of bis haud in lines as clear. 
For who but He who arch'd the slies. 

And pours the day-spring's living flood, 
Wondroos alike in all he tries, 

Could raise the daisy's purple bud 
Mould its green cap, its wiry sleiu, 

It« fringed bonier nicely spin, 
And cut the gold^^mbossed gem 

That, set in silrei, gleams within ! 
And flinff it, unrestrained and free. 

O'er hill and dale, and desert eod. 
That man, where'er be walks, may see 

In ereiy step the stamp of God. 

How looks it over head ? Pitchy dark, and there are 
no eagles dow; and see how the cloud "bellies" 
down to that peak opposite, and the peak not half 
the distance that we first thought. The clear air 
must have deceived us. But sively there can be no 
danger, there is no "sound'" of it at any rate. Was 
not that a wing ? Yes, there is a raven out from the 
opposite ledge. Whatever else, there will be dro^wning 
on the hill, if that cloud shall fall; and the raven 
is leaving his fetid nest betimes, to gather in the 
spoil for his voraciotis young. He is a night prowler, 
and the gloom brings him out ; he finds the creatures 
aaleep, and treacheroosly punches out their eyes, and 
then leaves them till he can find the carcases by 
the scent. But the raven has hia use : he b the 
scavenger of the wild, and does duty for which no 
other creature that goes there is adapted. 

At present he seems in doubt ; but still he adds 
his own blackness to the gloom, and mutters hia 

croak, as he flics between ns and tbe craga, sole tenant 
of the murky air. He seems doubtful of getting 
above, yet unwilling to keep his nest. 

How the cloud labours, rising and falling like the 
lungs of one panting for breath ; and dusky as is the 
whole, the under part, which maintains its course, 
emulates the wing of the raven. One descent mor^— 
another. — Gleam ! crash ! The peak rattles in frag- 
ments into the ravine ; the raven drops dead on our 
platform ; " the windows of heaven are opened," their 
tattered curtains are on fire, and nature is in confu- 
sion and chaos 1 Who that were here could question 
the terrible majesty of Him, " who ridetii in the 
whirlwind and directeth the storm ?" Who could 
doubt for a moment that there are in His quiver bolts 
which, ere the keenest eye had measured one hair- 
breadth, could rend the globe which we inhabit — all 
the globes in the universe — quench all their suns, 
and sow them invisible throughout space ; or that 
He could call them as quickly back, in all their beauty 
and their grandeur ? 

The account of the Pestilence, which raged at Athena 
430 years before Christ, though most essentially diffe- 
rent from the disease which has lately prevailed in 
many parts of Europe, and has recently appeared ui 
this country, cannot but be interesting to us in the 
present day. The generality of the symptoms are 
quite unlike those of tbe modem pestilence; but there 

e a few which appear to agree with them. 

The account is given by Thucydides, an Athenian 
historian, who was bom about the year 470, B.C. He 
himself was attacked with the disease, and had wit- 
nessed several others labouring under it. He traces 
its progress from Ethiopia to i^ypt, — thence to 
Africa, and to a great part of the Persian king's do- 
minions. It then suddeidy came to Athena ; and at- 
tacked first those that dwelt near the sea ; which gave 
aion to an idle supposition, that the people with 
whom the Athenians were at war, had poisoned the 
wells tliere. But it afterwards came to the high city, 
where it r^ed with dreadful violence, owing to the 
great numbers that were crowded togetiier wiUiio the 
walls. No art availed ; and the physicians, instead 
of being ^le to cure others, were themselves taken 
off in the greatest nmnbers, as they had more frequent 
intercourse with the sick. All snpplicatjon to the 




HBCR i9 

gods, and appeals to the oracles, failed, and were at 
last relinquished. One thing is very remarkable, — 
that the year of the pestilence was unusually free from 
all other diseases i but if any one was labouring 
under sickness before, it generally ended in this 
disease. The first symptoms wert violent heat in the 
head, redness and inflamrnation of the eyes. The 
throat and tongue became bloody, arid the hrcafh foul 
and noisome, with sneezing and hoarseness, and a 
heavy coueh settUng on the chest. Then it attacked 
the stomach, and utterly disordered it ; and painful 
bilious vomitings succeeded. Hiccup, ft'ith convulsion, 
and a strong spasinodic affectioii of the nen-es, followed. 
and continued in some cases for a considerable time. 
The body was not outwardly to the touch ^-cry hot, 
but was flushed and livid — co^'ered with nimples and 
blotches. But there was so much internal heat, that 
it made the sufferers unable to cnilure any clothing. 
They were glad to expose themselves to cold air and cold 
bathing ; and their thirst was unquenchable. Rest- 
lessness and want of sleep continually harassed them 
— yet they did not fall away ; but the body appeared 
for a time to maintain its strength, till In seven or 
nine days they were overcome by the internal inflam- 
mation. Or, if they got over this stage of the disease, 
it then seieed thelt- bowels, and by ulcerations and 
n, and ?o carried them 
begin with the head, 
be Inwer parts of the 
is in the extremities, 
re, 'were bo altered in 
* their teiations, nor 
of theit o«n identity. 
'he mode of treatment, 
it, «as utterly destruc- 
edkness of former con- 
Ls to the probability of 
i^torian also notices the 
1 the disease produces, 
tJtHdfew from society, 
deserted) and those 
Id neglected their own 
lends, felt a still more 
Tlolence of the cala- 
etiofi of the difference 
irofane. The temples 
were filled with corpses, and the rites of decent 
burial disregarded. The dreadful State tb which 
the Athenians *ere reduced seertied to break do^ii all 
sense of right and wrong. They were led by observ- 
ing the Itidisctiminate sufferings of the good and the 
bad, to abanddfi themselves to their licentious and 
unbHdled passions ; for, in addition to the disregard 
Which thdr duties seemed to manifest to the good, 
they did not ftar that they should live to be brought 
for their actions before any human tribunal, — and 
thus they fUought only of immediate gratification. 

The whole forms a dreadiul picture of the desperate 
depravity to which men may he reduced, when suffer- 
ing under a calamity that frees them from all human 
testraint, while at the same time they are not imder 
the influence of religious principles. It cannot, in- 
deed, be denied, that fearful excesses have been com- 
mitted in places visited by pestilence, even where a 
better frnth has been established. Yet, on those occa- 
eions, the gloom of the picture has been relieved by 
some of the finest instances of Christian charity and 
self-devotion, that history can produce. We may, 
perhaps, have an opportunity in a futtire article of 
recording some of these deeds of heroic benevolence. 

Truth is the most powerful thing In the world, since flCtioB 
can onl; please by lu resemblance toil. — Shaftuburv. 

For himself and hia fff^hda, was for God's meroful 
dehverance and preservation 

" From the violence and rule of passion, from aaer' 
vile will, and a commanding ]nst ; from pride and Ta- 
nity ; ftt)m false opinion and ignorant confidence ; 

" From improvidence and prodigality ; from envy 
and the spirit of slander ; from Bensuaiity ; from pre- 
Bumptloa and from despair ; 

" From a state of temptation ahd hardened spirit ; 
from delaying of repentance and persevering ia ain ; 
from unthankfnlneSB and irreligion, and from sediir- 
ing others ; 

" From all infatnation of soul, folly and madness ,- 
from wilfulness, self-love, and vain ambition ; frt)in 
a vicious life and an unprovided deatii." 

Having observed in the Satvrdai/ Magazine an enquiry 
into the origin and nature of the Registers of Slor- 
tality, I conclude that any further Information on the 
origin of a practice so exceedingly valtiable and ne- 
cessary, will not be without its use, nor wholly devoid 
of Interest, to- the majority of your readers. 

The establishment of Bills cpf Mortality Hi Great 
Britain, owes its origin to the frequent and alarming 
devastations caused by the plague, and to the serious 
loss of life which attended its appearance in tiiis 
country. However great the cause for this alarm 
might really have been, it is well known, that the 
horror of taking so disgusting a disease, the awful 
rapidity of the approach of death after receiving the 
infection, and the great doubt and shade which was 
thrown around all its transactions, especially with re- 
gard to the real state of the patients, and to the actual 
number of sufferers by the disorder, conspired to in- 
crease the alarm to a frightful extent, and to raise 
and multiply unfounded and injtidicious reports as to 
its fatality. To prevent the constant recurrence of 
these annoyances, the government devised the estab- 
lishment of such weekly hills of the deaths in the 
metropolis, or in the cities, towns, and boroughs, in 
which a tendency to this awful disease was appre- 
hended, as would enable the inhabitants to judge of 
the real progress made by the calamity, and of the 
actual grounds which they had for apprehension of 
danger or for fear. 

Tbis was, it is believed, and is currently reported 
by most historitins to be the primary cause, of the 
establishment of bills of mortality in this kingdom. 
These weekly hills so became swoln into yearly, and 
from the period of this their first and early ori^n, 
they have been continued, and are now the greatest 
and most valuable sources to which the statistician 
can apply for information of the important points, of 
the increase and decrease of the population, either ia 
the kingdom at large, in peculiar cities, or in provin- 
cial towns ; of the waste of human life at its different 
stages, and of the comparative degrees of salubrity 
and sickliness in the different towns and parishes of 
Great Britain. 

The first period at which we find the government 
issuing orders for keeping Parish Registers, is in the 
year 1.53S, in the reign nf our eighth Henry, about 
the time when Thomas Cromwell was appointed the 
king's vicegerent for ecclesiastical jurisdiction. In 
this capacity, Cromwell issued several injunctions to 
the clergy, one of which ordains that "every officiating 
minister shall, fot every church, keep a book when'iii 
he shall register every marriage, christening, and 
burial." This injunction then goes on to direct the 
time and manner in Which inch entries shall be made 




omis^oQ in wbicb> is made, by the same l^w, penal. 
Sundry proclamations and orders were subsequently 
issued in order to enforce the proper degree of atten- 
tion to be paid to this injunction, but from the fewness 
of registers which npw stand on record as having been 
compiled at this peripd, little can be said in ^vour 
either of the strictness with which the laws themselves 
were enforced, or of the regularity and closeness of 
the attention which was paid by the authorities to this 
injunction. Indeed, so gross was the neglect of the 
parish officers in obsen^ing this law, and so small was 
the advantage derived from its formation, that Eliza- 
beth, in or<ler to put a stop to such shameful over- 
sights, and to prevent the recurrence of so great and 
crying an evil, was obliged to render imperative a law, 
whiqh forbad any other substance than parchment 
being used in the preservation of the Parish Registers : 
this order was the more necessary, as the principal 
ground upon which the negligence of the culpable 
officers was over-looked, was that the registers being 
formerly kept on loose and detached sheets of paper, 
were not only mislaid and lost, but aisp decked and 
destroyed by age, damp, aQd perhaps by means less 
fair than these. This injunction being supposed more 
formal, was more readily and even better obeyed than 
the former ones, indeed few of the few ancient regis- 
ters which are now extant, date their commencement 
before this queen's reign. 

However w^cU this last order ipight h^ve b^epi obeyed 
in comparison to the preceding ones, still, to use a 
trite and somewhat vulgar expression — "bad is the 
best" — for very few recojrds are now standing to 
prove that much attention was evei> then bestowed on 
these truly-interesting and valuable documents. That 
registers of some kind of the number of yearjy births, 
marriages, and deaths, were kept, we have, however, 
undoubted and incontestible proof s^ ; although of 
the gross number of deaths which occurred in the 
metropolis of London, we possess a pretty accmrate 
account j yet imtil a much later period no important 
step was taken to distinguish, in this account, any- 
thing more than the sex of the deceased, and the dis- 
ease of which they died. 

It was not, I believe, imtil as far down as the year 
1 728, that we have the slightest mention or the re- 
motest allusion made to the ages of those, whose 
yearly burials we find accurately noted. In the be- 
ginning of that year, however, the Bills returned the 
numbers dying between the ages of three and five, 
five and ten, ten and twenty, &c. &c. This method 
of keeping the Bills being a great and striking im^ 
provement on ithe old plan, and beipg continued for 
the space of ten years, afforded means, although but 
scanty, for ascertaining tjie w^te of human life in 
its different stages. Tnis task appears to have been 
undertaken by Mr. George Smart, ^ city accountant, 
who soon after producea a table of the probabilities 
of human hfe in London from these materials. Little 
is known concerning this table, as belonging to Mr. 
Smart ; it may however be recognised, when I men- 
tion that it is the same table as that commonly called 
Simpson's Table of the Probabilities of Life in London. 

The London Bills of Mortality are founded upon 
the reports of sworn searchers, whose duty it is to 
view every corpse after death, and to deliver their 
reports to the parish clerks. These persons are com- 
pelled, \mder pai^ of a heavy penalty, to keep a regu- 
lar account of all the burials which take place in the 
districts to which they belong j and, once in each year, 
a regular account is ipade up which forms the basis 
of the Bills of Mortality, and from this future ages 
seViC the means of regulating the probabilities of human 
life, and of calculating and forming rules to solve all 

questions in which life ux^d dje^th ar^ the principal 
ol^ects of consideration. 

The Bills of Mortality in many parts of the kingdom 
of Great Britain are exceedingly defective, from several 
remote causes : principally, however, from the pecu- 
liarities attending the different religious sects, which 
form no inconsiderable proportion of the population 
of the three kingdoms. Many Jiisse^ters, the Jews, 
the Roman Catholics, and others, have each different 
places and modes for the burial of their dead-j-^ese, 
therefore, can fonQ no portion of the annual accounts 
pubhshed by tlie parish clerks. Some few per- 
sons, from choice or convenience, burv their dead 
without the burial rites. 

Children, too, who die before the rites of baptism have 
been performed, are denied those, of burial, and, in all 
probabihty, are not registered in many of the Bills. 
These must form a very important division in the 
total number of deaths during the year ^ for in Dr. 
Price's Northampton T&ble, out qf 11,650 childr^i 
born^ during the first year of their lives 3000 died. 
No\^, out pf these, a v^t 4umher were, no doubt^ 
unhaptized -, for in many fapailies, where the children 
appear to be robust and healthy, the parents prefer 
(deferripg the baptismal ceremony until they are 
about a twelvemonth old. Joined to this, negligence 
m^y be suppose^ to ca^se m^Y oiftis^ions ; but even 
pnttiAg this by no rneam impt^obable and unimportant 
supposition asi4^,the nm^iber of persons going abroad, 
kiued upoQ foreign service, dyii^ at sea, and by a 
thousaQ4 c^iialties, must m^ a ponsiderable 
difference in the correctness of these registers. All 
these various and co-operating causes being put to- 
gether and considered, we may safely pronounce that 
there is as yet no register of mortality in which strict 
dependence can be placed, or which can justly repre- 
sent the chances of life amongst mankind at large. 


A SUNDAY HYMN, by Geoeob Witheh, 1588. 

Great Lord of time ! great King of Heav*]], 
Since weekly thou renew'st my days, 
To thee shall daily thanks bp giv'o, 
And weekly sacrifice pf liaise. 

This day the light, Time's eldest bprn9 
Hex glorious beams did first display, 
And then the evening and tlie mom 
Did first obtain the name of Day. 

Discretion grant me, so to know 
What Sabbath-rites Thou dost require, 
And grace, my duty so to do, 
That I may keep thy law entire. 


My master travelled far away, 

And left me much to do ; 
Alas! I trifled all the day, 

Although my days were few. 

Wand'ring and playing like a child. 

And moved by every wind, 
The fleeting moments I beguiled, 

Forgetting that I sinned. 

I went to sleep, Jike all the rest, 
Whilst Time seemed still and /dumb, 

But soon he struck upon my breast. 
And cried " Thy Master's come !" 

'Twas grass cut dowu by sudden nao^tyer^ 
Or tree by lightning's stroke :— 

" Oh ! time, time, time, is tliis (he hour ?'' 
And, trembling, I awoke. M. 

To think well is the way to act rightly. — ^Palky, 

These are the signs of a wise man : to reprove nobody, to 
praise nobody, to blame nobody ; nor ever to ^eak of himself 
as an uncommon man. — Epictetus. 

THE SATURDAY MAGAZINE. /Sbptbhbxb 29, 1 832 

Lace hadk bvCateMP' *' il iiintt rrtrinrrlinirj iiihh iii 
if manniBCture has ''^"'-T^Wred by ao officer of enKineet 
Miding at Municb. I' .'liulf of lice and veiU, «iib opei 
fatleras in them, mode Ctirelj by cateraillan. The folios 
ng is tlie mode of proceeding adopted. Having made i 
pasle of the leaTcs of ibe plant on which the species gf cater 
pillar lie employs feeds, he spnads it thinly over a Ettmc, m 
iiher flat (ubstanoe, of the required die. He then, with i 
mmel-hair pencil dipped in olive-oil, drawi the pattern he 
i*idie« the insects to leare open. This stone is then pUced 
in an inclined position, and a considerable nnmbcT of the 
;aterpillars are placed at the bottom. A peculiar species is 
sbosen, which spinsa strong web; and the animals comtncDce 
It the bottom, eating and spinning tbeir way up to the lop, 
:arefu11y avoiding every part touched by the oil, bnl dcranr- 
ing every other port of the paate. The extieme lightness o! 
heK veils, combined with some strength, is truly surpriaiiig'. 
□ne of them, measuiing 26} by 17 incfae«, weighed otJy 
1 grain and ahdif, a degree of lightness which will appeal more 
itrongly by contrast with other fabrics. One square van) of 
die suMtanceof which these Veils ere made, weighs 4)^ graini, 
whilst one square Tord of silli gauze weighs 137 graiiu, and 
me souaie^id of the .finest net weighs 362} grains. 

SkATlTDDE is a virtue dispocing the mind to an inward icBse 
ud an outward, acknowledgment of a benefit received, to^ 
Jier with a readiness to return the same, or tbe like, as oca- 
dona of Uie doer of it shall require, and, the abilities of tb« 
«ceirer extend to. iNCBATiTunn is an insensibility of kind- 
less received, without any endeavour eitjier to acknowledge 
w repay Ibem. Ingratitude sits on its throne with Pride a] 
ts right hand, and Cruelly at its left,— wraihy siipporten of 
lucfa a state. You may rest upon this as an unfailing' Iruth- 
rbot tbere neither. is, nor ever was. any peiBonj'«marIcahlT 
ingrateful, who was not also inwffeiably ptoud ; itoi aq 
me proud, who was not equally , ungrateful. 

Inpatitude overlooks all kindnesses ; and ibis is becann 
>Tide makes it carry its head so higb. Ingratitude b too 
>ase to return a kindness, and too pmud to regard it; inncb 
ike the tops of mountains, barren iqdeed, but vetlof^; tlify 
itoduce nothing, they feed nobody, they .clothe jifjwdy, yet 
Lie high and statel^, and. look down upon all.thewqild 
ibout ihem. It was ingratitude which put the poniard inu 
liutus's hand, bui it was want of compassion which ihnul 
t into Cssar's heart. 

Friendship consists properly in mutual oFEces, and *aut- 
ous strife in alternate acts of kindness. But he i>hpw> 
. kindness to an ungrateful person, sets bis seal ta Jtflini, 
jid sows his seed upon tbe sand; — upon the fflmfli ht 
iak69 no impression, aiid from the latter he" finds do pfodut 
ioii.— ^Dr. SouTB. 




Bold by *;i BsoludlHi ivt Nnivendtn In U» Xisidn. 

Isnkinuiil DoUr* In Prriodlol Pnlillculoiii luriiliBl on wboltvle Mb <1 

W.S. OBRiPilmaitn'.Itowi O.BEftaER,l)g|)rird].rt.iA. DOIMIUS, 

17, Permu^t. FsrlBu-iq, LoDdnn, 

Aadhytha PubUibn'i AfnliiDilit roUnriiiptiicM:— . 

.Itrim Blown IB* Cs. Gftvnilfr Jnr. 

riM Oam. Htrt/tri ChiM. i 

HnaiuJiui Lusbridfc flKil Wibas. 

N°16. SUPPLEMENT, 2 {om^'SSf 




Those majestic ekvatiomi whidi <are fotind upon the 
smf ace of the earth m almost every part of the world 
are termed Mountains 5 and the ineqtialities of lesser 
height are distinguished hy the niEume of Hills. 
When several mountains occur together^ covering a 
plain, ihej are called Groups, and a series several 
miles in leagdi is termed a Cham, or Ridge, of Mo/m- 
tains. Mountain Groups are generally h^est in the 
middle. Each group constitutes a connected whole, 
hoth isk tfsgjtiTA to its bne and its accHvity ; but it is 
not an ettlShe inass^ being intersected in many places, 
thou^ nevtf quite down to its foot or base. Moun- 
tainom Land, is composed of single mountains col- 
lected bito chains, but which, not being Jmned to- 
gether by a central or high mountain diain, do not 
n>rm groups. Hi/^ Laiui ccmsists of ronnded and 
imdu)ated elevations $ it is much lower than moun- 
tain land, and by means of the plains, which some^ 
times constitute a part of high knd, tomm a tnmsitioa 
into low knd. 

The fonn of mountains is ga&eratty conical, that is^ 
gradually tapering fh)m Che base upwards, and 
usually terminating in a more or bss pointed peak. 
Some <^ the conntiies covered with high mountains 
present, in tlie summer, different dimates at different 
elevatkttii within a very narrow oompass. We may 
ascend gradnattyfW)m flourishing ai^ ddi^tl^ vallitt^ 
decorated with com, froit trees and vines, to pastures 
covered wHii odorffcro us alpine plaiits, and, near the 
dedivltiet» with evergreeni» and peroeive the vegeta- 
tion HimiifclAing and dwfasdling at we advance, till, 
at last, all organie life cmmm, andtlie cold prevents 
all fiirthfer progress. 

The irst view of sttoli nmaaing hn^ts, (aome of 
which are not less Hian Ave mika above the levd of 
the sea, o U se ts four mik^ and many two and three 
miles) leads to a b^ief Uutt they must greatly detract 
from the regukurity of die «arth*s spherical form: but 
on comparing them with the bulk of the earth, they 
sink into insignificancy, bearii^ in reality no greater 
proportion to it tlian agrain or sandwovddbeartoan 
artificial globe of twelve in<^6s diameter, or than the 
little risings on the rind of an orange bear to its tmit. 

Mountains u« 8U{^posed by naturalists to have diffe- 
rent OTigins, and to date their commencement from 
v&rious periods. L Those which form a chain, and are 
covered with snow, are accovmted primitive, or antedi- 
luvian, that is» to have existed befcnne the Flood. They 
greatly exceedalloth«rmountainsinlieight$ ingeneral, 
their devationbv^ry sudden, and their ascent steep and 
dlfficidt Their lAuipe te mosdy pyramidal; they are 
ctowned witii sharp prominent rodcs, from which the 
soil has been washed away by rain, presenting an awful 
and horrible aspect Tlieir sides are less steep, and tibey 
abound in thwulering easoades, frightful precipices, and 
deep chasnui or valli^ Hie depressicms and exca- 
vations canegpmti. with the quantity of water, the 
motion of whidi is quidcenedinits fall, and sometin^s 
produces a sinking or indination of the mountain. The 
wrectoi to be found at the foot of most peaks, shew how 
much ^ksf have suffered from tlie hand of time. 
There the eye meets with enotmous rocks, heaped 
upon eac^ o^er in «% almost inconceivable state of 
disorder and decay. On the summit of tltese moun- 
tains, ^lich are only a series of peaks, frequently de- 
tached, the prominent rodcs are covered witii per- 
petual snow and ice, and surrounded by floating 
clouds, which are dispersed into dew^ These primitive 
mountains are composed of vast masses of quartz, 
destitute of shells, atid of all organized marine matter -, 

and appear to descend almost -pstpendkulariy in(r< 
the body of the earth. In their interior there are natunl 
caverns, abounding in crystallizations of great beaut;, 
and various mllierals | but no etdcareous ^par, except 
in tiie fissures or rents, which have some extent and 
an evident direction. Of this kind are the P3rraiee«, 
ttte Alps, tlie Apenines, the Tyrolese and Cnrpathian 
mountains, witii some others in Europe 3 the Biphsan 
Mountains, Caucasus, Taiuus, Libanus, and the Bin- 
mal^ range, in Asia $ Atta^ in Alrioa 5 and tbe Apafa- 
chian mountains, and the Andes or Cocdfflhetns, in 

II. Another dass of mountains are of vok^ak 
cnigin. These are either detached or smronnded with 
groups of lower hills, the smlirf which is heaped up in 
disoider, and consists of gfnvel and other looae sub- 
stances. Many of these mountains are troBoaled, or 
have a funnd-idiaped opening towards their aoinait^ 
whidi are composed of, and sunounded by, hei^ of 
lava and half vitrified bodies, making their gradual 
increase by strata raised up and discharged into tk 
air, iq>on occarions of the eruption of subtBrnoMons 
fire. Such, among many oth^w, are Momits Mtia 
and Vesuvius, in Sicily and Naples 5 Adam's l^ak, in 
the iriand d Ceylon ; the Peak of Tenmffe, in ^ 
Canary Lsla, &c. Whan very high mountains of thk 
kind are covered with marine shells, their sunm^te 
are supposed to have once constituted part of tb 
bottom of ^e ocean. These mountains are usuaBy 
more easy of access than those of the first dass, and 
have fewer i^rings. 

in. A third rwak of mountains, whether tsf^bCed or 
di^XMed in a groi^), are such as are composed ci 
stratified earth or stone, consisting of different sub- 
stances, of various colours. Hiese are produced by 
the slow dqx>sits of wat^, or by s(n1 gained in tlie 
time of great floods. Mountains of this kind are 
always of small elevation compared with those of 
the first order, and are round at the top, or covered 
witii soil, frequently forming a pretty flat and exten- 
sive surfoce ( on which are found sand and heaps of 
round pebbles, similar to those whidi have been ex- 
posed to the waves on tbe sea beach. 

The interior of these mountains consists <^naaieroQs 
strata, almost horisontally disposed, containing shefls, 
marineproductioitt, and fish bones, in great quanti- 
ties, 'uktm fossils are intermixed and covifounded 
with heaps of ^organized bodies of another Bpcxxs, 
presenting a picture of suiprising disorder, sad 
affording indications that some extraordinary and 
violent inundation, such as the general Peloge, 
has accumulated in the greatest confusion and preci- 
pitation, foreign substances of very opposite qualities. 
Mountains of this dass may be considered as com- 
posed ofthewredu of once organized bodies. In these 
mountains we likewise And wood, prints of plants, 
strata of clay, marl, and dialk 3 difierent beds of stooe, 
succeeding each other, as slate, marble, (often full of 
sea ihells,) plaster stone -, and ochre, bitumen, mineral, 
salt and alum. 

IV. Tlie strata of mountains, which are lower and 
of more recant date, or formed by recent accidents, 
aometimes appear to rest upon, or to take their rise 
from ^be sides of primitive mountains, which they 
surround, and of which they form the first steps in 
the ascent 5 and tiiey end by being insensibly lost i^ 
the plains. The strata of recent mountains are not 
always similar as to number and thickness -, some 
are only a quaiter of an inch thick, otliers nacMre thas 
ten feet. In some places, thirty or forty beds sue 



ceed MbCb otljyn ; in otibicvfe, only thvct or four. Ac- 
covdiiietoM.IiekmuQ(A9 tbeloweflft stratiim iaahroys 
"pit eoa^ TCslfaig oa a coane iroa grarel c»r sancL Abavo 
the pit coal are strata of ftlate> whistiis, &c. &€* th« 
iq^per part of the strala ia ocenpled by Mme sUme and 
salt i^Nrings. 

It has been freqoMoaAf temutktd that the ea§t side 
of a mountaia rvnning from north to soatii, ia eompa- 
ratlv^ loWy slqphig off into aa aartensivie fdainy while 
the west side Is lo^, vaggedy and broken. Those 
which stretch flrom east to west kk their kagth, have 
their south side steeper thaa their aorth. 

Baron Htanboldt has pointed out a strikiag diffnr-' 
ence between the fomatioa of the monatains in the 
ea3tem and western hemisphefea. Moat Blaac and 
others of the highest Alps, rear theor peaks of grani^ 
above the doada : bnt in Ameriea, " the newest 
floetztnq>, brwhinstone, which in Europe, appears 
cmly in low monntains, or at the foot of those c^ great 
magnitude, covers tiie mightiest heights of the Andes. 
Chimboraqo and Antlsana are crowned by vast walls 
of porphyry, rising to the height of €000 or 7000 
^ feet j whDe basalt, which, in our ccmtineBt, has never 
been observed higher than 4000 teet, is, on tiie pin- 
nacle of Pichincha, seen rearing aloft its crested sfteqM, 
like towers amidst the sky. Other secondary forma- 
tions, as limestone, with its accompaniment of petrified 
shells and coal, are also found at greater h^hts in 
the New than in; the Old Worlds though the disqpro- 
portion is not so remarkable/* 

Of all the phenomena to which mountamooa regions 
are subject, those of volcanoes are the most awful 
and suldime. They are not common to all mountains, 
but restricted to certain regions, where the convul- 
sions they occasion occur at im^pplar intervals } as 
. longer or shorter periods are requked for preparing 
those immense masses of ignited materials and rivers 
of liquid fire, which commoi^ attend their fearftd 
eruptions. When' the phenomena occur beneath the 
sea, the substances thrown up sometimes rise above 
the surface of the waters, and form rocks and islands ; 
as in the case of the Azoten, Stromboli, and the San- 
torin islands. The situation of these terrific yet sub- 
lime features of nature is strikingly contrasted in the 
two hemispheres. In the Old World, they are chiefly 
foimd in islands and peninsular extremities; in the 
New, they are spread through the very heart of the 
continent Some exceptions mast however be made to 
this general rule. The principal chains of Europe, 
Asia, and Africa, also are destitute of volcanoes ; but 
in America, many of the most stupendous ranges pre- 
sent an almost uninterrupted blaze. Nor are the 
substances thrown out by both series of volcanoes al- 
ways alike : besides the common lava and stones of 
the European and Asiatic volcanoes, those of America 
throw up scorified clay, carbon, sulphur, and water, 
accompanied^ in some instances, by numbers of boiled 

The number of volcanoes at present known, accord- 
ing to Professor Jameson, is 1 95, distributed as follows: 

European ooniineat . 1 

i — islands . • 12 

Asiatic continent . . 8 

Asiatic islands . , 
American continent 



' No volcano has yet bead discovered oa the continent 
of Africa ) but most of its msolsr groups are distin* 
gaished by such phenomeaa. Th^e the Professor 
has omitted ia hia e^mate. 

The sommita of very high mountains^ evoi in the 
wannest climates, ate constantly covered with frozen 
snow, in consequence of the great rarefaction of the 
air. The line where perpetual frost commeaces, is 
not the same in all countries ) being lowest towards 
the poles, and highest under the equator. At the 
poles it ia level with the sur&ce of Ae eaitii } from 
theace it rises in a curve to the altitude of 15,744 feet 
at the eqaator. Heace, ia some conatries, places are 
not only habitable, bat even pleasant and comfortable 
at elevations, where, under olber latltuides, neither 
animal aor vegetaUe 1^ coakL exist, by reiMton of 
the intensity ^ the unremitting frost Hie lowest 
line of perpetual snow, under the equator, is, as al- 
ready stated, 15,744 feet above the level of the sea. 
In hititude 49« N. it is kiwered to 15,040 fec^; in 
latitude 43o to 46^ it descends to 8,640 feet, or 908 
feet below the levd of the city of Quito, at die eqaa- 
tor, and no less than 4808 feet, (upwards of three 
quarters of a mile) lower than the inhabited fbrm of 
Antisana, in ^le same quarter. The city of Mexiceg 
at an devation a£ 7472 feet, is inahot dfenate, whiclk 
ripens all the tropical fruits, as pine-apples, oranges, 
&C. I yet in Sweden, the line of perpetual snow de- 
scends to 5 184 feet, and in Norway, to 4480 feet : ^he 
miedinm of the two being half a mile below the tem- 
perature of the more elevated Mexican territory. 

The limits of perpetual snow in different hititudes. 
Ibid down by M. Humboldt, are as follow : 

Under the equator, and thence to 3<* N. & $ 15,500 

At 30<» of laUtttde . « . . 12,194 

35 ... . . 11,500 

, 40 ...... . 10,200 

45 . • • . • 8,136 

In Switzerland • u • • 8,033 

On the Pyrenees .... 7,853 

Above 76« of N. latitude at the level of the sea. 

General View of the Motmtains, 

The annexed pkte exhibits a comparative view of 
some of the principal mountains, of which the heights 
have been ascertained. The summits are numbered 
for convenience of reference; and the heights are 
shown by a scale on the left hand, in thousands of 
iteet. In this scale, the line below 1 denotes the level 
of the sea } the line above the figure represents a per- 
pendicular elevation of 1000 feet. The next line, 
above 2, indicates 2000 feet -, and so of the rest, to 
the head of the print, when 27,000 feet, or rather 
more than five miles and a quarter, terminates the 
scale. By applying a ruler, or a slip of paper, with 
an even edge, across the print, parallel to the top or 
bottom, the height of any given mountain may be 
ascertained, by noting where the ruler or slip cuts the 
scale. Or to find a point mentioned in the descriptioa, 
lay the ruler on the scale at the number incycative 
of the given thousand of feet, and it will pass over 
or near fiie figure of reference on the mountain. Some 
places, also, having remarkable elevations, are marked 
a, b, &c., and may be discovered in the same way. 


The Asiatic mountains, most of which run in im- 
mense chains, may be considered in the following 

1. The Poyas or Ural chain, which partly separates 
Great Tartary from Europe, extending from the source I 
of the liver Kara to the northern shore of the Aral lake ( 

and branching on the south-east, under different 
names, till it joins the Altaic range. 

2. The Altai chain, divided into Great and UtUe. 
The Great Altai ranges across Mongolia, and includes 
mounts Arak, Mousart, and Bogdo j the Little Altai, 
to the north of the Great chain includes Uluk, Tag, 




fiereka, and Savamen mountains, and separates In- 
dependant Tartaiy and Siberia*from Minjolia. 

3. The Stanovoi mountains, which stretch along 
the north-east extremity of Asia, from lake BaikaL 

4. The range of Cwcasus, of remote fisune, ex- 
tends between the Caspian and Black seas : height of 
the principal summit, mount Elboors, near the source 
of the Kuban, 16,800 feet. From these mountains, 
branches diverge to the south, and connect them with 
the chain of Mount T\xaru8, which runs from east to 
i^rest nearly through the whole of Asia Minor. At 
the eastern extremity of the Tauridian chain, another 
range extends under various denominations, into 
Persia, and thence nearly parallel to the northern 
shores of the Persian gulf. 

4. Mount Ararat, cdebrated as the resting place of 
Noah's Ark after tiie Deluge, rises on the Persian 
frontier, and presents two insulated summits, the 
highest of which is about 9600 feet in height, and 
covered with perpetual snow 5 the lower parts are 
composed of a <kep moving sand. One side presents 
a vast chasm, tinged with smoke, from which flames 
have been known to issue. 

ib. The Mountains of Libanus, or Lebanon, the most 
noted chain in Syria, run nearly parallel with the 
eastern coast of the Mediterranean. The highest 

pomts, estimated at 9520 feet in hei^t, are between 
thirty and forty miles from the shore, and frequently 
covered with snow. Anti-Libamu is a detached chain, 
of inferior altitude, east of the former. 

6. The Himmakk, or Hmaloya Mountains, ftie 
abode of snowj considered as the most stupendoos 00 
the globe, separate Hindoostan from Tibet. Annrng 
the peaks, that of Kantel, in the province of Ijahore, 
is reckoned the higjhest in the world ; but ks altitade 
has not been measured : others have been estimated 
at from 25,000 to 27,000 feet above the level of the 
sea. The western part of this chain, which runs 
through the north of Caobul, is called Hindoo KooeJL 

7. The OhoMis, which run through the Deccan, and 
terminate at Cape Cormorin. 

8. Horeb and Sinai, two summits of the Bjebel-Moota, 
a mountainous ridge in Arabia P^trea. It was on Mount 
Sinai that the Almighty made a display of His glorj 
and majesty, in giving laws to His chc^en pec^^, Israel 

9. The ridge El Aredh, which runs througli Arabia. 

10. Adam's Peak, in the island of Ceylon, estimated 
at 7000 feet in height 

1 1 . Mount OpMr, in the island of Sumatra, situated 
nearly under the equator, is stated to be 13,842 feet 
in height ; and a volcano to the south of it, is com- 
puted to rise 12,465 feet above the level of the sea. 

References to the Plate. 

tlganoinAnaim. Mowiteiiit. 

1 Dhawala Giri, or White Mountain, near the 

sources of the Gondah Kiver 

2 Jewahir, or Himalay Peals, in the bend of the 

Sutlej ri?er .... 

3 Jamatura, or Jumoutri, on the Sutledga 

4 Black Peak ditto 

5 Various Peaks,yarying from 23,000 to 24,700ft. 
A Pass in the Mountains - , • • 

6 Buchrai Mountains .... 

7 Petcna, or Hamar . • . • 

8 Sochonda Mountains 

9 Melin Mountains .... 

10 Corea Mountains .... 

11 Parmesan . • • . • 

12 Moonakoah . . . . • 

13 Libanus, or Lebanon, noted for its Cedars • 

14 Ararat, or Ala-Dagh . , « 

15 Bvthinian Olympus, or Keshish-Dagh 

16 Ida, celebrated for the judgment of Paris 

17 Carmel, the place of Elijah's Appeal 

18 Tabor, or Mount of Tmnsfiguration , 

19 Mount Ophir 
SO A Volcano, south of Mount Ophir 

21 Italitzkoi 

22 Sea View Hill 

23 Bathurst Height * . 

24 Cunningham Mountains 

25 Awatscha, Volcano . 


Country, ae. 


Himalayan Chain 

. Tibet 



Jewahir, nor. of Delln. 









Gurwal & Badunath. 




















Isle of Banc^, 

Chinese Sea.^ ' 



Sandwich Isles. 



Asiatic Turkey. 

















Isle of Sumatra. 

Indian Ocean. 





Altaian Chain. 



Hastings River. 

New l&uth Wales. 








Asiatic Russia. 



NsZT to those of Asia, the mountains of America 
claim attention from their stupendous elevation and 
imposing features. Those which form the chain of 
the Andes, were long supposed to he the highest in 
the world ; hut recent ohservations have transferred 
this claim to the Himalayan chain, in the eastern 
hemisphere. The Cordillera de los Andes has, however, 
characteristics of a peculiar kind, calculated to strike 
the heholder with admiration and terror. Vast cata- 
racts hy which the water is precipitated down a per- 
pendictdar depth of 600 feet, into dark and frightful 
gulfs; tremendous volcanoes, in constant activity; 
some ejecting lava, others discharging vast quantities 
of hoilmg water, clay, and sulphur; and immense 
chasms, between 4000 and 5000 feet in perpendicular 

descent. Perpetual snow invests the tipper parts 
of the chain, forming a barrier to the ammal and 
vegetable kingdoms, "niis range is rich in mineral trea- 
sures, excepting only lead. Tliis enormous chain runs 
from north to south through the greater part of tiie 
American continent, at a distance from the shores of 
the Pacific Ocean, varying from 100 to 200 miles. 
Most of the other mountains are but branches of 
this range. Its height is not uniform : in some places 
it rises to upwards of 20,000 feet ; in others it siiiks to 
less than 1 000. Its breadth is about sixty mfles under 
the equator; about 150 in Mexico, and the same in 
Peru. In ChUi, the breadth is about 120 miles, and 
the summits rise to a tremendous height. To the 
north of the isthmus of Panama, it graduiedly smks tiQ 



H spreads itself itit6 1^ Vast plains of Mexico. The 
most elevated of its secondary chains stretdies along 
the northern coast of Columbia^ with summits from 
1 4,000 to 1 5,000 feet in altitude. The seccmd of these 
chains branches frtnn the main ridge between the third 
and sixth degree of south latitude, and extends towards 
the east to an unexplored extend though it has been 
traced for about 600 miles. A third lateral branch 
makes a kind of semicircular sweep, and uppeBxs to 
connect the main body of the Andes with the moun- 
tains of Brazil and F&raguay, which present features 
neariy similar. The Cm^UUra of Mexico is considered 
as a continuation of the Andes of the southern conti- 
nent ', which, notwithstanding its lowness in the isth- 
mus recovers a considerable height in the province of | 

Guatimala, where its ridge is jagged With volcanic 
cones: these are the Jpacana Mountains, Farther 
north, the crest takes the name of Sierra Madre, and, 
gradually expanding in breadth, at last divides into 
three branches, <^ which the western is called the 7b- 
pian MauniainB. Of these, the Stony Mountaim and 
Rockif Mountmni, which s^mrate the western territory 
of the ynited States from Missoury^are acontinuation. 
The most known of the mountains of North America, 
are those of the Apalachian or Alleghany chain, which 
stretches frx>m the south-west of theUnit^ States, near- 
ly to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. This surpasses in 
length any European range, except the Norw^an ; but 
its highest summits do not exceed 3000 or 4000 feet 

figure of 





MowitMbif. Sttaatkm. 

Chiinboraco • . highest point <^ tbo Andes. 

Antisana, Volcano .... Ditto. 

Cotopaxi, Volcano • • . Ditto. 

Pass in the Mountains • . . Ditto. 

Sangai, or Mecas, Volcano • • . Ditto. 

Sindialahna • . • Ditto. 

Tunguragua Volcano • . . Ditto. 

Imbabora, Volcano, frequently ejecting fish- Ditto. 

Sierra Nevada, de Santa Marta . . Ditto. 

Duida, Volcano . • • Ditto. 

Bergantin Mountains . . Ditto. 


Blue Mountains, highest summit, North Peak 
Souffri^re, Volcano • 
Mount l^Usery 


Peaks of the Topian Ridgt^ . 

Rocky Moimtaiiis ^. 

Agiochoohook, or White Mountains, visible on 

Xandy at the distance of 80 miles 
Allegany Mountains • « 

Potatoe Hills 
Mount St Elie 
Popocatenetl, Volcano c 

Jonillo, Volcano J 


New Hampshire. 

New York. 






Cimntry, ftc 












St Vincent's. 
St. Kitt's. 

United States 
























Africa has some extensive chains of mountains^ 
bat the altitudes of only a few have been ascer- 
tained. The Gebel Tedh, or AtUu of the ancients, 
extends through more than half the breadth of the 
northern part, and some of its summits, which are 
covered with perpetual snow, are about 12,050 feet in 
he^ht. South of the Great Desert, is the JSToii^ range, 
which stretches from Cape Yerd to about the fourth 
or fifth degree of east longitude; but they have never 
been fully explored. Ci^tain Clapperton, in 1826, 
crossed a'portion of this ridge, above Benin, and 
thinks the highest part in that quarter did not exceed 
2500 feet. On the opposite side of the continent, in 
parallel latitudes, lies Abyssinia, a country of moun- 
tains, among which are Geeii, 15,000 feet; Amid- 
Amid, 13,000 feet; and Xa Mahnon, 11,200 feet. 
South-west of this are Uie Gebel Kumri, or Donga 
Mountains, (the Mountains of ike Moon of tiie old geo- 
graphers) which are supposed to extend westward to- 
wai^ the Kong Mountains of Guinea. TheSierrade 
Lupata, on the south-eastern coast, i^pears to reach 
from Cape Guardafui to the Cape of G<x>d Hope. In 
the southern promontory, or that part which may be 
calledBritish, are three graeit and almost parallel Chains, 
with numerous branches. The first, or southern 
range, called Lange Kloof, or Long Pass, runs paralM 
to &e coast, at a distance varjring frtnn twenty to 
sixty miles, wid^iing as it approaches the west. North 

of this is the second range, called Zuforte Bergen, or 
Black Mountainfynfldch runs higher, and is more rugged 
than the former, and composed, in some places, of 
double and triple ranges. To the north-west of this, 
at an interval of 80 to 100 rmie8,iaNieuweldtBerg,ihe 
highest chain of Southern Africa. Its summits, 
upwards of 10,000 feet high, are usui^y covered with 
snow. Besides these principal ranges, others diversify 
the immediate vicinity of the Cape of Good Hope. 
Behind Cape Town is Table Mountain, 3582 feet above 
the Bay, consisting of a stupendous naked rock, 
two miles in length. The Devifs Mountain on one 
side, and False Lion'M Head on the other, are but con- 
tinuations of the same ridge ; the former is an irre- 
gular pointed mass, 3315 feet in height ; the latter 
resembles a dome, and is computed to rise 2160 feet 

The African islands have also their remarkable 
mountains. Madeira consists of a group of moun- 
tains, many of volcanic origin, rearing their heads to 
the height of 5000 feet. In the Canaries is the cele- 
brated Peak of Teneriffe, 12,358 feet high. In the 
Ci^ de Yerd islands, the Peak of Fuego rises 9790 
feet Diana's Peak, the loftiest m St Helena, is 
neariy 2700 feet in height Madagascar is inter- 
sected through its whole length by a lofty range 
of mountains, the highest points of which have be^ 
estimated at 10,800 feet The island of Bourbon 
may be said to consist of two volcanic mountains, of 



which the krgear one ii extiiict, but the smaUer^ 
towards the soath, is stiU active^ and aerves as 
a light-house to maiinen: its height is abovt 

7>680 fost. The norAem part of jhe isiaiitf is 
lofty y and here we meet with GrOB Monm, 
10,240 fetk 



Qeesh, iiiglieBt point . 

Taranta » 

Peak of Teneriffb « 
Ruiro Peak . 

Table Mountain « 

Yokano . « 




• • 




• • 

Tarante Range. 



« . 


Canary Isles. 


• • 




St Helena 

Atlantic Ocean 



Nieuweldt Bar. 

South Africa 


• « 

.near Cape Town. 



* * 

Xsle of Bouzbon. 





The most . celebrated ranges of monntains in this 
division of the globe, are: in the north-west the 
Scatkdinavian chain, sometimes called the Norwegian 
Alps, partly separating Norway from Sweden j in the 
north-east, the Uralian Mountains, whica in part form 
the boundary between Enrope and Asia ; towards the 
centre, the Carpathian range, in the Austrian dominions ; 
in the south, the Alps, between France and Italy ; the 
Pyrenees, between France and Spain ; and the Apenines, 
which run through the whole length of Italy. 

In the Scandinavian, or Ko^len chain, are hills 
rising more than 7000 feet; which, added to their 
northern situation, clothes them with perpetual winter, 
though, in point of elevation, they are inferior to the 
Pyrenees. Forests of pines clothe their sides to a 
certain height; and they contain marble, iron, copper, 
and other usefld minends. They extend above a thou- 
sand miles, from north to south. The central and 
highest point is SneehHttan, which, in latitude 62^, 
towers like a pyramid to the height of 8120 feet, of 
which 4000 are above the line of perpetual frost. The 
northern part of the chain gradually decreases in height, 
as it approaches the Arctic Ocean. The southern por- 
tion sends out branches which cross the broad part of 
Norway diagonally, in a south-west direction. Here 
we meet with the Glacier of Sogne-feld, at an eleva- 
tion ©f 7861. feet J the hills Folgefond, 7236 feet; 
Lang-feld, 7217 feet j and others of inferior altitude. 

The Uralian or Oural chain stretches over more 
than 1200 miles. The natives of its vicinity have 
bestowed upon it the pompoud epithet of Sempioi 
Pmas, ''The Girdle of the World." Its height, how- 
ever, is not proportioned to its length, the loftiest 
summits being generally under 5000 feet. The fol- 
lowing points, however, are stated to exceed that 
average : Tanagai, 9000 feet ; Komsche/skoi, 8132 feet; 
Pmtdin$koi, 6631 feet. The greater portion of this 
chain is covered with forests ; the central parts abound 
in mitierala and metaUic ores ; the richest nunes are 
on the Asiatic side. 

The Carpathian or Krapac Mountains extend from the 
southern point of Silesia, to the north and east of 
Hungary, sending out branches to Transylvania and 
Walachia. The whole length of this chain is about 
500 miles : its highest summits are from 8000 to 9000 
feet J and but few of them attain that elevation. 
Among the former ones, the Peak of Lamnitz, 8870 
feet ; Krivam, near Crenmite, 8034 feet ; Pietr$§g, in 
the north-east of Hungary, 7273 feet. These moun* 
tahis have neither glaciers, nor any feature of perpe-* 
tual winter i but are clothed with extensive forests, 
particularly of pines and firs. They contain a yariety 
of minerals. 

The Alps, the highest and most celebrated moun* 
tains of Europe, derive their name fix>m a Celtic word, 
signifying high. They divide the north of Italy from 
Germany, fVanoe, and Switaerland, stretching like a 
ONioe&t £poin the Oulf of Genoa to the head of the 

Adriatic. The length of the chain is about 600 miles, 
^ad its breadth, in some places, exceeds 100 ; the 
whole comprising variojus branches, brokoa into lofty 
peaks, and divided from each o^her by narrow valleys 
and dreadful chasms, several thousand feet deep. In 
many places the mountains seem like rocks piled upon 
rocks, till thehr summits, reaching above the clouds, 
resemble islands enierging from the ocean. These 
are from 4000 to 1 2000 feet above the level of the sea. 
The most rugged parts of this chain are between Savoy 
I and the Yalais, anaong which, Mont Blanc, the mo- 
narch of the group, rears its lofty head to the height 
of 15735 feet, and is visible at Dijon and Langres, a 
distance of 140 miles. From these elevations some 
of the principal rivers of Europe derive their origin, 
in sources which are often above the clouds. The 
lower parts of the inountains, generally, abound in 
woods and pastures remarkable for their fertility. The 
middle region^ are the summer resort of herdsmen 
and shepherds, with their cattle and flocks : the upper 
region is chiefly coqiposed of rugged and inaccessible 
rocks, clad in perpetual mow. Many parts of the 
middle regions are- subject to tremendous snow- 
stormsv which, in a few hours, fill the ravines, des- 
troy the distinction! between paths and precipices, 
cover villages' and bury the inhabitants* In summer 
the thpnder bursts with dresidfid fury upon these 
mountains, and is accompanied with violent hail- 
stonns, Anaong the gentler declivities of the moun- 
tains, especially the Swiss portion of them, are lodged 
immense masses of iOB, exhibiting the most fantastic 
and picturesque fbrms : — these are the glaciers, which 
resemble so many stonny seas suddenly frozen. Their 
thickness varies from one to six hundred feet. Among 
these mountains are the points St. Bernard and St. Go- 
thard, on each of which are an hospital for the accom* 
modation of travellers, and a convent for monks. The 
convent of St. Bernard (a), on the frontier of the Ya- 
lais, is the highest mhahited spot in Europe, bdng 
8606 feet above the level of the sea ; but the moun- 
tain rises 2400 feet above this. The convent of St, 
Gothard {b), in the canton of Uri^ is at an elevation 
of 6900, or, according to some computations, 7320 
feet, above which the mountain rears its head, covered 
with eternal snow and ice, 2175 feet. 

Next to the Alps in celebrity are the Pyrennees, 
which extend firom the Bi^y of Biscay to the Medi- 
terranean, forming a natural barrier between France 
and Spain. The l^ghest peaks are near the middle 
of the chain, and are about 11000 feet above the 
sea level. The composition of these .mountains 
differs fipom that of the Alps, which is solid rock ; 
but the Pyrennees are calcareous, and contain large 
masses of sea shells and other marine matter. These 
mountains have their glaciers, and, in common with 
the Alps, are subject to those vast and destructive 
descents of snow denominated avalanches. 

The Apeaiata branch pff frcoii that extr^mi^ of tbt 



idpu iMrUch verges on' the Gulf of Genoa^ and ttctaid 
thro«ig)i the whole of Italy. Taiious brandies ex- 
tend on either side, but no part of the ridge attains 
any considerable elevation. The hi^est point of the 
Apenines is l^t of Monte Como, called U Sasso 
Grandci^ in Abmzzo^ 10199 feet : next to this is 
Monte TeUino, north of Lake Celano^ 8397 fbet U 
Cimone, in the Duchy of Modena^ 6971 feet^ is the 
highest summit of the northern Apenines ^ it is insu- 
lated^ and its base is twenty-five miles in circuit. 

Besides these prindpal chains of mountain^i there 
are others of less note in Europe^ as the Vosges and 
Cevennes, in France, the highest of which are about 
6000 feet J Jura, between France and Switzerland, 
averaging the same height | the Sierra Morena, and 
Calabrian mountains, in Spain, among which last are 
points rising from 7000 to nearly 10000 feet 3 and 
the ridge of the Hasmus, in European Turkey, from 
6500 to 7500 feet 

58 Mont Blanc . 

59 EoM , 

60 Cenis 

61 St. Bernard 

62 Simplon 

63 St Gothafd 

64 Brenner 

65 Chasseral 

66 Viio . 

67 •^— 11 Cimoae 

68 Mont Perdu 

69 Pic d'Arbizon 

70 Pic de Montaigne 

71 OerUes Spitze 

, AlpB. 

• Ditto. 

. Ditto. 

. Ditto. 

. Ditto. 

• Ditto. 

. Ditto. 

. Jura. 

f Alps. 


« Apenines. 


, Ditto. 



^ Ditto. 


t TjTOl. 

Reference to 
















the Plate. 

Fig. of leC Moantelns. 

72 Malhacen, in ISpa^ 

73 JEtna, Volcano ^ ., 

74 Terglmi, in^Aastriar«« 

75 Panda, in 



Olympus, reputedseat otJvyiter. (jrreece. 

SitOAtion. Height tnM 

Sierra Ke?ida. 11,670 

. C^miola. 

Oural Chain. 

VesuTiiM, Ydcano 

Hecla, Volcano , , 
Stromboli, Volcano . 
Vauclose, the seat of Petrardi^ 

Fountain • . 

Gibraltar, highest fununit of 

the Rock ^ ^ 

Montmartre « . ^ 





Near Paris. 






Ths mountains of England^ if less stupendous than 
those of the continent^ are not inferior for their pic- 
turesque beauties. Tlie highest summits are on the 
west side of the country ^ and the princ^Mdity of 
Wales is properly denominated a mountainous r^on^ 
though its most lofty summit^ Snowdon, does not 
rise 4000 feet above the sea. 

The grand chain of England commences in Cumber- 
land^ and extends in a series of groups^ rather than 
a connected range^ into Cornwall^ only interrupted 
by the low grounds of Lancashire and Cheshire^ and 
the hollow of the Bristol Channel^ by which it is 
divided into three portions, the Northern, Middle, 
and Southern ridges. The tot of these, rising a little 
to the south of Cariisle, spreads over a considerable 
part of Cumbeiiand, Westmordand^ the east of Lan- 
cashire, and the west of Yorkshire, with one branch 
stretchhig into Derbyshire, and another to the west 
of Durham. These mountains are of various shapes 
and forms^ generally broken into pointed masses, 
and united at their bases only. In many cases the 
peaks are separated by beautiful lakes, as in Cum- 
berland and Westmoreland, llie hi^est . of these 
peaks, called Sea Fell, is 3166 feet, the lowest, named 
Calf Hill, is 2188 feet above the ocean. 

The second, or middle ridge, called the Cambrian 
range, is less rugged, but more towering and massy, 
than the Northern. The principal part extends 
towards the south, through Carnarvonshire, Merion- 
ethshire, and Cardiganshire, declining in elevation as 
it passes through the latter county, and approaches 
the borders of South Wales. The highest svlmmit is 
Snowdon, which, rising to the altitude of 3571 feet, 
is the chief of a range composed of various piles 
heaped one upon another, and surrounded by other 
points of nearly equal altitude. From Snowdon the 
chain deelines both ways, sinking gradually on the 
eastern side to the charming scenery of the Shrop- 
shire hiUs, where the Wrekin, rising far above the 
neighbouring summits, seems, when viewed in per- 
spective, to stand in an elevated plain: its height 
is 1320 feet. The range continues nearly south to 
Cardiff, sometimes diverging towards the west, and, 
though deprived of much of its Alpine chaiacter, 
still preserving enough of it to render the country 
mountainous. Like the northern part^ it dedines 

towards the east, and forms the hills c^ Hereford. 

The third, or Devonian range, is s^Morated from 
the Cambrian by the Bristcd Channel, and extends 
through paits of Qloocestershiie, Wiltshii^, S<»ner- 
setshire, Devonshire, and tbenoe to the Land's End, 
in Cornwall. This division is mudi inferior in hei^t 
to either of the former -, its greatest altitude being 
the mountains of Dartmoor, and its most elevated 
points in that quarter are'Cawsand Beacon, 1792 
feet, and Pippin Tor, 1549 feet. * In Cornwall the 
two highest summits are ^rown.Willy, 1368 feet> 
and Cavraton Hill, 1,208 feet. Ihe Malvern Hills, 
rising from the vale of the Severn, run through 
Worcestershire and part of Gloucestarshire, sending 
branches into Herefordshire, but they do not at- 
tain an elevation of 1,500 feet. In the same nei^- 
bouihood are the Cotswold and Stroudwater Hills, 
extending over mcHne thim 300 square miles. 

Hampshire and Sussex are divendfied with a range 
of chalk ridges, called Downs, neiuiy fifty miles in 
length, and from five to t^n miles broad. Another 
rid^ runs through Surrey uid Kent, and the Chiltem 
HiUs form an upland tract in^the counties of Hert- 
fcnrd, Buckingham, and Oxford. 

In Scotland the mountains rise,. in some places, to 
a greater height than in England. The Grampian 
Hills, stretching westward from Aberdeenshire to 
the Atlantic, constitute the southern boundary of the 
Highlands. They are composed of various groups 
generally rising fh>m 1500 to more than 4000 feet 
above the se^ level. In the western part of this 
chain -are Ben Neyb, the highest mountain qf 
Great Britain, with its snow-capped head, 4358 
feet; Ben Lawers, 3978 feet /Ben More, 3844 
feet; Schehallien, 3673 feet; Cruacken-ben, 3390 
feet; and Bai Lomond, ^240 feet. The Pentland 
Hills, south of Edinburgh, are more remark- 
able for picturesque scenery than mountainous 
features; their greatest altitude is about 1750 feet. 
The Cheviot Hills, ccmstitute part of the boundary 
between Scotland and England : they are connected, 
at the south-west extremity, with the Lead Hills, a 
range which stretches westward from the borders of 
the two countries, and of which the principal summit 
is Hart Fell, nearly 3300 feet in height. 

In the north of Scotland the mountains seldom 



ftssnme the character of regular ranges- or groups. I ''«*''j5_.,Jf**?*^i^ n/ ^' • "5?^^^ * 
•Pk«. A..^^,.*!^ ^««o;.* 'ir.f AM^rC^JT^nu oJL^La Gfcatert alutude ol pmej! u the torria zone 

They frequently consist "bf detached hills, separated I 
by narrow g^ens. Ben Wyvis, in Ross-shire, rises to 
the height of 3720 feet, and, with some others in the 
same district, is generally topped with snow. Tlie 
highest summits of the ridge which separates the 
south-east of Caithness from Sutherland, and termi- 
nates at Ord Head, called by sailors ti&e Paps of 
Caithness, rise from 1250 to 1930 feet 
; Many of the mountains in the isle of Skye are 
computed at 3000 feet above the level of the sea ; and 
in the isle of Jura, which is itself a mountain, some 
of the hills, called Paps of Jura, are more than 2400 

Ireland, though, generally speaking, a flat country, 

is not entirely without its mountainous regions. 

Wicklow consists of an as9em))lage of m'ouiitains, 

connected with a ridge which divides WexfoM from 

that county . and^ Qarlow.' Among the Wicklow 

mountains are— Lugnaguilla, 3070 feet 5 R^pure, 

2527 feet; Djouca, 2392 feet; Cadeen, 2158 feet; 

Sneechon, 2150 feet. The eastern coast of Ddnegal, 

likewise, presents a mountainous ai^;)earance,.and a 

chain runs inland 'Mm Tillbn Head.^ Mangerton, n 

peak in the chain,>outh-west of the Lake of Killamey, 

is 2693 feet high ; and Slieve Donnard, the ^highest 

summit of the Moume mountains, in the county of 

Down, is 2786 feet. In the county of Kerry is a ridge 

called M'GHUkmdd/s Rocks ; the highest point of 

which is supposed to exceed 3000 feet. . Some of the 

detached mountains are of a great height: such as 

Mount Nephin, in Mayo; 2630 feet; and .Croagh 

Patrick, on the south^Eust of Clew Bay, 2.640 feet 

q Ditto of trees, the pln% excepted 

r Ditto of oaks . 

8 Qaito, citjr of, in S. America • 
t • Mine of Real del Monte, in Mexico 

T Falls of Niagara, in N. Ainerica 

n Highest nowth of Peravian bark Z 

X Ci^ of Mexico • 



Fi;. of ret Monntaliis. 

83 BenNeris . « 

84 Cairn Gonn • 

85 Snowdon 

86 Ben Lomond 

87 HelVcUin 

88 Skiddaw . • 

89 BenLedi 

90 Caderldris . 

91 Brecknock Beacon . 

92 Cheviot Hills 

93 Paps of Jura . 

94 Plynlimmon . • 

95 Peniland Hills 

96 Malrem Hills 

97 Arthur's Seat 

98 Beechy Head 

99 Dover Castle . 

100 Shooter's Hill 

101 Greenwich Obseriatoiy 

102 Goat Fell ... 

103 SaeaFeli 

- Sitofttion. 




Stirlingshire. ^ 



Perthshire. . 




Isle of Jura. 









Isle of Arran. 

Ise of Man. 

Height in feet 
' 214 

W£ST StranDj Sb^t. 1 832. 






1. The BiBLB Spelling Bdoa* ' 

2. The Bible Lesson Boca. 

3. AaaiDOM JENT of Bible Hisroar. 

4. Exeecisss in GkAMM ae; 






12. ExEECISES IN Natueal HfSToar* 

13. ExEECISES IN Botany. 

14. Readings in Histoet. 

15. Readings in BiOGEAPRr. 

16. Readings in Poetet. 

17. Readings in Science. 

18. Views op Nat.uee and Sotisty. — I. A Morning oa 
the Mountains. > ^ 

19. Scenes and Sketches from British Histoby, Vol. L 

20. Sadoc and Mi rum, a Jewish Tale. 

21. A System of Geography. 

22. Ancient History. 

23. A HitfTORY OF Mohammedanism. 
24.' A System op Natueal Philosophy. 

25. A Histoet op England. , 

26. Biography op Sacred Poets. 

27. The Zoology of the Bible. 

28. The Botany of the Bible. 

29. The Geography of the Bible. 

30. Oeioinal Sermons, by the most distingoisred litimo 
Bishops and Pastoes of the Chvbcb, fiited to be 
read in Families. 

31. Sunday Exercises on the Collects. 


Sereral of these Works form |Murts of Scri^ which will be s 
continued from time to time. 

Thefollowmg remarkable eievaiunu have been introduced upon 
tMpUtey at avractical elucidation of the detcriptive part 
of Aii Essay f by means of comparieon. 

Letofnt. Height to feet 

CoRTcnt of St Bernard (above the line of snow) 8,606 
Convent of St. Gothard . . . 6,900 

Lake Lucon, in Switzerland . . . 6,220 

Lake of Lucerne, ditto • • . 1,380 

Lake of Genera ditto . . • 1,207 

Line of Perpetual Snow in Scotland . ... 3,750 
Edinburgh City .... 443 

London, St. PauVs Cathedral . . . 400 

Daba, near the source of the Stitledj, in Tibet 15,700 
Manasarooa Lake, in Tibet . . . 14,500 

Mihim Temple, near the source of the Ganges 1 3,000 
Highest Flight of the Condor on the Andes 21 ,000 
Ascent of Gay Lussac, at Paris, in 1804, the 

greatest height ever attained by a Balloon . 22,900 
I/>ngwood House, St. Helena , . . 2,000 

Pyramids of Egvpt . ! . . 475 

Greatest Altitude attained by Messrs. Hum- 
boldt and Bonpland, on Chimbora^o, in 1 802 1 9,400 
Farm of Anlisana, the highest inhabited spot 

on the Andes . . ^ 13,435 1 






Including the Suj^leroent, 




Sold by all Bookaellen and Ncw i Teadc w in the Kingdom. 

Hawkan and Dealer! in Periodical Pablieations supplied on wholmafe termf h) 

W.S.OKR, Patemoeter.Rowi O.BEROER, Holywell^.; A. DOUUUS, 
S7« Portmaa-«t. Portman-aq. London, 

And by the PabU*ber*s Agents in the following place* :— 

A herdem Brown and Co. 

Bath George. 

Birminakmm Langbridge. 

BrUtoi WesUey and Co. 

CmmbfUlge SteTeneon 

Cmrlialt Tbumanu 

Ckelmt/ord Oay 

CkdtenkMM/ Loreey. 

Cketter ...Seacomo. 

CkiekeMter Otorer. 

Colekttter Swinbocne ft Co. 

Vtrb^ Wllkins and Son. 

Deotipiri Byen. 

Dublin Curry Jon. ft Co. 

Dundet Shaw. 

JDurkam .Andrews. 

EUnkurgk Olirer and Boyd. 

Extter. .......... .Penny and Co. 

OUugon Griffin and Co. 

OhutuUr Jew. 


Hereford Child. 

Hull Wilson. 

LaneMtkire end I Bancks and Co 

CAevAtrv .5 Manchester. 

Lane End Watts. 

Leed* Robinson. 

Leieeeter Conbe. 

Liverwoal .Hughes. 

Uaeele^eid ....*■ BWMUci tuu • 
iVeivcasl/e.on-7>ne,Finlay ft ClmN 

ton; Bmpeon. 
Nattinalum ......Wiigfat 

iktfard Statter. 

PetHa Bennia. 

SkMd Ridge. 

SamhuTTf Brodie ft Co. 

Ehre m a lm f f Eddowes. 

Sunderland Marwood. 

wkiihff ......... .Rodgers. 

Iferceffer Deigbtoa. 

. . . .Bellerby. 

C. RioBaaD») PHnleffvJOO, St Martin'a Lane, Charing Cron. 


N^ 17. 




Abovt four miles to the eastvrard of Tideswell, after 
passing a succession of those dremy Derbyshire hiUs 
whose snrfw% of scanty grass is only broken by the 
lines of cheerless stone-wall boundnry which intersect 
them in every direction, the traveller will see before 
him a few patches of trees, above whost summits a 
smaJl, square, unobtrusive steeple peers over the Wild 
country. It is Eyam, which, though "little amongst 
the cities of the plain, and the thousands of Judah," 
hath a remembrance which shall not perish from the 
earth as long as the well-being of society shall be con- 
sidered as comiected with the influence "f a. fuithful 
minister over an attached and reepecting Aock. 

All who feel how vividly local association a can re- 
call scenes and events of past life, will enter fully into 
our views in selecting this retired spot, ut a moment 
when the pestilence which walketh in darkness, is 
again mysteriously hovering around our dwellings, and 
when the devotion of a Mompesaon mny again be called 
for, to Stand between the living and the dead, that the 
plague be stayed. It is with such feelings that wc 
present Eyam Church to the notice of our readers, 
confident that even our brief narrative will not be 
without its use ; and still more confident that he who 
should peradventure be induced, by our simple talc, 
to visit Eyam and its Riley Graves, will as he wanders 
amongst the precincts of its dead, recall with the vivid- 
ness of present impression the events of years long 
gone by, and strengthen feelings which may he power- 
fully caUed into action for a similarly fearful season, 
which he knows not how soon may be at hand. 
Vol. I. 

Towards the close of the autumn of 1663, a fen 
suspicions cases of sudden death excited a well- 
grounded fear, that the plague, which had been 
ravaging the Continent, had found its way into the 
metropolis. Winter however passed, and as the va 
riations in the bills of mortality were not very strik 
ing, it was hoped thot the disease, if luit entirely 
quenched, was at least of fn mild a nature, timt its 
progress would not exceed the usual bounds of those 
periodical infectious fevers which so frequently insi- 
nuate themselves amidst dense and dissolute popula- 
tions. But, as summer advanced, such hopes were 
found to be entirely delusive ; and, about the month 
of May, a decisive plague, with all its horrors, estab- 
lished itself, and continued with increasing fatality 
throughout the season. 

For a time it was chiefly confined to London and 
its neighbourhood, but gradually it extended itself into 
the country ; and towards the latter end of July, it 
was conveyed to the unfortunate village which is the 
subject of this narrative, in a box of woollen ihrthes. 
The tailor to whom they were directed was, together 
with his family, the immediate victim uf this fatal im 
portation ; and a few days sufRced to confirm the 
fact that the entire hamlet was deeply infected. A 
general panic ensued, and there was too much reason 
for supposing, that a fugitive population, hurrying in- 
stinctively to the neighbouring villages, would cajry 
with them the seeds of death, and that, far and wide, 
victims would be added to thp honrly increasing nant> 






At this eventM and awful crisis, the rector, William 
Mompesson, summoned the parish, and after ener- 
getically stating the case, and declaring his decided 
intention of remaining at his post, induced his hearers 
to adopt the measures he was about to propose, if not 
for their own preservation, at least for the more im- 
portant cause — the preservation of the surrounding 
country. With an ardent desire to save his wife and 
two children, and devote himself alone in this hazard- 
ous service, he entreated Mrs. Mompesson to depart, 
but without effect : she positively refused to quit him, 
and the children alone were removed to the care of 
some distant friends. From this moment, Eyam, like 
a besieged city, was cut off from the living world ; 
and to the zeal and fidelity of this ever-to-be-respected 
minister .was confided the present as well as eternal 
welfare of those who were about to prove to posterity, 
that devotion to their country as well as to their God, 
was combined in the truly Christian creed taught 
them by this reverend man. 

His first step was to write to the Earl of Devon- 
shire, then resident at Chatsworth, acquainting him 
with his intention, and pledging himself that if, 
through the Earl's influence, a regular supply of pro- 
visions could be daily placed on certain spots upon 
the adjacent hills, not a single parishioner would 
transgress the boundary ; and troughs or wells are 
still shewn, which were then filled with water, and 
placed at the boundary hue of communication, to 
receive and purify the money deposited in exchange ; 
and a small stream, which, it is said, supplied and 
replenished these reservoirs, was long known by the 
hallowed name of Mompesson's brook. 

The Earl fuDy appreciating such conduct on the 
part of the minister, entered warmly into his views, 
and, undeterred by the dread of infection, remained 
during the whole of its continuance, superintending 
the supply, and, by his personal influence and ex- 
ample, assisting Mr. Mompesson, whose next step 
was to impede the progress of the malady, by erect- 
ing small insulated huts, in airy and distant positions, 
to which the afflicted were with all due speed removed. 

Aware, moreover, that any assemblage of people 
breathing the same air under a confined roof, and 
coming into immediate contact with each other, must 
be highly dangerous, he closed the church, availing him- 
self of a nobler substitute, " not made with hands,'* 
— ^namely, a rock, projecting from the side of a steep 
hill, about half a mile from the village, in a deep and 
narrow dingle. This rock is excavated through in 
different directions, the arches being from twelve to 
eighteen feet high.f In the midst of this romantic 
dell, from one of those natural porticos, three times 
a week did he read prayers, and twice on Sundays 
did he address to his death-stricken congregation the 
words of eternal life. By his own immediate di- 
rection, they arranged themselves on the glassy de- 
clivity near the bottom, at the distance of a yard 
asunder. The spot is deservedly still held sacred, 
and known by the name of Cucklet Church. Can 
imagination conceive a more awfully affecting and 
impressive scene than the gathering together of such 
a congregation, listening to the word of tfuth, which 
alone could give them comfort, uttered by one ap- 
pointed to watch over and prepare them for that 
death which had now become the familiar companion 
of their solitude ? 

As the summer advanced, the ranks of this de- 
voted flock were rapidly thinned, though Mr. and 
Mrs. Mompesson had been hitherto spared. But 
the time was at hand when the one was to be taken 
and the other left. In the second week of August, 

She sirkrma — atvl tlic jtlagiic spot on her breast 
Rnvealud tne laUl tnitii ;— 


for, in the 27th yeaX' < ier age^ ^T^ng in lier hm 
band's arms, she wa^ f^^ ^ ^^^ eternal rest, Hei 
monument may still ^e g^en at no great distance 
from the chancel doot, — a plain raised slab, for- 
merly surrounded With iron rails, though none at 
present remain. 

It would appear, from the very crowded accumu- 
lation of graves in the church-yard, many bearing 
date 1 666, that for a ^me, at least, the dead w*ere 
deposited there in the usued manner, but probably 
the space was soon occupied, and it was found ne- 
cessary to inter the remainder wherever the relatives 
chose 'y for although now few memorials exist, within 
the memory of man, in several places, particularly 
in a small plot of ground close to the village, 
many grave-stones remained; but with an unpardon- 
able indecency and indifference, these sacred records 
of so interesting a period of parochial history, have 
been removed and appropriated to other purposes. 

About three years ago, a few skeletons were dis- 
covered beneath the flooring of a bam, evidently 
placed there as a matter of convenience, without 
coffins^ or any other perceptible coverings. Besides 
the church-yard and the small plot of ground just al- 
luded to, one other appears to have been a favourite 
burying-ground — It is called the Riley grave-stones, 
—on an elevated exposed hill, about half a mile 
from the village. Some years ago, numb^less little 
sepulchral mounds were visible, but they are all ob- 
literated, and nothing now remains to identify the 
spot, saving six head-stones and a tomb, memorials 
of a whole family, who, with the exception of one 
boy, were carried off in eight days. 

Soon after the death of Mrs. Mompesson, the dis- 
order began to abate, and in about two months 
m^ht be said to have entirely ceased. 

In a letter to John Beilby, Esq., dated Nov. 2()th, 
1666, Mr. Mompesson says : — 

** The condition of this pUce has been so sad, that I per- 
suade myself it did exceed all history and example : I may 
truly say that our place has become a Golgotha, — ^the place 
of a skull : and had there not been a small remnant of us 
left, * vve had been as Sodoma, and been made like unto 
Gomorrah.* My ears nerer heard, mj^ eyes never beheld, 
such ghastly spectacles. Now, ble&sed be God, all our fean 
are over ; for none hare died of the infection since the Utk 
of October, and all the pestrhouses have long been empty. I 
intend, God willing, to spend most of this week in seeing all 
woollen cloaths fumed and purified, as well for the satisfac- 
tion as the safety of the country 

'* Here has been such burnings of goods, that the like, I 
think, was never known : I have scarcely left myself appard 
to shelter my body from the cold, and have wasted more thia 
needed, mei-ely for example. As for m^ part, I cannot say 
that I had ever better health than dunng the time of the 
dreadful visitation ; neither can I say that I have had auy 
symptoms of the disease." 

The merits of Mr. Mompesson were rewarded by 
advancement in his profession. In a few years he 
obtained the prebendary of Southwell, and rectory 
of Earllring, in Northamptonshire. The deanery of 
Lincoln was next offered him ; but he declined it in 
favour of his friend. Dr. Fuller, to whom he had 
promised his interest, and for whom he obtained the 

In the church-yard stands a beautiful ancient 
cross, of which we give an engraving. Of its early 
history and original intention, nothing is known be- 
yond a vague tradition of its having been found on 
one of the neighbouring hills. It is at present in a 
very dilapidated state ; about two feet of the top of 
the shaft are wanting. Within the memory of man, 
this fragraental remnant was known to nave been 
thrown carelessly about the church-yard, as a stone 
of no value, until it was broken up by some rude 




hand, and knocked to pieces for domeEtic purposes. 
Slill, in its present blemisbed state, it is a relic of in- 
estimable value, of which the parishioners of Efam 
may well be proud : the more so, as its existence in 
its present situation is associuted with one of the 
dearest friends of humanity, the benevolent Howard, 
who, in the year before he last left England, visited 
Eyam, to examine the records of the Plague. He 
found it prostrate in the church-yard, and nearly 
overgrown with doclu and thistles. At his sngges- 
tioii, the top part of the cross was replaced on its 
imperfect shaft, and thus it has remained ever 
since. — Abridged from the British Magazixe. 

m E,MM fj 

cnminon errnr miileadi the opinion of mankind, 
:'i>nlly, aiillinri(f is pleasant, sii1>mission painful. In 
:d course of hani:u) aflaire, (he very reterse of 
rcT to die truth. Cummnnd is an:tieiy ; obedience. 

. — My passapje from Falmouth 

as ugrceahle enough \ but iit 

ilctB my voyage to Ln Guayra, I 

to B.irliailos, in the iiacket, »a» ugrceahle enough 

nrdef to coinnlctB my voyage to Lii Gi _ , 
9 Irausferred lo one of his majesty's midl boats, a diny 

is ielanil, in ordef ti 

liUJe schooncT, with a cabin til feet by six, scarcely a pint 
111* fresh water, and most untouchable provisions. These, 
however, were trifles. When vi6 got out to sea, I found ifiat 
Ibc c.-iptain of this gallant bark (which is entrusted with the 
conveyance of the mail from Barbados to LaGuayra, a voy- 
ai;e of about six days) never encumbered himself with 
either compass or quadrant. They have to much experience 
of the currents which prevail iu (bete seas, that they are never 
at a loss to find the north ; iodeiiendendy of which, tliey can 
hardly sail twenty-four hours on a slietch without milking 
tome one of the islands. Should both diese resources fail, 
ho"ever, tliey have one in reserve nhich never does. Each 
ishind in the West Indies has its pecuIiiH sea-bird . wherever 
tlie<« birds may wander during; the day, they invariably seek 
their own island al tumet; the captain, therefore, never fails 
to know from the diri^ction in which he sees a particidar bird 
fly, towards sun£et, where each island lies. 

The birds that build hanging nests are at Cape Connorin 
numerous. At night each of their little habitations is lighted 
up, as if to see company. The si^cious little bird fastens 
a bit of clay to the top of the nest, and then picks up a fire- 
fly, and sticks it on the clay to illuminate the dwelling, wliich 
consists of two rooms. Sometimes there are three or fou" 
fire-flies, and llieir hla^.e of light in the lilUe cell dazzles thi 
eyes o[ the bats, «hich often kill the young ot these birds. — 

Thb noise of the hoofs and bells of onr mules, and 
the clattering of the wheels, were silenced. The rapid 
progress of the Diligence ceasing suddenly, my body 
was thrown forward with my head against the panel. 
By the light of a lantern that blazed from the ti)p of 
the Diligence, I coidd discover that this part of the 
road was skirted by olive trees, and that the mules 
having come in contact with some obstacle to their 
progress, had been thrown into confusion, and stood 
huddled together as if afrmd to move. A single 
glance to the right gave a clue to the mystery. Just 
beside the fore-wheel of the Diligence stood a man, 
dressed In that wild garb of Valencia, which I had 
seen for the first time in Amposta. His red cap, which 
flaunted far down his back, was in front drawn closely 
over his forehead ; and his striped mantle, instead of 
being rolled round him, hung unembarrassed from 
one shoulder. Whilst his left leg was thrown forward 
in preparation, a musket was levelled in his hands, 
along the barrel of which his eye glared fiercely u]>on 
the visage of the conductor. On the other side, the 
scene was somewhat different. Vepe, our postilion, 
had abandoned the reins, and jumped from bis scat to 
the road side, intending to escape among the trees. 
Unhappy youth, that he should not have accomplished 
his purpose ! He was met by the muzzle of a musket 
when he had scarce touched the ground, and a third 
ruffian appearing at the same moment from the trea- 
cherous concealment of the very trees towards which 
he was flyiug, he was effectually taken and brought 
round into the road, where he was made to stretch 
himself upon his face, as had already been done with 
the conductor. 

I could now distinctly hear one of these robbers, 
for such they were, inquire in Spanish of the Mayoral 
as to the number of passengers ; if any were armed ; 
whether there was any money in the Diligence; and 
then, as a conclusion to the interrogatory, demanding 
the purse in a more angry tone. The poor fellow 
meekly obeyed. He raised himself high enough to ■ 
draw a large leathern pnrse from an inner pocket, and 
stretehing his hand upward to deliver it, said, "Toma 
nsted, caballcro, pero no me quita usted la vida!" 
— " Take it, Cavalier, but do not take away my life." 
The robber, however, was pitiless. Bringing a stone 
from a large heap collected for the repairs of the road, 
he fell to beating the Mayoral upon the head with it. 
The unhappy man sent forth the most, piteous cries 
for mercy and for pity. He might as well have 
asked pity of the stone that smote him, as of the 
wretch who wielded it. In his agony he invoked 
all those sacred names held in reverence by the 
pteople, and most likely to arrest the rage of the 
assassin. AH in I'ain : the murderer redoubled 
his blows, — until, growing furious in the task, he laid 
his musket beside him, and worked with both bands 
apon his victim. The cries for pity which blows had 
first excited— blows at length quelled. They had 
gradnally increased with the suffering to the most 
terrible shrieks, then declined into low inarticulate 
moans, until a deep drawn and agonized gasp for 
breath, and an occasional convulsion, alone remaineu 
to shew that the vital principle had not yet departed. 

It fared even worse with Pepe, though instead of 
the cries for pity which had availed the Mayoral so 
little, he uttered nothing but low moans, that died 
away in the dust beneath him. One might have 
thought that the extreme youth of the lad would have 
insured him compassion; but, no such thing. The 
robbers were doubtless of Amposta, and being knowa 
to him, dreaded discovery. When both the victims 
had been Tendered insensible there was a short pause, 


rOcTObkR I 

and a consnltation ia a low voice between the ruffians, 
who then proceeded to execute their plans. The first 
went round to the left side of the Diligence, and hav- 
ing unhooked the iron-ehoe, and placed it under the 
wheel as an additional security against escape, opened 
the door of the interior, and mounted on the steps : 
I could hear bim distinctly ntter a terrible threat in 
Spanish, and demand an ounce of gold ^m each of 
the passeogen. Tlus was answered by the Yalencian 
shopkeeper, who said they had not so much money, 
but what they had would be given willingly. There 
was then a jingling of purses — some pieces dropping 
on the floor in the harry and station of the moment. 
Having remained a short time at the door of the inte- 
rior, be did not come to the cabriolet, but passed at 
once to the rotunda. Here he used greater caution, 
doubtless from having teen the evening before at 
Amposta, that it coaiaiatd no women, but six young 
students, who were all stoat fellows. They were 
made to come down one by one from their strong 
hold, deliver their money and watches, and then lie 
flat upon their faces in the road. 

Meanwhile the second robber, after constdting with 
his companion, returned to the spot where poor Pcpe 
lay rolling from side to side. As he went towards 
him, he drew a knife fe>m the folds of his sssh, and 
having opened it, placed one of his naked legs on 
either side of hia victim. Pushing aside the jacket of 
the yoatfa, he bent forward, and dealt him repeated 
blows in every part of the body. The young priest, 
my companion, shrunk back shuddering into his 
comer, and bid his fac& •within his trembling fingers ; 
bat my own eyes seemed speU-bound, for I could not 
withdraw than ftom the cruel spectacle, and my ears 
were more aauible than ever. Though the windows 
at the front and sides were still closed, I conld dis- 
tinctly hear each stroke of the murderous knife, as it 
entered its victim. It was not a blunt sound, as of a 
weapon that meets with positive resistance ; but a 
hissing noise, as if the household instrument made to 
part the bread of peace performed unwillingly its task 
of treachery. This moment was the unhappiest in my 
life i and it struck me at the time, that if any sitoation 
could be more worthy of pity, than to die the dog's 
death of poor Fepe, it was to be compelled to witness 
his fate, without the power to aid him. 

Having completed the deed to his satisfaction, this 
cold-blooded murderer came to the door of the cabrio- 
let, and endeavoured to open it. He shook it vio- 
lently, colling to us to assist him ; but it had chanced 
hitherto that we bad always got out oa the other side, 
and the young priest, who had never before been in a 
Diligence, thotight from the circumstance that there 
was but one door, and therefore answered the fellow, 
that he must go to the other side. On the first arrival 
of these unwelcome visitors, I had taken a valuable 
watch from my waistcoat podut and slipped it into 
my boot ; but when they fell to beating in the heads 
of our guides, I bethought me that the few dollars I 
carried in my purse might not satisfy them, and re- 
placed it again, in readiness to be delivered at the 
shortest notice. These precautions, howeter, Vfere 
unneressary. The third rufTion, who hod continued 
to moke the circuit of the Diligence with his musket 
in his haiid, paused a moment in the road, ahead of 
us, aiid having placed his head on the ground, as if 
to listen, presently came and spoke in an under-tone 
to his companions. They stood for a moment over 
the Mayoral, and struck his head with the butt of the 
musket, whilst the fellow who had before used the 
Knife, returned to make a few farewell thrusts, — and 
!n aiiotlier moment they had all disoppcaivd from 
around us. 

In a subsequeD^ Psge, our author says, puor 
bropthed his last, ^OQat eight hours after the at 
long before his widowed mother could arrivi ' 
the eyes of her cbiid. The conductor, after _ 
a week, shared the fete of P«pe. The three robi 
were taken into custody. One of them was a nm 
of Peipignan, son to a man who had fbrmeriy kcfrt 
the inn where the Diligence put up in Amposta. The 
other two were natives of the town, and all wcrvj 
acquaintances of Pepe ; pOMibly, the very varlets who 
"were playing at cards beneath our window. My in- 
formant could not tell me whether the mnrderai 
were likely to sufier for their crime. The fact ot oik 
of them being a stranger rendered it probable ; but 
if they hod money to put into the hands of an neri- 
bono, or notary, to fee him and the judges wbo would 
be called to decide upon the case, or to buy an esc^ie, 
or as the last resort, if they could procure the inter- 
position of the clergy, they might yet go unpunished. 

Such is Spain i 

[_A Ytar ia Spain, bj a ycniDg AmericAo.] 



Which produce* the well-known spice used in fla- 
vouring various dishes, and making pickles, ia a na- 
tive of the West Indies, and is particularly culti- 
vated in Jamaica. The pimento trees grow spuita- 
neously, and in great abundance, in many parts of 
that island, but more particularly on the hills near 
the sea, on the northern side, where they form the 
most delicious groves that can possibly be imagined j 
filling the air with fragrance, and giving reality, 
though in a very distant part of the globe, to our 
great poet's description of those balmy galea which 
convey to the deUghted voyager — 

SmbHDodoDnfrgn tbfliptc7ihim 

Ct«rd with Oa (ntifiil uctl, dM Ootui milM. 

This tree is purely a child of nature, and seems to 
mock all the endeavours of man to improve or ex- 
tend its growth : not one attempt in fifty to remove 
the young plants, or to raise them from the seeds, in 
parts of the country where they are not found grow- 
ing spontaneously, has succeeded. 

The usual method of forming a new pimento plan- 
tation (in Jamaica it is called a toM,) is nothing 
more than to impropriate a piece of woodland in the 




neigbboarhood of a plantation already existing, or in 
a country where the Bcattered trees are foaad in a 
native state, tiie woods of which being fallen, the 
trees are sofiered to remain on the groond till they 
become rotten and perish. In the course of twelve 
months after the Gret season, abundance of yoting 
pimento plants will be found growing vigorously in 
all parts of the land, being without doubt produced 
from ripe berries scattered there by the birds, while 
the fallen trees, &c. afTord them both shelter and 

The trees blossom in June, July, and Angust, 
sooner or later, according to their situation and the 
different seasons for rains, and soon after the berries 
become fit for gathering ; the fruit not being suf- 
fered to ripen on the tree, as the pulp in that state, 
being moist and glutinous, is difficult to cure, and 
when dry, becomes black and tasteless. It is im- 
possible, however, to prevent some of the ripe berries 
mixing with the rest j but if the proportion of them 
be great, the price of the commodity ia considerably 

The fruit is called all-spice, from its taste being 
supposed to resemble that of many species mixed to- 
gether. It is gathered by the hand ; one labourer 
on the tree, employed in gathering the small 
branches, will give emplojrment to three below, (who 
are generally women and children,) in picking the 
berries ; an industrioos picker will fill a bag of 701bs. 
in the day. 

After the fruit is gathered, it is carefully separated 
from the twigs, leaves, and ripe berries, and exposed 
to the sun, from its rising to setting, for many days, 
being spread out on thin cloths, turned every now 
and then, and carefully preserved from the dews. It 
thus becomes wrinkled and dry, and from a green 
changes to a brown colour, and becomes fit for the 

The returns from a pimento walk, in a favourable 
season, are prodigious. A single tree has been known 
to yield ISOlbs. of the raw fruit, or one cwt of the 
dried spice, there being commonly a loss of weight of 
one third in curing ; but this, like many other of the 
minor productions, is exceedingly uncertain, and 
perhaps a very plenteous crop only occurs in five 


I HAVE jnst returaed from witnessing the triumph of 
Science in Mechanics, by traveUing along a hilly and 
crooked road from Oxford to Birmingham in a Steam 
Carriage. I enclose yon a hasty account of our jour- 
ney, and a sketch of this tmly wonderful machine. 
It is the inventdon of Captain Oglx of the Royal 
Navy, and Mr. Suuhers his partner, and ia the first 
and only one that has accomplished so long a journey 
over ehanet roads, and without rails. 

Its rate of going may be called twelve miles an 
hour, but fifty, or perhaps a hundred, down-hill, if 
not checked by the Break, a contrivance which places 
the whole of the machinery under complete con- 

The starting from Oxford was a grand spectacle. 
It was St Giles's fair day; therefore, all the popula- 
tion, including thousands from the surrounding vil- 
lages, thronged the streets, reminding the beholder 
of the multitndea at Juggernaut ; whilst the ponde- 
rous machine, like that idol's can appeared ready to 
crush its votaries. Care was, however, taken to 
make them understand the danger, and a passage 
being cleared, away went the splendid vehicle through 
that beauteous dty, at the rate of ten miles an honr, 

which, when clear of the faonseS, was accelerated to 
fourteen. Notice of the intended journey having 
been carried forward some days before, every town 
presented an appearance somewhat similar ; but it 
was not till it reached Birmingham, that real assis 
tance, as well as applause, was required, and wO- 
lingly was it granted. 

Just as the vehicle was entering the town, the 
supply of coke being exhausted, the steam dropped ; 
and the good people, on learning the cause, flew to 
the frame, and dragged it into the inn-yard of th« 
Hen and Chickens. 

OfU aW Summ' aitmm Cim^t. 

Ihnniih wLiich Uw 



Thx usual length of the Vampyre Bat is from n 
inches to a foot, and the extent of its wings sometir 
four feet and npwnrds. Its general colour is a deep, 
reddish brown. The head is shaped somewhat like 
that of a fox. The nose is sharp and black ; and the 
tongue pointed, and terminated by sharp prickles. It 
is a native of Guinea, of Madagascar, and the other 
islands in the Indian Ocean. 

The specific denomination of vampyre has been given 
by naturalists to this tremendous species of Bat, from 
the circumstance of its reputed propensity to suck the 
blood of men and animals during their sleep. There 
is, however, good reason to imagine, that this thirst 
for blood is not confined to a single species, but ia 
common to several of the large kinds of bats, which 
are inhabitants of hot climates. 

During the day-time these animals lie concealed in 
the hollows of decayed trees, or suspend themselves 
to the branches by their claws ; and toward the close 
of evening they issue forth in flights even more nume- 
rous than those of crows in Europe. We are informed 
by Hnch, in his qnaint style of writing, that "they 
hang to the boughs of trees, near Surat, in the East 
Indies, in such vast clusters, as would surprise a man 
to see i and the noise and squealing they make is so 
intolerable, that 'twere a good deed to bring two or 



[October i 

three pieces of ordnance, and scour the trees, that the 
country might he rid of such a plague." 

At Rose Hill, near Port Jackson, in New Holland, 
it IS supposed that more than twenty thousand of 
these animals were seen within the space of a mile. 
Some that were caught alive, would, almost imme- 
diately afterwards, eat boiled rice and other food from 
the hand ; and in a few days became as domestic as 
if they had been entirely bred in the house. 

The smell of these creatures is more rank and 
powerful than that of a fox ; yet the Indians eat them, 
and declare their flesh to be excellent food. 

In no material respect do the habits and economy 
of the Spectre Bats, natives chiefly of South Ameri- 
ca, and of some of the islands in the Pacific Ocean, 
appear to differ from those of the last species. 

Captain Stedman, whilst in Surinam, was attacked 
during his sleep by one of these bats -, and as his ac- 
coimt of the incident is somewhat singular, and tends, 
*n a very interesting manner to elucidate the fact, I 
shall extract it in the language of his own narrative. 
" I cannot," sajrs he, " forbear relating a singular cir- 
cumstance respecting myself, viz. that on waking 
about four o'clock one morning, in my hammock, 1 
was exceedingly alarmed at finduig myself weltering 
in congealed blood, and without feeling any pain 
whatever. The mystery, ^however, was, that I had 
been bitten by the Vampyre, or Spectre of Guiana, 
which is also called the Flying-Dog of New Spain : 
this is no other than a bat, of monstrous size, that 
sucks the blood of men and cattle while they are fast 
asleep, even sometimes till they die -, and as the man- 
ner in which they proceed is truly wonderful, I shall 
endeavour to ^ve a distinct accoimt of it. 

'' Knowing, by instinct, that the person they intend 
to attack is in a sound slumber, they generally alight 
near the feet, where, while the creature continues 
lanning with his enormous wings, which keeps one 
. ool, he bites a piece out of the tip of the great toe, 
J very small, indeed, that the head of a pin could 
jarcely be received into the wound, which is conse- 
quently not painful ; yet, through this orifice be con- 
tinues to suck the blood, until he is obliged to dis- 
gorge. He then begins again, and thus continues 
sucking and disgorging, till he is scarcely able to fly -, 
and the sufferer has been known to sleep from time 
into eternity. Cattle they generally bite in the ear, 
but always in places where the blood flows freely. 

These animals, it is said, will frequently hang to 
one another in vast clusters, like a swarm of bees. 
Mr. Foster assures us, that he has seen at least five 
hundred of them suspended, some by their fore, and 
others by their hind legs, in a large tree, in one of the 
Friendly Islands. — ^BiNGLfev's Animal Biography, 

The tenn Juooler, which is now used to denote persons who 
perform sViglit-of-hand tricks, was originally employed to 
designate the instrumental performers who accompanied the 
ancient trouhadours, or poet-musicians, of France, towards 
the close of the tenth century. It appears to be a corruption 
of ihe Latin word jocfdator, a jester, or droll, and was applied 
to them on account of the tricks and gesticulations which they 
exhibited. They were sometimes accompanied by monkeys, 
and in an order issued by King Louis, in the eighteenth cen- 
tury, respecting the toll payable on entering Paris, it is pro- 
vided that any juggler, arriving with a monkey, and making 
him dance before the toll collector, shall pass toll-free, to- 
gether with his monkey, and any thing he may have brought 
for his own use." From this circumstance arose the old 
French. proverb, payer monnoie de singe^ en gambades^ (to pay 
in monkey*s antics) : and hence, probably, the vulgar English 
plirase, ** Monkeys* allowance; more kicks than half-pence.'* 

He that runs against Time, has an antagonist not subject to 
casualties — Jounson. 



IV. — Principles of Bknsfit Societies. 

As the uncertainties of life are more numerous m 
proportion as life is more active, and as changes for 
the worse are often beyond the means of imnie. 
diate cure before they are felt as reverses, it become* 
the duty of every one to make provision against " the 
worst that may happen." The provision no-w under 
consideration is a money provision, and the object of 
Benefit Societies is to enable those to make or 
obtain that provision, who would otherwise be withoui 

In order that the Benefit Society may be produc- 
tive of the greatest good possible, the whole of the 
money paid into it should be devoted to those pnr 
poses of relief for which it is established 3 and which 
purposes, according to the provisions of the 10 Gm. 
IV, cap. 56, must be '^ sickness, infancy, advanced 
age, widowhood, or any other natural state or contin- 
gency, whereof the occurrence is susceptible of calcu- 
lation by way of average.** There should be no charges 
for management taken out of the funds, and that would 
make the office of Manager an honourable one — one 
to which members would aspire by seeking the respect 
of their fellows, which is not only an excellent prin- 
ciple in itself, but a principle friutful of other excel- 
lence. Charity, like knowledge, should be "propa- 
gated.** That which we scatter should be " the living 
seed '* of more, and it should be " adapted to the soil" 
Unfruitful bounties, like lumps of dead matter thrown 
about, rot and breed corruption and disease j and 
there are points in every man*s life, at which a fev 
judicious and encouraging words are, even in a money 
point of view, more valuable to him in the end, than 
handfuUs of gold. 

Equity is the main principle of every Benefit So- 
ciety. No member should pay more into it than he 
has the prospect, upon the average probabilities of hfe, 
and the other contmgendes for which it makes provf- 
sion, of getting back again, either by himself or by those 
representatives, for whose benefit he enters the society j 
and no member should pay less than that. The sums 
paid in should be reckoned in the same manner as if 
they had been saved and laid out at interest, the in- 
terest being added to the principal, yearly ot half- 
yearly. The payments are in fact an annuity at com- 
pound interest. If the period of payment is long, the 
sum to be received will very considerably exceed all 
the payments ; and the excess will be the greats the 
higher that the rate of interest is. 

If the pajonent out of the Society is to be recdved 
in a pension, it will be still greater than if the amount 
were paid in one sum at the time when the pension 
begins, as it will be the value of an annuity for the 
coming years at the commenceipent of those yesis, 
which is the sum of the annual payments less the 
discount. If the payments are monthly, or weddy 
the t)rinciples are still the same, only, as there are 
more payments, the calculation is a litfie more labo- 

Still, if life were a certain term of years, and the 
age of the person entering known, and the repayment 
one sum, payable at any period of life, or at its dose, or 
a pension commencing at any period of life, the cal- 
culation could easily be made so as to adjust the pay- 
ments and the return to each other with perfect 
equity. That, however, would not answer some of 
the most valuable purposes of a Benefit Society. 
Such a society is meant to provide against the " con- 
tingent'* ills of life; temporary as well as final. Al- 
lowances when sick, when children are bom, or when 





they attain certaia statea ages^ when partners in life 
die^ when old age comes on, for funeral expenses, and 
support for necessitous relations — ^all come within the 
limits of Benefit Societies 3 and it is possible that 
allowances at marriage might be a very useful regu- 
lation. That is of so much consideration, indeed, 
that it deserves to be treated a little at length. 

In order to ronfine the objects of Benefit Societies 
to those contemplated by the Acts of Parliament 
that have from time to time been passed for their 
protection, namely those that can be averaged so as 
to adjust the payments fairly to th^ benefits, the legis- 
lature, by the 10 Geo. 4. c. 56. §4, has directed the 
roles to be certified by a barrister ; and in the case 
of a society formed after the 19th of June, 1829, it 
requires that the Justices at Sessions shaU be satisfied 
with the correctness of the tables of contributions, 
and benefits. But it must not be supposed that the 
provisions of any statute are intended to limit the 
usefulness of th^ societies 5 fo^. the object and ten- 
dency are quite the reverse. The i^tatute is framed 
for the benevolent purpose of preventing the members 
of such societies from wasting their contributions 
upon improper obj^fcts. Loss by fire, being out of 
employment, aud being in prison for dsbt, are grounds 
of relief in some of those societies which have been 
institued without reference to the statute. Now; as 
not one of these must happen to any one man, no cer- 
tain average of them can be taken 3 and, as they may 
happen through negligent or improper conduct, as 
well as through unforeseen accidents, rehef in cases 
of them, provided in a formal manner, has very much 
the appearance of a bounty on inattention and idle- 
ness. The real cases are proper subjects for charity. 

That a Benefit Society has " worked well '* in one 
place, is an argument in favour of its plan ; but it is 
not a complete argument : for, on a subject of so 
much intricacy, there may be important, elements left 
out; and times, places, and occupations, vary very 
much, both in respect of the contingencies of life, and 
of the periods of life at which they happen. Those 
who have capacity and inclination for such enquiries, 
and time to pursue them, cannot bestow more valuable 
aid upon their morp occupied brethren, than by 
furnishing them with such information as that in 
question. If the informed part of society would, 
upon occasion, lend judiciously a little of their know- 
ledge to the unlearned, they would do much more 
real good than by giving their money. 

Our next paper will contain some notice of the 
leading principles of Probability^ so far as they are 
necessary for the establishing of Benefit Societies, and 
enable of explanation without language not in com- 
mon use ] and in order that the list may be the more 
complete, a few words shall now be added on mar- 
riage portions. 

We shall, ifor the sake of Inrevity, suppose that, 
upon the average, youths begin to earn wages at 
eighteen, and girls at fifteen, — ^from which they could 
bear to spare a part, after the reasonable supply of 
their common wants. If that is denied, their marriage 
must bring misery 5 the children must go to the work- 
house, or do worse ^ and the condition of society is 
incurable. But that should not be, and it is not : — 
ten in the dozen, even in the most \mfortunate parts 
of England, are above that — all might be so. 

Well, suppose that they can (and where there is 
a can, it is the business of instruction to find a will) 
begin to save a little at the ages that have been men- 
tioned 5 and that young men, on the average, marry 
at twenty-eight, and young women at twenty-two. 
Thirty and twenty-five would, be better j but there is 
some danjw of bad habits >>^ing formed. We shall 

take a moderate estimate, and suppose that the young 
man could " put by *' six-pence a- week, and the young 
woman three-pence ) or the one twenty-six, and 
the other thirteen shillings in the year. From 
eighteen to twenty-eight is ten years, which, with- 
out any allowance of interest, is thirteen poimds 
to the man; and from fifteen to twenty- two is 
seven years, which is four pounds eleven shillings 
to the woman 5 put the two together, and therp is 
seventeen pounds eleven shillings to furnish the cv/t- 
tage, besides the interest, which would provide a 
wedding dress for each. The whole chattels of 
an English cottager, in the districts round London, 
(and these should not be worse than the average of 
the country) do not at present amount to three 
pounds, and often not to one pound. The marriage 
provision would therefore be a most valuable use of 
Benefit Societies j and if it were general, it would 
save many of the other uses, as well as prevent nrany 
things that are objectionable. Still, as marriage is 
not one of those cases that come within the meaning 
of the Act of Parliament, it is probable that some 
specific establishments for marriage portions would 
be better than uniting them with the relief of the 


Kneel, my child, thy God is here ! 

Kneel in love and filial fear ; 

LoTe Him, — for His Grace He shows thee, 

Fear Him, — for He made and knows thee. 

Thou art His, through Christ His Son, 

Saved by grace, by mercy won • 

Lost to everlasting joy ; 

But my Saviour sought and found thee, 

And His blessings now surround thee : 

Praise Him for His constant care, 

Pray to Him, — He heedeth pray'r 

One of the deaf and dumb lads in the Institution at Paris 
being desired to express his idea of the eternity of the Deity, 
replied : " It is duration without beginning or end ; exist- 
ence without bounds or dimensions ; present without past or 
future ; his eternity is youth without infancy or old age ; life 
without birth or death; to-day without yesterday or to 

We make laws, but we follow customs. — Lady M. W. Mon- 

I WILL to-morrow, that I will, 

I will be sure to do it ; 
To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes, 

And still thou art to do it 
Thus still repentance is deferred. 

From one day to another : 
Until the day of death is come. 

And judgment is the other. 

Drexelius on Eternity, 


To our own safety, our own sedulity is required. And 
then blessed for ever be that mother's child, whose 
faith hath made hira the child of God. The earth 
may shake, the pillars of the world may tremble un- 
der us ; the countenance of the heaven may be ap- 
palled, the sun may lose his light, the moon her beauty, 
the stars their glory 3 but concerning the man that 
trusteth in God, if the fire have proclaimed itself un- 
able so much as to singe a hair of his head ; if lions, 
beasts ravenous by nature and keen with hunger, being 
set to devotir, have, as it were, religiously adored the 
very flesh of the faithful man 5 what is tliere in the 
world that shall change his heart, overthrow his faith, 
alter his affection towards God, or the aflfcctioii of 
God to him ? If I be of this note, who shall malvc a 
separation between me and my God. — Hookkr. 


[UcioBEB. G, lU; 

TaiB curious little animal, or rather group of aniinala, 
for each of the projecting parts of the figure con- 
tains an inhabitant occapyiug a portion of tlic common 
dwelling, yet still depettding on its own exertions for 
its individual support, was taken by M. Savigny near 
the island of Ivica, in the Meditetraaean. It is found 
attached to rocks beneath the surface of the sea. It 
never moves from the spot on which it is produced, 
— bnt there it flourishes and decays. 

Nolliing more nearly resembles a Polypus than the 
*mmon body in which the animal of the Diazoma 
is contained. This body is formed of cells, and spread 
cut like a saucer — of a firm, jelly-like substance, 
transparent, and of a light violet colour, which is 
deeper at the extremity of the cells. These cells are 
disposed in several concentric circles, cont^oing the 
animals, of a grey ash colour, which are i-isible through 
ihe skin that incloses them. The cells are large, pro- 
jecting, flattened, and inclined in a dwection from the 
centre to the circumference ; the various circular rowrj 
^pear each to form a distinct group. Each cell has 
two tube-shaped porr;s of a purple colour, marked with 
six grooves, from which, when the creature expands 
Itself, six lance-shaped feelers proceed j the largest 
and most projecting tube corresponds with the mouth, 
and is farthest from the centre. 

The description of animals to which this is allied 
are called radiated, from the parts of which they are 
composed, arising from a common centre, and spread- 
ing out in a circular form like the rays of the sun. 
When in a stat* of rest, not the least apptarunte of 
life IS visible, and they appear like mifonned lumps of 
animal substance ; but when left undisturbed and 
excited by hunger, their numerous arms are spread in 
search of food : and we observe instead of the slimy 
mass we threw down in disgust, the appearance of a 
group of flowers in f uj bloom. 

The Sea Anemone, so common on our own coasts is 
K beautiful specimen of an animal of this class. 
Persons, who some years back were lowered in a 
Diving Bell to inspect the wreck of the Royal George, 
that foundered at Portsmouth, were struck with 
astonishment at the appearance of its deck, which 
was covered with mud deposited from the sea, and 
become the abode of numerous groups of these crca- 
tures, who with their extended arms had converted 
the whole surface into the resemblance of an exten- 
iive and beautiful flower garden. I 

BEiNn nith my friend in a |;;arden, wc gathered each of csi 
row. He handled his tenderly ; fmell to it but seldom, ib| 
sparin^lv. I nluuys kept mine' la my nose, or squcezc<l ii a 
my hand ; nhcrebv, in a very short time, it lost both its ealnj 
and snectness : but Aii still reuiained as sweel and fragmi 
u if it had been growing; unon its own tool 

These roses, said I, are tne (rue emblenii of the b««t ai 
Bueetest cicaIure-«njojnients in the world, — which, bcitf 
morteraleW and cautiously used and enjoyed, may for i kg; 
lime yield sweetness to the possetsoi of thou : iiut,if[>M 
the anections seize loo gieedilT upon them, and squeeze ibm 
too hard, they quickly wilhei m our hands, and we low Ik 
comfort of them ; and that, either through the k>u1 snrfeitiD; 
upon them, or the Lord'n righteous and juat removal c^ilie^ 
because of the excess of our aCfectioni to them. 

It is a point of excellent wisdom, to keep the golden bridlt 
<if inodenUioit upon all the affections we exercise on eaithi/ 
tilings i and never to let ilip the reins of the affeclioo*, iiilts 
llicy more towards God, in the lore of «hom there is no du- 
ller of excess. — Flavel. 

LlntijuoledmTtrLOn's Holy Liring and Dnng.uinnj 
fotind on a toniitdme m Feeenh»m Ckwrek 
mtMS bim ttttaa 
Asb \nti it Xotn to Hit 
^rom td> iats tbr pit. 
^rmn fil unls fain 
KbM ncrt «^l[ rroH agaiit 
Mt bMmltr not Do m lit 
SII the borllr to bin. 


An Austrian army, awfully airayed. 

Boldly by hatlery besieged Be.gnde. 

Cossitck commandeis cnnnonaiUug come, 

Dealing destruction's devastating doom. 

Even' effort engineers essay, ■■ 

For fame, for fortune fighlmg; furious fray. 

GcueraU 'gainst generals grapple, gracious goow ' 

IIow honours heaven heroic hurdihood ! 

Infuriate, indJBcriniinate in ill, 

Kinsmen kill kindred, kindred kinsmen kill. 

Labour low lerels loftiest longest lines ; 

Men march 'midst moles, 'midst mounds, 'mi'lst mtiiileroia 

ice nought 
or outward obstacles opposing ougliL 
Poor patriots, partly purchased, partly pressed. 
Quite quaking, quickly quarter quest- 
Reason returns, religious riffhl redounds ; 
SuwBTTow stops such sanguinary sounds ! 
Truce to thee, Turkey ! triumph to thy train, 
IlnHise, unjust, unmerciful Ukraine ! 
^'anish, vain victory, vanish victory rain, 
Vlhy «ish we wsrjare ? wherefore welcome were 
Xerxes, Ximenes, Xanthus, Xavier.' 
Viekl, yield ye youths, ye yeomen, yield jour yell 
Ztnci'g, Znpater's, Zoroaster's seal, 
AiLnicling a]), arts against arms appeal. 



Sold l.y nil Ikiiil.ielli:ri and Ncwivcdilm in Uit Kingdoa. 

a>>kniaiidl>M)enin ("auHlia] Pnlilleiitlinuiiipplleit an wlxdnalt wh 


•nd Co. Hncfw 
HhU . 


* Chili 




C KieniBDi, Piints. 10 

t HHttal Uw, CbufDs Ci 

K**. 18. OCTOBER 



similar Btructare ; but the second temple, that « 
Cephrenes, is distinguished by haying the Sphvn 

i£gj ranged in front of the centre of its eaatern face, 1ms. ■ 

gf , Ing all the marks. o£ hWng beMi. comneeted a»'ttli i 

njj^ by conununitatjons cut through the rock umi- 

onii ground. Between the paws of tiie Sphynx a pcrf«i 

cha: temple was discovered, a few years ^o, by the intn-p- : 

sins traveller Belzoni, ' on clearing away the sand fn 

of I which it had been choked ap for agea. 

fro, The magnificent prospect from the top of tba 

nee pyramid, has been described by the French traveller 

seei Savary, who visited Egypt in 1 770, in glowing terms. 

After occupying seven hours in ascending to i 

The summit, " the morning light," says he, " discovered 

))av to OS every moment new beauties : the tops of gildeif 

ami minarets, and of date tree and citron groves, planted 

of ( round the villages and hills ; anon the herds left the 

1 hamlets ; the boats spread their light sails, and oar 

or I eyes followed them along the vast windings of tbe 

of f Nile. On the north appeared sterUe hills and barrra 

elev sands j on the south the river and waving fields, vast 

of 1 as the ocean : to the west the plain of Fayum, famous 

groi for its roses : to the east the picturesque town at 

sani Gizeh, and the towers of Fostat, the minarets of 

side Cairo,, and the castle of Saladdiu, terminated the 

feet prospect. Seated on the most wonderful of the 

Pyr works of man, as npon a throne, our eyes be- 

Cep hold by turns a dreadful desert; rich plains in whidi 

The the Elysian fields had been imagined ; villages ,- i 

havi majestic river) and edifices which seemed the work 

Wo of giants. The universe contaius no landscape moic 

the variegated, more magnificent, or more awful." 
el^ The ancients knew little of the interior stmctore of 

stag these giant piles, Herodotus, who lived 443 yean 

difl[ before Christ, merely speaks of an entrance leading 

hist to the interior, by hearsay from the priests, who 

Chr informed him tiiat there were secret vaults beneath, 

300 hewn out of the nJlural rock. Strabo, who lived after 

Pyr the Christian lera, only describes a sin^e slanting p*s- 

expi sage wliich led to a chamber in which was a stunt 

mai tomb. Diodorus Siculus, who lived forty-four jean 

cng; before Christ, agrees with this ; and Pliny, who lived 

for A.D. G6, adds that there was a well in the Great 

pap Pyramid, eighty cubits deep. This is all the andean 

nati have said about the interior, 
the The Egyptian priests, indeed, assaxed Aristides, a 

1 Greek traveller about two centuries before Christ, 

exai that " the excavations beneath were as great as ihe 

T height above." And Eba Abd Alhokim, an Arabic 

grei writer of the ninth century says, that the buildns 

of ( " constructed numerous excavated chambers, yith 

or t gates to them, forty cubits under ground." Other 

^d Arabian writers say that these chambers contain 

rive chests of black stone, in which were deposited the 

ehw sacred archives of King Saurid, who built the pj^ramiA 

y^^ Many discoveries (perhaps a burial place under 

"■P ground) obviously remain to be made. 
^<^ The same Arab historian, Alkokim, gives an ae- 

Nil count of the opening of this building under the 

, ^ Caliphate, from which time it has remained in Ihe 

^ ™ condition seen and described by all modem travellers, 

™ce to the time of the Italian traveller, Caviglia, who 

"Tg made a discovery of a new chamber and passt^, 

^ about ten years ago. "After that Almamon the Ci- 

»* * liph (A. D. 820,) entered Egypt, and saw the Pyra- 

*J^ mids, he desired to know what was within, and 

P* * therefore would have them opened. He was told it 

™" could not possibly be done. He rephed, I will have 

"■ it certainly done. And that hole was opened for 

™ * liim, which stands open to this day, with fire and 

*" * vinegar. Two smiths prepared and sharpened the 

*^^ ron and engines, which they forced in : ai^d there 

*^^ was a great expence in the opeoiug it j and the thick- 




iiess of the wall was found to be twenty cubits. 
Within they found a square well, and in the square 
of it, there were doors : every door of it opened into 
a house (or vault), in which there were dead bodies 
wrapped up in linen. Towards the upper part of 
the Pyramid, they found a chamber, in which was a 
hollow stone ; in it was a statue of stone, like a man, 
and within it a man, upon whom was a breast-plate 
of gold, set with jewels, and on him were written 
characters with a pen, which no man can explain.'* 

Greaves, an Englishman, who visited the Great 
Pyramid in 1648, described the passages thus opened, 
and then open, very accurately, and suspected that 
at the botto:4i of a well in the Pyramid, was the pas- 
sage to those secret vaults mentioned by Herodotus ; 
but he made no new discovery, Davison, who visited 
it in the middle of the eighteenth century, discovered 
some secret chambers and passages connecting the 
largest gallery with the central room, and an apart- 
ment four feet high over it, He descended the well 
155 feet, but found further progress blocked up. 
Caviglia was the first to discover the above suspected 
passage. After much trouble in clearing the narrow 
opening at the end of the first or entrance gallery of 
the pyramid, he found that it did not terminate at 
that point, as hitherto supposed, but proceeded 
downwards to the distance of 200 feet. It ended 
in a door- way on the right, which was found to 
ppmmunicate with the bottom of the well. But 
the new passage did not terminate here : it went 
beyond the door-w?iy twenty-three feet, and then 
took a horizontal direction for twenty-eight more, 
where it opened into a spacious chamber immediately 
under the central room. 

This new chamber is twenty-^even feet broad, 
and sixty-six feet long. The floor is irregular ^ 
nearly one half of the lepgth from the eastpm, or 
entrance end, being level, and about fifteen feet from 
the ceiling} while,, in the middle, it descends five feet 
lower, in which part there is a hollow space bearing 
all the appearance, of the commencement of a well, 
or shaft. From tiience it rises to the western end, 
so that there is scarcelv room between the floor and 
the ceiling to stand upright.'* 

On the south of this chamber is a passage hol- 
lowed out, just high and wide enough for a man 
to creep along upon his hands and knees, which 
continues in 5ie rock for fifty-five feet, and then 
suddenly ends. Another at the east end com- 
mences with a kind of arch, and runs about forty 
feet into the solid body of the Pyramid. 

Mr. Salt, the late intelligent British Consul to 
Egypt, was so struck by this discovery, as to express 
his belief that the imder-ground rooms were used for 
" the performance of solemn and secret mysteries." 
. As to the Second Pyramid of Gizeh, ths ancients 
knew less about it than they did of the first. Hero- 
dotus sa]ns it has no under-ground chambers, and the 
other ancient authorities are silent. But the enter- 
prising Belzoni found its entrance, in the north 
front, in 1818, and discovered at the same time, that 
it had been previously forced open by the Arabian 
Caliph, Ah Mehemet, A. D. 782, more than a thou 
sand ypars before. After forcing an entrance, and 
advancing along a narrow passage, one hundred 
feet loi\g,.he found a central chamber, forty-six 
feet long by. sixteen wide, and twenty- three high, 
cut out of the soHd rock. It contained a gra- 
nite sarcophagus, (a tomb) half sunk in the floor, 
with some bones in it, which, on inspection by 
Sir Everard Home, proved to be those of a cow. 
An Arabic inscription on the walls implies, that it 
had been opened in the presence of the Sultan Ah 

There have been many opmions expressed by 
learned men as to the object of these structures. 
One is, that they were the granaries of Joseph. 
This may be confuted by the smallness of the rooms, 
and the time required in building. Another, that 
they were observatories, which is accusing the 
builders of great absurdity, since the neighbouring 
rocks were better calculated for the purpose. The 
Arabians generally think that they were built by 
.King Saiuid, before the deluge, as a refuge for him- 
self, and the pubhc records, from the Flood j but 
this opinion requires no answer. Josephus, the 
Jewish historian, who wrote A. D. 71, ascribes them 
to his countrymen, during the captivity in Egypt. 
As sun-dials, they would have failed. Shaw and 
Bryant, who wrote in the middle of the last cen- 
tury, believed them to be temples, and the stone 
chest, a tank for holding water used fftr pmrification. 
Pauw, who hved at the same time with Shaw and 
Bryant, considers the Great Pyramid as the tomb of 
Osiris ; and that Osiris having fourteen tombs for 
various parts of his dismembered body, fourteen 
pyramids must have been devoted to them, and 
the annual funeral mysteries connected with his 
death and resurrection. But the greater number 
of writers, ancient and modem, beUeve it to be the 
tomb of Cheops, the alleged builder. Improving on 
this notion, Maillet 1760) supposed that the cham- 
bers were built for the purpose of shutting up 
the friends of the deceased king with the dead 
body ; and that the holes on each side of the central 
chamber of the Great Pyramid, were the means 
by which they were to be supplied with food, &c. ; 
an opinion which would have appeared sufficiently 
ludicrous, if it had not been exceeded by that ex- 
pressed by an old Moulah to Buonaparte, when in 
Egypt (1799), that the object was to keep the buried 
body undecayed, by closely sealing up all access 
to the outward air. Another ingenious theory 
ascribes them to the shepherd kings, a foreign pas- 
toral nation which oppressed Egypt in the early times 
of the Pharaohs. However, this is, after all, but con- 
jecture. The utmost uncertainty exists in all that 
concerns these gigantic, unwieldy, and mysterious 
buildings. Their builders, origin, date, and pur- 
poses, are entirely lost in the night of ages. As 
the sides of all the pyramids face the cardinal point*?, 
and of course give the true meridian of the places 
where they are situated, it would seem that their 
builders had made some progress in scientific know- 
ledge ; and the buildings themselves, under all cir, 
cumstances, notwithstanding their plain exterior* 
clearly show the advanced state of art in those very 
early times. 


A single book has saved me j but that book is not of 
human origin. Long had I despised it ; long had I 
deemed it a class book for the credulous and ignorant ; 
until, having investigated the Gospel of Christ, with 
an ardent desire to ascertain its truth or falsity, its 
pages proffered to my inquiries the sublimest know- 
ledge of man and nature, and the simplest, and at 
the same time, the most exalted system of moral 
ethics. Faith, hope, and charity were enkindled in 
my bosom ; and every advancing step strengthened 
me in the conviction, that the morals of this book are 
as superior to human morals, as its oracles are supe- 
rior to human opinions. — M. L. Bautain, Professor 
of Philosophy, Strasburgh. 




The anoieat church of St. Mary-le-Bow, Cheapside, 
is BO called from its having been originally dedicated 
to the Virgin Mary, and from being built on arches, 
or JwM, as they were formerly termed j for the same 
reason the bridge at Stratford was called Bav- 
Sridge, being one of the first bridges of stone erected 
near London. Tlie High Court of Arches took its 
name from holding its sittings in this church. 

SI Mtry-U-limm CItUjxK 

St. Mary-le-Bow suffered, in common with other 
buildings, in the great fire of London (1GG6), and 
was rebuilt by Sir Christopher Wren, under the act 
of Charles 11, for building fifty-two churches. The 
expense of the whole was provided for by a duty of 
two shillings per chaldron on all coal borne to Lon- 
don, sea-wise, for seventeen years and five months. 
The present church stands over and upon the arches 
of the old Bow Church, erected in 1512, on the ruins 
of one built by William the Conqueror on the site of 
a Roman temple. Its form was taken from the 
Temple of Peace at Rome : it was finished in 1 673> 
and cost 8071/. \9s. \d. 

The steeple was an original building of Sir Chris- 
topher Wren's, for the site of which two houees be- 
tween the church and Cheapside were purchased. 
On di^ng considerably below the old church, a 
K^nnan pavement was discovered, which Sir Chris- 
topher Wren took for his fouudadon. The celebrated 
figure of a dragon, a supporter of the arms of the 
city of London, which surmounts the steeple, was 
placed tAere in 1679. The whole expense of erecting 
and beautifying the steeple was 7388/. 8a. 1\d. ; to- 
wards which, one Dame Dyonis Wilkinson gave 

Tliere are ten fine-toned bells in the steeple. By 
an order of Common Council in I4G9, the bells 
were to be rung regularly at nine in the evening, and 
hy another order of the same body, lights were to 
be exhibited at night, in the centre one of five lan- 
thoms, which stood on the tower in tiiose days, to 
direct travellers towards the metropolis. A worthy 
citizen, John Donne, left two tenements in Hosier 
Lane, now Bow Lane, for the maintenance of the 

This steeple has undergone many r^wirs, rea- 
deicd necessary hy the exjiannon and nuting d 
the iron too freely used in its coufitmetion, and bj 
the great weight of the bells. 

In 1818, it was decided to take down so much ef 
it as was serioosly injured, and to rebuild it precise/j 
on its original plan. About this period, tlie ap- 
pearance of sinking, in one of the vaults, led to as 
examination of the foundation ; and after removii^ 
a great number of coffins, (among which two per- 
fectly dried bodies, or tntanrnte*, were foond, and 
which are still preserved,) an arch was observed, 
closed with brick-work ; on cutting through wbiti, 
a portion of the. old church was discovered, choked 
up with bricks and rubbish, apparently the ruins of 
the part destroyed by the fire of London, and not 
removed at the rebuilding. This was taken out, and 
the earth cleared to its original base, thirteen fed 
and a half below the present level of the etxeet. Id 
diggmg where the Roman altar was supposed to 
have stood, two rams' horns were taken ap. 

After this repair, the dragon, which had been 
splendidly regilt, and some coins of the period pat 
into his mouth, was restored to his station witli 
great ceremony. One of the masons was hauled a{r 
with it, bearing a flag, presenting, as it were, the ap- 
pearance of the dragon flying through the air, vidi 
his rider on his back. The figure is of ctqtper, 
nearly nine feet long; it works upon an ^gyp6xi 
pebble ; tlie spindle is of polished steel, and Ibe 
whole is in good taste, and of superior workmanship. 
There are but few monuments in the church particii 
larly wortliy of notice ; but among them is that of 
Bishop Newton, the author of the work on the Pro- 
phecies, who was nearly thirty years rector of tiie 

In this church are preached the eight lectures insti- 
tuted by Mr. Boyle in defence uf the Christian rdi- 
gion ; they are delivered on the first Monday in each 
monUi, from January to May, and from September to 
November. N. G. 

The shopkeeper turns his capital once in a wedt, ot 
a month. The farmer turns his muney once in a 
year; but the forest planter must discard the com- 
meicial maxim, " a small profit and a quick return, " 
for he can scarcely turn his capital once in his life- 
time. Still, however, nothing can pay better than tlie 
planting of waste lands with forest trees. Oaks, 
pines, ash, sycamore, elms, and poplars, will give 
more profit than ferns, heaths, and rushes; andt 
practical man, with fonr labourers nuder him, could 
superintend five hundred acres. A man cannot amass 
a large property for his children by a small outlay, m 
tardy as by planting. 

Plantations ore experimentally found, by the 
annual casting of their leaves, to lend material aid to 
the encouragement of the fine and more nourishmg 
grasses; while, ^t the same time, they cause the 
destruction of the heath and other coarser produc- 
tions of vegetation. By the influence of this anniul 
top-dressing, hundreds, nay thousands of acres, have 
been rendered worth from five to ten Bbillings an 
acre, instead of from sixpence to, at the ntmost, two 
shjllings. Whoever knows any tiling of the compa- 
rative value of heath and greensward pasture, will 
allow that the advantages of converting the one intd 
the other are very mt^erately stated at the abors 
rates; and this wonderful transformation is made 
without the slightest assistance from human art, save 
that of putting suitable plants. The annual pruniog 



of trees by the knife, makes theni grow vith great 
vieour. By experiment it ^>peared that plants which 
were prun«^ advanced at the rate of four years in 
before those which were not pruned. This treatment 
should be attended to every year, eUher winier 
tumour, or after they have been planUd out. Lawn 
trees, groupes, or outlines of plantations, should sel- 
dom be touched, or, at least, without a knowledge of 
picturesque cETect. Were the proprietors of planta- 
tions sensible of the injury they do their posterity, 
they would not longer ignorantb/, and, it may be said 
of many, obstinately, neglect this oecessoiy improve- 

In the common coarse of gardening, it is found 
that pnming invigonUa the tree, and that training-off 
tudiciowly the large side branches, makes the upright 
ones sboot the stronger. This doctrine will apply to 
all trees, particularly to the whole tribe of firs ; it will 
undoubtedly substitute clear wood for knots ; and, of 
all this managemeot, from their particular uses, the 
latter, of aU other trees, stand in most need, and mli 
be Moi/ improved by U. This operation will advance 
the quality nearer to that of foreign timber ; for it 
may be traced, that where trees are tall and clear of 
boughs or knots, (by catting the branches close to 
the stem) the whole substance of the wood is better, 
and of finer grain ; and it appears likely that such 
will always be the case. 

The practice should decidedly be condemned of 
cutting off targe limbs to improve the timber; we 
may daily see the deplorable eSccts of it. Dy judi- 
cious pruning and thinning every year, it will be 
found that poor land is converted by these means to 
a good purpose, and at a trifling expence. 

Mold. Iatros. 

Frederick the Great one daj rang bis bell scvcrnl times, 
and nobody came. He opened the door, and found liit page 
asleep in an arra-cbair. Advancing to nnake liim, he perceiied 
the comer of a note peeping out of bis puukel. Curious to 
know wbat it nas, he look it, and read it. It was a letter from 
the mother of the youth, thanking him for sending bei 
port of his uages, to relieve her poverty. She coocluded by 
telling him, that God would blesa him for his good con- 
ducL The King, aflei having read it, went softlv into his 
room, took a purse of duvals, and slipped it, with the let- 
ter, into tfte pocket of the page. He returned, and rang 
his bell so loud, that the page awoke, and went in. ** Thou 
host slept well 1" said the King. The page wished to ex- 
cuse himself, and in his confusion put his hand hj chance 
into his pocket, and felt the puise with aitunishmeuL He 
drew it out, turned pale, and looking at the King;, burst into 
tears, without beine able to utter a word. " What is the 
mailer ?" said the King : " what hast thou F" " Ah ! Sire," 
replied the youth, falling on his knees, — " they wi^h to ruin 
me ; I do not know how this money came into my pocket." 
" My friend," said Frederick, " God o^n sends us bless- 
ings while we are asleep. — Send that to thy mother, salute 
her from me, and say that I will take care of her and 

PoxcTiCAi. Crkistiakitt. — Durinff the siege of Baicelona 
by the Spaniards and English, in the war of the succession, 
in 1705, an affecting incident occurred, which is thus related 
bj Captain Carleton, in his memoirs. ** I remember I taw 
an old officer, having bisonly ton with him, (a line man about 
twenty years of age) gjing into the tent to dine. Whilst ihev 
were at dinner, a shot from the Bastion of SL Antonio tool 
off the head of the son. The fatherimmcdiatcly rose u]^, first 
looking down upon his headless child, and then lifting up 
his eyes to heaven, whilst the tears ran down his cheeks, oulv 
• said, Thy vitl he done. It was a sad spectacle, and truly it 
affects me even dow whilst I am writing." 

Pain itself it not without its alleviatioat. It mar be violent 
and frequent, hut it is seldom both violent and long conti- 
nued ; and its pauses and intermissions become positive plea- 
sures. It has the power of shedding a satisfaction over inler- 
Talsof ease, vrbicb. I beliere, few ei^oymenli exceed.— Palk v. 


The ancients were only acquainted with this ani- 
mal through the accounts which they received from 
Scythians and Germans. They asserted that its 
colour changed with the objects it fixed eyes on; 
that it equalled the ox in size, and had only one horn 
branched in many directions : but though these tales 
were partial misrepresentations or altogether fabulous, 
there u no doubt that the name Tarandus was of Ger- 
man or Scythian origin. 

A fnll-'grown male of this species in a wild stete is the 
size of a stag, or even superior, but the female is less 
than the hind, and the tame races, particularly of Lap- 
land, ore not much higher at the shoulder than Fallow- 
deer. In large males the horns are sometimes above 
four feet long, in the females they are constantiy 
smaller, and the branching parts narrower. There is, 
however, no species of deer whose boms vary to such 
an extent} it is difficult to meet two alike. 

Compared with others, the Rein-Deer is heavy and 
low, resembling a calf; the neck is short; the head 
carried straight forward in a Hue with the back) tlte 
legs short and stout, and the hoofs very broad, in large 
individuals not less than those of an Aldemcy cow, 
and the tail short ; the hair is of two kinds, one close, 
the other woolly; under the throat it is long, and in 
winter, long hairs, more or leas whitish, spread 
over the body, llie boms are just visible at its 
birth, and in mteen days they are an inch high. In 
the Russian Rein-deer these boms grow more rapidly, 
and become larger than in the Swedish. The moles 
tlrop theirs in November, but the females, generally 
keep them till May; the new ones are eight months 
growing, not being complete till August. Two fawns 
are usiudly produced at a birth, and their life extends 
to about sixteen years. 

Rein-deer swim with great facility, and are so 
buoyant as to keep half their backs above water ; their 
broad feet, struck with great force, impel them so fast 
in the strongest currente and across the broadest rivers, 
that a boat well manned can scarcely keep pace with 
them. When defending themselves, they strike down- 
wards with the boms, but do not gore ; they kick with 
violence, and repel the wolf with success ; but their 
most dangerous enemy is the glntton, who is reported 
to drop down upon them from the branch of some tree 
while they are off their guard. The feet of the Rein- 
deer produce a cracking noise ; they are famished with 
a membrance which is very moveable, and used chiefly 
in storms of sleet and snow : this habit, together with 
their s(»nt, guides them with wonderful precision 
through the UKst dangerotis passes, and in the dariuat 
stormy nichts of an arctic winter. 



[OcTOBEa 13, 

To this aagacttf the L^lander trusts liia life with 
confidence, and accidenta are of very rare occurrence. 
To him the Rein-deer afford a. satisfactory compensa- 
tion for all riches, all the worldly comforts, which his 
terrible climate forbids ; while the food of the animal, 
eousisting of mosses, and the bud? of the ever^Twns 
and other ^ctjc plants, is obtained with little trouble. 
Till! domestic Reins draw hla sledge with such speed, 
that a p^ir of theni, in the language of Lapl&nd, " will 

change his hi ' '' — " ~ """ * — ity-four 

hours i "that i furthest 

length they ca atitudefj 

is computed ai : skin of 

the animal is ' kc. ; the 

iionis to maki id ; the 

ficah for fi)<)d ; inverted 

ciinverted to U! (piirti^d. 

Thus the p the sole 

riches of the 1 his sole 

occupation. According tnthe season he migrates to 
the sea-shore, the low lands, or the mountains. The 
rich among them often possess two thousand head, 
and the poorest seldom less than one hundred. In 
their language and dialects, Beventy-8ixdi£ferent names 
of the animal or of its different states, may be reckoned. 
In both the wild and domestic states, the deer impli' 
citly jijllow an old male through every circumstance 
of danger or dilfieulty. The herdsman directs him by 
B whistle, and a look or a stamp of the foot will make 
the rest obey with a docility and quickness of appre- 
hension, which proves the superior degree of intel- 
ligence with which they are endowed. 

The Rein-deer suffer much in the summer months 
from insects, and particularly from one called the 
(Hslris Tarandi ; the hum of one of these on the wing 
is Euflitient to alarm a whole herd, and put it to 
(light. Tliis is the chief cause of the migrations to the 
woods and moufttaina, where they are more free from 
their annoyance. The old deer, whose hide is harder 
than that of the young, suSer least j and it is the 
yearling which of all is most exposed to the painful 
boring operation of the insect,, performed for the pur- 
pose of depositing its eggs under the skin of the ani- 

Therc are few wild rein-deer remaining in Lapland, 
but herds of them may still be seen in Dalecarlia. 
They exist in Spitzbergen and over the whole of 
Northern Russia, where the Tunguaions . rear a large 
breed, which they ride more generally than harness 
to the sledge. Bamn Cuvier, after a laborious inves- 
tigation, has proved that they never extended further 
south than the Baltic and the northern parts of Poland. 

The North American Reinrdeer, or Caribou, are 
still very imperfectly known. There appear to be three 
varieties, one or more of which may actually form 
different species. The first is known among the Cana- 
dian voyagers as the Wood-rein j it is lai^, and dark- 
coloured in summer. The second resides in the dreary 
regions of the rocky mountains of central North Ame- 
rica, and has been supposed to be the Mule-deer of 
Lewis and Clark. The third and smallest, living in 
the islands of the Polar Sea, Greenland, and Labn.Jor, 
is the most commuD. Pennant and Kdwards have 
described it. All are said to be whitish in winter, but 
tlie latter species most particularly, ao. A probable 
distinction, by which some, if not (dl, the above spe- 
cies or varieties of caribou, may be distinguished from 
those of the old continent, is diat their horns are al- 
ways shorter, less concave, more robust, the palms 
narrower, and with fewer branclungs, than those of the 
former ; with them, tbey are alsp .said to remove the 
enow, aa we have already 8tat«d to he done by the 

Orignal or Moose, bo* it does not appear that this 
practice has been noticed jn Lapland. None of the 
Indian tribes of Amerioa have as yet learnt to donif^ri- 
catethem. — Cvwsk-'b Animal Kiagdom, by iiKivriTtii. 


There is now on the western coast of Africa a set- 
tlement of free blacks, which promises, under the 
blessing of God, to do more for the final extinctiiin 
of slavery, and for the civilization of Africa, than any 
other scheme which has yet been thought of. Ii a 
too well known that the slave-trade was carried on 
for many years, not only in the West Indian islands, 
which belong to England, hut in the United States ot 
America ; and there are now in the latter coimtt7 
many thousand negroes who arc in a state of slavery. 
Great exertions have however been made in Americi 
to liberate the slaves j and at leng^, in the year 1817, 
a society was formed, which took the name of tbc 
American Colonization Society. 

The object of this association is to purchase, or to 
obtain by any means, the lilverty of a certain numbe: 
of slaves, and to send tliem back to Africa, from 
which country the ancestors of this nnhappy ran 
were forcibly and inhumanly carried, off. For tiiit 
purpose a portion of land was bought from the uatdvc 
African princes, and was allotted for the settlement 
of these free blacks. So few years have passed since 
the colony was first established, that the maps of 
Africa have hardly yet h^un to give a place to 
Liberia, which is the name very properly fixed upon 
for the new settlement, as shewing the liberty which 
these black men are now enjoying ; but in must maps 
of Africa a person will find on the western coast, in 
latitude 6. 21. N. and in longitude 10.30. W. a head- 
land called Cope Mcsurado. The name was for 
merly Monte Scnado ; and it is now sometimes called 
Montserado. The river St. Paul flows into the sea at 
a short distance from this cape i and about a quarter 
of a mile above the mouth of the river b the town of 
Monrovia, so called from Monroe, who was Presidcni 
of the United States, Monrovia b the chief town 
belonging to the colony, 

A mixture of pleasurable and painful sensatiuns h 
raised by Cape Mesurado having been fixed upon fi^r 
this settleiQcnt of free blacks. It was from this 
coast that the slave-trade in former years k- 
ceived its most abundant supplies. One of die mii.^! 
popular slave-markets was at Cape Mesurado. About 
ten thousand human beings were sold every year lihi; 
beasts in the market, and packed in crowded ves^U, 
either to die on tfaeir passage across the Atlantic, or 
to drag on a wretched existence aa slaves. How dif- 
ferent now is the aspect of this interesting coast ! It 
has pleased God to make this same spot the centre 
of civilization, — to bring back to it, as to the home of 
his fathers, the converted negro, — converted, not 
nicrely from a bondman to a freeman, but from the 
darkness of ignorance to the light of Christianity- ; 
and let us humbly hope and pray that the grain of 
nustord seed which has been sovvn in Liberia, ma; 
:pread its branches from one end of Africik to tht 
other, and bring forth fruit nn hundred fold. 

When the first settlers took possession of their new 
country, they had many difiicultics to contend with. 
For two years after their arrival, they lived in small 
thatched houses ; and wild beasts were so common 

the neighbourhood, that tigers have been shot from 
the doors. Nor were thest the only enemies tliey 
had to encounter. The native Africans did not under- 
stand what they were about, and for some time gave 




them a great deal of tremble. The captain of a ship, 
who carried some colonists to Liberia in 1 830, gives 
the following account of these quarrels : — " When 
the colonists could muster but thirty effective men 
for defence, and when the forest was within pistol- 
shot of their houses, five thousand of the natives, 
armed with muskets and other weapons of war, made 
an attack upon Ihem in three divisions. A part of 
the little band was surprised by the left divisicAi, who 
took possession of one of their two cannons, a nine- 
pounder ; but instead of making use of it (if indeed 
they knew how) for the piece wis loaded with grape 
and round-shot, and a lighted match placed near it, 
the possessors were seen embracing it, and crying 
out, "big gun, big gun," till the other, a four- pounder, 
was brought to henr on them, under the direction of 
Lot Gary, and plied with so much precision and acti- 
vity, that they retreated. The gun was retaken, and 
turned oh the invaders, when they made their escape 
to the forest. There was some skirmishmg from the 
bush, till one of their gree-gree men (a kind of pro- 
phets or conjurors,) was slain, carried off by our men, 
and thrown "into the river. This event entirely (fis- 
heartened them ; they went off, and have from that 
time never appeared in hostile array against the colo- 
nists. Many of them have traded with the colony 
ever since ; but they would not acknowledge that 
they were engaged in the war, till, from an intercourse 
of some time, they found it would not be remembered 
to their prejudice. They then related many singular 
and amusing anecdotes respecting it, and acknow- 
ledged the loss of seventy or eighty men kille4. If 
I remember right, the colonists lost but two or three 
of their Utde band." 

It was not till about the year 1824, that the first 
dwelling, constructed of timber and boards, was built 
on the site of the present town of Monrovia. The 
place was then a forest of trees of towering height, 
and a thick imderwood. In the year 1830, that is, 
after an interval of not more than six years, Mon- 
rovia consisted of about ninety dwellings and shops, 
two buildings for public worship, and a court-house. 
Many of the buildings are handsome and convenient, 
and all of them comfortable. 

The plot of the town is cleared more than a mile 
square, raised about seventy feet above the level of 
the sea, and contains 700 inhabitants. The streets 
are generally one hundred feet wide, and cut each 
other at right angles. This is not the only town 
belonging to Liberia. Caldwell is higher up on the 
river St. Paul, about seven miles from Monrovia, and 
contains a population of 560 persons, mostly engaged 
in agriculture. The soil is exceedingly fertile, the 
situation pleasant, and the people satisfied and happy. 

Still higher up on tlie same river, and about twenty- 
five miles from Monrovia, is Millsburg, the name of 
which is a happy combination of two circumstances. 
The stream would be sufficient to supply an hundred 
mills, and there is timber enough in the immediate 
neighbourhood to employ them, if use4 for the pur- 
pose of sawing, for half a century, so that Mitlsburgh 
would be a very suitable name for such a town : but 
it also had its name fron^ two persons named Mills 
and Burgh, who took an interest in the first settle- 
ment of this infant nation. Millsburg contains about 
two hundred inhabitants. 

The whole extent of sea coast belonging to Liberia, 
extends nearly two hundred miles j and there are 
other places besides those lately mentioned, which are 
occupied by settlers. Ships are arriving every year 
from America, with liberated negroes j and the whole 
population of the colony was reckoned, in 1830, at 
about 2000. Nor Is America the only quarter from 
which their numbers are likely to be increased. We 

have mentioned that the native blacks were inclined 
at first to quarrel with their new neighbours, and that 
battles were the consequence, which ended to the 
advantage of the latter. The native tribes have since 
learnt to perceive that their brethren of Liberia were 
superior to themselves, not only in the art of war, but 
in all the comforts and conveniences of hfe. They 
are accordingly very anxious to make treaties, and to 
receive frt>m them vUH those advantages which civilized 
nations are able to confer upon savagesi A naval officer, 
who visited the colony in 1 828, writes as follows : " The 
importance of this colony, as regards the native tribes 
of the coast, is in my estimation great. They already 
begin to perceive that it is civilization and the bless- 
ings of religion^ which give superiority to man over 
his fellow-men. They had supposed it was the white 
skin : but now they sfee, in their neighbourhood, men 
of their own colour enjoying all tiiose advantages 
hitherto deemed peculiar to the ^former. This has 
called forth a spirit of enquiry which must tend to their 
benefit. The philanthropist may anticipate the day 
when our language and religion will spread over this 
now benighted land." Some of these native Africans 
have been allowed to settie in Liberia f 'tod, what4s 
.still more pleasing, they send their children thither to 
be educated. In 1830, there were in Monrovia at 
least sixty children of native parents. These were 
attending the schools, and bein^ brought up, not only 
in the habits of civilized life, but in the doctrines and 
practice of the gospeL • 

We shall give some further particulars of this 
interesting colony in a future number. £. B. 


How many plants, we call them weeds, 

Against our wishes grow, 
And scatter wide their various seeds 

With all the winds that blow. 

Man^mmbles when he sees them rise* 

To foul his husbandry ; 
Kind Providence this way supplies 

II is lesser family. 

Scattcr'd and small, they 'scape our eye, 
But are not wasted there ; 

Safe they in clefts and furrows lie. 
The little birds find where. 


A WISE and merciful Creator has bestowe4 upon man 
superiority over all his creatures. "The fear of 
him, and the dread of him, is upon every beast of 
the earth, and upon every fowl of the air 5 and upon 
all that moveth upon the earth, and upon sdl the fishes 
of the sea." But, while his superior reasoning 
faculties enable him to overcome aU other living 
things,— to destroy those which are obnoxious, to 
tame and subdue those which may be rendered sub- 
servient to his necessities and comforts, — it is curious 
to observe the modes of defence or escape, which the 
same all-bountiful Providence, " without whose will 
not even a sparrow falleth to the ground," has be- 
stowed upon those inferior classes, >^hich are too fre- 
quently subject to the wanton persecution of the himian 

In no manner is His fatherly care of even the 
lowest of his creatures more curiously and convhacingly 
displayed, than in the selection of the colours with 
which he has clothed and adorned each particular 
order. Thus, he has contrasted with the ground on 
which they hve, those animals that are capable of 
making their escape from danger, either by their 
strength or agility 5 while he has granted to those 
whose weakness, or slowness of motion, would expose 
them to the assaults of their enemies, a colour, which 
by confoundmg them with the object upon which they 



[OcTOB^ii 13, 1832. 

rest, affords an ^asy means of escape. The snail is of 
the colour of the bark of the trees Upon which it 
feeds, or of the wall on which it takes refuge. 

Flat fishes, which are indifferent swimmers, such as 
the turbot, the flounder, the plaice, the sole, and 
several others, which exist principally at the bottom of 
the sea, are of the colour of the sands where they find 
their nourishment, being spotted like the beach with 
grey, yellow, black, red, and brown. But what is 
more wonderful, is the instinctive sensibility which 
they possess of the protection afforded them by this 
resemblance. When enclosed within the parks formed 
on the strand to entrap them, and the tide is gradually 
retiring, they bury their fins in the sand, awaiting the 
return of the tide, leaving only their backs visible ; 
and thus, from their colour, become hardly distin- 
guishable from the ground in which they have partly 
imbedded themselves. The fishermen make use of a 
kind of a sickle, with which they trace small furrows in 
every direction along the sand, to find out by the touch 
what they cannot discern with the eye. " Of this,** sayB 
a celebrated French naturalist^ '^ I have been frequency 
a witness — ^much more highly amused at the dexterity 
displayed by thefish than at tiie skill of the fisherman.*' 

The same wonderful instinct, and correspondence 
of their plumage to the colour of the earth, may be 
remarked in most of our small birds, whose flight is 
feeble, and of short duration. The grey lark, when 
alarmed or terrified, glides away, and takes its station 
between two little clods* of earthy and at this post will 
remain with such steadfastness, as hardly to quit it 
when the foot of the fowler is ready to crush it. The 
same thing is true of the partridge : sportsmen can- 
not fail to have remarked, that these birds, when, 
" they are as wild as hawks'* on the stubble, will fre- 
quently on the fallows '' lie like stones.*' 

A similar degree of instinct has been remarked 
even in insects, an instance of which I may be excused 
for extracting from tne account of a distinguished ob- 
server of the natural world : — 

" In thg month of March last, I observed by the 
brink of a rivulet, a butterfly, of the colour of brick, 
reposing, with expanded wings, on a tuft of grass. 
On my approaching him, he flew off, but alighted at 
some paces distance on the ground, which, at that 
place> was of the same colour with himself. I ap- 
proached him a second time : he once more took 
flight, and perched again on a similar stripe of earth. 
In a word, I found it was not in my power to oblige 
him to alight on the grass, though I made frequent 
attempts to that effect, — and though the spaces of 
earth which separated the turfy soil, were remarkably 
narrow and few in number." ^ 

On a future occasion I may take an opportunity of 
continuing this subject. R. H. F. 


Anger, though natural to man, becomes, like every 
other passion, hurtful and sinful, when not restrained 
within the bounds of strict moderation. The highest 
authority says, " be ye angry and sin not.** Bishop 
Butler observes, that anger is far from being a selfish 
passion, since it is naturally raised by injuries offered 
to others as well as to ourselves; and that it was de- 
signed by the Author of Nature not only to excite us to 
act vigorously in defending ourselves fitim evil, but to 
engage us in the defence of the injured or helpless. 

But anger becomes sinful, and offends against the 
precepts of Scripture, whenever it is felt upon insuf- 
ficient provocation, or is long indulged in. It is then 
contrary to the spirit of charity, which, in the beau- 
tiful language of Holy Writ, " sufferetii long, and is 
not easily provoked.*' It is, therefore, equally our 

duty and our inter^^, to acquire the power of sub- 
duing our angry feelings. 

This will be most effectually accor t^ lished by babits 
of just reflexion. We should cons' ier, (in the admi- 
rable language of Dr. Paley) " the possibility of nais- 
taking the motives from which t*ae conduct that of- 
fends us proceeded ; how ofloi our offences have been 
the effect of thoughtlessness, when they were mistaken 
for malice } the inducement which prompted our ad- 
versary to act as he did, and how powerfolly the same 
inducement has at one time or other operated on our- 
selves ; that he is suffering, perhaps, under a contri- 
tion which he is ashamed or wants opportunity to 
confess } and how ungenerous it is to triumph by 
coldness or insult over a spirit already humbled in 
secret ; that the returns of kindness are sweet, and 
that there is neither honour, nor virtue, nor use, in 
resisting them — ^for some persons think themsdvev 
bound to cherish and keep alive their indignation, 
when they find it dying away of itself. We may re- 
member that others have their passions, their preju- 
dices, their favourite aims, their fears, their cautioiis, 
their interests^ their sudden impulses, their varietks 
of apprehension, as well as we : we may recoUeet 
what hath sometimes passed in our own minds when 
we have got on the wrong side of a quarrel, and ima- 
gine the same to be passing in our adversary *s mind 
now ; how we were affected by the kindness and felt 
the superiority of a generous and ready fbi^Veness ; 
how persecution revived our spirits with our enmity, 
and seemed to justify the conduct in ourselves whidi 
we bei^ore blamed. Add to this, the indecency of ex- 
travagant anger; how it renders us the scorn and 
sport of all about us ; the inconveniences and mis- 
conduct into which it betrajrs us ; the friendships it 
has lost us, the distresses in which it has involved us, 
and the sore repentance which it has always cost us. 
' " But the reflexion calculated above all others to 
allay that haughtiness of temper which is ever finding 
out provocations, is that which the Gospel proposes; 
namely, that we ourselves are, or shortly slmllbe, 
suppliants for mercy and pardon at the judgment-seat 
of God. Imagine our secret sins, all disclosed and 
brought to light; imagine us thus humbled and ex- 
posed, trembling under the hand of God; casting 
ourselves on his compassion ; crying out for mercy : 
— ^imagine such a creature to talk of satisfaction and 
revenge, refusing to be intreated, disdaining to forgive, 
extreme to mark and to resent what is done amiss : — 
imagine, I say, this ; and you can hardly form to 
yourself an instance of more impious and unnatural 



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20™ 1832. 


Our knowledge of comets, notwithstanding the pro- 
gress it has made within the last twn centuries, is still 
very imperfect. The nnfreqnency of their appearance, 
combined with the irregular courses in which they 
move, renders it improbable that we should correctly 
ascertain their nature, or be certain of what they are 
formed, and it would, therefore, be a mere speculation, 
to endeavour to define them. They form, however, a 
part of our solar system, and appear to have solid 
dark bodies, (more generally called " nuclri,") with long 
shining tails, or trains of silvery light, always opposite 
to the sun, anH becoming of a feintcr lustre the fiirther 
they are removed from it. The appearances of comets 
vary according' fo their positions with regard to the 
sun and earth. If the comet he eastward of the sun, 
and move fioin it, the bright train precedes the 
nucleus, or body, after the fashion of a beard, and 
hence arises the popidar name of a " bearded comet" 
Again, if the comet be westward of the sun, and 
mcve towards it, the tail then follows the body, and 
is termed a " tmled comet -," and, lastly, if the comet 
and Btia be exactly opposite, (that is, if the earth be 
between those two bcMiies) the tail is then behind the 
body, and appears around it in a misty hairy form, 
hence called a " hairy comet." The comet of 1604 is 
B remarkable instance of this latter division. It pre- 
VOL. I. 

scnted a misty fo^y appearance without any visible 
nucleus, and, according to M. Arago, the French 
astronomer, who htia very learnedly discussed this 
subject, was about 2000 leagues in diameter. Great 
doubts are entertained with respect to the esistence 
of a solid and dork body in the central part of 
these vapourous appearances, stars having been seen 
tlirough the comet, which could not have been the 
case if any solid body existed. Sir W. Herschel, in 
1795, saw a star of the sixth magnitude through the 
midst of a comet, and some astronomers agree ia 
support of this point. But the general belief is, that 
the bodies of comets are solid, as other Hstronomers 
have observed that stars have been eclipsed by them. 
The bodies of comets apparently resemble the face 
of a planet, both as to lustre and form. Their dia- 
meters vary considerably : thus the nucleus of the 
comet of 1798 was eleven le^nes in diameter, whilst 
the remarkable comet of 1811 was 10S9 leagues. 
The taib become wider and wider, aa they lengthen ^ 
out from the comet, and often occupy immense ; 
spaces. The comet of 181 1 had a tail of twenty- j 
three degrees, that of 1 680 was ninety degrees in 
length, whilst that of 1769 was ninety-seven d<^reesj 
and, as M. Arago eays, these last two might have 
actually set below the horizon whilst their tails were 



[October 20^ 

on the 2enHh, thtuB spanning one half of the arch of 
heaven. Some comets have iq>peared withont any 
visible tail. 

The motion of comets is round the sun^ though in 
very irregular ovals, and returning at certain pe- 
riodical times*. The rapidity -with which they move 
is immense ; and, like the planets, they move faster 
the nearer thev are to the sun. But lit^ can be said 
of the causes which produce the tails of comets, of 
their forms, or of the nature of their light. Some 
popular opinions, however, prevail with regard to the 
effects of heat produced by comets, which appear 
erroneous, as well as the supposition that the tides 
are influenced by these bodies. The moon is the 
acknowledged cause of the tides ; and if we take the 
comet of 1811 for example, with which the greater 
part of our readers will be fomiliar, — ^in proportion to 
the influence of the moon, the effect of this body on 
the tides should have been perceptible, which we do 
not find by the nicest observations to have been the 
case ; and, as regards the heat, it does not appear 
that there is any connexion between the presence of 
these bodies and any increase of temperature in our 

The number of comets known iii otir system exceeds 
ninety) Hxeit times of appearing vary considerably. 
The comet, called Biela's comet, was discovered on 
the 27th of Febmaiy, 1826, by M. BJda, of Joseph- 
stadt. It performs its Journey round the mxn in about 
six years and three-quarters. Its nearest approach to 
the earth will take place on the 25th of this momth 
(October), when It will be abtiut fifty-one millions of 
miles distant from ns. On the 09th of Moveraber, 
it will be at its peHhelioB, or nearest mpprtmch to 
the sun, and will be distant fhym H about eighty- 
three and a-half millions of miles. Its motion is very 
rapid, and, at the time of ite periheliofi, Ita dally velo- 
city will be equal to 9>4d 0,000 miles, ot its hourly 
motion 10^,300 miles, and, consequently, its motion 
in one second will exceed twenty-ieven miles, 

* This rale win only apply io the ease of the oomet movinff 
in an oval ; if its motion bo parabolio, (like that of a wheel 
travelling along a road,) as it tuspootod to be the ease with 
some, it can never return again. 


Vbrt shortly after poor Jack dies, he is prepared fbr his 
deep sea grave by his messmates, who, with me assistance 
of the sau-maker, and in the presence of the master-at- 
arms, sew him up in his hammock, and having placed a 
couple of cannon-shot at his feet, they rest the body (which 
now not a little resembles an Egyptian mummy) on a spare 
grating. Some portion of the bedding and clothes are 
alwavs made up in the package — apparently to prevent 
the form being too much seen. It is Uien carried aft, and 
being placed across the after-hatchway, the union jack is 
thrown over aU. Sometimes it is placed between two of 
the guns, under the half-deck ; but generally, I think, it is 
laid where I have mentioned, Just abaft the mainmast. 

I should have mentioned before, that as soon as the 
surgeon's mefTectual professional offices are at an end, he 
walks to the quarter-deck, and reports to the officer of the 
watch that one of his patients has just expired. At what- 
ever hour of the day qr night this occurs, the captain is 
immediately made- acquainted with the circumstance.-^ 
Next day, generally about eleven o clock, the bell on which 
the half-hours are struck, is tolled for the funeral, and all 
who choose to be present, assemble on the gangways, 
booms, and round the mainmast, while the forepart of the 

auarter-deck is occupied by the officers. • • • While 
le people are repairinff to the quarter-deck, in obedience 
to the summons of the bell, the grating on whieh the body 
is placed, being lifted from the main-deck by the mess- 
mates of the man who has died, is made to rest on tlie lee- 
gangway. The stanchions for the man-ropes of the sides 
^u^ '"^^"ipp®^* ^^^ an opening made at the after-end of 
the hammock netting, sufficiently large to allow a free 

passage. The bodf j.* stiff eeteiM bv the flag lAtnif 
mentioned, with the feet jifroj^ing a little over flie ffna- 
wale while the messmates of the deceased arrenM tneiih 
selves on each side. A rope, which is kept out or sight ii 
these arrangements, is then made fast to me grating, for i 
purpose which will be seen presently. 

When all is ready, thD chaplain, if there be one q| 
board, or, if not, the captain, or any of the officers he maj 
direct to officiate, appears on the quarter-deck and eon- 
mences the beautiful service, which, though but too famiiir 
to most ears, I have observed, never fails to rivet the atten- 
tion even of the rudest and least reflecting. • • • • 
The land service for the burial of the deid contains the 
following words : ' Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almiebtj 
God, of his ffreat mercy, to take unto himself the sou of 
our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body 
to the ground ; earth to earth, ashes i» ashes, dust to dnst; 
in sure and certain h9pe,* &c. Every one, I am sore, who 
has attended the fUneral of a friend-^and whom will tbis 
not include ? — must recollect the solemnity of that stage of 
the ceremony, where, as the above words are iNtmoimeed, 
there are cast Into the grave three successive portions of 
earth, which, falling on the coffin, send up aheUow, mouzn- 
fill sound, resembhng no other that I know. 

In the burial senice at sea, the part mioled above is 
varied in the following very striking and solemn manner: 
' Forasmuch,' &c. — * we therefore commit h» body to die 
deep, to be turned into corruptioii, looking fbr the re8urre^ 
tion of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead, tad 
the life of the world to come,* he. At the eomnaeneemett 
€i ^is part of the service, one of the seamen stoops down, 
and disengages the flag from the remains of his late ihif- 
mate, white tlie others, at the words ' we eoramit his mj 
to the deep/ project the mting right into the sea. Hie 
body beitiff loaded with shot iS one end, glances <^ tbe 
grating, plunges at once into the ocean* mt^ 

f n ft moment, like ft drop of ndii, 

m if nkt iBto ttt dothf with boraasff n«M* 

without a gnre, anliaelfd, •aeowftf, Im oaksovs. 

Hall*8 Fragmeni$ tf Foyq^ m$d 7>0fek 


It ii strange that persona shotild he fSonmd, who 
think it worth their while to bring Ibrward arga- 
ments to depreciate the Impmrtanoe of the due ob- 
servance of the Lord*8 day. Such arguments will be 
found, on examination, to be unworthy of fhe sligfateit 
attention ; for, besides tbe sin which is avoided, 
what human being was evar any thing but the better 
for paying due honour to this day? — and bow 
many thousands have confessed that the neglect of 
it was the first step towards their entire ruin ! So 
fitting and convenient an institution is it to the ci^ 
cumstances of man, in this his earthly pilgrimage, 
that snpposing, for the sake of alignment, its appoint- 
ment had not entered into the acheme of Divine Pro- 
vidence, most aesnredly that man would have been 
esteemed a wise and merciful legislator, who should 
first have introduced a hnnuua law £&r setting apart 
one day out of seven, for the relief of the body and 
the refi«ahment of the soul. 

None are more interested in the obsarvance of this 
day than the working classes. It is painful to see 
them deprived of any portion of the"^ rest they so 
greatly need, by the want of con«daration, or some* 
thing worse, of thoae who employ them. Why are 
the working pec^le seen crowding to shops on tiie 
Sunday morning, to supply their wants, but because, 
fai so many cases, the masters pay them thdr 
wages at a late hour on the Saturday nig^t? If 
every labouring man had his wages in his pocket 
by six o'clock on the Saturday evening, he would 
have no occasion to break the law of God and 
man on the Sunday morning. The shof^eepcar, 
too, is as much inconvenioiced by this practke 
as the labourer. He gets no b^iefit from the 
Sunday's traffic, — he would sell just as mu<^ if the 
purchases were made on the Saturday $ he and his 
household are disturbed without advantage or com- 




pensation, even if any achrantftge could compensate 
for a breach of duty, and the commission of sin. 

It is useful to hear what men of good lives and 
great parts and ex:perience say of these matters. 
Great Biitain never produced a better Judge or more 
excellent man, than Sir MatUiew Hale. Amidst great 
public changes, he was respected by all ranks, and 
trusted by all parlies. His lessons of wisdom were 
founded, firstly, on his own good principles 5 and, 
secondly, on his elctensive observation of what was 
passing around him. After great practical experience 
in the business of life, he thus writes to his children 
concerning the observance of the Sunday : — " 1 have, 
by long and sound experience, found, that t^e due 
observance of this day, and of the duties of it, has 
been of singular comfort and advantage to me ; and 
I doubt not but it will prove so to you. God Al- 
mighty is the Lord of our time, and lends it to us ; 
and, as it is but just we should consecrate this part 
of that time to him, so I have found, by a strict and 
diligent observation, that a due observation of the 
duty of this day hath ever had joined to it a blessing 
upon the rest of my time ; and the week that hath 
Ijeen so begun, hath been blessed and prosperous to 
me : and, on the ot^er side, when I have been negli- 
gent of the duties of this day, the rest of the week 
has been unsuccessful and unhappy to my own secular 
enjo3mients j so that I could easily make an estimate 
of my successes in my own secular employments the 
week following, by lie manner of my passing of 
this day 5 and this I do not write lightly or incon- 
siderately, but upon along and sound observation and 


What a useful thing is mcmey ! If there were no 
sudi thing as money, we i^ould be much at a loss to 
get any tibdng we mi^t want. The shoemaker, for 
instance^ who might want bread, and meat, and beer, 
fat his fiRmily, would have nothing to give in exchange 
but shoes. He must go the b^er, and offer him a 
pair of ehoes for as much bread as they were worth : 
and he must do the same thing if he went to the 
butcher for meat, or to the brewer for beer. 

But tiie baker might happen not to want shoes just 
then, though he mi^t want a hat. Thou the shoe- 
maker must find out some hatter who wanted shoes,, 
and get a hat from him, and then exchange the hat 
with the baker fc»r bread. 

All this would be very troublesome* But by tiie 
use of money this trouble is saved. Any one who 
has mcmey may get for it just what he may diance to 
want. The baker is always willing to part with his 
bread for money; because he knows that he may 
exchange that for shoes, or for a hat, or fcur firing, or 
any tiling he is in want of. What time and trouble 
it must have cost men to exchange one tiling for 
another before money was in use ! 

We are cautioned in Scripture against tiie too great 
lovte of money. It is a foolish and wicked thing to set 
your heart on mimey, or on any thing in this present 
wortd. Some set their hearts on eating and drinking, 
and some on fine clothes. All these tUngs are apt to 
draw off our thoughts from God. Therefore our Lord 
Jesus Christ tells us to '' lay up for ourselves treasxire 
in heayen> where neitiier motii nor rust doth corrupt," 
and forbids us to be too careful and anxious ''what 
we shall eat and what we shall drink, or how we shall 
be clothed,*' but to " seek first the kingdom of God 
and his righteousness." 

But we ought to be thankful for all the good tilings 
which Providence gives us, and to be careM to make 
a right use of them. The best use of wealthy and 

what gives most delight to a true Christian, is to relieve 
good people when they are in want. 

It is for this purt)ose that money is of the greatest 
use. For a poor man may chance to be in want of 
something which I may not have to spare. But if I 
give him money, he can get just what he wants for 
that : whether bread, or clothes, or coals, or books. 

When there was a great famine in Judasa, in the 
time of the Apostie Paul, the Greek Christians thought 
fit to relieve the poor saints (that is. Christians) that 
were in Judaea. But it would have been a great 
trouble to send them com to such a distance j and 
besides, they themselves might not have had com to 
spare. But they made a collection of money, which 
takes little room *, and Paul carried it to Judea ^ 
and with this mon^ the poor pec^le could buy com 
wherever it was to be had. 


But why should not each man make what he wants 
for himself, without going to his ndghbour's to buy it ? 

Go into the shoemakers shop, and ask him why he 
does not make tables and chairs for himsdf, and 
hats, and coats, and every thing he wants. He will 
tell you, that he must have a complete set of joiner s 
tools to make one chair properly $ the same tools as 
would serve to make hundreds of diairs. And if he 
were also to make the tools himself, and the nails, he 
would want a smith's forge, and anvil, and hammer. 
And after all, it would cost him great labour to make 
very clumsy tools and chairs, because he has not been 
used to that kind of work. It would be less trouble 
to him to make shoes that would sell for as much as 
would buy a dozen chairs, than to make one chair 
himself. To the joinei^ &gain^ it would be as great a 
loss to attempt making shoes for himself. And so it 
is with tiie tailor, the hatter, and all other trades. It 
is best for all, that each should work in his own way, 
and supply his neighbours, while they supply him. 

But there are some rude nations who have very 
little of this kind of exchange. Each man among 
them builds himself a cabin> and makes clothes for 
himself, and a canoe to go a-fishing in, and fishing- 
rod and hooks and lines, and also darts and bows 
and arrows, for hunting ; besides tilling a littie bit 
of land. Such people are all of them much worse 
off than the poor among us. Their clothing is no- 
thing but coarse mats, or raw hides 3 their cabins arc 
no better than pigstyes ; their canoes are only hollow 
trees, or baskets made of bark ; and all their tools 
are clumsy. Where every man does every thing for 
lumself, every thing is badly done ) and a few hun- 
dreds of tiiese savages will be hidf-starved in a coun- 
try, that would muntain as many thousands of us, 
in mudi greati^ comfort. 

Of all terms happiness and misery are among the most rela- 
tive. The happiest moments in tue life of a sarage would 
gtrike an English mendicant dumb tvith despair. The beg- 
gar's ideal bliss is placed in the anticipation, of a fUll meal 
and constant work $ the mechanic, who possesses both, longs 
for the corporeal indulgences of the tradesman ; the trades- 
man for the glitter and show of the independent man. 

Coming hastily into a chamber, I had almost thrown down 
a chrystal hour-glass : fear, lest I had, made me grieve, as 
if I had broken it : but, alas ! how much precious time have 
I cast away without lUiy regret ! The hout^ass was but 
chrystal, each hour a pearly that but like (0 be bvoken, tiiis 
lost oitiight; that bat casually, this done wilfully. A better 
liour-glass might be bought ; but time, lost once, lost ever. 
Thus we grieve more for toys than for treasure. Lord, give 
me an hour-glass, not to be by me, hut to he in me. Teach 
me to number my dayt. An hour-glass, to turn me, that J 
way turn my heart to irwdom.— FuLuaa's Good Thoughts. 


[October 20, 

Sir Philip Sidney was one of the most remarkable 
men tliat England has produced. Hia parents were 
Sir llunry Sidney, an Irisli gendeman, and Mary, 
daughter of the Duke of Nosthumbcrkuid. He was 
bom at Penahvirat, in Kent, in the year 15.^4. At 
the age of twenty-five, he became one of the most 
highly trusted comisellurs of Queen Elizabeth, by 
whum he was sent ambassador to tiie EmpenH" of 
Austria. A few years afterwards, his advice influ- 
enced the Queen in a most im|>ortant crisis of her 
life. The Duke of Anjon had long sought her hand; 
and, though she was .nearly twenty-five years older 
than that prince, he took the resolution of preferring 
bis suit in person, and secretly paid her a visit at 
Greenwich. It appears that, though bia figure was 
not handeome, his manners were pleasing, and that 
he made considerable impression on her hearL The 
Queen ordered her Ministers to fix the terms of the 
marriage settlement; and a day was appointed for the 
nuptials. Bat the wise counsellon who surrounded 
ber throne saw the necessity of averting a step which 
might have been very prejudicial to the interests of 
England j and Sir FhiUp Sidney, in particular, had 
the courage to address a letter to her, in which he 
dissuaded her from the match with such force of 
reasoning, that her resolution was shaken. As the 
appointed day drew near, she became irresolute and 
melancholy ; and was observed to pass several nights 
without sleep. At last, her settled habits of pmdence 
overcame her ioclimitjons, and the Duke of Anjon 
was dismissed. 

When Queen Elizabeth, in 1585, agreed to assist 
Maurice, Prince of Orange, against the arms of 
Spain, she sent an army into the Netherlands, com- 
manded by the famous Earl of Leicester. Leicester 
made hut a sorry general, and did little service to the 
cause ; but Sir Philip Sidney so greatly distinguished 
himself by his courage and contact, that hia reputa- 
tion rose to the highest pitch. Hia name became so 
illustrions throughout Europe, that he was invited to 
be a competitor for the Crown of Poland, and would 
probably have been elected but for the interference of 

Elizabeth. He f*^^J^ the 17th of October, 1586, at 
the battle of Zatp^^ His body was brouglit to 
London, and barieo u, gt. Paul's Cathedral These 
ibsequies were attended " by the I.ord Mayor and Al- 
lermen ' in vaareie; by the Grocers' Company, of 
which Sir Philip was a member; and by msAy of tlie 
citizens practised in arms." 

Sift Philip Sidney is described by the writers of 
tliat age as the most perfect model that could be 
imi^incd of a great character. With the wisdom of 
a statesman, the valour of a soldier, and the elegant 
accomphshments of a gentleman and scholar, bt 
combined high principles of religion, and great ptuity 
of life. No person was too low to become an object 
of his humanity. After the battle of Zutphen, while 
he was lying mangled with wounds, upon the field, a 
bottle of water was brought him to relieve his thirEt; 
but observing a soldier near him ui a similar condi- 
tion, he said, " This man's necessity is greater than 
mine," and resigned the water to the dying raoo. 
Uesidcs the beautiful poem of the Arcadia, wbiih 
places him in a high rank among the English poi-tf, 
he wrote a number of smaller pieces, both in proK 
and verse. 

Sir Philip Sidney left one daughter, Elizabeth, 
who was bom in the year 1585, in the parish of St 
Olave, Hart-street, London, where Lady Sidney, Sir 
Philip's mother resided, and where she died in 158(i. 
This Elizabeth was married to Roger, Earl of Rutland. 

The widow of Sir Philip afterwards became the 
wife successively of Robert Dcvercux, tlie unforta- 
nate Earl of Es^x, and of Richard, Karl of Clanri- 
carde and of St. Albau's. 

Were built for the pnrpose of conducting water into 
the city of London. Before the time of William the 
Conqueror, and for two hundred years after, Ltmdiw 
was supplied with water by the river Hiamea on the 
South ; by the River of the Wells (afterwards called 
Fleet Ditch), on the West ; by a stream called Wal- 
brook, whicb ran throngh London-Wall, and through 
the heart of the city into the Thames ; by a fourth 
stream, or Bourne, which took its coupe along the 
city, banning in Fenchurch-strect, through Lombard- 
street, at the west end of which it turned southwards 
by Sherboum-lane into the Thames. This Bonnie 
was called Langbonme fi^m its length. Laugbonmc 
ward still bears its name. In the west subnrbs was 
another stream called Oldboume or Holbonie, which 
began at Holbom-bars, and ran down the street to 
Holbom-bridge into the River of the Wells. 

Besides these, there were fountains or wrfl» ia 
various parts, the chief of which were Holy-wdl, 
Clerka-mctt, ClemenU-teell, whose respective dtnations 
are now pointed out by the names of the Mreets 
which were called after them. 

So greatly, however, had popnlation and boilding 
increased towards the end of the thirteenth centnrf 
as to encroach upon and render oseless tlie Rreer of 
the Wells and other streams ; when it became neces- 
sary to invent some additional mode of fmpplying the 
inhabitants with water. 

Accordingly in the year 1285, a leaden cistern, 
encased in stone for protection, was erected in Wert 
Cheap (Cbeapside), called the Great Conduit, into 
whi(£ water was conveyed from Paddington. 

Between the years 1401 and 1610 a vast atunbcr 
of these conduits were bnilt in London, among which 
we may particularly notice one at Holbom Cross, 
about 1498. This was restored in 1577 by Mr. W. 
Lamb, and was hence called Lamb's Conduit. 



A regular trade was canied on by persons employed 
to convey water from the conduits to the respective 
houses J these were called " Water Bearers ;" the 
vessels wfaii^h they used held about three gallons. 

In order to kMp up the various conduits, sums of 
money were frequently bestowed by "good and 
charitable people." It was also customary for the 
city authorities to visit them in great state. Stow 
gives an amusing account of one of these visits : — 

" On the 18th September, loSB, the Lord Mayor, 
Aldermen, and many worshipful persons, and divers 
of the masters and wardens of the twelve companies, 
rid to the Conduit- heads, for to see them after the old 
custom ; and afore dinner they hunted the hare and 
killed her, and thence to dinner at the head of tlie 
conduit. There was a good number entertained with 
good cheer by the Chaniberloui. And after dinner 
they went to hunting the fox. Tlicre was a great cry 
for a mile, and at length the hounds killed him at the 
end of St. Giles's. Great hallowing at his death, and 
blowing of horns. And thence the Lord Mayor, with 
nil his company, rode through London to his place 
in Lioinbard-Street. " 

Tim Conduits being now found insufficient, the 
supply of water was greatly increased by the water- 
works near London-bridge, which were planned and 
e^ccutcd by Peter Morrice, a Dutchman, in the reign 
of Elizabeth. 


The foroous inn called Whitz CoNnnir House, 
derives its name from an' ancient stone conduit, shown 
in the ei^raving, and which till very ^tely stood near 
the spot. It appears to have been built iu 1641, and 
was raised over a bead of water that supplied the 
Charter-house by means of a leaden pipe, which, after 
the erection of Sadler's Welts, passed through the 
basement story of that building. The carved stone 
which bore the date exhibited also the initials of Tao- 
UAS Sutton, the noble founder of the Charter-house, 
with his arms, and other initials, probably those of 
persons connected with the hospital. M. 

Beneath tfay Bll-direcling nod. 
Both world and worais are equal, Godi 
Thy hand the comets' Dibits are». 
And lirhlest vtmder glow-worm too ; 
Thou did'st me dome of hearen build np, 
Aod fonn'dst jtm mow-drop's silvei cup. 
Oh, sacred soirow, by whom hearts are tried, 
Sent nol to punish mortals, but to guide ; 
If Ihon art mine, (and who shall proudly dare 
To tell bis Maker he has had his share f) 
Slill let me feel for what ihy pangs are sent. 
And he mj guide, and not ntj puaiabnient. 

Is a species of crane which is found in Cayenne, in 
South America. It is about thirty inches in length, 
and has long feathers of a deep blue bending over the 
tail. The under side of the body resembles in colour 
msty iron ; the neck is of the same colour before, but 
blueish below, and dark blue above. The head and 
neck are qovcred with down, and the former bears a 
large crest. 

The heron seeks every where the neighbourhood of 
lakes, of rivers, and of lands intersected by water.— 
Almost always solitary, it remains, for hours together 
immoveable in the same spot. When it puts itself in 
motion to watch, upon their passage, and more nearly, 
thefrogaand Sshes, which constitute its chief aliment, 
it enters into the water above the knee, with its head 
between the legs, and in thia position, after having 
patiently awaited the moment of seizing its prey, it 
suddenly unfolds its long neck, and pierces its victim 
with its bill. It has been ascertained that it swallows 
fr<^ entire, for their bones are found in its stomach 
unbroken. In time of dearth, and when the water 
is covered with ice, it approaches running streams, 
and hot springs, where it is said to feed on the water- 
lentil, and other small plants. But it frequently 
exposes itself to perish, rather than seek a milder 
climate. In the cUfferent seasons of the year, it con- 
stantly appears so melabxholy and insensible, that it 
will remain alone and exposed in the worst weather, 
on some stimip in the midst of an inundated meadow, 
while the blongios (a smaller kind of heron) takes 
shelter in the ttiick herbage, and the bittern in the 
midst of the reeds. 

The herons, which unite to their sad and uniform 
existence all the torments of perpetual fear and in- 
quietude, are not accustomed to take flight, except 
at night, and for the purpose of betaking themselves 
into the woods of thick and lofty foliage in the 
neighbourhood, and from which they return before 
the dawn of day. Then it is that their sharp and 
unpleasant scream is heard, which might be compared 
to that of a goose were it not shorter and more melan- 
choly. In ^e day-time, they fly away to a great dis- 
tance from the sight of man, and when attacked by 
the eagle or the falcon, they endeavour to escape by 
rising into the air, and getting above them. The wings 
of the heron strike the air in an equal and regulated 
motion, and this uniform flight raises and carries its 
body to such an elevation, that, at a distance, nothing 
is perceptible except the wings, which are at length 
lost sight of in the region of ^e clouds. — Cutikr's 
Ammal Kittgdom. 



rOcTOBtidk 20, 


It may be gratifying, as an appendix to a former 
paper, to observe that the great modem secret of 
management in insanity is gentle and kind treatment, 
occupation, and amusement^ and last, though not 
least, religious and moral inslmction for all who are 
able to bear it. If the boasted advance of pur age in 
knowledge had stopped short of the poor lunatic, who 
was least able to take care of himself, we should have 
less ground for mutual congratulation -, but thanks to 
the Christian benevolence of the wealthy and the in- 
fluential, the sorrowful sighing of the most pitiable of 
" prisoners" has at length come before us, and much 
has been done by the scientific and the pious, to in- 
crease his comfort and to hasten his cure. 

1st. Js to mild treatment, — ^The mind, whether in a 
sound or imsound state, naturally revolts at oppres- 
sion and injustice -, and the reason as well as experience 
of mankind should have taught them earlier, that all 
constraint or correction beyond what is cleariy neces- 
sary, should be studiotisly avoided in the treatment of 
lunatics. Kind and cheering language, a compliance 
with pardonable odc^ties, an endurance of provoking 
language, the suggestion of hope, whether of amend- 
ment or discharge, an attention to little wants 
and even weaknesses, and an affectionate sympathy 
with the character and case <^ each individual, are 
charms too potent to be resisted. Hence, a really 
good temper is indispensable in superintendents and 
servants oi the insane, and the conti^ of their own 
passions becomes the first of duties $ when pati<Hit8 
see, however imperfectly, that real kindness akme 
dictates the necessary discipline, and feel that some 
interest is takai in ihar comfbrt» one half of the work 
is done. 

2dly. Occupation and Anuuemeni — are of great im- 
portance, though thdr value has only been properly 
tmderstood of late. Out of confinement, as wdi as in 
it, idleness is the greatest evil of our nature ; it makes 
the man whd is at liberty his own tormentor ; while 
employment will sweeten the dreariest hour of solitude 
in a prison, and greatly increases the pleasure of 
society under confinement. It was once the declara- 
tion of a poor convict who was long shut up in a 
dungeon, that he was fbr months supplied with the 
means of fixing his iHit^ition and engaging his 
thoughts by watching the movements of a spider, the 
only tenant of his cell. We now find the females 
in every well conducted Lunatic As3rlum, working, 
knitting, getting up the linen, me&ding, and reading 
suitable books; white tlie men are also engaged 
with bocdcs, garden work, tennis-ball, pumping 
water, battledoor and shuttlecock, or other nealthftd 
and harmless occupations. The bodily exercise so 
necessary to the health is thus provided for by pro- 
moting proper circulation, and assisting due aectietion ; 
while the mind is no longer suffered to prey upon 
itself for want of some external object j in this way, 
both present comfort and future cure ai^ found to be 
eminently promoted. 

3dly. As to Religions fnstructimt. — T^e experience of 
aH the asylums which have laried it, is, that under the 
exercise of a wise discretion in the selectimi of cases, 
and of prudent caution in their management, religioii 
and morals are actual helps in the cure of insanity, 
as well as no small alleviations where a cure cannot 
be effected. This is not an experiment of yesterday, 
for the judicious religious instruction of those who 
are recovering has been in use for a great number of 
years at Bethlem-hospital, under two successive chap- 
lains ; nor did that hospital adopt the plan till such 
accumulated evidence poured in from all England and 

Scotland as could not be redsted.* The aame sys- 
tem is pursued at Hanwell, and indeed specta/tan 
have oft^ observed that the behaviour of the insane 
during public worship is such as need not fear a com- 
parison with liiat of the most sane congr^atkm 
wherever* assembled. 

The writer of this paper has known eases ki wluch 
the highest possible comfort has been a<ktiinJs(ered 
by the chaplain, both in heal^ and sickn^ss^ to the 
poor patient, whose gratitude has been express 
down to tiie latest opportunity. Indeed, when ve 
consider how frequently it happens that much wan- 
dering will appear on a given subject, while on ifl 
others the mind will preserve its tone, it would neither 
be philosophic nor Christian to withhold a remedy of 
Grod*s own providing, in those cases where no parti- 
cular reason for doing so is to be found. 

If space would allow, it could be easily shown that 
so far from the common notion being true, that ReK- 
gion makes men mad, the want of Religion has of^en 
been a main source of madness. Whatever cxdtes 
the passions strongly is not only injurious to the 
exercise of reason, but often suspends its operation 
and produces its overthrow. Some, under the influ- 
ence of liquor, are in a state of temporary madness, 
and the friends of patients constantly assign drinking 
as the main, or the only cause of the malady. 

In conclusion, let all be grateful that the treatment 
of a malady which has not spared the sceptred 
monarch, and may be permitted, in the righteous 
providence of Grod, to visit any of us, is now better 
understood than ever 5 and let all who are yet blessed 
with the imspeakable mercy c^ a sound understanding, 
be anxious above all things to " walk with Ood" in the 
constant use of that Divine Revelation whidi he has 
been pleased to make of himself, and in humble 
prayer for the influence of his Hdiy Spirit that they 
may be enabled to reeeive its doctrines, and obey its 
precepts $ and let all who call ^etnse^es Christians 
remember, that in proof of the Almighty having 
inseparably connected sin with suffering, and holiness 
with happiness, an illustrious layman has said that 
" whatever disunites man from God, separates man 
from man.** If then, all suffering and sorrow be a 
consequence of the Fall^ who can doubt that madness 
is so ? and where then, in addition to human means, 
may we more properly look fbr aid than to Him who 
in the days of his flesh, especially remembered out- 
casts, and now declares that " whosoever wiU, may 
come.** The power of using that wiH, and the success 
which may attend its exercise, cannot be d^ned or 
limited by man, and can only be fully known by Him 
" who knoweth all things.'* P. 

* The last return at Bethlem gave a proportion of seyent) 
seven under religious instruotion^ out of two hundred and 
twenty then in the house. 

I CANNOT but remember with thankfulness the benefit I 
derived from the Lectures of Dr. Adam Marshall oa 
Human Anatomy. He was a man of strong mind, and 
had deeply studied the mathematical construction and laws 
of our bony fabric, and was never happier than when ex- 
plaining them. In the course which I attended, he was 
particularly scientific and eloquent on this subject. I re- 
member lus devoting a whole lecture to display the pro- 
found science that was visible in the formation of the double 
hinges of our joints. Such was the effeot of his demon- 
strations, that our inquisitive friend, 1H10 had accompanied 
me to his ooiu^e with sceptical indinations, suddenly ex- 
claimed, with great emphasis one day as we left his rooms, 
*' A man mi)st be a fod indeed, who, after duly studying 
his own body, can remain an Atheist.*' I felt as he did, 
but had not been aware thlit his objeetilig mind was spon 
taneously working itself into so important a eonviction.— 
Sacred Histcfrv o^ the World 




KooTTTBifAt ttonr ivitu A t«ioir.-^A number of Uoni 
%te met with amonff the hillfl of CBlifomia* »nd they are 
•aid to be very lerooioiis. A former commandant of 
llexieo, in the Tear 1821» was travelling near the Gidf of 
If oleie, and lUminff it impoatible, from the lateness of the 
lioar, to fooeh harm before the morning, he retolTed upon 
sleeping in one of tha valleys near the shore. His two 
sons, Touths of sixteen and eiffhteen years of age, acoom- 
panied him. The father, being apprehensive of lions, 
whieh he knew to be plentiftil among the mountains, slept 
with a son on either side of him, ohmtably supposing that, 
if one of these animals should approach the intrty auring 
the night, he wonld certainly attack the person sleeping on 
the outside. About midnight, a wandering lion found out 
the retreat of the party, and, without his approach bdng 
perceived, he leaped upon the father, in whose body he 
inserted bis tee^ and claws, and with his mane ana tail 
erect, proceeded fbrthwitb to devour him. The two boys, 
moved by the cries and sufferings of their parent, grappled 
the lion manfiiUy, who, finding his prise contested, be- 
came furious : the combat was most bloody. After being 
dreadfully lacerated, the two brave youths succeeded, with 
a simple knife, in killing their fbrooions enemy, bnt, un- 
happily for them, not soon enough to save their father ; 
and the a£Qicted boys were left to lament his death and 
their own severe wounds. They both, with difficulty, sur- 
vived; and are, I understand, still living in California, 
although dreadfld objects, — the features of one of them 
being nearly obliterated.— Habbt's TrmMU im Mexico* 


Yb gentle birds, that perch aloof. 

And smooth your pinions on my roof^ 

Preparing for departure hence. 

Ere Winter 8 angry threats commence ; 

Like you, my som would smooth her plume 

For longer flights beyond the tomb. 

May God, by whom is seen and heard 

Departing man and wand ring bird. 

In mercy mark me for His own. 

And guide me to the land unknow i ! — Hatlby. 


Thb varieties of this vsefiil mineral are disting^oished 
Dy the diffierent situations in which they are found : 
thus we hare Sea-salt, Rock-salt, Lake-salt, and 
Fountain-salt ; all possessing exactly th6 same pro- 
perties, and containing the same component parts. 
To those who are unacquainted with the effect of 
chemical combinations, it w^ appear strange that a 
substance of snch an agreeable flavour as s^t^hould 
be composed of the most unpalatable materials ; but 
this is really the case ; for salt is formed by the 
tmion of soda with marine acid, either of which, 
taken separately, is highly disagreeable. 

When salt to snffimd to crystallise regularly, it 
takes the form of a cube, and, when broken, splits 
into thin plates. It is one of the most abundant 
substances in nature, being distributed with a profu- 
sion in proportion to onr wants, and found in some 
state or oilier in every country of the world. The 
sea is the most abundant source of this mineral, since 
it has been ascertained that one-thirtieth part of all 
the great waters of the ocean is formed of salt. The 
quantity of salt, however, wluch the sea contains, is 
not the same in all climates. The prc^xnrtion appears 
to increase from the poles in a regular progression, 
and to be greatest in quantity near the Equator. The 
North Seas contain a sixty-fourth, those of Grermany 
about a thirtieth, the Spanish Maud a sixteenth, and 
ihe ocean, within the Equator, from a twelfth to an 
eighth part. 

In very hot countries, where the earth is dry and 
sandy, it is not uncommon to find the surface covered 
with a crust of salt. This circumstance is mentioned 
by several travellers. In Persia very extensive plains 
are said to be covered wi^ a sort txf fleecy salt. In 

Arabia the plains are seldom witbont salt ^ and in 
Africa this substance is so abundantly spread on the 
ground, that we may presume the dry and hot soil 
has some share in its formation. 

In many parts of the world we meet with lakes of 
salt water, whose bottoms «re encrusted with layers 
of salt Mr. Barrow, in particuliff, notices these salt 
lakes. He met with them to the east of the Cape of 
Gk>od Hope, on the frontiers of the Caffru cooirtry, 
and has given the followhig account of them. ^* We 
encamped on the verdant bank of a beantifnl lake, in 
the midst of a wood of firuit-bearing plants. It was 
of an oval form, about three miles in circumference. 
On the western side was a shelving bank of green 
turf, and round the oth^ parts of the basin the 
ground, rishigmore abruptly, and to a gpreater height, 
was covered Sickly with the same kind of plants as 
had been observed to grow most commoniy in the 
thickets of the adjoining country. The water tvas 
perfectly dear, but salt as brine. It was one of those 
salt-water lakes, which abound in Southern Aii4ca, 
where they are called Mout-pam by the colonists. The 
one in question, it seems^ is the most famous in the 
colony, and is resorted to by the Inhabitants ftom 
very distant parts, for the puipoee of procuring salt 
for their own consumption, or for sale. It is situated 
on a plain of considerable elevation above the level of 
the sea. The greatest part of the bottom of the lake 
was covered with one continued body of salt like a 
sheet of ice, the crystals of which were so united that 
it formed a solid mass as hard as rock. The margin, 
or shore, of the basin, was like the sandy beach ot 
the sea-coast, with sand-stone and quartz pebbles 
thinly scattered over it, some red, some purple, and 
others gray. Beyond the narrow belt of sand round 
the margin, the sh^et of salt commenced with a thin 
porous crust, increasing in thickness and solidity as 
it advanced towards the middle of the lake. The salt 
that is taken out for use is generally broken up with 
pick-axes, where it is about four or five inches thick, 
which is at no great distance from the mai^in of the 
lake. The thickness in the middle is not known, a 
quantity of water generally remaining in that part. 
The dry sou^-easterly winds of summer agitating the 
water of the lake, produce on the margin a fine light 
powdery salt, like flakes of snow. This is equally 
beautiAil as the refined salt of England, and is much 
sought after by the women, who always commission 
their husbands to bring home a quantity of snowy 
salt for the table. 

" I caused a hole four feet in depth to be dug in the 
sand, close to the edge of the water. The two firs 
feet were through sand, like that of the sea-shore, in 
which were mingled small shining crystals of salt. 
The third foot was considerably harder and more 
compact, and came up in flakes that required some 
degree of force to break ; and the last foot was so 
solid that the spade would scarcely pierce it ; and 
one-fifth part of the mass, at least, was pure salt in 
crystals. The water now gushed In perfectly clear, 
and as salt as brine.** 

Salt springs are very numerous, and occur in most 
parts of the world. Those of our own country, si- 
tuated at Northwich, are well known for the great 
quantity of salt ^i^ch is annually obtained from 
them. The springs are from twenty to forty yards 
below the surface a( the earth, and the water is raised 
by a steam-engine, and convejred through long 
troughs to the brine-pits, where It is evaporated in 
large iron pans till the salt crystallizes. An immense ' 
quantity is collected In this way, no less than 45,000 
tons being annually manufactured in the town of 


[OCTOBKR 20, 1833 

The ODlf mines of rock-salt in England ar« those 
near Northwicb in Chester, discovered about a mile 
from the town, in the year 1670. Tha beds of salt 
in these mines are found from 60 to 140 feet below 
the surface of the earth. They vary in tliickness, 
and lie in a waved direction. The first stratum, or 
bed, is from fititeen to twenty-one yards in thick- 
pesB, in appearance resembling brown sugar-candy, 
perfectly solid, and so hard as to be broken with 
great diiliculty by iron picks and wedges. This part 
of the busiqesa, however, has lately been much acce- 
lerated by gunpowder, with which the workmen 
loosen and remove many tons together. Beneath tbis 
tX^talmmiiB. bed of hard-atone, consiating of lai^c veins 
of flog, intermingled with Gomc rock-salt, the whole 
from twenty-five to thirty-five yards in thickness. 
Under this bed ia a second stratum, or mine, of salt, 
from five to six yards thick, many parts of it perfectly 
white, and clear as crystal ; others brown ; but aU 
. less impure than the upper stratum. The whole mass 
of salt is covered by a bed of whitish clay, used in 
the manufacture of Liverpool ware. 

Rock-salt pits are sunk at a great expense, and are 
very tmcertain in their duration ; being frequently de- 
stroyed by the brine springs bursting into them, and 
dissolving the pillars that support tlie roof; through 
which tiie whole work falls in, leaving vast chasms 
in the surface of the earth. In forming a pit, a shaft, 
or eye, is sunk, similar to that of a coal pit, but mure 
extoisive. When the workmen have penetrated to 
the salt rock, and made a proper cavity, they leave a 
sufficient substance of the rock (generally about 
seven yards in thickness) to form a solid roof; and, 
as they proceed, they hew pillars out of the rock, to sus- 
tain the roof, and then employ gunpowder to separate 
what they intend to raise. This is conveyed to the 
surface in large craggy lamps, drawn up in capacious 
baskets. He largest rock-salt pit now worked is in 
the township of Wilton, near Northwich. This has 
been excavated in a circular form, 108 yards in dia- 
meter i its roof is supported by twenty-five pillars, 
each three yards wide at the front, four at the back, 
and its sides extending six yards. Each pUIar con- 
tains 294 sohd yards of rock-salt ; and the whole 
area of the pit, which is fourteen yards hollow, in- 
cludes 9 1 60 superficial yards, being little less than 
two acres of land. We may easily conceive that 

when fbis wonderful plact to well lighted up, the 
reflection of the torches from so many brilltaiit sur- 
faces most have a very surprising cfiect. 

[Abridged from Woods ZoojropAy.] 


By SIR HENBT WOOTON, t>n>T(>it of Eun. wIm died lOB, Mid n 

How happy is he born or taught, 

That serveth not another's will ; 
Whoso armour is his honest tliought 

And simple truth his highest skill : 
Whose passions not his masters are: 

Whose soul is still prepared for death ; 
Not ty'd unto tha world with cam 

Of princes' ear, or vulgar breath : 
Who liath bis life ftom rumours freed; 

WluMe conscience ia his strong retreat; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
' Nor ruin make oppressors great: 
Who envies none whom clianco doth raise. 

Or vice : who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given with praise, 
• Nor rules of slate, but rules of gomi ■ 
Who God doth late and early pray 

More of his grace than gifts to lend ; 
And entertains the harmless day 

With a well-chosen book, or friend. 
Tliis man is freed from servile hands 

Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands. 

And having notliing, yet hath all. 


Sulil b; eU BODluelleR and NmreDdcn In ths Kiogdam. 


fiinniMAdiH, Luu-liridn- 
BrUfCWHtlflT £ Go, 

k Co. Drrliam, AiidK 


rJW(»Ai~. Lmtfj. 

BBROER. Holvwell-i 
Dua-itreet. Ijoairm; 

I Iha IbUiiwIoE iiliiE« :- 

'feBoyd. A 

OUntaltr. law. 
BrHfard, Child ; Wiitkla 

.-M-IW. I'll" 

snd Chullon 

Orfirrl. SUttn-. 

bmy. Hindi* k Cb 
S^pcld. Ridie. 
SAmelbmy. Eddo*K^ 
SmrorimSn r-Hrria. 

WUta, Lane E>^ 

N920. OCTOBER 27T?, 1832. So»!^iCkv. 


Tbb Peak of Derbyshire, in which this stupendous 
csvem is situated, pvea name to & large tract of 
hilly couatry in the county of Derby, bctvrcen the 
Derwcnt and the Dove, and is separated ^m Staf- 
fordshire by the last named river. This district is a 
region of bleak barren heights and long-extended 
moors, interspersed with deep valleys through which 
many small streams take tiieir course, llie High 
Peak is peculiarly liable to violent storms, during which 
the rain descends in torrents, and frequently occa- 
sions great damage. The country abounds in mines 
of lead, iron, coal and antimony. 

On ibe summit of an almost inaccessible rock is 
seated the little town of Costlcton, so called from 
a very ancient castle, the ruius of which remmn. 
From some c^the ornaments still remaining in one of 
the walls, it is supposed to have been a Norman 
Btracturc, and is said to have beca built by William 
Peveril, the natural son of William the Conqueror. 
Its historical interest has been revived by Sir Walter 
Scott, in his novel of Peveril of the Peak ; but it was 
not, as might be inferred fiMm that woric, in the pos* 
session of the family of the Pcverib, at so late a period 
as the Restoration. At the base of the huge rock on 
which stands this curious remnant of antiquity, is the 
mouth of the celebrated Peak Cavern, commonly 
caUcd the Devil's Hole. 

The entrance is situated in a gloomy recess, between 
two ranges of perpendicular rocks, having on the left, 
a rivulet, which issues from the cave, and pursues its 
foeming course over broken masses of limestone. 
A vast canopy of rock overhangs the mouth of this 
stupendous cavity, forming a low arch, 120 feet in 
width and 42 in height. 
Vol- I. 



[October 27, 

opening calfed the Bell House, be is Bgsiii enabled to 
stand uprigW;, antf ptocte^ witihoirtl inconvenience' to 
the brink 6f & piece of walteif, where a small boat is 
ready to convey him to tjfee interior of the cavern j to 
reach which, he has to pass beneath a massy rock, 
which dtoops to within twenty inches of the water. 
To perform this uncorafortablfe part of his journey, he 
has to extend himself on his back in the boat, with 
the dripping rock within a few inches of his face. 

On landing on the opposite side, he finds himself 
in the second apartment, a spacious chamber, about 
220 feet long, 200 broad, and in some parts 120 feet 
high 5 but, from the want of light, neither the roof 
nor the distant sides of this vast cave can be plainly 

Near the ending of a shallow stream, called the 
Second Water, is a jutting pile of rocks, called Roger 
Rain's House, from the circumstance of water con- 
tinually dripping from the crevices of the roof. — 
After passing along a narrow passage, with occasionally 
more spacious openings, he arrives at another largfe 
apartment, catted €he Chancel, where the rocks ap- 
pear much broken, and the sides are curiously covered 
with stalactites*. Here the stranger is generally sur- 
prised by an invisible concert, which bursts in dis»- 
oordant toues from the upper regions of the chasm : 
'yet,'* says h respeetabte tourist, '^ being mieatpectec^ 
and isst^g from a cpMurter where no object can be 
seen, i^ tt ^^^ wherie ^ i» still! m d^ath, aend ctfcu- 
lated lo ^]^)*ed8 th« imi^iginatiotf vnfh solemn ideas, 
it canseMomi b« heay<f without fk«t mingkd emotiott 
of ^we aad jHba^mre, astonishAMent and delight, which 
is on« 0# Ae most interesting feelings of the mfed.'* 
At th\ft eoncItBdiot^ of the strain, the choristers (con- 
sistiniT ^ ^^^ a* teW women and children) are seetf 
ranged tti « ho&>W of the rocfc, «bout fifty feet above 
the floor,. wi<h fi^tetl torches ifr their hands. 

After piassteg tlMr Celtar, a^ if k called, icad the 
Halfway House, neither of which is particularly de- 
serving of attfsntion, the visiter proceeds beneath three 
natural arches to a vast concavity, which, from its 
resemblance to a bell, is called the Great Tom of 
Lincoln^ From this point, the vault gradually de- 
scends^ the cavity contracts, and at length feaves no 
more room tJian is sufficient for the passage of the 
stream, which continues to flow through a channel 
under ground. The entire length of this wonderful 
cavern is 2250 feet, and its depth from the Surface of 
the mountain about 620. 

A curious effect is produeed by the explosion of a 
small quantity of gunpowder, wedged into the rock 
in the interior of this cave ; for the sound appears to 
roll along the roof and sides, like a tremendous and 
continued pei* of thtnnier. 

The eifect of tftte ligh«, oft fetuming from these 
dark recfesses, ife pairticulaapJf impressive j and the 
gradual iHuminatiDff of the rocks with dim, golden, or 
rather 8ulj)hweouey has^e, Whi<*1k liecomes brighter as 
the etttfttnce i^ iq>|ir»ached, fe saldf to exhibit one of the 
mos«itt*ej^8tingi scenes taiet ever employed the pencil 
of an artte«, oy fi»e* tihe aRftiiiMi«k>n> of a spectator. 

♦•fhewitiBr of rtmny Bprfttgrcotitiiliii an atiWi called cdtbotitc add. in «uf!t- 
dent quantity tbdtuwlve a- part of the chalk and Uroestone over which it 
ptt5«es. Thut chanjed, thto vroter, alter passiiig thronah the pohji of the rock, 
depositet tho chalk in many cuHour fottns, like icleles: these ai* calU'rt 
it^actUef. Water of tW« deibription Dossesses a uetrifViDtf nn^nnrtv. nt\i\ 
objects Bteeped in It ate vsidtobc 
thongh, in nsality, thify rfN> oiUy 


Weten I see ftbys or grown-up men amusing them- 
selves on a summer's evening with shootina swallows, 
I am willing to believe that they do not think of the 
misery which they are causing;. To* kill a swallow 
flyiiis: may be a very difficult things and shooting of 

' this kind may be thougSt very godd practicfe'f txii 
God Almighty d\d not rtveke swafto^^s th«e thif Ai%ht 
be pu> to death for.ampseemiPftt or ^r^raetfcev Some 
birds do a grea* deal of harm to our fields and gardens; 
and to destroy them seems to be a matter of self-de- 
fence : but the poor swallow does us no hailti ^ tH : 
there is reason to think f hat he is sent to do us good. 
When he is darting thixjugh the air, and wheeling 
round and round so swiftly that the eye can hardly 
. follow him, he is catching flies, which are intended to 
be his food. Many thousands and million^ of flies 
are destroyed in this way : and if they were all suffered 
to live, they would in time cover the earth -, and we 
should be as badly off as the Egypfttos, when God 
sent upon them the plague of flies And other insects. 
We ought to feel much obliged to the swallows for 
lessening the number of these tr&nH^^ss&fi^ gofd^ts. 

We should alfeo remember, thAt t^ sWiS»e99 come 
to England to build their nests. Tfhey set afibnt this 
very soon after their ayrivafj m4 whetf A"ei* young 
ones are strong enough to Hy, they ^ leave the 
country. It is hardly possible, therefor, to kill a 
SMrallow, without robbing some little biMs o^ a father 
or a mother. The f^maTe swattow 8p«ved her Aest on 
a summer's evenhig, and ftlfe her h^at with ^es.— 
But she dod^ Act 6atch fheitf Oftly fo* herself: she 
has some yotoig childreir a« home,- tod she ii? thftiking 
of them all the fiwt th^ she is gK^feg' tht»Ough the 
air ^ter her prfey.- Whe* she is retmftring to her 
nest with her mottfh felt of fend, she re stK^enly 
struck with tt shot^ and do»«i* sfce' <fr6p» to tfce gromid, 
bleeding and dead'. Jfler Kttlte Oft^ giV wifhoue their 
supper for that night,- they j^ites Ml the ihtet ita a sad 
and piteous chirping j and iMif hn&^fdxieB n«5t know 
how to quiet them. When' fe* ftwfe- htmseJl^ in fie nest 
without his partner. After « steepfess Aigh€,,he sets 
out to catch ^ome ifies^ but fe* *6fes not fchow how 
to feed them ds their, mother didiji and before the 
evening is over, he too is shot dead by some person who. 
is practising the art of shooting flying. The young ones 
now begin to suffer seriously from hunger : they open 
their Bttle beaks, but no mother comes to put any 
thing into them. They see the old birds go backwards 
and forwards to another nest which is close by, hnt 
their own turn never comes. At night they get very cold. 
Their mother used to cover them with her wings, and 
with the soft feathers of her breast j but now they 
have nothing to warm them. In the morning, two or 
three of them are dead. The chirping becomes fainter 
and fainter : no little heads are seen stretching out 
and asking for food : they shake atid quiver against 
each other-at the bottom of the nest; and after a few 
hours they all die of hunger. E. B. 

What is there necessary fbr man tb know, Whicb the 
Psalms are not able to teach ? They are, to beginners, an 
easy and fitmiliar introduction, a mighty augmentation of 
all virtue and knowledge ; in such as are entered before, a 
strong confirmation to the most perfect amongst others. 
Heroical magnanimity, exquisite justice, grave'moderation, 
exact wisdom, repentance unfei^ed, unwearied patience, 
the mysteries of God, the suffennes of Christ, the terrors 
of wrath, the comforts of grace, uie works of Providence 
over this world, and the promised joys of that world which 
is to come, all good necessarily to be either known, or done, 
pr had,- this one celestial fountain yieldeth. Let there be 
kny grief ur disease incident to the soul of man, any wound 
01* sfckness named, fbr which there is not in this treasure 
house a present comfortable remedy at all times ready to 
be fbund? — ^Hooker. 

If fs no small commendation to manage a little well He 
18 a good Waggoner that can turn in a Uttle room. To live 
well m abimflance, is thb nraise of the estate, not of the 
person. I wfU study more how to- giro a ^ood account o* 
tnv little, tha.. liow to make it more.— Bisuor Uxni^ 





In the Tw^^ty-lil'tb Volume of the Family Librahy, 
Um: Muimy of the Bounty, is ih» following account of 
^, oa^ve fwieral, in the Island of Otaheite, which wa3 
atAeud^d by Sir Joseph Banks, then a private gentle- 
man, acco^ipanyiing .tb« ei:pedition fitted out for the 
ix^un puipoise of ohserviog the tnuasit of Venus over 
the 9un*s disc^ which happened in the year 1769. 

An old woman baring died, Mr. Banks, whose 
pursuit was Jcnowledge of every kind^ and who to gain 
it, made hi,mself one of the people, requested he might 
attei;id the -ceremony, and witness all the mysteries of 
the solenmity of depositing the body in the Morai, 
or buryi^-place. The request was complied with, 
but on no other conditipn than his taking a part in 
it. This was j,ust what was wished. In the evening, 
he repaired to the house of mourning, where he was 
received by the daughter of the deceased and several 
others, among whom was a boy, about fourteen years 
old. One of the chiefs of the district was the prin- 
cipal mourner, wearing a fantastical dress. 

Mr. Banks was stripped entirely of his European 
clothes, and a small piece of cloth was tied round his 
middle. His face and body were then smeared with 
charcoal and water, as low as the shoulders, till they 
were as black as those of a Negro : the same operation 
was performed on the rest, among whom were some 
women, who were reduced to a state as near naked- 
ness as himself : tLe boy was blacked all over : after 
which the processioQ set forward, the chief mommer 
havmg mumbled something like a prayer over the 

It is the custom of the Indians to fly from these 
processions ^th the utmost precipitation. On the pre- 
sent occasion, several larg^ parties of the natives were 
put to flight, all the houses were deserted, and not an 
Otaheitan was to be seen. The body basing deposited 
on a stage erected for it, the mourners were dismissed 
to wash themselves in the river, and to resume their 
customary dresses, and their usual gaiety. 

How striking and interesting a contrast does the 
account of the interment of the King and Queen of 
the same Islands aflbrd of the triumphs of Christi- 
anity, as given by Captain Byron, in his Voyage to the 
Sandwich Islands, in 1 824. He was appointed to convey 
their bodies from England, where they had died of the 
measles, whilst on a visit to his Majesty George IV. 

" As soon as the coffins were deposited on the plat- 
form, the band accompanied some native singers in 
a funeral hymn, which the missionaries had written, 
and taught them to sing to the air of Pleycl s German 
Hymn. We could not help reflecting on the strange 
combination of circumstances here before us : every 
thing native-bom and ancient in the Isles was passing 

" The dead chiefs lay there, hidden in more splen- 
did cerements than their ancestors had ever dreamed 
of j no bloody sacrifice stained their obsequies, nor 
was one obscene memorial made to insult the soul 
as it left its earthly tenement ; but instead, there was 
hope held out of a resurrection to happiness, and the 
doctrines admitted that had put an end to such sacri- 
fice for ever, and pronounced the highest blessing on 
the hi^iest purity ! Where the nsJced savage only 
bad been seen, the decent clothing of a cultivated 
people had succeeded, and its adoption, though now 
occasional, promises permanency at no distant period. 
Mingled with these willing disciples, were the warlike 
and noble of a land the most remote on th^ f^obe, 
teaching, by their sympathy, ihe charities that soften, 
yet dignify human nature. The savage yells of 
brutal orgi^ were now silenced j and as the solemn 
sounds were heard, for the first tim^ uniting the 

instruments of Europe and the composition of a 
learned musician, to the simple voice of the savage, 
and words not indeed harsh in themselves, framed 
into verse by the industry and piety of the teachers 
from a remote nation, came upon the ear, it was im- 
possible not to feel a senscuti<m approaching to awe, 
at the marvdlous and rapid ichange a few years have 

How TO PASS TBK Day. — ^Arise early; serve God de- 
voutly, and the worid busily; do thy work wisely; give 
thine alms secretly ; go by thy way sagly [^vely] ; answer 
the people demurely; go to thy meat appetitely; sit thereat 
discreetly ; of thy tongue be not too hberal ; arise there- 
from temperately. Go to thy supper soberly, and to thy 
bed merrily, and sleep surely.— Damb Julia Barnbs. 


One momine in the month of May 

I \(«andered o'er the hill ; 
Thou^ nature all around was gay, 

My heart was heavy still. 

Can God, I thought, the just, the great. 

These meaner creatures bless ; 
And yet deny to man's estate 

The boon of happiness ? 

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains. 

Ye blissful birds around, 
Oh where, in Nature's wide domains, 

Can peace for man be found ? 

The birds wide carolled over head ; • 

The breeze around me blew ; 
And Nature's awful chorus said. 

No bliss for man she knew. 

I asj^ed o( Youlh, " Could Youdi supply 

" The joys I sought to find ?' 
Youth paused, and pointed with a sigh 

Where age atde on behind. 

I turned to Love, whose early ray 

So goodly brig^ht appears ; 
And heard the trembliiig wanton say. 

His light was dimm'd with tears. 

I tum'd to Friendship, — Friendship moum'd. 

And thus his answer gave; — 
*'The Friends whom Fortune had not tum'd, 

** Were vanish^ in th0 gmve.** 

I asked if Vice would Joy bestow *— 

Vice boasted loud and well ; 
But fading from heyr pallid bix>w» 

The venom'd roses fell. 

I oufistioned Feeling, if her skfll 

Could heal the wounded breast ? 
And found her sorrows streaming still, 

For others* grief distrest. 

I ouestioiied Virtue: — ^Virtue sigh'd — 

No boon could she dispense ; 
'* Nor Virtue, was her name," shp cried, 

"But humble Penitence !'" 

I ouestioned "Death — ^the grisly shade 

Kelaxed his brow severe, — 
And " J am Happiness," he said, 

« If Viilue giudes thee here T* ^R. H. 

I ENVY no quality of the mind, or intellect, in others ; 
not genius, power, wit, or fancy; but if I could choose what 
would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to roe, 
I should prefer a firm religious belief to every other bless- 
ing ; for it makes life a discipline of goodness— creates new 
hopes, when all eartiily hopes vanish; and throws over the 
decay, the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous of 
all lights; awakens life even in death, snd from corruption 
and decay calls up beauty and divinity : makes an instru- 
ment of torture and of shame the ladder of ascent to J*a- 
radise ; and, far above all combinations of earthly hopes, 
calls up the most delightful visions of palms and ama- 
ranths, the gardens of uie blest, the security of everlast- 
ing joys, where the sensualist and the sceptic view only 
gloom, decay, annihilation, and despair I — SiA Humphky 


[OcTOBsm. 37, 

THE BAOBAB TREE.— (^daMonia Digilata.) 

' Bmt.lMf,aiidBtaHtm(tfaiBiuiai. 

This superb tree is a native of the burning climate 
of Aftica. It is supposed, bjr Oie inliabitants of 
a shore which aboondB \rith gigantic shrubs, to be 
the largest and most majeatic production of the vege- 
table kingdom ; and, from its enormous size Bod 
noble appearance, it well merits the title of Monarch 
of the Forest. Its trunk, which is scarcely ever known 
to exceed fifteen feet in height, often measures no 
less than eighty in circumference. The lower branches, 
which are adorned with tufta of leaves, extend from 
its sides horizontally, and bending by their great 
weight towards the earth, form a mass of verdure no 
less astonishing in size than beautiful in appearance. 
The circumference of 8 full-grown tree, measuring 
the circle which surrounds the branches, is said in 
some cases to be as much as four hundred and fifty 
feet i when of this size, its hulk is so enormous that, 
at a distance, it bears a greater resemblance to an 
overgrown forest than to a single tree. It is beneath 
the grateful shade of its spreadiug boughs that the 
wearied Negroes lie down, when scorched by the 
burning suu of their sultry climate ; and it is the 
friendly shelter of its overhanging branches that tlie 
benighted traveller seeks, when overtaken or threat- 
ened with a storm. The countries of Africa which 
are particularly favourable to the production of this 
tree, and in which it cliiefly flourishes, are those which 
lie along the coast and shores of the Niger, as far 
down as the kingdom of Benin. 

: The blossoms or^ as gigantic in proportion as the 
tree which bears them : they begin usually to appear 
about the month of July. The fruit ripens towards 
the latter end of the month of October, or in the 
early part of November, It difiers greatly in its 

shape ; sometimes it ts ftmnd of an obkmg form, 
pointed at both ends ; at other times, it is said to be 
perfectly globular; and it often bears a shape in me- 
dium between these two. In its size it difiers as 
considerably as m its shape. It is covered with a 
green rind or shell, which, however, as it dries, be- 
comes of a dark fawn colour, and often asstumes a 
deep brown. It is very prettily marked and orna- 
mented with rays, and is suspended from the tree by 
a pedicle or stalk, the length of which is nearly two 
feet. The fniit, when broken, exhibits to the eye a 
spongy substance of a pale chocolate colonr, contaiu. 
ing much juice. Its seeds are brown, and in shape 
resemble a kidney-bean. The bark of the tree if 
nearly on inch in thickness, of on ash-colonred grey, 
greasy to the touch, and very smooth ; the ext«riur 
is adorned with a description of varnish ; while the 
inside is of a lirilliant green, beautifully speckled witJi 
brightrcd. The wooditself is white.andverysoftand 
penetrable, and is said to possess many very pecuUar 
virtues, which are held in much esteem by theNegroc!". 

The age of this tree is not the least extraordinary 
part of its history. From names and dates whiA 
appear to have Ijcen can'cd upon some of tbero by 
Europeans, wc are led to couclude that they were in 
existence five or six centuries ago. The leaves, wbca 
the tree is In its earliest infancy, are of an oblong 
shape, about four or five inches in length, having 
several veins running from the middle rib of a bean- 
tiful and bright green ; as the plant advances ra 
growth, and increases in height and size, the shape 
of the leaves alters, and they become divided into 
three parts ; afterwards, when the tree has attained 
its complete growth, and become a full-sized and 
vigorous vegetable, these three divtsioas increase to 
five, and the leaf assumes a shape not unlike that of 
the human hand. 

The Negroes of Seni^l dry tlie hark and the 
leaves in the shade, and then reduce them to a fine 
powder. This powder, which is of a green colour, 
they preserve in little linen or cotton bags, and term 
it liUo. They use it at their meals and in thdr 
cookery,— putting a pinch or two into their food, ia 
the same manner as we do pepper and salt, not so 
much with an idea of giving a relish to the dish, as 
with a view to preser\'e their health, to keep up a per- 
petual and plentiful perspiration, and to temper the 
too great heat of their blood ; purposes which, if we 
may credit the reports of several Europeans, it is ad- 
mirably calculated for. There ia an epidemic fever, 
which rages in parts of Africa generally during the 
months of September and October, when the rains 
having on a sudden ceased, the sun exhales the water 
left by them upon the ground, and filb the air with 
noxious vapours. During this critical season, a ligbt 
decoction, prepared from the leaves of the Baobab 
tree, gathered the preceding year and carehilly dried 
in the shade, is reckoned a moat serviceable remedy. 

Nor is the fruit less valuable than the leaves or 
bark. The pulp, in which the seeds are enveloped, 
forms a very grateful, cooling, and slightly acid food, 
and ia often eaten as a treat by the natives : the richer 
sort amongst them mix sugar with it to correct its 
acidity. The woody bark of the fruit, and the frnit 
itself when spoiled, help to supply the Negroes with m 
excellent soap, which they procure by drawing a Icy 
from its ashes, and by boiling it with rancid palm-oil. 

In Abyssinia, the wild bees penetrate the trunks of 
the Baobab for the sake of lodging their honey within 
them. This honey is said to possess a very peculiar 
and delicious fragrance and a very agreeable flavour, 
on which account it is more esteemed and songbt 
after than any other, - 



The trunks oi Stica of these trees tu are decayed 
serve, when hollowed out, as tombs and bnrial-ptaces 
for' the poets, musicians, and buffoons of the tribe. 
Characters of this description are in great esteem 
amongst the Negroes whilst living : tbejr erroneously 
ascribe to them talents superior to the rest of their 
fellow-creatures ( which peculiar gifts they arc sup- 
posed to derive from a commerce with demons, sor- 
ucrcTS, and bad spirits. This causes them, during 
their lifetime, to be much respected and courted by 
their various and respective tribes j but their bodies, 
after death, are far from being treated with this re- 
spect } on the contrary, they are regarded with so 
great a horror, that they deny them the rites of burial 
— neither suffering them to be put beneath the ground, 
nor to be thrown into the sea or rivers, from a super- 
stitious dread that the water thus dishnnoured would 
refuse to nourish the fish, end that the earth would 
foil to produce its fruits. The bodies, then, in order 
to get rid of them in some manner without degrading 
(Uther the sea or land, they enclose in tlie hollnw 
tmnks of the trees, where, in the course of ages, they 
.becomcquitc dry and sapless, without actually rotting, 
and form in that manner a description of mummy 
without the help of embalmment, P. U. 

r*f JSHtol Ttm. 

Onb of the greatest circumstances which fixes the 
attention in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies 
that form our system, is the surprising distances at 
which they are placed, and the stupendous amount 
of space which they occupy by their circuits. Our 
£arth is above 90 millions of miles from the sun; 
Satdrn is above 800 more millions farther off; 
and the next and most remote that we know, which 
is connected with us, the Urands, is twice that 
mighty distance.'* The fact is sublime, and vast be- 
yond the power of our words to express, or of our 
ideas to conceive. This last planet of our system 
rolls in an oval circuit, of which 1/68 millioos of 
miles b the diameter; and, therefore, goes round 
an area of 5000 millions of miles. 0)ir system oc- 
cupies this amazing portion of space ; and yet is but 
one small compartment of the indescribable universe. 
Immense as is an area of 5000 millions of miles, yet 
it is hut a very little part of the incomprehensible 
whole. Above 100,000 stars, apparently suns like 
onr's, shine above us ; and to each of these, that 
analogy .wonld lead us to assign a similar space : but 
of such marvellous extent and being, although visibly 
real from the existence of the shining orbs that testify 
its certainty to us, the mind, with all its efforts, can 
form no distinct idea. 

Another consideration is astounding : — when we 

• Mr. Homsby has made the foOowing ralculationa of 
the absolute distaocas of the planets fram the sun in Eng- 
Usb mdei : — 

Heccnry , , 36,2S1,700 | Man . . . 142.Sie.ODO 

'Venus . . C7,795,S00 Jupiter . . 487,473,000 

Our Earth . 93,726,900 | Saturn . . 834,162,000 

The Utanus is twice that tX Satutn, 


gaze, in a clear evening, on the bright Jnpiter, we ar^ 
seeing an object that is 487 millions of miles from 
OS. But when we look at the bright Orion, or the 
Great Bear, we are beholding substances which are ten 
thousand times that remoteness ftara us. The idea 
fr^ncntly overwhelms me, as I stand and view them, 
and thiijc that I, a petty human being, have the 
faculty, and can exercise the power, of l')oking tlirough 
millions of millions of miles of extended spare, and 
that I am at that moment actually doing mi, and that 
such an amazing expanse is visible to my eye, and 
perceptible by my conscious, though, in comparison, 
insignificant soul. — The Sacred History of the World. 

ALTnoOGH pure and nutritious bread is so necessary 
to health and life, there is no article in which fraud 
and deception arc more frer|ucnt. The practice of 
mixing potatoes with the dough has been frequently 
noticed. Potato-starch is used for adulterating flour. 
Of tills I have a positive proof, even in the present 
day. A few months since, an eminent flour-factor 
showed mc a powder which, he said, had been sent 
bim as a substance which might be mixed witli flour 
without discovery, and requested me to examine it, 
declaring his iat^tion, at the same time, of pnblbhiug 
the transaction. Inspection alone was sufficient to 
convince mc that tlie powder was potato- starch, and 
a few experiments soon decided the poinL Thia 
fraud has no other bad effect than in lessening the 
qoantity of nutritious matter which a given quantity 
of the bread should contain ; beside the extortion i^ 
charging full price for an article of less value. 

Inspection by a high magnifier will detect potato- 
starch in flour, by its glistening appearance. 'We 
have heard of bones burned to whiteness, and gronnd 
to a powder, being used to adulterate tkirdt flour, 
which, being of a somewhat gritty nature, will dis- 
guise the grittiness which it is almost impossible to 
deprive bones of, be they ever so laboriously ground. 
This fraud is easily detected ; for if much dilute 
muriatic acid — tliat is, spirit of salt mixed with 
water — be poured on such flour, there will be an effer- 
vescence, or boiling up ; and if the liquid be thrown 
on a filter of paper, the portion which runs through 
the paper will let fall a heavy white deposit if pearl- 
ash be added. Chalk and whiting are also adultera- 
tions which, in small quantity, are often mixed with 
flour; and, although sach admixtures are not noxious 
to health directly, they are injurious in many ways. 
They may be readily detected by pouring on a largo 
quantity of oil of vitriol mixed with six or seven times 
its weight of water ; if an effervescence ensue, it is 
proof tliat there is adulteration ; and if, after filtra- 
tion, as before directed, the addition of pearl-ash to 
the clear liquid produce no mnddiness, or a very 
slight degree of it, the presumption is, that the adul- 
teration was chalk or whiting. 

Alum is a well-known adulteration of bread, not 
used on account of its quantity, but to disguise a 
bad quality of flour ; it is said to whiten ill-coloured 
flour, and to harden and whiten bread made from 
flour which has been malted. By some respectable 
bakers it has formeriy been used, and might still be 
used, if there were not a law against it, widi perfect 
safety: in so small a quantity as half a pound of 
alum to one hundred weight of flour, it could not be 
in the least degree injurious ; for tliia would be but 
nine thirty-fifths of an ounce to the quartern loaf. 
When nsed in double tliis quantity, as it often is, it be- 
comes discoverable to the taste when the bread grows 
■tale. Be (bit M it may, we can cwly detect alant 





m breads for it is onl| in bread that it need be sus- 
pected, by pouring boiling water on it^ letting it cool, 
pressing out the water, boiling it away to one- thirds 
allowing it to cool, filtering it through paper^ and 
addii3g to the clear liquor some solution of muriate 
of lime. lif a considerable muddiness now appear, it 
is proof of adulteration, and none other can well be 
suspected than alum. Muriate of lime can readily 
be prepared by pouring a little dilute muriatic acid 
on more chalk than it can dissolve, and after the 
effervescence ceases, filtering the liquor tiirough paper. 
What passes through the filter is ready for use as ^ 


Salt, which in small quantity is absolutely neces- 
sary to the flavour of bread, is used by fraudulent 
persons as an aduUeration ; for a laxge quantity of 
it added to dough, imparts to it the quality of al]|- 
sorbing, concealing, and retaining a much greater 
quantity of water than it otherwise would. Bread 
made from such dough, will, on leaving the oven, 
come out much heavier than it ought, aud the addi- 
tional weight will be merely water. Fortunately, tUe 
taste of such bread is a sufficient index to its bad 
quality ; it is rough in its grain, and has this remark- 
able quality, that two adhering loaves will generally 
separate unevenly, one taking from the other more 
than its share. — Treatise on Domestic Economy » 



Oos^RviKo aa excellent article, in one of the numbers of this 
Maga^une, on the H^torv of BelUy I beg to send you the fol- 
lowing account of one of the finest-toned bells in England, 
if not ii Europe. At Lavenliam, an obscure little town in 
Suffolk, fonce celebrated for the manufacture of blue doth, 
and hand-q[»un yam,) stands a noble monument of a^deuC 
munificence, ranked among the most beautiful eothit; fabrics 
in the kingdom, both for durability and granaeur. In the 
steeple of this church is 9. bell, weighing only 2576 lbs., with 
such a melodioiis note, as to be universally styled ** Tke 
Matchless Tenor" and Metgna Britannia^ treating of Laren- 
ham Bells, says : ** The tenor hath such an admirable note, 
as England has none to compare to it." 

Its weight, its shape, its size, alike admir'd. 
And tone wherewith each ringer is inspired ; 
The merry eight with music fill the ear. 
Euterp, too, invites from fax and near ; 
And though in fioating all sounds slowly die. 
They're quick revired by Echo's sweet reply; 
Heard through the wooas, their soft melodious ring 
Inspires the warbHng feathered tribe to sing ; 
Nestling 'mid leaves, or skimming o'er the plain, 
Distinct to hail each hanuonizing strain. 

These dianning beUs are not heard at a very great distance, 
on accoimt of the elevated situation of the steeple. Sound is 
heard fairther on plains than on hills ; and still farther in 
valleys than on plains : the reason of which will pot be diffi- 
cult to assign, if it be consideied that the higher the sonorous 
body is, the rarer is its medium ; consequently, the less im- "' 
pulse it receives, the less proper vehicle it is to convey it 
to a distance. ' Tradition says, that at the time of casting 
this tenor bell at Lavenham, Xl^^t) some rich wool-staplers 
there, and other gentlemen in the neighbourhood, contributed 
great quantities of silver, and even gold, to the usual metal, 
which may, perhaps^ account for ihe vast superiority of its 

Three roods of land were left to the church by some ad- 
mirer of ringing, for the repair of the beU-ropes. 

Judge Hole, Sir Simon D'Ewes (one the most learned 
antiquaries of his time, and lord of the manor of |!iayenham), 
and William Cecil, lord high-treasurer of England, were 
celebrated bell-ringers, and, no doubt, travelled miles to assist 
at the harmless rejoicings of village festivals, Clio. 

Thk pleasure of a religious man, is an easy, and a portable 
pleasure, such an one as he carries about in his bosom, 
without alarming either the eye or the envy of the worid. 
A man putting all his pleasures into this one, is like a 
tmveller putting all his goods into one jewel, — the vidiie is 
the same, aad the oonvenieaoe ^s^Mx.^^juja^ 

Tu£a£ is much useful exduuige b^iwecai dUffenst 
nations^ which we call Commerce. All countries viU 
not produce the same things ; but, by means 01* 
Exchanges, each counttry may enjoy all d^ insodbucc 
of the others. Cotton would not grow here, except 
in a hot-house. It grows in the fidds in America ; 
but the Americans caauot spin and weave it so 
cheaply as we can ; because we have more ^kiil and 
better machines. It answers best, therefore, for 
them to send us the cotton- wo(^, and they take ia 
exchange part of the cott<m made into cloth ; and 
thus both we and they are best supi^ed. 

Tea, again, comes £rom China, and sugar from the 
West indies -, neither of them could be raised here 
without a hot-house. Ho more ean oranges, which 
come from Portugal, and other souithem oooatnes. 
But we get aii thase tilings in exchange £br knives, 
and scissors, and cloth, which we can make much 
better and dieaper than the Chinese, and West In- 
dians, and Portuguese : 9xid so both parties are bet- 
ter off than if they made every thing at home. 

How useful water is for commerce I The set 
seems to keep different countries separate ; but, for 
the purpose of commerce, k rather brings them to- 
gether. If there y^ere only land between this and 
America, we should have no cotton ^ the carriage of 
it woul^ cost more than it is worth* Think how 
many horses would he wanted to dr^w sudi a load as 
comes in one ship ; a